i had to read it like three times to get it

‘babylove’?

requested: nope

warnings: nothing this is really cute (language is a given at this point)

pairings: tom holland x reader

type: hc list

summary: it’s the first time you visit the holland’s at their home in london, and you’re trying your hardest to impress everyone. you aren’t tom’s girlfriend just yet, but it’s obvious that you two fancy each other.

a/n: i’ve had this idea stuck in my head the entire day because it’s so fuckin cute. it’s pretty long, but i think it’s good. i hope u all enjoy! 

this is written in an american’s pov, but there aren’t any gender mentions in this, so it can be read in any gender once again!!

also, when i put things in parentheses, it’s usually me putting in my reactions. i do this periodically :-)

  • “PIP PIP ‘N CHEERIO GOVENAH!”
  • “y/n we don’t actually say that”
  • “tom, i have to get myself situated. with the boiling tea and crumpet chip biscuit whatevers.”
  • YEEHAW. you’re traveling to meet tom’s family back in london.
  • you’ve met harry, sam, and harrison already, but there were still three very important people to meet
  • you had met tom through a mutual actor friend who brought you on set one day
    • obviously it went like a fairy tale
    • your friend left you alone on set while they went to get snacks for you both
    • tom seen you, and came to tell you that only actors could be on set at that time
    • causing you to freak out, because UH, spider-man is speaking to you (ohMygOd, it’spEterparker)
    • which of course made tom cocky, and he was like “ayyyyy baby i’ll give u an autograph”
    • then your friend came back and officially introduced you two
    • and tom saying “you’re friends with y/f/n? i’m so sorry”
    • “i know. it’s tragic.”
    • “you two are perfect for each other” with an eye roll
  • so to say the least, you and tom had sparks from the beginning
    • not to mention the backhanded, sarcastic compliments that often lead to flirty and witty comebacks
      • “you’re cute, for 5′8″.”
      • “good thing you have a good personality because that outfit today was… :/”
      • “just wait until i see you again. you’re dead, holland
      • “well why don’t you come over right now and show me what you’d do?”
      • going over to play wrestle until you dominate him and straddle his hips while your breath is hitched and he’d just look up at you like “holy fuck
  • with the whole banter situation taking place, it kind of shocked you when tom asked you if you wanted to visit his family with him
  • like, REALLY took you off guard
  • because this was really domestic of him, and he hadn’t really ever showed that side to you
  • but nonetheless, you took the opportunity
    • took a bit of persuading to get your family to allow you, but eventually, everyone agreed. (boy it’s a good thing you got that passport that you totally didn’t get for the sole purpose of this occurring)
      • “as long as you call every morning and night, and text when necessary. and take pics.”
  • lots of preparation through facetime
    • “i heard it’s really fuckin’ cold in england. should i pack a parka?”
    • “y/n it’s not that cold. plus you won’t need two.”
    • “what do you mean i won’t need two if i-”
    • in a thick accent “peta parka.”
    • “….” deep sigh “can i get a refund for my ticket”
    • “don’t think so, love” in a soft laughing tone (AAAAHHHHHH)
  • after two or so weeks of packing and unpacking, and checking the checklist fifty times, it was finally time to depart to southwest london, darling
  •  this boy got first class tickets for the both of you
    • or at least that’s what he thought
    • he actually only got one for himself lmao
    • so instead, he swapped seats with the person beside you
      • oh my god shy hand holding on the plane would be expected
      • also cute little candids that would go up on each others instagrams wow
  • fast forward to arriving at the holland home
    • p.s., the entire car ride there was filled with little thigh touches to try and calm you down. but that only made you more nervous because god have mercy this beautiful boy wasn’t trying to act funny or anything like he usually acted, he was being genuine and that made your heart full
  • once at the door, you were greeted by nikki, dom, and a very excited tessa
    • “hello love! it’s so nice to meet you! tom has told us SOOO mu-”
    • DAD!!!!” would be said between clenched teeth while he would be blushing
  • with red cheeks of your own, you’d walk in to see the two brothers you had previously met, and a new face, who you recognized as paddy
  • sam and harry would say hello, but paddy would whisper yell to one of the brothers
    • “is that who tom calls his ‘babylove’?”
    • both you and tom would just stand there, his jaw would drop and one of your eyebrows would raise up
    • and you’d turn to tom with a huge smile and just whisper “babylove?”
    • and he’d blush even harder and be like “let me how you to your room!!!!!!!!!”
  • he’d bring you upstairs and into the guestroom so you could put your stuff up
  • then you’d follow him to his old room, and you’d sit on his bed and just have a look around while he piled his clothes into a hamper
    • hear me out
    • there would be little spider-man symbols across the wall, with some football flags strung up every so often
    • and you’d be like “you really weren’t lying about your obsession with spidey, huh?”
    • and he’d come and sit beside you and shrug while looking at his old decorations
    • you’d lean in and give him a lil kiss on the cheek before saying “it’s really cute, tom.” and he’d immediately light up and become a shy baby
  • then you’d hear footsteps coming up the stairs, and you’d pull away from each other with cute little grins
  • sam would look in and be like “mom wants to know what ya want for dinner”
    • and tom would turn to you and be like “well?”
    • and you’d insist that he choose, since he hasn’t been home in awhile
    • he’d say something he heard you talking about wanting to try
  • sam would leave and then you’d just nonchalantly grab tom’s hand and follow sam down
  • once down there, you’d be met by the family, minus nikki and sam who would venture into the kitchen
  • you’d let go of tom’s hand, and sit by paddy on the couch
    • little conversations would start up from dom
    • literally just things like “so tom said you can sing” and “tom said you guys met through a friend of yours?”
    • he wouldn’t even have to ask you questions directly because tom has told them virtually everything because the boy was swoon as fuck
  • but after a little while of tom and the rest of the family in sight getting caught up, you decided to slip out of view yourself and join nikki and sam in the kitchen
    • a “hey sweetheart! whatcha need?” coming from nikki
    • but you’d be like “i just wanted to know if you guys wanted an extra hand?”
    • sam would be like “hell yea y/n knows how ta cook”
    • but nikki would be like “that’s alright, it’s our pleasure to treat a guest of tom’s! thank you though, that’s really sweet”
  • so you’d walk back into the living room after a few “are you sure?”’s
  • and dom would be like “kicked out of the kitchen?” with a small laugh
  • and you’d answer with “yeah. you holland’s are stubborn.” 
    • which would definitely make tom pout, and your response would be to pat his cheek and say “pouting wont exclude you,” followed with a quiet “babylove.” while you dropped your hand
  • some time passed before nikki and sam returned, and nikki said dinner would be ready in about thirty minutes
    • those thirty minutes consisted of the family sharing embarrassing stories about tom
      • and him eventually hiding his red cheeks in the crook of your neck (sweet god)
  • soon, the timer went off and everyone made their way into the kitchen and got their plates
    • tbh i see the family taking all the seats around tom, so you’ll get to sit in between dom and nikki (i’d love that holy shit)
  • after dinner, you helped wash the dishes. that earned major brownie points from nikki and sam
  • it was getting kind of late, so the family suggested watching a movie or two together
    • oh my god tom would take you upstairs again and tell you to change into your pajamas because that was a tradition for movie night
      • wearing batman pajama bottoms knowing it would tease him
      • him refusing to let you go downstairs before changing into a pair of his spider-man bottoms
      • giving in once he gives you the puppy dog eyes while his forehead is pressed against yours
  • watching some sort of proper english movie because it was your first time visiting
    • angus, thongs and perfect snogging came into mind
      • harry loudly asking if you and tom ever snogged like that
    • cuddling with tom under a big blanket
  • when the family started to get a little drowsy, they decided to call it a night
  • everyone started to head upstairs, and you and tom did the same after grabbing a few snacks and some drinks
  • once in his room, you’d sit on his bed and just smirk at him until he’d ask what was up
    • and you’d immediately be like “what’s up with this lovey dovey side of you? you usually act like a sarcastic shit around me”
    • he’d just look down and press his hand against the nape of his neck and mumble “i like you”
    • and you’d say “well i got that part awhile ago”
    • but he’d sit there for a few seconds, trying to think of a way to say what he had in mind. he finally sighed and spoke out to you, “i mean, i think i’m falling in love with you”
    • and you’d sit there with your lips parted, and your eyes darting back and forth between his
    • he’d start to blabber on about how it was just a strategy that he used because he didn’t know how to show you how he really, truly felt
    • and you’d cut him off, and say “can i kiss you?”
    • and a few seconds of silence would take place before he would cup your cheeks and literally empty all the passion he held in his body out in one single kiss, while you would do the same
    • after you both pull away, he’d lower his hands and you’d both just sit and stare at each other
      • you’d raise your hand up and cup his cheek and rub your thumb across his cheekbone
    • eventually, you would say you’re tired, and press a small kiss against his lips before getting up and heading for the door
      • “goodnight, thomas.”
      • “goodnight, y/full/n.”
        • shutting the door and doing a happy dance all the way to the guest room

  • it’s sunday morning, and you couldn’t get any more sleep in due to the kiss from the night before still swimming through your memory
  • finally deciding on getting up and cooking breakfast for everyone to return all the love you were given the day before
  • carefully sneaking down to the kitchen
    • taking a long ass time to find all the ingredients you initially needed (oils, other stuff)
      • googling measurement equals because what american knows european measurements off the tom of their head
  • deciding on making some fancy omelette roll ups you once had with your actor friend
    • taking so much time to make everything perfect
  • when you finished making the omelette’s, along with some other sides, you would set everything out for easy serving, and then you would head upstairs again
  • since it was a sunday, everyone slept in
    • you’d gently knock on everyone’s door, and say breakfast was waiting for them downstairs
  • but when you got to tom’s door, you’d softly knock before heading on in
    • tom would be sleeping on the side of the bed that faced the window, and you would walk over to that side and crouch down
    • you would subconsciously lay your bent arm on the bed by toms face, and lay your head on your arm. you’d raise your free hand up to toy with a few loose curls while you looked over his features
    • he’d eventually wake up, and smile in a way that was really wide, but evidently tired
      • he would kiss your forehead and say “what a good way to wake up; an angel playing with my hair.”
    •  you’d giggle really quietly and stand up while saying “c’mon, babylove. i’ve made breakfast.”
    • and he’d pull you down onto the bed with him, and pepper little kisses against your shoulders, collarbones, neck, and cheeks before pressing a lingering kiss to your lips!!!
    • while he rested his forehead against yours, you decided to confess something you totally forgot to last night, “by the way,” you’d say in a really soft voice while swiping a messy curl from his temple, “i think i’m falling in love with you, too.”

💌 TAGLIST 💌

(once again thank you all for wanting to be on my taglist!! if you want to be added, just message me!)

