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marragurl · 3 days

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Saxaphone player Gallagher has not left my mind since the jazz night art dropped AND THEN Robin saying Halovian’s innately have good voices and Sunday used to hum lullabies to her as kids happened in the 2.2 special program, and I’m sure you guys can see where my unfortunate Galladay heart is going with this.

Whoever decided to make this art, I love you. I hope your pillow is cool every night, you’re never stuck in traffic, and your water is refreshing with every sip.

Also the art of Sunday with the White Gentlemen drink in the S.P.A.R.K.L.E jazz night event has also spiraled into me delusionally thinking that’s his go to drink. Which is hilarious since Robin has hinted before that he seems to have a massive sweet tooth in her letters.

(Sunday how do you even make holding a drink menacing, Sunday please get some therapy-)

So imagine this:

Pre 2.0 Galladay, where they’re both wary and suspicious of each other but didn’t do anything outright. Sunday slowly began to visit Gallagher’s bar whenever he had time to observe the Hound, initially on the down low just to get a sense of what he was working with and what to keep an eye on. He always gravitated to that one corner booth that every bar had with the most privacy, and just stalked there for a few hours before leaving. (Smol menacing birb in a tree vibes)

Gallagher obviously knew that Sunday was doing this (even though everyone else seemed to somehow completely miss him, Gallagher wouldn’t be surprised if Sunday was doing some weird Harmony mind tricks), and after the first few “stakeouts,” he bit the bullet and actually approached the table to engage with Sunday, on the off chance this was some weird “test of loyalty” by the Halovian to see if the Hound would swallow his pride to serve his so-called masters.

Nothing terrible happened, but he remained passive-aggressively polite when serving him, and Sunday remained passive-aggressively cool-headed in response. There was some snark of what dear “sweet-toothed” Sunday would want at a bar, and an icy reply of “aren’t you the master drink smith? Why don’t you show me those skills you boasted about?” which led to Gallagher being petty and giving Sunday the White Gentlemen drink, both for the story behind it being such a metaphor for Sunday, and because it was on the more bitter side of alcoholic drinks.

Sunday wasn’t too against the drink; it wasn’t something he would have ordered if it had been his choice, but it wasn’t a bad drink by any means. He couldn’t help but continue to drink it even after Gallagher left his little hidey booth to go back to the main bar, but he’d never stoop so low as to complement the Hound. Of course, he never ordered anything else from then on, only White Gentleman. In fact, over time it seemed to slowly get better, the flavors grew on him, and he couldn't help but look forward to it during difficult nights in the Dreamscape.

If Gallagher tried to needle him into a different drink, Sunday just bit back a “oh? Admitting defeat? I thought this was your best drink for me?” with a little smirk while Gallagher had to use every bit of self-control to not punch him in the face.

As time went on, the bar slowly became a place Sunday frequented to not quite relax, but to get away from the hustle and bustle of Penacony and his duties as one of its main faces. The stresses slowly started piling up, especially with the Charmony fast approaching in a few months and all that came with it.

Gallagher didn’t seem to loosen up regarding his attitude with Sunday, but he did get better at shoving down the visceral hatred he had for everything to do with The Family and Sunday as time went on. He didn’t get soft with Sunday per se, but he definitely kept an eye out for him, and definitely knew when to cut off his drinks on days where it seemed that Sunday wasn’t all that there for their usual veiled comments towards one another when he went to serve him his drink.

It started small, with Sunday staying later and later until sometimes he was the last one to leave the bar to return to reality. Gallagher wasn’t quite sure what to make of it, still wasn’t quite sure this wasn’t some weird long-term test Sunday was devising, especially since he still seemed to be the same ruthless Family member, the same Head of the Oak Family, when Gallagher was working as a Bloodhound outside the bar. For some reason though, within the enclosed space of this strange sanctuary, it was almost peaceful between the two.

One night, there was something wrong when Sunday entered the bar during Gallagher’s shift. He saw a bit of a crowd near the small stage that was within eyesight of his little hidey booth, it seemed some of the musicians of the live band were arguing? He watched as Gallagher came over, seemed to try to speak with the group before honing in on one of the musicians who had been making the most noise and seemed to be about to get physical with the rest. Sunday watched as Gallagher picked up the musician by the scruff of their suit with one hand and carried them towards the doors and lightly tossed them out.

(It was the first time Sunday had actually seen Gallagher perform anything resembling the actual duty of a Bloodhound. It only hit him that he’d only ever seen the other when giving reports, orders, or at the bar. Why was this so shocking to him, he’d seen the man’s arms before, hard not to with his slovenly dress and messy clothing style, as if he couldn’t bother to hide away his imperfections from the world, not like Sunday who refused to be seen by the world, to dare to show one thing off about himself despite his countless failings- he’s getting far too distracted by one meager showing of strength, focus Sunday)

There had always been a live music segment. Sunday was curious to see what would happen with the band missing a member, but was distracted by Gallagher placing his usual White Gentlemen in front of him before heading back to the musicians without a single word to him. Gallagher took a moment to speak with the rest of the band, who seemed to be coming out of their shock and took on worried looks. Sunday could only watch in muted shock as Gallagher went behind the bar and came back with a case, opening it to reveal a saxophone. He then went on stage with the rest of the group, positioned himself further to the side and in the back amongst the shadows within Sunday’s line of sight, and played with the band for the rest of the night.

Sunday couldn’t look away.

He was frozen as he watched Gallagher seamlessly transition from song to song, taking only small breaks to continue serving the other patrons before heading back in. Sunday only remembered about his own drink when his gloves began to get wet from the ice melting into condensation on his glass.

Something felt off within Sunday, and for the first time since Robin’s debut, he couldn't help humming to the music of the band, music that wasn’t of his own sister’s making. He couldn’t help but remember those little concerts the two would have, taking care of his little sister, his only world. He would do anything to keep the Harmony, to keep their family going. When was the last time they truly spent time together? Before he became the Head of the Oak Family? Before he couldn't recognize his own smile?

He was so lost in his thoughts, in memories he thought he buried, that he didn’t realize that it was once again closing time, and he was once again the last one left. He only snapped out of it when Gallagher came by to grab his empty glass, only quirking a questioning brow at him before heading back to the bar.

Gallagher had been keeping a quiet eye on the Halovian that night from the back of the band, in the shadows he felt the most confront in when in the Dreamscape of Penacony. He had watched Sunday’s eyes glaze over, and the only reason he hadn’t felt offended by the seeming disinterest was the look in the other man’s eyes reminding him of his own when he looked in the mirror. The same look of shame, regret, loss, longing, of the wishes to regain everything he had lost. The same look he strove to hide under every bit of the facade he had crafted of this new self, but came back all too often with every reference of the Family found within his prison in the Dreamscape.

Maybe it was the shared nostalgia within his own heart, that little bit of his true self that he thought died when the Family tore out everything that made him who he was, that made him return behind the bar and begin making Sunday another White Gentlemen, giving Sunday a small nod to beckon him over. He wasn’t expecting anything from it, and he masked his own surprise when Sunday actually left his little shelter to come and take a seat in front of him at the bar. Even while out of it, Gallagher made note of the quiet confidence the other still carried himself. Nothing seemed wrong to anyone else looking at him, only for the lost look in his eyes.

The first time in the many months that they’ve been skirting around each other, and finally they seemed to be face to face.

It was quiet as Gallagher made Sunday his usual drink, a drink he had been slowly changing over the months to be sweeter and sweeter that Sunday never quite seemed to notice, or if he did, he never said anything, only seeming to savor it more each subsequent night. Maybe not even Gallagher noticed his own changes to the drink, subtle as they were.

It was quiet as Sunday took the finished drink, and it was quiet as his eyes slid over the bartop to see the saxophone case laying open with the instrument inside. It was quiet as Gallagher followed his eyes, as he came out from behind the bartop to take the saxophone out and take a seat in a chair only one seat down from Sunday’s. It was quiet as Gallagher began to play to his audience of one.

It was quiet as Sunday quietly hummed along.

It was quiet as they both knew that it would not last.

OK yea so this was all because I heard ‘La vie en rose’ at the end of the Jazz night event and went “Damn I wish that’s Gallagher playing on his Sax” and then we spiraled.

Uh. Idk what it is with me having a small ship moment which then spirals into a full blown writing session. My mind blanked out and as I came to I find out that I made a whole ass little one shot over here then completely forgot about it WHOOPS

So yea, hope my fellow Galladay enjoyers… enjoyed! I think I’ve slowly begun to crave… not domestic or fluff per se from these two, but after every AO3 fic being super dark between them (which I get! They are the toxic yaoi kings of Penacony as of writing this, no one is denying that!) I think I want to see them be explored in a more melancholic sense. Not quite the “forbidden” love angle, but in the “damn we kinda have some parallels, and maybe in another life we could have gotten along but there’s too much baggage and anger, both historically and currently to really even try anything”

I have this feeling this may not be the last time I write about these two… is Galladay going to be the ship that gets me to actually use my AO3 account?

#hsr #honkai star rail #hsr gallagher #hsr sunday #galladay #idk what I’m doing anymore #they’ve kinda taken over my mind #shoutout to that one ao3 fic where both of them go “’this wasn’t supposed to happen’ as they’re making out #that’s the exact vibes I’m feeling when I think about these two pre-relationship #of course we don’t run away from angst in this ship #everything follows exactly up until the 2.1 end credits scene #let’s see what happens in 2.2 #I NEED ANSWERS #ALSO MISHA #I WANNA THROW GALLAGHER AND MISHA’S KINDA WHOLESOME RELATIONSHIP IN HERE TWO #idk wtf is going on there #but until 2.2 explains #Gallagher is misha’s weird drunk uncle/dad figure #it adds more comedy to Galladay whether Sunday knows of/can see Misha or not either way #oof new writing idea #next time #I need to work on tagging #this is just another post all on its own

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officialbabayaga · 29 days

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when i contact the best phd programs in the country about what i’m interested in and they make themselves really available to reach out to and have flexible and holistic admissions requirements vs the programs i’d never even heard of but thought to reach out to anyway and tHeY dOn’T tAkE aNyOnE wHo DoEsN’t AlReAdY hAvE a MaStErS oF pUbLiC hEaLtH

#lol okay fuck off #obviously not that i have a GOOD chance of getting into a program #considering they tend to accept 5-8 students a YEAR #but. don’t shut me down before i’ve even applied! i have 4 years of industry research experience‚ have been published‚ and presented my #research at pathology and genetics conferences #but OBVIOUSLY. not good enough. no masters.#zoe stuff

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iscariotapologist · 2 years

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god to me last night: you're going to want to hold on for this part

today: fucking insane and weirdest day of the summer, one sick staff member away from cancelling camp

#😐🚬#would be okay if the next sick staff member is me so i can fucking go to sleep #this whole pandemic i've been so scared of getting covid and haven't gotten it yet but im so fucking exhausted now from this job #that im like yeah sure as long as i can lay in bed #chances are good (bad) bc the last person to go down was one of my barn staff who i obviously have been in close contact with #one single kid came here with it somehow and that was enough lmao #also several ravens have been hanging about the horses in the last few days and not to be superstitious but it does feel a little ominous #anyway there's only three people sick but we are literally so understaffed that they had to cut programs already #yeargh .#me

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medicinemane · 4 months

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I still wonder about the people who double down on communism... and not even like me when I was younger where I got (not the full extent, but got) that the soviet union and such were awful, but just thought that maybe with less terrible people at the helm it could work (later realizing that these kind of things always have power hungry people rise to the top) Anyway, no I just don't get the "well see, you've admitted your great grandpa owned a chicken, sounds like he deserved to die" people... like the fuck is there even to gain here about being smug while dying on a particularly stupid hill?

#I'm not even gonna try and define what I am with this stuff #cause see; everyone's decided that these terms have super solid cut and dry definitions #when it's like man... people obviously use the same terms to describe wildly different things #you're just being pig headed if you don't accept that and work off what they're saying rather than latching onto a single word #but pig headed they be; so no tossing out single words to latch on to #So what I think is that some level of welfare is both good and also required #and that currency is one of the more effective ways to distribute resources and labor without a whole lot of headache #I want social programs; and if your no details given ask me if I want more or less I'm gonna lean towards more #because apart from the humanitarian point of view; from and economic point of view I think poor people spend money cause they need to #so I think giving benefits; giving health insurance; giving a universal basic income #all end up being good ways to slush money through the system; because things like hospitals benefit from steady use #you want people to have access to them; because that's how they continue to operate #and I think that theft or not taxes are a fact; and I'd rather they go to shit like that #(and I still say senators and the house should only have the healthcare and pay they'd normally qualify for)#(see how long medicaid for all takes to pass if they don't get special insurance; ya dig?)#so that's my point of view; businesses are good; regulation is good; welfare is good; government accountability and transparency are good #I have some terms I could mash together to kinda describe it; but I won't cause that's a fool's errand #so you assign whatever term you want for that in your head; I ain't naming it #but tankies are dumb as shit; I'll say that much; just kinda cruel for the sake of getting a chance to be the one being cruel

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anticomedygarden · 6 months

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"Would you quit looking at everyone like that?" Will said exasperatedly. "You're scaring people."

Nico didn't even try to control his scowl as he studied each of Will's classmates. It could be any one of them, really, since Will had stuck a bi pride pin on his backpack for anyone to see. (Not that he had a problem with the flag, obviously, but when half the room was clearly leering at his boyfriend...maybe he had a problem with it.) "If you just told me which one-"

"No," Will interrupted, fiddling with something on the chair. The two were at a blood drive in the cafeteria of Will's school, and Will, being a med student, had to work it along with several kids in the same program, giving Nico a perfect chance keep Will company. "I'm not telling you who was hitting on me."

"Why?" Nico thought it was a fair question, him being the boyfriend and all.

"'Cause I prefer my classmates unmurdered, thanks."

"I wouldn't murder anyone," he grumbled.

"Tell that to your face."

Somehow, he resisted the urge to give Will the finger.

Around them, doctor's office chairs were occupied by generous people hooked up to machines taking their blood. Will's was the only empty chair.

So maybe it was Nico's fault.

He worked on unclenching his jaw, and within a few minutes, someone approached them.

Will smiled and pulled out a clipboard. "Hi! Are you here to give blood?"

The blonde woman smiled. "Yes."

"Awesome! Go ahead and sit down. I have a few questions to ask you."

She maneuvered herself into the chair awkwardly, glancing at Nico a couple times. "Is this confidential?"

Will nodded. "Of course."

She looked at Nico again. "What about him?"

Nico waved a hand. "I'm gonna go get a drink."

Without waiting, he walked through the cafeteria and out into the hallway to wander around for a bit. There were very few people in the hall, even for a Saturday, so he was able to explore unhindered. He passed a lot of classrooms (obviously), several with anatomical models, a couple with actual full skeletons, and one with the distinct smell of formaldehyde wafting from it, a smell he probably shouldn't be able to identify so easily. For how much everybody considered him and Will to be opposites, their domains really weren't all that different, honestly.

In one hallway, there was a big floor-to-ceiling window through which he saw some pigeons absolutely going at it, the city skyline a simple background to the showdown of the century as the birds flapped their wings menacingly and pecked and jabbed at each other. Just when the fight was getting good and Nico thought they could be monsters in disguise, they just flew off, disappearing into the cloudy expanse above.

