i will have to take a new picture with all of my books because i have a big collection now

What about the RFA and Unknown and V finding out that MC has a career in the arts (author, artist, actor or something like that?) @saeranlover


Lol it’s been like 5,000 years since I’ve done a request, here you go bbies

Yoosung:

  • It was always a lingering thought in Yoosung’s mind
  • The thought always came randomly, but sometimes he swore that he  recognized your voice
  • Like the one time you yelled “Come at me!” at a friend who was teasing you and he just froze for a second to think about why it sounded familiar
  • It wasn’t until one day he was testing out a LOLOL character he’s never played before and she screamed out a line of dialogue before her attack
  • And suddenly he heard your voice behind him perfectly recreate the line
  • He turned around to see you cheekily grinning from your place on the bed
  • But it was wiped off your face soon enough because baby boi just pounced you into a big hug
  • “MC WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME YOU VOICED A CHARACTER IN LOLOL I WOULD’VE PLAYED AS HER MORE OFTEN IF I KNEW.”
  • You giggled as he rapidly asked you other things you voice acted in and gawked when he recognized the other characters you’ve voiced in games and cartoons
  • He’ll shyly ask you to reenact his favorite lines or scenes and his inner fanboy will show
  • Yoosung’s never really been into the behind the scenes stuff but he already somewhat was a fan of yours before so he’s basically dating his favorite VA
  • Silly lil’ peanut is gonna ask for your autograph on his merch of the characters you’ve voiced

Jaehee:

  • She found out during one of your nights in
  • You were in the kitchen preparing the snacks while Jaehee sorted through the set of musicals the two of you had rented for tonight (you finally convinced her that watching ‘Promiscuous Jalapeno’ for the 8th time in a row was a little much)
  • Once that was all said and done, you cuddled up to Jaehee while the movie started as she fed you popcorn
  • Oh crap, you recognized this movie
  • You actually got the part of the main dancer in this film (it was your typical dance batte film)
  • You somewhat never wanted her to find out  that you were an actor/dancer in fear of always being compared to Zen
  • Once your character was introduced, Jaehee’s eyes squinted a little at the screen before gasping and shaking your shoulders
  • “MC, MC, IS THAT YOU?”
  • “U-uhm nooooo…?”
  • “Wait, why would you keep this secret from me?”
  • After explaining your reasoning as to why, she just pulled you into a tight hug
  • “I’d never compare you anyone else, I love you just the way you are, famous or not!”
  • After watching the movie, she put aside the time to scour the internet for every performance you’ve been in and is about to be the proud owner of all your merch
  • jaehee please no that was our grocery money

Zen:

  • “lolol zen have you seen mc’s latest cover?”
  • “Cover? What’re you talking about?”
  • “the one on her youtube channel???”
  • “…”
  • “you do know what she does for a living, right??”
  • After Seven endlessly mocked Zen for not knowing what his own girlfriend did for a living, Seven graciously provided the link to your Youtube channel
  • Zen then proceeded to spend the next 3 hours of his life going through
  • your entire channel
  • He knew that you liked to sing and sounded like an angel but this
  • This is something extraordinary
  • You actually made a living doing this and he never even knew!
  •  He finally made his way up to your latest cover (which was uploaded about a week ago), and HO L Y  C R A P
  • It was the song he’s practiced at home for months on end for a musical he recently just starred in!
  • When you get home that night, you’re bombarded with compliments and questions (mostly compliments)
  • You explained that you never recorded around him because you were afraid that he might’ve thought you were going to use him for popularity
  • “Babe, I know you would never do that NOW WILL YOU PLEASE DUET WITH ME–”
  • Guess who has the best mashup cover of ‘Butterfly’ now

Jumin:

  • Coming home a few hours early was indeed a rare occurrence for Jumin
  • Usually when he came home, you were instantly there to greet him with a hug and kiss
  • He called your name, but there was no response, just a faint typing sound
  • After hanging his coat on the coat hanger, he began walking towards the noise, his hands already working on loosening his tie
  • “Ah, here you are, my love,” he said upon entering the officeroom
  • “Jumin, you’re home early,” you smiled, letting your husband wrap his arms around your shoulders and resting his chin atop your head
  • “The office had to close early for some renovations,” Jumin explained, “but I’m more interested in what you’re working on.”
  • “I’m working on my next book!”
  • The surprised look on his face made you remember that you never brought it up to him before, but now is as good as time as any to explain
  • Jumin seemed genuinely intrigued as he listened to your explanation on your book series, which was apparently very popular
  • When you finished, he asked if you could lend him the first addition, as he did enjoy reading in his spare time
  • And soon enough, he was hooked
  • He’d have long talks with you over dinner on how he wasn’t expecting a plot twist or how well you wrote your characters
  • Or about how you should hurry and finish the next book because you left him on a cliffhanger

707:

  • He’s known since the background check that you had a job in digital art but he tucked that away in the back of his head because there were too many other things happening at the time (eg the hacker, your sudden appearance, his emotions and job…)
  • It isn’t until one day where he’s been able to work for a few hours straight without you lecturing him about how he should take a break
  • So he got up from his chair, slapped his right leg a few times to wake it up, and ventured outside his office to find you
  • To no surprise, you were huddled inside in the bedroom, but this time with your drawing tablet in hand
  • “Hey Saeyoung,” you tiredly muttered, eyes still glued to the laptop screen
  • His eyes trailed to where you were looking and a look of mock hurt morphed on his face, “MC, how dare you draw a picture of another man!”
  • You stifled a laugh at your boyfriend’s dramatic tone, “Zen just asked me to draw some things for his website so I’m–”
  • You should me drawing me instead! Here, I’ll even pose for you!” 
  • You regret even looking behind you, because Saeyoung was already stripping down to his boxers, need I remind you the pair with cat faces on them
  • “DRAW ME LIKE ONE OF YOUR FRENCH GIRLS.”
  • “SAEYOUNG PUT YOUR CLOTHES BACK ON AND GET TO BACK TO WORK!”

V:

  • Usually you were making some sort of noise in the house, but today you were oddly quiet
  • “MC? Where are you?”
  • “I’m in the living room,” you hollered back as he started making his way over, “Be careful not to bump my arm though.”
  • “What’re you doing?” he asked, taking a seat on the floor next to you
  • You explained that you liked paint and used it as a way to make some extra pocket money
  • V was very happy and excited to hear that you had an artistic career just like him
  • You were always delighted to describe the paintings to him, and you always did it with such passion
  • After awhile, he started to miss photography and he so badly wanted to see your work for himself
  • So he decided to get the eye surgery
  • Once he did, he was shocked at how much he can see your heart poured onto the canvas
  • You often went out into nature together and sit there together for hours to photograph/paint and enjoy one another’s company
  • You also loved painting some of V’s older photographs and he loved it and every single one is framed in the house
  • #artsycouple
  • The day you painted a picture of the sun and gave it to him, he cried

Unknown:

  • The first time Saeran ever walked into your room, his eyes immediately darted to the big, colorful collection of sticky note pads on your desk
  • He picked one up, noting that every one had a slightly different drawing than the others, “What’re these for?”
  • “Oh, I’m an animator! I like to use these sticky notes when I’m bored.”
  • He never got to watch cartoons as a child so this was all new to him
  • Watching you peacefully work is very, very soothing to him, to just watch the lines fill with color so smoothly
  • You even let him have some of your already drawn-on sticky note pads and he likes to flip through them when he’s nervous or needs to calm down when something’s bothering him
  • His favorite is the one you made for him where it goes “I love you, Saeran!” with a cute little doodle of a cartoony-looking you kissing his cheek on it
  • As mentioned before, he never got to watch cartoons or movies as a kid and he’s willing to watch the ones you’ve worked on
  • It always amazes him that you made what was on the screen and he loves it (he’s never said it out loud but it shows on his face)
  • He really enjoys the ones that are story-based rather than the nonsense slapstick ones (which is what Saeyoung enjoys, much to his dismay)
  • Seeing the childlike innocence in his eyes is heartwarming and you wouldn’t trade it for the world 

I respect the opinion of my elders, but just an open query about the charges brought against my generation:

For not working hard enough: where is the evidence. When we were younger you told us you started from a small job and climbed your way to the top. When we are flipping burgers it’s because we didn’t apply ourselves. When you did it, it was shouldering the future by suffering in the present. When we ask for the money to buy bread, it is shameful. When others went on strike in the name of labor conditions, it was heroic. When we ask for more, we never deserve it. So how did you get here? Did you never sit up and demand the world give you what was rightfully yours? How hard working is hard enough?

We are illerate, use slang instead of language, shun poetry: did I just imagine the “rad” bloom of the 70’s? Is it because you can’t catch our tongues in your hands? Is it because our poetry is now published beyond books, beyond the control of one voice, beyond you? That our language doesn’t need your approval to evolve? When you drew political pictures of us asking how to turn a book on, you laughed at our ignorance. When the tables turned, when we were shown to be the most literate and well-read generation on record, you scratched the mirror. You said it was our lazy nature. A body rotting. Because we read trash, or we read into things, or we write loudly and it bothers you. Why does it bother you?

School is too easy: What was it like going to school without being worried about a shooting? Did you ever cower like we have, like I did, like our friends, crying muffled in your hands because you love your parents and now have no time to tell them? What was it like, dear, in a world where my standardized testing scores would have broken your curve and I didn’t even get perfect. What part is the easy part. Is it the highest recorded level of anxiety? Is it the rising teenage suicide rates? Is it the eating disorders, body dismorphia, self harm, self destruction? Tell me, have you seen - there’s a show called “Are you Smarter Than A 5th Grader.” It’s very funny. In it, bright young kids show adults that what we’re learning didn’t even exist in common knowledge while they were in school. Tell me. If you were up against our 5th grade curriculum, who would win? No, I’m sure you’re fine. You learned it all in high school.

We want too many free things: What was it like to want for nothing? What was it like to have a certainty that hard work leads to a bright future. What was it like imagining being rich instead of imagining just being rich enough to eat good food. What was it like, not being worried that a broken leg would cost you an entire apartment? Do you know they hate us so much they would rather see us die than bring down the price of an EpiPen. And since I know you love the idea of us abusing the system, tell me, where do I go to expose the lie about my life-threatening allergy? How do I fake it, because I’d like to opt out of it, and while I’m at it my mental illness, and while I’m at it can you take my chronic pain please. And since I know that the answer is to go to school and get a degree so I can be worthy of not dying, just another question: are you aware fifty thousand dollars a year is equivalent to a house. I could buy a house instead of going to college. Since you’re good at this, while we’re talking, I have two siblings. Which of the three of us gets the money? Go on. Look at us. Choose. Who goes hungry?

We’re entitled: yes, please, give me a deed, give me land, give me better than winning the lottery. What I’m entitled to is life, liberty and the pursuit of profit, am I not? So where are any of the above? Where did the jobs go? Why do you jail people for small crimes but free the criminals? And my life? This life? I end where my body begins, I am cut off from the nation’s decisions about what I can put in or take out of me. And me? I’m safe because I’m white-passing. Don’t the bodies pile up? Aren’t we entitled to justice? Aren’t we entitled to an answer? A response from the government? More than just speeches about how riots won’t solve things? Aren’t we entitled to a fair trial? To freedom of speech? Was it not our common fathers who fought for these things?

We’re lazy: Where? Who has the money? I’ve been working since I was 12, am I just an anomaly? Or do you just ignore those who don’t fit your story? All those student-run engineering projects that are changing history. All those protests. The art world, shifting. All these adults who demand more - do they count as lazy or as entitled? What were you doing at our age? Did it really look all that different?

We don’t listen to real music, don’t like real art, are loud, are too busy partying: We changed and you didn’t keep up. Is that’s what’s so startling?

We are sucked up into the Internet, wouldn’t drop the phone if the apocalypse was happening: my phone has my family on the other end of it. Do you not save pictures from a burning building? Do you really care so little for others you’d stick to the old ways entirely instead of texting? Oh sure, yes, a letter is pretty, I love them. But just asking for a friend: What do I do in an emergency with only a pencil. And I don’t mean to downsize the problem because I mean it’s not like you took Polaroids of your friends at sunset - right? - and it’s definitely wrong of us to want memories of a really nice night, but, just curious, did you post that opinion on the Internet? Was seeing others on the Web what made you upset? Maybe - this is just a crazy idea that popped up into my head - you should go take a walk, go outside, disconnect.

