#so yeah. sorry no themes of humanity here i think. though id kill for them. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

collabwithmyself · 4 years

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1-3: Turnabout Transfix (1/2)

Ray and Maya both teased him about his "old man phone," but in Miles's opinion, it worked perfectly well, so he saw no point in replacing it. It was simple, it was solid, and most importantly, he could still customize a ringtone with it.

This meant that waking up abruptly to a tinny rendition of the Steel Samurai theme song had him in a marginally better mood than if it were a normal, repetitive ringing dragging him out of slumber an hour earlier than usual. He fumbled blindly for the cell phone chiming away on his nightstand and dragged it over to him, squinting futilely at the caller ID before answering.

"Mlejerth," he managed.

"My!" screeched a voice, shouting directly into his ear and startling him into sitting up. "It's a disaster!"

"Wh-- Maya? What happened? Are you in danger?"

"It's the Steel Samurai!" Maya wailed. "He killed the Evil Magistrate!"

"Well, that seems largely out of character for him," Miles mused, rubbing his eyes. "...Wait, hold on, where did you get this information? Why are you giving me spoilers?"

"I mean in real life! Turn on the TV, or whatever it is you old men do to get news!"

"In real--" Miles's sleep-addled brain struggled to comprehend what Maya was trying to tell him. "You... do you mean their actors?"

"Yes! Duh!"

He fell back against the headboard in shock. "You're telling me Will Powers killed Jack Hammer?" Why didn't she say that in the first place?!

"That's what the police are saying! You're a defense attorney, My, do something! There's no way the Steel Samurai would kill anybody!"

"Wh-- Maya, you can't expect me to be able to catch the attention of a celebrity, let alone be picked by him to defend him in court! I've only acted as an attorney in two trials!"

"Yeah, and you beat Sascha von Karma! That's better than a whole resume of cases or whatever! Come on, My, you gotta!"

Miles pinched the bridge of his nose. "You won't stop pestering me until I agree to this, will you?"

"Nnnnope!" Maya popped the P emphatically. "Meet you at the detention center!"

"Yes, I'll see you--"

Click.

"...there..."

What had he just gotten himself into?

⁂

"So this is Global Studios?" Maya asked, hands on her hips as she peered around. "I kinda expected it to be... I dunno, bigger."

"Bigger isn't always better, you know," Miles replied, pushing up his glasses. "They make do excellently with what they have, wouldn't you agree?"

"You can say that again!"

Maya strolled closer to the gate, standing on her tiptoes. "Geez, where's the handle for this thing? You think we might have to climb it?"

Miles gave her a look that he hoped conveyed his lack of amusement properly. "We are not breaking into the studio. I highly doubt they'd let just anyone in, especially after a murder just took place. We might need to go back and get, well, a permission slip from Mr. Powers."

Maya smirked at him. "You just wanna get his autograph."

Miles's ears burned. "It's important to the case--"

A horrible screech startled them both, and Maya sprang back from the gate, reflexively snagging Miles by the sleeve and making him flinch a second time. It took him a moment to recognize the piercing cry as a human voice instead of some furious animal.

"Hey! You there! You wanna get in, you're gonna have to go through me! Honestly, all day I've had to deal with nothing but gawkers and sightseers, it seems like nobody in this city knows how to keep their nose out of things, they've all got another thing coming if they think they can get past me--"

He turned to find a person in blue storming out of the nearby security station and towards them both. Intimidated, but knowing better than to let that show, he straightened up, and beside him, Maya did the same.

"Er, pardon me. I'm a defense attorney, and this is my," Miles hesitated, "paralegal. We're here on behalf of--"

The elderly woman squinted at him, then brightened like a light being turned on. "Oh! What a lovely young man you are, aren't you just a sweetheart?"

Miles blinked at the praise. Beside him, Maya made a sudden retching noise, though he couldn't fathom why. "Er, I'm representing Will Powers," he continued, gesturing to the badge on his lapel, "and I was hoping you could let us in to conduct an investigation? You are the security guard, aren't you?"

"Oh, where are my manners? Wendy Oldbag, Global Studios security, but you can just call me grandma!" The old woman waved a hand at him. (Miles was... not going to do that.) "Why, you're so polite, not at all like most people these days, so pushy and impatient, looking to sightsee just because something horrible happened! No, I can tell you're an honest young man, you wouldn't dream of causing trouble, would you?"

Miles shook his head. Oldbag continued to ramble, so his gaze slipped away from her and towards Maya, who looked positively mortified.

"My, I think she likes you," she stage-whispered.

"Is that not a good thing?" Miles was puzzled. "She'll be more likely to let us in."

"Ohh, boy..."

It took a lot of convincing to assure this woman that they didn't need a personally guided tour, thank you, and it was Maya being her blunt self that eventually got her to take the hint and leave in a huff.

"That was..." Miles searched for the right word as he gazed about the studio grounds.

"Yikes," Maya finished.

"Maya, she was a perfectly agreeable woman--"

"Are you that oblivious, My? She was totally into you!" She threw her hands into the air. "You get such a bad crush you practically block out your memory when Mr. Powers talks to you, but this lady flirting with you doesn't set off any alarm bells?"

Miles spluttered. "She was not flirting!"

"She was totally making kissy eyes at you!"

"This is an entirely irrelevant discussion topic anyways, we should be investigating."

Maya puffed her cheeks out, balling her fists. "You can't just stand there and let weird old ladies creep on you, My!"

"Believe me," he huffed with finality, "I would never let any weird old person get into my head."

They didn't get far before a figure standing under the archway leading to the studios spotted them. The already large detective puffed up in anger when they approached.

"Hey! Aren't you that murderer from the other day?!"

Maya squeaked, bravado evaporating. "Yikes! It's that himbo detective...!"

"I-- I beg your pardon, Maya, what--"

The detective - Gumshoe, was it? - stomped a foot in frustration, chest heaving. "Prosecutor von Karma's real upset because of you! All frustrated and can't focus on work, staring out the window and muttering..."

Maya seemed to regain her resolve. "How is it our fault she's a sore loser, huh? And besides, if anyone's at fault, it's you for doing sloppy detective work!"

This only served to agitate Gumshoe further. "Don't you insult my boss!" he exploded. But then, all at once, he deflated, brows knitting together guiltily. "...I did my best..."

Maya looked thrown. "Um... s-sorry," she stammered. "I didn't mean to hurt your feelings..."

The detective shook his head. "Nah, you got a point, pal... I shouldn't be blaming other people like that..."

Miles refrained from pointing out that it was pretty much his job to be blaming other people, along with his boss's. "Well, I suppose there's always the next case."

"Yeah... hey! Speaking of which! What the heck are you two doing here?!"

Maya put her hands on her hips and tried to make herself look bigger. "Well, we're on this case too, pal!"

Gumshoe's mouth fell open in offense. "Hey! You can't just go around calling people pal! That's my endearing character trait, pal!"

"Well, what are you gonna do about it, pal?!"

"Pal, I'm gonna--"

"Are you here," Miles interrupted loudly, "on behalf of Miss von Karma?"

It was the wrong thing to say, evidently, as Gumshoe set his jaw again. "I told you to address Prosecutor von Karma by the proper title! Don't let me catch you saying that around my boss, or you're in for it!"

What an odd thing to insist on, Miles thought, but he nodded along nonetheless. "Well? Are you?"

"Am I what...?" Gumshoe took a moment, most likely replaying the conversation in his head. "Oh! Yeah! Prosecutor von Karma's on this case, and this time, we've definitely got it in the bag!"

Miles remembered the strange, uneasy feeling he'd gotten when staring down that woman in court. How her eyes burned with a disgust and hatred Miles couldn't hope to decipher. How her cold composure had dissolved into furious outbursts and frantic bluffs in an effort to save face as Miles took her case apart. How angry, humiliated tears had pricked at the corners of her eyes, and she'd clung anxiously to her right side like she was preventing a wound from bleeding out.

"I'd be worried about her punching you, My," Maya had said to him, "but I think she might just break her hand trying."

How the scrawny brunette managed to be so imposing, Miles had no idea. Everything about her made his stomach twist, like something was inherently incorrect about her. He almost felt sorry for her, having to be raised by a man like Manfred von Karma, but she had been molded into his likeness - a ruthless prosecutor who sought no less than a perfect win record - which made her his enemy.

Some part of him wondered if they could have been friends in another life - a life where they'd crossed paths earlier.

But Miles had far more important things to worry about than that.

#roleswap au #turnabout transition #ace attorney #long post #collab writes #miles edgeworth #maya fey #dick gumshoe #wendy oldbag #misgendering #misgendering tw #I don't think the word existed in 2016 but the comedic potential of Maya calling Gumshoe a himbo is too good to pass up

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bts-roses · 4 years

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Spilling Coffee | 1

➼ summary: You’ve always prided yourself in being a naturally graceful and reliable person. So an internship at BigHit seemed like a walk in the park. That is, until a certain goof slide-kicks you off your feet and makes your life a whole lot harder.

Namjoon is a misunderstood klutz and y/n thinks too much.

➼ pairing: idol!namjoon x intern!reader

➼ genre: fluff, angst (if you squint), idolverse

➼ word count: 3,700

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‣

You have always been proud of your natural grace. Throughout your life, it’s granted you the title of being the responsible and reliable one. The one to do the important jobs. You were always the child the teacher would pick to fill a glass of water up for the paintbrushes during art class. You would do that with a smug grin on your face, holding a big ass jar of water with both of your tiny hands. You would hand it to the teacher, whip your pigtails as you turn around and walk back to your seat looking at your jealous classmates like hell yeah I just did that, you bitches could never.

So naturally, finding out you were about to intern in a big entertainment company, you just knew you were going to unquestionably nail it. Being responsible for mundane tasks like going on coffee runs or carrying boxes to different places? Uhh, you lived for that shit.

Obviously, these weren’t the only tasks and they were definitely not going to help you in the long run of your dream profession. But being able to put down that you received work experience from Big Hit Entertainment sure was. And there was an opportunity to get a job there after your internship! And the internship pays really well! And apparently the food in their canteen was pretty good! In conclusion, it was a win-win situation all around. And how hard could it be?

The answer to that was hard. Very fucking hard.

‣

Namjoon has always been in awe of how clumsy he actually was. Even his bandmates wonder how such an intelligent, grown man can be such a dumbass. Whenever he tried to fix something? Boom, it instantly got 10x worse. His fans even call him the God of Destruction. He would be offended by the nickname, but he can’t hate the truth. And the title is pretty badass if you think about it.

He was more of the kid in art class who was always given small jobs like making sure the aprons weren’t tangled up when it was time to put them away. Even though he wanted cooler jobs like holding those cool big ass glass jars, he understood that sometimes it’s just best to mind his own business and do his own designated jobs. You know, for world peace.

But today. Wow. It’s like the gods above are punishing him or something.

He actually woke up feeling pretty good. Today was going to be his day. Or so he thought. His clumsiness, once again, ruins it for him.

Long story short: he accidentally broke a bit of the toilet seat off. In his defence, he really needed a shit and someone left the toilet seat up again. He was definitely not going to fall into the toilet bowl this time. So Namjoon did the only thing a human could do in such a limited space of time: he slam-dunked that toilet seat down as hard as he could. Not his smartest idea. To his dismay, he spent his morning poo hovering over the toilet, with a piece of the seat held in his left hand. Let’s just say the other members were not thrilled when he walked out to the kitchen holding the piece of the smashed toilet seat from one of the most used bathrooms in the house.

After sitting through another one of Seokjin's speeches about the importance of handling things with a bit more caution, Namjoon decided it would be best to go to the company a bit earlier than the others today. Especially when the younger ones wouldn’t stop roasting the shit out of him. It was when he tripped over walking into the company building he thought to himself.

Maybe today wasn’t his day.

‣

This was the tenth day of your internship. And you don’t like to boast but you think you’re owning this shit. Sure, your boss is scary and likes giving you lots of monotonous tasks. But she’s not that bad. Besides, this is what you signed up for! And you’re having fun. Kinda.

“Intern.” You look up from your desk to see a smiling Joowon, one of your coworkers, “Lee is asking for you.”

Giving him a nod, you swiftly get up from your desk. You knock on your boss’ door and walk in when she acknowledges your presence.

“Yes, Mrs Lee?” you say, beaming brightly.

“I need you to go on a coffee run for the marketing team. We have an important meeting regarding TXT’s comeback and I do not want to see anyone slacking. If I do, I will kill someone,” she says looking up from the screen, giving you a small vacant smile. See? She’s warming up to you!

“Of course! Do you want me to buy you a knife while I’m out? Just in case?” You joke while giggling lightly.

“Was that supposed to be a joke?” She asks, with no amusement in her face.

You immediately stop laughing. Fuck. Maybe she’s just a tad bit scary. You stiffen a bit and nod ashamed.

“Yeah. I don’t need any of that here” she glances at you up and down and then looks back at her computer, “you should leave now.”

You bow and basically run out of her office. Okay. Fine. She’s fucking terrifying.

You knew working in a big establishment like BigHit was going to be intimidating but not this intimidating. It didn’t help that you had a subliminal fear of attractive people. Of course, you liked looking at them but talking to them made you so nervous. Maybe you should've taken that into account before working in a fucking entertainment company. They were everywhere. At least you were working in the marketing team, where your interactions with the idols were very limited. However, you still would have the odd occurrence with one. On your second day, TXT's Soobin asked you for Mrs Lee's whereabouts. You nearly cried... But let’s not think about that.

Thankfully, your department is quite small and you only had to go get nine iced americanos. The lady at the counter also gave you two paper bags that held eight of them which made your life easier. Since you were feeling fancy and had the room, you got yourself an iced latte. Realising you were a bit short on time, you quickly dashed back to the company.

