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#Dr. Robert Anthony
slashingdisneypasta · 3 months
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Robert Englund characters in the 2010's.
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Ray Buxley, Bones 2010
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Dr Stanley Wheelwright, Chuck 2011
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Wayne Anthony Jackson, Good Day For It 2011
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Hezekiah Confab, Moleman of Belmont Avenue, 2011
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Inkubus, Inkubus 2011
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Jim Bickerman, Lake Placid Final Chapter 2012 and Vs Anaconda 2015
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Stuart Lloyd, The Last Showing 2014
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Dr Peter Andover, Fear Clinic 2014
Bonus: Freddy Krueger in The Goldbergs 2018
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You agree. You reblog now.
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burningarchitecture · 2 years
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*starts a dramatic mad scientist monologue*
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AAAAàaaaáAAÁAaAAAAAAAAAAAAaaaAAAÃAÅ
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Nevermind. Evil Now.
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cultfaction · 2 years
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Preview- Edge of Sanity (Bluray)
Preview- Edge of Sanity (Bluray)
Anthony Perkins builds upon his legendary status as cinema’s seminal psycho in Edge of Sanity, a delirious conflation of Robert Louis Stephenson’s classic horror novella ‘Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde’ and Jack the Ripper’s real-life reign of terror over Victorian London. When his experiments into a powerful new anaesthetic go hideously awry, respected physician Dr Jekyll (Perkins) takes…
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xtruss · 7 months
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Dr. Martin Luther King's ‘Dream’ No Closer To Reality
— Anthony Moretti | August 29, 2023
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Illustration: Xia Qing/Global Times
It remains one of the signature events of the 1960s in the US: Dr. Martin Luther King's "I Have a Dream" speech. Delivered on August 28, 1963, it was Dr. King's most powerful reminder of what America was not, but still had a chance to be: A place where his children and all other children would "one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin, but by the content of their character."
He noted that a century after the end of slavery, "the Negro still is not free. One hundred years later, the life of the Negro is still sadly crippled by the manacles of segregation and the chains of discrimination. One hundred years later, the Negro lives on a lonely island of poverty in the midst of a vast ocean of material prosperity."
Sixty years later, Dr. King's dream is no closer to reality. In fact, America might be further away now from achieving racial equality than it was during the 1960s. Most major politicians appear to not care. The majority of White Americans feel the same.
Black children (and the same can be said for Hispanic and Asian children) continue to be judged by the color of their skin in too many places across the country. Racism, perhaps the ugliest stain in America's history, is alive and well. A recent poll conducted by the USA Today newspaper and Suffolk University, located in Boston, Massachusetts, shows that 79 percent of Black Americans consider racism to be a major problem in the US but only 17 percent of White Americans thought the same.
Segregation might not be legal, but make no mistake, it still exists in the US. "White flight," in which Whites leave pockets of a city as it becomes more ethnically or racial diverse, shows no sign of ending. Research indicates that Whites persist in exiting areas where Blacks, Asians and Hispanics enter, indicating that the distrust of these people "who are not like us" guarantees that a kind of unofficial segregation carries on.
“America is "Exceptionally" Bad for Blacks. No One has Taken-up Dr King's Cause. So, Do Not Expect Anything to Change.”
One of the effects of this unofficial segregation is that the economic disparity between White America and Black America remains in place. That "lonely island of poverty" continues to be the metaphorical home for too many of America's minorities. The Federal Reserve notes that White Americans hold 80 percent of the wealth in the US, a country in which the average White family has a net worth of roughly $1.3 million while the average Black family's net worth is approximately $350,000. Simplifying these dollar amounts, it is evident that Whites are better positioned to buy homes and cars, send their kids to college and go on vacation. They also are better prepared for an economic catastrophe, such as a husband or wife losing a job.
Knowing all of this, America certainly should have been a place acknowledging how much more needs to be done in order to make that dream a reality took place.
National Public Radio (NPR) provided a perhaps unintentional reminder of the blasé reaction Americans had to the anniversary of Dr. King's speech. In one of its reports, it stated, "Six decades ago, an estimated 250,000 people gathered at the Lincoln Memorial for ... Martin Luther King Jr's 'I have a dream' speech ... On Saturday, tens of thousands of people gathered in that same spot to declare that dream was in jeopardy - that America had slid backwards in its fight against hatred and bigotry."
In case you missed it, 250,000 people in 1963 and "tens of thousands" in 2023. And was President Joe Biden among them? No. President Biden returned to the White House on Saturday, the same day as the gathering mentioned by NPR, after a vacation spent in Nevada. He, or a ghostwriter, did pen an editorial that appeared in the Washington Post, in which he wrote a lot about what his administration is doing to make life better for Blacks throughout the US. In fact, the editorial read more like a "hey, do not forget that I am running for re-election next year and I could really use your vote" statement rather than a call for action for the country.
America often boasts of its "exceptionalism," but when it comes to racism and economic disparity, a different word must be used: America is "exceptionally" bad for Blacks. No one has taken up Dr King's cause. So, do not expect anything to change.
— Anthony Moretti: The Author is an Associate Professor at the Department of Communication and Organizational Leadership at Robert Morris University, 6001 University Boulevard, Moon Township, PA 15108 USA
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thejohnfleming · 9 months
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AIM: The Iceman's "clearance sale" and exhibition of 1,000+ unique paintings...
AIM, the artist formerly known as The Iceman What is The Iceman? Who is he? Comedian Stewart Lee describes him as “a blank canvas. You project your own ideas onto him: fun, single-mindedness, commitment, a love of life and its inherent absurdity” As a performance artist, he’s The Iceman. As a painter/artist, he’s AIM – comic Simon Munnery says AIM creates “absurd beautiful art”. As himself,…
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filosofablogger · 11 months
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The Circus Came To Town
Folks, there are over 18 months, precisely 565 days left until election day 2024 and already I am SICK AND TIRED of it.  Already, every day there are surveys, polls, projections, not to mention campaign promises and threats, even from those outliers who are about as likely as me to even be their party’s nominee!  If I never heard the names Trump, DeSantis, or Haley again, I could be quite…
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roosterbruiser · 6 months
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𝐘𝐎𝐔'𝐑𝐄 𝐀 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌 𝐓𝐎 𝐌𝐄 — 𝟏𝟗𝟗𝟑
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—𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐏𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍: 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌 𝐏𝐎𝐏 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒. 𝐌𝐄𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐉𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐎𝐍 𝐇𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐀𝐓 𝐀 𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐘, 𝐃𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐘 𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐄 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐘 𝐃𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐒𝐎𝐏𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐘𝐄𝐀𝐑 𝐎𝐅 𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐆𝐄 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐒 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐘𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆. 𝐁𝐎𝐍𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐈𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐘-𝐃𝐈𝐆𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐅𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐉𝐔𝐑𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐂 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐈𝐒 𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆. —𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒: 𝟗.𝟓𝐊 —𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 —𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 —𝐕𝐈𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐁𝐎𝐀𝐑𝐃
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𝐘𝐎𝐔'𝐑𝐄 𝐀 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌 𝐓𝐎 𝐌𝐄 𝐎𝐅𝐅-𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐏𝐔𝐒 𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐄 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐘 𝐇𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝟏𝟗𝟗𝟑
The first time Jake Seresin sees you, it’s across a small and crowded room. Under the Bridge by The Red Hot Chili Peppers is thumping over the bulky speakers that are haphazardly strung all around the room with extension cords and duct tape. He hates this song. He doesn’t know it yet, but so do you. 
You’d caught his eye because he spotted a familiar brick-colored button up. And, yes, as he’s looking at you now, he realizes he’s right. The breezy cargo shorts, the brown belt, the faded blue tank top--you’re dressed up as Dr. Ellie Sattler. He happens to be dressed up as Dr. Alan Grant, which means that the two of you--complete and utter strangers--are two halves of one whole costume. 
But suddenly, as Jake looks at you, he doesn’t hear Anthony Keidis or hollow balls bouncing off plastic tables or booming laughter or sloshing liquid. He doesn’t hear anything. His ears are just ringing empty silence. 
Bizarre, he thinks. His brain is never this quiet. He’s always thinking about drills or Intro to Anthropology or girls or Robert Zemeckis or home or dinner or something. Right now, it’s just you he’s thinking about.  
You’re standing by yourself at one of the few punch bowls stationed around the house, each one a different highly unnatural color with seemingly random items skimming the surface. You’re pretty sure you saw flowers floating around one of them. Curiously, you’re looking down at this particular crystal bowl and the sad orange slices floating aimlessly in the peculiarly crimson punch. Half of the stuff is gone--Jake doesn’t know how anyone is stomaching it--and you are silently and unknowingly echoing his sentiment. 
Bradley, who dragged Jake to this party in the first place--not that anyone ever has to drag Jake to a party--is standing beside him and is waiting his turn to play Beer Pong with an unruly group of men wearing togas. 
“--The trick is to just, like, fake it ‘til you make it,” Bradley’s saying, casually leaning up against the dingy clapboard walls and sipping something vaguely Everclear-ish from his solo cup. “And what I mean by that is talk as much shit as you can. Nothing is off limits. Mothers, sisters, fathers--shit, especially fathers. People are so touchy these days. Like, I once told this guy that I got his sister preg--well, anyway. That’s besides the point. Just go into the game like you’re gonna win and you’re gonna win. You know? It’s simple science, really. I was thinking of writing my thesis on it.” 
Jake, who is only half-listening as the silence fades out, hums. He doesn’t tear his eyes from your form. You’re cautiously ladling some of the punch into a chipped glass for your friend, who appeared suddenly beside you in an ill-fitting Red Riding Hood costume with glassy eyes and a broad grin, rubbing up against you like a hungry stray. 
“Right,” Jake says absently. He can hardly hear anything over the music, especially Bradley’s incessant Beer Pong codes of conduct. He’s not gonna strain himself to hear what he’s already heard at a thousand frat parties before--and he’s certainly not going to turn his face away from you. “True.” 
Bradley swallows all the sugary saliva coating his tongue and squints at the stained folding table holding the tense game beside them, wondering if the legs are gonna give. The center is already bowing. Whatever. Not his house--not his issue. He turns to Jake, who’s not looking at him or listening to him. Bradley’s known him long enough to know that by now. Jake not listening to Bradley rarely ever stops him from continuing a conversation, though. 
“And what’s really interesting about all of this is that I can say whatever I want to you right now because you’re staring at…” Bradley makes a show of following Jake’s gaze across the crowded house, eyes flitting across a few forms before he finds yours. And, yes, he knows you’re definitely the one Jake is looking at. Dr. Ellie Sattler. “Oh. Looky there. It’s your better half. Your favorite part of your favorite movie! Isn’t that cute?”
“It’s not my favorite movie,” Jake snorts indignantly--like that means anything.
He’s still watching you--your friend teetered off and you’re against the wall again, alone and looking down at your hiking boots. They look used--there’s dirt on the heels and scuffs on the toes.
He wonders if you’re judging the cobwebs in the corners of the low ceilings and the bowing door frames like he is. You look like you are--your brows pinched, your nose slightly scrunched, your eyes shadowed by the soft curl of your lashes. You look like you don’t come to many parties like this. Parties with too many people, parties with no snacks, parties with boys from the baseball team, parties with kegs, parties with sticky floors. Neither does he.    
“You dragged me to that movie, like, twenty times whenever it came out,” Bradley says, eyebrows furrowed. “What do you mean it isn’t your favorite movie?” 
