#the comic shop in my city is a fucking blue lives matter shop for some reason. like. ?????? weirdos

[ghoul-haunted]

I got four hours of sleep last night so my 'maybe we don't post this,' filter is gone*

*I also don't care anymore like. man. the state of literally everything right now.

#i woke up at six am to do tasks and i just got back home and im reading some books on french history and medieval gender #also gotta make a post rec'ing a french BD later #is that. hm. would it just be BD. is specifying the language/country redundant. a french comic. i gotta rec stuff later is my point #it's ancient rome (empire) and it goes HARD its one of the most beautifully done comics ive ever seen #would KILL to get a copy of one of the volumes in french but ALAS. there is an english translation #so you can guess what is available to me in america #RIP if i still lived in new england i might be able to pull some strings with the canadians or that one groovy comic shop #the comic shop in my city is a fucking blue lives matter shop for some reason. like. ?????? weirdos

[adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy]

hi enjoy this random snippet of a sad ysijwa extra that has to do with Niall coming over to Harry’s place one night when he’s feeling particularly emotional about missing his family

///

They sit in silence for a while on Harry’s elegant couch, listening to his record player churn out songs from an era long lost, the music notes duller than usual. The duo takes turns drinking from the bottle of bourbon, which Niall had fetched from his cabinet before wandering down to Harry’s flat, staring out at the city with all its twinkling lights coming from surrounding buildings and the traffic down below.

Niall speaks first, his voice low and heavy and thick from the alcohol, which is so unlike him since his accent is usually so airy and full of joy. “I miss them, H.”

Harry takes a long swig from the bottle, his mother’s opal ring clacking against the glass. The small stone feels like a metal barbell on his finger, as it always does whenever he gets in such a somber headspace. He extends the glass container towards Niall, his face remaining neutral as he watches a car run a red light, a chorus of angry honking and distant yelling following the risky move.

His voice is just as dense as Niall’s. “I do, too.”

His friend takes the bourbon, setting it on his knee and studying the amber liquid hollowly, watching it swish around along the sides of the bottle. “I miss my sisters.”

Harry exhales slowly, a prickling sensation washing across the backs of his eyes. “I miss mine, too. And my parents.”

His eyes slide over to the liquor in Niall’s possession, an ancient memory surfacing in the murky fog in his mind, clearing its way through the clouds created by the liquid in his system. The burning in his eyes gradually funnels towards his sinuses, making his nose sting with longing dread as he recalls his past. “Bourbon was my dad’s favorite.”

Niall looks over at him with sympathetic curiosity reflecting across his dim eyes. The icy blue that is usually present has faded away, replaced by a sad grey that Harry rarely ever witnesses. Over the years, Niall and Harry have come to an unspoken agreement that whenever they are hit with a sudden wave of nostalgia and pain regarding the people they had lost, the person they will come to for comfort will always be each other. Despite the fact that the lives they had led back in the 19th century were somewhat different, they can both relate to the notion of having been the head of their respective families, both emotionally and literally, and it’s a commonality that all of their other friends are lucky enough not to share. They were both the sole, eldest sons bared by their parents, which meant the weight of their loved ones’ futures had rested on their shoulders alone.

Niall was the main father figure for all his sisters growing up, considering their actual father was constantly slaving away in the fields of their farm, breaking his back in order to put food on the table and a roof over their heads. He and his mother raised his siblings to be as strong and independent as they could, since one day they would be married and have to take care of a household of their own. Niall was meant to take over the family farm when the time came, and pave his own route to a brighter future where he would have a wife and children to help him get by. When the famine worsened, all of their dreams crumbled to dust right along with their only means to survival, and Niall sacrificed his own rations and well-being towards his sisters in an effort to aid them in making it out alive. It was a futile attempt, unfortunately, since malnutrition weakened their immune systems and left them vulnerable to diseases that very few women ever survived. In the end, he and everyone he cared for died due to the terrible conditions set upon them by the famine, and all of his life’s work perished right along with his beating heart.

When it came to Harry, his story of being the leading man of his family was almost just as tragic. He was set to inherit his father’s blacksmith business, which was the only source of income his family had ever known, and since owning the shop would be vital to his success in society, he sacrificed his youth in preparation for the responsibility that would be set on his shoulders once he came of age. He very rarely allowed himself any free time to relax or intermingle with people of his own age, which resulted in his stunted social skills and lack of romantic suitors. He was nearly thirty when he finally began looking for a lifelong partner, at his mother’s concerned behest, and the one he found turned out to be the first and last he’d ever have in a manner he never expected. With his disappearance from the family lineage, all of the obligations he’d carried were passed on to his sister instead, which was a burden he had hoped she’d never have to bear. Ownership of the business shifted to Gemma’s husband, and though it was saved from being abandoned, it no longer belonged to the people who founded it, and the sentimentality behind its creation was therefore lost to a great extent.

In the end, both young men felt like they had failed the people they loved the most, and they never got to say a proper goodbye before being torn away by a cruel reality neither had asked for.

No matter how many times they’ve been in this same position, Harry will never get used to seeing this dampened version of the lively Irishmen. It’s like he’s looking at a shell of the person he so well knows, hollowed out by the debt of the people and connections he left behind. It feels like he’s looking at the corpse his friend was meant to be.

“He always managed to get a bottle around Christmas time.” Harry continues, his sight still trained on the bottle in his friend’s grasp, as if he can see the clips from his past replaying across the reflective surface of the beverage inside. The edges of his lips twitch as a happier recollection dawns on him, the dark circles around his eyes seeming to sink deeper into his skin as fond melancholy settles across his features. “I remember the first drink I ever had was bourbon, actually. It was at a Christmas ball the town was holding, and it was open to the general public. My dad pulled me aside and offered it to me; told me not to tell mum or that she’d skin him alive. I was fourteen.”

Harry releases a tight laugh, his vision growing blurry with tears. “He said he’d had his first drink with his dad, as well, and that he wanted to uphold the tradition.”

“How was it?” Niall murmurs gently, his tone encouraging instead of prying. He wants to guide Harry through his feelings, just as Harry always does with him.

Harry’s chapped lips crack into a full smile now, another strained laugh vibrating in his chest. “It was fucking rank. I spit it out the second it touched my tongue and nearly threw up my dinner.”

Niall joins his friend in laughing, instilling some much needed humor into the dark ambiance of the room. “Pussy.”

“I’d never drank before!” Harry defends, giving him a flat scowl. “And bourbon is a pretty brutal alcohol to lose your liquor virginity to.”

“I suppose. Still doesn’t change the fact that you were a sissy.”

The vampire narrows his eyes pettily. “How old were you when you had your first drink, then?”

Niall squares his shoulders proudly, puffing out his chest a tad as he answers the question haughtily. “Twelve. It was scotch, and I downed it like a fucking champ.”

“And now you’re a raging twat with severe alcoholic tendencies. A lot of good that did you, huh?”

“At least I didn’t embarrass myself in front of all the girls at that ball. No wonder you didn’t get laid.”

“I was waiting for marriage!”

“Tell that to the psychotic blonde with nice tits and murderous intentions.”

Harry snorts, kicking one foot off his coffee table and shoving Niall’s knee with the heel of his boot. “Piss off.”

The pair remain quiet for a moment, the comical atmosphere gradually fading away. With a shaky breath, Harry continues his story.

“Dad said it was okay. He said he’d reacted the same way, and that I would eventually develop a taste for it the older I got. He said that one day, he wanted me to—” His voice cracks with sudden emotion, and he sniffles roughly to get himself back in order. But despite his best efforts, he can’t stop his accent from quivering as he lets out his next sentence, the words sour and painful on his tongue. “He said that one day, he hoped I would do the same with my own son.”

#ysijwa!blurb #payne!!

[gwasgy]

Okay. So. Here’s an elaborate multiple days of brainstorming ideas as they come PracticalMagicnatural AU nonsense. Thank you.

- Bobby and Rufus would be the Aunts and they'd be bffs not siblings and would have Vibes but it would be... hm. This is not a Bufus story is what I'm saying.

- the Curse would be on the men and for the women they love of course (classic fridging :/)

- this works for Bobby, (Rufus,) John, and Sam. (Supernatural is bad)

- so this is where it's kind of. Hm. Bc Sally and Gillian are not one to one for either boy. Where Sally and Gillian BOTH have identities separating family and magic (family business), these ideas are inseparable for the brothers.

- alsooo dean and sam to BE dean and sam they would've had to be "raised" by john until they were at least near-grown, even if they had a home base at Bobby's house.

- John still kills himself with grief MAYBE but it's like /later/ and more through self destruction and revenge and alcoholism, leaving the boys to live their later teenage/early twenties in the Bufus household

- Azazel is the one killing all the Wives in this curse. And if they use The Resurrection Spell to bring them back, he is possessing them

- hmmmmmmmmm they need to still be hunters I think buuut what if. They also did witchcraft.

- Dean would cast the love summoning spell, making it so that he uses angel descriptors unwittingly or on purpose because he doesnt think angels are real and therefore cannot exist for him to fall in love with and kill (bc the curse)

- it would be fun and very cringe fail embarrassing for Dean if sometimes he thought about His Angel and accidentally occasionally prayed to Cas

- Anna could show up and be Dean's red herring

- Dean could be in an About to Die situation and think, as a joke or whatever, "fuck. I never even got to meet that hot angel chick that's in love with me," and Cas shows up (with wings bc hot), saves him, *handprints*, then leaves

- OR. There's a blinding light and screeching noise and Dean blacks out and wakes up with a handprint safe and sound

- Cas and The Guy From Practical Magic That's A Cop both bend the rules of their superiors for their person easily and pliantly. except for the initial pushback. Hm.

----

- it's weird bc in practical magic there's this whole vibe of I'm Done With Magic And You're Dragging Me Back Into This And Ruining My Life but sammy had gone away and rejected The Life THEN found the woman he loves and THEN tried to resurrect her mayyybeeeee wait wait wait it wouldn’t be Jess bc she isn’t evilll...

- DEAN would be the one with a bad boyfriend that they accidentally kill and have to resurrect... hmmmmm

- maybe it's like a Boy Best Friend of dean's like maybe he is on a hunt with Benny and he accidentally chops his damn head off and tries to resurrect him to cover it up

- and that fucks up something in the afterlife and Cas is sent to Fix The Problem of whatever the fuck happened to this guy's soul when they did this

----

- it's wonderful to think of the PTA mom shenanigans Dean and Sam could get into but I don't think that Dean would have any sort of kid in this besides maybe jack?

- I mean, it could be that Ben is still around and he was with Lisa but never Loved Her on principal, and left in time so the curse didn't fuck her up, but they're still friends and he will still pick Ben up from school sometimes

- I don't see how the phone tree could work into it but I don't think that it's necessary bc sam and dean and cas's version of this story does not and can not revolve around them being outsiders in their own community but overcoming it and accepting who you are and integrating into the community through girl power and witch magic

- BUT. the potential of sammy being possessed is yeah. It’s extremely. Yeah.

- They could have a nice bonding moment of I'm never gonna leave you you can do this like from Swan Song. Like Sally joining Gilly in the broom circle to help her while she’s being exorcised

- their brotherly bond is NOTHING like Sally and Gillian's, though. Like YES. they would no doubt help bury the body, but they aren't giggling about their love life under the covers together. They simply are not that type of girl

- also I guess there wouldn't be the tension of You're Ruining My Life That I've Constructed Just By Being Here between them.

- WELL.

- Dean WOULD say something shitty about cleaning up Sam's messes though. He is just that type of guy

----

- Dean can definitely be the one chopping and hacking at the rose bush and cas would DEFINITELY get distracted and heal him in the middle of his conversation with him

- Dean oh dean he and his close Boy Best Friends could totally fuck with the curse. Like-

- Dean: Oh my good friend Benny he’s the first person ive really allowed myself to get attatched to in a while but that’s fine! he can't die because i don't love or like him like that because he's a guy! Haha, I'm not gay! We are just guys being dudes just two bros hanging out :)

Benny: *dies anyway*

Dean: FUCK

- Sammy would totally make that new age witchy herbal shop that Sally had! that would be so fun. Also ft. periphery what the fuck is up with those people type locals

- maybe Rowena shows up still and Crowley is also there hmmmmm and Rowena teaches Sam magic stuff and it gets him to make the supernatural a part of his life again without having to do any hunting hmmmmmmm or it's just another tool in his arsenal and he just always deserves to have magic powers

- the supernatural ladies could work in the shop :) like Meg and Rowena and Ruby anndddd Alya :) Ava? The psychic hunger games MVP girl

- or all the kids work at that shop!! I miss those dang kids. Max, the twins, death lesbian, Jake, electric guy, and all them :)

- Rowena is like a witchy shop owner up in town that buys Sam's wares to sell in the city #CareerWoman #GirlBoss

- Jody and Donna can also hang out I guess. Since we're at Bobby's place

----

- Dean casts the love summoning spell after either Regular Heartbreak with Cassie, his first love, when he was 15 or whatever, OR after the behated Boy Best Friend death. Hmmmmmm

- it makes more sense for the story for dean to have someone die on him and apply to the curse. But I don't wanna kill Benny ):

- well I don't think he was ever In Love with Crowley or Benny like he was with Cassie (or even Lisa)

- when he was 15 or 14 and John was still around but had left him at the Bufus household he got hold of that love summoning spell and made sure it was impossible so he would never experience heartache again. He does so while crying teenagishly and 11 year old sam is like. Why the fuck are you summoning this weird monster girl to fall in love with you

- and Dean is like no no this kind of monster doesn't exist. Anyway they'd have glowing blue eyes and they're as big as a building and and they hear me whenever I call no matter far away

- Sam: that...... sounds like an angel, dean.

Dean, having already done the spell: WHAT. NO. NO IT'S NOT IT IS SO NOT LIKE AN ANGEL. ANGELS AREN'T REAL

- Cas in Heaven, a bunch of flower petals swirling around him: what the fuck is that. That's weird

- Cas like 13 years later when he sees a cajun zombie vampire demon: okay I'm already getting weird prayers from some guy down there I'm just gonna check that out

- by the time Cas gets down there they've killed it again and buried it and hmm

- It's weird because it's the opposite of Practical Magic here bc Cas is the one that needs to be believed about something supernatural BY dean

----

- what if they accidentally kill JOHN instead of a hot bf. Dean kills John bc John tries to kill Sam, and they panickedly try to resurrect him immediately

- yeah yeah yeah yeah and John, possessed by Azazel, gets killed again while still being possessed and is buried underground. There can still be a rose bush and frogs and whatnot

- I doon't know why Bobby and Rufus would just leave the brothers in their house if John was alive until then?

- Alright John's been missing for like 5 years and the boys have just been living there and assumed he's dead. Then he comes for Sammy bc Sam is Turning Evil or whatever and John's a huge loser about it

- so Bufus is like "you guys are acting insane and you aren't telling us what's wrong so we’re just going to leave and you're going to sort it out yourself." Like the aunts

- then, when cas shows up to track down the weird resurrected demon-possessed serial killer abomination Dean and Cas are EMBARRASSING like completely totally absolutely embarrassing cringe fail love where they can't talk normal with eachother and Cas keeps getting too close and staring but Dean forgets to tell him to back off or anything and he just stammers uselessly through thin dumb lies

- there aren't any children there to comically thwart Sam's plans to get rid of Castiel as he is investigating Dean and Sam but it could end similarly

- where Cas finds Sam making a small angel banishing symbol and is like "okay. You guys aren't to be trusted and you're doing something evil (and i don't understand what’s happening to me when i’m around Dean). I'm just straight up going to leave then" and boom he's gone

- the fight Sally and Gillian have right before Gillian gets possessed can play out pretty damn similarly with Sam and Dean, but it's a LOT different too

- like it's their DAD not some random serial killer bf. You can't choose your dingdang dad! So the part of "I cant keep cleaning up your messes" WHOSE MESSES who even says that to who whose mess could this even be

----

- Sam has a girlfriend that dies from the curse and it’s bc of being caught in the crossfire when Hunter Bullshit Happens. The Women of the Winchesters’ way. So he moves back specifically to get back into hunting and witchcraft to BREAK the curse hmmmmm.

- Much like Sally with Michael’s death. “I don't care what he comes back as. As long he comes back. Please do this for me. Please? Please? Please? Please?” :(

- I think Dean is an Of Course I’m Not Going To Fall In Love kinda character, like younger Sally before Michael. very pessimistic very self depreciating. He only confides his deepest darkest desires (to be loved simply and openly without fear of the Curse taking anyone. To be held and to take care of someone who will appreciate it) in his fakey fake pretend prayers to his imaginary angel (this turns out to be very cringe fail embarrassing when Cas shows up)

- Cas holds onto these prayers like Hallet (the cop from movie) does with Sally’s letter to Gillian, not knowing or understanding why he’s so fixated on them and why he can’t stop reading them/playing them back/listening in

- John… maybe he was pulling a Gordon and was killing all the psychic kids and was eventually going to have to kill Sam, and Cas was for some reason Put On The Case as an angel or was Allowed to Interfere or whatever bc it was fudging up God’s Plan

- and that’s how Cas justified being so fixated and taking notes on Dean’s prayers, like Hallet did with the letter. It was a good lead. It was about their father, and Sam seemed to be having psychic tendencies or whatever that could turn dangerous

----

- Okay okayokayokay so Sally and Gillian’s story is them escaping the ostracization they feel from the people in their physical regional community. The Owen’s family has always been outsiders, even before the curse came into being. They are persecuted for being witches (and sleeping around and being sexy).

- the sisters try to escape this either by just LEAVING: going to a place they can be themself without shame, or assimilating and abandoning a part of themself so that they can stay.

- the Winchester brothers are, I guess, ostracized by the hunting community because they are kept away from it and moved around a lot in the show. Okay okay okay okay okaywaitwaitwait

- Okay so the Winchesters feel alienated from both civilians and the hunting community, and they both eventually choose to do similar things to Sally and Gilly..! Sam LEAVES and assimilates, while Dean stays and just accepts his role his father gave him.

- Gilly and Sam LEAVE, while Dean and Sally STAY. Gillian and Dean embrace what makes them Different, while Sally and Sam reject it in favor of Being Normal

- The witchcraft/hunting thing especially doesn’t mesh well here though because Hunting is KILLING it’s literally murdering sentient beings. It’s war propaganda it’s desensitizing you to Even Though The Enemy Is Capable Of Good Individually They Are, As A Group, Evil And Should Be Slaughtered.

- Witchcraft in Practical Magic is just… a way of life that’s considered outside the accepted norms of society. It’s being openly queer, it’s being from a different country of origin, it’s being non-christian religious in a small town. Accepting witchcraft doesn’t have any moral good or badness, it’s just with or without the consequences of being “out” in your area. While accepting Hunting as a lifestyle is to accept putting yourself in bodily danger doing morally ambiguous/BAD things to protect people you can’t relate to or find a community in. Hmmmmmmmmmm

----

- Sam and Sally both have natural talents/instincts but don't want to use it in favor of being "normal"

-

#literally all i want to think about. #spn #my posts #like this is Just For Me but GOD. #if theres thoughts or feelings to be had please let me know #practicalmagicnatural #it ends in a whatever kinda way but let me tell you. This is not my final thoughts on this #pmn

[punkdaddylouis]

// two prudes: code red //

chapter two of my punk louis au. behold, some zouis brotp moments - thanks in advance if u would proceed to read on ! x

//a one night stand; don't belong to no city, don't belong to no man//

at around 9:30 in the morning of a monday, louis pushes at the entrance door of code red and strolls inside with delilah nestled to his side, making the bell hooked atop the door ring soundly throughout the area.

he meets with the relaxing atmosphere of the air conditioned and truly spacious shop, some metal music playing to a minimum level in the background.

he sees the same multi-purpose cool shop with its skateboards all hanging on one slanted corner, boxes filled of stuff louis yet doesn't know - perhaps some wheels and other tools.

on one corner there are shelves specially for comic books of any kinds, even k-zones and mangas. on the center are aisles with neat alignments of vinyls and stacks of cds with headphones hooked to some, the certain lists one is allowed to listen to for free. and then there's a door on the other end, just right below the shelf of skateboards, with the neon sign that says guns & roses tattoo parlor.

a head from behind the counter snaps up as he nears, and louis is right away met by a pair of dashing hazel brown eyes framed by dark eyelashes, the owner of them being his ex-boyfriend slash best mate for three years now, zayn javaad malik. the brooding guy with the jet black hair and arms littered with tattoos just like louis himself.

