#playin these is a nice and welcome distraction | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

weretheones · 2 years

Text

Try | Part 1

Plot: For almost as long as you remembered, Daryl Dixon was in your life. A neighbour, a friend, even a one-night stand. Then finally, a partner. But, after a series of events results in a tempting job offer out of state, everything you built with Daryl is jeopardized. (Pre-Series/Pre-Apocalypse)

Requested by Anon

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader

Word Count: 6.2k because I have a problem

Warnings: mentions of DA, implied smut (18+ y’all), swearing, mentions of drug/alcohol use, mentions of violence, toxic relationships, daryl can be mean.

A/N: this fic had a mind of its own. it varies from the request (sorry, anon) but the general idea is still the same! * edit * can y’all let me know if this is in the tags cause its not showing up for me :/

—————————————————————————————

The air was practically buzzing.

Or, maybe that was just you.

Regardless, it was a welcome distraction from the chaos that had been the last week of your life. It put a sway in your step, mingling with the sounds of the cheap speakers and rowdy laughter. The ground echoed with the vibration of some obscure rock song you’d only ever hear in a place like this.

And what a place it was. Walls smeared with something (you didn’t want to know), strung Christmas lights that had been flickering since your first visit, and a phone booth that probably never worked, to begin with. A run-down shack, all in all a terrible place to be, except for the massively important fact that it was the only place to be right now.

The poor excuse for a bar was the most favourable, poor-excuse-for-a-bar around. And if you weren't thick in the Georgia woods or curled up in bed, you were here with the Dixons.

Tonight was no different— in that regard.

What was different was that somewhere between your second and fourth shot, something bold had struck you through the infamous fog of intoxication. So when you reached your hand out to Daryl Dixon, he scoffed.

“Ya ain’t serious, woman.”

“I am!” you grinned, “come on, Daryl.”

He shook his stubborn head, “I ain’t the dancin’ type.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, swayed a little in your step— but that was the drink, not the music. Catching yourself, your arm landed beside his shoulder, gripping at the back of his chair.

“Well, I am and I need a partner.” You grabbed at his hand, careful not to wrap your fingers around the tips of the darts in his clutch, “I’d rather you than any of these assholes.”

He smirked, “M’ an asshole.”

“But you’re my favourite,” you grinned, “so just try.”

The darts were loose in his grasp, he let you pull them away and throw them onto the table. His hand was limp, its weight awkwardly held in yours, despite your pleading eyes. Seeing you cling onto Daryl, Merle chuckled from the other side of the table and strode over to find out what had distracted his competition.

“Come on,” you whined, “I’m getting tired and then we’ll have to leave, so you only have one more chance.”

“If ya don’t do it, I will,” Merle smirked, smug eyes lingering at your chest. He was obvious and unashamed as he hummed in approval. Now at your side, he leaned in so close you could almost taste the whiskey on his breath. It made you nauseous, and you let go of Daryl to push him. Merle could be a bigger asshole than most, but he still stepped back, only feigning a scoff of offence to which you rolled your eyes.

Daryl stood up, his chair scratching the rotting wooden floor below, and wrapped a hand around your shoulder.

“Come on,” he huffed.

It took a second for your eyes to catch up from Daryl’s spin toward the door, but he was only gentle as he led you out of the bar.

“Oh, relax, baby brotha,” Merle called out with a low chuckle, “I was playin’ nice!”

The uneven path of gravel and dirt caught your toes and you tumbled out of the bar, but Daryl’s grip was still there to steady you. There was only the glow of a few street lights and the moon on the desolate road. A breeze rushed by, one that would have sent a chill down your spine if your skin hadn’t been burning hot. Gasoline and earth lingered in the air, and the deep inhale of air you took sobered you just enough to recognize the waves of annoyance rolling off Daryl.

“You’re not really an asshole,” you soothed, “Merle can be though.”

“M’ sorry ‘bout him, he’s an idiot.”

“I know,” you scoffed, “he was pretty tame tonight, anyway.”

“He jus’ don’t wanna get beat up by yer ol’ man,” he spared a small smile.

At the reference of the man– the ex– who’d been primarily responsible for your chaotic week, your stride faltered. He strolled ahead for two steps, before his head turned to you, brow drawn in confusion.

“Wha’?”

“He shouldn’t worry then,” you shook your head, eyes falling to your stilled feet, “Tom and I broke up.”

Daryl spared a small nod, then mumbled, “Sucks.”

“I broke up with him,” you corrected. It did suck, but at least you weren’t left with a broken heart and a million what-ifs.

“Thought ya liked ‘im?”

You sighed. He was right— you did like Tom, until, of course…

“I thought so too.” You shrugged.

“Then wha’, he cheat on ya or somethin’?”

You scoffed, “not that I know of.”

“So why?” his southern drawl pulled at the last word, and if you hadn’t been so disheartened by the topic at hand, maybe you would’ve teased him for the accent you lost years ago, or at least spared a playful grin.

Instead, you toed the dirt road below your feet, kicking a chunk loose. Reluctance rolling off you in waves that Daryl’s eyes were too trained to ever miss, even under the dim light of the lone, flickering street lamp.

Daryl wasn’t the nosy type, rarely pushed you to talk when you didn’t want to, even when he was a foot shorter and had a curiosity much too strong for his age— for his father, too. But he also knew you, and that reserved, almost shameful look in your eye clearly unsettled him from the way he finally pushed you.

“Why don’t ya wanna talk ‘bout it?” he pressed.

You rolled your eyes, your voice dejected, “because I know you.”

Daryl’s jaw tightened, flexing along the curve of his chin. His eyebrows fell and his already hooded eyes narrowed into intimidating slits. Although, not at you— never at you. Rather, like there was a growing darkness, something almost blinding, around him that he had to squint to see through.

“He hurt ya?” he asked, but it was so blunt that it sounded more like a statement.

It felt degrading to admit it out loud. You looked away, which was really all he needed to know, but you still swallowed your pride.

“He could be mean and things were getting worse…”

He didn’t respond. Daryl’s jaw was so stiff, you worried he might chip a tooth. The gloss of your eyes couldn’t have helped, either, with the way his heavy gaze flickered across you, catching on every crack of sadness in your nonchalant shrug. The shame embedded in the way you bit your lip, or the way you would only look at him for a second before you just couldn’t anymore.

“I just want to forget it,” you whispered, staring at the loose dirt fallen across your shoes.

Daryl wouldn’t, but at least you could try. And while he might not ever forget it, he never brought it up either.

“Alright,” he nodded, slightly.

Continuing down the road, you ignored the way his jaw would tighten sporadically as his eyes fluttered over your quiet, withdrawn frame and darkened, again. The walk home was mostly silent, save for the occasional brush of wind in the trees as the breeze picked up. The fresh air slowly dwindled you down from your happy buzz walking down that long road. It was dark up ahead, absent of street lamps, which meant you were approaching Miller Drive-- where there weren’t any. It was only three more minutes before you’d be home.

Home. You never thought this place would’ve been your home again, and yet, the last few years had pulled you back in. Here you were, on a Friday night making your way home after a night of too many drinks at the bar you hated. Something of regret pierced you, deep and potent.

“I don’t want to die here,” you admitted into the quiet, not even sure what you expected in return.

“Who told ya tha’?” Daryl asked.

You looked away from the dark path to his stare, illuminated by the orange glow of the last street lamp.

“Just this feeling I have.” You shrugged.

Then the moment slipped into something rare; Daryl’s usual surly demeanour cracked, and a hint of vulnerability broke through. He bit his lip softly as if debating what to say next. But until the words came, his arm wrapped around your shoulders would be enough. He let you settle closer into him, sneaking in a moment of comfort. It vaguely reminded you of the nights he would help you out of your window after your mom and dad screamed until their throats dried.

“Ya ain’t dyin’,” he said, “for one, yer too damn stubborn.”

The vibrations of his voice rubbed against your forehead, and you laughed through the few tears that slipped by. You could hear the prideful smile on his lips when he continued.

“Second, Merle’s gonna die ‘fore ya, n’ nobody can kill Merle but Merle, so ya got a long life ‘head’a ya.”

“Merle’s gonna die before me?” your question was muffled into his shirt that smelt like cigarettes and earth. Maybe a hint of dried beer too.

“Oh, yeah. He’s gotten the clap, wha’, four times now? Bound to mutate n’ kill his ass, eventually.”

“How come the mutated clap can kill him when only ‘Merle can kill Merle’?” you pulled away and glanced up with teasing eyes.

Daryl smirked, only a few inches away, “It’s his clap, ain’t it? Don’t matter anyway, ‘cause third, I ain’t ever gonna let anythin’ else happen to ya.”

The logistics of Merle’s clap-induced death seemed null now. The smile on your face was so large all you could think about was how much your cheeks burned. But maybe that was also the blush creeping up your neck.

“I’m sorry,” you rolled your eyes, wiping at your loose tears, all with the same goofy grin, “I guess those shots caught up to me.”

“’S no bother,” Daryl shrugged, “jus’ want ya to be okay.”

You pulled away, and a brush of cold air hit the skin that had been pressed into him. Until then, you hadn’t realized how warm he was, and a craving to fall back into that feeling of comfort grew in your chest. He stood up a bit straighter, and you both fell into a synced step, walking down the road together.

Daryl cleared his throat, “Are ya?”

“I don’t know,” you answered, “I feel like I’m— I’m stuck, or I’m in some kind of limbo, you know?”

“Why are ya ‘ere?” he asked, abruptly.

“What do you mean?”

“Ya came back ‘cause’a yer mom,” he shook his head, “but she’s gone now. Been a long time since ya had somethin’ keepin’ ya in Georgia.”

Unsure how to take his meaning, you just stared at him. Since you were kids, you’d known that Daryl cared about you, no matter how many arguments or miles came between you. When you’d finally returned to your hometown, to the house across the street from the infamous Dixons, you never expected to stay past your mother’s death. But the funeral was expensive, the stress of your job overwhelming, and the comfort you found in your childhood friend was too soothing to leave behind again.

“I jus’ don’t get it. Ya had a better life when ya left. I know ya— ya always hated this,” Daryl gestured around, the desolate road a perfect example, “hated town. Georgia.”

“I didn’t hate everything,” you corrected, your stare growing softer.

Something unrecognizable flickered in his eyes.

“Ya can do better. Ya did. I know after yer mom it was rough, but this ain’t ya. It never was.”

You fiddled your fingers and mumbled, “Is it really so bad that I’m here again?”

“Yeah,” Daryl snapped.

Hurt flashed through you and you stilled in the middle of the road, “Why?”

“I said— it ain’t ya,” he reiterated, stopping and turning to face you properly, “’s not tha’ I don’t wan’ ya ‘ere, ain’t ‘bout nobody else but ya. This place, anythin’ it’s got to offer, it ain’t ever gonna be good ‘nough for ya.”

You countered him without a second thought, “You are.”

When you realized that those words truly did leave your lips, hit his ears and caused his eyes to soften, you swallowed and quickly added, “You’re my friend— my best friend.”

He held your stare for a moment, swallowing his sudden shyness down before asking, “Tha’ really ‘nough for ya?”

A blaring honk sounded and the two of you jumped back. Daryl rushed you over to the side of the road just before a large pickup truck blasted through, headlights barely operating. The commotion broke you from your trance of a soft, contemplative stare.

An uneasy feeling settled over you, not only from the truck but his words.

About an hour after you got home, that anxiousness had finally resolved into an overwhelming urge to act. You weren’t sure if Daryl had given you confidence or arrogance, but it had only taken forty minutes to revise your resume and write up that email the next morning. It might’ve been the longest forty minutes of your life, but it was done. Your fingers shook, and not from the empty cup of coffee beside you. Back and forth, your eyes darted across your words as you reread and reconsidered every sentence.

Sincerely? Thank you?

In that time, you had even searched through two years of emails to find the ones you used to send when you were employed by the same company you were now pleading to for another job. Landing on a sign-off, the clock ticked to the forty-first minute, and you held your breath until a few seconds after the familiar woosh had echoed through your kitchen.

It was a long shot, perhaps the longest shot you’d taken so far, but you could only hope that your previous experience had been impressive enough to give you one more chance. Maybe then you’d get out again, and maybe this time, you’d find a way to bring him with you.

—

The air was buzzing again, but you hadn’t had even a sip of alcohol since that night in the bar, two days ago.

An electric haze hung in Daryl’s kitchen as you watched him laugh, carelessly. The grin on his face made your heart flutter, and you had no idea you could feel this loose, this spirited, without the aid of alcohol. Yet, here you were, so drunk in some type of emotion— one that you still couldn’t quite identify— that you reached out.

His laughter was dying down, strangled by your fingers curling along the back of his neck. The playful smile slipped, but his eyes still wrinkled under your intense gaze-- a gaze that had you swearing time moved slower, giving you the seconds to appreciate the sight of the man in front of you. The way he’d been grinning so freely, his eyes almost closed, or the low and rough vibration from his chest— the laugh you’d spent years trying to hear, often making a fool out of yourself in the process.

When you’d had your full, you reached up to him, offering a soft kiss. Daryl was taken aback—like always— as if there was this innate confusion inside of him, unsure why you ever showed him such affection. But there was something more— something even more surprising in the way he slowly kissed you back, realizing your lips were different this time. Not because of how you clung so desperate in that way that made his head spin. But rather, your lips were soft. They were sweet, with no taste of burning alcohol behind them. Not even a whiff. And yet, you were still kissing him with such want and need.

It’d been many months, maybe a year, since you last touched him like this, but the two of you fell back into it so effortlessly, like it was muscle memory.

Dexterous fingers hooked the small of your waist, guiding your body backward and you were an enthusiastic follower. The feeling of cold erupted along the small of your back before you even noticed the solid force of it. The exposed bit of skin from Daryl’s curious hands, slightly hitching up the bottom inches of your shirt, pressing against the counter. You held back a shiver while his hands pulled down your curves, searching lower and lower until he finally found an end at the back of your thighs. A soft groan vibrated against your mouth as he lifted you, trapping you between the wooden cupboards and his broad, sturdy stature.

When he pulled away and began to drag your top over your body, you caught his eye— pupils blown out so far there was only a ring of blue. The want, the lust, was expected, but there was also a tenderness that felt so intimate— he could see you down to your very core and more importantly, he liked what he saw. Adored it, even. And your heart ached.

Then he was on your lips again, and it almost drowned that feeling out. Until you broke again to remove his shirt— and the memories of the years it took to get to that point of vulnerability came rushing back. How much trust and care had to be built between you, tender and real. In the second it took to shed the last barrier to his heated skin, he must have missed the apprehension growing in your eyes because he was back on your lips, desperation growing as you both stripped bare— and sober— for the first time.

You wanted this— you always did— maybe you could just swallow down the burn in your throat, building from the fire in your chest. After all, he had done this before; kissed you, unclothed you, and inevitably pushed inside you. Though, something felt different this time. That overwhelming feeling only grew as you dragged your nails across his muscular arms, squeezing into the firm skin at his shoulders. The touch coaxed a groan of your name out of the lips just barely hovering against yours and suddenly that ache was all you felt.

It hit you then, perched on the counter of the Dixon’s kitchen, with none other than Daryl Dixon pressed against you— out of breath and needy. It wasn’t him that was different— it was you. That burn in your chest was his tight grip around your heart, relentless and unforgiving.

“Dar-- Daryl, wait,” you gasped.

His hands fell from your bra strap and lingered at your bare waist instead, squeezing the soft skin in anticipation.

“Wha’?” he mumbled against your pulse, and despite the way his scruff sent delicious tingles down your spine, your hands pushed his shoulders back. In an instant, he pulled away to look at you.

“Y’alright?”

“I just-- I can’t,” you blinked, looking between his lips and his questioning eyes, “I’m sorry.”

His hands fell off you completely.

“S’ fine,” he cleared his throat and stepped back further, no longer trapping you between him and the counter. You grabbed your shirt from where it’d been cast behind and slipped it on, folding your arms over your fabric-clad chest.

“Ya wanna jus’... watch somethin’?” He scratched the back of his neck, looking around for his shirt.

“I, uh, I think I’m just gonna go home.”

He nodded, the shirt thrown over his torso, and walked you through the small stretch of his hallway.

“If I did somethin’...” he mumbled in a low tone.

“You didn’t,” you sighed at his front door.

His hair was spiked, pulled to its tips by your wandering hands, and his shirt hung off him like he’d just woken up— but none of that compared to the dishevelled look in his eyes. Anxious and undeniably confused, he watched you shift in the doorway.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered again, wishing you could say more, before walking away.

—

Three nights later, the whole neighbourhood could hear when the Dixons finally made it home with Merle’s rowdy yells echoing down the wide gravel road.

“My lil’ brotha, ladies n’ gentlemen! Put tha’ asshole down like the dog he is, didn’t ya?”

The commotion of the eldest Dixon wasn’t exactly uncommon, especially in the early morning hours after a bender— like now. Regardless, it drew you out onto your porch. Even in the dark, you could see the stains splattered down Daryl’s once white tank top and the smears of dark liquid— blood— down his right cheek.

“Hey!” you called out, crossing the road in a jog.

Merle chuckled, turning to face you as Daryl stood by their door, fiddling with the keys they rarely used anyway, “Good evenin’, peach— or mornin’, I guess.”

“What did you do?” you asked Daryl, ignoring Merle.

“Ah, Daryl ‘ere jus’ had a lil’ chat with yer fella Tommy. Though, he ain’t yer fella no more, is he?”

Your mouth was drawn in a taut line, “No.”

“Can’t say yer missin’ out on much. Asshole barely held his own. A woman like ya don’t need no boy like tha’.”

“Thanks, Merle,” you said, “but, trust me, I know that already.”

“Right,” he chuckled, rubbing along his jaw that was growing red, sure to bruise, “well, m’ beat. See ya ‘round, peach.”

“Night, Merle,” you called out, but your eyes never left Daryl.

He wouldn’t say anything. Barely looked at you even after a minute of your eyes glued to him. But you didn’t move forward, didn’t grab his hands or scold him like he probably deserved after getting in a bar fight. Instead, you sighed, looked between your house and his slouched shoulders, and nodded.

“Come on.”

Sitting on your couch, he only made noise when the alcohol you dabbed mixed with his blood. Even then, the hiss through his clenched teeth was no louder than a whisper. His head hung like he was too tired to keep it up. He might’ve been quiet, but his hands shook like leaves in the wind. You held them a bit steadier. The cloth in your lap had just cleaned his skin of bright red blood, but more was already creeping to the surface of his torn flesh.

“I don’t think anything’s broken,” you said under your breath, tilting your head side to side as you inspected his bloody knuckles. You dropped them, lying limp on your thighs, and grabbed the cloth once more.

“He deserved it,” Daryl broke his silence with a low growl.

You slowed your movements, dipping the cloth into the bowl of lukewarm water to your side, and cautiously watched his stoic expression, head still too heavy to lift, “He’s not worth it.”

“Ya are.”

The shock from those words stilled your reaching hand, damp cloth hovering just two inches before his split cheek. Your eyes were drawn away from the stark red smear, up to his brilliant blue.

“Deserve more than tha’— than a bastard like tha’,” he spat, looking up to hold your stare for the first time since you’d found him this morning. The way he looked at you, so tender and vulnerable, made your jaw loosen— your mouth part and brow raise— and incited a thoughtful look in your big eyes. “I ain’t deluded, I know ya deserve better than anythin’ I can give ya either, but I couldn’t jus’ let ‘im be, knowin’ he hurt ya.”

“Do you— do you want to be good enough for me?” you asked in a breathy whisper. At his tentative look, your eyes fell to the cloth in your hand, pink with his blood. You began pulling at the frayed edges, “You— you wanna know why I couldn’t the other night?”

He nodded, slow and hesitant.

“I realized that—“ you swallowed, “that I love you. I think I have for a long time.”

He was still. Through your lashes, you looked up and caught sight of his parted lips and steady gaze down on you. As if watching, waiting for you to change your mind.

But you didn’t.

“And I just couldn’t be with someone who doesn’t feel the same.”

He looked you up and down like something had lifted, cleared in his line of sight, and you briefly wondered if he’d sobered up within the moment it took you to bare your heart to him. He gingerly swept a free strand of your hair behind your ear, the fresh bandage just barely brushing against your skin.

You grabbed his wrist, pulling back from his warm touch, “I still can’t be.”

He shook his head, “Yer not.”

Those two words were more than enough to light a fire within you. Hell, it was already catching flame just from the way he admired you, pupils blown with something beyond lust or greed. You would’ve smiled, but there was something so raw and tender about his admission, that the only thing you could do was let yourself give in to the pull and fall against his lips. He wrapped his hand around your neck and pulled you in deeper.

When you broke apart, he was the one with a coy smirk.

“For the record, you are good enough for me,” you smiled back, “you always have been.”

In a flash, he pulled you by the hold on your cheek and landed on your lips. The second kiss was quick but adoring, in a way that made your stomach flutter.

He whispered against you, “I’ve been tryin’.”

Sometimes you felt Daryl didn’t need to try at all. For the last month and a half, the two of you had fallen into a routine that felt so effortless and smooth that trying really didn’t seem all that necessary. After all, not much had changed, except that you often slept in the same bed, where you shared feverish kisses and gentle embraces.

Merle had changed a bit. He’d given up on flirting with you after the first week, one too many crude remarks landing him against the wall with Daryl’s forearm pressed into his neck. Finding Daryl’s protective streak more amusing than threatening, he laughed it off, but you hadn’t heard another ‘wanna find out which brotha’s yer favourite?’ neither. Instead, he’d opted for the rolling of his eyes when Daryl spent the night at yours or he found you curled together on the couch.

“Boy,” Merle snarled, “do ya even possess a pair of balls?”

And he teased, of course.

“Or did peach take ‘em off ya?”

Daryl’s hold on you dropped instantly and your back felt cold in his absence.

“What do you want, Merle?” you groaned, pushing the spatula across the bottom of the pan.

“Well, smelt somethin’ sweet cookin’ in ‘ere, thought maybe y’all lovebirds could share with ol’ Merle?”

“Aren’t ya supposed to be at Jesse’s?” Daryl asked, leaning against the counter.

“This afternoon, yeah.”

“It’s four o’clock, Merle.” You raised an eyebrow, not shocked to watch the confusion and sudden worry overcome his face.

“Yer shitin’ me, damnit…” he cursed, over and over, until the screen door slammed shut behind him.

“With all that drug money, you’d think he’d invest in a watch,” you chuckled, “or at least an alarm clock.”

Daryl spared a chuckle, but he didn’t move from his spot by the counter. You eyed him, wanting to say something about you two being truly alone now— that it was fine to show that affection he had before Merle interrupted. But Merle’s teasing was incessant, even when you weren’t around, and after growing up the way he had, Daryl was left embarrassed and insecure. Perhaps that was the one thing that came between you— it always had— the way Merle showed his ‘love’, in a way that he’d learned through the anger of his father. A way you could never condone.

You understood why he lingered away from you, so you didn’t press him further and just finished cooking.

A few moments later, the two of you were picking at the last bites around his tiny kitchen table. Eyes peering up from your plate as he licked his fingers clean following his last bite, you watched him.

Two days ago you’d gotten a reply from that shot in the dark email you sent off. And you must’ve read it twenty times before the very generous offer to move to Washington, DC and help transition their relocation efforts finally registered.

Washington, well, it was far. Atlanta would’ve been a different story. Would’ve made it easier to stay here, only travelling back and forth for work. But, they hadn’t offered Atlanta and the more you thought about it, the more you wanted to get the hell out of Georgia altogether.

With a certain Dixon at your side, of course.

You swallowed your last bite, “I wanted to talk to you about something.”

“Wha’s tha’?” Daryl hummed, eyeing your nervous expression.

“Well, you remember that night before we almost hooked up?” Your smile turned bashful at his small smirk, “after that, I guess you kinda inspired me. I reapplied for my old job in Atlanta and, by some miracle, they offered me a position. It’s in Washington, though, something about relocating– but it doesn’t matter. It still has good benefits and pay.”

Daryl stayed silent.

“I think you should come. I– I want you to come with me.”

He scoffed, “Yer serious?”

From his nonchalant expression, disappointment weighed down your smile, until your brows were furrowed and your tone confused, “Yeah. We can have a life there— a real one.”

He stared at you for a second, eyes slightly narrowing, until he drawled, “This ain’t real ‘nough for ya?”

“There’s no future here, you know that— you told me it yourself,” you shook your head, lips quivering from a want to speak, but a lack of words. You could only stutter, “I just— this is how I get out. It— It’s how you could get out.”

“Wha’ the fuck I gotta get out for?”

Your eyes narrowed, “You wanna die here?”

He huffed, his chair sliding across the room from the momentum of his abrupt stand. He turned away and strode across the kitchen.

“Why ya gotta be so dramatic all the damn time?”

You shook your head, standing slowly without taking your eyes off him, “I’m not. That’s all there is for us here.”

“There ain’t nothin’ for me in Washington,” he growled.

“And what, you’re living it up here?” you scoffed at his reluctance.

“Merle’s ‘ere. The shop.”

“What about me? I’d be there,” you whispered. It weighed heavy in the air— and on him, from the way, his jaw set tight and rigid.

At the flash of apprehension across his features, you crossed the distance and carefully took his hands in yours, “We could get away from this. We could have a future.”

He looked down to your hands, then back to your pleading eyes, and something inside him broke. Not his resolve or his anger. No, something different, something worse. A chill tickled your spine from the look he gave you, taking a large step back to distance himself.

