is it the mothballs

anonymous asked:

For the drabble meme: 37(I had a dream about you) and 95(I never liked it, I lied) please. If you don't mind. Thank you

“A murder mystery weekend.”

“Yes.”

“And you’re…? preventing an actual murder…?”

“No.”  Sherlock’s face screwed up like she’d just suggested he eat a mothball dipped in roofing tar and rolled in spider legs.  "Art theft.  You watch too much telly.“

“And John can’t go because he couldn’t find his bollocks in the bottom of Mary’s handbag?”

“Basically.”

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10

       In an amazing chain of events, the story of these WWII fighters continues to be written. The Goodyear F2G Super Corsair was an upgraded version of the famed F4U, optimized for fighting Japanese aircraft at low level. Before the aircraft could go operational, the war ended, and only 10 were built. Of these prototype airframes, only two still exist today.

     Race 57, shown in her striking red paint job, was the fifth prototype to roll off the assembly line as serial number 88458. After the war, she was purchased by Navy Captain Cook Cleland, who won the 1947 and 1949 Thompson Trophy race with this aircraft. She would become the last propeller driven aircraft to ever win the Thompson Trophy. 

     The dawn of the jet age caused these aircraft to be mothballed. Race 57 lay dormant for many decades until Bob Odegaard would return her to flight in 1999. I took these photos of Race 57 on August 26, 2007, at the Alpine Airpark Airshow in Wyoming. Earlier that day, I watched in awe as Odegaard flew low level aerobatics in this beautiful bird. I was 17 years old. 

      Nearly ten years after seeing my first Super Corsair, I was privileged to visit the Museum of Flight Restoration Center in Everett, Washington, where I photographed the first F-2G prototype as they breathed new life into the plane. Serial number 88454 proudly wears her original Naval Air Test Center livery (as shown in the final five photos in this set).

     As I experienced this later encounter with a Super Corsair, I did so with a heavy heart. Bob Odegaard, who thrilled me as a teenager with his aerobatics, was no longer with us. Odegaard owned a second Super Corsair called Race 74. He exhibited the aircraft all over the country until on September 7, 2012, he tragically lost his life while practicing for an air show in his home state of North Dakota.

      Odegaard’s legacy lives on, forever entangled with the story of the Super Corsair. Race 57 has recently changed hands once again in an effort to keep her flying. Wars begin and end. Races are won. Lives are lost. As one chapter closes, another begins.

Wren (pt 1 of?)

She calls herself Wren, after Two Things. One is the bird. The small, plainly colored, ball of feathers, sometimes called house wrens, that often flit about unnoticed. Two is another girl. This Wren, who spelled her name Ren, isn’t real. She’s Ren-from-the-book Found, the first–and still most favorite–post apocalyptic story Wren-with-a-W has read. There are others, but that one is closest to her heart.

Which probably makes the Choice a Stupid One, but she makes it, nonetheless. Maybe the Gentry will think she likes birds. Maybe–though that, likely, could have its own consequences.

Unlike some of the others, Wren-with-a-W–like Anne-with-an-e, but without either the fiery hair or tendency to babble–likes the rules at Elsewhere. She likes Rules period. Her life–and her brain–is often chaotic, though she won’t acquire the alphabet soup of abbreviations that explain why till years later.

She doesn’t know, at eighteen, that she has ADHD. All she knows is she’s disorganized, easily distracted, and loses everything she touches. She also doesn’t know that she’s probably Autistic. All she knows is that she has trouble with conversations–starting them, stopping them, keeping them going. She has trouble with loud sounds and her clothes feeling Wrong. And when she loves something, it consumes her.

Sometimes–before she learned better–she thought she might be a changeling. When she was very young, she lost herself, deliberately, inside her mind. She spent hours and hours daydreaming, blocking out the world. When she was a teenager, her bubble popped, and she found herself suddenly in a world that was strange, confusing, and much too loud.

So, Wren-with-a-W likes the Rules. They’re comforting. Follow them and you’ll be safe. Don’t follow them, and there are no promises. And so she follows them. She hoards packets of creamer and shakers of salt and iron nails like they’re going out of style. She carries each in her pockets–and she’s found that the nails double as stim toys.

A few weeks into the fall semester, and Wren has found herself alone in her dorm for the first time. Her roommate has gone. Not Gone, not Replaced, no, nothing so sinister. She’s simply gone home, to visit family. Wren has not. She loves her family, but she doesn’t miss them. Not the way other people seem to.

Alone for the first time, Wren crosses to her bed and pulls out the old chest. Her great-grandmother, Agnes, gave it to her when Wren was twelve. Great-grandmother Agnes was a lot like Wren. She was shy and spacey, quiet and scattered, and she didn’t seem to know what to do with people, either.

As she opens the trunk, the smell hits her first. There’s the sharp, burning-in-her-nose smell of mothballs, and under that, something even more bitter, salty like blood, like iron. Like the sea.

