#which is exactly the type of book I would find in a creepy basement

[arlo-venn]

Bruh ❔

#I tried to google if there were different classifications in the 80’s but I’m bad at google so I can’t tell #I guess y’all are reading this book with me #it’s called a good enough parent #by Bruno Bettelheim #He has one of the first (?) books on autism as well #I found out about him because I found an old book of his covered in rubble dirt and dust in the creepy basement of my apartment building #it was his book The Rehabilitation of Emotionally Disturbed Children #which is exactly the type of book I would find in a creepy basement #I collected a few of his books after that bc I like comparing older psychology things to present day #wel mostly in regards to child development and trauma and healing #bc that is my main special interest #anyway I’m not reading the book bc it’s good I’m reading it from a history perspective if that makes sense

[letmereadherbertwestfics]

Combstober Day 2

Prompt: Library

Character: Stu (Frightmare)

Warnings: None

You were never really the type to people watch during your long shifts at the library reception desk. If you were bored you chose to skim old books nobody else wanted to check out or doodle on a sticky note. That was, until one student in particular caught your eye. 

It took a while for you to learn anything about him aside from his name and major. According to his library card his name was Stuart, and according to the rowdy group of friends he sometimes came in with, he went by Stu. And based on the types of books he checked out regularly, he was some kind of theater major. You found that very fitting, as you couldn't think of anyone you'd like to see on a big screen more than him and his dark hair and sharp jawline. 

You weren't trying to be creepy about your attraction to him. Really the last thing you wanted was for him to notice you. But that didn't stop you from stealing glances at him every time he came in to study, sitting at the same table just mere yards away from the desk you sat at. That also didn't stop you from finding excuses to only put away recently checked in books whenever he was browsing the shelves, hoping you would walk past him. Or taking an extra few seconds when checking out his books for him, just wanting to be near him a little while longer. 

Yeah, you were down bad. And you could admit it. Just not to Stu.

As much as you liked him, you never had any plans on doing anything about it. Why would you? You were a student worker, the only things you had to do was sit at a desk scanning books and type on a computer. Not the most romantic environment in the world. And, as you would always remind yourself, you knew next to nothing about this guy. What if he was just nice to look at, then you find out you actually hated his personality? Or worse, what if you asked him out and he has a girlfriend? 

No, it was safer to sit back and observe. 

At least that was what you thought, until you heard someone quickly approaching your desk, and when you looked up you saw Stu, in all of his perfect hair, gorgeous eyed glory. And he did not look happy. 

"Listen, I know we don't know each other, like at all but..I'm in a bit of a rough spot right now. And I really need your help right now." 

You were stunned into silence. That was the most words Stu had ever spoken to you at once, and the sound of his voice reverberated through you like someone slamming piano keys.

It took a moment, but eventually you found your voice.

"My help? With what?"

Stu sighed, tapping his fingers impatiently on the desk. "Like I said, I'm in a rough spot right now. I was supposed to check out some important textbook for my theater tech class, but I got a little distracted and-"

"You procrastinated and now it isn't available anymore?" You didn't mean to interrupt, but the nervous smile on Stu's face showed he didn't mind. 

"Ha...yeah. And new copies are like fifty bucks a pop and I don't get paid until Friday, which is also the day I need the book by. I was just wondering if there was anything, like at all, you could do to get me a copy of that book." 

You thought about it for a moment. If all of the copies put on the shelves were already checked out, there was little you could do. Unless...

"What's the title of the book?"

Stu told you the title and the author, and you disappeared into the library basement, digging through the dusty shelves of replacement copies the library kept, just in case an irresponsible student damaged or lost a book. 

And, by the grace of the divine, you found exactly what you were looking for. 

When you returned to your desk with a new (albeit dusty) copy of the textbook, Stu's entire face lit up. "Holy shit, you're amazing." He blurted out. 

Your entire face flushed at Stu's words, and you felt like you were going to disintegrate. That was, until you willed yourself to look up and see that he had almost an identical look of embarrassment on his face. 

You had to pull some strings in the system, but you were able to add the replacement copy into the rotation of books and checked it out to Stu. But not before making him promise to never tell anyone what you had done. It wasn't particularly wrong, per se, but you didn't like the idea of explaining exactly why you needed to help Stu so badly to your boss. 

"I owe you one Y/N. Seriously." Stu said before he left, and once again your entire body was wracked by the sound of his voice. This time, because he had said your name. Sure, you wore a name tag, but that didn't make it any less exciting for you. 

You thought that had been the end of you and Stu's interactions. You never expected anything to come out of the one favor you had done for him. That was, until you clocked in and approached your desk, seeing someone had left a can of soda and a bag of chips there, undoubtedly from one of the campus vending machines. You found this odd, until you noticed a yellow sticky note stuck to the chips. 

Scribbled in red ink, was four words. For your troubles. - Stu. 

You couldn't stop smiling as you read the note over and over, admiring Stu's signature. You hoped you were right about him being an actor, because his signature was quite impressive. And thinking there was no way this moment could get any better, you flipped the sticky note around in your fingers, pausing when you saw a series of numbers scribbled on the back. A phone number. 

Well, this was interesting. 

#jeffrey combs #frightmare #stu frightmare

[eldritchsurveys]

1179.

Have you ever lived in a mobile home?: >> I lived in a trailer park for a short time.

Have you ever had your bedroom in a basement?: >> When I lived at the Wayland house, yeah.

Do you think it would be cool to have a lion as a pet?: >> I would not want this at all.

What do you think about those little dogs that ride in purses and strollers?: >> I think it's cute.

How many times in the past week have you eaten fast food?: >> Zero.

In the house - shoes, socks, slippers or bare feet?: >> Slippers, usually, but also bare feet or socks on occasion.

Do you consider dogs inside or outside pets?: >> Mostly I think they're both (since I think it's good for them to get to run around semi-freely in a backyard or dog park regularly), but indoors is the best place for pets.

Do you read books for pleasure?: >> Eh. I don't think I find the act of reading to be pleasurable, exactly. I just like stories and information and that's always been an easily-accessible way to get them.

What’s your favorite piece of furniture in your house?: >> My bed. But also the goldenrod-coloured couch, because that's my favourite colour.

Have you ever had a crush on a friend’s parent?: >> I have not. Do you prefer carbonated or uncarbonated drinks?: >> Carbonated.

Favorite thing that you can see up in the sky?: >> The Sun, of course 💛

Would you like it if they sold disposable undies in a pop up box?: >> I... would have no use for this. But I imagine someone would.

French fries. Yay or Nay?: >> Yay.

Which of your friends has the most annoying sibling?: .

Wood floors or carpet?: >> I do prefer wood although it has its downsides for sure.

Would you rather eat at the table or in your room?: >> What table? I do almost everything in my room, so.

A teacher says she’s noticed you’ve looked sad, do you confide in her?: .

Friend asks you to hide drugs, booze etc for them, do you do it?: >> I fail to even imagine how this situation would ever happen to me.

Would you rather have a gooey cinnamon bun or awesome cheesy pizza?: >> That would depend on what I'm in the mood for. (At this moment, I'm not hungry, so.)

Do you like the sound of birds singing when you wake up, or is it annoying?: >> I absolutely love it.

You fill your best friend’s Xmas stocking, what do you put in it?: . You fill your worst enemy’s stocking, what do you put in it?: . You fill your OWN stocking, what do you put in it?: . If someone gave you a kitten, would you keep it?: >> Absolutely not.

What’s your ideal activity for a rainy day?: .

Favorite type of cracker: >> I like pita crackers.

Banana sandwich..yum or yuck?: >> Yuck. I hate bananas. Animal you like to watch but sort of creeps you out: . Have you entered the Lays create a flavor contest?: >> I have not and I'm so glad that's not a thing anymore (or, at least, I haven't seen anything from it lately). Bagels or English Muffins?: >> Bagels.

Do you like or hate to buy new shoes?: >> Hate.

Do you keep your phone on you at all times or forget it a lot: >> It's always nearby, if not on my actual person.

Who is a family member you look forward to seeing on a holiday?: .

Are Easter baskets only for kids?: .

Do you do anything to recognize St Patrick’s Day?: >> I do not.

Do you think nutcracker figurines are creepy or cool?: >> They're neither. Sparrow and family are big into them and I just don't really get it.

Speaking of nuts, do you like them?: >> Some.

Favorite TV show as a kid: .

What do you do when you are nervous?: >> I'm not sure.

Is there a turntable and vinyl records in your house?: >> There is, in my room.

Does your family have an SUV or pick up truck?: .

Do you enjoy doing things outdoors?: >> Sure.

Do you like to daydream about sex?: >> Apparently. Which of your parents do you laugh more with?: .

Have you ever been to an open casket wake or funeral?: >> I have not.

Would you like to get married one day?: >> Well, I did, at any rate.

Who mows the lawn at your house?: . Where do you keep your phone at night?: >> In my bed somewhere.

Do you feel comfortable asking your parents or grandparents for money?: .

What’s the last thing you lost?: >> I don’t recall. If you could have your own car or an apartment, which would you choose?: >> Apartment, always. Have you ever experienced buyer’s remorse over an expensive purchase?: >> I've experienced buyer's anxiety, which is just what happens when you're permanently poor and every significant purchase feels like ripping your guts out.

Last time you hid, and why: .

How do you like your eggs?: >> Depends on the dish.

After a date, do you call your friend to tell them how it went?: . Favorite Mexican food?: >> Just going to say quesadillas because Sparrow made those last night so they're fresh in my mind.

Favorite thing to eat with a spoon?: >> Everything, man. Upcoming event you are dreading?: >> Building Sparrow's PC.

Best Happy Meal toy you ever got: .

Do you make lists?: >> I do.

Do you make pro/con lists before making a decision?: >> I do not.

Do you have a favorite pen? What kind?: >> The only pens I really use nowadays are the Pentel felt-tip ones.

What’s the best meal you cook?: . Do you do more surveys during the day or night?: >> I usually take them in the day. On lunch break, do you eat or do other things?: . Smoothies? Bubble tea? Fancy coffee? None of the above?: >> Bubble tea all day. But also fancy coffee -- just not all day, you know, because of the caffeine.

Do you like romantic gestures or do they make you feel awkward?: .

Five things you need to throw out: .

Do you like the toilet paper your family uses?: . Just shampoo, or shampoo + conditioner?: >> I use shampoo. Scariest driver you’ve ridden with: .

Have you/do you plan to go to college?: >> I do not plan on attending.

Do you write in cursive: >> I love writing in cursive.

#surveys #survey #random survey

[louisapennyfeather2021]

Newsies Teen Wolf AU, except it's random scenes with little to no context!

1) More Bad Than Good, Season 3 episode 14. This is technically episode 2 of 3b/The Second half of season 3.

Brief: Race, Jack, Katherine, Sarah, and Albert are out searching for Jojo, who is a Were-coyote stuck in the body of a regular coyote. Blink is trying to keep JoJo's dad from shooting Jojo, having blamed the coyote for the death of his family.

Warnings: Possible major injuries, panic, mentions of guns, mentions of weapons, mentions of traps

___

"Jack,it's me, you got to call me back as soon as you can. It wasn't Jojo's doll. It was his sister's. Jojo left it at the car for his sister. It's like bringing flowers to a grave, okay, and we stole the flowers. So, that's all he's trying to do, right. Bring the doll back to the grave, to the car wreck. That's where he's headed. The car wreck." Race paces as he talks, anxiety bubbling up in his stomach. They've spent the past day and a half looking for this boy who's apparently been in the body of a coyote for the past eight years, Race might actually go insane if they don't get him.

"Race." Albert's voice is oddly quiet as Race drops his phone from his ear to text Jack in hopes of getting his message across.

"Yeah?" He calls back carelessly, still texting.

"Race!" The panic in Albert's voice makes Race turn around and his heart freezes when he sees Albert frozen mid-walk, his foot now in the center of what Race recognizes as a bear trap. He curses, remembering how Blink told him that JoJo's dad set up multiple bear traps in the woods for the coyotes and how Race needed to be careful.

