#there's a worm rave and youre invited

[rockchatterbox]

i go on hikes with my mother a lot, mainly because i cant drive. she doesn't like that i keep picking up bones and worms to take home. she cannot stop me. i am the worm lord.

[wcnderlnds]

drive ins and twinkie kisses | peter maximoff

・❥・ summary: peter takes you to the movies and uses his favourite snack to make a move ・❥・word count: 1.2k ・❥・warnings: none really. just kissing. ・❥・ authors note: i haven't wrote in a week because i've been sick but this idea came to me after some shenanigans in the evanverse server so <3

The new drive-in opening had been the latest buzz around town. Anywhere you went, everyone was talking about it to the point that you needed to go check it out yourself. All your friends had already been and were raving about it but you? Well, you didn’t exactly have anyone to go with. The night your friends had gone, you’d been on a mission with the X-Men so, although they’d invited you, you’d had to decline. The frown on your face anytime someone brought the drive-in up was enough to melt even the coldest of hearts including Peter Maximoff. Now, he wasn’t heartless – not at all but he wasn’t one to cave in just by seeing a pretty face. He had resisted for as long as he could but he couldn’t take it anymore when he saw you sat looking miserable when you had yet to pass up another opportunity to go.

“Okay, fine,” he sighed heavily, arms folded across his chest as he appeared in front of you in a blur of silver. “I’ll take you but don’t make a big deal about it or anyth- oof.”

Peter stumbled back slightly as you threw yourself at him, arms wrapping around his midsection while you hugged the life out of him. His hands hovered in the air, awkwardly wondering what the hell to do with them. Not that he would ever admit it to anyone - other than Kurt because for some reason he liked to tell him everything - Peter wasn’t the best when it came to physical affection or relationships. Maybe it was the lack of experience. Or maybe he was just a complete idiot whose brain short circuited at the feeling of another person touching him. It wasn’t like he hadn’t been in relationships before. He had but they hadn’t lasted longer than a few months before he lost interest or they got fed up with his consistent need to be moving. With you, you seemed to have captivated his interest the moment he met you. He remembered the day so vividly – how you’d walked into the mansion looking lost, almost scared. He’d been zooming through the halls but had come to a comedic halt when he spotted you. Introductions had been made thanks to him worming his way into Hank who had been giving you a tour of the place and it had gone from there. 

Peter found himself wanting to make you smile. On those dark, dreary days where he got lost in his own mind, the image of you smiling could always make things seem a little brighter. The fact you’d been moping around the mansion for the last week just didn’t sit well with him at all. If he had to take you to the drive-in himself then so be it. He could totally sit through a movie with you. Totally.

…so, maybe he couldn’t. Being in a car in the first place was enough for him to go on a rant about how he was much faster and cars were pointless to him but then there was the fact that he had to sit still for at least two hours. It was enough to drive the poor man crazy. A form of torture. His eyes darted around the place, the car full of all the candy wrappers the two of you had been eating since you’d first drove in. His deep brown eyes zoned in on you, the corners of his lips quirking up into a soft smile. Just watching you focus on the movie was enough to calm him, the knee he’d been bouncing up and down slowly coming to a halt. How was it you could make him such a mess yet so calm at the same time? Realising he should probably stop staring at you before he seemed like a creep, he eyed the last Twinkie sitting in the middle of you both.

His hand reached out to grab it but you must have had the same thought because he felt your fingers brushing against his. Peter instantly looked up, his eyes catching yours. “You tryna steal the last Twinkie from me, huh?”

“You were trying to steal it from me!” You protested, cheeks flushing. The feeling of his fingers touching your skin still sending shockwaves through you.

“Me, steal? Never. Can’t believe you’d accuse me of such a thing.”

“Okay, Mr Kelpto.”

Using his super speed, Peter quickly snatched the Twinkie, unwrapping it. “Okay, here’s an idea. I’ll eat from one end and you eat from the other. I won’t even cheat and use my super speed to eat more than you,” Peter stuffed one end in his mouth before you could reply, his hand gesturing for you to take the other end.

Peter could feel his heart beating a mile a minute as he began to chew the sugary treat. The closer the two of you got to the middle, the more he realised how stupid of an idea it was. Like, really? What did he think was going to happen? That was the problem – he didn’t think. Peter got an idea and rolled with it without really thinking next. He was almost certain his heart was about to beat out of his chest and fall into his lap as his face got closer to yours. Then he felt it, your lips gently brushing against his as the two of you ate the final piece. That was all it took for his brain to once again short circuit. Throwing all caution to the wind, his hand reached behind the back of your neck to pull you closer, eyes closing at the sensation of your lips against his. The kiss was cautious at first, Peter’s soft lips moving slowly against yours but when he felt your hand resting on his thigh, he gained the confidence to test the waters a little bit more. His tongue darted out across your bottom lip hoping and praying you wouldn’t push him away. When you parted your lips, he felt like he was actually going to ascend into the heavens. There was no way this was actually happening. Was he about to wake up and find out he was dreaming the whole time? He damn well hoped not.

Peter finally, eventually pulled away. His forehead rested against yours, a breathless laugh passed his lips. He took in your face, the slight red tint to your cheeks, your swollen lips and messy hair – he was making sure to take a mental photograph to look back on. This wasn’t something he wanted to forget anytime soon. Not that he wanted to ruin the moment but he had to speak. The silence unsettled him.

“Lady and The Tramp ain’t got nothin’ on us, babe,” he finally pulled away. He gently smoothed your hair down, reluctantly pulling his hand away from you. The music playing in the background caught his attention. His eyes darted to the movie screen seeing the credits rolling. “Oh, shit. We missed the end.”

“...eh, I’m not complaining,” your hands rested on the steering wheel as if you needed to ground yourself from that Earth shattering kiss. The only thought in your brain was how badly you wanted to do it again.

“Yeah? Should I start carrying Twinkies around with me everywhere now?” He raised his brows, leaning back against his cheek with a smirk.

“Yeah, you definitely should.”

taglist (ask to be added or removed): @ldydeath @jazz-berry @lemoniiiiiii @bohnerrific69 @lacucarachapisser @honeymoon8 @evanpetersbf

[midgardian-witch]

(No) Invitation Needed

It's been a few decades since you last saw your ex but now he is in your club wanting you back. You really shouldn't give into it but eternity can be so lonely.

tags: vampire!Anselm | vampire!reader | gn!reader | exes to lovers (?) | mentions of blood and violence | unhealthy relationship | no smut this time guys, I'm very sorry

ships: Anselm Vogelweide/Reader

word count: 1.8k

AN: So this got inspired by this tag game and what come out of that was this. I hope people enjoy it and if my brain keeps on this track who knows maybe I'll write more vampire!Anselm with vampire!reader (something along the lines of what i mentioned here). Also a big thank you to @strangerhands for encouraging my vampire!Anselm brain worms and for being an amazing hype person 💙

AO3

The bass is thrumming through your body. In this crowd of people you are one of many - and all of you are one. The music guides your bodies with its rhythm. The beat is your new heartbeat - an invigorating yet nostalgic feeling. The scent of sweat, of blood, of life permeates the air around you. It's been so long since you have felt this alive. 

Your presence pulls the dancers around you into your orbit. They don't even notice that their movements, the sway of their hips, they all follow your lead as they fall into a trance. You are their center even if they don't know why. You are magnetic, irresistible and they are yours. This is your haven, your club, your hunting ground. 

But you are not the only predator here tonight. 

You sense him even before you see or smell him - an aura of authority, cultivated through eons of survival, that you once knew so intimately. 

Your rhythm falters, your spell broken for just a second but it's enough for the crowd to fall out of step. The connection to them is lost but he is still here, encroaching on your territory. With your eyes closed you turn your senses towards him. He's already inside the club, not amongst the crowd of mortals but lurking at the fringes of the dance floor. You must have been too tuned into the crowd to hear his unwieldy leg brace through the music. 

You open your eyes and leave the dance floor, the sea of people parting instinctively to let you pass through. You feel his eyes on you, his gaze almost scorching you as if you came to him unbidden and uninvited and not the other way around. 

As you step out of the crowd your eyes find him immediately. He looks so out of place, his suit and tie unfit for a nightclub like this. In this outfit you'd imagine him at a charity gala for the rich and famous or a funeral. You have to fight the smile off of your lips at the mental image of him at a rave. He'd never get the UV-paint out of his beard. 

You see his beard twitch, his lips curling into a smile of his own at your sight. Your eyes meet and you see a softness in them that feels like a dagger through your heart. How dare this bastard be happy to see you like you were long lost friends and not-

You shake off your thoughts, not wanting to dwell on the past for too long. With a nod of your head you motion him to follow you. Without looking back you leave the dance floor and walk up the stairs to the more quiet bar area. You pass the security personnel and enter the VIP area only reserved for yourself and your personal guests. It's a small yet comfortable space, a stark contrast to the more brutalist design of the club itself. 

You sink into your seat, a leather couch dyed in your favorite color, and take a deep breath. It's unnecessary - oxygen is not vital to your survival, hasn't been in quite a while, but the motion still brings you some comfort. 

You don't look at him as he enters the space soon after, the ear-piercing screech of his leg brace announcing him like a bad omen. You motion your security to leave you two alone and only once they are out of earshot do you let your gaze linger on the man now sitting before you. To your chagrin he looks good. Naturally he hasn’t aged a day and neither have you. Confidently he holds your gaze as you study him. He is completely silent, waiting for you to initiate the conversation. Not out of politeness, you know him better than to think that, but to judge how you react to his sudden appearance. You recognize his manipulation tactics easily, the way he tries to unsettle you with his mere presence. He is subtle but you know him - knew him.

“Anselm,” you address him, your voice firm, “To what do I owe the displeasure of your visit?” His lips curl into a smile, ruffling his well kept beard. He chuckles darkly and leans forward, his glasses slipping a little down his shapely nose in the process. “I missed your sharp tongue,” he answers, and his heavy accent makes your stomach turn. How you ever found comfort in his voice you can’t recall. “I doubt you came all the way here without an invitation just so I can insult you. I know your cravings have always been particular but that seems even beyond you,” you counter, crossing your arms in front of yourself defensively. “Hmmm, maybe, maybe not,” he hums, his eyes sparkling with mirth, “But I have missed you. I see you made a name for yourself here, so far from home. Success suits you. It always has.” You snort and shake your head in response. Flattery will not get him anywhere. “I am being honest. Don’t insult your own intelligence. I know you’d recognize if I was lying.”

“If that is all you came here to say then you can keep your flattery, Anselm.”

He nods slowly, a few strands of hair falling into his face before he runs a hand through it to pull them back into place. “You are still cross with me; I understand. Our kind holds grudges far longer and far more deeply than that lot could ever imagine,” he motions towards the dancing crowd below as he drivels on. When you first met Anselm centuries ago you thought he might have been an eccentric professor, his way of speech so odd yet so intriguing, pulling you in to listen with ease. You still don’t know if that is purely him or a skill he acquired after his death. You hold up a hand to stop his rant, otherwise you might never get another word in.

“I enjoy repeating myself just as much as you do. So I will only ask this one more time: Why are you here?”

His brow furrows as his face contorts into a grimace. “Now now, I already answered that question. You just didn’t accept my answer,” he replies, his voice turning darker, rougher. His emotions have always been like a live wire, dangerous and deadly if handled incorrectly. You lean back, unbothered by his approaching outburst. “So that’s it? You missed me insulting you so much you came running all the way from the old world to get your fix?” 

He squints at you, one eye hidden by the milky gold-tinted glass of his spectacles. You prepare yourself for his anger, to be cursed out and threatened but the expected outburst never comes. Instead he wets his lips and smiles. “It’s not that I don’t enjoy your skilled tongue but that is not why I came here. It’s so simple it’s almost boring,” his tone of voice has lost its edge as he addresses you again, “I missed you, mein Schatz.” 

You flinch at the old pet name, “Don’t call me that.” He raises his hands in defense and stands up, giving you the illusion of space. “I don’t mean to offend,” he says softly and walks over to you, “But I will admit that I had hoped that you’d feel the same.” Of course he did. Leave it to Anselm to completely ignore how terribly you had fought even before you parted ways in favor of some glorified memory of a doomed romance. You hadn’t forgotten how ugly both of you had become by the end of it. Decades of affection and love that had turned to spite, cruelty and bloodshed, again and again.

You shake your head with a sigh, “Anselm, I-” but before you can speak he shushes you as he sits down next to you. “We were so good together, mein Schatz. Powerful, rich, influential. I know you have your own little realm now but you must admit it is nothing compared to what we had built together.” A haven built on bloodshed and fear, the mortals under your care treated like nothing more than sacks of blood, alliances forged through blackmail, threats and manipulation. You had built your own little empire with Anselm as its king and you by his side. It thrilled you as much as it terrified you and you grimace at the memories his words conjure.

Anselm moves closer, his chest brushing your arm as he leans into you. “Don’t you remember how we made love with the blood of our enemies on our lips? You always looked best in red,” his voice rumbles through his chest. He is so close, his scent filling your nostrils, so familiar it almost makes your head spin. “You were so violent every time we fought, so passionate! I’ll never forget the feeling of your nails cutting me open, your tongue digging into the open wound so you could drink my blood. Or when I would whip you until you bled and lick your sweet nectar off of the floor.” His voice turns more and more into a growl the longer he reminisces. The sound makes you shiver as much as the memories are.

“Anselm, please, I-”

“Don’t you miss it, mein Schatz? Don’t you miss us?” 