"morning, lou," he greets eerily, voice thin as per usual, flashing those white pearls, lower lip decorated by a round piercing on the right corner.

snickering mentally to himself, louis deems out of nowhere not remembering a single time zayn's voice was ever that thin when he was fucking him into oblivion and he was groaning like a rabid animal.

but of course, that was in the past. louis and zayn are now just best friends, or more like, brothers from another mothers, something like that. zayn ended them, and louis was chill enough to just shrug and agree to his decision. i think i'm just gonna go find my true penguin.

penguin? what the fuck are you talking about, zaynie boy? louis had laughed so hard, sex hazy and high with consumed marijuana.

penguin, lou. zayn shook louis' arms, as if wanting him to wake the fuck up. it's like, your soulmate, yeh? because when penguins mate, they never leave their other halves anymore. it's like, their forever, ye know?

louis had blinked at him, sobering up by the absurdity of it all. and then he pushed at zayn and straddled his hips. will you shut the fuck up? you're beautiful, baby, it's true, but fuck, you're also the fucking lamest, most cliché person ever. and then he surged down, kissed zayn and shut him up for the last 5 hours as they fucked once again.

like, zayn is just...the weirdest weirdo louis has ever known in his life. and he's seen worse.

truth be told, he didn't love him like that - the whole sweetness and romance shit, because fuck no, louis doesn't do that. louis loves zayn, of course he does, but only like he's his cousin or step brother or perhaps little sister. they were boyfriends before, but that only served as a label, since they fucked like rabbits at every chance they got back then, sex driven and young. but that was that.

zayn is the gentle type, the sentimentalist, the tiptoeing kind of person, so louis figured they needed something to somewhat seal the deal - for the two of them to have the authority and right to fuck. and it was for them to become "official". thus they became boyfriends.

they only lasted four months, however, before zayn had eventually realized that louis never loved him in a romantic way. he never took offence to that, thankfully, knew to himself that he was a good fuck, a warm hole to sedate, so he didn't blame louis for using him to release steam anytime he so pleased.

they don't fuck nowadays anymore though. it's been years.

"hey, babes," louis greets back, leaning against the platform and pecking zayn's forehead sloppily with a loud smack, rounding the counter and then dropping delilah at the corner. zayn smiles hazily, nodding his head.

they work together at code red, about a year ago now since they applied. they alternate being in charge on the till and serving walk-in customers, and then their boss, ed, is the one in charge for callers of deliveries. those calls don't come as often.

moments to his clock-in, louis finds himself later playing with his lip ring, as he chews at his bottom lip. he rummages through a couple of vinyls at one aisle and looks for the one their first costumer for the day is asking for. they said they wanted am by the arctic monkeys, so.

when louis finally sees it, a black vinyl with white obscure linings that briefly show a drawing of a ribbon, he fishes it out and inspects it before anything else.

he's got one vans clad foot perched on the three-step ladder left by the aisle they're in, and he's wearing his beanie today and then a loose gray tank top that he now regrets for wearing, since the ac is probably by 17 degrees and it's killing him, fuck.

anyway, he hands the album over to the guy who has their white tee and blue jeans on, curtly reminding louis of a lana del rey song, and then he watches them retreat back to the counter where zayn is now conversing to a few new kids that probably stepped in while he was busy back there.

by the looks of it, the kids are purchasing comics from zayn. he has a keen for nerdy stuff, this dude, and since ed is kind enough to let his shop be used for other business agendas, he lets zayn sell his own comics here, no problem.

"batman, spider-man, green lantern, you name it!" zayn chirps dazedly, voice languid as if he's high, which. probably. he's always high.

"i want superman."

"hey, i want superman too!"

"me, me! i want x-men!"

"yeah! professor x is the best!"

louis watches in peace as zayn lights up at the persistence of the kids crowding him by the counter - asking for the things he also like - can't help biting at his cheek at the happy look his half-pakistani friend is sporting. they both know it's not everyday that they wear genuine smiles and share hysterical laughter to others, considering they're a bunch of college drop-outs that are the outcasts of the town, and that now people see them as this - rebels.

which they're not, mind, seeing as louis still visits his mom and sisters and that he doesn't cause (much) trouble around the city.

they just like having lots of tattoos, smoke chain until four, get pierced every now and then, dye their hair different colors, get high whenever they could score (and that means every day), and live independently on their own, what's so wrong about that?

people can just go fuck themselves, to be honest. louis is fine being this way, thank you very much.

his life, his shit, don't like it? go suck a dick.

simple.

just as zayn's about done with serving the rest of the customers by the counter, it's only a matter of time then for louis to be greeting another batch that spills right at the door of code red, being a pretty much in-demand multipurpose shop and all. he mentally rolls his eyes.

as he looks up, louis sees students, giggling girls, an adolescent, and - a person. one who's wearing a green beanie atop their mop of curls, a hoodie above that, and is plausibly standing a solid five-foot-eleven given that he isn't wearing one of his silly boots today.

harry styles.

because of course, he goes here. of course. louis takes a deep breath, shuffles towards the new customers.

"heya, welcome to code red. anything i can help you with?"

once again, blue meets green. louis isn't really affected by it.

#beneathts #beneath these sheets #zouis #larry #my fic #chapter two #punk au

[goldenchildkatsuki]

Could you write a kacchako at the beach drabble?

Thank you so much for waiting!

Summary:  A continuation of ‘Red bike, purple Bellflower’, where Bakugou finally takes Uraraka to the beach.

Writers note: I asked on Tumblr to send a cliché fanfiction trope in my ask box and I would make a decent Kacchako drabble out of it. This is for the ninth ask I received. Someone asked me to write a beach drabble. And man, who would’ve thought I would ever make a sequel to 'Red bike, purple Bellflower’? I didn’t. But I sure enjoyed revisiting this version of Bakugou and Uraraka. This version is so packed with love and adoration and I loved writing it. (see the end for notes)

Word count: 8.292

AO3 link: (x)

WHITE SAND, BLUE RIBBON

“Don’t yawn, you’re making me yawn!”

Uraraka lazily put a hand in front of her mouth and blinked away the tears that were forming in her eyes.

“I can’t help it, it’s so early after all.” She moaned.

It had been a while since she had woken up before noon. Since it had been one of the warmest summers she had ever experienced she started living in the night when it was significantly colder and she didn’t feel sluggish.

After ten is when she came up with most of her ways to enliven her summer. Around the time where people would fold their chairs, get their last drink from their koolbox, switched from flip-flops to slippers and called it a day. Uraraka would lie down on the floor in the hallway, with their house phone on speaker next to her head and talk to Bakugou about all the things she felt like doing. She had been watching a lot of films lately, those ones where teenagers have the most outrageous summers. On one hand, it was comical, how extravagant those summers were. But on the other hand, she wouldn’t have minded being in their place. So it was only natural that most of her ideas were inspired by that.

Bakugou would laugh at her and tell her to lay off the films for a while. But he would still listen to her ramble on and on about them. He sometimes even thought along with her, thinking about if it was possible for them to do something like that, right at that moment. Uraraka would tell him it could be more likely than they thought, Bakugou would keep thinking. And there would always be a moment where he would stay silent for too long and he would suddenly hang up on her.

That’s when she knew she should probably get up and change out of her pajama’s and take a shower because it wouldn’t be long until he would be standing there with his bike laying on the curb. Often he would meet her there having done neither of those things.

“You sure smell great.”

“Oh shut it.”

They would sit down on the front doorstep and Bakugou would tell her his plans. They were less farfetched than hers, but came to close to what she wanted to do and were still fun. Since it would be past Uraraka’s curfew at that time, they were only allowed to go as far only two blocks away from her house. Bakugou could make it work. He had once dragged a shopping cart from someone’s front yard and managed to make it look somewhat like a car. Uraraka would sit in the cart and a paper plate would be her steering wheel. Bakugou pushed her through a drive-through just on the edge of the two-block area, as she squirmed that it was not going to work. Somehow they ended up ‘cruising’ away from the restaurant with two brown bags full of fries. Uraraka could hardly catch her breath.

They would also have water gun fights in her backyard with the sprinklers on and set up a hammock in between street signs and talk for hours on end.

Bakugou didn’t have a curfew, she thinks. Regardless of that he always ended up staying by her side until all the energy was drained from her body and she was nodding off. He would stay in her street until he saw her bedroom lights go off and then bike home. And the next day they would do the same.

Today, however, Bakugou was at her bedside at 8:30 in the morning. He threw her blankets off her and opened her curtains. Thinking she was getting ambushed she jolted up and jumped out of bed. She groaned as she saw it was just her boyfriend.

Actually, it wasn’t just her boyfriend, it was her boyfriend, in her room, at 8:30 in the morning.

“Oi sleepyhead, get dressed and grab some breakfast, we’re going to the beach today.” He said before quickly kissing her forehead and going downstairs.

Uraraka thought he was somehow joking at first but there they were, on a familiar long road, Bakugou pedaling and Uraraka on the carrier.

“My parents looked really happy to see you again,” Uraraka spoke softly to his back.

Bakugou stopped pedaling for a second and turned his head around. “You think?”

“Couldn’t you tell? They were almost late for work because they couldn’t stop talking to you.”

Bakugou’s cheeks turned pink and he turned back. Though he didn’t want to admit it, he cared a lot about what kind of impression he made on her parents. She thought they were one of the few people Bakugou actually worried about of what they thought of him. Uraraka tried to reassure him that even though they try to scare him with being overprotective, they absolutely adored him. He still found it hard to believe. But it was among those things that he was currently trying to work on.

And it was going well. Three weeks ago Uraraka wouldn’t even have known that Bakugou genuinely felt that way, it would’ve remained a simple guess of hers that would take her all of her might to confirm.

Uraraka hugged his waist tighter and mushed her cheek against his back.

“They love you.”

“Sure.”

“They really do.”

The boy leaned forward and picked up the pace. They had been on their way for only half an hour or so, maybe a bit longer? She thought they already passed the city sign at least. They had quite the journey ahead of them, therefore the early departure. Bakugou had properly planned the trip this time, unlike the first attempt to reach the beach by bike. He went out of his way to make them lunch, bring his own money along with the beach supplies they once bought. He knew the way and it knew exactly how long it would take them to reach the beach,

Three hours by bike to be exact.

However, it didn’t take a lot of Bakugou to calm Uraraka down when she heard that. The pillow on the carrier and the promise that they would take many breaks during the trip was all it took. She still felt slightly bad about Bakugou biking the entire way. Offering to switch was not an option since the boy had too much pride and was the most stubborn person she had ever encountered. So Uraraka decided that when they got to the beach, she would make sure they would have the best day the possibly could have. That wasn’t hard since she had waited for this day the entire summer. Heck, she even dreamed about this day.

“How are things with your parents?” Uraraka asked as she slowly blinked.

“They haven’t seen your round face in a while so they can’t shut up about you. Especially the old hag, she misses you a lot.”

“I should stop sleeping in so much.”

“You definitely should. I can’t have you falling asleep right now or else I’m going to be so fucking bored.” Bakugou scoffed.

Uraraka doubted Bakugou could get bored if she fell asleep. She might have thought that since she was getting close to dozing off and didn’t want to feel bad about doing so, but there was also no way he could get bored riding the long and empty road. The atmosphere felt grand to her, the silence wasn’t deafening but it was peaceful, the scenery wasn’t annoyingly repetitive but a very welcomed sight. She thought it was almost impossible for him to not feel what she felt.

And if for some reason it was. Then her presence should be enough. It had proven to be many times.

She placed her hands on Bakugou’s lower back and began to graze her fingernails along and across it slowly, to make up for her nodding off in a small moment from now. He adjusted and leaned into her touch. If they were anywhere else he would’ve been sleeping as well, in a matter of seconds. The longer Uraraka went on the slower their pace became.

She hoped Bakugou’s eyes weren’t closing like hers were. Her fingers started to droop of his lower back and slid to the end of his shirt, which she loosely clung onto. Her body let itself give in to the tiredness and with all of her weight, she leaned against Bakugou. She felt his muscles move beneath her cheeks, stretching and loosening themselves. The tempo and the rhythm lulling her to sleep.

Uraraka didn’t manage to rest her eyes for long. Bakugou had been leaning in all different directions and holding onto her every time she shifted, trying to make sure she wouldn’t summersault of the back of the bike. Causing her to be in a light state of sleep for the majority of the time, waking up every few minutes or so, and jerking because she kept forgetting where she was.

Her boyfriend cursed under his breath and mumbled to himself to keep himself entertained. After some time he seemed to be at a loss for words, last syllables of his words were spoken inaudibly. That’s when she decided to force herself to wake up. As she moved into sitting upwards Bakugou pulled at her shirt. Quickly she pinched his sides and tried to look over his shoulder.

“I’m awake.”

“Good, I was about to wake you up anyways.”

Her eyes had to get used to the sun that was getting higher and chattering started to fill her ears. Looking around she saw a scenery she was familiar with and had a good idea of where their first break was going to be. The town was quite lively for this time a day, many had decided to run their errands and get together early in the day.

It felt like she hadn’t moved a mile. Like she was still at home. She had no idea a place other than her house could make her feel that way. Maybe it was because of Bakugou. Maybe it was because she was convinced that she fitted in here. Not just her as a person, but her dreams, fantasies and ideas, her future. They all worked in this town. Something she had never felt back in her hometown. It made sense to be here. Ever since they first rode in.

She tried to explain to Bakugou how she felt, it was hard to translate her feelings into something that wasn’t vague and to give it to him straight because yes, it was strange. She never expected Bakugou to completely understand since he said her thoughts sounded stupid the first time she voiced them. But Uraraka had the feeling he could see where she was coming from, just a little. And maybe he felt the same, just a little.

He was more than happy to bike her to the town whenever she missed it. He didn’t care if they had to travel 13 miles just to grab a bite to eat or go for a walk in the park. Bakugou was fine with whatever. They made a promise after all. They promised to come back at least once but it wouldn’t hurt to come back as often as two, three times a week, right?

As they biked on the broad main road of the town Uraraka had started to recognize people’s faces. And at the way they looked back at her, it made her feel that they recognized her too. What could they be thinking about them? They could be asking themselves if they had perhaps moved here since Uraraka smiled and greeted the locals as if she had.

The short, blonde girl with the colorful bows in her hair was chalking in front of her house again. The woman who’s always carrying too many things has managed to drop a carton of milk right after exiting the supermarket.

Just like she got to know the people, she got to know the town, which wasn’t that difficult considering the size of it. Bakugou and her have inspected pretty much every nook and crevasse of it and now know their way around as if they were born and raised here.

A week and a half ago, they discovered something. Uraraka knew that they were headed there again. As he predicted Bakugou came to a halt in front of an empty plot of land, surrounded by a metal fence. The weeds had started to grow next to the poles of the fence and more sand had been blown onto the sidewalk. Uraraka slid off the carrier and sat down on the ground. Bakugou parked his bike against the fence, went up behind her and unzipped the backpack she had been carrying. Over her head, he handed her a fruit sandwich and a bottle of water and then sat down next to her. Bakugou was barely panting, which was quite remarkable considering all the trouble he went through of getting Uraraka to stay seated on the carrier. He probably didn’t need a break yet. He had biked this distance a lot of times by now and it seemed to get shorter every time.

But he knew Uraraka would’ve asked him to stop by anyways.

He was very hungry though. Devouring his sandwiches in a matter of minutes and chugging down his water as if that was the first drink he had that day.

“Did mom make these?” Uraraka asked.

“Yeah.”

“I thought so. You always put in more strawberries than kiwi’s.”

“Because kiwi is fucking disgusting and should not even be classed as edible.” Bakugou scowled as he glared at Uraraka’s half-eaten sandwich.

Uraraka giggled. “You’re dramatic.”

“And you don’t have working taste buds.” he went through his hair with his hand and scratched the back of his head, where the hair had started to grow back.

Uraraka stayed silent and continued eating, turned around and looked across the empty plot of land. If they were a couple of years older and had a bit of money, this would be theirs. At the border of the town, they would build their home from scratch. And it would look like any other house in the town, it would look like it had always been there. They would have a green front yard and backyard, surrounded by a white picket fence. Undoubtedly that would get broken at some point, and Bakugou would fix it again, give it a new coat of white paint even and it would like nothing ever touched it.

She wanted large windows, Bakugou hated them. Bakugou wanted a garage that fits two cars, Uraraka thought one of them was enough. So they discussed what kind of house they wanted to build on the piece of land. Uraraka would do most of the talking since Bakugou struggled to get his words out. It was quite a sensitive topic after all. By speaking about it they confirmed their bond to last for years and years and that’s not something that rolls of the tongue easily for a person that continues to find it hard to put his emotions into words.

It was fine with her if he mostly listened, and give his opinion when she asked for it.

“If you keep changing your mind I will never be able to fucking finish this you know?”

“I can’t help it!” Uraraka laughed as she playfully bumped her shoulder against Bakugou’s to make his frown disappear.

She could imagine how frustrating it was, to keep erasing and adding new things to the drawings and the blueprints. Bakugou planned to be an architect, and since he didn’t have the patience to wait until he learned about it after he graduated,  he read the books his dad had displayed in the bookcase in his office. Since the day they first talked about the house he started practicing drawing, by using the house they had in mind. It was meant to stay a secret until her birthday came up, but it slipped out when Uraraka changed placing of the windows for the third time, causing Bakugou to lose his mind and reveal her present in anger.

It was the quite possibly the best present she had yet to receive. Uraraka was completely over the moon when Bakugou explained himself. She was eager to see the progress since her boyfriend rarely showed his designs and all she could remember was the scribbles he made when he was a few years younger, and those were not exactly the best of drawings. She also wanted to help, seeing as it was a thing that was essentially theirs. But of course, she wasn’t allowed. It was her present. Uraraka decided to ask her dad, for his books on architecture instead, whilst awkwardly avoiding the exact reason why, and lent them to Bakugou. That was her way of helping.

“Is it actually close to being done?” Uraraka curiously asked.

“Do I look superhuman to you? Of course not! It’s going to take a lot of time before it’s actually done done. When I go to university I’m going to alter it with the shit I learned, make it even better.”

The girl sighed and cupped her own face. “Bummer.”

“Though, it would be done sooner if you would stop changing your damn mind all the time.” Bakugou teased.

“Hey!”

He mischievously grinned as Uraraka glared at him with puffed up pink cheeks. Her face quickly softened which Bakugou’s cheeky smile always managed to do to her. When she broke out in a giggle he started packing up all their stuff and putting it back in Uraraka’s backpack. He offered his hand to help her stand up and she gave the land one more look before walking back to the bike.

The two had one more stop to make before they could leave town and continue their journey. Uraraka felt tingles all over her body as if she laid down in a field of high grass when she saw the purple colored front garden of the old people’s home. What was once merely just a bed was now a small field of bellflowers. Th eyecatchers looked healthy and beautiful and made the white frames of the window really stand out. And to think this was the result of her work.

Today they had put the rocking chair outside and the old lady that had waved at them the first time they passed through the town was smiling from ear to ear the second she heard the rattling of the card in the spokes. Even she looked healthier and more beautiful than usual.

Uraraka jumped off the bike before it came to a stop and rushed to the porch.

“Good morning Suzuki, have you been admiring the garden this morning?”

The woman slowly nodded, closed her eyes and let the sun shine on her face.

“Enjoying the sun as well I see, today is a lovely day after all. Bakugou and I are going to spend it at the beach!” Uraraka looked back at Bakugou who sat waiting on his bike in front of the home.

Suzuki slightly opened her eyes and looked at Bakugou. She slightly opened her mouth and took her hand from underneath her blanket to raise it in greeting. She managed to create a small noise.

Uraraka had come to learn that the woman was mute. When watering the bellflowers one day like she always did when they came to town, a caretaker approached her with Suzuki attached at her arm. The caretaker explained that how Suzuki had been watching the bellflowers get watered and waved at them every time they left, how she wanted to properly meet Uraraka and Bakugou.

