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anthropologicalhands · 4 years

Note

Capernoited

to be slightly intoxicated or tipsy

The party is bright and loud and almost too much forNathaniel, though given that he stepped off a six-hour flight less than eighthours ago, he feels that his exhaustion isn’t unreasonable.

But, to Darryl’s credit, the party is fairly tame by hisusual standards — there are only two colors of streamers, and no one has even triedto put a funny hat on him. That might also be because, for whatever reason, theparty is being hosted at Heather and Hector’s condo, and Nathaniel isreasonably certain that Heather would enjoy seeing him out of his element. Butall she does, after the initial cheering and hellos, is give him a long, amusedglance, a pat on the arm, and a comment about being impressed that he didn’tmanage to die of some exotic disease before wandering away.

He would definitely bet that Heather was the one to remembernot to make every snack offering made of starch, and there are several goodfruit and vegetable platters among the spread. He does smile at the pretzelslaid out in a vague Guatemala-esque configuration, and even picks out a plainone for later consumption.

The pretzel-maker herself is in attendance, of course -she’d sprung out of the crowd and caught him in an unfortunately brief butenthusiastic hug earlier in the evening, with her arms up and over hisshoulders, going up on tiptoe to extend her reach. But then he’d been drawnaway by Whijo and Vic, and she had bounced over to another cluster in the room.Apart from a small pang, he tries not to be too disappointed – everyone hasbeen busy with their lives and are trying to catch up with each other as muchas with him. And it’s…nice, to be considered a part of this group, no matterhow weird, and realize that he fits here as well as anyone.

Naturally, there is also alcohol, and by ten in the evening mostof the guests are at least tipsy. Nathaniel is only a little buzzed, but enoughto duck around AJ and Maya’s spirited debate on Gone Girl’s feminism inorder to sneak out to the porch. It’s still a warm night, but it isn’t humid,and he enjoys the open, dry air after the pressing clamor of the bodies andconversations inside.

That, naturally enough, is when Rebecca pounces.

He doesn’t even see her coming – she barrels into him justout of his sightline, wrapping her arms snugly around his waist, and when hetwists to look down at her, he finds her grinning up at him like she’s gettingaway with something.

“Hey,” she says.

“Hey,” he echoes right back, settling his arms carefullyaround her shoulders, and yes, she’s definitely going to get away withsomething, if such a simple exchange makes him feel that sudden, inexplicablefondness for her again, as sturdy as if he had never left at all. Not tomention how completely her gaze catches him, field of vision both expanding tomap every detail and contracting so that there is nothing else in his focus buther.

“I never gave you a proper hello, did I?” she says lowly,eyes fluttering half-closed.

In another time, that would have definitely been aninnuendo. Truthfully, Nathaniel wouldn’t be surprised if that’s what she’strying to go for right now, but her careless tone is too open for it to beanything serious.

“Oh?” he plays along, leaning down towards her, like theyare sharing a secret; moving slowly and keeping his eyes locked with hers sothat he won’t look at her lips by mistake. “What counts as a properhello?”

She giggles and goes up on her toes, pushing her facedangerously close to his.

“Hel-lo,” she sings, right in his ear, and dissolves intolaughter. Nathaniel winces but laughs, jerking away with a playful frown. She’sclose enough that he catches the scent of something sharp and fruity on herbreath.

Ah, that explains the demonstrativeness.

“How’s the bar tonight?”

Rebecca’s nose wrinkles in distaste. “Eh. I’ve onlyhad, like, a drink and a half.”

“What happened to the other half?”

She scrunches up her face. “It might have been tippeddown the sink.”

“No good?”

“It was disgusting,” she assures him, all seriousness.

“Blame the bartender.”

“Can’t,” she mumbles, eyes drifting closed. “She just tellsme to order better next time.”

She leans into him, and he shifts his hold to keep herupright, trying not to think about the familiar weight of her in his arms.

“Uh-huh. Come on, let’s get you sitting down.”

Gently, Nathaniel guides her to the porch seat, and sitsdown beside her. She lets him but catches his hands in hers when he tries to drawaway, give her space. He looks down at their entwined fingers and tamps downhard on the tendril of hope that tries to worm its way out of his generalaffectionate feelings for her. It’s ridiculous; barely twelve hours officiallyback in the States and he’s nearly lost again.

He waits for her to let go, but she doesn’t, releasing hishands only to twine her arms around him again in a surprisingly strong grip.

