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flippyspoon · 3 years

Note

What finally makes Billy crack and tell Steve “I love you”?

This made me write a whole thing!

Paris, Texas

Billy cracks somewhere outside Joplin, Missouri.

They are driving out to L.A. to make a new life. As friends, which is more than Billy thought he’d ever get.

The whole thing feels like a dream, even after all the planning and the months of scraping money together.

The diner outside Joplin is a long low building in the middle of endless flat land that seems to stretch into forever. He doesn’t remember the world looking like this when he drove out to Hawkins with his dad and Max and Susan. But then, that drive was miserable even in his own car trying to drive so far ahead of his father that he could pretend Neil wasn’t even there. This drive is...different. It’s just him and Steve in the Beamer and one of those little rented trailers hitched to the back with all their stuff.

That endless land everywhere that blurs by as Steve drums his fingers on the steering wheel gives Billy a big feeling in his chest like the whole world belongs to just the two of them. Sometimes he feels a little dizzy and imagines the car taking flight, soaring into the sky.

He thinks of this as they sit across from each other in a diner booth. Steve might be thinking of something similar because his eyes are far away as he stares out the window. They’re waiting for their food.

Billy allows himself to drink Steve in for a moment. Yellow t-shirt clinging to his lean frame. No one should look that good in yellow. Steve’s sitting back in the booth and nodding his head slightly as if along to music that’s not even playing as he stares out the window at the infinite landscape.

“Where’s your head, pretty boy?” Billy says.

Steve looks at him in surprise and takes a drink of ice water. “Nowhere! Right here, I guess. I was just uh…” He scratches his neck. “Remember that one arty movie Robin made us watch? The one about the guy in the red hat and he was wandering around and all out of it in the desert and then he was looking for his wife-”

“Paris, Texas,” Billy supplies.

“Yeah.” Steve gestures vaguely at the view. “This reminds me of that. I never really thought of stuff like that before Robin made us watch those movies. Didn’t like all of em’. But they kinda… I dunno. Now regular stuff looks sort of different and cool? Makes me think of shit. Is that what art’s supposed to do?”

“Yeah, maybe.” Billy grins, wide and carefree. “That’s so deep, Harrington.”

“Yeah, whatever.” But Steve cracks a smile and Billy thinks his cheeks flush a little.

I love you I love you I love you I

The words threaten to burst out of his mouth and he even starts to speak, terror flooding his veins.

“Steve-”

“Double bacon burger, double cheese burger?” The waitress swans up, a plate in each hand and Steve dives in after a cursory thank you.

The “I love you” dies in his throat and he’s thankful. They eat and between mouthfuls talk about the weird sights they’ve seen on the road so far.

There was a guy dressed as a clown sadly spinning a sign pointing to newly built houses.

There was a parade of wild dogs.

There was a statue of a horse.

Steve orders them shakes and only then notices the little jukebox on the table. “Oh shit, we need music.” He bites his lip and flips through the selection. “Oh here we go. This one’s for you because you keep freaking out about the apartment and because, ya know, California…” He slips a nickel in the slot and punches buttons and a second later the Beach Boys start singing.

“Don’t Worry, Baby.”

Steve sings along.

“She makes me come alive...and makes me wanna drive…”

Normally, Billy would think it’s funny because between the two of them Steve tends to be a bigger worry wart, but the cool thing is they’ve gotten good at talking each other down from shit.

Almost like a couple.

“Don’t worry, babyyyy.”

The words are wriggling up right from Billy’s stomach again and into his throat and he can’t stop it this time after all this time it’s finally gotten away from him in the middle of Joplin, Missouri-

“I love you,” Billy says.

For a fraction of a second there, he’s sure it got lost in the music and Steve didn’t hear him.

But then Steve’s eyes go wide.

“Shakes!” The waitress announces, setting them down on the table.

“Thanks, darlin’.” Billy winks at the waitress, hoping to distract from what the hell he just said. “Appreciate it. Hey Steve, do you have a buck for smokes? They gotta machine over there.”

“Um.” Steve nods slowly. “Uh. Yeah.”

Fuck shit shit holy shit…

They drink their shakes quietly.

Outside they lean on the car and smoke and Billy watches the wind blow Steve’s hair around. This time Steve looks like he’s searching for an answer in that land that goes on and on to the perfect line of horizon just like that guy in the red hat. Except that guy was trying to reconcile his past in the movie. Steve’s the future. If Billy hasn’t just fucked everything up.

Billy stubs his cigarette out in the gravel under his boot and Steve is looking up at the sky when he says, “I love you too. I’m in love with you.”

Billy’s pretty sure that the car must have flown off into the clouds with them in it. Because he’s sure he’s feet are no longer on the ground as he reaches out and grabs a fistful of Steve’s sweaty t-shirt, tugging him forward.

Steve tastes like his chocolate milkshake and his lips are warm and Billy feels them curve into a smile against his mouth before Billy nudges them apart. He feels fingers in his hair, playing with his curls.

Billy feels like he’s gonna fall down and half slumps against the car. Steve chuckles into the curve of his neck. “I know, man.”

For a minute they just stand there, embracing each other, listening to the wind.

Finally Steve takes his hand and says, “Let’s go, baby.”

#harringrove #harringrove ficlet

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luimagines · 3 years

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Hi! First of all, I wanted to let you know that your writing makes my heart melt! All of your works are as funny as they are incredible, and I couldn’t help but fall in love with your blog!

If it’s okay to request, could you write something about the boys having to dance with the reader? And when they do, they start to catch feelings for the reader but don’t realize it? If it’s okay, of course ♡ have a good day!! And please, take all the time you need if you write it!

Masterlist

If I had a nickel for every time some one requested a detailed scenario where you can dance with Link, I'd have two nickels.

Which isn't a lot, but it's weird that it happened twice.

I should have known there were those who yearn. (And I listened to the song you referenced anon, and it's nice but I personally like Sam Smith's version better.)

But yes, I'll see what I can do.

Part 1 will include Warrior, Sky and Four

Content under the cut!

Warrior

Warrior wasn’t sure why the princess thought that throwing a party for the hero was considered a good thing.

Or at least not without warning them about it first.

He supposed she was just excited to invite heroes of the ears into her home and wanted them to feel that at least their efforts were appreciated.

But he hated this.

And Link knew he wasn’t the only one to think so if the looks of his companions were anything to go by.

But even as he makes his rounds amongst the elite, the fake and the genuine, he tried to make sure that his friends were at least have a comfortable time. He wanted them to know that they didn’t have to keep a face like he did amongst this group so if they wanted to have fun and dance and eat then they could.

They were guests in his home as well.

But no matter where he looked and no matter how many rounds he made, he noticed that were nowhere to be found.

Confused, he ventured outside the venue.

And as he looking for you, he just sees a silhouette against the moon light on top of one of the decorative rocks out in the middle of the rose bush maze.

There was no one else around and then again the guards and people were too drunk and joyful to notice someone breaking the ground rules of conduct or if they noticed, they simply did not care.

He makes his way toward the shadow and stalls for a moment when you look his way.

The way the light hit your frame seemed delicate and ethereal with an otherworldly glow to your hair and skin. The royal purple garb they gave you as a gift for not having anything suitable to wear to the party hugged your curves and angles in all the right ways. Someone must have offered you some jewelry to go with it because he doesn’t remember you having the gold necklace and matching head piece that pulls your hair back into a crown of curls tat frame your face in a divine manner.

Link found himself unable to breath for a second.

You smile and say, “I’m just taking in some air.”

“Not enjoying the party?” He blurts, worried for a moment that you’ve been uncomfortable this entire time... by yourself.... away from everyone.... just sitting in the darkness with the sounds of music and laughter in the background.

“It felt weird to be at a heroes party when I myself- am not a hero.” You shrug and lean back casually on the rock. “Here to drag me back Capitan?”

Warrior blinks and registers the change of pace in the music and will deny to the end of his life where he found the nerve to do what he does next.

He smoothly places the his cup of lightly bubbled alcohol on one of the lower rocks and holds out his hand to you. “Dance with me. Just once.”

You blink and also tune into the music behind the two of you.

It’s a slow dance.

You gradually smile and reach out to him, pulling yourself from the rocks surface and into his arms. “Just one dance.”

Warrior tries to hide the gulp that threatens to noticeably bob his Adam’s apple and places his hands on your waist and holds your hand respectfully. “Have you danced before?”

“Technically.” You answer and place your own hands in his and on his shoulder, pulling yourself closer to him. “I while I know how to dance with the elite, it’s just never been my scene.”

“I know how you feel.” Warrior takes the leads and guides you through the steps of the song. He’s been through countless hours of training for battle- and not those that end in bloodshed- but those that take place in the ball room with the nobles and high end society that would have one looked at him scorn and distaste.

He doesn’t blame you for wanting to get away.

But he does want you to enjoy yourself... if only a little bit.

The steps come naturally to him and he takes a moment to spin you around before you trip over your own feet.

A small giggle escapes your lips as you twirl and send the fabric billowing around you.

Warrior is struck stupid by the sight and almost steps off beat with the music. He’s quick to correct himself but he seemed to have your laughter on his mind on repeat.

“I’d stay out here with you if I could.” He admits as he repositions himself against you, trying to lead you away from the rose thorns and the maze itself so neither of you get caught up in it. “But unfortunately my disappearance won’t go unnoticed for long.”

“Oh...” You blink and look up into his eyes. “I suppose you really only have time for one dance, huh?”

He’s unprepared by how disappointed you sound and it would appear so are you with how quick you try to cover it up.

“It’s fine! You’re an important figure here, I guess it’s only natural that every one would want your attention. I hope you enjoy the party though. Unlike me, you deserve the recognition.” You smile genuinely but your eyes look like they’re trying to get some unknown message across.

“If I can somehow get away again-” Warrior rushes to keep your smile there and to include you in the collective joy the party was supposed to bring. “-Will you save another dance for me?”

You hum and tap you finger to you chin in thought. “It hasn’t been that bad being out here by myself...”

Warrior really hopes that you let him dance with you again even when you pull apart to the end of the music.

But you grin and reach up to boop his nose with the same finger. “Alright soldier boy, since you asked so nicely I’ll save the last dance just for you.”

Warrior laughs a little breathlessly and has to force himself to step away from you. He hopes to any and all who can hear them that’s he’s not actually blushing right now. “Ok. I’ll be back then.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

Sky

Sky was sure that every one was having a great time.

The music was loud and energetic and his friends were all off doing their own thing while the festival was in full motion.

It was a celebration for the people’s loftwings since it was usually the time of the year that they left their rider’s side- presumably to go lay their eggs for the next generation of riders.

But it was all fun and games for everyone involved.

Wind and Four seemed to be in a highly competitive match of toss the sack with Twilight being the point keeper on the other end. Wild and Hyrule were busy enjoying the food and no doubt collecting the recipes (Sky was hoping that Wild would make the food so he was no way inclined to stop him). Time and Warrior were off in a corner, talking to each other with a cup in each of their hands. Legend stood next to them without a cup but he seemed to be more interested in the décor and loftwings themselves.

But you...

Sky stopped walking along the ribbon perimeter and looked over to you.

You were by yourself... You didn’t particularly happy..

And that just won’t stand.

With subtle determination, he marches over to you and taps your shoulder.

You seem to blink back into the present and raise an eyebrow to him in return.

He can see the question on your lips just as you’re about to say it so he juts his head into he direction of the dance area with a simple hand out in your direction.

He hopes his intentions are clear.

You eye his hand and snap your mouth shut with a soft click. Sky gulps suddenly, a strange bout of nervousness attempting to choke his system as you take your time to think about his offer.

Sky would never force you to do something that you don’t want to do but really (and he has no idea where this urge comes from) wants to dance with you.

Just once.

Just once to see you smile and enjoy yourself.

To see you happy.

You place your hand in his, soft and small and so much different than his own. “Lead the way, Boy Wonder.”

You smile and he returns your gesture, gently pulling you toward the open area as the next song starts. It’s light and airy and it’s enough to keep you moving even if you both stall for a minute to just sway side to side in each others arms.

Sky didn’t know that he’d feel so whole and accomplished by just holding you.

Emboldened by the tune of the events, Sky takes a step back and twirls you around as the music flows up and down again just in time to bring you back into his arms.

You laugh. “Perfect timing.”

“I do try.” Sky winks.

You giggle to yourself with a small shake of your head but you keep swaying with Sky across the dance floor.

The music comes to an end and Sky does his best gentleman’s bow as he lets go of you completely- even if he finds that he doesn’t want to. “An absolute honor to dance with you.”

The music starts up again in a similar tune but all he would have to settle for is just one dance. It’s all he’s comfortable with asking from you.

“Sky wait.” You blurt.

He turns around to see that... well you seemed to have startled yourself as well.

“I um..” You bite your lip and vaguely gesture to the musicians in the distance. “They’re not done.”

Sky smirks a little. “But the song is.”

“I uh... Just one more dance?” You hold your hand out to him this time and he stares in shock.

Not for long though.

He’s quick to place his hand in your and pull himself back to you. “I’d love to.”

Four

Four was excited to show everyone around the Festival of Fools. It was his favorite time of the year where everyone got to be silly and destress and play and eat and dance.

Four had always run around trying to do what he could never get away with on a typical day but right now he had to make sure his traveling companion didn’t actually burn the town down.

He loved them but he’d lying if he said that he wasn’t just the tiniest concerned over their facial expressions when he said that anything goes really- no laws but those of the people apply today.

Which made him the temporary babysitter for some of the more rowdy ones.

But he had lost sight of you a while ago.

Not that he was concerned or anything but... He did want to spend time with you.

The festival doesn’t happen everyday and he knew that there would only be so many days left that he’d be able to spend with the group and even less so that they’d be given a chance to relax and unwind.

That thought urged him forward to find you.

If only to make sure that you were having a good time.

He had found you by the food court where you munched on a meat stick and watched as the people came and go.

You looked bored.

Now Four knew that parties weren’t entirely your scene and you weren’t the kind of person to go and throw yourself into the middle of it all.

That being said it still rubbed him the wrong way when you looked like you would rather be anywhere but there.

He oughta do something about it.

Just across the street a band had begun playing music for the people to dance to, now that they’ve usually had their fill for lunch.

Four saw you look over and smile, basking in the edges of their amplified joy and amusement.

He grinned and ran over to you, tugging your hand into his own and pulling you close to him. “Dance with me!”

“Wha- Four? Where’d you come from?” You dropped the finished stick in shock and followed him as he dragged you to the open space just beyond the food cart.

“I live here.” He laughed and spun you around. “Just one dance!”

“I- but- Four!” You dug your heels into the dirt and stopped the both of you from reach the destination. “I can’t dance! I- I’ve never danced.”

Four turns to look at you and smiles encouragingly. “Just let loose, it’s easy. There’s no right way to move, you just do. Just feel the music and my lead.”

You bite your lip and Four takes the moment of hesitation to pull you forward again. you let him and soon find yourself on a dirt arena with lively music and people all around you.

“Don’t let go of my hand ok?” Four grins.

You find yourself grinning as well and soon you’re both spinning and jumping and leaping and twirling around each other to the beat of music.

It’s fast and fun and within moments on simply holding onto Four you find yourself laughing uncontrollably as he throws you around like a rag doll in which ever way he likes.

He’s stronger than you imagined him to be but then again... He’s a blacksmith.

It shouldn’t be all that surprising.

Somehow in the midst of it, he throws you in the air and over his head, catching you in a spin and letting you catch your breath and the music dies down and another begins.

“You ok?” Four asks, a little breathless himself. He doesn’t think he’s heard you laugh so hard or for so long.

It’s nice.

“That was fun!” You managed to say in between your giggles.

Four’s grin widened and even if he knows it’s not your style.... and he only asked for one, he holds his hand out again just in time for the next crescendo to begin.

You look up and look at him and his hand...

You don’t hesitate to put your hand in his and he pulls you close to him again.

You spin and laugh and jump and twirl well into the night, completely forgetting about the others until you have to turn in for the night.

Four’s feet hurt by the end of it and he’s exhausted but to see and hear you smile and laugh and enjoy yourself in what is arguably his favorite time of year was completely worth it.

He hopes that he can spend more time with you... He hopes for just one more dance before it all ends.

Part 2

#linkeduniverse #linked universe x reader #SKYY!!#WHY ARE YOU SO HARD TO WRITE FOR?!#I'm sorry his is short compared to the others #I tried guys #linked universe

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tedturneriscrazy · 3 years

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Here's Eclipse Lake, an episode that has been highly anticipated! Will it top Knock, Knock, Knockin' On Hooty's Door?

I'll skip the pretense: No. It won't.

You'll see under the cut.

Hmm, that list of ingredients for the Grimwalker...I'll let other people theorize about this (like @sepublic ), but it sure looks like a thing

Guess the mysterious green goo won't cut it, huh?

Belos face reveal already?! Huh, didn't expect it so soon.

Oh, no, he's hot! (And I'm mad about it)

Still an ass, though

Now we know why Hunter was wearing a different outfit (because people fixated on that for some reason)

Amity with the clipboard gives me strong Dipper vibes

GHOST! My beloved!

I need a moment because CAT!

(Also, someone pointed out earlier that Ghost was based on Dana's cat, and that's super obvious in hindsight)

Raine?! Oh, wait, you mean rain. Sigh.

Eda gets training tips from DBZ confirmed

(Also Amity's face when reacting to Eda's explanation is priceless)

Oh God Eda's a weeb I need another moment

Damn, Amity just straight up calling Eda old

Oh, loopy Luz

(The abomination holding the tissue box is adorable for many reasons)

Yeah, don't want Luz to eat the McGuffin

I have several questions about those Tamagotchis that I'll refrain from listing here

Amity your Odalia is showing

Girlfriend counter: 1

(Yes I am introducing a counting gag, deal with it)

Was wondering if they were ever gonna reference the dissection incident. We've come a long way, baby!