We do everything different: Yes. Because we were raised on the cusp of the next great Renaissance. We are in somewhere new, a galaxy of expansion that doesn’t rely on you. That knows more than you do. That doesn’t function the way you expect it to. How rose-colored is the past to you? The place where you erase AIDS and drug abuse in an effort to tell us we are a terrible youth. Where you don’t talk about the marches that happened around you. How painted do you picture it, simply because you had to physically look in a book to learn something new? How do you turn your eyes to a world where war sits on our necks, our earth melts, our populations swell, our people starve, and we are powerless in it all - and say, “It’s your fault.”

It’s our fault. The housing market, somehow related to our obsessive need for safe spaces, I’m sure, because our dreams no longer lie in yards but rather something big enough for at least a bed, and hopefully with tasteful curtains, and you have no idea what a safe space is. The certain failure of the two-party political system, maybe somehow due to our political correctness - we are, after all, rude enough to never open doors for old ladies or just let you be racist - how we controlled the media, how our desires drove this. Our request for trigger warnings and correct pronouns is a burden, and I see that now, because our special snowflake syndrome really does hurt you as a person; while your ongoing use of torture in corrective therapy is only a problem if you’re actually looking. You’re so right about so many things. When you beat us to correct us, it’s your child and it’s your right; when it’s our bodies we ask to have rights over - well, what did we expect? It’s our fault. The crushing debt, the companies that own our government, the privatization of prisons, the unrightful searches, the human trafficking and abuse of sex workers, the gun violence, the pharmaceutical industries which control our doctor’s choices, the climate change you only just started to admit is happening, the extinction of species worldwide - we are responsible for both pollution and poaching, the lead in our water, the death in our streets. So what do you get from it? From dismissing us? From quitting on us before the race begins? From forgetting who exactly raised us kids?

Now, I was told that the problem is that we too often point to bigotry. That we hide behind pointing out your sexist comments instead of realizing the truth your words wrought. I was told we are so focused on our victories, of a world that rallied for marriage equality, for gender expression, for the safety of survivors, for a healing nation - we call out instead of calling on. So I’m calling on you, Generation X kids. Here’s your free one. No bigotry spoken of. So speak. Explain what exactly you mean.

I get it. We asked for a country. The land is borrowed from your children, they tell me.

Now why are you so afraid when we show up and start collecting?

I imagine them laying on the dusty floor of their living room, surrounded by half-full boxes and bits and pieces that still need to be put away. It’s been a few hours since they have started packing all their stuff and it still feels a bit weird. Like. They’re actually moving out. They’re doing it. It’s about damn time, they think, given that the place is literally falling apart. But, wow. It feels weird.
They’re taking a small break now and they’re quietly staring into each other’s eyes. The silence is full of unspoken words but it’s not uncomfortable. They both know what the other is thinking. “We’re taking a big step. We’re committing to (hopefully) several years of living together”. But it doesn’t sound that scary, does it? After all these years. Yeah, well, it is. It’s a hell of a step they’re about to take. They’re not in their early twenties anymore. It’s not a game anymore. It’s a real commitment. Nothing is going to change and, at the same time, everything will be different. New place, new neighbours, new furniture. Well, it does sound a bit exciting.
They both sigh making each other smile. They get up and start packing again, as if they had never stopped.
Living in this apartment has been a hell of a ride, but, looking around, they both think it was worth it. The place is full of them. In every room, on every wall, there’s a piece of them. A photo. A CD. The long lost sock under the bed. There are things everywhere. Things they have collected along this crazy five-year journey. Things that were given to them, things they’ve bought each other for the five Christmases they have spent in this house. Whilst packing they realise how many years they’ve been together. There is some hella old stuff in there and the fact that they’ve kept every cinema ticket, bracelet and post-it is so cheesy.
They pack everything, picture after picture, book after book, mug after mug.
They shed nostalgic tears every once in a while. They laugh at some weird object they didn’t even remember owning. They hug a lot, it makes things easier to bear or so it seems.
At the end of what it had seemed like a never-ending process, the place looks quite scary. It’s deserted. It almost hurts seeing it like this, without paintings on the wall or DVDs and books on the shelves.
And it’s in that moment that they get it: home isn’t a place.
Think about it: if you empty your home from all the things you own it’s not your home anymore. It’s a shell. Home is what fills the place. No, wait. Home is
who fills the place. Because a place with no Dan is not home to Phil as much as a place with no Phil is not a home to Dan. It’s just how it is.
And with that in mind, they close the front door behind them.

5

Here’s my @aftgexchange summer gift for @boydsten , who asked for Andreil with kids!

I hope you like it!

I’ve included some personal headcanons about this particular Minyard-Josten child under the cut, but I will also recommend these two amazing kidfics; A Legacy of Two by ninaalegre and Noah Minyard-Josten by Aleekae, if you haven’t read them yet. Admittedly a few of my headcanons are borrowed or inspired by them so.. Yeah.

Happy Summer! :D

Keep reading

voltron witch au

i was inspired to share my personal headcanons for @catnippacketswitch au !! their headcanons may differ from mine, but this is simply my elaboration off of their idea!

lance: water/sea witch

  • so many sea trinkets
  • shells, rocks, sand, driftwood, salt water, beach glass etc.
  • a lot of them are scattered around his room; on windowsills, tucked next to picture frames, decorating his workspace.
  • others he likes to turn into jewelry
  • loves making + enchanting jewelry, is very generous and enjoys giving his creations to his friends
    • “sorry you had a bad day, i added a charm to this cone shell necklace i made for you for protection”
    • “sand dollar dust for good luck! go get ‘em, buddy!”
  • meditates a lot, always trying to remain Cool, Calm, and Collected™
  • is actually A Mess the majority of the time, emotions very similar to the ocean’s tides
    • has the most trouble keeping his sacral chakra balanced (emotions, sexuality, self expression)
  • strong connection with the moon, performs a lot of rituals to better connect w + understand her
  • (though he considers himself secular)
  • aromatherapy!
  • is a very sentimental person, and strong emotions buried deep inside of him can be drawn out by certain scents
  • he’s not afraid of his emotions, and therefore has shown great interest in aromatherapy
  • often asks keith to make incense for him using his essential oils
  • cause lance is bad at it and keith is a pro (but lance’ll never admit that)
  • his grimoire is an absolute Mess
  • just a shitty torn up blue composition book covered in stickers and sigils and messages from his friends
  • he just shoves shit in it there’s no organization whatsoever
    • “lance i just wanted to compare correspondences my lap is literally covered in sand right now”
  • bath magic !!!! super into glamour and bath magic
  • has tried to make his own beauty products but found that pass-times such as baking aren’t high-up on his list of talents
  • sometimes him and hunk will make products for lance together, but most of the time lance will just buy some trustworthy and organic products from his favorite metaphysical shop or flea markets
  • lifetime supply of rosewater
  • poplar wand - feeling - (water) emotions, feelings, sensitivity, intuition, empathy, dance, instincts.
  • grip made of fabric from an old, beaten up Childhood Baby Blanket
  • is almost always humming and will 100% get a new song stuck in your head everyday
    • sings during rituals
    • sounds like an irl siren
    • beware

keith: fire/desert witch

  • lots of rituals
  • rituals involve lots of dancing (which he’s actually very good at)
  • uses his athame in every and any way possible - often incorporates it in his dancing
  • technically considers himself wiccan, but dislikes labels
  • worships the major planetary bodies in our solar system, though mainly focuses on the sun and moon
  • is a peaceful witch until provoked, then will show no remorse when he curses/hexes ur ass sorry honey
    • shiro always tries to convince him not to, but he isn’t normally very successful
    • lance and pidge are both total enablers for cursing lmao get him
    • everyone is so surprised when hunk; sweet, kind, caring hunk, encourages keith’s habit
  • (but lance could never actually curse someone, he just lives for drama)
  • (pidge could)
  • (pidge will)
  • writes everything in charcoal
  • constantly covered in charcoal
    • lance: uhh dude you got a little *points to the smear of charcoal on keith’s cheek*
    • keith: oh thanks *wipes cheek with charcoal covered hand* did i get it?
    • lance: yep yes yeah you got it buddy
  • burns written spells/sigils to activate them
  • just burns everything tbh
    • “split ends? no no, i lit my hair on fire”
  • no feeling in fingertips lol
  • makes incense for lance despite the massive headaches he gets from the strong scents
  • dabbles in blood magic
  • candles + wax everywhere
  • enjoys making different salts
  • endless supply of fire-salt
  • owns one (1) cactus
  • enjoys different textures and fabrics, therefore owns a bunch of tapestries and altar cloths
  • has world’s shittiest handwriting, but has a really cool (fake) leather-bound grimoire that he found on a road trip in the mid west
  • doesn’t remember the shop name
  • doesn’t remember the shop

pidge: green + tech witch

  • herbalism!
  • loves making jars + bottles using their own herbs
    • sometimes uses some of hunks crystals
    • or any other objects of importance, depending on the spell
  • seriously though their room is a mess it’s fllled with plants on shelves and hanging and on the floor
  • jars and bottles everywhere
  • random pieces of tech all over the place
  • do they have an actual floor? who knows
  • corners of their room are covered in mold and moss and there’s dirt all over the place
  • dirt under fingernails 24/7
  • relies heavily on their pendulum when making literally any decision ever, ranging from:
    • “should i eat this sandwich labeled ‘hunk’?”
    • to
    • “should i pack up my shit and leave to find my family (whom i cherish and love more than anything in this plane of existence), completely disregarding the safety of the entire universe and the fact that i will backhandedly and indirecting be the one responsible for the rise of the galra empire?”
  • recently got into making elixirs/potions (from hunk)
  • makes special gem elixirs to water their plants with
  • makes different ones depending on the type of plant and or what problem it’s having
  • sigils on everything
  • writes in anything they can - dirt, spit, tears, blood
  • pretty low-key tech witch, just really likes tech + adds simple magicks into their work
    • writes chants + spells in HTML
    • desktop background sigils
    • emoji spells
    • etc
  • e-grimoire that’s surprisingly pretty organized
  • only because its digital tbh they can’t keep papers and folders organized for shit
  • see: their room

hunk: kitchen/cottage + green witch

  • loves all types of cooking, but baking particularly!  
  • loves gardening
  • very generous!!!! loves giving!!!!!!!
  • bonds with pidge over plants :’)
  • has a shared greenhouse with them
    • they each have one half of the greenhouse, but they help each other out with their plants when needed
  • loves comparing grimoires with his friends
  • his grimoire is a big file-folder looking journal
  • it’s pretty tidy and he puts a lot of effort into it, but he’s not super artistically inclined when it comes to paper and pencil so it’s rather plain
  • though he is very crafty in other ways!!
  • super into knot work
  • picked up/dabbles in a little jewelry making thanks to lance
    • though he uses his crystals as jewelry pieces, not sea trinkets
  • crystal healer!
  • is! such! a! good! healer!
  • basically always has a stable root chakra
  • steady as a rock (or so he lets on)
  • always grounding himself
  • sometimes he’ll have to take off his shoes to better ground himself, but he’s become so good with his chakras that he normally doesn’t need to
    • actually experiences his emotions like a Normal Teenager should, but has taken on the self-appointed role of being his friends anchor
  • really enjoys tea and makes blends for himself and his friends
    • pidge is absolutely hooked on hunk’s tea for getting rid of cramps…God Bless………………..
    • tries not to rely on superstition, but indulges in the occasional tea leaf reading
  • his room has lots of shelves/cabinets because he likes having as much walking space as possible
  • has his mattress on the floor tucked in the corner
  • spreads out his workspaces in the center of his room on a small blanket when he needs it
  • lots of dried herbs
  • enjoys browns and oranges

shiro: space witch

  • Casual Astronomer™
  • eats lunch at midnight lol
  • hates coffee but needs caffeine to keep himself awake
  • hunk makes him good Wake Up teas
  • pidge has a special potion they’ve created that’s basically like death coffee
  • he only drinks it when he’s really desperate
  • he cares a lot about his health, so he tries to makes sure that he gets enough sleep
  • he’s still always tired no matter what though, the poor guy
  • has the stereotypical witch wardrobe
    • lots of black flowy clothes/dresses
    • sharp winged eyeliner
    • layered witchy necklaces
    • tons of rings
    • big floppy black hat
    • black nail polish
  • has basically all known constellations memorized and can point them out at any given time during the night
  • has a bunch of astronomy-related tattoos
  • does his own tattoos/stick n pokes
  • enchants and makes his own ink
  • has given everyone in the coven a little stick-and-poke on their wrist of their elemental symbol
  • picked up photography in his teens and has managed to get some really amazing shots of the night sky
  • plain black grimoire
  • really enjoys the dark, therefore does everything in it
  • spells, rituals, etc
  • glow in the dark stars all over the ceiling and walls of his room

allura: hedge witch

  • utterly fascinated with the Other World
  • most connected with her third eye and crown chakra
  • is always up at ungodly hours because she knows certain spirits are up at those times
  • her workspace is basically just a place where she can contact spirits and deities
    • centerpiece is an offering tray
    • grey chalice
    • her basic setup has melted white candles, though she’ll change the colors depending on who she’s planning on contacting
  • astral projects nearly everyday, mostly during the evening/early AM
  • she tends to spend around 1-3 hours in the other realm, but could honestly spend days if she could
  • she texts shiro whenever she plans on beginning, and texts him afterwards
  • that way if she does get lost or distracted and takes too long to return, shiro can come and help her out if needed
  • though there’s never really been a situation where he was needed in that way
  • allura knows what she’s doing, friends
  • probably owns a mug that reads “i’d rather be astral projecting”
  • most experienced in the coven
  • comes from a  family of witches, learned from her father
  • has the prettiest most organized, coherent, and detailed grimoire
  • seriously her handwriting is amazing
  • super good at calligraphy
  • loves:
    • palm readings
    • tarot
    • astrology
    • divination
    • aura readings
  • notices a person’s hands before anything else
  • makes her own tarot decks! they’re so pretty
  • has decks for all her friends
  • her and pidge sometimes use each other’s pendulums :’)
  • can tell a person’s sign simply by observing their mannerisms for a short period of time
    • someone: does literally anything
    • allura: ugh you’re such a [insert sign here]

(wrote something to help myself cope with what happened to Georgie, and for anyone else who will NEVER GET OVER IT like me. in this there’s no Pennywise and he lives and gets to be part of the Loser’s Club like he deserves. Reddie and Benverly are both heavily implied cause biased.

can be read on AO3 here)

….

