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ash5monster01 · 11 months

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Perfect to Love

Pairing: Steve Harrington x FemReader!PlusSize

Warnings: fluff, mentions of bullying, body image issues, fat shaming, angst, trust issues.

Summary: Beth Walker was used to living in the shadows. She had only one friend and anyone else who paid her mind usually bullied her for her size. So she learned to keep her mouth shut, her head down, and her heart closed because she had to accept the fact that she would be nothing more than the fat girl to people. That is until Robin decides Beth needs more in life and that might just include a boy who she never would’ve thought could see her for who she truly was.

word count: 1,326

→ Part 1

Masterlist

"Bertha!" chuckles from teenage boys followed the sneer that came from Colin Matterson's mouth, football captain, and all around douche. Beth recoiled into her self as heads turned to look at her and her peers chuckled. People thought they were clever adding two little letters to her name, instead they were just mean.

"Eat shit Matterson!" Robin stood and yelled to which the boy just brushed off and continued on his way to a seat in the bleachers. Beth felt her breaths coming out in heavy paces but she appreciated Robin for sticking up for her. "Don't listen to him Beth, he's an asshole"

"You know I ignore him" Beth told her, adjusting the strap to her marching band helmet. Robin took notice of how her flute trembled in her hand despite the tough facade she was putting on.

"Still Beth, people like him aren't going to matter by the end of the year" Vickie piped in. Ever since the three had been placed beside each other in the line up they had gotten to know each other. They also learned that Beth was super cool despite being silent most of the time. Things used to not be so bad until Barb Holland passed away, leaving her to be the only bigger girl left in their grade.

"I know, just hurts that he's right" both girls instantly gave offended looks, quickly muttering off how she was one of the most prettiest girls they knew but sometimes those comments didn't hold a lot of weight opposed to the mean ones. Beth knew it was wrong to not think her friends were sincere but if Colin Matterson was the one calling her beautiful things would be a bit different. Being seen at all by somebody new would be different.

"Beth nobody is perfect and you in comparison to Colin Matterson is a thousand times better and I mean it. You have more personality and good qualities in your pinky finger than he does all together" Beth offered a smile because a small part of her knew she was right. Yet after years of opposite comments there was still a small part of her that believed Robin was just saying it to make her feel better.

"Thanks Rob" but Robin knew she still didn’t get through to the girl and that thought frustrated her more than anything. Beth deserved to be seen for the amazing person she was, somebody like that shouldn’t have to hide from the world because of some stupid standard of beauty. It pissed Robin off to no end especially when she knew if Beth looked how people thought she should look she would be the most popular girl in school.

Robin kept this in mind throughout the entirety of the pep rally, walking Beth to her car, and waiting for Steve to pick her up. She was frustrated not only trying to find a way for others to see how amazing Beth was but for Beth to see herself as such. Robin knew what hating yourself could be like, it took years for her to accept being gay. Some things you can’t change and the sooner you learn to accept them the happier you’ll be. Yet since she couldn’t come up with a sure fire way she continued to be frustrated.

“What’s with you?” Robing looked up from the returns she was stacking to see Steve leaned against the counter giving her a confused look.

“What do you mean?” she asked and he quickly chuckled, a shake of his head swaying some stray hairs loose.

“You’ve barely said a word since we’ve gotten here. Normally you’re going on and on about how cute Vickie was at band practice today. You being quiet is weird” Steve told her and Robin finally sighed, falling against the counter like she had finally given up.

“It’s Beth” Steve rose his eyebrows in a suggestive way and Robin shook her head against the counter top, a sign that it wasn’t like he thought.

“Beth Walker, you remember her?” Robin asked and Steve shook his head which only caused Robin to sigh harder.

“She’s my friend and easily the sweetest girl on this planet but she gets terrorized at school, she doesn’t even know how cool she is because of how terrible to other students are to her” Robin explained and Steve suddenly felt guilty for not knowing her despite being a grade ahead.

“Why are they bullying her?” Steve asked, curious as to what reason someone would have to treat a sweet girl badly.

“She’s bigger, kinda like Barb but shorter. They call her Bertha” Steve cringed at the mean name, even he could feel the sting of it.

“That’s awful Rob” he told her and she nodded as she lifted her head from the counter.

“It is and Steve she is so great. Like the coolest chick you’d ever meet. She drives a brand new corvette and the kids still treat her like shit” Steve smiled at Robins defense for the girl, the thought comforting him to know she’d do the same for him.

“Have you tried telling her this?” Robin let out a small groan as she started to pick at a stray string on her shirt.

“All the time but I know she doesn’t listen. I can’t blame her though, when the same people keep building you up and hundreds of strangers tear you down it doesn’t do much. That’s a battle meant to be lost” Robin wished that her words could resonate with the girl but the only way they would is if someone like Colin Matterson finally came around and started saying them. Then suddenly it hit her. “You used to be a dick right?”

“Woah, what the hell?” Steve held his hands up and Robin rolled her eyes.

“You know what I mean Steve, you weren’t the best guy back in the day” Robin defended and he dropped his head.

“That’s way harsh Rob, you know I’m not like that anymore” Robin nodded and began to move around the counter to face him.

“Well yeah, you’re super cool now. But guys like Colin Matterson still think you’re King of Hawkins?” Steve thought about it before nodding, he graduated with the Mr. Popular reputation even if he still didn’t feel like he had it.

“Not that I’m proud of it but yeah, those guys all still think I’m hot shit” Steve said as he crossed his arms. “So what’re you getting at?”

“Meet Beth, hang out with her in public, if people see you with her they might realize it’s not her size that matters” Steves eyes widened, totally not seeing where this conversation was going.

“I don’t know Rob-”

“Please Steve, she’s so great. It doesn’t have to be right away, I can bring her to a movie night or something. She just deserves to be seen for who she is and I can’t help her with that but you can” Steve pressed his hand to his eyes, thinking about it for a moment before turning to her.

“One movie night, then I’ll think about it” he told her as he pointed a finger at her and she began to jump and cheer. “You’re something else”

“And you’re the best Steve Harrington, truly” Steve tried to hide his smile but he couldn’t help it as he watched Robin become so happy over the thought that she could help a friend.

If Robin had claimed this girl was so special maybe it was worth a shot. Hell he never even really thought of Barb as big, it was mainly Tommy and Carol that ever bullied people for things like that. Yet he realized he wasn’t much better never even realizing her when he knew most of her grade because of Nancy. The size didn’t matter to him, but if he didn’t like her and started bringing her around wouldn’t that be just like using her?

a/n: if this is a story you guys would be interested in plz let me know, I am also aware I have not finished my Rooster Series yet but I do have the outlines for the remaining chapters so I wanted to get a head start on this. I think the concept would be cute and I’m a sucker for the fact I think Steve Harrington would be all about plus size girls. I think this could be a cute short little series <3

let me know if you want to be added to the tag list

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mr-laveau · 9 months

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Cu-wip-osity tag game >:D

@cash-n-prizes really told me to get my ass in gear and WELL, here I am so here we go!

rules: reveal the titles of the documents in your WIP folder and tag as many people as there are documents. let others ask questions about the ones that interest them, and post snippets or explain the contents as you see fit!

Tagging: there are too many people to tag and i don’t talk to that many people sooooo whoever wants can tag in. Trust me, I cannot tag that many people for this.

And Then there were three - SH, Angel & Baaabe

Roses n’ Thorns - Darlin/Quinn (past) - Darren(Darlin) used to be in a band with Quinn called Rose n’ Thorns. Yes, I did in fact write Darr being in a band with Quinn into his actual backstory, fuck timelines and canon, I do what I want.

Spell slot - Lovely(electro)/Vincent

Gotcha bitch! - Darlin/pack - poly Shaw pack - Darren (Darlin) has a breakdown when the pack throws him a surprise birthday party

In the face of eternity - Lovely(Vampire)

Who’s ya daddy? - SH/Milo (ft. Colm) - Sadhil (SH) realizes that he and Milo have daddy issues, except SH used to work for Milo’s daddy.

Pretty Girl(gn) Walk - Angel/Darlin/David(minor)

Self-portrait - Gavin/FL - Gavin has too many hobbies but this new one is fun.

Stellar Collapse - Starlight

Fed to the Wolves - David/Darlin

The importance of Couch sharing - Poly Shaw Pack - David/Darlin/Asher/Milo

Backup Generator - DAMN Polycule & Lovely(Vampire)/Vincent

Extra Lessons - Sam/FL/Darlin

Come Back to Haunt - David & SH

Do you have an appointment? - Sam/FL - R18

Hate to see em leave, Love to watch em go - Poly Shaw pack - Asher/Milo/David/Darlin - Asher and Milo talk about David & Darren (Darlin) behind their backs but they’re specifically talking about their behinds - R18

Sweet Dreams (are made of this) - Sunshine/Elliott

Dahlia Empowered Records & Profiles Department - audio project - Magnus Archives parody but make it Redacted

Honestly…no - David/Darlin

A Pack of Idiots - Poly Shaw Pack:

"I'm in love with Asher." David said. The room went quiet after that as Sadhil and Milo's eyes locked onto their alpha in disbelief–more specifically disbelief in the fact that David actually said the very thing that everyone in the pack would joke about when they saw him and his beta together in any capacity. The key word there being 'joked' because no one actually expected it to be true. Sadhil had the mind to question the statement further but got beat to the opportunity to speak. "Well no shit, Sherlock." Darren replied. "Took you that long to figure out?" Now eyes were going back and forth between Tank and David, the bigger wolf looking at the usually quiet shifter in bewilderment as they met his gaze with nonchalance. The investigator could already feel the tensions rising and if they knew both of their fellow pack members well enough then there'd be more to this. "What do you mean, long enough?" "–Darr means," Milo is the one to speak up this time, cutting off Tank from making anymore frank remarks and riling the other man up, "that we can all tell." "What?”

Running Memories - Darlin focused

Can You Roll a Charisma Check? - Lasko/Listener (pre-canon listener) - Lasko finds out that someone new has joined his DnD group and he’s definitely gonna have to roll high if he wants to impress them

Out for Blood - Sam/Darlin - R18

What if we all dated each other? - DAMN Polycule

In-Spectre - Yes I know that’s name of an anime, I’m being funny - SH/Milo:

"Why don't I take you dancin' some time?" "You got two feet shorter than myself there, toots. You think you can keep up?" Sadhil smirks.

Bad Dog - (Dom) Darlin/ Sam - R18:

"Course not." The vampire huffs. "I know you better than that Darlin." "Do you really, doc?" Darren smiles as crosses his arms and slowly strides over to Sam from across the bar with a sly grin. "Because I know for a fact that there's a side to me you haven't met yet and he wants to make you beg like a hungry mutt." Sam Collins has never in his life wanted anything more than just to let his mate have their way with him right now. He doesn't have time to question why when the one thing racing in his mind is to let Darren use and abuse him like a bone for his wolf to chew on, and he'll be damned if he doesn't let tonight be the night for that to happen. "Where?" "As much as I would like to fuck you in one of the stalls here, I want your ass on a bed where I can have it to myself tonight."

Broke Back Mountain - Sam/Huxley

Ghostly Touches - Lasko/SH/Milo - R18

Don’t Hold Your Breath - DAMN Polycule

Two Birds - David/Darlin

Worth of Chance - SH & Colm

Sway - Vincent/Lovely

Heart Strings - Asher/Baaabe/Darlin

Keeping Track of Things 1 & 2 - Darlin/Sam (feat. BE & Fred)

Reset Button - Lovely(Vampire) & Sam

Ghosted - SH/Sam/Darlin

Parks & Recreation - Darlin/David

Anyways, have fun~

#redacted asmr #redacted audio #redactedverse #redacted fandom #ask meme #ask #ask game #inbox #redacted fanfic #redacted fanfiction #redacted asmr fanfic #redacted audio fanfic #writing wip #wips

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idolcandy · 1 year

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hiii! i love ur fics and I'm a goner about caslys, if you could write it like lysander distances himself from castiel cus of his crush, castiel gets mad, they argue, lys pisses cas even more, and then lys apologizes and they get together and cas is like super soft? not necessarily sappy, just soft lol. idk if any of that made sense, but honestly u don't have to do any of that, if it could be caslys is more than enough lol!! merry christmas!!!

Awakening

Rating: G Ships: Castiel/Lysander Tags: Romance, Confessions

Lysander hasn’t answered his texts, which isn’t that strange in and of itself; he frequently misplaces his phone, lets it die, or simply disconnects for a while. What is strange is that he’s left Castiel on read.

Multiple messages, everything from a simple “hey,” to an attempt to arrange band practice, all ignored. This isn’t like Lysander, if Castiel had offended him or done something wrong, Lysander would be the type to tell him he was being rude. But radio silence is new.

Lysander can be the type to bottle things up and pretend he’s fine; he suffered in silence for a long time before sharing that his father was ill. But it was all internal, he never pushed anyone away. So, what’s changed?

What he’s about to do is petty, he knows it is, but what choice does he have? Castiel sends Lysander one final text.

To: Lysander From: Castiel Talk to me or I ring Leigh to find out what’s going on

The gambit works and it doesn’t take long for Lysander to send a response.

To: Castiel From: Lysander Can we meet at the park?

Castiel rarely goes to the park without taking the dog for a walk, but tonight the mood feels too serious for that, and Pancake stays huddled up in his bed so that he doesn’t get dragged out to an argument.

Castiel finds Lysander sat on a bench in one of the quieter spots in the park, far from the pathways where strolling dog walkers might pass him by. He’s slumped over, his gaze fixed firmly at his feet.

“Hey, are you going to tell me why you’ve been ignoring me?” Castiel demands, forgoing any greetings. He never was one for subtlety.

Lysander breathes a deep sigh and sits up straight. “I owe you an apology, I was wrong to push you away…” Lysander’s voice trails off there, seemingly searching for the right words.

Castiel scowls, “I’m looking for an explanation, Lys.”

Lysander nods in understanding but returns to staring at the ground as if his boots were the most interesting thing in the world. He pauses again but Castiel’s groan of complaint prompts him to speed up.

Still avoiding looking at Castiel, he rattles off a vague excuse, “I’ve been under some stress with family issues and- “

Castiel cuts him off. “Don’t give me that bullshit. I can tell when you’re lying, you’re not able to look me in the eye and lie.”

Lysander looks up at him, “I’m not lying.”

Castiel grits his teeth and turns his back on Lysander, almost retreating to let his anger out in private, but at the last seconds he turns back and unleashes it.

“Fuck you, Lys. I didn’t do shit to deserve this and you’re just going to sit there and lie to me? We’ve been through hell together and now you’re just going to cut me out of your life and you won’t even do me the decency of telling me why?”

Lysander still can’t look at him. He looks so small sitting there, staring at his lap like a naughty child who’s just gotten into deep trouble. And he has nothing to say in his defence.

The corners of Castiel’s eyes scrunch up as he tries to keep the tears at bay. “Do you really hate me that much?”

Lysander leaps to his feet. “I don’t hate you; I love you”

Lysander collapses into the bench, his face looks even paler than usual. It wasn’t meant to slip out like that. It was supposed to go unsaid, forever.

“Christ,” Castiel mumbles, as he puzzles over what to do. Eventually, he settles on taking a seat next to Lysander. “Well, that, uhhh, explains a lot actually.”

Lysander recoils from Castiel. He remains seated but his whole body curls away from Castiel in shame. His hands are trembling by now.

Castiel reaches up and lays a hand on Lysander’s shoulder. “Don’t freak out, I’m not mad.”

Lysander closes his eyes so he doesn’t have to see Castiel’s face. “Aren’t you disgusted though?”

“No!” Castiel’s grip on Lysander’s shoulder tightens. “Jesus Lys, no. Never.”

It’s then that tears start to roll down Lysander’s cheeks. So much that he’d bottled up, and hidden away for fear of rejection, fear of losing Castiel entirely, starts to come to the surface. Soon his head falls into his hands and the tears fall harder.

Knowing words are useless now, Castiel pulls Lysander into him and lets him sob against his chest. Instinctively, he presses a kiss against Lysander’s head, into a mess of white hair. At that, he feels Lysander’s body stiffen and his sobbing quietens down, but he doesn’t question the gesture.

What did that mean? It came from nowhere, a feeling he hadn’t recognised yet. With Lysander so morose, he was overcome with the need to quelch all the reasons for it, to have him and to hold him and kiss the pain away.

As Lysander lets the last of his tears run out in the comfort of Castiel’s gentle embrace, Castiel is left with questions more far-reaching than the ones he arrived with.

#my candy love #lysander #castiel #caslys #lwtsbaby #my fanfiction #stuff i make #ask

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hermannsthumb · 3 years

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"different young (rebound) hunk on his arm every week…newton geiszler who?" CAN YOU WRITE THIS FIC PLEASE? Hermann as the new heartthrob of the science world, cheekbones that can cut glass, baby gay scientists everywhere using appalling math-related pick-up lines in an attempt to be the booty call of the week. Newton catches a glimpse of him at a fundraiser and the Precursors have to stop him from crying with lust.

so tragically I plotted a whole fic for this and then came back and realized this prompt involves PRU but I liked my idea too much so unfortunately I won’t be filling the PRU part 😔 but I DO love heartthrob hermann sooooooooo. this can be pre-PRU if you want to make it sad actually CW for drinking and mild allusion to not sfw stuff. when will these boys talk about their feelings?

-------------------------------------------

Hermann doesn’t like going out to bars at the best of times, least of all after he’s had the sort of exceptionally long day he’s had today (fighting his way through airports and hotel lobbies, fielding interview questions, having not even a minute’s break from Newton), but even he will admit that the one Newton has dragged him along to tonight could be far worse. The sorts of bars Newton fancied throughout their stint at the Hong Kong Shatterdome tended to be far hipper, far more becoming for a man of his (and, admittedly, Hermann’s) age, and likely aimed at tourists: pounding music, dark rooms, neon lighting, overpriced drinks, an inability to navigate through throngs of dancing bodies without bumping into at least half a dozen people. For that reason Hermann’s blood practically ran cold earlier that evening when, fresh out of their latest television interview, Newton insisted that Hermann needed to unwind a little. That Newton would help him unwind a little.

Hermann was pleasantly surprised to find that though the music (a live band) is still loud, and drink prices are still inflated, at least he can see Newton, and at least the few people dancing are dancing far away from them. And, well, perhaps it’s made him more amenable to (mostly) matching Newton drink-for-drink, and to indulging him in knocking back not one, but two rounds of the most disgusting-looking pink shots of all time, and— “Look, dude,” Newton declares, tossing an arm around Hermann’s shoulder. He’s shouting and leaning in too-close to Hermann, not because he’s intoxicated, but rather to be heard over the band, which has launched into a rather enthusiastic cover of some song Hermann’s sure he’s heard blaring from Newton’s iTunes before. His stubble tickles the shell of Hermann’s ear. “Just say it with me. It’s that easy. R-e-t-i-r-e-m—”

“We are thirty-five,” Hermann says. “We can’t just—”

“We absolutely can,” Newton says. He nudges his cocktail glass into Hermann’s chest, sloshing a bit of hot pink Watermelon Crush on his neat button-up. Hermann stifles a sigh; the shirt is brand new, bought just that morning for the interview, and will already be needing a wash. And smelling like liquified hard candy for the rest of the evening. “You and me, lying on a beach somewhere, sleeping in until noon every day, learning how to—to fish, or paint, or whatever the hell we want—”

“Not a beach,” Hermann says immediately. “I’m bloody well sick of beaches. Oceans, lakes, bays—no more."

Indulging Newton’s ridiculous little fantasy, even for a moment, is a mistake: Newton’s face lights up in a grin, and he tucks his arm around Hermann’s shoulder to pull Hermann flush against him. Hermann’s barstool wobbles dangerously. “Okay, no beaches. Far away from any coastline. The mountains, then.” It’d be just their luck, Hermann thinks, if the next Breach reopened far away from the ocean, too. Like it followed them somehow. “Let’s move to Switzerland or something and buy a log cabin or a cave and become weird recluses. I’ll learn how to ski, and you can grow a beard, and we can buy all our furniture at Ikea—” He frowns. “Is Ikea from Switzerland? Sweden? I haven’t been since college.”

“I don’t recall ever agreeing to move anywhere with you in the first place,” Hermann says, “let alone retire to do so. What on earth makes you think I’d follow you to Switzerland? I’ve no interest whatsoever in Switzerland.”

“Uh, because we’re best friends?” Newton says. “Anyway, what else would you do?”

“Anything,” Hermann says. He begins to tick off all the possibilities on his fingers while Newton watches him, unimpressed. “I could stay in Hong Kong—I’m sure they’d appreciate help monitoring what remains of the Breach. Or I could move back to England and resume my old teaching post, if they’d have me.” Hermann knows they’d have him; they’ve already sent him at least a dozen emails practically begging him to accept tenure. “Or back to Germany, with my parents.”

“I could totally do all that, too,” Newton says. “Well—not the Germany thing. No offense, dude, but your parents kinda suck. I don’t think I want them as my roommates.”

Hermann decides not to mention that the odds are very high they would not want Newton as a roommate, either. He’s tempted to ask Newton if he meant what he said about them being best friends—for Hermann can’t recall the last time someone called him their best friend, if ever—but Newton’s arm is slipping from his shoulders, and Newton is pulling out his mobile phone and tapping away frantically at it. Hermann feels strangely bereft without his touch. “Okay,” Newton says, his eyes scanning the screen, “Ikea was founded in Sweden, but they moved headquarters in—”

“Excuse me?”

Hermann and Newton both startle, Newton nearly dropping his phone, and the bartender who’d interrupted them smiles apologetically. He’s holding a pint of what appears to be beer. “Sorry to bother you guys,” he says to them, “but this is from the young man over there in the pink shirt.”

At the sight of the drink Newton brightens and puffs out his chest visibly. Bloody perfect, Hermann thinks. Just want Newton needs—another boost to his ego. “No sweat,” Newton says. He tosses his mobile to the bar counter casually and reaches to accept the glass. “Please tell him I’m super flattered, but—”

“Actually, sir,” the bartender interrupts, and—to Hermann’s surprise—slides the glass away from Newton’s grasp and over to Hermann. Hermann takes it without a word, not quite daring to believe it. Down the bar, out of the corner of his eye, he can see the flash of a bright pink shirt, but he can’t quite make himself turn to acknowledge the mystery admirer. Is that rude of him? No one has ever sent him a drink before. He’s not quite sure of the etiquette. “It’s, um, not for you.”

Newton deflates like a popped balloon. A blush spreads across his cheeks, barely visible beneath his freckles, which have come out again in the spring sunlight now that they’re not spending all their time in the Shatterdome basement. Hermann likes the look of them; he thinks they’re sweet, and that if he traced his fingertip across them they’d make a pattern of some sort, like a constellation. Not that he ever would, of course. Newton would surely ridicule him. "Right, duh,” Newton says.

He waits until the bartender is gone to round on Hermann. “Dude!” he says, almost accusatory, “Fourth time this week!”

“It is not,” Hermann protests. It’s weak to his own ears: even he isn’t thick enough to miss the sudden influx of attention he’s gotten since their first television interview last month. Hermann was never exactly popular, never exactly the sort the drive people wild with lust or romantic longing, yet it seems as if he can’t go anywhere these days without turning a few heads (including mid-twentysomething heads, mortifyingly enough) and getting a few cellular numbers slipped into his hand. Yesterday, a young man on the metro asked Hermann if he might like to see a movie some time. The day before that, another man wearing a jean jacket full of enamel pins stepped up to Hermann in a Starbucks and asked him if he could call-cu-later. Last week, a starry-eyed college student stopped Hermann outside a hotel to ask him to sign his Calculus 3 textbook, excitedly telling Hermann he switched degrees to astrophysics not a few days prior after reading an interview with Hermann in a rather obscure pop science magazine, and had blushed when Hermann thanked him. Newton had laughed at that one, and advised the young man to give biology a shot instead. (Newton had gotten very cross when he was promptly ignored, and in referencing the incident later, rather bitterly called the student an annoying little punk.)