@spideyfloof@sidespidey@tonky-stank@stephie-senpai

Growing Fame

summary: A modern AU where the losers are semi-famous for different things, and when they all run into each other at a certain event, all of their fans go bat-shit crazy – wanting the seven to spend more time together. What they didn’t expect even more than that, though, was a well-known and mean journalist to write bad reviews on them all. Their growing fame could soon shrink, they quickly realized.
warnings: nothing, really; swearing.
pairings: not yet decided
a/n: I am excited for this, not gonna lie. To sum up the reasont that they’re famous: Most of the losers are YouTubers. Stan, Eddie, and Bill are this funny famous trio who used to be on Vine. Bev is a make up/FX artist. Mike is a singer on YouTube who’s slowly getting famous. Richie’s in a band. & Ben makes educational history vids with the occasional blog of him & Mike together bc they’re bffs. Hope you guys enjoy!! 

oh & this is like 2.4k words, so beware bc its a bit long.

CH 1 | CH 2 coming soon


Day Off

Mike Hanlon laid on the couch in his apartment – head propped up by cushion, a guitar on his stomach, clothes mismatched from being lazy, and his golden retriever laying beside the couch while the black cat was curled between his feet. He strummed the guitar and hummed a tune of one of his songs with his eyes closed. He was simply relaxing, enjoying the time by himself with his two lovely pets. He could faintly hear his friend in the guest bedroom, an occasional yell being heard that made Mike halt his strumming for a short second before starting again. The dark skinned male had no idea what his friend was doing but he didn’t matter. He had a day off.

A day off from working his ass off to get his EP done for his fans – a surprise for them, actually. Mike was a singer/song writer on YouTube who had just recently been signed a record label deal for the next five years. He had been working on the EP before, but now it’s basically officially official that it will all happen. The work was tiresome, surprisingly. He stood in a studio all day, singing his heart out, and it was fun, don’t worry, but he just couldn’t help but feel that he needed everything for it to be perfect. Besides, he needed one more song plus the name for the EP and he had no idea what to do for those two things.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

I'm so overwhelmed by trying to handle having a normal life with severe ADHD. Today as far as mood swings go: I cried three times, had a panic attack, had an anger outburst, and hit myself until I bruised to calm myself from said anger. I have sensory overload on an almost daily basis, I always struggle with brain fog, and it's impossible for me to read more than a paragraph at a time. This is with meds, accomodations, and a therapist. My support is only going to lessen once I graduate high

school (I’m a senior now). And ADHD is something I’ll struggle with my entire life. I don’t know how the fuck I’ll be able to deal with it. I can’t continue like this anymore, always behind. I’m so overwhelmed and I don’t think I want to live like this. I’m too overwhelmed by everything, and it never gets easier. I’ve been to six different therapists/psychiatrists, and I know all the strategies they try to teach. I’ve tried different meds. But it never gets easier. I can’t do this anymore.

Constant brain fog makes me wonder if you have something else wrong with you, like a nutrient deficiency or something. I think low iron can cause that. It sounds like you also have anxiety and depression; are those also being treated, or just the ADHD? Have you seen an occupational therapist about sensory processing disorder? These things could all help you.

Now I’m going to address the idea of a normal life.

You may not have a “normal life” the way we think of it. That’s okay! Nobody said having a normal life was the be-all, end-all. Once you get through school, you will be able to make some choices about what you want to do with your life and what you can handle.

For example, when my husband finally got a job that paid well enough, I stopped working full-time because having a regular job is incredibly stressful for me and increases my anxiety way too much. I do much better as a housewife, even though I suck at housework. Now, that may not be an option for you, but you may well be able to find a job that suits you. For example, I have a friend who also has ADHD, and she delivers newspapers in the wee hours. It gets her out of the house and she gets to just walk lots, and she’s good at it so they’re considering promoting her, and then she gets home before her husband has to leave for work, and she gets to spend the day with her son.

So definitely think about what kinds of things you like to do, and what your ideal life would look like. You might have to take some side roads on the way there, but side roads aren’t blockades.

We can still have good lives, they just might not look quite the same as neurotypical people’s lives.

-J

6

You can play classic DCD Aikatsu at Suginami Animation Museum until January 14th 2018 AND it reads IC cards!!! However it’s offline and freeplay, meaning you won’t get any new cards and your character will never level up. The screen has all sorts of warnings about what you can’t do… BUT WHO CARES!!! THERE SHE IS THE 2016 STARLIGHT QUEEN!!!

The other charms I had set at the time they discontinued this game were a Dreamy Crown one, and I forget the third. Yeah, badges were called “charms” as I have just now remembered and you could only equip three. Would have switched out that Dreamy Crown one if only I had realized it would be technically be permanent and someday come back to haunt me haha. (I had it on because I was using the Sky Veil Coord a lot at the time for points.)

It’s like a window to the past, forever frozen in time…

Oh. The last two photos are me using Miyabi’s full PR on my original character for the first time. The accessory used to be so expensive I only completed it after the game had finished.

so a traveling shakespeare troupe came to my school today and performed romeo and juliet and it was just so good and

-the actor playing romeo was hella short and the actor playing benvolio was hella tall. at several points he just picked romeo up and moved him around the stage/out of his way.

-when the nurse delivered juliet’s letter they played it up like she was flirting with mercutio but mercutio just looked at her, wrapped his arm around benvolio, and more or less gave her an expression that said “i’m gay”

-when mercutio and benvolio were making fun of romeo for being Heterosexual™ (aka for loving juliet), benvolio picked him up and mercutio gave him a purple nurple

-juliet wore no shoes throughout the entire show except during the wedding when she wore these giant sparkly pink pumps with platform heels

-when mercutio gave the queen mab speech they had benvolio stand behind him and click castanets and go “ooooooooh” every time he dropped a dramatic line

-they had friar lawerance and the nurse say the prologue and the end lines and like…..that changed the impact of the lines and their character significantly. i’ve made a post or two about this before but i personally interpret romeo and juliet as a story about two kids too afraid to come to their parents with a problem because they’re afraid of repercussions. but what about the adults in their life that DID try to help with them with their problems, but still ended up failing them? let’s just say it hit hard and was very telling when the friar and the nurse choked out the last lines of the play while sobbing.

-whenever there was a fight scene, mercutio and benvolio were constantly trying to keep romeo away from the action, as if he was their younger brother who they didn’t want to get hurt in a brawl. during mercutio’s fight with tybalt, benvolio was shielding romeo with his body and physically picked him up and held him back at times. that really changed the dynamic of the three of them and made it even funnier when ben and merc were teasing romeo about his crush on juliet.

-romeo killed paris by hitting him on the head with a flashlight

-the apothecary that sold romeo poison was dressed up as your typical TV drug dealer and he acted like one as well

-while benvolio more or less disappears from the written play after romeo is banished, they kept him around this time and he followed romeo around to make sure he was okay but didn’t say anything. it was implied he didn’t talk because he was still grieving mercutio. (he also wasn’t there when romeo killed himself)

-i was watching it with a bunch of freshmen who hadn’t read the play before but when juliet killed herself nearly half the room started screaming because they were so shocked

honestly this cast was just so good. i’ve also seen them perform julius caesar set in a modern politician’s world and m*cbeth in a post-apocalyptic setting. i absolutely loved this production and i hope i can see more of their work soon

Everything You Need to Know About Writing Successfully - in Ten Minutes

by Stephen King
(reprinted in Sylvia K. Burack, ed. The Writer’s Handbook. Boston, MA: Writer, Inc., 1988: 3-9)

I. The First Introduction

THAT’S RIGHT. I know it sounds like an ad for some sleazy writers’ school, but I really am going to tell you everything you need to pursue a successful and financially rewarding career writing fiction, and I really am going to do it in ten minutes, which is exactly how long it took me to learn.  It will actually take you twenty minutes or so to read this essay, however, because I have to tell you a story, and then I have to write a second introduction.  But these, I argue, should not count in the ten minutes.



II. The Story, or, How Stephen King Learned to Write

When I was a sophomore in high school, I did a sophomoric thing which got me in a pot of fairly hot water, as sophomoric didoes often do.  I wrote and published a small satiric newspaper called The Village Vomit.  In this little paper I lampooned a number of teachers at Lisbon (Maine) High School, where I was under instruction.  These were not very gentle lampoons; they ranged from the scatological to the downright cruel

Eventually, a copy of this little newspaper found its way into the hands of a faculty member, and since I had been unwise enough to put my name on it (a fault, some critics argue, of which I have still not been entirely cured), I was brought into the office. The sophisticated satirist had by that time reverted to what he really was: a fourteen-year-old kid who was shaking in his boots and wondering if he was going to get a suspension … what we called “a three-day vacation” in those dim days of 1964.

I wasn’t suspended. I was forced to make a number of apologies - they were warranted, but they still tasted like dog-dirt in my mouth - and spent a week in detention hall. And the guidance counselor arranged what he no doubt thought of as a more constructive channel for my talents. This was a job - contingent upon the editor’s approval - writing sports for the Lisbon Enterprise, a twelve-page weekly of the sort with which any small-town resident will be familiar. This editor was the man who taught me everything I know about writing in ten minutes. His name was John Gould - not the famed New England humorist or the novelist who wrote The Greenleaf Fires, but a relative of both, I believe.

He told me he needed a sports writer and we could “try each other out” if I wanted.

I told him I knew more about advanced algebra than I did sports.

Gould nodded and said, “You’ll learn.”

I said I would at least try to learn. Gould gave me a huge roll of yellow paper and promised me a wage of 1/2¢ per word. The first two pieces I wrote had to do with a high school basketball game in which a member of my school team broke the Lisbon High scoring record. One of these pieces was straight reportage. The second was a feature article.

I brought them to Gould the day after the game, so he’d have them for the paper, which came out Fridays. He read the straight piece, made two minor corrections, and spiked it. Then he started in on the feature piece with a large black pen and taught me all I ever needed to know about my craft. I wish I still had the piece - it deserves to be framed, editorial corrections and all - but I can remember pretty well how it looked when he had finished with it. Here’s an example:

(note: this is before the edit marks indicated on King’s original copy)

Last night, in the well-loved gymnasium of Lisbon High School, partisans and Jay Hills fans alike were stunned by an athletic performance unequaled in school history: Bob Ransom, known as “Bullet” Bob for both his size and accuracy, scored thirty-seven points. He did it with grace and speed … and he did it with an odd courtesy as well, committing only two personal fouls in his knight-like quest for a record which has eluded Lisbon thinclads since 1953….

(after edit marks)

Last night, in the Lisbon High School gymnasium, partisans and Jay Hills fans alike were stunned by an athletic performance unequaled in school history: Bob Ransom scored thirty-seven points. He did it with grace and speed … and he did it with an odd courtesy as well, committing only two personal fouls in his quest for a record which has eluded Lisbon’s basketball team since 1953….

When Gould finished marking up my copy in the manner I have indicated above, he looked up and must have seen something on my face. I think he must have thought it was horror, but it was not: it was revelation.

“I only took out the bad parts, you know,” he said. “Most of it’s pretty good.”

“I know,” I said, meaning both things: yes, most of it was good, and yes, he had only taken out the bad parts. “I won’t do it again.”

“If that’s true,” he said, “you’ll never have to work again. You can do this for a living.” Then he threw back his head and laughed.

And he was right; I am doing this for a living, and as long as I can keep on, I don’t expect ever to have to work again.



