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b4mpyre-k1zz3s · 6 months

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YESSS IM SO EXCITED YOU WRITE FOR RYAN FHDNDBFBFJ. Would you write like reader is part of the CKY crew and they’ve both had crushes on each other and like a gary flirting and then she’s thinking it’s unrequited so she gets like a Bf and I wanna know how ryan would feel about this like i wanna see his jealousy and shit talking with bam fjjfgnnkdjffnhy (sorry i had to much caffeine with my meds this morning lol) WHHDHDJAN THANK YOUUUU!!!!

Drunk Love

Y/N and Ryan are best friends, blissfully unaware of eachother’s feelings.

Ryan Dunn X Fem!Reader

(Fluff)

2k Words

Warnings: Suggestive content, nudity, alcohol, description of injury, fighting, jealousy, crude language

An: Thank you for the request!! I had a fun time writing more in depth for Ryan! If anyone is wondering why Bam always sleeps naked in my fics it’s because of a story he told on Radio Bam! You can find it on YouTube under “Bam Gets Caught”, but it’s not the onky time to my memory that he’s talked about sleeping naked XD! Besides that, I actually had a couple requests i combined to create this fic so I included the ones I didn’t reply to directly but still used below! :)

“Watchin’ the little back n’ forth thing you’ve got with her’s painful. I mean-“ Bam leaned over on his side, propping his head up with a hand while laying on the adjacent bed, “Just quit the pussy shit, dude.” Ryan ran a hand through his blonde, sweat soaked hand as the sounds of the running shower made white noise in the background. “It’s not easy, man! I mean, I’ve known her since we've been in diapers.” Sighing, Ryan finally looked at Bam, “I'm sorry- I just can’t take you seriously when you’re naked.” It was a casualty of their closeness that he was very comfortable being nude in front of his best friend, but he didn’t seem to care in the slightest, moving to get up, “You know what? If you’re not gonna tell her, I will.”

“No way! She’s in the shower!” Like a startled animal, Bam broke into a sprint on a dime, nearly reaching the bathroom door handle before Ryan hurled himself off of the bed, tackling him to the scratchy hotel room carpet. His vision was a blur of un-vacuumed orange carpet and pale man skin as the two wrestled, thumping and rolling around and cursing through clenched teeth. But in an act of perfect timing, that’s exactly when you opened the bathroom door. Wrapped in a white towel, hot steam billowed around you as you stared down at the scene at your feet- Ryan pinning a completely exhausted Bam down on his back by his skinny little arms as he straddled him, the two of them making direct eye contact with you. Your mind went blank. “I, uh…did I interrupt something…?”

“It’s wrestling!” They seemed to speak in unison. Bam added hurriedly, “It’s a guy thing.” Panicking and trying to find a way out of this situation, Ryan played along, “Yeah, yeah- total guy thing.” You raised an eyebrow, “So, you wrestle naked?” Easily slipping out from under him and not caring if you saw him, Bam walked into the bathroom, squeezing past you as you still stood shocked in the doorway, “Yeah, Greco-Roman style. Totally!”

You and Ryan sat on top of the covers on his bed as you dried off, only half watching tv. There was some sort of tension between you and him that you really couldn't place. Maybe it was you thinking about technically sharing a bed with him. Maybe it was him thinking about you in that towel. Sniffing the air, Ryan broke the silent tension, “What's that smell?” You sighed in relief that you finally had something to talk about, accidentally replying a little too eagerly, “Oh! I bought some new shampoo.” He sat up a little bit straighter next to you, glancing down at you curiously, “Any, uh- any reason?” You shrugged, “Nah, just felt like it.” Ryan smiled at you. “It’s nice.”

Ryan could hardly remember what stunt he got hurt doing, but the blood dripping into his right eye from the gash on his forehead blurred his vision as he tried to get his bearings. His head spun as he pulled himself up from the pavement, little bits of gravel and dirt caked into his skin and hair. There goes that shower. At least it makes for good footage, he thought, as the rest of the crew cheered while looking back at the footage through the display of Rick’s camcorder.

But just as the cameras turned off, in came Y/N. Oh, Y/N. You kneeled down in front of the dazed man, and you could practically see the little birds and stars flying around Ryan’s head as you reached into your pocket, pulling out some first aid supplies. After a few years of this, you learned to keep this kind of stuff on you due to the nature of what you did- either that, or you'd have to drive bam to the ER again with another horribly infected wound while he wailed in the backseat like a baby. Tearing open the alcohol wipe with your teeth, you gingerly moved the wet curls that stuck to your best friend’s forehead before wiping the cut tenderly, little streaks of red showing through the thin wipe.

There was something in the way that you cleaned his wounds and tended to him better than any of the guys- or hell, better than he ever cared for himself. The alcohol stung and he winced, hissing air through his teeth. You chuckled, “Oh, don’t be a baby…” Your body was so close to him that Ryan could feel the heat radiating off of you as you blew gently on the alcohol soaked cut, the liquid rapidly drying on his face. Oh. Oh, yeah. Yep. He was getting a hard on.

Luckily, you didn’t seem to notice as you finished up, shoving the used wipes into your pocket, “There, all better!” Ryan chuckled and, for just a second, you lingered there, maybe a little too close to him for a little too long. But it felt so normal- so right. After a few heartbeats, you pulled away a little reluctantly. He smiled as you gave him a hand, helping him up while he was still a little dizzy, “Hey, thanks for that…”

“It’s nothing! Don’t worry about it.”

Bam groaned childishly, “If you like her so much, just fuckin’ say it!” Ryan relented that it still hadn’t gotten through his thick skull while he nursed that head injury from earlier with a bag of frozen peas. “She’s already got a boyfriend. It’s not gonna happen!” He was an asshole of a boyfriend too, Ryan thought, real scum. He was always so close to you whenever you all hung out as a group, just hanging off of you like he couldn’t stand by himself. Maybe Dunn felt a little envious of all of your body heat that was being absorbed by that dirtbag, but he would never say that to you. “I mean, he’s a fucking dick, but…” All he received from the other man was a shrug in return. “So? I’ve fucked chicks with boyfriends.” Bam sneered, making his way to the door, “Why don’t you just get’er name tattooed on your forehead if you’re so into her?” It’s not like Bam could get the point if he sat on it and it stuck in his ass. Rolling his eyes, Ryan didn’t even notice until his buddy was about hallway down the hall till he heard the echo of his voice, “Hey, Y/N! Listen, I got-“

Before he could even think, he was out in that hallway after him, jumping on Bam before he could finish his sentence. He landed right at your feet, nearly on the toes of your shoes. You peered over the scene as the two, fully clothed this time thank god, tussled in front of you, grunting and muttering cuss words beneath their breath. Eventually, he got Bam’s head pinned firmly to the ground and he looked up at you with those wide, baby blue eyes, cracking a tired smile as he caught his breath. “Hey…” You had to resist blushing, reminding yourself that your heart really shouldn’t be beating as fast for your best friend. “Where’re you two going?” Bam squirmed, muttering something that got spoken over. “The, uh- the bar! We’re going to the bar! You wanna join?”

That act of quick thinking actually worked better than he had planned. Ryan’s half thought out excuse led him to score what was basically- practically a date with you. The only problem was that his wingman was also the biggest cockblock in history. “So,” You leaned towards Ryan, scoping the place out idly, “you wanna get a table?” He glanced over to Bam for an answer, maybe even some smart ass response, but nope. Nothing. In the few minutes you three were there, he had already left and picked up a chick at the bar. Dunn was on his own and maybe not thinking clearly, but he replied anyway, “Uh…yeah, sure!”

“God…” Ryan’s head buzzed as he gazed at you from across the table, maybe just a little too close as he chuckled, “you’ll never guess what Bam told me earlier…” Giggly, you didn’t even think to move, breathing in the same booze scented air as him, “What…?” Your mouth moved lazily and the same was true for Ryan as he murmured, “He said I should get’cher name tattooed- On m’forehead.” He gestured with a finger to the top of his head. “Oh, that idiot…” You smiled, leaning forward just enough that your foreheads touched. While intoxicated, it didn’t seem like that bad of an idea- but not his face. His face was too cute, but maybe the arm. That would look nice, yeah. In fact, it was kinda romantic. Sighing, you sat there for a while, your eyelashes brushing against each others before speaking up, “M’tired…” Ryan looked at you through heavy lids as you slurred, your eyes falling, “Can I go back’t your room tonight?”

God, it was like fireworks were going off inside of Ryan’s head, soldiers giving a twenty one gun salute, angels singing, eccetera. Maybe, just maybe- maaaaybe this might be a sign you liked him back, but god it just felt too good to be true. Even with a stomach full of booze, all he could barely stutter out was, “Uh, sure. Yeah.”

So that’s how you ended up in Ryan’s bed. Sure, you were fully clothed but nonetheless it meant something. The bed felt so nice, so warm and cozy with the two of you in it; hotel beds are made to be shared, you thought, feeling the heat from his body press against your back, not noticing how quickly his heart was beating against you. Ryan thanked god. Slowly but very surely, the two of you were both drifting off to sleep when he piped up, his lips barely moving against your neck as he spoke. What he meant to say was, ‘I think I like you.’ but it came out more like,“I think I love you….I mean, I have for a while.” Time stopped as Ryan felt his face get hot, holding a breath. He felt the giggle reverberate through your body as you dreamily smiled up at him, making eye contact the best you could while reclining to rest your head on his shoulder, speaking just barely above a whisper, “I love you too.” Just like that, you fell asleep, leaving Ryan awake to process what the hell just happened to him.

You were still soundly asleep when the man you were snuggled up against blinked his eyes open, rolling over to face the warmth behind him. “W-what…dude!” Ryan whisper-yelled, “Get out!” Bam simply threw his arm over him, murmuring while half asleep, “Go back’t sleep…”

#jackass #ryan dunn #bam margera #jackass fanfiction #jackass fanfic #fluff #jackass x reader #ryan dunn x reader

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juceynightmare · 1 year

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dating 101 (18+) part 2 - cody rhodes x reader

my masterlist

dating 101 (18+) masterlist

pairing(s): cody rhodes x reader, roman reigns x reader

warning(s): swearing, mentions of alcohol and marijuana usage

genre(s): college!au, slow burn, fluff

|| previous part || next part ||

y/n awoke to her alarm blaring across the room,. she groaned and shoved her face deeper into her pillow, waiting a few more seconds to see how much longer she could tolerate the noise. eventually though, y/n pushed herself out of her bed and mindlessly walked over to where her phone sat on her desk. orientation day. she thought to herself, reaching her arms above her head as she stretched. y/n grabbed her basket of toiletries, slipped on her slippers, and opened her door, propping it open as she always does. she nodded to cody, who had also just opened his door, and the two walked into the bathroom together.

the two had fallen into this morning routine seamlessly, finding out that they woke up around the same time everyday, and so, they had already gotten used to doing their morning routines alongside each other.

although the bathroom had four sinks, cody and y/n would always use adjacent sinks for their morning routine. it had started the day after they met, when y/n realized she had forgotten her mouthwash and cody offered for her to use his. it had only been 5 days since the ted, cody, and y/n initially met, but the trio had clicked instantly despite their different backgrounds. they balanced each other out in an odd way.

y/n brushed her teeth, staring at cody through the mirror while pulling odd faces to make him laugh as he did the same.

she remembers her hometown friends’ reactions when she sent them a selfie of her hanging out with cody and ted in her room. she thought the photo was innocent enough: y/n was in the middle smiling widely at the camera with ted and cody on either side of her, their faces pushed close together so that they were all in frame. the only thing that she would count as “scandalous” about the photo would be y/n’s flushed cheeks from drinking, and ted and cody’s obviously bloodshot eyes as they were cross-faded beyond belief.

[y/n] they’re almost as cool as you guys, i do need some more girl friends though. the testosterone is sickening everytime they start trying to out-man the other.

[indi] girl is that cody? the dude that got a girl pregnant freshman year and she got an abortion cody? the hot wrestling superstar?

[candice] do you remember when we’d only go watch men’s wrestling for him and y/n didn’t even bother to look at him or hear us out because “he literally looks like everyone else” and she never came to another wrestling event with us

[indi] and NOW she’s casually hang out with him? AND they're obviously drinking and getting high. y/n where’s our invite?

[y/n] guys PLEASEEE it took me a while to recognize him too, i just know him as wrestling superstar and have only really gotten a good look of him in the yearbook before i met him here. we’ve literally been hanging out basically 24/7 since i moved in.

[y/n] oh, and he DOES IN FACT just look like your average guy

[y/n] i still stand by that statement!! i said what i said!

[indi] and what about his physique

[y/n] he’s way more jacked than his face makes out to be

[candice] ok but does he have a kid or what

[indi] 100 bucks says he’s going to be our innocent little y/n’s first kiss

[candice] 200.

[y/n] he doesn’t have a kid and no fucking way i have standards you know!! i’ll put 300 down that he will NOT be my first kiss BUT i WILL have my first kiss this year i’m manifesting it right now, you two are witnesses.

she giggled at the memory, to which cody pointed accusingly at her through the mirror. he spit out his toothpaste, washing off his toothbrush bristles afterwards. “i won, again.” cody mused, his voice still deep with the early morning.

y/n rolled her eyes, spitting out her own toothpaste and washing off her toothbrush as cody rinsed his mouth with mouthwash. “fuck off, i wasn’t laughing at you. i was just thinking about this convo i had with my girls the other day.” she defended herself, which earned her a not-so-convincing “uh-huh” from cody.

she reached into her toiletry bag for her mouthwash that she had bought while out with cody and ted, rinsing her mouth. she spit out the mouthwash after gargling and swishing the mouthwash in her mouth. y/n used her hand to cup water and washed off her mouth. she dried off her mouth with her small washcloth

“we’re in the same group, right?” cody asked, closing up his own toiletry bag. he grabbed a hairtie and brush out of y/n’s toiletry bag and stood behind the girl. cody began to brush back y/n’s hair into a makeshift ponytail, making sure even her babyhairs weren’t in the way of her face, before tying it up. “i’m usually out with the hot girls down the hall and ted gets to spend all day with you to himself until i come back, so take this as your own special cody time for the day.” y/n remembers him musing to her about 3 days ago, when she questioned why cody was waiting up on her when he was far done with his morning routine and was just waiting for her to finish her skincare routine. and so, y/n had jokingly told him to do something useful instead of waiting for her and to her surprise, cody had taken it upon himself to tie her hair up while she got her skincare items out.

“yeah. although i don’t know if i even want to stay for the whole event. did you see how long it’s going to be? we start at 8 and the events don’t end until 6! and then there’s a football game they’re supposedly taking us to at the stadium to wrap it all up! i honestly might just skip that and come back. god knows how fast my social battery runs out when i’m with a large group of people.” y/n huffed, staring into the mirror and beginning her skincare routine.

her gaze would flicker to cody behind her, who would be playing with the girl’s hair by flicking it around. she’ll admit, the first time cody did it y/n was left with a light blush on her cheeks, but that was simply because she had never been so physically close to another human being since being friends with ted and cody. she was quick to find out that the two men were very handsy, and she means respectful handsy. when they were in a crowded street in downtown, she would feel both of their hands against her shoulders, guiding her through the crowd so they wouldn’t lose her. of course, with y/n not being used to so much skinship, would oftentimes hold on to the bottom of their shirts so they wouldn’t have to completely have her against their sides.