Well. They couldn't all be epic Greek demigods.

At some point, he found a vending machine and bought himself some chips and a bag of Doritos to take back to Will, and, checking the time, started making his way back to the cafeteria.

When he got there, Will brightened considerably across the room, which made Nico pretty happy. Take that, mystery person.

There was nobody in the chair, so Nico walked right up to him. "Hey, Sunshine."

"Hey." Will grabbed his wrist in a latexed hand. "Are those Doritos?"

Nico laughed. "Yeah, but you can't have them until you wash your hands. Germs." He wiggled his fingers.

Will wrinkled his nose. "Fine. Hey, as long as you're here, why don't I take your blood?"

Nico looked at him oddly but got in the chair. "I thought you couldn't use our blood because of the ichor?"

"That's not what I need it for."

Incredibly confused, Nico narrowed his eyes, wondering if this was some kind of modern thing he didn't know about. "What?"

Will continued getting him ready for the blood draw. "Do you know how much blood your reckless ass loses weekly? It's good to have it on hand."

Nico blinked at him, then offered his arm. "Um. Alright."

Which was how, ten minutes later, Nico ended up shoving two bags of his own blood into his inner jacket pocket, hoping nobody was watching.

"I better not get arrested for this," Nico muttered, because even in this completely ridiculous, stupid-as-shit situation, he never even considered not covering for Will.

"You'll be fine," Will said as packed up his station. Apparently, it was time to go. "That's what the mist is for." Even so, he glanced around, checking for eyes among the other med students getting ready to leave for the day. Then, satisfied, he stood and offered Nico his hand. "Ready to go?"

Nico took it, lacing their fingers together. "Yep."

Together, they walked out the doors into the sweet free air.

#solangelo #nico di angelo #will solace #pjo #pjo hoo toa #pjo fic #pjo fanfic #my fanfic #my fic #my writing #solangelo fluff #solangelo fic #solangelo funny #solangelo fanfic #fluff #percy jackon and the olympians #nico x will #will x nico #ficlet

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steddieas-shegoes · 11 months

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Request: ok so listen; so Steve Harrington who didn't tell anyone he gets into a medical school (Indiana University School of medicine) but he travels to school during the week and Mike finds the graduation letter in Steve's apartment. He graduated as a premed student with a full scholarship to Harvard Medical school for the trauma surgeon program. The party realizes that their constant jokes making fun of Steve's intelligence caused him to not tell them about this. I want a mixture of angst with a full proper apology & a few years later him graduating from Harvard with the party cheering him.

MY LOOOOOOVE!!!! Nothing gets me going quite like a secret super smart Steve Harrington. Is it OOC? Maybe. But writing Steve as a fucking Harvard Med School graduate!!! A whole trauma surgeon!!!! YES!!!!! I obviously had to put some Steddie in there, mostly because Eddie deserves a happy ending, too and any chance I have to give him one, I will. - Mickala ❤️

---------------------------------------------

Steve was late. He’d been late a lot recently.

Mike started driving a few weeks ago, got his hands on Nancy’s car since she was busy traveling the world now, and he’d been quick to pick up the slack.

But he was growing impatient.

When they asked Steve why he was late, he shrugged it off, said he forgot. Everyone just went with it because obviously Steve’s kind of scatterbrained and a few fries short of a happy meal, especially after the head trauma.

But Mike was suspicious.

Steve let it go a little too easily.

And Eddie hadn’t stuck up for him like he usually did when they were teasing his intelligence.

Mike was letting himself into Steve’s apartment, using the key that he kept under the mat so the kids always had a place to go if they needed it.

He wasn’t home yet, but Mike had just been to Family Video and he wasn’t there either. Apparently, hadn’t been in at all today. Keith said something about ‘taking the day off for exams.’

Steve wasn’t in school though, so that meant he was lying and Mike wanted to know what he was lying about.

He looked at the counter, saw a large stack of mail, and decided that was probably a good place to start his search.

Most of it seemed like junk, a few bills, a letter from Robin, and an envelope that was torn open already from Indiana University.

If it was already open, it was fair game. That was his motto, at least.

He pulled out a thick stack of papers.

The seal in the corner of the first page said School of Medicine.

Was Steve sick? Had he started seeing the university doctors because of some weird problem with his head? Maybe that’s why he’d also been so forgetful lately.

Maybe they put him on a new medication trial or something and it was a side effect.

But he kept reading and felt his chest cave in.

Dear Mr. Steven J. Harrington,

It is a great honor to announce your successful completion of the pre-med degree program at Indiana University. Your incredible tenacity has proved that you’re prepared to work through any medical school program in the country.

Graduation is currently set for May 18, 1989. Please contact your advisor to reserve tickets by April 28, 1989.

Thank you for trusting Indiana University with your education. We look forward to seeing your accomplishments in the future!

“Holy shit.”

“Why are you reading my mail?”

Mike jumped at Steve’s voice. He’d been so busy reading the letter, he hadn’t heard the front door to the apartment open.

“You’re going to med school?”

“Hopefully, yeah.”

“What the fuck?”

Steve rolled his eyes and made his way to the fridge, grabbing a can of soda for himself.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, like. You’re. You’re you. How are you going to med school?”

Steve’s brows furrowed as he leaned against the counter and sipped at his drink.

“I graduated from pre-med as valedictorian. I’m not sure what you’re asking.”

“You? Valedictorian? You barely got through high school!”

Steve rolled his eyes.

“I hated high school. I was going through a lot of shit. It wasn’t because I’m stupid.”

Mike’s mouth was gaping like a fish, confused at literally everything that was happening.

“But-“

“I also just got into Harvard on a full scholarship if we’re gonna put it all out there. I was gonna tell everyone this weekend at El’s birthday party but I’m sure you’re about to run to tell them all.”

Well, how could he not? Steve had been hiding going to college for years! He was about to move to Harvard!

“Wait! Is Eddie going with you?”

“Yeah. We found an apartment over a record store and the owner hired him to run the store while he transitions into retirement.”

Mike felt like he was in an alternate universe. There was no way Steve Harrington was going to be a doctor. There was no way Eddie and Steve were moving to Boston.

There was no way he was leaving all of them.

“But. But what about us?”

“You guys are all practically adults. You barely even hang out with me anymore unless it’s to get a ride or get snacks for Hellfire. You didn’t even notice I was driving to and from campus for years. I think I’ve given enough of myself to people who don’t seem to want it,” Steve shrugged, looking down at the floor.

Mike wanted to scream, he wanted to cry, but he also kind of just wanted to hug Steve and tell him that wasn’t true.

But it kind of was, wasn’t it?

They’d all taken advantage of Steve’s kindness for years. He’d been the best damn babysitter they could have, saved their lives multiple times, gave them money for the arcade and dates and pizza for pool parties when he lived in his old house.

They grew to just expect it.

He didn’t even know the last time he’d heard anyone say thank you. He certainly hadn’t said it in a long time.

“But, Dustin will be devastated.”

“He’ll be okay. He’s gonna go to MIT when he graduates and he’ll be right around the corner or something. I dunno. He hasn’t even called me just to talk in months. I don’t think he’ll miss me that much.”

Which just. It wasn’t true. Mike knew for a fact that Dustin would be heartbroken about Steve leaving.

“I.”

“It’s fine. Eddie’s gonna be home soon so if you wanna wait for him that’s fine. I’m gonna go shower and get an early night. Been up since three this morning.”

“Did you really have exams?”

“What?”

“I checked to see if you worked today and Keith said you had exams,” Mike said shakily, feeling entirely off balance.

“Oh. I just had to do an entrance exam for Harvard. They let me take it on IU’s campus since I can’t move until two weeks before classes start.”

Mike nodded once.

This was really happening. Steve was leaving.

Steve was going to Harvard.

He was taking Eddie with him.

And not a single one of them had bothered to notice any of it happening.

————————

“I told you I don’t know! I’m giving you everything I have!” Mike yelled at Dustin, who was pacing and clearly trying not to cry.

“It just doesn’t make sense! He always acted like he didn’t understand half of what we were saying when we talked science stuff!” Dustin yelled as he walked back and forth across the floor, wearing a pattern into the carpet.

“Maybe it’s because we’ve always just assumed he’s dumb. I mean, none of us really treated him like he could keep up, so maybe he just. Didn’t,” Lucas shrugged.

“He could’ve told us!”

“Or maybe he didn’t want to since we all thought he’d be lying,” Max added from her chair in the corner.

“He could’ve proved it!”

“Maybe he didn’t want to have to,” Eddie said as he walked in the room.

Hellfire was at Dustin’s tonight, and Eddie had been late.

His sudden appearance made them all cower where they sat or stood.

“No Hellfire tonight. I was gonna call, but had to drive by here anyway. Steve’s having a bad night and I’m pretty certain it’s your fault, so I’m gonna go try to get him through it.”

It was a bit harsh, but not undeserved.

“Why didn’t you tell us, Eddie?” Dustin asked quietly.

“It wasn’t for me to tell. He was going to when he got accepted into IU, and then you guys spent most of that night telling him he wouldn’t understand what you were talking about with your group science project so he kept it to himself. Then he just decided it wouldn’t be worth trying to explain anything since you wouldn’t believe him anyway. He asked me not to say anything until he announced his graduation and Harvard this weekend, so I didn’t.”

“But we would have been proud of him! He could have shown us his acceptance letter or something.”

“That’s not how you made him feel,” Eddie shrugged before turning back towards the door. “We’ll see you at El’s party.”

When Eddie left, the room was silent.

Everyone was deep in thought, trying to unpack everything.

With Hellfire canceled, they didn’t have much of a reason to stick around, but none of them felt like being alone.

Not when they started to realize that Steve was kind of the glue that held them all together and without him, they may not ever be whole again.

—-----------------------

El’s party was simple, just the usual guests and some cake and balloons. She didn’t like a big thing, usually preferred to have a sleepover with Max and just do their nails and listen to music.

Joyce insisted on having a little get together though, said it would be nice to celebrate something since they hadn’t really since Will’s birthday.

Steve was there, holding Eddie’s hand in the corner, talking with Hopper while Eddie talked with Joyce.

Steve told them everything when they got there since the kids knew, and while he knew Joyce and Hopper were happy for him, for both of them, they could send their shock.

All of the kids had hesitantly hugged Steve when they got there, barely saying anything to him, unsure where they stood.

Steve felt like he was closing the book on his life in Hawkins, and he hated that it felt like no one would join him in the next one except for Eddie.

Throughout the day, the kids would find their way up to him to just be close, soak in Steve’s energy, try to appreciate him now because they clearly hadn’t been before.

He let them. He could have told them to go away, or tried to talk them into apologies, but it wouldn’t do any good right now, and he didn’t want to ruin El’s birthday party.

Eddie could tell he wasn’t himself, though. He saw the way Steve’s eyes dropped down to his lap every time one of the kids would walk away from his side, how his leg started bouncing when things were quiet for more than a few seconds.

“You wanna head out?”

“I-”

“Steve? Can we talk to you for a minute?” Lucas asked, the rest of the party behind him watching with wide eyes.

“Oh. Sure.”

Eddie patted his knee and stood up, but Lucas gestured for him to sit back down.

“You, too. We owe you both explanations and apologies.”

So, Eddie sat. He would support Steve through whatever this conversation entailed, and maybe get something else out of it too.

“We all want to take turns saying stuff, but I wanna start,” Lucas said, playing with his hands nervously.

Steve nodded, always more patient than the kids deserved.

“I always saw you as the jock, ya know? Like, I respected you because you were a great basketball player and you had a lot of friends. I just kind of thought that was who you were, even after high school. You always made time to help me over the summer, even when you’d just worked an opening shift or had to go in for a closing shift. I didn’t really consider you an adult, even though you were. You were just there. You protected me, all of us, from some of the scariest shit any of us will ever have to deal with without even taking a second to consider your own safety. You just did it. And I don’t really think any of us thanked you. None of us would be here without you.”

Lucas was biting his lip, trying not to cry as he wrapped up his speech, but didn’t get a chance to start before Will started talking.

“I haven’t spent as much time with you as the rest of these guys have. But I know that you’re always there. You give me a ride when my mom can’t and you always slip me an extra $1 or 2 when we go to the arcade because you know I don’t have much. You hung up my art on your apartment wall even though it sucks and isn’t your style because you wanted me to know that someone supports me. You’ve been one of the only constants in our crazy lives, and we haven’t done nearly enough to show that we appreciate you,” Will wiped his eyes quickly as he turned away to let someone else speak.

“Billy was an asshole to all of us, but especially to you. You could’ve walked away that night, left Lucas and me to defend ourselves or die trying, but you didn’t. You knew he was a racist piece of shit and you got another concussion just so he wouldn’t lay a hand on us. That was the first time I ever had someone stick up for me like that. And after everything with Vecna, you were the one who always checked in, made sure I had rides to appointments, had food I could easily make when my mom wasn’t around, brought me to the skate park as soon as I was cleared by my doctor. I’ve never had someone who cared so much like you do and I’m sorry I didn’t know how to show you that it meant so much to me,” Max said seriously.

Steve was sniffling, and Eddie knew if he tried to comfort him too much right now, it would just make it worse. He squeezed his hand and wiped the tear falling down his cheek as the kids continued.

“I hated you for the longest time. I thought it was your fault Nancy changed, and then I thought it was your fault when Nancy and Jonathan got together, and then I just hated everyone and everything for a while. But I think it was just easy to use you to blame everything on because you let me. You just let me treat you like shit. You let me complain about your driving while you drove me anywhere I wanted to go. You let me blame you for Nancy being upset about the break up when she was the one who hurt you most. You let me think you were stupid when you’re brilliant enough to go to Harvard on a full scholarship. You let all of us take advantage of you and I don’t know why, but I wish I could turn back time and not let you do that. You didn’t deserve to be used by any of us, but especially me,” Mike said surprisingly sincerely.

In fact, Eddie watched Mike take a few deep breaths like he was holding back a sob.

“I am sorry for how we all treated you, Steve. I did not know that we hurt you. Dad said sometimes the people who hurt the most are the people who accept hurt as the way they are supposed to be treated, but that is not true. You should be loved so much, like Eddie loves you, by everyone. We should have done better,” El said as she held Max’s hand.

Dustin had been incredibly quiet, hiding in the back, not even looking up from the ground. Eddie could tell he wanted to say something, but probably didn’t know how to start.

It was no secret that Dustin was Steve’s favorite kid. It was also no secret that Dustin loved Steve like a brother, maybe even more, and that if Steve was upset, Dustin would want to make it right.

“I never had someone to look up to until you came around,” Dustin started, still not looking up from the ground. “My mom always felt bad that she didn’t give me a good role model or a brother or sister to look up to. But when you started watching over me, she felt like it was better this way. ‘That Harrington boy is special.’ That’s what she says all the time. And I guess I got used to her saying it and just didn’t think anything of it anymore. Like, yeah, you’re great. You do all kinds of stuff for me and for all of us, but it just felt like you wanted to so what made it so special? When Mike told us everything, it hit me that even if you wanted to do all that stuff, you still deserved a thank you. You went out of your way to make us safe and happy, and our only way to repay you was to constantly put you down and bully you. We spent years calling you out for what an asshole you were in high school while we ended up being assholes to you. You’re my brother and I haven’t been good to you. I’m sorry.”