“What I mean is that Jurassic Park is a great movie, but it isn’t my favorite,” Jake says, mildly exasperated. He absently takes a sip of his drink and immediately wishes he hadn’t, face screwing up in disgust as the bright yellow punch oozes down his throat. He coughs softly and Bradley grins. “My favorite movie is Blue Velvet. Duh.”  
Now Bradley is screwing his face up in disgust, pretending to gag. 
“You’re so pretentious. It’s like you can’t even help it. I feel bad for you, man. Oh, look at me! I’m a film major and I just love movies that make no sense! I wanna make sweet love to Kyle MacLachlan! Notice me, David Lynch!”
“Oh, fuck off,” Jake says, smiling softly. “I’m not pretentious!”
“My favorite movie is Basic Instinct,” Bradley says proudly. And just as Jake is groaning, finally giving Bradley his full attention so Bradley can feel every ounce of Jake’s judgment, Bradley holds his hands up in defense. “Hey! Not for that scene--well, yeah for that scene--but mainly because of the gore. It’s gnarly. Plus it’s, like, very easy to understand. Digestible.” 
“You’re a simpleton,” Jake says. “Is pussy all you think about?” 
“Through and through, brother!” Bradley confirms with a grin. 
Bradley throws an arm around Jake’s shoulders, the cheap polyester of his striped Beetlejuice costume stretched to its absolute limit by his shapely biceps, and sighs happily. He looks out across the crowded room and finds your form--Jake follows his gaze. 
For a moment, the both of them just look at you. You’re bored--that much they can tell. Eyes downcast, hangnail under the wrath of your picking fingertips, mouth a flat plane. You’re way too pretty to be this bored at a party. 
“What do you think her favorite movie is, Oh-Wise-One?” Bradley asks. Jake elbows him hard and some of his drink sloshes onto the floor and his Nike’s. “Hey! Not the Carnivores, man! These are brand new!” 
“I’m doing you a favor,” Jake snorts. 
Bradley whines, rubbing his shoes with a frown.
Jake is still looking at you. You’re alone. You’ve been alone since he noticed you a few songs ago, not exactly giving off an anti-social vibe but certainly not going out of your way to make conversation with all the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and Hulk Hogan’s around you. He wonders if you’re like him--if you came to this party because your friends dragged you here, if you would rather be in the comfort of your dorm watching slasher B-Movies. 
“I haven’t seen her around campus,” Jake muses softly to Bradley, brows coming together. “Maybe she’s from out of town.”
The thought makes his gut twist in a half-knot. He really, really hopes you’re not from out of town.  
Bradley shakes his head. The only time they get many out-of-towners is when there’s a football game and there isn’t another game until next weekend. 
“Maybe she’s a freshman. Or a transfer,” Bradley continues. “Who knows! Not me. Certainly not you.” 
“She’s really…” Jake says softly, brows pinching. He wants to kick himself for not being able to find the right word for what you are--but he doesn’t want to get it wrong. And his vocabulary dims in comparison to the way you make him feel by doing nothing but blink at the floor and wring your hands together. “Something.” 
“And they say chivalry is dead,” Bradley coos, pinching Jake’s cheek. 
“She’s, like--obviously she’s pretty,” Jake says. And he knows he’s being conservative with pretty. “But something else, too.” 
“She looks…disinterested,” Bradley comments. “Like she doesn’t wanna be here.” 
“I can change that,” Jake says with a deep breath. “You know. Show her a good time and all of that.” 
“And you said all I think about is pussy? Man, you’re twisted!” 
As if he’s offended, Jake faces Bradley. The tips of his ears are hot. 
“Why did you assume I was going to show her a good time with my penis? I literally never even implied that. I never even hinted at applying to that.” 
“What does and all of that mean to you then?” Bradley inquires, brows furrowed. 
“You know,” Jake says, shrugging. He swallows and shakes his head. “Maybe I’ll dance with her or something. Girls like that. I’ll ask for her hand. Like a gentleman.” 
“You’re so from Texas,” Bradley laughs. “Thinking you can square dance your way into everything. Can’t really do-si-do to the Chili Peppers.” 
Jake frowns at Bradley. 
“You’re a freak,” Jake says slowly. “Really. I mean it.” 
“Yeah, well, you’re a cornball,” Bradley complains. “C’mon, stop staring at her! Let’s just get ready for our turn!” 
Jake’s already decided that he’s not going to be playing Beer Pong with Bradley. 
“How do I walk up to her without creeping her out?” 
Bradley blinks at Jake, who is chewing the inside of his cheek like he’s really trying to figure it out. Like it’s rocket science. 
“What are you talking about? You’re wearing an Alan Grant costume. I don’t think you’re gonna creep her out. Genius.” 
Jake shoots a look at Bradley--one that he’s seen just before a knuckle to the gut or a tap to the balls. Instinctively, Bradley takes a half-step away from Jake and bumps into one of the Toga Bros. 
“I mean, like--how do I go up to her and not creep her out? What am I supposed to start with? Hey, I saw you were all alone so I decided to capitalize on that. Or should it be more along the lines of you’re dressed as my love interest and we should see if that transfers into real life? Smart-ass.” 
Bradley laughs, shaking his head. 
Jake gets into his head like this a lot. Like a lot more than anyone else realizes. Before games, before dates, before office hours, before parties. Jake is Bradley’s best friend--and has been since they were assigned roommates last year--and Bradley knows that Jake always comes out the other side unscathed no matter what his previous worries were. He’s never missed a field goal, he always gets the girl, all his professors grant extra credit, he’s always invited back to whatever frat they hit. This special weariness of Jake’s is reserved especially for Bradley--that is to say, no one else gets to see this side of him. 
“Here,” Bradley says. He grins. “I’ve got an idea!” 
And before Jake can inquire, Bradley’s slamming his fist into Jake’s cup. The neon liquid spews out and splatters all over the walls and floor--a few drops land on Jake’s shirt. He’s too shocked to speak for a second, staring at the puddle on the ground and the few people who turned to see the commotion. 
Bradley’s beaming when Jake turns to him, leaning back against the clapboards coolly, looking like a fucking idiot with his half-assed Beetlejuice makeup on and frayed green wig he bought in the kid’s section at Family Dollar. 
“You’re an idiot,” Jake says. He says this about fifteen times a day, give or take. 
Bradley holds a hand over his heart and sighs warmly. 
“You need a refill,” Bradley says, nodding towards you and the punch bowl. “Thank me later. Preferably with Gushers!” 
Jake is just about to say something else when he realizes that Bradley’s right. He does need a refill. And you are standing by the closest of the nuclear punch bowls. 
This is his in. 
“I hate that I actually do wanna thank you right now,” Jake sighs. He mulls over his decision, straightening his hat and making sure his cup is all the way empty. He turns to Bradley, who’s smiling smugly already. “How do I look?” 
“Like you’re about to dig up some dino bones,” Bradley says, giving Jake a thumbs up and a shit-eating grin. 
Jake blinks at him. 
“Fossils. You mean fossils,” Jake corrects. “Not just dino bones.”
Bradley shrugs and takes another drink somehow. 
“You say caramel I say carmel, but we all bleed the same, don’t we?” 
Jake doesn’t even respond. He just starts in your direction, his breath caught between his molars. He hopes that you don’t move before he can cross the tiny house, the sea of sweaty polyester clad bodies and latex-covered faces. 
Across the little room, right where he wants you to be, you’re chewing the inside of your cheek pensively.
He really isn’t here, you think. He really didn’t come. You press the scuffed toe of your scuffed hiking boot against the sticky floorboards and pull back softly to feel the resistance. Gross. 
You’re not sure what the worst part of all of this is. Maybe it’s the fact that your boyfriend, the one who actually likes gross little parties like this and the other half of your couple’s costume, hasn’t bothered to show his face tonight. Maybe it’s the fact that they won’t stop playing Red Hot Chili Peppers and Anthony Keidis is literally bursting your eardrums right now. Maybe it’s the fact that nothing here is drinkable. 
This night would be a lot easier if you were loaded right now. 
“Do you happen to know what flavor this is?” A man asks, Southern inflection licking the inside of your ears. “Trying to decide if I’m gonna partake in drinking the Koolaid.”  
Without looking up, you shrug your shoulders. Probably just another wayward drunk who thinks you’re the host. It’s an insult to you that someone would think you would live in squalor like this--you would never let fist-sized holes litter your walls and you would certainly never let your floors get this sticky. 
Jake clears his throat, so close to you now that he can smell the amber on your pulse points. He’s searching your face, wondering if you didn’t hear him, readjusting his hat while the party rages on all around the two of you. 
He’s standing between you and the punch bowl now, empty cup pressed into his palm, facing you rather than the drink. You don’t look up at him, but he doesn’t take his eyes off you. 
“I bet it’s watermelon,” Jake says a bit louder. “It’s always watermelon.” 
He sees the recognition flood your features--the recognition that someone is talking to you--as you finally raise your head.
Up close, even in this shitty light, Jake sees that you’re something beyond pretty, something beyond beautiful. You’re something else that he’s never seen before--better than all the rest. His ears begin to hum.  
It’s the first time you’ve ever looked at him--except that it isn’t. You take him in: his crinkled green eyes, his abrasively handsome smile, the little dimples on his cheeks, the scruffy edge of his jaw. No, you’ve seen him before. Scalding bleachers and roaring crowds and his face on the jumbotron after kicking a three-pointer. 
This football player is talking to you. 
Smiling in a polite and slightly stunned manner, you roll your shoulders back and wipe away all the crumbs of mopiness from your lap. 
“Watermelon’s too high brow for this dump,” you say after a moment, swallowing softly. “I think I smelled cherry earlier.” 
Your voice--he can only just make it out as the music plays, as the humming increases. But he can hear that it is sweet, that it is a vibration that makes his throat ache. 
“You smelled it?” Jake asks, brow perched. “All the way from there?” He points to where you’re standing against the wall. 
You’re only a foot or two away from the stained wooden table that’s holding the bowl. Nodding with your brow slightly furrowed, you push yourself off the wall. 
“Cherry’s an assault to the senses. Couldn’t help but smell it,” you answer. Then you glance over your shoulder at the rest of the party, looking for your friends. “And my friends are too wasted to ladle their own drinks.”
“I hope they’re tipping you,” Jake says. “Well--unless you’re working on commission.” 
A smile tugs on your lips.
“Doctors usually don’t work on commission,” you say softly. You look up at his hat and then down at his pants, placing his costume with a soft sort of smile. “Do they, Dr. Grant?” 
He beams at you. Something in your chest grows tight--tight like you need to let all the air out of your lungs and into the space around you. You’re pretty sure that if you did that, the temperature here would rise a few degrees.
“It’s pretty accurate, isn’t it?” Jake asks, crossing his arms and jutting his hip out. “Don’t even ask me how long it took to find the hat.” 
It took Jake two weeks to find the right hat. Two grueling weeks of dragging Bradley to strip malls and kiosks and thrift stores.
“Wouldn’t dream of it. I’m a lady,” you answer with a small smile. “I think yours is blowing mine out of the water, though. I just picked mine from what I had in the closet and then borrowed the rest.” 
He shakes his head at once, brows furrowed. 
“You kidding me? I recognized you from across the room!”
Oh, you think. He saw you from across the room already. And now he’s standing here, right in front of you with an empty cup and a desire for conversation. 
Glancing around you quickly, you find that your friends are all still loitering around drunkenly and your other half is still not here. 
“I don’t know--is it really that impressive?” You ask Jake, meeting his eyes again. “This place is the size of a pin-hole.” 
