#''are you guys done yet? congratulations on the discovery and all but we have an overthrowing to commence with.''

[watermelonlipstick]

Dreams, Chapter 16

If you haven’t read this series before, you might want to start on Chapter 1, or check out the Dreams Masterlist! Here’s the series description:

When Dean dies for good leaving Sam and his girlfriend (the reader) behind, they must figure out how to carry on without him. Alone, reeling, and unsure what to do next, trying to honor Dean’s memory and follow their hearts gets even more complicated when their nightmares become dreams that feel a little too real.

Title: Dreams, Chapter 16

Pairing: (past) Dean Winchester x Reader, (eventual) Sam Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 1754

Summary: Some of Sam’s efforts to ‘nest’ in their new life together reveal new possibilities.

Warnings: angst, FLUFF, swearing, s l o w  b u r n

           Water laps at the weather-beaten wood of the dock underneath you slowly and the rhythm feels like hypnosis with the sun beating down a blanket. You sense Dean at your side without opening your eyes.

           “So…was he any good?”

           You can’t help but laugh, hearing the echo go out over the small lake, and get up to your elbows. It’s bright enough that you have to squint over at Dean where he lays next to a couple fishing poles and a cooler, t shirt hitched up to show a sliver of his stomach with his arms behind his head. His smile is devilish, made even more smug with eyes closed against the sun so his lashes cast an inch-long shadow on the dusting of freckles across his cheeks. “You can’t ask that!” you giggle.

           His lips flatten into a knowing line. “So that’s a no?”

           “Jesus Christ, of course it’s not a n—you know what, I’m not talking to you about this,” you smile, laying back down.

           “Ooh, so it’s a yes,” he teases as he turns on his side to face you. “Go Sammy. That mean you two are, like, going steady now?”

           You let your head loll over to him and roll your eyes. “Are you done?”

           “Not yet. Is he going to let you wear his letterman jacket? Take you to junior prom?”

           “I’m giving you ten more seconds.”

           Dean laughs, free and easy. “Fine, okay, I’m done. Wait—did he wrap it?”

           “DEAN!” you yell, covering your face in embarrassment.

           “Okay, alright, okay.” He’s still chuckling when you open your eyes to look over at him and reaches over to slip a piece of hair behind your ear. “You, ah, you seem happy.”

           You search his eyes for any hidden anger and find only the softness of calm affection with a pinch of solemnity. Where his hand lingers in your hair you turn into it, pressing your lips to Dean’s palm. “I am.”

           Dean smiles, straight teeth a perfect row of pearls so white you think for a second they might ‘ding’ with sparkle like a cartoon, and he looks relaxed enough as he puts his hands back behind his head that it calls up images of a kitten falling asleep in a sunny spot like this even as he keeps his eyes on you. “Took you guys long enough.”

           “And you’re still okay with this?”

           “Yeah, hell yeah. That’s the best I could ever ask for, you two happy. So, what do you say? Want to see if we can catch some fish?”

           Spring was a blessing; clean greenness breaking through the grey and white purifying the air and breathing new life into you, Sam, and the community you’d come to be a part of. The cabin was that much nicer with the new hours of sunlight pouring through the windows and all the upgrades you had put into it, to the point that you began to feel truly comfortable there. You even invited the Kaisers over for dinner a few times, feeling more like equal partners in your burgeoning friendship with them.

           You started to feel stable enough to get things; picked up a bookshelf at the combination flea/farmer’s market that happened in the K-12 school’s field every Saturday morning and got higher quality spatulas to cook with, the kinds of nonessential stuff you never would’ve bought before knowing you were going to stay in one place long enough to get good use out of them. Sam, in turn, kept building: changing the locks to sturdier ones and erecting a shed big enough to hold a lawn mower.

           You’d been cooking on an early Sunday afternoon when Sam came home and crossed the cabin in a few strides, giving you a kiss on the cheek before setting a thick paper bag down on the kitchen counter. “Smells great, what’re you making?”

           “Ratatouille!” you buzzed, placing a slice of eggplant carefully into its slot. “I’ve never had it, but I’ve always thought it looks so pretty. Hopefully it’s good. Where were you?”

           “Hardware store. I thought maybe I could build a greenhouse; see if we could grow anything. Might be enough to work against the cold.”

           You raised your eyebrows in appreciative surprise. “Look at you! What’re you thinking? Poppies? Platinum OG? Purple Haze?”

           Setting a box of screws down, Sam rolled his eyes through a smile. “My plan was more along the lines of tomatoes or something, but I’ll, uh, take those suggestions under advisement.” You had a sudden urge to twist a gentle finger into the dimple that stayed on his cheek as he unloaded the rest of his supplies but didn’t want to embarrass him, instead sweeping some garlic skins into your hand to throw into the small bucket Sam kept under the sink to collect scraps for the compost pile. When the bag was empty he refolded it and took off his jacket, passing by you to put it on its hook by the door. “Want any help?” he asked, sounding about as breezy as you’d ever heard him.

           “It just has to bake for about an hour. Does a late lunch work with your construction schedule?”

           Sam leaned over to slip a hand around your waist and kissed the top of your head before grabbing an armful of stuff to take outside. “Definitely. Just yell when you’re ready for me.”

           You giggled and waggled your eyebrows suggestively. “I’m always ready for you.”

           He tried his best not to blush but bit his lip in spite of himself, looking up at you with a bashful twinkle in his eye. “I walked into that one, didn’t I?”

           In response you held up a spare slice of zucchini that Sam readily accepted, opening his mouth like an obedient puppy and chewing as he went out the back door.

           You loved watching Sam work on his greenhouse in the weeks that followed, getting so excited about the tiny shoots sprouting up from the soil that he sometimes woke up early to check on them before starting his day. After a few weeks he woke you up one morning with a cup of coffee, bare-chested under slightly sleep-tangled hair and the hems of his flannel pants sloppily half inside his boots. “I wanna show you something,” he said, throat still gravelly. You accepted the mug and got out of bed, following him drowsily and jamming your feet inside your shoes at the door, too tired to worry about the laces.

           He led you into the greenhouse with its clear plastic walls and pointed down at a petite bud on top of a green stalk. It had the telltale waviness of a basil leaf, and when you bent down to look closer at it the plant already smelled herbaceous. “It’s so cute!” you hummed. Sam practically glowed with satisfaction, an unbridled smile the perfect accessory to the broad span of his chest where it was backlit by the fuzzy light through the greenhouse walls. You straightened and rubbed his back in congratulations, staring down at the plant together with your coffees like parents on Christmas morning. Tucked in the corner of the greenhouse behind the basil, a scattering of bitty white flowers caught your eye against the burnt umber soil.

           “Wait, you already have stuff flowering in here? What’s that?” you asked, tiptoeing around the wooden stakes in the soil to get closer.

           “Oh—I, uh—” he stammered behind you.

           At arm’s length the flowers looked vaguely familiar and you stopped short. “Is that—?” You turned back to Sam, who seemed not to be able to come up with anything to say, his face the kind of blank surprise that indicated he didn’t know whether you were about to be upset. “Really? Where’d you even…how did you get some?”

           He tucked his hair behind his ears to stall for even a half second. “I—well, I found a guy who got me—got us—some.”

           “You still have an African dream root hookup?”

           Sam’s lips pressed into a well-practiced silent ‘I guess?’ and he reached back to ruffle the hair at the nape of his neck, the movement stretching his side distractingly enough that if you hadn’t been so startled by the discovery of a plot of dream root literally in your own backyard you might’ve forgotten what you were talking about altogether.

           You raised your eyebrows expectantly, waiting for him to explain.

           “I made some calls, found someone in Milwaukee who got his hands on some and he mailed it here. I didn’t want to, uh, tell you in case I couldn’t get it to grow.”

           All kinds of possibilities and frustrations raced through your head. “So you’ve had this for weeks? That’s why you built the greenhouse?” Sam didn’t answer fast enough. “Never mind, I don’t care,” you found yourself saying, and surprisingly, actually meaning. You took a deep breath to stop the words from jumbling together. “Do you think it’ll work?” you breathed, knowing he would understand the real question: would we be able to see Dean together?

           “Only one way to find out.”

           For whatever reason you’d gotten freshly showered, made up, and dressed before brewing the tea with Sam on your next day off of work. It felt like there should be some level of pomp and circumstance about it, this giant undertaking that might be able to change your whole life again, even knowing that your prep wouldn’t translate into a dream. You were giddy with anxiety and almost wished you could reasonably put it off, the idea of this new possibility being yet another dead end making you nauseous.

           “Your place or mine?” you asked, trying to put a little sheen of humor on your nerves.

           Sam chuckled but you could tell he was nervous too, rubbing his palms dry on the knees of his jeans over and over again. “You haven’t done it before, right?”

           You shook your head. “Is there a learning curve or something?”

           “Honestly it’s been long enough that I don’t really remember. Hold on—hold still.” He reached out and very gingerly swept a finger across your cheekbone, drawing back to show you an eyelash stuck to the whorl of its pad.

           You straightened where you sat on the edge of the bed. “That’s as good a sign as any. Cheers, I guess.” Sam dropped the tiny hair into his mug and touched the ceramic to yours, his eyes hopeful and reassuring as you took tandem sips.

           And then you were off.

-

Continue to Dreams, Chapter 17

Thanks again for reading! If you liked it, check out my Masterlist or send me a request!

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[living-in-the-darkness]

Date Started: 06/21/2020 3:12pm (15:12)

Date Finished: 06/21/2020 4:42pm (16:42)

Summary: This is the months after your threesome. You are pregnant and have twins. The father is determined at the end.

Pairing: Henry Cavill x Reader x Sebastian Stan

A/n: little story based off Henry's post about Father's Day. Also a continuation of my smut story. I would also like to say that none of these pictures are mine and some will not be Henry and Sebastian since I have yet to see any of them together. I would like you to imagine their faces in place of the ones that are not them. Thank you.

Two months after your three some with Henry and Sebastian, you three have been going on dates and spending time together. Now, at three months after, you discover something that will change your lives forever- you're pregnant.

You were sat on the toilet, bawling your eyes out as you made the discovery. The main thing running through your head was: "what are they going to think?" You hugged yourself while holding the tests.

You were both glad and upset that you were home alone with this discovery. Henry was doing a press tour for his new movie, currently in Boston, Massachusetts. Sebastian was filming The Falcon and The Winter Soldier which meant being far away from you. So in the house was only you and this unborn baby.

"What am I gonna do? They'll wanna know but I'm scared..." You thought aloud. "It's gotta be two to three months at this point. Perhaps a doctor's appointment would be best." You say and put a hand on your belly.

You take a deep breath and go to the room you share with Sebastian and Henry. You all moved in a month ago so you would be closer. You put the tests in one of your clothes drawers to hide it. You grabbed your phone and dialed your OBGYNs number to make an appointment. Tomorrow, at 13:30. You put the phone aside and decide to take a nap.

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

Tomorrow came sooner than you would've liked. You forced yourself to get up and eat some breakfast while you scrolled through your phone. You saw a text from Henry pop up and decided to ignore it. You put your phone down after eating your breakfast and went to take a shower. You washed your h/l h/c hair and beautiful body before getting out and wrapping a towel around yourself. You went to the shared bedroom and got dressed in something suitable for a doctor's appointment especially when it came to being an actress.

You left the comfort of your home at 13:00 and drove twenty minutes to your doctor's office. Once inside you checked in and went to sit down. They called you in at 13:40, you went to a room and were told to wait.

After about twenty minutes, a nurse came in and took your vitals before handing you a urine cup. You went to the bathroom and did your best to fill it before wiping it down and bring it back putting it on the counter. The same nurse came back and took it to the lab where it was to be tested. After about an hour, your OBGYN came in and talked to you like a friend before she got the results.

"Would you like to read it or shall I?" She asks you

"You, please." You answer

"You're pregnant, Y/N." She says softly and looks at you. "Would you like to do the ultrasound today?" She asks and looks at you.

You nod as you try to hold back tears. You lay down on the bed and wait for someone to come in. You took deep and shaky breaths. Your OBGYN had someone come in with a moveable machine and did the ultrasound. You smiled at the screen before jumping and bursting into tears. You pulled down your shirt and rushed out with your stuff. Everyone looked stunned and they didn't understand why until they looked at one of the pictures it took right before you ran off.

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

It was two months after the ultrasound incident before you finally went back. You laid there and tried not to cry as you watched. You had a heart monitor for the babies and heard two, strong heart beats.

"would you like to know the gender?" Your OBGYN asks you

You shake your head "no, thank you."

You leave after getting some pictures and when you arrive home, you see two extra cars in the driveway. You didn't know who it was until you saw the license plates- Henry and Sebastian were home. You parked your car and let yourself cry for a while before hiding the pictures in the glove compartment then running inside after locking the car.

You looked at the boys who had made you lunch and brought your presents. They saw your tear stained face and rushed over showering you in love and affection.

You three ate while you avoided telling them.

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

A month later and you couldn't avoid telling them as Henry had found the pregnancy tests when getting you a new shirt. You had vomited all over the one you were previously wearing. He walked down holding the shirt and tests in his hands.

"Love, what is this?" He asks you softly and holds the pregnancy tests up.

You look up and gasp, deciding there's no way out you respond: "Henry, I should've have to explain to you what w pregnancy test is."

"No, No. I'm asking because there's- are you...?" He motions to your belly which had grown a little bit.

You had tears in your eyes and you bite your lip. You get up and go to find Sebastian who was currently working on some lines. You told him to come into the kitchen and take the seat you had gotten up from.

Henry showed Sebastian the tests and he asked the same as Henry: "are you...?"

You take a deep breath "With twins."

Henry and Sebastian looked upset but also very happy.

"Yes!" Henry says and rushes over picking you up and twirling you gently. He knew there was a possibility that he wasn't the father but he would be there no matter what. He already made that promise to himself.

Sebastian stood there for a moment before it registered, you were pregnant with twins that could or could not be his. He rushes over and gave both you and Henry a big hug.

You were so happy and relieved to see how excited they were. You hugged them back and kissed both their cheeks.

"Do you know the genders?" Henry asks looking down at you.

You shake your head "No, I don't. I wanted to wait for you guys. I have pictures from the ultrasounds in the car."

Henry nearly ripped the keys from the hanger and ran outside rummaging through your car to find them. He was like an excited puppy. He ran back in and showed them to Sebastian. "Our kids!" He shouts excitedly.

"Our babies." Sebastian agrees and smiles at the pictures as tears welled up in his eyes.

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

You, Henry, and Sebastian decided to announce your pregnancy at Henry's birthday party you threw at home. You also made a cake for when the genders would be announced. The only person who knew the genders were your sister and the baker.

All through the party Henry and Sebastian would not stop asking your sister when they could cut open the cake. Finally your sister had enough and decided to let you three cut the cake when Henry cut his.

You found out that the babies were a girl and a boy when you cut the cake open. Henry and Sebastian were hugging you and kissing all over your face.

Soon the party was coming to a close so only the immediate family was around.

Henry's mom walks over to you and smiles at you. "Congratulations, Y/N. Have you thought of any names?"

You smile and nod "thank you Mrs. Cavill. We have in fact. The girl is to be named g/n Cavill-Stan. And the boy is to be named b/n Cavill-Stan." You answer with a smile.

Henry's mother nods and smiles at you giving you a hug. "Thank you for including my boy despite the circumstances." She says and lets go of you.

You nod and smile "He's as much as a father to them as Sebastian is. They're both the father even if only one is biologically." You respond in a soft voice.

Henry's mom gives you another hug and rubs your back. She lets go and goes to find her sons.

After the party is done, you three go to bed with big smiles on your faces.

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

After another three months, making you a full nine. You give birth to two bouncing babies. They were swabbed for DNA as we're Henry and Sebastian.

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

It was another month later that you got the results. You were nervous to open it with them as Henry held g/n and Sebastian held b/n. You slowly tore the envelope open and pulled out the paper. You opened it just as slowly and took a deep breath before reading it in your head.

After reading it twice, you smiled widely.

"What? What does it say?" Sebastian asks trying to look at it but you wouldn't let him.

"Come on, Y/N.... Please show us... Tell us..." Henry looked nervous ready to hear he was the father of neither.

"DNA shows that Henry Cavill is the father of g/n and b/n." You said pausing and looking at Henry who was smiling widely before his face drops and looks at Sebastian who had tears in his eyes.

"w-what about me?" Sebastian asks ready to hear he wasn't the father of either.

"DNA shows that Sebastian Stan is the father of b/n and g/n." You looked at him with a big smile. "it goes on to say that it's rare and the babies may have problems when they grow up but, yes, you both are the father." You add after looking between them both.

Henry and Sebastian hug each other with the babies then hug you. Tears streaming down all your faces.

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

A/n: I hope y'all enjoyed.

#henry cavill #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill x you #sebastian stan #sebastian stan x you #fluff #sebastian x reader #dad!sebastian Stan #dad!henry cavill #Sebastian Stan x reader x Henry Cavill

[howtowhumpyourhiccup]

Whumptober Day 17: He Knows

Summary: Written for Whumptober Day 17. Set during RttE. A Hiccstrid AU. When Viggo knows something about Hiccup that the Dragon Riders don't, he's all too eager to share it with his young rival.

Rating: Mature

Characters: Hiccup, Viggo, Astrid

Pairing: Hiccstrid

Words: 4 264

Fandom: How to Train Your Dragon

Prompt: “Blackmail” + “Dirty Secret”

Whumpee: Hiccup

Author’s Notes: This is actually based in an AU/UA that I've posted one one-shot for before and do plan on writing a main fic for because there is just so much drama and plot that can be made with it.

The continued usage of the wrong pronouns is on purpose.

Constructive criticism is appreciated!

Enjoy!

NOTE: The Rape/Non-con warning is there for a correct warning. Nothing explicit happens in this fic. What does happen is unwanted touching above the belt, above the chest even, but still unwanted.

Ao3 Whumptober Fic

Ao3 Original Fic

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

"I can't imagine how awful it must be to be in your position."

Hiccup looks up from the shackles binding his wrists at those words. They are the first spoken since Ryker has pushed him into this chair in front of Viggo minutes ago. There's been a tense one-sided silence of Viggo giving him the usual "did you honestly believe you would get away with this" speech with Hiccup not even giving him the time of day. But at those words, he has to look up.

They haven't been spoken with the kind of sympathy you'd expect to hear them be spoken in. Instead, Viggo gazes back at him with a smirk and that alone is enough to make him angrier than he already is.

"What position?" Hiccup asks, tone short, and showing the way he feels.

"Well, born the way you are, I can't imagine you have it easy." Deciding against giving him a straight answer, Viggo continues to use hints instead of giving him a straight answer.

"Berk no longer takes an issue with me being a runt." Hiccup replies and Viggo gives him that look, one of those he doesn't like. This one makes him feel like he's being played with.

"How does it feel knowing that your father, the Chief, will never truly accept you?" He asks and at this point Hiccup is confused.

Whatever gave him that idea? The relationship between him and Stoick is the best it's been since ever and Viggo shouldn't be able to know about the years before Toothless. And even if he did, that wouldn't explain why he thinks this.

Noticing the confusion Hiccup fails to hide, Viggo continues.

"You have to hide yourself, do you not? Can't imagine that must be pleasant." Viggo's fingers won't stop moving as he speaks and Hiccup almost finds them distracting. Is that what it's like talking to him? Is he that distracting, too?

"I don't know what you're talking about, I'm not hiding any part of myself." Hiccup denies what he thinks is an ungrounded claim.

"Good job, Hiccup, you almost sounded believable. I had no idea you were capable of such lies. How many times did you have to tell this to yourself before you started to believe it?" Viggo congratulates him on an acting job well-done and Hiccup isn't sure why.

"Repeat what? You're not making any sense." In the back of his mind, the very, very back, Hiccup feels like he knows exactly what his captor is talking about. But the last thing he wants to do, however, is admit to it.

Viggo readjusts his position and leans back in his chair, his expression hardly changes.

"Does it frighten you knowing you'll have to pretend you're a Chief someday? For the rest of your living days, I suspect? I assume this masquerade started because Berk's line of Chieftains has been entirely made up of men at this point. Bad enough they would get a runt for a Chief someday, but a female one? Now that must've stung." So this is what this has been all about, Viggo finally reveals the truth behind the lies Hiccup has supposedly been telling.

Pressing his lips together, Hiccup looks the other way, unable to bear that look of satisfying victory on his opponent's face. Viggo, meanwhile, is simply enjoying this little interaction.