“I don’t need yer future,” he spat the word just as if it burned his tongue, “No city. None of tha’. I got a life. Ya jus’ don’t get it.”

“No, I get it,” you snapped, ignoring the tears in your eyes, “I get that you’re too stuck in the shadow of your brother to try to move on with anything good in your life. You’re never gonna be happy if you don’t get out of this… this pit of self-doubt and hatred he’s pulled you down.”

“N’ wha’, Imma be happy with— with those assholes in the city—”

“—No, with me!” you interrupted.

“—ya think they’d ever see me as anythin’ but some asshole redneck?

“Since when do you care what other people think?”

“I don’t,” he growled.

“So then what’s the big fucking deal, Daryl?”

He huffed, “It ain’t me, tha’s wha’.”

“It ‘ain’t you’? What is you?” you bitterly emphasized.

“Not this.” His stare burned through you, firm and adamant.

After a moment of uneven breaths and an overwhelming sense of defeat, you scoffed, and muttered in a disheartened tone, “Fine. Forget it, don’t— don’t come.”

Your eyes fell to the cracked tiled floor as you rubbed your temple, trying to soothe the pounding headache you could already feel coming on.

“I ain’t talkin’ bout DC no more,” he corrected, his tone even lower than your spirit.

“What?” You looked up.

“Ya heard me. Tha’ idea ya got, ‘bout me n’ a future? It ain’t real,” he scoffed, taking another step backward, “Merle was right. Ya ain’t ever gonna be happy with me, are ya?”

“I—I am.” You nodded.

“Bullshit. Yer not n’ I ain’t neither. So let's jus’ cut our losses already.”

That pounding in your head had fallen to your chest, slamming against your ribcage as the cruel meaning of his words settled.

“You’re not serious,” you mumbled.

“Deadly.”

“I thought— I thought you…”

“Wha’?” he snapped, rough.

“Loved me. I thought you loved me,” you answered.

His expression faltered for a second, barely, before he scoffed and walked down the length of the kitchen, reaching the corner of the table where he could be the furthest away from you.

You blinked, and a tear slipped down your cheek, “Turns out I was the one who wasn't good enough, huh?”

Daryl stilled at that. The muscles in his back stiffened and his head fell as if that weight from the night you patched him up had returned. His healed knuckles turned white from his grip on the chair next to him.

The screen door slammed shut and just like that, you were gone.

Until a week later.

Selling your car meant dropping it off at the shop Daryl occasionally worked at. It was only for parts, a couple of hundred bucks, but moving to a new state– a city– meant every dollar counted.

He found you as you were waiting for your ride to the bus stop. There, you’d shuttle to the airport before finally leaving Georgia and all the painful memories behind.

“Tha’ clump of rust ain’t worth much. Surprised Bill’s even buyin’ it off ya.” His joke fell flat. So he stubbed out his cigarette and tried another approach, “Yer leavin’ then?”

Your expression was blank, “Flight’s in three hours.”

“Gonna get the hell outta Georgia.”

“Yeah,” you turned to stare at him, “I am.”

“Alright,” he nodded, sheepish, and continued to toe the crushed cigarette below him. It was already out.

You could tell he had regret— but for what, you couldn’t be sure. Maybe he just wished he’d approached the breakup another way. Maybe he’d been planning it, but snapped instead. Regardless, it had to be better this way. Even if the last few weeks had been good— really good— they’d ended worse than you could’ve imagined. And in light of his recent revelation, you didn’t see the point in trying for something he obviously didn’t want— even if you were still in love.

The familiar red car of your friend pulled up.

“Have a nice life, Daryl.”

Sometimes you still dreamt about the man who mended, then broke your heart. It felt like an extension of that old town curse you once joked about, which still lingered even when the dead rose.

In the beginning, you’d found a group. Stuck tight as glue until someone got bit and turned, killing two others. The rest of the group ran when the screams brought on more of the dead.

After that, the months had blurred into a dark cloud of grey. Fight, scavenge, sleep. The backdrop of your life had quickly become abandoned homes and tall green forests— but no matter how bright the leaves were, or the colourful walls you slept in— if you got lucky— a dull cloud followed you. Swarmed you. And you couldn’t remember the last time you felt something other than scared, hungry, and tired.

Until the sun finally broke through when two recruiters approached you, welcoming you to a sanctuary. A place with tall walls, food, and people who were still people— even if most were clueless when it came to anything outside of those walls.

It’d been a long, dark journey, but you’d found something worthwhile again. Somewhere to call home— to return, to protect, to build. For the first time since that fog glazed over your eyes two years ago, you saw the brightness of Alexandria and smiled.

part two

—————————————————————————————

A/N: oops lol

I have mixed opinions on pre-apocalypse daryl. we all love daryl & of course he's a good guy at heart, but he's really not the same guy we know before the apocalypse. I don’t think pre-apocalypse daryl would’ve had the capacity to communicate, especially his insecurities… and he’s a hothead y’all. the reader is also a little stubborn. but she’s been thru it and like daryl said, needs to focus on herself. even if that means leaving the man she loves behind…? </3

anywayyy! if u don’t agree, that is more than okay, it’s just a lil fanfic :*

if you’re reading this, thank you! I hope you enjoyed this fic. please feel free to leave feedback, it helps so much and I love to read it. have a lovely day <3

#daryl dixon x reader #daryl x reader #Daryl Dixon #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon imagine #Daryl Dixon oneshot #Daryl Dixon twd #twd #daryl / reader #daryl dixon / reader #daryl dixon series #Daryl Dixon angst #twd imagine #twd fanfiction #twd series #twd oneshot #norman reedus #madi writes

365 notes · View notes

kkgbutsane · 3 years

Text

The First Day of School

It was a dewy morning. Not too hot, not too cold, far too humid. It was the usual for Hyakkou High School, where students came to learn and excel in their studies while maintaining good social relationships. The school was usually filled with many different students. Any stereotype you could think of, Hyakkou had it.

The students usually had fun. The Principal was quite lax when it came to certain things. All he asked of the students was to respect each other and respect the building. And to keep their grades up of course. They would be failing as a school if the students weren’t receiving the proper education!

And this is where their story begins.

“Ack. Hey! Mary!” Ryota called out from behind the blonde, who was currently looking down on her phone. The boy ran up to his best friend, hooking his arm around the back of her neck to bring her into a headlock. “Hey! Don’t mess up my hair you dork!” Mary growled, trying to wrestle her way out of Ryota’s lock.

The two continued their conundrum until they reached the gates of the school, where Mary finally got a good grip and threw her friend over her shoulder, thus leading to him falling on his backpack. “Ow…,” he muttered, smiling like an idiot.

Mary Saotome and Ryota Suzui had been friends since childhood. They were even neighbors, and she often came over to his house to play on his Wii with him. Their friendship had blossomed into a relationship.

Until they realized they were better off as best friends. In fact, after they had broken up and continued to be platonic, it seemed as though their friendship grew stronger.

“Hi guys!” The two heard a familiar voice, registering it as their other best friend, Yumeko Jabami. Yumeko had met them all in middle school, when she had moved here with her sister. The ravenette was one to take risks, and found pleasure in dangerous things. Of course, only in moderation. In reality, the only things she had taken much risk for was a move in a fighting game. Or a board game.

Her bubbly exterior was often in place of her mellow interior. She tended to keep to herself truly, unless with her friends.

“Yumeko!” Ryota yelled happily, jogging over and scooping the girl in a tight hug. Much to his delight, Yumeko returned the hug tenfold.

“ShiT, I can’t breaTHE-,” he barely managed, his face turning purple. He should have known, the girl was a strong hugger. “Oi, calm down you two, before I separate you guys for 10 minutes straight, and I know that will be a pain since you usually do homework together in the mornings,” Mary stated, crossing her arms. Yumeko finally relented, giving Ryota’s respiratory system some reprieve. Yumeko looked quite meek, but she could give hugs like no other.

“Mary!” Yumeko giggled, giving the blonde another one of her bone crushing hugs. “Sup, dumbass,” Mary replied, smiling softly at her friend’s gestures of affection. “Are you all ready for your first days of school!?”

It was the start of junior year for the three, and boy were their classes packed. Ryota was taking a few classes on science and health, as well as a gym class to exercise and get fit. He wanted to be a firefighter, and such education was necessary to ensure he was a good candidate for the job.

“I have… Anatomy first period. Woohoo,” Mary sighed. She was actually quite excited, but decided not to show it in order to keep her cool exterior. The path she had chosen was Emergency Medical Services, and taking anatomy was the first step in her opinion.

“Oh? That’s so wonderful! I have Calculus for my first period. I wonder if Sayaka is going to be in that class!” Yumeko said eagerly. Sayaka was one of the other kids attending this school. The girl mainly kept to herself, but she had recently started acquainting herself with the ravenette.

“Gah! Sorry I’m late guys! I kinda missed my bus…” A ginger voice panted, revealed to be none other than Itsuki Sumeragi. The strawberry blonde had met the three last year when she was a sophomore. After transferring from a private school to Hyakkou, the tight-knit group had taken her in, welcoming her as one of their own. “Hey! I heard there’s gonna be a pair of new students! I hear they’re seniors,” Itsuki gossiped, taking out her Nintendo Switch and turning it on.

“Ooh, Smash? Let’s do this!” Ryota declared, taking his controller and setting it to his button map.

“So what about these new students? Do they seem weird or anything?” Mary inquired, picking her character, King K. Rool, and setting her button map. “Oh come on, why do you ALWAYS play heavies!?” Ryota complained, picking Marth as his character. “Because heavies are fucking goated, why else?” the blonde snarked back, a sly smirk on her face.

“I don’t know. But I heard they’re twins!” Itsuki giggled, sitting down to watch them play.

“Heya guys,” a shrill voice came out of nowhere. “You playin’ Smash? I’ll join!” it giggled. Runa had seemingly appeared out of nowhere in her oversized jacket. “Oh no…,” The entire group groaned.

“Runa, you’re cool and all, but whenever we play with you, you find a way to resize our assholes every match in different ways. I really don’t want to get 0-to-deathed consecutively while you stay on three stocks. Seriously, how the fuck do you even do it!?” Mary spoke, seemingly for the entire group. “I dunno, just practice TBH,” was all Runa said, picking up a controller. “And fuck you, I’m playing anyway.”

The sound of groans could be heard around the courtyard after that statement.

Sayaka Igarashi, resident Valedictorian-to-be, had come over to the table with Midari Ikishima, who was dragging along a seemingly sleepy senior. “C’mon Yuriko. I know you have senioritis but our friends are here!” Midari grumbled, literally dragging Yuriko. Yuriko Nishinotounin had gotten a severe case of Senioritis, especially since most of her classes were a breeze this year.

“Would you both calm down please!? They’re playing a game, and I’m trying to read!” Sayaka chided, mentally swearing at the rebel. “Chill out, Sayaka, Yuriko is already falling asleep on me and it’s not even 7:30!” Midari grumbled.

“I can’t wait for senior year to be over,” Yuriko yawned, sitting on the table everyone was at basically falling asleep.

“What the fu- NO!” Mary yelled, distracted by Yuriko long enough for Runa to get a move on her, resulting in her virtual demise. “Fuuuuck!” she sighed, hitting her head against the wooden table. “FUCK!” she repeated, after feeling the pain that came along with it. Ryota had already fallen out of the competition.

Please nerf Lucas.

Yumeko hummed happily to herself, reading some random tabloid article on her phone. As the bell rang, they all dispersed into their classes.

“See you guys later!” Ryota called, jogging over to the weight room for his first period.

The three girls had made their way over to the Portables, then separating into their classrooms.

Sayaka practically dragged her two friends to their classes and then her own, all while keeping to the schedule. Anatomy was her first period, and she sat next to Mary.

It wouldn’t be too bad of a year. Mary was a good student and wasn’t too hard to talk to. She just mostly liked to keep to herself.

“Good morning class! Welcome to Anatomy! You guys are obviously gonna be learning about the body, it’s functions, what is where and what goes where and woop dee dah, all the good stuff! Hopefully I can make learning about how food passes through the body actually entertaining for y’all, but first we have two new students with us today! They’ve recently transferred over, so let’s give ‘em a warm welcome to Hyakkou!” The teacher, Mrs. Murray, announced. She looked a bit older, with a tall figure and ginger hair in her face. Her glasses looked odd, but it added to her look.

People like Mrs. Murray because she was actually a good teacher. She cared about her students and actually helped them if they needed it.

“Ladies, if you would please introduce yourselves!”

The entire class looked at the two, and for a moment they thought they saw double.

“Hello. My name is Kirari Momobami. I’m a senior here, and it’s a pleasure to meet you all. I hope we can get along,” The girl, now known as Kirari, had stated.

It seemed her sister’s turn was up next.

“Er.. I’m Ririka Momobami. We’re twins. I hope we can… have a good time!” Ririka muttered, almost too quietly for the class to hear.

Mrs. Murray smiled and beckoned them to take their seats.

Their seats were in front of both Sayaka and Mary, who seemed to be in a state of both ‘gay’ and ‘panic’.

The two twins looked vastly different, with Kirari’s hair done in twin loop braids and dressed in a rather classy manner, while Ririka’s hair was free to fall.

Wait.

Did Ririka have a sweatshirt that had the Poggers Man on it?

Mary internally laughed at that. It was adorable.

When class had dispersed to work in groups, Mary and Sayaka had picked each other on instinct, then looking for two more partners to start their work on.

“Sayaka!” Mary whisper-yelled, a small blush on her face. She then gestured to her phone to text the girl.

Mary S: HOLY SHIT IM GAY

Sayaka I: I am too. Which one are you gay for?

Mary S: Ririka.

Sayaka I: Oh. I like her too.

Mary glared at Sayaka for a moment.

Mary S: The one with the adorable hair and clothing?

The blonde mentally facepalmed, of course Sayaka would think that. No matter the twin.

Sayaka I: Yes. I love how her hair is done. Plus her shirt looks nice.

Mary S: Oh. So the one with the weird braids?

Sayaka I: Don’t call them weird.

Mary S: ok but dont worry cause im crushing on the other twin. I swear her sweatshirt is adorable.

Sayaka I: .

Sayaka I: poggers

Mary S: LMAO HOLD UP IM SCREENSHOTTING THIS ONE

Sayaka I: Be my guest.

The two had reluctantly come up to the twins.

“Hello! I am Sayaka Igarashi, and this is Mary Saotome. It seems you both don’t have another pair, so if you’d like, we can work with you,” Sayaka stated, trying to sound as polite as possible. Nothing could hide the blush on her face though.

“Sure, I would love to work with you both,” Kirari replied, a small smirk forming on her face.

Ririka just nodded with a small smile.

It was going to be a long year.

#au tag #kakegurui #kirari momobami #meariri #kirasaya #sayaka igarashi #mary saotome #yumeko jamabi #ryota suzui #runa yomozuki #itsuki sumeragi #ririka momobami

39 notes · View notes

13tinysocks · 3 years

Text

Hello Spill Your Guts enjoyers. May I offer you a cut scene from chapter 48 of SYG where Brian and (Y/n) have sex on a motorcycle? Too bad because here it is. Context: This is right after Brian and Yn crash the car at the end of their date in but instead of being a good person Yn goes apeshit. 3291K words.

“Yes, sugar?" A low drawl spoken right into your ear as he pressed a kiss into your neck. A chill crawling it's way up your spine. Fear gripping you, not of him but of what you could so easily become. Tensing in his hold, being basically dangled off a cliffs edge. Usually you were grossly into this sort of thing, the knowledge that he was thinking the same thing made your insides twist. He knew you too well.

A kiss would be nice. Accepting disgusting loving, his hands slathered in blood, right after the wave of unnatural thoughts bombarded your brain. You wanted comfort, your body practically shaking with adrenaline.

"Put me down." Tone low and unconvincing, eyes on the raging fire below, the fire stirring in your gut, the feeling of his arms distracting you from the people burning to death below you.

He seemed to get it, that you were accepting the outcome, becoming like him, that you had enjoyed that just as much as he had. Taking note of the weak tremor in your voice and the way you seemed to melt into his arms.

"Are you sure?" He jested, "It's a long way down." Arms around you teasingly loosening, your body just barley slipping before his grip tightened once more, catching you as you felt a gasp leave your lips. The fear of being dropped mixing with the dopamine that ran through your body when he kissed your neck again, a low chuckle sending vibrations through your skin.

“Ya’know what Brian?” You snapped, reaching behind yourself and sliding your hand round til you found a semi-hard mass. “Stop playin’ games with me.” Playfully firm, you squeezed his clothed shaft.

“Soooo,” His breath was wonderfully warm on your neck, you could feel his lips growing closer to your ear, “You don’t want me to drop you?”

“No Brian,” You deadpanned, “I don’t wanna die. I wanna fuck.” God, you sounded like an emo porn actress.

“You’re awfully forward.” He hummed into your skin, pressing a tender kiss into you before teasinly nipping at you.

At that you quietly moaned, melting further into his back. Reciprocating by gently rubbing your hand along the tent in his jeans. He was only getting harder and your panties were only getting wetter.

“Maybe because I want you to rail me or something. Food for thought, Bee.”

Brian chuckled, pulling you away from the cliff's edge, insisting on carrying you all the way to his bike. You didn’t even bat an eye when you passed the still bleeding corpse. In fact your heart only raced faster. He was dangerous, you were dangerous, you were both on a high that left you disgustingly aroused. Might as well ride it out.

He set you on the bike seat and you had to admit a bit of disappointment when you could no longer paw at his pants. You expected him to kiss you but instead he bent down and started to pat your legs. Pressing the balls of his hands around your legs and knitting his brow as if he were looking for something.

“What the actual fuck are you doing?” You asked, impatience heavy in your lowered tone.

Then he settled himself on the ground, warm hands guiding your thighs apart. “Oh you know,” He began, pressing a kiss onto your inner thigh, “Checking to see if you’re hurt.”

Scoffing, you barked, “You little slut. If you wanted something you could have just asked.” You tried to keep up a huffy attitude with him, to not instantly submit to his antics but he just kept on pressing his lips further and further up your thighs. Even though it was through your pants, it was electrifying, each one making your legs shake with anticipation.

“Oh, I know.” Half-lidded hazel met with (e/c) when he lowly delivered a deliciously spine chilling message, “I just like to watch you squirm. Also, I’m a romantic.”

Without thinking about your pride or dignity or whatever the fuck, you told him, “Alright then Romeo, take my pants off if you really wanna see somethin’.”

And that he did without hesitation. Only bringing himself up to crash his lips into yours. It was a welcomed pressure that you moaned into, feeling his fingers undoing the button of your jeans while he slid his tongue over yours. The zipper was next but you hardly paid attention, head in a whirl when he teasingly bit your lip. When you gasped he throatily chuckled, getting quickly back to grinding his tongue against yours.

Taking your pants off was an awkward effort that the both of you didn’t break the kiss for. You weren’t going to make any comments about it but the sweaty leather of the motorcycle seat was on the uncomfortable side. A gentle breeze cooled your heated skin, leaves mutedly rustled, the smell of blood and burning flesh hung heavy in the air.

It was only until your jeans were around your ankles and his hand was warmly resting between your thighs did he pull away. Breathless and blushing, Brian still found the energy to purr out a request, “You mind if I make you cum for me a couple times?”

“Holy shit, do whatever you want to me. I don’t care.” You said, shifting to press your wet panties into his hand eagerly.

“Mh-hmm.” Tongues were sliding back together by the time he’d slid the pads of his fingers over your clothed pussy. Being so worked up you readily moaned into his mouth when he torturously circled your clit with his middle finger.

Filled with need you pulled away to make a bold demand, “Get on your knees, bee boy.”

Ever the giver, his head was positioned between your thighs in a matter of seconds without argument. He wanted this as much as you did. Panties yanked down and your knees hooked over his broad shoulders in an instant.

Brian took in the sight of your ridiculously wet and swollen pussy with his trademark lopsided grin, “Someone’s worked up. I wonder why.”

“Gee, real mystery we got on our hands.”

He just laughed before carefully approaching your bare flesh. Keeping up eye contact as he kiss, kiss, kissed his way closer. Only a few mere inches away from where you really wanted his lips to be, he stopped. Eyes twinkling deviously before he took in some of your sensitive supple flesh and sucked. You ground yourself into nothing needily, the feeling of him licking at your inner thigh sending more waves of pure arousal to your head than you thought someone biting your thigh would.

Cheered on by your clear approval, he worked his way hardly closer, picking a new spot to suck till it bruised.

“For fuck’s sake Brian, get to it already.” You growled, one hand gripping onto the bike handle for stability while the other found the back of his head, curling in his light hair.

The man in question cheekily grinned up at you, finally bringing himself closer to your slick warmth. He pressed a thumb into the developing bruise just to see you gasp before he flicked his tongue lightly over your clit. Being more than ready, you whined a lot louder than was cause for.

Brain didn’t need any more motivation than that. He dove right in, tongue pressing wetly into the bottom of the swollen mass. Keeping up the erotic eye contact that told you he was in charge as he dragged the muscle up and over every bump and curve.

Stopping when you pulled on his hair and ground into his mouth. He’d stumbled across the most sensitive part of your throbbing clit. Armed with that knowledge he chuckled and started to circle just around the spot's edges. Your fingers twisted in his hair, thighs squeezing either side of his head. Back and forth, teasingly fast he passed the tip of his tongue over the area with a merciless soft pressure.

“Brian- Fuck- Harder.” You needily whined, pussy desperately throbbing. All it wanted was for him to fill you up and make you cum so hard you couldn’t think anymore. But Brian had other plans for the moment. He quirked his brows as if to tell you to fucking beg and wihtout any shame you did, “Please. I need it.”

Intrigued, he pulled himself back to ask, “Need what (Y/n)?”

“I just want you to make me cum and rail me, okay?” You breathily snapped.

Snickering, he replied, “Be patient.” He quickly lapped at the swollen tip, watching you buck your hips and contort your face into one of needy pleasure. “You’re cute.”

“No you.”

Instead of replying, he sealed his lips around your clit and gently sucked. Isolating the sensitive spot before running his slick tongue over it in overwhelmingly wonderful circles. You never thought you’d moan that loud so close to a dead body, but that was the furthest thing from your mind. As seconds passed and he mercilessly kept going, only providing more pressure and teasingly sucking harder; you started to feel all of it coming to a building tingly climax much faster than you expected.

“Brian,” You wailed, nails digging into the back of his head, “I’m gonna fucking cum.”

He smiled against your sensitive flesh, only zeroing in harder. Eyes closing sweetly, lapping almost desperately at your clit. The thought of how hard he must be and how much he wanted you to cum on his tongue alone made your body hotter. It only made you closer and closer til your eyes were rolling to the back of your head and your back was arching.

All at once it hit you, the sudden throbbing burst of pleasurable heat. You bucked yourself into him, riding out your pounding orgasm as much as you could. Not without screaming his name of course.

As the rolling waves of intensity started to weaken, Brian rose. You were going to thank him, crack a joke, maybe try to flip the situation around and ride him like the motorcycle he was fucking you on; But he didn’t give you a chance. Lips on yours in an instant, you willingly opened up and he slipped his slick covered tongue into your mouth. He chuckled against you, at how desperate you were to taste yourself mixed with his spit. Hands spreading your legs further so he could rock his clothed hard-on against your bare groin. A wanton moan passed your lips, jeans wonderfully grinding against your sensitive heat. You could feel how much harder he was than before.

Craving his length buried inside of you, you pulled your tingling lips away. Twitching and grinding into the coarse clothing, his fingers had slid up your shirt, under your bra, teasingly rolling your nipples between his thumb and pointer. God, that lopsided smirk he had on his face made you want to ride him for hours.

You pawed at his erection, stroking along his long shaft, feeling a developing spot of wetness at his swollen head even through boxers and denim.

“Fuck me, right now.” You lowly purred, fingers crawling to the button.

“You don’t think I was already planning on it?” He snarked, forehead sweetly pressed against your own.

“Don’t be an ass.” Button open, now for the fly.

“Since when am I not?”

You snorted out a double entendre, “Yeah, you suck but like in a good way.”

“I love you.” Wow, that got real cute out of nowhere right when you’d sent your hand into his open pants.

“Aww, I love you to, ya big sap. Anyway, nice dick.” You said, pulling it through his boxers.

“Thanks.”

His smirk faltered when you ran your hand along his bare shaft, what a sight to see him moan and blush. You felt tortuously empty holding his hardness, tip and upper shaft slathered in precum.

“Aww, look at you.” The words came out domineering, teasing, “You must be so desperate to fuck me, huh Brian?” You purred, slowly and gently jerking him off.

He huffed out a laugh, pulling his hands out of your shirt, “You really think you’re in charge here, huh?”

“Well I’m literally holding your dick so- OPE!”

Just like that you were lifted up, flipped around and bent over the bike. Stomach slapping down where you’d just been sitting, ass up for his viewing pleasure. He jammed his knee between your upper thighs, kicking them apart with ease. You playfully huffed at him but didn’t protest. In fact you settled down as comfortably as you could while he positioned himself as well.

“Look who’s holding who now.” He snickered, one hand firmly gripping your hip the other rested on the curve of your ass. Wouldn’t be sex with Brian without him being fucking annoying in a really hot and fun way.

Wouldn’t be sex with you if you weren’t also a pain right back, “Wow real nice come ba-ACK!” It wasn’t that hard of a smack, but to your sensitive skin a slap delivered to your lower asscheek hurt more than it should have. Had to admit, it was a total turn on, the shocked scream ending on a wonton note.

