#missing howie hours

[mellaithwen]

To hum and sway (bucktommy, 1.4k words)

[read on ao3]

Spoilers/Spec-fic for 7x06 "There Goes The Groom" After the wedding that wasn’t, and the wedding that was, after the search, and the rescue, and the drama of the day, Buck finds himself sitting in the hospital waiting room when Tommy turns up...

Now that Chimney’s been moved out of the ICU, the hospital staff have kindly set up a cot bed in his room for Maddie to get some rest beside him, while Buck stands—or rather–-sits sentry outside. While his sister clearly couldn’t have predicted she’d be reading out her vows standing between a heart-rate monitor and an IV stand, Buck’s just glad she was able to read them out to Chim at all.

A nurse shuffles past Buck down the corridor, and he pulls his legs back from where they’d been obnoxiously extended in his late-night exhaustion. He runs a hand through his hair, grimacing at the bright fluorescent lights of the waiting room before stretching his neck and shoulders until he hears a satisfying pop.

His hands clench into tight fists on either side of the chair he’s sat in, and he grips them tightly until his knuckles are white and the pain of his own nails digging into the flesh of his palms is enough to distract the guilt spiral he’s been fending off all day.

Maddie and Chimney will get their big-day. Buck will make sure of it. They’ll have the party that they rightly deserve, surrounded by their friends and family. A happy day, a calm day. The quiet, intimate ceremony in their own back garden that they’d wanted all along before losing track of the guestlist. 

But that would be later. When they were both ready, and recovered. At least for now they got to wear the rings. At least they got to call each other husband and wife. 

Finally. 

“Evan?” Buck’s head shoots up from where he’d been lying back, leaning his heavy head against the wall. 

There were so few people who called him by his given name nowadays...

His parents had long since left to do what they referred to as “damage control” with the guests and venue—since the rest of the 118 were more concerned with Maddie and Chimney than appeasing distant relatives who had traveled just so gosh darn far, Evan. 

He’d corrected Bobby almost instantly on that first day so many years ago, that his name was Buck, and besides, his captain was currently driving Mr and Mrs Lee back home for the evening after spending so many hours in the same holding pattern of he’s stable—that’s the main thing—until Chimney had finally woken up and insisted with a raspy voice, that his Captain marry he and Maddie right then, right now...

And Eddie? Eddie had only ever called him Evan the once. 

(Buck would be lying if he said he didn’t think about that moment often…)

But no, it wasn’t him either; Eddie was with Hen, roaming the corridors for a vending machine that worked until Bobby came back to bully them all into finally getting into his truck and going home. So that just left…

“Tommy? W-what are you—?”

“I came as soon as I heard he’d been found. How’s Howie doing? How’s your sister?”

Buck’s brain struggles to keep up, his software in need of an update—Tommy’s here, standing in front of him. In the hospital corridor. Buck’s phone was god knows where, and with Chimney missing and his sister losing her mind with worry, he hadn’t had a chance to think about the fact he’d accidentally ghosted his date. But here he was. Standing in front of Buck like a guardian angel who’d done more than his own fair share to help in the search—all the while still wearing the clothes he’d put on as Buck’s plus one to the wedding that never happened that morning.

This is probably the closest thing to flustered he’s seen Tommy look the whole time he’s known him, and if the circumstances were different Buck thinks he would have found it endearing—but his head’s too much of a mess to even go there right now. The soft blue shirt he’s wearing is rumpled now but Buck just knows it would have been pressed and clean to start with. The slacks and matching suit jacket are both a wooly kind of mauve. Buck thinks it would have been nice to press up against the material as they slow-danced at the end of the evening. The lights would be dimmed, while the wedding band played something slow. He wonders if his parents would have noticed. He finds he also doesn’t really care.

He remembers Maddie and Chimney’s kiss under a symphony of high-pitched beeps, and the mumbled static of a tannoy announcement requesting a doctor’s presence in triage. Jee had clapped her hands in Mrs Lee’s arms before pretending to throw invisible flowers in the air just like she’d practiced with her uncle Buck.

How’s Howie doing? How’s your sister?

“They’re—” Buck falters when he finally answers, genuinely unsure in the grand scheme of things. If he were to answer literally, he’d say they were sleeping. But emotionally? Physically?  

“They’re…”

Chimney’s in the hospital. Maddie almost lost him again, and if Buck looks down, he knows he’ll find that there’s still patches of dried blood on the sleeves of his ruined pink jacket—remnants of the day, along with the pounding behind his eyes that he just can’t seem to shake. 

Tell Maddie—

No, no Chim, don’t you dare make me do that, you can tell her yourself, okay? Just stay with me. Eddie’s gone to get help and Maddie’s waiting for you to come home— 

“They’re married!” Buck finishes with a laugh that’s incredulous only so far as the circumstances of the last twenty four hours have made him seriously question his own sanity. Or maybe that’s just the last dregs of adrenaline leaving his head in a spin.

“Bobby performed the ceremony, but Chimney wore the white-gown this time.”

He’s deflecting. He’s searching for humor, for the laugh to be had at the absurdity of it all. He’s the class clown disrupting the other kids because he didn’t hear what the teacher said and he’s trying not to panic. He’s overcompensating at the academy because he has no support system to speak of in LA, and he needs this. He wants this. He can’t flunk out. He can’t fail.

He’s pushing and pushing and pushing to see where the boundary lies, to see how far he can go before he disappoints the family he’s found at the 118. He wants to know where that line in the sand is. How long until the tide comes in? How long until he drowns?

He’s….. he’s exhausted. And when Tommy tilts his head to the side and frowns, reading Buck like an open book of sad tells, suddenly the effort to keep the mask in place is too much. His shoulders slump and Buck’s whole body hunches forward with the weight of the day pressing down on him—only to find Tommy’s arms there ready to catch him when he falls. 

“He nearly died,” Buck whispers into the crook of Tommy’s neck as he’s embraced. “Chim nearly died and if we hadn’t found him when we did….” 

His voice cracks, the words seemingly too painful to even speak into the universe. Buck can’t bear to say more, and Tommy doesn’t ask him to either, he just pulls him in closer, squeezes him that little bit tighter, and holds him there for as long as he needs. He brings his hand up to the back of Buck’s neck, gently kneads at the knot he finds there. Cradles him like he’s something precious and deserving when for so long he’s convinced himself of the opposite.

After a time, when Buck’s breathing starts to even out, the hitch in his chest seemingly dissolved into the atmosphere, and the shock has thawed enough for him to feel the soft material of Tommy’s jacket under his fingertips, he finds that Tommy has been slowly moving their bodies into a sway. Leading, just a little bit—really they’re barely moving at all—but if Buck pretends, he thinks he can hear music playing. 

“You said you wanted to dance,” Tommy says; answering the question Buck hadn’t gathered up the courage to ask yet. For the first time in hours, Buck’s mind goes quiet.

“Thank you,” he whispers a little self-consciously when the words catch in his throat. 

Thank you for coming, thank you for holding me, thank you for being here with no judgment and no expectations. Thank you for caring when we barely even know each other. Thank you for treating me kindly, for being gentle and soft when all day I’ve felt like I was being strangled with barbed wire. Thank you. 

When Tommy hums in response, Buck can’t help but lean into the embrace, finding solace in his arms. He can feel the warmth of his breath drifting along the side of his neck, soothing the goosebumps that reside there. 

And when he presses a soft kiss on the stubble of Tommy’s jaw, it tickles.

-fin.

#911 #911 fic #911fic #911 spoilers #bucktommy #bisexual buck #buck x tommy #kinkley #tevan #tommy kinard #evan buckley #911 abc #911 on abc #911 fox #bucktommy fic #mellaithwen fanfic #it IS FUCK IT FRIDAY AFTER ALL <3 #911 speculation #911 spec fic #madney

[roosterbruiser]

𝐂𝐑𝐔𝐄𝐋 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐑 — 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐎

—𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐏𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍: 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄'𝐒 𝐀 𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐏 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐀 𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐄. 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐅𝐄𝐄𝐋 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔'𝐑𝐄 𝐆𝐎𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐎 𝐁𝐄 𝐑𝐈𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐃 𝐀𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐁𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐄𝐍𝐃 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐑. —𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒: 𝟒.𝟖𝐊 —𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 —𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 —𝐕𝐈𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐁𝐎𝐀𝐑𝐃 —𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐔𝐒 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐎 𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐓 𝐎𝐀𝐊𝐒, 𝐌𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐏 𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐉𝐔𝐋𝐘 𝟏𝟕𝐓𝐇, 𝟏𝟗𝟖𝟕

The rain comes earlier than anyone thought it would--even the weatherman on the radio. Just after supper, as all the counselors are cleaning up the mess of mustard and hotdog buns and potato chip crumbs, the first crack of lightning splits the darkened sky. The trees, the tall oaks that cage Camp Arcadia in, quiver when thunder shakes the world.

“Mister Rooster!” June Walker cries. 

And Rooster’s already heading over to his chicks, who are huddling up and beginning to cry at the prospect of a storm. 

“Alright, alright,” Rooster soothes, a smile tugging at his lips. Like little baby birds, they all flock around him, all of them reaching for a part of him to hold onto. “I know we aren’t psyched about this storm, but do you know what this means?” 

“That there’s probably gonna be a tornado and-and it’s gonna blow us-us away? That happened to my grandma’s house and now she lives in-in our attic,” Susie says, holding Rooster’s hand in both of hers and stroking it with her ketchup-stained thumbs. 

Rooster glances down at her. She’s blinking up at him with that same empty stare. He’s wondering if he needs to have you check her out--but something in his heart tells him that this is just the way Susie is: a strange little girl. 

He pats her hand softly, trying to field all the other grabby hands as the chicks reach out for him. 

“Stellar story, Susie. But, uh, no--no there is not going to be a tornado. Just a wicked storm, alright? And wicked storms mean that Miss Nightingale will come check on us. How’s that sound, huh?”

You haven’t explicitly agreed to this--but Rooster knows that if he asks, you’ll say yes. Especially if he has seven wide-eyed little kiddos trailing behind him with leaky noses and a gift for begging.

“Will she sleep-sleep with us?” Howie asks, pushing his hands up Rooster’s shirt and pinching his skin softly.

Lord willing, Rooster thinks. His tongue grows thick with saliva when he thinks about you in his bed: cotton underwear, smooth skin, plush cheeks, clean hair. He’d like to have you in his bed in Virginia, the one that’s in a room that doesn’t have seven kids in little cots.

“We’ll see what we can do, huh?”       

In the kitchen, Hangman, with his arms covered in soapy water, glances out the window. 

“Huh. Thought it wasn’t starting ‘til later?” He says, brows furrowed. 

You, with a rag in one hand and a partially-dried dish in the other, hum and follow his gaze. It’s darker now, even though sunset isn’t for a few hours. Dark clouds are rolling in, thick and menacing like sheets of oily leather.

“Same,” you answer absently, shrugging. “Good thing we weren’t planning that bonfire tonight, huh?” 

Hangman nods, sighing. 

“Guess we can just hang in your cabin when all the rugrats are asleep,” he says. 

You laugh softly, wrinkling your nose. 

“No can do,” you tell him, setting the dish aside and taking the next plate Jake offers you.

“And just why not?” He asks, glancing at you from the corner of his eye. It’s something he does a lot--stealing glances of you here and there, letting his eyes fall over your fluttering lashes or your open mouth or the delicate curve of your cheek. “Got a hot date or something?”

Shaking your head, you bite your lip. 

“Oh, get real,” you laugh. “Just worried you and Bradshaw are gonna tear each other apart if you’re in such close quarters. Picking up what I’m laying down, Seresin?” 

Just as Jake opens his mouth to answer, little particles of jealousy prickling the underside of his tongue like scratchy grains of sand, Coyote suddenly exclaims as he stands by the screen door of the mess hall. 

“The canoes!” 

It is as good as a piercing whistle--all the counselors jump into action and abandon their postings to crowd around the door. 

“Fuck me gently with a chainsaw,” Fanboy murmurs beneath his breath.

“If you insist,” Payback returns, elbowing Fanboy. 

“What’re we gonna do?” 

Everyone glances at each other, arms crossed over their chests and lips twisted into displeased frowns. 

“Draw sticks, I guess,” Rooster answers.

You can hardly hear yourself over the rumbling thunder, the cracks of lightning that split the suddenly-dark sky. Even the rain itself is hard to hear over--heavy and thick, the water droplets fat as they slice into your skin 

“Shit!”

“Shit is right!” Rooster returns, hands on his hips. 

The two of you, who drew the short sticks, are standing on the muddy shore of the lake. Your palms are rope-burned from tying up the canoes, which was seemingly for naught--a wayward canoe is filling up with rainwater in the middle of the lake. 

“Well, the storm sure had a fire lit under its ass, huh?” Rooster asks, laughing.

He’s looking at you, trying to keep his eyes open as the rain heavies his lashes. You’re wearing your dress still, but you’re thoroughly soaked now. The fabric clings to your goosed skin, all the hills and valleys of your body expanding with every breath you breathe. 

“Pretty mental!” You agree, sinking your teeth into your lower lip.

The two of you have been standing out here, shoes sinking into the mud, for a few minutes. The canoe is filling with water rapidly--it’s gonna be too heavy to take in if you keep standing here. Neither of you are really sure what to do. 

“Alright,” Rooster finally says, grinning at you. 

Meeting his gaze, you cock a brow. 

“What?” 

But then Rooster is taking his shirt off, throwing it behind him. You just watch, brows knit, as he kicks his shoes off and peels his socks off, too. 

“Enjoying the show?” He asks you, hooking his thumbs in the waistband of his shorts before winking at you and pulling them off. “Stare any harder, I’m gonna start charging!”

Heat floods your belly. 

“Oh, sit and spin!”

You’ve seen Rooster like this before--many times, actually. He’s a good-looking man, anyone with eyes can see that, and you aren’t immune to the taut plane of his belly or the ripples of muscle that make up his arms and legs. 

Standing before you, nose wrinkled, in just his underwear--he grins at you. It’s a cocky thing, one that tells you that he knows you’re looking at his body, his skin.

“Time and place and I’m there.” 

You shove his shoulder, gaping. 

“You’re heinous today!” 

“Remember me,” he teases, clapping your shoulder. “Tell the children how brave Mister Rooster was, alright? And ruggedly handsome--that’s important. Don’t forget the ruggedly handsome part!”

“You’re gonna swim out there?” You ask, meeting his gaze again. “You ditz, it’s gonna be freezing!” 

He shrugs, holding his hands on his hips again. 

“You got a better idea? Maverick’ll tear our asses up if we just let the canoe sink!”