Oh, so that's what everyone was looking at

Luz honey your enthusiasm is admirable but no

Luz burrito is quite cute, though

Girlfriend counter: 2

(Damn, still wild to think that that's the case)

Just occurred to me that "Boots" is probably shortened from "Bossyboots" from earlier

Guess the Luz hiss compilation needs to be updated again

Those tunnels ain't the only thing around here that's unstable, amirite?

Oops, guess Kiki was justified, after all

Maybe don't talk so loudly about your plans, dude

That is her son, get it right!

Serves you right for having that stupid strand of hair sticking out like that

Is this just the episode where everyone dunks on White Boy? Because I can totally get behind that.

Already mentioned this, but I am loving the parallels between Katara and Amity with that bottle of abomination goo. Insert obligatory "Two Nickels" meme here about Mae Whitman.

We really are just dunking on the white boy and I am living for it

Hooty had to get it from somewhere, I suppose

Nothing says mother-son bonding like shooting things at each other (see also: Separate Tides)

I'm sure the magic bouncing off the veins won't come into play later at all

Oh well, at least the echolocation looked cool

At this point Amity would kill Hunter for a Klondike bar

Wait why does Hooty need a chair

Willow with the galaxy brain ideas

"A bad but sad boy" Luz is a genius at succinctly summing people up

Kikimora continues to be unhinged. Ironically she's not wrong about Hunter.

Motherfucker stop acting like you know what that says

(Also, projecting much?)

Girlfriend counter: 3

Friendly reminder that Hunter is still an antagonist

Uh oh

UH OH

I know someone mentioned Willow having the brain cell, but honestly it seemed like Luz had it this whole time. And that's not good.

WHY IS FOOL'S BLOOD EVEN A THING

Aaaaand cue the getting screwed over

Further reminder that he's still an antagonist (Apparently there's a vocal segment who's Really Mad at him that seem to forget this fact)

You unhand Ghost right now!! And Amity too, I guess.

(I kid, she's literally my second favorite character)

For what she did to Raine it warms my heart to know Kiki has had zero peace of mind

Wait, the Abomatons are Transformers?! Okay, that's kind of awesome, actually. Alador might be a shit dad but he is a brilliant inventor.

Chucking kids off cliffs is a surpisingly common pastime in the Boiling Isles

Owlbert no!

Eda did spend literal decades fighting the Owl Beast within, so I guess she can't be blamed for not thinking to talk to it

Also hurry up guys I'm very concerned about Owlbert

Fuck yeah Harpy Milf!

Yay Ghost returns!

She's glad they're okay (I didn't need to take this, I just thought it was cute. Also this is surprisingly high quality considering I just took a photo of my TV screen)

Oh, so they do have video games in the Demon Realm. That or Luz introduced them.

Trailer shot!

Oh dear, we about to have a fight over the key

Wow, being so high ranking under Belos is really bad for mental health

Jesus Christ Belos what have you been putting in this poor kid's head?

Leave it to King to give radical recontextualizations

Amity, I'm glad you remembered/realized this about Luz, please don't let the sad white boy play you like that again

Also, I appreciate the gesture you're making, and it's a wonderful summary of your character development, but goddamnit he's gonna go for that key because he's STILL AN ANTAGONIST

"Being nice usually works for Luz!" A) Not always, and B) Amity I love you but Luz you are not. A valiant attempt nonetheless.

Ooh, cool fight scene!

Always lovely to see such superb animation

I was privately griping about not seeing Amity use magic for so long, and now I am fed

Don't think I didn't hear the glass breaking

Appreciate your ass from a hole in the ground, Golden Boy!

(jk I don't actually feel that strongly about him still. That kind of threat still isn't cool, though)

Oh so that's why it's the Common Mold!

It's kinda cute, actually. Or maybe it's just because it's Luz.

TIL Hooty is heat resistant

Apparently Owl Beast just wanted a snack

Girlfriend counter: 4

Also love how calling Amity her awesome girlfriend is literally the first thing Luz says to her upon returning.

Yesssss return the hug! You deserve it!

(I know there are higher quality versions of this screenshot, I just didn't feel like looking around)

King demands huggies, too! (And gets 'em)

Reminder that Amity is smart as hell. I knew that glass breaking indicated something!

So once again I've been had. I let the fandom trick me into thinking this episode would be way more intense. Guess that one screenshot was from the next episode.

Overall this was...fine. Some nice Lumity moments, Harpy Eda strutting her stuff, that gorgeously animated fight sequence; those were all lovely.

I do wish Willow and Gus had a bit more to do. And I'm still rather unenthusiastic about Hunter, to be honest. I've seen his type several times before, and the path they have for him is rather obvious. I may never share the fandom's love for him, and I guess I'll have to deal with that.

Anybody who says this was better than KKKOHD is a damn fool.

Mid season finale next week! I think Yesterday's Lie will finally bring the pain!

#the owl house #amity blight #luz noceda #eda clawthorne #king clawthorne #toh hooty #willow park #gus porter #emperor belos #toh hunter #toh ghost #kikimora #toh s2 spoilers #the owl house s2 spoilers #the owl house season 2 spoilers #the owl house spoilers #toh spoilers

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ladyfloriographist · 3 years

Text

Uncommonly Pretty

Here is the first part of an Enola Holmes AU story called Uncommonly Pretty where Sherlock Holmes (played by Henry Cavill) and Dr John Watson (played by Tom Hiddleston) develop an infatuation with the Reader (you!) and naughty sexy smut ensues. I’d love to hear your thoughts on this little opening gambit!

XXXX

Warnings: Victorian-era sexism, afternoon tea interrupted

XXXX

The finely decorated knocker seemed to be nickel-plated cast iron. You stopped before the large, black, six-panelled wooden door, topped with an arched stained-glass transom, and gazed at the intricacies that some talented smith had managed to work into the metal.

The details were so profoundly handmade that you hesitated to hook a finger into it and tap it against the small iron knob beneath to announce your arrival.

However, Mrs Hudson was expecting you for tea and biscuits, and it would not do to follow up the first favourable impression you’d left on your new neighbour with a poorer second one.

Clutching a modest bundle of tea cake in one hand, you tapped the door knocker with your other, and took the polite, customary step backwards from the threshold.

Before your low-heeled, laced-up boot even touched the concrete step, the door was flung open from the inside, and Mrs Hudson greeted you merrily.

“How do you do, Miss?” she smiled over your last name, and her round face and kind eyes shone with the glow of receiving a newly formed acquaintance as a guest for the first time.

You returned her infectious smile. “How do you do, Missus Hudson?”

“Come in, poppet. Come in,” she said, hurrying you inside with eager, welcoming gestures. “I’ve warmed the pot. Here, let me take this.” She took the tea cake from your hand and thanked you graciously for bringing it.

“Thank you, Missus Hudson,” you said as you stepped inside 221B Baker Street. Mrs Hudson bid you make yourself comfortable while she steeped the tea; and what a fine hat that is, poppet; and did you trim it yourself; and do you take sugar, ducky.

By the time you sat opposite Mrs Hudson at her respectably quaint tea table, the woman had asked you ten or more questions and given you scarcely enough time to answer all but two of them.

“A seamstress, ma’am,” you interjected, and Mrs Hudson smiled warmly and took a sip of tea from her dainty porcelain teacup. “Millinery is a past-time but one I would gladly devote my working hours to were I able. The terms of my employment presently call for dressmaking.”

“Gifts all worth cultivating, ducky,” Mrs Hudson nodded sagely. “Two skills will serve you better than one in this town.”

You smiled at Mrs Hudson’s wisdom, and sipped your tea while you thought better of mentioning your less ladylike aspirations. Reading was one thing, but writing, researching, publishing—good Heavens, for a woman, they were all something else.

“Thank you, Missus Hudson,” you started to say, but before you could finish a loud crash sounded from upstairs.

Mrs Hudson jumped. “By George!” she spluttered, flustered as she dabbed at the tea that had spilled out of her small cup in her startlement. “Those. Oh, those boys!”

You looked to the ceiling with trepidation, and Mrs Hudson noted the alarm on your face.

She tapped you a few times in quick succession, firmly but reassuringly on the hand. “Not to bother with it, ducky. Don’t fret yourself. Those two’re always—”

A door slammed shut, and two sets of heavy footsteps bounded down the stairs that led up to the second storey apartment. Two muffled male voices huffed laughs and exchanged excited exclamations.

Mrs Hudson stormed to the door of her sitting room, which opened onto the entryway foyer, and wrenched it open roughly. “Sherlock! John!” Her voice rose as she tried to gain the gents’ attention. “What is the meaning of this? I have company!”

You snuck a look into the foyer you had earlier entered by. Two taller men towered over the shorter, heavier set, lovely Mrs Hudson.

“An experiment, Missus Hudson,” said the broader one who had a shock of dark curls, as he pulled on his coat.

“Oh it always is, Sherlock!” came Mrs Hudson’s exasperated reply.

“Ehm. Sherlock…” murmured the leaner one with shorter, gingerish-blond hair and a light smattering of stubble. His gaze was fixed on something out of your line of sight. The coat rack, perhaps.

The one called Sherlock followed his friend’s gaze. “Missus Hudson?” the brunet enquired of his landlady, one dark brow quirked and the makings of a smile teasing his features as he eyed her.

The blond turned to Mrs Hudson also, with glimmering suspicion in his eyes. “What company have we so rudely disturbed, kind lady?”

You swallowed, and sat up straighter in your chair. It would not be totally improper for Mrs Hudson to introduce you to her… acquaintances? Lodgers? The three seemed more familiar, on friendlier terms than that—and you fidgeted needlessly with the collar and tie of your blouse to right it and ensure you were presentable, for any moment now—

Mrs Hudson turned to you with an apologetic smile. “You don’t mind, do you, poppet?”

“Not at all, ma’am,” you heard yourself say—and pleasantly, too. Not missing a beat.

She gave you a quick smile, crinkling her nose, then turned back to the two tall gentlemen. With an air of feigned irritation, she said, “Well come on then!” and gestured them into her sitting room with a wave of her hand.

The men followed behind her, walking with a slow, leisurely gait that bordered on the predatory, especially in contrast to Mrs Hudson’s shorter, quicker strides as she hurried to seat herself opposite you. Combined, it lent the fellows a sense of comfortable ease to be in Mrs Hudson’s apartment, and stopping before the tea table, the faintest of smiles graced their handsome features as the pair gazed at you.

Such striking blue eyes so consumed your attention that you almost didn’t register Mrs Hudson speaking.

She had just finished introducing you, and went on to say, “this is Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective for Scotland Yard, if you please—” the brunet man blinked slowly and smiled warmly, “—and this is Doctor John Watson, who operates a medical practice in Kensington, don’t mind if I do—” the blond subtly tilted his head to the side and smiled kindly, “both of whom reside in the upstairs apartment.”

Both of them? Upstairs? “How do you do?” you greeted them, and followed it quickly by saying, “a pleasure, gentlemen. We are neighbours.”

“How do you do?” replied Dr Watson.

“You have taken the lodging at 221A, Miss?”

His voice rolled over your last name with a deep rumble. “I have. The upstairs apartment, also,” you said, and perhaps it was a trick of the light, but the two gentlemen seemed to share a swift sidelong glance at each other before regarding you once more. Outwardly ignoring it, you said, “I arrived not three days past, and had the pleasure of making the acquaintance of the kind Missus Hudson on my first day in London.”

“Indeed,” said Sherlock, and the intensity of his now scrutinous gaze started to unnerve you.

“Missus Hudson is a dear friend, for whom we hold much affection,” said Dr Watson with what appeared to be genuine fondness and good feeling. Grinning, he slung a jovial wink at Mrs Hudson, who blushed and playfully dismissed him with a flick of her hand.

“You are come to the city alone?” said Sherlock, breaking through the frivolity.

“Sherlock!” exclaimed Mrs Hudson—but he continued to stare directly at you, and with a creased brow and pursed lip.

What were the chances, you consider inwardly, that so wild an assumption just happened to be correct in this instance. “Astute, Mister Holmes!” Your interlaced fingers flexed against each other in your lap. “A clever guess.”

“It wasn’t a guess,” he said, so firmly it was almost stern.

“We’d best be on our way, old boy,” John said quickly with a light tone, and he glanced between yourself and Sherlock as he pulled his gloves from his coat pocket.

“Right you are, Watson,” said Sherlock, finally tearing his attention away from you. “A fine spread, Missus Hudson,” he complimented his landlady with a smile, “apologies to have caused a disruption to your afternoon tea.”

“No bother,” sighed Mrs Hudson. “When can I expect you home, you two?”

Dr Watson blinked and opened his mouth, hesitantly, to speak, and Sherlock promptly turned from her without answering.

“Welcome to London, Miss,” Sherlock said to you with a genial nod and twinkling eyes. All trace of his prior severity had vanished.

“Most pleased to make your acquaintance,” smiled Dr Watson with bright white teeth. His eyes and mouth crinkled with the depth of his pleased, playful expression.

The pair of them made you return serve with a broad grin of your own, which you shared between them. “Quite. Thank you indeed, gentlemen.”

The pair parted your company, and as the door closed Mrs Hudson sighed and pulled a napkin over her lap. She shook her head, muttering about the impropriety of two such fine, full grown men as that, as she reached for the jam.

Outside and down the steps, Sherlock adjusted his tie and Watson checked his pocket watch, the two taking pains not to meet each other’s eyes.

After a few moments of pointless fidgeting, John cleared his throat. The case first, and this new acquaintance second. He glanced down Baker Street. “Shall we go on, old chap?”

“She is uncommonly pretty,” Sherlock rushed to say at the first opening of conversation.

“Exceedingly so,” Dr Watson said vehemently, relieved, all pretence dropped. He turned quickly on his heel to face Sherlock as if to emphasise his agreement with eye contact.

“Striking, John.”

“What are we to do, Sherlock?—"

Sherlock’s broad chest rose in a sigh.

“—The woman is our neighbour!” He quietened himself down, tossing a quick glance at the sitting room window of 221B. “She lives right next door,” he hissed. “We will share a wall, Sherlock—we have been for three days!”

“I know that, John.”

“And?”

“And…” Sherlock trailed off and squinted, looking in the same direction Dr Watson had earlier perused. Then, briefly glancing at his friend and clapping him on the upper arm, Sherlock said, “it means we shall see more of her all the easier,” and set off, strolling past John and down the street.

#sherlock holmes x reader #john watson x reader #enola holmes #henry cavill #henry cavill x reader #tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston x reader #sherlock holmes #john watson #g writes

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julessworldd · 4 years

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This turned out longer than I expected it to, it’s 4 pages long. I was really into writing this so I’m gonna call a fic. Hope you enjoy anon.

warnings: cussing, teasing, smut(my first time posting smut so sorry if it sucks), should be it, sorry if I missed any other warnings, grammar errors, etc.

This was requested by anon for a prompt for Izzy.. Keep sending prompts in, I’m having a good time writing for everyone. (Guns N’ Roses, Motley Crue/The dirt, Kelly Nickels, I can try to do other rockstars. Just give me time to figure them out so I can get them down pat)

Second prompt list 1- “We’re not just friends and you fucking know it” 5- “Well. Yell, scream, say something. Anything”

I had known Izzy since he walked in, soaking wet, little pissy that L.A decided to downpour on his arrival. He asked for a room at my family’s motel outside Huntington Beach. Izzy and I were a year apart and had so much in common, we became fast friends quickly. I’d even met Axl on his arrival to L.A, Axl was lucky no downpour, but sorta cold. I watched them both change bands like girls change clothes for date with their crush. Finally, they formed Guns N’ Roses, took the strip by storm and took over the world as well.

Izzy was my best friend, I always told him everything that was going on with me, he even taught me how to play guitar one night, shared a bed when the hotel messed up my room. Management forgot to add another room besides the band and their manager. Izzy got my bags and walked to his room, claiming he was beat and needed sleep.

Izzy and I’s relationship had changed after he broke up with Angela. He stayed at my place for days, shared my bed, food, shower whenever he liked. It was fun until he started screaming at me for his and Angela’s break up. This lead up to where we had angry/rebound sex in my shower and bedroom. That had been a few months, Izzy asked if we could do the friends with benefits gig. Sure why not. I told him, Izzy was very skilled and caring in bed. It wasn’t a loss for getting screwed occasionally. We establish ground rules typical for friends with benefits: No feelings, can date whoever no problem, no getting mushy for each other. Rules I could sorta follow along, after doing this for 6months, I started catching feels, asking if he could stay. My excuse was my roommate was at her boyfriends or was working late at the bar down the street. Our apartment was sorta shady so I wanted some protection for the night.

Slash invited me out with the band after a show in town, I happily accepted wanting to see the other boys. Duff, his fiance, Steven, Axl were at the bar waiting for drinks. Izzy and Slash were at a table, Slash had a girl perched on his arm. “Hey guys”, I smiled. Slash moved him and his date so i could sit, “Hey Y/n, this is Chrissy” “Hi Chrissy, Slash treating you well?”, I smirked. “Yeah, he’s cool”, She took a sip of her cocktail. “Hey Y/n, you just get here?”, Duff asked. “Hi Duff, I did”, I smiled at the tall blonde. Izzy was quiet as usual, smoking a pack away, sipping on his whiskey filled drink. Duff’s fiance was telling part of the table about her and brother’s taking their dad’s boat out one day growing up. She always had wild stories to tell from her childhood in Colorado, normally I would have been interested. Izzy was on my mind, I was hoping he would get the hint what I wanted to do. I looked before doing this, they were all inclined to her story, Duff stared at her with adoration in his eyes, a smile to match.

“Iz”, I whispered in his ear, gripping his inner thigh.