Uraraka felt flattered in a way, that a stranger wanted to meet them. After shaking hands with the both of them they sat on the porch and talked for a long time. That day the caretaker translated Suzuki’s sign language for the two kids, the other times Suzuki wrote in her notebook what she wanted to say.

Apparently, Bakugou looked exactly like the boy she fell in love with on her first day of high school, and Uraraka reminded her of her sister, who also admired flowers and plants and whom Suzuki loved very dearly.

Suzuki arranged for Uraraka to have a watering-can, which was much needed since the bellflowers had started to spread and a bottle of water wasn’t enough anymore. She would sit there and watch Uraraka do her thing with the most content smile on her face.

Besides seeing them two, she liked drawing, which she was very good at. She liked cherries, especially cherry jam. She liked old sports cars with pretty bold colors, just like the shiny red of Bakugou’s bike. She liked nature and she wished there were more plants inside of the home. But since a couple of elders reacted badly to them, Suzuki had to admire them from a distance.

Uraraka watched Suzuki take her time to scribble a sentence down in her notebook on her lap.

“Has it really been that long since you’ve been to the beach? Don’t you want to go someday?”

She shook her head and continued writing.

“You can’t imagine leaving this place? Well, I can’t really blame you, especially since the garden is looking so beautiful now!” Uraraka chirped.

She went to the side of the house to fill the water-can to the brim and showered the plants in the cold water. Bakugou walked past her to Suzuki that waved him over, after glancing over the notebook he disappeared inside and came back with another notebook, this one bigger.

The woman beamed and held the book to her chest until Uraraka approached her.

“What’s this?” curiosity gleamed in her eyes as she glanced from back and forth between the two faces in front of her.

“She wants to give something to you,” Bakugou explained.

Suzuki flipped the book open and revealed a beautiful piece of hand-drawn artwork of Uraraka watering the flowers in a sundress and Bakugou leaning against the fence, watching her. It was so accurate it made Uraraka and Bakugou’s jaw drop. The folds in Uraraka’s dress, the expression on Bakugou’s face, all so neatly done it might as well have been a picture.

“My blueprints are like a kid’s drawing compared to this. She’s totally outdone me.” Bakugou mumbled.

Uraraka chuckled and took a hold of the drawing. With her thumb, she stroked over the signature and thanked the elderly woman for her gift. Carefully she handed it back over, explaining that If they would bring it to the beach with them it would get ruined. She promised that she would come and collect it on the way back. Once more she thanked Suzuki and expressed how beautiful the drawing was.

She gave her a hug, told Suzuki she would be back soon and walked with Bakugou back to the bike. Suzuki waved them goodbye as the two continued their journey.

When they biked out of town it was 10:45 and had to travel for another two hours. Bakugou was feeling pretty energized and was boasting about how he could probably cut fifteen minutes of the trip. Uraraka simply hummed after every sentence, her head in the clouds and her thoughts hazy as she kept seeing the drawing in front of her.

It didn’t take long before her boyfriend demanded her full attention. Jokingly swerving around the road to keep her in the moment. She yelped and took a handful of his shirt as he laughed and asked her to at least properly pretend to listen to him. Even though after his antics Uraraka properly listened to him, he kept swerving, to make sure she was.  

He needed to be kissed. He tended to act up when he was touch starved. In moments like this, his craving for her attention seemed endless but all he really wanted was some physical affection. Like a baby that didn’t get too much sleep he could get cranky, or like a playful child, he could act silly. This time he went for the latter and did so in a rather dangerous manner.

So for their safety, and for that reason only. Uraraka practically demanded the boy to stop at the side of the road, went to stand in front of him and kissed the silly out of him. The longer they went on the more annoying the bike in between them was. Uraraka laughed against Bakugou’s lips as he awkwardly tried to step of it and throw it to the side. But before he could trade in ‘silly’ for ‘annoyed with a large amount of lust’ she pulled away.

She stuck her tongue out as Bakugou frowned and went back to her seat. They resumed the journey with Uraraka teasing Bakugou for the cute habit he had and him fully denying that this happened regularly.

‘A stupid coincidence.’

A stupid coincidence that has stopped him from going from one side of the road to the other.

The landscapes started to slightly change and both of them started to question each other if they’ve ever seen something like it. It’s been a while since either of them had been this far out of town and when they were it was by car. They were either sleeping during the journey or not paying attention, so now the teens were ogling at the land, pointing out things that stood out the most to them.

More and more cars started to pass them by and Uraraka’s eyes got itchy from the dust they left behind. Bakugou kept cursing at them, speeding up every time one past them by.

At this rate, it looked like he was truly going to cut the trip short by fifteen minutes.

After the conversations died down, Uraraka asked how many songs it would take them before they got to their destination. ‘Ten or nine songs’, Bakugou answered. And so she kept humming songs from start till finish. She only knew a few songs by heart. After the fourth song, she kept repeating her favorite song at the moment, which happened to be in the soundtrack of her favorite films she ha watched this summer, maybe even her favorite film ever. By the eight time Bakugou softly hummed along with her. He did it so softly she only noticed by the vibrations that went through his back to her arms.

The tenth time Bakugou didn’t hum along since he was busy fighting the steep rocky road they were on. The sun was getting close to it’s highest point and the beach breezes weren’t cool at all. He damned the absurd increase in temperature and the annoying screeching seagulls that were zooming over their heads.

Uraraka started singing, to distract Bakugou from them, to encourage him, hopefully, cheer him up. They were so close after all. So close to the bright blue of the ocean, the jam-packed beach, filled with parasols and towels.

The pedals had to go around just a few times and they would rocket down the hill and be down there in no time.

Two times around, one time around.

And there they went, the bike went so fast Uraraka had to close her eyes. When she blinked her eyes open she met one of the most amazing sights she had ever seen. She wasn’t seeing this on a television screen, she was inside the tv, she was there.

“Finally,” Bakugou said, rubbing the sweat off his chin.

Uraraka jumped off to let him park the bike among the mass of vehicles. Impatiently she hopped from one foot to another when other visitors past her, like her they were all smiles. The second Bakugou turned around she already started skipping towards the beach. As soon as she reached the sand she kicked her flip-flops off and dipped her toes in the sand that was too hot to stand still in.

Before she could sprint as fast as she could into the sea to cool down her toes that felt like they were getting deep fried, Uraraka got tugged back out of the sand by her backpack.

“Fucking hell, don’t go running off like that! I don’t want to spend the day searching the entire beach looking for you.”

“But-!”

“I get you’re excited, but let’s get it together now.”  

He pulled her back once more and threw his arm around her.

“The first one to find an empty spot has to buy the other ice cream,” Bakugou said.

Uraraka jolted and scanned the beach. It looked like it couldn’t be any more full. Like half the country decided to go to the beach today. Just when she was about to give up, she spotted a tiny bit of space between towels and pointed at it. At the same time, Bakugou did.

“A tie!”

“Pink cheeks, I don’t do ties. We’ll have to settle this one later.”

Bakugou kicked his own flip-flops off and together they walked over towels, legs, underneath parasols and avoiding koolboxes to the empty spot. Jumping from foot to foot they unloaded. Uraraka threw down the towels as Bakugou went to pluck out a random parasol to put over their heads. She kicked off her denim shorts and with her fingers, she went underneath and along the lines of her blue and white striped bathing suit. With a loud groan, she fell down on her towel and flung her backpack on her lap. She took out sunglasses and Bakugou’s cap which she put on backwards.

A large shadow cast over her and a shirt got chucked next to her in the sand. Bakugou sat down next to her on his towel and bent over to feel his feet. As he was bent over Uraraka took the opportunity to put sunscreen on him.

The boy was still too exhausted to refuse it like he usually did. For some reason, he didn’t want to admit he wasn’t tougher than the sun and did, in fact, get burned very easily. At least now when they’re laying next to each other tonight he wouldn’t moan and complain about burned areas on his body and she could hug him as tightly as she wanted.

After spending more time than needed on his shoulders, Uraraka went to sit in front of him and raised his face. She went around his nose with her ring fingers, rubbing his cheeks and the bridge of his nose with her thumbs, rubbing the folds of his frown away. The remaining bit of sunscreen she carelessly wiped across his chest and stomach.

Bakugou followed her hands with his eyes when she smeared her arms and legs in, face flushed red from either the heat or her. He looked away to the ocean when she glanced at him.

“Oi.” He suddenly said after a while.

“Hm?” Uraraka replied.

He placed his hand on her neck and pulled her in close. Uraraka’s eyes started darting from his eyes that were focused on her, to their surroundings. She felt her cheeks get even hotter by the sudden display of affection.

He came in closer, slowly shutting his eyes. Quickly she shut hers and waited for the touch.

“The first one in the ocean has to buy the other ice cream.”

“What?”

Uraraka’s eyes shut open, and before she even got another word out he tried to pull her backwards. She pushed his smug face away and tried to stand up, but Bakugou pulled her back by the hips and launched himself off his towel. Uraraka adjusted her hat and ran after him, careful not to kick sand in anyone’s face or get hit in the face by a beach ball. She could see all the annoyed looks Bakugou was getting from a distance. Since all he cared about was replacing the tie with a victory, he didn’t even look twice at all the people that got sand on them because of him.

Uraraka tried to speed up, lifting her knees up higher so her feet wouldn’t get stuck in the heavy sand. She was getting closer to him, she could probably just about pass him where the waves were crashing.

He turned around, started running backwards, that confident he was going to win. Oh, how she couldn’t wait to see his stupid face after her foot first touches the water.

“You better-WAIT!” Uraraka yelled at Bakugou.

Backwards he bulldozered through a sandcastle, completely destroying every tower and almost tripping over the canal.

The girl cursed and went to stand beside Bakugou. Together they stared in silence at a sorry lump of sand.

“…If we go now then…” Bakugou murmured.

He turned around and staring at his legs was a little boy with the most devastated look on his face. With a bucket full of sand in one hand and beach shovel in his other.

“Oh no,” Bakugou whispered.

The kid dropped his utensils and tears started appearing in his eyes. He started sniffling and hiccupping, then he sharply breathed in to belt out one of the loudest cries a kid could make. So loud it could pop eardrums.

Uraraka kneeled down beside him to calm him down but then the tantrum started. He stepped forward to kick Bakugou’s shins and punch his knees, barely getting his words out as he did so. As Bakugou tried to back away from the attack he went to step on the broken castle again, making the kid even more upset.

“Bakugou get off the castle!” Uraraka tried to yell above the screaming.

“Get that tiny gremlin away from me then!”

She went in between the two, dodging kicks and held on to the little boy’s fists. He instantly cut his screaming off and looked at her with wide eyes.

“Can we stop the kicking now please?” Uraraka asked him, making her voice as sweet as her mother’s voice.

The boy pointed at Bakugou. “B-b-but he d-destroyed my sandc-castle!” He hiccupped.

Uraraka dried his face and hushed him as he was about to start crying again.

“It was for the contest. Now I’m definitely going to lose. And I already told mommy I was going to win!”

She looked around the beach and only then noticed that there were surprisingly many sandcastles being built all across the beach. How this one was the only one Bakugou trampled over baffled her.

“We can help you rebuild your sandcastle for the contest if you want?”

“Uraraka!”

“Bakugou!…and I would love to help you if you let us.” Uraraka glared at Bakugou.

The child pulled at the strings of his red swimming shorts and took his time to think it over.

“You can help me, but he can’t. He’ll just ruin it with his big ugly feet!”

Uraraka sensed that Bakugou was close to flying past her and launching the kid into the ocean, so she laughed his comment away.

“He won’t! He’s actually really good at building sand castles. He wants to help to build a lot of things when he’s older. Right Bakugou?”

“Yes.” He gritted his teeth.

“So you’ll be good at helping us, won’t you?” Uraraka asked.

“Sure.”

She smiled at the little boy. “Is that okay with you?”

He nodded.

“So what’s your name little guy?”

“Kaito.”

She took his hand and shook it. “Nice to meet you Kaito! My name is Uraraka Ochako and that’s my boyfriend Bakugou Katsuki.”

Uraraka handed the bucket and the shovel back to him, she stood up and pointed forwards. “We’re going to get first place alright?”

Kaito looked back at what used to be his sandcastle and then back at Uraraka. He pointed his shovel in front of him and smiled.

“Yes! We’re going to win!”

The kid ran closer to the ocean and plopped down, determinedly shoveling wet sand into his bucket.  

Uraraka went over to loosen Bakugou’s crossed arms, she held his hands and stared at him until he turned his face back to her.

“Thank you for being civil.”

“Whatever, let’s build this stupid castle.”

They crouched down and inspected the remains, looking if there was anything they could salvage. But to their disappointment, there really wasn’t. The kid had a good thing going too. Bakugou suggested that they fill up the canals and make the surface flat again for a fresh start. Then he ordered Uraraka to draw a big circle around them, that being the new canals. This might not be exactly how he wanted to spend his day at the beach but if this is what they were doing, he wanted to do it well.

It was a competition after all and since he had all the knowledge about buildings, losing was definitely not an option.

When Kaito collected enough sand he waddled back and told them more about the contest. The competition was for kids ages four to ten and were allowed help from parents. But the child was so determined to do it on his own and impress his mother that he refused her help. They had a little less than three hours before the competition ended and the sandcastles would be judged.

Kaito had a castle in mind that was as large as him, with a lot of towers and a bridge that goes over the canal. He wanted tunnels through the castle and windows to place his little figurines behind. And of course, he wanted the castle to have a flag on top.

As he got excited about his plans, Uraraka saw Bakugou’s facial expression change from bitter to thoughtful. He started pulling his bottom lip, meaning he was actually deep in thought. Before Uraraka could praise Kaito for his wonderful ideas, her boyfriend jumped in and added a few suggestions of his own. He talked about possible additions and adjustments, promising the kid a certain victory if they did it that way.

Using words like ‘bigger’, ‘cooler’ and ‘more awesome’, caught the child’s attention.

So they created a building plan that was still very much Kaito’s but strengthened with Bakugou’s knowledge of architecture.

The way Bakugou spoke about the castle even got her fired up. Uraraka would be lying if she said she hadn’t become almost as excited as Kaito.

“Mr. Bakugou, you really do know a lot about building castles!” Kaito chirped at him as he smoothened a tower.

“Are you going to build a real castle someday? When you become an archimetecturer?”

“Sort of.” He replied.

It made her heart flutter.

The child kept asking Bakugou all sort of questions, now that he had forgiven him and warmed up to him. Chatted his ears off whilst giving him and Uraraka commands. Bakugou replied with short answers, mostly because he hadn’t had many conversations with kids and had no idea what to say. Uraraka could tell he was starting to find it less and less of a nightmare and started to actually like the kid that started to think the world of him.

The innocence, broad fantasy and brutal honesty managed to crack Bakugou up every once in a while. She wondered if Bakugou also saw the similarities between the two. It was a sight, she had to admit. Really thinking about it, she had mostly been staring with a dopey look on her face then doing much building.

They were halfway done when Kaito’s mother came to check on him. Obviously surprised at first when she saw her son hanging around two teenagers but as Uraraka did the explaining she became less nervous. She was even able to chuckle at the whole situation.

The mother thanked them more than enough times for taking care of her son and told them she was rooting for them. Lovingly she placed a kiss on Kaito’s temple and returned to her towel.

“You sure have a great mommy Kaito,” Uraraka said.

“She’s the best! She always tells me how awesome I am, reads me stories before bed and gets me ice cream whenever I want.”

He turned to Bakugou. “What about your mommy’s?”

Uraraka felt her heart skip a beat, she had no idea how Bakugou was going to answer. She knew things were getting better between him and his parents but it wasn’t like everything was fine. There were still bad days. Days that he had to get out of the house again. But those days went much differently then they used to. Bad days had turned into a bad few hours.

“My mom’s alright. She also gets me ice cream and sh-.”

“Ice cream and sugar honey ice tea.” Bakugou corrected himself. “But sometime’s she’s not so alright. And then I go to my second mom, she doesn’t live so far away, she’s always good to me. But she’s not my mom. Nothing can compare to my mom.”

Wow.

He had grown so much. Never in a million years did Uraraka think that would come out of Bakugou’s mouth. Or at least not now and to a stranger for that matter. Maybe he was just able to say it like that because it was a child that asked an innocent question that couldn’t be left unanswered. Or maybe because he knew Kaito wouldn’t look too deep into it, only really taken in his first sentence. Whatever motivated Bakugou to say that out loud, she was proud.

Could it be that he was finally getting used to saying things out loud?

Uraraka wanted to ask him a million other questions. When he started seeing Uraraka’s mom as his second mom and if he has ever told his mom how much he actually admired her. Did he even notice his own development, could he tell by how tight she was gripping her shovel how proud she was of him?

But instead she said:

“Yeah, my mom is alright too.”

At this point, when Kaito stood next to the castle it only needed a few more towers to reach his height. The canal had been dug out and filled with water and some of the windows already had little people standing behind them.

They all agreed it still needed something more, and Uraraka was the one to think of shells, that could easily decorate the castle. The two boys groaned as they couldn’t believe how they didn’t think of that.

“Of course, how the frick could we forget!” Bakugou said.

“Do you think we’re going to find enough shells before the contest ends?”  Kaito shot a worried look at Uraraka.

She picked up a white shell she had brought back from the shore when she had to collect water for the canal. Held it in between two fingers and smiled from ear to ear.

“Don’t worry boys. I’ve seen a lot of these lying around. We’re going to be fine, just leave it to me!”

The pouts slowly disappeared and their eyes widened. Mouths a little agape but neither of them could bring themselves to say a word. They kept staring at her for so long it made her smile even brighter, making her cheeks almost push her eyes shut.

When picking up a bucket and running off she could hear them whispering.

“Your girlfriend is really pretty and cool.”

“I know.”

Uraraka came back with a more than satisfactory amount of pretty seashells and took it upon herself to decorate the towers as Bakugou was circling the castle looking for last adjustments they could make in the remaining ten minutes.

She had to say it looked pretty impressive. When looking for shells she had a quick look around and it had made her more and more confident that they were going to win.

Bakugou picked up Kaito so he could put the flag on the top tower that was higher up then they originally intended it to be. The kid excitedly jumped up and down as soon as his feet touched the sand again, clapping in his little hands and whooping. Uraraka couldn’t help but clap as well.

The judges started to make their rounds around the beach at three o'clock exact. The closer they came how more tense the three became. They became fidgety and kept looking back at the castle as if it would collapse behind their back at any second.

“I don’t even know what I’m going to do if we don’t win,” Bakugou whispered in Uraraka’s ear.

“Nothing too violent I hope.”

“Something between lashing out and homicide.”

“I can’t even say anything because in your eyes that truly is ‘not too violent’.”

When the judges arrived at their castle, they immediately had a good reaction. Some good ‘ooh!’s’ and ‘wow!’s’ came from them. They continued to walk around in circles in a clump and mumble things only they seemed to understand. It looked so silly when given it much thought since they were taking it far too seriously for a contest for children.

After scribbling a few things down on a form, one of the judges took two polaroid picture of them in front of the castle, left one with them and then went to the next castle.

As soon as the judges were far enough away, Kaito dropped his cool and repeatedly tugged at Bakugou swimming shorts and Uraraka’s bathing suit.

“And, and, and? Do you think they liked it? Do you think we’ll win?! What if we don’t win?!”

Uraraka looked at the picture, still catching color. She couldn’t help but giggle at Kaito’s obvious wobbly smile and the tight grip of Uraraka’s hand. And that to think that this was the boy that had been so confident the whole time.

Bakugou kneeled down before Kaito.

“Hey…hey! Look at me. Don’t start crying. What did you tell us?”

The child rubbed his eyes. “That we were going to win.” He said softly.

Bakugou raised his chin and turned away. “What did you say?”

“That we were going to win!” Kaito yelled.

He pat him on the back.

“That’s the spirit kid.”

They ended up coming second place.

