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falling-pages · 4 years

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Bad Day: Kyoya x Tamaki

Prompt: “Right now, all I care about is you.”

When Kyoya heard Tamaki enter their home, he had expected the usual routine of the blonde bouncing up the stairs, giving him a kiss, and pestering him for attention. So when the front door slammed shut and keys hit the counter but Tamaki never came, Kyoya snapped himself away from his work to go investigate.

He heard Tamaki’s voice talking to the maids downstairs. It still held its sheen, but it was deeper, more tired, and he dragged on his consonants like he couldn’t find the will to complete them. Something was very wrong if he hadn’t come up to annoy his beloved yet.

Curious, Kyoya saved his work on his computer and stood up to stretch. The Ootori in him knew he should use this time to get more reports signed, but he craved routine. And being affectionately attacked by Tamaki was his routine. He didn’t feel whole without it.

As he stood up, his joints popped and ached to be stretched. Kyoya obliged, rolling his head, remembering how good Tamaki’s massages felt. He shook his head. It was embarrassing how needy Tamaki made him.

They had been married for two years now, but you know. Still embarrassing.

Kyoya left his office and came to the staircase. Stalling at the edge, he rested his hand on his fist and bent over the railing to look at his husband, reclining disheveled on the couch. Rarely was the prince seen slouching. Without his bouncy attitude, who was this man?

Kyoya descended as quietly as he could, eyes roaming over the man as he approached. By the time he reached the couch, nothing had changed. He noticed the hair sticking up in the back of Tamaki’s head, his eyes frozen as they watched the TV. Once he drew a bottle to his lips Kyoya knew there was something seriously wrong.

“Want to tell me what happened?” he asked.

Tamaki looked at him. A flit of relief crossed his face before another sip of beer squashed it. “Go finish your work, I’m fine,” he said, trying to give him a smile.

“You know I don’t believe that,” Kyoya said, scooting next to him. Tamaki’s feet were propped up on the coffee table, his shoes still on, an extremely discourteous gesture even in his own house. “I missed my daily six o’clock interruption. I know something’s wrong.”

Tamaki sighed, knowing he could never sneak anything past him. If he didn’t tell him, he would just call some people and figure it out anyway. It was a creepy, albeit caring, gesture he had grown used to.

“It was a bad day at work,” he confessed, taking another swig. “I made a bad decision, and a lot of people want my head for it.”

“Mm-hmm,” Kyoya murmured. He rolled over some scenarios in his brain. “Did you have a good reason behind this bad decision?”

“Yes!” Tamaki leaned forward and ripped off his tie, tossing it on top of his disregarded suit jacket. “I had a perfectly good reason, it just tuned sour.”

“Well, if you had logic and reasoning behind it, the board will--”

“Half the board quit! I’m ruined!”

Everything halted as Tamaki yelled. Kyoya jerked back, a foreign queasiness filling his stomach. How bad was this decision if it turned this jovial man into a defensive screamer?

Immediately Tamaki wilted. Tears filled his eyes as he tore his gaze from Kyoya, hunching over in defeat. First he lost the board, then he yelled at his husband. How much worse could this day get?

“I--I’m sorry,” Tamaki whimpered. “I didn’t mean to shout.”

After the initial shock, Kyoya leaned forward and brought Tamaki into his arms, leaning hm against his chest while rubbing circles into his arm. “It’s okay,” he whispered. “I know it’s hard. I understand.”

Tamaki sighed against him, shocked at the sudden gentleness but enjoying the change. Kyoya never was one for physical comfort, but maybe he knew this was the best way Tamaki understood love.

He soon fell into the unexpected rhythm of the embrace, after a minute humming his happiness. Kyoya took the opportunity to pop back in.

“What did Mori say?” The question sounded caring, but he needed to know if Tamaki’s company really was as ruined as he thought.

“Mori objected to the investment initially, but he supported me,” Tamaki said, rubbing his nose. “He tried to talk to the other board members and even won a few back to my side.”

Kyoya pressed a kiss to the man’s temple. Relief washed over him. The company wasn’t ruined. Mori was a wise man, so as long as he didn’t jump ship, it would be fine.

“You still have him,” he said, “so you’ll be okay. Give it a few days, get a couple of rebound investments, and watch those board members come crawling back to you.”

Tamaki sat up and squeezed his hand. “Kyoya, thank you.” He paused. “For helping me, for putting up with me.”

Kyoya kissed him, drinking in the hum his husband made. “I love you, Tamaki. Like we said, I’m here for better and for worse.”

Tamaki cupped his cheek. “I love you, too.”

Kyoya had loved those big violet eyes for almost fifteen years. He knew them well enough to know that sadness and uncertainty still lurked within them. He wouldn’t allow his husband to feel like that. Not while he could help it.

He grabbed the TV remote and dialed a number on his phone at the same time, leaving Tamaki to gawk. “What are you doing?” the blonde cried.

Kyoya stuck out his tongue, concentrating on the TV. “Finding your favorite movie and ordering your favorite food.”

In gleeful disbelief, Tamaki shook his head. “No, Kyoya, you must have so much work to do. I couldn’t take you away from that.”

Kyoya settled on the right movie. He pulled his phone away to say, “You’re upset. And right now, all I care about is you.”

That earned him a delighted hug from his husband, who, after Kyoya finished placing the order, settled down on his chest. Tamaki glanced at the man above him, wondering how he got so lucky. Even if he lost his company, he still had Kyoya. And if he had Kyoya, he had everything.

#ouran high school host club #ohshc #tamaki x kyoya #tamakyo #kyotama #kyoya x tamaki #tamaki suoh #kyoya ootori #tamaki fluff #tamaki suoh fluff #tamakyo fluff #kyoya fluff #kyoya ootori fluff

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ms-maj · 4 years

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For @theheavycrown on her birthday. Sarah, thank you for all the laughter, support and friendship and for being an all around awesome human being. xoxo

It’s not that he doesn’t like mornings, he does, it’s just that Jughead Jones has come to learn that few good things happen before nine a.m. Yet here he sits at seven, a fine layer of silt covering his beloved Honda, his leather jacket, his helmet (next time he’ll make sure the route he takes avoids as many of those dirt roads as humanly possible; he really wishes he’d stuffed his backpack in the saddlebag instead of wearing it on his back.) The goggles he’s pulled down rest under his chin as he slides his helmet off, his hair feeling heavy and hot in the already building humidity. The helmet clanks against the steel frame as it hangs from the handlebars, dust kicking off in a little cloud as it sways.

He sighs, peeling the filthy eyewear off his head and wipes the lens across his dirty jeans before hanging them on the opposite handlebar. This is not his scene. Well, it’s not not his scene, Jughead is pretty well known as the patron saint of all things forgotten and bygone, so the flea market isn’t too out of turn but taking time off his life to pursue nothing but leisure? Not so much. So when he heard tell of the best collection of antique cast iron this side of the Mississippi he knew he’d be remiss if his cross-country culinary trek didn’t at least find him some new pieces to add to his ever-growing collection. The one that personally threatened to take over another corner of his small house, and the one he’s building a culinary empire on. He exhales forcefully, lifting his coffee from the holder, thankful he opted for the tall, solid cupholder as it somehow managed to save his necessary caffeine from the horrors of the open country road.

Finish below or on AO3

Sipping on his "coffee" he watches as the vendors turn into the old yet still operating drive-in, the name Sunset peeling off the ancient sign. This weekend’s fare, Jaws and Jurassic Park, piecemeal spelled out in crumbling letters on the old marquee. Truck after truck, some with trailers and others just loaded to the brim, turn in a steady stream and supposedly have been doing so for the last hour. There’s a strange excitement that simmers just under the surface, it’s as if he knows he’s going to find exactly what he wants today, maybe even if it’s not at all what he’s been looking for.

Jughead likes to think he’s lived. In his—some glorious and others very much not—thirty-four years on this earth he’s eaten, what he thinks, is the finest food on every continent. He’s trained under classic French chefs in Michelin starred restaurants and with street vendors from Thailand to Peru. His own restaurant, a quaint throwback bistro in the heart of upstate New York is the culmination of those years and years and years of hard work. His passions, he’s come to find, cannot be confined, nor defined, simply by the walls of a kitchen. They’re in the pages of his acclaimed cookbooks and the mystery series he’s been stringing together since high school that he was sure would never amount to anything.

But it did, and here he is. The very definition of latchkey, Jughead Jones grew up the poor son of a couple of addicts and con artists. The ones he hasn’t seen since he got his high school diploma. The moment that piece of paper was in his hands, he loaded his rucksack onto his rusted out Kawasaki and never looked back.

He’s lived in trailers and dorms, in cramped studios and lavish flats, and once, in the projection booth of a drive-in theater. Very much like the one he assumes is in the middle of this one. He sighs, leaning back against his bike, forgetting the heat from the muffler until it starts burning beneath the heavy denim of his jeans.

“Shit,” he mumbles as he shifts uncomfortably away, dislodging his near burnt calf but manages to spill the bitter, gas-station coffee he’d been absently cradling down the front of his white t-shirt. The next expletive out of his mouth is not so quiet. “Fuck me!”

