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#Awfully Cheerful Engine
deepreviewvoid · 6 months
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- The Fortress' Power Couple! -
wriothesly x gn reader!
Genre : Crack, Fluff, Tea.
Synopsis : a collection of scenarios as the couple of The Fortress of Meropide, don't forget our Sigewinne!
Background : You managed to steal the Duke's heart even on Sigewinne's watch, and now you three depict a happy family, happy, but still armed~!
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Scenario #1 : The Fortress' Clock
You were standing right in the middle of the administrative area, observing the new giant clock that has been hanged from the ceiling. The clock's hand movement is a little off, so it's been bothering you.
This little idea was implemented by you and Wrio, due to the increasing complaints by the workers about sleep deprivation which Sigewinne has picked up and analysed that the 'lack of time awareness' was the true casual factor because not everyone had access to a stop watch.
"Hey~ What are you doing?" Your significant other has appeared! ( as expected!) Casually, Wrio asked in a friendly tone, "Watching the clock" you replied in a semi- serious tone, indicating that your current entire attention and thoughtfulness was invested on simply watching the clock as it goes. . .
Tick
Tock
Tick
Tock
he noticed how the matter consumed your interest, hence, he fixated his eyes on the clock as well, trying to navigate through your source of current interest, soon, the 'What are you doing?' Became 'What are we doing?' Ever so casually, but for the prisoners who were watching, they were really dying to know: 'What are they doing?!'
Minutes passed, Wrio was still standing, by now his arms were crossed lazily, he stared at you, hoping that at any moment now, he'd hear you speak. Wrio knows that when something catches your interest, he has to devote part of his interest unto the topic as well, it's the way the Fortress has been on its feet ever since your appearance has made impact on the decision making, and likewise is true, you devote part of your interest if Wrio were to ever discuss a new topic.
He has a certain charisma in the prison, but you are able to navigate around it. The Wrio you know will stand with you till eternity . . .
Even if its about a clock.
A few onlookers were now whispering in confusion, but the old inmates weren't surprised as they refuted their confusion, 'its just the Duke and his lover! Casual stuff really' they knew how bizzare of a pair these two are, so when the clock's hour hand finally struck the hour one, you giggled in anticipation, here it comes!
'Your Grace! It's time for your afternoon tea, please, do not disturb the Duke's office for the upcoming hour!'
A voice rang through the entire area, Wrio was caught off guard, correction: everyone in the hall was caught off guard by the sudden noise.
The Duke's haze like state disappeared as he looked around for the source of the familiar voice, he soon realised it came from the newly hanged clock.
He met his beloved's mischievous face.
"Tadaa~! This clock can indeed speak! I've asked the engineers to add customised lines for each tea time! Voiced by Sigewinne!" Your voice was cheerful, satisfied with the outcome, even clapping like a child at how it this feature was finally executed.
It didn't take long for the cheeky smile to appear on his face, "How adorable" playing emphasis on adorable, Wrio meant to say 'cute and thoughtful but no thanks' and you knew that full well, as his eyebrows twitched.
If you had blinked, you would have missed that second a blush of embarssement crept on his face. It's a public like announcement! But Wrio clearly prefers to keep you to himself in private, he also thinks it'll provide a nuisance for the prisoners if this were to be permanently implemented.
You knew all that too well, yet went on further in pestering him "it even has voice lines for morning tea, lucky day meals, 'night night snacks' and Sigewinne specialty shakes time!" you happily exclaimed in an awfully cheerful manner that Wrio couldn't refuse/deny/resist or utter any possible means of saying no.
So, he shook his head and proceeded to drag you into his office, initially, he scolded you in a friendly bickery manner as he prepared the afternoon tea.
"Darling, it's adorable but we can't keep it permanently, I really appreciate your thoughtfulness"
"Please! We worked so hard on it! Even Sigewinne had to go over the lines a couple of times!"
It seemed hopeless at first, but then you were quickly reminded that nothing could ever feel that way when it's about Wrio; and it was true, He soon succumbed into your request and you made a truce 'to atleast keep this feature for one week!' Because he couldnt resist the moment you flashed him those innocent soft eyes.
He groaned, placing a hand on his face and waving his hand "fine! fine!" and with that, your work paid off even if for a little while, you poured the tea victoriously into the matching pair of tea cups.
Soon, Sigewinne appeared from the stairs, you immediately flashed her a knowing glance and a thumbs up 'we got him!'. Wrio just smiled at how obvious your communication was with Siegwinne, but he found himself unable to stop smiling as he's reminded of the deep bond you've formed with her. His beloved Melusine!
"Pound it!" You and Sigewinne fist bumped as you sat on the two chairs across from Wrio's desk, he unconsciously rolled his eyes, settling down his hot chamomile cup gently on the table. "So, who's idea was it to reveal the term 'night night snacks' to the entire Fortress?"
He chuckled heartily even if he received no reply, because you and Siegwinne were pointing a finger at each other at the same time.
~~~~~ Later that Night
That night, Wrio, secretly kissed your cheek in your sleep, whispering words of gratitude that he has you on his side, you add the perfect mix of chaotic energy in his life, the one that reminds him of his olden days when he used to be an inmate himself.
That night, he understood the truth of your intention; the purpose of this clock is not only to aid the prisoners in time perception, but to also serve as a reminder that it's the Duke's peaceful time, because sometimes, it gets disturbed, yet he never complained.
What a humble Wrio!
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Scenario #2 : Neuvillette's Visit
Even if we're practically underwater, the gossip here spreads like wildfire, the entire fortress was aware that today, the Iudex, Chief Justice of Fontaine, Neuvillete is visiting! He's a Fontaine Celebrity, some argue that his fame exceeds the Archon her self!
Everyone, even the inmates wanted to be in good shape and manners, lest he remembers their trials, or them after after they've been redeemed.
'Quick, drop the red carpets everybody!' said the entire fortress.
'Le Gasp' - also the entire fortress as Wriothesley just patted Neuvillete's back, extremely informally, as if they're childhood friends that have been playing in the mud under the sun since the morning.
"Good to see you! You finally decided to visit, looking very responsible-y in spirits as per usual!"
Neuvillette's eyebrows burrowed as he sighed and muttered 'to you as well' his face fixated on yours as if inquiring for 'help', you just smirked and gave him two thumbs up, truth is, you shared this habit with Wriothesley, this habit of informally annoying Neuvillete and completely, if not completely, destroying the formal decorum.
You and Wrio, both agreed that it indirectly influences his mood, it's sort of like an unwinding mechanism as he decends from the ever so formal world above and its harsh duties.
Neuvillette's patience was wearing out, but he immediately seemed to 'forgive and forget' everything once he saw little Sigewinne making her way to him, his tight facial expressions were let lose as she adorably hugged Neuvillete (only able to hug one of his legs!), immediately trying to offer him all the surprises (and shakes) that she's prepared for this special day.
Wrio smiled at the two, giving them a little space as he backed to your side, leaning down to whisper in your ear "Did you prepare the tea?" Wrio is a tea enthusiast, we all know that, but this tea, he meant was not only actual tea, but it was a code for asking: if everything else is set?.
You nodded, reassuringly giving him a gentle smile, whispering back all the basic preparations "Tea collection organised, Documents prepared, Lucky meal day is set, Pipes are clean, Workers are free for the day"
"Perfect, thanks darling" he hastily kissed one of your cheeks, his gaze softening for a moment, then he turns to Neuvillete who's still 'very seriously' listening to each word Sigewinne has to say.
Out of his very special kindness, Wriothesley let the prisoners inquire Neuvillete (with his permission) about the over world affairs. Some asked if their families are okay, others asked if certain unclosed cases have finally been solved? Few praised his work and thanked him, saying that they'll behave better once redeemed.
Wrio was always proud of this under city that he's worked hard to organise and improve, and seeing that some of the prisoner's had such kind words made him smile, like: hell yeah those are my people!
Furthermore, watching Wrio's geniune happiness warmed your heart, everyday, the Duke makes you fall harder in love with his extremely noble intentions every single day.
After Neuvillette's little celebatory rendezvous with the prisoners, you four left for the Duke's office, and once we're in, that's when business starts.
Wrio usually negotiates with Neuvillete regarding new plans, and these negotiations are pretty much the only time when the power couple actually wears the serious mask, because this concerns Fontaine's future political environment, even if the Fortress is a separate jurisdiction, it remains tied with Fontaine's justice system in one way or another, it also serves as a secret for a history long forgotten. . .
"Negotations with the South have been going smoothly, however, i worry that with an increased immigration rate, the crime rate also follows suit, most are not accustomed with Fontaine's 'extra-ordinary laws'" Neuvillete spoke, so eloquently, yet so gently because Sigwinne was on his lap, enjoying her little shake. Neuvillete had no objections as he drank his shake too, meanwhile you and Wriothesley held your matching pair of cups, it was your turn to speak as Wrio gave you a knowing glance 'go on', he occasionally likes to test your negotation skills, it boosts his admiration for you seeing that you're able to rule with finess. (By his side)
"I think that's on the court, the laws are seriously jumbled up, you've got to compromise with Lady Furina, perhaps inquire that the laws not be so harsh with foreigners?" you spoke, and Wriothesley's lips faintly projected his pride in you as he agreed "I think so too, we, as the Fortress of Meropide serve as a haven for exiles, however, taking on such a number of short notice inmates provides burdens in the efficiencies of the funding and resource chain management of the Fortress"
"I think so too! Foreigner inmates are more likely to be careless and unfamiliar with the fortess, they'll surely cramp my schedule as the head nurse" little Sigewinne added.
Just like Wrio, Neuvillette also showed signs of pride in Siegwinne, "All of these arguments are extremely valid" (he made sure to include Sigewinne's opinion) "Very well, I will speak with Lady Furina upon my return, this result was much expected before my arrival, in pure intention, I must confide in the fact that I've wanted to meet all of you once more"
After that heartfelt note of Neuvillete's confession, the office burst into laughter mostly Sigewinne, who's finally reunited with with her favourite dragon. This time, Wrio wrapped an arm around your shoulder, giving you the tough treatment of children who've been playing in the mud all day long, he didn't hesitate to show Neuvillete his confidence in your ability, his confidence in your companionship together.
"Wrio, Darling, I can't breathe" you laughed awkwardly as the air is squeezed out of your lungs, he has too much pride in you!
This time, it was your turn to inquire Neuvillete for 'help', but upon meeting his gaze, he was sipping rather innocently from his shake, giving you a subtle wink.
He acted ignorant as he returned his attention to Sigewinne, listening to her stories once more.
~~~~ Later that Night
"It was like a literal crime scene infront of the Iudex! I couldn't breathe!" You complained to Sigewinne as you sat on Wrio's seat which was vacant, he was yet to return from his night duties.
Sigewinne giggled, "I believe that's his declaration of love, his grace is extremely hearty in actions, worry not that's just his way of confessing pride!"
"Oh little Sigewinne, you've come so far into understanding human emotions too, can I declare my love to you as well?"
No sooner had you spoke, she was already running down the office stairs upon understanding your intentions.
What a quick goodnight!
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Scenario #3 : 'That's my darling!'
The Pankration ring often holds weekly tournaments, you and Wrio, and pretty much the entire Fortress (save for a few shy inmates and Sigewinne) enjoy watching the battles.
As an ex-prisoner, Wrio spent most of his time here, as the Duke, he doesn't participate as much due to his strength, unless an inmate has specifically requested for a spar, in which he delightfully agreed to fulfill their request. He liked to entertain the fort, even when he's not in the ring, he still entertains the fort, how?
He let's you fight, and you frankly enjoy it. Sigewinne worried at first, but soon, she understood why Wrio allowed his companion to join, Wrio had full confidence in your capabilities and he simply liked to see his darling as a bad ass.
You weren't as powerful as him, but powerful enough to make the fights you participated in very interesting. The prisoners loved you as well, just as they admire the Duke, they admired how his significant other also slays.
Tonight, the Pankration ring held out an all out fight with you! After months of training by Wrio for this grand game, this was the greatest challenge that you were about to undertake. The arena is open, for anyone to fight untill you're knocked down.
"You're ready, just remember, focus, think, breathe..." Wrio had both of his palms on your shoulder, saying naught but sweet words as he towered behind you. You both were facing a mirror, seeing his face brim full of his love towards you gave you the boost you needed.
"Thank you" you placed a hand on one of his palms, giving it a squeeze of appreciatation. Even little Sigewinne assured you that she was going to stand on the backline to aid you right away, but you gave her a confident smile, "The only wounds you'll be treating are that of the inmate's" you sassily replied, Wrio chuckled and patted your head gently.
And with that, it was time!
Everyone was eager, the fighters were all excited to get a chance aganist your prowess, Wrio was the formal commentator for this fight, and soon, he announced the commencement of the showdown.
You saw his smile from across the crowds, the little nod he gave, you remembered his words as the different participants joined the stage. Its show time!
One after another, you sent the men down, successfully multitasking both defense and offense. Everything was going smoothly, as soon as they climbed, they would get knocked off stage.
But you only got so far when one of the infamous inmate fighter got a blow in your guts, you tried your hardest to stand your ground but soon, you've depleted all your stamina in defending yourself from all the blows that soon arrived after you've been weakned.
"And they're down!" Wriothesley officially announced the end of the game, everybody cheered for your efforts, even if they were in pain, the Fort acknowledged your prowess just as much as you cheered for everybody who's participated, you offered your hand to them, and together, everyone batteled aganist the physique of mortality to stand up together.
The entire Fort that night celebrated with a free Lucky Meal at the cafeteria, everyone was seated at the busy cafeteria, a crowd surrounded your table with Wrio.
"What a great sportsmanship from y/n!"
"Right? This was the most impressing tournament this year no doubt"
"Your Grace! Thank you for the opportunity!"
Multiple comments were picked up by Wrio, he was proud, of his people and of his significant other, he gave you a knowing glance in the light of all these lovely comments.
"That's my darling" he whispered as he teasingly elbowed your stomach, you jolted in pain that was quickly subdued by his kind smile, you seemed to forget it all because right infront of you, is the reason everything will always be alright in this life.
~~~~ Later that night
That night, Wrio couldn't compress his love for you, he was proud of you everyday, but tonight you stirred something new in him, even more love in you that he didn't know was possible. You fill his heart and soul.
That night, he kissed you gently on the lips before tucking you comfortably in your shared bed, the next morning, you had the finest tea, and biscuits, hand fed by yours truly. (He insisted)
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Bonus!Scenario : Where is Sigewinne?
Wrio asked, you replied:
"Nursery?"
"Not there"
"The Cafeteria?"
"Already Checked"
"Reception Lobby?"
"Nope, she hasn't been sighted there"
"The production zone?"
"Nay"
"Where could she possibly be!" He settled down his morning tea with a thud, worry already clouding his face, but he quickly reassures himself, there's no way Sigewinne would get herself in trouble, not in his domain.
"Don't worry, she's smart as hell and . . armed" you reassured him, with a gentle hand over his "the guards are on alert, we'll be notified of her sighting at once" the moment you mentioned it, one of the special access guards entered the office "Your Grace! We found her!" their voice ringed from bellow.
You and Wrio shared a glance, then you both sprinted into that said location, following the guard into the reception zone.
Wrio looked around, but there was no Sigewinne in sight, and you just confirmed to him that the reception area is clear, 'is this some kind of joke?' He was about to ask.
The guard immediately noticed the Duke's distress, they awkwardly pointed their hands "Y-Your grace, she's right over there!"
Your gaze followed the guards gesture, they were pointing at. . . the glass panel that overlooked the waters?
Barely, if you squeeze your eyes, you can make out her shape in the waters, the panel was dirty but you slammed yourself into the glass for better vision.
"Sigewinne!" You laughed, "You little prick!"
Wrio did the same, wiping a small part just barely enough for his eyes, Sigewinne was. . . swimming, carrying a few nets filled with Tidalya which you assumed, she uses in her shakes.
She waved at the both of you, mouthing the words "Your Grace!" Slightly embarssed that she's been caught.
Wrio sighed, but he still gave her an intimidating look, to which she mouthed the word "Sorry!"
You were still giggling "Don't worry, I'll cover for you Siegwinne!" To which she gracefully smiled at your kind words.
Wrio lightly and playfully punched your shoulder, "Don't encourage her" to which you quickly refuted, "She's a melusine remember?"
He turned away with a sigh of relief, "have this glass panel cleaned" he ordered the guard, you turned your attention to Wrio, "you're right, she's a melusine" he said, his pride never letting his judgement be clouded.
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A/N : I've never had so much fun in writing before, this Wrio fanfic is seriously my favourite now! (He's amazing, the quest left me impressed)
With that said, hello! This is my first time writing for Genshin! Glad to have made a contribution! I also write about BSD!
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canyonkingdom · 25 days
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i have a writing request!
royber! just imagine amber taking care of roy while hes sick (for the 100th time) (he doesnt want to admit it)
broken toy
It was another day in Broomstown. The idiots were squirming, the construction workers were hoarding,
Amber worries herself in the headquarters.
“Helly, have you seen Roy?” she asked.
“Roy? He just went to Spooky’s house to help him carry some tires.”
Amber’s eyes widened in shock. “What? But I told him not to-”
"Calm down!” Helly said in a feeble attempt to cheer her up. “I’m sure Roy’s gonna be fine! He’s a strong guy.”
“I know that, Helly! It’s just…” Amber paused, sighing. “He’s been working overtime for the past few weeks. Something might happen-”
“It’ll be fine! He’s done that before.” Helly replied in a joking manner, but it pissed off Amber more than it should. “But he has been looking rough for the past few days.”
“One of these days Jin won’t be able to fix him…”
“Don’t worry too much.”
Amber sighed in defeat, but grateful for the anything but wise words of her friend. At least he was trying, but Helly didn't realize how much it scared her to see Roy in a coma, or suffering in general. The fire truck had been working and working for weeks on end, something not even Poli could withstand.
Everyone else passed it off as hard work, but Amber didn't see a hardworking guy, she saw an insomniac in the making just waiting for his engine to fail.
She was, in fact, right.
Amber heard the incessant banging of metal at the front door. She sighed in annoyance before checking it out.
...
“Dude, what have you got yourself into?” Helly’s voice screamed worry, metal scraped against the floor.
“It’s…” Roy’s voice was weak.
When Amber entered the room, time seemed to stop. Roy looked awfully redder than usual, his arms were scraped in gray and his usual cheery demeanor diminished into a sad-eyed glimmer. Helly carried him like a weak trainee.
She felt like something snapped in her.
This happened many times before, yet she still felt as if her gas pressure ran high.
“Roy!” Amber rushed to the firetruck’s side, completely ignoring Helly, even pushing his helping arms aside, shocking the latter.
“He fainted while carrying tires,” Helly replied to compensate, but Amber didn’t seem to care. “Get Jin.” Amber hollered at the helicopter.
Helly shrugged. “Right now or-”
“Now.”
Helly flinched. “Okay, okay!” he flew away from the room, leaving the two lovers alone.
Amber sighed, looking at Roy straight in the eyes. “I told you not to take that offer." she said sternly. Anger boiled.
"I told you not to worry," Roy replied, his voice still calm and collected in comparison to Amber's rage-inducing fit of a voice.
"Not to worry?" Amber scoffed. "Of course I will worry, you're my boyfriend! You matter to me than anyone in this damn headquarters. For once, can you listen to what I say to you?"