This is to say nothing, of course, of the multiple news articles (listicles, as Newton calls them) Newton has forced him to read about himself on something called Buzzfeed, which have apparently helped to cement Hermann’s fifteen minutes of fame. One was called Twelve Times Dr. Hermann Gottlieb Was A Fashion Icon and was accompanied with a rather embarrassing array of candid photos of Hermann. Newton has been particularly incensed over that one.

“It is,” Newton says. “At least third. You know, I think the worst part is that you’re not even getting laid. Dudes are throwing themselves at you left and right—”

“Am I meant to go home with any random stranger who shows me the briefest bit of attention?” Hermann snaps. “I like to think I have somewhat higher standards than that.” I’m not like you, he nearly adds, but decides that it might perhaps be too cruel, especially considering that Newton has not gotten a fraction of the attention Hermann has over the past month. He remembers what it used to be like in the Shatterdome, is all; Newton seemed to like anyone who would give him the time of day. Most of his romances didn’t fare well for that reason.

“I’m just saying you could, and you’re not,” Newton says.

Hermann taps his finger against the pint glass, watching bubbles release from the side and rise to the top. When he finally takes a sip, it makes him wrinkle his nose. He’s not usually much for drinking. “I don’t like IPAs,” he says.

“I’ll take it,” Newton says, and the corner of his mouth hitches up in a grin, “as long as your boyfriend won’t get offended.”

Considering that Newton has only just finished following up his two shots with a cocktail, Hermann questions the decision, but slides him the glass anyway. Newton starts on it at once. Hermann wonders if he’ll need to call them a rideshare back to their hotel tonight; he’s not sure he can manage guiding a intoxicated Newton through the streets of the city on foot, especially not after a day that’s been rather unkind on his hip. “Only I suppose I have trouble believing it,” Hermann admits.

“Believing what?” Newton says.

“That they’re genuinely interested,” Hermann says.

To Hermann’s surprise, Newton snorts. “Nah, dude. You’ve got—” He taps Hermann’s chest, and leaves his hand there. “—sex appeal. You’ve got the, like, soulful eyes, and the movie star eyelashes, and the cheekbones and—” He drags his fingertip along Hermann’s jaw, and Hermann masks his sharp flinch in a cough, hoping Newton can’t feel his face heating up. He doesn’t remember if Newton has ever touched his face before. It feels shockingly intimate. “People think it’s super hot.” He takes another sip of Hermann’s drink. "Plus, you’re so—like—uptight. It makes people wonder what you’re bottling up.”

Hermann arches an eyebrow. “Bottling up?”

“In a sexy way,” Newton clarifies.

He settles his hand back on Hermann’s chest. Hermann licks his lips. Has Newton wondered those sorts of things about him, too? “You’ve had—too much to drink,” he says.

“A little bit,” Newton agrees. “I’m right, though. I like this shirt, by the way, it’s a nice cut on you.” He toys with one of the shirt’s buttons, and when he speaks again it’s in a low voice that makes Hermann’s mouth feel strangely dry. Hermann has never heard it from him before. “Wanna go back to the hotel and rent a movie or something?”

He’s peering at Hermann through his eyelashes, smiling in an odd little way. How terribly close they are to each other, Hermann realizes. He can count every tiny scratch in Newton’s eyeglasses, every fleck of gold in his eyes, every freckle on his cheeks. He wonders if Newton really wants to rent a movie; he wonders what Newton would do if Hermann closed the inch between them, and... “I,” Hermann stammers, gaze fixed on Newton’s mouth (stained pinker from his drink), “er, yes, only—only I feel as if I ought to thank the gentleman who sent me—”

At once, Newton drops away from him. His face hardens. His smile hardens, too. “Oh, right. I forgot,” he says. He inclines his head down the bar. “Pink shirt, right?”

Hermann casts his eyes about, searching for the pink-shirted stranger. When he doesn’t immediately spot him, a small bubble of relief swells within him. Perhaps he left, perhaps he decided he’s not interested in Hermann after all, perhaps Hermann is free to go back to the hotel with Newton and watch a film and argue about retirement and… “Oh, there,” Newton says. A man catches Hermann’s eye and waves timidly. He’s wearing a pink button-up.

“Bugger,” Hermann mutters. His admirer is not unattractive—in fact, he’s the opposite, with curly hair and glasses even thicker than Newton’s—which Newton seems to notice, too. He claps Hermann on the shoulder, hard enough that Hermann sways with it.

“He’s totally cute,” Newton says, “and he’s totally into you. You gotta at least get his number.” He takes another large sip of Hermann’s drink. “Better yet, get yourself laid. You could use it.”

Hermann feels the oddest sense of whiplash. Just a minute prior, he was about to kiss Newton (and he was pretty sure Newton was going to kiss him back), and now Newton is practically throwing him at another man. Hermann does not want to get anyone’s phone number—he wants to fall asleep in his stiff hotel bed to some absolutely awful science-fiction movie Newton picks out. “Newton,” he says, “weren’t we going to—?”

“No biggie, we can do movie night tomorrow instead,” Newton says. He nudges Hermann’s calf with the toe of his boot, and holds out his cane to him. Hermann feels his heart begin to sink. “I won’t wait up for you. Just give me a heads up if he wants to go back to our place, and I’ll make sure to stay out longer.”

“I’m sure it’ll only take a moment,” Hermann says. He’ll make sure it only takes a moment.

“No biggie,” Newton repeats. He raises his glass to Hermann in a mock toast. “Good luck!”

When Hermann looks back over his shoulder, halfway to the man in the pink shirt, it’s to see Newton’s stool vacant, and the back of Newton’s leather jacket swishing out the bar doors.

#newmann #maria's fanfiction tag #Anonymous

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equalstrashflavoredtrash · 4 years

Text

A Trip to the Market

WELP I JUST WENT AND WROTE A FIC FOR @cptnbvcks NOW SHE’S GOTTA FORGIVE ME FOR TALKING ABT FUCKING JAR JAR BINKS

This fic is really indulgent. Cus what this fandom totally needs is another fic abt groping in a cantina and then fuckin in alley. Anyway I hope you enjoy this horny mess i’ve made. This one’s for all my homies with thicc thighs! directily inspired by this post and then encougraged this idiot

Din DjarinX female!Reader (no y/n)//The Mandalorian

wordcount: 5.4k

warnings: SMUT, dom!Mando, bondage/ropes (not restraints tho), teasing, slight exhibitionism/sex in public, fingering, penetration, cockwarming, oral (f receving), some cum eating, aftercare, shibari **PLEASE NOTE: I DONT KNOW SHIT ABT SHIBARI, THIS FIC IS FANTASY, DO NOT USE IT AS A GUIDE. go learn abt it from someone who knows what they’re talking abt cus that’s not me lol

You hadn’t been sitting long when Mando arrived—crossing the threshold of the cantina exactly when he said he would, as punctual as ever. You watched as he surveyed the room, taking in every patron before moving from the entrance. He made his way across the dusty floor, his steps strong and sure as he approached your table.

Silently he slid in the booth, settling to sit directly next to you with his back to the wall. You had been mindful to choose a table in the back of the room, knowing his preference for positioning himself.

“Have a good morning?” He asked, the visor of his helmet tilting towards you ever so slightly.

“We did,” you smiled, thinking about the little green toddler before taking a sip of your drink as you shifted your weight, adjusting to be more comfortably seated—your surprise for Mando proving to make sitting for an extended period quite awkward. “We went for a walk along the river and caught some toads. Little guy was worn out by the time we got back so he’s down for a nap right now instead of coming along. Any luck finding the lead on that bounty?” You fiddled with the cup in your hand, rocking the bottom of it against the stained wooden table as he hummed in response, the sound coming across crackled through his helmet.

“No.” Mando’s answer was clipped and you could tell he was distracted. Unable to see his eyes, it was impossible to know exactly what he was looking at, but you’d bet all your credits he had finally noticed the creep at the bar.

From the moment you had walked in he’d been staring, watching intently as you ordered your drink and sat down to wait for the Mandalorian. The stranger wore a wide brim hat pulled low over his brow, shading his face in the already dimly lit cantina. You had been stared at plenty of times before, but usually they stopped once they caught a glimpse of the Mandalorian. This guy though, he had continued to keep his head turned squarely in your direction.

“I’ve just been ignoring him,” you stated as you nudged Mando’s elbow with your own, pulling his attention back to you.

“I know,” he replied, still looking out, watching the room. “As long as he doesn’t try anything.”

You watched out of the corner of your eye as Mando’s hand started to move, pulling away from where it rested on the tabletop. Situations like this with the creep were nothing new, and both you and Mando realized that sometimes, certain displays were effective in getting a message across to strangers that wouldn’t leave you alone. When you were making plans earlier with Mando over the com-link, he suggested meeting up at the cantina, and you wondered if something like this would happen—but as his hand landed on the bare skin just below the hem of your skirt, you suddenly didn’t care.

The worn leather of Mando’s glove cupped your knee, giving a small squeeze before continuing to drift along your thigh. You bit your lip, trying to hide your smile—there was a bubble of excitement in your chest that was not only your normal jitters from feeling Mando’s hands on you, but an eagerness for him to discover…

His pinky bumped into it first. You could tell he had noticed by the way his touch hesitated before continuing. Once the rest of his fingers slid further up, stroking over each ridge of the eight woven cords binding around your thighs, his helmet spun around—his neck snapping to face you. You tried to flash him a face of innocence as if you had no idea why you suddenly had the ever-vigilant Mandalorian’s undivided attention.

Looping a finger through one one of the bands wrapped around your legs he tugged, feeling the soft give of your flesh against the coarse material. “Are these ropes?” he asked, his voice sounding low through the vocoder as the visor stayed even, trained on you. You could almost feel his gaze boring into you like blaster fire, watching for even the slightest hint of a tell.

“Uh-huh,” you confirmed with a quick nod. “Tied it myself.”

“I want to see—”

“No!” You spoke quickly, hands jumping to grab his forearm as you interrupted him before remembering to keep your voice low. “Mando, there’s people watching.” You raised your eyebrows, trying to make your point clear but you felt his touch tracing along the crisscrossing cords, following how they snaked around your curves.

You had taken your time before leaving the Razor Crest, starting at your waist and then moving to twist the rope to wrap around each leg four times. The loops were spaced evenly along outside of your thigh, crisscrossing into an alluring woven pattern that drew in towards your center. It had been a spur of the moment idea, a fun way to surprise the Mandalorian—and you were happy with the results so far. You felt secure with the cords winding around your hips and you knew he also enjoyed when you were bound like this—even if it was unusual for you to tie them yourself.

But Mando didn’t like your answer. Seeing his face wasn’t necessary to know he was annoyed, you could feel the warning in the way his hand tensed.

With a gulp you finished off your drink and left the empty cup on the table before moving away from him, scooting out of the booth. He didn’t try to hold you in your seat, letting your legs slide from under his hands. Gathering your things, you draped the strap of your messenger bag over your shoulder so the leather crossed your chest, resting comfortable between your breasts.

“I have a few errands I want to run, see if I can find one of those valves and maybe get some food.” You tried to keep your expression nonchalant, attempting to sound candid and not react to the way Mando was watching you. It was hard to tell just where he was looking but you were sure he was imagining you without your flowy orange sundress.

“Fine,” he sighed, his voice sounding like a huff through the distortion of the hemlet. Mando rose from his seat, standing over you before he gestured for you to lead the way.

You couldn’t remember the last time Mando had walked beside you. Usually he trailed two paces behind, keeping you directly in his range of vision as he scanned the surroundings—always on alert incase of a surprise—but now he stayed close, his shoulder occasionally bumping yours until he raised his hand to rest on the small of your back.

His fingers stroked along your hips—something small that seemed like an affectionate caress at first, but he was searching. Once he found the bump from the rope that looped around your middle under the fabric of your dress, he thumbed at it, idly strumming—and training your thoughts on his touch.

You tried to ignore him, searching the stalls as you moved through the open air market. Stepping away from his grasp, you approached a vendor, interested in the fruits they were selling. His hand had fallen from your back but Mando stayed within arm’s reach.

The Mandalorian appeared stoic as ever as you attempted to barter with the middle aged man who stood across the table of produce. The vendor had no way of seeing how Mando’s hand danced around the hem of your skirt behind you—the occasional brush of his fingertips against the back of your leg, or the way he would pinch and tug at your dress distracting you from the conversation at hand. His efforts paired with the language barrier lead you to struggle communicating and eventually give up, waving your hands and walking away.

Mando followed, ever the sentinel at your heels, until you halted to face him.

“Cut it out,” you hissed, feeling a familiar heat creeping into your cheeks from behind your ears. You wondered for a moment if he could tell—he mentioned once his visor had a sensor for changes in body temperature.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” His helmet dipped, looking at you as he continued with a professional tone, “I’m just making sure you’re safe. We’re on a new planet, in a strange town surrounded by people. I think it’s prudent I stay close, don't you?”

With a huff you spun on your heel—if he was going to play it like that you’d have your own fun. As you turned you tried to add as much of a twist as you could, knowing well the way the dress’ light fabric flounced with abrupt movements. A subtle fling of your hand guided it to billow and lift, catching the air to reveal just enough. He most likely only saw the briefest glimpse of what you were hiding but you knew that was ample fodder.

You weren’t able to move quickly, the reality of wearing ropes wound around the apex of your thighs while walking in a humid climate was starting to make itself known—and just the feeling of Mando’s hands on you had been exciting enough to make you wet, a fact that was more apparent due to your lack of underwear.

It wasn’t long until Mando was on you again, his touch was more brazen; resting his palm over your ass rather than repeating the glancing touches from before. Reaching back you grabbed at his wrist and pulled his arm forward, hooking your elbow around his to hold him close and keep his wandering touch in place.

Spotting a vender with barrels of grain you steered Mando in her direction, knowing your pantry could always use more rice. This seller was an older woman and knew enough Universal Basic that you were able to discuss prices without much difficulty. As you went back and forth with the vendor, going through the ritual of haggling down to an agreement, you felt Mando’s arm slip away but paid it no mind.

It wasn’t until you turned to Mando to ask if he wanted beans too or not that you noticed he wasn’t there. Frantically you checked over your other shoulder then spun around, searching for the crowd for a glint of his beskar reflecting in the bright sun, but there was nothing, not a single piece of reflective metal in sight. Why would he just walk off without telling you?

Returning to look at the venor, you frantically tried to think how to simply ask for her help. “Please, did you see my—,” Fuck, what do you call Mando? Your boss? Your friend? “The Mandalorian, did you see where he went?” The woman didn’t seem at all concerned by your worried expression as she gestured to the alley around the side of the building she was set up in front of. “Thank you!” You called over your shoulder, already leaving to follow him.

“Mand—,” you started as you rounded the mudbrick corner, halting midstep as you spotted him. Mando was standing face to face with the creep from the bar. You had no clue what they were discussing but it was obvious to you that The Mandalorian was not about to fight him. His posture was relaxed, shoulders rolled back with his thumbs hooked around his belt buckle to rest his arms. If there was the possibility of something happening Mando’s hand would be much closer to his blaster.

Just as you had begun to will your feet to move, Mando and the stranger clasped each other’s forearms and let go, then the stranger then handed something off before turning away. Passing you as he made his exit, the man you had originally thought of as some creep gave you a friendly nod and smile.

“What was that about?” You asked as you stopped next to Mando, still watching the retreating figure over your shoulder.

“The lead I’ve been looking for.” Turning around you noticed what he had been given: a tracking fob with the light still blinking. “Apparently he’s been following me all day, watching. Heard me talking to you, that’s how he knew to be at the cantina.”

“Did you know someone was following you?”

“Of course,” Mando stated, tucking the device away safely into one of his many pouches. Suddenly his on edge behavior all day made a little more sense.

“Well, now that’s all settled,” You began, making to leave the shadowy alley and return to the market. “The lady at the stall was offering an extra half pound of beans for a reduced price if I—”

Mando stopped you mid sentence and stride by a single finger hooked around the rope—keeping you from moving forward in a lazy hold. “We’re not done here,” he admonished, jerking your hips back with a quick tug for added emphasis.

Your body’s reaction to his voice was instant; you could feel a hard pulse of want in your pelvis as he grabbed at your skirt. Bringing your hands to the strap of your bag, you nervously fiddled with it at the center of your chest, fighting the urge to stop his wandering touch even though you were aware of the constant threat of someone walking around the corner.

Mando continued to hold your skirt up with one hand—the fabric balled in a fist he kept resting in the small of your back—as the other dropped. His fingers traced along the ropes, following one from your hips down your thigh before returning back up to grab you ass and moving on to the other thigh. He seemed to be mapping every inch with his touch before he wrapped his fist around the cord at the side of your hip and pulled you to turn around.

Letting out a soft ‘oh’ in surprise you stumbled, falling back slightly until your shoulder blades bumped into the stone wall. “Hold your skirt up,” he ordered, his visor dipping to watch your hands as you grabbed the hem and lifted it like a curtain, unveiling your gift for him. Your cheeks were burning, embarrassed to be doing something so brazen in public, but all you wanted was for him to touch you. You made to press your thighs—the urge to rub them together not even conscious of you—but your skin stung, red and raw from the damp friction, it had begun to chafe. Though you reacted to the pain, separating your legs a little bit more, it sent an exciting tingle through your limbs, adding to the fire burning low in your belly.

With both of his hands available now, Mando started at your waist, trailing over the crisscrossing bindings while his thumbs gently rubbed at the woven design. He came to the loops secured around your outer thighs and his fingers hovered for a moment before hooking underneath.

Gripping the cords, he easily lifted you up off your feet.

Gasping you wavered, off balance and hanging a few inches over the ground. One of your hands dropped your skirt, flying up to brace yourself against his currias as your feet swung, looking for purchase. He held you in the air for a solid moment—the ropes pulling but not biting at your skin due to the harness evenly supporting your weight.

Dropping you to the ground he let out a hum, his hands cupping your hips. “Not bad.”

“Not bad? I think I did pretty well!” You countered, smacking your palm flat against his beskar in protest.

“Your knots need work.” Mando reached to your waist, easily undoing the fastening at the front. “And it’s loose.” Holding the tails in his left fist, he grabbed at the leading lines, giving each a tug hard enough to move your hips as he tightened what he could before finishing with his own knot, pulling three times to secure it. Reaching back to your sides he tested the ropes again, pulling to check they were just right. “If you keep them tight, it won't rub your skin raw as you walk.”

You simpered, biting your lip as you looked away, you had really been hoping he hadn’t noticed, but of course he did—Mando is nothing if not observant.

This time when he gave a hard jerk to spin you around against the wall, you weren’t caught off guard and managed to brace yourself with your hands on the bricks as he pressed up against you. Mando’s hips were flush against your ass, the hard ridge of his cock rubbing along you through the canvas of his trousers.

“Your ass looks so good tied up like this.” Mando’s voice was low, close behind your ear. “All pinched and round, just for me.” His hands traveled around your hips as he leaned back, keeping his erection against you as he squeezed and played with your bottom. You yelped as he gave your left cheek a hard smack, realizing that he had taken his gloves off. He pulled his hips away as his hand slid down between your legs. Letting out something like a whimper at the loss of contact, it quickly morphed into a moan as his thick fingers easily pushed between your lips. You shuddered at the contact, the shock of him finally touching you running up your spine to tingle at the base of your skull as your fingers gripped at the stones before you.

“You like walking around like this don’t you? All bound and teasing me.” Mando’s voice was deep, coming from somewhere in his chest as he rambled. He knew what his dirty talk did to you and you were sure he could feel the effects now—his fingers pressed against your hole as it fluttered. “It’s obvious how much you love this; you’re dripping,” his tone was chiding but light as his touch swirled around your pussy, showing just how wet you had gotten.

You tried to stay still, pressing yourself against the wall as the rough texture of the bricks dragged against your nipples through the thin fabric of your dress. The sound of Mando playing with your drenched heat was audible over the background hum of the market twenty feet away.

Mando knew what he was doing, teasing you by gliding his fingers everywhere but your clit—you were so worked up that you might cum if he did and he realized this. “So wet, and it got all over the ropes. I bet you’re sore.” His hand pulled away, making a notable squelch as his fingers left your pussy to stroke along your bound inner thighs, spreading your slickness even further and making a mess. “And now you have to walk all the way back to the Razor Crest.”

Once he had finished wiping his hand on your legs, you watched, your cheek still pressed against the wall with eyes half dazed glancing over your shoulder, as he pulled his gloves back on.

“No-o,” you whined pathetically in protest once you fully realized what he was saying. “I was so close, you can’t stop.”

Mando gave your ass—which was still pointed out, your back curled so he had easy access to you—another hard slap before pulling your skirt down over your bottom, hiding the rope harness again. “We need to start moving if we want to get back and have time to fuck before the little one wakes up.”

Through you grumbled out an agreement, you apparently still weren’t moving fast enough for Mando, who grabbed your waist and pulled you up straight, pivoting you to face forward as you kept trying to adjust your dress.

He kept his palm flat against you, resting between your shoulder blades, while exiting the alley way. The sudden light of the sun after being in the shade hurt your eyes. Holding up a hand you tried to shield your face and let Mando guide you until you could see again. Squinting, it took a second to realize why he had stopped.

Standing in front of the same stall from before, Mando spoke up saying something you didn’t understand but the woman pulled up a second sack and began filling it with the beans she had been offering you.

Confused you looking up at Mando and found his helmet turned towards you. “You have the credits,” he said evenly, giving away nothing—his voice sounding as unemotional as ever though his hand on your back was stroking small soothing circles into your skin.

“Oh right,” you mumbled, quickly twisting to search in your shoulder bag for the little purse of metal currency. As you handed the money to the woman—who seemed to take in your flushed cheeks and how close The Mandalorian was standing, before giving you a knowing smirk—Mando hoisted the sack of rice and beans that had been tied together over his shoulder. With a nod he said one more thing which the woman repeated back before he was leading you into the crowd of the market.

Each step you took was careful—cautious to avoid irritating your skin further—focused more on your gait than where you were going as Mando led you through the throng of people who parted easily for the armored man.

“You speak the language here?” You finally asked, looking up at his beskar helmet as you furrowed your brow.

“Only a little bit.”

“And you let me make a fool of myself in front of that fruit seller, while you were pinching my ass?” You were peeved with him but you still wondered what his expression was under there—was he wearing some cheeky grin, thoroughly entertained by your frustrations?

Instead his head turned towards you as he simply replied, “It was cute.”

A hint of a laugh came through the vocoder though, you were sure of it.

+++... .... .. -... .- .-. ..+++

Returning to the Razor Crest the first thing you did was flop into a chair by the makeshift dining table that had been cobbled together as the number of residents on the ship grew. Mando was gone without a word, disappearing into the cockpit with a swish of his cape.

You watched as he climbed the ladder until he was out of view before checking your thighs. With gentle taps you tested the patches of red skin, hissing slightly as you brushed against the largest welt. Luckily the damage was not as bad as you feared and would heal quickly. Carefully you ran your finger along the ropes, feeling just how damp and sticky they had gotten from your excitement.

“How’re you feeling?” Mando’s voice spooked you, making you suddenly aware of his presence as your head shot up and your knees snapped closed. He stood nearby, holding a small jar you recognized as the bacta-ointment he uses on burns and rashes.

“Not nearly as bad as I thought, I should be fine.” You gave him a warm smile as he crossed the grated floor, setting the first aid down as he came to stand in front of you.

“Are you good to keep going? I checked on the little womp rat, he’s still snoring.” Mando’s fingers brushed lightly along the edge of your hand, sending tingles up your arm from the briefest touch.

You bit your lip and nodded, looking up at him through your lashes as you replied, “I am,” but before you could even finish the short confirmation he was already grabbing at you—hoisting you onto the wobbly table by your upper arms.

The jar of bacta clattered onto the floor, mindlessly shoved out of the way. You gasped while Mando practically ripped your dress up over your head, his eagerness to see you nude overriding any caution. Trying to find your balance, you braced yourself with both arms behind you, holding you up right as he grabbed your left leg, bringing it up so your ankle rested on his shoulder.

Sitting on the table like that with your legs spread, you were fully on display for Mando. He let out an approving growl, something that vibrated out from behind his ribs as he made quick work of shedding his belt. You felt a low throb, your pussy begging for him to fill you as you watched him undress.