His hand finds yours, his thumb running feather-light circles over your skin. His lips brush the shell of your ear. “Don’t you miss me?” Your whole body shudders. He is too close, he smells too good and he is making you want. 

To want his lips and his body against yours, to crave the feeling of his fangs in your flesh, your nails in his back, to consume each other until there is nothing left - it’s fatal. You know better. You know that this will end in nothing but ruin not just for those around you but for you and him. You bring out the worst in eachother, always have. But what you fear, Anselm revels in. 

So why does the worst sound so good from his lips?

“We shouldn’t,” you whisper as you turn your head towards him. His eyes are blazing, burning your very soul with need. “You want it,” he responds, “Say it, mein Schatz. Tell me that you want it. That you need it. Need me.” 

His lips brush yours, his beard tickling your face. You gasp, an unearthly longing gripping your heart. 

“I do. I want you,” you murmur against his lips before you give up. His other hand grabs your face and he pulls you into a kiss. You feel hungry, so hungry that all the blood in the world couldn’t satisfy you. Because it’s not blood you crave. 

Before you give into him completely you lean back just enough to speak. “Just this once. Just one time, Anselm. This doesn’t mean anything.” He looks at you knowingly, a sardonic smirk on his face. “Of course, mein Schatz. Just tonight.” You know he doesn’t believe you. You don’t even believe yourself. 

Especially not when his tongue enters your mouth and he devours you.

[goldenroutledge]

“I can’t get over how a few months ago I wanted to learn your name and now you’re having breakfast with me in my sweater.” with rafe or jj maybe? :)

sweater

pairing: jj maybank x reader

word count: 0.6k

a/n: chose to do it with jj because i have a lot of rafe requests. thanks for requesting!

jj maybank masterlist

© goldenroutledge || do not plagiarize, repost, or translate my work in any way

Being in a relationship with JJ Maybank came as a surprise to many. A relationship that had the long-lasting potential that is. JJ certainly had his way around the island and nobody had anticipated he would be ‘settling down’ anytime soon. He seemed to love the carefree life he lived so much that it would almost be questionable if he had stopped.

JJ was one of the biggest flirts on the island, and most were convinced nobody would steer him away from that. Before he met you, at least. JJ had been staying at the Heyward residence for a little while, needing time away from the toxicity in his real house. One evening, Pope invited you over to study (along with a few others, but JJ didn’t see them) when you met his blond friend.

He was cute, but you hadn’t predicted anything would come of his flirty comments or stares he sent your way the entire night. Even though there wasn’t a single thing he remembered from school, JJ invested himself in the material to sit beside you and strike up a conversation. Who knew he would go as far as studying just to grab the attention of a girl.

Somehow his number wormed its way into your contacts and you hadn’t spent a single day without talking since. Pope loved to take credit and give himself the title of cupid, even though JJ believed it was all his doing. “I can’t get over how a few months ago I wanted to learn your name and now you’re having breakfast with me in my sweater.” JJ gushed, popping a raspberry into his mouth.

You glanced down at your sweater that was in fact JJ’s, before a matching smile spread on your face. “Oh, I didn’t realize it was yours. Just put on the first thing I could find.”

“And you still look a hell of a lot better in it than I ever did.” He raved, making your smile stick even longer as you took in his flattering compliments.

“It is kind of crazy, though. How we got together and all.”

“Yeah. I’m glad you came to Pope’s that night. Or maybe I wouldn’t have even met you. You were playing hard to get, wouldn’t even let me know your name.” He added.

“Didn’t know you were so good at chemistry. Pope’s never mentioned he was friends with Einstein before.”

You chuckled at the unfamiliar boy who took it upon himself to take a seat beside you. “Good one.”

“What’s your name?” He asked, watching your face for reaction as you focused on what you were writing.

“Why does it matter?”

“Because I wanna get to know you. Maybe you can give me a private chemistry lesson.” The way he wiggled his eyebrows rose a giggle from your lips, which gave him a slight ego boost. “I’m JJ.”

“What’s it short for?” You inquired.

“Such a personal question for a stranger, you should at least give me your name first.”

“If you stop bothering me and let me get my work done.” You reasoned. “It’s Y/n.”

He hummed in satisfaction. “A pretty name for a pretty girl. Can I get you something to drink, Y/n?”

The fresh morning sight of your now boyfriend made you smile as you stopped reminiscing. JJ was your first real boyfriend that you felt something for, but you still couldn’t fathom how everyday you were lucky enough to be loved by him.

“I guess the ‘leaving me alone’ part of the deal didn’t work so much, huh?”

“Oh baby, you should’ve known I wouldn’t have been able to keep that promise.”

“I think that can be forgiven.” You smirked through a kiss to his pink lips.

If someone had told you 3 months ago the position you would be in today, you probably wouldn’t have shown up for that study group at all. But you were sure glad you did.

taglist: @ilovejjmaybank @rosylinn @nxsmss @cameronsrafe @msgorillagripcoochie @bibliophilewednesday @tovvaa @freddymaybank @annab-nana @babeyglo @sunsetholland @moniamaybank @outerbankspreferences @laneybobeczko-g @jjpouggues

[brutal-nemesis]

Arthropod Day 2021: 🦀Time For Crab 🦀

Malacostraca Moment 😳🦀

So fun story I wanted this to be on a Saturday because SIDEWAYS SATURDAY but when I was deciding on the date I looked at the calendar for July without realizing it. Happy Sideways Stuesday I guess? 

Castys Masterlist

Ingredients: drowning mention, animal attack (kinda chill tho it’s not really violent), dehydration, autocannibalism mention, parasitic insects, partial nudity, heckin surgery (but it’s CONSENSUAL (⊙ˍ⊙) who am I), suicide for convenience (immortal)

“This looks like a lovely spot for a vacation; thank you guys so much for finding it for me.” The small dingy had just landed on a sandy beach enclosed by dark rocks on either side, a lush forest leading deeper into the island. Casyts’s captor glared at him before harshly tugging the rope tied to his wrists, trying to get him to stand and step onto the beach with her.

“Shut your trap, Ragnarok, or I might change my mind about gagging you. Now get up or I’ll have my men drag you.” 

Castys sighed and rolled his eyes, getting up and following her so his rope burn didn’t get any worse. “Aye aye, Yvonne.” 

“That’s Captain Veldna to you,” she growled, jerking him forward. He stumbled a bit, but he was able to catch himself before he got sand up his nose. He debated trying to yank the rope out of her hands and running away or stealing the boat, but her very strong men were right behind him and that would probably just end in him having extra bruises. So he just followed her like a stupid little goat as she led him towards the rocks, hoping she wouldn’t leave him tied up so he could at least enjoy his time being stranded. But no, this was about sending a message to his crew or making him suffer or something. He didn’t really remember, he’d been dazed as hell when he’d initially gotten captured during a fight between their two ships. Blood loss was a bitch sometimes.

They forced him to sit with his back against a large rock, yanking his bound hands above his head and worming a large nail through the knotted rope before hammering it into the rock. “Not gonna lie, this seems a little extra. I’m not going to go anywhere, so, like, just let me-” Yvonne slapped him harshly across the face.

“You’re not here to have fun, you annoying little parrot.” She looked over at her men, who had just finished tying his ankles together and nailing them down in a similar fashion to his wrists. “If you lot are done, let’s leave.” She turned back to Castys, a wicked grin on her face. “I wonder how many times you’ll die before your crew finds you?”

“My money’s on eight. Do you want me to keep track and tell you next time we see each other? If only I could write in a diary what horrors I suffer sitting on this warm rock that you tied me to during high tide so I won’t even drown later. Now that-agh!” Yvonne stabbed him in the stomach, and Castys bit back a scream as she twisted her blade. 

“The sound of your silence is something I could get used to.”

“Well, the real question is, is silence actually a sound-” Castys’s very valid observation was cut off by the bitch yanking out her sword and promptly kicking him in the stomach. He couldn’t help but cry out, doubling over as far as he could. Yeah, yeah he should probably just shut the fuck up and let them get on their merry way before he got more unnecessary injuries. 

“Enjoy your vacation, Ragnarok,” Yvonne spat. As one last gesture of maturity, she kicked sand at him before walking off, and some of it definitely got in his stab hole, so that was nice. He watched them row away, sighing. Now it was just boredom city, but hey, at least he had a nice beach view. The sun was a few hours away from setting, not that it mattered that much since his skin was dark enough that he probably wasn’t going to get sunburned. 

Being tied to a rock on the beach was...just about as boring as he expected. His arms got all tingly after a while from being stuck above his head, so he couldn’t even properly relax, and a man could only watch little waves roll for so long. He had a nice view of the setting sun, and hey, that means the light of dawn wouldn’t be shining in his face. While the sun was still a little ways above the horizon, he heard an odd rustling noise over in the vegetation, different from the background sounds he had gotten used to. He looked over, hoping it was a friendly man with a knife.

It was not a friendly man with a knife. But it wasn’t something bad, either. “Oh shit hello crabs!” Castys watched as they scuttled out of the treeline onto the beach, glad to have something fun to watch. One of them was slowly making its way towards him, and Castys wondered if he would be able to convince it to snip his bindings. “Hey there mister crab man, come on down, and please for the love of god untie me.” Yes, yes he was talking to a crab, because why not go full send on the insanity right away? It would be so much more fun, and it’s not like anyone else was here to judge him. “Yeah crab get in my zone-wow you’re kinda big.” He’d thought the crab was closer to him, but nope, it had been farther away but giant. Not like giant giant but not, like, normal crab size. It was almost as big as his torso maybe, but he was never great at estimating the relative sizes of things. 

“You’re large but you’re a gentleman, ain’t ya? I don’t know why, but you just seem like a polite fellow.” The crab stopped not too far from Castys and just looked at him blankly. Or maybe it was making a face at him, but he couldn’t read crab body language. Could anyone read crab body language? Crabs, he would hope. “Could you bring me some tea, good sir? Or just...water. Water that’s not salty. I don’t actually like tea it literally tastes like nothing but you know what I would drink it now because I am thirsty.” There was a moment of silence. “Not like thirsty in the weird way some people are. I have no idea what that’s about. But like, I want water. Or...oh my god, Mr. Crab, bring me a coconut!” Castys closed his eyes and leaned his head back. “Yeah… that would be nice. Food and water and it’s prepackaged and I don’t know how I would eat it because my hands are tied but I’ll figure it out.”

A sudden sharp pinch against his wound jolted Castys out of his daydream. He looked down in horror to see that the crab was holding something in its claws. Something pinkish-red that was dripping blood down onto the sand. The bastard. The crab brought the piece of his flesh to its mouth and just ate it while staring right at Castys. “That,” he blinked in surprise a few times, “was incredibly rude.” The crab stayed still, watching him as it did its weird mouth movements that were maybe chewing. “You are absolutely not a gentleman. I rescind everything. You little garbage boy. Rapscallion. I bet you never get invited to the crab raves.”

And the crab. Had the audacity. To reach out its stupid pincher. And do it again. “Little bitch!” Castys yelled, squirming against the ropes in an attempt to scare the thing off. Shockingly, it did not work, because wounded, dying prey squirmed all the time, and...that’s pretty much what Castys was in this scenario, wasn’t he? He was just stuck sitting here while that stupid crab ripped off little pieces of him with its stupid crab pincher and put them in its stupid crab mouth. If he was lucky, this would make him bleed out and die faster and then he wouldn’t have an open wound anymore, which would be a bonus. Though, it had sand in it, and then if it healed…

A problem for another day.

Not the next day, though, or the one after, because, hooray, he was still tied to a rock, so even though he did die a few hours later, he couldn’t do anything about the Sand In His Insides. He made up a song about it, but singing it loudly did absolutely nothing to scare away the crab, whom he had named Crabstard (Crab Bastard). Crabstard seemed to think Castys was his new best friend, coming back regularly for meals. Castys liked to imagine killing and eating Crabstard as a show of dominance, but that made him wonder...would eating Crabstard be a form of autocannibalism? Because Crabstard had eaten him...

He wasn’t sure what was worse, Crabstard and his stupid giant pinchers, or the mosquitoes. There weren’t a ton of them, but their bites were just awful, littering his arms and legs with swollen, white boils, which were unusual and also very concerning but what the fuck could he do about it. Because of course he couldn’t scratch them, and they itched so much it hurt and he just had to endure it. Just like he had to endure fucking everything. The heat of the sun, the awful tingling in his arms, the soreness of his wrists, Crabstard pinching off bits of his flesh, the maddening pain and itch of all his bug bites, the hunger and thirst, the boredom, and the...the loneliness.

No, he was fine, he was fine with just himself, it was always just him anyway. He wasn’t imagining his crew rowing to shore and untying him and tending to him in his cold, dark cabin, because he couldn’t get his hopes up, because they probably weren’t even coming for him. They were just going to leave him behind like everyone else and fuck he was wasting water like a useless idiot and he couldn’t stop or even wipe them away and he probably deserved this for everything he’d done so what did it matter?

And, great, the next day he started hallucinating a passing ship and a rowboat coming for him. Thank you, dehydrated whore brain! Let’s get our stupid little hopes up! Dang, the people on the boat kind of even looked like some of his crewmates, which was rude of his brain to make this so realistic looking.

It wasn’t until his first mate, Kaveri, was untying him that Castys realized that this was real, that they’d really...really come for him. “I’m so glad we found you, Captain.” She pulled him into a hug as soon as he was free, and he hugged her back as best he could with his sore arms. 