“You’re not wasting any time tonight”, Izzy grumbled. “I’m trying to get fucked, been a while”, I bit his ear lob. Izzy groaned, “Keep teasing me and you won’t get to cum, princess”, Izzy spat back. “I’m sorry, Izzy”, I whined, making Izzy smirk.

“Go to the bathroom, I’ll meet you in five minutes. Wait for me, okay?”, Izzy’s breath on my neck. “Hey Iz, can you let me out please?”, I asked, making it seem normal. Izzy stood to the side of the booth as I walked to the bathroom. Five minutes later, Izzy let himself in and locked the door before turning to me. “Thought Steven would never shut up about what he and Duff did two days before. Sorry, babe”, Izzy looked at his watch. “You’re on time, Iz”, I giggled.

Soon enough Izzy held me against the wall, thrusting into me, attacking my neck with his teeth. “Fuck, Izzy. Right there”, I whined. “You can beg better than that, baby”, Izzy whispered in my ear. I rolled my eyes, he’s in his dominant mood tonight. “Okay, guess we’re done here”, Izzy started to pull out. “Please don’t! I need you so fucking bad, Izzy. Please fuck me, you’re the only one can make me cum this hard.”, I whined, grabbing his shoulders. “Now that’s better, baby”, Izzy slammed himself back in, making me moan. I felt the familiar tighten in my stomach as Izzy slammed into my g-spot. Clenching around him, nails ripping his back, “Fuck, I’m gonna cum”, I let a breathy moan out. Izzy reached between us and started to rub my clit. “You earn it, let go, princess” I rolled my eyes again, “Mhm fuck” Izzy noticed that I needed an extra push, “Come on, Y/n. You can cum, Kitten come on” Hearing him call me ‘Kitten’ in his deep mid-western voice gave the extra help I needed. “Oh fuck, fuck, Izzy”, I screamed feeling myself release on his cock. Izzy rode out mine and his high, before pulling out. “That was hot. You good?”He asked. I nodded, “Just a sec”, I said, holding his shoulders feeling the aftershock. Izzy and I got fixed, he made me leave first. I headed to the bar for a drink. “How long have you and Izzy been screwing?”, Axl asked, making me jump. “Why do you care?”, I asked, sitting on the bar stool. “You and him were gone for a good thirty, forty minutes. Your legs are shaking slightly.”, Axl smirked, trying to interrogate me. “Still don’t mean I fucked Izzy, could be another guy for all you know”, I said. “I didn't graduate high school, but I’m no fucking idoit”, Axl said, getting close to my lips. “Again why do you care so goddamn much anyways, Axl. You’ve never cared who Izzy is fucking before”, I laid my hand on his chest. “Cause the whole time I’ve been here with you, Izzy’s been shooting daggers at me from behind your back, babe.”, Axl grinned, making me turn slightly to see Izzy standing there with a pissed off look on his face.

After the conversation with Axl, I left to go home forgetting the drink. Izzy watched me exit the bar, behind Duff and his fiance. “Night Y/n”, Duff said. “Night Duff, be careful”, I said walking down the strip. “Will do, you do the same”, Duff yelled. Finally made it back, moans filled the shitty apartment. Tiffany was home with her boyfriend. I took off my tight black leather dress, kicking heels off, earrings left on the dresser. “Sure, I’ll call you, Andrew”, I heard Tiffany say. ‘Andrew?’ her boyfriend’s name was Greg, not my business but okay Tif. “Y/n, company”, Tiffany yelled for the front door. It was 4am, who the hell was here for me. “Tiffany are you high? Oh hey Izzy”, I asked, walking into the living room. “Can we talk, Y/n?”, Izzy asked, shutting the door. “Uh Tif”, I looked at the blond. “Night Y/n”, Tiffany said, skipping back to her room. “What’s up?”, I asked.

“We gotta stop this, I’m in love with you”, Izzy blurted out. “Excuse me?”, I was stunned, maybe Axl was right? “Iz, we established no falling in love. You broke your own rule”, I said. “I know that, but seeing Axl talking to you that close, got me jealous. He’s married, he needs to back off damn it”, Izzy stomped his foot like a toddler. “Izzy, calm down. You’re drunk”, I sighed. “Please stop being like Duff trying to take care of a drunk! That’s not the point, babe”, Izzy groaned. “Then what is your point, Stradlin? I’m fucking tired and want to sleep”, I groaned, throwing my head back. “I- uh”, Izzy stuttered. “Fine, I'll finish it for you. We’re not friends and you know it”, I said. Izzy’s eyes widened, “Fuck”

“Well. Yell, scream, say something. Anything.”, I sighed, getting tired of his shit. Izzy pushed me up to the wall, lips crashing on mine. I pulled apart from him, “Wanna crash here, it’s late” “Thought you never ask”, Izzy grinned.

#prompt request #izzy stradlin #izzy stradlin x reader #guns n roses fic

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keelywolfe · 3 years

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FIC: Welcome To Backwater ch.2 (spicyhoney)

Summary: Stretch isn’t running away, not really.

He took the bus.

Only to end up in a little town in the middle of nowhere, meeting unusual people, dealing with unexpected happenings, what the hell is going on in this place?

Content: Spicyhoney, Midwest Gothic

Note: Just as a heads up, I'd give this story a warning for mild horror and mild gore. None of our boys, but better to let y'all know!

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Read Chapter Two ‘Meet and Greet’ on AO3

Read it here!

~~*~~

For the next week Stretch spent most of his time trying to figure out the method in the madness to Red’s store management. His first day of ‘training’ pretty much consisted of Red showing up long enough to demo the cash register and then shuffling off to the apartment at the back where he lived. Not that pushing a couple of numbered buttons was that complicated, but that wasn’t the only issue cropping up around here along with the local corn.

First of all, nothing in the shop was priced. All the items were recorded in a ragged notebook with coffee ring stains on the cover, where Stretch got to figure out if an item fell under the category of ‘toilet paper’, ‘paper, toilet’, ‘ass wipers’, or ‘shitty ass wipers’, all written in Red’s sloppy handwriting. The sheer number of items that fell under ‘ass’ and ‘shitty’ were staggering.

Turned out, the little store actually did a fair amount of business. Plenty of Humans stopped in to pick up one or two things rather than drive to the nearest Wally World which according to Granny Collemore, who Stretch was guessing was the unofficial town gossip, was better than a thirty-minute drive away.

“Don’t need to be driving an hour for a little bum tissue,” she bellowed happily, “shopping day is Sunday, we’ll stock up then!”

Stretch nodded as he rang her up, wincing away from her volume. He’d figured out pretty quickly that the old woman was stone deaf, but she didn’t seem to care if all she got was a smile and plenty of nods, so that was fine.

She handed over a wad of cash pulled from a little embroidered change purse that let out a puff of lavender so strong when she opened it that it overshadowed the store’s normal musty smell, hollering the whole time. By the time she left, Stretch knew enough about the local weather patterns to make a rain prediction and that the way someone named Pritchard was hamming on a pretty young’un Eloise meant they’d best they be married soon ‘fore it turned into a shotgun wedding. He nodded along with every proclamation, hurrying around the counter to open the door for her and ended up spending five minutes waiting for her to shuffle her way out, her bunny slippers leading the way.

But as she was leaving, she reached up and gave him a gentle pat on the cheekbone, her wrinkled hand barely able to reach. “You’re a nice boy,” she told him, too loud and with a pink, gummy smile.

Stretch was too startled to flinch away and only managed to mumble a thank you as she headed off into the growing heat of the morning, a hunched figure in a flowery dress and pink slippers, her bag of emergency tp bumping against her hip as she trundled along.

That was another thing. He’d thought that the Humans around here would be distrustful, even malicious, but that wasn’t proving to be the case. Aside from a little surprise when they first saw him, all the customers so far were small-town kindly. Kids came into the shop to raid the nickel-candy rack, their bikes left in piles outside as excited groups came roaring in. Mothers came in with babies wearing only their diapers, fanning themselves and laughing out their, ‘my, isn’t it a hot one today?’ as they bought a half-gallon of milk and some fresh apples to put in the bottom of their strollers.

No one in town seemed to care that he was a Monster past asking his name and maybe it was just ‘cause of Red being a skeleton, too. Could be that Granny Collemore was out there somewhere bellowing that the local shopkeeper had family visiting, who knew? It was sure different than he was used to. The general sentiment in Ebott about Monsters was resentment; over them taking jobs, enrolling in the schools, whatever it was, they didn’t want Monsters doing it.

It was…nice, he decided, to not have someone dislike him on sight.

That was how he spent his mornings. He worked in the shop, idly dusting, putting away the deliveries that a guy in the pickup truck and overalls brought in daily, and borrowing Red’s wifi to listen to soft music on his phone. The calls had trickled to only once a day and the glaring red alert number of his messages kept climbing.

Stretch didn’t look at them, only skipped right over to Spotify and the 'The Wedding Singer Divorce Special pt 2' playlist.

Red came in every day to relieve him at around two. He grunted out something that resembled a hello as he heaved himself up on the stool, leaning his cane against it as he pulled out a battered romance novel from beneath the counter. The creased covered did not in the slightest hide the young, scantily-clad woman caught up in a fiery embrace with her highland Lord.

“be back later,” Stretch said as he hung up his apron. Not that it mattered, wasn’t like Red was his dad or even a friend, not really, and he didn’t care when Stretch came home. A couple times they’d eaten together, takeout from the local diner that was imaginatively called ‘Mama’s’, not ‘Eats’, watched a little but that was it. His lack of idle chitchat was the complete opposite of Blue’s constant stream of chatter and after years of that, the silence was kinda disconcerting, but maybe not in a bad way.

Red didn’t even look up from his book, only pulled a crumpled bill out of his pocket and pushed it across the counter, “pick up some beer at the station, wouldja?”

“sure,” Stretch said, almost grateful for something else to do. It was miles better than sitting the rest of the day in his little room with its faded, floral wallpaper where the air conditioning wasn’t quite able to combat the heat of the mid-afternoon sun. He’d done that once, the first day, and after that made a point of staying out of his room until sundown to give it chance to cool off.

The town itself wasn’t much more than a bunch of ramshackle houses. To the west were fields, the leafy tops of what Stretch was now certain was corn rustling in the wind. Off to the east, the landscape slowly went from flat plains to trees, their wilting leaves yellowing in the heat and ending in a wooded area that surrounded maybe half the town. Shame it was too far away provide much shade unless you went walking right into it. Main street consisted of a few other public buildings; a tractor store right up next to the thrift shop, a little one-room schoolhouse with an attached shed that served as the town library, the Sheriff’s office, and the movie theater.

On the outskirts of town there was also a bar, The Whistling Cow, its glowing neon sign a single point of orange light on dark nights. As much as Stretch wanted a drink, he stuck with filching beer from the cooler Red kept under the counter. Hanging around with strange, drunk humans usually didn't end well for him.

The movie theater was where he’d taken to heading after work. Someone with a sense of humor must’ve named the place, since ‘The Grandeur’ literally only had one theater and maybe thirty seats, if that. The proprietor ran the ticket booth and the concession stand, and in his threadbare uniform with its yellowing shirt, he looked a lot like Lurch's second cousin, once removed.

But he was a nice enough fella and it was a good way to waste some time. Even if the only movies showing were old black and whites, the popcorn was fresh, with real butter, and the added bonus of air conditioning. Besides, the Three Stooges were funny as shit any old day.

That was where Stretch was headed today; the afternoon showing only cost two bucks, then another for popcorn and he was set for a few hours. It was better than trying to get anything to tune in on the television in his overboiled room. With a lot of coaxing, he might manage to get a PBS channel, but there was only so much time a person could spend sweating their way through a staticky version of Sesame Street.

Stretch got to his seat just as the lights were going down, settling in with his popcorn. Before the movie there were a few cartoons, and it was kinda wild to get to see Steamboat Willy chugging along on the big screen again.

Today’s flick was an honest to bitsy silent movie and Stretch watched with a wide grin as Charlie Chaplin slap-schticked his way across the stage. There were a few other people in the seats, at least one of them snoring; probably only came to get out of the summertime heat.

But it wasn’t really the movie he was here for. Not today.

He’d seen her the first time he came. Sitting in the far back row, not that uncommon, some people liked to sit far away. No one else seemed to notice her and that wasn’t strange either. Normally even he didn’t pay much attention to anyone else in the theater, who did? So long as a person was quiet, made no ripples in the pond, no one saw them. Movies were for escapism, not to make new friends.

But this lady. To begin with, her clothes were about a century out of date, with her pink suit and matching pillbox hat, her white gloves, and whenever the house lights came up while they switch the reel, she vanished without even a shimmer of dust motes, only returning once the darkness did.

He’d been back three times so far and she’d been in the theater for every showing. Sitting on her own watching the flick, always in the same seat. This time, Stretch was sitting in the seat next to it. He munched his buttery popcorn and watched as Charlie Chaplin-ed his way through the movie. He didn’t have to wait long.

None of the Humans noticed. The black-and-white light coming from the screen was dim enough that anyone sitting in the audience was nothing but a shadow. Humans tended towards the unobservant side, anyway, none of them had to be as aware of their surroundings as a Monster did, especially one like Stretch with only 5 HP between him and dust.

Besides, there wasn’t any fanfare about it. One minute the chair next to him was empty and the next, a young woman was sitting there, her hands clasped primly in her lap as she looked up at the movie with rapt attention.

“like the movies, huh?” Stretch said, very softly. “always wanted to be an actor myself, but i don’t have the guts for it.”

Waste of a good pun, he didn’t even think the woman had a chance to notice he was a skeleton. She startled, one faintly translucent hand flying to her mouth as if to stifle a scream. Stretch only munched on another piece of popcorn and let her gather her wits or ectoplasm or whatever ghosts had. Wasn’t like he had room to talk, the inside of his skull was as hollow as a drunken apology.

She settled quick enough and asked in a wispy little voice, “you can see me?”

Stretch slouched back and propped his sneakers up on the seat in front of him. “sure. it’s a monster thing. we see things that humans don’t, sometimes.” Or didn’t bother to see, Stretch wasn’t sure which.

“Sometimes they see me,” she admitted. “but they always run away.”

Yeah, Stretch couldn’t really blame them for that one. Humans weren’t used to ghosts, not the way Monsters were, and now that he was sitting up close, he could see the way she flickered a little, that pretty face sometimes flashing onto something else, half still pretty as a picture from an old magazine and the other a bloody ruin. There was a gaping hole on one side of her head, her blonde hair matted into dark clumps, and one blue eye stared out, unseeing. There were flecks scattered on the shoulder of her pink suit, chips of ivory, and Stretch knew enough about bones to recognize skull fragments. Another flicker and it was gone, only a pretty young Human woman looking back at him. The effect was a little off-putting, true, but it wasn’t like she could help it.

Besides, Stretch didn’t have to look. He was watching the movie.

“what’s your name?” he asked, softly.

She hesitated and he wondered if she didn’t want to tell him or if she didn’t know. Her eyes were large, absurdly long lashes sweeping against her cheeks as she considered. When she spoke again her voice was a little stronger, surer, “Doris.”

“doris, my name is stretch,” he told her, “and it is a pleasure to meet you.”

They sat together in silence for a little while. The music coming brightly from the speakers was as cheerful as a carousel, offering happiness and humor when she spoke again abruptly. “I know this is very forward. But. Could you do something for me?”

“maybe,” Stretch said, a little wary. Better not to make promises to unknown ghosts, they could get tetchy.

She smiled, a wry curve of lips as if she could hear his thoughts. “Your popcorn.”

He looked down at the paper cup in his hand, still half-full of buttery kernels. “you want some?” he asked, bemused.

She let out a whispery laugh, like a wind rustling through summer cattails. “No, but. Can I smell it?”

Oh. “sure.” He held the cup out and she leaned over it, inhaling deeply, or, well, looked like she did, he didn’t think ghosts actually breathed, but who knew? When she bent down twin ribbons of blood ran from both her nostrils, dark and slick. It didn’t drip into the popcorn, couldn’t, it wasn’t present in the same way the little carton was, but he felt his appetite fade. He still politely pretended not to notice.

She leaned back with a happy sigh and all signs of the blood were gone. “Thank you. I go behind the counter sometimes to smell it, but it’s not the same.”

“i bet. gotta be in a paper bucket or it ain’t right.” If she could go out to the concession stand, that meant at least she wasn’t stuck sitting in this one seat. Maybe it was just her favorite. “you get out much?” He jerked his head towards the door, “outside, i mean.”

“No,” She shook her head sadly, and her hair brushed her shoulders. “I have to stay in the theater.”

He nodded sympathetically. That was gonna make this a little harder, but not too much. He liked the movies, anyway. “yeah, it works that way sometimes. but hey, i’ll stop back in and see you again. if that’s okay?”

She brightened visibly, coming sharply into focus like a lens turned on a camera, until the chair behind her only barely showing through. “Would you?”

Now that was a vow he could make and Stretch sketched a cross over his chest with a finger and said solemnly, “i promise.”

Their chat must’ve been getting a little loud. Someone was turning around in the front seats. The room was too dark to see, but he didn’t have to witness a glare to feel it. Stretch slouched down in his seat and took the hint.

Hey, he’d made a friend. Well, most of one and it was the important part. A soul without a body was a lot nicer than a body without a soul, hands down.

Which made him wonder about the gas station attendant, because Mitch made Red seem like a warm, outgoing person.

The ancient artwork on the front window of the gas station showed a shiny, smiling attendant in a tidy uniform, his neatly cut hair almost hidden beneath his cap as he held up a dripping gas nozzle in offering. That guy must’ve gotten promoted out of state, because the only dress code Mitch followed was ‘fuck it, looks clean.’ Long, straggly hair poked out from his dirty baseball cap and, of all things, he was reading the New York Times, the business section.

His saving grace was that his disinterest in all customers was universal. Mitch was an equal opportunity kind of guy; he didn’t give a shit about anyone.