The head of his cock was almost purple when he pulled it out, precum leaking from the tip. With a swipe between your lips that was too quick to be any kind of satisfying, he gathered your juices on his fingers, and spread your slick along his shaft.

“Mando,” you pleaded, dragging out the last syllable of his nickname into a whine. “I need you inside of me, please.”

He didn’t hesitate, done with teasing you. Mando lined himself up with your center and pushed. His cock filled you quickly, stretching your walls to take his girth but finding no resistance in the abundant lubrication.

“By the Maker,” he hissed, his voice husky even with the distortion and static as he paused, holding in place to enjoy the way your pussy hugged him. “How are you so tight and so wet?” You felt another throb at his words, tensing around him as he spoke.

“It’s because your cock is so fu-fucking bi-ig.” You tried to banter, counter his comments but the way his cock pressed inside you—prodding at your very end—got in the way of you forming coherent thoughts.

With a deep groan, Mando started to move, pulling out as you whimpered. He held your waist, fingers gripping at your bindings when he thrusted back into you. Wasting no time, he settled into a brutal pace, fucking you hard with such a convenient handle. You moaned and shuddered, your own hips matching his movements, chasing the tension you could feel building in your core as his cock dragged inside you. You tried to hold yourself up against the table but you were tired and your arms quickly got sore.

“Mando—,” you interrupted, placing a hand on his chest to catch his attention. He halted abruptly, his visor snapping up from where he’d been watching your pussy take him to your eyes. “Flip me over,” you requested, your voice airy but loud enough for him to hear.

His breathing was heavy, little puffs coming from his helmet as he nodded. Pulling again on the ropes he rolled you onto your front, drawing your hips back from the edge before sinking into you with ease. You let out a low moan, the head of his cock bumping into that wonderful spot deep inside of you with every thrust from this angle. He continued, ruthlessly pounding into you without mercy as he held onto the cords around your waist for leverage—there wasn’t much more you could do besides take him, letting him fuck you as he pleased.

Your orgasm was building, you could feel your scalp tighten and your toes curl, your muscles tensing, preparing as you approached the crest. You weren’t aware you were talking but you could hear your voice begging him to keep going, don’t stop. At the encouragement he doubled his efforts, leaning forward so his hand rested next to your head. He was hitting deeper than ever with this position and you felt yourself let go with a wail.

“Fu-uck,” Mando moaned in your ear, the curve of his helmet over his brow dropping to rest against your temple. He went stiff above you and you could feel the way his cock pulsed inside you, spilling his cum as your walls rhythmically clenched tight, convulsing around him.

The two of you stayed like that for a moment, silently basking in the afterglow of your shared orgasms while your breathing leveled. Mando’s broad form covered you as he kept you pinned against the table top. He held himself up slightly, balancing on one elbow close enough you could feel his armor brush against your shoulder blades with each inhale.

You kept your eyes closed, enjoying the security of lying beneath his protective body—nothing could hurt your right now with him both above and inside you.

His free hand began to roam, gliding along your ribs before approaching the ropes at your waist. His fingers followed the cords around to your front, coming to rest at the fastened knot just below your belly button.

Without needing to see, Mando was able to nimbly undo the knot, prising the right tails to loosen it’s hold. He continued to tug and pull, unraveling the harness as much as he could before rising from on top of you.

You were disappointed as the cool recycled air of the hull moved in to wrap around you, filling in where he had been. Shivering slightly, you cracked an eye open. Mando knelt behind you—both hands bare—as he carefully unwound the ropes, taking every caution to not irritate your skin more than it already was.

Once your hips were free he tossed the bundle to the side before gathering the bacta-ointment from where it had rolled off to. He stopped for a moment, staring at your thighs and you wondered if he liked the textured imprints the harness had left behind. Scooping up the cream with three fingers, he gently smoothed it across your affected skin. The contact of the cold ointment was shocking at first contact—you gasped and wiggled, but Mando’s wide hand gripped your thigh to keep you still.

He took his time spreading it across your skin—rubbing it in more than you were sure was necessary, covering every inch where the rope had been, not just your inner thighs—before his touch found your pussy again. You couldn’t help but flinch as his fingertips bumped against your clit, still sensitive after the orgasm.

“You’re so wet still,” he intoned, quietly speaking more to himself than you before he picked up his voice. “Close your eyes and don’t open them.”

You knew what this meant and obliged without hesitation, squeezing your eyelids shut before bringing a hand to cover your face as added protection.

You heard an audible hiss and click that you recognized as the release mechanism of his helmet. There was a tingle that ran up your limbs at the sound, an excitement that raced from the tips of your fingers and toes to your core because you knew that noise heralded his lips on you.

His hands grabbed at your ass, parting your cheeks to give him the perfect view of his cum dripping from your hole. Though you were expecting it, you were not prepared. His warm mouth connected with your pussy, immediately lapping at your juices. Flattening his tongue he drew it along your slit, catching every drop he could while brushing at your clit.

You moaned loudly at the stimulation, every touch feeling more vivid with your lack of sight. There was no way for you to watch him, but you could still listen—hearing the obscene slurps as he reveled in your cunt, as if he was doing this more for his pleasure than yours.

Mando’s tongue toyed with your nub, making your knees tremble as that feeling deep in your belly began to quickly bubble up. You called his name as your free hand flew back to grab at him. Sealing his lips around your clit, he sucked while sinking two thick fingers into your blushed hole.

Your fist clenched around his hair, tugging hard, but that only seemed to encourage him. One of his hands pumped into you, his finger curling just right to press down on that spot inside you, as the other gripped your hips—hard enough you were sure it would bruise—holding you against his face while he smothered himself between your lips.

You moaned and writhed against the table before crumpling under his ministrations. Yelling into your palm you came hard and all over his face. He continued to finger you, feeling the way your walls clenched around him as if drawing his digits further into your channel before the contact became all too much. Every brush was over stimulating, your hips involuntarily jerking away from him and into the table’s edge until he pulled back.

Limp against the surface, you couldn’t move—only able to take deep breaths as your heart pounded—your hand still clamped tight over your eyes until you hear Mando give the ok.

You can hear him shifting around, standing up and gathering his helmet before his unmodulated voice commented, “Once you’re all healed, you need to show me how you tied that. I want to see how long you can hang in it.”

///

THANKS FOR READING I HOPE YOU ENJOYED THIS DAY DREAM

(￣y▽,￣)╭

TAGOS: @pascalisthepunkest @whenimaunicorn @cptnbvcks @no-droids @rzrcrst @readsalot73 @spacegayofficial @lannister-slings-and-arrows @libellule2001 @nolivingthingdroid @chelsfic @lizzabex @hopelikethesun @themandjalorian @stevieharrrr @magichandthing

#the mandalorian #din djarin #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #my writing

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deepdonutkid · 3 years

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Social media and the Shelby Family

Let’s go from youngest to oldest…

Finn, as said in the first part, is an influencer, who likes to live his life online. He tweets a lot, he has a ton of insta stories and likes to keep his followers updated. Also he follows some trends like trying bubble tee or these weird tik tok dances. Finn even bribed his brothers to try some with him. They refused of course. Tommy said a no and walk right out of the room. John laughed and brushed it off. Arthur tried, but failed hilariously. Good for him, that Finn was teaching him the steps and not filmed the miserable attempt. Michael did and was actually good… and Ada did quite okay. Well, Polly wasn’t even asked, because Finn already knew her answer was no.

A lot of his pictures online are with his friends, especially Jesaja. They skate sometimes and film their tricks. (I added this, because I saw a video of Finn’s Actor- Harry Kirton- skating and I thought it also fit Finn) Whenever he is eating something instagramable, he definitely take a picture. Finn also take good selfies, but he only uses funny filters. So no Dog ears or sparkly flowers here!

He answers messages mostly direct, no waiting time, ‘cus this guy doesn’t play games, but as a Gen Z he would definitely be scared of phone calls. Especially if it’s Polly and there are already two missed calls. Then he just freaks out right away.

And to add a little funny extra: Finn tried among us on his phone and he is kinda sus!

His Whatsapp status would be: “my milkshake brings all the bees to my car. Shit… there are bees in my car!”

-.-.-.-.-

Michael is king of selfie. He knows he looks like god’s gift to the women and he plays that card. His phone is filled with all kinds of selfies. Little narcissist, here! Well, he needs to take a picture from every ankle to capture his beauty.

He also posts some stories on insta, but not so often like Finn. Michael keeps it casual. Just a few party pictures with friends or something super cool like new car.

But as we all know Michael Gray, he likes to play games with da ladies. So sometimes you wouldn’t even get a goodnight from him. If you tease him, he’ll tease back. Probably posts a picture with another woman. She is just a friend, but you’ll not know that. Yes, he can be mean, but if you’ll call him drunk and late at night, that you miss him, he’ll be glad to hear that.

His status would be: “P1 cleaner than your church shoes.” And yes, this is a weeknd lyric from the song starboy

-.-.-.-.-.-

Ada. Yes. I almost forgot her. How could I? She is gorgeous!

Already mentioned in part one… She knows her stuff pretty well. Technology… no problem for this gal right here. Ada can hack into stuff and write codes and programs, but this also made her very aware of data getting misused or stolen from bots. This is why she chose to keep distance from social media. She doesn’t use the gram or snapchat or whatsoever, but she uses secure text messenger and is likely to be found on a super dank meme page and to understand the memes you need the knowledge of years and years internet culture. And Ada talks to Finn and Michael about unprotected data and how they shouldn’t spill so much information about them online.

But she takes a lot of pictures from her kids, her husband, her cute outfits, her house and garden, their vacations. She doesn’t use a normal cloud and prefers to show you the pictures together. One after one and she’s making a comment to every single one of them. About that she could talk for hours.

Her status would be… well, she wouldn’t have any!

-.-.-.-.-.-

So… John-boy! Here isn’t much to say. He uses Instagram, but it’s a rare thing. John might follow some artist, so he is up to date for new concerts to go to and also some friends, but that’s it. On a good day which happens to be every half year he might post a picture, when he went somewhere. To get a new tattoo or if he went to see a game, probably soccer and rugby. If he gets the chance to travel, he’ll make pictures, but he totally forgets to post them or even show them to his family. He prefers to talk with his brothers about the experience of traveling and not starting a slide show.

What he is talking pictures of? Selfies are rare, but do happen, if they are a special request from a gal… and it’s probably shirtless, ‘cus he has got the body. Then again, he took pictures, if he was abroad, not on the usual roads, but only a few. While texting he might send a funny meme, if he sees any and thinks of you. And the occasional picture of “Look what I just got”… and it’s a Vinyl or a band shirt. Even though, he answers his family rarely, when he is in Birmingham, he’d be texting with his lady a lot, having this grin on his face, while Ada asks who he is writing to.

His status would be something like: “punk in drublic.” Which is a festival for said genre, but he just finds it funny. Likely to add “Y/N with an emoji of choice”, when he is in a relationship.

-.-.-.-.-.-

Tommy hates social media and refuses to try it for a long time, but Finn uses it so much, that Tommy had a little interest, what’s going on there. His youngest brother had a lot of explaining to do, which probably went like:

T: “How do I tell the person I like the picture?”

F: “There is the comment button.”

T: “No, I mean the… like thing.”

F: “Double tap on the picture, Tom.”

T: “Good, so… what’s next?”

F: “Nothing. What should happen?”

T: *shrug* “So, this is completely useless!” *deletes the app immediately*

And Tommy is also not the guy to answer private messages directly or often. Sometimes you said on read for days with this fellow, because he is super busy and doesn’t have the time to type. If you’re lucky, you get a quick okay. But if it’s important, he’ll call you right away and asks what happened, and if you need any help. With business he always answers straight and don’t like to waste time.

He doesn’t take pictures really. There may be some incidences where he hit the button by mistake. And there some photos of documents, which he need proof of… so he doesn’t have to rip out a page from a book like its 1920s. And all the pictures of his family has been send to him, he just don’t delete them.

His status would be: “Available” or “At work. Only important calls.”

-.-.-.-.-.-

Arthur… well… he has Facebook and uses it like anyone going on forty… really weird boomer mems, that might have been funny ten years ago. He sends them to everyone and they’re so annoyed by it, but he spares Tommy as his time is too important to waste on ‘funny pictures’.

Some gave him an Echo thing, the one with Alexa, you know, and he was so frustrated by it, that he threw the thing against the wall. Arthur couldn’t get past the set-up and got to angry. His family laughed about it, but it’s better this way.

Thanks to Finn and his little videos, Arthur became a meme himself, because his little brother filmed him while Arthur did something ridiculously stupid. That vid went viral. (Unsure what he did exactly)

His status would be: “Hey, there I am using whatsapp!”

-.-.-.-.-.-

I don’t know what to say about Polly and Freddie… so I leave them out now, but if you have something to add or whatever, feel free to do so!

#peaky blinder headcanon #peaky blinders #tommy shelby #arthur shelby #finn shelby #john shelby #ada thorne #ada shelby #michael gray

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rayegunn · 3 years

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Music for 2020

Been a while since i posted about music here, but was having a look at my last.fm (I mean, i know it’s kinda dead, but the plugins are still going, collecting what I’m listening to, so i check it now and then) and though there are fewer listens overall probably because i no longer scrobble from some sources like my phone/tablet, some new favorites have definitely emerged. So here’s what I was listening to the most in 2020, a couple surprised me because it didn’t really feel like i had listened to them a lot, but... i guess they came up on shuffle a lot, go figure. I know it’s not technically the end of the year yet, but this is unlikely to change a lot in the next few weeks.

1: top one for the year is a newish one for me, Lord of the Lost. They are a German band that have been around for a while, but I found them when they released their album Thornstar, I remember because I saw the video for the song Loreley when it was released because the costumes/makeup in the thumbnail looked wild. That came out in 2018, so a couple years now. Anyway, I love them. They’re usually classified as Gothic Metal but really it’s like.... ALL THE GENRES. They have influences from Metal, New Wave, Industrial, EDM, Classical, and more, and somehow make it all work. and Chris Harms has a great voice, I love how theatrical they are with the makeup and stuff, and they just seem like really nice guys from what I have seen of their social media. Here’s Loreley, the song that got me hooked on them:

youtube

2: Is Swedish metal band Avatar. Love these guys. Been listening to them for a while now and they are definitely up there as one of my favorites. They are also a highly theatrical metal band, I seem to like those, but they stick to their theme a lot more closely than Lord of the Lost. They have a gimmick and stick with it, though they do update the costumes in order to fit the theme of each album, which are often concept albums, or at the very least they speak to a theme. It’s hard to pick a favorite, but I really like Bloody Angel.

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3: is Danish black metal act Myrkur. A somewhat recent find for me, and one that is a bit divisive because the black metal people don’t think she’s trve kult enough, or whatever, because she has a pop background, and the sound is more polished, but I love her. Good music is good music, I don’t care how closely it fits a genre or whatever. Love the ambience and just overall sound, both spooky and harsh and beautiful at the same time.

youtube

4: is Swedish band Ghost. Yeah, these guys blew up recently huh? They’re cool tho, despite the band drama that spoiled the mystery of the identity of Papa. Well, sort of band. Technically it’s just Tobias Forge and a couple other guys, but they hire musicians to play on stage, made easy by the fact that they all wear masks, so they can swap em out at will, but some of them decided they wanted more money/credit and they sued Tobias and his identity was revealed, it was a mess... anyway, they’re cool. I chose Rats for the song, because it is probably a bit more reflective of 2020 than they anticipated.

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5: was a bit of a surprise to me because i didn’t feel like i had listened to them a lot this past year, but it’s one I have been listening to for oh, decades at this point, Finnish cellists Apocalyptica. Their shtick is simple, they play metal/rock... but on cellos. They started out playing Metallica covers, but soon started writing their own music. On their more recent albums they have tended to have guest vocalists perform over their compositions. But personally, I always liked the instrumental songs, so i was personally really happy to see their new album Cell-0 was 100% instrumental. I hope it did well for them, because I really liked it, so I am including something from it.

youtube

6: The newest find on the list for me, I found him this year, Amigo the Devil (he’s American, since that seems to have become a thing in my list) This one is a lot more subtle and subdued than the rest, his genre is an obscure one called Murderfolk, basically he’s a blues/folk singer who sings a lot about rather dark subject matter. But sometimes hopeful, too, as with my pick Cocaine and Abel. Led me down a whole murderfolk rabbit hole, lot of cool stuff there, but he’s the only one who cracked the top 10. Can only add 5 videos, so linky: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZzjtLm0G49E

7. Is an old fave, American metal gods Metallica. I mean what’s to say? it’s fuckin’ Metallica, man. Kind of a basic choice, but hey. Been listening to them since high school. Didn’t feel like i had listened to thema lot recently but guessing S&M 2 bumped them up! But just gonna link to one of my old faves: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WM8bTdBs-cw

8. Is another American band I’ve been listening to for a while, Mastodon. I think these guys have such a unique sound, with the 3 different styles of vocals over the sludgey instruments, and they have some really great lyrics going on as well. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s6WGNd8QR-U

9. Is Ukrainian band Jinjer! somewhat recent find, been aware of them for a a couple years now, i guess. Great songwriting, cool djenty sound, and oh man, does Tatiana have some pipes on her! You may have seen this video, Pisces, because video gets shown around a LOT on react videos, and kinda went viral, because it gets a big reaction if you are not prepared for it. If you haven’t seen it, brace yourself. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SQNtGoM3FVU

10. I was a bit worried and a bit shocked that he almost missed the top 10 cus he is definitely one of my very favorites, i hugely respect him and think he’s a great talent... Canadian metal god Devin Townsend! I think part of the problem is that he recently went from The Devin Townsend Project to just Devin Townsend, and then you throw in side projects or even older projects like Casualties of Cool and Strapping Young Lad, so while i do listen to him a lot, it’s under different names, so he came up a bit low in the charts. But I love him, he’s on of my all time favorites, and sadly doesn’t get as much attention as he deserves. Massive talent, huge fun personality. He’s great. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1n7uvokARQ4

#music #2020 #last.fm #metal #avatar #lord of the lost #metallica #apocalyptica #mastodon #amigo the devil #jinjer #ghost #myrkur #devin townsend

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lifeonashelf · 3 years

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COLDPLAY

Let’s get this straight right off the bat: Coldplay is fucking terrible.

We all know this. Designating Coldplay as terrible isn’t a statement of personal opinion, it is an easily demonstrable fact. Just listen to them; Coldplay’s music proves the existence of Coldplay’s terribleness the same way that breathing proves the existence of oxygen. Surely, even the band’s staunchest supporters understand that their songs are pretentious, monotonous, and unimaginative—they’d kind of have to; I assume these people have listened to Coldplay, too. If you like music as superfluous as Coldplay’s, that’s totally fine. I’m not here to tell you that you shouldn’t, nor to convince you to stop listening to Coldplay (you can’t stop listening to them, anyway; no matter how hard you try to escape, wherever you go, Coldplay will find you). But they are unequivocally fucking awful, and I need to make that clear before we continue in case I end up saying anything courteous about them later. And, who knows? I may indeed find something positive to say about Coldplay—I mean, nothing comes to mind right now, but it’s going to take me a few hours to write this piece so it’s possible something will at some point.

Okay, so we’re all clear on Coldplay being fucking terrible, right? Great. But that isn’t the main reason I hate them. I appreciate plenty of terrible bands just as I appreciate plenty of terrible movies. Listening to a really shitty group is sort of like watching a cast of really shitty actors—though they clearly suck at what they do, there’s something oddly appealing about the charming naiveté they demonstrate by giving it the best go they can anyway.

For instance, since I was still filing most of my Warped Tour emo discs in my punk section when I began this venture, I never got around to writing about a band called Adair. If you’re not familiar with them, don’t worry about it; they only existed for a few years in the mid-aughts and their diminutive discography merely consists of a self-released EP and one full-length album, The Destruction Of Everything Is The Beginning Of Something New. Sonically, Adair were so amusingly prototypical of every baby t-shirt screamo band that was thriving at the time, they essentially sounded like they were parodying the style of music they played (although, to be fair, a lot of those squads did). But, Adair were absolutely serious, regardless of what stridently nasal heights the vocals reached, regardless of how faithfully their compositions adhered to their genre’s textbook page by page, and regardless of the sublimely ridiculous realms some of their allegorical angst lamentations ventured into (the line “lock me up in Guantanamo Bay and throw away the key” from the song “I Buried My Heart In Cosmo Park” may very well be the lyrical apex of their entire genus).

Adair’s music is so inane that it makes me laugh out loud when I sing along to it—but here’s the thing: I do sing along to it. I have probably played The Destruction Of Everything Is The Beginning Of Something New a hundred times from start to finish since my copy was sent to me to review for some website back in 2006, and I have cued up individual high(low?)points like “The Diamond Ring” and “Folding and Unfolding” even more times than that. As silly as they sound—and trust me, they sound very fucking silly—I still sincerely enjoy their tunes and have spent enough hours listening to TDOEITBOSN for it to possibly qualify as one of my favorite records ever. Shit, even writing about it right now makes me feel like hearing the disc, so I’ll probably end up blasting it in my truck tomorrow (ed. note: I actually did). If they ever decided to do a reunion tour, I would absolutely go see them, and if vocalist Rob Tweedie did that whole “hold the microphone out toward the crowd so they can finish the lyric” thing which every frontman in every band that sounds like Adair does at least a dozen times per show, I would totally be able to fill in each of those blanks and enthusiastically do so.

Sorry, we were talking about Coldplay. To recap, they’re fucking terrible.

Unlike a frivolous whimper-core ensemble like Adair, the most off-putting thing about Coldplay isn’t their music. They’ve actually managed to excrete a few tracks that I grudgingly enjoy over the years. However, sporadically releasing songs which don’t sound like they were specifically written for Gap commercials actually works against Coldplay in this instance. Sure, most of their output is noxious twaddle, but since they occasionally come across as a marginally decent band, their work isn’t awful enough to at least ironically appreciate it for being awful.

In fact, there’s absolutely nothing ironic about Coldplay—other than U2 and Radiohead (more on them in a minute), I can’t think of another band that seems to take itself as dreadfully seriously as Coldplay does. There isn’t a single lighthearted number in their entire catalog, and the demeanor of their music is so staid and cheerless that it’s hard to imagine the dudes ever cracking a smile while they’re making it. Their approach to songwriting is rigidly Pavlovian—when the music gets louder, ring ring ring, that signals the listener the *really* poignant part of the tune has arrived and cues them to emotionally salivate in kind—yet despite their calculated use of sonic dynamics to manufacture sentiment, the vapid and unspontaneous nature of the delivery saps their tunes of anything resembling genuine soul or passion. Even when thrusting through the more energetic tracks in their litany, the musicians in Coldplay always sound like they’re actively striving to not play their instruments too hard. The result is that they consistently deliver some of the safest and least edgy rock ever created, shaping their ethos around a formula so willfully tepid and cuddly that they barely qualify as a rock band at all. Coldplay aren’t quite the musical equivalent of plain yogurt (that would be Jack Johnson, an artist so comprehensively flavorless that even his name is fucking boring) but the granola in their mixture is always judiciously distributed so as not to agitate anyone’s tastebuds.

And at the center of this slow-motion kaleidoscope, you have Chris fucking Martin (I find it difficult to cite his name without including the “fucking” in there; he’s just one of those guys—like Jason fucking Mraz, Blake fucking Shelton, or fucking Bono). Coldplay’s music may be stagnant, but you’d never know it from beholding the practiced arsenal of slinky paroxysms their vocalist bursts into while that music is playing. In performance and in their videos, Martin’s appendages are incessantly in motion, his hands ever-swaying gently through the air like he’s waving a pair of invisible cigarette lighters or finger painting on the goddamn sky, ostensibly so deeply lost in his band’s reverie of sound that he simply can’t help himself from moving his body in a cadenced pantomime of the way their music is meant to superficially move your spirit.