Entering the building, you check the clock on the lobby wall: fifteen minutes until the meeting starts. Cool. That's fine. You can totally get there before it starts. Totally. Deep breath. You'll be fine. After violently stabbing the elevator button multiple times, you hastily enter and press the floor you needed. Seeing no one was going to get on with you, you push the button to close the doors. Just once. Maybe a few times for good measure. Before the doors shut, you catch a glimpse of the clock again. Thirteen minutes. More than enough time.

When you reach your floor, you check inside the bags to make sure nothing has spilt. You can't help but smile. Look at you. Two coffees in each hand? Not a spill. Holding two bags of coffee? Not a single drop. You really did that. You were that bitch. I am the elite intern. You think to yourself with a chuckle. Then you stop yourself and wince. Jesus Christ. You really needed to get a life.

Remembering your task, you carefully pull out your phone from your pocket to check the time; ten minutes. Just to be safe (and to beat your previous coffee run score of having eight minutes to spare), you speed down the hallway.

You can literally see the glass walls of the meeting room. Not even half of the team is there yet. You were that early. On the opposite side of the corridor, you see your boss, who is facing away from you, and Joowon talking to each other. He glances at you and smiles. You quicken your pace, about to return the smile.

Suddenly, you're seeing him horizontally.

What the fuck? Why the fuck? Oh my God. You're too busy soaking up the mess in front of you that you don’t feel the searing pain on your left ankle. You blink hard and freeze on the floor.

The coffee is spilt. Everywhere.

Shit. You’re gonna get killed. You're gonna get fired. Before you start crying on the ground, the floor starts moving... Wait. Floors don't move. Uuugh. And floors sure as hell don't groan.

You look sideways to realise you're on top of someone's chest. That said someone looks down at you.

Your heart drops.

You jump up to stand and you instantly feel the sting on your ankle. You look at the scene in front of you. You feel like sobbing again. You just spilt your drink all over RM. Fucking Kim Namjoon. You know, the leader of the biggest fucking boy group on the planet? That's the one. You aren’t just going to be fired. You're gonna be banished from Korea. Burned at the stake. Mauled to death.

"I'm so fucking sorry." You burst out, desperately getting back down on the floor to clean up the liquid with your clothes, "I'm so sorry, I really didn't mean to."

You warily look at him. He's just lying there in this weird, starfish-like position. Not really moving. Oh my God, you think to yourself. You fucking broke him. Did you kill him?

You stop helplessly scrubbing the floor with your jumper sleeve and shakily ask him, "are you alive?"

Abruptly, pulls himself up in a seated position. You flinch. Fuck. He's gorgeous. Great, now you’re nervous. He stares at you blankly and you wince a bit. You mentally prepare yourself to get screamed at and you feel a sting in your eyes. God, you're about to cry. You’re gonna lose your internship. You’re gonna have no future. You're so fucking terri-

All you hear is a deep chuckle.

"Shit. You've done it again Namjoon" he mutters to himself in disbelief, "Did I hurt you?"

He looks at you in concern and shuffles closer. Carefully, he puts a hand on your shoulder. Well, he’s never seen you before. He glances down at the ID card hanging from your neck. There’s a picture of you grinning cheerfully and your name: Y/n L/n. An intern? He also notices that you don’t have the same red lanyard as the other staff here; you switched yours to an Animal Crossing themed ribbon. Cute. He looks back up and his brows furrow when he sees a tear run down your cheek.

“U-uh. I-I’m fine.” you stutter, not really paying attention and avoiding eye contact. You feel yourself shaking.

“Are you sure? I just completely wiped you out with a sliding kick.” He jokes to try to ease the situation, offering a kind smile. Fuck, he has dimples, you think to yourself. You feel him brush his thumb over your cheek to wipe the stray tear.

“Oh my God. Namjoon-ah are you okay?” your boss asks, pushing past you to check on the man, “What is with this mess? What on earth did you do, intern?”

You stumble upwards, preparing for your death. You close your eyes in anticipation. Here it is. Your life was fun while it laste-

“It wasn’t her fault. And I’m fine. Just a bit of liquid.” You hear him say.

You open your eyes and face them. The idol makes eye contact with you and you quickly divert your eyes down. You feel your face heat up from the sudden attention.

“Namjoon-ah, it’s okay. You don’t need to cover up for her. She’s just an intern.” your boss says, impressed with his supposed kindness.

Excuse me? You look up at her disbelief. He was the one who caused you to fall. Before you’re about to defend yourself, you glance at him again and stop yourself. Oh, what the hell? Fine.

“I’m so sorry! I’ll clean this up straight away!” You shout and bow deeply, accepting the fault. It was just going to be easier this way, you’re just a disposable intern anyways.

Namjoon watches you bow deeply towards them. What? This was his fault.

“Wait, no this was my doin-” He started.

“I really expected better than this, intern.” Mrs Lee sighs in disappointment, not wanting to waste time, “Clean this mess up.”

You bow at both of them again as she walks past you, heading for the meeting room. Well that went better than expected. At least you’re still alive. You sigh weakly and started your hunt for something to help clean the mess up.

Before he could intervene again to clear things up, his phone rings.

“Hyung! Where are you? We need you now, the business call is just about to start.” Jimin shouts down the phone.

Namjoon curses himself. He takes a quick look at your back before running to where he was needed. So much for first impressions. Throughout the call, all he could focus on was the cute intern he wiped out and his coffee-stained hoodie sticking to his chest.

Yup. Today was definitely not his day.

‣

After two weeks of whatever that was, you’ve been trying really hard to redeem yourself. Just a few examples: you started colour coding the meeting notes to make it easier to read; you call the coffee shop ahead of time so your coffee runs take no longer than seven minutes; you bring running shoes to work so for any errands you need to run, you literally run. Oh, and most importantly, you steer the fuck out of Kim Namjoon’s way. This step has been proven difficult because you now see him everywhere. (Apparently, their group is heading into more product deals with different companies so your department is becoming a regular for them).

You tell yourself you aren’t trying to avoid the man because that would be stupid. But you know deep inside you’re just really fucking scared of him. Here are some reasons for your new founded fear:

1. He drop-kicked you down to the floor and you would be lying if you said it didn’t hurt like a bitch. You walked with a limp for a whole week. You’re pretty sure you could’ve sued him.

2. He’s the reason Mrs Lee now hates you with a burning passion. (Bit of an overstatement but since when did your mind not blow things out of proportion?)

3. He’s too tall. His mere size towers over you. It’s petrifying.

4. He’s so fucking attractive? Like? Who allowed him to look that good daily? And when he smiles, his dimples show? The thought of them breaks you out in cold sweat.

5. He smells too nice.

6. And oh yeah. Whenever you see each other, he tries to walk up and talk to you.

It scares the living daylights out of you.

‣

Namjoon has never experienced this before.

It’s like he’s the bloody plague. The guilt was eating him alive. For two weeks now he’s been trying to come up and talk to you. And for two weeks you have been running away from him like your life depended on it. He couldn’t stop thinking about it. Surely you knew it was an honest mistake and he did try to defend you against Mrs Lee. He even apologised, right? Did he apologise? Oh God, he didn’t apologise. He needs to apologise.

“Hyung!” Jungkook pushes him, “Were you even listening?”

Namjoon looks up at the youngest in confusion, “What?”

“He’s too busy thinking about his latest victim.” Jimin teases.

Jungkook laughs with him, “It’s not like she hates you or anything. If you feel so bad about it then just go talk to her and sort it out. You said she was on the marketing floor right? So just go find-”

His words get cut off by his hyung groaning and banging his head down to his table, watching the surrounding objects jump up from the force.

“You think I haven’t tried that?” He mumbles sadly into the wood, “She runs away from me.”

The two younger men look at each other.

“Hyung, you’re totally just overthinking this. She doesn’t run away from you.” Jungkook chuckles, offering a supporting hand on Namjoon’s back.

After a few hours of trying to work on some songs, Namjoon yawns loudly and stretches out his long limbs. From behind him, he hears the two yawn straight after and they all let out a small laugh.

“I think we should call it a day,” Jimin stands up, starting to pack his things, “Yoongi hyung said we were gonna have dinner tonight so we should get going.”

Moving towards the elevator, Namjoon sees you, holding a big stack of papers, from the corner. Shit. Instantly, he pulls the two members in front of him.

“Oh my God, it’s her.” He hides and whispers, even though you are out of ear reach.

Jungkook and Jimin look at the small moving figure, who is currently trying to move hair out of her face with her mouth. So that’s the girl who is clouding their leader’s mind. They watch you a few feet away from the elevator. As if they knew what the other was thinking, they exchange a mischievous look. Without warning, they forcefully drag their hyung forwards before he could process their actions.

Jesus. You whine to yourself. These papers are so fucking heavy. When you hear the ding of lift, you walk in and stretch your pinky to the ground floor button. You move to the back of the elevator, resting your back on the railing. You only have this job to do and you can finally go home. Smiling at the thought, you mindlessly look at your feet, oh and the large feet in front of you. Wait, what?

You look up in shock and meet eyes with your greatest fear. He gives you a nervous smile and you notice the two other attractive people on either side of him. Another fear of yours. (Not the biggest fear at hand but albeit still a fear). God. It’s like you were in a horror movie, where the ghosts were unfairly good looking. You feel your heart speeding. You scream inwardly when you see the idol opening his mouth.

Namjoon stutters and starts when he feels Jungkook hit his back, “Hello aga-”

He feels a gust of wind run past him.

You just sprinted out of the elevator.

As the doors close, the three turn around and watch you racing away. Gobsmacked. Before the doors fully shut, Namjoon is the only one that sees you trip, papers flying everywhere. He lets out a quiet gasp. The small room is silent.

“Well,” Jungkook quietly coughs out, “Maybe she does hate you...”

“You think she hates me?” The oldest pitifully questions and watches Jimin hit the youngest.

“No, don’t be stupid,” Jimin weakly persuades and gives an insincere smile, “She might just be nervous or something.”

Namjoon instantly frowns. She hates me.

‣

You lay face down on the floor, soaking up all the embarrassment of what just happened. Did you just fall? You? Over nothing? What in God’s name is happening to you? You look up and instantly wince. All the documents you organised, sorted and colour-coded are all messed up. There goes your early night.

Picking up the stray papers, you think to yourself: what the fuck is wrong with you? If you weren’t such a big pussy, your life would have been so much easier. You think about all of the time you would have saved if you just walked the quicker route, regardless of whether or not he was in the way. You think about all the plants you wouldn’t have hid behind to prevent his attention. You think about all the information you could’ve learned about your dream job if you didn’t reject the offers just because there was a slim chance of running into him.

At the end of the night, you have one question burning into your mind: why were you so scared of him?

‣

“You like him.” Daeun proclaims. You just told her about your most recent encounter with him.

You stare at the fellow intern in confusion, “What?”

“You have a big fat crush on him.” She repeats, taking a bite out of her lunch, “Just think about it, you said it yourself, your heart races when you see him... So you like him.”

“My heart races because I’m scared of him” You point out.

“No. You dumb bitch. Your heart races because you are nervous.”

Oh. Well, this was not what you were expecting when you asked your friend for advice. You have a crush on Namjoon?

“B-but I don’t know anything about him.” You argue, shaking your head.

“You don’t necessarily have to personally know him to crush on him,” she continues, “You find him attractive right?”

“W-well, yeah I guess so-”

“There you go. We’ve cracked it. You’re just horny for him.”

“The fuck? No, I’m not.” you push her and she laughs.

“I don’t blame you, he walks like he’s got a massive cock.”

You shriek and whack her in detest. She screams jokingly at the pain. When you two look around and notice people staring, you both can’t help but laugh hard.

At 9PM, you were laying in bed, thinking about your friend’s words and you couldn’t help but to be curious about him. Sure, you liked his music as much as the next person but you didn’t know much about Namjoon as a person. Since you just graduated from college, you didn’t have much time to spend on immersing yourself in the world of the BTS. Letting your curiosity get the better of you, you start doing research, telling yourself it’ll only take a few minutes.

After watching countless interviews and videos, you wonder how such a person could exist. He’s intelligent, loving, kind, gentle, passionate and- well you just go on for hours. You laugh a bit when you realise his only fault: he’s the biggest fucking klutz.

It hit you at 3AM when you finished watching his UNICEF speech with a big ass smile on your face.

Fuck, you totally have a crush on Namjoon.

a/n: hello! thank you for reading + i hope you’ve enjoyed. i’m also already in the process of writing the second part, if that is something you would like to see!

#bts fluff #bts angst #bts fanfic #namjoon fluff #namjoon scenarios #namjoon angst #rm fluff #rm angst #bts drabble

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welcometomy20s · 3 years

Text

February 8, 2021

Welcome to the final part of the Introduction of Nijisanji. Thanks for going through all of them, if you did. It was pain to work with so much and so little. This part would cover everyone who has debuted in the year 2020.

Nijisanji IN 1st Gen

Aadya - The name means beautiful. 21 year old, who likes to play games and sing. Does dancing as a day job, so acts as a gaming nightingale. She has a knack for games in my cursory view, but that might be just the competitiveness.

Vihaan - The name means breaking dawn, kind of. Likes gaming very much, and plays them very loudly and complaining... which to be expected from this crew.

Noor - The name means light. Likes BL, coffee and beer, BL to the point she learned chinese from watching a BL drama. Basically a middle-aged man at heart, including a very nice husky voice. Does talks and games. Sings randomly and looks up to Rion, of all people. Ange mentioned her, Ange likes to mention foreign people.

Nijisanji KR 1st Gen

Min Suha - Knows the culture through their parents and has a nice voice. Sister Claire likes him, and who doesn’t? He’s freaking cool, man!

Shin Yuya - College student in virtual Seoul. Always has a smartphone at hand, does self-searching on a constant basis. Definitely has otaku knowledge, likes singing, drawing and cute things. Doesn’t like horror games, but played a lot on stream.