Eddie was watching as Steve finally let out a sob he’d been holding in for too long. He pulled him into his chest, watching as the kids all wiped tears of their own away.

He knew the kids were genuinely sorry, he could tell that when faced with the reality of the way they treated Steve for years now, they felt terrible. But he also knew that Steve let it go on too long without saying something, and that it would take a while for him to really figure out a good balance of being there for the kids he loved and setting boundaries he needed to set long ago.

“Can you give him a minute guys? I’m sure he wants to talk to you all, but I think he just needs to calm down.”

The kids all nodded and scurried away.

They weren’t kids anymore, was the thing. They would always be kids to Steve, though. That’s why this was hurting so much. They were his nuggets, and they’d been unintentionally hurting him for years.

Steve had been so excited to tell them about getting into a pre-med program at IU, and when he couldn’t tell them, he changed. He was withdrawn in ways Eddie had never seen or expected. He was focused on school, and their relationship, but nothing else. He would go through the motions of driving the kids where he could when he could, throwing the occasional pool party, keeping up appearances.

He’d been exhausted for two years now. Running on fumes for miles, no end in sight. Until he got his acceptance into Harvard.

Eddie had never seen him so happy or proud of himself.

But the happiness faded quickly when he realized what telling the kids would mean, what going to Harvard would mean.

It meant moving, it meant leaving the kids, it meant spending the next 6-8 years so focused on school and residency that he probably wouldn’t have time to visit much outside of major holidays. It meant hoping that Eddie would come with him, support him, and love him regardless of the limited time he had to spend outside of school.

But Eddie would be there for every moment. He’d worked so hard, and Eddie wanted to be there for him every step of the way.

The kids would understand. They were almost graduated at this point, probably heading off to college themselves, and had their own lives to start.

“I wish I’d just told them about IU.”

“I know, sweetheart. But we can’t change the past. You’ve got such an amazing future ahead of you. Everyone is gonna be so proud of Dr. Steve Harrington.”

Steve smiled at that as Eddie dried his tears away.

When he’d calmed down completely, he walked over to where the kids were sitting on the porch.

He stood in front of them with his hands on his hips, a small smile on his face.

“If I forgive you all, will you stop looking like I just stole your ice creams and kicked your puppies?”

Dustin was the first to jump up and run into Steve, sobbing when Steve’s arms wrapped around him.

“It’s alright, bud. I love you, even when you’re a shithead, okay?”

All of the kids piled into Steve’s arms and around his back, all of them crying as Steve started telling them all about his program.

“I’m going to be a trauma surgeon. I was always pretty good at patching everyone up after Upside Down shit, so I figured why not make it a career? And I placed so high on the entrance testing, they suggested I go for pre-med instead of the EMT program. One of my professors my first semester suggested being a surgeon, so that’s the track I took.”

The kids looked at him in awe, like they were seeing him in a new light.

Eddie thought maybe they were finally seeing the Steve he’d seen all along.

—---------------------------------

May 11, 1997

“Steven Joseph Harrington, MD, summa cum laude.”

The cheers from his group were so loud, but they all ignored the dirty looks from the surrounding family and friends.

Steve Harrington was a Harvard graduate, a graduate with the highest honors, a trauma surgeon who already accepted his first position in a nearby hospital.

Everyone was so proud of him.

Wayne and Eddie had arranged for everyone to either ride in a rental car with Wayne or fly in to surprise Steve for his graduation.

He could see Steve look up into the crowd when he heard the screams, could see the grin spreading across his face as he realized his whole family was here to support him, just as they had been for the last eight years.

Everything Steve wanted and worked for was coming together, and everyone who believed in him was here cheering him on.

He was the best damn babysitter those kids had, and now he’d be the best damn trauma surgeon Boston Children’s Hospital would ever have.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #the party #ficlet #request #steve is actually incredibly smart and this is my ted talk #eddie is about to become a housewife who works 'for fun'#that boston surgeon money is about to make steve his sugar daddy

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littlewonders7 · 2 months

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Okay here’s my first attempt on a y/n post I have no plan we just winging it!!! Okay so warning this is most definitely gonna have some cringe but I’ll try to make less cringe as possible

So contexts This is a hazbin hotel x pregnant reader where reader arrives around when sir pentious does maybe just before him, they are around 5-6 months in for plot!

Y/n didn’t know whether or not going to the hazbin hotel was a good idea or not as it did stated it was a place for rehabilitation and carrying a 5-6month hell born in your belly might not be in your favor but you were determined to give this hotel a chance for your unborn child!

When arriving to the hotel, you and knock on the door with hesitation your brain still nervous with being rejected, however before you could second guess your decision the door open revealing a tall woman with blonde hair, porcelain skin and two rosey dots on each sides of her cheek

When Charlie heard the knocking coming from the door she couldn’t contain her excitement hoping it’s a new resistant who’s looking to rehabilitate!

However when she open the door excitedly she was slightly taken aback from y/n and her obviously swollen belly-NOT that there’s anything wrong with that however she just didn’t expect it!

Shaking off the stun expression off her face and joyfully greeted y/n regardless

Y/n awkwardly greeted Charlie back, taken aback by the Charlie joyful eagerness, feeling a bit less anxious than before

Charlie was curious upon what brought y/n to come to her hotel as so far she been having a hard time trying to get anybody to join during this past week after announcing the once formally named ‘happy hotel’ so nobody could blame her curiosity

Before she could properly ask y/n reasoning another voice came up that behind them, as they turn around there stood vaggie having just arrived

Charlie quickly introduce vaggie to y/n (though not before remembering she didn’t ask y/n for her name yet)

Y/n then explain their request on wanting to try to rehabilitate and they saw through the tv that’s what the hotel is looking for

Vaggie though happy that Charlie’s ideas had reach a resident, she is wondering on how y/n is planning on rehabilitation if she’s carrying a hellborn as hellborns cannot go to heaven and y/n going through rehab could potentially mean they might leave the child behind

Now hearing vaggie’s concern Charlie is now wondering on y/n thoughts

Y/n understanding their concerns explain that they don’t mind not going to heaven as they feel bad for leaving their little one behind, however they want to go through with the program in order to become a better healthier parent for their child and hopes that they could change their behavior for them

Upon hearing y/ns reasoning Charlie becomes even more determined to help their newest member as she thinks about her own parents and her relationship with them and seeing how y/n wanting to be a better version of themselves for said child really touches her

Vaggie also wishes to help y/n and feels a kind of respect for y/n love for their unborn child and knows how she herself would’ve try to change for the better if it ever came to Charlie

Afterwards both Charlie and vaggie help y/n introduce themselves with the other members

Husk was neutral about it and didnt have much a opinion except saying that he didn’t care as long he doesn’t find y/n drinking or near his bar( grumpy softie meaning y/n to not hurt themselves or their child)

Angel dust did make a comment upon y/ns pregnancy like who a pretty thing like them banged or something like that, however vaggie and Charlie both scold him for his lewd commentary as y/ns situation was not all sunshine and rainbows if there’s no father in the picture, afterwards angel dust did apologize and get kind of bad for the jokes though y/n reassured him that it’s okay and they heard worse and appreciated the apology

Next was nifty, oh boi, nifty is disappointed the new member is not a ‘bad boy’ however still eagerly greets y/n and starts spewing questions after until she had been told to calm down

Alastor was last and to say the least he was not as scary as y/n thought he would be, especially with all the rumors and horrid tales told about him, but could mostly because Alastor is gentleman who also a mamas boy so I doubt he would even try to go against a pregnant individual

I say sir penstious comes after y/n visit but I say when he does join he be gentle and sweet as y/n care for their unborn child reminds him for his care for his egg bois though except the boss/minons dynamic

I say overtime as the story progresses y/n would kind of bond with the crew in a more parent/guardion type of way where y/n would try to comfort Charlie whenever she start questioning her decisions by telling her that y/n has Charlie’s support and thinks what she’s doing is great, probably help organize and plan lessons with her

For vaggie maybe help her to learn to love herself and be less quick on judgement and to hear someone out supporting her and Charlie moments

For husk maybe help him clean and organize the bar and maybe help take care of his well being, probably the guardian in y/n wants worries for husk acohol tendencies even though husk cannot die from it and he still appreciates the gesture

Y/n would probably watch and help nifty clean the hotel and pay attention to her puppet theatrics (though might be concern about that one comment nifty made about killing mother birds in front of children, but nifty reassures y/n that she would bite and stab anyone offending them)

Angel dust would probably appreciate receiving affection and nature love from y/n telling him that they’re there for him when he needs it and take care of any injures whenever angel has a tough night with Val

Sir pentious would love y/n as they pay attention to his ideas and inventions and notice how hard he and the egg bois work. I think he would very happy and emotional somebody took him seriously and paid attention to him. He even make inventions to protect y/n as the months go by

Now we all now Alastor is a mamas boy so no doubt he would start to have protection around y/n whenever they go out, making excuses to make sure y/n stays safe and the more they stay at the hotel the protective Alastor the the rest would become as y/n would be due around the next extermination happens

Okay so after all I would give a mention to Lucifer as i feel they’re interaction would be sweet as Lucifer is struggling to be a better father to Charlie having another individual that can relate to parenting is nice, I feel while y/n stay at the hotel they learn and give advices to Lucifer on how to start trying to build that connection again and Lucifer would really appreciate it

Okay so I really tried to make this better like I have the idea in my head I just really suck at writing and typing in down and my brain and phone is ready to exploded and part of me really second guess even trying to attempt this but I know not everything is gonna be perfect and I like that I tried even when I had no clue what I was doing lol 😂

So sorry for the cringe and have a lovely day y’all

#hazbin #hazbin hotel #hazbin x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin charlie #hazbin characters #hazbin vaggie #hazbin husk #hazbin angel dust #hazbin nifty #hazbin sir pentious #hazbin alastor

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7-wonders · 1 month

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At the Edge of the Universe

Michael Langdon x Reader (Mad Love Act II, Chapter XIV)

Summary: It’s time to meet the residents of Outpost 3 as Michael begins his interviews to see who will make it to the Sanctuary (spoiler alert: not many).

Word count: 4.1k

A note from the author: Surprise Mad Love drop! We are down to our last three or four chapters, can you believe it? I've told myself that I'm not allowed to write anything else until I finish this, so expect updates semi-frequently. Goal is to get this bad boy finished by June! As always—hope you enjoy, and remember that likes, comments, and reblogs make my world go round!

Mad Love Masterlist

This is your fourth Outpost visit, and as you look out at the small crowd of survivors gathered in the sitting room of Outpost 3, you believe that you can confidently say that every one of them looks exactly the same.

Not appearance-wise, of course. Overseers are allowed to establish their own rules for their respective Outposts, including wardrobes. Most had been pretty laidback, actually. Outpost 3 is by far the most draconian, and you’re already regretting not pushing back on Michael’s decision to have you join him as you sweat in your stiff Victorian gown.

Though outfits and rules may change, what doesn’t is the faces. Every single time, when you and Michael arrive and make your introductions, the faces of the survivors are filled with hope. The hope of new drama, the hope of continued survival, the hope of a way out of the Outpost. It’s so familiar now, and each time, it’s pained you to see. These people that the apocalypse has spared, whether due to circumstance or societal standing, have no idea that they’re just pawns in Michael’s game of chess. No, worse than pawns. They’re nothing but dolls, amusement for Michael to play with before tossing them to the side like they’re worthless.

“My name is Langdon,” Michael starts. Instead of introducing you, he looks to you to introduce yourself, and you press your lips together to keep from smirking. Oh, he’s so going to regret this.

He immediately does the moment that you introduce yourself with your first and last name. Your legal last name, the one you were born with, and not that of your infernal husband. You can feel him looking at you, surely with barely-contained rage. Instead of looking back, you simply smile warmly at the occupants of Outpost 3, waiting for Michael to get back with the program.

“We won’t sugarcoat the situation,” he says after a brief stumble. “Humanity is on the brink of failure. Our arrival here is crucial to the survival of civilized life on Earth.”

There are a couple of other things that don’t change from Outpost to Outpost, you note as you watch the interaction that unfolds. The questions, for instance, are almost always the same, and almost always asked out of turn in a way that is guaranteed to infuriate Michael. What happened to everybody, what’s the Sanctuary, will some survive, etc. You clock every single question—even robot Ms. Mead’s, though that one wasn’t too surprising since you knew how she was reprogrammed—and listen as Michael gives the same answers that he always does.

Something else that doesn’t change? The abject lust displayed by a good contingent of the survivors. Michael’s a very attractive man, which you obviously know. 18 months is a long time to be surrounded by a very small amount of people day in and day out, and now that there’s fresh blood offering them a chance at salvation, they’ll do anything to convince him that they’re worthy. You frown as the survivors jockey for his attention, to be first.

Not because you’re jealous or anything. It seems as though the only aspect of Michael’s personality that has remained untouched through his rebirth into a full-fledged Antichrist is his devotion to you. No, you frown because you know that Michael loves to use this to his advantage. After all, lust is one of the seven deadly sins.

“What was that?” Michael asks after the introduction is over and as soon as the doors close behind you in the office in which the interviews will be conducted.

“What?” you ask coyly, playing a game of your own.

“You know what.”

“Oh, that?” Michael nods exasperatedly. “Langdon’s not my last name.”

You’re not sure if he looks more angered or bewildered, though the combination does have a pleasing shade of red creeping up his neck. “Of course it is, you’re my wife!”

“Not legally,” you retort.

“Well, we can’t exactly go to a courthouse to make it legal.”

“Hmm, maybe you should have waited for us to get to the point where I wanted to get legally married before ending the world.”

Michael’s jaw clenches, and he smirks. “Clever, though I have to say that your attitude is getting old.”

“And yours isn’t?”

You’re both breathing heavily as you glare, daring the other to continue. You fight with Michael so often now that this is a familiar dance, and you know the next move. He goes to kiss you, and though you’re certainly tempted, you put a hand up to stop him.

“No! No, we are not having sex right now.” You try to sound convincing, though you might be attempting to convince yourself more than Michael. It’s just so easy to resort to sex. It’s the one thing that you both agree on in this new world—that you’re good at having sex together. Plus, that’s one of the only times that you don’t completely hate him, and though it pains you to admit it, you look forward to those moments when you forget why you should think him a monster.

Michael raises an eyebrow. “We could, though.”

“No.”

To drive the point home, you put as much space between you as possible and go to the desk that holds all of the files of every Outpost 3 resident. If there’s one thing that gets Michael’s mind out of the gutter, it’s talking about his magnum opus: the apocalypse.

“What’s Dinah doing here?” That had been quite the shock, to greet Outpost 3 and find yourself meeting the eyes of the (now former, you suppose) voodoo queen. Though her own had widened in a frightened recognition, she looked down at her hands and kept her gaze there for the remainder of the meeting. The man next to her, her son, was one of those who instantly fell a little bit in love with Michael.

“She bought her spot, just like all the other rich fucks.”

“So she won’t be joining us back at the Sanctuary,” you tease.