The blanket at the bottom is dark brown, like mahogany and chocolate stirred together. One side is rough. When Wren pets it, she’s reminded of Boris, her old mohair teddy bear Mom made her leave home, because You-know-how-college-kids-are-you-don’t-want-anything-to-happen-to-it. The other side is smooth. When Wren touches it, she’s reminded of her favorite suede couch, the big brown one at Grandma Ruth’s. She loved laying on it and running her hand up and down the arm while she watched My Little Pony The Movie for the million and first time.

Wrapping the blanket around her, Wren shuts the trunk and slides it under the bed. Great grandmother made her promise not to show either trunk nor blanket to a living soul, and so far, Wren has kept her word. Mom says that Great-grandma-was-getting-senile-before-she-passed-it’s-a-shame-really. Wren knows different, but that, too, is part of the secret.

There are other trunks, other young women in Wren’s family with blankets like these. But Wren has never fit in with them. Those girls, to a one, know how to get along in the world. They don’t lose things the moment they set them aside. They don’t misunderstand a look, a gesture, an implied demand. They know how to follow all the unwritten Social Rules. Not Wren. Not now, and maybe not ever.

So, blanket wrapped tight tight tight around her, Wren hoes to the couch and curls up. She turns on the TV, then the DVD player. Pressing play on the remote, she settles in, sighing happily, as My Little Pony Tales begins playing.

The blanket isn’t the only reason she waits till her roommate leaves before watching tv.

To Be Continued.

[x]

I’m not sure this counts, since I don’t think I technically recognized this moment for what it REALLY was, and Mongr-El isn’t even in the scene or mentioned at all, but whatever. 

The first moment I hated Man-Hell was when Karolsen broke up.

Yeah I know, I know, Kara and Mayo-Boy don’t get together for another twelve episodes after that and he wasn’t even CONSCIOUS at that point in the series, but we all KNOW that they only broke up Karolsen to make way for a new white male love interest, so it counts, alright!

Because that was one of the first big signs that things were going really, really wrong in this season. The other was the writing off of Cat Grant, but that has less to do with Meh-Blegh, so I can’t quite count that.

We spent twenty episodes building up not just Karolsen, but James Olsen as a character in the show, as a co-lead with Kara and Alex. He was more than just Kara’s love interest. James Olsen was a successful, empathetic, kind, flawed character who also happened to be a Black man. He had his own personal character arc throughout season 1 about learning to believe in Kara and, through her, himself. He’d always sort-of depended on Superman in his life as both the reason he was famous and as his personal hero. But through helping Kara learn how to step outside of Superman’s shadow and be a hero all her own, James has to do much the same for himself and figure out where he fits in this new world he’s helping to create. He has to figure out who he wants to become now that he isn’t relying on Superman.

A lot of kermil shippers will use the fact that James was somewhat obsessed with Superman as an argument against Karolsen, that he only likes Kara because of her relationship to Clark Kent and not for Kara herself. I disrespectfully disagree. One of the biggest obstacles between James and Kara was his relationship with Kara’s more famous cousin, I’ll admit, but it’s an obstacle that they dealt with pretty early on if I remember right. Kara gets angry with him for calling Superman to save her and he promises never to do it again. And you know what? He doesn’t. That little button that used to call Superman always seems to call Kara instead after that episode. He learns to see Kara as her own person without the legacy of Superman overshadowing her.

In comparison, Mothball-Eh STILL brings up Kara’s Kryptonian heritage as recently as 2x13 during their DEO argument to delegitimize her anger and his mother brings it up in 2x16. The issue of Kara’s supposed ‘prejudice’ is STILL an issue after karahell get together, but the issue is no longer Kara’s; it’s MOUNTAIN-DEW’S. Because he sees prejudice in every valid criticism she brings up, just to make himself the victim so he doesn’t have to ever change his behavior. His mother uses Kara’s supposed prejudice (and she wasn’t even there in the original episodes when Kara DOES say some prejudiced things, so she’s actually just making a guess and being an asshole about it) to make Kara feel guilty about being upset that her boyfriend lied to her about his identity, an identity that meant he had owned slaves and been part of a corrupt monarchy and benefited from oppressing his own people. I guess the apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree there. Rhea killed her own husband when he disagreed with her; I wonder what Moldy Wonder Bread would do to Kara if she pushed him hard enough.

Anyway, so after twenty episodes of build-up, they finally got Karolsen together. And they spent all of one episode as a couple. An episode in which they do basically nothing as a couple, they don’t even get to go on a date, and at the end of it, Kara has somehow decided they’re better off as just friends, even though at this point, she shouldn’t really have any idea what they’re like as NOT-friends.

In a spectacularly shittily written scene, an entire season of build-up got shoved aside due to some equally spectacular racism. Because James HAD to get out of the way for the new white fuckboy to reign, didn’t he?

And that’s definitely one of my number one moments that I can look back on and say I started hating Musty-Eel.

Black And Grey

Fic Request: 
“Dark  x reader x Natemare as a poly relationship how would the two dark boys act?  Also if you have time could you do a fic on this?”

I wanted to write a fic based on these two. I’ll do a bullet fic for them soon.

