#the way it was described to me sounded more like he had a burst aneurysm or other brain bleed but i didn't press for details

[naomiknight-17]

I am currently getting ready to go to a funeral for a man I do not know, but probably should have

He was at my wedding, almost 13 years ago. His wife is a friend and coworker of my mom's. They gave us the artificial flowers from their recent-at-the-time wedding to decorate our venue, saving us a lot of money and trouble. Our wedding colours were even the same, by a wild coincidence.

But I don't remember him. Mom and his wife (now widow) still work together and are still close, but I haven't seen them in so long and I've forgotten.

I am going to the funeral mostly because my mother cannot travel alone and I am her de facto support person. There are going to be people there who I am supposed to know, but I don't. I am faceblind and have a poor memory.

Whatever powers that be, please don't let me turn this funeral into a social fiasco

#i have to just spend a few hours looking sorry and sad and being respectful and polite and pretend i remember people #i don't have to pretend to be sad tho. this is really sad. he was only in his 40s. very sudden and severe stroke #the way it was described to me sounded more like he had a burst aneurysm or other brain bleed but i didn't press for details #it was bad #anyway #death #funeral #social anxiety #ask to tag #mod post

[bradie-valentine]

To Live in a House That is Haunted

By Bradie Valentine

The afternoon sun bakes me through the windshield as I drive towards Leah’s house. She hasn’t answered my texts in a couple of days. Not that unusual for her, even before this silence. And yet I’m still on my way to check on her. We’ve been basically inseparable since we bonded over our family troubles in grade three and this is the longest we haven’t seen each other since then. The quiet from her side of our friendship has gestated long enough.

When I pull up to her house, a wave of unease washes over me. The house looks almost the same as it usually does, but just slightly off. The grass is way too long and I can see a pile of mush near the mailbox, the storms of summer turning her mail into pulp. As I head towards the house, parting the long grass that tickles my legs, I notice the stack of oak she bought a few months ago. The wood is bloated and full of wet rot, another victim of the January showers.

Don’t get me wrong, Leah has always been quiet, reserved. But this is different. Besides the occasional ‘I’m still alive’ text, I’ve barely interacted with her in the past two months. I can’t exactly blame her though. I can understand why she hasn’t been feeling very social. Her husband, Brian, died two months ago; the death of Leah’s voice immediately following.

I was with her that day, the day cops turned up to deliver the news. We were in the lounge room, chatting about Leah’s upcoming carpentry projects when there was a knock at the door. Leah answered it, there was some muffled chatter and then a sorrowful screech, like an animal caught in a trap. I leapt up from the couch just in time to see Leah collapse in on herself. The strong statue of the woman I knew, reduced to a pile of discarded tissues; delicate and tear soaked.

It was a freak accident that killed her Brian. A bump on the head at work. Rushed to the hospital, and he was dead on arrival. We found out later that the knock had popped a massive aneurysm that was nesting between the folds of his brain.

I take a deep breath and rap on the door a couple times but Leah doesn’t answer. I pause for a few seconds, knock, pause again, and knock again. I pull out my phone and text her, a drop of sweat trickles down the back of my neck. The heat and worry working together to slick my skin. I try calling too, but the phone rings out. Usually I wouldn’t bother worrying over Leah, but since Brian, grief has metamorphosed her, leeching both her light and strength. I think I should go, maybe come back later, but then I notice the sound of music. Leonard Cohen’s deep voice emanates from within the house. I try the handle and it’s unlocked, as soon as I open the door I get hit with the foulest stench of my life, even worse than when I used to get paid to wash down animal cages at the local vet. The stench clogs my nostrils and makes my mouth water with pre-vomit saliva.

I call out to Leah and get no response in return. Covering my nose, I start down the hallway, passing picture frames filled with photos of the happy couple. I call out again and I still don’t get a reply. Oh god, I should have come sooner. As I approach the bedroom, I hear a buzzing. I can’t place it for a second, and then I realise, it’s flies, a swarm of flies.

It’s all making sense, her favourite album playing, their wedding anniversary is coming up. The stench of sickly sweet death crowding the hallway. Leah has killed herself and now a horde insects are busy getting comfortable in the rancid warmth of her lifeless corpse.

I brace myself, a few steps and I’ll be able to see the bedroom, the carnage Leah has made of herself. And then I hear a laugh, Leah's laugh. The fear mixes with confusion and I’m so disorientated, I stumble the last couple steps forward and then I see them.

Leah is lying on the bed, holding Brian’s hand. It takes me a second to realise that the swollen form on the bed is indeed Brian. The flies have made their home here a while ago. There is a split in Brian’s belly where the gasses of rot have burst him open. Maggots spill off Brian and wiggle across Leah, like they can’t even tell anymore where the death ends and the living begins.

I turn away and run for the kitchen. My stomach is roiling and lurching. I only make it halfway and end up vomiting on the floor. Bile and this morning's toast exploding from my mouth.

“Hi”

I look at Leah. She’s knobbly and bony where she used to be muscular. There’s a stain down the left side of her night gown. It’s yellowy thickness let’s me know it’s broken down fat that has leached out of Brian and onto her. As if he was trying to offer back some of the bulk that weeks in bed have taken from her.

I’m still gagging when she starts talking.

“I dug him up, after the funeral. I brought a shovel with me.”

“Why?” 

“I was getting ready for the funeral and all I could think about is how he would be so lonely in the ground. You know how much he hated being without me.”

“Leah, this is fucking crazy, you know that right? I love you but holy shit. You need help Leah… you need serious help.”

She just turns away and walks back to the bedroom. 

“Leah, stop! I’m serious.”

She doesn’t listen to me. I follow her down the hallway and watch her climb into bed next to the mass of degrading flesh in a burial suit. 