“Are you alright?” He asked, obviously picking up on the trill in your voice and the way your legs were shaking.

“More than,” You purred shakily, “Do it again.”

So he did. Harder. The sound resounded in the open air. Your ass harshly stung, spot where his hand struck warmly pounding in its wake. You didn’t think you could get horniner but you found yourself mildlessly growling, “Fuck me.”

Smack.

You whined at the intoxicating pain. Every hit having your pussy twitch with need. Brian telling you from above, “Beg.”

As much as you wanted to get railed, as hot as your face was, as painfully unfilled you were. You were still a stubborn brat when it came to instructions. “No.”

Smack.

Fingers harshly dug into the leather seat at the hit. Surely you’d be hurting on the ride back, but you didn’t care. In fact each hit brought a sultry moan out of you. “That all you got?”

Smack.

“Fuck.” You whimpered, shaking under his palm smoothing over the stinging flesh.

“Come on honey, just ask nicely and I’ll give you exactly what you want.” Brian cooed.

For a few seconds you resisted the urge before your resolve crumbled. You couldn’t take the agonizing wait anymore. It was getting hard to tell if you were on the verge of tears from the pain or the lack of getting railed.

“Please give me your fucking cock, Brian. I need it.”

He darkly chuckled at your desperate plea, “Good girl.”

A firm pressure pressed itself into your slick. A whine rose from your throat as he easily slid his thick length into you inch by inch. Filling you up with his satisfying hardness.

“It’s cute how wet you are for me, Honey.” He shuddered and sighed, feeling you throb around him just at the dirty talk.

You had nothing snarky to say, mind clouded by the fact that he wasn’t pounding you yet. All you could do was press into his hips and whimper.

Smack.

A squeal ripped up from your throat, the sting nearly drawing your attention away from his shaft pulling itself halfway out of you. In an instant his hips slapped into your skin, dick buried back inside of you. Both of you letting out varying degrees of breathy moans. Then he slid himself nearly out of you. Before you could whine he slammed the entirety of his length into you. Pussy wonderfully stretching around him much to your pleasure, your fingers curling into the leather of the seat.

“Yes!” You squealed, mimicking his actions, pulling away before throwing yourself back into him. Thick fingers dug harshly into your skin, his dick slamming in and out of you at a pace that only got faster.

Another smack was laid onto your bare skin. All you could do was roll back your eyes and incoherent babble his name, “Brian.”

Warm fingers slid around the front of your throat, squeezing and pulling you up. Back forced to arch while he mercilessly thrusted into your throbbing pussy. His sultry voice right in your ear, “What’s that?”

“I-” His hand squeezing around your neck only reminded you how in control he was. Confident, assured, domineering. It was really hot.

“You like being at my mercy don’t you?” Even hotter.

You shuddered, feeling yourself getting closer and closer with every roll of his hips. “I’m so fucking close.”

“Already?” Brian chuckled. Not taking any mercy on you, slamming his hardness into you faster than before. Repeatedly grinding himself against your g-spot. “Such a needy mess.”

You got the cue to tell him how pathetic you were, but you could hardly say anything other than babbling out, “Fuck, I- Fuck, I’m gonna cum.”

The building sensation came to fruition as his hand slid from your hip to your clit. Zeroing it out with his pointer finger and rubbing it in quick circles.

“Cum for me.” His command was what really sent you over the edge, body seeming to obey him without question. Twitching to a stop, pussy squeezing around him. Hot throbbing waves completely overtaking your mind. Brian slowed only a little, moaning and continuing to thrust into you. Fulling riding out the orgasm and still going after that. You weren’t complaining at all. Everything felt so much more sensitive, everytime he rammed his dick into you, you were overcome with such an overwhelming sensation it took everything in you not to cry.

Shaking and melting into his touch, letting him rail you as long as he wanted to. Clit still being teasingly circled, sending electric shocks of bliss through your body.

Skin slapped onto skin, Brian didn’t stop for a break at all and neither did you. Doing your damndest to grind into him, feeling his length grind and roll against all your more sensitive spots.

Upon looking over your shoulder you saw Brian, red faced and breathily sighing. Hazel met with (e/c) and he sweetly smiled before intentionally slamming himself right into your g-spot. Your vision blurred, eyes rolling back while your body tremored.

“Fuck,” He murmured, “You feel so good.”

Brian started to slow, moans growing louder, grip on your neck getting harder. You were aware of what was coming and you didn’t care. Through your breathlessness, you pushed out a message, “Please don’t pull out. I want you.”

“You’re so fucking dirty, baby.” Brian growled, suddenly picking up his pace. Slamming his dick into you over and over at breakneck speed, mercilessly rubbing your clit.

Whimper, writhe, and whine were all you could do at this point. Body shaking and taking in everything that he was giving you. Again, the sensations built up to you being on an edge high out of your fucking mind.

“I- I’m gonna- Brian!” No time to properly announce it because that familiar heat was back with a vengeance.

Feeling you cum around him finally pushed him to rock his hips into you one last time. He shuddered, groaning, “(Y/n), honey, fuck.” Dick pulsating as you continued to cum around him. A sudden warmth filled your insides, filling you up even more than he already was.

Breathless and exhausted you both stood there, muscles starting to relax. It was then, in a slight wave of non-horny clarity, when you realized exactly where you were. Why your clothes were so wet and warm. Why it smelled like burned plastic and beef. You were filled with shame and cum. Worst part was that you’d probably have to ride all the way back home like that. Aw shit.

#nsft #marble hornets #Brian Thomas #spill your guts #syg #x reader #one shot

85 notes · View notes

atmilliways · 3 years

Text

On the 10th day of Dethmas this writer gives to thee…

Dec 22 - Metalocalypse but it's a cheesy Hallmark holiday movie

He’s a big city notary, only in town to clean out his deceased grandparents’ condo.

He’s a small-town metalhead pot dealer/part time taxi service with no one to hang out with for the holidays.

Is it fate, or is it Christmas?

Chapter one of a Murderface/Pickles, what-if-Dethklok-never-happened AU. I went heavy on Pickles' accent for this and I refuse to apologize for my crimes.

Deck The Halls With Ughs & F*ck Yous

When you boiled it down to the bare essentials, the first half of the letter basically said, “Merry Christmas, your grandparents are dead.”

Which, William felt, was kind of nice of the lawyer writing to him. He hadn’t liked his grandparents particularly much, for all that they’d raised him ever since the unfortunate murder-suicide that had claimed his parents. Everything he’d accomplished in life had been in spite of them. They’d wanted him to be a hubcap salesman like his grandfather; he’d gotten his notary license and done just fine. They’d wanted him to stay in the same kind of podunk towns they always lived in; he’d gone to the big city and landed a steady career notarizing deeds and titles for a huge real estate company. All they’d done was yell at him to make sure was still alive for seventeen years. Anyone could have done that.

It was the second half of the letter that was the problem. Apparently they’d had no money to leave him, just all the crap in a condo that needed to be emptied out by the end of the year so the next owners could move in. If he didn’t, there would be a ridiculously large fine due of some truly idiotic wording in the lease they’d signed.

A quick check online told him it would be cheaper to just fly out to this . . . Tomahawk, Wisconsin, throw all the shit in a dumpster, and be done with it. He had a couple weeks of vacation time coming up anyway, with Christmas and New Years, and no particular plans. Why not go? Maybe it would be . . . cathartic or something.

William sighed and reached to grab a credit card from his wallet. So much for a quiet Christmas to himself, holed up in his blissfully undecorated apartment with takeout from one of the best sushi places in the entire city.

Tomahawk was pretty much what he expected. Once he made it out of the four-gate airport with a baggage claim so slow that it might have been faster to walk instead of fly, it turned out there wasn’t even a taxi queue. He had to go back inside and call one himself. And it wasn’t so much a taxi service as something called “Pickles Cab” scratched in above the payphone.

As long as it had wheels and knew how to find the address, he didn’t much care. The dispatch guy had seemed kinda stoned on the phone, but hey, William figured, that just meant he might be able to find some to buy in the area.

The car was easy to spot because it was the only non-white thing moving in the snow-caked parking lot. William eyed the shitty old Vista Cruiser in shades of drab green, rust, and beat-to-shit wood paneling skeptically as it pulled up to the loading zone curb at an angle that was, frankly, terrible. The driver put it in park and popped out the driver’s side door with the engine still running, spewing thick steam out of the tailpipe in the frigid air.

“Hey dood, welcome to Wiscahnsin,” the guy called, waving. “Abandon hope all ye to enter here, heh.” He smirked. William recognized his voice as the person he’d talked to on the phone.

“Uh . . . hi,” William replied awkwardly, hefting his two suitcases,

“Trunks open. Lemme get it fer ya.” The driver hurried around to the back of the car and opened it for William to toss the suitcases in. He had a shock of red hair trying to escape from his black beanie in all directions, and park-job aside seemed slightly less stoned in person than he sounded. “Wanna sit up front? It’s warmer up here, I’ve had the heat blastin’ all the way here . . . uh, just let me clear some shit out first.”

‘Some shit’ seemed to be a lot of empty bottles and cans and snack wrappers, but William waited patiently because it’s not like this place had any actual taxis he could call instead. When he did climb in and buckle his seatbelt, at least it was warm, as promised, even if it did smell like pot and stale beer.

The driver popped back in, stripped the glove off one hand, and rubbed at his nose above a vivid red goatee before grabbing the wheel, “Okey, here we go. I’m Pickles, what’s yer name?”

“William Murderfasche,” William replied. What kind of a name was Pickles? But . . . it did explain the name of the ‘cab’ company.

“Murderface, that’s a fuckin’ cool name. Mind if I just call ya that?”

“. . . Sure.”

“Cool. So dood, Murderface, where to?”

William gave him the address. The car pulled away from the airport with a jerk and he stared out the window at passing snow banks and white-shrouded trees, starting to sink into all his misgivings about the decision to come out here. There was a certain smell that developed anywhere his grandparents inhabited for long enough that he hadn’t realized until moving out on his own kept him in a near-constant state of upset stomach.

“Hope ya don’t mind there ain’t no radio,” Pickles told him companionably, not appearing to mind when William didn’t react. “Tape deck’s broken too. . . . I’m tryin’ ta save up the money to fix it by givin’ people rides and shit. And doin’ some other stuff too, but don’t tell the cops, heh. All the local stations are pretty much shit anywey, all they’re playin’ right now is fuckin’ Christmas songs.”

“Hm,” William agreed.

“What kinda music you listen to?”

“Hm. Uh, what? Oh, schorry. Moschtly metal, I guessch.” He shrugged, shaking himself out of the funk he’d been about to sink into. Usually he would prefer to just be left to his own thoughts, but right now the chit chat was actually a welcome distraction. “It’sch good background muschic for conschentrating on not thinking.”

“Hey dood, me too!” In his enthusiasm, Pickles gunned the engine and sent the car into a brief skid on the wintery road, but corrected it with an ease that spoke to lots of practice. “There’s naht much of a metal scene here, fuckin’ sucks. What else am I supposed to get fucked up to, huh? People jest don’t get that. Is it any better where you live?”

William, braced for impact as he now was and would probably remain for the rest of the ride, shrugged again. “I don’t know. I moschtly keep to myschelf, but there are plenty of schtoresch that have deschent schtuff, if you’re willing to schort through all the other crap.”

“Well, cool. Hey if you wanna hang out at all while yer here, I got a pretty good collection on vinyl. Y’know, if you don’t have family shit to do. I’m avoiding mine due to sort of a . . . landlord tenant dispute. They won’t let me put a lock on the house-door to my basement-room, so I’ve got it barricaded and stopped payin’ rent, and now Mahm won’t let me eat anything she cooks. But it’s cool, I’ve gaht an exterior door so I can still get in’n out.”

It took a moment to digest all that, but William noted the invitation with the tentative optimism of a guy who’d moved a lot as a kid but never quite gotten the hang of making friends as a survival method.

But he was only planning to be in town for a few days, get the condo cleaned out ASAP, and go home, never to return. Not a lot of point in making friends.

“Thanksch, but I probably won’t have time.” He wasn’t looking directly at Pickles, but he saw the driver’s smile drop a few watts out of the corner of his eye. Feeling bad for the guy, he quickly added, “Schoundsch like you’ve got a pretty good schet-up, though.”

“Eh . . . it’s alright.”

The conversation petered out after that, and William had no idea how to get it going again. He’d always been shit at this sort of thing. Looking back, it was probably a miracle that he’d stuck through high school long enough to graduate, having alienated, avoided, or accidentally insulted enough of his peers that virtually no one on campus had ever willingly spoken to him. The only social group he’d ever successfully infiltrated was the lunchtime stoners that hung out in the park across the street, and that was because they’d mostly just sat around passing joints, trying to blow smoke rings, and napping before having to face sixth period.

Eventually Pickles put his turn signal on and announced, "Here we go, Christmas Mountain Avenue. Sheesh, that's a little on the nose, huh?"

Privately William agreed, but awkwardly swallowed the chuckle before it could make itself heard. As they pulled up in front of the building, he peered out the window at the gray, shitty condo building and felt his lip curl. Fuck, there was a fridge in there full of rotting food and cans of condensed milk that he was going to have to deal with somewhere in there, he just knew it.

“Is this where yer staying?” Pickles asked dubiously.

“No,” William said with a shudder. “Thisch isch juscht the . . . family schit I’m here to deal with. My grandparentsch died and I have to clean out their plache by the end of the month.”

“Ooh.” Scratching thoughtfully at his goatee, he leaned forward to get a better look at the building. “. . . You know, the nearest motel is a ten minute walk and it’s gettin’ dark soon. Yer gonna want a ride, prahbably.”

William blinked. “Oh. I hadn’t thought of that.”

Pickles made a show of looking thoughtful. “So . . . want any help? I gaht reeeeal reasonable rates.”

“Well. . . .”

“And I’ve gaht weed, too,” he added.

“Done,” William said immediately.

Well. At least the ordeal would probably be over with sooner this way, and also a lot less horrible with something to blunt the edges (and cover the Smell).

#metalocalypse #12 days of dethmas #metalocalypse fanfic #metalocalypse au #pickleface #william murderface #pickles the drummer

16 notes · View notes

illshowyourhurricanes · 4 years

Text

A Familiar Face (Part 7)

How about a chapter instead of a Sunday snippet? I love this story, and an update is far overdue! As a short refresher since I took so long (apologies!), your apartment has been broken into and ransacked. Ryan is with you and helps you sift through the wreckage as much as he is able. But you have a confession to make: you know who is the culprit, and you can’t hide the truth anymore. (Parts 1-6 can be found on my masterlist!

Rating: PG for a little steaminess

Word count: 3390 (Because Ryan gets to me and I lose any and all self-control.)

Tag list: @obscurilicious @the-blind-assassin-12 @something-tofightfor @logan-deloss @lexxierave @madamrogers @yannii04 @gollyderek @carlaangel86 @maydayfigment @vetseras @thisisparadisemylove @malionnes @thesandbeneathmytoes @crushed-pink-petals-writes @delos-destinations @luminex3 @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @tenhargreeves @witchygagirl @fific7 @pheedraws

If you’d like to be added to/removed from my tag list, please just send me an ask or shoot me a DM.

Enjoy, and thanks for reading!

Ryan’s eyes crinkled up at the edges when he smiled. It was something you hadn’t discovered early on, like the pensive look that darkened his eyes sometimes or the way their color seemed to dance when he talked about music and places he’d been, things he’d seen. He was always wearing that tattered khaki hat, and the bill cast a shadow over his eyes, shrouding little things from view.

But that night, between guitar picking with calloused fingertips and singing that bursted from his soul, you and Ryan talked; you joked and laughed and the back-and-forth you both indulged in lasted longer than any of your previous conversations had. With Ryan’s overgrown hair brushed back, the only thing obstructing his eyes at times was a chunk of long bangs falling over his forehead. It wasn’t enough, however, to hide those eye crinkles when he laughed, framed by long, dark eyelashes. It was a small feature of his that was only showcased in certain instances, and one that most people wouldn’t notice. But, every time it happened, you felt your heart flip, the way it had just before the cozy house set back deep in the woods had been filled with music.

Your mind kept replaying the melody of the original song he’d played for you. It had stirred something deep inside of you, ignited a place within yourself that you’d never known existed.

“When did you write Southbound?” Your questions were becoming more personal, and the startling part, the part that made you the happiest, was that Ryan didn’t seem to mind answering them, nor did he seem hesitant to ask questions of his own. “What sparked that melody, those words?”

Ryan set his guitar down gently, leaning the front of the old acoustic against the wall, neck and peg board supporting the instrument. He regarded your face, the glint of genuine curiosity shining in your eyes. He was attentive to the way you were sitting, leaning forward and eager to hear more of his story.

He’d met many people over the time he’d spent on the roads, living life the way he saw fit. Some of them had been curious about his lifestyle, how long he’d been playing, that sort of thing. He’d met people who had pried for details, almost as if a disguised predator hunting for prey. But you… you were the first person he’d encountered that was interested in more than why he didn’t use plastic guitar picks, but chose thumb and finger picks instead. Ryan wasn’t used to people being interested in him as a person. He was conditioned to keeping to himself, allowing lips curled in disgust at his clothes, rust-stained or dirtied in places from hopping trains, to roll off his back. He smiled, one of those crooked, small quirks of his lips that he tended to lean toward when he was feeling shy. But it didn’t keep him from answering, and truthfully.

“Just keepin’ myself occupied on trains. Some’a those rides are long and I use the time to practice, to play.” He flexed his fingers, and you looked down to see the ink decorating his knuckles. That was another story you’d love to hear, what those tattoos meant to him, what they stood for. “I found a melody I liked, kept playin’ around with it, the tuning, the speed, the pickin’. It was a while before the words came. My old notebook is more scratched through words than anythin’ else.”

He looked at you, perched on the edge of the old vintage couch, some of the fabric beginning to wear. He caught your eyes and held your gaze for a lingering moment, andl his focus was drawn downward to your lips. He forced himself to not stare, to continue with his story.

“But the words came, and I liked ‘em alright. They fit when I paired the lyrics with the music. For a long time, I had two verses, the strumming in the middle, and that was it. Wasn’t until the thick of the winter when I was inspired to finish.”

Ryan stopped there. You wanted to ask him what had inspired him to turn the song in the specific direction it had gone. You wanted to ask him how autobiographical the song was, the parts about leaving home— where home had been, if he’d ever tried to find a permanent place he could be content in. He’d sung a line or so nodding to drinking, and you couldn’t help but feel a strong pull at your heartstrings, and the solemn weight that settled in your chest. Ryan hadn’t had an easy life.

Instead of responding with words, you surveyed Ryan’s face. He was still just across from you, the fire he’d built still crackling in the fireplace. You felt a chill and lifted your sock-clad feet to the bottom cushion of the sofa you’d been occupying for the evening, hugging your knees to your chest.

A comfortable silence settled between the two of you, You became lost in thought, with the knowledge that tomorrow would be another very long day. You were making a mental list of things to take care of when Ryan’s voice brought you back to the present. It was such a welcome distraction.

“Tell me about the diner.” He spoke softly, not much louder than the crackling of the blazing fire he’d built. Standing from where you’d been lounging, you moved to the heart again to toast before the fire. It was difficult to stay still, difficult to focus on anything other than the questions making endless rounds through your head, overwhelming your mind. You could focus on Ryan, though. The diner. You smiled genuinely. My comfort. My home. It felt like, somehow, Ryan knew how much the diner meant to you… and he did. It was impossible to miss when you were there, working non-stop but never without a smile, never too busy to indulge a patron in warm conversation. It was your safe haven.

“My grandparents opened up the place decades ago,” you started. You paused for a moment and relished the warmth radiating over your back. “They snatched it up with a down payment and a lump sum of pre-payment of the lease before the building had an interior, when it was just a shell of brick. They knew it would be the perfect location for the business they’d dreamt of opening.” You caught Ryan’s eyes, and there was a smile there, matching the one on his lips as well as your own. “It’s like the American Dream,” you laughed, and continued. “My parents took over…”

And just as quickly as your grin had come, it vanished with a darkening of your eyes. The shock and bewilderment you’d felt in discovering the state of your apartment was transitioning into outright anger. You could kill your brother. And the thought of him intruding your mind-- just like the way he’d intruded your apartment, your life once again-- reminded you that Ryan still had no idea about what you knew. What had actually happened.

“And that brings us here,” you finally continued. “I had money saved up, a nice amount. Cash, mostly from tips, so I could buy that building outright when it’s time, take over when my parents grew tired.” You swallowed hard, shoving down the lump in your throat that had been returning unwelcome throughout the evening and night. A slight look of contempt twisted your features, and your eyes began to prickle. You knew what was coming; it was inevitable. “For years, I’ve measured my life in coffee spoons, packs of sweetener and powdered creamer. Working toward that goal is my whole life, and I wouldn’t trade the double shifts or overtime for the world, but right now? I have nothing to show for it.” Hot tears stung your face, and you wiped them away angrily as you gathered the courage to look at Ryan. His gaze was centered on you already, stunningly intense. And you were hit with a realization then: that if anyone could understand what it was like to have nothing— next to no money, no home, a sparse amount of belongings— it was Ryan.

He had no permanent home. You were fairly positive he’d had his fair share of days with little to no money, and everything he owned fit in his pack, with the exception of his guitar. The peace you felt from your epiphany thawed your anger. Your tears were tapering. Sniffing quietly, you moved to the side as Ryan came to tend to the fire. A feeling of understanding hung in the air between the two of you as Ryan added some more kindling to the flames. Your eyes alternated between his movements and the dance of dark shadow with orange firelight moving over his features. You were mesmerized.

“I know who did it.” Your voice was barely more than a whisper and you were hyper-aware of your heart beating wildly beneath the safety of your rib cage. Ryan brushed his hands together and stood upright, his eyes regarding as he did so. He didn’t seem to be angry at all, but his curiosity was apparent. He was quiet for a moment, but finally answered with a slight nod, the silence remaining. You opened your mouth to apologize again, your self-loathing over lying by omission rising by the minute, but Ryan beat you to the punch.

“ ‘S’not much of my business, I reckon, but you…” He looked at you with a seriousness you’d never expect from him, and your eyes widened with anticipation and dread. “Are you safe, Y/N?” Ryan’s warm, dark eyes were round with concern, and not a touch of anger was present. All you saw was worry and care.

You nodded in response and cast your eyes downward. “It is your business,” you assured him. It’s your business. You were there and you… you helped me bear the brunt of it all. “And I’m sorry, Ryan. Feeling shame isn’t an excuse to lie. Nothing is.” For the first time, you were nervous in front of him, not because of how he made you feel, but because you’d deceived him. If he’d had any trust in you-- which you thought he might-- you’d taken advantage of that. “I don’t want you to get involved in my mess.” Looking up at him, you locked your eyes with his. He had no further reason to trust you, not in your opinion, but you hoped he’d be able to see the honesty that you were finally giving him, and that he deserved. “You’ve been a light in my life since you’ve been around, and I don’t want to dim that, not while you’re still here casting that glow.” Your cheeks burned at the realization of how corny your words sounded, but corny or not, they were absolute truth.

Closing the short distance between you, Ryan gently took one of your hands in his, tangling his long fingers with yours. He just looked at you for a few seconds, and then, he kissed you with care. His lips were soft against yours, his kiss light, lingering, laced with an air of urgency. One hand cupped your cheek and the other wrapped around your hand just a bit tighter, your fingers lacing with his. He kissed you again, this time with an added tenacity, yet somehow still chaste. When he pulled back to look at you, both for a reaction and to marvel at your beauty, you noticed his chestnut eyes had darkened a shade or two. Your hands were still locked together and you couldn’t seem to draw in a full, steady breath. You got lost in the warmth of his eyes for a moment before your gaze fell to his lips, already craving another taste.

“I’m sorry, Y/N, I shouldn’t ‘ve—“ You shook your head once and leaned in again, interrupting his very unnecessary apology. The way Ryan kissed was something you’d never experienced before. It was all the evidence you needed to achor the idea that Ryan didn’t need words. His soul was naked when he strummed the steel strings of his guitar, his emotions were on full display in his eyes, and his heart was unmistakably felt in his kiss. It was extraordinary and spellbinding. It was absolute and genuine and something that you wanted to take hold of, grasp tightly, and keep with you. But you knew, instead, eventually, you’ d have to let go. And much sooner, you suspected, than you’d like.

It had been foolish to allow yourself to grow attached to a stranger you may never see again, but you allowed yourself the effort to attempt rationalizing what was serendipitous. It wasn’t lost on you that doing so was a glaring paradox, but what were the chances of Ryan returning to your small town in the first place? You knew now that the reason was Georgie, but that posed another question: what were the chances of you remembering Ryan specifically? Buskers passed through all the time, on their way to or coming from the city. You were accustomed to music floating through the air on your way to the diner when you didn’t have the opening shift, but Ryan’s music wasn’t just a nice tune you’d enjoyed on your way to work. Ryan’s music, his style and way of playing, his voice smooth as honey but rough with passion, wasn’t just music-- it was a force. Ryan in himself was a force, and in the most gentle, remarkable way.

You pulled back reluctantly, your lips on fire and cheeks ablaze. You’d had one hell of a day, and your emotions were anything but regulated. The last thing you wanted to do was something out of your character, to tarnish your time with Ryan by doing something that, in hindsight, wouldn’t hold a meaning. You opened your eyes to see Ryan studying your face, and he smiled that boyish, crooked quirk of his lips— his incredible lips— that made your heart do somersaults.