III. The Second Introduction

All of what follows has been said before. If you are interested enough in writing to be a purchaser of this magazine, you will have either heard or read all (or almost all) of it before. Thousands of writing courses are taught across the United States each year; seminars are convened; guest lecturers talk, then answer questions, then drink as many gin and tonics as their expense-fees will allow, and it all boils down to what follows.

I am going to tell you these things again because often people will only listen - really listen - to someone who makes a lot of money doing the thing he’s talking about. This is sad but true. And I told you the story above not to make myself sound like a character out of a Horatio Alger novel but to make a point: I saw, I listened, and I learned. Until that day in John Gould’s little office, I had been writing first drafts of stories which might run 2,500 words. The second drafts were apt to run 3,300 words. Following that day, my 2,500-word first drafts became 2,200-word second drafts. And two years after that, I sold the first one.

So here it is, with all the bark stripped off. It’ll take ten minutes to read, and you can apply it right away…if you listen.



IV. Everything You Need to Know About Writing Successfully

1.  BE TALENTED
This, of course, is the killer.  What is talent?  I can hear someone shouting, and here we are, ready to get into a discussion right up there with “what is the meaning of life?” for weighty pronouncements and total uselessness.  For the purposes of the beginning writer, talent may as well be defined as eventual success - publication and money.  If you wrote something for which someone sent you a check, if you cashed the check and it didn’t bounce, and if you then paid the light bill with the money, I consider you talented.

Now some of you are really hollering.  Some of you are calling me one crass money-fixated creep.  And some of you are calling me bad names.  Are you calling Harold Robbins talented?  someone in one of the Great English Departments of America is screeching.  V.C. Andrews?  Theodore Dreiser?  Or what about you, you dyslexic moron?

Nonsense.  Worse than nonsense, off the subject.  We’re not talking about good or bad here.  I’m interested in telling you how to get your stuff published, not in critical judgments of who’s good or bad.  As a rule the critical judgments come after the check’s been spent, anyway.  I have my own opinions, but most times I keep them to myself.  People who are published steadily and are paid for what they are writing may be either saints or trollops, but they are clearly reaching a great many someones who want what they have.  Ergo, they are communicating.  Ergo, they are talented.  The biggest part of writing successfully is being talented, and in the context of marketing, the only bad writer is one who doesn’t get paid.  If you’re not talented, you won’t succeed.  And if you’re not succeeding, you should know when to quit.

When is that?  I don’t know.  It’s different for each writer.  Not after six rejection slips, certainly, nor after sixty.  But after six hundred?  Maybe.  After six thousand?  My friend, after six thousand pinks, it’s time you tried painting or computer programming.

Further, almost every aspiring writer knows when he is getting warmer - you start getting little jotted notes on your rejection slips, or personal letters…maybe a commiserating phone call.  It’s lonely out there in the cold, but there are encouraging voices…unless there is nothing in your words which warrants encouragement.  I think you owe it to yourself to skip as much of the self-illusion as possible.  If your eyes are open, you’ll know which way to go…or when to turn back.

2.  BE NEAT
Type.  Double-space.  Use a nice heavy white paper, never that erasable onion-skin stuff.  If you’ve marked up your manuscript a lot, do another draft.

3.  BE SELF-CRITICAL
If you haven’t marked up your manuscript a lot, you did a lazy job.  Only God gets things right the first time.  Don’t be a slob.

4.  REMOVE EVERY EXTRANEOUS WORD
You want to get up on a soapbox and preach?  Fine.  Get one and try your local park.  You want to write for money?  Get to the point.  And if you remove all the excess garbage and discover you can’t find the point, tear up what you wrote and start all over again…or try something new.

5.  NEVER LOOK AT A REFERENCE BOOK WHILE DOING A FIRST DRAFT You want to write a story?  Fine.  Put away your dictionary, your encyclopedias, your World Almanac, and your thesaurus.  Better yet, throw your thesaurus into the wastebasket.  The only things creepier than a thesaurus are those little paperbacks college students too lazy to read the assigned novels buy around exam time.  Any word you have to hunt for in a thesaurus is the wrong word.  There are no exceptions to this rule.  You think you might have misspelled a word?  O.K., so here is your choice: either look it up in the dictionary, thereby making sure you have it right - and breaking your train of thought and the writer’s trance in the bargain - or just spell it phonetically and correct it later.  Why not?  Did you think it was going to go somewhere?  And if you need to know the largest city in Brazil and you find you don’t have it in your head, why not write in Miami, or Cleveland?  You can check it…but laterWhen you sit down to write, write.  Don’t do anything else except go to the bathroom, and only do that if it absolutely cannot be put off.

6.  KNOW THE MARKETS
Only a dimwit would send a story about giant vampire bats surrounding a high school to McCall’s.  Only a dimwit would send a tender story about a mother and daughter making up their differences on Christmas Eve to Playboy…but people do it all the time.  I’m not exaggerating; I have seen such stories in the slush piles of the actual magazines.  If you write a good story, why send it out in an ignorant fashion?  Would you send your kid out in a snowstorm dressed in Bermuda shorts and a tank top?  If you like science fiction, read the magazines.  If you want to write confession stories, read the magazines.  And so on.  It isn’t just a matter of knowing what’s right for the present story; you can begin to catch on, after awhile, to overall rhythms, editorial likes and dislikes, a magazine’s entire slant.  Sometimes your reading can influence the next story, and create a sale.

7.  WRITE TO ENTERTAIN
Does this mean you can’t write “serious fiction”?  It does not.  Somewhere along the line pernicious critics have invested the American reading and writing public with the idea that entertaining fiction and serious ideas do not overlap.  This would have surprised Charles Dickens, not to mention Jane Austen, John Steinbeck, William Faulkner, Bernard Malamud, and hundreds of others.  But your serious ideas must always serve your story, not the other way around.  I repeat: if you want to preach, get a soapbox.

8.  ASK YOURSELF FREQUENTLY, AM I HAVING FUN?”
The answer needn’t always be yes.  But if it’s always no, it’s time for a new project or a new career.

9.  HOW TO EVALUATE CRITICISM
Show your piece to a number of people - ten, let us say.  Listen carefully to what they tell you.  Smile and nod a lot.  Then review what was said very carefully.  If your critics are all telling you the same thing about some facet of your story - a plot twist that doesn’t work, a character who rings false, stilted narrative, or half a dozen other possibles - change that facet.  It doesn’t matter if you really liked that twist of that character; if a lot of people are telling you something is wrong with you piece, it is.  If seven or eight of them are hitting on that same thing, I’d still suggest changing it.  But if everyone - or even most everyone - is criticizing something different, you can safely disregard what all of them say.

10.  OBSERVE ALL RULES FOR PROPER SUBMISSION
Return postage, self-addressed envelope, all of that.

11.  AN AGENT?  FORGET IT.  FOR NOW
Agents get 10% of monies earned by their clients.  10% of nothing is nothing.  Agents also have to pay the rent.  Beginning writers do not contribute to that or any other necessity of life.  Flog your stories around yourself.  If you’ve done a novel, send around query letters to publishers, one by one, and follow up with sample chapters and/or the manuscript complete.  And remember Stephen King’s First Rule of Writers and Agents, learned by bitter personal experience: You don’t need one until you’re making enough for someone to steal…and if you’re making that much, you’ll be able to take your pick of good agents.

12.  IF IT’S BAD, KILL IT
When it comes to people, mercy killing is against the law.  When it comes to fiction, it is the law.



That’s everything you need to know.  And if you listened, you can write everything and anything you want.  Now I believe I will wish you a pleasant day and sign off.

My ten minutes are up.

The Dos and Don’ts of Beginning a Novel:  An Illustrated Guide

I’ve had a lot of asks lately for how to begin a book (or how not to), so here’s a post on my general rules of thumb for story openers and first chapters!  

Please note, these are incredibly broad generalizations;  if you think an opener is right for you, and your beta readers like it, there’s a good chance it’s A-OK.  When it comes to writing, one size does not fit all.  (Also note that this is for serious writers who are interested in improving their craft and/or professional publication, so kindly refrain from the obligatory handful of comments saying “umm, screw this, write however you want!!”)

So without further ado, let’s jump into it!

Don’t: 

1.  Open with a dream. 

“Just when Mary Sue was sure she’d disappear down the gullet of the monstrous, winged pig, she woke up bathed in sweat in her own bedroom.”

What?  So that entire winged pig confrontation took place in a dream and amounts to nothing?  I feel so cheated! 

Okay, not too many people open their novels with monstrous swine, but you get the idea:  false openings of any kind tend to make the reader feel as though you’ve wasted their time, and don’t usually jump into more meaty action of the story quickly enough.  It makes your opening feel lethargic and can leave your audience yawning.

Speaking of… 

2.  Open with a character waking up.  

This feels familiar to most of us, but unless your character is waking up to a zombie attack or an alien invasion, it’s generally a pretty easy recipe to get your story to drag.

No one picks a book to hear how your character brushes their teeth in the morning or what they’d like to have for dinner.  As a general rule of thumb, we read to explore things we wouldn’t otherwise get to experience.  And cussing out the alarm clock is not one of them.  

Granted, there are exceptions if your writing is exceptionally engaging, but in most cases it just sets a slow pace that will bore you and your reader to death and probably cause you to lose interest in your book within the first ten pages.  

3.  Bombard with exposition.  

Literary characters aren’t DeviantArt OCs.  And the best way to convey a character is not, in my experience, to devote the first ten pages to describing their physical appearance, personality, and backstory.  Develop your characters, and make sure their fully fleshed out – my tips on how to do so here – but you don’t need to dump all that on the reader before they have any reason to care about them.  Let the reader get to know the character gradually, learn about them, and fall in love with them as they would a person:  a little bit at a time.   

This is iffy when world building is involved, but even then it works best when the delivery feels organic and in tune with the book’s overall tone.  Think the opening of the Hobbit or Good Omens.

4.  Take yourself too seriously.

Your opener (and your novel in general) doesn’t need to be intellectually pretentious, nor is intellectual pretense the hallmark of good literature.  Good literature is, generally speaking, engaging, well-written, and enjoyable.  That’s it.  

So don’t concern yourself with creating a poetic masterpiece of an opening line/first chapter.  Just make one that’s – you guessed it – engaging, well-written, and enjoyable. 

5.  Be unintentionally hilarious.

Utilizing humor in your opening line is awesome, but check yourself to make sure your readers aren’t laughing for all the wrong reasons (this is another reason why betas are important.)  

These examples of the worst opening lines in published literature will show you what I mean – and possibly serve as a pleasant confidence booster as well: 

“As the dark and mysterious stranger approached, Angela bit her lip anxiously, hoping with every nerve, cell, and fiber of her being that this would be the one man who would understand – who would take her away from all this – and who would not just squeeze her boob and make a loud honking noise, as all the others had.”

– Ali Kawashima

“She sipped her latte gracefully, unaware of the milk foam droplets building on her mustache, which was not the peachy-fine baby fuzz that Nordic girls might have, but a really dense, dark, hirsute lip-lining row of fur common to southern Mediterranean ladies nearing menopause, and winked at the obviously charmed Spaniard at the next table.”

– Jeanne Villa

“As I gardened, gazing towards the autumnal sky, I longed to run my finger through the trail of mucus left by a single speckled slug – innocuously thrusting past my rhododendrons – and in feeling that warm slime, be swept back to planet Alderon, back into the tentacles of the alien who loved me.”