"Are you suggesting that I'm... that I'm... You're-you're ridiculous!" Hiccup spits his denial at him, evidently shocked at this reveal.

"Can't even say the word, can you? Is that how far they've gotten the stubborn Hiccup Haddock the Third? You can't say "woman"? "Girl"? Or even the word "female" when it comes to yourself? You disappoint me, my Dear Hiccup." Viggo asks with mockery. This is still nothing more than a game to him, as everything always is with this man. A kind of frustration only he can make Hiccup feel burns within him.

But at least there's that one thing that doesn't change. Doesn't matter who he represents as Viggo still won't stop calling him "Dear".

"How did you know?" He asks, dropping the act as it's no use to keep it up.

Spending years in hiding, he doesn't exactly show it much. He's not like Astrid, who expresses her femininity with her clothes and her grace and her statements. He's not like Ruffnut, who would scream her pride as a woman from the rooftops if they hadn't explicitly told her several times to stop shouting in the middle of the night.

As far as he knows, he doesn't act, sound, or look all that different from his guy friends. And even after the months spent on the Edge together, they still have no idea what he truly is. So how did Viggo know?

"I simply have a keen eye, my Dear." Yeah, sure he does. It took the Dragon Riders ages to correct him on his pronouns before he finally started to call him...

Oh.

"So you've known from the beginning? Why keep it to yourself all this time?" It is a good question. If he really is as observant as he claims, why hadn't he brought it up sooner?

It's not like this is the first time he's been captured by the Dragon Hunters, so why wait until now? That something might've changed scares him the most.

As if having been invited to talk more about his discovery, Viggo stands up and walks from behind his desk.

"It was odd for sure. Is this simply who Hiccup Haddock is or is there something deeper going on? It didn't take much digging before I concluded that's exactly what's going on here." It is the intro to whatever speech he has prepared, the moment he's been waiting for, what he probably specifically captured Hiccup for.

"Berk has been keeping its dragon secret quite well, despite your theatrics." Hiccup rolls his eyes. Sure, he might have a bit of a dramatic flair going on, but it's not all purely theatrical.

"Did you know that your tribe's allies still refer to you as "the runt of Berk"? "Stoick's little embarrassment"? "Stoick's mistake"? I can't imagine any of those things being said about the Dragon Rider, especially about the Dragon Rider who ended the war with the dragons. That was you, wasn't it? Isn't that how you lost your leg?" So he knows about that, too, not that he's too surprised about this one.

Viggo has come to pace behind Hiccup, his hands behind his back. His footsteps are slow, relaxed, and yet somehow methodical as well.

Hiccup tries not to let it get to him, not that or the nicknames he used to hear so much growing up. He's always despised peace treaty signings for this exact reason. That and that his father expected him to keep the visiting Chiefs' spawn entertained and most of them loved to bully Berk's runty heir. The things they used to say to him, even in his own tribe, they still affect him to this day.

"But that everyone, even your allies, felt secondhand embarrassment for you and your father wouldn't explain your need to hide, so I dug a little deeper, a little somewhere else, and then I discovered Berk's lineage. No female leaders in your nearly 400-year-old history?" Viggo asks, the sound of his footsteps on the wooden floor accompanying him.

Hiccup's silence means he's hit the nail on the head. It's the lineage, that is why he needs to hide.

His hands land on the back of the chair and Hiccup visibly tenses up as a result. His hands intertwine, legs press close, shoulders move up, jaw clenches, within a single second, Hiccup is one human-sized ball of tension.

"This is why I can't imagine how awful it must be in your position." His voice is so close, he's looming over him and that, as well as the nature of this conversation, sends chills down his spine.

Hiccup wishes he could retort, sass, say anything, but his throat has closed up.

"Berk isn't the most progressive of places, is it?" Hiccup's silence keeping its hold on him, Viggo continues to talk.

But this time, Hiccup manages a response.

"And your tribe is? Where are your warrior women, Viggo, because we haven't seen a single one so far." Hiccup moves to the side, away from  Viggo. He doesn't need to look to know that his smile is still there. He's not going to respond to that one.

"What do you want people to call you? Are you truly satisfied going through life as someone you're not?" Satisfied? Of course, he isn't satisfied.

He's never told his friends this, but he's jealous of his female friends. Astrid, Ruffnut, Heather, he knows at least two of them were never ostracized for being a runt and for being useless. And they certainly haven't needed to prove their worth by fighting a dragon nearly the size of a volcano, lost a leg, and trained the dragons of Berk only to be forced to continue to hide.

He's resentful, too. Yeah, he's resentful. Some might claim he isn't capable of such an emotion, but that nagging feeling choking his heart is a familiar one.

As if able to tell the rush of emotions, Viggo leans in just a tad bit closer and suddenly his hands are on his shoulders. Not even on the pauldrons, but on the armor itself, close to his neck. There's a slight trembling he has a hard time suppressing. He does like that Viggo thinks he can just invade his personal space like this.

"Can I make you an offer?" The older man leans in closer, his lips right next to his ear.

"What about a place where you don't need to hide? A place where you can just be yourself, the woman you were meant to be from birth. Strong, intelligent, powerful, a true Mistress of Dragons." A place like that doesn't exist, not for him, but Viggo isn't quite done yet.

"A place next to me." And there it is. The tone in his voice always dips when they're alone, but this time it dips even deeper and Hiccup isn't sure how to feel about it. Afraid? Something else?

The suggestion isn't as tempting as he'd like it to be, however, because the Grimborns and their men still hunt dragons for a living, some even for sport. That isn't a community he can even consider living in.

But it is nice to dream, though. A life where responding to "she" and "her" instead of "he" and "him" is possible.

If only he hadn't been born an heir to a tribe that couldn't possibly accept a Chief that is both a woman and a runt. If only he hadn't been born an heir.

"Are you thinking about it? About what you could become? What we could become?" Viggo's hold on him tightens, but not in an entirely uncomfortable way. Or rather, Hiccup supposes it isn't supposed to be discomforting.

"What's in it for you?" Hiccup forces himself to bypass the lump in his throat in order to ask. Because Viggo isn't offering this out of the kindness of his heart.

"New opportunities." That's the only answer the man will give him and Hiccup is left to guess what exactly these opportunities may be.

So he's no longer interested in beating them or having a truce then? Viggo has never hidden his interest in his young foe, but has never made this offer before.

One hand moves closer to his neck, fingers curling so the back of them can caress his skin. At the same time, his index finger and thumb grab small locks of his hair to play with. The other hand, it moves down just a bit and sneaks the tip of his finger beneath his armor. Hiccup's breathing grows labored.

There's a sense of excitement that he doesn't like.  Because these are kinds of touches he doesn't let the Riders do in fear of being discovered. Not even Astrid, his girlfriend, can get too many touches in. The Riders, not knowing about this secret, believe it's because he just doesn't like to be touched. They respect this, whenever they remember to.

This must be why Viggo's fingers have this effect on him, because of how touch-starved he is to protect this secret his forebears forced onto him. That just makes him hate it even more.

"Are you thinking about my offer?" He repeats his question in that same low tone.

Hiccup's hands may be shackled together, but he's not tied to the chair, so he brings an end to this conversation by getting up before those hands can travel a little further. He could sense their intent to, could feel his armor lift just a tad.

Now pouting, Viggo watches Hiccup walk away from him.

"That won't happen. You hunt dragons and I save them. Don't forget that we're at war for a reason, Viggo." He tells the other, turning his head sharply to look at him from over his shoulder.

"This-this-this... fantasy! This fantasy won't work out. It will never work out! So don't bother trying to get me to your side, no matter what type of deal you try to make with me, I refuse to take it." He raises his voice, ignoring the stinging and the burning in his throat as the urge for tears wells up within him.

A fantasy, that's what the idea of him ever being himself, herself, is. A fantasy. Nothing more, nothing less.

Swallowing and taking a breath, he pushes that realization to the back of his mind. His mind.

But Viggo straightens and his amusement is gone as he approaches. Hiccup's stubbornness and his refusal to show his fear in the face of his enemy doesn't allow him to back away, but he can feel his heart thumping inside his chest.

"It wasn't a fantasy, far from it, it was a fair deal to save you from further humiliation. I'm sure you've suffered quite a bit of that in your young life, I had simply assumed you didn't want any more. But I see that I was a fool." The game picks right back up where it left off and Hiccup is left to wonder where it'll go this time.

He hasn't only declined, but essentially made fun of it, too, and that can't feel good to a man as prideful as he is.

"What do you mean?" He tries to keep his voice strong, unwavering, but he can't help the sense of anxiety that he feels when he asks.

"I have this information, do you expect me not to use it? I'm sure there are tribes, both ally and foe, that would be very interested to hear about Berk's heir. I'm also quite interested in knowing how Berk is going to react. Do the Riders know?"

"NO!" At that, Hiccup has quite the reaction and Viggo maliciously smiles once more.

The rational part of him knows his friends will accept him and won't reject him for this, but even so, that fear lingers. It's been ingrained into him since birth that nobody wants a runt, let alone a runt that's also a... So there is still a part of him that wonders how they are going to be any different from the rest.

Hiccup looks down, ashamed for the way he responded. He has just given the exact reaction Viggo is looking for.

"How about an ultimatum? Join me or the Dragon Riders will know. Refuse a second time and Berk will know. Refuse a third time, your allies. Can you guess what will happen if you refuse for a fourth time?" Viggo asks, satisfied with this perfectly cruel choice. He has always loved a good game. So long as it's in his favor, of course.

Hiccup stares at him, unable to hide his fear and the growing tears.

This is the day he has always been afraid would come, the day someone finds out and uses it against him like he has been warned it would. Ever since taking on this role of protecting dragons and facing countless of enemies, he has been afraid. Even before Toothless, when he was just Berk's embarrassment, he was afraid.

And now it's here.

If anybody finds out, he'll be shunned and bullied and belittled and thought of as worthless all over again. He can't bear to go back to those days. He can't bear being hated again for being born the way he is.

And yet...

"I guess you're going to have to... tell them." He can bear to see the Hunter harm dragons even less and so he refuses and in his mind doom himself to a life branded as the shame of his father. At least he'll still have Toothless.

Though not happy with this answer, Viggo isn't surprised.

"Shame, we could've had something great together, could've created some greats things, but you leave me no choice." He tells him. Hiccup casts his gaze downwards, a sense of panic is threatening to choke the breath out of him, but he has given the Hunter Chief his answer and he doesn't plan on taking it back.

"Shame, a real shame," Viggo remarks some more. He'd given Hiccup the chance to change his mind, but it didn't happen.

Then, as if sensing the dreadful end of this conversation, an explosion rocks the entire ship that they're on, throwing the two off-balance.

Slamming into the older man, Hiccup, and Viggo both make a tumble towards the floor, one ending up on top of the other.

"Dragon Riders!" The call is faint, almost too soft to hear, but it's Hiccup's cue to get out of here.

Using his cuffed hands, Hiccup strikes upward against Viggo's face with such force that it breaks his nose powered by nothing but the want to escape. He leaves the man no choice but to take a moment as a burning pain burst free.

Hiccup takes this opportunity to run, climbing to his feet and going for the door.

Toothless has to be here on this ship, too, they've been captured together.

As luck would have it, while he runs down the corridor, Toothless appears and their gazes meet.

"Toothless!" They meet each other halfway, both running to reunite and the dragon pushes the flat top of his head into Hiccup's torso, urging him to grab hold for as much as his tied wrists allow it for a brief hug.

"I'm happy to see you, too, Bud. We have to hurry and leave."

"Just what I was thinking." Astrid pops up as well, having been the one to free Toothless and letting him guide her straight towards Hiccup, always homed in on him.

"Come on," Axe in one hand, Astrid grabs one of Hiccup's in her other and pulls him along towards the deck of the ship, dodging Hunters and bracing for impact with each hit delivered by the other Dragon Riders.

They reach the deck soon enough and while Astrid and Stormfly reunite, Hiccup climbs in Toothless' saddle and the four of them take off towards the sky, the others providing them with cover fire.

"Dragon Riders, we're heading back to the Edge!" Hiccup orders. There were only two ships and they're both sinking, no use sticking around.

"Wow, we're happy to see you, too. Just a nice "Hello!" would've been fine, though." Snotlout teases Hiccup from on top of Hookfang. From what he can see, Hiccup is fine, so he thinks he's allowed to.

"Snotlout!"

"No, Astrid, he's kinda right. I'm happy to see you guys, too. Now let's go home." Hiccup stops Astrid from lecturing the other Rider. Barf and Belch, Ruff and Tuff, Fishlegs, and Meatlug join back up with them and the group heads for home.

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

The Dragon Hunters didn't get too far away with their prisoners, but still, it took a good hour of flying before the Dragon Riders arrive on the Edge.

The six Riders and one Dragon are in the clubhouse now, removing the cuffs and cleaning the chafing that they'd caused on his palms. Or Astrid is. Snotlout and the twins are off to the side, declaring their undying hatred for the Hunters while Fishlegs prods Toothless incessantly for possible injuries that may need treating.

"But I need to take a look at you!" Fishlegs exclaims when the dragon moves away again, much to Toothless' annoyance as he just wants to be left alone.

Astrid, who had been watching the rather amusing chase around the room, looks at Hiccup to see his reaction only to find none.

He's been down ever since his rescue. And though, being kidnapped can't exactly be called pleasant, Astrid feels like something else might be going on here.

She dabs his palms with a clean cloth soaked in water a few more times before she speaks up.

"You're not going to say anything?" She asks gently.

"Hmm?"

"About Fishlegs and Toothless."

At this, Hiccup looks up to see what's going on, Snotlout and the twins betting in the background how much longer it'll take for Toothless to get angry.

"Fishlegs, he's just tired and wants to be left alone. So leave him be." It may have sounded a little sterner than he intended it to, but it only further validated Astrid's assumption that something is up.

Turning their attention back to his stinging hands, she has to ask.

"So what's wrong?"

"Why do you ask?"

"I just feel like something is the matter. You know you can always tell me, so do you want to talk about it?" She offers herself up as a listening ear.

"Nothing is wrong, just the usual Viggo with his stupid threats." Hiccup tells her, deciding against sharing details about their talk for reasons that are obvious to him.

"Oh no, what was it this time?" Astrid asks, remarking on this being a very frequent occurrence.

Hiccup looks her in the eye and seemingly thinks about something for a good few moments.

Should he tell her?

He stares at her fiercely blue eyes, the long blond hair he loves so much, can feel her hands caring for him as she waits for an answer. Then he looks around the clubhouse, gazing at each of his friends when he finds them. Fishlegs, Snotlout, Ruffnut, and Tuffnut, just joking around and relieving the stress of the day.

He doesn't need to look at Toothless, who has settled on the floor behind him now that he has some peace. He has known from the start, all the dragons have, and they don't care what he is.

Looking at them all, fear wins. He's been so long without this, friendship, fun, just people who like him, you name it. He realizes he doesn't want to lose any of it.

"Hiccup?" Astrid says his name, thinking he's lost in thought.

"It's really just the usual, truce, or die." He tells her and if he reaches far enough, he can explain his lying as being technically not lying. Because what was basically a marriage proposal from one enemy to another is like a truce and revealing a secret such as his to the world is like a kind of death.

"Are you sure? We all know Viggo isn't pleasant to be around, especially for you. So we'll understand if you feel a little awful. Or a lot." Astrid tells him, lifting a hand to lay on his cheek.

Hiccup's eyes flit towards it as its warmth ends up on his skin and he needs to keep a hold on his breath, having a hard time keeping it under control. It's the biggest drawback to a lack of physical touch, the fact that every little thing makes his skin burn with a desire for more.

Astrid suddenly remembers Hiccup's believed aversion to touch, but before she can act on her realization and pull away, Hiccup leans into her hand. So she keeps it there, smiling as every little moment she gets to have with her boyfriend like this is a precious one.

But she has a point, he does feel awful. Viggo's offer and following threat aside, Hiccup hasn't been able to get his touches out of his head. He hates how they made him feel, still make him feel, Astrid's in comparison are much more enjoyable.

And then there is that deep, dark part of him that wants more.

Noticing Hiccup savoring her touch, she grows a little more daring and places her free hand on his other cheek and Hiccup takes her wrist and keeps them there, sighing in content.

Her hands are warm, they're soft though still calloused, and they belong to his girlfriend.

This moment makes Astrid wonder just why Hiccup doesn't like to be touched if he's taking such delight out of this. To her, this just screams a desire for more, and she's sad that he won't allow himself to have more for reasons he hasn't shared with them yet.

Meanwhile, Hiccup is savoring every second he gets because he knows this may be one of the last times he will get to enjoy it. There is no doubt in his mind that Viggo will make good on his threat and that means all of this, Astrid, the Gang, might end soon. It sounds like nonsense, but this fear is real to him.

So he holds Astrid's hands, hoping he can enjoy her warmth just a little while longer before he inevitably loses it all, all over again.

#whumptober2020 #no.17 #blackmail #dirty secret #httyd #how to train your dragon #fanfics #tw: unwanted touching #hiccup haddock #astrid hofferson #hiccstrid #viggo grimborn #hiccup whump #one-sided vigcup #vigcup #rtte #race to the edge #au #alternate universe #lesbian hiccstrid au #my fanfics #he knows

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Day Eight: The One With The Fort

Elise woke up with a hangover, just not the type when you at least have the wild night you may not remember to show for it. She was certainly not in bed naked, with another nude person, surreptitiously checking to see if they used protection.

This was an emotional hangover.

She'd got feelings, for a boy. Man, did she hate those. The last time she had them, it wreaked all kinds of havoc, and that was just her sister's boyfriend not a world famous object of obsession. She should have known how to read the signs, that mistake had gone a similar way. Time spent together in a house, some things in common, a little tension, fear of rejection, a move, sex, secret relationship, discovery, a broken hearted sister, disappointed parents, and a transcontinental move to escape.

Ok, so this one was in a much safer place than that. Harry was a bad choice as a man to have feelings for, but for totally different reasons than Bryce. Her quarantine buddy was a bad idea because of the rejection and/or future rejection.

Did it count as rejection?

Elise felt rejected, but feelings aren't facts, as her dad liked to remind her. She supposed it was a near miss. She had gone the last 10% just like the movie Hitch had taught her. Maybe he would have finished the gap, closed the circuit, and such, and she could have felt those beautiful pink lips on hers.

But he was saved by the bell.

Instead they ate, and sat on opposites ends of the table just like she had set it. Elise liked that it wasn't a ridiculously long ostentatious piece of dead wood before yesterday. She'd even complimented Harry on it. Last night it was unsatisfactory, definitely not as close as she would have liked to be sitting.

And during cake time, which had turned out stellar, he had touched her elbow and the bones in her feet had rattled. His hand hadn't coasted to her palm, nor had he spun her into him and pressed his lips to hers. He'd just told her it looked great and handed her the knife to cut.

Elise couldn't even think about the couch.

He'd insisted that they cuddle, and had lain behind her in the unexpected big spoon position. She'd been very excited when he suggested it, thinking it was a typical boy ploy to feel her up and get to the kissing they'd almost started.

She figured she'd at least get to feel a boner.

That was an atrocious word. But everything else sounded even worse in her head.

She'd felt no erection, just the warm shape and had wanted with all her might to press back against it, but if there was such a thing as a platonic spoon, she'd just experienced it. Then Harry had fallen asleep, his head bookended by hers until his neck relaxed onto the pillow.

Elise threw in the towel then.

The little voice in her head, that sounded suspiciously like her sister, told her that good guys didn't want her, though they'd be bad long enough to take what she was offering.

She was pretty sure she'd called Jessica a jealous bitch over that. The words had stuck in her head though, and not that she was hoping to make a go of things with her sister's ex, but the idea that he was just playing on her dark side to explore his own, it just poisoned their relationship. It certainly contaminated her already fragile relationship with her sister.

Elise had wanted to go away then, needed an escape, if she left it would be better, her parents didn't have to feel disappointed everyday when they looked at her, and Jessica didn't have to feel betrayed. Hence, England, quarantine, Harry Styles.

The first several days she could not figure out how it was karmic in any way that she got to be so close to Harry Styles. Now that he had become just Harry, the lovely rich weirdo with the bad taste in books and great taste in music, she was temporarily living with, she had figured out the catch.

The universe had given her her adolescent fantasy, shown her reality was better, and then snatched it away, like ice cream falling off the cone into sand within the first ten minutes on a boardwalk. Much as she hated it, Elise also felt it was right. She'd snuck around with her sister's boyfriend, it was only right someone she'd fallen for, who was way out of her league anyway, wouldn't want her even if she was literally the only option around.