Stretch opened the door carefully so that the cowbell only gave a muted clang. He hesitated inside the door and decided to brave a question. Hey, he’d made one friend today, may as well push his luck. “you got any coffee on?”

It was a pretty safe bet, even as hot as it was. Coffee wouldn’t help with the sweat that was already dampening his shirt from walking over from the theater, but Stretch felt a little unsteady from meeting Doris. He could use a dose of caffeine to shore him up.

Mitch didn’t look up from his paper, but he jerked his chin towards the back wall. “Yep, but the only coffee I got is hot. Ain’t no ‘spressos around here, Slick.”

“Hot is fine.” He didn’t bother correcting him on the name. Started with an S, close enough, they’d be best pals in no time. The carafe of coffee smelled surprisingly fresh, considering that Mitch looked like he’d been holding that chair down for a few hours. There was a plastic basket next to the carafe filled with little coffee mate creamer cups. He added four French vanilla, carrying his murky coffee up to the counter with Red’s six-pack. Beer was one thing they didn’t sell at the store, no alcohol at all, something to do with the liquor laws in this county and Red not paying those skinflint jackholes for a license, not on his ass, thanks much.

He paid for both, picked up his change from where Mitch tossed it unhelpfully on the counter and went outside, fumbling out his smokes on the way.

Stretch sat down on the crumbling curb, drinking his coffee and smoking, letting the caffeine and nicotine wash over him in a twin, soothing rush. He’d been trying to cut down with his funds being on the uncertain side, cigarettes were a pricy vice, and he couldn’t bum any from Red the way he did the beers.

The sun was still high overhead pouring down the heat, coming up off the pavement in shimmery waves. Sweat was rising up on his bones, his t-shirt clinging damply to his ribs and spine. Somewhere nearby, he could hear children playing, the hollow thud of a basketball and their laughter carrying on in the still air. He didn’t have anywhere he needed to be, no one’s expectations to live up to.

When his cigarette was done and pinched out, Stretch climbed back to his feet and headed for the grocery to drop off the beers before they got warm. Again, he went easy on the door, keeping the bell to a faint rattle rather than a clang. It was only when he turned around that he saw the front counter was empty, Red’s book bent open on the counter but no skeleton around to pick it back up.

He set the beers on the counter, calling, “red?”

No reply and that was strangely ominous in a little store where even a short skeleton would be hard pressed to hide.

There was a long hallway in the back that led past a couple storerooms to the apartment Red lived in. He gave the storerooms a glance, just in case Red had a sudden urge to restock the sanitary napkin display, and wasn’t very surprised to find them unoccupied. He saw the door to Red’s apartment was open a crack like it never was and that cranked ominous up to sinister. The lingering sweat on his bones was chilling in the air conditioning, but that wasn’t the only reason a sudden shiver rattled him.

“red?” Stretch called weakly as he pushed open the door.

The living room was small with a ratty plaid sofa and a coffee table littered with beer cans and balled up chip bags, and standing in the center of it was a person who was not Red, not unless he got one hell of a growth spurt while Stretch was gone.

Once, Stretch would’ve just taken a shortcut out, right the hell to the Sheriff station down the road and never had he missed the skill more than when the guy-who-was-definitely-not-Red started to turn around. The instinct to teleport was still there even if the ability wasn’t, fizzling out with an aching pain right in the middle of his chest.

It was only a minor distraction and Stretch blundered over to grab a lamp from a side table, yanking the cord right out of the wall as he brandished it over his head like a club, yelling shrilly, “what the fuck are you doing in here?”

The guy turned around, looking back at him with deep crimson eye lights that flicked briefly up to the lamp before meeting his wild gaze. His voice was as smooth and dark as deep water as he stated coolly, “I believe that’s my question.”

Stretch could stare and the only coherent thought amongst the many tangled ones scrambling through his mind was only two words. Simple. Descriptive.

Oh, shit.

-tbc-

#spicyhoney #papcest #keelywolfe #underfell #underswap #underfell papyrus #underswap papyrus #underfell sans #underswap sans #welcome to backwater

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mail-me-a-snail · 4 years

Text

Sobriety

Chase Brody has been doing everything to combat his alcoholism; going to AA, therapy, being social, exercising...and yet it still isn’t enough. One afternoon, a year after his divorce, Jackie drives him home. tw: alcoholism, panic attacks, car accident ment, suicide ment.

"So, how was it?"

Chase shrugs, both to slide his backpack off and to answer. He puts the bag in the backseat, then twists back around to buckle himself in. Jackie, mask off and in a plain red hoodie and worn jeans, as opposed to his jumpsuit, sits in the driver's seat, fingers drumming against the wheel in sync with whatever metal is playing on the stereo, Chase doesn't know—he's too tired to go through the challenge of deciphering the lyrics. The chaotic banging of drums and rippling guitar riffs about sum up the state his head's at.

"It was fine," he says coolly, "I guess. Todd brought his guitar this time." Todd—Todd Danvers—being the head of the group. Great guy, might've made it as a part of the church ensemble, if he hadn't drunken so much wine like every meal was communion. Washed his face in the tub of holy water they have at the door, that's what Todd had told them all, that first day, when Chase was still having the shakes.

"What'd he sing?" Jackie glances over at him as he twists the key in the ignition. The car hums to life, and they pull out of the center's parking lot with a low rumble.

"Pretty cover of What Have They Done To You Know. Daniel Knox? Funny, you wouldn't think a guy like him would be into that kind of indie music."

Jackie laughs, though it's not as bubbly as Chase thought it would be. It's more like an exhale Jackie leans into.

There's no conversation that follows, so the clicking turn signal, honking cars passing by, and radio fill the silence. He's gotten better at his anxiety with cars. Chase picks at the neon bandages on his fingers—the story is that he tried rather unsuccessfully to build a shelf—nails, all that, you know—but that's not what happened.

Promise a man, a very wasted, high off his rocker man, a few hundred bucks and he just might cut his whole hand off for you. He'll play the knife game like a roulette wheel, spinning and spinning, until he hits the jackpot, or until he has no fingers.

Nicks for nickels, that's what his buddies down at the bar say. Nicks for nickels. Money isn't easy to come by lately and he doesn't want to have to depend on Jackie's or his brothers' help for the rest of his life. It isn't fair.

So, he works, doing odds and ends and stupid dares, because the companies in the city aren't hot on having a recovering alcoholic under their brand. We'll call you back. Your resume looks great, Mr. Brody, you'll be at the top of our list. You'll be a fine employee.

Ha. Right. Three weeks later? Not a single call, nor email. Nicks for nickels again those nights that followed.

"Where's your mind at, Chase?" Jackie says amiably, once they're on the long stretch of road heading towards the house. "What're you thinking about?"

"My shelf," Chase answers, trying his best to sound mournful, stretching his bandaged fingers out in front of him, "Hurt like a son of a bitch to put it together."

Jackie's mouth presses down into a flat line. He says nothing for a few moments. He changes the station. Something light and electric plays.

“You know, you could've called me," Jackie says eventually, when they've hit the chorus. "I'm a champ at furniture building. You should see Henrik's desk now; beautiful, if I do say so myself."

He may sound proud, but he's still frowning.

Chase picks at the hem of his ratty grey hoodie; he doesn't even remember where he got it.

"I handled Patricia myself," he shrugs.

"Patricia—the shelf has a name now?" That gets a laugh out of the hero, and Chase smiles a bit. Jackie's laugh had always been infectious. "Well, you did a fine job, in any case."

"You're right, though: I'm not as good as you and JJ at that furniture stuff," Chase admits, and cuts Jackie off before he can protest. "No, no, it's true. I've always been the tech guy."

"'suppose so," Jackie amends. He pauses, turns the radio down, then asks hesitantly, "Chase, how'd you hurt your hands?"

The lie comes instantly. "I told you, Jackie—Patricia fought me tooth and nails!"

"No, Chase, that's not what happened." Jackie's voice is firm, if not stern. It's a scolding tone of voice that only Henrik uses with Chase, so it makes him look away in guilt. "Please. Tell me what's really going on. If—If someone's hurting you, or something, I'll—"

"—No, Jackie, it's not like that! I..." Chase rises on the defense.

"Then, what is it, Chase?"

"It's none of your damn business!" He can't stop his voice from raising. He's quick to anger these days—an after affect of the drinking.

"I'm your brother!" He's still looking at the road. His grip is tight on the steering wheel. "Of course it's my damn fucking business! I'm worried about you Chase, and—"

"I don't need you to look after me!"

"Then, who will, Chase? Henrik? Marvin? Jamie? Fucking Robbie? If I don't look after you, you'll...you'll hurt yourself again and I can't let that happen!"

"I can handle myself."

"Clearly, you can't."

"Oh, because I'm a screw-up, is that it? I'm a nobody who isn't good at anything, who almost killed himself—"

"Stop it."

"—is that it, Jackie? Is it because I'm a suicidal disaster?"

"You know what?" Jackie punctuates, "Maybe that is it." Maybe you are a fucking screw-up."

The anger and disappointment in his voice is so raw it silences. He knows that this is just a row, but it still terrifies him, the way Jackie sounds so much like...Anti.

Blood rushes through his eardrums and it feels like he's about to burst. His heart runs a hundred miles a second and it hurts. He can feel his pulse behind his eyes, in his fingertips, in his mouth. Jackie disappears from his view as the edges of his version grow black.

He can't breathe.

Is this what a heart attack is?

The world shifting in and out of focus, like a bad camera, and the road disappearing, like the headlights were never there, like he isn't in a car again, barrelling down a street he can barely see, with the kids in the back, and God, Stacy, I know, okay? I know! Please, don't yell—please don't yell at me! I'm trying not to drink anymore—N-No, I'm not drunk— in the front seat, and his hands are gripping the steering wheel tight, and he is, in fact, drunk, so the world is swimming around him and, CHASE—!

The windshield shatters into a million pieces.

It happens so slowly Chase can touch the glass as it flies past him. He's in the driver's seat now. He looks to his right, and Stacy is there, beautiful Stacy, her face smacking into the dashboard. He looks down at himself. He's uninjured. He's wearing a ratty grey hoodie, red Converse, blue jeans. In his reflection in the rear view mirror, his brown hair has green strokes; he had done a poor dyeing job.

Chase closes his eyes.

"What is real?" His therapist's voice comes back to him, clinical and calm. In this moment, in this panic—ask yourself, "What is real and what isn't?"

He opens his eyes.

Real: He is uninjured.

Not real: Stacy and the kids are here at this moment.

“R-Real," he whispers, "I am in a car. Not real: it's S-Stacy's car." He looks around to the backseat, but can't bear to look at the kids. He keeps his gaze on the floor. "Real: m-my backpack is on the seat. Not r-real: the kids are here."

He dares to look up. His backpack is there, black and canvas, with multiple patches. It's half open. Inside are comic books and his laptop. He twists back around, staring head-on at the blank, empty road, like someone forgot to continue building the rest of the world. Either that or there is no world outside of this one car crash.

A car crash that happened all of two years ago. He's surprised that his other regular nightmare isn't here.

One night in March (it was now September), he had gotten a visit from their eldest brother. Chase had been drunk at the time, swearing and bawling, so when Anti showed up...Chase did the stupid thing: he took a swing at the demon, thinking he was going to take something else away from him. Of course, he didn't like that.

A scar, eight or nine inches deep, on his abdomen twitches. He puts a hand to it. That had been the night he swore off drinking, for good.

"Lots of good it did you."

Chase jumps, and screams when he catches two empty black pits staring at him intently from the rear view mirror. That voice. Speak of the damn devil and he shall appear.

"Y-You're not real," he says, voice cracking out of pure terror, "You a-aren't real!"

:Oh, I'm very real, Chase," Anti appears beside him in the passenger seat, clipping through Stacy, who's blood drips in slow motion. He is just as demonic as Chase remembers him; black, empty eyes that dripped like ink down his pale cheeks, all black attire, his Converse up on the dashboard, and the grossly shiny red gash across his neck. He almost looks like Jack, in a way.

"N-Not real, not real—"

"Say it all you want, Brody, but I am real. I've come to finish the job."

"W-What?"

"Hold still."

A hand closed around his neck, pushing him back, his head smacking into the car door. He cries out, arms lashing wildly and legs thrashing, but Anti isn't deterred. The knife glints above his head. The shards of glass reflect upon it, making it shimmer in all sorts of colors. The radio goes wild; static, static static, filling the world, making Chase's ears ring with its volume.

"D-Don't do this, please, God, fuck, don't—What do you want from me?!"

Anti smiles. His eyes turn grey-blue, white scleroses. His gash disappears.

He's a perfect reflection of Jack.

"Sobriety," he says, in Jack's achingly calm, innocent voice, "Is that too much to ask, Chase?"

"Fuck, no, no, please—!"

The knife comes down into his heart.

"Chase?"

Anti's...Jack's voice echoes in his ears. It sounds so far away.

Not real: Jack talking to him.

"Chase?"

Real: he's about to die.

"—CHASE!"

He jolts awake, panting for air like he had been drowning. His face, neck, and shirt are certainly wet; he's sweating bullets. His hands are shaking something awful. Chase swings his gaze around, trying to take in everything at once.

"No, Chase, please—l-look, look at me!" Hands touch his cheeks gently and he flinches. They return, directing his eyes forward. Jack...no, not Jack—the hair is a neon green...Jackie. Jackie looks at him in worry, blue-grey eyes looking over him. His touch is warm. His hands are shaking. He's got tears in his eyes, but his breaths are controlled. That's the Jackie he knows—never truly removing the mask.

"J...Jackie?" His heartbeat is still thumping wildly, but it's slowing down, as he can feel it in his jaw. His brain feels like molasses. "I don't...what..."

"I pulled over," Jackie drops his hands, but holds Chase's in both. "I didn't mean to call you that, I'm sorry!"

Chase blinks slowly. He looks out the windshield, unbroken, rain dropping in fat splats, the window wipers working overtime—when the hell had it started raining?—and they are pulled over. They're in front of a house he recognizes as being part of the neighborhood. They're not too far from home. The sun is setting, but the sky is too grey to tell where. The clouds are dark and stormy. People rush by the car and into their homes, some with umbrellas, others caught without.

"N-No, Jackie, it's...it's my fault. I shouldn't have yelled at you." His words come back to him and they fill him with shame.

"I shouldn't have gone off on you like that, either. I didn't...you're not a screw-up."

"I am." He shakes his head, tears blotting his eyes, drops falling onto his pants. He hiccups. "I'm s-such a fucking m-mess, Jackie."

The seatbelt unclips beside him and warm arms envelope him. He lets Jackie hug him, unclipping his own seatbelt. They stay there for a moment. Two.

Chase comes clean.

Nicks for nickels. The bar. His "friends."

Most importantly of all, the drinks. You don't go to a bar and not have a drink. He doesn't drink until he's blackout drunk anymore, but he drinks enough to be numb. He's relapsed. He was only able to slip in AA the following day after a strong shot of vodka and some breath mints. The whole session, he had been hammered by a hangover.

Jackie listens silently, but the weight of his disappointment bears down on Chase's shoulders like an anvil.

"Chase..." He starts, but the other shakes his head frantically.

“I know."

"You're not supposed to drink anymore."

"I know."

"I'll... I'll talk to Todd tomorrow, your therapist, too. They have to know about this."

"N-No, Jackie, I have to tell them myself." Having their disappointment on his mind would destroy him, but he needs just a little bit of control of what's happening. "But promise me one thing?"

"Anything."

Chase bites his lip.

"Don't t-tell the others." Jackie opens his mouth to protest. "No, Jackie, y-you have to promise me this. Not Henrik, Marvin, or any of the others...I don't want them to know about this. I don't w-want them to think I'm weaker than they already think I am. And I know they do. I know all of you do. And y-you're all right."

"You are not weak."

"I relapsed." Chase rubs his face with his palms. "It hasn't even been six months."

"Chase," Jackie says firmly, "Look at me."

When he does, hesitantly, the hero takes a breath.

"Chase Brody Mcloughlin, you are the strongest person I know," he starts, "because despite all you've been through, you are still here. You are still living and breathing and I know it hurts, but you are so incredibly brave for surviving. I am proud of you, even if you've relapsed. This road you're driving down, it's not an easy path. I don't have to tell you that for you to know. There'll be bumps and detours but...I'll always be here for you. We'll always be here. Anytime you need us. I'll help you get back on the road. I promise."

That is why Jackie is Chase's hero. Despite everything, anger and pain and injustice...he still manages to be kind.

Chase nearly starts bawling. He bites down on his knuckles and just nods. He can't say much, so Jackie turns the engine on.

"Let's go home."

They park near the sidewalk. The rain has lightened to a drizzle. The clouds are clearing. The stars are coming out. The lawn is wet with dew. The lights in the living room are on.

Chase feels sick looking at the house. His eyes and nose are stuffy and red and he has a headache coming on. He can't hide the fact that he's been crying. Years of dealing with Anti has trained his brothers to notice the smallest of details.

"Chase," Jackie murmurs, "if...if you are serious about being able to handle yourself, I...well, it was supposed to be a surprise, but there's this apartment in the city that I've saved. I haven't spent anything on it, but...if you want, I can help you get it. Contribute a little. The rest can be up to you. I'll help you get a job, even."

Chase looks at him, unsure. "Really?"

“Yeah. I know you've spent most of your life away from us and it's a bit of a shock to be caged in with us again, so..."

He loves them, but the house is stuffy. He misses his old apartment, but he had missed his brothers, too.

"Thanks, Jackie," he says, "I'll...I'll have to think about it."

"Okay. Take your time."

At dinner, no one suspects a thing.

Jamie fills him in on Robbie's garden—it's going smoothly, with beautiful, flowering succulents. For a zombie, it's no surprise he has a green thumb, he jokes, and Chase laughs.

