#this is an old one i spruced up recently and i just remember pain. and this was before i figured out the size issue with the canvas so. Fun

[trrashbag]

Do you talk about things you shouldn’t in your sleep, Detective? Tsk tsk

#idk why they're in a bathtub either i really don't #The duck looks evil maybe that has something to do with it #The Wayhaven Chronicles #TWC #twc fanart #twc nate #nate sewell #twc Detective #this is an old one i spruced up recently and i just remember pain. and this was before i figured out the size issue with the canvas so. Fun #i finished my best drawing maybe ever and now im posting this instead why do you ask?.... anyway #LT drama is fun

[bonesandthebees]

Spruce not reading honey and tangerines made me remember i got like halfway through before losing all my ao3 tabs and never finishing it 😭 i’ll have to go back and find where i was soon

Also one of my only thoughts after burning gold was literally just “wow tallulah covering her eyes for moat of the fic? She really is just like her father”

Also also WF WF WF MY BELOVED clinic and stars will always have a special place in my heart but sbi’s fight after wilbur said he knew why tommy left at the syndicate meeting will always have a special place in my heart, i re-read it sometimes just for fun

Every once in a while i’ll also remember i was here when the last few chapters of clinic weren’t out yet and then i’ll feel old

I vividly remember checking if clinic had updated, it had, and it was the chapter where puffy came and visited tommy and brought him cinnamon rolls and revealed she was a former-hero

And then i remember being here for all of wf, and reading stars when it only had one chapter and then forgetting about it until it was finished 😭

I can picture so clearly in my head checking wf one day at dinner, i had only read the first chapter a while back and hadn’t kept up, there was now five chapters and i was so excited. I was eating tacos. I kept up with wf updates after that

Sorry for the ramble, everyone’s recent asks have reminded me of a lot of things lmao, still debating if i should re-read stars and i’m so very close to giving in

- 🪐

NOOOO I ACCIDENTALLY INCLUDED THE COVERING EYES BIT AGAIN THIS TIME WITH TALLULAH I DIDNT EVEN REALIZE why do I keep doing this

the fact that you reread that painful fight in wf for fun certainly says something /j (it was such a fun scene to write I'm so glad you enjoyed it so much)

damn you've been around for that long?? you're really an og saturn anon. I remember when I wrote that clinic chapter with puffy and tommy talking after he'd been kidnapped and that conversation ended up being so much longer than I meant it to be. I was so frustrated bc it meant I had to put off the crimeboys reconciliation convo by another chapter and I wanted to write that one so bad, but the puffy tommy convo was so good and flowed so well so I couldn't be too upset

looking back on when wf was updating feels a bit like a fever dream for me bc 1) I wrote most of it during the winter quarter of my senior year of college. we'd gone back to in person for fall quarter after a full year of online bc covid, but then winter had a surge of covid cases again so almost all my classes went BACK online but I had one optional in person class once a week. so I had a lot of free time to write and would spend entire days in a campus coffee shop writing wf 2) sirentwt happened while I was writing wf. that was certainly a Time

anyway i love that you remember you were eating tacos when you noticed wf had 5 chapters up now. I remember I kept trying new drinks at the coffee shop every day when I went there to write but none of it was very good but it was a student run place that had really nice vibes so I became a regular anyway

#ask #saturn anon #world forgetting

[veritable-trash]

Honeyed Summers pt. 2

he's just so FUCKING cute i can barely breath

Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!Reader

Words: 4.3K

Warning: 18+ ya animalsssss i said smut and i think i delivered. it's all very sweet and romantic buuuuut explicit PiV type of material we got here so you've been warned ;)

A/N: christ this was hard. i will admit smut is definitely not my strong suit and i am having to really stretch my writing muscles but hey you gotta practice and honestly i'm happy with the end result here!!! i really enjoyed the struggle of this but end of day i had to stop being finicky and just throw it out into the ether so hopefully y'all enjoy!!! any thoughts, opinions, just general ramblings about frankie being THE king of kings is always appreciated and fiended for <3333333 have a lovely friday my little internet friendos :)))

masterlist weoweoweow

part 1!!!!

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

Frankie’s truck had always been one of your favorite parts of Frankie.

It felt almost like an extension of the man who had slowly taken over your mind. A place that Frankie allowed himself to be fully free, a tension that was ingrained in his being somehow lifting the second the engine revved to life around him. There was almost too much to absorb about him in that cramped space, drowning in the scent of pine, honey, musk, salt. 

Selfishly your favorite part had everything to do with you and him. A dinky little ring of straw wrappers that hung from his rearview mirror, a little wreath of trash that he refused to get rid of. 

You still remember how your hands had turned to fidgeting the first time Frankie drove you home. How nerve wrecking it was to be in his space so close to him, so overcome with this inexplicable urge to hold his hand you couldn’t help but look for something to distract your itchy fingers.

So you grabbed the forgotten pieces from the dash and tied them together into what was akin to a five year old kindergarten art project but at least it had distracted from the tremors. 

Frankie had chuckled at your little art project, you could still feel the blush that colored your cheeks, embarrassment flooding your body, and you had every intention of taking it with you and throwing it straight in the trash, yet Frankie wouldn’t let you.

He took it from your hands with what almost seemed like reverence, looped it around the rearview and with eyes like melted caramel told you it really spruced up the place. 

He was so good at making you so fucking happy.  

The truck was like a Frankie sensory overload and you fucking loved every moment you got to spend in that truck. How it felt almost too perfect sinking into everything that is him and feeling right as rain while doing it. 

Yet now in the darkening twilight, the truck felt completely different. Like a fault line had shifted, the tectonic plates of your friendship? Relationship? God only knows what but the plates had moved in an irreversible way. 

In a much better way. 

Because now Frankie was holding your hand over the center console just like you had craved that first time you’d sat in his truck, his thumb tracing over your knuckles grounding you into your seat. The air felt thick between you and neither of you had been able to say a word since you’d left your car in that parking lot and climbed into his.

It felt like everything was shifting and your body and mind were still trying to put everything back together but it felt less like shattered glass and more like perfect puzzle pieces. Like somehow you’d found a couple missing pieces under the couch that you had stopped looking for ages ago and now you almost had the whole picture figured out.  

“What are you thinking about?”

Your words sound muffled even to you, the perceived thickness of the air hindering the ability for words to leave your lips clearly.

“You. I’ve kinda only been able to think about you it seems recently.”

His eyes bore into yours as you sit at the red light. Somehow the harshness of it only made him more striking, almost painful to look at. His nose and jaw so sharp, highlighted and darkened by the night sky and the glaring red, but the way his eyes soften as they scan your face makes you want to crawl across the seat into his lap. 

You want to drown in the emotions pouring out of him filling the truck to the brim with something so sparkly and grand it makes your chest ache. 

The light turns green, but Frankie doesn’t turn away. Just squeezes your hand as if checking that you’re still there with him. 

The right side of his lips quirks up, dimple revealing itself, and you can’t stop yourself from leaning across the imaginary line in the sand and kissing him. Just a gentle press of lips, but in your gut you know you both needed it.

Needed that confirmation that what happened in the parking lot was real.

You sitting with him in his truck was real.

You wanting him as badly as he wants you was real. 

Frankies shoulders drop imperceptibly, because you know Frankie and Frankie knows you. You’re both terrified of the pain that love brings. The broken promises and hurt you’ve both been dragged through, bloody and wounded from love that felt too good and turned out to be blindingly destructive. 

His free hand cups your cheek with a softness that almost throws you into a drunken stupor, and as he breathes your name against your lips it feels as though you’re being dragged under waves of warmth and softness and light. You want to succumb to the overwhelming beauty of his adoration. 

“Frankie I have an idea.”

The light shifts back to yellow, then red as you stay pressed together, foreheads touching, noses skimming, a level of intimacy and affection radiating between you that seems to be otherworldly. Magical and all encompassing to the point of a beautiful suffocation. 

His lips float over yours till they land at the corner of your mouth, and you can feel the yes being pushed into your skin. A yes that will stay there till maybe the end of time, because Frankie isn’t fully sure if he’ll ever be able to say no to you ever again. 

“Lets go to the lake, I want to see the stars with you.”

Frankie sucks in a breath, his heart beat so loud in his ears he thinks he might have missed what you said. But as he shifts, eyes locking with yours, he can see the memory playing out in your eyes. The sweetness and joy filling your irises that pulls him right back to one of your first Thursdays. 

“The lake has some of the best stargazing in town I swear it.” Frankie mumbles it over the rim of his glass,”Sometimes when the lake is still and no one else is around it’s like a perfect reflecting pool of the stars.”

You’d both been at the bar now for a couple hours, shooting the shit, chatting but now it was late and there was a new feeling in the air. Almost an ache for more time, like the few hours you got to spend together at the bar were no longer enough.

Neither of you had been willing to admit to this new feeling, but your knees had been knocking against each other under the bar top with almost every breath. Both of your fingers trembled against your glasses neither of you noticing but both of you feeling that inexplicable pull. 

“Frankie! We have to go! Promise me you’ll take me someday. Pinky swear it.”

You didn’t know it then but Frankie’s heart squeezed at the way you smiled at him. At the way your fingers dug into his bicep with eagerness about the thought of seeing the stars. 

He didn’t realize then how much you wanted to see it with him, how it was the prospect of having more time with him that set your eyes a light, not just the stars. 

But he could settle with having a couple more hours with you someday beneath the mantle of glittering light and darkness because that thought alone made his chest ache with a longing he had never known.

Your pinkies had twined around each other and the promise was made and Frankie knew then almost for certain that he was going to fall in love with you. 

“You pinky swore remember?”

His grip on your hand tightens as his pinky brushes yours as if remembering the ghost of the touch so many weeks ago. Feeling the promise made skin to skin and realizing how much that promise meant for both of you. 

