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ladypiscesmoon · 2 months ago

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Update Armie Hammer/Timothée Chalamet

I had a lot of asks about Armie unfollowing Timmy on social media. I came back from visiting friends and felt really restless, so I took my cards as soon as I got home. The reading is done on 9 December (circa 18.00, my local time)

To get a general feeling for where they stood when I was doing the reading I pulled cards from the angel number oracle deck:

Armie: 999: Release

balance

finances

success wealth

cycles

what goes around comes around

Both: 0505: Unexpected shift

divine intervention

sudden challenges

love

pleasant surprises

gut feeling

Timmy: 2222: Feminine Forces

relationships

balance

prosperity

efficiency

patience

humility

It's clear to me that by doing something like this Armie wanted to force Timmy to take a stand. To choose Armie, to not being a coward and hiding behind work or other bullshit. In other aspects of Armie's life but love, he feels in control. He wants a new start with Timmy too, but if Timmy is leaving him hanging he wants to let him go.

Timmy has to listen to what Armie tells him with this message, because Armie means it. Together they would be really strong and it would learn Timmy to find a better balance between (personal) relationships and work. He tends to emerge himself in his work, trying to forget things he find difficult to deal with. He feels humiliated and very, very hurt at the moment.

This is the universe trying again to nudge them together, because that's what should happen, but Timmy is the one delaying it. This is like a wake-up call for Tim.

Why did Armie unfollow Tim?

The wellness oracle:

the runner

ascending

healthy choices

the sword and rose

(this card fell out) not today

This was a sign Armie is done waiting, because he thinks he has given Timmy enough time to get rid of the pr and Kylie. He thinks that Timmy doesn't prioritize him, that he chooses a lot of other things instead of focusing on the relationship they try to build. He's sad and still angry. Probably seeing Timmy everywhere is also too much for him at the moment. he wants to make healthy choices for himself and thinks this could be one

How does Timmy feel about Armie unfollowing him?

abundance

casette

heartbroken

addiction

love call

love

Timmy thought that Armie understood that he didn't have time at the moment to do much about the Karjenners, he has done as much as he could to resist (like not giving in with Thanksgiving and refusing her at the Gotham awards), he thought Armie saw that as a good thing. So he didn't pick up it wasn't enough. Besides he did what he always does: work way too hard and doing it back to back, like filming and doing promo for ACU. So I guess Armie feels like Tim is not giving the attention he wants to have.

Timmy feels really anxious, he's scared he has lost Armie for real this time. he's sad and feeling alone. I heard a few times Why now? What have I done this time? What did I do wrong? So I think Armie's action has taken him completely by surprise. He has to take action, not moping around or overindulge himself. He's also feeling really tired, so he's too much in his head, dwelling in the past, where he should jump up and go get his man...

Light and shadow Tarot:

Armie: 4 of cups/king of cups/ the emperor

Armie feels it will be easier for him to let Timmy go, but it's not easy at all for him, because at the same time his heart wants to reach out to Timmy and begin their life together

Timmy: the magician/the world/8 of swords

It's not the first time Timmy is manifesting Armie in his life, and I think he just had to have this wake-up call.

Blocks to love:

Armie:

feeling incomplete

low self esteem

control issues

I think that Armie is insecure and feeling as if Timmy thinks he's not worth it. Armie likes to have control over things, probably because it took him a long time to get there, because other people took over many aspects in his life. He's impatient, he doesn't want to wait anymore. He wants love and be loved.

Timmy:

insecurities

dwelling in the past

codependency

Timmy is trying to please everyone, he feels insecure about what to do in relationships, doesn't listen to his heart. If he would, and if he did communicate better, this issue of the unfollowing wouldn't have come up.

Hermit tarot:

Armie:

I am addicted to you

i am absolute in love with you

i am obsessed with your body

i am terrified

This sums up how complicated Armie's feelings are. He wants to build something with Timmy, he's absolute in love with him, but he draws a line in the sand. Actually it's one big message to Tim: Please, choose me.

Timmy:

you make my heart full

let me hold you

you know already

yes

I hope you'll wait for me

Again, it's not the love/ being in love part that is the issue here. He just didn't think about the effect the waiting part had on Armie.

That concludes this reading. They were heading in the right direction and Tim should really take this seriously. But, yeah these two have a hard time staying away from each other. I don't think we will see together this year, though.

*As ever: this reading is alleged/for entertainment purposes only. *

#celebrity tarot #timothée chalamet #armie hammer

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carolperkinsexgirlfriend · 1 year ago

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Steddie Upside-Down AU Part 76

Part 1 Part 75

Will only knows he fell asleep at all by the way the lights coming in through the open curtains. It feels like he blinked and dawn crept its way into the world.

His eyes are unfocused, filled with sand as he lets them drift from body to body, letting the rise and fall of his bundled friend’s breathing settle into him. It must be early still – none of the blanketed lumps are stirring.

Will feels surrounded, swaddled by the love of his friends and the blanket someone must have draped over him in the night. He’s warm, even in the cold of the living room.

It doesn’t last.

His foot is pressed against something cold and yielding. He blinks the sand from his eyes, mind ticking away at the puzzle of the inhabited couch. He kicks it, gently with his socked toes and feels the give of flesh.

The cold settles into his bones. He knows, without even looking, that it’s not a what but a who on the couch beside him.

He turns his head, slowly, afraid of what he’ll find. But, Steve just looks like Steve. He’s sitting in the middle of the couch, Will’s foot against his bare thigh, Eddie’s head lolled against his shoulder. It would be domestic if not for the way Steve’s hunched over, shoulders curled in on themselves as he rubs the back of his head like he’s trying to acu-pressure away its ache.

“Steve?” Will whispers, quiet enough that the bodies surrounding him don’t stir.

Steve turns his head slowly. Eddie’s head slips down a little further on his shoulder. He mumbles quietly before turning in his sleep and huddling into Steve’s neck like it’s where he belongs.

Will would agree, except when their eyes meet, he’s not sure that it’s Steve looking back.

There’s no recognition, just a blank nothing that makes the pit in his stomach bloom with something poisonous. He wants to call for his Mom, the same way he did in the shed as he watched the Demogorgon walk through the door like it wasn’t there at all.

Worse, he wants to call for Steve. Steve, who’s back has always been broad and straight and sheltering. It’s curved now, caving in with the weight of all he isn’t anymore.

Steve blinks, and something crawls back behind his eyes. Something blinking and human and alive with recognition. “Will?” He says it like Will’s a revelation.

Will nods. He stays still as Steve reaches out, cold fingers brushing against his cheek gently. Will doesn’t recoil, even as something in his sternum urges him back, as it tries to connect and barely grasps onto Steve at all.

“Are you okay?” Will asks, knowing as the words tumble out that it’s a fruitless question.

Something reaches his eyes, but it’s not Steve's smile. “I will be.” He shakes his head, seemingly not noticing when the movement makes Eddie slip further down his shoulder, his hot breaths turning the skin of Steve’s collarbone a concerning pink.

“Sorry, it’s hard to hear over him,” Steve says, rubbing that same spot at the back of his skull as Eddie sits up, blinking foggily.

“Over who?” Will asks, even though he knows. He can still see the shadow looming over Steve, over all of them, as it chokes the life out of their protector while neither Eddie or Will could do anything at all. It’s branded into his irises so completely, Will could paint it without any reference at all. He won’t, doesn’t want to ever see Steve like that again, thinks maybe black is his least favorite color on his palette now.

Steve doesn’t answer. Will doesn’t need him to – he can see it looking back at him from behind Steve’s eyes.