Originally posted by alienboyinblue


Originally posted by crystalfier

“As much as I believe that wall loves to be stroked by you,” Natemare chuckled from behind you. “It would be great if you could turn on the light.” 
You shot him a glare over your shoulder, and kept moving your hand along the wall until you found the switch. 
As you flicked it, the bulb burst and you sighed as the guest bedroom was covered in black again. 
You shrugged at Mare and stepped into the room. Your arms outstretched in front of you so you didn’t run into anything. 
“My god, it’s dark in here.” You mumbled. 
“Yeah, it is rather depressing and emotionless isn’t it.” Natemare replied, leaning against the doorway. “Your left foot is about to run into the corner of the bed.” 
You halted your steps, moving a little to the right and continued forward.
“Tell me again, why the mortal is walking blindly in the dark?” You asked, grunting when your knee struck something. 
“There’s a box.” Mare said with a smile that was hidden in shadows. 
“I’ve noticed.” You growled a reply. Rubbing your knee to ease the stinging.
“Also because I saw a spider in here last week, and I don’t fancy seeing it again.” Natemare continued with a casual shrug.
You mumbled a string of curses and made your way to the window. Once you felt your fingers grasp the material, you threw it open. Bathing the room in sunlight. 
You turned to face the room. Somewhat proud that you made it with hitting only one object. But frowning when you discovered that cursed box had been the only thing in the room to run into. 
Natemare chuckled, seeing your disappointment. “At least the box knows who’s boss now.” 
He stepped into the bedroom and dumped a pile of sheets and blankets on the bed. 
“So, why are you making the bed again?” I asked, picking up a pillow-case to cover the cushions at the head of the bed. 
“Because I read the text that Dark was coming home from his trip away, and I thought he wouldn’t fancy sleeping on the couch.” Mare replied as he started tucking the sheet over the mattress. 
You chuckled and rolled your eyes. “Mare, Dark is not sleeping in here. I’m pretty sure the three of us will have to go back to our sleeping arrangements.” 
Mare scoffed, throwing a blanket over the sheets. It was rather thin, old and smelled of mothballs. 
“He’s been gone for two weeks. Do you honestly still want to sleep in the same bed as him?” Mare asked, facing you with a serious look on his face. 
You rolled your eyes and approached him. Leaning up to kiss his cheek. 
“Don’t get jealous, Natemare. It’s not his fault he had to go away for business.” 
“I stayed here to make sure you weren’t lonely.” Mare huffed, wrapping his arms around your waist. Kissing the top of your head. “And you’re just going to crawl back to him?” 

“It’s called a commitment, Matchstick, perhaps you should learn it’s meaning.” 
You turned to the door and found Dark standing there, glowering coldly. His arms crossed over his chest as he stared daggers at Mare. 
Smiling, you ran over to Dark.  His arms opened for you and his lips crashed into yours as he embraced you. 
Dark held you against him, the kiss slow and heated. He only pulled away when Natemare growled quietly. 
The suited man sighed as he pulled away, eyes flashing when he turned his gaze back to Mare. 
“And no, Nate, I won’t be sleeping in here.” Dark gave your waist a squeeze, making you squeak and spin in his arms as when his fingers dug into your hips. “Tonight is my night. As per the schedule we set when we agreed to this.” 
“It’s Natemare, Ruby-Gloom.” Mare snapped back. “And it’s (Y/N)’s decision on who they want to sleep with tonight.” 
Dark brushed his lips against the back of your neck as the two entities turned to you for an answer. 
Biting your lip, you shrugged. “There’s no way you two won’t comfortably sleep in the same bed?” 
“No.” They growled in unison. Dark’s arms tightened around you and Natemare glared at the other man.
Sighing you nodded, “Fine, then. Mare, it is Dark’s night. And you’ve had me alone for two weeks.” 
Dark rested his chin on the top of your head. Smirking at Natemare as the singer grumbled angrily. 
“You might want to get some ear-plugs for tonight, Nate.” Dark said coolly. “I’ve dearly missed our little (Y/N).” 
Mare rolled his eyes, his gaze softening when his gaze met yours. Almost child-like, he gave you a sheepish grin and dispersed into smoke. Disappearing out the window. 

Dark turned you around, taking your chin in his hand. “Now, let’s make up for lost time shall we?” 
You smiled and leaned up to press a kiss to his lips, when he stopped.
His eyes clouded in concentration, as if listening for something.
Sighing in frustration, Dark stepped away and moved towards the living room. 
“Put those down, Nate.” He barked angrily. You hurried after him, almost laughing when you came across the scene. 
Smoke filled the room. Making it foggy and smelling strongly of burning wood. Mare was floating near the ceiling, high above your heads as his hand lazily waved in the air, as if conducting. 
Twirling around the room were multiple empty suits. Like empty shells they danced with each other about the space to a tune that Mare was humming.
Dark’s luggage had been ransacked. Clothes were thrown everywhere. The expensive tailored material was being ruined by the sharp movements Natemare was making them move too.
Growling Dark moved forward to snatch the suit from Mare’s influence. But the dancer dodged his hand and sprinted into the kitchen. 
The rest of the suits scattered into the house, the smoke lifting as they left.
You stifled your giggles when one managed to slap Dark with the cuff of it’s jacket. Causing the entity to crack his neck and look up at Mare. 
“Get down.” He demanded and Mare shook his head. 
“Naa, you might hurt me.” 
“There’s no doubt that I will.” Dark replied testily. “Now, get down here before I drag you into the ground.” 
Natemare grinned. A glint of mischief in his eyes. “Naa.” 
Dark made a grab for Mare, but his hand only passed through the man’s leg. 
Chuckling, Natemare glided in circles above Dark’s head. “Happy to be home, Gloomie-Tunes?” 
Dark sighed heavily and loosened his tie. “Home sweet home.” 
Mare scattered into smoke as Dark exploded in a cloud of shadows. Two streams of grey and black chased one another throughout the house. 
Knocking things over and causing the air to tremble as they passed. You sighed and went to the living room. Settling down to watch a movie until the two got it out of their system.