Georgie Denbrough is six years old.

He’s a happy child. Growing up in a town like Derry hasn’t stopped him from being so. A town where there might be the occasional strange occurrence here and there, a town where people sometimes went missing and never showed up again, a town where the worst seems to be brought out in everyone who lives there—

but not Georgie. He lives in a town where there’s no lost paper boat, no sewers drawing him near, no mind numbing pain, not even any monsters to fear- because Bill makes sure to chase them out from under his bed every night when he asks, of course.

His world revolves around his older brother. Georgie looks to him like he’s the one who lights the stars in the sky and makes the sun rise. Maybe that’s a big part of why Derry isn’t so bad to him. If Bill’s there with him, it can’t be.

And over time, having Bill means Georgie has even more than just that, when he gets to know his friends better and soon becomes a part of them all.

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Remember, I Love You - Stiles Stilinski

Author- @maddie110201

Pairing-  Stiles x Reader

Words- 2,025

Warnings- just fluff and a bit of angst

AN: So @ninja-stiles​ wanted a fic based off of the gif below and so I decided to give her what she wants! Thanks to @thelittlestkitsune​ for helping with the idea and @mf-despair-queen​ for proofreading. Also i wrote this in 45 minutes so idk if its that good.

Originally posted by admireforever

Three months. It had been three months since you’ve seen Stiles. Three months of no touching, no kissing, and no Stiles. Yes, you’ve talked on the phone and you’ve FaceTimed a couple of times, but nothing compared to actually being in the presence of the sarcastic, mole-speckled boy.

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anonymous asked:

Prompt: Betty and Jughead's kids ask about their first kiss and how they met.

I had so much fun writing this!!! It’s cuteness overload, it’s fluffy Bughead, it’s amazing parenting, it’s something I didn’t know I wanted in life up until now! I hope you all enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it!! <3


“They swim really fast and they can hold their breath for fifteen minutes underwater. The pups are being born in the water too, on big pieces of ice, and at first they have fluffy white fur but, when they grow older, they lose it and they become silver gray. I went to the library after class and searched in the encyclopedia, like you and mommy taught me how, and I saw more pictures and, daddy, they look so cute! Like they are always happy and playing all day long!” the five year old boy kept talking with passion and childish excitement, his tiny legs curled under him on a matte black barstool while his torso was sprawled on the marble kitchen island in front of him, elbows pressed on an unfinished crayoned drawing, holding his weight up, and eyes round and alit in fascination upon looking at his dad’s phone screen.

“They do look pretty cute and jolly, now that you pointed it out, bud.” His dad agreed with a couple of nods, scrolling through Google search and tapping on yet another picture. “Do they also eat fish?”

“Of course, daddy! Harp seals are still seals.” The boy replied in a heartbeat. “Did you know that their nose closes when they go under the water?” upon seeing his dad snap his head up to face him surprised, he continued with more vigor. “Yeah, they can’t smell anything but they can sense the fish passing by or feel them with their whiskers.” He went on matter of factly, as if reciting from a National Geographic catalogue, his dad grinning in amazement at his brilliant young mind and his cute overall reaction at something as simple as mammals.

“Wow…” he fed his son’s boyish excitement more with a breathy sigh of appreciation, locking his phone and abandoning it to the side. “So you learnt all that from just a small text Mrs. Lyn read during circle time?”

“No.” the five year old shook his head, his attention sifting back to his drawing. “Mrs. Lyn just read to us about arctic animals and showed us pictures; I read all that from the encyclopedia at recess.” He shrugged adorably, chubby fingers grabbing a bright blue crayon before messily coloring on his A4 drawing block, without a care in the world.

Jughead shook his head in amusement; of course he did.

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dear evan hansen headcannons

EVAN:
- bisexual

- 5'10

- he tends to do things like tap his pencil or his foot or he plays with erasers or some shit he’s just always doing something with his hands

- has those erasers with removable pieces because “THEY’RE CUTE CONNOR I LOVE THEM”

- freckles. more freckles after a day in the sun. freckles everywhere.

- has a bonsai tree

- DRIVES LIKE A GRANDMA

- actually really fit because of his outdoor activities??

- lifted connir off of the ground like he was a feather and everyone was Shocked

- “THAT WAS THE FIRST TIME SOMEONE EVER LIFTED ME” “oh mY GOD CONNOR”

- LOVES TO BAKE BUt kind of sucks at it

- afraid of big dogs. and fluffy dogs. and dogs with big eyes and long tails and legs and just dogs. he’s scared of dogs.

- cheesy romantic. reads romance books and watches romantic movies and just. my boy.

- when he’s feeling down he goes to connor because they can trust each other because of the one thing they have in common - the suicide attempts.

- dyed a streak of his hair blue for halloween one time and made connor cry

- CONFIDENT DRUNK

- got high once and laughed for seven minutes straight before passing out

- has a burn scar on his back from when jared set him on fire by accident

- learns to do hair because he likes touching connors hair

- he maybe likes connors dog a little bit

- “i may seem collected on the outside but on the inside i am screaming 24/7.”


CONNOR:
- borderline personality disorder !!!!

- sees a therapist and takes medication

- he honestly went through ten therapists before deciding to go with evan to his therapist

- has a pitbull named cheese that his mom got him to help calm him down when he snaps

- still a dick every now and then but he’s Trying

- 6'0"

- panseuxal

- is literally. always napping. he sleeps on the ground. on his desk. on evan. anywhere.

- paints his nails when he’s high with 100% accuracy but fails when he’s sober

- “ZOE HOW DO YOU USE EYELINER”

- LOVES sweets. needs them. craves them.

- literally cries over evan’s freckles like what

- sarcastic as all hell

- he and jared’s friendship is just a race to see who can roast the other faster

- draws on himself constantly until he has literal sleeves of designs on his arms. then he moves to drawing on his friends.

- alana buys him a sketchbook when she wakes up with white sharpie printed on her face

- he draws the most AMAZING scenery and designs

- probably wants to be a tattoo artiat

- always records himself when he’s high

- new bruises and cuts every day - he bumps into things a lot when he’s high

- he gets his first piercing from a dude in an alley. it’s a septum piercing. everyone screams when they see it.

- hates pepe

- comments on how gay he is every day.

- still has bad days and when he does he locks himself in his room and calls evan

- evan’s talk of trees got him into plants. owns seven cactuses, a pot full of forget-me-nots and three succulents with names and backstories.

- “i will shove my foot so far up your ass you’ll be tasting leather and shit for the rest of your pathetic life you wrinkly numbnut”


ZOE:
- still having trouble forgiving her brother for all the years of mental abuse

- 5'10

- lesbian af

- makeup that could literally kill a god

- likes to wear crops tops and dresses

- wears sweatpants to school ONCE and is reminded of it every day for the rest of her life

- literally a huge photography nerd

- has EVERY PICTURE SHES EVER TAKEN hanging on her wall. even that ugly ass one of connor screaming over titanic when they were thirteen.

- probably does yoga

- dreams of going to paris. can literally speak in french and owns literally everything with the eiffel tower on it.

- replies to everything in meme language. her parents are worried for her. connor wants to die again.

- has a poem alana wrote to her on her wall next to her bed

- so many pictures of alana

- HANGED A PEPE PICTURE IN THE SHOWER ONCE THAT MADE CONNOR SCREAM WHEN HE SAW IT

- likes to draw constellations with evan’s freckles on his face

- literally has not combed her hair since fourth grade?? its just naturally perfect???

- “im gayer than you connor”

- SWEARS LIKE A SAILOR WHEN SHE BUMPS INTO SOMETHING

- so much emoji’s

- steals all of alana’s hoodies


ALANA:
- hates not having anything to do so much

- 5'6"

- in every school club tbh

- also a lesbian

- a journalist/writer

- literally stays up until 2 am every day and comes to school looking like a goddess

- GOD IS SHE SMART

- she probably tutors everyone

- “what’s the answer to this problem alana” “hella”

- BIG HAPPY SMILES

- can kill you in two seconds with The Look

- READS SEVEN BOOKS A DAY

- probably listens to asmr

- totally has tumblr

- LITERALLY SHINES BRIGHTER THAN THE SUN

- feminist. not a feminazi, will make jokes about women being in the kitchen with jared but will stab you if you are genuinely against women’s rights

- attempts to do yoga with zoe once. she breaks her nose.

- SHE’S A MESS. HER WORK STATION IS JUST FULL OF CRUMPLED PAPERS AND PENS AND COFFEE MUGS.

- likes to do diys.

- “ZOE I DID A DIY FACE MASK AND I CANT GET IT OFF”

- once punched a man for a klondike bar

- “sorry im two hours late feminism called”


JARED:
- panromantic asexual!!!!!

- 5'4"

- a gaming youtuber

- actually somehow has like 1,000 followers???

- everyone has been in his videos at least once

- EATS A BATH BOMB ON CAMERA

- every birthday connor buys him a bath bomb and screams “CRONCH” in his face

- enjoys really cringey memes

- has a german shepard named Sir Titlicker

- “EVAN SIR TITLICKER WILL NOT EAT YOU”

- once tripped on a bug

- he’s actually self conscious and hides behind self deprecating jokes

- threw a dreidel at the menorah once when he was little and is still not allowed near the menorah

- soft chub legs

- much Sarcasm

- literally is so sarcastic with connor??? they like each other but sometimes even evan wonders if they actually like each other or not

- probably enjoys nickelback

- HUGE SUBWAY FAN. WOULD SHOVE SUBWAY UP HIS ASS FOR FREE.

- likes star wars probably

- wore a shirt that said “im a gamer” once

- “burn that shirt now” “EVAN WHAT THE FUCK”

- actually cried when he played slenderman with Evan

- “are you ok” “IS HE GONE EVAN IS HE GONE” “yes” /looks up and sees slenderman appear “WHDBANFBJDJSBSDH” /evan is wheezing

- makes dirty jokes 24/7 but literally blushes for 9 years if you make a dirty joke towards him

- actually Fragile

- in a cult probably

- probably has a runescape series on his YouTube channel

- has set evan on fire before

- he tries to be a good friend he really dies but he fails sometimes

- “are you a nail baby because ill hammer you into the wall tonight ;)"

[one-shot] In Every Universe

Title: In Every Universe

Rating: R

Warning: lots of smut, bad bad evil wORDs

Genre: crack, angst, fluff, smut

Pairing: Phan

Characters: danisnotonfire, AmazingPhil, catrific, paperlillies, zoella

Summary: Phil Lester is a popular BoyxBoy writer on Wattpad who had been given his publishing deal early this year at a mere age of sixteen. And between meeting his debut novel deadlines and going to school and keeping up with his social life that only consists of Dan and Cat, Dan is incredibly irked that Phil still has the time to mock Dan (for mocking Phil in the first place; reasons vary) by writing M-rated one-shots about the both of them.
Or the five times that Phil writes him in Dan engaged in kinky bum sex, and the one time it finally happens.

