#MOMENTS AFTER GRABBING HIS KID AROUND THE NECK LIKE A RUBBER CHICKEN

[tysonfurybattlepass]

I understand I already yelled a little in the tags under your most recent art, but I feel the need to yell still. Spades is 10 feet tall or larger. Massive. Curled up on the throne like this, in an empty space, he looks average sized or even small. His face is contorted into a scowl, but there's an element of something else there, an element of pain, sadness perhaps? As deadbeatdadjokes pointed out, he still keeps hold of the crown, even when he's trying to rest. Of course the throne is torn. The throne is torn apart. His life is torn apart. He can't escape from this even when he's trying to rest. His hatred follows him everywhere, constantly. As you said, he needs a melatonin to forget about his war crimes for a few hours. The only time he's peaceful.

Yeah, your art put me in a mood I just had to give you this mess and I am supposed to be asleep right now but I am not 😎

I AM HOLDING YOU SO GENTLY IN MY HANDS LIKE A BABY BIRD RIGHT NOW.

while i absolutely love hearing other people’s interpretations of what’s going on in my work, the emotion i drew into this image on purpose is fear.

i think what really captures me about this abhorrent character is the inherent and oxymoronic fragility of his position at the top of the food chain. apex predator is not an easy title to maintain for any significant period of time.

he is such a control freak to an unsustainable extent and so, so obsessed, he’ll gladly poison or trample everything and everyone around him with his own corrosive drive toward revenge until there’s nothing left. he knows everyone wants him gone. he knows theyre waiting for an opportunity to reenact that scene from lion king where the hyenas eat scar alive. his paranoia is deep set and destructive, but not necessarily unwarranted. he is alone, in constant danger, surrounded by people who want him dead, and it’s 100% his own fault.

this isnt the only instance of tragic irony the character represents. like spamton, king spade’s story is punctuated by an inability to break out of the role laid out for him by the narrative. he is a darkner, created and sustained only to act as a device for the advancement and entertainment of lightners. he’s one of the few darkners that actively fights against this admittedly pretty fucked up class system, and only due to some likely immense religious trauma associated with being left alone in the dark by an uncaring god that didnt even know he existed.

but, by rebuking the lightners he has merely colored his obsession with them differently, only succeeding in swapping religious adoration for seething acidic malice. even as he thrashes against the chains of predestiny and tries to flip the script, his identity is still fundamentally tied to the lightners he’s trying so hard to wrench free from. he does not see the issue with this because he is stupid<3

he also does not see the issue with being an insufferable prick to everybody around him for the sake of The Cause. he is well aware of the risks, and no doubt hardly sleeps more than an hour or two a night due to the constant threat of being fucking assassinated, but i think he thinks himself smart enough to weasel his way out of (or completely shit stomp) any potential uprising or coup. and he’s right. for a while at least.

fear is a powerful but fleeting motivator, and when it inevitably wears off and the smoke clears and everyone sees that you are alone at the top, you will be eaten by your own dogs.

#i’m so normal about irredeemably shitty characters i promise<3 #for real this guy is such a manipulative self-important shithead i could write BOOKS about it #fucker will literally emotionally manipulate a teenager to win a fight and then turn around and tell US we’re the assholes???? girl. #MOMENTS AFTER GRABBING HIS KID AROUND THE NECK LIKE A RUBBER CHICKEN #MIGHT I ADD #and somehow a good chunk of the fandom still fell for the baby talk in ch2 this guy is HALL OF FAME at gaslighting #deltarune

[franniebanana]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Bakugou Katsuki/Uraraka Ochako Characters: Bakugou Katsuki, Uraraka Ochako, Kirishima Eijirou Additional Tags: Haunted Houses, Halloween, Fluff Series: Part 2 of Kacchaco Week 2019 Summary:

Somehow Bakugo gets talked into going to this ridiculous haunted house with the rest of Class 1-A.

Written for @kacchakoweek - Day 2 - Otherworldly

            Katsuki Bakugo heard them as he approached: the unfettered murmurings of Class 1-A, all huddled together around a few desks. He dropped his backpack on the floor, staring at them as a few of the girls squealed delightedly. “What’s going on?” he grumbled as Kirishima sat down next to him.

             “We’re all doing this haunted house thing tonight,” he said with a grin. “You in?”

             Bakugo frowned. “That sounds stupid. Why would I want to do that?”

             “Come on,” Kirishima said, shoving him. “It’ll be fun! Mina’s getting us all tickets, so it’s totally free.” Bakugo frowned more deeply, tapping his pencil as if he were thinking. He wasn’t. He had no intention of going to some dusty old house to get jump-scared by rubber bats on strings. “What d’you think?”

             “Are you guys coming too?” Uraraka bounced over, her cheeks rosy and a broad smile on her face. “It sounds like fun, doesn’t it?” She looked directly at Bakugo. “I bet even you need to let down your hair once in a while,” she said. “Besides, it’ll be nice to be the one getting scared, since you’re always doing the scaring.”

             “You think I’m gonna be scared?” he demanded.

             “That’s kinda the point—it’s a haunted house,” she said matter-of-factly, crossing her arms.

             “Yeah, a haunted house filled with flashing lights and toys,” he said dismissively.

             Kirishima nudged Uraraka’s arm, then leaned in closer to him. “Are you saying you’re too scared to go?”

             Bakugo perked up. “What are you talking about?”

             Uraraka nodded sadly. “That’s what it sounds like to me. Guess you won’t be able to go after all.” They started to turn around when Bakugo jumped to his feet.

             “Oh, I’m going!” he nearly shouted. “Just to prove it to you morons!” He thought he saw Uraraka smile, but he wasn’t sure. They were morons—morons if they thought he’d ever be scared from a couple of cheap parlor tricks and smoke machines. He’d show them.

             There was a chill in the air as he made his way to the location of the old house. As it turned out, it was an old hotel that hadn’t been used in decades. As he walked up the drive, he could already hear screaming. He was a little late, so he wondered if everyone had gone in without him, but when he got to the top of the hill, everyone was there, waiting.

             “Okay, everyone ready?” Mina bounced on her toes, waving her arms high above her head. “We’re going to go in pairs, so everyone pair up. Not my rules—that’s just how it works.” She grinned. “And for the record, anyone who isn’t here is a chicken!”

             Bakugo had just settled in his mind that the idea of pairing up was idiotic when he realized that Uraraka was standing in front of him. She was looking around as everyone else paired up, her hands clutched at her breast. “Hey.” She whirled around. “I guess we’re partners.”

             Her eyes looked nervous at first, but then she smiled. “Good, then I can see first-hand how big of a chicken you are.”

             “Let’s get one thing straight, Round Face—”

             She held up her hand. “I was kidding! Chill out, okay?”

             It was a while before it was their turn to go in. In fact, it turned out they were the last ones. Uraraka was nervously biting her lip and fidgeting so much that Bakugo was actually slightly concerned for her. “You don’t have to go in, you know,” he said.

             She glanced up at him, her eyes turning hard. “What do mean? I’m not flaking out now! Besides,” she said, sounding flustered, “I’m not in the least bit scared.”

             “Tell that to your finger nails,” he said with a nod of his head.

             She sighed, picking at a stray hangnail. “I guess I’m a little freaked out.” Her eyes widened as they were summoned inside the house. They were about cross the threshold when she paused.

             He glanced down at her for a moment until their eyes met. “It’s just smoke and mirrors. It’s not real.” She gulped, nodding, and they both went inside.

             It got dark—fast. The people who ran the event weren’t joking around. There were smoke machines, flashing lights, and jump-scares—of course, jump-scares. At one point, they both jumped at the same scare, grabbing each other’s hands in the process. Even though it was dark, they could both see each other’s red cheeks, and they quickly dropped their hands. After five minutes, Uraraka was clinging to him. He didn’t push her away. Admittedly, he didn’t mind being her thinking of him as her protector. But he wasn’t scared at all—he was totally fine. This was child’s play. It was so not scary that it was almost funny, and a couple of times, he actually chuckled under his breath. He was starting to feel pretty cocky as he passed a spooky vampire and a clown with fangs and fake blood dripping from its mouth.

             “Nice makeup!” he called out, laughing.

             “What are you doing?” she said, her teeth chattering. “Don’t antagonize them! They’ll just try to scare us harder!”

             “I’d like to see them try.” He grinned devilishly. There wasn’t anything they could do at this point to scare him because nothing was more frightening than what he’d already encountered in real life. This was just fantasy—it was fake.

             All of a sudden, there was a loud whooshing sound accompanied by a gust of wind, followed by the feeling that all the air and sound had been sucked out of the room. He stopped walking. It was so quiet, so eerily quiet. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck raise. What was going on? And then he heard it: a slow, rattling breath, and heavy, dragging footsteps. They were getting closer. He felt himself moving in front of Uraraka without even realizing it. Her grip on his arm had relaxed, but that was only because she was now clutching his hand, and he was clutching hers just as tightly. The sounds continued, getting louder every second. And then, suddenly, they were behind them. They whirled around and he found he was frozen, unable to react, when he was faced with the one thing in the world that he feared: All for One.

             “Bakugo..are you scared?” Uraraka whispered.

             “Yes,” he breathed.

             “GOT YOU!” His eyes widened as All for One removed his head—wait, removed his head?! The man under the mask was wearing a lot of dark makeup, but the red hair was unmistakable. “We got you so good!” Kirishima said, howling with laughter.

             “I’m gonna fucking kill you,” Bakugo said quietly, his rage barely contained. He rounded on Uraraka, who was hiding a smile behind her hand. “And you—”

             “I had fun tonight,” she said, interrupting him. “Let’s do it again next year!” Her smile faded as she shuffled towards him. “But, um, I still need to get out of here, so would you come with me the rest of the way?”

             He wanted to be angry with her for creating this elaborate situation just to prank him, but he couldn’t. While his expression didn’t soften, he grumbled, “Fine. Let’s go.” She grinned and grabbed his hand.

             “Hey, guys? Wait for me! Guys, wait! Don’t just leave!” Kirishima called after them.

             Bakugo ignored him. He liked the feeling of Uraraka’s hand in his own. Maybe doing this next year wouldn’t be so terrible.

#my hero academia #kacchako #kacchaco #katsuki bakugo #ochaco uraraka #fanfic #writing

[southsidexslytherin]

Dirty Laundry--Sweet Pea & OC (Part Three)

att-Summary: October Addams is the new kid in RIverdale. She has no friends, no family, and a dark past she tries to keep hidden. But as she starts to make new friends with the South Side Serpents, secrets start to be revealed, and October isn’t certain that she’s ready to let them see the skeletons in her closet.

Warnings: language, panic attack

Word count: 5,296

Author’s Note: Well, this took way longer than I had anticipated to get this chapter up. Life’s been crazy and I wasn’t happy with the first draft, so I ended up rewriting large chunks of it. I have an outline mapped out for the next chapter, so I’m hoping it won’t take as long to get it done. Hope you all enjoy it! Like, reblog, or comment if you do!

Chapters: 1 / 2  Masterlist

Taglist: @the-greatt-perhaps @misskarynie @euphoricmads @hereforthismoment 

The next morning I was feeling much more optimistic. I had finally gotten Sweet Pea off my back, I felt like a badass after displaying my skills at the bar the night before, and I was starting to come around on the idea of making friends.

