Girl and her keyboard

[ohmylul]

OH FUCK OFF, SIMON.

Doctor Foster | S01E05

[ohmylul]

I am SO HIGH. LOLOL.

Anyone else just fucking staring at gif 3!?

[silverflamegirl]

Prince Baelor Targaryen x Wife!you

[ohmylul]

THIS MADE ME FEEL THINGS AND NOW I HAVE TO TAKE A BREAK FROM LIFEEEEEE.

Baelor hold me. Handle me. ANYTHING! I AM DOWN. DOWN BAD. SO BAD.

[tanoraqui]

that theory that the Arkenstone is a Silmaril…it’s doubly implausible, but imagine if nobody knew. If the dwarves were guarded enough of their greatest treasure that…you wouldn’t even need to hide it from that many people, honestly. Mostly a few elves, and all wizards.

and then Bilbo sidles up to Gandalf like, “Thorin and all are holed up in the Mountain, but I think they’re being nuts, so I…kind of stole the Arkenstone, I think.” And (it’s been thousands of years since the light of the trees was doused save for the precious brilliance locked away in Feanor’s gems, since oaths and blood and war that raged until the skies cracked and the earth shattered, and the little people of the Shire have no memory of it at all) he pulls out a fucking Silmaril.

[tanoraqui]

Gandalf: *spittake*

Gandalf: *hurriedly glances at Thranduil. the king of Mirkwood’s eyes shine with curiosity and greed, but not recognition, nor the terrible lust that overtook Feanor and his sons. right, right, he was never in Thingol’s court while the jewel that Luthien and Beren took was there. we’re good. we’re good for now*

Gandalf: That’s, uh, nice, Bilbo. Put it away, would you?

[tanoraqui]

Gandalf, telepathically(?): EMERGENCY RINGBEARERS ONLY CONFAB NOW

Gandalf: [mental image of a goddam Silmaril in hobbit hands, labelled “thisfuckingrockagain.jpg”]

Galadriel, who watched 95% of her family slaughter everyone within 100 miles for several thousand years over these things, including each other and themselves: no.

Elrond, who was very nearly one of those people slaughtered, and did watch most of his town be killed before he and his twin were kidnapped for a while: Absolutely Fucking Not.

Gandalf: Apparently fucking yes. The legendary Arkenstone-

Galadriel: You’ve got to be kidding me.

Elrond: Thorin Oakenshield has a Silmaril right now?

Gandalf: No, no.

Gandalf: Bilbo stole it.

Elrond: *wordless sputtering*

Gandalf: @Galadriel [information packet: BilboBagginsoftheShire.pdf]

Galadriel: Oh yes, Belladonna’s boy, you were telling me about him last winter. 

Galadriel: Btw, orc+warg army probably coming your way. Spotted it in the mirror last night. Thank goodness we dealt with Dol Goldur at least, huh?

Elrond: No fucking shit.

[tanoraqui]

Gandalf @Gwaihir Windlord: hey, sorry to bother you again, I know it’s nearly mating season. but we have a situation again

Gandalf: [thisfuckingrockagain.jpg]

Gandalf: [oncomingorcwargarmy.jpg]

Gandalf: [flashbacktobadasseaglesinwarofwrathhinthint.mov]

[avelera]

I mean, given that Tolkien retconned “The Hobbit” so Bilbo’s little invisibility ring became an ancient piece of jewelry that controls minds and drives the mighty mad, one can at least understand why it seems plausible that the other shiny white gem that destroys empires and makes the mighty go mad with greed could be linked from his kid’s book to his gigantic early mythology in retrospect??

[crazy-pages]

You know this actually explains a lot about why Gandalf didn’t immediately raise the alarm about Bilbo’s ring out of an abundance of caution. I mean, what are the odds, what are the fucking odds, that this one little hobbit stole both a Silmaril and the Ring of Power? Like, you are Gandalf the Grey and you have already dealt with the heart attack to end all heart attacks because this little innocent fool stole a world war inspiring artifact once. You still get flashbacks every time Bilbo offers to show you something and have to employ all of your angel’s serenity and thousands of years of learned composure not start giBbERinG “ pleaseletitnotbeanotherartifactpleaseletitnotbeanotherartifact”. And then. AND THEN! One day he’s like, “hey Gandalf let me show you this neat ring I found back on our journey”. And on the inside a tiny part of you is screaming “nottheoneringnottheoneringnottheonering” while a more rational part of your brain assures you it could not possibly be the one- “It’s this plain gold ring that’s very precious to me and turns me invisible!”

AND THEN YOU FUCK OFF AND SEARCH THROUGH EVERY POSSIBLE TOME YOU CAN TO PROVE IT CAN’T REALLY BE THE RING OF POWER, SAURON’S RING OF POWER, THAT RING, THE ONE RING, LITERALLY EVERY SINGLE TOME, BEFORE FINALLY FUCKING ACKNOWLEDGING THAT THIS SHIT IS REALLY HAPPENING AGAIN

[countesskittymeow]

@shewhodoesnotexist what says you? :P

[shewhodoesnotexist]

I’ve never been a proponent of this theory, but I gotta admit the idea of Bilbo finding two world war inspiring artifacts is alluring ;D

Next you’ll be telling me Sting is Gurthang

[abrownpanther]

Sting may or may not be Angrist, the knife that Beren used to get the Silmarill off of Morgoth’s crown

[pepperonyscience]

I. LOVE. ALL. OF. THIS.

[swimmingblue]

and it’s already canon that the blades that Gandalf and Thorin got out of the Troll-hoard were like … super special swords belonging to important people, right? It’s assumed that the trolls had zero idea what they had, since their hoard was a mix of stuff stolen from travelers and stuff from other hoards that they’d looted.

So Bilbo picks Sting out from this hoard, which is confirmed to contain at least two legendary-class weapons. So why wouldn’t Sting be something special?

[nochd]

I’m not sure whether this makes the theory more plausible or less plausible (within-world), but the thing you have to remember about The Hobbit is that, when Tolkien wrote it, he wasn’t intending to join it up to his Middle-Earth mythos. It was a story for his children, especially his youngest son Christopher.

And because he wasn’t going to join it up to the mythos, he felt free to borrow names and other story elements from the mythos whenever he felt like it: names like “Elrond” and “Gondolin”, and story elements like

In ancient days [the Wood-Elves] had had wars with some of the dwarves, whom they accused of stealing their treasure. It is only fair to say that the dwarves gave a different account, and said that they only took what was their due, for the elf-king had bargained with them to shape his raw gold and silver, and had afterwards refused to give them their pay.

…I mean, that’s clearly Thingol and the Nauglamir, right?

