#this was just an excuse to draw dream with a mullet

[quibvsposts]

had the sudden urge to see morpheus in his 1989 clothes

[moonieandi]

snapshots pt. 6 | stanley pines x f!reader 

summary: the third year of your life “married” to stanley pines, particularly concerning staying

warnings (TW): swearing, alcohol consumption, nicotine use (gross! but perhaps…sexy?), illegal activities, piercings, gore, panic attack/panic-inducing situation, slight sexual themes

tags: fluff, affection, mutual-pining, miscommunication but like with body language?

notes: the end of an era rip stan’s mullet circa 1985 (according to me and me alone). also like i 100% believe Stan plays in the pool mmk, like def rough housing when yall go swimming i just didn’t wanna write it. But in the back of your mind okay- just know deep down that yall had fun

thanks again for the notes and the comments and the reblogs omg i love reading anything yall leave fr lol- ahhh thanks again <3

word count: 6.8k (yo what howd i manage this)

| masterlist | part vii |

February, 1985 

They had decided to go out that night, making excuses about missing the new year. 

They hadn’t noticed the clock ticking by from December into January, consumed with new wiring in the basement connected to the user panel for the portal. 

She had been ranting and raving again, like he had hated in the beginning of it all, but slowly began to crave in the end of it. He had begun to slowly understand those rants in the coming months too, thanks to her hurried chalkboard drawings of random continuous circuits. He closed his eyes now and could identify different AC and DC currents in the lines of the darkness in his dreams. 

Work would consume them at random, and he had begun to find her downstairs late into the night after having dragged her to bed. She’d creep out into the hallway, lingering in his bedroom doorway. Tucking blankets around his broad shoulders, only to find her way downstairs to the last remnants of Stanford. 

He saw his brother in her at every turn as of late, found his last visage in her shaking hands and deep-seated eyes. He’d tie her to the bed if he had to, no matter how the image shook something deep in him. She’d sleep tonight, and he knew of a way to do it. 

Distract her.

So he took her out to the bar singing to her about the new year that had already come and gone, dragged her up the stairs to change into something that wasn’t covered in oil and dirt, and got her out the door within an hour. 

She looked better now, her eyes less clouded and her smile more radiant than he’d seen in days. She had felt cold for months, and he believed it his own fault because he had pushed her away. 

He had had another dream, more vivid than the previous, and it had shocked him awake so fast in the dead of the night that he actually stumbled to her open doorway, making sure she was where he had left her in his dream. The dream where he had touched her where she had never actually allowed, where he had begged her for words and for more and she permitted it. Allowed him to creep into her bed and make her his, but it had been sickening this time, the sweetness he felt for her, and he woke believing it to be an absolution. He didn’t deserve to think of her like that, because she had never allowed it. So he would never allow it. 

That sickening ache he has felt refused to let up though. And it only twisted into something deeper when he thought of her, thought of her as his wife. The only allowance he had of her, in only words. 

The shake of his hands when he reaches for her now is hard to hide, as hard to hide as his racing heart from himself. His subconscious screamed something anxious when he looked at her now, screamed something of promise and something sickeningly sweet like adoration. 

He wouldn’t use the bigger more unexplainable word. She didn’t feel the same, he reasoned, so it couldn’t be that. 

So he ignored his heart, his shaking hands, and the ache in his chest. How his stomach twisted when she laughed and how he forgot about it all when he had a drink in his hand. 

He had been cold to her recently, and she had retraced all the steps in her mind on how it consequently was all her fault. All her fault that he pulled his hand from the back of the couch now, how he twisted weirdly in his car seat when she sang on the way home. How he wouldn’t look at her anymore, peering through her when she talked to him now across the kitchen table. 

It was all her fault, she reasoned, that he was no longer warm.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, it whispered dark things sometimes. Her lack of intelligence weighed on her. She wanted to prove she could do what they had both set out to do together. Wanted to prove she could bring his brother home, in hopes his warmth would return. So she had slaved away these past months, in hopes he could look at her again. 

But she had forgotten that for now, drink in her hand and eyes already blurry. Laughing at his usual gag of making fun of people around them, creating fake stories about passerbyers, and twisting tall tales about their mundane lives. He hadn’t dragged his eyes from her all night. 

She had interrupted their usual cadence, a sudden drunk contemplative look in her eyes. 

“Ya know.” She sloshed her drink around, the ice almost being the only thing left. “I still sometimes feel as young as I did when I first left home. When I left for college.” She hums, turning her eyes to him. “Do you ever feel like that?” 

“Ah sometimes.” He answers, finishing off his drink and looking to the bar to get them both another, straying his eyes from her for the first time in hours. “But then I remember how my back feels in the morning.” She laughs. 

“No! I mean like, do you feel just as stupid as you did when you were eighteen?” Taking her eyes off of him, a blush bloomed across her face. 

He feels stupid around her, mostly. But a different weird kind of stupid. So he agrees. “Ya, doll. I get what you mean.” 

“Hey…” she’s giggling now, a smirk creeping around the corners of her mouth. “You can still have my bed, Stan.” She said, referring to his stiff back courtesy of Sixer. 

His dream flashes behind his eyes again, of creeping into her bed at her insistence. How she had peeled the covers back and waved him into her. The swell of her hips and the quirk of her brow. He flees, suddenly feeling sober in the face of her. She didn’t mean it like that anyway. 

“How about another drink, hun?” She perks at that, at the name. But nods her head, moving her glass back to his waiting hand as he makes for the bar. 

Tonight had been good, more peaceful. And the most she’s been able to talk to him in a while without the abrupt interruption of guilt that came with living above his brother's graveyard now. Three years, each one more daunting than the last. That and the usual tirade of her self-conscious mind was dimmed in the wake of her numerous mixed drinks. 

But his company was distracting, was always distracting. So she fell into it with ease tonight. The easy cadence between them, his carefree affection he gave when he was hazy, even the rhythm of the music in the bar was enchanting tonight. She was drunk, she knew that for sure. It made her lips loose and her shoes shuffle weird. 

She wanted to dance, to move across the floor. But she only wanted to if he followed in her shadow. Something she usually wouldn’t ask of him, but the drink had absolved her of her usual anxieties. It made the aching heartfelt feelings for him intensified, the thought of him so close to her. She liked that, that feeling. Craved it most days now, especially in his continued absence. 

He came back to her, bar lights lit the back of his head much like they had when she first laid eyes on him that December day more than three years ago. He had a rugged handsomeness to him, sporting new short hair. Something she had teased him about, fake crying at the loss of his long grown-out mullet. She didn’t linger on the feeling of having missed out on running her fingers through his long tousled curls. 

He was his usual charming self, achingly so. His smirk lit his face as he passed back over her drink to her, but she reached across for it in his haste to give it to her. Meeting him on the rim of the cup as her fingers curled around his big ones. 

“Staaannnnnnnn!” She said, a smile blooming across her face. “We should dance!” Perking up in her seat, twisting her fingers around his own. Tracing her thumb across his large palm. 

He flushes like he always does when she touches him. He's much like her though, buzzed off the atmosphere and her presence. It isn’t completely out of the ordinary that he would say yes to anything she suggests, especially when she looks at him like that. 

Her smile tilted, they leave their new drinks behind. Something that normally would concern him if he didn’t know almost everyone in the room at the moment, having seen almost every local come through his tour in the following years. That and he had evenly glared at every man in town in passing, specifically when he was following in her wake. 

The lights in this part of the bar were different. Dimmer in this corner in particular, only lit up by the continuously changing old jukebox in the corner. The lights reflected off her face made him stumble forward. 

The song was nothing recognizable to him, but she seemed to enjoy the rhythm anyway. Twirling her hands up and unconsciously moving her hips. She laughed at his stiff posture, reaching for his hand and pulling him into her. 

“You gotta move Stan.” She had said between them. “Like this.” Picking up his arm, and curling it around her. 

She’d admit to herself later that she isn’t the best dancer, but she had dreamed of his touch for months since he had pulled away this past October. And she was too much of a craven to do it sober. 

So she placed his hands on her waist without much thought, and she dug her hands into his broad shoulders- just because it felt right. He hadn’t hugged her for a while, the memory of their first embrace, down in the basement rang around her head. He had hummed a certain way that day, her ear in the junction of his shoulder as he tried to soothe her for the first time. 

She would be the death of him. He had swore it up and down. The way she looked in the changing jukebox light was riveting, made him stutter over words, and made his hands wander. She was warm and laughing against him, the song drowned out by the entirety of her. 

Suddenly the song shifts, and her smile gets impossibly brighter. She swings out of his embrace, still holding onto his large hand. Moving with the beat of a familiar song. 

She’s utterly hypnotizing like this, the beat of the song drowning out the sound of his racing heart. He couldn’t tell if it was the song that convinced him of this or her, but she captures a small part of his mind as she drags him around giggling on the dance floor. He doesn’t care much for what his limbs do anymore, pulling her back to his chest and letting her muffle her laughter into his shoulder again. He finds himself laughing with her, eyes drifting up and down her form in his arms now. 

She revels in the proximity. She had longed for his warmth in the past months, aching to have him look at her like he is right now. He was finally looking at her, not through her. It didn’t feel like the normal disjointed affections tonight, he felt whole against her for the first time in months. And she couldn’t help but laugh at how much she pitied her past self for having thought she had to beg for his presence. He gave his attention readily tonight, and it was a balm on her anxious mind and made her drowsy in comfort. 

The song came to an end, but his hold did not waver. His hand reaching from her back to her loose hair, moving it away from her flushed exerted face to see the crook of her smile. Her eyes drooping now, her heart steady against his own. 

“Ready to go, doll?” 

She nods, but stops, dizzy at the movement, and giggles to herself. Burrowing into the palm that rests near her face now. She points to the back of the bar, in the far corner. 

“Restroom, doll?” 

She nods pulling away from his warmth and his palm. She would be back. 

“Mmmk, I’m gonna close the tab and I’ll meet you outside alright?” 

She nods again, moving to the much-needed restroom. He wanted to go outside, she figured so he could have a smoke. Something she had chastised in the very beginning all those years ago, but he had a good habit of at least wondering outside to do it on the porch. Sometimes she would follow him out when they were holding those kind of conversations that would follow you from room to room. It had made her stop and stare that first time, finding the way the smoke curled and left his mouth to be captivating. The way he would talk around it, cigarette resting in the corner of his mouth. Something so life-altering shouldn't be alluring, but he had a habit of doing that to her. 

She makes her way back out of the bathroom, their booth empty except for his winter jacket he had left behind for her. Their drinks were long gone and cleared from the table despite them never having touched them. He didn’t even give her shit about not finishing a drink tonight. 

She slips his big red coat on, running her hands along the corner patch like she always does. The coat smells more like him in the colder months for some reason.

She turns back to the bar, an older woman waving her over and vying for her attention. She swears she has seen her before, her red hair catching in the barlight. Probably in the giftshop at some point, looking for cheap merchandise for the holidays to give to family. 

“You both are just so cute!” The older woman remarks as she gets closer to her, her smile inviting.

“Ah, why thank you.” She smiles, thinking of Stan waiting for her outside.

“How long have you been married?” 

“Just had a two-year anniversary.” She hums, thinking about their usual December diner date that had come and gone. He hadn’t drawn with her that year, though. Something that had become a bit of a tradition between them both. 

It struck her then. That they hadn’t been acting much different in regards to the revelation they had just two years ago when she spilled that she had tied herself to him indefinitely. That they had never accommodated themselves to act more “married” for the sake of illusions. That everything they did had come naturally to them both. This woman in front of her proved it, they hadn’t acted any differently than they usually would have tonight.

For a split guilty second, she wonders if it’s a lie for Stanley if he's just that good of a conman and she’s too achingly sweet on him to notice it all. She shakes the visage off like a bad dream, remembering his glassy eyes that December day all those years ago when he had leaned into her side swearing up and down that he wasn’t any good for her. Stanley never lies about anything that could hurt her. He’d never hurt her. 

She sighs, but he's been so cold. Wrapping his red jacket around her, feeling the warmth and smelling the scent he had left behind in it. They’d be okay though, with time. 

“Basically newlyweds then, dear.” The nice older woman comments. The woman looks her up and down, a contemplative smile on her face. She knew she looked weary. “Bit of advice dear?” 

“Hmmm?” 

“Having you around is enough.” She hums. “Just gotta be there for him, stay close dear. Always stay.” The woman reached forward, wrapping her hand around her shoulder. 

Contemplative she nods at the woman, thanking her. Making her way outside and taking the statement to heart. Perhaps she didn’t need to overthink what was wanted and act on what was needed. He must need her, must need her close. She had thought to work herself to the bone to bring back his warmth, but maybe all that was needed was her constant. To be a constant for him. 

She thinks about the way he used to melt into her side on the couch, how he would lean into her palm on his cheek. How he had just reached for her, moments ago. Encasing her in his arms. She didn’t need to find words to soothe him. She never did. 

He was leaning on her passenger side door. A lit cigarette lighting his face. Handsome as all hell like that, his big hand dragging through his stubbly cheek. Dark eyes followed her from the door to the car. Wouldn’t be hard to be a constant for a man like that. And he stole all her words anyway, looking like that. 

He nods, bending to open her door with a quick flourish of his hand, dramatically bowing to her as she ducks into the passenger seat, giggling at his antics. 

He follows suit, bending and folding into the drivers side. Cranking his window down so the cigarette smoke wouldn’t linger in the car. 

His legs bent and parted, his hand nursing his smoke. She moves to him almost unconsciously, still at a loss for words in his simple presence. Thinking about what the older woman had said to her in the bar, jumbled up in her mind. Stay close, right?

She settles into the middle part of the long bench, reaching for the radio and ignoring his imploring gaze. 

“Hun?” He implores. “You gonna move?” 

She shakes her head, moving her eyes back to his again before straying her gaze to the cigarette stuck between his lips now. 

“No baby.” She slurs, giggling at him as she plucks his smoke from his mouth, moving it to hers. 

She had never called him that before, and it makes him need to readjust in his seat, suddenly hot in the cool February air. She’d be the death of him, he swears. Especially with her eyes tilted like that, and the way the smoke curls up around her face and hair. It’d be burnt into his mind for a while, this image of her. It’d be enough to sate him for months he figures. 

He does not correct her, nor make her move. Just reaches past her, buckling her securely into the middle spot without leaving her tilted gaze. His heart in his throat. His hands begin to shake again. 

That damn song rings out from the radio, pulling her eyes from his as she giggles at the contraption. The song's rhythm almost seems to match his heart, stuttering at her form folded into the middle of the front seat. The cigarette balanced in her mouth.

She leans over him, hand finding his chest as she reaches out the open window. Flicking their now shared cigarette into the winter snow. Her palm is warm on his chest, and she drags it to his shoulder as she returns to her seat in the middle of the long bench. A long searing path it leaves across him, she’s warm beside him in his fucking jacket. She’s gonna kill him. 