“I’ve been wantin’ to do that for awhile,” he admitted, a slight chuckle accompanying his confession. You laughed, shaking your head more in disbelief than anything else Ryan brushed his calloused fingertips softly over your forehead, gently curling a few wayward strands of your hair behind your ear.

“How did you wait so long? I’m irresistible.” You dissolved into laughter and rolled your eyes dramatically, taking him by the hand and leading him the few steps back to the old loveseat you’d claimed as yours earlier in the evening. He followed suit easily, pulling you down to sit on one cushion as he sat on the other.

“You are,” he told you, but there was no trace of laughter in his voice. His shadow of a smile held affection instead of humor. “You’ve made my time here more’n just playing a couple songs with Georgie. He’s off somewhere now, an’ me? I’m still here.”

It was a simple thing to say, obvious in nature but not in the way Ryan had said it. The connotation in his voice and what he meant was stunning. For a moment, you were quiet, turning his words over in your head. Then, you grinned shyly.

“You’re something else, Ryan Brenner.” It was something he’d said to you many times, and it had grown into a habit, an inside joke. Turning toward him, you took both of his hands and your expression grew serious. “I owe you an explanation,” you started carefully, “But first I want to thank you for bringing such sunshine into my life since you’ve been here. I always look forward to work, but I found myself not dreading the walk there in the cold. I wanted to make sure to bring you some sort of warmth as thanks, even if it was just a cup of coffee during the day… something pulled me toward you, Ryan, And not for any reason other than how genuine you are. You’re unapologetic in who you are, and there’s no pretense you carry around with you. People like you are all but impossible to come by.”

Now that you were talking, really talking and free of anxiety, you couldn’t stop. Words just came pouring out in bursts with barely a moment between. You could talk to Ryan about how you felt about him for an hour, but you needed to get back to the truth and finish the conversation you’d started earlier. In your moment’s pause,Ryan took advantage of your silence and leaned toward you, pressing his lips to yours again softly, almost as if asking permission.

You hummed slightly against his lips, and you felt the warmth of his palm radiating through the material of your shirt. He pressed his hand to the small of your back, drawing you closer. Again, he gifted you with his mouth against yours, gently coaxing your lips open with his tongue, deepening the kiss. Your arm found its way over his shoulder, your hand curling around his neck and fingers getting lost in the long, dark hair there. You’d easily gotten yourself lost in Ryan, and consciously so. Kissing Ryan felt like home.

When he broke away, his eyes were dark with desire, yet he simply rested his forehead against yours, inhaling deeply and closing his eyes briefly. You slowly withdrew your fingers from his hair, your arm from his neck and shoulder, but Ryan’s hand remained on your back. The pressure was light, however, and he was gently running his fingertips up and down the middle of your back, straight over the line of your spine. You closed your eyes at first, relishing in his touch, feeling goosebumps pop up atop your skin. You opened your eyes as you felt him remove his forehead from yours, and you focused your gaze downward. Turning over his hand, you traced your index fingers over the tattoos, vertical lines between his middle and lower knuckles.

“It was my brother.” Finally confessing your truth, your voice was tiny, barely audible, and you felt the fall of your heart into the pit of your stomach. Nerves and shame burrowed there as well and spread like venom throughout your body. Your posture changed, your shoulders tense as you hunched into yourself unconsciously. A bitter taste was on your tongue, and that lump had lodged itself in your throat again, rendering your voice useless. You swallowed past it again, and you looked up at Ryan, knowing a simple glance could give you the courage you needed. His eyes were full of warmth and gentle encouragement, and his palm flattened over your back, rubbing gentle circles in effort to soothe you.

Noel was at rock bottom. Because you’d been forced to change your locks and not give him a key, he’d resorted to breaking down your door and destroying your apartment searching for money that he either owed or needed to sustain his habit. That strength and effort, that apparent absence of remorse in someone who you’d trusted implicitly for years cut you like a knife, but more than that, it terrified you. Your brother had turned into a stranger.

“I don’t know if I’m safe anymore, Ryan.” You looked up at him in a loss. “I don’t know where to go from here.”

Ryan was not a violent man, but at that moment, he felt a white hot anger for the man who had done this to you, your brother, a man he didn’t even know and had never laid eyes on. A man he hadn’t known existed until two minutes ago. But he was concentrating on what didn’t matter, and he needed to reroute that. You mattered. You were all that mattered to him in that moment, your peace of mind and your safety. Dipping his head, he pressed a kiss to the top of your head and indulged in inhaling the scent of your shampoo.

“We’re gonna figure it, okay? I promise you. I’mma be right here ‘till we do.” He paused and placed his index finger under your chin, drawing your face upward gently and catching your eye. Ryan needed you to see his sincerity. “I’m not goin’ anywhere, Y/N. We’re in this together, you and me.”

#a familiar face #aff #part 7 #a familar face part 7 #aff part 7 #ryan brenner #ryan brenner x reader #ryan brenner fanfic #ben barnes fanfiction

34 notes · View notes

littledraga · 4 years

Text

Robots and a Roomba

Because thanks to the Cav SPG really needs their own little Roomba.

Six stepped into the old manor with a box under his arm. He would grin, but well, keyhole masks aren’t all that good for that. His mom told him that he needed to help more around the house and suggested a vacuum. In a manor of countless rooms and spaces, before doing science. But he wasn’t going to disobey Annie either.

So! He had the most wonderful idea! And had gone out to buy a Roomba for the place. Now, no one had to worry about vacuuming. Patting the box he giggled. He was a very smart man indeed!

Unboxing the Roomba and setting it up, he sent his little machine away with a pat. “Thank you, Roomba!” he giggled. “Work hard!” And with that, he was off to science!

Rabbit was polishing her crown of awesome when she heard a distressed beeping. But not one that she knew.

Polish and crown in hand, she went off to investigate. Down the hall, the beeping got louder until she found a robot disk, stuck under the hall table.

“H-h-hey, there! Whatcha-cha doin’ under der?” Pulling out the machine, she looked it over. “Oh! You’re ne-new, ain'tcha! I’m Rabbit!”

When they didn’t respond, she frowned a moment. But she quickly beamed. “Aw! Ya must be shy. It’s okay, we’re all really nice, promise!” Still nothing. Maybe they just needed to feel more welcome.

“Come on! Let’s go have some fun to-together. Do-do you like tea parties?” She asked while she carried the Roomba off for a play date.

Turns out Roombas aren’t big fans of tea, even if she let them wear her crown of awesome. But they loved cookies! Or at least the crumbs that fell out of Rabbit’s faceplate from chewing.

“See? I knew ya just needed to warm up to me” She chirped and brushed out her dress. “Come on, we can have some more fun.”

Standing up quickly, she bumped the table and sent the cutlery clattering to the floor, and covering her new friend.

The Roomba kicked on again and chased after Rabbit as crumbs tumbled from her dress. A knife and fork balancing on its top.

“H-hey, careful,” she warned, and jumped out of the way, only for them to turn around again. Watching them, she grinned widely. “Well, if ya wa-wanna play like that.”

Plucking up her new friend, she went off to find some better knives and tape.

Sometime later, Spine was interrupted by a soft whirring noise and looked up from his guitar. “Hm? I thought I heard,” he was cut off when he heard a small clang of metal on metal.

Looking down, he saw a Roomba with a couple of knives taped to its top. Worse, they had cut his pants. “Hey, now! There’s no reason to go around cutting up people’s clothing,” he chided as the Roomba seemed to flee.

Only to start beeping as it hit the wall, cutting up the wallpaper.

The Spine sighed and knelt down to pick up the Roomba, careful not to have it cut any more of his clothes. Sure, the knives wouldn’t hurt him, but why ruin perfectly good clothes? It’s not like he had an endless supply of black shirts.

“Don’t worry, buckaroo. I’ll get you cleaned up and back on your way.” Carefully, peeling off the tape, he put the knives on the side table. “That’s better! Back at it, you go,” he praised and put the Roomba back down.

It turned once, twice, and then into his leg again, beeping that it hit something.

Grinning, he bent down to pat the machine again. “Hey, it’s alright if you want to take a little break. The manor is pretty big after all.” Sitting back down, he picked up his guitar again to practice. Though, he found himself distracted while the Roomba circled his chair. He hadn’t made any messes, not lately anyway.

“Do you like music by chance?” He asked and strummed a few notes. When the Roomba stopped in front of him, he grinned. “How about that!” He played a few songs for his new friend before he dug out an old cowboy doll he had stored away. Borrowing the hat, he placed it on the Roomba and adjusted it until it was just right.

“There ya are! Looks good on ya cowboy,” he laughed as the Roomba finally left the room.

Red fire truck in hand, Zer0 was happily playing on the floor when a new friend came to visit. Looking up, he grinned. “Hi! I’m Zer0. Are you new?”

Instead of answering, the Roomba went around the edges of the room.

Which made Zer0 laugh. “Come on! Do you wanna play with my red fire truck, with me? You can be the cowboy firefighter!” He followed the Roomba around the room with the truck. “Where’s the fire cowboy?”

After pulling him out from under his bed, Zer0 grinned. “You’re havin’ a hard time seein’ where you’re goin’, cowboy firefighter! I can fix that.”

Digging through a couple drawers, he found a marker and held it up. “Perfect! You can’t see where you’re goin’ ‘cuz you ain’t got no eyes!” Sitting down he carefully drew two mismatched eyes for the Roomba, and the biggest smile he could fit.

“Now, you can see the fire! Where should we go now?” With a chirp, the Roomba spun around again. Zer0 mimicked his new friend spinning in circles.

Out of the room, they went, until the Roomba ducked under a table that Zer0 couldn’t fit under. “Hey! You can’t put out the fire without the fire truck!”

Getting up, Zer0 scurried off to meet the Roomba on the other side. “Cowboy firefighter?” He wandered the halls looking for his new friend.

GG was sat on the end of the hall, pouting. “Someone pick me up! I’m too cute to walk down the halls!” She whined, waiting for someone to find her. The poor Roomba did first.

Seeing the Roomba roll down the hall she lit up. “Oh! Perfect!” Giggling she knocked off the hat and crawled on top of it.

Trying to keep her balance was hard, she fell on her face. “Hey! What was that for!?” She whined, sitting up to rub her nose.

Trying again, she wiggled and flailed until she found out how to sit and stay upright. “Yes! A mobile throne! Just need some cushions. Come, throne! To the living room!” She was pretty sure they were going the wrong way, but as long as they got there!

The Spine and Rabbit were in the kitchen, debating the new song set when GG rode by.

“Cowboy?” The Spine tilted his head before he popped his head out to see.

Rabbit wrinkled her nose. “No! That was Mister Stabby! I was playin’ with him earlier.” She rushed out to chase after GG. “What’d you do with his knives, GG?” She demanded.

“Knives? That was you? Rabbit, are you insane? You could have hurt someone, never mind cutting up my pants!” He scolded, only getting more angry when she waved it off.

“It was his idea! He was zoo-zoomin’ around with a knife on his head. I just helped.”

“Hey, guys! Have you seen Cowboy Firefighter? We were playing firefighter with my red fire truck and he got lost.” He held it up a little as he talked.

Narrowing his eyes, The Spine huffed and grabbed at the toy. “You mean you were playing with my red fire truck,” he corrected. “You have your own fire truck Zer0, leave mine alone.”

“He pr-pro-probably ran away because you were callin’ him the wrong name. He’s Mister Stabby!” Chirped Rabbit.

The three of them couldn’t finish a sentence before another was trying to talk over them.

Hearing the noise, Six peeked his head around the corner to see GG riding on his new Roomba. Stepping out, he put his foot out to stop it and crossed his arms over his chest.

“Do you mind, Petes? I need to get to the living room to get pillows for my mobile throne.”

Six tilted his head. “Excuse me? That’s a Roomba. It cleans the floors.” Before GG could whine he jabbed a thumb to the side. “Off.”

While she scampered off, complaining that he was being mean he looked down the hall to the three squabbling bots. He could see the marker face. He had only bought it a few hours ago! “Excuse me.” He tried, picking up the machine and powering it off.

When they ignored him he tapped his foot and huffed. “Excuse me!” He tried again, not quite yelling. That worked and they looked at him, each crying out that he turned off, Mister Stabby, Cowboy, Cowboy Firefighter. Tilting his head again he sighed.

“It’s a Roomba, little machine vacuum. It runs around and cleans the floors. It is not a toy, and it’s not sentient. The Roomba is not for playing, leave it alone.”

The three bots hung their heads and agreed.

How could three bots, each over a hundred years old, make him feel guilty? Sighing, he waved a hand. “It’s got a lot of work to do, please let it work.” Still, with the Roomba tucked under his arm, he walked off to put it on its charger. They were a handful sometimes.

A few days later, Six came up for a coffee refill, wondering why he hadn’t put one in all the labs yet. Stirring in more creamer than coffee he heard something metallic rattling along. He stopped and made sure he hadn’t picked up loose screws and dropped them in his glass again.

Nope, something was still rattling. Walking out to the hall he followed the sound. A few turns later he found it. The Roomba was scooting down the hall with three ice creams on top. There were a few bills tucked under them.

“GUYS!”

#spg #fanfic #roomba

3 notes · View notes

isitgintimeyet · 5 years

Text

The Ties That Bind

AO3

So here’s the final chapter. Thank you for reading , liking, reblogging and commenting. The response has been more than I ever imagined.

thanks to @mo-nighean-rouge for the beta, support and encouragement

Chapter 32: A Welcome Home

"How do you spell love?" asked Piglet. "You don't spell it, you feel it," said Pooh.

A. A. Milne, Winnie the Pooh

“Sassenach, can ye pass me the milk, please?”

Claire reached across the breakfast table awkwardly with her left hand and passed the milk to Jamie. She watched the simple diamond solitaire ring as it glistened in the light with her movements. Jamie chuckled.

“Are ye no’ tired of lookin’ at it yet, Sassenach?” Jamie captured her hand and lifted it to his lips.

“I am sorry, Sassenach. That wasna how I was plannin’ it wi’ no ring and an audience of lawyers. But I couldna help it. I’d been wantin’ tae do it fer months and there, in that office, I couldna wait any longer. I dinna care who knows what ye mean tae me. I want everyone to know that I want tae marry ye, Claire Beauchamp. I dinna care what Geneva or her blasted mother have tae say about it. I dinna care about rockin’ the boat. Nae more game playin’ or hidin’, nae more emotional blackmail. Me askin’ like that, well, it jes’ came out… but ye ken it was straight from ma heart.”

Claire moved round to Jamie and sat in his lap, winding her arms around his neck. He gave a mock groan of pain as she adjusted her bottom on his thighs and received a playful slap in retaliation.

“I know and I’m glad you asked. But it makes for an interesting story… how many people receive a marriage proposal with lawyers as witnesses? Just imagine if I had to sue you for breach of contract? You would never stand a chance! Did you have it planned, though? Did you think how you would ask me?”

“Aye, I thought about it a lot. I always imagined a picnic somewhere near Lallybroch, perhaps that wee glen I showed ye, or mebbe where we watched the fireworks, remember?”

Claire blushed slightly at the memory of that Hallowe’en party - the fireworks lighting up the night sky while Jamie’s hands ignited a flame deep within Claire’s core, the noise of the spectators drowning out her moans and cries of pleasure, the two of them only returning to the house once the guests had departed. Whilst not exactly a ‘walk of shame’, her wayward curls and lips swollen from kisses had left Jamie’s family in no doubt as to the reason for their disappearance. The fact that her black lacy knickers had been residing in Jamie’s trouser pocket at the time, fortunately, was not so obvious.

And now, judging by the insistent hardness against Claire’s thigh, Jamie was also thinking back to that evening.

“James Fraser, please!”

Jamie grinned as Claire stood up. “Not now… you know we have to be at Ned Gowan’s office by ten. Aren’t you nervous about the meeting today?”

“I dinna think I am, Sassenach. Since meeting wi’ Ned, I feel like a weight has been lifted. I ken there’s a way forward. What’s the worst that could happen? Geneva willna agree to our plan and we have tae go tae court. I have enough witnesses tae say William is mine and a DNA test would prove it. Fer the first time, I have the upper hand.”

***************

For all his confidence at breakfast, butterflies were gathering in Jamie’s stomach as he and Claire waited in the reception for Ned Gowan to appear. Unable to sit still, he wandered over to the large windows and stood watching the people, small as ants, on the pavement below.

Claire watched him. Even after all these months together, the sight of him still sometimes managed to take her breath away. From an objective point of view, he was, in the word of Geillis, “a rare hunk of a man”, the breadth of his shoulders accentuated by his charcoal grey suit jacket, the light through the window setting his auburn curls ablaze. But, more than that, he was a genuinely good soul. Not perfect by any means, but generally thoughtful and considerate… and he loved her. Loved her as she was, not how she could be in the future, or if she only tried harder.

Claire actually felt a momentary pang of sorrow for Geneva. She had had a relationship with Jamie, experienced all these qualities and then he was gone. It was hardly surprising she had wanted him back. But then, as she thought about Geneva’s actions over the past few months, Claire's sympathy instantly disappeared.

“Mr. Fraser? Mr. Gowan is ready for you now, in conference room one.”

Jamie returned to Claire’s seat, and bent to kiss her cheek. His hands felt clammy as she squeezed them. “It’s going to be fine, remember? Upper hand?” She whispered. “I’ll be here when you’ve finished.”

“Cup of coffee while you wait?” The receptionist took pity on Claire, nervously chewing her lip as Jamie disappeared into the conference room.

Claire nodded and moved to the window, looking for distractions. Reflected in the glass she could make out three people heading for the reception desk- an older lady, a man in a dark pinstripe suit and Geneva.

“Miss Dunsany to see Mr Gowan.” Geneva’s voice sounded loud and confident.

The older lady, the infamous Louisa, Claire presumed, spoke in a low voice, too quietly for Claire to hear.

Geneva’s response reached Claire’s ears perfectly clearly. “Mummy, no. You stay here and wait. Don’t fuss, I’ll be fine.”

********

Waiting in the conference room, Jamie relaxed a little as Ned recapped on the proposal and the steps to be taken depending on the outcome. Clad in a blue and brown Prince of Wales check three piece suit, with burgundy bow tie and pocket square, he still didn’t look to Jamie like a successful and feared lawyer, but as long as he got results, Jamie couldn’t care less.

Ned stood up courteously as the door opened and Geneva and her lawyer walked in. Jamie automatically followed suit. Just six weeks after giving birth and Geneva looked to be back to her pre-pregnancy figure. Not that Jamie cared. Any lingering shred of friendly affection that he held for her had evaporated in the four weeks since he had seen his son. He would be civil, but he doubted that he could ever really forgive her.

Ned greeted the arrivals as if he was welcoming them to his home. “Mr. Grant, good to see ye ag’in. Miss Dunsany, how nice tae make yer acquaintance. Would ye care fer any refreshments? No? That’s grand. So I suppose we may as well start.”

The butterflies in Jamie’s stomach started up with renewed vigour. He now severely doubted John and his assurance that Ned was a killer in court. He seemed more like a benevolent uncle welcoming guests for afternoon tea. He looked across at Geneva. Her face bore a slight smile, as if she knew already that Ned would be a pushover for her charm. His eyes flicked across to her lawyer, already swallowing nervously… or maybe John had been right.

“I presume ye have read ma client’s proposal tae end this situation…” Ned began.

“Yes, and…” Mr. Grant spoke hesitantly.

“Excuse me, Mr. Grant, I hadna finished wi’ ma introduction. I trust ye are no’ sae precipitous in all aspects of yer life. As I was saying, ma client feels that this is a reasonable plan providing reasonable access tae his son and involvement in decisions regardin’ said child”

There was silence in the room.

“Ye may speak now, Mr. Grant.”

“Thank you, Mr. Gowan. My client has read this proposal and has raised several issues with its contents. Primarily, that with no defined parental responsibility, Mr. Fraser is in no position to be dictating access, or any other arrangements, concerning Miss Dunsany’s child.”

Ned sat back in his chair, looking relaxed. “Ah yes, parental responsibility. Ye are correct. All this proposal presupposes that Mr. Fraser here is named as the child’s father on the birth certificate, which at present he is no’. Let’s no’ play games here. We all ken that Mr. Fraser is Master William Dunsany’s natural father. We could all agree now tae have the birth certificate amended and continue nicely discussing the custody arrangements today or we could close this meeting now and continue in court. Let them decide. In which case, we would be able tae provide numerous witnesses tae support his claim and would be requesting a DNA test.”

“Is that a threat, Mr. Gowan?

“Och, nay, lad. I dinna ever threaten. I merely promise. And I promise, in that court I would pose all these questions tae yer client, under oath, and would remind her that perjury is a crime that the legal system takes verra seriously. Now, would ye care fer some time wi’ yer client tae reconsider yer position?”

*************

As Claire sat trying to read the newspaper, nervously awaiting the outcome of the meeting, she became aware that she seemed to be under intense scrutiny. She looked up to find Louisa clearly staring at her and making no attempt to hide this.

“So, you’re the girlfriend, then?”

Claire instantly realised that Geneva’s personality traits were a reflection of her mother’s. She marvelled that Isobel had somehow managed to escape this family resemblance.

“I’m Claire Beauchamp.” Claire replied in the same curt tones. Part of her wanted to correct Louisa, to inform that she was actually Jamie’s fiancée, not just a girlfriend, but that seemed too childish… satisfying but petty. There were other ways to deliver that message.

“And you’re a doctor, are you?” The interrogation continued.

“Actually, I’m a consultant orthopaedic surgeon.”

“So, how long have you been together then?” Louisa was relentless.

“Why?” Claire spoke coldly.

“And your ‘relationship’,” Louisa continued, emphasising the word with distaste. “Is it serious?”

“I don’t believe that is any of your business.”

“It is undoubtedly my business when it affects my daughter and my grandson. Did you not feel some moral obligation to step aside months ago?”

Claire inhaled deeply and thought for a moment before speaking calmly, in measured tones. “How can you speak about morals to me after the way you and your daughter have behaved? I cannot tell you how your daughter has acted towards me the past few months, how low she would stoop to get what she wanted. She has been relentless in trying to break Jamie and I up with no thought for anybody but herself, no thought for other people’s feelings, no consideration even for the impact on your grandson. And, what has it brought her? Nothing… You know what, I pity her.”

Louise appeared shocked at Claire’s last comment and started to interrupt. Claire held her hand up to stop her and continued.

“Yes, I pity your daughter… please tell her that. Make sure to let her know. Her desperate and pathetic games, which you knew about and wholeheartedly supported, have brought us here, and maybe even to court. And you both deserve it. So, don’t feel you have some superior right to question me... either of you. It will not work. I owe you no explanations, no discussions... And now, please allow me to drink my coffee in peace.”

Claire reached for her coffee cup… with her left hand. It was awkward, but she was improving with all this left handed activity.

Louisa stared at Claire’s hand, opened her mouth as if to speak, slowly shook her head, then retreated behind her newspaper.

************

“So, Mr. Grant, have ye had sufficient time tae consult wi’ yer client?” Ned spoke confidently as Geneva and Mr. Grant returned to the conference room.

Jamie looked on admiringly, the butterflies having disappeared absolutely. Ned, bless him, was worth every penny.

“Yes, we have and Miss Dunsany wishes for me to inform you that she will agree for Mr. Fraser to be named on her son’s birth certificate and has accepted all access arrangements defined within the original proposal, including the annual review of access arrangements with legal representation. We will, of course formally document this agreement”

“Weel,” Ned resumed his benevolent uncle persona. “Miss Dunsany, Mr Grant, that’ll do nicely. Shall we make an appointment for the review in twelve months time, then?”

“Just a second, please.” Jamie interrupted. “Geneva, I ken ye agree the access arrangement, but have ye agreed the other bit? Will ye change his name? Will ye gi’ him Fraser as a middle name?”

Geneva pursed her lips for a second, as if contemplating one last spiteful action to hurt Jamie, before finally speaking. “Ok. Yes. I’ll make the appointment at the registrar’s then.”

As they walked towards the door, Jamie corrected her, his voice cold. “No, Geneva, this time I make the appointment.”

******

Claire could tell the outcome from the expression on Jamie’s face as he burst into the reception. Paying no attention to Louisa, he hugged Claire tightly, lifting her off her feet. “Sassenach, it’s agreed. I’m tae be on the birth certificate, and I get shared custody, just like we wanted. I canna wait fer ye tae meet him… William… ma son”

Laughing, Jamie placed her back on her feet and turned to shake Ned’s hand. Claire watched as Geneva, Louisa and Mr. Grant headed for the exit. Jamie refused to acknowledge their leaving or even cast a glance in their direction. Louisa whispered something to her daughter and Geneva paused, turning back to where Claire and Jamie stood. Claire smiled coldly and lifted her left hand, placing it around Jamie’s waist. Geneva’s shoulders drooped as she gazed at Jamie, his arm now around Claire’s shoulders, pulling her closer to him.

The moment passed and Geneva continued out of the office with her mother.

**************

Jamie looked at the clock by the side of the bed. He wasn’t sure what had woken him. He rolled over to Claire’s side of the bed - now cold and empty. He got out of bed, stumbling in the darkness, and headed onto the landing.

A light was on in the adjacent bedroom, and he could hear low murmur of a voice. He pushed the door open and stood watching in the doorway.

