#i cannot tell you how fucking empty and uninteresting that is to me

[hemovanadin]

just got back from the national autumn exhibit

the most provokative thing about the autumn exhibit this year was how unprovoked i was. probably the most underwhelming one i've ever been to. i skipped all video art but honestly it felt very stagnant and lifeless and safe in a way? stationary? slow? very little movement. very little play except a handful of pieces that maybe wouldn't have stood out as much any other year. even most of the textile art, that i usually end up liking more than my dad does felt... uninteresting.

there was a lot of photography this year and photography isn't rlly smth i'm all that interested in but it's not like i'm against it as a medium. but i cannot. find raw display of skill that impressive on its own, i just dont get it enough yk? and a lot of them were very clearly good. like, you can tell it was taken by someone who knows what they're doing but... the subject matter itself and how it was presented just. didn't hit. it was boring! it was boring! and it felt so empty like... were there fewer works in general this year than usual? i've seen cool photography at past fall exhibits. but idk. maybe it was just, too many very straight forward clear photos at once. like they kinda... lessened each others impact... very little felt like it spoke for itself and at the same time very little made me curious or confused or want to know more about the work or artist behind it...

like, idk i dont wanna insult the art itself. nothing there was "bad" ykno? there have been times where i've left and felt like why the fuck was this even included? but not this year. nothing rlly stood out as exceptionally good either. but i think the curation this year sucked. and the presentation. i'm glad it was easier to walk around and move than last year but this year it was TOO empty. i felt like it lacked in variation.

every year past iv'e left WITH SOMETHING even when i didn't like it. i left with ideas of my own about how i'd like to use color, or material, or composition, subject matter whatever whatever. i've left thinking about something i felt was missing, that could have or should have been there, but this year i leave with my head empty for the first time. and that's a really strange feeling.

its not like there weren't good ideas. or interesting things said by different works. but i felt like even in those cases it kinda felt underdeveloped or like it wasn't... executed in a confrontational enough way? like idk. felt unfinished. not rough in an interesting way either. just... like it was missing something idk.

these are just my initial thoughts but it's disappointing :(

#høstutstillingen #the autumn exhibit #bros im just a normal guy idk shit about art critique im as far away as a pro you can get but just my thoughts. maybe they'll change after #let it ferment in my brain a bit but... i was really expecting better bros. it wasnt all bad but it was just. very tame? to me. i dont give #a fuck about odd nedrum or whatever his painting was prob one of the most boring things there #did they just not get many good entries this year or???? #once again i beg a furry artist braver than me to submit your marker drawings of your eyestrain fursona just hanging out or smth please #please please please #art #kunst

[prettyboykatsuki]

hi! i just saw ur tier post and i’d love to hear more abt why you feel like gege doesn’t care about his characters/gen /nm. i genuinely love jjk so much, but this current arc (after shibuya) is kinda… idk. i’m not loving it but maybe that’s cus i’m not understanding it, however i don’t feel as “harshly” towards it as u do. it’s very interesting to see ur opinion though, i love discussing things like this.

as for bnha… i am very close to dropping it entirely. i’m anime only, so i cannot judge what’s going on in the manga, but how i don’t like how it’s currently going at all. the pacing is fucking awful. the entirety of s5 feels like a filler to me, i haven’t made it past ep9 bc it’s just so boring to me. i feel like for the last two seasons (so szn 4 and 5) nothing has REALLY happened. and ik that’s not true bc of all the stuff that happened with eri and overhaul, but it feels like nothing’s happened. and it saddens me because i grew really attached to the characters but i’m not sure i can continue the anime if it continues like this.

im gonna put this under a cut! please remember that these r my opinions and im not looking for a debate! we are just vibing here

it's pretty much confirmed that gege doesn't care about his characters cause he seems to hate so many of them. my biggest issue and why i feel this way / what confirmed this for me was personally naoya's death. i think after shibuya arc - watching shit hit the fan and seeing things progressively become worse was a pretty natural next step in the story

but the further we go into it, the more it feels like the story loses direction. it's tragedy for the sake of tragedy. it's hard for me to attach meaning to characters and their deaths when we really don't get a chance to garner feelings for their story in a way i feel is necessary.

i think the jjk story is heavily centered on despair - but to execute that, you have to display hope. despair exists in the absence of hope but if there's no hope at all than it's travesty for travesty sake

naoya is an asshole but the way he died was so... lackluster. his final moments were so pathetic and in my opinion uninteresting and i think that's a real shame because if he had a little more time, and wreaked a little more havoc - it could've been so cool. it didn't feel fleshed out to me and i think that's my issue with the story as a whole ig. a lot of the things i feel could be fleshed out really aren't

I DO LOVE JJK THO!! i love the characters and the concept and a good bit of the story, i just think more could be done yk

also with bnha - i don't particularly mind the slow pacing and i completely understand it being boring. a lot of people i know irl who are anime only have dropped it and i don't blame them!

if im not mistaken - this entire season will feel pretty empty up until the last few episodes if the anime tightly follows the manga. i wont tell you to watch though since i completely understand if you find it boring LMAO

in terms of shounen, the mha pacing is definitely not for anyone who enjoys more action heavy stories / plot heavy stories. i do think the story being so... boring right now though is 10000% on purpose because shit hits the fan very, very quickly.

i don't want to spoil anything for you since you are not reading the manga but i promise you things will not stay boring if you're curious. i think hks intent with the first few arcs was to demonstrate how uninteresting and calm things are before... shit happens!

shit will happen though and when it does, it's gonna be insane so it won't stay like this forever. in that case, it might not be worth dropping

given how the manga is im actually really grateful for how uneventful this season is genuinely. i almost wish things could continue like this forever

#return to sender #opinion stuff #im also a very critical person when it comes to media #which i hate lol i want to just enjoy things #its my worst quality maybe so take things w a grain of salt ig

[iamakiller]

Daddy

Wordcount: 2000

Warnings: Pregnancy.  Infidelity.  Murder.  Reference to past abuse.

Notes: Some men take to fatherhood quite naturally.  Others … do not.

The wedding is elaborate, expensive, and populated entirely by the bride’s family and friends.  

Perhaps this is why no-one mentions the haste with which it has been arranged, in spite of how decisive the couple’s most recent and definitely final breakup had been only a few months ago.

Nobody comments on the irony of the bride wearing white, either.

***

It is a novelty, at first.  

The matching rings are fun, and it is rather nice having someone to complain to after a long day of dealing with the world and its stupidity.

Charlie calls her Wife, and she calls him Husband. Ironically, of course.

He likes the idea of the vows.  Til death do us part is pleasantly macabre, and reassuringly final.

He’ll never be alone again.

***

The other business is nothing at all, to begin with.  

He enjoys the way her magnificent curves have been augmented by the twist of fate that brought them back together so permanently. Her swollen breasts and rounded belly are a gift for him to enjoy.  A fitting tribute to his virility.  And her fertility, he supposes.

Look at what I have done to you, he thinks, each time he fucks her.  See how you have grown by me.

And she grows.

And she grows.

***

One evening as they are laying on the couch, Nicole suddenly lets out a gasp, and grabs his hand.  Before he knows quite what is happening, she has pressed it to her abdomen, right below her navel.  Just as he’s about to ask her if she has gone mad … he feels it. A tiny movement from within her, pressing against his palm.

Her eyes are very bright as she gazes at him, the beaming smile on her face making her look like a Stepford version of herself.  “Oh, Charlie,” she says, softly.  “I’ve been feeling it for weeks, and now you can too!  He’s kicking.  Isn’t it wonderful?”

Kicking?

He?

Wonderful?

Charlie pulls his hand away, and turns his attention back to the TV.

***

Nicole starts leaving books on the topic of baby names and parenting scattered around the house.  

Charlie shakes his head at her carelessness, and tidies them away.

He wastes an entire day of good writing time on painting the spare room pastel blue under her scrutiny. Another on assembling the crib that is now the centerpiece of the room.

Every time she returns home from an outing, she brings with her some item of clothing or toy, then insists on inflicting a painfully uninteresting show-and-tell on him.

She watches him carefully at these times, like she’s waiting for him to do something.  But he doesn’t know what.  So he does nothing.

Eventually she stops, and simply adds her purchases to the growing pile in the spare room.

It’s a relief, quite frankly.

***

Long gone are the days of the seductive young starlet he first met, with her penchant for slutty lingerie and bodycon minidresses.

Nicole’s underwear is sensible now. Frumpy, even. She wears a stretchy band of fabric to support her belly.  She waddles like a penguin, and when she sits she looks a bit like a frog.

“NO,” she protests, when he reaches for her with intent.   “Charlie, I’m too big.  I don’t feel attractive at all.”

When he offers to fuck her in the dark, she becomes quite irate. “You don’t think I’m beautiful?” she rages, her dramatic exit from the bedroom greatly undermined by the ungainliness of her gait.

Charlie cannot understand her reaction.  She may be less alluring now, but he still has needs.

What is he supposed to do?

***

One of his supporting cast is young, and extremely eager to please.

He asks her to stay behind one evening on the pretense of giving her some notes on her performance.  He fucks her on the prop couch in the center of the rehearsal space, imagining that there is an entire audience watching them.  Imagining that Nicole is watching.

Then he gives the girl some feedback on her lackluster performance, and she cries until he makes her stop.  

It’s a shame, really, he thinks as he disposes of her.  But these minor roles are relatively easy to recast, so no harm done.

When he gets home a couple of hours later than normal, Nicole is already sound asleep, facing away from his side of the bed.

He lays down next to her on top of the covers, and watches every minute on the illuminated display of the clock tick by slowly until dawn.

***

One morning, Nicole hands him a list of five names and tells him to fucking pick one for the stranger who roils so violently within her belly these days that it makes him feel quite sick to watch.

After some deliberation, he makes his choice.

Henry.

***

“Why don’t you talk to him?”

It’s the middle of the night.  Charlie hadn’t realized he wasn’t the only one awake.  “I beg your pardon?”

“You’ve never once tried to talk to Henry. How can you expect to bond with him if he doesn’t even know his Daddy’s voice?”

Bond?

Daddy?

He runs his fingers through his hair.  “What do you want me to say?”  

It’s a genuine question, but Nicole takes it as a personal affront. She lets out a hiss like an angry cat, then turns over and shifts around for an interminably long time before her breathing finally evens out and she begins to snore.

Very slowly, so as not to wake her, Charlie rolls over, and inches down the bed until his face is level with her middle.  The skin ripples, letting him know that the inhabitant of his wife’s body is awake.  

He chews on the inside of his lip, and clears his throat several times.  “Hello, Henry,” he whispers, after a long pause.  Almost immediately, a wave of embarrassment engulfs him, even though nobody else is watching.  This is stupid.

But for a moment, he thinks he sees the outline of a little hand, pressing against the taut skin as though it’s reaching out to him ... and then it’s gone.  

It must have been a trick of the light.

***

Henry Barber is born at 3:30 a.m. on a Tuesday.  

He weighs nine pounds three ounces.  

Nicole cries happy tears when they lay him on her still-swollen belly.

Charlie stares at the small, red-faced, screaming creature, and feels nothing.

***

Home is no longer a sanctuary.

The baby cries.

Nicole cries.

Charlie comes and goes as he pleases.

He is exhausted, and he is numb.

***

“Where the fuck have you been?”

“Out.”

“Out where?”

“Just out.  Walking.  Thinking.”

(He picked up a hooker in Brooklyn.  Left part of her in Manhattan, and the rest of her in The Bronx.)

“You can’t keep doing this, Charlie.  I need you.  Henry needs you.”

“What do you need?”

“…”

“WHAT DO YOU NEED?”

***

Henry is a few days shy of being one month old when Nicole walks into Charlie’s study one night.  He’s been trying to write – he has been on the verge of feeling inspired for days now – but the screen in front of him is thus far stubbornly blank, the blinking cursor taunting him.  And then Nicole is there, looking like a ghost in her nightgown, face pale and blotchy, with dark circles under her eyes.

“I need you to take him,” she says, quietly.  Her voice is eerily calm, where usually it is filled with too much emotion.  “He is full.  His diaper has been changed.  You don’t need to do anything.  Just … take him for a minute.”

Charlie nods.

“You have to support his head,” she reminds him, as she transfers Henry into his arms.  Charlie wants to say I know, but in truth he doesn’t know anything. He hasn’t held him before; not even at the hospital.

Nicole backs slowly out of the room, and shuts the door behind her very quietly.   Almost immediately, Charlie hears a strangled sob, and then the sound of their bedroom door slamming shut.

The loud noise makes Henry jump, and he starts to wail.  Straight away, Charlie’s head begins to hurt.

As the crying goes on and on, Charlie is reminded of something his mother once told him.  About how much he’d cried as a baby, just to inconvenience her.  About how angry it had made his father.

Charlie doesn’t feel angry at all.  Just worried.  Henry’s face is bright red, and his little hands are balled up into fists.  He is going to make himself sick if he carries on like this.

“What do you want?” Charlie asks him, even though he knows it is completely futile.  The situation is hopeless.  He is trapped in this apartment with a wife who won’t tell him what she needs, and a baby who can’t.

Perhaps it is just wishful thinking, but Charlie notices that the baby’s cries seem to grow a little quieter after he speaks.  Does Henry want him to talk to him?

“Your crying is quite understandable,” Charlie tells him, in a conversational tone. “The world is a dreadful place, filled with terrible people.  It is quite incomprehensible even to me, so I can’t begin to fathom how terrifying it must be for someone so small and so new.”

It isn’t his imagination.  The crying is definitely getting fainter, and the indignant fists have started to uncurl. Fat tears glisten on Henry’s long, dark lashes, but he isn’t producing any more.  Now, he just seems to be making a noise for the sake of it.

“You appear to have a penchant for the dramatic,” Charlie observes. “Perhaps we have more in common than our shared fondness for Nicole’s breasts.”

Henry sneezes, and stops crying completely.

“Good boy,” says Charlie.

When Nicole returns some time later and whisks him away without saying anything, Charlie’s arms feel strangely empty.

***

At four o’clock the next morning, Charlie closes his laptop.  After the earlier interruption, the words had flowed better than they had in months.  

He is on his way to bed when a little noise from down the hallway catches his attention, and he finds himself drawn into Henry’s room.  When he peers down into the crib, he sees Henry gazing up at him, looking alarmingly awake given the lateness of the hour.

“You should be asleep,” Charlie points out.

In response, Henry lets out a little coo.

“You are right, of course,” Charlie agrees.  “I should also be asleep.”  He pulls up the chair that Nicole sometimes sits on when she is feeding the baby, and sinks down on it.  “Perhaps I will keep you company for a while.”

When Henry begins to fuss a short while later, Charlie doesn’t hesitate before reaching over to pick him up. This time, he holds him against his chest, like he’s seen Nicole do.  He rubs his back gently, marveling as he does so how his hand seems to cover most of the little boy.  “There there,” he murmurs.  “I’ve got you.”

Just as he had earlier, Henry gradually quietens down, and eventually drifts off to sleep in Charlie’s arms.

Charlie stares at Henry’s peaceful face as he holds him, suddenly feeling quite sick with remorse at his behavior so far. “I’m so sorry,” he whispers.  “I have been quite remiss, haven’t I?”  He strokes his son’s head, admiring how soft and fine his hair is.  “I must confess I do not know what I am doing.  But you seem rather determined to teach me, so I promise I shall endeavor to learn as quickly as possible.”

Henry stirs, and whimpers in his sleep.  A shadow passes across his perfect little face.  Charlie’s heart clenches, as though a fist has curled around it.

For as long as he can remember, there has been a scar on the back of Charlie’s head.  He once asked his mother about it when he was young, and she told him he’d fallen down when he was a baby.  He didn’t believe her even then.

Charlie chews on the inside of his lip, and thinks.

Nobody ever held him when he cried, so one day he just stopped.  His terrible nightmares were caused by the ones who were meant to soothe them.  He has no happy memories of his childhood.

But ... it doesn’t have to be that way for Henry.  It won’t be.  Charlie might not know how to be a father, but he knows how not to be one.  

He squeezes his burning eyes tightly shut.  His lips are trembling as he presses a gentle kiss to his son’s forehead.  “It’s okay, Henry,” he whispers fiercely.  “You are safe.  Nothing’s going to harm you.”

Daddy’s here.

#charlie writes #family man charlie #tw: pregnancy #tw: infidelity #tw: murder #tw: reference to past abuse

[diamo-chan]

A bit of lore and backstory

(snippet of the ninth chapter of my unfinished unpublished fanfic in the classical trope of “let me put as much info as possible compressed into a tiny dialogue”)

not beta-read/ written on a tired mind/ english is not my native language/ my list of excuses goes on and on...

Word count: 1.7k

It was at times like these when Pheebe noticed that she was way too emotional to do her job the way it should be done. Binding her hair back into a loose ponytail she threw an exhausted glare at the blonde aristocrat who barely lifted his eyes from the book he was currently reading. A if they did not just have a war council, as if death itself was not waiting just around the gates.

“Vlad this is serious. If we want to survive this we have to work together, we have to talk like normal people.”

He turned the page, uninterested. ‘What the fuck was so important, he had to read it now?!’

“I will survive this, I’ve been through worse. And you are just food to us. A blood bag to satisfy Ivan’s needs. Why should I treat you, like you are anything special?”

Pheebe wanted to scream and flee the room. Hadn’t Vladimir disagreed to listen to her plan, they would already be all on their way to a safe place. But no, instead he was clinging to this mansion. They had more important things to take care of. And for once, she knew that Beliath would agree.

This is not about me. It is about Mary. About Ethan. Both are on the edge of death and you talk about waiting and planning”

He turns another page. But she saw the hand that held the book upright tighten against the Bordeaux hardcover. He took a deep breath to maintain his poise, before speaking with the certainty of a head of house, no room for discussion: “Ethan will manage, and if your friend doesn’t make it we can still share her blood, drain her before the battle. But we will not run into a confrontation unprepared!”

The last drop broke the barrel. How dares he even suggest using Mary in such a gruesome way? How dares he put organization above life. And at once, the words poured out before she could stop them. “I cannot understand how you can live with yourself, let alone how other people can live with you. You only care about yourself, don’t you? You don’t give a damn about the suffering of others”.

A reaction. He looked up. There was shock in his eyes, as well as a tiny warning of the storm that was rioting in his thoughts. Through tiny slits and gritted teeth he growled at her.

“You have no idea what it’s like to be immortal. Have you ever watched everyone you care about die, with nothing that you could do to stop it? You know nothing of pain and suffering!” His voice became louder and louder until, at the end, he was screaming in rage, at such a volume that Pheebe was sure, even Ivan in his room two floors above them, could hear every single word. She did not fear his anger, and he was powerless to lift his hand against her. At last, she got what she wanted and he was no longer as emotional as a stone. But he would not guilt trip her with a sad back-story or the typical “I-am-a-poor-misunderstood-immortal”-farce. Eyes hard, she brought her face closer to the blond man’s, who backed away in irritation.

“Do you know what it feels like to drive a knife through the heart of the person you love?”

At first he was taken aback by the question. Then a condescending smirk appeared on his face “Oh, yes, go on. Tell me the story of the vampire that fell in love with a hunter and gets staked down in return.”

Patience! She told herself. Think of him as a child that questions the whole world. “He was sick. Do you know what bloodlust does to a vampire?” His discomfort became more and more apparent. His eyes danced over her face on the search for some kind of weakness. She felt the threatening waves that he tried to sent off, but once again she thanked Miss Ginaldi’s team for her training. Not many Vampires have encountered bloodlust and survived it. None of the ones that Pheebe had known, at least. ”Incurable, it turns him into a feral beast, with no recognition of anything but blood.”

“How do you know that it was bloodlust? Maybe He attacked you because he just found out what you are and-“

“Because I was there when he caught it. I was there when he fought it.”, every word was pressed out with anger and frustration about Vlad’s stubbornness. About his way of denying anything he didn’t want to see or hear. “He always hoped that maybe it would go away. And he trusted me to step in if it didn’t. Because he knew who I was from the very beginning, or rather, who I was supposed to be.”

“That’s what vampires get for trusting a hunter.” Voice cold, face empty.

His expression remained calm and neutral, there was not one muscle that gave a sign of consideration, no empathy left for her words and it made her fume. Pheebe had tears brimming on her lashes, so short of falling to his ignorance. But her anger was without cause. Vlad could not have known, there was nothing he knew about her but her name and the fact, that she did not like him.

“I wasn’t a hunter back then. I was just…” she searched for a suitable word, an attempt to justify the unjustifiable, “an employee who wanted to help maintain peace.” But then her emotions dropped as pictures flashed in her memory, vivid as if she was at that place once again. Laughs, smiles, congratulations. Hands ruffling through her hair and telling her that it was time she grew up to the expectations.  So much positivity over a lost life. “You cannot imagine how proud my family was when they found us, when they saw what I have done. I don’t even know why I had that dagger with me in the first place. I swore to never touch these damned murder instruments!”

They were both breathing hard with keeping this discussion on a verbal level. The need to shake the pale boy was stagnant in Pheebes chest. Meanwhile Vlad has stood up to put his book back into the shelf, as it was apparent he would not be reading in peace with the hysterical girl in the library. Eyeing her from bottom to top his voice turned almost soothingly intrigued: “A Vampire willingly associated with someone who was connected to the circle?”

The facepalm was only mental. Of cause Vladimir would not know how the circle worked. For most of the vampire population it would remain a secret for all of their drawn-out lifetime. Meanwhile, for others, well…

“There were many vampires who worked with or for us, some voluntarily, some not.“ To sum up the whole picture Pheebe went for both extremes: “some came to council meetings, others were chained up and starving in the basement… With all those doors that my parents opened for me, to proudly present my new future, with that blood on my hands I could no longer play friends with your kind. I started my training so I can bring hope to those who don’t deem themselves worthy of it. I have saved almost fourty vampires, and it was never necessary to shed even a drop of blood for them to cooperate. Maybe they felt that I was a little like them, damned from the depth of my blood. A curse that already shows on my hands.”

Once it was pronounced the black eyes of the vampire scanned her arms to hind her hands unexpectedly bare. There were soft lines that faded on their way towards her elbow, as if drawn up with coal, fingerpainted with ashes of burned purity and hopes.

“Is that why you wear gloves?”

Pheebe nodded. “They are so I can touch my weapons. The vampire blood in my system keeps rejecting contact with the cursed materials. But it is also what keeps me immune to hypnosis and manipulation.” This was what made this discussion so hard for Vlad. She had seen the way he talked to the humen at Nikita’s party, and felt that he instantly surrounds them with his commanding aura to get his points across more easily. But talking to her was like talking to  the other house members. Futile, if she was as closed off to his point of view, as he was to her.

“Where did you get blood from our kind?” There was a little bit of disgust in his expression. But who would blame him, for not finding the aspect of being drained of your life essence, so someone else had it easier, appealing. He had never lived on that side of the food chain after all.

Suddenly she felt like a walking tome of hunter knowledge to Vladimir’s eyes. Maybe it was the way he looked at her, with morbid interest. Just how much was he allowed to know? Or rather how long would he survive to pass that knowledge on?: “It was an integral part of my training to regularly get vampire blood and venom injected, so it does not cause  turning if I die in battle or cause hallucinations when I am bitten.”