Something deep in him can’t reason with his stupid logic anymore though, not when she’s like this. So much more carefree than she’s been in months, and something rings around the back of his mind reminding him that it is his own goddamn fault that he can’t control himself. Never hers. Nothing really was ever her fault in his eyes. So if this is what she needed tonight, to feel some semblance like herself for the first time in months, then he wouldn’t flinch away from it. Because it’s all his fault anyway, that rotten part of himselfs fault. That bad part of him, that wanted her for more than this. He wanted to use her, he reasoned. That bad part of him wanted to use her, but she needed him like this. But she had allowed it, so he would do as she needed.

So he lets her curl up into his side in the car on the way home. His hand runs through her hair as she hums the lyrics to that goddamn song into his ear. It’s hypnotizing he thinks, but not the song no, it’s all her. She was that hypnotizing thing, and he had fallen back into her with an ease that would be embarrassing if he gave a shit tonight. But he only has one thing on his mind, and that’s getting her back home. She’d sleep well tonight, he thought. 

July, 1985

“Stan, why didn’t we think of this years ago?” 

“Why didn’t I think of this years ago you mean,” he hums, one arm hung out the open window of the car. “And it’s because I am stupid.” 

She scoffs, reaching across the middle of the front seat to shove his broad shoulder. He laughs, his head thrown back as she grumbles next to him. She hates when he says that shit. She had made a note on the fridge, etched out in her scrawling handwriting that the word “stupid” was forbidden in their house. Mainly because she had found it appalling how used to calling himself sstupid he was. He had joked, reaching for the note on the fridge on occasion. Tearing it down just to say the word, and laughing as she would chase him in and out of the living room to the kitchen. It wasn't allowed, he would joke, but only because it was on the fridge. She’d fume, making a new note, and hanging it up where the old one had resided. He just did it to get a reaction really, when she was annoyed at him it was adorable.

Which was why she was huffing in the passenger seat, and it only made it better when he pulled the note he had plucked off the fridge when they left, from the back pocket of his swimming trunks. 

“Stan!” She whined, reaching across to him again, unbuckling herself to get at him. 

“Ah Ah!” He waved the sign. “It doesn’t count!” Mocking her rule, and watching her squirm over to him to reach across his chest to grab at the sheet of paper she had remade for the fourth time not even a week ago. 

“Stop it!” She said, leaning over him now, her chest to his as she begged him. Was she pouting? 

He can smell her now, so he relents. Kind of all he wanted, he reasoned in his mind, that sickeningly aching part of him that is. 

“Okay okay!” He almost hands her back the sign, but quickly swipes it from her almost-grasp just to tease her. “But only if you get us some ice cream.” 

She hums, nodding along and reaching for the paper again. “Ah ah!” He protests. “You gotta say it.” 

“Yes, I will get us some ice cream, Stan.” She rolls her eyes, hands out and waiting. 

He gives it back, and she successfully puts it back into her beach bag to later hang it back up on the fridge. 

They had both become exhausted by the summer July heat. The AC window unit they had put up to alleviate some of the swelling heat only operated on the second floor of the house. They had been lying around, miserable together, when he had remembered that this tiny town actually had public accommodations in the form of a pool. She had jumped up from the living room ground in joy and had raced upstairs to change so fast he had barely finished explaining how he’d subsequently had forgotten about said pool. 

It was a smaller pool for sure, but this was a small town to begin with. They just needed to be in the water, stat. 

They made their way inside the enclosed pool, finding a seat by the poolside to share that day as the pool was obviously busy in the heat of July. He had grumbled about the lack of shade and trees, thinking about the usual sunburn he and Ford would get when on Glass Shard beach. 

She had found a spot though, setting her bag and towel down, and beginning to take off her shorts and shirt cover. 

He didn’t look, thinking the act to be too intimate to witness anyway. He sat on the edge of the seat, slipping off his shoes and beginning to take off his own shirt, his back to her. 

Of course, she was wearing a bikini. 

The color complimented her well, and although he couldn’t name details on the suit he’d have the image forever encapsulated in his mind. Especially her bent over like that, as she reached down to remove her shoes. 

She made her way in front of him and his slack jaw, her hands on her hips and her head tilted in question. 

“Are you coming?” 

“No.” He said automatically, sounding defensive. Rethinking, he shakes his head. “I mean, yes.” 

He moves his eyes down, noticing something catching the July sun on her swimsuit. No not her swimsuit, on her. 

He squints, reaching forward to grab at her hips, bringing her closer to him so he can see what he thinks he sees in the shade she now provides. 

“Is that… is that a piercing?” 

He had never seen her belly button before. Something that may have shaken a normal husband, but considering she wasn’t actually his he tried to reel in his subconscious insistence that he should have known about this. 

“Yes?” She says, laughing down at him. 

He removes a hand from her hip, moving to touch the belly button piercing himself. It was completely healed, not in any way brand new. Ignoring how soft her skin was, he looked back up at her. 

“When you get this doll?” 

She shrugs. “When I was in college. Someone dared me $50 I wouldn’t do it.” 

Fuck. He leans his head forward, unintentionally nestling into her soft stomach. She did it for money. 

She was almost too much, too good to be true. She fit into him like a puzzle piece sometimes, and he was still continuously amazed by her for some reason. 

Trying to tame some odd part of him he looks back up at her. She’s gorgeous, the sun framing her smiling face. She’s laughing at his reaction, a flush to her cheeks at his casual affection for her. 

She leans forward, putting her hands on his shoulders and tilting his head back. She moves to put her hand under his scruffy chin, asking him again if he was coming along into the pool with her. 

He nods, following in her wake. They eat their ice cream in shared amusement all the way home after a hectic day in the pool. 

*******, ****

“I can’t believe he had it this whole time.” He says, leaning back into the rolling chair stationed in the front of the portal's control panel. 

She hums, peering over his shoulder as he moves back and forth over controls. Flipping and turning things she nudges him in indication to move. The two journals rested on the workbench, the third picture they had taken from the third journal most recently, which had rather unsurprisingly been in the young boy’s possession. 

“You know Dipper. He’s too curious for his own good.” She hums, looking back over his broad shoulder to the portal beyond the protection glass. They had successfully gotten a reaction out of it just the following night, and it had shocked to life, throwing gravity off normal equilibrium for a few moments. She had taken that into consideration, floating around potential reasons for the anomaly in gravity and the correspondence to the potential space-time hole they had punched into their basement wall. 

He leans back in the chair, turning to look at her fully now. Weathered and handsome now, gray hair curling around his ears and his glasses. Just as whole and broad and goofy as he usually was. His wedding band glints on his finger as he reaches for her, a smile growing on his face. 

“You knew didn’t ya?” He says, laughing at it all. “You knew he’d find the stupid thing?” 

“I had an inkling that he may have found it.” She sighs, leaning forward, exhausted, as he runs his large hand up and down her back in a soothing motion. 

He huffs. She’s always one step ahead of everyone. Not that she would tell anyone but him, her husband. He found it amusing when everyone was surprised by her intelligence. It wasn’t a secret to him in the slightest, that she overthought and rewrote a hundred different ways to handle situations in her head. She was weirdly graceful like that, but subsequently also filled with an edge of constant anxiety. 

She had been anxious about the little things today, he could tell. She woke up earlier than normal today but hadn’t moved from his arms. Eyes open and staring at him endearingly in the early morning sun. Usually, it was the other way around. But she had been like that since the kids, really. 

She was also worried about the party, and the townsfolk visiting so close to an active portal. But she had quickly become distracted by making snacks for the celebration tonight, and coloring posters with the girl about their “karaoke family group”. Something with a stupid name he couldn’t remember, but something he figured she helped the girl come up with. 

“You’re too soft on him.” He says, pulling her closer to him, lifting his head to rest on her chest as she stands in front of him. Her brow twists, a contemplative frown on her face. The argument they’ve been having silently for the past few weeks arising once again between them. 

“No.” She sighs, running her hand over his scruffy warm cheek. “You’re too hard on him.” 

He hums. “You know why though.” 

She nods. “I know, dear.” 

Her hands fall to his shoulders, pulling him away from his usual place along the front of her. Pulling his scruffy chin up with the tip of her finger, all the while smiling at him. Tonight had been good, she thought. The kids were happy, and the girl was excited to entertain the town and her friends. The boy had been upset at the reprimand he had received earlier, but she doubted that really deterred him from his mission to uncover the oddities in that journal he carried around religiously now. He’d be over the reprimand by tomorrow, she figured. She worried he may get himself into trouble one day though. 

But her husband had been right in his assessment. Between the two of them, they had agreed there was too much Ford in the young boy than they could manage between the two of them. She was constantly worried about him, worried his curiosity may lead him to unexplainable and more dangerous situations than they could pull him out of him. But his twin, the girl, just as easily wrangled him in. The young girl was a balm on her conscious, constantly reminding her that being so young had been a true pleasure. She just hoped the girl could also remind her brother of this too. There was a lot of her husband in the young girl, she was just as charming. 

Stan was looking at her though, his typical flirtatious smirk on his face. It had been a good night. The portal whirled behind them both, and the music upstairs spoke of the fun the kids were having. She leaned into him, wanting to meet his lips halfway. 

An alarm blared throughout the basement. The security alarm breach that they had put on the upstairs shack door in case of burglary, but more for the warning in case the government came knocking. 

Their faces turn to the giftshop's security camera, the image of the boarded-up front door settling unevenly in her stomach. The kids. 

Something was bursting, punching in and rattling the front door. The children were moving furniture and chairs in front of the entrance. Speaking and screaming between themselves as they made a barricade. 

She runs, removing herself from his warmth. They both make for the elevator, hastily hitting the button to go up a story so they could go from the sub-basement to their actual basement. He was breathing heavily next to her, his large hand folded into her own smaller one. His hair a mess from pulling at it in anxiety. 

The stairs came to view in dim light, and she raced ahead without a thought. Taking the stairs two at a time as she dragged him up to the back of the vending machine that led to the stairwell. 

She let go of his hand, making to move the vending machine out of place to enter the gift shop. To get to the scrambling, scared kids. But it wouldn’t budge under the weight of what lay in front of it. What had amassed in front of the front entrance, they hadn’t caught a glimpse of. But she could smell it, the stench of rotten flesh and the mellowing bellow of the whining undead. Fear ripped through her, but she kept shoving because the fucking kids were in there. 

She yells at him, frightened as she advances her shoulders away and back into the door. Shoving her whole body to move the entrance. “Stanley!” She yells, anxiety running through her. 

But he’s already shoving too. Already has his arms flush to the door, digging his feet into the step for traction as he pushes his whole weight against it. He’s almost caged her in, dwarfing her in his effort to put his own momentum to the door too. His eyes frantic and his breathing hasty. The kids were all alone in there. 

Desperate, she beats her hands against the door, calling for the children in hopes they would seek them out in safety. “Mabel!” She gasps, fists bloody against the wood. “Mason!” 

He drags her back, taking her fists in his hands as he begs her to stop. He takes a lunging step back, pushing her against the stairwell railing. He shoves his whole body against the door, his broad shoulder first, and his suit ripped due to the movement and the force. His own hands and fists bloody from the abrasive door and his haste to get to the twins. 

The door breaks under his weight, and he uses the leverage of the new material to work against the amount of dead bodies that had amassed in front of the vending machine. She follows him out, not thinking twice about the undead surrounding them. Her heart in her throat, her hand wrapped around his bicep as he reached for the bat they kept near the entrance to the Mystery Shack from their home. She screams their names again, clawing to get through the crowd of undead.

“Babies!” 

She gasps, spotting them in the sea of bodies. The young girl's sweater ripped and torn under the hands of all the undead. The boy’s hat missing, his usual jacket she had tucked over his shoulders that morning also torn to shreds, covered in inky black blood. Their eye’s lifeless. 

Stanley turns to her, his eyes hasty and clouded, and his breaths loud. He looks down at her, his shoulders shaking from pent-up tears. His hands meet the sides of her face, and he chokes out something that could be a question. 

“Honey?” 

“Honey!” 

He leaned over her, his hands still on the sides of her damp face.  

He had rushed from Stanford’s room to her open doorway. The cool October air leaking in from his open window, leading him to her room. She had called for him, called for Stanley, and it had shaken him awake so suddenly he had tripped in the hallway to make it to her side. 

She had been dead asleep, and sweating heavily despite the crisp air. Curled into her multiple blankets and tucked into a sweatshirt he had sworn he had misplaced, but she had laughed at in secret. Tucking away the sweatshirt that held his imprint to wear to bed and fold herself into. 

It was drenched now, and her eyes were blurry when she woke to his call. She was breathing erratically, heart stuttering in her chest and mouth dry from her calls. Her eyes searched his for what felt like hours, as he reassured her that it had all been a dream. 

“Hun? Hun, it was a dream. It was just a dream.” He reasoned, his large hands running through her tangled messy hair. Finding their way to the back of her neck so he could hold the entirety of her upper half in his palms. Breathing easy in her presence to show her how to slow her heart. 

She didn’t say anything until he moved from her, beginning to reach around to her dresser to pull out a new shirt for her to wear. 

“No.” She mumbled. “No.” 

“I ain’t leaving, just getting you something new hun.” He reassures but doesn’t let his hand leave hers as he steps towards the dresser in her small room. Pulling open the top drawer, as she sat up in bed behind him. His hand still clutched in hers. Her eyes were still far away, searching dark corners of the room for children. 

He turns back to her, handing her another one of his large shirts. She had all but stolen his wardrobe in the past three years. Sometimes he would wander to her dresser to find some of his clothes that had made a home in her dresser. Something he wishes he could have done himself, by choice. Put his clothes next to hers. 

She takes the shirt, releasing his hand to undress herself from the sweatshirt. He turns around, thinking to step back through the doorway to go back to Stanford’s bed. 

“No.” She says again, pulling at his own loose shirt, stopping him in his move. So he stops, back still turned as he listens to her change. She tugs the end of his shirt again, and he turns to look at her in the dark room. 

She pulls his forearm, her small hand grasping at his large arm as she tries to strongarm him closer. He moves to her, sitting on the edge of her bed, searching her far-away eyes for something. She brings his large palm to her face, resting her now cooling cheek in his grasp. 

“Stay.” She commands. 

He would do anything she asked. He had been so rattled by the call of his name, the rip of her voice, how scared she sounded. He doubted he’d leave her side for a while, until she asked him to go. Then he would leave again. So he crawls into bed with her, shuffling her to the other side, to the wall. He takes the side she used to reside in, her warmth leaking into him. The imprint she left behind encased him. He’s closest to the door, reasoning in his mind that the dark shadows of the hallway would just frighten her more. 