I was generally fairly cheerful as I plopped into my seat at the beginning of first period, a Monster energy drink in hand. Toni and Cheryl joined a few moments later. As soon as they had sat down, Toni started slow clapping. “October Addams, you are my hero.”

I smiled shyly, a blush warming my cheeks. “It wasn’t that big of a deal.”

“Are you serious?” She asked incredulously. “You put Pea to shame! I could kiss you on the mouth right now!” Cheryl shot her daggers. “I’m joking, love.” Toni placed a hand on Cheryl’s cheek and she calmed. I watched them as they shared a moment, staring lovingly into each other’s eyes. It was ruined as Sweet Pea showed up, pulling the black beanie off of Toni’s head and mussing her hair.

“You actually drink that shit?” He said to me, eyeing the can on my desk as he sat down. I snatched the hat from him and tossed it back to Toni.

“I wasn’t in the mood for coffee,” I replied dully. I took a long sip from the energy drink, enjoying the way his lips pulled back in disgust.

The rest of the day I received a lot of congratulations and pats on the back from other Serpents. Honestly, I felt like a hero. The best part was Sweet Pea’s face when he overheard some of the things people said to me. He looked angry, but from the redness in his cheeks I could see he was mostly embarrassed, which only made me happier.

The following days were pretty much the same, and the longer it went on, the angrier Sweet Pea got. A part of me felt slightly bad for him, until he started intimidating people into shutting up. It didn’t take much: a few threats, a dark scowl here or there, his looming presence. The Serpents knew Sweet Pea well enough to know that, even though they were his family, he would still knock a few of their heads together if he needed to. By Friday everyone had forgotten, or at least pretended to forget, about the pool game, even Sweet Pea it seemed.

He had slowly returned to calling me pet names like “sunshine” and “babydoll” and standing too close to me for comfort. He even started playing with my hair and putting his arm around me whenever he had the chance. This usually prompted a forceful shove or rough punch in the chest from myself.

By the following week he had escalated to putting his hand on my knee when he sat next to me at lunch or at the Whyte Wyrm and telling me how cute I was when I was angry.

Jughead and Fangs did their best to keep Sweet Pea in line, but Toni seemed to be the only one he would really listen to. All it took was one look from the sprite-like girl and Sweet Pea would cease whatever it was he was doing to annoy me.

I had spent most nights since meeting Toni and the others at the Wyrm or the quarry with the rest of the Serpents, drinking and dancing. I was really enjoying getting to know them. There seemed to be a lot more younger members than the older generation, and I found out quickly it was due to a rival gang called the Ghoulies. There had been a gang war that left half the trailer park in ruins and several Serpents in jail. Many of the older generation had left town. Some, I learned, had even joined the Ghoulies. The younger Serpents held strong, however. Jughead had rallied the troupes, and it didn’t take long to rebuild the trailer park. They recruited a few new members as well, people like Cheryl who had helped out in their time of need.

It was easy to see how close they all were. It wasn’t just my little group of friends, but all of them. If one person drank a little too much, another one was there to hold their hair back while they puked and make sure they got home safely. If someone got into an argument at school, there were at least three other people at their back, ready to throw a fist. They really were a family. When one member hurt, they all hurt.

Spending so much time around them all started to make my heart ache. It had been so long since I had felt like I was part of a family, and I desperately wanted to join them. They made me feel not only accepted, but wanted. They enjoyed having me around, and I loved being there. I loved being at the quarry, just sitting around drinking and talking, sharing war stories and showing off scars. At the Wyrm I would team up with Fangs—and occasionally Sweet Pea, if he wasn’t being a complete ass—to con some poor sucker who hadn’t witnessed my talents into playing pool and forfeiting their cash. Other times Cheryl and I would dance around the jukebox while Toni slung beer and liquor at the bar. On the couple of nights where I opted to stay home and work on schoolwork, I would be asked by several people the following day where I had been and told over and over again that my presence was missed.

By the time Friday morning came around I was starting to toy with the idea of becoming a real member, but I was apprehensive. It was a big commitment. I knew the initiation was brutal and Serpent law was stone. A serpent never sheds its skin. If i joined, I was in for life. I kept my thoughts to myself—I didn’t want to mention it to Toni or Fangs if I was just going to chicken out later. I vowed to take my time with my decision and not rush into anything.

At school on Friday, Sweet Pea was being particularly aggressive in his quest for my attention. In first period he passed me a note that said “date tonight?” I crumpled it up and threw it at his head without responding, and I heard him snicker under his breath. In our next period he tugged on the ends of my hair as I hunched over my textbook. I slapped his hands away, but he persisted until I finally tied my hair into a bun at the back of my neck.

In the halls between periods he hung around my locker and walked along closely behind me. At lunch I sandwiched myself between Toni and Fangs and Sweet Pea sat directly across from me. He nudged his foot against mine a few times until I kicked him sharply in the shin. It didn’t seem to bother him, though he winced. He just continued to smile at me.

P.E. wasn’t any better. Sweet Pea jogged alongside me as we ran our laps for warm up. He didn’t even say anything, which bugged me even more. Afterwords we were placed on opposite teams for dodgeball. Sweet Pea was a maniac. He managed to get out everyone on my team almost single-handedly, and if anyone on his team tried to throw a ball at me, he would chuck one at their head, even after he was sidelined by Coach Waddell.

Eventually it came down to just the two of us facing off. We stared each other down, each holding a red rubber dodgeball. I held my ball level with my chest, ready to block his throw. But it didn’t come. Sweet Pea straightened up, smiling, and dropped his ball. He opened his arms wide, welcoming my shot. I channeled all my anger at the tall boy, letting my muscles tense up. I threw the ball as hard as I could at Sweet Pea. It landed with a thud in his stomach. He doubled over with a groan and everyone on my team cheered loudly for my victory.

I took my time showering and changing in the locker room, hoping to avoid Sweet Pea until the end-of-period bell rang. When I returned to the gym it had cleared out, and I headed out into the hallway.

Sweet Pea was leaning against my locker. As I made my way down the hallway towards him his eyes trailed up and down my body, taking in the thigh-high boots and tight leather dress. I was immediately on edge. I nudged him out of the way with my hip so I could open the locker and retrieve my book for the next period. I saw out of the corner of my eye that he was staring at the three inches of exposed skin between the hem of my dress and the top of my boots. He reached out and brushed his fingers lightly across the tattoo there. “How many tattoos do you have?”

I slapped his hand away, ignoring his question. “What do you want, Sweet Pea?”

“You. Tonight. I’ll pick you up at seven?”

I slammed my locker loudly. “What is your problem? We had a deal. I beat you at pool and you stop hitting on me.”

His dark hair fell into his eyes as he looked down at me with a smirk. “Yeah, but the way I see it, you cheated.”

“I won fair and square,” I hissed, poking him roughly in the chest. He grabbed my finger and managed to entwine his fingers around mine.

He chuckled. “You hustled me and you know it.” I tried to pull my hand from his grasp, but he held it tightly. “Come on, sweetness. Just one date. That’s all I’m asking for.”

I flipped our hands over so our knuckles were pointing to the floor and bent his wrist back as sharply as I could. He yelped in pain and let go of my hand, but there was a spark in his eyes. It was like the more aggressive I was at rejecting his advances, the more determined he was.

“Listen up, Sweet Pea, because I’m only going to say this once. You’re insanely attractive, so I’m sure you’re used to girls fawning all over you. And you’ve probably never had to try this hard before. I know you’re trying your best to be what you probably think is ‘charming’ even though all you’re doing is coming off as a cocky, misogynistic prick. You probably think that if you just keep pestering me I’ll eventually give in and go on a date with you just to get you off my back.” I took a step closer to him, and grabbed his dog tags, pulling his face close to mine so he could see the ice in my eyes. My lip curled back in a snarl and I dropped my voice low, each word dripping with venom. “But news flash: I am not the type of girl to give in, especially to guys like you. So if you’d like to keep your face as pretty as it is, leave me the fuck alone. I’m done being nice.” I shoved him away hard and stormed down the hallway.

I was grateful I didn’t share my next period with Sweet Pea. I spent the hour silently fuming and trying to focus on the lesson. The minutes ticked by agonizingly slowly until finally, it was time for study hall. Certain that Sweet Pea would be there—he hadn’t missed a single class since I started at Riverdale—I decided to skip, making my way to the student lounge instead.

When I entered the room I spotted Jughead sitting alone on the couch as he typed furiously on his laptop. He looked up as I approached and closed the Macbook.

“Hey,” he greeted, as I settled into an adjacent armchair. I grumbled a hello in return, still in a bad mood. “Everything okay?” Jug asked, an eyebrow cocked. My own brow furrowed and he could tell by the fury on my face that everything was not, in fact, okay. “You wanna talk about it?”

I inhaled a deep breath, trying to remain calm. It didn’t really work. “What is Sweet Pea’s problem?” I snapped. “Why won’t he just leave me alone?”

Jughead sat up straighter. He thought for a moment, choosing his words carefully. “Well,” he started slowly, “for one, Sweet Pea doesn’t really understand the concept of boundaries.”

“Obviously.” I muttered.

He grinned and adjusted his beanie. “He also doesn’t handle rejection well. He nearly kicked my ass when I first refused to join the Serpents.” I rolled my eyes. Of course he did. If there was one thing I had learned over the past couple of days it was that Sweet Pea’s answer to everything was violence. I had heard the stories from people in class about the Riverdale Rumble between the Serpents and the bulldogs, led—of course—by Sweet Pea; the trashing of the school the night of the riots; how ready Sweet Pea was at all times to start throwing punches. I had seen it myself just the week before when Reggie had grabbed me. Sweet Pea was ready to kick Reggie’s teeth in. I had seen the bruises on his knuckles, the black eye and cuts on his face—clear evidence that he had been in a fight recently.

“But honestly?” Jughead continued, “I think he’s really into you. He won’t shut up about you. It’s kind of annoying actually.”

“That’s not my problem!” I exclaimed in frustration. “I have made it perfectly clear that I am not interested in him.”

“Do you want me to talk to him? He probably won’t listen to me, but I can try to get him to back off.”

I shook my head. “No. Thank you, but I’d rather deal with this on my own.”

Jug shrugged, “Hope that works out for you.” He smirked and I couldn’t help but smile back. I threw a pillow at his head. He caught it mid air and threw it back at me. It hit me in the face and I laughed. Then I stood, pulling my messenger bag over my shoulder, ready to leave.

“Thanks for making me feel better, Juggie.” He saluted me and opened his laptop as I headed out the door.

It was around five o’clock that night when there was a knock on my trailer door. I had been unpacking the last of my boxes, tacking up posters and arranging Funko Pop figures and other sentimental knickknacks on the shabby bookshelf I had found at a Goodwill in town.

I tugged the hem of my shirt down over my exposed belly as I opened the door. The tall, leather-clad figure in my doorway immediately turned my contented grin into a scowl. Sweet Pea was holding a bouquet of pink and white flowers.

“Hi,” he said quietly. His head hung low and he looked a bit like a puppy who had just been caught peeing on the carpet. I tried to slam the door in his face but he caught it before I could and held it open.

I continued to glare at him. “I thought I made myself clear.”