"Oh my- okay, Albert, don't move." Race hurries over to Albert and sits on his knees, looking for any way to get Albert out without his leg getting caught in the teeth of the trap.

"Look for a warning label." Albert's voice waivers. His hands shake as he squeezes them into fists, know any type of pressure could set off the trap.

"A warning label?" Race asks, confused. Where would the trap even have a warning label? It's a trap, there wouldn't be instructions on how to disarm it.

"Race, animals can't read, there's going to be instructions on how to disarm it." Albert all but yells. Race quickly starts clearing leaves away from the center of the trap and he wants to cheer when he finds a yellow "WARNING" label.

That excitement quickly fades when the letter start moving and everything blurs.

"Albert we have a problem." Race starts to panic as he shines the flashlight of his phone on the trap, blinking repeatedly in hopes of maybe seeing everything. If anything, it all blurs together even more. "I can't read either."

"Okay, alright. You don't need the instructions. When was the last time you've ever used instructions? Am I right? You don't need them because you are too smart to waste your time with them, okay? You can figure it out. Race, you're the one who always figures it out. So you can do it. Figure it out." Albert forces any fear out of his voice because he knows if he sounds anything less than confident, Race will cave and they'll be stuck. Either that, or Albert risks getting his leg all but cut off. Albert can see Race starting to panic and he squeezes his eyes shut to try and stay as calm as he can.

Until he hears Race moving more leaves around the trap.

He opens his eyes to see Race now staring at a small wheel.

Albert immediately recognizes it as a release valve, one that delays the trap.

"Alright, here we go. Ready?" Race's hands shake as he reaches for the valve. He shares look with Albert, knowing this could go one way or the other.

"Now!" Race twists the valve and Albert's quick to step off of it, crashing into Race. Race barely catches him, but manages to stable both of them as the trap snaps shut. Race lets out a shaky breath he didn't realize he was holding and he's vaguely aware of Albert clinging onto him.

"Remind me to never go anywhere that involves a crazy coyote hunter." Albert mumbles and Race is now acutely aware of his friend holding him in a death grip hug. He's also aware that he's hugging his friend back.

Who is he kidding, his longtime childhood crush is hugging him and he's hugging him back.

Que a different kind of panic.

____

2) Galvanize, Season 3 episode 15, technically episode 3 of 3b/the second half of season 3

Brief: After successfully changing Jojo back from a coyote to a teenage boy, Race and Jack go to school where they see Mike and Ike for the first time since Jack became an alpha. Well, the first time at school, not including when Jack asked them to beat him up to help him control his power.

Warnings: Nothing really? Maybe mentions of previous violence and death.

Notes: This is actually meant to be a kind of funny scene.

____

"Jack, you gotta hear what I'm saying. The dot on the 'i' in the Pringles logo is actually a Pringle." Race waves his hands around as they walk until there are suddenly two bodies in front of them. "Oh boy, didn't expect to see Hansel and Gretel today."

"You're back in school?" Jack ignores Race in holes of distracting the twins from the sarcastic entity he calls his brother.

"Just to talk." Ike sighs. He already seems done with the conversation, like he knows the outcome.

"Oh, well that's a change of pace. Usually you guys are hurting, maiming, and killing." Race grins sarcastically, knowing full well that neither twin would try to pull something.

"You need a pack, we need an alpha." Mike blatantly ignores Race and looks to Jack.

"Right, yeah, absolutely not, that's hilarious though." Race tries to grab Jack's arm to walk around the twins, but both move with them.

"You came to us for help and we helped." Mike is unusually calm, especially since he's not exactly the calm one of the twins.

"You beat his face to a bloody pulp. That's not exactly helping. In my opinion, that's actually counter productive." Race shrugs. Jack just listens through exchange, knowing that if Race doesn't anger one of the twins first, that they might bring up a good point.

"Why would I say yes?" Jack asks. The twins have hardly been helpful in any way, they've done more bad than good. Even if they have changed in the last week, it's not like Jack can just automatically forgive and forget.

"We'd add strength. We'd make you more powerful. There's no reason to say no." Mike makes a face as if he's so confident in his points. Jack can admit he's not wrong, but he is at the same time.

"I can think of one." Suddenly Katherine is next to Jack, her arms crossed and a glare on her face. "Like the two of you holding Spot's claws so he'd impale Sniper and kill her. In fact, I don't know why we're not impaling them right now."

"You want to try?" Mike takes a step closer. Low growls are exchanged between him and Katherine before Ike is pulling Mike back and Jack has an arm in front of Katherine.

"I'm sorry, but they don't trust you. And neither do I." Jack shakes his head. He values his friends over everything. He values what they have to say and he knows when they're right. He offers the twins a sympathetic nod before walking towards the school with Race and Katherine.

"Alright, that's my guy! Great decision! Great Alpha decision!" Race claps his hands on Jack's shoulder as they stop at his locker, Katherine hurrying down to her locker a few spots away.

"I hope so." Jack sighs. He opens his locker and starts exchanging his books when he spots Sarah talking with Katherine, both smiling, which is odd to see when the two are together.

"No, you know so, then I can- What are you staring at?" Race poking Jack's shoulder makes him snap out of his borderline creepy staring.

"Me?" Jack stiffens, knowing Race is just going to tease him.

"You're staring at Kath and Sarah, aren't you?" Race narrows his eyes suspiciously. "You're jealous."

"What? No, I'm not jealous." Jack shakes his head and suddenly becomes aware of how his voice sounds just a bit higher than usual.

"Dude, you don't need to think about past relationships. You could literally get anyone." Race sighs when Jack makes a disbelieving expression and he quickly grabs Jack's shoulders. "Alright, Jackie, listen, I don't think you get it yet. You're an Alpha. You're the apex predator. Everyone wants you. You're like the hot girl that every guy wants."

"The hot girl." Jack deadpans, raising an eyebrow at Race.

"Jack, you are the hottest girl." Race shakes his shoulders a bit before giving Jack a slight shove and hurrying off to his first class. Jack ponders the thought, a dopey smile working onto his face. He hardly notices Katherine and Sarah walking up to him.

"What?" Sarah asks, genuinely confused by the cheerful smile on Jack's face so early in the morning.

"I'm the hot girl." Jack doesn't notice the concerned look that Katherine and Sarah exchange, too lost in the boost of confidence.

"Yes you are?" Katherine hesitantly agrees, trying not to laugh as Jack starts off for his first period, seemingly having a literal pep in his step. As soon as he rounds the corner of the corridor, Katherine and Sarah both start laughing.

____

3) Galvanize, Season 3 episode 15 , technically episode 3 of 3b.

Brief: A shrapnel bomber who bombed a school bus is on the loose and Albert thinks he's at the school. Race tries to convince Blink to stay, but he doesn't because he believes and eye witness over Albert's banshee senses.

Warnings: Mentions of death, mentions of bombs

Notes: This isn't as intense as it sounds, it's really just a brief scene where the group is searching for the bomber in the basement of the school with some comedy thrown in.

____

"So this is how it's gonna be? We just trust them now?" Katherine asks as she carefully walks next to Jack through the corridors of the basement. She begrudgingly left Sarah upstairs with Race and Albert so she could check the basement with Jack and the twins.

"Just because I'm letting them help doesn't mean I trust them. I can't just say no to them when they should have a least one chance to prove themselves." Jack answers, mindlessly letting the words come out of his mouth as he cautiously walks down the hallway, knowing something could go wrong any second. Blink said the bomber was after kids with glowing eyes, meaning werewolves.

"Yeah, well I don't trust them either. Or like them, for that matter. In fact, I hate them and just want them to die." Katherine shrugs carelessly. She doesn't flinch when Jack gives her "the look", one he usually saves for when he's about to lecture someone. It's very similar to what little Katherine has seen of Davey's looks.

Meanwhile, Mike and Ike check the opposite side of the basement. Ike leads the way, Mike close behind. They keep quiet to listen for any sounds. Breathing, a heart beating, any noise in general. Suddenly Ike stops, angling his ear towards the corner of the corridor.

"You got something?" Mike whispers, so quiet only Ike should be able to hear him. He's ready to react when Ike suddenly walks to the corner, but he's not ready for the sight he sees.

"Oh really?" Ike plants his hands on his hips and cocks his head to the side. Mike looks around him to see none other than Boots, aka the boy Ike was together with before everything went down with Jack, pressing another boy against the wall, shirts half on. Mike can't help but laugh, having to cover it up to not laugh too loud.

He's only laughing because Ike technically shouldn't be mad, he didn't exactly let Boots know where they stood with each other, but it's just funny because it's right out of a teenage rom-com movie.

To put it simply, the search for the bomber was forgotten for at least two minutes.

____

Hello! This is another small post with some of my all time favorite scenes! Again, they probably don't make much sense if you haven't seen the show, but please interpret these how you wish! Or watch the show, whichever suits you best!

If you have any requests for scenes or any thoughts, you can always ask! I'm open to anything and everything!

#newsies memes #newsies imagines #newsies broadway #newsies imagine #newsies #newsies au #teen wolf au

[harrysthoughts]

YOU - Season 2 - Episode 1

Hi Youlinas! OMG...sitting here BALD after watching the 1st episode of our beloved YOU, season 2. EP. 1 spoilers ahead - tread lightly! 

After a lovely recap of the first season (RIP Beck, RIP Peach, RIP Peach’s Goyard tote), we are dropped off in sunny LA with Joe looking the same in his Ted Bundy-ass, bookish-ass outfit and forever-furrowed brow. He explains that he detests influencers as he walks through hordes of them posing against one of those Insta-walls on his way to his new hacienda. Classic. Delilah is the first new character we meet and she reminds me of a Sephora makeup artist even though she’s a reporter and landlord. Ok career Barbie! Joe introduces himself as “Will Bettelheim” which definitely has potential to be confusing. She lets Joe (Will?) into his new minimal LA digs and tells him not to cook meth in the kitchen. 

The next character we meet is a little balcony thot, who approaches Joe with a fistful of licorice and a whole lot of attitude. Her name is Ellie and she’s already getting on my nerves, but I’m pretty sure that’s her goal - so, kudos, babe. We learn that Ellie and Delilah are sisters. Delilah warns Will (Joe?) that she will “vivisect” his “individual scrotums” if he lays a hand on Ellie. Weird thing to say considering I think there’s only one scrotum, right? Can you have two scrotums? Wouldn’t that require four testicles? Doctor? Doctor? 

Next, Joe wanders into ANAVRIN (Nirvana spelled backwards LOL stop), which is a fictional Whole Foods-leaning supermarket, to find a job. Of course, he lands a gig on the spot - working in the book nook. Yeah, ok, so there’s a corner of books...in some part of this Valencia-filtered grocery store? I’d love to see a floorplan of the place to better understand the geography. 

And then we meet the new Beck: Love Quinn. The first words she utters to Joe are “Does this peach look like a butt?” Which is kind of slutty for an opening line but kind of endearing and quirky, too. She’s pretty, duh, and looks exactly like the person Joe would stalk: like she gets her jeans at Madewell and her gourdes at ANAVRIN. The two engage in a really well-written flirting session amidst the heirloom tomatoes and we learn that Love works at ANAVRIN, too! How convenient! Every time I type ANAVRIN I lose brain cells so I might have to come up with an alternative.

While at...The Store, we meet another new character, Forty (huh? lol) and he immediately surpasses Ellie as the most punchable. He says a lot of stupid stuff and then walks away, so Joe goes over to Love and she gives him a scone. He takes it, walks behind a pile of crates, and begins to whack off to the thought of Love. He comes to his senses and knows that he SHOULDN’T be fantasizing about her (or, um, masturbating on a pile of crates next to a half eaten scone while AT WORK?). Nice will power, Joe. We love to see it. 