She shuffles over, still sitting up as she rearranges blankets up to his shoulders, tucking him in, in an odd way. He doesn’t say anything but chuckles at the sentiment. She then lays next to him, facing him in the middle. Her blankets shuffled up to her own shoulders. 

She sighs deeply, soothed by his presence after waking up in shock. It had been so real. Like she couldn’t tell the difference between them, between wakefulness and dream state. Like she had dipped her toes into another reality entirely. 

Her heart races again, and she reaches for his hand, bringing it back to her face. His heavy presence was a balm on her weary heart. He smiles slightly at her, humming under his breath as he scoots a little closer to her. Whispering between them as he fades back into a dream, hoping his company brings her enough peace to let her rest for a little while longer until the sun rises. 

“Goodnight hun.” Grumbling in his deep voice, she hums against his hand, burrowing deeper into his palm against her cheek. Her eyes can’t help but drift to corners in her room, again subconsciously looking for scared children in crowds of bodies.

She turns from the darkness in her room, triangles of shadows creeping in from the dark doorway into the hallway. She looks back to him, slumbering next to her now. His head dug deep into her pillow, his breaths shallow and his brow unfurred. 

The dream. In the dream, were they her’s? She can’t remember, looking at him now, it’s like it’s fading into the background. The vivid dream seeping from her mind. 

“Were they ours?” She whispers between them. Asking it out loud, just so she could remember that one part of the nightmare. The one part that made her ache, and wish for something far off that she’d never really had. Were the children ours?

[feirceangel]

Imagine | Run (Lost Boys)

Imagine running from the boys.

Word Count: 764

~

Santa Carla is the murder capital of the world, which should be enough of a warning in itself. Add that to all the missing posters, the dangerous gangs, the crime, and you have an excellent recipe for danger.

At night, it becomes even more evident.

The streets are always bare during the off season, apart from a few drunk stragglers and partiers coming from the beach.

You've made it your duty to avoid being outside when the sun goes down, cautious of the threat that the night contains.

But, sometimes, life catches you off guard.

You have to close up shop tonight, which means you'll have to walk home in the dark. Having heard the news, you had begged to trade shifts with whomever would accept, but none of your coworkers would have it.

So, here you are, all alone in the empty shop, locking down before heading outside into the dark.

You walk, head bowed as to not draw unnecessary attention. To your dismay, it doesn't seem to be working.

Breathing slowly, you walk on the uneven pavement, praying for safety. Quiet laughter sounds behind you, making your breath hitch. You don't dare turn around.

"Y/n," a low voice whispers, seemingly right next to you.

Startled, you whirl your head only to be greeted with nothing. Must be hallucinating now, you shrug it off and continue.

The giggles follow, a good ways behind you. There are only a few more blocks to your house, you can make it.

Again, that ghostly whisper tickles your ears.

You ignore it as best you can. How would this person even know your name?

You turn the corner only to come face to face with them. The locals call them the Lost Boys, and you think it suits them well.

The curly blond, the straight haired blond, the long haired brunette, and the platinum blond with a mullet.

They are each stunningly gorgeous and yet so dangerous.

They are what dreams and nightmares are made of.

You stutter and stand still. They make an indestructible wall that blocks you from where you need to be.

"Excuse me," you mumble, waiting for them to move.

They just grin wickedly.

So, you step onto the street and try to walk around them. They follow your movements, blocking you once again.

Cursing internally, you try again. They mimic you again.

By now, your heart is pounding a mile a minute. You stare at them with wide eyes, feeding their grins.

"P-please, I don't have a lot of money," you say meekly, secretly gripping the pocket knife you keep in your coat pocket.

"We don't want your money, Girly," the one with long blond hair states.

You gulp. These boys are trouble and they've found you.

Without a second thought, you turn on your heel and sprint away, hoping they won't catch up.

You run for a few minutes, expecting one of them to grab you at any second. You can't hear anyone pursuing you, though. Maybe they didn't think you were worth the hassle?

Glancing back, you can't see them anymore.

As soon as you turn your head to the front, you slam into a chest, resulting in a few jeers and laughs.

You scramble backwards as you stare into the icy blue eyes of the apparent leader who you ran into.

"C'mon doll, where you going?" The curly blond one asks, biting his thumbnail.

It feels like the very air is pressing against you as you stare into the eyes of these threatening men. But, you're not about to die without a fight.

You reveal your knife wielding hand, pointing it at them, "Leave me alone!"

This only results in more chuckles.

"Babe, we're not gonna do that," the tall silent one speaks for the first time, somehow terrifying you even more.

The leader steps forward and bends down. You keep the small blade focused on him, inching back a bit more.

"Darling, that won't do any good," he informs you in a smooth, calm voice.

Breathing raggedly, you tense as he reaches his gloved hand to your cheek. Acting on instinct, you stab the knife into his arm, making him growl in pain.

As you do this, you shoot upwards and try to flee again.

The dark haired one stops you, encasing you in his strong arms as you struggle futility.

A sharp scream escapes your lips as tears start to fall from your eyes.

This can't be happening, your frightened mind rationalizes.

"Oh," the one you stabbed says, stroking your cheek, "But it is."

[yoon-kooks]

Two Tones of a Tabby- pt.I

Pairing: Taehyung x Reader 

Genre: Angst, Fluff, Bildungsroman, Idol!Taehyung 

Summary: Upon graduating from university, you embark on your first and last summer adventure to explore the wonders of the world with complete independence before becoming confined to a cubicle when autumn begins. But as fate would have it, a chance encounter with a troubled idol in search of his own kind of freedom threatens the solo aspect of your trip. 

Word Count: 2.4k 

Parts: I II III IV V

A/N: this was supposed to be a lengthy oneshot, but i guess itll be another series instead (╯°□°）╯︵ ┻━┻  and im screaming at myself for being extra enough to write bildungsroman as the genre. it’s basically just a fancy term for coming-of-age and the longest word in my vocabulary LMAO.

T is for Taehyung 

“travel diary entry #1- it’s 5pm, been stuck at incheon since like 6 in the morning and nothing remotely interesting has happened because this is a fucking airport. if there’s one more flight delay, i think i’m going to combust.”

With a sigh, you drop your pen between the first two pages of your journal to reveal a red cover with tiny tigers running across it. The first spontaneous purchase of your vacation is already proving its worth through the countless flight delays you’ve had to endure thus far. Your mother would’ve told the younger version of yourself not to waste money on a journal at an overpriced airport kiosk unless you were going to write in every single page from beginning to end. Maybe you wouldn’t have made use of such a sentimental object as a child, but as time went on, you’ve grown. Besides, no one’s here to stop you and your rash decisions. You’re on your own.

Or so you think.

All at once, a rush of humans and cameras flood the airport walkway that had been otherwise quiet for the past 11 hours. You notice some young folks get up from their seats with their phone cameras ready to get a better view of whoever it is. A celebrity? You’d get up off your ass to check out what the big deal is, but honestly, you have no idea what all the youngsters are into nowadays. Maybe that’s your own fault for paying more attention to your studies and workload than pop culture and current events. So you decide to stay back and eat your slice of pizza that had gone cold as you were busy writing.

Even from afar, you can see the huge moving cluster of people and bombardment of camera flashes. Is that even legal? Does personal space not exist when you’re a celebrity? Do celebrities ever grow tired of not being able to live freely? Those are the thoughts you have as you munch on your dinner.

Mid-bite, you watch as a black mullet pops up from the crowd with a few sleepy waves. You could swear, for just an instant, he makes eye contact with you, the only person sitting that far away from the chaos. His dark eyes reflect something more—something beyond what the rest of his nonchalant body language shows. With half of your pizza hanging out of your mouth, you give him a polite wave with crumby fingers, although you’re sure he had already looked away by then.

And just like that, the airport finds peace once more. You wonder if you should pull out your journal and write another entry about your fateful encounter with an unknown celebrity who accidentally made eye contact with you for 0.3 seconds.

Beep! “Attention: Now boarding, Flight 1230.” You leap off your seat as soon as you hear that your flight hasn’t been delayed for the thousandth time. Checking twice to make sure you aren’t leaving any of your belongings behind, you lug your carry-on bag with you to the boarding area.

Finally, your solo trip has begun.

Once you’re settled into your seat on the plane, you try to remember what the fuck you were thinking about before boarding. Ah yes, your eye contact with Mr. Celebrity. How could you forget?

You dig through your bag and pull out your tiger journal. For a good minute, you just stare at it, having an internal debate on whether or not to waste a page on another dumb event at the airport. Nah. It’s too late now. Maybe if he was a celebrity you knew, your heart would’ve leapt, and only then would it be worth recording into your journal. But you’d rather leave space for memories that perhaps hold more weight to you.

All that remains engraved in your mind from the occurrence are the boy’s eyes. They were fill with darkness as if they were hiding a secret of some sort, and he had awfully beautiful eyelashes that could be seen from a mile away. So for the sake of it, you draw just his eyelashes, which look mildly creepy on their own beneath your entry on the flight delays.

For the rest of the flight, you try to rid yourself of that one instance and get some rest, but for some reason, it’s more difficult than it should be. As much as you’d like to think of yourself as someone with a carefree personality, little things like this actually bug you quite a bit.

Something about the whole thing is unsettling. You aren’t sure if it’s because of the bombardment of cameras, the lack of personal space, the troubled look in the boy’s eyes, or the fact that that was the most action you’d gotten all day. But nonetheless, something just feels off.

Perhaps the only way you’re able to find peace is by telling yourself that there’s nothing you can do about it. The boy doesn’t know you, you don’t know him, and that’s that. You just want to enjoy your trip and not have to worry about anything—especially not a boy.

So you close your eyes and dream of all the yummy food you’ll eat over the course of your adventures. That's the only travel plan you have so far. Everything else will happen as it comes.

-

After the long flight, the first thing you do is stretch and breath in some fresh air. The sky is blue and the morning sun is radiating down on your jet-lagged body. As much as you’d love to find a hotel to rid yourself of your bulky luggage and take a nap, you don’t have time for that. You’re eager to explore, and that alone is already more than enough to energize your mind and soul.

You wander around the streets in search of the no.1 thing on your mind: food. Rather than use a GPS or Yelp, you leave it up to your intuition and stomach. And somehow, you’re led into an empty café with fancy coffees and desserts.

To give off the least amount of touristy vibes, you shove your luggage beneath the table for two and begin to browse your food options. You lowkey want to eat everything that’s pictured on the menu, but you have to remind yourself that you still have a long trip ahead of you, so there’ll most definitely be plenty of other opportunities for good food. After careful consideration, you settle on an iced mocha and a slice of strawberry sponge cake. A caffeine and sugar rush can’t hurt.

As you wait for your food, you wonder why the café is so empty. Perhaps it has a bad review on Yelp and you would’ve known that if you’d just checked your phone. Maybe the food quality is shit, or maybe the service is terrible, or maybe they know something that you don’t. Oops.

But it takes less than five minutes for your food to be served with Instagram-quality presentation. The strawberry sponge cake looks moist and delicate with pink flower sprinkles that glisten in the sunlight, and the mocha has a cute kitten drawn on the handcrafted foam. But to be honest, you kind of care more about the taste—which is also surprisingly quite delicious by your standards.

You suppose you shouldn’t worry as long as the food tastes good, so you pull out your journal again and write another entry as you enjoy your breakfast.

“travel diary entry #2: got off the plane, stopped at a cute café with no one in it, which is lowkey shady, but whatever. the food tastes good lol. oh and the mocha has a kitten drawn on it to match the tigers on this journal. is this what they call fate?? LMAO jkjkjkjkjk-”

“I’ll order what that customer is eating—except no coffee, please,” a soft and mellow voice interrupts your train of thought. You had been so absorbed in your food and writing that you didn’t realize another customer had appeared. Maybe the café isn’t so shady after all. Your intuition hasn’t failed you.

As you take a sip of your mocha, you casually glance over at the table across from where you’re seated and nearly spit out your entire drink—not because it tastes bad, but because you recognize the long eyelashes. It’s the eyelash boy from the airport.

Between bites of your cake, you keep sneaking peeks at the boy, who’s actually a lot more handsome now that you can see his features up close. With his loosely styled hair, his expensive yet questionable taste in fashion, and his gorgeous looks, there’s no doubt he holds some sort of fame status.

Apparently you’ve stared for too long because he catches you and deadass rolls his eyes. As if you’re doing something wrong.

“If you’re waiting for an autograph or something, you aren’t getting one,” he finally says to you. An autograph? You don’t even know who the fuck this guy is, and he thinks you want his autograph?

“Excuse me?” You narrow your eyes at the celebrity.

“I know you’re one of the fans from the airport. You waved at me with pizza hanging out of your mouth.” You’re half embarrassed by the fact that he witnessed The Great Pizza Incident, and half offended by the fact that he called you a “fan”. Because you’re certainly no fan of his.

“Last time I checked, I was sitting at this café before you, so there’s no need for you to assume I’m one of your crazed fans who follow you around everywhere.”

“And yet, somehow out of all the places in the world, you happen to travel to the same exact city as me,” he scoffs. “Don’t pretend like this is a coincidence.” His thick-skulled ass doesn’t believe you, and you can’t believe it. What did you do to deserve this?

“If you think I somehow found your schedule and took this vacation for the sole purpose of seeing my favorite celebrity, then you’re either paranoid or way too conceited,” you say. “I don’t even know who you are, or why there were so many fans chasing you around the airport. I’m just here to enjoy my trip, so leave me the fuck out of your problems.” It comes out a little harsher than you’d like, but hopefully it’ll get the point across that you aren’t a fan blinded by love.

Out of shock, the boy just blinks at you. He’s probably not used to being scolded straight to his pretty face. But he deserved it, and to your surprise, he apologizes.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to take out my frustrations on you,” he pulls back and bites his lip, “especially when you chose to stay away from the airport chaos.” At least he’s willing to own up to his mistakes.

“It’s fine… I’m not actually that mad… I just didn’t want to be wrongly accused of being a stalker, you know?” You soften your expression to ease the tension. “Besides, I’m sure it happens to you all the time.”

He nods in silence as he stares down at his strawberry cake. It seems celebrities do get overwhelmed and sick of living with no privacy. Maybe this boy just happens to have reached his tipping point.

“Look, I’m sorry you have to deal with constant bullshit like that. Everyone deserves the freedom and space to do whatever they wish (as long as it’s legal),” you say, finishing off your last bite of cake. “That’s actually the reason I decided to take this solo vacation—to take time away for myself!” You aren’t sure why you share this last bit of information with the boy, especially when you hadn’t told any friend or family about your spontaneous trip, but it just feels right to let him know that he’s not the only one in search of a liberation of some sort.

“I wish I could be a free spirit like you,” he chuckles for the first time, and it’s really fucking cute. “Maybe that’s why I’m taking this trip too—to loosen up a bit and do what I want, rather than conform to what the world expects of me.”