[rouxelf]

Angrist broke when Beren tried to pry off a second Silmaril (because why wouldn’t you?). It was also black, like Anglachel/Gurthang because they were both made of fallen star-iron, which was why they could both cut through other metals easily in the first place.

[luna-azzurra]

Villain x Hero Prompts!!

⚔ "You keep trying to save me. Has it occurred to you that I don't want to be saved?"

⚔ "We're not so different. I know you hate hearing that because you know it's true."

⚔ "I could've killed you three times tonight. Think about why I didn't."

⚔ "You fight for a world that wouldn't fight for you. I find that heartbreaking."

⚔ "Stop looking for goodness in me. You'll only disappoint yourself."

⚔ "I've been waiting for someone to oppose me properly. Finally."

⚔ "You're the only one who's ever made me consider stopping. I resent you for that."

⚔ "We could fix everything together. That's what keeps me up at night."

⚔ "You call me a monster. You've never asked why I became one."

⚔ "I don't want to fight you tonight. Don't ask me to explain that."

⚔ "Every time you win I feel something I haven't felt in years. I think it's hope."

⚔ "You see the person I was before all this. Stop. That person is gone."

⚔ "I built this empire on everything the world took from me. You want me to just walk away?"

⚔ "You're good in a way I forgot existed. It's infuriating and magnificent."

⚔ "One day you'll understand why I did all of this. I hope you never have to."

[phantom-z0ne]

✩ Blue Masterlist Headers

[Headers made by me. Feel free to use this set! Credit is not necessary but a reblog would be greatly appreciated ^^]

[dont-try-pesticide]

Shadows Cast by Flame p.1

pairing: Daeron Targaryen x f!reader

word count: 1.2k

summary: Daeron spends a night at a tavern on the road - unaware that it would lead him to meeting someone very important, someone he had seen a long time ago in a dream of heat and sand.

This is a part 1 of the story I’m basing around a previous post! Please let me know what you think and if you want to be added to my taglist.

ribbon dividers by @cursed-carmine

The rain had come and gone by dusk, leaving the road a ribbon of black mud between autumnal fields. The tavern stood like a beacon of warmth against the crisp air of early winter. A painted board swung above the door, though whatever animal was painted on it had long since been smeared to a stain of brown and green.

Inside, it smelled like ale and sour wine, damp wool and people who had ridden too far and bathed too little. Daeron sat among them, the cup trembling in his cold hands. That annoyed him – he drank some more out of spite.

Noise was spilling in from every side - laughter from somewhere in the corner, the sound of dice striking wood, someone’s wet cough. Daeron let it wash over him – he caught himself thinking it was easier to drown in noise and ale than… Well. Dreams did not care if he drank much or little, but at least the noise was distracting him from playing them over and over again in his mind.

So he drank, then drank again, until the edges of the room started to blur and the fire from the hearth was pulsating on his skin like a fever. At some point he meant to rise, to find a bed for the night, or at least a corner that wasn’t too covered in filth, but the idea slipped from him like water through a sieve.

When he stood, it was only because the bench had begun to tilt beneath him. Or perhaps he tilted above it. He took a step and found the ground was further away from him than he expected. Another step – and the door seemed to drift aside like a stack of cards. He heard someone curse at him when he stumbled past.

Cold air struck him when he opened the door – that woke him up a little, just enough to let him know he shouldn’t be outside. One of the final thoughts in his head was that if he were to fall asleep in the mud, he would not rise again. Just then – a hand caught his sleeve and steadied him.

“Let’s get you inside, ser” a voice said. “You’ll freeze before the sun rises”. Daeron turned towards it, though the horizon swayed when he did it. For a moment, he saw nothing but your outline against the glow of the hearth through the open door behind. When you stepped closer though, something else reached him though the fog of ale – a scent. It was strange and sweet, nothing like the perfumes of the court ladies. There was something sharp and warm, like some kind of spices people would bring from the Free Cities. Before he could give his thought a shape, it slipped away from him.

“Can you walk?” you asked.

All he managed to say was “I’ve done it before”.

You didn’t wait for an answer, sliding your arm under his and steadying his posture just enough to let him follow you through the door. No one paid you much attention – a drunk being helped to his bed was no rare sight. The way up the stairs, however, was a longer battle. The stairs creaked, he stumbled more than once, you constantly catching him before he could fall. He tried to see your face, but his eyes would not steady.

“Do you have coin?” you asked when you reached the top floor. He made a vague gesture towards his belt. You sighed as you studied his outfit for a moment – clearly, he was quite wealthy, his doublet made of better wool than most men’s in this region, his dagger on the belt had an intricate ornament on it. Men like that forgot to pay just as often as poor ones.

“Try to not forget to pay in the morning” you said, pushing one of the doors open. The small room beyond had a narrow bed and a single window – you helped the stranger onto the mattress. Before leaving, you pried the window open just a bit to ease the stuffiness of the stale air, and poured the man a glass of water.

“My thanks”, Daeron said. “You are-” Whatever words he had meant to say slipped away as the wave of scent reached him again, stronger now in the close space of the room. It filled his head, drove out the taste of ale and the pulsating ache behind his eyes.

For a moment, absurdly, he thought of dragons. Of heat, of distant southern lands – something half-forgotten from an old dream he could not quite grasp.

“Sweet dreams,” you said, turning to leave. He tried to laugh bitterly at that, but the sleep took him first.

Daeron woke to silence. Pale morning light or early winter seemed to press against the small window, offering very little light though the grey clouds. His head throbbed, but less than he deserved, he thought. For a long moment he laid still on his stomach, staring at the window and listening to the stillness of the room.

When he sat up, his boots were neatly set by the bed. The cup of water was half-full. Nothing else in the room remained to prove that anyone else had been there at all. Daeron brought his hand to his face as if he might catch the scent again, but it was gone – only memory lingered.

Strange, he thought. Strange that he could not recall your face, nor the sound of you voice, - and yet feel that something important had passed between you two in that dim little room.

Daeron dressed, paid what he owed, and stepped back into the cold. All day as he rode he found himself thinking not of courts or his father’s disappointed face, but the scent of spice and fire – and of the person whose face he could not remember, though he felt somehow he ought to know.

He thought to himself it was foolish to return. Many men had been made fools by less than a nameless girl in a roadside tavern, Daeron knew the stories. He had heard them often enough in halls and among soldiers – hells, even from his brother. Still, the dusk crept in and the chill of the night deepened, and instead of riding further towards the town where his father awaited his presence, Daeron’s horse was carrying him to the unnamed tavern at the side of the village.