The cup drops to the ground as he wipes at the seeping stain barehanded. “I might have a tissue,” he hears. Instantly he stops the futile attempt to clean himself, looking up when the laughter reaches his ears. “Though I can’t imagine it would be much help.”

The corner of his lip pulls up despite this recent bout of bad luck. She’s in a bold, floral print sundress with the kind of soft hem that dances with the breeze as it blows across the nearly empty lot. The sunhat is floppy, almost too big over the cascade of soft waves that hit her shoulders, she smiles, warm and amused before she takes her lower lip between her teeth, eyes darting from his to the growing spot of wet fabric sticking to his chest.

“I would say I’m well prepared,” he gestures back toward his bike with its ample enclosed storage, and his dust-covered backpack draped over the rear seat. “But apparently I wasn’t thinking this morning. This is also my last clean shirt, so, really batting a thousand today.”

Pink tongue peeking between her teeth as she laughs her eyes narrow as her head dips to the side. “Hmm,” she runs that tongue over her lower lip, looking at him with hooded eyes before seemingly catching herself; clearing her throat she starts again. ”I just pulled my car out of storage, I might have something in the trunk if you want me to take a look?” She half turns to follow where she’s absentmindedly pointing, and he sees the very moment her left foot doesn’t seem to get the memo. If he waits another second she’ll be in the dirt and without even consciously thinking about it, his arms wrap around her waist and keep her from toppling.

She lets out a shaky breath, fingers digging into the leather that encases his bicep. “Sorry, I, uh,” her head darts from side to side before she rights herself and extricates herself from his grip. “I wish I could say I wasn’t normally this klutzy but that would be a lie.” She sweeps the dirt and imaginary wrinkles from her dress and adjusts the hat that now sits just askew on her head.

“Glad I could be of assistance,” he drawls, watching as pink colors her cheeks. “So, a shirt? Maybe?”

Nodding, she turns (with a skosh more grace than before) and walks to the end of the makeshift aisle. “Right this way.”

“You’re not trying to lure me behind an abandoned building so that you can murder me, right?” He thinks it sounds playful, flirtatious even, though both things are patently out of his wheelhouse, but he can’t help but wonder why this gorgeous woman even stopped and looked in his direction.

“Oh, no, see this building might be abandoned, but these grounds aren’t going to be for too much longer. And I have a feeling you might be a screamer.”

Choking a little on his own spit, he slows, swallows, and drags his eyes back up to find hers looking back over her shoulder. She winks, then stops between the fins of some powder blue oddity Jughead has never seen the likes of before.

“I don’t usually find myself at a loss for words but you seem to have found my weakness.”

“And what is that exactly?” She questions as he moves next to her, almost too close, he can feel her breath shuddering against his skin as she places an oddly shaped key into the opening on the trunk.

“Klutzy green-eyed blondes,” he can tell he’s caught her off guard when she gasps as the latch lets go on the trunk lock.

“Okay then,” she’s smiling back at him, that lip caught between her teeth again when he realizes he’s already mapping out their future and he doesn’t even know her name.

“Jughead. Jones.” he supplies, voice cracking like he’s all of sixteen again. He wasn’t nervous, not before this simple moment in which he provides his chosen name and she either laughs or…

Her dainty hand hangs between them. “Pleasure to meet you Jughead, I’m Betty Cooper."

His large, calloused hand engulfs hers, happy to find the spark he thought he felt before was very real, and much, much more than a spark.

Their clasped hands hang between them, neither too eager to drop. Betty finally pulls away with another one of those flustered head shakes, before she starts to rummage through the cavernous trunk. It’s fairly empty, save for whatever Betty is looking for, and it's clearly all the way in the back.

“Okay, but really, you can’t tell me that you haven’t thought, you know hypothetically of course, about how many bodies you could actually fit in this trunk,” he’s taken a step back to get the full picture, which is mostly just Betty stretching the entirety of her gorgeous frame into the depths of the unknown to find him a shirt, but his writers’ mind can’t help but wonder.

She stops her scavenging and with a triumphant grunt, she’s righting herself, the strap of a black duffle bag between her fingers. “Aha! And honestly, who hasn’t seen an old car and thought about the sheer amount of fuckery one could get away with simply based on interior cargo space.”

He knows he’s staring, gaping really, but he can’t seem to help himself. Betty shrugs, unphased, and goes to open the bag. She rummages around for a few seconds then pulls out a Johnny Cash t-shirt.

“I know it’s a little wrinkled but it doesn’t seem to smell,” she pulls the aforementioned garment from her face and hands it to him.

“Even if it did it—anything is an improvement over,” he waves his hand over his sticky shirt and worries she can tell his heart straight-up skips a beat when she laughs.

Jughead takes off his leather jacket, passes it wordlessly to Betty who tries to clean it as best she can with a small rag from her car. He slips his arms inside of his soiled shirt and pushes it up around his shoulders, sliding it off as he pulls on the clean one. When he looks back at Betty she looks a little perplexed.

“What?”

“Just wondering what prompted the middle-school locker room style shirt change. If my seeing you topless would’ve been too much for your delicate sensibilities than perhaps I’ve misjudged—”

“That is quite enough out of you,” he points a menacing finger in her direction but is laughed down. His glare breaks quickly and the smile that takes over almost hurts. Has he been that out of practice with even smiling that the muscles in his face don’t know what to do about it? It’s a definite possibility. It just seems to come so naturally around Betty that he doesn’t want to question, and subsequently, jinx it.

“Oh yeah, and what are you gonna do about it?" Eyebrow raised, she leans closer, arm outstretched with his coat.

He reaches to grab it but he misses the jacket altogether and brushes his fingers against hers. "Sounds like you'd love to find out, " it's from who winks this time. Betty's grip falters and the leather falls into his hand. Words form on his tongue but before he can get them out a shrill ring cuts through the ambiance of the morning.

The trunk is slammed close; the moment is gone. “Shit, it’s a client, and a big one so I have to take this. I, um, I’ll see you in there? Hopefully?” He knows the disappointment is etched on his face, but he tamps it down and nods in her direction. Her smile back is enthusiastic, she looks sanguine; before he turns around he hears, what he assumes, is a happy lilt as she greets whoever is on the line.

He stuffs the jacket and his soiled shirt into one of the saddlebags, slides on his trusty (and dusty) grey beanie, grabs a few canvas tote bags, and heads into the flea market. There’s a moment he thinks he hears her voice but when he turns he's met with the endless drone of tires as the lot begins to fill.

It seems silly—feels silly—to be missing someone after such a short time. Not only just since you’ve seen them but also because you’ve only exchanged a handful of words in the entire five minutes that you’ve known one another.

There’s a small line at the gate. As he waits to pay his admission, he runs a hand over the back of his neck and tugs at the edge of his hat, trying to keep this weird, swirly sensation inside instead of letting it bubble out lest he ends up skipping through the lanes.

He lets out a mirthless laugh, the kind he finds usually echo throughout his empty home only this time it's met with the hustle and bustle of the early-bird crowd. There's no time to dwell, no reason to wait; just the time (and patience) to find himself that thirteen-inch Spider skillet, and maybe a new Dutch oven...or two.

Or, he remembers after he's grabbed new forty-fives for the jukebox, old carnival prints for Toni, a snake ashtray for Sweet Pea that he knows Val will hate but it's so ugly he can't help himself, that while he may be able to mail himself whatever he can't carry across the states...he still has to get it there in the first place.

It's why he talks himself out of the awful Rocky poster. It's not for him, of course, but rest assured it would be most appreciated by Archie and Reggie. Jughead can actually picture exactly where in their apartment where they'd hang it. Their housewarming present would have to wait until the next flea market.

He hasn't even made it to the small cluster of more upscale dealers before he's at the snack stand, walking away with a blue icee and cotton candy like the grown man he is. While enjoying his treats he's only half paying attention to the stalls and tables that line each of drive-in’s aisles, surely missing out on some choice vintage toys and housewares that he has no use (or room) for.

Mostly, his mind wanders as he weaves through the ever-growing throng. He’s been looking for a floppy sun hat but, unfortunately, many, many people seem to be concerned about the adverse effects of UV rays. Not that that in and of itself is not unfortunate, it’s just not helping him at the moment. If he couldn’t look down and see the physical evidence of their interaction, he’d believe he hallucinated the whole thing. The universe doesn’t just drop his idyllic dream girl into his path, well, it absolutely would allow him to see her once and then never again. But he doesn’t want that…

He wants to know what it feels like to have her legs wrapped around his waist, on the bike, in their bed. He wants to see her tangled in their bedsheets or sitting at the counter as he feeds her his latest culinary creation. Not that he’s ever been one to live inside the delusions, his upbringing has forced his ‘manifest your own destiny’ lifestyle to never rely on the dreams, just use them as touchstones for achieving said ruminations. But these, the daydreams are so vivid, so real that he almost walks right past the intended object of his affection.

And it’s only the melodious cant of saccharine condescension that brings him back to the moment.

“I realize that I’m here later than we discussed, but that shouldn’t affect the price we agreed upon, right?”