A/N: written in collaboration with procrastination of studying for my college algebra misterm and the ahbebe child constipatedhowell​ [deep long sigh] for the first time we have finally collabed. The chat for this was awFUl every I’d leave my phone they yell at me frown emoticon but we finished it and I am aLIVE

A/N 2: thank to glossybutt​ and thephandemonium​ for being the cheerleaders~

A/N 3: also thanks to the same ahbebe child for betaing my bit and thanks to me for betaing their bit. (this is alice speaking and wow)

A/N 4: dedicated to a rl friend who wants to go by the name of Lee bc this is their fAULT WHY DID YOU MAKE ME READ THE BAD ONE-SHOT COLLECTION 

A/N 5: nyELLO IT’S ALICE AND i cant wait to start shitposting now i hAVE ACCESS no joke i wrote 2.7k words (basically the whole [+1]) and im (sigh) :-(( bc charlie didnt give me time to write the other secks scenes

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We All Fall Down - Twelve

Emily drove which made perfect sense as she had the larger car and also knew the way. She chatted as she navigated the roads, disrupting you from gazing out of the windows at the scenery.

“So I had a look in your pantry and you pretty much need everything. Diana has kinda lived on take out and anything I would  bring over for her during this last year, which given the circumstances is completely understandable.” You agreed and nodded as Emily continued. “I’d say your safest bet is to literally start from scratch and get all of your pantry staples today as well as some stuff to stock the fridge. Defrost the freezer overnight ready to throw out for the trash collection and we can go fill the freezer during the week. But we can get you plenty of fresh stuff today that’ll last awhile, at least then you’ll be able to cook.”

You wrinkled your nose up slightly and she clocked it.

“Not a big cook then?”

You shook your head. “I never really learned how to. I can put stuff in the oven to heat it up but… Cooking from scratch? I’d probably poison us.”

“What about Spencer, does he cook?”

“Not really.” You’d always got the impression from him that he was disappointed in your inability to piece together a meal from scratch, relying mainly on takeout or if you weren’t hungry, leaving him to own devices. Perhaps this could be something else you could change. You went out on a sudden limb. “I think I’d like to learn though.”

“Cooking is a invaluable skill. I can lend you easy to follow recipe books if you’d like. There’s a great number of websites too, I could send you… actually no I couldn’t because you’re stuck in the dark ages and don’t have a phone.”

You laughed at her comment and pulled your cell out of from your bag, waving it at her. “Hey, I was only stuck in the dark ages momentarily. I saw the light yesterday and now have a phone. And a new car actually.”

“Someone’s breaking the bank, a new phone AND a new car in one day?” she joked.

“Well it was Spencer who paid, not that I could if I even wanted to.”

“I take it you don’t work then?” Emily asked, her voice steady and unjudgemental.

“It’s a long story,” you sighed. She reached over and patted your knee lightly.

“Perhaps one that you’ll tell me sometime.”

Emily led you around the store, you slightly in awe at how big it was. Sure in New York you had huge department stores but the atmosphere in them was always different. Like everyone was in a hurry and that no one wanted to stop and talk. This target was bigger than the ones you’d been in when you were younger but yet it felt friendly, Emily receiving many nods and hellos as you both pushed your shopping carts through the aisles, Emily instructing you what to buy as she idly chatted at you. You dawdled in the stationary section, seeing some fancy looking binders with their spines designed to look like old books. Having a surge of inspiration you tossed a few into the cart, throwing in some sheet protectors as well. As you rounded the corner of the aisle to catch up with Emily, you crashed your cart into a solid mass of person, you letting out a curse.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” you muttered, reversing yourself and repositioning the cart.

“Y/N?”

You looked up to see yesterday’s saviour with a light smirk on his face.

“Mr Alvez… I mean Luke! Hi! Sorry about that….”

“Hey it’s cool, it’s cool. It’s not you hit me with your car or anything, I’ll live. Did you drive here? I’m not going to have to rescue you again from the parking lot am I?” he teased you and for the first time in years you felt your cheeks burn.

“No I’m here with my neighbour… Emily?”

As if summoned by magic she reappeared, searching for you.

“There you are! I thought I’d lost you forever to the stationary stores. Oh hey Luke, have you two met properly?” she looked between you both, waiting.

“Yeah we have,” you told her. “Luke rescued me yesterday on my first solo drive in years.”

“And she repays me by ramming her shopping cart into my stomach,” he grinned.

Emily nudged him playfully. “Oh shut it now Alvez, those abs of yours can take it I’m sure.”

“Well I think I’ll survive. Anyway, nice seeing you again Y/N. I’m off to pillage the stationary section now, gotta restock before school starts tomorrow.” Giving you another huge grin, he wheeled his own cart away.

“So he rescued you yesterday?” Emily asked curiously.

“I got stuck in a parking space near the tech store in town,” you explained.

“And Luke was your knight in shining armour. Well, there are worse knights to have in this town. He’s a good guy and his cousin Penelope is a right sweetheart.”

“The tech shop girl?” you asked, remembering your curiosity from yesterday.

“That’s her. Now come on, we still have plenty more to get.”

You followed Emily around the store for a while longer before checking out, handing over Spencer’s credit card, cringing slightly at spending his money again. Well, it wasn’t as if he wasn’t going to eat the food, you told yourself. As you were both loading your carts back up, you locked eyes with Luke again, him paying four checkouts away. He smiled and gave you a wave, both you and Emily returning it.

As Emily drove you home she chatted to you, surprising you with her words. “You know, you’re not what I expected.”

You frowned slightly, “How so?”

“I don’t mean any offence by it Y/N. Just…. I don’t know Spencer that well and I obviously can’t comment too much because it’s not like I’ve even really seen you together aside from at the funeral but, you’re not who I expected him to be with. Tara teases me sometimes, I read far too many psychology books in high school and she thinks I try to…. what’s that word they use in those dumb ass crime shows?” she thought for a moment before it coming to her. “Profile?…Yes, profile people. She’s the one with all the doctorates, she actually started in psychology before moving to family medicine but she says I see people clearer than she does. I think it’s just because I like watching people and picking up on their interactions. Doing the sort of job I do, I’m often blending onto the background of people’s kitchens when I’m working events. It’s amazing the interactions you see, how people behave when they don’t realise people are watching.”

You were curious but scared to ask her. Still, you took a deep breath and did it anyway. “What do you see when you look at me then?”

She hesitated slightly, chewing her lip before answering. “Someone who isn’t where she’s meant to be.”

Oh.

Oh how right she was and she didn’t even know it.

“I’ve not offended you have I?” she was suddenly concerned.

“No, not at all. This isn’t where I pictured myself either.”

She didn’t question you and you didn’t elaborate, a silence falling over you both for the last part of the journey home. When you arrived home, she helped you inside with your bags, before making you give her your number.

“I’ll send you some easy to follow recipes. And don’t forget to call the local authority about the trash collection.”

Whilst out she’d told you about the garbage collection dates and extra charges. Given the amount of food you needed to throw out combined with the other things you’d sorted out, she told you to call them in advance and for a small charge they’d take it all away. Otherwise they’d only take what was in the garbage bin and leave the rest. You’d call them Monday you assured her, thanking her again for taking you out.

“It’s not problem. Maybe you and Spencer could come over for dinner one evening soon as well. I really do want to get to know you Y/N. And if you’re ever bored during the day, give me a call. If I’m not at an event then I’m generally just baking at home. Having someone to talk to always makes it more fun.”

You smiled at her sweetly, telling both yourself and her that you would. It would be good for you to have an actual friend here. It had been such a long time since you had one you’d almost forgotten what it was like.

Emily left and you began putting the shopping away, reusing the bags to put the expired food items into. Just as you were finishing up you heard the front door unlock as Spencer returned home. Was it really that time already? Glancing at your phone you saw that it was just after 4pm and you remembered that you needed to get ready for the ‘family’ meal. You carried the bags of expired food through the house and into the dining room where you’d been putting all of the items to throw out, meeting Spencer in the hallway as you were done, him looking you up and down.

“Before you ask why I’m not ready, we’ve not long got home. I was busy all morning sorting some things out in the study. I’m just about to go and get ready now.”

Spencer frowned slightly and then uncreased his brow. “Y/N, it’s fine. I can see you’ve been busy. We don’t have to leave until around 6.30pm anyway.”

That gave you plenty of time to have another shower and to make yourself presentable. Remembering the folders you’d bought you spoke again. “Oh, erm… I had an idea if it’s okay with you? I picked up some nice ring binders which I thought we could display your fan mail in, rather than having it kept in boxes? But I do think it perhaps needs sorting out first as there’s a lot of it. And there’s lots of piles of papers in the study that I haven’t the first clue what to do with. The trash collection around here is a Tuesday morning so if you’re not too busy tomorrow do you think you could have look through things then? Emily told me that if I call the local authority and pay an upfront fee they’ll take away extra trash for us.”

Us. That sounded strange on your lips.

“I’m pretty much done at the office now anyway so yes, I’ll sort the study out tomorrow. Thank you for what you’ve done so far, and your idea about displaying letters does sound quite nice.”

It all seemed so formal between you both.

“Oh and Y/N. I picked up something for you today.” Spencer handed you a large black bag, you taking it and being suprised at how heavy it was. When you peered inside you saw a rectangular cardboard box, the words laptop computer standing out.

“I just thought it would be useful for you to have. You can try writing again on it.”

Had he not listened to a word you’d said? Had he not paid attention to you at all?

“Once you’ve got the house sorted, of course. But there’s plenty of online magazines and newspapers that will accept submissions and if they like you, they’ll pay you.” Spencer had hope in his eyes, and an ernest expression on his face, one that you hadn’t seen in a while. He thought he’d done good. You felt an extremely uneasy feeling in your stomach, a feeling you couldn’t quite place. Counting to ten mentally you forced a smile of thanks across your face.

“That’s very kind Spencer, thank you.” The same formal tone that he had. “I’m sure that once I’ve got everything sorted in the house, I’ll be able to think of something to write.”

Even though you hadn’t for years and had no intention of even trying. Part of you told you that it was the thought that counted, that he’d tried to do something nice for you. The other part screamed at you that he wasn’t even listening to you anymore. Did he ever though? Really?

“I’ll take it upstairs with me now, and set it up when I have a moment. Six thirty you said we were leaving?” Spencer nodded, looking pleased with himself. “Ill be ready for then,” you told him before turning and heading upstairs. Once there you opened the closet and stashed the bag in there.

Perhaps, if it came to it, you’d could sell it.

Party Girl (Part Four): So Cute

Jeff Atkins x Reader

A/N: Hey sorry I disappeared for a while but I barely had time to sleep between my two jobs. However, starting next week I should have at LEAST one day off a week so I can get some writing done without giant gaps. As usual, tell me what you think. No feedback makes me feel like I’m wasting my time lol Enjoy ☺️

Part Three 

__

It’s been a while since you met Jessica for the first time and the two of you have been all but inseparable ever since. While she would never be what Kat was to you, you could feel a bond beginning to form. She told you about her crush on Alex which you encouraged. When the two actually began dating, you couldn’t be happier. 

You’d seen Hannah in passing. Having only one class together didn’t help build your friendship any. You tried talking to her in class but it didn’t help much. You noticed her spending time with Clay Jenson and Tony Padilla. You figure she’s found her own friends and you’re happy for her. 

It’s Friday and you’re currently sitting in your last class of the day counting down the minutes until you’re free. When the bell rings, you can’t make it out of the room fast enough. As you walk to your locker you’re thinking of all the assignments you need to complete over the weekend. Your little sister’s birthday is Sunday and you know your mother is going to make you put down your work to focus on her. You don’t mind really. You just have to get everything done by Sunday.

You’re so focused on scheduling out your homework that you don’t notice the person approaching you.

“Y/N?”

You jump slightly and find Jeff leaning against the locker to the left of yours.

“What?”

“I was hoping you could help me with the English homework? I have no idea what I’m doing.”

“Doesn’t that Clay kid tutor you?”

He looks thrown off for a minute but eventually shrugs.

“He’s busy today.”

“It’s Friday. You have all weekend to work on it.”

“I’d rather just get it done today. With you.”

You pause and think it over for a minute. How bad could it be? You can easily help him get the assignment done while doing your own. All that matters is that you get the assignments done by Sunday.

“I guess that’d be fine. I just have to tell Zach cause he’s my ri-“

“I already did.” He interrupts.

“You just assumed I would say yes?”