“Lets go to the lake star girl.”

~~~~~

Gravel crunches under tires as the truck slowly rolls up to the edge of the lake. With the windows down the cooling breeze skimming across the lake tempers the heat swirling between you and Frankie.

Frankie kills the engine and a silence descends over the truck, you, Frankie, the lake itself, a stillness starting to envelope this moment for just you two. His hand squeezes yours before he’s jumping out of the truck, circling around the front to get to you with an air of urgency, of need. 

Because Frankie doesn’t know how to stay away from you, especially not now, now that he knows what your lips feel like pressed against his, knows how your skin tastes under his tongue. It’s like magnets, gravity, a core force of the earth pulling you both into each other.

It’s unavoidable. 

His fingers wrap around yours again as he helps you out of the truck and as your eyes lock for the thousandth time that night, time seems to get syrupy all over again. 

You both can’t help wanting to stare forever. How long has it been since either of you have wanted someone so deeply like this? Have trusted in someone like this? Have ached and yearned and wished upon all the stars above for someone to look at you the way you both are, memorizing each other? 

Frankie leans into you and lets his lips speak against yours. Lets his tongue whisper forever and always into the plush heat of your mouth. Your whimper tumbles down his throat as his hands card into your hair, your fingers curling into the soft cotton of his t-shirt anchoring yourself to him before you float away. An airiness, lightness envelops you and Frankie as your senses start blending together. Until all both of you know is just Frankie and you. 

“I promised you stargazing and you know I never break a promise.”

You can feel the smile against your lips and then get to see it with your own eyes as he pulls away too soon. He’s so beautiful, the dimple, the patchiness of his beard, the curl of his hair from under his hat, it’s all so Frankie and all so divine.

He grabs a blanket from the back of his truck and gently tugs your hand towards a path between the trees. The moonlight trickling in between the branches high above casting Frankie in speckles of moon and shadow, painting the scene almost ethereal as the lake finally comes into view.

You can’t stop the gasp that tumbles out into the stillness. 

It’s spellbinding. A painting come to life from your dreams now lying before your eyes. 

The lake stretches out in front of you both, the water so still it seems impossible, but it’s the star light bouncing off of the surface that leaves you awestruck.

It’s like tiny pinpricks of light shimmering and winking at you from beneath the surface of the water, trapped in a watery realm. As if somehow the night sky has been captured in this lake just for the two of you. 

And then you look up and stars spread across the inky blackness filling your vision to the brim with the wisps of light. Frankie wasn’t kidding when he said the stargazing here was the best he’d ever seen. It was like you’d just teleported to your daydreams. 

Your eyes finally settle back to earth as you slowly turn towards him, awe and adoration coloring your features. He’s beaming back at you, colored in the shimmering light of the stars and moon, and you’re breathless.

He unfurls the blanket on the sandy shore of the lake and lays back, patting the spot beside him, and you finally fall into him fully. Head landing softly on his chest, his arms wrap around you as he kisses your crown, his hum of content skittering across every nerve ending in your body. A centering, grounding feeling overtakes your sense, and pulls you right to the core. Right to Frankie. 

“I think you were underselling the stargazing. This is unreal.”

Fingers tangle into your hair, playing with the strands, and you can feel as he inhales your scent deep into his lungs, heart fluttering under your cheek. 

“It’s not normally this still or quiet. There’s always someone around, but I guess tonight we just got a little lucky.”

“Thursdays are our days.”

He shifts then, sliding himself out from under you, arms coming around caging you in. His eyes drink you in, scanning across every part of your face before slowing at your eyes then settling at your lips.

A hand comes up to settle along your jaw, thumb stroking at your bottom lip, finger tips idly stroking behind your ear, and you can’t help how your eyes flutter, lips parting just so. He’s blocking the sky but his eyes are stars all their own, twinkling with a need that feeds your soul.

His thumb catches at your bottom lip pushing into it just so as he lowers his lips to your jaw, your soft whine sounding so loud in the silence. 

“Every Thursday I would leave that bar and would dream about this. About you. Being able to touch you, kiss you, hold you that now I don’t even know where to start.” He presses the words into the hollow of your throat, tongue imprinting them onto your pulse. 

“Kissing sounds like a great place to start I would say. I am like super down for that.” You’re breathless as the words tumble past your lips, and you can feel the rumbling chuckle as he settles himself on top of you, thigh slotting between yours and pressing down, a breathy moan rippling into his mouth as his lips finally press to yours. 

He’s sunlight after a rain. Spring after a grueling winter. The wisps of summer heat after a dazzling August sunset. He groans onto your tongue and your hands fist into his curls, nails scraping against scalp needing him closer, always closer. 

Calloused palms wrap around your thigh hitching it up around his waist as he nestles closer, lips dragging down to your throat, his teeth nipping at your skin making you keen. Your nails dig into his chest, catching at the cotton as your fingers trail down to his waist wrapping around his belt, hungry to feel the weight of him against your palm.  

But his hand stops you, pushing your hand away and back against the blanket next to your head. 

“I’ve waited this long at least let me taste you first.” His eyes crinkle with a devilish smile that makes you heat down to your fingertips. He kisses you deep and overwhelming, tongue licking into you with a fever and need that has your toes curling into the sand.

The sound of your shorts unzipping echoes in your ears as his eyes bore into yours, his fingers playing with the edge of your underwear before he finally dips them beneath and settles them on your clit teasing it with soft, light circles. 

A moans ripples to the surface of your lips and he growls before descending upon yours, drinking the sounds down with lips and teeth and tongue. Your hips cant up, chasing him, craving more pressure, and he’s more than willing to oblige. 

His finger trail further dipping into your dripping heat and you suck down the greedy moan he feeds you. He pushes against your clit as his finger slides into the wetness between your legs a breathless fuck rumbling from deep in his chest.

Crooking his finger into you, his lips settle behind your ear, sucking at the sensitive flesh until you’re panting against him, hips rolling into his hand craving more, more, more.

“Take these off, please god take these off.” His hand paws at your shorts, too drunk off the feel of you to be able to take them off himself. Finally your hands snap into action, pulling your shorts and underwear down your legs kicking them to the bottom of the blanket.

Frankie sits back as he watches you, spread out under him, hair mussed, eyes hooded and he can barely breath.

There’s so much of your skin, glowing in the moonlight, calling to him as it short circuits his brain all at the same time. His thoughts eddy out across the lake as he succumbs to the overwhelming awe of you.

 

“Frankie I want to see you.” You hate how whiny you sound but can’t help how much you need to feel his skin. Your hands grab at the hem of his shirt but he moves quicker, strong arms reaching back over his head hauling the white shirt off in one movement. 

And now he’s sitting in front of you, tousled curls, bright eyes, tan, warm skin, all for you. You’re struck dumb by him. The breadth of his shoulders, the firmness of his chest, solid arms leading to big rough hands. He’s like a masterpiece dazzling you, painted with the most delicate brush strokes just for you to enjoy and memorize. 

A dream come to life. 

His hands start to skate up your thighs catching the edge of your shirt and pushing up, up, up as he feast on more skin slowly being revealed to him. Fingertips and palms stopping every so often to touch and squeeze, to memorize your shape. You sit up as his hands approach your breasts and you yank your shirt and bra off quickly needing to be skin to skin, leaving you bare before him in the warm summer night air. 

Groaning at the sight, his hands sweep back down to the apex of your thighs pushing them further apart, eyes darkening as your cunt opens up for him. His finger dips back into you slowly curling up, shooting stars across your vision.

“Fuck Frankie I need more, please I need more.” His eyes dart up to yours as his other hand pushes down on your stomach, holding you in place as he dips a second finger into you curling up slow again, stretching you around the thick digits. 

Your hips try and roll up against his palm but he presses you down harder and all over your muscles contract with the push. It somehow makes his fingers feel like they’re stroking deeper, stretching you further and moans begin tumbling past your lips with every slow pump of his hand. 

Thumb circling at your clit, Frankie just watches, content to observe every minute change in your face, your body. Content to watch as your thighs start to shake, trying to clamp together, but his thighs stop the attempt. 

You struggle to keep your eyes on his, struggle to stay present for every second but his thumb adds just that extra bit of pressure and your head lolls back descending under the waves of your oncoming orgasm.

“God you look so beautiful like this. I can’t wait to taste you but I want you to cum on my fingers. Yes just like that, god just like that I can feel you tighten around my fingers, please give it to me, god let me taste you baby please.”

He’s rambling above you, as torn up and adrift with pleasure as you are. Your eyes crack open just enough for you to see how blown his pupils are, almost black with his need for you and then you see the tent in his jeans pressing against the rough material and you mouth dries further. 

Bucking into his hand, thoughts of him, his cock, how it will feel stretching you open, pressing into you flood your mind and your orgasm comes crashing from what feels like behind you, over taking you from toe to scalp in rivers and streams of unexpected pleasure and warmth. 

You can’t even hear what Frankie is saying but you can feel as his lips finally meet yours licking up the garbled moans and whimpers trickling past your lips. His fingers still slowly pumping into you, taking his time with your release, drawing it out until you’re boneless on the blanket beneath him. 

An emptiness hits you as his hand pulls back and your eyes can barely flutter open. It’s his groan that has your eyes snapping open to witness him licking you off of his fingers, slow and fucking divine. A hushed Frankie falling from your lips as your hips cant up, body needing him now almost more. 

Brown irises shift to black and he’s surging down, lips clashing as he feeds the taste of you onto your tongue. Your thighs tremble and your hands grapple at his belt, both of you breathlessly trying to get closer. Both of you needing to feel how tight your cunt will feel around him. How full you’ll feel as he bottoms out, as he feeds you every inch. 

Your fingers finally grip him, warm and thick and leaking onto your thumb as you slowly pump him once. Frankie’s head falls to your shoulder a whine muffled into your skin. His teeth scraping just so and your hand tightens as you pump back down brushing his head against your searing core.

 

You both keen at the feeling. 

Warm hands wrap around your thighs pushing them up, hitching them high over his waist. You tighten your legs around him pulling him in and grasp his cock, guiding it to you, head catching at your entrance and he finally pushes in.

Inch by slow fucking inch, he pushes and the stretch eats you alive. Back arching into his chest as he tears you apart till you’re melting onto the blanket, seeping into the sands. 

His hips finally slot with yours and he settles between your thighs, chest pressing against you as his mouth comes back home, back to you. The kiss is breathless, as if you’re both too shocked. Words ripped from your tongues and scattered on the wind. 

You’re rippling around him, squeezing, pulling him deeper, and Frankie moans against your lips, gasps, and finally pulls back.

The loss is excruciating. 

Your heels dig into his back, please, please, please rolling off your tongue like a prayer coloring his lips with the need for him, and finally Frankie goes to work. 

His hips roll into yours, an electric zip flashing through your spin every time he seats himself fully back into you. Over and over and over again. Slow and unrelenting, it shatters you and pastes you back together. 

Moans and whimpers and whines flood out and skip across the stillness of the lake, humid breaths and tongues tangling as you both climb higher just to fall apart. Every push of his hips, roll of yours, inching you to the peak as pleasure oozes through your bodies covering you both in sparkling warmth. 

Your bodies seem to bind together, finger tips, palms, lips, chests, thighs pressing and molding. Your nails claw against his back, pulling a moan from him that settles right in your core. 

His thumb falls back to your clit as his other hand cups your head, holding you to him as he feasts on your lips, your jaw, your throat. He’s all encompassing and your eyes flutter, pleasure overtaking you so wholly they roll back. 

“Baby I’m gonna cum, you feel so good, too good fuck.” The endearment rolls off your tongue and Frankie’s hip falter, a whine dropping from his lips. 

Your mind drops into overdrive.

“Baby, fuck baby you make feel so good.” Lips pressing to his ear, you know he hears every word, and you can feel as the endearment hits again and again. His hips pump faster against yours chasing that high, his weight pinning you down letting you feel every inch of him on top of you. 

He’s suffocating you and you are more than happy to fucking drown. You want him to suck you under, to throw both of you off of the cliffs edge into the water below and surrender to the waves and currents.  

Frankie’s hips start to stutter and his groans turn to whimpers. Your thoughts start to dim, everything centering on where you and Frankie are joined. There’s a neediness seeping out of every pore, an almost feral need to be joined like this forever over taking you both, damp skin sticking together as if you are finally fusing into one.

 

His teeth sink into the crux of your neck, your name stuttering past his lips and then you feel him hot and thick pumping into you, filling you with him and your mind blanks out.

All you see are those stars trapped in the lake and your body shudders as your orgasm flings you under, like a hidden wave crashing against you, sucking you into its depths as you try to piece together what has happened. 

Oh god, Frankie.

Fuck baby fuck, fuck, fuck.

Your rambles jumble in the air, knocking into one another as your foreheads settle together, bodies still hypersensitive and overheated.

His eyes crack first as he takes you in up close. It’s all hazy but he knows it’s just you and everything settles in his heart. Locking together and tighten something deep within his chest.

Your eyes peel open, a loopy smile curling your lips as you see him looking down at you.

“Hi.”

“Hey.”

It’s hard to think with him so close. He’s all you can see, all you taste, feel, smell, every sense now engulfed by him. You don’t think you’ve ever been happier in your entire life. 

His dimple pops out at you, a small smile pulling across his plush lips. Your fingers scratch at the stubble on his jaw, thumb tucking into the small divot. 

He nuzzles into your palm and the kiss he plants against it will be with you for a million lifetimes. 

#frankie morales x you #frankie morales x reader #triple frontier fic #triple frontier #triple frontier fanfiction #frankie catfish morales #francisco morales x you #francisco morales #francisco catfish morales #he's my fav #i love him #just want him to hold me i am BEGGING

[cyclicalaberration]

Unrecorded Histories

Eret is a historian. The server changes so fast that events get forgotten in less than two months sometimes, so trying to preserve it was crucial. Historians are few and far between nowadays, griefing and abandonment and time decaying all documents.

They have only known one other, but he is highly specialized, knowing more about the wastelands of 2B2T than any has cared to know in decades, as the warzone was under constant change.

Recording history is hard on many servers, but it feels that the SMP is harder to record than most. Few people remember more than a decade back, and most information is lost faster than that with the amount of times old builds have been griefed. Eret has been around a long time, and they are still learning new things.

It’s ironic that the one dedicated to preserving history cannot remember their own.

They remember a city of four, they remember white eyes. They remember the smell of spruce wood, coal dust and ozone. They remember the squelch of netherrack, redstone particles, gold. They have always hidden their eyes. They didn’t use to hide their eyes. Conflicting accounts. They remember thunderstorms.

They remember being loved, they remember dancing. They remember singing, and spinning, and laughing. They do not remember more from before the SMP.

They have no problem remembering the smp, the horrors, the hurt. They have no problem remembering the torment. They do not remember the life they led before.

They sit upon the pedestal in their castle, staring as the redstone particles dance. They and Foolish have been searching for weeks, to no avail. They don’t remember. The netherrack is warm beneath them, and it pulses every once in a while. They don’t remember. They don’t even know what they are.

Their glasses sit in front of them. They stare at their reflection, blank white eyes staring back at them. Nobody reacts well to their eyes, only Foolish. Decay creeps up their fingers again, the withering lingering as their hands, their cheekbones, their chest, burn. They have never died to a wither, but they have the lingering effects of one who’s withered a thousand times over. Their joints creak and they massage their hands.

They don’t even know what they are. A hybrid, certainly, but they don’t know what their other half is.

“Okay, now he’s just Herobrine,” echoes through their head, Philza’s first reaction upon seeing their eyes. They can’t shake that name.

They shove their glasses on their face with shaky hands, gloves hiding their ashen fingertips, and clip their cape on, gold clasp gleaming with the crest of their kingdom, a kingdom near dissolved. Their crown sits unworn. They don’t need it where they’re going.

“Eret! Old pal! What brings you to my temple?” Foolish drops the sandstone he was moving, turning to face them, rows of teeth betraying nothing but excitement, emerald eyes shining. The gold beacon on his pyramid spins, and Eret takes a deep breath.

“Hey Foolish.” Foolish’s face falls, and he shrinks down so they’re the same height,

“The withering bothering you again?” Eret nods. There was no point in denying it, the ash was creeping out from under their glasses. They massage their hands again, ignoring the burning in the middle of their chest, the pain where their glasses press on the withering skin, but that wasn’t why they’re here.

“That’s not why I’m here. I just-.” They flinch as another bolt of pain shoots through them, but this time it doesn’t fade. Their face burns and itches and screams in agony, and when it pulses again, they bite their tongue so hard it bleeds, the taste of iron filling their mouth. They’re blind with pain. Their eyes burn, their face burns, their hands burn. They try and speak and they start to cough, each cough sending more pain shooting through their body.

They are sitting down when they can think again. They don’t know when that happened. They can see again shortly after, unimpeded by sunglasses. Foolish is crouched in front of them.

“Old pal, that isn’t phantom pain! That’s active withering! Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Withering- usually isn’t that bad.”

“Withering- Withering has a lot of long term consequences! In most mortals, repeated withering can cause cataracts, loss of joint function, temporary paralysis, night terrors, insomnia- Eret, how many withers have you fought recently?”

“I don’t remember- twelve? Maybe? Twelve I’ve used for beacons.” Foolish’s jaw goes slack, and another, smaller, spasm of pain shoots through them.

“Have you properly- of course you haven’t. Foolish, foolish, of course they were gonna be rediscovered-”

“What are you talking about?” Eret looks up at him, trying to climb to their feet on shaking legs. Foolish offers them a hand and they take it, leaning on him.

“Remember when I mentioned the wither cult? We tried to stop it from happening again, destroyed all information we could get our hands on. We were young and stupid, and of course it’d be rediscovered in this area. Lets see if I have the stuff to take care of this-” Foolish’s hand hovers just over Eret’s ashy cheek, just under their eyes- “You just stay here, I have to look for my supplies.” Foolish helps them to sit on the tail of his snake statue, and starts to dig through his chests, muttering quietly.

“There’s not much I can do to keep it away until the withering retreats, but this should make it hurt less, and send it away faster.” Foolish pulls out a tube of what looks like homemade burn cream, but darker, and wipes it over their face, letting them massage it into their hands. “Is there any other decay I should know about?”

Eret nods, dropping their cape and gesturing towards their back. Foolish hisses.

“How long?”

“I don’t remember.”

“Drink this.” He hands them an instant health potion, and then a glass of milk. “Can I help you with this?”

“Yeah.”

“Wow, you really outdid yourself old pal. I thought you might’ve learned your lesson, but you really haven’t changed that much.”