His eyebrow rose. “The effects of vampire blood in the human system are dangerous. You never know what it might cause”

Something rang in her memory as he said that sentence. She must have heard it somewhere. Or read it in a book. There were not many objectively useful tomes about vampire blood, the only ones are lost, stolen from the hunter association’s library, written during experiments and updated regularly. The last ones who were working on the manuscript were Monsieur and Madame Martine-Blanc, or so it was told.

“You know…There were two hunters who are kind of a legend in the circles, scientist, who were obsessed by the idea that the cure to any disease could lie in the blood of the elder vampires. My instructor, Doctor Ginaldi told me about them. One night they just disappeared, and took half of the inventory with them. After searching for their whereabouts for 3 month, they gave up.” And with a tiny laugh that was only encouraged by the uneasiness on the blond vampire face, she added:” And now, twenty years later, I read their names on a doorbell in the middle of fucking nowhere. Crazy, isn’t it?”

[dregstrash]

in another time, in another place

A/N: This very long one-shot is dedicated to @kestrel-of-herran​ who basically encouraged me to write a zoyalai fic based on one of our favorite songs of Bastille’s album ( “Another Place” on Doom Days). Also thank her for this ending, cause I definitely was going to leave it at a different mood.

Also, thought I’d mention, this isn’t rated M, but this has a little bit more sex talk than usual for me. 

Word Count: 4.8k+

-

I am bound to you with a tie that we cannot break With a night that we can't replace I'm lost but found with you, in a bed that we'll never make It's a feeling we always chase

-

There were alternate universes out there. Nikolai was really quite sure of it.

There was a version of himself that was a dashing pirate that only plundered the rich and the dangerous, and gave safety to those who didn’t need any better.

There was a version of himself that was a self satisfied prince who would rule his country with a fair hand, and he would take tours throughout his country where every village opened welcoming arms to him.

There was a version of himself that was a carefree musician.

Or maybe a universe that saw him as a small town librarian.

Or maybe a wizard. Or maybe a dragon slayer. Or just an entire dragon.

There were alternate universes out there, he was almost positive because he refused to believe that the reality he lived in was the only one that existed. 

Surely, there was a timeline where he wasn’t trapped in a loveless marriage that his parents had orchestrated for him. In this alternate reality, his wife treated him like a husband instead of a roommate that she held in contempt 99% of time. He would go home after a long day of being in meetings and making sure his company were keeping everything on the ethical side, and he’d see his wife and drop a kiss on her cheek and offer to cook dinner. He would see her smile and he’d try to make her laugh with some stupid joke he came up with. Her laugh would go straight through him and he’d wrap his arms around her waist and feel her warmth sink into his bones. Because that’s what people who were in love did. That’s what people who were happy felt. 

He had to hold onto that hope that some version of himself had all those things, because knowing that his life began and ended in the shadows would be testing the limit of his optimism. 

As for his current state of existence... he made the best of it.

Like he’s done for most of his life.

When his brother tried to beat him up. He made sure that he knew how to defend himself.

When he found out that his dad may not really be his dad, he laughed through it and was glad that he’d never inherit the receding hairline that was already creeping up on Vasily. 

When Ehri didn’t even look his way the night they got married, he respected her space and slept in the guest room of their loft.

When he realized that she expected him to do that for the rest of their lives, he painted the walls a light blue and moved all his clothes into the room’s walk-in closet. He didn’t shut up about it to Ehri, but she wasn’t in the loft often enough to truly get sick of his light griping. 

When he came home one day and heard through the thin walls of Ehri’s bedroom that she wasn’t entirely alone...well Nikolai tried to make the best of that too. 

There really was no love lost between them. Hell, they hadn’t even consummated the marriage. And he didn’t know her intimately enough to even be hurt by the idea of her sleeping with other people. In all honesty, he almost expected it. 

But that didn’t mean that he’d do the same and sleep his way around New York. He may have had his fun in college, and enjoyed exploring just how far his charms took him, but he was a married man. That had to mean something, right?

He wasn’t his mother or his father. He wanted to be better than them-- wanted to prove that he could keep it in his pants and in his marriage. Even if his wife seemed uninterested in doing so. 

But then Zoya Nazyalensky came into his life-- or well she stormed through his life. An environmental consultant that was inspecting the land that he was planning to to be a homeless shelter. She was all edges and no give. She was a fire that had no qualms about burning him alive. She was a puzzle piece that he wanted to fit into his life. 

He’s not entirely sure how that first time had happened. It had been a late night at the office. He was trying to prolong his departure to his comically empty home, and he had been buried in a new design for a potential boat that could take him far, far away from his life. And it wasn’t until he had heard a knock on his office door that he realized that he wasn’t the only one in the building. 

Zoya had been working late in her borrowed office. She had been pouring over the endless reports and field samples, and had come to ask him a question regarding the type of materials he was going to use as foundation. 

He had lifted his gaze from his sketch and felt like the air had left his lungs when he caught her gaze. IThey had been dancing around each other for months now. 

He’d tease, she’d snap. He’d compliment, she’d roll her eyes. He’d look, and she’d look away. 

She’d suggest something, he’d listen. She’d tease him about his soft-heart, he’d call her ruthless. She’d stand firmly on certain practices, and he’d respect it.

Whatever words that were left unsaid during those months seemed like a cosmic force that tugged them closer and closer together, until they arrived in that moment. The dense air, the blazing stare, the first movement.

It all was a blur when their lips collided together. He could only recall impressions and sensations. Teeth pulling on lips. Hands wandering across bodies. Shirts being untucked. Pants being undone. Backs hitting flat surfaces. Moans and grunts a soundtrack to a night that made Nikolai forget his name and the ring on his left hand. 

That first time was everything Nikolai wanted. That first time was something that couldn’t happen again. 

Zoya could never be truly happy with him-- a man that was tied to another. And Zoya deserved to be happy. So, Nikolai had made some off-hand comment about Zoya’s talents, and she had called him an idiot. They had cleaned up and straightened their clothes, and had tried to part as casually as possible. 

But there really was nothing casual about it. Nikolai felt unmade and he had a sneaking suspicion that he’d always be unraveling. 

-

So lie to me tonight and pretend 'til the morning light And imagine that you are mine 'Cause when the sun will rise with the truth coming out your eyes We'll be good in another life

-

That first time quickly developed into a habit. Because Zoya decided to take more jobs throughout New York. She decided that there was a lot of opportunity in this city, and Nikolai had been one of the only friends she had in a city of millions. 

Nikolai would be a bad liar if he even tried to deny the happiness that danced in his chest when she had texted him about her temporary plans. 

He had planned to keep it as friends. Anything more would be selfish on his part. She couldn’t be just a vehicle for his sexual frustrations. He wouldn’t let her be. Friends he could do. 

But like most of his plans for his life, it failed almost immediately. 

Because as much as he tried to fight the attraction that leapt at him every waking moment of his day, he was one unhappily married man against an incredibly formidable woman. It was a fight he was destined to lose.

He had told Zoya about his arrangement with Ehri. It was over coffee and they had somehow gotten into a conversation over lost loves. Zoya had laughed in her very Zoya-way and claimed that it didn’t exist. While Nikolai had smirked and said that it did, it just didn’t exist in his marriage. They had stayed in that coffee shop talking all afternoon until an emergency at his office had him rushing out of there and completely missing the lingering look that lingered in Zoya’s eyes.

The next time they met up it was supposedly to watch a movie. 

They both knew it was an excuse.

They both knew that the movie they ended up playing wasn’t going to be watched. 

That’s how it was for them. Lies that were passed off as excuses so that they could have a reason to see each other. Some substantial thing to hold onto as they fell into each other’s arms and let the heat of their bodies consume their twin souls. 

It was after one of these nights that Nikolai had lain awake. His body was sated and spent, and he rubbed circles on Zoya’s lower back as her head rested against his bare chest. She had been too tired to put on any clothes, and he could feel every inch of her curled into his side, and his fingers trailed over the scars of her back ( “I got them from a stray cat in middle school. A bunch of kids dared me to poke it.” She said as his hand had trailed over every ridge and bump. “Let’s say, I shouldn’t have turned my back on it. I just tell everyone else I slept with I was a tiger wrangler.” Nikolai had laughed as his hand dipped lower. “I’d say it’s the same thing.”). 

For once, he seemed to be....happy. Or as close as he could get to it. Because his company was doing well, his parents’ partnership with Ehri’s parents were solid, and he just spent the last two hours exploring every inch Zoya Nazyalensky had to offer. There was a lightness in his chest that had never been there before.

So, of course, it didn’t last because he heard the front door to his loft open and shut softly and the gentle pitter patter of feet that could only mean Ehri had decided to grace their home with her presence. He heard another door open and shut, and he assumed that she was in her room. 

It wasn’t until that moment that Nikolai’s situation came crashing back down around him. He was a married man who could offer nothing to the woman who was sleeping contentedly at his side. For all intents and purposes they were fuck buddies. And he didn’t want to be. He wanted to be able to take Zoya out into daylight, and be able to hold her hand without the fear of his parents bringing the hammer down and berating him for jeopardizing a partnership that was funding their need to have five homes and a Fortune 500 company that ran itself. He wanted to be able to have his own feelings and his own life. He didn’t want these stolen moments and casual hook-ups. He wanted a relationship. A relationship with Zoya. He wanted and wanted, but at the end of the day that’s all they were: wants and wishes.

As gently as he could, he pulled away from Zoya and threw on his boxers. There was no way in hell he was going to go outside with the risk of seeing Ehri, but his room did have a balcony. 

And that’s where Zoya had found him. Staring at the New York skyline, half-naked, and on the brink of brooding.

“Pining over lost love again?” She said as she stepped up beside him, wrapped in the button-up he had been wearing.

He managed to pull a smirk onto his face, “I don’t pine, Zoya. Though I think even you have to admit that I look damn good brooding in the moonlight.” 

She smacked his arm, “Fine, you arrogant ass, then why are you out here?”

Nikolai looked down at her, and the sight of Zoya in his shirt and looking at him with that unwavering focus made his heart flip. There were words he wanted to say to her. There were words that he had been wanting to say for a long time now, but they halted in his throat. 

He knew Zoya pretty well now. He knew that commitments and real feelings were topics that held landmines that could blow their strange relationship into ruins. So he swallowed once, and looked back up at the sky.

“Just trying to see if I can read my future in the stars.” He sighed dramatically. “I figure I’d cut the whole psychic bullshit and just do it myself.”

He could feel her skeptical gaze on his skin, and he was glad when she chose to let it go. 

“You’re looking for lies, Nikolai.” She said. He felt her head on his shoulder and like a reflex he put his arms around her smaller frame and cocooned her body in his own heat. 

“I guess, I am. Do you have any for me, Zo? I could use a good lie.”

By the time she started to speak, his eyes had drifted downwards and into the silhouette of her face.

“I used to have an aunt who was clairvoyant.” She said. “So I think I’m more capable at reading your stars. And what I see is good.”

He snorted, “Really?”

She turned her head slightly, and shot him a shut up kind of look, “Yes. I see that eventually, you and Ehri will get a divorce without risking your parents disinheriting you. Then you’ll meet a woman that you actually love and she’ll love you back. You’ll get married for real and have dozens of children and save the world one building at a time. Then you’ll be happy for the rest of your life.”

His heart clenched at every single word that fell out of her mouth. He resisted every urge in him to correct her. I want you to see that it’s you, Zoya. You’re the one who I want to fall in love with. You’re the one I want to save the world with. You’re the one who could make me happy forever. 

But instead, Nikolai laughed and dipped his head down to kiss her temple. 

“Ehri leave me? Me, happy? You are a terrible fortune reader. A better one would come up with something actually believable.” 

Zoya turned to fully face him, and she smirked, “Fine. Here’s another prediction.” She leaned further into him so that the space between them almost became nonexistent, “I can see you kissing me because whatever is going on in your head is driving you insane. And I can see myself kissing you back because for some reason I can’t get enough of that annoying mouth. And then you’ll lead me back into that much warmer bed, and then you’ll kiss me again and again until I can’t breathe. Do you want me to keep going?”

Nikolai’s blood was practically humming, and as a way of replying he leaned down and pressed his lips sweetly over hers. 

The next hours were utter oblivion and bliss. Nikolai let his mind believe with every kiss, each thrust, each languid movement that this could be forever. That when he woke up next to Zoya the next morning her lies would have come true. That he was free from this marital prison, and he could start to entertain the idea of being with her-- maybe even marry her. As Zoya got closer to the edge, so did Nikolai and his mind narrowed down to the lie that there could be an infinite amount of tomorrows with her. 

He felt Zoya’s final muffled cry vibrate into his shoulder, and she fell on top of him in a heap while he followed soon after as she placed one last heated kiss into his mouth. 

His heart pumped from the exertion and his muscles shook from the pleasure that Zoya coaxed out of him. For the second time that night, Nikolai was sated, but he still couldn’t sleep. So he settled for tucking Zoya back into his side, and watching the sun come up in the horizon. He watched the sky lighten and the lies of the night disappear completely with the rising light. 

-

Feels like something's special but it never felt like love Wonder what we could be living in another life

-

Nikolai had to hand it to the universe. When it wanted to tear down his life, it was really determined to raze it to the ground.

At their one year anniversary, Ehri announced that she had enough and she didn’t care about the consequences, she served Nikolai divorce papers (that he was all too happy to sign), and he had very graciously helped move her out of the loft they barely shared. Then he had to go and turn out the news. 

That’s when he saw that his family was the top story in the business world. Apparently, his brother had committed tax fraud and his father had been caught helping him. Nikolai’s eyes widened as the news anchor listed the allegations that were leveling against his family, but he didn’t quite believe it until he saw the familiar figures of his dad and his brother being handcuffed and led away while his mother held onto a handkerchief looking distraught.

Nikolai wasn’t unintelligent. He knew what this meant for him. Even if he barely talked to his family, this meant that all of his assets were going to be frozen. He was going to get interrogated. His files were going to investigated. He was going to get kicked out of his loft. There were going to be fines to pay, people to deal with, and whatever life Nikolai thought he had was gone.

So, he did the only rational thing that came to mind: he went to Zoya.

Unfortunately, by the time he got to her apartment her apartment was ajar and there were boxes stacked against bare walls.

“I meant to tell you.” Zoya said coming out of the master bedroom, not even looking the slightest bit sorry. His whole body went numb as the puzzle pieces started to complete a horrifying picture. His family was gone. His career was probably near ruin. And Zoya was leaving.

In his unusual silence, Zoya started to talk again, “I have this promotion at our corporate office in California, and it was too good to pass up. I don’t leave until next week, but I needed to start packing up. I was going to tell you today, but then I saw the news and--”

“You didn’t know if I had been arrested too.” Nikolai’s voice sounded so strange to him. It was strained and hollow.

“No,” Zoya protested, a frown pulling at her lips, “I just thought you had enough to deal with--”

She was cut off as Nikolai barked out a laugh, “Since when are you ever considerate?”

He supposed he would have winced if he could feel the muscles in his face.

Zoya’s frown twisted into incredulity, and she crossed her arms in a defensive position, “Hey, don’t take that kind of shit to me. I know you’re probably just freaking out about what’s happening, but don’t start projecting on me. I’m your friend not a therapist.”

“Right,” Nikolai felt a smile on his lips, but there was nothing remotely amusing about this situation. He started to pace and pull at his hair. “ You’re my friend. That’s all you are a friend that I have sex with quite a bit.” 

“Exactly.” If it was possible, her voice had turned icier. “Just sex. Granted it was really good sex, but that’s all it was. I thought you knew that, Nikolai.” 

This stopped him in his tracks and he felt every muscle in his body tense. He did know that. He knew that from the very first time they had decided to go all the way. But it wasn’t just sex. There were the in-between moments that they shared too. The moments where he’d make her breakfast or bought her coffee or her visits to the office. The in-between space where there were some nights that they did actually just end up watching a movie and she’d fall asleep on his lap and the other nights that they talked about their day. Though, he had tried to keep his heart from the inevitable fall, it had seemed fated for him. He was in love with Zoya Nazyalensky. 

“What if it isn’t just sex, Zoya?” He almost whispered the words, but he needed his voice clear. He needed to look more solid than he felt, because this was his last chance to feel whole “What if I--”

“Don’t.” She cut him off sharply with a move of her hand. “Don’t make this into something that it’s not. You were lonely, Nikolai. You were lonely and-- and sexually frustrated. Whatever you think you’re feeling it’s not real.”

“And how would you know that!” He hadn’t meant to yell, but he was losing control of his voice.

“Because I’m not lying to myself!” She yelled back. Her face was distant and closed to him, and he wished for all the world to be able to know what she was really thinking, “Maybe in another life, Nikolai. In another time where I was someone you could actually love, and where you aren’t so- so- vulnerable then maybe it could be a possibility for something else. But right now? You don’t-- you don’t love me. Because I don’t love you.” 

Nikolai would look back at this moment, and realize that while Zoya was a good liar there was something about that last sentence that didn’t sound quite right. An untruth buried in her tone. But at this moment, all he could hear was the sound of his entire heart shattering completely. It was a physical pain that tore at his chest when he took one step away from the coldness in Zoya’s eyes. His body flushed with hot then cold. His vision was blurring slightly, and maybe that was the only good thing to come out of this because then he didn’t have to look at her stone-still face.

He didn’t know how he had managed it, but he finally forced his feet to remember how to walk. Just one foot in front of another, that’s all it was one foot in front of another. It didn’t take a lot of brain power, which was just as well because his brain was too busy trying to keep his heart from failing entirely.

-

In another time And in another place

-

It took the better part of a year before Nikolai had managed to stitch his life back together. 

He had given his testimony in court. He willingly gave up his files from his own development company. He tried to look after his mom. He talked and paid for all the lawyers.

And after all of that, his dad and his brother were charged with tax fraud and corporate espionage and sentenced to fifteen years in prison. The FBI found nothing incriminating in his company and was cleared of any suspicion. His mom had run away to be with Nikolai’s real father who lived in Norway. And by the time the lawyers were all paid, he had just enough to salvage the rest of his money in his company. For all intents and purposes, things were beginning to settle down.

Sure, he was now living in a substantially smaller one-bedroom apartment. He’s had some lean months where food came in the form of fake noodles cooked in boiling water. But he’s at peace. He had taken a new partner in his company, and while David Kotsyk was a little eccentric he was a genius. And it seemed like his wife was the one that carried all the conversation and charm, so he had no qualms about hiring her as their official PR director. 

In hindsight, he was almost glad that his half his family was thrown into jail, because it seemed like the universe’s way of giving him a second chance. A way to be a different person. A different life. 

As long as he kept his thoughts from straying to a certain dark haired, blue-eyed woman, he’d say that he was content. 

By the time Summer rolled around, Nikolai’s company was back on the upswing. He was able to buy more buildings in some of the rougher areas in New York and cut a deal with the state that let him rent out the new buildings that were adjusted to the income of the average citizens that lived in the area. He hoped this way, it stopped potential gentrification and let the locals try to live away from the more run down apartment buildings. 

Their annual barbecue was in full force, and Nikolai was sure that Tolya was drink away from standing on a table and performing Shakespeare. Which would have beat his last year’s announcement that he was going to run away and audition to be Hollywood’s first Asian Hamlet. 

“Nikolai!” Genya’s voice cut through the crowd, and he smiled as he caught sight of his friend holding up two beers in triumph. He didn’t know how his favorite drinks were always the first ones to disappear, but he was sure it was some kind of conspiracy. 

“You’re a hero, Gen.” He said as he toasted her. 

She laughed, “Do tell that to David, will you? I think he lost the list of compliments I had given him, and he seems utterly at a loss for words.”

Nikolai grinned as he spotted his other friend reading under the shade of the only tree planted in this saintsforsaken park. 

“That doesn’t seem too out of--” Whatever quip Nikolai was about to say stuttered to a complete stop when he caught the sight of a familiar figure walking regally towards him and Genya.

This must be some heat induced hallucination. Or one of his employees had fed him an edible. Or he was dreaming. Because there was no way that Zoya was here. At this moment, looking like she’d rather be somewhere else. 

“Zo!” Genya waved excitedly at her, and Nikolai felt his mind split into different levels of shock. Genya knew Zoya? Zoya knew Genya? Zoya was here? 

When Zoya reached them, she paid Nikolai no mind, and crossed her arms, “Tell me again why you insisted I be here?”

“Hello to you, too.” Genya sighed. “Like I told you, it’s good to have more than me and David as friends since you’re moving into the city permanently. Anyway, have you met Nikolai? He’s--”

“I’ve had the pleasure.” Zoya’s laser gaze finally landed on him, and despite the utter swirl of confusion that raged inside his chest, Nikolai still managed to pull out a smirk and give a half bow.

“Oh believe me, the pleasure was all mine.”

Zoya was as impassive as always, but it only made him grin a little more. Even if after all this time, he missed her.

Genya coughed beside them, and made a weak excuse to leave the loaded silence that sparked between her friends. 

After a few more beats, Nikolai stuffed his hands into his pockets and offered a friendly smile, “So you’re moving back, huh?”

She sighed and then shrugged, “Got promoted again. They made me the Eastern Regional Director, and it’s pretty permanent.”

“Congratulations, Nazyalensky.” Nikolai exclaimed a warm pride filling his heart, “Though I wonder why you didn’t think to tell me?” 

Zoya scoffed, “I don’t owe you life updates, Lantsov.”

“Fair enough, but like our dear friend suggested, it’s good to have a friend in the city.”

“Friends?” There was no mistaking the scorn in her voice, “Last time I checked, we weren’t friends.” 

That horrible day when Nikolai’s life fell apart replayed quickly in his mind, but he forced it away. That was then. This was now. The course of his life changed because he had the courage to keep going. This magnetic pull towards Zoya was no different. 

He boldly took a step closer to her and was relieved that she didn’t move away. Instead, she just continued to stare at him. 

“That may be true, but I also remember that the last time we talked you also had said that in another time we could be more than friends.” He spread his arms out to the change of weather and the shining sun, “Given that this is a completely different time, is that true too?”

Zoya held his gaze for a long time, and Nikolai waited patiently under her scrutiny. She had haunted too many of his dreams in the last year. She was the biggest what if of his life. Now that she was standing less than a foot away, he’d wait for an answer even if he had to wait another lifetime. 

Without breaking eye contact, she grabbed the beer from his hands and brought it up to her lips. After taking a pull, she glanced out at the party and said, “Ask me out properly this time, Nikolai, and we’ll take it from there.”

#zoyalai #zoya nazyalensky #nikolai lanstov #nikolai x zoya #king of scars #kos #zoyalai modern au

[sick-raven]

Ghosts of the past - Chapter 1

Batman fanfiction

Characters: Jonathan Crane, OC - Miranda Bradbury, Bruce Wayne, John Constantine

About: Miranda Bradbury moved to Gotham for a few reasons - to enjoy her career as an assassin, and to face her fears. Who else should help her with hallucinations that follow her than the fear expert Jonathan Crane? However, the doctor-patient relationship is very unstable one as both of them have to fight with their past, their present, and Batman.

Author note: I was trying to figure out some fancy way to describe the story. It's just a porn with a plot about two sick freaks. Enjoy.

Fair warnings: Suicide attempt, rape mentions, nsfw, violence, light bdsm

Status: Finished, will post next chapters when in mood.

Can also read at AO3.