“... from the top of the tree, there came a loud buzzing noise. Winnie the Pooh sat down at the foot of the tree, put his head between his paws, and began to think…”

Claire sat on the rocking chair, the light from the reading lamp highlighting the auburn and golden tones in her hair, the motion of the chair causing her curls to sway gently. In her arms, she held William, his eyes fixed on her face, thumb firmly in his mouth.

Jamie felt like his heart was going to burst - his love and his son together. An image, a memory, he knew he would treasure forever.

Claire looked up at him and smiled softly. “Hey. Sorry, did we wake you?”

Jamie shook his head. “Nah. I didna hear him greetin’?”

“Oh, no, he wasn’t crying. I just wanted to check on him. This is all new for William, you know, first night at his Da’s and he was wide awake. So I thought a cuddle and a bit of a story might settle him down… come join us. We need someone for the voices.”

Jamie walked over to the rocking chair. He kissed the top of Claire’s head, then knelt down beside them, kissing William’s forehead. Claire moved the book closer to him.

Jamie began to read: “...then he thought another long time, and said: ‘And the only reason for being a bee that I know of is making honey.” And then he got up and said: “And the only reason for making honey is so as I can eat it’...”

#outlander fanfic #outlander fan fiction #the ties that bind #Jamie Fraser #claire beauchamp #chapter 32 #the end

118 notes · View notes

shimmershaewrites · 6 years

Text

Waltzing's for Dreamers, Chapter 9 (a Walking Dead story, Caryl AU).

Title: Waltzing's for Dreamer's

Rating: I'm going to say M, just to play it safe.

Warnings: Adult language. Some innuendo.

Characters/Pairings: Carol/Daryl, Bob Stookey, Merle Dixon. Mentions of Andrea Harrison and Amy Harrison, Dale and Irma Horvath, Michonne, Sophia Peletier, Simon.

Sorry for the delay on this. I got sucked into watching Ice Dancing, hahaha, and yeah. It's Tuesday already. ;) Oops. Damn, I really need to go to bed. If it's makes you feel better, it's twice as long as usual, lol. Which, shit. Means there's twice as much chance for typos--that I will totally fix later.

Waltzing’s for Dreamers

Four months after Vegas. Their first Thanksgiving together as a pseudo-family. More accurately, the aftermath.

“Thanks for the invite,” Bob grins. “The leftovers, too,” he says, lifting the foil wrapped plate in his hands as they reach the foot of the stairs and near his door.

Offering up a distracted nod as acknowledgment, Daryl peers out into the November night. His expression sours a bit when he sees the orange glow of a lit cigarette and the outline of a familiar figure. He ducks his head, attempts to piece together an apology. “Hey. Uh, about what my brother said…”

The former army medic barely spares him a second glance, just shrugs the whole awkward situation off like water off a duck’s back as he fumbles one-handed for the keys in his pocket. “It’s alright.”

He shakes his head. Sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Don’t have to say that because I know it ain’t. Fucker was a real asshole to you and I know he ain’t gonna say sorry himself so I’m sayin’ it for him. M’sorry. You didn’t deserve that.” The man’s ever-present smile freezes. Just a moment, a blink and you’d miss it second that leads Daryl to believe he’s somehow made this whole mess worse, but then it returns slow and easy-like.

“Apology accepted. Now tell Carol I’ll wash her plate up and have it back to her in no time.”

“Ain’t no rush,” Daryl tells him gruffly.

“Tell her,” Bob insists.

“Will,” he agrees, rubbing a restless hand over the scruff on his chin as his eyes gravitate again to the parking lot. The orange glow has disappeared, but he can still make out his brother’s outline lurking around his truck and his jaw clenches. He tenses even more when he feels a hand land briefly on his shoulder, forces himself to relax when he realizes the other man just wants to offer him a bit of friendly, unsolicited advice.

“Keep it civil. Don’t let him get under your skin. You’ll be giving Simon the ammunition we both know he’s been looking for.”

Daryl takes the pointed reminder to heart. Grits his teeth and digs his blunt nails into his palms when his brother starts spewing his same old garbage, cackling like it’s high comedy instead of ignorant drivel, making him question how he ever managed to look the other way in the past.

“Lookin’ pretty cozy over there with Ole Buckwheat. Hell. Thought for a second you two’s gonna kiss goodnight.”

“Man, fuckin’ shut your mouth,” he snaps, snatching up the cigarette Merle offers him and tossing it to the cracked asphalt below. Grinding it beneath the heel of his shoe and anticipating the irritated slap to the back of his head, ducking just in time and making his brother grumble under his breath in response.

“Takin’ it you ain’t gettin’ no so-called benefits out of this marriage arrangement of yours. Wouldn't be wound so tight if you was.”

“Benef…” Daryl sputters. Jerking his collar up against the noticeable chill in the air, he stalks off. Avoids facing the knowing glint in Merle’s eyes head on. “Benefits?” he scoffs. “Ain’t like that, Asshole. You even hearin’ yourself?” He whirls around angrily when the sonuvabitch starts laughing like some kind of crazed hyena. He figures he probably ain’t far off. Expects to see his eyes bright and wild with his latest ticket to oblivion, but they’re clear. Calculating and concerned in their own way. “Goddammit, Merle. What you playin’ at?”

“Ain’t playin’ at nothin’,” Merle shrugs. “Just wanted to confirm something and you confirmed it for me alright.”

Tiredly, he asks. Because he knows he can’t let it go. “Yeah? What’s that?”

“This little situation you got yourself stuck in, it’s more real than you bargained for.”

His words strike a little too close to the truth. Glance off an unshielded nerve and Daryl mutters, “How you figure that exactly?”

“You’re in love with her. Even worse, you done tripped ass over tea kettle for that little girl watchin’ your every move with stars in her eyes. Might as well admit it, Baby Brother. You treading water in the deep end.”

“Fuck you,” he growls.

“See now,” Merle smirks. “I bet if you ask her real nice and polite-like, your mousy little missus will let you crawl between her thighs and…”

Daryl gets up in his brother’s face, pointed finger stabbing him in the chest and voice hissing low. “Best not finish that sentence.”

Holding his hands up, the elder Dixon steps back. “All I’m sayin’ is you ain’t alone. Know you didn’t see ‘em. But judgin’ by them heart eyes she was givin’ you over the dinner table, you and Mouse is in the same boat. And Ole Merle, well…”

Daryl cuts him off, his denial vehement. “Ain’t you.”

In an instant, Merle sobers. “Never claimed you was.”

“Merle…”

“You try to apologize, I’m gonna kick your ass into the end of February. You feel something, you stick by it.” Cupping his big hands over Daryl’s shoulders, he looks him in the eyes. All the jokes, all the innuendos stripped away in a rare moment of sincerity. “Mean it ‘til somebody does something deservin’ of reconsiderin’ but don’t you dare say you’re sorry.”

Caught off-guard by his brother’s serious tone, he can do no more than nod. Look down to his feet.

Clapping a hand against Daryl’s neck, Merle gives his hair one last obnoxious knuckling before putting some distance back between them and patting his front pocket for his pack of cigarettes. Coming up empty, he blows out a big breath. Launches into a whole string of rambling words. “Headin’ back out tomorrow. Figured I’d see which way the wind takes me. Can’t say as to when I’ll be back ‘round these parts. Know it won’t be no big loss to you, but I probably won’t make it to you and your girls’ Christmas.”

He really lays it on thick, makes Daryl feel sorry as shit for him, and before he even recognizes what he’s doing, he’s inviting the weasel to breakfast. Feeling like he’s just been played like a golden fiddle.

“Always was the sweet one,” Merle drawls as he cranks up the Triumph, starts walking the idling machine backward. “Don’t you be keepin’ Mouse up all night. Gettin’ an early start.”

Daryl’s answer to that is a middle finger salute as he turns on his heel, takes the steps two at a time until the door knob is turning under his hand and he’s letting himself back into the apartment that just hours ago had been filled to brimming with Stookey, Andrea and her kid sister Amy. His Hawaiian shirt-wearing boss and the man’s wife, who just so happened to share an address with the youngest Harrison. And Michonne and Merle, not to mention Carol and Sophia. Now it’s empty. Silent but for the absent humming that he follows to the kitchen and he lingers in the doorway, watches the woman that wears his ring. Sleeps just down the hall from him every night and gives him a soft smile goodbye each and every morning since she first welcomed him inside her home. “Hey,” he finally greets. His voice rumbles low as he approaches her and a tiny shiver ripples across her slim shoulders. One he wouldn’t have even noticed had he not been studying her so intently, and he schools his surprised expression, the very idea that Merle wasn’t just blowing smoke up his ass like always causing a seismic shift in his way of thinking. The way he searches her blue, blue eyes when they light on him and sparkle in the low light.

“Hey,” she murmurs. “Your brother make it out okay?”

Dipping his chin low to his chest, he steps up beside her at the sink. Turns on the tap to start rinsing as she washes, her hands delving in and out of the soapy water. “Asshole invited himself to breakfast tomorrow morning, though.”

She laughs, soft and silvery at the news, flicks a foamy bubble at him as she transfers a plate into his waiting hands. “Sure hope he likes cereal.”

He huffs out a laugh of his own. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she smiles to herself. “I don’t cook the day after Thanksgiving. Not since Sophia and I have been on our own anyway. It’s strictly cereal and leftovers.”

“New tradition?” he teases.

“Something like that. Last year it was Lucky Charms. This year we put it to a vote and decided to expand the menu to include Apple Jacks.”

“Knowing Merle like I do, he’ll eat that shit right up. The less nutritional value the better far as he’s concerned,” he explains. “Man’ll put damn near anything in his mouth.”

“In my admittedly limited experience,” she shyly points out, “he’s not the only one. Pickled pig’s feet? Seriously?”

The corner of his mouth lifts in a tiny half-smile of remembrance. He still ain’t sure who’d been more disgusted. The woman at his side or her girl. “Sign of a true Dixon.”

“That so?”

Her fingers brush against his own when she hands him another plate and it’s all he can do to keep from shuddering because it’s like Merle’s offhand suggestion tripped all his circuits and his body’s stopped trying to mask its responses to her. His heartbeat starts to pick up speed and his breath grows short. His voice sounds a little strangled when he responds, “Yeah. Yeah.” He clears his throat but it does little good. “T’is.” He hasn’t felt this off-balance since he woke up in that bed with her, his dick all snuggled up to her backside, and he busies himself with arranging the rinsed dishes in the nearby strainer. Gazing out the tiny kitchen window until he can trust himself not to bury his hands in all those messy curls piled up on the top of her head. Pull her to him and kiss her ‘til she sighs and melts against him, soapy water soaking him to the skin because dammit. This isn’t what they agreed. This isn’t what either of them signed up for. Already, he adores that little girl sleeping down the hall too much to fuck things up by letting his head go under. Allowing himself to fall in love with her mama. Anyway. It’s too soon. Too damn soon to even be entertaining these thoughts. Fuckin’ Merle. Ain’t ‘til she reaches over him, places the last of the dishes in the strainer beside his own that he realizes how lost in his head he’d been. How his silence had worried her.

“Hey.” Her brows furrow and her teeth tug at her bottom lip. “I was just teasing. You know that, right?”

“Know,” he mutters. “Think I’m gonna take a shower. Go ahead and turn in. Been a long day.” He forces himself not to react to the disappointment she can’t quite hide on her pretty face. Covers up his own guilt by making one last half-hearted offer. “Need any more help with anything in here?”

Quietly, she reassures him. “I’m alright. Be sure to save some warm water for me.”

Won’t be a problem, he thinks. “Will,” he promises. “G’night.”

“Good night, Daryl.”

#The Walking Dead #Caryl fanfiction #Caryl #Carol x Daryl #stuff that I write #Waltzing's for Dreamers #aka What Happens in Vegas stays in Vegas fic #Bob Stookey #Merle Dixon #mentions of Andrea Harrison #Amy Harrison #Dale Horvath #Irma Horvath #Michonne #Sophia Peletier #Simon #adult language #some innuendo

12 notes · View notes

kaaramel · 7 years

Text

let’s crack open everyone’s character examine strings

eta: okay, think i caught everything

several of other people’s lines for winona feel really.. unpolished, to me. i haven’t seen any that were straight lifted from the generic ‘player’ lines but i wouldn’t be surprised if they’ll eventually be tightened up? or maybe my expectations are too high

WILSON

GENERIC = "Hey [Wilson]! How ya doin'?" ATTACKER = "Hands to yourself, bucko!" MURDERER = "Mad scientist! Get'em!" REVIVER = "You're good people, scientist." GHOST = "Stop whinin', [Wilson], it's just a scratch!" FIRESTARTER = "You better not have singed any of my projects, scientist."

elsewhere winona refers to wilson as ‘that egghead’ but it doesn’t read with particular malice to me

GENERIC = "Good day to you, [Winona]!" ATTACKER = "[Winona] is a safety hazard." MURDERER = "It ends here, [Winona]!" REVIVER = "It's pretty handy having you around, [Winona]." GHOST = "That probably threw a wrench into her plans." FIRESTARTER = "Things are burning up at the factory today.”

whee, puns

also, welcome to the first of many references to factory fires

WOLFGANG

GENERIC = "How you doin', big guy?" ATTACKER = "I wouldn't wanna catch the business end of those mitts!" MURDERER = "Watch out! He's got a taste fer blood now!" REVIVER = "You're just a big softie, aintcha?" GHOST = "Walk it off, big guy!" FIRESTARTER = "Was that fire an accident, [Wolfgang]?"

‘walk it off’ He’s Dead Winona

GENERIC = "Is fixing lady, [Winona]! Hello!" ATTACKER = “[Winona] is breaking things!" MURDERER = “[Winona] broke our friend!" REVIVER = "[Winona] is kind lady." GHOST = "Wolfgang will fix [Winona] with heart." FIRESTARTER = "[Winona]'s fires is make Wolfgang nervous."

MAXWELL

GENERIC = "So... [Maxwell]." ATTACKER = "Don't make me noogie you, [Maxwell]." MURDERER = "How many lives you plannin' on ruinin', [Maxwell]?" REVIVER = "Nice job, ya big walnut." GHOST = "I could just leave you like this, hey?" FIRESTARTER = "Mysterious fires follow you like a plague, [Maxwell]."

not especially fond of maxwell.

RED_CAP = "Let Max try it first." MAXWELL = "Well, you're a tall piece of work." MAXWELLHEAD = "You don't scare me." SHADOWDIGGER = "Too lazy to do your own chores, Max?" BEEMINE_MAXWELL = "That guy's got no concern for others. Pfft." TWIGGY_OLD = "Looks like that two-bit magician."

STATUEMAXWELL = "So THIS is "Maxy"."

‘maxy’ is how charlie referred to him, in the william carter puzzles

GENERIC = "Greetings, Ms. [Winona].”, ATTACKER = "[Winona] has been roughhousing like a commoner.", MURDERER = "You've engineered your own demise!", REVIVER = "[Winona] expertly uses all tools at her disposal.", GHOST = "My, you're looking spirited today, [Winona].", FIRESTARTER = "It's not wise to start factory fires, [Winona]."

considering what she insinuates about you, it may not be wise to taunt her about factory fires, max!

WX78

GENERIC = "C'mon, [WX-78]! Justa [sic] tiny peek under the hood!" ATTACKER = "Yeesh. They're on the fritz again." MURDERER = "I'll reset you to factory standards, bot." REVIVER = "Ha! The bucket'o'bolts has feelings after all!" GHOST = "Incredible! You gotta tell me how that works, [WX-78]!" FIRESTARTER = "Your logic lets you set fires, [WX-78]? Why?”

(coughs, points at wx’s canon pronouns) anyway i love this interaction

TRINKET_11 [Lying Robot] = "Maybe this bot'll let me poke around its insides." BLOWDART_YELLOW = "I'm gonna shoot this at the bot's butt.”

GENERIC = "DETECTING... [WINONA]!" ATTACKER = "THAT [WINONA] IS A DISASSEMBLY WORKER" MURDERER = "NO CONSTRUCTION. ONLY DESTRUCTION" REVIVER = " [WINONA] IS A VALUABLE MINION" GHOST = "HOW WILL YOU FIX THIS, [WINONA]?" FIRESTARTER = "HAHA. THIS ORGANIC HAS BEEN BURNING THINGS"

WILLOW

GENERIC = "Good ta see ya, [Willow]!" ATTACKER = "Yer a workplace hazard, [Willow]." MURDERER = "She's mad! Get'er!" REVIVER = "Knew I could count on you, [Willow]." GHOST = "Ha! You're a disaster, [Willow]." FIRESTARTER = "Business as usual."

BERNIE_INACTIVE = BROKEN = "He's a bit of a fixer-upper." GENERIC = "This little guy's been well loved." BERNIE_ACTIVE = "Is he clockwork? Can I peek inside?"

LIGHTER = "Neat little gizmo there."

GENERIC = "Hi [Winona]!" ATTACKER = "Too rough, [Winona]! Jeez!" MURDERER = "Murderer! Now you burn!" REVIVER = "[Winona] never gives up on anyone." GHOST = "A heart sure would come in handy!" FIRESTARTER = "Nice fire, [Winona] !"

WENDY

GENERIC = "Hey there, [Wendy]." ATTACKER = "Woah there, slugger!" MURDERER = "She's not playin'! Murderer!" REVIVER = "You got a sharp mind in that noggin, [Wendy]." GHOST = "I hope you left the other guy lookin' worse." FIRESTARTER = "Anythin' you wanna tell me about that fire, kiddo?"

yall should know this by now but the fastest way to my heart for a DS character is to be cute with the kids

ABIGAIL = "How are you, boo?" ABIGAILHEART = "No one should ever lose a sister."

DDD:

GENERIC = "How do you do, [Winona]?" ATTACKER = "There is anger in [Winona]'s heart." MURDERER = "Abigail and I are going to have fun with you!" REVIVER = "Hi [Winona]. Abigail says "thank-you"." GHOST = "You can't escape that way, [Winona]. I've tried." FIRESTARTER = "Is fire important in your line of work...?"

meanwhile: terrifying as usual

WOODIE

GENERIC = "You down ta chop some trees for me later, [Woodie]?" ATTACKER = "Watch where you're swingin' that thing, [Woodie]!" MURDERER = "Yikes! Axe murderer!" REVIVER = "You're a good, honest guy, [Woodie]." GHOST = "You're fine, [Woodie], I've seen worse." BEAVER = "Well ain't that somethin'." BEAVERGHOST = "You're just a walkin' disaster, ain'tcha, [Woodie]?" FIRESTARTER = "You're gonna start a forest fire, [Woodie]!"

“i’ve seen worse” h e ‘ s d e a d w i n o n a

LUCY = "You're alright for an axe."

for an axe...

GENERIC = "[Winona]! Hey there bud!" ATTACKER = "[Winona] is getting too big for her britches." MURDERER = "You're on the chopping block now, [Winona]!" REVIVER = "I knew we were gonna get along." GHOST = "Yer looking a little pale, [Winona]." FIRESTARTER = “[Winona] betrays the forest!"

WICKERBOTTOM

GENERIC = "How's life treatin' ya, grams?" ATTACKER = "Yeesh, that ol' librarian packs a punch!" MURDERER = "Watch out! Grams is on a rampage!" REVIVER = "Don't worry grams, I won't read too much into it. Ha!" GHOST = "You're a tough one, [Wickerbottom], I'll give ya that." FIRESTARTER = "A fire? Here I thought you were responsible, grams."

grams..................

BOOK_BIRDS = "I was never much of a book learner." BOOK_TENTACLES = "I'm not really a "book smarts" kind of gal." BOOK_GARDENING = "I prefer to learn from experience." BOOK_SLEEP = "I already know how to sleep, thanks." BOOK_BRIMSTONE = "I prefer hands-on learning."

GENERIC = "Ah, greetings dear [Winona]!", ATTACKER = "Rather crass wouldn't you say, [Winona]?" MURDERER = "I'll not tolerate such behaviour!" REVIVER = "[Winona] is quite the Jane of all trades." GHOST = "Tsk. Were you wearing your hardhat, dear?" FIRESTARTER = "That was certainly not a regulation fire, dear."

tiny, tiny nitpick: ‘behaviour’ is the british/commonwealth spelling. i have no idea if it was on purpose - elsewhere she uses ‘color’, etc

also there’s no hardhat item, but they sure do keep referencing it around her.

WES

GENERIC = "Don't worry [Wes], I can talk enough for two. Ha!" ATTACKER = "Didn't know ya had it in ya, [Wes]!" MURDERER = "Killer mime! I'll have nightmares tonight!" REVIVER = "Thanks for the assist, [Wes]." GHOST = "Let's getcha back on your feet, [Wes]." FIRESTARTER = "You responsible for that fire there, [Wes]?"

killer.. mime....

BALLOONS_EMPTY = "No fun without Wes."

WEBBER

GENERIC = "How's life treating ya, kiddo?" ATTACKER = "Yeesh, kid, dial it back!" MURDERER = "Killer spider! Get it!" REVIVER = "You did good, kid." GHOST = "You'll be fine, kid, yer a boxer." FIRESTARTER = "Alright, [Webber]. Why'd ya set the fire?"

WEBBERSKULL = "I swear the kid'd lose his head if it weren't... wait."

again, really cute EXCEPT FOR ‘KILLER SPIDER’ WHICH KILLS THIS LIZ....

in general she doesn’t like spiders :< i don’t expect her to, they’re trying to eat her face, but it makes me sad anyway

GENERIC = "Hi [Winona]! Build anything neat today?" ATTACKER = "Don't do hits, [Winona]!" MURDERER = "We didn't wanna have to do this!" REVIVER = "[Winona] keeps us all together!" GHOST = "Aw, I'm sorry that happened to you, [Winona]." FIRESTARTER = "Don't light fires, [Winona]!"

such a sweet kid

WIGFRID

GENERIC = "Hey, [Wigfrid]! Arm wrestle rematch later?" ATTACKER = "Woah! Watch that right hook, [Wigfrid]!" MURDERER = "Takin' the warrior thing too far, [Wigfrid]!" REVIVER = "That was good work there, [Wigfrid]." GHOST = "Well that just won't do at all!" FIRESTARTER = "Quit startin' fires, [Wigfrid]!”

SPEAR_WATHGRITHR = "This would never pass inspection." WATHGRITHRHAT = "Surprisingly practical."

GENERIC = "Greetings, brave [Winona]!" ATTACKER = "Dost thou test me, [Winona]?" MURDERER = "I shall unleash Ragnarok upon thee!" REVIVER = "[Winona] is guided by Brokkr." GHOST = "[Winona] hath fallen in battle! A heart!" FIRESTARTER = "[Winona]'s flames could temper steel."

stealing from wikipedia: “In Norse mythology, Brokkr (Old Norse "the one who works with metal fragments; blacksmith",[1] anglicized Brokk) is a dwarf...”

to paraphrase the wiki, apologies if this is inaccurate, but brokkr bet against loki that his family could build more beautiful things than the dwarves loki favored, and he worked the bellows while his brother made several artifacts including Mjollnir, even when loki took the forms of various biting insects to try n distract him. and won the bet

WINONA

GENERIC = "That's a good lookin' gal!" ATTACKER = "Ooo, I'm gonna disassemble you." MURDERER = "Pfft! I'd never murder so openly!" REVIVER = "I owe ya one, [Winona]." GHOST = "That is not a good look on you, [Winona]." FIRESTARTER = "Haven't we lost enough to fires, [Winona]?"

CHARLIE

ASSUMING THAT winona is indeed charlie’s sister. it seems likely to me. if absolutely nothing else, they know each other well.

ANNOUNCE_CHARLIE = "C-Charlie?", ANNOUNCE_CHARLIE_MISSED = "Ha! I know all your moves!", --Winona gets one free hit from Charlie ANNOUNCE_CHARLIE_ATTACK = "Yeow! Rude!" ROSE = "Not sure how to feel about that..."

marble ‘muse’ statues: TYPE2 = "We thought she was gone..." TYPE1 = "This is too strange."

MANDRAKE_ACTIVE = "This is exactly what having a little sister's like."

ABIGAILHEART = "No one should ever lose a sister."

(campfire/endothermic fire) OUT = "My sister was afraid of the dark."

WILDLY DISTRESSING

#dst spoilers #dialogueblogue

165 notes · View notes

imagineclaireandjamie · 7 years

Note

How about a conversation between Bree and Jenny after Jenny learns the truth.

Homecoming - Part Three

Part One, Part Two

William arrives on the Ridge shortly after the MacKenzies’ return. A large part of this fic is what I have in mind as something that could happen in Book 9 (but I also know probably/definitely won’t).

Another small disclaimer: I do not read the Daily Lines and in fact, try to avoid them.

This installment is a little long so I’ll throw in a Read More. Let me know if you have trouble viewing it in its entirety. Otherwise, enjoy.

-Mod Lenny

Brianna was grateful to Roger for urging the children to run ahead up the path and then keeping Dottie preoccupied so she and her father could hang back with a measure of privacy.

“How did he find out?” Brianna asked.

Jamie sighed and raised a hand to run it over his head like he was trying to think of the best way to explain. “I thought yer mother said she’d written to ye about it––but maybe ye’ll no have gotten them yet? We havena figured the best way––”

“We got them,” Brianna assured him. “And we read a lot of them––we didn’t want to rush through and finish them too quickly. But then everything happened and I read them fast to see––”

“What do ye mean by that? What happened that brought ye back?” Jamie interrupted.

“Nice try,” Brianna said with a smile Jamie had sorely missed. “I asked you first.”