“Well you aren’t off to a great start, to be honest,” you tease him as you receive the bill from your waiter. As soon as you see how much you have to pay, your mouth forms a big O because you realize why the café is so empty. It costs you a lot more than you’d like to spend on some coffee and cake. But despite the overpriced food, you don’t feel terrible about your stay.

Just as you’re about to get up to pay at the register, you’re blocked by the boy who’s suddenly trying to act like a gentleman. “Let me pay for it… as an apology for interrupting your breakfast. And by the way, who eats cake for breakfast?”

“You ordered the same thing as me!” This guy is unbelievable, but also amusing. “And it’s fine. I may not be a celebrity like you, but I can pay for my own food. Thanks anyway, Mr. Celebrity.” You smile at him before making your payment at the counter. Something about his cute frown from the rejection makes you die a little.

“Then let me take you out,” he blurts out, perhaps on the spur of the moment. “I-I mean… unless you have plans later.”

You take a long moment to stare at the boy who had accused you of being a stalker less than an hour ago. Oh how the tables have turned. The spontaneity of travelling with someone you just met certainly will spice up your adventure—for better or worse. Somewhere in you, a fire is lit. So you shake your head, “I don’t have any plans. After all, I’m a free spirit as you like to call me.”

“Then what would you like to be called?”

“Y/N.”

“Right. Y/N. Then… I’m T?”

“T? Is that what your real name starts with?” you chuckle. “And why do you sound so suspicious?”

“Wait, you really don’t know who I am?”

“I really fucking don’t.”

You hear him mumble something about fires and deoxyribonucleic acid, as if you should get the references. But you suppose you’re too much of an uncultured swine to pick up what he’s putting down.

“Good.” For some reason, he looks relieved that you’re unaware of his celebrity self. “Just call me Taehyung then.”

[minteapurrs]

Don’t Close Up Shop Yet (Pt. Thweee)

*Swings my hips* Alright Bitches

Here comes the porn

Jk jk... Issa wet dream

Tbh, I've done... Way more graphic things. 

Like....Way more graphic. 

But!! If you're not into any of that, I suggest you skip to the next break (Which would be this -----) you won't have missed much... It's just a wet dream.

Although as a heads up, at least one of these parts are gonna be straight up porn okay bye!!

---------

"Lance..."

Keith whined, rolling his hips against Lance's knee with his fingers in his hair. He was panting, begging, begging for Lance to do something, anything. "Lance, please, please please please I need you, I need you, please--"

Lance yanked his head back by his ponytail to expose his neck, and he bit down on his collarbone, dragging his tongue over the bite and sucking, hard. He could feel Keith under him, rising up off of his knees, and he growled low in his throat.

"Did I say you could move?"

Keith shuddered and moaned, panting softly "L-Lance, oh my God, I can't, I need it, I need--"

"Tell me what you need, Keith." Lance stared at him, watched as those violet eyes wavered, before he responded.

"Take me..."

--------

"Oh take me now, Lance! Take me with your big strong noodle arms! Fill me up the milk from your manly pencil dick! Oh Lance, I'll do your Bio homework for the rest of the semester if you just take me now!!!"

"..."

Sometimes, Lance thanked the heavens for his friend, his pal, his best DemiDog™ LesFren™ Buddy gal Pidge. Sometimes he just wanted to grab her in his arms and squeeze her until all the love he felt finally went away, and he could concentrate on being the best friend he could be to his small companion. And sometimes, he'd just get so gosh darn happy when he saw her, cause she's such a doggone good friend that it just made his heart swell in his chest.

This, however, was not one of those times.

Instead, Lance silently wished that the earth would open up and swallow the little midget that was currently rolling on the floor, literally, crying laughing.

"PiiIIIIDGE!!!"

"Your FACE!! Oh my God your FACE, it was PRICELESS!!!" She howled, kicking her legs in the air "Oh, oh wait wait wait-- 'Tell me what you want, Keith.'" Pidge stared at Lance, completely silent, until the red on his cheeks spread to his nose and all the way up to the to of his ears.

Of course, she lost it. Again.

"I CAN'T!!"

"Shut the hell UP." Lance sat up on the couch and threw a pillow at her, his face burning. "Why can't you ever let me sleep?"

"Oh Keith, you're so beautifuuuul. I just wanna look at you aaaaalll niiiight LONG." Pidge snickered and pulled her glasses off of her face, wiping her eyes "After that, I just couldn't resist."

"Has anyone ever told you that you're Satan in disguise?"

"You're the first, my friend." Pidge smirked "I mean, look on the bright side. If not for me, you wouldn't have been dreaming about... What's his name... Keith."

"...Why don't you love me?" Lance groaned and flopped back on the couch, hiding his face "This is mildly embarrassing."

"Seriously though, what sex book did you read before you went to sleep? You were louder than you usually are."

"There was no sex book!" Lance yelled and threw yet another pillow at her. "And its called erotica, for your information. God, Pidge." He scowled, immediately going into drama mode. "Have you no decency?"

"Thou loins were quivering like leaves in the wind. Tis' not I that is without decency, tis... Uh...you."

"...Shut up."

Lance pouted, and Pidge threw her arms around him, laughing all over again. "I'm sorry, I'll stop." She grinned "But! I'm assuming things went well with Mister Mullet?" She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively, and Lance snorted, gently pushing her off of him.

"Well, he almost called the cops on me, and I'm pretty sure he'd spit in my coffee if I ever piss him off, but other than that," He smiled "It went okay."

"He threatened to call the cops on you."

"He thought I was a creep."

"He doesn't think that now??"

    Lance grinned, hugging the last pillow left on the couch “Believe it or not, I think he likes me. I mean, how could he not? I’m me.” He snorted and leaned back, looking up at the ceiling “I invited him to go to the harbor with me... He said no. Thank God he did too; cause I’m broker than an actual broker.” 

 “That is...Not funny at all.” Pidge snorted “How far you’d go just to flirt? Amazes me. and plus, when all you spend your money on is food, books and beauty products--”

     “Hey! Beauty is pain.”

 “And empty wallets.” 

      Lance made a point to look directly at Pidge again “Pain.”

 “Uh huh. Well, now that he’s refused a date, it’s time for phase two.”

   “Um...Go back to Red Ella’s and talk to him some more?”

“No.  Obviously you ask him to marry you...I’m sure that a diamond will get his attention,” She pretended to swoon, dropping into Lance’s lap “And his heart.”

 “...Katie.”

“Yeah- lANCE WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!” Pidge yelped before getting smacked back onto the floor with a mass of cotton and feathers.   Lance had decided to hit her more than once with the pillow this time-- for good measure. “Shut up before I tell Hunk you’re sick and he brings over that sticky-whatever soup.”  Pidge made a sound like she was vomiting under the pillow, before muttering “Please don’t.”

Lance harrumphed and pulled the pillow from off of her face, sitting back against the couch cushions.”...I do like him. A lot. He’s really pretty, and...Under all the ”I’ll fight you’ stuff...He’s pretty cool. I think.”

  “Aand?” “Well, what if he really doesn’t like me?!”    “Then you move on, just like you do every other time.” Pidge nodded “Maybe he’ll come around, maybe he won’t.”

   Maybe Pidge was right... Maybe Keith really did think he was a creep. Maybe he wanted nothing to do with him. With most people that acted like that towards him, it was easy to forget it, play it off, move on. Lance was very good at making himself believe that he could let shit go...Let people go.  But what he didn’t understand, was that if everybody else was so easy to forget,

    Why was it so hard to get Keith out of his mind?

                                            --------

 “We only talked for like five minutes!”    Keith complained over the phone, tapping his fingers on the handles of his motorcycle “Five minutes!”

 “Yes, five minutes too short. That's not a good enough excuse to pass up good old interaction time with new people.Now. Tell me the real reason why you didn’t go with him to the harbor? He was obviously interested in you. And! It sounds like such a nice trip. I’d like to go. Would you take me?”

“Sure, Coran” Keith leaned forward, swerving around cars impatiently “Why not?” Coran was his boss-- the sole reason he had a job at Red Ella’s. Sure, it wasn’t exactly the most legal of employments (Keith didn’t have the.. Uh..cleanest of records)  but as long as Allura and Shiro didn’t find out?    Who cares? Besides, Coran was like an uncle to Keith-- If he could trust anyone to keep their mouth shut about his... past? It was him. “Look, maybe just give the boy a chance, yeah?”

“No, not gonna happen.” Keith narrowed his eyes behind his helmet, silently cursing out some minivan that had just driven in front of him-- stupid suburban parents. “He doesn't seem like one of those people that would be any help to me right now.”

    “Right now, you don’t need help, you need...You need--”

“To go home, talk to Shiro, and go to sleep. I have a night shift at the market tonight.”

  “Keith--” “I’ll talk to you later, Coran.”  Keith sighed and shut his watch off, stopping in front of an apartment complex. Well, more like a giant hollowed out brick with a few smaller hollowed out bricks inside of it. It wasn’t much-- but it was home. keith just hoped Shiro wouldn’t notice how late he was.

     “Damnit...Shiro? I’m home--”

"Language."

Keith sighed and slowly pulled his jacket off of his shoulders, purposely avoiding Shiro’s gaze. “...Don’t get mad.”

 “You were late.”

“I know.”

“Again.”  

“I know, Shiro.”

Keith could hear the springs from the sofa creak before Shiro spoke again “Why were you late this time?”

    “I got...I got a new job.” Keith offered a smile and sighed in relief when Shiro smiled back.

“You got another job??When??Where? Can I come visit?? I can make cookies and bring them to you like in the movies! Do you think my friend Matt could come??”  

Keith smiled, a soft, small smile that was practically reserved for Shiro, and Shiro alone. “It’s at a bookstore cafe...Red Ella’s.”

 “Is it fun there??”

“Uh...It’s...” Keith tilted his head in thought, barely even realizing that the first thought that popped up in his head, was Lance. “It was interesting.” He raised an eyebrow  “How was your day?”

  “It was okay...Ms.Allura says that my handwriting is getting better.. Oh, and look!” Shiro pulled a colourful piece of paper from his jacket and handed it to Keith. “She said for us to draw our family...So I drew you.”  

Keith looked at the drawing, his hands shaking. “..Aw, Shiro...”

“I was extra worried that you wouldn’t come home...I thought that you wouldn’t like the drawing...” Shiro sniffled “I thought you would do what you did last time...”

 “I know, and I’m sorry, I really am--” Keith stopped when a pair of arms wrapped around him, and Shiro had his head buried into his stomach.

“I love you,  Keef.”

    “...I love you too, Shiro. Come on...” Keith pried his arms from around his waist and wiped his face “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

                                           ----------

*EXHALE*

Goddamn it’s about time ...I’m not explaining the whole Shiro thing

That should be obvious

I mean come on he called him Keef

But anyways

Yay, part threeee! Hope you liked it <333

Of course if you have any questions...Just ask me. I’m gonna answer lmao

[iamindeedasmartypants]

Paris, Ch. 3

A/N: Things get a little tense at a party. Warnings: none

Eugene wasn’t stupid in any capacity- he knew he had overstepped a fine line, and that Kimi was avoiding him. He’d catch sight of her all over Alexandria, going on runs with Glenn, helping Maggie with chores, or hanging out with Tara and Denise, but every time he tried to catch her for more than a minute, she’d excuse herself politely and disappear. It was frustrating, to say the least, but Eugene was determined. He had lied his way up the coast and succeeded, surely he could lie his way out of this one. The only problem was, in order to convince her he didn’t have feelings for her, he needed to get her to talk to him at all.

What was ideally easy was quite difficult in practicality. For as stubborn as Eugene was about the situation, Kimi was just as stubbornly pretending nothing had ever happened. Since she didn’t seem to want conversation, he focused on the one last thing he had, and set to work.

The iPod she had given him was, by all definitions of the word, fucked. Apocalypse not withstanding, the Apple store itself would have advised her to give it up and buy a new one, but Eugene couldn’t help hearing her words replay in his head that it was a sentimental item. He wondered why as he turned it over in his large hands, taking a screwdriver to the tiny screws holding the device together. The first few things he tried didn’t work, but he was patient. It took him two days, but finally, in the dim hours of Friday morning, the low battery screen blinked to life. Satisfied with himself, Eugene plugged in the charger he had scavenged from the kitchen and turned the light off, determined to return it to Kimi when he woke up.

When he reached the wall hours later, however, Kimi wasn’t there. “Tara,” he greeted the other woman, who looked down at him through her sunglasses. “Where’s Kimi? I have an item of her personal interest in my possession I’d like to return to her.”

Tara shrugged. “She went off with Evan somewhere. Do you want me to give it to her? I’ll see her tonight.”

“Negative,” Eugene answered, then added, “Why?” He knew the girls were friendly, but he didn’t realize they were that friendly. He supposed there were a lot of things he didn’t know about Kimi in actuality, something that made him a bit uncomfortable, given how much she knew about him. He often wondered about her as they lay together post-coitus: what her favorite color was, what she was allergic to, what she thought was the, quote, “coolest thing ever” when she was little, but her answer to any question was always the same, “I don’t do personal questions.” He supposed enigma was hot on her, when it wasn’t downright exasperating.

“One of the guys is throwing a party. Denise is friends with him, and I guess he has the hots for Kimi, I don’t know. She said she’d be there.” Eugene must have made a face, because Tara pushed her sunglasses down her nose to get a better look at him. “What the hell is going on with you two anyway?”

“That’s classified,” Eugene mumbled, but Tara started laughing.

“You’re blushing. Damn Eugene, have you got a crush on her?”

More than a crush, he thought dryly, but he wasn’t about to tell Tara the situation he got himself into. “I’m glad to see you find my predicament to your amusement.”

“Don’t be like that.” She finally pulled herself together, but she was still smirking. “Hey, maybe mullets are her thing. You should tell her. She seems like she likes to have a, uh, good time.” The giggles took over again, and Eugene’s expression darkened.

“Tara.”

“Sorry, sorry. If you do decide to go all ‘Say Anything’ on her, it’s the gray house by the south fence, nine o’clock. Maybe I’ll see you there?”

“Maybe.”

He spent a good part of the afternoon debating with himself- right up the moment he showed up on the street the party was being held on. Even if Tara hadn’t told him which house to look for, it wouldn’t have been hard to find thanks to the bass of loud music pumping inside, and the string of people drinking on the lawn. As he walked up the driveway he wondered how long it would be until Deanna shut the party down for the noise. The front door was open, and he walked in, his eyes adjusting to the dim light. It took several minutes to maneuver through the throng of people that were seemingly everywhere, looking for Kimi or Tara. He finally found them in the last room, and Denise was the first to spot him from where she was nestled on a loveseat with Tara. “Hey Eugene!” She called, causing the other two girls to look at him as well.