He’s right--Maverick really splurged this year when he invested in the canoes.

Rooster watches you again as you look out over the lake. All the green behind you, even through the haze of rain, really makes the darkened tendrils of your hair look like something of nature. Everything clings to you--like ivy climbing an abandoned building, like moss covering stones. 

He’s surprised when you suddenly shrug to yourself and untie the sweet little bow over your chest and scramble for the buttons that line your chest and belly. 

“Hey--what are you doing? You crazy or something?” Rooster asks. 

Rolling your eyes, you shimmy out of your dress and stand before him in your white cotton underwear and the pale pink dulcet bra--which you’re very thankful you decided to wear today. 

He swallows hard. Again, all that saliva pools on his tongue when he thinks of the way you tasted--how drunk he was, how sweet you were, how your thighs quivered just from his breath on your skin.   

“Oh, like I’m gonna let you drown yourself alone,” you tease. “Get real.” 

He wisens up--straightens his shoulders, gives you that shit-eating grin.

“Sugar melts, though!” 

“After all this is said and done, I think I oughta check your head out,” you tell him. But you’re grinning. “Last one to the canoe’s a rotten egg?” 

With that, you take off. You run into the water, letting the icy stuff reach your hips before you dive underneath the surface. It’s colder than you thought it would be--so cold that it feels like a zap to your senses. But when you emerge, the scent of moss and mud permeating your hair, you allow precisely one shiver before you begin cutting through the water. 

“Cheater!” Bradley is laughing, hot on your tail.

And watching you slice through the lake water, not an ounce of fear in your body about what is ahead or what is beneath you, he is a bit breathless. You’re the kind of girl that jumps into lakes during thunderstorms and doesn’t care about her underwear being white. As silly as it seems, Bradley understands immediately why men drown trying to get closer to whatever beautiful creature is beckoning them to the water. He would trip over himself to be so near to you--even if it meant his body being lodged in algae and lilypads.  

You’re trying to keep your breathing steady and deep, propelling yourself through the lake with scissor-kicks and windmill arm movements. Rooster’s only a few paces behind you, ignoring the goosing of his skin, and trying to catch up to you. 

If he reaches out, if he really stretches out his arm and locks his fingers in place, he’d be able to graze your heel. He’d be able to wrap his fingers around it and pull you to him, against his body. But he doesn’t do that--in fear that he’ll accidentally pull you under. Plus, he isn’t a cheater like you are. 

Unsurprisingly, you reach the boat first. And as soon as you can grip it, you do. Breathing harshly, you grin at Rooster. He’s only a little bit behind you, curls pushed back from his forehead. 

“You’re warped, you know that?” Rooster pants, grabbing onto the slick canoe. He’s close enough to you that as you wade, your feet accidentally graze another beneath the surface. “I mean, way to leave me hanging!”

“Can’t stand being beat by a girl, huh?” You tease with a grin.

Rooster narrows his eyes, barking out a laugh. 

“Thought you were a woman?” 

And with that, you slurp a mouthful of lakewater and spit it on him--a steady stream that splashes against his cheeks beside all the rainwater. 

“You’re lucky I don’t have a temper,” Rooster tells you. 

You stick your tongue out at him. 

“How’re we gonna get this thing in? We don’t have a paddle!”

“Fuck,” Rooster hisses, glancing back at the shore. 

You sure don’t have a paddle. 

“I’ll push, you pull?” You ask. 

Rooster shakes his head. 

“No way,” he answers. “Get in the canoe!” 

Sputtering, you shake your head. 

“What? No way! Not a chance!” 

“Get in the canoe!” He orders, nodding to it. “I’ll give you a boost!”

He doesn’t leave you with much of a choice. He’s swimming closer to you, holding his breath and grabbing the meat of your thighs, securing your weight against him. And before you can really even sputter some sort of disagreement, he’s hoisting you up and out of the water. 

You land in the canoe unceremoniously, scrambling for purchase and then sitting on your knees. The water is already up to your thighs--which you know is going to be an issue. 

“Let’s rock and roll, birdie!” Rooster insists, swimming behind the canoe and giving an experimental push. To both of your surprises, it glides towards the shore quite easily. “Bitchin’!”  

The sky is growing darker and the rain is getting heavier. The thunder, that was once distant, is growing nearer and nearer now. And the lightning is lighting up Camp Arcadia, brewing something dark. 

“Land-ho!” You call out, voice nearly lost to the thunder and lightning shaking the campgrounds. 

By the time you’re docked, the canoe tied up and your underwear entirely soaked through, you and Rooster are bent at the hips and panting harshly. You’re laughing breathlessly, leaning on each other, sighing in relief. 

“We better get a fucking raise for that,” he tells you, grinning. 

You nod profusely, chest and mouth sticky and hot with exhaustion. 

“Shit,” you whisper. “That was a workout!” 

Rooster doesn’t point out that you got a free ride on the way back in, that you didn’t have to push the canoe and instead got to ride in it. He’s not the kind of guy to rub that back in your face. 

“Sure you can walk?” Rooster teases, grinning at you. 

He’s trying hard not to stare at your nipples--which are standing at attention beneath the wet cloth of your bra. You’re holding your hands on your hips, sinking your fingers into the flesh there that Rooster would love to sink his teeth into. Still, your bare feet are sinking into the mud and you’re being pounded by the storm. 

“No, actually,” you tell him, feigning feeling faint with a delicate touch to your forehead. “Might have to be taken back in on a stretcher!”

“Not a chance,” Rooster grins. 

And for the second time in the last twenty minutes, you’re suddenly scooped up and in Rooster’s arms. This time, he isn’t holding onto the meat of your thighs and hiking you into a waterlogged canoe, though. He’s holding you against his body--which is somehow still warm--with an arm beneath your bent knees and the other wrapped around your back. 

“Aren’t you a stud muffin?” You tease, patting his bare chest. “This how you pick up all your chicks, Roo?” 

He likes your weight in his arms--every bit of you pressed against him and at his mercy. 

“Just the ones I really care about,” he winks. 

Biting your lip, you shake your head. 

“Oh, please,” you tease, holding a hand over your heart. “I’m swooning.”

“That’s the effect I have on most,” he chides. 

For a moment, in the rain with the thunder tearing the sound barrier above you and with most of the other counselors watching, you two just look at each other. You’re both thinking about the same thing: the way his lips felt between your legs, the way his tongue pulsed when he pressed it into your body for the first time. But you’re also both just admiring each other, so close together that you can feel his steady heartbeat and he can feel your breathing as it returns to normal. He is still so handsome, even soaking wet. And you are beautiful even squinting at him with heavy lashes. 

“Howdy!” 

Both of you snap to attention at the same time, startling. 

Paul, the groundskeeper who stays in a shed a few miles from camp, is standing before the both of you in a yellow rain slicker and a sunny disposition. 

“Some weather we’re having, huh?” 

For seemingly the seventh time today, you scramble and plant yourself on the ground, hurriedly grabbing your soaked dress and stepping into it as Paul smiles jovially. 

“Right,” Rooster says. “How’s it going, Paul? Taking it easy?” 

Rooster doesn’t bother getting dressed--doesn’t have the same heat in his cheeks at Paul seeing him in just his briefs. 

“Just dandy, just dandy. Came to check on y’all--meant to get here before the storm, but I guess God had other plans, huh?” Paul grins. He turns, patting the canoes and grinning at Rooster, who has slyly stepped in front of your form to shield you from Paul--who is as nice as can be and pretends to not even notice that you’re in your skivvies right now. “Y’all gonna be alright tonight? It’s supposed to keep up like this for a while!” 

“Oh, we should be excellent,” Rooster answers. He holds his hands on his hips and glances over his shoulder at you--you’re buttoning your dress, fumbling nervously, and chewing on the inside of your cheek. “Kids’re gonna have a blast in the mud tomorrow!” 

Paul laughs--a big, booming thing. 

“Sure they are,” Paul agrees. “Say, I’ve got extra supplies if y’all ever run outta anything!” 

“Thanks a million, Paul,” you say, falling in step beside Rooster. You’re still steeped with embarrassment, but at least you have clothes on now. “Feel free to stop by for some s’mores tomorrow night, huh?” 

Paul nods politely, his sun-creased face crinkling with delight. 

“Will do!” He says. “And if y’all ever need anything, just holler!” 

Jake’s still standing at the screen door of the mess hall. He’s been standing there since you and Rooster drew the short sticks and ran out in the rain. His arms are crossed and his lips are twisted--his body completely still. He’s getting a little hot beneath the skin watching you and Rooster--the way you two stop to gaze at each other, the way he held you up, the way you teased him. 

Coyote suddenly claps a hand on Jake’s shoulder just as you and Rooster wave Paul off and turn to each other with embarrassed smiles. 

“Brother, you’ve got it bad,” Coyote grins, squeezing his friend's shoulder--he can practically feel the little knots of anger brewing beneath Jake’s skin. “And if you stare any harder, I think she’s gonna turn into dust.” 

Jake rolls his eyes, chewing the inside of his cheek. 

“I should’ve just volunteered to go,” Jake says, not peeling his eyes away from you for a moment--even when there’s a great commotion behind him in the style of children clattering and mowing each other down on the wood floors. “I’m a real chump, huh?” 

Coyote laughs, his smile broad. 

“Oh, you’re a chump in love,” Coyote teases. “Should we tell the campers that?” 

Jake rolls his eyes, shoving Coyote’s shoulder. 

“You’re dead meat if you do.” 

♀

You’re lying in bed when it happens.

It’s just after midnight, the world quiet except for the constant pattering of rain and flashes of lightning. Even the cicadas and the bullfrogs have gone silent as they let the storm settle in for the night. 

You’re just barely awake, the taper candle blown out and the covers drawn to your chin. It’s cool in here, the rain finally releasing you from the oppressive heat of the summer--so cool that you’re wearing your wool socks again. Without your nightly reading, which Rooster very seriously confiscated, you had little else to do but go to sleep. 

Just as the heaviness of sleep takes you, pulls you against its body and kisses your swollen eyelids, your spine prickles with fear. It’s a feeling that you’re not used to--especially not here at Camp Arcadia. This is a fear that comes with walking down dark alleys at night or being in parking garages by yourself or feeling the bed sink beside you when you’re home alone. 

It’s here now, though. And it isn’t just in the nerves that raddle up your spine or lodged between your teeth: it’s in the quaking marrow of your bones, sitting heavy in the tips of your fingers, pooling in your belly. 

But you can’t move. 

So, you’re not sure why you know that the figure is standing just outside your door. But you know that it is there--just the same way that you know that your muscles are paralyzed and your eyes are shut. 

It’s watching you. You can feel it. Every inch of your skin that is above the covers, every goosebump and freckle and birth mark, is burning under the gaze of the faceless figure. If you could lift your head, if you could squint through the dark, you would see that it’s contorting again. An ever-moving, cracking thing that is coming closer to the flimsy screen that separates you and the entity. 

When lightning lights the sky, when there comes a great cracking, you feel it again: the blood. It drenches you like lakewater, dirtying your clean hair and lodging itself underneath your fingernails and between your teeth. It tastes like metal--like you’re sucking on pennies. And if you could, you would grip the sheets beneath your taut body. You would call for help. 

But you can’t fucking move. 

A great big sound comes echoing across camp, bouncing off all the windows, drowning out the sound of thunder and lightning. And as you struggle to wake up wake up wake up, the scent of firewood suddenly burns the delicate skin inside of your nose. 

Something’s on fire. And the figure is still there--it won’t take its eyes off you, it’s growing taller and wider, it’s scratching the screened windows like a stray cat that wants let in, it wants you to stand, it wants you to open the door, it wants to crawl in bed beside you, it wants to kiss your throat, it wants to sit heavy on top of you, it wants to slice the delicate skin of your face and drink your--

“Nightingale! You alright?”

With a jolt, you’re suddenly back in your body. You’re laying in bed and you can move your cold fingers and you can sit up, wipe the tears from your face, and squint through the darkness. 

There’s not figure outside your cabin--it’s just Jake. He’s holding a lantern in one hand and a shotgun in the other, his hair mussed with sleep and his skin wet from the rain. 

“Jesus,” you whisper, throwing the covers off your body. Your thighs are quivering as you stand and steady yourself. “What’s--what’s going on? Someone light a fire?”

Jake shakes his head. 

“You didn’t hear that noise?” He asks. 

It was loud--it woke up everyone in his cabin. It was something akin to an explosion, something that was followed immediately by the scent of burning wood, something that sent a tingle of dread down his spine. 

“Thunder?” You mutter, stumbling to the door. “Why do you have the gun?” 

There’s that fear again, sitting in the tips of your toes. 

Jake, his face glowing in the yellow light of the lantern, shakes his head with his brows furrowed. 

“It wasn’t thunder,” he says, stepping into your cabin.

You pause, still trying to collect your bearings. Jake is watching you blink yourself awake, a peculiar expression twisting your lips and sloping your brows. You look thoroughly out of it, thoroughly perplexed. 

“Y’alright, honey?” He asks, setting the lantern on the ground. 

You blink at him, your heart steadying under his gaze. 

“Dunno,” you answer truthfully. “God, I was having a wicked dream. Two nights in a row--that’s weird, huh?” 

Jake, without really thinking about it, strokes your hair off your shoulder and cups your cheek. Your skin is warm--he’s sure that if he pressed his lips to your forehead to check your temperature, you would gripe at him about accuracy. The thought makes him dizzy with want. 

“C’mere,” he says suddenly. 

And then he’s pulling you against his body, wrapping his arms around you, sinking his nose into your hair. He’s still holding the shotgun, careful not to press it against your back. For whatever reason, as you inhale all that patchouli and oak on his skin, your body goes slack with peace. All that fear, all that wretched panic, seeps out of your skin and falls into the rain. 

He’s soaking it in--holding you in his arms. He knows that he shouldn’t be here, really. When he and Coyote jolted awake in tandem, fielding all the suddenly-sobbing children, they both agreed that Jake would take the gun and investigate. And as soon as he stepped out of the cabin and saw that everyone else was lighting their lanterns and peering out the windows, he looked to yours--which sits farthest away from the rest of camp. 

Your light wasn’t on. 

He hadn’t even realized he was running to your cabin until he was standing outside your door and watching your entirely still body in the bed. You were so utterly still, so utterly silent, that for one dreadful moment he thought you were dead. Even the rational part of him, which knew that a healthy girl like you wouldn’t just stop breathing in the middle of a thunderstorm, was seeped in panic. 