– Mary E. Patrick

“Before they met, his heart was a frozen block of ice, scarred by the skate blades of broken relationships, then she came along and like a beautiful Zamboni flooded his heart with warmth, scraped away the ugly slushy bits, and dumped them in the empty parking lot of his soul.”

– Howie McClennon

If these can get published, so can you.

Do:

1.  You know that one really interesting scene you’re itching to write?  Start with that.

Momentum is an important thing in storytelling.  If you set a fast, infectious beat, you and your reader will be itching to dance along with it.  

Similarly, slow, drowsy openers tend to lead to slow, drowsy stories that will put you both to sleep.

I see a lot of posts joking about “that awkward moment when you sit down to write but don’t know how to get to that one scene you actually wanted to write about.”  Write that scene!  If it’s at all possible, start off with it.  If not, there are still ways you can build your story around the scenes you actually want to write.

Keep in mind:  if you’re bored, your reader will almost certainly be bored as well.  So write what you want to write.  Write what makes you excited.  Don’t hold off until later, when it “really gets good.”  Odds are, the reader will not wait around that long, and you’re way more likely to become disillusioned with your story and quit.  If a scene is dragging, cut it out.  Burn bridges, find a way around.  Live, dammit. 

2.  Engage the reader.

There are several ways to go about this.  You can use wit and levity, you can present a question, and you can immerse the reader into the world you’ve created.  Just remember to do so with subtlety, and don’t try too hard;  believe me, it shows.  

Here are some of my personal favorite examples of engaging opening lines: 

“In the beginning, the universe was created. This has made a lot of people very angry and been widely regarded as a bad move." 

– Douglas Adams, the Restaurant at the End of the Universe.

"It was the day my grandmother exploded.”

– Iain Banks, Crow Road.

“A white Pomeranian named Fluffy flew out of the a fifth-floor window in Panna, which was a grand-new building with the painter’s scaffolding still around it. Fluffy screamed.”

– Vikram Chandra, Sacred Games.

See what I’m saying?  They pull you in and do not let go.

3.  Introduce us to a main character (but do it right.)

“Shadow had done three years in prison. He was big enough and looked don’t-fuck-with-me enough that his biggest problem was killing time. So he kept himself in shape, and taught himself coin tricks, and thought a lot about how much he loved his wife.”

– Neil Gaiman, American Gods.

This is one of my favorite literary openings of all time, because right off the bat we know almost everything we need to know about Shadow’s character (i.e. that he’s rugged, pragmatic, and loving.)   

Also note that it doesn’t tell us everything about Shadow:  it presents questions that make us want to read more.  How did Shadow get into prison?  When will he get out?  Will he reunite with his wife?  There’s also more details about Shadow slowly sprinkled in throughout the book, about his past, personality, and physical appearance.  This makes him feel more real and rounded as a character, and doesn’t pull the reader out of the story.

Obviously, I’m not saying you should rip off American Gods.  You don’t even need to include a hooker eating a guy with her cooch if you don’t want to.  

But this, and other successful openers, will give you just enough information about the main character to get the story started;  rarely any good comes from infodumping, and allowing your reader to get to know your character gradually will make them feel more real.   

4.  Learn from the greats.

My list of my favorite opening lines (and why I love them) is right here.

5.  Keep moving.  

The toughest part of being a writer is that it’s a rare and glorious occasion when you’re actually satisfied with something you write.  And to add another layer of complication, what you like best probably won’t be what your readers will like best. 

If you refuse to keep moving until you have the perfect first chapter, you will never write anything beyond your first chapter.  

Set a plan, and stick to it:  having a daily/weekly word or page goal can be extremely helpful, especially when you’re starting out.  Plotting is a lifesaver (some of my favorite posts on how to do so here, here, and here.)

Keep writing, keep moving, and rewrite later.  If you stay in one place for too long, you’ll never keep going. 

Best of luck, and happy writing.  <3

Why I Quit German

WARNINGS: This story is really gross and/or horrifying but also hilarious imho.  Your health always comes first, so mind the tags:  Violence, Cannibalism Mention, Suicidal Ideation, Feces, Sleep Deprivation, Airplanes, I generally had a really bad time but now it’s hysterical.  Most of the story is under the cut because it’s eight miles long.


In August of 2009 I flew back to Honolulu to do my sophomore year of college with the intention of entering 400-level german. What happened instead is the closest I’ve ever come to personally dying or actually murdering someone.

The problem started the day before my flight, when I attended a birthday party for a very dear cousin in Denver, and due to be in 1 of 2 adults present, ended up driving a bunch of teenagers home and didn’t get home until 12:30 that night.  Oh well, my flight’s at 6AM anyway, I’ll just stay up. I can sleep on the plane, I thought, like a complete fucking fool.

Keep reading

2

He Sean,

I really hope you read this. I’m writing this now since it’s still fresh in my head at the moment. I can’t wait until tomorrow. I’m sorry for any grammar mistakes, btw.

I want to thank you from the bottom of my heart. I had the best (Thurs)day and evening ever with you, Wiishu, Dan and Arin. I waited with my sister for you at the airport. It took a while but there you were with Wiishu. You were surprised but delighted at the same time. I wanted to say so many things and all I could say was: You must be tired, and rambled on about how long your flight must have been and what not. Everything except for the things I actually wanted to say.

That’s ok. I still had Friday evening and the Q&A. The moment was there. We all could ask questions and I had one at the ready, but every moment Vernon came near I started to feel more and more nervous and my social anxiety kicked in hard. At that moment I asked my sister if she wanted to ask my question. Well… you may remember she didn’t ask a question but said how much you meant and still mean to me. Last year was…rough. You and Mark helped me to stay positive and not lose hope in humanity. You both keep me smiling. 4 Video’s a day I had to look forward too (2 from you, 2 from Mark). This year was finally a year where everything is falling in to place in my life and I sort of know what I want eventually. I’m working hard on it. I’m having such a good time at the moment that I have trouble to find time to watch your videos! 

Even now I still don’t know how to put my feelings in to the right words. The trouble I’m now facing is that I get emotional every time someone says it’s ok, “give yourself some credit too” and other uplifting words. I’ve always heard that it’s gonna be hard for me, what I want to do. I shouldn’t be doing this and that. Not by my parents and siblings, though. All the love for them. But it’s really demotivating to pick anything up when other’s don’t see the hard work you put in things and doubt you as a person.

Anyway, my sister caught me of guard with her speech. My anxiety was already on a high level and her putting me in the spotlight broke me down. I’m definitely not mad at her. She said the things I couldn’t say and I’m glad she did. I still feel like I want to say more, but I just simply can’t find the words. I just really hope you read this letter and hopefully I’ll see you again. May it be at VidCon Europe (*wink wink*) or at your EU tour of your own show.

Again from the bottom of my ♥

♥ THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR EVERYTHING! ♥

Love,
Paula

@therealjacksepticeye

The Final Chapter

Woah…okay….whew. Trying to collect my thoughts after watching that is…well it isn’t easy. First off, MAJOR PROPS TO TEAMIPLIER. This story has had so much heart and soul put into it, and there’s been an incredible dedication to quality and detail. Bravo, Mark and Co., bravo. 

So wtf just happened? After reading some theories by my friends at @wkm-theories and considering it, I’m gonna take a stab at unravelling this tangled web. 

So, #Markiplier lives. Does he? It’s gone far beyond that now. Maybe in the beginning it was that simple, but it isn’t anymore. There are parts I got right, and parts I didn’t. There are parts the community got right, and parts we didn’t, so let’s go through this piece by piece. 

First off, obviously at this point, this is indeed the origin story of Darkiplier, and of Warfstache too. But it’s a much sadder origin story than I think anyone was expecting. We know from the Colonel (whose first name I think must be Wilford) and Detective’s argument that Celine was in fact Mark’s wife, and that Colonel Wilford had an affair with her. While the Detective calls it “stealing” and “sick sexual exploits,” I think it is clear that he loves her very much. In the spirit world/afterlife/whatever place at the end, Celine says “I never thought he’d fall this far,” and that Mark took everything from them “from his twisted quest of vengeance.” With that in mind, this is my theory on the backstory:

  • As I said in my last theory, Mark, Damien, and Wilford grew up as childhood friends together. Mark went into the entertainment business, Wilford into the army, and Damien into politics. I also am now convinced that Markiplier Manor definitely used to belong to Wilford. Not just by his familiarity with the house, but by his conversation with the Chef just before Celine comes in in chapter two. As we know, the Chef calls him Private, and says “I don’t work for you anymore!” He then says in today’s episode that he’s been cooking for the people in the manor for 25 years, but he yells to Wilford that he quits. Why would he tell Wilford, wouldn’t it make more sense to tell the Butler at this point? But no, in some ways he still sees Wilford as his old boss…the old keeper of the manor. 
  • So anyway, the manor used to be Wilford’s home. And when he was a private in the army, Damien was at University (where you meet him) and Mark was trying to get his acting career started. Yes, in this universe, Mark is not just a YouTuber, but a flim/TV actor. This is evidenced by these photos from the Detective’s evidence room shown on @whokilledmarkiplier:
  • It is also worth mentioning that in the Meta Ending of A Date with Markiplier, Mark is an actor who is out on parole, working on a crummy side project. I think that these universes are connected, but more on that later. 
  • It isn’t easy to start an acting career, and you usually don’t make a lot of money in the process, so I think Wilford took Mark in and supported him while he was getting on his feet As he imitates Mark, he says “Forget all my FRIENDS or people who helped me along the way!” Wilford was one of those people. 
  • I also think that while Celine was friends with all of them, it was Wilford who loved her the most. While Mark in real life is a great guy, Mark in this story is kind of an asshole. Maybe Will and Celine once were dating, maybe Will never got up the courage to ask her. But Mark’s career took off and he married her himself before Wilford could. This obviously infuriated Wilford, and Mark grew distant. Then, to add insult to injury, Mark took the manor for himself, and even named it after his new stage name: Markiplier. This was the last straw for Wilford, and he secretly confessed his feelings to Celine, which she seemed quite happy to reciprocate and they had an affair. Maybe this version of Mark was once like the one in our world, but Fame and Money went to his head “Just look at my MONEY!” The Detective says that Wilford was also “squeezing him for cash” to fund dates with Celine. Will probably feels like Mark stole everything from him, so he doesn’t mind stealing back.
  • Damien, of course, being the politician and genuinely caring about all three of his friends, makes an effort to be on good terms with all of them. It is also likely that he is the one who introduced you to Mark. The two of you meet in college (You’re a DA, so you would have run in the same social circles), and when Damien and you both got jobs in the same city (LA, I assume) where Mark lived, the three of you formed your own friendship. 
  • Back to the affair: Mark obviously found out about it. Like Damien says at the end, he had been planning this for years. It’s even possible that Celine divorced Mark after he and Wilford had an altercation over her, and that it is after this divorce, which left her confused and hurt, that she sought solace in the arcane arts. Now, in this next matter, I was fairly close to the truth. Mark wanted to get back at Wilford, so he cam up with a revenge plan, and he hired the Detective to make sure that everything went down smoothly. However, the plan was not to discover who wanted Mark dead, but to frame the Colonel. And he used the Chef, Butler and Detective to help achieve that goal. 
  • There are multiple times they try to clue you into their plan, but they obviously don’t want Damien or Wilford to know about it, which is why they must be so covert. 
  • Mark’s plan was simple, but effective. Invite all of his closest friends to a poker night, fake his own death, and pin it on the Colonel. But what he didn’t count on was the supernatural getting in his way. 