Joe gets Ellie a new phone because he threw her old one off the roof because she was filming him walking down the street for a school project. No, I know. But this gives the two a chance to bond in the hacienda courtyard. Ellie teaches Joe how to brand himself on the ‘gram, which is sweet even if her advice kinda sucks. So, he follows said advice and spends time taking pictures of carousels and books, naturally. While in the park, he sees a girl taking photos for her quinceanera and then falls asleep against a tree. He wakes up burnt to a beautiful Cloud-Paint-in-Storm-esque crisp because he never had to deal with the sun in New York. 

Later, somehow, Love finds his address and barges in while he’s making himself ramen noodles. She rubs Apple Cider Vinegar on his burnt face and then admonishes him for not eating quality food and reading Joan Didion everyday. We can’t all be perfect like YOU, Love! But then, generous as can be, she vows to make him fall in love with LA. Because time doesn’t exist in TV shows, the pair run around Los Angeles eating tacos and dumplings and finally end up at The Store, all in the span of what feels like what Blair Waldorf’s commute to Brooklyn would’ve been.  

Once inside, they shop for gorgeous fresh ingredients by the light of the lettuce showers (a vibe) and then retire to the kitchen where we learn that Love went to cooking school and is also a widow. Ok colorful past! She makes Joe some roasted chicken and then basically force feeds it to him.

Throughout the episode, we see flashbacks of Joe’s last encounter with Candace, in which she orders fries (with a side or ranch, ew) and then vows to ruin his fucking life. So now Candace is hunting Joe, which is why he relocated to the place he hates most: LA. Ok, it’s coming together!

The episode ends with Ellie painting her toes on the hacienda stairs in the middle of the night because she drank too many (14) Frappucinos to sleep. She tells Joe that a creepy guy named Jasper stopped by to collect something from him. 

This, of course, is where everything gets all fucked up like we knew it would. Apparently, Joe didn’t just happen on Love. He’s been following her. He might even be the reason she’s a widow. No, I know! Wig! Joe, sunburnt and on a mission, goes to his storage unit at Lock of Fame (ha) and it’s revealed that he has the same set up he did in the basement of the book store. Hell yeah, the glass box is back! And it’s occupied by some rando! Is that Love’s dead husband? Who’s actually alive? I have no idea. But I can’t wait to find out...

[nikxation]

Entry #00

Summary: Every good thing has to start somewhere, and sometimes the best, most unexpected outcomes start with nothing more than a nervous gift in a local diner.

Or: How I imagine WWTD began.

Word Count: 2441

Warnings: None

Additional Notes: Written for the 1-year anniversary of @fordanoia‘s RP blog @whatwouldteslado.

AO3 Link

“What… is it?” Ford turns the device in his hand, the hard, plastic outer case warm from the stifling summer heat (or, more likely, from being stored in Fiddleford’s pocket for hike from the house to the diner). Whatever kind of electronic it is, it’s remarkably small, able to fit comfortably in his palm. Boxy, but still rounded at the edges in an almost-ergonomic way. When he flips it, he realizes that the other side seems to have a small glass display, a small keyboard taking up the bottom half just below it, a circular dial of some sort between the two with four rectangular buttons lined up on its sides.

“I call it the Accelerated Logger: Experimental XML edition,” Fiddleford beams at him from across the table. “The ALEX device for short. I’m still fanoodling with the name though, since I reckon giving it a human name is a little creepy.” Ford flips it around a few times in his hands, getting a feel for the weight, pressing a few of the buttons on the keyboard, seeing if he can’t get the little glass screen to do something.

“But what exactly is it?” Ford repeats. “What does it do?”

“Oh right, right. It’s a new journal.” Ford glances back up, not sure whether or not he’s joking, since this device obviously isn’t a journal. The confusion must read on his face, because Fiddleford backtracks. “Well, sorta. It’s like a miniature computer that you only write entries in and— here let me show you.” Fiddleford takes the device back and holds down what seems to be a small button on the top of the device, one Ford hadn’t noticed. “So, this here’s the power button.” He sets the device down on the table between them as the screen flickers to life, the screen lit but dark. “It’s also the sleep button to shut off the screen when you’re not using it. Saves battery, but God willing, I don’t see you killing it any time soon. This high-powered interdimensional residual schism-based collision heap power cell’s got more energy than a kindergarten classroom the day after Halloween. But that’s besides the point.”

“It’s powered by interdimensi—”

“This here is your home screen,” Fiddleford continues on, unimpeded. “You can create a new entry by pressing this button here,” he presses one of the four buttons lined up just above the keyboard, the one on the left with the pencil on it, and a pop-up box appears on the screen with the prompt Type new entry here above it, “then you type in whatever you reckon to record. And then you can push this button," he pushes the next adjacent button, which has a pound (#) sign on it, and a smaller pop-up appears, “to add tags to the post. On the home screen, that same one lets you search through all your tags real fast, that way you can find specific entries without having to flip a bazillion pages crazier than a chicken with its head cut off when you need to find something. This one is the back button,” he presses the button to the left of the circle pad, and the tag pop-up disappears, “which will back you out of any screen until you get back to the home screen. But if you wanted to make a post, just type it in here” using the keypad, he quickly types in Test post 1, “and then press the center button,” he presses the button in the center of the circle, and the post disappears, replaced by a small box on the top of the screen that reads the same text he typed. “And there it is! You can also add titles to posts and stylize the text all fancy-like. And when you have loads of posts, you can scroll through them chronologically using the trackpad—"

“Fiddleford, this is very kind of you—”

“Oh! But this button here,” he presses the one unused button of the tray of four, and Ford’s not even sure his friend heard him, he’s so caught up in his excitement. “Well, by all means, it doesn’t do diddley-squat right now. But eventually, I want to make it to where we can each have a device and type messages to one another, sorta like instant messaging! And this button would take you to your inbox to see—"

He’s not sure how to say that, while the gift is nice, he just personally prefers his journal. There’s something about just writing with paper and pen that an electronic could never duplicate. But Fiddleford seems so excited over it, and he’s never been one for tact, that’s for sure. Maybe if he just…

“Look, Fiddleford, I really appreciate the thought—”

“And I know you still have Journal 3 to finish,” Fiddledord barrels right on, and for the first time, Ford notices the there’s a slight tapping sound coming from under the table. A shoe hitting the ground increasingly faster. “So if you wanna finish it out, I understand that. I just know you’ve always been a worry-wort about your book getting damaged by rain and all, so I figured this would help fix that. All the posts store in an empty pocket dimension, so there’s no chance of them getting destroyed or nothing. And even if the device gets damaged, I can make a new one and reconnect to the same dimension. And I also installed a camera so you can take pictures of anomalies instead of having to sketch them all the time and… And…”

Fiddleford trails off, though he’s still smiling and expectantly looking at Ford, as if waiting for a reaction.

His foot taps even faster under the table.

Five beats per second. Maybe six.

“What do ya think?” he asks.

It’ll be a while before I finish Journal 3. Maybe by then he’ll forget.

Ford sighs.

“I think it’s an amazing little piece of tech,” he says, picking it up and giving it an appreciative once over. “I’ll try it out after I’m finished with Journal 3. Thank you.” The tapping goes silent, and Fiddleford smiles.

“Well, I’m glad you like it!”

“Could you tell me more about this interdimensional power cell that you said powers it? It sounds intriguing.”

“Oh, it is!” Fiddleford says. “Obviously it’s based on the portal research, just on a much smaller, easier-to-stabilize scale. When I made the hole for the memory storage, I realized there was a dang near infinite amount of energy flowing from it, so I finoodled a way to back-harness it…”

~ ~ ~

Ford pours himself his sixth cup of coffee of the morning. Well, he hasn’t slept in… he can’t remember how many days, so thinking of it with respect to the morning can’t make much sense. Not in the colloquial sense. All he knows is that the sun started peeking through the snow-laden treetops over an hour ago, and he’s on his sixth cup of coffee since then.

It’s working well enough, he guesses.

He’s still awake, as far as he knows.

Not like he can really fall asleep now-a-days.

Can’t risk Bill…

He takes a sip from the mug, lukewarm black coffee even more bitter than the last cup, and yet somehow more familiar. Ever since the incident last week, this has become his norm, that bitter roasted taste a constant in the back of his throat.

He’s not sure how long he can keep this up.

Ideally, just long enough to get everything taken care of.

After that…

The Journal is sitting on the dining room counter, gold hand glinting at him in the morning light.

He doesn’t think he can trust a word in that thing anymore. Not after everything Bill has done. Not after learning what he now knows.

He’s not sure he can bring himself to open it again.

That’s ridiculous. It’s just a book.

Then why does the mere thought of it make him want to throw up?

He tops off his mug and heads back to the elevator, ready to continue his work. The portal has long since been shut down, but he swears he’s been hearing sounds coming from it. Which is concerning considering the nature of the machine and what lays on the other side. The room should be silent. Unsettlingly so. But when he’s down there, he swears he hears something.

Something like voices.

Which he knows is absurd.

He ignores them for the most part.

He has research to do. He needs to figure out how to keep Bill out. Either temporarily, or for good. And while initial attempts have been unsuccessful, he hopes knows he’s developed a plan of action that has a reasonable chance of success.

The elevator doors open, and he finds himself in the bottom floor of the basement.

He doesn’t know why he keeps insisting on bringing himself down here.

Maybe as penance?

Maybe out of some sense that he needs to guard it?

Maybe because he simultaneously enjoys and hates the way it makes his gut turn at the mere sight of it, something rotten and aching churning just below the surface.

Part of him… part of him wants to tear the damn thing apart. Some small voice in the back of his head says it’s the best idea, that it’s the only rational idea, that leaving it standing the next room over is dangerous and reckless, especially when it will never be turned on again. That it would be the ultimate way to rub Bill’s betrayal in his face.

But…

Because of course there’s a “but”, otherwise he would have torn it down already

But he can’t bring himself to do it. Not to something he spent months of his life on. Not to something that could still be the answer to all his questions. Not to what he knows is the single greatest piece of engineering this world has ever seen. Not when he’s scared of the aftermath the next time he falls asleep.

And so, he finds himself at a stalemate. Locked in a dilemma he can’t seem to reason his way out of. It leaves him staring through the safety test window, watching the monument as it stands proudly the next room over, fluorescent lights glaring off it.

It’s like some sick joke that he never even learned the punchline to. That there was never a punchline for to begin with. Something he had hoped would be beautiful and wound up causing nothing but pain and destruction.

It leaves something bitter in the back of his throat.

It’s almost familiar.

He takes another sip of the coffee. It’s cool now, the basement sapping every bit of warmth right out of the room, the winter ice settling deep into the dirt.

Maybe he likes that the cold helps keep him awake?

He sits down at the desk, aimlessly leafing through the pages strewn across it, hoping some spark of inspiration will flash across them and tell him what to do.

He moves a diagram to the side and uncovers something from what feels like eons ago.

The device Fiddleford gave him, before everything went bad, back when they went to Greasy’s Diner for breakfast from time to time and life wasn’t completely consumed by the portal.

Back when everything was still okay.

He picks it up off the desk, the device still fitting comfortably in his hand like he remembers it did, hard plastic cold against his palm.

The Accelerated Logistic—no, the Accelerated Log… Logging… Logger?

It was so long ago. He barely remembers…

He finds the button on the side and holds it down, the screen miraculously flickering to life moments later.

After I’m finished with Journal 3…

He knows he has a better time thinking through his problems when he can write them down.

Maybe this will be a good replacement for the journal.

Maybe.

He clicks on the button Fiddleford showed him all those months ago, but instead of the expected pop-up, he gets an error of some sort, asking for a “blog username”.

Why am I doing this? This is pointless.

You need to get your head on straight. Think through this all rationally. This will help.

It’s just another Journal!

What if I can’t fix this?

What if I can’t get him out?

A username.

Back in college, he remembers one physics professor introducing him to the work of Nikola Tesla, and there’s one story he always remembers in particular.

