rowdy people

the thing that annoys me so much about markiplier making a video about respect and i’ve made this joke on twitter and to my friends a bunch but its really something i just can not fucking get over is like

who the fuck does he think he is to tell me, or anyone, about respect? like bro you play fucking scary games on the internet and yell when a scary thing happens? so that makes you an authority on the subject of respect and social interactions and how and what they mean? YOU JUST FUCKING PLAY VIDEO GAMES AND DYE YOUR HAIR why do you think everyone the internet is your rowdy son calling people fag over xbox live

Not Much For Dancing

gif credit: buckypupbarnes
Summary: All night, you have been eyeing Steve Rogers sitting lonely, at the bar and all you want to do is dance with him.
Word Count: 1,926
A/N: This imagine is based off of pre-serum Steve. This is my first Steve imagine, I’ll probably do more but I thought I’d spice my writing up with different characters lol. 

Your teeth tugged at your cherry red stained lips as you admired the scrawny man sitting in the center of an empty bar counter. His frail shoulders were hunched as he leaned onto the counter with a shot glass of scotch held between his hands. As his head hung down, his eyes were affixed on the glass of scotch that was held between his hands, taunting him to down another shot in order to forget the lonely feeling that consumed him despite the rowdy crowd of people who all possessed cheerful expressions while they conversed with others or swung each other around to the smooth beat of the jazz music that occupied the club. A flaxen strand of hair fell in front of his face and he exhaled a drawn-out sigh to blow it back into place. Your eyelids fluttered as you tried to not make your marveling become known by him or your friend who was beside you, casually shaking her hips to the beat of the music.

She nudged your shoulder and cocked her eyebrow at you, “(Y/N), I see you staring at that skinny man sitting alone over there.” She redundantly pointed at him as if you were no longer paying attention. “And I don’t have even an idea of why you’re giving your attention to him when his friend there is so much dreamier.” She batted her eyes at the man that must have just appeared to accompany the blonde man that you were so fond of. Unlike the lanky, blonde man, his friend had been a buff, brunette stud with handsome broad shoulders and a sly smirk that seemed almost permanent, plastered onto his lips. “But,” You friend continued with a strand of her blonde hair wrapped around her finger, “I know how you prefer the weird ones.”

You almost became offended at the rude comment. So what if you preferred the shy, dweeby boys? You thought they’re probably a Hell of a lot more polite than the arrogant men that she tended to fall for.  But, instead of causing discord, you ignored her and continued to dedicate your thoughts to him.

An annoyed groan left her lip as she urged you to “Just go over to him”.

Your eyes widened at her suggestion. “No,” You blurted, “I mean I-I couldn’t.”

She rolled her eyes at you and spun you around to face her. “Yes,” She stated, “You could. And besides, I’m almost positive you’d be the only girl to even make eye contact with him, he should be lucky for you.” She gingerly tucked a curl behind your ear before saying, “You look fine dear, go.” She shoved you into the group of people and now, it was too late to sheepishly return to her side.

You sucked in a sharp breath that you nervously held in your lungs for a few moments. Your legs wobbled and despite the ease that flats provided when walking, you seemed to have troubles walking in them. Your hands nervously found themselves on your waist as they flattened any creases that lied in your dress. As you meandered through the thick, chatty crowd, your eyes never left the ground. “More confidence!” You heard your friend call, causing you to lift your chin up. Upon approaching the two men, you couldn’t help but grin when you saw the blonde lift his head in wonder. His eyes lit up upon his first impression of your presence but when he saw his friend’s mouth begin to open, he dropped his head back into his hands.
“Hey, doll.” The brunette’s sultry voice interrupted you and prevented any immediate conversation with the man that you favored.

“Oh, hi.” You waved at him meagerly.

He swiped his tongue around his pink lips and began, “God, I’d never have thought a pretty dame like you would show up to a place like this, how ‘bout we dance?” He winked.

Before you could interject, he already had his calloused hands holding your own smooth ones and dragging you to an opening in the center of the club. He dropped your hands and smirked at you.

“Bucky, by the way.” He introduced, he lightly placed his hand on his abdomen and bowed.

Out of politeness, you held your dress between your fingertips and curtsied, “(Y/N).”

“Well, (Y/N), It is a pleasure to meet you.”You nodded before he smoothly pulled you closer to him until you were secure in his hold. His warmth radiated onto you warming your already heated self even more. You couldn’t deny that he handsome, but he wasn’t the kind of handsome that you sought.  

A symphony of upbeat saxophones played in the background. He swung you around energetically and shimmied his hips to the beat of the music. You half-heartedly imitated him but your eyes found themselves back onto the isolated blonde man who continued to sulk. You felt awful for him; he didn’t even know that at least you were interested in him. Despite Bucky continuously spinning you around his arm, your gaze never left him.

Over the music, Bucky spoke but because you had no interest in his smooth talk, you ignored him.

“So, doll, how’d you like that?” He asked, catching you off guard.

“Huh?” You blurted.

Bucky raised a brow, “You weren’t paying any attention to me, were you, dear?”

You shook your head but when you realized that he wasn’t buying it, you apologetically hung your head down.

“Strange,” Bucky scoffed, “Any other girl would kill to be in your place yet you ignore me.” You wanted to roll your eyes at his arrogance but surprisingly, he did not seem angry with you being distracted.
“Tell me, who in this damned place, has your attention?”

All the while he was talking, your eyes were still glued to the isolated loner. You attempted to look back at Bucky before he caught who you were looking at but it was too late, he saw.

“Steve?” He laughed in disbelief, “You’re giving my Stevie the eye?”

Your face reddened at his teasing, but you hesitantly nodded.
“If you wanted him so bad, you shoulda just have told me.” He chuckled. He led you to an empty corner, ordering you to remain, “Give me a second, dear, I’ll grab him for you.” Before you could stop him, you already lost him. But, he continued to shake his head and click his tongue, “I can’t believe it, Steve’s gonna get a girl.”

Steve.” You murmured. You were now able to match a name to the man that you were watching all night. And his name sounded so good falling from your lips. His sweet sounding name floated around your thoughts while your heart hammered against your chest in excitement.

Beyond you, Bucky had nonchalantly leaned his elbow against the counter, with his lips merely centimeters away from Steve’s ear. “Stevie,” He whispered.

“Steve lifted his head, “Are we finally leaving?”

“Not even close,” Bucky smirked, “There’s a stunning doll over there, waiting for you to sweep her off her feet.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “Buck,” He began, “I know you mean well by trying to set me up with your girls but trust me, she won’t be interested in me.”

Bucky threw his head back a bit and chuckled, “I’m tellin’ you, Steve, she wants to dance with you.”

Steve shook his head in disbelief. How could a girl be interested in him when Bucky was present? “C’mon, Bucky,” He urged, “I know you only pity me, just continue dancing with her.”

God, I’d wish a dame like that was interested in me.” He grinned, “But she’s been staring at you all night, I think the girl deserves a dance with you.”

“Alright.” Steve sighed and rose from the barstool. He anxiously fumbled with the suspenders that clung to his narrow shoulders. He strolled to the nook where you stood, preoccupied with tapping your feet to the soft piano that played.

You raised your head to be greeted by him. You beamed at him, speechless. You attempted to keep your composure but it was nearly impossible when an explosion of excitement erupted within you. Butterflies seemed to have tickled your abdomen. You stared attentively at his face, admiring the sweet features that adorned it. A rosy blush bloomed onto his own cheeks and his cerulean eyes gazed lovingly into yours. His soft, pink lips curved into a shy smile, “I’m Steve.”