But now you’re in his arms. You’re breathing, you’re okay. You smell like jasmine and soap and you are letting him hold you and everything else in the world is fading away.  

“Come in here to shoot me, then?” You ask after a few silent moments. 

Jake shakes his head. 

“Just came in to scare away any monsters,” he mutters. 

“Yo, Hangman!” Phoenix says suddenly, her boots squishing in the mud outside your cabin. “Aren’t you supposed to be, like, fending away a predator or something instead of making it with Gale?” 

You pull yourself from Jake and he immediately feels cold without your arms around him. 

“Sorry, Nix,” you tell her, shaking your head. “I’ll release him.” 

Jake, with a small smile on his lips, cocks the shotgun and picks the lantern back up. 

“Don’t worry, ladies,” he says. “Evil be gone--Hangman is coming.”

All of the counselors shrug on their robs and rain boots and meet in the middle of the campground by the flagpole, everyone carrying their lantern. Most of the campers have gone back to sleep or are waiting up by the windows, peering out at everyone waiting for Jake to come back. 

“I thought it was thunder,” you tell everyone, yawning. 

Bob shakes his head, eyes wide. 

“It raddled our cabin,” Bob says. “No way it was thunder.”

“Scotty pissed the bed it scared him so bad,” Phoenix adds, rolling her eyes. 

“Good luck cleaning that up,” Coyote chuckles.

You’re quietly watching everyone discuss the noise that you somehow missed. Rooster is standing beside you, his body warm and his eyes heavy with sleep. He’s watching you tune out in real time, watching that glaze fall over your pupils. 

“Y’good, birdie?” He whispers, nudging you. 

You nod at once, shrugging. 

“Weird dream.” 

“Again?” He asks. 

You nod. 

“Wanna talk about it?” 

You shake your head. 

He throws an arm over your shoulder and pulls you close to him, kissing your temple. 

“Told you no more scary books before bed!”

“You took my copy of Carrie!” You protest. “And this wasn’t--God, this wasn’t like a Carrie-induced nightmare. It was something else. I don’t know what, but it was…” 

He waits for you to finish your sentence. But you don’t, just shaking your head and pressing your toe into the mud. The sound of the figure scratching at the screen of your window is still echoing in your ears--a constant, ragged noise that makes your throat ache with dread.

“That bad, huh?” Rooster asks. You just nod. “Well, you’re free to use me as a safety blanket whenever you need, baby.” 

If he meant it as an innuendo, you don’t catch it. You just nod, still absently staring at the orange glow of the lanterns that surround you. 

Jake is on pins and needles as he treads down the lonely path to the smoke that’s riding up in the air still. He’s surrounded by the dark green of nature--the trees, the grass, the bushes. There’s no sound besides the pattering rain and the mud squishing beneath his boots. He’s the best shot between all the counselors, a born and bred Texan, and he isn’t worried about running into anything he can’t handle. 

And then he stumbles upon it, his lantern lighting it in the near-distance. Through the haze of rain, he can see the tree that’s been struck down by lightning. A thick oak tree, one that was tall as it was wide, lays in the middle of the path. It’s still smoking, the scent thickly sitting beneath Jake’s nose. 

“Fuck,” Jake whispers, stepping a bit closer. 

Bits of the bark are blackened and frayed. This is gonna be a bitch to move.

He lets the shotgun sit beside him as he inspects the damage with his hands on his hips. He realizes, with a peculiar sense of dread that tickles his bottom lip and forces it to frown, that they can’t leave until the tree is gone. This is the one and only road off campgrounds. Maybe on foot, sure, but it’s miles and miles of winding path before it gives way to society again. 

“Fuck!” Jake groans again. 

When he trots back to camp, his cheeks flushed and his hair damp, he throws his arms up in exasperation. 

“What’s the prob, Bob?” Payback asks Jake. 

Bob wrinkles his nose--he hates that expression. 

Jake glances at you, tucked under Rooster’s arm with your own arms crossed over your chest, your eyes downcast and your expression void of anything except concern. 

“We’ve got a problem alright,” Jake sighs. “Like, a fifty-foot tall problem.”

𝐅𝐎𝐎𝐓𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: MY FAVORITE THING IS MINGLING TGM QUOTES IN MY DECADE FICS!!!!!!!!!!

𝐌𝐘 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑

#cruel summer #jake hangman x reader #jake hangman seresin #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin #jake x reader #bradley bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x female reader #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #jake seresin x you #Bradley Bradshaw x you #horror au #80s slasher au #nightingale #summer camp au #dagger squad #tgm #tgm au #tgm fanfiction #natasha phoenix trace #javy coyote machado #mickey fanboy garcia #robert bob floyd #reuben payback fitch #Jake Seresin x you x Bradley Bradshaw #hangster love triangle #female reader

[officerrrfriendly]

More To The Story, Chapter Two.

Back to the old house.

chapter one

ThisCharmingGirl: So, what does all this mean? The Russian, the hand signs - why the fuck is his head shaved?!

ThisMustBeThePlace is typing...

ThisMustBeThePlace: See?! Something isn't right. I can't answer your question about the Russian but I can provide you some details on that hand sign. Its the signal for MkUltra- which may explain the shaved head.

"Okay, what the fuck..." you bite your lip anxiously, in an attempt to contain your hysteria, shaking your head before continuing to type.

ThisCharmingGirl is typing...

ThisCharmingGirl: MkUltra?? Like the mind control experiments- I'm freaking the fuck out. And dude-lady, whatever, how do you have access to all of this?

ThisCharmingGirl: sorry. guess I'm just kind of lost.

ThisMustBeThePlace is typing...

typing.....

ThisMustBeThePlace: Firstly, yes - like the mind control experiments run covertly by the CIA in 1953. Secondly, I understand you're panicked, but I'm just a geek who got a little too curious while in an online chatroom. Thirdly, I'm a dude- LOL. Lastly, you don't have to apologise...

Before you could type a response - two new messages appeared on the tiny computer screen.

ThisMustBeThePlace: This would be a whole lot easier to explain over the phone.

The last message was his phone number, along with a 'call me :)'

Sigh.

The dial tone of the landline begins to sound whilst you nervously twist the long wire around your index finger in anticipation. It rings not even four times before somebody answers.

"Hayes residence, Howie here- how can I help?" a deep, mature-sounding voice questioned.

“Oh..Hi! Are you-“ you began to speak,

ThisMustBeThePlace was a man...hm. Not what you were expecting but neither was the idea that Tammy's kid had been abducted by the CIA to experiment with mind control aft-

"That's for me! Sorry Uncle Howie, uhh hello? you still there?" a younger, but still cute voice calls out... he sounds out of breath.

You hear a grumble, assuming it's from the older man as he passes the phone to the person you were really supposed to be conversing with. You nearly forgot to answer, however luckily remembered as you asked, "Hi, yes- uhh, you're the guy I spoke to on AOL?"

His breath catches in his throat for a moment before he continued to speak, he doesn't really speak to girls that often - cut him some slack!!

"Indeed I am...you're charming- I mean uhh, you're ThisCharmingGirl, right?" he stutters, resisting the urge to facepalm himself so hard he knocks his brain out.

You chuckle, quietly- faintly.

He still hears it, and he wishes he could've recorded the sound. Because it was the most beautiful thing he had ever heard.

"And you're the geek who quite enjoys Talking Heads...ThisMustBeThePlace?" you question, glancing beside you at the kitchen counter right where you had brought the small, slightly crinkled missing poster to sit.

He chortles, not so quietly- and replies, "yeah, that's me." - and you think it's the cutest little laugh you've ever heard.

'I wonder what he looks like-' you began to ponder, but didn't allow the thought to live further as you remembered the aim of your call- the small, and endangered boy who sat smiling in his ghostbusters Halloween costume - on the missing poster.

"Shall we...get into the nitty gritty then?"

You had both seemingly talked for hours, and you decided to switch to the cordless phone in your dad's room - which was supposed to be used solely for business - but technically, this was business and very important business at that. You switched to the cordless phone so you could move back to your computer along with a notebook and pen. Finley... you had come to learn his name was - was exclusively the only reason why the notebook had jottings in it in the first place, he was the one providing you with the actual notes. He informed you about MKUltra, its history, its aim and why they had shaved Tommy's full head of chestnut brown, bowl-cut style hair, hypothetically…of course.

You sat in silence for a moment, pondering as you ran your hand that wasn't holding the cordless phone through your hair, something you'd often do when you're stressed.

"I just don't understand, Why him? Why Tommy out of all people, do these MKUltra coo-coo people have a criteria or something?" you broke the silence, with a rather reasonable inquiry.

"Well...I assume it's the same as when cult leaders scout for people to join their cult. They prey on people who are vulnerable, who have weaknesses, trauma..." Finley continued to ramble, it all made sense, in theory- what he was saying but you just couldn't wrap your head around the idea that all of that mind control shit could be happening in your town, Drellington? Really?

It got to around six thirty in the afternoon when you had finally decided to look at the time which was presented at the bottom right of the computer screen.

"Fuck!! Shit!!!" you winced, you were so, irrevocably and unconditionally fucked.

you were late for work, again.

Landon was going to have your head.

After your joyous discovery that you were late for work, for the FOURTH time this week, you quickly wrapped up your phone call with Finley and told him you'd drop him a message when you were home.

Your legs couldn't move fast enough on your rusted, desperately in need of oil- pushbike. You were sure you looked like a total fool as you rushed towards the fat wooden sign engraved with the words 'The Tipsy Tangle' which hung with pride from a lampost.

You were careless once you had reached the double doors of the bar, you dropped your bike and rushed inside. You could already feel Landon's irate gaze as it almost scorched onto the very back of your head.

"Sweeper, get your ass over here- NOW!!" she scolded, angrily calling for you with a vexed gesture of her hand motioning for you to 'come closer.'

You hesitantly began to approach the door of the backrooms, preparing for your untimely death. When suddenly, a voice sparked from behind you, and you didn't even have to turn around to know who it was. “Lord…you, young lady... are in for one hell of a verbal ass-whooping! She's been cursing your damn soul for the past hour and a half." Dean, a regular at the Tipsy Tangle, snorted- shaking his head before picking up his bottle of Heineken beer, raising it to you in a 'cheers' motion before taking a long swig.

"Yeah, thanks for the warning Dean- I couldn't already tell she was mega pissed with me before you said anything." you scowl, sarcasm rich in your tone, before you begin to make your way to the backroom where a very furious Landon awaited your arrival.

"hey, sweeper! are you gonna make me wait any longer than I have been for you?! get your ass back here, pronto!" she growls, fed up.

You practically sprint to the backroom after that.

You begin to apologise before you even enter the small, desolate room full of boxes and barrels of alcohol- an alcoholic's wet dream.

"Listen I know what you're going to say and I cannot apologise enough-"

"NO, you listen sweeper- every damn day of the week so far I have been staying here, making up for you being majorly late!! Working overtime, covering for your ass and quite frankly, it stops NOW," she continues to rant, her hands making quick-paced and angry motions, "it's time for you to C.Y.A, you know what that means sweeper?" she questions, however not giving you time to answer. "Cover. Your-own. Ass. That's what the hell it means, learn it and live by it! No apologies necessary. Now…i'm finally heading home to smoke some pot and sleep. Like I was supposed to do nearly two hours ago!!"

As she left the Tipsy Tangle she apparently took the rest of your words with her as well, she had never exploded at you like that before.

"C.Y.A, noted." you mumble, nodding your head, fatigued.

The rest of your shift played out as it usually did. It was a Thursday night- so you weren't too crowded, thank god.

Randy held a cigarette in his left hand covered with inked tattoos and took a long drag, before blowing out a lengthy trail of smoke. You spoke up, "You know, you should really quit that- your wife doesn't like it very much, Randito." you informed your grumpy boss, nodding towards his wife Cheryl, who was cleaning a table nearby, as you filled up a pint for Dean. Who yes, was still there, hours later.

"Y'know, I didn't hire yew’to be my marriage counsellor, Trevor. I hired you cus' I owed your Pops a favour n'I needed somebody else to help keep Dean-O-holic over here, in check." Randy retorted, disregarding your advice - his tone rich in humour as he nodded to dean who, plastered out of his mind, was singing along to Bon Jovi's 'You Give Love A Bad Name' whilst bopping his head to the beat of the song- anticipating his pint.

Fighting the urge to break into a fit of laughter, you purse your lips closed as you place the pint down in front of Dean- who when he spots the beverage, starts to sing along even more passionately before pausing to take a sip and dramatically sighing after doing so.

You, Dean and Randy burst into a mix of giggles and delighted chuckles. Whilst Randy's wife, Cheryl throws you an amused smile, shaking her head before disappearing into the back of the bar.

Once you had gotten home safe, you thought to quickly hop on AOL and check if Finley had messaged you at all whilst you were at work.

Only one message, you click 'Open.'

ThisMustBeThePlace: Important news!! Call soon, hope you got home okay from work :)

Despite the burning curiosity you had for the important news, you couldn't help but smile when you read the sweet message at the end of his message.

—————

end of chapter two!!

they talked on the phone, and were both nervous- cuties :))

IN SUMMARY,

landon’s mega pissed at you, preaches C.Y.A, finley’s cute AND smart, Deans an alcoholic, Randito’s a chain smoker, and you…are an excellent sweeprr and apparently make a damn good pint!!

@stveharringtn you have been so supportive throughout my whole time so far writing this fic!! thank u sm :))

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fanfic #joe keery fic #joe keery #gator tillman x reader #gator tillman #kurt kunkle smut #kurt kunkle x reader #stranger things fanfiction #normanreedus #oc’s

[thebugthatruinsyourpicnic]

Okay okay okay okay

We all know 15 is important in Hatchetfield.

But you know what else is important? 5.

And because if a free school hour, here is a list

Two actually

15.

TGWDLM, BF and NMT 1 aren't all that heavy on the 15 but 15 minutes into TGWDLM is the meteor sequence, the Apotheosis's first appearance

Hidgens came up with the theory of the Apotheosis 30 years (two 15 year cycles) before it happened

Honey Queen is about the 75th Honey Queen pageant, which is a multiple of 15

Holloway's aliases are good for "about 15 years or so"

The Gift peaks at 15

Hannah is 15

15 years prior to the events of Honey Queen, PEIP opened the portal

Nerdy Prudes Must Die has 15 songs

15 years before NPMD, Solomon obtained the Black Book

Hatchetfield consists of 15 stories (we will not be talking about hey melissa)

5.

