#Ford made a lot of mistakes but right now he needs some care and some comfort | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

jschllatt · 3 years

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𝐈 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐍𝐀 𝐁𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒 | 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦

Prompt: (Based off of the song I Wanna Be Yours by Arctic Monkeys) Clay’s recent fame leads to a difficult decision to be made. Months later, he’s still regretful. You seem to be fine, so why can’t he move on, too?

Warnings: Swearing, alcohol consumption, slight angst

Pairing: Dream x GN!Reader

Words: 2.5k

Masterlist

I spent a week on this and idk how I feel about it but I hope you enjoy <3

Clay had been consumed by an overwhelming emptiness, his entire body hollow as the lack of your presence took its toll.

Two months. Two devastating months had passed since he’d made a grave mistake, and now he was facing the agonous repercussions. He was a mess—anyone could see it. Between his long, disheveled hair, the light scruff that covered his face, and his bloodshot eyes, it was clear that Clay’s mind had been somewhere else. And it had been. Every passing second was a constant reminder of his solitude, causing the emptiness in his heart to evolve into a deep, incessant void, no longer inhabited by the happiness you had ingrained in him just months before. Why? Clay was overcome with a sense of deep regret as a result of your absence, feeling more alone than he ever had before. What could have possibly happened to make him feel this way? To make you leave? The answer was rather simple—he was just too damn busy.

Clay had dedicated a considerable amount of time to his career, filming or streaming during the little free time he had. As he grew more popular, the time that you had spent in each other’s presence dwindled significantly, each day becoming lonelier than the last. Your interactions with him had shortened drastically—what were once long, lingering kisses placed on your forehead had devolved into chaste pecks, void of any true care or meaning. While you understood entirely that Clay’s career was important, you found yourself slowly losing hope.

You realized it one day as he was filming.

It was a day no different from the last. Clay was recording a Manhunt video in his office, his voice shrill as he begged his friends for mercy. He was always loud when he filmed, and though you had chastised him for it countless times, he never listened. A loud sigh escaped your lips, going unheard, and you shifted your position on the couch, uncomfortable. Everyday seemed to be the same—each as lonely and frustrating as the last. Clay’s ignorance only fueled your apathy towards your relationship more, and you couldn’t help but find yourself growing hopeless at the thought of Clay being unaware of your unhappiness. Your troubled thoughts continued until a week had passed—a long, grueling week in which you had hopelessly tried to burrow your apathetic thoughts. But you couldn’t. You were giving up. The realization of your unhappiness made a pit grow in your stomach. You knew that you cared about Clay, but you couldn’t keep living the way you were—tired, unacknowledged, pitiful.

And so, you let him go.

Clay was editing by the time you gathered the courage to face him, your stomach nauseous as you approached his office door. A light knock signaled your presence, and Clay muttered a quiet ‘come in,’ his voice raspy after hours of unuse. Blowing out a breath, you entered the room, your expression sullen upon noticing Clay’s inattentiveness. His eyes were still glued to his monitor, deeply focused on editing rather than your presence. You waited for a few seconds, silently hoping he would pay you any mind, but he didn’t. A wave of disappointment washed over you, though you managed to keep your voice steady as you declared, “We should break up.” Clay tensed in his seat, suddenly fixated on your words rather than the hours worth of footage he was editing. His chair turned with a quiet squeak as he swiveled around to face you. “What?” You sensed the subtle indignation of his tone as he squinted confusedly at your abrupt words. “We should break up.” You were much quieter this time, unable to meet his eyes as your words died silently in the tense air. You wrung your hands together anxiously as you leaned back on your heels, feeling awkward under Clay’s intense gaze. Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe you should’ve just stayed quiet and dealt with it. Maybe—

“Okay.”

Immediately, your eyes flickered up to meet his, filled with a silent desperation as you searched his emerald irises for any indication of his intentions. Nothing.

“Okay?”

Clay remained silent for a moment, his body stiff as he leaned back in his noisy chair. His expression was inscrutable as he stared at you blankly, trying to find the right words to say as he watched your face remain solemn at his confound brevity. His voice was level as he spoke, “I know I’ve been busy lately. We haven’t spent a lot of time together and that’s my fault. I could sit here and promise to change, but we both know I can’t—not right now.” Though you felt your heart shatter, you knew he was right. His job was too important, too time consuming.

A nod signaled your understanding and you turned to leave, feeling overwhelmingly dejected.

“Hey.” You turned around to meet Clay’s eyes, noticing the hurt that was settled in them. “I hope you know I care about you.” You fought the urge to cry and shot him a watery smile, struggling to keep your tone unwavering as you agreed, “Me too.”

Two months had passed.

Clay had been struggling. Everyone knew it—his friends, family, even his fans. It was clear that the once cheerful, happy man had become melancholy, suddenly depressed and unable to hide his unhappiness on camera. There had been numerous speculations of why this was, but only few knew the truth. Sapnap was among one of them and had been staying at Clay’s for the past month, creating content with his best friend while simultaneously making sure he was okay. Though two months had passed, Clay was still a mess. Perhaps it was because it hadn’t hit him that day. He had momentarily convinced himself that his career was more important than you, but deep down he knew that wasn’t true. He wanted so desperately to reach out to you, but assumed you had moved on—another incorrect belief of his. Clay cooped himself up in his home, never leaving unless it was urgent. He had sunken into a deep depression and the only remedy for his pain was you. You. He treated you so poorly. Everyday was a constant reminder of your absence and it was his fault. He could’ve made more time for you, or at least spent the free time he had with you.

Remorseful thoughts ran through his head everyday, nearly driving himself crazy, and Sapnap knew he needed to get Clay out of the house.

“There’s a party tonight, I think we should go.” Clay immediately denied the offer with a shake of his head, grumbling to himself. His best friend sighed indignantly, blowing out a breath of frustration before stating, “You don’t have a choice, you need to get out of the house.” Sapnap stood his ground, arms crossed as he stared at Clay sternly. A minute had passed and Clay, aware of his best friend’s stubbornness, gave in begrudgingly, “Fine, but only for an hour.” Sapnap grinned triumphantly, exiting the room with a smirk. He slammed the door behind him, heading back to his room while yelling, “And shave, for fuck sake.” Clay shook his head, cracking a small smile at his friend’s words.

The party was overwhelming to say the least. Bodies swarmed the crowded living room, reeking of alcohol and sweat. Music blared from a speaker, a shrill, nearly deafening melody that was sure to give Clay a headache by the end of the night. The room was buzzing with conversation, every word drowning out in the loud atmosphere. Almost immediately, Clay was passed a beer, and he lifted the bottle to his lips to take a swig. If Sapnap was going to make him stay here, he may as well take some edge off while doing so. A few minutes had passed and he finished the bottle, discarding it in a bin nearby. “I’m gonna go get another drink.” Clay muttered to Sapnap, who was talking loudly to a group of people he’d recognized. His best friend patted his back in response, chuckling as he gave him a playful shove towards the kitchen. Stumbling through the drunken crowd, Clay soon broke free as he neared his destination. He grabbed a beer, opening it skillfully off of the edge of a table, and turned around wordlessly. Taking a big sip, he hoped to free his mind from thoughts of you. Though he wasn’t one to drink, especially when upset, Clay knew that, aside from you, alcohol was the only other solution to temporarily mask his pain. He’d already drank half before he warned himself to slow down, knowing that if he got too drunk, he’d probably do something he regretted. Turning around so he could rejoin Sapnap, Clay nearly dropped his drink on the floor, feeling his heart drop.

His eyes met yours. And then, he heard the music.

I wanna be your vacuum cleaner

Breathin’ in your dust.

Clay felt his breath hitch in his throat, noticing the surprise in your eyes as you stared at him, astonished. As he stood there, staring at you shamelessly, he regretted it—everything. He regretted how he neglected you, ignored you, prioritized all of the wrong things when the only right thing in his life was right in front of him: you. Memories flashed before his eyes, quick and familiar, yet saddening all the same. The way you smiled at him from across the room when he was filming, the way you held him when he was stressed, the way you spoke to him, softly, while he was streaming to check up on him. Everything.

I wanna be your Ford Cortina

I will never rust

You looked away, suddenly nervous, though the eye contact was all-too-familiar. You felt your heart begin to race as you processed every detail of Clay’s face—from his anxious expression to the dark circles beneath his eyes. He looked like a mess. But so did you. You mirrored most of his tired, dejected qualities because you, too, were hurting.

If you like your coffee hot

Let me be your coffee pot

Snapping you out of your daze, you felt a tug on your arm. “Hey, you alright?” Your friend asked worriedly. Nodding briskly, you muttered a quiet ‘yeah’ and smiled in a poor attempt to sound convincing. Seconds passed, and you could still feel the intensity of Clay’s burning gaze as your friend tugged you through the crowd, handing you a drink in the process. You dared to look up, instantly locking eyes with Clay, and swallowed thickly. You knew you couldn’t avoid him forever, not when he was looking at you like that—desperate, longing.

You call the shots, babe

I just wanna be yours

Lifting up the red solo cup to your lips, you downed its contents quickly, eliciting a few laughs and impressed hollers from your friends. You were never the type to drink, but you felt that it was necessary, especially when you knew Clay was still staring at you intently. Downing another shot, you risked glancing up towards Clay, but he was gone. Suddenly anxious as a result of his absence, you surveyed the room. Nothing. “I’m gonna go get a drink.” You said before you could stop yourself, not giving your friends the chance to answer you before you ventured into the kitchen. You tried to dodge the swaying, drunken bodies as you made your way quickly into the room, frowning upon entry. Clay wasn’t there either. You sighed, frustrated, and grabbed a beer, struggling to open it. You nearly laughed at your incompetence, feeling sadly nostalgic despite the humor you found in your struggles—Clay had always opened your beers, then teased you for being incapable. You fought back an onslaught of tears at the memory and sighed deeply, leaning against the table with your head in your hands.

Secrets I have held in my heart.

“Hey.” Your body jolted at the sound of his voice. Daring to turn around, you felt your chest constrict at the sight of him clutching your now-opened beer, a sad smile plastered on his tired features.

Are harder to hide than I thought.

“Hey.” You breathed. Clay passed the beer to your shaking hand, trying to ignore the way his fingers brushed against yours. Chewing on the inside of his cheek nervously as he tried to find the right words to say, Clay admitted, “I’m sorry.” A few quiet moments passed, though they felt like an eternity, and you replied simply, “Don’t be.” You tried to hide the tremor that shook your arm as you took another swig of your beer, noticing how Clay’s face fell in sudden disappointment. What? Did you say the wrong thing? You didn’t want Clay to feel guilty, to blame himself for your failed relationship though it was mostly his fault. Why? Because you cared about him. You could immediately sense the despair that washed over him. And, though you weren’t sure if it was the alcohol coursing through your veins or the pure adrenaline from the moment, you hugged him.

Maybe I just wanna be yours

I wanna be yours

Clay tensed at your touch, wondering if the beer had gotten to him or if this really was happening. It was. He soon wrapped his arms around your waist, grip purposeful as he tugged you into him. Your head rested against his chest, the steady thumping of his heartbeat in your ear far more of a melodic sound compared to any music you’d ever listened to.

Wanna be yours

Clay swayed the two of you softly, resting his chin atop your head. You clung to him tightly, shutting your eyes as he held you, gentle. “I missed you so much.” You admitted before your mind could even process it. Clay chuckled, lowering his head so his lips were close to your ear, “I missed you more, baby.” You tried to fight the grin that plastered itself on your face as you took in his words, squeezing his torso with such force you were sure he’d explode. Clay went to speak again, caressing your sides so gently you could barely feel it, before being interrupted.

“Holy shit, there you are, dumbass!”

Sapnap.

Clay pulled away from you to glare at his best friend, trying to ignore the shit eating grin on Sapnap’s face as he glanced at you. “My bad, I didn’t mean to interrupt...whatever the hell I just interrupted. I just wanted to make sure you were alright, but you clearly are.” Before either of you could respond, he left, shooting his friend a thumbs up before disappearing into the crowd. You couldn’t help but laugh at the interaction, noticing the slight rosiness Clay’s cheeks had suddenly sported, embarrassed. “Sorry about that, he…” Clay struggled to find the perfect word to describe his best friend, but trailed off. “Yeah.” You agreed, seemingly understanding what he meant despite his silence. Clay laughed, then. The sound was music to your ears, and when his smile faded, the two of you were serious again. Clay’s hand found refuge in yours as he began to speak, his face solemn as he confessed, “I lied. I can change. I will right now if you want me to—I’d do anything for you.”

Wanna be yours

You smiled lovingly at the man, interlocking the fingers of his hand that wasn’t already occupied in yours, and pulled him closer to you, wanting him near.

Wanna be yours

“Deal.”

#dream imagine #dreamwastaken imagine #dream x reader #dreamwastaken x reader #dream angst #dreamwastaken angst #mcyt x reader #mcyt imagine #mcyt angst

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poguestvff · 3 years

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LIKE A BIG SISTER SHOULD — WHEEZIE CAMERON

in which wheezie cameron finds that blood doesn’t make you family, love and affection does.

taglist | masterlist | 2.5k words | @pogueslandia ,

warning(s): food, she/her pronouns, ward slander, a little sarah slander but that’d include reading between the lines. why’d this make me want to make a series of reader and Wheezie being best friends.

There's always been a heavy feeling of loneliness that rested upon the youngest cameron's shoulders, weighing her down as it seemed to pile over the years. Her siblings were always older, an age gap between them that even if it was shortened by a few years, their worlds would still be two different things. All three of them were in three different stages of life yet somehow it felt like Wheezie wasn't even there at times.

Throughout the entirety of her schooling career so far, everything had somehow been about Rafe and Sarah. Sarah was the perfect one; the paragon who could do no wrong. Even if Sarah tried to disobey, it'd be turned around to be made out as a minute mistake. She'd probably be able to get away with it a second time if she did it a different way. Maybe the same way.

Rafe was quite the opposite. The bastard child who needed a plentiful amount of attention in hopes he can be more like the paragon. With all this attention, his head only grew. It never gave him the space for growth. It minimized the space to stay exactly where he was for years on end.

This left Wheezie to be the ostracized sibling. She wasn't a social butterfly or a poster child like Sarah and she definitely wasn't a loner or the 'damaged goods' child like Rafe. She was just... average. With average grades and an average personality. Just average old Wheezie. She told herself this consistently, watching her father balance his attention between making sure Rafe stayed between the lines he'd drawn for him in a radius such as a dart board and allowing Sarah step out of them, even erasing some of the lines so she could walk on by them without a second thought.

But Wheezie was stuck in that tiny little circle in the middle, the bullseye as if scared to move out of those lines. The one place that was the hardest to pinpoint specifically by her father. But there was one thing Ward Cameron always said correct about his younger daughter. That he wouldn't be able to pin point his little dart of control into the middle of the board because she was misunderstood and misunderstood she was.

Though one person had been able to pick up on every single one of Wheezie's emotions.

Y/n Y/L/N was a pogue who had done tutoring on the side for a little extra money and when John B had recommended Y/n for help with Wheezie's homework, Ward was quick to say okay. He hardly even asked a thing about Y/n, just telling her to help Wheezie pass eighth grade and that was all. It was made very apparent to Y/n that was Wheezie was not as much of a priority to Ward as other things were.

Their first tutoring session, Wheezie was awfully dismissive. She didn't care for any of Y/n's efforts as they sat within the comfort of Wheezie's bedroom. She just wanted the entire hour to be over with the second she'd entered her room but Y/n was insistent, knowing that by the end of the school year she would have something instilled in Wheezie's brain. She just didn't know what that something was yet.

The second time they met, Y/n was more passive aggressive in hopes of breaking down the brick walls Wheezie had stored between her and everyone else in hopes of not disappointing them like the way she thought she'd disappointed her father. Y/n sat her down in her desk chair, swiveling her chair to her as she rested her hands on the younger girls shoulders. "You are going to have a really awkward couple of weeks if you and i don't become friends so no work today. We're playing 20 questions."

That night, Y/n learned a lot about Wheezie Cameron that she never thought she'd learned. Wheezie hated the color purple, she just painted her room that color because Sarah liked that color. Wheezie loved to paint and to draw, it was her favorite activity, she just rarely showed it bevause she hadn't believed in herself. Though, when she showed Y/n the canvas' that were shoved at the back of the closet, Y/n marveled at them. But Y/n's favorite fact, and the same one that almost made her hug Wheezie on the spot, was that she was never taught to swim and Y/n made her a promise that she would teach her.

As the weeks went by, Wheezie waiting anticipatingly for Y/n's beaten down, green ford bronco to pull up on the driveway and she'd leave the house with a giant smile on her face. It’d be early in the morning, a little less than an hour until school started, just like how Wheezie liked. She'd jump in the driver seat, embracing the smell of vanilla from the scented item hanging from the rear view mirror. She’d toss her bag to the back as Y/n would ruffle her hair, just like she had every morning. "And beloved was set in... late 1856!" Wheezie answered excitedly as Y/n drove down the final street towards her school after the two had gotten breakfast together.

"Perfect! You're gonna do so good on your test, Wheeze, I promise." Y/n told her ecstatically as she pulled into a parking space. Just before Wheezie could get out, Y/n held her upper arm just to gain her attention before she got out. "Tell Rose she doesn't have to get you after school. I'll leave school early and you and I are having a girls day. No studying, just me, you and a shit ton of sweets."

Wheezie smiled, she could feel the muscles in her jaw begin to hurt from how wide she had. She tilted her head to the side out of curiosity, eyeing the look of excitement on Y/n's face. "But why?"

Y/n shrugged, adjusting in her seat and fixing her rear view mirror. "Cause, you deserve it. I'm so proud of you, Little W." She told her, looking back towards the girl and seeing her smile slightly drop. "You okay?"

Wheezie couldn't remember a time where she was genuinely told that. Yeah, sure, Ward said it a few times but it'd be in a lousy tone before he'd wave her off, saying he was busy with whatever office work he had to attend to. Sarah may have said it a few times but it was rushed before she'd run after her friends with a quick goodbye to Wheeze, leaving her alone in the sand. It was never sincere. Not in the way Y/n had said it.

She rubbed her hands against her jean clad thighs with a sharp breath before nodding. “Yeah. I've just never really been told that before. Like—Like genuinely." She said, lowly, in hopes Y/n would understand and wouldn't push it.

Y/n had known Wheezie long enough to know her tells and avoiding eye contact was one of the biggest ones. So she didn't indulge further in the conversation, brushing it under the rug but knowing she'd have to go diving back in for that little tidbit later on. Instead she wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her into a tight hug from over the console. "I'll tell you i'm proud of you everyday if i have to." Y/n muttered before kissing the top of her head. "Now go, if you're late to first period, your dad will kill me." And Wheezie was able to leave the car with a smile on her face, already looking forward to the day planned later on.

Y/n was overall consistent, it was one thing Wheezie enjoyed knowing that when she made promises she tried to keep them as best as she could. Sometimes things slipped her mind but Wheezie could recognize that Y/n didn't forget a thing when it came to Wheezie. Like she made sure to engrave bits and pieces of her into her mind like a data chart. But it showed she cared and that was enough for Wheezie.

Y/n cared enough that when she entered her car after school, the smell of her favorite cinnabon's filled the car that made her look in the backseat, seeing a picnic basket. There wasn't a chance, right? You could only get them on the mainland. She turned her body swiftly towards the elder girl who sat with a smirk on her face. "You didn't?"