“Hello,” he greeted casually, as if he hadn’t just crashed a party he definitely wasn’t invited to. He could see Tara was trying not to laugh, but he was too distracted by Kimi to react to it. “Why are you wet?”

“I was thrown in the pool,” she answered, frowning at him. She was sitting on the back of the couch in wet shorts and a bikini top that barely covered her, her long hair leaving drips on the couch every time she moved. She had an unopened beer bottle in her hand. For some reason, his mind drifted to what she would look like in the shower with him, and he had to quickly avert his gaze and start thinking about walkers instead. “What are you doing he-“

“Kimi was just telling us about herself,” Tara interrupted, glancing between them. She gestured to the empty spot on Kimi’s loveseat, the one nearest to herself. “Want to join us?” He could feel Kimi staring a hole through him as he sat next to her, pointedly not meeting her gaze. She was too busy staring at him to notice Tara elbow Denise for help.

“So what did you do before the walkers?” Denise ventured, rising to Tara’s bait, though it was clear she didn’t understand the full situation. Eugene had never been more thankful for Tara’s interference- had he asked such a question, Kimi would have shut him down immediately.

“Odd jobs here and there, mostly.” She dug a nail under her beer’s label, peeling off a shiny strip. She was distracted, at least momentarily, from Eugene. “Waitress, cashier, barista- nothing too permanent. I’d either get bored and stop showing up or they’d fire me for one reason or another. I wanted to apprentice to become a tattoo artist, but walkers sort of put a kink in that.”

“Really?” Whatever Tara had been expecting, it wasn’t that. Eugene leaned back in his seat, risking a glance upwards. Kimi was still picking at the label.

“Yeah. I was shit in school, so there was no way in hell that I could have gone to college. I was always good at art, though, and I like to draw.” She pulled up her shorts slightly to show Tara her phoenix tattoo. “I drew it, but I obviously didn’t ink it. That’s how I fell in love with the artistry, though. I always wanted to get more, or hell, to ink my own, but I guess I’ll have to settle for ball point pen tattoos now.”

Eugene had stared at that tattoo so many times, committing it to memory, but he had never had any idea that she had been the one to draw it. “You are quite talented,” he ventured, causing her to glance at him.

“Thank you.” She hesitated for a moment, as if she was about to say something else, but she changed her mind. “My parents flipped,” she laughed with a mischievous grin, shaking her head. “You would have thought I’d been selling myself on the street corner, the way my mother carried on. She wouldn’t talk to me for a solid month afterward. I tried to talk Glenn into getting one too, but he chickened out.” She rolled her eyes. “I think he was just afraid of what mom would say, her precious only son ‘defiling’ himself like that.” She took a swig of her beer. “At least with me, she had another daughter she could pin her hopes and dreams on.”

“You and Glenn have a sister?” Tara asked curiously. Eugene would have missed the shadow that fell over Kimi’s face if he hadn’t been looking right then, but she composed herself quickly enough.

“We did. Her name was Sue. We escaped Atlanta together after the initial outbreak- our parents were dead, Glenn had moved out of the family home years before and we had no idea where he was. We travelled together for a while, but when we found Maggie’s note to Glenn about Terminus…. well. We didn’t know it was our brother, but we didn’t know it wasn’t, either, so we decided why not? It wasn’t like we had anything else to do. They killed her, but I got away. It was dumb luck I ended up at Hilltop and they knew where Glenn was, so here I am.” She twisted a lock of wet hair around her finger, watching the way the light played off of it. “It’s so weird, you know? My sister drove me crazy my entire life- we fought all the time. I was always closer to Glenn, but now that she’s gone, I miss her. I miss her nagging at me, I miss that weird laugh of hers, I just… I miss her.”

“Oh wow,” Tara said softly, but she was cut off by Eugene. “I’m sorry, Kimi.”

It earned a soft smile from her, and she shrugged. “Hazards of the world we live in now, am I right?” She slid off the back of the couch, landing on the cushion next to him and sloshing a little beer out of her bottle. She licked the drops from her fingertips, and Eugene had to think once more of the walkers, wondering if she had done it on purpose. It was hard to tell with Kimi. “What about you? What goes on behind that mullet of yours?”

“Uhh… pardon?”

“Did I stutter?” She teased him, turning in her seat. She stretched her legs over his lap, smirking at how uncomfortable he looked. Tara and Denise exchanged a look. “You just heard part of my life story, I think that means I get some of yours.”

“I’d hardly think I’m as interesting as all that.”

“I’ll be the judge. We’ll even make it a game. You answer a question of my choosing, I’ll answer one of yours.” There was no doubt in his mind, she was fucking with him now, exacting some sort of creative revenge on him crashing her party. Still, it was the first time Kimi had ever volunteered anything to him, and he would be remiss if he didn’t take it. “All right.” He swallowed, well aware that her feet were in his lap, leaving damp spots on his cargo shorts from her wet skin.

Tara, sensing something was going on that she wasn’t privy to, grabbed Denise’s hand. “We’re going to go get another drink.”

Kimi watched them go before returning her gaze to Eugene. “Where are you from?”

“Houston.” It was an easy enough question, and he didn’t see any point in lying. “Who is Evan?” Alexandria wasn’t a huge place, but Eugene didn’t know everyone in the refuge- and even more, he didn’t know where he stood in comparison to the man she had supposedly spent the afternoon.

She raised a brow, but when she spoke, her tone was even. “Another of the wall guards. What were you before all this?”

“I was a chemistry teacher.” A bitter part of himself wished he had kept his initial lie going- he couldn’t get her attention now, but if he was still the man that was going to save the world? Oh, he had no doubt that would have her looking twice. “Did you sleep with him?”

“Yes. Does it matter?”

“No.” He lied, but she narrowed her eyes at him.

“You’re lying,” she stated, her lips twisting into a frown. He shook his head, but he felt like she could see right through him. “Why?”

“Does it matter?” he returned her words pettily. She sighed.

“Why?” She pressed again.

“My feelings for you have not exactly been kept under wraps.”

“I told you that I wasn’t interested in anything even remotely like a relationship.”  She had, it was true, but that didn’t make it any easier. Eugene hadn’t exactly planned on any of this, but it had happened regardless, and as smart as he was, he had no idea how to make any of it stop.

“Why?”

“Have you looked around recently?” She laughed humorlessly. “The dead are up and walking, our friends and family are joining them at a rapid pace, and you want to- what? Date? Go to a movie in someone’s basement, enjoy a cupcake together? If that’s not absurd enough, what happens after that? Marriage? Kids? Do you really want to raise a family in this?”

Her words stung, and Eugene swallowed his own caustic retort. “You’d rather shut yourself away from all of it then?”

“No, but-“ He didn’t get a chance to hear her answer, as someone appeared in the doorway.

“Kimi?” The man said, startling both of them. Eugene surmised this was probably Evan, and judging by the way he was looking at them, he didn’t seem to be very happy that Kimi was closeted away with Eugene, her feet still on his lap. “I’ve been looking for you for ages.”

“You found me.” It was hard to tell what Kimi was thinking, and Eugene looked back and forth between her and the other man, who was pointedly staring at him. She moved to stand up, placing her empty bottle on the table.

“What are you doing? Who’s he?”

“Dr. Eugene Porter,” Eugene introduced himself. He was no stranger to inflated male ego, or being on the receiving end of it, but he did not like the way this guy was looking at Kimi, as if she had done something wrong.

“Evan, stop.” The impatience was evident in Kimi’s tone, and there was a faint flush underneath her freckles that Eugene was fairly certain had nothing to do with alcohol.

“Why’s he here?” Evan’s tone was rising slightly, and Eugene had little doubt that he was drunk.

“It would seem that you and I share an affinity with one, Kimi Rhee.” He was antagonizing him, but it wasn’t quite fair. Kimi wasn’t snapping at Evan like she did him for being presumptuous, but why should she? Evan was built- tall, blonde, athletic. It was easy to picture him playing soccer with the boys on the weekend, or taking his girl for a drive into the sticks to fool around. He was everything Eugene wasn’t, and everything a girl like Kimi should want.

“For fuck’s sake, Evan. Can we just go?”

“Not until you tell me what’s going on- are you fucking him?”

“Jesus Christ, what is with you two? Get it through your thick heads, gentlemen- neither of you own me. So what if I’m fucking him? I’m fucking you, too. It’s never been a fucking secret!” Eugene flinched at her sharp tone, but Evan wasn’t cowed. If anything, it just seemed to piss him off more.

“What the fuck, Kimi?”

“Don’t talk to her like that.” Eugene was just as surprised by his own voice as the other two were, and for a second, nobody said anything.

“What did you just say to me?” Evan’s face was bright red as his blood pressure rose, but Eugene stood his ground.

“She is a lady, she deserves respect.”

“She’s… she’s no fucking lady, she’s a goddamn whore, and how dare you fucking butt into my business. I’m going to teach you some fucking manners.” He moved towards Eugene, his hands balled into fists. Neither Eugene or Evan could have predicted what came next, however, as Kimi stepped between them and clocked Evan clean in the nose, then gave him a kick in the balls for good measure. Blood poured down his face as he fell to the floor, and she shook her hand gingerly. “Lay a finger on him and I’ll rip them off next time,” she said calmly, shaking her hand out. She headed to the door, pausing to look over her shoulder at Eugene. “Are you coming or what?”

@eugenessix

[aleatoryalarmalligator]

categorized and generalized all the types of tumblr aesthetics i have come across.

I have been going through archives for the last five years on tumblr now, and i can’t help but notice that a lot of blogs are the same. There seems to be a pattern in the sorts of aesthetics i run up against. So, in my exhaustion, i tried coming up with all the different aesthetics, and i tried to put them into certain categories. Obviously, some of these categories are mixed with others.

PORN TUMBLR

-general porn

-lesbian/gay general

-kinky stuff

-daddy dom stuff - tied up boobies

-bears

-just unrealistic nudes

-just realistic nudes

-vintage porn, and occasionally porn that is so old that it was drawn by someone in the 1800′s

- hentai and erotic animal people cartoon characters going at it

-person who took about five pictures of themselves naked five years ago who has not come back

RICH KID TUMBLR

-super modelesque kids in their super rich cool kid clothes and fashion in Starbucks taking pictures of their food and their trips to Europe in 1st class

- incredibly expensive looking sunglasses

-rich kid travel blogs with hundreds of thousands of notes of pictures from rich people buildings

-quotes that say 'be happy' or stuff about saying anyone can just travel anywhere at any time, just the general advice you might get from someone who doesn't know how the other half lives

- cats

VINTAGE TUMBLR

-the greatest generation stuff, forgotten early hollywood actors/actresses, very old movie gifs, Theda Bara, Clara Bow, Carol Lombard, early Joan Crawford, Gone with the Wind ect..

-50's, 60's and 70's, Nancy Sinatra, Brigitte Bardot, Marilyn Monroe, Audrey Hepburn – generally a lot of Audrey Hepburn

-Posts old advertisements and old cars, sometimes old toys, a few pinups, vintage comics, kinda weird

- vintage toy blogs - just toys, named and dated

-sometimes retrospace stuff

-sometimes just old comic book stuff

FEMINIST/ GENDER STUDIES TUMBLR

-intersectional feminists who post mostly text and back and forth writings, sometimes they fight 

-radfems and turfs, unpopular minority of angry at the intersectional feminists

- Fat Acceptance movement, chubby bunnies

-other girl's selfies, lots of girl power related drawings of gender symbols and the like, Grimes, being a witch, Courtney Love, sailor moon, and so forth, sometimes bleeds into soft grunge

-topics on transgender, gender fluid and others that have informative 

- asexual community

BLACK LIVES MATTER TUMBLR

-black lives matter awareness, police brutality, pointing out flaws in legal system

-lovely stylish selfies

-call outs of racism, lots of dialogue, and the extension of twitter

80's + 90's GIF TUMBLR

-like gifs of scratched up VCR obscure film openings, and repetitious obscure 80's gifs in general, everything is fuzzy and looks like it came from an 80' infomercial, kinda makes you feel scared

-90's gifs of Pee Wee Herman, Catdog, Clarissa Explains it All, Chucky Cheese, Fruit by the Foot, Beavus and Butthead, Bart Simpson, and so on

HIPPIE TUMBLR

-just like the rich kidz, only they have white kid dreads and post a lot of vanlife stuff, lots of festivals

-mostly psychedelic gifs, with occasional trippy art, Foster the People is their favorite band

-real hippies, who post pictures of communes and people making tyed dye things, nonsexual nudes with hairy women, Grateful Dead stuff

-Buddhist and Hindu quotes, sometimes lilies

SOFT GRUNGE TUMBLR

purple and pink skies, water, windows with lace

girls with pale skin and perfect make up, and chokers, bruises, sparkly skin

mermaid texture, mermaid hair colors

Lana Del Rey

kind of like 90's only more melty and pink

quotes about good vibes

Eternal Sunshine for the Spotless mind reference

moon print

dream pop bands from the early 90's

GROWN UP SOFT GRUNGE TUMBLR

picture of Uma Thurman overdosing in Pulp Fiction

lots and lots of flowers

lots of sensual pictures of pale skin under certain lighting

albino people

albino animals

pictures of sunrises

Reykjavic

kind of like the Soft Grunge, but just a little bit more subtle and film tumblry

ART BLOG TUMBLR

old roman art

chinese, japanese and korean art from long ago

renaissance and medieval art with religious context

just like medieval art of specifically torture

18th and 19th century portrait paintings

Scenic paintings of hills, Van Gogh, Toulouse-Lautrec, Monet

Dada, Pablo Picasso, Jackson Pollock, Salvador Dali, Andy Warhol, Adolph Wolfie

Modern art that is squiggly, slimy, and bizzare, breaks art rules but looks good, David Shrigley

Modern Surrealists

ARTIST BLOG TUMBLR

posts really great homemade gifs that nobody knows about infrequently

blogs that only have the artwork of the blog owner – generally post infrequently and not given enough credit ever, except maybe one of there works has a whole bunch of notes

person who keeps painting the same thing over and over again and does it a lot for years at a time, 0 notes usually – who are you??

collage artists that mix 50's scenes with hyperspace backdrops

FILM BLOG TUMBLR

-Stanley Kubrick, Jean Cocteau, lots of black and white french films

-that movie where the two people are sitting on the ledge of a building and the other one jumps off

Clockwork Orange

-Paris, Texas

David Lynch

Blue Velvet, Twin Peaks (gets stolen by other kinds of blogs frequently)

Wim Wenders,

Rare film art from Poland in the 70's

Jans Svankmajer

Man Ray, Max Ernst,

cool quotes by philosopher, artist, psychologist, or film director

Amelie

sometimes Wes Anderson

PHOTOGRAPHY TUMBLR

abandoned places, gas stations, archaic cafes, falling apart amusement parks

uses too much dark fade out in the background pictures of fields and stuff, overused filtering – posted a ton three years ago and then left

just photostock

girl who takes pictures of herself in costume

Nature pictures, animal pictures ect..

person who just takes pictures of textures and minimalist buildings – usually colorful

person who's personal Instagram picture just automatically post to tumblr also, probably never checks up, usually pictures of them with friends as a pub

Indigenous pictures from around the world, some of them from books, some from National Geographic, some from other places

Super old pictures from old newspapers, the great depression, WW2 – generally black and white

MUSIC TUMBLR

Really likes Led Zeppelin, The Doors and The Who, sometimes mixed with other vintage, often posts the same pictures and songs for years – you feel bad because no new music will be coming out from these artists

super cheesy Van Halen, Kiss, Styx, Ozzy person, Big Hair, likes 80's pin ups and skulls, sometimes into martial arts

super cheesy death metal fan, lots of pinups, corny black and white pictures of skulls and such

REALLY likes British Invasion, The Zombies, The Kinks, The Hollies, The Animals, will occasionally post Detroit girl groups from the 60's, some Velvet Underground, pictures of the Beatles girlfriends

Just David Bowie, Lou Reed, Patti Smith and Iggy Pop. Maybe some New York Dolls

Old Blues and Jazz, Etta James, Son House, Nina Simone, pictures of Leadbelly and Howlin' Wolf and especially Miles Davis

really into post punk, Nick Cave, Siouxsie, Bauhaus, The Cure, Einsturzende Neubauten, Lydia Lunch, PJ Harvey and Rowland S. Howard, sometimes Morrissey. also generally mixes film and art blog stuff in with occasional feminist things

Just Morrissey, they call him Moz.

