this is the most beautiful typewriter ever

ask-the-beans  asked:

I.. Demon jim?? Is that what the Jim's are trying to summon??

demon jim is the spirit of a…very very bad jim. one who thankfully passed on, turning into a new jim.

this jim is angry.

this jim is violent.

the jim cares about nothing but their own fame and bloodlust.

demon jim keeps a scroll in his hand and a pen – writing horrible details and stories about his victims. possessing one of the jims to do harm to the egos, having a grudge against the host. always wanting to kill him in the most tortuous ways.

during a ouija board session, the jim twins learned some background about demon jim.

he was once human, and lived in a cabin far off in the woods. he spent his days huddled over a typewriter or a journal; writing the most beautiful scenes and paragraphs your eyes have ever seen. he was blessed with a gift like none other – one that made him a bestselling author overnight. one that made him beloved and famous.

one that turned him to murder.

and in an instant; it was all taken away by a lucky few who escaped his hell.

he was split in two, a new version – one he calls spineless and weak – of himself was allowed to live with those lookalike idiots. him? he was cursed to continue on as a gross mockery of himself. a ghoulish demon of himself.

the jims refer to him as The Author; its a fitting name, isnt it?

Santa Baby -- Bughead

Word Count: 1,012

Rated: G

A/N: My first Christmas fic of the season. It’s just a short little thing, but I hope you enjoy. (Read on AO3)

Betty woke up early on Christmas morning. Jughead was still sleeping soundly in bed when Betty slipped out from under the covers. Her fuzzy slippers sat waiting on the floor next to her bed, cozy and warm and everything that embodied the Christmas spirit.  

Betty padded down the carpet in the hallway to the kitchen, passing their grand Christmas tree on the way. Red and green packages, adorned with golden bows, overflowed beneath their tree. It was their first Christmas as husband and wife, and Betty admitted that they’d both gone a bit overboard with the presents this year.

Betty had set out cinnamon rolls to defrost overnight, and popped them in the oven now. Soon, the house was filled with the smell  of cinnamon and coffee. Betty could almost count down the seconds before Jughead would shuffle lazily into the kitchen. Betty poured a cup of coffee for herself and stirred in the vanilla hazelnut creamer. She plucked a sticky roll from the pan and brought it to the living room, where she finally sat to wait for her husband to awaken.

Snow fell in sheets outside the bay window, landing happily across their front lawn. The white picket fence lining their yard accumulated inches of the white fluff, and Betty wondered how on Earth she would manage to convince Jughead to shovel the sidewalk later in the day. Betty sipped on her warm drink and pulled a chenille throw over her legs.

“Morning, Babe.” A pair of lips pressed against her neck and Jughead crossed his arms over her chest. “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas, breakfast is in the kitchen.”

Jughead was gone and back in the blink of an eye. He snuggled up next to Betty on the couch and she pressed a kiss to his lips once she’d set her coffee aside.

“Okay, okay…” Betty hopped away from him, much to Jughead’s disappointment. She crawled across the hardwood floor to sit cross-legged in front of the tree. “Present time. You go first.”

Betty grinned as she slid the first gift she found over to Jughead. He was just about to rip into the paper when Betty stopped him.

“Wait, read who it’s from.”

“Betty, we’re the only two people here.”  But he flipped the package anyway and read the tag out loud. “To mister, from missus.”

“Clever, right?”

Jughead just shook his head at her. How did he get so lucky?

The morning went on like this. Jughead had to return to the kitchen two more times for refills, and soon there were only two gifts left under the tree. They ripped into their respective gifts one at a time, Betty’s a small box wrapped with a single golden string and Jughead’s a large box almost too heavy to lift.

“Juggie, how did you…?”

“I know it’s your favorite book. I wanted to give it to you as a wedding gift, but it took a while to get my hands on.”

Betty held a signed first edition of Beloved, quite literally her most beloved book. It was the most prized gift she had ever held in her hands. And in Jughead’s hands, he held his most prized gift. He lifted the cover off of the meticulously wrapped box, revealing a typewriter with a glossy grey finish.

“It’s vintage, but I was assured that it works like a charm.”

“I love it, Betty.” He pulled a piece of paper that was wedged into the machine.

“I took the liberty of writing the dedication for your next book. You can edit it if you want.”

“‘Dedicated to my one and only, my true love, my beautiful wife Betty.’” Jughead grinned and grabbed her hand. “Truly inspired, Betts. Thank you. You really saved the best for last, didn’t you?’

Betty smirked mischievously, "Actually, I have one more gift for you.”

Before Jughead could protest, Betty slipped her hand out of his and skipped into their bedroom. She’d hidden a small box under the bed, where Jughead would never look. She carefully lifted the box, because inside sat truly the most precious gift she could give Jughead.

Jughead was sat at his desk in the corner of the room when Betty returned. He was fiddling with various knobs and had found a blank piece of paper to begin a new story.


“Coming…” He adjusted the typewriter, centering it perfectly on his disorganized desk.

Jughead returned to the couch, where Betty sat so close to him she was nearly on his lap. She passed the gift excitedly to Jughead, more excited to give this gift than she’d ever been to receive a gift as a child.

“Read who it’s from.” She reminded, grinning like a fool.

“To Dad, from… Mom?” He dropped the box and lifted his head to Betty. His mouth gaped open slightly. “Wait, what is this?”

“Open it.”

Jughead slipped his fingers under the tape and slowly and carefully unwrapped the box. His heart was racing as he tossed the glittery paper aside. With surprising delicacy, he tore open the cardboard to reveal what Betty had hidden inside.