Tesla once built a great machine, an oscillator, meant to change the way electricity was produced and revolutionize the way steam engines operated. Tesla claimed that, during a certain experiment, the device began to vibrate at the resonant frequency of the building he was in, causing the whole building to shudder and quake, compromising the structural safety of the building and risking the lives of its occupants.

He took a sledgehammer to the device to end it.

Or so he claimed.

Ford wonders how true the story is, whether the machine really went unstable, whether Tesla was really able to simply destroy his work so easily.

He wonders what Tesla would do if he were in his own shoes, a literal demon tormenting him, his machine standing between him and the end of the world, or maybe all the answers he ever hoped for. A chance to be somebody and do something important.

Knowing something is the right thing to do, but just feeling deep down like it’s wrong. That there are other solutions.

A username?

He quickly types in the first thing that comes to mind:

whatwouldteslado

When he clicks enter, the pop-up disappears, and the screen is back to how he remembers.

Perhaps Fiddleford updated it while I wasn’t using it.

He shakes the thoughts off and starts typing, the click of the keys echoing through the room.

He’s not sure why… And he’s not sure how to describe it…

But as unfamiliar as it is, something about the device almost feels… promising. Like a new beginning. Some distant light at the end of an impossibly long tunnel.

It’s a good feeling to hold onto for now.

And so, he types.

~ ~ ~

Entry #01.

This is the first entry that will hopefully be of but only a small handful.

I am livid…. Among quite a number of other things, but I need to go about this in a rational manner.

I have recently come up with a rather simple solution to my main issue. Deploying it will not be easy, but I have already faced difficult challenges and I have no doubt that I can successfully carry this out on my own.

…

Post.

#pinesbrosfallswrites #wwtd #my writing #stanford pines #fiddleford mcgucket #(my first time writing fidds RIP)

[x-fantasy-is-my-reality-x]

Goku Black x Reader: Forbidden Fruit (Chapter 6: Chained Freedom)

Black finally let you out of the room on the eighth day. Well, not exactly. He just let you explore the upstairs with the ever-present chi bands on your ankles and wrists while he followed behind you a good 25ft. You walked around slowly, peering at everything, searching for clues on how to defeat them, but you had to make it subtle, so he wouldn’t suspect anything. You had been ecstatic when Black had walked in and announced that he would let you out for a while, but still wary of what might happen. He was rougher than Zamasu and sometimes his grip would leave colorful bruises all along your body when you set him off. One day he could be short-tempered, and his mood could change as easily as flicking a switch, and others he could be more tolerant and polite and even go as far as complimenting you.

Black probably should have alerted Zamasu about your new freedom beforehand though. The moment he saw you going to a place other than the bathroom even with Black trailing behind you he immediately seized you by your throat and forced your feet off the ground. His brutal fingers left dark bruises on your throat and you could feel your bones creaking, on the verge of splintering. You were almost completely immobile and unable to do anything but gasp for breath, your e/c eyes wild.

“Where the Hell do you think you’re going?!” Zamasu snarled in your face, but you could only let out a gargled response as your fingers groped uselessly at his arm.

“Zamasu no! I let her out!” Black surged forward to try to get him to release you, which he did. Unfortunately, a couple of feet above the ground. You never realized how tall the green God actually was. He just looked short standing next to Black. A sharp pain shot up your ankle as you landed feet first, and then you crumpled like a house of cards. Son of a bitch!

You scurried backwards away from both of them, mood dampened from Zamasus’ assault. When neither of them did anything to stop you from backing up, you scrambled to your feet and took off in the opposite direction weaving through the halls. Black’s voiced carried through the cabin, he sounded incensed but thankfully it wasn’t at you for running away. Chances were it wouldn’t be hard for him to find you, so he probably didn’t care much anyways. Trunks had been planning to teach you how to hide your chi but sadly never got the chance, and now probably never will. Your heart ached as you thought about him, and then Mai and the rest of the survivors. What would they do without you? They had Trunks and Mai but Trunks had left to go to the past, and as strong as Mai was, she was nothing compared to you and Trunks.

Tears blurred your vision as everything hit you again and again in waves of anguish. Hurriedly you burst through the first door you could and slammed it shut, locking it and pushing a chair under the doorknob, knowing fully that it wouldn’t stop Black from entering if he wanted to. You didn’t want to be caught by either of them in the hallway bawling your eyes out.

Your entire body trembled as your chest contracted with sobs, and at that moment you didn’t care anymore. You didn’t care if Black heard you or what he was planning to do to you. The world faded and became nothing. Nothing but the hot rivers flowing down your cheeks and the pressure in your chest as your lungs struggled to pull in air. You collapsed on the bed, hands fisting the sheets underneath you so hard your knuckles turned white, nearly tearing them but you didn’t care. Black could do whatever the fuck he wanted to you. It’s not like you could even do anything to stop him anyways. Maybe that’s what they were doing, to make you feel as small and insignificant and as helpless as you possibly could, but why? You were no threat to their plan except for the fact that they couldn’t kill you, making the zero human idea impossible.

A soft knock interrupted your thoughts, and you involuntary cringed away from the noise. You felt completely bare and weak, and the last thing you wanted was for your captor to see you. Another knock echoed through the still room, a little bit harder this time.

“Y/N open the door.” You heard his muffled voice through the door. You made no movement towards it and shrunk back a little more, now pressed against the wall. Black let out a sigh on the other side and the only warning you got as he materialized inside the room was a soft whooshing sound. You let out a yelp and accidentally rammed your head into the wall so hard that the blow dented it.

Black tilted his head, looking curiously at you, and you were suddenly reminded of a cute dog that you once had, except with black hair and dark eyes. The light shone favorably across his tan features and in that moment, you couldn’t possibly comprehend how he could have done the things he did. He just looked so…. innocent, for lack of a better word. How could he have killed billions? And why the Hell am I thinking like this? He’s killing everyone!

“What are you doing in my room?” He asked softly, as if you were a broken, frightened animal that didn’t know what to do.

Wait, his room?  The tears had stopped flowing for the time being, and now that they did all the shapes seemed much sharper and clearer. Honestly, you had not expected his room to be so clean and organized. It wasn’t dark or messy as you originally thought it would be, but it wasn’t overcrowded either. There was a large bed and some windows, and some large bookcases choking with books and everything you would find in a normal room, just a little bit fancier. Wow, the genocidal murderer does interior decorating, you almost laughed at the thought of it. Something so trivial as the ordinary contents of the room had been blotted out by the absurdity of it all. But he was no ordinary man, was he? Hell, he wasn’t even a man. A couple centuries ago you would never have thought you would end up here, being kidnapped by two psychopaths and then even growing to admire their living quarters. I’m completely losing it.

You were drawn back to reality by a cough as Black kept staring at you. It was getting just a little bit creepy, and rightly so. This was the God or Saiyan or whatever the fuck he was, who had pillaged and massacred everyone you had given up so much to protect, and you were just sitting there. Doing absolutely nothing. What type of hero were you? The thought of the look on everyone’s face if they knew what you were doing flooded your entire body with shame, and suddenly you were overwhelmed by fury, burning, red-hot, righteous fury that made your lungs burn. It fought for dominance against the rising tide of hopelessness and despair, and everything else you had kept bottled up for over a week, and it all came spilling over into a single question.

“Why are you doing this?!” You shouted and half cried in his face, and he seemed taken aback a bit before his eyes hardened like frigid chips of ice.

“Learn your place, you ungrateful human!” He snarled. “I don’t have to justify anything to you!”

The blow hit you before you even saw the movement, and your head snapped to the right. The pain took a couple seconds to set in, but when it did you wished it hadn’t. It felt like someone had decided to hit you with heavy sledgehammer. You hadn’t even noticed you’d been crying again, and God you hated it. You hadn’t cried in so long up until today, but there hadn’t been a need to.

He hadn’t meant to strike you that hard really, sometimes he just forgot Son Goku's strength and how fragile humans could be. At the sight of your weeping Black was unsure what to do. Usually if his victims cried or begged he would just rip their heads off or snap their necks. It was pitiful how the weak sniveled before their death, as if that would make it any better. But for some reason when you cried, as he had often heard you outside the basement, he just wanted to make you stop, whatever it took, whether it was to slash out your throat or cuddle you against his chest. To his bewilderment, he preferred the latter. It would be a terrible shame to deprive the universe of such a powerful fighter, he argued with himself.

If he was really honest with himself, he had absolutely no idea what he was going to do with you. Whatever it was, it would have to be done soon. Trunks would most definitely come snooping for you, wherever the fuck that half-breed was. Maybe Black would even let you live to see his paradise, but he doubted Zamasu would allow that. He wasn’t even sure whether or not he wanted you there, his heart quarreled constantly with his brain.

Fuck, I’m being torn apart.

The God pressed the heels of his hands against his eyelids, shaking his mop of unruly hair. He really couldn’t take the noise of your sobbing anymore, and it seemed to intensify the ever-present headache he got whenever he was around you.

“SHUT UP!” He roared, “JUST SHUT UP!”

Without warning, his hair flared pink and the sudden transformation managed to quiet you down, and you stared in awe and trepidation. You had never seen that happen before. Trunks had made a similar transformation, but this seemed different, more regal and imposing, yet enchanting at the same time. Black huffed and turned away from you, desperately trying to gather his thoughts and calm his body.

“That’s beautiful,” he heard you whisper faintly.

“What?”

You had no idea why you said it, but it seemed like you didn’t have much control over your body nowadays anyways.

“Can you please turn around so I can see you?” You asked timidly.

He did as you asked and watched you surprised but proud as you hesitantly stepped closer to him, leaning up on the tips of your toes to look more closely at his hair. The spiky strands were a lighter shade of the cuffs on your limbs, but to you they were gorgeous. It was such a raw and gentle color, so new yet pleasant on his features. You were standing so close to him that he could smell the tantalizing scent of your shampoo, despite being kept down below the cabin for eight days, andhe feel your warm breath on his cheek. Every little detail of your face was bare to him, and it was perfect. For once in his entire life he felt as if he was in paradise, and Black didn’t want more. You were there, and that was good enough.

But like all good things that have to go, so did that moment. Your fingertips were an inch away from one of his bangs and he was leaning into the crook of your neck, nose so close to your skin…. Until Zamasu strolled in.

“Black,” he stated as if nothing was happening. “The monkey’s back.”

His lip curled upwards. “And it looks like he brought some friends.”

#goku black

[sethnakht]

For that Fandom Asks thing, 2, 4 and 10 please! :)

thanks for these, aza! 

2. What character archetype am I attracted to?

I gave one response to this here, but only mentioned male characters who fit the trickster/antagonist mold (Vader, Snape, Loki; other examples include Richard III and the most recent link in the chain, Héctor Rivera). I have many women loves in fandom, some of whom fall into the same category (Aphra, Kiryuin Satsuki, etc). But there’s also a completely different type - represented by Leia - a type of character that speaks to me in a completely different way. And I can’t exactly tell you why. Funny how I can pontificate forever about the male characters but only express latent, existential, troubled love for my heroines. 

Leia makes me want to change my life. Vader leaves me be, gives me ever more reason to brood, to pace in circles. Leia is a challenge - and I think that is where the love is rooted and my speechlessness lies. Because I am no Leia, and she puts me to shame.

4. How much has your life change ever since you started fangirling/fanboying?

I don’t think I can know the answer to this; I’ve been pursuing fannish interests since age thirteen, so before adulthood. That is to say, I cannot know who I would have been without fandom, without Star Wars or Potter fandom specifically.

Fandom significantly impacted the decisions I made about what to study and whether to stay in school and how to navigate the gap between a private and a public self. I’m not going to go into the story, which involved a series of creepy older men, dropping out of school at sixteen, becoming obsessed with Virginia Woolf, and spending a year in a basement with a dying cat surrounded by a dead woman’s things. Suffice it to say that fandom - writing, reading, and above all learning from the amazing women in fandom at the time, many decades older, librarians, book-sellers, avid readers, women with perspective, with grace - helped me pick myself back up and realize life wasn’t over. And I will say that writing really did help me cope with severe depression, with death and loss, that having beloved characters to co-exist with was enormously important to survival at the time.