Eddie clears his throat, a smoker’s scratch sticking with his words when he asks, “does that mean we brought that thing back with you, a la hitchhiker’s guide to the galaxy?”

“Galaxy?” Steve asks, looking confusedly over at Eddie before saying Eddie’s name with just as much awe as he’d said Will’s.

Eddie’s cheeks pinken and he shifts his gaze guiltily over Steve’s shoulder, making eye contact with Will like he’d been caught in the act. Will’s not sure what act, but he smiles as best he can. Eddie clears his throat, shifting his body back into the arm of the couch as he says, “never mind that, which realm is that shadow creature residing in Sir Steven, the Gallant?”

Steve blinks blurily over at Eddie, so Will cuts in, “is he here or the Upside-Down?” He doesn’t clarify who he is. They all know.

“Some of him is there, and some of him is here, too.” He pats the back of his head, leaving no wiggle room in what he means by ‘here.’

Eddie meets Will’s eyes as Steve hunches down again, rubbing at that same spot, like he’s either trying to push something out or push it further in. Either one makes Will feel queasy.

Eddie’s eyes are wide and distant the same way they had been when Steve had gone on his suicide mission last year in Will’s Upside-Down living room, nothing but a shotgun and a wish between him and the Demogorgon.

Eddie’d disappeared into himself in the aftermath, losing chunks of time to staring at something Will couldn’t see. He’s doing the same thing now.

Will wants to reach over Steve to slap him, to shake him until he snaps back into himself because Will can’t lose them both in one fell swoop. He’s not strong enough to feel both of their tethers snap, to feel the reverb of the strings tying them all together lashing back into him and stay standing.

“How do we get him out?” Will asks.

Eddie’s eyes zero in and focus, but Steve doesn’t look up from the carpet between his shoes. He just keeps rubbing his head.

Will swallows the bird lodged in his throat, it’s a canary in a coal mine in no one’s listening. No one’s ever listening.

The sound of a door opening breaks up the stagnant air. Will feels the bird sink into his stomach, stop its incessant squawking as his Mom walks out of her room. She’s wearing the same clothes as yesterday, and there are dark smudges beneath her eyes, but she’s smiling.

“How’d you sleep, sweetie?” she asks, looking at Will.

The bodies on the floor stir at the sound of her voice, heads popping out of blankets hesitantly as noses meet cold air.

“Fine,” he murmurs, and he thinks it’s even true. She purses her lips anyway, even as her gaze moves around the room, across Wayne dozing in the arm chair, the party on the floor, Eddie on the couch. She doesn’t look at Steve, but it’s not like she doesn’t notice him. It’s like her eyes are repelled from him. Like she can’t bear to let them settle on him. Like that’ll all make it too real.

“Well, everyone get ready for school,” she says, raising her voice until Will’s stirring friends groan.

“I can’t go to school,” Will says, pushing his foot harder into Steve’s thigh. He wants to reach over and latch onto Steve’s forearm hard, keep them tethered together as long as he can, but he’s afraid the touch will burn.

His Mom reaches out, clasping his hand, smiling small and sad at him, just him. “I know, sweetie,” she says quietly. “But your friends have to go or their parents will get worried.”

As if waiting for his moment, Dustin butts in, “I want to stay with Steve!” His voice comes out in a nasally whine, the way it always does when he just wakes up. It’s loud enough that Wayne’s snoring stops, and he sits up abruptly, the way old men on TV do when they’re startled awake. It’s like a snort, snort, gasp, with wide eyes.

Lucas giggles, and it breaks the tension just enough the Mom sighs, turning her back on the couch, on Steve, to pat Dustin consolingly on his mussed hair.

“You can see Steve later,” she says, as Wayne ratchets the recliner of the chair down and plants his still-booted feet onto the carpet to lever himself upright. “We wouldn’t want you to get grounded.”

“I can take ‘em,” Wayne says, rubbing his face roughly. It’s hard to tell what wrinkles are his usual wear and what’s from a bad night’s sleep. “Gotta head to work anyway.”

The room fills with grumbling, but Lucas and Mike pull a still-protesting Dustin into the bathroom to get ready.

Wayne routes around Mom to crouch in front of the couch. He reaches out his hand to clutch Steve’s knee before drawing it back before making contact. “I’ve gotta go to work, son,” he says, quietly enough to pretend at privacy. “But, you call me if something happens, okay?”

He’s not looking at Eddie. He’s looking right into Steve’s eyes, waiting for a response. Steve swallows, nods, says, “Okay,” quietly, before continuing with that same reverence, “Wayne,” like he’s collecting their names for safe-keeping.

It should be sweet, but Will’s not sure what he’s keeping them safe from, and when he turns to look, his Mom’s still standing in the same place, fists balled, and a look on her face Will’s never seen before. “Mom–” he starts, but it’s too late. She’s already turned and strode into the kitchen.

“I’ll start a pot of coffee,” she says, breezily, as if nothing is wrong at all. “I’ve got a carafe you can take to work, Wayne.”

Wayne’s still-raised hand tightens into a fist, and he says, “call me again,” this time, looking at Eddie. When he nods as well, Wayne uncurls his fist and pats Will’s knee instead, turning on his heel to follow Mom into the kitchen.

The house empties and quiets. Grows colder and lonelier with Steve between he and Eddie, taking up a space Will’s not sure this version fits in anymore.

Mom flits around the house, like doing the dishes, or mopping the floor, or hanging the laundry will make everything normal again. Eddie’s never been this still in his life.

It’s a standstill; a stick-up where the gun is a shadow, and the convenience store is in Steve’s head. It’s a standstill, until Steve curls so far into himself that his head disappears entirely, groaning loudly enough that it can be heard over the vacuum cleaner.

“Stevie?” Eddie asks, reaching out to cup his neck, seemingly uncaring of the red marks that immediately bloom in his wake. “Are you okay?”

The vacuum shuts off, and Mom comes running, dropping to her knees and sliding against the carpet in a way that must hurt, even through her sweatpants. “What hurts?” she asks, like that noise was all it took to break whatever flimsy wall she’d put up to keep her from looking at Steve Harrington.

Will knew it wouldn’t last. She’d been won over the first time she realized his parents weren’t coming back. The first time she saw him small and bandaged in the hospital. The first time she’d heard Will say, he saved me.

“What can we do?” she asks, gripping onto the couch by Steve’s knee hard.

Steve uncurls, eyes unfocused as they settle onto her without seeming to see anything at all. They’re fogged. Will almost thinks he can see shadows dancing around in them. He yanks the thread tying them together, slumps his shoulders when he feels a tiny tug back.

“Something’s wrong,” Steve says distantly, as if that hasn’t been obvious for days. “Something’s wrong.”

Part 77

Taglist: @deany-baby @estrellami-1 @altocumulustranslucidus @evillittleguy @carlprocastinator1000 @1-8oo-wtfbro @hallucinatedjosten @goodolefashionedloverboi @newtstabber @lunabyrd @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @manda-panda-monium @disrespectedgoatman @finntheehumaneater @ive-been-bamboozled @harringrieve @grimmfitzz @is-emily-real @dontstealmycake @angeldreamsoffanfic @a-couchpotato @5ammi90 @mac-attack19 @genderless-spoon @kas-eddie-munson @louismeds @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @pansexuality-activated @ellietheasexylibrarian @nebulainajar @mightbeasleep @neonfruitbowl @beth--b @silenzioperso @best-selling-show @v3lv3tf0x @bookworm0690 @paintsplatteredandimperfect @wonderland-girl143-blog @nerdsconquerall @sharingisntkaren

#steve harrington #my fic #steddie upsidedown au #steddie #eddie munson #will byers

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yourlocaltreesimp · 1 year ago

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Have you gotten any requests abt First? I simply would like to request some general yan hcs if thats fine. But if not, thats alright. I hope things have been lovely for you dearie <33 (ive just been craving for First food)

Ofc ofc!!