“A drink and a half is less than three,” she begins, afamiliar kind of non-sequitur.

“That is how math usually works, yes,” agrees Nathaniel,teasing, trying not to smile too broadly. He’s forgotten how easy it is to justlook at her and just feel happy, a feeling that never seemed to have anycorrelation to whether they were together or not.

Rebecca rolls her eyes at him, still smiling. “What Imean is that I’m a little tipsy. A little loose. But I am, distinctly, notinebriated.”

“Okay.”

“So what I’m about to say right now can be taken quiteseriously,” she insists, eyes wide and eyebrows angling sharply down.

“All right,” he agrees, because Rebecca clearly has a goalin mind, everything about her face and body language and tone radiating pureintent, and the best thing he can do right now is listen to what she has tosay, and not presume anything. Rebecca gives a tiny nod, apparently satisfied.

“I’ve missed you.”

“I know,” he says, and means it in earnest. She hasn’t saidit in so few words, but he’s known. Every time she sent him a message, or anarticle warning him about caimans. When he came back last year for Valentine’sDay and she said in public that she was in awe of him and later, in private, repeatedthe sentiment, and then asked why he couldn’t have gone somewhere that was lessof a schlep to be in awe of.

(He didn’t read too much into it, he knows better than thatnow, but those words have definitely lingered in the back of his mind, thislast year.)

“I missed you too,” he returns, because she is clearlywaiting for a response. “I’m glad to be back. Tired, but glad.”

Rebecca screws up her face in exaggerated empathy, promptinglaughter.

“I told Darryl to wait at least a day,” she says,utterly long-suffering. “But there’s only so much you can do once he hashis mind on a party. But I don’t want to talk about Darryl to you.”

“Oh?”

“No. I wanted to tell you I missed you.”

“You just did,” he teases, trying to play it light, despitehow his pulse hammers as her arms tighten around him, as if determined not tolet him slip away.

(As if he would ever want to.)

Her mouth firms up. “Well, yeah, but no.”

“No?”

“That’s not all I wanted to say,” she says, impatiently,like he’s the one not making sense. “I wanted to say that I miss you and Ithink about you right about…here,” she gestures around the space above her headvaguely. “And here.”

She taps her breastbone, and it feels like she has reachedbetween them, instead, the sharp give and tightening of his heart that hasnothing (and everything) to do with her grip on him.

“Oh?” he says, trying to be light, reminding himself thatnot-quite-drunk still isn’t sober, even if her eyes are clear and fiercewith that Rebecca Bunch determination. “It’s like that, huh?”

“Oh yeah,” says Rebecca, popping her eyes wide, thenlaughing, bright and quick, that reassures him that she isn’t entirely too-fargone. When she blinks up at him again, her gaze is steady. “You have no idea. Itsucked, missing you. You’re so tall, it’s always obvious that you’re missing. Like,in all the group photos. And I know that you were living your best life andeverything in the jungle, but I just wanna say that I’m really, really gladthat you figured out that your best life isn’t like, only possible in thejungle.”

“It was never going to be only in the jungle,” saysNathaniel, amused that she would ever think he could stay away for such anextended time. “I told you I was going to come back. Multiple times.”

For the first time since they’ve started talking, Rebeccalooks away from him, her intensity softening into something he might almostcall uncertainty.

“I know,” she says softly. “You did. And you always do. Ijust needed to have you physically next to me, you know?”

“I know. You’re actually cutting off my circulation.”

“Oops.” Guiltily, she loosens her arms and he can breathe alittle easier, even if his pulse is still hammering in his ears. “Sorry. But,listen, but we need to address this—this thing, between us.” She flaps ahand between them, smacking him hard in the chest and making him wince. “Thatthing we keep sending pictures and text messages and emojis around.”

Nathaniel would be lying if he said he wasn’t expecting thisturn. But he’d have thought (foolishly, he can see that now) that Rebecca wouldgive him a few days to settle back down before bringing up the ‘where do westand’ conversation. She turned him down, he left the country, and while theircorrespondence was always normal between friends, they never actually did aproper post-mortem on their relationship.

“Right.” He shouldn’t ask, he shouldn’t ask, for the samereasons why they are not going to talk to each other right now, but he has toat least try to be prepared. “The kind of talk you had with Greg and Josh? Aclean break, clean slate kind of thing?”

These are not questions he wants to ask. But if there’ssomething he’s learned these last three years, it’s that if it is a hardquestion to answer, it’s worth trying.