Plays a lot of different games, including FPS like Apex, and this is where she gets to collaborate with Japanese senpais, which is always fun to see.

Gaon - Originally Moarin’s brother, but Moarin left, so the lore changed. Has a twintail for attention purposes. Only member of Nijisanji KR to work as a job, but quit as the end of 2020. He’s pretty cool. Not nice, but definitely not a mean person either.

Han Chiho - He’s a time-displaced psychic, and so speaks with a high register. High register is usually seen as old, people don’t use it anymore, but it’s usually perfectly understandable... it’s an interesting quirk. Other than that, pretty normal streamer.

2020 Part 1 (Jan-Apr)

Furen E Lustario - During debut, expressed a liking choking oneself... so we know who we are dealing with. Has to add using fingers, as to illustrate her math prowess. But overall a fun person to watch, and has a pretty good variety of streams.

Melissa Kinrenka - Wants to be a songwriter, but still needs help. But she is a great singer, and can write and mix songs. Usually called Meli. Has a deep side, basically.

Ibrahim - Originally an oil prince, but now runs an onsen. Acts like a child at times due to his supposed past, and he is muslim, as the lore and name implies. But overall, fits right in with the child-like male of Nijisanji... kind of.

Nagao Kei - He’s an exorcist, but really does any job. Pretty good at all kinds of fighting. Pretty old in terms of human member at the age 26. Very much like Ibrahim, but much more bishonen, which melts a woman's heart. Oh, he’s good at learning stuff. Like he tries to learn morse code, and completely memorized the KTANE manual. Just to make Fumi, one of his seniors, happy for a while. That’s some big dedication.

Genzuki Tojiro - Works as a secretary for the gods. Has that unmatching haircut. Very good at making songs and does mixing for Nijisanji events.

Kaida Haru - A demon researcher, but too lazy. Quiet and nice voice leading the viewer to see him as a mother figure, but as you guess, he doesn’t like it due to the work. Oh, said a slur on stream but got banned less than Yumeoi, which is quite sus.

Nijisanji ID Gen 3

Azura Cecillia - An alien angel. Has a sword with a really long name, but calls it Chonsuke for short. She’s pretty cute and a little bit ditzy, from what I remember. Got mistaken as a boy, which is such an odd thing, but maybe it’s the deep voice?

Nara Haramaung - A princess of a tribe. Originally released as part of 1st gen, but got delayed here, but the gen mates fit together very well. Sings spontaneously sometimes.

Layla Alstroemeria - Time-traveling history major. Definitely more airheaded of the group and most child-like of the generation. But she’s pretty fun to watch, regardless.

Nijisanji KR Gen 2

So Nagi - Traveling virtual Japan, speaking fluent Japanese with a nice clear voice. Likes Ange Katrina, which she readily repriocates. Seen as the top seed in Nijisanji KR.

Lee Siu - A female kitsune, and yes from the same illustrator as Fubuki. Likes dad jokes and an endurance player and does speak three languages. Roha likes her. Occasionally can hear the apartment announcement, which is always a fun moment.

Chae Ara - She’s an angel, and a great singer. And likes to people-watch. Has a cute voice, and good at hosting. I really liked her in the streams that I watched. There’s something about her personality that speaks to me.

2020 Part 2 (May-August)

Sorahoshi Kirame - Made her name through twitter, and traded fan art with KR members. Has the same illustrator as Kanata. Couldn’t stream due to money purposes for four days, got his PC after a month of hard work. Overall a poor and diligent girl.

Asahina Akane - 1st year high-schooler. Very energetic and follow people well. Likes a Jpop band, and likes to travel as well. Also does a lot of collabs with senpais.

Suo Sango - The youngest member of the theater club, which is the theme of the latest generation. Has a wide range, and likes Sanrio and tomato. Very motherly calm voice.

Like girly anime, you know Pretty Cure and stuff. Likes western pop music as well.

Todo Kohaku - Third-year high schooler. Said she’s a lady, but she’s definitely just a normal girl. Had a good cover of Mela, and overall a decent streamer.

Kitakoji Hisui - Middle-school transfer student. Likes a lot of different things, but Minecraft is what she is most known for... I guess it makes sense.

Nishizono Chigusa - She’s the troublesome one of the theater group. Very frequently makes sexual quips. Also I thought she was a boy when I first saw her. Definitely my favorite of the newest group, and also did a stream with Matsuri as well.

And that actually has a history. You see this is not Chigusa’s first rodeo... as it is apparent, and during her previous life Matsuri and her did a sleepover, and was quite close as well... so this is actually a really nice reunion. I didn’t know that until now.

Nijisanji KR 3rd Gen

Nun Bora - A second-year high schooler, likes drawing and playing the recorder which she has a battle with So Nagi. Quick learner, apparently. Plays APEX and Fall Guys, but is competent in pretty much any game. Definitely top tier APEX player.

Akina Ray - Japanese streamer who streams in virtual Seoul. Does a morning talk show, likes baseball, since she’s from Hiroshima, and Shadowverse. She’s actually an art student and a meat lover. But overall, the most seiso art student of Nijisanji.

Lee Roha - Idol trainee from outer space, a mixed race. A bit of a ditz, with the appropriate thumbnails. Streams in Japanese on YouTube, in Korean on Twitch. Does a lot of League of Legend on twitch, and does evening piano stream. Likes Lee Siu.

Nijisanji ID 4th Gen

Etna Crimson - Half supernatural, likes to make everyone happy. Definitely not Amber from Genshin Impact, because Amber is Kizuna Ai. Okay, bad joke. Yeah, she’s good.

Bonnivier Pranaja - Originally a fisher, but quit after being swindled. Usually appears with KR streams, actually. Maybe likes Hana? Who knows.

Siska Leontyne - Security officer for shady company. Pretty good at games involving killing... make sense considering her profession. Pretty cool and laid-back.

Nijisanji KR 4th Gen

Ryu Hari - Likes to collect nightmares, likes reading and playing the electric guitar.

Shin Kiru - A 25-year old NEET, has an odd way of speaking and strange topics. Likes Rock and horror movies. He seems pretty laid-back as well.

Yang Nari - 19-year old girl from a different world who now lives in the countryside. Pretty good at hosting with her cute voice. Likes sewing, and talks in high status. She has a thing of suffering, and that kind of comes out from lore.

Oh Jiyu - She’s a female vtuber, although she looks and sounds boyish. Third-year college student representative. Speaks Korean and Japanese, and like gacha and also singing... so maybe a boyish Suisei? I’m sure she’s more normal, though.

Nijisanji ID 5th Gen

Nagisa Arcinia - Wannabe fashion designer, speaks a bunch of languages... but that’s normal for ID... yeah, she’s cute and might be a little psychopathic. Typical.

Derem Kado - 16 year old girl going to magical school, always looking for a cat, but a special cat that makes contracts and stuff. High pitched scares and gets lost.

Reza Avanluna - He’s a world chronicler, he visits and chronicles worlds in his dreams. Has a ship going on with Hana, I think? I’m not sure. Please correct this, if untrue.

There you go! All 139 extant members as of February 8th, 2021, which is the third anniversary of Nijisanji... that was a long post... even though it was in three parts. Sorry for filling the days with this... I have been busy with collecting data and so on. But I hope you have a good inkling of the landscape that is Nijisanji.

#nijisanji #vtuber #long post

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daresplaining · 5 years

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Daredevil in “Black Widow: Breakdown”

“Breakdown” is a three-issue story arc, the second part of Devin Grayson’s Black Widow run, co-written by Greg Rucka with gorgeous painted artwork by Scott Hampton. It is an exploration of morality, superheroism, and the idea of means justifying ends, tied up in a neat little spy thriller. I assume any Black Widow fans reading this are already familiar with “Breakdown”, and I’m not here to break down (…sorry) the full story; that has already been done by people much more familiar with the Black Widow canon than I am. What I’d like to do is talk about its most unexpected side-character: Daredevil.

In the first arc of her run, Grayson introduced Yelena Belova, a new and (to her own mind) improved Black Widow. Yelena is a recent graduate of the Red Room who feels so confident in her abilities that she tries to kill Natasha and claim her title. Yelena is young, driven, and naively idealistic, resulting in a black-and-white mindset that is dangerous for espionage work. Natasha observes this in their early interactions, and decides that she needs to help Yelena by teaching her the harsh truth of what it really means to be a spy. “Breakdown” follows her attempt to do this— by kidnapping Yelena, surgically swapping their appearances, dropping Yelena into her (Natasha’s) life, and seeing how she copes. It’s a highly personal, intimate story between the two of them as they literally embody each other, and as the lines between their identities begin to blur.

So why did Grayson and Rucka feel the need to bring Daredevil into this? Heck, why does Natasha? This is a top-secret SHIELD operation, and Matt is hardly a spy. It’s also clear from the beginning that this attack on Yelena is rife with moral issues. It is, frankly, shocking, and a big theme in this story is analyzing whether Natasha’s behavior is justified– and whether morality can afford to matter in the high-stakes, ethically murky world of international espionage. Yelena may be a dangerous enemy, but she is also a human being who is kidnapped, disfigured, and psychologically tortured over the course of the story. Natasha is confident in her actions, but she is also aware of how they would look to an outside observer, and from the beginning, she expresses discomfort in revealing the details of her plan to Matt.

[ID: Natasha Romanov is talking with Nick Fury in his office at SHIELD HQ. Fury is holding a file marked “Top Secret”. Natasha is wearing a hospital gown.]

Natasha: “This is the full briefing, all of my instructions. It would be best if Daredevil did not read it. It would... upset him.”

Fury: “That’s an understatement. You’re set?”

This sets up a distinction between Natasha and Daredevil that will carry through the rest of the story, and which ties into one of the main reasons for his presence in the narrative. Natasha is perfectly willing to do this deed, but she knows Matt would find it upsetting. There is a duality present here– an inherent difference in the behavior Natasha and Daredevil consider to be acceptable. Right away, we are introduced to two different types of morality: the spy versus the superhero.

[ID: Daredevil and Nick Fury are standing in an observation room, which overlooks a team of doctors operating on Natasha and Yelena Belova.]

Matt: “You could still stop this, Fury.”

Fury: “Yeah, I suppose I could.”

Matt: “I don’t understand why she’s doing this.”

Fury: “You don’t need to. She’s a professional, Daredevil. Remember that.”

But despite her awareness of this dissonance, Natasha still brings Matt into the operation– for reasons which are not immediately clear, given her initial hesitation. As she predicted, he is disturbed and baffled by it all… though not enough to refuse to take part in her manipulation of her victim. When Yelena wakes up in Natasha’s apartment, wearing Natasha’s face, with no memory of recent events, the first person she encounters is Daredevil.

[ID: Yelena Belova is standing in a sunlit apartment. She now looks exactly like Natasha Romanov. She is naked and draped in a bedsheet. Daredevil comes through the window behind her, holding flowers. Yelena, caught off-guard, tries to fight him, but he grabs her and kisses her.]

Matt: “Good! You’re up! Whoa! Sure you want to go another round? I’ll take that as a yes.”

Yelena: “Poshol k chortu!” (“Go to hell!”)

Matt: “Now, you know what it does to me when you speak Russian.”

I live in fear of this scene being taken out-of-context, because while the circumstances doesn’t justify Matt’s behavior, they at least explain it. Here he is operating on Natasha’s orders, flinging Yelena headlong into a stranger’s life by forcing her to deal with an amorous boyfriend. I’ve mentioned the distinctions in Natasha and Matt’s morality as highlighted in this story, but it’s important to remember that they were also partners-- both professionally and romantically-- for years. Their bond is the type formed by two people who used to save each other’s lives on a daily basis. While Matt doesn’t always agree with Natasha’s methods, he still trusts her, and her insistence that using this tactic to rattle Yelena is necessary for the success of the mission has seemingly overridden his discomfort, allowing him to feel justified in committing this violation. It’s also important to know that Matt was also a key player in the story before this one-- Yelena’s introductory arc-- and in that story she was a full-on antagonist who nearly killed both Natasha and Matt. Thus, at this point he still sees her as a threat that needs to be subdued, rather than a misguided young woman deserving of sympathy. Stay tuned-- this will change.

It’s significant that Matt is in costume in this scene, which is odd for someone visiting their girlfriend after (as he implies) spending the night with her. In fact, he is in costume throughout the whole story, and is only ever referred to as Daredevil. This can be compared to the previous arc, in which he appears both in and out of costume. The significance is clear: Daredevil the superhero has a role in this narrative, Matt Murdock the civilian does not.

(Sidenote: I like how Hampton draws the horns. They look more like ears-- like Batman’s cowl-- but they’re very endearing.)

[ID: Natasha (who now looks like Yelena, with shoulder-length blonde hair) and Fury stare at a computer screen, watching via hidden cameras as Yelena recovers her composure and becomes friendlier toward Daredevil.]

Natasha: “She’s trying to make it work. It must be a mission, she thinks-- bring up twenty, please-- deep cover, perhaps. A covert infil, maybe an executive action. She doesn’t know. And she's feeling it now... she’s terrified.”

This is the most important Daredevil moment in the whole story. It defines his role in the narrative and alters his mindset, and Natasha’s commentary emphasizes why: Yelena is terrified.

Matt’s perspective is never emphasized or explained. This is definitively a Black Widow story, with Daredevil just along for the ride, so this is a detail that readers unfamiliar with DD might not notice. But to me, as a Daredevil fan, it grabbed me immediately. Yelena is terrified, and Matt Murdock experiences the terror of others in ways most people couldn’t even imagine. He would be viscerally aware of every change in her physiology, her voice, her behavior that indicated fear. That reaction would be overwhelming to him, impossible to ignore-- as would the awareness that he was a direct cause of that terror. Witnessing this reaction from Yelena would shift his perception of her from enemy to victim, and for someone who cares about people the way Matt does (and all superheroes do), that would have a profound effect on his willingness to continue taking part in her torture.