Fan clubs for specific bands that are newer and popular like Arctic Monkeys or Fallout Boy, but also ones blogs that really like emo lyrics from early 2000's and such – scene kids that are still scenin' it up

loves Jens Lekman, Belle and Sebastian, The Magnetic Fields and The Pains of Being Pure at Heart, Cigarettes After Sex. Usually posts really cute modern art, and uses tumblr mostly for writing, has the cutest hair cut and can pull off overalls, never posts too little or too much, extremely twee

HISTORY TUMBLR

ancient mesopotamia, greek and Egyptian history and relics

Blogs that are specifically about one place in one era - Ancient Russia, Ireland before it was taken over, precolonial India and so on

Samurai, Geisha, and scrolls

Swords, knights, castles, kings of Europe in general

Specific Wars, examples: 7 Years War, Revolutionary War, WW1 + 2

France from before the revolution – pictures of wigged men, Napoleon, Marie Antoinette

Jane Austen time era anything 18th and 19th century, slight excuse to post lots of Pride and Prejudice gifs with Keira Knightly and that Mr. Darcy in the rain

Outfits – just outfits that are really old

person who is obsessed with the Nazis and seems to like Hitler

Flappers and earlier 20th – often an excuse to post gifs of Downton Abbey

Vintage books, often children books, but sometimes others

DESIGN TUMBLR

really fucked up pictures of the Simpsons melting and stuff

gradient graphic art with symbols or words meant to convey a product that I don't understand for an obscure magazine subscription

graphic squiggles without form, minimalist graphic pictures of beach balls, tennis bats, and sneakers

bizarre smiley faces made from smaller smiley faces

80's inspired design

odd looking models with undercuts and no eyebrows

cartoon dogs and cats

just static and glitches. Nothing more, nothing less

either they make their own graphic designs and they rarely post, or they compile reblogs of everyone else's and they post all the time

WEIRDO TUMBLR

insane family pictures of family who all has mullet dressed as bumble bees

Lots of Robert Crumb, some vintage stuff, but nothing remotely main stream

Some of the modern art, but only the weirdest of it

claymation masks

Comix

Moebius

art from early Power Point

100 piece sculptures with melted toys

paintings of monsters

Steve Brule

children's fan art of Smokey the Bear – looks disturbing

Items that are too kitschy to be accepted by your average vintage indie blog

sometimes a specific blog centered around some kind of crazy event where everyone dresses completely insane

POLITICAL TUMBLR

the communists and Marxists

a mixture of BLM and LGBTQ stuff

the libertarians, anarchocapitalists, Ayn rand folk

the left wing anarchists, freegans, graffiti punks, garden punks, possums

informative left wing news that explains to us everyday how the GOP is fucking us

alt. right creeps who are simply here to be trolls and upset everyone else – anti SJW, that stupid frog, nationalists, trump supporters and such – irrelevant poorly thought memes

I miss Obama memes

Bernie Sanders forever and always folk

RAINBOW TUMBLR

pictures of rainbow candies, toys, designs, clothing and so forth all of it rainbow

people who post one color at a time, so when you go through their archive it's all gradient and neat looking – usually the pictures are a little stock photoish though

HALLOWEEN TUMBLR

Betty Page

The Cramps. Reverend Horton Heat

Psychobilly pin ups, old cars, burning skulls, vintage B horror movies, The Swamp Thing

Legitimately obsessed with the activities of Halloween – posts witches, devils, trick or treat candy, Bella Lugosi, The Monster Mash, Halloween decoration - and doesn't ever forget how many days away Halloween is

Jack the Skeleton

Freddy Krueger

FANCLUB TUMBLR

Superwholock

Hannigram

American Horror Story

K Pop and J Pop + Korean Drama

boy bands in general

Hamilton

My Little Ponies

Ghibli Studios

Various anime shows

fat Disney princesses

Super heroes

Pokemon

Big Bang Theory

Mighty Boosh

Monty Python

Phantom of the Opera

Labyrinth

Vampire Chronicles

Orange is the New Black

Breaking Bad

Alice in Wonderland

Harry Potter

Star Wars

Steven Universe

Adventure Time

Game of Thrones and Walking Dead

any television show really

Furry cartoons

lots of spacy quick anime chibi versions of characters who are hooking up and wouldn't normally in the show

scenes from movies with subtext that comes from a different movie or show

probably countless others i am not thinking of.

SPECIALTY TUMBLR

serial killer blogs

unexplained mysteries, ghosts, ufo's

pictures of galaxies with information (not sparkly silly ones with no context)

sewing and yarn

precious stones

cars

just gardening

just cats

religious blogs, either Islam, Christian, Jewish, Hindu or Buddhist

specific animal blogs, snake, spiders, wild cats and such

science blogs about technology and stuff

NATURE TUMBLR

stock photoish pictures of camp grounds and misty mountains – often taken by the hippies

angelic looking deer, and occasional animal burials with flowers'

person who takes pictures of flowers all the time

granola type fellow who loves juicing and backpacking – doesn't get on tumblr much

BLACK AND WHITE GOTH TUMBLR

slenderman fan art, actually just about anything creepypasta related

you have to turn off the music when you visit their page because it's just too much

fan art of black eyed children

slit wrists

pictures that were turned into Gifs because they shake

taxidermy

screamo lyrics

Alice in wonderland with X's for eyes

gothic models

occasional serial killer

skulls and references to Edgar Allan Poe

GIF MEME TUMBLR

just a sea of Gifs and memes relating to anything about life ever – almost shitposting but not quite

eventually one of the gifs got 100,000 notes for it's relatability so they get a lot of traffic

lots of pictures and circumstances from The Office, Parks and Rec, and It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia

Nihilist memes

SOFTY TUMBLR

kind of a little girl dom thing going on

Kawai and lots of Japanese girls

cute colorful make up

plushies and toys

references to fantasy cartoons from the 80's, the last unicorn, or that one with the girls in that band

Polly Pockets, Furbies, trolls

gifs of stars and hearts

Sailor Moon

pink bedroom

baby animals

occasionally more on the vintage kitschy side

WICCA TUMBLR

ravens, bats, candles

pentacles and other symbols

crystals

sometimes there is dreads

occasionally, it is a serious practicing Wicca who posts spells and gives witch advice

lots of personal reflections

boobs

GROSS TUMBLR

Tim and Eric, Steve Brule centered blog that are mostly in the act to make you feel queezy

like, people eating cheerios with ketchup and people wearing shoes with the soles cut out, people putting their feet in spagetti, bad tattoos on foreheads

snails, beetles, bird doing mean things to people

mostly moldy things, moss, strange dolls

things that look like they came from the dark crystal,

delapitating bedrooms that once belonged to a little girl, torn wall paper, old porcelain dolls that are slightly upsetting

Clowns

occasionally a blog so gross you will be ruined for having seen it – Two Girls one Cup sort of thing

NERD TUMBLR

old video game start up pages

Super Mario Bros.

Other video game characters

chibis of video game characters interacting with one another

Final Fantasy references

randomly doesn't post for a year

SELF HELP TUMBLR

blog that gives dumb advice that only works if you were already happy anyway

either semi fake or oversimplified 'psyche facts'

blogs from people who suffer from addiction or mental illness and want help and use their blog to vent

blogs ran by people who enjoy crystal meth and don’t give a fuck.

worthy of mentioning, blogs that nobody ever posted a single thing or just one thing, like, really cryptic blogs that nobody could ever understand, blogs that were taken over by some kind of virus and they are trying to sell you male pattern baldness remedies, or they are now call absurdly pornographic things because the virus took over and now they are like blonde cumfuck creampie or something of that nature, and blogs were the person was basically saying they have found a girlfriend/boyfriend now and don’t need tumblr anymore so goodbye

and in my experience ...

anybody can post pictures of jiggly boobs

anybody can post Grace Jones

anybody can post a Bjork song

these seem to be universal truths that defy limitations

[some-triangles]

PART 1

What’s this?  A sister and her brother?

What’s this? A woman by herself?

What’s this?  The remains of the cock tower, bobbited, stuffed and mounted just beneath a rose, which has been nailed to a wall and is oozing architectural elements?

It can only mean one thing:

I’m a fountain of blood, in the shape of a girl

Yes, we’re doing this!

I should mention that we are doing this through a very specific lens, courtesy of tumblr user @snarp.   The idea is: after leaving the academy, a jail with walls made of stories, Anthy would have had to come up with a way of reckoning with her own past which did not rely on those same stories for its structure.   The Utena movie is her first attempt at retelling her own narrative in a way which is not completely overshadowed by her older brother.   The more one looks for supporting evidence for this interpretation, the more one can find; so instead of focusing on whether this is a correct way of reading (a boring and ultimately fruitless question), let’s instead ask if this reading allows the movie to be good, which, by any number of more conventional metrics, it isn’t.

It makes sense right from the off, though.  The first two images we see in this movie (beyond the carillon of school’s-out bells) are Anthy and Akio together and Anthy sans Akio, as if to say: we are removing this guy from the narrative, and good riddance.   Then the opening credits consist of a montage of frustratingly tiny paintings:

Paintings which, we learn later, are Anthy’s work.  They appear, they confuse, and they disappear in a flash of fire; so we are led to understand that the coming narrative will be obscure, mercurial, and, most importantly, the product of a single perspective, that of our heroine. Who is in this film definitely Anthy, and not Utena.

Speaking of Utena – who is she in this iteration?

Well, she’s wearing a boy’s uniform, finally.  It’s a striking one, as well – a kind of monochrome fool’s motley, which is a tough look to pull off by anyone’s standards, but she manages it.  The duality of the black and white in her outfit represents her status in re the are you a boy or a girl situation: she is clearly being presented as the Two-Face of gender expression.   She’s also immediately very gay.

An immediate priority of the camera here (which we are going to persist in interpreting as Anthy’s camera, even if it kills us) is the demystification of sex. Utena and Wakaba are allowed to be flirty with each other without scandal or misunderstanding or censor roses or anything.  Hidden desire and the sublimation thereof were the engine that powered the old academy system.  They’re the first things up against the wall, so to speak, now that the revolution’s come.

We still have shadow puppet girls, though.  Can’t shift ‘em.  They’re like roaches.

The camera angle here suggests that we are watching invisibly from a position just to the left of F-ko’s ear.   It’s gonna take a second for Anthy to really get the hang of this artsy framing thing.

Utena and Wakaba stroll among the exploded architecture (a literal deconstruction of the old academy, ha ha ha) and meet the cast. Miki and Juri are largely as before, although Juri’s looking slightly more cheerful about things as she holds court from her throne, framed by busted Mondrians in stained glass. 

This may be because she’s absorbed a fair piece of Utena’s archetype, so Utena can be less initially invested in the whole cockamamie prince system. Wakaba suggests that Juri might be Utena’s rival – implicitly, as the other Big Gay On Campus.  This is about as important as Wakaba gets.  Rivals for Utena’s attention tend to get short shrift in this particular narrative - why would that be, one wonders?  Speaking of which:

Sweet mary crackers, it’s Movie Touga.

Utena chases him and catches up at the rose garden (no longer a birdcage, no longer under glass). They’ve apparently known each other for some time. Utena warns him that she didn’t come to the academy to pursue him – she’s not the same person she used to be (i.e., kinda into girls now.)

The camera pans back to reveal another of Anthy’s works, this one depicting a boat sinking while a distant prince looks on in horror.   Anthy is manipulating the master narrative that Juri told the student council during the final duel, back in the real world; the one about the boy who drowned trying to save a girl and was forgotten.  In the real world, the drowned boy turned out to be Utena.  To get our happy ending, we’re going to have to shift things around a little.

Notably, Utena doesn’t recognize the ring he’s wearing.  She has a prince thing – she decided, after she and Touga “broke up”, to live her life by higher ideals – but it’s not a Prince Thing.   She has no connection to Akio.   Nobody gave her a rose seal – until now, that is.

Touga vanishes.  The rain stops.  The walls retreat in a rush.

Dream logic brings Utena’s attention to a single white rose, which unfurls before her eyes petal by petal and deposits a glowing pearl in her hand, which turns out to be one of these.

Regarding this sequence: it is important to point out that while the TV series liked to dabble in phallic imagery, we are going to have to dust off the word “yonic” for the movie.  Funny that my spellchecker recognizes one and not the other.

We’re not done yet. As the ring nestles in her palm, a breeze picks up, carrying with it both the sound of bongos and a thick shower of crimson petals, which are swirling down from a suspended platform above. The platform makes the following shape in the sky:

Yonic.

Utena goes up to investigate.  It turns out the highest place in this academy isn’t a tower, it’s a rose garden [YONIC]; the architecturally dubious remains of the entrance gate tell us that it’s also the dueling arena, and thus the perfect place to meet our heroine.

 Movie Anthy wears her hair long.  Movie Anthy never wore glasses.   Movie Anthy makes the first move. Movie Anthy flirts.  Also, perhaps most crucially, Movie Anthy does not withhold information.  

Movie Anthy is immediately all up in Utena’s business, and summons an anime breeze so that they can flap their hair at each other in a shower of rose petals. Then she sees the ring, and bang, no more breeze.  Just like it was raining for the exact duration of Utena's conversation with Touga earlier on.   Oh, is Anthy not the central figure of this story, the lens through which all of this is being observed?  It’s not like her moods control the weather or anything

Appalled at the idea that this ultra-hot bab might be on the verge of dueling inveiglement, Anthy grabs Utena’s wrist and tries to wrestle the ring away from her.  Utena flips the coin on her gender expression and it comes up dudes.