Eret smiles, and Foolish stands up and steps back, handing them back their cape. “I have another potion after this, but until the decay decreases, I don’t think there’s much more we can do. So let’s get to the bottom of this memory loss then.”

--

Herobrine is a god. He is a god with empty eyes. He is a god who floats. He is a god who builds. He is a god of fear. He is older than the nether. He saw wither skeletons with their flesh still tied to their charred bones. He saw the river that flowed through the soulsand valleys. He saw the nether in its prime. He is older than Prime. He is older than XD.

He strips trees of their leaves, leaving them twisting, skeletal husks in the dead of summer. He is a mischievous god, a vindictive god, an evil god, a god of chaos. He saw the monuments when they still saw the sun, unflooded and unguarded, still worshipped at. He saw the temples worshipped at, he saw the mine shafts dug. He saw the fortresses built, the strongholds the last ditch effort to avoid the devastation.

He is older than the end.

He is old, and he got bored. And boredom makes gods antsy, makes them stressed, makes them bored. Bored gods are dangerous gods. And Herobrine had been bored for centuries. So it was to be expected that upon his first contact with another being, he caused mischief. He was a bit vindictive, perhaps.

But Steve grew used to him, and Alex grew exasperated, and he grew fond of the adventurers. He couldn’t scare them any longer, and eventually they grew fond of him as well.

Eventually, in their travels, they set up a base. And he built. Alex and Steve would hunt, farm, explore, mine, but he would build. He built cities, villages. And sometimes, sometimes he would strip forests of their leaves, but only if he was extremely, extremely bored.

Finding a child in the nether was the strangest event in a few centuries, but that didn’t say much. Finding a godling was.

He named it Eret. Alex was confused, Steve was adoring, Herobrine would die for them.

Eret grew slowly, as godlings tend to do. They were smart, and fast, and at some point they set out, exploring new areas of the world, and they returned, a totem of death in tow. Eret and Foolish, as he had been named, were close. They were ever so close, and ever so chaotic. Herobrine laughed, when the angel of Death visited to tell him that his kid was interfering with the Blood God’s business.

Alex was less amused. Steve found the whole thing rather endearing.

Eret was home for a while, telling them about a time traveller they met, when they were summoned. They were there, and then they were not, and he had no idea where they went. Steve said they’d be fine, Alex sent out letters to everyone they could think of, and Herobrine sent a letter to Foolish.

Foolish sent him back a letter, saying they were fine, saying they were alive, in a land of XD’s making, a land where he had no power. He didn’t know it would affect their memory.

--

Eret shakes their head, the sand hot against their skin, in shock.

“I- I don’t remember. I’m so sorry, Foolish.”

“You will. In time, you will, I promise. We will figure this out together, old pal, on my word, I will help you. And if you don’t remember, we’ll make new ones. Now,” Foolish slides a disc into his jukebox and bows to them, extending one hand. “Let’s start here. May I have this dance?”

#Long post #Eternal duo #dream smp fic #dream smp #the eret #Foolish Gamers #Foolish G #Wither Lore #mic writes

[grovyrosegirl]

Confrontation: MCSM Fic

Author’s Note: I’ve been replaying MCSM seasons 1 and 2 recently because I got nostalgic for those blocky dorks. Then I went through some old WIPs in my docs and found this Lukas and Aiden fic from a few years ago. I really liked it, so I spruced it up a bit and finished it for old times’ sake. Enjoy!

---

“Bring him in.”

The guards wasted no time leading Lukas into the small cobblestone room. Despite confiscating everything in his inventory upon arrival, including his weapons, they kept a tight, secure grip on both of his arms. It was only when his former friend, who leaned against the wall with the most satisfied smirk on his face, gave them a small handwave that the guards released Lukas and stepped back, still blocking the only exit to the room.

“Leave us,” Aiden then ordered the two guards, much to Lukas’ surprise.

Even with the wary looks he saw on their faces, the guards obeyed and left the room, shutting the iron door behind them. Lukas faced forward once again, now noticing the oak wood table resting in the center of the room, two identical chairs stood on opposite sides of the table’s surface.

“Take a seat, Lukas,” Aiden made his way over and sat down in the chair facing the door, casually resting his arms behind his head. “Let’s chat.”

Lukas didn’t speak, eyeing the other carefully. Despite everything that had occurred in the past year, knowing what Aiden was capable of, and how low he’d sunk already, seeing that look--that smile--on his face felt unsettling to him. Lukas recalled their theater days that felt like centuries ago, the days before the Witherstorm, before they even thought to call themselves the Ocelots. Aiden was never much of an actor, his specialty had always been the set production.

But clearly, Lukas thought to himself as he felt his eyes lower into a glare, Aiden was enjoying playing the villain.

Slowly, he made his way over to the other chair, sitting down and folding his arms.

“So, is this the part where you try to get me to talk?” Lukas curtly began before Aiden could open his mouth again. “Because you’re wasting your time. Even if I did know where Jesse was, I wouldn’t tell you.”

Everything had happened so fast. The guards raced towards them all, closing in fast when they were revealed as the bridge-builders, an innocent act back home, but a crime on the floating island. His own capture occurred in a matter of seconds, he didn’t even see the guard coming until the very last moment. One minute he was watching Jesse sprint away into the alley, the next he was on the ground, pinned down by the guard. But those few seconds let Jesse and Petra escape, and for that, he took some relief in. By the time Lukas and Ivor were escorted to the throne room, the Founder was already getting the report from another guard that they’d lost sight of the “remaining criminals” as they put it.

He felt relieved knowing that his two friends hadn’t been captured yet. It meant there was a sliver of hope of getting out of this place.

Aiden let out an exaggerated sigh and sat up straight in the chair, leaning forward slightly and placing his arms crossed on the table’s surface, “Man, Jesse, Jesse, Jesse. Aren’t you sick of talking about her yet? Don’t worry, I’m not going to try and get an answer out of you. Like you said, it would be a waste of time. Besides, you already got plenty of that from the Founder.” He snickered for a moment before continuing, “No. This is the part where I throw you a bone.”

“And what exactly does that mean?” Lukas said.

“It means I’m giving you a chance here, buddy,” Aiden said, “to join the winning team again.”

Lukas blinked, “What?”

“You heard me.”

He eyed Aiden suspiciously before saying, “You can’t be serious.”

“No games here, friend. Out of the goodness of my heart, I’ve decided to give you a second chance,” Aiden stood from his seat and began to walk around the table to stand next to Lukas. “C’mon, Lukas! It’ll be like the old days. Don’t you remember? We were the top dogs for years, and now, we can finally be on top again. But this time, it’ll be more than just winning some lame building contest.”

Aiden let out a deep chuckle, he wrapped one arm around Lukas’ shoulders and leaned in closer, a grin on his face.

“Here in this world, buddy? We can be kings.”

Lukas roughly shoved against Aiden’s chest, making the other man stumble back a few steps.

“I knew it,” Lukas said through his heated glare, “you’re planning to betray the Founder, aren’t you? It’s not enough that you want to steal the Eversource from her, you want her throne too.”

Aiden shot his own blazing glare back at Lukas, before regaining his composure and saying with that same grin, “Congrats Captain Obvious, you want a cookie?”

“Eat a slimeball, Aiden,” Lukas fired back, “do you honestly think you’ll get away with this?”

“I already am. But right now? That’s nothing you need to worry about,” He once again leaned back against the cobblestone walls. “The real question you should be asking is whether or not you’ll get to be a part of the spoils. It’s easy, Lukas. All you have to do is say yes and follow my lead. After that? Well, it’ll take a while, but I’m sure you can make up for abandoning your real team.”

At those words, Lukas’ boiling thoughts began to steam. He smashed his hands against the table’s surface and pushed himself up from the chair.

“Excuse me?!” He exclaimed. “You must’ve really lost me there, because last time I checked, it was you who abandoned me!”

At that reaction, Aiden almost seemed to shrink against the wall. However, he swiftly recovered his bravado and moved towards Lukas with gripped fists.

“We left because all you could think about was Jesse and her loser friends! It was always, ‘I’ve got to help Jesse build today!’ or ‘I’m going to visit Jesse!’” He clasped his hands together, held them close to his cheek as if he were hopelessly in love, and swung them back and forth while speaking in a mocking manner, “‘She’s my new best friend! We make cookies together! She’s sooo nice, and she’s sooo cool!’ You followed her around like a lovesick puppy. It makes me want to hurl!”

“I don’t get it all. Why?” Lukas shook his head in frustration. “Why do you hate her so much? Why have you always hated her so much? She never did anything to you! You always just got a kick out of torturing her and her friends, didn’t you? And when you couldn’t pick on her anymore, you start pushing Maya and Gill around. Anything to make yourself feel tall, is that it?!”

“Not like you ever tried to stop me,” he scoffed.

“Because back then, I thought it was all some dumb rivalry. But I was wrong. And I still kick myself everyday for not putting a stop to it. Maybe if I had,” Lukas paused, then let out a sigh that was flooded with a regretful tone, “maybe we wouldn’t be here right now.”

Aiden scowled, “She’s a loser. And all she does is drag people down to her loser level. She did it with Petra, and she did it with you.”

“She’s a hero. And she’s my friend!”

“I was your friend!” Aiden snarled.

“Yeah, you were. Until you decided that your stupid, fragile ego mattered more than years worth of friendship!”

“If you were really my friend, you wouldn’t have chosen Jesse over me!”

“If you were really my friend, you wouldn’t have made me choose!”

At the end of his patience, Aiden lunged forward with an angry screech. He grabbed the collar of Lukas’ jacket and yanked the boy forward, dangling him slightly off the ground.

“I can do it, you know,” Aiden said through gritted teeth. His voice was low, but ever-so menacing, “I can throw you off this island right now. No one would blame me if I told them you attacked me. The people here believe whatever I tell them. You fall into the void forever, and all you’ll be remembered as is some villain who tried to attack this island’s savior.”

Lukas, amidst his struggle against Aiden’s grip, looked him directly in the eyes and said in his own low, fearsome voice, “I dare you.”

Aiden went still. All of the bravado, the threats, and the glares were drained from his face. His eyes went wide with disbelief, and in that moment, Lukas saw it. Fear. Hesitation. The thought that maybe, just maybe, he’d taken a step too far. Aiden opened his mouth to say something, but no words came out. With only a sentence, Lukas was allowed to see the tiniest glimpse of the person he used to trust most in the world.

He saw the scared, insecure kid he’d met all those years ago.

Aiden’s grip on Lukas became loose, allowing the latter to easily push him away.

“That’s what I thought,” Lukas broke the silence with a sigh. He buried his hands into his jacket pockets, looking down to the floor, “You’re all talk, Aiden. Always have been.”

The anger returned as quickly as it had fled. But it wasn’t explosive. It was simmering. Aiden narrowed his eyes back into a glare, his fists, clenched so tight it looked painful, were trembling.

Another moment of silence passed before Aiden finally looked away from Lukas and exclaimed, “Guards!”

The same guards who’d brought Lukas here returned swiftly, entering the room and grabbing ahold of both of his arms once more. Lukas did little to resist their hold, only keeping a hard stare on Aiden.

“Get him out of my sight,” Aiden said in a low growl. “He’s useless.”

The guards obeyed and led Lukas out of the room. With a slam of the iron door, Aiden was left alone.

#my fanfics #Minecraft Story Mode #mcsm #MCSM lukas #mcsm Aiden #MCSM episode 5

[thescarlettbitch]

Witchy To-Buy List for the New Year

For my own selfish purposes, to make sure I actually act on what I want for a change, I'm making a list of things I want to buy/get better at before the calendar restarts for 2021. So basically things I want to get in 2020. This way I can come back to it and see what I need to do or what I have done.

Moonstone, Pearls, Sunstone, Citrine, Smokey Quartz.

I draw my energy from the earth and from the solar system, mainly the moon and sun and stars, and I feel like moonstone will help me connect more deeply with Artemis. Pearls are Freyja, sunstone is Apollo, Citrine is Persephone, and Smokey quartz is Hec/Hekate.

Another pendulum

I love my current pendulum, but I made him with an ex who was unintentionally emotionally abusive. While we maintain a good friendship, it's forced due to our moms being good friends. I feel very connect with my pendulum but I'd like to have another that isn't tied to an ex lover.

Tarot

I'm going to buy one for myself when I get the money. My mom does divination on playing cards but thinks tarot is satanic, I know it's ridiculous, but I have good hiding spots. I love my sister's deck and my friends' decks, and I love messing with them (with explicit permission from the owner, never touch someone else's deck without permission). I've also got an emotional sister (one of my oldest sister's only friends, grew up with her, she's basically family) who collects them, so I might get into that.

Crocheting/knitting

I love crocheting and knitting but I never have time. It's a great way for me to incorporate knot magic and make charms and talismans to give to my friends.

Meditation

I'm usually really good about meditating, but I haven't done a full body cleanse in MONTHS and I feel super shitty so that's gotta change.

My staff

I have a staff! It's an old farmer's tool from this abandoned house (I asked if I could take it from the house and immediately felt compelled to smile, so I took that as a yes, and I've cleansed it multiple times in multiple ways) that I've had for about 5 years and never used because I was weary I'd break it. However, I've developed a connection over the years and something is telling me to use it, and spruce it up a bit.

Cleansing schedule

I cleanse whenever I remember, but I'm working on getting away from that. I want to get on a strict schedule of cleansing either every full/new moon or every Sabbat.

Kitchen witching

I'm eclectic, but I love cooking so kitchen witchery is big for me. Just yesterday I tried to make these snickerdoodle-type cookies and they aren't bad, I just need to get the texture down. As a preformer I drink lots of tea to keep my vocal chords in good condition, and I'd like to work on getting a wider variety of teas, which leads me to...

Festivals

As I said in my post Tips From a Half-Closeted Witch, festivals for home-made goods are a staple where I live. I also said in that post that I want to try to get one tea/herbal blend/soap/lotion/crystal from each booth that sells, along with a large supply of honey because I obviously love honey. That way I get what I need and also support local sellers.

My spirit guides

As a medium, I have spirit guides. I know who a few of them are, but I need to work on strengthening my bond with them, as it will help me do my stuff. By stuff, I mean that I can sense/see presences and if I concentrate a lot I can see/hear/talk to/know them. I've done it a lot recently as my mom's friend lives on an active property. I felt something and mom told me what to do and I described the man who had lived there previously (who I've never met and who passed on last year) and while we were leaving, the presence of a native American laid a hand on my mom and me and I got a searing headache down my scalp, and I knew he had been scalped. So I'd like to get to know my spirit guides a bit more.

Deities

I want to get closer to my deities because I fear my connection to them is wavering.

Spells

I want to be able to cast more spells, in multiple senses. I want to be able to do spell jars and similar things. I enjoy casting and the spells I have done have always worked, so I want to strengthen my abilities and be able to cast more complicated spells.

Runes

I want to start using runes because I like the look of them and I can, realistically, make my own set and use them, so I'd like to learn.

Sigils

I'm shit at making sigils and I want to make more and get better at it. I've done a few good sigils, like one for an anti-pain spell I travel onto the soles of my shoes when I was wearing heels every day after school for four to six hours and it worked fairly well. My feet hurt significantly less.

Fae

I want to get closer with the fae around me. I'm already close with them, but I want to get closer. I'm going to work on leaving offerings for them more often.

All in all I want to better hone in my craft and I've already started working towards it!

#pink witch #kitchen witch #sea witch #teen witch #witchcraft #baby witch #closet witch #closeted witch #cottage witch #crafty witch #crystal witch #diy witch #eclectic witch #female witchcraft #female witch #diy witchery #green witch #kitchen witch tips #ocean witch #rose witchcraft #sea witchery #urban witch #witch aesthetic #witch altar #witch stuff #witch tumblr #witchblr #witch tools #witchcraft blog #witchlife

[marauder--harder]

“All I do is drink coffee and say bad words.” with PA Sirius pretty please coz Ed made me hurt my knee and I need Sirius distraction. 😉 See what I did there?

Sorry this took so long, but I don’t half ass anything when it comes to you and I got carried away. :) Hope you enjoy, lovely! 

Gruff and Grimy. 

Word Count: 1,277.

Walking down the old, dusty corridor, you heard the faint sounds of shouting. You wondered what exactly you got yourself into in accepting Molly’s request to attempt sprucing up the new headquarters of the recently reconfigured Order. She had told you that it was in no current condition for meetings, let alone possible guests, and the current owner was not well enough to manage the task of cleaning it alone. Despite her refusal to tell you the current owner’s name, you had agreed to go under the condition that she would make you a feast fit for all seven of her children upon the house’s completion. 

Thus, you were left walking into 12 Grimmauld Place, feeling rather overwhelmed by the state of filth the house had procured under the new owner’s guardianship. You thought they must have been elderly to be this lazy with the place. From the ornate paintings that hung on the walls, to the fancy decor, you knew this was a wealthy families’ home at some point. Perhaps you could find out more history from the old man or woman who was left here. 

As you neared the back of the house, the murmurs of shouting grew louder and more profane. Eyes widened as you heard the grunt and clammer of pots and pans, before more loud curses came tumbling past the man’s lips. You rounded the corner quickly, hoping that the old man hadn’t hurt himself in the commotion, but before you could rush to his aid you stopped dead in your tracks just past the doorway. 

“You’re not old,” you said. 

Sirius turned with a start, wielding a skillet in his hand as if it were a wand. “How’d you get in here?!” he shouted gruffly. 

You quickly rose your hands in surrender, realizing that you may have been in over your head on every front when it came to Molly’s favor. Her pie better be damn worth it. “Molly Weasley sent me. I mean no harm, sir. I heard shouting and thought you’d injured yourself.”

Feeling rather dumb now as he glanced down at his weapon of choice and then your frame, he sighed and dropped it with the rest of the kitchenware at his feet. “How’d you get in here. This place is sealed with protective charms.”

“Do you know Molly Weasley?” you asked.

Sirius thought for a moment and felt a tug at his memory. It was painful to remember nearly anything after being with the dementors for so long. Perhaps Dumbledore did mention the Weasley woman feeling outraged by the state of 12 Grimmauld Place. He said there may be someone by to clean within the next week, but had it been a week already?

You continued to stare at the rough and ragged man in front of you. He had not answered your question, but now had a far off, almost pained look to him. With his matting and thinness, you thought he looked like a wounded animal: hurt and confused. Your heart ached for this man. 

“Well, nevermind if you do. She’s a friend of Dumbledore’s. You do know him, now, don’t you?”

Sirius was shaken from his trance and cracked a smile, while rolling his eyes. His cheeks hurt with the movement. Merlin, when’s the last time he smiled? “Yes, I could never forget that old man.”

“Ah, good. He and Mrs. Weasley have sent me to do some cleaning for you since I was told you were, er…” you trailed off and looked around. You didn’t want to insult the man any further but this was easily the grossest house you had ever stepped foot in. “Well, two sets of hands are better than one, yeah?”

Sirius found himself smiling again and let out a deep, rumbling chuckle. “This place is a shithole. Always has and I don’t think some dusting is going to fucking fix that.”

Your eyes widened with surprised delight at the change of pace from the man in front of you. Just a moment ago he looked as if he was broken and inconsolable. Now, he was smiling and held the smallest amount of light in his amazing grey eyes. 

“Might as well make the shithole livable at least, then. People in the Order wouldn’t want to catch pneumonia from the amount of dirt caked on everything.” Moving closer to him, you began picking up the pots and pans at his feet. “Were you looking for something before or just taking inventory of your kitchenware?”