“I’m glad y’all did, too.” He leaned back when she let go and looked down at himself, wincing. “Well, before we get back to the ship, I am going to deliver a much needed death upon mys-“

“Captain, Captain, wait,” the ship’s medic, Sixtus, called as he ran over. He knelt beside Castys, taking his arm and examining the bug bites closely. “I knew it. These bites all over you are...they contain fly larvae. We’re going to need to dig them out before you heal yourself.”

“...what if I’ve died since I’ve gotten bitten. Like, earlier.”

“Well.” Sixtus breathed in sharply. “We will just have to wait for them to, uh, let us know where they are.” He sighed. “For now, let’s get you back to the ship and I’ll get out the ones I can. I don’t have the tools for it with me.”

“Can I kill Crabstard first?”

“Crab...stard?” Kaveri gave him a concerned look, and Sixtus felt his forehead.

“He’s a very impolite giant crab. He is my rival. I wish to vanquish him.” The other two shared a look.

“Do you know where this...this crab is?” Sixtus tried.

Castys held up a finger and opened his mouth, pausing for a second before shutting it and blinking a few times. “I. I do not. He just scuttles out of the trees to commit crimes every now and then. He has no friends.”

“Alright, in that case, no. You’re in no condition to wander around the island looking for a crab.” Sixtus held out his hand. “So, come on.”

“Fiiiine,” Castys groaned, letting the taller man help him to his feet. He was a little unsteady, but he was able to make it to the boat with Kaveri’s help. As they rowed away, he turned back to the island one last time, cupping his hands around his mouth as he yelled, “Fuck you Crabstard I hope you starve and die in a pit and the other crabs eat you!” 

Once they made it back to the ship, Sixtus ushered Castys into his office, instructing him to sit up on the examination table and take his shirt and pants off. Kaveri helped him, opting to stay in case Sixtus needed a hand. He examined Castys thoroughly, using a lightstone to get a good look at the swollen bug bites littering his body as well as the number of small wounds in his side.

“These from the, uh, crab?” Sixtus asked as he gestured to them.

“Yup. Him and his stupid pinchers.”

“Alright, I know you don’t really get infections, but I’m going to clean these out just to be safe.” He paused. “Also it just feels. Really wrong not to. It’ll bother me if I don’t.”

“Do whatever, doctor man.” Castys did his best not to let his pain show as Sixtus dabbed at his wounds with a stingy liquid. It really didn’t hurt that much, but when Kaveri placed her hand on top of his as he gripped the edge of the table, he didn’t wave her off. He’d let it be Fuss Over The Captain Day. For their sake. Because they seem to have been worried about him. 

“Alright, I’m all done with that, so if you could lay down, Captain, I’ll get started with removing those larvae. Kaveri, get him some rum and then hold him down.” She nodded, leaving and returning soon after with a small cup.

“You know, I haven’t had water in days,” Castys mused before winking at her and downing its contents. Kaveri shook her head.

“You literally emptied my waterskin while we were rowing back.”

“Oh dang, I forgot. Nevermind I’m actually not funny and am just stupid.” He scooted a bit and laid down with his hands behind his head. “Get rid of my worms.”

“They’re not-they’re not worms, Captain, they’re insects, since-” Sixtus stopped himself, folding his hands in front of his mouth. ���Nevermind.” He cleared his throat. “Arms at your sides, please. Kaveri, if you would.” She nodded, holding down his shoulders as Sixtus turned Castys’s arm, locating the first larva he was going to remove. Castys breathed in sharply as the knife sliced into his arm, doing his best to keep still as Sixtus slid a pair of tweezers into the wound. The rum dulled his senses enough that it didn’t hurt as much as it could, but it certainly wasn’t painless, and he couldn’t help but gasp as Sixtus slowly pulled a small, wriggling grub out of the incision. He dropped it in a metal tray, cleaned the wound, and picked up his knife.

Then the process started all over again.

Castys didn’t bother counting how many times those tweezers probed around inside him, how many wet little plops he heard as another larva dropped into the tray. He focused on staying still, on the prickle of the rough wood table against his bare back, on the feeling of Kaveri’s hands on his shoulders, more comforting than restraining. They reminded him that he wasn’t alone in his suffering, for once. But he wasn’t supposed to need comfort, he was their immortal captain, the one who’d been through everything before and was strong enough to go through it again, the one his crew could always depend on to be strong. And here he was, teeth gritted against the pain, his forehead resting against Kaveri’s arm, fists clenched to mask their shaking, all over a few cuts and some little maggots.

“Alright,” Sixtus wiped his brow with the back of his hand, “I think that’s all of ‘em. That I can see, at least.” He looked down at Castys. “You had seventeen of those things in you, Captain.” He grimaced. “And possibly more, so please let me know if you feel anything, uh, wiggling. But for now, you’re free to...die.”

“Can’t believe I got a new world record for worm friends.” Castys grabbed the small leather pouch that usually hung around his neck from his pile of clothes, pulling it open.

“They’re not worms-”

“Thank you, Sixtus.” With that, Castys stuck his finger in the pouch and touched his death stone. He came back to life feeling infinitely better, but Kaveri and Sixtus still insisted he rest after he cleaned himself up. He grumbled, but he let Kaveri force him into his bed and bring him something to eat. Once he was finished, she collected his plate and stood awkwardly by his bedside.

“Do...do you want me to come back, Castys? Will you be alright?”

“Look, I’m honestly fine, you’re good. I’ve been through a lot worse, and I’m all healed up now so it doesn’t really matter.” 

She pursed her lips. “I suppose, but that doesn’t mean that that didn’t still take a mental toll on you, and…” she sighed. “Just...call me if you need anything, alright?”

“Will do.” She nodded, but as she started to walk away, Castys realized there was something he’d rather not leave unsaid. “Wait, Kaveri?”

“Yes?”

“Th...thank you. For, uh, finding me.”

“Of course, Castys. We’ll always be there for you.” Castys opened his mouth to reply, but he stopped himself and just smiled and nodded, his shoulders only falling once she’d left.

He wished that were true.

Castys Cult: @as-a-matter-of-whump​ @blackrosesandwhump​ @fanmanga1357-blog​​ @thehopelessopus​ @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi​ @hearse-song​ @muddy-swamp-bitch @whumpasaurus101 @yet-another-heathen​​ @galaxywhump​ @starnight-whump​ @his-unspoken-words​ @misspelledwitch

[ao3bronte]

🌈🎵ADRINO HEADCANONS🌈🐱

<< [PART 2]

As usual, Alya was right about everything. Nino is having a bi awakening and he is absolutely loving every second of it.

Kissing Adrien is like nothing he’d ever imagined. Adrien’s lips are small and smooth and warm and—Nino could mix an entire album to the tune of the way Adrien feels against his skin. Adrien doesn’t shirk back either; Adrien presses just as intently, sighing a little as he tilts his head to the side and settles his palms beneath Nino’s elbows, the new contact electrifying.

Nino wonders if this is Adrien’s first ‘real’ kiss and realizes that it probably is.

He figures he might as well make it a good one.

Adrien gasps as Nino runs his tongue along his lower lip, a hesitant invitation to take their kiss a little deeper. The sound is intoxicating and spurs Nino on, parting his lips and reaching for his shoulders to try and drag him a little closer. The expensive fabric of Adrien’s shirt is nice, of course, but the soft drag of his fingertips against the pale expanse of his neck is absolutely divine.

Adrien tastes like gummy worms and kisses like a dememnted octopus, but Nino wouldn’t have it any other way. He’s more experienced and deftly teaches his best bro to restrain his slobber through hard work and experience, kissing him over and over again until they’re both panting for air. Nino’s back is killing him from leaning forwards and he moves away for a moment to stretch out the kinks, smiling at his wide-eyed, astonished friend. Adrien’s hair is all over the place and his kiss-swollen lips, once thin and pale, now shine in the ambient light of the Parisian sky.

Nino imagines he probably looks just as blown away.

“I want to do that again,” Adrien states plainly, and it all comes out in a breathless rush. Determined, he doesn’t waste another moment and climbs into Nino’s lap without hesitation, cupping his cheeks and kissing him thoroughly.

“Dude! Nnnhh—” Nino wraps his arms around his waist and reels at the sudden pressure, his every sense overtaken by the handsome, enthusiastic, teenaged equivalent of a baby deer currently trying to swallow him whole. Adrien is a terrible kisser but he makes up for it in eagerness, his passion and warmth a symbol of everything he’s always admired about Adrien. When he’s not shoved under his father’s imposing thumb, Adrien blooms like a flower and spreads joy wherever he goes, shining like a sunrise over the skyline of Paris.

They both part for a moment and Adrien leans his forehead against Nino’s, grinning from ear to ear. “That was fun!”

“Y-yeah?” Nino replies breathlessly, butterflies raving like a David Guetta bassline in his stomach. He uses the back of his hoodie to wipe the saliva from his chin and feels a little silly all of the sudden, utterly mesmerized by the look of adoration gleaming in Adrien’s eyes.

“We should do this more often.” Adrien runs his fingers through his messy bangs and rubs the back of his neck a little nervously, sliding off of Nino’s lap and back onto the blanket. “That is, you know, if you want to.”

Nino shrugs his shoulders. “As long as you want to, I’m game.”

“Awesome!” Adrien is suddenly flurry of limbs, flailing until he’s perfectly curled around Nino like a contented cat. A little bewildered, Nino accepts the Switch that Adrien hands him and follows his lead as the starting music begins to filter through the evening air. Adrien’s Princess Peach whips Nino’s Yoshi but Nino can’t be bothered to get upset about it; instead, he distracts him by shoving a gummy bear up Adrien’s nose on the final lap.

“DUDE!”

They’re best friends, and nothing about that changes. Nino sneaks into Adrien’s labyrinth every Thursday night for a video game rendezvous and eventually, Adrien actually learns the difference between kissing your partner and drowning them. It’s nothing serious and Nino’s love for Adrien grows and grows until it nearly bursts from his chest.

“I love you...as more than a friend,” he admits one night, a few days before lycée is about to begin.

Adrien gapes at him. “But...you’re dating Alya?”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t love you too.” Nino glances away, swallowing uncomfortably. “She knows, by the way. She doesn’t mind sharing.”

“Oh.” Adrien breathes, and sometimes Nino wishes his friend wasn’t so adorably naive. “Is that what we’re doing? Dating?”

“Kind of?” Nino feels his cheeks flood with embarrassment. “I mean—not officially. It’s like, it’s...we have a thing.”

“So we’re seeing each other? But we always see each other…” Adrien trails off, his head resting on Nino’s outstretched thighs. “I like doing this. Kissing and playing video games.”

“Then let’s keep doing it.” The last thing Nino wants to do is ruin what they have. “Nothing has to change between us.”

“Great!” Adrien flashes him his million watt smile and smashes a combo into his Switch’s controller. He obliterates Nino and he curses loudly, doubling down to get Adrien back. It’s perfect and it’s them, a summer fling on the cusp of something more.

fin.

See all of my LGBTQ+ headcanons HERE!

[imaginesandinserts]

Irreverent Drabbles: A Very Derek Christmas

Title: Irreverent Drabbles: A Very Derek Christmas Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Reader Rating: G Words: 2514

Irreverent Series Masterlist

ONLY READ THIS IF YOU’VE ALREADY READ THROUGH PART 39 OF THE MAIN IRREVERENT SERIES

"You're coming home with me for Christmas."

You look up at Derek as the two of you walk out to the parking garage. It was the week before the whole team would be off for the holidays and it marked the first without Emily. The realization that it was only the first of many more Christmases and birthdays without her was more than you were willing to deal with, so you pushed it to the back, hoping to simply forget about it.

"I have plans," you tell him, hoping he won't see through your lie. You had plans - if plans included sitting at home by yourself and drinking.

"Cancel them. I already booked your ticket."

Arguing with him would be pointless. Instead you roll your eyes with a smile and thank him.

You had a feeling he felt it was his job now, with both Emily and Hotch gone, to make sure you were alright. Like some sort of divine calling from Emily up above. Below? Who knows really, though you'd like to think she's in heaven. If there was a heaven.

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

Fran Morgan had raised three kids almost entirely on her own. All of her children had turned out good, and both of her daughters were married. Now, if only Derek could find a nice girl to settle down with, she could feel like her job was done.

He'd called and told her he was bringing a friend home for Christmas - a female friend. She didn't like that he just called her a friend. Her son should know better than to think he could sneak one by his mother. Derek had never brought a girl home before and now he was bringing one to meet the whole family for the holidays. She wasn't born yesterday.

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

The Morgan family was warm, welcoming, and just what you needed that year. Something to help you forget how shitty life had been lately. A reminder that good things like family and fun and heart were still concepts in the world. Maybe not your world. But other people's, and well, that was something at least.

You and Derek were both conscious of the implication of him bringing a girl home for the holidays. He'd already warned you that his mother would think that the two of you were together and would do her best to worm it out of you. There wasn't anything to worm out, but you both knew that from the outside looking in, your relationship was…odd to say the least.

Derek was every bit the man his mother had raised him to be, especially around you. He made an effort to hold doors open and walk on the outside of the sidewalk and had a hand on your lower back if it was just the two of you. The thing was, none of this was new or a direct product of Emily dying. The two of you had always had an easy and natural chemistry. It was just more of it now that neither of you had anyone else to have this with.