“(Y/N).” You quickly responded.

Without speaking, Steve interlocked his fingers into yours and led you towards the dance floor. The lights dimmed and the atmosphere softened. The chatter faded and whether it had been because fewer people were talking or because you were too lost in Steve that nothing else mattered but the two of you, was beyond you. The sentimental composure played by the piano began, setting the scene to be a romantic moment.

A shaky breath fell from Steve’s plump lips as he pressed one hand onto the small of your back and the other on your hip; the gentle touch of his fingertips made you shiver. You pressed your figure closer into his, with your chests touching each other, the rhythm of your nervous, quickened heartbeats thumping joined the lovely notes of the piano. You dreamily admired how the shadows seemed to caress his cheekbones delicately, creating a strong shadow that emphasized their beauty. Despite the darkness, his glowing smile could have blinded you.

With your own arms slung around his shoulder, you gracefully swayed your hips and your feet followed his, which clumsily stepped around the floor.

Your feet clashed quite a few as he either bumped into the sides of your feet or even stepped on your toes. Although it did hurt a bit, the pleasured state that you were in ignored the pain and you continued dancing.

“S-Sorry.” He mumbled, becoming flustered.

“It’s Okay.” You reassured with a dopey smile plastered on your face, “Is this your first time dancing?”

He nodded and looked down at his feet in embarrassment, “I’m not much for dancing.”

“Neither am I.” You giggled. Your fingers began to press deep into his shoulders, massaging them. Eventually, both pairs of feet gradually stopped moving and Steve just rocked you back and forth. Your eyes fluttered shut and you soaked in the serenity that was this moment.


The song approached its ending. Steve continued to rock you until the piano completely faded out. You then stood on your toes and leaned your face close to yours.

“Thank you for the dance, Steve, it was lovely.” You whispered in his ear, your delicate breath tickling him and causing chills to rush through him. You pressed a soft kiss to his cheek.

His already flushed skin became even pinker when you pressed your lips onto his skin, but seemingly, a boost of confidence overcame him because he proceeded to lift your chin up and brush your lips against yours. He slowly pressed them in deeper into yours. Your eyes closed while your palm caressed his smoothly shaven jaw as you deepened the kiss even more.

As he pulled away, gradually, to catch his breath, he opened his eyes to see a beaming Bucky from afar with his thumbs held up in front of him, signaling to Steve that he did well. Steve smiled back, still flustered. ‘I did it.’ He mouthed before returning his gaze to you. “My pleasure.” He replied with his award-winning smile spread from ear to ear, “And I would love to do it again sometime.”

Jasan Vanta, the Avali raised by a bunch of rowdy star people. 

She has the thickest southern accent you will ever hear. Same with her brother, Nahala. Only difference between them is that he never talks because he finds it embarrassing. Jasan is always yelling in cowboy.

Having been raised by a race known to wander alone for long periods of time, she had to leave what she considered her pack, and now wanders the stars by herself while riding gigantic meteors down to planets. She’s more comfortable around noisy Novakid than normal Avali, since in their society she would be treated as weird or crazy, but she’s right at home with cowboys. 

AHHH FRIENDS

I just introduced Dirk Gently to my two best friends thinking they’d probably think it was really weird, but they love it!!!! In the middle of episode three one of them asked, “when does season two come out??” (and I had to tell her October… blehh) 

I’m so happy!! I never thought it would be up their alley, but now all three of us are really into the show and I couldn’t be more excited!! I guess the universe is on my side ;)

A Campfire Story

For a number of years I was a camp counselor at an overnight camp in the Muskokas. I loved it more than any job I’ve ever had, despite the nonexistent pay, annoying campers, long days and short nights, crappy food, etc. For one, I got to tell as many scary stories as I could sputter out. There was nothing better than hanging around a dying campfire with a bunch of Junior High kids who were demanding the scariest, most blood-curdling tales I knew. And I told them all: the babysitter and the eerie clown statue; the driver and the creepy gas attendant; the woman and her licking dog.

I saved my best stories for the overnight trips we made in Algonquin Park—for non-Canadians, it’s a massive park in the middle of Ontario, spanning nearly 8,000 square kilometres—when days would be spent canoeing on pristine lakes and nights would be spent around the fire, singing and making s'mores and being as rowdy as the only people within miles could be. Once the kids had quieted down, I told them stories of a stalker in the woods with a face so horrifying it paralyzed all of its victims in fear, or the group of campers who decided to spend a night across the lake from an abandoned (OR WAS IT?) insane asylum.

On this particular night, I’d finished up the tales, once again insisting that they were entirely true, and sent the campers to their tents. It had been an exhausting day, and none of the six kids were in any mood to stay up later. My fellow counselor had also decided to pack it in, leaving just me on a fallen log next to the dying fire. I took a deep breath of the cool, fresh pine-scented air and looked out at the lake. The partial moon reflected off the glassy water, and on the other side I could see towering cliffs, going up several hundred feet. I considered whether we could canoe over, climb up a few dozen feet, and do some cliff jumping. I grinned. The camp director would have my head if we did that. If he found out.

Movement at the very top of the cliffs caught my eye. There was a small light bobbing along the peak. At first I thought it was a star, but it was larger and gave off a golden glow. It slowly moved back and forth in a small arc. As I sat up and watched it, another appeared next to it, bobbing along the top of the cliff. Then another. And another. And a few more.

My stomach dropped into my feet. I grabbed my bag and pulled my digital camera out, then focused it on the little glowing orbs and used the zoom function. I counted them. And then I counted again.

“Oh shit.”

In a flash I was up and running to the tents. “Hey guys? Wake up. We gotta go.”

There was movement in the tents, and then I had seven confused heads looking out at me. My co-counselor wore a mixture of concern and pure anger. “I hate to do this,” I continued, “but the clouds are looking really threatening. There’s a big rainstorm coming in. If we get caught in it, it’s going to ruin our trip.”

“Seriously?” Laura, my co-counselor, asked. “We’re in the middle of the woods. Where would we go?”

I pulled a map and flashlight out of my bag. “There’s a ranger’s station a few kilometres south of us.” I traced the path with my finger. Thank God. “We can make it there in a few hours.”

The campers groaned. “Can’t we just go in the morning?”

“No!” I shouted, my voice echoing across the lake. I lowered it. “C'mon, let’s get packed up and go. I’ll tell you a story along the way.” I smiled, though I could feel my lips quivering. “It’s my best one.”

That seemed to get them going, and within ten minutes the tents were packed up and we’d begun our trek into the deep woods, with small flashlights our only guide. When I was confident we were moving at a steady pace, I allowed myself to relax and began to tell my favourite campfire story:

Centuries before the European settlers made their way into the country, it was inhabited by the First Nations people. They had made the trip from across Western Canada, following the migration patterns of large animals such as buffalo and bison. Eventually they reached Ontario, at which point they split off into smaller groups of travelers, each searching for a section of land to call their own.

Legend has it that one group, consisting of about twenty men, women and children, had ventured through this very area in search of a place to call home. Though it wasn’t even the end of October, the weather had made a turn for the worse, and as the group journeyed around the lake, a fierce blizzard hit. Within an hour, the group found themselves in blinding snow and below-zero temperatures. The clothes they had on them were made for the fall, not this sort of weather, and there weren’t any Canada Goose jackets around back then. But they pressed on. They didn’t have any other choice.

