"Kekcekça?",dixit Croquignol in (Louis) FURTON. Les Pieds Nickelés.passim.originally published by the Société Parisienne d'Édition in the weekly satirical L'Épatant;ca.1927.this réissue:HACHETTE COLLECTIONS,SNC.2013,publications (Georges) VENTILLARD.1999,Glénat;Vents d'Ouest.
NOTE: the pun is in the phonetic spelling of the grammatically standardising:"Qu'est-ce qu'est (que) ça (:cela). In every day French, the <k> sound is rather frequent and has quite a few transcriptions: c,qu,k, relating the evolution of standardization (and its centrifugal vernacularity) in the French tongue.
every single one of you fuckers that predicted that the season finale of loki was going to be as devastating as the good omens finale, go stand in the corner, because you somehow manifested this shit and now i'm crying.
ghost and soap who don't know what to do with a sweet, innocent barista like you. [nsfw]
it starts when you first start working at the café a town over. just a shy, quiet-spoken girl, making coffee for the mysterious soldiers who come from the local military base.
when soap walks in one morning, expecting to find the kind old lady who runs the shop, imagine his surprise when he sees you bent over the counter, wiping it over with a damp rag. he damn near trips over his own feet when you look up at the sound of the bell, soft smile directed towards him. just for him.
when you ask for his order, it takes all of his focus to get the words out -- his own iced latte, and ghost's long black. all he can even think of is how your glossy lips would taste, or how your soft tits would feel against his bare chest. how your body would feel between him and simon, if the two of them were to ravage you in such a way.
that same night, when soap sneaks into ghost's room, he tells the man all about you between needy gasps. with johnny in simon's tight grip, the older man forces him to tell him everything, about what pervy things he had imagined. what he wanted.
when johnny finally spills over, it's with your name on his lips -- he's been playing it over and over in his mind since he first laid his eyes on your nametag.
it's two days later that an estranged man with a skull balaclava strides into your cafe, hands in his pockets. funnily enough, he makes the same order that the highly attractive scot had just a few days before.
when you hand him the two drinks with a bright smile, his gloved fingers brush yours, his voice low as he thanks you.
if your hand falls between your thighs later that night, thinking about your two new customers, then that's between you and your bedroom walls.
sometimes, weeks go by where you don't see either man. when that happens, you find yourself yearning to talk to them again -- to have their softened expressions filled with gratitude and... something else focused on you as you hand them their coffees.
even when they go, they always come back.
it's one thursday morning when, for the first time, both of them come in at the same time.
johnny's gesturing something wildly to his partner, while simon's hands remain in his pockets, patient expression solely directed at the shorter man.
and when both of them stop, to look at you?
if you were a weaker woman, you'd have fainted. you just ask them for their orders. you've already readied their cups.
after making their drinks, you move to hand them to the two, but a roughened hand around your wrist stops you in your tracks.
battering your lashes, you look up to find simon gazing down at you, something heated in his deep, brown eyes. when he leans down and offers you a day with them?
one bad thing about having a quiet housemate is that when I’m alone, I tend to make a lot of creature noises 😬 I dunno man, just love screeching like a creature when the urge arrises. but getting out a few good “CRAHHGGGHHHH”s out only to walk into my kitchen and be face-to-face with the lady who lives in the basement is like, yikes, feels shameful!
with the hermitcraft sexyman poll going around, i've been forcefully reminded of this piece.
i had finished the entire thing, lighting and all, n asked a friend if it looked good enough to post. thank god i did, bc they noticed the onceler likeness n stopped me. so here's this first draft that never saw the light of day; unintentional Joe Hills Onceler
moral of the story is to always ask for a second opinion on art bc sometimes your own eyes are dumb
when halsey said ‘From a tender age i was cursed with rage’ then ethel cain said ‘I am the face of love’s rage’ then florence welch said ‘Waiting for you side of stage, suppressing all my private rage’ & then hayley williams said ‘rage is a quiet thing. well, you think that you’ve tamed it but it’s just lying in wait’.