Then a cruel parody of Saionji shows up.

Woof.

The old academy and the new academy pretty much agree about this part of the story, except whatever lingering elements of dignity or relatability Saionji may once have had are now gone.  He’s just a maniac with a sword, which makes sense, if Anthy’s telling the story. 

Everything proceeds as expected til

Whoops, the bride has agency! 

Woah, the bride has…agency

Full transformation ensues. The bride kisses Utena square on the lips, explodes into full regalia and produces her sword.  Utena draws it, which tips her gender expression slightly further into true equilibrium, reuniting her with her fabled hot pants and epaulets combo and, most significantly, causing her to bust out in an all-time classic Princely Goop Mullet.

There is no excuse for this.

Saionji gets wrecked, immediately, and we’re out. 

(Apologies for the lack of a borgesian dyad for this duel – the files I have don’t sub the chorale lyrics.   Folks who have the full release should feel free to send in screenshots of worthy candidates.)

The first duel ends about twenty minutes into the movie’s runtime, which is handy.  The rhythms of the old pattern are not so easily shaken.   Maybe we’ll get a more thorough departure...

next time

[ralphmorgan-blog1]

Family Sends The Most Awkward Christmas Cards For 15 Years, And Its Too Funny

If you think you’ve already seen the funniest family Christmas card of the season, think again. Every year since 2003, the Bergeron family has been ringing in the holidays by producing the most clever and hilarious greeting cards we’ve ever seen, and just like the snow outside, they’re showing no signs of stopping.

Mike Bergeron, his wife Laura, and their two daughters known online as ‘Gigi’ and ‘Juju’ have made an annual tradition out of the refreshingly original photoshoots, and each December, they choose a new knee-slapping theme. Whether they draw on pop culture, local culture, or embarrassingly awkward family cards of yore, they always seem to pull it off as a team. Special credit is due, of course, to the JC Penney Portrait Studio, which has seen them all the way from ‘white trash Christmas’ to a full drag ensemble.

Scroll down to take in each joyful edition for yourself, read the stories behind them in Mike Bergeron’s own words, and tell us which ones sent you into a fit of jolly laughter in the comments.

2003, Forty & Fighting It

Our first card! The original concept was “Plugs & Juggs”, but we had to choose this photo because of the priceless facial expressions, even though you can’t see Laura’s overly-augmented rack. Thus, we call this “Forty & Fighting It”. The photographer tried to move the light away from overhead and I had to ask her to shine it directly down on me – she didn’t know how to tell me that it was reflecting off of my head and making me look like I was balding. Finally, I just told her that the balding look was what I was after. She had no idea that we were dressed up in costumes!

2004, We’re Dreaming of a White Trash Xmas

When I went to the JC Penney Portrait Studio to pick-up our cards, they were very busy with the holiday rush and the manager (who was also the cashier) was clearly stressed-out, answering phones, organizing photo sittings, delegating to her employees and systematically trying to work through the line at the cash register. After patiently waiting for about 10 minutes, it was my turn to be helped and she immediately went into sales mode, taking control of the transaction and regurgitating her customer service talk track in a frenzy, multitasking all-the-while, mind you, and not able to really give me her full attention. Her – “Welcome to JC Penney Portrait Studio, how can I help you today, sir?” Me – “I’m here to pick-up my Christmas cards.” Her – “Okay, what is your last name?” Me – “It’s Bergeron, but I have my receipt right here, if that helps.” Her – “Okay, thank you. Give me just a moment while I get your order. Sir, it appears they accidentally printed an 8×10, which is usually $19.99, but we’ll let you have it for $5, since it was our mistake.” Me – “No thanks.” Her – “Okay…well, I see that your wife is pregnant…I hope you will be coming back to JC Penney to take your baby pictures.” Me (smiling at the realization that she doesn’t get the joke) – “Actually, she’s not really pregnant…and if she was, I wouldn’t let her drink beer or smoke cigarettes…and, as you can see, I don’t really have a mullet. Its a joke card.” In the midst of what was utter chaos for her at that moment, she just sort of stared at me in bewilderment as the cashier next to her stopped what he was doing, leaned over to look at the card and said to me with pure and utter excitement, “Dude, that’s awesome!” Me – “Thanks. Merry Christmas!” As I took my cards and walked away, the manager stood there in absolute confusion, her brain apparently frozen with the realization that her sales training had failed to prepare her for this situation.

2005, Your Aunt & Uncle Who Live in the Midwest

Being a Bergeron, I have always known that I would eventually lose my hair. We are trained from birth to accept the fact that someday our hair will fall out. At the age of 32, it was apparent to me that my days were numbered and if I wanted to make fun of being bald, then this would likely be my last chance before the joke would become reality. So, on the afternoon of the photo shoot, I had Laura shave the hair off of the top of my head…and I’ve been bald ever since. The thing is, I had to walk around with a bald head for a couple of weeks while the holiday card was processing and shipping, but I didn’t want to give anyone any hints about what the card might be. So, when people would ask me why I suddenly shaved all of the hair off of my head, I would give them some made-up excuse like, “I joined a cult” or, “I’m a racist” or, “Chicks really seem to like that Vin Diesel guy, so I thought I’d give it a shot.” Incidentally, one of the other excuses I would give was, “I’m a competitive swimmer and I wanted to shave some time off my laps.” A few years later, I was bartending and my friend Kristine came in with one of her girlfriends. We chatted a bit and I mixed them up some special shots and then Kristine got up to go to the restroom and her friend says to me, “So, Kristine tells me you’re a swimmer.” Now the question is: How many people are out there who still believe I really joined a cult?

2006, A Very Special Xmas

A couple of years before we started this tradition, my friend, Jeremy, worked during the holidays in a photo studio.  If he thought that a family portrait was particularly funny, he would print a copy for himself and put it on display in his living room.  They were all awkward and wonderful in their own way, but there was one photo in particular that was so delightfully goofy and uncomfortable that it has always stuck with me.  This card is an effort to recreate the magic of that card.  I’ll be the first to admit that we fall terribly short, but I think it still manages to bring some joy to the holiday season!

2007, American Gothic Xmas

Overshadowed by controversy, some “purists” have accused us of cheating with this particular card because we Photoshopped it.  For those who love it, thanks…we love you, too. For those who feel we cheated…look, we actually dressed-up in costumes and took a photograph for this card (we even bought a pitchfork!). However, since the original work was done with paint on canvas and did not look like a real-life photo, we felt it would be a better choice to manipulate our photo to look like the painting. Since neither Laura nor I are graphic designers, it was quite difficult and time-consuming, but we are very pleased with the way it came out. Anyone who thinks we took the easy way out on this one is simply oblivious to the effort it required. By the way, this was Laura’s departed grandmother’s favorite out of all of our cards. Oh, and for those of you who have suggested that the guy looks nothing like me, just wait until my relatives on my dad’s side view this post and they all chime-in about how I look exactly like my Grandpa Bergeron. In short, suck it, haters!

2008, Merry Krishnas

We got started a little late this year, which meant that when we went to JC Penney to take our picture, there was a one hour wait. We walked through the mall and wound up eating dinner in the food court. I only wish that we had brought flowers.

2009, Los Cholos

This is my personal favorite. Some cards are obviously a joke, but when a card looks as real as this one, it is something special. Again, on this particular year, we weren’t able to take the picture until after Thanksgiving, so the JC Penney photo studio was very busy and we had to wait for an hour to get in. Understandably so, Laura was nervous about walking around the Westminster Mall looking like we did, but I reassured her by saying, “Seriously? Look at us…nobody is going to fuck with us!” I was right…not a single person would even make eye contact with us.

2010, Olin Mills Family Portrait from 1981

May your holiday table be a smorgasbord of cheese balls, fruitcakes, and hams!  In many ways, this card best represents what we were trying to achieve from the very beginning. Our concept was inspired by the inherently awkward nature of holiday family photos that has now become so popular in the age of the internet. We wanted to try to capture that awkwardness (in a next level sort of way) and give everyone we know the gift of having a funny card on their fridge that would capture the spirit of the holiday season. When they had people over to their house during the holidays, they could take pleasure in seeing their guests’ reactions upon viewing the card without realizing it was a joke. On a side note, as a bald man who has known his entire life that he would grow up to be bald, it had been a longtime aspiration of mine to sport a combover at some point because they are so fascinating in their ridiculousness! So, this particular card allowed me to not only fulfill a lifelong dream, but also to capture it in all of its glory for the ages.

2011, The Unibrows

I love the idea for this picture, but personally, I think it could’ve been better executed. Don’t get me wrong, we look funny & Gigi really gives the card a whole other dynamic with her incredible cuteness, but I think this concept had the potential to be our best card ever, if we had done it right.

2012, Goth Xmas

This is your legacy, girls…embrace it!

2013, Jazz Hands

Sometimes you catch lightning in a bottle :)  Look at Laura…bringing it! Look at Gigi…bringing it! Look at Juju…well, protesting (at least she’s consistent). I am truly blessed.

2014, The Holidays Are Such a Drag

I doubt if anyone at the JC Penney Portrait Studio even thought twice about Laura and the girls, but it was a pretty busy year and we were waiting for about 45 minutes for the photographer to be available, so I am certain that my presence made a lot of people uncomfortable in the studio’s waiting area. I had to hunt high and low for shoes that would fit me (thanks Lane Bryant) and, of course, I shaved my legs, so you can imagine how excited I was that we wound up choosing a shot from the waist up. And, seriously, how friggin’ cute are those boys? If we had given Gigi glasses, I think she would’ve looked an awful lot like Ralphie!

2015, Les Modèles (AKA Fashionistas, AKA Euro Trash)

His shoes – $850, her shoes – $950, spending your holiday with the Bergerons – priceless.

2016, Cussin Jerry nem

A little over a year ago, Gigi started calling me “Cousin Jerry.” It caught on with her little sister and, after a while, I started talking to them as I imagined Cousin Jerry would. Since then, he has become a regular visitor in our household, so it seemed fitting to share him with all of you this holiday season. If y’all are lucky, you may get to see “Creepy Larry” (another Gigi-inspired character) and his family in a future card…we’ll just have to see. Side note…and I feel like I say this every year, but…look at Gigi bringing it!!!

2017, Gingers in Paradise

We went in a slightly different direction this year, which required stepping out of the JCP Portrait Studio and using a photographer (big thanks to Marco Montenegro) at the local beach. This our nod to the ever-so-popular holiday card theme that says “Look at us soaking up the sun’s rays in a beautiful tropical paradise while you’re freezing your nuts off…don’t you wish you were us?”

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Family Sends The Most Awkward Christmas Cards For 15 Years, And Its Too Funny was originally posted by A 18 MOA Top News from around

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Family Sends The Most Awkward Christmas Cards For 15 Years, And It’s Too Funny

If you think you’ve already seen the funniest family Christmas card of the season, think again. Every year since 2003, the Bergeron family has been ringing in the holidays by producing the most clever and hilarious greeting cards we’ve ever seen, and just like the snow outside, they’re showing no signs of stopping.

Mike Bergeron, his wife Laura, and their two daughters known online as ‘Gigi’ and ‘Juju’ have made an annual tradition out of the refreshingly original photoshoots, and each December, they choose a new knee-slapping theme. Whether they draw on pop culture, local culture, or embarrassingly awkward family cards of yore, they always seem to pull it off as a team. Special credit is due, of course, to the JC Penney Portrait Studio, which has seen them all the way from ‘white trash Christmas’ to a full drag ensemble.

Scroll down to take in each joyful edition for yourself, read the stories behind them in Mike Bergeron’s own words, and tell us which ones sent you into a fit of jolly laughter in the comments.

2003, Forty & Fighting It

Our first card! The original concept was “Plugs & Juggs”, but we had to choose this photo because of the priceless facial expressions, even though you can’t see Laura’s overly-augmented rack. Thus, we call this “Forty & Fighting It”. The photographer tried to move the light away from overhead and I had to ask her to shine it directly down on me – she didn’t know how to tell me that it was reflecting off of my head and making me look like I was balding. Finally, I just told her that the balding look was what I was after. She had no idea that we were dressed up in costumes!

2004, We’re Dreaming of a White Trash Xmas

When I went to the JC Penney Portrait Studio to pick-up our cards, they were very busy with the holiday rush and the manager (who was also the cashier) was clearly stressed-out, answering phones, organizing photo sittings, delegating to her employees and systematically trying to work through the line at the cash register. After patiently waiting for about 10 minutes, it was my turn to be helped and she immediately went into sales mode, taking control of the transaction and regurgitating her customer service talk track in a frenzy, multitasking all-the-while, mind you, and not able to really give me her full attention. Her – “Welcome to JC Penney Portrait Studio, how can I help you today, sir?” Me – “I’m here to pick-up my Christmas cards.” Her – “Okay, what is your last name?” Me – “It’s Bergeron, but I have my receipt right here, if that helps.” Her – “Okay, thank you. Give me just a moment while I get your order. Sir, it appears they accidentally printed an 8×10, which is usually $19.99, but we’ll let you have it for $5, since it was our mistake.” Me – “No thanks.” Her – “Okay…well, I see that your wife is pregnant…I hope you will be coming back to JC Penney to take your baby pictures.” Me (smiling at the realization that she doesn’t get the joke) – “Actually, she’s not really pregnant…and if she was, I wouldn’t let her drink beer or smoke cigarettes…and, as you can see, I don’t really have a mullet. Its a joke card.” In the midst of what was utter chaos for her at that moment, she just sort of stared at me in bewilderment as the cashier next to her stopped what he was doing, leaned over to look at the card and said to me with pure and utter excitement, “Dude, that’s awesome!” Me – “Thanks. Merry Christmas!” As I took my cards and walked away, the manager stood there in absolute confusion, her brain apparently frozen with the realization that her sales training had failed to prepare her for this situation.

2005, Your Aunt & Uncle Who Live in the Midwest

Being a Bergeron, I have always known that I would eventually lose my hair. We are trained from birth to accept the fact that someday our hair will fall out. At the age of 32, it was apparent to me that my days were numbered and if I wanted to make fun of being bald, then this would likely be my last chance before the joke would become reality. So, on the afternoon of the photo shoot, I had Laura shave the hair off of the top of my head…and I’ve been bald ever since. The thing is, I had to walk around with a bald head for a couple of weeks while the holiday card was processing and shipping, but I didn’t want to give anyone any hints about what the card might be. So, when people would ask me why I suddenly shaved all of the hair off of my head, I would give them some made-up excuse like, “I joined a cult” or, “I’m a racist” or, “Chicks really seem to like that Vin Diesel guy, so I thought I’d give it a shot.” Incidentally, one of the other excuses I would give was, “I’m a competitive swimmer and I wanted to shave some time off my laps.” A few years later, I was bartending and my friend Kristine came in with one of her girlfriends. We chatted a bit and I mixed them up some special shots and then Kristine got up to go to the restroom and her friend says to me, “So, Kristine tells me you’re a swimmer.” Now the question is: How many people are out there who still believe I really joined a cult?