Roy's face was becoming redder by the second. "It's not my fault I want to help the town. And I am listening, I just think it's wrong for you to-"
"It's wrong for me to worry about my own boyfriend? I can't believe your pettiness-"
"I'm not even that sick! Helly worried for no fucking reason-"
"You're literally redder than your own paint! Stop denying and just lay down-"
"I still have to finish-"
"LISTEN TO ME AND FUCKING REST, WILL YOU?"
...
It was silent.
"Uh, guys?" Helly's frail voice spoke up. Jin was next to him, shaking her head in dismay.
"Oh, it's you guys." Amber said, attempting to put up a happy façade.
"Let's talk later." Jin said bluntly. "Roy, c'mere. I'll patch you up."
Helly awkwardly watched the two lovers getting separated. Roy drove to Jin groggily, and they left the room.
"What happened?" he asked Amber, who was silent the entire time.
"I don't know." she answered, her voice was cracking. "I just- I just snapped at him."
"Yeah, that was scary! I've never seen you so angry."
Amber felt like she wanted to cry. "I only wanted him to be... better. I just want him to look out for himself. He barely listens to anything I say and runs off into another rescue. It's just..."
"Don't worry, Amber. Roy will probably understand. He's not gonna stay angry at you forever. You guys always make up after a fight. Poli said you're inseparable." Helly smiled into his words, calming Amber by the tiniest bit.
"Thank you, Helly."
Jin was waiting by the garden.
Amber gulped.
She drovd up to their manager. "Hi."
"Cut the bullshit, Amber. I wanna know why you snapped at Roy like that." Jin was always straight to the point, something Amber apprieciated. But she was looking down at Jin's words.
"I was only worrying for his safety." she admitted.
Jin sighed sympathetically. "I understand where you're coming from. But... there are other ways to look out for someone without outright shouting at them."
"I'm just... so angry, Jin. He doesn't listen to anything I say and gets into this... shit. And he still insists on-"
"Calm down." Jin's soothing voice tamed the anger within. "I want you to talk to Roy and resolve this. He's been dying inside all day after your outburst."
Amber nodded, smiling.
The infirmary felt a little too cold.
Amber stopped Roy, with an ice pack abover his ehad and a thermometer in his mouth.
"Hi." she said, "How are you feeling-"
"I'm sorry."
Amber's mouth formed an "o" shape after the sudden sentence. The thermometer dropped to the ground.
"I'm sorry." she repeated. "For getting angry like that." she moved next to Roy.
"It's fine. You were just looking out for my wellbeing." Roy sighed, "I'm sorry for not listening to you when all you wanted was for me to rest."
Amber didn't know what she would do without Roy. She felt like an empty shell of herself when he didn't exist. All she wanted was to keep him safe, out of danger. Despit all the horrifying rescues they went through, the grave injuries all of them had, she always prioritized Roy first.
She didn't want to lose him.
"I don't want to see you suffer." Amber said.
"Isn't that what our job is all about?" Roy looked at her with glowing eyes despite his weak frame. "It's normal for us to get injuries, into dire accidents, but we all fix it together."
Amber couldn't help but chuckle. "You're always like this."
"I love you, Amber." Roy aid, blushing in a red brighter than his. "I know you love me, because you look out for me."
"I love you too." Amber rplied back, and a small kiss on the cheek.
Everything was finally resolved.
Well, Roy's sickness isn't.
Amber clung to him like a leech. Not leaving his side, even for rescue missions. She only prayed that Helly could handle Posty and Cap's bullshit by himself.
"What do you think he will do?" Amber asked Roy, who was staring into oblivion.
"He can't do it. We taught him so much, but he's a child." Roy replied, yawning. "I can't believe it's nighttime."
"It's time to replace the ice." Amber transformed into her robocar and removed the ice pack on Roy's head. "So you'll get better."
"I'm not that sick." Roy insisted, his voice obviously croaking.
"Stop being an idiot." Amber sighed, grabbing more ice. "You're red all over and your temperature is high."
"It's just a cold, I swear."
Amber placed the ice pack back. "Don't start. You need to rest."
"But what if Helly-"
"Roy," Amber clammored, turning back into a car and her back facing's Roy. "We are not having this talk again, please just let Helly do his job. He's more capable than you think."
"I'm sorry." Roy lamented.
"Don't be."
"Let's just play a song."
Amber went to the CD player, once again turning into a robocar, searching through the handfuls of CDs they have collected. "Play anything." Roy said.
One random CD later, Amber went back to Roy's side, touching his forehead. "You're so hot."
Roy looked at her with all the subtlty of a korean film. "What?"
"I meant your fever." Amber was blushing in a red hue. "Your fever."
Roy smiled. "You clearly meant something else-"
"The music's playing." Amber cut off.
The record started spinning,
No i'll never look back in anger
No i'll never find me an answer
You promised me we'd keep in touch
I read your letter and it hurt me so much
I said i'll never, never be angry with you
"What a fun song."
They slept through the night leaning against each other's frame.
-///-
this is for anonymous user
i'm rlly sorry lol the plot diverted from a sick fic to 50% argument resolving 49% sickfic and 1% songfic hope its fine
btw poli's not here bc he's dealing with camp and politics (request crossover??)
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geralts-yenn · 10 months
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Ray of Sunshine
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Modern AU Melot (Tristan&Isolde) x OFC (second person pov)
summary: just some simple fluff and smut containing a beach, a bonfire, a guitar, a motorbike and a tattooed guy
warnings: alcohol and drug use, fingering, oral (f receiving), protected p-i-v sex
word count: 3,1k
A/N: My lovely @raccoon-eyed-rebel finally made it! She worked through the same new years eve party eight times with all of the 8 lovely inhabitants of 179 Crescent Street. I am so proud of you, babe!
You really deserve a treat for that one!
So I wrote this one just for you, Nina - hope you like my Nina-indulgent Melot 💜🖤
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“Come on, Isa, I am already in my pajamas. I'm pretty sure you'll live if I don’t join you.“ Isa whined a little more into your ear, but in the end she said goodbye and you were finally able to sink onto your couch and drown in your misery. You were so awfully tired. You struggled with your classes, with your job and with your life. 
You zapped through the TV channels, but nothing could get through to you. Frustrated, you grabbed your book and tried to read, but when you realized you were staring at the same words for minutes you gave up.
“Fuck it!” you told yourself, got up and changed into some shirt and jeans. This should be enough for a beach party. 
When you arrived, you knew that it had been the right decision. The sounds of laughter, conversations and a girl singing to a guitar reached you as well as the scent of fire and marijuana that wafted through the air. Your mood was already better than it had been all week.
“Nina!” you heard a cheering voice and in the next moment Isa hung around your neck. “You changed your mind!” 
Isa and you got back to the bonfire and she handed you a bottle of beer.
As the night went on you felt at ease, surrounded by happy people, music and the sound of the ocean. Isa handed you a joint and you took a long drag before you passed it on to the girl next to you. You were really glad that Isa had asked you to join her, finally your head had stopped ruminating for a while.
After some time you heard the sounds of bike engines. You looked over to Isa. “Tristan is coming?” you asked with a smile. You really liked Isa's new boyfriend. She has been so happy ever since she met him. You had never seen her so much in love. 
“I hope so. He didn't know if he could make it.” Just a minute later you saw two guys parking their bikes at the side of the road nearby. Both men left their helmets and leather jackets on their bikes and headed over to the party.
Your eyes widened when you realized it was not only Tristan who came to join you, but also his foster brother Mel. You had met him a couple of times before, and to say that you had a huge crush on him was an understatement. 
Which was no surprise because who wouldn't fall for him, looking so damn handsome with his long curls and his cute face covered with something that was more than stubble but not enough to really call it a beard. 
You watched him approaching the fire. He looked like he belonged on the cover of a magazine, rugged and impossibly cool. He wore some ripped jeans and a black tank top that allowed you to ogle over his tattooed arms. It was just rude how good he was looking.
Isa got up and ran over to the men, jumping right into Tristan's arms. They immediately started kissing as if they were alone and not standing in the middle of a whole crowd of people.
Mel just chuckled and continued to walk. When he reached the bonfire he glanced around and when he saw you he smiled and dropped at the spot Isa had left seconds before.
“Hey Nina, nice to see you again.” Your heart skipped a beat when he gave you a hug. You were glad that you were intoxicated just in the right amount, so you'd be able to talk to him without being too nervous. And so you did. 
He asked you about college and your job but you didn't want to talk too much about that as it was too frustrating. So, when you both saw Tristan and Isa leave the party for a more quiet place, you took the opportunity and talked about them. 
Mel told you that Tristan, as Isa, was very much in love, almost unrecognizable, but that it did him really good. “He's a completely different person. He's so happy, it almost makes me puke sometimes.” Mel chuckled deeply, a sound that made you shiver.
“Yeah, I know what you mean, it's awful how cheerful Isa is at the moment. It's so sweet, you get a toothache just from watching.”
Mel and you continued your conversation and you couldn't help but notice how he looked at you. His eyes were following every one of your movements, and every once in a while he shifted and seemed to get nearer to your side.
You tried to ignore the hopeful feeling that built in your stomach. You didn't want to add another disappointment to your life right now.
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The girl that had played the guitar stopped and put the instrument against a rock. 
Mel got up and went over to her. “Hey, do you mind if I play for a while?” he asked her. 
You weren't aware that he knew how to play, and you were more than thrilled to see him doing so.
Mel sat down again beside you and you watched as his fingers started to move expertly over the strings. The sight of his hands and arms moving over the instrument and his face in a deep frown, eyes closed in concentration, made you melt completely in adoration for him. You thought you couldn't fall harder for him until he started to sing. His voice was deep and rich, and your whole body was covered in goosebumps as soon as you heard him.
Everyone else around you disappeared from your vision, it was just Mel and you, the fire, the sea and your racing heart.
And then you listened to the lyrics of his song:
She enters the room and all eyes are on her Her tales bring joy and her smile is pure Her voice, a melody that touches the soul All fears melt away, you feel whole
She's the perfect blend of light-hearted, cute, and beautiful No one else compares, she's truly wonderful With her around, life is always bright
So here's to the girl with the rainbow hair You're a ray of sunshine, beyond compare May your radiance never dim, shine on with all your might For there's no one else like you, you are my light.
Your mouth fell open when he sang the last verse. You just blinked at him, unable to form a thought and not even realizing that you had stopped breathing.
Mel put down the guitar, leaned over to you and let his hands run through your colorful strands of hair. His face was so near, you could feel his breath.
“Can I kiss you?” he whispered, the words coming out soft as the sound of the ocean.
You nodded, your eyes closing as Mel leaned in, his lips brushing against yours, and pulling you in close. 
You kissed for what felt like an eternity before you finally pulled back and looked into Mel's eyes. His pupils were blown wide. 
He got up and held his hand out to you. “Come with me?” he asked you and you were happy to follow him to the outskirts of the party, where the noise of the people faded. 
He sat down on the sand and pulled you in his lap.
“I've wanted to kiss you so bad since I first saw you,” he told you. And as if to prove it, his mouth was on yours again. 
Although you were far away from the fire now, you felt heat pooling in your center. Your hands traveled over Mel's arms and neck and finally settled in his chocolate curls. 
Mel pressed his hands firm on your hips and as you grinded against him, you could feel him growing under you.
Your hands moved to his chest and you pressed against his hard pecs, parting your face from his. 
A small whine escaped him when you denied him another kiss.
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“Take me somewhere else, Mel!” you requested with a smile.
He looked at you, confused.
“What? Why?” He almost sounded like a child who got told to stop playing with his favorite toy. And the puppy eyes he gave you melted your heart.
You chuckled and played with the collar of his shirt.
“Because fucking on the beach is only fun in movies and cheesy novels.” you explained with a wink.
Mel's eyes got wide when realization hit him and he got up so fast that a loud laugh escaped you.
You both walked over to his bike, holding hands, and he gave you his helmet and jacket. You climbed onto the seat behind him and wrapped your arms tight around his waist. Mel brushed his fingers over your hands and turned to check that you were seated comfortably.
The vibrations when he started the engine made you bite your lip. Mel was driving along the ocean road. The wind was blowing through your hair and you felt free and happy like never before.
When Mel turned into a driveway and stopped his bike, you were almost sad that your ride was already over. But as Mel wrapped his arm around your waist and started to kiss you, you knew what came next would be even better than this motorcycle ride. You both couldn’t stop with kisses and touches as you made your way upstairs to Mel's apartment.
Mel opened the door and guided you to go first. He gestured with his arm and even bowed slightly. 
“Welcome to my castle!” he said and you giggled at the silly comment.
“So, are you a prince or a robber baron?” Mel's smile grew over his face. 
“Guess tonight I was the minstrel” You both laughed. And you knew that seeing him like this, as an absolutely adorable dork, you would just fall harder for him.
His apartment was small but cozy. You always loved to see someone’s home for the first time, as you thought it gave away a lot about the owner. There was a dark leather couch that looked comfy, a small kitchenette, a big bed with disheveled sheets, quite an impressive bookshelf, two guitars hanging on the wall and, surprising you, a lot of well-kept plants. You really liked what you saw.
Mel guided you to sit on the couch. “Can I get you something to drink?” he asked as he was walking over to a vintage record player and put on some music.
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“No, just come here and kiss me.” you told him. That Mel didn’t need to be told twice. He sat down next to you and pulled you close. His hands rested on your hips as you started kissing again. 
But soon both of you got impatient. You climbed onto Mel's lap and your hands tugged on his shirt. Mel took your hint and pulled it over his head. As you saw his wide bare chest, you couldn’t hold back a gasp. You sank your hands on his pecs and traced the tattoos that covered his skin with your fingers. 
Damn, you wanted him so badly. So you got up and pulled him with you as you made your way to his bed. You unbuttoned your jeans and roll them down your legs. Mel let out a small growl as his hands brushed down your naked thighs. His eyes traveled over your whole body and he leaned down to you and whispered: “Nina, you're fucking gorgeous.”
You answered him with another hungry kiss and hands that wandered all over his body. 
Hastily, you worked on the belt of his jeans. “We need to get rid of those, baby!” you told him. Both of you were fumbling with his buttons until his pants finally dropped to the floor. Next, Mel took care to remove your shirt. Your underwear were the last bits of fabric that needed to go, and when that was done, both of you dropped onto the bed, relishing the feeling of skin on skin.
Mel's lips trailed along your neck while his hands were on your rib cage, one of his thumbs carefully brushing over the curve of your breast. He sank a little lower and took one of your nipples in his mouth. The sensation of his warm tongue made you moan. You nuzzled your face into his dark curls, taking in the scent of his cologne that clung to his hair. 
Mel's fingers slowly trailed down your side to your hip bone, resting there for a few seconds and drawing circles on your skin. Then he changed direction and his hand found its way between your thighs. 
When his calloused fingers ran through your wet folds, you both groaned. His movements were as skillful between your legs as they were with the guitar. While his thumb took care of your clit, two fingers pumped into you and you soon felt tension building in your core.
You felt his erection pressing against your thigh and your hand sank down to touch him. But as you wrapped your fingers around his cock, Mel withdrew himself. 
“No, sweetheart, not yet. I want to take care of you first, I want to cherish you!“ 
He pressed your shoulder down onto the bed and started to place feathery kisses on you. From your temple over your jaw, down your throat to your sternum and then going down to your belly, he was exploring your body with his lips. Mel looked up at you teasingly as you both knew where you wanted him to move his lips next. 
“There’s so many things that I want to do to you!” he whispered with a deep, raspy voice. “Please tell me what you want me to do!” His eyes were dark as they rested on you.
“I want your mouth between my legs!” you replied, almost whining. Mel smiled contently when he heard you pleading and obeyed. He began with soft, chaste kisses on your inner thighs that soon changed to needy sucks and small bites. His mouth slowly approached your core with every kiss until he finally found your wet folds. He flattened his tongue as he lapped through them.
And as if your taste awoke something in him, he finally stopped his teasing and he dove right in, devouring you like he was starving. His mouth worked on your clit just in the right way to make you squirm beneath him. You were already on the edge when he dived his tongue into you, his thumb replacing its spot on your pearl. 
“Oh, fuck, Mel, don’t stop!” you cried out and Mel did his best to follow your wish and fucked you with his tongue while his thumb rubbed over your clit in just the perfect pace and pressure. Mel worked you up so fast and intense like you had never experienced before when you were eaten out and you came hard, screaming his name and arching your back. 
With small kitten licks he guided you through your orgasm until you were able to move again and you pulled him up to you. As Mel bent down to kiss you, you felt his shaft pressing against your stomach, twitching between your bodies.
“If you really want to take care of me, you better shove that cock into me soon!” you said, and Mel chuckled mischievously at it. 
“How can I deny you anything like this when you look so gorgeously spent.” After another ravishing kiss, Mel pulled a condom out of the drawers of his nightstand. He knelt between your spread legs and slowly pumped himself, while his eyes never left yours. Swiftly he wrapped himself with the latex and then he sank down onto you again. 
You felt the tip of his cock running along your slit and then slowly pushing into you. He spread your walls and when he was fully buried in you, he stopped his movements. Mel pressed his forehead against yours and you drowned in the dark pools that were his eyes.
That moment felt like the world had stopped turning, everything felt like it was in slow motion. You took in the music playing in the background, accompanied by Mel’s panting breaths, the mixed scents of cologne, fire and sweat, and the salty taste of Mel's skin that still lingered on your tongue. And then you felt him move inside of you. 
He started with long and slow rhythmic thrusts that made you squirm under him. You wrapped your legs around his waist and grabbed him at his shoulders, trying to feel him as deep as possible. 
Accompanied by breathy moans, Mel bit by bit increased his pace. Soon he was pounding into you erratically. He bent your legs over his shoulders and with the new angle he hit you exactly where you needed him with every stroke. 
You were losing your composure, with every move your moans got louder as you felt your climax approaching. Mel lost his rhythm, too, he was rutting into you desperately now. Pearls of sweat ran down his temples. You watched how his cock disappeared into your body, how his hand kneaded your breast firmly, how he hovered over you, mouth agape.
Mel felt your walls clenching around his cock and he responded by jerking his hips into you hard. You were finally falling apart under him, your legs trembling as you felt your release rush through your body. With a whimper, Mel pushed one last time hard into you and reached his own peak. 
Slowly, Mel retreated and left your cunt gripping around nothing. He slumped onto the bed next to you and reached for your hand. You entwined your fingers, both still catching your breaths. 
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A ray of sunshine was falling onto your face, disturbing your sleep. You blinked a few times, not yet really conscious. The sun was way too bright, so you shut your eyes again. But you enjoyed the other sensations that you took in. There was the scent of fresh coffee, the warmth of the sheets you were buried in and the tunes of a guitar playing softly.  
As you slowly stretched your arms with a yawn, the guitar stopped playing and soon you felt the mattress dip beside you and a warm hand was softly stroking over your back. Mel’s face appeared above you, he cupped your cheeks and pressed a kiss onto your mouth.
“Good morning, sunshine!” he whispered in your ear before he pressed more kisses all over your face. He lay down and pulled you in his embrace.
“Hey!“ you answered simply and just blinked at him, smiling uncontrollably.
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autistic-flirting · 5 months
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Her: *shares picture of an antique train* Found this in a park in town, thought of you!
