tell me how cold it is..i mean how you like it

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

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

I. The First Introduction

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



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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(after edit marks)

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

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

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

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

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

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



III. The Second Introduction

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

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

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



IV. Everything You Need to Know About Writing Successfully

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



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

My ten minutes are up.

#teddy #auror #unresolved sexual tension

Prompts: @foxesandwands
Author: @queenofthyme

If you had told Harry Potter, back in his first year of Hogwarts, that he’d be sharing custody of a child with Draco Malfoy, he would have laughed. Loudly. But here he was, fifteen years later, and one of Teddy Lupin’s two legal guardians.

When Harry had accepted Remus’s offer to be Teddy’s godfather, although in the thick of war, he still never considered he’d actually have to raise someone else’s child. Teddy’s grandmother, Andromeda, had taken care of Teddy originally, which Harry was glad of - a 17 year old did not a father make. Still, he made sure to visit often. He knew what it was like to grow up without parents.

Harry wasn’t surprised that Draco visited just as often. Andromeda was his aunt after all, making Teddy his first cousin once removed.

Harry didn’t make a fuss the first time they’d bumped into each other at Andromeda’s, even though the last time they’d seen each other had been at Hogwarts, in the middle of a war, on opposite sides. He trusted Andromeda, and if she, as fiercely protective as she was, trusted Draco around Teddy, that was enough for Harry to do the same. Although, he still watched closely, curious to understand Draco’s behaviour.

Years past and Andromeda grew weary. She had already raised one child, and she was far too old to be chasing after another. As godfather, Harry knew it was his responsibility to take over as Teddy’s guardian, and no longer a teenager, he felt like he was ready. But Draco had insisted that it was he who should become guardian, as a blood relative.

They had argued like they might have back in their Hogwarts days, with taunts and snide jabs, even a  few hexes, before Andromeda put a stop to it. “How do either of you expect to raise a child if you still act like children yourselves?” She had yelled at them both, her words striking home as always.

Shared custody was Andromeda’s idea, but they both agreed it would be the best option for Teddy. He had already grown attached to both of them, and they both loved Teddy as if he was their own. On that, they were in agreement, if nothing else.

These days, they saw a lot of each other. Teddy made sure of that. They hadn’t quite reconciled all their differences, but they were civil, even polite to each other. They had to be for Teddy. But there was such a coldness to their interactions sometimes, that Harry wondered if it would be better if they just went at it, like they really wanted to. Said what they were really thinking.

Like that time when Draco dropped Teddy off at Harry’s office in the middle of a work day because he had an appointment, and Harry said, “Of course, no problem Draco. Please take your time,” but what he’d really wanted to say was, “You couldn’t have given me some warning so I could plan my day around this, you inconsiderate prat?”

Or the time Draco had taken Teddy on holiday and returned a day later than expected, and Harry said, “That’s okay, Draco, I’m glad you’re both back. I’m sure Teddy had a great time,” but what he’d really wanted to say was, “I thought you were both dead you selfish jerk, you never thought to owl ahead to let me know?”

Or last week when Draco had to reschedule their agreed custody routine because he had a date on Thursday night and Harry said, “Hope you have a lovely night,” but what he’d really wanted to say was, “I hope your date throws wine in your face and leaves you with the bill.”

It’s not like Teddy didn’t know what was going on. He was a perceptive kid. The whole situation was ridiculous.

Keep reading

The Final Chapter

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But in the end…

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

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

*Applauds* 

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

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

Bruised (Richie/Eddie) 1/12

Summary: It’s 1993 and the summer from many years ago is dead and gone. Many have drifted apart from the Losers club and its at the point where there is no club at all. The atmosphere is cold just like the winter months and the only blushes to be found are the ones that are caused from the piercing spikes of cold that heat skin up. Being a teenage boy is hard; especially for the two boys that now count each other as strangers. In which both boys make a plan, but both disrupt each others.

Warning(s): Suicide attempt?? , depression, mental illness’, mixture of fluff and angst throughout the series, homophobic slurs

A/N: Hi!! welcome to part 1 of IDK HOW MANY but ayy!! Honestly, i’M MAKING A TAG LIST FOR THIS SERIES SO IF ANYONE WHO DOESN’T WANNA FOLLOW ME OR WANTS TO BE NOTIFIED JUST ASK!!

Part 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12(Soon) | 

Richie Tozier brought the cigarette between his lips, letting the toxic smoke fill his decaying lungs and pulse throughout his insides and swirls around in each crevice of his body. He then takes away the cancer stick, after a moment blowing out the toxic waste into the thin November air.

Beverly Marsh raised an eyebrow at him, sitting across from the much taller boy on the brick wall with her own cigarette between her fingers. She watched as the smoke faded into nothing, sighing lightly as she proceeded to watch her best friend smoke away.

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Mothers’ Weekend

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


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

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

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

See. Bad mother.

A good mother would have known somehow.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Fears Bill Skarsgård x Reader

Requester: atliefloresdaprimavera

Prompt: Reader is Bills gf, and she’s a famous book author and she’s terrified of clowns. They both support each other and are each others biggest fans so when he tells her he got the role she swallows her fear (he knows about her phobia) and helped him prepare for the role, but she didn’t want to go to visit on set; but the kids are her fans and she went to visit them one day later he tells on interviews he was scared for their relationship because of the role.

Warning: None 

Originally posted by deathtown

Originally posted by carlaconce

You hummed as you wrote on the computer trying to figure out what to write for your new book. You at the moment we’re having the worst kind of thing an author can go through—writers block. You had tried to start a new book but it just ended up falling apart before it could even take off.