Chapter 1

It was a dark evening in Gotham. Now, every evening was dark, but in Gotham with its never-ending mist of smog, it was especially dull and uncomfortable. Street lights wouldn’t break the darkness, windows only shined TV light out and painted pictures of entertained families, or dining families, or, as most common in Gotham, arguing families.

Gotham was also loud and Terry Borrows hated that fact. They’ve never got used to constant car noises – revving of engines and horn honking that all coming back twofold in echoes bouncing from walls of thin streets. Annoying, headache causing. Terry would rather listen to their boss shouting all day.

They were hyper focused on the noise. On their check-up doctor said it’s nothing weird and then asked for payment in amount of Terry’s two-month salaries. Thief.

That’s when they heard it. Soft, almost silent ding. As if you try to get attention at the wedding table and you hit the crystal glass with a spoon. Once. Carefully. It sounded almost magical in this grey place.

Ding.

Terry stopped. At the end of the narrow street they saw a shadow. It was a person kneeling next to something on the ground. Terry didn’t see any details, but dread climbed on their back. This is Gotham. Terry should run. It doesn’t matter what were they witnessing, the logical thing is to…

Ding.

The person looked his way. Every little move was followed by that soft jingle.

And then Terry realized they can’t move anymore. The jingle dinged louder. And louder. The sound vibrated through the streets catching them right by the soul. Terry realized they can’t breathe. Their heart was racing like crazy and their head hurt from wave of sound around them.

The person… a woman… walked straight to Terry, bringing the sound with her. In the dark Terry recognized a scarf on her face and… oh god… bloody knife in her hand.

Run! They tried to move their legs. Nothing.

The sound. The fear. The knife.

Finally, Terry’s body gave in and they fainted. They didn’t see the woman touching their neck for pulse. Nor did they hear the sound stop as the woman left without hurting them.

In the street, there lay another body.

***

Miranda Bradbury really liked Gotham. She felt like a character in gothic romance. Darkness, never-ending mist and bad weather, creepy architecture and constant danger. She enjoyed Gotham since she’s moved here two weeks prior. This city was crazy. Mental even! During the time period she tried to adapt to her new environment, she’s already seen the clown terrorizing city, the Riddler enslaving a whole block and some maniac with knives kidnapping people trying to lure in the Bat.

Oh, yeah. Batman. Before she didn’t understand. How can the police just let mask vigilante on loose? She understood after two days. This city…

This city also ruined her business right away. She moved here, opened a toyshop and that was it. The empty place flourished under her care, filled with toys, decorations and joy. The shop was in pretty good part of town, and yet – no customers. Too late she found out this used to be a toyshop of some crazy guy – calling himself the Toymaker – who tried to kill the city with explosive teddy-bears and sentient Barbie dolls.

Yes. This city was mental.

And she loved it. She always tried to blend in, be the grey mouse in her warm turtleneck and messy brown hair. After witnessing crazy punk-rock fashion of this city she realized she stood up more like this. At least she can pass for naïve outsider. That’s always a plus in her line of work.

The fourth day and finally two guys entered her shop. They looked around with deep uninterest in their eyes. Walked through isles touching stuffed toy here and there or picking up a toy car and putting it back two seconds later. Miranda waited patiently at the counter, small smile on her lips.

They finally stopped in front of her. She suspected they are twins as their expression were the same – dull and bored. They were dressed like gangsters from twenties. Gotham was weirdly stuck in time.

“G’morning, lady,” said one of them despite it being deep afternoon. “We’ve come to talk.”

“How much?” Miranda asked.

“Excuse me?”

“How much?” she repeated not losing her patience. She adored the confused looks. “This isn’t my first rodeo, gentlemen. How much is the protection fee?”

“Straight lass, huh?”

“Partially,” Miranda joked. “I hate beating around the bush.”

“Don loves people like you. Right to bus’ ya know? It’s ten percent if you don’t want’cha place to burn.”

Miranda overlooked the empty store. Ten percent of nothing is… probably not suitable for Don Falcone, one of the mafia leaders of the city. Before setting the shop, Miranda made her research on the city’s bad guys. Always ready. Don Falcone won’t care, he will just want his cash. She started to think she underestimated the marketing. Be better PR, Miranda, it’s not that hard.

“Tell me, friends,” she started with a nice voice, “how does Don Falcone feel about illegal businesses?”

***

Miranda moved to Gotham for various reasons. One of them was the fact she was constantly on the move. She’s never spent anywhere more than two years. The last city she was in was Star City and that didn’t go well for her with all the supers around.

The second reason was that she’s always heard about Gotham as this sick place. The city corrupted by illness eating itself out like a wounded animal. That intrigued her and she felt as if this is the proper place to hide and never be found. And if she is, it will be probably in the dumpster behind some chemical plant. She could live with that future in mind.

The third reason… the main reason she wasn’t afraid to admit, she just didn’t want to deal with it… was him.  Professor Jonathan Crane. Miranda took years of stupid, non-working, useless therapy to end up here. Her… could she even call them fears?... were crippling. And she needed the best. Jonathan Crane was the best. The fear specialist with shady background. But that’s Gotham for you. You might do inhumane experiments on your students and don’t get your licence revoked.

Miranda should probably be afraid of someone like that. Ridiculous idea. He was still running decent psychiatric office and all reviews threw him five stars. She will be careful. She just really needed help.

This was the part she hated. Explaining. She sat in front of the professor. He was fairly young for the title. Miranda’s looked through his files too, though he has been careful keeping most of the information hidden. Star student, at least he used to be. Those climb the leader fast. He wasn’t even forty yet, his ginger hair hid possible grey hair very well. He was watching her with his intense blue eyes and almost never blinked. He waited for her to get everything out. Miranda hated those stories. Repeating them again always made her feel crazy. She probably was.

“It’s complicated. I will try to make it short.” Now, Miranda, where is your hate for beating around the bush, huh? Just tell the nice doctor you are a fucking madwoman.

The professor was silent. Waiting. Even sitting he was very tall, and she noticed his fingers being thin and bony, just like his whole appearance.

“I have a problem. I’ve seen tons of shrinks about it already. Most of them gave up on me or drugged me to no avail. The thing is I have this weird… I don’t know… Phobia. Causing me panic attacks, crippling me.”

“That is not uncommon for deep fears,” said the professor. Miranda wondered how can shrinks be so calm. If someone told her they are crazy, she would probably joke about it right away.

“Yes, I know. I was told that hundred times already. There’s a catch.”

“Do tell.”

Miranda shuffled in her chair. No matter how many times she has talked about this it still made her uncomfortable and she felt like an idiot. But she had to fight this. Or she might…

“It’s ghosts. I panic around ghosts.”

The professor opened his mouth to say something, but Miranda quickly stopped him.

“No, I don’t believe in ghosts. That’s nonsense. I just call these things ghosts. It’s like… hallucination I keep having. They appear and it’s like someone caught my heart and pulled it out of my chest. I feel dead. I cannot move, I cannot act, think, anything. But according to all the doctors, I am sane.”

“When do these ghosts appear?” Professor didn’t even flinch. Nor blinked. He heard crazy talk daily why should she be any more interesting?

“They first appeared a little over a decade back. This is when the first attack happened. Then I got a charm, see?” She touched her necklace. Simple round silver ball that jingled softly when moved. “It keeps them away. When I take this off, I see them. I get attacked right away.”

“May I see?”

She held the pendant firmly. “Sorry, I don’t take it off on the first date.”

Her joke created tiny smile on his face. “Understandable.”

He asked more questions and she tried to answer as truthfully as her crime record allowed. By the end of the session she felt like dried out sponge.

“Don’t be afraid, miss Bradbury. We will figure this out,” professor said when she was leaving.

“Funny you say that. I can’t really feel the fear,” she smiled and that ended their first meeting.

***

Terry Borrows way lying in the hospital bed. They hit their head during the horrid night which caused a mild concussion. The doctors were also worried about their heart because it showed signs of arrythmia.  It disappeared a day after the incident, but everyone was head over heels with this situation.

“They keep me here because they want to blame it on me,” wrote Terry to their friend. “Because they have nobody else for the murder.” Terry believed that. This wouldn’t be the first time Gotham has fucked them over. At least they survived. Witnessing murder first hand was like being sentenced to death.

So, they were bored on the hospital bed, half asleep, half awake, back hurting from cheap bedding. Eyes closing and opening again just to see how far the sun has moved or whether the food was ready.

Closing. Opening. The sun was setting.

Closing. Opening. Darkness.

Closing. Opening. Shadow.

Terry’s heart nearly stopped. They shouted by surprise. They are definitely going to die now!

“Terry Borrows,” said the shadow with a deep voice. “I have few questions for you.”

Terry was struck by fear. The rational part of their brain wanted to scream. They didn’t. They watched a man dressed as giant bat and their voice trembled.

“Y-yes?”

“What did you see at the crime scene?”

“I already told the police everything.” There was panic in their voice.

“Tell me.”

“There was a woman, she killed someone. She had some sort of mask. She… ah!”

The door opened. The nurse stepped between the doorframe, looked at Batman and then strategically left closing the door behind her. Terry swallowed a curse.

“Continue,” demanded Batman.

“The sound. It was the sound that made me faint.”

“What else can you remember?”

“The jingle. She was jingling like some fucking Christmas tree.”

“What about her movement?”

“What about it?” asked Terry. Batman just waited to let them figure out what he means. “I don’t know. I saw her just for a few seconds. She was hidden in the shadows.”

“Thank you, Terry.”

“You are welcome?” answered Terry unsurely. Then the door opened again, and doctor stormed in ready to shun the uninvited guest.

But he was already gone.

Chapter 2

#jonathan crane #batman #fanfic #writing #writeblr #ghosts of the past #sick raven writing

[honeymoonjin]

enjoy your stay - chapter eight

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight

A/N - Just for now, I’m trialing not putting in chapter links on this post to see if it helps more people see it since the tumblr search function cuts out posts with links. If there’s not a big difference, I’ll put them in later, but to see the first chapter if you’re a new reader, please click on my blog and check out my masterlist.

ENJOY YOUR STAY ↳Boss!Namjoon, Chef!Jin, Receptionist!Hoseok, Bellboy!Jimin, Bartender!Jungkook, Accountant!Yoongi, Photography student!Taehyung ↳Some inappropriate language and cursing. Later chapters have sexual content.

SUMMARY ↳Working the graveyard shift at a hotel isn’t the most exciting job in the world, but your coworkers are certainly happy to have you here.

CHAPTER EIGHT ↳Your delightful encounter ends up leaving a bitter taste in your mouth when Jimin doesn’t respond the way you’d hoped. But perhaps a new source of comfort is around the corner.

Maybe it was too much to ask for you to just have one good day. It felt like after every good thing, there was a disaster around the corner just waiting to happen so that you didn’t get too happy.

In this case, it was your car breaking down on the side of the road ten minutes outside of town after you and Jimin fucked in a scummy bathroom like animals.

He was remarkably calm and collected about the whole ordeal as the two of you hung out in a ditch with smoke billowing from your hood, but maybe it was because he just had the soul sucked out of him less than half an hour ago.

You, on the other hand, had long left behind the post-orgasm bliss and were desperately holding back angry tears as your car was towed away, and a taxi was called out to take the two of you home.

The mechanics told you it would cost a small fortune to fix your shitty vehicle, but you had no other choice. You lived far enough from your workplace that walking or cycling wasn’t really an option, and you were too proud to take the bus. Besides, you had Jungkook to worry about too.

It only took a couple of hours to fix, but it took more out of your savings account than was put in from working every day for the past two months. If you were a more stubborn woman, perhaps you’d scowl and mutter about it practically being highway robbery, but instead you found yourself in the lobby of the local accounting firm, asking if you could have an appointment with Mr. Min Yoongi.

It was foolish of you to invite a freeloader into your home, acting like you were an upper middle-class diva when really you had just enough cushioning to feel a little secure.

Now, with your car using up more money than you had, you realized just how sad your finances were looking. You couldn’t even afford to hire an accountant, but you didn’t know where else to go. At least he could give you some advice, or something like that.

“What a delightful surprise,” he drawled when you were led into his fancy-schmancy corner office, “to what do I owe the honor?”

“It’s nothing to do with work. I just need some personal help with my finances.”

He adjusted the glasses on the bridge of his nose and steepled his fingers together. “Hmm. I find that being an accountant is much like being a doctor or a dentist. People only come to me when something’s gone wrong.”

“You’d be correct. Only problem is, I don’t have enough money to even hire you to help. I was just hoping maybe you could give me some advice.” You cleared your throat and avoided his gaze. “Hoseok told me about you two. I don’t suppose you’re interested in taking on another…client?”

He narrowed his eyes at you as your gaze burned a hole in the carpet. “Are you propositioning me in my place of work?”

“…Mhm.”

“Tell you what,” he declares, “I’ll take you on as a pro-bono client as long as you promise to never fucking do that again.” His tone is deadpan but luckily not angry or insulted.

“Got it, chief.”

“Don’t do that, either.”

“Uh- Thank you, sir?”

He nods thoughtfully. “That’ll do. Anyway, pro-bonos look pretty great on the CV apparently, and I’ve always been too much of a cold-hearted asshole to do them before, so, it’ll work out for the both of us.” He unlinks his hands and scribbles a post-it note, tucking it away in a thick leather-bound planner. He sighs. “And please ask Hoseok not to speak of his sexual relations with me.”

You pause. “Is that another condition for you helping me?”

“Well, no, but-”

“Then, with all due respect sir, not a fucking chance.”

He twiddles the pen in his hands and stares down at it in resignation. “Got it, chief.”

“Did he look hot?”

“That’s a pretty redundant question, Hobi.” “Fair. Continue.”

“Anyway, I really feel like him and I are vibing, you know? We had a little back-and-forth, we gave each other cute nicknames, he told me I warmed up his cold, dead heart…”

“I’ve been wrist deep in him, Y/n, so I’d say I know him pretty well, and there’s no fucking way he said that.”

“Maybe not in those words exactly,” you concede, chucking your empty paper cup in the trash can at his feet.

Work was a little slow today, so you had gotten permission from Namjoon to ‘help Hoseok tidy up his work space’, which just meant you and him chilling out behind the desk for an hour, chatting about whatever.

“Anyway, where’s Jimin?”

Hobi shrugs. “He went home early. Probably caught his dick in the vending machine again or something stupid like that.”

You grin. “That’s a shame, it was perfectly functional last time I checked.”

“Well, you know Jimin, al- Wait! What?” Hoseok’s eyes are comically wide, and he’s staring at you like you’ve given him a million dollars. “I cannot believe you let me sit here, discussing my sugar daddy for an hour before letting me know that! You little minx, tell me all about it!”

After spending another twenty minutes explaining the precise physics of your sexual encounter, Hobi finally let you leave to go do rounds again, but before you went back to Namjoon’s office, you tucked yourself away in the storage closet to make a phone call.

He picks up after the first ring. “Hey, baby,” his husky voice answers, and you just about melt right then and there.

“Jimin, how come you didn’t come to work today? I was looking forward to seeing you again.”

He grunts, and you frown at the muffled noises coming through the receiver. “I knew that if I saw you, I wouldn’t be able to control myself.” He lets out a dreamy sigh. “I can’t even control myself now,” he murmurs.

“What do you-” You hear a wet smacking sound repeating rhythmically, and Jimin grunts again. “Are you seriously jerking off right now?”

He laughs breathily, but it catches on a moan. “Yeah, baby, when I came to work, I couldn’t stop thinking about you, and I got hard right in the middle of the lobby.”

You frown. “Well, can you please…stop for now? I wanted to talk to you.”

Another whine. “We are talking.”

His breath is coming out in little pants and whimpers, and as hot as the sound is, you feel yourself getting frustrated, and not in the good way. “Seriously, Jimin, I’m trying to have a proper conversation here. I was going to ask you out to dinner, or breakfast, or whatever. I thought we should get to know each other better.”

He doesn’t respond, choosing instead to whisper sweet nothings like ‘fuck, baby’ and ‘feels so good’ over and over into the phone.

You think back to the last time you were in this closet, having a very different phone call. How Jin respected you so much that he wouldn’t even go out with you because he didn’t want you to end up disappointed. How he would forgo his own happiness to make sure you didn’t make a mistake in dating him.

And here was Jimin, jerking off like a teenager, completely uninterested in you asking him out.

You squeeze your eyes shut and rest your forehead against a shelf. “Jimin,” you whisper, unsure if he can even hear you as he gets louder and louder, “Jimin, this isn’t what I wanted. If all you want is sex, I’m not going to take part in whatever this is anymore. I don’t need a fuck buddy, I need a boyfriend. I need someone who understands me. I think you and I have misunderstood each other. I’m sorry.”

Somewhere in the middle of your monologue, he thankfully stopped, and the other end of the line was silent, except for the sound of him still breathing hard. “Baby,” he started eventually, “we haven’t misunderstood each other. I really like you. The way you sucked me off yesterday, god, it was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen! Give me a chance.”

“No,” you reply softly, but your tone is final. “I’ll leave you to your jacking off.”

“Baby, just-” He’s cut off as you hang up.

Surprisingly, the whole encounter with Jimin has resolved a lot of bitterness with Jin. You could understand him now, not wanting to get involved with someone who expects something you just aren’t the right person to give.

It’s that sense of closure, like you made the right decision with Jimin, and that Jin had made a good call with you, that leaves you quite content as you speed through the rest of the shift.

Jungkook excitedly whips out his laptop when you pop into the bar, showing you an online course he found that would let him study game development specifically, rather than the generalized computer programming degree. He runs you through all the different topics, aware that you had no idea what they were but perfectly happy to spend forever explaining each one in excruciating detail and then thanked you profusely for letting him live with you.

When you had returned home yesterday after the whole broken-down car fiasco, you were genuinely shocked to see your apartment still in one piece. In fact, in the time he had to himself, he had set up his room with a desk and a little bookshelf he had found at the secondhand store. He was really making the place his own, and it made you feel like a protective mother hen to see the boy so happy.

He was just as pumped today and made sure to let you know how grateful he was. Jungkook had a completely different energy about him when he was doing something he actually enjoyed.

It was only twenty minutes away from the end of your shift when Hoseok called Namjoon’s office, saying there had been a noise complaint filed against the room that Taehyung was in. Namjoon, who was steeped in paperwork and reporting, asked you to handle it, saying that sometimes Taehyung could blast music a little too loud, but he’d turn it down if you told him to. He even threw in the exclusive offer that if you went and dealt with it, you could go home early afterwards. Of course, you’d have to wait around for Jungkook to get off, but finishing early was finishing early, so you gratefully accepted.

As you made your way to the hallway of rooms, you wondered what type of music Tae liked to blast. Did he wallow in self-pity to mopey 60s music like a tortured artist, or did he know all the dance moves to the latest k-pop hits?

But the closer you got, you realized there was no music at all. The hallway was completely silent. You knocked lightly on his door, but received no response.

If it wasn’t for the fact that you really wanted to get this sorted for good and go off duty a little early, you probably would’ve walked away.

As it was, you decided to whip out your master keycard and let yourself in. It was only once you got past the threshold that you heard any noise at all.

Certainly not loud enough to warrant a noise complaint since you couldn’t even hear it yourself directly outside the door, but it was there. The second you heard it, your heart dropped into your stomach, and your gaze immediately flicked over to the far side of the room where the sounds originated.

Jimin and Tae were entwined with each other, Jimin in Tae’s arms against the wall in a cruel mockery of the time you spent with him just the day before. Taehyung hadn’t heard you come in over the sound of Jimin moaning, but since the bellboy was conveniently facing the door, he glanced up over Tae’s sweaty shoulder when you came in and grinned at you.

The room tilted a little as your vision swam with the tears that quickly built up. He really couldn’t give a shit, could he? The moment you told him you weren’t interested in sex, he went out and found somebody else.

In any other circumstance, the scene playing out would’ve been completely pornographic. Jimin, hair sticking to his forehead, stared you deep in the eyes with a sultry smugness, jerking at each devastating thrust from the man below him.

Later, when you had cried all the tears you had to give, you would be thankful that at least Namjoon asked you to go instead of walking in on his little brother and the bellboy himself. But for now, you felt stupid and ashamed and used, and it must have been some masochistic streak that caused you to stand there for what was at least a full minute, never glancing away from Jimin’s mocking gaze as he muttered sweet things into Tae’s ear and breathed in little whimpers that were harmonizing sinfully with Taehyung’s deeper grunts and groans.

You tore your eyes away once as the two men began to come undone, bolting into the hallway and slamming the door behind you.

As valiantly as you tried to remain composed until you reached the staff carpark, hot tears spattered against your cheeks as you all but ran down the hallway. Clearly there was no real noise complaint. Clearly Park Jimin knew exactly what the fuck he was doing when he got you to come to Tae’s apartment in the middle of their tryst. You always saw Jimin as a little petty but there was really no reason for him to be this cruel.

What was it you said that caused him to be this way? He was just proving the reason you called quits on whatever it was the two of you had. You were right, really; there was no way he was boyfriend material if this was how he responded to rejection.

Perhaps the worst part of this is that you couldn’t even tell anyone about it. While workplace romance wasn’t illegal, fucking your way around the hotel staff was certainly frowned upon and was sure to bring an awkward light to the night shift. There was no way you were explaining to Namjoon the situation you found his sibling in, and you had no way of knowing whether Hobi would take your side or his.

As you bawled your eyes out in anger and frustration, you weren’t keeping track of the time at all, and you just about jumped out of your skin when the passenger door opened.

“Alrightey, let’s g- Oh my god, what happened to you?”

You shook your head mutely at the boy who sat himself in the seat beside you.

“Are you alright? Do you need me to drive?”

You sniff. “Do you have your license?”

“N- No.”

“Then no.” You clear your throat a couple times and pat your red cheeks a little to sober yourself before making the awkward drive home.

Jungkook had the good graces not to ask questions in the car, or once you got home and collapsed onto the couch to resume sobbing, but by the time midday rolled around and you still hadn’t moved a muscle except to wipe your dribbling nose, he brought you a block of chocolate and sat on the couch next to you. “Please, noona, tell me something so I can help you, I hate seeing you like this.”

You chow through a row or two of comforting confectionery before you answer. “Boy troubles,” you mumble. “Not much you can do about it.”

He tucks one leg under the other so he can face you fully on the couch. “Maybe it would help to just vent. Get it all out there.”

You raise your eyebrows, but he just blinks at you with his wide eyes, completely serious. “Fine. I had sex with a guy, told him I wasn’t interested in sex if it meant nothing to him, and then he got mad and fucked somebody else as revenge. He even set me up so that I walked in on the act. Sick son of a bitch.”

“What? Isn’t revenge porn illegal? I read that somewhere,” he stated.

“It is illegal, but this wasn’t technically revenge porn, it was…revenge sex. I don’t know. I just feel so shitty that he would do something like that. And then I feel shitty for feeling shitty because I shouldn’t care about him anyway since I was the one that ended things, right?”

“I had this one girlfriend,” Jungkook mused, “who would follow me around everywhere, always wanted to have sex, always wanted to make out. And so, I did. But then she told me she’d rather not bother with the making out and just go straight to sex all the time.” He broke off, eyes distant, and shook his head slowly at the memory.

You frown. “How is this supposed to help me?”

“Oh, I guess it probably doesn’t, but I just wanted you to know I’ve had a girlfriend before, and I’ve had sex before, like, multiple times, so I get what you’re going through.”