You'd both expected some amount of weirdness after that one time you'd made out on his couch. And yet, nothing changed. He still trained with you. The two of you still shared a bed when you could, because sleeping next to someone was simply nicer. Neither one of you was dating someone so it wasn't wrong or anything, though you still made an effort to make sure neither Reid nor Rossi caught on to the bed sharing.

In Derek's childhood home, his mother led you to the room his sisters grew up in while Derek took his old bedroom. Mrs. Morgan - or as she'd asked that you call her, Fran - intimidated you. She had a look in her eye that told you she saw way more than she let on and that made you a little uneasy despite her kindness and warmth.

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

You were pretty, exactly Derek's type, his sisters had remarked. Fran and both her daughters were on edge, waiting to catch the two of you in a moment that betrayed what they all suspected - that Derek Morgan had brought home a girl that mattered. The three of them watched you like hawks, comparing notes on any little thing they caught.

Desiree had seen her brother bring you a mug of hot chocolate, filled to the brim with marshmallows, because apparently that's how you liked it. She'd stood in the kitchen, pretending to make herself some tea as she watched Derek hand you the mug and tease you about the number of marshmallows you'd demanded. There was a look in your eyes, a sparkle that she recognized from when she'd first fallen in love with Keith. The sparkle he would get in his eyes when she said something that made him fall just a little more in love with her. That sparkle meant something.

Sarah noted that Derek laughed more with you. Her brother was always a fun guy but with you it was like his normally buoyant personality got a boost. He was showing off for you, trying to make you laugh, he was trying and the Derek they knew didn't try for any girl. Girls tried for him. The two of you had taken it upon yourself to finish decorating the tree for their Ma and Derek had watched as you struggled to reach the very top of the tree to put the star on it. Instead of doing it for you, he'd lifted you up, hands wrapped around your waist, as if you weighed nothing and helped you put it on the top yourself. That look in his eyes - that look of pure adoration - that look meant something. How could it possibly not?

Fran had kept an eye on both of your bedroom doors at night, knowing her son wouldn't be able to resist sneaking over to sleep next to his girlfriend. Yet, as far as she could tell, the two of you stayed in your own rooms the entire night. Maybe he was just being respectful because it was his Ma's house. Yeah, maybe.

Desiree had been the one to put mistletoe up around the entire house. Then all three Morgan ladies waited, and waited, and waited. Until finally, the two of you happened to walk under the piece of mistletoe dangling above the entrance to the kitchen. You laughed, the barest of color in your cheeks as you went up on your toes and quickly kissed Derek's cheek. He didn't lean in. He didn't make it linger. It was over in the blink of an eye. All three of them looked at one another, completely confused. Well now what? What would it take to get you two to admit it?

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

"You wanna go out for a bit?" Derek had asked you.

The two of you had been in Chicago for two days, most of which were spent participating in good old fashioned American Christmas traditions. His family had made it really easy for you to forget about your work and Emily and Doyle for a bit. It was a welcome respite.

Derek led you out through the garage, where you nearly stumbled and fell, dragging a tarp down with you. You'd uncovered an old motorcycle that looked like it hadn't been touched in years.

Derek laughs, helping you up. "I didn't know we still had that."

"Is it yours?" you asked, appraising it with some interest. You recognized it as an old 1980s Katana.

"It was my dad's," he explains. "I rode it around town as soon as I was big enough, though my Ma hated it. She was always worried I'd hurt myself."

You chuckle. You could see a younger, more rebellious version of Derek, sneaking out with the bike to pick up a girl.

Derek notes your curiosity. "Do you ride?"

"Yeah. It was really more Julian's thing," you tell him, your hands brushing over the handles. "But I asked my friend to teach me after Julian died. I had his old bike shipped over and rode it all through training."

Derek listens with interest. You didn't talk much about your brother and it was new to see you have some positive familial relationships. "This the same friend from New York that you…," he trails off, but you know what he means.

You smile, feeling a small pang in your chest. "His name's John," you explain, your voice soft. "I haven't seen him in a while. Not since my first Christmas with the Bureau."

Derek doesn't push. If you wanted to tell him more, you would. He can't help but think that John sounds like a cool dude. Your voice got all soft and fluttery when you talked about him. Completely different from when you talk about your ex, Matthew. He wonders if that's all he was - a friend.

The implication that you haven't slept with anyone since your first Christmas with the Bureau isn't lost on him. He couldn't imagine having gone that long without.

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

Christmas morning, Desiree and Sarah arrive with both of their families and the Morgan home is filled with children and laughter and happiness. Derek is a good uncle, you note. He rough houses with the boys and will let the girls paint his nails and play tea party with them. The two of you while away an hour, pretending to drink tea and speaking in exaggerated British accents.

The family exchanges presents. You'd gotten something for all of the kids when you and Derek had gone out. You're not expecting anything, yet Fran hands you two wrapped packages. The first is from the entire Morgan family. Your first night there, they'd all been over for dinner and Fran had made sure to get a photo of everyone sitting around the table. You'd been sat next to Derek and you were both smiling, his hand around the back of your chair. Fran had framed it for you along with an invitation to come back anytime.

"Fran, thank you so much," your voice broke just a bit. Instead of saying anything else and embarrassing yourself, you chose to just hug her and allow her to wrap her arms around you. You understood where Derek got his incredible hugging ability from.

"Oh honey, we mean it. Anytime," she says, patting your cheek softly.

You open the next gift from Derek to reveal a vinyl record of an EDM artist both you and Emily had raved about and would constantly play in the plane when given the chance. You look up at Derek, unsure of what to say, so the only thing that comes out is, "You got me a vinyl EDM record?"

He laughs. "It's a vinyl record because you're bougie now you can have your ratchet music playing from that fancy record player."

You feel your eyes well up just slightly. He'd remembered the artist, he'd obviously gone through the effort of having a custom vinyl record made. And it was Emily's favorite too.

You blink back your tears. Not in front of people. "Thank you."

"You're welcome. Now let's see what you got me," he says with an exaggerated wink, eliciting a laugh from you.

Derek opens his present to unveil an autographed rookie card to one Walter Payton, legendary running back to the Chicago Bears. You watch in glee as his eyes bug out.

He looks up at you in shock. "How…?"

You smirk, knowing that it was the perfect present.

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

Later that afternoon, you're helping Fran in the kitchen with the gingerbread cookies which Derek and his brothers-in-law are entertaining the kids in the living room. Desiree and Sarah had gone out to grab some stuff from the store for their mother. The news is playing in the background as you and Fran use the cookie cutters to cut out the gingerbread men for the kids to decorate.

Fran is telling you about how, when Derek was younger, he used to sneak spoons of sugar before dinner and then get stomach aches to skip out on school the next day. She can hear you chuckling as your head is bent over the cookie dough. However, the next second she can feel you tense. She looks up to see you frozen, cookie cutter in hand, eyes trained intensely on the TV in the living room. She watches as you and her son exchange a look and you excuse yourself from the kitchen.

You were gone for around twenty minutes and when you returned, your phone was ever present in your hand. You tried to act as though nothing had happened, but she didn't need to be a profiler like her son to know that something had changed.

You faked your way through dinner, before excusing yourself to go to bed early. Fran pulled her son aside and asked what the matter was. She sees his eyes dart to your bedroom door, behind which you'd disappeared moments before.

"The news earlier today, there was a bomb that went off in Pakistan. We've got someone there," he explains. "Someone important."

That look in her son's eyes - the look that she as his mother could read like the back of her hand. That guilty look that tells her that something wasn't quite right, something wasn't quite perfect about the two of you together. In that moment, Fran Morgan realizes, you and her son - it was nothing more than a pipe dream. Oh you mattered, you definitely mattered. But there was someone out there that mattered a little more than her son ever would to you.

She pats Derek's cheek and he leans into the comfort of his mother's touch. Kissing his Ma on the cheek, he walks down the hallway, and for the first time that entire week, she sees him slip inside your room.

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

Derek had seen the raw fear in your eyes as you both caught the news regarding the bomb in Pakistan. You'd excused yourself and made a call to Penelope, asking her to keep you informed on any casualties or injuries. Anything at all.

Derek enters your room that night and sees you in bed with the phone next to your pillow. Your eyes are closed but he knows you're not asleep. He doesn't go to your bed. Instead he sits in the armchair by the window, turned towards you. Going to lay by you now felt wrong somehow. Because Derek. Derek knew even if you didn't.

Sometime around three in the morning, your phone buzzes and there is a message from Penelope. You blink and squint to read the screen in the dark room. Derek has been sitting in that chair for hours, the two of you pretending to sleep though neither one could.

Your voice is heavy as you speak. "He reported for duty this morning," you tell him.

Derek nods wordlessly before standing to go back to his own room.

[stripesthesupervillain]

Hattercrow, intelligent

Intelligence is such a vague term, a thought that Jonathan pondered as he sat in the rotten wooden chair whose paint had nearly completely flaked away. He stirred his tea idly, the once inviting steam now blown away by cool air and time. Sharp gray eyes flicked up to meet Tetch’s. The man in question returned the gaze with a warm smile, leaving to Jonathan to ponder how he was hiding that devious intent so well. Even Jonathan couldn’t mask such toxic intentions with warmth that easily. The softer side of him he had tried to bury away for so long suggested the gesture was genuine, but what even was the term when referring to a man whose feelings were half inspired by delusions?

“How has your research been coming along?” Tetch hummed, plucking another lump of sugar from the pile and letting it drop with a quick plop into his tea, the sound apparently amusing him from how he tittered afterwards. And that question there was what baffled Crane. Even the most socially adept people he’d met had started conversations with small “How are you”s and polite “How has your day been”s. But Jervis somehow knew that such meaningless banter bored Crane. He knew how to get Jonathan into a conversation the professor would be invested in without having to do most of the talking, a trait everyone he had ever known had struggled with. Getting Crane to actively socialize was a triumph in itself. That intelligence the Hatter had hidden behind the curtains had peeked its head onto the stage, and yet Jonathan had hardly an idea of the scope of the production prepared backstage.

Jonathan stopped stirring his tea, watching it sit silently. He had the inkling suspicion the beverage was drugged, and given Tetch’s track record, that wouldn’t have come as a complete shock. “Rather slow,” Jonathan finally spoke, eyes flicking up to Tetch. “Difficulty with test subjects and the like. Hard to find the right type without going through all the trouble of the kidnapping process.”

“Oh that’s simply horrid. Perhaps I could be of some assistance? Mind control does have a tendancy to spill secrets, you know.” The edges of Jervis’ lips turned downwards, brow furrowed in a rather exaggerated display of sorrow. It had to be proof that the Hatter’s intentions lay deeper. But many studies from afar came to show that this was simply Jervis being Jervis. He was histrionic, egaggerative, emotional, simple to please, and at times could be childish and fussy. Many dismissed Jervis as too mad to ever have any real potential again, and it was slowly occuring to Jonathan that the Hatter hardly cared to prove himself, merely letting those who were out for his superficial traits believe him to be the soft madman tabloids raved about. Make no mistake; he was a madman. And very soft. And yet Jonathan couldn’t help but see more, his curiosity outweighing common sense as being mere partners in crime devolved to chats over tea. How had he let this happen?

“What do you want in return?” Jonathan asked, voice intentionally skeptical looking the Hatter over for the slightest sign of betrayal, but found nothing. Jervis smiled brightly at the question, causing the fearsome Master of Terror to question the rather frightening potential of a man who had enough intelligence to worm his way past all of Crane’s defences and claim the trust that Scarecrow had sworn to never give away.

Jervis let out a hum as he clasped his hands together in delight. “Oh, simply your company, my dearest Hare!”