Night was falling as they reached a cliff bluff, which towered over a cold, choppy lake. There was no stopping for this group—they’d die if they didn’t make it past the cliffs. But with darkness setting in and the snow falling even harder, visibility was almost nonexistent. So one of the elders had an idea. Using the little kerosene they had left, he lit a lantern for each of the travelers and had them carry it in front of them, not so that they could see the cliffs, but so they could see who was in front of them, allowing them to all follow each other across the narrow bluffs.

With the strongest of the men leading the way, the group began to cross the cliffs. The freezing, wet snow soaked every bone in their body. The harsh wind chilled any exposed skin and threatened to push them right off the rock. Their path was no more than a few feet wide, and would have been slippery to even the best of hiking boots, let alone hand-fashioned moccasins. Slowly—painstakingly slowly—they made their way up the cliffs, praying that whatever lay on the other side could shelter them from the intensifying storm.

They were about halfway up, hundreds of feet above the lake, though it was well out of their vision. In fact, all they could see in this blinding storm was the lantern in front of them, acting as a beacon to guide their steps. If the light moved up, they moved up. If it went down, they moved down. Each of the travelers was almost in a trance, caring about nothing but the glowing orb a few feet away.

For the leader, though, there was no such luxury. He moved forward blindly, feeling along the cliff with his free arm, though his skin was so numb he could barely feel anything. As the path wound back again, he made a misstep and lost his footing, just as a gust of wind blasted his back. He desperately grasped for the hold, but his frozen fingers couldn’t get anything. With a terrified scream, he slipped off the cliffs and fell into the icy black lake.

The rest of the party didn’t see him fall, of course. All they saw was his glowing orb dropping away from the bluff and disappearing in the darkness. There was no time to mourn. They continued on, but the storm was worsening. After another minute, one of the children, his body unable to withstand the cold, dropped away, his lantern glowing until the choppy waters put it out. Another, having seen this, lost his balance and fell. This pattern went on until there were just five people left, fumbling along in the darkness, following the light in front.

As hard as they tried, the cliffs were unforgiving. The remaining men fell down to four. Then three. And two. And then there was just one left, who legend says cursed the earth as his legs slipped and he plunged hundreds of feet down, his lantern the last one to be extinguished.

“Of the twenty members who tried to overcome the cliffs,” I finished, “not one of them survived. They say that sometimes, when the conditions are right, you can see the orbs along the cliff, symbols of the lost travelers who will never find their homes.”

As the story ended, leaving the campers in an eerie silence, I saw lights up ahead. A wave of relief poured over me. We picked up the pace and found the ranger’s station bursting with activity, with a half-dozen people running around, loading up trucks and shouting into radios. The wind was beginning to really pick up, and I heard thunder in the distance.

“Hey! You kids!” A large, burly man with a full beard and mustache ran up to us. “Get in the trucks! We don’t have much time!”

Laura and I led the kids to one of the pickup trucks. “What’s going on?” I asked the man.

“Didn’t you hear?” Another gust of wind. “Huge storm system’s heading right for us. Already been tornadoes touched down. We’re getting everyone out of here. Let’s go!”

We all climbed into the truck’s bed. I collapsed down, feeling like I’d just been punched in the gut. The ranger climbed into the front and we took off down a makeshift road. My head was spinning. It wasn’t possible…

“How…” Laura slid next to me, keeping her voice low. “How did you know we had to get out of there?”

I looked over at her. My face felt empty of any blood. “I saw the lights.”

“What? No. No!” She gasped, then caught herself. “How many?”

I took a deep breath. “Eight.”

She looked around at all the campers, who were now lying against each other, asleep despite the bumpy road. “That’s all of us. My God…”

I nodded and leaned against her. Laura had heard the travelers’ story before, and she knew that I’d left out a key bit of information. The lights were real, but they were never random. If they were shining—bobbing back and forth, swinging in a small arc—it was because they had a message. A warning.

One light would shine, for each person who was about to die.

- by vital_dual

anonymous asked:

could i get a semi getting hit in the head during practice and having a seizure? this actually happened to me last year aha

  • sometimes their teammates can get a little rowdy.
  • with people like tendou and goshiki on the team, it’s to be expected. there are days when yamagata can’t move fast enough to burn out the fire of his energy, when shirabu risks getting swallowed up by his own intensity, and the team has to adapt around them on these days.
  • today is one of these electric days. during their practice match, shirabu has been firing off set after set, so deftly that even ushijima struggles to keep up. semi knows the desire to hit and keep hitting well, but he could scoff at the novice mistake of indulging it. the other setter will burn himself out for the day at this rate.
  • which might be a good thing for semi. he focuses his attention on practicing serves with the second string until washijou’s inevitable call of “eita!” cuts across the gym.
  • he can’t help it if he looks eager as he rushes to take shirabu’s place. the younger setter stumbles off the court, panting; semi can see that shirabu’s pace has affected the rest of the team as well. this is going to be a fast, frenzied game, and he just needs to keep up.
  • which he does, and well. he might not have shirabu’s tunnel-visioned dedication, but he is a skilled setter. more importantly, he knows exactly what each member of his team needs.
  • he adapts to the pace, and it isn’t long before he’s fully caught up in the pace of the game. one of their alternative setters plays on the side of the net opposite him; semi’s task quickly becomes to outpace him. even with ushijima on the other side, reon and tendou are still spiking balls down fast enough that it’s a struggle for the other team to keep up.
  • so, naturally, the other setter starts to become frenzied. he fires off sets quicker and quicker, pushing his spikers’ abilities. once again, a novice mistake.
  • semi’s own mistake is not looking out for his own head until a spike comes down right where he’s standing, careening into him in the process.
  • he goes down like a sack of bricks.
  • there’s a lot of screaming, a lot of cursing, and meanwhile semi is just laying in the middle of the court, staring up at the ceiling and wondering why everything is spinning. 
  • “eita? holy shit, are you okay?” tendou is approx. five seconds away from freaking out. “holy shit. don’t go into the light. do not give in, eita!”
  • “quit shaking him, tendou, what’s the matter with you?”
  • so after getting hauled into a sitting position and tossed around by tendou, semi is literally seeing stars. he can hear coach in the background beckoning him to say something, and reon is crouched in front of him helping him sit up, but everything seems… strange.
  • why are all the lights so bright? and why does it seem like he’s hearing everything through a tunnel? why are all the colors in front of him blurring together, and what’s that awful taste in his mouth?
  • he doesn’t know what happens after that. he doesn’t feel himself crumple back down to the ground, isn’t conscious when his body starts to tremble, and has no memory of going into a full grand mal seizure in the middle of the court.
  • washijou beckons everyone away, giving eita space to breathe as he convulses on the ground. all the teammates are in verying states of panic; semi jerks and contorts on the ground in a way that seems unnatural, teeth grinding together and eyes rolled into the back of his head.
  • it’s a long, long moment until he finally goes still. once it doesn’t seem like he’s about to launch into another fit, the coach runs off to call paramedics, leaving soekawa and reon to calm everyone who’s panicking.
  • there’s a lot of panicking.
  • when semi opens his eyes again, it’s to a pounding head and the taste of blood in his mouth. he bit into his tongue during his seizure; but his entire body aches now, the force of the seizure straining his muscles and wringing his nerves out.
  • “wh- what…”
  • he feels like he’s drowning with the effort to speak. reon hushes him, keeping him still when semi tries to shift.
  • “it’s okay. there was an accident, but you’re going to be fine.”
  • “eita, don’t die, please don’t die –” tendou looks absolutely terrified; semi isnt sure he’s ever seen him that shaken before. that’s how he realizes it’s pretty bad.
  • he holds still, trying to find comfort in the presence of his friend around him, and does his best not to think about what just happened.
Confessions

gif credit: teamunderoos
Summary: Deadpool greets you on the rooftop of your apartment as you wait for Peter. When Peter arrives, he becomes jealous of Deadpool’s flirting and confesses his attraction towards you.
Word Count: 1,447
A/N: Super sorry this took longer than expected haha, hope you like it anon!