Jake glances over at Bradley, who’s successfully started a game of Beer Pong. Already Jake can see the guys on the other side of the table burning from Bradley’s constant trash talking. Jake’s sure that idiot’s bright green wig is doing very little to dull the words falling on their ears.
“I don’t know, I was standing all the way over there by my roommate--Bargain Bin Beetlejuice,” Jake explains to you, jamming a thumb over his shoulder. You follow the direction of his finger, smiling. That isn’t that close to where you are now, but it certainly isn’t far. But you know how to take a compliment. “It’s not a skip, hop, and a jump, but it’s…” 
“It’s a skip and half a hop?” You ask, brows raised. 
Jake nods. 
“Exactly what I was thinking,” he answers.  
“Don’t freak out when I say this,” you say. “But you can’t be here when my boyfriend shows up. Your costume is gonna put my boyfriend’s to shame. We would seriously never be able to show our faces around here again.” 
Jake’s chest is tight. 
Boyfriend. Of course you have a boyfriend.
He glances around the room, searching for someone dressed like the Great Value version of himself. But it’s just an endless sea of Wayne and Garth’s and Urkel’s and Wednesday’s. No other Dr. Alan Grant in sight. 
“He isn’t here now, is he?” Jake asks. He has the sudden urge to puff his chest out, to size him up. 
Uncomfortably, you shift your weight and look at your shoes again. You hate it when Jeff bails on you like this. And you know that he couldn’t have forgotten--you reminded him this morning. You knew he was only half-listening. You always know.
“No,” you answer. He can hear the soreness in your tone as you glance around, too. “But he’s supposed to be.” 
Fucking asshole, Jake thinks. 
“He bailed on you?” He asks, lips pursed. “Wait a minute--you’re doing a couple’s costume with him and he hasn’t even bothered to show his face?”
“Yup,” you answer with a tight smile. 
“No offense, but what an asshole,” Jake says. He crosses his arms. “Who does that to their girlfriend on Halloween?” 
“Jeff Sabler, I guess,” you answer. 
“Oh, you’re with Jeff Sabler? From the debate team?” He asks. 
He’s stifling laughter, trying to bite a grin. You see right through him, though. Your face is warm with embarrassment as you bite a smile, too, and roll your eyes.
“Yeah, Johnny Football, I’m dating Jeff Sabler from the debate team,” you say. “Problem with that?” 
“Me? Have a problem with Spit Sabler? Never,” Jake says with a grin.  
You can’t help but laugh quietly at his nickname, even if it kind of makes you want to curl into a ball and wither away. Spit Sabler. It’s what people started calling him after his very first debate last year, when he got so worked up during policy discussion that spit literally flew from his mouth and onto the judge’s desk. He didn’t even say excuse me aftward. 
“You know, he doesn’t even care that people call him that,” you say with a slight eye roll. You’re beginning to notice that Jeff doesn’t care about a lot of things--punctuality, nicknames, his grade in biochemistry, commitment to Halloween costumes. “Isn’t that silly? I’d just die if people around campus had a nickname for me.” 
“Maybe they do and you just don’t know it,” Jake teases. 
“Are you holding out on me?” You ask. You pause, swallowing and holding your hands on your hips. “Do you even know me?” 
“Sure,” Jake says with an easy grin. He gestures to your costume. “You’re my best girl!” 
“Ha-ha,” you say despite the way you suddenly want to rub your thighs together. His best girl. “I bet you haven’t given me a second look until you noticed that I was your missing piece.” 
“I haven’t seen you around,” Jake admits. “You not into football?” 
“I like to sit at the very top,” you tell him. “You know. Eagle-eye view. I like to see everything all at once. Especially now that we’re finally good.” 
“You mean you actually go to watch the game? Not just to get beer spilled on you by Pi Kappa guys?” He asks, feigning surprise. Your smile is widening, eating your face. His belly turns itself inside out. “I’m shocked, really.” 
“Not to blow you smoke or anything, but you’re a pretty good kicker,” you compliment. You hope that he can’t feel how warm your face is right now, but you’re sure he can--he’s so close to you that you can smell the shampoo in the blonde locks sticking out from beneath his hat. “You’ve never missed a three-pointer.”
He’s taken back right now. He knows that football is deeply ingrained in the culture here--he sometimes can’t help but feel like a big man on campus when his calc professor congratulates him on a good game or when upperclassmen clap his back in the student center--but it’s rare that he meets someone who pays very much attention at all. Now that he’s been established as good, people just assume he is. They don’t really watch. 
“I’m impressed that you pay attention,” he says. 
“Why? ‘Cause I’m a girl?” You ask, arms crossed. 
You’re smiling still. 
“Not ‘cause you’re a girl,” he answers. “‘Cause everyone goes to the football games to drink.” 
“Well, I’m no Pi Kappa,” you say. “I’m a whole other thing.”
“I bet you are,” Jake says. “What’s your name?” 
“Ellie,” you quip. 
He grins at you. 
Shit. You’re too easy to like. Way, way too easy. 
Spit Sabler. What a load of shit. 
“I’m Jake,” he says after a minute. 
This whole year you’ve been calling him Seresin in your head--it’s what’s printed on the back of his jersey, what you see on the jumbotron when he kicks your team’s winning goal. 
But Jake. Yes, that fits him. Aren’t all sandy-blonde, green-eyed boys named Jake, anyway? It’s so coastal, evokes images of tan skin and a freckled nose and bright smile. 
“Well, it’s to know your actual name,” you say. “I’ve just been calling you Seresin.”
“I’m flattered you noticed me,” Jake says, beaming. 
“Everyone does,” you say, shaking your head gently. 
“No way,” he disagrees. “Not everyone.” 
“Please,” you sass, brows furrowed. “Modesty didn’t get you to where you are now, did it?” 
“Across the room?” Jake asks, brows raised. Your smile fades to one of flattery, your lashes batting against your cheeks like you’re trying to blink yourself back into reality. “No. I’d say what got me across the room was curiosity.” 
“I thought it was thirst,” you say softly, nodding to the punch bowl. 
Jake looks back at the bowl, arms crossed over his chest. Right. Nuclear waste.
“That was all a ruse,” he says. “You can’t believe a word I say.” 
“I’m learning so much about you,” you say with a fond smile. “Your name, your tendency to lie, how easily impressed you are.” 
Jake almost guffaws trying to keep up with you. 
“That’s pretty much all there is to me,” Jake says. “I’m surface-level.”
“Right,” you laugh. You gesture to his costume. “Jurassic Park is a pretty surface-level movie.” 
“What, you don’t like it?” Jake asks, borderline stunned. 
“Of course I like Jurassic Park. I’m only human,” you answer quickly. “But--you know. Everyone likes it. It’s easy to like. Easy to understand. Even the themes that they try to make harder to understand.” 
“Like what?” 
“The ethics of creating life inside a lab in tubes and incubators,” you answer. “Playing God.” 
“I guarantee you that I could introduce you to someone who genuinely thought the entire movie was just about running from dinosaurs,” Jake tells you, a grin tugging on his lips. “Not everyone is as smart as you. Well--us.”
“Us,” you echo, a laugh bubbling up from the tips of your toes and spilling out into the air around you. It’s swallowed by the crowd before Jake can digest it. “Kind of weird that we’re wearing matching costumes, right?” 
“Divine intervention,” Jake says, brow perched. 
“We don’t even know each other,” you say, smiling. “That’s crazy.”
Beaming, Jake nods. 
“You think people are gonna think I’m your boyfriend?” He asks slyly, leaning on the punch table carefully. “Just ‘cause I actually bothered to show up. And the whole costume thing.” 
“I don’t know,” you say, shoulders falling back. Your spine prickles with excitement--the excitement of being looked at by him. “Should we ask someone?” 
He’s watching you with a slight smile clinging to his pink lips. Inside his gaze, you feel like you’re alone at the party with just him. No more sticky floors and no more drunk friends and no more shitty boyfriend. Just you and him shooting the shit. You can’t do this with Jeff--everything always ends in a fight and in classic debater style, he rarely lets things go. 
As if he’s trying to call your bluff, Jake looks around for someone to tap. He’s waiting for you to stop him, for you to burst out that you were just joking, to grab his arm before he can get someone’s attention. 
But you don’t stop him. There is no bluff to be called. 
So, he taps on the nearest Urkel’s shoulder. He turns around, glasses askew. 
“What’s up, brother?” Urkel asks Jake when he recognizes him. “How you doing, Trip?” 
Trip. It’s short for Triple.
“Just great,” Jake answers. He half-steps so he’s closer to you, close enough that your arms are touching. And he’s surprised when you lean into him, totally feeding into the bit. “Uh--do we look like we came together?” 
“That’s not the question,” you whisper to Jake, nudging him with your elbow before you lean forward to speak to Urkel. “The question is--does he look like my boyfriend?” 
 Urkel turns to give the both of you his full attention as you step beside Jake again, leaning against his arm. He regards your bright eyes and Jake’s solid grin, the way your arms are pressed together, the matching costumes. 
“Is this your way of introducing me to your lady or something?” Urkel asks Jake. 
“So, we do look like boyfriend-girlfriend?” Jake clarifies. 
Urkel’s brows come together. 
“Aren’t you?” 
“Total strangers, actually,” you sigh, shrugging. Jake smiles at you, watching as your brows pull together and your lashes flutter against your cheeks. “For all I know, this guy could be a serial killer.” 
“It’s true, I could,” Jake sighs in confirmation. “And for all I know, she could be a total stalker.” 
“What?” Urkel asks. “What are you--?” 
You nod, sucking the back of your teeth. 
“Right, right,” you answer. “You never can tell these days. People are so insane.” 
“Preach,” Jake sighs. 
“I’m too drunk for this, Trip,” Urkel says finally, rubbing his temples. “Hit my line when you two really are boyfriend-girlfriend, alright?” 
And with that, you and Jake are in your own little bubble again. Heat has pooled in your belly and your fingertips are buzzing and your ears are hot with embarrassment and excitement. 
It’s exhilarating, you realize. The way you feel right now with Jake, who you really only just met, tapping inebriated strangers on the shoulder and pretending like you weren’t bored out of your mind and stood up only a little bit ago. Indulging parts of yourself you can’t whenever you’re with Jeff. 
“That settles it, then,” Jake sighs coolly, shrugging. “Spit Sabler’s in for a rude awakening.” 
“Yeah, when he shows up,” you say, scoffing. 
“If he shows up,” Jake corrects, wrinkling his nose. 
“I can’t believe I got stood up,” you say to him. Except it isn’t bitterness in your tone that he hears--it’s a strange, disconnected relief. Like you were waiting for Spit to do something to warrant this fracture. “Me. Stood up. By my boyfriend.”
“He must not be from the south,” Jake sighs with a shrug. “Boys from the south would never stand their lady up.” 
“Oh, really?” You ask. Your stomach is tied in excited, tight knots. “And you’re speaking from experience, right?” 
“Totally,” Jake confirms. “Texas. Born and bred.”
“You southern gentlemen sure do like telling people you’re southern gentlemen,” you tease. “Gotta work it into every conversation, huh?” 
“You sound like my roommate,” Jake grins, shaking his head. 
Looking over at Bargain Bin Beetlejuice again, you find him holding his hands up in defense with a grin eating his face. A man in a toga is being held back by a few other men from wiping said-grin off his face. 
“I was gonna say that your roommate sounds like a smart guy, but looks like he’s over there picking fights with Sigma Alpha Toga,” you say, tutting. “Not the best move.”