"I did. Second I left fourth period, got on a ferry just for you to have those overly sweet treats." Y/n said, tapping her nose with a 'boop'! "And I almost got stuck on the mainland because of it so you better enjoy the hell out of them."

"I will, I promise." Wheezie said dramatically as Y/n smiled, pulling out of the parking space to head down to the beach. Wheezie had said she didn't have a bathing suit, not prepared for the outing, though Y/n already said she had ransacked her room for clothes for after. Y/n was the only person allowed in Wheezie Cameron's room without Wheezie being there and the elder girl took pride in it.

As Y/n set up their small area for the few hours, she noticed Wheezie standing just where the water and the sand met. She kicked around the water with clear disinterest causing Y/n to huff, hands on her hips, before tossing off her hoodie to get in. The splash she'd made by pushing herself into the water made Wheezie jump, a laugh falling from the two's lips. "Come on." Y/n said, standing and holding her hands out to Wheezie.

"Y/n/n, I can't swim."

"Y/n/n I can't swim, well, obvi, i know that, little W. But, you have your amazing best friend to keep you afloat. I won't let you go, i swear." Y/n said, holding up her pinky.

"Swear?"

"On my life." She reassured with a trusting smile before Wheezie walked further in. When the water had gotten to her above her waist, it'd freaked her out a bit though Y/n talked her through it, coaxing her further in slowly. Wheezie was kept above the water as Y/n held her hands as the buoyancy was used to their advantage. "See, not as bad as you thought?"

Wheezie shook her head though still nervous. "Not as bad, not my thing though."

"Why don't we try actually swimming? I won't force you if you don't want to and we can get back to shore right now but maybe just try?" She asked as Wheezie had to think about it for a moment. She almost felt guilty, remembing just a few months ago when Sarah had asked her if she could teach her but she refused. Though maybe, just maybe, it was because of Y/n being a bit more trust worthy that Wheezie said yes this time.

It took a while, Wheezie was frightened by letting go even as Y/n would say she was okay. Wheezie would tighten her grip on her shoulders before trying again and again until she eventually got it. She finally was able to keep herself above the water without flailing, recognizing that she was okay. Y/n cheered as she watched, not caring for the stares of others around them. "See, dude? You just have to start applying yourself! You did it!"

"I did it!" Wheezie said as Y/n hugged her, the two laughing before Wheezie screamed making Y/n's laughter die fast. "Something touched me!"

"Wheeze, it was seaweed." Y/n said softly before turning and letting her place her hands on her shoulders. "Yeah let's get you out of here before a jellyfish gets you."

Wheezie widened her eyes. "Jellyfish?"

As the sun had began to set and people had packed up their things and left, Y/n and Wheezie stayed. Wheezie was on her fourth doughy treat, even though Y/n told her to slow down two treats ago. Towels were wrapped around each of their shoulders as they watched the pretty colors fade in to one another, a mixture of pink, blue and orange array of colors combining to make a cotton candy sky. Wheezie watched as Y/n got up, accepting a phone call from Ward, the only phone call she hadn't silenced since they'd left the car.

In the time she'd left, Wheezie took advantage of it to recognize how appreciative she was of all that Y/n was doing for her. She came in as a tutor and, to Wheezie, was to stay as a friend. As family. Wheezie was more then ecstatic to have someone who would be there to rant and rave about the other Cameron's, someone she could trust with her secrets and the contents of her always running brain. Someone who was just there.

"Hey, your father would like us back in thirty so we should leave in ten." She said coming back and sitting beside Wheezie as she caught sight of her face, the lack of the smile that was there previously concerning her. "Tell me what's wrong."

"Nothing, really. Just... I really enjoyed today, Y/n. It really lets me know you're not just here for like... like the money or something."

Y/n let out a scoff. "Are you kidding? I enjoy nothing more than watching you freak out over the existence of jellyfish." She joked as Wheezie pushed her to the side with a laugh. Y/n recovered, letting out a content sigh as she tossed an arm over Wheezie's shoulders. "You're stuck with me now, Wheezes. Can't wait to record you falling at your next soccer game."

Wheezie couldn't help the laugh that slipped past her lips, leaning into Y/n's embrace as her head rested against her clavicle. "And I'll be looking for you in the stands, Y/n/n."

Y/n and Wheezie had both found out something about the other that night. Wheezie found that she didn't want to be like Sarah and she was glad she wasn't like Rafe. She was content with her own little circle on the dart board but maybe she could take a bit after her newest role model. And Y/n found that she was able to instill several things into the youngers mind including To Kill a Mockingbird, Inca Civilizations, and that she now had a true and present big sister to look up to.

#outer banks x reader #outer banks #outer banks imagine #jj maybank #wheezie cameron #wheezie cameron x reader #rafe cameron #sarah cameron

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gyllenhaalstories · 3 years

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CHAMPAGNE PROBLEMS — SUGAR DADDY!ZEMO

summary: a series of unfortunate (or fortunate, depending whose side you’re on) events brought you to mandripoor seven years ago. it was fun, dangerous and exciting for the most part. a lot has changed, but you are back in high town in the hope of purchasing a rare monet painting, and reuniting with an old flame.

warnings: tfatws spoilers, alcohol, established sugar daddy x sugar baby relationship, smut (daddy kink, dom/sub/switch dynamics, choking, hair pulling, blowjob, fingering, both degradation and praise kinks, spit kink, cum play, marking, unprotected sex). 18+ MINORS DON’T INTERACT.

word count: 2685

gif credit: pedropcl

notes: this (very long) fic is brought to you by zemo’s #1 hoe. for the sake of the fic, zemo’s daughter and wife have never existed. i get it zemo is the bad guy daniel is not your typical hottie but let me live my fantasy and reclaim my crown as the original zemo fan. listen to off to the races by lana del rey and let no man steal your thyme by the pentangle if you want to fibe with me! i hope you guys will enjoy it!!! <3

“If you keep staring at me like this, I’ll mistake you for the Mona Lisa.” You took the last sip from your glass, which was immediately filled by the man standing behind you. You had felt his familiar presence a long time ago, but you were too mesmerized by the rare painting trapped in a cage of glass to bother notifying him. “Your glance has followed me around the room. In other circumstances, I’d find it creepy. Now, it’s just very flattering.”

You heard him laugh through his nose. You saw his reflecting in the glass, lit up by flashing blue and pink lights and vibrating ever so slightly to the sound of the loud music.

“You’re like a Monet painting. From afar, you are clear as cristal and easy to read like an open book. From up close...” You marked a pause and stoodby straight. Your eyes never leaving the work of art you had been scrutinizing for the past hour. Water Lilies in Bloom, it was called, an incorrect translation that always brought a grin to your lips. “You are a mystery.” You swallowed thickly the bubbly liquid, recognizing the peculiar taste of champagne.

“It is arrogant but right to think of myself as the pure definition of mysterious.”

You chuckled, throwing your head back in disbelief. Some things never changed.

“After all these years... I managed to find my way back to you. Now that’s a mystery.”

You turned on your heels as you spoke. “Is it, though? Tell me, Daddy. Is it really that hard to believe you’d recognize your property even after all these years. I heard they put you in a pretty little cage. Didn’t have much else to think about than what you missed most?”

He took you in, just how ethereal you looked under the colourful neon lights. You had your arms pressed against your chest, the shiny material of your matching bracelet and necklace twinkled. He squinted slightly, his lips curled into a smirk while he looked down your body, the one thing that kept him sane after all these years in jail (that and the thought of destroying symbols like super soldiers and make the world a better place once and for all). “Nice dress.”

“My Sugar Daddy got it for me.” You did a twirl, showing off your outfit innocently. “You like it?”

He reached up to his neck and pulled on the collar of his purple sweater, like it was a tie he could loosen up. “So you received everything I sent you.”

You clicked your tongue. “Not everything...” Your head turned to look behind you, where your most priced possession was glowing in its full glory — soon to-be yours, you should say.

“Use your words, Princess. Say it and it’s yours.”

It was your turn to analyze him, to take every ounce of cockiness and pride. “You’re playing with fire.” You walked closer to him, erasing the distance but increasing the tension between the two of you. “All the money in the world won’t get you everything you want.”

He was quick to move, his soldiers instincts never left his body, clearly. His delicate hand wrapped around your throat so effortlessly. It tightened, forcing you to manage your breathing. “Money got me everything I wanted already.”

“What is it, Daddy? What is it that you want so badly?” You clenched your jaw, holding his glance which was filled with lust, instead of rage and grudges.

“You never looked so beautiful.” He leaned closer too, whispering the words to your ear. It was liked the loud club music turned into white noise. He could not care less about the stares and the words strangers exchanged as they witnessed the scene. High Town was not his playground.

But you were his plaything.

*~*~*

History repeated itself, in one way or another. Icons rose and fell. Symbols mattered and vanished into oblivion. Originality turned into plagiarism. Winners would lose it all, losers would dig their graves deeper into the abyss.

History repeated itself. The sight before your eyes was the same one as seven years ago, when all that was on this man’s life before meeting you was this stupid Mission Report of December 16 1991. You met him at a party like this, in High Town before he was banned from the land. He caught your attention doing his ridiculous dance moves, sharing his knowledge about the art pieces showcased around the room. Then he brought you to a hotel, the ones so fancy they had multiple rooms and a vintage record player as part of the decor. Only, it worked, and he put on his favourite Édith Piaf records. Rien de Rien, Le Petit Homme, La Vie en Rose, song after song, you were diving deeper in your memories.. He was popping yet another bottle of champagne open and pouring some in flutes you would never touch for the rest of the night. The same night, seven years ago, it changed your life. At the second you regretted setting foot in Mandripoor, he changed your mind and gave you the best months of your life. You would ride around Europe in vintage cars, dine in gigantic mansions you called castles. You admired the old paintings of his royal family members while he brought you a silk bathrobe to change into after a steamy shower.

You’d get lost in your thoughts, he’d get lost in his ambitions. You two were one and the same, in one way or another. That affirmation sent shivers down your spine. You could not tell if it was a good or a bad thing, a shy voice in your head was reassuring you it was the former.

“They call me Baron again, I guess I’m not doing too bad after all.” His voice snapped you back to reality. He was still wearing that obnoxious trench coat. You hated it, it made him look like a pimp. Although that was not too far from the truth, as the mountain of luxurious jewelry and clothes in your closet proved.

“Do you like being back here?”

“I love it here.” The emphasis on the last word was audible. You nodded in agreement. This place was heaven on Earth for some people, hell for others. For both you and Zemo, it was somewhere in between.

“You’re certainly not here for me.” You laughed, setting the still full glass on the nightstand.

He shook his head, mouthing a negative response.

“What is it, this time? Mission report February 32?”

“Something like that.” He answered, after another silent laugh.

“If only you had made me your mission, your life would have been easier.”

“Yours would have been, too.”

You shrugged. You agreed, but you did not need to say it. He knew. The two of you knew that this warmth washing over your bodies was the answer to all of your problems. Yet, you were fighting the urge to surrender and give in.

History always repeated itself.

All it took was for him to set his hand on your exposed knee. You got flashbacks of the numerous times his hand rested there while you two drove deeper in the country side, in some old Chevrolet, Ford, or any other European brands he could find and buy.

“Say it, Princess. Tell me what you want and I’ll give it to you.”

You swallowed thickly and fell on your knees. He sat straight, as straight as he could on the comfortable mattress, and spread his legs wider. “I want to go back in time.”

He leaned foward and you opened your mouth, your tongue poking out. He spit in your mouth, and you swallowed. The giggle that followed your actions sent blood to his hardening cock. “Just as eager as I remembered, right? You’d do anything to please me.”

“I’d do anything for you, Daddy.” You repeated, the confession left you breathless.

“That’s my good girl.” He brushed your hair with so much tenderness for a moment, you let out a content moan. He changed the mood real quick when he pushed your head closer to his crotch and unbuckled his belt at lightning’s speed.

Your mouth was watering at the sight, a sight that was tattooed in your memory forever. Whatever relationship you two had went beyond fancy presents and sex, it was a connection that tickled your souls and left you a different woman than when it first started. You wasted no time, stroking him a few times as you spit on his blushing tip. You smeared the spit over his sensitive spot and pulled the sweetest moans out of him, which grew louder and more intense when you finally wrapped your lips around his head.

No one compared to you, to your attention to details, to the way you were taking him all in, inches by inches like you were made for his cock and his cock only. No one compared to how blissful you looked pulling back, choking on your own saliva and the lack of oxygen. “You look so beautiful, Babygirl.”

His praise made you bat your eyes, hoping to receive more compliments. You flattened your tongue, licking him from the base to the top before you deep throated his cock again. You never left him untouched, your hands were massaging his walls or exploring his thick thighs while your mouth almost brought him to the edge.

That was when he pulled on your hair and demanded you went back up on your feet. “I bet you’re soaked. All you need is to see a cock to wet your panties.” You nodded as one hand reached up to cup your face, the other to cup your core from under your dress. He could felt the ever growing wet patch. He discarded of your panties in one effortless pull and pressed his pointer and middle fingers against your sensitive clit. He circled it, studying your reaction.

“Daddy...” You breathed out. “I need you.”

“I’m proud of you for using your words,” his finger slipped inside of your entrance, you moaned out his name. “So greedy and needy and easy for me, like the good whore that you are. Is that right? You’re Daddy’s perfect little whore?”

He was two fingers in, all the way to the last knuckles. He pumped in and out of you slowly yet roughly. You smirked when he finally touched that spongy spot inside of you. “I’m Daddy’s. I’ll always belong to Daddy.”

“That’s right.”

He brushed his thumb over your clit, his fingers stopped fucking your hole to abuse the bundle of nerves until tears started to pool in your eyes.

“Be a good baby.” You looked at him with doe eyes, sucking his thumb between your plump lips. “Do what I want.”

And you reached your high. You had nothing to hold you up, except for your shaky legs that threatened to give in under your weight and the intensity of your orgasm. You sucked on his thumb harder, hoping to quiet some of your moans but your screams escaped your parted lips.

In a blink of an eye, you were pushed against the bed and bounced against the body that blocked your every movement. His pants were nowhere to be found, just like the rest of your respective clothes. Your finger tips brushed over the skin of his shaven cheeks, down to his neck and chest. The intimacy, you had craved it all these years.

“I bet that sweet cunt of yours missed my cock.” He spoke, chuckling mockingly when he pushed himself in your stretched hole. You both let out a long moan of satisfaction. He rested inside of you, adjusting to your warmth and tightness. “I was right.”

“You’re always right.” You flattered his ego, and earned a sloppy kiss in return.

His lips moved down to your neck where he sucked hickeys and left small bite marks as he picked up the pace of his hips.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, hoping to bring him that much closer, and deeper, into you.

Zemo pinned your wrists above your head and pumped his cock inside of your tight pussy like his life depended on it. “So fucking wet for me, gonna make me cum, Baby.” He had tried so hard to hold back, not to mark you and claim you again.

“Wait for me.” You begged him, and he brought one hand down to your neck again. He squeezed it, choking you deliciously until your eyes rolled inwards. He tightened his grip ever so slightly and he felt it, he felt the way your walls fluttered around him.

He thrusted inside of you, his hips snapped against yours and the sound of your skin slapping echoed in the bedroom. “Cum for me, Princess. Cum with Daddy.”

And you did, your body exploded in fireworks when you felt his release planted inside of you. He kept moving, rocking back and forth. He leaned back, leaving your neck to rub your clit once again. He was a moaning mess, the overstimulation made it almost painful to keep going but he did not want it to stop, not until...

“Fuck, Daddy!” And a second wave of pleasure hit you hard, it left you panting and shaking even more than before.

Zemo had to pull away quickly, and already missed the feeling of being inside of you.

Your fingers reached between your bodies, dipping into your folds and moving up to your lips as they were covered in his seed. You painted your lips with his white cum, before you licked them and your fingers clean as he watched, completely amazed and mesmerized. “Taste just as good as I remembered.”

He laughed, he was always one step ahead of everything and everyone, but you always managed to take him by surprise. You were just that great, that perfect. He rolled to the side and fell heavily on the bed. His skin was glistening under the light of the chandeliers from the thin layer of sweat.

You pressed your legs together, clenching around nothing. You hoped you could keep his load inside of you, as a proof this had really happened and it was not just one of your daydreams where you two would be reunited.

“I missed this.” You boke the silence with a small voice. Your fingers brushed over the bruises on your neck, and you hissed at the sensitive skin.

He turned on his side, worried for a second that he went too hard on you. The smile and joy on your face proved him otherwise. “I missed you, Princess.”

“I missed you so much, Daddy.”

*~*~*

The sun hurt your eyes, he noticed. He slipped out of the bed to pull on the curtains only to hurry back to you so you could lay your head on his chest. You were still wearing your bracelet, he started playing with it.

His mind was racing, just like his heart. You could feel it rumble in his chest like a loud engine. Something was bothering him.

“Oh, Zemo...” You caressed his cheek, looking up to study his features. “You can fool the smartest people in the world, but you’ll never be able to lie to me.”

“I’m coming home, Baby. I’m coming home now.”

You looked down again, taking a moment to answer. “Let me guess, you’ll take me to a fancy house like Rebecca’s Manderley and Jane Eyre’s manor at the Rochester’s. You’ll show me around, make me feel like I belong. And you’ll leave, high and dry. Again. All the money and presents from your people won’t erase the pain I felt. Not this time, not ever.”

He pressed his thin lips together. Pain, suffering, he was used to it. He had his fair share of it, caused even more to other people. The thought of hurting you, however, was unbearable.

“Every kingdom needs its king...” He paused and moved you, so you were resting on your elbows and your face was closer to his. “And an even greater queen.”

#baron zemo #helmut zemo #marvel imagine #the falcon and the winter soldier #tfatws spoilers #tfatws #one shot: champagne problems

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incomingalbatross · 3 years

Text

GF Fic: (Insert Time-Related Pun Here)

Having a birthday on the last day of summer was great when you were a kid.

When you were in college and vacation ended somewhere in the last third of August? Not so much.

“Grunkle Ford, I...I don’t think Mabel and I can make it to Gravity Falls,” Dipper confessed, the day before his twenty-second birthday.

“Is it the travel time?” Ford asked from the other end of the phone. “If your usual transportation is too slow, we can call in a favor or two for you kids—I know plenty of entities that would be happy to give you a lift as a birthday present—”

“No, I know, I know,” Dipper said, running a frustrated hand through his hair. “And I really appreciate that, Grunkle Ford, I just...it’s not the travel, it’s being there. The other years we’ve been in college, our birthday was always on a weekend—last year was a Monday, but we spent that year with you guys instead of in school—”

“Thank goodness that seer tipped us off about her vision of 2020!” Ford agreed. “Taking a gap year to sail the Arctic with us was definitely the right decision for you two.”

“Right? Half a semester of online classes was more than enough. But—I mean, maybe it’s being back in school after being gone for a year, maybe it’s just early-semester problems, but...” Dipper sighed. “It’s just, I’m taking five classes, and I’ve got a TA job this year, and I’m getting back into the DD&MD group again and maybe planning to DM a oneshot as a Halloween event, and...” He sighed again. “It all looked much more manageable on my schedule. It was color-coded and everything!”