Rebecca looks up at him, eyes glimmering from the faintillumination cast by the porch light fixture.

“Not the exact same talk,” she says, but not as fastas she normally does – she goes slowly, carefully enunciating, and while thereis still a shakiness to the sounds, it is a Rebecca who is clearly within hercapabilities. “I don’t think you can get a cleaner break than continental lines.”

“True, but that didn’t stop us from talking about otherthings.”

“And I don’t think that was a bad thing. I really likedtalking to you these past two years, Nathaniel. But, I think, since we arefinally going to be inhabiting the same town again, we just need to figure outsomething…sensible. A lot of things have changed around here, not just me.”

“I know,” says Nathaniel.

“And honestly…it’s a talk, not the talk. Justto clear the air about where we wanna go with this as-of-yet-unspoken thing.It can always be revisited and…expanded, as need be.”

“Right.”

“And it’s…gonna be a lot, not gonna lie. But some things youjust have to talk through. A lot of talking. And, also unfortunately speaking fromexperience here, there might also be crying. Lots of crying.”

“I don’t cry that much,” Nathaniel’s protest is automatic,even if he can’t quite help but laugh, knowing that it’s not true (whatever, hecan at least try to deny it). His laugh is a little too loud, has been sincehe’s started spending the majority of his time not thinking of his father, butRebecca responds like she’s been waiting for that sound, like it’s somethingshe wants to hear again.

“Uh huh,” she hums, looking at him, amused. “Don’t try to thinkyou can fool me. You’re a crier.”

“I just don’t remember it that way,” says Nathaniel, affectinghis most haughtiest manner, well aware that he’s already lost if he’s fallingback on that one.

“Give it up. Paula told on you. And Darryl. And Heather—”

“Okay, you’ve made your point,” says Nathaniel withexaggerated exasperation, because he’s better at acknowledging his emotions butthat doesn’t mean he has lost all of his secondhand embarrassment. “And you’reright. Crying or not, we should talk.”

Rebecca smiles again at him and nuzzles into his shoulderand the crook of his neck. Cautiously, he tilts his head so that it restsagainst hers.

They sit like that for a while, listening to the murmur ofvoices just inside.

“This is nice,” Rebecca murmurs into the fabric of hisshirt.

“Yeah,” agrees Nathaniel. “But if we don’t get inside soon,I’m just going to fall asleep out here and wake up with a crick in my neck. Andyou won’t be that much better off.”

“Yeah. That’s a shame,” says Rebecca around a yawn. “Ithought we could try the hot tub.”

“Afraid not. I don’t have my swimsuit.”

Rebecca waggles her eyebrows at him, a spark of old mischiefin her eyes. “Who says you need one?”

Nathaniel grimaces. “Gross.”

“Or, is it sexy?”

“No way. It’s unsanitary, and Heather would actually kill me.Or, even worse, make me unclog it.”

“No, she wouldn’t.”

“You’re right: she’d just kill me.”

“Not if I asked her not to.”

“Not sure I wannatake that risk.”

She pouts fiercely up at him, and he grins.

“Fine,” agrees Rebecca begrudgingly. “Too bad. I definitelythought about you many a time in that hot tub.”

Last year, that would have been enough to make Nathanielcompletely lose his composure, but not now. As it is, he can feel his earsburning, and he’s not blushing, he’s not, but it’s a close thing.

“Well, don’t stop on my account,” says Nathaniel, helpingher stand so they can go back inside. Rebecca snickers.

“Wasn’t gonna.”

It’s good to be back.

#heartbash #writing meme reply #ellie writes fic #rebecca x nathaniel #crazy ex girlfriend #have vaguely-tipsy-not-together-but-not-not-heading-in-that-direction #post-canon #bc despite loving a very physical couple i keep not going there #instead have vaguely confused pining

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misomeru · 6 years

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David Hull did not know he was in these until 10 minutes beforehand. And so White Josh’s acting choice of looking confused was both a choice and the reality of the situation. God bless David Hull. - Rachel Bloom

#Crazy Ex Girlfriend #crazyexedit #David Hull #White Josh #Josh Wilson #misomeru #gif request #heartbash

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softnow · 6 years

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80. “How can you think I’m anything but hopelessly in love with you?” Because love confessions just fuck me right up.

okay, so this is 110% not at all what you were requesting, i’m sure, but in light of our recent conversations, i couldn’t help myself. if you want to re-request, i’ll do my best to deliver an r/n edition at some point too. either way, please accept this gift as a token of my friendship and appreciation. set somewhere in season 6?