Even the best authors such as Stephen King and J.K Rowling had writers block. According to most you were considered one of those truly best selling authors but you didn’t really think of yourself as one of the best even though that was how you met your boyfriend the Bill Skarsgård.

He was one of your biggest fans and you were of him and then one day during a book signing you met and it was pretty much love at first sight. You looked up from your computer at the tv show currently playing on the TV, Supernatural. You were on the episode with Sam and the clown.

Your heart raced incredibly fast when you saw the clown and had to look back down at the computer to avoid watching. You were terrified, TERRIFIED of clowns. When you were little your older brother and his friends thought it would be a good idea to fill the cellar full of antique life size clown dolls both made for Halloween (aka motion activated) and just for decoration.

And no, they didn’t just leave you in there for a few minutes and then just let you out they left you in there all night. You had to go to therapy for 2 years just to get over not suddenly shrieking at the top of your lungs for several minutes when you saw a clown on the tv.

Even if it was a fun colorful clown with painted dimples and mouth you still had a bad breakdown. You continued to stare at your screen and try to figure out how to even start the story.

Once upon a time?

Once upon a dream? (Reference!)

So a man walks into a bar…?

You groaned and slumped down tapping your bottom lip in thought. Several minutes had passed and you still didn’t write anything down. Your prayers were sort of answered when Bill came in.

“Hey!” He called from across the condo.

“Hey honey! How was your day?” You called.

“Amazing. You won’t believe what role I got.” He replied walking into the living room.

“Ooh is it popular?” You asked picking up your mug of coffee.

“Yeah you know that movie IT? I’m playing Pennywise.”

You instantly choked on your drink coughing and hacking and placing the mug back on the coffee table to avoid dropping or spilling it. Bill rushed over gently patting your back as you wheezed and felt the rest of the coffee go down.

“What’s wrong babe?” He asked.

“You…Pennywise…”

Bill remembered your extreme clown fear and frowned, “I know your afraid of clowns so that’s why I came to you before I could accept.”

“Uh…yeah, I’m perfectly fine about it. Just don’t think about coming home dressed as a clown unless you want me to beat you to death with a bat.” You warned.

He smiled and kissed your head before saying, “Thanks baby. I love you.”

“Love you too.” You sighed.

He walked off and you continued to stare at the blinking cursor.

So far the IT remake had been in production for a month now and Bill was doing a pretty good job making sure to not act like Pennywise when he arrives home. The first time he did slip up was with his creepy laugh.

You both were putting the dishes away and talking when he did the Pennywise laugh and your glass slipped and shattered onto the counter. Bill snapped his head towards you and saw you were staring at him wide eyed and paralyzed like there was a clown right behind him.

“Sorry I…”

“No, no it’s fine. I’m fine.” You said before walking off to get the duster.
L
Ever since then he’s been extra careful not to act or talk like his character.

3 months into production he had finally been able to meet the Losers kids. He talked to them when he was out of costume and when he mentioned you all their eyes lit up in a split second.

“Your dating (Name) (Last Name)???” Jaeden (aka Bill) asked.

“Yeah you know her?” Bill said.

“I love her book Deathly Dreams.” Sophia (Beverly) said her eyes twinkling. All their eyes were as they shared what books they loved the most.

“Can you please bring her down here? My life would be complete if I got her autograph and got to talk to her.” Wyatt (Stan) pleaded.

“Pleeeaaase?” All the Losers nearly begged making puppy eyes.

Bill laughed knowing he was out matched against the seven kids (both in and out of character) and calmly said, “Alright, alright. I’ll try to get her down here.”

They cheered and Bill frowned hoping you’d be up for it. Maybe if he just tried to avoid you in costume like he did with the kids you’d be fine.

Right?

Later that night he bit his lip as he came home to find you were sitting in front of your computer typing your book.

“Hey sweetie.” He greeted kissing your head.

“Hey honey.” You replied picking your head up for a lip kiss instead.

He eagerly did and sat down next to you gently rubbing your shoulders making you look at him concerned.

“What?” Bill asked.

“Are you okay?” You asked.

“No your just looking tense.” He replied.

“Well how did filming go today?” You asked turning your head to continue to type.

“Good. I uh…talked to the kids…and they’re actually big fans of you.”

“Really?” You asked snapping your head towards him.

“Yeah. They were fangirling over you.”

“Awww that’s so sweet.” You giggled.

“Well…um…they also wanted to see you.”

Your smile faded slowly realizing why he was doing that. He wanted you to come onto the set to see the kids but…he would be in his character and…oh no.

“I mean you don’t have to we can just-”

“N-No it’s fine, I’ll go. I mean I kind of always wanted to see a movie behind the scenes with my own eyes. Maybe it’ll help me with this stupid book.” You said.

“Really?”

“Totally.”

“You sure?”

“Bill, I’ll be fine.” You assured him.

“Alright.” He sighed.

The next day you went in with him and got to meet the director Andy who was also a big fan of your books. He lead you over to where the children were for makeup and as soon as you walked in they recognized you and nearly tackled you in a hug fangirling.

“Oh my gosh your (Name) (Last Name)!” Jack (Eddie) squealed.

“Yes I am.” You smiled feeling like you were floating in space.

A famous horror movie director and 7 soon-to-be famous kids loved your books?

Who knew?!

You took selfies with them, signed their books, talked to them, until you needed to use the bathroom. Good news was you were in a warehouse so you didn’t have to do your business in the woods or in a porta potty.

Bad news was you were lost trying to find your way back from the bathroom.

You were sure you had gone too far deep into the warehouse and now were wandering around the creepy place looking everywhere. You couldn’t find anyone to ask where you were so you were alone, becoming scared, and confused.

Great.