Why was self loathing so attractive in moments of reflection?

She was going to have to go downstairs soon. She could hear music, a sure sign Harry was up and waiting for company. Maybe she could heat a thermometer under a light bulb and claim sick. Little water on her face to fake clammy skin.

Then he could baby her and she could take the tenderness and not expect the kisses, or boners. Because nobody liked kissing snotty people. Could you fake snottiness? Not without props, Elise decided. Also, faking sick when in quarantine during a pandemic seemed particularly heinous.

Despite her misgivings, she hauled her sad skeleton out of bed and got dressed. When Elise found herself searching for a specific pair of underwear, she realized she was literally planning on wearing her big girl panties. That at least made her chuckle. Whatever got you there she supposed.

Most of her fretting would be for naught. He was just Harry, and he'd acted like nothing happened. She could follow his lead, right? They were forced friends, at least for the next 6 days. May as well make the best of it and not lean in to the awkward.

The stairs made the echoey sound around the bend and she avoided the creaky part and only got a low groan. She'd relaxed a bit by the time she made it downstairs.

What the fuck was his problem? Why was he shirtless? Again! At least he had on more than a towel. Fuck her life, man. Or fuck her man, that'd be the life.

She stood at the end of the stairs and gave herself a moment until he realized she was there. His back was, woah! He was very broad for someone so slim. And his chest was, ugh, and his face. She often felt like she should congratulate him on his visage, especially the way it had leaned out and squared up. He was so manly now.

Dammit, she should have found that thermometer!

"Morning." She heard him say before she had gotten out of her head.

"Good Morning." She smiled back at him. His smile was like the call for a response in songs. You had to answer it.

"Are you hungry? There's leftover food, we could throw eggs over the last couple puddings. Or coffee?" There was a weird current under their conversation. Like he was walking on the shells of the eggs he was planning to cook her.

"Coffee?" She shrugged. "I can't really think about food yet." Elise's nerves were churning her stomach. All she could think of was the near kiss and the heat of his body behind her.

"Done." He headed to the kitchen and she followed, of course. He'd pulled out the French press, something she would purchase for herself after this. And asked, "what do you want to do today?"

Honestly, she wanted to hide out. Was there a book she could fake wanting to read? Elise was sure he had some book of semi terrible prose he would recommend to her. She need but ask. Then she could hold up in her room. The downside was she'd have to see his little sad puppy face when she told him she didn't like what he did. That was one of the downsides. Elise also wanted to be around him, maybe be able to smell him, and to avoid him noticing her avoiding him. But they needed to have something that discouraged talking, or she was gonna wind up asking him what the fuck his problem was. Because, they'd had a couple moments, she was sure of it, when they worked out, when he touched her thigh, and the near KISS, for fuck's sake. There was chemistry.

Or she was going a bit crazy, and it was totally one sided, which, seemed the way it should be.

In any case, she couldn't just ask him. She wasn't usually an asker, she was a guesser. Elise's best friend Niki was direct and wonderful, she asked for what she wanted or asked people what they wanted. When they were teenagers, she'd thought it was so embarrassing sometimes, now she wished she had some of her boldness. If she could just ask it would really simplify things. Harry, do you like me? Are you having any pesky feelings? Do I make your dick hard? Any flavor of honesty would taste better than the uncertainty she was chewing on.

Instead Elise said, "marathon Friends?" She shrugged.

His eyes opened big and she looked down to dodge the power of his pleased crinkles. "Marathon Friends!"

So there they were, three quarters of the way through a series with popcorn between them when Elise said, "I think I need to stand up. My butt is numb."

"I could rub it for you? No, not an option then?" He giggled. "We could make an obstacle course?" Harry suggested gleefully, and she wondered how long he'd been sitting on that one.

"That sounds athletic. As you've seen, I'm no athlete."

"Built like one." He said and before she could really respond he'd launched into a plea. "It'll be fun, then we can build a fort and watch more Friends."

"Are you 7 at heart?" She giggled. His glee was contagious, like Phoebe's wackiness.

"Nine!" He danced his eyebrows. "But to adult this party up, let's add alcohol. I feel like I have not given you a proper look at British life and quarantine, as we've not been pissed much at all. We can play a Friends drinking game, bet there are loads on the internet!"

Oh, this was a bad idea. But maybe she'd find some liquid courage.

The obstacle course, well it went better than she anticipated, and he let her win. She cartwheeled, the one thing she had learned in gymnastics, across the finish line. He was way ahead of her when they got to the pillow sack race at the end. The idea had struck her like a lightening bolt. She could not bound like him, all that thigh strength, but she could cover ground quick another way! She managed to keep the high thread count fabric on through her revolutions. She was a little terrified of destroying his nice linen. Harry let her cross ahead of him, and he hoisted her into the air when she exclaimed "YES!"

She expected him to complain about her tactics, instead he jogged her around on a victory lap. "Well done!" He danced in a circle and put her down, his arms wrapped around her, squishing her face into his clavicle.

"But I cheated." She muffled into his body.

"We didn't make rules. You saw an opportunity and took a chance." He shimmied his shoulders, all his bottled up energy from a day on the couch coming out in exuberance. "You gotta take chances in life."

They were close, though he'd let her go. Was she supposed to take the chance now? Was that an invitation? Why did she have to do it? "Yeah, yeah, you're right." She said but didn't act.

A beat passed and he sighed and turned around, moving around exercise equipment. "Let's build this fort, yeah?" His smile wasn't forced, but she noticed he only had two eye crinkles, not the full powered four.

His hand was on her shoulder. The opportunity was still there, but yesterday's rejection still clouded up her head like an unkept pool. "Yeah." She turned around and opened the ornamental blanket storage box he had in his media room.

They worked together with ease, and had a fort that would stay up for days on its own with no roughhousing to show for it. IKEA would be proud, they didn't even need pictorial directions.

"It looks cozy!" She smiled at it.

"It's nearly perfect." He said, before jetting off. "One second." He came back with led lights and used some stylish magic to arrange them high."Now we got it. Just missing one thing."

She couldn't imagine anything missing with the attractive light on his face. This was dreamy, she'd almost forgotten that he seemed to have decided that she had to make the move. Leaving them at an impasse. "What?"

"Tequila!" He danced his eyebrows. "One sec." He jackrabbited off.

Should she tell him tequila made her way too honest, or let him figure it out for himself?

"Alright." He skidded into the tent by her side and she applauded because he managed not to shatter the tequila bottle and glasses. "This is the best tequila." He assured her. "Find a drinking game! Unless you fancy strip scrabble."

That sent her diving for the phone. That was an even worse idea than getting drunk together. It was a quick google search later and they had their marching orders.

Phoebe seemed the most reliable. They both were licking salt and swallowing top shelf shots whenever she appeared. Monica and Joey were making a good showing too.

Her stomach hurt and she was bent sideways making a right angle at his hips from laughing so hard. Elsie had forgotten! This show was so funny, and god! They were both drunk.

Rachel was having a sappy moment and it was bringing out the sap in Elise. Man, tequila also made her emotional, she'd swung like a desktop pendulum from laughing so hard she cried to introspective sadness. It didn't exactly make sense, she was definitely more the Ross in this situation. Though her pining had started much later, precisely 7 days ago.

She giggled, nothing was precise after that much tequila. Call her Tarzan with all that swinging.

"What are you laughing about?" He turned on his side to look at her, his face full of mirth, his eyes at half mast and a little red. Bedroom eyes popped into her head and she had to suck in a breath. This felt very coupley, lying side-by-side in a fort. She would say cuddling, but they weren't touching. They hadn't been, but while she was assessing their postures, she realized he'd tangled their ankles together.

Everything they did felt coupley. Because they wanted to couple up or because they were just a couple in number?

"Um" she croaked. "I was just thinking of something, but then, tequila brain you know!" She flicked her temple lightly.

"Oh, I know!" He was jolly and she thought for a minute of other times she'd seen pictures of him drunk. His arm was around her waist now. He liked drunken cuddles, when he was younger, which was knowledge she maybe had no business possessing but knew nonetheless. His face in her neck a moment later had her closing her eyes and sighing. He smelled good, a little like a bar, but also like cologne, and his hair was so soft. She wanted to touch it.

Maybe she had more in common with Ross than she realized. A seemingly unattainable old crush suddenly in her life, maybe attainable, available.

Her drunken hands had a mind of their own, and she ran them through the silk of his hair. It felt wonderful between her fingers. Elise twirled some curls around her pointers and was rewarded by a groan from her cuddle buddy.

"Mmmmm, feels good!" His ankle tangle had become his calf and at that moment his whole thigh had inserted itself between her legs. She'd been ignoring the dull throb there for most of today, for days. The barest pressure was on her crux and she couldn't take this. She tensed and pulled, he moaned. Her hand dropped.

She felt his breath on her neck and then his head roll back to her shoulder. "Hey! Why'd you stop."

If she turned her head their boozy breaths would mingle and it would be their second almost kiss in as many days, and she couldn't take this.

Elise turned her head.

He blinked at her slow and the tequila sunset of his eyes was intoxicating. She let her eyes come down to his lips, and when his tongue peeped out to wet his mouth, hers moved on its own, "Harry?"

It needed to be asked right? She couldn't just let it happen.

"Elise." He breathed back and moved closer.

Tequila, and mint somewhere underneath, was all she tasted. Teeth and tongue, plump lips moving between and surrounding hers was what she felt, until his larger frame pressed her back onto the floor. She felt the one thigh almost against her center become his pelvis, flush. He pulled back, looked in her eyes and gave her a soft buss, resumed the eye contact. Elise leaned up like he had water and she was thirsty. The way his tongue played along the sides of hers, sliding over the top and out before he changed angles slightly and reinitiated had her lightheaded. Her skin was tight, especially where his hands were. Her clothes were heavy and hot, at her hips, around her rips, the sides of her breasts tingled, her shoulders were his palms held her open beneath him. Elise needed water. Was panting. She wasn't even sure how much the kiss had escalated, until his lips were moving over her neck and onto her collarbone, the thick strap of her top coming down, cold air and warm kisses on the swell of her cleavage. Pressure revolving between her thighs. The well was just ahead and if they kept at it, she'd dive in. Water water everywhere, so much to drink. To drown. She stilled.

"Elise?" Harry asked from where his hands and mouth had almost reached her nipples?

"I think we should stop."

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #quaratine fic #day eight #day 8 #the one with the fort

[thatssonano]

Hey, remember the research paper about why TV fails to represent female muslims? Well here it is.

Hey guys,

So I'm finally gonna try to write a real little thing about how TV fails to write muslim women. I thought about doing a real research paper and I wrote the introduction and got really anxious because it reminded of my very stressful master degree lol so this is much more simple. Anyways, let's get to it. 

As a kid, I was very hungry for representation on TV. Mostly because I had no models, no one to identify with. As a very introvert and self-conscious kid, I didn't know what to be or what to do. At some point, I started looking up to my sister, very beautiful, very intelligent and very ambitious girl. So I thought "I ought to be like that, that's what a muslim girl like me should be like.” 

Thing is, I wasn't as smart as she was, my grades were not as good, I wasn't as pretty or as popular at school, and there was not a single box I could fit in. I ended up being the "weird but nice little sister". But I was so invisible everyone would nickname me "Sarah 2" (my sister's name being Sarah.) And you know what? For the first time, I felt like I existed. Because I was "the little sister". Dude, how sad is that?

I was too white for them, not muslim enough, too weird for them. So obviously, it was tough to pave a way for myself when I was the only girl like me. 

The first time I was finally not nicknamed was when I got into college at the age of 17. Only because we didn't choose the same college. And I understood I didn't have to be as smart or as ambitious as her, I understood that I didn't have to get the life she had when I was 22. 22, guys. 

I'm turning 26 in one month. And I chose my own life. But God, how much time it took me to realize that there wasn't only one type of "the muslim girl"? 22 years.  

I'm not saying that to share about my life or whatever, I just want to show the consequences of not having representation on TV. And for sure, many people don't care about representation, my sister doesn't, my brother doesn't. But I do. Maybe that's because I'm hypersensitive, maybe that's because I believe art should mirror reality. All I know is that it's necessary for many. 

I met Sana Bakkoush on a random fan video about several fictional couples on youtube. I didn't know Skam then but there was this second in the video where I would see Noora and William staring at each other or whatever, and there was this beautiful hijabi girl in the back. I had to know what this show was about. So I did my research and binge-watched it. With much luck, I got to the end of the whole show before episode 3 of season 4 came out. So I learnt to grow with Sana, I fell in love with her, and I just felt like I could understand her. I was her. I finally was validated with her. Up until episode 5, all was well. And then,… it just broke? Still today, I'm trying to understand how they could let that happen and I guess there's one obvious reason. The writing staff was white. Julie Andem is white. And to me, if you're not from that community, you should not try to write about this one. 

As the plot thickened, you could feel like it was unbalanced, incoherent, and that many things didn't make sense. But that's pretty normal, because if you don't live the problem, you can't understand. Now I won't curse Julie Andem for not trying, but I guess what should have been done was to hire a muslim writer. And God, people can't tell me it's too tough to find. Even if it was not Iman Meskini's job, she could have asked her. God, this girl taught more about ramadan through her ig story than Skam ever did. 

Now I'm not saying she didn't do us all dirty when she gave us 9 episodes instead of ten and it all broke us on June 17th 2017 (Yep, this day is a national holiday now). And honestly, I've got not one good explanation for this except they didn't feel her story was that important. Unconsciously, I hope, because it would be too evil otherwise.

The reason, to me, that Sana was so many people's favorite character was because Iman Meskini gave her so much realness. Sana was strong yet vulnerable. Everyone, muslims like non-muslims could understand her, and I think she inspired so many people. Her life is amazing, and she's what now? 22. I really hope she gets a Nobel Prize in the future, she deserves it. 

Now let's talk about the others. I think it'd be a bit faster. 

Imane Bakhellal. Uhm. Well the main issue is the same, she was written by a white man. So obviously, it was 1. wrong. 2. wrong. 3. wrong. The story barely focused on her faith and whenever we'd see her pray she'd be interrupted. Look, I've been praying for 13 years and the only times I've interrupted my prayer were because I had just realized I had not done wudhu. Or I was too jet-lagged so I was praying in the wrong direction.  

Thing is, Imane didn't make me feel anything. And it was even sadder, because I am a muslim living in Paris. To me, her story wasn't focused on her, it wasn't even focused on religion or her struggle living between two cultures. I didn't learn a thing. And God, that hurt. That hurt even more when the director didn't acknowledge it was poorly written and was actually proud of it. It hurt that white people get the right to write our story and we're there, not having any voice. It sucked. But I guess, she had ten episodes, right, even if the last episode was within the same day. 

It didn't really bother me that she kissed him. The speech she recited did though. I got really frustrated about it. How hard would it be to find a muslim writer? Honestly, I would have been glad to join them, even as a volunteer. 

I'm not actually mad at the actress, I guess it was just a reflection of her relationship with islam. And I know many people got the representation they wanted, but to me, it remains poorly written. To me, it remains hypocrite because they don't get it. Being a muslim woman of color in France sucks sometimes. But having at least her story focused on her would have been great too. 

 Ok, let's move on. 

Amira Mahmood. I love her a little less than Sana, but I mean come on, that's understandable, right?

Amira is strong, she's beautiful, kind, smart. And her season was going well, until it wasn't anymore…. Because, well, it ended. I keep on wondering why it happened and I came with no logical answer. So maybe it was lazy writing, maybe it didn't matter to them, maybe the writers were just tired. I don't know, honestly, I don't know. But it pissed me off bad. (Honestly it was the third character I was let down on, lol, it started to be a lot to handle). Also, the other seasons were so greatly written, they had depth and understanding, it was soft and beautiful. And to me, season 4 just felt… lazy? Sure, I loved Mohammed but the Australia plot wasn't even that important it actually got fixed over text? And how hard would it be to find exciting plot for a muslim character? What? Everything should be about kissing, hair and sex? Well, no. I mean, I would have loved to see her actually working, I would have loved to see her actually bonding with her dad, I would have loved to see her at a boxing game… The summer and fall after I graduated high school was a very hard time to me, mostly because it was a time of discovery and transition. Everything was changing. God, they should have explored that more. So I don't know, I just felt detached then, and I think that's more sad, actually.

But I do believe the actress did a great job, and I wish Tua all success. 

Shall I give a little paragraph on Nadia from Elite? Hell yeah I'm going to. Well, the show is focused on sex so, I mean, are we even surprised the writers did this to Nadia? Not really, but we're still mad. Again, it was written by white people; who focused on all the stereotypes people spread about muslims. The strict dad? Check. The very quiet and invisible mom at the mercy of the dad? Check. The muslim girl who does not actually know why she's religious and only follows her parents' footsteps like a sheep because islam is just way too strict so no one in their sane mind would ever venture in such a religion? Check. The hunger for having white friends and doing the same? Check. Falling for a white guy and giving up everything she ever "believed" for him? Check. I hope the writers heard about what people had to say about it. 

Honestly, I know some would say "there are muslim girls like this". Well, ok. But what about us? We've been invisible to society for years and years. I grew up without having a single fucking idea about who I was and I just always felt like I was the odd one out. Too white, too Algerian, too muslim, too girly, too boyish, too into traditions, following too much her parents' rules… Well, growing up I just decided, I will never be enough of something, because I’m a little of everything. So yeah, some muslim girls do that, but some others don't. And we want to see these girls too. We want to normalize their way of life, so they can just live. And we want them to have the same screen time than the rest of the cast. And we want them to have exciting plots too. 

God, I've been smothered by the fucking veil debate in France for weeks and weeks and I couldn't breathe anymore. That's why we need visibility. To be acknowledged. To erase ignorance and hate. To create a homogenous society in this globalized world where everyone is different and it is okay. Because as long as your liberty isn't in danger, then the other can live as he wills. 

To finish I guess some of you would be like “if you’re so eager to criticize the work of others, just write your own story” Well I did. I actually finished one scenario in French and I have just started one in English. But how can I actually make it into reality if I don’t know anyone in the business bold enough to work with me on it? 

Honestly if you've read all of that, congratulations, thank you so much, love you all, peace out. 

I didn’t write everything I wanted but I believe it’s long enough already lol. Be safe, well and kind. (that’s what Bob Morley says and he’s a king).

#love #islam #muslim representation #skams #Skam #Druck #skam fr #elite #nadia shanaa #amira thalia mahmood #sana bakkoush #imane bakhellal

[nautiscarader]

7. scent with Wildehopps

more build-up than actual sex, but that story has been on my mind for some time. I’m not a particular fan of the “red string of fate” trope, but this one seemed like a decent ground for a variation of it.

()(Ao3)(next>>)

Judy first noticed it when she was sitting in her office, filing paperwork. That’s the part of cops’ life movies never focus on - how much filing there is, compared to shooting and saying one-liners. Her ears perked up, though it was her nose that picked up and enticing, savoury smell, that reminded her very much of home and her mother’s kitchen. It didn’t take her long to locate the source: a package of sweets that Nick brought into the precinct.

- You trying to butter us up, fox? - McHorn grumbled at the newest cadet. - Butter you up? Moi? - Nick replied, pointing to McHorn’s belly with one paw, while the other one, pressed against Clawhauser’s face, successfully prevented him from taking all of the cherry cones at once.

When he noticed Judy, he gallantly moved the box towards her, granting her a charming smile. She took one of the freshly baked sweets and let out a soft moan of approval, giving him a thumbs-up. But then her face changed. Though the aroma of the delicacy was certainly pleasant, it was something else that brought her attention, though she couldn’t quite put her paw on it. She took a few more on the road, and while she was nibbling on them throughout her shift, she tried detecting the missing flavour, but up to no avail.

- If you like'em so much, I can be asked on a date, and interrogated for the location of that bakery. - Nick’s voice suddenly interrupted her already stirred thoughts, as he looked at her small desk from over the screen. - If you think it will make your life easier, then you can stop it now. - she countered. - I’m not gonna give you you any head-starts tomorrow, you know. - Even for one last cone?

Nick opened his paw, hiding, as he promised, one last sweet, Judy reluctantly took, as if she was afraid it was drugged. But then, as she moved it to her mouth, she smelled it again, the sweet, but savoury smell, reminding her of salty caramel, she once ate a very fancy dinner. When she took the next bite, the taste was gone, and she was about to as Nick about it, but the fox has just closed the office doors behind him. Judy shrugged, as she knew she will have time to ask him tomorrow.