“maybe if you weren’t so short we wouldn’t have to walk you through a crowd.” ted would tease her, while cody would muse out “i’m telling you, we should get one of those winnie the pooh backpacks with a leash.”

“but the football game! you gotta come, it’s the first game of the season and i heard the cheerleaders are absolutely stunning.” cody whined, his morning voice fading away as he spoke more. cody stopped playing with y/n’s hair, stepping off to the girl’s side. he turned so his back was to the mirror and reached for his phone in his pocket. he put on clinton kane, knowing y/n’s favorite artist since that was all the girl would listen to in the car, and set his phone on the counter.

“exactly. the cheerleaders are absolutely stunning which means you’re going to flirt with them - or someone else in our group - and bring them back to your room. which means that ted and i will be in my room watching a movie or we’ll be with aj and paige down the hall.” y/n pointed out, nodding her head to the music. cody smiled at her comment, turning back around so he could face the mirror. he began to flex his arms, checking himself out in his reflection.

“do you think they look good?” cody asked, to which earned him a slap on the chest from y/n. he winced in pain initially, laughing off the pain afterwards. “i’ll take that as a yes!”

she rolled her eyes, quickly finishing up her morning routine just as ted walked into the bathroom. “morning teddy!” she greeted him, while cody fistbumped his roommate. ted groaned out something that sounded like a “good morning” in reply before walking into a stall and locking the door.

“come by my room later for some clif bars, i heard the dining commons are only letting people come in with their orientation group when its their group’s time for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. i don’t need you two boys whining in my ears later on about how hungry you are.” she told them, packing up her toiletry bag and shutting it.

“sir yes sir” cody saluted jokingly, which earned him a wide smile from y/n. ted had let out a “yes ms. y/n. of course, ms. y/n” from his stall and y/n and cody left the bathroom.

the two went their separate ways to go get dressed, y/n waving at cody before closing the door behind her.

there was a long day ahead of her, and y/n wasn’t sure if she would be ready for it. at least she had cody in her group, meaning she wouldn’t have to awkwardly stand there and struggle to make friends for a minute or so.

not even 20 minutes later, y/n heard knocking on her door. she finished folding up her pajamas and laid them out on her bed before walking over and unlocking her door. she opened it slightly, walking over to her desk as cody let himself in the room. he propped her door open by the magnet and whistled as he looked over y/n’s outfit. “damn sweetheart, you dressing up all for me?” he teased, walking over to y/n’s minifridge and grabbing a clif bar from the basket that was on top of it.

y/n rolled her eyes at his comment, although she felt her face warm up as a result. “never in a million years, cody. and i’ll have you know, it’s going to be insanely hot today and i don’t want to overheat” she defended herself, reaching for her lotion on her desk and squeezing some on to her hand.

she didn’t think she dressed up all that nicely, but rather she dressed appropriately for the weather that day: a simple black cargo skirt with some chains for accessories and a white and blue cropped argyle sweater vest.

she applied lotion to all parts of her skin that was showing as ted walked into the room. “who are you trying to impress y/n? you look good.” ted mused, catching one of the clif bars that cody tossed over to him. “hey codes, make sure some trash guy doesn’t try any funky business with ms. y/n here, he has to be able to do more push-ups than us if he thinks he even has a chance with her.” he continued, walking over to where cody was as he opened up his clif bar.

ted slung his arm over cody’s shoulder, the other man doing the same to him as they ate their clif bars while watching y/n put on her shoes. the two men got along better than they thought they would, and ted had made it clear to cody that he no longer cared if cody wanted to bring over girls and cody let the other know the same. after all, they had a person across the hall who would happily let them take up space in her room.

“at this point, i feel like i should be telling you two boys to watch yourselves.” y/n laughed, holding up her hand for cody to toss her one of the clif bars as well. she caught it, opened it up, and took a bite out of it. “ok i’m ready, let’s go. cody can you bring my bag?”

ted laughed and pat cody’s back as the latter whined about having to carry out y/n’s tote bag for her. “as much as i’d love to be part of y/n’s group, at least i’m not her little tote bag holder today.” he teased, following y/n out of the room.

cody slung y/n’s tote bag over his shoulder, making sure her phone, wallet, keys, and water bottle were in it before following the two out, shutting and locking the door behind them.

the three made their way out to the quad area where all the students were meeting, ted having split off early on to go find where his group was meeting. currently, y/n was holding on to the bottom of cody’s shirt, walking slightly behind him through the mess of students trying to find their orientation leaders with their large picket signs with a number. she trusted cody enough to be able to not only navigate through the crowd, but to also find the correct group.

y/n hadn’t expected cody to stop suddenly, causing her to crash into his back and let out a small yelp. cody gently took hold of her wrist and pulled her out from behind him, leaning down to whisper in her ear, “don’t worry, i don’t think anyone noticed you embarassing yourself.” he let go of her wrist, laughing as she gently nudged cody’s side.

y/n looked around, realizing that they were standing in a circle with, who she assumes, is their orientation leader in the middle. looking around the group, she counted way too many people for her liking and hoped she didn’t have to do any horrible icebreakers.

“alright it’s 8! welcome everyone to your first year at university! my name is hunter and i’ll be your orientation leader for today! so to start off, let’s begin with an icebreaker! we’ll go around in a circle saying our names, our major, and a fun fact about yourself! i’ll start.” hunter spoke out, loud enough for them to hear him amongst the chaos.

y/n couldn’t believe she jinxed herself.

|| next part ||

#cody rhodes x reader #cody rhodes #cody rhodes fanfiction #cody rhodes imagine #wwe #wwe x reader #wwe fanfic #wwe fanfiction #roman reigns x reader #roman reigns fanfiction #roman reigns fanfic

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idol-emu-otori-official-archived · 7 months

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╰┈➤ SHUFFLE AU

DESTINATION POINT (DP)

the Leo/need adjacent unit, composed of Ichika Hoshino, Airi Momoi, Ena Shinonome, and Minori Hanasato. ☆ a girl who's lost her friendships, and three others searching for their worth.

about the group's name: ♡ originally, i had "from here to there" in mind, but someone from the Discord gave me the name "destination point" and i thought it was much better, so i went with that. ♪

about the SEKAI: ♡ the Train SEKAI. no one knows when it left, or where it's going - just that it never stops. it's the perfect place for those who feel like they're lagging behind. just close your eyes and let yourself be carried away, right? but maybe there's something you can do… starts with a Miku and a Rin. the former's hardworking and talented, but the latter struggles - Rin is somewhat influenced by Ena's (and, to a lesser extent, Airi's) jealousy towards others.

•

Ichika hasn't managed to rekindle her friendship with her friends, and she's not doing particularly well. At one point, she meets Airi - who just quit being an idol. The two start talking and become friends, at which point they end up forming a band together. Airi wants to try finding a place where she could finally be taken seriously.

Ena's invited by Airi, and Minori - who had failed auditions recently - ends up inspired by Ichika's kindness, Airi's drive and Ena's determination, which is how she joins. (Haruka completely gave up on being an idol; something Minori is saddened by.)

In my mind, Ichika plays the guitar; Airi, the drums; Minori, the keyboard and Ena, the bass.

IDEAL HEAVEN! (IH)

the MORE MORE JUMP! adjacent unit, composed of Mafuyu Asahina, Emu Otori, Mizuki Akiyama and Shizuku Hinomori. ☆ an up-and-coming idol group that combines cuteness and sophistication.

about the SEKAI: ♡ quite similar to the Empty SEKAI, but with some idol influences - a broken stage with no one in sight. there's no bright lights, no colorful props. nothing. that SEKAI both comforts and pains Mafuyu. home to a lone Miku. sweet, hopeful, but genuinely crushed by the pressure she's feeling.

•

Mafuyu's mother wants a perfect child. idols are very frequently represented as being perfect - so, she decides that her daughter should become one, too. Mafuyu's not keen on the idea, but that's her mother; she's obedient, so she goes along with it.

Shizuku still quit Cheerful * Days, but instead of stopping altogether she ends up with Mafuyu. Emu wants to make people smile, but no one ever came; Wonderlands × Showtime was never a thing. so she decides to become an idol instead, even if it means she'll never bring back the Wonder Stage to its former state.

Mizuki's half-dragged into IDEAL HEAVEN! by Emu, who saw them looking with interest at idol merch. after bringing them to meet Mafuyu and Shizuku, Mizuki ends up accepting - the idea of wearing cute clothes and being called cute doesn't seem too terrible.

READY MADE SUCCESS (RMS)

the Vivid BAD SQUAD adjacent unit, composed of Haruka Kiritani, An Shiraishi, Shiho Hinomori and Akito Shinonome. ☆ two street musicians chasing after their dream, and the two girls they brought with them.

about the SEKAI: ♡ the Street SEKAI. weirdly, it seems Haruka's idol background has somewhat influenced its appearance. its inhabitants are Miku, Meiko and Len. this Miku is levelheaded, but it seems like there's something holding her back from going all-in...

•

after quitting being an idol, Haruka is invited by An to join her.

An's never met Kohane, and she never found a partner. Haruka is hesitant for a moment before deciding to give it a shot, though she keeps struggling with singing. Shiho tries getting more experience, meets Akito. no one really knows how these two ended together, but they both have a similar drive and take music very seriously.

eventually, they all start working together. Haruka deals with her guilt and, while she doubts she'll become an idol again, she's mostly made peace with what happened.

STARLIGHT ☆ EVERMORE (S ☆ E)

the Wonderlands × Showtime adjacent unit, composed of Tsukasa Tenma, Saki Tenma, Kanade Yoisaki and Toya Aoyagi. ☆ a strange troupe of people who aim to help others through their performances.

about the SEKAI: ♡ still very much Tsukasa's, so it's the Wonderland SEKAI. [kanade goes there for the first time and dies. alas, they're still a shut-in and this place is simply too colorful for her poor eyes.] starts with a Miku and a Kaito, though this version of the former uses far less onomatopoeias.

Tsukasa figures he needs to show the world how much of a star he is himself, and he drags his siblings into it (with varying degrees of willingness).

a part of Saki still wishes she could be in a band with her friends; she's only somewhat managed to repair her friendship with Ichika. but she's still happy to do something fun and lighthearted after all her struggles. Toya's very excited to do something with Tsukasa and his siblings. he also gets to stick it to his dad, which, honestly - is a bonus.

out of the three, Kanade is obviously the most hesitant about the whole thing. but she sees Tsukasa's drive to make others happy, something she shares with him, so she ends up agreeing. Kanade is… slightly healthier physically on account of the stubborn people looking after her, as well as all the exercise she does she does as part of Starlight ☆ Evermore. mentally? eh… we'll get there. i need her traumatized to be interesting. <3

LONELY SYNDROME (LS)

the 25-ji, Nightcord de. adjacent unit, composed of Nene Kusanagi, Rui Kamishiro, Honami Mochizuki and Kohane Azusawa. ☆ hidden behind avatars, these citizens of the web tell stories online.

about the SEKAI: ♡ the arcade SEKAI. this Miku is shy and withdrawn, though she one day hopes she'll be able to break out of her shell, just like Nene. alongside her is Luka - she has a bit of a teasing attitude and a catlike personality, but she always does her best to boost Nene's confidence.

about the group's name: ♡ syndrome refers to a group of symptoms - i paired it with the word lonely because i felt like it represented the atmosphere of an arcade. you're connected with people who share your interests, but at the same time, you're sort of separate from them. surrounded by people, but utterly alone…

•

Nene's social anxiety hasn't gotten better over the years. since she never joins Wonderlands × Showtime, she doesn't learn how to fight her stage fright.

but, she finds an alternate solution; using an avatar online. it's less stress-inducing, and it lets her pursue acting, in a way - it's not what Nene wants, but it's close enough. she figures she could be satisfied with that. Rui ends up figuring out what she's doing, and asks if he can help. Nene doesn't really have any reason to say no, so they start working together.

as for Honami and Kohane, they ended up on Nene's channel by pure accident. but her performances quickly became a comfort to them, since they were struggling at the time (the former because she no longer had her friends, the latter because of her lack of confidence).

unfortunately, ignoring your problems only goes so far, and eventually, her feelings give birth to the arcade SEKAI.

#// ooc #shuffle au #didn't bother detailing every SEKAI - they're mostly staying the same #destination point is accidentally very similar to richie's unit 💔#and ideal heaven! also. oh well. i didn't do it on purpose..........#my favorite out of these five is lonely syndrome & starlight ☆ evermore :D #which is evident because a) i developed lonely syndrome's story the most and b) starlight ☆ evermore has all my favorite characters #pushing my tenma agenda <3 #lonely syndrome is like… dear to me because i struggle with very bad social anxiety and it's held me back so many times #so i relate to nene a bunch #i wish i could just - go out there and show people what i'm capable of doing. but i just freeze in place each time. it's easier to just…#give up. y'know? it hurts less.#and fun fact: lonely syndrome's luka is more or less based on rui? he's an important person in nene's life so you know -#i figured that it would influence one of the virtual singers. i love nene and rui's friendship ww #i put Kanade in the WxS-adjacent group because i wanted her to die <3 #also. the potential of others finding out that this pathetic wet cat? is in a theater troupe?? insane. i think it's hilarious.#ready made success is a name i settled with despite not being very satisfied of it - so changes might happen!#there's some angst potential in there. i put some for emu too :3c #anyway. enough rambling in tags. i feel bad 💔#i'm insanen over them. if you have any questions - feel free to ask. teehee <3

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littlewestern · 7 months

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Day 2: Bridge

“Have y’all thought about extending the main line?”

Pilot winced. It was an innocent enough question. Would that they didn’t have to field it three times a day. Normally he’d leave this one to the volunteers or crew, but on a slow, hot day in Barn 9, he was on his own.

In the old days, before he and his train were the resident celebrities, Pilot might have tried to answer… comprehensively. Probably earning himself a stern word from his coaches and the higher-ups, and failing to really answer the question in the process. He knows better now.

The problem was that the museum truly did make it look effortless. Most visitors didn’t have to give a second thought to the amount of work that it took to lay and maintain five miles of track. Good track. Track that could stand up to the wild swings of Midwestern weather and bear the weight of year-round usage. The scattered piles of sleepers appeared as unremarkable background noise to the average museum-goer. Props, necessary to set the scene and dress the place up like a real railway. That they ran trains at all was the most unique thing about the museum. Pilot couldn’t blame the visitors for thinking that should be their highest priority.

Before he could answer, 2903 snuffled in his sleep on the adjacent track.