The inn stood just like before – but that night Daeron was seeing it more clearly. Smoke was rising from the chimney, voices were spilling from the window. He paused for a moment in the yard. That was madness, he though. He didn’t even know your name – and still he pushed the door open. The warmth struck him first – a big change from the outside chill – then the noise. People were playing dice and cards again, someone was fiddling with a lute, and amidst it all he saw you.

Daeron crossed the room before the voices in his head could talk him out of it. You noticed him when he was near enough to cast a shadow on the table you were serving.

“You’re alive, then” you tried to joke.

“I am”, he answered with surprising seriousness. “Thanks to you”.

[dont-try-pesticide]

imagine Daeron who stumbles out of a tavern only to find you - a complete stranger - in trouble

imagine Daeron following you into the woods as you escape to make sure you’re okay

imagine you both getting lost and it’s nearing nighttime and it’s cold, and you’re trying to deal with everything just like you’re used to - but he’s surprisingly competent at setting up shelter and building a fire

imagine having an unexpectedly deep conversation with him over the crackling fire

imagine the way he relaxes after the eventful day and there’s so much softness in him that you’ve never seen in any aristocratic man before

imagine how you stare into his face as his gaze drifts off into the flame, and you see fire dancing in his eyes and shadows form strange shapes on his face that oddly seem like clouds and dragons and burning cities

imagine him surrendering the only proper bedroll to you and he himself settles down by the smoldering fire, cozying in his riding cloak

imagine him watching you fall asleep knowing he protected you, gave you shelter and fed you

imagine Daeron who for the first time in forever felt like a man

imagine Daeron who is so used to the role of a total family failure for once feel competent

imagine Daeron getting a glimpse of who he could have been outside of his excruciating dreams and the pressure of duty and shame

Imagine Daeron who can finally feel he’s done something right

[lauryn-writing]

“Story of a lifetime” part 2

pairing: Murray Bauman x reader

word count: 1.2k

summary: seeking answers, you find yourself in a bunkered hideaway of Dr. Murray Bauman – the night stretches on as secret connections unveil (he’s a dork and you kiss him)

content: flirting, poor murray is still awkward, stuff gets stirred, guest bedrooms are for SHARING

requested by: @murmuring-meows (also tagging @lovingrosewho who wanted a part 2!)

part one: here

note: I’m not a native speaker so forgive me if there are any awkward mistakes. also, I found out that writing dialogue is actually hard lol

“Murray.”

“What?”

“Relax.”

“I am relaxed.”

“You look like you’re about to call the Pentagon.”

"You know," you mused, "for a man who thinks everyone's out to get him, you're terrible at guarding yourself."

Murray didn’t answer immediately – instead, he busied himself at the stove, though whatever he was cooking for dessert was beyond saving now. The rubbery mess of cheese now clung to the pot like it too developed trust issues. You watched him for a moment, noticing the way his shoulders stayed slightly hunched even when he was trying to appear composed, and the way his eyes kept flicking toward you as if you might run off or – more likely in his worldview – pull a hidden tape recorder out of thin air.

You let the silence stretch deliberately – it’s the trick you used during interviews when a person was on the brink of saying something useful.

Finally, you sighed softly and leaned back in your chair. “I figured,” you began, “your biggest problem isn’t paranoia.” That seemed to get his attention, because for the first time in minutes he turned towards you slowly, looking above his glasses. “Oh, this should be good,” he said. “Please, enlighten me. I always appreciate unsolicited psychological evaluations.”

You waved that off. “Your problem is the lack of structure.” You gestured toward the chaotic mess of newspaper clippings and red strings. “Your board looks impressive, but only at first glance. I’ll give you that – it’s very theatrical, very ‘lone genius uncovers the truth while the world sleeps.’ But once you actually start reading it…”, you tilted your head slightly, “it really falls apart. Look.”

You got up and walked to the board.

“It’s repetitive, you’re stacking sources. You’ve got three separate clippings about power outages from different towns, but you treat them like equal evidence when only one of them actually links to a documented incident at Hawkins Lab.”

“Wait, you actually read those? When did you have the time? Were you studying them while I was making dinner?!” – Murray once again looked like he was about to tear his hair out. In response, your face made that smug expression that it always did when you’d outplayed you opponent. You stepped in front of the board, scanning it again, this time with him watching.

“I’m saying,” you added, turning to face him, “that you’ve got instincts, which is more than most people have, but you don’t trust them enough to do the legwork properly. So you compensate by… this.” You gestured at the board.

His jaw tightened slightly, like he was concentrating.

“You missed interviews,” you continued, softer now but no less pointed. “Half of these clippings could’ve led you to actual people, to witnesses, employees, anyone who might’ve seen something firsthand. But you stayed here, bunkered up.”

“And what,” he asked after a moment, quieter now, “what would you have done differently?” You smiled faintly, because that right there was the question you were waiting for. “I would’ve started with the lab,” you said. “Former staff, maintenance crews, anyone who got laid off or even transferred. People talk when they think no one’s listening anymore. Then I’d cross-reference incident dates with hospital records, not just your police reports. I’d look for weird injuries, neurological symptoms, anything that’s out of place. In a quiet town like Hawkins this should stick out like a sore thumb.”

Murray’s eyes sharpened. “Hospital records are sealed.”

“Officially,” you said. “But receptionists gossip, orderlies get bored, and small-town systems really aren’t built for scrutiny.” You looked victorious at him, crossing your arms.

“You’ve got experience, huh?”, Murray kept his eyes glued to his board, scratching his beard, clearly avoiding looking directly at you.

You tilted your head. “Took you long enough.”

“You’re dangerous.” And then he caught himself, clearing his throat. “Well. Regardless. This doesn’t change the fact that you–” he gestured vaguely at you, “–are still an unknown variable.”

You stepped closer again, closing the space between you. “Then maybe you should study me.”

Murray blinked. “…That sounds exactly like a trap.”

“It might be,” you said lightly. “But you like those, don’t you?”

His gaze dropped – just for a second – to your lips before snapping back up. “Experiments should be performed in controlled environments only.”

You leaned in just enough for him to feel the tension. “You’ve got three deadbolts on the door, Murray. How much more controlled do you need?”

“…You can stay,” he said finally, like he was negotiating with all his fears combined. “It’s late. Roads aren’t safe at night. Increased probability of– of incidents.”

“Incidents,” now you were properly amused.

“Yes. Incidents.”

You glanced toward the dark windows, then back at him. “How generous of you.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, already avoiding your eyes again. “There’s a –uh – guest room. Sort of.”