You open your mouth to retort, but then realize you have no idea what the fuck to say to that. Your mouth closes again.

“Anyway, when we finally broke up, I was super devastated. But after a while I realized that even if I had done whatever she wanted, I wouldn’t be happy. And it was kind of better to be sad knowing that I made the right decision, than be sad and not do anything about it, you know?”

You tilt your head in confusion. “Your grand thesis is that if I’m going to be miserable either way, I might as well be miserable on the moral high ground?”

He swallows and pouts a little. “Well, you’ve been having this conversation with me for the past five minutes and you’ve already stopped crying. You can’t be sad if you’re too distracted to think about your problems.”

“Your logic is very poorly constructed, but I think I see your point.”

He smiles at you, then, and leans in a little to rest his hand on yours. “If you want, I can distract you, noona.”

TAGLIST (if you wish to be added, send a message or an ask.)

@xxqueenwxtchxx

@fandomarchive00

@cvbachacbitch

@echimozart

#bts au #bts fic #bts fanfic #bts scenario #jimin x reader #taehyung x reader #jimin x taehyung #jungkook x reader #jeongguk x reader #enjoy your stay

[blapisblogs]

Corey Taylor (yes, he’s still here) has so little to do in this “review”- er, is so bored of this “review”- uh, I mean, is so bored with watching The Wall that he starts drifting off. Doug somehow knows this, stares at him through the TV, and says “Is there anybody who cares”, leading into the next song parody. Part-way into the song Tamara Chambers comes back in as the maid, Malcolm Ray as a body guard (still dressed as one of the “kids” only now he’s wearing glasses), and... Brad Jones (aka The Cinema Snob) as the manager (I guess), all of whom try to wake up Corey Taylor by overacting like hell.

For those who don’t know, most people ended up leaving Channel Awesome with three exceptions: Doug Walker (of course), Larry Bundy Junior (who only stayed for laughs), and Brad Jones, so I’m not that surprised the latter has turned up here. I’m ashamed to say that I used to watch some of Brad’s content, but since the whole Not So Awesome document incident happened, he’s said some pretty terrible things about the whole situation (he’s the one who infamously said “Logan Paul filmed a dead body and he still has a career” during an interview talking about the Change the Channel movement), so I’ve since stopped watching him as well. That said, at least he’s slightly better than Doug is at imitating the film counterpart he’s standing in for (in this case Pink’s manager, played by the late Bob Hoskins), but that’s hardly saying much when Doug’s not even trying.

While the first line spoofs “Is There Anybody Out There?”, the actual song that gets parodied next is “Comfortably Numb”, a song where Pink is being medicated by a doctor in order to perform for his next show. I don’t have much else to say about what happens during this parody, it’s really uninteresting, which is exactly what Doug is saying about these parts of the film. The thing is, those “slow, mopey” songs serve a purpose to the plot: they’re about how Pink feels as he’s gradually isolating himself from everyone else. This parody? It’s a whole song calling the other ones slow and boring, and takes yet another jab at Roger Waters. This is, what, the third or fourth parody song in a row where he’s insulted him now? We got it the first time, Doug. There are so many other things in this album and film that could be discussed here: how the gradual abuse affects Pink’s psyche and causes him to further spiral into depression, the dangers of what Pink is doing to himself (and unintentionally others), the directions they took for this film that differ from the album, anything. Yes, Waters’s ego might be hard to ignore while knowing the backstory, but you could at least try to talk about literally anything else regarding the film. Or, if you wanna talk about Roger Waters’s ego behind this project so badly, Doug, then actually talk about it. Talk about the spitting incident that led to this, talk about how Waters had the most creative control on this project while the other three members had almost no say in it, talk about the disagreements he had with director Alan Parker while making this film, talk about how this led to Waters leaving the band and later tried to sue them for still calling themselves Pink Floyd afterwards (which he of course lost). Doug does literally none of this, which makes it feel like he either assumes everyone knows this already or he himself doesn’t know all of it due to not doing any research into it (and let’s just say that I wouldn’t be surprised if the latter turned out to be true). I’m sorry I keep bringing up this one thing, but that’s because that’s what Doug keeps doing in this “review”; he’s a broken record.

The song eventually ends when Brad Jones tells Corey Taylor to “sober up or have an existential conflict”. I didn’t even know he was supposed to be drunk in this “review”, but I guess that would explain a lot. Also, I guess this means that Doug Walker doesn’t find Pink’s internal conflict (which is, you know, the whole point of the album and film) to be interesting, which at this point is unsurprising but still frustratingly disappointing. It’s also sad considering that Doug is a critic who can’t be bothered to consider internal conflict as valid as existential conflict or think that Pink’s internal conflict is causing some of his existential conflict. For someone who goes on about character depth and development in other things, Doug sure avoids talking about any of that for this in favor of continually shitting on it for the sake of poorly-thought-out jokes.

Anyway, it then goes to the in-video commercial break. I’m not even half-way through yet.

Fuck.

[Lyrics (and snark) below the cut]

Is there anybody who cares?

Wake up (wake up, wake up) Are you still awake in that chair? Just keep listening to me I know you’re kinda bored

[Five lines and every single one leaves good openings for jokes at its expense. At least the parodies before this weren’t this easy to make jokes about, this is just... It’s too much to not use it as an excuse to make fun of it, yet also too easy. Fuck you?]

Yeah sure (yeah sure, yeah sure) It’s a lot of slow songs now It’s hard to keep on track With mellow songs back-to-back

[Again, this means that you somehow consider “What Shall We Do Now” (warning: this one has NSFW and unsettling imagery depicting sex, violence, blood, drugs, Nazis, death, and other things, and also gets really loud), “Young Lust”, “One of my Turns”, and “Another Brick in the Wall (Part 3)” to be “mellow”, which they aren’t really, at least not compared to the others. I can’t even think of how you could say that about “Young Lust”, unless... Doug, please don’t tell me that you think “Empty Spaces” and “Young Lust” are the same song, because I cannot comprehend how you could know that “The Happiest Days of Our Lives” and “Another Brick in the Wall (Part 2)” are separate songs but not know that those two are not one and the same.]

(Sorry, I can’t tell what these next couple of lines are saying because this is the part where Brad, Tamara and Malcolm come in and the former starts talking over the song. Given how crappy these lyrics are, maybe that’s for the best.)

You need to watch this movie first Just a half-hour more Come on, you’ve gotten through worse

[I’ve been telling myself that since roughly the ten minute mark of this video, and yet every time I come back here to type more about it I keep feeling the urge to close the tab for it.]

You can’t be bored while we are singing

[Wait, “we”? Are you making fun of all of the members of Pink Floyd now instead of just Roger Waters? What did David Gilmour, Nick Mason and Richard Wright do to you, asshole? I thought you were taking these potshots at Waters because of the effect this album ended up having on the other band members even after he left, now it sounds like you’ve got some personal beef with Pink Floyd in general, which gets really screwy given something you end up saying later.]

Unless you don’t wanna be seen as deep

[Doug, you can’t be bothered to even analyze or even properly talk about the surface-level symbolism that’s right there in front of you in this film; you don’t get to lecture me on what’s deep or not.]

Your attention constantly may fade Your eyes move, but do you care what we’re saying?

[You might as well have called this “Tempting Fate: The Song” with all these lyrics ripe to make fun of.]

When I was a child I remember being invested Like hearing “The Dark Side of the Moon”

[You can barely comprehend the things that are going on in “The Wall”, don’t drag “Dark Side of the Moon” into this.]

Now I’ve grown, this section starts to drag Like a long neck, I just don’t understand Is this now how I am? I have become comfortably dumb

[As many others have already pointed out, that is literally the easiest joke you could’ve gone with for that line. It’s like turning “Kingdom Hearts” into “Kingdom Farts”; a literal child could’ve come up with that joke.]

Okay (okay, okay) Just get through the damn flick You want to seem cool But this ain’t getting your kicks Can you listen? (Listen, listen) Later there will be a quiz

[You are the last person who should be giving quizzes about this film or album, Doug.]

Somebody has to feel the same When I become so lame

[“Lame”? I could be wrong, but last I checked Waters is doing just fine. Or are you talking about the other members of Pink Floyd? Because from what I’ve heard Gilmour isn’t currently doing so well mentally, and if you’re making fun of that, then... wow, fuck you.]

There is only so long I can go With hearing a millionaire say that things blow It’s like I’ve been asleep for days The film plays, but I can’t take the complaining

[You know, you keep saying that, but at least people can relate to some of the things that were brought up in the songs here. Losing a loved one in a tragic and violent way at a young age? Having an overbearing, emotionally abusive parent? An oppressive and unfair school system? An unfaithful partner? As unfortunate as it is, those are all things some people out there can relate to. At least they’re all not petty, shallow insults about things Waters doesn’t personally like, Doug.]

Like telling a child “It’s just how everything is” Just fighting to open my eyes The epic feels I had are gone I don’t know what is going on

[Neither do the people who watched this and know nothing about the film or album, from what I could tell: you’ve done nothing to help them understand what’s actually happening given how much context you’ve left out. All you’ve done is go “Roger Waters has a big ego, Roger Waters has a big ego, people who complain about school are special snowflakes, something something World War 2, animation, slow mopey songs, did I mention Roger Waters has a big ego?”]

Now the child is gone And I’ve moved on I wish those days weren’t just a phase

[Since you said there was a quiz later, Doug, I’m gonna have to retaliate and ask you to submit an essay to me explaining why you thought it was necessary to put this song into your already lengthy “review”. No, you are not allowed to use the phrase “Fuck Roger Waters and his ego” or words to that effect; that alone is not a decent argument.]

#Blapis tears down NC's The Wall #abuse mention // #drug mention // #long post #bold text warning

[emilyschoi]

Emily Choi College Au

“If I have to hear another Mariah Carey song I will lose my mind,” Daniel deadpanned emotionlessly sliding two hot chocolates towards Emily and Eunmi. Eunmi hummed in agreement stirring her hot chocolate around. Emily frowned she was hoping that Daniel might have stopped hating Christmas so much this year.

“At least it’s not carolers,” Emily said optimistically, hoping some of her good cheer will rub off onto him. Daniel face scrunched up in disgust pretty much spitting out the words carolers.  

“Nah he already scared all of them away,” M spoke as he passed by. “Regular little grinch that one is,” he said, tilting his head towards Daniel who growled in response.

“They are lucky could walk out of here,” Daniel muttered. “Remind me again why I cannot kill the carolers?” He asked in a sing-song voice. 

“We will lose money”

“You look like if you got punched once you’d run away crying”

“Because it’s illegal”

“None of those seem like legitimate reasons and screw you Eunmi I could totally kill someone,” Daniel huffed sound a little too offended about someone not thinking he was a murderer.  “And I am taking my break now,” he said dragging an empty chair from a nearby table over to Emily’s table.

“Hi, Daniel why don’t you join us,” Eunmi said sarcastically with a roll of her eyes. Emily giggled as Daniel poked his tongue at her. “Really mature Choi,” Mini muttered. “How is he still employed?” she said turning to M, “Like he can’t make coffee, is rude to customers and has turned your storage room into the red light district,” she listed as Daniel let an affronted huff. 

“I am not that bad!” Daniel said in response, “At least i didn’t put mistletoe up everywhere turning the cafe into some overly cheery kissing booth,  unlike some people,” he huffed, eyes narrowed at M. Emily patted his shoulder in support. 

“Hey that was Sungjae thank you very much,” M said, “Not my fault he is looking for excuses to kiss his girlfriend,” he added putting the blame fully on his best friend. 

“Oh yeah like you don’t want to get the blonde 7 under one those sticks,” Daniel said rolling his eyes. “God if you people want to kiss someone just kiss them,” he said. M shook his head walking away. Emily pouted, silently hoping M got his girl because he was a sweetheart and deserved some love.

“You can tell he has been hanging around his frat boy too much because apparently consent isn’t a thing anymore,” Eunmi said rolling her eyes and taking a sip off her chocolate. 

“Honestly out of everyone you picked her to be your best friend, why?” Daniel said scrunching his nose up. “Her presence is annoying me so much I’d rather get back to work,” he huffed but made no move to get back to work. “Should have figured a 5 would be like that,” he said haughtily earning a nudge from Emily. 

“Don’t be rude Daniel, Mimi is easily an 8,” Emily sending finger hearts to her best friend who was pretending she was embarrassed by it but she still was smiling widely. 

“You are too nice to lesser numbers love,” Daniel said shaking his head in mock disappointment. “You shouldn’t give them too much hope,” he added. Emily rolled her eyes sometimes (all the time) Daniel could be a real asshole. 

“Oh yeah, and what is Em in your eyes,” Eunmi asked. Emily frowned not at her friend's question, she was far too used to Daniel ranking people to his personal standards so whatever number he gave her wouldn’t matter, but at the fact, Daniel’s ‘boyfriend’ had shown up and was making his way over.

“Out of 10? An 11 clearly,” Daniel said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Emily couldn’t stop the grin that broke out on her face, Daniel may be an asshole to everyone else but he was the sweetest pseudo big brother to her. 

“Who is an 11?” Tyler Lee asked making his presence known causing everyone at their table to scowl. He leaned against Daniel’s chair resting his head on Daniel’s shoulder, pressing a kiss to Daniel’s cheek. Emily's nose scrunched up, she didn’t think she would ever get used to Daniel dating someone - (if that was what he was doing, she had heard very conflicting stories.) especially someone like Tyler who in Emily’s opinion was a little too arrogant for Daniel which was a very hard level of arrogant to reach all things considered.  

“None of your business,” Daniel snapped, “And 8’s really shouldn’t eavesdrop,” he said eyes narrowing as he flicked at Tyler’s nose. 

“An 8? Hilarious, you should consider becoming a comedian babe,” Tyler said rolling his eyes, “And are you ready to go?” he asked standing up, looking at his phone and frowning. “We need to get going before the rush happens? You know how i hate it when peasants think they can walk into high-end shops,” he said. Emily and Eunmi shared a look both shaking their heads, how did a person like that actually exist.

“Go? where?” Daniel asked twisting around in his chair a confused look on his face.

“Christmas shopping,” Tyler said with a grin. Emily chocked, happy she had yet to take a sip of her chocolate because if she had she was sure it would be covering Eunmi right now. Daniel doesn’t Christmas anything, especially not shop. The only time he had from Emily’s memories is the time she begged him to take when she was 11, and for that to happen she had to use fake tears and the promise to help him prank Jessica.

Daniel starred at Tyler before breaking out into laughter. “Oh you hot deluded fool, I don’t go Christmas shopping, why would even think that?” he said mockingly turn back around. 

“Because you agreed rather enthusiastically when I asked, I have proof right here,” he said holding his phone up smirking at Daniel who once again turned around an annoyed look on his face. 

“Proof? Show me then?” Daniel said raising an eyebrow. “ Because this all seems like bullshit if you ask me, i can’t even remember you asking me to go shopping with you let alone agreeing to it,” he ranted. 

“You really want me to show you, even though there are children present,” he said gesturing to Emily and Eunmi. 

“Fucking asshole,” Eunmi muttered under her breathe. 

“Go ahead baby,” Daniel deadpanned. Emily wished he hadn’t because a few seconds the cafe was filled with the record noises of Daniel moaning. She was glad that only Daniel could see the visuals because she was pretty sure she couldn’t handle bleaching her brain and her eyes. 

“You dick,” Daniel said turning the video off and locking Tyler’s phone. “Excuse us,” he said to Emily and Eunmi as he stood up and pushed Tyler away. Emily frowned watching as they went behind the counter and into the storage closest, hearing M shout out that they couldn’t go in there it was out of order. 

“Frat boys are disgusting,” Eunmi said after a second, “ I never thought i would say this but even Daniel deserves better than that,” she said. 

“Trust me they deserve each other,” M said coming over to them. “I can’t be near that closest when they are in there, my ears can’t take anymore,” he said shaking his head. “So do you mind if i join you two, they are going to be in there a while trust me,” he said. 

“Isn’t Daniel just telling him off?” Emily asked.

“Oh you sweet girl,” M said shaking his head. “I hate that i have to do this but trust me a telling off isn’t what is happening, apparently arguing is an aphrodisiac for those two,” he said nose scrunching up. Emily's face scrunched up as well. That was gross, there were other people here.

“M would you be able to put my hot chocolate in a to-go cup because i am pretty sure i am gonna have to do a runner after this,” Emily said standing up. “I’ll put an end to this once and for all,” she said dramatically, eyes narrowed. “Or at least for today,” she added after a moment. “Excuse me,” she said stomping over to the godforsaken storage cupboard. Too absorbed in her mission she didn’t notice a group of boys walking into the cafe and sitting at a table nearby. 

Emily knocked against the door with as forcefully she could. She smirked when heard a bang followed by Tyler cursing. “Don’t stop on my behalf,” she said. “I was just letting Daniel Mimi and I are leaving,” Emily called out. 

“Okay bye love you see tomorrow,” she heard Daniel call out between pants. Emily’s nose wrinkled up in disgust. They couldn’t even stop for a second.

“Aaaand,” she drawled out. “To say you really inspired me, Daniel, thanks to your relationship I’ve decided to find a frat boy of my own to hook up with and scar poor innocent barista with, so what frat would you recommend looking at first?”  She asked sounding fat too innocently for the subject matter.

“You don’t have to look, my friend right here volunteers,” A boy called out causing Emily to spin around on the spot. Her eyes widened as she noticed her audience had grown from Eunmi, M and several seemingly uninterested customers to all of those plus a group of first-year frat pledges apparently. Her jaw dropped and her cheeks heated up, well that wasn’t what she expected. “Seriously Luc-“ a second boy stopped mid-sentence as the third boy judged him before slipping down in his chair trying to hide. Emily’s shock turned into horror when she recognised the third boy. It was Lucas aka the cute basketball boy with the nice arms she met on her tour of the campus. 

This was just her luck. Was god really cruel enough to punish her for cockblocking Daniel and Tyler?

“She isn’t looking for any boy,” Daniel sneered appearing behind significantly more dishevelled, glaring at the group. 

M who Emily assumed had who grown accustomed to dealing with Daniel when he was in this mood. Raced over handing Emily her hot chocolate. “Right here you go,”  before turning. “Don’t you have Christmas shopping to go get ready for,”  he said side-eyeing Daniel’s who face completely fell at the prospect a muttered stupid hot boyfriend escaping his lips.

M mouthed go to her while Daniel wasn’t looking and Emily didn’t waste time racing for the door Eunmi wasn’t far behind her.

“Did you grab my bag,” Emily asked looking at Eunmi who sheepishly looked to the ground as she shook her head. “Damn it, can you go in and get it?” Emily asked trying to use those puppy eyes she has heard Sungjae talk about. Any normal day she would have left it knowing Daniel would return it or M would keep it stored somewhere safe but she had a group study session and film studies essay due by the end of the day.

“No way I am not going in there now it’s overrun with frat boys, you know that isn’t good for my general health,” she said as  Emily’s eyes narrowed at her friend's silly excuse. “And seriously Em puppy eyes I am a cat person,” she added.

“I can’t go back in there,” Emily snapped. 

“Scissors, Paper, Rock it then?” Eunmi offered holding out her hand. Emily sighed holding her free hand out in agreement.

“Scissors! Paper! Rock!” They both said at the same time. Emily looked down at their hands pouting as she saw Eunmi held scissors out defeating her paper. Honestly, what had she done to deserve this?

“Good luck,” Eunmi said parting Emily on the back. 

Emily shrugged her off, turning to glare at her one last time before walking back into the coffee shop. She didn’t get past the door when she collided into someone spilling her chocolate all over them.

“Oh my god I am so sorry, I was just in a rus-“ she stopped mid-sentence seeing Lucas staring down at her. She clearly could never show her face around here again. She was suddenly so thankful she wore her down today so she could use it has a curtain to hide her face. He didn’t need to see that she was bright red or how she was trying to ignore the stinging in her eyes. Honestly, how many times could she embarrass herself in front of her crush on one day? 

“It’s okay, I was actually looking for you, Emily right?” he asked. Emily was embarrassed but not enough to stop her from speeding up when he said her name. “I think this belongs to you,” he said holding out her backpack. 

“Yes, thank y-“ she was cut off by Lucas’s friends from earlier, one was wolf-whistling while the other was singing obnoxiously singing Justin Bieber’s mistletoe. 

No no no, Emily thought as she looked up above her only to find mistletoe hanging down taunting her. The friend the was whistling now had stopped and instead was chanting kiss her, kiss her.

“Get away from my cousin if you want to live,” she heard Daniel growl from behind the boys. Oh, could this get any worse?

“Babe calm down it is just a kiss let the kids have their fun,” she heard Tyler reply back. Why was he even here and commenting didn’t have a sister’s love life he could be ruining instead of hers.

“Not everyone’s younger sibling wants to sleep with some disgusting frat boy but I know you can’t relate to that hun because Ta-“ Daniel said in a fake sweet tone.

“Don’t finish that sentence” Tyler growled. “And besides that Emily pretty much said she wanted to hook up with one so -“ Tyler trailed off.

Emily started to back away hoping Daniel and Tyler’s argument was distracting enough that no one would notice her leave.

“She was just saying that she is a virgin for fuck sakes you think any girl would want to lose their vcard to the likes of you lot,” Daniel said. 

“Oh my god why,” Emily whined as the attention fell back on her. Throwing trying to be stealth away she instead bolted away from the shop, feeling more embarrassed than she ever thought possible.

“I am still mad at you,” Emily pouted, eyes flickering from her notebook to Eunmi as she sat down across from her.

Emily had spent the last three hours hiding working in the library. Away from the majority of the world considering most people were in holiday mode. 

“I know I am sorry,” Eunmi said, “I should have gone into the cafe for you or just grabbed your backpack in the first place since I know about your misplaced crush on Lionel,” Eunmi said. Emily looked up again raising an eyebrow at her. “Fine, Lucas,” Eunmi spat out. Emily whimpered at the name a fresh wave of embarrassment washing over her. 

“If it helps I told Jessica that Daniel embarrassed you -“ Eunmi said stoping as Emily let out another whine. “Don’t worry I didn’t tell her the details but she said she will kick his ass for you or at the very least lock him out of their dorm- maybe both,” Eunmi shrugged. Emily smiled at the thought of her sister beating Daniel up, he deserved it.

“And I made you cupcakes, there are twelve of your favourites and six for Jessica and even some for Daniel,” she said placing a large Christmas gift bag in front of Emily. Peaking in the bag there was a large plastic container filled with cupcakes.

“Why would you make Daniel some?” Emily asked raising an eyebrow and closing her notebook.

“Well, his cupcakes are the ones that are particularly festive and well in an attempt to fatten him up since he deserves it,” Eunmi said with a wicked smile.

“You know he won’t eat them right? He’d probably just give to Tyler or Joshua, probably Tyler since he and Josh are no longer talking,” Emily said. “But props to you for having perhaps the most wholesome way of being evil I have ever seen,” she said causing Eunmi to grin.

“So how was the group project study session thing?” Eunmi asked causing Emily to groan again. She hated group projects with a burning passion. Why teachers thought they were a good thing was beyond her? Did they not realise how stressful they were for Em, her grade that she has worked so hard to maintain could be ruined because some idiots didn’t put any effort in. “That bad huh?” Eunmi frowned. 