Jonathan sat silently, staring at Tetch. He then grabbed his cup of tea and took a sip. Yes, it might have been drugged, but it was worth the risk to distract himself from the heat he felt rise to his cheeks.

~~~

Like my writing? I’m taking prompts! If you want, send a character or ship + a word of your choice and I’ll write a short!

[dudeandduchess]

Oohhh may I request a Kyojuro feeling guilty about missing both his s/o's birthday and their anniversary for the second year in a row? And she keeps telling him it's fine with a smile (because she understands his job ofc) and the guilt overwhelms him but all she does is comfort him because our sunshine boy needs someone too 😭 he has so many people relying on him, he needs support too!!

Of course, bby! Hope you like it! I wanted to make it angsty, but figured that Kyō saying: “I’m just... so tired” would open up a whole new can of worms. Ahaha. UwU

And thank you for the well-wishes. I’m headed to the mountains as I type this, since I need some fresh air. Who knows, I might get even more inspired while I’m there. :D

***

Kyōjurō x F!S/O: Surprise, Surprise (SFW Scenario):

The party had already been done when Kyōjurō got home. All the plates and utensils had been washed, dried, and stored away; while all the food had been doled out to all of the guests earlier. However, he didn’t miss the meal that had been set up for him on the table.

And it left no questions as to who had prepared it, since the culprit herself laid on her crossed arms next to it.

Instantaneously, the Flame Hashira felt his heart drop into the pit of his stomach at the sight. His wife was still in that elegant kimono she had been raving to him about, and the hairpiece he’d given her years ago was still fastened into her hair, yet her make up had smeared the tiniest amount and showed him the slightly dark circles beneath her eyes.

She had been planning the party— their first wedding anniversary— and he couldn’t even make an appearance. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to go; but he had been called for an emergency mission a few days ago, and had only just returned.

In fact, he had been too busy as of late, that he knew he was neglecting his duties as (Y/n)’s husband. He was more often out hunting for demons rather than at home with his wife, and that fact dug into his heart like a set of daggers.

Hell, he had even missed her birthday a month ago; for the second year in a row. All because he had been too busy with Hashira business.

So, with tears stinging his eyes, he sat down next to his wife and pressed his forehead against her shoulder. His normally jovial tone was somber, as he uttered, “I’m so sorry, my love. For being the worst husband...”

“Kyō?” The young woman answered blearily, as she lifted her head and cleared her vision by blinking rapidly. She looked to her right, where her husband still had his forehead pressed to her shoulder, only to feel her heart break when she saw his tears falling to the floor.

And slowly— with all the love and care she had for him— she readjusted herself and wrapped her arms around his shoulders; so that he was crying into her chest, instead of against her shoulder.

“Shh, it’s alright, Kyō. I understand completely. It’s your duty as a Hashira to protect the weak...” She answered, in a gentle and lilting tone that was reserved only for Kyōjurō. Her right hand patted his hair down, while her left one rubbed his back in soothing circles.

“But it’s also my duty as your husband to take care of you,” The Hashira answered thickly through his tears. He felt that it was unbecoming of him to have had an emotional breakdown, but he couldn’t hide anything from (Y/n).

She was his rock; completely unwavering and steadfast with her love and support for him. He couldn’t keep anything from her; not that he would ever want to.

“And you’re doing so wonderfully. You’ve given me a warm and inviting home, you always shower me with your love and affection... and you’ve given me another person to love and cherish,” She whispered indulgently to the crying man in her arms, only to have him look up at her with tears still shining in his eyes.

“Another... person?” He wasn’t dumb; he knew what she meant, but he had to make sure that she meant what he thought she did. Because it would sadden him if he already jumped to conclusions and turned out wrong.

As it was, his heart was already pounding in his chest; whether in excitement or nervousness, he wasn’t sure. All he was sure of was that he was happy; genuinely happy at the thought of having a tiny version of him and his wife running around the house.

“We’re having a child, Kyō!”

Then, at that, his entire world went black. He had fainted out of so much excitement and joy.

And he would rather have kept his reaction a secret, but he couldn’t tell (Y/n) off whenever she recounted the story to all of their friends.

Besides, her smiling face was enough to wipe away the embarrassment that the story always made him feel. And, as he always told her, it made her glow even more... which was why he always let her tell the story.

[contactpoint12-blog]

4 Proven Ways to Inspire Your Employees to Care About Your Customers

Customer service is a paradoxical business function. Although the nature of customer requests are repetitive by nature, your customer service is supposed to deliver a personalized experience to each customer.

This uncertain nature of customer support can sometimes open a can of worms for both the customer service professionals and the customers. While the service professionals get their jobs done to the bitter end, it often leads them to burnout, mental health issues, and a host of other problems.

That’s probably the reason why the call center industry in the U.S. has an average turnover rate of 45%, one of the highest across industries. The business impact of this problem can be huge.

The stress that your customer service employees go through can find their way to your customers. For example, when your call center staff lack motivation at work, it shows in their everyday interactions with customers. These things can lead to a general apathy towards customers, a hostile team environment, and a colossal fall in customer loyalty.

But there is hope. You can train your customer support teams to care genuinely about customers if you take specific steps towards improving their workplace conditions. Below, we have listed four steps you can take to start inspiring your employees to be more caring towards your customers.

#1 – Treat them like customers

Most businesses don’t treat their employees the way they deserve.

The relationship between customer experience (CX) and employee experience (EX) is highly proportional. In many ways, your employees are your first customers. To quote author Steven Covey:

“Always treat your employees exactly as you want them to treat your best customers. You can buy a person’s hand, but you can’t buy his heart; his heart is where his enthusiasm is. You can buy his back, but you can’t buy his brain…Treat employees as volunteers just as you treat customers as volunteers, because that’s what they are. They volunteer the best parts – their hearts and minds.”

Your call center employees are like therapists. They have to handle raw human emotions day in and day out. It can be a stressful job to carry out every day. Just like you offer your customers deals and discounts to buy from your brand, you’ve to provide some excellent perks to your employees to keep them motivated.

Here’s a real-world example from Wegmans, an American supermarket chain, on how you can do that.

Business magazines like Forbes and Fortune consistently rank Wegmans in their list of best places to work. The family-run Wegmans’ employee turnover rate is half than the industry average because they invest generously on their staff. They pay their staff to upskill themselves, spend more than $50 million a year on workforce training and development, and award college scholarships without any catch.

And look at what happens when a business takes this kind of employee-first approach. A stellar employee experience eventually leads to equally superior customer experience. The chain store was awarded the title of America’s #1 supermarket in 2016 by the American Customer Satisfaction Index. Customers love Wegmans as much as their employees do. For instance, Wegmans collected an average annual sales of $9.7 billion in 2019.

#2 – Give praise & recognition for good work

It’s important to recognize good customer-centric habits in your call center employees. When you praise an outstanding performance, it sets the right kind of standards among your call center employees. It also motivates others in your support team to follow suit.

Conversely, you should tread carefully when you want to reprimand poor performance. Criticizing someone in public often leads to a feeling of shame and antagonism. Legendary investor Warren Buffets put it best when he said, “praise by name, criticize by category.”

When you want to highlight good behavior, call out the person and give them a deserving grandstanding

Long-time former CEO of Home Depot Frank Blake did this; he spent most of his Sundays’ hand-signing hundreds of thank you cards for staff who went out of their ways to delight customers. On top of the personalized appreciation cards, the employees were interviewed as part of an excellent customer service story video series and made to retell the story of what they did for deserving the recognition. The videos aired in break rooms across all the Home Depot franchises for everyone to celebrate the small wins.

Public praise is the best incentive to motivate people to do what they are supposed to do. Therefore, call out good behaviors in public to establish a norm of great customer service.

#3 – Set them up face-to-face with customers

Your call center agents are hardwired to perceive customers in abstract, stereotypical ways, such as—a support ticket, the refund guy, the can-I-talk-to-your-manager lady, and so on.

The best way to break this mold and inspire empathy in your customer service teams is to make them meet your customers in flesh and blood. A handful of companies that we work with do this already, and they rave about how powerful this exercise is.

For instance, one of our B2B client companies organize a quarterly customer open house day and invite a random set of customers to join them over a couple of rounds of beer and pizza. But the food is just an alibi. The company’s primary aim is to interact with the customers, understand their pain points, and collect direct feedback on critical issues.

This ritual of meeting and greeting customers in an interpersonal setting has also led their support staff to develop genuine care towards the customers. When a customer shakes the hand of a customer support agent who helped them get through a technical problem, for example, it means a world to that agent. That kind of appreciation helps your staff understand the magnitude of their everyday job and inspires them to care personally about their customers.

Find ways to make your customer service teams mingle personally with your customers. It breaks down the fourth wall that stands between them and the customers and crushes the cognitive biases they might have about their customers.

#4 – Encourage them to do charity work

Inspiration can come from any direction. In the case of honing the empathy skills of your customer service teams, you can take an unlikely inspiration from Dr. Rick Goodman, an American motivational speaker, and author.

Dr. Goodman has a very simple—and somewhat unconventional—idea to create empathy in your employees. In his book, The Solutions Oriented Leader, Dr. Goodman writes:

“Align your company with a cause. Allow your employees to feel like they are adding value to the world; that they—and your company—are part of something bigger, and something good.”

There are many ways you can go about organizing charity work for your employees to take part in. Give them the necessary support to distribute food and clothes to homeless people in the downtown, sponsor your team to run for a 10K marathon to raise funds for the hurricane victims in Costa Rica, and give them the freedom to come up with their philanthropy ideas as part of your company’s CSR activities.

Charity instills a sense of giving and empathy in everyone, and it’s more effective when a team is brought together for the same mission. It’s hard to directly measure the impact social philanthropy has on your employees’ empathy, but there’s no doubt that such collective missions lead them to become more caring about the customers and makes them happier.

[bellatrixobsessed1]

Athazagoraphobia (Part 10)

With a loud clang, the gates come down again. All it takes these days is a furious storm. If the wind gusts powerfully enough, the barricades are useless. And if the barricades can’t hold their own against the wind, Azula can’t see them withstanding an army of the claimed. She watches Bujing and Shinu work to erect the gates once more, a futile effort if she must say so. 

Mostly she watches from the doorway or from her bedroom window. She tries to avoid excursions to the outside world, which is easy enough with her leg still in a state of healing. When she does find herself outdoors, that feeling of wrongness takes on a deeper intensity. 

Today is different though. 

Today she wants to be outside. 

She feels remotely useless. 

On top of useless, she feels faint and in turn her feeling of uselessness doubles. She catches sight of some of the claimed shambling up the palace staircase. Their faces and torsos weep gore where skin has rotted away. She hadn’t noticed before, but there is something else; the faintest outline of something. If she looks close enough she can see silvery-blue wisps writhing like worms or candle smoke around the rims of empty eye sockets and along the craters in decaying skin. On some of the possessed, the spectral fingers are longer, more apparent. On a very select few, the silver blue seems to halo their entire bodies like an aura.

“Those weren’t there before.” She says as Ruon takes a seat next to her. 

“Huh?” He asks. 

“Mother fuck!” She hears from below; Bujing has finally made note of the intruders. It crosses her mind that she should be out there helping. “Why aren’t you working on the barricade? You have four well-functioning limbs. What about Xuia, why isn’t she…” 

“Because the gates won’t last no matter what we do. Those two just like to feel like they’re making a difference.” Ruon shrugs. 

Azula turns her attention back to those strange spectral glows. “What are those?”

“Those would be the infected.” He laughs. 

She gives him a little swat. “No, not them. Those wisps in their eyes.” She points at the figure wrapped in it, “It’s all around that one.” 

Ruon cocks his head. “What are you talking about?” 

Azula’s heart sinks. She really should be medicated. “Nevermind.” 

A few incoherent shouts from below draws her attention and she watches the pair scramble up the steps and into the palace. 

“We need to secure the palace.” Ruon notes. “And we need to do it quickly.”

Azula shakes her head. “We need to leave the palace.” She allows no room for protest. “It’s too big to secure. There are too many entryways and not enough personal to keep them from being breeched.”

“There are only two of them.” Ruon notes. 

“For now.” She replies. “What do you think we’ll be able to do if a heard of them find us?” She watches Bujing trip over a large crack in the stairwell, the angle at which his ankle twists is not lost on her. She must be truly and irreparably mad of mind because a smirk tugs at the corner of her lips. The possessed shamble closer. Bujing cries out and Shinu turns around, at last realizing that his partner has fallen. 

Azula takes a breath, she supposes that now is as good a time as any to do a little experimenting. She makes her way to the window and opens it.Leaning against the nearest wall with as little weight on her bad leg as she can manage, she arcs her arms with the grace she hasn’t had in a long while, sparks dance at her fingertips. When lightning is generation to her satisfaction, she releases the energy. 