They got handed blue ribbons as they watched the kid that snatched first place get a small trophy and a children’s surfboard. Uraraka could almost hear Kaito’s heart break when they handed the prizes over. When Bakugou took his time to argue with a judge over the points they received Uraraka pinned the ribbon to Kaito’s swimming shorts.

“Well that was a bit unexpected, wasn’t it? I thought we had this one.” She awkwardly started a conversation with the boy that had a gloomy look on his face.

As she expected, he didn’t reply to her.

She thought hard of how to cheer up the devastated kid, luckily the answer came walking up to them.

“Oh Kaito, did you win?” His mother asked.

He turned his hip to show the ribbon.

“No mommy, we didn’t win.”

“We should’ve!” Bakugou growled as he threw back the pen on the judge’s clipboard and walked back to them.

Kaito’s mother picked up her son and laughed at his clouded face.

“There’s no reason to be so sad sweetheart! You still made a really good castle, you still won a prize. And you know you’ll always be my number one right?”

Kaito’s lip started trembling. “Really?”

“Of course! Always and forever. Now cheer up okay? You don’t want these two to see you sad the last time they see your face?”

The little boy nestled his mother’s neck and hugged her tight.

“No take back’s mommy!”

“No take backs!” the woman laughed.

He then continued to struggle out of his mother’s arms and walked right up to two teenager’s feet.

“Thank you Mr. Bakugou and Mrs. Uraraka. I had a lot of fun.”

Uraraka wrapped her arm around Bakugou and looked up at him.

“No problem, we had a lot of fun too, didn’t we?”

Bakugou wrapped his arm around her shoulder. “'Guess you could say that.”

He smirked at her and kissed her on her smile.

“Gross!” Kaito smeared out the word.

He scrunched up his face and ran back to his mother, hiding behind her legs.

“Get over it kid.”

The mother laughed at the scene, picked her son up and thanked the two again for taking such good care of her son, hoping it wasn’t too much trouble.

Bakugou and Uraraka waved it off, saying they genuinely did have fun.

Kaito and his mother left the two behind at the sandcastle.

They only had three hours left before they should start heading home, both of them determined to make the most of that little time. Heading into the water as fast as they could as soon as the child and his mother disappeared from their sight.

Bakugou had to pay for Uraraka’s ice cream.

In the water, they played and fooled around. Let the waves that crashed onto shore take them along and tickle them with the white foam of the sea. Tightly they held onto to the blue ribbon, attached to their swimming suits, not intending on losing their prize today.

Uraraka’s eyes got prickly, her fingers were wrinkly and all of the kisses she shared with Bakugou tasted like salt. The cut in her lip burned with every impact, but she could not resist the urge to put her lips on his. Not when his skin had started to turn into a beautiful golden-brown color, not when a romantic shade of the sun started to drown his face, making her squint at her so innocently.

She kept thinking about how much she loved him.

How much she loved the way he looked, how much she loved him for taking her here.

This was better than any film she ever watched.

Writers note:  

“Suzuki”, meaning: From Japanese 鈴 (suzu) meaning “bell” and 木 (ki) meaning “tree, wood”.“Kaito”, meaning: Sea, Ocean.

#bnha #kacchako #bnha kacchako #bakuraka #bakugou x uraraka #uraraka x bakugou #kacchako fic #kacchako fanfic #kacchako fanficiton #bakugou #bakugou katsuki #uraraka #uraraka ochako #boku no hero #boku no hero academia #mha #my hero academia #jj writes #writing prompt

[gloss-glass-ash]

Super Shifty: The Origin Story

Request: no 

Summary: the origin story of Super Shifty 

Warnings: smidge of angst

From the moment Michael was born, his parents knew something was different. It was painfully obvious when he turned blue. Not "can't breathe" blue but sports team blue, royal blue, ocean blue. He screamed and wriggled with life, healthy as could be. But blue. Then, as quick as he did turned greened, and then a normal infant pink.

His father fainted, his mother cried, and the nurse almost screamed. No one could believe it, no one could explain it. Karen tried calling the obgyn, but he  had moved to the big city. Daryl tried calling a lawyer, but no one wanted the case and no one believed them.

So Mikey grew up different. He was taught to be like Rudolph, not Rudolph who saved the day but the one with the covered nose. At first, it was a struggle to cover his abilities. Every emotion remained transparent on his skin. The temptation for mischief was hard to resist, copying everyone for a laugh.

By high school, he was allowed to change his hair color which gave him a fair amount of attention. Not friends necessarily, he didn't really have those. But positive attention nonetheless. It was in high school when he met Calum, who he learned was a little different too.

Calum Hood was the cool guy, definitely not the type of a person to hang out with Michael. He was athletic, charming, but strong and silent. It was during gym class when he walked in the showers and saw Michael's body lose the soft edges and harden into muscle. Cal didn't think Michael should give a fuck about these losers seeing him naked, but that would have to take a backseat to the pressing matter of another mutant.

Michael ate lunch alone in the library his senior year. He should get used to eating alone. Needless to say, Calum Hood walking in and plopping down beside him shocked the fuck out of him. "Hey."

"Hi." Michael grunted between bites of his sandwich.

"I'm just going to cut to the chase. I saw you in the showers last week." Calum's cheeks were a soft pink with embarrassment.

"That's impossible, I shower when no one else does." Michael tried not to imagine Calum-I'm basically a model- Hood in the showers, hands on his tan skin, and oh my god Mikey needed a relationship.  

"I also know you have a Pokemon ice pack in your lunch box, a note from your mom, an orange, and some form of drink bottle."

Michael and Calum held a long gaze, a deep understanding passing between them. Shuffling his stuff around to make room, Michael nodded toward the chair. "Wanna share by orange?"

So they got through school and moved to the city for work. They found an apartment, quickly realizing rent would be better split between four roommates. In the way that things can only happen in comics, the other two flat mates who joined them were different too.

Ashton's power  was obvious, his muscles bulging out of his sleeves as he single handedly carried all his boxes up the stairs without breaking a sweat. He was a gentle giant, a nice roommate, and even better friend. Luke's was harder to place, but eventually revealed itself when he would cross a room in a fraction of a second.

The four knew that something more than coincidence was at play. They learned rather quickly they had come from the same small town, been born at the same hospital, and-as life in small town happens- their mothers all had the same Doctor.

Doctor Feel Good became his name. At least that's what the boys called him. None of their parents seemed able to remember, almost as if that part of their lives was erased away. Revenge settled in, consuming the boys free time. They explored the city, set up computer programming, did everything they could to find this doctor and make him pay.

But vengeance didn't pay the bills. Vengeance could only happen after shifts and undercover of the night. Eventually vengeance became something more, something heroic. Doctor Feel Good was still going to pay for changing them, for swindling their families, but at least they could help people.

Mikey often fantasied about helping people during his shift at a coffee shop on the corner of Fifth and Vine . Work wasn't fun and the boys decided that if Doctor Feel Good was one for coffee and should ever arrive, he needed to be in disguise. That was fun though, being someone else.

Overall, he liked the coffee shop just fine, the same business people always stopped in. He liked the pattern, especially once he noticed the same girl rushing in every morning. Mikey always served you, well, Mick always served you. Mick was his undercover, named and created to look like the God of rock himself. You liked it, he could tell, especially when he smiled.

"Mick" learned a lot about you. You were up and coming at a publishing company, you lived in his apartment building, and your boyfriend was a tool. Michael never learned his name-it was probably a tool name too, like Brad- because you paid every time a date occurred there.

You started coming in on the weekends, Michael started working extra shifts. You'd pick a booth by the counter, he'd linger just a little longer. There was desire there, desire that he'd never thought someone would have for him (and he knew you didn't like him, you liked Mick, but he was fine living a lie for the rest of his life).

Eventually you and Tool Brad broke up. You weren't devastated, a little bitter, but the heart ache that used to clench you after break ups was gone. Fascination and adoration tool its place. You dried your tears, put on a smile, and went to get a cup of tea.

Only Mick wasn't working. The barista on shift spelled your name wrong and most certainly did not doodle little hearts or song lyrics like Mick. He was just gone. But Michael Clifford was at a table, waving at you. At least he still was around. His companionship was welcomed, warm, and as easy as Mick's was. They were a lot a like now that you thought about.

Every day certainly wasn't that great. Especially the one where your boss was a dick and your rent was due. Your day had sucked and it certainly wasn't over yet. Because you still had to walk home, and little did you know what would happen then.

Cut to now, as you trembled in shock on a couch in their apartment. The questions tumbling out before the boys could answer. "So, you're not human?"

Ashton shrugged. "I think we're just highly evolved." He cracked a dimply smile.

"How does Michael do that? He was him and now he's me."

"We don't know, the doctor does." Calum brought you a drink, sitting on the coffee table in front of you.

You're not sure when you fell asleep, but you woke up when Michael's gruff voice eased you up. "Sorry princess, really I am, but I want to talk."

With a whine, you rubbed your eyes and eased up on the couch. "You got a lot of talking to do before you take me out, Mick."

His eyes widened, his smile turned sheepish. He started his story, holding you closer to him. Maybe his adrenalin pumped a little strong when he blurted his proposal for a date, or maybe he felt it was just right. You didn't seem to mind and that's all that matters.

#Michael Clifford imagines #michael Clifford imagine #michael Clifford blurbs #michael Clifford blurb #michael Clifford X reader #5sos imagines #5sos imagine #5 seconds of summer imagines #5 seconds of summer imagine #superhero!5sos #superhero!michael

[paintedface]

The Notification of your Name

Summary: You’ve been dating your boyfriend, James Buchanan Barnes, for an entire year, but you’ve never actually met him. 

Pairing: Internet Boyfriend!Bucky x Reader

Word Count: 3415 Words

Warnings: literally none. is fluff even a warning?

Notes: Thank you to @whyisbuckyso for beta-ing this, even when you were busy af! I also know that if you live in an apartment, you’d normally have a PO box, but for the story’s sake, it was a tiny package delivered into the apartment mailbox. They may be ‘rushing’ it but like,, they’ve been dating a year already. also the gif below is my image of bucky in this one, just without the beard and a lil younger looking. 

Permanent Tags are OPEN | masterlist

A notification sounds from your pocket and you pull your phone out quickly as you slice open the tape of one of many cardboard boxes, piled up in the corner of the room.

Bucky ❤:

How is my beautiful girl this morning?

Grabbing a stack of throw blankets from the box and tossing them onto the couch, you quickly tap out a reply.

Y/N:

I’m doing good, now that you have me blushing

You take the time to look around your new apartment, relieved that your best friends had helped out with the furniture placement, and now it was just up to you to decorate the rest of the place. University’s given you the chance to finally get a place of your own, and it’s everything you could’ve wanted. Enough space to have your friends over, and not too big to make the place feel lonely.

Bucky ❤:

Aww, I bet that’s a nice image ;)

Y/N:

Shut up you handsome jerk

James Buchanan Barnes, or Bucky as he likes to tell people to call him, is your boyfriend of a year. Since you started talking, you could never put down your phone, as there was an endless supply of notifications of FaceTime requests, SnapChat photos, texts and a variety of other apps. The thing is, even if you’ve skyped almost every single day, you’ve never actually met the guy.

It wasn’t your decision to join Tinder, your so-called two best friends, who were always waltzing around with their boyfriends, decided that you needed one too.

“Y/N, I swear to god, if you don’t make one, I will.” Samantha tells you, dangling your phone from your fingertips.

“I don’t, fucking, need one!” You groan, attempting to snatch your phone from her grasps, to no avail.

Nicolette rolls her eyes, perching on a barstool as she sips on some exotic Starbucks beverage. “Sure you don’t. Y/N, you deserve a guy who’ll treat you right. Or a girl, maybe even one who doesn’t identify as either. Still! You’re lonely, for fuck’s sake.”

“I can find a guy without a dating app, okay?” You slump on the couch when Samantha threatens to throw the phone out of the window.

Both of them raise a skeptical eyebrow at that and you huff, crossing your arms. “Fine, I can’t. Just do it, okay?”

“You’ve got a match!” Sam screams, as Nic and you scramble over to see who you matched with.

All of your eyes widen, almost comically, when you see who it is, because shit.

“Holy fuck, can I steal your tinder account so I can steal this guy away?” Nic says breathlessly, and you’re able to grab your phone off Sam, pinching yourself to see if you’re seeing things right.

Yeah, maybe letting your friends set up an online dating profile for you wasn’t so bad.

Day and night, you talked about everyone and everything, talking about movies, awkward social situations and so much more. You were hooked with him, and the first time that you facetimed, you both practically started crying. He told you to wear no makeup, to be yourself, and the whole time, Bucky was praising you and your face. He was hesitant to show you his metal arm in action, from a nasty car accident two years ago, but you told him that it was so fucking cool. You’re both nerds. But he’s a hot one.

After you’ve unpacked most of your boxes, your two idiots of best friends come and swing by, taking you to a local diner. It’s a classic, stereotypical American diner, with milkshakes and burgers, but you love it. A brunette named Darcy takes your order, her smile wide as you make small conversation with her.

“So,” Sam leans forward on her elbows, “Doesn’t Bucky live in this city?”

Your eyebrows scrunch together in confusion, before your hands cup your mouth in surprise. “Shit, I think he does!”

You pause before you can get too excited, and you lean back into the booth. “Wait, but what if he doesn’t want to see me?”

Nic smacks your arm, glaring at you. “He’s your fucking boyfriend, Y/N, what do you think? He loves you!”

Sam shakes back her hair, taking a sip of her milkshake. “You think he’d pass up the chance to meet you? You two are made for each other, and you’ve been dating for a year without seeing one another! That’s gotta mean something.”

You nod slowly but you bite your lip still. “What if I’m not what he expects, though? What if I don’t live up to-“

“Y/N! You’ve facetimed so much, that I swear you know each other inside out. I promise,” Nic rests a hand on your arm, “That if you do end up meeting, you’ll be more than fine.”

“Not to mention your expression whenever you see a notification from him, it’s hilarious!” Sam snickers, and before you can punch her, Darcy comes along with your food.

“Who’s him? Who’s the special guy that this lovely lady likes?” Darcy asks, leaning on your table, her eyes sparkling when you realise that she heard almost all of your conversation. You can’t stop your two friends from sparing no detail from Darcy.

When you arrive back home, you see a thin package wrapped in brown paper and string, sitting on the floor outside of your door. That’s weird, you think, because any package would normally be delivered in your mailbox outside of your apartment block.

You see that the delivery details on the brown paper are definitely yours, though the name is your Mum’s. You carefully tear open the paper and the edges of your mouth curls up when you see a small, fresh dot-journal in there. You told your mum that you wanted one, to organise your life once you moved in, and she obviously already got one delivered to your apartment.

You put it in your bag, but before you can crumple up the brown paper, you see a small note with delicate black script stuck on the other side of the paper.

Hi new neighbour (I heard all the general moving chaos),

This was accidentally delivered to my mailbox instead of yours, so I decided to put it out here. I’m pretty sure nobody will steal it. Hopefully.

Sincerely,

James (Apartment 306)

You grin at the note, and pocket that as well. You’ll have to meet this James person one day, apparently he’s in the room opposite you. Already, you’re having good feelings about staying in this new place.

A WEEK LATER

Of course, the day that you remember that you have a shift at the coffee shop, is the day that you don’t actually have a shift at the coffee shop. As soon as you shut off your alarm, you realise that you’re already up and there’s no point going back to sleep. Brushing your teeth and putting on some makeup (so you don’t look quite so dead) and cute yet comfortable clothes, you grab your keys and get ready to head out. The diner makes some really good breakfast food, as Darcy has proved, so that’s your morning destination.

Slinging your bag over your shoulder as you tap out a text to Darcy (you ended up exchanging numbers after the first time you met), you don’t notice that somebody else is coming out of the opposite apartment. You let out a shocked gasp as you walk into somebody at the same time that somebody walks right into you. They stumble back a little and your phone slips out of your grasp from the collision. You instantly begin apologising, while you’re scrambling to obtain your phone from the floor.

“Shit, I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you!” You exclaim, as the other person tries to catch their breath.

“No, it’s fine, I didn’t see you either! Hey, you’re the new neighbour, right?” He asks a little shakily, but he lets out a chuckle at the end of his sentence.

“Yeah, I am, I moved in a week ago.” You take the hand that he offers you, before standing up. “My name’s…”

You trail off instantly, eyes widening in shock, seeing your expression mirrored by the man in front of you.

“Y/N?!” “Bucky?!”

You stare at each other, and your heart is thudding so fast and so loud that you think that Bucky can hear it.

You’re expecting it to just be a trick of the eye, but he said your name too. He looks so much fucking better in real life, looking like he was sculpted by the gods themselves. Soft, wavy brown hair falling over his forehead, stormy blue eyes, clear, smooth skin and a jawline that would probably give you a cut if you tried to touch it. Just looking at him makes your legs buckle a little.

Suddenly, you feel strong hands grip your waist and you squeal as he spins you around effortlessly, his broad, husky laugh filling the air. He pulls you into an impossibly tight hug, burying his face in the crook of your neck as you clutch onto him tightly. You’re pretty sure the grip that you’re holding each other in is painful to the two of you, but nothing else matters but the fact that you’re finally, finally in each other’s arms.

“Fuck, baby, it’s actually you?” He whispers breathlessly, muffled by your skin against his mouth.

You nod, rendered speechless as he pulls away a little.

“Shit, Y/N, I can’t believe it. To think that just this morning, I was gonna message you to see if we could meet up, all romantically. But here I am, in a singlet and boxers, in front of the love of my life.” He chuckles softly, and your smile is so goddamn wide that it hurts your cheeks. Not to mention the blush that’s quickly appearing at the ‘love of my life’.

“To be honest, you look great in a singlet and boxers. I’m not complaining.” You grin, finally recovering your voice, and he glares at you playfully, but a smile breaks onto his face. 

“Of course you wouldn’t be complaining, you get the good view.” He murmurs, before he pulls you back into a close embrace, shutting his eyes as he nuzzles the top of your head, ghosting his lips over your hair. You can feel his metal prosthetic resting on the curve of your back, it’s cool to the touch, and it’s him. It’s Bucky.

“I still can’t believe it’s you, Buck.” You say softly and he leans down to press a soft kiss to your forehead. It doesn’t feel forced, or awkward, it feels like he’s been doing it to you for years.

“I know, neither…” His actions still, and he raises an eyebrow at you. “Hold on. If you’re living there…” He points to your apartment’s door, before continuing, “Then whose name was on that package I left outside?”

You giggle, looking up at his confused puppy dog expression. “That was my mum’s name, she sent me a journal.”

Realisation dawns on his features, and then his fingers tighten on your waist a little. “Are you actually my neighbour now?” For a moment you’re paranoid that he doesn’t want you to live across from him, but judging by the wide smile on his face, you’re pretty sure he wants it.

“Apparently I am.” You shrug lightly, and his eyes are shining so brightly that you’re probably going to be blinded by it. But at least he’d be the last thing you’d see.

“Well, my beautiful girlfriend…” He murmurs in your ear and fuck, it’s so much better hearing him say it in real life rather than on FaceTime, “Would you like to go out to breakfast with me?”

Your heart leaps and you nod, before giving him a small smirk. “You’re gonna go out in your current ensemble? I mean, it’s fine to me, but it’s pretty chilly outside.”  

“Oh right, I forgot about that.” He doesn’t let go of your hand as he unlocks his apartment door. “I was gonna go down to the lobby to get an iced coffee because I don’t have any coffee left, so I didn’t bother to change.”

You step through the door into his apartment and your mouth parts slightly, looking around. It’s got a similar layout to yours, but it’s filled to the brim with unique hints of the man himself. Framed posters of action films, vinyls stacked in trays, fucking succulents on the window sills���now you can remember seeing some of them in the background of his facetimes and skypes.

“I’ll be right back, doll, but make yourself comfortable. I was binge watching Brooklyn 99.” He kisses the top of your head, setting butterflies fluttering in your stomach, not wanting to let go of him. He’ll be an apartment away, every day from now on, you think to yourself. You watch as he disappears into his bedroom, before you plonk yourself down on the sofa, immediately dragging a blanket around you. You can smell a hint of his cologne on the material, rolling your eyes at yourself for your gushy actions, before pressing play on an old Halloween episode of Brooklyn 99.