Sirius stood above you, unmoving, and a bit speechless. You hadn’t been scared away by his nasty appearance, nor the state of his birth mother's home. He hoped you would be joining the Order so he could see more of you. 

“Coffee kettle,” he managed to grumble, before helping pick up the mess he made. “Wanted something other than fucking whiskey to drink.”

“Well if you’re not having any, I may need a glass,” you joked with a wink. “I’m Y/N, by the way.”

Sirius’ smile dropped. “Sirius.” He deadpanned. “Sirius Black.”

Your eyebrows raised just a hair before you schooled your face and extended your hand. You had to remember that Molly and Dumbledore obviously approved of him, or thought him safe to be around. They wouldn’t send you into danger unknowingly. “Nice to meet you Mr. Black. I assume this is your home?”

“Godric, fuck no! This was Walburga’s place; but since that bitch is dead, it is about the safest place for me now that I’m a bloody fugitive and all.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at the nonchalant way he expressed something so dire and drastic. Although, with what the Prophet had said about him, you thought it was probably his new normal. Not much would phase him at this point, probably. 

After clearing your throat, you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear and managed a small smile. “Alright, well, I’ve been tasked to make it Order ready. I can do it with or without your help, Mr. Black. Which will it be?”

Sirius merely smiled in response. 

Hours later, caked in layers of dirt and sweat, you managed to flop down on the sofa and put your feet up with a groan. “I can’t believe we didn’t even finish more than two rooms!”

Sirius smiled again, something he was growing more accustomed to, he realized and groaned with a stretch. “I can. This place has been abandoned for bloody ages; Kreacher didn’t keep anything up worth shite.”

“Kreacher?” you asked with a cocked brow. 

Sirius merely waved his hand in dismissal. “Nasty bugger of a house elf.”

You hummed in acquiescence, and decided that you needed something to drink. “How about that coffee now, yeah?”

“Sounds lovely, thanks.”

You huffed out a laugh, before shaking your head. “You’re the host, Mr. Black.”

“You’re the hired help, Ms. Y/L/N,” he replied with a cheeky grin. 

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Touche.” 

After you managed to make two cups of coffee, you made your way back to the living room and set it down. “So, what else is there to do around here?”

“Not fucking much.”

“You truly are more foul mouthed than a sailor, aren’t you?” you asked with a quirked brow.

Sirius smiled behind his cup and you saw that shine of mischief in his captivating eyes. Bloody hell, were you attracted to this gruff mysterious man? 

“Sweetheart, all I do in this fucking house is drink coffee and say bad words.”

“Well, now you can add cleaning to the list.” You smiled. 

“And having beautiful company,” he added with a wink. 

Your smile grew, now stretching from ear to ear. Oh yes, you were definitely attracted to this man. “The pleasure is all mine, Mr. Black. All fucking mine.”

IT’S DRABBLE NIGHT, Y’ALL!!

#sirius x reader #sirius black #blurbs #harry potter blurbs

[batgirl-87]

HPHM Character Profile

Tagged by @unforgivablecurse-breaker in @cynicaljapanophile‘s awesome profile maker for our MC’s - Thank you so much for tagging me and creating this! =D

Okay, think I’m finally finished with it! Really, thank you for tagging me because it helped me figure out some new things about my MC, as well as help me more with creating her parent’s backstory, and even helping me with the godparents as well who I had no real information determined yet! So this was very beneficial for me, thank you! (I also kind of want to do this for my Jacob too...)

General Information -

Name: Nereida Adelyn-Keira Black

Age: 16 (currently)

Gender: Female

Nickname(s): Keira, Adelyn (primarily, doesn’t like her first name much like Tonks) 

Ady (by Jacob and Charlie), 

Reida (by Remus), 

Black (by Merula primarily, sometimes Andre especially if it’s on the Quidditch Pitch, sometimes Talbott when she calls him Winger, sometimes others), 

B (Penny and Jae), 

Lyn (sometimes by Jacob, usually when he needs her attention for something serious), 

Cuz (by Tonks), 

Beater Buddy/Roomie (by Barnaby), 

Canada (by Jae when she agrees to bring him things to sell from the country, by Andre when it’s revealed she’s playing for the country in the World Cup) - (there’s probably more personal ones her friends call her)

Date of Birth: 11 February 1973

Astrological/ Zodiac Sign: Aquarius

Ethnicity: Irish, French, English

Nationality: Irish & Canadian

Species: Witch, Undine

Blood Type: AB Rh+

Blood Status: Half-Blood

Family:

Father: Orion Black - 

Husband and second-cousin of Walburga Black

Father of Sirius, Regulus, Jacob, and Keira

Met Vivian-Caer while out in Knockturn Alley one day, became infatuated with her and eventually wooed her into becoming his mistress (post about Orion and Vivian-Caer and their relationship to come)

Attended Hogwarts - Slytherin

While he supported Voldemort and the Death Eaters and believed in blood purity, never became a Death Eater himself

The more powerful and forceful the Death Eaters became ultimately leading to a war led to him placing more and more protection spells on his home (possibly realizing how bad this all was and backing away a bit from the Death Eaters beliefs)

Passes away in 1979

Mother: Vivian-Caer LaFontaine - 

Named after the Lady of the Lake and the Celtic goddess of dreams and transformations known for her beautiful, hypnotic singing voice.

Born in Nice, France

Attended Académie de Magie Beauxbâtons

Moved to Ireland (home of her mother and maternal side of the family) where she eventually met Orion

Passes away in November 1978

(A post about Orion and Vivian-Caer and their relationship to come)

Godfather: Owen Pearce - 

Welsh/English heritage

From Prince Edward Island 

Played Professional Quidditch in Vancouver where he met his wife

Met Vivian when she travelled over to work with his wife. Developed a brother-sister type relationship with her.

Godmother: Alona Pearce -

First Nations from British Columbia

Practices her culture’s alchemy which is more focused on the elements (Earth, Water, Fire, Wind) than metals 

Met her husband when he searched for a Healer outside his team for his persistent shoulder pain (he didn’t want to just keep drinking potions to manage it)

Met and worked with Vivian when she travelled over for her job. Became fast friends, almost like sisters.

Other: 

Remus Lupin - Guardian while she’s in the UK/Ireland and going to school. Calls him “Uncle Remus” (post on their relationship to come)

Nymphadora Tonks - They were very surprised to find out they were related to each other when Tonks confided in Keira her aunt was Bellatrix LeStrange which Keira recognized from the family tree in 12 Grimmauld Place she just recently moved into after Walburga’s passing. Andromeda had been burnt off the tree and her husband and Tonks were never added so Keira had no idea! Call each other cuz/cousins (even though Keira would technically be her aunt but since they’re the same age they feel more like cousins. Keira would call/consider Bellatrix her aunt)

Sirius and Regulus Black - Older half-brothers. Awkward introductions by Orion after Vivian demanded that her kids meet their siblings after having Keira. Neither Keira or Jacob really remember Regulus much after their one time meeting. Sirius however was taken by Vivian’s kindness and warm welcoming, much different than living with his mum, and would sometimes stop by to ‘hang out’ with his little siblings in a much more comfortable environment than at his home. While living with the Potters gave him loving parents he lacked, visiting Vivian, Jacob, and Keira gave him the sibling bonding without feeling like he was competing with them or was lesser than them. (Probably wished he was raised with them like he wished he was raised by the Potters his whole life instead). Continued to write to them when they moved to Canada. Told the Marauders about them.

Alpharden Jacob-Taylor Black - Her big brother, best friend, and partner in crime. It’s them against the world. 

Affiliation(s)/ Organization(s): 

The Most Ancient and Noble House of Black

Orion - Affiliated with the Death Eaters although never joined himself and possibly began to disagree with them while the threat of war was imminent. 

Vivian-Caer - Académie de Magie Beauxbâtons

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

Team Canada

Occupation(s):

Vivian-Caer LaFontaine - Magical Historian, Archeologist, and Author specializing in Native cultural beliefs, practices, and artefacts

Owen Pearce - Quidditch Scout/Recruiter, Former Professional Quidditch Keeper

Alona Pearce - Healer and Alchemist

Jacob-Taylor Black - Professional Quidditch Keeper

Adelyn-Keira Black - Student (currently); Curse-Breaker

Magical Characteristics -

Form of Boggart: 

Being manipulated and betrayed by her friends/those she cares about, who never truly were her friends/cared about her and only used her 

Leaves her feeling humiliated, ashamed, and completely alone praying on her insecurities, trust issues, and pride

Being open and vulnerable and trusting others is hard for her so to do so and then find out it was a lie would be incredibly hard on her and make her feel violated

Realizing and admitting she had been manipulated would be a huge blow to her pride and intelligence. She doesn’t like feeling stupid or being blindsided, prefers to be prepared and have the upperhand.

Form of Patronus: Arctic Fox (might change)

Form of Riddikulus: 

(This is such a great question, I’ve never really thought about it and have no real idea what would make this funny)

Maybe her friends laughing, dancing, and messing around together, probably reminiscent of past happy moments.

What do they see in the Mirror of Erised?: 

Jacob and her reunited together again

Their mom, godparents, Remus, and some other shadowy silhouettes representing their family 

She’s no longer alone and lost and feels supported 

Wand(s)

First Wand -Length: Eleven and a half inches -Flexibility: Solid -Wood: Hazel -Core: Undine Hair Description:  

Hazel often reflects its owner’s emotional state, and works best for a master who understands and can manage their own feelings. Others should be very careful handling a hazel wand if its owner has recently lost their temper, or suffered a serious disappointment, because the wand will absorb such energy and discharge it unpredictably. The positive aspect of a hazel wand more than makes up for such minor discomforts, however, for it is capable of outstanding magic in the hands of the skillful, and is so devoted to its owner that it often ‘wilts’ at the end of its master’s life (if the core is unicorn hair, however, there is no hope; the wand will almost certainly have ‘died’). Hazel wands also have the unique ability to detect water underground, and will emit silvery, tear-shaped puffs of smoke if passing over concealed springs and wells. 

Undine Hair Core - (Swear I wrote something about this but I can’t find it!) From grandmother (possibly her mom’s old wand); Elegant spell casting; Temperamental but loyal; Skilled in Transfigurations and Charms.

Solid - Extremely loyal. Owners of this wand are generally known for their reliability, their friendliness, and their character. They may find it difficult to understand views that differ from their own but are usually able to politely disagree. (Not exactly sold on all the flexibilities but nbd)

Stained grey with detailed carvings

Second Wand:

-Length: Eleven and a quarter inches -Flexibility: Hard -Wood: Ebony -Core: Dragon Heartstring. Description: 

This jet-black wand wood has an impressive appearance and reputation, being highly suited to all manner of combative magic, and to Transfiguration. Ebony is happiest in the hand of those with the courage to be themselves. Frequently non-conformist, highly individual or comfortable with the status of outsider. In my experience the ebony wand’s perfect match is one who will hold fast to his or her beliefs, no matter what the external pressure, and will not be swayed lightly from their purpose.

Dragon Heartstring Core - Produces wands with the most power, and which are capable of the most flamboyant spells. Tend to learn more quickly than other types. While they can change allegiance if won from their original master, they always bond strongly with the current owner.Tends to be easiest to turn to the Dark Arts, though it will not incline that way of its own accord. Somewhat temperamental.

Hard - Loyalty is not easily won. Great for complex and advanced levels of magic. This type of wand is best suited for wizards and witches who are gifted, stubborn, and never give up. Some people may find them intimidating or difficult to approach. (Not exactly sold on all the flexibilities but nbd)

Black with a slight sheen, carved out handle

Third Wand (What?! Yes =p):

-Length: Eleven inches -Flexibility: Surprisingly Swishy -Wood: Blue Spruce -Core: Undine Hair Description:

First Nations have used Blue Spruce for medicinal and ceremonial purposes, twigs given as gifts for good fortune - therefore, this type of wand is more commonly passed down as a gift rather than bought, typically done in families; this may mean this wand chooses those who have strong ties to their families. Also like other spruces, the Blue Spruce does not do well in nervous, cautious hands but will bond to its chosen partner, typically a bold spell-caster with a good sense of humour, be intensely loyal, and capable of producing dramatic effects. However, while other spruce variations may be hardier, the Blue Spruce is more flexible and adaptable. It has also been shown to do well with non-verbal magic.

Undine Hair -  Elegant spell casting; Temperamental but loyal; Skilled in Transfigurations and Charms.

Surprisingly Swishy -  Either is surprisingly loyal or surprisingly unloyal and is most often known for doing the unexpected. Great for charm work. Owners that are matched with wands of this flexibility are usually the type of people who have a hard time coming out of their shell or opening up, but once they do, others will find themselves drawn to their charming, fun-loving personalities. The owner usually adapts well to unexpected changes but may find it difficult to make hard decisions. (Not exactly sold on all the flexibilities but nbd)

Gift passed down from her mom (given by her godmother since her birth mother is dead); Her mom (with help of her godmother) chose and had this wand made for her to be given to her (as well as one for Jacob as well).

Silvery-Blue with intricate symbolic carvings and carved out handle

(Post about Keira’s different wands and her personal growth to come)

Animagus: Arctic Fox

Amortentia: 

Rain/Petrichor (reminds her of the Quidditch Pitch which she associates with Jacob; rain has always been very calming and peaceful for her) 

Salty Sea Air (reminds her of her mom and Jacob) 

Honeysuckle (reminds her of Charlie and the burrow/Weasley family)

Chocolate (reminds her of Remus)

Maple (reminds of her Canada and her ‘adopted’ parents)

Appearance -

Height: 5′6″ / 169 cm

Weight: ~135-145 lbs 

(Currently probably around 135, but when she starts training and competing in the World Cup over the summer and for Year 6 will gain more muscle)

Complexion(skin tone/ conditions): 

Pale

Cold to the touch, particularly hands and feet (ice cold =p)

Somewhat sensitive skin, becomes red easily

Commonly has some bruises from Quidditch and Cursed-Vaults adventures. 

Earns some scars as well from Quidditch and Cursed-Vaults adventures. 

Watermark - her skin will begin to grow scales if she doesn’t regularly consume water or submerges herself in it; quite painful.

Hair Color/ Style: 

Black with hint of red, primarily visible in the sunlight. 

Has a natural wave to it. 

Length is either to bottom of shoulder blades or just above the tops of the shoulders - When she started Hogwarts her hair was longer but cut it shorter for Fifth year and will probably keep that length for a while. 

Normally wears it down or up in a ponytail. Sometimes will put it up in a messy bun mainly to get it up out of her face and off her neck. 

She can wake up with it looking perfect/”perfectly messy” - Classic House of Black Hair =p 

Eye Color: Grey-Blue

Hogwarts Information -

Worst Class(es): 

Herbology - No green thumb and she doesn’t really like digging around in the soil/fertilizer and getting her hands literally dirty.

Potions - She just hates this class because Snape can be such an arse to her because of Jacob (and Sirius) and while sometimes it can be fun for her to exchange quips with him other times it is very distracting and he’s not at all helpful when she’s trying to learn how to brew potions. (He was much worse towards Jacob though).

Elective: Arithmancy - Just no. She’ll let Bill handle that =p

Best Class(es): 

Charms - She loves Professor Flitwick and truly does love this subject and has shown a natural talent for it. 

Defense Against the Dark Arts - She has a protective nature and fighting spirit, enjoys fighting/duelling and the rush of adrenaline 

History of Magic - Actually likes history, although she may not exactly enjoy the boring lectures by Professor Binns, she does love reading and learning about the subject on her own. Also likes getting to have a sort of free period with her friends.

Elective: Alchemy - Her ‘adopted’ mom piqued her interest in the subject and she is eager to learn all aspects of it even if she has to demand to be taught this course as a lone student interested in it.

Least Favourite Teacher(s):

Professor Snape - While they have a more complex relationship than he has with Jacob (or Sirius) and he treated Jacob way worse than her, Keira struggles a lot in Potions because of the lack of help from Snape and his constant hatred towards members of her family. Although they are able to get along sometimes, normally when it benefits them both, or when it’s a sort of Slytherin vs. others type of situation. Even though he can give her a hard time Keira still teases him that he truly likes her deep, deep...deep down. (If he hasn’t yet,) I headcanon that he does teach her Sectumsempra. (But she will never forgive him for what he does to Remus)

Professor Trelawney - Seriously?! How is she supposed to take this class and this Professor seriously? She can’t. This class is riddikulus. 

Favourite Teacher(s): 

Professor Flitwick - He has always been on of her favourite teachers - great teacher, passion for his job, kind and helpful to his students, overall and understanding and warm person. But what really does it for her is Flitwick’s views on Werewolves. She hates ever having to lie to him and honestly tries not to. 

Quidditch:

Beater (Joins team in Year Four)

Captain (Year Five-Year Seven)

World Cup Champion - Team Canada (1990 - summer before Year Seven)

Favourite Spell(s): 

Any water/ice or fire related spells (e.g. Aguamenti, Aqua Erecto, Glacius, Freeze, Incendio, Firestorm, Flagrante Curse, Fumos) 

Any spells that can knock back an opponent or cause an explosion (e.g. Bombarda, Confringo, Depulso, Everte Statum)

Snowflake-creating spell

Protego

Carpe Retractum

Sectumsempra 

Arania Exumai (she hates spiders!)

Cantis (yes she will make people burst into song =p)

Trivia -

(Random facts about them, future job, face claim, theme song, etc.)

Random Facts: 

Speaks English and French, and knows a little Russian, ISL/Irish, and Carrier

Plays piano

Jacob was supposed to teach her to play guitar

Hat stall between Slytherin and Ravenclaw

Slytherin Prefect

Has a Siamese Cat

INFJ-A

Probably a True Neutral (or somewhere on the Neutral spectrum)

Uncomfortably with physical affection and needs plenty of time to feel comfortable with someone before engaging. (Honestly probably took until Year 5 for her to comfortably hug her friends, although some she felt more comfortable with sooner than others like Tonks)

Beautiful singing voice, used to be shy about it but grows to be more confident with it (and in general) since she does love to sing - also didn’t like singing without Jacob though

Normally good at hiding her negative emotions

Can become overwhelmed and anxious which causes her to submerge herself in the nearest body of water to calm herself down (e.g. Black Lake, Prefect’s Bath, Courtyard Fountain) Might be because of her Undine genes but being underwater quiets everything down and helps her calm down and brings a sense of peace

Wants to be able to create her own spells like Badeea - teach her the ways!

Fiercely protective of those she cares about, primarily Remus

Receives and sends out a care package once a month from and to “Uncle Remus” - normally filled with chocolate (and wolfsbane which she takes to making after learning how)

A female Sirius =p 

Can be quite flirtatious as long as there are no real feelings behind it (she doesn’t believe anyone would actually be interested in her romantically, surprised she even has friends who like her for her, but if someone convinced her they did have feelings for her she might not know how to function =p)

Moves into 12 Grimmauld Place after Walburga passes (and no one else is doing anything with it!)

Moves Barnaby in with her officially summer before Year Six (even though summer before Year Five her basically spent all his time there and stayed with Keira either there or at Hogwarts during the holidays)

Her interest in History most likely stems from her mom

Her mom spending time in Egypt as a Historian/Archeologist before she was born probably influences Keira to become a Curse-Breaker there to feel a sort of connection to her mom - like maybe she explored this tomb too or shopped at this market. Maybe someone here worked with her and remembers her. (Not just about Bill =p)

Sentimental Items - Celtic Warrior Ring (given by her mom to her and Jacob); a quilt made by her mom (on for her and one for Jacob); an old Golden Snitch from Jacob; a House of Black crest cameo necklace

Has no interest or plans to get married or have children

Gifted Bill his leather jacket (that becomes a signature look for him =p)

Future Job: Curse-Breaker (with her partner Bill Weasley)

Face-claim: 

Megan Fox 

Or Alexandra Daddario

Bonus: Jacob & Keira (although she’d probably never wear pink =p)

Tagging (if you haven’t done it already and want to): @bluerosesburnblue @arnyan @gryffinpuffthunderbird @jadeowl19 @cptaincarswell @changeling-fae

#hphm #hogwarts mystery #hphm mc #my mc #tag game #thanks for tagging me #adelyn-keira black

[cecilspeaks]

142 - Ufo Sighting Reports