“You did. I’m here to apologize.” He attempted to hand me the flowers but I refused to take them.

“Really?” I asked dubiously.

“Yeah. I’ve been an dick, and I’m really sorry.” He looked at me with those sad, brown, puppy dog eyes. My heart started to soften slightly before I remembered who I was talking to. When I didn’t say anything he continued, “I was hoping you’d let me buy you food and that maybe we could be friends?”

“So this is another trick to get me to go on a date with you?”

“No!” He insisted, “I’m done with that, I swear. I really am sorry.” I bit my lip. Did I believe him? Not entirely. But I was hungry, and I figured if he was genuine it was better to try and get along for the sake of my friends than to go on hating him.

“Fine,” I finally agreed. His face lit up and he pulled a stray ant off of one of the pink blooms before handing me he flowers again. I took them this time. “How did you know peonies were my favorite?” I asked skeptically.

“I didn’t,” he answered, rubbing his hand over the back of his neck sheepishly. “I, uh, cut them off of a bush in my neighbor’s yard on my way over. I just thought they were pretty.”

I bit back a smile as I opened the door wider. I stepped back, allowing him to enter my trailer. He closed the door behind him and I went in search of something to put the peonies in. I didn’t own a vase, but I did have a pitcher. I pulled it out of one of the kitchen cupboards and filled it with water from the sink. As I placed the flowers in the water I noticed Sweet Pea looking around my living room. He was eyeing my collection of books and movies on the bookshelf.

I cleared my throat to get his attention. His head jerked in my direction. “Let me change and then we can go.” I brushed past him into my bedroom and shut the door behind me. I pulled off  the school sweatshirt I had found in my gym locker the week before, now cropped with the sleeves cut off, which I had thrown on after school. I tossed it into my hamper in the corner and pulled a black fuzzy sweater from my closet, tugging it over my head. I exchanged my black Ouija board printed joggers for red plaid skinny jeans. I grabbed a silver snake ring from the trinket tray on my bedside table and placed it on my middle finger, then pulled on a pair of platform boots adorned with bat wings and headed back to the living room.

Sweet Pea was perched on the edge of my sagging couch, but he stood when I entered the room. I grabbed my keys from the kitchen counter and my helmet from where it sat on the reading chair next to the couch. Sweet Pea followed me out of the trailer and I locked the door behind us. We both walked to our respective Harleys. When he saw me straddle my bike he spoke up. “You don’t have to—“

I cut him off, “I’m not riding on the back of your bike, Sweet Pea.” I pulled my helmet over my head and started the engine. He did the same, and I followed him out of Sunnyside trailer park. We drove a few streets over to Pop’s Chock’lit Shoppe and parked our bikes side by side.

We ordered cheeseburgers, milkshakes, and a basket of fries to share, and sat in awkward silence until Pop brought out our food. “So…” I began, sipping at my peanut butter milkshake. Sweet Pea nodded, popping a fry into his mouth. I continued, “You got me here, now what?”

“You could tell me about yourself.” I picked up my cheeseburger and took a monster-sized bite.

“Whuyowanno?” I asked, mouth full, ketchup smearing my lips. Sweet Pea laughed at my unladylike behavior and I grinned back at him as I chewed.

“Why did you come to Riverdale?” He asked.

I swallowed before replying. “Next question.”

“Okay… where are your parents? I haven’t seen them around.”

“Next question,” I repeated.

“That’s too personal?” He questioned. “Alright, something easy then. Favorite book?”

“Peter Pan.” I squirted mustard on my plate and dipped a fry in it before taking a bite.

Sweet Pea looked at me incredulously. “Am I really only going to get one word answers?”

I grinned smugly. “Peter Pan is two words.” I read the question is Sweet Pea’s face without him needing to ask it. I sighed. “My mom used to read it to me when I was a kid. It was the first play I was ever in. I don’t know. It’s just my favorite, okay?” He sat in silence, watching me intently and eating his food. I went on, “what kid doesn’t love Peter Pan? Fairies, mermaids, pirates. Neverland was paradise to me as a kid. It just kind of stuck with me. And you?”

“Harry Potter,” he replied with a big smile. “I always wanted to be a wizard.”

I chuckled, “Let me guess… you’re a Slytherin?”

“Absolutely.” He nodded proudly. “I’d guess that you are, too.”

“Is it that obvious?” I said sarcastically, flipping my emerald hair over my shoulder and wiggling my green fingernails and snake ring in front of his face.

He laughed and threw a French fry at me. “Favorite movie?”

“Too many to pick just one. But horror movies are my favorite genre.”

“Do you have a favorite horror movie?”

I thought a moment. “Either Scream or Nightmare on Elm Street.”

“So you like Wes Craven?”

“I love Wes Craven.” I said emphatically. Sweet Pea nodded his approval.

“You’re kind of a nerd, aren’t you?”

“Why do you say that?” I asked with a frown.

“You have a lot of nerd stuff in your trailer.” Sweet Pea cocked his head at me, an eyebrow raised.

“Define ‘nerd stuff.’” I said defiantly.

“Star Wars posters, those weird little toy things—“

“My pop figures?” He nodded. He had a point there, my collection was expansive. Most of them were still packed away in boxes, but I had at least two dozen on display already.

“Most of your movies are sci-fi or horror or superheroes. You have a bunch of comic books. And I’m pretty sure you have more books than the library at South Side High.”

I scoffed. “Psh. That’s not even half of them.” Sweet Pea laughed and stared at me with puzzled admiration. “Why is it such a surprise to you that I’m a nerd?”

He shrugged, “I don’t know, I thought you were, like, goth or punk or something.”

I glared. “Why? Because I wear a lot of black?”

“Well… yeah. And it seems like you’re really into all that ouija board and satanic stuff.”

Jesus Christ, you try to smudge a dude’s aura one time and everyone thinks you worship the devil.

“Okay, first of all, I’m not a Satanist, I’m Wiccan. Second of all, don’t assume things about me. I am whatever I am whenever I am it. And thirdly,” my voice was getting louder by this point, “who the fuck says goths can’t be nerds too?”

Sweet Pea laughed, raising his hands in defense. “Alright, I’m sorry, pumpkin.” I sucked furiously at my milkshake while glaring. “For the record, I like that you’re a nerd. I think it’s awesome.” He smiled sweetly and my scowl softened slightly.

We sat there for a while, talking about our favorite music (mine: pop/punk; his: classic rock), best birthday memories (his was his fifteenth when Toni and Fangs threw him a surprise party at the Wyrm, the first time he felt like he had a family; mine was my eighth when my mom took me to Disney World and I ate so much junk food that I threw up on the Tower of Terror), and favorite holidays (we both loved Halloween).

I had to admit, when he wasn’t being a cocky dickwad, Sweet Pea was a pretty decent guy. We had a lot in common it turned out and he was actually really funny. He told me embarrassing stories about himself, like the time in middle school when he was dared to go streaking at the drive-in and ran headfirst into a little old lady who started hitting him relentlessly with her handbag like she was straight out of a bad sitcom. I laughed uncontrollably at that.

“It hurt!” Sweet Pea insisted, “I had bruises for weeks!”

By the time Pop came by to clear away our empty plates, the sun had almost completely set. I knew we should probably head out, but to be honest, I wasn’t ready to leave yet. I was surprised that I was genuinely enjoying myself.

I looked up into Sweet Pea’s face. His eyes were warm and comforting, like hot chocolate on a snowy day, and his hair fell in his face in a way that made me want to reach up and brush it back. He looked back at me in a way that made my stomach churn and I averted my eyes, dropping my gaze to the remaining dregs of milkshake in my glass.

I cleared my throat. “My mom died four years ago,” I revealed.

“Huh?” He asked, confused by my seemingly random admission.

I looked back up at him. Sweet Pea’s brows were furrowed, creating a crease between them. “You asked where my parents were. My mom died in a car accident when I was thirteen.”

“Oh, god, October.” He reached out, placing a large hand over my curled fist. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to—“

I shook my head vigorously, “it’s fine. You didn’t know.” I was quiet for a moment as I worked to keep the pain out of my voice. “She was everything to me. Losing her was one of the most…” I trailed off, unable to finish the thought.

I pulled my hand away from where it was still resting on the table under Sweet Pea’s and wrapped my arms around myself. My fingertips slowly stroked the fuzzy fabric of my sweater.

“Is your dad…” Sweet Pea started. I shook my head.

“I never knew him. He walked out on my mom when she was pregnant with me.” He nodded knowingly.

“Same with mine. A couple guys tried to fill his place but Mom never found one that stuck around very long. Most of them were pretty worthless anyway. Drank a lot, yelled a lot. Never bothered me much when they left, but I think it took its toll on my mom. She eventually just gave up. We’ve been on our own since I was fourteen.” His openness stunned me. It was the most honest thing I had ever heard from Sweet Pea. He didn’t seem like the type of person to talk about personal things, especially with someone he had only met a couple of weeks prior. But here he was, telling me his life story, or part of it, at least. “Did your mom ever…”

“Nope. Never dated, never got married, didn’t even have a lot of friends. It was always just me and her against the world.” I played with my straw wrapper, tearing it into pieces. I hadn’t been this open with anyone in a long time, and I wasn’t sure why I was being so open with Sweet Pea. I hadn’t even told Toni about my mom and we had talked basically every day since we met. I chewed my lip.

Sweet Pea could tell I was feeling uncomfortable, but he wasn’t going to let me shut down just yet. “Where did you go after your mom… uh… y’know…?”  A blush crawled up his cheeks like he was embarrassed and he looked down at the table.

I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “My mom’s sister and her husband took me in. I lived with them until about three months ago.”

“Why did you leave?” My throat started to close up and tears burned my eyes.

“Something happened…” I began, but stopped. It was too much. My vision started to blur and I felt like I was leaving my body. I began to hyperventilate. My head swam with memories of a different life, of a night filled with horror. There were voices screaming in my head and the tears poured down my face.

Sweet Pea practically jumped out of his seat and scrambled around the table to come sit next to me. He placed his hands on my shoulders. “October, it’s okay,” he cooed, “you’re alright. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. It’s okay. It’s alright. You’re okay.” He began petting my hair and called to Pop for a glass of water.

I struggled to steady my breathing. I clutched at the glass Pop brought over, raising the straw to my lips. Taking slow breaths through my nose, I sipped at the ice water, focusing on the feeling of it moving down my throat, cooling my insides. I took a few more shaky breaths.

Once the panic attack had passed, I was embarrassed. I curled into myself, unable to look Sweet Pea in the eye. He stood, tossing a few bills on the table to cover our check. He held a hand out to me and I took it, allowing him to hep me out of the booth and out the door.

He picked my helmet up from where it was hanging off my handlebars and led me to his motorcycle.

“But my bike.” I mumbled.

“We’ll get it tomorrow. I don’t think you should be driving right now.” As I was still pretty shaken, I nodded, and climbed on the bike behind him. I pulled my helmet on and wrapped my arms around his torso. I clutched at him tightly; I wasn’t fond of riding on the back of other people’s motorcycles. I didn’t like the feeling of not being in control, of putting my life in someone else’s hands, and this moment—after a panic attack, when I had already lost all control and made a fool of myself—was possibly the worst time to be doing it. My thighs clung to his hips. I had never really thought about Sweet Pea’s body before, but pressing myself so tightly to it, I realized just how strong he was. His back was firm with muscles and I wondered briefly what it might look like under his black tee shirt and flannel.