TW: Yandarism but i’m tired so it’s fairly tame if i’m going to be honest, tame by my standards

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Yan!First Headcannons

He has fond memories of his guide. How they skillfully protected him with their insight to ensure his success. He clutched those days of tranquillity close to his heart -or what he believes to be left of it- when he was locked up. When you were ripped away from him by a jealous god’s hand. He tries to focus on the softness of your voice and not the shrill of your screams when you were being made to watch his torment. He was free now. But from what he knows, you aren’t. And on your name he is going to maim the soul that did that to you. Even if it’s the goddess that allowed you to meet in the first place.

That said, he didn’t originally know you were his guide. He was shaken from being thrown into a portal and he was so hurt and you were so kind… It was natural for him to latch to the first bit of care given to him since your first absence.

It didn’t take him remembering -or rather realising- you were his guide until he started his spiral. No. He’s been teetering on the edge for years, and if falling into madness ment falling into your arms, then so be it. With that, he doubles down when he remembers you. Brought together by the gods and fate, how could he not keep you to himself after so long of being on his own?

He thrives on whatever it is you want. He’ll talk or listen to you for days, savouring the calmness in your voice. He’d pull you close in front of everyone and remember every freckle on your skin, every scar that lined it, every hair on your head. He’d write you letters of sonnets and prose, watching you read it with concentration, as if to see that you like it. He’d buy you anything, do anything, say anything, so long as it had your approval.

I see him as either very sneaky and courting you so eloquently that his possessiveness and protectiveness is part of the package. Him showing off that you chose him, that he’s good enough. Him showing off that no matter how much his… predecessors think they have you, you’ve always been his from the beginning. This is with an earlier intro to the chain, him trying to fend off competition as more members begin to fall. A strategy, if you will.

Or he’s on you the second he has consent, not caring for standards so long as you are his and he is yours. A scramble for your attention against your many suitors followers. I see this as First with a later intro where everyone’s already not right in the head. He’s bartering for and peice if you at this point. Any attention you give him will be well spent and obsessed over.

100% kidnapping you the second the chance presents itself. You’ll be married properly, he’ll treat you impeccably well, just be sure to play along.

Fav nicknames for you: My dear, Dearest, My love, My Sun, Flower, Darling, essentially anything classy

BONUS: This single handedly had me questioning if i wanted him and the others in ACU

#linked universe #legend of zelda #linkeduniverse #yandere linked universe #linked universe x reader #link x reader #link x you #yandere linked universe x reader #x reader #yandere link x reader #yan!first #lu first #lu first x reader #firreplies #fir’s library

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randomluck-ofthe-universe · 22 days ago

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Do you know when and where Timothee’s next appearance is? I lost track - is it Seul?

the next event was supposed to be the ACU Japan Premiere on February 3rd but it has been cancelled so we're waiting for future updates about Japan.

Critics Choice Awards will be on February 7th and the same day it will be supposed to be also ACU Seoul Premiere in Korea.

so.. we'll see what happens. 🤔😉

#anon asks #timothée chalamet #a complete unknown #february 2025

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the-marshals-wife · 4 months ago

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Rookie Jitters (Wolf Jackson x Reader)

─ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ⋅☆⋅ 𝐀𝐎𝟑 ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─

A/N: Happy Halloween! 🎃 Besties, I didn't even plan this one ahead of time. I watched Beetlejuice Beetlejuice for the third time, and the inspiration struck. This one's for the Willem Dafoe girlies. You always keep it real. ;)

Description: Wolf Jackson x Fem!Reader, meet-cute fluff with a light sprinkling of angst | Warnings: death mentioned many times (nothing graphic, mostly humorous), guns mentioned, canon-typical creepiness of the Neitherworld | Setting: post Beetlejuice Beetlejuice | Word count: 2,266

Imagine being Wolf Jackson's new secretary, and being nervous to meet him

If your heart could still beat, it would have stopped. You stare at the yellowed paper in your hand that detailed your new job description, and your eyes lock on the name of your boss.

"I'm working for Wolf Jackson? The Wolf Jackson?!" you gape.

The poorly mummified woman across the desk doesn't look up from her clipboard. She slides a folder towards you, and you resist the urge to recoil at her half-decayed arm.

"I don't know who that is. I just hand out the forms. All the details will be in your file," she replies placidly. "Says here you're being assigned to the Afterlife Crimes Unit."

"Crimes Unit? I think there's been some sort of mistake. I'm not in law enforcement."

"Look lady, whatever the paper says, that's where you gotta go. I don't make the rules," she dismisses, pointing with her boney finger, "You go out that door, down the hall, third door on the left, down the stairs, and take the second right. Big doors, you can't miss it. If you wind up in Lost and Found, you went too far."

You nod, trying to absorb the directions as your head swam with new information.

"Could...you maybe write it down for me?" you ask.

The clerk looks over her glasses at you in silence.

You smile nervously, rising from your seat, "Nevermind. I'm sure I'll find it."

Hurriedly gathering up all your paperwork into your arms, you make your exit from the office before the woman's glare could kill you a second time.

While you navigate the dim, winding passages, your thoughts return your destination, and who you might find waiting there. Was your new boss actually Wolf Jackson? Frank Hardballer himself? You seriously consider pinching yourself.

'Figures,' you think, 'I had to die to have the best day of my life.'

After what felt like an eternity of walking through the most otherworldly funhouse imaginable, you take the second right and lay eyes on the big doors. As you read 'Police Precinct 515' painted in black letters above them, the knots in your stomach multiply.

"This must be it," you sigh, clutching the papers to your chest.

You swallow hard, gather the remains of your courage, and walk inside the station with your head held as high as you can manage.

The officer behind the front desk looks up immediately. "Can I help you, miss?"

"Uh, yes. I'm looking for the Afterlife Crimes Unit?" you answer, approaching the intimidatingly tall bench.

"They send you from Orientation?"

His friendly demeanor catches you off guard.

"I think so," you answer, peering up at him, "To be honest, they haven't told me much since I got here. Just one person after another shoving papers at me."

Despite feeling like you'd already been here for a lifetime, you still weren't used to being among so many dead people. It didn't even seem real yet that you were one of them, although that was certain to come with time. The officer's skin is almost the same shade of blue as his uniform, and his features are unnervingly sunken in, but cadaverous countenance aside, he has a kind look that puts you somewhat at ease.

"Things can be pretty nuts around here, but you'll get used to it," he smiles, standing up straight, "You must be the new secretary for the ACU. Last one caught the Soul Train this mornin'. I feel for Jackson, though. I don't think she had the heart to tell him."

"You mean he doesn't know?" you ask.

The officer winces. "I guess you'll find out. It's just down the hall there, first door on the right."

You refrain from rolling your eyes at more verbal directions, just grateful to have spoken to someone pleasant.

"Thank you," you say, glancing down at your heels, "I'm starting to think I should have died in more comfortable shoes."

The officer chuckles. "Good luck to you, miss."

Your focus shifts from the throbbing in your ankles to shaking in your limbs as your nerves return full force. It didn't seem fair that you could still have anxiety in the afterlife, but it would take more than the cold hands of death to calm you in this moment.