“I…Well,” He shrugs slightly, “You’re a nice person. I figured you wouldn’t mind helping me out.”

“Well lucky for you, I’m feeling generous today.”

You grab the last couple of books you need and slam your locker closed.

“So the library or outside?” You question, “I’d prefer the library because I actually get distracted pretty easily.”

“Actually, I was thinking we could go to my house?”

Your heart stops for a second. His house? Jeff Atkins house.

“Uh yeah, t-that’s fine.” You nod.

“Cool. So we should probably get going if we plan to get any of this done.”

You nod again and follow him out to his car. On the way, you make eye contact with both Jessica and Sheri. Both girls send over dramatic facial expressions and winks in your direction. You ignore them both completely.

The two of you aren’t on the road for more than a minute when your phone begins to vibrate. You frown slightly at the new group chat that has formed in your messages.

Gossip Girls 💋

SherSher 🎀: I decided a group text was easier cause we’re all thinking the same thing. Y/N if you get laid I want details!!!!!

Jess 👯: YES! D E T A I L S

Kit Kat 🍫: Who is she sleeping with????!!!!!

SherSher 🎀: Jeff

Jess 👯: I’m so proud

Kit Kat 🍫: YAAAS BITCH

You can’t help the blush that takes over your face as you read through the texts.

“You ok over there?” Jeff asks.  

“Fine. My friends are just idiots.” You mumble.

Y/N: I am NOT sleeping with him. He’s 1000000x out of my league

“Ha, I know the feeling.” He laughs.

You don’t say anything back and focus on your phone once again as you feel it vibrate.

SherSher 🎀: wow ok that’s a lie

Kit Kat 🍫: lolololol ok sure Y/N

Y/N: I’m not saying I’m ugly I’m cute as hell HOWEVER I know my limits

Jess 👯: and hes within those limits!!

SherSher 🎀: please girl take it for the team

Jess 👯: do it for us

Kit Kat 🍫: Do HIM for us

Y/N: LOL GOODBYE

You silence the chat and focus your attention back on the road before you.

“You’re quiet today.”

“Oh,” you start, “compared to how chatty I am on other days?”

“Compared to how chatty you were the last time you were in my car.” He replies.

Oh yeah. You barely remembered the night he brought you home. He hadn’t mentioned it much and you hadn’t thought much about it.

“And what did I have to say?”

You’re almost scared to ask. According to Bryce, you’re much  [I] nicer when you’re drunk. You’ve said and done a few things that you might not have under normal circumstances when drinking. You don’t mind it particularly. You’d rather be a flirty drunk than a mean drunk.

“Just that you like that I’m nice, ” You let out a small sigh of relief. “and that I have a perfect face.”

You’ve never felt your face flush so red.

“Did I? Well, that was nice of me.”

“Mhm. You also said that I’m perfect at everything.” He continues.

“Well, you do have a pretty flawless reputation.” You reply.

“And that you’d like to lay your head on my chest.”

You’re unable to come up with anything to say back for a moment.

“Well, that is mortifying.” You mumble.

“No,” he laughs as he pulls up in front of the cutest house you’ve ever seen. “it was cute.”

You ignore the comment and pull yourself from the car. You follow him up the front step and into the house. Once inside you can’t help but let out a little huff.

“What?” He asks.

“Even your house is perfect.” You shake your head.

You move around the room a bit and take in the pictures scattered around. One, in particular, catches your eye. The photo is of two little boys, both around six years old, in baseball uniforms.

“Oh my god,” you pick up the frame from the table, “is that you and Monty?”

For the first time, he looks almost embarrassed.

“Yeah uh” he rubs the back of his neck awkwardly, “we did little league together. We were actually pretty close when we were little.”

“Aw! Two little bros playing baseball together. How cute.” You tap the tip of his nose with your finger.

“Sure, cute.” He rolls his eyes.

“What? It is! Both of you in your little baseball uniforms, so cute.”  

“Well, I was a pretty cute kid.”

“Hey, be nice. Monty was cute too.” You look closely at the picture again. “Actually he kind of looks the same now.”

“So you think Monty’s cute.”

The tone of his voice has changed slightly. You look back to him and find him looking at you closely.

“Well, he’s not the ugliest guy I’ve ever seen.” You shrug.

“But not the cutest you’ve ever seen either right?” He questions.

“No,” you smile, “definitely not.”

“Good.” He smiles.

A silence fills the room and you shift around awkwardly.

“We should get started on that homework.” You mumble.

“Right. Let’s go up to my room.”

You feel like your heart is about to jump out of its chest. You’re about to be in Jeff Atkins bedroom.

It’s cleaner than you’d expected. It’s not the first boy’s bedroom you’ve been in. Bryce’s was almost always a mess. He was used to people cleaning up after him so it didn’t really surprise you. Both Monty and Zach’s rooms tended to be a bit messy. Zach’s mother would kill him for leaving any room a mess. Monty just doesn’t like a mess. It “pisses him off” or whatever. Jeff’s room is nearly spotless.

“Wow, it’s like spotless in here.”

“Uh yeah, I cleaned it a little yesterday.” He mumbles.

“So it’s not normally this tidy?” You smirk.

“Not at all.” He laughs, “You can sit wherever you want.”

You throw your backpack on his bed and slip your shoes off before settling yourself so your back is against the wall.

“Ok so, Macbeth.” You start as you pull your textbook out.

“Wow right to it.”

“I have to get this shit done by Sunday.” You sigh.

“Why Sunday?”

“It’s my little sister’s birthday. My mom is having this big party for her.”

“I didn’t know you have a sister.”

“Yeah, she’s only four so she’s not very active in the party scene yet.” You reply.

“Ah, so no keg stands and drunken karaoke for her?” He laughs.

“More like Capri-Suns and full reenactments of Moana with her dolls.” You laugh back.

“Sounds adorable.”

“It was cute the first time. Not so much now.” You reply.

“I’ll have to see one day.” He says.

“Maybe but for now we need to worry about Macbeth.”

The two of you work together for the next couple of hours. You’re able to get him through the English homework easy enough and decided to just stay put and finish the rest of your homework. He worked on other work too, occasionally pausing to ask for help on certain questions. You’re both so focused that you don’t notice that his parents had arrived home.

“Jeff honey, I’m feeling kind of tired so I think we’re gonna just – oh hello.”

You jump slightly and find a woman standing in the doorway.

“Oh hey, mom,” Jeff mumbles while staring confusedly at his homework.

“The answer is B.” You tell him.

“Thanks.”

“Who’s this?” His mother asks.

“Oh sorry, I’m Y/N.” You get off the bed and move to shake her hand.

“Oh you’re Y/N” She smiles. You notice her eyes look towards Jeff for a moment before she drags her attention back to you. “Are you staying for dinner? I’m thinking of ordering some Chinese but I could always cook something if you’d prefer. I mean you’re the guest and-”

“Mom, please.” Jeff sighs.

“Actually I have to go home. I didn’t realize it was this late and my mom is pretty crazy about the whole family dinner thing.” You laugh awkwardly.

“I’ll bring you home,” Jeff says as he pulls himself off the bed.

“Well, it was so nice meeting you Y/N. Hopefully, we can all have dinner together soon. Maybe after one of Jeff’s games. I know Harrison would love to meet you and-”

“Ok mom, she has to get going.” He cuts her off.

His mother gives you a smile and you give a small wave before she leaves the doorway. You collect your books from the bed and shove them into your backpack. Within a few minutes, the two of you are on the way to your house. You’re both quiet for a few minutes.

“Your mom seems nice.” You say.

“Yeah uh sorry about her. She gets excited when she meets any of my friends.” He shrugs.

“It’s ok,” you laugh, “my mom is ten times worse. You have no idea.”

“I can’t even imagine anything worse.” He laughs.

“I assure you, I beat you on this one.”

“Maybe I’ll have to meet her for myself and find out.”

“Maybe.” You reply.

It takes a little over five minutes before he’s turning down your street.

“Thanks for the help today.” He says as he pulls in front of your house.

“No problem. You’re not as distracting as I thought you were going to be.”  

“Thanks, I guess.” He replies.

“Yeah,” you mumble awkwardly, “I’ll see you on Monday.”

“Yeah, Monday.” He nods.

“Thanks for the ride too.”

“Of course.”

You nod silently before making your way out of the car. Once again he waits until you make it into the door to begin driving away. You let out a breath of relief you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. Suddenly you remember the text messages that must be flooding your phone from your friends. Unlocking your phone, you find missed texted from both your friends and your mother. You can hear her and your father speaking in the dining room.

“Sorry mom,” You say as you walk into the room. “I was studying and you know how I like to have zero distractions.”

“Well don’t do it again. You nearly missed dinner. It’s vegetarian night.” She snaps.

“I’m sorry. I got back as soon as I could.” You reply.

“Just sit down please.” She sighs.

You take a seat and pull some food onto your plate. Your sister sends you a smile from across the table and you send a smile back. Once your parents return to their previous conversation, you feel it is safe to check your other text messages.

Gossip Girls 💋

SherSher 🎀: but seriously Y/N he’s into you just go for it

Jess 👯: what is it you said to me??? ‘grow some balls and kiss him already’ I think you should take your own advice.

Kit Kat 🍫: Are you ignoring us?

Jess 👯: that’s rude Y/N

SherSher 🎀: she’s definitely ignoring us

Kit Kat 🍫: I mean who wouldn’t when you have all that to look at

There’s a two-hour time gap before the texts begin again.

SherSher 🎀: this is a loooooong time to ignore texts Y/N

Kit Kat 🍫: That’s cause she’s busy with something else

Jess 👯: probably

Kit Kat 🍫: That’s some serious stamina

SherSher 🎀: to say the least

Kit Kat 🍫: You better have a good ass story after making us wait this long

You shake your head at the ridiculousness of the texts before typing out your reply.

Y/N: Fuck off we didn’t have sex. I helped him with his homework, met his mom and came home.

You’re thankful that there is no immediate response to the texts. Hopefully, they’ll be too busy with their families to both you for a few hours.

“So what were you studying?” Your father asks.

“Macbeth.”

Almost immediately he launches into a rant about why that is his favorite Shakespeare play. The rest of the night goes by without any drama or stress. At least until your phone starts vibrating again.

Mirror Mirror on the Wall

**inspired by a post I saw where Regina uses her magic mirror to check in on the Queen and Robin Locksley**

It’s been over a year since she has checked in on the Queen, a small little peek into the other woman’s life just to make sure that everything is okay, that they are okay. And so far, everything seems good, really good. She’s had a couple chuckles over watching this other version of herself lose the royal thickness about her and become a woman of the forest. Long gone are the jewelled cloaks and high heels, all which have been traded in for more sensible clothing, furs, trousers and a bow on her back. It reminds her of the time she herself spent as a bandit, for that moment in time where she had been on the run from an Evil Queen and an outlaw had come to her rescue. It’s odd, to watch it play out in real life.

But this other Regina seems happy now that she’s stopped grumbling about living in the forest. It suits her. Suits them. And while they may live in a forest, Regina can’t help but smile at the fact that apparently you may be able to take a Queen out of her royal castle, but you can’t quite take all of royalty out of the Queen. They live comfortably, in a large-ish cottage on a hill surrounded by trees overlooking a lake. Thanks to her magic, they have everything they need, even indoor plumbing, a note Regina did laugh at. But Robin is still Robin. He still hunts and lives off the land, and makes campfires beneath the stars.

She’d watched them one night, tucked on a couch together underneath a blanket, a calm flickering of orange glow from the hearth beating about them as Robin combed through her hair till her eyes closed. She hadn’t meant to watch them as long as she had, feeling like a peeping tom and all, but Robin had waited till his Regina was nearly asleep, breathing heavier than a few minutes prior when he rustled gently in his pocket, and pulled out a small little box. She’d watched as his eyes trailed back down to the near asleep woman on his chest, a small smile creeping into his dimples as he kissed her temple and begun to play with her left hand.

Her heart had thundered as she sat silently in her room, absorbed in them and what was about to happen. He’d kissed her cheek, placed a few to her temple, and across her brow until she grinned in her sleep, curling further into his arms, as he pulled her gently awake. The Queen’s eyes had drifted blissfully open, contentment swirling about in them, at least until she saw the box Robin had pressed into her palm.

Regina’s breath had hitched at the same time the Queen’s had, the mirror in her hands creeping closer as she waited to see what the other woman would say, knowing the answer in her heart already. His voice was low, curious and full of love as he asked her the question, the Queen’s eyes flickering up from the diamond to his gaze, stunned, before she broke out into a smile, and nodded, pulling him down to meet her lips that ceased to stop grinning. She’d put the mirror down after that, wiped away a few tears she wasn’t sure were from longing or happiness. That had been the last time she’d seen them, snuggled together in their home, newly engaged.