The second time happened the very next day. Some time ago, Judy was asked to temporarily take cadets through their morning PE classes, as Major Friedkin’s pregnancy forced her to stop straining her body, and she paw-picked Judy as the best candidate. During her stay at the academy she got used to the peculiar, aggressive smell of showers, both before and after classes; she didn’t judge, as she was sweating herself every morning as well. And it was when she was walking alongside the closed entrance to the male showers that she caught a whiff of the same smell.

At first, she thought that one of the guys used a shower gel with the same ingredient, but once she smelled it again, she realised she was wrong. The aroma has changed, yet it evoked the same feeling she remembered from yesterday. She looked around, as she just realised how she must have looked to others, though fortunately, the only other officer was at the far end. She breathed in again, and this time the scent was mixing with the unmistakable musky smell she expected in such a place, though it wasn’t as repulsive and sharp as she might have thought.

She turned around, and she yelped when the door of the lockers corridor nearly hit her in the face, though she managed to jump back just in time.

- Woah, careful, teach’. - Nick spoke, his eyes widened. - Hang on, what were you doing in here…? - Not what you are thinking, Nick - she replied.

Her nose twitched, detecting the pleasant whiff again. If her “shower gel” theory was correct, then it must have been Nick.

- Blueberries? - she asked, throwing a shot in the dark. She knew it was his favourite.

Nick raised his brow.

- Is that a proposition, a new nickname, or a safe word? - Stop it, Nick. - she snorted - Never thought you’d be the one to use one of those fruit-smelling shower products. - Oh, please, Judy. We all know perfectly well how this world works. Girls get the shampoos like “Delicate Raspberry Ensemble” or “Fairy Pineapple Wind” - he spoke enunciating each word - And we, males, get “The Storm of Testosterone” or “The Whirlpool of Death”. That’s how nature works.

Judy laughed, walking alongside the corridor, forgetting for a moment about her curious discovery.

For the next few months, Judy kept finding traces of the mysterious smell, to the point she even went to a spice shop in one of the Zootopia districts, in vain hope maybe they can help her, but the elusive smell kept changing, as if it was deliberately toying with her. And the answer came from the most unexpected of places.

- Oh, how I missed this. - Major Friedkin cheered, sipping a glass of cognac she was given as a present when she returned. - Well, we knew you’ve got the taste. - Judy spoke. - And thank you for taking up my duties, I have already heard the boys hate the mornings, which means you’ve done damn good job.

She replied with a would-be-polite smile, and looked around, finding an argument to leave the conversation she was kinda robbed in.

- Say, where’s-where’s your husband? I think I haven’t congratulated him yet. - Oh, he’s there, showing pictures of our cubs.

Judy followed her paw, and she took a moment to realise that the she was pointing at rather short, chubby brown bear with huge glasses, happily giggling with Clawhauser at his smartphone.

- Oh, right. - I know what you mean. - Friedkin started - How come me and him would ever get together, right? - Actually, that’s not what I- - It’s the scent, I tell you.

Judy’s ears perked up at once, she turned her head at once and even pressed her paw at the polar bear’s massive arm, preventing another drink from delaying her answer.

- Scent? - she asked, standing up on her chair, ignoring how the very unusual pose she was in mus look like - What do you mean? - Well, you know. - she replied jovially - The scent of destiny, tigers from the East came up with this, I think. It’s the smell of your mate, that only you can detect, you know. The one true love, and whatnot. Not real, but I like it as explanation. Certainly beats “I met him online.”

She continued talking, never realising Judy was no longer holding her hostage, and that the bunny was back on her chair, lost in her thoughts, as if she just received some grave news. And then, before she looked up, she already knew who joined Clawhauser and Friedkin’s husband. She took a deep breath, and once again, she was back on the trail leading her up to the red fox laughing on the other side of the room.

- Oh cheese and crackers. - Judy whispered, and grabbed the bottle of cognac, taking a healthy gulp.

She tried to rationalise it over the next day. That it was unlikely, far-fetched, and that they were simply biologically incompatible, but the more she thought about it, the more it made sense. And Judy would have remained in her state of deep confusion if not for the robbery.  

Four police cars surrounded the bank in the cold Tundratown, and Judy, together with Nick went inside. The two split up, trying to cover all sides of the spacious hall, and she signed at the other two teams to do the same. She threaded carefully around the pieces of broken glass from the shoot-out. She looked around, trying to see the position of her colleagues, but from her side, she couldn’t see anything without giving herself away due to the low screens separating the cubicles. With a gun ready in her paws, she was abut to lean from behind one of them, when she heard Nick’s terrified voice.

- Judy! Duck!

Without hesitation, she followed him, and next moment, her ears were filled with deafening noise of the bullet that shot the material above her head. Two more shots followed, the last from the police gun, which ended the harrowing mission.  

Though it wasn’t him who shot the robber, and he wasn’t injured, Nick was offered a blanket and a warm cup of tea just like Judy and the hostages, while the medical services worked in the aftermath of the robbery. Judy curled against Nick, smelling the raspberry tea in a plastic cup, taking one calming breath after another, counting her blessings.

- Thank you, Nick. - she spoke softly - I’m gonna mention you in the report. - I’m glad you’ll be the one writing it. - he chuckled - I wouldn’t know where to start… - “Officer Hopps was saved thanks to the keen eye of the brave Officer Wilde, who…” - Judy started mockingly, but was quickly interrupted. - Nose, not eyes. - Huh? - I smelled you. I think. - he took another sip - I just knew you were behind that screen.

For a moment, Judy didn’t hear the commotion around her, as she looked into her partner’s eyes, torn with conflicting emotions that seemed to have been on his mind for some time.

- I-I mean, I’m not sayin’ you smell bad, or anything, it’s just-

Nick corrected himself, but was promptly cut off by Judy’s lips pressed against his, tasting far more than the cheap raspberry tea on them.

With each piece of clothing torn from his body, Judy was closer and closer to the not-so-mysterious smell that was driving her crazy. Now that she knew exactly where it came from, and what it meant, she had no excuse not to utilise their day off, and kept digging, until she finally saw his red fur. Nick’s paws took a much gentler job at removing her clothes, to the point she was outraged that his much bigger claws weren’t turning her naked faster.

- Can’t-can’t you smell it? - she asked, drawing sharp breathes, as she nuzzled against his now-naked chest. - Oh, trust me, Carrots, I can…

He growled, and lifted her off the floor, just to throw her onto her bed, before he dived between her legs, and her small apartment was filled with a carnal, hungry scream. Though she would love the feeling of Nick’s tongue on her pussy, she wanted to smell him once more, and she desperately dragged him up, just so the musk from his chest can fill up her nostrils, and make her body shiver from the enticing, mind-bending aroma.

- Careful, fluff, or you’re gonna take me all of at once. - I wouldn’t mind that.

She looked up at him, saw the confused look on his face that turned into a wide grin as she moved down, trailing his chest with kisses, until her face was at the level of his boxers, and his raging erection. The moment she pulled them down, an aggressive, but captivating smell hit her, but it couldn’t even compare to what happened when she took him in her mouth. The salty, tangy, wild smell now combined with his potent taste exploded inside her, overfilling her senses with every version of the sensations she kept experiencing for the past months. And just when she was ready to bob her head up and down, she felt Nick’s paws on her shoulder and thighs, and she protested when he pulled her from him.

- H-Hey! - she let out a cry of desperation, that quickly turned into a moan of satisfaction when she realised Nick was turning her around. - Sorry, Carrots, but I have a flavour I’ve been dying to taste as well.

Though she couldn’t see his face now, the feeling of his long tongue against her pussy made it up for it, and she let him know about it with another moan that reverberated against his soft skin of his cock, as she took him deeper down her throat. With her lust-driven mind, she didn’t care that this differed radically from what her first time could look like, or that she acted like a nymphomaniac floozy; she only knew she had to smell him again.

And she received far more than she bargained for, when after a few minutes of her tongue-work, Nick cried her name against her overflowing sex, and her mouth was filled with a hefty, thick stream of the most delicious and erotic drink Judy could have imagined, and as if her life depended on it, she made sure that not a single drop of it would escape her lips. She gulped it down, her body shivering with each rope of cum that got into her belly, and only when she drained Nick of his first orgasm, she let a cry herself, giving Nick chance to taste the smell he was craving as well. His tongue lapped against her pussy, diving inside for more and more, and the spasming walls of her sex kept gladly producing more for the thirsty fox that revelled in the aroma his nose was pressed against it.

This time, despite her quivering thighs, Judy turned herself around, and their lips met again, exchanging the wide palette of sweet, salty, bitter and sour tastes they produced for each other. And then they parted, Judy spoke her mind.

- Mark me as yours, fox.

She dreamt nothing more of smelling him on her, not just tonight, but the rest of her life, and with a grin on his face, Nick toppled her to her back and gladly began fulfilling her wish. Time after time, Nick claimed her as his, and though he was hesitant a few times, Judy encouraged him, with a few strong words, or a strong kick of her legs closed behind his back, to paint both her insides and her fur with his spunk. The warm air of her room only helped their scents mix, and by the time they fell asleep, neither of them could differentiate theirs, and the two fell asleep, light-headed from abundance of the new aroma they’ve spent hours producing.

When Judy woke up, the memories of last night began filling her memories, causing her whole body to shudder, as the pleasant muscle pain reminded her of the many climaxes she lived through. She took a deep breath, realising it was once again, the smell that brought her from the land of dreams. She looked to the side, hoping to find her mate, but met only an empty dent in the messy bedsheets. She turned around, and her worries were gone, when she saw him just in his boxers, leaning against the doorway to her kitchen.

Apparently, mating smelled like morning coffee now.

#wildehopps #lemon #zootopia #judy hopps #nick wilde #Anonymous

[youllallriseintheink]

Breaking the Time Loop chapter 3: Down, down, down.

Boris caught sight of the approaching duo and promptly panicked. He began to back up, but quickly hit a wall and was left with nothing to do but accept his fate.

"Boris, it's alright. He's helping us now," came Henry's cool, comforting voice. Still shaking, Boris removed one paw from his eyes. The ink demon was right there in front of him, as frightening and repulsive as ever. But, Henry stood before the creature, seemingly unharmed and unafraid. Boris could barely believe his eyes. "Everything's fine. Now, we're going to head to the bottom of the studio. You willing to come with us?"

Well, his other option was to let Henry contend with the horrors of the studio without him, and that wouldn't do. Boris nodded.

The trio set off. They took the angel's path and then the elevator to as far down as it would take them, which was to floor 14. That's where the trouble would begin. "Bendy," Henry asked, "How confident are you that you could win a fight against ol' lighthead down there?

Bendy put ink on the wall: I'd say I have a 65% chance.

Well, that wouldn't have been too comforting even before factoring in Joey's natural arrogance. Henry looked around for anything that might help them defeat the Projectionist. At last, he figured it out: the elevator.

"Alright guys, here's the plan. Boris, ride up in the elevator. Bendy, you stick with me. We'll put up a poster where the elevator lands. Then, the two of us will flush out the Projectionist and lead him right here. Bendy, do you think you can handle tackling him to the ground at that point?"

Definitely.

"Alright. You do that, and I'll get out of the way. Then, Boris, I'll scream your name, and that's when you bring the elevator down, alright? Bendy, just hold him down until the last second, but leave yourself enough time to teleport away through the poster, alright?"

Bendy nodded.

"Alright. Let's get going."

Henry and Bendy descended to the ground floor and entered the cramped halls in which the Projectionist lurked. Henry could just see himself crashing into those walls as he made a mad dash out of there. The duo made it past three projectors playing Bendy cartoons before they saw the creature's yellow, moving light. Henry stuck out his hand so that the mechanical beast could see it. Its tell-tale roar sounded, and Henry took it as cue to then run away as fast as his legs could carry him. Bendy, perhaps by virtue of having slightly less adrenaline in his system, was not keeping up with Henry's pace. In a moment of profound foolishness, Henry attempted to squeeze past the demon, which only left him stumbling into the ink. Bendy turned around and push-kicked the Projectionist in the stomach, sending him against the nearest wall and buying the duo more time. The two made it back out into the inky abyss of level 14. Henry dashed up the stairs and made it to the elevator platform, only to turn around and see Bendy gone and the Projectionist a foot from his face. Just as the Projectionist swung at Henry, Bendy appeared out of a nearby poster and tackled the Projectionist to the ground. Henry stumbled back in shock. The two ink monsters locked arms and wrestled. The ink demon was struggling-but most definitely winning. The words ripped across the wall in tight, frantic scribble: The plan! I can't do this forever!

Taken out of his stupor, Henry screamed, "Boris, now!" and scrambled off of the elevator platform. Bendy got up and ran for the wall, and the Projectionist followed, but Bendy had phased through it before he could catch him. The monstrosity barely had time to look up before being unceremoniously crushed. "We did it!" Henry cried, and offered the ink demon a high-five. Bendy was distracted, however. He pressed the button to open up the elevator and dashed in. Henry took out his seeing tool. Through it, he could see that a blue wisp was about to phase through the ceiling of the elevator. Bendy had to jump to reach it. When he had it, he held it up to his mouth and let it flow in through his teeth.

"We'll have to be more careful about that," Henry mused, putting down the seeing tool and picking up his journal to add the information. This had almost become a failed loop. Come to think of it, he hadn't yet recorded this new way to kill the Projectionist, either. Or his most important discovery: how to tame the ink demon. That wouldn't do. He stepped into the elevator. "Congratulations, guys. You did great." He gave Boris' shoulder an affectionate squeeze. "Now, I'd like some time to record everything you guys have taught me. Do you think you could find a soft spot on these floorboards while I do that? I'd like to hack my way through them with my ax to get down further."

Bendy nodded. In contrast, Henry could feel Boris wince. He stepped out of the elevator with Bendy, his head lowered. "Something wrong, bud?" Henry asked.

Text appeared on the floor: He's scared to be with me when you aren't with us to protect him. Henry sighed. The past several hundred loops, Boris had consistently been two things: pleasant and useless. "Okay. You can stay with me."

Henry didn't think he'd ever let anyone watch him write in his journal before. It felt almost like divulging a filthy secret. Boris didn't seem to mind, though. "You see this, Boris? This is how I'm going to get us out of here. It's how I can be sure I'm making progress, no matter how long this takes or how many mistakes I make. It's all leading to something, and this is the closest I've ever been." Of course, Boris couldn't respond. No hand gesture could have done as a response to that. Still, it felt amazing to have someone that understood his quest.

After finishing up, Henry went to find Bendy, and Boris followed. They found him in the corner of the room. He'd moved a few boxes, and was pointing to a part of the thoroughly ink-covered floor. "There? Alright," Henry said, before hacking at the floor with his ax. The several inches of thick, tar-like ink on the floor did not make it an easy task. It felt as though he was barely making a dent in the floor. But once he did finally did knock a small hole into the ground, it slowly got easier. Heartened, he gave a few more swings before coming to a terrible realization. "Oh no. Bendy, Alice is down there. And Tom. They're very sensitive to ink. I need you to go down there and see if they're anywhere near below here. Preferably without scaring them. Alright?"

Bendy nodded, then phased through the wall. He came back a moment later and gave a thumbs up. My, was it useful to have an ink demon around. Henry returned the gesture, then kept hacking. Eventually, he tired out and gave Boris a turn. Boris caught a lucky break and broke a larger hole through the floorboards fairly quickly, draining enough ink to make it a far easier task. Soon, there was enough room for the two to fit through. Henry looked through the hole. Thankfully, the next floor down was only a hallway with a relatively low ceiling. Henry and Boris lowered each other down. The trio then repeated the process with the next floor, finally arriving at the level where Allison and Tom had their base.

"What should we do now?" Henry asked, expecting no response from his mute companions. He opened up his journal to the floor map of their current level, but found it to be incomplete. "Let's just keep walking, I guess," Henry suggested. The trio eventually came upon a cave-like area from which a barge could be launched. "I think they'll be the other way. Bendy, uh, please make yourself scarce until I tell you to, alright? They'll probably feel threatened if you show up without an explanation. Bendy nodded and faded into a wall through a poster.

As Henry progressed through the cluttered and often ink-flooded hallway, whacking aside a few searchers along the way, he began to pick up on Alice's beautiful singing voice. She often sang like that while drawing on the walls, plotting her next idea to try and escape from this hellhole of a studio. He knocked on the door, and the singing stopped. Alice opened it. "Hello? Um, who are you?"

Henry held up the seeing tool and his journal. "It's a long story. But I want to help get everyone out of here, and I need your help."

Alice looked down at the tools. "What are these?" she asked. "How did you...?"

"It's a long story. And yes, that's the same seeing tool you have. Can I come in? We have a lot to talk about."

#breaking the time loop #Bendy and the Ink Machine #Henry Stein #boris the wolf #Ink bendy #Projectionist #Allison Angel

[slaytorism]

My parents are my biological parents..

On a certain Freaky Friday, a raccoon and I swapped souls. Now, this is how I look like after 10 years, while the coon is serving time in prison for sex trafficking. It is a joke, needless to say. Turns out the said crime is only frowned upon among humans. 

But, never have I not been a bit solicitous around my identity. When I was little, probably 4 or 5, my parents humoured me with an accidental slip of a tongue - that I may have been an adopted child. I was a pretty self aware kid, as all children usually are at that age; so I started maintaining observational notes about behavioural traits, similarities and dissimilarities alike. I presume, these were signs of a boy with an extremely bright future ahead of him. But it was not until the age of 7 I dolled up the courage to confront my supposedly biological parents about this issue. Well, that’s a lie. I was looking for an excuse upon being asked, ‘Why the hell, wasn’t I studying and instead watching TV?’

My only creative response to it was, “Mother, am I adopted?”. My mum was obviously taken aback; established an unusually stern eye contact while adjusting her face to emulate someone who is visibly agitated; as if she was upset about her favourite Hindu deity being featured on a desi edition of the Hustlers magazine. Flabbergasted, her only swift response was, “Well... it depends.” Now wouldn’t you agree that this response is a siren of a sort. All this time I had imagined I could turn out to be a snowflake or a comic book inspiration and here I was, projecting my insecurities encapsulated in a bombshell of a discovery about my birth, which I hadn’t made yet.

Me: “What do you mean, it depends?”

Mum: “It depends on your exam results. Look, it’s no secret. Your father is an accomplished engineer and I am an award winning teacher. So, there has to be something about you that would be socially recognised as a bit academic. Isn’t it honey? (looking at my father) What do you say, dad?”

Dad: “Yeah, yeah - he is fine.”

Me: “What do you mean I am fine?”

Mum: “What your dad means is that, you are so far... not adopted.”

Me: “So, if I perform poorly in the exams, would you put me up for adoption? Mum, I am 7. It’s usually done before human conscience manifests into thoughts and memories. I will remember who you are and frankly, I would be very unhappy with your actions.”

Mum: “Well, let’s not go there young man. WE.. have been pretty unhappy with YOUR actions. (looking at my father) Wouldn’t you say so, Dad?”

Dad: “Yeah, yeah - not good.”

Mum: “Exactly. We have been observing and you are not serious about your education at all. We are concerned!”

Me: “Is that why you’d put me up for adoption?”

Mum: “Now hold on, (pause).. we would never do that..  (looking at my father) right. Dad?”

Dad: “(nodding) Its not as easy as it sounds.”

Mum: “Correct. Also, as you said, it is too late.”

Me: “Is that why? Is that the only reason?”

Mum: “No! We think you’re special.”

Dad: “Did we give him the brochure of the special camp, we are going to drop him this summer?”

Mum: “Oh, yes! Baby, you’re going to a camp for special kids. How exciting!”

Me: “Are you... (whispering) are you calling me the R-word?”

Mum: “(twitching her eye brows) R - what, honey?”

Dad: “He means Retarded.”

Mum: “No! Never! (looking at my father) Right, dad?”

Dad: “Yeah.. we don’t (pause).. we don’t think you are.. (air quoting) the R-word.”

Me: “Then, why am I going to special camp?”

Mum: “Look, we are your parents. We know what is best for you. Just to summarise; a) you are not up for adoption; b) you are not (hushing) the R-word. Good? Now, do you feel better my baby?”

Me: “But that was never my original concern. My question was, AM I ADOPTED?”

Mum: “I have got papers to grade, I cannot deal with this right now; (looking at my father) can you please take care of this?”

Dad: “Yeah.. yeah. On you go! I will sort this out..”

Me: “(whimpering) Dad?”

Dad: “Now look son. (thoughtfully) Do you enjoy spicy hot food?”