As you reach the door and grab the handle, you hear a muffled voice from the other side.

You tread lightly into the room and carefully close the door behind you, not wanting to intrude. Through the cracked blinds, you see a figure pacing frantically in the office ahead of you.

"This is unreal," the man laments, "Where could she be?"

You freeze in your steps, recognition washing over you. You would know the voice of Frank Hardballer anywhere. There wasn't a single Saturday night in your father's house that you hadn't heard it blaring from the television set, accompanied by all the gunfire and explosions required of a true blue, B-grade cop film. It was really him.

Steeling yourself, you walk towards doorway. The clicking of your heels on the vinyl floor announces your presence, and you utter a prayer not to trip over your blistered feet.

"Janet?" you hear him call out as you step into view.

There he is. Leaning over his desk, concern written all over his face, Wolf Jackson stares back at you.

The grim reaper himself couldn't steal your excitement away.

You open your mouth, and a mess of words comes out. "Um, excuse me, sir? A-are...I'm, uh-"

He waves you away, cutting off your stammering. "I'm sorry, miss. You'll have to come back another time. My secretary's up and disappeared. I gotta start a missing persons report."

"Um, about that, sir" you begin, clinging to your paperwork as he riffles through a pile of folders, "I believe I'm your new secretary."

He stops and looks back at you, visibly stunned. "What happened to Janet?"

"I think the person I'm replacing got on the Soul Train this morning," you hesitate, unsure what that even was. "I'm sorry, that's all I know."

"I didn't know her time was up," he says, bewildered, "She never told me."

His confused expression turns somber as he puts his hands in his pockets and walks over to the nearest window. "She didn't even say goodbye," he continues, sighing heavily, "But that's the way things go in this crazy world of ours. Here one minute, gone the next."

A long pause follows as you stand motionless in the doorway, suddenly feeling like you're intruding on a private moment.

"Here's looking at you, kid," he declares, proceeding to turn swiftly on his heel. Every trace of sadness was gone, replaced with a smile. "Where are my manners? Come in, come in."

Your stomach is teeming with butterflies as you officially enter the room. He eagerly goes to meet you, hand extended.

"Wolf Jackson, Afterlife Crimes Unit," he introduces.

You shake his hand, trying desperately to keep your composure.

"I'm Y/N. It's a pleasure to meet you, sir," you grin.

"The pleasure is all mine, Y/N," he says "It's not every day you get to meet a new face down here. Least of all one as wonderfully intact as yours."

You could sense the compliment in his unusual words. Thankfully, it didn't seem the dead could blush, because your cheeks would surely be betraying you now. Finally standing before him, you're unable to conceal your admiration any longer.

"I can't believe I'm actually getting to meet you, sir. I am such a big fan."

His eyes light up instantly. "You don't say!"

"It's true! My dad and I used to watch your movies all the time. We absolutely loved them," you beam, heart swelling.

Wolf appears as thrilled to hear your words as you are to say them. "Don't that beat all. It's been so long since I've gotten to talk to someone who knows my work," he marvels.

"I think know every line of every Frank Hardballer movie by heart. I've seen them all more times than I can count." Your starstruck smile fades a little as you speak again, "We were devastated when we heard about your accident. That day was one of the only times I ever saw my dad cry."

"Well, I bet he'd be pretty jazzed to see you now," he offers, rushing to clarify, "Not being dead, of course. But you know, working for me...with me. Working with me."

You stifle a laugh as he fumbles his words.

"I know what you meant, sir. You're right. He would be over the moon."

Somehow, this surreal moment was the least strange thing to happen to you so far. One of your biggest idols was just as excited to meet you as you were to meet him. His injuries were not as bad as you'd expected either. The way the media had made it sound all those years ago, you thought for sure he'd been blown to smithereens. Not only was he just as handsome in person, but his presence felt familiar. You could sense your worry fading away, and for the first time since you'd arrived in this unsettling place, you felt safe.

"At any rate, the first day down here is always the hardest," he remarks, "Here, rest for a minute. Put down all that nonsense you're carrying. If you've got questions, I'll tell you what you want to know. You're not gonna find any straight answers in those ridiculous 'onboarding' pamphlets."

He motions to the empty chair by the window nearest his desk, and you're happy to oblige, your arms well-past the point of cramping.

"Thank you, sir." You take the seat and set the papers aside.

Wolf steps over to the front of his desk and leans his weight on it, shaking his head in apparent amusement.

"So formal," he chuckles, "Enough with this 'sir' business. Just call me Wolf."

"Really?" you question, wide-eyed, "I mean, you're still my boss, aren't you?"

"Death makes equals of us all," he states candidly, "But, if you'd prefer, Mr. Jackson works just fine too."

Despite having his permission, it felt unnatural to use his first name. Not yet, anyway. "You're the boss, Mr. Jackson."

He nods in approval. "That'll do." His gaze falls to the floor a moment before he talks again, "Speaking of death...how is it you came to be here, Y/N? If you don't mind me asking, that is. Although I didn't exactly have the luxury of discretion myself, discussing it can be personal for some people, and I respect that."

"I don't mind," you begin, frowning as you recall your own demise, "It all happened so fast, honestly. One minute I was walking home with my best friend from her birthday dinner, and then out of nowhere this big guy with a gun jumps out from behind a truck and starts yelling at us to hand over everything we have. I don't know what I was thinking. I just...reacted."

You pause as the vivid memory flashes through your mind.

"I threw my bag at his face and tried to get the gun away from him. It fell to the ground, and I just remember jumping on his back and screaming at my friend to run. It was stupid, I know. I just didn't want her to get killed. She's like family to me," you explain solemnly, finally looking up and meeting Wolf's intent gaze, "The last thing I remember was the guy throwing me into a wall. I guess I hit it pretty hard, because everything went black. Next thing I know, I'm waking up in the DMV from hell. Nothing but waiting in lines and filing out a thousand forms that I don't understand."

Wolf snickers at your description, and you follow suit before going on.

"I know at least some of them were about job placement, because that's how I got sent here. And there you have it. That's my story. Not exactly Hollywood worthy," you declare with a shrug.

"Are you kidding? That was an incredibly brave thing you did," he insists.

"Thank you," you reply, smiling unconvincingly.

"I mean it. That took guts," he says, shaking his fist in affirmation, "I play the hero. But what you did for your friend? That's what real heroes do."

You could see in his eyes that he meant every word. Even without a pulse, you could swear you felt your heart pounding.

"Well, if I've learned anything from Frank Hardballer, you gotta keep it real."

Wolf claps his hands together and jumps up, grinning ear to ear. "Now that's what I like to hear!"

You can't help but laugh at his enthusiasm.

"What do you say to a little scenery? How about I give you a tour of the station, introduce you to some of the boys around here, and we'll get you all settled," he suggests, already leading the way.

"That sounds great," you answer, standing up to follow, "But while I'm keeping it real, Mr. Jackson, I have to tell you that I don't have any experience being a secretary. Undead or otherwise," you admit.

He stops in the doorway and turns back, giving you a sly look, "And I don't have any experience being a cop."

"That's true," you concede, "but I'm not an accomplished actor like you."

The notion gives him pause for only a moment.

"Well, can you make a cup of coffee?"

You chuckle, "I think I can manage that."

A smirk of satisfaction spreads across his face.

"Honey, you're gonna do just fine."

