in a dark corner

Love a ghost who wails, who screams at the stars about nothing and everything
Love a ghost that tears at walls, that throws things, that smashes mirrors when you look away
Love a ghost who rearranges furniture until it’s just right, who leaves broken bits of things all around the ground
Love a ghost who feels like huffs of warm breath and looks like mist
Love a ghost who can stay in corners and dark places for days before making themselves known again
Love your local poltergeist

lycanthropy and moony

imagine a remus lupin who takes wolfsbane potion and slowly starts to see himself as not so much of a monster.

imagine a remus lupin whose transformations don’t hurt all that much and soon being a werewolf is just a little part of his life, a part which is kept in a dark dusty corner.

imagine a Remus lupin who has a dog (”I am your HUSBAND, Moony, of course I will come along!”), a stag  (”I am your WIFE, Moony, of course I will come along!”), and a rat  (”I am your, uh, friend?”) with him every full moon.

imagine a remus lupin laughing his butt off at twilight [no offence].

imagine a remus lupin being fussed over by sirius after full moons. This was followed by a lot of cuddling and kisses.

imagine a remus lupin being happy despite his furry little problem.

imagine a remus lupin living in a society where people don’t care if you are a werewolf.

but please don’t imagine the agony remus lupin went through in those 144 full moons without a dog, a stag, and a rat. 

Bartenders and Bud-light

Lin x Reader

Word Count:4,209 (I’m sorry, I don’t know what happened :/)

Disclaimers: Alcohol mention, 1 curse word? 

A/N: This is my first fanfic of any kind, so feedback is definitely welcome!! I took a prompt online “you make eye contact with a stranger across” and just ran with it. Thank you @secretschuylersister for reading it over!! I hope you all enjoy (cause I enjoyed writing it!!) 

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these are the things we lost in the fire [KHR]

Prompt: Haru/Kyouko/Tsuna - fire escape 

0-0-0-0-0-0

Haru wakes up at a quarter to two, and finds their bed missing a body. She rubs her eyes as she rolls out of bed, yawning and shivering against the chill in the air. The balmy summer air is fading now, replaced with the starting nips of autumn coming on fast. She reminds herself to leave a note for Kyoko in the morning to take a sweater when she goes to work.

She finds their husband out on the fire escape, the same place he always goes when he vanishes to that dark little corner of his mind. There’s an unlit cigarette dangling between his lips, a bad habit picked up from Gokudera, and never gotten rid of after Byakuran. She makes sure to make plenty of noise as she comes up behind him, and knocks on the windowsill to alert him to her presence. The last time someone had snuck up on him that person had ended up smeared all over the side of their walls. Kyoko hadn’t been happy about the mess, but she’d been placated by Tsuna’s promise to let her pick out their next home away from home.

“What are you doing up?” he asks her as she comes to stand beside him. He’s shirtless, and his pants look like they were hastily thrown on. He doesn’t look at her as he speaks, keeping his gaze on the horizon like he’s waiting for something. She feels less like they’re in a city surrounded by former mafiosi and more like they’re back in the Castle, preparing for a fight. 

“I could ask the same of you, but I already know the answer.”

“I’m sorry,” he says, but it rings hollow.

She shakes her head. “We knew this part of you when we agreed to be yours. Don’t apologize.”

He laughs, but its just as broken as the rest of him. “Some husband I turned out to be.”

Another set of footsteps comes up behind them. “I happen to think you’re a very good husband, Tsuna,” Kyoko’s voice says. She joins them on the railing, and squeezes in between Tsuna and the right side of the railing. Unlike Haru she looks fully awake, but then again Kyoko’s used to getting up at odd hours. Downsides to being an on-call nurse. She lays a hand over Tsuna’s. “You’ve done a wonderful job so far, and you’ll do even better in the future, I know.”

Haru, sensing a chance to lure Tsuna out of his dark thoughts, lays her own hand under Tsuna’s, curling their fingers together. “We’ll be here with you every step of the way, Tsuna.”

Unfortunately, just because their words usually work on him doesn’t mean they always do. Tonight seems to be one of those nights. “How can you want to remain with me, after all I’ve done? The people I’ve killed? I…I can’t even give you children.”

Kyoko and Haru exchange glances. This is dangerous territory. “We’re just happy to be with you, Tsuna. And we both knew what we were getting into the day we took those vows. Don’t go thinking that we didn’t,” Kyoko tells him firmly. “Reborn and the others, they all told us months in advance was we would be stepping into, what kind of life we would spend our days living. We both had plenty of time to change our minds. The fact that we haven’t, that we’re here even now, doesn’t that say something to you?”