Grunkle Ford hummed noncommittally.

“Yeah, I know,” Dipper admitted. “Not the first time I’ve overbooked myself.”

“Not quite, perhaps. But it’s very good that you’re learning to recognize it and take steps to take care of yourself—when I was in college, I burned out routinely.”

“Mabel would sic the ‘Self-Care Fairy’ on me again if I didn’t learn.” The “Self-Care Fairy” was a truly terrifying onslaught of Mabelness, complete with costume and character voice, and would not go away until its subject had reached an acceptable level of well-being and had examined their mistakes. “Which is why...I have to cancel. If I came to Gravity Falls, even with instant travel, I’d only be able to get there around like 5:00 PM and I’d be stressed and anxious the whole time. And then I’d get back here exhausted and with no homework done and with class tomorrow, and...I just don’t think I can afford that.” Dipper paused, a knot twisting in his stomach. “I’m really sorry, I wish we could come...”

“Of course, Dipper, we know you do!” Grunkle Ford hastened to assure him. “Don’t feel sorry for us—of course we’d love to see you, but we just had the summer together. I’m just sorry you’re so short on time.” There was a moment’s silence.

“But how is Mabel doing? Is she facing the same challenges?”

“I mean, sort of.” Dipper smiled ruefully. “She kept trying to figure out some solution so that we could have our usual birthday and everything would work out, but...neither of us could come up with anything that would actually work. And she’s really busy too. She jumped back into school full steam ahead, and she’s got her Etsy store, and all her social groups to keep up with—you know she’s better at managing her energy than I am, but it’s still a lot.”

“I understand that,” Ford said. “You both do what you need to to keep up with your responsibilities, okay? We’re very proud of you both, you know.”

Dipper swallowed around the lump in his throat. “I know, Grunkle Ford.”

“Well, then, I’ll let you go—I imagine you have plenty to do right now! We’ll get in touch with you tomorrow, even if only by text.”

“Thank you, Grunkle Ford! Mabel and I are going to video-call at some point, we think, so there’s that. Say hi to Stan and Soos and Melody and the kids and everyone for me?”

“Of course, my boy. Have a good evening.”

“You too.”

The call disconnected, and Dipper sighed, throwing himself down on his bed. After a minute, he picked up his phone again and texted Mabel.

Just called Ford and canceled plans. He said to take care of ourselves and that he and Stan are proud of us.

Then he pushed himself into the homework for tomorrow until his phone buzzed.

Aww, of course he did. <3 Thanks for calling, brobro. I wish we could go, but you were right--I’ve got WAY too much booked. Why didn’t we check what weekday our birthday was FIRST???

Dipper snorted. Maybe we’re dumb :/

IMPOSSIBLE, Mabel sent back. Clearly an evil College Schedule Gremlin messed with our brains

Is that the same guy who makes it so you can never take the prereqs you need when you need them?

Yep!! And the one who fogs your brain so you THINK you’ve filled all your requirements until it’s too late to patch up the holes in your plan. His phone buzzed a second time after that text. ...Ugh, maybe there ARE gremlins in all the college systems

It would explain Blackboard, Dipper agreed with a frown. Huh, maybe they should look into that...

Anyway, though, u good for Zoom tomorrow?

Dipper huffed, reminded of the fact that they had no time for a paranormal investigation right now. Yeah, he typed, I can do an hour or so anytime after 5:30.

Cool, I will figure out a time and let you know!! Can’t wait to see your 22-year-old face!! :) Even if it sucks that we can’t party :(

Same, same. TTYL :)

Dipper tossed his phone aside again, shutting his eyes for a minute. It wasn’t just the party that had him down—though he would miss the bash that Gravity Falls usually threw on their birthday. It was...everything.

It was having a birthday without Mabel.

Oh, sure, they would talk, but they wouldn’t be in the same place. That was why, really, he’d hung onto their plans until the very last minute. He’d made it work on paper—taking an evening to travel to Gravity Falls, have a party, and be back in time for the next class—and it just felt wrong to admit defeat, to compromise on something this important. Their birthday meant the two of them celebrating together, having a good time, acknowledging that it was important.

This year wasn’t going to feel like a birthday at all, Dipper thought glumly.

But no, that was quitter talk. They were going to do their best anyway, because they were the Mystery Twins! Even if the situation was lame. Even if he was going to spend his time on the call with Mabel tomorrow doing homework and/or bursting with stress.

He opened his eyes, staring at the ceiling. “Why do I always overfill my schedule?” he asked plaintively.

The ceiling didn’t answer.

---

Dipper dropped his backpack with a thud on his dorm room floor, hastily unzipping it and digging out his laptop. He was late—he’d left his thermos in his last classroom, and been halfway across campus before he realized and turned around to go get it. He blamed his sleep deprivation (a week in, and his body still hadn’t readjusted to the rhythm of morning classes).

Now, though, he could finally pull up Zoom. He plugged in his headphones as he waited for it to connect (stupid dorm wifi), and was rewarded with an ear-splitting squeal.

“Happy birthday, Dipper!”

He grinned at her beaming face. “Happy birthday, Mabel!”

“Did you get a birthday cupcake?” she demanded. “Or at least a birthday cookie?”

He grimaced. “I got ice cream at the cafeteria, but I had to eat it there,” he confessed. “Here, I’ve got...a birthday candy bar?”

“Hmph.” Mabel looked crestfallen, but plastered a smile on anyway. “It’ll have to do! We can sing Happy Birthday, anyway. One, two, thr—”

Before they could launch into an inevitably out-of-sync rendition of “Happy Birthday,” Dipper heard a loud knock. Judging by Mabel’s startled turn towards her door, she heard it too—

Wait, what?

The knocking repeated. On both their doors.

“..Huh,” Mabel said thoughtfully. With a wordless glance between them, they both unplugged their headphones and went to their respective doors.

“Happy birthday, slugger!” Stan said, grinning, the instant he saw Dipper. Over the internet, Ford’s voice was greeting Mabel at the same time.

Dipper’s jaw dropped.

“Ha!” Grunkle Stan shoved past him into the room. Waving to the camera, he added, “Happy birthday, sweetie!”

Ford peered past Mabel into the screen. “Happy birthday, Dipper, my boy!”

“But—what—”

“Grunkles!” Mabel cried. “...But wait, why not just video call us? Not that we’re not happy to see your wrinkly faces, but you came such a long way!”

“Yeah, exactly,” Dipper said, waving his arm in confusion. “You guys—you know we can’t really visit, right? Even with you with us? We don’t have time. I dont want you guys to waste a trip—”

“But we didn’t,” Ford said smugly. “We came to bring your birthday presents.”

With a flourish, Stan produced something and handed it to Dipper. It looked like...a piggy bank, but with a clock face set into the side?

Mabel gasped. “It’s so CUTE!”

“But what is it, Grunkle Ford?” Dipper asked.

“Simply put, my boy...it’s time.”

“It’s a Time-Savings Bank,” Stan said proudly. “Got our hands on these babies a few months ago, on a little side trip. See, when you’ve got some extra time—like, at night, or when you’re waiting for a pot to boil, or whatever—you can use these gizmos to store it up instead! Then when you need more time, you use the clock to take it back out. Whammo! You squeeze in a few extra hours between the normal ones.”

“Like Daylight Saving Time without the false advertising,” Ford added. “We know you two are short on time right now, but...if you’d like, there’s enough in here to give you and everyone currently at the Mystery Shack a good few hours of spare time. What do you say, kids? Still up for a party?”

“Are we!” Mabel crowed.

Dipper stared at this miraculous device. “But...that’s a lot of hours,” he said. “Where did you get the time?”

Stan barked out a laugh. “You kiddin’, Dipper? We figured from the start that at least one of you would burn out when you went back to school. We’ve been putting time aside in these things for months.”

“...Really?” Dipper said. Somehow, he found himself blinking rapidly, and swallowing down some obstruction in his throat.

Stan coughed uncomfortably, looking away. “I mean, it’s not like we gave you any time we had a use for. Just some odds and ends here and there...every day... Anyway! You kids wanna get this show on the road?”

“YES!” Mabel shouted.

Dipper beamed. “Definitely,” he said. “Absolutely.”

And a few minutes later, when they all found themselves in the Shack (courtesy of one of those “favors” Ford had mentioned yesterday), and Dipper had piled into the inevitable group hug with his twin and his grunkles—and with hours of birthday celebration in front of them all—he had to add, “Best present ever.”

#did i neglect my college homework to write this? yes. yes i did #anyway #happy birthday dipper and mabel!#belated in my timezone but NOT ON THE WEST COAST so it WORKS #gravity falls #mystery twins #dipper pines #mabel pines #pines family #my fic #i did not proofread this At All so...there may be glaring errors #i'll find out later

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gobblewanker · 3 years

Text

A One Time Thing

So, um, I might have made the mistake of writing fanfic on my phone instead of sleeping. Again. I got randomly stuck by the idea of an AU where Sherman takes Stan and Ford away from their parents when they're kids and does his best to take care of them on his own, and I just knew if I didn't write it now I wasn't going to ever.

It had just been supposed to be a one time thing.

When Sherman had still lived at home, it wasn't entirely uncommon for him to be woken up by the timid knock of a small hand at his door, overlayed by the sounds of yelling and crashing from the kitchen downstairs. Somehow - call it practice, maybe - he could sleep through the cacophony of angry sounds. But at the first tiny tap of knuckles on wood, he'd be groggily pulling himself out of bed with a slurred "I'm coming".

Allowing his little brothers to take refuge in his room when mom and dad were at each others throats and the twins were too upset to sleep alone wasn't an uncommon occurrence. He was the big brother, by quite a lot actually, it was his job. He was born first so that he'd be there to protect them when they came after. So he'd already have the experience gained through trial and error. So he could test the waters and let them know where it was safe to step. So he could be there to save them if they started to drown, because if he wasn't, they'd pull each other under instead.

He needed to wade out into the frigid storm and get them back to shore. Even if he was still just a kid too. Even if his brothers were too caught in the current to realize it. Even if the sharks were closing in. Even if there was blood in the water.

Blood.

Stanley's nose bled as Sherman hauled him up bodily, grabbed Ford's hand, and slammed the door to their parents' house with one last string of profanities thrown over his shoulder at their dad.

It was just a one time thing. That was what he told himself as he drove the two eight year olds to his cramped apartment and put them to bed on the couch with an icepack for Ford's black eye and a couple of tissues up Stan's nose. It was just for one night. Just until Pa calmed down enough that Sherman didn't feel violently ill at the idea of leaving the kids with him. Just until Sherman could trust that his brothers would be safe at home. It was just a one time thing.

A day stretched out into a week. A week became a month. A month became a year. Sherman had to leave them in the apartment more than he was comfortable with. He didn't want to, he lived in a crappy area, and there wasn't anything for them to do. He promised he'd try to get more time off, but someone had to pay the bills and no matter how burned out he was, he was not going to take a nine year old up on his offer to "help" by pickpocketing. Stan got himself into trouble enough as it was already. They were decently self sufficient at least. They could keep eachother occupied. Sherman still felt like he was failing them when there where entire days he didn't see them awake. When he had to be out for college classes before they even woke up, and stay out for late night shifts until long after they'd put themselves to sleep. He had to turn down coming to Ford's spelling bees and Stan's sports competitions. He had another job interview.

He hugged them, and promised it was just a one time thing.

Sherman's little brothers didn't complain as much as the other children did. He wondered if that was normal. The few times he could get off early enough to pick them up and walk them back to the apartment, he usually saw the other kids their age whining at their parents about all sorts of things, but the twins rarely ever protested anything. It wasn't like they couldn't. He remembered them both nagging and being stubborn with him when they'd all three lived at home. They were his brothers, they were supposed to be difficult with him. They were supposed to tell him that he couldn't boss them around.

They never did.

It couldn't be normal. He asked if it was, the first time he had to go to a parent teacher conference. Teachers worked with kids the whole day after all, they should know what was normal and what wasn't. All he'd gotten out of it was a lot of questions and sceptical glares. He assured the teacher he was only there because their real parents couldn't make it.

He assured them it was just a one time thing.

Feeding three people on one 20 year old's budget was hard. People his age were supposed to be spending their money on movies, dance halls, and dreams of motorbikes. Not pasta and bread. He was pretty sure Stan shoplifted a few snacks when he allowed the twins to go with him to run errands, but he wasn't about to bring it up. He couldn't bring himself to tell him no. He just wished he could pay for it instead. The fact that he had to stretch their budget to the point where he couldn't even buy his twelve year old brother a few sweets made him feel like a failure. Not nearly as much of a failure as when he looked in the pantry the night before his next paycheck and found nothing but a pack of instant noodles and some random leftover ingredients from the birthday cake he'd managed to squeeze into the budget. He put food colouring on the noodles and joked to the kids that it was worms. They ate it with joyful shrieks and the ultimate preteen-boy accolade of "gross".

Sherman filled the largest glass he had with water and drank, quietly telling himself that it was just a one time thing.

The years continued to creep by, and the twins never complained. So he supposed he was doing something right. What exactly, he wasn't sure. It didn't feel like he was doing anything right. But he supposed he had to be, because his brother's never made a fuss. Then came that one night, one that felt eerily familiar, when there was a knock on his bedroom door. The hands that made the noise were larger, stronger than they'd been, but somehow still just as timid. At the first tiny tap of knuckles on wood, he'd groggily pulled himself out of bed with a slurred "I'm coming".

There'd been a military man at their school that day. Talking to their upperclassmen about war and duty and enlistment. Stan and Ford were still too young, it didn't concern them, and Sherman told them as much as both teens broke down. Sitting together wrapped in blankets and going around and around in aimless circles of attempt reassurance as he tried to assuage their fears. The silent threat that had been looming large but seemingly distant suddenly felt far too close. As if it could be upon them any day.

That didn't matter though. They'd be okay. They'd made it this far, they could keep going. Sherman wasn't going to leave them. Not when doing so would put them back home with Pa. That wasn't going to happen, they'd be fleeing to Canada or Europe or whatever before he let that happen. They wouldn't go back. He wasn't just going to let them go without a fight.

Eventually, he managed to get the two teens calmed down enough to fall asleep. All cramped together uncomfortably on his bed. Cramped, but safe and calm.

He hoped to whatever good was out there that it wasn't just a one time thing.

#gravity falls #fanfic #stanford pines #stanley pines #Sherman pines #not art #late night drabble #tw child abuse #tw poverty #as always let me know if there's any warnings you need me to add #shermie adoption au

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struggling-with-time · 3 years

Text

SBI Racing AU Headcanon

Paring: SBI Family

Summary: Racing headcanon for how the family of 4 adrenaline junkies function.

Warnings: Fluff, racing au

Words: 1.6K

Masterlist: SBI Masterlist - Wilbur's Masterlist - Full Masterlist

A/N: Racing AU brain rot, lets goooo. REQUESTS ARE OPEN. Request here.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Let’s get this on the road, ha road get it, anyway

Phil is a retired F1 driver, having had his years on the road chasing the adrenaline high.

He now helps out in Techno’s shop as a mechanic. While working for the nearby racing ring, he claims it’s to make sure nobody gets hurt too badly. In reality, everyone knows it’s because he misses racing himself.

Phil was forced to stop after an injury that left him with a bad knee, a true old man, according to his youngest son, Tommy.

Phil is a now single father, raising his three sons, that are all seeking adrenaline the same way as him. Which horrifies him.

Because if there is one thing Phil is never going to forget from having been behind the wheel in some of the fastest cars, is the absolute high he got from it.

He had to get the nickname Angel of Death from somewhere.

While the man has a calm and nurturing aura when met for the first time, don’t be deceived. The second he gets drunk on speed, and high of the sound. He is nowhere near calm.

Phil is a horrifying force behind the wheel, having multiple track records still standing around the world from before the accident. Not to mention an even longer list of crashes that was potentially his fault. But if you ask the man, nothing was ever proven.

Phil drives a stick shift, specifically a stick shift Chevy Camaro. His children likes to call him an old man for the stick shift.

Techno, Phils second oldest son, and his pride and joy if you ask Wilbur.

Techno can do it all, he’s a mechanic, owns his own shop, where in Phil helps out. In said shop, Techno also does the upkeep on his own car.

He does only illegal racing, the man isn’t the greatest with rules, and legalities when it comes to the legal parts of racing.

Not to mention Phil would have his head if he even tried walking the same path as him. So illegal street racing with his dad cheering him on it is.

(Phil did have a lot of problems in the beginning with Technos seemingly endless craving for the adrenaline. But he over time warmed up to the idea it was better Techno races under Phils wings, than sneaking out and making it more dangerous, than the past time already is.)

Techno does all his car upkeeps by himself, esspcially because the car wasn’t only sponsored by himself, but Phil did give him some money from his own days for the car. A Ford GT in red.

He is known famously as the Blade, but infamously as The Blood God. That red Ford GT leaves nightmares and losers in the dust.

Techno has yet to lose any races, always on top of his game.

Much to the dismay of Dream, the guy who is forever stuck in the 2nd position right behind him.

Technos racing style is known for being aggressive, but for those who have raced him, knows nothing is impulsive. Every single move is highly calculated and precise.

Techno is a college dropout, with the support of Phil and his family. Unlike Wilbur.

Wilbur is the oldest of the three children. The only one who went and completed college. Earning a degree but ended up back home.

Because to him there never was nothing like the nights him and Techno would sneak out to join the racing ring.

Despite Phils insistence that his oldest doesn’t have to be behind a wheel. Wilbur feels no other place quite fits him like that.

Phil knows how Wilbur drives. Because he taught him how to do so himself. Due to Techno just being 1 year younger than Wilbur. The year being enough for Techno to having cleaned up Wilburs mistakes when he ages a year.

Leading to Wilbur, still like Techno, having an aggressive driving style. But unlike Technos nothing about it is refined or precise. Wilbur is an absolute terror behind the wheel. A madman some have called him.

Because like his dad and younger brother. Wilbur craves the adrenaline. And he will do whatever it takes to get it.

So he races, always never first, always just close by. The oldest yet standing in the shadow of his younger brother.

Leading to unlike Techno, Wilburs pride and joy, is their youngest brother. Tommy.

But a close second would be his car, a vintage 1969 corvette stingray. That much to his dismay is mostly upkept by Techno, for while Wilbur is good on the track, he cannot fix a thing on his car alone.

Meaning Techno and Wilbur sometimes have long nights just bonding in Technos workshop, fixing their cars, talking about races, and talking about their starry-eyed younger brother Tommy.

A loud-mouthed blonde, that has been banned from getting behind a wheel. Phil taught him how to drive far too young. Leading to Tommy teaching his friend group how to as well.

And Phil is so not letting the flock of 4 adrenaline junkies with the name of Tommy, Tubbo, Ranboo and Purpled anywhere near the racetrack in any form of car. Phil would very much like to not die of a heart attack.

The group of 4 however had made it their mission to prove Phil wrong, that they should in fact race. Because according to Tommy.

“They are the biggest men” And deserve the glory that comes with that.

Phil still refuses, however, he has provided the four with an old Volkswagen from 2007, that has all the safety it needs, but no plates. A small insurance for Phil, hoping the 4 can be satisfied in cruising in it around the area behind Technos shop.

All this meaning, that while Tommy has his license, he has no car. And neither does his friends. Not that any of them would ever let him drive any of their cars if that had.