Him: Oooh just what I needed for a cheer-up. Hmm, they just finished a cosmetic restoration on that engine.... *shares link to news brief*
Her: she do look awfully pretty
Him: it takes one to know one 😉
.
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Text
UNSPOKEN
Pairing: Rooster x Reader, Bradley Bradshaw x Reader
Part 11 - Head In The Clouds
Warnings: smoking, light drinking
Summary: Mocking bird begins to fear her upcoming tour.
Author’s Note: I promise I’ll be nice to Rooster and Mockingbird.
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Monday came faster than you wanted it to. It was nice having Rooster around all weekend to hold your hand constantly. You found yourself missing him with a painful ache since he left the house that morning. It was a hot one today even the air that blew was uncomfortably warm. You walked out from the shade of the hangar and onto the tarmac. You didn’t venture too far out knowing how mad the air boss would be if he saw you giving tours during training. Rooster looked up from checking the outside of his aircraft and going down his pre flight checklist. “What are you doing here?” He asked with a smile as he jogged over to you.
“We came to bring you lunch. You look awfully cute in that flight suit Mr. Bradshaw.” You swayed back and forth like a child. Even now that you had him you were still so nervous to talk to him at times. Jake noticed he had visitors as he walked out of the pilots lounge.
“You’re a little early on lunch but I’m sure you don’t mind waiting for me.” He took a look at what you had brought him to eat. “If I stuff my face with this right now but I’d be seeing it all too soon with the way your dad flys up there.” He joked. You knew it was true.
“What’s his signature move called again?” You wondered.
“The split S or the cobra?” Jake clarified.
“He’s kicked my ass with both.” Rooster chuckled.
“So this is the tarmac where I spent most of my life watching my dad in one of these bad boys. That one is Roosters.” You said pointing to the high speed death machine.
“How do you know?” She was truly curious.
“It says his name on it.” you pointed out through a laugh. You walked her back inside the hangar, “How’s dad today?”
“Well he’s managed to win every fight so far.” Jake rubbed his temples.
“Sounds about right boys.” You bragged.
Rooster picked up his red helmet from the table and held it in his large hands. “You about to head back up there?” You wanted him to stay close to you. It left you feeling so cold when he was gone.
“Yeah I’ve got the next pairing with Phoenix and Bob,” he kissed your cheek before walking off towards his super hornet. You didn’t notice Hangman had left until he came back to stand next to the both of you handing you both a pair of protective headphones.
“Might want to put these on when he fires her up.” He recommended as he tried to speak above the growing noise of the plane starting up.
“what about you?” Kennedy asked and he turned his head slightly so she could catch the orange tint of the ear plugs he already had placed in. Through the mask dangling off of his flight gear you could hear Rooster’s voice requesting clearance for taxi. Once he had the go ahead you heard the roar of the engines blasting through the air. Kennedy stood in awe as he pushed the aircraft into flight and turned on the speed immediately. “Holy shit ! I can’t believe you guys do this for a living.” She was beyond giddy. Jake was too, he felt as if he had shown off himself.
“Seresin!” He heard his name being called.
“Gotta go!” He whispered as he ran off in the direction he was needed.
“Come on, let’s go wait for our men to be done playing with their toys.” You teased.
“Hangman is not my man!” Kennedy argued.
“So what was with all the cuddling this weekend?” You shot back as she hit your arm playfully.
Hours later you found yourself at Jake and Rooster’s apartment with your hands covered in cookie dough. “I can’t wait for these! I haven’t had these since we were teenagers!” Rooster cheered. He was practically bouncing up and down in anticipation of your famous chocolate chip cookies.
“I’m only making these because you’ve been begging me to for the past few days Rooster.” You scooped out the dough and placed it on the baking sheet. “Only twelve minutes until heaven.” You announced as you closed the oven door. Rooster immediately took you into his body by wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you easily. He placed a small kiss on your temple. He was so incredibly gentle with you as if you were some rare gem. He stared at you with eyes that began to darken. “Now, Mr. Bradshaw don’t start something you can’t finish.” You warned him.
He sucked his teeth, “you caught me.” He chuckled.
“Come on lovebirds! We have board games to play!” Jake called from the living room.
“Our friends need us.” You whispered against his lips. You gave them a quick peck before picking up your wine glass and joining your two best friends. “Alright, who’s ready to lose?” You asked as you sat down on the floor.
An empty platter full of cookie crumbs sat on the coffee table surrounded by empty wine glasses. Rooster had fallen asleep on the couch with you on his chest. He sighed deeply as he repositioned himself. Kennedy looked at Jake longingly but shook the thoughts from her head. “Im worried for them.” She admitted.
“I wouldn’t be, they survived ten years without seeing each other.” Jake mentioned casually.
“She’s a different person when on tour. She’s incredibly focused and driven. But she’s also insecure, exhausted and completely overwhelmed by her fans.” Kennedy tried to warn him, “this is the most happy and carefree I’ve ever seen her be in a very long time.” Kennedy’s eyes sparkled with concern for her friend and client.
“You’ll have me for back up, I’m your wingman now.” He left a blush evident on Kennedy’s cheek. It was slight but it was there.
“I like the sound of that Jake Seresin.” She smiled. Kennedy checked the clock and made a face, “We should get you to bed. You’ve got an early start.” She suggested.
“Ah, learning already.” He yawned and got up to walk down the hall to his room. “You coming or what?” He asked her. Kennedy’s heart began to pound as she thought about it. She didn’t want to seem too eager but of course the answer was yes. She’d follow this man anywhere.
“If you’re that scared of the dark then, of course I will join you Hangman.” She jested.
“It’s more like I lost my favorite teddy bear, I need something else to cuddle.” He opened his room door and stood by its side allowing Kennedy to pass.
“I hate when I lose my teddy bear.” She whispered as she passed the pilots face. He had a wicked grin plastered on as he shut the room door.
The next morning Kennedy woke in bed alone. She went searching for you only to find you on the balcony with a cigarette in hand. She sighed. You were stressed. “What’s going on in that head of yours?” Kennedy asked you. You gave a weak smile.
“I’m a singer. I’ve chased fame my whole life but I’m afraid of my fans. What kind of singer is that?” You wondered through a plume of smoke.
“It’s because it can get overwhelming. Its understandable. But look, it’ll be different this time. Jake seems to think they’ll be available which means Rooster will be with you every step of the way.” She tried to bring your anxiety levels down.
“But Bradley! What if I fall?” You exclaimed. It seemed completely illogical to you to walk across this giant log but he wanted to do it, so of course that meant you too.
“Then I’ll catch you.” He simply stated. His fifteen year old face staring back at you with such determination. He knew you could do it. He stood below you in case of an accident. “I’ll be with you every step of the way.” He was so sure of himself. And when he said it, you believed him.
“Where’d you go just now?” Kennedy stole your mug full of tea and took a sip. The grey clouds of the early morning were still overhead. It looked like rain was trying to come into the area.
“Something you said triggered a memory, that’s all.” You smiled to yourself.
“Oh, one of the many famous Rooster memories I’m guessing.” Kennedy smirked at you causing you to smile wide.
“Yes, one of the many famous memories.” You said contently as you stared at the grey toned world before you. The sound of the fighter jets racing in the atmosphere nearby both calmed you and gave you intense anxiety. You just needed him here next to you.
Rooster wrapped his arms protectively around your body. The humidity was in the air grew as the wind blew a little stronger now. He buried his head in the crook of your neck and sighed contently. He was squeezing you tightly. “God I’ve missed you today.” He softly admitted into your hair. You were sitting on the hood of his car as you straddled his body. He held you there for a second. “You’d think I was going off to war.” He chuckled.
“It just feels empty when you’re not there.” You told him as he stared into your eyes.
“I know what you mean.” He took a moment just taking in all of your features. “What trouble are we getting into today?” He asked you against your lips.
“I’m sure we can find something, B” you laughed. You looked over and saw Jake place his hands on Kennedy’s hips. They seemed like two magnets ever since they first saw each other. “That’s happening fast.” You laughed.
“It’s that typical fighter pilot romance. We like to go fast in the air and on land.” Rooster informed you with a mischievous grin.
“Rooster.” You grabbed his attention.
“Hm?” He grunted.
“I love you” you pledged. He looked as if you took the weight of the world off of him, “I love you too.” He replied with all the truth he could muster. Honestly you didn’t know how he managed to turn your stressed brain back to relaxed so easily.
“We still going to the beach?” Hangman shouted as he guided Kennedy by the small of her back towards the car.
“Yeah let’s go.” Bradley agreed. After a short drive you found yourself on Rooster’s back as he gave you a piggy back ride while you talked to your friends. You let your head rest on his broad shoulders and closed your eyes listening to every noise around you. You wanted to remember every detail. The sound of seagulls carried through the air and into your ears making you feel at home. “You’re in the bar playing guitar, I’m trying not to let the crowd next to me.” You began to sing as you lulled yourself into a state of complete bliss.
He moaned at the sound of your voice. “I love it when you sing.”
-Three Months Later-
“Y/n” it’s time.” Kennedy popped her head in to your dressing room backstage. You gave her a quick nod from the makeup chair before you gave off a large yawn. The makeup artist was retouching your under eye area. The bags were beginning to look like bruises. Everything on your body hurt. You were in the late stages of your first leg of your most recent tour. It was almost time to go home for a break. And a break was what you definitely needed. Rooster held your hand giving you a sad look knowing how ready to lay down you were.
“Y/n! Y/n! What’s it like dating a Top Gun pilot?” A reporter asked as you approached the side stage area.
You slapped on a smile before answering, “Fast and loud!” You yelled back as you grabbed your microphone from one of the stagehands. Rooster gave you a deep kiss before you ran to take your mark. He stood with his arms crossed happily wondering how his life had changed so much. He wasn’t used to this, he was used to being alone and in an airplane risking everything to do what he loved. He wasn’t used to the screams of fans, just the screams of a super hornet engine. He admired how hard you went every night while on stage. He heard the familiar start to the song you wrote about him one night while you laid in bed. He had woken up in the middle of the night catching you in the act as you scribbled the lyrics down while humming softly to yourself. “In the dark you are my light, when you’re gone nothing feels right, in your home up in the sky, In the night I call your name, In my dreams I do the same.” you sang as you winked at Bradley knowing he loved this song. Jake emerged from the hallway back stage and stood next to his best friend.
“She’s good.” He complimented.
“Yeah, she’s real good.” Rooster stated as if in a trance, he couldn’t take his eyes off of you and that’s just how he liked it.
Tags:
@twistedfairytaleendings @nickie-amore @luckyladycreator2 @blessupblessup @rosiahills22 @arieltwvdtohamflash @cherrycola27
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nxghtlight · 1 year
Note
➳ [from Sam @inthecompanyofprimes :3c]
{ @inthecompanyofprimes }
Occasionally before the War (not so often as to cause a stir, but often enough) an organic might find themselves on Cybertron. Of course, the survival rate of these organics could be... awfully variable. Few survived very long. Even fewer thrived in a world meant for machines. The lucky ones got snapped up as a curiosity by an upper caste mech or a scientist.
Nightlight had made himself at home with a cheerful aplomb, nesting in an overturned storage crate in the belly of the Bright Ship the same he'd done on the old Star Pilot schooners. He flitted about out of sight, stealing mouthfuls of energon or getting into the wiring as he pleased until-- after a period of close encounters and then intentional hunting and, finally, a very clever game of hide and seek-- he'd been gently caught by Magnification In Pursuit Of Knowledge and given a new nest in the social room.
The rumble-engines called him a Kremzeek. This was a sort of mischievous creature, as far as Nightlight understood, and it glowed as he did and lived on electricity as he did, so he might very well have been a Kremzeek if he hadn't been a Nightlight first. They liked him, and he liked them; he could understand their sparks the same way he could understand a heart, and most of the rumble-engines found him charming or sweet. A few even let him cling to their armor with his sticky fingers and toes, a warm spot of happy fuzzy harmonics as they worked or played or just cupped a hand over him and listened to him sing for them.
The Bright Ship met conflict, though. There was another kind of rumble-engine, flecked with anger and darkness and hunger as if they held Fearlings inside themselves instead of little stars like his Auto-Bots... They had fought, and the ship shuddered and creaked and-- and-- and he'd thrown himself like a lightning bolt with a crude spear fashioned from a metal pipe and a sharpened crystal towards the cruel laughter-- impact--
And everything had been quiet and still for a very long time. Nightlight did not remember much of this still-and-quiet. He did not like to. There were better things to think about.
Such as, as he dangles from one of Loud Weaponry Makes For The Best Impression's hands by a foot as the rumble-engine shoves him towards the new human on the platform, making friends and finding out what kinds of things they have in their pockets.
He bunts his forehead against the Witwicky's cheek, curls waving all over the place as he chirps.
"Bah-weep-grana' weep! Niniiiibon'!"
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redemptioninterlude · 2 years
Text
@pcrfectstorms​ - jade !
"Okay first of all, what are we listening to again?” Marlene’s leg swings back and forth from where she’s PERCHED UP HIGH on the bathroom stall counter, reapplying her lipstick without the use of a mirror. Red, red, fire engine red, lips pursed, smeared, perfection.
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And second of all... “Jade, did you remember we’ve a test in the next period? Are you sure you want to use the time listening to music in here, AS GOOD AS IT IS, when I could be helping you prep for it instead?” Marlene, who’s pleated edge of her cheer uniform lifts as she crosses her legs, couldn’t help but roll her eyes in indignation. “Your mum asked me to look out for your grades, and you’re making it awfully hard to do so.”
- @pcrfectstorms​ ( hit the ♡ for a starter ) 
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teddyfmd · 2 years
Text
solo_001 / audiobook recording
the morning finds teddy in the recording studio. this room, unlike the dancing studio, is one he is awfully familiar with, having spent more time between these walls than any others within the dimensions building and, as he takes a second to really look at his surrounding, something he hasn’t really done before, not in a long while at least, the realization that he is not here to sing this time around slowly settles in. it’s a weird feeling, this difference in expectations, a rather welcomed one considering that almost every solo project he’s ever done had something to do with music. it’s refreshing to not have the pressure of singing well or conveying the right emotions at all times weighing down on his shoulders for a change, but more than that, it’s nice to be doing something else.
the contemplation leaves him with little time for preparation and, when the sound engineer comes back and, seconds later is joined by the director, teddy takes his place in the booth, headphones in place on his ears and, as he’s given the signal, he starts to read with a steady voice. 
“once upon a time there lived a dog that was very good at hiding his emotions. the dog was tied beneath a shade tree. he always wagged his tail and acted cutely, so he got the name ‘the cheerful dog’, because he was as cheerful as springtime.” 
as he dives into reading the second paragraph, teddy is suddenly overcome with a coughing fit, the result of his saliva taking a wrong turn down his throat. he quickly signals the director, one hand lightly gesticulating for a free moment whilst he uses the other to cover his mouth. the moment doesn’t last long and, after he manages to take a few gulps of water to settle his voice and make sure he can breathe properly, teddy makes sure to offer plenty of apologeting bows towards the people working with him. the panic settles in early in spite of their reassuring nods and thumbs ups and all he can think about is the fact that he’s messed up, that he’s jeopardizing his chance at more projects in the future, that he is not giving his all even in a simple project like this. it’s the mean voice at the back of his head that prompts these kinds of thoughts, the one that sounds suspiciously similar to his mother, the one that no matter how much he tries teddy, can’t quite get rid of for good. 
the director motions for the start of the recording again, but his head is not into it and as he starts reading again, his voice makes the fact crystal clear for everyone present. 
“the dog always had lots of fun with the village kids during the day, but every night he’d moan and whine when no one was around. that’s because he wanted to cut off the leash and freely run around out in the spring field. however, he couldn’t. and that’s why he cried every night.” 
“let’s take a quick 5 minute break and clear our head, alright?” the sound director doesn’t meet teddy’s eyes, either because he doesn’t want to or because he sympathizes, the singer doesn’t know and doesn’t linger around for long enough to find out. he excuses himself and immediately makes his way to the bathroom, frustration coating his every step as he arrives in the vicinity of the sink and, while the faucet splashes his hands with cold water, teddy takes a long, hard look at himself in the mirror. it lasts but a few seconds and his expressions betrays nothing. it’s the same face he always sees while getting ready in the morning, the same bland stare he is familiar with save for the eyes, deep, dark brown and full of agitation, the sole mirror to his soul. teddy doesn’t like what he sees in them. he quickly dips his head, absent-mindedly washing his face before drying it, quickly making his way back to the recording booth afterwards.
he takes a big gulp of air before recording starts anew. this time teddy doesn’t feel as troubled as before though the previous good mood he’d sported previously doesn’t come back fully. the admonishing voice in the back of his head doesn’t seem to be present anymore, though he’s sure it’ll make a comeback soon enough. and so, without thinking too much about it, teddy delves into the task at hand with as steady a voice as he can muster, doing his best to deliver a good performance.
“one day, a voice inside him asked the cheerful dog, ‘hey, why don’t you cut off the leash and run away?’ the cheerful dog said ‘i’ve been tied up for way too long, so i forgot how to cut myself free.”
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rpgsandbox · 3 years
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Part homage, all farce, the AWFULLY CHEERFUL ENGINE! is an irreverent, affectionate parody of pop-culture tropes and a love-letter to 80s roleplaying games in a new, modern comic-book sized format! It’s a wacky roleplaying game of action comedy!
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       Hardcover collector's omnibus, softcover rules and adventures, blank ID cards, monster cards, hero role cards, VTT tokens
Are you a fan of the Ghostbusters RPG from the 1980s? Danger Mouse or Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles? Bill & Ted or Rick & Morty? Back to the Future, Indiana Jones, Dracula, or sci-fi adventures on the final frontier? Do you enjoy chortling at TV tropes or chuckling at pop-culture parodies? Then the Awfully Cheerful Engine! is here for you!
ACE! is brought to you by Russ 'Morrus' Morrissey (EN World, WOIN, Judge Dredd & The Worlds of 2000 AD), Dave Chapman (Doctor Who, Star Trek Adventures), and Marc Langworthy (Hellboy, Judge Dredd & The Worlds of 2000 AD). With a foreword by Sandy Petersen, co-author of the Ghostbusters RPG!
ACE! is designed for everybody! From talking animals to pulp heroes to eldritch horrors, kids and adults alike will find adventures to love with the Awfully Cheerful Engine!
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This tabletop roleplaying game, which we’re calling ACE! with an exclamation point, is one of fast, cinematic, action comedy. To play you need a handful of six-sided dice, a pen, and some paper. Each player plays one Hero, except for one player who takes the role of the Director.
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Think of ACE! as an irreverent, fun-packed movie. You might play as ghost hunters in New York City, a band of plucky galactic guardians, vampire slayers, or soldiers of fortune in the Los Angeles underground. Heck, you might even be cartoon animals. Good grief!
This is a multi-dimensional, time-hopping, genre-mashing, pan-galactic portal into any type of adventure you can imagine! Want to play in a fantasy world full of elves and orcs? Crew a starship as it explores the galaxy? Hunt vampires in Victorian London? Play as animal detectives, robot cowboys, wizards, ninjas, or time traveling bounty hunters?
The only limit is your imagination, and the requirement that you have fun.
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This Kickstarter is for the full five-book set.