“Well,” Pilot said, as brightly as he could without being too loud. “The main line stops at the river. If we wanted to go any further, we’d have to build a bridge.”

Traintober 2023

#traintober 2023 #traintober #the future is still silver and black #silver pilot #2903 #writings #ray's traintober #the next one is going to be ttte related for sure. probably.

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divinekangaroo · 4 months

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weirdest Tommy dream ever (don’t normally dream characters so also first and hopefully only):

He escapes an office building with the help of someone mysterious who gives him a suitcase; see none of this but the building in the background and the suitcase and know. He’s wearing a straitjacket. He has to escape-artist his way out of the straitjacket, all that wrenching and heaving ensues in a public park. He hides under a bush during so ppl don’t think he’s busking. How did he carry the suitcase? Mind-camera-view does that thing where a bus drives by, obscuring him, and when it drives on what is left is a group of dark-haired girls and a momentary confusion: is one of them him? Was there a disguise in the suitcase? No, he’s sprinting down the busy street wearing an undervest, striped faded pants, dirty with old sweat, no shoes, carrying the suitcase. Finds some shitty bedsit room to hide. After some agonising and gasping, opens the suitcase. He is immediately attacked. During the fight, his huge, sweaty, raucously-laughing assailant stabs him in the eye with a fountain pen. In his office in his full tweed suit in his chair, he pulls out the pen calmly and places it on his desk. The eye seeps ink. The assailant pulls him from the desk back into the bedsit and his disarray. Face down on the filthy floor, arms up behind his back like a policeman about to cuff him; the assailant holds him easily one-handed and takes drug paraphernalia from the suitcase and injects him with something clear.

After a while, Tommy gets up reeling and staggers into another room where a scrawny man and scrawny woman are waiting at a table for him; one of those ‘interview’ lamps swings overhead. Furious and mocking, they insist he sits to dinner but all there is: many shot glasses filled with something clear. He sits, the camera spins. He’s covered in blood and sweat and tears, except from the raw, empty eye-socket; from that eye socket, black ink has spilled and created a clown’s tear, of the sort more like an inverted triangle, the full length of the eye and tapering to a sharp point halfway down the cheek, at the scar Sabini left him.

They provoke him to eat with the raucous insensibility of the Businessmen at that table in the final scene of Requiem for a Dream (ass to ass!). He can’t stop dry-weeping. He gives in, he picks up a glass. His hand wavers, confused; for a moment it looks as if he’ll put the shotglass to his eye socket to drink through the wound. When the glass passes in front of that socket, an eye can be seen through it, restored, but the iris is filled with something clear. He drinks. Next they insist he does a magic trick. He shakes his head, he drops his head, he can’t. Their insistence grows. He drinks. The camera blurs in and out. They drum the table. They shout. He can’t. It’s a room full of people but it’s only two. He can’t. He drinks. Despairing, he throws up a hand and pulls a gun to him from the opposite wall through the power of the mind. He laugh-weeps ink. They laugh; see? See? Why didn’t you do that all along? But it’s not a gun: in his hand it’s a red tube of pawpaw moisturiser. They tell him he should take better care of himself. He smashes his head into the table full of glasses.

And he fights with the scrawny woman on top of a pile of logged trees, trying to avoid her but unable to turn his back; then he’s on his back, propped on hands, and he and her move back and forth, lunging in that fight on the uneven logs in a manner reminiscent of contemporary dance or Jackie Chan.

Through the entire dream, two middle register adjacent piano notes play repeatedly with two other piano notes striking random and infrequent discordance, one in the upper register and one in the lower. Through the entire dream, a sense of irrational worry: he left the new puppy alone in a closed room and no one knows. He can’t die or it’ll starve.

#thank you brain I was Aware of the Symbolism #NYE party lack of sleep catching up on top of baby sleeplessness #Rather proud of the ink and eye and clown thing though well done brain

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spontaneous-human-combustion · 4 months

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E.B.E.

11.30.2023

merits:

writing:

EBE is such a good episode because of the vibes. Does the plot make sense? Uhhhh...I don't even remember. But it doesn't matter, because the vibes. I enjoy the callbacks to the pilot, Deep Throat, Fallen Angel, & other episodes, with the car engines going out in dead zones, the flying crafts covered up by the military/government, Mulder and Scully doing sketchy shit or going rogue...So I'm giving it a 9 for Vibes. Plus, the Lone Gunmen are introduced!

characterization/development:

It's ironic how Mulder constantly diatribes about trusting no one, yet so easily trusts the first person who reinforces his beliefs and ideas -- without real evidence. Scully tells him the photo is a fake and he immediately goes into denial -- which is a trait he will continue to demonstrate. Scully meanwhile professes that she is in this with him, searching for the truth, but they can't afford to jump at every hoax in the hopes of might be real. They have to interrogate their sources closely. She more than Mulder takes trust no one seriously. And somehow, the dynamic really works.

Asides: there are little strokes of characterization that I really like. For example, Scully asks Mulder if they've had a close encounter -- as if she accepts such a thing as fact. Or Mulder, the anti-authoritarian, propping his leg on the table. 10.

emotion: Because Mulder feels he got so close, because he goes rogue to pursue what he believes could change everything, could bring all those secrets to light, the letdown is all the more disappointing. However, it's sweet to see Scully go ride-or-for for him, even as she attempts to reign in his extremes. 8.

antagonist/monster:

With the early mytharc-adjacent episodes, before CSM really comes into the picture, there's not necessarily a clear enemy. We are told "They" are enacting things behind the scenes, obscuring the truth, etc. This can be done well or badly. I must admit, I got pretty tired of CSM. But the vague, threatening ~Shadow government~ could kind of seem like a cop-out at times. In this episode, it's done pretty well, enough to hold my attention. It's not incredible, but it's serviceable as far as antagonists go. 6.

on set:

Love the minimal backgrounds in use, like the sparse interrogation room, or the fog obscuring details of the set.

The red and blue lighting in Mulder's dim apartment was wonderfully atmospheric, as was the use of his reflection against the glass where the EBE was kept.

Other observations: Loved the UFO near the beginning, thought the wreck in the dead zone was cut very effectively, and adored the set where Mulder confronts Deep Throat at the end.

Scully had some hits with her wardrobe in this episode. The olive pinstriped blazer, maroon suit with the white ribbed tee, her little heels and her black trench and boots... even black gloves to fit the vibe.

Mulder rocks a loud mandala tie. 10.

music:

The score stuck out to me in this one. We've got a slow pulsing string synth. Clanging synthesizer for tension, and a low slow gong and ominous hum. Mysterious piano arpeggios and a sort of yawning whistle. 7.

demerits:

boringness: 0

ccwfl (chris carter wankfest level): Hmm. So here we go on mytharc bullshit... but the vibes are so good I'm letting them off easy this time. 1.

bonus points:

They take a bus to the case location. Point for public transportation.

Mulder falls asleep in the car with his mouth open.

Mulder wipes out face-first during the chase scene.

Scully and Mulder are in cahoots and go on a road trip :3

totals:

merits total: 50 (double check)

demerits total: 1

bonus points: 4

episode total: 53/60

favorites:

"Swamp gas. Happens to me when I eat dodger dogs."

"Some of their ideas are downright spookyyy."

The most heinous and evil power of the 20th century." "Barney?"

"That's why we like you; your ideas are weirder than ours."

MUFON/NICAP mentioned! "Welcome, space brothers!"

"I think it's remotely plausible that someone might think you're hot."

"Mulder, you're the only one I trust."

"Mulder, this photograph is a fake." "What."

"The truth is out there, but so are lies."

Naturally, Langley doesn't turn the tape off.

Love when Mulder makes a break for it, and Scully tries to block the security guard to no avail, giving a disgusted look.

"Secrets must remain secret." "Who are you to decide that for anyone?"

"It won't end as long as men like you decide what is truth"

#1.17

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khodorkovskaya · 8 months

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18.08.23

i was invited to follow this two day course mandated by the government and it was pretty cool, i got to meet some new people. and i want to describe a couple of them to you bc some of them are like really weird. (also the right side of my keyboard, especially "p", "0" and apostrophe are like not working so apologies for any typos)

but yeah so to start off it was only men excet for me and this other girl. and she was really cool. tbh at first i thought i would be intimidated bc she has this startup and ive seen their ads on instagram and i thought it was this big thing. but i talked to her and the product's not out yet and she has a background in marketing, so no wonder the ads look really good. but as far as her project goes she's like just started and it's not super organised yet, so i was like oh okay. but yeah, she was cool!

then there was this tall blond italian guy with round glasses who wore a suit and he looked like some dark academia anime character. like he had these skinny legs and long arms and he had the look and the manerisms of a tumblr sexyman. it was so funny to me. i mean props to him for looking so polished, but he was literally the personofication of that triangle with the monocle everyone was obsessed with in 2014.

then there was a guy who developed/was on the sales team of this like nft puzzle game with monkeys. why are nfts always monkeys??? the art of the game was so ugly too. and no one really understood what the purpose of it was.

then there was a guy who was trying really hard to be like this miami rich guy vibe. you know the one. bald + button up shirt/polo + sunglasses + sportscar combo. sort of like andrew tate adjacent. he said that he recently bought a house in locarno and i was like jesus we are not the same are we.

and then, my least favourite of them all, there was this like middle aged guy who just gave off conspiracy theorist vibes. i couldnt quite put my finger on it. but like imagine the type of man whos like angry at the world and who probably follows eric zemour and some like niche youtube "lifecoaches" who talk about how the government controls all your data. his vibes were so off. and he kept going on and on about how he wants to disrupt the credit card market. and when someone asked him what the purpose of that was he said that it was confidential. like. i hate men like this.

it made me think about how like my ex B was into that kind of conspiracy theory mindset. and he was really into crypto. and he'd watch these like weird youtubers with 10k subscribers who'd make hour long videos about french politics. and i was like dude why do you care so much about france. if i could live the rest of my life not knowing anything about france i would. but he would purosefully watch videos about like the gilets jaunes or whatever. and dude who the fuck cares. it got really bad during covid cos he'd watch antivax videos all the time. it was so bad. thank god i dont have to ut up with that anymore.

but yeah it made me think about how B organised this like crypto conference at this hotel. and i was so embarrassed. but it was his passion so i didn't want to hurt his feelings and said nothing.

but he rented out a hotel conference room. and invited this like middle aged man to talk about his "legal tech" "startup". and there were quite a lot of peole, like at least 50, i was so surised! and i had such a "the king has no clothes" moment. bc there were all these people talking about crypto and this guy presenting a project that made zero sense and it was all at this hotel and it gave off such mlm pyramid scheme vibes. and i was sitting there like "am i the stupid one here"? am i the only one who can see that the king has no clothes or what? like

so yeah seeing that guy yesterday reminded me of B's weird interests. and it like triggered me in a way idk. bc at the end of the day who cares if there's a guy who gives off conspiracy theorist vibes? maybe he wasn't even a conspiracy theorist, whatever. but his just like presence made me so angry.

everyone else was pretty normal and the course was super interesting. but yeah, sometimes specific memories come up about B and our relationship. and it makes me shudder.

#august

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awn-moo · 11 months

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<[VIDEO ID - PART THREE OF ???]>

“Oh Arc, this is so cool. Are there any unused trains tucked away down here too?” Vic asks behind the camera, turning it to Ingo.

“Indeed there are. Only a couple however, as the others were in such disrepair that we had to junk them. Before we took over the subway, the previous bosses just left them. There wasn’t any security stationed around here, so people broke or stole a lot of parts. It was honestly such a waste of such beautiful machinery.” Ingo sighs.

“Really?! Oh that is such a shame… I’ve done this kind of stuff for years now and I just always get so upset at the state of disrepair things get into. Granted, those places are ones where people have easy access to them. The punks of Kalos are lovely people, but seeing the Lost Hotel’s state made me feel so awful. On the other hand, those places where people cannot easily enter or there’s security, it’s so serene seeing nature take over,” as Vic rambles on, he focuses the camera on the tracks sprawling ahead of them. The dimly lit tunnel sprawls about. Vic and Ingo’s candelure are excitedly racing each other overhead. Along the tracks themselves are sporadic bits of moss and dark environment plants.

As they walk, a brighter glow is seen slowly approaching upon their right. Ingo walks forward and approaches an old station. He plants his hands atop the platform and hoists himself upward. After standing up, he dusts himself off and holds out a hand to Vic. Vic sets the camera down on the platform and he is seen pushing himself up as well. He struggles a bit and grabs Ingo’s hand for support. As he stands up, he stumbles back a bit. Ingo quickly pulls him forward, causing Vic to crash into him, pushing both out of frame.

“A-Ah, thank you,” Vic softly mumbles as he walks back into frame and picks up the camera.

“Hey, wait, where’s Curtis?” Vic asks, pointing the camera down the tunnel.

“I thought he was walking behind us. Was he not?” Ingo asks. Vic turns the camera back towards Ingo and sighs.

“Apparently not… And we walked so long without him…” Vic huffs. Ingo is heard humming in thought. The camera turns to face him, his hand tilting the brim of his hat over his eyes.

“I guess we’ll have to keep chugging along our tracks with one less passenger.” Ingo then stands tall and points towards the camera, doing the iconic Subway Boss pose. Vic can be heard softly giggling then letting out a soft dreamy sigh.

“Alright. After a short derailment, we are back on schedule!” Ingo perks up a bit at Vic’s statement, his eyes smiling softly.

The footage then distorts a bit before cutting to slow panning shots of the platform. Soft music plays in the background as the lights occasionally flicker. Moss and mold climb up the brick walls. The floor tiles are cracked and missing in some spots. But despite the few bits of ruin, most of the station is perfectly intact. The 1920s adjacent architecture stands proud with its beautiful brick archways.

The shot then switches to a passageway. Along the walls are faded advertisements painted upon the tile. Old faded signs hang from the ceiling while some sit propped against the wall. Flit is seen hovering in a spot where a light used to hang, the casing for the bulb broken on the ground below. She looks happy as Ingo’s chandelure, Luxa, follows suit and pretends to be a light as well. The music fades as both Ingo and Vic softly laugh at their pokemon’s antics. The footage then fades to black before switching to another scene.

<[END VIDEO ID]>

#pokeblogging #pokemon irl #pkmn irl #vics urbex adventure #Urbex Adventures #long post

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esrah-rah-rasputin · 2 years

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Couldn’t stop thinking about @bulkhummus’s post about Carlos and Steve making a drinking game out of Abby and Cecil referencing things that happened 70+ years ago as if they happened just ten years ago

[ID: a drawing of Carlos the scientist and Steve Carlsberg sitting in a kitchen as Abby and Cecil presumably talk in an adjacent room. The drawing is done in purple and mauve on a dusty pink background, with no shading or flat colors. Both are Bulkhummus’s personal designs for Carlos and Steve. Steve is sitting on a chair, slightly reclined with one foot propped up on his knee, and Carlos is sitting on the counter. They both have shot glasses in their hands, and bubbles near their heads to indicate mild intoxication.

