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lynkolnevans · 1 year

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Getting Isekai'd to Another Dimension Kinda Looks Like You've Been Kicked Out of an Abusive Household

Tired Dimensional Traveler Accidently Gets Adopted by Grumpy Old Man Due to Funny Misunderstanding, More at 9!

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Stan Pines had seen quite a few strange customers since he started up the Mystery Shack. From slack-jawed idiot tourists, all but drooling on themselves as they handed over their money, to sweaty know-it-all basement dwellers who claimed that their 1am deep dives made them the Number One Premiere Expert in cryptozoology. The former he welcomed with enthusiasm, a half-sincere grin plastered on his face as he fleeced flocks of rubes and their spawn. The latter, although very rare, he tolerated until they started spouting some half assed science talk about how his 'Sascrotch was an outdated representation of the genus' or 'that jackalope is clearly a fake', it was then those nerds would have the honor of being kicked out by the one and only Man of Mystery. Either way, everyone who visited the Mystery Shack had their pockets emptied, whether through buying overpriced items from the Gift Shop or a little sleight of hand when they got thrown out.

When the gift shop bell rang, Stan expected to see another easily tricked tourist, and to be fair, they looked the part. Wide-eyed and mouth breathing, a young adult entered the shop, their head spinning from object to object, seemingly entranced by the items on display. But that's where any resemblance to a tourist went. As Stan looked over the visitor he noticed some things that were out of place.

First of which were their clothes. Not only were they wearing a hoodie and sweatpants during the middle of summer, but they had many twigs and leaves stuck on them, not to mention the areas smudged with dirt.

Second of all was the half destroyed laptop held tightly in their hands (it was called a laptop right? Stan honestly couldn't remember). It had some kind of sticker attached to the front, maybe a logo from a movie or something?

Third of which, and probably the most alarming, was the specks of blood almost rubbed away on their face, and the heavy bags under their eyes.

Separately these things could probably be explained. Maybe they got lost in the forest and they were one of those people who preferred to roast in the summer heat than wear anything but a hoodie and sweatpants. Maybe they forgot their laptop case or were rich(!) enough to afford buying a new one whenever they destroyed the last one. Maybe they're one of those people who just get bloody noses randomly and don't sleep as much as they should. But together… It honestly wasn't enough for alarm bells to be ringing in his head, but Stan trusted his instincts enough that there was something weird going on.

Grabbing the strange customer's attention with one of his charming greetings, he seemed to startle them enough to actually jump. The ensuing staring contest was probably one of the most awkward moments of his life. The kid was staring at him like he was some sort of cartoon character, seeming transfixed that he even existed, mouth even further agape. Stan expected them to let up on the staring after a few seconds, because that's how long it usually took those with too few brain cells to get used to his loud charming personality, but they didn't. Maybe it was the extreme staring, but something about the kid's eyes made him nervous, like they knew something he didn't.

Although a little unnerved by the stranger, that didn't dissuade him from making a move for their money. Maybe a bit more snappy than what was socially acceptable, Stan all but ordered the young adult to buy something.

Nervous was an understatement. The kid stammered out an affirmative and began looking through the shop, barely hiding a few twitches and handling each item like it was glass. Stan, now free from their uncomfortable stare, deemed it safe to observe his peculiar customer. The back of their clothes was dirtier and messier than the front, as if they fell on their back or fell asleep on the forest floor. The laptop, which they left on the counter for some reason, had some kind of golden bird holding an arrow in its beak. It was also on fire, for some reason? The computer seemed to be cracked in the casing.

The stranger looked back at Stan, jumping when they noticed his staring and returned to browse for more items. Currently they had a few maps and were looking at the meager stock of blankets he had. Honestly, the kid was shifty, and if Stan wasn't already keeping an eye on them, he would be now just because of their jumpy behavior. The messy hoodie, baggy eyes, and general nervousness screamed shoplifter. But surprisingly they brought everything back to the cashier, Stan not seeing them make any suspicious moves to steal anything. They even grabbed the set of hand knitted fingerless gloves Mabel made as part of a bet. Smiling in triumph, Stan ran up the items, before frowning at the customer's wallet and their bandaged hand.

While the lack of money to purchase the whole set of items was concerning, what was more concerning was the stranger's bandaged hand. It seemed they didn't mean to show it at all, quickly hiding it in their pocket as Stan noticed it when they grabbed the set of gloves. Before the hand was snatched back, Stan could have sworn he saw some type of symbol on the back of it, but why what kind of injury would result in something like that?

It was when Stan asked how long they were staying in town for that the pieces started to click. They said they would be staying for "the foreseeable future" and, while a valid response, their tone was odd. Originally Stan asked so he could set up some kind of debt collecting plan cause the kid seemed really put out when they found they didn't have enough money to buy everything. If they were staying for a bit, such as in a motel or a new residence, he'd just have them work off their debt and gently harass remind them until they payed it in full. But it seems Stan just found himself in a difficult situation.

The injuries, nervousness, ill-suited clothing, and lack of money painted a grim picture, a picture Stan was all too familiar with. You don't wear long clothing more suited to winter in 90 degree weather and hide seemingly innocuous injuries from random strangers for fun. You don't take just the essentials and wander around the woods until you're tired and your clothes are ruined for fun. You don't stare like a deer in headlights at loud, shouting old men for fun. You don't look defeated cause you can't buy a blanket, some maps, and something else to cover your injuries, just for fun.

And thus, Stan had a choice to make. He could turn them away, take their money and only give them a map and a blanket because that's all they could afford. As soon as they left he wouldn't be involved and he could continue his life in peace. Or he could be a better person. He could let them into his house, give them a place to stay, maybe a job. Maybe he could give them everything he wanted when he was kicked out: a warm place to stay, edible food, and someone to talk to…

Ha! As if! Stan was no bleeding heart and definitely didn't have any concern that this kid was probably running away from some horrible home life. He only let them keep the maps and blanket because he was gonna work them to the bone to pay him back for the money he should have gotten. He only let them keep the gloves because he was determined to win that bet with Mabel. He only hinted that maybe they could have a job at the Mystery Shack if they worked up to his standards, and only because he needed more competent employees. He had no concern for the kid and everything he did was rational and only for his benefit…

And even if he was a better man, who'd do anything to help the kid, he still wouldn't let some stranger stay in his house. Not when he was letting his great nephew and niece stay over the summer. It was his responsibility to watch over the kids and keep them out of danger. It was his responsibility to keep his family safe.

Even the one he already failed.

And no stranger was going to stand between him and getting his brother back.

#gravity falls #stan pines #stanley pines #technically a self insert but whatever #intended to be read with rest of my fanfic but it hasnt been writen yet so...#shrugs #centrifugal rising #<- thats the name of the fic! :]#anyway this whole writing thing is stan's thoughts when first meeting charley #no specific dialog cause this chapter is supposed to follow the actual scene from charley's pov #i hope it my writing captures stans personality and thoughts in character enough #i mean its in omniscient 3rd person narrator but i like to add some of the character's personality #i also wanted tk make jt semi realistic #it kinda bugs me how in a lot of self insert stuff the SI immediately gets a place with the main characters #not to bash on those fics - people can write what they want- but ut does take me out of the story when jt happens #hence stan not letting charley stay at the Mystery Shack #like he's watching over two kids and trying to save Ford with a dangerous portal #so hes not gonna let some rando stay over until they prove themselves #>:]#let me know what you think!#both about the concept. my writting style. and how well you thought i wrote!#i know the ending lines are kinda weird and out of place bjt thats what came to ne so i put it in shrug #man i an a sucker for 3rd person povs to show anither characters perspective.#usually to emphasize the difference between the main pov and an outer perspective

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eventuallyaugust · 10 months

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i kinda felt that u were a joonie stan too! i really love ur writing and choice of words, like theyre really gentle, bold but full of love (if that makes sense TT)

- 🐨

a joonie stan recognizes a fellow joonie stan

#🐨 anon #it makes sense don't worry #i try to be write that makes readers smile laugh and see the bond of two characters such as huening kai and seol #(despite of my works being too wordy at times)#tmi: i just experienced a charley horse and it was the worst thing that happened after walking almost 1 km #but ehhh #i survived #(it's not like it's my first time experiencing this when i just experienced the pain two days ago)

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ceruleanchillin · 7 months

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141 x American Reader

141 x American Fem!Reader

Note -

I was trying to do some quick scenarios and got caught up. I still have yet to figure out how to get in and get out with my writing.

I had to do some research to see if they had a PX (The Exchange) in the UK, and they do! They even have a Charley’s.

I need so much more practice until I'm more confident in these characters (and their accents...)😩

Simon:

Boston wasn’t terrible in Simon’s eyes, but he would still rather be home. He wasn’t really on leave, he had business on behalf of the task force with some American contacts. However, it was a lot of downtime and waiting, and it was twisting his head around to be working and resting so frequently together. He liked most things separate, easier that way.