What? Five books, you say? Fear not -- they're pretty small books! They include the core rules, and four hilarious genre-hopping adventures. Each book is about 30 pages long. Except for one which is longer, but we wrote 'BUMPER SIZE ISSUE' on the front of that, so it's OK. If you’ve ever held a comic-book in your hand, the Awfully Cheerful Engine! will feel very familiar!
The core rulebook is just 30 pages in a bright, colorful comic-book sized format. We even gave it an issue number, like a comic-book! After that, each 'issue' is a standalone adventure, designed for one-shots or short campaigns with new characters each time. One week you might be fighting ghosts on the streets of Manhattan, and the next you might be exploring the frontiers of space in your trusty starship!
You don't have to play them all, or in order. The standalone format means you can fit them in whenever and however you feel like it. GM can't make your regular game? Go bust some ghosts instead! Pickup game at a convention? Investigate the strange goings-on in a small American town in the 1980s. Running a livestream? Board a starship and fight the Kulkan Empire! Play one of them, some of them, or all of them! It's up to you!
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                Are they comics? Or are they RPGs? (They're RPGs)
ACE #1: Introducing the Awfully Cheerful Engine! With a foreword by Ghostbusters RPG author Sandy Petersen, this book tells you the rules, how to create your Heroes, and gives you a bunch of Extras (NPCs & monsters) to use. By Russ Morrissey.
ACE #2: Spirits of Manhattan. Strap on your Anti-Plasm Particle Thrower, grab your Electromagnetic Field Detector, and jump into your Ghostmobile. New York City needs your help! By Dave Chapman and Russ Morrissey.
ACE #3: Montana Drones & The Raiders of the Cutty Sark. At the request of Army Intelligence, Montana Drones and her team travel the globe in search of lost or hidden artefacts, often exploring dangerous sites and racing against hostile enemy agents to keep the objects of their quests from falling into the wrong hands. Striking locations, exciting chases, dangerous enemies and monotonous classroom lectures await! By Marc Langworthy.
ACE #4: Strange Science. Welcome to Wilden Falls, your average American town in the heart of the country. Surrounded by trees, nature, and there’s a wonderful waterfall that brings the tourists. It’s a quaint little town. Until weird things start happening at the local research facility, people go missing, and there’s a sudden influx of fitness nuts in the town. That’s before we get to the time travel, bodysnatching, and portals to other dimensions. Maybe ‘strange’ isn’t strong enough a word for it! By Dave Chapman.
ACE #5: Beam Me Up! These are the voyages of the starship FSS Brazen. Its continuing mission: to recklessly go where plenty of people have probably been before… and hope a major interstellar incident isn’t sparked in the process. In this highly illogical adventure for the ACE! roleplaying game, you’ll explore frontiers you never thought you had. By Marc Langworthy.
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We give you four adventures to start with, and we have plans for more, but there's also a free compatibility license so anybody can write and publish material powered by the Awfully Cheerful Engine!
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Hardy Hobbit. Teenage Samurai. Cheerful Stuntman. Clumsy Vampire. Squeamish Ghost. Who knew you could say so much in just two words? The possibilities are endless.
It’s not just Awfully Cheerful! It’s fast and fun, too!
You won’t get bogged down in endless rules and character sheets that look like tax forms. Your ACE! ID Card contains everything you need to know, and it’s only about the size of a credit card! But don’t try to spend it. It’s not a real credit card. Honestly, we tried, and it didn't end well.
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You can download blank ID cards from our website. Don’t worry, there’s a printer-friendly black-and-white version too!
Making your Hero takes about five minutes. And that includes a coffee break.
You can choose from an array of talking animals, alien and fantasy species, and occupations from a bunch of genres. Play a cat, a crow, or a turtle. An alien, an elf, a robot, or a vampire. A knight, a pirate, or a wizard. An astronaut, a burglar, a reporter, or a spy. The core book has dozens of Roles to get you started with, and each adventure book introduces more!
Even better, you can already use our online character builder and make a character in about 30 seconds! It's so quick! Give it a try! And if you felt like sharing your Hero on Twitter with the hashtag #awfullycheerful and a link to this page, well, we'd be most awfully grateful!
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                                       Build your Hero online!
Alternatively, each adventure comes with its own selection of pre-generated characters. If you don't want to make your own characters, you can simply use those - perfect for one-shots or new players!
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Download the pre-gens for all four adventures from the official website!
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In A.C.E! each Hero (that's you!) has a Role. Your Role gives you a special ability only you can use. Here's a quick look at some of the Roles you can play!
Talking animals like Ape, Cat, Crow, Dog, Kangaroo, and Turtle.
Species like Alien, Dwarf, Elf, Ghost, Goblin, Golem, Hobbit, Monster, Ogre, Robot, Vampire, and Werewolf.
Fantasy roles like Alchemist, Assassin, Barbarian, Cleric, Druid, Knight, Ninja, Outlaw, Pirate, Ranger, Samurai, Slayer, and Wizard.
Occupations like Actor, Archeologist, Astronaut, Athlete, Bounty Hunter, Boxer, Burglar, Chef, Con Artist, Cowboy, Detective, Doctor, Engineer, Gambler, Gangster, Hacker, Hermit, Inventor, Musician, Pilot, Priest, Professor, Reporter, Scientist, Smuggler, Soldier, Spy, Student, and Stuntman.
Even a couple of superheroes like Speedster and Vigilante!
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Yep, you can play a Ghost. You don’t take damage unless its from a holy source or some special sci-fi ecto-gadget. But you also can’t pick things up. So there’s that.
Each of the adventures adds some more Roles (or recommends some old ones)!
Spirits of Manhattan adds Ghost, Demonologist, Doctor, Engineer, Exorcist, Inventor, Priest, Professor, Scientist, and Student.
Raiders of the Cutty Sark adds Botanist, Double-Agent, Socialite, and Witch.
Strange Science adds Brain, Cheerleader, Outsider, Protector, Radio Presenter, and Tycoon.
Beam Me Up adds Captain, Chief Engineer, Comms, Hologram, Gunner, Counsellor, and Pilot.
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ACE! is a pretty fast, light game. If you played 1986's Ghostbusters RPG, you'll see the influence immediately.
Stats! The AWFULLY CHEERFUL ENGINE! is a d6 dice pool system*. You have four Stats -- Smarts, Moves, Style, and Brawn. If you have a Moves score of 3, you roll three six-sided dice when you try to jump a motorcycle over a ravine. If you roll high enough, you succeed. It's pretty simple!
Focuses! For each Stat you also have a Focus. For Smarts it might be a science, or chess, or history. For Style it might be bluffing, singing, or fashion, and for Brawn it might be brawling or swimming. You can choose from plenty of focuses. Foci. Focuses. Whatever.  Anyway, if the thing you're trying to do relates to a Focus, you get to roll an extra two dice.
Trait! You choose a trait, like Angry or Cheerful or Rebellious or Despondent. This, combined with your Role, makes you a Gullible Vampire, a Brave Turtle, or a Squeamish Scientist.
Karma! Finally, you have a bunch of Karma points. These can be spent for extra dice or to absorb damage from attacks, and they're recovered by using your trait.
*Fun fact -- did you know that 1986's Ghostbusters RPG, by Sandy Petersen, Lynn Willis and Greg Stafford, was the first ever dice pool RPG? Also Sandy Petersen has written an awesome foreword for the AWFULLY CHEERFUL ENGINE!
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What, I hear you ask, is a CALAMITY DIE?
The Calamity Die is how you find out that your friends really aren't your friends. You see, when you make a roll, one of those dice is a different color, and is called the Calamity Die. And if your roll fails, and also the Calamity Die rolls a 1, your so-called 'friends' decide what happens to you. It won't kill you or anything, but...
Well, we'll leave that thought with you.
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                             Nooooo! And it was all going so well!
Kickstarter campaign ends: Fri, June 18 2021 10:00 PM BST
Website: [Awfully Cheerful Engine] [EN Publishing] [facebook] [twitter]
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Hot Public Shit
SPOILERS ALERT: If you haven't finishing watching TVD, there might be some spoilers for you. I don't tell any of the story but it might spoil some of the character relationships that later develop in the show. (I personally hate spoilers so I'm making this as clear as possible)
Character: Damon x reader, Enzo, Stefan, Caroline and Bonnie
Summary: During a celebration dinner you try your best to push Damon to brink of losing control. He doesn't let you get away with it. He doesn't even wait til you get home.
Warnings: HEAVY SMUT (+18) , Spoilers, Cursing
(HEAVY SMUT includes unprotected sex, daddy kink, public sex, choking, heavy sexual terminology and masturbation)
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"How long is this going to be?" Damon whined getting out of his Camaro and slamming the door shut.
"Damon, you promised that you would behave tonight. It's Stefan and Caroline's night." I looped around the car placing my hands on his chest looking him in the eyes.
"They've been married for like what? A year? That's nothing when your nearly 180 years old" Damon rolled his eyes
"They've been through a lot this year" I brushed his shirt down bringing my eyes to his chest
"So have we." Damon brought my face back up to his gently holding my chin.
"We can have our own celebration" I whispered giving a flirty smile.
"Mmm, I like that sound of that" Damon hummed bringing his head down to my neck and kissing it.
A soft moan escaped my lips feeling his warm breath hit my skin.
"How about we celebrate tonight, with me eating your perfect pussy out until you make a mess on my face" Damon whispered bringing his face up giving a lascivious smile.
I could feel my face turning red and my core starting to wake up from memories of familiar nights.
I snapped myself out from zoning out and pulled away from Damon kissing my neck.
"I would love that, but right now we should go in and be good guests. I know Caroline has been slaving over the oven all day making sure we were still going to come." I took Damon's hand and dragged him up the drive way.
We knocked on the door and in a instance Caroline was opening it.
"Welcome guys!" She cheered raising her arms to gesture us in.
I could just feel Damon's eyes roll into the back of his head hearing her high pitched voice.
"Thanks for having us Caroline" I grinned bringing her into a hug.
"I'm just happy that you're hear" She said chipperly
I walked further into the house to see Stefan, Bonnie and Enzo all chilling near the fire, enjoying their drinks.
"Hey!" I greeted walking towards Stefan.
We hugged and Damon and I plopped ourselves down on the couch on the other side of the fireplace.
We chatted and enjoyed our drinks soaking up the heat of the fire as Caroline and Stefan finished cooking the dinner. I look over to see how happy Bonnie was as Enzo showered her in kisses and wrapped his arm around her waist keeping her close to him. Bonnie deserved happiness and Enzo was that person that could give her that. I glanced over to Damon who leaned back onto the couch enjoying his bourbon. I rested back into his chest wanting to appreciate the rare and happy memories we were making.
"You okay?" He looked down, bring his arm around me caressing my lower back.
"Yeah, I'm just happy I'm here with you" I raised my head, meeting his cold blue eyes.
As the night went on, dinner was served which seemed to be a never ending trail of food. It felt like we were having a 12 course dinner. By the end we were all stuffed and continuing to slowly get through our drinks. We were starting to get more relaxed and happy as the liquor made its way around, leading to interesting conversations between us all.
I looked over to see Damon finishing off the bottle by pouring the rest of it into his glass. Seeing his hand grip around the glass and bringing the liquor up to his pink lips, sparked a little flame deep inside of me. I squirmed in my chair, feeling the affect of all the alcohol playing a part in my random horniness. I brought my hand down under the table and rest it on his thigh, leaning closer to him. He looked over to me with his eyes slightly gazed over. I know he was also feeling the same buzz I was feeling. I ran my fingers lightly further up his thigh and rest it on his stiffening package. I glanced up at him while palming him gently. He shifted in his seat and took a deep breath. He looked at me with narrowed eyes telling me not to test him. I bit my lip knowing what that did to him. He came close to my ear and I could feel the heat radiate off his body.
"You want to play this game?" He whispered softly in my ear.
I turned my head giving him a quick smirk and brought my drink up to my mouth knowing I was going to have a fun night ahead.
"So guys, I think we need to bring out the real guns" Caroline said walking up to the table slightly hyper from all the activities.
We all turned our attention to her and saw her with two massive bottles of tequila.
"I'm ready" Enzo shifting in his sit giving a quick look to Damon.
I knew both of them were going to want to test each other which would mostly result in both of them passed out on the floor from neither of them wanting to tap out.
"Let's make this more interesting... How about truth or... drink?" Caroline arched her eyebrow cracking the fresh seal on the caps of the bottles.
"I like the sound of that" Damon smirked bringing his hand under the table resting it on my thigh and giving it a light squeeze.
When Damon drank, he would heat up like a furnace. I'm pretty sure it has something to do with his body keeping up with burning off the alcohol. The heat from his hand spread across my delicate skin on my leg. It made me shift uncontrollably.
The questions were getting pretty detailed early in, bringing people to drink more tequila than they liked. In turn making people more loose with their thoughts and secrets.
"Okay, I got one" Enzo leaned over, his eyes getting more gazed and speech slowed down.
"If you could only have sex in public or sex once a month?" He looked around watching people think about it.
"Um.. H-how public?" Caroline hiccupped.
"The chance of a stranger catching you any minute" He explained
Stefan took a swig of a shot of tequila.
"Really Stefan? You're no fun" I complained
"What do you expect? Stefan doesn't like to have interesting conversations" Damon looked away in annoyance.
"Sorry, I just think that's kinda private" Stefan put his hands up laying back in his chair.
"Come on Stefan!" Caroline exclaimed with a frown on her face.
"Well, public shit is pretty hot. So I wouldn't have a problem with it" Damon winked at me bringing his hand an inch higher.
I took a deep breath to stop myself from moving against his hand as it was dangerously close to my covered pussy.
"I think so too. Some of the best sex I've had has been in public" I smirked seeing Damon's mouth open slightly from the corner of my eye.
"I think you're right, there's something about it" Bonnie added leaning into Enzo grinning.
"Let's get to the nit and gritty" Damon wiped his bottom lip with two fingers and continued.
"Choking. Yay or nay?" He looked around the table.
"Okay, I call quits. I'm out." Stefan got up from the table
"Stefan?! it's just a game." Caroline protested bringing her hands onto the table.
"I'm not talking about this with my brother across from the table" Stefan walked away from the table and made his way to the kitchen.
"Vanilla like always" I heard Damon say under his breath.
Caroline's face was covered in disappointment. She gathered some empty plates and glasses and followed Stefan.
Damon cleared his throat bringing our attention back to him.
"I never had it done to me" Bonnie replied looking at Enzo.
"No?" Enzo smirked rubbing her hand gently on the table.
"What about you... baby girl?" Damon whispered the latter part not wanting to draw attention
"I haven't tried it..." I hesitated ".. but I want to" I looked down at his lips feeling my pussy pulse with his hand graze against my underwear.
"We are gonna have to fix that, aren't we?" Damon leaned closer licking his lips.
We heard someone lightly cough bringing our minds back to where we were. We broke our trance and pulled away. I could feel blood to rush my face in embarrassment.
"I think it's time we should head out" Damon trying to act casual and cover up his eagerness to get out.
I looked over to Bonnie who was moving her eyebrows up and down smirking. I glared at her, knowing it was obvious why we were in a sudden rush to leaving.
Damon gave one last tight squeeze to my thigh, feeling his strength in his hand, did not help my self control of keeping everything PG. He brushed his hand lightly against my underwear before lifting it away. I whimpered uncontrollably but no one heard.
We all got up from the table and said our goodbyes, put on our coats and made our way out of the house. I could feel Damon's eyes never leaving me as we walked out onto the driveway. We got into the dark Camaro, feeling the cold leather on my bare legs that brought shivers up my spine.
"You're in trouble now" Damon said taking a deep breath in and revving the Camaro to life.
He swung the car out of the driveway and sped up the road. I looked over to see that there was definitely something else on his mind and I had an idea of what it was. I trailed my eyes down to his now, tight black jeans.
"Those jeans look awfully tight and uncomfortable" I teased keeping my eyes on him.
"Don't. I can barely think straight as it is" Damon kept his eyes on the road.
"What you waiting for then?" I bit my lip, wanting him to lose control.
He looked over at me with the same lust I had in my eyes.
"If I have to pull over, you won't be able to walk for the next week." Damon clenched his jaw
"That's fine by me..... Daddy" I added feeling myself soak through my underwear.
Damon suddenly swerved the car into a empty parking lot and drove to the end, shaded with trees. He put the car into park and turned off the engine. The only sounds were us breathing and the distance sounds of the city in the distance.
He pulled his seat the whole way back. and leaned over grabbing my waist bringing me onto his lap. I let out a moan, finally feeling some fiction against my pussy.
"Try to stay quiet, understand?" Damon grabbed my jaw looking into my eyes.
I nodded willingly, wanting any relief possible. He moved his hand to my cheek and we brought our mouths together, feeling his tongue dip in and out. I grinded up against him to bring us any kind of pleasure. I could hear his groan in the back of his throat.
"I can't take this anymore" I pulled away panting.
I lifted up reaching down to unbuckle his belt and he helped pulling down his jeans, making his cock spring up enthusiastically. I brought my hand down, pumping him gently and seeing his eyes roll to the back of his head in pleasure. His head leaning back to the head rest.
"You like that Daddy?" I whispered
"Fuck, I want to ruin you completely" He opened his eyes pushing my hair out of face.
"What's stopping you?" I said softly.
In that instant, he couldn't control himself, he raised my dress and ripped my underwear with ease.
"These will just be in the way" He smirked tossing them to the passenger seat.
I could feel his finger ease into my folds and feel myself falling apart. I rested my arms on his shoulders leaning my head back and savoring the pleasure spreading across my body.
"You like when I rub your clit like this?" He kissed my neck while his finger lightly circled my clit, my juices covering his hand.
"So wet for me, baby girl" He hummed bringing his fingers up to his mouth and sucking on them.
"Fuck me" I moaned bringing my hand down and easing his cock inside me.
We both sink into it, taking each other in for a couple of seconds. I could feel myself sucking him in deeper.
"I don't think I can be gentle with you tonight baby" He looked into my eyes
"I don't want you to be" I leaned in kissing him. "Fuck me hard" .
I kneeled up, giving him room to thrust, wanting to feel the power of him. We moaned in ecstasy. Feeling him completely raw in me made us feel close wanting each other even more.
The sounds of our skin slapping and our heavy breathing and moaning. I never felt so wet in my life.
"I want you to touch yourself while I fuck you" He breathed out.
I gathered up my dress in one hand and brought the other down massaging my swollen clit.
"Damon, fuck" I moaned feeling my orgasm starting to built.
"That's it baby girl, keep touching yourself" He said breathing heavily staring at me pleasuring myself.
We fucked and I could feel the car heating up and fogging up the windows. He pulled down the shoulders of my dress exposing my breasts. He slowed down his thrusts, leaned down to suck on my nipples. His warm breath was enough to get them hard.
"..daddy" I whimpered feeling the edge getting closer.
"Close?" He whispered bringing his hand to the back of my head and grabbing my hair.
I nodded eagerly moving my hips. He start fucking me harder, not faster but harder which meant he was close. I wanted him to completely control me. I wanted him to overpower me.
"Choke me" I moaned looking into his eyes.
Something switched in his eyes. He looked into my eyes a second longer, making sure I wanted it.
I could feel his hand grasp my bare neck. I could feel his fingers tightening on the side. My pulse in my ears. My blood constricted. It was the very thing to push my over the edge.