“Only Marcus showed up and he is a nice guy but really” Emily trailed she was a strong believer that if you had nothing nice to then don’t say it.

“Weird? Creepy?” Eunmi offered, shaking her head at the thought of him.

“No that’s mean, he is just unique,” Emily said sheepishly.

“Which is code for hella weird,” Eunmi smirked. “So the rest of the group just didn’t show up? Did they at least give you an excuse?” she asked. Emily shook her head, they didn’t even bother to let her know they weren’t going to show up.

 It was just her day, one of those days that reminds you that the human race was inherently selfish and deeply flawed. Even the most positive people had moments of wishing that those people suffered in the worst ways. Not that she was thinking like that, no way not even when heard one of their groups had ditched them to, in  Marcus words hook up with someone. 

“Damn,” Eunmi whistled. “I can stay with you while you work on your essay if you want, a little company never hurt,” she offered. Emily smiled at her weekly, Eunmi’s company would hurt, she loved her best friend she really did but she was a chatterbox. Especially now that she wanted to make Emily feel better. Plus Emily already knew she had something planned, a party for her track team friends. 

“Mimi we both know you have plans and by the looks of it you spent the afternoon baking just to cheer me up,” Emily said a small smile on her face. “You should go to your Christmas party, I will be fine,”  she added. Eunmi frowned opening her mouth to speak but getting stopped by Emily, “Eunmi Kim i swear if you don’t go i will still Ghibli movie collection and give them to… Tyler,” she said, that was the worst person she could think of on such short notice.

“Ew, fine, not because of your threat but because i deserve a night out awkwardly watching and judging my team members,” she said. “I mean have a totally awesome fun time,” Eunmi said noticing the ways Emily’s brows furrowed.  “But you will call me if you need me right? And head home before it gets too late, i know you think the boys on campus are harmless but -” she trailed off. 

“I will,” Emily said with a mock salute. “Now leave me to finish this essay before I lose my mind,” she said. Eunmi sighed turning away from Emily walking slower than normal. Emily smiled at her, cheekily waving as Eunmi turned to check one last time.

Once Eunmi was out of the library Emily turned back to her work, she would finish this essay and hopefully get top marks for it and then spend the rest of her life hiding out in her dorm or maybe becoming a nun she hadn’t decided yet.

Lost in her work Emily didn’t realize how much time had passed until she had finished. Looking up she looked out the window to see it was already dark. She looked to her computer seeing it was around 8.30, where had the time gone. She quickly packed her things grabbing her backpack and the Christmas bag full of cupcakes and grabbing all the books she had to put away before she left and balancing them with one hand.

She walked down the library, putting back in their places.  She froze when she heard what sound like a snore, twirling around looking around the library she spotted a lone figure about three tables away from where she was. She tried not to laugh at this person who was fast asleep on the table. She was about to move on from the person until she noticed a hot chocolate stained jacket on the chair beside him.

Why him of all people? 

Emily moved carefully trying not to draw attention to herself as walked down putting books back on the shelf. Glancing back at Lucas every now and then, just to make sure he hadn’t woken up not because she thought he looked cute asleep.  

Maybe she could leave him a cupcake to say sorry for the hot chocolate. That wouldn’t hurt anyone, she had plenty of cupcakes and it was a small way to apologize without actually ever having to interact with him again. A win-win for everyone.

Emily walked over to him placing a cupcake on the table beside him. She frowned, she should probably leave a note or something just so that he knows it is an apology and not just a random cupcake appearing out of nowhere. She frowned looking around the table grabbing his pen and ripping a piece of his notebook to write her message. She wished she hadn’t packed all her things away she could have left him her message on a cute piece paper or post-it note. 

“Is that your number?” A voice asked causing Emily to jump, dropping the pen against the table with a thud. 

“What the hell?” she said clutching her chest to see Lucas watching her with his head resting against his hands, a sleepy smile on his face.

“It was an apology,” she muttered looking down, “for the hot chocolate,” she said gesturing to his jacket on the chair

“And the cupcake?” he asked reaching out. “Did you bake for me?” he asked if Emily didn’t not better he sound almost hopeful.

“Part of the apology and no my friend made them, I can’t cook,  well i can sort but only those cake mixes out of the box but she is like a baking goddess,” she rambled, flushing at the fact Lucas was still staring at her. 

“Well thank you,” he said. “I need something to help me get through this,” he said gesturing to his textbook. Emily frowned eyeing it curiously. Forensic Science and Technology. “I thought the sciences were finished for the year,” she said covering her mouth as she said it aloud. 

Lucas nodded as he devoured the cupcake only stopping quickly to throw off the wrapping. “They have but i am an idiot so I have to do this makeup assignment to stay in the class or well the university i guess,” he said after he had finished. 

“You aren’t an idiot,” Emily said softly. 

Lucas smiled brightly at that before tilting his head seemingly thinking about something. “You know my jacket cost a couple hundred dollars,” he said causing Emily to frown. 

“Wait really?” Emily said in shock, looking at the jacket with an eyebrow raised. It looked like a hoodie, just a normal hoodie. Certainly not something that cost a hundred dollars. 

“Yup and the cupcake was a good starting point but i was thinking you could help me, you are a smart right?” he said. “I mean you look intelligent,” he said as Emily looked on waiting for him to get his point. He wasn’t going to ask her to do his assignment, she knew nothing about forensic science except what she saw on Law and Order. “You have that study blog thing where you post your notes looking all pretty right?” he asked.

Emily should have left when she had the chance now she had to live with the fact her crush knows she runs a study blog. “How did you even find that out?” she asked, her name wasn’t on the account and she didn’t even use her normal email. 

“That’s for me to know,” Lucas said with a grin. “Could you help me? Like if my notes looked as good as yours, I am sure I would pass more classes,”  he said “You could tutor me!” he added excitedly.

“I mean maybe that would help but this is probably wrong of me to say and definitely none of my business but have you ever thought of maybe not being on both the football and basketball team?” she said timidly. 

“I know but i don't want to let anyone down you know?” Lucas said pouting. Emily wanted to swoon at how cute he looked. 

“I am sure you wouldn’t, they would understand,” she said softly.  Lucas shrugged not agreeing or disagreeing with her. “I guess I can help you out since I do owe you but i am not sure i will be much of a tutor,” she muttered but Lucas must have her heard her because his whole demeanour changed. 

“Really?”He said excitedly and loud enough for it to echo. 

“But can we start another time, my roommate starts to panic if i am out too late, she says she can’t trust people on this campus and -” she trailed off. This time she was embarrassing herself, why would she mention that to him?  He probably thinks she is some little girl who is afraid of the dark and can’t do anything by herself.

“She is right especially that weirdo Marcus, why were you hanging out with him anyway?” Lucas said shaking his head. Emily brows furrowed how did he? How long had he been here? She didn’t get to ask because he started packing his things. “Right just give me a second and we can go,” he said to her. 

“Go where?” she asked dumbly.

“To your dorm? I am gonna walk you home to make sure you get there safe, it's the least i can do since you agreed to help me out plus we can figure out when can meet up on the way,” he said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

“Oh you don’t have to leave because of me,” Emily said. 

“I am not well i am but i have basketball practice in -” he paused looking at his watch “Half an hour,” he said with a grin. “So the walk would be a good warm-up,” he said bouncing on the spot. 

“My dorm and the gym are on opposite sides of the campus,” Emily pointed out.  “You really don’t have to go out of your way,” she said. She would hate to be the reason he was late to practice. 

“I know i want to,” he said with a grin, “Plus if i am late it gives the other guys a chance to shine,” he laughed a cocky grin on his face. “Here,” he said handing Emily his hundred dollar hoodie. 

“Oh, do you want me to wash it?” Emily asked looking down at the hoodie.

“No it's freezing out there and your cardigan doesn’t look that warm so -,” he trailed off scratching the back of his neck. “You should keep warm,” he said. 

“You want me to wear this?” Emily squeaked. Lucas nodded in response causing Emily’s face to heat up. “Uh, i -” she started but stopped noticing the look on Lucas’s face it was different from any other look she had seen before. “Thanks?” she offered before pulling the hoodie on. 

“Perfect let's go,” Lucas said grabbing her hand, Emily froze once again. They were apparently at the stage where they could hold hands. This morning they were strangers and now they were friends? Acquaintances that held hands and shared stained hoodies. Was that a thing?

“So which is your dorm?” Lucas asked once they got outside.

“I’ll lead the way,” Emily laughed dragging him in the opposite direction of where he was headed.

[tacitwhisky]

Jon of the Kingsguard, pt 8

Jon x Sansa - AU where Jon goes to Kingslanding instead of the Wall, there’s no war, and he becomes a knight of the kingsguard even as Joffrey marries Sansa / AO3 Link

Over the next few days Sansa is sick more than not, and at least a half dozen times Jon must kneel beside her and gather back her thick red hair as she empties her stomach into her chamber pot. More often though she simply sits shivering as though with fever, skin pale and damp, a blanket drawn about her shoulders. “I’m sorry,” she tells him on the third day with a weary twitch of a smile. “Lady’s in songs never look this dreadful when the knight comes for them.”

Jon shakes his head and kneels before her chair, hands her a cup of watered wine. “Dreadful or no you need to drink.”

Sansa rolls her eyes, but accepts the cup. Watered wine is all she can keep down, though she makes a face as she sips at it, and Jon feel for a moment uncannily like old Nan at one of their bedsides. Sansa makes another face. “The last time I was this ill that vale knight stayed at Winterful on his way to the Wall. My nose was runny and eyes puffy and I wailed into my pillow that I’d never be as beautiful as the ladies in songs.”

A smile tugs at Jon’s lips and he shakes his head. “You’ve always been beautiful, Sansa. It used to annoy Arya so when we were children.”

A tired smile teases Sansa’s lips. “And you, Jon? Did it annoy you?”

Would fucking me keep you true? Sansa blinks and looks down at her cup, smile slowly wilting from her lips. Neither of them have spoken of that night since, but the words still hang unspoken between them, an ugly bruise neither will touch, and Jon does not know how to answer what he knows Sansa meant as a jest. The truth is that even with hair lank and unwashed, face sunken and thin, Sansa is still as heart achingly lovely as she’s always been and the knowledge an uneasy stone in the pit of Jon’s stomach. He looks out to the window of her chamber. “What you said of Jamie and Cersei,” he says, “was it true?”

“I didn’t believe her when she first told me. I thought she was only drunk. But…” Sansa’s rubs her thumb along the lip of the cup. “It’s there plain as day, Jon. The way they look at each other, the way they used to slip away together when Robert would go hunting or hawking or whoring. Do you remember how hard Cersei fought when Tywin tried to send her back to Casterly Rock after Robert’s death? How strange that was? It’s always been there.”

It’s grotesque to think, even for Jaime and Cersei, but once Jon has it’s impossible not to see it just as Sansa said. He shakes his head. “Little wonder Joffrey is such a monster, then. It’s what they deserve.”

Sansa’s smile drops, face suddenly pale and young. “This is what I deserve too, Jon,” she whispers. “I know it is. They’re punishing me for what I’ve done. Maid, Mother, Crone. This is their punishment for what- for drinking- for stifling-”

“It isn’t.” Jon takes her hand, fingers cold beneath his, very aware in that moment of just how young Sansa truly is despite how poised she always is, that she is barely more than a girl in truth. She should be with a tall handsome lord, laughing and happy and with blue roses in her hair in a field somewhere, not here shivering in a lonely tower with you. He rubs her fingers. “And if it is their punishment, then fuck the seven. They aren’t our gods, Sansa. Our gods are the old gods of the first men and children of the forest, of tree and stone and weirwood, of the north.”

Sansa looks down at their hands. She takes a deep breath, squeezes his fingers tight, and nods.

---

On the fourth day Sansa’s shivering eases, and on the fifth she can keep down more than just watered wine and bread. On the sixth Jon enters her chamber to find her being attended by her handmaids, and she flashes him a smile as they fit her in a new gown of silk and samite that turns the blue of her eyes piercing.

On the seventh she rejoins the court.

None of the lords or ladies speak of her absence when they greet her, but quickly Jon realizes just how sorely Sansa has been missed. While she’s sat trapped in her chambers rumors have reached Kinsglanding of a dragon queen in the east gathering her armies to march for westeros: the last Targaryen they say she styles herself, Daenerys first of her name, rightful queen of the First Men and the Andals and the Rhoynar, intent to reclaim her throne with fire and blood. Each utterance of her name only worsens Joffrey’s temper, and with Sansa’s return both lords and ladies seem relieved to have someone other than the king to bring their pleas and concerns to. Sansa is courteous to one and all, a gracious queen with always a kind word for lords and servants alike. Slowly she eases back into court life.

It is not long before Joffrey strikes her again.

It is an almost pretty thing, a splotch of purple and red broken veins mottling the corner of her jaw like a splattered overripe fruit. But this time Sansa refuses to wait in her chambers for it to heal. Her handmaids dust it with white, and the next day she joins Joffrey as he sits as justice on the Iron Throne. He stiffens when he sees her, but even he isn’t foolish enough to order her away before the gathered lords and ladies. She graces him with a smile and inquires after his health as she takes her seat. He scowls in answer and turns away to bark for the next supplicant to step forward.

Even under the white dust the bruise on Sansa’s jaw is still plain to the eye, the edges ragged and yellow veined, but it is as though the whole court is suddenly blind. Not one of the lords or ladies note it when they seek Sansa out, not one asks her what’s happened or acknowledges what is before them, their eyes careful to slide away should they glance at it. Jon cannot understand it, how she can remain so courteous and gracious when all he wishes he could do is snarl his fury at each new foppish lord and preening lady.

Sansa only smiles when Jon voices his anger one night when it is the two of them in her chamber, lamps newly lit by one of her maids. “A lady’s courtesies are her armor, Jon. I told you something like that once.”

A knight has his battlefield, a lady hers. Years, it feels as though have passed since Sansa told him that, but Jon has never forgotten it, can still hear the lilt of her voice if he closes his eyes. It was the day she’d called him Stark. He tightens his fingers around the hilt of his sword. “They cannot be blind to what is happening.”

“They aren’t.” Sansa slips her needle through the length of silk she’s embroidering. “But he is the king. What can they do?”

Their duty. But Jon bites back the words. He knows he is no better. If you were you would have run Joffrey through the first time he struck Sansa whether she willed you to or no. “You shouldn’t forgive them.”

“I don’t.” Sansa’s eyes flash, fingers pinching the needle between them hard enough to turn them white. “Don’t ever think I do, Jon. I’ll never forget that all their oaths and honor meant less than nothing. But we need them.”

“For what?”

“No king can rule alone, not since the Targaryens lost their dragons.” Sansa lays aside her sewing. “Joffrey may be Baratheon and Lannister, but Stannis has no love for him and Tywin no patience. Without them he needs the lords at court whether he likes them or no, needs their purses and swords and voices. Without them he is only a child on a throne. While he sits it they obey him, but if his grasp weakens...”

Jon cocks his head to the side. “That’s all then? We wait?”

“We do. And we listen. To what they want, what they need, what positions they hope for their sons and what marriages they wish for their daughters. And when I can I murmur a word to a lord here and a lady there and sometimes their son squires for who they like and the marriage they want for their daughter comes to pass.”

Jon digests the words as Sansa takes up her sewing again and silence fills her chamber. The lamps lighting the chamber flicker lower and lower until eventually through the window the bells of the Great Sept of Baelor toll midnight.

Sansa draws a thread tight. “Joffrey will be here soon,” she says without looking up from her sewing, only the faintest wobble to her voice. “You should go.”

Jon clenches his jaw, but nods despite how it feels like shoving a knife in his chest knowing what will come when he does. He moves for the door, but lingers for a moment as his fingers brush the handle, looking back at Sansa seated by the window, hair in the lamplight the deep red of weirwood leaves.

She looks up curiously as her crosses to her seat, brow scrunching. “Jon?”

Would fucking me keep you true? The words ring in Jon’s ears as he presses his lips to her forehead in a swift kiss. “We wait,” he says, and turns for the door before he can see her face.

---

“I visited Chataya’s,” Tyrion announces to Jon a few weeks later as he and Jaime wait idly in their white cloaks outside the door of the small hall for Joffrey.

Jon raises an uninterested eyebrow. “How is Marei?”

“Lovely as always, but she told me a funny kind of tale. She told me she glimpsed a man of the kingsguard not more than a month ago in Chataya’s, a young comely knight with a sullen expression.” The little man adopts an injured expression. “You might have invited me, Jon. I thought you had no taste for whores.”

This is the path you chose. Jon grits his teeth as on the far side of the door a slow smile curves Jaime’s lips. “Why, your whore must be mistaken, brother.” Jaime says to Tyrion. “Jon holds his vows too dear to ever break them for some whore. A son of Ned Stark would never breach his honor so.”

“Perhaps it was a flight of fancy on Marei’s part, though she is rarely fanciful out of bed.” Tyrion shrugs, mismatched eyes studying Jon. “But that is not where her tale ended. She said despite how Alayaya has been telling all that the knight rode her long and hard and well that he was in her chambers only a few short minutes.”

Jon stiffens, silently cursing the little man and his japes as on the other side of the door Jaime leans forward, a lion at the scent. Jon forces himself to shrug carelessly. “Marei is wrong.”

“Not in this.” Tyrion tilts his head to the side, continues to study him, eyes shrewd, the moment stretching endlessly. Suddenly he grins. “You should just admit to it, Jon. There is no shame in only lasting only a few minutes, not with a maid as lovely as Alayaya. Perhaps I’ll visit her instead of Marei next time.” He jumps down from his chair. “I shall think on it as I grace the privy.”

Jon watches with teeth gritted as Tyrion waddles away. He can feel the weight of Jaime’s gaze on him, but refuses to look. Silence fills the space between them, the only sound the faint voice of Varys inside the small hall tittering of how the dragon queen in slaver’s bay is said to ride a dragon.

“How fares your lady sister?” Jaime’s voice is soft. “I heard she was ill only a month ago.”

Jon doesn’t answer. His fingers twitch, but he forces himself not to rest his hand on the pommel of his sword. We wait. He gives Jaime a flat, cool look. “A fever. She’s well now.”

“A fever? Not something she ate or... drank?” Jaime’s eyes glitter. “Come, you can tell me, bastard. I know you love your sister well.”

“Not half as well as you love yours.”

Jaime blinks and a slow, pleased smile curves his lips. “Oh, I do. A strange thing to love your sister, is it not? Love and cherish them, septons and maesters and all the world tell us, but not too close. Not like you would a woman, no never. Not like your would your lady wife. But protect them as though they were. Serve them faithfully, ride to their rescue, treat them courteously: but never ask for their favor, never ask for what the maiden in the tower offers up between her legs for the knight to save her. Well, you know what I say to that, bastard?” Jaime spits to the side. “I say fuck them and all they say.”

Jon wishes he could hate Jaime for the words. Wishes he could call him sisterfucker and think nothing more of it. And maybe once he could have, once when all he knew of sisters was Arya who never needed to be saved, once when they were children and all he thought of Sansa was a slip of a girl in a fine dress who always looked down her nose at him. But now, in place of hate or disgust, a strange kind of pity fills Jon as he looks at Jaime standing tall and golden in his gleaming armor. “That’s all Cersei is to you?” He asks softly. “A maiden in a tower? Something to be won?”

The smile falls from Jaime’s lips, eyes hardening into flints of blue. “And what would you know of it, bastard? You’re a creature born of lust and can never understand what it is to have a trueborn sister. I am never more whole than when I am with Cersei. Together we came into this world, two parts of one whole, and neither gods or men can unmake us.”

Jaime spits to the side and pushes away from the door, stalks away with his white cloak streaming behind him as Tyrion passes him in the hall returning from the privy. The little man watches his retreating back a moment before turning an arched brow to Jon. “A quarrel among brothers of the kingsguard?” He clucks his tongue and shakes his head. “It is good your order does not accept women. Brothers are easier than sisters.”

---

Despite Joffrey’s loathing for any kind of ruling that day marks the first of many visits to the small hall in the following months. Whispers boil out from it until the Red Keep is abuzz with half heard rumors: that the dragon queen in Slaver’s Bay is on the march, that she beds with sellswords and barbarians and eunuchs alike, that she’s raised krakens from the depths, that three dragons soar above legions of freed slaves. Most scoff at that last, Joffrey sneers, Varys titters, but when she hears Sansa’s eyes turn thoughtful.

“Would it be so strange if there were dragons left in the world?” She muses to Jon. “Direwolves too we thought lost before you stumbled on ours.”

Ours. The wolf dreams still fill Jon’s sleep: loping beside his grey sister through glade and glen, the scent of pine and deer filling his nostrils, the fierce freedom. They’ve not spoken of the dreams since that night, but Jon knows Sansa has them still, sees it in the flash of her eyes, in the clenched angle of her jaw when her handmaids dust her bruises with white.

Instead of fading as most rumors do, the whispers of the dragon queen only grow louder in the weeks that follow, each new day bringing fresh news off Volantene galleys and Braavosi cogs: that she’s set free the slaves of New Ghis, scoured the pirates from the Basilisk isles, set sail for Volantis. With each new rumor Joffrey’s sneers turn less dismissive and more cruel. Day after day Jon stands guarding the foot of the Iron Throne as above him Joffrey sits alone and golden haired and brooding.

His temper blooms in new bruises across Sansa’s skin. Each night Jon kneels before her, tends her bruises with a warm cloth. She is no less silent than she used to be, but she no longer trembles, and even once in a long while offers Jon a wan smile that tugs at an ache deep within him.

He is tending a purple, mottled bruises on her collarbone when Sansa reaches up and wraps her fingers around his hand, gently lowers it. Jon glances up, an apology on the tip of his tongue for being too rough, but something in her face makes him pause. Her lip is caught between her teeth, eyes watching apprehensively. He turns his hand and catches her fingers in his, squeezes them gently. “What is it?”

Sansa blinks and looks down. She takes a deep, steadying breath. “I need something of you, Jon.”

“Anything.”

“You won’t like it.”

“Tell me.”

She does.

He doesn’t.

---

It is hours later, the sun fallen and their voices hoarse, when silence fills her chamber again. Sansa has not risen from her seat, but Jon has paced the length of her chamber half a hundred times and now stands before her window, all Kingslanding glittering out before him in a sea of flickering lamps. All the fight has left him, protests and arguments wrung out like a wet rag, and he closes his eyes as he looks out at the city, lets the cool night whisper across his face.

Sansa’s chair creaks and a moment later he feels the soft weight of her laying her head against his back. “Jon…”

Silently Jon turns and gathers her in his arms, pulls her to him. For a long time they stand like that, silent and still, her frame achingly slender against him, so fragile he might think she’d shatter if he didn’t by now know the strength within. “I won’t leave you,” he says eventually, voice hoarse. “Not here. Not with him.”

“It has to be this way. I won’t see the realm bleed. Not for me. The dragon queen- I do not know if she is a better ruler than Joffrey, but she cannot be worse. She’s broken the slave trade of Essos, and if she truly has dragons… she will come for Joffrey whether we will it or not, Jon. And with you the war could be quick. Clean.”

“Come with me then. We could both seek her out.”

Sansa shakes her head. “A knight might reach her, but a fleeing queen? Joffrey would scour every ship from here to Volantis to find me. It must be you, Jon, you and only you.”