A sigh of content escaped your lips as a steady breeze combed through you hair and the florescent city street signs lit up the midnight skies. Although the commotion of careless cars zooming through the rain-slickered roads and the rowdy crowds of people entering and leaving bars below you could be a disturbance to your serenity, it was expected for a Friday night so you didn’t allow it to bother you and besides, your attention had been on Peter, who promised to surprise you at the rooftop of your apartment complex after his duties of Spider-Man were completed. Your daydreaming ended when, out of the corner of your eye, you watched a blurred flash of red swiftly swing through the sky, and land on the rooftop. You rushed towards them and held your arms open to pull them into an embrace.

“Peter,” You exclaimed, “I missed you.” You peppered kisses over the masked face and caressed his latex clad back.

Who you thought to had been Peter, pushed you away abruptly. Your mouth fell agape upon realizing that they lacked Spider-Man’s blue accents and the intricate web design that covered his suit. This had definitely not been Peter. Instead, their mask possessed large black patches over his eyes, contrasting their crimson red suit. You gasped and timidly backed away.

A chuckle erupted from the stranger, “Sorry but it’s Wade, not Peter.”  He narrowed his eyes and added, “But to you it’s Deadpool.”

“D-Deadpool?” Your voice shook in fear, his tall stature hovered over you, intimidatingly.

“Yep, and you must be the girl Parker won’t shut the hell up about.” He snickered.

“You know Peter? How?” You questioned.

Deadpool shrugged, “Yeah, sometimes we fight crime together.” He threw a punch in the air to imitate a fight and mockingly pretended to have web slingers as he pointed them at random surrounding buildings, “Pew, pew.” You rolled your eyes at his complete immaturity. He spun around to face you again, “Are you waiting for him or something?”

You nodded, “Do you know where he is?”

“Not a clue,” He replied while peeling his mask off his face to expose his wrinkly and splotchy face, “But you can hang with me until he comes.”

You were apprehensive about his offer as you had only just met the man. But before you had the opportunity to decline, he proceeded to sit on a ledge and pull you next to him, wrapping his arm around your shoulders. The few stars that appeared in the sky, twinkled behind sheer, gray clouds. Deadpool swayed your body left to right as he hummed a quiet melody.

“Pretty romantic, am I right?” He joked, “I bet Spidey wouldn’t hold you like this.”

You tried to sustain annoyance but an uncontrollable giggle escaped you before yet another figure landed on the roof and approached you, this time, it was the actual Peter.

“Hi (Y/N)…” Peter greets before his voice trails off upon noticing Deadpool, with his arm still wrapped around you. His heart sunk and his fingers trembled at the sight, he couldn’t believe that his best friend and crush seemed to have been getting a little more than friendly with Wade.    

Wade moved his lips over your ear and whispered, “Just play along okay.” He then looked back at Peter, “Hey, Parker, (Y/N) and I were just,” He paused before gazing into your eyes, “about to kiss.” He let out an exasperated sigh and cupped the back of your head and leaned in towards your face and stopped just so his lips merely hovered over your own, creating the illusion of a heated kiss.

As he watched, Peter seethed with jealousy that boiled in the pit of his stomach. He wanted you to be his, not Wade’s.

You pushed Deadpool away playfully and motioned Peter to sit beside you. When he plopped down, he rolled his mask off.

Peter nervously strode towards you. He sat beside you and rolled his mask off. He protectively placed a hand on your thigh, squeezing it.

“So how was crime fighting?” You wondered.

“It was good, I mean tonight I was just patrolling but the city seems fairly safe to me tonight.” He rambled, “Anyways, did you finish the…” Peter’s voice was cut off by Deadpool.

“Before you so rudely interrupted,” He stated sarcastically, “I was just telling (Y/N) about how I kicked more ass this week than you got in your whole life.”

You burst out laughing at his rude remark and playfully shoved him. “That was mean.” You giggled.

Peter’s brows furrowed. His heart sunk feeling defeated. “I-I gotta go.” He commented, ambling away from the two of you.

You jumped down and chased after him. You pulled his hand into yours and tugged at it. “You’re not going anywhere.” You ordered. “Is there something wrong?”

The tips of his ears turned scarlet and his eyes darted away from you. “N-No, w-why would you think that.”

“Because you don’t want to hang out with me,” You began, “Is it what Wade said? He was being kind of a jerk.”

He shrugged. “Not really, he always says stuff like that.” It was the truth. Although his comment annoyed Peter, he was used to the taunting and admittedly, he found it amusing sometimes. But what made his heart burn with envy was the way Wade held you and made you laugh.

“Then what is it?” You questioned, oblivious to the nervous undertone of Peter’s voice and his flushed cheeks.

A long pause ensued awkward silence between Peter and you. Your eyes remained gazing into his, sympathetically as you patiently waited for an answer. In the background, Wade was inventively watching the both of you as he eavesdropped on the conversation. “C’mon, Spidey, just tell her.” He murmured, knowing that Peter was head over heels for you.

“It was just the way you guys were interacting.” He blurted, “T-The way he had his arm around you and he almost kissed you. It’s obvious you like him because you were laughing at his jokes! They were terrible! How could you possibly find them funny?”

You cocked your head, “And why do you care, are you jealous?”

“No.” He scoffed. Although he denied your claim, the blush on his face indicated differently. You raised your brow at him. His face returned to hiding behind his hands and he sighed. “Okay, yes.”

“Why would you be jealous?” You wondered.

“B-Because,” He stammered, “Because I like you!”

“You do?”

In response, he hesitantly nodded. You placed your hand on the small of his back and rubbed it gently. “And let me get this straight, you think I have a thing for Wade?”

“Well, yeah.” He mumbled.

You giggled, “Peter, he’s like twenty years older than me and definitely not my type, don’t worry.” You caressed your hand against his heated. “Plus,” You added, “I like you anyways.”

His eyes widened and the way his face lit up caused your heart to burst. “I-I-I,” He stumbled, lost for words.

You pressed a finger to his lips and leaned in towards his face, “And every time I see you, I think about doing this.” You trailed your finger down his lips and stopped at his collar. You hooked your finger around his shirt and tugged him towards you, your lips crashing onto one another’s. His eyes remained open, in shock while his hands were awkwardly placed on his laps. You brushed your hand up towards the nape of his neck and you tangled your fingers in his hair. You lifted your lips from his slightly. “Relax.” You whispered. He sucked in and nodded, trying to steady his shaky breathing. This time, he pulled you in for a kiss. He cupped your cheeks in his hands and deliberately brushed his lips against yours, not wanting to rush the moment that he’s been waiting for since the beginning of your entire friendship. The deeper the kiss got, the faster your heart beats were. When your lips lifted from his, your eyes gazed dreamily into his and it felt as if time stopped and the only thing that mattered were the both of you. “Wow.” He gasped. You grinned but your face fell when you heard Wade’s voice mocking you in the background.