Betty’s arms were crossed over her chest, head cocked to the side, the sunhat effectively obscuring her beautiful face, which by her tone, Jughead assumes is sporting a proper scowl.

“It shouldn’t, no,” the vendor starts. He stands a good foot and a half taller than Betty, broad-chested and fully bearded, he runs a calloused hand over the gray whiskers. “It’s just that this is a highly collectible item—”

“Which you are being more than fairly compensated for! You acquired it for me, I don’t understand why you’re being so obstinate now.”

“C’mon Betty Boop, you know exactly why. You’re looking so pretty today, go on a date with me and I’ll throw in that Griswold trivet I’ve seen you eyeing up,” Jughead sees the man's hands come down on the table as he leans closer to Betty. He watches her body swell with a deep inhalation that releases as her hands hit the table to mimic his pose.

“Not if you were the last man on Earth, Andrew. Just sell me the damn dutch oven and I’ll be on my merry little way.”

The vendor sucks air through his teeth so loudly it whistles. “Doesn’t sound like I’m getting anything out of this…”

Jughead is practically standing over Betty’s shoulder now, the tension and frustration rolling off her like waves. “Andrew, I swear to all the gods in existence, if you don’t take the agreed price and put my dutch oven in this fancy bag here I’m calling your Gran.”

Jughead isn’t sure he’s ever seen anyone deflate so quickly. The man grunts holds out his hand and in it, Betty presses a neat stack of cash. The large, lidded pot makes its way to the table and from his vantage point can tell it’s a Wapak and in pristine condition.

“Nice looking piece of cookware you got there,” he says loudly behind her. She startles straight, turns slowly, and greets him with the brightest smile he thinks he’s ever seen.

“Jughead!” Her arms are around his neck and face pressed against the planes of his chest before he can blink. She seems to realize herself and is out of his arms and standing in front of him within the second it takes to realize how much he misses her warmth.

“What, did you think you could get rid of me that easily? I still have your shirt,” his hands rest on her waist, he hasn’t dropped them, and she hasn’t moved further away so he’s going to assume it’s not unwelcome.

She hums.”Well, it looks much better on you than in did crumpled up in my trunk

“Everything okay here?”

“We’re just peachy, right Andrew?” Betty questions, turning away from him and out of his grasp. She grabs the bag he’s placed on the table and with a most unrefined grunt, hoists it over her shoulder.

“We’re good, Coop. Just try to be on time from now on, it’s not very,” he pauses. Jughead can feel the man’s eyes slide from Betty to him, looking him up and down with a displeased expression. “Professional.”

“Oh, Andrew. Green is not your color. If you weren’t the only person in the tri-state area who could get me this stuff then I would never give you my business, ever again. But since I clearly work for sadists who love forcing me to interact with you, we’re at an impasse,” she shifts the bag on her shoulder and continues. “However, you make any more assumptions about my professionalism or personal life, then they’re going to have to find a new liaison.”

Andrew groans. “Don’t be like that, Betty! You know it all comes from the heart,” he crosses a hand to his and pats, and then he’s reaching under the table. “Here’s that trivet you had your eye on.”

Jughead moves up next to her and takes the trivet before it reaches her hand. “Is this a 1739? I’ve only been able to find pictures of these!”

He holds the metal piece reverently between his hands, long fingers tracing the intricate lace pattern, running over the feet, brushing against the logo that was stamped into the bottom some seventy years ago. “You know Griswold?” Betty’s tone is more than just surprised, there’s a slight breathlessness he can’t quite place as he places the trivet into her hands.

“Oh, uh,” his head shakes a little with the chuckle. “Yeah, cast iron is pretty much why I’m even here. My best friend told me that if I was looking for something special, this would be the place to find it.” Suddenly feeling very shy, he rubs nervously at the back of his neck.

“Interesting,” Betty’s eyes narrow and fix on him, but it doesn’t make him feel as uncomfortable as he thought it would. Maybe it’s because an hour ago he was flirting like a lovesick teenager and he’s merely happy to be the object of her attention. He hears her bag hit the ground with a heavy thud. “If you’re looking for something in particular, this is your guy. I wasn’t being hyperbolic when I said he had the best. And if he doesn’t have it on-site, he’s usually able to procure it in a very short time.”

Andrew smiles at her praise and nods along. “Yeah, man, if you’re a friend of Betty’s you must be in the know. What tickles your fancy?”

Not really sure how to process, or address, any of what the man in front of him has just said, he locks eyes with Betty and lets out a sharp breath. She’s got the kind of smile that they used to write poetry about and he knows he’s done for. He’s smiling himself now and with a quick turn of his head he’s looking at Andrew again. “What do you know about Spiders?”

They’ve managed to walk the rest of the flea market, Betty picking up a few random items along with the (many) client requests. He learns she owns a small but successful antique shop in western Mass but she's rarely there. Mostly, she travels and he wonders what she's running from. She says it's to procure the things people want versus the things she thinks they would want to buy. It's not about the money, although it seems to pay well, she insists it's the history, the adventure, the joy it brings when she tracks down a vase-like what was on Grandma's table or an album that your grandfather taught you to dance to. She talks about antiques like he talks sous vide, the process, the art, how when it all comes together...life is magic.

"I can’t believe he’s going to find me a thirteen Spider! Do you have any idea how rare…oh, well, I suppose you do being an antique dealer and all that,” he bumps his shoulder (the one not carrying her stupidly heavy dutch oven) against hers, her head ducks in response but he can see the rosy hue on her cheeks.

“If you’ve known each other for so long why all the shit for being late? And if I’m what made you late I apologize—”

“No, Jughead! Not even a little,” she grabs his shoulder and pulls him to stop beside her. “Andrew was just being a dick because that’s who he is as a person. Yes, I was late to meet him but that was because I was having a little car trouble this morning.”

“What, the marvel of modern engineering you’re tooling around in is finicky? Who’d have thunk?” He holds out his (second) icee, offering Betty the last sip but she politely declines. He shrugs as best he can and finishes the cold red syrup in a quick gulp. The sun is blazing, scorching them from on high before he knows it. Jughead feels the sweat beading on his brow, threatening to drip down his face in the most unbecoming of ways. He's thankful they're heading back toward their respective vehicles. It's not that he wants this day to end, in fact, he's kind of hoping he can repeat it forever, but he really would like to get out of the sun.

She smacks his arm playfully. “Don’t talk about Edie that way!”

“Edie? She’s even got an old ladies' name, Betts,” they finally reach said car and Jughead heaves the bags from his shoulder and drops them in the dirt.

Betty sighs as the lock clicks, trunk springing open. "She's an Edsel. You're not wrong about her being an old lady but trust me when it comes to classic cars Edsels are…"

Jughead scoffs. "I might have a proclivity for two-wheeled machines but I do know a thing or two about the four-wheeled varieties as well. The Ford Edsel, only produced between 1958 and 1960, was an ode to Henry's wife but was too modern and impractical to gain popularity. What?"

Jughead Jones knows a thing or two about food, and how people look when they're truly enjoying something. At this moment he'll tell you he feels like braised short ribs or a perfectly cooked steak or a decadent slice of dacquoise, with the way Betty is looking at him.

She swallows, audibly. "No one knows Edsels. No one knows they exist let alone know actual details about their launch, and subsequent failure."

"Hmm, sounds to me you just haven't been meeting the right people," he hoists her heavy bags off the ground and puts them in the trunk.

Betty's hand reaches for the lid and lingers for a moment before she gently closes it. "You might be onto something, Jones.”

He steps forward, careful not to invade her space too badly but unable to resist the urge to be closer. “Do you maybe want to grab a bite to eat?”

The diner is nice, albeit the interior leaves a little something to be desired. It’s cliche in the way you want a retro establishment to be; walls lined in old adverts, gas and oil cans on shelves, kitschy to a fault. They're tucked in the corner, in a red, squeaky vinyl booth and had to cross a very large expanse of cheap, sticky linoleum. He just hopes the food makes up for the fact he had to peel his feet up with every step. That’s not a sound one wants to hear in the place where they’re going to eat.

He explains as much to Betty, how atmosphere can change and engage perception, how the menu is designed to make you want the items that make them the most money, and not necessarily the ones that they cook well. After their food comes and he samples the fare he raves about the milkshakes but is unimpressed with everything else.

“This is farmland, Betty. I passed not two, but three farms coming back. And at least one of them had Angus! Why are we being served frozen burgers?”

Betty eats a fry and pretends to look thoughtful.“I guess it never crossed my mind, Jug. You certainly have strong feelings about food.”

“Yeah, and that’s about the only thing,” he leans back in the booth and lays his arm across the back. “It might align very closely with what I do for a living.”

“You’re a chef,” Betty says matter-of-factly. “That explains your love of cast iron cookware and,” she vaguely gestures around the room. “How you know so much about the business. Still doesn’t answer how you know about Edsels.”

Jughead chuckles in response. “Misspent youth” When she shoots him a questioning look he sighs. "There may be some less than savory characters in my past. I wasn't one of them per se but I could have been described as gang adjacent."