There is some kind of force in that house. I’m going to call it Dark, but understand I don’t mean the persona of Darkiplier when I say that from here on out, I mean the entity that causes Darkiplier. Anyway, there’s no way of telling exactly how long Dark has been lurking on the manor, but it’s for at least 15 years based on George’s refusal to enter the house for that long. We also don’t know exactly how old our characters are. Suffice it to say though, Dark has been there for a long time. Again, this exposure to an extremely powerful evil entity could have contributed to Mark’s assholery, but we have no way of knowing for sure. 

  • From what I can gather, this is a force that feeds off of conflict. So when Mark and his friends began fighting, it grew stronger. When Mark began to plan his revenge, it grew stronger still. And finally, it grew strong enough to strike. 
  • “He trapped us in here with this broken shell and now there’s no way out” is what Damien says to you at the end. I think that Mark’s body is in fact dead, and Mark has made a deal with Dark. There are two possibilities here: The first is that Mark planned it that way from the beginning, to kill his body, blame the Colonel, and take Damien’s body for his own. The second (and I think more likely) is that Mark didn’t want to drag Damien and Celine into it, and that he didn’t even know about Dark’s force. In this scenario, Dark killed Mark and trapped him in the void where we see Celine and Damien at the end. Then, Dark gave him a choice (Dark loves choices): stay trapped in the void forever, or have Damien killed and take his body. Mark is already hurt and angry, and the Darkness has been feeding those emotions. When faced with that choice, he chooses to betray his friends to save himself. This is when the rest of the events unfold in the manor. 
  • I think that when the Butler says “the body is cold” to the Detective, he meant it. Mark’s body was dead at that point. But the Detective doesn’t realize just yet that Mark is really dead, he just thinks it’s part of the ruse. The Butler also suggests calling the police. He’s really concerned now, and while it was in their original plan to tell you about the plot, they’re unsure now of whether or not to tell you outright, so they resort to cryptic hints and clues. For all they know, you’re the one who really killed him, which is why the Detective acts like he trusts you but at times expresses doubts. As the tensions in the manor grow, Dark becomes more and more powerful, especially since he has Mark in his possession. He can manifest lightning when prompted, and he is able to steal Mark’s body and bring it to the void. Yes, I think that the Detective really was surprised when Mark’s body was gone. That wasn’t part of the plan. That was all Dark’s doing. With Mark’s mind AND body now in it’s possession, he is more powerful than ever.
  • Then, Celine arrives at the manor. Maybe she sensed something was wrong, maybe Dark lured her there, whatever. She arrives and her occult knowledge immediately tells her something is wrong. She then does exactly what Dark wants her to do and opens a conduit to his realm. Through this conduit, he possess her, and tries to possess you but you stop him, pulling out of the seance early. I think that it is your body that he had decided on, which is why “Celine” was so mad that you wouldn’t let her finish. 
  • While you’re outside with George, Dark uses Celine to take Damien’s consciousness into the void, and spits Mark back out into Damien’s body. Dark then takes control of Celine’s body but he is thwarted by George before he can accomplish whatever it is he needed a body for. Now with Celine’s body useless to him, Mark in control of Damien’s body and Celine and Damien’s minds in the void with him, Dark is in a bit of a pickle. Whatever he has, it isn’t enough, and he can’t just take it by force. He needs to be let in to fully take control (Celine let him in on accident in her seance, and then Dark manipulated Damien’s trust in her to trick him into letting him in as well). So he does what he does best: manipulation. 
  • When everything goes wibbly wobbly and you walk around the house hearing voices, that’s Dark’s influence over you. He doesn’t have total control because you haven’t given it to him, but he can lead you in the right direction. As you end up seeing the Detective’s frame job for the Colonel and then their confrontation, things get out of hand. Poor Wilford is slowly going mad at the possible loss of his friends, and he kills the Detective in a fit of rage. When you try to calm him down and take the gun, he accidentally kills you too. This is exactly what Dark needed to happen, another person to die. I think that Dark is a being that exists entirely by thought; he has some sway over the physical world but not enough to do anything major. But if a body is dead and the mind is all that remains, he can easily pull that mind into his domain, where it’s pretty hard to say no. 
  • So you die, and Dark takes your mind and traps it, in the same place he has Celine, Damien’s mind and Mark’s body trapped. And it is in this scene that we see the master manipulator that Dark is. I believe that while Celine and Damien’s consciousness are present in the void before you get here, Dark convinces them that this was all Mark’s doing. He insists that their only chance is to use you, that the three of you can fix it. Of course, he says all of this to fool them. They blame everything on Mark, and tell you so plainly. Dark wants you to share their thoughts so that you’ll agree to his plan. 
  • Your body is out there, broken, but still present. Celine says that she can send you back, and implies that this is only possible if you let Damien in so that together, you can stay alive. But that’s a flat out lie, it’s Dark that is really sending you out, not her. Your body is not ideal to him, but it’s all he has left now. The Chef, Butler, and Groundskeeper have left, Wilford is going insane, and the Detective doesn’t trust Damien OR Celine enough to listen to them. But you do. (That’s why Damien’s character is so appealing to us, it’s why they designed him to make us want to trust him. If we trust him, and he trusts Celine, then we’ll do what Celine says.) All Dark wants is our body, and the only way for him to get it is if we let him in. When Damien says “let me in”, the screen glitches for a moment. Up until then, it was Celine and Damien talking, but in that moment it was Dark. Reaching out to you. Beckoning you to just. let. him. in. 
  • Celine then says that this is a choice. This is also Dark speaking through her. Dark is obsessed with choice, but not just any choice. He uses the illusion of choice to get what he wants. When he made Mark choose between living in Damien’s body or being trapped in the void forever, there was really no outcome that would work in Mark’s favor. And either way, Dark could have used it somehow. In ADWM, he gives the illusion of offering more choices than Mark ever did, but only one choice will continue the story. And according to Mark in his livestream, originally the links at the end of that video were supposed to all go to the same place. He doesn’t offer choices, not really. He manipulates you into thinking you’re choosing what you want, when really it’s he who’s getting what he wants. 
  • And it works. You let him in, he sends you back, and you get to see the shattered remains of Wilford’s sanity crumble completely. Then, Dark reaches for Damien’s cane, and looks in the mirror. He has a body now, but it’s broken. A reanimated corpse (a zombie, get it? It was more than a joke!) that he doesn’t even have enough power to control on his own. He is forced to keep Damien (and possibly Celine) captive in his mind to maintain enough power to keep the body running. But he doesn’t need you anymore, he got all he wanted from you. He traps you in the mirror, and leaves you there, because that’s what social manipulators do: they get what they want out of you and then abandon you. Dark’s mannerisms when in this body are so similar to Damien’s because pieces of Damien’s personality poke through the facade. 

But in the end…

The Detective wasn’t wrong, it was more complicated than “It was Colonel Warfstache in the library with the candlestick.” Markiplier either killed himself or was killed by Dark, but his mind lives on in Damien’s body. Wilford, devastated at the loss of his friends and the blood on his own hands spirals into madness, The Staff leave the house, The Detective is dead, and you…

Your body is dead, possessed by a bitter spirit who didn’t get everything he wanted. So he goes after who started this whole mess in the first place…Markiplier. He follows Mark, fueled partly by Celine and Damien’s newfound hatred of him, fueled partly by his own desires as a parasite to keep feeding and growing, and pesters him to give him back Damien’s body. But Mark has learned his lesson and won’t let him in again. So Dark, now using the name “Darkiplier” turns to the next best thing…his fans. 

*Applauds* 

Wow @markiplier, you really outdid yourself this time! Thank you for this great experience, it was truly a pleasure to witness. 

Thank you everyone for reading not just this theory, but my other theories, as well as those on @wkm-theories that I helped compile. Thank you also to @valleyofrogues for creating wkm-theories and inviting me to help admin it, it’s been a blast! And don’t think we’re stopping today, we’re going to keep responding to your questions, compiling your theories, and share our thoughts with you throughout October. Something tells me this story isn’t over yet…

It Ain’t Me: Part 9

Jungkook x Reader ft. Yoongi

Request: Can you make a fake text about how bf hears a rumor about y/n and decides to break up without even knowing the true facts

Words: 2.2 K

Genre: Angst

Part 8 | Part 10

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Mothers’ Weekend

Hello there! Long time, no see (my bad I know) but, here: an Alicia Zimmermann-centric piece as she goes to Parents’ Weekend during Jack’s freshmen year. [focus on Alicia, Jack, and Shitty] 6k


Somewhere, deep in her heart, Alicia Zimmermann knows she is a bad mother.

It started out as a worry, as maybe it does for all new mothers, that she will be a bad mother. That she won’t know what to do with a baby or a toddler that one day she will accidentally drop him or forget to feed him or feed him something he is actually allergic to or maybe she’ll scar him emotionally somehow and she worried but she survived his childhood okay. And then, after he was five or six, she stopped worrying about it. She thought she was doing pretty good. Jack had hockey and loved hockey and, sure, they didn’t have deep emotional talks but she didn’t exactly have any basis of comparison. Television families told her she was doing okay. No teenage boy wanted to have deep talks with his mother. And, look, if Jack didn’t talk to her all that much as he turned 12 and then 13, at least he was still talking to his father. Mostly still about hockey but she… she thought that had counted. Hockey was like French, to her. Another language she could understand but couldn’t quite speak. But Bob could. He was on top of it. Jack was taken care of.

She loved Jack. That was never the problem. The problem was that her love wasn’t enough. It didn’t matter. It didn’t alert her to any of the facts and maybe it even blinded her– She loved her son and her son loved hockey and so she loved hockey too. She loved her son and then her son seemed to love a boy named Kent and they never talked about it but she let Kent come over all the time and she figured they would discuss it at some point. She just… assumed everything was okay. Even after he was diagnosed with the anxiety disorder and given pills. It was always… well, that was a little problem but it’s handled and under control and everything is okay now.

See. Bad mother.

A good mother would have known somehow.

A good mother would have pushed and prodded or sensed it without even having to be told.

A good mother would have paid attention to how hard Jack was on himself. A good mother would have made sure her son had interests outside of hockey. A good mother would have known that Jack’s long silences after losses weren’t normal. A good mother would have preached balance and fostered friendships with different types of people and stopped the fucking hockey.

She didn’t though. Stop the hockey. No, not Alicia Zimmermann. She encouraged it. She went to the games and cheered the loudest and she even loved it a little bit because she thought it brought him joy, like his father. She bought into the vision: Jack playing hockey like Bob, the Zimmermann legacy continued throughout the ages…

God, she even used to tease Jack about how it took his father three years to win a Cup and she was sure Jack could manage it faster than his old man.