“Fuck, Y/N, I come in all smooth and prepared and then you’re curled up in a blanket? How am I meant to compose myself then?” A voice groans behind you, and you turn to see Bucky standing there, with his arms folded and a pout on his very kissable lips. He’s wearing a shirt with the top buttons undone, with a sweater and denim jacket over the top. As well as skinny jeans, boots and a scarf wound around his neck, his hair still slightly ruffled. His metal hand is exposed, warming your heart to think that he’s already comfortable to show it, around you.

“I’m not meant to look cute, I’m meant to look dead.” You reply simply and he snickers, sitting down beside you and pulling you into his lap.

“Well you’re not succeeding at looking dead. You look even cuter in real life, babe.” He tells you gently, letting out a content noise as he noses at your hair.

“It’s so fuckin surreal to see your face out of the screen, Buck.” You lean up to run your eyes along his features again, still trying to comprehend that he’s here with you.  

Bucky gives you a warm smile, running his gaze up and down your body. “You too, beautiful. Now,” He grunts a little as he stands up, pulling you up with him, “May I take you to breakfast?”

“Well, well, well! Who do we have here?” You laugh as Darcy waltzes her way over to your booth, speaking in a sing-song voice. Bucky refused to sit on the other side of the table, not wanting to let you out of his arms.

“Darce, this is Bucky. Bucky, Darce.” You say, and Darcy instantly shakes his hand, her eyes bright.

“I’ve heard a lot about you, Bucky. So you finally met, huh?” She brushes back her dark curls, before sitting down on the other side of the booth with her order pad ready.

“Mm hm, entirely by accident. We ran into each other…” Bucky says and after a beat, he mumbles, “literally.”

Darcy raises an elegant eyebrow, before poising her pen over her notepad. “Well, why don’t you tell me all about it over a breakfast on the house?”

Darcy doesn’t stay for too long, giving you the chance to talk more with Bucky, but her being, well, Darcy, she still gets a lot of information out of the two of you.

“So…” Bucky takes a sip of coffee, before shifting to look at you. He smiles again, one of those quirky yet beautiful smiles. “I’d ask to come over to yours tonight, but you’re sort of only a few metres away.”

You grin back at him, arms tightening around his neck. “Well, you’re welcome to come over, I’ll give you the key one day. If you’re able to walk across the hallway, old man.”

He snorts, rolling his eyes. “Since when am I old? I’m only a year older than you.” He pinches your side gently and you jump, giggling.

“Anyone older than me is elderly.” Your throat hitches when he stares at you, resting his forehead against yours. You can feel his breath tickling your lips, and he slowly leans in, his lips brushing yours…

“OH SHIT, OH SHIT, OH SHIT!” Somebody screams from the door and the two of you jump apart, blushes on your face, though your hands remain intertwined.

You can see Sam and Nic run full speed towards the two of you, before simultaneously sliding into the opposite booth seat.

“Why do you guys always ruin the perfect moments?” You mutter under your breath.

THE NEXT DAY

“Well, you’re a sight for sore eyes, doll.” A low voice says, and you look up from your desk, ready to knock out the asshole who’s trying to hit on you. Your fists instantly unclench at the sight of Bucky, and you collect up your laptop and books into your bag, slinging it over your shoulder.

“How’d you know which lecture I was in? Do you even go to this place?” You ask curiously, following him out into the university’s main hall. Even his walk is like a proud motherfucker, making you feel like a teen with a crush on a jock again.

“Of course I go here! I thought you knew that! And I’m pretty sure you told me that this was your last class of the day, so I naturally assumed that you’d be here.” He shrugs, winding his arm around your shoulders.

“Y’know, it’s a lot better knowing that I can see you after Uni instead of having to FaceTime you.” You give him a smile and he smirks back.  

“You’re right on that one, gorgeous.” He drawls, giving you a sideway glance that makes you weak at the knees. His impossibly smug look fades when you move closer to him, a blush creeping up his face.

You notice, and you grin to yourself as you loop your arms around his neck, watching as his tongue darts out to lick his lips nervously.

“What’s wrong, pretty boy? Not so cocky anymore?” You ask softly, the corner of your mouth quirking up and he swallows audibly, running a hand through his soft brown locks.

“Fuck, Y/N…I can’t, when you’re this close, you know what you do to me.” He groans quietly and you giggle a little, before resting a hand on his cheek.

“Is this okay?” You say shyly, and he nods instantly, drawing you closer with his metal arm around your waist.

“More than okay, beautiful. I’ve wanted this for a year.” Bucky breathes, before finally, finally, connecting his lips to yours, urgent yet lovingly. You can’t stop the little gasp from slipping out, before pressing forward. It’s everything you’ve wanted and more, his grip on you tightening as he deepens the kiss. He tastes of sugar and caffeine, he tastes of something you’ve been missing. And when you finally part, breathing heavily with wide smiles on your face, you realise that even if you’ve been dating online for a year, having him here, with you, is all you need.

A WEEK LATER

Incoming Phone Call from:

Bucky ❤

Your smile widens, and you press ‘receive.’

“Yeah?”

“You know how you gave me a key to your apartment?”

“Mm hm, Buck?” You cross one leg over the other, pointing your toes.

“Wow, you have a really nice kitchen.”

You lift an eyebrow, raising your head from the pillow, ears perking up. “Y’know, that sounds really creepy.”

“It’s not creepy if it’s true. Wait, no, never mind. I don’t have a way with words.” He says, and you see the bedroom door open, your boyfriend stepping through with his phone to his ear. White singlet and boxers, fuck, that’ll be the death of you.  

“That was even creepier, Buck.” You tell him as he crawls onto the bed, covering your lips with his own gently, before pulling you into his chest.

“I know. I just shouldn’t speak anymore.” He grins, clicking off his phone and tossing it onto the bedside table, before nuzzling the crook of your neck.

“You’re such a dork, Buck.” You tell him, pulling the covers over the two of you as you turn on your TV.

“Yeah, but I’m your dork.”

permanent tags (OPEN): @vibranium-arm​ / @gallifreyansass​ / @omalleysgirl22​​ / @girlwith100names​​ / @buckysinthesinbin​ / @cameronahugenerd​​ / @imsecretlyromanburki​​ / @megan-atthedisco-blog​​ / @buckys-fossil​​ / @iamwarrenspeace​​ / @sofiathearab / @alohabucky​​ / @buckyappreciationsociety​​ / @debbielovesbucky​​ / @metal-armed-dino​​ / @helloitscrowley​​ / @sebastian-stans-thighs​​ / @fantastic-fantasy-fanfics​​ / @hela-goddess-0f-death​ ​ / @feelmyroarrrr​ / @mjuikoli​ / @meganliiz​ / @yoyolovesbucky / @srgntjbarnes / @carriefish-er / @jurassicbarnes / @ssweet-empowerment / @shieldagentofthemonth / @palaiasaurus64 / @i-love-superhero / @infiniteholland / @ailynalonso15 / @bywonater / @vanillaicecrusher

(strike through means I couldn’t tag you, sorry!)​

#bucky barnes #bucky #winter soldier #sergeant barnes #the winter soldier #seb stan #sebastian stan #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #winter soldier x reader #sergeant barnes x reader #the winter soldier x reader #seb stan x reader #sebastian stan x reader #bucky barnes fluff #bucky fluff #seb stan fluff #sebastian stan fluff #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #sebastian stan fanfic #sebastian stan fic #sebastian stan imagine

[buffyverse-rewind]

S6 E5 “Life Serial”

Augh, I hate this episode. Is this review probably going to be biased?  Yeah, probably.  I’ve literally put off watching this episode for weeks.  

Right off the bat we have Buffy coming back from her off screen rendezvous would Angel, bringing home a bucket of chicken, taken by surprise by the fact that the others have already eaten.  

(Sigh) Seriously, I know this was early 2000s, and Buffy may or may not have had a cellphone, but who comes back from out of town after, what, at least a day or two, and stops to pick up a family dinner without first checking with the family if you should?

But never mind that, what the actual hell Giles?  Buffy’s home a minute and she’s supposed to have her life plans figured out?  He’s not necessarily wrong to want to engage her on that subject, but come on, asking her out of the blue like that, apropos of nothing and in front of everyone?  Why right then?  Why not give her a little after whatever drama you know probably went down with Angel, and more importantly, why wait until you can have this conversation with Buffy privately, when the two of you are alone?  

But of course the segue into Giles’ question is that “they’ve been talking about Buffy’s plans” – meaning that Giles and the others were discussing what Buffy should do with her life without her; which is super classy.  Girl was dead for months, back a week and everyone’s so concerned she doesn’t have life all figured out.  Fuck you Giles.  What happened to the tactful, thoughtful Giles from season 3, who was the only one in the group with concern for Buffy’s emotional well being; and actually took the time to draw out from her the issue that was bothering her about how things went down with Angel at the end of season 2, so that she wouldn’t feel pressured or backed into a corner?

And then there’s the fucking Trio…. God I hate this season.  Like, Warren was pretty much an asshole from his first episode, so him as a recurring villain doesn’t surprise me.  Andrew is… Whatever.  He was invented for the purposes of this plot and he continues to serve whatever purpose the plot dictates.  But come on, Jonathan should arguably be better than this.  Yeah, he’s done fucked up on a couple of occasions, but the idea that he would out and out be on board with intentionally being a super villain or criminal is ridiculous.

A bigger issue here of course, as is often the case with the conventional depiction of most “super villains” is the sheer redundancy of their goals.  They want to be rich and powerful yet have all of these resources that already suggest they already are.  I mean, Jesus Christ, with all the shit Warren can do, why does he even need to mess with the Slayer?  Why does he have to do any of this?  He could go to Silicon Valley and practically print his own money and do whatever the fuck all he wants to do; legal or not and he’d be rich enough to get away with it.

The time dilation part of the episode makes zero fucking sense.  What exactly is happening with Buffy from Tara’s point of view that she continues to go about her day like Buffy isn’t just frozen in place?  At one point she even just leaves Buffy behind.

And then there’s Buffy’s day with Xander.  Can I just say, “Fucking Xander.”  It has nothing to do, necessarily, with what’s happening in the plot, just in general that Xander is a fucking tool.

Now of course, there’s the scene itself and Xander…. Well, he’s not strictly a tool in this scene, but he does seem to be a fucking idiot.  I mean, Jesus Xander, have you only just met Buffy?  You’re acting like you haven’t fought demon possessed robots or been possessed by a Hyena; and feel the need to tell Buffy not to talk about the strange things you all encounter on a regular basis.  Although considering that “Tony” the foreman also lives and works in Sunnydale, evil lint is probably the least crazy sounding thing he’s heard about or seen firsthand.  For that matter, neither should the creatures that attack them later.  This show loves to have its cake and eat it too; Sunnydale is a hotbed for paranormal activity, high mortality rates, all manner of demons casually going about their day; yet it’s still supposed to be like any other run of the mill city where no one has ever seen nothin’ out of the ordinary and skepticism abounds.

And then Xander introduces Buffy to the less than enthusiastic crew, gives her no kind of job orientation and promptly ditches her to work elsewhere; so… yeah… even when he’s doing Buffy a favor getting a job, Xander’s kind of a tool here too.

(Sigh)  Why do you have to go and ruin a perfectly fun Groundhog Day-esque time loop trope with this crap?  And come on, this causes Buffy to never want to work in the magic shop afterwards, that she’d rather work at the fucking Double Meat Palace?  She’s at the shop all the fucking time otherwise, why not get paid to fucking be there?  

And she didn’t include shipping, well that’s on fucking Giles and Anya for not properly training her, or making sure her first sale was done right.  Jesus tap dancing Christ, this episode pisses me off.

And if the fucking hand can move on its own, why is it just out where it could escape or something? How did Anya or Giles expect to find it when they need it, let alone catch it or package it?  How was it transported there in the first place? Why didn’t Buffy fucking ask for help?? God, I hate when writers have to resort to making the characters idiots in order to make the plot happen.

And was Buffy saying the hand was just “playing dead” a nod to Monty Python’s Dead Parrot sketch? Because if so, fuck you.  Don’t besmirch the Python with this shit. (Warren’s line pretty much confirms this.  So yeah, fuck you.)

If time is looping, how are the Three Amigos watching each loop?  Is time only looping within the shop? If so, how does the unsatisfied customer keep coming back?

And fucking playing poker for God damn fucking kittens…. Fuck season 6.

 Does this episode get credit for introducing us to Clem?

…. No… Because what the hell do they actually do with him, other than use him for comic relief?  He becomes Spike’s funny looking sidekick.  

Because drunk Buffy was such a comic winner in “Beer Bad,” the writers felt the need to revisit it.

Now, you see Giles, this is when you should be talking to Buffy about her life and her plans; you’re alone and these things are on her mind. She doesn’t need to have the answers, but you could be helping her find the path that might lead to those answer. THAT is what she needs.  The check is arguably appreciate too in the meantime, but given that he’s so concerned about her being dependent on him that he soon leaves the fucking country, this last scene may or may not be misstep for you. You could be making the case for her to come back to the magic shop.  You could be helping her figure out other ways of supporting herself financial that wouldn’t interfere with her Slaying; which no matter what anyone else is says, is her job; one for which she doesn’t get paid, but takes first priority over everything in her life, including her life and expecting her to find a job that she can live on that won’t conflict with that is just absurd.

Let her using the training space in the back of the shop to offer self-defense classes.  My personal preference would be for the two of them to open a funeral home together.  It makes all sort of sense as a front for a Slayer; you have early access to the recently deceased, it explains you coming and going from all of the cemeteries.  I say mix some holy water in with the embalming fluid and the instant a new vamp turns they go poof.

But barring that, just sign your fucking share of the magic box ownership over to Buffy.  Maybe that’s too unfair to Giles.  After all, it’s his business, his income, but he doesn’t apparently need it.   The only reason he bought the business in the first place wasn’t because he needed the money, but because he was bored; and now he intended to be a silent partner in the business while he did fuck all in England.  His status as a reinstated Watcher is ambiguous at best, but at the very least he got some hefty back-pay and may still be receiving a check from them. Meanwhile, if Buffy got his share of the magic shop business, it may not be much, but it would ostensibly be enough to keep Buffy afloat.  She could be as much of an active or silent partner as Giles was.

But oh, no, that would solve all the contrived problems that Buffy is facing this season.  Giles wouldn’t have a reason to leave (which would presumably cement his status as active Watcher, meaning he’d definitely still be receiving his own separate income from the Council, while ensuring Buffy’s financial security.)  Buffy might have found the strength to confide more so in Giles than in Spike and avoid that toxic relationship. Who knows if Giles being around would have made much of a difference with Willow, seeing as he was there for Tabula Rasa, but maybe he would have stepped in before things escalated following Amy’s return. But I digress.  I hate this episode.

[rather-impertinent]

The Girl Next Door: Chapter 1

A/N: Hello friends! Here is my newest Carolight AU, as promised. This is just an introduction, I pinky promise it gets better, I’ve kind of wrote this AU backwards tbh hahaha! It will also feature lots of other familar characters and pairings down the line, so stay tuned! I hope you like it xo

It had been fifteen long hours since Doctor Dwight Enys had seen the exterior of his flat building. He welcomed the sight of the somewhat overly-aggressive modern building with the familiar fondness of home. He began the usual dissection of his large collection of keys as he searched for the one that unlocks the outside door to apartment Block C. He really needed to colour code these damn keys. Honestly, one would think he were a janitor or a soccer mom with too many hobbies as opposed to a single surgeon, who ironically held no particular talents where tidiness and cleanliness were concerned, nor did he have any children to speak of.

Once the damn door had finally been unlocked, he groaned as he opened it into the warm building, thinking of the three flights of stairs he would have to now climb to get to his bed. But that would spur him on: the thought of his bed. His lovely, cosy double bed; his dearest friend; his one true companion in this life. Dwight had also just this morning remembered to wash his bedsheets, and so luxurious, fresh comfort awaited him just a mere sixty steps away. Rejuvenated by his thoughts of rest, Dwight made for the stairway. He climbed the first one, smiling, the thought of peace and quiet appealing to exhausted mind when-

Thump, thump, thump.

He stopped short on the fourth step and sighed. So, the Hunters have fallen out again, he thought. He really did not have time for this. It was after ten in the evening and he had stitched so many wounds back together that his fingers physically ached. If either one of the sweet, yet clearly drug fuelled, middle aged couple tried to drag him into whatever ridiculous argument they were having, he would just have to jump headfirst out of the nearest window and die. He took the next few steps two at a time, holding his breath as he got to the second landing, anticipating either Joan or Robert Hunter standing in the small, carpeted space, shouting profanities and very nearly kicking their door in. He was amazed to find it empty until he realised, to his horror, that the banging was coming from above him: his landing. He took the next few steps three at a time and was met by the silhouette of a woman he had never seen before.

She had not noticed his presence and continued to bang incessantly and shout for someone named Horace. Normally, Dwight was not one to intervene in the lives of his neighbours, except to help with the odd shopping bag or carrying a pram down the stairs, but the young woman seemed so genuinely distressed that he felt it would bother his conscience if he just silently slipped into his own flat.

He tapped her shoulder gently and she started, almost comically so. “Um, hi, are you okay?”

The woman turned to face Dwight and, despite the long black trails of mascara down her face, she was very beautiful. Ridiculously so. She sniffed fiercely, “No, I – I went to go to the shop a while ago and I realised I had left my keys inside,” Dwight closed his eyes briefly in sympathy: the doors locked automatically when closed – a usually useful modern feature of the building, “it’s been a long day,” she tried to explain, “but the thing is, my darling Horace is now stuck inside!” She began to cry softly again.

Dwight stared at her, trying to wrack his brains as to how to help the poor woman. “Ok. It’s alright.” Even he winced at his pitiful attempt to comfort her. Jesus, you twat it’s clearly not alright. He knew that they would probably have to call the fire station or the police soon if they couldn’t figure out a way in, which would no doubt be mortifying for the young mother standing in front of him. “Is there anyone I can call for you?” He hoped she wouldn’t take this to mean he was copping out of assisting her, he just felt that if he had accidentally left his child in his flat, he would appreciate some familiar company.

The woman shook her head slowly and tried the door handle again, as if it would magically unlock itself.

He chewed his lip as he watched her fruitless attempts to move the stubborn door. Think, Enys, think. You’re a fucking surgeon. Use your brain. He made a slight eureka sound as he fully took in her form. He pointed at her hair bun and snapped his fingers, an idea forming in his head. “Your hair!” She looked at him with a quizzical expression and smoothed her hair slightly – worried it was a mess. Dwight chuckled mutely, “No, I mean, do you have any hairpins?”

“Oh,” she said, blinking. “Yes. Why?” She continued to stare blankly at him, not fully understanding his meaning.

“I think I can help you out, can you give me two of them?”

She nodded quickly at the handsome stranger and pulled all the pins out of her blonde hair, which then tumbled down her back like a golden waterfall. She offered him the small cluster of pins and he chose two from the pile, quickly biting off the small circular ends. The blonde nymph was about to protest at the destruction of her property before he straightened the black pins and began to pick at the lock. She simply gawped at him, wondering what the fuck he was doing and if she had somehow moved in next to James Bond. She didn’t see how it could even be possible for James Bond to unlock a door with only two small hair grips.

After a minute, he sighed in frustration and squinted his gaze at the light above them in landing, as if scolding it for not being bright enough.

The young woman quickly fished out her phone from the pocket of her dark jeans and wordlessly shined the torch feature at the lock, so he could see better. He offered her a small smile in thanks before trying again – this time with a new pin. She eyed him with keen interest. “You don’t seem like the type of guy who would know how to pick a lock,” she commented, her blue eyes curious. How could a guy who looks like he volunteers at an old folks’ home for fun know how to break into someone’s house?

The corners of his lips tilted upwards as he continued to pry at metal slit. “A good friend of mine had a dodgy phase while at uni and he taught me how – only for emergencies, like this, of course.”

“Oh.” Is all she can say.

Dwight curses and encourages the pins as he pushes anticlockwise on them with all his might.

Click.