Jake groans when he sees Bradley throw his head back in laughter, when he sees how red in the face his toga opponent is. He’s always pushing people to their absolute limit. It’s what makes him such a good lineman--and a regular target. 
“And on Halloween of all holy nights,” Jake says, sighing.
“Some people are just so classless,” you agree. 
“Like guys who ditch their girlfriends on Halloween,” Jake agrees. 
“How many times you gonna bring that up?” You ask, biting your lip. 
“I’m going for the record,” Jake teases.
“The least you could do is soften the blow,” you tell him. 
“How can I do that?” Jake asks. He’s grinning. 
“You could…” You pretend to think, tapping your chin and chewing the inside of your cheek. “Well, you could least keep up appearances.” 
“What, like, be a good fake boyfriend?” He asks, brow perched. 
You nod. He’s elated right now, trying to bide his excitement so he doesn’t freak you out totally and completely. 
“Yeah,” you confirm. 
“Well, I can’t just be good,” Jake tells you smugly. “I’ve gotta be the best fake boyfriend.”
“You’ve really talked yourself up,” you tell him, sucking the back of your teeth. The soles of your feet are warm, the palms of your hand sweatied. “Blow me away.” 
Jake opens his mouth to say something dumb and flirtatious, something that will surely make you push his shoulder, but he’s interrupted when the music suddenly changes. Dreams by The Cranberries is playing suddenly, a smidgen louder than the music before was.  
“Now that they’re finally playing good music,” Jake calls over the music, pointing in the general direction of one of the speakers. “Will you dance with me?” 
No one has ever asked you to dance before this precise moment. Never at any shitty homecomings or slapstick proms. Before, at every other frat and house party Jeff dragged you to, no one danced like you thought they might. Parties aren’t for dancing anymore--they’re for drinking. The romantic in you dies a little bit each time you remember that. 
But here is this guy standing right in front of you, the big man on campus who’s dressed up in a weirdly accurate Alan Grant costume, holding his hand out to you and asking  you to dance to The Cranberries. The Cranberries. 
“There’s nowhere to dance,” you say before you can help it, glancing around the room. It’s packed wall-to-wall. No one is dancing and everybody is drunk. 
“Would you go outside with me if I asked?” Jake asks. 
His heart is pounding in his throat. 
“I don’t know,” you say. But you do know. “Ask.” 
“Will you go outside with me?” Jake asks. 
“Yes,” you say. “Yeah. I’ll go.” 
Yeah. I’ll go. Jake is going to think about the way you looked when you said these words to him for the rest of his life. You, the girl who was standing here looking bored and waiting on Spit motherfucking Sabler, are looking up at him with glassy eyes and a broad grin and saying yeah. I’ll go. 
Jake doesn’t waste a moment,  nodding towards the backdoor. 
“C’mon,” he says with a grin. “I don’t wanna miss this song.” 
Outside, it’s much cooler than inside the stuffy house. The air is crisp and fresh and fragrant with the lonely apple tree that sits just beside the house. No more overpowering stenches like sweat or cheap fabric or overfilled trash. 
And now that you’re outside in the mostly-dark, only the naked porch bulb lighting the little patch of overgrown concrete you’re standing on, you feel like you can take a deep breath and let your shoulders fall. 
“It’s nice out here,” you admit. 
“And you can still hear the music,” Jake points out. “Speaking of…” 
You turn around, glance at him over your shoulder. And there’s Jake beaming at you, hand outstretched towards you in an open invitation. 
“You were serious?” You ask, nose wrinkled. “I thought boys just said that to impress girls.” 
“Not Texas boys,” he answers. “C’mon. Dance with me.”
And who would you be if you said no to this almost perfect stranger?
Swallowing thickly, you smile at him. It’s an unsure smile, one that is usually accompanied by a warm face and downcast eyes. But you’re not looking away from him and Jake definitely isn’t looking away from you. 
His hand is warm, bigger than yours. The skin is rough, probably from tossing the pigskin, and his grip is secure. He holds your hand the way he holds other important things--delicate glasses, his favorite pen, a photograph of him and his mama.
You stand there, his hand holding yours, for a moment. Not sure what to do next, unclear where you’re supposed to step or if you’re supposed to come closer. 
“C’mere now,” Jake says softly. It’s less of a command and more of a guidance as he gently pulls you closer to him. “There you go.”
Shakily, a breath falls from your mouth. A cloud of tongue-scented vapor settles on Jake’s chest. He’s looking down at you, his face all shadows and shine, as he begins to bring his other hand up to hold your waist. 
“Can I hold your waist?” He asks. He almost makes a joke--almost adds something to make his questions sound less serious. Strictly for appearances. But then he just looks down at you looking up at him, reads the slope of your brows and the part of your lips, and leaves it at that. 
“Is that what comes next?” You ask, really meaning it. 
He pulls his brows together, confused.  
“What--no one’s ever asked you to dance before?” 
“No,” you answer seriously. “I mean--well, yeah. No.” 
He just softly shakes his head. How in the world has no one ever asked you to dance before? He wanted to dance with you before he even knew you and he wants to dance with you now that he barely knows you. 
“What?” You ask, brows knit. Your throat is caked in nerves. “You think something’s wrong with me now?” 
“I’m thinking I oughta skin Spit Sabler and hang his bones to dry,” Jake admits. “And I don’t think anything’s wrong with you.” 
You step closer to him, the pavement cracked beneath the soles of your boots, and your chest is close enough to his to feel the softness of his shirt when you inhale. He smells like sandalwood and Everclear and you’re just now noticing that his hands are a little sticky from his drink. 
“Is there something wrong with you?” You ask, looking up at him. “You didn’t bring a date to the party.” 
“Who do you think Beetlejuice is?”
The laughter flows easily. 
“Excuse me for supposing.” You smile. 
“Excused,” Jake breathes.  
Jake is holding your waist now--he can feel the soft curve there, the way the fabric melts into his hand like it’s been waiting for his heat. And whenever you take a deep breath, your chest touches his. 
Besides the music, there are crickets chirping in the button bushes and frogs distantly singing in a too-big puddle just down the road. It is a perfect night--the stars stretch across the sky, brighter than they are in the middle of town, and the moon is white as silk. 
You’re spinning in a semi-slow circle, your smile still coy and your palms still clammy. But you’re happy--you think that you’re happy. A stone of excitement just sits heavy in your gut, warm and unmoving. This is the feeling you have whenever you meet someone that you know is going to be important in some way someday.
Inside the house, Bradley’s noticed that Jake is gone--and so is the pretty girl he was talking to. He glances around, biting his lip, the taste of cheap lipstick bitter on his tongue. And then he spots movement outside the west-facing windows. 
“No way,” he whispers, shoving his way across the room and closer to the windows. He squints, cups his eyes, and immediately recognizes that damn hat. “He did it. Crazy son of a bitch did it.” 
“Who?” Someone near Bradley asks. They’re bleary-eyed as they look at Bradley, leaning closer to him. “Who did what?” 
“Me,” Bradley answers with a grin. “I did your mother.” 
“I like The Cranberries,” you say quietly. “I listen to this CD all the time.” 
“Not a Red Hot Chili Peppers girl?” He asks. 
Laughing, you shake your head. 
“Do I look like one?” You ask. 
“Do I look like I think you’re one?” He retorts. 
Another grin--Jake’s throat is so tight that he can hardly swallow. 
“Too many degrees of separation,” you whisper to him. “You’re giving me a complex.” 
He takes a deep breath--of you, of the crisp autumn air, of the dew on the grass, of the sugary juice staining his hands. 
“Why you with a guy who stands you up?” He asks. You’re slowly spinning in a circle still and the world blurs behind your pretty head. “I barely know you, but I know I’d never bail on you.” 
“Well, not everyone’s from Texas,” you answer. The heartbeat in your chest is stuttering as Jake looks at you--your eyes, your nose, your lips. “We’re not…serious or anything.”
You don’t know why you feel the need to tell Jake this--and why it doesn’t make you feel guilty when you realize that you’re telling him so he knows that your options are open. 
“Not serious?” He asks. “How long have you been seeing each other?” 
A few months. 
“Since August.” It sounds like more time than it really is. 
“Not long at all,” he says. “How’d he hook you? Did he debate you into a date?” 
The grin tugging on your lips is so insistent. 
“You’re kind of an ass,” you say affectionately. 
“But I’m a good dancer,” he says--beaming. “Don’t you think I’m a good dancer?” 
“Fishing for compliments,” you tut. “Flattery must be your love language.” 
“What’s your love language?” 
Cheeks hot, you just shake your head. 
Christ, he’s good. Too good. Way too good.
“You ask so many questions,” you tell him, breathing out hard. You’re beaming at him still. “Too curious for your own good.” 
“And I’m not even a journalism major,” he tells you. 
“You’re missing your calling then,” you say softly. “What is your major?” 
“Film,” he says. 
That strikes you as funny for some reason--a football player film major with an affinity for dream pop and Jurassic Park. 
“Aren’t you a mystery,” you ponder aloud. “Johnny Football Hitchcock.” 
“And what’s your major? Looking bored at parties?” 
You mock offense, holding a hand over your heart. When you’re this close to him and he beams, you can see every single one of his pearlescent white teeth, each one more perfect than the last. 
“I didn’t look bored,” you defend half-heartedly. 
“You looked so bored,” Jake says, laughing. “I thought you were gonna pass out before I even made it over to you.” 
The back door opens--a few drunk people stumble out, saying nothing but laughing all the same. 
Instinctively, you begin to pull away from Jake. But he tightens his grip on your waist, on your hand, and keeps you close to him. He keeps spinning the both of you in slow circles as the song floats on. 
“It’s okay,” Jake says softly to you--like he knows that your face is warm with almost-embarrassment, like he knows that you’re nervous to be this close to him in front of anyone else. “They’re not gonna remember shit tomorrow.” 
“Are you?” You ask, teasing. 
It’s vulnerable to ask--ther’es a sweetness in your quiet tone. You’re asking him if he’s drunk, if he’ll remember crossing the party to talk to you, if he’ll remember asking you to dance with you.  
“I’m stone-cold sober,” Jake says. “Fortunately.” 
It’s strange whenever someone doesn’t let you down. You’re almosot used to putting up defenses at this point, almost always ready to roll your eyes and say God, never mind. You’re a smart girl. You know that this isn’t the way you should feel about the boy you’re seeing. And you are smart enough to see a good thing when it’s standing right in front of you, holding knot your waist and dancing with you. 
“Oh, shit--!” 
You turn towards the sounds of shoes scuffing on pavements, the sudden outburst. Jake does, too, brows furrowed. He sees it before you do--is getting ready to lift you up and push you further into the yard. 
But he’s too late. 
Alpha Beta Toga is bent at the hips and spewing neon-green puke all down your legs and into the pockets of your cargo shorts and all over your hiking boots.
Still, Jake tugs you away, plants himself between you and Toga. It’s too late, though--he’s being tugged away by his friends, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, hiccupping. And you’re standing beside him, stunned, staring down at your slimy legs. 
“Hey!” Jake bellows, brows furrowed. The frat boys pause, eyes bleary as they stare back at him. “Apologize.” 
“Sorry,” one of them says to Jake, belching. 
They start to move inside the house again, a blur of white sheet and skin. 
“No, no, no,” Jake insists. “To her.” 
You blink in surprise, swallowing the lump growing in your throat, not knowing what to do except stand there and freeze with putrid vomit running down your legs. 