Hey! I wrote a thing! 

Vacationland! (Read on ao3)

Pairing: nurseydex
Words: ~3600
Summary: Derek and Dex end up spending a week together. Alone. In Maine. At a lake house. This leads to some important conversations about relationships. 

___________

Derek was sitting on the edge of a dock on a lake in Maine wondering what the fuck happened in his life to bring him here. Well, actually he knew exactly what brought him here. He had mentioned casually in the Haus one day near the end of the semester than his parents were planning on going to Italy for a week for their anniversary, and, while he was invited along, he opted not to go so his moms could enjoy the vacation as a couple.

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the signs as quotes from my ap lit class
  • <p> <b><p></b> <b><p></b> <b>aries:</b> <p/><b></b> "The only thing I hate more than a squirrel is a haiku."<p/><b>taurus:</b> <p/><b></b> "Maybe everything's more funnery in a nunnery!"<p/><b>gemini:</b> <p/><b></b> "I don't know what disappoints me more, the fact that you wrote an essay on The Hunger Games, or the fact that I can see where you erased '1984' and replaced it with 'The Hunger Games'."<p/><b>cancer:</b> <p/><b></b> "What if J. R. R. Tolkien was short for Jolkien Rolkien Rolkien Tolkien?"<p/><b>leo:</b> <p/><b></b> "Tell your precalc teacher that in real life, math doesn't matter."<p/><b>virgo:</b> <p/><b></b> "You just referenced Lana Del Rey in AP Lit, so your argument is invalid."<p/><b>libra:</b> <p/><b></b> "You can stay out of trouble and not get detention, or you can make Oscar Wilde proud."<p/><b>scorpio:</b> <p/><b></b> "Don't be fooled by the flowery 16th century prose, this is a classic Shakespearean booty call."<p/><b>sagittarius:</b> <p/><b></b> "Yesterday I learned what a 'dank meme' is!"<p/><b>capricorn:</b> <p/><b></b> "I'm not a very good person at understanding 'art', I just look at this and see the basic suffering that pervades all humanity."<p/><b>aquarius:</b> "After careful consideration, I have decided that the title of my memoir will be 'Mothballs and Failure'."<p/><b>pisces:</b> "And now back to 'Space Lads and Moonlight Princess: Back at it Again', or as it's more commonly known, 'Star Wars: the Empire Strikes Back'."<p/></p><p/></p><p/></p>

the-cyanide-exploder

I’m always sick of seeing people constantly comparing the Republic’s corruption/hypocrisy to the Empire.

Yeah, I am too (obviously!).

If people prefer the Imperial stories or aesthetic or whatever, there’s nothing wrong with that. But the arguments that get made to support the idea it’s somehow the more equivalent to the Republic (or even morally superior) are so poorly supported that it comes across less like a legitimate argument/discussion point and more like the fans wanting to have their cake and eat it too (I.e. they want the Empire to be more interesting/cooler/whatever and be the “good guys”).

The two main problems I have with the people making these arguments are:

1. They make a borderline insulting claim that things like genocide, slavery, xenophobia and fascist totalitarianism are tolerable flaws in a society while some corruption and self-righteous hypocrisy are not

2. They almost always try to pretend like the Empire isn’t also corrupt or hypocritical.

I’ve seen some interesting theories on why people would feel the way the first point suggests - one being that the more mundane evils of the Republic are more realistic/hit home more than the overarching/overwhelming evils of the Empire, so people find it harder to separate their “real world reaction” from their reaction to the fictional SWTOR universe. It seems somewhat plausible, and I’d certainly prefer that to people actually believing the Empire’s system and principles is genuinely more moral. Regardless, it drives me insane that people try to sit there with a straight face and say that bureaucratic corruption and hypocrisy are the same or worse as mass killings and slavery and what not.