“Absolutely not, especially now that I have no use for her and her powers.”

Ever since ending the world, Michael’s powers have blossomed into a whole different beast. He’s so powerful now that you don’t even know the extent, and you don’t think you want to. Where before, he would have needed the help of a voodoo queen or the Supreme when doing something especially complicated or out of his wheelhouse (such as enlisting Dinah’s help when you ate Satan’s poisoned apple or getting a spell from Mallory to reveal the ghost of Cordelia Goode), now, their powers would be worthless to him. You’re no expert when it comes to magic, but you think that his power must be equal to at least ten Supremes.

You certainly don’t want to test that theory.

“How many survivors will be accompanying us back to the Sanctuary, do you think?” you ask.

“Considering I’m not hopeful about interviews, there will be two. A man and a woman, both selected for their optimal genetics.” The interviews are never something to be hopeful over, because they almost always are a disappointment. In the other twelve Outposts, there have been a total of nine survivors that impressed Michael enough with interviews alone that he spared them from their original fates and gave them a spot at the Sanctuary.

“If I had to guess, I’d say it’s the two that are very obviously in love with each other.”

“Which ones?”

You rifle through the folders until you find two with pictures that match who you were looking at in the library. “These two. Timothy and Emily.”

He looks up at you curiously. “How could you tell?”

“When they weren’t watching you, they were staring at each other.”

Though the two were sat across the room from each other, their eyes were continually drawn together like magnets of differing polarities. You’re a little shocked that Michael couldn’t tell, considering his ‘night vision of the soul,’ as he calls it.

You just call it his creepy Antichrist powers.

You try not to, but you find yourself beginning to look through all of the files. They’re all fairly simple; a headshot, a bio, medical information. Really, Michael only uses them to look official and mysterious as he begins to pick their personalities apart bit by bit. For you however, they help to get to know the survivors, even just a little bit.

That’s precisely why you don’t like looking through these, why you don’t like these visits at all. Because knowing them, and knowing their ultimate fates, is something that makes you sick. Maybe that’s the price you’re forced to pay by the universe for being the Antichrist’s wife. You’re forced to be complicit in the continued mind games and eventual deaths of these people who thought that they were somehow safe after the bombs dropped.

Michael scoffs at the next file you flip open. “That’s one interview I’m dreading.”

“Her?”

“Mhm, Coco St. Pierre Vanderbilt.” His words drip with disdain.

Coco…the name strikes some level of familiarity, but you can’t remember where you would have met a Coco. She didn’t look familiar when you saw her and her…interesting hair in the sitting room. She’s obviously a socialite, so maybe she was trending for some scandal or another in the Before. It’s so hard to remember that time, not only for the pain, but because it feels like an entire lifetime ago.

(Was it really only eighteen months ago that you were preparing for graduation, scrolling through social media, and participating in regular 21st-century society?)

One person who does look familiar? The white-haired stylist whose work Coco sports and the one who claimed the first interview spot before anybody else, Mr. Gallant. You’d recognize him anywhere—his confidence in you was one of the sole reasons you had the courage to go down the stairs and join Michael for your first Cooperative function. But as for him?

“Mr. Gallant didn’t recognize us,” you broach.

“No, he wouldn’t. Those whose services are needed by the Cooperative but aren’t trusted enough to keep their mouths shut are…conditioned to forget.”

“You brainwash them,” you clarify.

“I don’t.” His lips twitch at his own joke. Of course, he doesn’t. That would be getting his hands dirty, which he hates doing, especially now that he has all the resources in the (under)world at his disposal.

“My bad.”

“You’re so interested in this group of survivors. Does that mean you’ll be joining me for interviews?”

When you joined Michael for the first time, at Outpost 6, you said yes when he asked you this question. It was something different, after all, and you were at first interested in being a part of the process and getting to know some new survivors. Of course, this was all before you actually sat in on the first couple of interviews and witnessed Michael’s interview ‘style’ firsthand.

You roll your eyes. “Ugh, no. I hate all the weird sexual tension you have with everyone you interview.”

Naturally, Michael gets the wrong idea and thinks that you’re jealous. He places his hands on the arms of your chair, and leans in until he can meet your eyes. “You’re my one and only, you know that.”

“I do.” You stare back at him unflinchingly. “Doesn’t mean I like it.”

“The sexual tension or that you’re my soulmate?” You simply raise an eyebrow in response, and Michael sighs before straightening up. “Well, a Gray should be arriving at any moment with Mr. Gallant, so if you don’t want to see any ‘weird sexual tension,’ I would suggest leaving now.”

“Alright then, guess I’ll give myself a tour around ol’ Hawthorne.”

Michael pouts. “I was planning on taking you around tonight after Venable’s curfew.”

“Oh, that sucks. Have fun.” You give him a friendly pat on the shoulder as you leave the room.

Outpost 3 isn’t the largest Outpost you’ve visited, but it’s still pretty expansive. In most cases, this would mean lots of exploring to do. Unfortunately, it seems that Ms. Venable has stripped this place of anything that would make it unique. Hall after hall looks exactly the same in a way that would be disorienting if you weren’t keeping track of your whereabouts. The same boring, gray walls, the same black doors, the same frightened Grays scurrying around.

(If you had to pick the worst part about this Outpost so early on, you’d have to go with the forced servitude of some of the survivors here. Most of the other Outposts had a glorified chore chart that distributed tasks equally among survivors. Others had special privileges given to those who volunteered to work. This system? Well, this system has you hoping that Michael’s especially tough on Ms. Venable during her interview.)

After coming to the unfortunate conclusion that this is about as interesting as it’s going to get for you, you make your way back to where it all started: the library. This room at least has some character, between the fireplace and the music playing. Yes, it might be the same song on repeat, played on a vintage radio, but at least it’s something.

As it turns out, you won’t be alone. The two that you had noticed earlier, the ones that couldn’t keep their eyes off of each other, are holding hands and whispering to each other on the couch. They spring apart when you enter, and it’s obvious that they’re not expecting anybody to see them. Their attitude, and the way they’re trying to play it off like they weren’t conspiring, gives you pause. What other severe rules has Ms. Venable imposed on those under her care?

“Hello,” you smile at the two warmly in between appraising the titles on the shelves. “Timothy and Emily, right? It’s nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you, too,” Timothy says warily.

Emily, who doesn’t have that same tact, immediately gets to her question. “Are you here to interview us?”

You shake your head. “No, I let Langdon do the interviewing.”

“So…what do you want with us?”

“I don’t want anything with you. I am trying to find some entertainment, because this place is already incredibly boring and I’ve barely been here six hours.”

Timothy laughs. “Yeah, that doesn’t really get better.”

They watch as you continue to peruse the books, waiting to see if this is some sort of trap devised by you and Michael. It’s not—you genuinely just want to find a book you haven’t read yet and escape to your bedroom for a few quiet hours. Unfortunately, nothing is modern here, not even the books, and you end up settling on Frankenstein, which you’ve read a couple of times now.

“Is it alright if we ask you a couple of questions?” Timothy asks when you turn back around.

So much for a quiet few hours.

You sigh and sit down on the couch opposite the pair. “I can’t guarantee that I can answer all of them, but I’ll certainly try.”

“What’s it like out there?” Timothy asks the question, but both his and Emily’s eyes shine, desperate for any sort of news about the world outside the walls of Outpost 3. You wish you had better to share with them.

“Lawless. You remember the movies about the apocalypse?” They nod. “It’s worse than that. The world is completely unrecognizable, decimated by the bombs. If it weren’t for a map, I wouldn’t even know where we are. Those who survived the blast have been affected by the radiation from the fallout in the most terrible of ways. They have…sores and growths and cancer, all over their bodies. People kill each other for the smallest scrap of clothing. I’ve seen cannibals picking clean the bones of someone they once traveled with, someone that was once their friend.”

“My god,” Emily mutters.

“When M-–Langdon traveled to Outpost 2, his carriage was almost overrun by a band of survivors. They believed there was food inside, and even if there wasn’t, they wanted the chance to hurt somebody that hadn’t yet been hurt by nuclear fallout.”

That had been a terrifying ordeal to hear Michael recount. He wasn’t scared at all, knowing both that the radiation couldn’t hurt him and that he could (did) kill all of them with the snap of his fingers. But you were, for the simple fact that the world that you had once lived in was completely gone and replaced by one where people hunted each other out of necessity, because it might be the only true meal they could eat in weeks.

“How did he get out of it?” Timothy wonders.

The true answer obviously isn’t something that you’re able to share, so you instead go with what would have been the answer if it were any other member of the Cooperative in the carriage. “The bodies of the carriage have an electric current that can be activated in case of emergency. The attackers were all electrocuted with the push of a button.”

“Langdon mentioned a Sanctuary,” Emily says. “Is that where you live?”

“We both do.”

“What’s it like?” Timothy asks, while at the same time, Emily questions, “Where is it?”

“The Sanctuary is…well, it feels like the world never ended, that it just moved underground. As for the location, I’m afraid that’s classified.” You smile sympathetically, feeling a lot like Michael.

Now that this line of communication has been established, that Emily and Timothy now feel like they can trust you, you can practically see the plethora of questions that they want to ask.

“So how do you end up working for an organization like the Cooperative?”

Now that’s a question you haven’t been asked before. “It’s kind of a long story,” you say with an awkward laugh, wracking your brain to come up with a lie convincing enough that they believe it.

Before you can, the sound of a cane clicking slowly across the floor stops you. You look in the direction of the entryway, where none other than your dour host stands. Her bright orange hair stands in stark contrast to the rest of her outfit, black like yours. She smiles at you with darkly painted lips, but it’s a smile that holds absolutely no warmth.

“Dinner is served,” she announces.

The three of you stand, but only two start to follow Ms. Venable to the kitchen. “I’ll take my leave, then,” you say.

“You won’t be joining us?” She sounds a tad incredulous, as though nobody’s told her no in quite some time. That’s likely the case.

“The Cooperative supplies us with rations of our own, so as not to take from the Outposts’ stockpiles.”

It’s technically true. Michael would rather starve than eat the gelatinous cubes that constitute nutrition, and thanks to the endless powers he’s gifted with, meals remain the same as they are when at the Sanctuary.

“We shall see you tomorrow, then.”

You nod before smiling at Emily and Timothy. “It was nice talking to you.”

As you walk towards the office, you can already hear Venable questioning what it was that you talked about, trying to determine if the two gained an edge on making it to the Sanctuary. If only she knew that they’re practically guaranteed spots, you think with a quiet laugh.

Michael arrives at the office at the same time as you do, which is odd, considering he’s meant to be inside the office conducting his interviews. He takes your hand and kisses the back of it gently before opening the doors and leading you in.

“Where were you?” you ask.

He waves a hand and the doors close behind you. “Finishing up an interview.”

“Doing a little field work?”

“Something like that. Now, I’m starving, and I would very much like to enjoy dinner with some good company.”

At first, you felt a little bad eating your favorite foods while the rest of the inhabitants were forced to eat what was left of their rations. Why should you enjoy while they suffer? And then, you met the survivors, most of whom were filthy rich, and you felt okay with it.

Now, as you sit across from Michael enjoying an actual meal, you allow yourself to pretend for a little bit that your life is still as it was before the end. That this is a regular day after classes, and you’re eating a quick meal and enjoying the company of the man you love before you’re off to finish homework, go to an activity, or just hang out with friends. You miss the simplicity that you didn’t know you had, even still after eighteen months.

“How were your interviews?” you ask, trying to bask in that normalcy for as long as you can.

“Nothing to write home about, though I did learn that Ms. Venable is…shockingly self-conscious beneath her hard exterior.”

You scoff. “And that’s surprising to you?”

“No, I suppose not.”

“I talked with Emily and Timothy,” you mention.

“Please tell me they’re not as vapid as the rest of the inhabitants of this Outpost.”

“No, they’re…actually kinda cool.”

If you’re being honest with yourself, the reason that you immediately liked them so much is because they kind of remind you of you and Michael, before the apocalypse. They’re so in love with each other, so eager to just be near one another and enjoy their presence. It brings you back to New Orleans, walking through the market arm in arm as you searched for the perfect gift for Kate and he eagerly shared what he had learned when looking up grad schools for you. What you wouldn’t give to be showing him how to catch fireflies, or enjoying a sugary treat together.

Shouting sounds from downstairs, a loud argument starting to take place and distracting you from your thoughts. While you strain to try and hear what’s being yelled about, Michael simply smirks. “Took them long enough.”

Neither of you is surprised, because this is what always happens when Michael arrives at an Outpost. He, quite literally, brings Hell with him. It’s an interesting side effect of what happens when an Antichrist inhabits your space. Those walls that people put up, the rules that they live their lives by, crumble when the living embodiment of sin walks in. From there, it’s only a matter of time until everything unravels and they begin giving in to those seven deadly sins. As you listen to wrath begin to cloud minds, you can practically see Michael becoming more powerful thanks to it.

Later, wrath continues, along with a side of lust.

High-pitched shrieking, so different from the argumentative yelling of earlier, wakes you from the dozing you had taken to while trying to read Michael’s interview reports after dinner. You scramble to sit up in your chair, looking at Michael with wide eyes.

“What was that?” you ask.

He doesn’t even tear his eyes away from the computer to look at you, simply waving a hand nonchalantly. “Oh, Timothy and Emily have just been caught having sex. They’re about to be executed.”

“What?” You stand up in alarm, sure that this is actual cause for alarm. Michael, on the other hand, doesn’t even react to your reaction. “Michael!” you snap, desperately wanting him to show some kind of humanity.

Finally, he turns around in his chair and sighs as though you’re interrupting your work, which you know for a fact you’re not. “Yes?”

“We can’t let them die.”

“We won’t.”

You look at him in disbelief, because it sure looks like he’s going to let them die. “Then why aren’t you stopping this?”

Michael finally joins you in standing, taking your hands in his and squeezing reassuringly. “It’s sweet of you to worry about them, and I promise you that they will not die before reaching the Sanctuary. I’ll stop this when the time is right. First, however,” he smiles, “I’d like to enjoy their terror for a bit.”

“Every time I think you can’t possibly let me down more than you already have, you prove me wrong.”

Michael’s face falls at the barb that hits unexpectedly deep, but you don’t have it in you to claim any sort of victory in this. Anger, that heady emotion that’s fueled you up until now, has completely left you at this latest example of Michael’s lack of humanity. All that remains now is disappointment, and it’s a disappointment that leaves you tired. Tired of these games, tired of the life that you’ve found yourself in, tired of being able to do nothing but watch.

Except, you can do something this time. In this Outpost, you have the same amount of power as Michael. With that in mind, you pull your hands free and make for the door.

“C’mon, where are you going?” Michael calls after you.

You don’t answer him, because he knows as well as you. If he won’t put a stop to this, then you will.