“I didn’t puke on her!” One of them defends. 
“I didn’t ask, dipshit,” Jake says. “Someone’s gonna say sorry before you go back inside.” 
“It’s fine,” you whisper, unbuttoning your shirt and slipping out of it to wipe down your legs. “It’s really fine. He’s drunk, it was an accident--!” 
“I’m sorry,” one of the boys interrupts you, glancing over at you nervously. “We should’ve pulled ‘im back.” 
“You should’ve,” Jake confirms. 
And then his attention is back on you. He’s kneeling before you, grabbing the shirt from your hands and mopping up as much vomit as he can on your legs. Still shocked and now prickled with cold as you bend at the hips and look down at him, you frown. 
“Is it--oh my God. Is it chunky?” You whisper, feeling sick. 
Jake dutifully holds onto your thigh as he continues to mop it up. God, it smells bad--he dipped into more than one of the punches. 
“Don’t look,” Jake commands, brows pulled together. “Just look up at the stars and it’ll be over soon.” 
“It’s fucking chunky,” you say to yourself, looking up at the night sky anyway. Cold air nips your bare shoulders, tucks itself between the skin of your belly and your tank top. “Did he eat the shit that was floating in the bowls? I don’t think it was edible.” 
In the dim light, Jake examines one of the chunks. It’s a clump of green-tinted yellow, half-digested and crumbling in the grip of the shirt. His stomach turns, but he swallows hard, comes a little closer.
Oh. He snorts softly and you groan above him. 
“What is it?” You ask. “Oh, God--is it, like, pineapple chunks?” 
 “It’s a flower,” Jake says.
“What?” You demand, looking down at him. “A flower?” 
He finishes up mopping your legs as you look anywhere but your legs, your jaw beginning to tremble from the cold.  
“Was this all some elaborate way to get me flowers?” 
His laugh echoes into the night. 
“Would you be impressed?” He asks. 
“Kinda,” you answer honestly. 
“Then yes,” he grins. “I think I got most of it, by the way. Do you wanna see the flower?” 
Looking down, frowning, he holds his open palm up to you. And yes, there it is--a marigold submerged in stomach acid. 
“And they say chivalry is dead,” you breathe out. “How’d you know marigolds are my favorite?”
“I’m just good like that,” he says. “Marigolds, huh? Are they even edible?” 
“Anything’s edible if you put it in your mouth.”  
He’s grinning up at you, pulse still thumping in his wrists from the past ten minutes. And that’s when he notices that you’re just standing there in a tank top, skin goosed from the cold. 
“Here,” he says, standing up. 
He unbuttons his shirt quickly and drapes it over your shoulders before you can tell him not to. He grabs the corner of your soiled shirt and nods for you to start for the house. 
“I can’t believe that just happened,” you whisper. 
“I can,” he says. “I’ve been to, like, two parties where no one’s projectiled on someone else.” 
Cringing, you shake your head. His shirt is warm--it smells like sandalwood. The denim is thick and soft, like it’s been worn before tonight. 
“Thanks for mopping me up,” you tell him as you open the back door for him. The sound is immediate--the thumping speakers, the drunk hollers. “How can I repay you?” 
“Dump Spit Sabler,” Jake says. You turn, mouth ajar, looking prettier than you should in his shirt. His chest is tight. “It’s for your own good.” 
“My good?” You whisper. “Or…yours?” 
He swallows hard. You two just watch each other, the scent of puke thick in the air and the party too loud and the outside too cold. He doesn’t want to be anywhere else. 
“Can I drive you home?” His voice is flat and serene. 
Calm like he already knows your answer because he does. 
“Yes,” you whisper because you want to stay here, in his gaze, for as long as he’ll let you. “Can we go now?” 
He pulls the keys from his pocket and smiles at you. 
Bradley isn’t buckled so he can lean forward in the middle seat and prop his elbows up on the center consol, looking at you and Jake as the world slips past you in a blur of over-exposed white and green. 
“Spit Sabler?” Bradley says again, still shaking his head in disbelief. 
You’re laughing, shaking your head, too. Jake groans. 
“Man, can you shut up already?” 
“No,” Bradley says. He looks at you and you look at him--his makeup is melting off his face and his green wig is askew. But even now, you can see that there is a handsome man with a broad smile somewhere beneath it all. “You--you--are with Spit? Spit Sabler?” 
“Yeah,” you say, smiling. “I was.” 
Jake doesn’t miss it--was. But he doesn’t say anything, just keeps his eyes on the old country road you’re all driving down. 
“Why?” Bradley asks. “Like, I just can’t wrap my mind around it.” 
“Can you leave her alone?” Jake moans. He fiddles with the radio until a Cocteau Twins song comes on, shaking his head. “She already got puked on and now you won’t get off her head.”
“I just have to know!” Bradley insists. “Like, was it…okay, I’m gonna ask. I have to ask.” 
Jake looks at Bradley in the rear-view mirror hard, knowing already what he’s going to ask. He points at Bradley’s reflection and Bradley grins back, still a little drunk and quiite stupid. 
“What?” You ask, genuinely confused. “What were you gonna ask?” 
“Don’t do it,” Jake warns. “Man, you don’t even know her! You’re making me look like I have perv friends!” 
“I have to!” Bradley argues. “I have to!” 
“Oh,” you say, realizing suddenly. You lean back in your seat and look back at Bradley. “You’re gonna ask me if he has a big dick.” 
“Exactly!” Bradley moans. He grabs your shoulders excitedly and squeezes you good-naturedly. “She’s on our level, Jakey!” 
“I’m sorry about him,” Jake says, shaking his head. “He was dropped as a baby. Frequently.” 
“Twice,” Bradley corrects. He nudges you and you grin at him. “Was it big?” He whispers. 
Shaking your head, face warm, you frown. 
“Not big enough,” you whisper. 
Bradley explodes in the backseat, in stitches as he holds your shoulders tight. And Jake can’t help but crack a smile at the sound--Bradley’s laugh is infectious. And you’re laughing, too. 
“Oh, that’s too good!” Bradley’s cheering. “Oh, my God! You just made my night!”
“You’re welcome,” you say, grinning.
“Did he just, like, talk at you until you were confused enough to be in a relationship with him?” Bradley asks. 
“She’s not an idiot,” Jake defends, smacking blindly in Bradley’s direction. 
Bradley bats his hands away.  
“We all have our moments!” Bradley argues. “I didn’t say she’s an idiot.” 
“He’s the idiot,” Jake says. 
“Yeah,” Bradley agrees. “No arguing there.” 
“For the record,” you say to them. “He did kind of talk me into it. One minute we’re in class, the next we’re at coffee and he’s burning his tongue on an Americano. Then his puka shells were on my nightstand. It’s all a blur.” 
The car ride continues like this--you grow warm between the heater and Bradley’s laughter and Jake’s fond embarrassment. You learn that Bradley is a business major and that he and Jake are roommate’s and best friends. They learn that you actually really do love marigolds and that you’ve been thinking about ending things with Jeff for a few weeks now--ever since he argued with you about the right way to cut bagels for over an hour. 
And by the time they pull up in front of your dorm, they realize that their dorm is just a skip and half a hop away. 
“We can come visit you anytime,” Bradley says with a grin. “We’re neighbors!” 
“Looks like it,” you say. 
Jake is watching you, wishing Bradley would leave. You reach for the handle and his palms grow damp with sweat. It’s quiet in the car. 
“I can take a hint,” Bradley whispers. “Use protection!”
He kisses Jake’s head and squeezes your shoulder and then he’s gone. 
Then it’s just you and Jake again. Jake is still grumbling about Bradley, wiping the spit and paint off his head. And you’re just smiling at Jake, totally at peace to just sit in the passenger seat of his old truck and let Halloween drift away. 
“Thanks for everything,” you say. You swallow hard when his eyes meet yours, when his brows come together. “For, like, saving me from total social humiliation. And for cleaning puke off my legs. And--this.” You pinch the denim shirt in your fingers. “You’re very sweet.” 
“It ain’t much, but it’s honest work,” Jake sighs. And really, he wants to tell you that it was his pleasure because it was. He wants to tell you that somehow this has been the best Halloween of his life. “You’ve got yourself a nickname now.” 
“What is it?” You whisper. 
“Goldie,” he grins. 
Ah. Marigold. 
“Deceivingly sweet,” you say fondly. Your chin wobbles. “You playing next week, Trip?” You whisper. 
You’re itching for a shower--you know you need to get out of his car. You know that this night needs to end. But you can’t help yourself from lingering. 
“Starting,” he says. “Not to brag.” 
“And yet you manage to,” you tease. “Look for me at the top, okay?”
Eagle-eye. 
“And if I said I could get you tickets closer to the field, what would you say?” He ponders. “Just out of curiosity.” 
“Well, I’d say that’s very sweet and that you don’t have to do that,” you tell him. 
He nods, chewing on his bottom lip. He imagines you there, holding onto the railing, skin goosed as you watch him do what he does best. His chest is wound tight with joy, excitement. 
“And then I’d probably say that I know I don’t have to,” he continues. “I want to.” 
Nodding, biting a grin, you hum. 
“Well,” you whisper. “Maybe we can talk more about it when I drop your shirt off tomorrow.” 
“Yeah,” Jake says. “We can talk more about it. Maybe over, like, coffee.” 
“Yeah,” you answer. “Coffee would be good. No Americano’s, though.” 
Another beat. It’s quiet except for the humming radio, the wind whispering outside the windows, the heat blowing on your legs. 
“Goodnight, Goldie,” Jake whispers. 
Throat tight, you nod. Another grin. 
“Goodnight, Trip,” you say. 
And as you get out of the car and start for the dorm building, Jake sits and watches you walk all the way to the door. You turn, hand on the heavy handle, and smile when you see him. He waves, his hair soft and his eyes unmoving from your form. Spit never waits for you. In the light of the streetlamp, of the pocket lights of the building, you look like a dream. Like you’re surrounded by a yellow haze. 
You wave--so does he. 
And then you walk into the building with your heart in your throat, with the soles of your feet on fire. You don’t even care that there’s puke on your legs, that you have an uncomfortable phone call to make, that you have to walk all the way up to the third floor. 
You’re floating, really. Floating through pink clouds perfumed with sandalwood, tinged with warmth. 
And when Jake gets back into his room, Bradley is waiting for him. He’s on his twin bed, still in his costume and wig and makeup, a management textbook cracked open on his lap as he munches on some crackers and reads in the lamplight. 
“I like her,” Bradley says as soon as Jake closes the door. “I really, really like her man.” 
“Me too,” Jake admits softly as he toes his boots off. “She’s sweet.” 
“She’s funny,” Bradley adds. “She had me in stitches in the car!” 
“If I’d have been puked on, it would’ve ruined my week. Shit, it would’ve ruined my year,” Jake muses. He pulls his bandana off and throws it in his closet without looking. “She’s a good sport.” 
“You better lock that down,” Bradley says, shaking his head. He scratches his chin and bits of white paint flake off. 
“Someone else already has,” Jake says, brows furrowed. 
He sits on his own bed and looks at Bradley, who’s yawning and rubbing his eyes. Smearing his makeup. 
“Spit doesn’t stand a chance,” Bradley says. “I’ll bet she’s dumping his sorry ass right now.” 