With a resigned roll of his eyes, Jamie told Brianna about the misunderstanding concerning the ship he and Jenny had taken, what John Grey had done to try and protect Claire, and William’s appearance during Jamie’s resurrection. He only paused now and again to shout directions for Roger to turn or keep straight with the path.

“From what yer mother and Jenny said, he didna take it well,” Jamie confessed, his face and neck darkening.

“I can imagine,” Brianna said with a wry laugh.

Jamie flushed briefly. “I ken yer mam will be able to talk him into staying a few days at least––whatever he thinks of me he respects her and wouldna refuse. I only hope ye’ll have some time to know him better before he goes again.”

“I’d like that too,” she agreed.

“Now I believe it’s yer turn, a leannan. How is it ye’ve come back here again?”

Brianna explained about Jem’s abduction and Roger’s search, finding Jem again and having no way to let Roger know save one.

“Once we found him, there was only one place we could think to go where we might truly be safe,” she told him but refused to look at him. She had left out the part where first Roger and then she and the children had stopped at Lallybroch. It was still too raw for her to wrap her mind around and with thoughts of William’s presence still fresh in her mind… She needed the distraction and the joy of the gathering to settle her racing thoughts; to see her cousin again, meet his wife and son, to watch Jem and Germain playing and hear other people’s stories.

“We’re glad to have ye back,” Jamie assured her by reaching an arm around her shoulders and pulling her in to kiss the top of her head. “One of the better surprises we’ve had lately.”

“Are we almost there yet?” Mandy whined having stopped and waited for them to catch up. “My feet hurt and dinna wanna walk any more.”

“It’s no much farther,” Jamie informed her before stooping to the ground and encouraging her to climb aboard his back. “Just at the crest of this rise ye’ll be able to see their wee clearing. If ye listen close ye can hear the folks who’re already there and can ye no smell the smoke from the fire? They’ll be roasting meat from our cooking supper on the wind before long and it’s yer belly it’ll be speaking to when it does, tellin’ it how tasty it’ll be to gobble up.”

Mandy giggled against Jamie’s back, her grouchiness already fading now that he carried her.

“I could eat a whole coo I’m sae hungry,” she declared.

“And what of Jem?” Would ye settle for half and share wi’ him?”

“He can have the front half and I’ll have the back,” Mandy announced after a moment’s thought. “I want the half wi’ the milk.”

Jamie laughed and hurried forward when Mandy urged him to go faster so they’d get to the cow before Jem could lay claim to the back half.

Soon it was Roger at Brianna’s side as they reached the crest of the hill and saw the new house and clearing spread before them. A small cabin was off to the side and the large, central area of the yard before the new house had the beginnings of a bonfire under way.

“I’m not sure I’ll recognize half the faces here,” Brianna confessed as she and Roger began to pick their way down the slight slope. “Where did all these children come from?” she gestured to the crowded clearing.

“Well, when a man and a woman––” Roger began in a teasing tone before Brianna pinched his arm in response. “But aye, I ken what ye mean. We had yer parents’ letters but it’s still hard to think of how time was passing here too without us.”

“It’s not the place we left. It doesn’t… it doesn’t feel as much like coming home as I thought it would,” she lamented. “But then, Lallybroch didn’t feel quite right either––not without Mama and Da.”

“We’ve still got a plot of land staked out in there somewhere,” he reminded her, nodding to the wilderness. “We’ll just have to work at building a place to feel like home… perhaps with some sort of indoor plumbing or heating. Now ye’ve had a refresher in how they work, I’m sure ye’ve a few ideas in mind for how to make those happen here.”

Brianna smiled but before she could respond she heard her cousin Ian let out a whoop of excitement and run over to wrap her in a hug.

“Ye’re really here,” he exclaimed with a laugh. “I cannae wait for ye to meet Rachel and the wean,” he said with a glance over his shoulder to where Dottie was talking with Jenny and another woman––Rachel, no doubt––the three women cooing over and comparing the two babies. “We’ve the old cabin Dottie can use now and the house is done. We were goin’ to make it up for Mam but she isna ready to part from our wee Brian. Aye, for Grandda Fraser but also for you, Bree. Didna think we’d see ye again though I’ve told Rachel of ye. I something wrong?”

Ian’s eyes darkened with concern as he looked between Brianna and Roger. They each sought the other, hands clutching reassuringly at their sides and helping to calm them in their surprise.

“I saw him,” Brianna whispered. “Our grandfather.”

“It’s a bit of a tale,” Roger began to elaborate. “We had a bit of a stop off before arriving in this time. I actually stayed over at Lallybroch. Met Brian Fraser… and his daughter, Janet.”

Jamie had deposited Mandy somewhere and was coming towards them.

Brianna gave her head a subtle shake to ask Ian to say nothing but it didn’t look like he had found the words yet anyway.

“They’re getting Dottie settled now but she’s forgotten some of the bairn’s things in the wagon back home. I’ll be back wi’ em before long,” he informed them.

“Make sure William kens he’s welcome,” Ian blurted as Jamie turned up the path. “I dinna expect it’ll change his mind…”

“Rachel said the same,” Jamie told him. “I’ll pass the word along.”

“Ye havena told him yet?” Ian asked when Jamie was safely out of earshot.

“Hasn’t been a whole lot of time,” Brianna said defensively. “We had barely said hello when William and Dottie showed up. Feels like a bit much to ask him to deal with for a single day.”

Ian nodded his understanding while Roger squeezed her hand to calm her down.

“If ye were there when Grandda Fraser was alive… it’s more’n forty years,” Ian estimated with awe. Then a thought struck him and he started. “My mam kens the whole truth of it now––yer mam and the stones… She might remember––”

“Da said they’d told her. Even so, as you said, it’s been more than forty years for her,” Brianna pointed out.

“Though a might less for me,” Roger remarked with some amazement of his own. He watched Jenny Murray with her daughter-in-law and the other young woman.

“Ian!” Bobby Higgins called from near the fire––they were ready to begin cooking food now that most of the invited guests had arrived.

“I’ll come help ye,” Roger offered, following Ian and leaving Brianna alone to wade into the sea of curiosity as the tide continued to rise with each new arrival who recognized her; she was one of the MacKenzies supposed to be in France these last few years.

Before sucking it up to take the plunge, Brianna scanned the clearing to try reassure herself by locating her children.

Jem was easy to spot with his shock of red hair. The boy he was standing with must be Germain though she was having a difficult time reconciling the mental image she had filed away with the young man at her son’s side. They were looking at something passed back and forth between them; what the object was, she probably didn’t want to know.

There was a group of girls minding the younger children but she didn’t see Mandy with either the girls in charge or the younger children.

“I ken the look of a mother searching for her wean,” Jenny said from close by. Mandy was in her arms, her face buried in Jenny’s neck in an attempt to hide.

“I’m looking for my wee lass. Do you think you could help me to find her. Her name is Amanda but sometimes she’ll com if you just call for Mandy,” Brianna played along.

Mandy giggled but continued to burrow her face into Jenny’s neck, attempting to hide in plain sight.

“Aye, I’ll help ye look but how should I ken the lass were I to look at her?”

“Well, she has hair dark and curly like yours does just there at your shoulder.” Brianna reached out and touched the curve of Mandy’s head. “And she’s wearing a dress that matches the pattern of your shawl here.”

As Brianna poked at Mandy’s dress, the young girl shrieked with laughter and peered up from Jenny’s neck.

“It’s me, Mam!” she cried, jolting in Jenny’s arms so that the older woman lurched to stay on her feet. Brianna successfully grabbed Many before anyone got hurt.

“So it is!” Brianna exclaimed with a smile. “And here I’d been looking all over for you. Have you seen the girls over there playing? Do you think you might like to introduce them to Esmeralda?”

Mandy’s curls danced about her cheeks as she nodded and squirmed to be put back down. She pranced over to the cluster of Ridge children without looking back.

“Sometimes I worry she might be too fearless,” Brianna mused.

“A bit like both yer parents that way,” Jenny remarked, watching Brianna watch Mandy. “Though she favors Claire in looks… apart from her eyes, that is.”

“My husband, Roger, is dark like that too and the eyes are his as well.”

“When I saw Jamie coming down with the lass… I dinna ken as I’ve seen my brother that pleased with himself in an age. And that’s yer lad over there, no?” Jenny nodded to Jem and Germain. When Brianna confirmed her suspicions, Jenny smiled, her eyes wet but pleased. “Jamie did say he was like Willie.”

For a brief moment Brianna was back on that hillside in Scotland listening to her grandfather’s voice break as she spoke the names of his dead wife and son.

“I ken ye werena in France,” Jenny said quietly a few moments later. Jem and Germain had gone to help Ian and Roger at the fireside. “Yer mam…”

“I know. She said they told you everything.”

“And Ian too… before he passed. I’m glad he learned the truth. He and I… for years after yer mother was lost, we worried about Jamie. We couldna understand…” She sighed. “But now it makes sense. And there are regrets I carry that are heavier for the knoiwng, though I ken they shouldna be so. I spent so long worrying he’d never have children of his own to love and care for… to take care of him when he grew older… And all along he was holding the knowledge of you dearer than anything, using ye to help keep him going… because he didna trust me to believe him.” She shook her head shamefully.

Brianna stepped closer and hugged Jenny tight. “You know that’s not why he didn’t say anything. And even if you did believe him, there’s nothing you could have done.”

Jenny snorted with amusement. “There’s things I could have not done, though. Ye’ve heard enough of Laoghaire to ken the truth of that, but I appreciate ye sayin’ it. And I’m glad I’ve a chance to see you and Jamie together at last… and him wi’ yer bairns. It’s what I’ve wanted for him most in life, for I kent how sorely he wanted it. From what he and Claire said when they told us… they didna seem to think ye’d come back to this time once ye’d made it back safe to yer own time.”

“Well, we certainly didn’t plan much of it, no,” Brianna confirmed. “But I can’t say we regret finding ourselves here again. Jem missed it here especially though Mandy has no memory of it.”

“What… what’s it like there––then?” There was a subtle and fearful curiosity in Jenny’s tone.

“It’s… different… but there are lots of things that don’t change. Clothes and machines change, but people don’t for the most part. Some will always be warm and welcoming and others will be out for themselves.”

“It must be strange for ye to look round here and ken how it’ll all turn out––what will matter and what won’t.”

“It all matters.”

“So long as there’s someone there to remember it,” Jenny added. She turned to go to the cabin to see if Rachel and Dottie needed help but Brianna’s voice stopped her.

“Roger and I bought Lallybroch.”

She felt more than saw Jenny stiffen and turn back toward her.

“We bought it through an agent from a family of Murrays. They hadn’t lived there for almost a decade at that point so there were a few things that needed fixing, but the agent said the house had been in the Murray family for almost ten generations––all the way back to the ‘45.”

Brianna turned her head to look at her aunt; tears pooled in Jenny’s eyes as she watched Ian and no doubt thought about her other children and grandchildren living in Scotland, of her beloved husband buried in the soil he had tilled almost his entire life.

“The marks on the doorframe––the lintel––from the English soldiers’ swords… Uncle Ian said they were left there so we’d always remember. Those are still there too. I made sure to tell Jem and Mandy about them… and Uncle Ian.”

“Thank ye, lass,” Jenny choked out, reaching to give Brianna’s arm a squeeze before repeating, “thank ye.”

#;mod lenny #homecoming au #book 9?#speculation #featuring: bree #featuring: roger #featuring: mandy #featuring: jem #featuring: jenny #featuring: young ian

200 notes · View notes

thayerkerbasy · 7 years

Text

On the Lemonade

Because I’m finally back to writing this series again, I thought it might be nice to bring the first in the series over to Tumblr in its entirety. Enjoy! (or read on ao3 if that’s your preference)

Dean/Crowley pre-slash summer of love fic, after 9x23 but before 10x01

Sitting at the bar in some North Dakota dive, Crowley smiled and raised his beer to his lips, drinking sparingly. Certainly not his favourite drink – not by a long shot – but it was Dean's. The man in question sat on the stool beside his own, drinking much more enthusiastically. Crowley had plans for the night, and if cheap beer was the only compromise he had to make, he'd be surprised.

It had been two weeks since the Mark of Cain had given Crowley a gift-wrapped Dean Winchester, brand new demonic Knight of Hell. Two weeks of bar hopping, binge drinking, karaoke singing, foosball playing, and one-night stands. Honestly, it wasn't half bad, all things considered. He would much prefer a more refined environment, ideally with decently-aged scotch, but the bar put Dean at ease. It was the first step in any delicate negotiation, to ensure the client was in a good mood so they'd be more willing to entertain his suggestions. Two weeks of the local nightlife had put Dean in a very good mood.

The danger of putting the client in such a good mood was that they'd get too comfortable. They'd kick back, relax, figure they were holding all the cards so they wouldn't take the deal. It took finesse to get a person to that level of comfort where they were ready to deal without going past it. Not for nothing was Crowley still considered the king of the crossroads. But this was no crossroads deal. If he played his cards right, Dean wouldn't even realize there was a deal here at all.

“What say we rustle up a game of snooker? I could do with a bit of a change,” he ventured. Thus far Dean had stayed clear of the pool table and while Crowley couldn't be sure why, he had his suspicions. Once upon a time, Dean had been forced to make ends meet in whatever ways he could. Well, once upon a time, so had a young Fergus McLeod. Crowley could guess why his unlikely companion might be avoiding the source of some of those memories, but it was time for him to learn what being a demon was all about.

Dean didn't answer right away, but instead chugged the remainder of his beer. Crowley tracked the movement of his throat and waited in silence. Never rush a negotiation. Finally, Dean set down his empty bottle and licked his lips free of the last traces of beer. “I ain't playin' no fancy crap. If you wanted to shoot some plain damn pool I might be game though.”

Crowley allowed a trace of a smile. “I could be persuaded to play with your balls, darling. But let's make it interesting. How about, winner gets to choose what the loser drinks next round.”

Of course Dean couldn't let it stand at that. “Screw that. If I win, you do a round of karaoke.”

Not what he'd expected, but acceptable. “And if I win, we upgrade to a better quality establishment.”

If the raised eyebrows were anything to go on, his counteroffer hadn't been expected either. After a moment's consideration, Dean shrugged and nodded. “Alright. Better go stake a claim on a table then.”

Dean took the time to order another beer, leaving Crowley to claim said pool table. He didn't mind really. He might have minded if he hadn't already had a pair of demons parked at a pool table. It only took a moment to gesture them outside with a flick of his head towards the door. His subordinates nodded and left without a word. Well-trained minions were few and far between. He'd have to make sure to keep those two.

Crowley had the balls racked up and his cue chalked by the time Dean returned with a new beer and something with a pink umbrella. “Think I didn't see you sipping that beer like you thought it'd bite? I asked the dude tending bar to get you the fruitiest girl drink he could think of. I dunno what it's called, but it smells like a damn fruit salad.”

He took the drink and gave it an indulgent sniff. “That's why they call it a fruit cocktail. I'd protest you ordering for me, given we didn't agree to that wager, or even play yet for that matter, but I suppose my dirty little secret is out.” He delicately removed the tiny umbrella and took a sip. “Honestly, you should try it some time. Allow yourself to indulge in something a little more refined.”

The look and accompanying eye roll Dean gave in response should probably have been patented and slapped with a label reading, “Really? Get over yourself.” He then raised his beer and pointedly took a long swallow, demonstrating an almost sensual enjoyment of the brew and doing borderline obscene things with his tongue. Crowley stared with unabashed interest and traced his finger through the condensation on his glass. When Dean set his beer down on the corner of the pool table, neither spoke for a long moment. Finally, Dean gave him a considering look, then selected his own cue and chalked it. “I'm gonna assume you know the rules.”

Crowley shrugged eloquently. “I've played my fair share of proper English billiards. How different could it be, really?”

Dean sighed. “Let's keep it simple then. One of us sinks stripes, the other solids. You can break and whatever you happen to sink, that's what you'll shoot for. Sink a ball and you get to shoot again, but if you don't sink anything, your turn's over. Don't need to call your shots, but when one of us has sunk all our balls, you need to call your shot and sink the 8 ball. If either of us sinks the other's ball, sucks to be you, it still counts for whoever needed it sunk. Sink the cue ball and you have to put one of your balls back on the table. Got it?”

Nodding slowly once, Crowley set his drink down and moved to the side of the table with the balls racked and ready. “Seems fairly straightforward.”

His first shot sank one of each so he cast Dean an inquiring look. Dean shrugged and said, “Pick one.” With a smirk, he chose stripes and proceeded to sink another. He could have landed a third but he decided to deliberately miss on his next shot. Nobody liked a one-sided game. As the cue ball slowed to a stop, Dean returned his smirk and said, “Little too much english on that one.”

Crowley waited until Dean was lining up his shot before answering, “No such thing as too much English, sweetheart. Results in some lively action. Could use some action.”

Taking a moment to glare at him with momentarily black eyes, Dean lined up his shot again and sank the ball he'd been aiming for. Moving around the table for his next shot put him close to where Crowley was standing to watch. Taking another sip of his drink, Crowley lightly tapped the back end of Dean's cue when the man bent down to angle his shot. “Best to be watching your butt there, love.”

Having expected it, he was able to avoid being hit by said cue butt when it was abruptly thrust towards him. He nimbly sidestepped out of the way, then returned to his drink, but he couldn't keep the smile off his face. Dean sank that shot too, but his distraction showed in the second ball that should have also landed but didn't. The cue ball rolled to a halt and Dean turned on him, his expression clearly containing something conflicted. Finally, the corner of Dean's mouth twitched upwards and he said, “I'll do whatever the hell I want with my butt.”

Dean sank his next shot and the one after that with ease. Crowley even let him off without any added commentary, content to sip his drink and watch. On a whim, he tucked the wee umbrella into his jacket lapel. As the elder Winchester sent his sixth ball ricocheting off another ball and sinking it smoothly, Crowley raised his glass and called out, “That was a lovely little kiss on those balls.”

If Crowley had said such a thing to Dean before the Mark of Cain had its way with him, the hunter probably would have stammered something like, “Yeah? Well, I'll kiss your... balls...” and blushed like a schoolgirl. While that might have been endearing, Crowley was pleased to see that demonic Dean did nothing of the sort. Instead, he fired back, “I've always been a good kisser. I also happen to be a damn fine teacher.”

Well now, that was an interesting development. Dean went on to pot his seventh ball nicely, putting a bit of backspin on the cue ball so it traveled slowly and nudged its target right into the hole. He then stopped to waggle his eyebrows at Crowley before inquiring, “Like my bottomspin there?”

Now casually reclined against the wall, Crowley propped his cue against the wall beside him. “Be still my beating heart. On my side of the pond we call that a good screw.”

He got a grin in response to that. With nothing of his left on the table but the 8 ball, Dean pointed with his cue to a corner pocket. There was a clear path between the cueball and the 8 ball, and yet, the showoff insisted on a more complicated rebounding shot that still managed to land beautifully. Dean whooped triumphantly, abandoned his cue against the wall, and reclaimed his beer. “Well? Whadda ya think about that?”

With great effort, Crowley kept his face carefully controlled, displaying only the slightest hint of a smile on his lips while delight danced in his eyes. “I think,” he began, “you have a good stroke and you handle your wood well. I also think that I now owe you a performance, love, though I would much prefer that you join me.”

Dean's grin grew predatory and his eyes flickered green to black, then back to green. “Hell, why not? I'll even let you choose the song.”

On their way over to browse song selections, Crowley noticed three rather handsome gentlemen regarding them with significant interest. A quick glance told him that Dean had also noticed and returned the interest. On a whim, he winked at them and smiled charmingly. They immediately responded with smiles and welcoming gestures. He turned again to Dean and asked,“I think those three might appreciate a private performance, don't you agree?”

Inwardly, Crowley congratulated himself. Everything was going exactly as planned. Dean Winchester and Crowley, besties forever.

Part 1 of the series The Misadventures of Growley and Squirrel

#spn fic #drowley #dean x crowley #crowley #dean winchester #pre-slash #bromance #innuendo #spn 9.23 #spn 10.01 #my fic #the misadventures of growley and squirrel

18 notes · View notes

verdigrisprowl · 7 years

Text

Mar 1 Blurr’s Horror Stream - Kubo and the Two Strings

Prowl said very little because mun was watching the movie.

After the movie, though, he was incredibly fluffy with Soundwave. It was amazing. My heart grew two sizes that day.