This shift becomes clear in the very next scene in which he appears-- after Natasha has confronted Yelena, and Yelena has shot her and gone on the run.

[ID: Natasha (who still looks like Yelena), Daredevil, and Fury are riding in an ambulance. Natasha is removing a bullet-proof vest, unharmed after having been shot by Yelena.]

Matt: “Bravo. You’ve turned her into a murderer. Well done. [...] Why are you doing this to her?”

Natasha: “She thinks she’s Natasha Romanov. She thinks she killed Yelena Belova. But she is Yelena Belova. She’s coming undone.”

Matt: “But why, dammit?”

Natasha: “Because I want it that way. If you’re worried for her, go and keep watch. But don’t interfere.”

Matt: “I won’t let her die.”

Natasha: “I know.”

(I love Matt’s distress about Yelena being “turned into a murderer” when he knows for a fact that she kills people on a regular basis...)

Matt is now resisting Natasha’s carefully-laid plans and speaking out on Yelena’s behalf. After this scene he separates from Natasha and spends the rest of the issue following Yelena as she flees through Manhattan. Having initially agreed to take part in attacking her, he has now switched over to protecting her. His sympathy for her reflects the reader’s established sympathy, and positions Yelena and Matt as symbolic allies in opposition to Natasha and Fury.

[ID: Daredevil hands money to a homeless man whose raincoat Yelena has stolen.]

Matt: “Buy yourself a new one, friend.”

In a story as short as this, each scene has significance. This tiny moment of everyday selflessness from Daredevil is a little like Superman rescuing a kitten from a tree. It is uncomplicated, archetypal heroism. Again we have that dichotomy of the spy versus the superhero, here shown in opposition to Yelena’s behavior during her fight for survival.

[ID: Fury shouts threats at Yelena as she runs into the night. Daredevil jumps down into view and stands next to Fury. Both are seen only as silhouettes.]

Matt: “This is sadism, Fury.”

Fury: “No. It’s called espionage.”

Nick Fury is the story’s other secondary, non-villainous character. Like Daredevil, his perspective takes a backseat to that of the two Black Widows, and he doesn’t actually do much. His role is to bolster Natasha’s plotline, literally backing her up with his support and SHIELD’s resources, and also validating her behavior and perspective. He provides commentary on the situation for the reader’s benefit, and helps to point out the themes of the story. If Daredevil is the outside observer who is shocked by the proceedings, Fury is the outside observer who understands the messy context of the situation.

[ID: Natasha is walking down a sunny street in a town in upstate New York. Daredevil is on a rooftop above a dumpster in the Bronx, inside which Yelena is asleep. They are talking to each other via unseen communication devices.]

Matt: “Location?”

Natasha: “I’m upstate, Nyack. You?”

Matt: “Hunt’s Point, listening to your-- sorry, Yelena’s-- heartbeat.”

Natasha: “Interesting listening?”

Matt: “It’s racing. She’s having bad dreams. And how’s your heart rate?”

Here, for the first (and only) time, we are given concrete insight into Matt’s sensory experience of the switch itself. Logic would suggest that the surgery SHIELD performed on Natasha and Yelena was superficial, only changing their appearances. This would put Matt in the symbolically significant position of being the only person who is unaffected by it, who still recognizes Natasha and Yelena as themselves. But here, he seems to suggest that Yelena’s heartbeat now sounds like Natasha’s. That is such an extreme (and medically improbable?) alteration that I’m tempted to just call it a sensory snafu and move on-- particularly since the alternative nicely aligns with the story’s themes. However, if it is true, Matt equating Yelena and Natasha on such an intimate level would further explain why he becomes so protective of Yelena over the course of the story.

[ID: Daredevil perches on the edge of a dumpster. Yelena is sleeping inside. She wakes up and attacks him, but he calms her down. Drained, she closes her eyes and rests her head on his shoulder. He puts his hand on her back.]

Natasha (off-panel, to Matt): “...Now it’s your turn.”

Matt (to Yelena): “Good morning.”

Yelena: “Poshol na hui!” (“F*** you!”)

Matt: “It’s all right. Come with me--”

Yelena: “Nyet! [...] I’m not her, not Romanoff--”

Matt: “I know, it’s okay, I know who you are--”

Yelena: “--Not Natasha, never loved you--”

Matt: “--I know!”

Yelena: “--Never kissed... you... You... know? [...] Then who... who am I?”

Matt: “Yelena Belova.”

Yelena: “Yelena... I’m... Yelena Belova... the Black Widow...”

Having shadowed her from a distance, Matt finally makes contact the next morning, when Yelena-- exhausted and traumatized from having been chased all night-- curls up in a dumpster to rest. Despite Natasha’s orders to not interfere, he reaches out to Yelena to comfort her. It’s heartbreaking that her violent reaction seems to not be out of fear that he’s going to bring her to SHIELD, but out of fear that he thinks she’s Natasha and is going to force himself on her again. Once he manages to calm her down, he offers what she needs most, and has needed throughout the story: emotional support and affirmation of her identity. Having been given these kindnesses, Yelena can finally relax and regain her footing. This interference destroys the illusion that Natasha so carefully created and grants Yelena power. Matt even brings her upstate, where she confronts both her crooked handlers and, finally, Natasha herself.

And this brings us back to the question of why Daredevil is in this story. What purpose does he serve? Why would Natasha involve him in this scheme at all? She knows Matt better than almost anyone, after all, so it seems like she would have predicted that he’d react this way and mess up her plans.

The only likely explanation is that she did, in fact, predict this-- that Matt’s seemingly insubordinate behavior was part of her plan all along. Natasha didn’t need Matt to mess with Yelena; she was already doing that perfectly well on her own. It makes far more sense to assume that she ordered him into that initial contact in her apartment to spark the moment of sympathy discussed earlier. Beyond her command in the ambulance to not interfere, Natasha seems largely unconcerned about Matt threatening to go rogue, and her "Now it’s your turn” right before Matt visits Yelena in the dumpster suggests that that second interaction may have even happened due to her direct (off-panel) prompting.

"Breakdown” is not about Natasha trying to destroy Yelena; though her methods are cruel, she is trying to save her. She says as much when Yelena confronts her at the end of the story. Natasha wants to show Yelena the harsh reality of life as a spy so that Yelena has a hope of surviving it, but she doesn’t want her to suffer permanent damage-- either physical or psychological. She also can’t directly protect Yelena herself, both because that would negate the whole operation and because she is busy carrying out the other part of the mission-- acting as Yelena to sabotage a weapons grab orchestrated by foreign agents (She wouldn’t be the Black Widow if she wasn’t playing multiple angles at once). Thus, she sends someone else to watch over Yelena during her ordeal-- someone who would be unable to resist helping a suffering victim, but who would have to think it was his own idea. A Hero(TM) with a hero’s morality, which-- as we’ve already established-- is, by necessity, different than a spy’s. This distinction is part of Natasha’s lesson for Yelena.

[ID: Two horizontal panels. The first shows the top of Natasha (who still resembles Yelena)’s face. The bottom panel lines this up with the bottom of Yelena (Natasha)’s face. Yelena is holding a handgun, and Natasha is in the background, facing her.]

Natasha: “We are not like Daredevil or the others, Yelena. We are not heroes. We are tools. And tools get used.”

If protecting Yelena is the in-universe reason for Daredevil’s presence, his role as a superhero is the thematic reason. In a story that is exploring the differences in morality between a superhero-- how Yelena initially imagines herself-- and a spy, you need to have a genuine superhero around to provide an example of this distinction. Matt’s behavior in this story is straightforward and protective: he encounters people in need, and he helps them. Of course, we know he does this as Matt Murdock too, but Daredevil-- that technicolor, spandex-ed concept of a superhero and all that that image embodies-- is the identity that matters to this story’s themes. We see Natasha’s relentless pragmatism and Daredevil’s self-sacrificing compassion, and we see Yelena caught in the middle, trying to figure out who she wants to be.

[ID: Daredevil and Nick Fury are standing in an observation room, which overlooks Natasha and Yelena’s appearances being surgically switched back.]

Fury: “Thing of it is, Daredevil, Blondie down there sees things like you do... she thinks she’s a super hero... but Natasha, she’s the Black Widow. She’s the real deal. She knows better. She knows espionage is nasty business.”

If that message wasn’t clear enough, Fury spells it out to the reader (and Matt) in one of the final scenes, after the switch has been undone and Yelena has been prepped to return to her own life. It’s a neat breakdown (...sorry) of Natasha’s character through the lens of both Yelena and Daredevil, and I really love Matt’s presence in this story, even if the reasons for it require some digging.

#Black Widow: Breakdown #Daredevil #Matt Murdock #Black Widow #Natasha Romanov #Yelena Belova #Nick Fury #Commentary

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anthropwashere · 6 years

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Revive: maybe one day I’ll be home again

AO3 || FFN

(So glad I got something posted during Phanniemay! Here’s 3.6k of Danny having a bad time, which is like slipping on a nice pair of well-worn slippers at this point. Fic title comes from Skip the Use’s “Nameless World.”)

It’s a robbery. Just a plain old robbery at the 7-11 on the corner of Jacob and Marley, no ghosts involved at all. Just some guy with shaky hands and a gun. It’s like the opening out of one those crime shows there’s fifteen ripoffs of on TV; idiot teen steps in front of loaded gun in idiot attempt at playing hero. The pounding in his ears could almost be mistaken for the opening theme music.

“Oh, shit,” the guy says.

Danny’s mouth stutters, but he can’t push any words out. He can’t seem to breathe around the dull heat punched through his chest. His sneaker’s wet. The glass Coke bottle he’d been holding must have broken.

“What did you…?” The cashier shakes his head, eyes so wide Danny can see white all around his dark irises. “You shot him.”

“I didn’t mean to,” the guy blurts out. Like saying that will magically make it all better.

“You shot him.”

He can’t breathe. He’d just stopped in here for a soda and a couple protein bars on his way home from patrol. The guy had burst in waving the gun when Danny had been mentally calculating if he had enough for a bag of gummy worms too, stammering out hoarse demands without even looking to see if anyone else was in the store. It’s after midnight on a Tuesday though; who would be?

“Shit,” the guy says again. He looks terrified. He looks like somebody who’d be desperate enough to rob a corner store; gaunt and unshaven, stains and holes in clothes a little too big for him. He doesn’t look like a murderer.

Danny swallows. He finds the strength to lift his arm, to touch fingertips to the wet hole in his chest. They come away red. Way too red. He’d just touched it for a second, but his fingers are slick to the crease of his palm. He sways. One of the men shouts as his knees hit the floor, protein bars scattering from his other hand. Cold soda soaks his jeans; warm blood soaks his shirt.

He’s been hurt before. He’s been hurt bad before. But never when he was human. Never by another human, never with a weapon that wasn’t at least a little bit jury-rigged with ghost-fighting tech. This. He doesn’t. He doesn’t know what to do.

The guy’s hands had been shaking, but Danny had walked right up to him, overconfident and stupid. He’s been fighting ghosts long enough that he forgot humans can be just as dangerous. Shaky hands. Fear? Drugs? Doesn’t matter. The gun couldn’t have been more than a few inches away when it had gone off.

He can’t breathe.

“You shot a kid,” the cashier’s yelling. “Are you crazy? I was gonna give you the money!”

“He—he got in the way! He was trying to stop me!”

“So you killed him? Shit, man, put the gun down, okay? You’ve done enough.”

They keep yelling at each other, both high and frightened. The gun’s still in the guy’s hand, not like he means to shoot the cashier but. Still. It could still be loaded. The guy’s freaked out. What if this plays out like bad TV? No witnesses, trash the security tapes. The gun’s probably stolen already. The cops’d just have two bodies on their hands. Danny’s school ID is in his wallet. He wonders what the cashier’s name is, who this guy with the gun is too.

He slumps against a rack of candy bars, feels it bow under his weight. “Nnn,” he slurs. He can’t breathe. The pounding in his ears is hiccuping, hard and off-kilter, like he’s about to pass out. That’s. That’s not good. His shirt’s soaked. He’s shaking. All bad signs.

“Put the fucking phone down,” the guy with the gun yells, brandishing it at the cashier. Danny can’t see what the cashier’s doing from where he’s spilling across the floor. This is bad. If he doesn’t. He’s gotta do something. The guy’s gonna kill—

“St—” He chokes. Blood in his throat, filling his mouth. He drops his chin and lets it leak out, too weak to spit. “Stop.”

Incredibly, the guy stops. Stares down at him like he’d forgotten Danny was even there. Danny’s chest hitches pointlessly. Is it his imagination or can he feel the bullet, an alien lump of metal caught at a weird angle between his muscles, his organs? Don’t. Don’t think about it. Can’t breathe. Who cares. He doesn’t bother breathing half the time he’s Phantom anyway. What’s it matter now that he’s human?

“Luh. Leave ‘im ‘lone.” Ugh. Not his most eloquent. So sue him. “Drop it.”

“Kid,” the cashier says from somewhere out of sight. “Kid, hey, don’t talk. Just stay still. I’m gonna call an ambulance—”

“Like hell you are,” the guy yelps, not looking away from Danny.

“He’s gonna die if I don’t. I don’t care about the money, man, just let me help this kid before—”

“Stop.”

They stop.

Danny stops too. He forces himself slack, makes himself limp. Don’t struggle. Stop. Stop. He’s been hurt before. He’s been hurt bad before. This isn’t. This is bad, but he isn’t dying. He isn’t. He won’t die here. His lungs empty. His head lolls. The pounding in his ears beats once, twice, then stammers to a standstill.

“Oh god,” both men whisper feebly.