She doesn’t do it often anymore, gaze into her magic mirror and see how they are, because it feels a bit strange sometimes, to see a life she could have lived going on in front of her eyes. It brings about an ache in her heart, wondering if she and her Robin would have lived this way, happily together. Maybe that’s why her checking in on them have been fewer and farther in between over the past two years. She is content that they are happy, that she was able to be a part of making that happen.

But something just felt a little different today, Henry had left for a school trip for a week and she was feeling a bit lonely in her mansion. For a few hours she’d managed to occupy her mind with cooking dinner (for one). Had made apple turnovers she’d not yet touched and had a long bath, even done her nails. And it’s only eight o’clock. Too early to fall asleep, nothing to capture her attention on TV, her book long finished.

Humming to herself, she thumbs the mirror on her bedside table, gnawing at the fact she wants to see them, that maybe, for a few minutes she’ll allow herself to pretend it’s her and Robin instead. Just a few minutes, ten tops. Sinking beneath the covers, she sighs, turning the glass towards her face and whispers out, “Mirror Mirror on the Wall, show me what I want to see most of all.” It glows a deep purple, bright and swirling in her palm till the light settles and the image fades into view.

It’s day time there, warm sun pooling into an empty living room, though seems no one is home. The thought makes Regina pout, unamused, what is she supposed to do now? Huffing out a breath, she sets the mirror aside, as stares out the window silently. The quiet is nice, she supposes. Not what she wanted, but what can she do about it? Settling into her pillow her eyes flutter shut, and she pictures Robin beside her, or maybe downstairs, frowning adorably at the appliances he’d yet to figure out.

She’d lost a toaster and a coffee pot whilst he was here and his curiosity had gotten the better of him. The sheepish look he’d given her as she’d walked into the kitchen to put out the fire alarm blaring away due to another smoke bomb from a destroyed instrument far too precious to have her irritation even flare a bit. He’d apologized, run his hand through his hair and sighed at the small carnage he’d created. But she hadn’t care, would just shrug and kiss him happily, letting her wrist flick and restore the appliance back to it’s working state. She liked those moments. Domestic ones between the two of them, it felt like normalcy had finally begun to settle into her life.

A muffled voice cues her attention back to the mirror beside her as she fumbles and flips it back over, light streaming into the cottage as a door swings open and she sees the other Regina walk into the living room, carting a basket on her hip and a smile on her lips. “I’ll be right there!” She calls back out over her shoulder, heaving the load from her arms onto the table. Robin must be outside.

She looks different. Her hair tied into a loose braid that swings over her cotton clothed back, face void of all makeup and dirt under her nails. It’s not the first time Regina has been amused at the sight of the once regal royal all dirtied up playing house. It’s nice. She dusts off her pants, makes her way quickly to the kitchen on the left just out of Regina’s view. In the distance she swears she can hear more than just one voice. Robin’s certainly, but there is someone else there with him, someone younger. Her heart flutters as a hushed laughter echoes around her. It sounds just like–

“Roland! Come back here.”

She freezes under her blankets, jaw dropping and eyes watering as she sees the mop of brown curly hair rush into the cottage. He looks exactly the same, a bit bigger no doubt, with the time that has passed, but his face hasn’t changed from the picture in her memory. Big button brown eyes, chubby dimpled cheeks, two new missing front teeth as he shouts cheerfully into the kitchen from the sofa he’s landed himself on. His little chest puffs in and out, and Regina can’t help the tears that fall, nor the way her fingers trace his face. She misses him so goddamn much. Kicks herself everyday for not being able to figure out how to get to him somehow.

“Hello, my little archer.” The Queen smiles as she steps back into the room, flopping herself down beside him, lips playfully coating his cheeks in affection as he squeals in delight beneath her.

Regina’s heart clenching at the sight of him moving to settle into the Queen’s lap, grinning up at her as his hands part, revealing a perfectly sliced apple, well almost perfectly sliced, one half is surely larger than the other. “I did it!”

“I see that! You’re getting better than Robin!”

“Yup!” Roland munches triumphantly on his half he hadn’t relinquished into the Queen’s hands.

“Oh you think so, eh?” Robin comes into view, his hair tousled on his forehead, a grin beaming as he settles down beside them with a smirk. “Should I tell Little John you’re about to take over as the leader of the Merry Men then, yeah?”

“Let him down easy, he’s a sensitive guy.” The Queen winks as she nuzzles down into Roland’s hair. “Speaking of which, he’ll be by rather soon to come collect you.”

“Awww, Gina, do I have to go?”

The pout he sends her is beautiful, as is the smile she sends back. Regina still sits enraptured on her bed, can’t help but feel a flutter in her stomach. They found each other. All of them. How she doesn’t know, but what does it matter anyway? It’s a perfect picture glowing out from her mirror. “You need to get some sleep or else you will fall asleep on the way tomorrow, and be a little grumpy toad.”

“No I won’t!”

Robin laughs, laces his fingers behind Roland’s back with the Queen’s, “Perhaps we can convince him to let you stay the night.”

“Yes!”

“We all know he is an easy turn if you show him just how good your archery has gotten, maybe he’ll seen reason in letting you stay and practice some more.”

Roland bounds between them, whooping and hollering as he grabs his small bow and arrow and races back outside, his cheering still heard from the quiet that surrounds the pair still on the couch. Robin turns his eyes from the doorway back to his wife who leans her head on the soft brown cushions, humming happily when he moves closer to her, draping her legs across his thighs, and tugging her tighter into him with a smiling kiss to her lips. The seemingly innocent kiss suddenly turns into something far more heated, a moan in the back of the Queen’s throat has Regina flushing hot, best be time to go.

Her hand begins to wave across the mirror, but her eyes glue to the placing of Robin’s hand on the Queen’s stomach, and she lets her magic fizzle out. They smile, a bashful blissful thing, eyes meeting one another’s before Robin shimmies down between the Queen’s thighs, his hands cupping a small swell Regina hadn’t noticed before.

“Hello, my boy. How are we this afternoon?”

The Queen cards through his hair, tilts her chin down and smiles as he begins talking to her bump, Regina hanging onto every muffled word and mischievous, cheerful grin he sends back up at his lover before focusing back down to the task of talking to their unborn child. “Now, you stay safe and warm in there and try to ease up on your mother for a while okay?” His kisses the swell and moves back up to buss the former Queen’s lips. “We should start thinking of names.”

“Already?”

“Why not?”

“Do you have anything in mind?”

Robin bites down on his lip, brow creasing as he scoots back down to the barely there bump. “Well, my father’s name was Richard.”

“Baby Boy Richard?” She cringes hard.

They both lock eyes before sharing a laugh, Robin shaking his head, “A definite no.”

“What about Rigel?”

“Rigel Locksley?”

The Queen shrugs, “I kind of like it.”

“As do I. And for a middle name?”

Regina soaks in the moment. Little Rigel. She wonders if he will look like Robin, or maybe a smaller version of Roland, her complexion to Marian is close enough anyway. And when the Queen whispers out a name, Regina’s heart stills, eyes flush with new tears.

“Henry?”

“I know that you didn’t really know him, either of them, my father or my son, but I’d like to…”

Her words are cut off by another melting of Robin’s lips to her own. “Say no more, Rigel Henry Locksley it is.”

“You’re sure?”

“Of course, my love. It’s perfect.”

They settle in together, lacing their hands over their baby boy safe in Regina’s belly.  

“You’re sure you want to go tomorrow? We can wait a few days for you to feel better you know.”

“I’m okay.”

“You sure? You’re only a few weeks along, we don’t even have to go.”

She kisses him again, slow and steady before nodding, “I promise I’m fine, it’s not as bad as it was with Rae, that’s for sure.” Her eyebrows arch momentarily, “Plus, we promised Roland we’d take him.”

“He’d understand if you aren’t feeling up to it.” He rubs down her legs and back up her arms, saddling a fraction closer to her on the sofa.

“I know, he’s a good little boy, but I swear, I’m okay.”

“You’d tell me if you weren’t right? We can turn around anytime you want.”

He frowns, though the Queen chuckles, “You worry too much.”

She bumps his nose with her own as he sighs through a laugh, “I know, but it’s only cause I love you’re cooking and can’t imagine having to go back to eating boiled rabbit.” He jests at her, dimples on full display, as she scoffs, slaps his chest half heartedly.

“That’s why you married me? For my cooking skills?”

“Well that,” he leans in to catch her lips once more, “and maybe a few other things.”

Clearly something, no matter the realm or version never changed.

She huffs, pecks his lips a few times more, “Roland’s waiting. I’ll be right there.”

Robin smiles through his lingering concern, nuzzling into her neck for a few well placed kisses before extracting himself from her body, letting his hand circle across her stomach a few more times. “Speaking of little ones, shouldn’t she be up by now?”

“Probably, if we want to actually get some sleep tonight.” The Queen hums, running her own hands along the small swell as Robin stands, kissing her forehead one last time before whispering gently, “I’ll see you outside, my love.”

Regina watches as Robin leaves the Queen still smiling on the couch, soothing her hand over her stomach. This she certainly wasn’t expecting to see… an expecting version of herself. Where she’d figured envy would creep in, there is nothing. Well not nothing, there is a bubble of calmness that surrounds her as she smiles at the sight.

“Mama?” A little voice calls from up the stairs.

“Coming baby!” The Queen stands, and skips up the steps quickly and Regina can’t help but wait to see what their daughter looks like, what her and Robin’s daughter may have looked like. The room grows quiet as she sits up taller against the headboard, brushing a lock behind her ear, she needs a haircut, desperately so. But Robin liked it long, and she can’t really find it in her to shear it again. Oh well, unruly waves be damned, it will stay this length at least for a little while longer.

The sound of footsteps and happy bubbling laughter brings her eyes back to the mirror, the brown boots of the Queen coming into view first, her thighs and then a small dangling pair of matching boots at her waist. It’s all long brown curls hiding a little face burrowed into her mother’s neck. She can’t be more than twelve months, a baby still. A beautiful giggle muffled by the Queen’s own humming chuckle as she balances her daughter on her hip, whispering something Regina can’t quite catch.

“Shall we go see your daddy?” She turns and makes her way to the door, bouncing the little girl on her hip, and as they begin to walk away from the wall mirror Regina watches them from. Her eyes lock onto a pair of sky blue sparkling ones, chubby pink cheeks, dimples and a perfect rosy pout. For a second the little girl almost seems to sense her, and Regina can’t help but wave her fingers slowly as mother and daughter walk into the distance, and just before she loses sight of them, five little fingers wave back.

She laughs, brushes the tears off of her cheeks and sets the mirror down, her heart blooming and bursting at its seams. Her eyes close as she nestles back into bed, her mind swirling with the image of the perfect little family she had a part in bringing together, and something settles in her, a sense of calm and understanding that this will be the last time she uses the mirror, they have found a happily ever after, after all.

Barnes’ Books - chapter 6

Not gonna lie, this chapter is disappointing. I’m sorry. No matter what, I couldn’t get it to flow, it’s all disjointed and I hate it :/ 

I have a plan for the next chapter (when Bucky’s fiancee should appear) but I don’t blame you if you give up after this one. I’m sorry I suck.

Barnes’ Books masterlist

I definitely felt different as I walked out of the hospital. I always tried to be a positive person, although the last few months had really got me down, but I liked to see the good in people.  Knowing that Bucky had seen my picture, and cared enough to think James would like it, that made me feel warm inside. Sure, Bucky was a bit of an ass, but he made his granddad smile, and that did endear me to him.

Yeah, I’ll admit there was a bit of vanity in there too. Hearing ‘you have talent’ was nice. And yes, OK, you win. Bucky was pretty good looking, fine, yes. So knowing he’d mentioned me was a bit of a boost. I’d been dumped! It was nice to be on someone’s radar, even if a little voice in my head was whispering ‘he probably said ‘that crazy cat hair woman who hangs around drew this’…’ Whatever it was, I felt more positive than I had done for a while. I’d wallowed for a while, and while knew the positivity wouldn’t last, I had to make hay while the sun shines and all that. Not that it was, shining that is. Rain again. But that was OK. I splashed back from the hospital to my flat, and decided to take stock.  

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A love story to tell the kids

Characters: Changkyun (Monsta X I.M) & You

Setting: college au, slice of life

Genre: fluff

Words: 3048

Summary: You have always dreamt of falling in love with the One in such a unique way so it would be a love story worthy of telling your kids. But you didn’t quite imagined it like this.