#wolf jackson x reader #wolf jackson #wolf jackson imagine #willem dafoe #wolf jackson x y/n #beetlejuice beetlejuice #beetlejuice fanfic #beetlejuice x reader #beetlejuice imagine #my writing #no hate to my girl janet she just had to be gone so reader could have a chance 😆

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tumblerislovetumblerislife · 1 month ago

Text

2024 Writing Year in Review

tagged by @nix-nihili, thank you darling <3 this is gonna get long, buckle in!

January

the radiant university: the radiant emperor duology, ma/zhu, ouyang/esen

five people. five conversations. who will win this episode of the radiant university? (spoiler: it's wang baoxiang. everyone else is too busy making out.)

May

the ghost of the past that you live in: dead boy detectives, payneland

It didn’t start as much. As anything, really. Charles noticed him in the hallways only because he was new, which was rare in Year 11, and because he smiled shyly whenever Charles said hi. Aysar, he’d introduced himself, and Charles liked the way the syllables formed in his mouth. He wanted to be Aysar’s friend. Or: Five boys Charles didn't date, and one he did.

June

2 dead 2 boys: dead boy detectives, cryland, payneland, palasaki

It had been pretty obvious to Crystal from the start: their closeness and comfort with each other, the way they moved in sync, the way Edwin couldn’t quite contain his jealousy at Charles’ interest in her. She’d seen it before (where?), a relationship that one person wanted open and the other didn’t but would go along with, out of love. Ah, lack of communication. The enemy of polyamory. Or: Crystal comes to the horrifying realization that these boys are not dating, and leads them to enlightenment (polyamory).

take your chances (win or lose her): dead boy detectives, payneland, palasaki, charles & his mum

His dad was sitting in the living room – Charles ignored the instinct screaming at him to move away from Edwin – with his head in his hands. His mum wasn’t visible. It shouldn’t have been strange. Charles had seen both of them alone, at times, though rarely now as age caught up with them. But he and Edwin had been in the business too long to ignore bad feelings. They exchanged a glance, Edwin’s eyebrows beginning to furrow, and then Charles’ dad shifted, and bright morning light caught on his red, red knuckles. Or: Maybe Charles’ death was the wake-up call his dad needed to become a better man. Then again, maybe it wasn’t.

touch my tears with your lips (touch my world with your fingertips): dead boy detectives, payneland

Over the years, their music collection grew, until a shelf for their records joined the shelves for their books. Edwin was proud to say that the acquisition of the record player had made their office more lively, ghosts though they were. He certainly enjoyed their dancing lessons. If Edwin noted Charles’ quiet singing during this time, it was only to classify Charles as having enough musical talent to not clash horribly with the original singers’ voices. Some decades later, Edwin discovered the magnitude of his error. Or: Charles attempts to woo Edwin with the power of Queen.

July

if i could reach the stars (i’d give them all to you): dead boy detectives, payneland, palasaki

Loving Edwin was the easiest thing in the world. Charles got so used to it that he could sometimes go months without thinking about it, until Edwin did something kind or charming or literally just stood there catching the light in exactly the right way, and it would hit Charles all over again, like getting socked in the face. It certainly made for some interesting decades together. Or: Charles falls first. Edwin falls harder. Surprisingly little changes.

August

acu (aysar cinematic universe): dead boy detectives, payneland, palasaki

“Welcome to the Dead Boy Detective Agency, I am Edwin Payne. My partner should be returning shortly. Why don’t you tell me about your case?” “Yes, of course,” said the client, perfectly politely. “I am seeking justice. It was an incident that has haunted me, if you will excuse my wording, for years.” A pause. “I want justice for –” “Charles Rowland, hi!” said Charles, already wincing at his own timing. He hadn’t realised the ghost was winding up to the big reveal. Whoops. Or: A ghost from the past comes knocking. Charles gets justice; Edwin gets a hint.

September

(don't you) forget about me: dead boy detectives, payneland

Edwin returned to the envelope, from which his attention should never have veered, and opened it with a single, precise cut. The letter opener was returned to Charles – another brief, searing touch – as Edwin carefully removed and unfolded the glossy paper. The crest in the letterhead, a bloody wound against the white background, immediately caught his eye. “St. Hil’s, innit?” Charles, leaning over Edwin’s shoulder, confirmed what they both knew. They exchanged a dark, speaking glance. No, neither of them had fond memories of that place. Or: Edwin attends his high school reunion and is very normal about his (legal) partner.

(black is the colour) of my true love's hair: dead boy detectives, payneland

“Edwin,” Charles said, one splendid morning. “D’you notice anything different? About me?” With his face angled towards the window, Charles was lovingly lit by the morning sun, caught as it was on his forehead and cheeks and chin, limning the straight line of his nose and pooling in the depths of his dark eyes, lingering on his lips as if in a kiss. Beyond the light: the curve of his ear, his rather exquisite jawline, the glint of his earring and necklace, his bare shoulders, lean and strong, the curls of his hair just brushing them – Or: The boys spend a morning in the office; Charles has a lightbulb moment.

lovesick girls: dead boy detectives, palasaki

The thing was, the boys might tease Crystal about taking long to get ready, but she didn’t, not really. And the few times she did, she’d let you know beforehand. Niko checked her phone again. No new messages. A thought drifted into her mind like a dark cloud over the sun, taking all the brightness and warmth of the day with it. Crystal had told them stories from before she lost her memories, of the horrible things she’d done to friends and strangers alike. (To warn them off, Niko and Edwin privately thought.) What if one such thing was asking out some loser, only to stand them up and go laugh behind their backs with some friends? What if it’d been a joke all along? Or: Niko doesn’t quite get the first date she was expecting.

October

nectar, affection, truth: dead boy detectives, palasaki

if a girl looked at me like That i would simply perish Or: Art of the Look�� from episode 8.

it was only a (demonic) kiss: dead boy detectives, palasaki

“I need to talk…” Crystal took a deep breath and continued, “…to the thing inside Niko. The demon. I have a really attractive offer.” The demon forced Niko upright in jerky, unnatural movements, the fully black sclera only adding to the horror movie effect. Nothing at all like Niko’s sweet brown eyes. Crystal fought back a shiver. “You’ve got nothing I want, sweetheart. I just need to read one pesky little book, and then I’ll be on my way! So stay out of it.” Or: A newly sprite-free Crystal will do whatever it takes to save a victim of demonic possession: her neighbor, Niko Sasaki.

(if you cut me) i'll bleed pink: dead boy detectives, palasaki

Crystal was just opening her locker, the first time she saw her. The most beautiful girl in the world, probably, all shiny black hair and wide eyes, a cute outfit and an even cuter smile. Crystal could swear that when their eyes met, the world lit up with stars and hearts and bright pink light. She couldn’t look away. Or: Crystal meets someone new at the high school her parents shipped her off to.

can't see the stars for clouds: dead boy detectives, palasaki

“So, what do you do around here?” Niko asked, when all the introductions had been handled, and she and the cloud goddess – Crystal, a pretty name for a pretty goddess – stood just within sight of Edwin and his sun god suitor. After all, being chosen as a chaperone for this celestial courting was the highest honor imaginable – unless you were the moon god’s best, and maybe only, friend. Or not anymore, by the look of Charles’ easy smile and the loosening line of Edwin’s shoulders, visible even through the veil. Niko sure hoped so. It would be nice for Edwin to get a friend out of this union, at the very least. She hoped for more, but then, she’d always been a romantic. Or: The star and cloud goddesses must chaperone the courting sun and moon gods. However shall they pass the time?

when you see the flashing of the lights (remember you're in love tonight): dead boy detectives, palasaki