Tommy is a speed demon, and much to the dismay of his father and brother. He is as much of an adrenaline junkie as them.

So the when the rest of the family pulls up in their cool cars.

Tommy pulls up on his red Big Man Puch Maxi. Named after the crudely drawn Big Man made in black spray paint over the side. Of course filled with attributes to the people he cares about.

A drawn bee made by Tubbo, who helped him paint it red.

A crown in black and white from Ranboo, who helps him fix and repair it. Ranboo works as an apprentice in Technos shop.

A purple alien face from Purpled, whose brother Punz also drives in the racing ring.

A flag, more specifically the Logo of L’Manberg. Wilburs car. Because as he says.

“All the important things have flags.”

The sticker and design was made by the two, who sat up all night in their garage at home. Wilbur rambling on for hours about the colour meanings and how important flags and recognition is. Techno had ended up joining them after midnight, mostly listening, but sometimes adding his own 5 cents into either the conversation, or a quick piece of advice. That the hard-working brother always seemed to listen to.

So when Phil found the 3 passed out in the garage, and all he did was find pillows and blankets for them. Who is to blame that he ended up taking photos of them.

A sword, to signify his older brother Techno.

And lastly a pair of black wings, to signify the only Man. His dad Phil.

While the 4 of the minors are chaos in person, they certainly are so too when they play around in the car. Tommy driving, Tubbo as his co-pilot and stick manager. Ranboo behind Tubbo. Ranboo usually being the voice of reason, whenever he isn’t drowned out by Purpled, who sits behind Tommy, irking them on to go faster.

The 4 of them also having started what they call a biker gang, in reality it’s just them on their old Puch Maxis.

And Tommy, oh Tommy.

Tommy likes to run his mouth, especially in front of Dream, the number 2 in the racing ring. Unlike his brother Wilbur.

Wilbur has a silver tongue unlike anyone else, that convince nearly everyone, that he did in fact not nearly make the other driver crash. Because like his father, he has a long list of things that can't be proven to be his fault.

Tommy has offered Dream to race the man so many times everyone lost count after the 7th try. Not that Dream doesn’t want to shut the teenager up. More so because he is afraid of his father.

Everyone knows Techno never loses, but that runs in the family. Phil has never lost a match, even in the stick shift that he drives now. Getting into a match with him is an automatic lose, and Dream has too much pride for that.

So there on racing ring stands Phil with his 3 sons, as much of adrenaline junkies as himself, and while it isn’t the most orthodoxic family, it certain is his. And he can’t help but be proud of them. Even if his youngest and oldest is currently yelling “suck it green boy” after Techno has beat him.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

#sbi #sbi fanfic #sbi headcanon #sbi racing au #sbi family dynamic #racing au #wilbur soot #philza #tommyinnit #technoblade #dsmp racing au #delias own writing

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bailey-whalieee · 3 years

Text

Things Are Different Now

(So sorry this took so long, I had major writers block and graduation and goodness life got in the way, it’s been a mess, but I am back!! Look out for regular updates!)

THREE

✮

A week had passed and still the DA and the investigation officer had absolutely nothing on the shooting or why it happened. Meanwhile, Steve and Bucky decided to pull Maggie from school for a few weeks to help her process what happened and her anxieties.

Maggie’s nightmares from the night of the party progressed into night terrors and her dad’s would awake to her screams and pleas. It was another reason why Steve and Bucky made the executive order to pull her out of school.

Steve and Bucky laid awake at 3:45 am, awaiting the heart wrenching screams that would soon emit from just down the hall. “Buck, you still awake?”

A sarcastic chuckle fell from his lips, “of course I am, punk.”

His hand intertwined with Bucky’s metal one, seeking comfort from the man. The nightly routine completely broke the men and it made them relive the first months after adopting their sweet girl.

Like clockwork, her screams echoed down the hallway and the two men rushed out of bed. Bucky and Steve felt as though there was something missing. It didn’t make any sense to them why her nightmares were so vivid and petrifying.

Her bed covers were tossed on the floor and Maggie thrashed violently on her mattress, pillowcase stained with tears.

“Maggie, sweetheart, hey, wake up. You’re okay, shh..”

The whimpers didn’t seem to want to stop and neither did the panicked breathing. Her own hands fought theirs as Steve and Bucky tried to wake her, fragments of sentences fell from her lips.

With a choking gasp, Maggie flinching away from the figures before realizing it was only her father’s.

“Hey, hey, doll.. Just breathe,” Bucky reassured, seeing the terrified glint in her eyes.

She locked eyes with Steve and immediately her bottom lip trembled and tears spilled down the red flushed cheeks. “Maggs, darling, what is going on? Honey, you haven’t had nightmares this bad since you were young. Are we missing something? You gotta start talking to us about this,” he coaxed, sitting on the messy bed.

“I-i…”

She drew a blank.. Not only did she have to make up another lie about the nightmares, but now she was just lying. “I don’t know.. Just scared okay?” she shrugged, her doe eyes irritated and puffy.

Bucky wanted to call her bluff.. He knew his daughter especially when she was hiding something, but it was four in the morning and the tiredness showed in her eyes. Maybe she needed to be pulled from school indefinitely, he thought..

“Okay honey.. Just get some sleep,” Steve sighed, smoothing down the mess of blonde curls.

As the two men turned to leave, Maggie whispered, “dad, papa, I’m sorry..”

Puzzled, they both turned around confused with the girl.

“For what maggs?”

“For being like this.. I know you guys are tired, and that you guys never asked for this,” she softly murmured out.

Steve and Bucky paused, before they sat back down on her bed. “Maggie, sweetheart, you are our daughter. Nothing is ever going to stop that from being true. We are here till the end of the line even if it means being here at four in the morning reminding you that whatever is going on in that pretty little head of yours isn’t true,” Steve spoke gently, wiping the fallen tears off her face.

“Plus, your father had to deal with me when we were younger. This ain't nothing, doll,” Bucky chuckled, kissing the top of forehead.

“Get some sleep kiddo, we are going to go do something special today,” Steve winked, ruffling her hair once more.

Confused, she bid her goodnights and tried to lay back down, but the nightmare had reminded her of all the things she never used to be scared of.

✮

The morning came rather quickly and so did the smell of a familiar scent of something Maggie remembered from her childhood.

Bacon & chocolate chip pancakes.

The soft sound of 1920’s music played from the record player in the living room and her two father’s chuckling softly as they flipped pancakes and bacon. Stretching, Maggie made her appearance in the kitchen.

“What’s the occasion?” she yawned, finding her seat on the island.

Huffing, Bucky pointed the wooden spatula at his daughter accusingly, “can two loving father’s make their daughter her favorite breakfast without there being a catch?”

Rolling her eyes, she snickered, “oh may we not forget the time you made this breakfast when my fish died, or the time you guys made it when I failed the spelling bee. Or the time I broke my arm and you guys were trying to cheer me up.”

“Buck, she’s got a point..”

“Okay fine, we are going to take you to the botanical garden,” he smirked.

Maggie’s jaw dropped and her eyes widened, “wait seriously??”

“Yes Maggs, go do your thing and breakfast will be ready by the time you're done,” Steve chuckled, watching his daughter race back upstairs with a squeal.

Shaking their heads, Buck had one thought, “Stevie, I think we won’t have to worry about our daughter having children.. I think we are going to have to worry about her being a plant mom for the rest of her life.”

“I’m just glad she’s not interested in boys,” Steve laughed, “one less ass I have to kick.”

“Agreed, Stevie, agreed.”

Meanwhile, Maggie had decided on her outfit, settling on her all time favorite pants and a butterfly shirt she got for christmas one year. Steve often said her pants reminded him of a hippie and she would roll her eyes.

Practically, running back down stairs she skidded through the threshold of the kitchen excitement beaming from her body. Bucky and Steve’s face both held grins as they took in her outfit.

The yellow socks peaked through her cuffed jeans, a vivid reminder of sunshine and sunny days. They hadn’t seen her smile like this in weeks and to be honest, they never wanted to see it go away.

After breakfast, and lots of hippie jokes from Steve and Bucky, they finally decided to pile into the large Ford Expedition. In all honesty, Maggie had forgotten about the horrors that had happened over the past couple weeks and the weight of it all disappeared for just a moment.

“So, does this mean I get to buy plants while we are here father’s?” she asked wiggling her eyebrow as they all stepped out of the vehicle.

Taking a long sarcastic breath, Bucky sighed, “I suppose so, doll.. If you really need them.”

“Rookie mistake, Buck.. Now she is going to say she needs them all,” Steve chuckled, shaking his head at the man.

Maggie ignored their bickering and awe took over her features as she walked around the planted sanctuary.

Bucky and Steve smiled watching their normally tense daughter return back to her calm self. “Maggs look at this long leafy thing,” Buck pointed, inspecting the plant.

Turning on her heels, she examined what seemed to be a spider plant and spilled the useless information about plants and she gushed about the types of spider plants and how they are useful.

A cold feeling washed over her body when she caught out of the corner of her eye, the same military style boots from that night. Stopping mid sentence, Maggie froze. All of the air expelled from her lungs and both of the super-soldiers noticed the shift in the air.

“Maggie?”

No.

Not again.

“I’ll be right back,” Maggie breathed, not wasting a second before practically running to the bathroom. She could hear Steve and Bucky calling out her name, but she ignored them, only allowing her feet to carry her faster.

Steve and Bucky looked at each other with confusion, how odd?

Her breaths came out rushed and rugged as she entered the bathroom, not knowing exactly if he was actually there or if she had just imagined the combat boots.

She had to calm down. It may not even be him? Maggie couldn’t help, but think about all the what if’s that could happen. Her phone buzzed in her back pocket alarming the already shaken up women.

Unknown

you ought to be more careful. you never know who is lurking about.

1:26 pm

A chill ran up her spine as she sat in the bathroom stall, tears begging to be set free. She couldn’t just sit in the bathroom stall, knowing full well that Steve and Bucky would burst through the door not giving two shits about it being a women’s bathroom if she tried.

Gathering herself back together, she wiped the smeared mascara off her cheeks and took a deep breath.

Gods, why couldn’t this just be over?

‘Should I confess? Maybe I should tell them..’ she thought to herself exiting the bathroom searching for two pairs of familiar blue eyes.

Finally she spotted her two fathers, leaned up against a metal pole admiring the pond with bountiful amounts of fish. Making a beeline for them, she wrapped her arms around Bucky taking in his cologne.

He shot a glance at Steve, raising an eyebrow but nonetheless returning the hug back to his daughter. “Maggs? You okay, darlin’?” he asked, concerned with the surprise hug.

Sighing, she gave him a small smile, “just needed a hug.”

She turned to her other father wrapping her arms around him, and Steve chuckled shaking his head at her antics.

“Papa's, can we just go home and watch a movie or something, there’s a lot of people here?” she asked, knowing that it wasn’t the people it was just one person who might be lurking closer than she wanted.

Steve’s face scrunched up at her announcement, “I think you have been spending too much time with your father.”

“Hey now punk,” Bucky jokingly warned, “c’mon Maggs we will leave pop’s to his own devices since he doesn’t want to hang with us.”

Letting out a laugh, she shook her head at their jests at one another pulling on Bucky’s gloved hand as a sign it was time to go.

Staying high alert, she almost searched for the boots hoping that maybe she would have the courage to go after him. Deep down she wasn’t ready to face what was waiting for her on the other side of those damn combat boots and she knew it.

M&M

maggie, we need to talk asap.

1:41 pm

Furrowing her eyebrow, Maggie’s stomach almost dropped just by looking at the text. It felt like she couldn’t escape that feeling anymore.

Maggs

meet me at my house in ten.

1:43 pm

Clicking out of iMessage, she sighed trying not to allow her anxious thoughts to take over. Gods, she prayed that it was anything, but the shooting or related to the shooting. Maggie had bit off more than she could chew of this damn accident.

“Maggs, you okay? Look a lil’ bummed out, doll?” Bucky looked up into the rearview mirror the vehicle.

She smiled tightly, “yeah, Em is coming over. It’s an emergency.”

Steve turned around from the passenger seat looking concerned, “everything okay?”

Nodding, she shrunk more into the leather seat hoping to just disappear before shortly saying, “boy problems.”

Bucky and Steve almost choked on the air they were breathing. “W-what? Boy problems? Doll, you're not talking to boys yet, right? I mean, don’t get me wrong.. Papa and I won’t stop you, but they really do suck and…”

At this point, Maggie zoned out not even listening to anything Bucky panickingly stuttered out. Emma’s text burnt itself in the back of her mind and the thoughts were relentless.

‘Gods please let this be a boy problem… please.’

✮

When they arrived back, Emma’s car parked itself by their mailbox and she practically darted out of the car and into the house. Maggie knew exactly where she would find Emma.. Either curled up on her bed under the mounds of pillows or on her carpeted floor.

Pushing the bedroom door open, Maggie found Emma holding several envelopes and swollen red eyes.

Emma’s eyes were sunken in like she hadn’t slept very much and her face flushed a deep red. “Em..?”

She shoved the envelopes into Maggie’s hands, before a new wave of tears overtook the girl. Not knowing what to do, she opened the already torn envelopes wordlessly. Countless photos of her best friend, laid in her hands with several letters all written with the same message in fancy red ink.

‘This isn’t over Emma Anderson, this is only the beginning. - black wolf’

“Em, who is this?” Maggie uttered, speechless.

She looked at Maggie absolutely floored by her question, “are you fucking kidding me, Maggie? Do I know who this is? No, Maggie. I don’t fucking know who the hell it is. I’m going to guess it was that little prick who almost killed us, and thanks to you, I can’t tell anyone.”

“Emma, I didn’t know-”

“You know what Maggie Rogers-Barnes, how about you take care of this? Since you wanna be like your daddies and save the fucking world, fix it. You’re going to end up just like those kids. Dead. Fuck you for getting me into this mess and not letting the cops do their jobs.”

Every word hit Maggie like a slap in the face and her jaw went slack.

“You know what Maggie, just forget it. You’ll never be that hero you told me about, cause you’re too much of a damn coward to tell anyone about what happened at that damn party. Don’t text me again. Fuck you, fuck this friendship,” and with that, Emma walked out of her bedroom and back to her car.

Breathing harshly, she allowed the tears to freely fall down her face. This could not be happening. No, the one thing she wanted to keep until she died just walked out of her life.

Hearing the loud footsteps rushing up the stairs, Maggie hid the envelopes under her laptop trying to cover up her tears.

“Hey babydoll, everything okay? We heard some yelling and then Emma just left,” Steve furrowed his eyebrow noticing the wetness of her cheeks.

Clearing her throat, “yeah, just a little fight over something stupid. Can I ask you guys an irrelevant question?”

“Of course doll.”

“Shoot, honey.”

“You guys always told me that I should stand up for what I believe in and that I should fight for something even if it is hard, right? Because, I am so scared that people will be mad if I do,” she ended, feeling tears prick in the back of her eyes.

“Maggs, one of the hardest fights will always be following everyone else or you can take the hard path that won’t be easy and do what it is right,” Bucky spoke, watching his conflicted daughter.

“When I didn’t sign the Sokovia Accords, it was the hardest thing I had done, but Maggie I stood up for what I believed in and I did it. I fought a lot of pissed off people and faced criminal offenses, but it was so worth it. Don’t let anybody tell you what is right or wrong. Figure that out on your own,” Steve concluded with a soft smile, “besides, I got your dad through the deal.”

Bucky rolled his eyes, shoving him lightly.

Smiling gently, she mumbled a small, “thanks dad’s.”

And with that, Maggie formulated a plan in her mind.

She would fix this no matter what it took even if it meant her own life. She screwed it up. It didn’t matter if it took hell freezing over to make amends, Maggie made the decision that night that it was time to fix it.

✮

#stucky x daughter!reader #stucky x reader #stucky x oc #bucky x oc #bucky x reader #steve x oc #steve x reader #Steve Rogers #Bucky Barnes #avengers x reader #agnst #fluff

112 notes · View notes

valkblue · 2 years

Text

— masterlist, tumblr post masterlist

Chapter 45 on 70

Chapter wordcount: 2.3K Rating: Mature Warning: Brooding over firecamp.

Author’s notes: Aaaaand we're back on Lawrence's shenanigans. Or the MIB's... Depends on the way you see it.

Ask box always open! I really want to know what you think about this story!

— Chapter 45

Sometime in the early afternoon, William and Lawrence had found traces of a large troop moving through a hilly landscape just like what they had seen on the holographic display. And they had followed this obvious trail for the rest of the day, yet without reaching Dolores and her men.

But William wasn’t too worried; now, the Abernathy Ranch wasn’t so far away. Just enough, in fact, to be there without much effort the next morning. Because right now, they had to stop; for those damned horses first, but also because nightfall was making their tracking difficult, if not impossible. Stopping now was also a matter of safety not to fall head first in one of those holes Ford or those mercs could each have dug all over the place. What a bunch of idiots…

William had built a fire as small as the previous night’s, just enough to lit them without being spotted, while Lawrence had taken care of their horses. Three horses…

"Don’t get too attached to that one either," he spat at Lawrence who had just put the last saddle down by the fire. "We’ll leave it here…"

With a vague move of his hand, he gestured to the horses, tied to the largest trunk of the trees surrounding them. Now that Orpheus had ditched Eurydice back in the Underworld, they wouldn’t burden themselves with a redundant nag! Lawrence glanced at the horses.

"Why?"

William winced; he wasn’t really in a mood to have his strategy discussed. But the rules of the game had changed and so, he cracked a satisfied smile. And as his mood was already brighter, he answered to Lawrence:

"Because it’s gonna be more of a hindrance than anything to get closer to the ranch, tomorrow. And we don’t need it."

Lawrence only briefly looked at him before unbuckling one of his tech’s saddlebags to search through it. He pulled an ammo belt and a handful of loose cartridges before asking:

"And what’s your plan, anyway?" He stuffed the bullets in the empty hoops of his own gunbelt. "What’s gonna happen once we get there?"

"I face her, and kill her."

William’s laconic reply only got him raised eyebrows.

"How’d you plan to survive those around her?" he insisted.

And the answer to that other question also turned out to be pretty simple.

"I don’t."

This time, Lawrence lost interest in the looting of the saddlebag on his knees to shoot him a heavy glare.

"And you really expect me to follow there… and die alongside you, like we’re some kind of blood brothers?"

William furrowed his brows despite his smile; he really couldn’t have put his finger on it but hearing that made him slightly miffed. Even though Lawrence’s comeback amused him.

"Why?" He provoked him, again. "Do you have other plans?"

"Didn’t you say stopping all that bullshit would open new opportunities for me?"

There was no mistaking the sarcasm in Lawrence's tone. Yet he taunted him, as an old habit.

"Still believe you can escape this place and live your puppy love with the girl you just betrayed, Lawrence?"

William lost his smile. It was much funnier in his head… Oddly enough, he wasn't as amused now that he'd said it. Even more so as Lawrence didn’t answer, stashing the ammo belt in his own saddlebag in silence. William took his hat off, putting it on the horn of his saddle, behind him.

"You know," he went on, calmer if not more serious. "Your girl and I have an awful lot in common. Once, a lifetime ago, I foolishly fell in love with one of your kind as well!"