Feeling his cock pound into me while choking me made me fall apart with a burst of pleasure
"I'm-I'm cummin" I moaned loudly, meeting my eyes with his as I shake uncontrollably.
"Fuck, baby.. I-i can't hold on" Damon groaned feeling his pumps getting messy and feeling his cum erupt inside me, pleasure covered our bodies bringing them close together and falling into each other. Damon's hand dropped from my throat and bringing it around my waist holding me against him as we recovered.
"I never have had..." I breathed out not having the energy to think of the words.
"Me neither" Damon sighed stroking my hair
All I could hear were both of our racing heart beats. Our sweaty skin pressed together feeling the heat in the car and completely forgetting we were in a parking lot.
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edie-baby · 3 years
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Baby Boy Chapter 13 | Lando Norris
Summary: Milana Navratilova is the best friend of Victoria Verstappen, and is for lack of a better word, a minx. She can pull anyone into bed with her at any time. So when she attends the Austrian Grand Prix with Victoria, the drivers make for good bedfellows. Until she finds a man who makes her finally feel like herself. Her baby boy.
Taglist: @its-astrotea-love
Warnings: smut, swearing, non-con kiss (will be a chapter warning for that one), OC is a w h o r e and i love her.
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About twenty minutes before the first practice session started, Milana was approached in the RedBull hospitality by Joseph, their security guard who monitors those that come in and out of the building.
“Miss Lana, Lando Norris wants to see you. He said he didn’t want to come in.” Joseph spoke quietly, aware of how some of the staff around got when people were friends with drivers from other teams. Milana giggled, thanking Joseph with a pat to the shoulder and a bright smile and met Lando just outside the building. He was standing in his fireproofs, race overalls hanging low around his hips and Mila just wanted to rip the material right off him.
“Hey darling, I talked with Zak and Andreas, and they said you can sit in my garage if you want?” Lando greeted, his arm circling around Mila’s waist as though it was second nature. Mila looked up at him, adoration clear in her eyes as they walked through the paddock, some other drivers passing them with a smile, while staff and team members passed by without even taking their eyes off the path ahead of them.
“I’d love to, baby boy. I even wore that orange set for you, for good luck.” Mila whispered, standing on her tippy toes to reach his ear as they stood just outside the entrance to the garage. Mila basically ran off, through the maze of the hallways and made it to the main part of the garage. She admired the space for a few seconds until Lando was picking her up from behind and spinning her around. She squealed, her excitement melting into giggles when he put her back onto her own feet, facing the gorgeous man.
His forehead rested lightly on hers, the two standing basically in the middle of the garage with no care about who saw them together. Many of the Mclaren team were watching with eagle eyes, interested to see how the baby of their team was with the ladies.
“You’ve got this baby. Go give ‘em hell.” Mila whispered, her eyes staring into Lando’s who’s pupils had blown wide from staring at her. Her own eyes were much the same, their focus on the beauty of a twenty one year old man who was about to put his life on the line for fun.
“Of course I do. I’ve got you here. You’re gonna be my good luck charm.” Lando muttered, his lips inching closer to Mila’s while he spoke. She closed the gap, kissing him with a fondness he hadn’t felt from her before. He was caught off guard for a moment, before returning the favour just the same.
“Now get out there, love.” Mila giggled and slapped his ass before he was dragged away by Will, his engineer. Mila watched on with adoring eyes, seeing how the goofy, loveable boy morphed into a ruthless, determined man. A few of the engineers, and even Zak, saw the way she watched him, and knew the Czech would become a frequent visitor in their garage. One of the women who worked there guided Mila to a chair at the back of the garage where the guests got to sit, and she spotted Carlos’ girlfriend sitting a little further down. Her eyes snapped back to her own man when the cars started up, watching Lando slide into his orange car and get buckled in. He was stationary for a few minutes before he was given the all clear to drive out onto the track.
His first few laps were warm ups, and then he was told to ‘give em hell’, and Mila smiled at the fact that she had said that to him before he jumped in. She followed his car on the screen, one of only a few cars out on the track at the moment, and smiled as she watched each sector go purple, not a difficult feat considering the others were the Haas’ and Williams’, but when he crossed the line with a time similar to the fastest qualifying lap of the year before, the garage erupted in cheers. Mila beamed proud, even though he wasn’t hers yet, she was damn proud of her baby boy.
About an hour later, Lando was climbing out of the car, the first practice session finally over, the Mclaren topped the timing charts for the entire hour, and no one came awfully close to his time. When Mila asked Andreas why everyone was so excited that he was this fast, he explained that they had wound back the throttle for the practice sessions, not willing to showcase the entire grid what Mclaren were working with. Mila didn’t quite understand, and asked another question.
How the hell is he the fastest if he’s not running at max throttle?
Andreas just laughed, and answered with an awfully simple, ‘because of you’.
Lando ran over to her not long after, his sweaty arms wrapping her in a bear hug, swaying them from side to side. Mila could feel his smile in the crook of her neck and couldn’t contain her excitement when she turned around and cradled his face in her hands.
“Thank you, baby." Lando spoke, leaning forward to press a chaste kiss to her lips. He couldn't stop the ear to ear grin that was splitting his face in half, and neither could she.
Just two idiots smiling at each other in a garage full of people just trying to do their fucking jobs.
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iamsexytrash · 3 years
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Love Across Timelines Pt 1
[Authors note: It’s here! I have the first three episodes of season 2 all ready to go for you all and I’m really excited to see how you’ll react to the dynamic changes I’ve made!]
In this chapter: Landing in 1960 you’re faced with a myriad of situations, luckily you aren’t facing them alone.
TW: Cursing, cults, apathy
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Taglist: @80strashbag, @youcandalekmyballs, @slytherin2319, @weird-pale-blonde-person, @gretaamyk, @stitchers-in-stitches, @residentdormouse, @weallreadbookshere, @gay-ghost-fights @lovedarkness1  
                                  Right back where we started Pt 1                                  We need to stop meeting like this "AaaaaaAAAAHHHHHHH!!!"  You were falling, again. Just like all those months ago. Only this time it wasn't on top of your boyfriend. This time, you were alone and when the hard cement came into contact with your back, you grunted in pain. "Oh, Christ, where's Klaus when you need him?" you moaned. You let yourself lay back, motionless for a moment, just thinking back to what had lead up this moment. 
Being hauled in the air, having the life sucked out of you, that...frankly badass moment with your shield. You close your eyes and bask in the moment of being awesome. 'I don't care what Five says, I was amazing, and I'll never forget it.' After basking in the afterglow, you move to sit up, and the sound of another portal opening gives you pause. Looking up, you see the same portal you fell out of spit out 2 individuals. Your eyes widen and you quickly try and scramble out of the way, but it's too late and you close your eyes and feel the impact of a body land on you. All lanky, and gangly, and...is that leather? You moan in pain and feel the body turn around on top of you. 'Now I know how everyone else feels when I land on them. God, this is heinous!' "Hello stranger." Your eyes pop open and you see a sea of mint green. A wide grin forms its way on your face and you giggle in shock. "Hello." Klaus. Of all the people you never expected to meet him right off the bat, and certainly not like this. "We need to stop meeting like this." You let out a loud laugh at his words and look up at the portal as it closes. "That was exhilarating!" Ben cries out and you both look over at him looking at you with wide eyes. "Can we do it again?" "NO!" Ben shrinks down at both of your exclamations. You tap Klaus on his shoulder. "Okay, much as I love having you on me, get off." "Hmm, not sure if I want to, I quite like this position." You raise an eyebrow at him as he grins down at you and shifts a bit to get more comfortable. "Move, or no sex until 1963." Like a bullet he shoots off of you and helps pull you up off the floor. You brush any dust off of you and look around. "Where are we? This isn't Dallas, is it?" Klaus asks you and you step out into the main area of the road, Klaus and Ben in tow. "I think it is." you reply. "I mean, where else would we be? The sequence of events seems to keep on like normal despite everything I've done so far." "Excuse me!" Klaus runs up to random guy walking across the street. "Could you tell me what year this is...or what day?" He just gives Klaus a weird look and walks away faster. "Rude." You clap a hand on his shoulder. "Welcome to my world." You sympathize with him, you do, but this was your hell when you first dropped in this universe. Klaus gives you a weird look. "You're being awfully calm about all of this." "Oh, I'm not calm. I just don't care anymore." And it's true. After 8 days of nobody listening to you, ignoring your warnings, and basically throwing the blame onto your shoulders, you were done. When Five inevitably drags you all together again, they were on their own. They figured out how to stop the end of the world last time, they can do it again. This time without your help. "How can you not care?" "Easy." You reply. "Like this. This is me, not caring anymore." You circle your face and give him a sarcastic smile. Sighing at Klaus' bewildered expression, you grab his shoulder and force him to look at you. "Klaus, the last time I tried to get them to listen to me, the moon blew up. No matter what I say or do, two things are bound to happen. One: The universe adapts to whatever I change and the end result stays the same, or Two: Your brain dead siblings refuse to listen to my advice and the end result stays the same. So, I'm done trying." You smile softly. "I've got 3 years before the world goes to shit, and I want to enjoy them as much as I can. Preferably with you...and Ben. Speaking of, where'd he run off to?" "Guys, come look at this!" Ben's urgent voice leads you over to the trashcan he was pointing at. "Ben, seriously? I'm not looking for another partner when the one I've got is right here!" Klaus exclaims and Ben rolls his eyes at his childishness. "No, you idiot. Look at the date." "February 11th, 1960. Yeah, what about it?" You rub the back of your neck in embarrassment. So, you maybe forgot to tell Ben where you were going...oops? Ben gives you a deadpan look. "Seriously? You tell him, and not me?" You roll your eyes and start walking down the street, Klaus and Ben on either side. "Okay, I'm sorry I didn't say anything to you, but in my defense, you weren't there and I assumed I would be alone." "Well, we're together. For whatever time we've got left before Five shows up. What do you want to do first?" Klaus' stomach answers his own question as it lets out a huge growl. Smiling you give his cheek a pat before grabbing his hand and pulling him along. "Let's get some food first. We'll figure out a game plan from there, okay?" -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------                                                    3 Years later "Why are we here, again?" Ben asked for the 5th time in the last hour. You and he were standing alone in a field off to the side by a bunch of cars and a...you think it's a bus? It must have been at one point. Your hair is longer, thrown in a messy pony tail with a flowing flower print skirt and a simple white tunic. And Klaus? Well he fully embraced the hippy lifestyle. Long, wavy, Hair. A long ass beard (that you were definitely making him shave off first chance you got. Kissing him becomes less fun when your pulling hair out of your mouth) and the outfit you remember he wore during the promos for season 2. "Klaus has a game plan for getting us away from this cult of ours." "A cult you let happen." Shrugging you look around for a car with the drivers side door unlocked and the keys in the ignition. "It would have happened no matter what I said or did." Ben's giving you side glares through the passenger side windows of the cars as you look through them. Huffing, you stand up and give Ben a hard look. "What." "You're still on the whole 'not trying anymore' thing?" "Yep." Trying the door to the car you were leaning on it opens in one go. "A-ha! Bingo!" You open the door and sigh in frustration when the keys to the ignition are gone. "Oh, well." You mutter. "Just gonna have to hotwire it." Over the last three years, Klaus had taught you things that only one well versed with living on the streets would know. Hotwiring a car being one of them. In return, you helped him make Ben more corporeal on his end, and also keep away from the drugs and Alcohol. For you, being able to touch and feel Ben as if he was a living person was almost as natural as breathing. Neither of you never really understood the hows or whys, and frankly you didn't really care, it wasn't hurting anyone and Ben was a lot less touch starved as a result. (Klaus had a running theory that you were dead at one point when you went through the first portal that brought you here, and that's why you can see spirits and touch Ben like he was human.) You finally get the two wires crossed correctly and the engine starts up. Leaning back your greeted by the sight of Ben sitting in the passenger seat giving you a hard look. "Jesus!" You cry out. "Can you stop doing that?" You hit his shoulder in frustration and the hard look is replaced with a smirk. "Not a chance in hell." You roll your eyes and go to reply when you see everyone in the circle place their hands up in front of their faces, a mimicry of Klaus' "Hello and Goodbye" tattoos on their palms facing forward up into the sky. "Is that...?" You get out of the car to make sure. "Let us commune with music!" And a single high pitched whistle followed by several others, crescendoing into a single loud annoying tone. "I think my ears are bleeding." Ben quips and you choke on a laugh. You can see Klaus army crawl through the sea of cultists and quickly move over to the passenger side, leaving the drivers side door open for him. "Let's go, let's go!" Klaus is quick to slide into the drivers seat and you don't even have the time to so much as slap on your seatbelt before the car peels away from your insane cult. Once out on the highway you cheer "Oh, sweet freedom!" and quickly plant a kiss on Klaus' cheek. 3 years together had not dampened your relationship, in fact it only strengthened it. "Where are we off to?" You ask. "Back to Dallas." Your smile slowly fades and you let out a confused chuckle. "What?" "Please, Schätzchen, just...I know going back to Dallas means we'll just be wrapped up in more doomsday bullshit. But I can't just let Dave enlist without knowing I did everything in my power to try and stop it." Klaus had explained to you the circumstances behind Dave's enlistment, which basically amounted to "Parents knew he was gay, and punted him to the army to die in Vietnam." It was a shit deal, but then again, so was being LGBTQ+ in the 60's. Hell, you being who you were was an absolute nightmare. Because you could pass as either male or female, to make life a little bit easier for you and Klaus you had opted to dress as a woman in public, that way neither of you would get weird looks. You didn't really care one way or the other, you were happy no matter how you looked, but you didn't want Klaus to be mocked for having a queer relationship. He might not care about that, but you had too much respect for him to let those slurs fly. Your gaze was full of worry and you turned in your seat to stare at him fully. "Klaus, if you do this...and you're successful? You'd be rewriting your own history. Creating a paradox. Now I've watched enough Doctor Who to know that paradox's are never good, much less rewriting your own history. And, there's no guarantee that it'll even work." You grab his hand and give a kiss to the knuckles. "I don't want to see your spirits crushed like that." Again. Looking over at you, Klaus sends you a small smile. He understands that this might not work, but it's the only chance he has. "It's a risk I'm willing to take." Giving his hand a quick pat, you turn back around and look out the windshield. Biting your thumbnail, you give a nervous chuckle. "Dallas, here we come." "FINALLY!" You and Klaus let out a scream of shock at Ben's exclamation. "I thought you'd never stop being mushy! God, you two are so sweet to each other it makes my teeth ache, and I'm DEAD." "JESUS CHRIST BEN!" "CHRIST ON A CRACKER!" The car swerves a little before righting itself and you all continue on down the highway. Hopefully you picked the one without the engine trouble.
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oscopelabs · 3 years
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‘America’s Not a Country, It’s Just a Business’: On Andrew Dominik’s ‘Killing Them Softly’ By Roxana Hadadi
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“Shitsville.” That’s the name Killing Them Softly director Andrew Dominik gave to the film’s nameless town, in which low-level criminals, ambitious mid-tier gangsters, nihilistic assassins, and the mob’s professional managerial class engage in warfare of the most savage kind. Onscreen, other states are mentioned (New York, Maryland, Florida), and the film itself was filmed in post-Hurricane Katrina New Orleans, though some of the characters speak with Boston accents that are pulled from the source material, George V. Higgins’s novel Cogan’s Trade. But Dominik, by shifting Higgins’s narrative 30 or so years into the future and situating it specifically during the 2008 Presidential election, refuses to limit this story to one place. His frustrations with America as an institution that works for some and not all are broad and borderless, and so Shitsville serves as a stand-in for all the places not pretty enough for gentrifying developers to turn into income-generating properties, for all the cities whose industrial booms are decades in the past, and for all the communities forgotten by the idea of progress._ Killing Them Softly_ is a movie about the American dream as an unbeatable addiction, the kind of thing that invigorates and poisons you both, and that story isn’t just about one place. That’s everywhere in America, and nearly a decade after the release of Dominik’s film, that bitter bleakness still has grim resonance.
In November 2012, though, when Killing Them Softly was originally released, Dominik’s gangster picture-cum-pointed criticism of then-President Barack Obama’s vision of an America united in the same neoliberal goals received reviews that were decidedly mixed, tipping toward negative. (Audiences, meanwhile, stayed away, with Killing Them Softly opening at No. 7 with $7 million, one of the worst box office weekends of Brad Pitt’s entire career at that time.) Obama’s first term had been won on a tide of hope, optimism, and “better angels of our nature” solidarity, and he had just defeated Mitt Romney for another four years in the White House when Killing Them Softly hit theaters on Nov. 30. Cogan’s Trade had no political components, and no connections between the thieving and killing promulgated by these criminals and the country at large. Killing Them Softly, meanwhile, took every opportunity it could to chip away at the idea that a better life awaits us all if we just buy into the idea of American exceptionalism and pull-yourself-up-by-your-bootstraps ingenuity. A fair amount of reviews didn’t hold back their loathing toward this approach. A.O. Scott with the New York Times dismissed Dominik’s frame as “a clumsy device, a feint toward significance that nothing else in the movie earns … the movie is more concerned with conjuring an aura of meaningfulness than with actually meaning anything.” Many critics lambasted Dominik’s nihilism: For Deadspin, Will Leitch called it a “crutch, and an awfully flimsy one,” while Richard Roeper thought the film collapsed under the “crushing weight” of Dominik’s philosophy. It was the beginning of Obama’s second term, and people still thought things might get better.
But Dominik’s film—like another that came out a few years earlier, Adam McKay’s 2010 political comedy The Other Guys—has maintained a crystalline kind of ideological purity, and perhaps gained a certain prescience. Its idea that America is less a bastion of betterment than a collection of corporate interests, and the simmering anger Brad Pitt’s Jackie Cogan captures in the film’s final moments, are increasingly difficult to brush off given the past decade or so in American life. This is not to say that Obama’s second term was a failure, but that it was defined over and over again by the limitations of top-down reform. Ceaseless Republican obstruction, widespread economic instability, and unapologetic police brutality marred the encouraging tenor of Obama’s presidency. Donald Trump’s subsequent four years in office were spent stacking the federal judiciary with young, conservative judges sympathetic toward his pro-big-business, fuck-the-little-guy approach, and his primary legislative triumph was a tax bill that will steadily hurt working-class people year after year.
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The election of Obama’s vice president Joe Biden, and the Democratic Party securing control of the U.S. Senate, were enough for a brief sigh of relief in November 2020. The $1.9 trillion stimulus bill passed in March 2021 does a lot of good in extending (albeit lessened) unemployment benefits, providing a child credit to qualifying families, and funneling further COVID-19 support to school districts after a year of the coronavirus pandemic. But Republicans? They all voted no to helping the Americans they represent. Stimulus checks to the middle-class voters who voted Biden into office? Decreased for some, totally cut off for others, because of Biden’s appeasement to the centrists in his party. $15 minimum wage? Struck down, by both Republicans and Democrats. In how many more ways can those politicians who are meant to serve us indicate that they have little interest in doing anything of the kind?