Tsuna blinks. “I…I just…”

“You’re thinking too much,” Haru tells him. He looks over at her for the first time since this conversation started. She frowns at the dark lines under his eyes, and pokes his cheek gently. “Look at you, stressing out. Are you so eager to leave us behind, Tsuna?”

“Of course not!” he says, and finally there’s emotion breaking through this wall of stoicism he’s built up. “I just… I worry about what I’m going to do if something should happen to either one of you. Some nights I wake up and that’s all I can think about. Because eventually someone’s going to be stupid or brave enough to try something and I can’t be there all the time–”

“Tsuna,” Haru gently lays her hands on his shoulders. “Breathe. You’re thinking years ahead of where we are now.”

“Of course I am,” he snaps, though not at her. “I have to! A good Boss–”

“Doesn’t wear himself down thinking about maybe’s and what-ifs,” Kyoko says firmly. Together, they turn him from the railing and urge him back inside. He goes, although at first it almost seems like he’s going to refuse. But then he sags, looking so tired and overwhelmed both of their hearts nearly stop. 

“Call Reborn,” Haru says. “He’s always been at your side, even when we weren’t. Call him, and get this stuff off your chest.”

“He’s probably already asleep,” Tsuna mumbles. “Don’t want to disturb him.”

Kyoko and Haru exchange another exasperated glance. One of the few things Reborn had told them, once they’d both walked down that aisle, was that Tsuna was prone to little moments of selfish stupidity. “He’ll try to say I’m busy or asleep or whatever,” he told them in exasperation, handing over two identical black phones. “If he does that, you call me, day or night, rain or shine, and get that idiot on the phone with me. A good Boss takes care of his people, but he also takes care of himself. Sometimes I think Tsuna went deaf during that lesson.”

Haru nods to her. “I’ll call,” she says, and goes to get the black phone. She can hear Tsuna saying something, but Kyoko shushes him before long. Haru dials the number she memorized two days after getting the phone, and waits.

The line clicks. “He’s being an idiot, isn’t he?” Reborn’s voice, not carrying even the slightest hint of sleep or exhaustion in it, says.

“Yep,” she agrees. 

“Hand me over to him. I’ve got a few things to tell that idiot boy of mine.”

Haru far too cheerfully walks back into the room, and puts the phone to Tsuna’s ear. “For you,” she says, and once she’s sure Tsuna’s got a grip on it, lets go and steps away.

Instantly Tsuna’s wincing, moving, becoming alive again as Reborn rallies into his ear all the stupid things he’s doing and has done by ignoring his own health. Haru smiles as she watches him mumble something back in Italian, and head back, though not to the fire escape, but to his private office. “I hope that helps,” she tells Kyoko.

Kyoko snorts inelegantly. “It’s Reborn. Of course its going to help. Now, since we’re both up, let’s go ahead and get some coffee going and start the day.”

“Amen to that,” Haru agrees.

The first thing Will’s mind registered when he came back to consciousness was pain. Excruciating pain that traveled through every single nerve of his back without a care.

The second thing were the shackles that were tightly grabbing his wrists, connecting one with the other before linking them both to the bottom of the cage he was in with a thick chain.

The third was the pair of dark chocolate eyes staring at him from a shadowy corner of the room, whose owner was absently playing with a white feather tainted red. A feather he could recognize even from the distance.

One of his own.

I told you I spent an entire day drawing Silmarillion children! Here’s a bunch of dark-haired babies.

Holtzmann probably:

- never properly ties her shoelaces, or doesn’t tie them at all.
- doesn’t match a single pair of socks ever. Matching socks are an AFFRONT to her style
- has broken a bone at least once dancing in the shower
- has sensory processing issues and sometimes needs to sit underneath a blanket like it’s a sweet, dark, warm cocoon to properly think or park herself in a corner with her knees drawn up to her chest and just stare at the wall and *sigh* because the world is tiring sometimes.
- is a little bit(read:very) afraid of people who wear formal business attire on the daily. How do they BREATHE, Erin? how do they BREATHE?
- sometimes forgets how vibrant the world is when she takes her glasses off. Once saw a rainbow, then took off her glasses to look at it again and was so shocked she had to sit down. On the sidewalk. Just right there immediately to look up and admire it. She almost cried. Erin, Abby and Patty didn’t laugh. They just sat down next to her in an impromptu mid-city cuddle huddle.
- once wrote a 7 page fan letter to Bill Nye. It was more recently than any of the other ghostbusters would think. (It was last month. She’s super psyched for his new show, ok?).
- every time she tries to write in words not numbers and symbols and diagrams, it always ends up looking like abstract, broken, somehow beautiful poetry.
- had a stutter as a child.