I pushed the thought from my mind. Just because Sweet Pea was acting like a half decent human being for once didn’t mean I was attracted to him. I mean, yes, physically Sweet Pea was very attractive; anyone could see that. He was like the walking definition of tall, dark, and handsome. But he was still Sweet Pea—still the guy who spent the majority of the past two weeks relentlessly hitting on me and pissing me off. That didn’t change just because he bought me a burger and gave me a ride home.

We pulled up to my trailer then, and I quickly dismounted. I removed my helmet and muttered a quick, awkward word of thanks. I realized as I got to my door that he was following me. I turned to look at him questioningly.

“Movie?” He suggested.

“I’m going to bed,” I responded, shutting the door in his face.

I didn’t bother to take off my shoes as I fell onto my bed. There were a million thoughts racing through my mind, each too fleeting to consider very deeply. Is it possible I was wrong about Sweet Pea? What did he even see in me anyway? I wasn’t so great. I was complicated. I had baggage, a lot of it. I had secrets and issues and emotional problems. Why would anyone want to spend any time with me? Why would anyone want to get to know the real me? They wouldn’t like who they found. Buried under the too cool facade was a scared little girl, afraid to let people in, afraid they would find out the horrible thing she had done.

#riverdale #riverdale fic #dirty laundry fic #dirty laundry part 3 #sweet pea #sweet pea fic #sweet pea x oc #fan fiction

[kittymaverick]

Tradition dictates that I must make commentary on each MCF games, even when I complain about how thing the content is...

Spoilers under cut. Also, this is written from memory, so order might be a little off.

1. MD: Ah, finally. A well deserved holiday just like I requested-- Queen: Oh Master Detective the Americas are being incredibly incompetent at this whole supernatural thing. Awfully sorry for disrupting your vacation, but your service are requested. MD: ...Just shoot me in the head, will you, Your Majesty? Queen: I’m flying you over on a private jet plane. MD: Okay, everything’s forgiven. 2. Me: Cassette tape? Really? MD: I didn’t know our beloved Queen’s a hipster. Queen: Not only that, I also write letters. Me: My god she really is a hipster. 3. Me: ...Really? Artifact of immense power capable of granting immortality, and you use it as a quill? MD: I have no idea what you are talking about. 4. MD: ...Why isn’t anyone here to pick me up? I thought this was an all expense paid trip? I’m going to need to walk TEN MILES to the murder scene? Me: You’ve walked more than that in underground complexes. A wheat field is nothing. 5. Woman: Oh hi Detective you’re totally here to investigate the murder right. Me and MD in unison: SUSPECT! INSTANT SUSPECT! Woman: Also, why are you not turning on the truck lights? You can progress the game until you do that. MD: ... I hate this town already. Me: For a town that’s devoid of people you sure fill it with a lotta hate. MD: Me and abandoned towns don’t go so well together, in case my history hasn’t reflected that enough. 6. MD: Hm, interesting grave-- [GRABBED] FUUUUUUUUUUUCK MEEEEEEEEEEEE. Alvin: Hi. Bye. [Gone~] MD: .................How am I still alive? Me: You know, it’s awfully refreshing for once when the enemy isn’t obsessed with you. 7. Me: Who’s this magic guy that keeps on showing up on all the flyers? MD: If you actually used your head, it’s the first murder victim. Me: ...Can you not? 8. Housekeeper lady: Oh this town is so full of gossip you know, about it’s rich people. Me: Yes do share. I love gossips. 83 MD: .......What has my life come to. 9. [Creepy doll thing] MD: ... Totally not creepy at all. Nope! [Eyes lights up red] Not creepy! [MD begins weeping.] 10. Woman to other woman: GET OUTTA TOWN. Me: Someone get me a camera, imma gonna paparazzi this. MD: ...When I submit my case report, I am so going to request that I just have a mundane investigation of a heist or something simple for once. Me: Awwww, but the supernatural cases are the fun ones. D: 11. [Sees door with contraption] Me: Oh yeah...This is totally not a reminder of something. 12. Housekeeper: Oh no I’m trapped because I stuck my hand in this thing please help. MD: I am so fed up by non-player characters. Me: And I am dying of laughter inside because it’s legit the first time I’ve seen a complicated door puzzle TRAP someone. 13. MD: Alright, opening this hunting room right now-- [Bullet goes through the Elephant’s head] JESUS CHRIST! Me: YOUR HEAD. IS IT OKAY? MD: I’m glad I’m not taller! Me: Wait no, you have that immortal feather why am I worried about you? 14. Guy with gun: You made me waste a bullet! MD: And you made me waste my wits. What the hell is going on? Guy: Do you hear that? MD: ...No? Guy: The silence, it’s deafening. MD: ...Yeah, exactly. So I heard nothing. 15. [EPIC CRASH THROUGH THE WINDOW] {SHOTS FIRE} Me: OMG HE SHOT THE REVENANT-- oh wait yeah, guy’s undead he’s fine. 16. Guy: SHOOT HIM WITH THE CROSS BOWS! MD: WHAT CROSSBOW--[accidentally sets it off] ... OKAY GOT IT. GUY: IT’S NOT WORKING GET THE NET! MD: WHAT NET-- oh I SEE IT. Me: That worked? Holy shit it worked. 17. Alvin: Bye bye again. [Zoink!] Guy: COME BACK HERE. Me: No wait come back people that chase after the enemy tends to die you know. MD: ...Guy had it coming. Me: Also, it’s refreshing that YOU aren’t the one that set the building on fire this time. 18. MD: Alright, finally able to follow them. Ghost of first victim: BEWARE OF WHAT LIES AHEAD. MD: SOME FUCKING WARNING WOULD BE NICE. Me: ...Well you saw ghosts in Ravenhearst so-- MD: NO. 19. MD: Let’s find the guy-- Me: AAAAAHHHHHH BODY STABBED TO TREE! DEAD BODY ALERT! MD: ............I can’t even at this point. Me: You know, you’ve been less able to save people recently. MD: Can you really blame me? The last few enemies were rather homicidal. I have better self preservation instincts than to dive right in and risk my neck for people. 20. Me: Alright! We’ve got a ladder to the window! MD: ...THAT ENTIRE GEAR PUZZLE WAS ALL FOR A FREAKING WEIGHT??? Me: Yeah, was a tad unsatisfying... 21. Me: Aw they have a place called Lover’s Point-- MD: NOPE. Me: ...I didn’t even-- MD: CAN’T HEAR YOU. 22. Me: ...BTW, why are you kicking piles of leaves? MD: Stress relief. It’s that or setting things on fire. The latter’s kinda illegal. Me: Duly noted. 23. Alvin’s sister(?): Yeah just go ahead and have a look around. MD: You have a shite garden you know that? Me: WHAT SHE MEANT IS YOUR PUMPKIN PATCH IS WONDERFUL. 24. MD: It’s so nice to have an opponent who’s actually sane and has an organized room for once. Me: It’s a double decker trailer. I’m not sure how “neat” that is. MD: Just let me enjoy this for a moment, okay? 25. Woman: Hi this is totally not a supervillain confession tape. Well okay it is. MD: That makes you 1000% more forthcoming than the others I’ve faced. 26. MD: I need something with a hook on it to get this thing. Me: Alright, let’s find a broom-- MD: I’m going to stretch this rubber chicken out and attach a hook to it! Me: ...Is your mind okay?... 27. Me: Hm...There’s nothing about this creepy toy factory that’s ringing any bells, is it? MD: Hm.....I sure hope there isn’t. Me: Yeah, think we might just be paranoid. Devs: [Cackling in the background as they plot evilly] 28. Woman: PLEASE DON’T KILL OUR KID ALVIN. Alvin: Whatever. [Kills the woman] Me: ...You seriously just watched that happen and did nothing, didn’t you? MD: Yep. The less people there are alive, the less trouble I need to handle later. Me: ...Is this because you’ve had to save so many characters again you’re now letting them die so that’ll never trouble you again? MD: Damn, my master plan has been figured out ABORT ABORT. 29. MD: Oh no so the woman’s houskeeper’s daughter is really her own daughter! Le gasp. Me: ...For rich people this is kinda tame. MD: I know, right? They could have made it spicier. Housekeeper’s notes: I found ropes and handcuffs. Wonder what the miss is up to. Me: ...I don’t think that counts. 30. Housekeeper: The girl’s locked herself in her room! Me: Alright, just let me find one thing-- [Alvin comes charging through the door] MD: GOD DAMMIT CAN YOU TIME YOUR ENTRANCE A LITTLE BETTER ALVIN? 31. MD: Wait, what are they weak to? Me: Salt. Good old table salt. MD: Oh I’ll give them salt-- HERE HAVE ALL OF MY SALTINESS THAT’S DEVELOPED OVER THE YEARS BECAUSE OF THE ABUSE I’VE SUFFERED DURING MY CASES. YOU GET A SALT, YOU GET A SALT, YOU ALL GET A SALT! SALT FOR DAYS! Me: ......Nice therapy. 32. Housekeeper: Quick, open the door! Me: WE’RE MISSING A KEY-- Housekeeper: Oh that here I have it for you. MD: ...SERIOUSLY?! Me: I’m not sure if you’re surprised that she actually gave you something directly or that you’re insulted you didn’t get to search for it. 33. The girl: MH MH MH MH! MD: Oh so that’s what the bindings are for. Me: Huh, she’s left a vial of her own blood. MD: WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU RICH PEOPLE??? 34. Me: So things have gone to shit downstairs. We’re taking the bedsheets down. MD: At least it’s not us escaping from a death trap. Alvin: [GLARING YELLOW EYES[ MD: I’M GOING I’M GOING! 35. Ghostly voice of the woman: ENTER THE ART EXHIBITION OF REGRET. Me: What do you mean exhibition-- oh my dear gods. This is like if Charles Dalimar built his complexes out of guilt of his crimes against humanity. MD: ....Why can’t I just see a NORMAL art gallery for once? Me: Well at least this time it’s not dedicated to you. MD: Please don’t jinx me. 36. MD: Really? All of that for a really nice fancy leather jacket? Me: It’s a nice leather jacket. Alvin’s got taste. Alvin: Hi, I heard you’re touching my jacket. Also is that what’s-her-name’s blood? MD: Um... yeah? Alvin: Okay. [GRABS STRANGLES] MD: FUUUUUUUUU-- Me: Oh don’t worry this isn’t so bad-- Alvin: [Breaks vial of blood] Me: Oh shit this is bad. 37. MD: YOU WANT IT HERE HAVE IT [Tosses the jacket into the fire] Alvin: Finally I’ve been avengeeeeeeeeeeddddddd [Ashes] Me: NOOOOOOO NOT THE JACKET IT WAS INNOCENT. MD: It was tacky. Real cool people wear detective long coats. 38. The girl: So the woman’s really my mom? But she was so mean to me. Housekeeper: Well she wanted what was best for you. Me and MD: Not it’s because she’s a self centered abusive bitch who keeps using her rich background as an excuse go hang out with your cool aunt. 39. Housekeeper: Omg that was so much drama. I can’t wait until I tell my friends at brunch. MD: Can you not??? Me: I’ll take brunch! 40. Me: You know, I can’t believe that went by so fast. We solved the case in a single evening for once. MD: Does this mean I can have the rest of my vacation back? Oh thank god. Me: Wait hold on a minute you let like TWO people die. MD: Two out of three people. I save the third. Me: Why couldn’t you save all three??? MD: Well you know what they say. Third times the charm-- Me: THAT’S NOT HOW THAT SAYING WORKS.