“Peter,” He sighed, in a high-pitched voice, “I love you.” He continued by puckering his lips made embarrassing smooching noises.

“Shut up, Wade,” Peter grumbled before pulling you into a warm embrace.

A Campfire Story.

For a number of years I was a camp counselor at an overnight camp in the Muskokas. I loved it more than any job I’ve ever had, despite the nonexistent pay, annoying campers, long days and short nights, crappy food, etc. For one, I got to tell as many scary stories as I could sputter out. There was nothing better than hanging around a dying campfire with a bunch of Junior High kids who were demanding the scariest, most blood-curdling tales I knew. And I told them all: the babysitter and the eerie clown statue; the driver and the creepy gas attendant; the woman and her licking dog.

I saved my best stories for the overnight trips we made in Algonquin Park—for non-Canadians, it’s a massive park in the middle of Ontario, spanning nearly 8,000 square kilometres—when days would be spent canoeing on pristine lakes and nights would be spent around the fire, singing and making s'mores and being as rowdy as the only people within miles could be. Once the kids had quieted down, I told them stories of a stalker in the woods with a face so horrifying it paralyzed all of its victims in fear, or the group of campers who decided to spend a night across the lake from an abandoned (OR WAS IT?) insane asylum.

On this particular night, I’d finished up the tales, once again insisting that they were entirely true, and sent the campers to their tents. It had been an exhausting day, and none of the six kids were in any mood to stay up later. My fellow counselor had also decided to pack it in, leaving just me on a fallen log next to the dying fire. I took a deep breath of the cool, fresh pine-scented air and looked out at the lake. The partial moon reflected off the glassy water, and on the other side I could see towering cliffs, going up several hundred feet. I considered whether we could canoe over, climb up a few dozen feet, and do some cliff jumping. I grinned. The camp director would have my head if we did that. If he found out.

Movement at the very top of the cliffs caught my eye. There was a small light bobbing along the peak. At first I thought it was a star, but it was larger and gave off a golden glow. It slowly moved back and forth in a small arc. As I sat up and watched it, another appeared next to it, bobbing along the top of the cliff. Then another. And another. And a few more.

My stomach dropped into my feet. I grabbed my bag and pulled my digital camera out, then focused it on the little glowing orbs and used the zoom function. I counted them. And then I counted again.
“Oh shit.”
In a flash I was up and running to the tents. “Hey guys? Wake up. We gotta go.”
There was movement in the tents, and then I had seven confused heads looking out at me. My co-counselor wore a mixture of concern and pure anger. “I hate to do this,” I continued, “but the clouds are looking really threatening. There’s a big rainstorm coming in. If we get caught in it, it’s going to ruin our trip.”
“Seriously?” Laura, my co-counselor, asked. “We’re in the middle of the woods. Where would we go?”
I pulled a map and flashlight out of my bag. “There’s a ranger’s station a few kilometres south of us.” I traced the path with my finger. Thank God. “We can make it there in a few hours.”
The campers groaned. “Can’t we just go in the morning?”
“No!” I shouted, my voice echoing across the lake. I lowered it. “C'mon, let’s get packed up and go. I’ll tell you a story along the way.” I smiled, though I could feel my lips quivering. “It’s my best one.”

That seemed to get them going, and within ten minutes the tents were packed up and we’d begun our trek into the deep woods, with small flashlights our only guide. When I was confident we were moving at a steady pace, I allowed myself to relax and began to tell my favourite campfire story:

Centuries before the European settlers made their way into the country, it was inhabited by the First Nations people. They had made the trip from across Western Canada, following the migration patterns of large animals such as buffalo and bison. Eventually they reached Ontario, at which point they split off into smaller groups of travelers, each searching for a section of land to call their own.

Legend has it that one group, consisting of about twenty men, women and children, had ventured through this very area in search of a place to call home. Though it wasn’t even the end of October, the weather had made a turn for the worse, and as the group journeyed around the lake, a fierce blizzard hit. Within an hour, the group found themselves in blinding snow and below-zero temperatures. The clothes they had on them were made for the fall, not this sort of weather, and there weren’t any Canada Goose jackets around back then. But they pressed on. They didn’t have any other choice.

Night was falling as they reached a cliff bluff, which towered over a cold, choppy lake. There was no stopping for this group—they’d die if they didn’t make it past the cliffs. But with darkness setting in and the snow falling even harder, visibility was almost nonexistent. So one of the elders had an idea. Using the little kerosene they had left, he lit a lantern for each of the travelers and had them carry it in front of them, not so that they could see the cliffs, but so they could see who was in front of them, allowing them to all follow each other across the narrow bluffs.

With the strongest of the men leading the way, the group began to cross the cliffs. The freezing, wet snow soaked every bone in their body. The harsh wind chilled any exposed skin and threatened to push them right off the rock. Their path was no more than a few feet wide, and would have been slippery to even the best of hiking boots, let alone hand-fashioned moccasins. Slowly—painstakingly slowly—they made their way up the cliffs, praying that whatever lay on the other side could shelter them from the intensifying storm.

They were about halfway up, hundreds of feet above the lake, though it was well out of their vision. In fact, all they could see in this blinding storm was the lantern in front of them, acting as a beacon to guide their steps. If the light moved up, they moved up. If it went down, they moved down. Each of the travelers was almost in a trance, caring about nothing but the glowing orb a few feet away.

For the leader, though, there was no such luxury. He moved forward blindly, feeling along the cliff with his free arm, though his skin was so numb he could barely feel anything. As the path wound back again, he made a misstep and lost his footing, just as a gust of wind blasted his back. He desperately grasped for the hold, but his frozen fingers couldn’t get anything. With a terrified scream, he slipped off the cliffs and fell into the icy black lake.

The rest of the party didn’t see him fall, of course. All they saw was his glowing orb dropping away from the bluff and disappearing in the darkness. There was no time to mourn. They continued on, but the storm was worsening. After another minute, one of the children, his body unable to withstand the cold, dropped away, his lantern glowing until the choppy waters put it out. Another, having seen this, lost his balance and fell. This pattern went on until there were just five people left, fumbling along in the darkness, following the light in front.

As hard as they tried, the cliffs were unforgiving. The remaining men fell down to four. Then three. And two. And then there was just one left, who legend says cursed the earth as his legs slipped and he plunged hundreds of feet down, his lantern the last one to be extinguished.

“Of the twenty members who tried to overcome the cliffs,” I finished, “not one of them survived. They say that sometimes, when the conditions are right, you can see the orbs along the cliff, symbols of the lost travelers who will never find their homes.”

As the story ended, leaving the campers in an eerie silence, I saw lights up ahead. A wave of relief poured over me. We picked up the pace and found the ranger’s station bursting with activity, with a half-dozen people running around, loading up trucks and shouting into radios. The wind was beginning to really pick up, and I heard thunder in the distance.