Welcome to the 'speedxstealer' room. The chat room has been cleared by the moderator. B l u r r: /He is arrive. And immediately sinking down into the couch / Shockbox: /The Boy is back in town. Shockbox: /He carefully picks a seat which has an easy view of Soundwave's usual seat without compromising screen visibility. Soundwave: *Soundwave shoos almost all the minis before him. Ravage prompty runs to Blurr, grunt-huffs at him, and then (heavily) jumps onto Blurr's lap.* Soundwave: *Maybe makes a nuisance of himself trying to get settled for a second.* Whirl: *stalks in, obnoxious blue bird that he is, and immediately looms over the pack of Blurr's couch, staring down at him* B l u r r: / makes a slight noise. Surprised a little. He wasn't paying attention to Ravage / B l u r r: / Now there is a Ravage / B l u r r: / vents and glances up / Hnh? Hi, Whirl. Whirl: Yo, Teach. How're you feelin? Did you get my message last week? *prods him with a huge claw* B l u r r: Mmhm... Dart gave it to me. Shockbox: *Observes Soundwave's settling ritual.* B l u r r: / is being prodded. Wiggles claws at the prodding / Soundwave: *Soundwave nods to Shockwave and Blurr both and settles on his couch with Rumble parked on the top of his backpack and sort of draping over his helm.* Whirl: Good. Guess he's not COMPLETELY useless, then. But, yeah, how're you holdin up? Soundwave: *The others scatter.* Shockbox: *When nodded to, he nods back.* B l u r r: ...He's not useless. /tilts helm. Has to think about the answer./ ... I'm fine. B l u r r: / not the right answer but shRUGS / Soundwave: *Ravage eyes Whirl a moment before deciding to allow this looming without popping him in the helm.* Whirl: *you can pop him but expect to get popped back, kitty cat* Yeah? Did they take that thing out of you? The speed thing? B l u r r: ...No. That's installed into me. Whirl: I think they need to UNinstall it. Soundwave: \\HEY! WE FOUGHT FOR THAT THING.\\ B l u r r: / shakes helm/ No no, it's fine. B l u r r: My processor is working fine with it. Whirl: Yeah, and that THING is almost certainly what put Teach into a coma. Whirl: Or, something like. *waves a claw* B l u r r: /makes a face/ It wasn't a coma... per say. Whirl: Obviously, it's not working fine with it, but have it your way, mech. *shakes his head* Whirl: Either way, glad you're in the land of the living. Sorry I missed the great resurrection, pfft. B l u r r: / shifts a little/ They put a cap on the speed ring. For now. B l u r r: / twitches finials. He still looks tired but hey. It's a slow recovery. He hates it/ ... It wasn't so eventful. B l u r r: I did punch NOS first thing. Whirl: Haha! GOOD. I approve. Whirl: *he's gonna trot away from the couch and clamber into the Whitl Hammock* B l u r r: But, uhm... /clicks claws together./ Ah. Thanks... by the way. Whirl: Hm? *zoops his head out over the hammock* Oh. Well. You're welcome, of course. Whirl: ((WHITL HAMMOCK)) B l u r r: /Dims optic / Mm. I mean it... Whirl: Well. So do I. *he doesn't seem awkward, just taken aback* Whirl: And I would've been here last week, if I could. *nods* B l u r r: / hums and settles. Reaches a claw up to scratch behind Ravage's audio / B l u r r: I know... it's all right. I don't really remember last week. Whirl: *snorts* If it makes you feel any better, I don't remember last Wednesday all that well, myself. Whirl: What a pair WE are. B l u r r: Matching. /snort / Soundwave: *Tilts his helm. Scratch right there, please. He's got a healing scratch in the vicinity and it itches the whole area like MURDER* B l u r r: / all right. Scratches along this new spot / Soundwave: @Shockwave: [[You have been well?]] Whirl: *sprawls all over his hammock and gets settled* Butterbuns: ((ouo not sure if I wanna RP yet since I just woke up but I am here!! B l u r r: [[ lemme know when you guys are ready. ]] FakeProwl: *appears* Soundwave: *Nods to Prowl. Greetings again.* Whirl: ((i am ready!)) B l u r r: [[ ill brb. Laundry! ]] Soundwave: ((ready when y'all are)) Soundwave: *Rumble mumbles something and Soundwave reaches a servo up to pat his leg. He's not going to nod so hard you fall off, don't worry.* Whirl: *antenna twitches; he doesn't look Rumble's way because he doesn't wanna make it obvious if Rumble declines, but he sends an invitation ping his way* Whirl: *nobody gets nodded off the hammock, after all* FakeProwl: *nods to soundwave. and to rumble.* I see you've been transferred from gauntlet to helmet. Soundwave: @Whirl: //...Iunno. Maybe.// Soundwave: //Eh.// Tired stare. //Ain't permanent.// FakeProwl: *attempt at humor: unsuccessful. appropriate actions: act like you never tried.* Mm. *he takes his usual seat next to soundwave.* B l u r r: [[ back ]] Whirl: @Rumble: Standing invitation, mech. No rush. B l u r r: [[ is everyone ready? ]] FakeProwl: ((ye)) Whirl: ((yep!)) Butterbuns: ((yup Soundwave: @Prowl: (txt): Excuse Rumble. Recharge needed. Soundwave liked comment. B l u r r: /settles and keeps scritching Ravage / Soundwave: *Quiet, content rumbling* FakeProwl: *NICE. somebody liked it.* FakeProwl: @Soundwave «Would he be better off at home recharging, then?» Soundwave: *Soundwave's attention is IMMEDIATELY caught by the instrument's powers. It takes him a moment to respond. He also offers settling space, if wanted. Still concerned after those answers.* FakeProwl: *takes settling space.* Soundwave: @Prowl: (txt): Negative. Social time needed. Will recharge after. Tomorow's shift: canceled. Whirl: ((wait is it playin somethin.... right now......)) FakeProwl: ((yes, the movie has started)) Soundwave: ((yes)) B l u r r: [[ yeh?? ]] Whirl: ((*** it's been offline for me HAHAHA()) B l u r r: [[ shiiiiit refresh!! ]] B l u r r: [[ i cAN PAUSE ]] Shockbox: (( Uh oh.)) Butterbuns: ((open your eye Whirl! The world is not that dark! Whirl: ((U FINE DUDE I have refreshed and I see Kubo feedin his mom)) Whirl: ((do not fret, I've seen this film!)) B l u r r: [[ yeS BUT STILL ]] B l u r r: [[ NO CHILD LEFT BEHIND ] Shockbox: (( Ohana means family?)) Whirl: ((whirl is basically a huge Stitch)) Shockbox: (( I want to see whirl reenact the scene with the ducks now.)) Soundwave: <<Many Chimera!>> FakeProwl: *oh. origami. prowl knows what that is.* Shockbox: *Turns in the direction of Chimera's voice.* Whirl: *swivels to also look at Chimera* I didn't know you were made of paper. B l u r r: [[ lemme know if it's dropping bad ]] FakeProwl: ((fine here)) Soundwave: *Slow, confused blink. Chimera looks down at themselves.* Soundwave: <<Chimera is not paper.>> Whirl: Are you sure? *peers* C'mere, lemme give you a tap. Butterbuns: ((I like her taste Shockbox: *Wants to give pats.....but needs to calculate a way to offer them, first....* Soundwave: *Ravage suddenly grabs Blurr's servo, and tugs it under his chest. He has trapped this. It is his to rest on now.* Shockbox: *Observing Chimera-Whirl interaction closely.* B l u r r: / oh well. All right. Twitches claws. / Soundwave: *Chimera obediently slithers over to Whirl and looks up at him with beady grey optics.* B l u r r: / pets his helm with the other claw / B l u r r: [[ ugh is it dropping bad? It keeps saying it is here. ]] FakeProwl: ((no dropping here)) Whirl: *shifts and reaches one gangly arm out, extending a huge claw... and very gently taps* Whirl: Hmm. Nope, you're right. Metal. Whirl: Also, I didn't know you could turn into a worm! Soundwave: #SPIDER #no #wait #it is dead #okay Butterbuns: ((it freezes once and a while for a little bit, but the sound keeps going so i can keep watching Whirl: ((ye)) B l u r r: [[ stupid LS. ]] B l u r r: [[ I love how that's Takei ]] Soundwave: ((DID THEY HIRE HIM JUST TO SAY THAT)) FakeProwl: ((omg takei)) B l u r r: [[ LMAO ]] Butterbuns: ((most likely B l u r r: [[ IDK I THINK SO but yes that's him ]] Shockbox: (( Yes.)) Shockbox: ((Well, and a few other things.)) FakeProwl: ((why's the sun rising and setting on the same side)) Soundwave: <<Funny helicopter bot. Chimera is snake, not a woooorm.>> Soundwave: *A lost ending. Sad.* Whirl: Oh. Gotcha. *nods* Shockbox: *He isn't sure how well it would catch Chimera's attention, but he clears his vox in their general direction.* Soundwave: *Creator calls! Chimera zips over faster than they did for Whirl and offers up an odd open-mouthed smile.* Soundwave: *It looks more like they're about to eat something.* Whirl: *withdraws his arm and settles back in* Soundwave: \\YOU GONNA BE LIKE THAT, BOSS?\\ B l u r r: ... That's dumb. Why not just talk to the body? /mumbling / Soundwave: =Boat didn't have it.= B l u r r: Mm... /twitches finials / B l u r r: / chin claws. Stares at the screen / B l u r r: It's always a pity when they don't talk back... Soundwave: *Soundwave nods.* FakeProwl: Maybe he's not showing up because he isn't actually dead. Shockbox: *He pauses for a moment at the speed of Chimera's reaction. The smile might be unsettling to most, but Shockwave sees it for what it is, a display of affection.* Shockbox: Good evening, Chimera. Whirl: *points to Prowl* That's what my money's on. Soundwave: [[A good point. And now he has erred.]] Shockbox: *He pats the seat next to him on his couch.* Would you like to join me? Soundwave: <<Hello, Creator! Chimera will sit.>> Whirl: This movie's visuals are on point. Soundwave: *Slithers into a pile of coils up next to Shockwave and peeps their head from between two loops.* Soundwave: [[...He feels as though the mothering unit did not explain these dangers well enough.]] Shockbox: *He is too distracted by this absolutely precious creature to pay much mind to the chaos ensuing onscreen.* FakeProwl: That seems likely, yes. Shockbox: *Shockwave offers a soft pat to Chimera's head.* Butterbuns: ((I chose the wrong moment to go get food wtf happened in the past 2min FakeProwl: ((he stayed out past dark and his creepy evil witch aunts showed up and tried to steal his other eye)) Soundwave: *Chimera hums and wobbles, happy as a clam.* Butterbuns: ((okay saw that. what happened between him getting to the village and his mom slapping a bug on him? Soundwave: *Ravage glances up at Blurr's missing eye and has a bit of a short think before returning his attention to the screen.* FakeProwl: ((the dark wave or whatever tossed some people around, his mom showed up to save him, used the-whatever-that-power-is to beat back the aunts)) Whirl: Pfft. B l u r r: ... /glances down at Ravage / .. What? FakeProwl: ((and then told him he needs to get the armor and slapped the bug on him.)) Whirl: I'd like for most people in the room to take that line there to heart. Butterbuns: ((coolio Whirl: Ravage, you're excluded. Soundwave: =I should be.= Whirl: I figure we've got a similar level of smelling ability. Soundwave: *Ravage looks back up at Blurr.* =Nothing. Later.= B l u r r: / tilts helm and mumbles / Shockbox: *He casually continues while returning to the film. * Soundwave: [[He likes the monkey's business model.]] Shockbox: (( Brb going to grab some popcorn.)) Butterbuns: ((What's so great about his eyes FakeProwl: ((we don't know yet)) Butterbuns: ((Geez Grandad go get some made out of glass or something FakeProwl: ((they haven't explained, just that grandpa wants them)) Butterbuns: ((Gransdad just thinks they're pretty FakeProwl: (("I'm not sure this counts as origami, I could swear scissors were involved" LMAO. I kept thinking that about the figures.)) Soundwave: ((heh heh)) Soundwave: *Tilts his helm* Butterbuns: ((8D fun fact! In Japanese origami scissors are often used Soundwave: [[Isn't Earth snow]] UGH [[made of water? Shouldn't the paper creature be disintegrating?]] Whirl: Well, it IS magical. Butterbuns: ((god kubo leave the bird alone B l u r r: Magic doesn't wilt. B l u r r: Apparently. Soundwave: *Mumble* //'S like a whole lotta Bird.// FakeProwl: It only becomes wet if it's melting. Since paper gives off no body heat, there's no reason for it to melt the snow. Whirl: Pfft. Can you imagine, a flock full of laserbeaks? No snacks would be left for the rest of us. Soundwave: *Fascinated nod.* [[Thank you both.]] Shockbox: (( I have returned.)) Whirl: *snickers* B l u r r: [[ the little paper hanzo ]] B l u r r: [[ I die ] Soundwave: \\MECH, THERE AIN'T NEVER NONE LEFT WITH JUS' ONE.\\ Shockbox: (( Alright, I have a little salt about how the Beetle character was designed in this film.)) Shockbox: ((They could have made him more bug-like. I feel like that had been intended from his dialogue, but he's just so...human looking.)) FakeProwl: ((she did the smile-to-threaten-with-your-teeth thing. good monkey.)) Whirl: ((yeah, that's my beef with most arthropod characrees)) Whirl: ((the lazy sort of... much face or flat face. Like the crab in Moana, too)) B l u r r: [[ my sON ]] Whirl: *mush Shockbox: (( Insect monster?? He has a hunched back and four arms.)) Shockbox: (( Otherwise he is normal looking.)) B l u r r: / snort / B l u r r: [[ A REALLY BAD HOARDER ]] Butterbuns: ((oh my god Soundwave: \\HOW'S THE WARRIOR FEEL ABOUT THAT, BUDDY?\\ Butterbuns: ((i'll let him slide with a humanoid face for apparently being cursed to be bug human. Butterbuns: ((Either he's a bug cured to be human or a human cursed to be bug Butterbuns: ((I like him B l u r r: i love him ]] Shockbox: (( _gah_, I've already watched this movie.)) Shockbox: (( I'll extend my beef after spoilers are out of the way naturally.)) Whirl: I think the monkey is my favorite. Soundwave: [[His as well.]] Soundwave: [[By far.]] Butterbuns: ((oh no yeah, I understand. I would also like to see more arthropod accurate faces B l u r r: ... yes. I like the bug, too. B l u r r: / hums / Butterbuns: ((but it doesn't /bug/ me as much so Shockbox: *Shockwave shares my dialogue about him not being bug-like enough, albeit internally.* Shockbox: (( /rimshot for the pun.)) Whirl: *heck, WHIRL is more bug like than this guy* Shockbox: *True that.* Soundwave: *Soundwave glances over at Prowl. He is unusually quiet today. Perhaps he is tired?* FakeProwl: *hasn't had much commentary on the movie.* B l u r r: / snort / Soundwave: {{Keheheh!}} Shockbox: (( Alright, this is one of the best monsters in the film.)) Soundwave: {{Maybe Bird does to Insecticon, watches.}} Whirl: Nice. Soundwave: *Rumble taps Soundwave's helm and sloooooowly slides down one arm. Quietly shuffles his way over to the hammock, crawls in, and immediately flopsprawls. Okay. He's here.* B l u r r: / snort/ He reminds me of someone. Whirl: *will shift to acocmodate him, of course* Shockbox: *This action scene is riveting, but...* Soundwave: \\WHY'S IT MATTER IF HE EATS THE MONKEY? HE'S FRAGGIN' BONES. SHE'S JUS' GONNA FALL OUT.\\ Whirl: He's got TEETH, though. FakeProwl: He might chew her. Soundwave: *Frenzy scratches his helm.* \\...YEAH, I GUESS SO.\\ Shockbox: @Soundwave: If it is not too distracting from the film...I have a few questions. Soundwave: @Shockwave: [[He can multitask. Ask.]] Butterbuns: ((..never let Hiro meet Kubo B l u r r: [[ it's too late ]] Butterbuns: ((rip universe B l u r r: yes ]] Shockbox: @Soundwave: You appear to be relatively close to the alternate of mine who joins us for documentary viewings. Are you from the same universe? B l u r r: / chin claws / Soundwave: @Shockwave: [[No. Similar timelines. Not the same. They experienced all that has been and will be shown. He did not.]] Soundwave: *Note to self. Never visit any lakes like that.* B l u r r: [[ god i love the beetle ]] Butterbuns: ((SAME Shockbox: (( He is pure.)) Whirl: ((he's fun!)) Shockbox: (( Even if his design is lacking.)) Butterbuns: ((you know what this means? Butterbuns: ((time to find someone willing to redraw him to his beetle glory)) Whirl: They should find a place to go to ground, wait for the storm to pass, and then go after it. Shockbox: (( I would, but I do not think I could do him justice.)) Shockbox: @Soundwave: Noted. How long have you known one another, then? Whirl: *clicks his claw approvingly* Whirl: *that was a good burn* B l u r r: [[ omfg the tiny hanzo ]] Butterbuns: ((ooooooh snap Soundwave: @Shockwave: [[Approximately two and a half Earth years.]] FakeProwl: ((oooooooh)) Soundwave: ((I looked away for FIVE SECONDS what happened)) Butterbuns: ((I was wondering about that, tbh. Butterbuns: ((Kuro is dead press f to salute Butterbuns: ((*Kubo Whirl: ((Monkey killed the first aunt)) FakeProwl: ((aunt said "love made my sister weak" and monkey said "no, it made me stronger")) Soundwave: ((ooooo)) Butterbuns: ((Kubo met a giant eye who- yeah, that.)) FakeProwl: ((...THE BEETLE IS HIS DAD ISN'T IT. IT'S GONNA BE HIS DAD.)) Shockbox: *Not an extremely long amoung of time, considering their own lifespans.* FakeProwl: ((THAT'S WHY THE MONKEY AND BEETLE ARE FLIRTING.)) B l u r r: [[ THE BETTLE ]] Shockbox: (( no spoilers, shhhhh.)) B l u r r: IM DEAD ]] Butterbuns: ((Is that why paper-Hanzo likes the beetle? Whirl: ((that line PFFFF)) Butterbuns: (omg smol hanz B l u r r: [[ the little paper hanzo makes me so happy ]] Butterbuns: (("IT ME" Whirl: ((IT ME)) B l u r r: [[ heS SO CUTE ]] Whirl: *any romance that starts with a swordfight is a worthwhile romance* B l u r r: / ouch. his hidden feels / Shockbox: @Soundwave: ...And you are currently in some sort of partnership? How long has that been for? Whirl: *snickers softly* Soundwave: @Shockwave: [[An alliance, for nearly as long.]] Shockbox: @Soundwave: How did that come to be? Shockbox: *Chimera's head is being brushed with the back of his hand.* Butterbuns: ((in not even hindsight this was farely obvious and also i can see what his mom saw in Hanzo B l u r r: [[ he's so cute ]] Soundwave: [[So they have got faces after all.]] Soundwave: @Shockwave: [[As all alliances do - by each being proving themselves worthy.]] B l u r r: Why would you drop all of your swords? That's pointless... Shockbox: (( Never turn your back on the body.)) Shockbox: (( Foolish mistake.)) Butterbuns: (( 8( Soundwave: ((there's some onions in the room or somethin)) Whirl: ((ikr)) Butterbuns: ((OH Butterbuns: ((the bell in the villiage at the start, huih Butterbuns: ((I like how this theme is 'family- they love you, but some of them don't really love you in a good way') Soundwave: [[Disgusting.]] Shockbox: *He takes a moment before responding* @Soundwave: Is there anything one might offer to him in order to inspire further interaction? Butterbuns: ((oh. /oh/ Soundwave: [[.....Ah.]] Butterbuns: ((I was wondering about the title Whirl: ((YEAH THE MOMENT I REALIZED THAT5'S WHY IT'S CALLED THAT IT HIT ME HARD DUDE)) Soundwave: *Oh, he likes this.* Butterbuns: ((I also wish i'd seen this in big Butterbuns: ((aaaaaaaaa Shockbox: (( Now that he's human, he probably doesn't have much to live.)) Shockbox: (( Unless his formerly godly status extends his lifespan indefinitely?)) Butterbuns: ((;u; they're giving him a new story of being a good and nice person aaaaaa Butterbuns: ((a human person Shockbox: ((But he is an /old/ human person, Kubo isn't going to get to spend much time with his grandfather either.)) Butterbuns: ((no, but he's still going to get to spend time with him Butterbuns: ((Quality vs quantity Shockbox: (( Hm.)) B l u r r: [[ im still salty that hanzo looks like hanzo from overwatch ]] Butterbuns: ((they have the same hairdresser Shockbox: (( Quality is subjective. But I guess in this case we can presume that the quality is high.)) Whirl: ((tbh I was never really fully satisfied with the "grandfather becomes human" ending)) Whirl: ((it's like... why does he get to live but the aunts have to die???)) Butterbuns: ((I like it better than 'Kubo murders his last living relative even tho he's a dick' Whirl: ((yeah, I don't feel as if I'd like it more if he killed his grandfather either)) Whirl: ((but it still felt rushed, kind of... not thought through? Regardless, tho, I love this movie)) Shockbox: ((At least the credit music is nice. )) Butterbuns: ((It wasn't perfect but I enjoyed it ouo Butterbuns: ((Thank you for showing it! Whirl: ((yes thank!)) Shockbox: (( Animation isn't bad either. )) B l u r r: [[ that's how all their movies feel at the end, though. ]] B l u r r: Laika has a habit of doing that. ]] Whirl: ((i found Paranorman to be satisfying enough!)) Shockbox: (( I thought Coraline was satisfying. )) Butterbuns: ((This is true. Coraline doen't feel quite as rushed? But it's based on the book, too. B l u r r: [[ Coraline was based on a book that had an ending, tho >>;; ]] Whirl: ((ye)) FakeProwl: ((I don't remember how I felt about the end of Coraline, but I'd read the book too so)) Shockbox: (( You have a point. )) B l u r r: [[ LOOK HOW BIG THEIR RIG IS ]] Soundwave: ((holy cow)) Butterbuns: ((jfc Whirl: *stretches, but carefully, in case Rumble has conked out* Not a bad pick, Teach. Really unusual. But good unusual. Shockbox: (( Yes, the rigs were impressive. The eye stalks were actually mechanical. )) Butterbuns: ((I love that LAika shows this stuff at the end B l u r r: Mm... I like cartoons at the best of times. B l u r r: [[ I'm still salty they lost to Zootopia. ]] B l u r r: [[ Considering stop animation is incredibly tedious and hard. ]] Shockbox: ((Slendy, did you get my question?)) Whirl: MM-hmm. I can tell you're... drawn to it. Soundwave: *Oh, right. There was another question.* @Shockwave: [[Respect and something... useful and interesting. A sample from oneself, perhaps.]] Shockbox: (( Yeah, lakia deserved more. )) Whirl: *sly look* B l u r r: ... / snort / B l u r r: There was no other reason I chose it. /props chin in claw/ It was just something Dart said I should watch. Shockbox: *He doesn't mind Soundwave's momentary distraction.* Soundwave: *Rumble hasn't conked out, but he doesn't move much either. Looks like he's busy thinking.* Whirl: I liked it. Change of pace from what you normally show--not that I mind THAT, either. Soundwave: =You see why?= *Ravage looks up at Blurr again.* B l u r r: Mm... Shockbox: @Soundwave: Noted....My thanks. B l u r r: / glances down at Ravage/ See what? Soundwave: *Ravage slowly closes one optic and offers up a sharp, ugly smile.* B l u r r: ... /tilts helm / Soundwave: *Then leaps off before he can be fussed at and slinks over to Soundwave.* Whirl: It's cos you're a member of the cyclops club. B l u r r: .. Ah. Whirl: We should make membership cards. Soundwave: {{And a hero~ neheh.}} Whirl: Oh, YES. Whirl: We can't forget THAT, of course not. B l u r r: ... I don't see what that has to do with anything. Soundwave: *Soundwave lets Ravage onto his lap; Ravage sniffs the hologram curiously and grunts. One day he's going to have that test he promised. Not like this.* B l u r r: / pats Ravage's helm / Whirl: It's always worth mentioning, is all. B l u r r: /I/ am not the hero. /presses claw to chassis/ I'm the bad guy, remember? Whirl: Nope. I saw you, with my own eye, being a Big Damn Hero on Earth. I was THERE. Whirl: You' Whirl: ve officially revoked Bad Guy status. B l u r r: /rolls optic / Lies. I broke their rules. B l u r r: / rubs claw along his helm. Mumbles / Whirl: Pfft, plenty of heroes don't play by the rules. Soundwave: \\NOPE. YA SAVED A WHOLE PLANET. I SEEN THAT ONE.\\ Whirl: You're not THAT naive. B l u r r: I did NOT save a whole planet. Soundwave: \\YUH-HUH. AIN'T YOU KNOW NOTHIN' BOUT THUNDERTRON?\\ Whirl: Oh, DO tell, Frenzy. B l u r r: I know he's hanging on my wall. Shockbox: And what did you think of that film, Chimera? *He's used to holding conversations with buzzsaw over film quality. Surely Chimera must be capable of the same...?* Soundwave: \\HE FRAGGIN' *HATES* CYBERTRON, MECH. AN' THE MECHS ON IT. WANTED 'EM ALL DEAD 'N GONE, LIKE.\\ Shockbox: (( Blurr, you have good taste.)) B l u r r: [[ 8D ]] Soundwave: \\SO HE AIN'T AROUND NO MORE. THAT PLACE'S PLANET'S GONNA LIVE A LI'L LONGER.\\ Frenzy laughs. \\THAT'S ALLLLL YOU.\\ Shockbox: (( /Casually jamming.)) B l u r r: / VENTS and scrubs claw down faceplate. / Whirl: *snickering madly* Soundwave: *And now you know why Soundwave agreed.* B l u r r: / mumbling to his left and right. Motioning to everyone else ./ Whirl: You might as well make it your full-time job, mech. Whirl: Blurr: Part-Time Teacher. Full-Time Hero. B l u r r: / flicks finial/ No. B l u r r: Pirate. Soundwave: <<Chimera does not understand. Moons and stars and bugs and monkeys are not humans.>> Whirl: Part-Time Teacher. Part-Time Pirate. Full-Time Hero. B l u r r: ... I'm not a full time hero. Whirl: Part-Time Teacher. Part-Time Pirate. Nearly-Full-Time Hero. B l u r r: / huffs and just buries face in claw. Massage temples/ Whirl: *that's the effect Whirl inevitably has on most people, Blurr 8) * B l u r r: / his brain hurts too much for this / Shockbox: I have to agree, it is not very realistic, but that is often the case in epic tales. B l u r r: / loud snarl and just stares at the wall. Pinches bridge of nasal / Whirl: *does not seem to be repentant even in the slightest; his optic is just a cheerful curve* Soundwave: *Rumble sits up at that. Uh-oh. Maybe he'd better... head over to the Boss. Just in case.* B l u r r: / veNTS / Whirl: *bobs his head at Rumble as he goes* Soundwave: *Remembers to wave right before docking* Shockbox: *He does his best to suppres his reaction to the snarling and continues* Is there anything in this film you found especially enjoyable? Shockbox: ((*suppress)) B l u r r: ... /twitches and jerks whole frame up. All right, standing up. Moving. Stretches limbs / Soundwave: *Chimera looks down to think. It takes them a little while to come up with an answer.* <<...Paper!>> B l u r r: Well... in any case, I enjoyed it. Whirl: Same. *clambers out of his hammock at last and streeetches* Whirl: You. *jabs a claw in Blurr's direction* Be careful. B l u r r: ... Of? Soundwave: ((THIS DAMN SONG always makes me want to dance)) Shockbox: *Shockwave is patient as Chimera deliberates to itself, and nods once an answer is given.* B l u r r: [[ that's the poINT OF IT ]] Soundwave: ((I always picture soundwave's feeler wiggling ever so slightly while nobody looks)) Whirl: Just in general, with that thing you refuse to get installed. Shockbox: And why is that? B l u r r: [[ haaa ]] Whirl: *uninstalled B l u r r: I'm careful with it. /shrugs/ B l u r r: ... That isn't what broke, you know. Soundwave: <<It changes shape!>> Another wide, openmouthed smile. <<Chimera does too!>. B l u r r: It didn't help, but it wasn't what did... that. Soundwave: *You know what? Yes. Yes, there is a feeler wiggling ever so slightly.* Shockbox: (( Damnit soundwave, stop being cute.)) Whirl: Yeah, uh-huh. I;m sure. *fixes Blurr with a skeptical look* B l u r r: / good / B l u r r: / stares back at Whirl. He is one tired monster / It wasn't. Whirl: *he does not believe you at all, Blurr* Whatever you say, Teach. Whirl: Anyway, I'm out. Later, losers. *waves a claw* B l u r r: / waves claw / Whirl: ((Blurr should talk to Whirl about it later in private 8) )) B l u r r: [[ mm. Maybe. ]] Soundwave: [[Goodbye.]] B l u r r: [[ once our other thread is done oo; ]] Whirl: ((YES! ofc)) B l u r r: [[ anyway. I'm gonna shut this down. ]] Shockbox: *He hums lightly and cannot help but to offer another pat.* That is accurate. Your reasoning is cogent. B l u r r: [[ Y'all can keep chitter chatters. ]] Soundwave: ((okiedokie)) Shockbox: (( /nod. )) Soundwave: <<Thank you, Creator!>> *Chimera emits a happy squeal - praise! and pats! - before blinking.* <<Oh. It is done. Chimera must go now.>> Shockbox: *The narrator is suffering from cuteness. Shockwave merely accepts it and lets Chimera go free, a nod of adieu offered.* Another time. Shockbox: *He is still unused to this 'creator' business. Even with his own drones, he had never thought to include such a thing.* Soundwave: <<Goodbye!>> *Nyoom. Off to Soundwave and the others* Shockbox: *But it isn't unacceptable, either.* Shockbox: *Welp. With that over with, he is free to leave. He recieved the information he had been seeking.* Shockbox: *It isn't as if he has not offered CNA to an alternate before. This should be simple.* Soundwave: *He'll receive a nod on his way out, when he goes.* Shockbox: *And Soundwave will have one returned to him.* Shockbox: *A standard Wave hello/goodbye.* Shockbox: *Well known between all waves.* FakeProwl: *you'd think the Waves would wave* Soundwave: *It's a lot of arm to move, in his case.* FakeProwl: *fair point. and prowl's still got one pinned.* Soundwave: *Which is absolutely fine by him. Though the avatar might get tugged closer as mechs leave unless Prowl wriggles free and blinks off to go to work.* Soundwave: *Soundwave snatches his time where he can, and all.* Shockbox: ((Good night, you all.)) FakeProwl: *he'll accept the tugging. it's not time for work yet.* Soundwave: ((Night!)) Soundwave: *Good. Because he has a Fullstasis game to continue and, if Prowl has anything he wants to talk or ask about, a willingness to debate and answer questions.* FakeProwl: *he's always happy to talk. but he has no topics to present right now.* Soundwave: *In that case, a question from Soundwave.* FakeProwl: *shoot* Soundwave: *While sending across a move.* @Prowl: (txt): Amica role contemplated since paperwork. Better understanding sought. Prowl's concept: "friend"? What... duties, expectations, privileges?-- Soundwave: ((that first ? should be a -)) Soundwave: Preference: Avoid role failure. Assistance needed. FakeProwl: @Soundwave «... Are you sure you aren't trying to distract me from my move?» *humor tag.* «Difficult to define adequately in less than a textbook. But you're doing well so far.» Soundwave: @Prowl: (txt): Negative. Amused assurance: Better distraction tactics known. Improvement not needed at present? FakeProwl: *he considers that seriously as he makes his next move* @Soundwave «Nnnno.» FakeProwl: *hold on, are they alone now? he can speak out loud.* If I think of anything, I'll let you know. Soundwave: *Sits up a little. He wasn't expecting that first part. And, well, PROWL can speak out loud.* Soundwave: (txt): ...Surprising. Confusing. Satisfying. All accepted, acknowledged. FakeProwl: Confusing? Surprising? FakeProwl: What did you think you were doing wrong? Soundwave: (txt): Unknown. Soundwave does not - Prowl: Autobot. Expected: More... rules? Social differences. Cannot locate required word. Translation difficult. FakeProwl: ... Expectations? Taboos? Requirements? Standards? Soundwave: (txt): ...All? Soundwave: *Basically, his perception of Autobots is so colored by war that he assumed they had some sort of massively complex and righteous set of expected behaviors and that he barely met the minimum.* FakeProwl: I don't socialize like most Autobots. That's not to say I socialize like a Decepticon, but... *shrugs* FakeProwl: *Prowl, meanwhile, assumes that Decepticon socialization is largely based on violence, machismo, and fighting with each other.* FakeProwl: *or he did, anyway. A few months on The Big Conversation has started convincing him that Decepticon socialization is based on memes.* Soundwave: *Thoughtful look at Prowl's knee, mostly unaware of The Big Conversation. Micronus help everyone when he does find out and peek in.* Soundwave: (txt): ...Which Decepticon, Prowl's meter? FakeProwl: ... The Constructicons. *who fit Prowl's stereotypes to a T.* Soundwave: (txt): Fair sample. Many vicious traits encouraged. Strength considered power. *Looks up again.* Do not forget others. Dreadwing, better mech. FakeProwl: I never saw how he socializes. I doubt he would have disagreed that strength is power. FakeProwl: And he might have been loyal to his brother before all else, but I wouldn't have called him unvicious. Soundwave: (txt): Negative; that, believed. Viciousness within. Soundwave: (txt): However... before Constructicons, Dreadwing: vast improvement. FakeProwl: *a simultaneous shrug/nod/grimace.* I wouldn't want to be friends with him, either. Soundwave: (txt): Good. Friendship with dead mech: one-sided, disappointing. (humor tag goes here) Soundwave digressed. Faction meter thoughts: scattered. Note: Of Autobots, Prowl's socialization preferred. FakeProwl: *snort* It's harder for dead mechs to get fed up with you and stop taking your calls, though. They do have that advantage. Soundwave: *Soft huff, might be shaking a little.* FakeProwl: *tiny twitch of a smile. he likes that. that little huff-shake Soundwave does when he laughs.* Soundwave: *And he likes the tiny twitch smiles.* Soundwave: (txt): Not difficult as Prowl thinks. Prime ejected AllSpark. Long-distance calls not supported. Soundwave: *And at this, a little worse. He can joke about it now, it's back where it belongs and all.* FakeProwl: Pff. A fair point. Soundwave: *Soundwave checks his chronometer. He'd better get Rumble back. Motions to Prowl's helm.* (txt): Permission? FakeProwl: *it takes Prowl a moment for Prowl to figure out what Soundwave is asking for permission for. Access inside? but no. no. Not that.* Soundwave: *NO!* FakeProwl: *he figures it out.* Granted. *leans toward* Soundwave: *Leans in and gives him a good, solid bump to the crest. Follows it up with a quick little upward nudge. Best he can do in public.* FakeProwl: *bump. and a small artificial kiss on his mask.* Soundwave: *He will take that artificial kiss and be content. Moreso than before, now that he knows where Prowl usually stands on such things.* Soundwave: (txt): Soundwave, deployers depart. Will see next time. Work well. FakeProwl: And you. I'll see you next time. FakeProwl: *disappears* Soundwave: *Nods and rises. Collects whoever hasn't already hopped on him earlier tonight and departs.*