“Yes!” He exhaled, and before the breath had fully left his body, the woman had shoved past him and bolted into the flat. Dwight stood in the doorway and decided to take a couple of steps inside to ensure the woman was alright. She stood with her back to him, staring out of the window at the city lights in the distance, soothing a bundle of blankets. Dwight smiled and was just about to leave as she turned around, her bright blue eyes wide with appreciation and relief. Dwight’s breath caught in his throat and he felt a strange desire to laugh.

“Oh, thank you! Thank you so much!”

He stared at her, dumbstruck, wondering if he was being Punk’d or something. Did they even still make that tv show? He blinked at the sight before him several times before he found his voice, “Horace... is... your dog?” She was still sniffing slightly, but looked at him as though he were the dumbest person in the world. “Yes, of course,” she told him, as though it were a detail she had already mentioned, and even if she hadn’t, that it should have been completely obvious.

They continued their awkward, confused stare off until the young woman looked at the beige pug in unmistakable alarm. “Oh, God. He’s breathing weird. Something’s wrong!” Fresh tears began to well in her eyes again.

Dwight had a good mind to leave, he had worked a fourteen-hour shift today and would repeat the torture in about ten hours’ time. Why was he wasting his time on some blonde ditz, who – judging by the lavishly decorated flat – could very well afford to pay a private vet for his or her services? Still, the expression on her face was one of such genuine distress and desperation, he felt like he would be failing in his duty as a doctor, as well as human being, to leave her by herself. “Let me see him,” he instructed in his best professional voice, stretching out his arms.

Her brows creased above her cloudy eyes and she held the dog even tighter to her chest. “What?”

His famed patience was growing thin. “I’m a doctor,” he explained, “and an aunt of mine used to have a pug, it had a lot of breathing problems, too. I might be able to help.”

The young woman took a seat on the sofa, with the pug firmly in her lap, and tapped the space next to her, encouraging Dwight to sit down. He did so, and then gently took the pug from her arms and placed it on his own lap. Despite its laboured breathing, it managed a decent growl in Dwight’s direction, which caused the woman beside him to chuckle. She watched with concern as Dwight poked and prodded the small creature.

He met her worried gaze and inhaled slowly. “His pulse is steady, and he doesn’t have a fever. But he’s had a fit, which are common in pugs,” he adds hastily as the woman sitting opposite him looks fit to burst into tears again.

She stroked the animal soothingly, obviously very fond of it. “Is there anything I can do?” Her tone was somewhat timid yet assuredly determined.

Dwight bit the inside of his cheek in hesitation before replying, anticipating a verbal or literal thrashing, “Yes. He is – uh – he’s too fat,” he stated plainly, and almost laughs when the girl gasped and covered the pug’s ears from the harsh truth of the matter, “but it can be easily remedied: take him for frequent walks, feed him less rich food, that sort of thing.”

She narrowed her eyes at Dwight and he winced almost imperceivably, but she then began to nod slowly. “Well, I suppose you are a doctor,” she conceded, watching him very closely, “and so I should listen to you.” Dwight did not know why but for some reason he felt like she was mocking him.

“He’ll be much less prone to fits if he loses some weight, it helped my aunt’s pug.” Dwight nodded politely and rose to leave, seeking the warm comfort of his bed at last.

She watched him go, somewhat annoyed that her first conversation of the day was coming to an end. “Did it, really?” She smiled as the doctor stopped in his tracks. “What was your aunt’s pug called?”

He turned back around to face the woman and Horace. “It did,” he confirmed. He chuckled then, fond childhood memories coming back to him. “My aunt Jane’s pug was called Doug. Doug the pug, you could never guess she’s a poet, eh?”

The siren laughed at his joke and smiled widely, her musical laughter ringing in his ears. He found himself unable to resist joining in, too. Once their laughter had faded and only an almost tense atmosphere remained, he coughed awkwardly, stood up to leave and walked several paces towards the door before stopping in his tracks once again, a thought occurring to him. “Your shopping. Or lack, thereof. Do you need to borrow anything? Like some milk or something?”

She shook her head and continued to stroke the pug on her lap. “No, it’s OK, thank you. I think after that experience I’d sooner have a shot of alcohol than of a cup of tea!”

“Now, that, I can definitely understand.” With a final smile, he turned his back and reached for the door handle.

“Wait!” she demanded in a light tone. His hand paused on the rectangular metal grip and he glanced at her over his shoulder, an expectant expression on his face. She pursed her lips, smirking slightly. “What is your name?”

#carolight #poldark fanfic #girl next door au

[maxsmusicmacrology]

Oh Yes it is Christmas Music Time

Hey! Y’all ready for some motherfuckin CHRISTMAS MUSIC? That’s right, we’re approaching the tail end of November so it’s time for the same 40 Christmas songs to be played on every radio station. But, like, let’s talk about that. Yes, it’s repetitive and pretty homogenous, but that’s true of any song that gets a lot of play over the span in a few months. Remember last year when Old Town Road was in the top 40 for seventeen weeks? Christmas music is around for half that long, and there’s so much more of it. Besides, the two largest offenders are major retailers and radio stations, and we live in a world where radio is functionally obsolete and we probably won’t be doing much shopping anyway. In the year of 2020, is Christmas music really that bad? Well, that’s a matter of circumstance or opinion. Yes, we all have much bigger issues, but I’d like to take a deeper dive into the world of Christmas music. Fortunately for me, Wikipedia (something something not proper academic source w/e w/e who cares) has already compiled a table of the 30 most played Christmas songs of 2015.

While that is the chart for just one year, I compared it to listings from a few other years and the songs are largely the same. And also… just look at it. These are 100% the same songs that were played in 2007 and 2010 and 2013 and 2018 and will go on to be played this year… with one anomaly. 2015 is the first year All I Want for Christmas is You made the top 30, despite being written more than two decades previous in 1994.

If you take a look at the years the other songs were released, you may start to understand what took Mariah Carey so long to make the list. Of the 30 songs on the list, only 5 of them were written in the 70s or later, with All I Want for Christmas as the second most recent song on the list (and more importantly, the most recent original composition). A vast majority of the songs were written in the 30s-60s, and have become an integral part of American Christmas because… uh… why, exactly?

Randall Munroe had a hypothesis that he expressed in his popular webcomic XKCD:

He’s likely on to something here. Songs get popular because… that’s what they do. As the baby boomers grew up, they wanted to feel nostalgic with the songs they grew up with, and because there were so many of them, their childhood songs got requested on the radio more and more, and then a new cohort of children grow up with those Christmas songs too. What’s popular goes on to become more popular. This in turn makes it harder for new songs to break in: there’s new Christmas singles every year, and some of them do get radio play, but with this endless wall of “essential Christmas songs” it’s impossible for anything new to break in.

But let’s go back to the original question: so what? There’s traditions that society at large does every holiday season: stores decorate themselves with red and green, cities hang up lights, networks play Christmas specials endlessly. Hearing these same songs is just one of those traditions. The problem is that blindly replaying these same few songs doesn’t leave room for anything better to come through.

For the other ten months of the year, songs compete with each other for radio play and for attention on streaming services. It’s far from an outright meritocracy, but on some level it’s relatively fair: songs trend on the top few spots while they’re popular, then when people get tired of it or start to like something else more, the popular song fades away and the new song gets popular. It has some of the same issues, popular songs receive a burst of popularity by virtue of being popular, but the culture around Christmas music takes it to the extreme: the same few dozen songs get popular every year, and if the label still owns the rights to it then it pumps their pockets full of money and blocks anything new from coming.

This would, theoretically, be a good place to end. I give some generic platitude about not holding on so tight to established traditions and listening to something different this Christmas, link a playlist of winter-sounding Nintendo music, and we move on. But what’s the fun in that? We haven’t even analyzed the content of the songs yet!

When I was originally planning this assignment, I was going to sort each different song into categories like “romance” “winter weather” “commercialism”, etc. Fortunately, Wikipedia did that for me! The largest category is, fittingly, “traditions”. These songs include It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year, Blue Christmas, and Home for the Holidays. For the most part, this seems like a catch-all category to encompass anything that the other categories don’t include, songs that are about Christmas as a concept. Interestingly enough, these are almost exclusively (with only one exception) from the 50s and 60s, a sort of “second era” of Christmas music. These songs essentially look back at the 30s and 40s songs and lift themes from those to make quintessential Christmas songs.

This category isn’t especially interesting, so let’s move on to “Mythical”, so named because the songs within create or perpetuate the mythology around Christmas- Santa Claus and his flying sleigh delivering presents. These songs are essentially oral traditions passed down through music about “the magic of Christmas”. Remember that phrase for later.

What I’m especially interested in examining are the categories “seasonal” and “celebratory”. Seasonal songs are simple, they’re (usually) upbeat songs written about how nice it is that winter’s here. Most commonly they’re about snow, cold weather, and going inside to get out of the cold weather. If you were in orchestra, band, or choir from fourth grade into middle school, you’re probably familiar with most of these.

Celebratory songs are the most interesting- they’re about celebrating the joy of Christmas, and by nature of becoming part of the Christmas Experience, they have essentially turned Christmas into a celebration of itself. The omnipresence of these songs ensures that every radio station and storefront is full of the celebration of Christmas.

“So what?” you may be thinking. “Is little miss Grinch here gonna complain about that too?” Well, kind of. For the next few months, the joy of Christmas is going to be literally fucking everywhere, and most of you are probably going to be pretty happy about that. I’m pretty happy about that- Christmas takes place during the literal darkest days of the year, just four days after the winter solstice, and I certainly enjoy having all the decorations to light up the darkness. I even enjoy some of the common Christmas songs to an extent, and because they’ve been around forever they can certainly make me feel nostalgic.

But Christmas doesn’t just spread joy, it demands it. If you’re miserable around Christmas, people begin to think there’s something wrong with you. More importantly, when someone’s unhappy and everyone else is joyous, they begin to think there’s something wrong with them. People suffering from depression or seasonal affective disorder, people who are stressed out and beaten down by life, people who have bad memories associated with winter or Christmas aren’t just going to be unhappy during the season, they’re going to feel alienated by the world around them demanding joy. YouTuber Renegade Cut said it best: “nothing is more miserable than being around happy people”.

In fact, he said most things better than I can, so I highly recommend taking a few minutes to watch his video about misery in the time of Christmas to get a sense of what I’m talking about here.

Again, if Christmas and its associated traditions make you happy, that’s good. We can all use some happiness right now, and we should seek it out where we can. But we’re living in the middle of a pandemic, we’re on the tail end of a horrific presidency, those of us demanding social change have been shut down time and time again, many of us may be spending Christmas without family for the first time. If you’re not happy on Christmas, that’s okay too. There’s nothing wrong with you if it doesn’t make you happy. Don’t try to force it. Stay inside and listen to something somber if that’ll help. Sadness is an important emotion to feel sometimes.

And for those of you who want something wintry that doesn’t ask you to celebrate, here’s what I’m listening to as my kickoff to the Holiday season.

Links used:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Christmas_music#United_States - most played Christmas songs.

https://imgs.xkcd.com/comics/tradition.png - xkcd comic

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BfAJN5vAYmA - Merry Christmas from Renegade Cut

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VdmoSNgYxwY - Shadowatnoon Winter Music Collection

#christmas #christmas music #holiday season #american holidays #winter misery

[mcspurs]

Flowers? This term is relative & nothing is real.

APH Rare Pair Week, day 1

Prompt: Flowers.

Characters: Estonia & Finland (OCs).

Kalju Salumäe (Estonia) belongs to @brothuania, Jaakko Järvelä (Finland) belongs to me. Drabble available on ff.net & ao3. Enjoy! c:

Early mornings are never easy. Especially when the time is just a concept and your early mornings are other people's early afternoons. Jaakko sighed deeply, as he entered the kitchen. No matter how much time he'd spend in this house, he would always run into new gadgets or other so called decorations Kalju seemed to be a bit too fond of to let go. When exactly did they acquire a new microwave? Jaakko must have been distracted by something else when the purchase was being made. Or, the Estonian secretly made use of one of those shopping apps he hoarded among other obscure software the Finn will never fully comprehend. As long as it functions, I guess, he thought as he proceeded to the real goal of his visit in this room.

The fridge was purring quietly in its usual place, at least that didn't change overnight. Several magnets from Estonian and Finnish cities decorated the metal door. Jaakko couldn't help a small smile slowly creeping onto his face. Before grabbing the handle, he raised his finger to trace the soft texture of those tiny rectangles with panoramas of cities he knew so well. Tallinn, Helsinki, Tartu, Turku, Parva, Kuopio, Jyväskylä, Pärnu ... there was even one from Rovaniemi, shaped like a Santa's hat, with seasonal wishes engraved in it. That one was probably the tackiest magnet he'd ever seen in his entire life, but they had no heart to get rid of it. There was a story behind it, a story not intended for the ears of the unauthorized. Alcohol, bad decisions and risky adventures were involved, of course. Knowing Jaakko and Kalju, none of that should still be surprising.

Persistent stomach rumbling snatched him out of this sudden reverie. The mundane needs turned out to be louder than the needs of the spirit, by all the means. Opening the fridge eventually, Jaakko scanned its contents. Even someone as skilled in the (doubtful) art of drinking as this Finnish man, would experience painful consequences of a Friday night spent with one or two bottles of hard liquor. In other words, some items seemed blurry, nearly impossible to distinguish from one another. He found out about them owning a bottle of vinegar the hard way by nearly downing it, thinking it's water all along. Jaakko spat all of it into the sink and cussed. A bunch of other profanities soon followed the initial one, the Finn was known for his broad array of swear words after all. Kalju would have to be deaf, absent, or deep in a dream not to hear it.

"Are you okay?" The Estonian sounded worried. But he didn't come to see what happened. Jaakko was a big boy and certainly wouldn't appreciate any further displays of concern, ready to treat them as patronizing.

Living with the Finn was certainly an adventure, yet he had agreed to that very eagerly. He might not have been too open about his feelings, but neither have Jaakko. Squeezing affection-based talk out of either of them bordered on a miracle. Maybe they were not the most emotional couple in the world, but it was okay. Just each other's close presence was enough. Being within one another's fingertips. Filling the cold emptiness on the other side of the bed.

"Define okay, perkele," Jaakko mumbled under his breath. The sour taste of vinegar still lingered in his mouth. Not even wringing his face helped and yet he kept doing it in severe distaste. This unpleasant occurrence didn't stop his adventurous attitude though (or maybe his stomach kept nagging him for something to be filled with).

Shoving various products to the sides, he kept digging in the fridge in search of something his picky hungover person seemed to fancy most. Before he found something acceptable, however, his hand encountered a mysterious jar. Its content was just as weird as it was gross in Jaakko's humble opinion. Whatever this today's endless loop of unfortunate events was, it had to stop immediately.

"Mikä vittu tämä on..?" *

Trying to come up with a good answer for that on his own would only result in a headache, so he didn't even bother to begin. Turning the jar in his hands, the Finn decided to confront his boyfriend about it. A hangover snack can wait a bit, especially now that his appetite almost literally flew out the window. Storming (or at least attempting to do that) into the bedroom, Jaakko stretched out his hand with the jar in it. Kalju looked up at him over his laptop. The other looked endearingly comical in his current pose and with this accusatory expression all over his face. Pretending he hadn't noticed the source of the Finnish astonishment, the Estonian decided to carry out this conversation in a bit teasing manner.

"Oh, there you are. It's good to see you in one piece, Jaakuke. Pray tell, what on Earth were you up to in the kitchen?"

"Mitä homemunaskuja sulla on lasipurkeissa?" **

"What are you talking about, Jaakko?"

"Don't pretend you don't understand Finnish," Jaakko replied, clearly irritated. "What's this moldy egg and why is it in your fridge?"

"It's my refrigerator as well as yours now, don't forget that," the Estonian was having the time of his life. "You're responsible for its content now on the same level as me."

"For fuck's sake, Kalju! I'm not really in the mood for your games now. I'm hungover, hungry, and on top of that experiencing extremely mixed feelings about that ... thing. I can't believe I have to clean up your mess. I'm going to throw it out now."

"No, you're not," Kalju sighed resigned before getting up and approaching the other man. "Fine. Listen to me now. This tiny guy here is not mold. For starters, however, I literally cannot believe you thought so low of me. I would never let mold grow in my fridge."

The sudden admonishing glance had Jaakko completely baffled. He felt like a child reproved by his mother for some major offense. Or at least that's how Kalju wanted him to feel while piercing him with his blue irises.

"This is moss. A moss ball, järvepall, to be exact. A very intriguing fellow. He enjoys cold water, and that is why you found him in the fridge. And I decided to give him home. You, out of all people, should be able to tell moss from a mold. Weren't you raised in the forest?"

"Yeah, but..." Jaakko was dying to be able to defend himself somehow, but Kalju wouldn't let him come to the voice. That way he was forced to listen to the entire reprimand. A well-deserved one to be honest.

"What I'm trying to say is that no one is allowed to bash järvepallid in my presence. Under no circumstances. Understood?"

"Yeah, yeah... Anteeksi."

"You should apologize to him, not me."

Had Jaakko been less hungover and overall taken aback, he would have started laughing right away. But at that moment he was not amused at all. He didn't even dare question that request, regardless how exceptional and bizarre it was.

"Fine, fine. Sorry, uh. Whatever your name is, fluffy buddy."

"This one still needs a name, actually. I'm slowly running out of ideas for them."

"... them? Kalju, what the everloving fuck?"

"So you haven't ... of course you wouldn't notice. There are more moss balls in the house. I just hid them all well."

Jaakko furrowed his brows, trying his hardest to force his overheated brain to function at higher revs. Is he pulling my leg, he pondered, or am I truly that ignorant? As if he wasn't embarrassed enough, god damn it.

"... more... are you sure they're harmless?"

At this point of the conversation, Kalju was ready to give up his pretended strict sergeant attitude and go easy on the Finn. A playful spark flickered in his eyes and his voice noticeably softened.

"Jaakuke, come on... they're balls of moss, nothing more, nothing less," for some reason this sudden Jaakko's caution seemed plain adorable. A several wars' veteran, afraid of a tiny plant. Perhaps all the last night's liquor hadn't evaporated from his body yet. "They won't crawl out of their jars at night to devour your brain or whatever else you're scared of losing. Trust me, okay? I know what I'm doing."

"Mhm..." It was this part of the conversation in which the Finn would resort to communicating via grunts of various intensity.

"Oh, come on, stop moping," Kalju gently took over the jar and pressed his lips against the corner of Jaakko's. "You know I wasn't serious when scolding you, right? Just ... accept the new flatmates, okay? I'm sorry if I made you feel bad. I'll show you the rest if you want."

"Mmm..."

"I'll take it for approval."

"Kaljuke?"

It always took a lot of negotiations and compromises to make the Estonian ditch all his electronics and go to bed eventually. Jaakko, as laconic as he could be about his feelings, would not skip a chance to move a tiny bit closer while lying next to Kalju, wordlessly asking for a physical display of affection. And Kalju was more than willing to provide him with it. In countless diverse ways.

"What is it?" he replied, absentmindedly caressing Jaakko's arm with his fingers.

"Pretty sure you're not willing to listen, but I thought of a name for the moss ball from the fridge."

"I'm scared already, kullake. Shoot."

"... Homemunasku." ***

An Estonian curse word, as well as a muffled Finnish laughter, echoed in the tranquility of the night, so abruptly disturbed by Kalju trying to suffocate Jaakko with a cushion.

* - What the fuck is that?