“And after?” Jon forces the words past the weight crushing his chest. Because despite the oaths he swore, despite all he’s ever dreamed of and wanted, despite how it will break a part of him to leave her behind, in that moment he knows more truly than he’s known anything that whatever Sansa asks he will do, that he has never had a choice, not in this, not in her. You are my heart. “Once it’s done?”

“Come back.” Sansa tilts her face back, eyes shining as she gazes at him a long moment before rising to the tips of her toes, breathe tickling his ear. “Once it’s done come back to me, Jon.”

#gotfic #jonsa #jonsa fic #jonsa fanfiction #actuallyjonsa #my fic #jon of the kingsguard #jon snow #sansa stark

[mst3kproject]

The Choppers

It’s teenage crime spree time!  With Arch Hall Sr. writing and producing, Arch Hall Jr. starring, and Bruno VeSoto supporting, the result is sure to be MST3K-worthy. All it’s missing is Ray Dennis Steckler, but I guess one can’t have everything.

America’s youth is its greatest resource, and those youth are in danger of growing up into criminals.  Witness our antagonists here: Cruiser, Torch, Ben, Flip, and Snooper. They drive around in a truck full of chickens, taking apart random cars and selling the pieces to Moose, a grouchy and unscrupulous junkyard owner.  The cops are baffled, but sooner or later the young thugs are bound to make a fatal mistake – and theirs comes when they girl they decide to sexually harass turns out to be the secretary of an insurance investigator.  At around the same time, Moose gets tired of their attitude and decides to turn them in.  Looks like the Choppers have chopped their last, uh… chop, I guess.

I’m sure you all want to know whether Arch Hall Jr. sings in this movie.  He does, but not until forty-five minutes in when I really had begun to hope I’d escaped him.  The piece is actually kind of catchy although not particularly memorable, but I may be in a forgiving mood because the first musical number in the movie was so much worse.  It’s performed by an elderly guy who works at Moose’s junkyard, and not only is he a bad singer, but what starts out sounding like a boy scout campfire ditty turns out to be a mournful country song about his divorce.  It made me long for the comparatively sweet strains of I Love You Vickie.

The photography here is notably terrible.  Almost the entire movie takes place outdoors in harsh desert sunshine because I think they didn’t actually have any lights.  Indoor scenes are kind of dim and night scenes are completely indecipherable – although I think somebody didn’t believe a practically pitch-black screen was enough to convince us it was night, because there are also lots of loud cricket noises.  There’s a bit where the Choppers vandalize a guy’s car because he took their parking spot and it’s almost impossible to see anyone’s faces or tell who’s talking.

The acting is sort of indifferently bad. Arch Hall Jr. is Arch Hall Jr., where everything he says sounds kind of stagey and dumb, and nobody else is much better.  The twenty-somethings playing the young criminals use hip slang in a way that suggests they have no idea what these words actually mean.  Arch Hall Sr. continues to believe he can build his son into a teen heartthrob, and so he shows us things like Cruiser’s pasty chest and belly as he lounges by a pool.

You say you didn’t need that screencap? Well, I didn’t need the shot it came from.

Most of the screen time in the movie is spent on the Choppers as they take apart cars, play or listen to bad music, argue with each other, and harass women.  The supposed heroes aren’t on screen nearly so much, but that’s okay because they are stunningly un-likeable.  There are a couple of bland cops, but the ones who are really our protagonists are inept insurance investigator Tom Hart and his nagging girlfriend Liz.  Tom comes across as an oblivious dope, while Liz constantly whines that she’s tired of fighting crime and wants to go home and eat.

Tom never redeems himself, but Liz gets a couple of moments.  She’s the one who notices that feathers keep turning up at the crime scenes, and when she recognizes Cruiser’s car at a drive-in she is able to keep him staring at her boobs long enough for her to memorize the license plate number. Naturally at the climax, she is not present and Tom, who did pretty much nothing all movie, gets all the credit for catching the gang.  The movie doesn’t make anything out of this because it doesn’t see anything wrong with it.

Which of course brings us to the fact that The Choppers hates women something fierce. There are only two we can actually be said to meet: Cruiser’s empty-headed girlfriend Gypsy (I know a bot who would be righteously angry at this name choice) is there to hang around in a bathing suit and be dumb.  The movie can’t decide how much she does or doesn’t know about his criminal hobbies – she seems to help vandalize the car in the parking lot, but then becomes the damsel in distress at the final shootout.  Liz nags, mocks, and generally treats Tom terribly, and at the end her competence is treated as his accomplishment.

Several of the five boys have backstories that depend on absent fathers – Cruiser’s was killed in WWII, Torch’s is an alcoholic, and Snooper has had a series of uninterested stepfathers.  The implication is that a single mother cannot possibly raise a boy.  He needs a father to turn him into a man (this is as near as stated aloud when a reporter attempts to interview Torch’s drunken father on the radio).  The only moment involving a woman that doesn’t reek of misogyny is when the boys harass a waitress and she blows them off.

If we’re gonna talk about fathers and sons… this is another movie Arch Hall Sr. made to try to build up his son’s career, and another movie in which the two of them are at odds.  They never actually meet in The Choppers, but the reporter played by Hall Sr. comments on how intelligent and talented the boys are and how much they could have accomplished if they’d only had the chance to live up to their potential.  Once again, it’s really, really tempting to try to do some psychoanalysis here, as if Arch Hall Sr. was using his films to tell the world how disappointed he was with his son.  I don’t know these people, of course, but that’s definitely the impression I get.

The main theme in The Choppers is one I’ve already dealt with, the idea that a boy without a father will become a criminal, stuck forever in the stage of life where rule-breaking is fun and consequences are things that happen to other people.  There seems to be a level on which the boys have adopted Moose as a sort of substitute father – he has encouraged and taught them in their criminal endeavours, and while he and they argue and threaten each other, they are honestly shocked by his eventual betrayal.  In the end, Moose abandons them just as their biological fathers have done.

There also seems to be some attempt to talk about class. All the Choppers seem to come from underprivileged backgrounds except for Cruiser, who has a backyard pool and a fancy car.  This puts him in the same category as Paula from The Violent Years, in that we’re given no good reason why he does this besides what his says to the reporter at the end: “we had a ball.”  Like Paula, Cruiser is the leader of the gang, but unlike her, he does not participate in the actual crimes.  Instead, Cruiser and his fancy car serve as lookouts – his upper-class origin allows him to be in charge without having to get his hands dirty, and there are signs that the rest of the boys resent this.  When they are all cornered at the end, it’s Cruiser who suggests giving up while Torch prefers to go down fighting.  Unlike the others, he’s not sufficiently invested in this to die for it.

What the movie is trying to say here is that money is not a substitute for good parenting, and privileged boys can still fall into crime if their fathers aren’t there for them.  What it manages to imply is that even in crime being rich gives you a head start and can make you a leader regardless of actual leadership qualities.

So this movie is really, really bad, and doesn’t deal very well with its thematic material – but that’s not to say there’s no entertainment value to be found here.  It’s never funny when it tries to be, of course. There’s an attempt at a running joke with Snooper wondering if he’d be more attractive to women if he wore contact lenses, which will make you shudder if you know what contact lenses were like in the 50’s and early 60’s.  The humour that works in The Choppers is naturally the unintentional kind, to be found in the bad acting and the unwieldy chicken truck.

My favourite moment is when Cruiser, talking on a candy-striped walkie-talkie the size of a dachshund, tells his cronies to give the police “the farmer routine”.  Flip and Snooper immediately pull a couple of cowboy hats out of fucking nowhere and put them on, and I almost did a real-life spit take.  This feels like the kind of thing that would have fascinated the Best Brains.  I can imagine Joel, Crow, and Tom whipping their own Stetsons out from under the theatre seats to wear for the rest of the scene (Servo would have needed help with his) and every subsequent appearance of a cop being greeted with, “quick, put on your cowboy hats!”  It would definitely be the stinger.

Talking about having a favourite Arch Hall Jr. movie is like talking about having a favourite kind of turd to eat, but insofar as the statement means anything, The Choppers is my second-favourite of his movies I’ve seen so far.  It’s less misogynistic than Eegah! (not a high bar) and doesn’t have nearly as much crappy music as Wild Guitar (accomplished by simply having less music).  My favourite Arch Hall Jr. movie is The Sadist, which I actually don’t consider bad enough for this blog.  In The Sadist Hall Jr. played a serial killer, and he was pretty terrifying.  If he’d had more roles like that (with directors who were not his father and could actually coach good performances out of him) he might have been a decent character actor.

#mst3k #reviews #episodes that never were #the choppers #sorry about my face #60s

[pengychan]

[Coco] Mind the Gap, Pt. 5

Title: Mind the Gap Summary: Modern Day AU. Tired of Ernesto’s snide remarks, Imelda decides to put him in his place and her husband is more than happy to help. It was supposed to be a one-night deal. Things quickly get out of hand. [OT3, mostly porn and humor. Plenty of instances of Ernesto being Dramatic, Imelda getting Sick Of His Shit, and Héctor trying to be the peacekeeper. Don’t expect anything serious.] Pairings: Ernesto/Héctor/Imelda Rating: Explicit.

To see the version with art by Dara, check it out on Ao3.

Tag for all parts up so far.

A/N: May as well have titled this one Kitchen Nightmares tbh.

***

"Another chorizo?"

"No."

"Oh, I insist. You clearly wanted it pretty badly only a short while ago."

The remark, uttered with a smile fake as a three pesos coin, gains Imelda a sullen look from Ernesto that fails to impress her in the slightest. Héctor tries to disguise his chortle as a coughing fit, but if Ernesto's reaction - stabbing the chorizo with his fork while staring at him dead in the eye - is anything to go by, he wasn't very convincing. He gives Ernesto a sheepish grin, crossing his legs in mild discomfort when his friend chomps down on the sausage without breaking eye contact, and chews viciously.

All right, so precisely none of them is being very subtle tonight, but Héctor supposes they're way past that.

“Oh, come on. It’s not like we left you hanging,” Héctor says. All right, so they made him wait a fair bit, but considering that the original plan was to make him plead Hector thinks they went pretty easy on him. Once he and Imelda were done Héctor turned his attention on his friend almost right away, taking the gag out of his mouth under his wife’s watchful eye.

“You all right there, amigo?”

“Untie me,” Ernesto demanded, and even light-headed as he was Héctor found it quite telling that he didn’t have it in him to add an insult, and that his voice had cracked towards the end. He was hard and covered in sweat, both from the arousal and the efforts to free his hands and dislodge the gag. His eyes shifted from him to Imelda and then back to him, pupils blown wide even as he tried to put on a believable scowl and pulled at his bounds

Héctor smiled. “Don’t you want to come?”

“I’ll take care of it once you untie me!”

“Or I could take care of it myself,” Héctor said, running a finger down his stomach and to the waistband of his boxer shorts. Ernesto shivered under his touch and, really, it was the only answer Héctor needed. The next minute his hand was coated in lubricant and beneath the fabric, gripping Ernesto’s cock, tight but not too tight, and Imelda was grasping Ernesto’s hair. She forced his head back, exposing his throat and getting a hiss out of him. Héctor saw Ernesto swallowing, say his Adam’s apple bobbing for a moment before Imelda lowered her head to murmur in his ear.

“Got to work for it.”

And he did right away, with no other protest but a broken-up groan as he buckled into Héctor’s fist again and again and again. It was quick and desperate, his breathing fast and thrusts erratic, and soon enough he was done, spilling into Héctor’s hand with a shuddering moan before going limp again. He didn’t even react when he and Imelda untied his arms, nor when each of them took a hand in theirs to massage the angry red marks on his wrists.

“You look good like this, amigo. Should show up at the next concert just as you are now.”

Ernesto mumbled something that sounded much like he wanted him to do something very unpleasant with a dead fish, causing Héctor to laugh, but he didn’t say much of anything afterwards… or now, over dinner.

He just chews, and glares. Héctor smiles.

“Come on, you know it was funny. But I’ll make it up to you,” he adds, picking up his glass. Out of the corner of the eye, he can see Imelda’s lips quirking upwards. He waits for Ernesto to start swallowing before he speaks. “You can fuck me next.”

The sudden coughing fit is loud as it’s predictable, and this time Imelda laughs first while Ernesto hunches over the tabe, hacking and wheezing.

That’s for telling everyone of that time I choked on a chorizo, Héctor thinks, but he knows better than saying as much with multiple pieces of cutlery within Ernesto’s reach.

“Sorry, was it the wrong moment?” he asks instead, snickering. That’s when Ernesto looks up at him, face all red and eyes teary, and coughs out something that is most likely an insult to all the men in his family seven generations back, which somehow involves goats.

He doesn’t notice - and Héctor doesn’t mention - how Imelda casually puts down the arm she had raised to pat him in the back in case he really began choking.

***

Stay for the night, Héctor said.

Like hell, Ernesto wanted to reply, only that of course that would mean giving ground to Imelda, which was most definitely Not Happening. Plus, well… he did want that chance to fuck Héctor in the morning. He’d earned it, after all. So he shot a challenging glance at Imelda - he was mildly disappointed when she seemed uninterested in returning it at all - and muttered that sure, if he really insisted, he’d stay.

Except that he’s beginning to regret it, and he’s not entirely sure why.

He’s got one side of the bed all for himself, since those idiotas keep insisting on sleeping draped all over each other. He’s stolen most of the blankets. He’s warm and has plenty of space; he’d slept in worse conditions while touring, or on Héctor’s old couch after he hurriedly left his own home. Héctor isn’t even snoring; he should fall asleep quickly.

But hours tick by, and he just can’t sleep. Something feels amiss and he can’t figure it out, like an itch he cannot scratch, a sort of hunger he cannot sate. He lies in the dark, staring at the ceiling, listening to the quiet breathing on his left - the breathing of two people, skin on skin, keeping each other warm.

It makes him scowl in the dark, something sitting heavy in his chest which he’s quick to dismiss as annoyance. Because it is annoying, how all over each other they are all the time. God, do they ever take a break? Do they really need to be so clingy, resting so close there seems not to be a single inch of space between them, like he’s not even there? It’s… rude.

As though to rub salt into the wound - wait, what wound? - Héctor chooses that moment to shift and let out a content sigh, no doubt while snuggling up against the bruja he decided to marry after a moment… well, more like about a couple of years of mental blackout. It makes him scowl, but that is not unexpected.

What does catch him by surprise is the unexpected pang of something when he hears Imelda yawning and shifting as well, when he imagines the smile on her face while she sleeps in Héctor’s arms. She smiles a lot at her husband, Ernesto thinks, until her gaze turns to him. Then, she sneers. It used to annoy him, it really did.

But now that he thinks about it, the weight on his chest heavier and heavier, Ernesto de la Cruz is not annoyed: he’s livid. He turns on his side without thinking, a hand reaching out for what should be Héctor’s shoulder. And his hand does touch skin - but too soft to be his.

Imelda.

There is an unintelligible mumble, the hand beneath his own shifts, and Ernesto pulls back as though the touch alone has burned him. He waits, heart hammering in his throat, for her to awaken, to utter something scathing - but she does not. There is only another yawn, the creaking sound of springs and she and Héctor shift and then, again, silence.

Except for their breathing, of course. That keeps going, slow and regular, while Ernesto holds his own for what feels like a very, very long time.

Tomorrow’s fuck had better be worth this nonsense.

***

Ernesto does not, in fact, get to fuck Héctor the next morning.

He doesn’t even try to, which strikes Imelda as more than slightly odd, given how keen he was on the idea. There is no attempt to touch him, nor the suggestion is even uttered, after they wake up. Or as they shower - again, she and Hétctor shower together and Ernesto goes in later, which he pretends doesn’t bother him - and then have some breakfast.

There are a few digs at her, but they’re half-hearted and hardly warrant a response. She can see Héctor wondering about it, too, the looks he shoots Ernesto even as they talk about a new song he has decided to write, as they go through possible titles and lyrics, which part each of them should sing. He seems distant, and for once he’s not talking over her husband; he’s hardly talking, and has has the unmistakable expression of a man who has hardly slept.

When Héctor leaves the room to fetch his notes for the new song, she decides against uttering a jab about the dark shadows under Ernesto’s eyes and just pours more coffee in his empty cup. He stares at it as though not comprehending for a few moments, then nods.

“Gracias,” he mumbles, and brings it to his lips to drink it in one gulp, black and hot and bitter as it is. That is odd, too: he won’t drink coffee without sugar and milk in it, usually. Imelda raises an eyebrow when he puts the cup down with a grimace.

“Not of your taste?”

“... I think I burned my tongue.”

That makes Imelda chuckle. “And here I thought you’d take the chance to complain about my coffee,” she mutters, and waits for a moment for Ernesto to latch on that excuse to resume a more… normal sort of conversation between the two of them.

He does, and there is something soothing about how familiar it is. It feels far more natural than Ernesto quietly thanking her for a cup of coffee.

“Oh, right. It did taste awful,” Ernesto mutters, glancing up at her, but she could almost swear she’s seen the corners of his mouth quirking upwards. “As most of what’s on your table. Héctor should have picked a better cook.”

“Which would rule you out as well, from what I’ve heard of your cooking. What was that again about the eggs in the microwave?” Imelda mutters, and smirks when Ernesto stammers, face reddening. “How did you even make to adulthood?”

“That was-- it was one time!”

“Or the time you microwaved the fork and almost set the kitchen on fire?”

“That was also only one time!” Ernesto protests. “I can cook just fine!”

“And yet you live on delivery food,” Imelda says, glancing at his stomach. “It kinda shows.”

“Wha-- it does not! This is muscle! Just… just well-padded!” he protests, and sits up straight. Imelda decides against pointing out how painfully obvious it is that he’s sucking in his stomach. Truth be told, she feels just slightly bad for pointing it out: she remembers how chubby Ernesto used to be when they were kids, and how self-conscious he was about it. He may not have a visible six-pack now, but he is in a pretty good shape… although he does tend to get winded while in bed with her and Héctor. But then again, who wouldn’t?

“Fine, fine,” she concedes. “But I still have doubts over your cooking skills. If you have any.”

“I can cook better than you do!” Ernesto snaps, and turns to the door just as Héctor steps back in with his notes. “Héctor! You’re coming for dinner at my place!”

Her husband stop in his tracks, blinking at him. “... We are?”

“Yes,” Ernesto mutters, glaring at Imelda. She responds with a smile.

“Oh, I look forward to it,” she says with the sweetest voice she can muster, and her smile widens a bit at Héctor’s confused expression.

***

“Hello?”

“Sofía? It’s--”

“Ernesto, yes. Cell phones have a screen, and the names of contacts show on it when they call. It’s been a thing for a while.”

“So you didn’t delete my contact.”

“Not yet. I’d love to keep talking, but I’ve got a client with her head in the dryer and--”

“You can cook.”

“... Guilty as charged?”

“I need you to teach me how.”

“Trying to impress your next prey?”

Ernesto reaches up to rub the back of his neck with his free hand, looking at the blackened lump that has solidified on the pan. He’s not sure he can salvage his only pan; maybe, if he chisels away at the lump… “You could say that.”

“Just take him or her or whatever out for dinner. Spare yourself the embarrassment, and them a bad case of food poisoning.”

Granted, giving Imelda food poisoning wouldn’t be the end of the world, but Héctor might not appreciate it. Ernesto shakes his head. “I can’t. I said I’d cook something.”

There is a long sigh at the other side of the line. “All right. I can think of a few easy dishes you could manage. How long do you have to learn?”

Ernesto glances at his watch. “About five hours.”

“En serio?”

“Five and a half?” he tries, and he can hear the smacking sound of skin on skin. The mental image of Sofía smacking her forehead in the middle of the hair salon makes him smile a bit.

“Forget it. Have you tried cooking?”

“Yes. It… didn’t go that well.”

“Good, at least your kitchen is a mess and it will make things more believable. Now follow my instructions closely: slowly step away from the stove, close the door, end this call, arrange some food delivery and then hide the boxes.”

“... Really?”

“Welcome to the world’s easiest cooking course. I’m amazed you didn’t think of it yourself.”

He did, truth be told, but a very stubborn part of him refused to give up without trying. He wants to see Imelda impressed, and he wants it to be over something he did do himself.

“So you’re telling me to lie about it?

“Why not? You lie about your size all the time.”

“I do not--”

“Sure, sure. Look, I have to go before someone’s head catches fire. Just get dinner delivered, move it on nice plates and call it a day. Don’t call back unless it’s with an update,” Sofía cuts him off, and ends the call. Ernesto scoffs, and glares at the pan.

“I don’t need to lie about my size,” he informs the charred remains. Somewhere in the back of his mind he’s mildly thankful for the fact that, despite all the jabs between them, that is not something Imelda had brought up against him by comparing it with Héctor’s.

Not that she’d have any reason to, after all: his cock is perfectly fine, and Héctor is the one with the ridiculously long dick. He checked online and his is perfectly average. Or just slightly below it, but it’s thick and that’s what counts, surely.

With an indignant huff, Ernesto turns his back to the stove and marches out of the kitchen, looking for the number of his usual delivery service.

***

Everything is delicious and very, very suspicious.

Of course Héctor is about ninety-nine percent sure that Ernesto cooked none of this; they used to share that small apartment before Imelda came in the picture, after all. He was subjected to his best friend’s attempts at cooking more than once… and Ernesto to his. It did not go down very well for either of them.

Ernesto has many talents; he can play, he can sing, he was born to perform… and to get them in touch with just the right people to get them exposure, venues to play in and paid work. For all of his talent in songwriting - perhaps the one thing he’s really good at - Héctor knows he would likely amount to nothing without Ernesto by his side. Without him, he’d probably still be in Santa Cecilia, without a family and getting by with a few odd jobs while writing music he’d play for fun and nothing else.

Imelda won’t even hear it, and insist he could do just fine on his own, but she also refuses to see what her parents saw from the first moment: she has married down. Maybe she loves him too much to see it, but if Héctor has a chance to somehow be worthy of her, to provide for her and not make her ever regret her choice of a husband, he owes it to Ernesto.

But there are two things he knows Ernesto cannot do: songwriting, and cooking. Imelda knows it as well and she certainly look suspicious, but alas, she has no proof. She eats, joins some small talk, and keeps eyeing towards the door leading out of the dining room. Héctor is not in the slightest surprised when she excuses herself to go to the bathroom.

“You did get rid of the boxes, didn’t you?”

Ernesto shrugs. “I don’t have the foggiest idea what you’re talking about,” he says smoothly, pouring some more wine in his glass. Héctor snorts out a laugh.

“Very well. If, by chance, you had some food delivered - which you did not - would you have thought of getting rid of the boxes, in case someone hypothetically went to check your bin?”

That gains him a wide grin. “Of course. I’d leave nothing to chance, hypothetically speaking,” he says, and pours some wine in Imelda’s half-empty glass just as she walks back in the dining room. To her credit, she looks just mildly annoyed and it would be unnoticeable to anyone who doesn’t know her as well as Héctor does.

“I noticed your frying pan is done for,” she comments, not casually at all, as she sits down.

Ernesto gives her a bright smile, resting an elbow on the table and leaning his chin on his hand. “The first attempt didn’t go too well,” he says, his voice dripping false modesty. “But practice makes perfect.”