Anyway…

The second point annoys me a lot, though, because there’s massive double standards regarding the criticisms of the Republic compared with the whitewashing the Empire often gets. Some examples:

  • People don’t like Garza experimenting on soldiers in SoR. I agree with them. But Empire has multiple examples of them experimenting on people (i.e. Needles and his rakgoul virus, the doctor on Nar Shaddaa, trying out a new virus on rebelling slaves on Dromund Kaas). Or, say, how the support staff in Imperial Intelligence functions. Only one of these gets referenced as an unforgivable sin.
  • People criticize the superweapons from the JK storyline (I do too!). But they ignore the Sith influence on that program, the fact the Republic was mothballing them and wasn’t going to use it and (most importantly) it’s the Empire that actually uses them, including murdering millions of people on Uphrades.
  • People constantly complain about how the Republic’s actions don’t perfectly match its ideals. Sure, I get that (even if that’s an impossible standard). But neither does the Empire - for all of the speechifying about how the Empire brings law and order and peace (like from General Rakton after the Gauntlet), we see time and again that those “principles” mean absolutely nothing if the get in the way of political or Sith goals, which is exactly how you end up with the society the Empire is.
  • People really hate Belsavis and what it represents (I do too). But the Imperial reaction is twofold. First - “Why didn’t we think of this ourselves?” and second - “Now that we’ve seen it in action, let’s do it on an even bigger/worse scale”
  • People complain about the Republic’s corruption but corruption exists on both sides. Quinn’s entire reason for having his career sidelined is because a single Moff has a vendetta and can’t be removed. Imperial and Sith commanders regularly undermine each other and the Empire for their own petty interests. The entire organizational structure is basically a mass of corruption, backstabbing and self-interest.
  • People hate Saresh (I hate how she was written post-Makeb, so I blame the writers) for being a warmonger/etc.. But what’s one Saresh compared to multiple Sith deliberately undermining the peace treaty (i.e. dear old Baras who wants to plunge the galaxy into another massive war for his own gain and advancement)? The entire Sith Order is basically run by warmongers (except the “not insane” ones are somehow treated like progressive icons by some in the fandom. Not to mention the Empire was headed by an omnicidal Vitiate for years without objection.

In general, each failing of the Republic gets treated as some damning and unforgivable transgression against the moral fabric of the SWTOR galaxy. Meanwhile, Imperial flaws are either papered over/ignored or shrugged off.

All this would be bad enough from my point of view, but then you throw in other stuff the Empire is doing:

  • Doing the Hutts a “favor” by using a biological agent to commit genocide against the Evocii on Nar Shaddaa. The Imperial commander there also speaks of having multiple such facilities to continue their work against other non-humans
  • Slavery on a massive scale
  • Massive amounts of xenophobia. Even “progressive” Darth Malgus was more interested in allowing aliens to serve to bolster the Empire’s ranks, not out of some moral objection to how the Empire treated them. Also note the Imperial attitudes toward the “animals” on Taris (aka the Cathar)
  • Basically everything about the Sith - murdering fellow initiates. Murdering people above you in the ranks. Murdering people below you in the ranks. Ordering war crimes and having no one care about it. Murdering family members and other targets tied to your rivals (i.e. why Malgus killed Eleena so she couldn’t be used against him)
  • Deliberate targeting of civilians (i.e. Trooper Tatooine, Imperial Balmorra and Taris, etc.) both in general and to test new weapons or to terrorize them
  • Torture/mistreatment of prisoners portrayed as normal procedure rather than something wrong (i.e. there’s those soldiers on Ord Mantell beating up the suspected separatist but the player is allowed to intervene)
  • Other war crimes, both ordered by Sith and institutionalized by the Imperial hierarchy
  • Suppression of free speech, reform, etc.

 And so on.

The Republic isn’t perfect and that’s a good thing. It’d be boring if it was some pristine institution unblemished in any way and made up entirely of perfect heroes with no moral dilemmas. I have no problem with that - that’s how fiction should be.

But I wish people would stop pretending the Empire isn’t far, far worse. Like I mentioned at the start of this rant, it’s like people don’t want to admit that the Empire is still the bad/worse side and want to portray themselves as rooting for/supporting the good guys.

It’s something I’ve experienced before (try being an Alliance fan in WoW sometimes!), but it’s still frustrating.

 I’d be a lot less annoyed with people just admitting they think the Empire is cooler/more interesting/whatever than I am with the mental gymnastics they perform to try to justify their fandom on a moral or ethical level. You’re not rooting for the good guys. And that’s fine, just be honest about it.

Small Miracles

Written for @leiascully‘s XF Writing Challenge: May.

Not sure what this is. I started out with the realisation that I’d never written a one-bed fic but this thing ended up as something entirely different. Set during the cancer arc, a bit funny, a bit angsty, just a bit odd.

It wasn’t the fact that it was freezing or the fact that the nearest decent town was fifty miles away or even the fact that the wallpaper in the reception area was the same colour as the dried blood under Mulder’s fingernails. None of those things, either individually or as a collective of annoyances, got under Scully’s skin more than the fact that Mulder knew damned well this whole couple of days had been a charade.

           “Didn’t you good folk see all the posters around town?”

           Scully twisted the sole of her shoe on top of the cockroach that skittered out from behind the desk.

           “I didn’t even see the town,” she muttered to the roach.

           “Scully?”

           “Just give me my key, Mulder.”

           “Head on over the parking lot there and number four is just to the right. Next to number three.” The clerk gave Mulder a key so large it looked like a novelty one from a joke shop.

           “And I’m guessing that number three is just next door to number two?” Scully held out her hand, preparing to take the weight of her own key.