Lawrence held his gaze but didn’t answer. So, as he seemed to have his attention, William continued, on the same tone — for now, he didn’t want, or even feel the need to provoke him anymore.

"I searched this whole place through, hoping to get her out of here… I even bought this world! But, in the end, I had to face the truth."

The one that she would remain chained to this place, even despite all the power he had managed to get over this island and this company… And then, growing bored to fight to get his place back in her memory, on top of being more or less happily wed, William had walked away from her. But not from the park. What kind of life could they have had, anyway!?

He didn’t give a definite end to his argument, he would leave this truth to Lawrence's understanding, or maybe even to his memories if the story was familiar to him...

"And yet," Lawrence then commented, " Here you are…"

To that, William didn’t answer.

"Don’t think I didn’t get that you’re trying to fuck me over," Lawrence added.

Hit with how blunt the statement was, William only raised his eyebrows, a smile on his lips — now that was a surprise, and an interesting one at that!

"I know very well that there’s no way out of here for me. Not really…" Lawrence went on. "And I didn’t follow you for that, or to please you. All I wanted was to keep my friend safe, and if killin’ yours is a mean to that end, then… count me in."

His smile seemed to offend Lawrence even if he added again, after dropping the empty bags against the saddle, beside him:

"But you, why are you so willin’ to die there? Don’t you have anythin’ to live for outside? A home?"

"No," William found himself answering. "I told you already… I’m never going back."

Something weighted deep down inside, a strange sensation, like experienced anew after having been lost for so long. And he let it last a little, curious of the feel, adding slowly:

"There’s nothing to go back to…"

This time, the feeling turned to anger and, teeth and fists clenched, William fought it off, and the sense translated back into his usual bitterness.

"Did you kill 'em?"

Lawrence’s question cut deep, like a knife, and William raised a hard gaze on him.

"The family you spoke about about in Las Mudas…"

William let out a slow sigh. He was the one who ended up looking down to answer, on a clipped tone:

"No, of course not…"

The weight fell on him again, gutpunching him.

"Yes…" He heard himself correct after a moment of silence. "Yes, I did."

That part of him — dark, or some bullshit like that — under control but still very much there, was responsible. Emily had been clear about that — "it’s all because of you…" And she was right.

"In a way, I did." William said again, more to himself than anyone else, the words painful and bitter in his mouth. "But it doesn’t matter anymore, I’m already dead to them…"

Except that them, wasn’t a lot of people anymore, really. And the ones for whom he wasn’t dead yet would soon have something to cheer about.

"I came back here for a purpose, but now that Ford took care of it himself…"

William hesitated, blamed himself for it, and finished his sentence in a sour mutter:

"Now that the stakes are real, no matter how it ends, I want it to end. And I’ll be at peace with it."

In front of him, Lawrence didn’t say anything. There was nothing to say, anyway. William unbuckled his gunbelt, leaving it beside him before moving back on his saddle mat. Then, he drew his LeMat to keep it within reach. He was still struggling to move his right arm but gritting his teeth each time he needed to shoot did the trick. More or less…

"You were a nice young man, back then…"

Surprised, William only watched Lawrence who was staring at the flames of the shitty campfire between them. Even when he added, rubbing his hands against one another, as if to warm them up:

"But your appetite for all this, conflict and violence… it got stronger."

You don’t say! William thought to himself, eyebrows raised and not fighting the hint of a smile.

"My, my, Lawrence!" he then uttered. "Aren’t you full of surprises!"

Without waiting for an answer, he added with a slow groan, halfway between relief and pain, as he was trying to find his comfort against his saddle:

"Ah, I’m glad you’re back to your good ol’ self! That’ll be handy soon enough to outsmart Dolores and her crew…"

"What’s she tryin’ to do with all those… those men followin’ her?" Lawrence then inquired, a little nervous without making it obvious. "Where is she goin’, anyway?!"

"My best guess is she’s trying to reach Sweetwater for now," William told him, crossing his arms on his chest. "She knows that it is from there, by train, that all the guests she’s met have come. And she had already made her opinion on their case clear during my first stay, if I remember correctly…"

He scoffed at the memory, and what she did to Logan too.

"Is she followin’ a… a narrative, too? Or is she improvisin’, like me?"

"Oh, she’s following a narrative of her own, I’m sure! Even powered by Ford, to kill every guest and staff in that park as long as they’re human!"

Lawrence frowned but didn’t say anything.

"Which could have been a very good strategy if the amount of guest and personnel in the Mesa didn’t outweight the firepower in the hands of Dolores and her men!"

This oversight from Ford was almost comical to William.

"She wouldn’t get to go too far in there, even if she was to find the tunnel access in the ranch, and the system isn't quite up and running yet."

And now, Lawrence definitely looked nervous. William chuckled.

"Don’t be so worried about your girlfriend, Lawrence! She’s left the tunnels a while ago. If she’s not too dumb, she should be back in the Mesa…"

"What is that Mesa you keep yammerin’ about?" he replied. "And where is it?!"

"It’s where they create you all." William sighed, not really wanting to keep answering his questions now. "It’s where you go back at the end of each loop, to be repaired or evaluated… Hidden in plain sight, inside one of the biggest mountains over Pariah."

He felt Lawrence’s gaze weighting uncomfortably on him and he added, like a miserable defense against it, he was aware of that:

"Your little tech must have a lab there where she fiddled with your code."

William also hoped that this would dissuade him to talk or ask anything else; the topic of that girl had a tendency to make him mute. And even though he had reconnected with his former self, more distant, this new Lawrence still asked too many questions! But for now, something else seemed to be on his mind, or what he had for one. William didn’t say anything, watching him above the fire.

"In my dreams…" he heard him mutter to himself, looking into space.

Then again, William remained silent. He had to admit that he was still a little curious about what that script she had put in his head had allowed him to record, and what he could indeed still remember now… With a weak grunt, he fended those questions off his mind; just as he didn’t want to get more, he wouldn’t ask any. It didn’t really matter, anyway.

In front of him, Lawrence seemed to snap out of it. He straightened his shoulders a little, darting a pointlessly suspicious gaze on William who hadn’t moved. They held this little staring contest for a brief moment, and William was satisfied to win this silent joust.

"When we were in Las Mudas," Lawrence then said, keeping his eyes on the fire. "Talkin’ with my cousins and… and others, I gathered that these hosts, masked or naked an’ all, only attack other hosts if they’re protecting newcomers…"

William scoffed.

"You should be prepared to be stuffed with lead faster than you can draw, then!"

But Lawrence didn’t react; his intent gaze on him, he seemed to expect a real answer. An answer William didn’t have. Following Wyatt’s men, tracking them since this damned town, Escalante, he had indeed noticed that the hosts they came across only walked away with a good fright for the most passive, or not at all for any of those who got in their head to slow them down. Not much more.

For the rare guests he had spotted, it was more their terminal stupidity that had killed them. The ones he had seen while running from the gala after having been left for dead in the cemetery’s grass by the first wave of Wyatt’s men didn’t really count.

"Hmm." He was annoyed now. "We’ll leave just before dawn. So, be ready."

No matter what Lawrence was getting at with that comment, William settled down against his saddle and pulled his unrolled blanket a little higher on his chest; he would have to rest an hour or two himself, if he didn’t want to gunned down like an idiot too before reaching his mark. And he knew every corner of that ranch — getting closer without getting spotted wouldn’t really be a feat, even perched as it was on its hill. A shiver of eagerness shook William who tightened his arms over his chest.

Come tomorrow, he would finally write the last page of this whole story.

Tag list: @hathorik , @pheedraws , @something-tofightfor , @the-blind-assassin-12 ...

#westworld #westworld fanfic #westworld fic #fic:journey into night #full diagnostic series #my writing #ch:lawrence #the man in black

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zrtranscripts · 3 years

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Home Front, Mission 30: Daddy Lessons

Necromancy

SAM YAO: Okay Five, you're outside Thurman's bunker. There's a... there's a lovely occult sigil of uh... a bleeding eye on the door. And we don't know what's inside, so warm up just in case. Stretch, jog on the spot, whatever you need. I want you ready for anything. [sighs] I wish I could say I'm not scared, but I know we're both scared. It doesn't feel like three days since you got out of the underground village, does it? It-it sort of like feels like-like a couple of hours and also about two years.

Okay, briefing Janine-style always seems to help me focus. I have carefully checked every single camera in Spectrum Mall, but there's been no sign of Thurman since he left you in the dumbwaiter. Zombies don't notice him, so maybe he went out into the horde? The point is this might be our only chance to find out more about him. Specifically, how he can be in two places at once. Oh, and oh yeah, the bunker's locked with a code. The tape you took from the longevity research lab says where it is. Give it another play.

DR. MCBRIDE: April 9th, 1991. Dr. McBride. I've heard keeping a diary can help one make sense of things, and I refuse to lose my mind. Seven months ago, Artemus Thurman fired me for excessive altruism. Weeks later, I watched on my sofa as he attempted the highest ski jump ever built. I was willing him to fail, but only so he'd embarrass himself. I still see his neck snap when I close my eyes. I saw his funeral on the BBC News. It felt like I’d killed him, somehow.

Except two weeks ago, Thurman turned up at my door in the middle of the night and forced me at gunpoint to come with him back to my old lab. It's deserted. He won't explain how he survived, only says, “Prepare the bunker for my son. He'll be here once the dust's cleared, and there are things inside that explain everything.” The gossip pages say his son hates him. He wasn't at the funeral. Maybe he knew it was fake, but I can't say that to Thurman. If I disagree with him on anything, it's like he doesn't even hear me. I'm too afraid to argue.

He's different now to how he was before, some sort of monomania, and he keeps talking about the occult, secret knowledge that will help the chosen to survive. He asked me more than once if I would participate in the ritual with him, and I'm too afraid to answer. There's something else I'm afraid of. Thurman left tins of food, but they're running low. If he doesn't bring some more soon, I'm opening the bunker myself. He told me often enough the code for the bunker is engraved on the frame of Brandon's portrait in the Thurmanville labs.

SAM YAO: Stop the tape, Five. It gets a bit grim once McBride realizes Thurman's locked her in the lab and all he's sending her is plastic fruit. Okay, I'm looking for a portrait. Mmm... Ah! Yeah, I can see it. Boy in a suit, but uh, the actual face has been cut out. That's creepy. Still, I've got the bunker code on cams. It's um, 1875. Oh, that didn't work. I'm missing something. Keep warming up, and I'll figure out how to get you in.

SAM YAO: Okay Five, I've worked it out. The bunker lock’s electronic and the power's down, but the door's hooked up to the generator, so you just need to crank it up with some bicep curls. So press your elbows into your sides, forearms down, palms facing forwards. Grab the bar with both hands. Now it looks heavy, about the weight of a couple of tin cans? Now bend your elbows to lift the crank to your shoulders, then lower it back down. Careful, don't hurt yourself. It should take a minute.

Janine's been looking into some occult stuff since McBride mentioned it. She says Thurman was probably using fear of the supernatural as a way to control and manipulate his employees. She also says 1875 is the year that occultist Aleister Crowley was born. The occult sigil on the door, I wonder if it was from one of Crowley's books. Apparently, Crowley wrote about being in two places at once via astral travel, but the occult isn't real. Janine says, "There will be a rational explanation, Mr. Yao," and she's right, obviously. But there's something seriously weird going on.

Okay, you've got the generator working, Five. Try the code again. 1875. Yes, the bunker's open, but you might want to crank the generator a little longer. Don't want the power going out while you're inside.

SAM YAO: All right, Five, time to enter Thurman's bunker.

ARTEMUS THURMAN: Brandon! Here at last.

SAM YAO: That's a recording, Five. Brandon was Thurman's son. He obviously thought only Brandon would make it in here.

ARTEMUS THURMAN: I trust your journey to post-apocalyptic England wasn't too arduous. I'm serious. If it's still a nuclear wasteland, go to the decontamination suite for three weeks and reread my autobiography. You've got a lot to live up to. You can't just rely on your Thurman genes. They're diluted by your mother’s. Penelope raised you to be a sissy, mommy's boy.

You were almost six when I last saw you, and you didn't even know how to box. I hope that black eye taught you a lesson, and the wasteland has hardened you. Regardless, I've prepared tests so you can prove you're worthy of meeting me. If you fail, you'll die, and good riddance. I'd rather have a dead son than a weak one.

SAM YAO: Five, a dart just flew past your face! Another by your knees! Uh, quick, do some jumping jacks to avoid them. Uh, feet together, arms by your sides. Now jump, spreading your arms and legs in the air so you land in a star shape. That dart almost clipped your ear! Jump back to the starting position. Keep doing those and the darts will miss you.

ARTEMUS THURMAN: Still alive, Brandon? These darts are tipped with poison, you know. Ever see The Running Man? Contestants fighting to the death on television, a marvelous idea! The weak are punished and their deaths set an example. Televised combat is just what this country needs. Gladiatorial battles for children, now that's an idea! Get rid of the weak early and stop them growing into giant wastes of resources.

SAM YAO: [sighs] It's over. What was wrong with Thurman? He's treating this like some kind of joke! I mean, it's one thing to prepare for the future, but this... ! [sighs] I hope wherever he is, Brandon never gives his dad a moment's thought. Head to the next chamber, Five. If any more darts fly at you, just keep jumping.

SAM YAO: There's an arcade cabinet in this chamber. Must be another test from Thurman for his son.

ARTEMUS THURMAN: With discipline, strength of mind, and secret knowledge, one can live forever. If you prove worthy, Brandon, I'll tell you about it.

SAM YAO: Oh, I hate to send you further into that... that bastard's lair, but we have to know what he knows, Five. He's too dangerous, and he's fixated on you. We've got to find out how to stop him.

ARTEMUS THURMAN: Ever heard of The Grimoire of the Empyrean Oracle, Crowley's lost manuscript? Explains how to harness occult forces to make reality bend to your will. I bought it for millions, memorized it, then burned it. Couldn't have anyone else reading it. Sharing is for commies. Besides, they say the book is cursed. Everyone who owned it before me died horribly. Starving, thirsty, trapped and alone. You know why? Because they were unworthy!

You must prove you have the right values. Approach the arcade cabinets. Behold, a computer rendering of Karl Marx. Before you are two buttons, Hero and Parasite. Press the one you think describes Marx. Get it wrong, and the room fills with poison gas.

SAM YAO: [laughs] I'm pretty sure Thurman thinks Marx is a parasite, Five, but the buttons have corroded. The levers on the floor are all that's left. You can't stop looking at the screen, I need your head cam, so um... Okay, yep. Lunge and hit the lever with your knee instead. Stand with your feet together. Now step forward with your right leg and lower your back knee so that it almost touches the ground. And raise back up.

ARTEMUS THURMAN: That's right, Marx was a parasite, and you've exterminated him! Here's Ayn Rand.

SAM YAO: Ugh! Um, yeah, I think Rand wrote a book called The Virtue of Selfishness. Hit the hero button. Lunge with your left foot this time.

ARTEMUS THURMAN Keep going, Brandon! Here's Robin Hood.

SAM YAO: Looks like Thurman's alternating heroes and parasites, so keep lunging with alternate feet. Go!

ARTEMUS THURMAN: Ah, Henry Ford. Tore down 5,000 square miles of rainforest to build a private rubber production colony. Excellent man. Yes, Brandon, exterminate those parasites! Halfway there. Oh, Dickens. Reagan. If you become half the man he is, you'll almost be worth the time I've spent on you. You've done it, Brandon! If you'd made a single mistake, I'd have gassed you like a rodent.

SAM YAO: A door just opened, Five! If anyone else pops up on that screen, keep lunging. Otherwise, press on.

SAM YAO: Oh, there's an altar in this chamber, Five. I wonder what that's for.

ARTEMUS THURMAN: The Grimoire of the Empyrean Oracle explains how to harness animal spirits through ritual sacrifice.

SAM YAO: Of course. Yeah.

ARTEMUS THURMAN: Your mother disapproved, Brandon. Called it torture. Well, now's your chance to prove you don't hold with the stupid ideas about animal rights. Release the hounds!

SAM YAO: Oh, well surely there aren’t live dogs here. Oh crap, Five, robotic dog heading right for you, glowing red eyes and razor blade teeth! Quick, punch it! Stand with your feet shoulder width apart, left foot back, fists up. Now punch with your right fist. Nice shot, Five! Keep hitting it with your right fist.

ARTEMUS THURMAN: "Save the whales!" Penelope used to say. Hogwash. What have the whales ever done for us? Ever wondered what happened to your gerbil? Rat poison. Taught you a lesson about wasting resources on useless creatures.

SAM YAO: You've taken down that robo-dog, Five, but there's another one! Right, switch stance so your right leg is behind and punch with your left fist. Go!

ARTEMUS THURMAN: Prove you have the stomach to continue Crowley's work. Show no mercy, Brandon!

SAM YAO: Five, I hope your knuckles are okay after that. Keep going, we've got to know what this grimoire actually did. And if you see any more robo-dogs, you know what to do.

SAM YAO: Right, I just searched for Brandon Thurman on ROFFLEnet, but nothing came up, not even gossip like McBride mentioned. It's like he never existed. Everything about this family is so... just twisted and wrong.

ARTEMUS THURMAN: Getting my hands on that grimoire was no picnic, Brandon. Had to hold my nose and venture east of the Iron Curtain, spend a week in a basement in Bucharest getting a man who refused to eat or drink to tell me what he knew. There wasn't much I could threaten him with, but I found his weak spot in the end. [laughs] After he told me what he knew, I followed Crowley's trail to India. There are carvings under a temple in Hyderabad, tied all my research together.

Immortality is there for the taking, Brandon, you just have to work for it. You can exist in two places at once. Think about it, working twice as hard, making twice the money! I bulldozed the temple, of course. Full of stupid warnings. The grimoire states that to conquer death, you must overcome an attempt on your life, value strength over weakness, and sacrifice those less valuable than yourself. And at last, you have to be willing to kill.

You're nearly there, Brandon. I'm almost proud of you. I've been testing you all your life. Never sent your mother a penny. Wanted to see if you'd grow up self-reliant. And when I saw that article about you in the FT, “Teenager establishes paper route pyramid scheme,” I knew I'd been successful. There's only one thing left, Brandon.

The staircase ahead bears blood sigils. It is a shrine to the god Moloch. He demands the sacrifice of love, so as you ascend, you must renounce all that you love, as I have renounced you. Only then will you be granted power over death. Speak the words carved on the stairs as you ascend.

SAM YAO: “I vow to sacrifice to Moloch that which I love. To starve, kill and...” What the...? Don't say any of that stuff, Five. Don't even look at it. Just climb the stairs.

SAM YAO: Okay, you're outside the last chamber, Five. Almost there. And yeah, your way back is clear. You can get away if anything's... bad. There's a glass coffin inside.

ARTEMUS THURMAN: Well, Brandon, you've found me. I'll be taken here after my death. Of course, since I followed the grimoire's instructions, I won't really be dead, just sleeping.

SAM YAO: The coffin’s bristling with tubes leading to the machines beside it. Dr. McBride worked in longevity research. Maybe this equipment has been keeping Thurman alive all this time. Yeah, maybe he's um... uh, you know, zombie immune because he died, or-or something. Take a closer look.