Modern American politics, then, can be seen as quite a performative endeavor, and an exercise in passing blame. Who caused the economic collapse of 2008? Some bad actors, who the government bailed out. Who suffered the most as a result? Everyday Americans, many of whom have never recovered. Killing Them Softly mimics this dynamic, and emphasizes the gulf between the oppressors and the oppressed. The nameless elites of the mob, sending a middle manager to oversee their dirty work. The poker-game organizer, who must be brutally punished for a mistake made years before. The felons let down by the criminal justice system, who turn again to crime for a lack of other options. The hitman who brushes off all questions of morality, and whose primary concern is getting adequately paid for his work. Money, money, money. “This country is fucked, I’m telling ya. There’s a plague coming,” Jackie Cogan says to the Driver who delivers the mob’s by-committee rulings as to who Jackie should intimidate, threaten, and kill so their coffers can start getting filled again. Perhaps the plague is already here.
“Total fucking economic collapse.”
In terms of pure gumption, you have to applaud Dominik for taking aim at some of the biggest myths America likes to tell about itself. After analyzing the dueling natures of fame and infamy through the lens of American outlaw mystique in The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford, Dominik thought bigger, taking on the entire American dream itself in Killing Them Softly. From the film’s very first second, Dominik doesn’t hold back, equating an easy path of forward progress with literal trash. Discordant tones and the film’s stark, white-on-black title cards interrupt Presidential hopeful Barack Obama’s speech about “the American promise,” slicing apart Obama’s words and his crowd’s responding cheers as felon Frankie (Scoot McNairy), in the all-American outfit of a denim jacket and jeans, cuts through what looks like a shut-down factory, debris and garbage blowing around him. Obama’s assurances sound very encouraging indeed: “Each of us has the freedom to make of our own lives what we will.” But when Frankie—surrounded by trash, cigarette dangling from his mouth, and eyes squinting shut against the wind—walks under dueling billboards of Obama, with the word “CHANGE” in all-caps, and Republican opponent John McCain, paired with the phrase “KEEPING AMERICA STRONG,” a better future doesn’t exactly seem possible. Frankie looks too downtrodden, too weary of all the emptiness around him, for that.
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Dominik and cinematographer Greig Fraser spoke to American Cinematographer magazine in October 2012 about shooting in post-Hurricane Katrina New Orleans: “We were aiming for something generic, a little town between New Orleans, Boston and D.C. that we called Shitsville. We wanted the place to look like it’s on the down-and-down, on the way out. We wanted viewers to feel just how smelly and grimy and horrible it was, but at the same time, we didn’t want to alienate them visually.” They were successful: Every location has a rundown quality, from the empty lot in which Frankie waits for friend and partner-in-crime Russell (Ben Mendelsohn)—a concrete expanse decorated with a couple of wooden chairs, as if people with nowhere else to go use this as a gathering spot—to the dingy laundromat backroom where Frankie and Russell meet with criminal mastermind Johnny “Squirrel” Amato (Vincent Curatola), who enlists them to rob a mafia game night run by Markie Trattman (Ray Liotta), to the restaurant kitchen where the game is run, all sickly fluorescent lights, cracked tile, and makeshift tables. Holding up a game like this, from which the cash left on the tables flows upward into the mob’s pockets, is dangerous indeed. But years before, Markie himself engineered a robbery of the game, and although that transgression was forgiven because of how well-liked Markie is in this institution, it would be easy to lay the blame on him again. And that’s exactly what Squirrel, Frankie, and Russell plan to do.
The “Why?” for such a risk isn’t that hard to figure out. Squirrel sees an opportunity to make off with other people’s money, he knows that any accusatory fingers will point elsewhere first, and he wants to act on it before some other aspiring baddie does. (Ahem, sound like the 2008 mortgage crisis to you?) Frankie, tired of the crappy jobs his probation officer keeps suggesting—jobs that require both long hours and a long commute, when Frankie can’t even afford a car (“Why the fuck do they think I need a job in the first place? Fucking assholes”)—is drawn in by desperation borne from a lack of options. If he doesn’t come into some kind of money soon, “I’m gonna have to go back and knock on the gate and say, ‘Let me back in, I can’t think of nothing and it’s starting to get cold,’” Frankie admits. And Australian immigrant and heroin addict Russell is nursing his own version of the American dream: He’s going to steal a bunch of purebred dogs, drive them down to Florida to sell for thousands of dollars, buy an ounce of heroin once he has $7,000 in hand, and then step on the heroin enough to become a dealer. It’s only a few moves from where he is to where he wants to be, he figures, and this card-game heist can help him get there.
In softly lit rooms, where the men in the frame are in focus and their surroundings and backgrounds are slightly blown out, slightly blurred, or slightly fuzzy (“Creaminess is something you feel you can enter into, like a bath; you want to be absorbed and encompassed by it” Fraser told American Cinematographer of his approach), garish deals are made, and then somehow pulled off with a sobering combination of ineptitude and ugliness. Russell buys yellow dishwashing gloves for himself and Frankie to wear during the holdup, and they look absurd—but the pistol-whipping Russell doles out to Markie still hurts like hell, no matter what accessories he’s wearing. Dominik gives this holdup the paranoia and claustrophobia it requires, revolving his camera around the barely-holding-it-together Frankie and cutting every so often to the enraged players, their eyes glancing up to look at Frankie’s face, their hands twitching toward their guns. But in the end, nobody moves. When Frankie and Russell add insult to injury by picking the players’ pockets (“It’s only money,” they say, as if this entire ordeal isn’t exclusively about wanting other people’s money), nobody fights back. Nobody dies. Frankie and Russell make off with thousands of dollars in two suitcases, while Markie is left bamboozled—and afraid—by what just happened. And the players? They’ll get their revenge eventually. You can count on that.
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So it goes that Dominik smash cuts us from the elated and triumphant Russell and Frankie driving away from the heist in their stolen 1971 Buick Riviera, its headlights interrupting the inky-black night, to the inside of Jackie Cogan’s 1967 Oldsmobile Toronado, with Johnny Cash’s “The Man Comes Around” providing an evocative accompaniment. “There’s a man going around taking names/And he decides who to free, and who to blame/Everybody won’t be treated all the same,” Cash sings in that unmistakably gravelly voice, and that’s exactly what Jackie does. Called in by the mob to capture who robbed the game so that gambling can begin again, Jackie meets with an unnamed character, referred to only as the Driver (Richard Jenkins), who serves as the mob’s representative in these sorts of matters. Unlike the other criminals in this film—Frankie, with his tousled hair and sheepish face; Russell, with his constant sweatiness and dog-funk smell; Jackie, in his tailored three-piece suits and slicked-back hair; Markie, with those uncannily blue eyes and his matching slate sportscoat—the Driver looks like a square.
He is, like the men who replace Mike Milligan in the second season of Fargo, a kind of accountant, a man with an office and a secretary. “The past can no more become the future than the future can become the past,” Milligan had said, and for all the backward-looking details of Killing Them Softly—American cars from the 1960s and 1970s, that whole masculine code-of-honor thing that Frankie and Russell break by ripping off Markie’s game, the post-industrial economic slump that brings to mind the American recession of 1973 to 1975—the Driver is very much an arm of a new kind of organized crime. He keeps his hands clean, and he delivers what the ruling-by-committee organized criminals decide, and he’s fussy about Jackie smoking cigarettes in his car, and he’s so bland as to be utterly forgettable. And he has the power, as authorized by his higher-ups, to approve Jackie putting pressure on Markie for more information about the robbery. It doesn’t matter that neither Jackie nor the mob thinks Markie actually did it. What matters more is that “People are losing money. They don’t like to lose money,” and so Jackie can do whatever he needs. Dominik gives him this primacy through a beautiful shot of Jackie’s reflection in the car window, his aviators a glinting interruption to the gray concrete overpass under which the Driver’s car is parked, to the smoke billowing out from faraway stacks, and to the overall gloominess of the day.
“We regret having to take these actions. Today’s actions are not what we ever wanted to do, but today’s actions are what we must do to restore confidence to our financial system,” we hear Treasury Secretary Henry Paulson say on the radio in the Driver’s car, and his October 14, 2008, remarks are about the Emergency Economic Stabilization Act of 2008—the government bailout of banks and other financial institutions that cost taxpayers $700 billion. (Remember Will Ferrell’s deadpan delivery in The Other Guys of “From everything I’ve heard, you guys [at the Securities and Exchange Commission] are the best at these types of investigations. Outside of Enron and AIG, and Bernie Madoff, WorldCom, Bear Stearns, Lehman Brothers ...”) Yet the appeasing sentiment of Paulson’s words applies to Jackie, too, and to the beating he orders for Markie—a man he suspects did nothing wrong, at least not this time. But debts must be settled. Heads must roll. “Whoever is unjust, let him be unjust still/Whoever is righteous, let him be righteous still/Whoever is filthy, let him be filthy still,” Cash sang, and Jackie is all those men, and he’ll collect the stolen golden crowns as best he can. For a price, of course. Always for a price.
“I like to kill them softly, from a distance, not close enough for feelings. Don’t like feelings. Don’t want to think about them.”
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In “Bad Dreams,” the penultimate episode of the second season of The Wire, International Brotherhood of Stevedores union representative Frank Sobotka (Chris Bauer), having seen his brothers in arms made immaterial by the lack of work at the Baltimore ports and the collapse of their industry, learns that his years of bribing politicians to vote for expanded funding for the longshoremen isn’t going to pay off. He is furious, and he is exhausted. “We used to make shit in this country, build shit. Now we just put our hand in the next guy’s pocket,” he says with the fatigue of a man who knows his time has run out, and you can draw a direct line from Bauer’s beleaguered delivery of those lines to Liotta’s aghast reaction to the horrendous beating he receives from Jackie’s henchmen. Sobotka in The Wire had no idea how he got to that helpless place, and neither does Markie in Killing Them Softly—he made a mistake, but that was years ago. Everyone forgave him. Didn’t they?
The vicious assault leveled upon Markie is a harrowing, horrifying sequence that is also unnervingly beautiful, and made all the more awful as a result of that visual splendor. In the pouring rain, Markie is held captive by the two men, who deliver bruising body shots, break his noise, batter his body against the car, and kick in his ribs. “You see fight scenes a lot in movies, but you don’t see people systematically beating somebody else. The idea was just to make it really, really, really ugly,” Dominik told the New York Times in November 2012, and sound mixer Leslie Shatz and cinematographer Fraser also contributed to this unforgettable scene. Shatz used the sound of a squeegee across a windshield to accentuate Markie’s increasingly destroyed body slumping against the car, and also incorporated flash bulbs going off as punches were thrown, adding a kind of lingering effect to the scene’s soundscape. And although the scene looks like it’s shot in slow motion, Fraser explained to American Cinematographer that the combination of an overhead softbox and dozens of background lights helped build that layered effect in which Liotta is fully illuminated while the dark night around him remains impenetrable. Every drop of rain and every splatter of blood stands out on Markie’s face as he confesses ignorance regarding the robbery and begs for mercy from Jackie’s men, but Markie has already been marked for death. When the time comes, Jackie will shoot him in the head in another exquisitely detailed, shot-in-ultrahigh-speed scene that bounces back and forth between the initial act of violence and its ensuing destruction. The cartridges flying out of Jackie’s gun, and the bullets destroying Markie’s window, and then his brain. Markie’s car, now no longer in his control, rolling forward into an intersection where it’s hit not just once, but twice, by oncoming cars. The crunching sound of Markie’s head against his windshield, and the vision of that glass splintering from the impact of his flung body, are impossible to shake.
“Cause and effect,” Dominik seems to be telling us, and Killing Them Softly follows Jackie as he cleans up the mess Squirrel, Frankie, and Russell have made. After he enlists another hitman, Mickey (a fantastically whoozy James Gandolfini, who carries his bulk like the armor of a samurai searching for a new master), whose constant boozing, whoring, and laziness shock Jackie after years of successful work together, and who refuses to do the killing for which Jackie secured him a $15,000 payday, Jackie realizes he’ll need to do this all himself. He’ll need to gather the intel that fingers Frankie, Russell, and Squirrel. He’ll need to set up a police sting to entrap Russell on his purchased ounce of heroin, violating the terms of his probation, and he’ll need to set up another police sting to entrap Mickey for getting in a fight with a prostitute, violating the terms of his probation. For Jackie, a career criminal for whom ethical questions have long since evaporated, Russell’s and Frankie’s sloppiness in terms of bragging about their score is a source of disgust. “I guess these guys, they just want to go to jail. They probably feel at home there,” he muses, and he’s then exasperated by the Driver’s trepidation regarding the brutality of his methods. Did the Driver’s bosses want the job done or not? “We aim to please,” Jackie smirks, and that shark smile is the sign of a predator getting ready to feast.
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Things progress rapidly then: Jackie tracks Frankie down to the bar where he hangs out, and sneers at Frankie’s reticence to turn on Squirrel. “They’re real nice guys,” he says mockingly to Frankie of the criminal underworld of which they’re a part, brushing off Frankie’s defense that Squirrel “didn’t mean it.” “That’s got nothing to do with it. Nothing at all,” Jackie replies, and that’s the kind of distance that keeps Jackie in this job. Sure, the vast majority of us aren’t murderers. But as a question of scale, aren’t all of us as workers compromised in some way? Employees of companies, institutions, or billionaires that, say, pollute the environment, or underpay their staff, or shirk labor laws, or rake in unheard-of profits during an international pandemic? Or a government that spreads imperialism through allegedly righteous military action (referenced in Killing Them Softly, as news coverage of the economic crisis mentions the reckless rapidity with which President George W. Bush invaded Afghanistan and Iraq after Sept. 11, 2001), or that can’t quite figure out how to house the nation’s homeless into the millions of vacant homes sitting empty around the country, or that refuses, over and over again, to raise the minimum wage workers are paid so that they have enough financial security to live decent lives?
Perhaps you bristle at this comparison to Jackie Cogan, a man who has no qualms blowing apart Squirrel with a shotgun at close range, or unloading a revolver into Frankie after spending an evening driving around with him. But the guiding American principle when it comes to work is that you do a job and you get paid: It’s a very simple contract, and both sides need to operate in good faith to fulfill it. Salaried employees, hourly workers, freelancers, contractors, day laborers, the underemployed—all operate under the assumption that they’ll be compensated, and all live with the fear that they won’t. Jackie knows this, as evidenced by his loathing toward compatriot Kenny (Slaine) when the man tries to pocket the tip Jackie left for his diner waitress. “For fuck’s sake,” Jackie says in response to Kenny’s attempted theft, and you can sense that if Jackie could kill him in that moment, he would. In this way, Jackie is rigidly conservative, and strictly old-school. Someone else’s money isn’t yours to take; it’s your responsibility to earn, and your employer’s responsibility to pay. Jackie cleaned up the mob’s mess, and the gambling tables opened again because of his work, and his labor resulted in their continued profits. And Jackie wants what he’s owed.
“Don’t make me laugh. ‘We’re one people.’”
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We hear two main voices of authority urging calm throughout Killing Them Softly. Then-President Bush: “I understand your worries and your frustration. … We’re in the midst of a serious financial crisis, and the federal government is responding with decisive action.” Presidential hopeful Obama: “There’s only the road we’re traveling on as Americans.” Paulson speaks on the Emergency Economic Stabilization Act, and various news commentators chime in, too: “There needs to be consequences, and there needs to be major change.” Radio commentary and C-SPAN coverage combine into a sort of secondary accompaniment to Marc Streitenfeld’s score, which incorporates lyrically germane Big Band standards like “Life Is Just a Bowl of Cherries” (“You work, you save, you worry so/But you can’t take your dough”) and “It’s Only a Paper Moon” (“It's a Barnum and Bailey world/Just as phony as it can be”). All of these are Dominik’s additions to Cogan’s Trade, which is a slim, 19-chapter book without any political angle, and this frame is what met so much resistance from contemporaneous reviews.
But what Dominik accomplishes with this approach is twofold. First, a reminder of the ceaseless tension and all-encompassing anxiety of that time, which would spill into the Occupy Wall Street movement, coalesce support around politicians like Bernie Sanders and Elizabeth Warren, and fuel growing national interest in policies like universal health care and universal basic income. For anyone who struggled during that time—as I did, a college graduate entering the 2009 job market after the journalism industry was already beginning its still-continuing freefall—Killing Them Softly captures the free-floating anger so many of us felt at politicians bailing out corporations rather than people. Perhaps in 2012, only weeks after the re-election of Obama and with the potential that his second term could deliver on some of his campaign promises (closing Guantanamo Bay, maybe, or passing significant gun control reform, maybe), this cinematic scolding felt like medicine. But nearly a decade later, with neither of these legislative successes in hand, and with the wins for America’s workers so few and far between—still a $7.25 federal minimum wage, still no federal paid maternity and family leave act, still the refusal by many states to let their government employees unionize—if you don’t feel demoralized by how often the successes of the Democratic Party are stifled by the party’s own moderates or thoroughly curtailed by saboteur Republicans, maybe you’re not paying attention.
More acutely, then, the mutinous spirit of Killing Them Softly accomplishes something similar to what 1990’s Pump Up the Volume did: It allows one to say, with no irony whatsoever, “Do you ever get the feeling everything in America is completely fucked up?” The disparities of the financial system, and the yawning gap between the rich and the poor. The utter lack of accountability toward those who were supposed to protect us, and didn’t. And the sense that we’re always being a little bit cheated by a ruling class who, like Sobotka observed on The Wire, is always putting their hand in our pocket. Consider Killing Them Softly’s quietest moment, in which Frankie realizes that he’s a hunted man, and that the people from whom he stole would never let him live. Dominik frames McNairy tight, his expression a flickering mixture of plaintive yearning and melancholic regret, as he quietly says, “It’s just shit, you know? The world is just shit. We’re all just on our own.” A day or so later, McNairy’s Frankie will be lying on a medical examiner’s table, his head partially collapsed from a bullet to the brain, an identification tag looped around his pinky toe. And the men who ordered his death want to underpay the man who carried it out for them. Isn’t that the shit?
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That leads us, then, to the film’s angriest moment, and to a scene that stands alongside the climaxes of so many other post-recession films: Chris Pine’s Toby Howard paying off the predatory bank that swindled his mother with its own stolen money in Hell or High Water, Lakeith Stanfield’s Cash Green and his fellow Equisapiens storming billionaire Steve Lift’s (Armie Hammer’s) mansion in Sorry to Bother You, Viola Davis’s Veronica Rawlings shooting her cheating husband and keeping the heist take for herself and her female comrades in Widows. So far in Killing Them Softly, Pitt has played Jackie with a certain level of remove. A man’s got to have a code, and his is fairly simple: Don’t get involved emotionally with the assignment. Pitt’s Jackie is susceptible to flashes of irritation, though, that manifest as a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, and as an octave-lower growl that belies his impatience: with the Driver, for not understanding how Markie’s reputation has doomed him; with Mickey, for his procrastination and his slovenliness; with Kenny, for stealing a hardworking woman’s tip; with Frankie, when he tries to distract Jackie from killing Squirrel. Jackie is a professional, and he is intolerant of people failing to work at his level, and Pitt plays the man as tiptoeing along a knife’s edge. Remember Daniel Craig’s “’Cause it’s all so fucking hysterical” line delivery in Road to Perdition? Pitt’s whole performance is that: a hybrid offering of bemusement, smugness, and ferocity that suggests a man who’s seen it all, and hasn’t been impressed by much.