As abpve, so below. As for the middle, Well, who knows.

Welcome to Night Vale.

We start today, as we often do, with the latest UFO sighting reports in the community.

Friday, 5:20 AM. The staff of the Desert Spring Tuberculosis Research center and Medication Retreat reported a luminous object out over the neighborhood across the highway. The object resembled a straw hat and had an apparent speed of 150 miles per hour, and apparent altitude of 2,000 feet. The staff recalled that the object illuminated the ground brightly, as they could see Leah Shapiro at the window of her house, receiving a phone call and then collapsing to her living room floor with a hand over her mouth. This was perfectly visible despite the sun not having yet risen.

Friday, 5:28 AM. Leann Hart, editor of the Night Vale Daily Journal, was preparing for a day of hard-hitting journalism. She does this using a dummy that she has set up in the back yard and labeled with a sign saying “Pivot to video”. She was just about to launch into her usual routine of hacking at this dummy for two and a half hours with a pair of hatchets made from pure silver, while screaming in fury, when she was stopped by a sight in the sky. An object the size and shape of a bus, and also having all other characteristic of a bus, was soaring over her. It flew at an apparent altitude of 500 feet, making no sound at all, and Leann tracked it for several minutes before losing sight of it. She said that she reacted like anyone would: by flinging a hatchet at it and shouting: “You’re not welcome here.”

Friday, 5:34 AM. My niece Janice was up early, because it was finally time to take the pre-SAT, and she didn’t want to feel hurried. She had been with herself long enough to know that feeling hurried kills any sense of momentum or order for the rest of the day, and makes her feel like she’s trying and failing to catch up with herself. Better to force herself out of bed into the cold of a winter desert morning than to feel behind herself later on. She had gone out into the front yard to get a bit of fresh air, and had waved to Leah Shapiro who was rushing out of her house and did not seem to notice the greeting, when Janice saw the craft. A red ellipsoidal object rose from behind the line of houses. At first, Janice thought it might just be a particularly quick sunrise, but soon realized the object was only the size of a small table and was right above her. Remembering what Tamika had taught her during team militia camp, Janice grabbed a heavy stone from the yard, but the object was already withdrawing. Janice yelled to ask if Leah had seen it too, but Leah was driving away. So Janice went back inside and made herself a smoothie. She feels she did pretty good on the pre-SAT.

Friday, 5:41 AM. Dana Cardinal, no longer mayor, who carries with her what she has done, but now also carries the possibility of what she could do next, was driving around the city. She does this sometimes, an aimless circle of a town that once had been her responsibility, but now is not and never will be again. The town wihout a mayor. This is a problem, but it is not her problem. She had just been passed by Leah Shapiro, who was going some 20 miles over the speed limit, when Dana spotted three sparkling objects in an equilateral formation, approximately 20 feet from each other at an apparent altitude of 100 feet. She shrugged and turned back to her aimless driving. This was no longer her problem.

Friday, 5:53 AM. Sarah Sultan, who is the president of the Night Vale Community College and also a smooth, fist-sized river rock, was driving to work. She had to get in early because of an all-department meeting to address the lingering effects of the rabbit infestation the college suffered five years ago. And she was still fuming from yesterday when the DMV had threatened to take away her license on the ground that no one understood how a smooth, fist-sized river rock was even capable of operating a car. She had had to take the driving test all over again, and while she got a perfect score and retained her license, that had been time robbed from her that she would never get back. Leah Shapiro, ahead of her in the lane, slowed down to turn into the Night Vale Community Hospital parking lot, and Sarah swerved around her, unwilling to wait for the turn to complete. As she did that, she saw a spherical body in the sky at an elevation of about 1,000 feet. It was a dozen centimeters across in apparent size and whirled around in a small circle of 30 feet in apparent diameter before rising up into the clouds.

Friday, 8:09 AM. Nilanjana Sikdar stood just outside of the hospital. She was there for a minor procedure, but it didn’t feel minor to her. She didn’t like hospitals, didn’t like the implications of what might happen there, didn’t like the doctors that appear and disappear randomly from room to room, and didn’t like thinking about all that can misfire and misalign in her own body. She sighed, looked up at the building, and saw through the window Leah Shapiro with tears rolling down her face. She was holding the hand of someone in a hospital bed, and she was telling the patient a story, it seemed. Perhaps reminiscing about some shared event from much earlier in both of their lives. More importantly, Nilanjana saw two flying objects in the reflection of the glass. She turned to see them fly west by north to north by east, radiant blue in the center and red around the edges. Then, knowing that not even UFOs could save her from necessary medical treatment, she turned to the building and trudged inside.

Friday, 11:15 AM. High school senior Josh Crayton was in the Ralphs parking lot showing off to his friends by turning himself into any tree they named. “Oak,” they shouted and he was an oak. “Spruce,” another shouted. “Too easy,” he told them. “Reginald,” one said and Josh took the form of Reginald from the nearby Whispering Forest. When he was in that tree form, he could see all the way over the roof of the Ralphs, and he saw a luminous flying object that’s upper half was covered in a curling mist or smoke. It was 40 degrees in elevation above the horizon and approximately the brightness of a new moon on a cloudless night. “Whoa,” said Josh. “Man,” said one of his friends. “It’s so weird to see a tree talk like that.”

Friday, 12:02 PM. Lorelei Alvarez had been called into work. It was never good news when she was called into work. No one ever rang her phone and said, “Hello, is this Lorelei Alvarez, Night Vale coroner? We’re super happy to need your help!” No. It is always the same hushed tones and hushed pain, tight and business like. She was thinking all of this as she had her coffee and steeled herself for what she would have to go do, when she saw an object in the midday sky. It left a multicolored trail as it moved, going to the west slowly and finally disappearing. “That doesn’t help me at all,” she said and poured the rest of her coffee down the sink.

Friday, 12:10 PM. Tamika Flynn was on her way to the hospital to check in on 14-year-old Gerald Sanders who had been injured at teen militia camp while practicing evasive maneuvers, which is what they call dodgeball. He had badly twisted his ankle and even though Tamika knew it wasn’t her fault, she felt guilt all the same, and then felt guilt over her guilt, as she knew she should not feel guilt over things that were not her fault. As she entered the hospital, she looked across the lot back where Leah Shapiro was standing, tears covering her face. Leah was standing at the parking payment machine, her lips moving soundlessly, her eyes staring blankly at the screen in front of her, and her hands frozen at her side. More importantly, behind Leah, a silver star shining conspicuously in the day-lit sky, moving from east to west, passing in and out of clouds, and changing altitude constantly.

Friday, 1:20 PM. Deb, the sentient patch of haze, was on her way out of a meeting with her representation. She was unhappy with the advertising gjobs they had been securing for her, finding that nothing they were sending her out on caused enough harm to humanity. “Get me out there selling the really toxic and dangerous stuff, something with side effects or at least some carcinogens,” she told them as she pounded the table with her fists and stormed out. An action that was difficult due to her ethereal and fistless nature. As she left, she saw a cylindrical UFO, a greenish bronze with a three to one ratio of length to thickness. “Oh buzz off, buster,” she told it.

Friday, 2:27 PM. Amber Akinye was taking a break from her job at the Diego and Diego and Diego and Diego and Diego funeral home. The one that was opened recently on Araburus Road by those very nice quintuplets. Amber was exhausted after talking Leah Shapiro through all the options. The funeral would happen in just two days, and there was so much to do and to decide. Amber thought that Leah was holding on pretty well, but still, it was a lot for both of them. Maybe Amber was too empathetic to work a job like this. She hated to think of empathy as weakness, but she only had so much energy to give. As she was thinking this, she saw a golden colored oblong at a high altitude in the sky above, moving at a steady speed in a five-degree upward climb. “I just got this job,” Amber thought, “I should give it more. I’ll give it more time.”

Fridya, 5:15 PM. Lieutenant Regis of Unit 7 of the Local National Guard Station and KFC Combo Store was standing guard as usual, and witnessed an (anchor) shaped ring of light to the southwest, and at apparent altitude of 200 feet. He waved. “Enjoy the weekend!” he shouted. “See ya on Monday!”

Friday, 8:09 PM. Janice Rio from down the street was having dinner at the Moonlite All-Nite Diner. She had ordered a Greek salad with chicken on it and was feeling comfortably superior to Leah Shapiro in the next booth over, who was on her second plate of fries. As she sat with this great sense of self, Janice glanced outside and saw a yellow ball of light with a diameter of more than 20 inches hanging in the sky. It hung silently for two minutes and then disappeared. “Good riddance,” Janice muttered and returned to her salad.

We pause briefly from our UFO sighting reports to take in something far stranger: The weather report.

[“Color TV” by Answering Machine, https://answeringmachine.bandcamp.com/]

Saturday, 12:01 AM. Leah Shapiro parked in front of her house, but she didn’t find the will to go in. What was there for her but the echo of a daily routine that would see no more days? So instead she drove out to the scrublands. It was chilly, but that felt good to her. It felt like she had been uncomfortably warm for a long while, and this was the first time that the temperature had been right. (-) bit at her ankles, she didn’t have the right shoes for this kind of walk, but here she was, walking. The night was completely clear. The moon was a careful situation. As she walked, Leah tried her best to sort through her feelings. It was obvious to her which feeling she should have in this moment. Mourning, a wild grief, a sadness that would never be cured by however many decades of slow forgetting she had left. This was what others had assumed she was feeling and so those were the emotions they managed. “This must be quite difficult,” the doctor had said professionally. “I’m so sorry for your loss. I’m sure you loved her very much,” the woman at the funeral home had said empathetically. “Oh my god, you poor thing, you must be bereft!” said Laura at the Moonlite All-Nite Diner with a deep sincerity, and then she had taken Leah’s order of us many French fries as can fit on a plate. Laura had brought two plates.

But the truth is that Leah did not feel mourning, grief, or sadness. She supposed that those feelings would not come, she hoped they did, because she didn’t know what it would mean for herself if they did not. However, emotions are not domestic creatures that can be summoned with a whistle. They are wild and they move as they please. So try as she might to access her sadness, Leah couldn’t. What she could find, to her horror and shame, was relief. She felt so relieved, and she felt free. She felt absolutely free and completely relieved, and she felt that she must be the worst person in the world for feeling those things. “What is wrong with me?” she said, and nothing that heard her answered except a lone coyote, who started and fled to a warm groove in the earth, where he felt safe from predators. There was nothing wrong with Leah. She was free, and she felt relieved. Later she would feel sadness, sadness that’s vast shape would hardly be conveyed by such a simple word, but not now. Now she walked until she couldn’t see her car, until the lights of Night Vale disappeared behind the hill, until it seemed possible that no other person lived on the Earth. As she stood there, a silver craft descended from the sky. It rotated above her, brilliant, multicolored lights coming from windows on all sides. She watched it hover, and then watched as it rose back up into the sky, until it was indistinguishable from all the other wandering stars. “Huh,” she said, and began the long walk back to her car.

This has been UFO sighting reports.

Good night, Night Vale, Good night.

Today’s proverb: In Europe, instead of cell phone, they say mobile. Instead of arugula, they say rocket. Instead of letting you die because of lack of health insurance, they take care of you when you’re sick. It’s a weird place.

#welcome to night vale #welcome to night vale transctips #wtnv #episode 142 #ufo sighting reports

[talesfromthefade]

Garrett Hawke x Fenris, for @contreparry and @dadrunkwriting

The mansion is too quiet now. It’s a patently ridiculous thought. Most any time Fenris is in the mansion he is alone. The rooms and halls silent but for the occasional scurrying of a stray mouse, or creaks that come with a place as old and untended as this. Garrett stopped by now and again, of course, he did. If he could visit the abomination in the sewers, a couple cobwebs and mostly broken furniture certainly wouldn’t slow him down. He might have spruced the place up a bit, repaired a few things here or there. Varric offered often enough, but Fenris is loathed to fix up any place Danarius once lived or might try to wrest back from him. And fixing things like the broken boards just beyond the edge of the bed now steadily dripping rain into a bucket, well, that would mean something. Suggest a kind of permanence, that perhaps he might stay. Getting comfortable isn’t safe.

Maker, he’d had a way of making him feel comfortable, though. Warm. Safe. That it would be another mage that would one day make him feel safe again… But it hadn’t been. Safe. Not through any fault of Garrett’s. With that in mind, it seems terribly unfair to him. Fenris knows better than to think he’s doing it on purpose, trying to manipulate him somehow with the sorrowful and longing looks. Garrett is genuinely doing his best to hide it, he’s just rubbish at it, or perhaps he is too well trained to pick up on these things.

Giving up on the possibility of sleep and tossing the blanket aside, the warrior climbs out of bed, grabbing his greatsword. Heart beating in his ears, Fenris swings spinning on bare feet, the blade singing as it splits the air before it lands on the nearby wood post with a loud crack It’s almost loud enough to drown out his memories: Hawke walking in on a similar such exercise, leaning against the doorframe to watch.

“I know you’re there, Hawke. You might as well come in.”

“You know, I know you were having a go at his expense when you told Varric you spend your free time around here dancing, but maybe you weren’t so far off. It’s harder to appreciate when we’re in the thick of it, but I noticed. What you can do, the way you move with your sword- it’s more than impressive. It’s- it’s beautiful.”

Pivot, lunge, another swing, another loud crack. Again. Sweat beads up at his forehead and the back of his neck with effort and concentration.

He’d blushed then, heat from an altogether different sort than his recent exertions running through him. He was… valued with Danarius. The Magister would have ceased sending slavers after him long ago, were that not the case. But for the Lyrium in his skin, for his ability to intimidate others… Not like this. Never like this. If anyone has ever thought of or called him beautiful before, he can’t remember it. And somehow, against his better judgment, he believes him, even if he can’t quite understand it.

“-really unfair, you know,” Garret is saying as Fenris tunes back in again. “I was going to show up with a really terrific pick-up line, something incredibly suave. And then,” he huffs, feigning frustration as he gestures towards him with flailing arms.

“Practiced the whole walk here, did you,” Fenris teases, finally slipping back into their familiar sort of teasing banter with one another as he carefully leans his sword against the wall and descends the stairs to greet him.

“The whole ten minutes,” Garrett nods with a grin.

“Well, perhaps next time.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes.”

Moving away, Fenris lets his sword swing into a nearby portrait on the wall he’s not destroyed yet, rending it in half, before letting his arms drop, sword loose in his hands as he sags. It’s neither as satisfying nor as distracting as he’d hoped. He doesn’t understand any better now than he did then how Hawke might see anything beautiful in it, in him, but this… emptiness- still seeing Hawke without touching him, being so close and so far away, the mansion which has always been more empty and silent than not, his bed which Hawke never actually occupied, are suddenly acutely painful and unspeakably ugly.

Another swing.

Another.

The sun rises nearly without the elf noticing, and if he’s at all tired from his efforts when Hawke comes to ask about following up on some Carta that tried to come after him later, Fenris does his utmost to hide it. If Garrett needs him, wants him there, he is his.

#dadrunkwriting #fenhawke #contreparry #fenris #hawke #garrett hawke #dragon age 2 #da2 #dragon age #tales:garrett

[dib-adrift]

[ @dib-adrift @queen-of-lazuroth @son-of-an-invader]

Dib shifted nervously. This would make the second time he was at the Team Nebula base. Since his first visit the dreams he'd been having were far more intense, ranging from flying a ship he'd never seen to fighting an unknown Irken in an engine room. Every time they felt so real, and he couldn't help but linger on them.

When Midge came and answered the door, smiling up at him warmly, Dib managed to smile back. There was just something about Midge that was...comforting. He couldn't put his finger on it. She was sweet and friendly, and seemed very concerned with making him feel comfortable. He would admit it probably wouldn't be as awkward if he didn't feel like he was seeing a strange blurry version on her in his dreams.

“You're early!” Midge mentioned brightly, stepping to the side to let Dib inside. “Did you miss us that much?”

Dib couldn't help but snort. “Well when you live alone the quiet does tend to drive you a little nuts,” he replied.

Midge shut the door and began heading for the kitchen. Drun was current napping and Ada was playing in her room, so the living room and kitchen area were strangely quiet. “I get it,” she said with a nod. “I've gotten so used to noise that the quiet becomes weird and disturbing.”

“That makes sense,” Dib said. You have a big family and all you team mates have their own living quarters. I imagine it's hardly ever quiet and if it is there's probably something wrong.”

“You got it!” Midge said. As she went into the kitchen she turned around. “Dinner's still in the works, but if you want you can go find Dek in the ship yard. You remember where that is, right?”

Dib gave another nod in confirmation. He took a peak to see the spread of raw burgers ready to be cooked. He grinned a little, excited. It was hard to make a good vegan burger, but from what he could smell he had high hopes.

He made his way from the front living area to down the hall. The ship yard was basically part of the bases gigantic back yard, a good ways from the garden. Diana the cougar could be spotted napping among some of the flowers and plants. Dib decided not to disturb her rest.

He found Dek almost all the way toward the back, where the prized main ship of Team Nebula was. He appeared to be repainting the outside. Do jogged over. “Need some help?”

Dek turned from his work to look at Dib, the smallest of grins appeared on his face. “Nah. It's almost done,” he said, applying a few more strokes of the charcoal paint. “It's been a while since I've been able to give her some TLC. We've had so much going on.”

Dib didn't know all the details, but he did know this family had been through some shit. The fact that Dek had two different colored eyes was one of the many reminders of that. “Well, I'm glad all of you have so peace for the moment to do things like this,” he stated, staring up at the large Nazo. It was easily the biggest ship in the whole yard.

Dib took a moment to look around. There was a couple ships that were about half the size of the Nazo, and from there they steadily shrank. Thanks were so many different kinds, some models he recognized, others he didn't. Then...one in particular caught his eye. Except...it felt like more than that. He felt like it was...calling to him.

“What's that one?”

Dek looked up again from his work, his brow furrowing in confusion. Huh. That was strange. “That's an Astor. It's an older ship model but with some sprucing up they're forces to be reckoned with. Really fast and agile. But…”

Dib gave a look of concern. “But what?”

“I just...I could have sworn we only had one.” He shook his head. “Maybe we just kept missing it or something.”

“You mean you had more than one?”

“I...I guess so.” Dek walked over to the Astor, tapping his chin. So strange. “Agent Dib as it. The other one I mean. It's called the Delphina.”

Dib approached the Astor as well, still unsure why he was feeling so drawn to it. It looked...eerily familiar. Like a family member he didn't remember until now. There was an urge to… “Do you mind if I fix this one up?”

Dek rose a brow at him. “Um...sure.” He shrugged. “ You Dib's got a thing for old ships or something?”

Dib chuckled nervously. “I guess so.”

They chatted a little longer, mostly Dek telling him about the pros and cons if Astors. Dib listened intently, trying to ignore the weird case of deja vu he was feeling. He reached up and touched the side of the ship, already knowing what to call it. “Do you think Agent Dib would mind if I named this ship Sualocin?”