Oh. Hey. Hey. Now that his body’s not having a conniption, he feels—okay, good is maybe stretching it, but he feels better than he did a minute ago. He’s pretty sure he can stand up. It takes him a couple tries; he’s still feeling cold and weak, there’s not much leverage off the rickety shelves, and he’s a sticky mess of blood and soda. He manages it okay though, one elbow resting heavy on the counter, a slippery grin on his face, his knees shaking but keeping his weight.

Both men are screaming at this point, and the guys pointed the gun at him again. He huffs. It feels weird. He decides not to think about why it might feel weird. “Seriously?” It comes out phlegmy, or maybe it’s better to say bloody. Ugh. He swallows, grimacing. “I, nngh. I think you did enough already. Don’t you?”

“Wh-what the hell are you?!”

That’s a dumb question. This is Amity Park. He doesn’t bother dignifying that with a response. Instead he narrows his eyes, bares his teeth in a feral grin as neon green stains the flickering white lights overhead. “I think you should go,” he rasps. “Before I change my mind. Leave the gun.”

The guy drops the gun and bolts. The automated chime on the door sounds so absurd after everything that’s happened Danny wants to curl up and giggle. Maybe later. He swallows—guh—and looks over at the cashier. The poor man’s pressed up against the wall of cigarettes, gray-faced with eyes wide as saucers, his mouth a perfect O.

Nothing he says is going to make the man any less afraid. He doesn’t have a clue what he’d say anyway. He doesn’t have a clue what’s happened. He looks down at the spill of blood—his blood—across the tile, the candy bars, the counter. The broken glass, the spilled soda. What a mess.

Wait. Blood. Bad crime shows always do DNA tests, right? He doesn’t know anything about how that stuff works, but he does know he’s spilled… well. More than enough to stop his heart. A lot.

He looks back at the cashier, who hasn’t moved. The cashier swallows, stammers out, “Wh-what?”

He doesn’t say anything before he sets fire to the counter. More specifically he sets the blood he’s left smeared all over on fire, but the sudden green flare sure looks intimidating. The cashier whimpers. Danny, one hand clinging tightly to the counter, methodically melts down the entire rack of candy to a noxiously sweet-smelling slag, then burns the tiled floor black and bubbling. As an afterthought he runs a hand across himself, drying the blood on him in a wave of sour heat so he doesn’t drip anymore.

He bends down—whoa, easy there gravity—and picks up the gun. It’s heavier than it looks. He keeps the barrel pointed at the ground, finger off the trigger ‘til he taps the safety on. That’s about all he knows how to do with guns that aren’t meant for ghosts. It’s enough for now.

He should probably care about the security footage too. He takes an experimental breath; he’s almost positive he can feel the bullet shift. Yeah. Screw the footage. He’s got bigger problems.

“Sorry about the mess,” he says, and, since his cover story begins and ends with horrible 7-11 apparition, he vanishes. He stands there a minute longer to make sure the fire goes out; he’s not trying to burn the place down, he’s just trying to destroy any evidence he was there. The cashier watches the fire too, gaping like a fish. When it gutters out he sinks to the floor and buries his head in his knees, breathing wetly.

Danny phases through the door. Some terrible part of him wants to turn visible long enough to set off the automated chime to scare the cashier one last time. He doesn’t. He keeps walking, unseen, down the street for the nearest alley three buildings down. He can duck in there, have a minor panic attack because seriously, what, then he can call—

Call who?

Tucker can’t handle anything worse than a bad scrape without going gray and shaky. He’s got the steadiest hands out of all of them, sure—that A in Sewing isn’t a fluke—but this isn’t something he can bribe Tucker to patch up with puppy eyes and movie tickets. This isn’t something that can just be patched up, period.

Sam’s got the strongest stomach of the three of them and she’s a better liar than Tucker, but this is way beyond anything they’ve had to deal with before. They’ve smuggled a lot of medical supplies out of his parents’ basement, but they aren’t equipped to handle gunshot wounds. The bullet’s still in there. He can’t ask her to go digging around in his chest for it. Did it shatter? He could just phase it out. Maybe it’s better to leave it in for now. Less evidence to leave lying around—

His chest throbs. A low cry is squeezed out of him, more surprise than pain. He staggers, trips over his feet, almost faceplants on the sidewalk. His bloody hand jumps to his chest, fingertips pressed to the hole over his heart. He wavers in the middle of the sidewalk, in the relative darkness between two pools of yellow street light. What was that?

Another throb, as sharp as a knife, as hard as a kick to the ribs. He feels it under his fingers, feels something pulse under his skin. He doesn’t breathe. He doesn’t need to breathe right now. His jaw is clenched tight enough to make his teeth ache; his lungs feel like wet plastic bags. Throb. He curls in on himself, forcing one foot in front of the other. Throb. Stay invisible. There are cars passing by, people lingering at a street sign, looking around for whatever made that funny noise. Throb. Almost at the alley now. Almost there. Almost there.

He turns in and it’s mercifully empty. He staggers to the end of it, where dented trash cans and bulging black bags make a decent hiding spot. There’s a faint smell of old beer, old piss, something greasy gone to rot, all of it settling heavy on his tongue. He’s distantly glad he doesn’t have to breathe right now, more focused on the pulse beneath his crabbed fingers.

He turns visible again as he sags against the brick wall, grunts as another throb beats through him. There’s another one right on the heels of that one, and another after that. Something cool and wet dribbles out of the wound and he yelps, pulling his hand away.

Neon green paints his palm, filling the alleyway with dim luminescence. He’s gobsmacked, straight up speechless, even through the next hard throb of what can only be his heart trying to kickstart itself again. His heart, trying to pump ectoplasm, somehow funneled through that cold little spark in his chest that never leaves, that connection between his two halves, the reason he was able to walk away from being shot at all.

Okay. Okay. This. Uh. This is new. This is good? It hurts, but that makes sense. Maybe phasing the bullet out now is a good idea after all. He passes his hand through his chest, hears metal ping on the asphalt by his knee. Another pass to be safe. It’s probably enough. He’s more worried about the hole he can’t do anything about and the ectoplasm splurting sluggishly out of it with every beat of his inexplicably beating heart.

His vision blurs, dips, hazes over with unearthly shades of green. He swallows, blinking rapidly until he can see clearly again. Okay. Bad. This is bad. This is arguably worse, maybe. He doesn’t know. But he can’t stay here. He’s gotta get—where? Who’s closest?

...Valerie is, actually, but he doesn’t think this would go over well. He hisses laughter between his teeth. Home, then. Home, and Jazz. Jazz is gonna lose her mind when she sees him, and honestly? He’s not gonna blame her one bit.

Another particularly sharp throb makes him cough, hoarse and wet, and he spits out a glowing gob of he-doesn’t-wanna-know. His chest goes tight. Spots dance in his eyes the longer he sits there, rubbing at the slick mess all down his front. He spits again, wheezes on pure human instinct, and feels better.

Oh. Breathing. That’s a thing his lungs would like him to do again, apparently. He takes shallow, careful breaths. Guh. It smells nasty here. But he’s breathing, and it’s sore sure, but he’s breathing, and his heart’s beating, and while he’s not so sure he’d be able to stand at the moment at least he’s feeling pretty clear headed. All in all, he’s arguably doing better than he was ten minutes ago.

His hand’s wet again, cold and syrupy, like he stuck it in a can of paint. He wipes it on his jeans, leaving a huge neon smear. He peels his shirt off his skin, shivers when it sticks reluctantly, slips his hand under to palm the wound directly. Ectoplasm, at least, has a higher viscosity than blood.

He shivers again. Shock, maybe? He snorts, wincing when his chest protests sharply. Of course it’s shock, idiot. Each sluggish throb of his heart still feels like a kick to the sternum, green hazing his periphery. He breathes, putting as much pressure on the wound as he can. He breathes. He’s got to do more than this, but he doesn’t know what. Stop the bleeding—how? It’s his heart. If he plugs his chest, then he’ll have to deal with internal bleeding. Right?

...He’s definitely got to sign up for Anatomy next year. If he makes it that long. At this rate, he’s not sure if he’s gonna make it to school tomorrow—no, shhh, shut up, he’s gonna be fine. This is fine. He’s alive, sort of, right? He’s fine. He’s gonna be just fine. Somehow.

He knocks his head against the brick, looking skyward. From here he can make out a few twinkling stars, the dark gray smear of a cloud, the blinking red light of an airplane passing by. There’s always so much going on above the city. It’s not so out of reach as it used to be for him, but it’s all so still so impossibly far. Funny, that he finds some kind of comfort in that. Here he is, bleeding out for the second time in one night in an alleyway, and if he did die right here the universe would wheel on without him. It wouldn’t even notice.

He likes that. He likes that just fine. Sam’d call him morbid, and she’d be proud (and maybe a little worried), but hey. A guy’s gotta cope somehow, right?

...Huh. His heartbeat doesn’t hurt as bad now. Is that good? That’s probably not good. He takes a deeper breath, expecting splintered pain… and is surprised when there’s only soreness. He eases up the pressure on the wound, expects a fresh spill of cool ectoplasm, and yeah, there’s a little, but not nearly as much as before. What the heck?

The gun’s still in his left hand, nearly forgotten. He’s not willing to put it down, still uneasy about the bullet he’s left on the asphalt by his knee, glinting in the green light of his ectoplasm. He can’t forget that, just in case. This neighborhood’s poor, not dangerous. A trashed corner store and an alley coated in ghost gore not a hundred yards away is going to raise questions, even in Amity Park. His parents are going to be all over this place tomorrow with a fine tooth comb. His dad might miss the bullet, but his mom? No way.

Right. Gunshot wound. Not bleeding as much as it was just a minute ago. That should be concerning. That should be really concerning. But, funny thing, he doesn’t feel worse. He feels… better?

He prods at it experimentally, and his middle finger doesn’t slip through like it did before. There’s—muscle? Something that feels like the slippery firmness of exposed muscle, anyway.

“No way,” he whispers, wide-eyed. There’s healing quick and then there’s straight up video game logic. This shouldn’t be possible. But even as he’s thinking that he feels something shift under his fingertip, feels something grow. He twitches his hand away. When he dares to touch again, there’s skin. Raw, tender, like the skin under a torn off scab. He swallows, reeling, belatedly remembers to keep breathing. “Oh. Oh, wow. Okay. Okay. Right.”

So. Not going to die. He wasn’t planning on dying here, no way, but. Still. Nice to have that confirmed. Uh. He’s maybe just going to sit here a bit longer. Give his body—his ghost half?—time to do… whatever it’s doing. No sense jumping up to head home just to bust his heart open again.

He grins weakly. “Oh man, this is nuts.”

But hey, if it works, right?

Mmm. Home. Right. He pulls his hand out from under his shirt, wrinkles his nose at the mess of blood and ectoplasm smeared up to his wrist. Gross. His left hand, the one holding the gun, is still clean. He eases himself cross-legged, places the gun on one knee, fishes out his phone and dials Jazz’s cell. She doesn’t pick up the first time so he calls again. She picks up the fourth ring.

“...’lo?”

“Hey, it’s an emergency.”

“Danny...? It’s the middle of the night. Where are you?”

“Yeah. Patrol ran long, then I, uh. Had some trouble. I’m gonna need your help when I get home.”

“Mm. What happened? Are Sam and Tucker—”

“They’re fine, probably home by now. I—” He swallows through a low throb of pain, tries not to think about what might be happening inside himself. “—I got hurt.”

“Hurt? What happened? How serious?”

“...Uh. Bad.”

“...Danny?”

He clears his throat, shakes off the cobwebs. “I’m gonna be fine. I just need to get cleaned up. Where are Mom and Dad?”

“Um, I don’t know.”

“Well find out.”

“Okay, okay. Just a sec.” Shuffling sounds. “Do you need me to come get you?”

“No. Just. I could use your help hiding some stuff once I get there.”

“Stuff?”

“My clothes are, um. Trashed. There’s a gun too.”

“A what?!”

“Yeah.”

“Where did you get a—a gun from?”

“Tell you later.” Ooh, he’s tired all of a sudden. He feels wrung out, sore, and starving. “Nnngh. Any sign of ‘em?”

Her voice drops to a whisper. “Looks like they’re asleep.”

“Mm. Perfect. Meet me in the lab with some clean clothes for me, okay? I’ll be home soon as I can.”

“Danny, talk to me. Tell me what happened. How badly hurt are you?”

“Told you, Jazz. M’fine. Just need to get cleaned up.”

She hums like she’s not convinced. “You sure you don’t want me to meet you?”

“I can fly faster than a car. M’not far, okay? Just. Fifteen minutes, tops.”

“That’s a long time if you’re flying.”

“I’m taking a breather right now, nosy.”

“Danny—”

“Jazz.” He sighs, almost rubs his eyes but remembers how gross his free hand is. “I’m… I’m okay. I just need a few minutes. Picked up a new ghost power, I think. I’ll explain at home.”

“...If you’re sure.”

“I’m sure.”

“Okay. See you soon.”

“M’kay.”

“I mean it. If you’re not here in fifteen minutes I’m calling you back. You don’t pick up, I’m calling Sam and Tucker.”

He chuckles softly, too tired to laugh. It hurts, but not half as much as it did a few minutes ago. “Okay, okay. Fifteen minutes, tops.”

He hangs up after they exchange quiet goodbyes and he sets his phone on his right knee, opposite the gun. He takes a deep breath, wincing a little. Not too bad. Two more minutes. He’s going to sit here two more minutes, then he’ll get up and head home.

He rests his head against the brick again, watches stars twinkle impossibly far away. A thought comes to mind unbidden that has him biting his lip to keep from laughing outright. It’s so dumb, but it’s the middle of the night and he may or may not have just discovered he’s a little bit functionally unkillable. So sue him, he’ll laugh a little.

He can never go back to that 7-11 again now that he’s gone and haunted it.