He’d certainly been in worse places to wait in. Worse safe houses, more unfamiliar environments where his anti-social quirks made trouble, no chance at a decent pub like the one he’d taken to frequenting a few blocks from the safe house.

He was approaching the very same pub at the moment. Mind racing to mentally prepare for his next briefing with Price and Laswell. He didn’t have much, the contacts seemed to be dragging their feet, and Simon was in a daily battle not to just go gather the intel himself and be done with it.

He went to pull the door, but through the glass, saw you behind the counter. That was strange, you worked on weekends. He knew, because once he connected his increased heartbeat and uncomfortably hot cheeks to you, he started avoiding the place.

It may have been the most authentic pub he’d encountered in America so far, but you were the prettiest woman he’d ever seen, and only one of these things made him sweat like he was back in basic.

He started to back away, but you’d seen him through the age-warped glass and were waving him in.

“You stupid pint-addict bastard.” he muttered, unnecessarily triple checking to make sure his mask was in place.

He’d honored his promise to Price, and kept to a half mask instead of his usual balaclava. At first he was tense, short when spoken to, and constantly running a hand through his hair to momentarily shield his face. The half mask helped, but not much. It just reminded him he wasn’t where he felt he should be. He wasn’t the one to play the diplomat

However, on your first meeting, you’d complimented the contrast between his eyelashes and his dark eyes. Between that, and you pouring his Guinness at an angle, the right way, he’d had to clear his throat twice before he felt it was safe to respond. He couldn’t remember what he said, his ears had rung like a flashbang went off too close.

It must have been smooth, because you ducked your head and quickly turned so he couldn’t see you grin. Too slow, for all the vistas and colorful fabrics he’d seen in his travels, your smile had taken the prize.

“Hey! Saved your seat!” you called out over the din, pointing to the rounded corner of the bar where there was only stool and a column to block him from most patrons. “Even though I shouldn’t have. You’ve been avoiding me, and don’t deny it. My co-workers have no filter.”

He winced, you’d caught him red handed. “Not avoiding you. Just working.”

“At avoiding me.” you stuck your tongue out at him.

It was surprisingly packed for a weekday, and as he got closer to the bar, he noticed there was some sort of event going on. Drink specials, a pool tournament, and calls to tourists. He cursed, and considered how fast he could down his drink and fake a work call.

“Sit.” you pinned him with a look. “I need another sane adult around me, now.”

“Sane?” he snorted. “You’ve got the wrong bloke in mind.”

“Yeah? You wanna go up against the kid who’s pledging and has been wearing that chicken suit for two weeks, or the “actress” who keeps switching characters with every drink?” You raised an eyebrow, pointing out your subjects without a care about looking rude.

“I wanna get on the first thing flying or floating out of here.”

“Take me with you, or I’ll steal your passport.” you slid the Guinness towards him, before leaning on your elbows, and closing some of the distance between you.

Simon had been tortured, beaten, and had given his fair share of the same back. He’d stared hardened terrorists in the eyes and made them back down every time. It was pretty silly of him, and he certainly felt it, to falter under your gaze, and yet he did.

His fingers danced around the bottom of the glass, letting the drink settle, before he lowered his mask and took a big sip. “You don’t have to bribe me love, just say the word and we’re gone.”

He wasn’t often embarrassed. Sometimes, Johnny made him cringe, but he was usually too removed from a situation, and the people in it, to allow for such an emotion. He’d long stopped caring about the looks he, as a masked behemoth, received and whatever thoughts were behind the eyes on him.

Of course, he couldn’t do that with you. He didn’t want to, but he literally couldn’t anyways. So he had to sit there, heat rising to his cheeks, and a mental mantra of ‘shoot me’ ringing through his head on a loop.

To his barely noticeable relief, your gaze somehow grew warmer, a smile spreading across your pretty face. “I’m holding you to that Si. You don’t get to blame the alcohol either, you’ve barely touched your drink.”

It was comfortably quiet between the two of you after that. You returned to work as your co-workers got less and less professional. Things got crazier, but it did allow for him to be mostly ignored in his corner, which he was thankful for. He felt for you though.

He had to play bouncer once when a guy got behind the bar, thinking you denied his number because you couldn’t hear him.

The look in your eyes as you sought distance made Simon act purely on instinct. His speed, size, and training ended the situation quickly. You’d given a relieved exhale of air, and ran a hand down his arm before you ran off to respond to a glass crisis. It occurred to him right then how far he’d go for you. As far as he would for his team, whom he considered something around the range of family.

It frightened him that he’d only known you a few weeks, yet your connection had gotten him this far, but there was nowhere to run from the truth internally. If there was, he wasn’t sure he even wanted to.

By closing, he was the last customer, and he’d offered to stay while you close up. It wasn’t the first time.

“You better.” you grinned, wiping down the bar.

He started to help you by turning the chairs up on to the tables, and junking miscellaneous trash. He laughed when he heard you shouting about how someone got vomit on the ceiling in the bathroom.

“Fuck it lovie, make the layabouts earn their keep tomorrow.” he called out in response.

He was deep in thought about where he was and what he was doing when he turned and saw you standing by him. You got the rare jump on him.

“Don’t think I’m crazy, or do, because maybe I am. I know you were joking earlier, but I really wish you weren’t.” you threw the formerly white rag in your hand in the trash, smiling, but your eyes held the same vulnerability he always felt around you.

He blinked owlishly, processing your words before standing up to his full height. “I wasn’t joking.”

—

Kyle:

You’re a party girl to your core, but you can’t help it. You run your own bath products company, and it’s hard work. No one should blame you for playing hard to match.

Gaz certainly didn’t blame you, in fact, your vibrant social media is what drew him in. He’d been constantly checking his phone on base, to the annoyance of his partner-in-crime Soap when their pranks and game time started to lack, because Gaz had to check what your new post alert was about.

It took him a minute, but he figured out your page was what Gaz was looking at (and so secretive about). He figured it out when Gaz started watching your live streams, and became so engrossed, Price would have to literally clap him on the back to get him on task.

Soap knew he could forget any plans made if you started a live.

Damnit, he wanted to know who was stealing one of his best mates.

Once he saw you in full, and not glancing around Gaz’s big head, he got it. You were beautiful, vibrant, obviously in the city’s in-crowd. You would’ve fit in perfectly with him and his mates as far as your ability to sniff out a good time went. He couldn’t be mad at you anymore, and it wasn’t just because he had a minor crush on you himself, he knew his friend was gone, and decided to help him out.

He swiped Gaz’s phone and sent him on a wild goose chase so he’d have time to act. Soap put everything he had into that first message, though it wasn’t until after he sent it, he realized it was full of Scots lingo, and he cringed trying to clean it up in the following message. He realized he’d made it worse, and the DM thread looked like a tweaker got hold of the phone.

“What are you doing?” Gaz sounded both panicked and furious, causing Soap to freeze in real time.

“Uh.., I needed…to order food?”

“Bruv, with my phone?!”

“I…also..wanted to find out where you got..that hat.”

Gaz blinked at him, with an expression that clearly asked if Soap’s last brain cell had finally found a better job.

“You were there with me, it was at The Exchange. Give me my phone.”

Soap instinctively yanked the phone out of reach. “Uh, well..wait.”

Gaz’s eyes widened, voice rising. “Mate, hand the phone over or-“

The DM message notification rang out loud enough to silence Gaz immediately. His eyes somehow got wider, his lips forming a tight line.

Soap’s eyes mirrored his own, and his fight or flight instinct was triggered. “I swear…I did this for ye, not to ye this time. Ye cannae be mad about it.”

A beat passed, and Soap tried to ease the incoming meltdown a little more.

“I may have messed the introduction up a little, but I bet she went for the follow up.”

Gaz said nothing, opting instead to lunge for the device. Soap, confused and thinking Gaz was going to strike him, wasn’t fast enough, and though he outmatched Gaz in muscle, said man still took him down.

“Who are you messaging?!”

They rolled, and Soap tried to simultaneously keep Gaz from punching him, while he kept the phone stretched away from them. Another *ding* rang out, and Gaz glanced up to see a notification that contained your user name, and that you had responded. He assumed twice.

He felt his heart drop out of his ass, his eyes locking with Soap’s.

His next punch struck like a snake, fast and quick to Soap’s throat. Said man’s eyes crossed up, and Gaz took the time to try and grab the phone. He was surprised to find Soap’s grip as tight as ever.

“I’ll hand it over when ye promise not to blow up!”

“I promise to crack your chest!”

They continued to roll on the floor, Soap getting his second-wind after Gaz’s threat. Gaz, driven by what he knew had to be the biggest embarrassment of his life coming his way, and Soap by the need to explain his attempt at a good deed.