Me: “Yes?”

Dad: “Do you know why?”

Me: “I don’t know. I am Indian?”

Dad: “Nope. Of course not. It is a misconception. Indians are more genetically prone to have ‘peptic ulcer’ than most other racial communities in the world. It is demonstrably incorrect to assume Indian food is spicy hot. What is more accurate is.. Indian food is simply.. (with pride) ‘spicy!’. (spelling out) i.e.? We are the best in the world when it comes to flavours in our diet!”

Me: “I don’t get it.”

Dad: “Can you list out all the meals that your (a bit loud, enough for my mum to hear from the kitchen table) BEAUTIFUL MOTHER ... has been cooking all this week?”

Me: “Well, yesterday we had Palak Paneer (Cottage Cheese with Minced Spinach Gravy), day before Gobi Aloo (Curried Cauliflower and Potato)  and Tadka daal (Spiced lentil soup); before that, Bhindi Masala (Okhra in spicy gravy)? The day before that..”

Dad: “Nope. There you go.. I mean, well done. You got the first two correct. But, no Bhindi my friend. It was Baingan bharta (mashed Aubergine with herbs) and vegetable stew.”

Me: “Oh. Yeah. (confused)”

Dad: “You take it lightly my friend but this a fortune not everybody is lucky to have. (he continued) You. Are. Getting. Freshly cooked, delicious meal every single night for your dinner and every night it is different!”

Me: “Okay..”

Dad: “Meaning, you are not having the same garbage some of your friends have, EVERY NIGHT!”

Me: “Well.. my best friend’s muuuu..(interrupted)”

Dad: “..I would not finish that sentence, if I were you.”

Me: “Understood, sir.”

Dad: “Now, what I was saying... “

Me: “Why do I enjoy spicy hot food more than an average gassy Indian men...”

Dad: “Well put (high-five-ing).. and not just enjoy, you can TOLERATE it better also.”

Me: “Is that my superpower?”

Dad: “No! That shit will kill you someday. But you’re 7 now. Anything you eat is simply a blessing, really. You’ll figure it out yourself in future. Hopefully after you’re 18. Depending on how the summer camp goes.”

Me: “(staring blankly)”

Dad: “The point is, you are different.”

Me: “I know! I totally, knew that! Thank you, Dad!”

Dad: “And, it is simply because Alcohol is super cheap in Srilanka.”

Me: “.. wait, what?”

Dad: “Yes! 8 years ago, your mum and I, travelling young and free in the mystical land, eating the shitty shit Srilankan food.. just chillies, really. We had been eating chillies for 10 days straight. Goes without saying, one good night, we find a cool British pub, we get super hammered and what do you know, voila! (pointing at me).”

Me: “(staring blankly)“

Dad: “Dude! You were conceived in Srilanka! That’s why you are so good in gulping chilly soup all day.”

Me: “What is ‘con seeve’, dad?”

Dad: “Well, that part comes from your mum. Not me! At least, you can breathe easier buddy. You are not adopted! Congratulations, man!”

Me: “I guess, that’s a relief. I guess, I am not adopted.”

Dad: “In theory, yes. Definitely. Not Adop..(switching on the TV).. I need to watch the news buddy, do you wanna go to your room?”

Me: “Okay, dad.”

Mum: “(oblivious to the whole discussion) Guys, I am tired. Can we order some takeaway tonight?”

[dontcallmecarrie]

Not-Fic Idea

Now, it’s been a while but I’ve seen a few The Proposal AUs, only...well, they were faithful to the original in ways that didn’t exactly sit well with me for a myriad of reasons. So, because my brain hates me and refuses to cooperate, I now have a very rough ‘what could have been’ that now wants out and here you go, something that I don’t doubt has been done before but I have yet to see it:

also inspired by several posts on tumblr I saw a while back, if I could link them I would.

So, okay. Let’s take the same basic premise, but scrap just about everything else: high-powered Character A’s visa is about to run out and the clock is ticking. 

Only, here, even if they’re getting desperate they’re not about to abuse their position to find any excuse to stay, so they’re quietly making arrangements to leave, turning in their two weeks’ notice and whatnot—much to the dismay of their friends and coworkers. 

And here’s where Character B enters the picture. 

See, in this AU, Character B is Character A’s best friend, quite possibly the person they’ve known the longest in the country, and they’re the kind of duo who act like an old married couple. As in, their friends and coworkers have a betting pool as to when they’re going to get together, because they go out on not-dates on a regular basis and are so sickeningly in love it’s enough to give everyone in the office cavities— that kind of duo. 

The ‘these two idiots have been mutually pining for years and neither will make a damn move’ kind of duo, because Character B’s dating life is borderline nonexistent [he keeps bailing on dates because of work/ said dates can see the writing on the wall whenever he’s in the same room as Character A], and won’t make a move because he respects A’s dedication to their work. Meanwhile, Character A’s been married to their work since Day One [again, high-powered workaholic here, whose strongest relationship is with Character B], and if they dive into work a bit more whenever Character B has a new significant other, well, that’s a coincidence. 

So, when word gets out about Character A about to leave the country, well. 

Character A invites Character B out for drinks/a meal/ a movie/ etc one last time, and the more the evening progresses, the more Character B realizes that the prospect of Character A’s leaving is something that fills him with dread— and here’s where things go off the rails. 

For ultimate rom-com-ness, have Character B’s family quietly pressuring him to find someone, and have it come up that evening while these two are talking.

Cue impromptu marriage proposal that has both parties thinking the other’s only doing it because of convenience: Character A’s convinced B doesn’t see them that way and could do better, meanwhile B is quietly thinking��‘well even if they won’t ever love me like I do them, this is good enough’. 

Here’s the punchline: when the announcement goes out, everyone buys it.

These two have been So Married for so long, the main reactions are a mix between “oh, congratulations!” and “oh gdi I owe Katie $20 now, I had you guys down for three weeks ago thanks for nothing you jerks.” When officials start looking into the veracity of their marriage, what they get is basically a well-curated PowerPoint about how these two are made for each other. 

The diner down the street remembers the two regulars fondly because they tip well, the barista thinks the couple who know each other’s orders are sweet, and the Facebook timelines have over three years’ worth of these two just being sickeningly adorable. A quick look at their respective apartments show that there’s two toothbrushes and a change of clothes in each place [because Character A would semiregularly work overtime with Character B going over the latest business proposal to where they’d both end up crashing on the couch afterwards, but shh]—you get the picture.

So, to sum up: we’ve got the makings of a fake marriage, feat. mutual pining and these two idiots just dying inside because this is everything they’d ever wanted but they’re both convinced they are holding the other person back. 

The tension grows as the wedding day gets closer, as more and more preparations are made and discussions are had. Character B’s family really amps up the pressure, because while they’ve bought the act completely [”so you’re the person my son/grandson/etc has been talking so much about! Welcome to the family!”], they’re also already talking about kids and other stuff that has both of them feeling awkward. For even more rom-com-ness, have an ex or two show up— maybe a ‘hey, B, don’t you remember how good we were together? Want to try again?’ or ‘oh. Nice to meet the person he was so hung up about, fyi you’re why I broke up with B’ or ‘ugh. B, you could do better’, which could ratchet up either the angst or uncertainty depending on the situation. 

Have the pressure just build up more and more, until it’s like the night before the wedding and they’re supposed to be having their bachelor/bachelorette parties, only...well, in true rom-com fashion, important discoveries are made, and it’s just too much for Character A. 

They ditch their party, and are gearing up to call off the wedding because they can’t do this, can’t chain down someone they care about when Character B could do so much better— and find Character B, drunk and recently run away from his own bachelor’s party. 

Cue the big reveal, feat. “I know you don’t love me that way” and “you deserve better” and whatnot as these two idiots finally get their act together. 

From there, I can see this going one of two ways:

Either they spend the night together and are beaming as they go through with the wedding, ecstatic now that they’re on the same page and somehow even more sickeningly sweet that before if at all possible, 

or,

they elope, simple as that, and everyone lives happily ever after or something I guess.

...I think you can tell where I ran out of steam. 

tl;dr: The Proposal AU with several tropes switched around—might use this as a basic outline for a fic [but no promises bc I’m struggling with my WIPs as is]

#fic ideas #fic idea #My writing #thinking aloud #behind the scenes mini fic #my brain did a thing #Naught rambles #3 am musings

[c0wgurlz]

~engagement rings my dude~

“I need you to come out with me for a bit,” Grayson is teetering in the doorway of Emma’s studio, not daring to walk into the organized chaos just yet as he shoves his hands in his pockets, his face uneasy as he awaits her answer.

“I’m working, Gray,” Emma hums, not even looking up from her work as she pulls a dress carefully from under the foot of the sewing machine, reaching for her scissors to cut it free from the threads hold.

“It’s important,” Grayson argues, voice shaking slightly now as he takes another cautious step further into the studio.

“Can’t be as important as this deadline I’m working on. I swear it’ll be the death of–”

“I’m asking Erin to marry me,”

“You what?! Ow! Fuck!” Emma yelps as she unwittingly snips her finger, frowning as she rips her hand away from the dress to avoid staining it with her own blood.

Grayson winces and pads awkwardly over to Emma, his thoughts obviously elsewhere.

“Are you serious, Grayson? You can’t joke about shit like that!” Emma is wide eyed and petulant as she stares up at her best friends boyfriend–her boyfriend’s brother.

Grayson nods without any hesitation, biting the inside of his cheek with such force that he snaps his teeth back from the pain.

Emma sighs, a sob immediately crawling its way up her throat, and Grayson isn’t sure if it’s because she’s just cut the tip of her finger open with scissors, or because she’s elated over his news.

“Oh my gosh, Gray,” Emma coos, hands going to cover her mouth as her eyes quickly begin to water, immediately standing and pulling him into a tight hug.

“I’m so happy for you. Congratulations,” Emma’s practically soaking Grayson’s shirt with her tears at this point, which makes him laugh and rub her shoulder blade gently.

“Don’t say congratulations, she hasn’t said yes yet!” He chuckles, pulling back and smirking as Emma wipes her tears shamelessly.

She hesitates, glaring at Grayson before rolling her eyes. “You’re insane if you think that she won’t say yes. She’s been waiting for you to propose since the day you met,”

Grayson tries his best not to show the cocky smirk thats inching its way onto his face, because he knows that Emma is right. He knows that Erin’s in love with him, and he’s known ever since that first day on their road trip back 2 years ago that she is the only one for him.

Instead, he licks the corner of his lip, shaking his head at his friend. “So, are you going to help me out, or not?”

-

“Oh! Look at this one!” Emma gasps into a whisper as she points into the counter at a sparkling ring with a rock almost as big as her fist, her eyes wide as saucers as she admires the intimidatingly beautiful ring.

“This is the one I want,” she hums under her breath, mostly to herself, as she studies the sparkle in the princess cut diamond from the lights above.

Ethan eyes his girlfriend with a nervous stomach, observing her nose practically pushed up against the glass and the gleam in her eye like a kid at the aquarium seeing the sea turtles for the first time.

“C’mon, we’re not looking for you,” Ethan deduces, gesturing his head over to Grayson’s place at the counter opposite them, his frame hunched over the counter as he too studied all the rings before him.

Emma chewed on the inside of her cheek, throwing one last glance over at the ring before letting Ethan lead her back to Grayson.

“What about this one?” Grayson pushes a beefy finger against the glass, leaving a mucky fingerprint as he singles out a sky blue circle cut ring on a studded gold band.

Emma immediately cringes, shoving his hand away from the spot and shaking her head. “No. Absolutely not,”

Grayson’s brow furrows, perplexed with Emma’s reaction. “What? She likes blue!”

“Doesn’t mean that she wants to wear blue on her finger forever! She won’t like that,” Emma confirms with him, eyes scanning over the contents of the counter as the trio walked down the line, stopping when something caught their eye.

“Have you thought about how you’re going to propose?” Ethan interjects, hands shoved in his pockets as his eyes awkwardly scan over the rings before him.

Grayson sighs, shifting on his feet as he gives it some thought. “A little. I mean, I know she wants something simple. Nothing too dramatic. Maybe–”

“You should do it in the Bronco,” Emma interrupts, eyes full of security as she nods at Grayson.

“What do you–I mean, we’ve already done it in the Bronco. Many, many times, but–” Grayson chuckles out bashfully.

“Gross, no. I mean, you should propose in the Bronco. That’s where you first told her you love her, right? Take her back out on that road trip. Redeem the last one and propose to her that way,” Emma suggests as if she had had the idea stored in the back of her mind for a rainy day.

The twins both stare at her perplexed, Grayson interested on how she was able to come up with such a perfect concept on the fly.

“That–That’s sort of perfect, how did you think of that?” He’s narrowing his eyes and preparing for her to reveal that she can see the future or something just as absurd.

“I’m a hopeless romantic. It’s ground into my soul,” Emma smirks, Grayson quirking an eyebrow at his brother as Ethan glares at him begrudgingly to knock it off, the three turning their attention back to the task at hand.

“What is a princess cut? I think she likes that,” Grayson hums, chewing on his lip in thought as he reviews a stand-up chart placed atop the counter that dissected each diamond cut specifically.

“She doesn’t mind them. Her favourite is oval, though,” Emma reminds Grayson, pointing to the oval shape on the chart so he was sure of what he was looking for.

“Are you sure? I thought she said she wanted something more square with a gold band. Oh! A gold band! I know she wants that for sure. She says silver is tacky,” Grayson smiles in accomplishment, happy that he remembered at least one characteristic that Erin was looking for in a ring.

Emma ignores Grayson’s discovery as she strides past him, looking further down the counter before stopping with a sudden gasp.

Grayson’s head whips over immediately. “What?”

“This is it, this is it! This has to be it,” Emma is jabbing a finger at the glass and cooing as if she was just presented with a brand new puppy.

“Did you want to see it?” An employee standing on the opposite side of the counter inquires, Emma nodding eagerly back at her as she slips the ring from beneath the glass.

Emma waves Grayson over to the ring and he pads over excitedly, his stomach dropping when he lays eyes on it.

It was perfect.

A medium sized white oval diamond sat cushioned in the center of a thin gold band, sparkling in the daylight and making Grayson’s head spin with excitement.

“Woah,” Grayson grunted as he takes the band from Emma’s hand and inspects the rock, relating it to the full moon that was on full display in the deep night sky the moment that he had first revealed to Erin that he was in love with her.

The simplicity of the ring was such a juxtaposition to her chaotic and eccentric personality that it made Grayson smile just at the thought of seeing it perched upon her dainty finger.

“So? What do you think?” Emma asked, breaking Grayson from his thoughts.

All he could do was nod in response for a moment, chewing on the inside of his lip as he decided on his words.

“It’s perfect,” he croaked out, hardly being able to hide the fact that his eyes were most definitely filling with tears, and his stomach was in his throat at the prospect of finally asking the one woman he loved to spend the rest of her life with him.

Emma pouted, reaching out a hand and rubbing down Grayson’s spine gently, locking eyes with Ethan as he did the same.

“Gray?” Emma asked gently, leaning into him as he stood hunched over the display case, wiping tears from his eyes furiously.

“You good?”

Grayson sniffled, nodding, not taking his eyes off the ring.

“I just love it–her. I just love her. I can’t believe this is happening, fuck,” Grayson has to laugh at himself. It wasn’t often that he got moved to the point of tears, but the fact that Erin may soon be making him the happiest man on the face of the earth was a lot to handle for him.

His heart swelled with joy at the prospect of actually pulling of Emma’s idea–re-imagining their first disastrous roadtrip with a romantic twist, a vacation so perfect that there will be so many moments that he is able to pop out the ring and propose on the spot. Taking Erin back to California and ending it all where it first started sounded more than perfect in his mind.

“Wow, I’m a good ring picker. Should probably get a job here,” Emma smirks with the employee as Grayson finally tears his eyes away from the ring to look at his brother.

Giving Ethan a simple nod, Grayson knows immediately that this is the one, deciding almost as easily as when he knew he wanted to marry Erin.

Grayson smiles at the employee, reaching out to return the sample ring to her.

“I think I’ll take this one,” he concludes.

“Beautiful choice. What size? I’ll see if we have one on hand,” she offers, gesturing to the back room.

Grayson’s mind goes blank. How in the hell could he forget to get Erin’s ring size?

Ethan groans from beside him. “Are you serious, bro? You literally don’t know her fucking ring size?”

“It’s 6,” Emma smiles at the employee, gaining a nod of approval before she heads off in search of the ring.

Grayson and Ethan both frown at Emma’s knowledge, practically scratching their heads in curiosity.

“Why do you know everything? I mean–I’m not complaining. You just made everything so much easier for me,” Grayson chuckles lightly, hooking an arm around Emma’s shoulder and pulling her into a side hug of thanks.

“She’s my best friend. I just know these things,” Emma smiles, looking between the two boys with pride in her eyes.

“What? So you guys–I don’t know, talk about this stuff a lot?” Ethan is sweating bullets, shifting nervously from foot to foot.

“Well, yeah. Kind of,” Emma admits with an awkward giggle, giving Grayson a sideways glance as Ethan gulps.

“Got one!” The employee is bounding back to the trio with joy, ring held securely in one hand and ring box in the other.

She let’s Grayson look over the ring once more and the three of them conclude that it is indeed perfect.

“Excellent! I will wrap this up for you, and I can help you purchase it just over there,” she points to the other end of the store and Grayson nods.

The three make jokes about Grayson’s tears as the trail languidly over to pay.

“So. You ready? Feel real yet?” Emma is practically bursting at the seams with excitement still, wanting Grayson to propose tonight if he could, just so she and Erin could gush over it immediately.

Grayson has a slow and lazy smile on his face as he nods, butterflies in his stomach on a constant spin as he pictures the moment he slides the ring onto Erin’s finger.

“So real. So ready. I’m getting married,”

submitted by: @hmmmethan

#I can't get over this one emma #i wanna cry every time #i write #except #emma writes #submission

[guidanceofficer-fr]

Astral Discoveries

Prompt: Space-themed lore!

I decided to actually focus on the stars for once.

Summary: A troubled flight controller of the Baikonur Spaceflight Agency contemplates the importance of his role. A stranger from the Starfall Aisles helps him deal with grief after two cosmonauts died on his control team’s watch.

Warnings: Extensive discussions of death, guilt & spaceflight disaster. Also, very long. I’m sorry, mobile users. (It’ll read-more on reblogs, I swear!)

@fr-community

Clear skies were a rare treat in the Shifting Expanse. They came only once a month, or every two months, if at all for a whole season. The breaks in stormy weather were traditionally a time for Lightning dragons to cram in as much outdoor labor as possible, while they weren't under the constant taunting of the stormy sky. Though there were no electrons hopping busily from atom to atom in the few clouds above, the dragons who harnessed them were busy far below making their own sparks of creative magic happen. Even dragons working desk jobs like Pathfinder felt the rush of the sunny swells; as projects were completed quicker down at the Launch Base, the demand on the workers in Mission Operations grew too.

But Pathfinder had no urge to rush now, under a clear starry sky. He'd been rushing for the past seven months to keep up with a tight schedule from the Spire. The whole agency had. It was an old story: the Stormcatcher needed things done /now,/ so people cut corners to get the work done. He'd notice, after all, if you faked a few figures. So the work had to be done honestly, and fast. But quality takes time, time the Baikonur Spaceflight Agency hadn't had. They all rushed like workers under sunny skies to complete the newest crewed spacecraft and the systems that would support it. Hasted decisions were made; "it'll have to do" became the unofficial motto in all the Agency's divisions, adopted by dragons who didn't have time to relax, to think deeply and thoroughly about the problems they'd been given, and solve them in the best manner. Everyone knew if they'd pulled off the mission, it would be a miracle.

But miracles don't exist in Lightning. The sky strikes wherever the land beneath it is vulnerable. If you leave yourself exposed, you're struck. Miracles don't save you. Preperation does.

That day at work had been the hardest day of Pathfinder's entire career. There are no words to describe the feeling in your bones as you watch a rocket explode eighty seconds into its launch. Dragonkind, for all its ingenious, couldn't invent a language capable of describing the inescapable sickness of watching a vessel of hope--a physical testament to the dreams and work of an entire world of dragons--turn into an atom bomb, shaking the windows of the blockhouse with a terrifying force, obliterating the poor crew within. There was nothing in Pathfinder's lexicon that could describe the horrifying beauty of cracking a firework in the dawn on the high desert, the blinding light which cleansed Sonrieth briefly of the unforgivable sin of incompetent engineering, an angel of probability, judge of Murphy's law, carrying out its awesome duty to smite down any vehicle vulnerable to its own flaws. It paralyzed him, even now, to remember that day.