Carlos: Two shots if one of ‘em mentions the Pony Express?

Steve: You know what… deal.

Steve is wearing a partially buttoned shirt with a striped undershirt, and plain pants and boots. Carlos is wearing a lab coat which is rolled up to his elbows, a shirt which either says “sweet cheeks” or “sweet cheese,” earrings, and plain pants. The kitchen they’re in is relatively small, and there is a stained glass ceiling lamp that looks like one that would hang over a pool table. The thin window behind Carlos is open, and a few moths are flitting around near the lamp. /End ID]

#Also Carlos’s shirt says sweet cheeks but it can also say sweet cheese if you want a silly wwdits reference #my art #alcohol implied #wtnv fanart #steve carlsberg #carlos the scientist

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skamenglishsubs · 3 years

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Subtext and Culture, Young Royals, Intro

Just like I did for SKAM, I’m planning a series of posts that explore and explain subtext and culture of the Young Royals show. But where SKAM was about a pretty universal high school experience that most people everywhere in the world could recognize, Young Royals takes place in a much more specific setting that needs more background knowledge.

To be able to explain how the modern Swedish royalty works, how European constitutional monarchies work, and how boarding schools like the fictional Hillerska works, you need to understand how the upper classes work. And to understand how the upper classes work, you need to understand how socioeconomic classes work in Europe, today.

Socioeconomic Class

A common misconception among Americans and others that don’t have a long history of a class society, is that classes don’t exist, and if they do, that they are purely a function of money. Many people conflate economic class with social class, which is wrong. Money is necessary to enter a higher social class, but money can’t buy you class itself, it can only buy the props that are needed to perform as a higher class. Being rich doesn’t mean you’re automatically upper class, and being poor doesn’t automatically kick you out of the upper class either, because social class is about values and norms and behaviour and speech and manners and worldview and upbringing and social networks.

For a much better description and explanation of the class system, do check out this (very long) post on Livejournal by Siderea: https://siderea.livejournal.com/1260265.html The biggest takeaway from that piece is the understanding that class is culture:

“Social classes function like ethnicities or nationalities. They have entitativity. They command loyalty. They have customs. They have territories. They have insiders and outsiders; they Other others. They have rivalries. They are performative.”

This means that everyone has to learn how to behave and how to perform as the class they belong to. This usually happens naturally and subconsciously, simply by adopting the values and norms and manners and speech and worldview of your parents, your family, and your peers. Most people aren’t even aware of this happening, and only when they encounter people of other distant social classes will they experience the culture shock this creates, much like meeting people of other nationalities creates culture shock the first few times you’re exposed.

“Because people gravitate to people of their own class, and their daily lives tend to bring them into social contact predominantly with people who are members of the social classes one degree above and below, most people are very ignorant of the norms and values of the social classes more than one degree above or below their own.”

Since the show is aimed at the general public it does spend a lot of time trying to explain these norms and values, but there are still a lot of things that the characters say and do that seem completely outlandish. They would make sense to you, dear viewer, if you belonged to the upper class or were upper class adjacent, but since you most likely aren’t, it’s like looking at people from a completely foreign culture.

For the upper class, the most valuable thing is status. Sure, money buys you a lot of things that increase your status, but it’s the things you can’t buy that give you the most: Heritage, history, nobility, or titles. Old money has always looked down on the nouveau riche, because that is exactly what they lack. If your country has royals, they have the highest ranking titles of the country, and therefore the most status, so a way for you to acquire status is to attach yourself to them, for example by becoming friends with or marrying into the royal family. When there’s news of the royal family expecting a child, it’s not uncommon for other upper class families to start trying themselves, in order to have a child that could be a future classmate, friend, and maybe a lover of that royal child.

In the show, it is mentioned that Felice and Wilhelm went to the same kindergarten. This is of course not a coincidence, it’s something Felice’s parents planned, and a lot of Felice’s actions are because her mother has taught her to seek out Wilhelm, to attach herself to him, to get together with him, in order to increase her own status and that of her parents. That Felice’s family is one of the richest in the country doesn’t matter, the money can’t bring them as much status as joining the royal family can, and therefore the entire family is working towards that goal.

Boarding Schools

So how do you keep your upper class family going through the ages? How do you ensure that the accumulated wealth and history and heritage and titles aren’t squandered by your heirs? Why, by sending them to an upper class school, of course, and this is why private boarding schools exist. These century-old institutions do everything they can to shut out the lower classes, in order to ensure that only upper-class students attend, so that families can be sure their kids will become acculturated into the upper class, that they learn the values, norms, speech, manners, worldview and shibboleths of the upper class, and that they form friendships and build a social network of their peers, to ensure that they perpetuate the culture of their class into the future, and that they stay loyal to their class.

An important feature of private boarding schools is the organization of students into houses. The fictional Hillerska only has two; one all-male, Skogsbacken - Forest Ridge, and one all-female, Herrgården - the Manor House.

EDIT: Season 2 introduced a third house, Granhult - Sprucewood. It's probably an all-male house, and there's probably a fourth all-female house that would have similar rivalries with the Manor House - you can see female students that aren't from the Manor House cheering on the competing Sprucewood boys, while all the Manor House girls are cheering on Forest Ridge.

Real-life boarding schools usually have several, and although you might be tempted to think of the romanticized version of this as described in for example Harry Potter, the actual purpose is for the school staff to control the students by using a divide and conquer strategy. By pitting them against each other, by organizing friendly - and not-so-friendly - competitions between houses, the students are less likely to rebel against the authority of the staff, because they’re busy with inter-house rivalries. The system also allows the school to collectively punish an entire house if one of its members has broken the rules or caused trouble. This in turn means that house members will strongly enforce school rules among themselves in order to escape punishment, i.e. if a single student is repeatedly misbehaving, his housemates will beat the shit out of him to stop him from ever doing it again, all while the staff can conveniently look the other way. Minus five points for Gryffindor indeed.

Because of this, the house system breeds a strong sense of loyalty among its members, and this in turn is the cause for the very violent and unpleasant hazing and initiation of new members. To earn the loyalty of the other members, you have to endure the initiation, you have to be humiliated, you have to be abused, you have to pay the price of admission. And as an older student, you have to haze and humiliate the new students, you have to be complicit in the abuse, you have to demonstrate your dedication and loyalty to keeping the system running.

To the outside world, schools like this project a wholesome image, and the real-life Swedish boarding schools that Hillerska is modeled on talk warmly about Kamratfostran - Peer upbringing. But every decade or so some whistleblower reveals the grisly details of the penalism and abuse that students suffer, and society at large gasps in horror while the schools try to smooth things over and promise to investigate and put a stop to it. Make no mistake though, the upper class families who send their kids to schools like this want this for their kids. They know exactly what they’re doing, because they were brought up the same way themselves. They want the abuse to continue, because they think the intense loyalty and upper-class acculturation it results in is worth it.

Royalty

Sweden, along with a bunch of other mostly European countries are constitutional monarchies. This is a form of government that has evolved through successive democratization of the absolute monarchies that these countries started as in the middle ages, and the main feature is that every public office position is appointed by democratic elections, except the position of Head of State, which instead is held by the monarch, the current head of the royal family. When the monarch dies or abdicates or retires, the title is passed to the next in line heir.

The actual title of the monarch depends on the gender of the person who holds the title, and on the type of monarchy that the country is. Sweden is a kingdom, and the real-life monarch is King Carl XVI Gustaf, while in the show it’s Wilhelm’s mom, Queen Kristina. Note that this makes Wilhelm’s unnamed father the prince consort, he doesn’t hold the title of king, just like the late Prince Philip, Duke of Edinburgh was the prince consort to Queen Elizabeth II of England, and not the king of England. Other titles are for example the monarch of Luxembourg; Grand Duke Henri, the monarch of the Holy See; Pope Francis, and the monarch of Japan; Emperor Naruhito.

Most European constitutional monarchies have stripped the monarch of all political power, and relegated the office to a purely ceremonial position. The monarch is responsible for receiving foreign ambassadors, hosting other heads of state, and formally opening sessions of parliament, but is otherwise expected or obligated to stay out of the actual running of the country. Being a constitutional monarchy also means that the laws of succession, i.e. deciding how and by whom the throne is inherited, is part of the country’s constitution, and therefore under control of the democratic legislature. Sweden was the first country to move from male-preference primogeniture to absolute primogeniture, which means that the eldest child of the monarch now inherits regardless of their gender, whereas before, a younger prince would come before his older sister in the order of succession. Most European monarchies have since moved to absolute primogeniture as well, all in the name of gender equality.

Being royal, being part of the royal family, obviously confers vast amounts of privilege, wealth, and fame. The flipside to that privilege is royal duty, the royal court is both a government institution, and a large taxpayer-funded family business where the family is the product of the business. Being born into the royal family means a future in this business, it means having duties, and it means public scrutiny, whether you like it or not.

Modern monarchies motivate their own fundamentally undemocratic existence by appealing to a sense of tradition, to stability, and to national unity. Every country needs a head of state, so why not keep the one that was already there? Why have a potentially messy political process to elect one that gets replaced every now and then, when the royal family can just groom each successive monarch to hold the office in a stable and traditional way?

This leads to the issues that the show explores; in order to project an image of stability, members of the royal family have to avoid scandals, they have to protect their image, they have to appear as positive role models, they can’t be seen as being above the law, they have to be apolitical, and most importantly they have to produce heirs that can inherit the throne and keep the tradition going. Wilhelm has been given less strict rules, he’s been allowed to have a more “normal” life than his older brother, Crown Prince Erik, because he’s not expected to inherit the throne. A minor royal being in a same-sex relationship would be unconventional and upset traditionalists, but when Wilhelm is made crown prince, him being in a relationship with Simon means he might not be able to produce legal heirs. This means he might not be able to fulfill his royal duty, he might trigger a constitutional crisis and throw the entire country into social unrest, possibly ending the royal line and extinguishing a thousand-year-old tradition, and forcing an entire country to switch its form of government.

That’s a lot of pressure for an awkward, anxious, 16-year-old boy who has just discovered that his love for another boy is anything but fake.

#young royals #prince wilhelm #young royals subtext #young royals analysis

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mochacoffee · 4 years

Photo

I created a 3D model and floor plan of Aziraphale’s bookshop in Good Omens!

I really wanted one for reference and it seemed like many others did too, so I put together my best approximation of where everything is. Beneath the color version, you’ll see I’ve included two simplified, labeled versions of the plan. The verbal labels are so you know what the object is. The numerical labels are there to make it easy to find more information about the object. I’ve put a numbered index below the cut that features the relevant reference images I used for each object and some more information about why I put it where I did/why it’s relevant/etc. I want to be very clear that I did not add anything to this from my own imagination; every single item and feature represents something I actually saw in the shop.

If you have any questions or want more information about this, PLEASE do not hesitate to ask! I put so much time into figuring it out and I would be more than happy to be a resource for anyone who needs it. Also, if you notice any errors, let me know and I’ll update the post. I hope this is helpful!

Update: Here’s a link to an interactive view of the shop! It takes a moment to load. You can click the “3D” tab in the top right to view it in first person and walk around inside. Double click a spot on the floor to move there and pan around by clicking and dragging. The oval symbol next to the person walking gives you a birds-eye view.

Update 2: Here’s a higher quality rendering of the first person perspective! Update 3: I made an alternate first person render here complete with a ceiling, light fixtures, and ambient lighting from outside. This one is optimized for making it seem more like you’re actually there, whereas the previous one is for maximum visibility. This render also has some minor accuracy improvements, which are detailed under the cut in the relevant sections. (The first interactive link with the birds-eye view updates automatically.) Update 4: In case you’re interested in Aziraphale’s books specifically, I’ve made a catalogue of those here.

1. Unknown closet

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There is a door behind Gabriel when he talks to Aziraphale in the backroom. So where does it lead? Well. The wall we can see behind Aziraphale when he encounters Shadwell in the shop (see #17: boxes/storage) doesn’t have a door in it. It’s also facing the wrong direction and it’s in the middle of the southwest wall ⁠— we know this because Aziraphale can see Shadwell in the entrance from there. So the wall behind him at that moment is definitely not the wall of the backroom. We’re left with this door and unaccounted-for corner. The only thing that makes sense to me then is that there’s a closet there between the two spaces. My personal theory is that this closet is “the back” that Aziraphale refers to keeping the Châteauneuf-du-Pape in since I didn’t see any other obvious alcohol storage space in the shop. Update: @n0nb1narydemon has suggested this could be a bathroom for guests or because culturally it’s a room you can use to extricate yourself from situations, which is another possibility! They also asked where I think the doors behind object #20 lead, and I thought it would be good to add here that they might lead to the shop next door or to this unknown room. It’s possible the room actually extends further into the next shop and encompasses the part of the wall where the doors are, but I didn’t have concrete evidence to support that idea so I didn’t include it in the floor plan. Update: I was wrong about the Châteauneuf-du-Pape! In the DVD bookshop tour we learn that the cabinet in the top left corner of the backroom is where Aziraphale keeps his alcohol, including that particular wine. I added a reference photo of Neil pointing it out. Thanks to @fuckyeahgoodomens for bringing the existence of this tour to my attention — ya girl got the special edition blu-ray even though I don’t have a blu-ray player yet so I hadn’t actually seen it. Also, there is a chair right next to this cabinet against the wall which I missed in my initial rendering of the shop but have since added.

2. Part of shop next door (top right)

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This was very tricky to figure out because you can see from the exterior of the shop that there is no wall past the back door, but from the interior there is clearly more space there. BUT in a behind the scenes photo of David during the fire scene, you can see on this back wall that there’s actually a nook with two large entryways, similar to the one that makes up the backroom. From the exterior you can see that the area next to the back door is taken up by the window of the next shop, so I concluded that this little square of space was not part of the bookshop’s interior, but the nook did extend further back than where the shop appears to end from the outside. I had to make one bookshelf more nubby than the others to make this work, but after a LOT of trial and error I decided one nubby bookshelf was the only thing that could explain the apparent architecture of the space. Any floor design that accounted for a bookshelf of the same length as the others just did not make sense on a fundamental level.

3. Part of shop next door (bottom left)

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From the exterior of the shop you can see that this window belongs to the adjacent store, as the wall is a different color. Within the bookshop you can also see when Gabriel and Sandalphon enter the backroom, there’s no window behind them; there’s a sink. So it’s definitely not Aziraphale’s window. The wall of the backroom is also further into the shop’s interior than the wall Aziraphale’s desk sits against, so there’s a corner of space inside that’s unaccounted for. At first I assumed it was plumbing from the sink that had been sealed off or something, but when I realized that’s where the window was on the outside, I figured the space is probably part of the next shop over.

4. Aziraphale’s desk

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This is where Aziraphale sits in the shop like 90% of the time. It’s on the Eastern side of the shop because Aziraphale was the guardian of the Eastern gate in Eden and because production designer Michael Ralph is a goddamn genius (source). Shout out to @posted-omens for this fascinating post analyzing the chariot sculpture on his desk. Update: Fun fact, the ladder behind his desk is actually called a library chair, supposedly designed by Benjamin Franklin. It functions as a ladder but you can also fold it into a chair! Neil mentions this in the DVD extra bookshop tour. I added screen caps of it to the reference photos above since I don’t have a specific section for the ladders!