#Danny Phantom #Phanniemay #Phanniemay18 #my writing #heyyyy what's up it's been over a year since i wrote any phic #sorry for mobile users because read-mores sure love breaking huh

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shirtlesssammy · 6 years

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9x06: Heaven Can’t Wait

Guys, we’ve made it. This is hands down Boris’s favorite episode. I watch it as comfort food and I love every second of it. It’s also really gay, guys. I can never give this episode justice in this recap, but I love it so, so much.

Then:

How can anyone turn this face out of their home?

Now:

In Rexford, ID, in a secluded home, a distressed man is on the phone with a suicide hotline. The woman on the line is pleading with the man to listen to her and save his own life. He cuts the line, pulls his gun, and sees an old photo of what we can only assume is his mother and himself as a small child, and he stops, dropping the gun. He hears a noise. Another man appears and obliterates the man into a fine mist of pink goo.

Hello, Steve.

Cas is a Gas ‘n Sip attendant named Steve now. He’s wearing an adorable purple striped shirt and monitoring the locals on how to be human. He almost succeeds. #givesteveahighfive2k13 The newspaper man might not see how special and cool Steve is, but Nora, Steve’s boss, does. She’s late but knows that Steve is an overachieving gas station attendant. She wonders out loud, “Where have you been all my life?” And so begins the double story told this episode. Is he really a super attractive, responsible man this single mom has been waiting for or is he a super attractive, responsible employee this gas station manager has been looking for her whole life? “You’re not like the other sales associates. There’s something different about you.” He’s either gay or a former angel, amirite? Cas insists that he’s a completely regular human.

Cas then looks at the day’s newspaper: another unexplained disappearance.

Another reason I love this episode is because everyone is in it! At the bunker, Kevin lets Sam and Dean know that he just translated the angel tablet into doodles Elamite. The language is dead though. They need someone to translate it. Sam jumps right to research! SWOON. Dean is literally saved by the bell when his phone rings. It’s Cas.

He’s got a case, but he’s busy dealing with “The Big O Slush”. I SEE YOU SET DESIGN. Dean asks Cas how they want to do this, and Cas spills his slurpee everywhere.

Then he hangs up on Dean.

Dean takes off with barely a goodbye to Kevin and Sam. He doesn’t like research anyway.

Back in Rexford, Cas is busy trying to fix his halo. BRB, weeping.

Nora confronts him with a toothbrush and sleeping bag in the back of the store. Yeah, Steve pretends that he’s not living at the Gas ‘n Sip and tells Nora he’s been staying to work on inventory. MY HEART. “I wanted to be thorough with inventory, so I worked late last week, and taking a nap here was easier than going back home to my bed. Which I-I have, of course – a bed...and a home.” MY HEART.

File in Pain Library:

And now a story told two ways.

First time viewer Boris:

Nora asks Steve out on a date.

Subsequent viewer Boris:

I’m a monster to think she was asking her very responsible (but attractive!) subordinate employee out on a date. She’s asking this nice, responsible, gay man she trusts implicitly to babysit her child so she can go on a date!

Nora, dense humans and former angels do not understand subtle human conversation. (God, I’ve never identified more with Cas than when watching this scene.) Spell. It. Out. For. Him. Poor Cas doesn’t get it, and just wants to be human SO bad. He takes it as an invite for a date and accepts. Yay! Honest to God, before this moment, I very much doubt Cas has even thought about Nora as someone to have romantic feelings for.

Dean, meanwhile, shows up at the cold open crime scene. The sheriff shows him around the pink goo, all the while mentioning the other victims and how sad they all were.

He then checks in with Sam and Kevin, ALL THE WHILE STARING AT CAS WORKING AT THE GAS ‘N SIP. Like, holy hell, dude. I know you have a lot of angst for kicking him out of your home because you have a lot of angst for allowing an angel to possess your brother, but take it down a notch (please don’t). Dean suggests they ask Crowley (currently chained up in their dungeon) to help with the translations. Dean tells Sam about the case and Sam wonders if he should be there. Dean stutters his way through a shut down.

Cue Dean’s Theme Music, all weepy and melodic.

That boy is pining something bad. (Yeah, sorry, I just can’t read this episode any other way. Dean misses Cas, and Cas misses Dean. And Cas is pissed that Dean kicked him out of the bunker, but is so happy to see Dean, but so sad about being human. And there’s angst and a case to solve and fan fic gaps and trope after trope of goodness. SIGH.)

Cut to a very upset girl talking to her friend on her cell. Her boyfriend just broke up with her in front of everyone. She’s upset enough to admit to her friend, hyperbolically, “I could just die.” The man from the cold open appears and says, “I can help with that.” And turns her into a spray of pink goo.

At the Gas ‘n Sip, Steve is hard at work.

Dean arrives, asking for “some beef jerky and a pack of menthols.” (Is this canon that Dean smokes? Ugh. I hope he’s just being a doofus here.) Dean over compensates for his dickish move of kicking Cas out of the bunker (by being more of a dick and insulting Cas’s chosen career.). Cas acts like a jilted lover. Cas tells Dean, “When I fell to earth, I didn't just lose my powers. I – I had nothing.” CRYING NOISE. Ya know, even without his powers, he had a home, and family and then he was kicked out of that as well. Now he’s making his way on his own. He’s SO proud of himself.

At the bunker, Sam asks Crowley for a translation. He refuses. Sam accuses Abaddon of being scarier than Crowley, so Crowley crumples up a piece of paper to show Sam who’s really boss. Lol.

Dean continues to push Cas to help him on the hunt.

Cas is having none of it. He’s got to stock the shelves, and clean up the mess a patron left in the bathroom (blarf, just bail Cas, it’s not worth it.) (Sidenote: Cas mentioning how he failed at being an angel, ugh. I’m so glad for his self-worth arc in season 13.)

Nora’s interruption about the bathroom cleanup is so interesting. She confirms their “date” in front of Dean, but she doesn’t even ask who he is and why he’s been hanging out with Steve this whole time. Second viewing Boris’s MIND IS BLOWN. She doesn’t need an introduction because she (thinks she) knows exactly who he is. She confirms the evening’s plans because there’s nothing to hide when just confirming her babysitter for the night.

Dean shows his jealousy over Cas’s “date”, but he gets a call that there’s been another death. Cas reluctantly agrees to come along, but not before cleaning the bathroom. Lol.

At the scene of the crime, a very professionally dressed FBI and Steve the Gas ‘n Sip attendant arrive to investigate. While Cas looks on in shock and horror, Dean interviews the girl’s friend on the other end of the phone. “'Kind of bummed'?” “Like more bummed than when she got a "C" on a quiz, and... less bummed than when her parents split up. 'Kind of ... bummed.'” Lolol. Dean then looks for Cas and can’t find him. ALERT THE POLICE. Oh, he was just leaning against the Impala.

For Science:

Cas knows exactly what happened here.

For Science:

It seems that this is the work of the Rit Zien, a special angel that killed other angels past saving in Heaven. That’s their job. Seek out the pain filled angels and kill them. Only now on Earth, they can’t distinguish between real pain and normal human emotions.

Sidenote, I just paused my video and thought you would also like the view:

Dean insists they have to stop the rogue angel. Cas doesn’t think he’ll be any help. Dean doesn’t agree but accepts Cas’s wish to not get involved. He tells him to go on the date with Nora. But first, Cas needs a ride.

*Fan Fiction Gap #1*

While Cas is off living his normal life YAAAS QUEEN LIVE YOUR BEST LIFE, Sam confronts Crowley. Crowley offers to translate the Elamite as long as he gets a phone call. Kevin tries to convince Sam that this is a no good, very bad idea but they move forward anyway. Honestly, if Kevin were in charge this would be a much more boring show – but also with at least a couple fewer apocalypses.

Back with the Dean & Cas romcom, Dean drops Cas off at his date, then notices his unfortunate attire. (Somehow it's dark now? Did they go get some food?) He convinces Cas to take off his Gas 'n' Sip best and undo a button on his collar. (Boris: Tony Manero. Lol. No words. Just links. I mean, John Badham started directing Supernatural in season 9. Pfft. And “I can’t let you do this.” Really Dean? And that once over? Really Dean?) This is all fine and I'm not reading into this AT ALL.

Dean gives Cas his fifty cent guide to wooing women and sends him off on his date. All squealing innuendo aside, this is an incredibly sweet and sad moment. Dean has a tendency to try to save people from the hunting life. Sending Cas off on his date is more than just bro-bonding. It's Dean's way of protecting human Castiel. May he live far from the wars of Heaven, in the company of someone normal. (Boris: He wants Cas to succeed and be happy in the world--it’s just sad that he doesn’t recognize that Cas is happiest around him.)

Cas, that Casanova, snips a rose and waves Dean away so he can make his move. (Boris: Does Dean really watch his Disney Princess friend prick his finger on a rose thorn?) Unfortunately, once Cas gets inside he finds out that he's been asked over to babysit while his boss heads out on a date. Cas sulkily buttons up his collar again.

Crowley meets with Sam and Kevin, and demands Kevin's blood in exchange for the information. He then proceeds to have an embarrassingly bureaucratic exchange with Hell's switchboard as he waits to be connected with Abaddon.

Meanwhile, Castiel's surprise babysitting gig is going super awesome. And by “super awesome” I mean terrible because baby Tanya starts to cry uncontrollably. Cas picks her up and snuggles her as he sings Joey Scarbury's “Believe it or not” - the theme song for the The Greatest American Hero. (Boris: Ah, at some point during his many channel surfing moments Cas stumbled upon --or Dean showed him--The Greatest American Hero, and I kind of want to curl up into a ball for Cas right now. He’s thinking about that magical suit, about how it could make him fly again and give him his super strength back.) Reader, you may be pleased to know that while Cas can do many things, he cannot sing. It does briefly assuage baby Tanya and he tries to set her down. Tanya's not having any of that shit and starts crying immediately.

Dean gets a call from the Sheriff on one of the crime scenes. It turns out the wife died, but the husband is still out running around somewhere.

Cas has a heart to heart with Tanya. “Nobody told you. Nobody explained. You're just shoved out kicking and screaming into this human without any idea why any of it feels the way it feels. Or why this confusion which feels like it's a hair's breadth from terror or pain. You know, just when you think you do understand it'll turn out that you're wrong. You didn't understand anything at all.” Cas notices that Tanya's a bit feverish.

At the police station, Dean goes over the missing man's case file and finds a picture of the annoying truck which tried to park him in outside of Cas's babysitting gig. He races off.

Cas opens the door to bring feverish Tanya to the hospital and sees the missing man. It's Ephram, an angel. Ephram tells Cas that he's come to wash the planet clean of suffering and he's at baby Tanya's house to...take care of Cas. Oh, Cas! (Boris: Cas is suffering as a human so much that the Rit Zien wants to kill him. Don’t touch me.)

In the comic relief portion of the episode, Crowley's still on hold with Hell (and Sam is getting antsy). Abaddon finally connects to Crowley, blood bubbling on the tabletop.

At the house, Cas grabs the rose from his failed wooing attempt and bloodies up his palm while Ephram monologues about how Castiel's pain allowed him to find him. “Earth can be a hard place but these humans, they can do better. They're just doing the best they can.” Ephram is entirely unimpressed by this argument. He used to admire Cas but now Cas is playing such a small game as to be essentially unnoticed on the scale of Heaven. While Ephram smugly talks about Cas, Castiel tries to draw an angel banishing sigil on the double doors. Ephram catches him and breaks his wrist.

Abaddon tells Crowley she's taking souls early, destroying Crowley's contracts. Crowley's getting pissed. He chews her out about her method of controlling Hell and she tells him that she's dismantling everything. When the phone call ends, Crowley demands the translations. “I keep my agreements,” he says, still nettled by Abaddon's destruction of his carefully crafted soul agreements. He reads it and finds that the spell Metatron did was irreversible. Angels running around Earth is the new world order.

Ephram asks Cas if he intends to live as an angel or a man? Speaking of men, Dean barrels into the house, angel blade at the ready, only to get chucked across the room.

Ephram starts to super zap Castiel when Dean slides his angel blade over to Cas, who kills Ephram with one quick strike.

Later, Cas leaves Nora’s house (with everything put to rights, body disposed of, and Tylenol administered for Tanya's fever) and Nora tells him that, the part of him “that cares so much. That's what makes [him] special.” TRUTH. (Boris: Nora’s continued appreciation of Steve warms me to no end.)

Sam's cleaning up from the phone call when he notices that a syringe is missing. He walks in to find Crowley injecting himself with human blood...

The next morning (cough fan fiction gap cough) Dean drops Cas off at the Gas 'n Sip. He apologies for telling Cas to leave, but that he's proud of what Cas has done with his life.

Cas worries, thinking he should help the angels. “You're human now. It's not your problem anymore.” (Boris: Dean’s speech at the end of this episode is kind of like the first part in a trilogy. He continues it in 11x23, and well, the final part has yet to be seen. He’s proud of Cas. He’s family. He’s like a brother. He means more to Dean that he’s able to voice. I hate you show.)

Cas heads inside to open up the store, turning to a news story that talks about the massive meteor fall – a.k.a. the angels falling. He stares outside contemplatively.

What are quotes? Baby don’t quote me, don’t quote me no more:

Oh, well, hello to you too, Cas.

You're not like the other sales associates.

We're not keeping him chained up for the one liners.

This is Cas, in case you forgot, he’s not exactly Chatty Cathy.

You’re special.

Good day, ma’am, and good luck!

Wow. So you went from fighting … heavenly battles to nuking taquitos?

You’re the best.

And you’re a hunter in training, remember?

But as what, Castiel? As an angel? or a man?

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#spn recap #spn rewatch #spn 9x06 #heaven can't wait #dean winchester #castiel #cas #sam winchester #kevin tran #crowley #abaddon #supernatural season 9

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lovemesomesurveys · 7 years

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Find the nearest book. Read the second sentence on page 13. I don’t have a book near me and I don’t feel like getting up.