Every musical follows 5 main protagonists (or at least focuses on their fate)

Paul, Emma, Bill, Ted and Charlotte

Lex, Hannah, Tom, Becky and Howie

Steph, Pete, Grace, Ruth and Richie

The fifth song in TGWDLM is the song to reveal the Apotheosis (cup of poisoned coffee), which is also sung by 5 people (Nora, Zoey and the three customers)

The fifth song in Nightmare Time 1 and 2 refer to their stories' respective Lords in Black (One Thousand Eyes, the Nibbly Ditty)

The fifth song in NPMD is the first step taken to Max's death and him turning evil (Bully the Bully), which is also sung by 5 people (Steph, Pete, Grace, Ruth and Richie)

There are 5 Lords in Black

If you count the NMT seasons as a single project, Hatchetfield consists of 5 projects

Hatchetfield has been going (as a show) for 5 years

Hannah was born in 2005 on October (the tenth month, 2×5) 5th

In 2005, PEIP opened the portal

In 2005, if the timeline theory is correct which it probably is, the timeline split

The countdown in What If Tomorrow Comes consists of 5 numbers (9 7 5 3 2)

Including the NMT theme, the first episodes of both NMT seasons have 5 songs

NPMD features 5 more stereotypical nerds (the ones in literal monster) and 5 more stereotypical popular kids (the football players and cheerleaders): Pete, Ruth, Richie, Bryce and Kim's characters, and Max, Kyle, Jason, Brenda and Kim's cheerleader

The Lords in Black's song has 5 seperate verses (not counting the final one, because it is a condensed version of the first): their introduction, the Lords in Black we are, the Lords in Black will help you, whatever we want, Stephanie has got a gun

We know 5 disciples of the Lords in Black (that weren't under some form of their influence that we know of like the infected or Linda): Willabella, Wilbur, Roman, Sheila and Grace

We know 5 members of the Church of the Starry Children: the Waylons, Sheila and Mr. Young, Roman

We know 5 people who have frequently used the Black Book: Willabella, Holloway, Grace, Solomon, Jane's patient from the soul transferring ritual

Feel free to add on if I missed anything!!

There are 5 additional Webbies in Yellow Jacket (Naughty Webby, Nerdy Webby, Emo Webby, Peppy Webby, Mom Webby)

There are 5 stories to have mentioned the Black Book (Jane's a Car, the Witch in the Web, Daddy, Killer Track, Nerdy Prudes Must Die)

(edited this to try and make it more coherent)

#and hidgens raises his voice by like 5 octaves for workin boys #starkid #hatchetfield #hatchetfield theory #tgwdlm #the guy who didn't like musicals #black friday #npmd #nerdy prudes must die #npmd spoilers

[mcalhenwrites]

Seasons - excerpts of current WIPs and abandoned side stories

Some of these I’ve shared before, others I have not. There are spoilers for Seasons ahead, so if you haven’t read it, it might be best not to proceed.

[“Cold”]

Vivian’s house is too large, too quiet. It once represented a perfectly oiled machine, the cogs of his magic always spinning to keep his family sheltered.

Now that it has broken down, Vivian sees the signs of wear and tear, of severe neglect.

[“Little Autumn’s Ninth Birthday”] [El’s POV] (Note: The conversation takes place between El and Howie.)

“Jacy’s been restless and keeps looking for you.”

He nods, smiling. “I wouldn’t miss her birthday! How many times does someone turn nine?”

I narrow my eyes, which only makes him laugh, though it seems short. Forced. The bitterness has faded with time, but it hasn’t completely left him.

“When she turns twelve, you can make the same joke.”

“Don’t start, Howard.”

“I’m not starting anything.”

We’re interrupted by a shriek and the running of feet across the floorboards, muffled only by the entryway carpet when Jacy reaches it.

[Untitled, but “Bee” as a placeholder]

The little spring child is sitting among flowers and watching the pollinators. Not just the many bees, but the variety of wasps and other insects that never get associated with their role in spreading plant seeds across the landscape.

Beau—or Bee, as most refer to him—is fond of wasps in a way others aren’t. He appreciates them where others only feel fear.

Some are bright red. (Bee likes that color. He was born from a red tulip, after all.)

[“Opposite of a Mistake”]

What’s the opposite of calling someone a mistake?

“I’m glad you exist.”

“I’m so happy you were born.”

“I love you.”

Shannon says them all in his head or out loud, even as the four-year-old wakes him up at too-early hour, a wide toothy grin lifting his chubby cheeks. Curls halo Jasper’s pleased face.

Jasper doesn’t want his hair cut—cries if anyone suggests it—so Shannon watches as it grows more and more with each passing day.

Shannon brushes some off his son’s forehead as he remains in bed, too willfully tired to get up sooner than five minutes from now. Dawn spills between the curtains, reminding him that he could sleep in for a bit if he didn’t have a child. Wouldn’t need to sleep in if not for that same child.

And that’s fine.

[Untitled, placeholder is “You have a brother”]

“Did you know,” Sophronia begins in a whisper, lips almost pressed to El’s ear, “that we have an older brother? His name is Shannon, and this is his season.”

Summer reminds her of him. It doesn’t matter how much time passes. The memories fade but never disappear. The strong scent of rain-soaked earth or the sweet smell of the rosebuds on the bushes in the garden always bring back her fondest times with him.

Then he did something bad—so bad, her parents couldn’t tell her the details—and she couldn’t even be left alone with him.

“He’s dangerous, Sophie,” Papa would tell her.

“Why?”

“He did something horrible that hurt a lot of people, and I don’t want him to hurt you.”

Her parents never let her ask more questions after that.

She still doesn’t understand why Shannon is a taboo subject and she’s not even allowed to mention he exists. She is the oldest child, and summer is no more.

But summer is now, the cicadas loud in her ears, the sun strong enough to require a parasol. It’s unmistakable that she once knew a skinny young boy with features similar to Papa’s whose hair was as golden as the wheat swaying in the field down the road. He was always warm enough to snuggle in winter beneath the wools and furs.

[Untitled, placeholder “Shannon stuff”]

“Papa, please! Please, don’t leave me in here—”

The sound cuts as Vivian waves his hand impatiently. One snap of the wrist, and the noise—filtered through the cellar and laundry room doors—mutes behind the barrier he has cast.

Vivian sighs and leans back in his chair. It’s a temporary and inauthentic peace, but it provides him with enough time to calm down. If he’s lucky, the boy will as well.

Graham should be home soon. They’ll have to move again, and it needs to happen quickly, before the townspeople arrive to knock down their doors.

It’s all that child’s fault.

Bailey peers up at Vivian as she huddles against the back door. When there’s yelling, she always avoids him. Her tail sits between her legs, ears back, snout down.

Graham returns within the hour, carrying in a freshly snared rabbit for supper. He scares Bailey from her spot, and she slinks off to Shannon’s bedroom—presumably to hide beneath his bed.

The mood of the home is palpable enough that Graham pauses. Vivian sits stiffly at the table, eyes rimmed with red and mouth set in a grim line. His hair is disheveled, like someone tried to pull it from his scalp.

“What happened?” Graham glances around as he sets the rabbit on the bench where he skins and prepares meat. “Where is he?”

Vivian rubs at his face. “Cellar.”

Graham lifts the rabbit back up to slam it down again. “Vivian, we’ve talked about this!” He makes a beeline for the laundry room.

“We have to move. Tonight.”

Graham turns, uneasy eyes falling on Vivian. “What happened?”

“That insolent little fool blurted out something while we were in town. Made a comment that I could just cool myself off with my magic if I was hot. People overheard him.”

“He’s only eleven. He forgot.”

“Don’t make excuses for him. He knew better—he’s always known better! I might never take him into town again. He can stay in the cellar until he’s an adult. Let’s see how well he fares when it’s his magic they’re after! If he gets any magic. I hope not.”

“You don’t mean that—any of that.” When Vivian doesn’t answer, Graham grimaces. “Please tell me you didn’t mean that.”

“I don’t know what I mean, except that it can’t go on like this.”

“How long has he been down there?”

“Two hours, maybe?”

“Vivian!” Graham glances at the laundry room door before turning back to his husband. “He’s so quiet.”

They both are aware of how hard Shannon screams when he’s put down there. How he bangs on the door until his knuckles are bruised. How he scratches at the wood with his nails until they chip to bloody stubs at the quick.

Graham turns to Vivian, eyes narrowed. “I can’t hear anything at all.”

“I used a sound barrier.”

Graham closes his eyes, nostrils flaring with every angry breath.

“I liked living here,” snaps Vivian. “We could’ve eked out a living here for another year or two—maybe even longer, if we were careful. He ruined everything.”

[“Avoiding Guilt”]

Shannon stomped through the tall grass and sniffed at flowers. He chased grasshoppers, marveled at cicada shells, and caught a frog in his little hands.

Vivian followed behind him. Emitted cool air and sighed when it did nothing. Offered smiles he did not feel in his heart when Shannon showed off captures.

“Put them back, don’t hurt them,” Vivian told him.

Shannon listened. Dashed off on his too-quick feet.

[“Summer in Distress” chapter 10]

Shannon drifts on like a breathing specter, living through days he doesn’t want to live, dreaming through nights he doesn’t want to dream.

He survives through decades. His mental health rises and falls like a winding road through hills, and there are times he’s grateful to Phineas, who holds all the credit for getting him through his lowest days.

[“Cosmos” chapter 1] (Note: this is a backstory about Vivian, and he doesn’t have a name at first.)

The boy is four—unbeknownst to him—with grubby hands that clench the hem of his over-sized tunic. His fierce stare is full of a level of hatred no child his age should know. The bruises wrap around his ribcage, the coloration a time-line of different beatings.

Some of his scars and bruises are from his parents’ children, some from his parents.

[“Seasons”, new chapter to insert (the new chapter 20)] [Vivian’s POV]

My children have begun to make a habit of disappearing from my household. First Howie left with the intention of following me to work, then El went into town to track his sister, and now Howie has decided to run away.

I should have anticipated this from him. He has pushed at the seams of my magic and my patience, wandering into territory I warned him not to go. The other boys back off, but Howard refuses to heed my warnings.

This second time leaving the property appears to be an attempt at running away.

Graham is angry at me and can barely conceal it. This, he claims, is all my doing. Now he fears for Howie’s safety, as if my own concerns aren’t equal to his.

[“Seasons”, possibly the new chapter 22] [Vivian’s POV]

No summer. No foul summers, hot and humid and screaming…

#Seasons excerpts #again these are WIPs or just flat-out abandoned #so don't expect perfection please

[mariacallous]

It only took a jury four hours to decide that former FTX CEO Sam Bankman-Fried had committed large-scale fraud—and that included their dinner break. Leading politicians, investors, and observers, not to mention a number of high-profile journalists, in contrast, managed to stay oblivious to it for years. Two recent books illustrate how and why he got away with it, at least for a while.

The first one, Going Infinite: The Rise and Fall of a New Tycoon by Michael Lewis, illustrates it by example. Early reviews alerted me that the book took a charitable view of SBF and his enterprise, and yet I still struggled to believe what I was reading as I started making my way through it. The preface is a flashback to 2021. Interesting, I thought—Lewis is taking us back to the day when he fell for SBF’s narrative of crypto-fueled do-goodery. That assessment was overly optimistic.

The first real chapter of the book is a litany of examples of Bankman-Fried behaving like an unbearable, childish jackass who lies a lot … written in the manner of a hagiography. “The funny thing about these situations was that Sam never really meant to cause them.” Lewis writes. “He didn’t mean to be rude. He didn’t mean to cause chaos in other people’s lives. … With him it was never personal. If he stood you up, it was never on a whim, or the result of thoughtlessness. It was because he’d some math in his head that proved that you weren’t worth the time.”

It does not improve much from there. Somehow, the villain of his book is John Ray, the current FTX CEO, who was appointed after the crypto exchange’s bankruptcy, and whose filings suggest that he has made significant progress in recovering missing customer funds.

The second book, Easy Money: Cryptocurrency, Casino Capitalism, and the Golden Age of Fraud by Ben McKenzie with Jacob Silverman, illustrates Bankman-Fried’s rise and fall by painting a picture of the whole crypto industry as a hive of scams and villainy. Its basic argument runs as follows. Loose monetary policy after the global financial crisis of 2007-09 and bailouts of chunks of the financial industry produced a context of distrust that facilitated the creation of cryptocurrencies as an alternative to sovereign money.

A new wave of easing was set loose when the COVID-19 pandemic triggered an economic crisis and led to a situation where asset bubbles were more likely. The main bubble that flourished was crypto, and with bubbles come fraudulent schemes—or so the story goes.

The juxtaposition of the two stories highlights an interesting aspect of SBF’s rise and fall: the class markers that convinced those around him that he was a genius, not a spoiled con artist. Sure, macroeconomic conditions mattered. In response to concerns about currency debasement and expansionary monetary policy as drivers of cryptomania, I would make note of the generous U.S. fiscal response to the pandemic that gave households plenty of cash to speculate with, as well as the boredom of especially the first months of the pandemic. I ended up watching all of the films Jeanne Dielman and Sátántangó for the first time; far be it from me to blame people for turning to drinking or gambling.

But macroeconomic conditions alone do not account for Lewis’s sympathetic approach to SBF. Lewis wrote The Big Short! The heroes of that story are the likes of Steve Eisman and Meredith Whitney, not Joseph Cassano and Howie Hubler: the people who saw through the bubble, not the people who gambled and lost. A Going Infinite­-style account of the global financial crisis would find a man who behaved obnoxiously while assigning incorrect ratings to collateralized debt obligations and treat him sympathetically, if not admiringly. And that’s even before we get to the fraud that Bankman-Fried so clearly committed.

While the macroeconomic context may offer a partial explanation for the crypto bubble, it does not explain why Lewis and many others admired SBF the way they did. Nor do the regular features of every bubble—the fact that lots of money is involved, or that riding a bubble until (just before) it bursts can be very profitable, while shorting one is difficult.

A number of idiosyncratic characteristics of the crypto bubble, and of SBF and his firm, may better explain their appeal. First, there is the nature of the technology—can we say of the securities?—itself. While the underlying assets in the global financial crisis were tangible, cryptocurrencies, with their reliance on algorithms and distributed consensus and proof-of-work or proof-of-stake mechanisms, are very much unlike real estate. Who are we to doubt those who know magic?

There was a deep conviction among those who didn’t understand crypto that there must be something to making money out of thin air, even as skeptics pointed out that it was, in fact, just as stupid as it sounded.

All that was happening was large-scale gambling: Will the price of Dogecoin, featuring the face of a Shiba Inu dog, continue to go up? Will the official cryptocurrency of the Cameroonian separatist entity of Ambazonia appreciate further? What will this non-fungible token representing Twitter co-founder Jack Dorsey’s first tweet sell for tomorrow? Nothing but a continued inflow of speculative cash could keep these bets afloat; no value or income was being generated by the underlying technologies.