“Hey! You kids!” A large, burly man with a full beard and mustache ran up to us. “Get in the trucks! We don’t have much time!”
Laura and I led the kids to one of the pickup trucks. “What’s going on?” I asked the man.
“Didn’t you hear?” Another gust of wind. “Huge storm system’s heading right for us. Already been tornadoes touched down. We’re getting everyone out of here. Let’s go!”
We all climbed into the truck’s bed. I collapsed down, feeling like I’d just been punched in the gut. The ranger climbed into the front and we took off down a makeshift road. My head was spinning. It wasn’t possible…
“How…” Laura slid next to me, keeping her voice low. “How did you know we had to get out of there?”
I looked over at her. My face felt empty of any blood. “I saw the lights.”
“What? No. No!” She gasped, then caught herself. “How many?”
I took a deep breath. “Eight.”
She looked around at all the campers, who were now lying against each other, asleep despite the bumpy road. “That’s all of us. My God…”

I nodded and leaned against her. Laura had heard the travelers’ story before, and she knew that I’d left out a key bit of information. The lights were real, but they were never random. If they were shining—bobbing back and forth, swinging in a small arc—it was because they had a message. A warning.
One light would shine, for each person who was about to die.

clearing up misconceptions about the signs that tumblr astrology blogs have
  • aries: they like fun, adventure, liveliness and jovial atmospheres...they're not big angry balls of fury all the time
  • taurus: why do people think they eat as much as a gorilla? why do people always associate them with eating instead of actual personality traits?
  • gemini: they're not as extroverted and rowdy as people seem to think...geminis are ambivert, given their dual personalities
  • cancer: please, tumblr, do these people a favor and think of better descriptions other than cuties who don't do anything except cry
  • leo: they're vain but they have a lot of other characteristics like leos have so many layers and people always think of them as purely superficial it's so annoying
  • virgo: actually........there's not much of virgo that seems to be misinterpreted. ?????? maybe that's just me
  • libra: they care about things!!! and aren't airheads!!! they value things like social progress and friendship and simple gestures of romance and people don't always give them enough credit
  • scorpio: ok this is going to be long bc i got something to say. they're not as short-tempered as aries why WHY do people keep making this connection? they are easily hurt but both signs interpret pain and frustration in very diff ways? scorpio attitude seems to be more to the likes of "don't get mad, get even." aries is the opposite and their anger fades quickly, and scorpio's only manifests itself into sadness and/or further emotional distress. aries aren't likely to be vengeful or manipulative and scorpios are, when pushed over the edge. the degree of rage is so different between these two i dont understand ALSO y'all think that they are 50 times more confrontational than they actually are
  • sagittarius: people think we fake? and that we're prone to being manipulative? sagittarius values honesty aka they're probably one of, if not THE, worst liars of the zodiac..also another thing: so many posts i've seen don't understand sagittarius so they give them a lazy description that doesn't make any sense and always has to do with 'wanting adventure' lmao why you gotta do us so wrong
  • capricorn: they're pretty avid world thinkers and are more in touch with their emotional side than they lead others to believe i mean they're traditional but not always boring
  • aquarius: they are multi-faceted socially progressive people who actually tend to be extroverted so why everyone associates them with reserved and mysterious freaks who only care about aliens is a mystery to me
  • pisces: i can't think of many misinterpretations of this sign except for the fact that some people tend to think that they're more simple-minded than they really are

blackanders  asked:

003 Genji for ship ask

How I feel about this character:
my actual fave?? Comfort Character Deluxe™ ,,, hes very loud but id let him yell near me if thats what makes him happy,,,, i love his hair cause it looks extra soft,,,, a talented friend and a rowdy boy

All the people I ship romantically with this character:
mcc.ree, zen.yatta and sometimes l.ucio but im like really new to this one dhgfjsgh 

My non-romantic OTP for this character:
i really love platonic mcgen.ji and gen.yatta but i think genj.i should be friends with dva fghsfh 

My unpopular opinion about this character:
i guess i dont really have one?? besides liking his eyebrows??? 
is him being :\ about angela unpopular?? 

One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon:
blease let him be firends with han.zo im begging you i just want him to be happy 

My OTP:
yeah duh mcgen.ji 

My OT3:
im am the mayor of mccr.ee/genj.i/zenya.tta 
started as a joke but i have actual feelings for These Dudes 

Creepypasta #434: A Campfire Story

For a number of years I was a camp counselor at an overnight camp in the Muskokas. I loved it more than any job I’ve ever had, despite the nonexistent pay, annoying campers, long days and short nights, crappy food, etc. For one, I got to tell as many scary stories as I could sputter out. There was nothing better than hanging around a dying campfire with a bunch of Junior High kids who were demanding the scariest, most blood-curdling tales I knew. And I told them all: the babysitter and the eerie clown statue; the driver and the creepy gas attendant; the woman and her licking dog.

I saved my best stories for the overnight trips we made in Algonquin Park—for non-Canadians, it’s a massive park in the middle of Ontario, spanning nearly 8,000 square kilometres—when days would be spent canoeing on pristine lakes and nights would be spent around the fire, singing and making s'mores and being as rowdy as the only people within miles could be. Once the kids had quieted down, I told them stories of a stalker in the woods with a face so horrifying it paralyzed all of its victims in fear, or the group of campers who decided to spend a night across the lake from an abandoned (OR WAS IT?) insane asylum.

On this particular night, I’d finished up the tales, once again insisting that they were entirely true, and sent the campers to their tents. It had been an exhausting day, and none of the six kids were in any mood to stay up later. My fellow counselor had also decided to pack it in, leaving just me on a fallen log next to the dying fire. I took a deep breath of the cool, fresh pine-scented air and looked out at the lake. The partial moon reflected off the glassy water, and on the other side I could see towering cliffs, going up several hundred feet. I considered whether we could canoe over, climb up a few dozen feet, and do some cliff jumping. I grinned. The camp director would have my head if we did that. If he found out.

Movement at the very top of the cliffs caught my eye. There was a small light bobbing along the peak. At first I thought it was a star, but it was larger and gave off a golden glow. It slowly moved back and forth in a small arc. As I sat up and watched it, another appeared next to it, bobbing along the top of the cliff. Then another. And another. And a few more.

My stomach dropped into my feet. I grabbed my bag and pulled my digital camera out, then focused it on the little glowing orbs and used the zoom function. I counted them. And then I counted again.

“Oh shit.”

In a flash I was up and running to the tents. “Hey guys? Wake up. We gotta go.”

There was movement in the tents, and then I had seven confused heads looking out at me. My co-counselor wore a mixture of concern and pure anger. “I hate to do this,” I continued, “but the clouds are looking really threatening. There’s a big rainstorm coming in. If we get caught in it, it’s going to ruin our trip.”

“Seriously?” Laura, my co-counselor, asked. “We’re in the middle of the woods. Where would we go?”

I pulled a map and flashlight out of my bag. “There’s a ranger’s station a few kilometres south of us.” I traced the path with my finger. Thank God. “We can make it there in a few hours.”

The campers groaned. “Can’t we just go in the morning?”

“No!” I shouted, my voice echoing across the lake. I lowered it. “C'mon, let’s get packed up and go. I’ll tell you a story along the way.” I smiled, though I could feel my lips quivering. “It’s my best one.”

That seemed to get them going, and within ten minutes the tents were packed up and we’d begun our trek into the deep woods, with small flashlights our only guide. When I was confident we were moving at a steady pace, I allowed myself to relax and began to tell my favourite campfire story:

Centuries before the European settlers made their way into the country, it was inhabited by the First Nations people. They had made the trip from across Western Canada, following the migration patterns of large animals such as buffalo and bison. Eventually they reached Ontario, at which point they split off into smaller groups of travelers, each searching for a section of land to call their own.