The first time he says it, he’s high. The second time he says it, he’s drunk. Timing has never been his strength.

“Mulder,” she says, not quite a warning, not quite not a warning. “You’re drunk.”

Yes, Scully, he thinks. And so are you. So?

He only says the last part, so?, and manages it without too much slurring. A bead of sweat tracks a path down her jaw, derailing his attention.

They are in a dive bar masquerading as a Mexican restaurant in El Paso, and it is hot. Stopping for dinner had been her idea, but neither of them have managed more than a handful of under-salted tortilla chips apiece. The shaky, ancient ceiling fans do nothing to combat the heat, merely stir it around. Their appetites curdled before they even sat down.

“So,” she says, gathering the condensation from her beer bottle on her fingertips. “You’re not thinking straight.”

She presses her cool fingers to her neck, her throat, the exposed inches of her chest. Her blazer has long been abandoned on the seat next to her, the sleeves of her blouse rolled primly to the elbow, the top three buttons undone not-so-primly. If he tilts his head just right, he thinks he might be able to discern what color lace she’s hiding under there.

“You think I’m BS’ing you, Scully, s’that it?”

She shrugs and presses her lips together, does her patented Scully eyebrow raise, the one that means that’s exactly what I’m thinking, but hey, you said it. It’s a gesture he’s seen a million times over, but he’s never seen it look as cute as it does right now, with her flushed and sweaty and her hair frizzing in the humidity.

If he wonders why he said what he said—and, to be clear, he doesn’t, but for argument’s sake, if he did—one look at her would make that the fastest closed case in history. Special Agent Dana Scully, in her rumpled suit, drunk in public, in Texas, with him—and just five minutes ago she’d been giggling girlishly at something he’d said, and five minutes before that she’d been telling him in no uncertain terms that the Ozark Howler is no more than an overgrown bobcat, thank you very much, and he’d felt like he’d owned the world. So no, he doesn’t wonder why he said it. He only wonders why she doesn’t believe it.

(If there’s one thing she believes—just one, in all these years—he would think it would be this.)

“I think it’s time to call it a night,” she says, and downs the last of her drink.

“Wait, no, hey.” He reaches for her hand across the table and presses her sticky fingers into his palm. “I’m serious.”

“Okay, Mulder.” She’s using her whatever-you-say-as-long-as-you-stop-saying-it voice, but her eyes are a little unfocused, her mouth a little too soft, the consonants of his name a little muddled on her tongue.

He should probably stop now if he wants to save face in the morning, if he wants to be able to look her in the eye and blame whatever embarrassing things he’s said or done on the Shiner. But he’s never been good at quitting while he’s ahead, and right now, with his head swimming but his heart steady, the last thing he wants to do is quit.

“Scully,” he says, like that’s almost enough, like she should know just by the way he caresses the S, laps at the Ls. “How can you think I’m anything but hopelessly in love with you?”

Her eyes widen and she stares at him. A beat, two. Is it possible for a person to sober in seconds?

“You’re drunk,” she says finally, and he wonders if this is her new litany: hail Mary, full of grace, you’re drunk.

“Scully—”

“No.” And then, again: “You’re drunk, Mulder. You shouldn’t— It’s time to go.”

“Scully.” Pleading now, if that’s what it takes. He’s come this far; it’s too late to quit.

She sits still, her purse in her lap, her wallet halfway out. When she speaks, he has to strain to hear her over the din.

“Not tonight.”

He sits back, lets her tuck a neat stack of bills under a coaster. Not tonight. Okay. Okay, he can respect that. Not no, not never. Just not tonight. Not drunk, not high, not impaired, not tonight. He can live with that.

And when they leave the bar and she tucks her tiny hand back into his and leans into him despite the heat, he thinks: tomorrow.

#txf #the x files #msr #mulder x scully #msr fic #txf fic #i have no idea what tags this fandom uses but there we go #bear with me #i'm still getting my sea legs here #this is a Very Different Dynamic than r/n so #be gentle my loves #this was written totally on a whim #hope you aren't too disappointed lolol #myfic #heartbash #answered

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poolsidescientist · 6 years

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Just want to tell you - even though I’ve fallen inexplicably into the Nathaniel/Rebecca vortex, I 100% agree that Nathaniel was given way too much screen time at the expense of other amazing characters.