Then there was the ideological edge of the movement. While the housing bubble was aligned with a political push to promote homeownership and a broader ownership society, those ideas never inspired the kind of commitment that crypto does among its biggest fans. That commitment is fueled by skepticism of government-issued currencies and an appreciation of some level of privacy (or an even more hard-line libertarian attraction to the ability to pay for illegal goods and services, or to evade taxes).

McKenzie highlights a related aspect of the crypto craze: its cultlike nature. The loss of trust in traditional financial institutions that he diagnoses created a desire for community that manifested itself in the creation of multilevel marketing (MLM) dynamics of enthused individuals spreading the gospel of the new currencies. The get-togethers and online communities that he describes in the fourth chapter of his book highlight how this works in practice—a world where “being scammed is a necessary educational experience in order to be reborn in the community of the free.”

For a more recent illustration of the bizarre groupings forming around blockchain technology, I refer you to a Bored Ape Yacht Club event that took place in Hong Kong earlier this month, where attendees who had paid thousands of dollars to say they owned digital art of an ape gathered to accidentally get blinded, reportedly by shoddy ultraviolet lights. Cryptocurrencies and related technologies are better suited for MLM schemes, because unlike mortgage derivatives, retail investors can easily access this gambling technology.

But to some extent, all of that was for the rubes, and SBF was playing at a very different level—one where he was able to con people as smart as Lewis. The cult-like scene most important to SBF’s appeal to intellectuals was a different one: the world of so-called effective altruism.

This is a movement focused, at least in theory, on doing good effectively and efficiently. It is associated with ideas ranging from the purely altruistic—such as kidney donations—and the relatively uncontroversial—cost-benefit analysis: dollar for dollar, do mosquito nets save more lives than water sanitation projects?—to more speculative ones, such as an emphasis on long-term catastrophic risk and “earning to give.”

Assessments of existential risk often come down to calculations involving small, hard-to-estimate probabilities, as well as difficult decisions around modeling uncertainty and the relative value of benefits enjoyed by future generations. This leaves a lot of room for rigging the numbers—especially when science-fiction fantasies about the impact on future generations come into play. Why eradicate malaria today when you could save billions of lives in the future from the threat of super-intelligent artificial intelligence—by investing in a buddy’s project?

That suspicion was not alleviated by the calculations a prominent effective altruist produced to show that donating $50 million to his buddy’s congressional campaign would serve humanity better than donating it to various charitable purposes. Earning to give, which SBF claimed to engage in, is the idea that instead of working directly toward one’s cause, one should maximize one’s earnings and use the proceeds for good.

This should, of course, trigger at least two concerns. One, how do you commit to using the proceeds that way as opposed to channeling them to your relatives? Two, once you place yourself at a remove from the good works, what constraints remain? Does consequentialism force you to violate rules, norms, and basic accounting standards?

Effective altruism is important to the story of FTX both directly—Bankman-Fried recruited a good number of self-described effective altruists to work for his firm, and he used the network to raise money for his crypto exchange—and for our purpose of figuring out why SBF was and remains so appealing to at least some outside observers.

A few examples: In May 2022, commentator Matthew Yglesias wrote a piece titled “Understanding Effective Altruism’s move into politics” with the subheading “SBF is for real,” a judgment based, among other things, on the academic work of Bankman-Fried’s mother: “SBF was raised by a leading consequentialist moral theorist.”

Writing for the New Yorker, Gideon Lewis-Kraus argued earlier this month that “one can’t help but feel like the existence of the trial, as necessary as it is, seems a little arbitrary” because Bankman-Fried might well have gotten away with his crimes. Perhaps long-termism, taken to an extreme, leads one to think that of life as a mere game of probabilities without real stakes, not unlike the video games that he so obnoxiously used to play (not very well) during video calls.

Either way, effective altruism gave SBF, and crypto with it, a veneer of respectability that it might not have had otherwise. The alternatives, like the argument that the purpose of our large-scale gambling is to give the unbanked access to financial services, were not an easy sell.

The effective altruism connection does not matter solely because of the ideas and human resources it brought SBF. The movement is one with close ties to elite academia, associated with academics such as Will MacAskill at the University of Oxford, who served on the board of a grantmaking operation funded by FTX and was a close SBF associate, or Peter Singer at Princeton University. Bankman-Fried’s father is a professor at Stanford Law School, though he also worked for FTX for 11 months. His mother is a professor emeritus at Stanford Law School, where she specialized in the field of legal ethics, such as it is.

These connections—and these are certainly not the only ones—may explain some of the sway that SBF had over America’s intellectuals. “None of what the Bankman-Frieds did was for show; they weren’t that kind of people,” writes Michael Lewis.

FTX’s post-bankruptcy lawyers allege that the couple enriched themselves by accepting $26.4 million from their son. Surely our kind of people wouldn’t do such a thing.

[nekoannie-chan]

Moments of love

Pairing: Steve Rogers X Reader.

Word count: 1170 words.

Summary: Some of Steve and you're reconciliations at certain times.

Warnings: Little angst.

A/N: This is my gift to @there-goes-thefighter​  Bri’s 200 (almost) Follower Celebration with prompt #12:

"Moments of reconciliation.”

@saiyanprincessswanie​

My native language is Spanish so I wanna improve my writing skills in English if you notice any mistakes, please let me know and I will correct them.

I don’t give any kind of permission that my fics to be posted on other platforms or languages (I translate myself my work) or the use of my graphics (my dividers are included in this), I did them exclusively for my fics, please respect my work and don't steal it. There are some people here who make dividers that anyone can use, mine is not this type, please look for the other's people. The only exception is the ones I gifted 'cuz now belong to someone else. If you find any of my works on a different platform and are not one of my accounts, please let me know. Reblogs and comments are always welcome.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Marvel's characters (unfortunately), except for the original characters and the story.

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Tags: @sinceimetyou​ @unnuevosoltransformalarealidad​ @navybrat817​ @angrythingstarlight​ @shield-agent78​ @charmed-asylum​  @pandaxnienke​ @real-fbi​ @smokeandnailz ​ @white-wolf1940​ @tenaciousperfectionunknown​ @xoxonotme​ @bluemusickid​ @leyannrae​  @harrysthiccthighss​ @marvelatthisone​ @hallecarey1​ @sapphire-rogers​ @lizzieolseniskinda @notyourtypicalrose​ @caplanbuckybarnes​ @nana1000night​ @talia-rumlow​  @writingshae​ @alexxavicry​ @azulatodoryuga​  @daemonslittlebitch​​

You sighed. Steve was twenty minutes late. You would wait for him for ten more minutes, or else you would leave. It wasn't the first time he was late because of something stupid he did.

Five minutes later, Bucky arrived, and you sighed again. That only meant one thing, and you were definitely not happy. You knew Steve wasn't going to make it.

"Now what did Steve do?" you asked, annoyed.

"Well...

"Now who did he fight with?"

"With a guy who was bothering a lady at the bus stop, but he asked me to give this to you," Bucky said as he stretched out his arm to give you the bouquet Steve had bought for you.

"You know what, forget it," you said as you turned to walk away.

About three hours later, your doorbell rang, and when you opened it, you were surprised to see Steve.

"What are you doing here?" you asked.

"I came to apologize; I must have missed our appointment." Steve kept looking at the floor; he knew he had done the same thing several times, and he would also understand any decision you made.

"Come in," you said as you stepped aside for him to enter.

He handed you a letter; after you read it, you accepted his apology; he promised it would be the last time that happened, and you ended up kissing.

"Steve, I told you I was only looking at the car, not at Howie or whatever his name is," you repeated for the fifth time. Although you couldn't deny that you liked to see your husband jealous,

"By the way, I finally did it," Steve said suddenly.

"What did you do?" You were confused; one moment you were talking about "flying" cars, and now you didn't know what he meant.

"I was accepted into the army," he finally confessed.

"Steve, we had agreed on something," you said, "and if he went, it would be impossible for them to survive with the expenses you had."

"You have nothing to worry about; you're going with me."

Steve always promised you that he would never abandon you. You didn't agree with the serum and so on, but you were still together; however, you couldn't deny that you were afraid of what could happen because you had heard so many stories. Your biggest fear was that you could not return home together. He was the love of your life.

Steve took your face between his hands while you were kissing, and that kiss was very different from all the others he had given you; he felt very sad as if it were the last one you would give each other.

"Steve, don't you dare," you asked; you knew it was what he wanted to do. If only he would let you go with him, at least maybe you would be together until the end.

However, he did not listen to you and went up to that ship, where the enemy was.

You ran to the control tower; you needed to locate him and know where he was. As soon as he could answer the transmission, it was not very clear what he was saying; there was too much interference, although it seemed to you that you could hear what he wanted to tell you despite the bad communication.

And for the first time, you knew that there would be no reconciliation; everything seemed to indicate that your husband would not return; you did not know what you were supposed to do now; you had entered the program because of him; you had known each other all your lives.

"I can't believe what he says, Steve; my Steve died on that ship to stop the Red Skull," your voice faltered, still reeling from your ordeal, let alone what Nick Fury had just told you.

The last words Steve had said to you—no, the fragments of the words—the communication was so choppy, you couldn't get it out of your head.

After Nick explained a few other things to you, you were finally able to go to him. He looked puzzled, and you felt that way too when you woke up.

"Steve!" You threw yourself into his arms, and he caught you.

You had missed him so much that all you wanted was for it not to be a dream.

Hours later, you entered the apartment where you lived. Although you had not yet learned how to use all the electronics, Fury thought it was time for you to begin to enter this era by yourself. Of course, that would not prevent you from helping Steve; you have always helped each other.

"They told me that the building where we lived was demolished, so we were left without a home, but S.H.I.E.L.D. gave me this apartment to live in; I don't think there's any problem if we stay together," you explained as you entered.

Although it seemed very minimalist, you knew he would help you make it look more like a home—maybe not the one you had before the army, but one that was special to both of you.

"I'm sorry," Steve said suddenly.

"You didn't do anything wrong," you replied, not understanding what he meant.

"I left you alone and..."

Then you understood what he meant; although you were not angry, you had never been angry about what he did; you had only felt lonely and sad because you thought his fate had been fateful.

"It's okay, Steve; you don't have to worry; you didn't want me to get hurt," you interrupted him with a smile.

You kept telling him what had happened after his disappearance until everything became hazy and blurry, then when you were discovered, and what had happened up until that morning.

"There's something I don't understand," Steve lamented.

"What?"

"How come you're here?" They told me, "It's been a long time, you know."

"That's right, Steve, I don't understand it either; things are still very confusing, but now that we're together, we can survive all of this."

"Together, like we always have."

You nodded. Nothing was going to separate them.

"We have a lot of anniversaries to celebrate," you reminded him.

"We could go to that coffee shop where I asked you to marry me," he proposed.

"It won't be possible, honey, because they closed it a long time ago; now there is a different store."

"No problem, we'll figure it out; now explain to me what that strange rectangular thing is," Steve said, pointing to the laptop.

"It's a computer; I still don't understand how to use it, but we can watch movies on it."

"On that little thing?" Steve sounded very surprised; he had never thought of anything like that. What happened to movie theatres?

"Movie theatres still exist; people go, but you can also watch them as many times as you want without having to go; it doesn't matter what era the movies are; you just find them."

Steve took your hand.

#bri's 200 followers celebration #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x y/n #Steve Rogers #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers fic

[snixx]

the way #hsmtmts is my top tag on here by such a huge margin with almost triple the number of posts as the next highest tag makes me so emo because this show was such a core part of my adolescence you don't understand. i remember freaking out over the trailer because it looked so good as a hsm fan freshly in high school (and a gleek oops) i remember simping over gina from day fucking one (some things never change and i literally mean never that's been such a constant lol) i remember freaking out over carlos ("HE IS SO MEEEEEEEEEEE") and watching every episode as it came out on fmovies i remember girls with dietary restrictions i remember olivia blowing up and the driver's license drama i remember good 4 u releasing with season 2 and sour coming out on the literal same day as the second episode of season 2 and that album defining my summer and getting diagnosed and on meds and finally becoming somewhat mentally stable!!! i remember being a diehard gini shipper i remember all the jokes and niche fandom references i remember when we used to joke about ej's name being elton john before it ever became canon this show literally started in my first year of high school and ended right after my senior year i remember watching literally every episode as it came out between twelve hours of coaching classes after looking forward to it all week and when my best friend and i would do matching pfps from each new episode and how she converted me into a caswen truther i remember the aro kourtney theorizing because her last name was revealed the same episode she was wearing a meh shirt for valentines day i remember how cute she was with howie only for that to go literally nowhere i remember crying at fucking let it go because she slayed absolute fucking cunt and after watching her blossom into THAT. i remember the FEELS at nini's goodbye and hating on rini for two seasons straight and still getting emo over their breakup despite rooting for it all season i remember being in the trenches of the rini-rina-portwell war i remember saying id kill the writers for making portwell romantic and then shipping it with my life when it happened and the disappointment at how dirty they were done i remember hating rina for two seasons straight and then shipping them too after everything i remember hating richard bowen for three years straight but he is my child now what can i say he grew on me like a fungus. this show frustrated me so much but they will always be my comfort gay theatre kids and this will always be my show and i have so much emotional nostalgia attached to it and i miss it:')

#hsmtmts #gina my beloved </3

[mythandlaur]

Epithet Erased Week - Day 7

I had a hard time picking an AU for this but once I did holy crap. Uh. This may have gotten a bit out of hand, and some parts may be a bit extraneous, but I'm determined to keep all of them. It might also be a bit incoherent because I spat it out in a two hour sitting and didn't edit it it just kind of showed up???

This is set in the Psychonauts AU I posted about a while ago since people seemed to like it??? I guess we'll test that now.

Because one part in this nonsense might make people think it, I do not ship Molly and Sylvie. Sylvie's just being a good therapist/friend in a scene partially inspired by something I'd like to write in the future but am not sure I'll ever get around to because it's part of a whole plot I'd like to write and I don't know the details of that entire plot.

Reminder that because day 8 (redesign) is impossible to do in writing I'll be skipping straight to day 9! Holy god am I actually going to finish one of these

Warning for written potential thalassophobia triggers

--

"Well," Sylvie says dryly, watching the group of tiny, googly-eyed, brightly-colored octopi marching along the sand in front of him carrying a 2x4 like a colony of ants carrying a corn flake. "I don't know what I expected."