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𝐅𝐎𝐎𝐓𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: SLAYYYYYY I LOVE BRADLEY IN THIS UNIVERSE HE IS SOOOOO STUPID
𝐌𝐘 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓
𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑
@thedroneranger
@fandom-life-12
@avaleineandafryingpan
@popsycles
@guacala
@hotch-meeeeeuppppp
@oliviah-25
@zalmael
@chicomonks
@aboutelijahhh
@angelbabyange
@zbeez-outlet
@dempy
@awkwardgiraffe726
@awesomebooklover17
@ofxinnocence
@nyx2021
@callsign-joyride
@flashyourgreeneyesatme
@one-sweet-gubler
@olliepig
@beyondthesefourwalls
@cherrycola27
@hangmans-wingman
@malindacath
@thenewdaysalreadyhere
@shehulkracing
@vemonbby
@ohemgeewhat
@emi-flaces
@mishala005
@headinthecloudssblog
@anony1080
@bellaireland1981
@djs8891
@xoxabs88xox
@stiles-banshees
@birdy-bat-writes
@bananas1234
@shotgunhallelujah
@pono-pura-vida
@agentminnesota187
@onethirstyunicorn
@furiousladyking
@fandomxpreferences
@untoldshortsofthefandoms
@rintheemolion
@daggerspare-standingby
@harper1666
@princess76179
@roosters-girl
@jstarr86
@blahblechblah
@aemondssiut
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b00inazkaban · 11 months
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MASTERLIST #2
Navigation!
Let me know if there are any characters you’d like added and I’ll look into it! :)
Smut = **
What I will NOT write for under any circumstance: R@pe, incest, anything to do with pee or poo, hardcore bdsm or anything like that type of smut, kidnapping reader for love, anything stalker, abuse unless it’s for angst but I won’t go into detail about the abuse (though I will do like slapping/spanking for smut it cannot have malicious meaning behind it, and there is always consent for that)
Also let me put this by itself, pregnancy is also way off the table. It’s 6 feet underground. I understand it’s part of life and it’s beautiful , and that’s for people to decide but personally I find just the concept of that horrifying and gross. I do breeding kink yes, but no description of pregnancy. (No hate to pregnant people I just can’t stand the concept of pregnancy in any form.)
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MARVEL:
☆ Tony Stark
☆ Steve Rogers
☆ Bruce Banner
☆ Natasha Romanoff
☆ Clint Barton
☆ Bucky Barnes
☆ Sam Wilson
☆ Peter Parker
☆ Thor Odison
☆ Loki Laufeyson
☆ Dr. Stephen Strange
☆ Peter Quill
☆ Gamora
☆ Drax the destroyer
☆ Rocket the Racoon
☆ Mantis
☆ Groot
Poly Requests:
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STRANGER THINGS:
☆ Steve Harrington: Steve Harrington x FtM reader**
☆ Robin Buckley :
☆ Nancy Wheeler:
☆ Eddie Munson:
☆ Johnathan Byers:
☆ Argyle:
☆ Billy Hargrove:
☆ Mike Wheeler: Little!Mike x GN!CG!Reader
☆ Dustin Henderson
☆ Will Byers
☆ Lucas Sinclair
☆ Eleven Hopper
☆ Max Mayfield
☆ Jim Hopper:
☆ Joyce Byers:
☆ Dmitri Antonov:
Poly Requests:
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HARRY POTTER/MARAUDER:
☆ Harry Potter:
☆ Ron Weasley: CG!Ron Weasley x Little!GN!reader
☆ Hermione Granger:
☆ Fred Weasley: CG!Fred Weasley x Little!Fem!Reader
☆ George Weasley: George Weasley x reader ; CG!George Weasley x LittleMale!Reader
☆ Neville Longbottom: Sub!Neville x Dom!Reader**
☆ Draco Malfoy:
☆ Blaise Zambini:
☆ Enzo Berkshire:
☆ Mattheo Riddle:
☆ Theo Nott:
☆ Pansy Parkinson:
Marauders Era or Lighting Era:
☆ Lucius Malfoy:
☆ Narcissa Malfoy:
☆ Severus Snape:
☆ Bellatrix Lestrange:
☆ Barty Crouch Jr. :
☆ Evan Rosier:
☆ Pandora Rosier:
☆ Zahara Zambini:
☆ Regulus Black:
☆ Sirius Black:
☆ Remus Lupin:
☆ Lily Evans:
☆ Marlene McKinnon:
☆ Mary McDonald:
☆ Dorcas Meadows:
FANTASTIC BEASTS:
☆ Newt Scamander:
☆ Thesus Scammander:
☆ Jacob Kowalski:
☆ Queenie Goldstein:
☆ Albus Dumbledore (young):
☆ Gellart Grindlewald (young):
Poly Requests:
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CRIMINAL MINDS:
☆Aaron Hotchner
☆ Jason Gideon
☆ Spencer Reid
☆ Derek Morgan
☆ JJ/ Jennifer Jareau
☆ Elle Greenaway
☆ Penelope Garcia
☆ Emily Prentiss
☆ David Rossi
Poly Requests:
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BRIDGERTON:
☆ Anthony Bridgerton
☆ Benedict Bridgerton
☆ Colin Briderton
☆ Daphne Bridgerton
☆ Eloise Bridgerton
☆ Simon Basset
☆ Penelope Fetherington
☆ Queen Charlotte (Young)
☆ King George (Young)
Poly Requests:
Queen charlotte x reader x King George
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TEENAGE MUTANT NINJA TURTLES:
☆ Leonardo: NSFW alphabet
☆ Raphael:
☆ Donnatelo:
☆ Michelangelo: Mikey x Reader
☆ April O'Neil:
☆ Casey Jones:
Poly Requests:
Poly!TMNT x Fem!Reader; April 4-in-1; turtles are manspreading and you want payback 😚
Poly!TMNT x Fem!Reader; Casey tries to flirt with reader but she puts down the idea and the turtles are proud
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TOP GUN:
☆ Pete Mitchell "Maverick"
☆ Bradley Bradshaw "Rooster"
☆ Jake Seresin "Hangman"
☆ Natasha Trace "Phoenix"
☆ Robert Floyd "Bob"
Poly Requests:
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THE HOBBIT/LOTR:
☆ Thorin
☆ Bilbo
☆ Fili
☆ Kili
☆ Dwalin
☆ Bofur
☆ Bard
☆ Legolas
☆ Tauriel
☆ Thuranduil
Poly Requests:
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TWILIGHT:
☆ Carlisle Cullen
☆ Esme Cullen
☆ Emmet Cullen
☆ Rosalie Cullen
☆ Alice Cullen
☆ Jasper Cullen: CG!Jasper Hale x nb!little!reader
☆ Edward Cullen
☆ Bella Cullen/Swan
☆ Jacob Black
☆ Garrett
The Volturi:
☆ Aro
☆ Caius
☆ Marcus
Poly Requests:
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THE HUNGER GAMES:
☆ Katniss Everdeen
☆ Petta Mellark
☆ Finnick Odair
☆ Johanna Mason
☆ Haymitch Abernathy
Poly Requests:
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LUCIFER:
☆ Lucifer Morningstar
☆ Mazikeen
☆ Amenadeil
☆ Chole Decker
☆ Linda Martin
Poly Requests:
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How To Train Your Dragon:
☆ Hiccup Haddock
☆ Astrid Hofferson
☆ Snotlout
☆ Ruffnut
☆ Tuffnut
Poly Requests:
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Across The SpiderVerse:
☆ Miles Morales
☆ Miguel O'Hara
Spider thoughts!
☆ Peter B. Parker
Spider thoughts!
☆ Hobie Brown
☆ Gwen Stacy
☆ Spider-Noir
Spider thoughts!
Poly Requests:
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Descendants:
☆ Mal
☆ Evie
☆ Carlos
☆ Jay
☆ Gil
☆ Harry
☆ Uma
Poly Requests:
MATCHUPS/MOODBOARDS:
☆ @thoughtfulcreatornight x Raphael matchup
☆ Anonymous x Remus Lupin matchup
꧁〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎꧂
I’ve redone my masterlist because I was vey unhappy with my first one, and I wanted to add pictures to go with it! I’ll also be adding all my new work onto here and my old work will be on the first masterlist! Love y’all! 💗
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charmedreincarnation · 10 months
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Quotes I live by: Loa edition
“Whatever the mind can conceive and believe, it can achieve.”
~Napoleon Hill
“Dream lofty dreams, and as you dream, so you shall become. Your vision is the promise of what you shall one day be; your ideal is the prophecy of what you shall at last unveil.”
~James Allen
“Create your future from your future, not from your past.”
~ Dr. Joe Dispenza
“What lies behind us and what lies before us are small matters compared to what lies within us.”
~ Ralph Waldo Emerson
“The law of consciousness is like a coin: heads, you win; tails, you lose. It is up to you to choose the outcome of your life.”
~Stephen Richards
“You will become as small as your controlling desire, and as great as your dominant aspiration”
~James Allen
“If something you want is slow to come to you, it can be for only one reason: You are spending more time focused upon its absence than you are about its presence."
~ABRAHAM HICKS
“Everything can be taken from a man but one thing: the last of human freedom—to choose one’s attitude in any given set of circumstances.”
~ Viktor Frankl
"The point of power is always in the present moment."
~Louise Hay
"The only limit to what we can achieve is the power of our own minds."
~ Henry Ford
“You can have anything you want if you are willing to give up the belief that you can’t have it.”
~Dr. Robert Anthony
“Your opinion is your opinion, your perception is your perception, change them and you change your life."
~Wayne Dayer
“Paradoxically, what works against us also works for us. If you can dream it, and believe it, then you can do it!”
~Tony Robbins
“Whether you think you can or think you can’t, you’re right.”
~Henry ford
“If you believe in what you are doing, then let nothing hold you up in your work. Much of the best work of the world has been done against seeming impossibilities.”
Dale Carnegie
"You are responsible for your life and the power of your consciousness. Nothing can stop you from fulfilling your true potential."
~Deepak Chopra
"Your outer world is a reflection of your inner world." ~Unknown
"The key to success is the power of imagination. Create an image of what you want and make it your focus."
~Tony Robbins
“People are like stained-glass windows. They sparkle and shine when the sun is out, but when the darkness sets in; their true beauty is revealed only if there is light from within.”
~ Dr. Elizabeth Kubler-Ross
"Nothing can bring you peace but yourself."
~ Ralph Waldo Emerson
"Go confidently in the direction of your dreams. Live the life you have imagined."
~ Henry David Thoreau
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trickricksblog08 · 1 month
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𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗚𝗶𝘁𝗺𝗼 𝗟𝗶𝘀𝘁: 𝗧𝗵𝗼𝘀𝗲 𝗪𝗵𝗼 𝗕𝗲𝘁𝗿𝗮𝘆𝗲𝗱 𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗨𝗻𝗶𝘁𝗲𝗱 𝗦𝘁𝗮𝘁𝗲𝘀 𝗼𝗳 𝗔𝗺𝗲𝗿𝗶𝗰𝗮
Where They Go One They Go All
1. Hillary Clinton
2. Bill Clinton
3. Nancy Pelosi
4. John Podesta
5. John Brennan
6. James Comey
7. Maxine Waters
8. Adam Schiff
9. Hunter Biden
10. George W. Bush
11. Dr. Anthony Fauci
12. Huma Abedin
13. Bill Gates
14. Anthony Wiener
15. George Soros
16. Lindsey Graham
17. Mitch McConnell
18. Kevin McCarthy
19. Chuck Schumer
20. Kamala Harris
21. Robert Mueller
22. Mike Pence
23. Joe Biden
24. James Clapper
24. Lloyd Austin
25. Dick Cheney
26. John Kerry
27. Alexander Soros
28. Loretta Lynch
29. Andrew McCabe
30. Peter Strzok
31. Lisa Page
32. James Baker
33. Eric Holder
34. Tony Podesta
35. Susan Rice
36. Harry Reid
37. Paul Ryan
38. Debbie Wasserman Schultz
39. Sally Yates
40. Mitt Romney
41. Jerry Nadler
42. Klaus Schwab
43. Michelle Obama
44. Sally Yates
45. Andrew Cuomo
46. Herbert Raymond McMaster
47. Deborah Birx
48. Mark Zuckerberg
49. Nikki Haley
The17Letter
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scotianostra · 4 months
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Happy Birthday to the actor Tony Curran born 13th December 1969 in Glasgow.