That’s totally fair and I 100% respect your opinion. While I have grown to hate Nathaniel as a character for a number of reasons, fan fiction exists for a reason and it’s always fun to explore relationship dynamics. You’re right about the screen time though, even for music: Nathaniel was in four songs, Paula got two (I’m not counting ‘Back in Action’ because she didn’t sing), Valencia and Heather got one each, and Josh sort of got one and a half. If Rebecca’s relationship with the various people in her life is the centre of the show, it needs to be the centre of the show. Her relationship with Nathaniel is a relationship, but making it THE relationship of the show was, in my opinion, not a good move on the part of the show. Normally it would bother me less but this is the first time I’ve ever really been disappointed with the show so it hurts more. There’s a lot of missed potential and it’s killing me.

#asks #heartbash

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akisazame · 3 years

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First Line Meme

thanks @lizardkingeliot and @prettyboysdontlookatexplosions for tagging me!

Rules: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20, just list them all). See if there are any patterns. Choose your favorite opening line, then tag 10 of your favorite authors!

1. in dirty dreams (you're the one i want) [the magicians]

One of the nice things about attending a magical grad school — which, god, there should be a more extensive list than what Quentin's managed to scrape together so far, but here he is — is that there's no rule against food or drinks in the library.

2. in a faith-forgotten land [the magicians]

It becomes very clear, very quickly, that Quentin is having a bad morning.

3. past me, your nemeses [the magicians]

It becomes very clear, very quickly, that Eliot is having a bad day.

4. never let me hit the ground [the magicians]

It first comes up on a lazy Sunday afternoon in the cottage.

5. accessories to murder [the magicians]

this one is weird! @jessalae wrote the actual first line of the fic:

The first step of Eliot's long, slow descent into absolute madness happens when he spots Quentin curled up in the window seat of the common room, textbook open on his knees in front of him, chewing on the end of his pencil as he takes notes — and Quentin glances up at him briefly and smiles, then goes back to reading, and Eliot's heart nearly stops.

and while i did some edits on her parts, we think the place where i fully took over was:

"Oh, um, the black would be a much more powerful darkvision. Like, for caves and stuff, I guess? Kady had a whole list from her supplier or whatever. Purple is for farsight, which sounds really fucking cool, actually."

but that's not an introduction, so i think for the purposes of this exercise the actual answer is the start of the tattoo section:

"If you don't stop making that face, I'm calling animal control on your ass," Margo says, seemingly apropos of nothing.

6. anything for the crown [the magicians]

Quentin was eight years old the first time he read The World in the Walls, and he somehow knew from the moment the Chatwins stepped through the clock that he too would be irrevocably changed by the world of Fillory.

7. a string that pulled me [the magicians]

Eliot hasn't felt quite right in weeks.

8. anger and coffee, feeling mean [crazy ex-girlfriend]

Silver Lake is approximately 20 miles from West Covina, which somehow translates to a 35 minute drive down the 10 at midday.

9. a little less dungeons, a little more dragons [the magicians]

Eliot had been the one to bring it up, a random off-hand remark one night while they'd both been lightly trashed, with Quentin just over the line of alcohol consumption necessary to start giving unsolicited and weirdly heated monologues to random passersby about Fillory or Dune or Game of Thrones, which Eliot of course found completely adorable and weirdly sexy.

10. for the record, this can still go my way [crazy ex-girlfriend]

Rebecca wakes up, and she's warm, and isn't that nice.

11. old flames can't warm you [crazy ex-girlfriend]

"Whoa, hold on," the not-actually-British woman says, slamming her palm down on top of the second cup of tea that Rebecca had been about to imbibe, "even if your tolerance is that high, I have to insist you wait five minutes. Something about liability."

12. ever if you want for something [crazy ex-girlfriend]

He comes home to find the door unlocked, and there's the briefest moment of panic between opening it and finding Rebecca's shoes haphazardly strewn just inside the entryway.

13. i'll wave my face like a flag in front of yours [crazy ex-girlfriend]

"She's not here," AJ says bluntly when Nathaniel walks up to the counter at Rebetzel's.

14. you still mystify and i want to know why [crazy ex-girlfriend]

"So you two are gonna help me tame the wild beast?"

15. eyes that show kaleidoscopes [crazy ex-girlfriend]

Nathaniel slides open the door to his closet to find exactly five button-down shirts and two plaid flannels.

16. that kind of fever dance [crazy ex-girlfriend]

Rebecca skips ahead of Nathaniel on the sidewalk leading to the Cameron Park Community Center, her excitement bubbling over into exuberant strides that Nathaniel can't seem to match despite his advantage in leg length.