           The clerk’s eyebrows sunk low. “No, ma’am. Number two is behind the reception, here. Next to number one.”

           She caught Mulder smirking into his hand, fist under his nose, key ring looped over a blood-streaked finger.

           “Scully,” he said, straightening up. “I’m afraid there’s only one room left.”

The words fell out of his mouth with more than a shade of that same smirk tinting them.

Number four was missing a working heater, two-thirds of the thread in the carpet, a wardrobe door and the expert work and tools of a good cleaner. Water dripped into the rust-stained sink, a fly clung to the tar-stained net curtain that barely covered the window. Scully pulled the drape across to blot out the the neon glare of the motel sign. The curtain rings uncoupled from the runner as she pulled on the wand and entire thing down crashed to the floor.

           Mulder laughed.

           Scully dug her nails into the palms of her hand. Angry felt good. In fact, angry was pretty much all she’d felt since the car hit the outskirts of Ira Springs.

           He had taken up residence on the bed, arms under his head, tie flung off and collar opened, television already breathing life into him like a ventilator.

           “Why are we here, Mulder?” She opened the fridge and sniffed. There had been something dead in there recently.

           “Enjoying the Ira Springs MayFest with the good folk of the town, Scully.”

           She pushed the door and it wheezed shut like dying fly. “Now tell me why we’re really here, Mulder. We’ve driven across the country to investigate what is likely a weather or environmental or atmospheric phenomenon, you’ve managed to get yourself into a fist-fight with the local hoodlum and you haven’t even washed his blood off your hands yet, and now we’re in this…” her hands flung out from her sides, “I don’t even know what this is, but we’re here and there’s only one bed and you’re…God, Mulder. Why are you smiling like that?”

           He patted the bed. “Chill, Scully. Didn’t you read the literature I gave you? The Ira Springs MayFest…’

‘Runs for the month of May and offers therapeutic healing, yoga and meditation classes, hot stone and Reiki massage, auric readings…’

‘But aside from those, the festival has a renowned reputation for calming the souls of even the most uptight of folk. The story of Ira Iremos, the town’s founder, told how before he came here he was filled with uncontrollable rage, but no sooner than he settled in what is now the area the motel is built arond, his anger seeped away and he lived the rest of his days mellow and relaxed. He claimed there was a lighter atmosphere, a calming aroma in the air, spiritual fingers that massaged his soul. The now kinder and more generous Ira wanted other good folk,” he used air quotes, “to take the waters too.”

She stalked into the bathroom.

           She filled the sink as Mulder rattled on behind the door. If she didn’t know any better she’d say he was drunk or high. Always generous with his words, this was another level of liberal. She lifted the grey water to her face, splashing it as though it might obliterate not just the continuous hum of Mulder’s voice but the entire day. She looked up at her face in the mirror and sighed. She would go a Reiki massage right now.

           She ran a bath, hoping that Mulder would run out of oxygen before the tub filled. And on the off chance that he had developed the lung capacity of a cave-diver, she consoled herself that if she slipped away in the murky depths of the Ira Springs Motel’s dubious water supply, at least she could go out with the knowledge that Mulder might momentarily enjoy seeing her completely naked, for the first time, before the utter desolation of her death would propel him back to the impulsive, reckless shell of a man he was always just a whisker away from inhabiting.

           She giggled out loud. Where the hell had that come from? The motel shampoo smelled like toilet cleaner. Probably was. But infused with magical properties. She giggled again and rubbed it into her hair.

Mulder had moved to the chair and was asleep, shoes kicked off, legs splayed open, one hand tucked under his cheek, the other resting on his lap. His mouth drooped open. She studied him for perhaps a moment too long – just like he looked at her ass when she bent to retrieve a file he’d requested, or down her top as she sat and he stood over her, lecturing her. She had a sudden yearning for a slide projector and a full five minutes of watching his jawline. She pulled the robe tighter around her and sat on the bed. It was soft and lumpy but a warm fatigue was making her drowsy. Or something.

           The television played on, casting an otherworldly glow in the room. It picked up the blood on Mulder’s knuckles and she dampened a flannel to wipe his hand. He stirred, snuffled out a soft sigh, and shifted to face the other way. His neck was going to ache tomorrow. She slid under the blanket and enjoyed the sensation of peace and calm that slithered down her body. How had a bath in this joint after the couple of days they’d had, managed to leave her feeling so relaxed. It made no sense. But then again, she was in a motel room with Mulder in the middle of nowhere investigating yet another trumped-up case. And she had cancer.

Her life made no sense.

It was freezing again. Why was it so cold now? She snuggled further under the bedding but the odour of mothballs was too much and she inched her way higher. A frigid breeze hit her face and she opened her eyes. Mulder was trying to shut the door, arms full of booty.

           “Mulder? What the hell?” She pulled the blanket up around her chin.

           “I got hungry, Scully.”

           “So you got scooby snacks from the diabetes and heart disease machine?”

           “Funny, Scully. Want to die with me?”

           His face fell as the words hung in the cold air.

And so did the bags of chips and candy. All over the floor. He scrabbled around apologising and gathering the feast in his arms.