Nodding, Betty takes a sip of the cold confection in front of her. She starts to speak and pauses like she's rolling something around before she says it. Next, she's looking at him as though a lightbulb has gone off. "Wait, wait, you're not a chef you're the chef! The author," Betty’s eyes narrow ever so slightly before going wide, her mouth gapes a bit before she produces words. "You're Forsythe."

How the fuck? "How the fuck?"

"My client from earlier was looking for a dutch oven for her partner's friend, a chef, whose niche is cast iron cookware. This same friend has also authored a series of cookbooks and a youth mystery."

“And what about any of that makes you say my name is Forsythe?” His voice comes out lower than he expects, a harsh timbre colors his words. "And it was not a youth mystery. It sounds like some Tracy True or Baxter Brothers nonsense when you say it like that."

“You are. Holy shit! And they set this up! Oh, those sneaky, brilliant, beautiful women,” Betty buries her face in her hands and groans.

“Would you please fill me in because I am feeling ten ways of lost and, if I’m being honest, a little creeped out.”

Betty looks up, soft eyes, and smiling. “Oh, Jug. Apparently, our friends have finally gotten sick of our wallowing.”

“What friends? Who has friends?”

She rolls her eyes. “It would seem we do. You see, Cheryl is my cousin and Veronica is my best friend from high school."

"Wait, Cheryl, as in Blossom? And Veronica Lodge?"

Betty nods in affirmation. "They were oil and water through most of our formative years and then after their first year at Sarah Lawrence, well, they came back together. Fast forward two years and enter Toni Topaz, who I'm assuming is the missing link here, yeah?"

"Toni would be one of the three people on this planet I consider family, " he's leaning across the table, elbows making divots in the surface when suddenly he has his own lightbulb moment. "Elizabeth? The itinerant eccentric antiquarian?"

“Wow, is that a Cheryl or Veronica description?" She rubs the bridge of her nose, head shaking as she takes it in. "Doesn't matter, but with a title like that, it's no wonder that you were never around when I was. Oh, and surprise! It would appear your pseudo-sister and her girlfriends are giving you a dutch oven for your next birthday. Congrats.”

Jughead is trying to process, though it feels an awful lot like failing. Until suddenly, it all makes sense. “She's the one who told me I needed to stop here and check out the cast iron. Insisted there was something I needed, something she was certain I would find."

"Well, " Betty looks up at him from under the thick veil of her lashes. "Was she wrong?"

For years he’s traveled from place to place; running from anything and everything. Even when he decided to put down roots it was relatively far from even the best of his friends. No one could just ‘drop by’, it’s not like he’d have been home anyway. He’s buried his loneliness in new recipes; it’s scratched into the margins of his favorite books, in the words poured from his own hand. He looks at the woman sitting across from him, strawberry milkshake in front of her, glowing under the harsh neon lights that contrast so glaringly will all her soft edges.

The realization comes easily. He doesn’t have to think about anything more than ‘do I take this risk’ and he’s never been one to say no to risks before.

He drops his arm, reaching across the table, and before it can rest on the Formica Betty slots her fingers between his. “She has never been more right in her life, but please don’t tell her that."

Betty’s laughter peals through the restaurant. He smiles despite himself. For the first time that he can recall, something good came before nine am. As a matter of fact, when her thumb traces the back of his hand, he’ll even go as far as to say it's something great.

#bughead #bughead fanfiction #there's some fluff #and lots of cheese #and I'm not sorry #it's for Sarah #can't blame me

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mykingdomheart · 5 years

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You Win or You Die

So just like the rest of the world, I am completely crush by the ending of Game of Thrones and decided that I deserved closure after being such an avid fan for so long. So I started to write a new, overly perfect/happy ending for myself. I didn’t really plan on posting this anywhere because it was really just closure for my mom and I, but I decided why not. I suck at writing btw I didn’t really try but whatever. If anyone actually enjoys this small part I will post more. Also sorry if things aren’t accurate or if my Dothraki makes no sense, like I said I wasn’t trying too hard. ANYWAYS, enjoy if you can :) also this takes place right after Dany enters Kings Landing.

♛ Daenerys

As she sat perched up, looming over the civilians of Kings Landing, she couldn’t help but to feel that little taste of power that her father before her had. Daenerys had been through great trials to get to were she sat, she had gained and lost so much and she could feel it weighing on her shoulders as she listened to the bells rings.

“If they surrender and ring the bells,” her hand Tyron had told her, “please, my queen, I beg you give them mercy.”

Those words kept swimming around her thoughts as she reflected on the past. She couldn’t help but think that a simple call could destroy all of her enemy’s followers. She would finally win and gain what her family had lost many years prior.

“But that is not me.” Dany said to herself. All her life she swore she would never follow in the foot steps of her late father, the mad king, or her power crazed brother. She was so close to the sweet victory she had always worked for. She thought back to the house with the red door. The only place she had ever called home, the only place of comfort in her life. She could almost smell the sweet tinge of the lemon tree right outside. She let herself smile at the memory of how innocent she had been then. If only she would have been prepared for what the cruel, hard future held for her. As a sudden warmth spread over her body, she urged Drogon forward, knowing what she must do.

She kept her eyes on the keep, on the woman who had caused so much pain and suffrage throughout the seven kingdoms. It was time for the true enemy to meet her end. As Drogon swept up towards the castle, Dany felt as though time was slowed. She could feel Cersei’s eyes latched onto her own. Drogon halted, slightly hovering right in front of the vile woman who placed her hand on her stomach. Neither one of them speaking. Dany couldn’t quite make out the emotion on the woman’s face. Acceptance? Fear? Defiance? She would never find out. As her face grew harder, she said

“Dracarys.” with more meaning than she ever had in her life time. As the fiery breath rained upon Cersei and her hand Qyburn, Dany couldn’t help but to finally allow herself to feel the relief rush over her body. And as she watched the ashes of her enemy crumble to the ground, she let a small smile slip. She had accomplished what had been set out for her. She now owned the iron throne. She was now the Queen of the seven kingdoms.

♛ Tyrion

He watched her with great fear. This was the goal they have always strived to reach and now that it was in the dragon queens grasp, Tyrion didn’t know what she would do. He had strongly advised her to allow the innocents to go if they surrendered. And as they ring the bells, giving the signal, he feared for them. He had seen the way Daenerys longs for power, the way her face stiffens when someone defiles her, and now he could only hope she would listen.

Relief flooded his body as he watched her descend upon the keep, knowing what she had decided, while it also gave him the sinking feeling of dread. Tyrion had always hated his sister. Only he didn’t really hate her, he was a family man. Nothing was more important to him than family. And while he knew this was the only way, he couldn’t help but to pray that Jaime had made it to her in time to escape. He wanted a new life for them. Especially Jaime, the only person who ever truly loved him. His thoughts where stopped abruptly at the sight of dragon fire. Tyrion couldn’t stop the tears welling up in his eyes as he realized that was the end of his sweet sister. He almost blamed himself for it, but he stopped himself, remembering all of the cruel affairs she had played a huge hand in. He knew this was what was best for the realm. He watched with sadness and admiration as Drogon landed gently on the keep as Daenerys’ voice rang out through out the hold.

“Qoy ki tih qoy, kisha won jinka asshekh! Kisha zhorre jinka asshekh! Tha asshekh ki tha khaleesi!” Dany praised to her people. “And for the people of King’s Landing, I grant you nothing but peace and offerings! I am not a threat! I am not here to put you in chains! I am here to lift your burdens and bring harmony back to the seven kingdoms!”

The silence was filled with shouts from the Dothraki screamers and the Unsullied. He could practically see the joy radiating off of her as she climbed down off of her beast and made her way to the throne room. He watched as Greyworm lead his high ranking officers to patrol the keep as he went to celebrate with his beloved queen. Tyrion wasn’t the only one standing back, watching with a mix of emotions. His eyes temporarily locked with Jon Snow’s. He was contemplating something and for a split second, curiosity flashed his eyes. Tyrion knew what the bastard was thinking. Only he wasn’t a bastard, he was Aegon Targaryen, the true heir to the throne, and the better choice in Tyrion’s opinion although he wouldn’t dare speak that aloud. He preferred not being burned alive. So instead of thinking of what could be, he began walking to where his queen would be seated, knowing it was time to go back to his responsibilities. As he passed by the townsfolk, he wished he could take a peek inside of their minds. He wondered if they feared the silver haired queen. He wondered if they would grow to love her as her people do, or if she would even be the queen at all.

#game of thrones #game of thrones new ending #game of thrones fic #game of thrones writing #got fic #game of thrones imagine #i should have been in charge of writing the last two episodes

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yakumtsaki · 6 years

Photo

There’s no easy way to say this so I’m just gonna come right out with it: welcome to the most morbid post in Union history. Half the family is getting wiped out in a single update and I don’t mean to point fingers, but it’s 100% Wyatt’s fault. I really need someone to blame so don’t dare try to take this away from me.

Back to the present and not the corpse-filled near future, we actually have some money to spend on our spawn for the first time ever, so Shajar gets a non-completely-depressing room. No more eating from the cat bowl for our kids!

..spoke too soon.

-Is it still there, is it still there??

-YES omg it just looked right at me! Vic! I’m scared!

-Don’t make eye contact with it you fool! Don’t you have any idea about how children work??