17. kiss me sweet and whisper low [crazy ex-girlfriend]

It's a little easier to cope with Rebecca showing up drunk on his doorstep when it's her doorstep too.

18. started up a new thing and these were the first words [crazy ex-girlfriend]

You love her, Nathaniel tells himself as he stares determinedly at the ceiling.

19. would rather eat than starve, would rather kiss you hard [crazy ex-girlfriend]

For the first time since Rebecca moved to West Covina, the snooping is an accident.

20. let your hesitations be hushed [crazy ex-girlfriend]

"So," Rebecca says, curling her leg up over Nathaniel's hip as she drapes her upper body across his chest, "why didn't you ever mention you did musical theater in high school?"

the thing about me is that i love a good hook, and most of the time that takes the form of a snappy bit of narration or dialogue. THAT SAID... i think my favorite opening line in this bunch might be the longest one, from dungeons/dragons, because the mental image it conjures never fails to delight me.

tags for @jessalae, @catty-words, @luzial, @anthropologicalhands, @notbang, @heartbash, and anyone else who might see this and wants to do it!

#fic meme #sylphtxt #long post

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eyesontheskyline · 4 years

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Fic Titles Meme

Tagged by: @mindatworkk and @heartbash

Look at the most recent 20 (or however many!) fanwork titles on your AO3 account and answer the questions below.

I only have 6 because I am a seedling. I considered going back to my Criminal Minds fanfiction.net account for this, but I... did not.

and they were roommates (omg they were roommates!) where all the biggest questions meet love is not as scary as it appears; what’s unsettling is this feeling the landing light but if you really hold me tight let the sun inside

1. How many are you happy with?

I... have an odd relationship with titles. I think and they were roommates (omg they were roommates!) is funny and I’m glad I didn’t try and think of a more me-typical title for it. I’m probably roughly equally happy with the others.

2. How many are you not happy with?

I don’t really mind any of them. I’m lucky to exist in a fandom where everyone is used to and at least reluctantly resigned to putting up with lyric titles because I don’t really know how else to do it.

3. How many did you scramble for at the last minute?

Almost all of them. I am not good at titles.

4. How many did you know before you started writing/creating, or near the beginning?

Because I wrote it roughly one chapter a day in a month and then edited and published it roughly one chapter a day the next month, but if you really hold me tight really needed all the stuff that might tie my brain up to be out of the way before I started. So it was titled before I started writing, but it was the only one, and it was a roughly equal amount of torture, just at a different stage in the process.

5. How many are quotes from songs or poems?

Five.

where all the biggest questions meet is from Magnificent (She Says) by elbow, which also inspired part of the beach scene.

love is not as scary as it appears; what’s unsettling is this feeling is from Rebecca’s Face Your Fears Reprise and Nathaniel’s cut Settle For Me Reprise, because they were the inspiration for the fic.

the landing light is from K2 by elbow, which is about being far away and thinking with some longing and also some worry about what it would be like to go home.

but if you really hold me tight is from Let It Snow, because I needed a non-religious festive lyric preferably sung by Frank Sinatra, and this kind of felt like it fit them both having a nice romantic holiday and also navigating their not-ideal family situations together.

let the sun inside is from Ribcage by elbow, because the full lyric has been lodged inside me somewhere since I was a teenager repressing stuff until it hurt so much I couldn’t repress it anymore then being totally unable to control how it finally came out, a la Nathaniel and feelings: I wanted to explode, to pull my ribs apart & let the sun inside.

6. How many are other quotes?

I guess and they were roommates (omg they were roommates!) is kind of a tumblr / ao3 quote. More of a meme really.

7. Which best reflects the plot of the story/content of the fanwork?

and they were roommates (omg they were roommates!) is pretty self explanatory I guess.

8. Which best reflects the theme of the story?

love is not as scary as it appears; what’s unsettling is this feeling is only as descriptive as the others but the songs the lines are taken from are about a million times more likely to be familiar to the reader before they click than any of the others, so that one.

9. Which best reflects the character voice of the story/POV of the framework?

I have no idea honestly. Maybe but if you really hold me tight. But I’m not sure why I think that.

10. Which is your favourite title?

Roommates. Can you tell? I would’ve chickened out of it if I hadn’t been talked into keeping it and it would probably have an obscure lyric title like the others.

I would tag but I’m chicken and also I think everyone has been tagged at this point?