///

Tag List: @thatonehumanbeing05 @xavierplympton @hecohansen31 @codycrazy @love-on-the-murder-scene @michaellangdonswhore @nsainmoonchild @aftertheglitterfades @iamlivingforturner @narwhal-swimmingintheocean @angistopit @littleangel4996 @xo-angel-ox @ajokeformur-ray @iamavailablesstuff

#michael langdon #michael langdon imagine #michael langdon x reader #american horror story #american horror story imagine #ahs imagine #michael langdon imagines #mad love musings

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venus-haze · 9 months

Text

Working for the Knife (Mickey Altieri x Reader)

Summary: It’s been over 15 years since the Windsor College murders, not that they had ever been on your radar. That changes when you get hired at a New York marketing firm where you work closely with Mickey Altieri, alleged Ghostface killer whose charges were dropped after a controversial mistrial. Working so closely together piques your interest in each other, soon spiraling out of control. [This is an AU.]

Note: Female reader implied to be mid-20s or older, but no other descriptors are used. This is based on an anonymous request and also Timothy Olyphant being such a DILF, I had to write something like this (I had Justified era Olyphant in mind while writing this, specifically these gifsets, but you can picture whatever hehe). Creative liberties have obviously been taken. Do not interact if you’re under 18 or post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 6.8k

Warnings: True crime elements (the reader engages with a lot of true crime content), but obviously this is a fictional serial killer. Mutual stalking/obsession. Sexually explicit content that includes dubious consent fantasy that involves knifeplay; spanking, daddy kink, oral sex (f. receiving). Do not interact if you’re under 18.

For once, you felt like things were going your way. After a little over three years of scraping by at your old job where you were woefully overworked and underpaid, your months-long job search finally came to an end when a mid-sized marketing firm gave you an offer you couldn’t refuse. Sure, you’d taken a huge pay raise and shifted to a hybrid schedule with your new job, but the highlight was undoubtedly Mickey, the only other person on your small team and the type of sexy older man you sure as hell didn’t mind spending your days in the office with.

With the whole company working hybrid or completely remote, people only came in sporadically, as did you and Mickey, only going in on Tuesdays and Thursdays, with the occasional Friday if needed. As a result, you didn’t get much of a chance to meet anyone else who worked there.

Your first week was fully in person, since some of the programs you’d be using for the job were easier to learn if he were there to show you. You certainly weren’t complaining, having plenty of time to get a feel for your new coworker, silently observing and testing the waters with light flirting, which he seemed to return. Maybe you were just a little too hopeful.

“Big plans for the weekend?” you asked when five o’clock rolled around on Friday.

“Got a hot date with Netflix,” he said. “How about you?”

“My friend and I are getting drinks later, but that’s about it.”

“What’s your poison?”

“Anything under $10, if I can help it.”

He grinned. “A woman after my own heart. Don’t have too much fun.”

“I’ll try,” you said, smiling as you began packing your laptop into your bag. “Have a good weekend, Mickey.”

“You too.”

With your first week at your new gig down, you headed to a small bar in Flatbush to celebrate with your best friend and dish the highly anticipated dirt on your hot coworker. Lee was already at the bar when you’d arrived, sitting at a small table and sipping a beer she went ahead and bought herself.

“Drinks are on me,” you said. “I fucking owe you.”

Lee grinned. “Always glad to help.”

You wouldn’t have gotten the job without Lee. She helped you fudge your resume to match the experience on the job listing, gently scamming your way into the position you now held. All week you’d been texting her about how great things were going, and fawning over Mickey, of course.

After joking about ordering top-shelf liquor on your dime, Lee settled on a margarita, undoubtedly the first of many for the night. You returned from the bar with your drinks, more than ready to gush about how much better your new job was compared to the hell of your old one. Nothing could bring down your mood.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, they pay you out the ass and you don’t have to worry about health insurance anymore. Great,” Lee said over her margarita. “I wanna hear about your hot DILF coworker. No detail is too small.”

“Lee, oh my god, it’s not even fair how hot he is. Our desks are right next to each other in an L shape, and I feel like such a weirdo for staring at him all the time. He’s been so nice helping me all week, too. Maybe I’m looking too much into it, but sometimes I feel like he’s being a little flirty?”

“Is he married?”

“No ring, and no mention of any family or long-term relationship. I don’t get it, how could Mickey be single?”

“You don’t hear many people going by Mickey anymore,” she said. “Either he’s a mouse or incredibly Irish.”

“I think he’s Italian,” you mused. “Altieri sounds Italian to me.”

Lee’s eyes widened. “Shut the fuck up.”

“Wait, was that offensive?”

“No, just that you’re working with an alleged serial killer.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” you asked, but she was already busy typing away at her phone.

Suddenly, Lee’s phone was shoved in your face, a your hot coworker’s mugshot front and center in an archived New York Times article from October 1998.

SUSPECT ARRESTED IN WINDSOR COLLEGE KILLINGS

Michael ‘Mickey’ Altieri, 21, was arrested early Thursday morning in Windsor, Ohio, as the primary suspect in the Windsor College killings. Among the charges are first degree murder, attempted first degree murder and aggravated assault. Altieri has maintained his innocence and is being held on $1,000,000 bail in Windsor County Jail as he awaits trial.

The brutal killings that made national headlines were directly inspired by the ‘Ghostface’ murders in Woodsboro, California, two years prior and coincided with the release of STAB, a film based on Woodsboro survivor and reporter Gale Weathers’ book on the murders. Survivor Sidney Prescott was a student at Windsor College and targeted yet again in the latest string of murders. Allegedly, Altieri’s accomplice was Debbie Loomis, mother of one of the two original Ghostface killers, Billy Loomis. Mrs. Loomis was killed in an altercation prior to Altieri’s apprehension by police.

You looked away from her phone screen, feeling like your head was spinning though you weren’t even finished with your first drink. “Well, if he did all that stuff, why isn’t he on death row or something?”

“There was a mistrial. It was a huge thing,” Lee said. “You’ve seriously never heard of it?”

“No. Can you send that to me?” you asked.

“Yeah, I’ll send some podcast episodes and Youtube videos on it, too. You know I’m on that true crime shit.”

It took a few more drinks for you to be able to shake off the thought of your hot older coworker potentially being a serial killer, but the rest of your night with Lee was a lot of fun. She’d been one of your closest friends in college, and the two of you lived together when you first moved to New York. You knew she meant well, but damn, did that news put a damper on things.

You returned to your apartment a little after midnight, kicking off your heels at the door and collapsing on your couch, not bothering to make the short walk to your bedroom. 17 missed texts from Lee, all links to videos and podcasts about Mickey that she recommended.

Among the links Lee had sent you was a nearly hour long Youtube video titled: ‘What Happened at the Windsor College Ghostface Trial? A Deep Dive’. The woman in the thumbnail had a scared expression on her face, her eyes focused on that same mugshot of Mickey you saw in the old New York Times article.

Pressing on the link in your messages, you had the video come up on your TV instead, slouching back in your seat as it began to play.

‘I know most stuff about the Windsor College murders focus on just that, the murders, but I thought it’d be interesting to go into the trial that followed because it was almost like something out of a movie, but it doesn’t get as much attention as the killings, especially since there have been like two more Ghostface murder sprees since this happened. I’m just presenting facts and my own observations here for educational purposes, and it’s not my intention to imply guilt on anyone who hasn’t been convicted in a court of law. Before we get into it though, I wanna give a huge thank you to BetterHelp for sponsoring today’s video—‘

You rolled your eyes, skipping through the three-minute long sponsorship spiel.

‘So my sources for this video are Gale Weathers’ books Wrongly Accused: The Maureen Prescott Murder, The Woodsboro Murders, and College Terror. I also used James Chase’s book Ghostface on Trial, articles from newspapers and a few like lawyer journals that I was able to find online, and whatever stuff from the trial itself that’s public information. I have it all linked in the description—“

Pausing the video, you pulled up the New York Public Library website and searched for College Terror and Ghostface on Trial. Copies of both were available at the branch near your office, and you wasted no time in putting a hold on the books.

The next few minutes of the video gave an overview of the murders at Windsor College, which you half-paid attention to. You’d watched Stab 2 in high school, so you felt you were familiar enough with the killings. Thinking back on the movie, though, all of the characters had the same names as their real-life counterparts except for Mickey. Legal reasons, you assumed.

You turned up the volume on your TV as the video finally got into the details of the trial.

‘As soon as Mickey was arrested, theories were all over the news about what had happened and there was a ton of speculation about his guilt. James Chase, a controversial defense attorney from Chicago, took on the case pro-bono, stating in his book Ghostface on Trial that he knew he stood to make more money on a book deal, interviews, and speaking engagements by winning the case than whatever fees he’d get for representing Mickey. The defense focused on discrediting both of the prosecution’s star witnesses early on in the trial, planting seeds of doubt in the jury.

Chase and his team leaned heavily on the fact that three years prior, Sidney Prescott had incorrectly identified Cotton Weary as her mother’s killer when in fact it was Sidney’s former boyfriend Billy Loomis and their mutual friend Stu Macher who had committed that initial murder that led up to the original Woodsboro Ghostface murders.

Gale Weathers’ testimony was also discounted by the defense on the fact that she was a sensationalistic tabloid journalist who’d admittedly fabricated elements of her best-selling book on the Woodsboro killings. She claimed this was a result of editing and to achieve a better narrative flow.

The defense also said the deceased Debbie Loomis had more of a reason to go after Sidney and recreate her son’s Ghostface murders as revenge for his death. They pushed the idea that she acted with Sidney’s boyfriend, Derek, and that Mickey ended up getting caught in the crosshairs of what was a gruesome and unfortunate situation. Sidney maintained Derek’s innocence, but the fact that both he and Debbie were killed by gunshot wounds made it likely they were the Ghostface duo this time around.

Former Woodsboro Deputy Dewey Riley, another survivor of both Ghostface killings, was unable to testify because he was in a coma. He later said that because he was incapacitated before Sidney and Gale allegedly confronted Debbie and Mickey, he couldn’t say for sure who the killer or killers were, but he trusted their judgment and stood behind their testimonies.

It didn’t help either that Sidney was visibly distraught while on the stand and mixed up details of the original Woodsboro murders and the Windsor College ones. Gale was initially confident while being questioned by the defense, but later became combative when the inaccuracies in her books came up. In contrast, Mickey appeared calm and earnest, and seemed to have his story straight every time he took the stand.

There’s actually some footage of the trial that I was able to find, so I’m gonna play that now.’

The video was grainy, camera focused on an agitated-looking Sidney Prescott sitting in the witness stand. On the other side of the stand, a blond man in a gray suit read off from a stack of papers in his hand.

“Ms. Prescott, in your statement to police, you claimed that Mr. Altieri admitted to both you and Ms. Weathers that he had committed the murders with Debbie Loomis and wanted to get caught. Could you perhaps explain to myself and the jury, why exactly an alleged killer would want to get caught?”

“Because he’s fucking sick in the head!” Sidney exclaimed.

“Language, Ms. Prescott,” Judge Matthews said.

“He said he did it on purpose,” Sidney continued, her voice breaking. “He told us he wanted to get caught so he could blame it on the movies! He had everything planned out, the lawyers he wanted, the angle the media would take, he even quoted that line from Psycho, ‘We all go a little mad sometimes.’”

Chase furrowed his brow as he looked over the papers in his hands. “When did he say this? I’m not seeing that in your statement.”

“He said it right after he shot Randy,“ Sidney said.

“Randy wasn’t shot, he was stabbed.”

Sidney’s eyes widened. “I know. I meant—“

“Ms. Prescott, is there something you didn’t include in your police statement that you’re telling us now?”

Her voice was barely a whisper. “Billy quoted Psycho, after he shot Randy at Stu Macher’s house, not Mickey. I got mixed up.”

You gasped, bringing your hand to cover your mouth. The courtroom on your screen devolved into nothing short of pandemonium. The video then faded into Gale Weathers in the middle of being questioned by the defense. She, in contrast to Sidney, looked confident and well-put together under Chase’s grilling.

“Ms. Weathers, you wrote in your book that your camera man Kenny was gutted, when in actuality his throat was slashed, is that correct?”

Gale nodded. “It is.”

“Why the inconsistency?”

“All books, fiction or nonfiction go through an editing process. That was a decision made by my editor to establish a better narrative flow. It isn’t uncommon in the true crime genre by any means.”

“Better narrative flow isn’t the truth, though, is it?” Chase asked.

“Look, a book is a book. I’ll say right now under oath that Kenny was killed when one of those guys in the Ghostface costume slit his throat. I’ll also say under oath that Mickey Altieri did commit those murders with Debbie Loomis, and he confessed it to me and Sidney Prescott.”

“Your honor, this isn’t the only major inconsistency we’ve found in Ms. Weathers’ book on the Woodsboro murders. Yesterday we distributed to the prosecution and now present to the jury at least seventeen of these major inconsistencies.”

“What do you want me to say? I’m the cheesy tabloid journalist everyone thinks I am?”

The corners of Chase’s lips twitched. “Not quite my words.”

“You’re a real piece of work,” Gale scoffed.

The jury murmured among themselves at her shift in attitude. You found yourself chewing on your nail, enraptured by the trial. For the last time, the video faded out and then back in to show Mickey, your coworker, sitting on the witness stand. This time, the prosecutor was in front of him, his annoyed expression a contrast to Mickey’s calm demeanor.

“Mr. Altieri, we have signed affidavits from several of your former classmates that in your film theory class, you claimed in a heated argument with Randy Meeks and CiCi Cooper, both of whom were killed by this ‘Ghostface’ persona of yours—“

“Objection!” Chase shouted. “Claiming the Ghostface persona belongs to Mr. Altieri is an undue presumption of guilt.”

“Sustained,” Judge Matthews said. “I advise you to reconsider your wording going forward, counselor.”

The prosecutor huffed. “You claimed in a heated argument with Randy Meeks and Casey Cooper, both of whom were killed by the ‘Ghostface’ persona, that violent movies were responsible for influencing people to commit acts of violence, is that correct?”

“It was a classroom discussion. Our professor had brought it up because two fellow students were brutally killed at the premier of a slasher movie the night before, by someone dressed as the killer from that same slasher movie. I just thought it wasn’t a coincidence, and neither did half the other students in that class. Are you going to make them testify too?”

“Don’t deflect, Mr. Altieri.”

“I don’t understand how I’m deflecting. You asked me about a conversation I had with my classmates, and I answered.”

The video went back to the commentator, but you had goosebumps raised across your skin. You rewound back to the clip of Mickey’s testimony, staring at his face. Could he be a killer? Only a few days ago, you wouldn’t have even considered it. Now, you were down a rabbit hole that sent your mind reeling.

‘A lot of the prosecution’s evidence was dismissed as circumstantial by the defense. Mickey had alibis for all of the murders, even for the one Sidney claimed to witness him commit, allegedly shooting her boyfriend Derek. The chat room records and emails allegedly linked to Debbie and Mickey didn’t do much to convince the jury of Mickey’s alleged involvement in the murders. The records did positively identify Debbie based on the account’s password hints and her IP address. The other user was more tech savvy, changing IP addresses to make it more difficult to confirm an identity.

In move that was described as ‘sloppy’ and ‘desperate’ by the media following the trial’s conclusion, the prosecution also tried to claim that Mickey being the only other survivor among Sidney’s friends was suspicious and indicated his involvement, but the defense pointed out that Randy Meeks had also been the only other survivor of Sidney’s friend group in the original Woodsboro killings despite a gunshot wound like Mickey had, and later on at Windsor he was a victim.