Two polished boots came into view and a sharp bark of “Knock it the fuck off!” ended the tussle immediately.

Both men sat up, hair and clothing askew, chests heaving with adrenaline.

“What the hell is going on here?” John Price’s infamous gravel inflection hit the both of them, stiffening their spines pole straight.

Nothing came out though. It wasn’t exactly a thing you wanted to tell your captain. Both assumed he thought social media was the Yahoo homepage anyways.

He looked between them, neither meeting his gaze. “Right. Hand it over then.”

Gaz choked. On what, he couldn’t say, probably his dwindling pride. “Just uh…a little sport Captain.”

Soap glanced between them before his blue eyes settled on Price. “Yeah. What’s it gonna be Cap? Run laps, scrub latrines, we’ll take the worst.”

“Don’t worry about that, that’s a given and then some. The phone MacTavish.”

John Price rarely had to demand anything a second time, and neither Soap nor Gaz wanted to be responsible for making him do it a third. Soap gave him an apologetic side glance as he handed over the phone. Gaz cringed, feeling like a kid in class again, getting busted for swapping gross drawings of teachers.

“One of you, open it.” Price held the phone out between the two of them. Gaz sighed and input the code locking down the device.

Price pulled the phone back, and, much too efficiently for Gaz’s taste, began swiping.

Price’s eyes scanned back and forth, and Gaz had to assume he was reading what he still hadn’t had a chance to.

After a beat, Price looked up in disbelief. “All this over a posh little beauty queen? Do you two want the one-four-one to be synonymous with a joke?”

Gaz would serve the mole-people through infinity if it meant they’d make the ground swallow him up right there. How his day had advanced to this was beyond him.

“Captain-“

Price turned to him, brows raised. “You better be glad she likes you and it wasn’t a total waste, or I’d rent you out to the circus like the clowns you two are.”

Gaz stepped back on one foot, his head snapping in disbelief. “Wait..she wha-“

“So it worked then yeah?!” Soap grinned, a breathy laugh supporting his exclamation before quickly straightening up. “I mean, I knew that it would. That’s why I did it.”

“It worked in spite of you spike strip.” Price tossed the phone to Gaz as Soap ran a hand over his treasured mohawk, pouting at the dig. “For whatever reason, that pretty little thing is interested in him.”

Hearing Price confirm your response was positive didn’t make it any easier to believe than the first time he heard it. He had yet to read whatever his dumbass friend sent your way, but…you liked it?

Gaz brought the phone to his face, and started to open the app so he could finally see for himself.

“I don’t think so.” Price warned with a sharp shake of his head. “That goes in your locker, now, and the two of you meet me out on the track.”

Gaz and Soap both hung their heads.

“Hopefully she comes to her senses by the time you’re able to even hold that thing again, let alone use it.”

“Yes sir.” Gaz locked the phone again, but he couldn’t wipe the smile off his face.

You must’ve looked at his page, and no matter what crazy thing Soap had sent you, you liked him.

That knowledge carried him through so many laps on the track he vomited up things he swore he hadn’t eaten since he was 5, scrubbing bunks and latrines on his hands and knees until a hole opened in his pants over one knee, and endless up-downs until he and Soap had to literally pull each other up and help each other down.

When he finally collapsed in the locker room later, swearing he’d make it to the shower before he even thought of climbing in bed, he managed to dig his phone out of his locker first.

He was suddenly nervous, you were so gorgeous to him, and if your response was some pitying virtual head pat, he’d jump in front of the next Humvee he saw.

Then again, it was Price who said you liked him, and the man had no reason to or interest in making him feel better about the matter.

He unlocked the phone and quickly opened the app before he lost his nerve.

You: ‘Um excuse me???’

He winced.

You: ‘Oh wait, I checked out your page. You’re from the UK? I didn’t know what you were saying😅. I still kinda don’t, but now I don’t think you’re creepy…you’re actually pretty cute. Thanks for your service.😘🫡’

His heartbeat sped up, and all his aches and bodily gripes were forgotten as he leaned forward on the bench. You had all his attention, and you quite possibly didn’t mind that.

He smirked, proud of his carefully curated page and the body his job helped him maintain. The more he thought about it, the more he realized how silly he was for worrying. Of course you had some interest in him, he could match your energy with ease.

He opened the keyboard ready to respond when all his short-lived bravado fell down around him. What the fuck was he supposed to say back?

—————

Johnny:

It made the two of you somewhat uncomfortable when you thought about how much chance it took for you guys to meet. The thought of not being together felt more foreign than you two ever had to each other. Johnny chose not to dwell on it, accepting how lucky he was often overshadowed the thought.

Your best friend since college was getting married, and you were not only maid of honor, but the wedding planner. Scotland was the homeland of your friend, and you knew on a good day she missed it with her whole heart.

You did your best to incorporate her culture and her friends and family abroad into the ceremony.

This, it turned out, included her brother’s best friend John “Soap” MacTavish, who was also a family friend.

“Is Soap a um…traditional Scottish name?” you’d asked, holding up the name list she’d given you, and thinking your friend was setting you up for a joke.

“He was Johnny for years, but he came back from his dream job, built like a house, and was like ‘They call me Soap now.’.” she deepened her accent and voice to mock what you assumed he sounded like. “Don’t pay it any mind, he’s still our Johnny.”

So John “They call me Soap now” MacTavish was sent an invitation too. What you did not expect was her family to come into the country as quickly as they did. You still had a few weeks of planning, and from the moment they flooded her townhome, you were swept into their familial hurricane.

They couldn’t have been sweeter to you, but they all had input. You were overwhelmed within 30 minutes of being with them, despite your friend reeling them in repeatedly.

Johnny became your touchstone when, based on his energetic introduction, you expected him to be part of the chaos.

As you took notes and suggestions, he was the one who translated when the accents got too thick, or they slipped into Scots.

Someone got a little too aggressive with their suggestion, or talked over you? Johnny was calling out over the din and restoring the closest thing to order that he could.

His helpfulness didn’t end that evening. He became your living official Scotland handbook.

The work you’d dreaded being added on top of what you already had to do found a partial home on his shoulders. Every choice you brought before your friend and her family received loud approval, and Johnny refused your credit every time. Claiming it was your beautiful, quick, and organized mind making the magic happen.

He was at your place bright and early every morning, the two of you forgetting you were virtually strangers who’d been thousands of miles apart the majority of your lives.

In the process of planning and arranging, you showed Johnny your neck of the woods, and the culture in Atlanta. He was fascinated by everything and you’d never been happier, having his complete and utter interest.

He loved your accent, he loved how friendly the people in the mom and pop places you took him to were, he loved how proud you were to be a Georgia girl.

He would always be a proud son of Scotland, so he got it.

“You’re really eatin’ the third one now?!” you laughed watching Johnny go through his third hot chicken sandwich. “Boy, you’re crazy!”

“And well fed too yeah.” he grinned around the huge bite he’d taken. “I’d punch Ghost square in the back of his head if they’d bring a Hattie B’s to Scotland. Of course, I’d have to stand on a stool.”

“Ghost?” you raised an eyebrow, swallowing the fry you’d been chewing.

“Oh yeah, my best mate in the service. He’s like a fuckin’ tree….if trees hit really hard and were just generally terrifying.”

Your eyes widened. “You’re in the service, that’s so cool. Is that the dream job?”

His eyes widened, his chest puffing out in pride at your words. “I am, youngest member to make it into my unit too. Got lucky with a pretty good team.”

“That where you get the name Soap? What is that about by the way?”

He stopped chewing, swallowing hard. Visions of what his nickname referred to came to mind, and he felt like a wall was coming between the two of you. He wasn’t ashamed of his career, or most of the things he’d done to maintain it, but it’d been nice to almost be a civilian again. He hadn’t been just John or Johnny in a long time.

The distance from home, and the crush he wasn’t even going to pretend he didn’t have, helping the fantasy.

“Yeah.”

You senses the tone change, and started to withdraw your curiosity. “We can drop it.”

“Nah, it’s not a bad thing Bonnie, it’s just…” he furrowed his brow in thought, and you resisted the hard urge to touch him. “This is the first leave I’ve had in…maybe ever that I don’t feel a thin wall ‘tween me and my people. It’s just nice for a little bit.”

“Say less.” You pushed your seasoned fries towards him, snorting at his excited expression. “Let’s talk about how much I love it when you call me Bonnie instead.”

He choked, and your small hands found his back, pounding on what felt like a stone wall. “Jesus hen, you can’t just drop somethin’ like that when a man’s mid swallow.”

You brushed your hand over the back of his neck as you retracted it back to your person. Lowering your voice to a soft decibel. “I like when you call me that too.”

——

John Price:

How he’d let himself be talked into a cruise of all things, John would never know.

….

That wasn’t true.