#ask meme #heartbash #mindatworkk #aggressively writes fanfiction

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pictureofsoph1sticatedgrace · 10 months

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I think I might be back on my Rethaniel bullshit after this weekend with @heartbash. 👀😂

#now what to do…#write? edit? hmmmm…

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notbang · 3 years

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R/N - #11

halloween prompt meme | read on ao3

It takes him a second to recognise her beneath the wig, but he should have guessed, really. Who else would rent a costume that takes up approximately one third of the office space with its multiple layers of petticoats?

He waits until Paula peels away from her side in the direction of the bathroom, his nostrils flaring at the probably health-code-violating screen of dry ice he has to push through in order to reach where she’s leaning against a column, eyes glued to her period-anachronous phone.

“Figures you’d be involved in this productivity suck somehow,” he says as he sidles up to her, hands stuffed in his pockets in a way he likes to think exudes nonchalance.

Rebecca regards him, unimpressed, over the top of the screen. He’s not sure if it’s the light reflecting from her phone, or her makeup, or both, but she’s even paler than usual; glowing alabaster amongst the dimly lit cubicles.

Her answering laugh is entirely mocking. “I see your invite failed to get lost in the mail. Kudos on the costume, though—rich white dude is about the most repulsive thing I can think of.”

He gives a pointed once-over to her dress—a complex concoction of white frills and lace—and feels his lips curl back in a smirk. “Almost as terrifying as the prospect of eternal matrimony,” he agrees. “Once again, my deepest condolences, by the way.”

Any chance she has at supplying some kind of rejoinder in retort is squashed by the approach of a waiter—exactly how much money had Darryl spent on this thing, anyway?—with a round mop of black hair that looks like it escaped from a disco in the mid 70s, brandishing a tray boasting an array of dips and elaborately carved carrot sticks.

Rebecca frowns, apparently already somehow acquainted with the server. “Marty?”

“Rebecca B! This is where you work? How about that! Sweet digs. Sweet digs indeed.” The disco flunkey’s eyes light up when they roam across to Nathaniel. “And aren’t you two a fright for sore eyes? A perfectly spooky bride and groom! Yeah, that gaudy ring really finishes the look. That’s gotta be from that pawn shop over on East Cameron—they sell the weirdest old junk there. Something borrowed, something boo, am I right?”

The blossoming red blush breaks out across Rebecca’s chest like bright, blotchy watercolour beneath her skin.

“It’s not—we’re not…” she begins, face scrunching. “This is not—he’s not even wearing a costume!”

Nathaniel, amused enough at her discomfort that his disdain for the entire scenario is secondary, catches the eye of the source of her distress over her shoulder, shaking his head minutely to confirm the absurdity of the assumption.

He can’t help himself, though—his palm finds the small of her back of its own accord. Rebecca’s eyes, if possible, bug even wider as he tugs her towards him. “It never feels like a costume when it’s as real as what we have, though, does it, Muffin?”

Marty lets out a low, appreciative whistle. “Right on—I hear you, buddy. Hope you two enjoy the… patê,” he adds, indicating the tray of dips before disappearing with a playful shimmy.

Barking out a polite laugh at the eye roll-inducing pun, Nathaniel shepherds a still spluttering Rebecca into the break room—currently empty, ostensibly in favour of the makeshift dance floor forming over by the elevator—before promptly dropping his hand away from her back as if badly burned.

“Muffin?!” she seethes as as she whirls to face him, giving him an incredulous shove before batting haphazardly at his chest with her tiny, ineffectual fists.

“It only seemed apropos,” he drawls, lazily, “given how many of them you eat.”

“You…” she growls, then shakes herself, her train of thought seemingly lost to her irritation. “Why are you even here? I thought you couldn’t be within a ten mile radius of candy without your teeth literally falling out.”

“Ha ha,” he says with exaggerated sarcasm. “As distasteful as this entire embarrassing excuse of party is, it is a company event. It’d be unseemly of me not to at least make an appearance.”

“Couldn’t resist ruining everyone’s fun, more like it. God, it’s like everything is some kind of masturbatory performance with you, isn’t it?”

Her ample bosom, amplified by the cut of her gown and in considerable clear and present danger of spilling over and out entirely, rises and falls with the uneven rhythm of her steadily mounting frustration.

Not that he’s looking, or anything. Just that it’s making some kind of point of filling up his field of vision.