Do you own anything that is made of metal and pink? Not that I can think of.

Is there laundry in your dryer right now? *shrug*

Would you eat a hissing beetle for $1000? Noooooo.

If you had to spend a year studying an animal in the wild, what animal? Let’s just pretend that I’m an outdoorsy, nature kind of person who would actually enjoy something like that, okay? Okay. In that hypothetical scenario, I would choose to study giraffes!

What is your all time favorite recipe? I don’t cook.

What’s the first thing you think of when you smell strawberries? Strawberry milkshake.

What’s the nearest thing to your right that starts with an L? Lights. I have lights strung around my headboard. Are there any bells in your house? No.

What’s your favorite informercial? I don’t have a favorite informercial.

Ever been to AsSeenOnTv.com? Nope. I’ve seen the products in stores, though.

If you could have a shopping spree in any store, what would it be? Hmm. Just give me cash so I could do other things with it.

Where’s the best place to register for a wedding? I don’t know.

What’s the weirdest thing you’ve ever found on the beach? I’ve never found anything weird on a beach. <<< Me either.

Have you ever kissed anyone within an hour of meeting them? No.

Can you watch a birthing video all the way through? I couldn’t get through the birthing video they showed in 8th grade. I’m sorry, but the act of giving birth isn’t beautiful to me. lol. I’m too squeamish.

What would be your act in a talent show? I wouldn’t be in a talent show cause I have no talent.

What channel is on channel 37 on your tv? No channel 37.

What’s the last thing you wrote? By hand it was my signature.

Do you have a community mailbox or an individual one? A community one.

How many keys are on your key ring? Three.

What was your first myspace song ever? Oh man, I have no idea. That was so long ago.

Besides mama and dada, what was your first real word? I don’t know.

Would you rather be stuck in the desert or in a blizzard? Ahhh. Both sound absolutely horrible, I don’t know? I wouldn’t survive either one.

What dessert do you hate? I don’t like pie or jello.

What candy factory would you love to work at? I wouldn’t, honestly. Not like a big candy person.

What does an envelope taste like to you? Like paper and grossness.

What’s your favorite line in your favorite movie? That’s a tough one cause first of all, I don’t know what I would choose as my favorite movie. I have many.

Have you ever gone to the bathroom outdoors? No.

Would you help a baby cougar w/ the risk of the mama attacking you? Yikes, no! I hope to never be that close to one. I am not about to be in their territory and be killed.

What international monument would you like to visit the most? Hmm.

Have you decided where you want to get married? I don’t know if I want to get married. I can’t imagine it ever happening.

What’s the strangest thing you’ve ever eaten in a sandwich? I don’t really consider it that strange, but I used to put chips in my sandwich. Otherwise, my sandwiches are pretty normal.

What’s the most exotic thing you’ve eaten? I’m so picky and not adventurous at all with trying new and exotic foods.

Is there a crime/criminal that intrigues you the most? Not particularly.

What Disney prince/character do you think is the cutest? Disney characters are cute, how could I choose?

Can you name some of the clever names of OPI nail polish? Nah.

Can you sing the entire theme song to any show? Yes, to quite a few.

Did you ever get ‘the talk’ from either one of your parents? Yeah.

Do you remember drinking from a bottle? Kind of.

What’s in the third drawer of your dresser? Pants.

What do you keep in the little pocket of your purse? My pill container.

When people ask for ID, which ID do you use? The only ID I have.

Who was the first person you knew who’s name started with a P? I don’t know?

What’s the last form you filled out online? Hmm. It’s been awhile, I’m not sure.

How many times have you had to renew/change your driver’s license? I don’t drive.

Have you ever been given a bouquet of carnations? No.

Do you have an old computer that just sits at the house? Nope.

Do you read the lyrics in the CD sleeve while listening to the song? Back when I still used CDs, yes, I loved doing that. <<< Saaame.

Name something you made out of play-doh when you were younger. I think I had some accessories to make shapes and things with. Not sure otherwise. Random stuff, probably.

What’s your next appointment for? My pain specialist appointment.

When’s the last time you put glitter on something? I have no idea. Glitter is so messy and you find it e v e r y w h e r e.

What’s the worst birthday gift you received as a child? I didn’t receive any bad gifts.

Do you go into the gas station or stay by your car when pumping gas? I don’t drive, so.

When’s the last time you sat on Santa’s lap? When I was a kid.

What’s your favorite kind of caramel apple? I don’t like ‘em.

Would you rather wrestle crocodiles or anacondas? Uh, neither....

Did you sneeze last night? I don’t think so.

Do you hold the remote while watching tv or set it down? I set it down.

Have you ever done farm chores like milk a cow or shave a sheep? Nope.

When’s the last time you used a coupon? I’m not sure.

Does your mom know what size clothes you wear now? Yes.

Is Love written anywhere in the room you’re in? Yes. There’s also two things that say, “I <3 [insert thing here]” here, so that kinda counts.

What’s the nearest sports equipment to you? None.

Have you ever glued your fingers or hands together? I used to do the thing where you put glue on your hand and let it dry so that you can peel it off.

Do you think that they should bring the guillotine back? Nope.

If you could invent anything to make life easier, what would it be? Teleportation. <– Saaaaame. I’d abuse the hell out of it, but still. <<<< Ha, same.

Would you like to run in a giant hamster ball for humans? I’ve seen those big ball things you get inside of and can do that. That would not be good for claustrophobia; though, so for me no thanks.

What were that last kind of nuts you ate? Cashews.

Do you own any shirts with political or social statements on them? No.

Do you remember what your 2nd grade teacher’s first name was? I do. Her first name was the same as mine.

Have you ever played Twister & had someone’s butt in your face? No lol.

What was the last thing you cheated on? Nothing.

When was the last time you used a walkie talkie? I have no idea.

Where do you usually go camping? I don’t go camping. Nooo thank you.

Who do you sleep with when you go camping? -

Ever been afraid to see a ghost in your rearview mirror when driving alone? Well thanks for putting that image in my head.

Have you ever dated anyone whose name started with B? No.

If yes, was it a good experience? -

Do you remember what Doug Funnie’s dog’s name was? Porkchop.

What is your favorite episode of The Brady Bunch? I don’t really have a particular favorite episode, but I do like to watch it.

Name a line from a Spice Girls song. “If you wanna be my lover, you gotta get with my friends. Make it last forever, friendship never ends.”

Have you ever jumped into a pile of leaves? No.

What does your swimsuit look like? I don’t own one.

Do you like it fast or slow? I wouldn’t know.

What’s the last holiday candy you consumed? An Easter bunny chocolate.

What’s the last thing you bought at a grocery store? Creamer, a personal size cake, and muffins.

Have you ever done a backflip on a giant trampoline? No.

Do you believe that there is only ONE person out there for everybody? I don’t think so.

Do you prefer flowers or chocolate? How ‘bout donuts or coffee?

Do you remember the first time you used a computer? Yes.

Do you remember the first computer game you ever played? Some educational game.

Does your Wii character ever look like you? It did at the time I made it.

What’s the last sour thing you put in your mouth? I don’t like sour stuff.

Do you remember anything from before you were 3? No.

Do you believe in hypnosis? No.

Do you reserve pages in the yearbook for certain people? I didn’t do that.

Ever had a fantasy about a teacher? No.

What’s the most humiliating outfit your parent made you wear? Nothing, thankfully.

Did you ever want to change religions? No.

Is it hard for you to fall asleep when you have had a lot of sugar? No.

What’s your favorite thing to eat with strawberries? Chocolate. Or with bananas in a smoothie.

How do you eat a Reese’s Peanut butter Cup? I just eat them.

What would you do for a Klondike bar? Nothing. They’re not that great.

What’s the funniest bumper sticker you’ve ever seen? *shrug*

Ever been up in the mountains? Yes.

When’s the first time you ever touched snow? I think I was like... 12?

What color is your computer desk? I don’t have one. I keep my laptop on my bed.

Are you baptized? I am not.

What did you dream of last night? I don’t recall.

Have you ever eaten an exotic animal? No.

What do you think is the funniest movie of all time? That’s a tough one. I suck at choosing favorites or the “iest” of something.

Name a line from that movie? --

Would you be surprised if you found out your mom had tattoos? She does have one.

Would you wear a leather dog collar for free drinks? I don’t drink, so nah.

When was the last time you danced the Macarena? It’s been a long time.

Can you sing your school’s song? I’m no longer in school.

What was your all time favorite subject in elementary school? English.

What’s the last song you sang out loud in the car? I don’t remember.

Who is the last person you talked to whose name started with a G? One of my nurses, Gloria.

Have you ever bedazzled anything? No.

Have you ever bought anything off of HSN or QVC? Nope. Where do you keep your cash? In the bank.

Do you fold laundry while watching tv? I don’t fold laundry. I’m so bad. My clothes just get piled up on my bed.

When’s the last time you used a protractor? Not since high school.

When’s the last time you used a Victoria’s Secret product? It’s been years.

Can you name the kids from the Cosby Show? Denise, Theo, Rudy, Olivia. That’s all I got. Is there more?

What’s your favorite show on Nick At Nite? George Lopez.

Have you ever made a rubber band ball? No.

What zodiac sign do you find to be the most interesting? --

Would you ever see a psychic? No.

When’s the last time you had cotton candy? It’s been a long time.

Where is your younger sibling? He’s asleep.

What’s the last thing you ordered at a Mexican restaurant? A bean burrito with rice, cheese, sour cream, and guacamole with gravy dip on the side to dip it in. My favorite.

Do you have an ant problem in the summer? Every now and then, but nothing too bad.

Do you tan outside or in a booth? I may get a tan if I actually spend enough time outside, which is rare.

Do you still use scrunchies? No.

Have you ever met someone for the 1st time that seemed so familiar? I don’t think so.

What’s the most hours you’ve worked in a week? Zero.

Do you keep anything in files? Yes, on my laptop.

Do you have special ringtones for different people? No. I used to do that back in the day.

How do you eat your steak? I don’t.

Is your birthmark shaped like anything? No.

Can you put on mascara with your mouth closed? Yes.

Have you ever worn men’s underwear? No.

Do you own anything that’s fuzzy and purple? Nope.

When’s the last time you were kissed on the cheek? I don’t know.

Do you play with pogs? No.

What wild animal would you like as a pet? I get the feeling that the survey maker has a thing for wild life.

When’s the last time someone hung up on you? I don’t know.

Have you eaten an entire pizza by yourself? Personal size ones.

Have you ever fallen out of a tree? I’ve never even been in a tree in the first place. <<<

Did you read the Babysitters Club book series? I did.

How about Goosebumps? I read the choose-your-own adventure ones, because they were in the waiting room at the karate school my family went to. <<<< I loved those kinds of books. Also, yes I did read Goosebumps. They were my fave.

Ever worn a flower in your hair? Yes.

What kind of car did your parents have while you were growing up? My mom had a van and my dad had a Honda.

Do you ever wish your birthday was on a different day? I wish it were in the fall.

Do you sunburn easily? I do now it seems.

Have you read the Twilight series? Yes.

Why couldn’t you go to sleep the last time you were up all night? Anxiety.

What breed of dog do you find the most annoying? Any of the tiny yappy ones. <<< lol same.

What would you name your first born son? I don’t know if I want kids.

Do you cook anything you don’t like eating? No?

Do you watch any reality shows on MTV or VH1? I do. I watch too much reality TV.

Would you have a better chance of surviving in the Sahara or Alaska? You kinda asked this already.

When’s the last time you pet a cat? I think like 2 years ago.

Do you remember Eureka’s Castle on Nick JR? I do.

What would you say is Paris Hilton’s occupation? I don’t know, really.

Are you wearing a necklace? Nope.

Do you have any noticeable moles or birthmarks? Yes to both.

Count to ten in another language. Uno, dos, tres, cuatro, cinco, seis, siete, ocho, nueve, diez.

Do you feel uncomfortable telling friends they have boogers in their nose? Yes. :X Same if they have something in their teeth. But I know it’d be more embarrassing for them if I didn’t say anything, but for some reason I feel awkward having to someone that. What do you remember from sex ed class when you were younger? My 6th grade teacher put a condom on a banana.

What’s the first instrument you ever played? Piano.

What’s the last thing you wore around your neck? A necklace.