The pretty American office worker flagged him down when he went in for his briefing with the higher ups. She looked distressed, and John could feel that protective nature of his rear up in his chest and stiffen his spine. Before he could even register that he’d spoken, he’d told her whatever his help could provide, it was hers.

She’d flustered at that, tucking some hair behind her ear, and gave a sheepish smile. Her reaction sent a shock of pride from his brain to his cock.

She explained how she and a friend group back home had made plans for a week-long cruise out of Florida. She’d been looking forward to it, missing her home country, and having planned it out very carefully in the group chat. Then, earlier that week, it was brought to the light that one of the girls slept with the husband of another one.

Sides were taken, she was attacked for being out of the country and unaware of the nuanced changes in the group, and then all the girls pulled out, essentially leaving her holding four tickets and the shreds of a perfect vacation.

That was you. A mess who’d been arguing with the travel agency, trying to wrangle all of your friends, and figure out how you wound up wasting several thousand dollars at that point.

John just stood there, like a coat rack with a bucket hat on top. Stiff, and unsure of what to do, say, or even what expression he should school his shocked features into.

He stood there long enough for you to become embarrassed and wave him off and return to your desk.

“I’m so sorry I bothered you. God, you’re a Captain! It’s just, my momma and daddy have been on me from the beginning about how much of waste a trip like this is…‘girl why would you spend that much to float in the ocean with a bunch of strangers, you can borrow our boat and fish in the lake for free’.” you trailed off, realizing you were rambling and shoved your face in your hands.

He thought you were adorable. Most days, he wanted to find the nearest surface and have you on it, only to be embarrassed that at his age, he was thinking like a teenager.

However, right then you were just plain adorable, accent in full swing because you were upset. John knew you were from somewhere in the southern US. Louisiana? Texas?

He approached your desk, hands splayed as he leaned his weight forward. “Love, it’s not a problem. I’m just not sure what I can do about it…aside from hunting down the husband and siccing Laswell on the other girl.”

You gave a full belly laugh. “That could work.”

He grinned, sitting on the edge of the desk, deciding he wanted more of the laugh and soon.

You quieted and started fiddling with a pen that’d been nearby. “But seriously…I would never ask you this if I thought I had other options. It’s just…you’re the person I’ve gotten closest to so far here, and um..I spent so much on those tickets. I even saved from my first paycheck into this last one..”

Your words were coming out fast and close, but John could pick them out. Admitting he was closer to you than anyone in the country warmed him so much, he didn’t care if the next words out of your mouth were asking him to reimburse you. He couldn’t imagine what else you could ask for, but at that point he’d do it.

“Do you mind filling in those spots for me with your team? It’s a perfect amount of tickets, and then I won’t be all alone, and it won’t be a waste, and just ugh! I need you to save my ass Captain Price.” you looked up at him with wide pleading eyes.

For a fraction of second, Price wondered if you knew what you did to him, and that you could use that look to take over the mind of a weapon western governments spent a small fortune to train.

Then your request hit him like a train. You wanted him, and the adult nursery school he’d wrangled into the formation of the 141 to crash your vacation? Your sanity was up for debate.

“At any given time I’m working with half a shared brain cell between two muppets, and their long-suffering murder pet. I don’t think you’ve thought this through.”

“Oh.”

“In fact, their jackets read like the instructions for taking care of a Gremlin. No cruises is pretty high up there.” John tried to humor his way out of the suggestion until he caught sight of your face.

You looked so disappointed, but then your expression shifted to one he couldn’t quite read.

“But you’d be there wouldn’t you?” wide pleading eyes just for him, trained on him.

He flushed, reluctantly stepping around what may have been the flirtatious tactic. “Spending my leave pulling duty as a zoo keeper.”

“Work on your tan then Casper, I’m worried about you. You’d disappear in a snow storm.” You switched up your tactic again, hoping to amuse him into helping.

Price gave a full-belly laugh of his own, the kind he’d rarely even consider letting out at work. “Negging me isn’t going to work love, I’d stick with begging.”

“Damn.” John watched you rise up again, slipping around your desk in heels he couldn’t stare at too long if he wanted to remain professional. “John Price, I swear if you don’t say yes after this, I don’t care where you are on this base I will find you. There, I will salt your coffee and unravel your cigars.”

You inhaled.“Johncanyouandtherestofthe141takethesdamnticketsbeforeIsnap?”

John pretended to think, enjoying watching you literally squirm from the corner of his eye. Despite the jokes, John wasn’t truly an old man, but you did make him feel much younger than he was and he liked it.

He liked the tiny carefree moments he spent with you throughout the day, and he supposed that’d be nice for one sunny week.

“I’ll toss it to the lads, see what they say, and I’ll get back to you.”

“Meaning you’re going to make them do it.”

“Precisely.”

——-

As he stood before his men, he cursed his gentlemanly nature when faced with a woman in need. Well, if he was being entirely honest, he wasn’t being gentlemanly, and maybe this was what he deserved.

It wasn’t chivalry alone, it was pure, unadulterated thirst. He wanted you the way a very hungry man wanted a woman, and he was thinly veiling it behind a tip of the top hat and cane.

Gaz and Soap made him feel like the 141 father the higher ups teased him about being. They reacted as though daddy came home with a promise of DisneyLand.

“The last time you told us to pack, I was picking small snakes out of my pack for over an hour. Gotta say, I want this to be a habit Captain.” Gaz was grinning, phone already in hand as he searched for vacation clothes.

“Yeah. Didn’t expect this when I woke up this mornin’. You’re not tryin’ to infringe on my prank brand right sir?”

Ghost reacted as predicted. Posture stiff, arms crossed, and his eyes doing all the talking. They said a number of ways Price should die, an even greater number of ways he could go fuck himself, and that he’d try whatever he could to get out of it.

“You’re not getting out of it.” Price dashed that dream immediately, but he’d let him fantasize about killing him all cruise long if it helped.

“Why would you want to L.T.?” Soap looked up from where he’d been trying to add items he wanted into Gaz’s cart. “Mud in yer boots, or bikinis and a pint? Pretty hard choice.”

“I don’t wanna see you in a bikini, mate.” Gaz quipped, a grunt leaving him when Soap punched his shoulder.

Price ignored that, and interrupted on the off chance that Ghost would entertain Soap with an answer. “Everyone’s going, It’s one week and you’ve all seen worse. You will be on time, you will behave and represent this unit accordingly, and by god you will all be gracious for the opportunity.”

The last line was meant specifically for Ghost.

Said man smirked behind the mask, tiny details revealed this if you knew what to look for. “Don’t worry sir, I’ll be on my best behavior for your pretty little office bird.”

Price swallowed hard, rolling his eyes up to the ceiling as he counted to ten, and ignored Soap and Gaz’s aggressive inquiries. He was definitely being punished.

#141 x reader #cod #cod x reader #Simon Ghost Riley x Reader #Kyle Gaz Garrick x Reader #John Soap MacTavish x Reader #John Price x Reader #Soap x reader #Ghost x reader #cod mw2 #141 #Call of Duty #kyle gaz garrick #John Price #Simon Ghost Riley #Simon Riley

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krystal-kade · 2 months

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I finished reading Charlie is a bad person post and now I'm just over analyzing. It annoys me how Charlie is the Princess of Hell and has no experience of fighting. How the hell is Lucifer ok with the sinners looking down at his own daughter? Why doesn't he have her get used to her powers and explore it? She's over 200 years old and she knows jackshit about her powers. He basically crippled her.

And on another note regarding Val. Doesn't he technically own Angel's soul? If so, let's say Angel was teting to actually redeem himself. Wouldn't he still have to retrieve his soul back from Val? Wouldn't it be awesome if Charlei goes for a round 2 of meeting Val and tries forcing Val to give up Angel's soul back to him. How can she redeem sinners if they don't have his soul

I think Charlie's been looked down on by the people in Hell is supposed to like, make her seem like an underdog? She's super privileged, and is basically a white savior, but I think the point is that she's "just like the sinners" but it was portrayed really badly. Like, Overlords are more respected than their King and creator's daughter. And for the Sin of Pride, how seems awfully ashamed of him and his daughter.

I also think about this a lot. While I don't expect Charlie's going to suddenly fix everyone's problems or save everyone, she doesn't seem to be trying. In six months she has made no progress towards helping Angel. We know overlords can be killed, but does killing them free all their souls? Or is there some sort of Overlord Will they have to write saying who gets these souls? Does Charlie have the power to override the contract? Does Lucifer? Can Overlords willingly end their contract, or is it a no-take-backs kind of a thing? If Overlords can end contracts, why doesn't Charlie order Alastor to gain Angel's soul, then set him free? Why don't Lucifer or Charlie challenge Val for Angel's soul, then free him? Hell, put an end to the ownership of souls. They could absolutely challenge every overlord for the souls they own, then set these souls free? We know so little about Overlords. Is Charlie doing literally everything she can to help Angel? We don't know, because we don't anything about how his contract works. But this lack of information just makes it seem like Charlie doesn't care to help Angel

#anti hazbin hotel #anti vivziepop #hazbin hotel critical #hazbin hotel criticism #vivziepop criticism #vivziepop critical #hazbin hotel critique #vivziepop critique

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3rdeyeblaque · 7 months

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On September 26th we venerate Ancestor & Hoodoo Saint Aunt Caroline Dye on the 105th anniversary of her passing 🕊

Aunt Dye was a Seer, fortune teller, entrepreneur, & Hoodoo Woman who - without ever having picked up a mic or guitar - became one of the greatest Delta Blue's legends of all time.