           She pushed herself up against the bed head, guilt thrumming through her. “It’s okay, Mulder. Sit here with me. I could go some M&Ms.”

           He handed her the packet and she pulled it open, raising her eyes to his. His puppy-dog expression melted her heart and she couldn’t decide if she wanted to pull him into her arms or to sink into his. She shifted on the cooling sheets.

           “Are you going to tell me why we’re really here, Mulder? What’s the deal with the Ira Springs MayFest? There’s something about this place. I know that.”

           He quirked an eyebrow. “You can feel something here?”

           The chocolate candy shell cracked between her teeth and the sweet filling oozed out. “It’s like the most maddening of feeling stirs you up and then you just mellow out. What’s your theory? Is there a giant marijuana crop growing in the hills?”

           How could he look so hot stuffing chips in his mouth?

           “I don’t have a theory, Scully. But I really wanted to hit that man earlier. Smash his nose over his face. What he said about you…”

           “What, Mulder? What did he say about me?” She lay a hand over his forearm. The cold had left a trail of goosebumps under the fine hairs. “Come under here, you’re freezing.”

           “It wasn’t exactly what he said, it was the way he said it.” His long legs slid next to hers, lean and hard, through thin material of his pyjama bottoms. “Jeez, Scully. Your feet are like blocks of ice.”

           “How did he say what he said?” She pushed her feet under his legs.

           He flinched. “He said you were beautiful.”

           She looked at him. “And you hit him for that?”

           He had the decency to look guilty as he shrugged. “Sounds stupid now. I can’t really explain it, but he sort of leered when he talked and he raked his eyes over you and he stuck his pelvis out and…”

           She ate another M&M. “He deserved it. How’s your hand?”

           His knuckles were lilacy-purple in the odd luminescence of the room. She kissed them.

           She kissed them?

           His mouth popped open. His breath smelled salty. He took a while to speak, just stared at their hands, joined still.

           “Do you get much pain, Scully?” The hitch in his voice took her breath away.

           “I get headaches, deep behind my eyes. They make me nauseous.” She rubbed her thumb over his fingers.

           “Have you had any pain since you’ve been here?”

           She shook her head. “Well, at first I felt so angry – with you, mainly – but then last night I felt this amazing calm descend over me. No pain. No nausea. But that doesn’t prove anything. We’ve only been here a day.”

           “People come here, during May, to get well. It’s been happening for years. Documented cases of the incurable being cured, of the terminally-ill living.” This time he kissed her hand.

           “Mulder, this town is different, but I promise you, it’s not going to stop my cancer from spreading.”

           “But you’re feeling better. You said so yourself.”

           She nuzzled into his neck. “Maybe it’s just the company I’m keeping.”

           “You know I can’t give up, Scully. I can’t stop looking.”

           “I know. And I’m grateful for your persistence. But Mulder, whatever it is in this town, and I suspect it’s something not quite legal, is no doubt just an extravagant placebo. And someone is getting rich off the hopeful and the desperate.” She looked at his profile and added, “there are no miracles in Ira Springs. In May or any other month.”

           His exhalation was long and mournful. She turned towards him and he pulled her closer. “Can we stay a while longer anyway?”

           She chuffed out a laugh. “So you can make more friends?”

           “No, so we can test how long we can sleep in one bed before we’re forced to cross the line from platonic to romantic partners.”

           “Did you really just say that, Mulder?”

           He laughed into her hair. “It’s this place. My inhibitions are all over the place.”

           “I can feel them,” she said, smiling into his chest.

           He moved away. She clasped his lower back and pulled him closer. “I like your inhibitions.”

           “Scully…”

           “Mulder?”

           “If I said you were beautiful and I stuck my pelvis out at the same time, would you hit me?”

           “Only if you leered at me too.”

           “You’re beautiful. My eyes are closed.”

           She chuckled. “There is a swathe of scientific evidence that suggests the hormones released after sexual intercourse are as effective at treating some medical conditions as conventional pharmaceutical therapies.”

           “So are you telling me that we didn’t need to drive all the way to this hinky town to discover that fucking is better than drugs?”

           “You could have just asked me.”

           He kissed down her face and neck. “Perhaps I could just show you. If you’re sure about this. I don’t want to…hurt you. In any way, Scully.”

         Her fingers grazed the elastic around his waist. “If there’s one thing this disease has taught me, Mulder, it’s that being the sensible one doesn’t always pay. Rationally, I should say no. But I feel more certain about this than about anything in the past few months. And sometimes life offers small miracles.” She kissed his mouth, enjoying the salty residue on his lips.

            “Thank you, Scully. For me, this is a big, hulking, king-sized miracle.”

After, in the eerie glow of dawn, they both silently thanked Ira Iremos for the small miracles of life.        

Creepypasta #1093: Hide And Seek

Length: Super long

This happened just a few hours ago, and I’m still shaking. I don’t know if I should tell my wife what just happened, or if she will think I’m insane and that I can’t be left alone with our daughter anymore.