For the three non-ballads the group has written in their career, Chris usually switches things up by crouching in an incongruous bobbing panther-stance like a battle rapper delivering a diss track about fucking his opponent’s mama in the mouth, until it’s time to freeze in the tried and true messiah-statue pose as the number’s final notes chime into the ether. But it is in the quiet moments when Martin truly shines—which makes perfect sense given that he’s the leader of a group so systematically anodyne they probably should have actually named themselves Quiet Moments. These are the obligatory interims where the frontman takes the stage on his own to sit down at the piano, resplendent in the spotlight, and perform an intimate solo rendition of one of his most tender hits to show everyone in the audience that Chris fucking Martin is a bonafide fucking musician who, if he really felt like it, could totally do the whole Coldplay thing without the other three dudes whose names no one knows. His soaring falsetto croon is custom-feigned for the arenas the band was destined to coldplay from the moment they dropped their breakthrough single “Yellow” and caused a nation of book-sensitive sociology majors eagerly anticipating the arrival of their generation’s U2 to cream their Dockers in unison. When Martin opens his pipes to summon those indelibly contrived choruses about birds and stars and other monosyllabic nouns, it hardly even matters what words he’s singing—the leitmotifs in most of the tunes are basically interchangeable anyway. What matters is that Chris sounds like he really, really, really means it when he says he will try to fix you.

That analysis probably makes it seem like I hate Chris fucking Martin as much as I hate his band. I actually don’t—he’s too benign a character to elicit such a fervid response; hating Chris Martin is like hating turtleneck sweaters, or actual turtles. In fact, I suspect he’s probably a really nice dude. At least, I’ve never heard any creepy stories about him showing his penis to under-aged fans on Skype or anything like that.

Regardless, while I don’t specifically despise either Martin, Dude Who Plays Guitar, or the other two anonymous members of Coldplay, I do gauge their collective as the fourth or fifth worst band of all time. And the reason I loathe them more than any of their neighbors on that list is because they aren’t the kind of prodigiously abysmal group you can just ignore until their moment in the spotlight inevitably passes—which is how I dealt with Five For Fighting from September 2001 through February 2002 and how I’ve been dealing with Twenty-One Pilots for the last four years (seriously, are you fuckers done yet?). Coldplay is a far cagier nuisance because they are massively popular and have been for a ludicrously long time. I’ve been patiently waiting for them to go away for two decades now, yet they continue to pop up every third summer or so to drop a new album and remind us that, yes, they’re still here assiduously mining the middle of the road for new ways to write more tunes about clouds being pretty.

Even worse, I can’t disregard their music because it’s everywhere. I hear “The Scientist” while I’m shopping for cereal at the grocery store, I hear “Talk” when I sit down to eat at any chain restaurant, and I imagine I’ll be viewing that idiotic video for “Adventure of a Lifetime” with the posse of animated dancing monkeys on an infinite Clockwork-Orange-eyes-gaping loop for the rest of eternity when my mortal essence exits this world and I am cast into the fiery pits of Hell. I can’t even watch football without encountering Coldplay, as I discovered with horror in 2016 when they took part in the most fatuous jumbled fucking mess of a Super Bowl halftime show the NFL had ever presented (a zenith of suckery which seemed impossible to eclipse until this past February, when Adam Levine showed up covered with prison tattoos and said, “hold my beer”).

The pervasive level of esteem Coldplay has reached dumbfounds me. This is a group that has sold millions and millions of albums worldwide, even though I have never once heard a single person utter the phrase, “man, that new Coldplay song kicks ass.” I’m sure their most dedicated fans have favorite hits, tracks that are significant to them in some way, etc. But their remarkable success is patently disproportionate to how patently unremarkable the work which garnered that success really is. Nobody ever describes the band’s music as “awesome”, just as nobody ever describes a glass of pinot gris as awesome—the term simply does not apply to their province; actually, in this case, describing the mouthfeel of Coldplay tunes and recommending cheeses they best pair with is probably more relevant than discussing how they sound. Coldplay is as universally popular as they are precisely because they aren’t awesome. They’re not beloved because they’re extraordinary; most people love them because they’re innocuous, functional, and suitable for almost any occasion—Coldplay is akin to a pair of cargo shorts, and no one thinks cargo shorts kick ass. Coldplay isn’t an alternative band (on the contrary, almost every good band is an alternative to Coldplay); they are a lowest common denominator band, undemanding and ubiquitous and safe to like because everyone else likes them. Their work is specifically geared toward people who think appreciating music demonstrates sophistication, but don’t ultimately give enough of a shit about the artform to put any effort into finding music that is actually sophisticated or appreciable. You may assume Coldplay is erudite because they’re British and they cite books you’ve never read when discussing the lyrical themes in their work, but they’re merely recycling the same emotional territory as every other pop act that writes tunes about finding love, losing love, missing love, and the 18th Century French peasantry.

The best thing about being a Coldplay fan is that it’s easy. You don’t have to buy their records, go see them live, or make any concerted effort at all to receive their music. If you listen to the radio for any extended period of time (or eat at an Applebee’s), you will eventually hear one of their songs; all you have to do is not hate it and, voila, you’re officially a Coldplay fan. There, don’t you just love the security of venerating a critically and commercially acclaimed band that will never challenge you or be unpopular?

Okay, I do strive to be fair—even in this arena where I can say whatever I want and no one can argue with me. I gave this a lot of thought, so here are four things about Coldplay that are not terrible:

1) “Clocks”: I resisted it for many years, but I finally had to concede that it’s kind of a pretty song. Notes of red currant and blackberries, and it goes superbly with a nice aged brie.

2) “God Put A Smile On Your Face”: It doesn’t put a smile on mine, but that’s why I enjoy it. Most Coldplay songs sound like they’re aiming to evoke what being hugged by a koala bear feels like, so I appreciate Chris fucking Martin delivering a darker number that seems intent on making me feel depressed instead. Well played, sir.

3) Viva La Vida, Or Death And All His Friends: I sincerely respect their effort to broaden their palate a bit by working with Brian Eno and making Dude Who Plays Guitar buy a distortion pedal to use on one song. This is still an archetypal shitty Coldplay record, but at least it sounds a little different than all of the other archetypal shitty Coldplay records.

4) Nah. They’re still fucking terrible; they were lucky to get three things.

There is one additional facet of the group’s career which has fascinated me over these past several years, even though it relates more to bands that are not Coldplay rather than the band that is Coldplay. Earlier I dubbed them the U2 of their generation, and recent events in particular have coalesced to underscore that comparison. See, when Coldplay came out, the tributes to their Irish brethren in choreographed affectation were far from subtle. Chris fucking Martin’s warbling was plainly modeled after fucking Bono’s, Dude Who Plays Guitar served up an endless cycle of repetitive but hooky high-register licks that were striking similar to the distinctive methodology of The Edge, and both bands’ workmanlike rhythm sections held things down with competent yet discreet backing tracks which militantly fulfilled each song’s basic requirements rather than showcasing the musicians’ dexterity. I don’t think anyone ever disputed the collective homage in Coldplay’s dogma, and no one was terribly bothered by it either; at the time there were a lot of people craving a band that sounded just like U2, because U2 didn’t sound like U2 anymore.

When Coldplay’s debut album Parachutes was released in July 2000, fucking Bono and company’s career was on a downward arc after they largely vacated their signature approach to instead craft a couple poorly-received discs dominated by insipid rave-lite tunes that not even the members of U2 listen to anymore. Though they would temporarily rebound later that year with “Beautiful Day”, the last honestly excellent song they would ever record, U2 had left a gap that needed filling. And the most obvious inheritors of their kingdom, Radiohead, had grown tired of anthemic guitar rock; they were hunkered down creating their demanding but exceptional opus Kid A, which sounded nothing like U2, nothing like Radiohead, and indeed nothing like any other music being made on planet Earth. Kid A still had some anthems, still had some guitar, and still had a little rock, but its oblique delivery clearly demonstrated that Radiohead was chasing a far different muse and had little interest in claiming the crown (of course, this would be abundantly clarified in hindsight when they subsequently slid further down their rabbit-hole, gradually abandoning the anthems and guitars and rock altogether, until finally settling upon their current songwriting formula, which seems to mostly involve Thom Yorke masturbating on his laptop, naming ten of his climaxes, and calling it an album).

So while U2 were busy trying to figure out why they weren’t relevant anymore and Radiohead were busy doing whatever the fuck they were doing, the lads in Coldplay stepped up and said, hey, why not us? They seized the ersatz-earnest arena rock mantle with A Rush Of Blood To The Head and never looked back. Now, 17 years and seven multi-platinum albums later, they can ruin the Super Bowl, collaborate with the Chainsmokers, and even make the same kind of lameass dance music that essentially buried U2’s career with impunity. Even more significant, they have come full circle. A group that started out playing second-rate U2 facsimiles under the moniker Pectoralz (this is absolutely true, by the way) is now one of the hugest pop institutions in the universe, beloved by millions of music and wine connoisseurs across the globe. And the student has eclipsed the teacher; U2’s desperate efforts to play catchup have made their modern work sound unmistakably like second-rate Coldplay facsimiles. Chris fucking Martin and those other three guys are no longer pretenders to the throne—they are Coldplay, and this is their empire now, bitches.

These days, U2 has to reprise their old records in their entirety on nostalgia tours to get anyone to come to their concerts, and Radiohead continues to release unlistenable albums which their fans claim to love while sheepishly casting them aside to listen to OK Computer for the thousandth time instead. But Coldplay has strategically situated themselves for an eternity as the undisputed emperors of rock mediocrity. I think they’ve got another two decades in them, too; I have no doubt that long after Twenty-One Pilots is (finally) relegated to the county fair circuit where they belong, Chris fucking Martin will still be promising sold-out crowds that lights will lead them home and having a series of polite, gently-articulated seizures while he sings “Speed Of Sound”.

It seems I respect Coldplay a little more than I suspected. You know what? I’m going to amend my original valuation right here and now. As of this moment, I am formally designating Coldplay the sixth worst band of all time.

Your move, Godsmack.

May 15, 2019

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asterekmess · 4 years

Note

Scott McCall is the poster boy for entitlement, misogyny and toxic masculinity. Remember when he demanded that Allison goes out with her stalker (Matt) and then yelled at her in the middle of a crowded club because she had the audacity to trust her own father to save Jackson instead of obeying him? Or when Scott pinned Allison against her bedroom’s door and humiliated her just to prove how ‘weak’ and ‘fragile’ she was and because “If I’m scared shitless, then you should be scared shitless too”?

I told my friend Mads a long time ago that with every new fic I put out, my urge to become, if not popular, then just understood as an anti-scott blog got stronger. I mean, it’s not like I want my blog to just be about hating Scoot, but I didn’t really want people to come in and follow me thinking I was a Scott fan, because it would be disingenuous.

I think I got my wish? Either one person has a lot of feelings (which I’m all for) or a bunch of v angry anti-scott people have swarmed over me like hummingbirds on sugar water. It’s a really interesting experience!

Anyway, back to your ask. So, I don’t like Scott, and admittedly sometimes I’m a little extra bitter/hateful than others, but I do try to be accurate in my dislikes of him (usually), so I’ll go through what you said one at a time and try to decipher (from my v faulty memory, so apologies if there are mistakes) if I agree with each statement.

Since some people have requested the Read More thing so they can scroll easier.

Scott is: Entitled. Off the cuff, I would agree. I’ve mentioned before how frustrating it was to see the show attempt to portray him as a poor kid, when he’s nowhere near that. I’ve also seen posts before that explore how Scott doesn’t carry a ‘poor kid’ mentality at all (they probably did it better than me, and it was probably Athenadark who did the analyzing). Growing up, I didn’t consciously know I was poor. Not as in ‘i had everything I needed’ but as in “i assumed all kids grew up occasionally eating a single can of pears for dinner or had to return groceries from the car because their parent’s card was declined and they were out of food stamps or wore a pair of tennis shoes until they were literally taped together with packing tape because we couldn’t afford new ones.” I grew up in a poor town, on the poor side of that town, so there wasn’t a lot that showed me it was possible to live differently. Being poor gives you a specific mentality, and when I finally met kids who were ‘middle class’ I was blown away by the differences. I say all this because Scott is very clearly a middle class kid.

Yes, he has an after school job. Who tf didn’t? That doesn’t automatically make you poor? Even my rich friend got a summer job because she wanted to buy band merch and her parents wouldn’t let her. But have you seen his room? It’s a wreck. We get the scene of him digging under his bed trying to find his phone, and I honestly was kinda disgusted. (I also grew up in a hellhole hoarder house, so clutter fucks me up) It’s not just the messiness though. It’s finding out that his mom is the one doing the laundry. Melissa “One shift won’t break us completely” McCall still cleans her son’s room and does his laundry and sews his clothes even though she’s supposed to be working herself to death at the hospital. Oh, and he’s sixteen years old, so he should be able to do his own fucking laundry? it’s one thing if his stuff ends up there while she’s doing laundry, but apparently she goes out of her way to do his clothes regularly enough that she has no qualms about going in his room to clean? Scott works at a VET’s office and has for long enough that he can put a cast on a dog and feels confident giving it painkillers in the right dosage. And he can’t sew a line of stitches in his clothes? He’s got an ensuite bathroom. His room is clearly the master bedroom. He doesn’t make his mom dinner to bring her, he picks up chinese. And there’s the house itself and its size, etc. Of the two of them, i would’ve expected Stiles to have the messy room. He’s adhd, I know how hard it is to keep a room clean with that kind of headspace. But no, his is really clean most of the time, even his desk, unless he’s researching something specific. I mention Stiles because it’s the comparison of the two that makes Scott’s own messiness stand out. Hell, literally no other bedroom we’re shown is messy in the slightest. Allison’s, Lydia’s, Jackson’s, none of them. (I don’t remember Liam’s room, if we saw it) He feels entitled enough to take up extra space and add extra work to his mother’s stress level (which, listen, I’m not saying being not-poor makes you entitled. I’m saying that the show makes the claim Scott IS poor and he Still does these things. THAT is the entitled part.)

Then there’s his relationship with Stiles. “Yeah, but I had you before.” When talking about the good and bad things in his life, he doesn’t even think to mention Stiles as one of the good things. He says he has nothing, just like before. Stiles isn’t even on his radar, even though they’re looking right at each other. Yet we know that Stiles is basically Scott’s only friend. As someone else with very few friends, I can’t imagine saying to my best friend’s face that I have nothing and no one. Let alone if that friend had been keeping me from dying and teaching me how to be a fucking werewolf for months on end. When do we see him worry about Stiles being human and stuck in the middle of all this? Especially in earlier seasons, we never see him say anything like “maybe you should hang back cus’ you’ll get hurt.” Like, we know that Stiles would do it anyway. And we’d get pissed if Scott told Stiles he wasn’t allowed to help because he was human, but that’s because Scott doesn’t get to tell Stiles what to do. We know Stiles finds ways to protect himself when he has to, but Scott never even asks. He never hints at “I’m worried about you and please know I wont’ be mad if you stay away from the fight.” Even Derek shoves Stiles behind him when the kanima shows up. There’s the thing where he warns them ‘if something goes wrong call for me.” But he explicity says that worry is for Allison, even though she has some method of self-defense. Stiles has nothing. Scott never cares enough to think “Maybe we shouldn’t bring him to the rave where there’s gonna be a vicious killing machine that has already tried to attack him once.” One word from Peter “vulnerable” and Scott stalks Allison (and forces Stiles to help him) for a week. But Stiles gets trapped in a pool for hours, scared out of his mind, and Scott never so much as seems to get clingy? He just assumes Stiles will be fine. He feels entitled to Stiles’ help and assistance, without putting any thought into Stiles’ safety. He asks “is it illegal?” not “Will you get in trouble?” He looks at Stiles when he says “I can’t protect anyone” But when was he trying to protect STILES? Then there’s the part where while he’s ‘under the influence of the wolfsbane whistle’ (A plot point I fucking hate) he drags Stiles down with him and includes him in being nothing. Being no one. He assumes that if he was nothing before the bite, then Stiles must’ve been nothing also. And since Stiles didn’t get bitten, it also implies that Stiles is still nothing. He’s just hanging on Scott’s wolfy coattails. That’s an incredibly entitled viewpoint to have.

Admittedly, we do see some more humble moments with Allison, especially at the beginning of their relationship, where he says “I just wanna make sure I get my second chance” he’s not assuming he’ll get it. Go scott! (I’m not the hugest fan of him asking her out after he’s clearly just done her a massive favor and is keeping her from getting in trouble for hitting a dog, and she’s wearing his SHIRT and she can’t really say no without looking absolutely horrible, but she seemed pretty into him, so I’ll let it go) But once they’re together? I know that most best friends share secrets and private stuff with each other...but Scott tells Stiles so much about his sex life with Allison that Stiles is actually pissed off and kind of disgusted by it. Stiles. Who is supposed to be sex obsessed. Even he thinks that it’s just way too much information. I can’t imagine Allison would be comfortable with Stiles knowing that much about her in bed. (But at the same time, we see Scott tell Stiles that he never wants any more info on Stiles in bed than Stiles’ vague innuendo abt wet dreams, and then he still feels entitled to tell Stiles whatever he wants about him and Allison and won’t listen when Stiles asks him to stop.) When he asks Allison to go out with someone else, there’s so much that makes me both sad and angry. She is confused and scared, and has clearly committed really hard to Scott (enough to go against everything her family wants) and he tells her to go on a date with someone else. Not just that, but to kiss someone else. To kiss Matt, specifically, whom he knows Stiles thinks is really fucking creepy (though, we need to acknowledge that no one knew Matt was stalking Allison.) And she tries to show him that he’s asking for something really fucking weird and uncomfortable. “Kiss him? You mean, like really kiss him?” And even then, he doesn’t think anything is weird about telling his girlfriend (and they are clearly v monogamous. We see how insanely possessive he is of her, losing his shit when she’s just introduced to other guys Lydia knows, after only one date that he bailed from) to kiss someone else, but not kiss them the way she kisses him. He doesn’t ask for any info about the date, doesn’t ask if Allison’s uncomfortable. He just says “Do it.” and expects her to obey. He feel entitled to controlling who she’s with and what she does, without asking her if she’s okay with it. Because I haven’t seen later seasons in a long time, I usually try to stick to the earlier stuff so I’m less likely to say something stupid, but I do remember him scaring her in her bedroom. There’s a lot about that scene to unpack, but in the case of Allison specifically, we see that he still feels entitled to touch her. They are not friends right now. She has not given any hint that she wants to get back together (except asking to talk to him in ep.1). He should not feel like it is in any way okay to touch her at all, let alone hold her still with super strength. But he does. In his mind. She’s Allison, so why wouldn’t he able to touch her?

He also feels entitled to his leadership. We need to make clear that Scott doesn’t do the leadership stuff. He just happens to be the person in the friend group who’s a werewolf. Stiles and Jackson are the ones who go and set Peter on fire after they can’t get ahold of Scott (WHO IS NOW WITH DEREK, and THEREFORE HAS HIS PHONE). (You’re telling me Scott could’ve done the howl thing at any time to find Derek, and he just left him there for a week?) (Also, yes, I know Stiles was also not involved in helping find Derek until Peter made him. I’m annoyed at him too.) What is leadership-worthy about leaving a tortured man on a grate with electric wires plugged into his side and shackles on his wrists until he agrees to help you kill his own uncle (Oh, also, I have Peter feelings and have salty thoughts about the plot of s1, if anyone’s interested)? But let’s say Scott’s leadership comes in Season 2, not at the end of S1. But when exactly does he earn it? When he tells a teenage girl he doesn’t care about the humiliation and pain that led her to taking a bite that would cure her lifelong illness and give her a friend group that she didn’t have to be afraid of or bullied by? When he called a boy who looked him in the eyes and begged for him to keep his wolf secret “Bloodthirsty”? When he dismissed Boyd’s want for the bite, which was a way for him to make friends and feel like he belonged somewhere, as ridiculous? When he damaged Boyd’s workplace in a way that would almost certainly get Boyd in trouble? (You think smashing a massive crater into the middle of the ice rink with his fist didn’t get Boyd yelled at or maybe even fired?) When Boyd asked to talk to him on the field, and Scott attacked without rhyme or reason? When he let Erica sit and seize while he fussed over Allison? “This doesn’t Feel right” really Scott? You know, I think Erica, who’s having a fucking seizure in the next aisle, would agree! Hurry the fuck up! Oh my god, I went so off track. I have more thoughts on all that though, if anyone’s curious. Anyway. Scott doesn’t do anything that actually entails being a leader. His one job in the rave, he passes off to Isaac so that he can go call Gerard, because he’s currently working with the villain behind everyone’s back. The whole thing with Allison telling her parents and the plan with Derek getting messed up? Yeah, that was Scott’s fault for not telling her. Hell, for not telling GERARD. He, what he expected her to read his mind? Scott knew Allison was telling her parents about Jackson! She said she would tell them after he broke out of the van! The entire fuckup is his fault. But he still shouts at her and blames her and says she should’ve ‘trusted’ him. He passes all the guilt onto her and leaves her there on the verge of tears. He’s entitled to her obedience and he’s entitled to shaming her and scolding her like a child when she doesn’t do what he wants.

So, yeah, I think Scott’s entitled.

Scott is: Misogynistic. This one...I’m not so sure? Scott has a lot of bad qualities, a lot of behavior that’s incredibly toxic and manipulative, but I can honestly say that I can’t think of a single time when his reasoning for not letting/not thinking someone is capable of doing something is because they’re female?

There’s a lot to be said about the manipulative way that he speaks to and interacts with his girlfriends, but that doesn’t stem from misogyny, from what I can see. It stems from everything else. From his self-obsession, from his moral code, from his honest belief that he deserves obedience and complete candor from those closest to him. He does this to everyone, not just the women. It’s just easier to see it with the women because we’re primed to look for it. (I’m making the assumption here that you are female/feminine presenting, anon, since I know that the vast majority of the fandom is, but if I’m wrong, my apologies) Wow, though I’d have more to say on this bit, but I don’t.

Scott is: Toxicly Masculine. I’m not sure where I lay on this idea. Teen Wolf does have a lot of general instances of toxic masculinity, and Scott does exhibit some of them, but again, part of those behaviors can be found in women as well.

I know that it regularly pissed me off how often they reduced men to sex machines. *Scott and Allison are making out on Allison’s bed* Scott: “I don’t wanna make you do anything you don’t wanna do.” Allison: “I’m not doing anything I don’t wanna do. Are you?” Scott (incredulous): “Are you seriously asking me that question?”

*Stiles and Heather are talking about having sex at the party* Heather: “I mean, would you be okay with that?” Stiles (gently mocking): “Would I be okay with that? Yes, yes, I believe so.” They go out of their way to completely negate the possibility that a guy wouldn’t be into sex, even making the concept of asking for a man’s consent sound silly. This becomes even more toxic when Stiles complains about Malia leaving marks on him, hurting him during sex, and he gets teased for it. No one considers it a problem that Malia is scratching him. He’s expected to be appreciative of it/like it.

There’s the possessiveness, yes. Scott does some really fucked up, possessive things. Like freaking on Allison when Lydia introduces her to other guys, or getting angry from the sidelines just because Jackson is talking to Allison, not even flirting with her. Or running off to attack Jackson AND Allison (because there’s no proof he was only going after Jackson, and he’s only ever been able to follow allison’s scent across town, so he couldn’t have specifically been looking for Jackson) after she broke up with him. Throwing Isaac into a wall for liking Allison, even though they’ve been broken up for FOUR MONTHS. I can’t think of any more at the moment. But it’s a lot. BUT. We also see possessive behavior from Malia (yeah, she was an actual coyote for years, but she’s still a woman.) and similar amounts of aggression throughout the seasons from most of the shifters, implying that the habit is born from the werewolf/shifter thing, and not specifically Scott being toxicly masculine. (It’s still not good, but it’s not technically toxic masculinity.)

Aggression I think we can all agree is a shifter-wide phenomenon.

So, yeah, there’s instances that come across this way, and there’s also evidence that some of it is werewolf related, not scott related. I’m torn.