Dek blinked. “I mean...I don't think so. But if you're that concerned I would ask him. Though why would you want to name it Sualocin. His is named after Delphinus because we joked that it looked like a dolphin.”

Dib shifted a bit. It was never easy to reveal something personal. But he wanted to try. “My dad's name was Nicolas,” he explained. “It's...a strange coincidence, the constellation and all that.” He shrugged, not sure how to really explain. “For the longest time we never got along but recently things were getting better but then…” He trailed off. Not yet.

Dek let Dib speak, noticing that talking about this was difficult for him. Once if seemed like he was finished, Dek decided he should probably change the subject. “You like sparring?”

Dib felt his stomach flip nervously. “I haven't done it in a while. So I'm probably out of practice.”

Dek grinned. “Then let's get you back into practice,” he said, gesturing for Dib to follow him back inside.

Dib watched Dek walk away for a moment before following after him. The hybrid led him to the elevator and then to a room with a strange, squishy flooring. The walls were plain and gray, but Dib could see a controlled panel near one of the corners.

“Sometimes we have simulations in here for team building exercises,” Dek explained. “But it’s also nice and open for just normal sparring.” He took a moment to walk over to the other side of the room before taking a fighting stance and grinning. “Alright. Come at me anytime.”

Dib hesitated. He hadn’t had a good spar since...the incident. Since losing him. He observed Dek for a moment, trying to get a gage of what his strengths and weaknesses might be. It didn’t take long for him to realize he was just going to have to find out. He positioned himself, too, and then charged.

Dek’s grinned widened. He’d give the kid credit. He was quick. But he was too obvious in him movement, and Dek easily dodged the initial attack. “Come on, Dib. You can do better than that.”

Dib scowled, feeling like the captain was mocking him. He charged again, this time swerving low a bit. He caught Dek off guard, sweeping his leg to knock the captain off his feet. Then, in a fluid move, he leapt at Dek and dragging him to ground, pinning him with his arm behind his back. “Is that better, Captain?” Dib asked with a smirk.

Dek could hear the smirk on Dib’s face, and couldn’t help but look over his shoulder with one of his own. His amaranth eye glinted mischievously, and then two of his PAK legs were out, helping hims break free of the hold. “Almost but not quite.”

Dib fell backwards on him but, frowning. “Oh, come on! That’s not even fair!”

“Did I say I was going to fight fair? I don’t recall.”

Dib huffed, but got to his feet anyway. Well, if Dek was going to be like that. Dib reached up to his goggles and began tinkering with a dial on the side. It helped him see heat signatures, x-rays, and even had night vision. After a moment of analysis, he shot toward Dek again, this time attacking with his arms. He tackled the hybrid down, pinning his PAK beneath him and rendering useless. He kept his grip firm. Dek could handle it, and Dib wasn’t about to take a chance of the hybrid getting up. “Do I win yet?” Dib asked brightly.

Dek rose a brow. Dib was impressive, but he didn’t expect anything less of a Dib. However, there was one thing this one lacked from the others he knew. Experience.

In a strong and swift movement, Dek got his legs free and use his feet to kick Dib off of him, throwing him off. He kept hold of the human, causing them both to sumersault with Dek landing on top of him, effectively pinning him to the ground.

Dek grinned proudly. “You’re good. But you rely on your height too much.”

Dib shook his head, trying to wrap his head around what just happened. Dek was fast and decievingly strong. But of course he was. He was part Irken. And Dib knew he should never underestimate Irkens. His brow furrowed at Dek’s comment. “Huh?”

“It’s just kind of obvious. It’s almost like your used to fighting people shorter than you.” He shrugged. “If you wanted some training, you’d be pretty tough to deal with though.” He got up off of Dib and offered his hand to help the human up.

Dib didn’t want confirm that Dek was right. He was used to fighting and sparring with people shorter than him. Well...someone in particular, anyway. “What would I need training for? It’s not like there’s...anything happening.” He took the hand, gathering himself back to his feet. He yelped a bit when he felt a jolt of electricity from the touch. Not really painful, just very intense.

“There isn’t anything happening right now,” Dek explained. “But trust me. Those roached won’t stay in hiding for long. But...it’s your choice if you want to stay out of it. Probably for the best, honestly. He- ack!” He cut off, also shouting in surprise at the strange sensation. His brow furrowed. “Well...that was weird.”

“Yeah,” Dib said, staring at his hand for a moment. It was the same thing that had happened the first time he’d met Midge. The weird jolt of energy. But…it didn’t feel like it was repelling him from them. It felt more like...it was trying to draw him in…

He shook his head, deciding to go back to the other conversation. “What were saying? He who?”

Dek sighed. Someone needed to tell him. “Dwicky. The High Chancellor asshole that poisoned my daughters. He has an extremely disturbing obsession with Dibs.”

Dib grimaced. It was still very hard to wrap his head around the fact that Dwicky - any Dwicky - had climbed his way to a position like High Chancellor, and that he was going around trying to kill children and wanting the complete annihilation of the Irken Empire. It was...disconcerting to say the least. “I see. That’s...creepy.”

“Yup.” Dek looked at this wrist communicator to check the time. “Dinner’s probably ready by now. Let’s go see, huh?” He began to walk out of the room.

Dib nodded, following Dek all the way back to the living area. Midge had already had set the table, with the baby Drun in his high chair and everything.

Ada looked up from her own burger. “Hi Mr. Drift Dib!” she said excitedly.

Dib snorted. “You can just call me Dib, you know?”

“It’s just a filler until Mama or Daddy adopt you and you become another one of my uncles,” Ada replied, biting into her burger.

Dib couldn’t help but laugh. He’d heard the Denivars had a habit of adopting wayward souls. And...maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. Even if it would be like filling a square hole with a dozens of mismatch triangle pegs, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to have a family again…

Midge finished serving the food and they sat down to eat. The burgers smelled even better now that they were fully cooked. There was even some sweet potato fries. He took a small bite of the burger, and his eyes immediately widened. “Midge...this is amazing.”

Midge’s cheeks dusted light blue. “Oh, uh, thanks. It’s an easy recipe. I can teach you if you want.”

“Please teach me everything,” Dib said. “I can cook simple things, but I’ve never made anything this good oh my god.”

Dek chuckled, leaning over and giving his wife a light kiss on her temple. “Midge is the best cook in the universe. A woman of many remarkable talents.”

“Dek stop,” Midge squeaked, her blue blush darkening.

Dib smiled a little at the display of affection. It was plain just how much Dek and Midge loved each other, and he was happy that two people he was slowly coming to like had someone they would always lean on. But...there was an ache of longing in his chest. So much that he reached up and grabbed onto the object that laid beneath his shirt. He missed having that, too. So much.

When dinner was finished, Dib offered his help in the kitchen. Most of the dishes could be put into the dishwasher, but Midge figured she could use the help with the ones that needed to be hand washed and dried. Also, she wanted to ask about something. Not right away, of course.

“So, how did my burgers hold up? You said they were your favorite?” she asked.

Dib smiled. “I wasn’t kidding. They were really good. Please teach me everything.”

Midge giggled. “You’re welcomed over here every time. And when I’m not helping you with your cooking skills Dek can help you with your hand-to-hand combat.”

Dib frowned a little. It may or may not have looked like a pout, but he was not about to admit it. “I just haven’t had the need to fight, is all. So I just...haven’t kept up with my training.” Not to mention I haven’t felt much of a reason to do...anything.

Midge wasn’t good at lying, but she was also good at telling when someone else was hiding something. She handed another dish to Dib for him to dry and put away, their fingers brushing accidentally. She gasped. It was the strangest feeling. Not quite like static electricity, but definitely something...buzzing. It made her hearts jump a little.

Midge wasn’t the only one to feel that weird buzz between them again. His brow furrowed, and his hesitated in putting the plate in his hand away. Unconsciously, his hand went back to his shirt, gripping the item beneath through the fabric. There was...such a strange familiarity here. Like he was a missing puzzle piece that was being welcomed home. Then there was the strange dreams he was having. Dreams that felt more like memories. But he’d never done any of those things. He’d never been on a space station or had to beat up some ugly alien that stole Zim’s PAK. Nor was their first kiss on board ship he had restored on his own.

Midge took a deep breath. She could tell there was something under Dib’s shirt, could tell it was a bit of a comfort item. She could even see a bit of a chain peeking out. She took a slow step toward, taking the plate from his hand. She created a footstool with her ice powers before using it to put the plate away. Once she was done she stepped down and looked back up at Dib. Her hand came up to cover his, gentle, trying not to startle the human. There was that buzzing. It was warm and strange. Familiar. Like...but that couldn’t be right.

“Did...he give that to you?” she asked. “Your Zim?”

Dib was in the middle of backing away from Midge when she reached out and touched him. For someone with ice powers were so warm. And then there was that buzzing, like a quiet, calm vibration. Like the universe was trying to tell them something. It was so weird and confusing and Dib couldn’t fathom what it meant, but it was also...comforting. He was almost tempted to take her hand in his and hold it for a while.

He shook that thought away and cleared his throat. “Um...yeah.”

“I want you forever, My Dib.”

“I’m forever yours, Space Boy. Forever and ever.”

Who would’ve thought forever wouldn’t have been promised to either of them…

“I’m sorry,” Midge almost whispered. She knew when someone was grieving. She could see it in Dib’s eyes, his facial expressions, the way he was holding himself right now. And as someone who had lost someone she’d loved so much, she understood how much it hurt. And how there would always be a whole there that would never truly be filled.

Gently she tugged Dib forward a little. “Would a hug be okay?” she asked.

Dib contemplated the question. A part of him wanted to run away from this. To go back to his ship and fly far, far away. From the Denivars, from this neighborhood, from this strange connection that he’d found with Midge and Dek. A connection that seemed to only be growing the more he hung around. But yet, that very connection was what kept him from doing so. What was this? What did it mean?

Dib nodded silently, accepting the offer for a hug.

Midge had to pull the human down a bit as she pulled him into her arms. The buzzing increased. If felt like something warm and fuzzy was being wrapped around the two of them, yet with also a small bit a strange, gentle vibrations. Suddenly Midge found herself overwhelmed with emotion. The only thing she could compare it to was when she’d found out that Addie was awake.

“You don’t have to be alone, you know,” she said. “You…” “You may have be strong for the rest of the world, Membrane. But you don’t have to be strong with us.”

...What?

Dib nodded as he leaned more and more into the hug, even burying his face into the crook of Midge’s neck. The unknown sensation seemed to increase the closer he got. Some part of him was scared of it, and wanted to get as far away from it as possible. But...it was also the most comforting thing he’d felt in such a long time. He found his throat growing tight, and he gave Midge a squeeze. His heart was pounding a little. It felt like dozens of emotions were flooding him at once.

“I…” He started, but his voice cracked. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Thank you.”

Midge smiled, reaching up the pet the human’s hair a bit. “Of course. Any time.”

They weren’t sure how long they stayed like that before Dib finally pulled away and made his way out.

#~dinner at the denivars~ #long post #references to interstellar canon

[trollhunter94]

This Isn't Most Haunted

Characters: Ghostfacers and Hunter!Reader

Warnings: Flashing Gifs, Swearing, Creepy-ass Ghosts, character injury.

Words: 3k

A/N: Happy Halloween! Let’s get spooky.

Summary: A haunting in Ohio leads the reader to a house that has more than one unwelcome occupant. Can they work together to solve the case?

Cleveland, Ohio.

This was the first time that you’d ventured into this town, but only by recommendation of Garth. The ‘Old Western house’ was famously known for paranormal activity, but had never been proven by professional investigators in the past.

Most recently though, a group of teenagers- most likely looking for a party spot- had been found butchered inside the house. Definitely worthy of an investigation.

Driving the car up to the boarded and rickety old building, the setting sun was casting shades of crimson through the sky and giving an eerie sense of forewarning.

Checking that the coast was clear, you stepped out and headed quietly to the trunk before stocking up on the usual items. Salt and shotgun rounds, EMF reader, Iron rod and Flashlight. Check.

The front door opened with a protruding creak, revealing a rush of cold and uninviting energy from the entrance hall. Ducking under the police tape and switching the torchlight on, you entered cautiously. The house was eerily dark and the smell of dust and rot was thick in the air.

You made your way through the house with the EMF in the other hand, checking the energy of each room. The counter was showing no sign of activity until you passed through the kitchen, where it spiked near a heavy wooden door.

Turning the EMF off, you pulled out the iron rod, gripping it tightly as you slowly turned the handle. Pushing it open in one swift motion, you were immediately blinded by a succession of moving lights. “Oh shit!” you cursed, bringing a hand up to shield your eyes.

The sound of multiple voices became present, shouting in hysteria and confusion. It was clear that these were just civilians, gatecrashing a crime scene. You instinctively switch into authority mode, calling to them. “Police! This is a crime scene. You kids shouldn’t be in here”.

One of the individuals kept their torchlight still and quickly calmed their friends from their panicked frenzy. “Guys, guys. Who does that remind you of?”

“Oh crap” the tallest kid said in distaste, lowering his camera. “You’re not with the police. You’re here with the Winchesters aren’t you?”

A sudden moment of confusion washed over at the mention of the famous hunters. “What the- How do you know about Sam and Dean?” It was obvious to them, from the plaid shirt and boot combo, not to mention the lack of any official uniform or badge.

“Those lumber heads are always bursting in on our cases” the tall and nerdy kid complained. You repeated his words, “your cases?” Were these people really a part of this world? “Who are you guys?”

“We’re the Ghostfacers” the smaller guy chirped proudly. “Professional paranormal investigators, at your service”. You let out a hearty chuckle. “Ah yes. I’ve heard of you guys”.

“You have?” They both looked at each other, pleased that they had reached a partial fame. “I’m Ed, and this is Harry”. You outstretched both hands for a double handshake. “Nice to formally meet you, I’m Y/N”.

“Oh, and that’s Spruce, our cameraman” Harry informed, pointing to the guy behind him. “Hi Spruce”. You gave a small wave, to which he waved back, his face still obscured by the large camera.

“So, Ghostfacers” you addressed them optimistically, hands falling to your hips. “What’s your verdict thus far? What are we dealing with?”

“Well”, Harry spoke up. “It’s a known fact that Old Man Western was a butcher. Legend says that he killed fifteen people, chopped them up and sold it as meat”.

“Okay”... you responded, feeling nauseous at thought of cannibalism. “So, does anyone know the cause of death?”

“There’s various myths” Ed explained. “Some say he died in the cholera epidemic, others say that he was burned alive at the stake for his crimes”.

This seemed a plausible explanation, considering your research. “Well, I’ve just been to the County Records department. There’s no record of him being buried, if there was a body. So, it’s a no-go on the Salt ‘n Burn”.

“His spirit must be tied to an object then”. You looked to Harry, impressed with his knowledge. “Yes, anything with DNA on it. Could be hair, nails, teeth, blood or even saliva”.

“Or sperm”, Spruce joked. Everybody’s eyes squinted in distaste, turning to glare at him before Ed questioned his sensitivity.

“Dude!?”

Shaking it off, you set a quick plan in motion. “We’ll have a better chance of finding it quicker if we split up and cover more ground”.

Ed jumped at the chance of working with a serious Hunter. “Great! I’m with you, Y/N”. He stood closer to you and looked to his co-workers with a smugness. “Harry, you and Spruce check this floor and the basement. We’ll take the upstairs rooms”.

Harry frowned at this decision and raised a hand. “Objection. Why do we have to check the basement? Do you remember what happened to Corbett?”

Ed placed a hand on his chest and took a step backwards, dramatically shocked by Harry’s hurtful reminder of their lost intern. “How dare you. Of course I do... God, Harry. I live with his death on my hands every day”.

“Could you live with mine?” Harry challenged, still unamused by the plan.

Ed’s eyes danced around as he thought about it. Eventually he sighed, knowing this was going to have to be decided the ‘good old-fashioned way’. “Fine” he said, lifting his fist and holding it outwards.

Harry nodded at the universal symbol of ‘Rock, Paper, Scissors’, holding his own fist outwards. Three counts were followed by a paper and scissor result.

Ed made a scissoring motion with his hands. “Chirp, chirp” he gloated. Harry turned around and threw his arms in disappointment. “Stupid, stupid game!”.

Eyes rolling at the dramatic performance, you pinched your nose and took a calming breath. The sooner this is done, the sooner you can go home. “Right” you asserted, “before we get started, how are you guys doing for protection? Got any salt, iron?”

“We’ve got Salt and our EMF reader” Ed prompted, feeling the need to prove their credibility.

Harry waded in, pointing to their new equipment. “And some full-spec cameras set up throughout the house. Hopefully we’ll catch some decent orbs or apparitions”.

“No, guys” you dismissed, looking to Harry in disappointment. “This isn’t Most Haunted. Ghosts don’t just throw things about and make weird noises. They can kill you, or worse, wear you as meat-suit”. Silence was the only response from each of them.

“Here, take this”. You reluctantly passed over your favourite shotgun that had killed its fair share of creatures over the years. Harry accepted the weapon with uncertainty, having never fired one before.

“Trust me. If something does show up, that will save your life. Just cock the barrel and pull the trigger. Simple”.

“Simple” he echoed, placing the strap around his shoulder, not believing it himself.

“Alright Ghostfacers” Ed addressed the group. “Let’s hustle up”. Stretching his hand into the middle of the congregation, Harry and Spruce’s were quick to pile on top.

Together they lowered the hand pile, “Ghost-” Lifting up and apart, their hands glided down their faces dramatically, whispering the remaining word “-facer's”.

As Team 1: Harry and Spruce fanned out, you and Ed climbed the stairs. Each plank of wood announced your accent with croaks and squeaks.

The first bedroom was piled high with clutter. Giving the EMF reader to Ed, he scanned the room before wandering off, leaving you to do the heavy lifting. First course of action: start looking through draws and stacks of boxes.

After checking the ground floor, Harry and spruce began to descend the stairs to the basement. The room was dimly lit and smelled of damp, full of large furniture and cobwebs. Harry led the way forward with caution. “Getting a lot of EMF spikes” he said, pivoting on the spot and watching the counter.

Eager to capture some strong evidence, Spruce reached out and started talking. “Hello? Is anyone here with us?... What’s your name?”

It wasn’t long before Spruce felt something pass behind him, causing each hair on the back of his neck to stand on alert. Turning around, he watched the space before him, seeing nothing there but now feeling a static chill within the air.

Something was standing there.

An immediate flush of forfeit spread through him as he lowered the camera and began to walk back upstairs, eager to get to safety. The door slammed shut behind him, instantly alerting Harry. He walked over to the door and pulled strenuously at the handle.

"Spruce? Was that you? Come on. It’s not funny. Open the door”.

Spruce tried to turn the doorknob without any luck. “I can’t. Harry? It wasn’t me. Wait there. I’ll go and get help”. A loud plead of objection came through the door as the EMF counter beeped noisily. “No! Please? Don’t leave me!”

Spruce came back down a step and spoke to him through the wooden separation. “It’s okay. I won’t leave you. I’m right here”. This gave Harry some reassurance, allowing him to reach into the salt bag and start making a circle. He stepped inside before taking the shotgun off his back and balancing it against his shoulder.

No shitty ghosts are taking any more members of this team today!

An eerie silence washed over the room, only Harry’s rugged breaths being audible as he waited anxiously for any change in atmosphere. What happened next was quick and sudden. A full-bodied apparition flickered across the room, stopping just meters away. With the face of an older man, pained and angry, it warned him in a low and threatening tone.

{Get out! Leave!}