A good mother wouldn’t have done that. So, see, she’s always been a bad mother. Even now, now that she’s almost lost him, now that she’s promised to do better, now that she’s finally read all the books and online articles about anxiety and pressure and the danger of sports and hockey culture… now she’s still just as bad. Just for different reasons.

Now she is a bad mother because it’s Saturday afternoon and he’s been at Samwell for almost three months and she does not feel like mothers are supposed to feel in this moment.

She glances around. At the sea of other mothers and fathers crammed onto Samwell’s campus for Parents’ Weekend. They are not nervous. They are excited. Happy. Enthusiastic. Overjoyed to see the teenager they had left just a couple months ago again. To her right is a father almost (but not quite) breaking into a run to give his son a hug. To her left, a mother has burst into tears. Happy tears.

And then there’s her. She’s not excited to see Jack. Well, no. No, it’s not that she’s not excited. She is. She is. (She is. She repeats it once more just to remind herself). She is just…

She is nervous too. More nervous than she is excited.

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⇁plums & melons | 02

Originally posted by parkejimins

pairing⇁Jimin x Reader

genre⇁drama, smut || brother’s best friend!au

warnings⇁public indecency, masturbation, dry humping, jungkook, things that shouldn’t happen in a closet, a brief mention of tentacle porn;;

word count⇁7.3k

The long time running game between you and your brother’s best friend started when you noticed his fascination with boobs—yours specifically. It was never supposed to amount to more than harmless flirting and lingering glances, but now, one year later, Jimin was ready to change that.

alternatively: Jimin and you play a game. the loser is fucked. metaphorically. literally. all the above??

01 || 02 

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little tattoos part ii

this is part two to little tattoos! 

you can read part one here

thank you guys sososoosos much for all the love on this fic. it was tbh a shower thought that evolved into so much more. im so very proud of this fic and i plaN to write another part, maybe two.

so YEAH 

thank you guys so much. it makes me so happy to see that people like my writing. i hope you all enjoy part two of little tattoos <3

summary: a soulmate au where everyone has a tattoo exactly like their soulmate

pairing: eddie and richie

words:  2085


Eddie sighed, approaching his house. He really wasn’t in the mood to convince his mom to let him go to Bill’s. He had gone over there seemingly a thousand times over the course of the past three years, but he still had to argue with his mother for at least twenty minutes before she’d let him leave.

His mom still, daily, tried to convince him that he did indeed have an illness; but he knew better.

Eddie’s mother nearly pounced on him when he opened the front door. “Eddie dear, come on, take your pills! You need them!” She said, so shrill it sounded like nails on a chalkboard to him.

He shook his head and got out of her grip easily, backing away and up the stairs. Eddie ignored his mother’s pleas until he shut his bedroom door and couldn’t hear her anymore. The small boy threw his backpack on his bed and threw his jacket into his closet, not bothering to hang it up. Eddie pushed back the door of his closet, finding a reflection of himself staring back. He frowned a little, looking his small figure up and down disapprovingly. Eddie bit his lip, slowly pulling his shirt up and over his head. His eyes scoured every millimeter of his bare chest and back. He thought that maybe one day the universe would decide to give him a tattoo, a soulmate, but there was never anything.

Nothing. There was absolutely nothing on his body, and he hated it.

Why him? Why did he have to have no soulmate? It’s not fair.

Eddie angrily slammed the door shut completely, causing the mirror to fall off the door. It hit the wood floor of his bedroom and shattered into millions of tiny pieces.

“Oh God, oh fuck” He grumbled, going out into the hall closet to grab a broom and dustpan. He cleaned up what he could, which was most of it, praying his mother hadn’t heard anything. If she did, he’d be in the ER before he could even protest or explain what had happened. He went to pick up the last piece and as he stood up to put it in the trash, he clumsily dropped it. Eddie hissed at the sharp pain that went through his hand. A small gash started to bleed on his right knuckle, right under a circular, blotchy birthmark. He swore quietly to himself, going to the bathroom and easily disinfecting the cut. He put a small piece of gauze and a bandage on it, deciding that was alright for now.

Eddie grabbed his shirt and threw it over his head, heading down the stairs quickly. His mother sat in her usual spot in front of the TV. She glanced up and upon seeing her son, she tried to get up as quickly as a woman like her could. By the time she got up and ran out onto the porch, he was gone. Eddie was too fast. He was already outside and on his bike, half a block away. After years of evading her, he learned to get out of the house as quickly as possible.

He arrived at Bill’s about five minutes later, hopping off his bike and propping it up against the side of the house. Eddie strode up to the door and knocked, waiting patiently. Stan answered the door, looking disheveled. His hair was a mess. It was usually a mess, but not like this. His lips were a bit puffy and red.

Eddie rolled his eyes. “Glad to know I’ll be the cockblock this evening.” He joked, walking inside the house and kicking off his shoes near Bill’s bedroom door.

Bill chuckled a bit, and Stan shot Eddie a look. Eddie smiled innocently, walking in and sitting down on a beanbag on the floor.

“Eddie!” Georgie yelled, nearly tackling the small boy off the beanbag in a hug. Bill’s little brother was the sweetest kid, and Eddie loved him. The whole Loser’s Club loved him.

“Hey, Georgie! How are you, buddy?” He asked, Georgie, sitting down next to him.

“I’m good! What about you?” Georgie asked brightly.

Eddie nodded. “I’m good,” he said casually.

Georgie looked at Bill and Stan across the room, both of them deep into a conversation about what movie to watch. He glanced at Eddie before giggling. “Billy and Stan think you like Richie.”

Eddie’s heart nearly stopped. Was it that obvious?

He raised an eyebrow, looking at the little boy. “Why do they think that?”

Georgie giggled again and whispered, “It’s a secret.” before running out of the room, still giggling.

Bill and Stan decided on Buffy the Vampire Slayer after about five solid minutes of arguing. They popped the VHS tape and started to watch. About halfway through, Eddie noticed that Bill kept sneaking glances at him. He turned his head and saw Bill looking at him once again. “Is something wrong?” He asked, reaching over and pausing the movie with the remote. Stan looked at Bill and nodded, clearly knowing something Eddie didn’t.

“We know you like Richie.” Stan deadpanned, and Bill smacked his arm.

Eddie frowned. “I do not like Trashmouth! Plus, even if I did, which I don’t, he has a soulmate. It wouldn’t work.”

Bill shook his head. “Y-You don’t know that, E-E-Eddie.”

Eddie stood up. “Yes, I do! I’ve had a crush on that damn boy for years! I know I have no soulmate, I know I have no chance, and I want to stop talking about him so I can get over him.”

Stan looked at Bill. “Told you he’d crack.”

Eddie sighed, sitting back down on the beanbag. He ran a hand through his hair, blowing out air through his nose slowly.

“Y-Y-Y-You should tell him,” Bill stated, glancing at Eddie, who immediately shook his head.

“There is no way in hell I am telling him. Nu uh, no.” Eddie said, shaking his head again.

Stan rolled his eyes. “Just tell him, Eddie! You never know.”

After ten minutes of debate, Eddie finally gave in. He walked into school the next day absolutely petrified. Bill and Stan had convinced him to confess his feelings to Richie and he said he’d do it today. But now that he was actually at school, he couldn’t do it. He found himself reaching for his invisible fanny pack for his inhaler until he realized he didn’t need it.

Eddie walked up to his locker, entering the combo and getting his books out. He felt an arm fall around his shoulder.

“Hey, Eds!” Richie said brightly, pinching his cheek. Eddie slapped his hand off and shoved his arm off of his frame. The smile slipped off Richie’s face, but he managed to keep a small one. “What’s wrong, Eddie Spaghetti?”

“Stop calling me that,” Eddie grumbled, shutting his locker and turning the combination lock to 0.

Richie followed behind Eddie as he walked off, watching as he strode into his English class without a goodbye, and Richie couldn’t understand why Eddie was so upset. He never intended to upset him, if he did, but half the time Richie didn’t even realize he upset anyone.

The rest of that day, Eddie tried his best to avoid Richie. He took different routes to his classes in the hallways, he ate in the library at lunch, and the only place he couldn’t avoid Richie in was gym class. The gym teacher was very adamant about changing into gym clothes and then changing back into the clothes you were wearing. Eddie hated it, especially today, but he did it anyway. He waited until no one was in the locker room, or he thought no one was in the locker room to change back into his normal clothing. He avoided Richie during their class-wide game of soccer and he thought he was home free; he wasn’t.

The locker room door slammed shut and momentarily, Eddie panicked, thinking it was the Bower’s gang. But he panicked even more with the realization that Richie had shut the door.

“Richie, please-”

“No, Eds! I’m not letting you leave until you tell me what I did.” Richie said sternly as if he was scolding him.

“You didn’t do anything, Richie, let me leave, please.”

“Then why are you avoiding me?”

Eddie shook his head, trying to get past Richie. He repeated his question but Eddie still shook his head.

Richie was getting annoyed. “If it’s not me, then what the fuck was it? Did Henry do something? Did your mom do something? Other than me last night, of course.”

Eddie tried to get past Richie again and he got pushed back.

Eddie groaned in annoyance. “I can’t tell you,” he mumbled, wringing his hands together in a vain attempt to calm himself down.

“Yes, you can.”

“No, I can’t!” Eddie argued, gripping his hands together tightly. His knuckles were turning white. “I can’t!”

Richie was getting mad too. “Yes, you fucking can!”

“Goddammit, I’m in love with you, Richie!” Eddie hissed, feeling his hands start to shake from anger and fear and everything in between. “I’m so in love with you, but guess what? You have a soulmate, I don’t, and I don’t need to intentionally break my own heart!” Eddie ran out past a shell-shocked Richie, knocking into him with his shoulder on the way out. Richie didn’t move a muscle. His eyes were watering and he tried to wipe the water away as quick as he could, but they soon became to be too many tears. Eddie was sobbing. His chest hurt in a way he could never describe. It felt like his heart had literally broken. His chest physically hurt as he collapsed on the pavement outside the school. He grabbed the light blue inhaler that was in his back pocket and took two puffs. His breathing was normal, but he knew he had to leave. Eddie got on his bike and rode home.

Eddie went inside the back door, trying to be as quiet as possible so he could sneak up to his room. He turned the corner and dashed up the stairs, closing his door and propping a chair up under the door handle. He didn’t wanna deal with his mother right now, or anytime at all for that matter. He fell back onto his bed, sighing. Eddie held his hand over his head, studying the cut he got from the broken mirror. It was healing properly and wasn’t infected.

After about thirty minutes of off and on crying, Eddie heard an inconsistent tapping on his window. He tried to ignore it but after five minutes of it, he had had enough. He opened the window with force, just to get hit in the cheek with a small pebble. Eddie narrowed his eyes at Richie, who said “sorry” and put down the few rocks he had in his hand. “Listen, Eds-”

“Leave me alone, Richie. I don’t want your sympathy, I don’t want your pity, I don’t want to hear anything you have to say.”