And yet, in the moment, Pathfinder had been anything but paralyzed. The holy fire had cleansed him of any emotion, and all that was left was cold, dead precision. It became an obsession, checking over the logs for any funnies in his own console, then moving to help his more paralyzed team members process the information while it was still fresh in their minds. He'd been given congratulations (or, more accurately, been acknowledged) for how his actions helped out his team. In the moment, he'd performed the best he could have.

Doing his best work wasn't a comforting feeling anymore. Doing his best work hadn't saved two starry-eyed cosmonauts. No. The agency had been unprepared. And he was a part of that agency, meaning part of that guilt lay on him. He wished he'd had some of the experiences of the military types in the control center, who had trained with the Air Force before being transferred to Baikonur. At least they had some experience with mortality. Comparatively, Pathfinder had lived a sheltered life, teaching at computer museums and studying software engineering.

Then again, he shared a space with people who'd worked with test pilots, not all of whom came back. They hadn't seemed any less shocked than he was. But what did he know? Social cues were the last thing he was looking for when he was stressed.

"They're beautiful, aren't they?"

It took Pathfinder a moment to realize someone had spoken to him. When he did, it startled him, and he froze and turned an ear to the speaker.

"The- The stars, I mean. You guys must not get to see them much from out here."

Pathfinder nodded. He wanted to speak, but a pain in his throat told him when his voice came out it would be unstable.

The dragon behind him was silent for an awkward portion of time. Pathfinder wondered if he was waiting for a response. He didn't quite understand what he was supposed to say, though, other than a note of affirmation... It wasn't worth revealing how shaky his voice was feeling just to add a "yes." Still, though, the stranger stayed silent, so he closed his eyes and beckoned his courage to speak. Just when he was about to, though, he heard the other dragon's voice again:

"If it's alright, I'd like to sit with you."

Pathfinder gulped to keep his emotions from getting the better of him. "Yes. That's alright."

He heard motion behind him, and a fairly large Imperial lay on all fours next to him. Without waiting for another word from Pathfinder, he spoke again. This time, he was softer, about as soft as an Imperial could hope to be. "They called us all out from the other launchpad in the Aisles. My flight came in a few hours ago. I don't- I don't know what to say."

Pathfinder's voice was barely a whisper. "Me neither."

He was tempted to introduce himself, but he stayed quiet. An introduction to another Agency member would mean reciting his title as Guidance Operations Officer and Software Engineer for Baikonur Mission Operations, and MO wasn't something he wanted to think about right now.

"Thiore sure is bright tonight."

Pathfinder nodded, though he wasn't sure how the other dragon knew the fifth planet from the sun apart from the other stars in the sky. "Hmm."

As if reading his mind, he shifted his weight to point. "She's the bright one up there," he said. "The one just to the- to the left of that lightning tower to the northeast."

"Interesting. I thought planets didn't twinkle."

He couldn't see his companion, but he practically feel the expression change. "Twinkling has nothing to with whether it's a star or a planet. See- see, it has to do with- with the atmosphere. The atmosphere distorts the light from the star, or the object, so planets appear to twinkle too."

"Well, I stand corrected."

"Don't- don't feel bad about it. I've heard that same question from plenty of other smart dragons."

He smiled, and Pathfinder could hear it. He considered that a fair response, and didn't feel a need to add anything else to the conversation.

The pair lay under the stars for hours. It was hard for Pathfinder to fully relax; he was used to being on top of everything, or trying his hardest to be on top of everything, needing to know exactly where the spacecraft was and everything that could be pushing it off course. It was why he worked with a team to start with. No one person could handle that task without other dragons there to process data and hand it to him to use, and they needed his information as much as he did. So everything was a conversation, every little funny, every speck of error... and every number in the trajectory of a broken spacecraft that led the Range Safety Officer to explode the remains of a decapitated rocket before it hurtled down towards the town miles downrange.

"I- This is- This is an odd question... I'm not sure how to phrase it..."

Another awkward silence passed. He figured he couldn't complain, considering he could barely talk at the moment himself.

"Do you think they're up there?"

He turned his head. "Who?"

"The cosmonauts."

It hit Pathfinder like a brick to hear those two words. He felt a painful lump in his throat that he didn’t know was there. He shut his eyes quickly, trying to keep hot tears from rolling down his face. He wasn’t about to sob in front of a colleague. It had never happened, and it wasn’t going to happen today.

“I can’t think of anywhere else for them to be, can you?”

He heard a sigh next to him, as if it took physical labor to bring words to his comrade’s lips.

“No. I- I can’t.”

The wetness of tears on his eyes felt cold in the desert evening.

“And you know what?”

Pathfinder didn’t turn his head, fearing his tears were more visible than he wanted them to be. “Hmm?”

“I think- I think-” He sighed. “I think they’d want us to keep trying.”

He felt a grin form on his lips. He blinked, trying to keep tears in, but he felt one on his cheek.

“I think that’s a good guess.”

“No… You see… They didn’t die because they wanted to give up. They died because they were as determined as we were to get up there and touch the stars.”

“And we rushed them,” Pathfinder almost spat out. “We were too caught up in the stars, we didn’t focus on what we could have done down here-”

“We did what we could, and-”

“But we didn’t!”

Pathfinder’s breath was heavy. He was whispering, but with such force his words were practically a hiss. “We didn’t do what we could! We did shoddy work, and now two innocent cosmonauts are dead! While you guys were out-” He gasped- “While you guys were out at Tereshkova launching tracking satellites, we worked our asses off to keep up with deadlines that we knew we couldn’t meet! We knew we weren’t ready, and now two dragons-”

He stopped himself. He’d never thrown a tantrum at work before. But he’d never had blood on his hands, either. He didn’t know how to wash it off.

The air was silent. A satellite passed by somewhere up above. Pathfinder focused his vision on it. He wondered if he could judge the height of the object by how fast it was orbiting. But he’d already missed when it crossed over the horizon; there was no use counting how long it took to cross over the other. Ah, well. He kept his eyes fixed on it. It was like a miracle, he realized, all the work it took to put that thing up there, that it even bothered to stay.

Was that what he was supposed to be? A miracle worker?

“... I think you’re right to be angry, and I think they’d think so too.”

He sighed. “You think?”

“Well, I- I can tell that you have a lot of passion for what you do, even if you don’t want to talk about it. And I don’t know you, but out in the Aisles, well, we don’t ignore things like that. We channel our passion. That’s why Arcane dragons can be so intent on being dreamers. They use those dreams.”

“So what, am I supposed to dream of cosmonauts not being dead?”

“No, I- Listen. Passion doesn’t have to be a dream. It just has to energize you. It has to be enough to wake you up in the evening, or the morning, if you wake up then. It has to be the driving force behind what you do. You need to let it invigorate you, let it ignite the breath inside of you.

“What I’m saying is, I think it’s good that you’re so angry and regretful. In Arcane, we don’t throw that away. We use that anger to remind us to do better.”

Pathfinder nodded. “So I have to feel it fully, so I remember that I never want to feel it again.”

His companion was silent.

“Well… Something like that.”

Pathfinder lay in contemplation for a few moments. It was late, and perhaps it was getting to him; while he thought he’d been contemplated, he’d been thinking of nothing at all. He watched the stars pass above, and realized he’d been watching a constellation get closer and closer to the horizon for the past… god, what time was it? He’d better get back to his dorm; the last thing he needed was to be sleepless during the next weeks’ briefings. He was barely prepared as is. Sleeplessness wouldn’t help.

He stood up and brushed off his feathers. But before he left, he turned to the stranger.

“Thank you for talking with me.”

The Imperial’s eyes were still fixed upwards, searching the skies for lost wanderers of the cosmos.

“It was no trouble at all.”

As he headed back to his dorm, Pathfinder felt a strange sense of ease about him. He wasn’t at ease at all; on the contrary, he was still turning the events of the past few weeks over and over in his mind. But he knew he wasn’t wrong in doing so.

Starting tomorrow, he’d be sure he and his colleagues were exacting in their work. They would be slow and methodical, and refuse to proceed to the final steps of a launch until they were sure that their data was nominal. They would design and construct all the devices necessary for a launch with excessive care, leaving no room for dragonmade error in their work. They would leave as little up to the hands of fate as possible; Murphy was too harsh a judge to trust with cargo as precious as life. When the crew climbed the gantries and strapped themselves into their capsules, he wanted them to know their lives weren’t in the hands of fate, but in the claws of the dragons who’d welded its seams and sottered its avionics, and the few who watched over the craft’s telemetry with care at the launch site and back at Baikonur Mission Control.

He’d wronged those first cosmonauts, and he knew they’d want him to right things again, so no more would die as they had. It was Pathfinder’s duty to ensure that; the stars themselves had told him.

#lore #my lore #flight rising #flightrising #fr #this is super sad jsyk

[irrepressiblecourage]

What We Shared

This is a Serah/Noel fanfiction I suddenly felt the urge to write. English isn’t my native language, so I apologize in advance for any mistakes I might end up making. Summary: What the two of them shared was real, intimate, beautiful. Their story had been one of adventure, of many trials, of discovery, but above all else, of preparing to dive into each other's soul. Serah found in Noel what being truly alive meant, what letting go and trusting the process of life was all about. She found freedom in him. He found happiness in her. Rating: M Relationship: Serah x Noel Chapter One: There's no one here Her sister's been gone for three years now. No one seems to remember her being there when Cocoon was crystallized and everyone was saved, not even Snow, who actually received his sister-in-law's blessing, seems to recall that actually happening. Serah had never felt so alone as she did in the years that followed the end of life on Cocoon and the construction of settlements on Pulse. Pretty much everyone just assumed that her remembering things incorrectly was yet another side-effect of being made a l'Cie and spending time in a crystal slumber, same as still being able to somewhat use magic after awakening.Except that the others had been in the same situation as her. Snow, Hope, Sazh, even Dajh, they had all been made l'Cie and eventually turned to crystal, although, to be fair, only Dajh spent nearly as much time as her in crystal stasis. Nevertheless, not one of them had any recollection of Lightning being alive after the unleashing of Ragnarok. She tried for God knows how long to reason with her friends, to explain how her memories couldn't have been wrong, how they simply couldn't be just another side-effect of being a fal'Cie pawn, how Lightning had seem to overcome her issues with her wedding, how she even said congratulations to them. But try as she might, no one shared her memories, and time was moving forward, things needed to be done, more urgent matters called for their attention, and soon everyone ended up not having time nor energy to pay attention to Serah's reasoning and sorrow. They needed to find a new place to live, build houses from scratch, take care of provisions, watch over the children, establish some sort of order now that the fal'Cie rule had come to an end. There was no time to wallow on the past, no time for sadness or doubt, and since Serah couldn't bear being a burden to anyone, she soon decided to keep her pain and musings to herself and help on the construction of their brand new home. The first year after the fall had obviously been the hardest and longest. Everything was new, the land, the weather which they couldn't control anymore, the monsters that would show up every single day in the beginning to threaten them and ruin a house or two, and even the people. You can't expect to survive the destruction of your civilization and remain the same person inside. People were scared in the beginning, they had to learn how to fend for themselves, how to depend on each other and not on godly deities. Some were even scared of the former l'Cies, still oblivious to the whole truth behind the events that brought about the destruction of their planet.There were many trials to be overcome, many skills to be learned, and the l'Cie group eventually disbanded. Sazh and Dajh headed for the main town that was being built on the base of the crystal pillar. Hope had decided to remain with Snow, Serah and the rest of the NORA gang at first, helping out at New Bodhun. He was great with science and numbers, a true "geek", as Snow had affectionately called him, and eventually, encouraged by nearly everyone, he decided to move to the main town as well, seeing as someone like him would be extremely valuable in the construction of their new society. After the first year, time seemed to speed up, and things were beginning to look up again. They opened a new cafe where Lebreau was obviously the head chef, cooking the same old NORA special that everyone loved. Snow and Gadot were in charge of security, Maqui was the one taking care of the machinery and Yuj, being your regular jack of all trades, would offer help wherever it was needed. Back on Cocoon, Serah was supposed to get married and go to university in Eden, it was as if her whole future had already been planned and decided for her, but after everything that's happened, for the first time in her life, she found herself lost, without the slightest idea of what she should actually do. It was during one of their weekly meetings that the rest of the NORA members suggested that she took up teaching. "You've always been great with children, and now that the major issues have been taken care of, they need to pick up their studies where they've left off." explained Lebreau, and for a moment Serah was surprised to hear those words. She had never realized she had a knack for dealing with children, but apparently everyone seemed to think so. When she asked for a reason, they simply said that it's because she's always seemed so sweet and caring. That's always been the way everyone perceived her, as a sweet, gentle girl, almost angelic. Back then she was still oblivious as to why that perception seemed to bother her, but she agreed to take responsibility for the children's education nonetheless. She was undeniably good with them, and even though sometimes she would have to deal with the ever annoying "meanie miss Farron" chanting, she actually ended up loving taking care of them. So many issues had demanded their attention in the past years that the idea of getting married seemed to have completely vanished from Snow's mind. He had always enjoyed being the leader, making himself useful and becoming a hero to those in need, and the perfect opportunity had presented itself when Cocoon had ended. For Serah, however, that wasn't the case. Sure, she had been worried about their situation and the future of humanity, and for a while the idea of marriage had to be postponed. But now it's been nearly three years, everyone was doing fine, they had a new place to call home and people seemed to have accepted their new lifestyle, so what was standing in the way? She couldn't help but wonder, and the question was a persistent one, presenting itself daily, especially during dinner time, when every NORA member would gather together at their house to share a meal. Snow would always sit at the head of the table and ramble on and on about the major events that happened that day during one of his and Gadot's adventures. They always sat close to each other, and sometimes they would exchange looks and smiles while he put his hand on hers, but that was all. Then the whole gang would help clean things up, talk some more and eventually everyone would go to bed. For some reason, Snow and her slept in separate rooms, despite having actually slept together several times back when they lived in Cocoon. At the beginning she shared the smaller bedroom of the house with Lebreau, whereas the four guys got the bigger one for themselves, but she had always assumed that would be temporary, that eventually Snow and her would get married and move to their own little house. That, of course, never happened.Every morning before work they would talk over breakfast. Snow usually left earlier, so their conversations were often rushed, with him getting off his chair saying "well, duty calls", kissing her on the forehead and yelling at Gadot for taking too long to get ready.Everything seemed fine on the outside, and yet nothing really was. People seemed to be doing okay, to be enjoying their new lives, and a small part of her was actually happy that things turned out well for everyone. But most of the time Serah felt confused and alone, constantly asking herself how she could keep on living this lie, how she could bring herself to carry on when her sister wasn't there, especially after all that Lightning had done for her. It usually didn’t take long for the guilt to show its ugly face too, making her see herself as a horrible selfish person. She knew she should be thankful that she had survived, that they all had been granted a miracle and a second chance at life, and that was precisely why she was always seen smiling, why she was always kind and sweet to everyone. She had long given up on bothering everyone else with her problems, it seemed to be easier that way, seemed to be the mature thing to do. Eventually Snow must've picked up on what was going on inside her mind and heart, for one day, out of the blue, he called her out to the pier they all had built nearly three years ago, just like the original one they had in Bodhum. "I know you've been miserable, and I know you've been trying to hide it for quite a while now." he said, looking her straight in the eyes. He was still wearing his trademark bandana, and the breeze coming from the sea played softly with the loose strands of his hair. "Yes, and you probably already know why I feel that way, and you know there really isn't anything that can be done about it. Things have finally begun to look up again, I don't want to ruin what we've worked so hard to build." "You've always been like that, Serah, always putting everyone else's needs before your very own, and I admire that in you, truly, I do. But if you keep that up for too long, especially under the current circumstances, you'll break eventually." His eyes were full of concern, and she knew he spoke the truth. She knew how dangerous it could be to suppress your feelings for too long. Yet she couldn't bring herself to let everyone know that she still hadn't given up on Lightning, that she still believed her sister was alive somewhere. "I'll be fine. I've got you and everyone else by my side. There's nothing to worry about." She forced a smile, a bright one at that. They were her own trademark, though since the fall of Cocoon, most of them had been fake. She had become so good at faking smiles that no one could tell the real from the fake ones, not even her fiancé."I know you will, that's why I've come to talk to you. I'm leaving, Serah." Well, as professional as she might be, no smile could've survived that. Her eyes widened. "Excuse me?" Leaving to do what, exactly? Leaving on another hunting mission with Gadot and the boys? Leaving the town for a few days? Leaving her for good? "I'm leaving to try to find Lightning." he quickly explained, seeing her shocked expression."Lightning? But isn't she in the crystal pillar with Fang and Vanille? You and everyone else kept telling me that for the past three years." Anger was beginning to stir inside her. What is this all of a sudden? Three years telling her to accept her sister's "death", and now he's decided to actually believe her? "Yes, but I can't bear to see you like miserable like that. I have to do something to fix it, to make you happy again. Besides, I can't seem to be able to shake the feeling that something about this whole story stinks. I want to get to the bottom of this, and bring Lightning back safe and sound to you." "All right, I'm going with you then." "I'm sorry Serah, but there's no way I'm letting you risk your life like that. Pulse is still a dangerous place outside the settlements, you weren't with us when we explored it as l'Cie. There are vicious beasts pretty much everywhere. I couldn't bear to lose you". Ah nice. The famous "you weren't with us so you don't know what it's like" argument. She had heard her fair share of those in the three years that followed his adventure with Lightning and the others. Sure, she didn't know what the rest of Gran Pulse was like, but she could still take care of herself. Didn't she help in the building of their own town? Didn't she help everyone find and distribute provisions? Hadn't she already proved her usefulness, if not to everyone else, at least to her own fiancé? Snow went on. "No, you stay here and watch over everyone. Be a leader in my place and keep them in line, will you?" he joked. "Besides, the children would miss you, too. You're doing so well with them, I can tell they practically adore you". His hands reached for the back of his neck and he took his engagement necklace and placed it in her hands. Now she was really confused. "Here, you hold on to this for a while. I wouldn't be able to forgive myself if I lost it. I promise I'll be back as soon as possible. Gadot and the others are helping me pack. I'm leaving tonight." he hugged her tight, the way he always used to. Tears were beginning to come forth, and her vision was blurred, but she tried her hardest to control herself. She didn't want to come undone in front of him, didn't want to give him or anyone else any more reason to worry about her. That ways six months ago. In three years, everyone had left her. For a split second after awakening from crystal slumber, she thought she had everything. Her sister, her fiancé, her friends. Now nearly all of them left. They all went away, one way or another, to live their adventures. And she was left there, waiting. Waiting for news of Snow. Waiting for her sister to come back from wherever she was. Waiting for a visit from Hope or Sazh. But none of them ever came. The one who actually came was someone new. Someone she wasn't expecting. But in the end, he turned out to be exactly what she needed.

#serah farron #noel kreiss #noerah #final fantasy #final fantasy xiii #final fantasy xiii-2 #fanfiction #noerah fanfiction #serah x noel #noel x serah #noel/serah #serah/noel #romance

[trickormemes]

Ratatouille sentence starters

124 starters feel free to change gender pronouns ‘read-more’ added for length content warning: alcohol mention

“The best food in the world is made in France. The best food in France is made in Paris.”

“I, on the other hand, take cooking seriously. And no, I don’t think anyone can do it.”

“I think it’s apparent I need to rethink my life a little bit.”

“Woah, woah, woah, don’t eat that!”

“Now, don’t you feel better, _____? You’ve helped a noble cause.”

“It isn’t stealing if no one wants it.”

“If no one wants it, why are we stealing it?”

“Let’s just say we have different points-of-view.”

“If you are what you eat, then I only wanna eat the good stuff.”

“Food is fuel. You get picky about what you put in the tank, your engine is gonna die.”

“Look, if we’re going to be thieves, why not steal the good stuff in the kitchen, where nothing is poisoned?”

“Good food is like music you can taste, color you can smell.”

“There is excellence all around you. You need only be aware to stop and savor it.”

“Each flavor was totally unique. But combine one flavor with another, and something new was created.”

“Come on, you’re good at hiding food. Help me find a good place to put this.”

“He doesn’t understand me, but I can be myself around him.”

“Why are you walking like that?”

“_____, there are possibilities unexplored here. We gotta cook this!”

“The key is to keep turning it. Get the smoky flavor nice and even.”

“Oh! You gotta taste this!”