The sun beats down from some unseen point in the clear blue sky overhead, warming their faces. Molly's already opted to tie her bear hoodie around her neck by the arms rather than wear it, and Sylvie's considering following her lead with his own jacket, though Percy seems more than comfortable in her trenchcoat. The island they'd arrived on is spacious but sparse, mostly covered in palm trees with purple leaves. The only denizens are the octopi in various sizes and colors, who appear to be building a cabin at the treeline--at least, the ones who aren't goofing off on the beach.

"...Hmph." Percy rests a hand on her hip, watching the builder octopi with narrowed eyes. "Howie would throw a fit if he saw this."

"Um...doesn't he hate psychics," Molly asks tentatively, raising a hand.

"Oh, yes, in a sense. But also I highly doubt these building conditions are OSHA compliant. Not a single piece of safety equipment to be seen anywhere."

"Ugh." Sylvie begins to pace along the shore, cupping his chin in one hand and holding his elbow with the other. "This doesn't make any sense."

"I agree," Percy says with a sage nod. "Even in a mental world, safety is important."

"What--no! Not that." Sylvie shakes his head, gesturing with one hand. "This can't be all there is here. That's not how memories work."

Molly rocks on her feet, hands clasped in front of her. "You said you talked to him yesterday, right?"

"I interviewed him, yes." Sylvie wiggles his finger in a spiral pattern in the air to illustrate his point. "I've been able to get suppressed memories that way before, and we got pretty deep into his subconscious, but then he just...hit a wall. It was almost like it hurt him."

"Hurt him?" Molly frowns. "Should we really be doing this, then?"

"No, no--he was still trying to remember, he wanted to, he just...couldn't for some reason."

"May I suggest we check around the perimeter," Percy says. "There may be something here we're missing."

"Yeah, yeah, sure. Molly?"

"Okay."

"And do be careful." Percy squints suspiciously at a group of octopi building an elaborate sand castle nearby. "Despite the cheerful setting, we don't know what might be lurking behind those adorable googly eyes."

Sylvie, Molly, and one of the builder octopi stare at Percy in utter bewilderment, before Sylvie tugs on Molly's arm and they start walking.

There really isn't that much more to see along the rest of the shoreline, which Sylvie supposes makes sense. Molly, Phoenica, and Trixie had only brought the mysterious and enthusiastic "Rick Shades" back to the training facility about a week ago, and he'd been all but a babbling mess for the first few hours due to starvation and dehydration. After that, he'd claimed to be suffering nearly all-consuming retrograde amnesia, though this certainly hadn't stopped him from immediately trying to make friends with absolutely everyone in the building. He had an odd way of going about things and very little social sense, but he'd proven a rather capable psychic when it came to the more physical abilities, and did not hesitate to share his bizarre techniques with anyone who would listen (and some who wouldn't).

Sylvie had tried his own brand of hypnotherapy on him, but it had gone poorly, ending up with Rick facedown on the floor apologizing for ten minutes. So, with Rick's permission, they'd decided to try to find the problem at its source. Neither Sylvie nor Molly could be dissuaded from the opportunity--Sylvie for the potential learning experience, and Molly to help in lieu of Phoenica, who had become extremely attached to Rick and extremely invested in his well-being--and, considering it was supposed to be relatively safe, had been allowed to as long as Percy supervised.

Their scouting is uneventful (aside from a brief glimpse of some censors chasing some octopi around in a circle, both parties letting out constant high-pitched screaming), and eventually Sylvie sits down in the sand with a huff, putting his face in his hands.

"There shouldn't be so little here!" He cracks one eye open to stare off into the distance, where all that can be seen is an infinite expanse of crystal blue water. "No vaults, no baggage, not even figments. Memories don't just disappear, they've got to be somewhere in here!"

"Um..." Molly sits down next to him, awkwardly patting his arm. "...It's okay if we don't find anything. He seems pretty happy."

"But I have to figure this out now."

"You really don't." Molly smiles, a little strained. "We can just go! It's fine."

"Ms. Blyndeff is correct." Percy inclines her head. "It's possible there may be something in the trees, but I'm beginning to get a bad feeling about this place."

"You don't get it, just--let me think."

Molly's face falls, and her gaze drops to the sand as she scoots away from him, eventually getting back up to do some pacing of her own. Really, it's not her fault, it's no one's fault, but--Sylvie considers himself an expert at interpreting things like dreams and mental worlds, it's the thing he's good at even compared to the adults. It's the thing people have to take seriously about him, and if he fails to figure out the first slightly unorthodox mind he comes across, then...!

"Sylvie!"

Sylvie's head snaps up. "What?"

Molly's standing ankle-deep in the water with her back to him, pointing. Sylvie pulls himself to his feet, walking over to stand next to her with Percy close behind.

"I thought I saw something in the water--a light?"

"A light?" Sylvie steps forward, until he's waist-deep, trying not to think about his soggy jacket--it's technically not real water and he isn't actually wet, but it sure feels like it. After a moment of hesitation, Sylvie pulls off his glasses, hooks them on his collar, and dunks his head to get a less distorted view.

The island's shore drops off sharply a little ways in front of them, leaving what looks to be empty, dark water extending to a dizzying depth below. As his eyes adjust slightly, Sylvie can make out vague shapes moving underneath, and--

Lights. Colorful lights, like neon signs, blinking somewhere far, far below.

Sylvie stands up straight, head breaking the water with a splash. He's sure his hair looks very pitiful, flat and soggy around his shoulders, but for once he doesn't care. "Of course!" He smacks the heel of his hand into his forehead. "Stupid Sylvester, stupid."

Percy and Molly wade forward to join him, though Molly has to stop as the water reaches her neck, looking both resigned and vaguely annoyed by her own height. "You see something?" Percy asks.

"Molly's right--there's lights, and I see some other stuff. Of course it's all down there!"

"That's great," Molly chirps, though her face is quick to fall again. "But...how do we get down there?"

Sylvie's face twists in disgust. "I guess we're swimming." He hates swimming.

"...How?"

Sylvie turns to her. "Do you not know how to swim?"

"Oh, no, I do, I taught myself!" Sylvie opens his mouth to question that, but not for the first time decides it's really not worth it. "I just figure we're gonna have an issue with...uh...air?"

"Heh." Sylvie reaches up to push up his glasses dramatically, though he forgets they're still on his collar and instead just pokes the bridge of his nose awkwardly. He pretends he meant to do that. "Oh, Molly. You're really gonna need to open your mind a little if you want to get stronger."

Molly gives him a flat look. "Uh-huh. So...you have a way around that, or...?"

"We all do!" Sylvie gestures out into the water. "Essentially, we're in something very much like a dream right now, and dreams don't always have to follow the rules of physics. The same goes for mental worlds. We can't exactly change somebody else's like you could change your dreams, but we can do enough to make a place for ourselves in it."

"You're saying we can breathe underwater?"

"Exactly! If we will it."

Molly tilts her head down slightly, though isn't able to look too far down given the fact that her chin is barely above water. "...I don't know."

"Mr. Ashling is right," Percy says with a nod. "It's been well-documented."

"I'm probably not gonna be able to do it," Molly says, backing up towards the shore.

Sylvie frowns, expression softening somewhat as he matches her steps. Molly always seems...pretty self-deprecating about her own powers. It'd been that way since he'd met her all those months ago, and he can't for the life of him figure out why, aside from the bizarre family issues she's vaguely alluded to. But she's certainly capable. The one time they'd dueled, she'd managed to completely cut off his senses of sight and sound, and blocked his attempts at clairvoyance to get at least some idea of what he was doing. He'd never been beaten before!

"...Molly, I may be a genius, but you're just as capable as everyone else." Somewhere in the back of his mind, Beefton lets him know that came out a bit underhanded. Too late now. He shakes his head. "Here, let's try something."

Sylvie steps forward, holding out both hands. Molly hesitates, but takes them, putting on his best therapist voice.

"Close your eyes. I'm gonna start walking backwards with you, and you're just gonna focus on my hands, and your breathing. Not on the water. It's pretty mild in temperature, it's basically not even here. And you're gonna keep breathing. If you have any trouble with it, we'll get you out, and we'll leave. Okay?"

Molly nods. Sylvie glances to Percy, who nods as well and moves to stand behind Molly, arms held out. Sylvie begins walking backwards, trying to make as little noise as possible as Molly's hands grip his tighter.

Her head goes underwater before his does, and he can't help but tense a bit, but she doesn't even seem to notice. Sylvie grins at Percy, who gives him a faint smile back. Man, he's good.

Another large step backwards, and Sylvie's underwater as well. It's a bit strange to keep breathing when his mind is trying to tell him he's underwater, but he gets the hang of it after a couple seconds. He keeps stepping them back until they reach the dropoff.

"Okay." His voice is maybe a bit muffled, but at least not too terribly distorted. "You can open your eyes now."

Molly does--and gasps, then clamps a hand over her mouth. Sylvie holds onto her other hand, and for a moment it looks like she's going to panic...before she smiles.

"...Feenie's gonna be really jealous," she says. "She can't swim at all. Oh! And this might help with Lori's stuff!"

Sylvie nods, though he's still not sure what that means, exactly. Molly lets go of his hand and does a messy breaststroke forward, looking down.

"And that's the light I saw!"

"It's quite a ways down," Percy says, now underwater with them with her arms staunchly at her sides as she kicks her legs like a mermaid. Sylvie can't imagine it's effective, but she looks as deadly serious as always. "Shall we get going?"

"We shall," Sylvie replies, extremely pleased with himself. Everything's suddenly coming up aces for him--and figuring out the mystery of this mental world will be the icing on the proverbial cake.

--

Percy's method of swimming isn't really effective--until she summons a psionic pair of flippers in translucent periwinkle around her feet, and a levitation orb to hold like a motor. Sylvie kicks himself for not thinking of it, but lets her swim ahead while he and Molly work out how to at least do the levball trick, though neither of them are quite as good at it. The glow at least helps as the water grows darker.

Sure enough, everything is under the surface. They pass some figments early on (Molly points out ones that look like her, Phoenica, and Trixie), then some surreal-looking sea life including a quite literal sea horse, then some aquatic variants of common mental denizens (there's something about a censor in a full business suit with a very sparkly mermaid tail that Sylvie finds almost unreasonably funny, though the quantity of regrets taking the form of oozy jellyfish are somewhat concerning).

Thankfully, pressure appears to be as much of a non-issue as air, though as they travel further down, the lights in the distance don't seem to get any closer. Strange shapes begin to form in the shadows cast by their levballs, and Percy bids the two to stay back as she investigates. Molly presses a finger to her temple, a green glow signaling her attempting to boost Percy's sense of sight, and Sylvie closes his eyes, mentally reaching out until he can see through Percy's eyes.

In the pale blue glow of her orb, the shape glints like metal, though it's dark as obsidian and covered in spikes. Sylvie can sense Percy's sudden spike of concern from behind her eyes, and quickly snaps back to himself, swimming backwards with Molly following after.

"Stay put," Percy says, swimming a ways back as well--before shooting a blast of blue psionic energy at the shape.

The white flash as it explodes only serves to contrast the black lightning it produces, reaching out hungry tendrils into the water around it like a living thing. There's a couple of other explosions from nearby mines, and as the ringing in his ears fades, Sylvie can hear what sounds like a very large group of censors approaching at speed.

"Go," Percy demands, and the kids don't have to be told twice. The trio speed downwards, and when Sylvie glances over his shoulder, though he can't see the lightning against the dark water, he can faintly make out the shapes of large censors beating at it--and disintegrating.

"...Judging by the speed of the reaction, these things definitely represent a major concern," Sylvie says.

"They're everywhere," Molly breathes, turning her green orb this way and that to shine its faint light on more obsidian mines.

Percy turns to Sylvie, frowning deeply. "Any thoughts, Mr. Ashling?"

"I...can't be sure if this is what's causing the problem, but it might be a sign pointing towards it. It's likely representing a desire to keep something away from this part of the mental world, but I can't tell by looking if they're artificial or not."

"Perhaps we should retreat for the moment."

"No!" Sylvie's eyes practically glint in his own orange light as he points downwards. "We're definitely getting closer now. We just need to be careful and--"

Something cuts him off.

It's a groan like a creaking ship mixed with a crooning whale, far away and yet loud enough to rattle all of their ribcages and set the water around them vibrating. Percy quickly darts out in front of them, dispelling her flippers and levball in favor of a cutlass made out of pure psionic energy, her signature weapon. Sylvie pulls Molly back by the shoulders, casting about with his mind for the sound's source.

He does find a presence, but it's a bit like turning on your headphones only to find you left the volume on all the way up, and it almost physically blasts him backwards. He only realizes he'd started sputtering when Molly shakes his shoulders.

"Are you okay?!"

"I--yes--it--very loud--"

The sound comes again, though this time with a note of anger. Something rises up before them, effortlessly pushing aside the mines. In the faint light of Percy's sword, they can make out a round, bulbous shape in a mottled, sickly blue color. As it moves up and up and up, the light shines off sunken googly eyes, over a very, very large mass of tentacles that stretch into the darkness below. The whole thing looks like a mix of the worker octopi, the aquatic variety of regrets, and Cthulhu itself, and though not all of it is visible, Sylvie guesses it's at least the size of a house.

("BEEFTON CANNOT SWIM,") Sylvie's archetype loudly reminds him in his head.

At the same time, Percy dismisses her sword and grabs them both in large psionic hands. "Retreat!"

Percy shoots upwards like a rocket just as the creature swings a tentacle at her, dragging the kids along behind with her constructs. Molly practically clings to Sylvie's arm as Sylvie looks down, trying to get a better look at the creature, but the darkness is quick to claim it. It wails again, very loud, too loud, but it doesn't sound like it's following them.

Percy maneuvers them deftly through the minefield into comparatively shallower waters, and they're high enough to find a school of regrets before she dares to stop.

They're all gasping for air despite being underwater, hearts pounding. Molly only extricates herself from Sylvie after a solid minute, wrapping her arms around herself instead. "What. Was that."

"I don't know," Sylvie admits, too frazzled to think up an excuse or explanation. "Clearly whatever it is he doesn't know it's there or I feel like he would've said something!"

"Clearly, we should leave," Percy says, already digging in her pocket for her salts. "Mr. Shades needs to be made aware of this immediately."

"W-wait!" Molly waves her hands. "S-should we really tell him about this? I feel like it'll freak him out. I mean...it was only after we got past the big do not enter mines that it showed up, right?"