#Mystery Case files #The Revenant's Hunt

[still-with-hearts-beating]

hold on to hope, love (jane/kurt fanfic + #bspromptchallenge)

project: @blindspothiatusproject 30 day gif/fanfic prompt challenge

day 22. locations/landmarks

 A/N:  thanks to @youaretheonlydepression for sending me this sweet prompt a while ago:

Hey, I don't know if take prompts but I can't stop thinking about Kurt taking Jane to ice skate in the Rockefeller Center and they finally discover something she can't do.  Thanks!

It was just as I was starting the challenge so I hung onto it for this fic! Hope you like it. Set sometime mid-season two . Title from Amy Stroup.

  hold on to hope, love

 Jane sat on the bench, looking out at the dozens of people whizzing by her. There were people of all ages, in all kinds of pairings and groups, and some people on their own. Her eyes widened more and more as each person went by.

 She couldn’t remember ever seeing people ice skate before. Even since her memory wipe, she hadn’t seen it, either in person or on TV. She was waiting for some kind of familiarity to kick in, as it usually did when she tried something “new” but so far, it just looked very difficult. And very cold.

“Ready to give it a try?”

 She heard Kurt’s voice and turned to see him walking towards her. He was already wearing a pair of skates and holding another pair under his arm.

 She glanced back out at the ice and then turned back to Kurt, trying to hold back the grimace that she was sure was on her face.

 “I don’t know,” she said hesitantly as he knelt down in front of her. She watched as he reached for one of her feet and started to untie her boot. “It looks...hard,” she said and he chuckled as he slid her boots off for her.

 “It’s not that bad, I promise. And it’s kind of like riding a bike. Once you learn how, you know how to do it. Your muscle memory will kick in, I’m sure,” he said as he opened up the neck of the skate for her to slip her foot into.

 “I’m not sure my muscles ever learned how to do this,” she muttered as she watched him tie up her skates for her.

 They had been on their way from the office to join the rest of the team for a drink when they got the text from Patterson that they had called it an early night and headed home. Jane was about to suggest that they grab a drink anyways when Kurt had glanced across the street and seen the lights at Rockefeller Center.

 “How about a skate?” he asked, nodding towards the rink with a smile. She raised her eyebrows as she looked across the street.

 “A skate?” she asked, confused.

 “Yeah,” he said, reaching for her elbow as he led them across the street. “Ice skating. This is sort of a famous rink, especially at this time of year with the Christmas tree and everything,” he explained as they reached the ledge and she tilted her head back to take in the enormous tree that decorated one end of the rink. She then leaned over and peered down at the ice, seeing the busy crowds skating around each other.

 “I’ve never actually skated on it in all the years that I’ve lived here,” he said with a laugh and she looked up at him with a smile. “What do you say?”

 She had agreed and followed him down to ice level, where she waited by the rink while he rented them some skates. But as she watched everyone skate by her, she started to regret her decision.

 “I don’t know about this,” she said as she followed Kurt towards the ice, already wobbling on her skates as they trekked across the rubber mat. “I don’t feel very steady on these,” she said as they reached the edge.

 He grinned at her as he stepped onto the ice and spun to face her.

 “Don’t worry,” he said, reaching out his hands. “I’ll keep you steady.”

 She looked down at his hands and hesitated for a moment. They’d been spending more time together recently and it had been nice. It had been really nice. But this was their first non-drinking or eating activity in a very long time and she couldn’t help but wish they were doing something she had a little more confidence in.

 She was almost about to chicken out and suggest they go get that drink instead when she saw the hopeful smile on his face and then glanced back down at his hands, extended out to her, and realized how silly she was being.

 Just a few months ago, it would have been inconceivable for them to be here together. For them to be doing anything together, let alone this. She almost heard his voice in her head, saying that he didn’t like being in the same room with her but she pushed it away. She didn’t want those thoughts with her now. She didn’t want them with her, ever.

 Here he was, holding his hands out to her, offering to help her try something new. Something that he hoped would be fun for her.

 She took a deep breath and nodded as she placed her hands in his and hesitantly stepped onto the ice.

 “There you go,” he said softly as she awkwardly pushed one foot forward. “Bend your knees a bit,” he said and she did as he instructed. He pushed off on one skate and glided backwards slowly, pulling her with him.

 “So, probably safe to say you’ve never done this before,” he said with a chuckle as they moved along the edge of the rink. She grinned and shook her head, glancing up at him for a moment before returning her eyes to their feet.

 “Doesn’t seem like it,” she agreed, gingerly pushing her feet forward. “Looks like you have, though?”

 He laughed and nodded, moving his foot with a stronger push so they moved a little faster. She tightened her hold on his hands.

 “I used to skate a lot as a kid, the pond by our house would freeze over in the winter. And there was a rink not too far from the military academy, I’d sometimes go there late at night. Good way to clear your head,” he said.

 They were quiet for a few minutes as he pulled her around the rink. After a couple of laps, she felt a little bit of confidence to start pushing with her own feet, though not enough to let go of his hands.

 “When was the last time you skated?” she asked as they paused to let a faster pair pass them.

 “It’s been a couple of years,” he admitted as they started up again. “Tough to find the time with work and everything...”

 She nodded, looking back down at their feet. She knew her arrival had been part of the “everything” and she hated the idea that she’d caused him to lose yet another part of his life.

 “But it feels good to be back out here now,” he said. “Feels good to be out here with you,” he added quietly.

 She looked back up at him, her eyes wide with her surprise.

 “This can’t be very fun for you,” she said with a smile. “You’ve been going backwards at a snail’s pace the whole time while I shuffle along like I’m ninety years old.”

 He laughed and shook his head, looking down at her skates.

 “Give yourself some credit,” he said as he watched her shuffle her feet against the ice. “You’re moving like you’re at least seventy-five.”

 She laughed and if she wasn’t so terrified of letting go of his hands, she would have smacked him. But instead she just squeezed his hands and stuck her tongue out at him. He shook his head and grinned as he slowed them down by a nearby ledge.

 “I mean it, though,” he said as they came to a stop. “I’m happy to be out here with you.”

 She looked up at him and bit her lip before glancing down, realizing he was still holding her hands, even though she no longer needed him to keep her upright. Slowly, she turned her hands in his, threading her fingers through his. She kept her eyes on them, memorizing the feeling of his palms against hers, every one of his fingers laced with hers, as he glided closer to her, leaning down and gently resting his forehead against hers.

 They stood there like that for a long time, neither of them speaking. The air had grown cool around them and she could feel his breath, warm on her cheeks.

 “Jane?” he whispered after a while and she felt his fingers tighten around hers.

 “Mmmhmm?” she murmured, shifting herself closer to him.

 “Can I kiss you?”

 She couldn’t help but smile as she nodded slightly and tilted her head up towards him.

 “OK,” she said softly, almost at the same time that he dipped his head and brushed his lips against hers.

 Their kiss was slow and tender, more so than either of their first two kisses had been. There was an innocence in it that hadn’t been there before. Jane liked to think they were gaining back some of the innocence they had lost over the past two years.

 As she leaned in closer to him, she forgot for a moment that she wasn’t standing on solid ground, or in regular shoes, and she lost her balance, her feet nearly slipping out from under her. She gasped against his lips as she reached out for his jacket. Thankfully, his reflexes were quicker than hers and he caught her around her waist, pulling her against him to steady her.

 “Don’t worry, I’ve got you,” he whispered in her ear as she wrapped her arms around his neck. She chuckled and pressed her face into his shoulder as she shook her head, allowing her heart rate to slow down. She told herself it was from the surprise of her near-fall but she had a feeling his kiss might have had something to do with it, too.

 “This was part of your plan, wasn’t it?” she mumbled and though he couldn’t see it, he could hear the smile in her voice. “Get me onto skates so you could say you swept me off my feet?”

 She tilted her head back and met his eyes as he peered down at her, still holding her close against him. He grinned and leaned down, pressing his lips against hers once more.

 “Wish I could say I was that smooth,” he murmured against her lips and she chuckled as he kissed her again.

 She let him hold her steady as she kept her arms around his neck and he kept one arm around her waist, his other hand coming up cup her cheek. She felt his thumb brush against her cheekbone and she couldn’t help but lean into his touch.

 “I’d say you’re pretty smooth,” she said as they pulled apart, both of them smiling wide.

 “Well, let’s see how smooth this is. Can I buy you a hot chocolate?” He nodded over towards the concession stand beside the rink where they seemed to be doling out hot chocolate by the gallon. She giggled as she nodded and he took her hands again, guiding them to the nearest exit from the rink and over to the line up at the stand.

 He held on to her hand as they waited and she couldn’t help but lean in to rest her head on his shoulder. He glanced down and brushed his lips against the top of her head, giving her hand a squeeze.

 “So, what’d you think of your first skate?” he whispered into her hair.

 She tilted her head back and smiled at him, resting her chin on his shoulder as they took a few steps forward in the line.

 “I can’t wait to go again.”

#blindspot #jeller #blindspot fanfic #bshiatusproject #bspromptchallenge #writing: mine

[fountainpenguin]

You said we could request more character studies, so... Cosmo, Wanda, Mark Chang, and Norm?

Luckily I can wipe my hands of Cosmo and Wanda, since they slipped in with Timmy and Chloe. Our local genie and alien can tag team without them!

Let’s Talk Norm

7VV: Pride / Lust and Temperance

MBTI: ISTP

Greatest Strength: Never lets anyone hold him back or keep him down

Greatest Weakness: Goes from “I’m totally in” to “Oh heck no” in 3.5

Overview:Finding the correct blend of introversion and extroversion for Norm can be a little difficult for me. He’s forward but permissive, flighty but dedicated, enthusiastic but private. Put simply, Norm is a very direct soul who goes with the flow until his irritation builds and he takes off in another direction- think Norm being totally willing to share the “You can wish for more wishes” tidbit to Crocker when he thought Crocker was going to put it to good use against Timmy, but ditching him when he realized Crocker wanted to take the long way.

Norm is very practical. Too practical to understand Crocker’s wild fantasies. He fits the Only Sane Man trope rather well, nicely setting him in a position to drop the quirky one-liners (“What’s that on your neck? Is that your ear?”) He’s our chaotic neutral. He follows the beat of his own drum and never strays far from his own goals, offering his loyalty to someone only as far as they benefit him.

A risk-taker at heart, Norm likes to push his boundaries and see how far he can get away with things before someone snaps at him, in which case he’ll probably tease that person further while he floats there smugly watching them unravel. It’s his way of maintaining control over situations where he might otherwise be stomped down and have his magic exploited. He’ll file his fingernails as he watches the world burn.