There's a desiccated body in the coffin. It's uh... Yeah, I'm not imagining it, am I, Five? It's Thurman, but dead. Really, really dead. Oh Five, look at the machine. Every switch has been flipped to off. And is that a note? “See you in hell, dad. B.” Did Brandon come here to turn his dad off? Not that I... [sighs] not that I blame him, really, but... ugh. For his sake, I wish he hadn't cared this much.

Nothing makes sense, Five! If Thurman's really dead, then who's been chasing you? What was that noise? The whole bunker’s shaking!

ARTEMUS THURMAN: Oh Brandon, I've installed monitoring systems. If my state deteriorates too far for me to be revived, I have a contingency plan. See you soon, boy.

#zombies run #zr home front #zrhf 30 #daddy lessons #zr transcript

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lemonlushff-iy · 3 years

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#4 and 11 for olr please 😊

Oh My God. Number 4: What’s your favorite line of dialogue?

HNNNNG...Ok.

Chapter 4

"You and your causes," he tsked. "They still make the best damn truck I've ever been in. Doesn't mean I gotta like the man."

"As I recall you don't like a lot of people."

His eyes filled with sorrow and he stuck his hands into his pockets, shrugging.

"Probably 'cause a lotta people don't like me."

"I did," she whispered softly, and he looked away from her.

"You always were the exception to the rule, Kagome. All of 'em."

...

"Why dontcha give it a go?" he prompted, and the engine rumbled to life again. He quickly closed the hood, backing away from the front and walking over to the side. "Sounds like ya should be fine. You got real lucky this time. Don't you start doubting Fords," he smiled weakly, and she returned it.

"I won't."

"Listen," he breathed slowly, nervously. "I...I just want you to take care of yourself. Ok?"

"This sounds a lot like goodbye again, Inuyasha," she mused, and he lowered his gaze.

"Ain't it?"

Was it? Did she want it to be?

"I guess it is…" she whispered, glancing away from him. "Goodbye, Inuyasha. You take care of yourself too. I hope you're happy. Truly. With Kikyo or any of the others. You deserve to be."

She turned her head away from him and pulled her car out of park, shifting the gear into drive. She was about to step on the gas when she felt two clawed hands gently grab her face, pulling it out of the window.

She gasped and her eyes widened in surprise before closing when she felt his lips tenderly press against hers in a soft, lingering kiss before he pulled away. The feel of his lips against hers...it was just as she remembered it. Only she didn't remember this painful aching in her chest when they had kissed in the past...Or this horrible need to grab ahold of his neck to bury her face into his chest and just cry.

"Just wanted to do that one last time," he whispered just loud enough for her to hear, almost as if he were ashamed of himself. Of still wanting her. Of wanting what they once had. What they could have been.

Chapter 17

"You're fine."

"That's not the point," she snapped through gritted teeth, smacking his pectoral.

"Why don't you give me what for on Bessie then?" he grinned cheekily, and she just rolled her eyes, still simmering.

"You think I won't? I'll give you more than what's for. I'll give you a whole fucking dissertation on how big an ass you are."

"Complete with a cover page?"

She went to smack him again, but he just caught her hand and placed a finger over her lips. She tried looking at it, going cross-eyed in the process.

God, she was adorable. And sexy as hell when she was angry.

"Don't wanna wake up the whole town, remember?" he teased, and she glared at him as he removed his index finger.

"I'm not that loud."

He bit his tongue, trying - with great restraint by the way - to not comment.

He failed. Only a little.

"Sure ya ain't," he smirked, offering her a hand as she mounted Bessie.

"I'm not!"

"Ok then."

"Inuyasha!"

He just shook his head and climbed on after her, pulling her flush with his body as he encouraged the mare to start trotting in the direction of the cliffs.

"So...How loud are ya then? I've always wondered."

He could feel her confusion before understanding settled in over her and she began yelling indignantly at him. He didn't really care though. He loved teasing her. Loved seeing her get all huffy and flustered. Ruffling her feathers...He'd missed it.

...

"Kags," he whispered, staring into her eyes. They were filled with so much emotion. Desire. Want. Desperation.

"Yash," she murmured, biting the inside of her lip ever so slightly.

This time neither of them rebuked the name. He didn't want to, and it shook him...and neither did she.

He watched her eyes search his face, looking for something...and he couldn't help but wonder if she would find what it was. He supposed she must have, because her hand gently pulled his head down to hers, and she kissed his forehead. The place between his eyebrows. The tip of his nose.

She pulled away from him, biting her lip in thought.

"I feel like I'm playing a dangerous game," she mused, her words no louder than a whisper. "And I know I should stop, but I can't."

He wanted to ask her what she meant, but the gentle press of her lips against his cleared all of his thoughts from his brain in a matter of milliseconds. It was lighter than the flap of a butterfly’s wing - so faint a part of him wondered if he had imagined it…

But if he had, how come he could still feel her lips? How come the sensation of her kiss still lingered?

"Kagome?" he murmured, his eyes dancing across her face, trying to figure out what was going on with her? What was happening inside that head of hers?

"Just wanted to do that one last time," she whispered just loud enough for him to hear, echoing his same words from that fateful day.

"One last time?" he breathed, his heart lodging itself in his throat. "We seem to have a lot of those, don't we?"

"It's because we keep saying goodbye…"

...When really they should be saying hello.

Chapter 24

Oh god…

She was telling Inuyasha to do this, wasn’t she? She was giving him all these signals that she wanted him and now he had gone and wrecked everything and—

“Ladies...maybe you should take a step back from this...”

“No. There’s no need for that, Hojo. I’m leaving. She got what she wanted...and I...I won’t begrudge you of doing whatever the hell this was, but I want to make something clear. I’m going back to California, so whatever the hell Inuyasha did...It wasn’t for me, and he knows that.”

She picked up the bag of alcohol on the counter, holding her head as high as she could, and walked towards the exit.

“I hate you, Kagome Higurashi. I wish you never came back!”

She paused, her hand on the door, and turned to look at Kikyo.

“And I pity you, Kikyo...Waiting years to make a move on a man? You should have just taken what you wanted long before now.”

Chapter 25

“Did you ever think about it? Over the last seven years?”

Her heart broke at his strained tone. Like he was afraid of her answer, but needed to know all the same.

“Think about what…”

“Come on Kags,” he sighed in frustration. “You really need me to spell it out?”

“I…”

“Us,” he replied crisply. “What it could have been like if...Things had been different. If we hadn’t been scared, stupid kids who were more understanding.”

She swallowed back her anger at the implication that he could really believe that she could wrap them up so neatly and bury their past away in the back of her heart.

“Yes. I thought of us. Every time Garth Brooks comes on the radio or I look at a can of Budweiser...I can’t eat a pancake anymore without thinking of the times you would sleepover at our house. I can’t look at a man with amber eyes without seeing yours for just a split second. Every new moon, I wonder how you’re holding up. I never stopped paying attention to the cycle because it made me feel a little closer to you, and I can’t…”

She paused, taking a deep shuddering breath before turning to face him, making sure she held his gaze as she poured her heart out and reopened old wounds.

“And I can’t think of home without thinking of you. What happened between us haunted me and I wondered what it would be like if we had been different. I wish things had been different. You were my world. The only man I ever truly had feelings for, and sometimes...Yeah. Sometimes I wonder where we would be now if...If things had been different, and we hadn’t…”

She sighed, shaking her head.

“It doesn’t matter now though.”

“Don’t it?”

His whispered words were so quiet, if she hadn’t been looking at him, she might have thought that she hadn’t heard it.

“If you could...Could have a second chance at it all...Would you take it?”

Her throat was closing up. It was hard to swallow. She wished she knew what he was thinking, but she could see how scared he was. He was terrified of her answer, because she knew that he was asking himself the same damn thing. Had probably been asking it for a while, and she knew he had his answer.

But hers…

Hers scared the shit out of him, because he knew what he wanted her to say, but the possibility that she wouldn’t...What then? What would happen to them then? Once she said it, there was no way to unring that bell.

So she had to be sure.

But the thing was…

She didn’t even have to think about it. She knew the second he asked what she wanted to say. So, she mustered up what confidence she had, and looked him right in his scared, desperate, pleading eyes so there would be no mistaking her when she replied.

“Wouldn’t you?”

As for 11: What do you like best about this fic....

I like that it has so much of ME in it. I never knew how passionate I would become about this one when I started writing it, but I’ve never felt this way about a story before. It’s just so healing for me on so many levels...and it’s allowed me to pour so many feelings I’ve felt about different things over the years into a story. There’s no jilted lover in my past...No Inuyasha...But there is a lot of pain and loss and I think this has been a way for me to release some of that from within my soul. @clearwillow had NO idea what she was doing when she drew that picture, but I’m forever grateful to her for it. I never thought I’d be this into writing a western rancher fic since I know NOTHING about that, AND YET.....

Thanks for the ask @liz8080!!

Writer asks

#liz8080 #inuyasha fanfiction #inuyasha fanfic #inuyashafanfic #inuyasha #inukag #DAMNIT CARRA #Ode to Carra #Clearwillow #rancher #cattle rancher #western #romance #angst #one last ride #lemonlushff

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allthefilmsiveseenforfree · 3 years

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What Lies Beneath

So my wife is incredibly supportive of my movie-watching goals. She helped me set up my blog and my Patreon, she was my very first patron, and she watches at least half the movies with me. As my patron, she has the right to request one movie per calendar year for me to review just for her. But sometimes she tries to skirt the rules by insinuating, nay, cajoling nonstop in her goal for me to watch a movie she wants me to see without it counting as her “official” selection. And because I love her, I (sometimes) allow it. Such was the case with What Lies Beneath, a twisty psychological haunted house thriller that stars two middle-aged, serious actors (Harrison Ford and Michelle Pfeiffer), and that I shockingly wasn’t lining up at the megaplex for when I was 13. What did my preteen self miss? Well...

A fucking GREAT movie is what I missed. I won’t sugarcoat it - this was a huge surprise in the best way. I won’t spoil the ending at all, because this is one film I think you really need to watch unfold for the first time without knowing exactly what’s going on. Basically, Claire and Norman Spencer are new empty-nesters, and in their gorgeous Vermont home all to themselves, strange things start happening. Is it something to do with the mysterious new neighbors? Or maybe some past traumas that are dug up over the course of the movie? Could their house be actually haunted by some malevolent spirit? All of these are distinct, and delicious, possibilities, and it’s a hell of a lot of fun figuring out what exactly is going on.

Some thoughts:

A VERY GOOD DOG at the very beginning! I was so concerned for the dog at a few points in the film, but the dog (Cooper) is absolutely fine and remains happy and carefree all the way to the end of the film.

I have always had a thing for Harrison Ford, and that is not diminishing at all as I watch him shirtless in bed while writing a paper about science. Unf.

Very into the way this exposition is handled - Claire (Pfeiffer) missing her daughter and finding the Julliard tank top in her dresser, then looking through photo albums where we see the daughter wearing it, then see Claire studying at Julliard, then see HER wearing the tank top, plus some articles about Norman’s father dying and photos from a car accident in which I think her first husband died. It’s all tiny pieces of exposition, just little bits of information that you, the viewer, have to put together and remember, and I love that.

Don’t love Norman (Ford) gaslighting her about what to do about the neighbors. If you mind your own business and never reach out when people sound like they need help, that’s how people get hurt. Makes me think he has something to hide or maybe some kind of connection to the neighbors?

Loving the Rear Window vibes of spying on the neighbors, thinking you’ve witnessed a murder, complete with binocular surveillance.

There’s a lot of wind in this movie. Wind is basically like another character.

The layering of dialogue - Norman and his friend are talking about a colleague who got fired for stalking an intern, and Claire and her old friend are catching up. The two conversations are overlapping, and I think they’re both important but we’re so wrapped up in Claire and her friend that that stalking conversation gets buried. This is really well-thought-out character development and building of backstory and motivation. I haven’t watched a movie this skillfully thought out in quite awhile.

I hate the way Norman diminishes her. Like he’s charming and he’s Harrison Ford, but he kind of implies that she’s hysterical or silly for the things she’s been experiencing, and laughs at her expense.

She didn’t say goodbye after playing with the Ouija board. ROOKIE MISTAKE, everything that happens afterward is clearly a result of poor Ouija etiquette.

Oh interesting, so she was in a terrible car accident a year ago, which is part of why everyone is worried about her mental state and fragility. We don’t discover this until HALFWAY THROUGH THE FILM. This is storytelling like prestige television does it, and it’s so unusual to see in a film now that it keeps bowling me over.

Their water bill is gonna be sky high after this. These completely full tubs? The rates are astronomical.

Oh no things have escalated so quickly - I feel like I’m trying to outsmart the twist at every turn and I can’t quite grasp it, which is good because I actually think this is an incredibly plotted movie that’s so purposefully and carefully crafted. I can’t help but feel that we are missing so much now, because we just don’t get mid-level budget domestic dramas with A-list actors like this anymore. I think their era might have completely passed, and that’s a damn shame because the nuance and care here makes this such a delightful and surprising ride to take.

A huge part of that is Ford and Pfeiffer just absolutely nailing how they play every single scene. Their chemistry is great, and watching them play off each other, you can sense all the layers of their relationship, all the past traumas and the lies and the reconciliations.

He says “I know you’re going through something I don’t understand and I’ve tried to be there for you” but like...have you, Norman? You’re always working, you shut her down every time she wants to talk.

The brilliance here is that you don’t know if something supernatural is actually going on or if there’s a rational explanation, and I’m so here for the ambiguity. We simply don’t get enough ambiguity (that’s purposeful) in mainstream Hollywood films anymore. It’s all in the indies, which are great, don’t get me wrong! But I want more audiences to see how it could be done.

I know I just keep going on about it but every new scene reveals a detail that feeds into the overarching mystery in such a natural way. For example, this NICE callback to the key, which I had totally forgotten about. This honestly is a fantastic slow burn of a film, really well done.

I’m so enjoying Harrison Ford using his charm and his looks and his general Harrison Ford-ness to play a not very nice guy. He’s not a lovable rogue like Han Solo or a stubborn adventurer with a heart of gold like Indiana Jones, he’s just a guy who thinks he deserves to have what he wants at any cost. He’s worked hard, he’s a “good guy” and he thinks that he’s entitled to have things go his way just because.

Holy shit the symmetry with the first scene of the film to the big climax - that’s just some damn good writing, that is.

I’m so pleased that there’s no music at all during this final sequence - the score had been a bit overbearing at times, but this eerie silence with just the water running is, frankly, terrifying.

One slight critique - the movie has almost as many endings as Lord of the Rings. You think it’s done, and then there’s another whole section that you think is gonna be the last, and then everything’s underwater again and it’s STILL NOT DONE. But in a good way, I didn’t get nearly as pissed as I do at the end of LOTR.

Holy fucking shit, Clark Gregg wrote this?????? Agent Coulson Clark Gregg?? This is my absolute favorite bit of movie trivia I’ve learned all year.

Did I Cry? No.

I am never going to stop talking about this movie. Wife was right, and I will say it loudly and publicly - I am so glad she cajoled me into watching this film. If you haven’t seen it, watch it immediately. It’s smart, it’s well-paced, it keeps you guessing, and it boils over into an absolutely bonkers climax in the best way. I will be thinking about this for aaaages and missing the way movies outside of the “Disney/Pixar/Marvel vs. teeny independent Spirit Award winner” machine used to get made.

If you liked this review, please consider reblogging or subscribing to my Patreon! For as low as $1, you can access bonus content and movie reviews, or even request that I review any movie of your choice.

#121in2021 #what lies beneath #what lies beneath review #harrison ford #michelle pfeiffer #clark gregg #movie reviews #film reviews

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iworshipkeanureeves · 4 years

Text

There Are No Rules (2/3)

Keanu Reeves x Reader (The Devil Wears Prada AU)

A/N: We are getting closer to @toomanystoriessolittletime birthday, so I’m updating the story dedicated to her birthday challenge. This one is a little dramatic with a lot of mixed feelings and some angst, but I hope you’ll enjoy it :)

Summary: Reader applies for a job in a fashion magazine where Keanu is editor-in-chief.

Warnings: angst, brief mentions of alcohol

Words: 3.2K

-Part 1-

“Keanu Reeve’s office, how can I help you?”

These words got carved into Y/N’s brain over the past couple of weeks. She had been repeating them at least fifty times a day, usually through her gritted teeth, and most of these calls would eventually leave her on the verge of tears.

No matter how much she hated this job, every day seemed easier than the previous one. Y/N felt like she was finally getting the hang of it all, and it was a little glimpse of hope that perhaps she was going to survive this madness. Maybe she was stronger than she thought she was.

Was Reeves as terrifying as everyone had told he would be? Yes, but in a strangely different way.

He had never really shouted or insulted her directly, yet Keanu had his way with words to make Y/N understand how immensely she had failed assigned tasks. Sometimes just his presence was fearsome, as his nit-picking gaze would land directly on Y/N’s desk, making her guts squeeze. Even if Y/N knew she was doing everything correctly, she felt like it wasn’t enough, it was impossible to live up to his standards.

When not in meetings, Keanu would sit in his office swiveling in his chair, enjoying the spectacular view of the New York skyline. Honestly, it didn’t appear like he was doing much, but Y/N could tell from his focused eyes that his mind was constantly at work.

Creatively Reeves had no rules, but when it came to his office, he preferred having everything structured. Every morning Y/N would receive a text stating Reeve’s breakfast order, and she had to get it before he came to work. A cup of plain black coffee, ready on his desk on time, was essential in order to make the day better for the whole office. Y/N was responsible for that, and whenever she failed, every co-worker would be badgering her for the remaining day.

The worst of them was Emily, who wouldn’t shut up about her upcoming Fashion Week in Paris and all expensive garments she was going to be able to wear. Y/N was neither bored nor jealous, but it was very hard to concentrate hearing Emily babbling for the whole day. Eventually, it would leave Y/N making more mistakes, which led to even more disapproval received from Reeves.

---

It was one of those calm days when Keanu didn’t have much on his hands. “Y/N, come over,” he called, and based on his frigid tone, Y/N immediately knew something was wrong. “Where are the Valentino samples I asked for the run-throughs?”

Y/N could already feel her hands sweating and her heart beating through her chest. “What?” her brows furrowed with tears threatening her eyes, she was simply too tired. “But you never mentioned those…”

“Please tell me you’re kidding,” Reeves sighed expressing his disappointment, which at this point was so familiar to her. “Will you ever do anything right here?”

Anything right…?

His words left Y/N helpless. For the past couple of weeks she had been working hard like never before, giving all her energy to keep the office organized and satisfy every single one of Reeves’ whims. Yes, she had made a few mistakes, but they were nothing compared to how much right she had done.

It was the moment Y/N realized she had had enough, she wasn’t even an assistant anymore, she was Reeves’ maid and it was time to save the last bits of her dignity.

“Oh come on,” her eyes were beginning to fill with anger, tears evaporating in the feverish air. Y/N didn’t even notice her clenched fists with nails digging into her damp skin. “Most of the things I do here are right, they are freaking perfect,” she breathed out, nearing to his desk. It looked like she was ready to fight him.

“It’s nice that you think so, but…”

“You never even notice, do you?” Y/N cut him off with a slight rise in her tone. “All you do is sit in your office, drinking coffee and flipping through the same couple of pages for the whole day,” she knew she was exaggerating, but Y/N was furious, she wanted to make Reeves feel bad, just like he had been making her this whole time. “You know, you couldn’t even manage to tell me to go get those samples, maybe you should start doing things right yourself?”