You stepped past him, brushing his arm just enough to make it noticeable. “Lead the way.”

~~~~

The “guest room” was exactly what you expected: a storage room – it didn’t seem like Murray had a lot of guests staying over. A wooden bed, stacks of boxes, more papers, some other gear and canned beans.

Bauman lingered in the doorway, like he wasn’t entirely sure what came next.

“Well?” you said, sitting on the edge of the bed. “You going to stand there all night, or are you going to say goodnight like a normal person?”

“I am saying goodnight,” he replied quickly, snapped out of his thoughts.

“You haven’t yet.”

He frowned, clearly annoyed at being technically wrong. “…goodnight.”

You patted the space beside you.

He froze. “That’s– no. That’s not–”

“Murray.”

“What?”

“Relax.”

“I am relaxed.”

“You look like you’re about to call the Pentagon.”

“That’s a completely reasonable response under certain circumstances–”

You reached for him then, fingers catching his sleeve, tugging him just enough off balance that he stepped into the room.

“…You’re serious.”

“Terrifying, isn’t it?”

A pause. He answered, quieter: “A little.”

“Good.”

His hands still trembled a little when they found you, like he couldn’t quite believe you were real, or that this was happening outside of some elaborate setup. You laughed once, low and warm, and that seemed to lighten the mood for him more than anything. The night stretched on, the world outside fading into nothing but distant wind and the occasional creak of the house and the mattress. For once, Murray stopped talking – stopped theorizing, stopped calculating. All of that was replaced by the forgotten feeling of pleasant emptiness on his mind.

Being a little shit as you are, you wanted to crawl from under his arm when he fell asleep – to look through his files, to *correctly* rearrange the connections on his board, but looking at his relaxed face, and almost smiling turn of his lip – you dropped the idea. You felt like you found something to peak your curiosity and a reason to stay in Hawkins for a while.

Oh, only if your old colleagues back at the Indianapolis times knew you just slept with a conspiracy theorist.

[dont-try-pesticide]

“Story of a lifetime”

pairing: Murray Bauman x reader

word count: 2.7k

summary: when you move to hawkins to take a break from your journalism job, the last thing you expect is that you’d run into a conspiracy theorist at a gas station - and that you’d swap your chips for his government secret files by accident

content: flirting, first time meeting the guy, poor murray is awkward

requested by: @murmuring-meows (thank you!!)

note: this might be a part one of a larger fic, I’ve had a lot of fun creating this story! also, I’m not a native speaker so forgive me if there are any awkward mistakes

It’s been a good couple of months now since you’ve moved to Hawkins - it’s calm pace a welcome change from the bustling city life you’re used to. Corporate wars, long hours under fluorescent light and sour coffee at the “Indianapolis Times” corner were starting to wear on you, and prompted the decision to take a break from your journalistic career. When you were younger, that life was all you dreamed of, but these days all articles seemed the same, topics melting into a boring sludge of repeating buzzwords.

“Well, you didn’t think you’d be running around investing murders and corruption schemes all the time, did you?” – an older colleague remarked as you were packing up your notebooks and plants from the desk. The constant frustration made you into a proper big-city cynic, and yet the memory of your grandfather’s ranch in a small town named Hawkins has been crawling into your mind for weeks. The decision to leave it all behind for a break – or a clean start – was quick and pretty painless. Next night you were driving in your red Ford Taurus towards the new beginning.

~~~

“Terms of Endearment” rolled to an end on your kitchen TV, and you found yourself staring at the credits. This was a new routine to you – having a Thursday night without a single plan in mind, just cooking dinner and watching whatever was on. Still, the night felt young, your car was standing idle in the driveway and you decided to take it out for a drive – to explore the town a bit better and clear your head.

The screen door slammed shut behind you, leaving just the sound of crickets in the tall grass – no city sirens, no hum of highways. The Taurus waited for you under the lone light like some relic from a completely different life.

You didn’t need gas. That was just the excuse. Truth was, you’d spent several evenings in a row staring at the popcorn ceiling of your grandfather’s old study-turned-guest-room, listening to the clock tick louder than your thoughts, and the restlessness had curdled into your brain. Hawkins was boring – and the stillness was pushing your old habits back out.

Fleetwood Mac was blaring from your radio, windows down – you hadn’t noticed how you drove out of the city into some darker road, leading toward some other town. For a moment, you looked around and realized you had no clue which way your ranch was – there seemed to be virtually no life on either side of the road, just trees. You even turned the volume down as your mood shifted to slight panic. Then you saw it – a neon island in the dark, a gas station. Surely, they’d be able to navigate you back to Hawkins?

Tucked away between the skeletal pines and a rusted billboard, the station seemed exactly like a kind of place you’d want to avoid – but at this hour, you felt like you needed to walk in. Parking by the entrance, you notice just two other cars in the lot – one older Chevy Caprice by the pumps, and some dark truck by the backdoor of the convenience store.

The store’s door opens with a *ding*, the older clerk barely looking up at the sound. You figured you might as well shop for some snacks before leaving, so you grab some crisps, a couple sodas and a TV-guide magazine.

As you navigated lazily through the aisles, you hear a man talking – his pace so rapid and hushed, that at first you register it as radio mutter. He was hunched over the counter, one hand tapping impatiently against the laminate while the other clutched a crumpled paper bag. He noticed you, got startled a bit, but then pushed his large glasses up his nose. A beat passed where neither of you spoke, then the man continued his speech. “Those ley lines, man, convergence points of electromagnetic-” The cashier groaned audibly, rolling his eyes and moving towards you instead. “Murray, for God’s sake, drop it,” he said not looking up. He rung up your items and shoved them into a paper bag.

You handed over the cash, glancing back at the man – Murray, as you’ve learned – who was now pacing by the cigarettes rack, running his finger through the packs. The clerk sighed and slid your change across the counter just as Murray abruptly turned on his heel. The bizarre man nearly knocked over a display of beef jerky, as he looked at his watch and cursed. He pushed past you, grabbed the paper bag and stormed out of the glass door. Part of you wondered if he’d crash into it. You watched as his Chevy speeded out of the lot, throwing gravel in the air.

Apparently, the cashier wasn’t as surprised at the encounter as you were – he didn’t return your look, so you just shrugged. “Sorry, how do I get back to Hawkins? I got a bit lost,” you started, but got cut off by the clerk. “That way,” – he jerked his chin vaguely toward the window, where some watch- or water tower peeked from the trees in the distance. Not very helpful. You shrugged and grabbed your bag, heading back towards the car. What a strange town.

Your car drove slowly out of the lot, radio back on. Generally, you realized which direction you’d have to go, but the whole interaction at the gas stop seemed just weird – in almost a hostile way. Weren’t the townfolk supposed to be all sweet and welcoming? You reached into the paper bag in the passenger seat to grab a soda, but instead – your fingers touched something unusual. Paper? Coarse, not the glossy TV-guide for sure. You pulled it out, trying to still watch the road, but the sight clearly caught you off guard. In the dim glow of the dashboard light you realized that you were holding a stack of documents, crudely hole-punched and bound with twine. The realization hit like static shock. This must be Murray’s bag. You'd been holding the wrong one since the gas station.