Now fandom is my substitute for a therapist. I don’t write nearly as much as I used to. For the good of all, that energy is now directed at a dissertation. But fandom is a place that continues to exist between my public life and my private home life - a hovering place to find balance and remember why literature was fun, once upon a time, to sharpen the eye and the word, to meet lovely people like yourself, to find refuge from the deadened world of the ivory tower.

10. Craziest fangirl/fanboy moment? 

Good question! I don’t really know. For all that fandom gains its meaning for me through people, I’ve only ever personally met about four people who live this life. Fandom is pretty low-key for me; the craziness happens elsewhere. (I’m also too self-hating and too much of an ironist to really engage beyond the level you see here.) 

But you asked in good faith, so I should try to answer. In experiential terms, in terms of being crazy happy, seeing the OT in theaters as a kid tops the list. I think it changed my life, honestly - if I hadn’t had such an amazing experience in the cinema, I’m not sure I’d have developed interests in cinematography, in art, in literature even. But if crazy means - took an incredible amount of time and energy, was thankless and yet nonetheless totally worth it - then running a fic fest would be the answer. (This was back in the days of livejournal, when fests actually were a thing.) That shit is hard work. Like - I see why fests died out, even though I mourn the loss of them, mourn the loss of fandom as a collective productive effort.

Enough of me rambling. Can I ask you 4 and 10 back as well? 

#thanks for the ask! #azalea-scroggs #asks #fandom meme #meme #long post

[deliciouslyfilthytm]

・ℬ * { moved from flagged blog // fairytale au with @savagecuhnt​ }

         It had been at least a decade since they had received random, uninvited visitors. Until she had arrived, silence engulfed the mansion, blanketing Blaine in a blissful nap. The only noise to be heard was that of his servant, Don E., climbing the rafters and dusting the chandeliers as he hummed to the song in his head (probably Brittany). He was off in his own little world. Just as he leaned over to finish up the center of the front chandelier, the noise from the nearby front door caused him to lose his footing. The whole thing came crashing down, impaling Don in the process as he fell on it.

         Eyes already glowing a bright crimson, Blaine made his way to the scene. Don couldn’t speak, but he pointed toward the door where the noise had come from. With dramatic effect, Blaine opened the front door wide to greet their guest, full on zombie mode still in effect. “Look what you did,” he said as he grabbed her arm to pull her inside and slam the door. “This is my only minion and now… Now he’s going to be out of commission for weeks.” Blaine growled in annoyance, having been not only woken up, but his chandelier and servant damaged as well. “And do you know how expensive that is?” he nodded toward the pile of glass and metal now on the floor. Hands at her shoulders pressed her back up against the wall as expression went from a scowl to a somewhat calm smirk. “How will you be paying for this, cash, card or your brain, little lady?” Blaine knew she probably didn’t have enough money, but he wanted to see her reaction.

          the sound of crashing glass caught the witch off guard, causing her to jump back. now curious, she leans her ear against the door. she could hear voices and soon the sound of approaching footsteps. “what in the--” before she can even finish the sentence she finds herself being pulled inside from the cold. ice blue hues are wide with confusion as she stares down at the horrific mess that she had caused. she didn’t have time to respond as, who she assumed was the owner of the home was now holding her against a wall. “you’re so lucky--” she bit her tongue and sighed, “Look dude, or--” a curious brow is raised, “or whatever you are. I didn’t mean to do all this--”inked digits gesture to the mess behind him, “I merely just knocked on your door. I got into a car accident and I’m just looking for some help or a phone. I’m not paying for shi-- wait did you just say brain?” a smirk of her own plays at the corner of her bloodied lips. “you’re fuckin’ with me right?”

         …And it definitely wasn’t the reaction Blaine was expecting. Brows knitted and eyes returned to a calm blue hue as he stood up straight to casually cross his arms. She wasn’t scared of him or the still living and lucid impaled Don on the floor? Interesting. “No, no. I mean, it’s pretty bland on its own, but all it takes is the right blend of herbs and spices to liven it up. Hot sauce is a quick fix. I’d let you try it, but I hear it’s not good for humans.”

         “Blaine…” Don managed to squeeze out before motioning to himself, hoping to get some help.

         “Oh, yeah, I’m Blaine, he’s Don E., and you have managed to find our little cursed mansion out in the woods.” Finally he went over to pull Don off the chandelier and lie him down on the floor. “Finish bleeding here since you already ruined this carpet,” he said before turning attention back to her. “He’ll recover, but it’ll take awhile. Until then, I ask that you remain to take his place. Once he’s better, you can choose a car from the garage to keep and be on your way.” Even though he was asking, she would soon get to see the cursed part of the mansion come to life as chairs danced from the kitchen to the front door to make a barrier. Shortly after, all the bars on the windows would slide down into place, one after another. “Do we have a deal, babe?”

“you’d let me try my own brain?” curious eyebrows knitted even tighter as she continued to stare at the other, “Or someone else’s brain? wait is this like a weird zombie cannibal thing--” by the sound of the weaker voice calling from behind, her icy gaze peeks around, coming across the impaled figure. “I-I’m sorry Don E.--” eyes return to Blaine, wide eyed with questions, “What in the Disney fuckery are you talking about, mister? cursed mansion?”

  she follows behind him watching as he tends to Don E. arms crossed over her chest, “Look here, Blaine. I don’t have time for all this--” she’s cut off by the fairytale magic of dancing chairs blocking her way out, followed by the not so magical barred windows. “I finally died. is that what this is. I fuckin’ died in a god damn car crash. a fuckin’ car took me out. of all things! and this is hell. I’m trapped in some fuckin’ morbid fairy tale!” inked digits run through her damp raven locks as she lets out a bit of manic laughter. “oh god, I’m  f u c k e d.”

  ignoring the men in the room she books it towards the chair barrier, hands outreached in front of her while she attempts to use her telekinetic abilities to move the chairs. to no avail, her abilities prove useless against the cursed objects. “Oh what the fuck.” she mutters to herself, continuing to erratically throw the chairs with her mind. after exhausting herself she returns to face the master of the mansion, “ for one, I’m Rosalyn. Rose if you’d prefer. Not your babe. Second, how long am I stuck here for, exactly?”

         Blaine’s expression went through several changes the more she spoke. As he watched her attempt to do… whatever she was attempting to do, the idea hit him that perhaps she might have been more than just a normal human. Which meant, she would be way more useful to him than first thought. Not to mention, she was a spitfire full of energy. Oh the feats she could accomplish. Excellent. “I don’t eat the rest of the human, no,” he had to make sure to clarify, not that that fact helped make it less gross. “Other than the human brains we have to eat to keep from transforming into movie type zombies, I enjoy the same meats as normal humans do such as steak and chicken.”

         With that out of the way, and how she had seemed to have simmered down for the moment, he continued, “Rose, step over here and take a look. You can see straight through Don’s torso. Just that hole is going to take at least a week.” Don blinked a few times and gave a weak wave. “The healing around it to get everything back to working order how it was, will probably be another week. So yeah, I’m predicting a sleepover of a couple weeks. We can do each other’s hair and paint each other’s toenails. It’ll be so fun,” he teased with delightful sarcasm.

         Now for finding out if his guess was correct. “Will you be needing a broom to sweep this glass, or do you have other means to clean up this mess?” Brows raised in interest as he waited to see if she really did have abilities or if the show a moment ago was just a very weird tantrum.

 it was a relief to hear the master of the home did in fact eat other food rather than just brains. meaning much needed food would be somewhere in her future. hopefully sooner rather than later at how weak she was feeling from the healing of her internal injuries. “So you eat brains to keep from going all dawn of the dead? hm. that’s interesting--” she took a mental note, hoping she wouldn’t have to see either one of the men lose control enough to attack.

inked arms crossed over her chest as she continued to listen to Blaine, offering Don a small wave in return to his. She had felt bad she had been the cause of damage, but was glad to hear he’d be healing. “regenerative abilities. that’s not too bad--” a pout had met her lips as ‘a couple weeks’ was spoken aloud. “a couple of weeks?” she repeats, “If I feed ya a bunch of brains, will that make ya heal faster? cause I’ll go find you some, won’t be a problem. Shit, I could even get them delivered. All’s I gotta do is hop up on tinder, get a few boys, send them the address and bing bang boom dinner’s served!” though the idea sounded grand in her head, she was sure there was some catch that would make that impossible for her to do.

“Not too sure about hair and nails, but if you have liquor--”she offers a devilish grin, “That’ll make these next couple of weeks way more enjoyable.” arms uncross as she takes in the whole mess, a sigh falling from her lips at the realization that she’d actually have to ‘help’ around the mansion. “fuck me--” she mutters to herself. “I don’t know. depends if that’s a cursed object like those d e m o n chairs, not too sure what I can and can’t do here. Never really had my abilities suppressed like this. might need that broom, I’ll figure it out though.”

         Blaine listened to her plan, crossing his arms and giving Don E. looks as he did. “That scheme… While feeding him more won’t make him heal faster, luring dumbasses here under the guise of being beautiful women… that’s genius.” Brows raised and he shook his head in disbelief that they hadn’t thought of it before. “The only problem might be, nowadays, with shows like Catfish, people are being cautious.”

         “I am not dressing up as a woman again, Blaine,” Don interrupted with a huff.

         Blaine simply raised his hand to signal Don to zip it before giving an innocent laugh. “Yeah, we tried something similar before. They didn’t take the bait and he doesn’t like to talk about it.” He sighed and gave a roll of his eyes where Don couldn’t see. “But yup, that could be something fun to do while you’re here. We can even get them to bring us pizza and stuff. We could make a game out of it.” Yeah, Blaine had a feeling he was going to get along with his new houseguest just fine.

         “As for liquor, I have a whole minibar in the basement along with a mini theatre, snack bar, pool table, and jacuzzi. It might look like an old creepy mansion on the outside, but the basement is totally modernized.” Otherwise, Blaine would have probably gone insane with boredom by now if it wasn’t for his basement. A quick inspection of the broom told it was not cursed as he turned it to reveal a sticker. “It’s from Lowe’s, see? Only the actual house and the stuff that came with it is cursed. So only the older furniture… But you know what, we can worry about this later. It’s not like we’re going to have visitors any time soon, right? So, to the basement for a drink…?” Arm was held out to her in a gentlemanly gesture.

 “Catfish? Do I look like a catfish, handsome?” she does a small spin, flaunting what she was working with. “Keep in mind, I was in a car accident and walked about 4 miles in the freezin’ rain.” she looks to Don, raising a curious eyebrow before returning the same questionable look to Blaine, “I bet you’d both look gorgeous in dresses and glitter--”she shakes her head with a small laugh. laughter ends with a small sigh, “Well not what I was expecting to do for the next couple of weeks, but--” she shrugs, “I guess being locked in a cursed mansion won’t be too bad.”

knowing there was a whole lower layer designed for entertainment definitely brightened the deal, there being liquor was the icing on the cake. “Not too bad of a predicament with all the luxuries, huh?” inked digits came to rest upon Blaine’s offered arm, “I will gladly accept that drink offer, my good sir. Maybe you can fill me in on all this curse bullshit too. Question though, you said everything that came with the house was cursed. Like objects were once people type of curse? cause I don’t want to be using the bathroom on ol’ Lou and sleeping on Susan, if you get my drift.” hopefully that wasn’t the case.

         At her spin, Blaine gave a nod of approval and a playful whistle. With her help, they could probably catch a ton of morons from the app. Definitely something to keep in mind. But this reminded him, she needed a change of clothes or something. “No, no, please no glitter. The last thing I want to do is sparkle... but yeah, I promise you, this won’t be bad at all.”