2006, A Very Special Xmas

A couple of years before we started this tradition, my friend, Jeremy, worked during the holidays in a photo studio.  If he thought that a family portrait was particularly funny, he would print a copy for himself and put it on display in his living room.  They were all awkward and wonderful in their own way, but there was one photo in particular that was so delightfully goofy and uncomfortable that it has always stuck with me.  This card is an effort to recreate the magic of that card.  I’ll be the first to admit that we fall terribly short, but I think it still manages to bring some joy to the holiday season!

2007, American Gothic Xmas

Overshadowed by controversy, some “purists” have accused us of cheating with this particular card because we Photoshopped it.  For those who love it, thanks…we love you, too. For those who feel we cheated…look, we actually dressed-up in costumes and took a photograph for this card (we even bought a pitchfork!). However, since the original work was done with paint on canvas and did not look like a real-life photo, we felt it would be a better choice to manipulate our photo to look like the painting. Since neither Laura nor I are graphic designers, it was quite difficult and time-consuming, but we are very pleased with the way it came out. Anyone who thinks we took the easy way out on this one is simply oblivious to the effort it required. By the way, this was Laura’s departed grandmother’s favorite out of all of our cards. Oh, and for those of you who have suggested that the guy looks nothing like me, just wait until my relatives on my dad’s side view this post and they all chime-in about how I look exactly like my Grandpa Bergeron. In short, suck it, haters!

2008, Merry Krishnas

We got started a little late this year, which meant that when we went to JC Penney to take our picture, there was a one hour wait. We walked through the mall and wound up eating dinner in the food court. I only wish that we had brought flowers.

2009, Los Cholos

This is my personal favorite. Some cards are obviously a joke, but when a card looks as real as this one, it is something special. Again, on this particular year, we weren’t able to take the picture until after Thanksgiving, so the JC Penney photo studio was very busy and we had to wait for an hour to get in. Understandably so, Laura was nervous about walking around the Westminster Mall looking like we did, but I reassured her by saying, “Seriously? Look at us…nobody is going to fuck with us!” I was right…not a single person would even make eye contact with us.

2010, Olin Mills Family Portrait from 1981

May your holiday table be a smorgasbord of cheese balls, fruitcakes, and hams!  In many ways, this card best represents what we were trying to achieve from the very beginning. Our concept was inspired by the inherently awkward nature of holiday family photos that has now become so popular in the age of the internet. We wanted to try to capture that awkwardness (in a next level sort of way) and give everyone we know the gift of having a funny card on their fridge that would capture the spirit of the holiday season. When they had people over to their house during the holidays, they could take pleasure in seeing their guests’ reactions upon viewing the card without realizing it was a joke. On a side note, as a bald man who has known his entire life that he would grow up to be bald, it had been a longtime aspiration of mine to sport a combover at some point because they are so fascinating in their ridiculousness! So, this particular card allowed me to not only fulfill a lifelong dream, but also to capture it in all of its glory for the ages.

2011, The Unibrows

I love the idea for this picture, but personally, I think it could’ve been better executed. Don’t get me wrong, we look funny & Gigi really gives the card a whole other dynamic with her incredible cuteness, but I think this concept had the potential to be our best card ever, if we had done it right.

2012, Goth Xmas

This is your legacy, girls…embrace it!

2013, Jazz Hands

Sometimes you catch lightning in a bottle   Look at Laura…bringing it! Look at Gigi…bringing it! Look at Juju…well, protesting (at least she’s consistent). I am truly blessed.

2014, The Holidays Are Such a Drag

I doubt if anyone at the JC Penney Portrait Studio even thought twice about Laura and the girls, but it was a pretty busy year and we were waiting for about 45 minutes for the photographer to be available, so I am certain that my presence made a lot of people uncomfortable in the studio’s waiting area. I had to hunt high and low for shoes that would fit me (thanks Lane Bryant) and, of course, I shaved my legs, so you can imagine how excited I was that we wound up choosing a shot from the waist up. And, seriously, how friggin’ cute are those boys? If we had given Gigi glasses, I think she would’ve looked an awful lot like Ralphie!

2015, Les Modèles (AKA Fashionistas, AKA Euro Trash)

His shoes – $850, her shoes – $950, spending your holiday with the Bergerons – priceless.

2016, Cussin Jerry nem

A little over a year ago, Gigi started calling me “Cousin Jerry.” It caught on with her little sister and, after a while, I started talking to them as I imagined Cousin Jerry would. Since then, he has become a regular visitor in our household, so it seemed fitting to share him with all of you this holiday season. If y’all are lucky, you may get to see “Creepy Larry” (another Gigi-inspired character) and his family in a future card…we’ll just have to see. Side note…and I feel like I say this every year, but…look at Gigi bringing it!!!

2017, Gingers in Paradise

We went in a slightly different direction this year, which required stepping out of the JCP Portrait Studio and using a photographer (big thanks to Marco Montenegro) at the local beach. This our nod to the ever-so-popular holiday card theme that says “Look at us soaking up the sun’s rays in a beautiful tropical paradise while you’re freezing your nuts off…don’t you wish you were us?”

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Family Sends The Most Awkward Christmas Cards For 15 Years, And It’s Too Funny

If you think you’ve already seen the funniest family Christmas card of the season, think again. Every year since 2003, the Bergeron family has been ringing in the holidays by producing the most clever and hilarious greeting cards we’ve ever seen, and just like the snow outside, they’re showing no signs of stopping.

Mike Bergeron, his wife Laura, and their two daughters known online as ‘Gigi’ and ‘Juju’ have made an annual tradition out of the refreshingly original photoshoots, and each December, they choose a new knee-slapping theme. Whether they draw on pop culture, local culture, or embarrassingly awkward family cards of yore, they always seem to pull it off as a team. Special credit is due, of course, to the JC Penney Portrait Studio, which has seen them all the way from ‘white trash Christmas’ to a full drag ensemble.

Scroll down to take in each joyful edition for yourself, read the stories behind them in Mike Bergeron’s own words, and tell us which ones sent you into a fit of jolly laughter in the comments.

2003, Forty & Fighting It

Our first card! The original concept was “Plugs & Juggs”, but we had to choose this photo because of the priceless facial expressions, even though you can’t see Laura’s overly-augmented rack. Thus, we call this “Forty & Fighting It”. The photographer tried to move the light away from overhead and I had to ask her to shine it directly down on me – she didn’t know how to tell me that it was reflecting off of my head and making me look like I was balding. Finally, I just told her that the balding look was what I was after. She had no idea that we were dressed up in costumes!

2004, We’re Dreaming of a White Trash Xmas

When I went to the JC Penney Portrait Studio to pick-up our cards, they were very busy with the holiday rush and the manager (who was also the cashier) was clearly stressed-out, answering phones, organizing photo sittings, delegating to her employees and systematically trying to work through the line at the cash register. After patiently waiting for about 10 minutes, it was my turn to be helped and she immediately went into sales mode, taking control of the transaction and regurgitating her customer service talk track in a frenzy, multitasking all-the-while, mind you, and not able to really give me her full attention. Her – “Welcome to JC Penney Portrait Studio, how can I help you today, sir?” Me – “I’m here to pick-up my Christmas cards.” Her – “Okay, what is your last name?” Me – “It’s Bergeron, but I have my receipt right here, if that helps.” Her – “Okay, thank you. Give me just a moment while I get your order. Sir, it appears they accidentally printed an 8×10, which is usually $19.99, but we’ll let you have it for $5, since it was our mistake.” Me – “No thanks.” Her – “Okay…well, I see that your wife is pregnant…I hope you will be coming back to JC Penney to take your baby pictures.” Me (smiling at the realization that she doesn’t get the joke) – “Actually, she’s not really pregnant…and if she was, I wouldn’t let her drink beer or smoke cigarettes…and, as you can see, I don’t really have a mullet. Its a joke card.” In the midst of what was utter chaos for her at that moment, she just sort of stared at me in bewilderment as the cashier next to her stopped what he was doing, leaned over to look at the card and said to me with pure and utter excitement, “Dude, that’s awesome!” Me – “Thanks. Merry Christmas!” As I took my cards and walked away, the manager stood there in absolute confusion, her brain apparently frozen with the realization that her sales training had failed to prepare her for this situation.

2005, Your Aunt & Uncle Who Live in the Midwest

Being a Bergeron, I have always known that I would eventually lose my hair. We are trained from birth to accept the fact that someday our hair will fall out. At the age of 32, it was apparent to me that my days were numbered and if I wanted to make fun of being bald, then this would likely be my last chance before the joke would become reality. So, on the afternoon of the photo shoot, I had Laura shave the hair off of the top of my head…and I’ve been bald ever since. The thing is, I had to walk around with a bald head for a couple of weeks while the holiday card was processing and shipping, but I didn’t want to give anyone any hints about what the card might be. So, when people would ask me why I suddenly shaved all of the hair off of my head, I would give them some made-up excuse like, “I joined a cult” or, “I’m a racist” or, “Chicks really seem to like that Vin Diesel guy, so I thought I’d give it a shot.” Incidentally, one of the other excuses I would give was, “I’m a competitive swimmer and I wanted to shave some time off my laps.” A few years later, I was bartending and my friend Kristine came in with one of her girlfriends. We chatted a bit and I mixed them up some special shots and then Kristine got up to go to the restroom and her friend says to me, “So, Kristine tells me you’re a swimmer.” Now the question is: How many people are out there who still believe I really joined a cult?

2006, A Very Special Xmas

A couple of years before we started this tradition, my friend, Jeremy, worked during the holidays in a photo studio.  If he thought that a family portrait was particularly funny, he would print a copy for himself and put it on display in his living room.  They were all awkward and wonderful in their own way, but there was one photo in particular that was so delightfully goofy and uncomfortable that it has always stuck with me.  This card is an effort to recreate the magic of that card.  I’ll be the first to admit that we fall terribly short, but I think it still manages to bring some joy to the holiday season!

2007, American Gothic Xmas

Overshadowed by controversy, some “purists” have accused us of cheating with this particular card because we Photoshopped it.  For those who love it, thanks…we love you, too. For those who feel we cheated…look, we actually dressed-up in costumes and took a photograph for this card (we even bought a pitchfork!). However, since the original work was done with paint on canvas and did not look like a real-life photo, we felt it would be a better choice to manipulate our photo to look like the painting. Since neither Laura nor I are graphic designers, it was quite difficult and time-consuming, but we are very pleased with the way it came out. Anyone who thinks we took the easy way out on this one is simply oblivious to the effort it required. By the way, this was Laura’s departed grandmother’s favorite out of all of our cards. Oh, and for those of you who have suggested that the guy looks nothing like me, just wait until my relatives on my dad’s side view this post and they all chime-in about how I look exactly like my Grandpa Bergeron. In short, suck it, haters!

2008, Merry Krishnas

We got started a little late this year, which meant that when we went to JC Penney to take our picture, there was a one hour wait. We walked through the mall and wound up eating dinner in the food court. I only wish that we had brought flowers.

2009, Los Cholos

This is my personal favorite. Some cards are obviously a joke, but when a card looks as real as this one, it is something special. Again, on this particular year, we weren’t able to take the picture until after Thanksgiving, so the JC Penney photo studio was very busy and we had to wait for an hour to get in. Understandably so, Laura was nervous about walking around the Westminster Mall looking like we did, but I reassured her by saying, “Seriously? Look at us…nobody is going to fuck with us!” I was right…not a single person would even make eye contact with us.

2010, Olin Mills Family Portrait from 1981

May your holiday table be a smorgasbord of cheese balls, fruitcakes, and hams!  In many ways, this card best represents what we were trying to achieve from the very beginning. Our concept was inspired by the inherently awkward nature of holiday family photos that has now become so popular in the age of the internet. We wanted to try to capture that awkwardness (in a next level sort of way) and give everyone we know the gift of having a funny card on their fridge that would capture the spirit of the holiday season. When they had people over to their house during the holidays, they could take pleasure in seeing their guests’ reactions upon viewing the card without realizing it was a joke. On a side note, as a bald man who has known his entire life that he would grow up to be bald, it had been a longtime aspiration of mine to sport a combover at some point because they are so fascinating in their ridiculousness! So, this particular card allowed me to not only fulfill a lifelong dream, but also to capture it in all of its glory for the ages.

2011, The Unibrows

I love the idea for this picture, but personally, I think it could’ve been better executed. Don’t get me wrong, we look funny & Gigi really gives the card a whole other dynamic with her incredible cuteness, but I think this concept had the potential to be our best card ever, if we had done it right.

2012, Goth Xmas

This is your legacy, girls…embrace it!

2013, Jazz Hands

Sometimes you catch lightning in a bottle   Look at Laura…bringing it! Look at Gigi…bringing it! Look at Juju…well, protesting (at least she’s consistent). I am truly blessed.

2014, The Holidays Are Such a Drag

I doubt if anyone at the JC Penney Portrait Studio even thought twice about Laura and the girls, but it was a pretty busy year and we were waiting for about 45 minutes for the photographer to be available, so I am certain that my presence made a lot of people uncomfortable in the studio’s waiting area. I had to hunt high and low for shoes that would fit me (thanks Lane Bryant) and, of course, I shaved my legs, so you can imagine how excited I was that we wound up choosing a shot from the waist up. And, seriously, how friggin’ cute are those boys? If we had given Gigi glasses, I think she would’ve looked an awful lot like Ralphie!

2015, Les Modèles (AKA Fashionistas, AKA Euro Trash)

His shoes – $850, her shoes – $950, spending your holiday with the Bergerons – priceless.

2016, Cussin Jerry nem

A little over a year ago, Gigi started calling me “Cousin Jerry.” It caught on with her little sister and, after a while, I started talking to them as I imagined Cousin Jerry would. Since then, he has become a regular visitor in our household, so it seemed fitting to share him with all of you this holiday season. If y’all are lucky, you may get to see “Creepy Larry” (another Gigi-inspired character) and his family in a future card…we’ll just have to see. Side note…and I feel like I say this every year, but…look at Gigi bringing it!!!

2017, Gingers in Paradise

We went in a slightly different direction this year, which required stepping out of the JCP Portrait Studio and using a photographer (big thanks to Marco Montenegro) at the local beach. This our nod to the ever-so-popular holiday card theme that says “Look at us soaking up the sun’s rays in a beautiful tropical paradise while you’re freezing your nuts off…don’t you wish you were us?”

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