You sighed as you continued to wander your footsteps echoing. You heard the sound of laughter and shuddered remembering that laugh. A clown’s laugh. It sounded so familiar to the one over a decade and a half ago when you were in the cellar. Your heart was racing as you tried to get away from the source of the laughs.

Fear was overtaking your mind as you hurried to find your way out looking left and right. The echoes only seemed to be getting closer but you couldn’t tell if it was you  or the thing releasing the laughter going closer.

You finally came into a room and your blood ran ice cold and your heart seemed to stop dead. Standing there was a clown. Your brain was so filled with fear that it didn’t recognize that it was Bill.

If anyone saw him really unless they knew they wouldn’t be able to recognize him underneath all the makeup. You surely didn’t. When the clown turned to face you your skin turned paper white and your breath was trapped in your throat.

“(Name)?” Bill said in his real voice.

He started walking towards you and you took several steps back before running.

“(Name)!” Bill called.

He watched as you ran as fast as you could which was faster than him.

“(Name)!” He called.

“Leave me alone!” You screamed.

You ran into a closet and slammed the door shut hyperventilating. You ran your fingers through your hair and curled up in the corner feeling incredibly dizzy and sick.

“(Name)? (Name) please, where are you?” He asked.

You weren’t able to reply back gasping too hard. It hurt to breathe. You heard the knock on the door and you shuddered, “(Name)? You in here?”

“Bill I’m so scared.” You sobbed.

“(Name), it’s just me. Okay. I’m dressed as Pennywise but I’m not going to hurt you. Okay?”

“O-o-okay.”

“Can I come in?” He asked.

“S-Sure.”

“(Name), I need a yes or a no…”

You took a deep breath before firmly replying, “Yes.”

The door opened and you squeaked and curled in on yourself. Despite this Bill walked over to you and knelt down in front of you.

“(Name), please don’t be scared. It’s me Bill.”

You slowly opened your eyes but you could still only see the clown. Your heart was pounding so fast your body had told you to get up and run but Bill was quicker and pulled you to his chest in a hug. You frantically panicked nearly hyperventilating as you tried to get away.

“(Name), it’s just me. It’s just me.” He whispered comfortingly.

He took off his silk glove and reached up to his eye before taking off one of the yellow contact lenses revealing his actual blue-green ones. You gradually relaxed and leaned onto his chest.

Under all that latex and makeup you could still smell his cologne letting you know it was indeed him. You wrapped his arms tightly around him taking slow breaths to calm yourself down.

“You okay now?” He asked after a few minutes.

You nodded and he smiled and nuzzled your forehead since he’d smear his lipstick.

“You actually helped me get over my fear of clowns.” You said softly.

He smiled and leaned down to kiss you. When he pulled away he couldn’t help but smile noticing your lips were tainted a light red. Bill placed his eye contact back on and you shuddered but otherwise didn’t run away.

“I love you.” Pennywise said softly.

“I love you too.” You giggled, “And your little clown nose too.”

“Yeah I brought my girlfriend who is like terrified of clowns to the set to ya know meet the kids and, um, she ended up getting lost and found me when I was deep in character as the clown and…yeah I scared her really badly. I thought she was going to break up with me but she didn’t…. I have the best girlfriend ever…”

Epilogue: I really liked this prompt idea cuz I’m terrified of clowns and like Bill is equal parts sexy and scary. Idk that’s just me. Thanx for reading! :3!

♛ Exposing BTS Series ♛ Namjoon: A Born Leader (Part I)

Originally posted by ksjknj

Just from looking at his signs and aspects, one can tell that we are dealing with a man of great talent and purpose. Looking further into his natal chart confirms this. Let’s see what truly makes Namjoon our golden leader.

(extremely long, detailed text/gif heavy post ahead!)

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10 Things I Learned as an Interviewer for the Interviewee

As a fourth year medical students (yikes) I was able to become an interviewer for my medical school. So yes, that means maybe someone I’ve interviewed may one day see this. Though probably not. Anyways, it was very surreal to be on the other side of the process all these years later and while I’m getting ready for interviews myself (anyone want me for residency, btw?)

A lot of expectations and previous notions about interviews that I had really did change and I can see how intricate the process actually is, and I get why we get asked the questions we do. At least somewhat better.                                                                   

All experiences and interviewers are different but here are some things I think can really help out the interviewee. Maybe things you thought were hard and fast rules but aren’t or things you didn’t expect us to be looking for. Anything to help! And while this is directed at pre-meds, the advice should still general enough that anyone can use it, if they want.

Some things to know beforehand; I was part of a two-on-one interview setting which lasted 30 minutes with a few preset questions we needed to ask. The interview was blind, so we couldn’t see stats.

Take a second to observe your interviewers.

This isn’t an open invitation to judge your interviewers, but most of us are pretty telling in the way we present ourselves. If you can take a break for the nerves for a second pay attention to our introductions, our demeanor and how we’re dressed. It can give you a sense of how relaxed or stringent we may be and what our personalities may be like even if we were told to stay stone cold poker-faced. And always keep in mind who your interviewers are and what departments they’re from. It can help guide the tone we set for the entire interview.  

Play off the interviewers.

Now that you’ve taken a moment to take in your surroundings use those to your advantage. If we’re playing tough, answer with strength and intention. If we’re relaxed, don’t sit so stiff and maybe get us to laugh. If you are asked thought provoking questions, take time to think about it and provide thought provoking answers. The more you work with us, the easy and more open a dialog becomes and the more personable the interview will become. It’s a great way to show flexibility and adaptation, and for the interviewers who did this well we found ourselves impressed.

If I’m offering you information, take it.