The trajectory is fatal, she lands her mark. The force of it takes the thing’s head off. Bujing looks up with a mixture of relief and horror. The corpse of the possessed drops and Bujing’s face pales completely. He scrambles back  and away from some unseen horror. Unseen to him anyhow. 

Even from here, she can hear the whispers. At first she almost doesn’t notice it, a bubbling in the blood that pools around the corpse’s neck. A bubbling that she soon realizes is more like a pulsing. Swimming within the crimson is a wormlike tangle of those spectral wisps. 

One of them springs from the mass and misses Bujing by only a few inches. 

Shinu grabs the man and drags him up the stairs and into the palace. With a slam of the heavy double doors, the world is hauntingly quiet again save for the gurgles of the still twitching corpse and the occasional slosh.

She wonders how long these creatures can survive outside of their host. 

.oOo.

Azula isn’t sure why she had expected gratitude from the man. Still it comes as a slap in the face when the man jabs a finger at her and shouts, “that girl is a demon!” 

She crosses her arms and listens to him prattle on. 

“She’s one of them, I’m telling you.” 

“One of them?” Shinu asks. “She saved you!” 

“Takes one to kill one.” He insists. 

“I didn’t kill it. I killed the host body.” Azula clearifies. Though she isn’t entirely sure that the body has died at all. It was still spasming when she’d last looked at it some several hours later. She is almost sure that it is still an incubator for those phantom creatures--some type of nest or temporary home until they can find a new and functioning host. 

“You can’t prove…” Ruon starts.

“I say we send her out there and see how they react to…” 

“That is out of the question, Bujing.” Azula knows that tone. It is the very same finalizing one that Li used to placate her when she was just beginning to learn to firebend. “If you cannot see her as a friend then I suggest that you at least recognize her as a valuable asset.” 

“Or the undoing of us all.” He argues. 

“We are well past the incubation period. She can speak and she move like she used to Her temperment is as it always has been.”  Li counters. “I have closely watched over her since she was a baby, I would be able to tell you if we were speaking with something else.” 

Azula sits back and takes the argument in.Truth be told she does feel strange and out of sorts. But they don’t need to know it, especially if it can be chalked up to simply recovering from such a close call. 

She hears Bujing continue on with his ranting and raving but she isn’t really listening anymore. She waits for him to finish before flatly stating, “keep me or don’t, I don’t really care. I can make it to the Tribes on my own.” Her leg will continue to be a hinder but it is much easier to hide and stay out of trouble without the weight of a group to hold her back. “Just make up your minds so I can begin planning my next move.” 

“You’re staying with us.” Shinu replies as Bujing refutes. 

“The majority wants you to stay.” Xuia smiles. 

Azula nods. “Then you best find a way to keep him quiet.” She folds her hands in her lap. “I like to think myself patient, but I won’t put up with his outbursts much longer.” 

.oOo.

All in all it has been a productive day. Probably the most pleasant she has had since descending deep into madness. In some sense she is beginning to feel more or less like herself again. Her head has been much clearer, the hallucinations quieter. 

She is getting used to getting around on with the crutches. It isn’t ideal and her strides are significantly slower, but she is beginning to feel confident in her ability to retreat from unsavory situations with haste. 

Perhaps they can begin to move out soon. She would like to vacate the palace before the two lurking infected grow into a vicious pack of them. The opening of her door interrupts her solitude. 

“In this palace, we knock before we enter a room.” She chides. “The world might have gone savage but we can at least retain some scraps of civility.”

Ruon Jian rolls his eyes. “Sorry, princess.” She doesn’t like his tone but elects not to comment on it. “I was just thinking that we should change your bandages again. This time I snuck some real ones from the infirmary. We haven’t had to use many yet so it couldn’t hurt.”

Azula pats the mattress, he doesn’t take her invitation right away. Instead he begins tending to her leg. “It doesn’t look as bruised or swollen.” He notes. 

A good sign. 

“We were hoping that you’ll join us downstairs again.” He says as he begins binding her leg up once more. “They want to know the plan.” 

“The plan?” 

“Yeah. You said that you’d start making plans. They want to hear it. The group is getting kind of restless.” 

Luckily for them, they aren’t the only ones. Azula has been jittery enough to make good on her word. “I was actually hoping to leave tomorrow or the day after…”

“But your…”

She holds up a hand. “I can get around just fine.” She pauses. “We need to comb through the palace and pick out supplies. Forget clothing and blankets, we can scavenge clothes when we need them and make bedding out of what’s available. Comfort is second to survival.” She cringes as she admits as much. “My leg won’t be a problem right away. I know a decent passage system that runs beneath the palace.” 

Ruon laughs. “How about you save all of that for when we’re with the rest of the group.”

Azula coughs awkwardly. “Right, yes.” 

“Done.” He declares. 

Azula nods. “Meet me down there, I will be there in a moment.” 

He gives her a thumbs up and she watches him exit the room. She takes a deep breath, it has been so long since she has had any sort of authority. She coughs again, this time it is wholly involuntary.  A nervous dizziness washes over her. She swallows before looking at her sleeve. 

Nothing. 

Nothing at all. 

Just to be sure, she picks up her crutches and  wanders into the adjoining bathroom. She spits into the sink. It is free of blood and black sludge. She tilts her head back in relief and exhales. It would seem that she isn’t rotting away. 

She still feels faintly dizzy, but she more confidently writes it off as the product of nerves.

[lindsaywesker]

Good morning! I hope you slept well and feel rested? Currently sitting at my desk, in my study, attired only in my blue towelling robe, enjoying my first cuppa of the day. Welcome to the weekend! Looking forward to turning my alarm off and sleeping until whenever!

Jubilee Bank Holiday Weekend probably means a lot of down time for a lot of people … not me! You know what I’m like! If I don’t have work commitments, I am involved in other exciting projects. Thankfully, The Mighty Josiah arrived; always nice to have him buzzing around the house!

Yesterday, I was marking assignments from 6.00 a.m. to 7.00 p.m. Screen capture videos about the music industry; 15-minute videos of PowerPoint presentations with their face in the corner. Generally, very impressive. And that was my Thursday! My mates were out and about, attending day-time raves. Must have been nice?

Today, I am teaching for eight hours. One four-hour and two four-hour lessons. Then, The Trouble and I will quickly dive to a Jubilee party. Finally, a bit socialising! At 7.00 this evening, finally, I will be able to let my hair down (metaphorically!)

Really looking forward to my radio show on Saturday at 1.00 p.m. ‘The A-Z Of Mi-Soul Music’ moves on to The Letter G (Part Six). Next week, I have a special guest in the studio. I’ve invited Carlene Graham in to do a live tribute on The Letter G because, not only do I love her music, but I love her work ethic. I’ve told my students, making the music is the easy part! The promotion and marketing comes next and that is hard work! Carlene is working her socks off and I applaud all her efforts.

I broke up yesterday with playlist-building. On Saturday night, I’m playing at The Bricklayers Arms on Tottenham High Road and the event organiser loves reggae music from down the decades, so I spent some of Thursday putting together a killer reggae selection! Soul, disco, reggae and lover’s rock on a Saturday night in Tottenham? Blimey, it will be like the seventies!

Unsurprisingly, a senior Tory MP has suddenly popped up and said, “Erm, maybe Brexit was a bad idea?” No shit, Sherlock! Why did we leave the European Union? Because some wealthy people heard the EU were going to investigate their offshore bank accounts. Yes, all of this pain, misery and upheaval was all about the rich protecting their riches. Leaving the European Union was the single most stupid thing this country has done in centuries! The first thing that happened was that we made foreign workers feel unwelcome. Christ almighty, foreign workers keep this country running! What happened next? Duh! Doesn’t take a rocket scientist! What happened next? Certain businesses began to struggle and some went under! I assume everyone is familiar with the term ‘U-Turn’? This we should do immediately. We will never be able to stop the rest of Europe laughing at our arrogance and ignorance, but at least we can repair the economy.

On Sunday, I might get a chance to do nothing? Ah, who am I kidding? Just like The Isley Brothers song, I’ve got work to do. And apologies if that’s put an ear worm in your head!

Have a fabulous and funky Friday! I love you all. You’re probably thinking, “You don’t even know me!” but, if people can hate for no reason, why can’t I love?

[theartificialdane]

Galactica, part 245

Christmas is coming closer, and everyone prepares in their own ways for the holiday season!

Thank you @veronicasanders @toriibelledarling and @samrull <3

“Come on! Just taste it!”

“Are you sure it’s good?”

“I promise.”

Ruby looked at Max with doubt in her eyes, the brit smiling brightly, the man unusually enthusiastic. They had been at the animal shelter, Ruby somehow volunteering there now with Max twice a month, the man’s smile and his gentle eyes able to talk her into anything, but with this she wasn’t so sure. They had walked by a bakery near Ruby’s flat, Max stopping dead in his tracks when he noticed a dessert in the front window, a monstrosity that was unlike anything Ruby had ever seen before.

“It’s one of the best dessert britain has to offer.” Ruby raised an eyebrow, the black mass on her plate looking anything but delicious, but Max had insisted that a plum pudding was the best thing in the world.

“Alright, alright. I’ll take a bite.” Ruby took the spoon from her boyfriend, the word still creating a pool of warmth in the pit of her stomach. She bit into the cake, the overwhelming taste of raisins and rum filling her mouth, and Ruby wanted to spit it out, but in that moment she looked at Max, his eyes bright like a kid on christmas morning, and she realised that she never wanted to do anything that could ever disappoint him. She swallowed, the cake making it’s way down her throat.

“It’s delicious.”

“You really think so?”

“Absolutely.”

***

The meeting with Aja’s old housemate and proposed drummer, Nina Brown, had gotten off to a very weird start. First of all, the bitch had come in wearing cat ears and a tail like some kind of furry meets Josie and the Pussycats fucking

“Don’t worry about it,” Aja had murmured to Adore, “She’s a little…off, but she’s good drummer and super creative.”

And then when Adore was explaining her vision for the band - a group of free spirited, supportive musicians, gay women who all wrote music and gave creative input, all got their chance in the spotlight regardless of their role in the group, Nina cut her off.

“I don’t write music. So, I guess this isn’t the band for me. Sorry to waste your time.” She abruptly got up from the table and began to walk away.

Aja grabbed her arm and yanked her back. “Nina! Breathe for a second, god. Why don’t you show her some of your art?”

Nina rolled her eyes, sighing. “Fine, but I don’t really see what that has to do with–”

“Please?”

“I’d really like to see it,” Adore added. “Aja was raving about how talented you are.”

Nina pulled out a thick sketchbook and opened it. Intricate, detailed line drawings filled the pages, covered with swirling text. Adore read some of the text. The read like poetry. Or…lyrics? “Are these words original? Or are you quoting from something?”

“Original. Just…you know…a bunch of random nonsense…” Nina sighed, head propped up on her hands.

“Dude…” Adore read some of the words. It was free verse, a little disconnected, but there was so much there. “Nina, this is amazing. We can DEFINITELY use this as inspiration for song lyrics. I mean, if you’re cool with it.”

Nina raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Totally.”

“Huh. Yeah, I mean…sure. You haven’t heard me play yet.”

“True. Wanna jam? I assume you got the songs that Aja sent you?”

“Yup.”

Adore smiled. “Alright them. Let’s play for awhile and see how we all feel. Sound good?”

Nina nodded. “I won’t feel bad if you hate me. Don’t worry.”

“I already love you, but let’s just make sure you can keep count,” Adore laughed, slinging an arm around her.

Aja poked Nina in the side. “What did I tell you, Neens? It’s gonna be impossible to keep that stormcloud over your head with this little precious muffin around. She’s too fucking cute.”

“I can see that,” Nina agreed, picking up her drumsticks. “Seems exhausting.”

“So Nina will be in charge of team spirit,” Aja explained.

Adore giggled, slinging her guitar strap over her shoulder. “Hey, as long as she can play, and keeps writing that fucking sickening poetry, I don’t give a fuck about team spirit. You do you, girl.”

Nina finally cracked a genuine smile. “Thank you.”

“How about we try ‘I Can’t Love You’?”

“Copy,” Nina said, counting them in, “5, 6, 7, 8…”

***

“That’s the last of it!” Pearl smiled as she carried the final shipment of boxes into Trixie’s office. “I can’t believe we didn’t think of this years ago.”

Two nights ago, Pearl and Trixie had been home alone, when they had both realised over their fifth beer that online shopping was the answear to all of their christmas prayers.

“Did you remember my doughnuts and triple venti?”

“For the last time, I’m not your assistant dude.”

“You know I don’t have one.” Trixie sat down on the floor, Ivan happily playing with Trixie’s keys, the heavy metal more interesting to him than any of the ergonomically correct properly designed baby toys his mom had bought for him. “I’m the cool boss, I don’t need an assistant to fetch me coffee.”

“You keep telling yourself that dude.” Pearl smiled and sat down on the floor as well. “So, do you want to be on wrapping duty or not? Because I’d just like to remind you that I-”

“Not that box!” Trixie practically jumped up, the man snatching the box Pearl was holding from her hands, the brown cardboard not betraying anything.

“What the fuck?”

“Just, not this one okay, I’ll do the unpacking and the wrappi-”

“Nu uh!” Pearl sat up on her knees, reaching for the box, but Trixie was fast and fell on his back, keeping it out of Pearl’s grasp. “Come on! Let me see, who is it for anyone!”

“None of your business!” Trixie tried to worm away, but Pearl grabbed his pants, the woman jumping him, the two adults fighting each other on the floor, Pearl shrieking with laughter as they fought.

“Pearl! Come on- It’s private!”

“You’re my best friend! Nothing is private!” Pearl finally won, Trixie’s months of maternity leave not helping his fitness at all, Pearl yelled triumphantly as she tore the box from Trixie’s hands, and then, the unthinkable happened, the packaging broke, and a huge, purple silicone dildo floated through the air followed by a sea of packing peanuts, it flew across the room, the thing like a missile, straight for baby Ivan’s face, the dildo hitting him, and both Trixie and Pearl froze as Ivan started crying, his cheek bright red after the smack from his mother’s christmas dildo. Pearl looked down at Trixie, horror painted on her face.

“I’ll pay for his therapy. I promise.”

***

Fame heard the door to her office click, her brows wrinkling in annoyance. She was on the phone, overlooking the streets of Manhattan through her window as she talked, so she held up a to indicate she was busy.