Genies and Pixies are natural opposites. Despite the fact that both H.P. and Norm tend to be chill and share many of the same interests, a collaboration between the two of them would simply splinter. Norm overlooks details and H.P. is nitpicky. Norm wants to wrap everything up by lunch and H.P. would rather take thirty-seven years. Norm focuses on how enacting a major plan will benefit him with little regard for what happens to everyone else as a result, but H.P. has politics and his entire company to think about. 

Norm hates feeling beholden to rules or anyone else’s plans for him. If his mother were to approach him saying, “Hey, I’m going to run down to the store and buy you a nice suit- you wanna come so we can find one you like and maybe grab something to eat while we’re out?” he will totally be there. But the moment he’s told, “I need you to come to the store with me so we can get you fitted in a formal suit”, he’ll dig in his heels. Norm likes fun. Not chores. Plotting revenge on Timmy Turner with someone who equally dislikes him is fun. Being ordered to set things up just to Crocker’s liking with all the chicken feathers and rubber gloves and roller skates is not. He’s big on freedom, and if you take it away, he’s not going to play with you anymore.

As you might expect, the flipside to Norm’s practicality and logic is that emotions are a tricky minefield for him to navigate. In true ISTP fashion, he sees no reason to voice things that he believes are understood. He will smugly rub his successes in your face, especially if he doesn’t like you and is hoping to lower your self-esteem, but “I care about you” is not a phrase to commonly jump from his lips, even when it concerns those he holds dear. Not even little eight-year-old girls in oversized blue sweaters and bows.

Signature Move: The zingers, of course! Gotta love those snappy nicknames.

Otherwise, I imagine listening to Norm feels like this Far Side comic-

In a slightly curious twist for a cartoon character, Norm is actually the type to slip hesitation words like “Uh” into the middle of his dialogue, rather than just the beginning. He also laughs a lot. Living in a lamp for so long, secluded from the world except in bursts, Norm is easily entertained by the outside world. He does have a TV and lots of books in there, but I imagine there are still many jokes he’s never heard, and he can’t resist snickering along with them.

He speaks pretty quickly. Lots of semicolons, I think.

Body Language: Norm is always doing his own thing while conversations are going on, like shuffling playing cards, scooping himself ice cream, or relaxing in a hot tub. He also does THE THING, you know the thing-

Norm is very much an “I will let you push me all the way to the edge of a cliff but the instant you try to go further I will snap, so don’t be surprised” person; his frustration builds and builds but he’ll stick around up until he bursts. He lets people get buddy-buddy touchy-feely with him, even when he obviously doesn’t like it (Sanderson got snapped at in “Gaining the Upper Hand” because Norm’s a little more sensitive with his tail). 

Norm will break the touch barrier himself too, when he’s teasing someone. He’ll sling an arm around a person’s shoulders, muss their hair, or poke them in the nose. Whatever.

Other common poses include finger guns and leaning forward on his elbows with his chin in his hands. He plays with his goatee when he’s thinking, too. He also holds his hands close to his body and curls in his fingers when he’s nervous.

For obvious reasons, Norm would never snap his fingers in front of someone’s face to get their attention.

Relationships:Norm divides humans into two distinct categories: The common and predictable types who generally make the same types of wishes as his last master, and the rare fascinating kinds who don’t. Obviously the first group is easier to toy with, and depending on the situation, he can view the second group as either a fun new challenge, or a puzzling annoyance. 

But, Norm is up for anything that promises to be a little fun. He’s a do-er, not a talker. Discussing world problems and all the pros and cons of actions that might solve them sounds like a nightmare to him, even though someone like H.P. would consider that a delight. Sitting on a couch and impatiently counting down the seconds until he gets to step onstage and sing? Ugggggghhhh…….

I think we’ve covered how Norm swings between getting along with Crocker and finding him a pain to work with, and he obviously holds a strong dislike towards Timmy after what happened at the end of his debut episode. And Fairies, I imagine, are not among Norm’s favorite creatures either. Fairies tend to be by-the-book rule-followers who shun beings like Norm every time he tries to color outside of the lines. Their kinds do not mix very well. 

And as we know, Norm is always looking out for number one and trying to get people like Fairies to treat him equally. He believes that anyone who thinks they can handle the straight facts deserves to be given them, and considers it immoral to erase someone’s memory against their will unless it benefits him. If someone says they’re tough enough to handle something, why tell them no?

As I’ve hinted before, I imagine Anti-Cosmo feels empathetic towards genies. Fairies tend to believe that those who break the rules are bad people. A.C. disagrees, obviously, and he also understands how it feels to be cooped up. It’s for reasons like these that he started the Genie Conservation Program, leading to (drumroll) Norm’s birth in the first place. While their relationship might be hit and miss in terms of getting along, even clashing horribly at times, I imagine Norm will always hold a bit of grudging respect for Anti-Cosmo.

Like the vast majority of genies, Norm is a lot more willing to do the one-night-stand than do the commitment. The genie lifestyle simply doesn’t allow for stable families, even with Anti-Cosmo’s efforts, and this works out with his personality anyway. He may enjoy going out and doing things with people, but the I in ISTJ still stands for Introvert; Norm does need his personal space. And, as always, he looks out for number one. Balancing someone else’s needs at the cost of his own freedom isn’t exactly his style.

Canon Norm:

“Well, I guess we can take brains off the wish list.”

“Hey, hey, hey! Hey, wait-up! Hey-hey-hey, what’s- what’s the big ten-year-old hurry? You late for a wedgie? … Hey! Hey, smoof for brains!”

“Hahaha- Isn’t this fun? I think it’s fun.”

“Hey, whoa, slow down there, Hunchback of Never-Dated-a-Dame.”

“You’re not as crazy as you look. But then, you couldn’t be.”

“Great! If you need me, I’ll be over here, waiting for your plan to fail!”

Riddleverse Norm:

“Did you lose a fight with a wall of drying paint, or with a yarn documentary?”

“Who, me? I didn’t make you do anything you couldn’t have prevented.”

“You both rubbed the lamp at the same time. That means I’m obligated to grant each of you just one and a half wishes. And that was your half.”

“She shot you down again? Hey, hey, hey, triple combo bonus.”

“For some reason, I had you pegged as the kind of guy who could tell when he wasn’t wanted.”

“Hey, don’t look at me. I was totally on board with this plan until you stopped doing all the things I had scripted for you in my head.”

Let’s Talk Mark

7VV: Lust / Gluttony and Forgiveness

MBTI: ESFJ

Greatest Strength: Not being Jane Eyre His willingness to go against his planet’s norms, embrace Earth culture, and make dear friends

Greatest Weakness: Only willing to try so hard before he gives up; easily distracted

Overview: Envy will never be counted among Mark’s flaws, and even when he expresses Pride, it’s generally in terms of his entire planet rather than his own accomplishments. Mark ran away from his princely life to hang out in the dump and attend elementary school. He’s a humble kid.

Mark is enthusiastic in just about everything he does, always loving to turn any event into a fun party that everyone enjoys. The obvious problem is that he thinks what’s enjoyable to him will be enjoyable to others too, and he often forgets to tone his Yugopotamian interests back. Hanging around Vicky, Timmy, and their peers has helped him, I think.

Mark is a social fellow and much prefers being “one of the guys” to maintaining his distance and a princely air. Of course, since he tries so hard to make everyone else happy, it can wound his feelings when someone isn’t impressed- or worse, claims that he hasn’t done enough.

Fortunately, he doesn’t get upset easily. When he does, he’ll merely offer up a few cross words and be very resistant to changing any plans that have already been enacted. He worked hard for this party, dangit, and he’s having fun- if you aren’t, that’s your problem. It… took awhile for him to make the switch from being the prince of a war-loving planet to valuing the Earth and the people on it, even if Timmy and Vicky were among them.

To Mark, friendship is all about feeling comfortable and doing things because you want to, not out of obligation. He’s huge on mutual respect, and doing things out of obligation feels fake to him; he’d rather that person scooted out of his life than stuck around. Likewise, he never wants the door to be taken from him. He deeply values the freedom to have a choice in what he does with his time- life is too short to be miserable. 

This is one reason why being forced into marriage was so difficult for him. Mark can handle gaining a princely education. He can handle challenging one of the greatest warriors in the universe for the object of his affection. But being wed to someone he didn’t love was the straw that broke him. Mark will always value true loyalty over politics, and that’s perhaps why he loves Earth so much.

Signature Move: The lighthearted surfer dude slang and such. He wouldn’t be our Mark without all of his “This is totally bogus!”es and “Radicals”!

Mark’s sentences tend to be long and rambling. Lots of conjunctions and things. He skips over some contractions, for example using “do not” and “can not” in favor of “don’t” and “can’t” most of the time. He’s got a certain speech pattern that you can pick up when you hear him, but is difficult to describe in words.

I’m still trying to get a feel for Mark myself, so I don’t have much to say here. I imagine English shouldn’t be his natural language, so I’ve tried to play his struggles and awkward phrasings up a bit when writing him, but I think I went too overboard in “Bones”. He seems to flow better in “Thank You”, though that’s a rough draft for now and I’m not sure if I want to swing closer to his canon self or closer to completely-foreign-boy-whose-native-tongue-isn’t-even-semantically-close-to-this-whatsoever…

Anyway. He’s a work in process. I think I have almost as many Mark pieces in the 130 Prompts as Pixie ones, since Mark’s story is sprinkled through the last three arcs and the Pixies had lots of foreshadowing to set up in Arc 1 for us. We’ll get to see him a lot more pretty soon. He’s one of my favorite characters in the show. I just haven’t pegged him down yet and I’ve been procrastinating.

Body Language: Mark has some beautifully fluid body language, whether it’s him bouncing up and down in his squishy squid form, or making exaggerated arm motions and facial expressions.

This is Mark.

Every day.

All the time.

Lots of placing his hands to his chest and not a lot of touching other people, except in the case of Timmy and Vicky. Timmy gets lots of Mark’s hugs. He likes holding Vicky’s hands when he can, and once tried to drape his tentacle over his shoulder before she warned him off.

Relationships: Mark’s parents and their relationship with him always cracks me up. Sure, they like him as their son, but it’s just the Yugopotamian way to shed half a tear and move on. Gripullon certainly had no problem turning Mark over to Timmy with a simple, “Now, kindly slay our son”.

I guess that’s why relationships with his Earth friends are so important to Mark. He’s a brave boy, willing to seek out Timmy for help even when he considered Timmy the greatest warrior in the universe and knew he might be risking his own life. And since Timmy helped him, and helped him, and helped him, Mark simply can’t resist being there for his little friend whenever Timmy needs him.

I do enjoy Mark’s relationship with Vicky. “Scary Godcouple” implied that he deliberately designed his human teen form to look like the boy of her dreams, so you know he really cares. Their relationship is a huge struggle on both ends due to the culture differences and Vicky’s reluctance to conform to his needs when she’d rather he change for her, but it makes me smile that she sent him a present for Valentines Day even though they were broken up at the time. And she was willing to kiss him when he was in Yugopotamian form in “So Totally Spaced Out”. She does seem to like him. I’m glad.

And of course, I adore that deleted scene from “Foul Balled” when Mark visited Vicky in the nursing home when she was 96 and she was still so in love with him, just…. asdklfjsldfhsdjkagh I love them they’re so precious.