Marvin teaches him a card trick, much to Henrik's disdain; no magic at the dinner table, he scolds them like a mother hen.

Jackie watches him from across the table. He can feel his gaze boring into his skull.

The dining room is warm and full of life. Chase isn't completely involved mentally, but he's enjoying the sounds of dinnerware and conversation. He's not sure what they're having for dinner, either, but it's good. He just feels so out of it because of the emotional roller-coaster that was today.

The prospect of having a new apartment and a stable job...it terrified him, because what would happen if he relapsed again?

He tries to still his hands when he drinks water.

"Goodnight, Chase," Jackie kisses the top of his head, then goes to the doorway of his room.

“Goodnight. Thanks, Jackie. For today."

Jackie smiles and says nothing. He shuts his door.

Chase goes into his room and closes the door behind him. The bed is messy, but he doesn't care. He slides right into it, tossing his phone onto the desk, and closing his eyes.

He feels the small grooves of scars along his fingers—he had finally taken off the bandages. More scars, more tallies. One on his abdomen, a few on his wrists...a bullet scar on his scalp. He doesn’t even have the gun anymore. Jackie had surrendered it to the police. He still feels the ghost sensation of cool metal on his palm.

He sits up and crosses the hall, knocking softly on Jackie's door.

"Come in," the hero's voice floats from behind it. He opens the door.

Jackie is lying on his bed in his somehow neat room, with a shelf full of comic books arranged by series and brand. His hoodie is slung over the back of his desk chair. He looks up from his phone when Chase stands in the doorway.

"What's up, Chase?" He asks, eyebrows raised.

Chase shuffles his feet.

"Can I...can I bunk with you tonight? It's just that I, I can't stop thinking about it all, and I'm...I'm scared."

"It's no problem, buddy," Jackie's expression softens, and he moves over, patting the space beside him. "Come 'ere."

Chase settles in, hesitantly, putting his head on Jackie's chest. He can hear the hero's heartbeat and breath. It's a comforting sound.

"Thank you," Chase whispers.

"Anything for my little brother," Jackie smiles. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

He's terrified of building a new life for himself because if he relapses it will all come crashing down again. He doesn't know if he can handle that.

But he has to try.

As much as it hurts, he has to. If not for himself, for Henrik, Marvin, Jamie, Robbie...and Jackie.

For Jack.

It's what he would've wanted.

And that’s what makes his relapse so crushing.

#writersofjack #jacksepticeye #antisepticeye #chase brody #jackieboy man #jbm #fanfiction #fanfic #suicide ment #alcoholism tw #mine #my writing #this one was a DOOOOZIE

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iicewitch · 4 years

Text

☀️ cult of dionysus

a playlist for my friend caz link to playlist: here tracklist and favorite lyrics below

1. only as good as my god - everything everything And on the steps of my church There, I'm chasing down a red girl with my hooves upon a- Ooh - Wild Ooh - Child If they crawl out of the mud Wash them away in a flood I'm only as good as my god Burnt hair and more money 2. disciples - captain murphy Don't you want devoted followers? Who leave their families for you Give their money to you Give their bodies to you Give up their lives for you Consider you God, and will kill for you Don't you want to become a cult leader? Since the death of God there has been a vacancy open You can fill that void, here is how 3. dionysus - bts Just get drunk like Dionysus Drink in one hand, Thyrsus on the other Art splashing inside this clear crystal cup Art is alcohol too, if you can drink it, you'll get drunk fool I'm now in front of the door to the world The cheers I hear when I get up on stage Can’t you see my stacked broken thyrsus At last I’m reborn 4. good hand - turbowolf And I say No pain, no gain That's the mantra I'm repeating No sun, no rain That's the mantra I'm repeating No pain, no gain, no sun, no No pain, no gain, no sun, no rain 5. addicted to love - robert palmer Your lights are on, but you're not home Your will is not your own You're heart sweats and teeth grind Another kiss and you'll be mine 6. cult of dionysus - the orion experience Or start a secret society for the wild and free Our ideology is "You can do what you want Too much is never enough" We are the Life, we are the light We are the envy of the Gods above 7. hitting on all sevens - lyndon smith Make of me a subject caste Pressed and kept beneath thy glass Every heart thy sent in heaven Always hitting on all sevens One by one as ordered Flank to flank and facing forward Hanging by the word In chapter, verse and sentence heard 8. touch tone telephone - lemon demon Don't hang up yet, I'm not done I'm an expert, I'm the one The one who was right all along Better to be laughed at than wrong I'm an expert in my field UFOlogy, yes, it's all real Ancient aliens, it's all true I'm an expert just like you 9. sundial - lemon demon Don't mind me, I've just got some problems to work out I'm only passing through or maybe just right out Somehow something set my sundial backwards tilted and upside-down Now the shadow hand is pointing time right out of town I don't remember what it is that I just said to you I've got Anubis on my back and something in my shoe 10. mother’s talk - tears for fears It's not that you're not good enough It's just that we can make you better Given that you pay the price We can keep you young and tender Following in the footsteps of a funeral pyre You were paid not to listen now your house is on fire 11. light up the night - the protomen There is a city that this darkness can't hide. There are the embers of a fire that's gone out, But I can still feel the heat on my skin. This mess we're in, well you and I, Maybe you and I, We can light up the night. 12. pure morning - placebo A friend in need's a friend indeed, A friend who'll tease is better, Our thoughts compressed, Which makes us blessed, And makes for stormy weather, 13. aspiring fires - mother mother Baby, so you think you know crazy I think you know what you know, But what you know you don't know for sure A little advice for aspiring fires You'll get put out if you don't get a little wild Try again, try again, it ain't right You don't got the due diligence to lose your mind You're not getting it right 14. oh ana - mother mother I'll play god I'll play god I'll play god I'll play god today Ante up and play that god a poker game Walk away with all our little God's spare change Playing this god it can't be good for— Ana's safety, Ana hear me ! 15. this devil’s workday - modest mouse So I ate the wedding cake 'til the whole damn thing was gone. And I'm gonna drown the ocean. Now ain't none o' that so wrong? I could buy myself a reason. I could sell myself a job. I could hang myself on treason. Oh I am my own damn god. Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha 16. kiss me son of god - they might be giants I look like Jesus, so they say But Mr. Jesus is very far away Now you're the only one here who can tell me if it's true That you love me and I love me And a world screams, "Kiss me, Son of God" Yes a world screams, "Kiss me, Son of God" 17. personal jesus - depeche mode Take second best Put me to the test Things on your chest You need to confess I will deliver You know I'm a forgiver 18. charlie’s inferno - that handsome devil Catch you later, I'm off to see the man upstairs They all look like ants from here Stars and crystal chandeliers Excuse me, sir! There must be someone you've confused me for If I could see someone who knew me or someone in uniform I go to church on sunday, truly, usually more! Screaming at the angels while they pushed him through the door! 19. old 45s - chromeo Don't wanna settle Or didn't you get the memo You only get a date if you're walking in stilettos This is enough to drive you mad If you think romance is dead and gone Find an old jukebox full of 45's Pop a nickel in it and it all comes back 20. down at the midnight rectory - ted neeley Down, down, down at the midnight rectory! With jiggle juice frisking under the marquee! The peacocks are strutting behind velvet ropes, Sipping away on their heavenly dope. Gimme two alleluia's and an amen! 21. elevate - dj khalil Can't stop me, can't break me (can't break) What don't kill me, gon' make me (gon' make) Shoot for the stars, no safety (no safety) And now I see clear in HD 'Cause I win, over and over again Battlin' evil, I'm hopin' to win Fightin' my demons, I'm nice for a reason Enticed with the bleedin', I'm showin' my sins 22. come along - cosmo sheldrake We'll dance and sing 'til sundown And feast with abandon We'll sleep when the morning comes And we'll rise by the sound of the birdsongs We'll be here when the world slows down And the sunbeams fade away Keeping time by a pendulum As the fabric starts to fray 23. just one yesterday - fall out boy I thought of angels Choking on their halos Get them drunk on rose water See how dirty I can get them Pulling out their fragile teeth And clip their tiny wings If heaven's grief brings hell's rain Then I'd trade all my tomorrows for just one yesterday 24. church - fall out boy And if death is the last appointment Then we're all just sitting in the waiting room I am just a human trying to avoid my certain doom If you were church, yeah I'd get on my knees Confess my love, I'd know where to be My sanctuary, you're holy to me 25. beast dance - kurage p Cast aside your humanity, before you have to grovel on the ground, being at the bottom of society. You want to be loved? In that case, come on. ”Roar roar roar roar roar roar” Inside the cage, ‘kay? 26. black and white - MASA Pour the gospel echoing through the world into your glass. Black&White! Practice your faith through shots and prayers. Open the bottle. Black&White! 27. sister’s mercy - hitoshizuku-p Jesus!! Pray and pray Believer, if you demand for salvation Oh Yeah!! Then pay up more and more for this Bright Red, now! Cheers!! Pour and pour When you’ve filled your stomach with this bright Red, Aa! All your wishes will come true 28. inferno pt. 2 - the buttress The depth of my breadth is unmet I'm becoming unraveled on the road less traveled I know Jesus wept But I abhor the Lord Fell on my sword Forever slept 29. let’s just live - casey lee williams Let's just live Just one day Let's forget about our problems Let's fall in love with life And just be free The sun will never fade The night won't steal our day Let's dance and laugh and love And let's just live 30. ignite - casey lee williams Fool, you shouldn't stare into these eyes of fire You're goin' to regret this little fight You don't wanna mess with me, I'm something higher You'll watch yourself suffer You'll watch me ignite 31. god’s gonna cut you down - johnny cash Well you may throw your rock and hide your hand Workin' in the dark against your fellow man But as sure as God made black and white What's down in the dark will be brought to the light 32. royals - lorde Let me be your ruler (Ruler) You can call me queen bee And baby, I'll rule (I'll rule, I'll rule, I'll rule) Let me live that fantasy 33. you should see me in a crown - billie eilish Count my cards, watch them fall Blood on a marble wall I'm gonna run this nothing town Watch me make 'em bow One by one by, one One by one by You should see me in a crown 34. rev 22:20 - puscifer Pray til I go blind (Pray) Pray cause no one ever survives Prayin' to stay in her arms just to die longer Satyrs and saints, devils and heathens and lies 35. this must be the place - talking heads Home, is where I want to be But I guess I'm already there I come home, she lifted up her wings I guess that this must be the place I'm just an animal looking for a home and Share the same space for a minute or two And you love me till my heart stops Love me till I'm dead 36. razzle dazzle - richard gere Give 'em the old razzle dazzle Razzle Dazzle 'em Give 'em an act with lots of flash in it And the reaction will be passionate Give 'em the old hocus pocus Bead and feather 'em How can they see with sequins in their eyes? 37. you’ll be back - jonathan groff You say our love is draining and you can't go on You'll be the one complaining when I am gone And no, don't change the subject 'Cause you're my favorite subject My sweet, submissive subject My loyal, royal subject Forever and ever and ever and ever and ever 38. no light, no light - florence and the machine No light, no light in your bright blue eyes I never knew daylight could be so violent A revelation in the light of day You can't choose what stays and what fades away 'Cause it's so easy, To say it to a crowd But it's so hard, my love, To say it to you out loud 39. shiny happy people - r.e.m Meet me in the crowd, people, people Throw your love around, love me, love me Take it into town, happy, happy Put it in the ground where the flowers grow Gold and silver shine Shiny happy people holding hands Shiny happy people holding hands Shiny happy people laughing 40. a good song never dies - saint motel There was a moment, a hole opened in the sky A chance to join that pantheon For all the times they never heard your battle cry Now be an angel, sing along 'Cause a good song never dies It just reminds you of where you were The first time it made you cry The first time you felt alive 41. king of the clouds - panic at the disco Some only live to die, I'm alive to fly higher Than angels in outfields inside of my mind I'm ascendin' these ladders, I'm climbin', say goodbye This old world, this old world I don't trust anything Or anyone, below the sun I don't feel anything At all 42. battle for the sun - placebo I, I, I will battle for the sun, sun, sun, sun And I, I, I, I am the bones you couldn't break Break, break, break, break, break, break, break 43. walk like an egyptian - the bangles All the school kids so sick of books They like the punk and the metal band When the buzzer rings (oh whey oh) They're walking like an Egyptian All the school kids so sick of books They like the punk and the metal band When the buzzer rings (oh whey oh) They're walking like an Egyptian 44. credens justitiam - yuriko kaida and eri itoh Free, they are With no malice they sing quietly And they told me that my song was louder/lighter Their song Releases the day of all malice I want to be like them And my mind (their minds are) Free 45. 99.9 - mob choir The protagonist of this stage is me Cryin' my life, cryin' my psyche Cryin' my heart in such commonplaces Is this my ideal? Is this my mind? Ahh, I’m looking for the answer ! 46. cruel angels thesis - yoko takahasi But someday you will notice On those shoulders of yours There are strong wings To guide you to the far future. If there is any meaning In the fate that pulled us together, Then I am, yes, the Bible That teaches you of freedom. A cruel angel's thesis And then sorrow comes forth 47. peace and love on the planet earth - zach callison I guess we're already here I guess we already know We've all got something to fear We've all got nowhere to go I think you're all insane! But I guess I am too Is there anything that's worth more? Is there anything that's worth more? Is there anything that's worth more Than peace and love on the planet Earth? 48. now we can see - the thermals We were born in the desert We were reared in a cave We conquered in the sun but we lived in the shade We were born on an island we grew out of the sand Never saw another creature never knew another man 49. love today - mika I said Everybody's gonna love today Gonna love today, gonna love today I said Everybody's gonna love today Gonna love today Anyway you want to, anyway you've got to Love, love me, love, love me, love, love 50. where is my mind? - the pixies With your feet on the air and your head on the ground Try this trick and spin it, yeah Your head will collapse If there's nothing in it And you'll ask yourself .. Where is my mind? Where is my mind?

#gene's playlists

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betterdaysareatoenailaway · 4 years

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An Ode to Payphones

“Mommy, what’s that?” I looked. A child was glaring suspiciously at the payphone I’d been using moments before. He looked to be six or seven-years old, so it shouldn’t have been surprising that he’d never seen or noticed a public telephone before, but still. The question, and the palpable disgust in his voice, made me feel old. “That’s a payphone, honey.” “What’s it for?” The mother cast an apprehensive look my way. We were on the platform at Spadina station and she’d seen me on the phone, plugging my ear against the shattering noise of a subway pulling in, making arrangements to meet my heroin dealer John at our usual spot at Main and Danforth. I would have to call him again when I got there, either from one of the four payphones inside Main Street station or on one of the two phones outside the church at Danforth. The phones inside Main Station must have all been routed through one line, because they either all worked, or none did.

As for the two phones outside the church at Main and Danforth, typically one was broken, but they both worked when I went to check them for this article, a miracle perhaps attributable to the Second Coming of Christ on the roof.

There have been long spells throughout my life as an addict during which I’ve had no mobile phone. Every spare cent went to heroin. The longest such spell was nearly a year. Several spanned three or four months. So it’s safe to say I know the payphones of Toronto as well as anybody else. One of my old heroin dealers lived near Roncesvalles and Howard Park, where a non-Bell phone sat outside the Meridian Bank on the northeast corner, crooked and somehow wounded looking.

There’s no trace of it now, but I know there used to be one just north, on the other side of the street where Dundas splits eastward from Roncesvalles. I used to use it all the time. Luckily, there’s another one not twenty steps east, a Bell, just outside the bus stop east of the Starbucks at Dundas and Roncesvalles. I’ve fed that phone a lot of Loonies, cursing its curious inability to recognize nickels or dimes.