“I’m… I’m right across the hall,” Crystal said, not quite sure where she was going with this, only that she wanted this girl to keep looking at her. Forever. “If you…” “I like your jacket!” the girl interrupted, and slammed the door in her face. Crystal blinked a couple of times, quickly, and it was only around the tenth one that she realized the world had changed. It appeared… warmer, almost. The lights looked different from the walls looked different from Charles’ shirt as he asked, “What are you doing?” Or: Seeing your soulmate makes the world gain color. So do the dandelion sprites. What could possibly go wrong?

grinning from ear to ear in purple lace: dead boy detectives, palasaki

Every manga Niko read, every movie she watched, the smutty fanfiction she’d devoured from what was a probably too young age – all of them said the same thing: sex was a serious thing. You had to be amazing at it, even if it was your first time. You had to know exactly what your partner wanted. You had to look hot the whole time. You were not supposed to laugh during it. Or: Niko and Crystal’s first time.

it'll seem more like a song (when you pull on my hair): dead boy detectives, payneland

The implications of Charles putting up a ‘Closed’ sign took a slow, syrupy second to filter through. Charles had planned this. Impetuous, spur-of-the-moment Charles had planned this. At the same time, from his position mouthing at Edwin’s clavicle, Charles murmured, “Can I try something new?” Or: Edwin and Charles have some fun with his long hair.

memories decay into these stories: dead boy detectives, payneland

“Everyone has a place. Don’t you want to know what yours is? It might be wonderful,” the Night Nurse told Charles, her voice soothing as a lullaby. Charles faltered at the Night Nurse’s words. His shoulders loosened; his cricket bat descended out of its ready position. Stood behind him, Edwin could not see his expression, but he could imagine it well enough: a slack expression, morphing slowly into wide-eyed wonder. Charles took a dazed step toward her. And, in the single most selfish act of his entire existence – Edwin darted after him, clutching handfuls of his coat, and tried to hold Charles back. Or: The Night Nurse says a little less. Edwin does a little more. They all deal with the consequences.

(call me baby) run his hands through my hair: dead boy detectives, payneland, palasaki

It had been quite some time since Charles and Niko, armed with a truly astonishing amount of clothing, disappeared into the office’s spare bedroom. Only their murmurs and the occasional bright peals of laughter were audible through the walls, providing no hint as to what they were doing. Edwin and Crystal had been relegated to the main office to ward away any would-be clients on the agency’s official day off. Or: Charles gets a makeover! Edwin gets a makeover! Everybody gets a makeover!

we would be so good (if we were given the chance): dead boy detectives, payneland

“Kinda makes you want to write your own poetry, doesn’t it?” It was a split-second of an expression – a sideways flash of the eyes, a tinge of colour in the cheeks – before Edwin said, composed as always, “Indeed. But that is a task best left to the professionals, I believe.” Anyone else would have missed it. But Charles wasn’t in the habit of missing things, not when it came to Edwin. “Wait,” he said slowly, and Edwin’s eyes were already closing in defeat. “Have you – You’ve written poetry?” Or: Charles, Edwin, and poetry.

November

love's so strange (so real in the dark): dead boy detectives, payneland

To illustrate his point, he gave Charles’ necklace a sharp tug. Charles did not answer the question, because Charles’ eyes were slipping shut and his lips were parting around a pretty gasp, the necklace slackening under Edwin’s finger as Charles followed the motion down – “Charles…” Edwin whispered, and it was not quite a question and not quite a warning. If he were to be brutally honest with himself – something he rarely allowed – it was simply to feel the shape of it in his mouth. “Tell me to stop,” Charles said at last, breaking the charged silence between them. His voice was hoarse. Edwin swallowed with difficulty. Charles’ eyes dipped down, and his ridiculously long lashes accenting the motion, until there could be no doubt that he was staring at Edwin’s mouth. “Tell me to stop, and I will.” Or: In another universe, the doorbell doesn’t ring.

take the ribbon from your hair (shake it loose, let it fall): dead boy detectives, payneland

In mere hours, Charles would tie his hair back, out of the way of their work. Sometimes he missed a strand, which would then frame his face most fetchingly. Terribly tempting, that one curl, not to mention the fantasy of tucking it behind his ear and then ravishing him beyond what his poor hair tie could contain. For now, there was no such restriction, and so it was yet another thing Edwin planned to take full advantage of. He took hold of Charles’ hair and simultaneously set his teeth against Charles’ neck. Charles’ grip on him tightened. With a barely perceptible pop, Edwin’s shirt vanished. Or: The first time Charles vanished Edwin’s clothes.

a lap dance club without the dancers: dead boy detectives, (sapphic) payneland

The woman was a sight and a half. Glazed eyes, dark strands of hair sticking to flushed cheeks, the proper button-down doing nothing to hide the way her chest heaved with her rapid breaths. Easy. Charlize had barely started. And, oh, there was still so much she planned to do… Or: A lap dance gets a little out of hand.

December

need an adversary (to my down-to-marry): dead boy detectives, palasaki, payneland

The guests all stood and turned back to face the doors as they slid open. The music rose to a crescendo, and in walked Edwin, beautifully dressed and clutching a spray of flowers. He was wearing that small and secret smile that Charles knew better than his own, strutting down the aisle like it was a runway privileged enough to feature him. Charles couldn’t take his eyes off him even if he wanted to. The world and everyone in it faded away, ‘til Edwin was all he could see. If Charles could choose to live in this moment for the rest of forever, he would. Or: A real wedding; a fake relationship. What could possibly go wrong?

tagging @tragedy-machine, @lolotr, @aletterinthenameofsanity, @c-rowland, @shadowquill17 and whoever else wants to take part! <333

#the radiant emperor #tre #dead boy detectives #dbda #dbda year fr!#tltl fic #payneland #palasaki #nix i love you but how could you do this to me #also what was i on in october and where can i get more of it holy shit #tbf 6 of those are short palasaki week entries that i wrote september. but STILL

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heysawbones · 6 months ago

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Many of us have backgrounds that we feel alienate us from others. The result of that alienation is often a protectiveness of the thing which alienated us in the first place; a sort of Stockholm Syndrome attachment to the pain that shapes us. We draw identity and, if we need it, pride from that suffering.

Me, I’m uncomfortable when NPR - an outlet I’m very attached to - discusses poverty. In an effort to be transparent and equitable, statements are often prefaced with an admission that the speaker hasn’t been poor, and hasn’t known anybody who is or was. We’re trying, is what they’re saying. We know that we’re outsiders, but we take this seriously and we mean well. They know that it’s important that their peers, their audience, keep the poor in mind. They go on to express their concerns in terms that make it clear that they do not expect any poor people - past or present - to be listening. In a broad, entirely unintentional sense, people like me don’t exist to the people who make the informative content that I like best.

Despite their good intentions, listening to an NPR bit on poverty makes me feel worse about where I came from, instead of glad that someone is paying attention. It almost feels exploitative of them, and it’s hard to put a finger on exactly why this is.

---

I was active duty Army for four years, and in the Reserves for three. The corpus of Army uniforms mean something specific to me, because of the context in which they entered my life. Desert boots. Digital camo. TA-50 belts. These are purely functional in my mind - you wear them because you have to. The tasks you’ve been assigned necessitate these items. It just so happens that these tasks are often difficult - not intellectually, but spiritually. Physically. They try your patience, your faith in humanity. They dominate your life. As an enlisted person, it’s not uncommon to be treated as something less than a human being. Military service is often a hardship. You control very little, and you form a strong bond with your peers over the experience of, and the gallows humor generated by, said lack of control.