After not getting promoted for an eon, Jojo is suddenly killing it, two promotions in a row!

-I know, I was starting to fear I’d be one of those geniuses who are only recognized after death- UGH, what is that obnoxious sound?

That’s your infant child screaming because it was abandoned on the cold hard floor the entire night.

-Oh ok, so standard parenting. For a minute I thought something was wrong.

-There, there, you’re alright. Ok.. OK seriously, stop. God, have some dignity for once in your 12-hour life. Crying in public is so embarrassing.

-NEEEEEEO NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Yup. I’ve been so focused on feeding Victor and Alegra’s ancient asses from the bowl of life that I forgot Neo was an elder too, so he’s the first to go even though he’s way younger than them, great job @ me. Goodbye Neo 💔 You were such a good boy, our cat heir, and an integral part in achieving Komei’s life-ruining LTW. You will be sorely missed.

..Apparently by your archenemy Victor most of all. Vicky casually walked off the lot the minute Neo died with no notifications about running away, only to return on his own shortly after. Wtf is going on in this house.

-I had to contemplate the futility of hate.. All this time wasted trying to kill each other and for what.. It's a sunrise and a sunset from a cradle to a casket.

Yea or this lot is already glitched as fuck and it’s only generation 2. Good times.

I was very bummed out by Neo’s premature demise and not in the mood for another kid, but one peek at Jojo and Wyatt’s life bars convinced me to drop the mourning period and circle-of-life this bitch. They are extremely not getting any younger and who tf do I think I am? Someone who knows better than Mufasa?However since a) Jojo is nowhere near his 100k LTW and can’t be taking days off and b) and more importantly, I hate Wyatt, guess who’s carrying this time around!

OH COME ON

GODFUCKINGDAMMIT WYATT

-Huhu!

How the hell did this happen I DEMAND TO KNOW

-Check how your mods work in le futur, idiόt!

..well you got me there.

Jo you are ON FIRE, 3/3! Maybe we can actually complete this 100k bullshit before you’re on death’s doorstep. It’s gonna be close tho, but you know, you just HAD to get knocked up again, so that’s on you.

-No, it’s on YOU.

No, it’s ON WYATT. Let’s just not point fingers and move on, ok? Everyone is equally to blame.

-NO THEY’RE NOT

I’VE MOVED ON I CAN’T HEAR YOU

And now a section I like to call: What the entire fuck is happening. VICTORIA WHAT ARE YOU DOING

-What?? I love babies :)

I legit went back and checked, can you guess how many times Victoria autonomously interacted with any of her kids when they were babies/toddlers? If you had EXACTLY ONE TIME you win..nothing. There are no winners here.

Oh. my. god.

-Stop hogging her already, I wanna feed her too!

-WELL WAIT YOUR TURN DICK. No, not you, baby bobo booboo..

We’ve had our fair share of plot twists around here but this is truly some fucked up shit. In case you don’t get what the big deal is, enjoy this little trip down memory lane aka the Victoria-Komei-parenting-hall-of-fame. Either the ‘age mellows people out’ thing applies to sims too or they got personality transplants when I wasn’t looking. Disturbing.

Of course SOME THINGS never change, no matter how life-ruining for all involved.

-Is this about my LTW, STILL? It’s been like 20 years, GET OVER IT

NEVER

Whachu doing Vic?

-Updating my will to include Komei now that I suddenly love him. Of course someone has to get cut to make that happen..

Well goodbye Daniel I guess!

-..Who the fuck is Daniel?

-I too am making preparations for when I leave this cruel world.

I’m gonna go out on a limb here and assume they’re cat-related.

-NO, not everything is about cats! I have plenty of other interests and concerns.

Name one.

-My beloved son! I’m making sure he takes care of my cats.

Finally, this family’s excellence is starting to be recognized. It’s about time.

-Yea no, this is a recognition that you trainwrecks need all the help you can get.

UGH typical jealous hater bullshit, I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.

Ok, I’ve some idea what you’re talking about. Honestly what else has to happen for me to just. stop fucking throwing kid’s birthday parties? I’m pretty sure we’ve had..one that wasn’t a straight up disaster? God knows those glory days aren’t returning any time soon.

-I don’t know what you’re talking about, I’m having a blast :D

Of course you are Gunther, you haven’t been sober since the third year of college.

AND SOME PEOPLE ARE TAKING ADVANTAGE OF THAT. ABSOLUTELY NOT. HALF ALIEN PROF ISTFG

-I’m legit fine with this :)

I legit don’t care, it’s not happening in our sacred home. Also BRIT IS RIGHT THERE JFC you’ve gotten stupid as shit.

You guys seriously, what sins am I paying for, why can’t we have ONE NORMAL NON-INCESTUOUS PARTY. JUST ONE. Daniel heartfarting over his ex, ok, not that weird. Komei heartfarting over his daughter-in-law..getting weird. Gunther heartfarting over Half Alien Prof..reaching for the chlorine to bleach my eyes and then immediately drink.

Nice, get in on that action Wyatt! We almost forgot about your long standing boner for your brother-in-law.

Happy birthday, Shajar! You’re welcome for this amazing party, pay me back by not being ugly.

..yea ok. You did your best with the tools you were given. And I mean the literal giant tools that are your parents. Hopefully Wyatt came through with his somewhat balanced personality???

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. OH MAN. 10 playful, 9 active and 1 nice? Literally sporting Jigsaw’s personality. I mean darling Jojo has 3 nice points and is..how he is, can’t even imagine what Shajar is gonna grow up to be like, but it’s good to know we’re moving in the exact opposite direction than intended.

-Enjoyed your kid’s birthday party, you cheating bastard? WELL PARTY’S OVER

-I may be a cheating bâtard-

-SHUT THE FUCK UP WITH YOUR SELECTIVE FRENCH ACCENT

AW Neo’s ghost making its first appearance and trying to kill Wyatt, what a sweetheart. Welcome to the party!

It was one for the history books!

-How on earth did this party suck, I had an exceptional time.

Yea that’s because you weren’t there, it’s easy to have an exceptional time away from this family. Of course I have never personally experienced it but the mind does race.

-AH at last, my article is published! Oh, editor’s pick too, ha, of course. No, wait, editor’s warning.. As requested by the legal department? Drama queens. “Horrifying views expressed.. Widely discredited.. Not endorsed in any way by this publication.. DERIVATIVE??!!” Well, I know what I’m doing this weekend.

Is it.. rewriting your article?

-Oh, I’ll rewrite it alright. IN BLOOD

Great. Speaking of blood-

-Victor’s thirst for it is back with a vengeance. We went an entire 4 days without a cat fight and I was all like ‘woo new record’ but one thing has become clear since then:

Victor didn’t go away to contemplate shit. He was waiting..plotting..training..and now the time has come for Victor 2: Reign of Blood.

-WHERE’S YOUR GOD NOW??

Seems about right. Honestly Sophie is the wisest one among us because she got tfo just in time to miss THIS:

Yea, unsurprisingly fucking Damien here is one vicious screamer. WHAT DO YOU WANT

-YOUR SOULS

Good luck finding any in this house.

-Who’s my cute little spawn of satan? Who is? Come to grandma baby.

-ONE SMALL STEP FOR ME, ONE GIANT LEAP TOWARDS THE ANNIHILATION OF MANKIND

Wyatt continues to do nothing of use all day and is not even getting promoted anymore due to his tragic lack of skill points. Somehow that led me to deciding he should be the one to get the genie wishes, I honestly dk wtf my problem is.

-Greetings, mortal etc etc. I’m gonna skip over the intro, you know the deal with the dealio, 3 wishes, let’s hit it.

-I was expectànt more of an Aladdin flair but c’est bien I guess..

-DON’T DARE MENTION THAT MOVIE TO ME YOU FRENCH ASSHOLE

-Um, oui, your désir c’est my command..Huhu!

-Is one of your wishes the return of your brain, because you should throw that in there.

-Non, non. C’est but one wish in mon coeur, Genié. To nevér, evér have to interact with my bébés but still have beaucoup of them.. In case you can’t tell, I am sim de famille!

-Ugh yea, that much is obvious.

-Well, your wish is granted, mortal! Let me just flick your nose as hard as I can and we’re done here..

-Pourquoi?

-Oh no reason, just for my own pleasure. Buh-bye!

-And with that, he turned into la fumée, mon cheri! Incrediblé!

-I hate my life.

That makes two of us. As in I hate your life too, my life is pretty good.

KOMEI DO YOU MIND WITH YOUR DANGEROUS CURVES, Jojo has a grueling skilling schedule to keep up with.

-So this is it. Rock bottom.

I mean, you wanted to be heir boo, you got it. It’s a dirty job.

Finally one of the Mortal Kombat cats lives up to its name! GET FUCKED VICTOR

-K.O

Well, we all saw that coming. Victor seriously, you’re like 50yo, don’t do this.

-I’m outta here for the fourth time bitches, and this time I’m not coming back! No man is an island but this cat is.

Ok, see you soon.

Wyatt’s wish is definitely coming true, he has not touched Shajar a single time yet, autonomously or otherwise! What a guy.