Aunt Dye was born enslaved in Spartanburg, S.C around 1843 - where her parents died during her infancy. She first became aware of her gifts as a young child. She could see things that no one else could.

One story recalls Aunt Dye at 10 yrs old (still enslaved on the plantation) when she was helping to set the table for Thanksgiving Dinner: She started insisting that they had not set enough plates, that Mister Charley was coming. Charley was the Plantation owner’s brother, who was thought to have been killed 4yra earlier during the Civil War. Sure enough, later that day Charley came walking in the door. The family couldn’t believe it! He relayed the fact that he had been wounded, taken prisoner, and had not had the chance to come home until that day. No one ever knew how she could have guessed such a thing. It was then that her "little coincidences" started to become noticed.

As a young woman, she migrated westward to Elgin, Jackson Co., Arkansas, where she married Martin Dye. They had one child, a girl, who passed at 11mo. Through the years, they to in several children, some of whom were Aunt Dye's kin.

Despite being labeled "uneducated"- unable to read or write, she amassed a small fortune as a wealthy landowner, rental property entrepreneur, & most of all, as a Hoodoo woman & fortune teller. Though she never claimed the latter title, it was given to her by her clients across the region. Black & White Folks came from all over the mid-south, with an especially devoted group of followers from Memphis,TN. So many people traveled into the region just to see her that a train going into Jackson Co. was named, the “Caroline Dye Special.”

Aunt Dye divined using only a deck of playing cards. She never gave readings relating to love or the outcome of World War I, but she did offer visions of the future & insight on various matters such as missing people, animals, & objects. Although payment was not required for her services, she received up to 30 letters in a single day, much of etch carried payment for service. Some White businessmen in the area reportedly would not make an important decision before consulting her first. All day long, folks crowded her home waiting for a reading. So she took advantage of their large numbers & sold meals from her kitchen.

“White and colored would go to her. You sick in bed, she raise the sick. … Had that much brains — smart lady. … That’s the kind of woman she was. Aunt Caroline Dye, she was the worst woman in the world. Had that much sense.” – Band Leader Will Shade of the Memphis Jug Band.

Presently, Aunt Caroline Dye rests at the Gum Grove Cemetery in Newport, Jackson Co., Arkansas where she is forever remembered as the infamous Hoodoo Fortune Teller of the 19th Century.

Offering suggestions: playing cards, money/coins, Delta Blues songs that honor her memory

‼️Note: offering suggestions are just that & strictly for veneration purposes only. Never attempt to conjure up any spirit or entity without proper divination/Mediumship counsel.‼️

#hoodoos #hoodoo #atrs #atr #the hoodoo calendar #ancestor veneration #hoodoo women #aunt caroline dye #Hoodoo Folklore #Hoodoo History

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caffeinatic · 28 days

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So grateful to have been a part of the @phoenixwrightzine, and to have had the opportunity to collaborate with @somnimagus! May's art for the fic that I wrote is just phenomenal and really captures the vision I had as I was writing.

The zine is currently selling leftovers, and there's a possibility of running a small second printing of the hardcopy of the zine, which was such a unique piece of design work on the part of our formatting mod. (It's square, and it's beautiful, and I just love it.) You can express interest in the reprint on the zine's twitter or find out more about the project (and the left over sale!) on the carrd.

There's a snippet of the fic below, but the full version of Feenie's awkward interview with Fey & Co. Law Offices has been posted (with all of May's beautiful art embedded) on AO3.

---

“Phoenix,” Mia begins in a reasonable tone, “why did you apply for an internship here?”

“Well, ma’am, I think that Fey and Co embodies the spirit of—”

“No, no,” she interrupts. She chooses not to ask whether the talk of embodying spirits was intentional—surely he doesn’t know about her family, right? “I mean, why , Phoenix, did you choose to apply here when I don’t have an internship position to offer you?”

The paint on the office door had barely dried, and despite the optimistic addition of the 'and Co.' after her own name, she hasn’t thought about hiring yet. The closest thing she has to a coworker is the plant she’d purchased to liven up the space, which she’s taken to calling Charley when there’s no one else around. “Were you aware of that when you dropped off your application?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he says, stupidly honest and looking almost proud of himself for it.

“But you applied here anyway.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Phoenix, stop calling me ma’am.”

“Yes—uh,” and he catches himself awkwardly before offering an uncertain, “Sir?”

Mia sighs, one hand cradling her brow in anticipation of the headache she will have when all this is done. “Call me Mia, please.”

“Of course. Mia.”

#ace attorney #mia fey #phoenix wright #feenie #my aa fic #my writing

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thatanimewriter · 10 months

Photo

BOOBA!

➳ request: Hi, Charley! I love your writing and I hope you're doing great <33 if ok with you can I request some hcs for ikuya, haru, natsuya and rin asking their fem s/o if they could touch/feel her breasts? Out of curiosity not NSFW stuff

➳ character/s: kirishima ikuya, nanase haruka, kirishima natsuya, matsuoka rin

➳ warnings: boobs? boobs, mentions of pornography (natsuya), gou appearance (rin), the comforting boob hold™ (ikuya, rin), reader kinda asks first?? (natsuya)

➳ notes: this was very funny to write, thanks anon!

𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐫𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐬 / 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 / 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬��𝐬 / 𝐰𝐢𝐩 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

── 𝐊𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐌𝐀 𝐈𝐊𝐔𝐘𝐀.

i feel like the moment he was exposed to the idea of a bikini, he broke

what do you mean people don’t always wear one pieces???

people purposely show off their bodies??? >:0000

and one pivotal scroll through instagram brought him to ask you

“do girls actually hold their boobs for comfort?”

“yeah, i do it all the time.”

“...why??”

poor boy is just so confused about both women and boobs... and women and their boobs

just doesn’t get it

when you explained the comfort of holding a boob, he wanted to try it

and you let him after about 10 seconds of blankly staring

and another 20 seconds of ikuya getting progressively redder

it took you having to take his hand and put it on your breast to fully break him

i don’t recommend this for ikuya, he might have made a mistake

but he’ll ask again next week when he didn’t do well at practice

── 𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐒𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐔𝐊𝐀.

i headcanon haru to be asexual with a low sex drive, so i sorta doubt he’s ever tried to go out of his way to look at boobs

but he hears about how great they are from the masses

n he does wonder what all the hype is about

“[name], can i touch your breasts?”

“what-”

“i just want to know why people like them.”

to that, you can’t blame him, so you just let him do his thing

honestly, it’s weird having someone touch your boobs without any sexual intent

felt much more like a medical inspection than an intimate moment

“is it because they’re squishy?”

who’s gonna tell him-

you don’t think you’ve ever felt more conflicted about a situation like this before

he probably won’t ask again because he got his answer

also probably doesn’t entirely agree

because why booba when you can swim with him??

── 𝐊𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐌𝐀 𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐒𝐔𝐘𝐀.

for sure has seen boobs

probably in porn-

and as suave as he wants to be, he shuts down when he’s actually in a situation

especially when you caught him googling what boobs felt like and you offered him a freebie

“do you want to touch mine to find out?”

“UHHHH”

when he finally learnt the answer to his dumb google question, you’d never seen him look so...

:000

dial up internet sound while he registers in his brain what’s happening

“it’s like a stress ball!”

“don’t squeeze them as hard as you do a stress ball or i’ll ban cuddles for a month.”

it’s ok, he was very dainty for once, applaud the man

expect him to start touching them more often

and if he wasn’t laying on your boobs before

he is now ._.

── 𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐒𝐔𝐎𝐊𝐀 𝐑𝐈𝐍.

would like to say he hasn’t seen boobs but he definitely has

not always by choice, sometimes gou just shows him women and sometimes he questions her life decisions

but ever since hearing about the comforting boob hold, he wanted to know

so, even if it was out of the blue one night at your house, he had to pop the question

“can i hold your boob?”

“just the one??”