My Roncesvalles dealer was notoriously unreliable, so I often found myself having to take the College car all the way across the city to its eastern terminus at Main Station. While waiting on that corner for John I would commiserate with my fellow drug users, many of whom lacked phones themselves. The most popular complaint I heard was how hard it was getting to find a public phone. Apparently some neighbourhoods in Toronto are payphone deserts. You can walk for twenty minutes in any direction and not find one. So I’m going to see how many phones there are within a five minute radius of my apartment. My guess would be at least eight. Maybe ten. I’m about to get evicted, but I’ve lived in Kensington Market at Nassau and Bellevue since February 2017, which is a veritable payphone oasis. It’s too cold to go out tonight, so I’m going to take a virtual tour of my neighbourhood and take screenshots of every phone I find from Google Street View. Yes, the photos look pretty lo-fi but my whole life is lo-fi, so sue me. Here’s a no-name one just north of Dundas on Bathurst:

Here’s one just south of Oxford on Augusta:

There are two Bell phones just outside Nirvana, across from Sneaky Dee’s:

There’s one outside the church one block east of Bathurst at Lippincot and College:

Here’s another no-name phone one block west of Spadina on the south side of College:

And here’s a bank of payphones outside the internet cafe at Spadina and College:

All three of the above phones never work at the same time, and some days you’re lucky to find one operational. (Incidentally, if someone ever reads this post a century from now, or maybe I mean a decade, or maybe I mean reads this post at all, I wonder how quaint the term “payphones outside the internet cafe” will seem.) Here’s one more non-Bell phone, just to the west of the Scotiabank on the northwest corner of Dundas and Spadina. This phone has great personal significance for me, for a reason I can’t get into. Let’s just say I made a phone call on it during a very memorable moment in my life:

For those of you not counting, that’s ten phones all within a five minute walk of my apartment in Kensington. There are another three are in the lobby of Toronto Western Hospital, for thirteen total. Thirteen is a lot more than I expected. Especially in 2020. And I’m sure I’m missing a few. Maybe payphones aren’t as endangered as they seem. In fact, as I was taking the photograph at the top of this post, a woman came over to me and asked, “are you using the phone?” So they definitely still serve a purpose. They wouldn’t still be there if nobody was using them. A capitalist venture like Bell doesn’t keep phones around because the CEO is nostalgic. I’m kind of relieved at how many there still are, and how vital they still seem to be. Still, I have mixed feelings toward payphones. They annoy me, but I also like them for reasons I can’t explain. I like invisible infrastructure. Nobody notices payphones. Ask yourself where the nearest payphone is. Do you even know? They may be forgotten or disliked, but they’re dependable, standing tall at their lonely outposts through sleet and rain, day and night, as we cuddle up with our smartphones in the warmth of our homes. We’ve left payphones out in the cold and most of us don’t even miss them. I have a mobile phone now, but I still miss payphones. Or maybe I miss the days when they were a normal way to communicate, phone books slung around their waists, swinging on a chain. (Some time in the last decade, phone companies must have got tired of replacing the books nobody ever used and just got rid of them entirely. I guess they figured we could look up the numbers we need on...our mobile phones?) Yes, there’s a definite note of nostalgia among people who still use payphones. We’re all bitter about the great price jump of 2007, when calls went from twenty-five cents to fifty, an increase of one-hundred percent. If you’re of my generation, old enough to remember life before the internet, then you know that payphones are sad remainders of the technology we grew up with, a visible reminder of the 90s. It’s my firm belief that everybody suffers from chronic temporal sickness for the decade they grew up in. I can imagine a day when they only exist in museums and photographs. Maybe I’ll go to watch the last phone get decommissioned. Maybe I’ll only love payphones once I can never use one again, like the Once-ler becoming an environmentalist only after hearing the “thwack” that felled the last Truffula tree in Dr. Suess’ The Lorax. I feel this way even though payphones are often more a hassle than a convenience. I once spent half an hour outside the Eaton Centre on Queen Street waiting for a woman to finish her conversation, only to find the phone broken when she finally hung up. Her wild gesticulations should have tipped me off that she’d been screaming at a phantom, but I was too dopesick to notice. There were and are other cons to payphone usage. It wasn’t always easy to come up with the necessary exact change. Or sometimes you’d have exact change but the phone wouldn’t recognize one of your coins. For whatever reason, payphones have a really hard time reading dimes. Many times I’ve had just enough to make one call but the phone won’t cooperate and I’ve had to throw myself at the mercy of a local convenience store owner or random bystander. Maybe “can I use your phone?” was an innocuous question back in the day, but nowadays people immediately suspect you for asking and they really, really do not want to loan you their phone. I don’t blame them. Our phones contain our entire lives. It’s not the same as handing someone a few quarters. Despite all the long list of cons, there remains among my fellow payphone users a keen sense of loss. We’re all grieving something indefinable, something that went away with the advent of mobile phones. And I’m not leading up to a gripe about “kids these days on their phones.” As an avid reader, I usually bury my nose in a book when I’m on transit, so I don’t beseech people to “live in the moment” when they’re sitting on a bus. Being a passenger on the TTC for the thousandth time isn’t something that requires one’s undivided attention. I only get annoyed when I see some guy – and it’s always a guy – staggering down the sidewalk with his eyes glued to his phone, walking into people. Or walking into traffic. The feelings of wistfulness among payphone users grows more acute as the years roll on and more and more public telephones are yanked from their moorings, never to return. The sense of loss sometimes manifests itself in the passing down of legend. When I first heard the story, it was that there exists somewhere in the city of Toronto a payphone that still makes calls for a quarter. I was convinced it was the one just east of University on Dundas, south side of the street, just east of the Royal Bank. It just looks so fucking furtive. Like it’s hiding from the tourist hordes at Yonge and Dundas square, tucked around that corner:

I went to check that phone for this article but it doesn’t work at all, much less for half price. In an apt game of telephone about telephones, the legend grew. Only a few months after I first heard the Legend of the Half-Price Payphone, the story had morphed into a unicorn payphone that makes calls for free. People were arguing over which one it could be, though admittedly nobody had ever found it. It was like the leprechaun’s pot of gold. “It’s the one outside the mall at Kingston and Midland. The one with the Scotiabank!” “Naw it’s the payphone at Warden Station! Next to the donut shop!” “It’s the one at Yonge and Charles!” “What? They took that one out before 9/11.” “It’s the one in Yorkdale near the GO Station!” “Seriously bro. Pre-9/11. You’re memory is fucked, bro.” “My cousin’s in the Hell’s Angels. He can sell you a burner for $5. Why use a payphone when you can get a…” “No one cares about your cousin, Dwight.” “Pre-9/11 bro. Seriously. Yonge and Charles? Christ!” And on and on and on, into the night. I have a mobile phone now and it’s hard to imagine I’ll ever go back. The final straw came when I had to go up to Muskoka one summer for four days to work on a cottage. I missed my partner so much by the third day that I walked up and down the length of the lake, looking for a payphone. I probably had a better chance of spotting a lion, but there was no way I was going back to that cottage without talking to my wife. I missed her too fucking much. At the end of the lake I spotted a house with the garage door wide open. Inside the garage there was a workbench, a fridge, and all sorts of tools. On a hunch, I quietly made my way up the gravel driveway. There wasn’t a human being in sight. Inside the garage, I spotted a wall-mounted phone, and called my wife. She didn’t answer but I left her a message. As I was leaving it I heard footsteps and before I could make myself scarce an elderly lady came around the corner and stared at me. She obviously lived there. “Um. I was just…leaving,” I said, hanging up the phone and sheepishly skipping back to the main road as fast as I could. The woman frowned after me, watching me go. A little further down the road I saw an electrician working on a house and asked to use his phone. He said yes and I finally got through to my wife. But I couldn’t talk long or say what I wanted to say because the electrician was staring at me, so I determined right there and then to get and keep a fucking phone of my own. And that’s what I did. I sometimes pay my bill late and find myself cast backward into the land of payphones and useless dimes, but for the most part I’ve joined the 21st century. As for that mother and her child, the mother did her best, to her credit. “Some people…can’t afford cell phones,” she informed her son, who looked bored already. “Or else they can’t get coverage on the subway, so they use one of these. Or in emergencies, they work for emergencies.” “What kind of person can’t afford a phone?” the child brayed incredulously. The mother looked embarrassed. I wasn’t. Let her stupid kid hate payphones and poor people. Most people do. I rarely use payphones now but I still get a small shiver of curiosity when I pass one I haven’t seen before, wondering if it’s the legendary free one. The unicorn. The white whale of public telephones. So I check. And I hear “please insert fifty cents” from the robotic lady voice that rules payphone land. Then I move on.

#betterdaysareatoenailaway #odetopayphones

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scourgewins · 4 years

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(Sorry I haven’t posted anything in awhile! I keep getting ideas for new stories, halfway finishing them, then starting another, then halfway finishing it, and I think you get the picture. Anyway, I wanted to write something for the holiday season that introduced some headcanons of ours. Be warned, there’s a lot of talk of religion in here and some mentions of antisemitism, along with some satanic stuff. Nothing too specific is mentioned, but if your sensitive to these sort of things you’d best not read this. This is meant to be a sort of fluffy piece, but it gets a bit serious at points. I’m really nervous about this story! I hope you like it if you feel comfortable reading it!)

(Warnings: Mentions of religion, mentions of satanism, mentions of antisemitism (none of it is too explicit))

Thunk… Thunk… Thunk...

Bendy frowned, pulling his blanket closer around himself.

Thunk… Thunk… Thunk...

He cracked one pie eye open and stared blearily about his surroundings.

Thunk… Thunk… Thunk...

Sighing, Bendy sat up and banged the wall, “Quit it, willya? I’m tryna sleep!”

The noise abruptly stopped, then the door handle twisted and Wally poked his head inside Joey’s office, a hammer in hand. He caught sight of Bendy in his makeshift bed in the corner, “Whoops! Sorry, Bendy! I’m just putting up Christmas decorations!”

Bendy’s glare turned confused, “Chris-what?”

“Christmas! You know, jingle bells and all that.”

When Bendy looked still more confused, it was Wally’s turn to frown.

“Didn’t Joey ever explain Christmas to you?”

“No,” Bendy considered, “But he did say we put up decorations for birthdays. Is it a birthday?”

“No- Well actually, yeah, it is.” Wally looked to be thinking intensely, “It’s gotta do with religion, I think.”

The little devil tilted his head, “What’s that?”

“It’s… Well, it’s… what you believe in.” Wally nodded succinctly, seeming to enjoy that for once he knew more than someone else.

“What does Christmas believe in?” Bendy leaned forward, his irritation at being woken up dissipating.

“Well, people who celebrate Christmas believe in-”

Suddenly someone was screaming in the hallway outside the door. Wally glanced back outside in alarm.

“Joey? What’s-”

“Don’t say anything!” Joey streaked into the room, his wild green eyes fixating on Bendy. He fell to his knees and held the living cartoon by the shoulders, looking him over.

“Are you okay, Bendy?” Bendy was surprised by his creator’s panic.

“I’m fine, Joey! What’s wrong?”

Joey let out a relieved sigh and slumped against the wall, “I should have warned everyone earlier…”

“Warned us about what?”

Joey’s gaze flicked to Wally and he glared, “You can’t talk about that stuff around Bendy!”

Wally looked both chastened and puzzled, “Sorry! I didn’t know… whatever I said was bad.”

Bendy heard more footsteps running down the hallway and looked up to see Henry burst in.

“Is everything alright? Why were you screaming?”

“He,” Joey pointed accusingly at the janitor, “Was about to tell Bendy about religious stuff.”

Henry’s eyes widened, “Oh.”

Bendy was becoming increasingly annoyed, “What is religion?!”

Sighing, Henry came to sit beside Joey and Bendy, “It’s not something we can talk about with you. You’re… uh…”

Joey helped out, “You were created with powers very opposite of certain religions, so we can’t talk about them with you or you might, well, burst into flames or something.”

“What?!” Bendy and Wally cried at the same time.

“But you can still celebrate the commercial side!” Joey added in an effort to calm them, “You can still put up tinsel and eat snowman cookies-”

“Wally almost killed me!” Bendy screamed, ignoring Joey.

“I didn’t know!” Wally suddenly looked like he was going to cry.

Henry hastened to intervene, “We should have warned both of you earlier! We didn’t know Wally was going to start putting up decorations today.”

“But I told Joey yesterday!” Wally said.

Joey frowned, “No, you didn’t!”

“I asked you and you said ‘Go ahead’!”

“Well I wasn’t paying attention, so you can’t blame me for that!”

“Everyone calm down!” Henry held up placating hands, “The important thing is Bendy is safe. We should inform everyone not to talk about the religious aspect of Christmas or any religious stuff in general in the studio.”

“I can do it!” Wally held up an eager hand, clearly wanting to get back on their good side. He raced out of the room, nearly careening into the doorway.

Henry sighed and leaned his head back against the wall. Bendy looked up at him, clutching his blankets for comfort.

“Sorry, Bendy.” the animator said, moving closer to wrap an arm around him, “We should have been more careful.”

“Yeah…” Joey agreed.

Bendy looked at both of his dads and tried for a nonchalant shrug, “It’s okay, I guess. I didn’t burn up or anything.”

Henry shivered, “Thank goodness.”

Bendy was silent for awhile, enjoying the attention, letting it sooth him. Henry and Joey seemed reluctant to leave his side, seeing as how last time they weren’t there Bendy had nearly went up in smoke.

The cartoon demon decided the silence had gone on long enough, “Can I help with the decorations?”

“Of course!” Joey exclaimed, “We aren’t putting any religious ones up. You can help with the wreaths and mistletoe and such.”

Bendy nodded, pretending to know what those were. A thought struck him as he sat there.

“Do you guys have religion?”

Joey shrugged, “I have satanism.”

Henry looked balefully at Joey, “I don’t think it’s quite that extreme.”

“Call it what you will, I like summoning things.” Joey gestured to Bendy as proof.

The animator shook his head and turned back to Bendy, “I have a religion, I guess, though I don’t practice it as avidly as I used to.”

“What is it?”

Henry hesitated, not sure how much he could say, “It doesn’t involve Christmas. I actually celebrate another holiday around this time of year.”

“Are we putting decorations for that up?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Why not?”

“It’s not quite as popular as Christmas,” Henry said, “And there aren’t as many decorations.”

“Why’s it not as popular as Christmas?”

“Um, well...” He shared a glance with Joey, “People don’t like it as much.”

“But it’s all religion, right, even if it’s not Christmas.”

“Yes, but some religions don’t mix well with others.”

Bendy stared in awe, “Will you burst into flames, too?”

Henry gave a tight smile, “Not quite.”

Now Bendy was confused, “But religion is what you believe in, right? And since you’re a good person, what you believe in has to be good, too. So why would anyone not like what you believe in?”

“That’s a very loaded question, Bendy,” Henry replied, “But your line of thinking is very refreshing.”

Bendy didn’t understand what that meant and didn’t comment.

“I’m gonna go help Wally decorate.” he decided. Joey brightened.

“Great! Maybe I’ll join you two after I take care of some things.” Joey stood up and lifted Bendy from his bed. Bendy protested the action though secretly enjoyed being held. It made him feel tall, despite the fact that Joey was very short.

Joey set him down and walked over to his desk as Henry began to get to his feet. Bendy held his hand out.

“Need a hand, old man?” he grinned.

Henry chuckled, “Sure.”

He grasped Bendy’s gloved hand and was immediately yanked to his feet by the cartoon’s surprising strength.

“I always forget about that.” Henry said, adjusting his tie.

“Come on!” Bendy led him out, “We can both help Wally! And afterwards maybe I can come to your house so we can decorate for your holiday, too!”

“I don’t really have any decorations.”

“Oh, well, whatever you do have we can do that.”

Henry smiled, suddenly much brighter than he’d been a few seconds ago.

They found Wally setting up mistletoe in the front hallway. Henry helped hold his ladder steady, though the janitor still managed to fall and landed right into Bendy’s outstretched arms. The three continued to help decorate until Henry had to get back to work. Later, Henry and Bendy - joined by Boris and Alice, who also wanted to come - would drive to Henry’s house under the cover of night. Henry would rummage in his closet until he found a small, cylindrical item with a pointed end that allowed it to spin, then take some pennies and nickels from a drawer. The four of them would gather around his small kitchen table and begin a game.

Only Henry could touch the spinning item, though, so the cartoons wouldn’t get burned.

#Bendy and the Ink Machine #BATIM #Bendy the Dancing Demon #Henry Stein #Joey Drew #Wally Franks #Writing Entity #TW Religion #TW Antisemitism Mention #TW Satanism

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arazialotis · 5 years

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Winchesters & Co. - Part 3

Pairing: Dean × Reader

Word Count: Around 2050

Summary: When most people run away, they join the circus; but the Winchester boys were running from it. They wanted more than their father’s business; a paranormal circus of horror and delight. Dean Winchester thought he would never step foot here again but John’s death obliged him to return. Now that he’s back, the only thing that may tempt him to stay is you. The girl with white hair and a gift to see the future. Part 1 Part 2

Warnings: Fluff

----

Seventeen felt so long ago. Recalling it felt like waking up in the morning with a ray of sunshine already warming your chest. It was wild and carefree. You had fully grown into your role of fortune teller. The sad or angry customers no longer frightened you. You had even suggested to John reading his fortune which he seemed to like a little too much. But seventeen held much more than business endeavors. It held your first and only kiss; with none other than the infamous lady-killer, Dean Winchester.

By seventeen, Dean Winchester had experienced numerous first kisses; with customers, traveling acts, daughters of rich investors. He didn’t discriminate, anyone was game, everyone but you. Perhaps it was the brotherly-sisterly bond that you shared, or Dean still feared your white hair. Whatever it was, you envied his flirtatiousness and rivaled for his attention.

Childhood still clung to your late teenage years as you and he still wandered the fields and forest. Yet Dean couldn’t figure out your silent infatuation with the blades of wheat over a conversation with him.

His deep sigh prompted your response. “Where were you last night?” You accused still focused picking the grains of one by one. “You said you would be there when I read the governor’s fortune.”

Dean chuckled to himself recalling. “Perhaps you should ask his wife.” You scoffed in response, throwing the wheat aside and hitting his shoulder.

“It was only a kiss.” He defended with a devilish grin.

You went from shock back to pouting. “I’ve never been kissed.” Dean remained silent. “Probably never will be since the only people I interact with are you and customers who think I’m some freak.”

“Hey!” Dean cut you off. “Don’t talk like that. You are not a freak.” You rolled your eyes. “I’d kiss you.” He continued as you tsked. “But if you read that future, I’m sure it’d lead to me getting punched in the arm.”

“I wouldn’t punch you.” You went back to examining the grass.

Dean leaned in closer. “Does that mean I can kiss you?”

You looked back to him, closer to his lips than you had ever been before. Almost as if there was a magnetic force pulling you in. But your laughed cut you off and you flopped down to the ground.

“I want to be kissed by someone who loves me.” You sighed watching the clouds pass by.

The sky became blocked by Dean’s grinning face as he rolled over you, pinning you to the ground. “I love you, Moonchild.”

You playfully pounded against his chest. “Like a sister.” You added.

He licked his lips, while looking at yours. “Not right now.”

You blushed. “Ay, this ain’t love, this is raging hormones.”

“What’s the difference?” He countered.

Staring up back at him you were losing your excuses. “Haven’t you kissed enough girls?”

He leaned in closer, mere inches away from your lips. “There’s only one girl I’m concerned with now.”

Finally you gave in and lifted up to meet his mouth. For a brief moment, your world went white, not from fortune reading, but from a pure spark of flames raging inside your chest. Dean bounded up from the shock. You stayed paralyzed, staring up at the sky.

“You actually did it!” Dean laughed, leaping up in the air. “I can’t believe it! You just kissed me! No way in a million years would I have thought...”

“Shut up.” You breathed heavily. “I guess it wasn’t all that bad. But for all the practice you’ve had I expected a bit more.” You finally stood up as you teased.