“Just hear me ou-”

“No! I will not hear you out! You’ll climb up here, say you’re sorry and that you don’t feel the same way and that you want to stay friends. I won’t do that. I won’t. Leave me the fuck alone.” Eddie stated, slamming his window shut and drawing the navy blue curtains. The tapping stopped, and he hoped Richie walked away. He laid back down on his bed, glancing over at the wall beside him. Polaroids of him and Richie scattered the wall, along with pictures of the rest of the Loser’s club from a campfire last summer.

“Richie, don’t be an idiot! You are going to burn yourself!” Eddie scolded, getting up to shove him backward away from the fire.

“I’m not an idiot, Eds, I’m a genius in disguise.” Richie retorted, plopping back down onto the grass beside Eddie.

Beverly had taken a picture at that moment and that was Eddie’s favorite polaroid he had tacked to his wall. To this day, Richie still insisted that he was “a genius in disguise.”

Then Eddie remembered what had happened. He felt his eyes water with tears and his vision blurred as he cried softly, eventually running out of energy and falling asleep, face streaked with tears.

Richie had taken a long way home, trying to clear his head. By the time he got back to his house, he had a plan.

But he needed help from the Losers.


HELLo YEs

thank you so much for reading part two

would y’all like a part three? 

im so down to write it i haVE SO MANY IDEAS

masterlist

request to be on the tag list/talk to me

thank you for reading <3

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Deathworlders Ho!  Sunburn

I wanted to try getting in on this whole “Humans are Space Orcs” thing, and this is my first entry, so… be kind, feedback welcome.



Three days ago, Human Ramona had, against the captain’s explicit orders, taken her containment suit off during a mission and gone diving into a body of water to retrieve a probe that had crashed and was believed lost.  

She was, despite all logic and understanding, completely fine afterwards, and had passed the bio-screenings and decontam without issue, however the ship’s medico Kreig had wanted to keep a close eye on her and had been doing regular checkups to make sure that nothing was… out of sorts with their unstoppable human murder weapon.

As the away party was coming back from a routine trading mission, Kreig stopped Human Ramona in the locker area and asked her to turn around.  “I know this is probably a fairly normal deathworlder… thing… however I wanted to check, it looks like your carapace is ‘molting’.  Is this… normal?”

Ramona took a moment to process, then backed up towards a mirror so she could see her exposed back.  “Oh!  Yeah, when I took my suit off the other day I got a little too much radiation, probably the fact that it was a binary star system.  This is just a bit of what we humans call a ‘sunburn’, my damaged skin is sloughing off and being replaced by new, healthy skin.  See?”

And with that, much to Krieg’s horror and aghast, she reached around and pulled a large chunk of her own skin off.

“I figured you of all people would know about this”, Ramona said, offering the bit of discarded flesh to Krieg.  “I thought your race molted.”

“We do.”  Krieg said, through quivering mandibles, as he reached a claw out and accepted the offered… flesh strip… unsure what to do with it.  “But for us it is an all or nothing proposition.  Once a stellar cycle, we jettison our external carapace and then spend ten days in deep meditation while a new one forms and solidifies.”

Human Ramona bared her teeth at him in the expression he had come to know as a ‘smile’.  It wasn’t comforting.  “Oh, wow, no, we humans do this all the time.  Even when there isn’t this much damage, we’re constantly regenerating new skin and hair and nails.  Only doing it once a year, that must be awfully tough on you.”

A worried thought flickered through Krieg’s hindbrain, and he politely excused himself from the Human’s company, then went into his medical bay and locked the door.  

“Ok computer, define ‘slough’.”  He read the results with a grim expression.  “Ok computer, run a shipwide scan for… human cellular material… not attached to a living human.”

As his claw reached towards the large red emergency Quarantine button, he committed the results to memory.  The positive results were displayed in red.  There were no non-red parts.  The human waste was everywhere.

Ouija - (H/M)

A/N; SOOOOOOO
This turned out A LOT longer than @dont-run-up and I first intended, but hopefully, everyone enjoys! Leave some comments letting us know what you thought of Incubus!Yoongi~~

Genre; Horror with that good S M UT 

Length; long af- 9,800+ words

Kink(s); A sprinkle of Master/Pet, impact play, oral (giving and receiving), creampie, light bondage, etc.

Originally posted by taes-nose-mole

12:00 a.m.
The time blared on your friend, Hee Young’s, phone screen. “Come on Y/n,” She jeered, keeping that eager grin and puppy-dog look in her eyes as she gently grasped your biceps, swaying you from side to side. “I wanna play! It’s just a game-” She added, pointing towards the newly purchased Ouija board that sat on your coffee table. Just the sight of it rushed a wave of uneasiness over you.

Shaking your head, your brows furrowed slightly, “I don’t know-” You replied, as anxiety laced your words. “My grandma always told me to steer clear of them, they could allow things into your home and life.”

“Oh my gosh, you don’t really believe all that nonsense, do you?” She asked, giggling through her words while she began to open the board’s box. Unlike you, she was a full-blown skeptic; she wasn’t a believer in anything paranormal, so Ouija was just a game to her and nothing more than that.

God did you wish you could dismiss it the way she could.
Though you had never personally experienced anything ghost-wise, you knew plenty of people that had. “Ahh I do, but..” You began, sighing as you decided to give in despite your better judgment, “But I guess we can play, just for a little, at least.”

Heeyoung excitedly clapped while smiling like a dork as she lifted the onyx and pearl colored board and planchette out. “Don’t worry,” She sweetly said, recognizing the nervous expression that painted your face as she placed it onto the glass. “It’s just a game.”

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I Thought You Were Already Married

So, no one asked for a part two butttt I decided to write it anyways. You don’t have to read part one to understand it. This can be read as a stand alone. If you would like to read part one, here you go.

——————————————————————-


               “Harry, you have to go in.” Sirius told his godson firmly. He tried to remain stern but the pleading green eyes of the three-year-old was hard to ignore.

                “What if they don’t like me.” The sniffle and wobbling lip was always his weakness. Merlin, where was Remus when he needed him? “What if no one wants to be my friend?”

                Sirius sighed heavily as he kneeled on the ground and cupped Harry’s cheeks. “You are going to make many friends. Probably too many to count.” He smiled softly at the wonder in those bright eyes. “Even if for some crazy reason, you don’t make a friend, I’ll always be your friend. Isn’t that enough?”

                “No.” Came the quick reply. It had Sirius rolling his eyes at his sassy godson. Harry must get that from Remus.

                “Why can’t Moony be here? He wouldn’t make me go in.”

                That had Sirius dropping his hands in defeat and adopting a pout. “I see how it is, Remus is your favorite.”

                When Harry nodded his head, Sirius let out a playful growl. “You aren’t supposed to agree!” He tickled Harry and relished the joyful squeals the boy released. He couldn’t fault Harry for preferring Remus over him. The werewolf was his favorite person too.

                “If you go in there, I promise that I’ll let you help me cheer up Remus when you get home.” Harry didn’t understand anything about the full moon or what was going on but he was smart enough at his age to know that the full moon makes Remus sad. The man was resting in bed recovering after yesterday’s transformation.

                By the way Harry’s eyes lit up and a soft gasp escaped, he knew that he had won. Despite this, he couldn’t help but pray to any higher power that Harry really would make a friend. Any friend would do.

———————————————————————

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little tattoos part iii

hello!

this is part three of my reddie soulmate fic

read part one here and two here

thank you guys so much for all the love on this fic. Please read my notes on the bottom as they are important! ty!

summary: a soulmate au where everyone has a tattoo exactly like their soulmate

pairing: eddie and richie

words:  2233



Eddie woke up even more exhausted than he was when he fell asleep. He let a breath out of his mouth and took in a long one through his nose. He kept his eyes shut. He wasn’t ready to face the world yet.

Everything he loved was gone, he suddenly realized. This thought jolted him awake, causing him to sit straight up in a panic. It hadn’t occurred to him that he lost everything yesterday. All of his friends were bound to know. They all hung out together. They were the Loser’s Club and Eddie had ruined that. They could never all hang out anymore as Eddie couldn’t bear to be in the same room as Richie, let alone even think about him. He started to really panic, then.

His breathing was rapid and shallow and his hands were shaking violently. Eddie got up, stumbling, trying to find his damned inhaler. It wasn’t in his pocket, nor his backpack, or on his desk. He couldn’t breathe. At this point, he didn’t know if it was even an asthma attack anymore, or if it was one in the first place. It was so much worse. His head was spinning and he couldn’t see anymore. It was in his jacket, he remembered suddenly.

Eddie collapsed on the ground, catching himself with his hands as he tried to steady his breathing, but nothing was working. His heart was racing and he couldn’t stop shaking. Eddie was sobbing uncontrollably, his vision blurred from the tears. He didn’t know what was happening. His lungs felt constricted and he couldn’t get any air in. He was hyperventilating, trying to breathe but couldn’t. He tried to move towards his jacket that was hanging on the back of his chair. He was shaking so badly that he could barely move. His hand grasped the chair, pulling it and knocking it over. The light blue inhaler fell out of the pocket of his coat, landing a couple inches away from him. He grabbed it, instantly feeling as if he could breathe again when he took his first two puffs of medicine.

An hour passed before Eddie could stand again. HIs legs were shaky but he managed to get to his bathroom. He found it odd that his mother hadn’t come to get him yet until he realized that it was four in the morning. Eddie knew he couldn’t go to school, but he couldn’t stay home ‘sick’ as his mother would take him to the hospital. He washed his face with some water and laid back down and attempted to fall asleep.

His mother woke him up at 7 am and tried to get him to take his pills as she did every morning. He walked out of the house and rode his bike to park. Eddie read there all day. He needed to take a breather and reading was his escape. The cool breeze against his skin calmed him even more as he closed his eyes and rested his head against the tree he was sitting up against. It was odd to feel so peaceful. At three o'clock, he headed home as if he had gone to school.

“Eddie bear, how was school?” She asked from her chair in the living room.

“Fine.” He responded quietly, heading upstairs and into his room.

Eddie felt bad about lying, not going to school, but he knew he couldn’t face Richie, Bill, or anyone for that matter. He checked his cut from the previous day, and it was still healing properly. That was one less thing for him to worry about. Eddie laid back on his bed, sighing. Could his life get any worse?


“W-W-What did you d-do?” Bill demanded, slamming his Chemistry book down on the loser’s lunch table. He was beyond pissed.

   Richie looked up at Bill through his coke bottle lenses. Stan was pissed too, standing behind him with crossed arms and narrowed eyes. “I didn’t do anything!” He defended, pushing his glasses further up on his nose. “I-”

   “Where is Eddie?” Stan interjected, sliding into the seat across from Richie. “He isn’t here today and he was supposed to tell you how he felt yesterday. What the hell did you do to him, Richie?”

   Richie scoffed. “So that’s why he was avoiding me.”

   Bill looked at him confused. “W-What do you mean av-av-avoiding you?”

   Richie rolled his eyes. “You know when someone doesn’t talk to you and walks different routes in the hallways so they don’t see you. Gee, Bill, I thought you were smart.” He replied sarcastically, sticking his plastic fork into eerily yellow mashed potatoes.

   Stan leaned forward on his elbows. “So, if he avoided you, why isn’t he here?”

   Richie let out an exasperated sigh, leaning backward in his chair. “He told me in the gym locker room, alright?”