#chat

3 notes · View notes

ourtown-rp-blog · 6 years

Photo

Welcome to the game, ALIYANA LOPEZ! Your application was successful, and we’re excited to begin writing alongside you, Cinnamon. Please read over our checklist before sending in your link, which you should do within 24 hours!

IT’S ALL ABOUT YOOOOU ( ooc ) ♪

MAIN ALIAS: Cinnamon.

PRONOUNS: She/Her.

AGE: 25+.

ACTIVITY LEVEL: 1/6.

WHO YOU PLAYIN’ ?

FULL NAME: Aliyana sofía Lopez.

PRONOUNS: She/Her.

FACECLAIM: Naya Rivera.

AGE/BIRTHDAY: 28, 11/12.

ORDER: Fourth.

TYPE: Triplet to second & third.

ORIENTATION: homosexual and homoromantic.

ALL WORK AND NO PLAY ☆

all should work, whether they’re in school or not.

EMPLOYMENT STATUS: Full time.

WORKPLACE: Thyme Piece.

POSITION: Manager.

HOW LONG?: Since it opened.

WHO WILL I BE, IT’S UP TO ME ( ic ) ♪

Aliyana Lopez was an attention seeker from the second she was born. Although she had no actual memory of it, she heard from her parents many times about what a difficult baby she was. If one of her sisters were crying, she would cry even louder. If she saw her parents holding one of her sisters, she would scream until they put them down and pick her up. She didn’t doubt that for a second, considering her earliest memories consist of her being attached to her parents’ side. Mostly her father’s. Ali had him wrapped around her finger for as long as she could remember. It even got to the point where she knew exactly how to get out of trouble with him. That came in handy later, when she found a new way to get attention. When actions didn’t work, her words did. Particularly words that weren’t necessarily true. She started with little white lies at first, like faking sick to get out of school. Everyone does that, right? It wasn’t a big deal. Then they got worse. She would even make things up about her siblings, saying they did things they never did to get them in trouble. That didn’t last long when she realized how mad her siblings would get. Not that she blamed them. If the roles were reversed, she would be mad, too. She just didn’t think about that at the time. The lies didn’t stop completely, though. Just the ones about her siblings. As much as she loved them, she still loved the attention.

By the time she got to high school, she had a reputation of being a liar. She could always be seen surrounded by people, telling a made up story she thought made her look interesting. Only a few people were gullible enough to believe her. The rest of them could see right through her lie and mostly humored her. Which was hilarious, considering she knew that some people didn’t believe her. People called her out on her shit all the time, but that didn’t matter to Aliyana. She wasn’t trying to get people to believe her, she was trying to get attention. Even if they were calling her two faced, fake, or just plain liar; that was okay. At the end of the day, she was still getting what she wanted out of them. It was kind of a sickness. One she never tried curing, because she never saw the problem with it. She didn’t even see the problem when she eventually decided to come out. Sexuality had never been a big deal to her, since she was raised by two people who loved her no matter what. Even in a town like Cotton Plant, she knew coming out would be easy for her. Unfortunately, not many people believed her. She had been with guys before, so people thought it was something else she made up to seem interesting. She wasn’t sure what was so interesting about being a lesbian, but if that’s what they wanted to think, that was fine. She didn’t try to prove them wrong. Not only because they wouldn’t believe her, but also because she just didn’t care what they thought.

A lot of people don’t realize this about Ali, but she is smart. Really smart. She didn’t graduate top of her class or anything. Maybe she could have if she focused more on her grades than trying to be popular. Still, her grades were good enough to get the attention of some very good colleges. When her senior year came around, she worked really hard to make sure she got out of this town. She didn’t see a future for herself there. In fact, when she thought of the future, she thought of places like California. Somewhere warm, where people were famous for pretty much nothing. If being a reality star was a valid career choice, she would have taken it. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the kind of job you just get (and she wasn’t trying to make a sex tape- though she considered it), so she had to think more practical. That’s how she ended up at Harvard Business School in Boston, Massachusetts. They didn’t give her a full ride, which meant she had to work her way through school, but it was well worth it in the end. College was one of the best experiences of her life.

Being surrounded by people she didn’t know meant she could tell them anything she wanted and a lot of them believed her. She made up stories about where she was from, who she knew, or how much she had to sacrifice to get where she was. She got the popularity she wanted, making the kind of grades she should have been making before. Her graduation was so bittersweet. As much as she wanted to stay in Boston, she wasn’t making the money she needed to there. Being a Barista was barely paying off student loans. There was no way she could afford an apartment. Truthfully, she could have lived on that campus forever. She shined there. People looked up to her, her professors adored her, and she couldn’t recall a single time someone said something bad about her. Well, to her face. Maybe there were some people who could see right through her, but most of them thought highly of her. Moving back to Cotton Plant felt like a slap to the face. Being around her family was nice, it just wasn’t where she wanted to be. She missed being in Boston every single day. She didn’t have much of a choice, though. She needed work and there wasn’t any in Boston. She thought being a Harvard graduate meant automatically getting the kind of job she felt like she deserved. She was wrong. Way wrong.

Finding a job when she got home was easy. It’s ironic, she was living in this huge city, where she thought she would have all of these opportunities; yet she was hired at a convenient store in her hometown. Talk about a downgrade. As much as she appreciated the opportunity, managing a local store just wasn’t cutting it for her. She was a materialistic girl with expensive taste. She worked hard to get a degree, just so she could be living the kind of life she wanted, and here she was. Managing a small store, hoping most days that they didn’t get robbed. She saw the security they had, it could have happened easily. No one was more relieved about the Motta’s changes as she was. She heard people talking about them destroying their town, but in reality, they were making everything better in her eyes. New businesses meant new job opportunities, which is exactly what Ali wanted. She was putting in applications as soon as she had the chance. Especially when she heard about them opening a jewelry store. She would take the job just to look at the merchandise. Much like a cat, she was easily distracted by something shiny. The day she got the job as the new manager of Thyme Piece, she was extremely excited. She quit her old job without a second thought. Although she wasn’t rich now, she was finally making the kind of money to support her kind of lifestyle. She still wished she could make it work in Boston some day, but for now, she was very content with her life.

Ali went from content to the happiest she’s ever been when she met and fell in love with a girl named CeCe. Being the hopeless romantic she was, she was never one to be okay with settling. She may have enjoyed her previous relationships, and didn’t regret a single one, but if things ever got too serious; she would have been settling for them. They didn’t make her feel the way CeCe did. Aliyana was so in love with her that she was afraid of losing her. As confident as she acted, she was nothing like that. She was insecure. If anyone looked at her girlfriend the wrong way, she would freak out about it. It didn’t matter if the person’s intentions were innocent, because in her mind, they weren’t. They wanted to take her away from her. When she accused her girlfriend of wanting to seem single, it should have been a wake up call. She told her she seemed open for business! That should have been a huge problem, which it was, but she had no idea it would end in an engagement. That should have been a red flag for things to come. It wasn’t healthy and a part of her knew that. Being engaged wasn’t going to suddenly fix her insecurities. It didn’t matter, though. She wanted to marry CeCe, so she ignored the mad stuff and focused on the good.

For about a month, she would say they were happily engaged. She was still having this inner battle with herself, hating everyone who got a little too close to her fiancée. She didn’t know why, but it was so hard for her to deal with. Especially when the other girl was the exact opposite. While Ali was going crazy, CeCe just didn’t care when the roles were reversed. Ali could go as far as to kiss someone else and it still wouldn’t get to her fiancée. It drove Ali mad. Why didn’t CeCe get jealous? Did she even care about her at all? Those were the kind of things she would ask herself. They were the same things she asked herself the night of her fiancée’s birthday party. She didn’t like seeing other people all over her, and when she saw her getting a little too cozy with someone, she freaked out. In order to get her attention, she started flirting with some random guy. Ali didn’t know who she was, but she assumed CeCe did, so she thought that had to make her jealous somehow. It didn’t. That’s when Ali took it a step further, taking the guy upstairs to her room. Their room. She thought her fiancée would see she was gone, go after them, and feel that same jealousy Ali always felt. She just wanted to feel like she cared, that was all. She didn’t mean for it to go as far as it did, but she also didn’t stop it either. She just let it happen. She let him touch her, even if she wasn’t enjoying a single second of it. She just didn’t care anymore.

She will never forget the look on CeCe’s face when she finally showed up. It was much too late for Ali to take anything back at that point. The damage had been done. It was never meant to go as far as it had, but she couldn’t do anything to take it back. She was laying there, completely naked with someone she didn’t even know. When the other girl started yelling, she realized that he was someone she worked with. Not that it really mattered at that point. That night, she did the one thing she knew she would do eventually. She fucked up her entire relationship. She never imagined it would end like this, though. From cheating. Ali thought CeCe would get tired of dealing with her crazy and leave her. She never wanted anyone else to touch her. Even now, she didn’t want anyone else anywhere near her. It was a little too late for it now, but she was completely devoted to her ex. She couldn’t imagine being with anyone else, because that would be settling for less. Ali didn’t do that. And she knew her ex still loved her, too. There was no reason for them not to end up together. She was convinced that even though she fucked up badly, they could still find their happily ever after. That fairytale ending she always dreamed of. All she had to do was fix things. The problem was, she didn’t really know how to. She just knew that she wouldn’t give up. Not until her ex asked her to.

#accepted #ourtownaliyana

0 notes

lastweektranscripts · 7 years

Text

Last Week I Started Vlogging Again!

Last Week # 1

March 28th - April 3rd, 2016

(These might be weirdly formatted, due to Tom’s style at the beginning of Last Week as a series)

[Hey you! So tod- Ah- Uh- Nailed it. Oh my God, okay. How do I- How do I do this?

Hey you! So, I thought I would try something a little different this week. I don’t really vlog in the traditional sense of “Whoa, look, here’s what I’m up to with my life” and I thought it’d be kinda nice to do that again.

One, because I miss making memories, and just logging my life, more than, y’know, just one day a year. And also, I just thought it’d be kinda interesting to see what happens when I start sharing my life, and my world with you a bit more. Um, I noticed that a lot of people still reference my past. They talk about my old friends, my old friendships, and I realised that not many people actually realize what my life is really like anymore. So, this is my first ever attempt at a weekly vlog. So, welcome to Last Week.

Last Week started off with a lazy bank holiday Monday which I spent most of writing... videos for. Because I don’t know how to not do YouTube, it’s- I dunno, Dunno what I’m doing.]

Monday

Today I am just hanging out in my living room, on my own, because I’m very cool. I’ve got the fireplace going, it’s very nice. Um, and I’m writing vlogs.

It really sounds like there’s a bird stuck in my chimney. This is kind of horrific.

It wasn’t a bird, it was a ridiculous amount of hail! Help me.

Okay, I have just finished writing my first vlog of the day. It is 6pm, but the vlog is 1,200 words long so...

I remember when I used to write vlogs that were like, 60 seconds long. Those were, those were good days. What do I write next? Oh I don’t know. Oh I’ve gotta write a lot of vlogs. Oh my god.

Tom: Elliot is here!

Elliot: Wh- Whaaaat What Why? What? What’s happening?

Tom: Jaffa cakes.

Elliot: Jaffa cakes.

Tuesday

So, after staying up all night with Elliot watching “Gravity Falls”, which was amazing, uh, we have come into the office very late, and we are now shooting vlogs. Elliot is now finishing off a vlog about guns, and I am hopefully writing another vlog.

[Because I wanted to spend the rest of the week with Eddie, writing, and I always get distracted when there’s lots of stuff going on in the office, Tuesday we spent writing and filming the vlogs, so that Elliot could then go away for Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, and edit those while Eddie and I stayed in the office and wrote.]

Aaah, so the time has come to film two vlogs, the one about money and the one I’ve just written about life goals, and all the things I want to achieve in my life. Here is the vlogging setup, we’re trying to use a nice boom mic these days. There are lights, and things, and a gun wall, I don’t need this bat anymore. Oh, that was loud!

Okay, so that’s the vlogs done! Elliot is now going to leave the office for three days and edit them. Why’re you still here?

Elliot:[Starts to speak]

Tom: Elliot, get out!

[Wednesday morning started off in Central London, with me doing some stuff for my diet, which I still haven’t really talked about, and... don’t want to yet. I don’t wanna. I just don’t wanna.]

Wednesday

So I’ve yet to tell you guys exactly how I am losing a lot of the weight, but one of the ways involves a lot of dietary supplements and nutrients, and I’m gonna go pick those up now.

I got on the wrong train, and now I am running late. I’m smart

[It also became quite apparent at this point in the week that vlogging makes most other people feel quite uncomfortable, especially when you don’t tell them you’re doing it. The look they kinda give you, it’s as if you’ve just turned around and you’ve got your dick out.]

So now we are at work. And we are going to write today.

Eddie: Yes.

Tom: [Laughs]

So I’ve just found out that we might have access to Chris Evans and Anthony Mackey for like, half an hour to hopefully shoot a sketch to help promote “Captain America: Civil War”, which is amazing and very exciting, but I’m not gonna get my hopes up too much, because these kind of opportunities usually fall through. But, that said, we are writing a sketch called- I dunno- called “Fire Man”, which I really really like, and the truth is, even if this doesn’t go through, I’m definitely going to make this sketch cuz I think it’s really really funny. Um, yeah, I really hope we get to do this.

[Wednesday ended though with me heading up to see my girlfriend because it was her birthday, and yes- yes I have a girlfriend, but I don’t really talk about that stuff publicly, I haven’t for my last, uh, couple of relationships because, pffffft, I stopped vlogging and, y’know the, obviously when you make something very public, uh, then it ends, people get- people are invested, and they throw opinions around which no-one really needs when you’re going through a breakup, so I just kinda keep that to myself now. I’m not- I don’t keep big secrets, but-]

[On Thursday morning though, I headed back into work and continued to make Eddie feel uncomfortable bu- by vlogging around him. Cuz he really likes it when I do that.]

Thursday

SO IT’S A NEW DAY! And I am wearing the same clothes, because, walk of shame. Eddie- Eddie is- Eddie is cleaning up boxes. What’s Eddie doin’?

Eddie: Cleaning up boxes.

Tom: He’s- He’s doing that. Those are for MCM.

We just finished a first draft of a new script for Crash Zoom, it is called Sky Scam, and I’ve just sent it off to a bunch of my comedy writing to be like, “Please destroy this script”, so I know if it’s funny or not.

Just came up with another idea for a sketch. It’s uh, it’s called “Incredibly Offensive” and it is- The idea is that it’s just every offensive thing ever in- in one sketch. All the things you can’t say, or do, or show, and uh, this came- this came out of me trying to brainstorm ideas with Eddie about incredibly safe sketches to do.

So y’know, when I’m in my head I’m going “Here’s all these things we can’t do”, and my brain just goes “Oh yeah, what if we just do all of those.” So, who knows if that sketch will ever get made. S’good use of my time.

[So when it comes to my weight loss and the diet I’m doing, I am doing a kinda medically supervised diet thing, which also comes with some physiotherapy, some physical treatments, and all I can really say about those right now, is that they make me wear the most ridiculous, ridiculous outfit that I am pretty sure is just designed to make me feel bad about being overweight, so that I never wanna do it again. If that is the plan, it’s definitely working.]

Okay, so exciting news. I am now officially no longer the heaviest I’ve ever been. I am now the weight that I was, back when I went on a diet in 2010, that was my previous heaviest ever, 15 and a half stone. So, I know I can do this. But I’m vlogging in the middle of the street, and it’s weird, and everyone’s looking at me, so that’s fun.

[Vlogging in public is weird though, especially when you get recognized mid-way through doing it.That’s- That’s always strange.]

Girl: I wanna say hello to my boyfriend, Eric. Hello!

Tom: Hi Eric!

[Friday was April Fools day, which basically meant that I had not planned anything, as per usual, even though I want to do a good April Fools joke. So I just improvised, and I just scared the living shit out of a lot of my friends.

Friday

Y’know, like most great ideas, in the shower I thought that it’d be kinda funny to just pretend I’m gonna do a video all about which YouTubers have had sex with eachother. Um, so I’ve just posted up a thumbnail saying it’s coming later today.

[So Last Week I was working on something called “Project Salvation”, which is basically me attempting to get my channel back on track, and make up for being quite slow over the past six months or so, not uploading nearly as many videos as I’d like to. I started off 2015 really well, uploading two videos a month, and then it just went straight down to one video a month again. So, “Project Salvation” is basically my attempt at making some really, really good, really great sketches that I really think people are gonna enjoy. And Eddie and I, we’re just kinda powering through coming up with ideas for those, and yeah we, I-I think we have something pretty good- pretty good on the way.]

Tom: It’s top notch.

[Alice came in though, to record the new episode of “Crash Zoom”, which is nice, it’s always nice to see Alice, and I wish more people would hire her to be an actress, but hey, that much I can say is- Crash Zoom, there’s new Crash Zoom and it’s coming and yay.]

We asked a lot of friends for their opinions on the script and then we cut- we cut- we cut so much script I just- All- All the jokes. Why.

[Alice screams]

Tom: I share my office building with a lot of other people.

Alice has now left us, and we are back writing again.

Eddie: Yay...

We’re good- We’re good- We’re fun people. We are writing a new sketch, which might be a spiritual sequel to another sketch that I made, with Eddie.

Eddie: Yaaay.

Which was quite popular, that involved a-

Eddie: It’s like a floor, but a lack of. Tom: Yeah.

[And Friday ended with my girlfriend coming to see me, which was nice. And I said “Goodbye” to her, and she has gone off away on holiday for two- two weeks, so now I am so alone. Just so alone.

On Saturday evening though, I headed on over to Sammy’s, and things got a little, a little off the chain. Little crazy.]

Saturday

Crushin’ mad pussy right now. Playin’ some tabletop games. We’re- Everyone’s having a good time, and I’m- Pussy’s gettin’ crushed.

Elliot: What’re you doing?

Tom: Sammy, tell us all your racist joke.

Sammy: That wasn’t racist!

Elliot: I mean, we all heard it.

Friend: Go on.

Sammy: Hang on, I have too much power here to just suddenly be like “Thanks for telling that racist joke just before the camera started.”

Tom: Haha, that was- That was racist, Sammy.

Sammy: Stop!

[Saturday ended with me and Sammy staying up until about four am, talking about things, ideas, and people. Elliot was asleep between us, on the sofa, we weren’t in the same bed, or were we? We weren’t. Um, but Sunday started with a picnic, and I say started, we didn’t really- We didn’t really get there until about 2pm because I’m good at organizing things. And also being on time.]

Sunday

It’s pi- It’s picnic day. Look, some friends! There’s one! I met a duck.

This is a friend duck. A Fuck.

Someone: Ducksquidge.

[Then we went to the pub, had cheeky, cheeky sparkling water. Okay, I also had a gin and tonic, even though I’m not supposed to on this diet. But what can I say? I’m- I’m an- I’m a budding alcoholic, so.]

We are in- In a p- with alcohols. I can’t drink.

Tom: Hey Sammy, guess what? Fuck you!

Sammy: Aw fuck!

[But then we went back to mine and played even more tabletop games because my god, are we ever cool. We’re not cool, not even slightly.]

Sammy: Oh, we’re here again, playing “Dead of Winter”, phew we live a wild, exciting life don’t we?

[Group chuckling in background]

[Finally everyone got ubers to their respective homes, and the week was over. And honestly I can say it was a really, a really good week like, it was nice to- It was nice to create some stuff. I didn’t write nearly as much as I hoped I would, but we got a lot of stuff done, there was a lot of progress made, and- And I saw a lot of people, and I socialized a lot more than I normally do. This was not reflective of kind of the last two years of my life, and it was just really nice seeing people, and- Yeah, I dunno, it was just- It’s been great to socialize, and that’s nice. I wanna do that more, I wanna live more, I wanna- people. I want people in my life. I kinda cut my social life down by two-thirds a couple of years ago, and it’s nice to socialize again.

So what have I learned from my first week of vlogging? Um, first of all, I should really probably finish this setup, which I haven’t done yet, since moving around things in the office, and also I should film more cutaways, I keep forgetting to do that. So, here’s one. Here’s a- Here’s a cutaway. Vlogging: I’m a professional. I don’t know what I’m doing, I’m sorry. But thank you for watching, let me know what you think about this, of this weekly vloggy experience. All my friends are doing monthly vlogs, so I’m gonna one-up them, or up them by four times. I’m gonna 400% them-up. 4-up them? I dunno what I’m-

I’m just gonna end this now. Thank you for watching and Tomska out.

I have no idea what I’m doing with my life.]

#Tomska #Tomska Last Week

0 notes