If I am telling you that I am a 4th year and I can answer your questions about rotations, classes, or student life I am literally giving you questions to ask me in the event you have forgotten all of yours. If faculty tells you which program they are a part of and what they specialize in they are opening that line of information for you. They are telling you were their interests and focuses are and you can run with that, if you like.

Please, please do your research.

We had an application who couldn’t tell us what they liked our school. Had no idea what the mission statement was or what the goals of the school were. Didn’t have a clue. I had to use my doctor face so I could stay neutral. It was bad. I get that you just want to be in medical school but come on. Point blank, there is no excuse for anyone to know nothing about the program they’re interviewing for. You should also have worked out answers for frequently asked questions. Getting stumped on classic medical school questions…it’s a big red flag. So please plan ahead and do your research.  

Pick the length of your answers carefully.

Different types of questions prompt different types of answers. There are a lot of questions that can prompt follow up questions. Hobbies for example; going into every detail about your hobbies is probably counterproductive. But that’s assuming you have a fair amount of things you like to do that aren’t medicine. You can add a snip here and there, like “I’ve done that for 15 years” or “it’s really a huge passion of mine” but if there is interest in hearing more, we’ll most likely ask. If you only have one thing, don’t think “I like running” is a good enough answer. Give us something to work with. There are questions, especially theoretical ones or tell me a story situations that are meant to be longer. And always keep in mind your time limit.

Be confident, not cocky.

There is a huge difference between smug and confident. We had one prospect who gave this shit-eating “gotcha” grin after every question they thought they had aced. It was almost like they were trying to directly challenging me. It got to the point that I stopped caring what they were saying and was just getting pissed. The answers could have been great (they weren’t) but all that stuck with me was the cockiness. Not sure if you do that unintentionally? That’s what practice interviews are for. There are very clear differences when someone was proud of an answer and were pleased, and what this individual was doing. And if you do act that way, personally, I don’t want you representing my school, regardless of what your application looks like.

I don’t care about the “right” answer. I care why.

I know there are certain questions answers that are kind of set in stone. And I know straying too far from say, an ethics question, is hard to do in a new and unique way. The way to make yourself stand out from the crowd is to explain the reasons why you believe this to be the “right” answers since those tend to differ among applicants and shows your critical thinking skills past “well obviously this is the right answer”. Aside from that most interviewers don’t have specific expectations for most questions. We’d rather just hear about you and your personal experiences, honestly.

We’re not always looking for your spoken answer.

Sometimes we’re looking at your body language. I will purposefully ask questions I know there are only a few answers too. Not because I want to know if you know it, but rather how you viscerally respond. Do you look uncomfortable when answering an ethics or grades question? Did you answer robotically? Are you still looking at me? Can you pick yourself back up after a rough question? What you do speaks just as loud as the things your saying and I’m looking for it.

Use your personality and responses to show you want to be here. Not your grades.

This was not an isolated event. I had a few prospective students speak about a class and sneak in “which I got an A in” and continue. Not really a fan of that. I naturally assume that everyone we interviewed had good enough grades and scores because, well, you’re at the interview. At this point in the process all I want if for you to shine beyond those things and prove to me that you can be a doctor on paper and in person.  

Make me feel connected to you.

In the end, I want to feel like I know who you are. I want to know what you stand for and I want to experience the person who wants to become a physician. I want to appreciate your story and how far you’ve come. We don’t need to become best friends, we don’t need to have similar thoughts or values or personalities. But I want to feel like we could understand each other now and in the future. Let me be excited about you and for you. Let me want you to be here so I can check accept.

I hope someone was able to get something useful from this because for all of you here dying to enter this crazy profession I want you to reach your goals. I really do, and I’m just doing all I can on the internet. Good luck to everyone on your interviews!

Bruised (Richie/Eddie) 2/12

Summary: It’s 1993 and the summer from many years ago is dead and gone. Many have drifted apart from the Losers club and its at the point where there is no club at all. The atmosphere is cold just like the winter months and the only blushes to be found are the ones that are caused from the piercing spikes of cold that heat skin up. Being a teenage boy is hard; especially for the two boys that now count each other as strangers. In which both boys make a plan, but both disrupt each others.

Warning(s): Depression, angst and fluff throughout the whole series, suicide attempt

A/N: Im so happy at how much support part 1 got?? Thankyou all so so so fucking much ily all also!! credit to @finn-got-tall for an idea in one of the scenes!! (I wont reveal which scene bc i want people to just read) but ty lovely

Part 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12(Soon) | 

Eddie and Richie blinked at each other, stunned to see one another in such a strange coincidence. Eddie still had his hand up, but Richie still hadn’t took it. Richie merely brought his hand up that held the cigarette, taking a drag and allowing the toxic waste to decay against his lungs. Eddie visibly cringed at the sight, but stayed silent; he only continued to watch in hope that Richie would somehow step down. Richie took away the small stick, blowing the smoke out slowly and staring at Eddie through his large obnoxious eye glasses.

“Why are you here, Eds?” Richie asked, as if a day hadn’t passed since they last talked.

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bleusarcelle  asked:

Oh oh oh oh!!!! For the prompt. How about a Klance video call where Lance is telling Keith all of their shows and Keith is like quiet but with a smile enjoying Lance's RAMBLING and they have a soft moment of.... Hey you are missed, u know that right? Kdksksksksikss idk.

HOLY SHIT YES. Yes i love this. Thank you Bleu for this premium suggestion


Keith’s fingers hover over the call button. He’s been doing this now every night for a week. Why is he nervous? Why can’t he summon the courage to just hit the damn button?

Just call him. Just call him. Just call him! 

He reprimands himself. His hands tremble and he sits down on his bed. 

What if he’s mad at me? What if they’ve moved on? Maybe it’s better if I stay quiet…

Keith sighs and goes to put his communicator anyway in his pocket. Just like he always does. The ship around him is silent. It’s always silent. His room is cold. 