You hit the brakes, stopping by the side of the road. In the bag were several folders, you started opening them one by one. You felt like a kid, opening Christmas presents – but with a darker twist. The folders were full of notes, old documents with sentences blacked out, photos and newspaper cutouts. Police reports. Missing kids. Power surges. Along them ran pages and pages of typed letters, signed – Dr. Murray Bauman. You frantically looked around, feeling like an ambushed fighter – the thrill running though your veins, and that familiar urge to dig deeper and run faster. You folded everything back neatly and hid the bag out of sight.

The porch light welcomed you back home, but you barely noticed them. You rushed through the door, shutting every lock behind you – an old habit from your more intense days as an investigator. The whole night was spent on the dinner table – folders arranged in order, every document read from both sides. You even caught yourself holding some pieces up to the lamp to see any hidden messages. This was your goldmine – you clearly hit a jackpot. Thing was – by the morning you’ve realized that this mountain of evidence was lacking key pieces. Someone – likely this Murray guy – surely missed spots in his research, and his conclusions were at least partly wrong. This was driving you crazy! Finally, a story worth chasing, and the man with all the answers was gone.

By the morning you’ve brewed a plan – you found a local library on the map and decided to get there, but not before making some copies.

~~~

Libraries were your second office, you liked to think. Often overlooked, they store insane amounts of curious information once you know where to look. This time your approach was simple – find the journal articles mentioned in the documents, ask the librarian who already been borrowing the same journals lately, get the address – simple.

“I just need to see who’s been checking them out recently,” you said placing you pile on the desk.

The librarian snorted, snapping the ledger shut with a thud. “Oh, I can tell you that without looking. Murray Bauman.” She said his name like it was a punchline. “That nutjob comes in twice a week to photocopy FBI bulletins.” She leaned closer, conspiratorial. “He’s harmless. Mostly. Though last winter he tried to convince the Historical Society that Hawkins Lab was built on an ancient Indian burial ground.”

You suppressed a grin. “And where might I find this... local character?”

The librarian didn’t even hesitate. She scribbled an address on the back of a checkout slip. “Old farmhouse off Kerley Mill Road," she said, sliding the paper across the desk. “Can't miss it. Looks like the set of a horror movie—boards on the windows, antennae sticking out of the roof.” She paused, tapping her pen against her teeth. “You’re not another journalist, are you? They always show up eventually. Murray loves an audience”.

“No, just a curious neighbor”.

~~~

The house turned out to be quite a long drive away – by the time you reached that point on a map, the sun was starting to set. The house looked properly mad – antennas at weird angles, cameras, “no trespassing” signs everywhere.

As you walk up to the metal gate, you hear the sound of running footsteps from the other side – someone must have noticed you arriving and decided to intercept.

The gate screeched open before you could touch it. Murray stood there, breathing hard like he’d sprinted from the house – which, given the distance, he probably had. Up close, he looked even more disheveled than at the gas station: salt-and-pepper stubble, a coffee stain on his shirt collar, and eyes that darted to your hands first, then your face, then the trees behind you. “You,” he said, pointing a finger so abruptly you half-expected a static shock. “You’ve got my files!”

You held up the paper bag. “And you’ve got my chips.”

Next thing you knew, you were being dragged inside.

A muscle twitched near Murray’s jaw. “Did you read them?! How did you find me? Are you with the CIA? KGB? FBI? The IRS?!”

“The next thing, you'll be blaming the Japanese earthquake on me. There must be something the matter with these cough drops you're eating,” you said with a smile.

“The- the what?” – he clearly wasn’t getting the joke, “You- wait. The Manchurian Candidate? Seriously?" He squinted at you like you'd just performed a magic trick. “Most people don't catch that reference.”

You shrugged, stepping past him into the dimly lit foyer. His paranoia visibly warred with intrigue as he shut the door behind you, throwing at least three deadbolts. “You read my research,” he accused again, but this time it lacked heat. He gestured wildly at the bag in your hands. “That's *classified*! That's - that's *mine*!”

“Yeah, I enjoyed it. It's dreadful but it's quite short”.

Murray froze mid-gesture, his fingers hovering near a stack of newspapers threatening to topple. For a second, you thought he might actually throw you out -then his shoulders slumped. “You're mocking me.” He shoved his glasses up his nose with a knuckle. “Of course you are. Everyone does.”

You stepped over a tangle of extension cords, holding up the bag like a peace offering. “Not mocking. Just... amused by the irony. A journalist accidentally steals another journalist's research.” His head snapped up. “I could write a whole book about the unexpected altercation at a gas-station in the middle of nowhere that lead to me uncovering a governmental cover-up, I guess.”

His laugh was abrupt, almost painful. He snatched the bag, rifling through it with trembling hands. “Did you copy anything? Show anyone?”

“Sure, like I’m going to tell you that. What about my chips? I was looking forward to that sour cream and onion”

Murray blinked, momentarily derailed. “Uh. Those might’ve been- look, I was busy, you understand this is far more important!”

“Murray.” You folded your arms. “You owe me dinner.”

“What?!” he practically yelled. “Is this what you’re thinking about? Do you realize how much is at stake, the kind of stress you’ve put me through?”

You gestured at the bag. “Stress? I practically *delivered* your work back to you. You didn’t even notice it was missing.” The silence that followed was almost comical. Murray’s face was the most amusing sight you’ve seen all week. “Fine.” he muttered.

You grinned. “Great. Then you’re cooking.”

His eyebrows seemed to climb towards his hairline. “You’re inviting yourself to dinner? Who does that?!”

“Someone who just saved your ass from losing months of research,” you said smoothly, stepping further into the house. “Also, someone who knows you missed half the leads in these files. So, what’s in the fridge?”