In the final minutes of Killing Them Softly, Obama has won his historic first term in the White House, and Pitt’s Jackie strides through a red haze of celebratory fireworks as he walks to meet the Driver at a bar to retrieve payment. An American flag hangs in this dive, and the TV broadcasts Obama’s victory speech, delivered in Chicago to a crowd of more than 240,000. “Crime stories, to some extent, always felt like the capitalist ideal in motion,” Dominik told the New York Times. “Because it’s the one genre where it’s perfectly acceptable for the characters to be motivated solely by money.” And so it goes that Jackie feels no guilt for the men he’s killed, or the men he’s sent away. Nor does he feel any empathy or kinship with the newly elected Obama, whose messages of unity and community he finds amusingly irrelevant. The life Jackie lives is one defined by how little people value each other, and how quick they are to attack one another if that means more opportunity—and more money—for them. Thomas Hobbes said that a life without social structure and political representation would be “solitary, poor, nasty, brutish, and short,” and perhaps that’s exactly what Jackie’s is. Unlike the character in Cogan’s Trade, Dominik’s Jackie has no wife and no personal life. But he’s surviving this way with his eyes wide open, and he will not be undervalued.
The contrast between Obama’s speech about “the enduring power of our ideas—democracy, liberty, opportunity, and unyielding hope”—and Jackie’s realization that the mob is trying to underpay him for the three men he assassinated at their behest makes for a kind of nauseating, thrilling coda. He’s owed $45,000, and the envelope the Driver paid him only has $30,000 in it. Obama’s audience chanting “Yes, we can,” the English translation of the United Farm Workers of America’s slogan and the activist César Chávez’s iconic “Sí, se puede” catchphrase, adds an ironic edge to the argument between the Driver and Jackie about the value of his labor. Whatever the Driver can use to try and shrug off Jackie’s advocacy for himself, he will. Jackie’s killings were too messy. Jackie is asking for more than the mob’s usual enforcer, Dillon (Sam Shepard), who would have done a better job. Jackie is ignoring that the mob is limited to “Recession prices”—they’re suffering, so that suffering has to trickle down to someone. Jackie made the deal with Mickey for $15,000 per head, and the mob isn’t beholden to pay Jackie what they agreed to pay Mickey.
On and on, excuse after excuse, until one finally pushes Jackie over the edge: “This business is a business of relationships,” the Driver says, which is one step away from the “We’re all family here” line that so many abusive companies use to manipulate their cowed employees. And so when Jackie goes coolly feral in his response, dropping knowledge not only about the artifice of the racist Thomas Jefferson as a Founding Father but underscoring the idea that America has always been, and will always be, a capitalist enterprise first, the moment slaps all the harder for all the ways we know we’ve been let down by feckless bureaucrats like the Driver, who do only as they’re told; by faceless corporate overlords like the mob, issuing orders to Jackie from on high; and by a broader country that seems like it couldn’t care less about us. “I’m living in America, and in America, you’re on your own … Now fucking pay me” serves as a kind of clarion call, an expression of vehemence and resentment, and a direct line into the kind of anger that still festers among those continuously left behind—still living in Shitstown, still trying to make a better life for themselves, and still asking for a little more respect from their fellow Americans. For all of Killing Them Softly’s ugliness, for all its nihilism, and for all its commentary on how our country’s ruthless individualism has turned chasing the American dream into a crippling addiction we all share, that demand for dignity remains distressingly relevant. Maybe it’s time to listen.
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mrsgreenworld · 3 years
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So, something great came from one of my conversations with @moodypetrichorlove . Here we were, just chatting about all things Sen Çal Kapımı when a fic idea came up and all of a sudden a beautiful partnership was born.
And now I am proud to present the product of our collaboration. Words cannot deliver what a joy it's been working on this together with you, @moodypetrichorlove! To say I am grateful is to say nothing because "grateful" is simply "too small a word"😊💓
A/N: A slight canon divergence where Efe doesn't leave and Eda continues working with him. After having learned the truth about her parents' death she, however, stops coming to the Art Life office and works remotely. A month later, Eda and Serkan see each other at a business lunch. What happens next helps to break the wall that is now standing between them... Or does it?
A Thing So Small
“I don’t blame you. How can I blame you for something that wasn’t your fault? I can’t. And I won’t. But the fact that you hid the truth about the most important thing in my life from me? That I cannot forgive. Not now. I cannot even look at you right now . ”   
“Serkan? Serkan! Are you even listening to me?” Engin’s loud voice pulls Serkan from the dark corners of his mind where the echoes of Eda’s last words to him are too real and too sharp.  
“Huh?”  
“Are you alright, Abicim? You don’t look very good. Maybe we shouldn’t have agreed to this meeting. I have a really bad feeling about this,” Engin keeps rambling into Serkan’s ear.  
“Don’t be ridiculous. I am fine, Engin.”  
“You sure? Because you haven’t seen each other for a month. Your only line of communication with her has been Efe. You cannot stand the guy! And I know that him being so close to Eda has been driving you crazy.”  
Serkan shifts uncomfortably in his seat upon hearing Efe’s name. He can feel that a vein on his right temple is about to start pulsing so he nervously rubs the spot with his fingers.  
“I knew it was a bad idea! There! You’re doing the thing!” Engin exclaims. 
“What thing?” Serkan asks, confused.  
“The rubbing your forehead or temples thing! You always do this when you see Efe near Eda.”  
“I... I don’t. I told you I am fine.”  
Engin opens his mouth to protest but clearly decides against it and goes for silently studying his best friend instead.  
Serkan wonders what Engin sees. Does he see the exhaustion brought on by sleepless nights? Endless nights where he lies awake in his cold lonely empty bed. He’s not restless, there’s no tossing and turning. He just lies on his back and stares into the darkness. But darkness is not what he sees. It’s her. Always her. Her face in that moment when she finally learned the truth. How her eyes filled to the brim with disappointment and hurt. He had, however, seen both in her eyes before. It was the look of utter betrayal that became his undoing. And now it comes to haunt him every night. It stares at him, mocks him through the darkness.  
Can Engin see the weight on his shoulders? The weight that never lifted even though the truth is out.  
Serkan is actually curious to find out what it is his friend sees on his face and in his eyes, but he never gets to ask the question because Engin’s attention switches somewhere behind Serkan. And Serkan doesn’t need to turn to know what, or rather who, Engin has noticed.  
“This was definitely a bad idea,” Engin mutters under his breath yet again and rises from his seat to greet two people approaching their table.  
“Hello, Efe! Welcome!”  
“Thank you, Engin! Good to see you.”  
Efe comes into Serkan’s line of vision and gives him a cold nod, “Serkan.” 
“Efe,” Serkan’s responds shortly while he hears Engin say, “Edacım, I am so happy to see you!”  
And that’s when he hears her , “It’s good to see you too, Engin.”  
Serkan’s eyes close on an exhale as he tries to soak up the sound of her voice. Because it’s like the living water, like balm to the wound, like all the best music pieces wrapped in one.  
And then... then he sees her. She walks around Efe to take a seat next to him and opposite Serkan.  
God, she is divine.  
Her dark silky hair is down, its soft waves framing her face. Her face is almost free of any makeup (it’s not like she needs it anyway) save for some mascara on her naturally long lashes and a nude lip gloss. She’s wearing a black jacket with a plain white shirt underneath.  
She’s lost weight, he notices and his brows furrow in concern.  
She avoids looking at him and focuses on pulling some folders out of her bag.  
Efe’s voice pulls Serkan from his entranced perusal.  
“Eda and I finished our part of the project. The rest is on your team. Our drawings and plans are all here.”  
Efe takes the folders Eda has taken out of her bag and hands them to Serkan.  
“Shall we order something? Discussing business on an empty stomach is never a good idea,” Engin suggests with forced cheerfulness.  
While Serkan appreciates his friend’s attempt at relieving some of the tension, it doesn’t really help.  
“Why not? Good idea. What do you think, Edacım? Are you hungry?”  
Serkan cringes internally at the sweetness in Efe’s voice. And what’s with the “Edacım”? Yet again? What kind of closeness is this?  
“Err... No, not really,” Eda mutters. Still, she picks up her menu and scans it distractedly. She has yet to meet Serkan’s eyes. She’s been effectively avoiding looking in his general direction so far.  
A waiter comes up to their table and asks if they’re ready to order. Serkan’s watching Eda while Engin and Efe are placing their lunch orders.  
“And for you, Miss?” the waiter asks Eda politely. 
"I'll... I’ll have a smoothie.”  
Serkan snorts at that in amusement because only Eda Yıldız can order a smoothie while at a business lunch.  
Eda’s eyes zero in on him. Finally. He’s got her attention. Even if her eyes are throwing daggers she’s looking at him and that’s all that matters. He feels like he can breathe again for the first time in the last month.  
“Can I have the one with strawberries?" she asks pointedly, all the while glaring at Serkan. "What’s its name?”   
“Tropical Paradise?” the waiter asks. 
“Yes, that one.”  
The waiter turns to Serkan. 
“What can I get for you, Sir?”  
“I’ll have the same as the lady, please. Only, do not add strawberries.”   
"Yes, of course.”  
Just as the waiter leaves, Engin whispers into Serkan’s ear, “A smoothie? Serkan Bolat ordering a smoothie at a business lunch? Really?”  
“Yes, Engin, really! And what’s wrong with smoothie? It’s healthy!” he whisper-yells in response.  
The next fifteen minutes or so pass in a conversation revolving around their current project, with Efe and Engin doing most of the talking. Eda makes several comments here and there while Serkan... Well, Serkan just revels in her presence. The waiter comes and goes, bringing their orders. Serkan barely registers that his smoothie has been placed in front of him. He picks up the glass without even looking at it, his eyes following Eda’s every move instead. He takes a sip. It tastes a bit strange but he shrugs it off and continues watching Eda who has now raised her glass to her lips. Her brows furrow after she swallows a bit of the smoothie. She runs a tip of her tongue over her upper lip and Serkan’s mouth suddenly goes dry. He grabs at his glass blindly and gulps down the rest of its contents. It doesn’t help, though. Instead his throat feels even tighter. He lets out an uncomfortable cough and Eda’s eyes fly to him. There’s something in her eyes that makes it hard to breathe. Serkan moves to pull at his tie. He sees Eda hauntingly look at the glass in her hand, then at his empty glass and his next breath gets stuck in his swollen throat. It registers that he cannot feel his tongue and his vision blurs. He does notice, however, how Eda’s eyes widen in panic.  
“Serkan!”  
“Abi?” 
“What’s going on? What’s wrong?”  
“Engin, call the ambulance, now!”  
He feels a soft warm hand on his face when everything goes dark. 
________________
He comes to slowly. His eyelids are heavy and, while he’s struggling to lift them, he registers a subtle medical smell, the monotonous beeping of a heart monitor, weight on his right arm, and on his left, a warm touch of someone’s hand.  
He manages to crack an eye open and tries to get through the horrid feeling that his mouth is full of cotton wool in order to mumble, “Water.”  
There’s immediate movement to his left and he hears his best friend’s voice, “Oh, thank god, Abicim! You’ve given us quite a scare!”  
The weight on his right arm is gone and his mother’s excited exclamation fills the air, “Canım benim, you’re awake!”  
Serkan opens both of his eyes fully and sees two happy but still concerned faces hovering over him.  
“Water?” he croaks out again.  
“Oh, of course, canım!” his mother exclaims and disappears from his line of vision.  
In the next moment, there is a straw at his lips and he takes a sip through it.  
“Eda?”  
“She stayed here the whole night, refused to leave your side. Only in the morning did we manage to convince her to go home, take a shower and change. She left about fifteen minutes ago, promised to be back soon,” Aydan says with fondness and squeezes his hand.
“She saved your life there, Abi. Pulled out an EpiPen from her purse and injected you before the ambulance even arrived. It could’ve already been too late by the time they came.” As Engin is telling him all this Serkan can hear a tremor and lingering worry in his friend’s voice.  
“I’m... fine,” he tries to reassure both Engin and his mom.  
“Yes, you are, canım. Thanks to Eda. God, I don’t know what we would do without her. She’s our guardian angel,” Aydan says with so much love that Serkan’s heart swells.  
He feels warmth spread through his whole body at the knowledge that Eda still secretly carries an EpiPen with her even though they’re broken up; even though it felt awfully final when she had walked away from him after having learned the truth about her parents’ death.  
Can it be that she still loves him, misses him, thinks and worries about him? Wonders about the way he loves her oh so deeply and misses her so desperately? The way he thinks about her constantly?  
“When... when can I go home?” he barely manages to finish the question and starts coughing.  
His mother quickly offers him some more water, “Here, drink this, my dear.” 
“I’m going to go get the doctor and he’ll tell us if you’re ready to be discharged,” says Engin and leaves the hospital room.  
The doctor comes and informs them all that Serkan is okay, but that it’d be better to stay under medical supervision till the next morning. Not a big fan of hospitals, Serkan, however, insists on getting the hell out of there. He’s ready to sign all the necessary papers and leave within the scope of his personal responsibility. The doctor agrees to release him on the condition that he will stay at home and in bed, with someone to look after him. Once that’s settled, Engin and Aydan Hanım leave Serkan to change into his clothes.
_________________
The three of them get into Aydan’s retro car. Engin is behind the wheel, Serkan takes the passenger seat and his mother gets comfortable in the back. When they’re on the road Serkan pulls out his phone, opens his call log and his thumb hovers over Eda’s name. Engin glances at him and asks, “Want to call Eda and tell her not to come back to the hospital?”  
“Oh, dear, no need to call Eda,” his mother chimes in from the back. 
“What? Why?” Serkan questions with a hint of fear. 
“Because I have already called her and told her we’re bringing you home. She’ll meet us there.”  
“She... she’s coming?” 
“Of course she’s coming!”
The warm feeling is back and a subtle smile pulls at his lips. He’s impatient to get home because the sooner they get there, the sooner he sees Eda. Serkan’s patience is tested when they get stuck in a traffic jam. It takes forever to get to Serkan’s house and he fears that Eda has already arrived and is forced to wait at the door. Or worse – she just left when she saw that no one was at home. So he gets anxious when they finally make it to his apartment and there’s no Eda waiting at the door.  
“I should... we should call Eda. Somebody call Eda. Mom, call her, tell her we’re here, ask her where she is.” Serkan knows that he’s practically spiralling but he just cannot help himself. 
“Tabii, canım. Calm down. I will call Eda. But first let’s get you comfortable. Remember what the doctor said? You need rest.”  
His mother ignores his grumbling and makes him settle on one of the couches in the spacious living room. Aydan Hanım and Engin start fussing over him and Serkan is just about to lose it when they hear a knock. He’s ready to jump and rush to the door but his mother beats him to it. She greets Eda with excited squeals and hugs. Once Aydan Hanım lets go of Eda she comes more fully into his line of vision. The second he sees her, Serkan feels his whole body relax. He starts breathing more easily now that she’s right there, coming closer and closer, looking at him with soft and worried eyes.  
"Eda," he all but whispers because he's afraid that if he raises his voice she might actually disappear, like an illusion.
"Serkan. How are you feeling?" 
"I am fine. Thanks to you." 
She shrugs it off as if it’s not a big deal.  
“I am glad you’re okay. I was... I was worried,” she confesses softly and her eyes get clouded with the said worry. 
“I am alright. I promise. And the doctor said there’s nothing to worry about,” he reassures her.  
She nods and then lifts a box that Serkan just now notices in her hands.  
“I’ve got you something. Should help your body regain its strength. Also calms the mind.”  
“Another one of your magic teas?” he teases with a small smile. 
He’s relieved to see her smile in return and nod. She moves to the kitchen area and busies herself with preparing the herbs for his tea and he... he’s just watching her. He’s so entranced and enchanted by her that it takes him quite some time to realise that they’re alone. He looks around and asks in confusion, “Where... where are my mother and Engin?” 
“They left about ten minutes ago. I started making your tea and they said their goodbyes. Did you not hear them leave?”  
“I... I guess I got a bit distracted,” he mumbles, ears lightly tinted red with embarrassment.  
Eda looks at him as if she wants to say something, but clearly decides against it as she shakes her head. She takes a steaming mug into her hands and silently moves towards him, joining him on the couch. She arranges the cushions around Serkan and once he’s settled, she offers him the mug. For the next few minutes they just sit in a surprisingly comfortable silence, with Serkan sipping his tea and Eda watching him from the corner of her eye.  
It’s Serkan who breaks the silence, then, “Can I ask you something?”  
Eda looks at him for a moment, nods, and says, “Ask.” 
“If you had known that I’d be okay in the end, that I wouldn’t die tonight, would you still be here?” asks Serkan, his voice tinted with all the vulnerability in the world.  
“I knew you’d be alright.” Eda’s reply comes swift and determined.  
“Öyle mi? Nasıl bu kadar emin olabildin?”  
She looks around the room, unsure whether she should carry on the conversation, and slightly afraid. However, because she’s Eda, she then breathes in deeply, stares right in to his eyes and says, “Because how can you die when there is still so much left for us to talk about? So many places to explore together? So many beautiful homes and gardens to make together? How can you die before we even get to the part where we make an entire life for you and me, together? Before we’ve loved each other to death?  Mümkün değil. You cannot die before we’ve lived forever together. Ben sana deli gibi aşık oldum, Serkan Bolat. You can’t leave until I say so.”  
Her long lashes are wet from tears that are steadily dripping down her face, while Serkan is stunned into a silence he doesn’t feel like he can break. Or that he wants to break, really, because it’s not the sort of heavy silence that feels like it’s crushing him. It’s the kind that surrounds him in all its soothing calmness and warmth; the kind of silence that promises peace and happiness. The kind that is so full of love it makes him feel he’s about to burst at the seams, but his shoulders have never felt lighter. And it’s the best thing he has ever felt in his life.  
So, he just nods silently, unaware that he too has tears sliding down his face, and opens up his arms for Eda. Always for her. She embraces him, fits in his arms like the missing piece of a puzzle and he feels complete, like never before. And then in a gentle, soft whisper – soft because he doesn’t want to break the tranquil silence and oh-so soft because it’s meant for Eda only – he says, “Seni her zaman çok seveceğim, Eda Yıldız.” 
Later, once he’s back to his sharp self, Serkan is going to wonder how he got here. How he got so fortunate to be back to a good place with Eda, exactly where he wanted to be. How something that could very well kill him, ended up saving his life by bringing his peri kizi back to him. And he’s going to think how a thing so small as a strawberry held so much power. Who would’ve thought Serkan Bolat would ever be thankful for strawberries? 
Translations!
Öyle mi? Nasıl bu kadar emin olabildin? / Is that so? How could you be so sure?
Ben sana deli gibi aşık oldum, Serkan Bolat. / I fell madly in love with you, Serkan Bolat.
Seni her zaman çok seveceğim, Eda Yıldız. / I will always love you, Eda Yildiz.
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hhjs · 4 years
Text
saudade. (holding on. letting go.)
Tumblr media
pairing ⇁ lee know x reader.
genre ⇁ angst, borderline fluff.
trope ⇁ exes to lovers. (again, i know. but it’s a good fit for him imo idk why)
word count ⇁ 1.6 k.
It was an awfully precarious position that you put yourself in, that was most certain. In that childish, scary feeling that comes with loving someone but loving them anyway.
And yet, in retrospect, you concluded, you'd do it all over again.
"Keep it."