Legend has it that one group, consisting of about twenty men, women and children, had ventured through this very area in search of a place to call home. Though it wasn’t even the end of October, the weather had made a turn for the worse, and as the group journeyed around the lake, a fierce blizzard hit. Within an hour, the group found themselves in blinding snow and below-zero temperatures. The clothes they had on them were made for the fall, not this sort of weather, and there weren’t any Canada Goose jackets around back then. But they pressed on. They didn’t have any other choice.

Night was falling as they reached a cliff bluff, which towered over a cold, choppy lake. There was no stopping for this group—they’d die if they didn’t make it past the cliffs. But with darkness setting in and the snow falling even harder, visibility was almost nonexistent. So one of the elders had an idea. Using the little kerosene they had left, he lit a lantern for each of the travelers and had them carry it in front of them, not so that they could see the cliffs, but so they could see who was in front of them, allowing them to all follow each other across the narrow bluffs.

With the strongest of the men leading the way, the group began to cross the cliffs. The freezing, wet snow soaked every bone in their body. The harsh wind chilled any exposed skin and threatened to push them right off the rock. Their path was no more than a few feet wide, and would have been slippery to even the best of hiking boots, let alone hand-fashioned moccasins. Slowly—painstakingly slowly—they made their way up the cliffs, praying that whatever lay on the other side could shelter them from the intensifying storm.

They were about halfway up, hundreds of feet above the lake, though it was well out of their vision. In fact, all they could see in this blinding storm was the lantern in front of them, acting as a beacon to guide their steps. If the light moved up, they moved up. If it went down, they moved down. Each of the travelers was almost in a trance, caring about nothing but the glowing orb a few feet away.

For the leader, though, there was no such luxury. He moved forward blindly, feeling along the cliff with his free arm, though his skin was so numb he could barely feel anything. As the path wound back again, he made a misstep and lost his footing, just as a gust of wind blasted his back. He desperately grasped for the hold, but his frozen fingers couldn’t get anything. With a terrified scream, he slipped off the cliffs and fell into the icy black lake.

The rest of the party didn’t see him fall, of course. All they saw was his glowing orb dropping away from the bluff and disappearing in the darkness. There was no time to mourn. They continued on, but the storm was worsening. After another minute, one of the children, his body unable to withstand the cold, dropped away, his lantern glowing until the choppy waters put it out. Another, having seen this, lost his balance and fell. This pattern went on until there were just five people left, fumbling along in the darkness, following the light in front.

As hard as they tried, the cliffs were unforgiving. The remaining men fell down to four. Then three. And two. And then there was just one left, who legend says cursed the earth as his legs slipped and he plunged hundreds of feet down, his lantern the last one to be extinguished.

“Of the twenty members who tried to overcome the cliffs,” I finished, “not one of them survived. They say that sometimes, when the conditions are right, you can see the orbs along the cliff, symbols of the lost travelers who will never find their homes.”

As the story ended, leaving the campers in an eerie silence, I saw lights up ahead. A wave of relief poured over me. We picked up the pace and found the ranger’s station bursting with activity, with a half-dozen people running around, loading up trucks and shouting into radios. The wind was beginning to really pick up, and I heard thunder in the distance.

“Hey! You kids!” A large, burly man with a full beard and mustache ran up to us. “Get in the trucks! We don’t have much time!”

Laura and I led the kids to one of the pickup trucks. “What’s going on?” I asked the man.

“Didn’t you hear?” Another gust of wind. “Huge storm system’s heading right for us. Already been tornadoes touched down. We’re getting everyone out of here. Let’s go!”

We all climbed into the truck’s bed. I collapsed down, feeling like I’d just been punched in the gut. The ranger climbed into the front and we took off down a makeshift road. My head was spinning. It wasn’t possible…

“How…” Laura slid next to me, keeping her voice low. “How did you know we had to get out of there?”

I looked over at her. My face felt empty of any blood. “I saw the lights.”

“What? No. No!” She gasped, then caught herself. “How many?”

I took a deep breath. “Eight.”

She looked around at all the campers, who were now lying against each other, asleep despite the bumpy road. “That’s all of us. My God…”

I nodded and leaned against her. Laura had heard the travelers’ story before, and she knew that I’d left out a key bit of information. The lights were real, but they were never random. If they were shining—bobbing back and forth, swinging in a small arc—it was because they had a message. A warning.

One light would shine, for each person who was about to die.

Credits to: vital_dual

fratboy!ashton asking you out to his and his mates party and you being reluctant to go bc you really wanted fratboy!calum to ask you out but you say yes to ashton anyways bc his smile is so genuine and you didn’t want to disappoint him so before you know it it’s saturday night and he picks you up and takes you to the party and it’s rowdy and people are already wasted and you see calum hung on some girl and there’s dudes yelling something about football and ashton could tell you were uncomfortable so he picks up some beers and asks if you wanna go outside so you follow him out the door and a couple beers later he brought his guitar out and he’s singing to you and he’s cheesing from ear to ear bc he can’t believe you’re actually there with him at that moment and as you get to know him more and more you forget about calum and start realizing you made the right decision saying yes to ashton because at the end of the night you can’t tell if it was the alcohol in your system or the loud party music or the way his jacket felt so nice and comfy over your shoulders that kept you smiling at the thought of the way his curls fell when he was playing the guitar or his sweet voice when he was singing that song he had recently written or the way his lips faintly tasted like cheap beer when he finally leaned in for a kiss at your doorstEP AND TBH ITS PROBS FULL OF GRAMMATICAL ERRORS BUT THIS IDEA MAKES ME WANNA CRY BC CUTENESS

fratboy!5sos blurb night for tokyoluke 

A Campfire Story - (r/nosleep)

For a number of years I was a camp counselor at an overnight camp in the Muskokas. I loved it more than any job I’ve ever had, despite the nonexistent pay, annoying campers, long days and short nights, crappy food, etc. For one, I got to tell as many scary stories as I could sputter out. There was nothing better than hanging around a dying campfire with a bunch of Junior High kids who were demanding the scariest, most blood-curdling tales I knew. And I told them all: the babysitter and the eerie clown statue; the driver and the creepy gas attendant; the woman and her licking dog.


I saved my best stories for the overnight trips we made in Algonquin Park—for non-Canadians, it’s a massive park in the middle of Ontario, spanning nearly 8,000 square kilometres—when days would be spent canoeing on pristine lakes and nights would be spent around the fire, singing and making s'mores and being as rowdy as the only people within miles could be. Once the kids had quieted down, I told them stories of a stalker in the woods with a face so horrifying it paralyzed all of its victims in fear, or the group of campers who decided to spend a night across the lake from an abandoned (OR WAS IT?) insane asylum.


On this particular night, I’d finished up the tales, once again insisting that they were entirely true, and sent the campers to their tents. It had been an exhausting day, and none of the six kids were in any mood to stay up later. My fellow counselor had also decided to pack it in, leaving just me on a fallen log next to the dying fire. I took a deep breath of the cool, fresh pine-scented air and looked out at the lake. The partial moon reflected off the glassy water, and on the other side I could see towering cliffs, going up several hundred feet. I considered whether we could canoe over, climb up a few dozen feet, and do some cliff jumping. I grinned. The camp director would have my head if we did that. If he found out.