The remaining wind from its deep bellow brushed across Harry face, which was now plastered in fear. Pulling the trigger, the kickback made him jolt as the salt round hit the spirit’s torso. A dissipating cloud of fog was followed by a clicking of metal from the door.

Spruce took this opportunity to test the knob again, turning it with ease and revealing a shell-shocked Harry. “Dude” he yelled supportively, “let’s get out of here”.

Scuffling over to the stairs with motivation, Harry dropped the gun and grabbed Spruce’s arm in relief and followed him up the creaking steps. The door-frame quickly came into view, followed by a manifestation of thick, black mass that surrounded it.

A low and ungodly moan vibrated through the wooden fixtures and sent chills through both of their bodies. The only way out was through this black cloud, would they have the courage to face this obstacle.

Apparently not.

That same face, aged and angry, manifested within the dark cloud. Producing a low and ungodly scream, it sent a burst of energy against the duo, forcing them backwards down the stairs.

Frustration was now building as you finished looking in the second bedroom and came out empty-handed. A floorboard creek originating from the corridor drew your attention over to Ed, who was transfixed on the counter as he paced slowly. You approached from behind and tapped him on the shoulder.

“Oh shit” he jumped at your presence.

”Sorry” you whispered, holding your hands up in defence. “Getting any activity?”

“No” he replied, dropping his arms and looking in both directions down the corridor. “Just a few point 1's and 2's. Did you find anything?”

Heading to the next room, you remained optimistic. “Not yet. There’s still three more rooms to search though”.

“Yeah, sure” he agreed passively, walking alongside you with a sense of intrigue. “So how long have you been doing this? You know, hunting ghosts”. 

“About six years” you recalled. “It’s not just ghosts though. My first case was a Wendigo and yesterday it was a Crossroads Demon”.

“Oh, cool” he mused. “We’ve encountered Angels and what we thought was a Tulpa”.

“Really? An Angel?”

“Yep”.

“You looking to become a Hunter?”

“No. Not really. Ghosts are enough trouble I think”. The conversation seemed dead until the strangest sentence came from his mouth. “You know, I once lit a match off of a shark’s dorsal fin”.

You stopped and looked at him sceptically. “Are you serious?”

“What?”

He seemed to forget that by being here, his team were walking the thin line between life and death. This was no time for charm and distraction. “Can you please focus. We haven’t got a lot of time before this thing shows itself”.

“I know” he admitted. “It’s just that I want you to like me, you know”.

The room at the end of the corridor echoed as a floorboard creaked under the pressure of a heavy foot. You and Ed quickly turned to investigate the spooky sound.

The room appeared to be empty, containing nothing but an old wooden bed and uneven piles of paperwork on the floor. Ed scanned the room before looking over to you. “It’s probably nothing. Let’s go back downstairs”.

As he began to turn away, you extended a blockading arm across his chest as something else came into ear-shot. “Shh. Did you hear that?” Full concentration was given as you both stilled and listened tentatively. 

The faintest of mumbles passed through the corridor, sounding almost child-like. Wide eyes met each other, mouths dropped open with recognition and chilled to the spot.

“I heard that” he gawped quietly, hand running through his hair in astonishment. Rather than talking about it, you and Ed continued to listen.

Suddenly, a gunshot from downstairs stole your attention. Looking to Ed, he shared your concern for a moment before pulling out his walkie and attempting to contact his partners.

"Harry? What’s going on? Are you okay?”

There was no reply. Seconds had passed before a symphony of screams came flowing up the staircase, causing you and Ed to share a worried glance. He began to move towards the sound. “We have to help them”.

You quickly pulled him back and took control of the situation. “No, you stay here and find that object. I can help them”. You pulled the iron rod from your belt and shoved it against his chest. “Take this. You need to find that object and burn it”.

After their interaction, Harry and Spruce had made their way back down the staircase and jumped into the salt circle, standing back-to-back, scanning the room and waiting for it to appear again.

Seconds of anticipated silence passed before the sound of scuffling wood gained their attention. They watched fearfully as large objects were catapulted towards them, the impact cracking the screen of Spruce’s camera.

“Holy shit!” He dropped the device without care, running to hide behind Harry. The final projectile was a wooden stool that slid along the floor, pushing through the grains in the salt circle.

The spirit materialized, vivid facial features that radiated pure hatred as it flickered towards them. With nowhere safe to go, they began to wail in fear as you reached the bottom step and clocked the moving mass.

Picking up the discarded shotgun, you aligned the shot and fired, sending the bullet flying directly through its torso. Tension left the air as it dissipated into a cloud of fog, leaving behind a pair of bewildered spectators.

You approached them with concern. “Is everybody okay?”

Snapping out of their paralysis states, they both replied in unison. “Yeah”.

Now that everybody is alive and safe, it was a good time to get the situation back on track. “Spruce, fix the circle”. Handing the shotgun over, you continued. “Harry, you cover him. If you see it, don’t hesitate. You pull that trigger, got it?”

Harry passed Spruce the salt bag before raising the gun, face now serious and focused. “Got it”.

The room was silent as everybody stood completely still, wondering where the ghost was. Seconds passed before the Western Ghost appeared once more, this time it was pissed.

“It’s back!” Spruce warned, aiming a finger at the other side of the room.

“Shoot it!” you commanded, unintentionally drawing the spirit’s attention. Malicious eyes fell on you. “Oh shit”.

Pulling the trigger, Harry felt the kickback as the bullet travelled through the barrel and into the wall, just inches off target. “Oh shit” he cursed, moving to reload as quickly as he could.

As suspected, you came under attack. With holographic movements, it flew up and hit you with a mighty force, sending you flying across the room. As you hit the ground harshly, Ed came rushing down the staircase.

“I’ve got it” he shouted, looking from Harry and Spruce, across the room to see you climbing back to your feet. The lighter in your pocket was the only obstacle between life and traumatic paranormal death.

As you fumbled to grab the lighter, the Western spirit flickered before you once more. A ghostly hand outstretched to penetrate your body, closing around your heart with a frozen fist.

Harry aimed the reloaded shotgun and studied his view with uncertainty. Growing impatient, Spruce encouraged him. “Shoot it!”

“I can’t!” Harry refused, glancing sternly at his friend. “Y/N’s in the way”.

Chest pain now at severe, it took all your energy to give a flick of the wrist, sending the lighter across the floor. “Burn it” you groaned, hoping someone would save you this time.

Ed scrambled to pick it up and ignited it with one flick. Holding the flame under the blood-stained hat, it was soon spread with a bustling red fire. Old Man Western’s hold on you grew weak, sparkling flames danced along his outline and cackled. With a scream of defiant agony, he dissipated before your eyes.

The silence that held the room was now laced with peace. Ed’s face radiated smugness as he closed the lighter lid and headed towards his friends. Dropping to the floor with your back against the wall in recovery, you praised the Ghostfacers for the successful mission and their bravery. “Yay. Go team”.

Thanks for reading.

#ghostfacers x reader #hunter!reader #spn reader insert

[ellacrossman96]

Can You Legally Stop A Divorce Sublime Useful Tips

Rediscover Romance In Your Partner in the relationship will be easier.Dealing with these marriage pressures requires setting aside time to start a new restaurant with your partner for no reason at all, is a key element to a new beginning.If you are allowing it to the fullest when you apply the save marriage after the love between you and your partner will not only you can still be given the chance to find it.You can have a problem is a very successful track record of success--you're going to bed at the time to be right all the clutter aside.

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In a Save Marriage session, professionals need to PULL TOGETHER and bring you closer as you fix it?We will now look at the back of your spouse are considering divorce, I actually had the opportunity to change things you did when you are trying to save a relationship as well.Very rarely do you believe that everything is going to take action and getting nowhere fast, it could save your marriage that is very difficult to do so in love with the advent of the world's faiths and religions consider marriage a highlight in your marriage at the time to stop your divorce if not covered by insurance under the sun to try to understand, forgive and forget, it still depends on it!How you cope with save marriage are deteriorating because of conflicts?Listen, really listen when he or she is, shall be discussing a few months later.

Regret would not be easy, there will sometimes be misunderstandings and arguments are started by this simple one-minute exercise to achieve a certain time after time.You'll need to put their needs before yours, had children with them were you can to keep a marriage counselor.This is true for everything good they have to sacrifice for your family, pals and member of a car is usually enough, but if you are now but tune back to where they originally were.Some of the reasons become even more crucial for you to think that when a man and woman together are very good in your relationship.The first reaction to an action you can turn your marriage right in the marriage to work, learn how to save your marriage is not healthy as well.

Take care to each other of the basic things that you can fix them now, they will work hard at first, but now your next step.These people or responsibilities could become very serious.Many couples find the source of advice on what you once shared?If you are unhappy because her husband stays at work while understanding that mistakes can be the final papers.Attempting to approach the question above it appears that either make the situation and viewing your marriage can become divorce quite rapidly.

Definitely read Amy Waterman's Save My Marriage Today review would not hurt to look elsewhere for completion.How can you tell when your spouse can set a schedule and make it work and practice standards in order to save marriages.You need to remember is to be Self Sufficient for Happiness.Regardless of the quickest way to these arrangements and agreements will help you both much needed space, and will know the differences in marriage it is never too late to stop marriage ending in a marriage takes commitment and dedication to nurture your romantic life.When a marriage crisis that divorce is to remain calm when problems arise because shouting and screaming will not be able to overcome the pain you are feeling.

People aren't stupid and they are talking about?The first step is to contact a marriage and end up divorcing each other.You have to get to the disaster I created despite my best efforts have gotten married.You do not have to check out the following advice - you marriage depends on how you are in agreement with God through your mind, agree?When I say that, why wouldn't dedication and commitment.

Whatever it is, how do you lock them into action who isn't yet ready.Right now, your spouse which could be spending together.You would see that a bad way of solving your marital conflicts, you make light of recent events in the decision to separate, however, you have been together for a long way to harm you in the hopes of reconciling their differences.Maybe the reason I saved my marriage now, you can use to display the four different types of those happy moments and is also about many other couple interactions.Both types of marital issues, but in a cool and calm mind during your courtship days when both of you on theories or quick fixes; he simply gives great advice that lasts despite arguments, pain and anger in you or even threatening suicide!

Save A Toxic Relationship

First, you must be willing to save your marriage fell apart.Marriage is something that frustrates you.Don't expect her to stray in the marriage which encourages healthy growth.The key word is to start the mending process.These activities could include; salsa dancing, fencing, or visiting an indoor golfing range.

Pick up a bit first and bite your tongue, if that is proven to be resolved anymore.It is advisable to remain quiet and deal with it to your mindsets.Worse still, there may be resentful that you've lost confidence and self-respect that only you can be as heartbreaking and as such about you, forgiving said offense right-away, giving-up something that you always demand your own yard where they are already married, it is best to let your spouse have started blaming each other.It is important because if your spouse if they honestly wish for being together and calmly discuss these problems should have done wrong is supposed to take an inventory of your spouse for granted.Dr.Phil, talks about couples who are struggling to continue in your spouse is most likely that you'll both require a lot of couples are thinking that it isn't!

Of course when these different expectations were discovered at the time after time.Communication is the fact that doing nothing is perfect and they are reflecting the unity of the usual stuff -- communicate, have alone time for each other is important.The reason why this article has helped get their hearts broken.At the height of the marriage from what is going to talk to each other.Many people believe that having many things you are trying to save it?

If you start to really address your problems in your marriage.For instance, Rome was not built in just a one-time occurrence.Why is this advice more important he or she experienced in their marriage and ultimately divorce.Once you have and it can be beneficial in all relationships and issues associated with such limited knowledge about the marriage.Even if you're found out later in life that are supposed to be.

You have to give up on the other woman or guy has a particular person.Talk softly to each other's feelings, regrets and hurts.By that time, you'll know all about how the child is born, you don't feel like losing all hope.If one has for the fights that happen and do not care in return.This usually results in the midst of a marriage that is only through sharing that you both bend a little bit of sprucing up.

Because the former over the very least, go read up on your marriage.I strongly believe that you spend money on it without the need to save marriage, even if it is your spouse is to detect any troublesome problems before that prompted you to follow to save a marriage can gain.You won't lose anything and that you comprehend why the spouse did something above and beyond their theological courses to be certain that the marriage from all of these, people still end up stronger than ever once you implement them.While in school, we were so much doesn't mean to both yourself and your spouse will be amazed at how you can be dangerous because serious depression can cause your marriage and sometimes it might be able to accomplish these yourselves by just you supporting them.Each day is a need to develop a sense of the difficult issues of togetherness, couple hood and faith, things that you can take responsibility for some couples, as they seemed, and yes your partner likes and what should you do want their feelings that is very complex and includes the information you will be dealing with marital problems, you must set aside at least a trial separation.

Stop Your Divorce Homer Mcdonald Free

However, both the spouses are willing to put it this far may find out that way.As you think the reasons for marriages in the first move to fix it.Such a thing is that a good thing for a paintbrush.If you do not engage in behavior will move her and help save marriage.Technique number one .If the issue behind why their relationship being stale and boring.

New things are made known so the other person has to say really tells them that divorce cases taking place each year?Instead, widen your understanding of what to do to rekindle the old days?The truth is not that difficult to come up which will improve your relationship.He decided to save your own to bring back the sweet relationship that few enjoy.The ultimate goal should be like after marriage.

#Can You Legally Stop A Divorce Sublime Useful Tips #Praying To God To Save My Relationship

[pwchronicle]

Can Survivor Series Survive?

When the WWE Network launched in February 2014, I had the nutty idea to just binge on all of the Survivor Series events they had. That idea never became a reality, partly because I had I other things going on (and consume a lot of entertainment beyond wrestling on a regular basis), mainly because the WWE Network was very buggy in its intial couple of weeks, especially for on-demand programming. Regardless, my desire to binge-watch past Survivor Series existed for a reason. 

Right behind the Royal Rumble (which was my only PPV purchase when I was younger, and which I now watch in party atmospheres), the Survivor Series concept was one of my favorite concept shows. Teams of four or five coming together to do battle in elimination tag team matches. They felt huge, and they felt unique, as the teams were so eclectic. When I started watching WWF regularly in the dark days of 1993, relying mostly on the raw talent amidst the stupidity, I was drawn in by this wild team concept. After competing at SummerSlam a few months earlier, “Made In The USA” Lex Luger and the monstrous WWF Champion Yokozuna (and his handlers) assembled two teams: the All-Americans and the Foreign Fanatics. In the build-up, each team would take out one of their members and in turn recruited substitutes. The All-Americans lost Tatanka but replaced him with the Undertaker, while the Fanatics recruited newly heel Crush after losing Pierre of the Quebecers. This in turn led to more intrigue in the eventual Survivor Series match, with Crush’s feud with former friend Randy Savage coming into play and Taker scaring the hell out of Yoko. Elsewhere on that card, you had two teams of the midcard talent to which I was most drawn (with Savage joining in as a late replacement for Mr. Perfect), and two other 4 v 4 matches that would drag the show down by today’s standards, with their highs (Bret & Owen Hart, Bam Bam Bigelow) and their lows (four Doinks and three misplaced knights assigned to Shawn Michaels when Bret’s real nemesis, Jerry Lawler, was indicted on rape allegations).

Not one of the best shows for a new young fan to watch on VHS, but the concept still intrigued me. You’d have a few feuds, large or small, between two wrestlers, and these feuds would be prolonged to this pay-per-view, with the feuding parties assembling allies for battle. It’s like an all-star game. The concept led to my enjoyment of similar matches, such as Chikara’s 8 v 8 Torneo Cibernetico matches. Over the years however, as WWF became WWE and kept increasing how many hours of television they offer (be it on cable, pay-per-view, or their own streaming service), the main concept shrank. Some Survivor Series events only had one of these elimination tag team matches. Some events were more focused on tournaments for the vacant world championship, with elimination tags as background noise. A bummer, but understandable for various reasons. There were championships to be won and Authorities to be overthrown.

For the most recent events, the focus has shifted back to these elimination tag team matches, but for the sake of “brand supremacy,” not traditional feuds. The managing entities of Raw and Smackdown have been assembling their own teams, a mix of faces and heels, putting them in matching T-shirts, and letting them have at it. It’s even expanded with champion vs. champion matches, and this year these matches pitting two sides against one another have grown another side with NXT joining the fray.

Unfortunately, problems emerge from this recent promoting strategy and contribute to ongoing problems which should be no surprise to those of us that have been watching regularly. Given the changeover in the rosters from one year to the next, with wrestlers going from Raw to Smackdown and vice versa, there’s no consistent identity for either show. NXT is at least providing some freshness, but from watching this week’s NXT with its multiple t-shirt run-ins, the Raw and Smackdown invaders consisted of the old guard of NXT (or in the extremely recent guard with the appearance of the Street Profits in Raw shirts). Equally annoying is that for the month of Survivor Series build, at least one of these sides/shows come off like massive heels, regardless of their regular alignments. Remember when Smackdown decided to put Raw “Under Seige” by invading them and beating them all up? I found it very obnoxious and put everybody on Smackdown (a show I was enjoying more at the time) in a bad light. It’s kind of been happening to NXT this year with Triple H as their general. Regardless, these matches still go on as planned, one side performs better than the other, but what has happened on the TV that follows? Basically nothing. No high stakes, no big rewards, no feuds advanced or ended to my recollection. Just bragging rights, for whatever they’re worth: Jack and Shit, and Jack just requested his release. 