“for now, yeah.”

to that, you felt heat in your face, but lifted your shirt regardless

he was unsurprisingly gentle with you, which you were grateful for

but you still couldn’t get your face to cool down

it’s not that he never saw the appeal, he just never KNEW

he gets it now, he knows that it’s just nice to have something to hold

to have something to squish a bit mindlessly

but you’ll have to make sure he’s not doin this in public around samezuka

he himself needs comfort, for he is a sensitive man

but he might have to just settle for a hug sometimes

#free #free iwatobi swim club #kirishima ikuya #nanase haruka #kirishima natsuya #matsuoka rin #free x reader #free iwatobi swim club x reader #kirishima ikuya x reader #nanase haruka x reader #kirishima natsuya x reader #matsuoka rin x reader #free imagines #free iwatobi swim club imagines #kirishima ikuya imagines #nanase haruka imagines #kirishima natsuya imagines #matsuoka rin imagines

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jgroffdaily · 8 months

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Excerpts from the article (which appeared online as cast and crew were traveling to their first rehearsal today):

On a chilly day in early February, Jonathan Groff, Daniel Radcliffe, and Lindsay Mendez are huddled on a couch in a photo studio in Queens. Not three weeks after Merrily We Roll Along ended its off-Broadway run at the New York Theatre Workshop, gathering again for a photo shoot has made all of the actors cry. (An amused publicist thinks it was the sight of their old costumes, by Soutra Gilmour, that set everyone off.) “It’s just really settling in that we’re taking this to Broadway,” offers Mendez, a Tony winner for Jack O’Brien’s 2018 revival of Carousel. “It’s a big dream for us to get to shepherd this piece, which means so much to so many people, and yet has never gotten its proper due.”

“To hear the overture on Broadway…?” Groff adds. “I’m gonna die.”

In the Broadway production, which begins previews this September at the Hudson Theatre, Groff stars as Frank, in turns slickly handsome, roiled with conflict, and sparky as a golden retriever; Radcliffe as an endearingly neurotic Charley; and Mendez as Mary, whose wide smile conceals great depths of longing (namely, for Frank).

For Groff, doing Merrily felt fated. “I had just reached this point in my life where I was really looking back and reflecting on relationships that I suddenly realized were almost two decades old,” he explains. He later learned that Radcliffe and Mendez had done their own “first big New York shows” (revivals of Equus and Grease, respectively) at around the same time. This was no small thing, as they approached a story as concerned with the vicissitudes of a career in the performing arts as anything else.

“The people that start young and then stay in it well into adulthood tend to love it,” Radcliffe says. “They tend to be doing it because there is something in their bones that makes them want to do this. And I think we all have that.” Adds Mendez, “There’s an unspoken-ness between us. There’s a lot of trust, and a lot of teamwork.” (When I ask Friedman about her stars’ touching natural chemistry, she tells me that in Merrily, Sondheim has “written love songs. He’s written about losing love, wanting love, missing love, despair, all the things, but it’s all around love.” So, in the year that she spent building her New York cast, “I looked for loving people.”)

For all intents and purposes, the Broadway revival is the same show that ran at the New York Theatre Workshop. Not only do both productions share the same actors—including Katie Rose Clarke as Frank’s estranged first wife, Beth; Hamilton alumna Krystal Joy Brown as his glamorous second wife, Gussie; and Reg Rogers as Joe, the producer behind the first hit show that Frank and Charley write together—but the same creative and production team, too. “We had a big break between the New York Theatre Workshop and going to Broadway, and every single person has come with it. They all took other jobs in order to be able to do this job,” Friedman says. “It just cast a spell over us all.”

As they move into the Hudson—which Friedman selected for its intimate-feeling scale (of Broadway’s 41 active theaters, it’s one of only nine that seats under 1,000 people)—she is keen to protect that enchantment. “I am absolutely determined not to do anything different,” Friedman says. “The piece is the piece; it speaks for itself. And as long as we keep the integrity of that and the joy and the warmth and the love and the storytelling—it should sing.” This has more or less been her line from the beginning. “One of the things that Maria has said from day one is, ‘I have not changed a lyric of this show or a word of the script. I am doing this show as written,’ ” Groff says. “It’s not like she’s doing a take on Merrily. She really believes in the piece itself without adding any sort of flashy concept.”

Then as now, her deepest regret is that Sondheim is not alive to see the production, but she knows that he would have delighted in Merrily’s return to Broadway. Her only hope is that after all these years, audiences are ready to receive it. “It’s a profound piece,” Friedman says. “If it gets you, it stays with you and makes you ask questions. And if it doesn’t get you, it’s got some great tunes.”

PIANO MAN

Groff wears a Gucci jacket. Pants from The Row. Grooming, Amy Komorowski.

In this story: hair, Ilker Akyol; makeup, Francelle Daly for Love+Craft+Beauty. Produced by The Canvas Agency. Set Design: Viki Rutsch.

#jonathan groff #daniel radcliffe #lindsay mendez #merrily we roll along #vogue #merrily promo

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soggylampshade-11 · 1 year

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Dead Like Me.

Hi, I've recently binged School Spirits and I really like Wally Clark. There is a criminal lack of fics written for him, so I decided to write one of my own. This includes an OC of my own creation named Sabrina. I hope you all like it!

*Just a note, this takes place a couple years before Maddie's situation happens.*

Chapter 2 Chapter 3

Chapter 1

Triggers: implications of SA, language, violence

I was walking out to the parking lot after cheer practice when someone grabbed my arm. I’d stayed after practice ended to work through some routines with Coach Armstrong for longer than I thought because it was dark out now. So I cried out when the person pulled me under the bleachers.

“Chill, Sab, it’s me!” Zach Hines said, making me relax when I saw it was only him. “Hey, why are you still here?”

“I stayed after with Armstrong to work on some routines for this season,” I explained, watching him move closer to me in the cramped space. “Hey, whoa, what’s up? Personal space is important, my dude.”

“I love how you challenge me,” he grinned, continuing to come to me until my back hit the bleachers. “You look so good in these shorts, I love watching you cheer while you wear them.”

“Dude, Chloe’s my friend,” I said, trying to push him back from me. “You remember Chloe, right? Your girlfriend? About 5’9 with red hair?”

“I don’t want to talk about her right now. I want to talk about you going to Homecoming with me,” he said, ignoring what I said completely.

He put his hand on my hip and trapped me where I was. “Uh, Zach, I think I should leave. Chloe’s my friend.”

He only hummed, pressing his body to mine and kissing my neck. I kept trying to get him off me, but he was so much bigger and stronger than me. He was the fullback for the football team. His hands were all over me and my heart was racing, fight or flight kicking in. I couldn’t run away from him, so I had to fight.

“Zach, stop!” I cried, hitting his chest.

“You want this, every girl wants this,” he argued, banging my body back against the wood until I stopped moving.

“I don’t!” I cried, my adrenaline keeping the pain from sinking into me as my spine repeatedly slammed against the wood behind me. “Zach! Stop it! You’re hurting me!”

“Shut up,” he hissed, continuing to push me until my head hit the wood so sharply everything went black.

There was a surprising lack of pain in my body when I woke up. The sun was shining bright and there were a ton of strangers gathered around me.

“What happened?” I asked, but none of the people replied to me or even acknowledged that I’d spoken. “Hello? Can you guys hear me? What happened?”

I pushed up into a sitting position and then stood, but they didn’t move out of the way. It was like I slipped through their bodies. When I turned around to look at them, I screamed when I saw my lifeless body laying where I’d just been.

“Hey, it’s okay,” someone said calmly behind me, making me turn quickly to find a guy wearing glasses and a denim jacket. “Hi, I’m Charley.”

“What the fuck is happening?” I cried. “Why can you see me but they can’t?”

“Let’s go inside, it’s not very fun to be out here with all this,” Charley said, gesturing toward the school.

“Why would I go somewhere with you?” I asked, crossing my arms over my chest defensively. "I don't know who you are."

“Because I’m dead like you,” he replied, making me look at him incredulously. “You’re dead, you died under the bleachers and those EMTs announced it.”

“I’m dead?” I asked in a hoarse whisper, kneeling down by my lifeless body. “Holy shit, I’m dead.”

I felt Charley kneel beside me and place a hand on my shoulder. “I’m sorry, this is the worst way to find out you died on campus. It’s, like, the absolute worst thing to find out when you wake up.”

“Sabrina Wellington, age 17,” one of the EMTs said, making me look over at him even though I knew he couldn’t see me now. “Principal’s on her way, the football field’s blocked off from students. We should get her out of here before they realize what’s going on.”

A lot happened at once after that. My body was placed in a bodybag, the EMT frowning as she zipped it up. A surge of panic rushed through my body, but Charley stopped me when I tried to follow them.

“Once you get to the end of the school boundaries, you get yanked back to where you died. That means you’d regenerate under here again and it hurts,” he said, sounding sad. “I’m sorry, you’re stuck here with us.”

“Us?” I asked distractedly, watching the EMTs carry my body away and load it in the back of an ambulance without the lights on when it drove away.