I love how Mark’s plotline started off with lots of romantic focus on her and then turned platonic and focused on his friendship with Timmy. Mark just honestly loves Timmy a lot and is always willing to stop what he’s doing and help his buddy out by taking off across the galaxy to rescue his mom or something, and I really enjoy that. And In “Take and Fake”, even though Mark was a bit annoyed that Timmy had stolen his Fakeifier, he still put that aside to help him solve the actual problem. To Mark, helping his friends is far more important than being right, and he’s always willing to swallow his pride. 

Canon Mark:

“Okay. I’m a prince, and she is a princess. Were we to marry, our planets’ alliance would be like, the most fearsome in the universe, and like, team up to destroy the Earth, ‘kay.”

“And to show you my gratitude, I shall struggle through the thank you that you Earthlings call, ahem, ‘a hug’.”

“Yeah, and that’s what the ‘L’ stands for. You lie all day long! Heheheheh… Is fun, huh?”

“What’s with the face? It is happy, and yet at the same time disturbing.”

“I must remind you I have a date tonight with my Vick-ay, and if I miss it, she will crush me! And not in the fun way.”

“Totally bogus, brah! You stole my iFake?”

Riddleverse Mark:

“I didn’t HAVE to F.L.A.R.G. before I left!”

“Vick-ay! Tootie and I brought you the happy death plants you like!”

“Why should the worms be free to partake in this delicious feasting, when I am left to simply drool and crave?”

“Didn’t I like, dump you and your mate at the sandwich shop the last time you snuck onto my ship?”

“But Timm-ay, my parents cannot be coming down to your plan-et for parent-teacher con-fer-ence night. I need a human sub-in!”

“I asked ‘cuz that’s your human culture, but you’re like this normal human kind of guy, and… sh’yeah. I don’t really know how you think you’re gonna stop me.”

“Yes, my delicious sewer dripping…”

#FAIRIES! #asks #Anon #Lava lamp dude #Mark Chang #Let's Talk character analyses #Original script #I'm wasp dad trash #130 Prompts #Frayed Knots #The bat with the hat #Red babysitter #Perfect pink beaver boy #Big Crock #screenshots #We're Pixies! #Bat cube and associates

[bisbis3000]

Chapter 2: The Darkest Part of This All

I had a difficult time waking up on Sunday. My friend, Kayla, and I drove up from LA the night before after I had worked a brunch shift at my job. It was around 7 A.M. when my feet finally met the floor and soon after Kayla and I walked a couple dozen yards over to the chicken coup where several strangers, my step sister and mother gathered around the equipment that was posed to murder forty-some-odd young hens and roosters. The whole point of this trip, which was supposed to be less that twenty-four hours, was to harvest chickens for poultry meat: slitting the arteries in their necks, slicing their tiny brains in half, dunking them in hot water, dropping them in a plucker, and eviscerating them in hopes that they would yield enough weight to be substantial poultry. My step sister, Megan, wrangled a single chicken that flapped about until she held it upside down and it became completely still with its wings slightly outstretched on either side of its body which was still warm. Megan wedged the chicken, head first, into a metal cone and demonstrated how to kill and bleed it. She cleared away the feathers on the animal's throat with the backside of a small pairing knife, then put the blade to its soft pulsing neck and made a small, soundless incision. The bird's beak opened entirely and blood began to drip onto a small portion of a hay bale that was positioned to catch the blood and retain it so that it could be used for compost. Megan inserted the blade into the open beak and cut up through the bird's brain, which is called 'pithing' and considered the most humane way to kill a bird. Whatever humanity was meant to be preserved by this act went out the window when I grabbed the chicken's ankles and attempted to minimize the amount of kicking and flapping and jerking it was doing as the bale of hay soaked up the remaining blood that was draining from its soon-to-be-lifeless body. I was not built for this first step of the chicken harvesting process, however, I saw it through by walking the chicken over to the cauldron filled with almost boiling water and dunking the freshly slaughtered bird in head first, gripping it by the ankles like Achilles in the River of Styx. After the bird was submerged three times over it was ready to be dropped into this foreign machine; a small, round basin no more than three feet wide and three feet deep. The inside of this plastic apparatus was lined with rubber nipples that appeared like sterile cilia and were designed to strip the chicken of all of its feathers once it was turned on. Activated, the floor of the machine, which was also paved with the same rubber nipples, began to spin rapidly making a whirring sound that joined the hiss of the hose that was attached to its side to aid in clearing the feathers away from the body. I am hard pressed to conjure an image less graceful than a lifeless chicken tumbling around in a mechanical plucker. The skin, which was freshly softened by the hot water, allowed the feathers to be stripped away effortlessly with each thud of the chicken's body against the unforgiving rubber fingers and within moments it was completely naked. The machine was turned off and slowly spun to a halt, anti-climactically presenting us with the pale, featherless body that was ready to be gutted. Megan did not hesitate for a moment to lob the body onto the table that was set with cutting boards and containers for the entrails and a couple more of the same small pairing knives that looked like they were fresh out of the hermetic packaging. She demonstrated how to remove the feet and tossed them into a receptacle that had been placed there for that exact purpose. Megan calmly moved on to removing the animal's head, which she tossed into a large Rubbermaid bin below the table, and then began to eviscerate through a small incision made below the chicken's breast plate. Picture a roasted chicken, the cavity where you pull all the guts out and carefully trace around it's colon and anus with a knife is the same place you stuff it with herbs and lemon coins and whatever else. I will refrain from going into any further detail, but imagine the sensation of emptying the contents of a small pumpkin that is warm from having sat in the sun for a few hours. I found myself fairly skilled at eviscerating and admitted freely that I wasn't fully prepared for the processes leading up to it so I stationed myself at a cutting board where I could repeat the same act of removing the feet and head and emptying the body cavity. After a few chickens my stomach churned, I blamed the smell, which was unforgettable, but I really just needed to excuse myself so I could get loaded while I knew the house was empty. I walked back to the house in the muck boots I was supplied with by my mother, removed them, washed my hands and forearms, cut myself a fresh piece of foil and went into the guest bathroom with my wallet which contained a small bag with a little less than half a gram of fentanyl. The door didn't lock so I sat on the floor with my back to the door in order to keep it closed. With the foil I repeated the same process I have a million times; I form it into a half pipe and run my lighter over it, priming it so that I don't inhale the initial metallic taste. Sometimes when I'm really sick I skip this step. I break off a small piece of fentanyl from the single rock that sits in the bag that is frosted with some of the powder that is consequence of transporting the tiny ziplock bag in my wallet. I balance the pebble on the foil until my lighter adheres it to the aluminum so that I can smoke it through a receipt from a liquor store I have rolled up and placed between my lips like a cigarette. Two or three hits is really all I need, my tolerance was low considering I spent seven days the week before of Suboxone I bought from some kid named KT who rides a motorcycle and whose phone is dead 98% of the time. The half gram I bought for 80 dollars three days before from Patrick is potent enough to last me five days at this time. I carefully fold the foil into a small rectangle to preserve the black and amber trail the small rock left behind and tuck it into the zippered compartment of my wallet that is stained with soot from the hundreds of other folded rectangles I've stowed away inside of it. Because my tolerance is low, my stomach doesn't feel any better, in fact, my nausea is worsened but I'm high now. Vomit is a big part of my life. When I'm using, I often go off the meds I'm prescribed because I can't keep them down, especially in the morning. It's probably close to 9 A.M. now as I walk back to our makeshift slaughter yard and continue the same task of removing entrails. In an hour we're done. The chickens that have been dunked in ice water are now being dried off by Kayla and placed into individual clear plastic bags within which they will be refrigerated and then frozen. The strangers that are now acquaintances, Kayla, Megan and my mother, Virginia, are now gathered on the porch on the shaded side of the house, eating eggs and chicken livers and toast and an abundance of giant heirloom tomatoes that we have a surplus of and are served with every meal and snack this time of year. I can't look at food. Between the smell of the dead chickens that is stuck to me and everyone else and my drug induced nausea, I pass on breakfast all together and just wait until I throw up whatever water I drink in the next hour or two. Kayla and I spent the day together. I'm not certain what I've done in this life to deserve a friend like her. We bought tubs of ice cream in town and AW cream soda to make floats, I'm fairly confident I can stomach that, most opiate users love and crave sugar. It is not uncommon for me to wake up surrounded by half eaten bags of gummy bears or sheets smeared with melted chocolate or half full bottles of blue Gatorade. I think that I, personally, indulge in massive amounts of refined sugar because my brain still feels the reward from its consumption. When I'm using, everything other than drugs and sugar sinks into this anhedonic fog in which things like masturbation, hydration, and nutrition become fruitless chores. When I'm sick, these chores infuriate me and make me face the fact that I have ruptured my body's healthy and natural functions. Nothing makes you really hone in on your digestive system like vomit and diarrhea, which is really all I can think about as Kayla and I watch Chef's Table throughout the afternoon as we await twenty or so family and friends to arrive to the cookout my mother is hosting at our home later in the day. I have a big family, granted I'm not blood related to 90% of it, but I consider my 'step-cousins' or 'step-uncles' (is that even a thing?) just cousins and uncles and for the sake of sentence fluidity I will not be making the distinction between biological and other, I can explain those intricacies another time. With that said, around 3:30 P.M. family begins to arrive. First my cousins with their kids and my uncle Russ, whose wife, my Aunt Tansy Sue, died a few weeks ago after her brain began to hemorrhage following a series of strokes she had at her home just north of Santa Barbara, close to where I grew up. Russ was really skinny, sickly looking with every vein visible through the surface of his skin. He looked almost purple and drained of life. This was consequence not only of the death of his wife, but of the turmoil his meth addicted son had caused for him and his family for years now, which has only gotten worse over time as these things do. His son, my cousin Beau, is currently in jail for robbery. Russ moved all of his things into a storage unit after he and his son got in a physical altercation in the ICU where his mother, my aunt, moved closer to death. Beau and several of his friends had apparently been stealing from the other neighboring storage units after he was supplied with the entrance code to the facility. My cousin, Jen, who moved in with Russ with her family after Tansy Sue's death, explained that Beau being in prison is the only time she's felt any relief. I sat with her after we swam in the creek with her kids and she explained to me that Beau's debauchery was the real cause of his mother's death. She couldn't bear the stress caused by her son running amok in the same county where my uncle Russ, his father, served for many years as a police officer, which offered Beau preferential treatment throughout his many run-ins with the law. His most recent run-in was in the county just above the one where his family name carried any clout, thus rendering him just another meth head who made some bad decisions and is now sitting in a jail cell. It is the nature of addiction that allowed me to do what I did next even after that conversation with Jen where she explained the direct correlation between my cousins use and the death of his mother and the draining of my uncle's life force. After I cooked the burgers and hot dogs on the grill and everyone had eaten it was time for me and Kayla to hit the road. She and I loaded our stuff into the car, which was idling just beyond our front yard, ready to drive a little over four hours back down to Los Angeles. I went into the bathroom with the door that doesn't lock, sat down on the toilet and pulled out the intoxicating contents of my wallet. Just like a million times before I placed a small amount of the white rock on the foil, right next to the trail from earlier, put the rolled up receipt between my lips and began to get high. When my eyes open I am on the floor with my mother standing over me. "What are you doing? Are you smoking this stuff? Get up. Come on let's go. Come on." I followed her out of the house in a daze and into the passenger's seat of our large white Ford truck. I guess there were still guests gathered on the porch, I'm guessing they were all bearing witness to my mother's and my unannounced departure, but I hope that maybe they were distracted by one anothers company. My mom just drove. She drove down the driveway and down the dirt road adjacent to the 395 freeway, which is only a couple dozen yards away from our front door. I don't remember much of this car ride except the profound feeling of shame. Even though it was sobering, it is still hazy. My mother just found me fallen out on the floor of the guest bathroom, most likely clutching a small piece of foil and a lighter. Maybe the rolled up receipt was still in my mouth, but I can't really remember these details. All I knew was that I was fucked, that the illusion was over, that she now knew I was using again, and that her second-to-worst nightmare had come true, her first being finding me dead, but finding me basically unconscious was worse enough and how angry yet collected she was only let me know that she was in shock for never having had mentally prepared for this situation. "Where is it? Give it to me." I forked over my wallet and she emptied all of it's contents: meaningless business cards, an expired and suspended driver's license, and several pieces of blackened foil. She put the car in park over the canal and threw the paraphernalia into the water that rushed under foot. I had nothing else and surrendered my bag to her and offered up the contents of my pockets. I don't know how long we were gone for but by the time we were back everyone, including Kayla, was gone. I was still a bit loaded, but in touch with reality. I had felt this feeling before. The truth. I hate the truth. I think most addicts hate the truth in all of it's forms. It feels impossible to fully let things come to light and I have still yet to do that, but I know I will in time and I know that it is going to hurt and it is going to shatter whatever shred of trust I had cobbled together with lies since my last stint of sobriety; since the last time I really got honest with my family and friends and told them the darkness I had been spiraling in since I first started using opiates. Shit is fucking twisted. Every time my lies become too apparent to hide anymore is different, but the deep feeling of shame is the same one I felt as a child when my mother would find the food I would binge eat after school hidden behind the books that sat on the shelf. It's the same feeling of shame I felt as a teenager when my father would discover the pot I had hidden in my iPod case in my room. It's the same feeling I felt just a few months ago when the man I loved went through my texts and saw that I had not only been using dope, but that I had been seeing other people behind his back. I don't know if I can put into words the sunken feeling that swallows you when the one's you love or the one's who hold you accountable discover just how deep your deception truly runs. It doesn't make sense that such a seasoned liar like myself cannot explain this all-to-familiar feeling, maybe everyone has felt it in some way, shape, or form and maybe I will one day be capable of conveying just how profoundly devastating it is. If the truth sets you free I sure do fucking hate freedom. I cried with my mother and begged and lied some more. I pleaded with her and my step-father, Zachary, to help me, to drug test me, to monitor my bank account, to track my phone calls, but I don't think I meant any of it. I was squirming. The only thing worse than that feeling is the following morning, which I just wanted to get over with. So, after it had been made abundantly clear that I had relapsed and that I needed help, I took half of a sleeping pill and passed out in the bed I had made for myself on the couch. I slept soundly. That may be the darkest part of this all. Now, Saturday.