Anyway, again, I’ve talked way too much. If there are moments from later in the show that I’m missing that specifically prove/disprove these points, I’d love to know about it and check it out! I feel you Anon, Scott is infuriating and you’re in good company. <3

#personal #go for it #anti-scott mccall #Meta Ramblings #rant #thank you for the ask!#Anonymous

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patheticwithanem · 3 years

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2020 in Retrospect

Hey friend,

I know it’s late, but I HAVE TO DO THIS. I kind of promised myself I’m writing about the year that was. I’m not exactly sure why; maybe it’s to put things in perspective going in to 2021? And today’s my fourth year anniversary with my employer, so I guess it’s perfect timing? (More on that later)

So I was going through my notes (I have this habit of writing down what happens on a daily basis - be it activities, emotions, drama, name it) and one thing’s for sure. 2020 SUCKED. It did. But I’m committing to this no matter what!

First things first: lots of profanities along the way. Well actually, I was about halfway writing the letter when fucking Tumblr decided to refresh and delete what I’ve been writing for about one fucking hour now. So I have to fucking do it all over again. If this is the Lord telling me to stop being sentimental about 2020, fret not my Lord! I’m one stubborn son of a bitch, so I’m carrying on.

Here’s how the rest of the year unfolded. 2020. Let’s go.

JANUARY. Reunions?

January 1. Had a get-together with a few relatives in Malabon. It was fun! I used to be so allergic to family reunions but I guess age creeping in changes you? You value people even more now? This was also the last time we’re able to spend some time with my uncle from Singapore. He brought his family to spend the holidays here. He’s a sweetheart and a great father who’s missed.

January 9. I attended a college dormmate’s wedding. I remember contemplating whether to go or not only to realize I’m actually lucky to be even invited given the fact that I chose to be distant for them for a long while. I also told myself that not showing up is so far from what I’m trying to be. Although I wasn’t there for the whole thing, I’m glad I did come. I was able to bond with my roommates once again whom I treated like brothers ten years ago and that was nice. A not-so-close dormmate even introduced me to his boyfriend and that’s huuuuge. The bride was beautiful too, and I’m glad she’s in the best place right now after all she’s been through. She’s a strong one, that girl.

January 11. Got invited to a birthday pool party of a colleague at work. I have to say I’m actually quite surprised I was invited to this. She’s always had my back though and always kind of looked after me, so I had to go. It was fun but I didn’t get drunk AT ALL.

January 12. AND THIS IS WHERE SHIT STARTED HAPPENING. The Taal Volcano erupted. It was awful especially for everyone living near the area because everything was covered with ash. It was also a day before my brother’s birthday and we thought the ashfall would be worse the next day so we decided to celebrate earlier.

January 19. Went to a fiesta. Did not expect to survive that at all. It was a different kind of neighborhood, but the people were nice.

January 25. Went to a public market with co-workers to buy clothes, eat chicken wings for dinner and then our regular fix of karaoke. Good times.

Anything else? I was able to book a birthday trip to Yogyakarta, which I eventually canceled because of youknowwhat. Tragic.

February. Blindside!

February 7. Blindside’s a bitch. Yes, that’s what I had written on my notes. I legitimately felt blindsided. So story: I have a friend who I found out was pregnant (let’s call her Ms. Preggy, sorry) and me and her bestfriend (let’s call him Work Son because he was my work son in a lot of ways) decided to hold an intervention for her. The four of us including a friend I’m going to call The-Now-Bestie (kind of a spoiler) whom I had a misunderstanding and was not in speaking terms with will be coming to Work Son’s place. Essentially, the goal was to make Ms. Preggy open up about her pregnancy and her issues with the douchebag father; make her feel that she has us and she doesn’t need to be alone in this. I think it went well, in that regard. However, the whole thing was awkward in epic proportions. It’s as if me and The-Now-Bestie didn’t want to acknowledge each other’s existence, and when we didn’t have a choice, we were sarcastic to each other. I also really felt like an outsider among the four that time; like I wasn’t supposed to be there and wasn’t really contributing to anything. It was a really lonely feeling. I decided to distance myself to them after that.

February 13. WINNERS AT WAR PREMIERE! Words can’t even express how excited I was to see some of my heroes again on screen! Parvati with that “phoenix rising from the ashes” confessional? Damn, girl! Still a fucking legend! It was also nostalgic Yul working his godfather magic once again. I’ve always seen him as a top-tier winner and someone I looked up to for what he represented to the Asian community and the history of Survivor. It was also nice seeing Kim, Tyson, Tony, Sophie, Natalie and Sandra. But I must say I kind of missed Todd. He was my favorite winner and was a great storyteller, a great strategist and a great character with an amazing comeback story. He would’ve been perfect for a season with this caliber of players. And as much as I hate Jeff Probst for shoving him down our throats, I wanted to see Cochran play with these winners! Caramoan’s my first season (a late superfan, yes) and he’s the very reason I got so hooked with the show. I used to think it’s a game where people like me never win. So to see someone like Cochran who’s awkward in every sense of the word (and owning it) win Survivor, it is very inspiring. I like speaking in metaphors and it’s funny how much metaphorical Survivor can be to how I see life now. I see Cochran and if he can win in Survivor, I feel like I can win in life, as silly as that sounds. Cochran sucked his first season, but he then went on to play this dominant game his second try while still managing to be the adorkable underdog that he is. I love that story. Man, I get so worked up when I talk about Survivor! I wish I had that same passion with anything else.

February 19. Mom slipped and had to be rushed to the nearest ER. Good thing there were no fractures and she was fine. I guess we can thank the fats for that? LOL

February 21 ‘til 23. WEEKEND STAYCATION! I needed this! Drinking at the hotel taproom with a live band? YES! Indian for lunch and surf-and-turf buffet for dinner? YES YES YES! That lamb chops, MY LORD. Thank you.

February 29. Leap Day. I started journaling again.

March. FUCKING COVID.

March 16. The Start of the Lockdown we all come to love now (punk, sarcasm).

March 17. Politics is so taboo to discuss especially over dinner. But then BAM. I had a major fight with my dad (and by major, I mean MAJOR in a get-out-of-the-house-in-the-middle-of-the-pandemic kind of major). It was basically about a comment he made that’s so misogynistic (towards the Vice President) that I just knew I can’t just let go. It was sooo bad I got all pissed, and when I’m pissed, I can get scary. Maybe it’s the voice or the eyes or both, but the fight got really heated on the verge of getting physical. Which now that I think about it is stupid just because of fucking different political views. Well, I can never get behind the President and they’re huge fans of him and I’ve come to terms with that but it’s just... bleh. I’m not even gonna try to rationalize it because I can’t. It’s just.. disgusting. Oh fucking well.

April. Wander-fucking-lust.

April 1. I started a 30-day Financial Detox which basically meant no unnecessary expenses. No online shopping, no paying for leisure. None. It was April Fools, but I was dead-set on saving! (Spoiler alert: I failed.)

April 6. Meltdown. I just really couldn’t hold it in anymore.

April 11. Dad’s birthday. After not talking for over a month (which is no easy feat in a tiny condominium unit), we acknowledged each other’s presence. By April 15, it’s like nothing happened anymore. He even gave me a home haircut (which for a beginner, is pretty good). On other news, I started watching The Politician on Netflix and t’was the day I started obsessing on Ben Platt and his music.

April 16. A year ago, I was enjoying sidewalk pho and almost making friends at Cu Chi Tunnels and the Saigon Skydeck of the Bitexco Financial Tower in Ho Chi Minh. Damn, covid.

April 18. That crazy border-crossing from Saigon to Phnom Penh a year ago. That was fulfilling. Damn, covid.

April 19. A year ago, I was experiencing sunrise at Angkor Wat. Wander-fucking-lust UGH.

April 30. That Town Hall shoutout from our company’s President because of reaching my quota from last month. That really felt good. As much as I hate to admit it, I like being validated from time to time. It definitely meant a lot especially coming from her who took a chance on me. I was patting my back.

MAY. Endure. Let Go.

May 14. KING TONY WON. Very well-deserved win. A disappointment of a season if you ask me, but props to the king for dominating an all-winners season. Respect for that. Also Natalie and Michele played great games as well and they should be very proud of themselves. I feel like a proud father to these winners HAHAHA!

May 16. Was pleasantly surprised with Dead to Me. That car scene between Jen and Judy on that ninth episode from the second season? Damn. That’s one of the few moments I teared up because of a TV show. That was powerful. All that tension building up and then that sudden release? I really felt that.

May 26. Why do I always feel all this fucking rage inside of me? I try to think of any triggers but I can’t seem to find one that’s actually reasonable. It’s like the isolation getting the best of me. I initially thought quarantine’s going to be a cakewalk for an introvert like myself, but it wasn’t the case. I feel like I’m losing my shit because I was stripped off of the usual things I have access to whenever I feel uneasy and anxious and angry like this. Endure, let go, I know. But it’s so much easier said than done, right?

JUNE. Breathe.

June 12. So the plan to sell the condo and find a new place is real. We went to this great place in Valenzuela and it was a great house and all but I felt weird. Maybe I was having trouble letting go? Maybe it’s just me being averse to change yet again?

June 15. Slept 6am for that How To Get Away With Murder series finale. That speech. VIOLA. Chills all over my body.

June 18. New phone was delivered. That was fast.

June 27. First time visiting the village we moved to. We were checking a different house this time and was already picturing us living there. Still felt weird, but maybe less.

Looking at it now, I realize almost nothing happened in this stretch of months. Pathetic.

JULY. Change (that’s not necessarily good lol)

July 3. The Anti-Terrorism Bill signed. FUCK THE CIRCUS THAT IS THE PHILIPPINE GOVERNMENT.

July 10. Doomsday. The ABS-CBN renewal disapproved. FUCK THE CIRCUS THAT IS THE PHILIPPINE GOVERNMENT. Also, that first house we checked was bought this day. First heartbreak.

July 22. Decided to donate to one of my elementary teachers to help finance school supplies for his students in the province. That felt good.

July 24. folklore’s goooood. This is the Taylor Swift sound that I love. (I had to write that down because that was a 2020 highlight to be honest)

AUGUST. Getting older. Again.

August 2. Donated to another cause: to help a really close friend’s mom (who’s a school principal) on financing their students’ lesson modules (they needed more paper so the donation was going to be used to buy more paper). That felt good.

August 3. Started obsessing on Dear Evan Hansen. I mean come on. HOW COME I ONLY KNEW OF THIS NOW?!?! The story, the acting, the soundtrack... it felt like I asked the Lord for a musical for me and he gave this on a silver platter.

August 9. Lasagna, baked sushi, lechon belly, pansit, cake. Weird combination, I know, but that’s me!

August 11. Discovered the Slowly app. Changed my life since then! I’m not even exaggerating. I guess it has to do with feeling extremely lonely amid the pandemic and getting this platform where you can talk to literally anyone while still keeping your anonymity. And it strips you off of instant gratification you’re so used to because you actually have to wait for your letters to be sent and to arrive. A great exercise for patience if you ask me! And since you have to wait, you make your letters longer and more worthwhile. It’s a platform free of judgment which relies heavily on building actual mental and emotional connections. It’s a gift, truly. NOT EXAGGERATING; YES I’M THAT LONELY.

August 23. The house search continued. This time, the South!

August 24. It was my first time watching a Korean drama and I gotta say I get the hype now. Korea makes great stories and they take their time when telling these stories. The story centering about mental health was definitely what got me to try watching It’s Okay to Not Be Okay, but the show’s so much more than that. That was a great watch.

SEPTEMBER. Finally some light?

September 1. Second year anniversary. I still really miss her.

September 5. My cat’s 5th birthday! Of course we had to celebrate for her with baked macaroni and burnt cheesecake.

September 11. Lost uncle. He gave a good fight.

September 19. SENSE8. It’s a show that doesn’t need any explaining. It’s the BEST. I love this cast SO MUCH. I remember thinking if I ever get a tattoo (which is unlikely), I’ll maybe have the title of that Sense8 series finale inked on me. AMOR VINCIT OMNIA. Love conquers all.

September 27. After a series of unfortunate events, we were led to this house on the same village we keep going back to, and the moment we saw it, we were sold. This is going to be our house. And it happened.

OCTOBER. Surprises?

October 6. Hooked up with someone I probably shouldn’t.

October 12. Booked a trip for next year because I’M HOPEFUL AS FUCK.

October 21. Had the best conversation I had in a long time.

October 22. Hooked up with someone I probably shouldn’t.

October 28. Organized a digital event for work. I’m still on the fence whether I’m proud of it or not. It was my first event, and I’ve wanted to do that for a long time. While I enjoyed all the preparation that came with it, from making that tactical marketing plan to coordinating with the organizers and my team, I felt like it was bland. There were lapses here and there and I know that we all tried the best we could, but maybe I just pictured it a little better in my mind? It wasn’t a flawless event and maybe I wanted it to be flawless. But it was fun. I never would’ve imagined me hosting an event, but I did.

NOVEMBER. Decisions.

November 14. So news came and we’re finally moving. The buyer of the condo got approved and it was only a matter of weeks to settle documents and payment and we’re good to go. I had mixed feelings about it. It took me back to that time we started looking for houses. I wasn’t exactly ready to let go of the place I grew with for the past five years. And I wasn’t also ready to let go of the convenience, and the relationships I only have started building with friends I found along the way. But at that moment I knew I had to be happy because they were happy. My family was happy. I knew I have to be happy.

November 21. Started all the packing. Packing meant decluttering and reminiscing, so letting go of more things which was overwhelming at first, but inevitable.

November 23. I had something checked in the hospital, and something happened and it wasn’t supposed to go that way but it did and it was so fucking bizarre lol

November 28. HAPPY MOVING DAY. It’s that day of the year. Stress was off the charts because of the time constraint and frankly, the lack of preparedness. Good thing a few people helped us with the rest of the packing. It was an impossible task for me and my sister alone so we were glad we got all the help we needed. I did most of the heavy lifting, so I had bruises all over my body for weeks, but after all was said and done, it felt surreal. Felt like everything coming full circle. That first night in the new home? I’ll never forget that. That was special.

December. The end of an era.

December 2. I went back to the condo to stay for a few more days. Get to feel the place one last time. Also lost a huge deal at work to a competitor. I usually really get depressed with these losses, but for some reason I felt indifferent about it. I guess it was my mind telling me I’ve mentally checked out of work already? That maybe it is really time to move on to something that’ll make me care about what I do again? Make me feel again?

December 4. Met someone (who we can call the Professor) I’ve been talking to for a while now. We’ve had some really great conversations leading to this night; talks at 3AM that’s kind of liberating? I was upfront about the moving and that I only have a few days left in the place which is probably why it happened. Professor was also upfront about leaving the country in a few months for an opportunity to work and do research in Japan for five fucking years. It was awkward at first; but we eventually warmed up to each other and spent the night together.

December 5. Things escalated pretty quickly. The Professor gave me a shower (that was weird but I was feeling it and I thought it was sweet and sexy?). We cuddled until we slept and there was breakfast prepared when I woke up. I don’t usually get to experience this kind of stuff so I really appreciated that. I was feeling it. I thought I can get used to this! I left the place and was invited back again so I stayed over for another night. We’ve had a few more interesting conversations. I was not expecting some of the things we discussed especially the talk about long-distance relationships. The Professor asked me what I think about it and I was honest; I’m not against it but it’s not something I’ll take a chance on if I wasn’t sure about it. Mantra’s always been connection first before commitment. I’m not the “take a leap of faith” kind-of guy; I needed to be sure. Or at the very least be really mentally and emotionally connected with the person. I thought that made perfect sense. I still do.

December 6. So it was finally goodbye. Me and my sister went to the nearest church to donate a few clothes and shoes and to attend a mass. Bid farewell to the Professor too and promised each other to keep in touch. I also had an awkward encounter with my sister’s “friend” who she sneaked in the condo for God knows what for. Pretty sure they did the nasty.

December 13. We went to our old house (the one I spent my younger years in) to get a few stuff for the new house. I only really wanted to get my old bicycle because I want to be biking regularly for the next year. I want to take that fitness journey seriously! So I got the bike and I got to spend some time with some childhood friends. Good stuff.

December 15. A teammate resigned at work. The funny thing is he did it after getting that 13th month bonus HAHAHA! I can’t blame him though after learning about the salary he gets when he’s performing three functions in the team. That’s insane. But it really made me wonder: am I still in this for the long haul? Or do I move on too?

December 17. So I had my work desk and wardrobe delivered. Felt so nice buying things for my room!

December 19. We got a new dog! Another French Bulldog. He’s pretty sweet. Someone’s not happy! (MY MOM)

December 22. And then this happened. We were supposed to meet after my dentist appointment (which I only used as an excuse to meet and I thought that was obvious) but the Professor never showed up. I waited for FIVE FREAKIN HOURS. I had like clothes with me because we agreed I sleepover but FUCK. Good thing a friend kept me company, but that was horrible. I thought YOU NEVER DO THAT TO ANYONE. I deserve better.

December 24. We had our house blessed. It was all super spontaneous; we invited a few friends and relatives over and had an intimate gathering. Mom got emotional (AGAIN).

December 27. So Ms. Preggy (from February - oooh that rhymed) had her son baptized. Since she lives a little father from the city, we decided to have a little staycation with some friends there too. The-Now-Bestie and Work Son was there, and we had beer and homecooked food and a slew of great conversations to cap off the year.

Also December 27. I knew I needed to get something off my chest. And I just had to say it.

“You’re so unfair. You shouldn’t have done that. Gave me false hopes. Gave me a “3-day trial period” only to disappear without any warning. Made promises you never intended to keep. You could’ve just told me you’re not interested anymore and I would’ve been fine with that but instead, you ghosted me. For the past few weeks since that weekend, it never seemed like you wanted to get to know me better. Or even just keep the communication going. It’s been one-sided and I wonder: has it always been this way? Maybe I’m remembering things differently. I told you I like you and I meant that. I’m still wrapping around my head why and how it happened to be honest. Maybe it’s that weekend? Maybe it’s the conversations leading up to when we first met? I don’t know. But things changed after that and I should ask you for an explanation but it’s really not the point. The point is I thought we can work something out and you hurt me. You may feel like you’re running out of time because of Japan but it’s no excuse to do that to anyone, really. You seem so sure about what you want so I hope you get whatever that is. Merry Christmas. Thanks for the memories.”

That was intense.

December 28. The Professor responded. “I apologize... I am getting attached... I had to “ponder on its implications to me in the long run”... I decided to slow down... It hurts... “That weekend that we met felt like I knew you before”... I am afraid... “You have no idea how hard it is to leave everything behind every 4-5 fucking years not because I wanted it but because I have to”... I still hope to continue whatever we have... “I will always remember you. Please don’t forget about me.”... YADA YADA YADA.

I know. You know me. I try to empathize as much as possible. But I mean, come on. These are things I already know. It’s not what I needed to hear.

December 31. I needed to say something one last time. There’s already a lot of uncertainties in the world with COVID and life and everything else. I knew I needed answers; I want the binary. I want the black or white for this one. I’m not taking the gray with me next year. So I asked the following questions:

“What do you want from me? Do you want to be friends? Or we stick with occasional catching up on Viber every once in a while (because that’s what it sounds like to me)?”

“What do you want to get from your last two months here? What are you looking for? Just make the most “fun’? Or look for something that will stick?”

“Have you told me anything you really didn’t mean?”

“That one time we talked about long-distance, were you asking me?”

Fast forward to now: I never got the answer I needed. I guess this is one of those rare occasions where no answer is the answer. And after a few weeks of contemplating about it, I am leaving it behind in 2020.

I’m actually at peace with that.

So there you have it. The suck-fest that is 2020. The first month of the new year wasn’t so bad. I feel this great energy. This year’s going to be different. I did tell you that this letter’s perfect timing. That’s because I’ve resigned and I’m moving on. A friend told me a while ago that he’s proud of me for finally taking action. The 2018 version of myself wouldn’t have done what I did and he was happy for me. I wanted a clean slate and I took it. That I was finally taking ownership of my life.

I was elated. My friend usually spoils me with compliments and encouragement and my ever reliable negative self-image tend to disagree with him but for the first time in a very long time, it felt right. I’m not usually excited for New Years, but I guess I am?

I say bring it on, 2021.

Until then,

Patheticwithanem

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thatordinaryoddity · 4 years

Text

NEW CHAPTER: Once In A Blue Goddamn Moon

a 💗 Jamie & Dani Fanfiction 💗 [The Haunting Of Bly Manor, Netflix 2020]

written by thatordinaryoddity

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27475423/chapters/67177879

Rating: K+

Words: ~9,5k

Genre: Angst/Hurt/Comfort

Status: Complete (will be uploaded in three chapters + Prologue)

Summary: Jamie leaves Flora’s weeding more wrapped up in her thoughts than usual. In all those years, there hadn’t been a day without thinking of her deceased lover Dani. But sometimes, once in a blue goddamn moon, events coincide in an exceptional, odd way.

A/N: Without further ado here’s the new - the most important (for me) - chapter so I’m pretty nervous about it! I hope you guys like it and as always have fun and CU tomorrow for the final! XOXO

The Gravity Of Love

____________________

“..Jamie…”

In slow motion, the grey-haired woman tilted her head, then turned around completely, her jaw dropped in disbelief, tears suddenly blurring her vision. Her knees started to tremble like aspen leaves and she felt like she needed something to hold on to before they would give out. Her whole body began shaking tremendously and the blonde, ghostly figure opposite her provoked goose bumps all over her body. Jamie’s eyes wandered to the hand on her shoulder, fixing on the golden ring in shock. That’s not real. It’s another dream. Wake up. Goddamn, Wake up!!! Desperately, Jamie hoped to escape from this situation. When the dreams had started out decades ago, she thought she could enjoy these few moments of bliss with her lover while they lasted, but instead she had discovered that the longer she indulged in the illusions, the more dreadful the following solitude would be. Since then, she couldn’t stand these kinds of dreams because afterwards, they always left her feeling so unbearably empty. Therefore, she always tried to force herself to wake up, as she knew they were nothing but hollow, hopeless illusions that only made her waking hours more lonesome and painful. This time, however, was different - this time she couldn’t make herself wake up because this time, it wasn’t a dream.

“Jamie, stop fighting it, I’m here! Do you hear me, I’m here,” the blonde person in front of her took one step closer, placing her hands on Jamie’s cheeks. And with the touch, all the doubt in Jamie’s mind was shattered like a pane of glass, broken into a million pieces. There was no mistaking those clearest of blue eyes. “It’s her, it’s really her… Danielle Clayton.” Tears flooded down Jamie’s cheeks, wetting the delicate hands touching her. She searched for words, she wanted to say something, but she wasn’t able to move her lips. All she could do was stand there, look into that beautiful face and stare into those flashing blue eyes, all the while gasping for air in hope to find words.

“H-... How...?” Her voice sounded so broken, like she had been mute for years and only now began to rediscover her ability to speak. Her green eyes wandered up and down the beautiful blonde woman’s body, trying to find a hint that might explain how all this was possible. “After all these years…,” sobbing, she struggled for air.

Dani, too, couldn’t hold back her tears any longer. That very moment was filled with so many raw and honest emotions, with decades full of hope and yearning, doomed to be nothing more than disappointing, impossible wishes that could never come true.

“I have always been there, Jamie. I’ve always been with you, all these years!” Dani said with softness and care in her voice, caressing Jamie’s cheeks with her thumbs. “I was right there all this time, but you couldn’t see me! I tried to make you notice me, but I couldn’t… I tried so hard to get through to you, but it was hopeless…” The blonde woman’s voice had become shaky, and she was visibly agitated. The thought that Dani had been trying to communicate with her lost love for all these years, that she had always been so close to her yet unable to reach her, seemed unbearable to Jamie.

“I... I... don’t understand,” with a barely noticeable shake of her head, Jamie placed one of her hands over Dani’s, still resting on her cheeks, feeling the warmth of their bodies connect after decades. It felt so warm, so familiar and yet so unreal. The green-eyed woman was still unsure if this pretty bubble would burst, leaving nothing but another sad, beautiful scar on her soul. She was still anxious that she might suddenly be ripped from her slumber or this vision would abruptly turn into a nightmare through some sick twist.

Dani looked into her lover’s green eyes, which shone like emeralds in the silvery moonlight, and she knew how many thoughts were rushing behind them. She understood that the grey-haired woman had to be bursting with questions.