Randy Meeks’ murder actually played a huge role in the defense’s strategy. Several Windsor College students saw Mickey elsewhere on campus during Randy’s murder. The final nail in the coffin was when Windsor County police confirmed that DNA in the news van where Randy was murdered was a match for Debbie Loomis. The police retested other evidence, but couldn’t find anything conclusive.

After weeks of questioning and evidence, the jury deliberated for a little over five days before returning to the judge in a deadlock. Judge Matthews declared a mistrial, and less than a year later, a district court dismissed the case on lack of substantial evidence and all charges against Mickey Altieri were dropped. Despite media speculation that he would, Mickey chose not to sue Sidney and Gale for defamation and hasn’t been in the public eye since the controversial trial.’

You stared blankly at your TV screen when the video ended, another one auto-playing a few seconds later. Even after your drinks with Lee, you felt way too sober to even process any of it. For the next few hours, you devoured videos, bookmarked dozens of articles, and sifted through podcast episodes to listen to during work.

The odd case had made its home in the recesses of your mind. You dreamed about him when you finally fell asleep, just before sunrise. Sitting in the downtown Manhattan office, the open floor layout was unusually bright, fluorescent lighting washing the place in an eerie white glow. Mickey walked over to his desk, blood dripping from his fingers, splattering on the carpet in a trail leading right to him. He looked at you, a smile on his face as he brought his upright, bloody index finger to his lips.

As the weekend flew by, you tried to keep yourself otherwise occupied. It wasn’t good for you to stay fixated on it, and certainly not fair to Mickey.

Working from home on Monday helped, as you focused on finishing the last of the onboarding process.

Tuesday was where things became tricky again. You sat on the forty-minute long subway ride to the office equipped with a podcast episode about your new coworker. The hosts didn’t seem to have much new information from what you took in the night before, except for the last few minutes of the episode where they’d gone off-script.

‘Last I saw online, he was living in Manhattan.’

‘Oh my god, that’s so Patrick Bateman-core.’

‘So you think he did it?’

‘It’s tough to say, like I totally get why the jury couldn’t come to a consensus.’

‘Yeah same, messy as hell. I tend to think that he didn’t do it. Innocent until proven guilty, ya know?’

‘I get that. We did try to get in touch with him for some kind of statement or even an interview—‘

‘Wishful thinking.’

‘Yeah, we looked for his email address, but I guess it wasn’t the right one because our message got bounced back, so that was a big fat bust.’

‘He’s like notorious for denying interview requests, anyway. I think he turned down book deals and stuff.’

Enraptured by the conversation, you nearly missed your stop. On the three block walk to your office, you hurriedly opened one of your playlists and put it on shuffle. The last thing you needed was for Mickey to somehow see on your home screen you’d just been listening to a podcast episode about him.

Your head was spinning by the time you got to your desk. He hadn’t arrived yet, and you felt a bit relieved that you had a little more time to psych yourself up. You shouldn’t have even had to do that in the first place, just be normal about your coworker, but if you learned anything over the weekend, even if he wasn’t guilty, he sure as hell wasn’t normal.

The elevator doors opened, and you looked up to see him walk out, waving at you.

“Morning, Y/N, have a good weekend?”

“Pretty good. I’m more broke than when it started, though. How about you?”

“Like I told you, hot date with Netflix,” he said, sitting down. “Thought you were sticking with shitty liquor?”

“I was, but my friend wasn’t. I got the tab, and she got plenty of margaritas.”

“Shit, I oughta get drinks with you sometime if you get all your friends’ tabs.”

You grinned. “Don’t count your luck.”

He chuckled to himself. The two of you worked in near silence for the next three hours, though you found yourself glancing over at him every so often, out of curiosity and also admiration. His graying hair suited him, and you could see the muscles in his arms from his casually rolled up shirt sleeves.

Soon, though, you found it hard to stay awake, the light from your computer screen adding onto your fatigue. To your horror, you yawned loudly, catching Mickey’s attention.

“You alright? I’m not too boring, am I?”

“No, I just kept waking up last night. I feel like I barely slept.”

“Why don’t we take an early lunch and go get coffee?”

“That sounds great,” you said, grabbing your purse.

There was a deli right up the block, and when you looked at the small pastry case, you decided to order something with your coffee. Mickey placed his order, a hot coffee and a bear claw. With plenty of tables to choose from, you and Mickey sat near the window.

Your coffee definitely hit the spot, and the sugar from your pastry helped wake you up too.

“How long’s your commute?” Mickey asked.

“About 40 minutes. I live in Brooklyn, kinda between Bushwick and Bed-Stuy.”

“Damn, that’s long. I live on the Upper West Side.”

You raised your eyebrows. “Wow. Before this job, I was barely able to afford to rent on my own.”

“It’s a rent-controlled building. I’m not making a ton after alimony and child support.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

He shrugged, though he looked out the window as he continued speaking. “It was a long time ago. Deanna and me just didn’t see eye-to-eye on a lot of stuff when our son was born. I knew before he even got to kindergarten it was over.”

Unsure of how to respond, you slowly reached across the table, putting your hand over his. “I’m sorry, Mickey, really.”

“You’re a sweet girl,” he said, giving your hand a slight squeeze before releasing it. “They live upstate, so I don’t see them much. I have more time for going to the movies and Mets games.”

“I only go when they’re bad because tickets are cheaper.”

He snickered. “I should take a page outta your book. How about you? Any sports? Or reading? Isn’t true crime pretty popular with young women now?”

Your heart pounded at his question. Innocuous enough. True crime was extremely popular. The paranoid part of you couldn’t help but feel like it was an accusation. Then again, he couldn’t possibly know you’d spent the weekend immersing yourself in it, particularly stuff about him.

“I’m not really interested in that,” you said. “Sometimes my friends and I go to trivia nights at bars. I’m not that good, but it’s fun to just hang out. I have a membership at the MOMA, so I go there a lot. They show movies sometimes, too.”

To your relief, the conversation shifted to just that, and Mickey seemed surprised by some of your opinions on different movies. He told you he’d originally gone to college for film studies, which you already knew, of course. The odd thing was, while you certainly didn’t want him aware of just how much you knew about him, you didn’t feel guilty for it, just that he would be weirded out by it, obviously.

You and Mickey ended up talking about movies for nearly an hour and a half, well over your allotted hour lunch break, but he assured you no one would care that much. Still, the two of you half-ran back to the office, and something bubbled in your chest when he sat down and smiled at you, the wrinkles by his eyes becoming more prominent.

The rest of the workday went by quickly, and you headed to the library where you’d reserved the two books about the Windsor College murders and trial. By the time you got home, you’d already devoured the first two chapters of Gale Weathers’ book. Glad to be working remotely the following day, you let yourself stay up later than usual to read, getting to the halfway point before you could hardly keep your eyes open.

Weeks turned into months, and you absolutely loved your job, and the pay, but most of all, how the content you consumed and your proximity to Mickey seemed to feed into each other in a vicious cycle that increasingly drowned out the rational part of you that knew what you were doing was weird.

Still, it wasn’t like you were invading his personal privacy or treating him any different than you did before. All of the information you’d read, listened to, or watched was all public as your running list of books, podcasts, and documentaries on the matter grew. You’d even rewatched the Stab movies and started scrolling through threads and tags related to Mickey and what happened at Windsor College. After all of the personal research you did and how much you’d gotten to know Mickey at work, you couldn’t conclusively say whether or not he did it.

You tried keeping your obsession lowkey, but your friends seemed to notice how you’d shoehorn it into conversations. Lee had even told you she was afraid she’d created a monster by bringing up Mickey’s past in the first place. If she’d never made her comment or showed you that first article, you probably never would’ve known about it, remaining blissfully unaware and going about your business at your typical office job with your hot older coworker.

For how much time you spent at home between work and researching, it seemed like whenever you’d go out, you’d come home to something missing or moved. Articles of clothing gone, coffee mugs out of place, books not quite in the order you’d left them. At first, you chalked it up to your consuming too much true crime content, feeding into your paranoia, but when you asked your landlord to install another lock on your door, it all seemed to stop. That didn’t bode well with you.

Your fantasies blended with reality in your dreams, as you were having increasing occurrences of Ghostface or Mickey, or both, in them. Whenever you woke up, you didn’t remember much except for a warm feeling in your core. One dream remained vivid even after you awoke, though.

You were in your apartment alone, late at night, when you got a call from an unknown number. Normally, you didn’t pick up calls unless you were expecting them, but for some reason you picked up. The details of the phone call itself were jumbled, but you were frightened, running into your bedroom and locking the door behind you.

To your horror, you’d locked yourself in with Ghostface, the looming predator who looked at you emotionlessly, stalking toward you with his knife. When you turned around, the door knob was gone, and a black gloved hand grabbed your shoulder, moving you to face him as he pushed you against the door. He sliced through your slinky pajama top, exposing your breasts to him. Roughly groping each of them, he let out a low moan in appreciation before bringing the knife to your collarbone, dragging the blade to the valley between your breasts. Your breath hitched as he pressed it a bit deeper, but instead, you felt it in your pussy, like he was penetrating you.

“Give me a kiss, sweetheart,” your masked assailant ordered in a distorted voice.

Slowly, you leaned in, pressing your lips against the cold, hard plastic mask. You gasped as he dug the knife into your skin with one hand, his other slipping under your panties, pushing his fingers between your folds.

“I own you,” he said, clearly in Mickey’s voice this time.

You threw your head back in ecstasy as he pushed his fingers into your tight cunt, and then your alarm blared, jolting you awake. Turning over, you groaned into your pillow in frustration. At least it ended up being great masturbation material later on.

Another Thursday at work, seemingly uneventful as usual. You and Mickey had gotten into the habit of getting lunch together whenever you both were in the office. Maybe it was just wishful thinking, but as time went on, they felt more like dates than just a casual lunch with a coworker. Not that you were complaining.

“Got any plans for the weekend?” he asked in the nearby deli the two of you had begun to frequent.

“No, not really.”

“Do you wanna come over after work tomorrow? Watch a movie or something?” he asked.

“That’d be great!” you said, almost a bit too enthusiastically. “Should I bring anything?”

He shook his head, smiling a bit. “I can order a pizza.”

For some reason, you trusted yourself to be normal at his place, telling yourself throughout Friday that everything would work out fine. Being a weirdo about his alleged murders certainly wouldn’t help you get a real date with him, but your infatuation with him was only growing. You liked the slightest hint of danger about him, going to his apartment alone, wondering in the back of your mind what his true intentions were and feeling a bit of a thrill at the prospect that they could be anything less than innocent.

You showed up at his apartment that evening with a bottle of wine in hand, even though he’d told you not to bring anything. As expected, he thanked you for the wine, though he gave you an exasperated look as he let you into his apartment. Nicer than yours, but it still looked lived-in.

“Pizza will be here in a couple of minutes,” he said. “I’m thinking Mean Streets for the movie.”

“It’s a classic,” you agreed. “I love Harvey Keitel in it.”

“You know, that was De Niro and Scorsese’s first time working together.”

“Wait, why did I think Taxi Driver was first?”

“Came out in ‘76, just after he was in Godfather Part II in ‘74. Busy decade for him.”

“You’re telling me.”

The doorbell rang, the pizza arriving sooner than expected. You waited in the kitchen while Mickey dealt with the delivery.

“We can eat in the living room while we watch,” he said, carrying the pizza box inside. “I don’t have many people over, so it’s still a little messy.”

“That’s okay,” you assured him.

He put on the movie, and you balanced the paper plate on your lap, nodding along to “Be My Baby” as it played during the opening scene. Testing the waters, you scooted closer to him a few minutes into the movie. He glanced over at you, and you could’ve sworn you saw the faintest hint of a smile on his face.

You were especially pleased when he put his arm around you, not bothering with the pretense of a “move,” but rather taking what he wanted. Settling comfortably next to him, you tried to focus on the movie.

Despite his arm around your shoulders, closer physically to him than you ever had been, you felt restless. You knew when the halfway point of the movie was, and so you excused yourself to use the bathroom, telling him he didn’t need to pause it until you returned.

The tips of your fingers itched as you passed closed doors to the bathroom, which he told you was at the end of the hall. Biting your lip, you considered your options, and in a moment of impulse and weakness, you reached for one of the door handles. A mostly empty extra bedroom, maybe his son’s old room.

You weren’t deterred, opening another door. Jackpot. Slightly messy, with clothes strewn about the floor and on the dark sheets of his bed. Glancing behind you, you stepped into his room and looked around for anything that stood out.

Most people hid things under their beds, and so you got down on your hands and knees, wondering where exactly he might hide his—

“Don’t think this is the bathroom,” he said, startling you.

You yelped, frantically turning around as your brain short circuited for an explanation. “I—I was just—“

“Looking for trophies? All serial killers keep them, right?” he asked, towering over you from your spot on the floor. “Mementos of their victims or the kills.”

You shook your head frantically. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have been snooping.”

“No, you shouldn’t have, but you’re looking in the wrong place anyway,” he said, pulling the knife from behind his back.

“Serial killers also don’t—don’t kill people th-they know,” you stammered.

“Typically,” he agreed, “but I’m not typical, am I? I’m sure you’ve listened to plenty of those cute little podcasts where some dumbasses read the Wikipedia page about the Windsor College murders in between hawking security systems to their listeners that they’ve just scared shitless. I admitted I did it, went to fucking trial, and the jury couldn’t even find me guilty.”

“Point taken.”

“So, what trophy would I keep from you?”

You were silent for a moment before answering, looking him in the eye. “My panties.”

“Which pair? Figure I have at least five of them now. Unless you wanna make that six, sweetheart.”

“You’ve been breaking into my place all this time.”

“You made it way too easy. It’s like you were asking for it.”

Maybe you were. Regardless, you didn’t show any resistance when he lightly kicked at your leg, a silent command to stand up. You got to your feet, though your gaze was fixed on the knife in his hand. His eyes followed yours, and he smirked a bit before putting the knife aside.

He turned you around, pushing you back onto his bed. Your breath caught in your throat as he pushed your skirt up, his hand caressing your ass, fingers brushing the thin fabric of your panties.

“Were you asking for it, sweetheart? Have you wanted this all along? Been a bad girl to get my attention?”

“Yes,” you whimpered weakly, your pussy clenching around nothing.

“Y’know, I’ve heard of serial killers having groupies, but you,” he said, slapping your ass for emphasis, eliciting a moan from you, “are something else.”

“Fuck, daddy,” you whispered, fidgeting against his mattress.

“I’m disappointed in you.” Another smack on your ass. “I could’ve been having fun with you months ago.” Smack! You hissed this time, though your pussy was pulsing between your legs. “Bent you over my desk in the office, have my way with you while no one else is around—or maybe a little slut like you would wanna get caught with daddy’s dick buried inside her.”

He spanked you harder this time, holding you down when your body instinctively recoiled at the impact. A pained moan escaped your lips as he pressed his body weight against you, his clothed cock rubbing against your tender skin. Tears welled up in your eyes as the sensation, and you resisted the urge to slip your hand between your legs.

“Or maybe,” he said, reaching around you to wrap his hand around your neck, “you just want me to fuck you before I kill you. Probably cum the minute I put that old Ghostface mask on, huh, baby?”

You let out a strangled moan at his words. “Yes, daddy.”