“Oh, it does,” Imelda says, her voice rotting honey, and leans her chin on her hand as well. She smiles back. “The pozole was delicious. Mind sharing your secret?”

Ernesto’s smile falters. “... Qué?”

“Well, for starters, what part of the pork did you use?”

“Oh. I, uh… the… the leg. Clearly.”

“Clearly. And how long did you let it cook?”

“Uh… I wasn’t really checking the time. Until it was tender,” Ernesto replies, and shoots a very, very quick glance at Héctor, who’s staring at the scene - God, it’s like watching a car crash in slow motion - while biting the inside of his cheek and trying not to laugh.

Ayúdame, that look says. Héctor holds back a laugh and gulps down some wine.

“When did you add the chile guajillo?” Imelda is still asking, her voice sweet as her smile is sharp. “How much of it?”

“I, well--” Ernesto starts, only to trail off when Héctor lets out a grito and slams the empty glass down on the table, causing them both to wince and turn.

“Oh! I had an idea!” he exclaims, grinning widely. All right, so it’s not a sudden idea as much as something he’s had in mind for a few days now - the embryo of a plan - but this seems the best moment to bring it up. “About that song I’ve been writing! I know why it didn’t work!”

They both blink. “... You did?”

“I thought it worked just--”

“It needs to be a duet, but it shouldn’t be the two of us singing,” Héctor says, grinning. “I’ll stick to playing. What this song needs is a woman’s voice.”

The mixture of confusion and relief on Ernesto’s face turns into annoyance, but of course he pays no mind at all. He’s saving his sorry culo, after all, and he’ll thank him later. On the other side of the table, Imelda is raising an eyebrow.

“A woman’s voice,” Ernesto repeats, and makes a face. “If you say so. I suppose I could see if someone is available…”

Oh no, amigo. You know exactly where this is going and we’re doing it on my terms.

“Why bother? We have a singer right here,” Héctor says, and turns to smile at Imelda. “She sings wonderfully, you should know that.”

“But--”

“The song still needs work,” Héctor speaks up, and his smile widens at Imelda’s unimpressed look. “You’d be perfect.”

“I’m not singing on stage.”

“Not on a stage. Just among us, so that I can figure out how to make it work,” he says, and some of the tenseness in her frame fades. Then she glances at Ernesto, and Héctor can see her lips twitching just a little at his annoyed expression. As much as he enjoys - he will claim he tolerates it, but the truth is plain - Imelda’s presence in the same bed, he draws a line at singing with her.

Sucks to be him, Héctor thinks, and clearly Imelda shares that thought.

“... Well. If you really need me, I figure I can help,” Imelda says slowly.

“We don’t really need--” Ernesto starts, only to trail off with a wince when Héctor’s foot - clad in a nice Rivera leather shoe - connects with his shin. “I mean-- fine,” he grumbles, and empties his glass. Héctor holds back a satisfied grin, and stands.

“All settled, then! But we’ll worry about the song later. Now, I think there was something on offer,” he adds, and tilts his head towards Ernesto. “It would be a nice thank you for the dinner. If you’re still up on it.”

Ernesto blinks at him and Imelda, clearly confused. “Something on offer? What are you-- oh. Oh! Right!” he exclaims, and stands - only to pause, and make a noticeable effort to appear nonchalant. He clears his throat while Imelda hides a smile behind her hand. “I mean… if you’re up for it.”

And oh, yes, he is. He really is.

***

The sound of Héctor’s moans is almost like a song, and it is one Imelda never tires of.

She loves that sound as much as she loves his breath against her breast, his hair tickling her skin,  his arms around her, the warmth of his body as he clings to her, shuddering. She loves the few jumbled words he manages to gasp out from time to time, and how her name sounds spoken like that, when she murmurs back to him that he’d doing so well, he’s so good. She loves it all so much that she can even tolerate Ernesto panting like a bull as he grips her husband’s hips and drives into him again and again with deep groans, pushing him against her.

He fucks like a mindless animal and really, it’s not surprising. He was never very imaginative… but at least he seems to make up for it with sheer stamina. Imelda has to concede a grudging point there.

A harder thrust than others tears a strangled cry from Héctor’s mouth, and he muffles it against her breast. Imelda murmurs something soothing, trying to ignore the head pooling in her lower belly - not her turn, not yet - and finally glances over at Ernesto for the first time in several minutes.

In all the years she’s known him, she has never seen the appeal; she doesn’t really see it now, either. There is no logical reason, as far as she’s concerned, why he would be such a hit with women with Héctor standing right there. Good for Imelda that no one had snatched him up first, really, but it still puzzles her.

Still, she has to admit she doesn’t find the sight unpleasant, either. He sounds like a bull and he’s built like one, too, broad-shouldered and deep-chested; it is a stark contrast to Héctor’s lean frame. He’s breathing fast, skin covered in sweat, as he thrusts mercilessly into her husband; his hair, usually styled so carefully and kept in place with hell knows how many different fancy hair products, is falling in messy bangs in front of his eyes.

Still, it’s his expression Imelda’s gaze lingers on - the way he’s squeezing his eyes shut and clenching his teeth - and again, she finds she likes him best like this, when all conceit is gone from his face and he’s not keeping up some stupid act. If he looked like that more often, then perhaps--

“Ah-- aaaah...!”

A twist of Ernesto’s hips causes Héctor to cry out, and the head in her lower belly turns into raging need. Imelda presses her lips against Héctor’s temple for a moment before she glances back at Ernesto and speaks.

“Sit back.”

Her voice is like the crack of a whip, and it causes Ernesto to still and look back at her. He’s still panting and she expected annoyance at the interruption, but he seems too far gone to be annoyed: he just looks rather confused and very, very needy.

Good. It makes him easier to work with.

“Sit back,” Imelda repeats, and strokes Héctor’s hair. “With him on your lap. Don’t pull out.”

There is only a moment of hesitation, then Héctor rocks back against him with a whine of protest, and Ernesto recoils with a hiss. He does shift to sit back - good for them, Imelda thinks, that Ernesto’s bed is king-sized - and within moments Héctor is sitting on his lap, Ernesto’s cock still deep in him. He moans, skin flushed and hair tousled, lips still red form when he’s bitten them, and he’s the most alluring sight Imelda has ever rested her eyes on.

“You should see yourself now, mi amor,” she murmurs, and he looks up at her with clouded eyes, licking his lips. His cock is hard and leaking, and she shifts forward to sink on it without a second thought, letting it fill her to relieve the need that has now turned into ache.

They groan at the same time, all three of them, and Héctor is the loudest of all. He jerks beneath her, trapped between their bodies, with Ernesto in him and Imelda around him, and her hands on his chest and Ernesto’s mouth sucking marks on his neck. And it feels good, all of it - the warmth and the hardness and the sounds, Héctor’s scent and even Ernesto’s, beneath the cologne.

“E-Ern… ‘Melda…” Héctor is stammering, breathing fast and desperate, arms reaching back to grasp Ernesto’s head, hips shuddering as though he’s not sure what to do, if push back against his best friend or up into his wife. Imelda looks at Ernesto over his shoulder, and he meets her gaze; his eyes are clouded with pleasure, but she sees the challenge a moment before he twists his hips and makes Héctor moan.

Try to do better, the look on his face tells her, and Imelda gladly takes that on.

They both move fast and hard and relentlessly, each trying to make Héctor moan louder than the other, but soon enough the challenge is unimportant, their thoughts lost in the wave of pleasure. Soon enough, it’s about their own pleasure as much as Héctor’s… although his cries of pleasure still are the sweetest sounds Imelda has ever heard.

For a time there is only that, moans and groans, the occasional cry and muttered pleas, skin on skin and fast breathing and whispered praise, touch and motion and warmth as pleasure builds and the ache at her core fades into ecstasy.

In the throes of her climax, she feels Héctor’s mouth on her breast. A warm hand is cupping her ass, calloused fingers digging into her skin; she cannot tell whose hand it is, and she finds she doesn’t care.

***

They stay there for the night.

It wasn’t the plan, because Imelda never had any intention to sleep in Ernesto’s bed, but after they collapsed on the pillows, amongst rustled sheets, none of them felt like getting up again.

“Do we have to pay for boarding?” Héctor joked, gaining himself a light smack.

“Heh. Make breakfast tomorrow, and we’ve got a deal.”

“Why us? You’re such a great cook,” Imelda muttered, and there was some snickering - even from Ernesto - before they settled down to sleep. It didn’t take long for Héctor to doze off, and now she’s about to follow suit.

Imelda yawns, and her hand slips from Héctor's hair on his upper back, rising and falling steadily with each breath; she likes falling asleep like this, matching her breathing with his own. She closes her eyes, smiling a bit, and she's about to surrender herself to sleep when a sudden touch on her hand startles her.

Ernesto.

Despite the pang of annoyance, Imelda feels more than a little smug at the thought she's placed her hand on Héctor's back first. She waits a few instants for Ernesto to pull back his hand as thought the touch burned him, because of course he would, except that he does not. To her surprise - and annoyance, but mostly surprise - his hand rests over hers and grips it loosely.

What the hell does he think he's doing?

Imelda lifts herself on her elbow, glaring towards him and opening her mouth to snap, but words die in her throat when she doesn't meet the smirk she expected: Ernesto's eyes are shut, his mouth slightly open against the pillow and breathing steady, clearly asleep. Unless he's pretending - but that would be painfully obvious to her - he's not actively trying to annoy her; he just reached out for Héctor in his sleep.

And grasped her hand.

Imelda's eyes shift from his stupid, sleeping face to their hands, both resting on Héctor's back. If she pulls her hand back, she's giving ground. If she shakes his off , she could wake both him and Héctor up and she's really too tired to deal with Ernesto's drama that night. She keeps staring at his hand over hers for a few moments before she rolls her eyes and, with a sigh, rests back down and closes her eyes. She expects annoyance to keep her awake but, truth be told, it fades quickly enough.

The next morning she awakens first and, when she pulls her hand from beneath Ernesto’s, he doesn’t even stir.

***

[Back to Part 4]

[On to Part 6]

#pixar coco #hector rivera #ernesto de la cruz #imelda rivera #coco #mind the gap

[skeletorific]

Toxic Relationship Headcanons

Its time for aaaaaaangst

So I was spitballing this with @with-a-whisper a few days back and decided on a whim to publish them. Essentially I’ve decided to break down how a relationship with each of teh bros could end up being potentially toxic and harmful to both parties, as well as the steps that might be needed to help rebuild. Because we can’t always be happy damn it

Also please note, guys, if the relationships you are in have these qualities it may be time to have a serious talk with the other person. And while I believe that a lot of relationships can genuinely be salvaged if both partners are willing to put in the effort, if your partner is unwilling or nothing is changing you may need to get out.

UT!Sans: He definitely needs someone a little more comfortable with themselves and who's able to draw any kind of vulnerability or honesty out of him. Bonus points if they're particularly good at telling when he's faking being okay. So to prevent a break his partner would need to understand that even when he pushes it away he genuinely kind of wants someone to force him to articulate how he's actually feeling. In order for it to start devolving, his partner would either have to stop trying to reach out or make themselves the center of every emotional crisis. Either option is ignoring his feelings or assuming he doesn't have any. When he beings to feel like his emotions are unwelcome or unimportant he will more than happily begin to shut down, because after all, its easier than confronting the hot mess he is most of the time. His smiles are all faked these days and he will rarely, if ever be open with you

Patch: You need to listen  to him. This is harder than it sounds, getting Sans to be honest emotionally when he’s felt like he can’t be is like pulling teeth. ITs a slow process of rebuilding trust, of asking him questions about how he is every day no mattter how much he evades the question. If he feels like you really mean it, he can eventually warm back up to you

UT!Papyrus needs someone who won't overly-indulge him and provide some grounding but who is also quite generous with praise, especially for things that he desperately wants/needs to be praised for. He believes you entirely, but that has to go both ways at some point. Papyrus wants your validation, he wants to know that he’s important to you. This can be a little needy, and it only gets worse if he senses he’s starting to annoy you. It enourages him to ramp up his antics adn constantly strive for your approval, whih only annoys you further. If this keeps going he will be constanty on edge and in deep denial. He’ll insist that of ourse he’s happy but he’s so disappointed, trying to greet you with a smile but you never return it. He won’t break up with you, he’s convince that it has to be his fault somehow, and so he stays on. Feeling like more and more of a burden as time goes by

Patch: In order to patch up a break a good method is you have to try and match at least half of his compliments to you. He doesn’t honestly need that much, but strong signs of approval send him over the moon. He’s not as sensitive as you might think but he does need to know that deep down you really do enjoy him and his company. As you grow to a healthier place you can then begin to work on his compliment dependence.

UF!Sans needs a balance of someone who will call him out on his shit and someone who he can genuinely have a good time with and not be constantly on edge. On the one hand you need to be able to tell him no, to draw a line when his reckless behavior gets too unsafe. On the other you need a good sense of humor, as well oas a lot of patience for when he does fuck up. He’s good about apologizing, you just have to let him do it on his own terms. If you never reel him in he will trample over you and likely drag you both down with him. Drinking binges, trashing your house, forgetting dates, all that gross stuff. And He will apologize, but if you keep acting like its no big deal....it kind of starts to bug him. Why aren’t you bothered? Do you just not care that much about this relationship? Should he be treating this as casual too? Eventually he stops apologizing and does whatever the fuck he wants until you finally kick him out.On the other end, if you’re constantly snapping at him and he can’t do a thing right for you....in all likelihood he’ll break up with you. At the very least he’ll be on edge and likely tend to be hypercritical of your every move as well. Not so fun when its your fuck ups being pointed out, is it? Both of you get increasingly petty and its just bad to be around.

 Patch: it depends on which end of the spectrum is failing. If you're hitting him too hard to shape up you have to relax a little, let him live (this is also most likely to end the relationship before patching up even begins). If you're not calling him out enough in the end you just kind of need to toughen up and yell at him when he's really being a dick. He'll resist it and roll his eyes but he does take what you say into consideration if he thinks its reasonable.

UF!Papyrus just genuinely needs someone with a backbone. Someone who won’t talke all of his “Master of the Universe” bullshit lying down. Don’t get me wrong, Boss nags because he cares. He genuinely wants you to lead a healthy life. But don’t just coast and let him make all your choices for you, he’ll stop seeing you as a person and more as a puppet that he can move however he wants. So if the time ever comes that he makes a choice for you that genuinely bothers you, he’s going to be furious when you try and defy him. He’ll start punishing you for going against him. Don’t get excited sinners, not the fun kind. He’ll ignore your texts for days or start lecturing you in public. Like, trying to make you cry He tells himself its tough love, and if you ever remove yourself he won’t stalk you or hurt you. but its not good.  

 Patch: His breaks are the hardest to fix because if you've devolved into toxicity you've let him order you around for too long and its a lot of backtracking to where you can finally get him to listen to you again. You need to stand up to him whenever and wherever he's crossed the line, even if you don't want to make a fuss. If you keep it up he can eventually start to take it to heart. He wouldn’t be dating you if deep down he didn’t honestly respect  you

US!Sans (Despite not being an angel) is kind of hard to trigger an unhealthy relationship in because he  is really good at keeping up a bright and happy front but he, like Tale Sans, tends to suffer if his partner constantly needs to be the center of attention. His s/o will never likely be ignored but people with a tendency for drama tend to pull him into their spiral because he wants to help them overcome their problems but they don't seem to want to solve them. In an unhealthy relationship he'll be pulling away, emptying himself out and kind of going through the motions more than ever. 

Patch A patch up would just be focusing some attention on him. He doesn't even need that much, you just need to not need to be the Center of the Universe At All Times. 

 US!Papyrus needs someone who's willing to call him out too, but gently. He hates being ordered around and will just avoid you if he feels like you're trying to control him unnecessarily. However just quick reminders that "hey, that kind of makes me uncomfortable, just a heads up" are usually enough of to set him on the right track. An unhealthy relationship with Stretch is a matter of time. Its a lot of small errors that snowball on itself.  He will constantly be going behind your back to do whatever he wants and will likely be pushing your buttons as far as he can because it feels like its the only way he gets a reaction out of you anymore. He also has a tendency to gaslight his partners when he thinks he can get away with it

Patch: A patch usually involves a pretty intense confrontation that directly takes him to task on his lack of honesty. It'll be unpleasant but its what needs to be done. This, however, is easier said than done, since Stretch is a master at sidestepping conversations he doesn’t want to have. Tie him down if you have to. And if he is genuinely uninterested in changing....you may just have to break it off.

SF!Sans devolves in at least partial toxicity more often than not. Keeping him on the straight and narrow is a complex matter. It requires a lot of patience and a lot of stubbornness because he will take control wherever you let him and it Will Not End Well. That said, once you've made some progress you can usually get him to take the next steps entirely on his own. He has a tendency to be very derisive of his partners and struggle to make them genuinely feel loved This isn’t because he doesn’t feel strongly, but because expressing those kinds of emotions are life-threatening where he comes from and he has no idea how to do it anymore. 

 Patch: There is no single patch that works every single time, but you will have to separate for a while. He will be in a place where he cannot and should not be around you physically, and you may want to avoid calling him for a while. Your absence makes him realize that he still cares about you , not just for what you can do for him, but as a person. Where it goes from there is up to you.

SF!Papyrus: he's pretty easy to track. The worse place he's in a relationship the more his substance abuse kicks up. Alcohol, weed, jacking off, sleeping at all hours of the day, pretty much anything that lets him escape. He starts losing track of his responsibilities even to Sans and you've picked him up out of a puddle of his own piss and vomit more often than you've kissed him good night the past 4 months.  What Rus needs is someone who can give  him the space he needs but still lets him know that they need him. Worse than anything is the idea that he's failing you. This behavior tends to pop up more frequently when you've just been injured or have been having a rough patch of fights because he feels like he's tying you down, and so self-destructively is making himself more incapable of being a good boyfriend in the hopes that maybe you'll leave him 

Patch: Like his brother its usually a somewhat lengthy process but what he needs more than anything is just firm support. Don't be a doormat, keep him away from his substances as best you can and get Black to help with that, but let him know that you're here for him and you always will be. Keep asking him to do little things for you, it makes him feel needed and wanted around. Its a process of months depending on how long he's been spiralling but he's pulled himself out of it before, and with your help, he'll hopefully do it again. 

#slight nsfw? #abuse #gaslighting #manipulation #depression #piss mention #vomit mention #undertale #underfell #underswap #swapfell #sans #papyrus #uf!sans #uf!papyrus #us!sans #us!papyrus #sf!sans #sf!papyrus #toxic relationship #headcanon #long post

[zxanthe]

hello!! for the au prompts — maybe 14 or 22 or 32 for soma?? (love your writing btw!!)

phew, sorry for the wait, anon! this got a lot longer than i expected it to. have ~3.5k of complete and utter (though fun to write) nonsense. i decided to go with #22, the two miserable people meeting at a wedding au.

(prompt from here)

***

Crona lets her down gently.

“I don’t hate you,” they tell her. Even over the phone, Makacan hear the way their voice gets all high and reedy like it does when they’rereally stressed, and she feels absurdly guilty for a moment before sheremembers she’s in the middle of getting broken up with.

“It’s just, I, I know you want sex, and there’s reallynothing wrong with that, but, but I don’t think I want that, sex I mean, and Ijust feel really bad –“

“Crona, no,” Maka says, because even though she knows something’sbeen wrong for weeks and that something like this was coming and a millionother different, more subtle things, she does love them, really, and so she hasto try. “It’s fine, I’m fine with it, I’m fine with you. I don’t want to make you do anything you don’t want to do. Ifyou don’t want sex I’m okay with it! Really, babe, I am!”

“But I’m not. Not okay with you being okay with not wantingit even though you do, I mean. Maka,” they say, and their voice goes reallysoft and gentle. “I love you and I appreciate you and I’m so glad you werethere for me when…when…when all that stuff happened back then. I just…you neverput yourself first. And. And I really wish you would sometimes, a lot, becausea relationship isn’t focused on what one person wants, but I feel really g-guiltybecause I don’t know if I could deal with a lot of the things you want to do,not just sex, not because they’re bad or anything, but because I still have alot of issues, and I feel like I’m holding you back.”

“You’re not!” There’s something thick clogging up Maka’sthroat. “I swear you’re not, you were never a burden – “

“Please don’t lie to me,” and Crona’s voice is the steadiestshe’s ever heard it. “I think, that we want very different things out of life,and that I can’t keep using you as a crutch forever, and that you shouldn’t letme use you like that anyway, it’s not good for you. I need some time to be bymyself, and figure things out.”

Maka opens and closes her mouth several times, unable to getany words out past the tightness in her throat. The phone line crackles withstatic.

“M-Maka? Are you still there?”

She sucks in a deep, shuddering breath. “Y-yeah. Do you…doyou still need a place to stay? Or…”

“I-I’ve got something l-lined up.”

“Great. That’s…really great. I’m really proud of you,Crona,” and her face splits into a smile, even as the tears spill over down hercheeks. “I can help you move when I get back.”

“N-no, it’s fine, I don’t want to inconvenience – “

“It really wouldn’t be – “

“P-please, Maka, l-l-let me do this myself. I’m sorry,really s-s-sorry – “

“Crona, shh, shh. It’s okay. Really. I get it.”

Through the crackle of a thousand miles, Crona takes a deepbreath. “I’ll be gone by the time you fly home,” they say. “I’ll leave you mynew address. We can mail letters, if you like.”

“Y-yeah. That’d be nice.”

Silence falls again. Maka desperately tries to control herbreathing, to stop it hitching, stop it betraying her, but she never was allthat good at that sort of thing.

“I’m sorry, Maka,” Crona says, very softly. “You’ll alwaysbe special to me. I’m really glad we met, and that I got to be with you. I didlove you, and I think a part of me always will.”

“I love you too,” she chokes out. “I’m. Really happy foryou, Crona.”

“T-thank you. Well. Good night, I guess. Goodbye, Maka.”

“Bye,” she says, and then the line goes dead.

She’s far away in a strange city, in a cold and unfamiliarhotel room in a building full of rooms just like it. She buries her face in theimpersonal white linen pillow and weeps.

//

 Soul’s dreaming that he’s in the band again, sweat runningdown his forehead while lights flash frenetically over a writhing crowd, butthen on the street below a motor tears the quiet of the night to ugly tattersand he finds himself staring wide-eyed up at his ceiling fan, revolving in thedark. He rolls over. His bedside alarm clock reads 2:43 in chunky red numbers. He has work tomorrow. He has to be upearly.

He takes a deep breath and holds it for a moment beforeletting it out, the exhalation deafening in the settling stillness.

In another life, things were well underway at this time ofnight. In another life, he went onstage and played his heart out, fingersscraping over the strings of his bass, wailing in harmony to Liz’s raw vocalswhile Patty’s drums sent him soaring, soul straining against his ribs, shiveringwith the sheer delight of it, ofbeing there, of being truly, completely alive.

The fan turns, turns, turns, there on the ceiling, hummingsoftly. Endless. Quiet. One pull of a cord would make it stop. Every evening hecomes back to his tiny apartment and falls asleep on the couch. Sometimes hecooks, when he’s feeling particularly festive. Sometimes he listens to music,or watches a movie, or smokes a cigar. What friends he has are all the wayacross the country, people he realizes he hasn’t seen in years now, people whohe may not have anything at all in common with anymore besides a smattering ofshared experiences in a past no longer relevant to much of anything. His coworkersare simply and thoroughly uninteresting. The city is neither big nor small andequally nondescript in its forms of entertainment; he got tired of bars and livemusic and meaningless conversation years ago, and there really isn’t much elseto do.