Dani let go of Jamie’s cheeks and took her hand instead, the one with the Claddagh ring: “You know, when I left you, I had to go to keep you safe. I could never have stayed with you if there was chance that I might hurt you. I could have never forgiven myself, if I let any harm come to you. And I knew that you wouldn’t have let me go, that you would have tried to talk me out of it, or worse, wanted me to take you with us into the lake. But I could never bring myself to that. That’s why I left… secretly. All I wanted was to protect you, to keep you safe, Jamie!” Dani’s face was covered in tears, she was trembling now as well. The only thing soothing her was her lover’s soft hand that she could finally hold again after such an endless time of longing for it.

She inhaled sharply and one could see she was struggling to continue: “You know, Viola’s rage inside me started to grow from day to day. It grew tremendously and it turned me into something I never wanted to become. I wasn’t able to stand up to her and her blind hate. I... I... really had no chance at all.” Dani was so angry about this abuse of her body and mind, that she had a hard time talking about the evil spirit inside her, who had taken away her life with Jamie. The blue-eyed woman clenched her teeth and stared right through Jamie, wound up in her thoughts, as if she was focussing on something behind her.

“The first time I returned to the mortal plane just felt like a dream – like a strange, fitful slumber. It just felt like a long, weird, restless night. Neither was I aware that I was dead, nor did I know I had the ability to roam the world of the living.” Jamie listened carefully, trying to absorb and comprehend everything her lover was telling her.

“After the first few months, I would eventually manage to wake up and after some more time, I learned what I was… that I was dead, that she had finally dragged me with her.” One could feel the pain in Dani’s voice, her inner conflict. It hurt her as well that she was doomed to live through this fate.

“Then I began searching for you... Jamie. It took me so long to figure out how to get to you. And once I found you, I wanted to run to you, to touch you, to hold you! But I couldn’t reach you!” Her piercing blue eyes got even clearer from the watery sheen the tears left on them. “You were there, right in front of me… but…,” now Dani was the one, searching for words, gasping for air, as the tears were falling and her voice was shaking. “You couldn’t see me, not even sense me! I couldn’t get to you! It was like you were looking through a window – right through me – but not recognising my screams or my presence. I was trapped. But I was there! Every full moon... I was there!” She squeezed Jamie’s hand with one of hers, while the other wandered up to her face to wipe away her tears.

Jamie stood there, her expression hardened and her lips were firmly pressed together to make her mouth appear like a thin line. Seeing the love of her life in this gruelling pain was unbearable to her as well. She squeezed Dani’s hand back even tighter. How hard it must have been... realising you’re dead... realising you’ve lost everything. Jamie had never really appreciated all the agony her lover had lived through. Frankly, she had always assumed that Dani would have forgotten everything about their beautiful life together and that Viola’s anger would have gnawed off every emotion and every memory left in the blonde woman, just the way it did to Viola herself centuries ago. But Dani’s love must have somehow overpowered the evil spirit’s rage and thus, the young woman had managed to create her own gravity – the gravity of love.

Viola’s rage against humanity was extinguished by Dani’s true love for Jamie and her desire to be with her again. Therefore, it had been possible for the blue-eyed woman to find a way to visit Jamie, even if only on full moon nights, where the border between this world and the afterlife narrowed. Unfortunately, the band was never thin enough to make Jamie become aware of her presence at all. No matter how hard the blonde woman tried, there was no incident where Jamie was able to sense her. She cried, she screamed, she shrieked Jamie’s name, but there had never been the slightest reaction at all. At some point, Dani had just given up, decided to face her fate of being doomed to live in this misery, until finally it would be time for Jamie as well to leave this world behind. Even then, she would just have to stand there, watching Jamie die, unable to hold and comfort her. All she could hope for was to finally meet her lover again after she had passed on.

Then, not too long ago, an idea was born while she suddenly remembered something she had been told as a kid: the Celts believed that, at a certain time of the year, on a festival they called Samhain – Halloween in modern terms – the boundary between the world of the living and the dead became blurred and that ghosts returned to earth again. When she found out that this year’s Halloween coincided with a rare blue moon - something that only happens once in a lifetime, if ever – she knew she had to use this unique chance to get through to her lover.

If there was ever a chance of her speaking to Jamie, it was this very night, so Dani had to try with all her might to make it work – and she succeeded.

Even if their time together was limited to that one night, it was more than she could ever have hoped for and more than any other person would get in their life, so Dani was thankful. She was so very thankful to be with her beautiful lover again after all those lost years of longing and suffering, even if it lasted only for this single night and she knew she had to go when the sun would wake up. Already, she knew it was going to hurt like hell, too.

Still sobbing, she raised her hand towards Jamie’s head, softly touching one of her grey strands of hair, the one which was lighter than the rest. A tender smile formed on her lips: “I love them... they’re so different now but I can’t help to admire them.” It was odd somehow, that Jamie had changed over the years – not only had she gotten visibly older but also so much wiser, calmer and more ladylike – while Dani had stayed the way she had been when she died. And even if it seemed like this might create a big gap between them, it was quite the opposite. Their two hearts were still the same they had been when they were separated by the bitter loss. All their feelings and emotions, all their memories together and the happy times – nothing had really changed, they were still connected by this band of true, unconditional love. They both had that mutual feeling inside their hearts, as if they could read each other’s thoughts.

Jamie stood there, softly crying as well, still wondering how so much luck had found her way to her after all these desperate times, until she thought she was finally able to react to Dani’s story. She took a deep breath and opened her lips, but all she could do was stutter. “Y... you..,” she shook her head as if she was trying to rearrange the thoughts inside it. “I... I...,” but Jamie wasn’t able to form a meaningful sentence. Those beautiful blue eyes in front of her were fixating her, waiting for what was coming. Then, Jamie suddenly remained silent again, took a little step forward and just flung her arms around Dani’s neck.

The young blonde woman just needed a moment to understand, that she was finally able to hug and touch and kiss her lover again. This insight made her hackles raise and her heart feel as if it was about to burst of excitement. Finally, she hugged her lover back, pulled her even tighter to her. Both of them were crying, both of them tightened their embrace as if they were afraid that the other would suddenly fade away. Both of them couldn’t be happier about being with one another again and tears kept streaming from their eyes as their hug lasted.

“I’ve missed you! Goddamn, I’ve missed you so much, Dani! Do you know how much I’ve missed you?” the elderly woman whispered through clenched teeth and with narrowed eyes. The barrage of thoughts and emotions was nearly unbearable to handle all at once. She felt happiness, she felt pain, she felt love and she felt fear. “It was so painful, I just wanted to die!”

When Jamie said these words, Dani softly loosened their hug and slowly placed both of her hands on her lover’s shoulders: “I know... Jamie. I’ve seen you… all those nights you cried… you were at the edge. But you had a life, a choice... and death would have been the wrong one! And I’m so glad you kept going.” She nodded as if she wanted to reinforce what she just said. Her expression was somehow filled with concern. She knew how much Jamie had suffered, and every time she had witnessed one of Jamie’s breakdowns, she had been worried if she was going to see her again on the next full moon. Dani squeezed her shoulders: “As I’ve said... I couldn’t let any harm come to you!” Those emerald green eyes were staring back at her, slightly filled with tears. She had noticed by holding Jamie that her whole body was trembling. “I’m here now…” those words were spoken so carefully, so softly.

Their glances wandered to one another’s lips, watching them for a few seconds, until they were finally touching again. There were no suitable words for describing how magnificent their second first kiss felt. It was filled with emotions of loss and grief, of raw love and extraordinary dedication to each other. Their bodies were electrified, every inch was thunderstruck. As the kiss intensified, they now embraced each other again. Dani’s lips slightly opened to welcome her lover’s tongue. A warm feeling spread inside her chest and her sweaty hands pulled Jamie closer to her. A soft gasp escaped from her lungs during this intimate moment only the two of them shared.

None of them wanted to end this moment of mutual affection, but sometimes the human body just needs air to breathe. Sharply inhaling, Dani ended the long kiss, followed by a satisfied smile on her lips. With an indescribable amount of love in her voice she whispered to her lover as their noses were still touching: “I’ve waited so long for this to happen... I have missed you with every fiber of my body, Jamie.”

The green-eyed woman blushed and placed her hand on Dani’s cheekbone. “I’ve waited too… for you to finally return to me! I’ve waited all these years...” she closed her eyes, enjoying their moment together, and she tried to absorb every second, every movement, every touch and every sensation of it. It felt as if all the cold in her long-frozen heart finally melted after all these depressing years of yearning. Jamie wished that this moment could last forever and that she could be with Dani for all eternity, just as they had dreamed of when both of them were younger. But she knew that wish wasn’t meant to come true – just like the full moon and this special night of the living dead couldn’t last forever, Dani too, would fade away soon. Both of them were painfully aware of that fact, but none wanted to waste even a single thought on it yet.

The night was getting darker, but the air remained extraordinarily mild for autumn. The two of them were cuddled up on the bench inside the winter garden, holding each other tight. Dani had asked Jamie to tell her what had happened in the years she was gone, and now listened attentively to all the events the older woman recounted, occasionally placing tender kisses on her lover’s hands. The moon light tinted the plants around them in a romantic, mysterious light. Both women felt as if this long separation, this violent break between them, had never existed. It felt so normal to be together again despite the long time apart.

Though one would assume the two women had so much to tell each other after all this time, the night was also partly spent in silence. After a while, none of them said anything at all anymore, instead enjoying their mutual moments of love. The bond between them was so strong, so unique, that they didn’t need to put into words how they felt at that moment. Instead, they knew how the other felt. And both of them knew as well, that they didn’t have all that much time left together, so they savoured each other’s presence even more. Being aware of their limited time was like an inner ticking that grew louder, minute by minute, and it felt threatening, uneasy.

“It will hurt, won’t it?” Jamie’s emerald green eyes slightly filled with tears again, which made them look like submerged gemstones in a shiny, crystal lake. Lost in thoughts, she started chewing on her lips. The mere thought of losing Dani again just tore her heart apart. The blonde woman took her lover’s hand, softly caressing it with her thumb, in an attempt to soothe her. She knew too that their farewell wasn’t going to be easy at all. But she also knew that they could at least gather strength from this night together – after all, Dani would always be there, even if it wasn’t physical.

“But how will I go on without you?” The tears began to stream down her face. “How am I supposed to just live on?” With a worried expression, Dani squeezed her lover’s hand even tighter. “I know, Jamie… but… remember… every full moon I’ll be with you! Even if you can’t see or touch me… I’ll never leave you! I’ll be there and I will listen!” Although Jamie could see that Dani truly meant everything she had said, her heart filled with pain again, her silent tears turning into a desperate sob.

“Dani... I can’t lose you again! I... I... just can’t”

“You WON’T lose me, Jamie… do you hear me! I’m here! And I always will be…” Dani pulled Jamie even closer to her, wiped her tears away and leaned in for a deep kiss. She couldn’t stand leaving the love of her life a sobbing mess. She understood the frustration of her lover, felt the same way, and yet appreciated that they were able to spend at least that one night together and get a chance to properly say goodbye. Please remember me this way. Please remember the good times, not the bad ones, Jamie.

Even though Jamie calmed down a bit, it was obvious from the expression on her face that she was devastated. They both knew that the time had come. The moon was standing low by now, the dark of the night slowly made room for the new day. Dani stood up, taking the older woman’s hand again, inviting her to join her walking out of the winter garden. The two women were standing in front of each other, holding their soft hands and feeling the other’s racing heartbeat.

“I love you, Jamie! You were the one… the only one… always!” With a soft, but broken smile, Dani forced herself not to start crying as well. She had to be strong, she had to focus on the good, not the bad. “And I’ll be there… one month from now, there’ll be another full moon.”

“I love you too… I can’t express how much!” Jamie flung her arms around Dani’s neck again, holding her as if she wanted to prevent her from leaving: “I’ll wait! I’ll look out for every single sign and every oddity… knowing it’s you!” As she embraced Dani’s warm body, she felt her warmth slowly decreasing. Abruptly, she took a step back, looking in shock at the fading shades of her lover. She had started to become translucent already, and all the colours had left her form. Jamie could see the remaining moon light shining right through her, leaving a silvery gleam on her whole body.

“It’s time now.” A sad smile formed on the blonde woman’s lips. “Please, don’t be sad my love, be thankful for this night… just as I am…” and with those words Dani was gone completely.

Jamie’s eyes were wide open in disbelief and agony, and after a moment, she collapsed on the hard ground. She remained there, on her knees, covering her face with her hands as she started to weep bitterly. She knelt there for what felt like minutes to her, but had actually been hours, all the while crying her eyes out and praying for Dani to come back. Even if it had been the most luminous, astonishing night in decades, she couldn’t deal with the fact that it was over.

#Jamie and Danielle #jamie and dani #damie #jamie x dani #jamie x danielle #damie fanfiction #The Haunting #the haunting of bly manor #the haunting of hill house #bly manor #hill house #thobm #thobm fanfic #lesbian kiss #lesbian fanfiction #lgbtq netflix #victoria pedretti #Amelia Eve #carla gugino

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cynicalrainbows · 4 years

Text

The Next Best Thing Chapter 14

Cathy gets some over-the-phone grief counselling from her godmother.

The relief of hearing Catalina- very obviously alive and well and not at all dead- is so much that upon hearing it, she bursts into tears and can’t do anything more than sob into the phone.

She can hear Catalina saying ‘Hello? Hello?’ in a voice that is sounding more and more worried and it makes her feel guilty, but she’s also crying too hard to speak properly.

‘Hello? Cathy? Mija, is that you?’

‘Ye-es-’

Her voice comes out all wobbly.

‘What’s the matter, querida? Are you alright? Are you hurt?’ Catalina is sounding seriously panicked now but she can’t answer, not yet.

‘Are you on your own? Is there someone with you?’

She nods and then realises that of course Catalina can’t hear her.

‘Ye-es-’

‘Can you let me talk to them for a minute, mija? I’ll be very very quick, alright?’

She doesn’t really want to give Anna the phone at all- Catalina is her godmother, not Anna’s, and she doesn’t feel like sharing- but she isn’t sure what else to do so she pushes the receiver at Anna who looks a bit confused but takes it anyway.

‘Hello?’

There’s buzzing on the other end of the phone but she can’t hear anything.

‘I’m Anna. I’m Cathy’s friend. Are you Catalina?’

There’s a pause.

‘I think she’s ok.’

Anna turns to her. ‘You’re not sick or hurt, are you Cathy?’

She shakes her head. She really wants Anna to give her the phone back.

‘She isn’t. She said she wants to come home…….No, everyone else is asleep.’

There’s another pause. Anna says ‘yes’ a couple more times and ‘thank you’ and then ‘yes’ again.

Cathy’s still juddering with sobs and she’s shivering a bit in the drafty hall and she’s regretting letting Anna talk her into this because she isn’t feeling any better at all AND now she’s cold on top of everything...but then Anna passes the phone back to her and sits down cross legged on the carpet.

‘She asked if I would stay with you if I’m not too tired, or wake up Anne’s Mum if I am’ She says, to Cathy’s confused look, and then shrugs. ‘I’m not too tired so I’ll stay.’

Cathy is very, very glad Anna hasn’t opted to wake Anne’s Mum, but there isn’t time to say anything because Catalina’s voice is in her ear again and now she doesn’t sound worried or panicky at all.

‘Hello again mija.’

It’s the voice that wakes her from nightmares. The tight bands around her chest start to loosen the tiniest bit.

‘Hello-’

Her own voice is very small and teary.

‘What’s the matter, querida? Anna said you were feeling a little bit homesick?’

Homesick is a small, silly insubstantial word for the crushing despair that’s settled heavily upon her, and it doesn’t even touch the anguish of wondering whether or not Catalina is alright, nor the terrible guilt over her parents….but she half nods into the phone anyway.

‘I want to be at home. I want to be at home now.’

She sounds like a baby but she can’t help it. She doesn’t even really care that Anna is listening.

‘Oh querida’ Catalina’s voice is velvety soft and very, very gentle. ‘It’s hard being away from home sometimes, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, it’s horrible.’ She’s quite relieved Catalina isn’t telling her not to be so silly or asking how she can be homesick when she hasn’t even been gone a full day yet. ‘Everything feels wrong.’

‘I know. It’s awful when it all hits at once.’

She sounds like she really does know, which is a bit of a surprise.

‘I used to get it very, very badly.’

‘When?’

‘I think the worst was when I first came to England.’ Cathy knows about that- about how Catalina came to England when she was very young to get married but how the man she was meant to marry died before it could happen. ‘But when I went to university- that was all a very hard time, at first.’

‘But that was when you were grown up.’

‘You can get homesick at any age, mija.’

She isn’t sure if she likes the idea that she might feel like this again- but she does like the way that Catalina sounds so matter of fact about everything, like she isn’t making a silly fuss over nothing.

‘Did you cry?’

‘Sometimes.’

She contemplates this unexpected revelation. ‘I want to come home,’ she says, and just saying it makes her throat all tight and her voice wobbly again because she does want to go home, she wants to be at home so very much-

Catalina sighs.

‘I can come and get you querida-’

‘Yes please-’

‘But that means I’ll have to hang up the phone to drive, so how about-’ There’s a rustling as if Catalina is moving around ‘How about we talk for a while, just until you’re a little bit calmer, alright mija? And then I’ll come?’

She opens her mouth to say no, that she needs Catalina to come now- but she also doesn't want to hang up the phone, and perhaps Catalina can read her mind.

‘I’d rather not hang up until I’m sure you’re alright mija, I would feel very uncomfortable about leaving you alone in such a state. Is that alright with you?’

She doesn't really want Catalina to go so she gulps out a yes.

‘Then that’s what we’ll do. Now…. What’s got you feeling homesick mija? Did something happen?’

‘Not really…’ She isn’t sure, so she settles for ‘Anne doesn’t shut her curtains.’

Catalian clicks her tongue. ‘Ah! Yes, I should have thought of that- I could have mentioned it to Anne’s Mum. Sorry mija.’

Cathy wonders what good that would have done, since Anne’s Mum didn’t even come into the room when she said goodnight, just pushed the door open a bit and called to them from the hall….but she doesn't say that.

‘Could you close them yourself perhaps, if Anne is already asleep? No one would mind.’

She fidgets a bit, she isn't sure she wants Anne to know about her window thing and Catalina must hear her hesitation so she adds ‘Or perhaps you could try and face away from the window? Maybe put Tarkar on your pillow so if you turn over, you’ll just be looking at him instead?’

She usually hates it when grownups talk about her toys as if they’re real- she knows they’re not and it makes her feel like she’s Kitty’s age- but she can’t even focus on that now, because it just reminds her that she doesn’t even have Tarkar with her and that makes her feel even worse.

‘Cathy? Mija?’

‘But he’s at home-’ she whimpers, and she’s a bit surprised Catalina has forgotten considering the long debate they had over it, Catalina saying it wouldn’t hurt to just put Tarkar in the very bottom of her rucksack in case she changed her mind about not needing him in the night, and Cathy arguing that she wasn’t a baby and that nobody ever takes otters to sleepovers anyway and that Catalina could watch the Lizzie Maquire sleepover episode for herself if she didn't believe her.

(Catalina had shuddered quite hard at the suggestion and said I’ll take your word for it mija quite firmly. Cathy isn't sure why.)

‘Didn’t you find him?’ Catalina sounds genuinely surprised. ‘I put him just at the bottom of your bag, under your towel.’

It’s a big surprise, although she had been wondering why Catalina had packed a towel for her considering she was only going for the night and had already had a shower that morning because she didn’t like the idea of using Anne’s big power shower with the hundred and one knobs and dials and buttons.

‘I’m sorry querida, I know how firm you were about not wanting to take him but I just couldn’t help myself. I hope you’re not too cross with me.’

It’s so odd to hear that because it’s normally the other way around, with Cathy hoping she isn’t the one in trouble- although she has to admit, Catalina hardly ever gets cross, even when she probably could.

‘No. I’m not too cross.’

‘Well, I’m glad. Do you know, when I went to university, when I was much much older than you-’ Catalina’s slips into her storytelling voice. ‘I was 18 and I spent so long packing and choosing what I would bring! Dios mio, I drove my poor mother quite demented- changing my mind and packing and repacking, tearing my room to pieces. I just wanted to seem grown up so very badly-’

It’s funny to hear Catalina talk about wanting to look grown up at university because surely by the time you’re at university, you already are a grown up, a proper one?

‘I decided only to take things that a grown up would take, so I chose all the longest books I had with the most impressive titles- some I’d never even opened….I decided to take only clothes that would be smart for lectures….or that I could wear for a night out. Nothing old! Nothing sloppy! My goodness, how I regretted it!’

‘What happened?’

Her voice is still a bit wavery but it’s a lot more like her normal voice than before and she finds that she is actually a bit interested to hear the story.

It’s so funny to think of Catalina being young and scared and making silly mistakes- because even she knows that it makes no sense to take books you don't actually like away with you and she’s not even eight yet, whereas Catalina was more than ten years older.

‘Oh querida, it was horrible! I caught a cold on my first night out with my new friends and I had such a terrible hangover-’

‘Whats a hangover?’

‘It means….well, sometimes when you’re young and having fun….that is, in moderation, sometimes things are ok but when you have too much…’ Catalina trails off then picks up the story again hurriedly. ‘Do you know what mija, I’ll explain to you tomorrow ok?’

Cathy wonders what could possibly be too complicated that Catalina can't just explain it now and makes a mental note to remember to ask about hangovers the next morning because surely Anne won’t know what they are either and maybe this is something that they should know, like multiplication and suffixes.

‘Anyway, I felt so ill and I had nothing I wanted to wear, nothing comfortable. And nothing interesting to read while I was stuck in bed either!’

Cathy gives a little gasp of sympathy. How horrible!

She almost wishes she could go back in time, to bring poor University Catalina the big warm snuggly cardigan that she likes to wear after work and on weekends and one of the glossy magazines she likes so much (and hides under the sofa cushions when people come to visit) so that she can be happy rather than sad and uncomfortable and hungover (whatever that means).

‘And worst of all mija, I’d left Benito behind-’

‘Who was Benito?’

‘Benito was my monkey- not a real one sadly. But I’d had him since I was younger than you and he’d been with me through everything and I was so sure that it wasn’t the sort of thing you’d take to University if you were a proper grown up….oh I very suddenly found I was not at all too old to miss him, no matter what I’d thought! Especially when everything was so new and stressful. So the very first reading week we had, I went home- I said it was just to see my old friends but really mija, I wouldn’t have cared if I hadn’t seen a single one of them as long as I got to bring my books and my comfortable clothes and Benito back with me.’

‘Do you still have him?’ She wonders if Benito might be interested in making friends with an otter.

Catalina sighs. ‘No. He got lost along the way and I’ve always been a little bit sad about it. I like to think he is making some other little girl in Spain very happy- or perhaps someone who is not so little at all!’

‘Will I have to leave Tarkar behind when I go to University?’ (She doesn’t know quite what she wants to be yet but she knows she wants to go to University because Catalina’s stories make it sound so interesting.)

‘Not unless you want to. But whatever you decide to do, I’m sure you’ll take much better care of Tarkar than I took of Benito.’

‘I will.’ She says it seriously but Catalina laughs. It’s a nice laugh though.

‘Good. Now was there anything else querida? You sounded so upset when you called.’

It’s funny- she realises suddenly that over the course of the story, she’s not only stopped crying but she’s started feeling a lot more normal. Maybe it’s knowing that Tarkar is in her bag after all or maybe it’s how very well and alive Catalina sounds but whatever it is, she feels much more like herself.

She’s feeling so much better that she almost doesn't want to tell Catalina what was really wrong before….but then she doesnt want her godmother- or Anna for that matter- to think she’s a silly baby for crying over a cuddly toy so she takes a deep breath.

‘I thought you might be hurt. Or sick. Or something.’

Catalina sounds astonished. ‘Why mija? I’m perfectly well.’

‘I thought…’ She fiddles with the cord of the phone. She doesn’t really like saying it but Catalina obviously doesn’t understand. ‘I thought maybe you might be hurt. Like….like Mum and Dad.’