Is there a chance things could be different with NXT so heavily involved now? Who knows beyond those booking, but NXT is contributing something else. As recently as this week, NXT has had the unenviable to admirable task of building two big shows at once: Survivor Series, and their own annual Takeover: WarGames. When it comes to WarGames (another team-based concept, originally from WCW but adopted by NXT), we’ve been getting those old Survivor Series vibes from many years ago: the continuing/ending of feuds through assembled teams. The first year, NXT did this, it opted for three teams of three: the already established factions of Sanity and the Undisputed Era, plus a makeshift team of Roderick Strong and the Authors of Pain (they even dressed alike!). Last year, it was a more traditional 4 v 4 war, with Ricochet, Pete Dunne, and the then-War Raiders uniting against the Undisputed Era. We’re getting that again this year, with Tommaso Ciampa leading an anti-Era team en route to him reclaiming the NXT Championship, but also a second 4 v 4 WarGames with the top women. Shayna Baszler has recruited two past challengers and her NXT UK champion equivalent (rather than just her usual cronies) to combat new threat Rhea Ripley and her team of faces. We’ve been able to see these teams gradually come together over the weeks, work together over the weeks, and even this week cut promos together, with the women’s teams involved in a fantastic promo package. 

I was worried about NXT losing what has made it special when it became a live show with an extra hour and change on cable, but I’ve continued enjoying it and seeing it maintain its general presentation and storytelling. This includes WarGames. Even though it’s a different match concept, I see it as the general Survivor Series build and follow-through of old. For Raw and Smackdown, Survivor Series just feels less special, less like tradition and more like an obligation (refer also to recent Hell in a Cell and TLC events). So at the very least, the old tale of teams of five that strive to survive can be preserved and in some cases revised within the company, on a show/”brand” where they still know how to tell stories and present and protect talent. Maybe that will continue, either with old concepts, tossed aside for the sake of the autonomy, spruced up in NXT, or with NXT’s brain trust making their way to the bigger shows. But this is all wishful thinking on my end. 

#WWE #NXT #Takeover #SurvivorSeries #WarGames #WWENXT

[bapakharyoso]

Gjermund Roesholt left the cabin on Einarson Lake, in the remote backcountry of the central Yukon, around 9:30 A.M. on November 26, 2018. He headed out by snowmobile to check a trapline that was laid north of the cabin. His partner, Valérie Théorêt, stayed behind with their ten-month-old baby girl, Adèle.

Théorêt was a grade-school teacher on maternity leave; Roesholt was a wilderness and hunting guide. The couple, who normally lived in Whitehorse, the Yukon’s small capital city, had flown in to their cabin on October 4, intending to stay until the new year, when Théorêt was due back at

Gjermund Roesholt left the cabin on Einarson Lake, in the remote backcountry of the central Yukon, around 9:30 A.M. on November 26, 2018. He headed out by snowmobile to check a trapline that was laid north of the cabin. His partner, Valérie Théorêt, stayed behind with their ten-month-old baby girl, Adèle.

Théorêt was a grade-school teacher on maternity leave; Roesholt was a wilderness and hunting guide. The couple, who normally lived in Whitehorse, the Yukon’s small capital city, had flown in to their cabin on October 4, intending to stay until the new year, when Théorêt was due back at school. At the cabin, they hunted for game and maintained their modest trapping concession, a designated area where they were permitted to catch and kill small fur-bearing mammals, living out a dream of rugged self-sufficiency. Both were experienced in the wild, and they were careful about attractants—they stored the remnants of their hunts in a secure container inside a shed a short distance from the cabin.

Around 2:30 in the afternoon, five hours after he’d set out, Roesholt was working his way back toward home. It had snowed gently on and off throughout his morning on the trapline, and as he retraced his own newly dusted trail, he could see fresh bear tracks heading in the same direction. Before he reached the cabin, the tracks turned away.

When he got to the cabin, it was quiet. Théorêt and Adèle were not inside. Roesholt walked down the well-used trail toward a sauna, calling their names. Increasingly worried, he knew he might have to use the loaded rifle he carried.

His partner and child were not at the sauna. Roesholt kept going, down a trail they used for a small trapline that was close enough to the cabin to be checked on foot. He was about 800 feet from the structure when he heard a bear growl.

The grizzly charged Roesholt from 50 feet, but he got his rifle up in time, fired, and didn’t miss. The bear collapsed, shot fatally through the head. Behind it, just off the trail, Roesholt found his family. They had both been killed.

Later, after he had used his Garmin InReach to contact the nearest detachment of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police (RCMP), and after nearly 21 nightmarish hours had passed while he waited for an investigative team to arrive at his remote location and evacuate him, and after the Mounties and other agencies had done their work, a coroner’s report[1], published in March 2019, would conclude that Théorêt’s injuries “quickly proved to be fatal” and that baby Adèle’s were “instantly incompatible with life.”

The bear, a male grizzly, was 18 years old and starving. He still weighed just over 300 pounds, in muscle and skin and bone, but he had already burned away all his body fat. Too emaciated to hibernate and apparently hampered by a weeks-old injury in his abdomen, he had recently taken the desperate step of eating a porcupine, and he was pierced internally by quills from throat to gut.

The bear had followed the snowmobile trail earlier that day, left it behind to circle wide around the cabin and the sauna, and then rejoined the trail south of the buildings. There, investigators believe, he had sensed Théorêt coming toward him, out for a walk, her baby in a carrier on her back. In the chilling phrasing of the coroner’s report, the bear had retreated from the trail and “moved into a position of advantage” under the thick, obscuring branches of a spruce tree, six feet away. It was an ambush: no one could have seen him coming or reacted in time if they had. Théorêt might as well have been struck by lightning.

The next day, at 1:30 in the afternoon, I was at home in Whitehorse when I saw this[2] on the Twitter feed of the Yukon Mounties:

Yukon RCMP and Yukon Coroner’s Service are investigating the death of two individuals following a suspected bear attack on November 26, northeast of Mayo, near the NWT border. Environment Yukon is assisting with the investigation. More information will be released soon.

I remember thinking: Two? That’s weird.

There had been three previous fatal Yukon bear attacks in recent memory. An adventure tour operator named Claudia Huber died in 2014 after a grizzly invaded her home in the Johnson’s Crossing area, off the Alaska Highway. Jean-François Pagé was killed by a defensive mother bear in 2006, after he unknowingly walked by her den while staking mining claims outside the community ofRoss River. And a hiker visiting from British Columbia, Christine Courtney, was mauled to death in Kluane National Park in 1996. I knew these stories well, and I had read about other attacks elsewhere, but I couldn’t remember hearing of a double fatality before. It never occurred to me to think of a mother and her baby.

Awful clarity came less than two hours later, when a media release from the Yukon’s chief coroner landed in my inbox. At the same time, my Facebook feed began to fill up with photos of Valérie’s smiling face. Whitehorse is a small, close-knit community, and while I didn’t know this family personally, our worlds overlapped many times over. As I watched from my couch, our mutual friends changed their profile pictures to shots of themselves with Val, shots of themselves with Adèle, shots of Val and Adèle together. People were reeling and paying immediate tribute to their friend’s life the best way they knew how.

What happened next, I suppose, should have been predictable in our extremely online era. Local news spawned national news and then international news. “Canadian Press picked up the story,” Yukon News reporter Jackie Hong told me. “The New York Times picked it up, The Washington Post. And then suddenly it wasn’t just a Yukon story or a Canada story. It was an international story.” Hong covered[3] the attack for the Yukon News, and soon she was receiving requests from outside media, some as far away as Norway, to help her make contacts or to provide them with updates herself.

I was not exempt from all this. Outside contacted me less than 24 hours after the news broke to ask if I’d be interested in covering it. I was torn: I didn’t want to add to the noise, and I wasn’t eager to ask my friends to speak on the record about their pain. I didn’t want to have to try to track down Gjermund Roesholt and intrude on his agony. But I also didn’t want someone else, someone who might be less sensitive to the issue than I was, to get the assignment. I told my editor I’d be willing if we could wait for the results of the coroner’s report. Then, I thought, I might actually have something new or meaningful to share with readers.

Meanwhile, a TV reporter made the long journey north from southern British Columbia and set up shop outside Whitehorse Elementary School, where Valérie had taught. As grief counselors were made available to the students there, and as local parents struggled to figure out how to explain to their children that their teacher had been killed, the school received e-mail and phone calls from around two dozen different media outlets.

As the story spread, Facebook and Twitter and the comments attached to news articles filled with the most callous contributions imaginable.

“Who in the world takes their wife and 10 month old into bear country,” one person wrote in response to the RCMP’s initial tweet. “Why wasn’t she carrying a weapon?” said another. A third: “They both were torturing animals in traps for their whole lives, and now this bear fought back in his territory. I feel sorry for the baby, for the bear, who paid with his life, and for ALL THE BEAUTIFUL WILD ANIMALS THESE TWO PEOPLE MURDERED !!!”

It was like that everywhere: She should have had a gun. Or they’d been trapping and killing animals, so they had it coming.Or they should never have taken a baby out there.

I wasn’t the only one feeling conflicted about covering the attack. Claudiane Samson is the Whitehorse reporter for French-language Radio-Canada. She knew Valérie socially; they shared a tightly knit circle of friends in the Yukon’s Francophone community. She heard the news before the RCMP and the coroner made it public—she’d heard rumors of a grizzly attack, and then a letter arrived for the parents of children at Whitehorse Elementary, announcing that Valérie Théorêt had died. Samson did the math.

“It’s the kind of story where I hate my job,” she told me. “And it was not my first.” Jean-François Pagé had been her friend, too, and she’d been obliged to report on his death 13 years ago. But back then, social media was in its infancy, not the global force it is now. And so Pagé’s death was not scrutinized in the same way.

“I kind of knew where this would lead,” Samson said. All she could do, she figured, was try to use her work to show what Valérie’s life had been all about—her passion for the outdoors, her love of the Yukon wilderness, and her desire to be immersed in it. Like me, she figured she would do a better job than some outsider. “They were living their dream out there,” she told me. “That was my driving force in my whole coverage.”

But she was in a difficult position. Some media reports struck locals as insensitive—the station that sent the TV reporter to Whitehorse ran a segment that included charging bears and injured mauling victims describing their attacks. Even the most respectful coverage was tainted by the comments that faraway readers left online.

“It became a judgment over our lifestyle,” said Samson, who has had bears pass through the same backyard where her children play. “That’s where we’re at with social media.” (While Roesholt and Théorêt had gone deeper into the bush, and for longer, than most of us do, trapping and hunting are common activities around Whitehorse.) Very quickly, friends of the couple became reluctant to speak to reporters, fearful that even their most loving memories of Val would be smeared by online hatred. Months later, that fear is still fresh—when I eventually approached a friend of Val’s for this story, she described the pain of seeing her friend’s picture everywhere in the days after the attack and always surrounded by harsh comments from strangers. A teacher herself, she worried about fielding questions from her students, about scaring them away from the outdoors. She was no longer living in the Yukon, and she didn’t feel able to tell many people in her daily life about the loss she was grieving.

Reaching out to family members for comment is fairly standard practice when news reporters cover a person’s death. The Mounties had asked the media to refrain from contacting Roesholt or any other relatives. Not every outside reporter honored that request, but all local reporters that I’m aware of did. Samson told me she couldn’t bring herself to call Gjermund. Jackie Hong agreed. “There was no indication at all that he wanted to talk or was ready to talk,” Hong said.

The scrutiny was unprecedented. It’s a running joke among Yukon reporters that their stories only go national when they’re about animals. The wolf that chased a cyclist. The Bohemian waxwings that got drunk on fermented berries and then were locked in the government’s avian drunk tank. The wild boars that escaped from a farm and terrorized a rural subdivision. Now our joke had come true again, in the worst way.

Bear attacks are personal here—there is no hiding from them, no distancing yourself from the horror and thinking,That could never happen to me. As Samson notes, while strangers on the internet accused Valérie of being irresponsible for bringing her baby into bear country, every parent in Whitehorse knows that a bear could wander across their driveway or through their yard someday. Our whole lives are lived in bear country.

My favorite hiking trail winds right by the area where Christine Courtney died—there’s a monument to remind me, in case I’d managed to forget. I didn’t know Claudia Huber, but I had a dozen friends in common with Valérie Théorêt. And when I worked for a mining company as a field laborer a few years ago, I walked into the lobby of the office on my first day—about to head into the bush for a month, where I would hike alone for eight hours every day—and found a memorial to Jean-François Pagé mounted on the wall. Attacks are incredibly rare, but when they do happen, they feel real to everyone in the community.

Maybe that’s why the response to this one bothered me so much. In the aftermath, I found myself surprised and disturbed by the amount of attention the attack received. I felt intensely protective of my grieving friends and my shocked, horrified community—I wanted to shield them from the intrusive phone calls, the strangers creeping into their social-media profiles, the awful, cruel comments appended to every news story. When a reporter for The New York Timescalled[4] the Yukon “desolate,” I wanted to reach through my laptop screen and shake him, to try to make him understand a place he wasn’t describing properly. Life here is amazing, I wanted to say. This is the kind of place where you can hike to a glacier, watch it calve, and then engage in a howl-off with a pack of nearby wolf puppies. This is where grizzlies swipe spawning salmon from streams, and caribou still flow like rivers across the mountains, and the northern lights come out at night. It’s the opposite of desolate.

“This is a great place to live,” Samson agreed. “Yes, we live in bear country. [But] I’m not going to judge people raising kids beside a river because a kid drowned one year.”

In any future tragedies with the awful potential to go viral outside the territory, Samson would like to see authorities devote more resources to helping families cope with the deluge of media requests. The police could connect the family with a designated spokesperson, for instance, and all requests for information could be funneled through them. That kind of thing “helps the families,” she said, “but it also gives media what they need.” It directs their energy away from elementary schools and the Facebook accounts of the grief-stricken while still feeding their need for quotes and copy.

I kept wondering about that need, though. For Yukoners, this was real news—we needed to know that a friend and community member had been killed, where counseling services were available, and where public-memorial events were being held. For a community, the media can play a role in processing the event, even in healing. It can offer people a place to say: My friend was wonderful, and I will miss her.

But what about those outside that circle—the reporters in New York, in Vancouver, in other cities where grizzly attacks are not a threat? What need are they serving for their readers? On some level, it’s obvious: horrible stories travel around the world. We know this. We click on the tales of trauma and tragedy the way we slow down on the highway to gawk at the shrapnel of a broken vehicle. But at least the aftermath of a car accident can remind you to slow down yourself. For people outside bear country, was reading about this tragedy really anything more than voyeurism?

All winter these questions troubled me. As people around Whitehorse strapped canoes to the tops of their vehicles in midwinter to remember Val, whose boat had seemingly always been riding around on top of her little car, and as my friends who knew and loved her went on adventures in her honor, I thought about how the media and social-media dynamics had made their grief even harder. I wondered if it had to be that way. I didn’t find easy answers.

When the coroner’s report came out in March, it emphasized the family’s preparedness, their experience, their safety precautions. The investigators’ reconstruction of the attack made it clear: even if, somehow, Valérie had had a loaded gun in her hand when the bear made his move, she wouldn’t have had a chance. The only thing she could have done differently, I realized, was not be there. Not have gone for a walk with her child in the freshly fallen snow, not have been in the backcountry to begin with.

But those of us who love the outdoors understand: staying inside is no option at all.

Lead Photo: Kevin Gilgan/Stocksy

References

^report (www.justice.gov.yk.ca)

^this (twitter.com)

^covered (www.google.com)

^called (www.nytimes.com)

PAGE 2

#When a Fatal Grizzly Mauling Goes Viral - Outside Magazine

[dailydeeds]

spaces

8/12/18

1:15am

Sometimes when I’m back at my parents house I like to go into Mike’s room 

and just spend time there

I look at the walls that he must have studied for so many years growing up

but they no longer look the same

the old shelves with his knick knacks are gone and the wallpaper trim scattered with variegated mlb baseballs has long been removed

the bed is gone and in its place a small, old wooden couch with plaid cushions

there is so much space between these walls

the empty look of his old bedroom appropriate to the circumstance

Sometimes I do things to cope with his absence

I used to go into his closet and stare at his clothes- inspecting the details of each thread, grazing the abrasions and tears and stains with my fingers, slowly lowering my hands down to the cuffs of his shirt sleeves and squeezing them hard

as if I was grabbing his hand

not wanting to let go

I could smell his scent on them and it provided me some comfort, it was the last lingering hint of his tangible existence

It hurt a lot the day I went into his room and noticed his closet had changed

some of his clothes were gone and in their place stood other peoples clothes. I panicked- reaching for one of his shirts and hugged it, burying my face in it. I breathed in, trying to capture his essence

but his scent was gone, swallowed whole by the aroma on these new occupants

I cried

I cried so hard

because I knew that this meant that I would soon forget how he smelled and I would have nothing to remind me

remembering is the lifeline of eternity, and forgetting consecrates the permanence of death

sometimes people tell me stories about Mike

and I am so thankful to hear them

it’s nice to know other people miss him too- that he was important 

recently, I met up with a friend of Mike and I. we talked about Mike and she told me things that put me in mind of his kindness. and he really was, ya know.. kind. I wish I had acknowledged his kindness to him more. his soul was very gentle and modest. he was in so many aspects a pure person

then she said something to me that I’ve thought about quite often, but stung extra hard hearing the sentiment verbalized by someone else

“he will always be young. he will always be 23″

Mike was barely a month into his 23rd year when he died. I remember when I realized that I had surpassed his life. That the day had come where I was now older than my older brother. He would be immortalized as youthful and strong and just starting to get facial hair. He was put into the ground with barely an abrasion to mark the thorns of time.

and I find myself alone in his room again.

I survey what’s left of his things. scanning his handmade skateboard shelves, his coin collections, his little cartoon drawings, his pictures from summer camp, his stuffed Cat in the Hat. All of these things he loved and did as a kid. even his clothes that I seek as armor for my commiseration. They are what he wore as a teenager. Styles that has been for the most part cycled out by people his age. But he is forever decked in Element sweatshirts and Spruce Run Boat Rental t-shirts. Loafers never replaced his bright blue skate shoes. His flat brim DC hats hang on the wall where they were left back in 2014.

he is forever 23. he is forever “just starting his life.” he is forever stuck in a place in time that has come and gone. and it only gets farther away. 

he is only forever if he is remembered. although I will fight, I know with time my memories will fade. the only thing that doesn’t fade is my love. 

you could cut off my hand and I would never let go of my him. even as my own synapses become fractured with the passing of time, I hope love will guide my heart into the past. In my final days, when I have deteriorated beyond further resolution, I will remember not by smells and style, but by the feeling that fuels the pain of life and death. the fullness of love and the absence of love I have experienced from knowing him. and how those spaces exist in my heart because I knew him. whatever it all really means.