#addiction #drugs #drugaddict #fentanyl #relapse #recovery #sobriety #journal #heroin #opiates #shame #pharmacology #mental health #support

[skylerastevens]

The Kid

He, a nineteen-year-old boy, opened his rusty truck door for her, his forty-three-year-old date. He scooted half of his belongings off the passenger seat: an empty cologne bottle where he hid his larger bills, a pale mug shaped as a tit with a nipple to drink from, last year’s old mail (or was it this year’s?), and the unopened card his mom had sent him a few days ago for his eighteenth birthday. Then, with a gentlemanly gesture, he took her hand and helped her to her seat; she was smiling.

The boy opened the back door next and sat her five-year-old kid in the middle seat and strapped him in. The kid, squirmy, gnawed and sucked the head of those rubber chickens which squeaked if squeezed, especially the head. Some drool dripped onto the boy’s fingers as he buckled the booster last belt of the booster seat. He nearly hurled, his tongue falling out. Luckily, she didn’t notice.

The boy shut the door, hard enough to be cathartic, soft enough for her not to notice. Then he got into the driver’s seat hidden with a black seat cover, something cheap to keep her from noticing the cracked, scratched leather. If he wasn’t good enough, she would leave. That’s how women are.

He turned the ignition. He had to turn it again. From the rear-view mirror dangled a pair of her panties, the black ones from the time they escaped to downtown for the weekend. For some reason, the kid’s father agreed to keep him for the weekend. She had paid for the hotel, he had paid for some things: a Los Angeles lanyard and a single meal at Red Robbins. It was their best time yet and he wanted her to remember it every time she got in the car.  

The boy adjusted the mirror (not the side ones because he didn’t want her to realize how non-automatic the car was) and backed out of her driveway and was off.

“So,” she asked, “where’re we going?”

“It’s a surprise,” he smiled. When he looked at her—whenever he looked at her—he always noticed those huge motherly tits, especially in moments like this when she wore a low v-neck to unveil her deep cleavage. The shirt hugged her waist too and she didn’t have a muffin top or any roll or any fat in the wrong places. She may be forty-three, but damn she looked fucking good.

“Mommy, I have to pee-pee,” the kid said. The boy glanced at him through the rear-view mirror. The kid had his legs bent inward and his hand on his crotch like he was about to explode. But, he still had the chicken hanging between his teeth

“Baby, you just went,” she said turning back to face him. He screamed, “I gotta go again!” She mouthed to the boy, “I’m sorry,” then said, “Just suck the chicken. It will make it go away, okay?” The boy admired her care for the kid, how she had at least stuck with him even though she was all alone to take care of him. Yet, that kid talked to much and thought he was the center of the world. He should just be happy he’s got a mom.   “Okay,” the kid said. He actually shut up. There was some time and then she pulled down the sun visor and review herself in the mirror. Some extra lipstick, eye makeup, some powder on her cheeks. Then she said, “Do you think I look alright?” “Oh, yeah,” the boy said. “You’re smokin’ tonight, babe.” He went to place his hand on her thigh, but she moved her leg as if to avoid it, probably nervous because of her son’s presence. Normally, the boy and the lady just went to the park when she couldn’t find a sitter. The boy’s hand still landed. But the compliment must’ve made her happy because she still smiled and smiled big. So big, her lips pulled back so her he could see the extra yellow in her teeth where they met her gums. She smoked cigarettes, drank alcohol. They both did.

“Why is there underwear there?” The kid was pointing towards the mirror. The boy said what came to mind, “They’re my backup.” It must have lightened the mood. She laughed and put her hand on her face. “Why do you need backup?” “Just sometimes I do,” the boy said. The kid asked, “Do you poop your pants?” She kept laughing. The boy never did. Only a couple more minutes. “Nope,” the boy said. She leaned forward to grab something from the floor. As her back bent, the line between her shirt and pants revealed some good, tan skin. The boy could almost follow the trail of her skin to her ass. Such a good ass. She picked up the tit mug and said, “I’ve never seen this before.” “Ha, yeah, that was my dad’s.” The boy glanced at it then back at the road. “He gave it to me before he passed. It’s kind of like a family heirloom.” “My oldest son would love this,” she said to herself. The boy believed her oldest son was about his age. He hoped not more than that. He never wanted to ask. The kid was still talking when they arrived at Boomers, but the boy and the kid’s mom were ignoring him at this point. Well, she was ignoring him in the way she normally did by saying, “Keep sucking your chicken.” The boy said “ta-dah” when they pulled into the parking lot because it was where they had first met exactly one month ago. It was perfect for their one month. She laughed weakly, looked at the boy, hid her head behind the headrest so her son could not see, and fashioned her purple painted like a kiss. It was cute. Maybe a prediction. Maybe another one of her so-called “mating calls.” They parked and walked into Boomers. The boy held her hand at first, but the kid grabbed her other hand so the boy let go. The boy paid for them all. There was no discount for the kid; he was extra twelve dollars. The boy received his four dollars of change, left no tip. Beside his savings in the cologne bottle, it was all he had slaved for that week and now one of his marijuana plants hidden in the back of his truck had died from being kept under the Tarp for too long. They walked first towards the go-karts outside the back of the building, the engines buzzing over the kids talking and talking. The boy’s hands felt sweaty so he wiped his along his jeans as his hands swayed with his walk. When the kid rushed ahead, past the benches and up to the fence where the go-kart employee stood, the boy reached for his date’s hand. She took it, clamped it. It lasted five seconds ‘cause the kid turned around. After that, her arms were fucking crossed.

But it was okay once the kid got onto the go-karts and raced a few laps. When he’d get to the far end of the track, the boy would sneak a kiss in with her. It was even better because the kid asked if he could go again and she said yes so they got to kiss some more. The boy even smacked her ass and she didn’t seem to mind it. The boy wanted to ask her if she wanted to go to the bathroom, lock the door, do the thing they do at the park, but the kid was done racing and begged to go play arcade games. Whatever.  So they went inside watched the kid k.o. Marshall Law and Devil Jin, shoot down the velociraptors and tyrannosauruses, and mutilate zombies after zombies. He actually sucked, but his mom told him he was good and he believed it. 

The kid remembered after all those hours he had to go to the bathroom so boy and the woman escorted him there. Then the boy said, “You and me, let’s go,” and he bumped the side of his hip against hers and nodded towards the woman’s restroom.

“We don’t have time for that,” she said. “He’ll be out soon.”

“Then he’ll be alone for like thirty seconds, it’s fine. Come on just a little.” He kissed her neck, followed her arm with his finger.

“No, it’s not.” She backed away, turned around, crossed her arms again.

The boy said, “Oh, my god. No need to be a bitch about it,” and he stomped straight out of Boomers, ignoring the “Come back anytime,” from the worker with the blue collared shirt, and got into his truck, red faced. 

For thirty minutes he sat there, his hands clenched around the steering wheel, fingers stiff from squeezing so long. He should just leave. She was likely in there laughing with her kid, playing all the games with him, giving him all the attention he wanted. That stupid, fucking kid. She did everything for him. Why for him too? He was annoying, not even a good kid. She would wipe his ass when he went “ number two.” Oh my god, that kid needed to grow up. But, at least she didn’t leave him like the boy’s mom had done. Damn, that kid was so lucky he had no idea. He got all the attention he wanted.

Then she appeared from Boomer’s front door, the kid’s hand in hers. She made him look both ways for cars. She approached the car and the boy locked the car.

She knocked on the window. “Christ, really?” It sounded muffled through the glass barrier.

“Yeah, really.” He flipped her off. He meant it for the kid too so he held his hand high enough on the glass so he might see it too.

She yelled, “Hey!” She turned her kid around like a good mom would. “You’re acting like a kid. Are you really doing this?”

The boy said nothing. He just looked straight ahead.

“You know what, fine. It’s over. Screw you. You’re a f—” she was about to say “fucking,” but the kid—“You’re a hothead.”

He said back, “You don’t get to say it’s over. I say it’s over. And it’s over!” He yelled. It fogged a part of the glass. Then, he turned the ignition, jerked it into reverse, and backed out. Before he knew it, he was on the freeway, leaving her. She wasn’t leaving him. He wouldn’t let her like his mom did years ago. He’d never let anyone leave him again. Instead, he would be the one who leaves.