"Only after we got close to the lights..." Sylvie's brows furrow. "Maybe it's...protecting whatever's down there? It didn't seem benign, but it didn't follow us, either..." Sylvie shakes his head. "You might be right, Molly. Maybe we should think about this a little more."

"I am a mere security officer here to ensure your safety," Percy says, hand solemnly over her chest. "I will defer to your judgment."

"Thank you." Though it's just Percy being Percy, he does appreciate that she's always treated him like an adult, exactly the same way she'd treat everyone else. He's never felt looked down on by her, which is why he'd been willing to have her along.

And he supposes she had saved their rears just now...Sylvie doesn't really have much combat ability outside of his aspect, and he knows Molly doesn't either--or at least, none she's willing to use, if the faint hints she's dropped to a pyrokinetic ability are correct. If either of them have a problem, they think and trick their way out of it. Something about the sheer noise of that construct's mind makes Sylvie think outsmarting it probably wouldn't have been possible.

Sylvie takes a deep breath, and lets it out in a long sigh, hand traveling to his own pocket. "Okay. Yeah. I think we're done here. Molly?"

"Fine by me." She fumbles around in the hoodie still tied around her shoulders like a cape. "But I think I'm gonna have to tell Trixie and Giovanni about the squid."

"You're--!"

But Molly's already gone. He gives Percy a sort of desperate, frustrated look, only getting her usual flat expression in reply. Sylvie huffs, and braces himself.

--

Sylvie's chin drops forward before he jolts upright and alert, coughing violently into his sleeve. He always thinks this time he'll be prepared for the smell, but it never gets any better--though he supposes that's the point. Doesn't make it any less unpleasant, and it sticks in his nose for what feels like forever.

"Oh! Hello!"

He looks up from his hacking fit to see Rick, sitting in the dentist's-office-looking chair where they'd left him nose-deep in a comic book. He's grinning, as usual.

"That was very strange to watch!"

Sylvie swipes at his nose with his jacket sleeve. "Mhm." He takes a moment to get his bearings, then stands, glancing over to find Molly and Percy already on their feet, Molly pulling a face (presumably also at the salts).

Rick puts the comic book facedown on the table next to him and hops to his feet, clapping his hands together eagerly. "So! Did you find anything?"

Percy bows her head grimly. "I regret to inform you that your mind appears to be full of cephalopods."

Rick continues grinning. "I fail to see the issue!"

"No, we didn't really find anything," Molly says, playing with the fur on the sleeves of her hoodie, "I'm sorry."

"Oh." Rick's smile lessens slightly in intensity, and there's a flicker of disappointment behind his sunglasses--but it's gone so quick Sylvie can't be sure he'd actually seen it. "That's fine."

"Really?"

"Certainly!" Rick puts a hand over the heart patch on his jacket, which is on the wrong side. His face turns stony as if he's giving a soliloquy. "I may not have my memories, but I do have something far more important."

"Oh boy," Sylvie mutters.

Rick's eyes go impossibly wide, and his smile shows more teeth than it's supposed to. "FRRRRRIENDSHIP!!!"

He says it like it's a be-all end-all and also probably a curse, leaning towards Sylvie. Sylvie quickly leans away. Rick's friendship sights had been seemingly really set on him recently for whatever reason. It was weird enough that Molly was willing to hang around with him.

"Now, we are BONDED," Rick bellows, throwing a fist to the sky. "The four of us are closer than EVER BEFORE! You cannot hope to escape the ties of our camaraderie!"

"Uh-huh," Sylvie grumbles.

"We might not have found your memory, but on the bright side we saw tiny octopi in the first stages of forming a society!" Molly beams. "You know, before the inevitable corruption sets in."

Rick clasps his hands together. "Oh, lovely!"

"They were quite adept builders," Percy agrees. "Howie would be proud, assuming I left out all the safety violations."

"Howie? Who is this Howie?"

"You'll know him when you see him." Percy waves a dismissive hand, turning towards the door. "Now, I believe it's time for some sustenance following our Sisyphean exertions."

Molly laughs nervously. "From...the cafeteria, right?"

"Yes, I am afraid I have not gathered any pinecone treats recently."

Molly sighs in relief. Rick raises a hand. "What is a pine cone?"

"I'll have to show you when I get some more," Percy says with a warm smile. Molly shakes her head very aggressively behind her. "They make a delightful healthy snack."

"We should go," Sylvie says, and thankfully the others agree without any further protest.

The four of them leave for the cafeteria together, Molly lagging behind. Sylvie slows down to walk with her, and she looks up at him with a grateful nod. Though it was destined to remain a secret, Rick's talk about bonding might not have been too far off the mark--they have a mystery to solve now, together.

#epithet erased #epithet week #sylvester ashling #molly blyndeff #percival king #rick shades #my writing

[bibuckbuckley]

It's missing Howie "Chimney" Han hours 🥺

#kj speaks

[rinisbowen]

y’all i watched the episode and it was… fun and interesting… i’m probably going to watch it again when i wake up at a normal hour lol 😭

also i am sad the panda jacket clip was in this episode but that’s okay- we’re just going to have to wait and see… what happens there with her screentime…

lily is cute and ridiculous as usual and also so stupid to have kept this harness in the several months she and ricky have been- hanging out or whatever this is… they’re doing where her parents are taking him with them jet skiing for a three week trip… and now we’re probably never going to see her again which is kinda sad to me but whatever. ricky’s just fully DONE when he sees that harness gosh. like- he wants OUT. that said her being a tiktoker makes so much sense from that part last season and i’ve said before like that sounds like her… also the fact ej says they don’t say lily’s name 😭😭😭

also the fact nini wanted to go to camp- is so wholesome actually. the fact she can’t write a single song… is interesting, but without her muse i guess it’s harder. she has to find a new muse- a muse within herself…

i was a little caught off guard by the fact that mike bowen is taking miss jenn on a multi week CRUISE- like where is he getting cruise money… obviously it doesn’t sound like she’s going to GO. but interesting nonetheless.

maddox is an icon and i’m sad there was no val this episode. i adore maddox so much truly. her little interaction with ashlyn… yeah i think redlyn are verging on codependent a bit like julia said in that interview. she’s going to write him EVERY SINGLE DAY.

also howie’s going off to college… i know they didn’t say but maybe he got the menkies scholarship- his beast was supposedly extraordinary…

FINALLY FREE >>>

also ej just- he seems to be living his best life right up until the moment dewey makes him the director… i’m happy for you to enjoy camp ej but- this does not sound like it’s going to go well. especially with ricky’s little “room for one more” instead of “group hug” 😭

#hsmtmts #hsmtmts: 301 (happy campers) #hsmtmts spoilers #//initial thoughts

[wahwealth]

Howie Mandel | Deal Or No Deal (11-26-2006) | Full Episode | Game Shows

Once Deal Or No Deal became a regular series, the show consistently placed among the 20 most popular programs on television and even landing in the top 10. On June 5, 2006, the two-hour season finale, which featured Celine Dion, marked a series-high rating for the program, bringing in over 18 million viewers.  This is a full episode from Nov, 26, 2006, Howie Mandel is the host.  Never Miss An Upload, Join the channel. https://www.youtube.com/@MrPsGameShowFans

#youtube

[officerrrfriendly]

More To The Story, chapter three.

psycho killer, qu'est-ce que c'est?

Chapter One Chapter Two

Saturday, 4th November 1992.

Finley's perspective

Finley bopped his head along to the catchy beat of 'Psycho Killer' by Talking Heads as he sat up against the headboard of his bed, pondering. It had been about twenty minutes since you had abruptly ended the 3-hour phone call to head to work because you were MAJORLY late. In this extensive phone call, you had discussed many theories about the eerie, suspicious video which you and Finley believed to be related to Tommy's disappearance and had even shown Tommy himself - so you believe -, a shaved head, blindfolded with a bloody nose.

It had approximately been 5 days since Tommy had gone MIA, and during the entirety of those 5 days, the residents of the town had been truly shaken up and skittish. This never happened here, in Drellington- it was just a quaint, isolated town...right?

With an extremely low crime rate and a very trusted and secure police department, it was safe to say that the disappearance of little Tommy Parker came as a huge surprise to the town in its totality.

"So what the hell is going on?" He murmured, pushing his black-framed glasses back up the bridge of his nose, sighing as his eyes squeezed shut.

He was at a loss. How could all of this just be going under the radar? How is it that HE had stumbled across this horrific video and not the police? How is it that your laugh was just the sweetest-

"Finnie Bear!!" a pitchy voice called from downstairs, interrupting his lengthy train of thought. It was his aunt Maureen. "Finnie Honey?! Tea is ready, come n'join us in the dining room!" she continued to call once more, before retreating back to the dining room where she had previously been setting up with knives, forks and plates.

You see, Finley's Mom had never been around- ever since she had skipped town and dumped him on her brother Howard's doorstep carelessly when he was only 4 months old, hoping to finally catch her big break in Hollywood.

He knew remotely nothing about her, and most of the time he was fine with that. Although he got on alright most of the time without thinking about her...sometimes, when he lay awake at night in bed, unable to sleep for whatever reason...he thought about her and why she had to leave him behind, why she had denied the chance to start her new life in California with him.

He never wanted to feel that kind of refusal again, so...he shut most people out. His circle remained fairly small throughout the entirety of his high school experience, with his only friends being from the school band and the computer science club. And in all honesty, he liked it that way. He was happy with the few friends that he did have.

But somehow, even with his aunt, uncle, and friends present in his life...he still felt like a piece of him was still missing, he still felt empty.

Finally deciding to get out of his own head for a few minutes, he decided to get up from his bed and proceed downstairs, shouting "Coming!!"

He sat timidly at the dining table, his Aunt sitting opposite him with his Uncle Howie beside her. Picking up the knife from the table where it had been precisely put, along with the fork next to it and began cutting into the juicy chicken breast on his plate.

Howard speaks first, "So...who was that girl on the landline earlier? You got a secret girlfriend we don't know about now?" his tone teasing, but definitively curious. Finley nearly choked on the piece of chicken he had in his mouth before chewing it promptly and swallowing. "What girl? I have literally no idea what you're talking about." He questioned with the pitch of his voice coming out higher than usual- a universal indicator that he was indeed, lying.

Maureen's eyes lit up, "A girl!! that's new, what does she look like? where did you meet her-" RRIIINGGGGG!! RRRRIINGGG!! the telephone attached to the kitchen wall began to sound with shrill rings, and in that moment Finley felt as if God himself had spared him from the interrogative questions of his Aunt and Uncle.

"Ooh, let me go and answer that," Maureen voices, excusing herself from the dining table before heading out into the kitchen. "Hayes residence, how may I help you? Oh...pardon? I'm sorry, may I ask who's calling?... Hello?" Maureen places the phone back into place on the wall, her expression puzzled. She approaches the dining room table and speaks, "Someone started shouting at me in Russian on the damn phone, pardon my language- that's odd, right?"

Finley types away on his keyboard, determined to find some sort of answer as to why RUSSIANS were now calling his goddamn landline. This was BAD, really really bad. What if they had gotten to you? You had watched that video too. "Shit," he muttered, anxiety filled the entirety of his body, taking over.

Suddenly, an idea sparked inside of his head as he remembered that his uncle had set up a recording device on the telephone a few months ago after a scam call centre had cheated him out of $300 which made him extremely cautious when it came to people who called the house.

He needed to get that call, and quick.

The first thing he did, however, was log into AOL and send you a message.

ThisMustBeThePlace is now online.

ThisMustBeThePlace is typing...

ThisMustBeThePlace: Important news!! Call soon, hope you got home okay from work :)

Now, the phone call- and a Russian-to-English dictionary, that was vital in this case.

Finley practically flies down the flint-coloured carpeted stairs as he proceeds with his mission. Convince Howard to give him the recording of the weird, suspicious call they received at dinner time so he can translate it.

"Uncle Howie!! where are you?" he calls, walking into the living room where he finds only Maureen, sitting leisurely on the ivory floral patterned sofa watching TV whilst stroking the household cat, Eddie, an American shorthair with soft, dense grey fur with black stripes running all across his body. Eddie purrs as Maureen continues to pet him.

"Uhh...hey, where's Uncle Howie?" Finley asks, leaning against the doorframe and awaiting an answer- he inhales deeply, trying to regulate his breathing and catch his breath after running down the extensive flight of stairs that lead from the upstairs floor of the house, to the middle, and eventually to the ground floor.

She smiles tiredly, "He's in his workshop Finnie, he wouldn't tell me what he's doing but it's probably one of those cool science-y things he's planning on teaching the kids at school on Monday. Why? Everything okay?" she answers, eventually glancing away from the television and over to her nephew, concerned.

For context, Howie was a middle school teacher at Drellington Middle. He taught Science. He LOVED science, even. He was extremely dorky- which explains why Finley grew up to be the same, Raised around science, tech and crazy experiments- he really grew to love all things nerdy, all thanks to Howie.

His eyebrows raise, immediately dismissing her concern appreciatively. "Oh! yeah no, I'm okay- just need some help with...physics homework! yeah, that. Are you okay though? You look tired, not saying that in an offensive way of course! uhh-" he stutters, not meaning to come off as discourteous but she didn't take it that way at all, instead, she chuckled sweetly and shook her head.

"Finnie! Don't worry, you're correct in saying I look tired, cause I am! The only thing that's been keeping me awake is Eddie's purring honey, but alas, you're right I am tired, so I'm gonna head to bed n'hit the hay," she retorts, finally getting up from off of the sofa, Eddie in hand. She grabs the remote with her unoccupied hand and switches off the television, then tiredly treads over to where Finley is standing in the doorway.

"Goodnight, Finnie-bear." she smiles, ruffling his chestnut-blondish hair before brushing past him gently and hiking up the stairs.

"Night Maurie." he returns, smiling softly before he makes his way to his uncle's workshop.

"That last word there sounds like 'найден' which is spelt 'NAYDEN', look that up in there," Howie ordered, before placing the headphones back on his head, and pressing play again.

Finley flicks through the pages of the dictionary hastily, desperate to find the answer.

Yeaahhh, it's a long story to explain how they ended up translating Russian together in his uncle's workshop so I'll keep it short and sweet for you. Sound good? Excellent.

Finley found Howie in his workshop, no surprise there. He was surprised, however, to find his uncle already translating this dodgy Russian phone call by himself.

He just had to get in on this. God, he had so much to tell you later.

@stveharringtn AAAA chapter 3!! some insight into Finley's day and a little bit of backstory bc who doesn't love a bit of that eh?