Murray hesitated, then scoffed - but there was a reluctant amusement in it. “You’re insane – and usually that’s *me* people say that about.”

~~~

You leaned against the counter, watching him fumble with a dented pot. The kitchen was a monument to chaos: sticky notes covered the cabinets in overlapping layers, a bulletin board displayed newspaper clippings connected by a stereotypical red yarn, and a coffee maker hissed ominously on the counter like it – just like its owner – was seconds away from a nervous breakdown. “So,” you said, “What's the grand theory tonight? Alien abductions? Secret Soviet mind control?”

Murray shot you a look over his shoulder, but his hands moved with surprising precision - chopping onions, celery, garlic minced fine as a chef would. “It’s *not* aliens,” he muttered. “That’s what they want you to think. Distract with little green men while the real monsters-” The sentence died as he realized you were grinning. “Oh, you’re enjoying this.”

“Immensely.” You stole a slice of bell pepper from his cutting board. He swatted at your hand half-heartedly, missing by a mile. “You’re supposed to be terrified or at least mildly concerned,” he grumbled, dumping the vegetables into a sizzling skillet. The scent of soy sauce flooded the room, instantly overpowering the usual staleness. You blinked. “Wait. You can actually cook?”

He straightened slightly, stirring the pan. “Contrary to popular belief, basic survival skills include cooking.” A beat. “Also, microwaves emit radiation. Dangerous stuff.” You snorted into your wine glass – the guy was amusing, to say the least. He looked back at you with a smile.

The wine and his Chinese-style noodles were suspiciously delicious. You twirled your fork, watching Murray over the rim of your glass. “Do you always cook for strangers with stolen governmental files, or am I special?”

Murray seemed to choke on his sip of wine – wiping his chin with the back of his hand. “Well, strictly speaking, those aren’t governmental secrets, those are *my* secrets. Big difference”

“Mm.” You stole a piece of mushroom from his plate. "Tell me, Dr. Bauman - is accusing your dinner guests of espionage your idea of foreplay?"

For a glorious second, Murray looked like he'd been struck by lightning - mouth open, glasses slightly askew. Then he rallied, jabbing a wooden spoon in your direction. "That- that's *exactly* what a honeypot operative would say! Textbook psychological warfare! Distract with sexual innuendo while - while microfilming my notes!"

You burst out laughing, nearly knocking over your wine. "Oh my God. You actually think I'm seducing you for your research? Murray. Hon’. If I wanted your files, I would've just kept them when I had the chance."

You stood abruptly, circling the table until you were close enough to see the color of his hazel eyes. You plucked his glasses off with one hand. "Tell me something," you murmured, folding them carefully and setting them aside. "In all your theories about government infiltrators... did you ever consider that maybe, just maybe, someone might find you more interesting than your conspiracy boards?"

Murray's breath hitched. His hands hovered near your waist like he couldn't decide whether to push you away or pull you closer. "That's- statistically improbable," he whispered almost in a theatrical manner.

You grinned, brushing a thumb over his lower lip. "Then I guess I'm your first anomaly."

A timer went off with a shrill beep – the fondue. Murray jerked back like he'd been electrocuted, nearly upending the pan in his haste. "Shit- shit!" He frantically stirred, muttering about ruined cheese - though you didn't miss how his fingers trembled slightly on the handle.

You reclaimed your seat, swirling your wine. "You know," you mused, "for a man who thinks everyone's out to get him, you're *terrible* at guarding yourself."

[nostalgicgifs]

Lethal Weapon (1987)

[enchantedbyhiddles]

[jabberwockyface]

Mister Solo~ Reylo Pride and Prejudice au.

Commission Info!

[lauryn-writing]

GOOD GOD

[johns-deacon]

a compilation of deaky’s for no reason other than i love him

[buzzfeedcentral]

IRL Friends | Chris Reinacher & Zac Efron

[lauryn-writing]

WHAT

[buzzfeedcentral]

Shenanigans

[buzzfeedcentral]

Chreith | Twinsies

[naity-sama]

Some words to use when writing things:

winking

clenching

pulsing

fluttering

contracting

twitching

sucking

quivering

pulsating

throbbing

beating

thumping

thudding

pounding

humming

palpitate

vibrate

grinding

crushing

hammering

lashing

knocking

driving

thrusting

pushing

force

injecting

filling

dilate

stretching

lingering

expanding

bouncing

reaming

elongate

enlarge

unfolding

yielding

sternly

firmly

tightly 

harshly

thoroughly

consistently

precision

accuracy

carefully

demanding

strictly

restriction

meticulously

scrupulously

rigorously

rim

edge

lip

circle

band

encircling

enclosing

surrounding

piercing

curl

lock

twist

coil

spiral

whorl

dip

wet

soak

madly

wildly

noisily

rowdily

rambunctiously

decadent

degenerate

immoral

indulgent

accept

take

invite

nook

indentation

niche

depression

indent

depress

delay

tossing

writhing

flailing

squirming

rolling

wriggling

wiggling

thrashing

struggling

grappling

striving

straining

[littlestsecret]

Appetite -  craving, demand, gluttony, greed, hunger, inclination, insatiable, longing, lust, passion, ravenousness, relish, taste, thirst, urge, voracity, weakness, willingness, yearning, ardor, dedication, desire, devotion, enthusiasm, excitement, fervor, horny, intensity, keenness, wholeheartedness, zeal

Arouse -  agitate, awaken, electrify, enliven, excite, entice, foment, goad, incite, inflame, instigate, kindle, provoke, rally, rouse, spark, stimulate, stir, thrill, waken, warm, whet, attract, charm, coax, fire up, fuel, heat up, lure, produce, stir up, tantalize, tease, tempt, thrum, torment, wind up, work up