He released his grip on your throat, standing up to give you one more slap across your ass. “Turn over. If you’re good for me, maybe I’ll give you what you want.”

The friction from his sheets stung against your sore ass as you rolled over to look at him, though he grabbed you, pushing you onto your back himself. His grip on you was tight, fingers digging into your arms as he held you down beneath him, completely at his mercy.

He pulled off your skirt and panties, leaving your pussy exposed for him. He dragged his index finger between your folds, and you whimpered when he brushed your clit.

“God, you’re soaked,” he murmured against your lips. “Was it the spanking, or is it the serial killer thing?”

“Both.”

“Good answer,” he said, lazily circling your clit with his finger.

He ducked his head down, wasting no time in devouring your wet cunt. His tongue relentlessly flicked at your clit while he slid two fingers inside you, pumping them in and out of your hole. You took them easily, but wondered if it’d be the same for his cock when he’d undoubtedly fuck you.

Your hands gripped his sheets as he worked his tongue, your feet curling at the tension you felt building up inside of you. He moaned against you, loud enough that it felt like his voice rocked through your body.

“Don’t stop,” you pleaded breathlessly.

A pained and outraged whine pulled from your throat when he did just that. You looked down at him between your legs, betrayed.

“Why should I let you cum?” he teased, rubbing light circles in your clit with his soaked fingers. “You’ve been a bad girl.”

“Oh fuck,” you moaned. “Please, daddy.”

“You can do better than that, sweetheart.”

“Please let me cum, daddy. I’ll be so good. I—I’ll do anything, just—please,” you cried out in frustration of being so close yet not quite there.

“Only since you asked so nicely,” he relented, dipping his head back down between your legs, his hands holding your hips in place as your lower half began to quiver at his touch.

You could feel his lips move slightly against your sensitive pussy, nothing short of a smug expression on his face at making you fall apart so easily. It didn’t matter, your head was swimming, muscles strained as he brought you closer to climax. Grabbing his hair, you pressed his face closer against your pussy, grinding against it in desperation.

“Mickey—Fuck—“ you choked out as your orgasm wracked through you, fireworks in between your legs as your body shook.

He ate you out through your orgasm, and another tidal wave of pleasure hit you all at once, almost painful and overwhelming, your brain on fire at the sensation. You could hardly catch your breath when you released your grip from his hair and he lifted his head, your wetness glistening on his lips.

When he kissed you, you hardly had the strength to kiss him back, though tasting yourself on his mouth sent a rush through you. He pressed sloppy kisses to your face, trailing down to your neck. His hard length rubbed against your slick-coated thigh, a low growl coming from deep in his throat.

“W-Wait, can I ask you something?”

“Shoot,” he mumbled against your skin.

“Did you really wanna get caught?”

He stopped, lifting his head from your neck to look at you a few moments before answering, “Yeah, blame the movies, make a real circus of the trial, but my attorney said he didn’t think I could pull off an insanity plea because I was too put together. Obviously pleading guilty and confessing everything wouldn’t get nearly as much attention as actually going on trial. I was pissed at first, but it worked out, I mean I had every reporter eating out of the palm of my hand by day three.”

“Why don’t you do interviews now? Or write a book?”

“What’s there to say? Not the truth.”

“I guess that makes sense,” you muttered. “Are you gonna kill me?”

“Probably should,” he said, the slightest smirk ghosting his lips as his eyes raked over you, “I might need more convincing not to.”

#mickey altieri x reader #ghostface x reader #ghostface #slasher x reader #mickey altieri #scream #scream 2 #slasher fandom #slasher community #scream franchise

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tenebraevesper · 1 year

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Not So Different (Sonic and Shadow’s Interactions With Metal Sonic)

After listening to Sonic_Speed’s podcast regarding Sonic the Hedgehog IDW, in particular Issue #12: The Cost of The Battle For Angel Island, I came to a little realization. Apparently, both Sonic and Shadow tried to convince Metal Sonic to defect from Eggman and live his own life at some point.

You’ll see what I mean, but first - a recap.

After his defeat as Master Overlord, Metal Sonic is beaten up. Sonic has Tails fix him (weapons deactivated, obviously) and they wake Metal Sonic up.

Metal Sonic attempts to attack Sonic, but he’s not in any shape to fight. Sonic then tells Metal how the fight is over, and with Eggman gone, Metal can now live his life on his own; be his own person, or robot. He isn’t asking him to be best friends, but he wants to call a truce and co-exist peacefully.

Metal Sonic is taken aback, stares at Sonic for a moment, then just slaps his hand away and rushes out, his answer being a clear “No”. I had been talking about this, but to keep it short, Sonic sees Metal as a person, not just a weapon of destruction and he really wants Metal to live his life without being Eggman’s enforcer.

This isn’t the first time someone tried to give a chance to Metal Sonic, as Shadow did the same way before:

This takes place in Sonic Universe Issue #1: Living Weapons, with Shadow referencing the events that took place during Sonic the Hedgehog (Archie) Issue #195: Hedgehog Havoc (Part 1) and Issue #196: Hedgehog Havoc (Part 2), as well as Sonic X, Issue #40: The End.

During their tussle, they end up in the Sol Dimension, Blaze’s world, with Shadow trying to talk to Metal Sonic. He calls him a thinking machine, a living weapon, just like himself, but he believes that there is more to Metal Sonic and that he shouldn’t let Doctor Eggman use him.

Metal Sonic’s response to this is to kick him on the head and hoping he’d drown. Once again, the answer is a clear “No”. Honestly, I really love the parallels here, and this little conversation even continues later on.

In Sonic IDW, Sonic once again addresses Metal Sonic in Issue #26: All Or Nothing (Part 1):

At this point, the Metal Virus has consumed the whole world, and Sonic and his friends (and Eggman and Metal) are on Angel Island, trying to find a way to save it. Sonic is frustrated at Metal Sonic for not following his advice to abandon Eggman. He saw him as someone similar to Omega and Gemerl, and it irks him that Metal just had to go back to Eggman.

Eggman overhears this conversation and tells Sonic that, no matter what he did, Metal was programmed to seek battle and conquest, so Metal wouldn’t have taken Sonic’s advice no matter what, even if Eggman wasn’t around to restore Metal Sonic.

Meanwhile, in Sonic Universe, Shadow has met Blaze and Marine, getting himself involved in another battle with Metal Sonic:

He once again tries to appeal to Metal Sonic, saying how it doesn’t have to be this way and believes that Metal was just being led astray by Eggman. He wants Metal to put behind his past as a weapon and help Shadow save the world.

Metal responds that, just like Shadow’s function is to protect his world, Metal Sonic’s function is to serve Eggman and nothing is going to change that, which is why he will destroy Shadow.

I think it’s really fascinating that at some point, both Shadow and Sonic tried to take the same approach in convincing Metal Sonic to do good instead of follow Eggman’s orders. Both fail, but it’s the thought that counts.

Also, before you go telling me how I shouldn’t be comparing Archie!Shadow and IDW!Sonic since it’s two different continuities, note that they’re both written by the same writer, Ian Flynn, and Archie!Shadow is basically 06!Shadow before Sega started to get stricter with their mandates.

So, yeah, both have failed in their attempts to redeem Metal Sonic, but amazingly, they actually manage to convince a different Eggman robot to turn their life around:

Shadow with Omega in Sonic Universe Issue #3: Old Soldiers...

...and Sonic with Mecha Sonic in the Scrapnik Island Miniseries Issue #4: Scrapnik Island (Part 4).

Honestly, it is quite fascinating. I guess Sonic and Shadow are not so different after all.

#Sonic the Hedgehog Analyzer (Masterlist)

#Sonic the Hedgehog Analyzer #sonic idw #sonic archie #sonic the hedgehog #shadow the hedgehog #metal sonic #dr eggman #miles tails prower #blaze the cat #marine the raccoon #e-123 omega #mecha sonic

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fireheartwraith · 6 months

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I feel like I should explain ENEM, aka why the brazilians have been grieving since the date of the november 4th event was announced

ENEM stands for Exame Nacional do Ensino Médio (National High School Exam). It happens once a year since 1998, and, although at first it was just to gage how the education was on a national level, it soon became a gateway to university.

The test takes place on two days (that are now two consecutive sundays), from 13:30 to 19:00, and each day the student has to answer 90 questions. The first day is always human sciences and languages (Portuguese language and literature, foreign language (English or Spanish), history, geography, sociology, and philosophy) plus an essay. Nobody knows what the essay is about until the moment of the exam, so there’s always a lot of speculation. The theme is always about a social issue: last year's, for exemple, was "the challenges for the appreciation/respect of the traditional communities and peoples of Brazil", like the quilombolas and natives. The second day tests the students' knowledge on maths and exact sciences (biology, physics, and chemistry).

ENEM is famously a very "read-y" test. Every question requires a lot of reading comprehension, interpretation, and interdisciplinarity. Maybe the internet has done americans wrong, but the SAT's look so easy in comparison. We always make fun of them by saying Harvard it's not actually hard, it's just expensive.

Which brings me to my next point: college! The grade you get on the ENEM can get you into a university using three different programs

SISU: gets you into a public (and free) university (the best university in the country is public btw, University of São Paulo - USP)

PROUNI: gets you a scholarship in a private university (it can get you a 100% scholarship but you need a VERY good grade)

FIES: student loans

And, obviously, the better your grades, the better your chances. You are graded from 0 to 1000 in every subject and also get a general grade. So if you want to study physics, you don’t need to do great in literature, but you should still try to get a decent grade. The more competitive courses, like medicine (there's no such thing was pre-med), can get down to the decimals, especially in prestigious schools.

ENEM isn't the only test you can do to get into a university, though! Some schools have their own test. USP, for exemple, has the FUVEST, so you can get in through either test, but FUVEST is always paid and you can only do it in, like, three cities in São Paulo, while the ENEM happens countrywide, which is why it's so important. The tests are called "vestibular" and the people taking them are "vestibulando".

Therefore, most 3rd year high school students take the test. It's basically a rule to do it if you want to get into a university, but if you are not on your last year of high school, you have to pay to take it (my case). Some people have to go to another city to take the test, it's a whole thing.

This year, the first day of ENEM is happening on Sunday, November 5th. And QSMP's most important event so far is happening on Saturday night, November 4th. May the Lord have mercy on our souls

You can check out the "atrasados do enem" for some giggles though. It's the "event" that happens because some people always arrive after the gates close at 13:00 and then break down crying in the middle of the street. It got so famous people started hiring actors to pose as vestibulandos just to go viral.

Now you know a bit more about brazilian culture!

Here's a link to download last year's exam if you want: first day | second day

#qsmp #qsmp event #brasil #brazil #brazilian culture #cultura brasileira #enem #brazil: putting ENEM in enemies since 1998 #high school #university

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lilacandladybugs · 3 months

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I'm in need of advice, reddit hasn't been helpful and I'm desperate so I've come to you Tumblr please help me

I'm currently a data scientist for a very small start up company, but I have my background in political science and so I'm concerned that I might be dead in the water if/when the company goes under and I need to find another job. I've consulted with some recruiters and they agree that if I want to go into data science I should get my master's (EDIT: they said I probably should get my degree in Statistics because the program is more widely known so I have a better chance of not getting turned away by HR who will have less knowledge about what a data science master's even is). I think because of my personality, data science is a really good job for me, so I'm planning on going for it.

Here's the issue: I don't want to go to school and end up learning exclusively theory. I've been teaching myself a ton by reading textbooks and I've noticed that while there's a lot of depth in the math/calculus/linear algebra behind how the functions work and what the parameters are, there seems to be very little information on how to actually apply that information in the real world.

Obviously the math is important and very exciting :D but if all I do is learn the math and I don't learn how to apply the knowledge I have to non-ideal data sets and situations then I'm not really learning the information I need to know.

Are there any graduate programs that are well known for really preparing people for data science roles in the workforce instead of just focusing on the academic side of statistics?

#statistics #data science #math #careers #jobs #grad school #what is the community tag for this idk #;---;#i have to sign up for classes for prerequisites right now so im nervous bc idk which classes to take if idk which schools i should apply to #reddit has not helped me </3

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the-s1lly-corner · 6 months

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Hey! I hope you are better, I waited a while to request this to hope you were better. Take your time writing this, or if you don't feel comfortable that's okay!

I wanted to request a Kinger and Caine x reader in the sense of lovers, whose y/n is deaf

I imagine that maybe they were already deaf before entering the digital world, or it just ended up having a problem when they put on the headset and ended up not hearing anything there. Either way, they would be the embodiment of calm and would speak in sign language

Caine and Kinger x deaf!reader !

yahoo going to write this request then take a break n do the things i gotta do today!! gotta make a coffee cake for someone!

CAINE:

i think i might have said this somewhere before but caine is actually pre programmed to know a bunch of different languages! i dont think it would be too far of a stretch to assume he also knows sign language, or at least enough to communicate with you! if theres anything he doesnt know hes more than willing to sit down with you to learn, plus that just means more bonding!

obviously, caine constantly signs his adorations to you whenever he gets the chance! asides from that there isnt much different than how he would be with a non deaf partner; he still absolutely showers you in love and affection!

should anyone ever be rude to you or say something horrible hes going to be real pissed; fiercely defends you as well as possibly making the next IHA hell for that person.. though thankfully, i dont think anyone in the main cast would go out of their way to be an asshole to you

yes that includes jax, i may write him to be a huge butthole but i dont think he would target you for your deafness, you know?

KINGER:

in contrast to caine, i dont think kinger knows any sign language! so youre going to have to teach him if you guys want to learn to communicate efficiently that works for you; in the mean time while hes mastering sign language you guys may have to speak through writing </3 but trust me thats ditched the second kinger knows enough!

good news, too, kinger is a quick and devoted learner, so hes going to be hooked on your lessons until its over; hell he would let you teach him everything in one sitting if you wanted to!

practices a lot in his pillow fort, probably also practices signing nicknames for you, and i think thats sweet... tries to practice his signs so he can tell you how much he loves you... i think caine would do this too, but kinger holds a timid-ness that i cant quite put down into words, you know?

if theres a library type area in the circus that happens to have a book on sign language you know damn well kinger is going to check it out... alas, i dont think the circus would have such a thing... maybe.. i mean it has a bunch of weird rooms so is it really outside the realm of possibility?

#tadc x reader #the amazing digital circus x reader #digital circus x reader #kinger x reader #caine x reader

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incorrect-hs-quotes · 1 year

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gardenGnostic: sorry i make this frequently but apple really doesn't get enough hate

gutsyGumshoe: So if you don't like them it's fine. I know a lot of people who are really mean to picky eaters about their preferences, and it doesn't actually help.

gutsyGumshoe: However, some people only think they hate apples because they've only tried the horrible mealy Red "Delicious" variety. If that's the case, you might be surprised by how much you enjoy a tastier variety. Honeycrisp and Cosmic Crisp are some of the most popular apples and they are really good.

gutsyGumshoe: Applerankings.com is a great, and wittily written, trove of apple reviews and information and will help you find nice apples. It is focused on apples available in the US, and idk where you are. I really miss discovery apples, which don't seem to be a thing this side of the Atlantic.

gutsyGumshoe: They can be a little pricey though. Obviously I don't know your personal situation, but if that's an issue, there might be local programs that can help. I don't know where you live, but here in Washington there's a program called Fresh Bucks that gives people $40/month to spend on fruit and vegetables at local farmers markets. There might be something like that near you. Or, if you just really wanna try a really nice apple and it's not accessible to you, dm me and I can PayPal you something. I just want everyone to have the chance to have a nice apple from time to time.

gutsyGumshoe: Anyway, like I said, if you just truly don't like any apples, you are 100% valid and you shouldn't force yourself to eat something you don't like. Body autonomy includes not having to eat foods you hate. But I'd hate for you to go through life not knowing how much you could enjoy a high-quality apple, just because you've only experienced the worst apples.