I don’t like it when I see civilians in paramilitary get-ups that pull from actual military supplies. ACU pants, regulation (or near regulation) desert boots, random bits and pieces of gear they picked up from the Army surplus to look tough. There’s a guy I see walking around my neighborhood sometimes who wears ACU pants, boots, and carries a fucking rucksack, you know, a real one. One of the old ones. He’s got it tied around his torso and everything. And he’ll have a t-shirt tucked into his pants with all that. He looks like a real jackass, and every time I see him, I want to chew him up and spit him out.

People who idolize the “glory” of being a cop or in the military are unique among wannabes, in the sense that they could actually just go be a cop or join the military. If one is able-bodied and has not done it, but insists on looking like they are obsessed with doing so, I dislike them a lot. I am 99% sure they are pathetic and possibly even dangerous, because it’s honestly hard not to get into the military if you are able-bodied and try at all. You’ve got to have done something pretty ridiculous. Come suffer if you want to wear this shit. You don’t want to suffer, don’t fucking wear military gear.

Once, I chewed a guy out at an anime convention for cosplaying a contemporary Soldier and not tucking his boot laces in.

---

I watched professional wrestling as a kid. It was popular in my house. The thing about my house, is that we were poor. More than being poor, we were white trash in the middle of a majority Latinx neighborhood. We were garbage. Pro wrestling wasn’t something other kids were into, where I grew up. It was, in fact, actively held in disdain. It’s not hard to understand why I grew up under the impression that pro wrestling was largely something that white trash sustained, like NASCAR, but for even less tasteful people. The rising popularity of pro wrestling has been strange for me. I can’t describe it very well. Is it the lack of acknowledgement? I have a friend who is going to school to become a pro wrestler, and it’s not like I have a problem with wrestling itself. I still enjoy it. I still think Ric Flair is hilarious. At least people haven’t all spontaneously decided that they love destruction derbies, but still really hate white trash.

---

The common thread that runs through these is that they are, in the most crass sense, personal problems. On some level they strike me as... appropriative? I loathe to use the word, less for the definition and more for the baggage. NPR talks about the plight of the poor because they care, sure, but also because they have a reputation of Serious Talk about Uncomfortable Issues to maintain. Discussing poverty is, in its way, credibility. People in military gear without military backgrounds are quite literally exploiting cultural capital given to people who have presumably done very hard things, while pointedly refusing to do the hard thing. Hearing podcasters talk about pro wrestling storylines is jarring, sort of like hearing Bob Garfield from On The Media say “4chan” twice in an episode. Seeing it on twitter coming from the kinds of people who would’ve reeled in disbelief at the way I grew up feels a little like spotting tourists.

#I have a thing to finish writing but it’s hard so have some drafts #blah blah blah #it’s old actually

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giggly-squiggily · 4 months ago

Note

If slots are not already filled then may I ask for Ler: Anya, Lee: Yor?

It is okay if you wanna decline this :3

(Not sure if you are taking requests for this fandom or not.. if not then I am sorry 😅)

My HEART!!! God I adore Spy x Family- it's been a hot minute since I've written for them, so this is a perfect opportunity! Friend, I've gotcha covered!

Cloud 9 (Taglist Peeps):

@thatbigbisexual29 @dirtpie39 @duckymcdoorknob @baby-tickles2022 @cupcake-spice13 @rachi-roo @chibisstuff @imjusthere07 @sevenincubistolemyheart @riisada

“Mama!” Anya stretched out her small hands, eyes glittering with joy. “Let’s play dress up!”

“Dress up?” She asked, surprised by the request. It wasn’t unusual for Anya to want to play; she was ever the adorable if not hyperactive child coming up with games and scenarios for both her toys and parents alike. However- majority of Anya’s games usually centered around some sort of spy related theme- missions and secret operations of the sort. It wasn’t common to hear her request something so…normal sounding. “Okay. I’d love to play dress up with you, Anya! What’s the theme?”

“Disguising ourselves and invading the evil doer’s party!” Anya cried. Yor nearly laughed out loud. Looks like her hunch wasn’t too far off. “I’m gonna need my top agents for the task- but Papa’s working right now. We’ll be short, but it’ll have to do!”

“Very well, agent Anya!” Yor saluted her, ready to help out. “I’ll be sure to put in twice the effort needed to accommodate our shortcomings!”

“What does accom-acu-” Anya blinked, brows furrowing as she tried to say the word. “What does that mean?”

“It means I’m all yours for dressing up.” Yor scooped her up and tickled her gently, making her burst into giggles. “Lead the way, Agent Anya!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Yor knew what she was getting into- and yet at the same time, she wasn’t prepared at the slightest.

“Mama, you’re gonna blend right in!” Anya cheered in glee, running the small but surprisingly painful plastic brush through the back of Yor’s hair again and again. She usually made sure to detangle it every morning, but given it’d been up most of the day in her usual style, there were a few snags. Every hidden wince felt like repentance for the days she forced Yuri to sit still while she combed through the bird’s nest on his head growing up. “And you’re gonna look super pretty!”

“Aww! Tha-ank you Anya!” Yor smiled despite the sharp tug, internally glad when she heard her daughter put the brush down. “What kind of party is it? Did you get any intel?”

“But of course. Agent Bond was on the case- he said it was a mass-mass-masquito ball!”

“Masquerade ball?” Where did Anya learn that?

“Yeah! He said it was full of fancy people all hiding their faces with masks! He said he saw the bad guy at the party too. They were trading super secret messages!” Anya reached out and tugged at Yor’s hair some, gathering bits up the best she could. “We need to in-infull..”

“Infiltrate?”

“Yeah!” Anya nodded, her excitement once again tugging at Yor’s head and making her wince slightly. “In fa-trait the secrets, Agent Mama!”

“I won’t let them get away!” Despite her cheery voice, she could feel Anya getting a bit frustrated. Her arms weren’t long enough to gather all of Yor’s hair, and her even smaller hands weren’t quite dexterous enough to do much with it. She was about to offer a hand when Anya’s fingers slipped, pressing into her collarbones. “Ee!”

“Oops- did I hurt you?” Anya asked, wide eyed and voice sounding suddenly thick. Yor had to be quick.

“Oh no, honey- not at all!” She reassured her, smiling. “I’m just a bit ticklish there.”

Anya’s tears faded, her face a look of wonder. “Mama is ticklish?” Oh dear- maybe she shouldn’t have been that honest.

“Just a little bit.” Yor gave her one last smile before turning her back to her daughter- already knowing where this was going but deciding to accept her fate. “Don’t tell anyone, okay?”

Anya giggled. “Okay!” When her small hands came back to her hair however, they didn’t make their mark. Instead, they gently rested on her shoulders, skittering. “Tickle tickle Mama! Hehehe!”

“Ah! Ahahahhaha! Oohohohoho nohohohoho!” Yor burst into giggles, shrugging her shoulders up as she barely leaned away, giggling up a storm. “Mihihihy ohoohonly wehahhahakness! Nohohohot tiihhihihickling!”

Did it really tickle? Kinda- but Yor wasn’t gonna rain on Anya’s parade. Especially when she let out a delighted squeal, proud of her discovery. “I got you now! This was all a trick Agent Mama- or should I say; the bad guy?”

Yor let out a dramatic gasp through her giggle fits, clutching her pearls. “Hhohoohw did yohohohou know? I thohohohught I hahahd a goohohohod coohohover! Ahehahhahhaaha!”