-I HAVE NO USE FOR EARTHLY FATHERS, THE ONE I NEED AWAITS US ALL IN HELL

It’s gonna be a long fucking generation.

-WYATT. WYATT YOU DAMN MORON WAKE UP

-Ugh Jojό, I told you, my magique protects me from all bébé interactiόn.

-DOES IT PROTECT YOUR TORSO FROM MULTIPLE STAB WOUNDS

It’s a girl! I’m like why stray from a proven formula, so I name her Cyneswith after another Crusader Kings character, who did not exist irl like Shajar but was still a fire emoji empress of Britannia. Welcome to the shitshow Cyneswith! No offense, it was great to meet you, but we have some important shit to do so..have fun on the floor?

FUCKING FINALLY. It’s promotions only from now on boo!

..Which is more than I can say for some people. Wyatt seriously, can you move your useless ass up the ladder already so we can avoid having this freak in our house EVERY SINGLE DAY.

-The boy’s just following his heart ;)

Half Alien Prof you are by far the biggest pervert I’ve ever had in this game and Jojo spent his entire teenagehood trying to start a bdsm relationship with Stephen Tinker.

Well, Victor predictably died off lot, which is so on brand for him I’m not even mad. An insufferable dick to the very end, he lived to eat and to start fights with every animal he ever came in contact with. He only ever really loved Victoria. I’m gonna miss him so much.

Victor may have died, but that’s not going to stop the police department from trying to return him to us. Just remember that that place is under Wyatt’s supervision and it all makes sense.

Can hardly wait, Professional Make-Up Cop.

-I want to play a game, Alegra.

Man is someone gunning to be put up for adoption!

-Papa’s birthday présent to you, Shajar, is us finally meeting! Breathe it in, mon favori, I’ll be seeing you again on your next anniversaire!

-Wyatt I swear to fucking god, I will stab you.

Can we get this going please, I’m in NO MOOD.

Not bad at all! A pretty even mix of Wyatt/Jojo and I see you def did not get the Komei jaw, which is pretty much angels singing.

-Angels singing makes my eyes roll in the back of my skull.

You make my eyes roll in the back of my skull.

-What?

What. I didn’t say anything. Love you Shaj!

-One more for the road babe? After 50 years?

Yea. Just pretend everything that follows has a broken heart emoji before and after each word.

I dress Vic up and have her wait for Death in the living room like a lady, none of those ‘dying in the bathroom in my underwear’ deaths, befitting people like Wyatt. However ideal the circumstances as far as death goes, my heart still broke in more pieces than cats Komei has petted.

-VICTORIA UNION

-Marisa? Is that you?

-NO, IT’S-wow cool armchair, where did you get-no, sorry, you’re dying and all, let me start over..

-VICTORIA UNION, YOUR TIME HAS COME. I’M HERE TO COLLECT YOUR WRETCHED SOUL

-What? My soul is not wretched jerkoff, the fuck you talking about?

-THAT’S JUST A THING WE SAY BECAUSE IT SOUNDS COOL, PLEASE DON’T RUIN IT

-HERE’S YOUR COMPLIMENTARY VIRGIN MARGARITA

-Virgin??? Oh god, I’m going to hell aren’t I?

-YOU WERE, BUT YOUR GRANDDAUGHTER MADE SOME CALLS ON YOUR BEHALF. WELCOME TO HEAVEN

-Yes, I can taste the alcohol in this! GOING GONE, BITCHES. LATES

The stacks of simoleons DID NOT EASE MY PAIN. I do love that Daniel got the most final version of ‘and none for Gretchen Weiners, bye’ possible.

Jojo is fucking devastated and immediately rolls the want to resurrect Vic. It’s bummy af, I’m not even gonna go for the obvious oedipal jokes, he was just crying for days and days and days..

Komei, on the other hand, WAS NOT.

-Eh, I’ll be seeing her soon enough, why waste the tears.

Now that I think about it Komei has never cried about any of the cats either, I think he’s just the type of person who deals with grief by suppressing it. Whatever works.

Jojo and Wyatt are always having these fashion talks whenever they’re eating which are hilarious because I can see Wyatt being into it, I mean he’s french, but in what world is fucking nerd Jojo interested in clothing. Not even that can cheer him up now 💔

Fucking Florence, bringer of doom, returns Sophie to us and the moment she does:

Tell me how am supposed to live without you, now that I've been loving you so long, how am I supposed to live without you, how am I supposed to carry on, when all that I've been living for.. is gone 💔

FUCK YOU FLORENCE

Jfc the blows just won’t stop coming. LEAVE US ALONE WE’RE IN MOURNING

Time for Cyneswith’s depressing ass birthday which I can’t give less of a fuck about, and apparently neither can Wyatt but then again he wouldn’t even if we weren’t ~back to black.

Loving the hairstyle but it does look ridic on a toddler. Good for you for committing to your british aristocracy character tho, very Downton Abbey.

Well the Komei jaw always knocks twice and apparently we let it in this time. Are you beautiful on the inside Cyneswith?

OH. MY. FUCK. BYE. CYNESWITH YOU FUCKING FREAK

-Huhu!

NO SHE GOT THE HUHU. GOD HELP US

Cyneswith dramatically enters the toddler stage by immediately going into aspiration failure.. You can all guess where this is going.

-KOMEI UNION YOUR TIME HAS COME. I’M HERE TO COLLECT YOUR-

-Yea yea whatever, are my cats waiting for me? If you say no I will literally kill myself.

-I DON’T THINK YOU’RE GRASPING THE CORE CONCEPT OF DEATH, BUT YES THEY ARE WAITING.

-I’M OUT. TELL THE WOLF I LOVED HIM

KOMEI 💔 I’m sorry but we will not be delivering that message.

Apparently Jojo and Komei legit bonded at some point?? I was expecting like a half-hearted sigh but instead we got sobbing-

-and this sum that does not imply ‘least favorite kid’ AT ALL.

Well you know how the old saying goes: nothing will ever replace your parents but a helicopter will come close.

Also in mourning: this breakdancer npc that randomly appeared on our lot and stayed stuck there for 2 days before I finally batboxed her into oblivion. This lot is fuuuucked y’all.

And generation 1 is officially over. Rest in peace Komei and Victoria, legacy founders, horrible spouses and somehow even worse parents. You stuck it out and were fun to play till the very end. I’ll really miss you guys 💔

#ts2 #gen 2

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asinfulallurerapture-blog · 7 years

Text

THE MONSTER WITHIN...

Stefan looked at the tombstone of his brother, he tilted his head as he read what had been written on it ‘Rest in Peace’ ‘Beloved Brother’ and Beloved Son something kept telling him Beloved Asshole would have fitted perfectly at the least, Damon was an asshole just like other assholes he had gotten himself murdered but him it was for the greater good. Stefan had to admit he had missed his brother he missed what they used to argue about he missed wanting him dead and he missed the bickering more than the arguments but most importantly through it all he missed his brother and not what he was but his brother. Stefan kneeled down with a smile on his lips, he held the bourbon taking a sip of it then he poured the rest of the bottle on the grass. He knew that he wasn’t in there, nothing was in his place but just a coffin with a name on it “Six months in and you’re still dead...” a devious smirk appeared on Stefan’s lips as he shook his head “Witches...so unreliable, huh” Stefan said he meant it, he meant what he was saying because he knew from firsthand experience. The Stefan that everyone knew was gone, he had left when his brother had died he couldn’t handle the pain anymore he couldn’t handle the suffering of knowing Damon Salvatore was dead...gone “I know you’re dead but I also know you are plannning to escape Hell. Do it before Elena turns into an old lady with cats” He laughed “Just find a way to come back...I know it’s in your head”

Damon might have done things that were worse but Stefan knew that he had done much worse than poor Damon, he had murdered, killed and slaughtered all for the fun of it. Stefan deserved to die but God wouldn’t let him, no one would let him “Since you’re gone, I’ll tell you what you’ve missed. What I’ve been up for the past six months” Stefan nodded “Let’s start after you supposedly died after Elena cried herself to sleep for countless days and then it became months and then I started to get irritated and annoyed at the fact that she kept crying and then her friends looking at me like I’m supposed to take care of her. She’s your problem now, man. Don’t get me wrong but the minute she chose you was when I washed my hands of her so I let her deal with your death...she’s a vampire now anyway” Stefan’s voice was amused at what he had been saying, he had decided to cut the shit and tell it like it was before he told the real story of his adventure. Damon had a right to know about his girlfriend...his boring girlfriend...she was his now...Elena Gilbert was Damon’s now and never his “It’s not gonna be my problem she gets herself killed with her carelessness” Stefan said...."I'll look after her as much as I can, brother but she chose you. There is no dagger that hurts more than that. You're lucky you're dead, you're idiot" He said with a grin.