In his gloved hands, his finger slips and his communicator screen lights up.

“Shit! Shitshitshitshit…” He grapples with the device, but before he can hang up, the ringing has stopped. A chipper voice rings out and he’s staring into familiar eyes.

“Keith?!” Lance answers. His eyes search Keith’s face and his surroundings. “Are you ok? Do you need…?”

“What? No, no, I’m fine, Lance. I’m ok.” Keith shushes. He can’t help the small smile that pulls on the corner of his lips. “I’m fine.”

“Oh thank god.” Lance sighs and rolls back on his bed. He closes his eyes. His heart still thunders in his chest. 

“You that worried about me?”

“More like I’m comfortable and didn’t want to go on a mission right now.” Lance smirks and chuckles quietly. Keith rolls his eyes. 

“So why’d you call anyway?”

This question trips Keith up. He hopes that Lance can’t see the blush that rises to his cheeks. That he doesn’t notice the way he fidgets with his hood. 

“Uh, I guess I just wanted to check in and see…” His voice trembles.

“Did you miss me?” Lance grins.

“No!” Keith snaps. Lance laughs.

“I… I dunno… I just….”

Lance hears the uncertainty in his voice. He watches Keith’s eyebrows crinkle together in frustration. Lance’s smile falters and his expression falls into one of gentle concern.

“Do you want me to tell you what the team’s been up to?” He offers. 

Keith sighs. He’s grateful for the change of subject and nods.

“Well we’ve made contact with the rebels and have been working together on some stuff. And oh my god, Keith, Keith you will not believe…” Lance sits up and excitedly talks to his communicator. 

“Keith, I swear to god, One of their captains is a dog!”

“Wait what?”

“I’m serious! One of their captains, she’s really cool by the way, she’s a straight up dog that walks around on two legs and talks and and… did you ever see Disney’s Robin Hood with the foxes?”

Keith blinks. Lance is going a mile a minute and it’s hard to keep up.

“Uh yeah?”

“It’s exactly like that! She looks like a character from that movie and everyone else is totally fine with it and isn’t even mentioning it, all the while I am freaking out because there is a race of goddamn space dogs.”

Keith laughs. A familiar warmth flickers in his chest.

“Oh! Oh! Sorry I totally forgot! We found Matt! Well Pidge did, but that’s besides the point…”

“Whoa what? You found…?”

“Yeah Pidge found her brother! He was with the rebels and she tracked him down! And now he hangs out with us and Pidge is just so happy. And Hunk has someone new to talk about nerdy stuff with. He seems cool, even if a bit delusional. He definitely has a thing for Allura and, oh man, that poor boy does not stand a chance.”

“Wow that’s … I can’t believe…” Keith sighs.

“Have you seen our shows?!” Lance beams into the camera. Again Keith is caught off guard. It takes him a moment to interpret what Lance just asked him.

“Oh!” His expression melts into a teasing smirk. “Oh… Oh I know about them. You’re quite the actor, Lance.”

“What can I say? I’m a natural.” Lance brushes his hair back and shoots a finger gun straight towards Keith.

“But they’re so much fun, dude. Like I just get such a rush from all the cheering you know? Like it’s been really amazing to inspire people and talk to fans directly. And the coalition is stronger than ever! 

Shiro’s been such a good sport about all this. Like I can tell he’s uncomfortable? But he really throws himself into it, and the fans all love him. Well of course they would, he’s Shiro. Oh! And you should see the way little girls all run up to Allura afterwards. She uses your name in the script, but these kids aren’t fooled.”

Lance continues to rant about their antics. About how they rehearse, and Lance had a fair bit of input to his choreography. About how it all ended with them actually fighting a monster in an arena, and Allura doing the sweetest backwards flip kick Lance has ever seen.

A lump forms in Keith’s throat.

“I think I needed a different outfit for my rope routine. The armour was a bit clunky, and you know… I should really give the fans what they want.” He waggles his eyebrows.

“I’m sorry I missed it. You’ll have to give me a private show sometime.” Keith smiles.

Lance looks at him in shock. A blush rushes to his ears and his mouth opens into a wild smile.

“Did you just…?!”

“Oh my god!” Keith yanks his hood over his face. He’s just realised what he may have implied.

“I didn’t mean…! God, Lance! Not like that!” He shouts, but he can’t help the giggles that burst from his chest. He can hear Lance’s laughter matching his own.

“Can you get me a cool Blade of Marmara outfit to do it in?” Lance chuckles. He sighs as he catches his breath.

“I don’t think I can just take one.”

“Shame. I really like them.” Lance chews his lip. “You look really cool.” 

Keith ignores the way that makes the ache in his chest throb. He shakes his head and tries to hide how flustered he feels with a laugh.

“It uh… it sounds like you guys are going really well.”

“Yeah.” Lance sighs. He brushes his hand through his hair. “We’re uh… we’re doing good stuff, but…”

A heavy silence falls between them. Lance feels the words on the tip of his tongue. He knows what he wants to say, but is suddenly embarrassed to say them. His relationship with Keith is precarious and he worries that his next word might send them over the edge. He swallows.

“But I really wish you were there.” His voice is hushed. He averts his eyes from the communicator. 

“We miss you Keith. I know you’re doing important work, and I know that you’re helping us by helping the blades, but we just…” He stammers. “I…I just…”

He accidentally meets Keith’s eyes. The reality that Keith is on the other side of the galaxy hits him like a crashing wave. 

“I’ll never replace you. We’re a team.” His breath shudders.