5. Phone Aziraphale calls Crowley from

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I will be honest with you: I think there’s something a little fucked up about this corner. It is my nemesis. I tried so many things to make it work and I just could not get it exactly right, but what you see in the floor plan is my best guess as to what’s going on. The conundrum is that the spot where Aziraphale stands when he’s on the phone with Crowley is definitely closer to the fence around the staircase than it is in my layout. But the table he’s in front of is also clearly against the outside wall of the backroom, and the stairs being where I’ve put them here is the only thing that made sense based on the reference photos. So there’s some weird spacing issue where there’s a little too much room between the fence around the stairs and this phone. If I were to move the walls to close that gap then there would be way too much space in the backroom and way too little space on the southwest side of the shop, so I think the walls are correct as they are. So ¯\_(ツ)_/¯. What I can say for certain is that the phone is there and it’s on a table next to a lamp, and the table is definitely against the wall of the backroom and behind the staircase. The distance between these things doesn’t hold up perfectly, but their arrangement does. On another note, this is one of two phones in the shop. The other is on the table next to the cash register (see #9) which Aziraphale picks up when Crowley calls to say they need to talk about Armageddon. I believe this is the same one he uses to call Adam’s house in episode two, only he moves it from the table by the register to the top of a pile of books (which I’m pretty sure were stacked on the circular table between his desk and the sofa). Update: OKAY SO it turns out in the behind-the-scenes bookshop tour on the DVD we get two more teeny tiny glimpses of this corner! I added them to the reference photo album above. It appears I was right about the lamp, phone, and bookshelf being where they are, except that the bookshelf and table are touching. There’s also a ladder propped against the shelf. I’d say it’s possible there are actually two bookshelves here; based on the parallax in the DVD tour, the one next to the phone didn’t appear to be against the wall, but we know there is a bookshelf against that wall because we see it in the show. (P.S. There’s also another chair against that wall which I didn’t see because Aziraphale was standing in front of it, so I added that too.) This leads me to believe there’s one against the wall and another one further from it next to the table. But that’s just my speculation, so I won’t change the actual floor plan unless I find more evidence.

6. Where they’re drinking when Crowley realizes Adam has named the hellhound

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When Aziraphale sits down at this table, the background is of the same space he refers to as the “backroom” when Gabriel and Sandalphon show up. He’s across the table from Crowley, behind whom you can see a bookshelf, the staircase, and the coat rack. The table is half in the backroom half out, since the room has two large entryways in its wall. Update: I realized the wall behind this table actually dips back further! It is a weirdly-shaped wall! But in the DVD special tour of the bookshop Neil walks past it and there’s clearly an area that recesses even further, so I’ve modified that in the interactive floor plan :)

7. Bench of books that start the fire

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When Shadwell leaves the book shop and slams the door, one of the candles knocks over and rolls into a pile of books and other papers (including the Sound of Music lmao). You can see it’s the same bench the customer is standing in front of when he gives Gabriel a weird look after he yells about pornography. (I love this customer so much because they gave me a super HD shot of this particular area.) The poles of the fence around the bench, the staircase behind it, and the smaller shelves beside it holding Terry Pratchett’s books make it clear that the bench is in that spot in the shop and that it’s the place the fire starts.

8. Coat rack with Terry’s hat on it

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Aziraphale hangs his coat here right before Crowley calls him to say they need to talk about Armageddon. Out of focus in the frame you can see the lion sculpture that sits on the fence surrounding the stairs (see #11) and a bookshelf. The camera pans past the shelf and we see him walk past his desk to pick up the phone by the cash register, which puts that shelf right next to his sitting area. We can also see the coat rack in the background when Crowley realizes Adam has named the hellhound. The coat rack has Terry Pratchett’s hat and scarf on it in his honor (source).

9. Antique cash register

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You can see this register in the background when Crowley is on the couch and when Aziraphale invites Gabriel and Sandalphon into the backroom. I know it’s an antique cash register because it’s photographed and referenced directly on page 79 of the Good Omens TV Companion. It’s a typewriter in my floor plan because the website I used (floorplanner.com), who knows why, did not have a 3D model of a cash register from the early 1900s.

10. Back door

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Thank you so much to @fuckyeahgoodomens for this post where they figured all this out!! Wonderful work! You can see this door from the exterior of the shop and its existence is referenced in the Good Omens script book on page 94. It’s also in the background of a behind the scenes shot of Aziraphale pulling away the carpet so he can contact heaven. Behind him in that shot you can see the bust (which moves around a lot - see #19) and a grandfather clock, and in the show from one of the aerial shots you can see that the carpet is pulled west, further confirming the door’s location.

11. Fence around the stairs

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I have concluded that this is a fence to keep customers from going up to the second floor. It looks to be made of golden pillars with wooden shelving atop them. The fence crosses beneath the staircase on one side and the other side ends about where the stair’s railing does. You can see this fence behind Crowley when he realizes Adam has named the hellhound, behind Aziraphale when he calls Crowley to tell him he knows where the antichrist is, and next to the customer who gives Gabriel a look after he yells “PORNOGRAPHY!” It’s also visible in one of the aerial shots of the shop. Update: In the DVD extra bookshop tour I noticed the lion sculpture on this fence is not just a lion, but a lion with a woman holding its mane. I think it might also be a lamp? In one of the reference photos, the one that looks down from the second floor, it appears there’s a light in the woman’s other hand. I’d be interested to see if we can track down what this particular sculpture is and what it might mean. Update: @cantdewwrite has suggested here that the light/sculpture could be a replica of one of the bronze statues in the Victoria Memorial, which does look quite similar. I’m fairly certain Aziraphale’s sculpture is of a woman, which would make it the figure in the memorial representing peace.

12. Open book of illustrated story of Adam and Eve

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Shout out to @amuseoffyre for this post where she figured out what this was! Update: I’ve determined that this book is The Gospel in the Old Testament: A series of pictures by Harold Copping. The painting is, naturally, by Harold Copping. It’s called “Adam and Eve after the fall.” Unfortunately this book is out of print and I haven’t been able to track down an ebook or scan of it, so I can’t confirm the text just yet. But based on its premise, I think it’s safe to assume that it’s telling the story of Adam and Eve directly. Aziraphale has a second copy of this book visible on the shelf next to the sofa.

13. Antique computer

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This is the computer Aziraphale does his extremely scrupulous taxes with, as confirmed in this ask that @neil-gaiman answered from @prismatic-bell! It’s an Amstrad, according to the bookshop tour in the DVD extras.

14. Spiral staircase

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These stairs are in many shots of the shop so it was pretty obvious where they were.

15. Sink, teapots, etc.

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You can see this wall right before Gabriel walks into the backroom and behind Aziraphale when he’s drinking with Crowley at the end of episode one. It appears he has two hand towels, a ceramic angel soap dish (aw), some teapots, and a decorated box above it, among other things. On the floor beside the sink is what I believe to be a broom handle, though it could be a mop? Next to that is a bronze statue of an angel atop a small table piled with books. On the other side of the sink is an open book on a stand ⁠— it has a fabric bookmark in it with a crucifix at the end, so I’m assuming it’s a bible. Light reading while you make your tea I guess. Update: Thank you so much to @brightwanderer for pointing out in this post that he has four extra angel wing mugs above the sink as well! I couldn’t figure out what they were! Update: Neil said in this ask that you can see an oven by the sink when Gabriel and Sandalphon walk in. Which you can! It’s real small and there’s a little pot on top of it. I’ve added a screencap of it to the images album for this area. Update: I’m donating my heart and soul to @ack-emma for suggesting in the replies to this ask that the central object above the sink is a samovar!! I had never heard of this so I had absolutely no idea what it was, but I think they hit the nail on the head. Y’all Aziraphale really likes tea.

16. Sculpture

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Thank you @ineffable-endearments, @behold-my-squeees, @srebrnafh, @aethelflaedladyofmercia for contributing to this post about the statue and its potential symbolism! Update: @doctorscienceknowsfandom has added some analysis to the post above suggesting that this is a sculpture of Paris, the figure from Greek mythology. I’m inclined to agree! Update: BINGO! @tifaria has found Aziraphale’s exact statue (confirmed Paris!) in this post. Brilliant work!! This community continues to blow me away. Further discussion about the sculpture’s meaning in the context of the show here — be sure to check the notes for further commentary.

17. Boxes/storage

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These boxes and piles of books can be seen behind Aziraphale when he encounters Shadwell in the shop and behind Crowley while he’s rambling drunkenly about why they should stop Armageddon in episode one. They’re in a nook that goes further back than where the shop appears to end from its exterior (see #2 for more info on that!).

18. Stacks of books

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You can see this stack in one of the aerial shots of Shadwell in the shop. I didn’t include most stacks of books in the floor plan because they’re literally everywhere and I had to manually set how high each book would be from the floor, so putting them in piles got tedious very quickly. But I did include a few notable ones, and this is one of those imo because there’s not much else in that area as far as I can tell.

19. Bust

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This little guy moves around quite a bit, unlike most things in the shop. In some photos/scenes it’s where I put it on the floor plan, but in others it’s closer to the northwestern wall and in this 360 video of the shop it’s right between two of the columns. I chose to put it where I did because it’s there in the scene where Crowley is drunkenly rambling about Armageddon, whereas the other locations I’ve seen it in were from behind the scenes shots and stuff. I’m not sure who the bust is of! It appears to have a little ribbon with a medal around its next though. Update: More speculation about the bust here, courtesy of @aethelflaedladyofmercia! Update: @fuckyeahgoodomens has confirmed in this post that the thing around the bust’s neck is the medal given to Aziraphale by Gabriel in this deleted scene!

20. Divider I think?

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Please for the love of god if you know what this thing is, tell me. My best guess is it’s a room divider because what else looks like that?? But I don’t know why you would put a room divider there. And it still doesn’t look exactly like a divider either. But the decorative element at the top and apparent gap between the metal frame and the red bit leads me to believe it’s not furniture or a box. This mystery object is my second nemesis after the weird corner (#5). Update: @brightwanderer has suggested that it might be an embroidered/tapestry draft screen, which I think makes more sense! Update: In the DVD extra bookshop tour I found a very brief image of this item over Neil’s shoulder which I added to the reference photos above. I think by some miracle I was right and it is a divider. It could be a draft screen but at the very least it is shaped like a divider with at least three sections. Wahoo!

21. Record player

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This is the phonograph that’s playing Franz Schubert’s String Quintet in C major (thank you again to @fuckyeahgoodomens for that info) when we first see Aziraphale in the shop. It also plays Queen’s You’re My Best Friend when Crowley runs into the fire.

22. Terry Pratchett’s books

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Another one of the many little Terry easter eggs in the show is this set of his books! @devoursjohnlock made a post highlighting some other specific books you can find in the shop.

23. Chess set

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I saw a post once pointing out this chess set and the implication that Aziraphale and Crowley must play together sometimes, which I thought was a really nice detail to put into the set. But I can’t find the post to credit it! I will update this with a link if I do. Update: Pretty sure this is the post I saw. Thank you to @losyanya for mentioning it :)

24. Circular entryway

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This is one of many circle motifs that production designer Michael Ralph incorporated into the shop. It’s gorgeous. I think there’s actually more room between the archway and the door than I’ve included in this floor plan; Shadwell takes a few steps through it when he runs out of the shop. But I think the fix is just the door being further out from the entryway rather than the entryway being further in. I didn’t want to fuck with the walls to improve this particular area because when I realized the spacing was wrong, I was almost done and would’ve had to manually move each object in the shop over a few inches over. Made more sense to leave the caveat in a footnote. Update: In the DVD extra bookshop tour you get a brief glimpse of something on the inside wall of the entryway. I think it’s a wall sconce or something along those lines. There’s one on either side. I added them to the reference album above! I also figured out how to extend the walls to accommodate some more space there without having to move everything else, so I did that. Update: Here’s a link to some meta discussion about the cupid sculpture in front of this entryway!

25. Sofa Crowley sits on when he suggests they could be godfathers

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You can see that the sofa is next to Aziraphale’s desk and the cash register, and also that there’s a bookshelf behind it. From the entrance to the shop you can see two bookshelves on either side of the central circle, so it was pretty clear that the couch was on the other side of one of those shelves.

26. Wall crucifix

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I find it very interesting that Aziraphale has this considering Jesus isn’t a big part of angelic lore or heaven’s general priorities in the show. It would make more sense to me that he has it because it’s another memento of his time with Crowley, sort of like the illustrated story of Adam and Eve by his desk (#12). Also, fun fact, the opposite side of this wall segment is where he put up all his maps and notes about the whereabouts of the Antichrist in episode three.

#good omens #aziraphale's bookshop #good omens reference #floor plan #ref #i hope people see this i posted it at 2am because i was too excited about it to wait until daylight hours #OKAY SO PEOPLE SAW IT THANKS GUYS #check out the tag:#bookshop questions #for follow-up Qs!

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lambden · 2 years

Text

My latest flash fic got revealed! Here's some modern AU Yengilla with a healthy serving of pining rivals to enemies to lovers, MILF Yennefer and her collection of sex toys, domestic fluff, Ciri running a lemonade stand, and some background Geralt/Jaskier. I really loved writing this one for the prompt (this image of some lemons) and I hope you enjoy reading it!

technically a lime M, Fringilla/Yennefer, 5.2K words, no content warnings Also on AO3

Last comes the master bedroom, and the size of the house is modest enough that Fringilla briefly expects mediocrity. A queen mattress on a wobbling old frame shoved against the wall opposite the door, clutter gathering in the corners of the room like dust. A nightstand vanishing under a stack of envelopes— bills that would humble Fringilla’s nosiness.

But Yennefer’s bedroom is just as ostentatious as the woman herself. The bed is the core of the room’s design, wide enough to easily fit three. Fringilla steps over the threshold before she has the conscious thought to enter, socks dragging a storm of static as she approaches Yennefer’s bed. It’s nothing like their rinky-dink campus housing mattresses. She isn’t sure why she expected, or hoped, for disarray to linger in this secret part of Yennefer’s life.

Fringilla drags her fingertips over the cold, clean bedspread and watches the grey and violet pattern dip under her touch. There are more pillows than she’d know what to do with— if she were to sleep here she thinks she’d toss it all on the floor. The duvet, the satin throw pillows, everything. Let Yennefer’s quarters reflect the chaos festering inside the woman.

Then her gaze lands on the adjacent master bathroom and another, better idea strikes her. Granted, the idea is unimaginably childish. She would reprimand anyone else for entertaining such a petty fantasy, but. Now that she’s already here. Fringilla figures that she might as well use the bathroom as a very special fuck-you to her old rival.