He pulled a small white stick out. His eyebrows scrunched together a bit and a wetness sprung to his eyes.

“What is this?” His bottom lip quivered.

“You know what it is.” Betty ducked her head a bit and squeezed his knee.

“And two lines means you're…”

“Mmhm.” Betty nodded. The tears were flowing freely now. “You’re going to be a dad.”

Jughead had Betty in his arms so quickly, she didn’t get to see the reaction on his face. His lips were on hers, kissing her with every fiber of his being. He pulled her onto his lap, his hands moving to her stomach. He slipped his fingers under her shirt, rubbing his fingers across her tiny, tiny belly.

“There’s a baby in there.” Jughead sighed. “My baby.”

Betty smiled against his lips. She pulled away and couldn’t help hoping her baby was like him. Blue eyes, black hair, and a penchant for trouble. She kissed him once more.

“Our baby.”


A/N:  Hope you enjoyed this! Should I try to write another Christmas fic? Let me know what you think :)

In five months I picture myself in an adorable vintage style apartment with a chaise lounge, vases of orchids, a beautiful 1960s typewriter, bamboo folding screens, gilded gold mirrors, an old white stove, and plush rugs. I will walk around the apartment in silk peignoirs and matching marabou mules. I will have a closet of wigs in different colors, lengths, and textures that I change around dependent upon my mood. I’ll have a bar area stocked with fancy wines from the TCM Wine Club and various small wine shops. This apartment will be the most comfortable that my cat Baby has ever experienced. She will lounge with me and curl up beside me in my bed when we go to sleep at night. I’ll work as either a kindergarten art/theatre teacher or as a seamstress at some little alterations shop. I’ll come home to roasted beef and vegetables in my slow cooker. Then soak in the tub with a glass of red wine. I’ll grocery shop at Aldi and the local deli, butcher shop, etc. I’ll have cute friend/family dates having afternoon tea or scouring vintage items at flea markets or going on the Ohio Wine Train. And life will be absolutely fantastic. 

cosyhowell  asked:

Whats your aesthetic its for science

Oh? My aesthetic consists mostly of flowers, delicate, soft and blessed land-stars amongst the corpse of soil. Typewriters, peculiar and drawing to the eye, like a machine that cherishes the ink of lost words. Victorian architecture, the most spellbinding form of buildings i’ve ever encountered, beautiful sculpted history <3 Cups of tea, like a warm smile, it never fails to cheer you up.. Then of course one of my favourites, constellations. With a pen in one hand and her wit in the other, mother nature inks fragments upon the navy sky every night <33
Oops I turned my aesthetic into a really bad poem, sorry tori :’)) Anygays hopefully this helps your science
I must say, you bring out the poet in me. As I write about you some how I end up concealing you in metaphors, shaping you into a beautiful sculpture, capturing your essence as I compare
your eyes to the ocean. However, nothing is more tragic and beautiful than you, in your plain, human form, where your smile doesn’t cure cancer, and your eyes don’t reflect crashing waves, but where your impurities and imperfections are exposed.
you, my love in your most raw, naked disposition is the most heavenly thing I have ever seen.
—  Metaphors

A year ago today I moved from Northern NJ to Portland, Oregon. I had only flown alone once before. I had never even been to the west coast; I knew no one in the city. So I couch surfed. I stayed with an incredible artist named Hagen, who I now consider to be my brother. With the help of random concerts, parties, and strange and serendipitous happenings I met a few great people. Through a few great people, I met a few more. I now have a family of some of the most creative and artistic people I will ever know. Most of the time I don’t feel as though I deserve them. I’ve struggled a lot this year, for many reasons, but I will always have people who care about me and love me and that is more than enough of a reason to keep fighting. Last year I was alone and scared and I had what felt like nothing. Now, I spend my days at my typewriter, or making songs, or adventuring around a beautiful city, a city that always has something to offer. I’ve lived in 4 different places in the past year. The 18 years before, I had only lived in one. I now live with one of my best friends in the heart of Portland. Nearly every day I go up to the roof and stare at everything and nothing. I wait. I’m not sure what for. And I think. I think of what incredible things can happen if you just buy that god damn plane ticket.

Oh my god. Oh my GOD. Once again I am so, so happy- what’s a stronger word? I need a stronger word because happy does not describe the flips and flops of my little heart as I read chapter 15 of Home. It’s so amazing, better than amazing, and I cannot help but have a deep, bone crushing appreciation for all the work the author puts into her writing and art. Like, oh my god. Home is probably one of the most mentally and emotionally engaging fics I’ve read ever? Chapter 15 was sososososo worth the wait, and I’ll be reading it all over again in a bit just to revel in it.

sonofdis  asked:

Oh my, she was a cute one. It was only his first time wandering into the bar, but already he could see he was going to be coming here a hell of a lot more often if only he could see that glowing redhead on stage. Kili was pushing past every eager guy around the bar, typewriter in tow as he tried to find a proper space near that gorgeous woman. God, she was lovely. She was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen, and despite the past rough weeks, he was inspired.

Ori felt as though she was dancing on cloud in heaven as she performed out on stage in front of the loud bustling bar. This was the only place where she could be her true self. No Dori. No Nori. No meek shy girl that wanted more out of life. Right then and now, she was living life. Each cheer made her grin. Each catcall, she winked. This gave her confidence. A sense of purpose. She was a girl in charge of her life and she loved it. “Thank you dolls so much! You’ve been a blast!” She smiled and blew kisses after her number was done and hopped down the stage to head over to the bar. Men followed her as she went and it felt amazing to be wanted.