** -  "What moldy eggs/testicles do you have in glass jars?" (this is the joke alright)

*** - Mold Egg, or actually, Mold Testicle. Balls, if you will.

#aphrarepairweek2017 #aph estonia #aph finland #except not really but like. shrugs #estfin #clenches fist #alcohol mention #also some swearing but like #otherwise it should be ok? #shout out to Sussu for the Finnish & translations #like if you read I guess? ;w;

[felthief]

all of them

CODIE LMAO I’M GONNA PUT PEANUT BUTTER IN YOUR SHOES

anyways phew here goes

Spotify, SoundCloud, or Pandora? Definitely Spotify

is your room messy or clean? Usually it’s fairly clean, not spotless or anything, but i never let it get too dirty.

what color are your eyes? Brown

do you like your name? why? I literally hate my name, it doesn’t fit me at all. ;(

what is your relationship status? Taken :U

describe your personality in 3 words or less Tired, Objective, Worry-wart

what color hair do you have? Brown

what kind of car do you drive? color? lmao i can’t drive 8)

where do you shop? Walmart mostly

how would you describe your style? Comfortable – I wear pajamas and t shirts a lot.

favorite social media account this one?? i guess

what size bed do you have? A Queen :3c

any siblings? I have an older half brother, an older half sister, a twin sister, and a little brother

if you can live anywhere in the world where would it be? why? Honestly I would probably pick any big city that’s LGBT friendly. I can’t live in a rural setting or i’ll die

favorite snapchat filter? they change all the time, i just like looking at the new ones

favorite makeup brand(s) i don’t wear makeup

how many times a week do you shower? Three, usually

favorite tv show? UUUH. Stranger Things. 8) Or Voltron. Fcuk. I can’t pick.

shoe size? 6…:(

how tall are you? 5′6″

sandals or sneakers? Sneakers, I’m a clumsy fuck so i gotta protect my toes

do you go to the gym? can’t afford that shit

describe your dream date *ALARM NOISES*

how much money do you have in your wallet at the moment? Uhhh I have a 15$ walmart gift card and a 5$ starbucks gift card and that is literally it

what color socks are you wearing? I ain’t wearing socks, my feet are naked and free AS THEY SHOULD BE

how many pillows do you sleep with? Two. I used to sleep with three but I’ve had to suck it up and stop that cuz it was killing my neck. Now I just hug the 3rd one at night

do you have a job? what do you do? I am a comic artist which is kind of a job? 

how many friends do you have? Uhhh..so many.. I just never talk to them becuase I’m a shit and don’t know how to maintain relationships

whats the worst thing you have ever done? I cut a friend out of my life and blocked her on everything because she was manipulating the fuck out of me and tbh to this day i still feel guilty but I think I’m better off

whats your favorite candle scent? Oh man. Danna has this candle that’s called like peach Bellini and I want to rub the wax all over my naked body

3 favorite boy names Oliver, Aiden, Zieke

3 favorite girl names Jade, Aria, Victoria

favorite actor? Thomas Dekker 

favorite actress? Abigail Breslin

who is your celebrity crush? I don’t really have one tbh though I DID have a huge crush on Thomas Dekker until I was like 20

favorite movie? PACIFIC RIM

do you read a lot? whats your favorite book? Hell i haven’t read in years, but I loved The False Prince (I’m reading the sequel now)

money or brains? what is the context? If it’s in dating then usually I would choose neither cuz money isn’t important beyond being able to live semi-comfortably and brains isn’t something I look for cuz I’m dumb as shit and don’t like it when I’m around people who make me intimately aware of it

do you have a nickname? what is it? I have. So many. 8) Lucifer, Lucifene, Lou, Lee, Lucinfeff, Lucinfeffer and that’s really just the tip of the fucking iceberg

how many times have you been to the hospital? at least 10

top 10 favorite songs pretty much anything by Motion City Soundtrack, Issues, Carlie Rae Jepsen, or Troye Sivan tbh

do you take any medications daily? Antidepressants and Anti-anxiety medications

what is your skin type? (oily, dry, etc) Oily as sin

what is your biggest fear? Being alone

how many kids do you want? I want one. Sometimes. Other times I want none. I feel like I will regret not having one when I’m too old to consider it any more.

whats your go to hair style? Cropped I guess? It’s usually about ¾ of an inch long

what type of house do you live in? (big, small, etc) A small apartment with a weird layout and a kitchen the size of a shoebox

who is your role model? i aint got one of those

what was the last compliment you received? An older lady I go to group therapy said I look like a cute boyfriend she had when she was younger

what was the last text you sent? I texted my dad telling him his tracfone was going straight to voicemail

how old were you when you found out santa wasn’t real? Probably around 10, I don’t really remember

what is your dream car? i don’t know anything about cars :D Something modern and colorful with lots of room inside and gets good gas mileage

opinion on smoking? You shouldn’t do it and I’m a hypocrite

do you go to college? I used to but it was too expensive

what is your dream job? Something low-impact where I don’t have to talk to a lot of people. Data Entry I guess?

would you rather live in rural areas or the suburbs? Suburbs for sure I would die out in the country

do you take shampoo and conditioner bottles from hotels? hell yeah I do

do you have freckles? I have some, up by my eyes, but they don’t show much unless I get some sun

do you smile for pictures? Sometimes :U

how many pictures do you have on your phone? 174

have you ever peed in the woods? Nah

do you still watch cartoons? Yep. All the time. Why not?

do you prefer chicken nuggets from Wendy’s or McDonalds? MCDONALDS FOR SURE I WOULD DIE FOR THOSE CRISPY GOLD NUGGETS

Favorite dipping sauce? Sweet n Sour

what do you wear to bed? Underwear and a T-shirt

have you ever won a spelling bee? I’ve never even been in a spellin bee

what are your hobbies? Drawing and sleeping

can you draw? yes

do you play an instrument? I used to play the Flute in middle school band until my bandmates stole it and hid it so I’d get kicked out. They told me to leave and I wouldn’t so I guess they took matters into their own hands ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

what was the last concert you saw? I’ve never been to a concert, that shit’s for rich people

tea or coffee? Coffee

Starbucks or Dunkin Donuts? I’ve never had Dunkin Donuts so I guess Starbucks

do you want to get married? no lmfao why would I saddle someone with my shit credit score and $50k of debt

what is your crush’s first and last initial? what is this crush shit u talkin bout

are you going to change your last name when you get married? i aint gettin married, damn

what color looks best on you? red? blue? black? i dunno man

do you miss anyone right now? a few people yeh

do you sleep with your door open or closed? Both

do you believe in ghosts? I have seen some shit so I’m gonna go with yes

what is your biggest pet peeve? loud chewing noises

last person you called I tried to call a hospital in Indianapolis but it went to voicemail B(

favorite ice cream flavor? Vanilla cuz I’m a boring fuck

regular oreos or golden oreos? I don’t actually like Oreos 

chocolate or rainbow sprinkles? Sprinkles are fucking awful and I will never consume them

what shirt are you wearing? It’s a black t-shirt with a dripping poisonous looking smiley face on it

what is your phone background? It’s just the background that came with my theme. It’s dark blue and futuristic lookin

are you outgoing or shy? Shy as fuck

do you like it when people play with your hair? i barely have hair but Yessss touch my fucking head and I am yours to command for eternity

do you like your neighbors? i don’t have any neighbors

do you wash your face? at night? in the morning? I wash it in the morning sometimes if it’s visibly oily

have you ever been high? a few times yeah. Not really my thing tbh

have you ever been drunk? Also a few times and boy howdy I have a good time but everyone else has recommended I maybe don’t do it

last thing you ate? Some bread

favorite lyrics right now nnnnnnnnah

summer or winter? Summer

day or night? Day 

dark, milk, or white chocolate? Milk chocolate if i had to pick one

favorite month? OCTOBER cuz its my birthday and also spooky

what is your zodiac sign all of em

who was the last person you cried in front of? probably faewild lmao

#long post #ask meme #holy fuck sorry this is looooong #adorabletrainwreak #HEY I COULD ADD A READMORE? cool

[thisolddag]

The Space Between Us

When we get out of the car, winter hits me. The smell of it is the same like when I was five, and sixteen - the only two times I can remember, but it’s a smell that is inside me like muscle, or an organ, a smell that sends me reeling while I stay rooted in the same spot, staring out toward the Swiętokrzyskie mountains and a gray, open sky. Of course there’s no real word to describe this winter - crisp, smoky, nostalgia. There is no single word; it is every word that takes me back to the beginning of the crystallization of my memory, our memories.

“Do you remember this smell?” I ask my younger sister, who is already shivering only one minute outside, and ten hours into our getaway.

She shakes her head.”It’s cold as fuck though.”

M was only two when we left so how could she remember? I watch her walk toward the roadside WC, my other younger sister waddling behind her, pregnant and tired, but like the two of us  - so excited to be here again.

I wait for them to pee, vaping hungrily, looking out across the empty parking lot at three bright receptacle bins - green, blue, yellow. Poland’s recycling? I think, smiling warily. I snap a picture, find the right filter, and Instagram it immediately. It’s a Sunday. I close my eyes. I breathe. The air. The smell. We are here, the three of us. A getaway. A getaway from what? From husbands, children, work, Brooklyn, Jersey, Los Angeles. From our fairy tale lives, like M will repeat a few days from now. 

I warn my sisters that our grandmother’s nursing home is not fancy. Fancy isn’t in the arsenal. I warn them she will not remember us; she hadn’t remembered me, her self-professed favorite, last August when I came with the boys. I warn them that the smell on the second floor will hit them like a fucking brick. It’s clean, sure. Yes, it’s clean. But the smell is a sour smell, of people sick and dying, and windows shut, and antiquated plumbing. Like shit and resignation. 

We talk about Babcia, as we unpack in the hotel room. Should we go see her now? Should we eat pierogi first? Or wait for our dad? Our father lives here too. He’s come back looking for his old life. We grab our coats - eyes dehydrated, itching, the skin on pregnant V’s hands cracking, tiny bloody fissures on her knuckles. It’s four pm but time means nothing because we chased the sun across the Atlantic for eight hours - or maybe we ran from it. I don’t know. I know nothing. I am reduced to memories of a place that quivers and pulsates with my childhood, our childhood. The words “remember when” will be repeated a hundred thousand time in the next seven days. We will slowly forget our kids, we will never find enough sleep. We will laugh until our stomachs cramp. We will fall asleep to the sounds of an American stand-up comic, emanating from M’s iPad. 

We will laugh as our eyelids get heavy. We will cry even more.

My sisters and I had friends growing up; American friends, sometimes other Polish immigrant friends. We had lots of friends, and sometimes they were best bosom buddies. But no one knew us like we knew one another. No one understood where we had come from, what we’d escaped, or how far away we longed to run. There was no space between us. The only slim distance was in the way we formed our own memories, and told our own stories, to those who were willing to listen. There was no breaking us, even as we broke individually, bit by bit, sometimes together, sometimes alone. It was not until I moved into my first apartment with M, leaving V behind, that distance started setting. It was not until M moved away to California to follow a boy and her dreams, that distance became a fact, and for me - the enemy. 

Growing up, we spent our summers in a small, boring and beautiful city called Kielce. (I can hear M now - “Beautiful?! Come on, Dag!“) Every summer, for years and years. Boarding planes together, without mama and tata, waiting for bags marked with frayed fluorescent colored ribbons. Driving toward those mountains, willing those three hours from Warsaw to go by in a flash, staring at cows and ancient men walking along the road, in slanted brown berets, even in the heat of July. Weeks spent eating pork cutlets and sweet carrot soufflés, weeks falling in love, getting into trouble, listening to Babcia’s stories, staring down onto Toporowskiego Street from her limestone balcony. I wrote a novel about some of it once. The main character was a more poetic version of me, but there were no sisters. I knew, even in thinly veiled fiction, I could not touch their stories. I respected the space between us.

Last week, we deplaned in the airport that is now modern and renamed Chopin International. We’ve been back of course, as adults, with our own burgeoning families in tow, sightseeing and exploring. But it’s been almost two decades since those summers, when it was only us. 

Our Babcia is eighty-six now, and in the throes of Alzheimer’s. Last week, she did not remember my sisters or me. But that did not stop her from reaching out her hands - hands that felt as soft, unreal and light as if they’d been fashioned from some threadbare fabric, fingers like feathers settling on our cheeks. I should know you, you are my family, but I don’t remember you, Babcia said, fear in her eyes. But we remember you, that’s what matters, is what we answered, because what was there to say? “We used to spend the summers at your apartment, you made us kanapeczki, we slept on the futon in the little room.”  She listened as if we were spinning magical tales, feeding her snippets of a life that was fading fast from the recesses of her tired, confused mind. V had brought a plush teddy bear, as a gift, and Babcia reacted like a child. He will sleep with me, be my companion, and he will never leave my side. But what color is he? What is this color? We told her he was yellow, or amber, or beige, but none of those words sufficed. She couldn’t name the color she wanted to find. We wept, all at once, in small bursts of snot and tears. We didn’t want her to see us cry. But we cried anyway. 

We saw my dad too, who lives like the madman of Shiloh, things upon things, disarray that comforts him. We visited a family member who is in the last stages of addiction. Don’t look at me, he said, when he opened the door, but we looked, shock on our faces, at him who we had known forever, who had suddenly and irreparably aged a hundred years. We cried again, rummaging through familiar drawers to take something back to the nursing home for Babcia, to take something back to the States, souvenirs of another lifetime. Porcelain tea cups from all those summers of twilight herbatka, and pictures, and a blue plastic tumbler that held long-grained rice for more than forty years, a staple in the kitchen from our youth. A memory of Babcia spilling the contents and letting me play, as if the kitchen floor were a sandbox, the rice cool in my hands, and coated with dust. So take it, just take it, my sister whispered, crying, quick with her hands, and slipped it into her bookbag. It was surreal, standing in that home that Babcia would never see again, that was now a mausoleum, a place unrecognizable, filled with cigarette smoke so bad that V had to flee.

Everywhere we went was bleak and gray, and strange, and still, it was some kind of wonderful. Everything was a denouement. Everything was so incredibly complicated. Everything was the end of the road. It was a goodbye trip. Goodbye to our beginning, to the memories we shared, to old bedroom walls and wizened faces. It was our feet touching down onto dry, dark earth. But despite that, and despite help that didn’t end up helping, and cash twisted into palms, and constant rain and jet lag that did not let up for a single goddamn minute - we walked together happily. We walked side by side. Two mothers now, and one about to become one. Three sisters, like a real life Chekhov play, with all its sentimentality and sad smiles. On our father’s pleading, we met with a young filmmaker at a pierogi cafe - yes, there are such things in our homeland - who was enthralled (her word) by our ‘story.’ Your father, his politics, his journey, you three girl from this town, living such a life now. She wants to make a documentary about us, and though we were flattered, I sat with my chin in my hand, reluctant to share us. We’ll be in touch, I said, because I could tell she was kind and earnest. But my heart tightened at the thought of our life in somebody else’s hands. 

Every day, we’d leave Babcia’s side and those nurses who glanced our way with quizzical smiles, raised eyebrows, who we’d showered with doughnuts, and pleas, and autographed pictures of my husband, as requested - and we promised to come back. We’d leave cramped, neatly furnished apartments of friends and family, we’d leave pothole ridden streets, and small hotel rooms, and we’d think the same thing. A fairy tale life was waiting for us, and how easy it would be to forget this. 

How impossible it would be to forget this. 

“I’m gonna have to write about it,” I told my sisters, “to help me process.” Process; an American verb. In places like Kielce, there is no room for such extravagance. 

But there is too much to write. In Warsaw, the rain fell harder but we felt lighter. The city was brimming with life, and sparkling skies and it brought us comfort. We shopped, and ate, in copious amounts. The food brought us memories, the good kind. In Warsaw, we allowed ourselves to breathe again. It was easier to reconcile with what we have - money, security, happiness, freedom, possibilities - with what we had once - nothing but tattered, battered, tangled dreams. I will not share details of our particular struggle - because everyone struggles, and because I am not ready to disclose, something that is not only mine, but what belongs to both of them, just as much.

Now, I sit in my office, back in America, and I miss the hell out of my sisters. Our trip is already another memory; something we dreamed up and somehow made come true. I think about the space we once occupied, and how beautiful it had been to be back there again, and how hard. I think about our story, and how it has a clear beginning, a winding long winded middle, and yet, there is no end, and there never will be one. I think about Babcia. I think about a day in August, circa 1991, a heat wave, packing pork chops on powdery white buns, and one towel each, and walking around the murky reservoir toward Tęcza, the local pool. And how later, the walk back to Babcia’s was always better, when we were tanned, and smelled like chlorine, and the sun wasn’t setting just yet but was already worn out, and how the trees shaded us, and how we didn’t say much to one another, how we walked with a gaggle of age appropriate friends, separately, a good distance between us, but always, always our heads craning back to make sure were all still there, together, the three of us. 

#sisters #Poland #summers #memory #space #distance #journey

[egregiousderp]

When you see this post an excerpt from a WIP!

Fuck. Okay. I saw this through @unicornsandbutane . Uh. So. Remember that Spiritassassin past life dreaming AU I was talking about? It. Uh. Goes something like this.

(Sorry this is huge. This was going to be a chapter. They didn’t say how long the excerpt had to be and I don’t know when I’ll next get to this because I’m…well…me.)

Context: force sensitive people in one life dream about their past lives. Baze and Chirrut dream about one another. Baze denies this. Heavily. That some new age shit.

He meets Chirrut for the first time after dreaming about him dying in his arms.

Chirrut has retinitis pigmentosa. He can still see but is in the process of becoming fully blind. Baze doesn’t know.

Okay. I- Uhm…

/VAGUE PRESENTING GESTURES ——– ——–

The client can smile as much as he wants as long as he pays is a personal rule.

Baze is starting to question that rule.

He is hours in and halfway through being swallowed by the innards of a sink that probably hasn’t been replaced or altered in more than fifty years, and still can’t make head or tail out of what the client actually wants him to do.

“If,” the man says, still smiling like the sun, “if I wanted to make the house safe for a blind person, how would it be modified?”

Baze grunts something about the stairs and keeping a clear floor. None of which particularly requires an interior contractor. He sees no reason to lie about the difficulty of his work when the man is probably just looking to sell a house.

“If I wished to install disabled ramping what would I do?“

Baze grunts again.

Not enough space for ramping. Install a chair lift like everyone else.

“If I-”

“Pipes and wiring,” Baze interrupts, his patience narrowing.

“Come again?”

The tilt of the other man’s head is birdlike, cheerful. The nightmare from the night before has unsettled Baze too much to be easily shaken. He rubs his forehead to clear it, feeling the start of a headache.

“Old house, old wiring,” Baze grunts.

“And…what does that mean?”

Baze sighs through his nose, and pulls his glasses back on. He dislikes doing so. Dislikes the looks of amusement he gets while holding documents at arms-length and studying layouts even more.

He hates old manses. The owners are either stingy or gullible, and rarely know what needs to be done.

If this guy wants a pretty interior job he should have called Jyn first, gutted all the beautiful wood paneling, the antique tiling of the floors and remade with a modern interior, calling him up when they were done. Baze chews on the end of his pen in distaste.

“Means the house came first. Electricity came later.” He thinks of the trio of children he saw giggling together on the trolley, barely six years old, watching a video on their parent’s phone. “And usage has gone up. You want that done first."

The owner just gazes at him, eyebrows lifted.

He has no idea what he is talking about, obviously.

Baze taps the sink in the kitchen on the print.

“Is this an original?”

“I don’t have the slightest idea,” the other man laughs.

He comes uncomfortably close to see the print, then turns his head to look at Baze. He is grinning at the beaded chain for his glasses. Librarian comments incoming, no doubt.

Baze’s mother would have knocked his knees out from under him with a volume of the Britannica, and she was barely five feet tall, with a limited grasp of English–-a textbook example on why quiet wasn’t the same as peaceful and neither were librarians.

Baze foregoes the commentary by folding the print back under his arm.

Might as well take a look.

Judging by the sink fixtures, the kitchen had a rehaul during the sixties. He wrinkles his nose as he opens the cabinet, pulling out bottles.

He half-expects to find a bag of weed somewhere under the sink. Keeps his nose out for the stink of it.

The client’s perpetual smile makes him seem the type.

He half-expects protests, the defensiveness of a dealer.

The stillness and the slight creeping sensation down his spine makes him crane his head back to find said client instead matter-of-fairly checking out his ass.

Baze snorts.

Well. That’s this city for you.

Nobody has much to look at in steel-toed work boots and tan coveralls. And Baze has even less to look at these days. He’d once been a trim man. Now he’s just a sad forty-year-old nearsighted divorcee checking the nuts of an S-pipe as a favor to a brilliant young architect who’d found him at random by looking up welders in the phone book.

Jyn Erso is twenty-two, driven, and all business. Something more than a client. A grudging friend. He’d done all-night work with her in near-silence together for her grad display. You don’t pull rush jobs like that for just anyone.