   Bill sat down next to Stan, looking at Richie to egg him on.

   Richie sighed again. “And I was too shocked to do anything and he ran out crying.”

   “Richie!”

   “Hey! I tried to go to his house and apologize and he slammed the window shut. He wouldn’t listen to me.” Richie grumbled. “I really tried! But I have a plan.”

   Stan and Bill exchanged glances. Bill nodded a little and Stan sighed. “What’s your plan?”

   Richie sat up straight. “You two need to convince him to come over. Say it’s everyone but me.”

   Bill frowned. “H-He’s not gonna b-b-believe us, Rich.”

   “Make him believe you! I need to talk to him. I need to explain.” Richie protested, running a hand through his hair.

   Bill nodded. “I’ll t-try.”

   Richie looked at Stan, who was staring down at the table. “Stan?”

   “I’m not gonna help you if all you’re gonna do is break his heart. He doesn’t deserve that, Richie.” He deadpanned.

   Richie was offended and a look of hurt flashed across his face before he composed himself. “I am not going to hurt Eddie!”

   “Sure, telling him you only wanna be his friend isn’t gonna hurt him.”

   “This is the one time I’m not being a sarcastic dipshit, Stanley! Are you listening? I said I’m not going to hurt him. I would never hurt him. I love him!” Richie slammed his fist on the table, causing a few kids to look over at them. “Did you hear that?”

   Stan nodded.

   “At least they didn’t cut off your ears like they cut off your dick.” Richie spat, getting up and walking away. The bell rang moments later. Bill grabbed his bookbag and stood up, gently nudging Stan to do the same. Richie was standing near his locker, attempting to open it but getting the combination wrong.

   “Richie-”

   “What, Stanley? What the hell do you want?” Richie practically growled, turning and glaring at Stan. If looks could kill, he would be dead ten times over.

   “I’ll help.”

   Richie’s hard stare softened a little. “Thanks. I’m sorry I got mad but you gotta admit that line was good.” A small smile crept onto his face, and even Stan chuckled a bit.

   Bill was assigned the job to get Eddie over, and Stan was to get everyone else in on the plan. He walked up to Eddie’s door and knocked. There was shuffling and a shout of “I got it” from Eddie. He opened the door and saw Bill, his face paled a little.

   “H-Hi,” Bill said quietly. “C-Could we talk?”

   Eddie glanced behind him for a moment to see if his mom had fallen back asleep or not before nodding and stepping outside, shutting the door behind him. “What do you wanna talk about because I’m not gonna talk about him.” He put emphasis on the word him. He sounded angry, disgusted, even. He laced his fingers together, still a bit shaky from his panic attack this morning.

   “N-No. The group w-wants you to come over. Minus R-R-Richie.”

   “Oh, no. I am not falling for that. He’s gonna be there when I get there and I don’t want to talk to him.”

   Bill shook his head. “Please? I-I-It’s movie night. You can p-pick.”

   Eddie glared at the ground, trying to work the request over in his head. He finally let out a long sigh and nodded. “Fine.”

   They rode their bikes to Bill’s house in silence, neither of them knowing what to say, so they said nothing. Eddie set his bike up against the house as he always did, following Bill inside. Georgie greeted the both of them with a hello and a smile.

   “H-Head to the living room, I-I-I’ll get the snacks,” Bill said, heading to the kitchen. Eddie nodded, walking towards the living room. He walked in, glancing around the room at the various decorations on the wall. Paintings and pictures of their family were scattered around the room. It felt homey.

   Eddie was jolted out of his thoughts when he heard the door shut. He turned his head to look, only to find Richie standing there. His breath hitched in his throat and he knew he had paled. It wasn’t even five seconds before he started to get angry. He knew this was a set-up.

   “I fucking knew it,” Eddie grumbled.

   “Eddie-” Richie started, but Eddie had had enough.

   “No, Richie. I don’t want to hear it. I’m really not in the mood to listen to you tell me you don’t feel the same way and that you hope we can be friends. Because we can’t be friends, Richie! I don’t want to be your friend. I can’t be your damn friend.

   Richie Tozier was silenced by Eddie for the second time that week. It was a new record. He composed himself before stepping forward. “If you let me show you something, I promise I will leave you alone.”

   Eddie was shocked that Richie was being serious. He was never serious in all the time he’s known the guy. He was always cracking inappropriate jokes at the wrong time. Despite all of his instinct to say no, Eddie nodded.

   Richie let out a sigh of relief before spitting onto his hand.

   “That is disgusting! What the hell are you-” Eddie cut himself off as he watched Richie take his spit and use it to smudge his soulmate tattoo off his skin. It wasn’t real. This whole time, Eddie thought that Richie had a soulmate. It was fake.

   Richie watched Eddie for a moment before deciding to explain himself. “My mom used to tell me I would be made fun of for not having a soulmate. That I wouldn’t fit in. So, one night I decided to draw one on every morning so I would fit in. It sounds shitty and kind of is but- Eds are you listening?”

   Eddie walked forward and grabbed Richie’s hand. He was holding back the urge to cringe, as Richie’s saliva was now on his hand. Richie didn’t understand what Eddie was doing. He let him move his finger until it was placed right next to the corresponding one on Eddie’s hand. Under Richie’s tattoo that he drew on, was a small, circular and blotchy birthmark. It was identical to Eddie’s.

   “What the fuck,” Eddie announced. A smile spread across Richie’s face while Eddie started to ramble. “What does this mean? Are these soulmate tattoos? They look like birthmarks! Why the hell would this be a soul-”

   Richie grabbed his face in his hands, leaning in and pressing his chapped lips onto Eddie’s soft ones. Eddie was stiff for a moment before he melted into the kiss and started to do the same that Richie was. Eddie was unsure where to put his hands or what to even do. Before he could react, Richie pulled away, slowly opening his eyes to find Eddie completely red.

   “I love you too, Eds.”

   Eddie had a content smile on his face. “Don’t call me that, Trashmouth.”

   “Ah, Trashmouth, what a nickname. You really know how to charm the boys.” Richie sassed, throwing his arm over Eddie’s shoulder. “Shall we tell the rest of the losers that Bill and Stan have competition?”

   Eddie and Richie showed the rest of the group their tattoos. Stan had this smug look of “I told you so” written across his face and so did Bill. They ended up watching a rom-com, much to Eddie’s dismay. Richie kept his arm around the smaller boy the whole night, pressing chaste kisses to his forehead every once and awhile.

   Richie and Eddie rode back to their houses together that night. They arrived at Eddie’s house first, both of them silent.

   “Gee, you could cut this sexual tension with a knife.” Richie joked, leaning forward on the handlebars of his bike.

   Eddie rolled his eyes, using his kickstand to stand his bike up next to his porch as he always did. Richie hopped off his bike, letting it lay on the ground. He walked up to Eddie, pinching his cheek. “So, Eddie Spaghetti, where do you wanna go on our first date of being fuckbuddies?”

   “You ruined it.” Eddie sighed, slapping his hand away.

   “I didn’t ruin anything!” Richie retorted, smiling. “I made it better.”

   “Okay, Tozier,” Eddie said, leaning forward and kissing Richie briefly.

   Richie had a smile plastered on his face. “Goodnight, Eds.”

   “Goodnight, Trashmouth,” Eddie said before he shut the door. He quietly snuck up the stairs. His mom was still asleep in her chair. He fell back on his bed, a content smile on his face.

   Eddie Kaspbrak was happy.


SO HELLO HERE ARE A FEW NOTES PLS READ TYSM

this ending is ending a. i wrote two endings because i couldnt decide which i liked better

so ending b will be posted after part four as a bonus lil chapter thingy

you can decide whichever you prefer to be canon as i love them both

also im really self concious about this part so please give me your honest feedback ilysm

let me know if you want an epilouge! i would be down to write it

masterlist

talk to me/request to be on tag list

tysm for reading

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Who Killed Markiplier

This is an analysis of the ‘drunk’ scene. It’s long, so press read more if willing. This won’t include every single scene, especially ones that repeat. Just notable things. Some of the images are hard to see, as they flashed by in short moment, with all the drugged effects, making them hard to decern without motion. I provide a bit of context.

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Ignore me asking for my deposit? That's cool, you can just pay me triple then.

A few years back I rented a duplex. I lived in it, I moved out. Nothing special. During the move-out inspection they did the standard landlord thing and looked for any excuse to deduct from the deposit.

They knew from the lease agreement that we had pets, so of course the first thing the inspector says entering the house is “I smell animals, we’ll have to charge you to cost of getting a special pet odor removing cleaning service.” We were right there to call him on his bullshit with the invoice and paperwork from the cleaning service that already did a comprehensive clean, including a pet odor package. He quickly dropped that bullshit.

Then he found a carpet stain which, despite everyone’s best efforts, never completely came out. Fair enough. We were relieved that they didn’t take much off for that at all. Then he took a little more off for having to patch some holes where we hung photos. In the end we were still owed at least 80-90% of our original deposit.

They also told us we need to keep the utilities running in our name for a week after we move out so they can do some work on the place. This wasn’t in our lease as something that’s required of us, but I was nice and extended my utilities an extra week for them. Then they told us to extend the utilities another two weeks because they weren’t done. Enough was enough so I told them no.

They gave us a statement of how much our deposit was, how much they deducted and for what, and how much was left over for us. By the books… until they didn’t actually deliver it. I tried giving them the benefit of the doubt but they had our mailing address for our next place and it never turned up. I called them, e-mailed them twice a week asking if they’ve mailed it or if I can just pick it up from their office. No answer, no reply. They were completely ghosting us.

We found out that the state law says if your deposit (minus deductions) isn’t paid within 30 days of vacating, you can take your landlord to court for up to three times the amount of the original deposit, no deductions. We read and studied this law well and concluded that there’s no reason we shouldn’t be able to fight this and win, no lawyer required. A $90 filing fee later and our landlord was served notice of our intent. Then wooooah, whaddayaknow! After all that ghosting for 45-ish days, the day after we filed our petition we get an e-mail from the landlord saying he sees that we’re wanting to take legal action but has a tremendous offer for us to settle out of court: the full deposit, no deductions, plus the $90 filing fee back.

Fuck their low ball offer. I replied reminding them that I can force them to pay three times the deposit, but I will settle out of court for just twice the deposit. Did I need to settle? I don’t know, the law says up to three times, so I guess I was worried that if it actually went to court, a judge might decide that the circumstances aren’t bad enough to warrant that much more money for me, so it might not be worth the trouble. Twice was good enough for me, and making them lose money over it was what I was going for anyways.

They agreed immediately, and said I could pick up the check at their office. When I stopped by, what still confuses me to this day was that they still insisted on showing me the report of all the the things wrong with the house that they had to deduct from the original deposit, like I gave a fuck at that point. That ship had sailed. They were paying me twice the full deposit anyways. They could stick their petty, unfulfilled deductions up their ass.

Closing thoughts: Do landlords do this often? Why would they just blatantly withhold your deposit without giving a reason? Do they think people won’t fight for it back? Do the people who don’t fight it outnumber the ones that do, meaning they can make a profit by withholding everyone’s deposit by default?