OOO secret Russian codes, OOO angst, OOO Finley can't get you off of his mind OOOO.

love you darlings, more to come very soon! xxx

#steve harrington x reader #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things #steve harrington #joe keery #joe keery fic #gator tillman #norman reedus #normanreedus #jeffrey dean morgan #gator tillman x reader #kurt kunkle x reader #dustin henderson #eddie munson #stranger things au

[quotes121sworld]

Backstreet Boys' AJ McLean SPLITS from wife Rochelle after 12 years of marriage

Backstreet Boys' AJ McLean has split from his wife Rochelle DeAnna McLean.AJ, 45, and Rochelle, 41, announced the news TMZto make it clear that they are not getting divorced, but separating."Marriage is tough, but it's worth it. We have decided together to temporarily separate to work on ourselves and our marriage in hopes of building a stronger future," he told the outlet. "The plan is to get back together and continue to nurture our love for one another and for our family. We ask for respect and privacy at this time.'"The breakup is hard enough without the comment, please be kind and remember children are involved," the statement concluded. The couple, who have two daughters together, married in 2011 after dating for six years.

The Latest: Backstreet Boys' AJ McLean has split from his wife Rochelle DeAnna McLean

Family: The couple, who share two daughters, married in 2011 after dating for six yearsAJ and Rochelle, a makeup artist and hairstylist, met in October 2001.The duo began dating in 2006 when the singer proposed to her on his birthday - January 9, 2010. They married his Backstreet Boys bandmates on December 17, 2011 at the Beverly Hills Hotel.Rochelle celebrated her 11th anniversary in December 2022 with a throwback to her and added lyrics from a Guns N' Roses song called November Rain."And when your fears subside / And shadows remain, oh yes / I know you can love me when there's no one left to blame / So forget the darkness, we can still find a way / Cause nothing lasts forever, Even cold November rain.'She added #eleven in honor of their 11th wedding anniversary and a black heart and lyrical emoji. In October 2020, AJ spoke about his journey to sobriety after 20 years of drug and alcohol addiction.He had just returned home from a trip to Las Vegas. "I've never been sober. Not for a second. And the turning point for me was when I came home, my wife could smell it on my breath and my youngest of two daughters didn't want to sit with me," he said Good morning America. After that moment, AJ has maintained his sobriety and is working with a program and sponsor.

The star: AJ, 45, and Rochelle, 41, announced the news to TMZ, clarifying that they are not getting divorced but are separating

Bittersweet: Rochelle celebrated their 11th anniversary in December 2022 with a throwback snap of them adding lyrics from a Guns N' Roses song called November Rain

Global Stars: His drug addiction was a secret for a while, until his Backstreet Boys bandmates Nick Carter, Brian Littrell, Kevin Richardson and Howie Dorough found out about it; seen at their concert in Sao Paulo, Brazil on January 23, 2023Adding: "There's too much to live with today - my beautiful kids, my amazing wife, my career, my brothers. I've never felt so grounded as I do today.” During the same interview, AJ revealed when his drug addiction began. "The first time I tried drugs was literally an hour before my call time for The Call video shoot," he recalled. "I was off the walls" during video shoot.His drug addiction was a secret for a while, until his Backstreet Boys bandmates Nick Carter, Brian Littrell, Kevin Richardson and Howie Dorough found out.“When the guys somehow noticed, I missed the rehearsal. They practically broke into my house and poured ice water all over me while I was passed out in my bed.”"Everyone started to understand. I wasn't me anymore, you know, I was just living a lie," AJ said. He first entered rehab in July 2001 and reentered in 2001. The star went for a third time in 2011.In September 2022, during an interview with , AJ revealed that he was in the best shape of his life and also a year sober Today.The star revealed he's lost 32 pounds since beginning his lifestyle change in February 2022.AJ has been sober since September 27, 2022.He eliminated alcohol and fast food from his diet and worked with a trainer.AJ and Rochelle are parents to Ava (10) and Lyric (6). Ava decided to change her name to Elliott last year.In September 2022, AJ opened up about the name change, revealing that she felt her name wasn't unique. "When my daughter asked to change her name to Elliot, I didn't know at first if it was a transgender thing, which it isn't, but it's a personal choice," he said during an appearance on the Today Show via page six.

Talented: AJ, Nick, Brian, Kevin and Howie formed the Backstreet Boys in 1993; they're in the middle of their DNA World Tour in support of their 2019 album DNA; seen at their tour stop in Sao Paulo, Brazil on January 27, 2023

Birthday boy: Last week, the couple celebrated their sixth birthdayLast week, the couple celebrated their sixth birthday.He shared snaps from her birthday party on his Instagram page and wrote: "Happiest of bdays to my mini me. Daddy is so proud of the little woman you are. i love you baby girl Happy birthday my love! Now let's go party!'AJ, Nick, Brian, Kevin and Howie formed the Backstreet Boys in 1993; They are in the middle of their DNA World Tour in support of their 2019 album DNA.The tour began in May 2019 with a two-year hiatus from March 2020 to April 2022 due to the COVID-19 pandemic.The tour resumed in Las Vegas on April 8, 2022 and is currently ongoing.Her last show was in Hong Kong on March 15, 2023. They are on a short hiatus until April 28, 2023, with the band playing in Reykjavik, Iceland and then to Egypt, India and then the Middle East before concluding in South Africa on May 20, 2023. Read the full article

[menuandprice]

Domino’s Pizza Menu With Prices [Updated February 2023]

Domino’s Pizza menu and prices might vary slightly depending on the location of this restaurant. The menu provided here is in accordance with the Domino’s at Wyoming, U.S. The menu here is updated from 1st February, 2023.

You can have the updated menu of your nearest restaurant from its official website. Not just that, you’ll also find its latest menu from Domino’s official android app or iOS app.  Domino’s Pizza menu with prices is diverse. It includes American legends pizza, feast pizza, combos, sides, beverages, and its signature lava cake. There are 3 different pizza sizes available: regular, medium, and large. A satiating meal at Domino’s Pizza costs around $30. Irrespective of constant orders, Domino’s Pizza ensures to deliver hot and crispy pizza within 30 minutes. The other relevant information is mentioned in the article below. Let’s start with the story of how it emerged. Before we move on the menu of Domino’s Pizza, let read about its history first! Domino’s Pizza (also known as Domino’s) is an American multinational pizza restaurant chain founded by James Monaghan, Tom Monaghan, and Dominick DiVarti in 1960. Like most success stories, Dominos started small, with just one store. However, today there are more than 18,000 stores. It took a long time to get them here. But the wait was worth it. 

Domino’s Pizza Menu With Prices

Domino’s pizza is an absolute delight for all pizza lovers. The best part of having versatile pizza is that you can customize it as per your choice. You can create your own small-sized, medium, or large-size pizza topped cheese and your choice of toppings. You can create a small size pizza for $12.99 and a medium-size pizza for $14.99. You can choose the toppings, cheese, or the crust of bread to your taste. There is no need to arrange the plates while you binge on pizza. It can be eaten anywhere, anytime! One of the most popular pizzas served at Domino’s is buffalo chicken pizza. You can have it for $19.99. Veggie toppings like broccoli, carrots, jalapeno, bell peppers, onions, tomatoes, corn, and olives add fiber to your diet. The non-veg toppings include barbecue chicken, sausages, chicken salami. The wide range of crusts will help you to choose the right bread.  The spinach and feta pie is a winning pitcher. It features spinach, onions, green peppers, mushrooms, plus cheese like parmesan, feta, and provolone. You can avoid the high-processed meat toppings in order to keep your pie on a healthier side.  Dominos offers authentic Italian taste. The significant ‘cheese burst’ topped with chicken salami, ­and classic spices, satiate your cravings. Domino’s provides inclusive offers that consist of everyday value offers during happy hours, and flash discounts on meals and combos. Apart from pizza, you should try the popular appetizer Domino’s Pizza chicken wings. It doesn’t contain any added marinade and sauces. However, you can prefer condiments like mustard and ketchup for flavoring your chicken wings.  Domino’s Pizza serves mouth-watering salads like classic garden salad and grilled chicken salad. These salads are priced $7.99 each on the menu of Domino’s Pizza. Not just that, you can also enjoy boneless chicken wings at Domino’s Pizza for $9.99 and bone-in chicken wings for $7.99 The combo offers have undoubtedly struck the chords of Domino’s Pizza with its customers. Never miss on Domino’s Pizza money-saving deals that will help you to order pocket-friendly pizza.  So, let’s have a look at the entire menu with prices of Domino’s Pizza. Read further to have more information about this restaurant chain and its menu. Drink Menu With Prices Soft Drink Menu With Prices Drinks20 oz.2 LiterCoca-Cola$ 2.25$ 3.50Diet Coke$ 2.25$ 3.50Sprite$ 2.25$ 3.50Dasani Water$ 2.25–Fanta Orange$ 2.25$ 3.50 Also, check out the official Hungry Howie’s Pizza menu with prices. Salads Menu With Prices Garden Fresh Salad$ 6.99Grilled Chicken Caesar Salad$ 6.99 Also, read the full Chi-Chi’s Pizza menu with prices. Pasta Menu With Prices Chicken Alfredo $ 9.99Chicken Carbonara $ 9.99Italian Sausage Marinara$ 9.99Pasta Primavera$ 9.99Build Your Own Domino’s Penne Pasta$ 9.99 Create Your Own Pizza Menu With Prices Small Cheese Pizza $ 7.99Medium Cheese Pizza$ 9.99Large Cheese Pizza$ 11.99XL 16″ Pizza$ 14.99Small Unlimited Toppings Pizza$ 12.49Medium Unlimited Toppings Pizza$ 15.49Large Unlimited Toppings Pizza$ 18.49 Also, check out the updated Pizza Pizza menu with prices. Dominos American Legends Menu With Prices Honolulu Hawaiian Pizza$ 34.48Philly Cheese Steak Pizza$ 34.48Cali Chicken Bacon Ranch Pizza$ 34.48Wisconsin 6-Cheese Pizza$ 34.48Pacific Veggie Pizza $ 12.49Memphis BBQ Chicken Pizza$ 12.49Buffalo Chicken Pizza$ 12.49 Also, read the latest Snappy Tomato Pizza menu with prices. Feast Pizzas Menu With Prices ExtravaganZZa Feast Pizza$ 12.49Deluxe Feast Pizza$ 12.49Ultimate Pepperoni Feast Pizza$ 12.49MeatZZa Feast Pizza$ 12.49 Sandwiches Menu With Prices Chicken Bacon Ranh Sandwich$ 7.99Chicken Parm Sandwich$ 7.99Italian Sandwich$ 7.99Philly Cheese Steak Sandwich$ 7.49Buffalo Chicken Sandwich With Blue Cheese$ 7.99Mediterranean Veggie Sandwich$ 7.99Sweet And Spicy Chicken Habanero Sandwich$ 7.99 Sides Menu With Prices Wings$ 7.99Boneless Chicken$ 7.99Dipping Cups$ 0.50Cinnamon Twists$ 6.99Garlic Twists$ 6.99Parmesan Twists$ 6.99Parmesan Bread Bites$ 10.98Stuffed Cheesy Bread$ 6.99 Lunch Specials Menu With Prices Small Pizza Lunch Special$ 5.99Oven Baked Sandwich Lunch Special$ 5.99Penne Pasta Lunch Special$ 5.99 Also, check out the official Pizza Hut menu with prices. Desserts Menu With Prices Chocolate Lava Crunch Cakes $ 5.99Marble Cookie Brownie$ 7.99 Also, read the original Imo’s Pizza menu with prices.

How To Order Online From Domino’s Pizza?

In case you don’t live in Wyoming, you can check out the updated menu of your nearest Domino’s Pizza.The menu of Domino’s Pizza is available online on its official website. But you can also check out the updated menu of any Domino’s Pizza outlet from its android app or iOS app.  You can also order your favorite pizza online using other online platforms like Grubhub, Doordash, UberEats, Postmates, or Seamless. You can get pizzas or other Domino’s comfies at special offers if you order online from Domino’s official app or website. Keep reading to know more about how you can order food online from Domino’s Pizza.  Finding The Latest Domino’s Pizza Menu With Prices Of Your Nearest Location The menu of Domino’s Pizza gets updated not only at their website or apps, but also on other food delivery platforms. Read the steps below to know how you can order famous Domino’s Pizza menu items from food delivery platforms like Grubhub. I’ve also provided pictures below to help you find the updated menu of your nearest Domino’s Pizza.  - Visit the homepage of Grubhub and enter your location in the search box.  - Now, enter the name of the restaurant you want to order from (Domino’s Pizza). Go through the menu of Domino’s pizza and move your favorite items to the cart. - Click on check out and log in to proceed with your order. Choose the payment method and wait for your order to arrive.

Domino’s Pizza Nutritional Information

Nutritional Informationmyfitnesspal.com/dominos-pizza To check the nutritional breakdown of the items present on the Domino’s Pizza menu, you can visit the link mentioned above.

Domino’s Pizza Franchising Details

Domino’s Pizza has more than 16,500 locations in more than 85 countries in the world. The brand made its presence in countries like the United States, the United Kingdom, Canada, India, Qatar, Russia and many more. S, if you want to open a Domino’s Pizza franchise, then read the table below. Investment$ 144,450 to $ 582,500Franchise Fee$ 84,750Liquid Capital Requirement$ 75,000Net Worth Required$ 250,000

Domino’s Pizza Contact Information

Domino’s Pizza Corporate Office Address: 30 Frank Lloyd Wright Dr.Ann Arbor, MI48106 Domino’s Pizza Corporate Phone Number: [phone] You can also contact the team of Domino’s Pizza by using the contact form on their website.

Important Links

Official Websitebiz.dominos.comLocationsorder.dominos.com/locationsJobsjobs.dominos.com/dominos-careersCommunitybiz.dominos.com/dominos/communityEventsdominos.gcs-web.com/events-and-presentations

Social Media Handles

Facebook: facebook.com/Dominos Instagram: instagram.com/dominos Twitter: twitter.com/dominos YouTube: youtube.com/dominos

Frequently Asked Questions Related To Domino’s Pizza (FAQs)

How much does an average meal at Domino’s Pizza? An average meal at Domino’s Pizza costs around $30. Do Domino’s Pizza provide gift cards? Yes, they provide gift cards. Can we order Domino’s Pizza dishes online? Yes, Domino’s Pizza accepts online orders from its website and its official app. You can also order breakfast from Domino’s Pizza from other food delivery apps like Doordash, Grubhub, etc. How many locations does Domino’s Pizza Have? Domino’s Pizza has more than 16,500 locations. Image CreditsUSA Today Wikimedia Commons Nation’s Restaurant News Read the full article

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