Without hesitating she twists the knob and enters Yennefer’s bathroom, which is infected with all the same opulence the bedroom possesses. But Fringilla doesn’t notice the bay window, nor does she drift towards the futuristic shower. Instead she stares, as though enchanted, at the assortment of bizarre objects on the counter.

Not ‘bizarre objects’, Fringilla mentally corrects. She’s sure that somewhere she can hear Sabrina Glevissig mocking her puritanism. On its own, the small white Daliesque cage might be an interesting paperweight. The slender metal bar could be a swizzle stick missing from Yennefer’s cocktail toolkit downstairs. The handcuffs could be mistaken for part of a Halloween costume, or a gag gift.

There’s no decent excuse for the robin’s egg blue vibrator, nor the massive dildo cheerfully propped up beside it in the drying rack. Fringilla wants to recoil. She knows she should. She hasn’t yet, and she doesn’t now. Her fingers drag along the edge of the drying rack, keeping clear of touching any of the actual toys, and her mind races. Does Yennefer use these regularly or is this a scheduled cleaning for everything? Is this everything or is she hiding away more secrets?

Fringilla can’t take her eyes off the long canary-yellow dildo, colours still bright even after a wash. She’s tried smaller, more discreet toys at home, and none of them have surpassed what her hand could do on its own. Inserting a long, heavy object has never been her thing either, but the toy transfixes her now. It’s obscenely large. She bets it wouldn’t even fit in both her palms.

Sparing a nervous glance at the slightly open door, Fringilla wipes her palms off on her thighs before reaching for the toy. “Shameless,” she mutters, wrapping her hands around it and marvelling at the width. It’s easy to imagine Yennefer bearing down onto the toy, shoving it into herself with two perfectly manicured fingers. It’s harder to stop imagining it.

Fringilla catches sight of herself in the bathroom mirror and realizes that her jaw has gone slack, and her eyes dark. Her mouth snaps shut but whether she’s drooling or not, she’s more affected than she wants to be. Fringilla bolsters herself on the edge of the sink as her other hand snakes down, palm gliding over her hips and down to cover the junction of her legs. She rubs herself through her pants, quick and urgent— not to get off, just to quell the itch. Her fingers crook against her clit and even through all the layers of fabric it feels good, so she does it again despite her better judgement. Now who’s fucking shameless?

The dildo trembles in her hand, the strange base making an odd clacking noise as it taps against the sink bowl. But before Fringilla can properly assess the materials and make of Yennefer’s largest sex toy, the noise is replaced by another, far more worrisome sound as someone begins to ascend the stairs.

There isn’t enough time to replace the toy on the rack and slam the bathroom door shut so Fringilla just does the first, figuring that snooping around is definitely the lesser faux pas. She wastes a second wiping her fingers off on her pants, and then in a rush of embarrassed amusement she remembers that they aren’t wet. She still feels secretly dirty and secretly thrilled, and then the source of the footsteps pushes her way into the bathroom and Fringilla shoves all those other secrets aside in favour of nearly howling at Yennefer. “Do you mind?! I’m using the bathroom!”

As always, the look that Yennefer fixes her with is deeply unimpressed. “Yes,” she replies evenly, immune to Fringilla’s panic. “My bathroom. Did you find anything you like?”

Fringilla’s jaw drops, this time brought on by flustered fury. Between the women, the tall yellow dildo in the dish rack wobbles perilously. Yennefer’s eyebrows shoot up, and Fringilla bleats, “I just need to use the bathroom, honestly, Yennefer! Have you no shame at all? Have you ever even heard of the word privacy?”

Yennefer would be well within her rights to remind Fringilla exactly whose house this is. Infuriatingly she doesn’t, nodding as though this is an entirely normal discussion between the best of friends. “Go ahead,” Yennefer says, sweet as her lemonade. “I’ll give you your space.”

“Thank you,” Fringilla says, as haughty as she can manage. When the door shuts, she very nearly collapses.

Twenty-five minutes before Fringilla lays her eyes on Yennefer’s massive dildo, she exits from the highway early by accident. She realizes her mistake nearly immediately, slamming her palm against the steering wheel and cursing, but there isn’t much she can do now except try to navigate home from this neighbourhood instead. This is just the icing on top of an already horrendous day at the end of an equally difficult week. She heads into the unfamiliar suburb, her tiny and beloved lemon of a car rattling over a speed bump in the already uneven road. Then Fringilla sees something on the sidewalk and her foot presses against the brake pedal.

The sign propped up against the back of a chair is adorable. The little girl behind the table hardly perks up as Fringilla’s car slows, busy counting out her earnings from the day. With a price as low as 25 cents per cup, she can’t have made much of a profit. Fringilla fumbles around her purse for a quarter and only finds a dollar.

Working a high-end business job means that she doesn’t get to see kids very often; her office is too fast-paced for any workplace bonding activities like bringing in children, and she can’t imagine half of her coworkers as parents anyway. Fringilla travels too much for work to develop any personal connections, so having kids of her own is out of the question. She wouldn’t want to be a mother anyway— she got a plant as a White Elephant gift last year and that had been too much responsibility.

But when she parks in the shade of a tall willow and opens the door, the little girl at the lemonade stand notices her immediately and starts craning her neck to get a better look. Fringilla waves awkwardly and the child beams, waving back. “Hello! I like your jacket!”

What a brilliant saleswoman. Fringilla loves her immediately. She smiles, crossing the sidewalk and carefully stepping over the chalk art. “Thank you,” she replies, adjusting the lapels of her pearl blazer. Fringilla is fond of this jacket too, especially since it’s helped her close more deals this past quarter than many of her coworkers. “Can I buy some lemonade?”

“Of course,” the kid says, grabbing a cup from the stack and reaching for the pitcher. The cups are water cooler sized but in the lemonade, slices of real lemons float around with the ice. It must be homemade. The girl lifts the pitcher with both hands and carefully sieves the juice out, pouring a cup for Fringilla. “That’ll be twenty five cents, please!”

“I only have this, so please take it. Consider it a tip.” If Fringilla’s mannerisms sound as awkward as she feels, the child doesn’t let on, graciously accepting the money and slipping it into a grey lockbox. Fringilla accepts the proffered cup of lemonade and drinks gladly, draining it in two sips. Maybe she’s just had an exceptionally long day but this is the most refreshing drink she’s ever had.

“Do you like it? I helped my mom make it,” presses the girl. Usually that idea would make Fringilla cringe, bringing to mind sticky fingers and food safety violations.

But looking at this beaming kid, there’s no way she could do anything except bask in the domesticity. “It’s very good,” Fringilla tells her, smiling wider than usual. “You know… From one businesswoman to another, I believe you could stand to raise your prices. I’d gladly pay a dollar for another cup.”

“Okay!” The girl jumps on the opportunity and reaches to pour another cup, surprising Fringilla so much she laughs. She can’t recall the last time she laughed like this; maybe last weekend when Cahir had come over and they’d watched that old sci-fi movie together. Does she only ever laugh on the weekends now?

As Fringilla is wheezing and shaking with giggles, the front door behind the lemonade stand opens to reveal the kid’s mother, coming outside to check on her and her customer. At first Fringilla doesn’t even recognize the beautiful woman with her hair tied back in a loose French braid. She’s wearing a low-cut dark dress with the sleeves pushed up to her elbows, and over it a light blue apron. There’s a wooden spoon sticking out of the apron pocket, and it shifts to the side when the woman leans against the doorframe, watching Fringilla keenly with sharp, violet eyes.

Fringilla nearly gasps. She can feel her eyes bulging out of her head but she can’t wipe the shellshocked look from her face, blinking rapidly to try to make sense of the vision before her. “Yennefer,” she more mouths than says, the shape of the name she’d tried hard to forget leaving her lips parted.

The beautiful woman is just as surprised to see her. She narrows her eyes, glancing between Fringilla and her daughter. Fringilla, embarrassed, crunches the paper cup in her fist. Yennefer steps onto the porch without glancing away, gaze still searing into Fringilla’s soul. “What a surprise,” she declares. She sounds the same as ever, even if she looks wildly different from the young woman Fringilla remembers.

“That’ll be another dollar, please,” says the girl— Yennefer’s daughter— and it breaks the silence. Fringilla fumbles around her purse as Yennefer descends the steps from the house, gaze never leaving her for even a second.

Fringilla slides over another dollar but she doesn’t touch the new cup of lemonade, the first one still crumpled in her hand. Yennefer comes up behind her daughter, an odd light in her eyes. “Would you like to come inside?”

“Uh,” Fringilla bleats, turning to glance at her still unlocked car. She reaches for the key fob and locks it, and when she looks back at the family in front of her, the little blonde girl is smiling sweetly and Yennefer is watching her, one eyebrow quirked. Is this a challenge, just like how everything else used to be with her? “I could come in for a few minutes!”

The girl, whose name is apparently Cirilla-Ciri-for-short, quickly retreats to the living room, leaving Fringilla and Yennefer alone in the kitchen with no buffer. It sets Fringilla’s nerves on edge but the intimate privacy seems to have no effect whatsoever on Yennefer. The woman indicates a seat for Fringilla at the kitchen island and then goes to wash her hands, bending slightly over the sink. Her dress is shorter than the apron and the tight fit around her hips and ass leaves nothing to the imagination. Fringilla politely averts her gaze.

“So,” Yennefer says, twisting around and commanding her attention once more. “How did you find me? And more importantly, what brings you here?”

“Serendipity,” Fringilla blurts out. “I had no idea you lived here, really. I’m as shocked as you!” Yennefer just hums thoughtfully, and Fringilla adds, “I’m more shocked, really. You’ve changed so much.”

“You too,” Yennefer replies, indicating Fringilla’s hand. As if the faded burns on her hands are anything compared to Yennefer’s full-body transformation. The jaw and back that had caused her such agony are perfectly straight and slender now— not a bone out of place. But Fringilla never remembers Yennefer like this anyway, her memories of the woman tending to shy away from the dramatic reveal at their graduation ceremony. She thinks of Yennefer standing tall despite her insecurities, and how the strict cut of their school uniform should have done her no favours but instead she shone through. She had great tits back then too, although Fringilla would sooner have disemboweled herself than admit it.

“That isn’t what I meant, it’s…” Fringilla points helplessly at the pitcher on the counter, and the juicer, still sticky with pulp. “I never imagined you settling down like this.”

“I didn’t imagine it either,” admits the woman. She picks up the juicer again, turning it in her grip; then she reaches for half of a lemon. Fringilla can’t tear her eyes away from the process, watching the juice and seeds gush out from the fruit as Yennefer pushes the handles together. All the while, she talks; “I also didn’t expect it to happen this soon but I met someone, and then Ciri sort of… came to us. Like destiny.”

Fringilla’s stomach turns. She fights the urge to roll her eyes against the corny sweetness, and instead ends up drumming her nails against the counter and drinking her lemonade. Now that she knows Yennefer made it by hand, she’s annoyed about how good it tastes.

Perhaps sensing her bitterness Yennefer changes the subject, giving the pitcher a stir and then leaving it. She leans forward against the island between them, resting her elbows against the countertop. Like this, Fringilla has a perfect view of her cleavage. She doesn’t break eye contact with Yennefer, even when the woman’s tone drops down into something softer and she says, “God, it’s been years. I haven’t seen you since… grad, right?”

She should nod and smile and make polite small talk. Suddenly, Fringilla discovers that she can’t. The bitterness churning in her gut makes her spit out, “It’s a wonder that you saw me at all that night. You barely said hello.”

She remembers it like it happened yesterday. Yennefer had swept into the hall, newly transformed by dangerous and invasive surgeries, and every head in the room turned. In an instant Fringilla had lost what she considered at the time her greatest career option, as her prospective employer flocked to Yennefer like a moth to a light. But that hadn’t bothered her, not as much as losing a friend had.

Sounding nearly awed, Yennefer mumbles, “How can you remember any of that? That feels like another life for me.”

Blood pulsing hot with irritation, Fringilla snaps, “I think about it all the time.”

It’s more than she meant to say and she immediately regrets it, especially when Yennefer’s immediate reaction is to fix her with another one of those quizzical fucking faces of puzzlement, perfectly sculpted eyebrow rising. Yennefer looks so intrigued by the frisson of Fringilla’s rage, and yet when she replies, her tone is icy. “I haven’t thought about you in years.”

“Incredible.” Fringilla is powerless to stop herself from bristling as she rises from her seat. “You’re even more of a bitch than I remember. I need to go.”

She’s glad that she spared Yennefer one last selfish look as she sees the woman’s mouth twist into a sorrowful frown. Good— let her regret this encounter. Maybe in the years to come Fringilla will haunt Yennefer’s mind instead of the other way around.

But then as she moves to leave the kitchen, a knock on the front door interrupts. Ciri scrambles to her feet and dashes out of the living room, sprinting past Yennefer and Fringilla as she hurries to open the door. Yennefer moves too, taking Fringilla’s hands in hers and imploring her, “He can’t know you’re here,” which sends a chill down Fringilla’s spine. “Please, you have to go upstairs. Please, Fringilla.”

From the entranceway Ciri squeals, presumably hugging whoever ‘he’ might be. “Jaskier! I’m just taking a break but did you want some lemonade?!”

Two distinct strangers laugh in response, then a gruff, low voice teases, “It’s all about Jaskier these days, hm?”

“Hello, Geralt,” Ciri deadpans. Fringilla can hear her eyes rolling from here. Yennefer releases only one of Fringilla’s hands and begins pulling the woman along after her, apparently taking Fringilla’s curious silence as agreement to the insane, stupid plan.

She should break free of Yennefer’s light grip and storm out the front door, shoving Geralt and Jaskier (whoever the hell they are) out of the way. But Fringilla has always been weak to Yennefer’s dangerous schemes, caving to her faster than any of the others in their class— even if she would often pretend to protest just for show.

So she lets Yennefer bring her to the staircase, which leads her upstairs. In Yennefer’s home. Alone. The house is not particularly large but it’s obviously well-loved, with paintings and photographs and odd memorabilia scattered around the walls. Fringilla never imagined Yennefer in a place like this; when she had considered it, she had always imagined Yennefer living in circumstances similar to her own. Maybe they could have met on a business trip after accidentally booking with the same foreign hotel. Maybe they could have lived in the same apartment building, missing each other by minutes for years. Fringilla thinks about it more than she’d like to admit.

Except, of course, she just admitted it to Yennefer’s fucking face.

From upstairs Fringilla can hardly hear the noise of the guests so she busies herself by snooping around. It is a mostly fruitless adventure. Ciri’s door is closed so Fringilla doesn’t intrude, and the bathroom, linens closet, and Yennefer’s office don’t hold any items of particular interest. Nothing piques her curiosity at all— not until the master bathroom. Then, because fate has it out for her, Yennefer finds her there.

Fringilla exits the bathroom smelling of Yennefer’s hand lotion, because after washing her hands she had put some on and immediately regretted doing so. The scent is oddly specific to Yennefer and it clouds her mind; she rubs her soft palms together idly, thinking of Yennefer. Then she looks up and sees the very woman who has plagued her thoughts so much the entire time they’ve known each other, and Fringilla stops thinking about lotion or lavender or anything other than legs.