SIX MONTHS DURING DAMON’S DEATH

Stefan looked at the sobbing human he tilted his head to the side studying her, she made him fascinated by her sobbing and begging he was fascinated that she had the guts to beg for forgiveness while he wanted to drain her dry. The Ripper was back into action, Stefan couldn’t handle the pain of his brother anymore he couldn’t let it consume him. He wanted to forget about it to forget about Elena as well but she had always made it hard, her crying had gotten too much for him “Ple...P...Please....Please don’t do this” The woman begged him, she crawled away from him her tears hitting the ground “Hel....help m...me” Stefan kept following her but at his own place, she seemed hopeless she wanted to give up he could feel it and his monster could feel it too. She was giving in to him and that was what he wanted, Stefan watched as the woman tried standing up but she kept falling back down but she kept trying until she succeeded. Her face covered with tears, her makeup smeared all over her face but that had just been the beginning, she looked at Stefan for what seemed like ten minutes but was more or less a few seconds. She turned her head to look at the darkness of the woods then back at the monster that stood to wait for her next move “Run” Stefan’s inner voice kept telling the woman, it kept repeating the words as if she would hear him but he knew she wouldn’t. She would wait until he moved or he killed her ‘RUN DAMMIT” The voice shouted even louder than before but even that couldn’t reach her. Stefan knew he would kill her, she was his first victim first of much more and he needed to make an example out of her.

The woman turned around, she started running for dear life she wanted to save herself she wanted to live there was so much she hadn’t yet done and so much she wanted to do, she wanted to forgive people and write her will but she knew that was impossible now she was about to die. How could she have been stupid? How could she have let this man take her out thinking she would score? The minute she had made a move on his direction had been the second she had signed her death certificate “HELP” She shouted to however could hear her, she wanted help and a saviour “Somebody please help me” She shouted again, she kept running regardless she wanted to get the hell out of dodge but before she could even look back Stefan stood in front of her blocking her way “The chase...so fun” Stefan said as he looked at her, he took a step towards her his hand around her neck lifting her up as she struggled he squeezed lightly but careful not to kill her quickly he wanted to live and he wanted her to fear to take strange man on their offer. Bringing her down he pulled her towards him throwing her down. He walked towards her picking her up, he looked straight into her eyes as she continued to cry and beg for a hopeless mercy. Stefan’s fangs extended while she screamed louder than she had before, he smirked deviously he had always loved the screamers they brought in the most fun. Stefan’s fangs sank into the woman’s neck, hunger overwhelming him he knew he wouldn’t stop at just tasting her blood, he wanted all of it and leave her lifeless and without a head. Pulling his fangs out of her, he looked at the woman as she took her last breath of life before he broke off her head.

Stefan walked inside the Salvatore Boarding he threw his leather jacket on the couch while he walked towards the liquor cabinet pouring himself a glass of bourbon his brother’s favourite kind he walked towards the couch seating down watching the empty fireplace until the door opened and shut footsteps walking towards his direction he could smell Elena’s scent a smile away and now in the Salvatore residence “It’s been awhile, how are you holding up?” Stefan asked her, of course, he knew the answer to his question but he wanted her to tell him the truth if she was even capable of such now that she had turned into a monster herself “I’ve been better” Elena said as she walked towards the liquor cabinet pouring herself a glass of the bourbon herself “Killed anyone yet?” Stefan asked her, he looked straight at her as she sat across from him “No, Stefan I haven’t killed anyone just yet” Elena rolled her eyes “I’m proud, Elena...resisting temptation but then you do live with them all the time. You live breath and eat humans...how do you do it?” Stefan asked her as he leaned forward towards her holding his glass “Practice, Stefan. I was once a human before all hell broke loose” Elena replied without any sarcastic comment “Right” Stefan said giving in to defeat “Because Damon would be disappointed if you did become a killer” Stefan said as he shook his head at her, he could believe that he had once loved this woman she was the only thing that stood between humanity and monster, she had opened his eyes to true love until he had realized that she belonged to someone else and never him. Stefan had accepted that, he had accepted that she was Damon’s and he was free to do as he pleased much like killing innocent strangers along the road and he was ready to do as he wanted “But Elena we are all killers...we are all abominations to the creation like Dracula...we can’t stop killing and you sit there and tell me you haven’t killed anyone since Damon’s passing. As if you haven’t gone off the ledge” Stefan was aware that he was poking her...provoking her to tell the truth...he of all people knew how it was like to lose someone and he knew there was no way she wouldn’t have killed anyone “You must really think I’m that stupid” Stefan said leaning back into the couch “I’m telling the truth, Stefan” Elena took a sip from her drink but Stefan just nodded standing up, he placed the glass on the table.

Stefan walked towards the Salvatore basement, opening the door he shook his head as he walked towards the lifeless pile of bodies taking one Stefan left the door opened walking towards the living room where Elena sat, he stood before her dropping the body on her “I suppose he crawled in here by himself and killed himself then” Stefan said looking at her crossing his arms over his chest “Let’s go out for a drink, Elena” Stefan said with a smile on his lips “Wait...you’re not going to lecture me?” Elena asked but all Stefan could do was shake his head “No, that’s what Damon would’ve done. I’m not Damon and I don’t really care what you do hell I wouldn’t even care even if you got yourself killed” Stefan said grabbing his leather jacket “Try to keep up” Stefan said walking out.

“You lied to me, Elena,” Stefan said as he walked inside an abandoned house, he stood in the middle of the room a light pointing in his direction almost as if it was a stage. Stefan tilted his head “I didn’t lie to you...” Elena hesitated for a second but she held her own “Oh, but you did...you see there is something you can never lie to me about. I know when you are lying...I know when you are lying to yourself...I know when you are pretending to be human when you are not” Stefan paced around the place, he kept glancing at Elena. Stefan had left Elena to her friends, he had left her after her constant whining and sobbing he had no choice; the newborn just couldn’t shut up. Damon had done what was needed, he had done what needed to be done to get the situation done, he had turned off his emotions and let the Ripper consume him and take over “What’s wrong with you, Stefan?” Elena asked the male.

Stefan stood facing the wall looking at it with fascination as a devious smirk appeared on his lips “With me? Nothing is wrong with me, love. In fact, I’m better than I was...you see” Stefan turned around to look at Elena, he felt no sympathy for her “Don’t you just love abandoned warehouses except something is missing...don’t you think, Elena?” Stefan grinned, he wanted to give her a small node “No....?” Elena replied. Stefan laughed as he walked towards Elena, he held her hand leading her towards the closed door “Open it” Stefan ordered the minute she did a group of girls appeared in what seemed like a sorority party “Well don’t be so rude, Elena. Greet your meal” Stefan whispered in her ear as he shut the door the minute they walked inside “Stefan...what is this?” Elena asked “My friends, Elena...my new soon-to-be-dead friends,” Stefan said with a smirk.

Stefan walked towards the blonde girl who embraced him with opened arms, Elena watched as their lips touched but it was Stefan’s hands that made her pay attention; Stefan kissed the young woman’s neck he looked at Elena as his fangs sank into the blonde’s neck he smirked deviously as he drained her blood as Elena’s facial expression changed into horror “Stefan...Stefan...no” Elena’s voice cut off as soon as she said those words but Stefan wasn’t listening to her, he wanted more blood...more blood...fresh blood and she knew he would kill each and every girl in there. Stefan pulled his fangs out of her neck; he smiled as she dropped on the floor her lifeless body pale and hungry for blood “You see, Elena. Not all of us are like you...no one of us wants to be you. Damon is dead, Elena. He is gone, dead...well he was already dead before he was officially dead what he did just pushed the process faster” Stefan knelt down to the blonde, he brushed her cheek with a devilish grin admiring what he had killed his doomed victim “Let’s be honest, my brother was an asshole but I did love him, he was my brother and I made him turn into what he was. I mean that blame just doesn’t wipe off your memory that easily no matter how much you want it gone. He wanted me dead and well I wanted him just as dead but he never could pull the trigger. He followed me around making sure I didn’t kill anyone when he could have just killed me right there and then” Stefan lifted his head to look straight at Elena, he wanted her to see that the Stefan that she had known had died and gone unlike her he never hide it.

Elena just looked at Stefan, she could feel tears forming begging to burst but she wouldn’t let Stefan see her weakness, she wanted to hold her own and try to get through what she had gotten herself in, she could feel her fear covering her very being and now she had no one to hold on to...no Damon. Elena stepped back as Stefan walked towards her “Sometimes I wonder Elena what would have happened had you died in that damn bridge” Stefan said as he kept walking towards her just as she took steps back until her back hit the wall with a loud thump “What would it have been had Elena Gilbert died? Would Damon have still been alive? Would Bonnie still be alive...or at least would she have been free from your crap. Would she have lived a life without being controlled and walked all over by Elena” Stefan kept pushing the young vampire, he wanted her to feel the same pain he had felt when she had destroyed him and made him feel like a puppet “What would-would life without you been like...you are the reason Damon is dead” Stefan said as he stood in front of her. He looked at her as she burst into tears but Stefan didn’t care, she was a vampire, full of emotions and a murder at the same time. She was going to reap her true nature “Stefan...Stop...please” Elena begged but it all fell on deaf’s ears.

Stefan tilted his head as he studied the female, he was intrigued he cupped her face giving her a smile just as his fangs appeared “You are poison, Elena....you are just like Katherine...but weaker” Stefan said as he left her standing there in shock and in pain, she had lost yet another person. Stefan walked towards the door he opened it looking back at Elena “I left you dinner, let’s see how human you have left in you” He said before he walked out but because he even hit the corner street screams of females roared “No matter how much she wants to deny it...there will always be a monster within her” Stefan said before he left Mystic Falls.