(he wonders when exactly his life got so small and stagnant.he wonders if there was a point to any of it, really. all that anger and joyand despair, all the fear and exhilaration, all the giddy fuck-yous shouted from the tops of buildings. if there was somekind of meaning lurking in all those nights spent sleeping on strangers’ floorsand writing songs, smoking cigarettes and getting drunk and laughing like agoddamned crazy fool. he wonders what would have happened if he had stayed putand played the part of the dutiful younger son like his parents wanted. hemight be just as dead, deader even, asphyxiated by what-ifs and self-loathingand impossible expectations. he lies on his back with his fingers lacedtogether atop his chest. the fan turns in circles and circles and doesn’t movea damn inch; it’s the same everywhere. his heart beats; his lungs fill andempty and fill again; he lies in sodium-tinted darkness and cannot understand whyhis body would keep doing such silly meaningless things.)

On the kitchen counter is a creamy white envelope cordiallyinviting him to the wedding of one Tsubaki Nakatsukasa and Elizabeth Thompson.On the back of the invitation is a handwritten note – Hope you’re doing okay, Soul Eater. It’s been a long time and I hellamiss my favorite bassist – my wedding (don’t laugh!!!) wouldn’t be the samewithout you. Much love xoxo, Lizard Breath.

Once upon a time he thought he was in love with her, but hewas a damn fool kid who wouldn’t have known what love was if it had walked up andgiven his ass a nice firm squeeze. She was beautiful, and when they fucked itwas hells of nice, but there were no fireworks or whatever the fuck wassupposed to happen, and one night sprawled naked together in some hotel roomshe’d told him I don’t think this isworking, and he’d laughed and agreed, and then they smoked half a pack ofcigarettes and watched shitty Lifetime movies until they fell asleep.

Things were always easy with Liz.

He gets out of bed and pads to the bathroom. In the dimlight, he looks at his face. Shadows pool beneath his cheekbones, in his eyesockets, in the hollow of his throat. There are lines forming around his mouthand bags beneath his eyes. Pale stubble coats his cheeks. He frowns and rubs atit and wonders when he got so damn old. He’sthirty-three years old. Maybe it’s his hair, old-man colored, white as snow butthick as ever. It needs a trim. He wonders if Liz will recognize him. If anyonewill recognize him. If he recognizes himself, hands clenched on the cool porcelainof the sink, so very tired and gaunt. He swallows. He looks into his hollow,sleepy eyes, reflected back at him through the glass.

Two days later, he buys a plane ticket to New York.

//

In her wedding dress, Tsubaki is radiant. It’schampagne-colored lace, and it clings to her curves with the precision of aglove before puddling demurely around her feet. Her hair is dark and shiny andpiled in a soft updo, a flower crown woven through its curls.

“Knock knock,” she says.

Tsubaki turns around and smiles. “Maka!”

Pearls glitter in her ears. Her makeup is fine-tuned toperfection. “You look absolutely beautiful,” Maka says, and hugs her bestfriend tight.

“Thank you,” Tsubaki replies. She takes a deep breath, herhands knotted in her lap. “I’m. Terribly nervous. Is that a bad thing? Mystomach’s just all full of butterflies. I can’t believe I’m here.” She laughsshakily.

“Oh, Tsu, it’s okay to be nervous. Getting married is apretty big deal, after all. And Liz loves you no matter what.”

“Yes.” Tsubaki takes a deep breath. Some of the tensionleaves her shoulders. “She does, she truly does. I’m sorry, everything’s just beensuch a blur today. I’m exhausted and I haven’t even actually gotten marriedyet.”

Maka grimaces sympathetically. “You’ll get through it. Justthink, these are going to be some of the happiest memories of your life.”

“So no pressure or anything.” Tsu laughs. “I hope I don’tfall over in these heels.”

“You’ll be fine, Tsu. Pretend it’s another dance.”

“I will. How was California, anyway? You’re looking nice and tan.”

“Kim twisted her ankle in San Francisco, so her understudyhad to step up. Otherwise the performances went really well. Nygus wants toknow when you’ll be coming back.”

“After the honeymoon, probably. Liz is excited about goingon tour with us.”

Maka laughs. “She would be. Wasn’t she in a band once upon atime?”

“Mhm. She misses it. She plans on being our number onegroupie and buying all themerchandise.” Tsubaki smiles fondly. “I don’t think we have any, though. Do we?”

Maka shrugs. “We’re a ballet troupe, not a rock band.Although now that you mention it, merch isn’t actually a bad idea…”

“Hush, Maka, no business.” Tsubaki smiles. “I’ll bet Crona’sglad you’re home. Where are they?”

Maka keeps her face carefully neutral as she desperatelytries to think of a way to respond. In the end she presses her lips togetherand goes for it. “Crona’s…we’re not together anymore, actually.”

Tsubaki blinks, the smile slipping off her face. Maka’s gutstwist. “N…not together? What – “

Just then there’s a knock at the door. A veryharried-looking Kid pokes his head in, a clipboard clutched in his left hand. “Ihate to interrupt, but are you almost ready, Tsubaki? It’s nearly time. I wouldsuggest you hurry; I cannot keep Blake out of the hors d'oeuvres forever. Hello,Maka,” he says, nodding at her politely before withdrawing as quickly as hecame.

“I’m sorry,” Maka mumbles, looking at her friend’s concernedface. “Today’s supposed to be a happy day for you. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

Tsubaki shakes her head. “No, no. Stop that. It’s okay. We’lldefinitely talk about this later. Do you know if Crona’s still coming?”

Maka shrugs. “I don’t know. They said maybe. They weren’t sure if they could deal with a wedding, whatwith all the changes in their life. They gave me a card, though, just in case.”

“Well, it’s good that you two are still friends, at least.”Tsubaki stands and pulls her into a tight hug. “I’m really glad you’re here,Maka,” she mumbles. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” Maka says, and squeezes her back beforehurrying off to find her seat.

//

The reception takes place in a small dance hall festoonedwith flowers. There’s a DJ, and people crowd the floor, dancing and laughing.Liz’s black dress glitters in the party lights as her new wife twirls herenthusiastically. They both look radiantly happy. When Soul had come up tocongratulate them, Liz’s eyes had nearly popped out of her skull. “Soul?!” she’d blurted, and then she’dgrinned and slapped him hard on the back. “Hey! I wasn’t sure if you were gonnamake it!”

“Figured I might as well,” he said, trying for a smile.“Congrats, Lizard. I didn’t think you had it in you to settle down.”

“Fuck you. People are full of surprises. Tsu, this is SoulEvans. We used to be in a band together once upon a time.”

Tsubaki Nakatsukasa smiled. “So you’re the famous SoulEater. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Have you?”

Before Tsubaki could reply, something slammed into Soul andwhipped him off his feet. It was all he could do to cling on for dear life ashe was whirled around and around. When his assailant finally set him down, hebarely had a chance to say “hello” before he got kissed exuberantly on themouth.

“Soul!” Patty cried happily while he tried to catch hisbreath. “How’ve you been, buddy?! Whydidn’t you ever call us?? Sissy and I missed you so much, we’d thought you’d diedor been abducted by aliens or thegovernment or something!”

“Jesus, Patty, hello to you too. I tried calling, but you gaveme a bad number.”

“Mm, yeah, sorry about that,” said Liz. “We should have toldyou before we changed it.”

Soul shrugged. “S’cool.” Itdoesn’t matter anyway.

“How long are you gonna be in town?” Patty asked

“Mm. Just for a few days.”

“Boo. I was hoping we could all get lunch, but guess it’s justgonna be you and me. No buts about it!”

He sighs. In the present, the party has gotten well underway.Soul can’t remember the last time he was at something like this. He sits at anempty table and sips at his third gin and tonic, wondering if it would be rude toleave right now. Liz and Tsubaki and Patty look like they’re having plenty offun on the dance floor.

“Hey,” says a voice. “You okay?”

He turns. The speaker is a small woman with a cup of wine inone hand, looking down at him in concern. “Yeah, I’m good,” he replies, alittle puzzled.

“Oh, okay,” she tells him. “You just looked so sad for a whilethere. I couldn’t not say something. Sorry. I’m a little drunk.” With that, sheplops into the seat beside him.

“Mm. S’okay, it happens.”

Quiet falls between them, and they watch the dancers for atime.

She takes a gulp of wine. “I always thought that I’d bemarried by the time I was thirty,” she says thoughtfully. “But I’m thirty-oneand my partner just left me and…and I don’t know if it’s ever gonna happen. And.That makes me really kinda sad. Not that I’m jealous of Tsu or anything. Just.”She swallows and dabs at her eyes with a napkin. A few tears escape anyway. “God.Okay, I’m drunk. Sorry.”

“Nah, you’re okay. I’m thirty-three and I haven’t been on adate in years.”

“Really?”

“Mm. Don’t see much point it in, y’know?”

“Why not?”

He shrugs. “People are the same everywhere.”

“What makes you say that?” She’s watching him now. Absently,he notes that her eyes are bright green, the same as her dress. A tendril ofashy blonde hair has broken free of her updo and rests against her cheek. Hishand twitches, as if to brush it away, but instead he shakes his head.

“When I was younger, I thought things would be better if Ileft the house to make my own way, y’know? My parents were dictators. But themore I think about it the more I’m thinking, damn, what was the point? Everybody tells you to followyour dreams or whatever the fuck like that’ll make you happy, but…but I didthat. And nothing’s really changed. I’m still stuck, still the same. No matterwhat I do. People out west can be just as boring and uptight as people back east.We all do the same things.”

“I disagree,” says the woman. “That’s a really silly way of lookingat things, I think. Things can always change. Things always do change. That’s life! My partner had hada pretty bad life before we met and they were hurting but last week they toldme they wanted to break up and move out! That they wanted something forthemselves and that they were acting on that desire and finally being selfishand growing and healing and – and – “

Shit, she’s starting to cry. Awkwardly, he reaches over andpats her shoulder. She coughs and takes a deep breath and noisily blows hernose.

“You can change,”she croaks when she’s done, poking him in the chest. “And grow. People aresimilar, but not the same.”

He shakes his head, smiling a little despite himself. “Shutup, you sound like a motivational poster.”

“Oh my God, fuck you, I’m drunk. Don’t make fun of me.”

“Somebody’s gotta say it.”

She swats at him, and the laugh bursts out of him unexpectedly.She smiles, and party lights dance in her green, green eyes. “Well, you soundlike…like a wet dishtowel. A soggy dirty dishtowel that needs to be thrown inthe washer and then dried in the sun.”

“Damn, nailed it. That’s so me. You’ve got a real way withwords.”

She finishes off her cup of wine in two large gulps. “You’redriving me to drink, you douchewhistle. I hope you know this, and feel suitablyguilty, mister…mister…”

“Soul,” he says. “Soul Evans.”

They shake hands. “That’s a funny name,” says the woman. “I’mMaka Albarn.”

“Ah, so the pot calls the kettle black…”

“This is so unfair, I can never think of any good comebackswhen I’m drunk.”

He laughs again, and he’s laughing an awful lot tonight, isn’the? It’s gotta be the alcohol. He leans his head on the back of his chair andlooks at her. The words are out of his mouth before he knows what he’s saying. “MayI have this dance, Miss Albarn?”

She blinks at him, and then grins. “Of course.”

//

One dance turns into two, then four, then ten. She finds outthat Soul Evans lives in New Mexico and he works as an accountant and that heused to be in a band with Liz and Patty in his twenties. He likes cooking andmusic and movies. He dances really well, for a drunk guy. But then, she’s drunktoo. Still, his form is impeccable; they glide across the dance floor like they’rewalking on air.

“Did you use to be a dancer, or something?” she asks ontheir seventh or eighth turn. Against her, he stiffens ever so slightly. “Nah. Whydo you ask?”

“You just move really well. I’m a ballerina. I know thesethings.”

He shrugs. “I’m just talented, I guess.”

“Or you’ve had lessons.”

“Mmh.”

“No shame in taking lessons! It’s not unmanly or whatever if you want to learn how to dance. Women lovegood dancers.”

“S’not that,” hesays with a roll of his eyes.

“Fine, if you don’t want to tell me, then don’t. Buuut,” she says, a wicked idea comingto her as the song changes, “why don’t we show these chumps what we’re made of?”

“What?” He looks down at her, dark eyes confused.

“I mean,” shesays, grinning excitedly, “that we both know how to dance, so why not bust somemoves? You know how to swing dance?”

“A little…”

“Perfect!” Maka chirps, and then they’re off.

Soul was severely underestimating his own abilities. Makafinds herself unable to stop grinning because she’s finally found a partneroutside her company who can keep up with her, and it’s wonderful. Soul is hesitant at first, but soon he takes the lead,and Maka finds herself being dipped and lifted and twirled with astonishing precision.By the end of it he’s smiling as widely as she is, and when he looks at herthere’s a spark of something wondering and exhilarated in his tired dark eyes.

There’s claps and cheers from the crowd. Someone evenwolf-whistles. Soul only grins lazily, but Maka doesn’t miss the color thatappears in his cheeks.

They spend the rest of the night on the dance floor, separatingonly when Liz or Tsubaki or another friend swoops in for a dance. The last songof the night is a waltz, slow and sweet. They’re both sweaty and hot, but Soulholds her close anyway.

She finds she doesn’t mind.

#soul eater #soulxmaka #soma #soul/maka #se by z #zxanthe writes sometimes #ask fic #thanks 4 sending in a prompt bro :) #this was fun #anonymous #Anonymous

[buckyswinterchildren]

A Perfect Encounter - Part 5 (end)

Bucky Barnes x Reader AU!

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Summary: sometimes, being at the wrong place at the right time means that your life can change.  

A/N: The last part of the series for @just-some-drabbles celebration! I am so happy for being part of it. I wanted to thank you for every enthusiastic comment you left in this series; you already know what I think of you, so I appreciate them a lot. (And thanks for the extension too!)

Tags: @supersoldierslover  @barnesandnoble13 @amrita31199 @jeleners143 @storiesbyvmkessel @memory-of-a-goldfish @satans-knitting-club @flaipa @hollycornish @emolordisme @mileysebschmidt @assbutt-son-of-a-bitch

@sebstanchrisevanchickforever19 @clockworkballerina (I wanted to apologize with you since I did not get your notifications, I saw them when editing this last part.)

(Credits to the owner of the gif)

Last night, when you arrived from L.A., you went straight to bed. You had had an awful flight since right by your side there was a woman with her weeping baby boy.

You enjoy travelling by plane, but this time, you wanted the flight to end as soon as possible.

In the morning when you wake up, the luggage is by your bed, waiting to be emptied; task that you will do later on.

After a long and relaxing shower, you put on your pajamas (a sign that your plan for the day is to spend it at your apartment) and have breakfast while you watch “Stranger Things.”

Half an hour later, as soon as you click on the option “Next episode,” you hear that your cellphone starts to ring in your bedroom.

Great. Your plans of spending all Saturday doing nothing is impossible. Right now, you find yourself in a coffee-shop, waiting for someone you do not even know.

Nat was who called you earlier, and not to give you good news, as she told you that a lawyer wanted to see you.

“A lawyer?! What? Why? How do you know all this?” you asked desperately.

“I don´t know how he reached me, but there is an issue he wants to discuss with you.”

“Shit! Nat, can you be more specific? What happened? What did he say?”

“I don´t know, but he seemed nice. I mean, I don´t think you are in trouble.”

That is all the information Nat gave you, as well as the place where you should meet this lawyer.

“How the fuck am I going to know who he is?” you started losing your temperament.

“Well, he will recognize you, Y/N.”

“Nat, I do not understand any of this,” you said as you had your head in your hand. “Can you please come with me?”

Natasha answered that, as soon as she finished her work, she will make you company.

The last thing you want, and you had in mind this morning, is to have problems with the law.

The waitress has already come to your table but you said you are waiting for someone and that you will ask for the menu later on.

As if.

You are nervous, of course, which means your body would not tolerate any food or not even a drop of water.

You made sure to sit by one of the glass walls of the building so you can see if there is someone who looks like a frightening lawyer who may be looking for you.

“Nat, hurry up!” you think as you start biting your nails. “What the fuck am I doing here?” you ask yourself again and again. 

You take your cellphone out from your bag and start texting Nat: “Please, tell me you are coming because I am about to leave.”

She answers almost immediately: “No! Don´t. Leave. I am finishing, I promess.”

You tap your fingers on the light brown table, still looking at the pedestrians: a teenage boy wearing a t-shirt of The Clash, a girl and her mother by the hand, a tall man wearing a cap and talking by the phone. But none seems to be looking for you.

“Does he even know the word “punctual”? you think as you get from the chair, impulsively, and walk towards the front door, already tired and impatient of waiting.

You decide to wait on the street where you can walk from one place to another instead of being uncomfortable in a chair.

You start to descend the stairs of the coffee-shop with your head down, when suddenly you collide with somebody.

“Oh, I´m sorry,” you apologize before looking at the person. “Bucky!” you say surprised, when you raise your head. “Are we always going to meet like this?”

“I am also glad to see you again,” Bucky answers.

“Ok, let´s start this all over again. ´Hi, Bucky! How are you` ´Oh, Y/N fine and you?` ´Fine! It is so good to see you again`.” Bucky laughs as he sees you acting as if you were him. “Don´t tell me you have a blind date right here?” you ask as you look at the inside of the coffee-shop where a couple of people are still having breakfast.

“Not exactly a blind date, but-” while Bucky talks, you keep looking among the crowd.

“Bucky, I would like to talk to you right now but I am actually waiting-”

Another message from Natasha interrupts you and you read it immediately.

“And? Is the hot lawyer, Barnes, there? ;)”

What?

You  frown, confused, as you read the message for the second time and then look at Bucky, trying to find an answer in his face. “You- you were the one who called Natasha? How did you reach her?”  

On the one hand, you are relieved to know that the misterious lawyer is not other than Bucky Barnes. On the other hand, you do not know how to feel about him reaching Natasha and having him in front of you right now.

“You owed me your name,” is all that Bucky says as he gives you the famous piece of paper you had written nights ago and that you had totally forgotten about.

“I am gonna be honest, you were the last person I was expecting to see today, Bucky. But I am glad that it is you. Besides, I needed this piece of paper to keep putting it on random men´s tables at bars,” you joked. 

You met him by accident and you didn´t expect to see him again. After the encounter, you always thought of him as one of those people that come to your life by chance, but that you do not see them again. More if you take into account you are in New York City. For you, he was these hot, funny and interesting man you met one night.

“I already know your name,” Bucky confesses as he looks at you with affection. “But I had to find you.”

You grin. “It seems my topics of conversations are interesting enough for you to look for me.”

“Excuse me,” an old lady interrupts as she wants to ascend the stairs and you are in her way.

“I´m sorry,” both of you say as you move to the right.

“Why don´t we better go for a walk?” you ask Bucky, maybe you are lucky enough to have a nerd conversation like the day you met. “I need to know what has happened to my favourite stripper in New York.”

“You still remember the stripper thing?!” Bucky asks you as you walk towards nowhere in particular. Now he feels comfortable, he does not have to pretend to be someone else nor he has to hide who he is.

“Of course I still remember that! How do you think you conquered me?” You put your hands in your coat pockets to keep them warm. “How have you been, Bucky? What happened with your failed blind-date? Did you have a second chance?”

“Yeah, I had a second chance.”

“And? Did she tell you why she didn´t go the first time?”

“Well, she did go. Actually, it was me who did not go since I went to the wrong place.”

“What?! You trying to find out what was the book I was reading while that poor girl was waiting for you in another place?.” You laugh at his mistake. “And how was the date?”

“Well, you can say I am a survivor,” Bucky answers, uninterested of what happened the day he could finally meet Kirsten.

“Uh, nice word; you invented it?” you joke.

“No, I was just citing a famous philosopher.”

“I imagined. You have to thank your friend for the date he set up.”

“Oh, don´t worry, he is already forgiven.” 

“Did you really have a bad time in your blind-date?”

Unconsciously -or maybe not, you end up walking towards the park where everything started. 

“It was not what I was expecting.”

“Oh, it seems you are Mr. High Expections, uh?”

“Thanks to you,” is what Bucky answers, with no hesitations.

“Do I have to believe you? Although I´ve been told I cannot be surpassed.”

“No, I really mean it,” Bucky says with conviction. “I did not enjoy being with Kirsten, not even for a second. I had you in my mind all the time, I thought about our conversations, about the jokes we made, even about how fucking misterious you resulted when you left that paper on the table.”

“If I were a judge and those were your arguments, I would sentence in your favour, you know that?” However, you can see that this time, Bucky is speaking sincerely from his heart, so you leave your jokes and your irony behind. “And thank you for saying that.”

The day is cold so there aren´t so many people in the park. On the contrary, it is so quiet that you can even hear the sound of the trees as the wind blows through them.

You sit in one the benches of the park, right in front of a font.

“Bucky, I don´t want to break this moment of confessions but we are having a much deeper conversation and I also like this side of you. We better keep in touch.”

“I am sure we will.”

Oh, the hints.

For a moment, you two keep in silence; in a completely comfortable silence while looking at the water of the font, and at the trees and their leaves turning orange and yellow. 

You break the silence by asking: “How did you meet Natasha?” 

“Thanks to Steve and your article.”

“My article? You know about it?” As Bucky nods, you continue: “ok, but I don´t see how those things relate.”

“Well, it all happened in just one day.” Bucky starts describing you the events of the day when all the dots connected.

You are so distracted in the story that the cold breeze is not a problem.

“Oh god, I cannot believe it. I mean, it seems the universe arranged a blind-date for us: you going to the wrong park, me reading a book we both like and we choosing the same bench in a huge park.” 

“And now you know why Steve is forgiven. It was a perfect encounter, as you wrote. I believed that. Or now we can say it was the perfect blind-date.”

“And are we supposed to be survivors this time?”

“I don´t know, you tell me,” Bucky looks at you with hope and love.

“We would have to try and see, wouldn´t we? Perhaps I can write another article about you. Perhaps you become my muse, Bucky. And thank you for looking for me. I am gonna be honest: I did think of you when I was in L.A., but I thought you were supposed to be just another fleeting love.”

“I am glad we do not fit in that category,” Bucky answers as he apporaches you and rests his forehead on yours.

You close your eyes as you enjoy the peace that surrounds you, his voice, his scent... and now his lips. His soft lips kiss you delicately, taking their time to get to know yours.

Bucky holds you by your neck, still ecstatic of meeting you again and finally kissing you. He does not want anyone else and he is thankful for the day he left his apartment, took the wrong subway and got to the wrong destination.

Your hands get lost in his hair. You still cannot belive that all this time you spent in L.A., Bucky was trying to find you. You laughed with him from the very beginning until your last minute you stayed with him at the bar. A clear sign that he complements your strange and sarcastic humour. A clear sign that he is for you.

“Thank you, Nat. First for not being able to meet me at the bar a few weeks ago and well... you know the rest,” is what you are going to message Natasha later on.

What would have happened if Bucky had gone to the place he was actually supposed to go? It is better to not think about certain things.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes au #sebastian stan x reader #james barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #james barnes AU!