         A hushed laugh was given at her question and he lowered his voice as if the house was listening. “No, no, the toilets and beds are new. I wasn’t going to use that old stuff. If they were people, well they’re out there somewhere in a landfill.” Evidently, Blaine wasn’t worried about breaking the curse anytime soon. “I’ll tell you everything I know about this place,” he said as he lead her to the basement, a host-like demeanor in his step. Finally someone to entertain! “First, we should get you out of those wet clothes... and maybe into a nice hot jacuzzi to get you warmed up? I have some t-shirts you’re welcome to while those wash.”

         On the floor, Don E. rolled his eyes as they left the room in silence. With a sigh, he leaned over to grab a pillow and blanket from a nearby chair and wrapped himself up to take a nap as the healing to his injury was already zapping his energy.

“You’re bad.” She playfully hits him as she continues to follow his lead, eyes wandering around at objects she assumed were alive. She had hoped none could hear what Blaine had just shared with her. She didn’t want to upset the furniture now did she? “Jacuzzi sounds amazing! I’m assuming you don’t have a spare bikini lying around here, do ya?” A small shrug, “it’s fine. I’m not shy.” She offers her host a warm smile, “I will be taking you up on a shirt for after though. Wouldn’t want your entire home to have to see me naked. Poor things.”

The home was beautiful to say the least. better than anything she ever had the opportunity to stay in. The host wasn’t bad to look at either. Charming. The zombie thing was a new one for her though. She found herself curious to learn more, even more curious to see him in all his monstrous glory. She did love a dangerous man. “So what do you do here with all your free time? Just hang out?” Inked digits continue to hold onto his arm, “doesn’t it get rather lonely for you guys?”

         At the bikini question, Blaine shook his head. There hadn’t been a woman in the house in a very long time. And the reason for that was a very sad one -- the darkest, cruelest part of the curse. Brows jumped in interest at the word naked... and normally, if he wasn’t currently cursed, he would have explained that no, he was sure the furniture couldn’t see. They could only sense their surroundings, from his tests. So, instead, he simply teased, “Poor things? Pfft. We could charge them admission.”

         As they made their way down the stairs, Blaine prayed he had straightened up down there, because he honestly couldn’t remember. “We um, we learn how to make stuff and hang out, yeah.” He shrugged, knowing that didn’t sound very exciting at all, but he wasn’t sure just how much more he should reveal to her at the moment. “We built and put together all this down here by watching tutorials online.” Once they were in the basement, he went to turning on all the extra lights at the bar and started the bubbling going on in the jacuzzi as he thought of how to answer her last question. “Lonely is an understatement, but you know, I’m used to it. The curse was my fault, so I have to deal with it.” From his closet, a few shirts were pulled out for her approval. Blaine had a feeling she’d look amazing in any of them though.

 another playful hit to Blaine’s arm before an agreeing nod. “We could charge admission.” she hummed for a moment, “but what could they possible pay with? they don’t have pockets.” she mockingly laughs at the pour trapped souls, definitely not earning the respect and adoration Bell did in the original tale. She was certain she would not be getting a lavish musical performance for dinner.

“make stuff?” she questions curiously as she enters the basement. It was more than what she expected. a modernized hang out area that you wouldn’t expect to be there when you explored the upper levels of the home. “See this is what I’m talking about. this is exciting!” she had released her grip on her host’s arm, allowing herself freedom to explore better. inked digits ran along the edge of the jacuzzi, dipping in to test the waters before she decided to strip of her wet clothes. “See, I would learn to make some sort of drug and mass produce it from home and sell from here. You’re in the middle of nowhere. in a cursed home. throw that shit up on the black market and bring in some money while you’re trapped–” her wet jacket and shirt are tossed to the floor, revealing a black lace bra and heavily inked skin. it doesn’t take her long before she’s out of her jeans and panties and submerging her shivering, nude body into the warmth and comfort of the jacuzzi.

 “I’m gonna make you watch breaking bad. Cause that’s what you need to do. and then–” she leans over the edge of the jacuzzi, a devilish smile on her lips as she gazes at Blaine “they pay for the drugs and you eat their brains. Sounds like a good deal to me. and tweakers got energy. it wouldn’t be boring chasing them around figuring out new and exciting ways to end their lives.” she offers a shrug before pushing herself off the wall and into a comfortable spot against a jet.

         As she spoke... and stripped down to nothing as promised, Blaine dipped behind the Asian inspired privacy panels to change. No, he wasn’t exactly shy, but they’d just met a few minutes ago and he was far too sober for streaking at the moment. Face went through a few different expressions as she spoke, eventually ending with a chuckle of amusement as he stepped into view in his black swim trunks. “You’re full of ideas. I like that. Don has some weed growing out in the green house, but that’s it on the drug front.” Though he didn’t stare, gaze never shied away from her as he went to rolling over the drink cart to the jacuzzi.

         When she revealed the rest of her plan, that was when Blaine really gave a laugh as he stepped into the hot tub. “Wait, wait, you’re saying let them get hyped up on the drugs first, then chase them around? Like, playing with our food? And then add in a homicidal version of Home Alone on top of that?” There was a pause as he attempted to get the air out of his shorts in the most dignified way possible as he lowered into the bubbles and took a seat beside her. “We could record it and become famous on the internet, making people believe it’s fake, I guess. Which reminds me, the house can do a little trick where it disappears if it thinks we’re in danger...” It wasn’t until he turned to her that he realized just how close the seats really were. “Oh, um, what would you like to drink, babe?”

#welcome back~ #this was faster than moving over each post individually #and i have your reply in my drafts #savagecuhnt #・ℬ * { au }

[keepwritingbabe-blog]

Philosopher’s Stone (Chapter One)

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Warnings: violence, language, tragic past, etc.

Words: 1543

A/N: So this is very obscure... I suppose? The main character is based on an idea I had for a superhero, so I thought I’d base a story off of her. And since I love Loki, and I think they’d fall for each other, I thought I’d do that too. So just keep reading and hopefully, I explain the main character’s powers and backstory well enough to understand. I hope you guys enjoy!!

P.S. I actually (very unfortunately) have not seen Thor Ragnarok yet, so this is an AU where Loki has been taken in by the Avengers and forced to sit and play nice until they trust him. Which has sort of, sort of not, happened. So NO SPOILERS for the new movie, okay? Good.

I can still smell the air of fields of fresh crops. Rows of wheat, pumpkins, tomatoes, and even flowers. Everything enough to keep us sated. To keep us independent. To keep us isolated. That was enough. We were enough. A perfect society that worked together, ate together, and eventually died together. Everyone apart from myself.

Now, all I smell is fear. My own fear. I can’t let myself get caught again. They already got a solid hit on my last time. Who knows what they’ll do if I actually go down.

All I do is run, and occasionally throw down a tree to block their path towards me, but it seems they can quite easily push past it catching up with me once again. There’s more of them this time. A week ago there was only a two men, one on land and one in the sky, but now there’s at least five. I’m not entirely sure who they are, so I don’t want to get too involved with them, especially not get them angry.

Shit. Too late for that. One of the trees I threw at them knocked on down. It looks like the same man from before. He’s still on the ground, but the man in the air is still flying after me. I can tell he’s pissed because he’s shooting closer to me than before. Not quite enough to hurt me, but to just slow me down, like I’ve been doing to them.

I’m running as fast as I possibly can, but they’re catching up to me. Before I know it, slam. One of them lunges at me and knocks me over. I yelp in pain as I feel my arm twist out of place. I scramble to my feet quickly, but I feel like a deer caught in headlights as they all surround me. I put my hands up ready to fight, but all their weapons outmatch me right now. All I can think to do right now is probably not the best thing to do.

A glowing aura around me grows and locks itself, forming a barrier between them and myself. One of them, a giant wearing a red cape, armor, and a hammer, slams said hammer onto the barrier. Nothing happens, seemingly to them, but I feel the impact of it nonetheless. They try and try, the flying man shooting light streams at me, the other man slamming his shield down, a woman and man together shooting bullets and arrows at me, but nothing breaks through. I’m trapped but safe. For now.

I’m growing weaker with each hit, and all I need is a moment of hesitation to escape. My eyes shift from side to side looking for one, and there it is. Just as the man in blue armor slams his shield down, he halts to recoil again. That’s my break. Once he does, I shoot my aura out towards him and expand it enough to send them all back ten feet, then I’m off again. Running hard and fast.

I’m close to the end of the forest, which could be good or bad. I could lose them, but more people could come after me as well. I’ll take the chance, as there’s really no going back again. They’re on my heels in no time, but I make a snap decision to jump into the river at the end to throw them off. I slip into the sewers, and I lose them for good. I can still hear them searching, and arguing, but I’m hidden. Though, just to be sure I wait out a few hours before going back out. All this because I accidentally show up at the wrong time during a terrorist raid…

“I don’t care who the hell they were, they attacked us, Cap!” Tony yells, making his point quite obvious on the situation.

“Yes, but we fought back. And went looking for them, too. They were scared.” Steve replies with a sigh.

“No shit. We did outnumber them. One against five doesn’t seem very fair. Sorry Tony, but Cap is right on this. We can just go guns a blazing next time.” Clint sets down his bow and tiredly falls onto the plush couch beside him. “Whoever they are, we’ll find ‘em. Then we’ll ask them who they are, what they can do, and why they do it. M’kay?”

“It’s probably not gonna be that easy. They were strong. A lot stronger than I think they want to show to us. That thing with the light and invisible force? What even was that?” Natasha inquired worriedly.

“Clearly it was some sort of magic. Nothing like I’ve ever seen, but you’re correct. It’s incredibly powerful.” Thor replies.

“Exactly! More reason to get to the bottom of this as quickly as possible. They’re a treat. They’re destructive. And we need to take them out. Soon.” Tony argues, but the rest of the group isn’t having it.

“Tony, I know they kicked you in the face, but you did yell at them when we first saw them.” Steve chuckles.

“Yeah, well they show up out of nowhere, wearing a creepy ass mask, and telling everyone to stop moving. Who wouldn’t assume they’re a bad guy?” Tony grumbles, quirking an eyebrow to Natasha, who is now on the computers typing away at something.

“Natasha?” Steve asks instead.

“I’m setting up a fake operation. This way, no one will actually get hurt, we won’t have to wait until something does go wrong, and we can meet our masked vigilante in a secured area. Sound good?” She replies with a knowing smirk. All heads nod in agreeance.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

“Who is it?” Loki growls.

“It’s Thor! I’m coming in!”

Before Loki can even argue, his brother is already inside. Loki glares up at him from his chair, setting down a spell book.

“What is it now, brother?” Loki asks vexed.

“We’re going out again.”

“To look for that girl?”

“Yes. I can tell she’s not normal. She’s incredibly powerful, and I worry about the others. They’re arguing over how to approach her. I fear their brashness will scare her and cause more chaos.”

“Wow. And this is coming from you.” Loki smirks.

“This is no joke, Loki. We just need a moment to talk to her, but she’s already untrusting of us.”

“You did attack her twice in a row. So, understandable.”

“Brother.” Thor glares at Loki.

“Sorry, continue”

“What would you do?”

“Me? Well, I wouldn’t suggest talking to her in person just yet. That’s too forward, don’t you think?” Loki suggests, but picks up his book once again, clearly finished with the conversation.

“That might actually work…”

Great. Another raid? Three in one week, but I’m sure the pals are gonna show up again. I need to get in and out quick enough before they catch me again. I sneak through the basement window of the abandoned factory. The terrorists are on the top floor and floor three, where the hostages are too. I’ll get the hostages out and let them deal with the bad guys, so they don’t accidentally hurt one of the innocents. I make my way up to level three, but no one is in here.

Shit. I can’t believe I’m this stupid. It was a trap.

“Hold! Don’t move.” A handheld radio lies on the floor in the middle of the room, which a familiar voice speaks through. It sounds like one of the men that we arguing before.

“We just want to talk, but you gotta play nice.” I pick it up and press the button to speak back.

“You attacked me. I would’ve played nice before.” I reply angrily.

“Yes, Yes. We know. And we’re sorry. Can we start over?”