Movement at the very top of the cliffs caught my eye. There was a small light bobbing along the peak. At first I thought it was a star, but it was larger and gave off a golden glow. It slowly moved back and forth in a small arc. As I sat up and watched it, another appeared next to it, bobbing along the top of the cliff. Then another. And another. And a few more.


My stomach dropped into my feet. I grabbed my bag and pulled my digital camera out, then focused it on the little glowing orbs and used the zoom function. I counted them. And then I counted again.


“Oh shit.”


In a flash I was up and running to the tents. “Hey guys? Wake up. We gotta go.”
There was movement in the tents, and then I had seven confused heads looking out at me. My co-counselor wore a mixture of concern and pure anger. “I hate to do this,” I continued, “but the clouds are looking really threatening. There’s a big rainstorm coming in. If we get caught in it, it’s going to ruin our trip.”
“Seriously?” Laura, my co-counselor, asked. “We’re in the middle of the woods. Where would we go?”


I pulled a map and flashlight out of my bag. “There’s a ranger’s station a few kilometres south of us.” I traced the path with my finger. Thank God. “We can make it there in a few hours.”


The campers groaned. “Can’t we just go in the morning?”


“No!” I shouted, my voice echoing across the lake. I lowered it. “C'mon, let’s get packed up and go. I’ll tell you a story along the way.” I smiled, though I could feel my lips quivering. “It’s my best one.”


That seemed to get them going, and within ten minutes the tents were packed up and we’d begun our trek into the deep woods, with small flashlights our only guide. When I was confident we were moving at a steady pace, I allowed myself to relax and began to tell my favourite campfire story:

Centuries before the European settlers made their way into the country, it was inhabited by the First Nations people. They had made the trip from across Western Canada, following the migration patterns of large animals such as buffalo and bison. Eventually they reached Ontario, at which point they split off into smaller groups of travelers, each searching for a section of land to call their own.


Legend has it that one group, consisting of about twenty men, women and children, had ventured through this very area in search of a place to call home. Though it wasn’t even the end of October, the weather had made a turn for the worse, and as the group journeyed around the lake, a fierce blizzard hit. Within an hour, the group found themselves in blinding snow and below-zero temperatures. The clothes they had on them were made for the fall, not this sort of weather, and there weren’t any Canada Goose jackets around back then. But they pressed on. They didn’t have any other choice.
Night was falling as they reached a cliff bluff, which towered over a cold, choppy lake. There was no stopping for this group—they’d die if they didn’t make it past the cliffs. But with darkness setting in and the snow falling even harder, visibility was almost nonexistent. So one of the elders had an idea. Using the little kerosene they had left, he lit a lantern for each of the travelers and had them carry it in front of them, not so that they could see the cliffs, but so they could see who was in front of them, allowing them to all follow each other across the narrow bluffs.


With the strongest of the men leading the way, the group began to cross the cliffs. The freezing, wet snow soaked every bone in their body. The harsh wind chilled any exposed skin and threatened to push them right off the rock. Their path was no more than a few feet wide, and would have been slippery to even the best of hiking boots, let alone hand-fashioned moccasins. Slowly—painstakingly slowly—they made their way up the cliffs, praying that whatever lay on the other side could shelter them from the intensifying storm.


They were about halfway up, hundreds of feet above the lake, though it was well out of their vision. In fact, all they could see in this blinding storm was the lantern in front of them, acting as a beacon to guide their steps. If the light moved up, they moved up. If it went down, they moved down. Each of the travelers was almost in a trance, caring about nothing but the glowing orb a few feet away.


For the leader, though, there was no such luxury. He moved forward blindly, feeling along the cliff with his free arm, though his skin was so numb he could barely feel anything. As the path wound back again, he made a misstep and lost his footing, just as a gust of wind blasted his back. He desperately grasped for the hold, but his frozen fingers couldn’t get anything. With a terrified scream, he slipped off the cliffs and fell into the icy black lake.


The rest of the party didn’t see him fall, of course. All they saw was his glowing orb dropping away from the bluff and disappearing in the darkness. There was no time to mourn. They continued on, but the storm was worsening. After another minute, one of the children, his body unable to withstand the cold, dropped away, his lantern glowing until the choppy waters put it out. Another, having seen this, lost his balance and fell. This pattern went on until there were just five people left, fumbling along in the darkness, following the light in front.


As hard as they tried, the cliffs were unforgiving. The remaining men fell down to four. Then three. And two. And then there was just one left, who legend says cursed the earth as his legs slipped and he plunged hundreds of feet down, his lantern the last one to be extinguished.
“Of the twenty members who tried to overcome the cliffs,” I finished, “not one of them survived. They say that sometimes, when the conditions are right, you can see the orbs along the cliff, symbols of the lost travelers who will never find their homes.”


As the story ended, leaving the campers in an eerie silence, I saw lights up ahead. A wave of relief poured over me. We picked up the pace and found the ranger’s station bursting with activity, with a half-dozen people running around, loading up trucks and shouting into radios. The wind was beginning to really pick up, and I heard thunder in the distance.
“Hey! You kids!” A large, burly man with a full beard and mustache ran up to us. “Get in the trucks! We don’t have much time!”


Laura and I led the kids to one of the pickup trucks. “What’s going on?” I asked the man.
“Didn’t you hear?” Another gust of wind. “Huge storm system’s heading right for us. Already been tornadoes touched down. We’re getting everyone out of here. Let’s go!”


We all climbed into the truck’s bed. I collapsed down, feeling like I’d just been punched in the gut. The ranger climbed into the front and we took off down a makeshift road. My head was spinning. It wasn’t possible…


“How…” Laura slid next to me, keeping her voice low. “How did you know we had to get out of there?”


I looked over at her. My face felt empty of any blood. “I saw the lights.”


“What? No. No!” She gasped, then caught herself. “How many?”


I took a deep breath. “Eight.”


She looked around at all the campers, who were now lying against each other, asleep despite the bumpy road. “That’s all of us. My God…”
I nodded and leaned against her. Laura had heard the travelers’ story before, and she knew that I’d left out a key bit of information. The lights were real, but they were never random. If they were shining—bobbing back and forth, swinging in a small arc—it was because they had a message. A warning.


One light would shine, for each person who was about to die.

The signs according to me
  • Aries: Talented people with a knack for managing things.
  • Taurus: Amazing fashion sense, some of the sweetest and kindest people.
  • Gemini: Brilliant thinkers and amazingly badass. Usually clear headed. Should stop being so hard on themselves.
  • Cancer: Quiet but rowdy and fun loving people.
  • Leo: Funny, easy to talk to people with a (sometimes bizarre) sense of humor.
  • Virgo: Cool, chill people with a sense of humor.
  • Libra: Beautiful, ethereal people even if they don't think so.
  • Scorpio: Chill af, rad af, socially aware people.
  • Sagittarius: Makes other people happy, very fun loving and cute.
  • Capricorn: The villain from Inkheart????
  • Aquarius: God on Earth but also Satan incarnate.
  • Pisces: Another sign with amazing fashion sense. Very, very talented people.
Other people’s advantages are not an excuse for you to lose; they should motivate you to beat them. Just because a person has all the development resources- all the coaches, all the scouting, all the tools to train at the highest level, just because a person won the last Olympics or beat you the last time you met or is pumped full of steroids, they don’t get an extra score on the board when the fight starts. The fight is yours to win.
—  Ronda Rousey