There's a little pause. ‘Oh. Oh Cathy. Oh mija.’

Catalina sounds so very sad that she wonders for a moment if she’s said the wrong thing, and then there’s a long silence and her eyes start to burn again as if the tears are threatening to return.

Then she sniffles and Catalina’s back on the phone, all hurried.

‘I’m so sorry you had to think about that querida. That must have been very, very scary for you. Especially being away from home.’

Catalina doesn’t sound cross but she still sounds sad.

‘.....I’m sorry.’

‘Oh mija, you have nothing to be sorry for!’ Catalina sounds most emphatic. ‘Nothing at all. I’m not in the least bit upset with you. I’m just so sorry we’re having this conversation over the phone and I can’t give you a hug. And I’m sorry you were having to think such things while I was off thinking about what a lovely time you must be having.’

‘I was having a lovely time.’ She doesn’t want Catalina to think she’s been pathetic all night. ‘Just...when we went to bed. And- I couldn’t sleep and then I started thinking about Mum and Dad….’

Catalina hums sympathetically.

‘And…and it made me think about how I didnt even know that they weren’t ok until they weren’t there any more and maybe I wouldn’t know if you weren’t ok and maybe you might have gotten hurt while I was away and I wouldn’t know-’

‘Ok. Ok mija. Let's take some nice deep breaths, ok? Can you try for me? In and out.’

After a minute of doing deep calming breaths in time with Catalina on the phone, Catalina says ‘This is what I used to do with Maria when she was expecting you.’

It’s very unexpected- it’s always a bit odd to hear her mother referred to by her nickname and it’s also funny to think about her Mum and Catalina knowing each other before she was born.

‘Really?’

‘Oh yes. Sometimes she would get so worried- she loved you so much, you see, and she wanted so badly to do everything right for you. She worried she might make a mistake.’

‘But you said I wasn’t born. How can you love someone who doesn’t exist yet?

‘Oh she loved you long, long before you were born mija. We both did- and Thomas too.’ Thomas she knows is her Dad. ‘I was in Spain and she was in England but she’d call me and we’d talk all about how excited she was to meet you and all the things you would do when you were grown up and how proud we’d all be- but sometimes she’d worry that she was going to make mistakes and then I’d tell her to take some deep breaths and remind her that everything was going to be ok.’

‘Like you’re doing for me.’

‘Like I’m doing for you.’

‘It wasn’t all ok though. She died. She and Dad can’t be proud of me because they’re dead. So it didn’t happen how you said it would at all.’ The tears are back properly now and she thinks that maybe just maybe Catalina’s voice sounds a bit watery too.

‘I know mija. And it’s very very sad. But we have to try and think about the good things too, as well as the sad things.’

‘What good things?’ She isn’t sure there can be any good things- not when Mum and Dad are dead. How can she enjoy Catalina’s stories knowing how it’s all going to end? She’s sure that her Mum and Dad wouldn’t have been so happy thinking about all things she’d grow up to do if they’d known they wouldn’t be there to see any of them.

‘Well, there’s how much she loved you. That’s still a good thing. She loved you enough for a hundred years, enough for a thousand. How she thought about you every day, before she’d even met you, and how your Daddy did too. That’s a good thing. They were both so excited- you know, your Daddy called everybody he knew when you were born, everybody in his contacts list, people he hadn't spoken to for years and years, just to tell them he had a little girl.’

‘Tell me some more good things. Please.’

She likes that Catalina doesn’t even have to stop and think. ‘There are all the lovely memories you have with them- that’s a very, very good thing. No matter what happens mija, no one can take away your memories. There are all the things they taught you.’

‘Like how to ride a bike. And to swim.’

‘Yes-. And other things too- like how much you like reading. That’s something good that they left you with. That’s something you’ll always take with you. You know, your Daddy got you a library card when you were only just born.’

It’s funny to hear Catalina say that. She’d always sort of imagined liking reading of something that was just luck- but now it seems different. More special, like a present but not one you can see or touch.

‘Even just the way you look mija- your beautiful hair, for example. That’s something they’ve given you.’

‘Are there more good things?’

‘So many many more mija. I could talk all night and I’d still not have finished. It’s hard, it’s very hard sometimes to see the good things but that doesn’t mean they’re not there.’

The thought makes her cry a bit more- like the tears are feelings that she just doesn’t have room for any more. They’re not bad feelings- just feelings. She can’t contain them and they overflow as tears.

‘Were you happy too? When I was born?’

‘So very happy mija, you cannot imagine. I had planned to come to see you and your Mummy and Daddy in England anyway but I was so impatient, I called them- I called to ask if I could possibly come early because I couldn’t wait. And you know, when I spoke to them on the phone, Maria said she had been asking Thomas if he thought I would mind coming earlier…because she so wanted to introduce me to you.’

Her voice softens. ‘I have never been sadder than when we lost Maria and Thomas but- since we cannot change that mija, as much as I wish we could, I’m so very happy that I can take care of you for them. And I like to think they would be happy too. I think they are happy too. As much as they'd prefer to be with you themselves...I think they’re happy that you’re with me because they know that I love you like they did. And I know they’re so very, very proud of you. Of what a very brave, clever, good girl their daughter has become.’

They’re both definitely crying now but it doesn't hurt like her tears before had hurt, and when she can talk again, she feels better. Lighter. Her eyes are very very sore and her mouth feels dry, but somehow, she doesn't feel so scared anymore.

Thinking about her parents- in a good way- hurts but in a way that feels right. Healthy, almost. Something that hurts but that is good for you too, like hard exercise and injections. She wonders if sometimes the things that are good for you- the things that you need- do just hurt a little bit, if that's just how some things in life are.

There’s a little pause as they both sniffle into the phone...and then Catalina gives a little laugh and says ‘Oh mija I shan't be able to scold you for wiping your nose on your sleeve any more, I ran out of tissues-’ and she starts laughing a bit even as she's still crying.

It feels good to be able to smile.

‘Good.’

‘You can remind me of this when I tell you off for it.’

‘I will.’

‘Are you feeling a little bit better now mija?’

‘Yes.’ She actually means it.

‘Good. I think perhaps we should maybe have another talk about this soon, yes? Properly, when we’re both a bit less tired and when we can see each other and I can give you a proper cuddle.’

That sounds quite nice.

‘Ok.’

‘Ok. ‘ There’s a pause. ‘Shall I come and get you now mija? I’m not as worried about leaving you anymore.’

‘Will you really come?’

It’s been a tiny niggling worry at the back of her mind the whole time- that maybe Catalina is just trying to distract her, to make her forget about having to drive over to get her in the middle of the night, that maybe she’s just planning on telling her that now she doesn't really need to come home at all...but Catalina sounds shocked she’s ever asking.

‘Of course! Of course I will. I could be with you in...hmm, about half an hour? Forty minutes at the most.’

‘Really?’

She sounds very serious. ‘Mija if I can, I will always come and get you if you need me.’

‘What about when I’m grown up?’

‘Always. If you need me, I will come, even when you're grown up.’

‘What if I'm somewhere really far away?’

‘Then it might take longer but I’ll still come.’

‘What if you're really tired?’

‘Even then. I’ll drink lots of coffee and sleep when you’re safe back home.’

‘What if I make you really really angry? What if-’ She tries to think of the worst thing she can imagine. ‘What if I break all your nice things and shout at you and say I hate you and...and steal money from you and...and and set the sofa on fire and…’

‘Then I will be angry and sad and you will owe me a new sofa….but I will still come.’

There's a pause as she takes it in.

‘Will you be alright now if I hang up now mija? I’ll be as quick as I can.’

She thinks about it.

She thinks about Catalina having to get up and get dressed and drive in the dark and about having to have her knock on the door and wake everyone up and explain why she's going home.

She thinks about Anne waking up without her on the morning after her birthday and about how it would mean that Anna will have had a proper sleepover with Anne and she won’t.

She thinks about Tarkar waiting for her in her bag, about how cosy her bed in Anne’s room suddenly seems and about how sleepy she’s starting to feel.

She thinks about how Anne has said that Mary has promised to make them pancakes for the post-sleepover birthday breakfast and about whipped cream. And strawberries. And Nutella.

She takes a deep breath.

‘It’s ok. You don't have to come. I’m- I’m alright now.’

‘Are you sure mija? I promise it’s no trouble. I wouldn't be in the least bit upset with you and neither would anyone else.’

She thinks, wavers….and then makes up her mind. ‘No, it's ok. I'm sleepy now anyway. And Mary said she’d make pancakes and Anne said she brought whipped cream specially. The kind in a squirty can.’

Catalina chuckles. ‘Alright mija. That does sound worth staying for. Snuggle down with Tarkar and dream about something nice for me, alright?’

‘Ok.’ She pauses. ‘I'm sorry I woke you up.’

‘Oh mija you have nothing at all to be sorry for! ! I’m so glad you called- I’d hate to think of you miserable and not calling me.’

‘I nearly didn’t.’

‘What made you change your mind?’

‘Anna said I should. She said it would make me feel better.’

‘Well she sounds like a very sensible and nice girl.’

She normally bristles when her godmother so much as suggests that Anna might have any redeeming qualities...but somehow she just doesn't feel that hot surge of irritation any more.

After all, Anna did help. If it wasn't for Anna, she realises, she’d just be lying in bed and feeling sadder and sadder by the minute and who knows how sad she’d have been by morning? Probably too sad to want even a small pancake and what a waste of a treat that would be.

‘Yes, she is. She’s very nice. And she’s keeping BT in business.’

Catalina chuckles again. ‘Well that’s good to know. Will you do something for me mija? Is Anna still with you?’

‘Yes.’

‘Could you pass the phone to her for just a minute?’

Anna is half asleep on the floor when Cathy nudges her with the receiver. ‘She wants to talk to you again.’

Anna takes it. Again there is buzzing and another couple of yeses and thank yous- and then Catalina is back.

‘Thank you mija. I just wanted to say thank you to her myself for giving you such good advice.’

She thinks for a minute. ‘I’ll say thank you too. And do something nice back for her- when I’ve thought of something.’

She can almost hear Catalina smiling down the phone. ‘Well that’s a lovely idea querida.’ She lets herself feel a little glow of pride and then Catalina stifles a yawn. ‘Now, you and Anna should probably go and get some sleep before it’s time for pancakes…’

‘Ok.’

‘Just one more thing before you go to bed, I want you to imagine something for me. Can you do that?’

‘Yes’

‘I want you to imagine I’m giving you a big big hug, ok? A very big hug- to last you until morning. Don’t use it all up at once, mind.’

The idea of trying to save a hug- like its a chocolate bar or a bag of crisps- is novel enough to make her smile- and then she yawns.

‘Ok. I won’t.’

‘Good. Sweet dreams mija. Sleep well and I’ll see you very soon.’

‘Good night Catalina.’

‘God bless querida. I love you.’

‘I love you too.’

She puts the phone down.

There's a second when the shakiness feels like it might come back- just a second, and then Anna is standing up, stumbling a bit because her foot has gone to sleep, and Cathy has to catch her arm to steady her.

‘Oooh!’

‘Sorry-’

‘It’s ok. Are you alright?’

‘Yes. Just my foot, it’s all tingly and funny-’ Anna puts weight on it experimentally. ‘Are you better now?’

She nods. ‘Yes.’

‘I was really worried. You looked so, so sad.’

‘I was. But I’m ok now.’ She pauses. ‘Thank you for staying with me. And for making me use the phone. It was a good idea.’

‘It’s ok. Your godmother is nice.’

‘She is nice.’

‘She said thank you for getting you to call and that I sounded like a very sensible clever girl and a very good friend for you to have and that she was pleased to meet me even if it was over the phone and that she’d heard a lot about me.’ Anna pauses. ‘Did you really tell her about me?’

‘Yes…’ She hopes Anna won’t ask if they were always nice things.

Anna looks surprised. ‘I didn't think you liked me. Much.’ She looks a bit awkward as she says it and Cathy suddenly feels hot guilt in her tummy. Somehow it didn't seem so bad to not like Anna when she thought Anna hadn’t noticed but now….

She shakes her head quickly. ‘I do. At least I do now. And not just now. I liked you. A bit. Before. Even when I didn't want to.’

She wonders if Anna will be really, really cross with her, or worse if she’ll cry, and the guilt burns worse than ever….but when she looks up, Anna is squirming a bit too, as if she is the mean one.

‘I liked you too. Even when I didn't want to. I-’ She pauses. ‘I wasn't so happy when you came back’ She says in a rush ‘I mean I was sort of happy because you seemed nice- you let me play even when you looked like you didn't want to and I felt a bit bad...but...when I started, I didn’t know anyone and I was so happy that Anne wanted to be friends and then she said it was just until you came back to school and...I hoped and hoped that you wouldn't come back at all and that you'd end up going to a new school so that I could keep on being friends with Anne….and then I felt bad because you let Anne stay friends with me even when you did come back….’

She breaks off and they look at one another.

Cathy waits to see if she’ll feel angry over what Anna has said, as Anna is obviously expecting her to be….but to her surprise, she finds that she isn't.

Her main feeling is relief- the guilt in her tummy is nearly gone, now that she knows she wasn't the only one having not-so-nice thoughts secretly.

‘It’s ok. We’re even now.’

She smiles at Anna and crooks her little finger, and Anna smiles back and hooks it with her own and they shake on it. Then Anna shivers and Cathy realises how cold her hand is.

‘You're freezing! Let's go back to bed quick so you can warm up.’

‘Its ok, I don't really mind. I was getting a bit hot anyway- the duvet is really big!’

They start up the stairs.

When they get into Anne’s room, she expects Anna to go straight back to bed but she hangs back.

‘Cathy...can I see your otter? Just quickly before we go to sleep? Only I heard you say that you DID bring him and I've never seen a toy otter before…’

She can't imagine not knowing you could have toy otters and feels a little bit sorry for Anna.

When she fishes Tarkar out of the bottom of her bag, there’s a yellow post-it stuck to his back with Catalina’s handwriting: ‘Just in case’ and then three kisses.

She tucks the note and the kisses safely into the pocket of her pyjamas and hands Tarkar over and Anna strokes him admiringly. ‘He’s lovely. I'm going to ask mutti for an otter for my birthday- we saw otters at the zoo once, they were so cute and funny.’

‘I like the otters at the zoo best too. Catalina’s going to take me and Anne to the zoo when it's the holidays and she can get some time off work. She promised.’ She pauses, stroking Tarkar’s foot. ‘Maybe...maybe you could come too. If you’d like.’

Anna’s eyes are all big and shiny. ‘Yes! Yes please!’ She gives a happy little bounce and then yawns in the middle of it and they both giggle.

Anna hands Tarkar back and goes back to Kitty’s bed and Cathy gets into the camp bed.

She’s shivery enough that the big duvet actually feels quite nice now- cozy rather than stifling, and she’s so tired that even the pillow doesn't bother her so much any more. The washing powder smell is still strange- but Tarkar smells reassuringly familiar.

She buries her face in his fur and dreams of home.

#six #six the musical #six the musical fanfiction #six fanfiction #sixfic #the next best thing

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tiesandtea · 4 years

Text

Suede: prima donna Brett about Head Music (OOR, May 1999)

By Raymond Rotteveel Magazine: OOR no. 9, p. 34-37, 1st May 1999 (cover) Scanned by @kalluun-patangaroa (full article here) Translated from Dutch by Miriam, SuedeNation Scrapbook (source)

A short report on the London Astoria fanclub gig (27 March 1999) and the preceding press conference, followed by an earlier original interview with Brett about Head Music, its creation, influences and lyrical approach.

Head Music is not a reaction against Coming Up. We made this record without thinking about our past.

On paper, it looks like fun, but in real life, press conferences can be pretty disappointing. In real life, the five members of Suede are sat on a small podium in the London club Astoria, blinking their eyes because of the bright spotlights and they can see nothing of the about a hundred journalists that have flown in from all over the world. If the band is then confronted with – to say it mildly – backward questions like 'What do you think about Bernard Butler', it isn't very motivating and a corny atmosphere sets in.

Singer Brett Anderson, sat in the middle, at first answers the questions cooly and businesslike. 'No, I haven't heard BB's album yet, but the split was the best that could ever happen to me. We are both happy, so...'. And: 'No we did not choose Electricity as the single, a group of idiots did that.' Anderson wants to stress that he feels happy: 'Yes, even I have all the emotions a man can have, and being happy is one of them', and that for him, the evolution of Suede is best expressed in his favourite song Savoir Faire. 'It came to be through a new way of songwriting, but it also has the dark edge of Suede in it'.

If about 10 minutes later Ludwig from Austria (magazine unknown) asks when the single will be released – the Astoria is wallpapered with posters saying 'Electricity, new single out on April 12' – the party is over. 'Speak to your local Sony', Brett snaps back and announces the last question. The planned time for our questions is thus reduced to 15 minutes.

A few hours later the Astoria is filled with about 1500 people for a special fanclub-only gig.

The concert has, even before it's started, all the ingredients to become special. It is the first one in London since a long time and it’s especially for the real fans and therefore an appropriate test case for the new material. From opener 'Can't Get Enough', a raw straight-forward rocker, Brett is in his element: gesticulating, clapping his hands and dangerously waving his microphone about, he moves across the stage like a male diva, all the while arousing the audience with sensual hip-wiggling moves. "I feel now walking like a woman and talking like a stone age man", he wallows in his well-known cracking voice. Those who see him like this understand why he was once called 'the man who brought style back to British music by slapping his arse'. Other things that catch attention are that the now short-haired guitarist Richard Oakes is given a lot more space live than on the album and that is for the good of the sound.

The melodramatic 'Down', the ballad 'He's Gone' and the Eastern-tinted 'Indian Strings' are the highlights of the new songs tonight, while of the older material the sublime B-side 'Europe Is Our Playground', the hit 'Trash' and the encores 'Beautiful Ones' and 'Saturday Night' are way ahead (of) the rest. From the first two albums, no songs are played.

Two weeks earlier in a hotel in Notting Hill, the area where most Suede members live.

The band has just finished mixing HM and tiredness is written across Brett's face. 'Pff, yeah, we have been mixing till late last night and it has been pretty intense. It's been hard labour, but then it always is. I have never made a record that was not difficult, but that's part of it. It is not meant to be relaxing to make a record, in my opinion. It always has to be a difficult process. It's always hard work and there's always a moment where you think 'Fuck, this is going completely wrong'. I have experienced that with every record. You have to doubt the things you are doing or create. Unless you are a total idiot, you have to doubt to be able to create'.

Head Music. A record that isn't half as easily digestible as preceding million-seller CU, but that isn't as heavy as for example DMS. A record that, also through attracting producer Steve Osborne (of the remix team Perfecto Records and known for Happy Mondays and U2), was announced in the British press to be a dance album.

Unjustly, Brett says: 'There are a lot of dance elements in it, drumloops, electronics, samples, that sort of thing. A lot of songs have been written from a certain groove or rhythm. In that, Steve had an important part. But the fact that we sound like this now, has also to do with the fact that we wanted to change our sound. To do so, we chose Steve and it worked out very well. But it's not a dance record, no. No, I've never really understood those notices in the press. I mean, I wish it was that easy, that you could say ‘Come on, let's do a dance record'. But that's not the case. It's kinda stupid to say something like that. If you say that upfront, it will never sound like a fucking dance record. It's a Suede record with elements from dance music. Suede will of course remain a rock & roll band and will not change into some sort of dance act because we happened to work with a producer who produced that sort of record in the past. It’s true that there are more songs now that you can really move to, that are in a way very danceable.'

HM sounds very different from the light-footed CU. How did that come about? I have been listening to a lot of different music over the last years, to music that has not been written from the starting point of traditional songwriting. Things like Tricky, Asian Dub Foundation, Audioweb and Prince. Furthermore, there has been a sort of musical revolution within me. I used to write songs from a melody, usual the singing melody, while now I see music more as a whole. I have learned to experiment with different instruments, I have learned to play new instruments and have even become a reasonable guitarist. There are, by the way, a lot of other songs on HM, songs with a heavy punk-like guitar. Can't Get Enough can be regarded as a punk song, but then (in) Suede style. People often regard punk and dance as two totally different styles, but that's not the case. The best punk has a groove, and the best dance sounds agressive. We have tried to use the best of both styles.

I think Neil Codling, your keyboard player, has had a big part in creating the new Suede sound. That's right. Neil has incredibly developed himself technically over the last year. He is a real sound wizard, yes. It's also because Neil is now more part of the band. At the time of CU, he hadn't been around for that long. Neil was to HM a sort of pre-producer. He's had a big influence. For instance, he convinced me that we had to go into the studio (in) a different way this time. That we had to be able to write on the spot from 2 chords or a rhythm, that everything didn't have to be set beforehand. You should see his flat. It's stacked with recording equipment, effects and computers. You can't see a thing and he's working in there all day.

Could you compare HM to the previous records already? I must say, I haven't heard the record as a whole yet. Only the individual songs and they sound really good. At this moment, I still see HM as a collection of songs. As an album, I cannot value it yet. If I listen to the songs, I must say, I feel the record sounds more diverse and universal than the three previous ones. The band is more balanced and you can hear that on HM.

How do you regard previous Suede albums now? I really like some songs on CU. I can still listen to them. From DMS, Wild Ones is pretty much the only song I can still listen to. The album as a whole I find too dark. Of course, my taste has changed over the years. DMS has a certain emotion that I really enjoy, but at the same time, the album is too heavy and too personal for me. The album has a brilliant spirit, but there's also something immature in it. That doesn't matter (though), I think it's good to look back on things and to conclude it wasn't all perfect.

DMS made me feel claustrophobic. Claustrophobic, that's the perfect word to describe DMS. The stress and the weird atmosphere in the studio during recordings, the heavy drug use and the near-constant tensions in the band, between me and Bernard especially – DMS reflects that all. Yes, I was pretty fucked up at the time.

And CU was a reaction against that? Yeah, that's the big difference with HM. With CU, we more or less made (it) as a reaction to the melancholy of DMS. It was, in a way, a relief, I think. HM is not a reaction against CU. We made this record without thinking about our past. That also has to do with us being more balanced as a band than ever before.

And you personally? There are even stories going around that Brett has sworn off drugs? Eh, well, it's not as extreme as before. But I still find coke or xtc enlightening from time to time. It's not that I have to take something at all costs now, but when I have taken a pill I do think: "There's nothing wrong with this". Xtc has always been one of my favourite drugs and I'm not going to say now that I'll never take it again. But it has been a while since the last one, yes.

You once said, your lyrics would become less personal and more observing. I think I succeeded in that. The only rule that I applied for myself was that I shouldn't sound emotional all the time. I even wanted to sound distant and cold. They aren't condescending observations, I keep singing about my life and my friends in a way. But my lyrics are now less emotional and through that more honest, I feel. There is something dual in that: you are prone to think that when a lyric is more emotional, it’s more honest. But that is not always the case. I could sit here and cry dramatically and that would come across as very emotional to you, but it wouldn't necessarily be sincere. I have tried to be less complicated this time. As a person, I feel less complicated and less dramatic now. This is an evolution I have undergone as a human being. I like to see myself as an evolving person, on an emotional level as well. I don't want to be the same dramatic person all my life. That would make things very boring, don't you think?

‘Crack in the Union Jack’ sounds like a political song, a kind of negative view of Britain that is going through difficult times even under Labour. If you use words like Union Jack in a lyric, it’s almost immediately regarded as a political song, eh? But it’s about feelings of human disillusion and about people who hide behind the wrong kind of nationalism. It is a negative song, but not against Labour. It's far too easy to say that Labour is making a mess of it just like the conservatives. Labour also makes mistakes, but I feel it's still better for our country that they are in power. That's not how I feel all the time though, it was more the reflection of a mood. See it as a negative snapshot of Great Britain.

#brett anderson #suede #head music #oor 1999 #article translations

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fuwafuwamedb · 4 years

Text

A Cursed G Pt 25 (Gilgamesh, Enkidu, Hakuno)

Previous Part: 1 - HakuPOV / GilPOV, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24

_____

She dressed up.