“Lance, I…”

“Please come home.” Lance presses his eyes closed. “We all worry. And Red asks about you and, and…” His fingers grip at his jacket. “Don’t stay gone forever. … okay?”

 Keith sighs. His eyes begin to sting and he can feel his resolve crumbling. He briefly thinks about where the pods on his current ship are located before he pushes it out of his mind. 

No. He can’t run back now. Not yet. 

“I’ll be back.”

“Stay safe,”

“I will.” Keith nods solemnly.

Lance hangs up the call and stares down at his communicator. His hands fist into his sheets and his mouth twists into a scowl.

“You’re lying.” 

instant gratification 03 (m)

Originally posted by bangtan7beyondthescene

➾10.8k 

➾ smut, angst, fluff

➾the final part of this series, please read the first three parts if you haven’t!

instant gratification 01 | 02 | 2.5


It’s like time has slowed to an ambling crawl, and all that ever exists has ceased to matter; except in this room with the three of you standing, facing each other like fighters in a ring. All you’re aware of is the way your breath has frozen over in your chest, and the way Jeongguk is clutching something so tightly in his hand, mirroring your own fisted palm.

“Jeongguk, no,” the sound of your voice pierces through the tense atmosphere, and is that really your voice? Why does it sound so unconvincing, so lacking in resolve, so broken? You clear your throat and attempt to try again, because your eyes are locked on Jeongguk’s own milky caramel ones, filled with a murky rage that threatens to break past the surface. “Jeongguk, this is not what it looks like, I swear-“

He only responds with an acerbic laugh that’s short and cutting, and it makes every breath you take feel razor sharp.

Keep reading

#healer!Draco #injured!Harry #pining

Prompts: @ohsodraco
Author: @queenofthyme

Draco hadn’t turned around yet. But he would have seen Harry’s name on the appointment list. He must have known who his next patient was. Harry wondered if Draco felt that same nervous excitement to see him - the clammy palms, the fidgeting, the sweat on the back of the neck and a heart that he could hear pounding in his ears.

Probably not.

Draco stood with his back to the door, reading over a floating chart. Harry took an awkward seat on the edge of the patients’ chair. Still, Draco made no sign he was aware of Harry’s presence. Nothing new there.

Harry cleared his throat and got straight to the point. “I accidentally cursed myself.”

Draco turned around then, his face showing no surprise at Harry Potter sitting in his Healer’s office. “You accidentally cursed yourself,” he repeated drily.

Harry nodded, wiping his hands on his trousers. “Yes.”

“With what curse?” Draco’s eyes were piercing and analytical, giving Harry the odd sensation that Draco already knew exactly what he was thinking. But he couldn’t. Or they wouldn’t be having this conversation at all.

“I don’t know.”

Draco blinked back at Harry, drawing attention to his long pale lashes. Harry had a particular fondness for those bloody lashes. “How can you curse yourself and not know? What incantation did you use? What wand movement?”

Harry shrugged, dropping eye contact, lest he reveal his game too early. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t - “ Draco started to repeat, frustration leaking into his voice. “What are your symptoms? How has this mystery curse affected you?”

“I feel unwell,” Harry answered simply, playing with a loose thread on the knee of his trousers.

There was a silence in which Harry could feel Draco staring down at him, eyes boring into him. He didn’t dare look up. “You feel unwell,” Draco repeated, disbelief clear in his tone.

“Yes.”

“Potter, get the fuck out of my practice.”

Harry looked up quickly - he hadn’t expected that. Although perhaps he should have. “You’re not going to cure me?”

“Of what?” Draco’s tone was clipped, impatient, his eyes narrowed. “You’re clearly not cursed. You don’t have any symptoms. I sense no dark magic in your presence. I don’t know what you’re trying to accomplish, but I can assure you I don’t have the time to humour you. Good bye.”

Shit. Shit. Shit. “I do have one symptom.”

Draco sighed heavily, but his face lightened. “What is it?”

“An erratic heartbeat.”

“An erratic heartbeat,” Draco repeated - he was making a habit of doing that. “You’re probably just unfit. It’s not un-“

“So you’re not even going to check to make sure?” Harry interrupted, shuffling on his seat. This was so not how he wanted this to go down. “It could be serious.”

Draco crossed his arms. “It’s not serious.”

“And how do you know if you’re not going to check?” Harry held his breath. If we was thrown out of Draco’s office now, the humiliation will have all been for nothing.

“Fine - “ Harry exhaled - “Lie down.”

Harry shuffled up onto chair fully and laid back. He squirmed a little at the cold plastic covering.

“Stay still,” Draco said, a hand coming out to rest on Harry’s shoulder, holding him in place. With his other hand, he passed his wand over Harry’s chest. Harry tried not to make it obvious when a shiver ran through him - he wasn’t so sure it was to do with Draco’s wand and not his touch.

“It is a little faster than normal,” Draco said quietly, dropping his hand. "Do you often feel out of breath?” He asked, eyes flickering back up to Harry’s face.

“Only around you.”

Harry watched Draco’s pale eyelashes flutter. “I’m not following.”

It look all of Harry’s Gryffindor courage (and plenty of recklessness too) not to look away. “You leave me breathless.”

Harry waited for Draco’s reaction. Nothing at first - it took a second - and then: “Oh no. Oh no.” Draco backed away. “Are you telling me this was all an elaborate set up so you could use that cheesy pick-up line?”

Harry felt his heart drop. “Maybe,” he said quietly, getting to his feet. It had seemed like a great idea over Firewhiskey with Ron and Hermione the previous night.

“That’s pathetic, Potter. You could do so much better than that.”

“Sorry,” Harry said, his face to the floor as he shuffled to the exit. “I didn’t mean to - I’ll just - “

“Come back tomorrow,” Draco said from behind him - Harry froze, hope rising in his gut. "Just make sure you have some better material.”