“Tony. Give it to me.” I hear the two bickering over the radio in the background.

“This is Steve Rogers, also known as Captain America. We shouldn’t have attacked you. It was wrong, and we’re sorry. I don't think you’re bad, so we want to just talk. Are you willing to meet us?”

I hesitate for a while, thinking over my options. They probably have the place surrounded by now, and I can’t go through another round of tag, so I might as well “play nice”.

“Alright. Where?” I bluntly reply.

“I’m sure you’ve heard of the Avengers Headquarters in upstate New York, right? Go there. We promise not to attack or try to capture you. We just want to discuss… well, you.” I presume the Tony guy is speaking again.

“Fine. I’m waiting until everyone leaves until I go. I’m not going to let you follow me home.”

“Yeah, okay. Smartypants.” I can’t help but let a little smile slip from my lips from that comment. Now I suppose we are talking not as enemies, but mutuals. That’s at least a step.

I hope you guys liked the first chapter! Loki x reader parts will be coming up in the next few chapters, I promise! Have a wonderful day everyone!

#loki x reader #loki x you #loki fanfic #marvel #marvel fanfiction #loki #loki marvel #marvel x reader #marvel x you #reader insert #loki reader insert #marvel reader insert #fanfiction

[that-quiet-girl-who-writes]

Something’s Wrong~Part 2 (Final-CD.)

A/N: This was suppoesed to be up yesterday, but you thank mother nature for creating a storm and shutting off the power and the wifi.

Request: @tayrae515:  Hi! I just binged all the Harry Potter movies for the first time yesterday and I’m really sour Cedric died 😪Could you do a reader x Cedric. Where reader was Cedric’s best friend and begged him not to join the Triwizard Tournament. But he did it any way and when he dies you go back in time or something to get him back and you succeed but get hurt in the process and Cedric is worried and mad you risked yourself for him. Maybe just like fluff and they say that they love each other. ❤️thank you:)

Pairing: Cedric x reader

Word Count: 2417

Warnings: Maybe a few swear words, crying, sadness, fluff

Other Parts: Part 1

Masterlist

About three days later, one of them told me there was going to be a memorial for Cedric. I got up and absent mindedly got dressed. I walked down to the great hall and took a seat in the back. I guess I was early because the hall was almost empty. Slowly, people began to file in. All I could do was watch them come in and imagine that one of them would be him. That he would walk in and sit down next to me and that we would start joking around and eating because this was simply the End of Term feast. But it wasn’t. And he didn’t show up.  

Dumbledore was talking, but I wasn’t listening. Fresh tears rolled silently rolled down my cheeks every few minutes. Until they weren’t so silent. Not wanting to make a massive scene, I stood up and ran out of the hall. I don’t know if anyone even saw me run out, but nobody came after me. I just ran and when I was too tired, I walked until I didn’t want to anymore. I let myself collapse to my knees and move to lean against the wall. I sat there for god knows how long and just let the tears fall. This wasn’t fair. Cedric didn’t deserve this. He was such a good person. He was the type of person that you thought would live a full, happy life. The type of person you thought should live a life like that.

This wasn’t right. It wasn’t fair. I had to do something. I had to fix this. But how do you fix death? You don’t. No spell can reawaken the dead. But I had hope and I was stubborn, so I got up and ran to the library. I didn't know what I was looking for, but I knew I was going to find something. I didn’t even know where to look, so I tried to think about what I was doing first. There was no way I could do anything to his body now. God, that sounded creepy, but it was true. The only way to fix this was if I prevented Cedric from ever dying. Was time travel even possible? This wizarding world was full of surprises and I was sure that there was someway to do it, but I had never heard of it before.

Hours later, I was stiff from being hunched over books for so long, but I didn’t care because I had found it. Time turners could bring people back in time. But they were rare and I had no idea where to begin looking for one. I took the book and left the library, heading back to my dorm. Who could I talk to? Who would know where to get one? Who wouldn’t go telling people I was trying to go back in time?

Hermione. She was brilliant. She could help me, she understood that I was going through something awful. The next day, I went straight to the young Gryffindor to ask for her help. I found her in a crowded corridor, grabbed her hand and dragged her to a deserted one.

“Y/N are you okay?” She asked me once we were alone.

“Do you know anything about these?” I asked, ignoring her question and pulled out the book on time turners.

“Well, yes I do-... Y/N don’t tell me, you're going to try and use one.”

“Only if I can get one.”

“These are dangerous! Do you know how much disaster you can cause by going back for just a few seconds?”

“I know that.”

“You can’t come back either! If you went back to September, you would have to live in hiding until the time that you went back.”

“I know that, I spent hours yesterday reading about them. I need to do this, Hermione. If I don’t I’ll regret it for the rest of my life. Besides, how much could I possibly mess up if I stay out of sight of everybody and only talk to Cedric. Please, Hermione I need your help.”

“Okay.” She sighed. “Last year, I took as many classes as I possibly could. I used a time turner so that I could be at two classes at the same time. If you go to Professor McGonagall and ask her about doing the same thing, then they’ll consider giving you one.”

“I can’t do that, they’ll know what I’m trying to use it for.”

We both stay silent for a moment, trying come up with any other possible options.

“I could do it.” Hermione said. “I’ll tell McGonagall that I’m interested in extra classes again.”

“You would do that for me?”

“Of course, I can only imagine what you’re going through. I would probably be doing the same thing if it had been Harry.”

I smiled and wrapped my arms around her, saying “thank you” what must have been a million times.

It took until the beginning of next year for Hermione to get permission from the ministry to use the time turner again. I had graduated and was now living in Hogsmeade for the sole purpose of being close to the school when Hermione got back. I spent the summer alone, grieving. In my head, I told myself that there was no need to cry. That I was going to get him back, but I still couldn’t get the image of his dead body out of my mind.

About a week into the first term, I received a letter by owl. There wasn’t a name on it, but I knew who it was from. There was only one simple sentence written on the parchment.

“Main enterance, 7:00.”

I dropped the letter, grabbed my coat and apparated to the gate outside Hogwarts. There was no way that I was waiting until 7 o’clock, I had waited all summer. I walked all the way up to the castle’s main entrance and sat on the stone steps. Hermione appeared about an hour later.

“I figured you come early.” She said as she sat down next to me.

“Do you have it?” I asked.

She leaned her head forwards and pulled a gold chain off of her neck. Holding it out for me to see, she gave me a worried look.

“Please be careful.”

“I will.” I said softly.

“You can’t be seen by anyone and don’t let anyone else touch it.”

“I won’t.” I whispered. I was so happy, but at the same time, heartbroken. I hated that I had to this. Cedric should be here right now. That was the reason I was going though, he deserved to be here right now.

Hermione showed me how to work the time turner. I had already made plans to stay in Hogsmeade throughout the rest of the year, but only after I had convinced Cedric not to enter the tournament.

“You’re going to need to use it in a place that nobody will be in when you go back in time, so come with me.” She told me, while turning to walk back into the castle. We walked until we were in a corridor that we both knew nobody ever went in, as there were no used classrooms in it. I held up the time turner in front of my face and mentally prepared myself for whatever was about to happen.

“Good luck.” Hermione said.

“Thank you. Really you have no idea how much this means to me.” I told her. Tears were starting to gather in my eyes, so I shook my head a bit and looked back at the time turner. The girl in front of me nodded and stepped back. I turned the strange object until Hermione told me that that was probably enough.

As soon as I stopped, she began to twist and turn with the room around her. For a few seconds, it was unrecognisable. Then all of a sudden, it stopped. The corridor looked exactly the same as it did before, with the exception of the Gryffindor that had been in front of me before.

Putting the time turner around my neck and tucking it into my coat, I looked around to find that I was now alone. Voices echoed from a far away corridor. Not really sure if I had back far enough, I began to walk towards the voices. Turning into a different hallway, I saw a group of students heading towards the dungeons. They were Slytherin seventh years, which I knew because they had all been in my year. That meant I had gone back far enough or else they wouldn’t be here. The question was know, was I far enough to stop Cedric from entering the tournament?

I walked around the halls for a few minutes, trying to find out what the date was. Of course I couldn’t just walk up and ask someone for the date because I wasn’t supposed to to be seen by anyone. I figured that if I went to the basement and stayed near the Hufflepuff common room, I’d find Cedric eventually.

The next few hours were just me running around, ducking behind statues, into a few secret passages, just trying to avoid people.

I heard his voice before I saw him. He was talking to somebody, probably heading back to the common room. I heard the second voice say they should be going and then footsteps leading away from the corridor that I was hiding in. I poked my head around the corner and saw him walking my way. There he was, Cedric Diggory in all his glory, very happy and very much alive.

“Cedric!” I called, running into the corridor that he was in.

He turned his head and gave me confused look, “Y/N? What are you doing over here? I just left you at the Y/H common room.”

I hugged him and then held him at arm's length by his shoulders.“Wait, is today the first day of term?”

“Yes. Are you okay?” He asked looking worried that I didn’t know what day it was. This was perfect, I had gone back a full year. There was still time to fix everything.

“I’m fine. Now, anyway. Ced, I need to tell you something and it’s going to sound strange, but you need to trust me.”

“Okay?”

“At the end of this year, something terrible happened and I came back in time to fix it.” God, that sounded ridiculous. Apparently, he thought so too.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yes! I know this sounds like I made it up, but I didn’t! I wish I did.” I said, tears starting to form again. “The tournament, Cedric. You entered the tournament and you were chosen to represent Hogwarts. And you did really well, but then the last task came and-” I couldn’t finish the sentence. Tears were running down my cheeks now. He pulled me back into a hug.

“Hey, it’s okay. What happened? Tell me.”

“You died.” I whispered. “You were dead.”

“What?”

“Please don’t enter the tournament. Please don’t do it, please Cedric, I can’t lose you.” I mumbled into his ear.

“Hey, I’m sure we can figure this out. I can enter and when I get to the third task, you can help me. Tell me what to do.”

“No, Ced, you don’t understand. You were murdered. A death eater killed you. There’s no way to get around it, you just can’t enter the tournament. Please don’t do it.”

He pulled away to look at me. “How do I know this isn’t some weird joke? How can I believe that you’re from the future? How do I know that you’re not lying to me?”

“Because I would never joke about your death. I would never lie to you Cedric.” I took a deep breath and tried to stop the tears. “I love you. I love you more than a friend. I never got to tell you. You were dead before I was brave enough to do it.”

He didn’t say anything. His eyes ran over the features of my face. I had no idea what he was looking for, but whatever it was seemed to confirm that I wasn’t lying because he all of a sudden he was leaning in. He was kissing me and I wasn’t sure how to react because on one hand, holy shit Cedric was kissing me and on the other, I should’ve told him that I loved him sooner. Also, we probably shouldn’t stand here for much longer as I wasn’t supposed to be seen.

I kissed him back and when we pulled apart he whispered “I love you too”.

“Come with me.” I said and grabbed his hand, pulling him back down a deserted corridor and into an empty classroom.

“I’m not supposed to be seen. Hermione told me that I could change too much in the future if I am seen.”

“Hermione? Hermione Granger?”

“Yes, she helped me get to you.”

“How did you get here?”

I pulled the time turner out of my coat and held it up for Cedric to see. His eyes got wide, clearly he knew what it was.

“Is that real?” He asked.

“Of course it is, how else would I be here?”

He nodded. I looked at him and couldn’t help but wonder if he really believed me.

“Cedric, promise me that you won’t try and enter the tournament. Please.” I begged him.

“Are you sure there isn’t some other way-”

“No. There is nothing I can do about this. I wasn’t there when you died and I’m sure that if I try to get there I’ll end up dead myself. I’ve been thinking about this for months and this is the only solution I’ve found.”

He looked lost in thought for a while. It was as if he believed me, but still wanted his chance at “eternal glory”. He paced around the room for about ten minutes before finally stopping and looking right into my eyes.

“Okay. I won’t enter.”

I sighed in relief and flung my arms around him. “Thank you, thank you, thank you so much.”