The Adventures of Sutha, the Half-Orc Bard

A little context: my little brother DMs and 3 of 4 of my campaigns I’ve played are with him. Our dad and step mom expressed interest in trying D&D, so he and I gave them the introduction to playing. I have an undying love for Druids, but I decided to try something new this time. Insert my pure-shenanigans character, Sutha the Half-Orc Barbarian. Low intelligence, lower wisdom, high charisma and constitution. My proposal of this character was “They love music, but are not the greatest player. For whatever reason though, people love it.” Cue our introduction:

DM: So, you are all in a tavern in the evening. Why has each of your characters chosen to be there, and what are they doing?

Dad (the blue dragonborn ranger): I’m looking for someone. I am sitting in a dark corner watching everyone.

Stepmom (elf druid with the sage background): I’m in the city looking for knowledge, and stop by the tavern. I settle at the bar.

Me: I am of course, standing on a table, playing a song on my harp, singing along– I should mention, Sutha cannot sing– and when i finish each song, I down a pint of ale, and begin anew. There is a steadily growing pile of empty tankards around my feet.

DM: How big are you? How much do they weigh?

Me: uhhh… 200lbs, and 6ft 7.

DM: Roll to see if the table holds your weight.

*rolls a 17*

DM: Well, okay then. It is rocking back and forth a lot, but seems to be holding. Roll constitution to see how well you hold your liquor.

*rolls a 15+ 3*

DM: Theres a dozen or so tankards at your feet, and you’re slightly buzzed, but otherwise are fine.

I’m trying to let our parents take it upon themselves to push the introductions, let them find reasons for us to all interact, encouraging them to start roleplaying. I’m using my ridiculous character to make them laugh and get rid of any nervousness. It’s going slowly, my step mom is very quiet, but my dads getting right into character and playing around with voices. Finally, after about 5 minutes of awkward bumbling, I decide to try and give them an opening.

Me: At this point, my table breaks under me.

DM: *Smiling* roll dex saving throw.

Me: * rolls 18+3*

We all laugh.

DM: the table splits clean down the middle, the tankards land all upright, and you land on your feet on top of them.

Me: I look down in shock, and then cheer loudly over the hushed silence, arms raised in the air. I down another pint and start a new song.

Eventually the DM intervened, inserting an NPC who drags us on a quest. I tried, anyways.

So, in one episode of Elementary, Sherlock finds the actual Stanley Cup on a dark corner of the internet and buys it. In an episode of Leverage, Sophie mentions that she stole the actual Stanley Cup, replaced it with a fake, and then lost the real one. 

What a fun coincidence.

3

Trump is in regular contact with Alex Jones, who thinks Sandy Hook was a government hoax

  • Alex Jones, noted conspiracy theorist and founder of the rightwing conspiracy site Infowars, says he’s not only been in regular contact with Trump, but is giving him ideas, according to a new profile published by the German news outlet Der Spiegel.
  • “Trump and I have talked several times since the election — about freedom and our common goal to destroy our enemies,” Jones said.
  • Jones brings bizarre and offensive conspiracy theories floating in the dark corners of the internet to huge audiences, including Trump, who has also been a guest on Jones’ show. 
  • “It is surreal to talk about issues here on air, and then word-for-word hear Trump say it two days later,” Jones said during the campaign.
  • Among Jones’ most belabored conspiracy theories is that the 9/11 terrorist attacks were an “inside job.” Read more (2/28/17 1:25 PM)

nursey’s teeth shift really easily so he’s still a big retainer stickler. the gold inscription on his battered blue plastic retainer case has faded; it used to say his ortho’s name and address (the number is a new york county area code) but he’s thumbed it over so many times, let the case fall into a dark corner of his duffle bag or get shoved into his back pocket, that it’s seen its fair share of wear.

it’s why smh has so many videos of nursey groggy in the morning during a roadie, even post-kegster with a gentle lisp asking everyone to keepf ith down pleaf, thank youf g'nite

You know.. Jason died right, so all I’m saying is he can probably see ghosts and other nonhuman entities. The batfam probably all separately catch him staring into dark corners with a horrified expression or occasionally saying fuck off to the empty air somewhere to the right of their heads.. maybe Jason sometimes isn’t acting quite himself due to a malevolent entity attempting possession. They all just sadly use this behavior to further confirm that Jason is just not all there upstairs since he came back, until Constantine shows up in Gotham and the batfam witness Jason helping exorcise a demon only they can see, and Constantine is like holy shit I’ve never seen this many spirits drawn to one person before