They meet once a week for drinks. They aren’t what he’d think of as particularly close friends because Jyn has a guardedness to her that tells you it isn’t a date, and if you try anything she’d crack your nose and leave you in the hospital. Not that Baze would try anything. But there is something particularly depressing about meeting up with an attractive and intelligent young woman who talks shop, having a nice evening, and then going home alone to your own unfinished house.

When Jyn had said her best friend needed to have his house looked at for renovations, Baze had had the sinking feeling that that was it, that he was being couched into approving of some future boyfriend, herded headlong into some sort of fatherly role.

He did not expect Chirrut Îmwe, answering the door before he could knock.

“You’re the inside man?“

Baze had blinked.

“Something like that.”

“Chirrut. Chirrut Îmwe.”

His handshake had been firm, vigorous, his hands as calloused as Baze’s.

“You’re…Blaze Malbus?”

“Baze,” Baze corrected with the long patience of a lifetime with an unusual name.

He’d kept clean-shaven and his hair close-cropped for years to try to cut down on the drug dealer jokes. He’d been a child during the Haight-Ashbury days, and still had never taken a hit. Straight A student. Good future.

Then his father had died when he was seventeen, and someone needed to bring in money for the house.

He knows all about how being good at something doesn’t cancel out bad luck, how the unexpected normally goes hand-in-hand with ‘unpleasant’.

In fact, Chirrut is unexpected in a lot of ways.

Trim black turtleneck. Woven bag. Loose pants and sandals. A red wrap around his waist that’s got an interesting and subtle woven texture to it. Clean-shaven. Close-haired. Chinese, like him, which had been another surprise. And definitely older than fresh-faced Jyn, though he has the peculiar agelessness to him that comes with a heavy fitness lifestyle. Probably another fucking righteous vegan, Baze thinks.

He thinks again of his dream, the details all blurred together, just a lingering sense of unease, of loss. Something that makes him want to wipe his fingernails on his coverall and expect to be talked down to by another idiot who doesn’t know which way a screw turns but makes more money than him and believes that’s because he’s lazy. Unintelligent.

The bad dream seems to be leaking into his sense of the man. He’s seen plenty of people like Chirrut. Has been checked out by far more intimidating-looking ones.

Baze wonders with a snort if he’s being set up, if Jyn has made some assumptions. Unlikely. Jyn usually keeps her head down when it comes to the affairs of others.

“I’m not that kind of plumber,” Baze says, too tired to keep any real heat in his voice.

Chirrut gives a bark of laughter that’s completely unselfconscious, a smile that’s much too even not to have been set that way as a child, with plenty of complicated orthodonture. Money, Baze thinks a little bitterly. Something he doesn’t have much of even before the ex-wife remarried, stopped demanding alimony in advance, and filed a totally unnecessary restraining order.

“Aah, well, you never know,” Chirrut breezes.

He is so blithe even Baze has to snort.

“Try turning the water on,” Baze mutters.

Chirrut steps over to the sink and Baze listens to the pipes, squints with his little penlight tucked behind his ear, the red beads of the chain clinking on pipe.

“Pour a glass for me. I want to check the clarity. Something transparent.”

Chirrut shuffles slightly above him.

“Don’t worry. There’s beer in the refrigerator if you get thirsty.”

“Beer,” Baze repeats.

Chirrut gives a noncommittal noise.

The only thing that’s thirsty here is you, Baze thinks a little uncharitably, making his way gingerly out from under the sink and unbending slowly, and with a wince.

“You don’t seem the type.”

Chirrut’s face shifts into comic dismay.

“My feelings are grievously injured and I rescind the offer of my specialty homebrew. You can drink out of the sink.”

Baze laughs, despite himself.

“That your business?”

“A hobby.”

Something odd has passed into the man’s face, the smile sagging at the corners.

Baze doesn’t ask.

Somehow it doesn’t surprise him that Jyn befriended a microbrewer.

“It was once women’s work, you know, the making of beer,” Chirrut calls.

His voice is a little too loud and bright in the low space.

Baze considers this tidbit, and how he’s probably supposed to react to it. What might be hinted and what might not be.

“Don’t tell that to Jyn,” he decides on.

Chirrut rips out another laugh, this one with a wicked edge.

He has a great laugh, Baze thinks absently. He must have caused plenty of trouble in his time. This too doesn’t surprise him in terms of Jyn’s choice of friends.

Against his better instincts he finds himself oddly okay with being watched by this hovering fellow. Always asking questions about what he’s doing, why he’s doing it. It should be annoying. Somehow it isn’t, comforting to talk about tangible things with that lingering dream hanging over top of him. The sense of incoming, inevitable failure and loss.

Baze often dreams of failure.

“How did you meet?“ Chirrut asks out of the blue, after hip-checking a table by accident.

Clumsy, Baze notes. Like anything that isn’t directly in front of him isn’t there.

"Hm?”

“You and Jyn.”

Baze is surprised at the heavy, intent look on the other man’s face. Blinks as he realizes.

Oh.

“Phone book.” Baze grunts, “Under ‘Welders’.”

Nothing weird, he wants to add. Doesn’t, since he’s sure somehow that would make it worse.

…Is he actually going to be given the shovel talk by a Five-foot-Eight beatnik?

Baze doesn’t know whether to be flattered or concerned. Jyn is a very pretty girl, with a good head on her shoulders. Nice tits, too, if he’s completely honest. She could do a lot better than him for sure. He hopes, in a blaze of worry, that she knows it. Good God does he hope it.

He blinks.

The rising, tight tilt of the other man’s chin is very much like Jyn’s.

“You?” Baze asks, trying to keep the uneasy frown off his face.

“Destiny,” the other says.

Baze laughs before considering whether he’s supposed to. A dry noise.

“Really.”

The corners of Chirrut’s mouth go mercifully up. He leans back against the counter.

“I wandered into the grad installations by accident and she almost murdered me with a power sander.”

He makes it sound like the most casual and reasonable thing in the world. Baze swallows down another laugh.

“Get out.”

“That’s what she said,” Chirrut deadpans back, dislodging Baze’s laugh from his throat despite himself. Despite how utterly cheesy it is. Chirrut, he notices, turns his whole face like a cat when he peers at him. A flicker of surprise.

“…Have we met before?” Chirrut asks faintly, something uncertain in his features.

Baze snorts, shaking his head.

“Definitely not.“

Chirrut frowns but goes on with a shrug.

"Anyway, my Tai Chi was completely ruined, I offered her free self-defense lessons to compensate her for the fright, and we’ve gotten along famously ever since.”

Baze makes a listening noise.

The thought of anyone weaponizing Jyn Erso’s anger is completely terrifying. He’s half-convinced Jyn’s lambent rage is its own renewable energy source.

“You give her your beers?”

Chirrut gives him a look of practiced disdain his mother would have been impressed by.

“Forget I asked.” Baze mutters, shrugging.

“Have you met Galen Erso?”

Chirrut’s dark eyes are narrow, intent. Without the easy smile his whole face is narrow and long, proud-looking somehow. Something in the combination of lips and chin and brow.

Baze searches his memory for the name. Finds nothing with a slow shake of his head.

“Who?”

“The father,” Chirrut’s chin tilts up again, a slow fury in his dark eyes.

Baze frowns, guessing.

“…Alcoholic?”

“Mm,” Chirrut agrees, his chin set and stubborn like a little fist, “The quiet kind.”

Baze considers this more carefully, a slow frown settling. Next Thursday he’ll relocate them to a cafe, he thinks. Cut down on the girl’s intake. Someone has to take care of her.

“You try talking to her?”

Chirrut gives a sharp laugh again.

“Have you tried stopping Jyn from doing something before?”

Baze thinks. Chirrut’s already grinning, shaking his head, utterly fond.

“When Jyn Erso rebels, the whole world follows,” the man says.

Baze frowns. He’s starting to realize why a thirty-something-looking bohemian fitness freak of a man in a Bill Gates turtleneck is Jyn’s best friend.

“I have Thursdays,” Baze says stubbornly.

“Are you serious?” Chirrut laughs.

“Your day must be either Tuesday or Wednesday–”

“It’s Friday, actually,” Chirrut cuts him off, the laughter still in his eyes. He looks utterly unintimidated. Amused, even, arms folded across his stomach.

“Then if she matters to you–”

“Good God, you’re like an old woman,” Chirrut interrupts, laughing.

Baze’s fingers tighten. He’s a big man, and he knows it.

Chirrut is not, and still meets his look without an ounce of fear, a blasé arrogance. Baze notes suddenly the outline of his shoulders. The trimness of his waist, remembers he’d said self defense classes.

“Jyn’s an adult. She does her work and does it well. Life doesn’t end because of a bit of Black Porter on a Friday Night,” Chirrut says, shaking his head slightly.

Baze’s disapproval sits heavy in his belly, welling up in frustration. A great weight of words he can’t say to a stranger, a friend of a friend.

“I can see why you and Jyn are friends,” he settles for, leadening it with the full force of his disapproval.

Chirrut shrugs, a manic glitter in his eye.

“I like a straightman with me when I cause my trouble,” he pauses, inclines his head with a smile, “Or woman.”

Baze lets out a breath in disgust.

He bets it’s the same bar on Friday. He has half a mind to make the time to fish them both out. A growing protectiveness.

“Don’t drag Jyn down with you in whatever trouble you get into.”

Chirrut makes a rude noise, his dark brows knitting irritably, ”Yes, mother hen. Will that be all?”

It comes so sharply, so abruptly Baze just stands there for a moment, realizing how far he’s overstepped.

He almost wants to apologize. Feels the sting instead of the comparison. Dismissal.

Baze bits down his words.

“…I’ll send you an estimate.”

“Well, good. You stay right there and estimate,” Chirrut drawls, bumping the same table, catching the same vase, “while I get you a crate.”

Baze blinks.

“A…what?”

“You need a drink!” Chirrut hollers down the hall, “You need about five drinks!”

“I don’t need anything!” Baze yells back.

He winces at the sound of his own voice.

Chirrut Îmwe has apparently gone selectively deaf.

“I don’t accept drinks from strange men,” Baze mutters, a little hot around the ears when he realizes the other man is indeed bringing up a loose crate filled with dark bottles.

“Then it’s a good thing I’m a painfully ordinary man cursed with spectacular beauty,” Chirrut replies back, making a face, “and not at all strange.”

Baze doesn’t laugh. Can’t. Caught by a strange sense of panic.

Chirrut taps a finger against the little barrel, something challenging in his dark eyes.

“Stardust Ale. Last year’s vintage. It’ll give you something to talk about with my friend.”

“I…can’t accept this,” Baze says quietly.

Chirrut is waving him off with a noise of irritation, shoving the thing into his hands.

“Go on. Get lost. Make your estimates. Come back when this,” he taps the crate, “is gone. Get drunk with some friends. This is my number,” he’s scrawling something large and loose on the side of the wood.

Baze gives him one last, exasperated look as he does so, as he’s manhandled to the door by prodding and pushing hands.

“And wear something different next time,” Chirrut adds, calling after him down the steps to the tilted street, “You look like a Ghostbuster!“

#skuun does memes #spiritassassin #spiritassassin AU #long post #I liked how this turned out but I write out of order so you know.... #tw: alcohol #sorry. Galen is a quiet drunk with a weird home situation I promise #I'm sorry to make him sound like that #I swear Chirrut is just hella judgmental about some things #also I know nothing about beer brewing #And very little about San Francisco. #I know it's sourdough country. can you even beer there?

[sodomyordeath]

A ton of random ass questions

Chi figured I’d be bored so she sent me this thingy she found.

1: when you have cereal, do you have more milk than cereal or more cereal than milk? I don’t eat  cereal 2: do you like the feeling of cold air on your cheeks on a wintery day? Nope. I hate cold. 3: what random objects do you use to bookmark your books? Bobby Pins 4: how do you take your coffee/tea? Hot 5: are you self-conscious of your smile? Nope 6: do you keep plants? Nope 7: do you name your plants? Nope 8: what artistic medium do you use to express your feelings? Music/Blood 9: do you like singing/humming to yourself? Yep 10: do you sleep on your back, side, or stomach? Yes 11: what's an inner joke you have with your friends? experts and professionals  12: what's your favorite planet? Mars 13: what's something that made you smile today? A NAZI fuck getting punched in the face 14: if you were to live with your best friend in an old flat in a big city, what would it look like? a cross between a library a computer lab and a vampire lair 15: go google a weird space fact and tell us what it is! Not gonna use google for that one but Gravitational waves have two important and unique properties. First, there is no need for any type of matter to be present nearby in order for the waves to be generated by a binary system of uncharged black holes, which would emit no electromagnetic radiation. Second, gravitational waves can pass through any intervening matter without being scattered significantly. Whereas light from distant stars may be blocked out by interstellar dust, for example, gravitational waves will pass through essentially unimpeded. These two features allow gravitational waves to carry information about astronomical phenomena never before observed by humans. 16: what's your favorite pasta dish? I hate pasta 17: what color do you really want to dye your hair? Black and red is fine thank you 18: tell us about something dumb/funny you did that has since gone down in history between you and your friends and is always brought up. Do you want that one about setting the stage on fire or the one where the club got flooded with cow blood? 19: do you keep a journal? what do you write/draw/ in it? You look at it 20: what's your favorite eye color? Red 21: talk about your favorite bag, the one that's been to hell and back with you and that you love to pieces. Oh my old gucci bag? Someone figured he’d be funny and offerd to by me a handbag of my choice. The tears of regret were sweet to me :-) 22: are you a morning person? Fuck no 23: what's your favorite thing to do on lazy days where you have 0 obligations? Answering dumb questions on the internet. 24: is there someone out there you would trust with every single one of your secrets? No, I signed a ton of NDAs in my life. 25: what's the weirdest place you've ever broken into? a underwater cave 26: what are the shoes you've had for forever and wear with every single outfit? Oh my Krokodile Skin boots

27: what's your favorite bubblegum flavor? N/A

28: sunrise or sunset? Sunrise because it say’s it’s time to go to bed 29: what's something really cute that one of your friends does and is totally endearing? Does eating pizza all the time count? 30: think of it: have you ever been truly scared? Nope 31: what is your opinion of socks? do you like wearing weird socks? do you sleep with socks? do you confine yourself to white sock hell? really, just talk about socks. I have black socks. End of story. 32: tell us a story of something that happened to you after 3AM when you were with friends. Be more specific 3AM sounds like 2 hours before I stop  DJing 33: what's your fave pastry?  Kürtőskalács 34: tell us about the stuffed animal you kept as a kid. what is it called? what does it look like? do you still keep it? Peter, a blue rabbit. No he left this world decades ago 35: do you like stationary and pretty pens and so on? do you use them often? Nope/Nope 36: which band's sound would fit your mood right now? Pentagram or  Project Armageddon 37: do you like keeping your room messy or clean? yes 38: tell us about your pet peeves! I hate people that’s about it 39: what color do you wear the most? Black 40: think of a piece of jewelry you own: what's it's story? does it have any meaning to you? Nope it’s just stuff 41: what's the last book you remember really, really loving? Was re-reading  Demon Download by Jack Yeovil earlier today. That one is fun. 42: do you have a favorite coffee shop? describe it! Nope 43: who was the last person you gazed at the stars with? Chiara 44: when was the last time you remember feeling completely serene and at peace with everything? Never 45: do you trust your instincts a lot? Yep 46: tell us the worst pun you can think of. follow Mrs. Kasha Davis twitter for bad puns 47: what food do you think should be banned from the universe? That industrial garbage that fast food chains sell all of it 48: what was your biggest fear as a kid? is it the same today? I had none 49: do you like buying CDs and records? what was the last one you bought? No I like owning ‘em. The last one I bought was 45 Grave “Pick your Poison” for Chiara 50: what's an odd thing you collect? Lovers 51: think of a person. what song do you associate with them? Moonskin by Samal reminds me of Chiara 52: what are your favorite memes of the year so far? a NAZI getting punched in the face 53: have you ever watched the rocky horror picture show? heathers?beetlejuice? pulp fiction? what do you think of them? I’ve seen all of ‘em Pulp Fiction is overrated 54: who's the last person you saw with a true look of sadness on their face? N/A 55: what's the most dramatic thing you've ever done to prove a point? Cut a bitch 56: what are some things you find endearing in people? Creativity, salty and bitterness in combination with charm and wits  57: go listen to bohemian rhapsody. how did it make you feel? did you dramatically reenact the lyrics? You watched too much Wayne’s World 58: who's the wine mom and who's the vodka aunt in your group of friends? why? Me and Me 59: what's your favorite myth? Go read about Hel 60: do you like poetry? what are some of your faves? I’m so cliche I like  Shelley, Byron, Goethe, Blake

61: what's the stupidest gift you've ever given? the stupidest one you've ever received? I don’t do stupid gifts and the “stupidest” was by a acquaintance who presented me with a very unremarkable bottle of blended scotch. 62: do you drink juice in the morning? which kind? Nope 63: are you fussy about your books and music? do you keep them meticulously organized or kinda leave them be? I take good care of all items in my collection 64: what color is the sky where you are right now? Black 65: is there anyone you haven't seen in a long time who you'd love to hang out with? Haven’t seen Lily Tombstone in person in a long time 66: what would your ideal flower crown look like? Next 67: how do gloomy days where the sky is dark and the world is misty make you feel? Happy :-) 68: what's winter like where you live? Cold  69: what are your favorite board games? Go! 70: have you ever used a ouija board? yep 71: what's your favorite kind of tea? Black and Green Tea 72: are you a person who needs to note everything down or else you'll forget it? Nope 73: what are some of your worst habits? Nothing comes to mind 74: describe a good friend of yours without using their name or gendered pronouns. They love pizza and play a mean guitar. 75: tell us about your pets! I have none 76: is there anything you should be doing right now but aren't? nope 77: pink or yellow lemonade? I don't care as long as there’s enough vodka in there. I really loved Bikers Farm 78: are you in the minion hateclub or fanclub? Banana! 79: what's one of the cutest things someone has ever done for you? The one time I got my enemy’s head on a silver ... oh  wait nope that never happened 80: what color are your bedroom walls? did you choose that color? if so, why White because everything else in there is black or silver 

81: describe one of your friend's eyes using the most abstract imagery you can think of. Not now maybe later 82: are/were you good in school? yep straight A's School is boring 83: what's some of your favorite album art? Everything by H. R. Giger 84: are you planning on getting tattoos? which ones?  85: do you read comics? what are your faves? Yep Sandman and The Crow 86: do you like concept albums? which ones? I’m not gonna list each and every concept record in my collection but Alice Cooper’s The Last Temptation is one that’s way underrated 87: what are some movies you think everyone should watch at least once in their lives? Metropolis, Blade Runner, Casablanca, Only Lovers left alive, The Hunger, The Rock Horror Picture Show, Velvet Goldmine, This Is Spın̈al Tap, Paris is Burning,  88: are there any artistic movements you particularly enjoy? Dada & Neo-Dada, Transgressive art, Shock art, Bauhaus,  Vienna School of Fantastic Realism, Pre-Raphaelitism 89: are you close to your parents? Yep 90: talk about your one of you favorite cities. Look here 91: where do you plan on traveling this year? All over, as usual 92: are you a person who drowns their pasta in cheese or a person who barely sprinkles a pinch? I hate pasta I hate cheese 93: what's the hairstyle you wear the most? A mohawk for the last 24 years 94: who was the last person you know to have a birthday? My sister 95: what are your plans for this weekend? Stay at home and finally get over that dame flu 96: do you install your computer updates really quickly or do you procrastinate on them a lot? Security fixes are instant 97: myer briggs type, zodiac sign, and hogwarts house? google it 98: when's the last time you went hiking? did you enjoy it? not by itself it’s pointless but walking from a to b in nature is fine 99: list some songs that resonate to your soul whenever you hear them. More by Sisters of Mercy, Sweet Soul Sister by The Cult, Because the Night as covered by Beki Bondage 100: if you were presented with two buttons, one that allows you to go 5 years into the past, the other 5 years into the future, which one would you press? why? Future. Year one after Trump should be interresting