“So what happens now?” He asked when I let go.

“I’m going to go live in Hogsmeade until my self from this time goes back. Then I’ll come find you, but that won’t be for another year.”

“Alright. So this is goodbye?”

“For now.”

I leaned into kiss him one last time before I left. It wasn’t really fair that we had to stay away from each other for this long when we had only just confessed how much we really loved each other, but it was necessary. At least for now. The kiss was full of love and longing with both of us knowing it would be the last one for a long time.

“I should go now.” I told him when we finally broke apart.

“Right.”

I turned to leave the abandoned classroom, but looked back at him when I remembered something.

“Cedric.”

“Yes?”

“Ask me to the Yule ball, okay?”

“I was planning to.” He said with a smile.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Taglist (All Stories): @latenightbooknerd

#cedric diggory #cedric diggory x reader #cedric x reader #x reader #lightning era #harry potter universe #hermione granger #series #reader insert #part 2 #part 2 of 2 #final #something's wrong

[amyalicechristensen-blog]

Why Do We Keep Broken Things?

I give the name of Accidental Talismans to possessions that lurk in the home and drag down the inhabitants. A talisman is supposed to be a magical object imbued with intention and purpose that propels the magician towards a desired future.  Things I call Accidental Talismans don’t take any kind of magical skill to make, everyone has junk that for whatever reason, we just don’t want to deal with.  But those boxes in the garage with forgotten contents, ugly curios, and old clothes take on a life of their own.  Unfortunately their purpose is not to propel towards the future, but to trap the owner in the past.  I always think I’ve successfully gotten rid of all my Accidental Talismans but I discovered I had more to learn.

I’m fortunate to have an occupation that offers me a considerable amount of vacation time.  So after my son’s Spring Break had finished, I still had quite a bit of time left in my vacation.  It being Spring and all, I was inspired to do some deep cleaning of my house.  I was in my own bedroom, armed with a Swifter and clearing out the cobwebs in the ceiling corners when an expressly prominent Accidental Talisman growled at me.  My bookshelf was particularly disgruntled.  

I am an avid reader. My new rule is that if I can find the book at the library, then I don’t bring it permanently into my home.  I would not have enough room in any house to house all of the books I read.  That said, some of the topics I research are not books stocked in the Chicago Public Library. At one point, I decided that I wanted to make space in my own bedroom for my favorite books.  I also wanted the top shelf just under the window to be a place for special objects.  So years ago, I went to the nearest Target and put together a small bookshelf.  

Now I’m not against convenience, obviously, but that bookshelf kit I bought wasn’t exactly built to last.  Target gives their furniture kits very small warranties for good reason.  Several years ago, that book shelf broke.  The corner pin pulled out and had cracked the top particle board.  However, instead of replacing it…I…um….well, I used some leopard print duct tape to hold it together.  That leopard print duct tape was simply awful.  With taxes filed, bills paid, and vacation pre-paid and over, I thought to myself, I could easily replace that bookshelf with a new kit from Target. But the truth was, I could have done that when it had broken in the first place.  Why had I kept it?  

I took the query of broken things to social media.  Only four of my personal friends were brave enough to respond to the question.  Three said that they kept them in order to repair them. Although two of those three brave souls admitted to me that they never did get repaired, and sat in variously locations, much like my growling bookshelf.  When I bombarded the third person with questions like “How long does it usually take you to repair things?” and “Where do you keep the broken things while they are waiting to be repaired?”  She didn’t respond…I have a sneaking suspicion that like the other two, those broken things she has have been sitting in her space broken…possibly for years.  

So if we are really not repairing these things, the question still remains – Why do we keep broken things?

My most favorite books, and objects that were quite literally sacred to me were perched precariously on a sad little bookshelf being held together with duct tape.  My room looked pretty fresh after I had swiped away the cobwebs, but it just made that bookshelf even more…loud.  

“Look at me!” It screamed.

That was startling, even though I’m well aware Accidental Talismans take on a very disconcerting sentient quality.  

The bookshelf was growling and screaming at me; talk about creepy!  But…if my own friends and all of Facebook, Twitter and Tumblr couldn’t tell me why people keep broken things…maybe that very loud bookshelf would. I believe that all of our things are reflections of ourselves.  That’s why I’m so adamant about getting rid of Accidental Talismans.  If possessions are reflections of ourselves then I want that reflection to be accurate and affirming, not some freakishly skewed funhouse version of a reflection.  I had to know what my broken bookshelf was reflecting about me.  The truth was more complex than I imagined.  That bookshelf had a lot to say.

Perception of Value

“You want me to be valuable!” it shrieked.

I was shocked.  I paid good money for that bookshelf and it fell apart!  Well, I paid money for it.  But I did not pay a lot of money for it.  I did after all buy it from Target.  Target, though, is a lovely, helpful establishment that offers a lot of different types of merchandise in one convenient location.

“Target,” countered the bookshelf, “Is not exclusively a furniture store.”

I really couldn’t argue with that.  Target only warranties its merchandise for a limited time because their bookshelf kits are not meant to be generational family heirlooms.  Target would probably argue, and rightly so, that their bookshelf performed up to its expected warranty.  And I wasn’t exactly careful with the thing (the bookshelf told me that it would come back to my maltreatment of it in a moment), so Target certainly had nothing to do with the breakage.

But value isn’t necessarily monetary.  Not only did I spend my money on that bookshelf, by the Gods! I had spent my exceptionally valuable time building the thing!  Yes, indeed I had spent my limited time putting together a bookshelf. I made the decision to buy a bookshelf kit from Target because when I decided I wanted that bookshelf, I wanted it NOW.  I did not want to “waste” (my oh so valuable time) visiting multiple furniture stores where they build very lasting, stable bookshelves and have them delivered by careful, professional furniture movers.  That takes weeks, and sometimes months – I didn’t have time for that!  At Target, I had my bookshelf at the now.  

“So tell me why that green fairy dress of yours is this closet, and not the costume closet in your basement,” said the bookshelf.  

Yes, for the record, I have a costume closet.  But the green fairy dress was (is), as the bookshelf had stated, not in it.  That was because I wear it so often, it just is too much trouble to retrieve it from the basement every time I time I want to wear it.  

My broken bookshelf reminded me that my when I bought it, my then husband was openly horrified at the money I had spent on that dress.  I believe that it was about $130.00 dollars in 2005.  Which seemed a lot of money for one dress he thought I wasn’t going to wear that often.  Well, it’s now 2017, and the dress outlasted the husband.  As I said, I wear that dress all the time.  It has a train that been drug through Arizona desert dirt, and Illinois summer mud; and yet it still looks as good as the day I bought it. Google me and you will probably find several pictures of me floating about the internet wearing that green dress. Because I have been photographed by literally hundreds of random strangers at faires and festivals I attend for my own amusement.  I’ve had that dress for 12 years, so for each year I’ve had it, it cost only $10.83, for the year.  If I calculated the cost by each wear, it would probably be pennies.  And it still looks great.  I’ll be wearing it for years to come.  

The green fairy dress was value, the bookshelf was not.  I just wanted to believe that it was value because I spent a couple hours struggling to put it together myself.  But the truth about that bookshelf is that I didn’t want value, no I wanted instant gratification; and whether I want to believe it or not, those two concepts are simply not the same thing.

Sentimental Reasons

“You’re so sentimental,” the bookshelf said.  “And I’m done with it.”

I was confused at first by this.  I remembered that I had kept a broken toy that had belonged to my son.  We had an Au Pair from Thailand who had given him this cool windup toy.  It wasn’t very expensive, but I wanted to fix it so badly because it reminded me of her. It really was beyond my capabilities to fix, but I kept it for a long while hoping that I could, for the sentimental value of the thing.  I speak a lot about sentiment in conjunction with Accidental Talismans.  People often recognize that a thing has sentiment (sentimental value) but it’s harder to articulate what that sentiment actually is.  Just because something has sentimental value, doesn’t necessarily mean that the sentiment is positive.  According to Merriam-Webster dictionary, a definition of “sentiment,” is “an attitude, thought, or judgment prompted by feeling (emphasis is mine).”

Surely this bookshelf from Target didn’t have sentimental value!  Or did it?  The bookshelf then proceeded to remind me of how the pin was pulled, that cracked the shelf, which led to the duct tape.  

My son was in my room, he’s always in my room, and actually, I feel pretty lucky that he still wants to hang out with me.  I don’t remember the precise circumstances, but I do remember that my son was trying to be helpful when he grabbed hold of the side of the bookshelf and pulled it in order to move it slightly.  I yelled at him to stop, because, of course, the bookshelf broke.  And my son cried, because it had broken and then I yelled at him some more, because he had broken it.  And I felt awful.  Because apparently, I had cared more about that bookshelf from Target, than I had about him.

When my son was a little smaller (as he was when the bookshelf broke, as a matter of fact) when he had a scrape, I would bandage it with a leopard print bandage.  Mommy’s kiss would start the healing process and the next day, I’d find the bandage somewhere in the house, or on some stuffed animal who had had an accident too.  Children’s physical scrapes heal pretty quickly.  Bookshelves however, do not eventually grow new particle board. It wasn’t the pulled pin I was trying to heal when I taped up the bookshelf with that leopard print duct tape, it was that I had yelled at my son.  I know very well that yelling at a child causes far more scarring than the worst physical scrape.  

I had kept the bookshelf for many sentimental reasons.  It was to remind me of the day I thought my books were more important than my son, and of the bad attitude I had.  I passed a judgement on myself for my error.  The bookshelf was a reflection of that.

“I don’t have time, for that!”

That eyesore of a bookshelf had been growling and grumbling in my bedroom for a very long time…years…I think (I don’t know and more to the point – I don’t want to know).  As I stood there, having this surreal conversation with the sentient Accidental Talisman armed with my swifter, I tried to argue that I finally had the time to clean like this due to my vacation and my son’s school schedule.  

I had left the bookshelf alone because I had never had the time to attend to it before!  I worked! So much!  On weekends!  At night! (I think I was still on the midnight shift when the bookshelf had originally broken – but I’m not sure)  I still had to cook dinner and make sure the dishes were washed and the laundry was put away!  I had to actually sleep and eat from time to time too!  

When? When! Did I have time to go to Target again and time to put together a new bookshelf!  I didn’t! I didn’t!

The bookshelf sighed.

“No one ever has time,” it said.  “Time is an immensity.  How arrogant you are to assume that you can ever have it.  Time is so much bigger, older, and wiser than you will ever be.  You cannot have Time – you can only offer it an invitation.”  

I had never wanted to make the time to replace the bookshelf.  I just couldn’t be bothered.  

There had been a fourth friend who had responded do my Social Media query, “Why do we keep broken things?”

He had responded: Because we are broken.  

“So you’re saying I’m a miser, a bad mother and that I’m lazy,” I said to the bookshelf with resign.

“No,” answered the bookshelf.  “I don’t think that.  I’m just a bookshelf.  But you do. I am only a reflection of you.”

“I don’t think I like this reflection,” I said.

“My reality is,” said the bookshelf, “I died a long time ago, but you could not let me go.”

My sad little bookshelf, even though it had not had a long life, had in fact served its purpose.  I was pushing it further than it could go. It had reached its limitations.  I had to acknowledge my own limitations - it was beyond my capabilities to properly fix it.  Well, to be fully honest, this bookshelf was broken, and could not be fixed.

So I returned the swifter to its proper place.  I got into the car and drove to Target and I bought a bookshelf (this one has metal supports and thus, a longer warranty – I wasn’t exactly looking for generational quality).  

Then, I offered Time an invitation, and the new bookshelf was built.  So then Time and I went to the old bookshelf and began to remove the books.  When the last book was out, the bookshelf simply collapsed even as I was still holding the volume in my hand.  

I think it was grateful.

   Resources

“Sentiment.” Merriam-Webster, 2017.  Web. 24 April 2017.  https://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/sentiment

#Accidental Talismans