Jane: Oh snap I just realized you meant the phone company

gardenGnostic: no no keep talking

#homestuck #incorrect homestuck quotes #jade harley #jane crocker #mod terezi #certified jane crocker autism moment

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ggebba · 5 months

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I decided to translate Andrei Svechnikov's interview for the Russian press.

Here is a direct link to the article:

— The journalist: In the USA they always talk about the fact that you are from Barnaul, but every year you come back to Kazan.

- Svechnikov: I haven't been to Barnaul for a long time. And we came to Kazan when I was 10 years old - my conscious childhood was spent here. My parents are here, my home. I come to Kazan on vacation, it's always great in the summer. As soon as my season was over, I was in Raleigh for a week and a half, there were meetings with coaches, then we went to dinners with the team. As soon as it was over, the guys left, and I flew to Kazan. My older brother (Evgeniy) also flew in and was in Kazan for about a month. We saw our friends, had a rest, prepared for the season. It's always great at home, it's good to sleep in your own bed.

-The journalist: Have you bought an apartment in America yet or are you renting?

- Svechnikov: I bought a house this season. I was there a couple of times when I negotiated the purchase, and now I will move in with my stuff. I was renting an apartment before, but now I am happy - I will have my own house.

- The journalist: Have you done the renovations yet? Have you furnished it?

- Svechnikov: Yes, I'm renovating it now. When I get there, I'll have to order a couple things and it'll be fine.

- The journalist: You're moving in alone?

- Svechnikov: Yeah, alone.

-The journalist: You said that you trained in Kazan three times a day. Did the club send you its own program or did you train on an individual basis?

- Svechnikov: Vanya Provorov and I practiced in Yaroslavl for several years in a row. This year I decided to hold a training camp in Kazan, and it was about the same program as in Yaroslavl. Cycling, athletics, gym and ice. On June 1, I arrived in Kazan, had a rest and at the beginning of July I started training according to the program, before that I did jogging to be in shape.

—The journalist: Do Canadians, Americans prepare for the season the same way or do they have easier preparation?

- Svechnikov: I have my own program, I like to prepare like this, I feel good after it. To be honest, I don't know exactly how the others do, I trained with them one year, when was Kovid - it was hard to fly home then. We just had the gym, the ice. That’s all.

-The journalist: You signed a new contract last summer, the first big contract of your career. How much pressure did that put on you during the season? And how much did you put it on your mind?

- Svechnikov: It didn't really bother me at all. Why should it? You go out, do your job, try to play for the money you were given and even better. My task is to play better. I do my job and follow the coach's instructions.

-The journalist: Did in the team say something about it? After all, now you are one of the most expensive players on the team, not a rookie.

- Svechnikov: No, everyone's just taking it easy, nobody reminds me about it once in a while. Obviously, they give you money, and you have to work for it.

-The journalist: Are you happy with the contract?

- Svechnikov: Sure, eight years, I'm happy with everything. We have a good team in Carolina, we're in the playoffs every season, we have a chance at the Cup every year. The most important thing for me is to win the Stanley Cup. That's what we're going for.

— The journalist: For a couple years now, it's felt like this is Carolina's season, they should be winning now. What didn't work last season?

-Svechnikov: I don't know myself, seemed like a good team, all the pieces came together. You can say that we lacked experience, but that's not right. We're in the playoffs for the fourth year, we have experience. I guess all the stars have to come together, and then it will work out. So far they haven't. We need to play better in some situations - play short-handed, power play. Then maybe everything will work out.

-The journalist: Carolina always plays the same style. And when you have to change something, it seems like you don't have a plan B. Is that true?

-Svechnikov: I agree, we play by the same system. It's clear that in the playoffs we change things, adjust to the opponent, analyze their game. In the playoffs, we also studied teams, changed game in the zone a little bit, added lateral passes. We'll see what happens this season, what the coaches give us. If they want to make a change, we'll execute.

-The journalist: Shestyorkin stopped you. How can you even score on him?

- Svechnikov: I didn't know. He's a very good goalie, it's really hard for me to score when he’s in the net. He played in the KHL, came to the NHL, gained experience. He's one of the best goalies in the NHL, everybody knows that. Obviously, it's hard when you realize that one of the best goalies is playing against you. We tried to go under the net, to block the view. When Igor sees a shot, it's very hard to score to him - he's technical and moves quickly.

-The journalist: Who would you rank as one of the top three goaltenders in the NHL?

- Svechnikov: Obviously, Vasya (Andrei Vasilevskiy) 100%, Shestyora (Igor Shesterkin) 100%. It's hard to say about the third one, I would single out two, it's very hard to play against them.

-The journalist: You were friends with Hamilton, who went to "New Jersey." How much did he fall short?

- Svechnikov: That's a tough question, because we were able to sign Tony Deangelo, who is also a very good defenseman, one of the best, skates well, moves the puck. Maybe if Hamilton had played for us we would have won, maybe not. Dougie is one of the best defensemen in the NHL, he's always a pleasure to play with.

— The journalist: You never played for the adult national team at international tournaments. Now there is a pause again, and it is not clear how long it will last.

— Svechnikov: Actually, I'd really like to play for the Russian main national team, if they call me. I have never played at this level, it would be nice to play for the national team. It's an experience, but at the same time you enjoy this moment, because you are in one team for a whole season, and when you come to the national team, everything is completely different. New guys, new communication - it would be great to play, I can't wait for this moment.

— The journalist: What do you miss in America that you have in Russia? What do you miss the most?

— Svechnikov: It's definitely the food. Obviously, friends, family, although my mom and dad come to visit us, but I still miss them. It's just our whole Russian atmosphere: going to the banya, going to the dacha, grilling shashliki - it's such a buzz. You come there (America), you have no time, the season is coming up, you're always working, games every 2-3 day. The season ends, you fly home, you immediately plunge into your native atmosphere. I can't find that in America.

— The journalist: After the well known political events, did you feel any special treatment because you are Russian?

— Svechnikov: Everything's the same as it was, I didn't even think about it. I came, did my job. The guys treated me well, as they always do in principle.

— The journalist: Did you ever discuss politics in the locker room? Or didn't touch on the subject?

— Svechnikov: I think they tried not to discuss it in front of me. Well, they might have discussed something among themselves. I didn't really talk to anyone about it.

-The journalist: There are 82 games in the NHL. How great is the value of each one?

-Svechnikov: We have a lot of games. Yeah, we lost, but you realize you can't win them all. It's got to be some kind of Dream Team. I immediately forget the past game and tune in for the next one. Naturally, we will look at some mistakes, the next day they show us the video, we sort it out so that it doesn't happen in the next match. We try to learn from our mistakes so that we don't make them later.

-The journalist: How much easier is it in America to deal with losing?

-Svechnikov: Our coach will find his own approach for each player, communicate with everyone, talk, and demand from everyone what is needed from him. We don't have such a thing that we come to the bench, and he yells at us. He can tell you calmly where you need to play easier, throw a defender or not lose the puck in the middle zone. It's very simple for us in this regard, even if we make a mistake, he won't say anything, just show it the next day and we'll sort it out. In this regard, the coach does not put so much pressure on us, treats everyone calmly and, most importantly, finds an approach to each player.

-The journalist: Doesn't that change in the playoffs, doesn't it build up?

- Svechnikov: No, everybody understands that it's the playoffs, everybody wants to win the Cup, everybody tries and gives a hundred percent. There's no such thing as a player going out there and skating around for nothing. Everyone is playing the system and trying to give their all to the team and do everything to win.

— The journalist: You're stable, but there's a feeling that it's like you're missing something to become a superstar.

— Svechnikov: Of course, I realize that I still have potential. And there are so many details in which I need to progress.

— The journalist: Does the club pay attention to any details? Skating, throwing, power play.

— Svechnikov: No, they didn't say anything specific. They asked me to play differently in certain situations.

— The journalist: Your brother Evgeniy played a full season for Winnipeg. Were you surprised he wasn't offered a full contract?

— Svechnikov: He had three options on where to go, Winnipeg was one of them. We all decided together that it would be better to go to San Jose. Last season was the best season of his career, and I want this one to be even better.

— The journalist: Is there a player in the NHL that surprises you?

— Svechnikov: I would say probably Makar, the most valuable player in the playoffs. Otherwise, MacKinnon, McDavid are the best players in the league. I'd like to highlight Nikita Kucherov, it's interesting to watch him, how he skates, how he handles the puck.

— The journalist: How do you relax between games?

— Svechnikov: We have games every other day. We played a match, underwent recovery procedures, then the next day we have a regular training session. Then I come home, rest, watch movies. I went out to dinner with the guys, and that's it. Nothing special.

— The journalist: You watch movies in Russian?

— Svechnikov: I watch movies both in Russian and in English. But more in Russian.

— The journalist: What do you watch in Russian? Russian movies?

— Svechnikov: I watch some of the most popular movies on YouTube in Russian. No, I watch TV series on Netflix. I don't watch Russian series, but, for example, I watched the Spanish series"La casa de papel" in Russian.

— The journalist: Do you watch "Brother-2" when you miss Russia?

— Svechnikov: Well I've watched this movie a couple of times, but I don't like watching the same movies. I'm always looking for new ones, I don't like repeating myself.

— The journalist: How did you learn English when you left?

— Svechnikov: I arrived at 16, I didn't know the language at all, of course, I learned most of it in the locker room with the guys. Some words were spoken, I always wrote them down in my notes and translated them immediately. I read it a couple of times in the morning and you already memorized the word. I spent the first year learning that way, going to dinners and lunches with the guys.

In the second year I had a teacher, I went to her a little bit, she helped me with grammar. And in the third year I came to the NHL. And it's a different life there. You have to do everything yourself, rent a car, an apartment. The club, of course, helps in this regard, but there was still a need to learn the language. Every year you learn more and more, but you can't learn everything. It’s really hard.

— The journalist: You drive a car there? Is it hard?

— Svechnikov: Yeah, I drive myself. It's easy.

— The journalist: Is it more difficult in Russia?

— Svechnikov: I don't have a car here, I borrow my father's. But I've driven here too. It feels like the roads here are narrower than in America. Daredevils? It seems to me, everyone drives calmly here. In America they drive on the highway too.

— The journalist: How's the atmosphere in Raleigh?

— Svechnikov: Everything is calm for me, a quiet small town, a lot of families live, they walk with children. In this regard, everything is peaceful and safe.

— The journalist: Are there neighborhoods that you are asked not to drive into?

— Svechnikov: I guess so, I don't really drive anywhere. I usually go from home to the arena, to lunch and to the airport to fly to the games. I didn't drive around much, I didn't look around.

—The journalist : You got a big contract. I see, you bought a house. What would you be saving up for?

-Svechnikov: That's a hard question, probably just for the future, for my family to be well, for my children to be well, just for that now, I think.

- The journalist : In Russia, many hockey players buy themselves expensive watches and clothes. What's the most expensive thing you've ever bought yourself?

- Svechnikov: Probably an expensive suit, a sweater of some kind. It's not that I spend on it all the time, I just have a couple of things, like all the guys who play at this level.

- The journalist: For how much? 2-3 thousand dollars?

- Svechnikov: Yeah, about that.

- The journal: Does the NHL have strict rules about dressing for the game?

- Svechnikov: It used to be much stricter, in fact, you had to wear a tie and shoes. This year it's much easier, a lot of people don't wear a tie, sometimes they come in sneakers, I'm a fan of that too. It used to be much more difficult, we had to wear a suit on the airplane.

The coach was asked if we could wear regular clothes. He said he played 20 years in this league and always wore a suit. There hasn't been a single game that he's come in regular clothes. "And you're going to violate my ritual?" We have a coach who is an NHL star, I completely agree in that respect, because the game is a celebration and you have to be serious, solid. If I was in normal clothes, I wouldn't feel like I was going to the game.

— The journalist: Where would you like to live after you finish playing: in Russia or in America?

— Svechnikov: It's still a long way off, but I love Russia very much, it's my home, I will definitely live in Russia, 100%. And perhaps I will come to America for a while.

— The journalist: How American do you feel you are? How much percent American do you have in you?

— Svechnikov: I'd say I'm one hundred percent Russian. That's not even up for debate! I go there to play hockey, to do my job. I come to Russia right after the season, I feel at home.

— The journalist: Are you going to apply for American passports like Ovechkin or Malkin?

— Svechnikov: Well. No, I'm not. What's the point? They've been there for a long time, I haven't lived there that long yet.

— The journalist: A few years ago you got into a fight with Ovechkin. Did you get to talk to him after that?

— Svechnikov: Yes, it turns out, we even exchanged sticks with him, we’re fine. Fighting is part of hockey, especially in the playoffs. You had a fight, you got out of the game, you're fine, you've forgotten all about it. I don't think about it at all, that we had a fight and now we're going to have bad relations. No, we’re good.

— The journalist: Doesn't it surprise you that a 37 year old man is scoring 50 goals for the season?

— Svechnikov: Of course it's surprising. I don't think there have been any Russians in the league who have played like that at that age. I hope he breaks Wayne Gretzky's record for goals in NHL history. I'm rooting for Alexander to succeed. What can I say here? He’s a real superstar.

- The journalist: Your main goal for next season?

- Svechnikov: Play better than I have in the past, and God willing, we'll do well and have a good playoff run. Only goals like that. The highest goal is obviously to win the Stanley Cup. Well, you always want to do that.

- The journalist: Kochetkov surprised everyone last season. How was he received by the team?

- Svechnikov: Petya did well, he's just great! He also had a hard road, he played in the AHL, NHL, KHL. When he came here, I knew he had experience, everyone knew that he had played at the professional level for a few years. Obviously, he came and proved to everyone that he could play in the NHL easily. It was hard for him without knowing English, I tried to help him in some moments. Then he won the Cup in the AHL. I hope he will do well this year, he will play in the NHL. He has a great talent, he can do everything, he's a fast big guy, the NHL always needs that kind of player.

-The journalist: Do you play a lot of consoles when you're traveling?

- Svechnikov: No, we don't play consoles at all.

- The journalist: On the pc: CS, Dota?

- Svechnikov: We play CS, yes. I bought a computer last year, and sometimes I play with guys, with friends. I also play with my brother, when I have free time, we play for an hour. It helps to distract myself a little bit.

- The journalist: Doesn't it ever get so addictive that you forget about bedtime?

- Svechnikov: No, I'm the same as my brother, everything is on schedule. We go to bed at the same time, eat at the same time. And we don't like sitting at the computer for two hours, it's better to go for a walk.

#carolina hurricanes #andrei svechnikov

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