“There’s a group of us who died here. We meet up in the gym everyday to talk,” he explained, gesturing to the building with his shoulder. “Do you want to come with me?”

Before I could say anything, I saw Trish and Ellery standing at the edge of the football field. “Can I find you later? I need to go talk to my friends.”

“They’re not going to be able to see you!” Charley shouted after me as I jogged over to them, but I just waved him off. “Okay, see you later!”

I hurried over to my friends and heard them talking. “I can’t believe she’s dead! She was at practice last night, barking orders like always.”

“Hey!” I cried, but they didn’t acknowledge me.

“It’s like she didn’t know Alison was fighting to take over as captain,” Trisha stated with a giggle. “I guess the fight’s over now.”

“Ladies! Get to class,” Mr. Hill shouted, making us jump. “Don’t forget there’s also a grief counselor here for you if you need it.”

The two of them left me standing there in shock. I’d cheered with them since I was six years old. We’d been inseparable since then… but I think they hated me. What the hell? I walked slowly inside the building, feeling my eyes burn with tears

I didn’t realize until I pushed open the double doors of the gym that I was going where Charley suggested earlier. There was a gym class happening, but I walked through it easily to join the group of people sitting in a circle.

“Is this dead kid AA?” I asked, standing behind an empty chair.

A girl with dark, curly hair snorted at that and rolled her eyes. “Wow, never heard that one before!”

“Welcome, I’m Mr. Martin,” the man in a sweater vest said, standing up and gesturing to an empty seat. “Please, have a seat and join us.”

I nodded and moved around to sit in one of the folding chairs between a guy in a letterman jacket and the girl with dark hair. She was sucking on a lollipop and looked bored out of her mind.

“Right, let’s go around and introduce ourselves to our newest member,” Mr. Martin said, sitting back in his seat.

“Hi, we met this morning,” Charley said, waving at me with a friendly smile. “I’m Charley.”

The girl with the lollipop said, “Rhonda.”

“Sabrina,” I said, bringing my legs up onto the chair with me and wrapping my arms around them.

“I’m Wally,” the guy in the letterman said, making me realize he looked really familiar. Like he read my mind, he said, “The one that the football field’s named after.”

There was a picture of him hanging in the hallway outside the locker rooms. The thought of the locker rooms made me flinch because I’d seen Zach standing by the doors last night. The feeling of his hands forcing me backward and the roughness of the wood digging into the bare skin of my shoulders.

“Sabrina? Are you okay?” Wally asked, drawing me out of the memory. “You disappeared for a few minutes.”

“Sorry,” I said, sounding a million miles away.

“You get better at handling the memories,” Charley said gently, making me look over at him.

I couldn’t imagine he was right, but I nodded my head anyway. The rest of the group was talking about something, but my focus wasn’t here. I was thinking about Zach trying to force himself on me and hurting me. He’d slammed my head against the bleachers so hard that it killed me.

Then there was the way my friends talked about me this morning. My dead body was found underneath the bleachers where a guy I considered my friend killed me. A guy that I trusted tried to force himself on me then killed me.

My chest drew tight and I knew I was going to have a panic attack. I was up and out of the gym, running until I was in the girls’ bathroom. I gripped the sides of the sink in my hands and looked in the mirror.

I was wearing a silver moon necklace around my neck, there was a tube of abandoned cherry lip gloss in the floor, a couple bobby pins on the little shelf below the mirrors, and an empty soap dispenser on the wall. I could hear water dripping from the sink, the sound of water rushing through pipes in the walls, the sound of someone walking out in the hallway, and the distant squeak of gym shoes.

My breath was back to normal, making me look at my reflection again. The girl in the reflection looked like me when I was alive, but I knew I wasn’t anymore. My eyes were glassy with tears and I wasn’t wearing makeup, so my freckles stood out against my pale cheeks. I busied myself with putting my hair back up to still my shaking hands.

When I walked back out of the bathroom, Wally was waiting for me. He was sitting across from the door with his arms resting on his raised knees.

“Hi,” he greeted, keeping the space between us. “You ran off and I wanted to make sure you were okay. I don’t want to crowd you or freak you out, but this is a lot to do on your own.”

“You mean finding out that a person you trusted tried to assault you then hit your head against the bleachers so hard it killed you and then finding out the girls you’ve known since you were six actually hate you is hard to do alone?” I asked, going over to sit beside him. “You just want to be my friend because I’m a cheerleader… was a cheerleader.”

“I’ve seen you cheer before, you’re good,” he admitted, cheeks flushing a little when I looked at him. “Not in a creepy way, in a ‘I watch the football games’ kind of way.”

A small smile found my face as I leaned my head against the wall behind us. “Thanks, I absolutely fucking hated it.”

“No way! I hated football!” he cried, making me look at him with my brows raised. “It was fun when I started, but my mom had insane ideas on what I was supposed to do on the field.”

“Same, my mom wanted me to go to nationals and get scholarships,” I explained, smiling humorlessly. “It turns out my entire team wanted to take away my captain title and give it to another girl. So, I guess I wasn’t as good at it as I thought I was.”

“That sucks,” he agreed, making me laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation. “You have a nice laugh.”

“Don’t flirt with me. I just died,” I said, but I couldn’t stop myself from giggling.

“I died in 1983, I’m allowed to flirt,” he replied, bumping my shoulder with his. “You’re going to be okay, Sabrina.”

“Brina, my friends call me Brina,” I corrected, turning my head to look at him. “And you’re my friend.”

“That’s presumptuous of you, Brina,” he said, smiling brightly when he turned to look back at me.

A genuine smile tugged at my lips, one bigger than the false one I’d used today. My life was over and I’d found out the people I trusted weren’t trustworthy. I cheered in the stadium named after the goofy guy beside me, but I think I liked him more than my living friends.

And that's the first chapter of my story! I'd love to hear y'all's input on it! Tell me what you liked, what you didn't like, anything really. I'm working on this as inspiration hits and have another 2 chapters ready to go. I hope you liked this one!

#school spirits #wally clark #wally clark x reader #wally clark imagines #milo manheim #Wally Clark x OC #wally clark fanfic

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laundrybiscuits · 2 months

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I've recently been tagged in a few WIP/"last thing you've written" type games, and…to be completely candid, I haven't been writing any kind of fic lately because I've become a little bit obsessed with analyzing the Broadway revival of Merrily We Roll Along.

Not for any particular purpose, I just saw it at the Hudson a little while back and have a lot of feelings about it! In my tiny scraps of spare time, I've been working on an essay about Merrily and inevitability that will probably end up rotting in my google docs*, because that's how I approach writing as a hobby.

There's just so much there, holy shit. I'm focusing particularly on "Franklin Shepard, Inc." because Radcliffe's Charley brings a frenetic, desperate vulnerability to the performance that reads so, so differently from earlier productions. Throughout the show, I was consistently blown away by the heavy lifting Radcliffe, Mendez, and Groff do in shifting the core tension from "art vs commerce" (fine but basic, and difficult to keep modern) to "how people prioritize different types of relationships in their lives."

In an effort to make this slightly less wildly off-topic for this blog: this has gotten me thinking about the way that platonic relationships are treated in narratives, particularly but not exclusively in fandom.

"Found family" is and has always been a popular trope, but I do think its current incarnation trades a lot on the underlying fantasy of relationship permanence. When we recategorize friendships as familial relationships, we're making a claim—whether or not it's justified—about the indelibility of those relationships.

That's not inherently bad (or, god forbid, problematic). I think it's very very natural, especially for those who don't necessarily have a lot of experience with the way adult friendships change over time. Why wouldn't you want something as precious and unique and amazing as a good friendship to stay with you forever?

Certain people can feel like pillars of your world, and it's fucking terrifying to think about that being yanked out from under you—or even worse, to think about your lives slowly shifting like geologic plates until suddenly you realize it's been weeks, then months, then years since you last really talked.

CHARLEY: We're not that kind of close any more, the way we used to be. And a friendship's like a garden. You have to water it and tend it and care about it. And you know what? I want it back.

It's a peculiar, particular kind of grief when it happens, because even though it's a fairly common human experience, it doesn't get socially acknowledged in the same way as e.g. a romantic breakup.

So yeah, it makes a lot of sense that found family is a popular trope in all kinds of media, not just fandom.

However...at this point, I've developed a knee-jerk wariness to the phrase "found family," because I've found it often correlates with a really flat, simplistic depiction of human relationships. In extreme cases, it simply recontextualizes a relationship within the socially acknowledged/acceptable framework of a stereotypical family unit.

This does a disservice to familial and nonfamilial relationships alike. Every family is different, so why do so many found families in media look the same?

(I was monologuing about this to my very patient girlfriend, and she pointed out that this also sets up a success/failure binary condition in relationships, where permanence is the arbiter of success in both romantic and nonromantic contexts. She is of course both beautiful and correct!)