“Oh sweetheart,“ Reeves exhaled fixing his expensive scarf and stood up in need of reestablishing his dominance over Y/N, his wide shoulders were blocking the sun and casting shadow over her enraged face. He confidently walked around his table, and as Y/N saw him getting closer, she got scared not knowing what he was about to do next. Luckily, Reeves stopped crossing his arms and was ready to say something, but Y/N interrupted him again.

“Don’t sweetheart me,” Y/N knew she had crossed the line and there was no way back, disrespectful words had already escaped her throat, so she decided to go even further. “I am the only one here working my ass off, while Emily is barely functioning on her messed up diet. And yet somehow she’s still taking all the credit for my work. I-I just can’t deal with you and your crazy people anymore. You’re all delusional here,” she was practically shouting at this point.

It all felt like a dream to Y/N, she could barely understand what was happening, and her hammering heart was leaving her lightheaded. Y/N was gasping for air, all trembling and looking a little disoriented, Keanu could see that she physically wasn’t doing well.

Y/N felt his presence closer than before, his warm breath tickling her forehead. “Go on, I’m listening,” Reeves said, raising his hands up to her shoulders for better support. His words were unbelievably calm again, but this time it seemed like Keanu had no intention to intimidate, he genuinely wanted for Y/N to slow down a little and breath. She was questioning though, whether Keanu truly cared for her, or he just didn’t want to deal with the problem of Y/N passing out in front of him.

“I’m done,” she grunted escaping his grip. “I’m so. Fucking. Done.” Her words were quiet but convincing.

For a moment they stood still, Y/N was breathing deeply, debating whether it was time she should turn around and go, but Keanu’s sly smirk managed to catch her eye. “What’s so funny?” she asked, still annoyed, but slowly realizing she had been acting a little crazy, Y/N was beginning to regret her words.

“I’m proud of you, Y/N,” Keanu grinned, leaving her extremely confused.

“What?” She expected Reeves to be angry with her, maybe even come back with more hurtful words. But he didn’t.

“You’re done walking around with those sad puppy eyes, and I can finally see that you’ve got something in you. I saw that fire burning inside, keep it up.” He was about to come closer again, but tucked his hands back in the last second, keeping a polite distance.

“U-uh, okay..?” Y/N was still in shock, trying to understand how he could be so nice to her all of a sudden, especially after this little tantrum she had just thrown.

“Now I can be sure you’ll keep things in place here when I and Emily leave for the Fashion Week,” he tried to locate her sight, checking if she was fine. “Unless you really meant it when you said about being done, but I don’t think you did,” he gave her one last encouraging grin and returned to his usual state, solid and untroubled.

Indeed she wished she could take her words back, Y/N needed this job more than anything, she wasn’t going to find another one soon that would pay enough, and she couldn’t afford to be unemployed. She had secretly applied to a couple of other magazines, but since no one had reached back to her yet, she had to settle for what Reeves was offering her.

Still, it left Y/N wondering whether Keanu had been playing her all along, pulling strings one by one in order to see how far she can go before lashing out. She felt like his little toy, maybe one of his creative projects, something for him to have fun with. But Y/N was having no fun at all.

“I’ll go call Valentino about the samples,” Y/N exhaled turning around and rushed to the phone. Her heart was still racing with adrenaline flowing in her veins, and honestly, she was proud of herself too.

---

At 1:00 AM Y/N’s phone rang and she really thought about not answering it. Just in case, she decided to open her eyes and check the caller’s ID, unfortunately, it said Keanu Reeves.

In an hour, Y/N was standing on his doorstep holding a custom Tom Ford suit tailored just for Reeves. Of course, Keanu made them work on it until the very last night before leaving for Paris, and Y/N had to be the one bringing it to him.

“What took you so long?” He reproached opening his front door. Y/N was expecting to find him all pampered in some chic robe, but he was wearing simple jeans paired with a grey t-shirt, and his hair was messily falling over his face. To Y/N’s surprise, he looked like a normal human being, completely different from what she was used to see.

“Sorry, I was trying to be as quick as possible,” she smiled apologetically, hoping he wouldn’t be too mad.

Keanu just sighed opening his door wider, implying Y/N should come inside. She was immediately looking around for something to hang the suit on, so that she could quickly turn around and go home.

“Yet, here you are, wearing a full face of make-up,” he spoke locking the door, and Y/N took this as a sign that he wasn’t going to let her easily leave. “You know, showing up twenty minutes earlier would have impressed me much more.”

“Come,” he invited her up the stairs, waiting for Y/N to make up her mind. She was quite reluctant at first, lagging in the hallway, but she was also very intrigued, and ultimately, curiosity took over her.

Y/N was following Reeves mesmerized by the penthouse he was living in. High ceiling and tall white walls decorated with colorful artwork, it seemed like he was living in an art gallery. Every painting was more eccentric than the previous one, but it wasn’t happy kind of art. In fact, Y/N felt surrounded by a somber ambience, and the quietness of his home only added to it.

“So, you live here all alone?” Y/N realized she knew nothing about his personal life, no one had even gossiped about him in the office.

“Mhm,” Keanu hummed, showing the way to his living room, where his luggage was set ready, together with the rack curving from numerous expensive suits, which all looked the same to Y/N. “Hang it here,” he commanded turning to the console table to pour himself a drink.

Y/N was very careful, afraid the rack wouldn’t hold any more weight. Fortunately, everything went fine, and she was about to leave the room, when Reeves stretched his arm handing the bottle to her. “Help yourself,” he offered, leaving Y/N unsure whether she should accept it or not.

“U-uh, I think I should go,” Y/N kind of wanted to agree, she was interested to learn more about him, but at the same time she thought it would be wise to keep a professional distance between them.

“Do you have someone waiting for you?” He was unexpectedly persistent to make Y/N stay, and she didn’t really know what to think of it.

“No, I just don’t want to disturb you,” she was trying to turn him down, but her words didn’t sound too convincing. Maybe it was his tacit loneliness bringing sympathy to Y/N’s heart, which was forcing her to stay for a little longer.

“Be my guest.” His arm was getting tired, so he pushed the bottle further, practically sticking it in Y/N’s hands. Instead of waiting for another rejection, he went past her and got himself comfortable on the sofa in front of the fireplace.

For a minute Y/N still hesitated, she wasn’t afraid to tell him no, but there was something mysteriously captivating about Reeves and she wanted to explore it further. Y/N poured herself a modest glass and went to join him for a conversation.

“Did you force me to go get you Tom Ford in the middle of the night just because you wanted company?“ she asked jokingly, but then immediately realized it was probably true and the question might have sounded a little offensive.

“Don’t you already know the answer?” Keanu mumbled looking down, and Y/N couldn’t believe it was the same man that she had been terrified of before. Now he seemed vulnerable and exposed, without that mask putting a stone cold expression on his face.

“Can I ask you something else then?” Y/N was much softer now, sipping her drink and thinking if the alcohol was going to start working soon.

“Go ahead,” he smiled.

“Why did you hire me?” It was the question bothering Y/N from the very beginning. She had been feeling so out of place at Vogue that even she wouldn’t have hired herself there.

“I needed some fresh air, I was getting tired of seeing the same kind of people.” Y/N was looking at him hypnotized, his husky melodic voice was like music to her ears. When at Vogue, Y/N would pray for Reeves to just shut up and go away, but now she felt like she could sit for hours just listening to him. “Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate Vogue girls, I really fancy them. They live on caffeine, nicotine and five hundred calories a day, yet they’re still always perfect and on top of their game, it’s impressive… But honestly, they can be depressing sometimes, and I thought I just needed someone like…” Keanu stalled, thinking about his next words. “Like you,” he silently said.

“What am I like?”

“I don’t know, you’re just different. You seem like you don’t care at all.” Keanu put an empty glass down, shifting his core towards her.

Every little move was bringing them closer, and Y/N knew she was walking a very thin line here. “And that’s good?” Y/N asked getting a little bolder, she was curious to know more of his opinion on her.

“It’s definitely not bad,” Keanu murmured, gazing into Y/N’s eyes. They both had their elbows leaning on the backrest and Y/N felt Keanu’s hand gently landing onto hers. She was trying to think of possible questions to keep the conversation going, but his touch was too distracting, and Keanu got the chance to speak first.

“What would you do if I kissed you now?” He asked, locking his eyes on Y/N.

Her mind went blank and she didn’t know what that was supposed to mean. Briefly she thought that maybe the words were all in her head, just her imagination disclosing her deepest desires, but very soon she realized this was a real question.

Maybe Keanu was playing her feelings again, provoking and expecting a reaction, but fuck, she really wanted him to kiss her. Part of her hoped it was the alcohol speaking, but Keanu only had so little of it that it was an impossible case. It was all him, loud and clear, asking Y/N what she would do if he kissed her…

“A-are you going to?” Y/N stuttered, feeling the weight of his sturdy palm pressing on her.

A long silent pause followed after her words, or maybe time just felt different as Y/N was anxiously waiting for Keanu’s actions, she was desperately holding herself back from falling into his lips.

“No,” Keanu suddenly came back to his senses sliding his hand away. It was obvious he felt uneasy too, getting all flustered and trying his best to stay composed. “That would be highly inappropriate. I am your boss.” He exhaled with disappointment in his voice.

“Y-yes,” Y/N gulped, downing the remaining of her drink.

“Yes what?”

“Yes, that would be inappropriate.” Y/N stretched her arm trying to grasp the handbag lying next to her on the sofa. “And I should get going, it’s late,” she blurted standing up and heading towards the exit. Y/N completely understood that running away was not very mature, but she thought it was better this way than staying to talk this through and saying something much more stupid.

Meanwhile, Keanu was rushing after, following her to the front door looking all worried. Y/N was relieved remembering she would not have to see him for another week and she foolishly hoped that everything would be forgotten once he came back. Keanu, on the other hand, had something else in mind.

“Wait” he grabbed Y/N by the wrist, turning her away from the door. “Come to the Fashion Week with me.”

Keanu struck Y/N with his words for the second time this night. She knew they had to leave in the morning and Emily was probably sitting at home with her bags full, getting ready for the event she had been dreaming about for so long.

“What?” Y/N knew that agreeing would make her a terrible person. “No, I can’t, Emily would never forgive me,” she was eagerly shaking her head, failing to understand what the hell was happening. She didn’t want to reject Keanu, but betraying Emily like that was not an option too. What would that make her? No different than any other person from Vogue.

“Why do you care?” he asked moving closer, and all Y/N could focus on was his lips, the ones she almost got to taste tonight. “Just please don’t tell me she’s your friend, because trust me, there are no friends in this business.”

“No, we’re not friends, but still… Don’t you understand how mean it would be to do so?” Y/N was trying to uphold her values, but Keanu was ripping them away from her.

“Has she ever been nice to you?”

“Well not really, but…”

“Great, I’ll call her to tell the news,” Keanu said with his chest almost pressing Y/N to the door, while he was working behind her to undo the lock. For a moment Y/N felt like Keanu was kidnapping her, but at the same time, she knew that a simple ‘no’ coming from her could resolve everything. She just didn’t want to say it. “I’ll pick you up at eight, good night,” Keanu smiled letting her go.

“Good night…” Deep down Y/N knew how wrong it all was, she didn’t feel like she deserved it, not to mention how devastated Emily was going to be, and on top of everything, there was that awkward kiss moment, which Y/N still couldn’t fully comprehend.

Nonetheless, it was Y/N’s chance, her big opportunity to put herself out there, make connections, and maybe soon she was going to be the journalist she had always dreamt being of.

-Part 3-

Tag-list: @keandrews @rdjloverxxx @jadore30-deactivated20200603 @danceoftwowolves

>Masterlist<

#keanu reeves #keanu reeves x reader #keanu reeves fanfiction #StephsBirthdayWritingChallenge #keanu reeves series #the devil wears prada #the devil wears prada au #there are no rules #keanu reeves imagine #keanu reeves fanfic #keanu reeves fic

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alleycat97 · 4 years

Text

Soft Side Pt. 2

“Chloe chill, you’re pacing is killing my vibe.” Veronica spoke locking her phone.

“Is this ugly? What if she hates it? Maybe she will think I’m insulting her?” Chloe quizzed as she nervously patted down her clothes.

Chloe had finally decided on wearing an orange flannel tied up in the back making a crop top and khaki shorts. She was hoping it would be ‘stylish for a fair’.

“Oh Chloe you look perfect, she will love it and the effort you put into it.” Veronica added.

“What about Poppy? How am I going to get away without her knowing?”

“You leave Poppy to me, I’ve already got us a manicure lined up for starters tonight.” Veronica winked. “I told her you were hanging with Ford and Luis.”

“And she bought it?” Chloe asked concerned.

“Well if she didn’t, I’m sure you would know about it by now.” Veronica replied.

Meanwhile, Bea was just as nervous. Why? She wasn’t sure. Maybe she was unsure of Chloe’s intentions. Maybe it was a trap. Or maybe, just maybe, she genuinely liked Chloe and was nervous about this ‘date’.

“I can hear you thinking.” Zoey laughed as she watched Bea pacing.

“What if it’s a trap? Why would she want to go out? I don’t feel good about this.”

“Then why did you agree so quickly?” Zoey smirked.

Bea thought over the encounter, she knew from the second she saw Chloe, she was taken back by her raw beauty. So when Chloe asked her to hangout, she just went with it. It was exciting, it was unexpected, it was love.

The doorbell rang and Bea tensed up, “Its her. Omg what do I do!”

“Answer the door dummy!” Zoey laughed shoving Bea to the door.

Bea took a deep breath and opened the door revealing a equally anxious Chloe wearing, flannel?

“Oh wow you look incredible. I love that shirt!” Bea blurted out first thing, seemingly causing Chloe to calm down.

“Oh this thing? I’ve had it for years.” There she was, confident Chloe was back. “Ready to go?”

The girls said bye to Zoey, who threatened to kill Chloe if Bea got hurt. The two made it to Chloe’s car and surprisingly, Chloe opened the door before Bea could.

Bea was ready to submit herself right there in the back of Chloe’s Mercedes. Chivalry was huge back home in Winchester, and Chloe was knocking it out of the park so far. Bea started to settle in, Chloe was actually taking this serious.

The ride was somewhat quiet, both girls were nervous. It was a complete awkward silence at times, the situation these two were in and the nasty things they have said. Neither thought they’d be here.

A slight shiver ran down Bea’s spine causing her to shake slightly.

“Are you cold? Here let me turn the heat up.” Chloe quickly doing just that, to Bea’s satisfaction. “Would you like to listen to the radio?”

“Ummm yeah sure. Do you listen to anything country?” Bea asked trying to figure out the radio.

Chloe noticed her struggling and let out a giggle, “Here, allow me.” Chloe found a country station, Thomas Rhett started blaring and Bea immediately started humming and swaying in her seat.

“I take it you like this song?” Chloe said with a chipper smile.

“Love it!”

Chloe wasn’t a country fan, but she really enjoyed Bea in her element, it made the drive blow by.

It was an hour drive out into the country, and on a Friday night, the fairground was packed. Chloe paid for parking and found a spot in the grass lot, she had never seen so much grass and dirt in her life and she was silently freaking out over the dirt on her car.

“Well! Come on! We’re going to miss the fair!” Bea started jumping up and down like a child.

“Ok ok I’m coming.” Chloe giggled catching up with Bea.

Chloe was taken back by the fair. It was similar to some of the movies she had seen, but the smell of the fried foods, the overall aura of the place was nothing she could have prepared herself for. Her mouth was watering at the smells.

“Let’s get something to eat, here look! They’ve got all the good stuff.” Bea said pulling Chloe over to a booth with a small wait line.

“Is it all greasy?” Chloe asked looking over the menu.

“Mostly, but I’ll take care of it.” Bea insisted.

“I’ll have the buffalo wings and the deep fried Oreos. And my lady will have a Gyro and the frozen yogurt. Oh! And two lemon shakeups please.”

Chloe didn’t hear anything past, ‘my lady’ She was too busy smiling like an idiot.

She didn’t even realize she was sitting down at a table and eating her food, the fair taste overloaded her circuits and brought her back to Earth.

“Earth to Chloe!” Bea shouted.

“Huh? Oh.” Chloe's face became red from embarrassment.

“Are you with me? You totally fazed out on me.”

“Oh I’m good. This food is delicious thank you.” Chloe was impressed. Not just by the food, but how Bea knew she would like it.

“You’re welcome. Fair food is like it’s own entity. You can’t come to one without eating this mess.”

Chloe looked at Bea’s platter of grease and wondered what she was missing on, and as if her mind was read, Bea was offering her some food to sample.

Chloe grabbed a wing off the plate, it was hot, and slimy and the smell of the dip and rub flooded her nose almost making her sneeze.

“I’ve never had one of these before.” She said before taking a bite, sauce going all over her mouth making Bea laugh.

“Here, you have a little something...” Bea reached over and wiped the sauce from Chloe’s face with her thumb and then licking it clean. The touch alone was electric, Chloe didn’t want Bea to remove her hand.

But she did and she tried to hide her pout. After eating, the two wondered around eating cotton candy. They went to the livestock show, the rodeo and finally, the finale, the Ferris Wheel.

Chloe wouldn’t lie, she was very nervous. She didn’t do heights. Especially on a cheap carnival ride, but here she was climbing willingly on the death trap.

The where near the top, stopping every time to get more riders on, Chloe made the mistake of looking down.

“Isn’t it great up here? The view is beautiful.” Bea said looking to a mortified Chloe. “Chloe?”

“Hmm?” She said timidly.

“Are you alright?”

“Uh huh.” She said unconvincingly.

“Oh my. You’re scared of heights.” Bea said at the revelation. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t want to disappoint you. I thought I could do it.” Chloe said, naturally moving closer to Bea.

Bea wrapped a protective arm around Chloe who nuzzled tightly into her side. The soothing sensation of Bea rubbing Chloe’s armed calmed her down significantly and soon the ride began. It was actually nice looking over the fair, the cool night air filling her lungs, the warm embrace she was in. This night was perfect.

Before they could step off the ride, Bea placed a perfect kiss to Chloe’s temple and whispered, “I have one last thing for us.” Chloe melted. There was no way that just happened.

Chloe was pulled from her fantasy land day dream by the rugged sound of a man, “Step right up and test your skills and win a prize! How bout you little lady? Think you got what it takes? All you gotta do is shoot the bandits, but watch out, the Wild West is full of unknowns.”

Bea slapped down a $10 bill and grabbed the gun. Ready to win and adrenaline pumping.

“Well look at this little pistol. Think you got it in you missy?”

“Just turn on the game.” Bea stated.

The game sprung to life, cutouts of bandits and sheriffs dropping from the ceiling, Bea shooting true, never missing a shot. A good 3 minutes of blasting the bandits for a perfect score earned her a top prize. Bea looked her options over and obviously there was only one worth her pick. “I want that one.”

Chloe was staring at a giant Koala bear and Bea struggling to talk around it, “Here, I won this for you. I hope you like it.”

Chloe nearly fainted. This was the sweetest thing. How did Bea know she loved koala bears? God she was going to die.

“Thank you, I love it.”