Tony took to acting while still in his teens, he recalls the days in the Scottish Youth Theatre with Gerard Butler. Young Anthony Curran went on to attend the Royal Scottish Academy of Music and Drama before gaining notoriety with a prominent role on the BBC series This Life. He would go on to make a name for himself in movies with a sci-fi/fantasy bent, like The 13th Warrior, Blade II, The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen, Beowulf, of his small screen credits, our old favourite Taggart returns after not appearing on Kenneth Cranham’s CV yesterday!
Curran has made a name for himself in over the Atlantic in a number of US shows which include, Numb3rs, Medium, 24, Sons of Anarchy and Elementary. His most notable appearances over here have been in the ITV series Ultimate Force, Dr Who, as Vincent van Gogh , and more recently in the E4/Netflix original series Crazyhead.
Tony appeared in the 2018 Netflix film Outlaw King about Robert the Bruce and the Wars of Scottish Independence, where he played the part of Aonghus Óg of Islay, ( Angus Macdonald) chief of Clann Domhnaill. Back over in the states he has recently been in Ray Donovan, which is a great series series and few episodes of the CBS show SEAL Team. He also turned up in the mini series, Your Honor, which also stars the excellent US actor Brian Cranston of Breaking Bad fame, it’s great hearing Scottish accents in US shows, don’t you think?
Tony is another guy I follow on twitter, the guy has a heart of gold, I remember he tweeted “Me and my lass woke up this morning temperatures dropping compelled to help our homeless, loaded up some blankets pillows clothes, sweaters jackets, I’m sure we all have stuff we can donate, it all helps.” He was then out on the streets handing them out to the homeless, Tony was involved in a charity weekender with all funds raised going to St Mary’s & St Alphonsus and the great community work they do. He has in the past played charity football matches in Glasgow.
In the past couple of years Tony has been playing Despero in the Super Hero series The Flash, Tony has also appeared in the US movie, Two Deaths of Henry Baker where he plays a town Sheriff, this year he appeared in the US crime series The Calling, the show has some good reviews on IMDB with a 7.1/10 rating, and in an episode of the US show For All Mankind
Last year Tony appeared in a homegrown project. The two part “series”, Mayflies is set in a Scotland and Manchester in the 80′s Martin Compston co-stars along with new Shetland star Ashley Jensen, it is on BBC1 on December 28th. The show is based on a novel by Scottish author Andrew O'Hagan's book of the same name. It tells the story of Jimmy (Compston) and Tully (Curran) who ignite an “unforgettable friendship” defined by music, films and their shared rebellious spirit in a small Scottish town in the 1980s. if you haven't seen it, please look it up, and keep the hankies close by.
In the past couple of years Tony has appeared in a couple of US series, an unexpected second season of Your Honor and Secret Invasion.
On fame Tony commented;
"I've been lucky. I don't for a minute take for granted the good fortune I have had. You don't like to get ideas above your station, especially a boy from the south side of Glasgow."
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reality-detective · 1 year
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Dr. Robert Redfield, former CDC Director, told congress last week that he believes Dr. Anthony Fauci used American taxpayer dollars to fund the bioweapons research that created COVID-19:
"I think it did — not only from NIH but from the State Department, USAID, and from DOD."
Article from 2020…👇
The National Institute for Allergy and Infectious Diseases, the organization led by Dr. Fauci, funded scientists at the Wuhan Institute of Virology for work on gain-of-function research on bat coronaviruses (ie making viruses more deadly and transmissible to humans).
$3.7 million over six years followed by another $3.7 million, for a 5-year project which ended in 2019, bringing the total to $7.4 million.
In 2014 more than 300 top scientists signed an open letter demanding that President Barack Obama shut down Dr. Anthony Fauci's dangerous gain-of-function research.
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The authors included four Noble Laureates and scientists from Harvard, Stanford, John Hopkins, Yale, MIT, UCLA, Oxford, Princeton, and all of the world's top universities.
And of course this was ignored because it was all part of the Deep States agenda and Obama WAS/IS a HUGE piece of the puzzle. This wasn't a pandemic like we were told, it was a plandemic. 🤔
269 notes · View notes
letters2fiction · 1 month
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Welcome to Letters2fiction!
The concept here is to send in a question or a letter request, and you’ll get a response from your fictional character of choice, from the list below. Please stick to the list I’ve made, but of course, you can ask if there’s some other characters I write for, I don’t always remember all the shows, movies or books I’ve consumed over the years and I’m sure I’m missing a lot 😅
Status: New Characters added - Thursday March 21st, 2024
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TV SERIES
A Discovery of Witches:
Matthew Clairmont
Baldwin Montclair
Gallowglass de Clermont
Marcus Whitmore
Philippe de Clermont
Jack Blackfriars
Sarah Bishop
Emily Mather
Diana Bishop
Ysabeau de Clermont
Miriam Shepard
Phoebe Taylor
Gerbert D’Aurillac
Peter Knox
Father Andrew Hubbard
Benjamin Fuchs
Satu Järvinen
Meridiana
Law and Order:
Rafael Barba
Sonny Carisi
Joe Velasco
Mike Duarte
Terry Bruno
Peter Stone
Hasim Khaldun
Nick Amaro NEW!
Mike Dodds
Grace Muncy
Kat Tamin
Toni Churlish
Amanda Rollins
Olivia Benson
Rita Calhoun
Casey Novak
Melinda Warner
George Huang
Sam Maroun
Nolan Price
Jamie Whelan
Bobby Reyes
Jet Slootmaekers
Ayanna Bell
Jack McCoy
Elliot Stabler
One Chicago:
Jay Halstead (Could also be Will if you want)
Antonio Dawson
Adam Ruzek
Greg "Mouse" Gerwitz
Dante Torres
Vanessa Rojas
Kevin Atwater
Sean Roman
Matt Casey
Kelly Severide
Joe Cruz
Sylvie Brett
Blake Gallo
Christopher Hermann
"Mouch"
Otis
Violet Mikami
Evan Hawkins
Mayans MC:
Angel Reyes
Miguel
Bishop
Coco
Nestor
911 verse:
Athena Grant
Bobby Nash
Henrietta "Hen" Wilson
Evan "Buck" Buckley
Eddie Diaz
Howie "Chimney" Han
Ravi Panikkar
T.K. Strand
Owen Strand
Carlos Reyes
Marjan Marwani
Paul Strickland
Tommy Vega
Judson "Judd" Ryder
Grace Ryder
Nancy Gillian
Mateo Chavez
The Rookie:
Lucy Chen
Tim Bradford
Celina Juarez
Aaron Thorsen
Nyla Harper
Angela Lopez
Wesley Evers
BBC Sherlock:
Greg Lestrade
Mycroft Holmes
Sherlock Holmes
Moriarty
Molly
Bridgerton:
Anthony Bridgerton
Benedict Bridgerton
Simon Basset
Daphne Bridgerton
Eloise Bridgerton
Kate Sharma
Edwina Sharma
Marina Thompson/Crane
Outlander:
Jamie Fraser
Claire Beauchamp Randall Fraser
Frank Randall
Black Jack Randall
Brianna Fraser
Roger MacKenzie
Fergus Fraser
Marsali Fraser
Jenny Fraser Murray
Ian Murray Sr.
Ian Fraser Murray
Murtagh Mackenzie
Call The Midwife:
Shelagh Turner / Sister Bernadette
Dr. Patrick Turner
Nurse Trixie Franklin
Nurse Phyllis Crane
Lucille Anderson
Nurse Barbara Gilbert
Chummy
Sister Hilda
Miss Higgins
PC Peter Noakes
Reverend Tom Hereward NEW!
Narcos:
Horacio Carrillo
Peaky Blinders:
Tommy Shelby
Downton Abbey:
Robert Crawley, Earl of Grantham
Cora Crawley, Countess of Grantham
Lady Mary Crawley
Lady Edith Crawley
Lady Sybil Crawley
Violet Crawley, Dowager Countess of Grantham
Isobel Crawley
Matthew Crawley
Lady Rose MacClare
Lady Rosamund Painswick
Henry Talbot
Tom Branson
Mr. Charles Carson
Mrs. Hughes / Elsie May Carson
John Bates
Anna Bates
Daisy Mason
Thomas Barrow
Joseph Molesley
Land Girl:
Connie Carter
Reverend Henry Jameson (Gwilym Lee's version)
Midsomer Murder:
DCI Tom Barnaby
Joyce Barnaby
Dr. George Bullard
DCI John Barnaby
Sarah Barnaby
DS Ben Jones
DS Jamie Winter
Sgt. Gavin Troy
Fleur Perkins
WPC Gail Stephens
Kate Wilding
DS Charlie Nelson
Sergeant Dan Scott
NEW! Once Upon A Time
Regina / The Evil Queen
Mary Margaret Blanchard / Snow White
David Nolan / Prince Charming
Emma Swan
Killian Jones / Captain Hook
Mr. Gold / Rumplestiltskin
Neal Cassidy / Baelfire
Peter Pan
Sheriff Graham Humbert / The Huntsman
Jefferson / The Mad Hatter
Belle
Robin of Locksley / Robin Hood
Will Scarlet
Zelena / Wicked Witch
Alice (Once in Wonderland)
Cyrus (Once in Wonderland)
Jafar (Once in Wonderland)
Gideon
Tiger Lily
Naveen
Tiana
Granny
Ariel
Prince Eric
Aladdin
Jasmine
Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde
Hercules
Megara
Tinker Bell
Merida
Red Riding Hood
Mulan
Aurora / Sleeping Beauty
Prince Phillip
Cinderella
Prince Thomas
NEW! The Vampire Diaries / The Originals
Stefan Salvatore
Damon Salvatore
Caroline Forbes
Elena Gilbert
Bonnie Bennett
Enzo St. John
Niklaus Mikaelson
Elijah Mikaelson
Kol Mikaelson
Rebekah Mikaelson
Freya Mikaelson
Finn Mikaelson
Mikael
Esther
Marcel Gerard
Davina Claire
MOVIES
The Pirates of the Caribbean:
Captain Jack Sparrow
Barbossa
Will Turner
Elizabeth Swann
James Norrington
Kingsman:
Merlin
Harry Hart
Eggsy Unwin
James Spencer / Lancelot
Alastair / Percival
Roxy Morton / Lancelot
Maximillian Morton / The Shepherd
Orlando Oxford
Jack Daniels / Whiskey
Gin
BOOKS
Dreamland Billionaire series - Lauren Asher:
Declan
Callahan
Rowan
Iris
Alana
Zahra
Dirty Air series - Lauren Asher:
Noah
Liam
Jax
Santiago
Maya
Sophie
Elena
Chloe
Ladies in Stem - Ali Hazelwood books:
Olive
Adam
Bee
Levi
Elsie
Jack
Mara
Liam
Sadie
Erik
Hannah
Ian
Fourth Wing - Rebecca Yarros:
Xaden Riorson
Dain Aetos
Jack Barlowe
Rhiannan Matthias
Violet Sorrengail
Mira Sorrengail
Lillith Sorrengail
Bodhi Durran
Liam Mairi
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🌈 Queer Books Coming Out in February 2024
🌈 Good afternoon, my bookish bats! Struggling to keep up with all the amazing queer books coming out this month? Here are a FEW of the stunning, diverse queer books you can add to your TBR before the year is over. Remember to #readqueerallyear! Happy reading!