I have friends with whom I can sometimes share a glance and know exactly what they're thinking. I even have a running joke with one friend about the sheer number of times we've said the same thing in unison over the last 15 years. I still need to be intentional about building those relationships, extending empathy when we differ, and carving out time to reconnect. Truly intimate long-term relationships of any kind involve disagreements, conflicting priorities, and negotiating and renegotiating boundaries.

Being "basically the same person" or "sharing a braincell" actually sounds super fucking lonely to me, personally, and it handily elides the difficult, essential process of keeping people in your life.

FRANK: Old friends let you go your own way. CHARLEY: Help you find your own way. MARY: Let you off when you're wrong. F: If you're wrong. C: When you're wrong. M: Right or wrong, the point is, old friends shouldn't care if you're wrong. F: Should, but not for too long. C: What's too long?

That's a more complicated and much more mature narrative to tell than "friendship will save the day!" Because it's not that common and there's not a deep bank of references to draw from, it takes a lot of effort and skill to depict well, and I don't blame creators for not wanting to let it suck up all the air in the room. However, I think it's important to acknowledge that platonic relationships can also be flanderised and flattened.

In the context of fandom, which has always traded heavily in Romance genre conventions, I would really like to see more thoughtful explorations of complicated nonromantic relationships. I'm not even talking about genfic here! I've actually been thinking about Stobin specifically because that relationship (rightly & understandably) tends to show up in any Steve-centric fic, including the vast ocean of Steddie fics, so it makes the issue slightly more visible than I've seen in other fandoms.

I'm not saying I want to see them fight, or not be friends, or not love each other fiercely and near-obsessively in the way that lonely teenagers can. I'm just saying I want them to be distinct individuals who view the world in very different ways, and choose each other anyway. They already have a complicated past; I know from personal experience that it's possible as a lesbian to be best friends with a guy who once made a little speech about how into you he was, but that little layer of history never quite goes away.

I don't want frictionless relationships in my life. I want people who will challenge me and whom I can challenge, in the context of love and trust. I want people in my life whom I have to work to understand, because my life is richer when I do. And sometimes, I want narratives that will reflect the grief of friendships that are no longer part of my life, despite the best efforts of everyone involved.

In Merrily, Charley sings, "Friendship's something you don't really lose—" but Radcliffe's thready, pleading delivery makes it all too clear: Charley already knows he's lying. The audience just needs to catch up.

*Other essays in that particular graveyard: understanding the cast of Peanuts through the lens of anomie, humor and subversive linguistic nationalism in 00s Singaporean TV, how to fix Miss Saigon. WHY am I this way.

#side note: how fucking good was Radcliffe in that role? what a glow-up from HTSIBWRT #all the casting was brilliant but (Tony winner!) Mendez and (Tony nominated) Groff were less of a dark horse #anyway I think...I might start to get a little less rigid about letting myself dump nonfandom or fandom-adjacent posts here #we'll see if I have more time to post and/or write once this busy period at work dies down #recently is a relative term btw. I have been tagged more recently than the cambrian explosion. so that counts.#I appreciate the tags and it's very nice of y'all to think of me though!

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manheeiim · 1 month

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chapter four: sweet on the inside & outside

-- a ghostly love masterlist

The next day, we all sat in our usual circle in the gymnasium. Mr. Martin was talking to all of us as we passed the donut box around.

“There’s an old cider mill off Route 47, and my parents would toss us in the Dodge Coronet. We’d each get a bag of warm, greasy donuts. That was my idea of nirvana.” Mr. Martin says, thinking back to his memories as a kid.

I grabbed a glazed donut from the box before handing it to Wally who took it, making sure that he grazed his fingers over mine as he did so. He got a jelly donut out of the box and handed the box over to Rhonda.

“What’s that about?” She asks. He looked at her confused. “You always leave me the worst one.” Rhonda complains. I bring my hand up to my neck and rub the side of it. I don’t know why but she has gotten on my nerves ever since I met her.

“What do you mean? It’s lemon glazed.” Wally tells her.

“Nobody wants a lemon donut.” Rhonda remarks.

I mean she was right about that.

“Guys, the subject is nirvana.” Mr. Martin says.

“No, the subject is entitlement.” Rhonda retorts.

“Oh, okay. I’m entitled because I like anything filled with jelly.” Wally sighs. “It’s not my fault I like things with sweet stuff inside of it.” Wally then adds, looking over at me and giving me a wink.

“Oh my god.” I say, shocked at his constant boldness, especially in front of the others.

“Ew. Just ew.” Rhonda says. “I don’t even want that anymore. That’s gross.” She says.

“Guys, the subject is nirvana.” Mr. Martin repeats.

“Excuse me, can I be excused? I just want to eat my donut in peace.” Wally says.

“More entitlement.” Rhonda puts her hand up in disbelief.

“It’s not entitlement, Rhonda. Okay? It’s about- it’s about digestion.” Wally tells her.

I can’t hold back my laugh. Wally looks over to me and smiles after hearing my laugh.

“Oh, Lucia. I’ve just been reminded. I have a homework assignment for you.” Mr. Martin tells me.

I blink a few times, “Homework?” I ask.

“Well, kind of. I want you to write your obituary. Everyone here has done it already.” He says.

“I…” I trail off. I sigh. “Okay.” I shrug. I didn’t have the energy to complain right now.

There’s a sudden weird sound and I looked over to see Wally slurping the jelly out of the donut. “Oh, my god.” He says. enjoying the jelly.

“Um… I’ll just.. start that now actually.” I say.

“Yeah.” Mr. Martin says, agreeing with me.

I then spent the next day writing my obituary. Even if the last few months, or well, years of my life hadn’t been that great, there were some core memories that I had. I guess writing it out was nice. I found Mr. Martin in the hallway after I’d finished so that I could give it to him. “Mr. Martin.” I say and he looks over. “I finished my obituary.” I told him.

“Wow, thank you.” He says as he takes the papers from me.

“You’re welcome.” I softly say.

“How did it feel? Writing all of that out.” Mr. Martin asked.

“It felt… nice.” I admit.

“Good.” He smiles.

There’s a few moments of awkward silence. “Well… see you.” I say and he just nods before I turn around and walk away.

I sit on the bleachers in the pool room with Charley as Rhonda sits on the edge of the pool and Wally sits in a float in the water, wearing only some swim trunks and sunglasses. Charley was applying some of Rhonda’s sunscreen to his arms. Why? I don’t know, there was really no point. But, you do you, I guess.

“Uh, easy with the coppertone, hun.” Rhonda comments.

“Yeah, that bottle’s got to last her another 60 years.” Wally says.

I watch as she kicks her foot in the water, splashing some water at him, “Don’t be a cube.” She says.

I giggle at what she’d said. Yeah, she was definitely from the ‘60s. She looks over at me with a scowl on her face.

“I- I’m sorry.” I say, not really meaning it. “It’s just.. nothing. It’s nothing.” I say.

“You are such a bug.” She says.

I twirl a part of my hair with my finger, “Alright.” I dismissively say.

“I love this smell.” Charley says, rather loudly, trying to get us to stop. “Coconut, verbena. You can be anywhere; Miami, Aruba.” He tells us. “I miss a good sunburn.” He says.

“I miss pussy.” Wally says and everyone looks over at him. “What? I thought we were talking about stuff that we missed.” He tells us.

I cover my face with my hands. I can’t.

“So, how have you been adjusting to the life of the undead?” Wally asks as we sit on the bleachers. It was nighttime and so it was quite pretty with all the stars and all.

“The life of the undead?” I ask, giggling at the way he phrased it. Wally smiled after hearing me laugh. “Um, yeah. It’s… actually not been that bad. I think it’s actually better than things were when I was alive.” I say.

“Really?” He asks and I nod. “Why? Cause I’m here now?” Wally asks, smirking at me.

“No.” I partially lied. I mean, honestly, I wouldn’t admit it to him just yet, but… I was glad that I met him, even if we were ghosts and even if he was constantly making inappropriate jokes.

“I’ll change your mind, don’t worry.” He says.

“Oh, really? And how exactly are you going to do that?” I ask.

He looks down at my lap before looking into my eyes again, “Well, I have a couple of ideas.” He teases.

I gently push his chest, “You’re a little too bold.” I say.

“Nothing wrong with that.” Wally shrugs.

“When it comes to you.. there is.” I tease back.

“I can’t help it when you look like that in your uniform.” Wally tells me.

“So, if I wasn’t wearing this then you wouldn’t be like this?” I ask.

“Nah, you’d be fine either way.” Wally says.

Was it so wrong that even if his boldness was a lot, that I liked it?

#manheeiim #milo manheim #milo #milo manheim x reader #milo x reader #wally clark #wally clark x reader #wally clark x oc #wally x reader #wally clark imagine #wally clark fanfiction #school spirits #school spirits imagine #school spirits fanfiction

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