“Agent Anya knows all! I had my team following both the party and you! Tell me- where’s the real Agen Mama?” She switched to poking now- which okay, maybe it really tickled this time! Yor let out a surprised giggle as she fell over, still giving Anya equal opportunity to tickle her. “Spill the beans!”

“Nehnehehehver! I’ll nehehehver thehehell!” Yor cried back, laughing now more out of Anya’s adorable antics than from the tickling. “Yoohohu’ll nehhehehever ghehhet me to squeuueahahal!”

“So you say- but I’ve got you! Agent Bond! Help!” With her call, Bond came bounding into the room, woofing and skittering against the wooden floors. “Help me make her confess!”

“Borf!” Now Yor had two beings on her- Anya and her tickly fingers and Bond with his relentless kisses! She let out a squeal of laughter at the attacks, trying to gently push Bond away while petting him simultaneously. This of course only encouraged the big furball, leaving her more entrapped then before.

“Nohohohohohoohoho pleahhahahhahse! Pleahahhhahse I’ll tehhehehell yoohohohohu!” Yor cried, tapping out against the ground beneath her when she finally reached her limit. In response, Anya stopped her tickles, and even Bond refrained from further drowning her in kisses. “Thahahnk you.”

“You're welcome. Now- tell me where Agent Mama is!” Anya puffed her cheeks determinedly, balling her fists up to show true determination. Yor let out a giggle before grabbing around her eyes, pretending to peel back a mask. “AH! Agent Mama?! It was you all along!”

“Ha ha! Yes- it was me! This was all a test from the-erm, peanut corps! They wanted to see if you were up to par with your investigation!” Yor sat up, struggling not to laugh at Anya’s jaw dropped expression. “Congratulations, Agent Anya. You have passed!”

Anya went from shock to excited, gleefully jumping into Yor’s arms with a happy cry. “Yay! We passed, Bond! We passed!”

Their cheering was suddenly interrupted by someone clearing their throat. All eyes turned to a clearly amused Loid leaning against the doorframe. “Am I interrupting?”

“Papa!” Anya ran over at full speed, nearly knocking the air out of him. “You’re home!”

“Welcome back, Loid.” Yor smiled at the sight, smoothing her hair down with a small blush as she stood. “How was work?”

“It was…certainly interesting.” Loid laughed gently, patting Anya’s head. “Go wash up for dinner. I’m making hamburg steak tonight.”

Anya let out a delighted squeal as she ran off, Bond following and leaving the two adults alone. Yor giggled in her hand, her heart warm at just how precious Anya was. “She’s so sweet. Hm? What is it?”

Loid was staring at her- well; he was before she pointed it out. His gaze was so soft and kind- an expression she’d swore she’d seen a hundred times before but felt different all the same. “Sorry- I…don’t really know. I think I was lost for words for a minute there.”

Yor’s eyes widened some, her cheeks filling with color. Surely he didn’t mean it like the way all those romantic leads in movies meant it? His own face colored as he looked away, gaze shy and ever so cute. “I should go make dinner. I’ll see you soon?”

“Oh, erm. Absolutely. I’ll come help.” She nodded as he turned to go, fanning at her cheeks.

“Yor.”

“What?” She nearly jumped at her own name. He seemed to linger, shoulders tense.

“You…you’re very pretty when you laugh.” His ears were on fire as he practically sprinted away. Yor’s ears were ringing from the amount of blood that flooded her cheeks at his words. Was she swaying? Was this swooning?

Did he…call her pretty?

Her lips pulled into a smile, hands against her chest as if to keep her heart from breaking free. She waited until it was at a reasonable pace before joining her husband and daughter for dinner.

It never did slow down though. Not once.

Thanks for reading!

#spy x family #tickle #tickle fic #squiggily writes the things #yor forger #anya forger #fluff #parent child relationship #family fluff #sillies #bond forger #doggo kisses included cause of course they are #had to throw in some Twiyor cause it's me #twiyor #Whoops I wrote tons but I can't help it- it's SxF!!!

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fandomtrumpshate · 1 year ago

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FTH 2024: Supported Nonprofit Organizations

Here are the nonprofit organizations that will be supported by this year's FTH auction. Many of these orgs will be familiar from last year's list, but we've cycled in some new groups as well. In particular, because it's a major election year in the US, we've brought in (or brought back) organations focusing on voter enfranchisement.

If you are a FTH creator and you want to ask your bidders to support an organization that’s not on the list, please read our policy on outside organizations here.

Bellingcat *

Bellingcat is an independent investigative collective of researchers, investigators and citizen journalists brought together by a passion for open source research in the public interest.

Civil Rights Education and Enforcement Center *

The Civil Rights Education and Enforcement Center (CREEC) is a nonprofit legal organization that fights for liberation and equity through the lens of intersectional disability justice.

In Our Own Voice: National Black Women’s Reproductive Justice Agenda *

A national-state partnership focused on lifting up the voices of Black women leaders at the national and regional levels in our fight to secure Reproductive Justice for all women, girls, and gender-expansive individuals, NBWRJA delivers proactive advocacy and policy solutions to address issues at the intersections of race, gender, class, sexual orientation and gender identity.

Life After Hate

LAH provides support to people leaving hate groups, and providing pluralism education and training to vulnerable young people.

Middle East Children's Alliance *

MECA is a nonprofit organization working for the rights and the well-being of children in the Middle East. They collect funds in order to provide direct aid, financial support for community projects, water purification systems, and university scholarships, and also create educational and cultural programs in the US and internationally to increase cultural understanding.

National Network to End Domestic Violence *

NNEDV offers a range of programs and initiatives to address the complex causes and far-reaching consequences of domestic violence.

Never Again Action *

A Jewish-led mobilization against the persecution, detention, and deportation of immigrants in the United States, NAA takes on campaigns against detention centers and ICE training programs, and organizes mutual aid and deportation defense.

Razom *

Razom initiates short and long-term projects, or collaborates on existing projects with partner organizations, which help Ukraine stay on the path of fostering democracy and prosperity

Sherlock’s Homes Foundation *

SHF provides housing, employment opportunities, and a loving support system for homeless LGBTQ+ young adults so that they can live fearlessly as their authentic selves. Within these homes, young adults learn about responsibility, accountability, financial independence, life skills, and how to love themselves

Spread the Vote

STV helps eligible voters make their voices heard through voter education, supporting voters through the process of getting necessary ID, and advocating against voter suppression laws.

Violence Policy Center *

VPC works to stop gun death and injury through research, education, advocacy, and collaboration; exposes the profit-driven marketing and lobbying activities of the firearms industry and gun lobby, and offers unique technical expertise to policymakers, organizations, and advocates.

VoteRiders

VR works to help all citizens exercise their right to vote. It informs and helps citizens to secure their voter ID as well as inspires and supports organizations, local volunteers, and communities to sustain voter ID education and assistance efforts.

Umbrella: Environmental orgs

For the past four years, FTH has supported one “umbrella” cause: we invite participants to donate to their own local grassroots organization, while also suggesting a handful of exemplary organizations working in communities where the need is especially acute. This year our umbrella category is environmental organizations.

Pollinator Partnership *

Deploy/Us *

Together Bay Area

Wildlands Restoration Volunteers

Coral Restoration Foundation *

Organizations marked with an asterisk (*) allow for international donations directly through their websites. The orgs without asterisks may take international donations through a paypal or venmo account. If you are a non-US-based bidder/donor and you are having trouble finding an organization to which you can donate, please email us directly at fandomtrumpshate @ gmail . com.

#fandom trumps hate #fth 2024 #supported organizations #fanworks auction #charity auction

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