Dean inched closer to you with a sly smirk on his face. “You thought that was it? I’m just getting started.”

“You’ll have to catch me first!” You swished your hips back and forth. Dean bit his lip before he charged. You ran away from him squealing in delight.

****

It was near twilight as you headed there now. Butterflies flipped in your stomach recalling the memories. A picnic basket filled with bread, cheeses, jams and wine swung in your arm. Approaching the twin oaks at the edge of the circus, your pace slowed. Your free hand caressed the tree’s rough bark as you looked out over the path that led to the outside world. A soft whistle broke your concentration. Following the noise, you could see Dean’s silhouette pacing the field. A smile filled your heart.

WIthout saying a word, you sat down in the grass next to him, placing the basket’s contents onto a woven cloth. You handed Dean a small wooden goblet filled with spiced wine you purchased from the witch Celeste. It warmed you down to your very soul.

Spreading some jam and fresh butter over a slice of bread, you found the courage to speak hoping to know Dean’s intentions for the night. “Have you done much kissing since seventeen?”

He never did quite lose that boyish grin. He used a pocket knife to slice of a piece of apple and popped it in his mouth while chewing over an answer. “There has rarely been a time with another when someone else’s kiss hasn’t come to mind.”

You laughed. “If that’s a regular line Dean Winchester, I believe the number is too high to count.”

He looked into your eyes. “I’ve only used that line once.”

You shook your head and pressed your lips together. The sky grew darker and the crickets’ songs began. After another sip of wine, you laid your head down on Dean’s outstretched leg, looking for the first star to shine out yearning to answer a dreamer’s wish. While you searched the sky, Dean searched your face, tucking a stray white dred behind your ear.

You couldn’t tell how long you stayed like that before Dean spoke again. “You could come with me you know… after all of this is put to rest.”

You paused. “You could always stay…”

Dean leaned back joining your gaze towards the sky. “There’s no future here.” He sighed.

“There’s contentment.” You argued. “There’s security… there’s family.”

He sucked the side of his teeth showing disdain but let it be. “We don’t need to decide tonight.”

You closed your eyes breathing in the fresh night air. “Then why have you brought me out here Dean Winchester?” “There’s something I should have done years ago.” He explained, you sat up to meet his gaze.

Dean leaned over, his hand gently caressing your hair, pushing you in to meet him. Your world went white at first contact. He was soft yet firm, letting you lead but guiding you along. You stole breaths in between as sparks from the fire consumed you. Worlds spun around you faster than the twirling rides in the park. When you finally pulled away, you couldn’t help but contain your excitement.

Dean’s devilish smirk returned. “Now, how was that for practiced.”

You scoffed and whipped your shawl against his shoulder. “Do not tell me that as just to prove a point from all those years ago.”

He considered teasing you further but resisted. “It wasn’t. From the moment you entered this circus I was utterly interguid and captivated by your presence. It’s about time I started showing it.”

“Of all the fortunes I’ve seen… this was one I never could have predicted.” You shook your head in amazement.

Dean silently chuckled before leaning back in for another kiss.

***

The carnival had been up and running for hours by the time Dean and you returned. You walked hand in hand, as if you were simply customers. The caravan was empty, no one in line for the closed act.

“So much for resting up for tonight's customers.” You giggled.

Dean kept his stride steady, not evening giving the place a second glance. “Forget them tonight, you can worry about work tomorrow.”

For once, you wandered the paths, you took in the sight around you as a wonder not as your home. Lights dazzled, rides whirled, fire breathers shocked audiences, but the one thing consistent in the chaos was Dean’s presence keeping you steady on the ground. Some of the vendors glanced your way with curiosity. You kept your head held high out of pride for being with the owner’s son.

The rides and attractions led to booths that were rigged with games that seemed so simple yet always turned a profit. One in particular caught Dean’s eye.

“No way! This old thing is still around?” He finally released your hand as he rushed over to it.

You simply smiled and jumped up to sit upon the counter. Dean fished out a few nickels from his pocket buying him three small wooden stakes. The vendor cranked a mechanical wheel starting a line of silhouettes moving back and forth.

The vendor muffled through pointed teeth. “Should I take caution from your continued fixation of this game?” Dean disregarded him, eyes lit up only for the prize. He threw one stake and it landed its mark straight in the heart.

You piped in for Dean. “It’d take a lot more than a stake to kill you Dany. You should be grateful of the myth this game perpetuates about your kind.”

He sneered as Dean threw at the second target. “Just as you should be grateful for the old man’s protection.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You scowled.

The third stake whizzed past the vampires head, imbedding into the wall behind him. “She is still protected.” Dean nearly growled.

Dany stood tall, unfazed as a low chuckle rose from his throat. “All I’m saying is a few of us have been around a lot longer than you youngins.” He reached for a pair of fake plastic fangs and threw them Dean’s way. “Better luck next time.”

Dean left the second-rate prize, storming away. You looked between the both of them before trailing behind Dean.

“He’d better watch himself.” Dean fumed.

“Ay, he meant nothing by it.” You locked your hand around his arm hoping it would slow his pace. “He’s paid to be creepy is all. Forgets when he's talking to customers or staff.”

“If anything happened to you… or a customer…”

You cut him off. “Perhaps you have been in the real world too long Dean Winchester. The monsters and ghost stories they tell out there have no meaning here. This is a haven for the grim and macob. All we want is peace and a full belly.” Although you protested, Dean’s scowl remained. “Though the witch Celeste has been making comments about the potential potions that she could conjure with my eyes….”

The sternness Dean held melted to horror.

“Ay!” You slapped his shoulder. “I’m only joshing.” You howled in laughter. “Your face!”

“Okay, that’s it.” Dean pouted. “You’re scoundrels, all of ya!”

You wiggled your hips and sashed your skirt at him. “You like it.” You teased.

Dean closed the gap and cupped your face in his hands. “I’ll never admit it.” He whispered.

“What is it there always saying… it’s not your words, but your actions.” You smiled as Dean leaned in, grazing his lips against yours.

You jolted back from Dean at the onslaught of heavy smoke. “What is it?” Dean asked concerned. His hand fell down holding the hem of your skirt.

“You don’t smell that?” You looked around for the source.

Dean casually sniffed the air and then glanced down to his rumbling stomach. His hand came away from your dress, placing it over his belly. “Corn Dogs? Yes. No offense, but what you call dinner is not very filling.”

If he didn’t smell it, where was it coming from? Was it just a figment of your imagination? Or remnants from Castiel vision earlier that day? The smokey air soon dissipated and the lack of flames or screaming customers told you it was all in your head.

Dean could sense something was off. “You comin’?” You snapped out of your daze and he smirked. “I do often have that effect on women.”

“Tsk.” With the twirl of your skirt you sauntered away from him, trying to forget the lingering smell.

He giddly followed after you, knowing you were only playing hard to get, and that your night was not quite finished yet.

---

Part 4

Tags:

Forevers: @nanie5 @sea040561 @crushing83 @mogaruke @deanwinchesterforpromqueen@ginamsmith @jotink78 @blushingdean @sup3r-pott3r-lock3d @dancingalone21 @li-ssu@highonpastries @daddy-kink-confirmed @weewooweewoo1212 @carryonmyswansong @spn-dean-and-sam-winchester @atc74 @superapplepie @coolness22 @cassieraider @winchesternco @adaliamalfoy @iwriteaboutdean @spnbaby-67 @cigsandpie @curedean @monkeymcpoopoo@adoptdontshoppets @maddiepants @onceuponathreetwoone

DeanxReader: @akshi8278 @mywillfulwinchester @dainty-hibiscus @boxywrites @its-not-a-tulpa@mrsbatesmotel53 @tacklesackles @creepykatftw @aubreystilinski @iamabeautifulperson18@jerkbitchidjitassbutt @gloriousartisanfancreator

WinchesternCo: @flamencodiva @shamelesslydean

#dean winchester #dean x reader #supernatural #SPN #SPN FANDOM #spn fanfiction #spn fanfic #dean x you #dean x y/n #winchesters & co

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ikesenhell · 5 years

Text

IMAGINARY

IMAGINARY, CHAPTER 1. You can find all other IkeSen works of mine here or become a Patron of mine! NOTES: Oh man, this is gonna be a wild one. I didn’t expect this to come up and snatch me, but it is. Let’s see how this goes. Bonus points if you can guess in the first chapter who the love interest[s] is/are!

She really needed to stop living in her head. That wasn’t a stretch. She spent so much time by herself that it felt like living on the brink of insanity. Any given second could dissolve into a dream. That was the kind of world she lived in--the kind where she spent more time alone than speaking to another.

Lonely was one thing. Alone was another.

Most of her meals passed in silence. She came home every day to an empty apartment. Dishes waited for her. Her bed went unmade. The little time she spent out and about was by herself. Sometimes her friend Ieyasu came by, but that was rare. He did enough himself, after all.

And it was taking its toll. There were nights where she laid awake and stared at the ceiling, willing it to open up and bring her somewhere else. All the stories she read as a child felt like a hollow mockery of her life. Where was Narnia? Where was Middle Earth? Where were the faries in the wood, or the genies in bottles, or the princesses in far away castles? Anything--anything at all, any trace of magic was welcome.

But there was nothing.

That was the reality of it. And reality crushed her.

Ieyasu shot her a long, penetrating stare one day, one of the few times they hung out together, and asked, “Are you ok?”

“Fine,” she responded, willing herself not to cry at just the inquiry. “Why do you ask?”

He opened his mouth, shut it again, and finally turned away with a shrug. “Pick your character. Time for me to kick your ass again.”

That night she curled up in a ball in bed and sobbed.

God! Who else would care? Maybe out there, somewhere, somewhere in the world, there was someone sweet who would. He would hold her in his arms and caress her hair and whisper kindly, and--

The bed creaked slightly. She paused mid-cry to absorb the shift of weight--and then there was a pair of arms around her. It wasn’t so heavy that it shocked. No. This was gentle, almost imperceptible, a ghost of something that she thought she remembered. It was like a dream.

“There, there,” the dream voice whispered, sweet and dear. Her whole body relaxed despite itself. “It’s okay. Just cry it out.”

“I’m sorry,” she managed breathlessly, “I don’t mean to cry like this--”

But the imaginary presence sighed gently and gave her another hug. “It’s okay. I’m here for you. That’s what friends are for, right?”

She reached back and patted a head of fine silver hair. He nuzzled her; she sighed and relaxed. “Thank you.”

“Any time,” Mitsunari whispered back. She knew his name before she knew anything else. He was in her head, after all. “Any time at all.”

---

She almost didn't think about it again. It was a late night fantasy of not being alone. No doubt that was just the product of fatigue and loneliness. Right?

Right.

Except that odd things started happening.

She came home one day to find the shadow of a man passing through her kitchen, his full laugh echoing over the tiles before disappearing entirely. Someone rifled through her closet and picked out her clothes for the day. One night she had a dream of a man with white hair and an equally snowy duster cleaning a pair of pistols by her bedside, shooting her a wink with ghost-light eyes as she dozed off.

And then came the one she couldn’t deny.

She was puttering around the living room. Alone. Of course alone--always alone--and looking for the remote.

“Where did I put it?” She snapped, flinging a pillow to the side. “It’s just me. I’m an idiot. Gonna have to hire a private investigator just to find my things…”

“That would be a waste of your hard-earned nickels, don’t you think?”

That voice was too real to push away. She shrieked and flung a pillow at the man behind her--no, men. One of them started and drew a gun. Another smacked it away with a knife, a flurry of batting flying around the living room. The last and tallest man just laughed uproariously.

“Stop laughing,” snapped the one with the gun, holstering it immediately. He wore a suit that she couldn’t quite place, removing his fedora to reveal a fluff of reddish-brown hair. “It isn’t funny.”

“To the contrary, Yuki, I find it hilarious.”

“Of course you do,” the last man drawled, his winter’s breath voice matching the statuesque expression. “You would find this delightful, Mr. Takeda.”

Mr. Takeda shot her a wink, brushing his double breasted coat off his shoulders and taking a bow. All at once it hit her. These suits were vintage. She couldn’t place the year, but it certainly was from before the nineteen fifties. “Terribly sorry to bother you. My associates and I thought you needed a helping hand. You misplaced your remote?”

“What is a remote?” The blonde groused, but pattered around the living room anyway.

“Beats me,” the one named Yuki snipped. “What does it look like, Miss?”

“Yuki,” Mr. Takeda chided, “Be polite to the lady.”

Yuki grimaced and cast a blushing glance to the side. “What does it look like…. Ma’am.”

“Better.”

She sat, stone-stiff on the couch, utterly convinced she was having a mental breakdown. That is, until Mr. Takeda swept forward and took her hand in his. He was warm. “Shingen Takeda, PI, at your service. My associates, Kenshin Uesugi and Yukimura Sanada, are at your service.”

“Thanks,” she managed thickly. “Um, yeah. Uh. A remote is like, a black plastic thing…? It has buttons…”

“Black plastic,” Kenshin murmured, flipping a pillow with a scowl. “We’ve solved murders.”

“Shut it.” Yuki paused a second, bracing his hands on his hips. “Could you get up for us to check the couch?”

“I already checked it,” she answered without thinking, still too stunned to really gather herself. Still, she got up. “Uh, weird question, but what year is it?”

All three stared at her. Shingen doubled over with a laugh, clutching at his stomach until the sound transformed into harsh wheezing. Yuki blanched, taking a few steps towards his associate. The other man waved him off.

“Nineteen twenty-three,” Kenshin announced. “Why?”

Her stomach dropped. “Are you sure?”

“Don’t be a dummy,” Yuki chided.

“Yuki! You don’t speak to a lady like that.” Shingen composed himself once more. “Yes, why do you ask?”

“I--” What was she supposed to say? Had they materialized from somewhere else? Were they time travelers? What was happening? “Nothing. So, the remote?”

Kenshin flipped part of the rug back and found it there. Without ceremony, he tossed it in her direction. Mercifully she caught it. “Is that what you were looking for?”

“It is! Thanks!”

But--she blinked, and the second she looked back up, they were all gone.

---

“So.” She took a taste of pizza, realized it was too hot, waved frantically at her mouth and set the lava-hot piece down. “I had a weird hallucination the other day.”

Ieyasu shot his friend a questioning stare. “Hallucination?”

“Pretty sure.” She laughed. “I hallucinated three men in my living room from nineteen twenty-three. You know, hardboiled detective types.”

He lifted a brow. “Ahuh.”

“Yeah. It was really weird. They helped me find my remote.”

His other brow rose to match. “They helped you find your remote.”

“I promise it’s not as crazy as it sounds.”

He just eyed her doubtfully. “I’ll take your word on that one.”

---

The next time, a man toppled into her bedroom as she lay there with a book, wishing someone would join her. She screamed and flung the tome at him. It bounced off his head.

“Ah!” He swatted it away, his blue eyes--no, eye--flashing. “Sorry, sorry, terribly sorry--may I hide in here?”

“What?”

“Thank you!” The man leaped up, all the fine silks of his clothes glimmering in the lamplight as he shot her a grin. “I am indebted to you.”

“Who--?” But she already knew. Masamune Date, Prince of the Northern Territories. How did she know that? He was on the run from his family, who wanted him to marry before his time…

He rolled under her bed.

“Get out from under there!” She hopped off the mattress, yanking her underwear drawer out. “Jesus, I--you don’t have to be in there, I swear no one is going to find you here--”

He peered out, holding aloft a lace bra for her with a wink. “Are you quite sure?”

She snatched it away from him with burning cheeks. “Yes. Come on. You’re a figment of my imagination, I’m not going to imagine them finding you here.”

“Oh? A figment? You’ve got quite the imagination, then.” But he didn't challenge her further. Instead he rolled out from under the bed and dusted himself off, brushing back his brown hair and giving her another killer grin. “What else will you imagine me doing?”

“Here.” She shoved a book into his arms. “You can read that.”

He looked almost disappointed until he read the cover. “Cooking Around the Globe?”

“It seems your kind of thing.” How did she know that? But he gave her another fetching grin and all her questions dissolved.

“It is,” he assured her. “It’s quite my thing. I’ll be very entertained with this.”

She didn't question it after that. Instead she settled back into bed and he draped himself over the edge. By bedtime, she glanced up and he was gone, only the indent of his elbows to mark he was ever there to begin with.

With a sigh, she turned and shut off the lights. If she were hallucinating, at least it was proving interesting.

#Ikesen #Ikemen Sengoku #ikesen yukimura #Ikesen Kenshin #Ikesen Mitsunari #Ikesen Shingen #Ikesen Ieyasu #Ikesen Mitsuhide #Ikesen Masamune #Imaginary #my writing #fictional characters au

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papesandcigars · 6 years

Note

Could you please write a canon era Albert?