Totally inspired by that kindergarten episode of Monsta X-Ray. (And the mall in my town that holds all kind of exhibitions from time to time.)

Dedicated to @restlessmaknae because she deserves all the fluff in the world♥

Originally posted by kihyeun

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The Auteur of Star Wars

I’d like to elaborate on a thread I posted on twitter.  Confined to a series of tweets, I mostly rambled about Star Wars boss Kathleen Kennedy.  But my main point is about film authorship, and how the entire concept is flawed.

Anyway: yes, Star Wars should hire a woman director.  I’ve read numerous hand-wringing DGA studies about how female directors (especially in movies) are afforded far fewer opportunities than males, and the responsibility to fix that is on the studios – even the smaller studios, like Lucasfilm.  But Star Wars is also an outlier, because even if the movies have yet to hire a woman director, the franchise itself is being directed by a woman.  And she’s made it clear that the franchise is larger, more ambitious, and more important than any single component.

A little history: around 70 years ago, a bunch of French academics started lionizing the director as the “auteur” of a given movie.  (To give them credit, many of these academics were also filmmakers.)  Their goal was to celebrate the achievements of certain American directors, such as Howard Hawks, who weren’t yet recognized as artists.  And, y'know, good for them – Hawks deserved recognition.  But their conclusions were hardly conclusive.  Ever since then, academics have been debating the merits of film “authorship” and whether auteur status is possible in a medium where hundreds of individuals work on a single project.

Humans love asking, “Who is responsible for this?”  And a lot of art is a solitary accomplishment.  Books have authors, paintings have artists.  Usually just one.  But theatre?  Television?  Movies?  When a work of art involves writers, actors, producers, camera crews, lighting directors, set designers, etc. etc. etc., all operating in unison… can we really say that the director is the one true visionary?

A quick example: Stanley Kubrick, who’s widely hailed in film circles as a genius and a trailblazer and a master of cinema.  Kubrick was a quiet tyrant on his sets, demanding take after take until he had captured his exact vision on film.  And what was his vision?  Well, he pretty much stuck to adapting novels.  Dr. Strangelove, 2001, Clockwork Orange, Paths of Glory, Spartacus, Lolita, Barry Lyndon, The Shining, Full Metal Jacket, Eyes Wide Shut – they were all based on books.  Can Stanley Kubrick be considered an auteur if he never made anything original?  

That’s not fair, nor is it particularly nice to Kubrick (who was a genius, of course), but my point is that giving overwrought credit to directors is often done at the expense of their collaborators.

Way before Star Wars, before Kubrick, before French academics, the very first auteurs weren’t even people, they were studios.  The studio logo was the first credit you saw on the big screen, and it announced what kind of movie you were about to see.  A Warner Bros. picture was not an MGM picture was not a Paramount picture was not a Columbia picture was not a Fox picture.  Regardless of the talent in front of or behind the camera, the studio was the name.  This policy of collecting and co-opting credit under one roof was weirdly honest, in its own corporate way.  The studio was the father, the mother, the holy ghost, the money, the production, the distribution and the exhibition.  It all started with and came back to the company.  More than anything, this is the model that Lucasfilm seems to be emulating, but with a cool twist: the franchise itself is now in charge.  Star Wars is the auteur of Star Wars.  Maintaining the integrity of the franchise is more important than any individual.

This is a big change from the George Lucas days, because Lucas was one of the few undeniable auteurs of American movies.  He not only wrote and directed and produced his movies – after the first Star Wars he even began to finance them, all the while creating entirely new companies to advance his visions for special effects, sound mixing, and computer animation.  And make no mistake, his vision was dominant.  Nobody considers The Empire Strikes Back to be an Irvin Kershner joint.  ESB is, first and foremost, a Star Wars movie.

And as the recent hirings and firings at Lucasfilm have illustrated, a Star Wars movie is bigger than any individual director.  The director is an important member of the crew, and clearly has creative input, but s/he is still just that – a creative collaborator.  Josh Trank, Miller & Lord, Ron Howard, Colin Trevorrow, J.J. Abrams – all talented guys. But look at the ease with which they were swapped in and out.

The auteur of Star Wars is Star Wars.  Lucasfilm employs writers, directors, executives, artists, a story group, licensees, technicians, futurists, and everything in between, and they all serve the same master: the franchise.  Lucasfilm makes movies, novels, comics, games, cartoons, and every consumer product imaginable.  No single director is important enough to derail that train, and if they think they are, they’re given the boot.

The auteur of Star Wars is Star Wars, and Kathleen Kennedy understands that.  In addition to everything else involved in running a multi-billion dollar empire, she’s the ultimate gatekeeper, the one who makes the sure that the franchise takes precedence over all else.  No matter who’s directing Episode IX, she’s directing Star Wars.

The Idea That Would Not Die

Today is the 1st of May 2017 and the deck I am going to start sharing with you is still about 1 year from publication. So why am I teasing you with all of this new deck news? Because I learned a lot from this deck and many of these lessons could be beneficial to aspiring deck creators or fiction writers. Today’s post is really about the idea that just would not die because that is what this deck really is. It’s an idea that came to me that just would not go away and die somewhere quietly. Instead, it kept showing up in my life in the most annoying ways.

Everywhere I turned there was a picture, song, book, cd or conversation around the theme of this deck. No matter how hard I tried, I just could not get away from this idea. After reading Big Magic by Elizabeth Gilbert I thought perhaps I could transfer the idea to someone else. Much how she had talked about transferring ideas via a kiss. But that only lead to me being contracted to produce this deck. Thanks for nothing Big Magic!

What was the idea? Mermaids.

I am going to be totally honest here, I hated the idea of doing anything mermaid related. To my past self, only girly girls played with mermaids. Boy, was I wrong? The mermaids honestly kicked my ass from hell to back again to prove this point. Which is why my now present self, does not hold this belief. This deck has taught me a lot about beliefs and how they can limit our engagement with our own imagination and intuition. So I humbly succumbed to the idea and before I knew it ( 7 days to be exact ) we had an artist and a contract for the idea that just would not die.

Tarot decks take a village to create. It is not just the deck creator and the artist. There is a whole team of people who loving mould and birth these projects into the world. I have been blessed to have the most amazing creative team at Llewellyn World Wide and bringing artist Julie Dillion on board for this deck was just the icing on the cake. I knew the moment I saw Julie’s very first sketch we had something special. I may have created the world for these mermaids to re-tell the tarots story, but Julie has brought it to life. Actually, she is still bringing it to life because she is not quite finished with the artwork.

Seeing how an artist interprets my written world building is awe inspiring. Each artist brings something different to a deck and you just never know how the energy is going to come together until you get the first couple of cards under our belt. This deck is Julie’s first deck and she is knocking it out of the park. With the guidance of our team’s art director and project manager, we have pulled our collective talents together to create something we feel is both intimately entwined with Mermaid mythology, but just different enough that you feel like you are entering a whole new world.

Okay, I think that is more than enough from me. Keep an eye out for more upcoming posts on the MerFolk Tarot ( not its official name as it doesn’t have one yet!!!).

An Essay Written by William Blake, a Man Who has Been in Solitary Confinement for Nearly 28 Years.

“You deserve an eternity in hell.”


Onondaga County Supreme Court judge Kevin Mulroy told me this from his bench as I stood before him for sentencing on July 10, 1987. Apparently he had the idea that God was not the only one qualified to make such judgment calls.


Judge Mulroy wanted to “Pump six buck’s worth of electricity into [my] body,” he also said, though I suggest that it wouldn’t have taken six cent’s worth to get me good and dead. He must have wanted to reduce me and The Chair to a pile of ashes. My “friend” Governor Mario Cuomo wouldn’t allow him to do that, though, the judge went on, bemoaning New York State’s lack of a death statute due to the then-Governor’s repeated vetoes of death penalty bills that had been approved by the state legislature. Governor Cuomo’s publicly expressed dudgeon over being called a friend of mine by Judge Mulroy was understandable, given the crimes that I had just been convicted of committing. I didn’t care much for him either, truth be told. He built too many new prisons in my opinion, and cut academic and vocational programs in the prisons already standing.


I know that Judge Mulroy was not nearly alone in wanting to see me executed for the crime I committed when I shot two Onondaga County sheriff’s deputies inside the Town of Dewitt courtroom during a failed escape attempt, killing one and critically wounding the other. There were many people in the Syracuse area who shared his sentiments, to be sure. I read the hateful letters to the editor printed in the local newspapers; I could even feel the anger of the people when I’d go to court, so palpable was it. Even by the standards of my own belief system, such as it was back then, I deserved to die for what I had done. I took the life of a man without just cause, committing an act so monumentally wrong that I could not have argued that it was unfair had I been required to pay with my own life.


What nobody knew or suspected back then, not even I, on that very day I would begin suffering a punishment that I am convinced beyond all doubt is far worse than any death sentence could possibly have been. On July 10, 2012, I finished my 25th consecutive year in solitary confinement, where at the time of this writing I remain. Though it is true that I’ve never died and so don’t know exactly what the experience would entail, for the life of me I cannot fathom how dying any death could be harder or more terrible than living through all that I have been forced to endure for the last quarter-century.

Prisoners call it The Box.

Prison authorities have euphemistically dubbed it the Special Housing Unit, or SHU (pronounced “shoe”) for short. In society it is known as solitary confinement. It is 23-hour a day lock-down in a cell smaller than some closets I’ve seen, with one hour allotted to “recreation” consisting of placement in a concrete enclosed yard by oneself or, in some prisons, a cage made of steel bars. There is nothing in a SHU yard but air: no TV, no balls to bounce, no games to play, no other inmates, nothing. There is very little allowed in a SHU cell, also. Three sets of plain white underwear, one pair of green pants, one green short-sleeved button-up shirt, one green sweatshirt, ten books or magazines total, twenty pictures of the people you love, writing supplies, a bar of soap, toothbrush and toothpaste, one deodorant stick but no shampoo, and that’s about it. No clothes of your own, only prison-made. No food from commissary or packages, only three unappetizing meals a day handed to you through a narrow slot in your cell door. No phone calls, no TV, no luxury items at all. You get a set of cheap headphones to use, and you can pick between the two or three (depending on which prison you’re in) jacks in the cell wall to plug into. You can listen to a TV station in one jack, and use your imagination while trying to figure out what is going on when the music indicates drama but the dialogue doesn’t suffice to tell you anything. Or you can listen to some music, but you’re out of luck if you’re a rock-n-roll fan and find only rap is playing.


Your options in what to do to occupy your time in SHU are scant, but there will be boredom aplenty. You probably think that you understand boredom, know its feel, but really you don’t. What you call boredom would seem a whirlwind of activity to me, choices so many that I’d likely be befuddled in trying to pick one over all the others. You could turn on a TV and watch a movie or some other show; I haven’t seen a TV since the 1980′s. You could go for a walk in the neighborhood; I can’t walk more than a few feet in any direction before I run into a concrete wall or steel bars. You could pick up your phone and call a friend; I don’t know if I’d be able to remember how to make a collect call or even if the process is still the same, so many years it’s been since I’ve used a telephone. Play with your dog or cat and experience their love, or watch your fish in their aquarium; the only creatures I see daily are the mice and cockroaches that infest the unit, and they’re not very lovable and nothing much to look at. There is a pretty good list of options available to you, if you think about it, many things that you could do even when you believe you are so bored. You take them for granted because they are there all the time, but if it were all taken away you’d find yourself missing even the things that right now seem so small and insignificant. Even the smallest stuff can become as large as life when you have had nearly nothing for far too long.


I haven’t been outside in one of the SHU yards in this prison for about four years now. I haven’t seen a tree or blade of grass in all that time, and wouldn’t see these things were I to go to the yard. In Elmira Correctional Facility, where I am presently imprisoned, the SHU yards are about three or four times as big as my cell. There are twelve SHU yards total, each surrounded by concrete walls, one or two of the walls lined with windows. If you look in the windows you’ll see the same SHU company that you live on, and maybe you’ll get a look at a guy who was locked next to you for months that you’ve talked to every day but had never before gotten a look at. If you look up you’ll find bars and a screen covering the yard, and if you’re lucky maybe you can see a bit of blue sky through the mesh, otherwise it’ll be hard to believe that you’re even outside. If it’s a good day you can walk around the SHU yard in small circles staring ahead with your mind on nothingness, like the nothing you’ve got in that lacuna with you. If it’s a bad day, though, maybe your mind will be filled with remembrances of all you used to have that you haven’t seen now for many years, and you’ll be missing it, feeling the loss, feeling it bad.