You stared up at Minho's glossed over stare, the blinking light above contributed to rendering a vague view of his rubicund face, the little ornaments glued on to complement his sparkly eyeshadow, the extravagant looking satin shirt and you concluded, if the strong stench of alcohol didn't already give away that it was certainly not complete sobriety with which he was speaking, everything else did.
Underneath the act of being confused about the packaged banana bread he'd passed to you from across the counter while you bagged the rest of his groceries, you took the luxury of staring at him in an unabashed way - the newly dyed black hair unkempt, the narrow jut of his nose, small set of lips, completed by big, feline-like eyes - which seemed to be stand out amongst all the aforementioned features- and you waited for it to hit you suddenly for the umpteenth time since your awfully confusing dynamic had begun to flesh out, like a rush of blood to the head it came, a realisation, a secret, - that you want this to mean something, you want this to mean something so bad it hurts.
"What?" His bored frown was quickly replaced by a set of pouted lips at your reluctance.
You wanted to hate Minho for it, his proclivity to be hot and cold that ever so often served as a reminder that this split wasn't at all cut and dry - now, you reasoned, aren't drunken gestures supposed to convey sober feelings? Or was it just nothing more than wishful thinking on your part? "It's your favourite."
Minho said this with such unwavering certainty, even in his inebriated stupor, that you wondered when he'd come to know you so well. If he knew everything about you. And when you let him. If you let him.
Your idle fingers made a quick move of shifting your cap down to shield an expression of fluster once you managed to tear your gaze off of his face. "Yeah." You cleared your throat, slowly repeating, "It's my favourite."
(He smiled lazily, slowly dragging his fingers to brush them against your cheek, in an unhesitating manner that conveyed touching you was a habit. And you begin to ask yourself where it all began, how it all started, how it got to this, you imagined holding a map before your perplexed face and looking for the routes, the passages, the oceans, the rivulets, the cities and every little thing that plotted your falling so miserably in love with Minho. All over again.)
...
When the engines rumbled again.
You were positive about two things; one, seven minutes in heaven had outlived all its contenders in the department of shitty alcohol induced games college students thrived on - and two, this wasn't the first time you were seeing Minho behind his moody barrier that initially gave you a different impression from the awfully cheerful personality he was around your miniscule circle of friends.
Through the course of being his ex partner, spending much time in his apartment, in his bed; maintaining a poor recreated "friendship" even after the breakup, you'd begun to understand that it was not intention that led Minho to assume the position of a renowned tsundere - 
But it was only just that he didn't know how to express himself. 
Though that wasn't true for your encounters. You were too familiar with him for his own good, not failing to notice the way he seemed to slacken around you, despite the big change in your dynamic, a permanent crack through which you could make out the unknown territories of his heart. 
That, to a great extent, satisfied you. 
There was a great opportunity to rekindle. Because in hindsight, it was merely a stupid fight that brought you to where you are; and frankly, with the kind of pride both of you had, it was impossible to know who’d take the first step.
Now that you think about it, it’s almost as if your friends put you up to the transpiring events, the setting suspiciously working in your favour.
Before your turn came up, you took note of Minho's unwillingness for the game when he tried to get up halfway but Jisung yanked him down with a sly grin on his face, like it was an apparent punishment for poking too cruel jokes at him; so now, you paused, partially hopeful, partially scared, watching Minho, if he objected with being paired with you, this was his chance to show it and you would tap out.
But Minho didn't say anything, sticking to simply following you behind through the famiiar territory of your flat. His footsteps mimicked yours, growing louder and louder. Softer and louder. Louder and softer.
After staring at the cracked paint of a wooden door that was now secluding you from the rest of your friends, an attempt to gather enough courage to let the situation sink in was being made - you were alone now, you could recognise his scent, under the fabric softener and after shave and cheap cologne, a distinct fragrance that solely belonged to him. It's the first time you'd been so close after he'd decided to break it off, the warmth radiating off of his body felt at a daunting proximity.
His long fingers ghosted along your shoulders in a smoothing down motion as he leaned forward to say something, his breath tickling the back of your neck.
You made a quick, impulsive gesture to flaunt how you were completely unfazed by this movement.
Minho gasped, the noise passing through pursed lips. His stare flickered between the now emptied solo cup in your hand to the purple stain on his sweater, blinking gaze scanning you with judgement, he held his arms up from his body and your interest for this game mitigated as fast as it surfaced.
"I told you not to carry drinks around the house. You always spill." He chided, shaking his head in dismay. It was impossible to think of a manner to immediately treat the stain in here, where accessing detergent was a distant remedy since you’re only surrounded by boots, heels and sneakers. You groaned, running your hands over your face, looking up at him through the gaps of your fingers, “Just take it off before it gets on your shirt, will you?”
He grumbled under his breath but resorted to slow compliance, pulling the dark fabric over his head, balling it up in his hands to set it atop a shoe box.
The blinking studio light above was on the verge of giving out but its fading colour still succeeded in bringing his sharp features to an intimidating exposition, dull gold dousing the tip of his nose, his high cheekbones, his mouth, his chin and the jut of his Adam's apple in thick, frequent splatters, out of reach in areas where his long eyelashes casted thin streaks of shadows.
It was only when Felix made an announcement of the remaining minutes you had at hand that you were pulled right out of your trance.
There was a faint blush pooling into his cheeks whilst his gaze flitted between your eyes to your mouth as if to communicate that he was making an attempt to gauge your intentions. He shoved his hands inside his pockets, assuming your stationarity for reluctance. "This is stupid." He huffed.
You rolled your eyes. "You act like we haven't done worse."
Minho avoided your gaze, his face only seemed to deepen in colour, "That's why it's stupid."
"But you’re blushing though!" You cooed, reaching out to pinch his reddening cheeks, which only seemed to aggravate the colour and subsequently prompted Minho to grab a hold of your wrist, pulling you close enough for you to make out the distinct black of his eyes, not a single speck of another colour visible in them.
"No, I'm not."
It was then that you decided to act on temptation, in a memorised manner. But also, not really. Because it's daunting, every time, you've to remind yourself that it's just as easy to let go of Minho as it is to hold onto him.
And in spite of this, it has always meant something so much more to you. So much more than you've allowed yourself to express.
No, you told yourself, you want him to come to you this time, you want him to tell you how he feels without making you wonder. You want him to want you for good or not at all.
But that doesn't stop you.
Minho raised an eyebrow, watching you attentively. Completely unsuspecting.
You placed your hands on his shoulders and pecked his parted lips briefly before returning to your position with a nervous tick of rubbing your hot nape over and over again.
The sudden act seemed to have deemed him speechless, his lips were still pouted, giving away that he hadn't quite recovered from the unanticipated kiss, blinking momentarily until his expression morphed to something indecipherable, giving away that a sudden thought had hit him.
He made a quick move of cupping your face with his hands as his thumbs swiped across your cheeks, kissing you in a proper fashion. You reached out to tug at his raven strands in an endeavour to deepen the gesture which elicited a deep throaty groan from him, prompting the act of bumping your head accidentally against the door.
You should've pushed him away, should've fed him some made up litany about how you were completely "over" him, like you'd practised in your head over the months -
But you didn't. You hadn't. You couldn't.
And maybe, just maybe, you didn't want to.
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clumsyclifford · 3 years
Note
hm hi maybe i will officially ask you if you want to hurt me and write a therapy fic. i vote malum but. you do as— no you know what i'm me this is a malum prompt i'm sending you okay love you bye
hiya taylor i hope you realized when you asked for this that it would be angsty as fuck, so i really can’t apologize for uhh writing something angsty as fuck!! BUT with a hopeful ending because we know how i am
tw for suicide ideation, suicidal thoughts, depression
read it here on ao3
-
Michael is winded from the moment they walk onstage.
He’s been all smiles all day. Somewhere he’d heard that smiling was supposed to trigger some kind of happy brain chemical, a creepy fake-it-’til-you-make-it strategy. It has not worked. Michael is exhausted from the effort he’s put into looking like he’s okay. The smile has become a grimace, and he doesn’t have the energy to make it look more realistic. Cameras capture upturned lips and that’s enough to convince them he’s happy, which is the important thing. 
He doesn’t intend to watch those videos when they’re edited together. He can’t even bear to look in the mirror these days. The travesty of him that stares back out with dead eyes only makes him feel worse. At this point he’d doubted whether or not he could actually feel worse.
Standing in front of almost thirty thousand people, it turns out he can. Or at the very least he can feel equally bad in a different way. He’d been drowning before, but he’s choking now. Dying either way. 
If he died onstage, slain where he stood, what would his band do? What would the thousands of fans do? Maybe it would be a mercy. Michael’s a liability right now. He’s frozen in front of thousands of people at the fucking O2 Arena, for fuck’s sake. The band is supposed to be skyrocketing and Michael is a faulty engine, fuel that’s caught fire. If they keep him around they’ll catch fire too, and then they’ll all be free-falling, instead of just him. 
They’d hate him if he died onstage, though. Michael would hate himself too. At the O2, of all places, really? How much more of an attention whore can you be? Couldn’t have waited for a smaller venue to have a heart attack? Or maybe a hotel room? Someplace you could be alone?
Shit. Fuck. The loud cheering has wavered, and all three of his bandmates are giving him concerned looks. Michael fights for breath and finally — for better or for worse — manages to take in the oxygen he’d been missing. And then he forces yet another smile, for his bandmates — but he can’t look at them, can’t see the looks on their faces, not right now — and for the stadium. The sound of screaming doubles in intensity. Michael is already so tired, and they’ve only just started the show.
Luke yells something lead-singer-y and Michael’s hand shakes against the strings of his guitar until he starts playing, closing his eyes for a moment so muscle memory can take over. 
It’s too loud. One way or another, he’ll drown; his lungs aren’t working the way lungs are supposed to, and if they’re not filling with air they might as well fill with water.
Holy shit, he thinks, because he knows enough to know that these are Dangerous Thoughts. But he can’t deal with that right now because they have a show, and after the show he’s fully booked with Pretending He’s Fine from now until forever.
On the opposite side of the stage, Calum catches his eye, and Michael tries to infuse his hollow smile with warmth, sincerity, anything to make that worried expression melt away, but he’s not stupid enough to think it’s worked, even when Calum turns away. Although Calum does turn away, so maybe it means he knows Michael’s lying and just doesn’t care.
You’re in the middle of a show, you fucking idiot, says Michael’s evil subconscious. They’re not going to stop the show in the middle just because you look like you’re seconds from death. You always look like that. 
Right. Right. Michael’s done this to himself. Calum’s not crippled with concern, and he shouldn’t be; he’s Michael’s best friend, not his fucking therapist. Not that Michael has a therapist. Nor does he want one. No random stranger would give a fuck about his bullshit problems, and neither would a random stranger with a PhD.
Fuck. The crowd is getting louder. Is it possible for them to get louder? Or is that all in Michael’s head? Or is everything all in Michael’s head? Are the in-ears keeping the fans’ screams out, or Michael’s screams in? Fuck. Shit. Oxygen is being awfully unreliable today. It’s so loud. Michael closes his eyes again. He knows this song. He’s played this stupid fucking song a thousand times. He could play it in his sleep. He could play it in his casket. That might be what he’s doing right now.
Fuck.
-
Michael is in a constant game with himself, pushing his own limits just to see where he’ll snap. The way he sees it, it’s like exercising a muscle; wherever he breaks, he grows back stronger so he won’t break there again. At this point his threshold is high enough that when he’s feeling particularly masochistic — although when isn’t he — he really has to work for the breakdown. 
It’s a blessing and a curse to be able to handle this much. It means that even when everything is wrong, Michael doesn’t collapse. Which means that he can still play an entire concert at the O2 Arena without having a meltdown, but also that by the time he actually does break, his insides are charred from all the damage control that hasn’t quite succeeded in containing it. 
At least a hotel room is a better place for it than an arena stage.
He can feel it creeping up on him, and he knows it’ll be soon. It won’t take much. There’s already enough wrong as it is. The hotel room is too cold. It’d been nice for a little bit, immediately after the show when he’d been sweaty from the performance, but now it’s making him shiver.
He has sweatshirts, hoodies, blankets. But that would be cheating. Michael stays where he is, sitting at the chair by the window in the tank top he’d played in, staring outside at the sprawling mass of London with all its flickering lights. Sitting by the window is also definitely not helping the temperature situation, but Michael isn’t shying from the crash; he’s trying to induce it. 
Just then, Calum comes out of the bathroom, still towel-drying his hair, and Michael knows what’s next.
Sure enough: “Hey,” the same way one might talk to a baby animal, like if Calum talks too loud he’ll startle it. “You okay?”
Guess, Michael thinks, swallowing. Take a guess. What do you think? “Fine,” he says, because that’s his line. Calum won’t believe it, as well he shouldn’t, since Michael is lying.
“You don’t seem fine,” says Calum. His voice moves around behind Michael as he gets dressed in joggers and a hoodie. “I saw you when we went on to play tonight. You looked like you’d seen a ghost.” There’s a pause. “Like you were a ghost.”
Michael swallows again, and it’s more difficult this time. His eyes sting; his fingers twist anxiously around the hem of his shirt. “That’s a bit dramatic.”
“Well, you didn’t see yourself,” Calum says. 
“Was probably the lights.”
“Don’t be like that, Michael. It’s not like I think you’re okay. I know you’re pretending for the rest of the world, but you don’t have to pretend for me.”
Fuck.
This conversation is not going to be your breaking point, Michael thinks fiercely to himself. Calm down. He inhales raggedly, although it does nothing for his composure. He’s breathing around thorns only by telling himself that they’re roses, and all the while they shred the walls of his lungs, making it more difficult to cling to oxygen when he takes it in.
I’m not pretending, he wants to tell Calum, but he can’t. “Well, you don’t have to worry about me,” he returns. Fuck. His voice sounds shaky and the lights of London are swimming in his vision.
“I don’t worry because I have to,” Calum says. His voice is closer, but before Michael can figure out what he’s doing, he’s taken the seat across from Michael at the window, dropping a flannel into Michael’s lap. “I worry because I love you. You’re shivering.”
Is he? Michael hadn’t noticed. He looks down but he can’t see anything, but if he blinks then the tears will fall and Calum will notice and Michael will have to admit that maybe this is his breaking point and he doesn’t want it to be but he is cold and when he blinks even his eyes feel cold and he quickly looks back at the window and moves his hands on top of the flannel and Calum says, “At least put it on, it’s cold enough in here without wearing a tank top,” and Michael’s throat closes up because however much he can control himself around cameras and crew members and friends and fans, something about Calum makes him completely unravel.
Maybe it’s not that this is his breaking point. Maybe it’s just that this is a safe place to break.
(Maybe it’s a little bit of both.)
So he picks up the flannel and pulls it around his shoulders without putting his arms through the sleeves, and he sniffles and says, “Thanks,” voice all fucked up and wobbly.
“Yeah,” Calum says softly. “What’s on your mind?”
“I’m tired,” Michael whines, and that’s the last he manages before he’s crying like a little kid, tears streaming — it’s been so long since Michael’s cried and he’d forgotten that tears were this relentless, fresh new ones falling now matter how many times Michael tries to squeeze them away — and Calum moves like he’d just been waiting and pulls Michael into a hug, where Michael hides his face and tries to hold his breath because he’s going to die eventually and it will probably happen soon and Michael would at least like to die in Calum’s arms, while he has the chance. But the sobs wracking his body force him to inhale so that plan falls through almost immediately. Because Michael can’t even die right. Fuck.
“Oh, babe,” Calum murmurs. His arms are tight around Michael. “I’m sorry, love, honestly, I’m so sorry.”
Michael can’t stop crying or else he’d say why are you sorry? even though he knows this is more of a sympathetic platitude than anything. Calum does sound sorry but surely he knows it’s not his fault — that this is Michael, all Michael, Michael’s fucked up brain and fucked up self and total inability to get his shit together like everyone else. The more successful the band gets, the worse he feels, and he knows that’s not what’s supposed to happen and he feels even shittier that he’s not being fucking grateful for everything the band is giving him and all the opportunities he has thanks to this, and instead is so stuck in his own fucking head that he’s tallying the passing days like an apocalypse survivor, counting each one he lives through. Or possibly counting down until his death. 
The wrenching sobs slow to nothing. Calum doesn’t try to get Michael to talk, and that itself gets Michael to talk. The silence is worse, and Calum is here, and Calum is safe, and Calum loves Michael. 
“I am not okay,” he mumbles into Calum’s shoulder, which should be a given at this stage, but Calum only squeezes him a little tighter and doesn’t interrupt. “I know that’s a shock.” Calum hums. “I can’t explain why. I don’t know. I just know that this…isn’t how okay people feel.”
“Yeah,” Calum says quietly.
“I don’t know what to do,” Michael says helplessly. “I don’t — I don’t know. But I keep — like — the things I think, you don’t even…you don’t want to know. If you’re worried now, you definitely don’t want to know.”
“I am worried,” Calum says. “But you can tell me if it’ll make you feel better.”
“I don’t want to. It’s not your job to be my therapist.”
“I’m not trying to be your therapist, I’m trying to be your friend.”
“It won’t make me feel better. I’m not going to tell you,” Michael says, though that just means Calum will draw his own conclusions, which might be worse. Not that anything is worse than Michael’s actual thoughts. He adjusts his grip on Calum, tightening his hold. The flannel is falling from around his shoulders, but he doesn’t want to move to pull it up.
“That’s okay.”
“I hate this,” Michael whimpers. It hits him like a hurricane how true that is. “I don’t like this. I don’t want to not be okay. It’s not worth the effort.”
“I know,” Calum says, rubbing circles on Michael’s back.
None of them are okay, truthfully. That’s why Michael can cry on Calum’s shoulder; he knows Calum would cry on his. It’s possible he’s a little worse than the rest of them, but he’s not alone. There’s a twisted comfort in knowing that he doesn’t really have to explain himself to Calum.
“I’m sorry,” he says mournfully.
“Don’t be sorry, you’ve got no reason to be sorry.”
Michael nods, though he’s still sorry. But they won’t get anywhere if Michael’s always apologising. It’ll only serve to annoy Calum, and right now Calum is all Michael has. If the world got any bigger it would crush him, so he keeps it close; it’s only him and Calum and the chill emanating off the window and the flannel dragging against Michael’s back.
Later, when the world expands again, when Michael can bear it, when he’s expelled all the water out of his lungs and stuck plasters over the cracks in his facade to hold himself together, Calum will sit with him on the bed with his laptop open before them and type up a search for virtual therapy despite Michael’s half-hearted protests. Later, Michael will sort himself out a little, Calum by his side to pull him over gaps when Michael’s too much of a coward to step across. Later, much later, a Michael of the future will write about the Michael of the present like he’s a distant memory, using past-tense verbs to make the most tragic sentences into a success story. That Michael is okay, or at least more okay. 
“I know it doesn’t seem like it, but I really think you’re going to be okay,” Calum whispers into his ear now, pressing a lingering kiss to the curve of his jaw. 
Which doesn’t make anything better in the long run, but certainly doesn’t hurt to hear right now. 
“Thank you,” this Michael sighs, as Calum tugs the flannel back up over Michael’s shoulders. 
“Of course,” Calum says lightly. “I love you.”
“Love you too.”
Present Michael can’t see past this moment, but as he takes his first deep breath in days, inhaling the familiar scent of Calum and warm from Calum’s embrace, he thinks that if the future were to hold more moments like this one, it might just be worth living through.
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