PRESENT BACK IN THE CEMETARY

Stefan smirked as he stood up he brushed off the grass on his pants, looking one more time at his brother’s empty tombstone he gave a small nod “The sooner you get back, the sooner Elena survives yet another day. We both know that she wouldn’t survive long if she continues to act recklessly” Stefan said being honest, he had left Elena alone left her to her own devices. He couldn’t stay with her when all she did was remind him of Damon, he couldn’t play a wannabe human when all Elena’s friends would blame him “Are you coming, Stefan?” a female voice asked him. Turning around Stefan looked at the blonde who gave him a warm smile “Yes, lovely love” He returned the smile. Stefan had gotten Rebekah back after she had found him wrecked and ruined she had helped him gain back what he had lost and gained back control over his monster. Rebekah was his guardian angel with fangs.

“I know you’re probably listening to me right now and to be honest, brother. Life is much better without her...the dark side is so much better” Stefan winked as he turned to walked towards Rebekah, he cupped her cheeks together lovingly leaning in for a deep long kiss “Niklaus wants to see you as soon as we arrive in New Orleans” Rebekah informed him but all Stefan did was just stroke her cheek with admiration, he tilted his head as he studied her carefully not wanting to forget a single thing about her face, her eyes and her lips “Yes, I’m sure he does...I’m sure” Stefan replied.

Damon and Katherine stood watching the scene in front of their eyes, his brother had finally given into the darkness and there was nothing he could do about it; Stefan now had Klaus and Rebekah as his family. The sins of the seven deadly sins now roamed around with Stefan in toe “Well there goes the neighborhood” Katherine sarcastically said as she huffed her hand on her hips looking at Damon beside her “We’re dead, Katherine” Damon reminded her “Oh, Damon. We were dead long before that” Katherine reminded him “There is nothing we can do about him now, Stefan Salvatore is gone, Bunny eating Stefan is dead” Damon whispered “And the bunnies never fought back” Rolling her eyes Katherine stood in front of Damon “Stop feeling sorry for him, we all knew he belonged to the dark side long before The Ripper came to play” Katherine was right ‘We need to find a way to go back” Katherine suggested “No....no...Stefan is past fixing or helping and besides to him we are both dead. He can’t see any of us” Damon said as he walked past Katherine, he stood there watching his little brother leave with Rebekah and he never worried about Elena, Damon was more concerned about his brother than a girl who had just turned into a vampire five seconds ago. No matter what it took, Damon knew he would go back, he would go back to fix or repair or heal his brother. Death wouldn’t stop him he would find a way back.

#stefan salvatore #damon salvatore #elena gilbert #rebekah mikaelson #katherine pierce #niklaus mikaelson #ripper stefan #tvd #fun #fanfiction

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phooll123 · 6 years

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2018 Audi TT RS Review: A nimble little sports car of fun

Audi says the 2018 TT RS can hit 60 miles per hour in 3.6 seconds, and I'm testing that claim over and over and over. When my video producer asks, "Can you do that again? I want another angle," all I can do is squeal with delight. Yeah, I can launch the TT RS again. And again. And again. The Audi TT RS is an all-wheel drive coupe that can technically seat four people, but it's better suited for two. Under its hood, a 2.5-liter turbocharged five-cylinder engine screams with the fury of 400 horsepower and 354 pound-feet of torque. The base TT and sportier TT S are lovely, but this RS pushes everything up to 11.

Who me? I'm just here looking sexy.Emme Hall/Roadshow

The TT RS' Quattro all-wheel drive system is based on front-drive architecture, meaning it can send power to just the front wheels under easy, straight-ahead driving conditions. But when I bury my foot in the throttle, a huge chunk of that power is immediately thrown to the rear. Switch the Audi Drive Select to Dynamic and a full 100 percent of the engine's torque can go rearward. The TT RS combines the best of all worlds: front-wheel drive when I don't care about it, all-wheel drive when I need it and rear-wheel drive when I want it. I haven't been too impressed with Audi's steering in other models, but the TT RS won me over with quick inputs and a heavy feel in my hands. It's not the most chatty system, but then, most electronic power steering system trade road feel for efficiency. Still the Audi managed to provide a great on-center feel and crisp turn-in. A fixed sport suspension is available as part of a $6,000 Dynamic Plus package, but Audi's standard magnetic ride setup is a-OK by me. The damping rates adjust in mere milliseconds, keeping the TT RS compliant on all types of roads, and incredibly flat through turns. I'll admit, the ride can prove a bit too harsh in Dynamic mode, almost causing me to spill my beloved Diet Dr. Pepper on one morning commute, but the Drive Select's Individual mode allows me to set suspension to comfort while keeping the other parameters dialed up to their sportiest settings. Full Auto works just as well, too. Also included in the Dynamic Plus package are ceramic front brakes, which would definitely be worth the coin if you're planning on taking your TT RS to the track on the regular. However, during my time of backroad shenanigans I found the standard 14.6-inch front and 12.2-inch rear disc brakes to be more than sufficient, even after multiple 0-60 runs with a, let's say, less than ideal available stopping zone. You can't get a manual transmission in the TT RS, but the seven-speed dual-clutch automatic gets the job done mostly to my satisfaction. The default programming shifts a little too early for my taste -- better for fuel economy, natch -- but a quick tug on the gear lever throws the transmission into a sport setting. The result is snappier upshifts and eager downshifts out of turns. For full control, I thwack the gear shift to the right into manual mode and use the paddle shifters. Here, the TT RS lets me run the engine up to the redline if that's my jam and downshift to my heart's content. Driving like a hooligan is easy to do in the TT RS, though it means you'll see a noticeable decrease in fuel economy. The EPA says I should get 22 miles per gallon combined, but during my week of launching, screeching and general shenanigans I only saw 16.6, far below even the city rating of 19 miles per gallon. Oops. The interior of the TT RS is like a lesson in German simplicity. The HVAC buttons are incorporated directly into the vents, so there are only five buttons on the center console: two for defrosting, one for traction control, another to turn off the parking sensors and a final button for hazard lights. The problem is that those last three buttons are seated in a bank of seven buttons, four of which are blank. These buttons control vehicle functions on other TT models, and while it's a small quibble, I haven't been able to get over the asymmetry. I can't talk about any new Audi without extolling the virtues of Virtual Cockpit. The 12.3-inch screen is fully configurable and houses all vehicle data and infotainment functions. Google maps are displayed in full-color glory and an active internet connection makes searching for destinations a snap. The bummer? Apple CarPlay and Android Auto are only available as part of the $3,500 Technology Package. This package includes navigation, but with so many manufacturers offering smartphone integration standard, this move just seems cheap on Audi's part.

Virtual Cockpit puts Google maps front and center, as it should be.Emme Hall/Roadshow

The infotainment system itself isn't bad, but it is riddled with menus and submenus. Everything can be controlled by buttons and scroll wheels on the steering wheel, or the traditional dial and shortcut buttons housed on the center console between the seats. The top of the dial supports handwriting recognition, but it takes a while to master this technique while in motion. It's easier to just use the voice recognition. If you're looking for driving aids, well, look elsewhere. There is no adaptive cruise control or lane-keeping assist. A blind-spot monitoring system is part of the aforementioned tech package, but other than that, don't count on the TT RS to do any of the safety guess work for you. Despite its diminutive overall size, the TT RS offers a still-useful 12 cubic feet of cargo space. While that's smaller than the 13.8 cubes offered in the BMW M2, it's bigger than the 9.7 of the Porsche Cayman, which is actually split between front and rear trunks. There is enough room in the cabin for a phone, a pair of sunglasses, a can of Diet Dr. Pepper and not much else. Pack light. Or use the rear seats as cargo holders. Real people can't fit back there anyway. For my money, I'd forego the costly Dynamic Plus package. The fixed sport suspension means the ride will always be as stiff as a priest's collar; great for the church of the race track, not so much for the purgatory of my daily drive. The sport exhaust is also a no-go for me. A single button changes the tone of the exhaust, but it's not anything earth shattering. The five-cylinder engine is already a screamer and $1,000 to make it holler a bit louder isn't worth it. What else should you be looking at in this segment? It's all about the Germans. A Porsche Cayman S is down by 50 horsepower but still has a strong 0-60 time and is offered with a six-speed manual, though it starts at a few thousand dollars more than the TT RS. The BMW M2 is more functional, comes with a manual and costs less than an Audi, though you don't get all-wheel drive. The 2018 Audi TT RS starts at $64,900, but my kitted-out tester with everything but the Dynamic Plus package brings it all the way up to a cool $74,025. It's a seriously fun little whip, and one that'll do well in snowy climates thanks to its magnificent all-wheel drive. The only thing holding me back, besides the fact that it costs more than my graduate-level education, is the lack of a manual transmission. But if you're one to be satisfied by paddle shifters, the TT RS should do you just fine indeed. Even without a third pedal, this car consistently makes me giggle.

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