It was a bit of a mystery why she bothered to do so, but she found herself spending several minutes after the shower in the morning looking through her wardrobe and picking out something a bit nicer than some of her other attire.

Gilgamesh and Enkidu were talking about fish they’d looked up while she’d been asleep, the king commenting on building something similar once they returned to Uruk.

“We could put it in the gardens,” Enkidu offered.

“I would like to get a good look at these sharks, since they are prevalent to weather disasters and known for their violence against those who tread their waters. They remind me of my lions.”

She wasn’t going to get involved in that discussion.

No, instead she was putting on some of the jewelry that Gilgamesh had left in the room. She was brushing her hair out and taking the time to fix her dress a bit more before she found herself pausing by the mirror.

Ages ago, she would have been spending her Saturday afternoon in the living room, watching crime dramas and snacking on some cheap snack from her fridge. Her phone would have been on an app or playing some light music in a vain attempt to help her focus and to fill in the silence of the empty room. She would have taken the time to maybe order a pizza as the evening wore on, perhaps some Chinese food if she felt in the mood.

The woman in the mirror was entirely different.

The attire was far too much for a lazy weekend. The extra color to her face was entirely different from her usual pallor… and then there was the impression she got from her own reflection.

Things were happening.

They hadn’t really been happening before.

“Hakuno?”

A knock at the door stopped her from thinking too deeply about what it all meant. She closed her eyes and turned away from herself, opening her bedroom door and looking at the two.

“Ready?”

“We’ve been ready,” Enkidu promised.

They drove to the aquarium with the same conversation continuing of what to look at once they were inside. She found her hand slipping into Gilgamesh’s own as they made it to the parking lot near the place, Enkidu bouncing ahead only to walk backwards as they spoke.

And then they were soon inside.

The entrance was exactly the kind of thing that would impress the two: a large dome room showed a world of jellyfish swimming with a quiet ambiance of smooth jazz and the lines of those wishing to enter the rest of the building.

The movement of the jellyfish were just as soothing to watch as one would have hoped. Their string-like tentacles flowed forth from the great umbrella shaped bells of their body.

“Hakuno,” Gilgamesh nudged.

“Jellyfish. They’re called that because they’re really gelatinous. They look like they’d be really weak, but they’re packed with stingers on those tentacles that would cause serious damage.”

The line moved, inching forward further and further as Enkidu and Gilgamesh distracted themselves with looking at the scores of jellyfish swimming around them. She could feel Gilgamesh pulling her in, wrapping his arms around her more and taking in the area.

This is what the future holds.

It was things like this that she’d be giving up if she went to live forever in the past. There would be no watching majestic fish swim or listening to music without a band playing nearby. There wouldn’t be places were everyone could go to see something without having to have a certain status that she would lack due to her gender.

They made it in, with her paying their entrance fees and moving along.

Scores of colorfish passed them as they moved into the next room. A whole reef passed before their very eyes, with hundreds of fish moving in schools to and fro. The clay being stared in awe, needing her to tug them along to the glass to get a better view.

“This is impossible.”

“Welcome to the ocean, Enkidu.”

Gilgamesh was still holding her as Enkidu moved as close as possible and watched it all.

There was something about how they looked at it all.

She had never seen someone look that way before. Their eyes were so alight, their hands were pressed to the glass. She could see them trying and failing to keep their mouth shut. It helped with the light music playing, creating more and more of an atmosphere.

“Hakuno!”

Hakuno moved forward a bit, bringing the silent king with her as the being pointed to the floor of the large tank.

“Look at that! It matches the sand.”

“It does.”

“What’s it called?”

She hadn’t a clue, but… Her eyes went to the area around them, motioning to the sign nearby.

“You can learn about them there.”

The being took off for it, finger moving along the information panel a moment before they were noting the kids around them.

A series of eyes were looking to them as Enkidu laughed and began to read aloud for them.

“No sharks,” Gilgamesh noted.

“You want to see the sharks?”

The man shrugged, all too pleased with himself for some reason. Whatever was on his mind, she wasn’t going to intrude right now. Leave him to his bubble of emotional space.

She motioned for Enkidu and began to head deeper into the building.

The rooms grew darker and darker as they went.

Once per room, they had to stop.

The glowing fish from the pressured depths of the ocean had the king and clay’s attention. Hakuno found herself reading aloud the signs for them, remaining held in the king’s arms the whole time.

They paused again at the sight of the seahorses, watching them swim around and around in their circular tank, clinging to the plants within. Each of the little fish seemed to simply gleam like gold underneath the lights, drawing murmurs of praise from the clay being.

“They’d be noble steeds if they were bigger.”

“I don’t think they’d be the best ride for getting across the water.”

Enkidu dismissed that immediately with a handwave.

Further on they went.

And there, just beyond the anglerfish statue, was the large tank she had remembered all too well. The reef below and the anemones sheltered great numbers of clownfish. The depths of the coral showed signs of eels, all of whom seemed to be enjoying the task of sticking their heads out or simply bathing under the artificial lights of their enormous tank structure.

What was most important though were the fish on prominent display, swimming just over their heads and before their eyes. Their great size was only matched by the rows of teeth that a few showed off.

They lost Enkidu to their awe once more, finding the being scampering forward to look at the collection.

The room was mostly empty right now, but they could sit on the benches near the tank without anyone interrupting them.

It was nice to settle in, even moreso to just watch Enkidu move from panel to panel to read aloud from the information. They would look to her for clarification.

“New Zealand is south from here, it’s near Australia.”

“Australia is a country and continent. Think an enormous island.”

The being nodded at each answer before they began to follow after the movement of the large beasts above their head.

“That one has younglings,” Enkidu noted.

It did?

She looked up, finding the king’s face looking down at her.

They were… cuddling.

She hadn’t really noticed until she found his face so close to hers.

The whole time they had been traversing through the aquarium, she hadn’t moved more than a half a centimeter from the king’s side. Her hand had remained firmly laced with his, holding it close until this moment, when she realized that she was holding his hand.

Her heart began to beat a little faster in their tank surrounded space. The sounds of Enkidu’s voice seemed to blend in with the silence in the background. Now there was just that soft beating in her ears, the sound of her own chest hammering away. She could feel her body warming as she felt the other’s shadow loom over her a bit more. She could feel him-

No, she couldn’t feel him moving.

He wasn’t moving an inch now. He had simply leaned a little closer, looking to her.

It was her who was closing the distance between them. It was her who was being the fool and prolonging this eye contact.

Her hand tangled in his hair, watching the smug hint of a smile. Her breath simply stopped at an inhale as the man tilted his head towards the hand she had in his hair. Her lips found his, seeming to almost drift to his.

There was something nice about being in his arms, she thought idly to herself.

Gilgamesh pulled her onto his lap.

Hakuno closed her eyes and simply sunk into the depths of his support.

This was truly like nothing else.

She hadn’t come here in so long, having found that none of her friends ever wanted to really look at the fish or learn more about them. She’d forgotten how much the building emptied out between the guided tours.

“Gil!”

Those lips pulled back, the king setting her on the bench before he moved to look at what Enkidu was pointing out.

It was genuine interest.

No humoring her like Cu and Emiya. No yawning like Rin and Rani. Sakura tried, but she would get tired after the seahorses and want to leave. It was rare that she got to visit this room.

They could see a couple turtles joining the swimming collection now, earning the king’s and the clay’s attention. The two were commenting on the shell and the capabilities of the creatures. Both of them were grinning, taking in the scene around them.

‘You plan to marry Gilgamesh, take him home, marry him there, and then come back here to…’

Hakuno looked around at the space they were in again.

There wasn’t a single soul in there with them right now. Everyone was opting for the guided tours so they could sit through the other unique features of the aquarium. There were no friends or acquaintances.

Right now, if she picked up her phone and she opened up her contacts, she had more for her bills and her money than she had for her friends.

“Hakuno!”

Enkidu was motioning at the turtle, mimicking its motions through the water. She couldn’t help the smile that came to her face at the sight, but…

‘It’s lonesome here,’ they had told her during the last evening.

It was lonesome here.

The being and the king were moving back to her side though, Enkidu leaning in and frowning a bit.

“Is something wrong?”

She was thinking about staying in Uruk, somewhere that she barely knew a thing about and was still working to become fluent in their language. She was considering staying with Gilgamesh, who she had only really just started to get to know.

And she was thinking now about the being smiling and dancing around them through the aquarium, finding unending joy in the sight of a bunch of little fishes and in turtles.

She was finding herself unable to make a list of things in her mind that required that she be here.

Everything in the world seemed to be moving her towards the hands that were extending her way. Both Gilgamesh and Enkidu were offering to help her to her feet.

Her hands went to theirs, finding herself up upon her feet once more before she was being led to the glass.

“We were looking at this fish,” the king informed her. “We’ve seen a few like it in our Euphrates.”

“That makes sense. It’s just a ah…” She paused, looking at the two as she realized.

They were speaking Sumerian.

How long had they been doing this? When had she stopped speaking her own language? She had been talking to the two, working around saying words and things that she meant, but she didn’t know the word for turtle.

“It’s a turtle,” Enkidu replied, motioning at the sign nearby.

She gave a small nod, moving to lean against Gilgamesh a bit more.

“I like a lot of the fish, but the turtles have always been one of the ones that I look for when I’m here.” She enjoyed their swimming around just as much as the being seemed to enjoy. She could see them looking at the scene before them and thinking deeply.

Perhaps…

She really shouldn’t miss a week of classes.

She would miss a couple more after that as well, missing the last of her semester. Her teachers wouldn’t be pleased. Her friends would be wondering about how she was doing.

The strong arms around her waist said that she wouldn’t fall into despair though. The being in front of them flashed a smile that said that everything would work out just fine. The more she was alone with these two, the more the world felt like their oyster.

The two at her side seemed like they ran the world. Money was not a worry. Boredom was gone, entirely out the window and running as far from her as possible. She wasn’t thinking about what had to be next.

Her eyes were on the scene she hadn’t seen in a good couple years and she was finding herself in awe with the two at her sides.

The world she lived in…

It felt like a pair of shoes she could no longer fit into.

The new life was too promising, too exciting and vast, lying just beyond her fingertips.

“Hakuno?”

Gilgamesh drew her attention back to him.

“We should keep moving.”

People were coming into the room, rushing to the glass as they stepped back.

Enkidu wrapped their arm around hers and motioned her to head off.

They moved to the next area, settling onto the front row for a show with whales and dolphins. The king and the clay being looked upon the beasts in excitement, chattering away to her about the beasts as they would perform flips and jump through hoops.

“Hakuno! They’ve tamed the beasts!”

“We should tame ours, Gil!”

“Enkidu’s right. We’ll have to look into how they managed this. The information should be on a sign, shouldn’t it?”

“I don’t see a sign nearby, Gil.”

She pulled the two in closer, pressing her lips to their cheeks.

The two settled in.

The two settled closer.

“Siduri would like this too,” Enkidu murmured as the show went on. She was nestled between them nicely as the show came to an end, leaving her to force herself and them up to their feet.

“We should head out, shouldn’t we? It’s getting towards closing,” she told them.

“Is it?” Gilgamesh asked, glancing to the room around them.

“Ah, right, they’re only open until a certain time.” Enkidu nodded. “We figured they’d just keep the place open for us.”

Every employee would hate them if they did that.

She shook her head, motioning towards the front doors. “It is getting close to dinner time.”

“Hold on,” Enkidu motioned to the manta exhibit nearby. “You can pet the fish here.”

It had been a while…

Her hand was in Enkidu’s immediately, Gilgamesh laughing as Hakuno ended up smirking to the being and leading them to the room nearby.

They had to pet the mantas.

The skates and the mantas were too cool to miss out on.

“Hakuno?”

Gilgamesh was talking to one of the employees nearby for a few minutes as they pet the fish. At the being’s call, Hakuno turned, glancing their way.

“This was a great trip. We never would have seen half of these fish if it weren’t for you.”

“You’re welcome.”

The being glanced to their friend again, their smile going soft.

“You are worried about him still?”

“I do not like thinking about Uruk without you there.”

She hadn’t even stepped foot there yet. They were in this world, learning about a bunch of fish they would never encounter outside of this building.

Perhaps it was best to tell the being about her change of heart in the shark exhibit. The more she got herself used to the idea, the more she found herself accepting that it was going to be a thing. She would need Enkidu’s help in the end, since she wouldn’t know much about living in the palace and Gilgamesh seemed like someone who would give half directions about things.

Her mouth opened. The words were on the tip of her tongue.

A slow shift from near one of the other doors caught her attention. The dark haired woman in white and gold glanced her way, smirking a little before looking to the king nearby.

“…Hakuno?”

She forced herself to look away from where the goddess was, to where Enkidu was.

“Did I say something wrong again?”

“No, I just…”

The woman was gone.

Enkidu looked uncomfortable, pulling their hand back and accepting a paper towel from a nearby worker.

“Enkidu,” Hakuno followed after them, wrapping her hand around their arm. “Listen-“

“It’s alright.”

“I want to stay in Uruk.”

She could feel the being still, but the room still felt off from before. It felt like Ishtar was still watching them.

The being in front of her turned to face her.

“You want to stay?”

“I do.”

It was risky, but she would have the two of them and Enkidu and Gilgamesh were both incredibly attentive. She wouldn’t get bored, not with so much to do and see. This world was at the touch of a keyboard and an internet browser search.

Their world was barely even touched upon in her most detailed of books. It was full of lives that they helped and a whole kingdom…

It would take adjusting, but she would do her best.

“Just promise not to let Ishtar near me,” she asked of the being.

“She will never touch you,” Enkidu vowed, pulling her into their arms and holding her tightly. “You will like Uruk. If anyone will get along with you well, it will be Siduri. You both’ll drive Gil and I crazy there.”

She really hoped so.

“Enkidu!”

Gil’s firm tone left the being snickering, hugging her closer.

“Aw, Gil, Hakuno and I were just sharing a warm embrace. You cuddle her so much I figured it was my turn. You had only how many months before I came along?”

“Don’t forget we can send you back to Uruk,” the man growled.

“He threatens me, Hakuno. What are we to do with him?”

Marry him, probably, Hakuno thought idly.

She found herself pulled back to his side, the two beginning an insult contest that was thankfully incoherent to the other aquarium guests. Their insults turned to playful jabs in the side as they left the building, heading further and further from the doors and towards the car.

Something still felt wrong.

Hakuno glanced back, frowning as she found nothing.

“…Gil?”

The king paused from giving the being a good kick in the rear end to glance her way. “What is it?”

“How much safer is Uruk compared to here?”

“It depends,” Enkidu answered for the king, “The gods protect the people when it’s divine problems, like other angry gods.”

There was a flicker of gold not too far off, just behind the bushes.

“I think I need to do my homework,” Hakuno told them both. “Let’s head home.”

#drabble #drabbles

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seanfalco · 4 years

Note

I saw pictures of Sheehan with dogs/puppies and now I want to know what Aevryn would do if Valdo surprised her with a puppy as like an anniversary gift or part of proposing or somethig? Or if it doesn't work for you vision cus cute fluffy pets aren't punk or he's a cat person, maybe something with Valdo and the reader and a dog? If you want, ya know. Or just so you know those pictures exist and can drive yourself mad deciding which is cuter him or the baby dog.

Fandom: The Witcher Punk!AU

Pairing: Punk!Valdo x oc (Aevryn Swift) / Platonic!Valdo x Reader

Word Count: 1732

Rating: G

Taglist: @ficsandcatsandficsandcats @nevadawolfe @magic-multicolored-miracle @coffee-and-stories @whatevermonkey

a/n: Bless nonny, this was so cute and just what I needed. (Also fluffy pets are hella punk rock ;p) Also also guhhh Robert + dogs *heart eyes*

Aevryn always looked so beautiful in sleep, her usual vibrant exuberance melting to peaceful vulnerability, and as Valdo watched her, her chest rising and falling softly, his fingers combing through her wavy hair, he felt he might drown in the depth of his affection for her.

It had been nearly a year since she’d given him a second chance and they were happier than ever; each day a new opportunity for him to prove he deserved it. However each day it also became harder for him to keep holding back the proposal that he’d already planned in minute detail, wanting every part of it to be absolutely perfect – which was why it was crucial for him to wait just a bit longer.

In the meantime though that didn’t mean he couldn’t do something just as special for their anniversary.

Aevryn stirred in her sleep, and half awake pulled him closer, not articulate enough to chastise him for watching her but knowing she wanted him near, and he settled in without complaint, a smile on his lips as his soft curls pressed against her cheek.

——

Valdo Marx was always fashionably late, so when he’d asked you to meet him at eleven, you knew he wouldn’t actually arrive until closer to eleven twenty, and sure enough there he was, right on time.

“Ah, [Y/N], I hope you weren’t waiting long,” he exclaimed as he crossed the street, pushing his sunglasses up into his mess of hair and greeting you with a slightly awkward hug.

“So what is this terribly important task you need my help with?” you asked, a grin tugging at your lips as Valdo shifted uncomfortably.

“Well, I actually need your help picking out a gift for Aev,” he admitted, and you gaped at him with surprise.

Certainly he would know Aevryn’s tastes a little better than you – it wasn’t as if you weren’t her friend as well, it was just that Valdo had known her considerably longer, and besides, the man usually gave such lavish presents that you doubted how much help you’d be.

“Uhm, okay, what sort of gift?” you asked, trying to get an idea of what you were working with here.

“I want to get her a dog, well, a puppy to be precise,” he answered, “she’s always wanted one.”

“Wouldn’t that be something you should pick out together?” you wondered aloud and Valdo frowned, thick brows drawing together.

“I suppose, but I wanted to surprise her. Our second first anniversary is swiftly approaching and Aev’s not exactly big on jewelry,” he explained. “Though there is one piece of jewelry I think, well, I hope she’ll like,” he muttered and your eyes grew, a mischievous smile lighting up your face.

“In the shape of a ring perhaps?” you pressed.

Valdo’s rueful expression gave him away and you gasped in excitement. “Do you already have it?”

“Would you like to see it?” he asked, and you were already nodding your head aggressively.

He chuckled at your enthusiasm and reached into the depths of his coat pocket, pulling out a little velvet box, snapping it open as you leaned in closer. The delicate engagement ring nestled inside the box was obviously finely crafted, the band designed to look like a sliver twig and the modest diamond topping it glittered in the sunlight; a matching stackable wedding band accompanied it, decorated with a tiny silver leaf.

“It’s beautiful,” you whispered, glancing up to catch a glimpse of the pride in Valdo’s bottle green eyes. “She’s going to love it.”

Clearing his throat Valdo closed the box and carefully returned it to its hiding place. “Thank you,” he exclaimed, practically beaming. “I certainly hope so.”

“Just how long have you been carrying that around?” you queried, cocking an amused eyebrow at him and Valdo flushed, glancing away.

“Only a couple months,” he muttered sheepishly.

Stifling your laughter behind your hand you decided to stop your teasing. “Okay! So, puppies,” you announced, clapping your hands together to change the subject. “Does Aev have a favourite breed?” you asked, getting down to business.

“Uhh…” Valdo looked lost. “Our neighbor when we were children had this shaggy golden beast that Aev was particularly fond of.

Having a feeling you knew which dog he was talking about you brought up a photo on your phone. “Is this it?” you asked and Valdo’s eyes lit up with recognition.

“Yes, that’s exactly it.”

“That’s a golden retriever.”

“Perfect!” he exclaimed, “So where do we get one?”

——

Having steered him away from any pet shops that no doubt sold puppies from puppy farms, you walked into the local animal shelter, warning him that he might not find a golden retriever, but that another dog in need of a home might catch his eye and Valdo agreed anyway, eager to scope out the canine selection. It wasn’t long before Valdo’s delighted gasps could be heard at every new kennel he passed, though his discerning eye kept him moving on.

“Hmm,” you mused, glancing around, “it doesn’t look like they have any golden retrievers here, would you like to try somewhere else?”

Your question was met with silence.

“Valdo?”

That’s when you saw him, a little french bulldog clutched in his arms happily licking his face as Valdo laughed delightedly.

“[Y/N]!” he cried, turning to you. “I think I’m in love! Look at how cute he is!”

You couldn’t help the laugh that burst from your lips and you quickly snapped a photo to show Aevryn later, certain she would want to see this.

“[Y/N], do you think Aev will like him?” he asked, smiling down at the wiggly dog in his arms. “Or should I keep looking…?” He asked, clearly depressed by the thought. “I mean, clearly he’s not a golden retriever…”

Valdo trailed off and your heart almost broke at the crestfallen expression that crossed his face as he put the dog down.

“Hey,” you said, quickly placing your hand on his shoulder. “Y’know, goldens get pretty big and neither you nor Aev have ever had a dog before, why don’t you start out small while you learn the ropes and then you can always pick out a golden puppy together later?”

Your words seemed to make up his mind and Valdo’s grin returned. “Yes, that sounds like sound reasoning to me. Did you hear that little guy? I think you’re the one,” he addressed the dog, who gazed up at him with his little tongue lolling.

As Valdo carried the dog out to the car, happy as a clam, you couldn’t help but smile as well, wishing you could be there to see Aev’s face when she saw him.

“Okay, now we have to get everything he might need. And only the best!”

“Are you going to name him or let Aevryn do the honors?”

“Oh, I’m letting Aev choose his name. He is my gift to her after all.”

Sure, you thought as you watched him fuss over the little bulldog. As if he wasn’t already completely enamored himself.

——

As sneaky as possible Valdo set the dog up in one of the spare rooms, hoping against hope it wouldn’t bark and ruin his surprise until he was ready for the big reveal. He barely slept through the night, constantly checking in on the little guy.

The next morning Valdo woke early, carefully extricating himself from Aevryn’s arms to get breakfast started and to let the puppy out.

Soon he was carrying a tray piled high with all of Aev’s favourite breakfast food back to the bedroom and setting it on the dresser before crawling back in bed to wake her with a kiss.

Aevryn hummed, pulling him closer. “Something smells amazing,” she murmured, a soft moan slipping through her parted lips as Valdo continued to trail kisses along her jaw and neck; his curls brushing her skin as he moved.

“Happy second first anniversary,” he said softly, peering into her eyes before capturing her lips in another firmer kiss.

Aevryn laughed, wrapping her arms around him in a crushing hug. “I can’t believe it’s already been a year,” she replied, never wanting to let go. “Knowing you, I have a feeling you have all sorts of things planned for today.”

Loosening her grasp she let him pull back. “Of course, love,” he purred, “starting with breakfast in bed, and then I have a little surprise for you.”

“Oh?” Aev asked, tilting her head to watch him get up and bring the tray of delicious smelling food over. She could remember when he could barely make scrambled eggs without burning them and now he was making crepes and eggs and bacon and toast all on his own.

Breakfast was followed inevitably with a steamy repeat of what had happened the night before and Aev whined as afterwards Valdo slipped out of her arms and out of bed to retrieve her surprise, placing the puppy in a large box with a bow for the quick trip across the house. When he returned to the bedroom he was met with a pout which swiftly turned to curiosity as she eyed the box in his hands.

“What, pray-tell is that?” she asked, crawling closer as he set the present on the bed.

“Open it,” he prompted, crawling back under the covers next to her.

Eyeing him excitedly she pulled the lid off and covered her gasp with her hand, a high-pitched squeal still escaping as the puppy looked up at her with his big brown eyes.

“Valdooooo,” she cried, pulling the dog out of the box to hold in her arms. “Did you really get us a puppy for our anniversary?”

The pleased smirk that crossed his face only grew as the puppy wriggled excitedly, licking Aevryn’s face to her shrieks of laughter.

“I take it you like him?”

“Like him? I love him! He’s the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen!” Aev exclaimed, throwing herself and the puppy into Valdo’s arms. Landing amongst their pillows in a heap, the puppy barking excitedly, Valdo laughed, pressing a kiss to Aev’s temple.

“I’m glad, love.”

“What’s his name?” she asked, stroking his little nose with her finger as he settled on top of Valdo’s chest.

“I figured you could name him.”

Scrunching up her nose in thought Aev suddenly smiled. “You look like a Romeo to me.”

#punk!au #punk!valdo #punk!aevryn #valdryn #platonic!valdo x reader #reader request #my writing

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