“You’ve been here a million times?”

“You could fill a book, a lot of books, with things _____ doesn’t know. And they have.”

“I don’t like secrets.”

“It’s like you’re involving me in crime, and I let you. Why do I let you?”

“Great cooking is not for the faint of heart. You must be imaginative, strong-hearted.”

“And you must not let anyone define your limits because of where you come from.”

“Your only limit is your soul.”

“If you focus on what you’ve left behind, you will never be able to see what lies ahead.”

“A cook makes. A thief takes. You are not a thief.”

“Food always come to those who like to cook.”

“You are a clever rat.”

“Well, yeah, anyone can. That doesn’t mean anyone should.”

“What can I do? I am a figment of your imagination.”

“_____! What are you waiting for?”

“Is this going to become a regular thing with you?”

“The soup! Where is the soup? Out of my way!”

“Where do you get the gall to even attempt something so monumentally idiotic?”

“I should have you drawn and quartered!”

“_____, draw and quarter this man, after you put him in the duck press to squeeze the fat out of his head!”

“What are you blabbering about?”

“You’re the reason I’m in this mess.”

“What are you playing at?”

“You are either very lucky or very unlucky.”

“I think you are a sneaky, overachieving little rat!”

“I need this job. I’ve lost so many.”

“So, this is it. I mean, it’s not much, but it’s, you know… Not much.”

“Are you… Is this a dream?”

“Why not here? Why not now? What better place to dream than in [insert city]?”

“Stupid! He’s stolen food and hit the road! What did I expect?”

“Wh-a-uh—Hi. Is that for me?”

“Mmm! This is good. What did you put in this?”

“Look, I know it’s stupid and weird, but neither of us can do this alone, so we gotta do it together, right? You with me?”

“This is not gonna work, _____! I’m gonna lose it if we do this anymore!”

“Oh, would you listen to me?! I’m insane, I’m insane, I’m insane!”

“One can get too familiar with vegetables, you know.”

“One look and I knew we had the same crazy idea.”

“Wh-where are you taking me? Wait.”

“Congratulations. You were able to repeat your accidental success.”

“No! You listen. I just want you to know exactly who you are dealing with.”

“Easy to cook. Easy to eat. _____ makes Chinese food… Chine-easy.”

“I’ll make this easy to remember. Keep your station clear… or I will kill you!”

“How do you tell how good bread is without tasting it? Not the smell, not the look, but the sound of the crust. Listen. Symphony of crackle. Only great bread sounds this way.”

“I defrauded a major corporation.”

“I killed a man… with this thumb!”

“Thank you, by the way, for all the advice about cooking.”

“Don’t. You. DARE!”

“Seriously now… I’d love to have a little talk with you, _____, in my office.

“Am I in trouble?”

“I just took it to be polite. I don’t really drink, you know.”

“But you would have to be an idiot of elephantine proportion to not appreciate a ’61 Château Latour, and you, _____, are no idiot.”

“I can’t believe it! You’re alive!”

“I thought I’d never see you guys again!”

“What… are… you eating?”

“No, no, no, no, no! Spit that out right now!”

“Don’t just hork it down!”

“Now, imagine every great taste in the world being combined into infinite combinations! Tastes that no one has tried yet! Discoveries to be made!”

“I think… you lost me again.”

“What do you “have to” more than family? What’s more important here?”

“Have you ever had a pet rat?”

“Ratatouille. It’s a stew, right? Why do they call it that? If you’re gonna name a food, you should give it a name that sounds delicious. Ratatouille doesn’t sound delicious. It sounds like “rat” and “patootie.””

“Regrettably, we are all out of wine.”

“Well, the important thing is that you’re home.”

“It’s tough out there in the big world all alone, isn’t it?”

“You didn’t think I was gonna stay forever, did you?”

“Come with me. I got something I want you to see.”

“The world we live in belongs to the enemy. We must live carefully.”

“When all is said and done, we’re all we’ve got.”

“This is the way things are. You can’t change nature.”

“Change is nature, _____. The part that we can influence. And it starts when we decide.”

“I thought you were different. I thought you thought I was different, but…”

“I didn’t have to help you! If I looked out only for myself, I would have let you drown!”

“I wanted you to succeed… I liked you… My mistake.”

“It’s over, _____. I can’t do it anymore.”

“I hate false modesty. It’s just another way to lie.”

“I have a secret. It’s sort of disturbing.”

“Why is it so hard to talk to you?”

“I’m going to risk it all. I’m going to risk looking like the biggest idiot psycho you’ve ever seen.”

“This can’t just happen! The whole thing is a setup!”

“Am I seeing things? Am I crazy? Is there a phantom rat or is there not?”

“Should I be concerned about this? About you?”

“No, no, no. Try this. It’s better.”

“I was reminded how fragile it all was. How the world really saw me.”

“Where do you get your inspiration?”

“You’re slow for someone in the fast lane.”

“I don’t like food. I love it. If I don’t love it, I don’t swallow.”

“Don’t give me that look.”

“Your opinion isn’t the only one that matters here.”

“Look, I don’t wanna fight. I’ve been under a lot of, you know, pressure.”

“You know, I’ve never disappointed anyone before, because nobody’s ever expected anything of me.”

“I haven’t been fair to you. You’ve never failed me, and I should never forget that.”

“I thought you were my friend! I trusted you!”

“I’d like your heart roasted on a spit.”

“Just can’t leave it alone, can you?”

“The key, my friend, is to not be picky.”

“I’m sick of pretending.”

“I know who I am! Why do I need you to tell me?”

“I know this sounds insane, but… Well, the truth sounds insane sometimes. But that doesn’t mean it’s not… the truth.”

“The truth is, I have no talent at all.”

“Look, this works. It’s crazy, but it works.”

“_____, I… I don’t know what to say.”

“Don’t say a word. If I think about it, I might change my mind.”

“The world is often unkind to new talent, new creations. The new needs friends.”

“Not everyone can become a great artist, but a great artist can come from anywhere.”

“The only thing predictable about life is its unpredictability.”

#rp meme #roleplay meme #ask meme #inbox meme #sentence starters #ratatouille #*mine #[[ i love this movie. ]]

[northcountryprimitive]

“You Can Hear Someone’s World View Through Their Guitar.” An Interview with Josh Rosenthal of Tompkins Square Records

This interview originally appeared at North Country Primitive on 11th March 2016

Josh Rosenthal’s Tompkins Square Records, which has recently celebrated its tenth anniversary, has become somewhat of an institution for music fans, thanks to Josh’s consistent championing of American Primitive guitar, the old, weird America and various other must-hear obscurities he has managed to pluck from the ether. Not content with running one of the best record labels on the planet, he is now also an author, and about to go out on tour with various musicians from the wider Tompkins Square family in support of his new book, The Record Store of the Mind. We caught up with him this week and pestered him with a heap of questions - our thanks to Josh for putting up with us.

Congratulations on The Record Store of the Mind – it’s an absorbing and entertaining read. Has this project had a long gestation period? How easily does writing come to you - and is it something you enjoy doing? It certainly comes across that way…

Thanks for the kind words. I don’t consider myself a writer. I started the book in November 2014 and finished in May 2015, but a lot of that time was spent procrastinating, working on my label, or getting really down on myself for not writing. I could have done more with the prose, made it more artful. I can’t spin yarn like, say, your average MOJO writer. So I decided early on to just tell it straight, just tell the story and don’t labour over the prose.

I particularly like how you mix up memoir, pen portraits of musicians, and snippets of crate digger philosophy… was the book crafted and planned this way or was there an element of improvisation - seeing where your muse took you? And is there more writing to follow?

If I write another book, it’d have to be based around a big idea or theme. This one is a collection of essays. As I went on, I realised that there’s this undercurrent of sadness and tragedy in most of the stories, so a theme emerged. I guess it’s one reflective of life, just in a musical context. We all have things we leave undone, or we feel under-appreciated at times. I wasn’t even planning to write about myself, but then some folks close to me convinced me I should do. So you read about six chapters and then you find out something about the guy who’s writing this stuff. I intersperse a few chapters about my personal experience, from growing up on Long Island in love with Lou Reed to college radio days to SONY and all the fun things I did there. Threading those chapters in gives the book a lift, I think.

Tell us a bit about the planned book tour. You’ve got a mighty fine selection of musicians joining you on the various dates. I imagine there was no shortage of takers?

I’m really grateful to them all. I selected some folks in each city I’m visiting, and they all are in the Tompkins Square orbit. Folks will see the early guitar heroes like Peter Walker, Max Ochs and Harry Taussig and the youngsters like Diane Cluck, one of my favourite vocalists. You can’t read for more than ten minutes. People zone out. So having music rounds out the event and ties back to the whole purpose of my book and my label.

It’s clear from the book that you haven’t lost your excitement about uncovering hidden musical gems. Any recent discoveries that have particularly floated your boat?

I’m working with a couple of guys on a compilation of private press guitar stuff. They are finding the most fascinating and beautiful stuff from decades ago. I’ve never heard of any of the players. Most are still alive, and they are sending me fantastic photos and stories. I have been listening to a lot of new music now that Spotify is connected to my stereo system! I love Kaitlyn Aurelia Smith. Her new one is out soon. I like Charlie Hilton’s new album too.

Any thoughts on the vinyl resurgence and the re-emergence of the humble cassette tape?

Vinyl has kept a lot of indie record stores in business, which is a great development. As a label, it’s a low margin product, so that’s kind of frustrating. If you’re not selling it hand over fist, it can be a liability. The model seems to be - make your physical goods, sell them as best you can within the first four months, and then let the digital sphere be your warehouse. I never bought cassettes and have no affinity for them, or the machines that play them.

Turning to Tompkins Square, did your years working for major labels serve as a good apprenticeship for running your own label? Did you have a clear idea of what you wanted the label to look like from the outset or has the direction its taken developed organically over time?

Working for PolyGram as a teenager and then SONY for 15 years straight out of college was formative. I like taking on projects. My interests and the marketplace dictate what I do. I’ve always felt like the label does me instead of vice versa. For example, the idea of releasing two, three or four disc sets of a particular genre served me well, but now it feels like a very 2009 concept. It doesn’t interest me much, and the commercial viability of that has diminished because it seems the appetite for those types of products has diminished.

Working in relatively niche genres in the current music industry climate can’t be the safest or easiest way to make a living. Is there a sense sometimes that you’re flying by the seat of your pants?

We’re becoming a two-format industry - streaming and vinyl. The CD is really waning and so is the mp3. The streaming pie is growing but it’s modest in terms of income when you compare it to CD or download margins at their height. I don’t really pay much mind to the macro aspects of the business. I just try to release quality, sell a few thousand, move on to the next thing, while continuing to goose the catalogue. The business is becoming very much about getting on the right playlists that will drive hundreds of thousands of streams. It’s the new payola.

American Primitive and fingerstyle guitar makes up a significant percentage of Tompkins Square releases, going right back to the early days of the label – indeed, it could be said that you’ve played a pivotal role in reviving interest in the genre. Is this a style that is particularly close to your heart? What draws you to it?

Interest in guitar flows in and out of favour. There are only a small number of guitarists I actually like, and a much longer list of guitarists I’m told I’m SUPPOSED to like. Most leave me cold, even if they’re technically great. But I respect anyone who plays their instrument well. Certain players like Harry Taussig or Michael Chapman really reach me - their music really gets under my skin and touches my soul. It’s hard to describe, but it has something to do with melody and repetition. It’s not about technique per se. You can hear someone’s world view through their guitar, and you can hear it reflecting your own.

You’ve reintroduced some wonderful lost American Primitive classics to the world – by Mark Fosson, Peter Walker, Don Bikoff, Richard Crandell and so on. How have these reissues come about? Painstaking research? Happy cratedigging accidents? Serendipity? Are there any reissues you’re particularly proud of?

They came about in all different ways. A lot of the time I can’t remember how I got turned on to something, or started working with someone. Peter was among the first musicians I hunted down in 2005, and we made his first album in 40 years. I think Mark’s cousin told me about his lost tapes in the attic. Bikoff came to me via WFMU. Crandell - I’m not sure, but In The Flower of My Youth is one of the greatest solo guitar albums of all time. I’m proud of all of them !

Are there any ‘ones that got away’ that you particularly regret, where red tape, copyright issues, cost or recalcitrant musicians have prevented a reissue from happening? Any further American Primitive reissues in the pipeline you can tell us about – the supply of lost albums doesn’t seem to be showing signs of drying up yet…

Like I said, this new compilation I’m working on is going to be a revelation. So much fantastic, unknown, unheard private press guitar music. It makes you realise how deep the well actually is. There are things I’ve wanted to do that didn’t materialise. Usually these are due to uncooperative copyright owners or murky provenance in a recording that makes it unfit to release legitimately.

You’ve also released a slew of albums by contemporary guitarists working in the fingerstyle tradition. How do you decide who gets the Tompkins Square treatment?  What are you looking for in a guitarist when you’re deciding who to work with? And what’s the score with the zillions of James Blackshaw albums? Has he got dirt on you!?

It takes a lot for me to sign someone. I feel good about the people I’ve signed, and most of them have actual careers, insofar as they can go play in any US or European city and people will pay to see them. I hope I’ve had a hand in that. I did six albums with Blackshaw because he’s one of the most gifted composers and guitarist of the past 50 years. He should be scoring films. He really should be a superstar by now, like Philip Glass. I think he’s not had the right breaks or the best representation to develop his career to its full potential. But he’s still young.

Imaginational Anthems has been a flagship series for Tompkins Square from the beginning. The focus of the series seems to have shifted a couple of times – from the original mixture of old and new recordings to themed releases to releases with outside curators. Has this variation in approach been a means by which to mix it up and keep the series fresh? Are you surprised at the iconic status the series has achieved?

I don’t know about iconic. I think the comps have served their purpose, bringing unknowns into the light via the first three volumes and introducing some young players along the way. Cian Nugent was on the cover of volume 3 as a teenager. Daniel Bachman came to my attention on volume 5, which Sam Moss compiled. Sam Moss’ new album is featured on NPR just today! Steve Gunn was relatively unknown when he appeared on volume 5. There are lots more examples of that. I like handing over the curation to someone who can turn me on to new players, just as a listener gets turned on. It’s been an amazing experience learning about these players. And I’m going to see a number of IA alums play on my book tour : Mike Vallera, Sam Moss, Wes Tirey - and I invited Jordan Norton out in Portland. Never met him or saw him play. He was fantastic. Plays this Frippy stuff.

What’s next for you and Tompkins Square?

I signed a young lady from Ireland. Very excited about her debut album, due in June. I’m reissuing two early 70’s records by Bob Brown, both produced by Richie Havens. Beautiful records, barely anyone has heard them.

#josh rosenthal #tompkins square #american primitive

[mariestherapeutics]

Title: Discovery Characters: Yixing/Shifter!Reader Genre: Shifter!AU, Romance, Fluff, Slice-of-Life Word Count: 4,000 A/N: Ah, a final part, because I hate leaving things unfinished. This is continuing directly from the last chapter. -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Last time...

After a moment, you give in (again) and find yourself jumping onto the bed. He smiles softly, starting to get up to dress himself, but you climb onto his lap and hold him down. "Wha--" He blinks at you in confusion, but you pretend not to notice. If he was really that insistent on being nearly naked because it made him feel better, then you weren't going to stop him. You were, after all, leeching off of him in every way. It was the least you could do as his "pet".

Realizing you were giving him permission to sleep how he was, he suddenly wraps you in his arms and hums contentedly, catching you off guard. "Thank you, Baobei, you're so sweet." He laughs, and you fight your way out of his hold in embarrassment. He releases you, but stays close as he lays on his side, beckoning you to come back. You watch him for a moment, looking for some sign of mischief. "Come," He says gently, and you pad over to him helplessly.

Curling up at his side, you make sure to face the other direction so you're not completely panicky at his proximity. You do your best to fall asleep fast, and listening to his soft breathing, feeling his warmth, smelling his scent... it all makes you slip away faster than a snap.

Yixing wakes up, later than normal, but only briefly. He was having a bad dream and his body pulled him out of it before it got worse. He was only half awake, his brain still sleeping but his body not. He felt awfully hot, but not uncomfortably so. Someone's back was pressed against his chest, the both of them bare and their scents mingling. Yixing knows it's a girl, his nose is in her hair, his arm laying limply across her waist, their feet tangling.

Yixing was sure he still dreaming, because who would be in his bed with him? "..._____?" He murmurs in confusion, trying to identify who it was. You're the only person he went to bed with, he can remember that much, but then who..?

"Yixing.." He wants to know, to find out who, but he's just so sleepy, he's already slipping back into his dreams. He's so far away now that he can't reach out when the warmth leaves him, pulling away and leaving him with a deep emptiness.

That. Was. Too. Close.

Not only did you somehow shift back during the night, but Yixing might have figured you out. You slipped out of bed as quickly and carefully as possible, going to the kitchen to check the time. It was nearly noon, and neither of had woken up yet? He must have canceled work today without telling you, or maybe he canceled after you went to bed. In that case, it makes sense that you shifted back. You ran out of time, but now you needed to revert.

Doing so, you go back to your dog form and run around the house a little bit so stretch, then go back into the bedroom and jump onto the bed. Yixing doesn't stir, instead remaining asleep, and you lay on your paws to watch him. He was awfully beautiful, sleeping peacefully and soundly. His features were so relaxed, and if you weren't afraid of your own emotions, you would have woken him up. He did sleep in this late, after all, maybe work has exhausted him more than either of you realized.

Deciding to leave him be, you get off the bed and head for the backyard, managing to slide open the glass door and run around for a bit. His yard was relatively large and well kept, fenced off so no critters or intruders could make their way in, and certainly so no dog could make their way out, either. It made you feel secure, yet lonely. Secure because you knew that nothing in the forest behind this home would bother you, yet alone because you couldn't go anywhere but stay in the premises.

It was weird how the longer you spent time with Yixing, the more alone you felt. You've never had this problem your entire life, knowing that only you could look after yourself and no one knew what was best for you except for you. You knew the leecher's life was what you wanted; the easy way out. You're willing to selfishly live off of someone else's money and time in order to live in comfort. You were prepared to be alone.

Yet, now...

Shlunk.

You turn around and see that Yixing had closed the glass door, and was now squatting with an amused grin. You ran up to him and put your paws on the glass, asking to come back in, but he starts laughing. He opens it slightly, then shuts it again before you can put your leg in. Realizing he was playing with you, you huff in annoyance and wonder why you ever felt like you liked him.

"Aigoo~, come back!" He chuckles, finding himself too funny for the situation. He comes out the door barefoot, stepping into the grass and following you despite being only in briefs. He must have done this before in order to be so comfortable, or maybe he just never cared in the first place. "Please?? I called off work today so we could play together." He says, and you look at him in horror.

He's planning to be with you all day?

"Let's go back in, it's sort of cold out, don't you think?" He shivers, walking back in on his own but leaving the door open this time. You close it behind you with a struggle, but when you're done he congratulates you. "Mama and Baba did say you were trained." He muses, sitting on his butt by the door. "Maybe you were a blind person's dog." He wonders, petting your head in thought. You let him, telling yourself you had to get used to this treatment eventually. You couldn't just ignore him anymore, not with your growing feelings, and besides that... you sort of enjoyed it.

"Oh, I know!" He gasps, holding up his free hand's finger. You stare at it in confusion since he pauses. "You're a spy dog!" He claps his hands together and laughs when you shake your head in bemusement. Could he come up with any more stupid ideas? "No?" He questions, putting his chin in his palm to think some more. "What did that guy call it?" He purses his lip in thought, and you think he looks cute like that. You begin to put your nose on his knee, pushing it so he'd get up for breakfast, when he says, "Ah, a shape shifter."

You look up at him and bark in denial, before just walking into the kitchen yourself. He follows, a half laugh escaping him. "Not that either? Good, because if you were, I'd be mad." You pretend that doesn't bug you as much as it does, but can't really hide it from yourself when he continues. "I'd be mad because it meant you were lying to me this whole time and I never knew." Guilt washes over you, but you put your paw in your food bowl so he'd hurry up and change the subject.

He stays quiet for a bit, grabbing the bag and pouring some in for you, but when you start eating, he keeps going. "I mean, just think of it from my point of view. I welcome you into my home thinking I've maded my friend for life, I feed you, take care of you, make sure you're not alone too much... if you were a shapeshifter, then it would be pretty selfish of you to live off of my kindness." You already know all these things. He doesn't need to rub it in your face.