Life in the box is about an austere sameness that makes it difficult to tell one day from a thousand others. Nothing much and nothing new ever happen to tell you if it’s a Monday or a Friday, March or September, 1987 or 2012. The world turns, technology advances, and things in the streets change and keep changing all the time. Not so in a solitary confinement unit, however. I’ve never seen a cell phone except in pictures in magazines. I’ve never touched a computer in my life, never been on the Internet and wouldn’t know how to get there if you sat me in front of a computer, turned it on for me, and gave me directions. SHU is a timeless place, and I can honestly say that there is not a single thing I’d see looking around right now that is different from what I saw in Shawangunk Correctional Facility’s box when I first arrived there from Syracuse’s county jail in 1987. Indeed, there is probably nothing different in SHU now than in SHU a hundred years ago, save the headphones. Then and now there were a few books, a few prison-made clothing articles, walls and bars and human beings locked in cages… and misery.There is always the misery. If you manage to escape it yourself for a time, there will ever be plenty around in others for you to sense; and though you’ll be unable to look into their eyes and see it, you might hear it in the nighttime when tough guys cry not-so-tough tears that are forced out of them by the unrelenting stress and strain that life in SHU is an exercise in.


I’ve read of the studies done regarding the effects of long-term isolation in solitary confinement on inmates, seen how researchers say it can ruin a man’s mind, and I’ve watched with my own eyes the slow descent of sane men into madness—sometimes not so slow. What I’ve never seen the experts write about, though, is what year after year of abject isolation can do to that immaterial part in our middle where hopes survive or die and the spirit resides. So please allow me to speak to you of what I’ve seen and felt during some of the harder times of my twenty-five-year SHU odyssey.


I’ve experienced times so difficult and felt boredom and loneliness to such a degree that it seemed to be a physical thing inside so thick it felt like it was choking me, trying to squeeze the sanity from my mind, the spirit from my soul, and the life from my body. 


I’ve seen and felt hope becoming like a foggy ephemeral thing, hard to get ahold of, even harder to keep ahold of as the years and then decades disappeared while I stayed trapped in the emptiness of the SHU world. I’ve seen minds slipping down the slope of sanity, descending into insanity, and I’ve been terrified that I would end up like the guys around me that have cracked and become nuts. It’s a sad thing to watch a human being go insane before your eyes because he can’t handle the pressure that the box exerts on the mind, but it is sadder still to see the spirit shaken from a soul. And it is more disastrous. Sometimes the prison guards find them hanging and blue; sometimes their necks get broken when they jump from their bed, the sheet tied around the neck that’s also wrapped around the grate covering the light in the ceiling snapping taut with a pop. I’ve seen the spirit leaving men in SHU and have witnessed the results.


The box is a place like no other place on planet Earth. It’s a place where men full of rage can stand at their cell gates fulminating on their neighbor or neighbors, yelling and screaming and speaking some of the filthiest words that could ever come from a human mouth, do it for hours on end, and despite it all never suffer the loss of a single tooth, never get his head knocked clean off his shoulders. You will NEVER hear words more despicable or see mouth wars more insane than what occurs all the time in SHU. Not anywhere else in the world. Because there would be serious violence before any person could speak so much foulness for so long. In the box the heavy steel bars allow mouths to run with impunity when they could not otherwise do so, while the ambient is one that is sorely conducive to an exceedingly hot sort of anger that seems to press the lips on to ridiculous extremes. Day and night I have been awakened to the sound of the rage being loosed loudly on SHU gates, and I’d be a liar if I said I haven’t at times been one of the madmen doing the yelling.


I have lived for months where the first thing I became aware of upon waking in the morning is the malodorous funk of human feces, tinged with the acrid stench of days-old urine, where I eat my breakfast, lunch, and dinner with that same stink assaulting my senses, and where the last thought I had before falling into unconscious sleep was: “Damn, it smells like shit in here.” I have felt like I was on an island surrounded by vicious sharks, flanked on both sides by mentally ill inmates who would splash their excrement all over their cells, all over the company outside their cells, and even all over themselves. I have went days into weeks that seemed like they’d never end without being able to sleep more than short snatches before I was shocked out of my dreams, and thrown back into a living nightmare, by the screams of sick men who have lost all ability to control themselves, or by the banging of cell bars and walls of these same madmen. I have been so tired when sleep inside was impossible that I went outside into a snowstorm to get some sleep.


The wind blew hard and snowflakes swirled around and around in the small SHU yard at Shawangunk, and I had but one cheap prison-produced coat on and a single set of state clothes beneath. To escape the biting cold I dug into the seven- or eight-foot high mountain of snow that was piled in the center of the yard, the accumulation from inmates shoveling a narrow path to walk along the perimeter. With bare hands gone numb, I dug out a small room in that pile of snow, making myself a sort of igloo. When it was done I crawled inside, rolled onto my back on the snow-covered concrete ground, and almost instantly fell asleep, my bare head pillowed in the snow. I didn’t even have a hat to wear.


An hour or so later I was awakened by the guards come to take me back to the stink and insanity inside: “Blake, rec’s over…” I had gotten an hour’s straight sleep, minus the few minutes it had taken me to dig my igloo. That was more than I had gotten in weeks without being shocked awake by the CA-RACK! of a sneaker being slapped into a plexiglass shield covering the cell of an inmate who had thrown things nasty; or the THUD-THUD-THUD! of an inmate pounding his cell wall, or bars being banged, gates being kicked and rattled, or men screaming like they’re dying and maybe wishing that they were; or to the tirade of an inmate letting loose his pent-up rage on a guard or fellow inmate, sounding every bit the lunatic that too long a time in the mind-breaking confines of the box had caused him to be.


I have been so exhausted physically, mental strength being tested to limits that can cause strong folks to snap, that I have begged God, tough guy I fancy myself, “Please, Lord, make them stop. Please let me get some peace.” As the prayers went ungranted and the insanity around me persisted, I felt my own rage rising above the exhaustion and misery, no longer in a begging mood: “Lord, kill those motherfuckers, why don’t you!” I yelled at the Almighty, my own sanity so close to being gone that it seemed as if I were walking along a precipice and could see down to where I’d be falling, seeing myself shot, sanity a dead thing killed by the fall. I’d be afraid later on, terrified, when I reflected back on how close I had seemed to come to losing my mind, but at that moment all I could do was feel anger of a fiery kind: anger at the maniacs creating the noise and the stink and the madness; anger at my keepers and the real creators of this hell; anger at society for turning a blind eye to the torment and torture going on here that its tax dollars are financing; and perhaps most of all, anger at myself for doing all that I did that never should have been done that put me into the clutches of this beastly prison system to begin with. I would be angry at the world; enraged, actually, so burning hot was what I would be feeling.


I had wet toilet paper stuffed hard into both ears, socks folded up and pressed into my ears, a pillow wrapped around the sides and back of my head covering my ears, and a blanket tied around all that to hold everything in place, lying in bed praying for sleep. But still the noise was incredible, a thunderous cacophony of insanity, sleep impossible. Inmates lost in the throes of lavalike rage firing philippics at one another for even reasons they didn’t know, threatening to kill one another’s mommas, daddies, even the children, too. Nothing is sacred in SHU. It is an environment that is so grossly abnormal, so antithetical to normal human interactions, that it twists the innerds of men all around who for too long dwell there. Their minds, their morals, and their mannerisms get bent badly, ending far off-center. Right becomes whatever and wrong no longer exists. Restraint becomes a burden and is unnecessary with concrete and steel separating everyone, so inmates let it go. Day after day, perhaps year after year, the anger grows, fueled by the pain caused by the conditions till rage is born and burning so hot that it too hurts.


Trying to put into words what is so unlike anything else I know or have ever experienced seems an impossible endeavor, because there is nothing even remotely like it any place else to compare it to, and nothing that will do to you on the inside what so many years in SHU has done to me. All that I am able to articulate about the world of Special Housing Unit and what it is and what it does may seem terrible to you indeed, but the reality of living in this place for a full quarter of a century is yet even more terrible, still. You would have to live it, experience it in all its aspects with the fullness of its days and struggles added up, to really appreciate and understand just how truly terrible this plight of mine has been, and how truly ugly life in the box can be at times, even for just a single day. I spent nine years in Shawangunk’s box, six years in Sullivan’s, six years in Great Meadow’s, and I’ve been here in Elmira’s SHU for four years now, and through all of this time I have never spent a single day in a Mental Health Unit cell because I attempted or threatened suicide, or for any other reason. I have thought about suicide in times past when the days had become exceedingly difficult to handle, but I’m still here. I’ve had some of my SHU neighbors succumb to the suicidal thoughts, though, choosing death over another day of life in the box. I have never bugged out myself, but I’ve known times that I had come too close. I’ve had neighbors who came to SHU normal men, and I’ve seen them leave broken and not anything resembling normal anymore. I’ve seen guys give up on their dreams and lose all hope in the box, but my own hopes and dreams are still alive and well inside me. The insidious workings of the SHU program have yet to get me stuck on that meandering path to internal destruction that I have seen so many of my neighbors end up on, and perhaps this is a miracle; I’d rather be dead than to lose control of my mind.


Had I known in 1987 that I would spend the next quarter-century in solitary confinement, I would have certainly killed myself. If I took a month to die and spent every minute of it in severe pain, it seems to me that on a balance that fate would still be far easier to endure than the last twenty-five years have been. If I try to imagine what kind of death, even a slow one, would be worse than twenty-five years in the box—and I have tried to imagine it—I can come up with nothing. Set me afire, pummel and bludgeon me, cut me to bits, stab me, shoot me, do what you will in the worst of ways, but none of it could come close to making me feel things as cumulatively horrifying as what I’ve experienced through my years in solitary. Dying couldn’t take but a short time if you or the State were to kill me; in SHU I have died a thousand internal deaths. The sum of my quarter-century’s worth of suffering has been that bad.


To some judges sitting on high who’ve never done a day in the box, maybe twenty-five years of this isn’t cruel and unusual. To folks who have an insatiable appetite for vengeance against prisoners who have committed terrible crimes, perhaps it doesn’t even matter how cruel or unusual my plight is or isn’t. For people who cannot let go of hate and know not how to forgive, no amount of remorse would matter, no level of contrition would be quite enough, only endless retribution would be right in their eyes. Like Judge Milroy, only an eternity in hell would satisfy them. Given even that in retribution, though, the unforgiving haters wouldn’t be satisfied that hell was hot enough; they’d want the heat turned up. Thankfully these folks are the few, that in the minds of the many, at a point, enough is enough.


No matter what the world would think about things that they cannot imagine in even their worst nightmares, I know that twenty-five years in solitary confinement is utterly and certainly cruel, more so than death in or by an electric chair, gas chamber, lethal injection, bullet in the head, or even immolation could possibly be. The sum of the suffering caused by any of these quick deaths would be a small thing next to the sum of the suffering that this quarter-century in SHU has brought to bear on me. Solitary confinement for the length of time that I have endured it, even apart from the inhuman conditions that I have too often been made to endure it in, is torture of a terrible kind; and anyone who doesn’t think so surely knows not what to think.


I Have Served A Sentence Worse Than Death.

Aha! I have managed to finish something! Because I think I am busy on @viperbranium‘s actual birthday, I shall post this early - have some fluffy first-meeting Evanstan writer-of-kid’s-books Seb and reading show host Chris AU! And have a lovely birthday, my dear! I hope it is EVERY BIT AS WONDERFUL as you deserve. <3333

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Chris shows up for his first day on set nervous. He knows what he’s here to do, he knows he wants to do it, he just can’t quite shake the sense that he’s going to flub a line or sit too stiffly or fail completely at reading.

He eyeballs the children’s book in question. He’s read it three times to get used to the rhythms, the pacing. Lots of good messages. Superheroes, compassion, accepting help.

The book eyeballs him right back, but somehow does so with kindness. It knows about encouraging nervous kids. Chris Evans, clumsy with enthusiasm, is pretty much a big kid at heart, and could use the reassurance, right?

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he's like a hurricane, trouble's his middle name;

raywood | 1.7k | fahc / past implied illegal box

most couples, when they share clothes, have their friends make a couple jokes at their expense and realize how physically different they are.

however, in typical melodramatic fashion, ray and ryan cause a citywide police blockade and chase, destroy a business linage with one bullet and break gavin’s nose.

on AO3

honestly, special thanks to @michaelsgavin and @juggey for retweeting ray in ryan’s jacket one day, which lead to me commissioning some art from sami and then writing this. enjoy! it’s my first ragehappy fic, i hope it’s a good one!

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