I’ve Got Ya {{albert dasilva x reader}}

a/n: I actually don’t know a lot about Albert so this was a bit of a challenge for me! I apologize if I didn’t portray him accurately but I’d also love it if someone would send me fanon about him

word count: 1320

warnings: mentions of alcohol

canon era

unedited/ lightly edited/ fully edited

You brushed wisps of hair away from your face with your elbow, your hands busy kneading out the dough for the last batch of bread you’d make that day. It had been a long week, and you were ready to get out of the deli and have some real fun. “You ready for tonight, (Y/N)?” Thomas, asked, lightly patting your shoulder and leaning against the counter you worked on. Thomas was one of your close friends you’d gotten to know while working your first shift at Jacobi’s. You two, along with your other coworkers, Lydia and Clara, loved going out after the evening shift you all shared on Friday nights. “Thomas, I’m working,” you laughed, rolling your eyes. He was a flirt, and the last thing you needed was for him to distract you. Jacobi was generous when it came to letting you and the other three kids work in his family owned business, and you didn’t want him to second guess his decision because of an unproductive staff. “Alright, I’ll leave you alone,” Thomas laughed, pushing himself off of the counter. “But I’m telling you now- I made friends with a customer who just so happens to own the saloon a couple of blocks down. I think he’ll probably let us in free tonight if you’re sweet enough.” You rolled your eyes, excited at the prospect, but determined to stay on task. Thinking about the drinking games could wait. You finished kneading and set the dough to the side to rest. Right on time, the front door chime rang, so you rinsed your hands, grabbed a pencil and notepad, and walked out to the lobby. It took everything in you not to roll your eyes. Those newsboys were back again, and they always came in a huge pack. You tried to hide your slight distaste for them as you strolled over to the tables they began to take up. It was nothing personal or deep, really, they just always took up so much space that could be used for paying customers. They were rowdy and wild, and there was always that one boy who tried to flirt his way into getting free food. And then there was the other one who just flirted to flirt. They were a funny bunch when you were in the mood to laugh, but for now, you just wanted to get out of the deli and have fun with your own friends. “Hey boys,” you smiled, trying to prepare yourself for the craziness to come. “What can I get for you today?” Every boy at the table asked for a glass of water, except for the green eyed redhead you’d always been a little fond of. “A glass’a seltzer, miss,” he beamed, his buddies hitting his shoulders and hyping around him. “Seltzer?” you teased, alluding to the many times the boy had asked for it but could really only afford water. “You sure you can afford it today, friend?” “Sure can, miss!” he proudly exclaimed, pulling out a silver coin. “Got a whole extra nickel I been waiting to spend.” “Wow,” you sarcastically replied, to which the boy chuckled. “Guess I should start calling you Rockefeller, huh?” “You can call me Albert,” he extended his hand to take yours, which you unintentionally allowed, and he placed a kiss on the top of your hand. You rolled your eyes and hoped no one could see the sudden blush that flared upon your cheeks as the other boys laughed and cheered at their friend. “Nice to officially meet ya…” “(Y/N)”, you replied, an unexpected giggle in your voice. “(Y/N),” he smiled softly, then flipped the coin in your direction. “Keep the change,” he smiled, as you caught the coin. The change, of course, wasn’t much. But you held your tongue to allow him the shining moment you were sure he’d never had. You giggled your way all the way back to the kitchen, and after bringing the water and single glass of seltzer out to the boys, Jacobi was kind enough to let you and your friends leave early. You hung your apron and pulled the hair tie out of your hair. Lydia and Clara took the lead, Thomas sticking by your side to flirt as you all walked out of the deli. You laughed at something stupid he’d said, and couldn’t help but notice Albert’s smile falter as he locked eyes with yours. Despite his earlier success with you, Albert’s mood turned gloomy as he watched you walk down the street with your friends from the window. He should’ve known- it didn’t matter that he’d always had a crush on you, you two were from totally separate worlds and hung around totally different people. Your family was pretty well off and you’d only gotten the job at Jacobi’s to earn some extra money and learn a little responsibility- whereas he was selling papers so that he’d be able to eat at least a meal a day, and most times what he earned still wasn’t enough. Embarrassment suddenly rushed throughout him at the excitement he felt, giving you a nickel to keep. What good would it do you? He was ashamed of himself. Meanwhile, you were having a great night out, until things started to get a little too crazy. Several other kids your age had stumbled their way into the bar and nobody was giving anyone grief about it. You lost count of how many shots of liquor you’d had after… you didn’t even remember. You decided to get out while you still could, when you weren’t too far gone, but you couldn’t find Clara or Lydia or even Thomas. You’d find out later that they deserted you on purpose. You stumbled out of the saloon alone, trying hard not to stumble, but tripped on a crack in the sidewalk. He didn’t mean to meet up with you again. He’d told the boys he was just going on a walk, and whether it was by fate or circumstance, he’d ended up crossing paths with you just in time. “(Y/N)?” Albert muttered to himself as you fell forward. He quickly rushed to you, arms extended out, and caught you just before you would’ve hit the pavement. He pulled you up and assessed you for damage. “Albert!” Your head was spinning, but you were sure it was him. “I’m sorry, I didn’t… Thank you for… I don’t know where…” He was trying to follow along with your broken sentences, but he was just as confused as you were. “Are ya alright?” he asked, trying to make contact with your wandering eyes. You didn’t answer, still searching desperately for your friends, the people who were supposed to have your back. He followed your switching gaze, and finally understood. “I don’t….” he tried to be as gentle as he could, “I don’t think they’re here, (Y/N). Are you okay?” You finally met his green eyes, which held so much concern for you. Suddenly your heart stopped as you saw the sight before you- his signature red hair was shining under the dim street lights, his lips were almost too close for you not to kiss. Against your drunken judgment, you kept your distance and nodded. “Hey, I’ve got ya. Let me walk you home, yeah?” He steadied you with one arm around your waist, his other hand resting on your shoulder. “Where d’ya live?”“I can’t go home,” you slurred slightly. You really weren’t that far gone, but if your parents caught just a whiff of your breath, you’d be in a world of trouble. You were supposed to stay the night at Clara’s, but you knew that wouldn’t be happening. “Alright,” Albert nodded. “You can stay with us, if ya want. They’s an open bed right next to mine.”And for once, you were relieved to be welcomed in by the ragamuffins of Manhattan.

#albert dasilva #albert dasilva x reader #albert x reader #newsie x reader #newsies fanfiction #newsies fanfic #newsie #newsies #papesandcigars #albert dasilva asks

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boun-nostra · 6 years

Text

marigold O bamble O re: body, trial start

If she was going to be absolutely, truly, directly blunt about the whole thing - so just business as usual then, really - Bams would say that, honestly? She didn’t expect no-one to at least try for that kill here. It was all extremely stupid, yes, but when was she going to be optimistic about it.

That didn’t mean there was any lack of a stone being set in her heart as soon as they were all summoned to that absolute disaster zone, though- and just because she didn’t appear to have much reaction to it all, save for looking even blanker than usual, didn’t mean there wasn’t any kind of knot that pulled itself tighter and tighter in her stomach the longer she looked at the once-lively girl.

(She... didn’t even know how to begin processing what might have happened to Nickel on the way down here.)

Still. Slow going through investigation it might have been, but by the time they were ready outside, Bams did once again seem the more casual variant of her nonchalant self.

Just in time to have it utterly fucked up by their rather interesting transition into the trial room.

And before she knew it, one hand clutching a picture of herself apparently playing fucking President of the United States and the other clinging onto the surface in front of her, she was responding to Cassino’s introductory words with--

“Okay. Okay. Uh. Could we just hit pause and cool the jets here for a second. Does no-one else feel the need to breathe after rather than launching into introduction like this is just natural. Like, whatever the hell Gambit’s Wild Table Ride was there. Seriously. Holy shit. Do we get a fucking roller coaster photo print out at the end here where I’m making a disgusting face with ‘Disney Land!’ printed cheerily in the corner. One for the wall, that one.”

At least with the breath she took after all that Bams seemed to realise that no-one else did currently need to pause to recover, so she sucked it up herself and went on.

“Holy shit. Whatever. So, uh. Feel like I should disclose something. I didn’t find that owl registration shit I was looking for. Guess it’s been destroyed. But I actually wanted it to find Candy’s handwriting. Because I really don’t think that the note Cass just mentioned was actually written by her.” A shrug. “Think about it. Last I saw Nic, she was holed up in her room. In possibly the only show of self preservation I ever saw, but whatever. But apparently she’s known Candy a while as a friend, so why wouldn’t she come out on her word over anyone else’s. And it would be possible for friendship sans ever seeing her handwriting.”

Bams got daring enough to take her hands off the surface in front of her and folded her arms, tapping a finger off one.

“The area we guess Nic fell through must have been opened up by her or the killer, right. I wanna guess a ‘Nic plus guest’ thing, but I don’t know. Up there was... basically a mess though. Kinda looked like someone had been cooking, but left a bunch of shit out, so it was like... a rush job. Makes sense, since we were this close to the motive expiring and winning the bet. Actually, wait. Scratch that. It doesn’t make sense for someone to be rushing to kill by then, because, holy shit. Why didn’t you just let us win the bet and not have anyone die. Come on.”

Looks like someone has no idea about actually elaborating on details yet and saving the rants for the end, huh.

#ch 1 #obama #abnormal days

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flauntpage · 5 years

Text

Hot Garbage – Ten Takeaways from Saints 48, Eagles 7

There was a moment during yesterday’s game where I came to the realization that the Dallas Cowboys are going to win the NFC East.

It went like this:

“Huh.. the Eagles look like shit.. Alex Smith is done for the year… and the Giants are 3-7.”

That leaves Dallas as the only team with any sort of positive outlook. The Cowboys are gonna slide in at 8-8 and lose to the Panthers or Vikings in the Wild Card Round.

Later, in the third quarter, after the Saints scored to make it 38-7, my wife turned to me and said, “we could watch Real Housewives instead,” which got me thinking. At that point, I absolutely would have preferred to watch The Real Housewives vs. the rest of the Eagles game. I would have preferred to watch Teresa Giudice flip over a table and call someone a bitch. I would have preferred to watch disgustingly rich women discuss their latest plastic surgery or talk about how much of a struggle it is to find the right housekeeper to clean their 40,000 square foot Orange County mansion.

I would have preferred anything, really, because that was the most pathetic Eagles performance I’ve seen in at least seven days.

Which begs the question –

Did this team quit?

I don’t know if they necessarily quit, because I feel like they didn’t even really start the season. Did anybody on this team really give a shit at all? Or was this just a throwaway season because they won the Super Bowl and just decided to take a year off instead?

It feels like that. It really does, and I know you just can’t do anything about the myriad injuries on both sides of the ball, but everybody who is healthy regressed at the same time. Has Nigel Bradham or Jordan Hicks made a play all year long? How is Carson Wentz getting worse? Did Doug Pederson forget how to call plays? I feel like I’m in some sort of bizarro world here because this looks nothing like the team that won it all just nine months ago.

And it’s disappointing, because this was the year that you were supposed to prove to everybody that the Super Bowl run was not a fluke. You were supposed to prove that you could play as the alpha dog and not just the underdog. This was the season to transcend all of that rudimentary stuff and say, “we’re a damn good football team, and we know it.”

Instead you’ve put in one of the worst title defenses that I can ever remember seeing.

1) Let’s flip the script

The Eagles mustered six offensive plays for 15 yards and zero first downs on the opening two drives yesterday.

The scripting has been really bad. Reporters asked Doug Pederson and Mike Groh about it last week and they didn’t really have much of an explanation other than, “we’ve gotta do a better job.”

You would have to go back to the Giants game something like five weeks ago to find the last time the Eagles scored on their opening possession, and that was on a short field after the defense intercepted Eli Manning.

Since then:

Dallas: three and out

Jacksonville: seven plays for 38 yards, then a fumble

Carolina: three plays, -10 yards, punt

If you go back the last four games, these opening drives have gone 16 plays for less than 50 yards with three punts and a fumble.

That is some ghastly stuff.

2) Begging to lose

No defensive coordinator at any level of football should ever rush three linemen and drop eight players into coverage. The only reason you should ever do this is if you’re up by 20 points and playing prevent out of respect to your opponent, or your three linemen are Fletcher Cox, Lawrence Taylor and Reggie White.

I watch this drop-eight horse shit every week in the Big 12 and the defenses still give up 40+ points per game. It should never be done in the NFL, especially on an Eagles team where the strength is your defensive line and the weakness is your banged-up secondary.

There’s just no reason this defensive scheme should ever be used:

Somebody as good as Drew Brees is going to pick that apart every single time. It might confuse some freshman quarterback at Kansas State, but no NFL quarterback is going to struggle when you’re rushing three linemen against five and asking him to find a soft spot in the coverage.

Maybe there was a mistake here or something, because when I watch the play again, I see that both Bradham and Hicks are picking up the same guy:

Rasul Douglas gets lost in a natural screen and New Orleans picks up 15+ yards on the play. Were they even lined up properly to begin with? Did they have the right personnel on the field?

3) Josh Adams

I said last week that I thought he was just a guy.

I still think he’s just a guy, and that’s not even necessarily a derogatory term, I think it’s more about the idea that you can find a Josh Adams anywhere. There’s a reason he was an undrafted free agent and peripheral piece during training camp. He was the 5th guy on the list behind Darren Sproles, Jay Ajayi, Corey Clement, and Wendell Smallwood.

That said, it was really nice to see them run Adams between the tackles in the first half, and he ripped off a quality touchdown to give the team some life before the inevitable beatdown resumed.

Really nice blocking here by both Eagles guards. Brandon Brooks moved immediately to the second level and took A.J. Klein so far out of the play that Adams was actually able to cut back to Brooks’ right and then burn the defensive back:

That’s what we were used to seeing last year.

Adams finished with seven carries for 53 yards and a score. I didn’t see a sweep or a pitch or any of that horizontal stuff, not unless they did it later when I was half asleep and ordering Pizza Hut on the computer. This season is pretty much done, so at least you can give Adams the workload moving forward and see if he’s got a future on this squad.

4) Golden Tate

He actually led the team with 48 receiving yards, if you can believe it, but it still didn’t feel like he was that involved, did it? He also led the team with eight targets.

One thing I don’t understand is why they just don’t go five wide and get Tate on the field with Alshon Jeffery, Nelson Agholor, Zach Ertz, and Jordan Matthews at the same time. You know your running backs can’t pass block and aren’t great catching the ball out of the backfield. You know your offensive line hasn’t been very good this year. Your strength really is in the receiving corps, so just go empty set, spread ’em out, and dink and dunk your way down the field with some quick release stuff. Tempo, rhythm, early release – try to get Carson in a groove here, no?

Beyond those eight targets, they tried to get Tate on an end-around that was blown up for a huge loss. Nice play by the defensive end, if we’re being honest.

5) Carson Wentz

19-33 for 156 yards, 0 touchdowns, and 3 interceptions.

A quarterback rating of 31.9 was the worst of his career, about 20 points lower than what he put up in the two-interception performance against Minnesota back in 2016.

Wentz threw his helmet on the sideline and showed visible signs of frustration, which usually isn’t the case with him. The interceptions felt forced, like he was annoyed and just trying too hard to make a play and get his team moving down the field.

I certainly don’t think the team’s struggles are solely on him. He was very good after returning from the injury and on pace to put up career numbers, he just needed to cut down on the fumbling issue. But it’s strange to watch him slowly regress, which I think is just a product of the general malaise hanging over this entire squad.

He was pretty bad specifically on those deep shots yesterday, going 0-4 on attempts of 20+ yards:

Pretty rough.

Also, no, it’s not time to put Nick Foles back in the game. Carson Wentz is the franchise quarterback.

6) Yes, more injuries

They lost six guys yesterday:

Jason Kelce (elbow)

Rasul Douglas (knee)

Sidney Jones (hamstring)

Avonte Maddox (knee)

Jordan Hicks (calf)

Rick Lovato (think it’s a concussion)

Even the long snapper got hurt. It was that bad:

Long snapper Rick Lovato was running to the Saints sideline as if it were the #Eagles. A Saints player had to turn him around.

— Jeff McLane (@Jeff_McLane) November 18, 2018

Lemme think about who the starting secondary is next week…

I think it’s gonna be Malcolm Jenkins, Corey Graham, Chandon Sullivan, Cre’Von LeBlanc, and De’Vante Bausby in nickel. I don’t even know what they do if they go dime.

So take those six guys above and add it to Jay Ajayi and Darren Sproles and Mike Wallace and Mack Hollins and Richard Rodgers and Tim Jernigan and even more injured people that I can’t think of. Then take into account that Brandon Graham, Carson Wentz, and Alshon Jeffery were not 100% healthy to begin the season. It’s just been a nightmare of injuries all season long.

7) Losing your auxiliary battles

Ugly stuff here:

lost time of possession, 37.5 minutes to 22.5 minutes

-3 turnover margin

3-10 on third down (30%)

0-2 on fourth down (0%)

allowed Saints to go 6-11 on third down (54.5%) and 1-1 on fourth down (100%)

lost 18 yards on 3 sacks

0-1 success rate in the red zone

6 penalties for 49 yards

They made one red zone trip yesterday.

Also, it’s almost impossible for an NFL team to lose the TOP battle by that wide of a margin. The Saints had the ball for almost 38 minutes yesterday. They ran 69 plays and piled up 546 yards. That’s 7.9 yards per play..

8) Doug’s best call?

I guess it was the decision to run Adams between the tackles.

Shrug.

9) Doug’s worst call

Keeping Wentz in the game in the fourth quarter was ridiculous. Imagine if he had also gone down injured in a blowout loss.

The only bad call that even really mattered was in the second quarter, that 3rd and 3. It was slow developing play with Wentz starting from under center. You just can’t call a deep drop in that situation, especially not coming out of a timeout. I know Stefen Wisniewski got beat on the play and allowed the sack, but you gotta know you’ve got a backup center in the game. Situation-wise, you only need three yards, so why are you dropping back five yards in the first place? Just run that out of the shotgun.

That really was the point where this game was lost. They had a bit of momentum going for them, then crapped it away.

10) Miscellaneous stuff

I usually use this space to write about things I notice during the broadcast, but the Eagles were getting their ass beat so badly that I didn’t really pay too much attention to Joe Buck and Troy Aikman. I did hear Buck shout out Zach Berman for the second time this season, which was cool. Zach does a nice job for the Inquirer. I wonder if Joe Buck reads Crossing Broad? Probably not.

Anyway, the Eagles deserved to lose after John Clark shared whatever the fuck this was before the game:

New Orleans is known for their music

Eagles fans brought their own

#BirdsintheBayou #FlyEaglesFly pic.twitter.com/dG3ZDpmnXN

— John Clark (@JClarkNBCS) November 18, 2018

You want Delco Delco?

Yeah! Let’s do it!

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