Harry turned around slowly, a smile forming on his face. “If that’s what the doctor orders…”

“Healer,” Draco corrected. He was back to staring over his chart again. “I’ll make your follow-up appointment 5.30pm tomorrow. “ He looked up at Harry and winked. “It’s my last session. Dress sharp.”

more like this l @queenofthyme​ 

It’s time for a continuation of the post where Andrew keeps giving reporters different conflicting answers to their questions about why he and his ex-teammate turned rival Neil wear matching armbands.

So, get ready for Neil’s responses to reporters reading Andrew’s latest responses plus Andrew and Neil getting asked about them together after their teams play each other.

Keep reading

Angel in the Darkness (M) pt.9

Originally posted by aestheticvbts

Summary: After a patient urgently pleads you to go and help a friend of his, you naively agree to it. Little did you know, that you would get more than what you agreed to, when he leads you to a brothel, to help a dangerous prostitute named Jeon Jungkook.

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader (ft. Jin, but not romantically)

Word count: 4.3k

Genre: Smut (M), angst, mafia!au, prostitution!au

A/N:This is a dark and filthy story! Graphic descriptions of sex (oral, penetration, etc), heavy dom/sub undertones, drug use, vulgar language use… This is a mature read! You have been warned!

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 7 | part 8 | part 9



“You lied to me!” the 15yr old Jungkook screeched in agony. He couldn’t stop the salty tears from streaming down his puffy face, as he looked at his older brother with pure hatred.

Jin, lifelessly looked at his youngest sibling and sighed in an annoyed tone, “What was I supposed to tell you?”

“The truth!” the doe eyed boy spat.

“It doesn’t work like that Jungkook, especially in this family.”

“Family?!” Jungkook laughed, sounding as if he had gone insane. “You think I’d call this a family?!”

At that, Jin closed his eyes in frustration – he knew that it was never easy for any of them to find out the truth, but Jungkook was by far taking it the worse. He recalled the others had shown great anger momentarily, but then they would get over it. Hell, even him himself hadn’t shown any emotions when his father told him the truth about his own mother. But maybe that was because Jungkook was different from the rest of them. He still… felt emotion, he still cared for others, and hadn’t become a cold-hearted machine that followed orders like the rest of them did.

Keep reading

Bruised (Richie/Eddie) 4/12

Summary: It’s 1993 and the summer from many years ago is dead and gone. Many have drifted apart from the Losers club and its at the point where there is no club at all. The atmosphere is cold just like the winter months and the only blushes to be found are the ones that are caused from the piercing spikes of cold that heat skin up. Being a teenage boy is hard; especially for the two boys that now count each other as strangers. In which both boys make a plan, but both disrupt each others.

Warning(s): Angst & Fluff

A/N: Shout out to @eddiekaspbraks for making THIS moodboard of this fanfiction series, it’s amazing and gO SEND THIS LOVELY BABE SOME LOVE !!  BONUS POINTS IF ANYONE CAN GUESS WHAT SONG I WAS LISTENING TO WHILST WRITING RICHIE’S DESCRIPTION THROUGH EDDIE’S PERSPECTIVE

Part 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 (Soon) | 

It was now Monday morning and Eddie felt his numb fingertips jitter at the seams of his jumper, feeling the weaves under his senseless skin without his pulse guiding him. 

The pills were messing him up. Bad.

His doctor had prescribed the soft pink and white capsules in order to stop being gay, as if what he had was some sick mental illness. Eddie’s mother thought he was twisted, that the rumours weren’t true and that people were lying about her pride and joy. Several days later she realised that Eddie was in fact a homosexual boy. However, she refused to believe it and dragged him to every therapist and doctor in order to ‘save’ him.

He didn’t need saving, he was gay and that was that. He had only told Bill, Ben, Mike and Stan but somehow the word got around school, eventually a teacher had confronted his mother about the matter. He didn’t mean for everyone to know, but now that everyone did- the reaction he got towards his sexuality choice was repulsive.

Keep reading

Space Heater

Summary: When the heater goes out, you’re left freezing and unable to get warm. Luckily, Bucky might be able to help that.

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Word Count: 1838

Warnings: none (unless you count being very cold), just fluffy, cuddly goodness!

A/N: AHHH I’m back!! This is my first crack at writing fanfic in like 4 months since I’ve been on hiatus, but I’m excited to get writing again! I wanted to come back with a fluffy one-shot (since those are relatively easy), so here you guys go! As always, I hope you enjoy!

Originally posted by apocryphalstories

Keep reading

Kiwi

Originally posted by fearless-man

Inspired by Harry Styles’ song ‘Kiwi’. Just an one shot without any connections to other stories I’ve written. Hope you enjoy!

Warning: Smut

She’s driving me crazy, but I’m into it, but I’m into it
I’m kinda into it
It’s getting crazy, I think I’m losing it, I think I’m losing it

Keep reading

Our Little Secret - Part Thirteen

Summary: Your and Dean’s fight hits you hard, you don’t know how to fix it, you don’t know how to talk it out and now you have to work a case that hits a little too close to home.

Series Masterlist

Characters: Dean, Sam, Reader

Pairings: Dean x Reader

Kink(s)/Square Filled: Touch Starvation for @spnkinkbingo

Word Count: 6500

Warnings:language, fighting, angst, smut, oral, feels

A/N: Thank you so much for reading. I’m really loving these character and this series. Thank you for your wonderful responses. I also love the debate that this made last night, it’s so special to see people invested enough in these characters that they pick sides. A special thank you to the people who looked this over for me @atc74 and @sylverminx

This is unbetaed, all mistakes are my own

***THE TAGLIST FOR THIS SERIES IS CLOSED**

The tears stream down your face, hot and messy, you don’t bother to brush them away. You don’t know where you were planning on going, your feet are stuck here in the dimly lit parking lot as your eyes search, brain on overdrive trying to think of something, anything to make this better.