“Yes, yes. No, yes. Yes we can discuss it next week. Goodbye.” Fame hang up and turned around in her chair ready to tear into whoever had wandered into her office unannounced “Roxy, I have told you several tim- Patrick?” Fame looked at her husband, the man standing in the doorway, a smile playing on his lips.

“Hello my love.”

“What are you doing here?” Even though they worked in the same building, Fame and Patrick rarely saw each other on workdays, both of them busy running their respective companies.

“Can’t a man come see his wife?”

Fame felt herself flush, her pale scandinavian skin betraying her as she could see the smile bloom on Patrick’s lips. Sometimes it felt like they were newlywed once again, any mentions of their marriage making warm delight curl in Fame’s belly, a childish feeling that only belonged to teenage girls and blushing maids, but Fame couldn’t deny that it was nice.

“And why has my husband come to see his wife?”

“Maybe he was hoping she had a little bit of extra time, and maybe, your husband saw his wife leave the house this morning, and remembered how luck he was.” Fame saw reach behind himself, a single flick of his wrist clicking the lock on her door, and when Fame looked up, there was a predatory smile on Patrick’s lips, once she hadn’t see in months, and it was directed directly at her. Fame lifted her foot and pushed against her desk, her chair rolling up against the window, leaving her vulnerable, but she had never felt more secure.

“I’m yours.”

***

“This is boring!” Raven sighed.

“We’re almost done.” Violet smiled and laid a gentle hand on Raven’s arm. They were in Raven and Raja’s kitchen, the livingroom filled with noise as a carpenter had come to redo the entire floor. Violet didn’t personally think it was necessary, but who was she to judge what Raven wanted to spend her fiancée’s money on. “We only need to find a seat for Fame’s mother in law.” Violet looked down at the gigantic seating chart in front of them, small pins in gold, silver and white representing if the name attached was Raja or Raven’s or common guests for the pair, along with red for industry people they had to invite, even if Raven complained loudly about it.

“What about here? I’m sure she’ll do fine with Nina Garcia.”

“No way.” Raven grabbed the white pin, only just saving it from a table almost entirely made out of red. “She’s not going anywhere near that cunt.” Raven pressed Patrick’s mom down, safely securing her at a table of bankers. “There. She’ll be happy with all the attention, and I won’t have to speak to either of them all night. No one is going to ruin my special day.”

Violet couldn’t help but smile, Raven as always looking out for herself first. “Of course.”

[fae-fucker]

The One: Chapter 26-27

Chapter 26

America mopes around at home. Just a couple of things to note:

I didn’t even want [Lucy] serving me, and it seemed she was mostly fine with helping Mom however she could or playing with May.

I don’t know if I’ve mentioned this before, but there’s something icky about the fact that America accepted people serving her so easily. She’s supposedly someone who’s super poor, I feel like she’d be more squicked out by the idea of having servants, since that’s a rich people thing. Especially considering that Lucy admitted that they’re basically slaves. WHICH YEAH, WHY DID I SUDDENLY FORGET ABOUT THAT. Probably because the book did, but WHAT THE FUCK.

But I guess since America harbors no ill will toward the upper class, because they’re actually all good and precious and can’t help that they’re creating this caste system, she probably thinks that servants are totally cool. Maybe she’s such a NATURAL LEADER that it’s in her nature to have people wiggle around like worms at her feet.

Anyway, because KCass is a hack and TWU WUV can only happen once, we find out that America suddenly thinks that her thing with Aspen wasn’t real love, unlike what she has with Maxon. Which I call bullshit, because she describes her “love” for both exactly the same way. But I guess when your TWU WUV shows up, you realize that all those other times you’ve been in love was actually fake and worthless and terrible. (Sideyes SJM, too.)

You know what pisses me off though? We’ve spent three books with America as she tried to figure out which boy’s dick she wants to sit on the most, only to find out that one of the dicks wasn’t even a real seat in the first place. 

Like, we all knew that Maxon was going to win from the first time we read the blurb, but the fact that Aspen didn’t even mean shit to America herself (not as much as Maxon apparently does anyway) at all makes this whole thing feel even cheaper.

Anyway, America talks to her older sister about the fact that she can’t admit to Aspen that she doesn’t love him anymore, despite also never having loved him for realzies in the first place. Why?

“What if Maxon picks someone else? I can’t walk away from this with nothing. At least if Aspen still thinks there’s a chance, maybe we could try again when everything’s over.”

She stared at me. “You’re using Aspen as a safety net?”

I buried my head in my hands. “I know, I know. It’s awful, isn’t it?”

THIS IS SOMETHING THAT’S A LEGIT CHARACTER FLAW THAT SHOULD BE BROUGHT UP AND EXAMINED AND RESOLVED. NOT SOMETHING YOU THROW IN ALL WILLY-NILLY AT THE END OF THE BOOK. 

HOLY SHIT, KCASS, WHAT’S WRONG WITH YOU?!

This isn’t anything new, we all know America is a selfish twat, but still. What the actual fuck?

Whatever. The chapter ends with Aspen trying to talk to America about something (the fact that he’s in love with Lucy I bet), but because KCass doesn’t know the concept of having mercy, America nonsensically shuts him up and tells him to fuck off before he can spit out the truth.

Chapter 27

America returns to the castle and all the other Selection girls have a surprise party because Maxon is announcing his engagement tomorrow!

The room exploded with cheers, and I was so confused. Emmica, Ashley, Bariel . . . everyone was here. I hunted, but I knew it was pointless. Marlee wouldn’t be invited to this. 

“This celebration that isn’t meant for me is POINTLESS because my personal dick-sucker isn’t here!” Cry me a fucking river, you selfish little bitch.

Apparently Celeste and Elise were kicked out and only she and Kriss are left. If Maxon really wanted to show America that he’s chosen her, picking her only real rival to stay as the last girl is ... suspicious. Why didn’t he just kick her out too? Oh right, because KCass can’t fucking live without idiotic last-minute drama, so Kriss has to stay for when Maxon and America inevitably break up again so he can pretend he’ll marry her for “tension”. 

SJM (claims that she) lets her characters control the plot and steer it to nonsensical levels of idiocy, KCass forces her characters to do shit that makes no damn sense for the sake of the plot. 

Both exremes are bad, children.

America confronts Kriss about being a rebel (because she’s wearing a dumb star necklace around her neck like an idiot) and acts weirdly pissed about it?

“I haven’t done anything illegal. I’m not mounting protests anywhere; I just support the cause.”

“Fine,” I spat. “But how much of your part in the Selection is you wanting Maxon and how much is your group wanting one of their own on the throne?”

Why the fuck is America being an uppety bitch about this? Her dad, whom she supposedly loves so much, was a rebel. Why the fuck is she suddenly so anti-rebellion? I know she loves to suck rich dick but what the fuck?

Oh wait, is she worried that poor Maxi Pad will be UUUUUSED for POLITICAL REASONS and not marry for TWU WUV. Poor Maxi-Waxy!!! Spare him from this horrible fate!!! 

KCass, what’s wrong with you?

I wanted to tell her that Maxon and I could do great things, too, that we’d probably already done more than she could guess.

Oh, really? Tell me one thing. ONE THING, BITCH, CAN YOU DO IT?!

Besides, she and I had a lot in common. I came here for my family; she came here for a family of sorts.

You came here for your family? Lmao what? Don’t give me that bullshit, America. You were always motivated by men. You came because Aspen rejected you, and any time Maxon rejected you, you wanted to leave.

KCass, don’t try to pull this. I know you didn’t expect someone who can actually think about what they’re reading to read your schlock, but this retroactive motivation patch won’t fool me. 

Should I keep my mouth shut? Should I at least let someone know? Was this even a bad thing?

Well, Kriss is a rebel sympathizer and remember how you refused to sentence one to prison even though he was already sentenced? Or do you not care if it’s a woman and she’s a rival competing for your maaan?

Fuck off.

Kriss also says that she won’t “back down” even if America tries to sell her out or blackmail her, but she’s like ... in no position to make such statements. We know how the rebels are punished. America could tell the king and have Kriss arrested and she’d become the princess because there would be no one left. I’m not saying America would do such a thing (but she obviously considers it), because that would require being proactive and ambitious and we’ve already established that America’s greatest strength is her being a passive doormat, but I’m saying that Kriss is overestimating her power here. 

If there was something real between Maxon and Kriss, any attempt to expose her would look like a desperate last effort to win. And even if that worked, that wasn’t how I wanted to get Maxon.

I wanted him to know I loved him.

It’s all about Maxon. Everything revolves around Maxon. 

Speaking of which, America leaves the party to mope and Maxon comes into her room to suck her dick some more.

“I’m glad I at least got to meet [her dad]. I can see bits of him in you, you know.”

[...]

“Your sense of humor, for one. And your tenacity. When he and I spoke during his visit, he grilled me. It was nerve-racking, but kind of funny at the same time. You’ve never just let me off the hook either.

“Of course, you have his eyes and I think his nose, too. And I can see your optimism beaming out sometimes. He gave me that impression as well.”

Sense of humor?? What sense of humor?? What tenacity?? Optimism?? 

Sense of humor: Where???

Tenacity: *anything goes slightly wrong* OH NO I’VE FAILED BETTER GIVE UP.

Optimism: *boy does something slightly mysterious* OH NO HE DOESN’T LOVE ME ANYMORE!! EVERYTHINS IS RUINED!!

Sure. Uh huh. KCass is just pulling these traits out of her ass at this point.

Anyway, Maxon apparently has bought her family a house. So that’s ... great.

He did this so they could live closer! But??? Why???? What does it all mean!!!! America is still as dumb as ever, I see.

They start making out but because they’re GOOD GOOD CHRISTIAN CHILDREN, we don’t get any dick-in-vag action. 

I was going crazy, wanting so much more of him, aching to know if he’d let me have it.

FEED HER THE LITTLE PRINCE, MAXON. SHE NEEDS IT INSIDE HER.

He doesn’t. Instead, they finally exchange I love yous and:

I wanted to stay up all night with him, to explore this new feeling we’d discovered.

“New”? NEW? BAROLD, ROLL THE CLIP!!

Before long we were tangled together on the dirty, thin rug. Aspen pulled me on top of him, and I brushed his scraggly hair with my fingers, hypnotized by the feel. He kissed me feverishly and hard. I felt his fingers dig into my waist, my back, my hips, my thighs. I was always surprised that he didn’t leave little finger-shaped bruises all over me.

We were cautious, always stopping shy of the things we really wanted. [The Selection, Chapter2]

BUT I GUESS IT WASN’T REAL HORNINESS WHEN YOU WERE WITH ASPEN, RIGHT?! IT WAS ALL JUST A LIE!! ANYTHING THAT HAPPENED WITH ASPEN WAS IN THE MATRIX, THIS IS ALL IN THE REAL WORLD AND YOU AND MAXON ARE CURRENTLY MAKING OUT IN ZION WHILE THERE’S A HUGE RAVE OUTISIDE!!

There’s some noise outside (the rave probably) and Maxon freaks out and tells America that he can’t fuck her right now, because he’s so stressed out.

“Don’t be sad. I want to take you on a proper honeymoon. Someplace warm and private. No duties, no cameras, no guards.” He wrapped his arms around me. “It will be so much better that way. And I can really spoil you.”

[...]

“You can’t spoil me, Maxon. I don’t want anything.”

[...]

“Oh, I know. I don’t intend on giving you things. Well,” he amended, “I do intend on giving you things, but that’s not what I mean. I’m going to love you more than any man has ever loved a woman, more than you ever dreamed you could be loved. I promise you that.”

“I’m gonna dive in your cooch for so long I’ll develop gills, babe.”

I sighed, promising myself that we’d talk about Aspen tomorrow. It would need to happen before the ceremony, and I felt sure I knew how to explain things in the best way. For now, I would enjoy this tiny bubble of peace and rest securely in the arms of the man I loved.

Good fucking night.

[vocalpmh]

where soil lies, a new beginning blooms

note: a little something i wrote inspired by the one and only @vonseal​‘s magic users series on ao3, in particular witchcraft (my all-time favourite myungjin fic to date, bless her). the feels were all too real on a particular night and when i saw this joke on my tumblr dash, i was hit with all of the inspiration (though very regretfully, i should have not laughed as hard as i did when i read it) and managed to write this piece of fluff :’))

The sun filters through the bakery as Myungjun opens the door with Minhyuk in tow. It glistens over the countertop and dabbles across the display of model bread Myungjun insisted on making at the very opening of the establishment.

“Hyung, quit admiring your cardboard bread, did you bring that new flour you were raving about?”

Myungjun stops staring at the baguette and glances at his hands, he looks back at his dubious colleague and roommate, then back at his very, empty hands.

“I’ll be two seconds Minhyukkie, don’t miss me too much!” Myungjun’s voice trails off as he opens the door in such a hurry that a mass of brown leaves fly into the bakery and Minhyuk lets out a loud grumble.

Myungjun spots Minhyuk angrily sweeping away the leaves through his peripheral and smiles to himself before strolling in the direction of their quaint apartment.

‘I wonder if Jinwoo’s awake,’ Myungjun is already grinning at the sight of his boyfriend sprawled on their bed and his cute butt in those pyjamas he got him last Christmas.

Before he can imagine Jinwoo in those black jeans that also really do his butt justice, he’s already arrived at the apartment level and just as the elevator halts and the metal doors slide open, a trail of something earthy leads him to the door at the very end of the hallway.

Myungjun glances at the floor and back at the door, that looks very much like his home, and back at the floor.

Who on earth would break into his apartment and leave a dirt trace behind them?

It was up to Myungjun to find out.

“Come out wherever you are, I’ll get my boyfriend with his killer biceps to kick you and your soily whatever-the-hell out of my hou-“

Myungjun’s eyes are closed as he yells out his threat but something, that smells very much like his boyfriend’s cologne wafts into the air.

He opens one eye discreetly and something brown, crumbly and Jinwoo-shaped is standing in front of him.

“What on earth happened in the thirty minutes that I left the house, Park Jinwoo?”

Jinwoo has the audacity to give Myungjun a gummy smile as he scratches his neck sheepishly and a clump of soil falls out of his hair.

“I woke up just as you left, and I wanted to do something, you know helpful since you and Minhyuk have been really busy at the bakery lately, and I just thought that, your plants looked like…they needed more soil?” Jinwoo pants slightly after his speech and Myungjun doesn’t have the heart to scold his sweet boyfriend.

However, he does have the heart to shake his boyfriend violently by the shoulders and watch as all of the dirt crumbles away to reveal a dirt-smeared (a huge understatement) Park Jinwoo with a pained expression painting his handsome face.