We are hosting Thanksgiving dinner at our house this year. My wife and I have tons of relatives in the city, so it’s going to be a full house. We’ve never made a dinner to this scale before, but my wife, Stephanie, wanted to show off our new house. Well, it’s new to us but in actuality the house is over 100 years old. It’s located in the quiet, historical neighborhood of our city, where the houses aren’t within whispering distance of one another and have large yards with huge trees. We bought the place over a year ago but weren’t able to move in for the first 8 months, as it had needed almost a complete renovation.

Anyway, back to dinner. We’d spent most of our free time over the last week cleaning and organizing the house, making sure it was fit to host a dinner of close to 30 people. My wife went nuts making sure everything was spotless. 

We got up fairly early this morning, for a holiday. I made a quick breakfast for us, put the turkey in the oven, and then Steph was out the door to go into work for a few hours. Steph’s a lawyer and she’s angling to be made a junior partner within the next few months, so she’s been working like crazy.

“Ok, everything is chopped and ready to go,” said Steph, pulling on her gloves, “I’ll be back by 12 or 1 at the latest, and then we can get cooking.”

“Sounds good. I’ll try to keep Kenzie from making a mess. See ya later." 

Steph gave me a quick kiss, picked up her overflowing shoulder bag and then shouted "Bye, Kenz, I’ll be back soon!” to our five year old daughter Mackenzie. 

We heard a cheerful “Bye, Mom!” in return. I opened the front door for Steph, letting in a gust of freezing air. The sky was a dark grey color and flakes of snow were starting to drift down. 

“Be careful driving, OK?” I called to Steph. She waved at me, then got into her car and backed out of the long driveway.

I shut the front door and then went back into the kitchen to find Kenzie sitting at her play table, watching Paw Patrol on the iPad and coloring.

Keep reading

Who do you trust with your phone: Overwatch

Ana: Disappears for 14 years with it. Pretends she didn’t know she still had it.
Bastion: Will protect it but at what cost?
D.Va: Will beat all your app high scores and blow up your Twitter feed.
Genji: Did you have fruit ninja? Now you have fruit ninja.
Hanzo: What the fuck is a phone, he asks. You leave the man be. He has no need for such things. Only guilt.
Junkrat: Breaks your phone on purpose. Will not apologize. 100% do not trust.
Lucio: Phone comes back better than what you originally had. Plus he gives you free music. 100% sweetie pie.
McCree: Buttdials your significant other and facetimes your parents pretending to be your sugar daddy. 100% do not trust.
Mei: Updated your apps and finally cleaned the screen.
Mercy: Buys you an otterbox.
Pharrah: Your phone comes back the same way it came. Nothing is different. 100% safe.
Reaper: Reads all your emails and throws your phone away when it dies.
Reinhardt: Protects it. Cherishes it. 100% safe.
Roadhog: Nothing seems different but for some reason there are a lot of blurry pictures of animals on your photo feed.
S76: If your phone is a smart phone, do not even think about it. This man doesn’t know how to use a touchscreen are you kidding me??? 100% safe but might come back with a few new scratches and smell like mothballs.
Symmetra: Updates your phone and downloads apps without asking. Says its for a better world.
Torbjorn: Your phone is now a turret.
Tracer: Takes selfies at light speed. Breaks your phone on accident. Doesn’t replace it.
Widowmaker: Doesn’t use. Refuses to use it. Refuses to touch it.
Winston: Breaks your phone on accident. Replaces it with a better model.
Zarya: Breaks your phone on accident. Replaces it with the same model.
Zenyatta: Talks to the os systems for fun. 100% safe. 100% cute.

I think this recent scandal is evident of how scary fast people can tear those in the public image down.

Sophie’s entire career has been put in danger because some idiot with mothballs in his or her’s ears thought she said the “n” word when she obviously did not.

And it all happened because of one tweet to a highly unremarkable clip. And before you know it nearly everybody was against her and seeming quite eager to tear her down.

Like it’s pretty troubling to me that people were so quick to turn against her like that. Fair enough if she actually said it but I have a big feeling most of these people didn’t even watch the video in question.

I think Sophie is going to end up staying away from all forms of social media for a while. And the fucking worst thing about that is Sophie is (or was) a strong believer in using social media and believed that it could be used for a good cause.

And ironically in a not so funny or clever way; social media was used against her.

People might think they are clever with the “cancelled” nonsense but they are just being completely vile in their eagerness to tear somebody down.

4

Time to party! I have a dysfunctional family movie night/party to go to at a friend’s house today. It is unseasonably cold and rainy so I brought my leather coat out of mothballs for the day :)

To clarify the dysfunctional family thing is a theme for which movies will be projected on a wall ;-)

Hope you all have a fun night!

-Ari

domestic meithman headcanons
  • mothman sleeps hanging from the ceiling
  • keith tries to do it too so they can sleep together but the blood pools in his head and he almost dies
  • mothman keeps the temp low so he can live comfortably inside
  • whenever keith tries to turn up the heat on the thermostat mothman screeches into the void and shatters all the windows in the house
  • mothman hides in the closet and eats all of keith’s sweaters
  • when he eats keith’s last pair of underwear, keith puts mothballs in the bedroom
  • mothman is exiled to sleep hanging on the ceiling above the couch