A hand on your shoulder makes you fling around, scared, you hadn’t heard Sam walk up behind you, “Y/N?”

You don’t say anything, just wrap your arms around your friend and let him pull you against him as he tells you that everything is going to be alright.

His arms loosen and he pulls your face up, “Where are you going?”

“I-I don’t know,” you sob, the words tumbling out.

“Come on,” he wraps his arm around your shoulders, “nothing’s open now anyways.”

Keep reading

Strain

He stared hard at the table, chewing his bottom lip as the team surrounded him at all sides. “What were you thinking!?” Shiro yelled, “this is by far the dumbest thing you’ve ever done!”
Lance curled into himself even more as the tension in the room increased.
“It turned out fine.” Lance muttered quietly.
“Are you being serious right now Lance?” Allura sighed shaking her head.
They were in the heat of battle. Defending another planet from Galra rule. “Lance, keep a distance. Provide cover for us.” Shiro ordered over the comms.
“Roger that!” Lance yelled back, settling into his snipers nest.
A loud explosion echoed across the city. “Buildings going down Shiro.” Hunk relayed.
“Good, that’ll flush out the rest of the Galra to the surface.” Keith added.
“Wait.” Lance said, noticing a large group of aliens rushing out of the way of the toppling building. “There’s people down there!”
He quickly got to his knees and stared down at the street. “We have to get them out of there.” He said frantically getting to his feet.
“Lance, stay in position.” Shiro order, “we’ll handle it.”
“You’re too far away!” Lance yelled back already on the move, alerting blue.
Blue quickly responded covering the citizens from the crumbling building. He breathed out a heavy sigh of relief before he was interrupted by Shiro’s yelling. “Now the Galra know that we have more than Black and Yellow down here!” He yelled.
“but-.”
“Get back in position. Now.” Shiro seethed.
“Yes sir.” Lance sighed, making sure everyone was safe before moving back to position.

“You completely jeopardized the mission.” Keith said with a glare.
“But we couldn’t just let those people die.” Lance replied meekly.
“You always do this Lance!” Pidge hissed, “It’s. Always. You.”
“You’re becoming a liability Lance,” Shiro said crossing his arms, “you really need to think about what you’re doing; and how it’s affecting everyone else.”
His tone turned cold making Lance go rigid. “The more stupid stunts you pull, the more likely you are to get someone killed.”
He bit the inside of his lip even harder, tasting blood.
“I hate to admit it buddy, but they’re right.” Hunk said with a sigh, “you’re getting selfish.”
A tiny gasp left him, his attention snapping up to Hunk. “S-Selfish?” He asked, his voice quivering.
“Voltron was created in order to save the universe, and stand as an icon of freedom.” Allura cut in, her voice harsh, “we can’t have someone who only thinks of themselves piloting one of the lions.”
He looked up at all the faces of his teammates. They all wore the same scowl, or disappointed look. He let out a shaky breath putting his head in his hands, and rested his elbows on the table. “I don’t understand.” He stated, his voice coming out hoarse.
Keith scoffed, leaning over the table. “Why am I not surprised.”
“Keith.” Shiro warned.
“Well, we’re telling him how it is aren’t we?” He snapped back.
Keith leaned towards him more. “You don’t understand because you’re arrogant, and stupid.” He said, “You’re selfish, and don’t understand why you’re finally getting called out for it.”
Suddenly Lance’s fists connected with the table, echoing throughout the room. Keith took a surprised step back. “Don’t call me stupid.” He said lowly.
“Oh, shut-.”
Lance raised his head cutting him off with a sharp glare.
His demeanour had gone cold, making the team uneasy. His posture quickly corrected as he crossed his legs and sat up straight in his chair. He glared sharply at the faces around him. “Okay, let’s pretend I actually care about what you’re going to say.” He said, his carefree tone catching them off guard, “what did I do wrong today?”
Everyone stayed silent. “Go on.”
Shiro swallowed thickly, opening his mouth. “You left your position after I ordered you to stay at a distance.”
“There were citizens in danger of perishing.” He replied cooly.
“Yes. But-.”
“Service before self.” Lance replied simply.
“What?”
“The military code. Service before self. In this case, cause before self.” Lance stated, “as the Princess stated earlier, ‘Voltron was created to save the Universe.’ The Universe includes all innocent living being within it.”
Shiro fell silent.
“That means, the need to do everything I can to save everyone I can negates your orders.”
“You revealed that the Blue lion was on the surface.” Pidge interjected.
“Oh, please. If you didn’t think we needed the Blue lion she would have been left on the ship.”
The team looked between themselves, making Lance smirk. “Will you just admit it?” He asked raising out of his chair.
“Admit what?” Hunk asked.
“You’re trying to use me as a scapegoat yet again.” He replied, “You’re putting all your frustrations on me again.”
He started laughing. “You call me selfish even though I put my life on the line today. You can me arrogant when I haven’t made any off handed comments in weeks.” His eyes moved to Keith, “and you call me stupid even though I contribute just as much to planning as everyone else.”
He took another step towards the doorway. “I am the farthest from those things as anyone on this ship.”
He turned his back to them. “You’re putting a strain on our team bond Lance.” Shiro said finally.
He paused a step before he was out the door. He half turned towards them with a small frown. “I’m not going to apologize for this. Not anymore.” He said simply before turning again, “As for the team bond. It’s been strained for a while; and I think you oughta start looking for different causes.”