❤️ We Ate the Dark by Mallory Pearson 🧡 The Paper Boys by D.P. Clarence 💛 Skater Boy by Anthony Nerada 💚 Your Shadow Half Remains by Sunny Moraine 💙 A Vicious Game by Melissa Blair 💜 Clarion Call by Cayla Fay ❤️ Relit: 16 Latinx Remixes of Classic Stories edited by Sandra Proudman 🧡 The Absinthe Underground by Jamie Pacton 💛 Truthfully, Yours by Caden Armstrong 💙 Outsider by Jade du Preez 💜 Cross My Candy Heart by A.C. Thomas 🌈 The Tainted Cup by Robert Jackson Bennett
❤️ An Education in Malice by S. T. Gibson 🧡 The Imposition of Unnecessary Obstacles by Malka Ann Older 💛 Never a Bridesmaid by Spencer Greene 💚 The Rewind by Nicole Stiling 💙 Good Christian Girls by Elizabeth Bradshaw 💜 The Fox Maidens by Robin Ha ❤️ The Terrible by Tessa Crowley 🧡 Blood Rage by Ileandra Young 💛 Call of the Sea by Emily B. Rose 💙 Sign Me Up by C.H. Williams 💜 Ways and Means by Daniel Lefferts 🌈 Peaceful in the Dark by A.A. Fairview
❤️ We Are Only Ghosts by Jeffrey L. Richards 🧡 Dead Ringer by Robyn Nyx 💛 Somacultural Liberation by Dr. Roger Kuhn 💚 Stormbringer by Erinn Harper 💙 A Saga of Shields & Shadows by A.J. Shirley 💜 Ghost Town by R.E. Ward ❤️ I Heard Her Call My Name by Lucy Sante 🧡 The Night Alphabet by Joelle Taylor 💛 Remedial Magic by Melissa Marr 💙 Bloom by N.R. Walker 💜 Entwined by Alex Alberto 🌈 Queer Newark edited by Whitney Strub
❤️ Tristan by Jesse Roman 🧡 How to Live Free in a Dangerous World by Shayla Lawson 💛 Daniel, Deconstructed by James Ramos 💚 Of Socialites & Prizefights by Arden Powell 💙 Lost Harbor by Kimberly Cooper Griffin 💜 Hannah Tate, Beyond Repair by Laura Piper Lee ❤️ Bunt! Striking Out on Financial Aid by Ngozi Ukazu & Mad Rupert 🧡 How You Get the Girl by Anita Kelly 💛 Blackmailer’s Delight by David Lawrence 💙 Tile M for Murder by Felicia Carparelli 💜 Impulse Buy by Jae 🌈 Live for You, Die With You by Kalob Dàniel
❤️ Fairest of All by A.D. Ellis 🧡 Goddess of the Sea by Britney Jackson 💛 A Taste of Earth by Nico Silver 💚 The Moorings of Mackerel Sky by M.Z. Emily Zack 💙 How the Boogeyman Became a Poet by Tony Keith 💜 V is for Valentine by Thomas Grant Bruso ❤️ Crushed Ice by Ashlyn Kane & Morgan James 🧡 When Tomorrow Comes by D. Jackson Leigh 💛 Bugsy & Other Stories by Rafael Frumkin 💙 The White and Blue Between Us by Kiyuhiko 💜 Guide Us Home by CF Frizzell & Jesse J. Thoma 🌈 The Friendship Study by Ruby Barrett
❤️ Infinity Alchemist by Kacen Callender 🧡 Heart2Heart edited by Annabeth Albert 💛 No Time Like Now by Naz Kutub 💚 Bless the Blood by Walela Nehanda 💙 Vengeance Planning for Amateurs by Lee Winter 💜 Who We Are in Real Life by Victoria Koops ❤️ Prove It by Stephanie Hoyt 🧡 Mewing by Chloe Spencer 💛 Awakenings by Claudie Arseneault 💙 Born of Scourge by S. Jean 💜 Disciples of Chaos by M.K. Lobb 🌈 To Cage a God by Elizabeth May
❤️ Greta & Valdin by Rebecca K Reilly 🧡 What Feasts At Night by T. Kingfisher 💛 You Had Me at Merlot by Melissa Brayden 💚 Turning Point by Cathy Dunnell 💙 For the Stolen Fates by Gwendolyn Clare 💜 Season of Eclipse by Terry Wolverton ❤️ These Haunted Hills by Jana Denardo 🧡 Samson & Domingo by Gume Laurel III 💛 Lies that Bind by Rae Knowles & April Yates 💙 We Got the Beat by Jenna Miller 💜 The Diablo's Curse by Gabe Cole Novoa 🌈 Blessings by Chukwuebuka Ibeh
❤️ Out There by Iris Eliot �� At Her Service by Amy Spalding 💛 Green Dot by Madeleine Gray
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tybaltsjuliet · 2 years
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must see horror movies?
the cabinet of dr. caligari (1920). the first cult film. the first horror film. the sets! the somnambulist! the cultural debts we owe this movie will never be repaid.
häxan (1922). a folk-horror fantasia. i've been thinking a lot lately about that teju cole quote about how fiction and nonfiction is not a natural way to split up narrative experiences, and this is a wonderful example of that.
frankenstein (1931). and, really, all of the universal horror movies. but to get your foot in the door at the monster mash, this one is the way to go.
the night of the hunter (1955). robert mitchum as the most sinister of ministers. you can argue that this isn't a horror film per se, but i'll argue harder. one of my favorite pieces of southern gothic, too.
(horror of) dracula (1958). the best of all dracula films and the place to begin with hammer horror. (the sequels get mad campy. but no less entertaining.)
psycho (1960). you don't need me to recommend psycho but i'm doing it anyway and i am doing it for anthony perkins, who deserved a goddamn oscar for this.
night of the living dead (1968). dawn and day are equally worthy for different reasons but nothing beats the locked-down nightmare that started it all.
ganja & hess (1973). this is the only gothic vampire romance that matters. like so much great horror (see: the night of the hunter, above), and especially great horror by marginalized creators, this was rightfully vindicated by history and yet still deserves to be vindicated harder.
the wicker man (1973). summerisle's got everything: christopher lee; bawdy folk songs; phallic maypoles; the battle between christian law and order and the old ways' rights and rites; A CHILD. if you've gotten this far in life without knowing the ending, go watch this immediately before that can change. not only the best folk horror movie of all time, but possibly one of the best movies of all time, period.
the texas chain saw massacre (1974). i didn't see this till 2020, somehow. i thought i was desensitized to whatever it might throw at me after spending my adolescence bragging about getting through a serbian film and thinking house of 1000 corpses was the funniest thing i ever saw. i was dead fucking wrong and i'm so glad i was. every now and then you come across a movie, new or new to you, that reminds you why you're so in love with a genre and revitalizes your passion for it. texas chain saw did that for me.
the omen (1976). my favorite religious horror movie of all time, even more so than the exorcist. also has what i personally consider the scariest scene in any horror movie (the graveyard sequence). gregory peck having been a lifelong devout catholic really adds a certain je ne sais quoi to his performance as the father.
halloween (1978). what is horror without the slasher, and what is the slasher without halloween? i really don't care about your freddys and your jasons. michael myers is where it's at.
hellraiser (1987). like texas chain saw, one of the classics that really puts the horror back in horror. a complete fucking nightmare from start to finish, and the cenobites aren't even the worst of it.
event horizon (1997). yes, see alien. yes, see annihilation. but don't neglect this (literal) hellscape of an outer space horror movie. it is neither glossy nor groundbreaking but it is deeply committed to being horrifying and it succeeds.
el laberinto del fauno (2006). nothing like a fairy tale about a princess of the underworld set against the backdrop of franco's spain to remind you that no one is doing the blending of fantastic horrors and very, very real horrors like guillermo del toro. not to mention that the creature designs in this movie are off the charts - the faun is the most beautiful being i have ever seen.
over the garden wall (2014). (not technically a movie but watched all together it's only about two hours and this is my list, so.) don't let the cutesy old-fashioned cartoon style and jaunty songs fool you. what starts off as charming, if unsettling, folksy quirkiness quickly gives way to another terrific fantasy horror. i watch this annually at halloween and it fucks me up every year.
last night in soho (2021). i hesitate to put something with a plot pretty much entirely revolving around rape and SA on a "must-see" list, but if that is subject matter you're not highly sensitive to, this is a terrific angle on the rape revenge horror movie. not as crass as the, uh, classics of the subgenre, but not defanged to the opposite end of offensiveness like a certain other blonde-led "revenge" movie i won't name. another one of my personal favorites.
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mlentertainment · 11 months
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okay 4 month long fancast/elaborate sleep deprivation project is complete. here's who should star in the unsleeping city live action tv show
pete - elliot page (officially endorsed by ally)
kingston - jeffrey wright, isaiah mustafa; laurence fishburne or idris elba if they wanted to
sofia - samantha win (wow she looks So Very Italian for sure definitely... dw about it i want her wushu skills more than anything)
ricky - mackenyu
misty - CATHERINE O'HARA (hunter schafer as rowan)
kugrash - hank azaria (voice only), fiona dourif (voice and physical)
iga - if catherine's not available for s1 can she come on for s2 as iga. otherwise patricia arquette
cody - devon bostick is 31 which means he still fits the 27 yr old mall goth window and i cannot unsee the rodrick eyeliner and also can't think of anyone better. hi devon you're my last hope
esther sinclair - jade eshete (the casting thought that started this monster post)
gabriela sinclair/furies - i mean angela bassett if you're free--
alejandro ortiz - edward james olmos
ana and amelia ortiz - isabella gomez? classic single actor playing twins moment but i think her energy is good #odaat
robert moses - ed harris. or another guy who can do crazy scary. i'm finishing this list at 5 am can u tell
dale lee - daniel henney
jackson wei - key quy quan i don't care give him work i am kissing him respectfully
emiko matsui - karen fukuhara
53V3N - brennan's cameo
priya danger - i mean. come on. jameela jamil
dr. lugash - anthony carrigan. i had to fit him in here somewhere LET'S GOOOOOO NOHO HANK... 2!
mario bicicleta - james ransone *sniper shoots a warning shot next to my head*
lowell masters - nick offerman i guess
wally kugrich - alan tudyk
david kugrich - michael shannon
cindy wong - margaret cho
tony simos - dave bautista (is apparently part greek? That's fun. what's important is he's built like a truck)
heather simos - ME!! ✌🥰✌
jj jacobs - lane factor
not casting Nod bc i literally don't pay attention to child actors. saw someone mention bradley whitford as sondheim which i thought was genius (and joe pesci as don confetti which was great but unrealistic) (<- is treating this like they're an actual casting director) but beyond that are there any fun roles i missed?? i tried to cover both szns as well as i could
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