“Was that necessary?” Jinwoo rubs his shoulders with a pout on his face but Myungjun misses it as he’s too busy staring at the effects of the tornado (aka Park Jinwoo and nature) that struck his apartment and left a muddy trail in its wake.

“What do I tell Minhyuk when I rock up to the bakery around two hours late, with flour that does not resemble flour anymore in my hands?” Myungjun sweeps all of the soil that somehow found itself in the kitchen into the bin and Jinwoo shoots him a cheeky grin as he brushes dirt onto the balcony, where Myungjun’s supposed sunflowers stood, the line between large chocolate cake pops and yellow flowers blurring severely.

“Tell him that I was trying to be helpful?” Jinwoo resorts to murmuring a spell that sends all of the dirt that had seeped into Myungjun’s upholstery onto the balcony and Myungjun forgets that manual labour isn’t necessary with a witch for a boyfriend.

“Jinwoo can you also magic it up in here, my arms are tired from sieving the flour,” Myungjun whines as his arms fall slack next to him, a bowl of flour speckled with brown in front of him.

“Sorry babe, just wait a minute,”

Myungjun would’ve thought that Jinwoo was flipping the bird at him if he didn’t know his boyfriend had to perform gestures whilst almost rapping a spell.

Fragments of soil and a rogue worm levitate in the air before flying out of the room and onto the balcony and Myungjun can only wince as his sunflowers get violently pelted with dirt.

“When I said magic it up, I didn’t mean move the mess to the balcony,” Myungjun sighs and even though Jinwoo’s mouth says ‘sorry,’ his eyes glint with something else.

“Park Jinwoo what are you-,”

Jinwoo picks up the clump of dirt that fell out of his hair unceremoniously before from the floor and brushes the dirt off it to uncover a box.

Myungjun doesn’t need to be a mind-reader to know what’s going to happen next.

“Kim Myungjun, I know I have no affinity with flowers yet I think I’ll be able to care for you for a long, long time. Will you marry me?”

Jinwoo slowly kneels down on one knee and opens the box to reveal a small silver ring with a glittering diamond in the middle, set in a gold tulip head.

“Oh my lucky roses, yes of course-” Myungjun flings his arms around Jinwoo’s shoulders before he can even finish his sentence and before Jinwoo can even slip the ring onto his finger, he starts wails loudly into Jinwoo’s shoulder. His tears mix in with the dirt in brown smears on his boyf- fiancé’s orange jacket and he can’t tell if it’s a dirt particle in his eye or his tears.

“Baby don’t cry, I haven’t even put it on your finger yet,” Jinwoo rubs small circles onto his distraught fiancé’s back and Myungjun sniffles loudly as he watched Jinwoo slips the ring onto his (albeit a little grubby) left hand.

“I love you so so so so so much Park Jinwoo and I would raise a whole army of pets and plants to protect you from any sort of harm-,” Myungjun blubbers again as he stares at his fourth finger with teary eyes before diving onto Jinwoo and wrapping his arms around the younger’s torso.

“I feel like I’m receiving more physical assault than affection here Myungjun,” Myungjun can feel Jinwoo smiling as they both land on the floor and a puff of brown dust suspends in the air around them.

Myungjun attempts to glower at the grinning man underneath him but his emotions get the better of him and he smiles instead.

“Physical assault and my method of expressing affection are synonymous Park Jinwoo, didn’t you realise already?” Myungjun takes the opportunity to reach his hand behind Jinwoo and give his (blessed) butt cheek a cheeky squeeze and Jinwoo yelps.

“I can’t believe you, what a lewd man I’m marrying,” Jinwoo remarks and gives the older a cheeky squeeze back, but he earns a sly smile instead. Myungjun would’ve attempted to grope Jinwoo’s other butt cheek if his back wasn’t aching like an old, wizened man’s and just presses a peck onto Jinwoo’s pink, moist lips.

Jinwoo smiles into the kiss but before anything more happens, the door swings open, revealing a wide-mouthed Park Minhyuk but the wide mouth slowly closes and the young adult’s face morphs into something neutral and deadpan (both of which Myungjun and Jinwoo are more comfortable with, rather than an expressive Minhyuk).

“Why am I not even the slightest bit surprised,” Minhyuk murmurs under his breath as he scans the wreck that he can barely recognise as his home. His eyes lock onto the two men, still on the floor and post-almost-make-out and zeroes in on the silver glinting on Myungjun’s hand.

“Was about time, Jinwoo hyung, you’re slower than I expected,” Jinwoo silently accepts the insult and Myungjun pats the ground next to him.

“Come here, my friend Minhyuk Park,”

“Why are you trying to speak Engl-,” Myungjun grabs a hold of Minhyuk’s arm and yanks him down, earning a groan and a loud thud of presumably Minhyuk’s butt hitting the floor.

“Best man? Please Minhyuk Pa-,” Myungjun slowly enunciates, making sure to emphasise every syllable.

“If you try to speak English one more time, I will actually crash your wedding,” Minhyuk interjects and crosses his arms, refusing to face his newly-engaged friends.

“You’re not really a wedding-crasher if you’re invited to the wedding Minhyuk,” Jinwoo points out and Myungjun smiles smugly at his best friend whose eyebrows slowly scrunch up in defeat.

“Okay fine, just promise me there’s no English speaking and Myungjun hyung is not trying to be hip and I won’t have to leave the country when you guys say your vows,” Minhyuk retorts and Myungjun squeezes the younger’s arm.

“I knew the English would get you squirming,” Myungjun announces triumphantly (in Korean) and Jinwoo snorts.

“When Jinwoo hyung speaks, and by all means are you guys basically on the same level, but he just sounds way better,” Minhyuk flicks off the dust from his shoulders nonchalantly and Jinwoo can’t help but snort again when Myungjun chucks his snarky best friend the stink eye.

But Minhyuk allows himself to smile just the slightest and turns around finally to face his roommates (amongst other things).

“I’m happy for you guys, I really am,”

It’s short but incredibly sincere and very Minhyuk-like, which is all Myungjun could ever wish for. The first person he would’ve told (had someone not opened the door to see him in tears and in a compromising position with his partner) was Minhyuk. He was his roommate, colleague and the only brother, let alone family he could really call his own. That sentence is all it takes for Myungjun’s eyes to prick with tears again and he thanks Minhyuk with an attempt of a hug (note, the three men are still very much on the floor) and he cries into Minhyuk’s shoulder this time, with Jinwoo patting his back soothingly.

If Myungjun didn’t know any better, he’d think this was such a romantic scene, fit for a Nicholas Sparks work of literature. But alas, three grown men, one bawling, one smiling until his mouth could literally fall off and one looking positively deadpan, lying on soil-littered floorboards is far from romantic but for Myungjun, it’s all he could have ever dreamed of.

[begrimedchains]

[Appointments Kept]

   @theboogeyman

The attic in the Myers's house isn't exactly his idea of a cozy hide out, but it's the tightest quarters he can find and insulate in several bloodied mattresses he packs into a place before hunkering down inside his mildew-scented pillow fort. There was no telling if it would serve as a viable defense against the Doctor's shock waves, but damn was it cozy. Feeling his black fur rising at the feel of eyes on him, he growls. "This here's an n'vite only club. Go find yer own hidey hole."

 Three sacrifices amidst the Asylum’s rubble and a narrow escape that had him just spying the tips of two red braids shuttering as they disappear into the hatch’s depths sends him back to his home on Haddonfield. But even he, so apathetic to the shifting of the tide, can sense the change that is manipulating the balance of this world. The tide is changing. There is a SPARK in the air, a static that warns of a sinister new presence among the deity’s murderous ranks. A doctor, they whisper, he’s a doctor. This is all the information that he needs to discern any future involvement. Ranting and raving doctors, poking and prodding with tools, prying with personal questions, attempting to delve into the inky recesses of his mysterious thoughts—he’s experienced MORE than his fair share. Unfamiliar with the new Doctor’s power and even more unwilling to make a greeting a learning experience, he traipses back to Haddonfield with his ears perked for unusual activity in the trees.

  A deserted home should bring him a sense of comfort, something like relief, but apathy is the Shape’s closest companion. And besides—he is far from alone. Pausing at the foot of the stairs, his head tilts back as he fixes his eyes on the ceiling above the second floor landing, tracing the sounds of scuffling and scraping that greet him upon entry.  The attic.  In childhood, his mother and father never permitted him to enter the attic out of fear that he’d find something sharp to play with ( having had to chase him repeatedly out of the silverware drawer when he sought out the knives and forks ) or harm himself climbing up and down the rickety latter that dropped from the ceiling. Of course, they’re long dead and cannot stop him now from climbing the stairs and approaching the already lowered latter that will carry him up and through the hallway ceiling. Sure that the rungs will support his weight, being that they bore the being that is tossing things around above, he pulls himself upwards until his shoulders are level with the attic floor. The darkness that swallows him as he submerges himself in the shadows of the room is nearly as suffocating as the lack of air circulation, exacerbated by his mask, but he pays it no mind as his eyes adjust to the dark and fix on the padding that lines the cramped space—a coating of mattresses on the floor. Tracing the room with his eyes, his gaze finds the hunched silhouette before the signature snarl reaches his ears, denying him access to a room in his own house. Regardless of a lack of permission, the Shape hoists the rest of his body into the attic.

  Dim agitation at the uninvited presence of the Crooked encourages him to be still, passive aggressively defying demands to find another room to occupy. Attempting to stand proves to be a feat as his towering height challenges the low ceiling, forcing him to stoop lest he bump his head. Thus he settles himself, lowering himself down to his haunches before smoothly dropping onto his backside. With any luck, his own poor company will persuade his visitor to depart—particularly if the Shape feels vindictive enough to kick apart the padding covering the floor and along the walls that puts him in the mind of the padded cells in Smith’s Grove that the restless and endlessly moving patients would be subjected to when they wouldn’t stop harming themselves with the concrete walls and floors. Thus if it weren’t for the bark of another ‘hidey hole’ for the Shape to find, it would beg to him the question of whether or not this set up is some sort of self-punishment, particularly because he vaguely recalls that the Crooked bears some aversion to dark, close quarters. Curiosity at the expression of what he interprets as FEAR from his homicidal house guest is what keeps the Shape from raising his blade once more and instead inspires him to pierce the Crooked with his gaze as the mental cogs turn, working to decipher just what it is that has him hiding in Haddonfield, of all places.

  Though he possessed little insight as to why Mike would infiltrate his hopefully spark-proof sanctuary, the Crooked supposed his reasoning was nowhere near aligned to his own interests—mainly composed of keeping his chainsaw in working condition, and avoiding the savage burn of his father’s cattle prod that had singed his muscle memory into shrinking from all sources of uncontrolled electricity regardless of his ability to tank worse forms of punishment. Assuming the Shape is merely showing his pale face to show off his rag-like dedication to rubbing him the wrong way, Billy decides he won’t let Mike savor the territorial snarl he’d spilled upon spotting him, and takes the breech as fortifying advice that he quickly acts upon by dragging a mattress over the window Mike had stepped through. There’s little point in peppering the towering figure with petulance when he knows the only combination of answers he’ll receive consist of blank stares, a tilted head, and mouth-breathing, so he swallows his tongue to focus on his tinkering. Several mattresses still had their springs intact, and he makes quick work of gutting them, pulling coils out by the fistful and dropping them into a pile. With some help from the shoelaces he’d already pilfered from the closet, he’d have them strung up from the rafters in no time, where instead of wind—they’d chime to electrical currents in the air. At least they’d absorb any shock waves sent from the roof, he figures. Shooting Mike a sideways look when the man invited himself to plop onto the floor without even taking a guess as to what this soon-to-be-bunker’s password was, Billy nudged a few springs his way before dropping a handful of laces on the mask’s black tuft of hair. “If yer gonna stick around, ya gotta be useful.” Maybe having a living ladder around wouldn’t be such a bad idea considering he hadn’t considered how he was going to reach the ceiling to string up his decorations yet. After all, he wasn’t as tall as Mike and there was only so much hopping he could do before the floor gave in under his weight. “Tie thems together and string’em up.” Perhaps he took his crafts projects a bit too seriously, but he had to considering he usually made them for Ma and Ma deserved the best quality.

  It had him thinking about what the Doctor had proposed their first fur-raising encounter about how he could get his spine a little straighter if he let the madman slip a back-brace on him. Wouldn’t you like to stand up straight instead of hobble around like a hobgoblin? I’m only suggesting this because the Entity sounded rather concerned on your behalf when last we spoke. Billy closes the nicititating membrane over his eyes as the cop car lights from outside swivel their red and blue lights into the room and across his face. He rips another spring out of the mattress’s womb and tries to straighten it with his hands. Did Ma really want that? “Do ya think…” Billy begins, grunting softly as the spring’s resistance kicks back and cuts a chiding line of blood across his arm. It doesn’t hurt more than the thought he’s currently tinkering with in the back of his head. “Ma’d like me more if ah wasn’t so...crooked?” Knowing Mike wouldn’t answer—he never did, Billy finishes fitting the spring with a white lace, holding it up to watch it spin before flinging it into the Shape’s work pile. At least he could rest assured that no one would hear his thoughts repeated from another mouth when it happened to belong to the mute among them. Which only reminded him how silly it was asking in the first place.

  After seconds of shared silence, it seemed they would have to put their art project on hold. His hair takes note of the static in the air long before he spots the squiggles of blue electricity inch-worming across the floorboards. The black patches bristle, inviting him to roll his shoulder as if he could shrug off electrical currents as easily as he could shake off the water from torment creek. Lifting one foot off the floor to avoid a stampede of the zig-zagging sparkles, he soon realizes he needs more leverage to avoid them on both feet. Thankfully Mike’s a tall enough candidate for a perch. Without asking, he clambers as much of his twisted body onto Mike’s shoulders as he can fit, clawing grubby nails into the faux hair as he stiffens and swings his gaze wildly around the room, desperate to find where the sparks were spilling in from so he could make note to patch it up later. “If one’ve us gots to surrender, it’s gonna be you. ‘Cause he sure ain’t here t’pay me a house-visit.” Not at the Strode’s.