Assault -  attack, advancing, aggressive, assailing, charging, incursion, inundated, invasion, offensive, onset, onslaught, overwhelmed, ruinous, tempestuous, strike, violation, ambush, assail, barrage, bombard, bombardment, crackdown, wound Beautiful -  admirable, alluring, angelic, appealing, bewitching, charming, dazzling, delicate, delightful, divine, elegant, enticing, exquisite, fascinating, gorgeous, graceful, grand, magnificent, marvelous, pleasing, radiant, ravishing, resplendent, splendid, stunning, sublime, attractive, beguiling, captivating, enchanting, engaging, enthralling, eye-catching, fetching, fine, fine-looking, good-looking, handsome, inviting, lovely, mesmeric, mesmerizing, pretty, rakish, refined, striking, tantalizing, tempting Brutal -  atrocious, barbarous, bloodthirsty, callous, cruel, feral, ferocious, hard, harsh, heartless, inhuman, merciless, murderous, pitiless, remorseless, rough, rude, ruthless, savage, severe, terrible, unmerciful, vicious, bestial, brute, brutish, cold-blooded, fierce, gory, nasty, rancorous, sadistic, uncompromising, unfeeling, unforgiving, unpitying, violent, wild Burly – able-bodied, athletic, beefy, big, brawny, broad-shouldered, bulky, dense, enormous, great, hard, hardy, hearty, heavily built, heavy, hefty, huge, husky, immense, large, massive, muscular, mighty, outsized, oversized, powerful, powerfully built, prodigious, robust, solid, stalwart, stocky, stout, strapping, strong, strongly built, sturdy, thick, thickset, tough, well-built, well-developed Carnal -  animalistic, bodily, impure, lascivious, lecherous, lewd, libidinous, licentious, lustful, physical, prurient, salacious, sensuous, voluptuous, vulgar, wanton, , coarse, crude, dirty, raunchy, rough, unclean Dangerous -  alarming, critical, fatal, formidable, impending, malignant, menacing, mortal, nasty, perilous, precarious, pressing, serious, terrible, threatening, treacherous, urgent, vulnerable, wicked, acute, damaging, deadly, death-defying, deathly, destructive, detrimental, explosive, grave, harmful, hazardous, injurious, lethal, life-threatening, noxious, poisonous, risky, severe, terrifying, toxic, unsafe, unstable, venomous Dark -  atrocious, corrupt, forbidding, foul, infernal, midnight, morbid, ominous, sinful, sinister, somber, threatening, twilight, vile, wicked, abject, alarming, appalling, baleful, bizarre, bleak, bloodcurdling, boding evil, chilling, cold, condemned, creepy, damned, daunting, demented, desolate, dire, dismal, disturbing, doomed, dour, dread, dreary, dusk, eerie, fear, fearsome, frightening, ghastly, ghostly, ghoulish, gloom, gloomy, grave, grim, grisly, gruesome, hair-raising, haunted, hideous, hopeless, horrendous, horrible, horrid, horrific, horrifying, horror, ill-fated, ill-omened, ill-starred, inauspicious, inhospitable, looming, lost, macabre, malice, malignant, menacing, murky, mysterious, night, panic, pessimistic, petrifying, scary, shadows, shadowy, shade, shady, shocking, soul-destroying, sour, spine-chilling, spine-tingling, strange, terrifying, uncanny, unearthly, unlucky, unnatural, unnerving, weird, wretched Delicious - enticing, exquisite, luscious, lush, rich, savory, sweet, tasty, tempting, appetizing, delectable, flavorsome, full of flavor, juicy, lip-smacking, mouth-watering, piquant, relish, ripe, salty, spicy, scrummy, scrumptious, succulent, tangy, tart, tasty, yummy, zesty Ecstasy -  delectation, delirium, elation, euphoria, fervor, frenzy, joy, rapture, transport, bliss, excitement, happiness, heaven, high, paradise, rhapsody, thrill, blissful, delighted, elated, extremely happy, in raptures (of delight), in seventh heaven, jubilant, on cloud nine, overexcited, overjoyed, rapturous, thrilled Ecstatic -  delirious, enraptured, euphoric, fervent, frenzied, joyous, transported, wild Erotic -  amatory, amorous, aphrodisiac, carnal, earthy, erogenous, fervid, filthy, hot, impassioned, lascivious, lecherous, lewd, raw, romantic, rousing, salacious, seductive, sensual, sexual, spicy, steamy, stimulating, suggestive, titillating, voluptuous, tantalizing Gasp -  catch of breath, choke, gulp, heave, inhale, pant, puff, snort, wheeze, huff, rasp, sharp intake of air, short of breath, struggle for breath, swallow, winded  Heated - ardent, avid, excited, fervent, fervid, fierce, fiery, frenzied, furious, impassioned, intense, passionate, raging, scalding, scorched, stormy, tempestuous, vehement, violent, ablaze, aflame, all-consuming, blazing, blistering, burning, crazed, explosive, febrile, feverish, fired up, flaming, flushed, frantic, hot, hot-blooded, impatient, incensed, maddening, obsessed, possessed, randy, searing, sizzling, smoldering, sweltering, torrid, turbulent, volatile, worked up, zealous Hunger -  appetite, ache, craving, gluttony, greed, longing, lust, mania, mouth-watering, ravenous, voracious, want, yearning, thirst Hungry -  avid, carnivorous, covetous, craving, eager, greedy, hungered, rapacious, ravenous, starved, unsatisfied, voracious, avaricious, desirous, famished, grasping, insatiable, keen, longing, predatory, ravening, starving, thirsty, wanting Intense -  forceful, severe, passionate, acute, agonizing, ardent, anxious, biting, bitter, burning, close, consuming, cutting, deep, eager, earnest, excessive, exquisite, extreme, fervent, fervid, fierce, forcible, great, harsh, impassioned, keen, marked, piercing, powerful, profound, severe, sharp, strong, vehement, violent, vivid, vigorous Liquid -  damp, cream, creamy, dripping, ichorous, juicy, moist, luscious, melted, moist, pulpy, sappy, soaking, solvent, sopping, succulent, viscous, wet / aqueous, broth, elixir, extract, flux, juice, liquor, nectar, sap, sauce, secretion, solution, vitae, awash, moisture, boggy, dewy, drenched, drip, drop, droplet, drowning, flood, flooded, flowing, fountain, jewel, leaky, milky, overflowing, saturated, slick, slippery, soaked, sodden, soggy, stream, swamp, tear, teardrop, torrent, waterlogged, watery, weeping Lithe - agile, lean, pliant, slight, spare, sinewy, slender, supple, deft, fit, flexible, lanky, leggy, limber, lissom, lissome, nimble, sinuous, skinny, sleek, slender, slim, svelte, trim, thin, willowy, wiry Moan - beef, cry, gripe, grouse, grumble, lament, lamentation, plaint, sob, wail, whine, bemoan, bewail, carp, deplore, grieve, gripe, grouse, grumble, keen, lament, sigh, sob, wail, whine, mewl Moving -  (exciting,) affecting, effective  arousing, awakening, breathless, dynamic, eloquent, emotional, emotive, expressive, fecund, far-out, felt in gut, grabbed by, gripping, heartbreaking, heartrending, impelling, impressive, inspirational, meaningful, mind-bending, mind-blowing, motivating, persuasive, poignant, propelling, provoking, quickening, rallying, rousing, significant, stimulating, simulative, stirring, stunning, touching, awe-inspiring, energizing, exhilarating, fascinating, heart pounding, heart stopping, inspiring, riveting, thrilling Need -  compulsion, demand, desperate, devoir, extremity, impatient longing, must, urge, urgency / desire, appetite, avid, burn, craving, eagerness, fascination, greed, hunger, insatiable, longing, lust, taste, thirst, voracious, want, yearning, ache, addiction, aspiration, desire, fever, fixation, hankering, hope, impulse, inclination, infatuation, itch, obsession, passion, pining, wish, yen Pain -  ache, afflict, affliction, agony, agonize, anguish, bite, burn, chafe, distress, fever, grief, hurt, inflame, laceration, misery, pang, punish, sting, suffering, tenderness, throb, throe, torment, torture, smart Painful -  aching, agonizing, arduous, awful, biting, burning, caustic, dire, distressing, dreadful, excruciating, extreme, grievous, inflamed, piercing, raw, sensitive, severe, sharp, tender, terrible, throbbing, tormenting, angry, bleeding, bloody, bruised, cutting, hurting, injured, irritated, prickly, skinned, smarting, sore, stinging, unbearable, uncomfortable, upsetting, wounded Perverted -  aberrant, abnormal, corrupt, debased, debauched, defiling, depraved, deviant, monstrous, tainted, twisted, vicious, warped, wicked, abhorrent, base, decadent, degenerate, degrading, dirty, disgusting, dissipated, dissolute, distasteful, hedonistic, immodest, immoral, indecent, indulgent, licentious, nasty, profligate, repellent, repugnant, repulsive, revolting, shameful, shameless, sickening, sinful, smutty, sordid, unscrupulous, vile  Pleasurable -  charming, gratifying, luscious, satisfying, savory, agreeable, delicious, delightful, enjoyable, nice, pleasant, pleasing, soothing, succulent Pleasure -  bliss, delight, gluttony, gratification, relish, satisfaction, thrill, adventure, amusement, buzz, contentment, delight, desire, ecstasy, enjoyment, excitement, fun, happiness, harmony, heaven, joy, kick, liking, paradise, seventh heaven  Rapacious-  avaricious, ferocious, furious, greedy, predatory, ravening, ravenous, savage, voracious, aggressive, gluttonous, grasping, insatiable, marauding, plundering Rapture -  bliss, ecstasy, elation, exaltation, glory, gratification, passion, pleasure, floating, unbridled joy Rigid -  adamant, austere, definite, determined, exact, firm, hard, rigorous, solid, stern, uncompromising, unrelenting, unyielding, concrete, fixed, harsh, immovable, inflexible, obstinate, resolute, resolved, severe, steadfast, steady, stiff, strong, strict, stubborn, taut, tense, tight, tough, unbending, unchangeable, unwavering Sudden -  abrupt, accelerated, acute, fast, flashing, fleeting, hasty, headlong, hurried, immediate, impetuous, impulsive, quick, quickening, rapid, rash, rushing, swift, brash, brisk, brusque, instant, instantaneous, out of the blue, reckless, rushed, sharp, spontaneous, urgent, without warning Thrust -  (forward) advance, drive, forge, impetus, impulsion, lunge, momentum, onslaught, poke, pressure, prod, propulsion, punch, push, shove, power, proceed, progress, propel (push hard) assail, assault, attack, bear down, buck, drive, force, heave, impale, impel, jab, lunge, plunge, press, pound, prod, ram, shove, stab, transfix, urge, bang, burrow, cram, gouge, jam, pierce, punch, slam, spear, spike, stick Thunder-struck - amazed, astonished, aghast, astounded, awestruck, confounded, dazed, dazed, dismayed, overwhelmed, shocked, staggered, startled, stunned, gob-smacked, bewildered, dumbfounded, flabbergasted, horrified, incredulous, surprised, taken aback  Torment - agony, anguish, hurt, misery, pain, punishment, suffering, afflict, angst, conflict, distress, grief, heartache, misfortune, nightmare, persecute, plague, sorrow, strife, tease, test, trial, tribulation, torture, turmoil, vex, woe Touch -  (physical) - blow, brush, caress, collide, come together, contact, converge, crash, cuddle, embrace, feel, feel up, finger, fondle, frisk, glance, glide, graze, grope, handle, hit, hug, impact, join, junction, kiss, lick, line, manipulate, march, massage, meet, nudge, palm, partake, pat, paw, peck, pet, pinch, probe, push, reach, rub, scratch, skim, slide, smooth, strike, stroke, suck, sweep, tag, tap, taste, thumb, tickle, tip, touching, toy, bite, bump, burrow, buss, bury, circle, claw, clean, clutch, cover, creep, crush, cup, curl, delve, dig, drag, draw, ease, edge, fiddle with, flick, flit, fumble, grind, grip, grub, hold, huddle, knead, lap, lave, lay a hand on, maneuver, manhandle, mash, mold, muzzle, neck, nestle, nibble, nip, nuzzle, outline, play, polish, press, pull, rasp, ravish, ream, rim, run, scoop, scrabble, scrape, scrub, shave, shift, shunt, skate, slip, slither, smack, snake, snuggle, soothe, spank, splay, spread, squeeze, stretch, swipe, tangle, tease, thump, tongue, trace, trail, tunnel twiddle, twirl, twist, tug, work, wrap  (mental) - communicate, examine, inspect, perception, scrutinize Wet - bathe, bleed, burst, cascade, course, cover, cream, damp, dampen, deluge, dip, douse, drench, dribble, drip, drizzle, drool, drop, drown, dunk, erupt, flood, flow, gush, immerse, issue, jet, leach, leak, moisten, ooze, overflow, permeate, plunge, pour, rain, rinse, run, salivate, saturate, secrete, seep, shower, shoot, slaver, slobber, slop, slosh, sluice, spill, soak, souse, spew, spit, splash, splatter, spout, spray, sprinkle, spurt, squirt, steep, stream, submerge, surge, swab, swamp, swill, swim, trickle, wash, water Wicked -  abominable, amoral, atrocious, awful, base, barbarous, dangerous, debased, depraved, distressing, dreadful, evil, fearful, fiendish, fierce, foul, heartless, hazardous, heinous, immoral, indecent, intense, mean, nasty, naughty, nefarious, offensive, profane, scandalous, severe, shameful, shameless, sinful, terrible, unholy, vicious, vile, villainous, wayward, bad, criminal, cruel, deplorable, despicable, devious, ill-intentioned, impious, impish, iniquitous, irreverent, loathsome, Machiavellian, mad, malevolent, malicious, merciless, mischievous, monstrous, perverse, ruthless, spiteful, uncaring, unkind, unscrupulous, vindictive, virulent, wretched Writhe -  agonize, bend, jerk, recoil, lurch, plunge, slither, squirm, struggle, suffer, thrash, thresh, twist, wiggle, wriggle, angle, arc, bow, buck, coil, contort, convulse, curl, curve, fidget, fight, flex, go into spasm, grind, heave, jiggle, jolt, kick, rear, reel, ripple, resist, roll, lash, lash out, screw up, shake, shift, slide, spasm, stir, strain, stretch, surge, swell, swivel, thrust, turn violently, tussle, twitch, undulate, warp, worm, wrench, wrestle, yank 

[aghostnotaguardian-archive]

//MY BROTHERS AND SISTERS - HERE IS THE ANSWER TO THE PROBLEM OF FINDING THAT RIGHT WORD!!!!!

[shades-of-orange]

I’ve reblogged it before, and I’ll reblog it again