Yennefer still wears the same dress as earlier, although the apron has been discarded. Thanks to how she’s perched on the edge of her mattress, her calves are practically on display, and the dress hugs her thighs tightly. It would take almost no effort at all to slide the dress up and reveal the rest of her. Fringilla’s gaze snaps up to meet Yennefer’s as she fights embarrassment and arousal, and she knows that Yennefer knows exactly what she’s thinking of.

The woman rolls a glass of rosé around her palm, wine rippling before she raises it to her mouth and sips. All the apologetic sorrow from downstairs has faded, replaced by cool, sexy indifference. Fringilla, stilted and awkward as always, tells her, “You look like the rectoress.”

“God,” Yennefer laughs quietly, swirling the wine in her hand again. “I forgot we all used to call Tissaia that!”

Something about the familiarity of Tissaia rubs Fringilla the wrong way. She knows that Yennefer always felt differently about their rectoress than anyone else, because Yennefer had not been selected for Aretuza under the careful supervision of a loving family. Tissaia de Vries had plucked her from a terrible situation. Suddenly curious once more and ready to snoop, Fringilla demands, “Do you still keep in touch with her?”

But Yennefer quickly replies, “I don’t keep in touch with anyone from those days.” The unspoken ‘I have a new life’ hangs between them until Yennefer sets her glass down on the nightstand beside a bottle that Fringilla hadn’t noticed earlier. It clinks quietly against the wood, and Fringilla’s shoulders sag down. Yennefer must notice, as she returns politely, “And what about you?”

Better not to share a single thing, when Yennefer had been so obviously against forming any connection. Fringilla scowls, wanting to shake Yennefer silly and demand to know why she isn’t downstairs with her husband and company. Wanting to shove the rest of that gorgeous dress up over Yennefer’s hips and prove how she’s grown. Instead, she hisses, “You don’t get to know about me.”

“You’re blowing things a little out of proportion,” Yennefer says, condescension souring her words. “We were friends for a long time.”

“I never wanted to be your friend,” says Fringilla, face heating. It’s the closest she’s come to ever confessing the true depths of her feelings for Yennefer, and even if the words are shallow and cruel on paper their meaning must be unmistakable.

Instead of addressing her confession directly, Yennefer has the hall to beam and bat her eyelashes. “That’s so cute,” she coos. Reaching for the bottle of wine she holds it out to Fringilla, who declines the offer with a sharp shake of her head. “Surely the lemonade wasn’t enough for you.”

Yennefer is teasing, and it’s enough to twist Fringilla’s nerves into a frenzied mess. “I don’t really drink much.”

“Fuck. You’re just perpetually stuck in school, aren’t you?” She doesn’t grace that with a response, and Yennefer scoffs. “Liven up, Fringilla!”

“Some of us have modesty, Yennefer,” snaps Fringilla. “We don’t run around and drink during the day, or leave our… intimate lifestyle products out on the bathroom counter!”

“Well, I can hardly put them in the dishwasher, can I?”

“Show some manners! I’m admonishing you and you’re hardly listening.”

“You’re going to lecture me about my manners after I caught you snooping around my room?” Yennefer rises slightly, straightening up in her spot on the bed. Her fury is beautiful and it stokes Fringilla’s own. “I didn’t invite you to go rooting through my belongings.”

“No,” Fringilla replies, curt but livid. “You shoved me up here so that your husband wouldn’t see me!”

That draws a quick and angry laugh out of Yennefer. Leaning forward, she squints up at Fringilla and demands, “Does the idea of me having a husband bother you that much?”

“No,” Fringilla repeats.

“You’re all nervous,” teases Yennefer.

Fringilla starts to worry that she might be losing this argument. “I can assure you, I don’t care what you do with your life.”

“You do care,” the woman presses. “Otherwise you wouldn’t have scolded me about the sex toys.”

“I don’t!”

“Yes, you do.” Pleased with herself, Yennefer leans back and relaxes once more. The sight makes Fringilla furious but she doesn’t move from where she’s rooted to the ground. She watches in angry silence as Yennefer reclines, lying back onto the bed, bare legs still hanging off the edge. “You’ve always judged me. But to judge someone, you have to watch them— and you’re not the type for snap judgements. You’ve been watching me very closely for a very long time.”

Fringilla glares, setting her jaw in place. Then her fury boils over into desire as Yennefer lifts just her head, staring at Fringilla— and parting her legs ever so slightly.

“Why stop now?” asks Yennefer, sultry voice still teasing and dark eyes still staring. Fringilla spares only the briefest glance to the closed door before finally, finally giving in to what she wants.

Jaskier has slid off the couch onto the carpet of Yennefer’s living room, seemingly without realizing that he’s done so. Geralt watches him fondly, eyes trailing over the soft hair at the back of his neck that he’s let grow a bit too long to be stylish. He’ll likely go for a trim soon but for now Geralt gets to enjoy the sight of Jaskier letting loose.

He reaches forward to card his fingers through Jaskier’s hair and his efforts are rewarded with a soft look thrown back over the man’s shoulder. Geralt would kiss him but he doesn’t want to interrupt; Jaskier has been poring over Ciri’s homework with her for nearly an hour as they wait for Yen to return from her shower. So he resigns himself to watching, and occasionally snorting with amusement when Ciri and Jaskier squabble over elementary grammar.

Then someone descends the staircase and Geralt lifts his head, only to be surprised by the sight of a woman who is definitely not Yennefer. She’s dressed to the nines in a white and blue blazer over dress pants and a high-cut blouse; she looks like she should be attending a business meeting, not making a house visit to a single mother. Geralt supposes she could have been here for business— it wouldn’t be unlike Yen to invite someone up to meet in her office without informing anyone else. And it’s not like Geralt or Jaskier live here after all.

But then the woman meets his questioning gaze and something about her strikes a chord of recognition in Geralt. He’s only seen her in photographs, and her hair is braided finely instead of hanging down in tight curls. But the soft brown eyes that sharply behold the room are exactly the same, even if ten or fifteen years have passed. And Geralt is hardly likely to forget the woman that Yennefer tends to fawn over after every bottle of wine.

Jaskier and Ciri notice the stranger and both turn to greet her kindly. “Oh, I didn’t know Yen had company,” says Jaskier, causing Geralt to smile. He remembers when his friend would sooner call Yen a slew of insults than her actual name, and now he’s adopted the same nickname Geralt has for her. It’s sweet. “Pleased to meet you!”

“Thanks for coming by the stand,” says Ciri, who seems very unfazed by the woman’s appearance. She must have arrived earlier, then, while Ciri was still running her lemonade stand. Geralt would be able to dismiss this as a business meeting that ran late if it weren’t for the slight dishevelment around the woman’s waistline, as if she’d hastily tucked her blouse back into her pants. From everything he knows about her, Fringilla Vigo does not seem the kind of woman to walk around with wrinkled clothing. Then Geralt catches a whiff of Yennefer’s perfume, and his eyes widen.

Fringilla, unaware of his realization, replies to Ciri, “How much did you make?” Ciri quickly shoves her homework aside and reaches for the lockbox to count her money again, and Fringilla smiles, small and amused. “Are you still open for a late order?”

“Yes, of course!” Practically singing, Ciri jumps to her feet and sprints out of the room to retrieve more juice. Fringilla watches her go, still wearing the same amused smile.

As Jaskier starts organizing Ciri’s homework into a neat pile, Geralt is unable to restrain himself. “I recognize you from Yennefer’s old yearbooks,” he blurts out. Fringilla and Jaskier both whirl to look at him, but he doesn’t walk it back. “Fringilla, right?”

Fringilla’s eyes widen with surprise but she nods, folding her arms over her chest. “I wasn’t aware there were any pictures of us together.”

“No, there weren’t,” Geralt tells her. He can practically hear Yennefer screaming at him from upstairs but it doesn’t dissuade him. “But she’s shown me pictures of you before. Many, many pictures.”

Obviously charmed, Fringilla moves to stand behind one of the armchairs. Geralt wants to tell her she’s welcome to sit and stay, but he isn’t aware of Yennefer’s policy on mid-day hook-ups staying to hang out. Then again, this might be different— this is, of course, Fringilla they’re talking about here. In a softer tone, Fringilla begins, “So… Yennefer did mention me then…?”

“Only a thousand times,” scoffs Geralt. “All these years later and she still never shuts up about her schoolgirl rival from Aretuza.”

“Ah.” Fringilla curls her fingers over the back of the chair, wincing in slight embarrassment. “My friends have similar complaints.”

Before Geralt can tell Fringilla that she doesn’t need to worry and Yen thinks the world of her (and is, in fact, slightly obsessed), footsteps thunder above their heads as Yennefer runs downstairs. Her usual cool attitude has been shoved aside in favour of glorious, embarrassed anger. She looks downright flustered as she skids to a stop in the living room, looking quickly between Jaskier and Geralt and Fringilla. “What did he say,” she demands, breathless. “Geralt, what did you say? Don’t think I’m above homicide just because you’re the father of my child.”

But Fringilla steps away from the chair and places a gentle hand on Yennefer’s upper arm, speaking quietly and calmly. “We were just discussing Ciri’s spoils for the day.”

Geralt and Jaskier watch, dumbfounded, as Yennefer softens in an instant. Geralt has never seen anyone with this sort of effect on her. He scoops Jaskier up from the floor, hands curling under his arms to bring the man up onto the couch beside him to watch. Jaskier instantly leans into his side, just as transfixed and bewildered as Geralt. Both of them gape as Yennefer says, staring deeply into Fringilla’s eyes, “Thank you for buying some lemonade. I know it means a lot to her!”

Nodding so soberly that there’s no way she’s only discussing lemonade, Fringilla replies, “I’m glad I stopped by. Very glad.”

And with that Yen pulls her into a tight hug right there, in front of everyone. Yen hadn’t hugged Jaskier for the first six years of knowing him, but… Geralt does suppose she’s known Fringilla for much longer. Fringilla returns the embrace readily, hugging her tightly back, and they stay wrapped around each other until Ciri returns with a wobbly tray and five glasses of homemade lemonade.

“Come and set it down over here,” Jaskier pipes up, which knocks the women out of whatever haze they’d entered together. They still cling to each other as they move out of Ciri’s way, and even as they settle into separate armchairs, they lean together as though magnetically pulled to do so. Geralt catches himself smiling when Yennefer meets his eyes across the room, but she’s smiling too. It seems she’s finally reconciled with her old rival.

#yengilla fic #yengilla #fringilla #geraskier fic #geraskier #yennefer #my writing #events #flash fic challenge

16 notes · View notes

loftec · 3 years

Note

Hi! in this prompt, could we know about Mickey's ex boyfriend or something? I think his name was Matt?

thank you for participating + pre NTW - Mickey's POV 👀

Anon: tell us about Matt

Yevgeny: his name was Mark

Mickey, pinching the bridge of his nose: Martin, and no. I’m not gonna tell you about Martin.

Narrator: little did Mickey know that he had zero say on the matter, let’s goooo.

April 13, 2013. Saturday.

Mickey is just off the L when his phone rings. For a moment, he considers ignoring the buzzing in his pocket as he lights up a cigarette and bounds down the metal steps. The list of people likely to call him is very limited, and most of that list is very welcome to fuck off to voicemail on a Saturday evening. Work can fuck off, telemarketers can doubly fuck off. On this particular Saturday, even his extended family can fuck off. It might be Martin, wondering where he is, but he can quite frankly also fuck off, seeing as Mickey is no more than five minutes away from their agreed rendezvous.

That only leaves one, and the thought alone is enough for Mickey to step out of the flow of people rushing to and from the platform, and check the damned call. Seeing the ID, he quickly picks up, pressing the phone to his ear.

”What the fuck?” he asks, unsure if he should be annoyed or alarmed and figuring this would best cover a bit of both.

”Hey dad,” his son says, unexpectedly.

”Yev?” Mickey says, inching towards annoyed. At least his son is unharmed enough to dial a phone, so it can’t be too bad. ”What’s wrong? Where’s Sonya?”

”She’s right here,” Yevgeny says, he sounds fine, normal, good, ”we can’t find the cake poking thing.”

Staring at the empty space in front of him, Mickey feels the rest of his mood swan dive head-first into annoyed. ”The what?”

”The thing we use to poke cakes, to check if they’re done? We can’t find it and we need it, the cake is almost done.”

Taking the forgotten cigarette from his lips, Mickey angles the burning end away from his face as he rubs at the deep line between his eyebrows.

”Kid,” he says, trying to sound calm, ”give the phone to Sonya.”

There are some muffled noises over the line, and then Mickey can hear his son’s distant voice. ”He wants to talk to you.”

”Hey Mickey,” Sonya comes on, breezy as anything. ”Is it supposed to be in the cutlery drawer? Been rifling through that thing for a good minute already.”

”Are you fucking kidding me?”

”What? It’s not such a weird guess, is it? I’d say it’s cutlery adjacent at least.”

”I’ve been outta the fucking house for less than forty minutes!” Mickey says, calmly. He is absolutely not screeching loud enough to have people on the street give him concerned looks. ”And you call me about some fucking–, I don’t have anything like that! Who has a thing specifically for poking cakes?!”

”Oh please,” Sonya scoffs. ”Plenty people do, you being one of them!”

He wants to point out that this is categorically not what he meant when he said ’call me if there’s an emergency’, but he’s got a feeling that this is only going to get him into an argument about the definition of ’emergency’ that he’s not going to win, and besides, he’s got bigger fish to fry right now.

”I absolutely do fucking not!” he splutters, glaring at a couple throwing him side-eye as they rush past him. ”Are you outta your mind?”

”I know you have one, because I gave it to you,” Sonya says, clanking sounds in the background from where she’s still presumably rifling through Mickey’s shit. ”Remember? When you moved in? I got it in Sweden when I was visiting for my cousin’s wedding. It was hand crafted, Mickey, you better not have thrown it out!”

”That thing?” Mickey balks, smoothly electing to not point out that they both know Sonya came home from her trip with like ten of those in her luggage and then spent the next two years giving them to all her friends and family whenever she’d forgot about getting gifts for an occasion. ”I stuck it in Merida.”

The silence on the other end of the line is palpable, and it takes a second for Mickey to hear what he just said.

”Who is Merida, and do I want to know why you stuck my hand-carved Swedish cake poker in her?”

Mickey sighs, and decides that he doesn’t have to answer that. He can try, at least. ”Tell Yev it’s in Merida.”

”I most certainly will not tell your sweet summer child that you’ve stuck the cake poker in–,” her increasingly high pitched voice abruptly falls to a hiss, ”–Merida, who is Merida?”

Luckily, Mickey can hear his son in the background, saving him from having to explain. ”It’s this thing?”

There’s another silence, Mickey takes the opportunity to smoke and accept the inevitable.