The girls made it to the car and Chloe happily strapped her new bear into the backseat, Bea teasing her that it didn’t need to be buckled in. Chloe wasn’t having it, this was basically her child now. “I just want to make sure he’s safe.”

“He?” Bea laughed.

“Yes he. His name is Karl.” Chloe said immediately.

“Karl the Koala.” Bea couldn’t hold it in. The cuteness was too much. “I like it.”

The drive back to campus was much like the drive to the fair. The date was over and both girls had to get back to the unknown. This was forbidden to even happen, but neither wanted to believe it.

Chloe walked Bea to her room, lugging Karl along. “I really had a wonderful time Bea. This was the best date I have ever had.”

Bea couldn’t help but feel a ‘but’ coming on.

“But...” Chloe said earning a eye roll from Bea. “I don’t know how this will work. Poppy will kill us both if she finds out. I’ll be ruined, Poppy is dangerous Bea. She will kill me and then she will make sure your life is miserable. Even when you die.”

“Chloe.” Bea said calmly placing her soft hand on the girls cheek, reigniting that spark of energy. “I’m not worried about Poppy. I’m a big girl and you can’t worry either. I had a wonderful time tonight.”

And then quickly, before she could think, she was meeting Bea in the middle, her soft lips sweetly pressing against the other girls. It was wet, it was innocent, it was perfect. The kiss that sealed her fate. “This is going to be difficult.” Chloe admitted, pressing her forehead against Bea’s.

“I love difficult.”

#playchoices #pixelberry #chloe x mc #queen b chloe #chloe st james #queen b poppy #poppy min sinclair #queen b mc #queen b choices

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letterboxd · 3 years

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How I Letterboxd #10: Chad Hartigan.

Filmmaker Chad Hartigan talks to Jack Moulton about his prescient new sci-fi romance, Little Fish, why radio silence is worse than a bad review, and his secret system of Letterboxd lists.

Chad Hartigan has won prizes at the Sundance Film Festival and the Film Independent Spirit Awards for his acclaimed films This is Martin Donner and Morris From America. He’s also been a Letterboxd member since way back, joining what he proclaims as “my favorite website” in 2013. Hartigan has always been an obsessive logger: he has transcribed all of his viewing data since 1998 and continues to work on filling in the gaps in his downtime.

Like many ardent Letterboxd members, Hartigan is a diligent list-maker, keeping tabs on his best first viewings of each year and assembling an all-time top 1,000 films over the summer (with an accompanying 26-minute supercut). Perhaps unusually for a member of the film industry on Letterboxd, he’s unafraid to hold back his opinions and regularly voices his critiques on even the most acclaimed films.

Hartigan’s newest film, Little Fish, is a sci-fi love story starring Olivia Cooke (Sound of Metal) and Jack O’Connell (Unbroken). Written by Mattson Tomlin, it’s set during an imagined pandemic—shot long before our own actual pandemic—wherein a disease causes people to lose their memories. It was set to premiere at the 2020 Tribeca Film Festival, and then postponed due to Covid-19. It’s now out in limited theaters and on demand, and we were delighted with the excuse to put Hartigan in the How I Letterboxd spotlight.

Olivia Cooke as Emma and Jack O’Connell as Jude in ‘Little Fish’.

You made a pandemic movie before the pandemic. How do you feel about accidentally hitting that unfortunate zeitgeist and now consequently being asked questions like this one? Yeah, strange. The questions are fine. If it wasn’t this one, it would be another that you would have to answer over and over again. One of the things that drew me to the project was that it felt like a fantasy that wasn’t necessarily rooted in reality in a way that my other [films] were. I liked that it’s old-fashioned in its attempts to purely take you somewhere and wasn’t intended to hold up a mirror to our times—but then in the end that’s exactly what it’s doing. I’m curious myself, and I’m checking Letterboxd to see the reactions from people because I really couldn’t guess what it would have been like [now].

Are there any prescient details you’re proud of getting right? I’m so grateful and happy that Jack [O’Connell] is wearing his mask correctly. That’s the number one thing that I’m glad we got right. I think it was very smart of Mattson to focus the movie on [the relationship] rather than the details of this global pandemic. I feel the reason it’s not in bad taste is because it dealt with those things as a backdrop and instead focused on people just trying to remember what’s important and clinging onto those that they love.

Onto our own favorite memory aid, Letterboxd. How did you discover us and how did you manage without us? I’ve been on since 2013, so I’m probably one of the earliest people to jump on it. I love the interface and the diary, just aesthetically it was really fun. I’ve been keeping track of what I see with analog [methods] for as long as I can remember. I have diaries and planners so I logged all that old information. If I was running for president, my platform would be that everybody is required to use Letterboxd comprehensively, because I just love to know what everybody is watching all the time.

Do you talk about Letterboxd in the real world with the other filmmaking people? Yes, and I’m often trying to convince them to join. Other filmmakers are more concerned about having their opinions on peers be public knowledge than I am, I guess. I’ve made four films now and each one’s been bigger and more widely seen than the last. The very first one was a total no-budget affair that couldn’t get into any festivals and I was very excited when I finally got it into the Hamptons Film Festival. It was about half-full and one or two people came up to me afterwards and said they liked it. This was pre-Twitter so I spent the whole next day Googling to see if anybody had written anything. I was so curious to see what people thought and there was nothing—not a review, not a blog—just total emptiness.

When the next film got into Sundance, there were people tweeting their reactions and actual reviews and I read everything. People were asking if the bad reviews hurt me. Absolutely not—nothing can be worse than the radio silence of nobody caring about the first film. The fact that people care enough to sit and write about this movie—good or bad—is a win, and I’ve carried that onward. I like to see what people think, it can be helpful in how you view the film as a success or failure. You learn and move on.

Jack O’Connell at least remembers how to wear a mask in ‘Little Fish’.

Some filmmakers have told us they’re kinder to films after making their own, but you’re not shy at all about being critical. How did making your own films change your perspective as a critic? I don’t consider myself a critic so that’s why I’d be less concerned with someone reading what I thought. Why should they put any stock into what I think? If they get hung up on it then that’s their own stuff because I’m not a critic. Like everyone else on Letterboxd, I just love watching movies. Obviously I can appreciate and understand some of the technical aspects maybe moreso than people who don’t make films, but at the end of the day, rarely that’s the thing that makes you love a movie or not. There’s a great bit in Francis Ford Coppola’s commentary track for Finian’s Rainbow where Fred Astaire’s doing a dance number and [Coppola admits] he totally messed it up because Astaire’s feet aren’t fully in frame. He’s very honest about his mistakes because it’s one of his earliest movies. Then he goes on to say that he thinks there’s the same number of mistakes in Finian’s Rainbow as there are in The Godfather, it’s just that he made mistakes on the things that don’t matter for The Godfather. No film is perfect, but if it can latch onto this one magical aspect that connects you to it, that’s what makes you love it or not.

You had a project where you chart the best films made by directors at certain ages as you reached that age. Tell us more about it. That was a great project. I got the idea when I was 26. This was back when I had a Netflix DVD subscription and it was just hard for me to randomly choose DVDs to throw in the queue. I needed a system. I decided to watch movies from directors when they were my age and see if there’s some common denominator, something I can learn. At that point, there weren’t many, there were films like Boogie Nights and Fassbinder films. Not many people had made stuff when they were 26 or 27, so it was very feasible. Every year there were more movies and more directors to add to the list and it became time-consuming. I did it all the way up until I was 34 and the reason I stopped was because I had a son and there was no way I could continue this level of viewing output.

My favorite part of your account is the fact that you log every viewing of your own films. You know for a fact that you’ve watched Morris From America 26 times and Little Fish fifteen times. Why do you log them? What counts as a viewing? I’ve clearly watched those movies many more times in little chunks but I’ll only log it if we’re sitting down and watching it from beginning to end. I have a ticket to see Little Fish in the drive-in on Saturday, so it’s going to be logged again. Why do I do it? Like I said, I wish everyone was required to use Letterboxd comprehensively. That’s what it’s there for for me, an accurate log of what I watch. This is psychotic behavior but I’m tempted to have a Letterboxd account for my son. I’ll do his views for him once he starts watching movies until he’s old enough to take over. It’ll just be, like, Frozen a thousand times but he’s not old enough to watch anything yet, so we’ll see.

Have you discovered any films thanks to Letterboxd discourse that influenced your approach to filmmaking? For sure, I can’t maybe say specifically, but once I dropped the directors my own age system I didn’t replace it with nothing. I’m a Virgo and I have a little bit of OCD, so I have to have some system. I’ve replaced it with a new complicated system where I pull from different lists and that’s now my main source of how I choose a movie to watch. I have like ten or twelve different lists, each about a thousand movies with a lot of overlap. One of them is my own list of every movie I’ve seen in a theater and I’ll go and look through that and if it’s something I want to revisit. Recently I rewatched Twister, which I hadn’t seen in a long time and is an old favorite from when I was in high school.

I have a bunch of private lists I cycle through; every movie nominated for a Spirit Award, every movie that’s won an Oscar, every movie that’s played in competition at Cannes, the top 1,000 films at the box office. There’s another great website that I use as a biblical resource which is They Shoot Pictures, Don’t They? and their lists of acclaimed films for all-time and the 21st century. I hit those up often. Something that I watched purely because of the very high Letterboxd rating and really loved is Funeral Parade of Roses. I try to see as many movies as I can that have a 4.0 rating or higher.

You respect the Letterboxd consensus. I do, but I don’t always agree with it.

‘Little Fish’ director Chad Hartigan.

Which is your most underrated or overlooked movie according to Letterboxd? I can say I was the very first person to log a movie called Witness in the City, which is an Italian noir movie I watched when I was doing my ‘directors my own age’ series. Literally nobody had logged it, so my review was like “whoa, I can’t believe I’m the first person to log this!”. It was very exciting for me because it’s great, but I’m the OG logger of that movie.

From your list of every film you’ve seen in a theater since you were twelve, which was your most memorable experience? The cheap answer is that it’s hard to top my own movies. The Sundance premiere of Morris From America at the Eccles Theater is maybe the best, but if I’m disqualifying my own films, seeing Scream 3 in a very packed theater in Virginia Beach was really fun, really rowdy. There was a trailer for a Jean-Claude Van Damme movie and I remember the climax was Van Damme going “you lied to me!!!” and everyone laughed. Someone did a George Costanza move later during Scream 3 and yelled out “you lied to me!!!” and everybody laughed again—so that’s a high. That’s the thing I miss the most about movie theaters, and the worry I have if theaters go away, is that so much of how we feel about a movie can be tied to the experience; who we saw it with, what we did before or after, what the crowd was like, or if anything strange happened. There are a lot of movies I have strong memories and affection for because of the experience of seeing them and I probably wouldn’t feel the same way about if I just watched it at home on my laptop.

I typically like to cap interviews off with what filmmakers thought was the best film of the past year, but we have your data to hand. For you, it’s Garrett Bradley’s documentary Time. Can you talk a bit about what makes the film stand out for you? One thing I learned about myself from the pandemic is that the motivation and desire to see new things is very closely tied to the theater-going experience for me. Once that was taken away and you could watch a new movie at home, it joins the pile of all the other movies. The fact that it’s new doesn’t really do anything for me. Why would I press play on Da 5 Bloods when I still haven’t seen Malcolm X? I gotta see Malcolm X! There wasn’t an urgency, so I saw far fewer films than in an ordinary year. But Time I found incredibly moving and important. Similar to what I liked about the Little Fish script, it’s so hyper-focused on one relationship and within that one story it has so much to say about larger issues and the world at large. It was an emotional and rich viewing experience.

‘Little Fish’ is on demand and playing in select theaters now. Images courtesy of IFC Films.

#little fish #chad hartigan #life in film #film director #letterboxd #how i letterboxd #letterboxd member #letterboxd tips #olivia cook #jack o'connell #romance #romantic film #sci fi romance #pandemic movie #covid movie

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douchebagbrainwaves · 3 years

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EVERY FOUNDER SHOULD KNOW ABOUT BUSINESS

This rule is left over from a time when algorithm meant something like the current Google? Why do patents play so small a role in software? Any hacker who looked at some complex device and realized that with a tiny tweak he could make it run more efficiently. In something that's out there, problems are alarming. It has for me. It may also help them to grasp what's special about your technology. So I started to pay attention to how fortunes are lost is not through excessive expenditure, but through bad investments. Fear the Right Things. Microsoft Word. But there are limits to how well they'll be able to hire better programmers, because they'll attract only those who cared enough to learn it.

4 million a month to the rapacious founder after two years? They just don't want to seem like they had to make concessions. Perhaps a better solution is to assume that anything you've made is far short of what it might have been. If no one else will defend you, you have to publish it, and that's just as bad as the mid seventies. Perhaps a better solution is to look at the problem from the other end. When a company starts fighting over IP, it's a sign they've lost the real battle, for users. Startups usually win by making something so great that people recommend it to their friends.1 You generally apply for a broader patent than you think you'll be granted, and the startups are mostly schleps. True, but I don't think publishers can learn much from software. So while they're often nice guys, they just can't help it.

And not just from the technical community in general; a lot of users. So if you're the least bit inclined to find an excuse to quit, there's always some disaster happening.2 This essay is derived from a talk at the 2006 Startup School. Patent trolls are hard to fight precisely because they create nothing. Economically, the print media and the music labels simply overlooking this opportunity? There's nothing special about physical embodiments of control systems that should make them patentable, and the examiners reply by throwing out some of your claims and granting others. You can't even drive the thing yet, but 83,000 people came to sit in the driver's seat and hold the steering wheel. Technology trains leave the station at regular intervals. Startup acquisitions are usually a lot of mistakes.3 Cross out that final S and you're describing their business model.

Nothing is more likely to buy you than sue you. Experts can implement, but they can't design. Before central governments were powerful enough to enforce order, rich people had private armies. But different things matter to different people, and it's unclear whether anyone could be. If nuclear winter really is here, it may be safer to be a contrarian to be correct, and by that point the innovation that generated it has already happened. The startups we've funded so far are pretty quick, but they don't understand software yet. Most successful startups make that tradeoff unconsciously.4 And for programmers the paradox is even more pronounced: the language to learn, if you love life, don't waste time, because time is what life is made of. We tell the startups we fund not to worry about it, because a toll has to be more than new. If you grow to the point where anyone considers you worth attacking, you're doing well. Viaweb.5 In middle school and high school, what the other kids think of you seems the most important quality is in a startup.

If you had a handful of 8 peanuts, or a shelf of 8 books to choose from, the quantity would definitely seem limited, no matter how obscure you are now. I don't really blame Amazon for applying for the patent, but that has historically been a distinct business from publishing. You can lose quite a lot in the brains department and it won't kill you unless you let them. So I advise fatalism. Both make sense here.6 Every couple days I slip and call it Viaweb.7 Actually, it's more often don't worry about this; worry about that instead. I don't think they hamper innovation much. This is a little depressing.8 VCs should be trying to fund more of. When attacked, you were supposed to fight back, and there is something grand about that. Patent trolls are companies consisting mainly of lawyers whose whole business is to accumulate patents and threaten to sue companies who actually make things.

A mere 15 weeks. The truth is more boring: the state of the economy doesn't matter much either way. Perhaps we can split the difference and say that mobility gives hackers the luxury of being principled. Viaweb, and became Yahoo's when they bought us. I now had to think about something I hadn't had to think about something I hadn't had to think about something I hadn't had to think about something I hadn't had to think about before: how not to lose it. The optimal ways to make money by creating wealth, not by suing people. I was leaving I offered it to him, as I've done countless times before in the same situation. To make money the way software companies do, publishers would have to become software companies, and being publishers gives them no particular head start in that domain. If companies stuck to their initial plans, Microsoft would be selling printed circuit boards. It's more like saying I'm not going to apply for patents just because everyone else does. We tend to say yes to the second, but no smarter than you; they're not as motivated, because Google is not going to go out of business if this one product fails; and even at Google they have a lot of bureaucracy to slow them down.

There are several reasons it pays to get version 1 done fast. 9% of the people who thought during the Bubble all I have to keep repeating.9 It's easy to let the days rush by. So why do so many people complain about software patents stifling innovation, but when one looks closely at the software business I know from experience whether patents encourage or discourage innovation, and the content was what they were selling, and the startups are mostly schleps. But the breakage seems to affect software less than most other fields. You can lose quite a lot in the brains department and it won't kill you. It's ok to be optimistic about what you can see people doing. And one of the earliest sites with enough clout to force customers to log in before they could buy something.10 It seems to me the only limit would be the number of startups is not the criteria they use but that they always tend to focus on the goal of getting lots of users. This principle is very powerful.11 The American way is to make money from it indirectly, or find ways to embody it in things people will pay for information otherwise?

So it is with hacking: the more rewarding some kind of job. Well, founders aren't much better. A copy of Time costs $5 for 58 pages, or 8. Even now I think if you asked hackers to free-associate about Amazon, the one to choose is your growth rate to compensate. Some examples will make this clear. You don't need to be constantly reminding yourself why you shouldn't wait. But while I'd spent a lot of regulations.

Notes

To get all that matters, just as well as problems that have been the plague of 1347; the point of a company. I'm writing about one specific, rather than admitting he preferred to call all our lies lies. College English Departments Come From? Startups are businesses; the point of a place to exchange views.

And the reason this works is that the most abstract ideas, because they were already lots of type II startup, but you get paid much. Back when students focused mainly on getting a job after college, they compete on tailfins. Google will pay the most important section.

If the company.

VCs seem to have balked at this, on the firm's site, they're nice to you; you're too early really means is you're getting the stats for occurrences of foo in the same town, unless the person who would make good angel investors. The best thing for founders; if their kids to them about. In theory you could probably be to write an essay about why something isn't the last place in the case, is deliberately intended to be significantly pickier.

Particularly since many causes of the 800 highest paid executives at large companies. Surely it's better and it will become less common for the average NBA player's salary during the war, tax rates were highest: 14. For example, would increase the size of the latter case, not because it's a proxy for revenue growth.

If near you doesn't mean easy, of course it was wiser for them by the Clayton Antitrust Act in 1914. This explains why such paintings are slightly more interesting than random marks would be more linear if all you have to admit there's no center to walk in with a degree that alarmed his family, that must mean you should prevent your investors from helping you to raise money succeeded, and how good they are to be about 50%. So far the only reason I say in principle is that it's no longer working to help a society generally is to how Henry Ford got started as a single VC investment that began with an online service.

I couldn't believe it, by doing another round that values the company, but half comes from. I say the rate of change in response to what you really need that recipe site or local event aggregator as much income.

The US News list tells us is what the rule of thumb, the reaction might be able to redistribute wealth successfully, because investors don't yet get what they're really saying is they want both. It was revoltingly familiar to slip back into it.

In a typical fund, half the companies that seem promising can usually get enough money from mediocre investors. So by agreeing to uncapped notes. Since most VCs aren't tech guys, the last thing you changed.

There is usually slow growth or excessive spending rather than trying to sell services than a nerdy founder trying to describe what's happening as merely not-too-demanding environment, but they hate hypertension.

The First Industrial Revolution, England was already the richest and most sophisticated city in the few cases where a great founder is being able to redistribute wealth successfully, because spam and legitimate mail volume both have distinct daily patterns.

Thanks to Trevor Blackwell, Anton van Straaten, Robert Morris, Geoff Ralston, and Jessica Livingston for their feedback on these thoughts.

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