“Please,” he sneers, looking down the ridge of his nose and being careful to focus on her splotchy face rather than directly below it as he gestures out towards the bullpen. “Are you telling me you didn’t choose that costume as some sort of dry run for your impending nuptials to the flip flop? I bet you’ve been parading around in that dress all evening, flashing that ring at anyone that so much as glances in your direction. Congratulations, by the way—purple is his colour. Really makes that pawn shop gemstone pop when it’s curled around your fiancé’s spandex covered bicep.”

“There was a slight miscommunication on which Phantom he was dressing up as, okay,” Rebecca snaps. “And I’m not bothered by it, because it’s a charming anecdote that I’m going to tell all the Jewish-Filipino babies we’re going to have every year on Halloween.”

He forces out a sardonic laugh. “Well, have fun with that. Remind me again—why is this a Halloween party?”

“It’s Halloween in September,” she says, incomprehensibly defensive, the no duh implicit in her voice. She crosses her arms, and it does nothing to coax her heaving cleavage back into its confines. “It’s like Christmas in July, except for Halloween. Darryl’s a big fan of mixing things up, unlike you—we get it, dude! You like burgundy ties!”

Just as a riposte is forming on the tip of his tongue, Jim—an eyesore in bright red pleather if one ever existed—barrels through the break room with a drunk and disorderly, vampire-fang-bearing Tim hot on his heels, forcing Nathaniel to sidestep abruptly out of their path. The issue with that is, he fails to notice until he hears the resulting sharp intake of breath, is that it has him pressing Rebecca into the corner of the bench in front of the tinsel-adorned coffee maker.

The smart thing to do would be to step away. The dangerous thing—the stupidest decision possible, really—would be to stand his ground. To loom and crowd her further.

God, it’s like the idiocy of this place is seeping into him via osmosis.

Rebecca gulps, untamed breasts brushing distractingly against his sternum, and casts a frenzied glance out into the party proper, making sure no one is watching them through the slats.

A little light headed but ultimately spurred on by her fluster, Nathaniel straightens his spine and dips his head, voice tipping low to tease. “It still makes sense, you know. The costume choice. After all, your life is basically a soap opera. And nobody can blame you for wanting to hide that—” He nods towards the photocopier, where Josh is otherwise occupied with his attempts to get a Jenga game going with several desks’ worth of highlighters. “—away behind a mask.”

“Yeah, well,” she sputters, “it’s lucky that he got the costume wrong. Because his left is actually his best angle. Yeah. So you’d be missing out, otherwise. And you’re, like, so incredibly wrong. I don’t want to hide his face. I love that face. It’s my favourite face.” He doesn’t miss the way her gaze flits down to his lips, and his tongue darts out to wet it on autopilot. “I wanna rub my face all over his face, all the time.”

He leans in further, and he can’t be imagining it—the way her breath falters, and her eyelids start to flutter as his breath fans out across her face with deliberation. “Uh-huh.”

Interesting, he thinks, filing away the visible pluck of the cords in her neck as she swallows, as if in slow motion, to revisit later.

As if compelled by some inexplicable urge and drunk off finally, finally feeling like he has the upper hand, he tilts minutely, mouth moving towards grazing the shell of her ear. “I know it’ll be tempting, when you’re lying in bed tonight, trying to get the image of your mediocre choice of a life partner squeezed into a morph suit the colour of Barney dinosaur out of your head. But do me a favour, Rebecca, hmm? Try not to—” He pauses dramatically for effect. “—think of me.”

He can tell by the way her eyes widen with surprise for a split second only to scrunch in confusion that she’s caught the reference. Finally, he thinks as his pulse thrums through him with intense satisfaction: a use for having to spend hours inside a stuffy theatre box with an aunt that always smelled too strongly of peppermint oil.

A moment later and Rebecca’s spring-loaded, shoving him aside to make her escape. Just before she melts back into the throng of partygoers, though, she turns, left hand curling around the edge of the wooden partition, ring glinting red beneath the disco lights; the only time all night she’s managed not making it look embarrassingly staged.

“In your dreams,” she tells him, deadly serious, then hikes up her voluminous skirts and stomps off in flurry of frilly white lace and bouncing black-brown synthetic curls.

#crazy ex girlfriend #rebecca x nathaniel #my fic #halloween prompt meme #heartbash #I'm here come talk to me about dumb stuff #hate when ficlets get too long and feel kinda stunted because they were supposed to be snappier.......#the party theme is a result of me doing mental gymnastics to fit it into the timeline of the show #and this is set prior to the events of 2x11 except rebecca has already announced her engagement to the office

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