”Two questions,” Sonya says, her usual good humor back in her voice. ”One, you stuck my hand-carved Swedish souvenir in a potted plant? And two, you named the plant Merida?”

”It’s cartoon character–,” Mickey starts, before realizing what he’s saying and cutting himself off, ”I didn’t name it, obviously.”

”But you still call it by its name.”

”Whatever,” Mickey blows out a puff of smoke and can’t help smiling. Sometimes he just has to stop and take stock of how fucking ridiculous his life has turned out. And how much he fucking likes it, despite himself. ”Congratulations, you found it. Any other emergency you needed me for, or can I get back to my–”

He swallows, catching himself mid-sentence, suddenly unsure of how he intended to end it.

”–thing.”

”You’re there already?” Sonya asks, sounding genuinely remorseful now. ”Sorry, you left so late I thought for sure you’d missed the train and would still be en route, or I wouldn’t have told Yev to call. How’s the date going?”

Mickey swallows again, throat dry. He starts walking down the street in the direction of the bar.

”It’s fine, still on the way,” he says, ”and it’s not a date.”

”Like heck it isn’t,” Sonya tuts, ”you’re out on a Yev weekend for the first time since I’ve known you, and I saw that shirt you’re wearing.”

He runs a hand self-consciously along his belt, his button-down still tucked in and in place. He refuses to worry about it.

”You looked good, Mickey, I meant to tell you,” Sonya continues, and she doesn’t even sound like she’s teasing anymore which Mickey knows even less how to handle. ”And you’re undeniably on a date.”

”Shut up,” Mickey mutters and smiles to himself when Sonya laughs. Feeling a little more himself, he chucks his cigarette to the curb and stops to look across the road at his destination. ”Maybe.”

He hadn’t really considered the possibility, before Martin asked him. But the sex was always good, they got along really well, and when Martin looked up at him from his bed as Mickey was pulling on his jeans, his hair rumpled and lips still shiny, and asked if he wanted to go to some kind of hipster showcase gig together, Mickey had barely even hesitated.

”About time, too,” Sonya says. ”Was starting to think the guy wasn’t all there, taking his sweet time. Maybe he was waiting for you to ask.”

”Ey,” Mickey shakes his head, ”it’s only been a couple of months.”

”Try six! That’s half of a whole year.”

”Try minding your own fucking business,” Mickey says and frowns. Maybe it has been that long since the first time they hooked up, but it’s not like they’ve been fucking on the regular the whole time since then.

”Just happy for you, Mickey,” Sonya says, like it’s an easy thing for her to say. ”You like him, right?”

He doesn’t say yes, but he doesn’t outright deny it either, which probably tells Sonya everything she needs to know.

”Gotta go,” he says instead, ”and don’t call me again unless it’s an actual fucking emergency. See you tomorrow.”

Not waiting to see if she’s got something to say to that, he hangs up and shoves the phone back into his pocket. Staring at the unassuming building across the street, he allows himself a moment to take it all in. He’s just casing the joint before he enters, it’s normal fucking behavior. He isn’t stalling.

It doesn’t look too busy from the outside, there’s no line, and no bouncer or guard by the propped open double doors. The walls of the building are littered with layers of posters, on both sides of the doors and across the covered windows. Not much can be seen through the doors from his vantage point, but he assumes that it’s a front room leading to whatever’s going on inside the building.

There’s a guy standing off to the side of the doors, smoking. He’s got a lanyard shoved down his back pocket, ID badge dangling in clear sight. Most likely someone working at the bar, out on a break. His shoulders are hunched and he’s got a phone clutched to his ear, head bent and lips pressed together in a thin line. He nods at whatever is being said to him over the phone. Mickey looks up at the worn sign above the door.

”Fuck it,” Mickey mutters and, pushing aside the last of his niggling doubt, makes his way across the street and through the doors. It’s dark enough inside that his eyes need a second to adjust, before he quickly orients himself and heads toward the noise and lights leaking out from behind a set of swing doors beyond the coat check.

”Excuse me!” someone pipes up behind him, and he turns back to raise his eyebrows at the girl standing behind a counter by the entrance. ”We’ve got a showcase tonight, you need to buy a ticket.”

She makes an apologetic face as Mickey gets closer and pulls out his wallet.

”25,” she says when he gives her a questioning look.

”Christ,” he mutters, but forks over the money. ”This better be good.”

”We’ve got a really exciting lineup tonight, all local acts,” she says, obviously relieved now that he’s payed and she can tuck away his hard earned cash in her little lock box. ”I’m hoping I can take a break soon so I can sneak a peak of the headliner.”

She winks at him as she hands over a ticket, and he has zero fucking clue what he’s supposed to do with any of that.

”Okay?” he says and accepts the ticket. ”What’s this for? I’m already here.”

”In case you want to go in and out,” she says, and then tacks on when she seems to remember something she’s supposed to say; ”there’s no smoking in the venue.”

Mickey shrugs and pockets the ticket, biting back the urge to tell her that there’s no fucking smoking anywhere these days, thank you very much. The girl is still smiling at him when he turns his back on her and heads for the bar.

”Have fun!”

Finally inside, the place seems to be a collection of smaller rooms with some walls knocked down to make a larger, oddly shaped space. The bar is crowded, three bartenders moving around each other and pouring drinks in the narrow space behind it, and all the tables tucked away in the dark half-room next to it seem occupied. In the main room, Mickey finds the small, raised stage with a bigger crowd gathered in front of it. There’s a guy on stage, talking about something and looking like he’s about to cry while getting thoroughly ignored by a majority of his audience.

Mickey included, when he spots Martin a bit to the left of the stage. He’s talking to a couple of people he must have met in the crowd, smiling in that carefree way of his, eyes squeezed together and head tossed back when he laughs. He seems to do that a lot, laugh and talk and make friends wherever he goes. Open about himself in casual throw-away lines as he lets Mickey into his apartment, takes his clothes off, catching his breath, seeing Mickey off again. It’s nice seeing him out here, in the real world.

Maybe this could work. Mickey really should have tried harder to be on time, leaving your date to make new friends while he waits for you to show up seems like a bad move, now that he thinks about it.

Shit. Here goes nothing.

”Hey!” Martin exclaims, face lighting up with a wide smile when Mickey walks into his line of sight. He doesn’t sound upset, really doesn’t look it either when he pulls Mickey in for a quick kiss. It’s over before Mickey’s had the chance to do much else than blink in surprise.

”I’m late,” he acknowledges and hopes Martin will take the attempt at an apology for what it is.

”It’s fine,” Martin gins at him, tilting his head in the direction of the stage, ”you haven’t missed anything good.”

”– have you ever noticed that?” the guy on stage mutters into the microphone, ”I mean–, uh, I’ve noticed, that–, sometimes–”

Tuning the guy out again, Mickey looks past his date at the two people still standing on his other side, regarding them curiously.

”We got a problem?” he asks them, raising his eyebrows further when the woman just smiles at him.

”Oh,” Martin says, angling himself so the four of them make a little semi-circle in the crowd. ”My friends, Nora, Ethan, this is Mickey.”

Mickey stares at the side of Martin’s face for a moment, before he notices Ethan’s outstretched hand. He feels confused enough to grab it in a quick handshake. The woman, Nora, just keeps smiling.

”Nice to meet you, Mickey,” she says, clearly hiding something. People generally aren’t this smiley without an agenda, in Mickey’s experience.

”Sure,” Mickey says, glancing at Martin for some clue as to what he’s supposed to do now.

”You wanna go get yourself a drink?” Martin asks, pointing in the direction of the bar. ”This comedy train wreck should be over soon, hopefully.”

”Sure,” Mickey says again, wrong-footed by the whole odd situation and frustrated with himself for not being able to shake the feeling that he’s made a huge mistake.

”Go with him!” Nora says, making Martin take a half-step closer to Mickey by shoving lightly at his shoulder. ”We’ll save the spot.”

She gives Martin a pointed look and some kind of silent communication seems to happen between them, ending with her looking victorious and Martin dropping his head back with an exaggerated sigh. Then he turns to Mickey and playfully gestures for him to lead the way.

”Sorry about her,” he says once they’ve reached the bar, leaning in closer to speak directly into Mickey’s ear. The warmth of his breath makes the hairs on his neck stand on end. ”I keep telling her to back off, but she’s got it in her head that we’re doing something we’re not.”

Mickey swallows and turns his head to look at Martin when he leans back.

”And what are we doing?” he asks, and he doesn’t realize how it sounds until he sees Martin’s gobsmacked expression.

He lets out a startled laugh. ”Are we really gonna talk about this now? Here?”

And technically, Mickey agrees with him. He really doesn’t want to have the ’what are we’ conversation, and he definitely doesn’t want to have it now, here. But he’s already said it, and now he needs to know.

”Maybe,” he says and frowns when Martin just stares at him for a moment.

”I don’t know?” Martin eventually says. ”We have fun, right? I didn’t think you wanted it to be more than that?”

Mickey can barely hear his own thoughts over the noise from the bar, but he can practically feel his heartbeat in his throat. ”Do you?”

Martin makes a pained face, like it’s an involuntary reaction to the mere idea, before he shrugs helplessly and gives Mickey an uncertain smile.

”We don’t really have anything in common, Mickey,” he says. ”I don’t know, I just don’t see it going anywhere.”

”Thank you for participating,” the guy on stage says, his voice louder and verging on hysterical. It gives Mickey a reason to look away from Martin’s face for a second, hating the sympathetic twist to his lips. He feels like a fool.

”You suck!” someone yells in the audience.

”Yeah? Right back at you buddy!”

”Get off the stage!”

”Sure,” Mickey says, and nods. ”No, sure. You’re right.”

”Sorry?” Martin says and grins when Mickey rolls his eyes. ”And we can still have fun, right? Hey, I’ll buy you a drink! What do you want?”

”Anything, a beer,” Mickey tries to focus on Martin, on the list of prices pinned to the wall behind the bar, but there is suddenly too much noise, too many people, too much… stuff. ”I just gotta–”

He doesn’t know what he’s trying to say, so he stops. He doesn’t know what he wants, but getting out of this room would be a good start.

Martin looks confused, and then tuts reproachfully when Mickey pulls out his pack of smokes and gestures in the direction of the doors. He hates it when Mickey smokes, always makes him brush his teeth before they do anything. Guess that’s another thing they don’t have in common. Mickey hadn’t given it much thought.

He leaves Martin by the bar to fend for the bartender’s attention on his own and goes back outside, ignoring the surprised look on the girl by the door when he strides past her. Once outside, he’d hoped the fresh air and relative silence would knock him back on track, but it doesn’t. Everything is exactly the same, only now he can add ’running away like a pussy’ to the list of tonight’s embarrassments. He hates this, this isn’t him.

He should go back inside, show Martin and his friends that he doesn’t give a shit. Have a couple of beers, get through the night, make that asshole suck his dick until he can’t feel anything but a warm mouth and his own pleasure. But he’s not repaying any favors, not tonight, let that shithead take care of himself, since he can’t see it going anywhere. Fuck that. It’s fine.

”I know–, no, I know…”

Wrapped up in his own bullshit, Mickey hadn’t noticed he wasn’t alone. The same man from before is still on the phone, and he looks if possible even more miserable than he did when Mickey first arrived.

”That isn’t–, no, I know you didn’t… listen–”

Mickey ignores him, taking out a cigarette putting it to his lips. Might as well, he’s already out here. He lights it up. He, lights it up… come the fuck on, he lights it up. His lighter is out. Fucking great.

”Ey,” he says and turns to the guy on the phone, ”you got a light?”

The guy stares at him, and Mickey absently thinks he looks even worse up close. Like, disturbingly hot and built enough to properly toss a guy around if he wanted, but absolutely worn down by whatever it is he’s doing with whoever’s on the phone with him. Whatever, not Mickey’s problem. He shakes his empty lighter when the guy doesn’t immediately react.

”Oh,” the guy blinks, his eyes are red. He digs out a lighter from somewhere and hands it over. ”Here.”

”Thanks,” Mickey steps close enough so he can reach out and take it, and consequently hear the distant sound of a man’s voice on the other end of the line. He can’t make out any words, but the tone is unmistakable. The guy frowns and turns away slightly.

”Jesus, Jace, what the fuck?” he says, voice low and sharp. ”Are you serious right now? I’m not–, you know what?”

Mickey lights up and takes a couple of steps away to give the guy some privacy, but might still watch him out of the corner of his eye and hear pretty much everything he says. Call him a nosy bitch, but he really needs the distraction right now.

”I can’t do this right now,” the guy sighs, rubbing a hand over his eyes. ”We’re on in like ten minutes and I can’t–, I can’t do this with you right now. I asked you for time.”

He listens, and whatever it is that’s being said to him seems to hit a nerve. The general air around him of annoyed resolve slowly shifts into something more resigned.

”Yeah, I know… I’m sorry,” he says, and Mickey doesn’t know him or his situation, but he knows this can’t be right. ”Tomorrow, we’ll talk. I promise. Yeah, thanks… I will. Love you, too.”

Mickey shouldn’t be listening to this, he should finish his cigarette and go back inside. Find Martin and enjoy the night, have some fucking fun. Maybe he should, but he doesn’t want to.

He wants to go home, put on some fucking comfortable clothes and watch a movie with his kid.

”Heads up,” he says and waits until the phone guy looks up before he lobs the lighter back at him. He fumbles, but catches it. ”Fuck him, you deserve better.”

The guy stares at him, and rightly so. Mickey doesn’t know why he said that, he doesn’t know anything about it. But the guy looks… he looks a bit like Mickey’s feeling, deep down and buried many times over.

He looks lost.

”You deserve better,” Mickey repeats, because he already said it and he’s nothing if not all in. The guy opens his mouth on a shaky exhale, but he doesn’t say anything. Probably thinking of ways to get away from the freak accosting him on the street with unsolicited affirmation bullshit. Which, fair enough. Guess that’s Mickey’s cue to fuck off. If the guy would just stop staring at him like that.

A hand-holding couple suddenly walks right through their intense moment, heading for the doors. Mickey comes back to himself and, thinking quick, he takes out his ticket and waves it at the couple to get their attention.

”No thanks,” the man said, probably thinking he’s trying to sell it.

”Just fucking take it,” Mickey grumbles, shoving the ticket at them.

”Uh, thanks?”

Mickey waves a dismissive hand at them, already on his way.

”Thank you!” someone shouts after him.

He can’t wait to get home. Kick off his shoes, wash out the gel in his hair. Untuck his fucking shirt. Investigate whatever that cake poking business was about, hopefully cake. Watch his kid watch a movie, see his little face light up and mouth along with the words. Absolutely ignore Sonya’s inevitable attempts to get him to ’talk about it’.

His life is fucking fine the way it is, he doesn’t know why he got it in his head to try and make it something it isn’t.

#hey friends #I've had some feelings this week #and will try to get as many of these prompts out #as a double thank you #to you and the show #it's not much #but I hope it's something #also i got a bit carried away with this one #loved the prompt #thank you!#Anonymous

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