#personal #text #survey #surveys #long one

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thiscomickills · 6 years

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CHAPTER 1 She squirms in the chair, trying to loosen the ropes, tears streaming down her terrified face. I just laugh. “I was a Boy Scout, babe. You’re in a Siberian Hitch-Transom Knot combo.” I turn on my best German accent. “Your resistance is futile.” She sobs harder. “You’re right. The German thing was hacky.” “Are you gonna rape me?” She gasps for a phlegmy breath. “What? Don’t flatter yourself, sweetie. Rape you? Sheesh. You see all this plastic all over the place? You think I cum that much? You’ve never watched Dexter? Rape you. Pfft. Hell no. I’m going to kill you.” I stretch, tear and fix some duct tape over her mouth before she can scream. Fuck. I’m low on duct tape again. “What’s your name again?” I fish her wallet out from her purse. “McKenzie. Of course it is. Fucking Millennial.” I grab the garden shears and squeeze the handles a couple of times for effect. You just can’t beat that metal-on-metal sound. If you have just the right amount of torque on the springs, you can conjure the sound a sword makes when it’s slowly pulled from its sheath. That metallic ring. Now I can’t get the Game of Thrones theme out of my head. #ADD. She moans through her duct-taped mouth, her curly brown hair matted to her face with tears and sweat. “Now, you know I don’t want to do this. But, I have to. I told you to be good. But you weren’t, were you? I mean, look at this! See?“ I lift my sleeve and show her the claw marks she gave me when the back of her head smacked off the bathroom sink (I may have been holding her throat at the time). “I can’t have the cops find my DNA under your pretty nails, sweetie. And, I’m a comedian - not a surgeon. What that means is I don’t have the skill-set to remove just the nails, so I’m gonna have to take off your fingers.” She convulses, letting out a muted, duct-tape softened screech. I grab her index finger between the blades. “I mean, I could do this after you’re dead, but where’s the fun in that? Now then…Where is pointy, where is pointy?” SNIP! Her finger, once so adept at pointing, comes off cleanly in my gloved hand, spurting blood everywhere. “Here I am! Here I am!” I dance the finger about in front of her scarlet, glassy eyes. She is so fucking loud even with the duct tape. I never get that. It’s like scream-humming. I turn up the music on the motel’s cheap alarm clock. MakeDamnSure by Taking Back Sunday. Nice. I was seriously thinking about some GOT pay-per-view when I got back to my hotel, but these tunes have my head back in the game. I hold her bloody finger in front of my pursed lips. “Shhh! Hahaha! Come on, McKenzie! I don’t usually do prop comedy, so consider yourself lucky. I mean, I can’t have you ‘finger’ me for this!” She hangs her head in defeat. I hate it when they don’t go down swinging. I almost feel bad for them. Takes the fun right the fuck out of it. McKenzie. This girl’s a joy vampire. Maybe a proper mind fuck will make it interesting again. “Do you want to know why you’re here?” She nods weakly, possibly thinking I’m some storybook villain, stalling with a sad tale that might elongate her life. I’m not. I’m a comedian. All about the short game here. “You sat in the front row of my show. You didn’t laugh once. You fucking Facebooked and Tindered the entire fucking time because the Comedy Caravan in backward-ass Louisville doesn’t take peoples’ damned phones, so some of this is on them, but do you know what that does to me? It makes me insecure. I’m giving myself to you. You’re a fucking stranger. I’m trying to relate. I’m trying to make you happy! To make you laugh! To connect, to reveal some human truths in a funny way, and you’re swiping left, with that little manicured index finger of yours, on pictures of douchebags like you’re some beauty queen who can judge people in a second. Fuck you! Oh,” – as if just noticing her index finger in my hand – “and fuck your little finger too! And on top of that, you sat so close to my stage, I was able to see you left less than a ten percent tip for your server, and that makes you a cunt, and cunts gotta go! Do you understand?” Her whole body trembles. I pretend to feel bad. Have to keep the acting chops fresh. One can never really give up on that Hollywood career. “Hey, hey…c’mon. Don’t do that,” I say in my softest sympathetic tough guy voice – channeling some daytime soap I must have squirrelled away in my brain at some point. “It’s okay. It’s okay. I’m sorry. I, I am. Look, do you feel like you maybe learned a valuable lesson today?” She raises her head, her eyes hopeful. Nods slowly. “If I let you go, do you promise you won’t say anything?” She nods like she’s got epilepsy. “Swear?” She’s a bobble head. “Okay. After all, you did agree to get a drink with me after the show. Fine. I’ll cut you loose. Let me get my scissors.” I look around; make a spectacle of myself (my specialty, if you must know). Lift up the alarm clock. Hmm. Not there. Check my pockets. Take off my left shoe, not in there either. Inside this bible? Zilch. She just hangs her head again, finally realizing that I was fucking with her. “Oh, but…look what I found.” A Louisville Slugger I stashed under the bed. “Not much to do in Ken-fucking-tucky. So, I toured the ol’ bat factory today. It was that or a bourbon tasting, and I had to keep my shit together for the show tonight. Just think. You’ll be one of my Greatest Hits.” I get into my stance. “Here’s the pitch!” I bring it around with everything I’ve got. The wood connects with her temple, and the fat part of that sturdy, all-American bat breaks off a good, satisfying, chunk of skull. “Foul ball!” In My Defense: I haven’t always been a killer. Obviously. I mean, at one point, I was shitting in my diaper, so wielding knives wasn’t exactly a thing I could do. That’s like saying “I don’t know how we lost, the game was so close at one point”. Of course it was, you idiot. Games start out at zero for both teams. Hang on, I need my notebook… Joke about how sports fans say they don’t get it when they lost cause it was so close at one point. Also, get more duct tape. Where was I? Oh yeah. Killing. Just saying it gets me all worked up. It’s like when you see a hot girl laying by the pool at your apartment complex and you have to go watch porn and wax the dolphin so you can focus. Anyway, I don’t think I’m a bad person. I don’t. I’m not. There’s just a monster inside me. And he’s the bad one. Mr. Hyde, my alter ego, my Id, Night Me, Murder Voltron, whatever he/it is, it’s there. I don’t know why, or how it got there, running the front office, but it’s alive and well, and I’ve just about given up trying to keep it down. Yeah, I’m part monster, but I’m also part human, so I have to rationalize all parts of me. I’ve thought about why I am this way. First off, I suffered a preponderance of head injuries at the hands of my older brother when I was a kid who unwisely demanded the top bunk. He’d start laughing at something, I’d hang my head down from the top to see what had him in stitches, he’d grab me by the scruff of my neck, yank me over the edge and I’d land on my head. I was such a sucker. I fell for it every time. Me crying in the kitchen in my PJ’s with an icepack on my forehead was a common sight. Knowing what we know with these suicidal NFL players, my self-diagnosis is that it must have knocked something (or possibly everything) loose. Second, I’m based out of L.A. Everyone there pretends everything’s going great. They always have some project, on the verge of “making it”, but if you ask me, they’re all self-made orphans chasing an impossible dream, leapfrogging from one lily pad of a project to the next, and just one SIG alert away from homicide themselves. But I think the biggest thing that shaped me was the decade I spent in the service industry before I finally started paying the bills with jokes. The service industry does a lot of damage to a person. Outwardly, it makes you subservient: opening doors, serving plates, clearing plates, taking orders, custom tailoring those orders, fulfilling needs, wants, letting people cut in front of you, being patient, smiling, cleaning puke, sending food back cause it wasn’t warm enough, enduring insults, pretending you don’t hear them talking about you and how short you are and you tell yourself that you’re not a duck in a shooting gallery, listening to them chew, and breathe and gulp and belch and pretending you like them; just basically getting psychically butt-fucked by these garbage human consumer strangers because they might give you a tip for eight plus hours a day, five nights a week. To this day, if a guy is washing his hands next to me I’ll hurry to dry my hands first so I can get some paper towels into his wet hands. That is real shit. I hate myself for it. I have conditioned myself to “be in service to”. To be second. To not Receive. That’s what happens to you on the outside. Fuck, I can taste the bile rising right now. I should really try that Kabbalah shit. But the red string. People would know… Inwardly, the industry makes you hate people. Restaurant workers; they’re not the only ones. Anyone dealing with the public in large enough quantities will eventually hate people if they have a brain in their heads. Why do you think cops rough people up, or flat out shoot them? Nurses and doctors abuse their patients? It’s no mystery. The general public sucks out loud. They come in and buy shit. They demand shit- unhappy with this/that; they make you dance like an organ grinder’s monkey. They’re not at work. They’re leisurely drinking. They have better clothes than you. You hear about their job, their vacation in Hawaii, how they’re closing on the second home, can they have some water, you hear the dumb shit guys say to hot girls, and even though it’s so mundane, you watch them leave together, and you’re stuck behind this literal and metaphorical bar, waiting till these people you’ve turned into retarded infants stumble home so you can clean up after all of them, count what little money they deemed you worthy of and go home yourself. All the while knowing some Neanderthal bro bore is balls-deep in some sugar walled beef sleeve. You find yourself secretly wishing you pass a drunk-driving accident on the way home that you hopefully contributed to, so there’s a few less of them. A culling of the cheap zombie-minded assholes who haunt your sleep. I never know if I’m making myself clear. Let me make sure. They are fucking awful gross rude meat skeletons stumbling around naked under their brand names trying to fuck and be fucked, but need to be drunk in order to connect and leave a swath of social destruction in their paths in the process. So, yeah, a decade builds up. I went from being a party-going extrovert to a self-isolating Hobbit (yes, that’s a short joke) forever cursed to quietly traffic in this jaded human taxonomy. I could only tolerate relating to people with the protection of some sort of barrier. First a bar. Now a stage. And I think the last thing you should know about me is that I try to only kill people who really should be killed. I really do. There’s a lot of two-legged colostomy bags out there, and I think the fact that society believes that we’re all supposed to tolerate them is a bigger crime than me taking out the proverbial trash. End of Disclaimer. I’m now buck-naked and rock hard as I wind butcher paper around her plastic-wrapped arms, and pack them into my empty suitcases. The layers of plastic and paper keep the Samsonites from leaking - and they look like cuts from the butcher shop in the X-Ray as long as you cut off at the joints, then in between the limbs. Sectioning each arm and leg into four wings and drumsticks suffices, and you have to split the hands and feet at least in half the long way. If you have the time, cleaving them into three is ideal. You never know if there’s a former hall monitor who’s still a virgin watching those screens. Oh, and I personally like to treat myself after a kill. After all that labor-intensive bone sawing, I save the breasts and ass for the end. It find it super enjoyable to carve ‘steaks’ out of those. I like to play around with them; try to really mimic the cuts I see at the grocery store. Obviously, I start with top rounds, move to sirloin, then to filets, rib eyes and I’m currently perfecting my New York Strip. It’s weird, because I’ve never considered myself artistic. Before I discovered an aptitude for carving human flesh into imitation beef steaks, I’d only really experimented with creating temporary art in a way only I could personally appreciate. I mean that literally. I started doing it when I was young, and I’m a little ashamed to admit I continue to do it to this day. Whenever a man urinates, it creates bubbles in the toilet water, and conversely, that stream in turn bursts those bubbles. I discovered if I whipped my bubble making pee shooter to and fro fast enough, I could use the shitter’s round shape as a globe and form my piss bubbles to create a bubbly map of North and South America. As I got better, I was able to use the rest of my pee stream to cut across the Atlantic and get going on the Iberian Peninsula. As my geographical knowledge and alcohol abuse escalated, I tackled Africa and the Sub Asian region. And, I’ll be even more honest. Once I learned men could do Kegels, I created a regimen and set upon my still-unrealized goal of mastering Southeast Asia. Between natural disasters, political power dynamics and the sheer urethral discipline it requires, I wonder if this endeavor is a folly of my yawning stupidity, or my personal Golden Fleece (intended) I will someday attain. I honestly don’t know. Once you break the seal and let the pee stream out, it’s so hard to squeeze it off to dot the toilet water’s ocean with a Sri Lanka. I do have self-awareness. I fully admit it’s a juvenile, yet fluid art form. Crickets, huh? Sometimes jokes are a numbers game. And there goes the shin. This girl got her calcium for sure. I always travel with empty luggage. Obviously, the Monster needs the space. No, I don’t keep the meaty bones as trophies. I’m not that sick. We’ll get there, just give me a minute. It comes down to the ‘evidence problem’. It’s an easy fix since I’m pretty basic with my fashion choices. The shitty towns we perform in usually have bargain basement stores and Wal-Marts, and it’s just safer to buy twenty dollar jeans and eight dollar shirts that I’m going to throw away anyway after the Monster has his way with me. If fashion choices dictate fate, it really explains why I’m here. I give the room a quick sweep with a black light on luminol to see if I missed anything. How do I have luminol? It’s amazing what you can get from drunken LA cops when you tell them you’re a writer working on a crime movie and offer them the promise of a consulting credit and fee when principal photography commences. Her head fucking spurted all over the ceiling. Thank God I lined that with sheeting. I fucking despise this part. The cleaning. Serial Killers get caught cause they’re sloppy, or if they don’t mix it up. You gotta keep it fresh. The MO, the victimology. It’s just like comedy. Look at Ron White. It’s the same set. Every time. “I got thrown out of a bar…” You gotta come up with new material to stay ahead of the game. We’ve all said it when it comes to dating: “So and so’s not my type.” It only proves that people do have a type, and because of that, serial killing and dating have a lot in common. Have you seen Reggie Bush’s girlfriends since Kim Kardashian? Three Words. Single Armenian Female. Scary, right? The Yorkshire Ripper: always sex workers, always a hammer, knife and screwdriver. John Bunting: gays or pedophiles, always beating, toe crushing and strangulation. Herb Baumeister: gays and drowning. Ted Bundy: bludgeoning, strangling and necrophilia, and he went for cute girls. That one friend you have who only dates Asian chicks. Actually, once, I dated an Asian chick. We’d have sex but I’d be horny twenty minutes later. Hey Now! I could go on, but you get the point. They look for patterns. The key is to not have one. This is why I don’t worry. I’m pretty sure the FBI doesn’t have a profile for a murderer of the “People Who Fucking Suck” demographic. And, I’m not “the Husband” or the “Ex” or the “Co-Worker”. I’m not “The Quiet Guy Next Door”. I’m a comic who performs on stage. In different cities. Good Christ, I open for Riley Rock, who, if it weren’t for a few movie and TV credits and his own short-lived TV show forever ago he’d be just as invisible as me. Riley Rock is the guy you see at the club and think, “Hey, isn’t that the guy from that show where he works with the dad sometimes?” Fuck him. Wait, where was I? Oh yeah. Cleaning. I wish I was the “Neat Monster” Dexter was, but that’s a work of fiction. I’m way too lazy. My apartment looks like a 10 year old with a job lives there. I have that crippling brand of OCD where everything’s a mess and I have trouble venturing outside. So, I prepare up front. Plastic, plastic, plastic! I can’t stress it enough. Saves so much time at the end. You just saw, wrap and go. This would be the greatest infomercial ever. Saw, Wrap and Go with the new…nah, that’s a shit premise. I work the saw rhythmically above the left knee. Fuck this bitch has some quads. Must be one of those cross-fit cunts. One more reason to have offed her. My ass crack is sweaty. Keep on a-workin’. Eff you, I’m in the South. Lemme indulge.

#thiscomickills standup comedy horror fiction thriller gregstudley chapterone

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