"And if you were a shape shifter, then that means I told all my feelings and insecurities to someone I don't even know. Do you know how upset I'd be for being deceived?" You eat your food, telling yourself you'll tune him out if he tried to make a bigger point of this, but he says no more and just watches you, sitting on the floor beside the fridge. "Or maybe you're just a dog, and I'm embarrassing myself right now." He says.

The whole day, Yixing follows you around, sometimes interacting with you a nd sometimes not. He spends a good amount of that time just observing you, and halfway through he told you it was because he was checking to see if you had any human qualities. You begin to think that maybe he's going crazy. Maybe he's always been crazy; he's been talking to you like a person this whole time, after all. In that case, should you care what he thinks?

"Yah, if I told you to go right, would you go left?" He asks, and you don't know what to do, so you stay where you are. "Go left." He points, and you obey. "Now go right." He points the other way, so you listen. After a moment, he points to the left again, but says, "Go right." Confused as to what he was trying to do, you go to the right, and you see him start to frown. Didn't you listen to him? "Stay here, _____." He sighs, going to grab his phone from the living room.

When he comes back, he sits against the wall and waves for you to join him. He was acting more odd than normal today, and you gradually make your way over before he turns his screen to you. "Do you see this?" He asks you, pointing to the article. "I've been doing research." He explains, scrolling up a bit. "They said to test if your dog was smart or not, tell it to go in the opposite direction you're pointing." You read the rest on your own. If the dog listens to your demand and not your gesture, then it was intelligent. "That's what you did." He says, but that's all.

The rest of the night you wonder when you'll be able to slip away from him to shift, anytime to shift. You just needed a few seconds away, but he was always on your tail (pun intended). He kept bringing up things he knows nothing about! "You know, as a kid I read a lot of shape shifter books." He tells you one hour while you're literally running into every room trying to lose him. "In it, they either had a time limit or would only shift during the full moon." He goes on, seeming uninterested in your rush. "But since we've have plenty nights with no full moon and many nights where I'm gone or asleep, maybe the time limit is more your thing." He chides.

Was he onto you? Why was he so insistent today? You mean, in hindsight, there were times when he would just look at you do things, but you just figured it was because he finally had nothing to say. Yes, those times did increase over the month you lived with him, but there's no way he could have... no way.

Finally, you run into the bathroom, but he follows you in. You try to go around him, thinking you've finally got the upper hand, but he blocks you, sitting in the doorway and trapping you in here. "You know, yesterday when I came home early..." He starts, and you're forced to sit down still so you didn't appear even more suspicious. "I came home because I got in a fight with my friends." He admits, and you can't keep up with this man's constant change of pace. He talks about one thing and then another, just like that. "That was the real reason I called off work today. I'm sorry I lied to you." He says quietly, not quite looking at you anymore.

He's silent for a little, and you sense the change in atmosphere. Worriedly, you pad closer and rub his cheek with yours, making him look up at you. "Today was our bonding day," He smiles slightly, petting your neck and back affectionately. "I had fun, except for when you ignored me." He chuckles when you run your nose along his face again in apology. You were too trusting of him, you let yourself believe he had nothing to hide, nothing to worry about if he didn't already tell you. Of course he still had secrets. Even you had things you would never say out loud.

"It was dumb, honestly. Baekhyun had tried setting me up with another girl, but I wasn't interested and he got upset." He tells you, staring into your eyes sadly. "Everyone is so worried I'll die alone and lonely, but they don't understand. I'm happy the way I am." He tells you, using both hands to grab your face. He ruffles your fur a bit before saying, "How could I possibly be alone when I have you?"

In that moment, you feel your heart cave in. Earlier, you were so set on taking advantage of him for the rest of your life. How could you do that now? After he says something like this? It's official now, whether or not you wanted to or not, you had to leave. You couldn't stay here if he continued to say things like that, he'd push you over the edge. He already had your heart and mind, he couldn't have your life.

You tell yourself this, but you can't do it. You're stuck.

"_____..." Yixing breathes out, and you nuzzle your nose in his neck, putting your hands up on his shoulders. His hands move to rest on your back, his palms flat and his fingers splayed. "_-_____," How could you leave him all alone, when you're the only one he has to spend his time with? How could you leave him, when you felt the same way? You exhale shakily, your emotions getting the better of you, and you ball your fingers in his shirt.

Your fingers.

"_____, uh.. that is your, um, name, right?" You pull back in surprise, eyes wet from crying a little but now you're heart is pounding too fast.

"I-I can explain." You stammer, shaking your head, but he cuts you off.

"_____." He says, and you shut your mouth, meeting his focused gaze. Your fingers release his shirt but you stay close to him, thinking he had something to say. Then, he turns his face away and squeezes his eyes shut, his face turning red. "Y-You're naked, _____."

Fuck.

Mortified beyond help, you make embarrassed noises as you scramble around for something to cover yourself with. Luckily you were in the bathroom and you grab three towels and throw them on yourself. After you settle, you glance at him to see he's still got his eyes closed, his lips pressed tight. "Yi-Yixing." You stutter, and he opens his eyes finally, but doesn't look at you still. He looks out of breath, now that you're looking at him. His face is red and his eyes are shaky.

He says nothing and does nothing, so you secure the towels and stand up to go. "Ah, wait--" He grabs your wrist, stopping you. You look down at him, still feeling mortified and on the verge of tears. He's figured you out, and in the worst way. There's no way he'd keep you here as a pet and there's no way you could stay as one anyway. "Wait." He says again, swallowing thickly. "I already knew." He finally says.

"You.. knew?" You repeat, shaking your head in disbelief. "But I never.."

"Yeah, I thought someone was breaking into my house while I was gone everyday." He confesses. "But come on, you think I'm dumb? It's not hard after a month of noticing things are missing." You guess you hadn't thought of that. When you were with other families, there were always other people around to blame for mishappens. You had gotten too used to shifting the blame that it slipped your mind.

"B-But, I was careful." You say. "I-I never took too much. It shouldn't have been noticeable."

"It wasn't, not at first." He swallows again, glancing between your eyes before letting go of your wrist and looking at his lap. "Please sit down and listen to me." He asks of you, and you know it's not a demand. You know he could never demand you, now that he's certain you're a human. You, reluctantly, do, taking your spot back in front of him, but with distance this time. "I didn't notice things were being used at first." He continues, motioning to his shower. "Like my shampoo, or my food, etcetera." He explains. "But... I noticed those things after I found your hair in my drain."

"I was cleaning the shower when I noticed hair. It was too long to be mine, so I had no idea where it came from. Coincidentally, when I went to take one myself, I was going through my clothes and found a pair that was folded differently than how I do it." He says, and you can see how he pieced it all together after this. There was no need for further explanation, he got you. "And then, I started doing tests around you. Not really obvious ones, but tests nonetheless."

"For example..?" You hear yourself saying emptily. There was really no point in dragging this out, but you wanted to anyway. You knew that in a little bit, you were either going to get kicked out or given to the police. You may as well get as much of Yixing as you can before he throws you away.

"When I only wore briefs yesterday," He says, finally looking at you to gouge your reaction. "I read online that if I did that around an unneutered dog then they'd go crazy."

"I did go crazy." You tell him.

"Not how they described." He replies.

Realizing you admit that, you angrily tear apart your soul in your head. Why are you so dumb? Now he'll think you're a leech and a pervert. "Anyway, that got me thinking... if you really were a shape shifter, what was I doing to you?" He says. "I was treating you like an animal, like you were dumber and less than me. That would be so humiliating if it were me." He says, unexpectedly passionately. "I couldn't do that to someone."

"All these things are weird, yes, but how did you know for sure?" You ask him, curious for his answer. He starts blushing again, but keeps your gaze.

"Well, I wasn't." He says shyly, rubbing his hair. "I thought that maybe I was just going crazy."

"I thought you were, too." You admit, and he chuckles. It catches you off guard.

"Makes sense. No normal person would think their dog were a human."

"Well, most dogs aren't really humans, either." You find yourself defending him. Your attempt does not go unnoticed, because Yixing's still smiling at you. It has your heart making rounds around your ribs, like an acrobat.

"Oh," He blurts, holding up his hand. "I also had a dream you were a human."

"A dream?" You repeat incredulously.

"Yeah, after that I thought, there must be a chance of it then." He laughs.

"What a dumb reason." You laugh back, then, when he has nothing else to say, you ask, "What was it?"

"H-Huh? The dream?" He stutters, and you nod. "Well... get this, I don't really remember it too well. I had it last night, which is why I was so relentless with you today." He gives you an apologetic smile, his dimple apparent with it. "I didn't get to see you, all I remember is... we were sleeping." He says.

"We were sleeping?" I ask, confused. "So you had a dream you were sleeping with someone. Why did you think it was me?" You ask, since that could have no correlation at all.

"I mean, I just knew it was you. You know when you get those feelings that have to be true? And they are?" He insists to prove his point. "And, when I said your name.. you said mine back. It had to be you, no one else would do." The way he words things is so misleading, you think. Why does he have to make it sound like you're special?

"You dummy..." You say, hanging your head in embarrassment. "That wasn't a dream. That happened this morning." You tell him.

"I-It wasn't?" Yixing finds himself being the one who's more mortified. He was touching you then, rather intimately. His face was in your hair, and he thought it smelled nice. You were so close to him, practically fully against him. Had there not been a blanket between you, you may have even felt his morning--

"No, I had ran out of time and shifted then, too." You mutter, tracing the tile with your finger. Yixing watches you in silence, not sure what to say. Does he confess how he feeling? Keep it to himself? Instead, he does neither.

"W-Well then, what do you remember?" He says unsteadily, obviously shaken up by the information. You blush, too, not sure where he was getting at.

"I only remember as much as you, then I left because I needed to shift back." You huff, growing upset with your growing embarrassment. "Then you found me in the yard and wouldn't leave the me hell alone so I couldn't stay a dog." You tell him, and he bites his lip guiltily.

"I had honestly given up on the idea of you being human by dinner time, though." He confesses, and you gape at him. "You hadn't changed all day, so I thought I really was insane. So I started rambling about my feelings and then.. well, now you're human." He says.

Yixing just had to be this irresistible, didn't? "Well, I'll be gone in a minute, too." You say, standing up again and he copies you. "I can't stay here if you know of me, I'll find another home to live in for now." You say emotionless, shrugging. When you start walking past him again, he blocks the doorway with his arm.

"Hold on," He says hurriedly, eyes wide. "Why do you have to leave?"

"Um, because I'm half dog?" You say, as if that were a good reason to Yixing. He didn't care about that. He didn't think of it like that at all. From what it sounds like, you shifted into a dog. A dog didn't shift into you. You were a human who could transform into an animal, not the other way around. How does that make you any less human than him?

"I don't care." He hears himself saying. "Don't leave, please." When you don't listen and push his arm out of the way, he grabs you and pulls you against his chest, hugging you from behind. "Please! Didn't I tell you that you're the only one I have?" You don't fight him this time, standing silently in his arms, and Yixing thinks you're still not convinced. "_____, I've never been so happy in my life. I thought I was good before, but having you here when I'm home makes everything so much better."

"Yixing.." You cry, hands falling over his own. "Don't you see I've been using you? What makes you think I could stay? That I have the right to?" You ask of him.

"Don't you care about me, too?" He whispers in your ear.

His hands grip you tighter, and your entire back is covered by Yixing's chest. You feel him breathe with you, his body caging you in but it felt like the best cage, one that set you free yet kept you in at the same time. "Isn't that why you hugged me earlier? Because you cared about me?" He asks.

And, after a second's pause, you whisper, "Yes."

(The End... I think.)

#do i end it here #idek #i can see it going more #but then i also can't #maybe for a drabble game #we'll see how it goes #i kind of just wrote it on a spur #exo #exo scenario #exo scenarios #exom #exom scenario #exom scenarios #exo-m scenario #exo-m scenarios #exo m scenario #exo m scenarios #exo lay #exo lay scenario #lay scenario #lay scenarios #exo lay scenarios #exo-m lay #exo-m lay scenario #exo-m lay scenarios #exo m lay #exo m lay scenario #exo m lay scenarios #exom lay #exom lay scenario

[avanneman]

The New York Times, more sinned against than sinning. Or not.

The New York Times has caught a lot of grief for its “1619 Project”, which claims to explain all of American history in terms of slavery. And much of it is justified. Damon Linker, writing in The Week, gives a reasonable overview: “The New York Times surrenders to the left on race”, Damon offers praise where praise is due:

Now, there is a lot to admire in the paper's presentation of the 1619 Project — searing photographs, illuminating quotations from archival material, samples of poetry and fiction giving powerful voice to the black experience, and gripping journalistic summaries of scholarly histories. Much of it is wrenching, moving, and infuriating. The country's treatment of the slaves and their descendants through the century following emancipation and, in some respects, on down to the present was and is appalling — and the story of how it happened, and keeps happening, is extremely important for understanding the United States. Bringing this story to a wide audience is a worthwhile public service.

But there is a whopping downside as well:

Throughout the issue of the NYTM, headlines make, with just slight variations, the same rhetorical move over and over again: "Here is something unpleasant, unjust, or even downright evil about life in the present-day United States. Bet you didn't realize that slavery is ultimately to blame." Lack of universal access to health care? High rates of sugar consumption? Callous treatment of incarcerated prisoners? White recording artists "stealing" black music? Harsh labor practices? That's right — all of it, and far more, follows from slavery.

In fact, I found the packaging so off-putting—so portentous, condescending, and cheesy—“Everything you learned about slavery in school is wrong!”—as if we were all a nation of Homer Simpsons stretched out in our lazee-boys before our beloved wide screens shoveling honey-glazed pork rinds into our gaping Caucasian maws with both hands for fourteen hours a day—all of us who don’t work for the New York Times, that is—that at first I skipped the whole goddamn thing, only to go back and discover the same mixed bag that Damon described.

Many of the articles were good, but, shockingly—so shocking, in fact, that Timesfolk may not even believe me—I knew a lot of it already. When I was a boy, which was waaayyy back in the fifties, I read Booker T. Washington’s Up From Slavery, a book about slavery written by someone who’d actually been a slave, inspired to do so after first reading a “Classic Comic Book” version of Washington’s story. Later, in the tenth grade, I stumbled across Ralph Ellison’s Invisible Man, just sitting there on the library shelf, where any dumb ass could pick it up. (I thought it might be like H. G. Wells. As it turned out, it was even better!)

And what about James Baldwin’s “The Fire Next Time”? How about The Autobiography of Malcolm X? Or Soul on Ice? These were all works that received immense publicity decades ago—before, I suspect, many Timesfolk were even born. And what about “today”? I remember several decades ago a black woman telling me she thought interracial couples were crazy to expose themselves to the sort of hatred they received from both blacks and whites. Today, interracial marriage is (almost) passé. Recently, the Times own Thomas Edsall published a long piece examining the impressive gains in both education and income levels for some (but not all) blacks. But the 1619 Project isn’t interested in “good news.” Over a century ago, House Speaker Thomas Reed congratulated Theodore Roosevelt on this “original discovery of the Ten Commandments.” One could offer similar praise to the New York Times.

I was intrigued in particular by the “Everything you learned about slavery in school is wrong!” pitch. Well, if so, New York Times, tell me, what are our kids learning, not 60 years ago, when I went to school, but today? Nikita Stewart fills us in: ‘We are committing educational malpractice’: Why slavery is mistaught — and worse — in American schools.

Nikita begins her piece by quoting a text book written in 1863 (not a misprint) in the South. Guess what? It’s totally racist! Totally! Who could have imagined? Also guess what? Things haven’t changed that much! How do we know? Nikita tells us so.

Stewart follows the pattern used in many of the pieces, taking an egregious example from the past and then “explaining” that things haven’t changed much. For the meat of her article, she relies almost entirely on a study by the Southern Poverty Law Center, an organization that has done good work in the past but now is largely a solution (and a very well funded one, at that) in search of a problem. Of course the SPLC is going to find that America’s school books don’t adequately teach the role of slavery in American history. How could they not?

Part of the problem, Stewart says, is this: “Unlike math and reading, states are not required to meet academic content standards for teaching social studies and United States history.” She’s presumably referring to the “Common Core” standards, but states are not “required” to meet them, and in fact the whole “standards” movement, pushed by the Obama administration back in the day, has since fallen into considerable confusion, in conjunction with the entire Trumpian revolt against “experts”.

Speaking of her own schooling, Stewart tells us, “I was lucky; my Advanced Placement United States history teacher regularly engaged my nearly all-white class in debate, and there was a clear focus on learning about slavery beyond [Harriet] Tubman, Phillis Wheatley and Frederick Douglass, the people I saw hanging on the bulletin board during Black History Month.” How does she know she was “lucky”? Doesn’t she “mean” “My own experience was contrary to my thesis and therefore it must be exceptional”?

Instead of selectively quoting a handful of “experts” she chose to tell her what she wanted to hear, why didn’t Stewart do some actual leg work, or chair work, by reviewing the textbooks used in, say, California, Texas, New York, and Florida, the four largest states, containing about one third of the entire U.S. population, and including two states from the Confederacy? Isn’t that what the “1619 Project” is supposed to be about?

Because we most definitely need to examine the way the history of slavery and the Civil War is taught and understood in today’s USA. Nothing is more obvious than that leading figures, or “would be” figures, in the Trump Administration, starting most obviously with Donald Trump himself, and including former chief of staff/four-star Marine General John Kelly and dumped (dumped and disgraced) putative Federal Reserve Board appointee Stephen Moore, all cling to the absurd and disgusting notion that the North was the “bad guy” in the Civil War. As Moore “explained”, “The Civil War was about the South having its own rights”—you know, the right to enslave and oppress millions of human beings.

But it isn’t only the Trumpians who still maintain a soft spot—and a grossly meretricious soft spot it is—for the “Lost Cause”. Poor David French, who gets it from both the left (for being a conservative and, worse, an evangelical Christian) and the right (for being insufficiently bad ass), is going to get a little for me. There’s good Dave, as in this excellent article in which he both describes his laudable efforts to prevent the muzzling of “wicked” Christian groups on campus and denounces proposals on the right to restrict the First Amendment rights of those on the left (largely “the media” and “Big Tech”):

Never in my life have I seen such victimhood on the right. Never in my life have I seen conservatives more eager to rationalize passivity and seek the aid of politicians to make their lives easier. They look to politicians — even incompetent, depraved politicians — and cry out, “Protect us!”

Admirable words. But here are some not so admirable, in an unfortunate piece with the unfortunate title “Don’t Tear Down the Confederate Battle Flag”.1 After launching into a scarcely objective account of the South’s motivation for succession—scarcely better than Moore’s—French falls into total small-boy, flag-waving, saber-waving mode:

Those men [the southern armies] fought against a larger, better-supplied force, yet — under some of history’s more brilliant military commanders — were arguably a few better-timed attacks away from prevailing in America’s deadliest conflict.

So yay Team Dixie, right? If only “we” had won. Then slavery forever! Is that what French dreams of? That southerners could continue to exercise their “right” to whip millions of black men, rape millions of black women, and sell their children for profit? If only those few attacks had been better timed! Damn it!

Couldn’t the Germans say the same thing about World War II? If only we had won. Then the Master Race forever!

These “brave men” at whose shrine French worships, wantonly murdered all black Union troops they captured, in utter violation of the most basic “laws” of war. When Robert E. Lee (French’s “gallant” hero, of course) marched into Maryland and Pennsylvania, he captured black American citizens and impressed them into slavery, sent them south to labor in defense of their own oppression. Mr. French fancies himself a Christian. But sometimes, it seems, Christians forget.

Afterwords It’s “interesting” that both Chief Justice of the United States William Rehnquist and Supreme Court Justice Antonine Scalia felt somehow compelled to parade their opposition to Brown v. Board of Education, Scalia “explaining” that liking the sort of judicial thinking that produced Brown because it produced Brown was like liking Hitler because he developed the Volkswagen—which by the way is entirely untrue,2 but whatever, Brown equals Hitler, got it?

French says “battle flag” because as a true southerner he knows that the familiar “stars and bars” was not the flag of the Confederacy. ↩︎

The Volkswagen was largely designed by an Austro-Hungarian designer named Béla Barényi in the mid-twenties and then “modified”, sans credit to Barényi, by Ferdinand Porsche a few years later. Hitler planned to put the car into production as a "people's car" but, unsurprisingly, the cars that were built were all for military use. After the war, an enterprising British major thought the bombed out VW factory could be repaired and used to create jobs for workers in a shattered Germany. ↩︎

#new york times #1619 Project #David French #Nikita Stewart