The liquid of his body has seeped into the mattress and the carpet beneath their bed. No one is ever going to be able to scrub him from the carpet or the floor below. An oily stain has spread up the wall above him, a halo made from his desecration. Brian now has a permanence he never had before. I wonder for a second what will happen to this house after they’re gone. Who would even want it now?

“Go away,” She says.

“Leah please”

She stays silent, just staring at Brian’s empty face.

“This is beyond fucked up, I’m getting you out of here. If… if you don’t come with me, I’ll call the police. They’ll be able to drag you out”

There is another long pause, and I almost think she has forgotten I’m here. She’s so clearly out of it.

“Please… please just let me say goodbye” She finally replies, “I need to say goodbye. I didn’t get to say it last time, please“

She leans in close to the bloat and starts whispering. I feel like I’m watching something I shouldn’t. I head for the front door, for fresh air. As I’m walking through the house, I realise all of the pictures on the wall that used to be of parents and cousins and nieces have been replaced. 

They’re all of Leah with Brian’s body. All taken in the house. In one, Brian is propped up on the couch. Leah is sitting straight, like she’s posing for a portrait. The self timer on her phone capturing a record of her depravity. The photos all vary in poses and states of decomposition. The latest one I find is of them in bed. Brian already shiny and slick, his body bloated and gnarled. Leah has an arm around him and her head on his chest.

The front door is calling to me, fresh air and a reprieve from the incessant vibration of insect life. I reach for the handle when I notice the frame right by the door. The photo is of Leah, Brian and I at their wedding. It was Leah's favourite of the night, the three of us caught in laughter together. I sigh and head for the lounge room instead, climb the couch and slide open the window, pressing my face to the fly screen, breathing deeply the outside air.

The light tap, tap, tap of Leah’s steps announce her presence in the hallway.

“It’s okay now,” she says, “I got to say goodbye. We can put him back and no one has to know. You don’t have to call the police or anything.”

“Leah, you dug up his body, I can’t just pretend like that didn't happen.”

“Please! If anyone finds out, they’ll put me away. I don’t want to be alone. I lost Brian, I can’t lose everyone else as well.”

She’s just standing there in her yellowed nightgown, hands wringing each other. Leah looks so young, so helpless, like she’s in third grade again. Actually, she reminds me more of myself when I was in third grade. Unsure, broken, needing someone to look after me. Leah was the one who took care of me then, she was my person. Now I have to be that for her.

“Alright,” I say, getting up from the couch, “you get the gloves and aprons, I’ll get the rope.”

Standing in the bedroom, decked out in aprons, gloves, and face masks, we stare at the pile of flesh on top of the mattress. Assessing the best course of action, I really stare at Brian. Once a man, a great man at that, he is now somewhere between human and object. Tender and fragile, a bag of rot. Meat, past its use by date. A spoiled egg, one sharp prod and he’ll pop like a runny yolk. We have to be gentle.

Next to the bed, we lay the blue tarp I grabbed from the shed across the floor. Leah climbs up beside Brian, the movement jostles him, shaking the fluid filling his skin, wobbling like an oversized hot water bottle. Bracing myself over the tarp we grab his arms and pull him towards the ground, our fingers sink into his raw sausage meat arms. He slips from our hands a couple inches from the floor, with a wet slap he hits the ground. We rear back, and Leah spews a startled cry. The gash in Brian’s stomach yawns wider and a rush of melted organs spill from his open body; a thick grotesque puff of odour erupting with it. Following closely behind, a swarm of flies and maggots escape his bodily cavity, startled from their reverie.

Shocked still for a moment, we spring to life and scramble out of the room and slam the door shut. Leah slides to the floor, moaning and crying.

“What do we do now?” She asks me.

Dropping to the floor, I gather her gently into my lap. Trying not to think about bits of Brian swill getting all over me, I pat her matted hair.

“We take care of you now, the way you took care of Brian, the way you’ve taken care of me. Whatever that means.”

“Okay,” she says, “okay.”

Once Leah is soundly asleep, I dial triple zero. The operator seems a bit surprised by the situation I describe.

“My friend dug up her husband’s dead body and had been living with it for two months, can you send an ambulance over?”

“Uh, yeah. Right away.”

Once again, Leah and I are startled by a knock at her front door. I’m the one who answers it this time. Leah stands at the end of the hallway, she must look frightening to these strangers. Gaunt and covered in sludge, sticky with the putrid stench of the death that was stewing in that once pristine bedroom. They’re gentle with her, she goes with them willingly. We finally get outside, the freshness of the crisp air disorientating. Leah stops and turns to me.

“I’m sorry for bringing you into this,” she says.

“Anytime,” I say.

We both laugh a little bit.

“Leah?”

“Yes?”

“You’ll be okay. Eventually, things will be better.”

“I know,” She says, “will you be okay, without me around?”

I think it’s a joke. Her, also trying to lighten the mood. I answer her seriously anyway.

“Yes, Leah. I think I will.”

#shortstories #shortstory #bradievalentine #originalwork #originalstory #writer #author

[hamburgerhelpersotherhand]

Almost Fate P2

Forty Quinn x Reader

Warnings: Nagging, other stuff probably

Notes: This is a sequel to an earlier writing of mine. I’m currently posting this because the other requests are taking longer for me to proof read. I guess it’s because I’m being pulled in multiple directions by school work? Surprisingly, the Visual Arts department was not built for online classes.

Part One -> https://hamburgerhelpersotherhand.tumblr.com/post/612751263373934592/almost-fate

RING!

What on earth is that noise?

RIIING!

You suddenly bolt off the bed you didn’t realize you were on. “SHUT U—“

Your roommate stands before you, one hand on her hip and the other holding out her phone. She turns off the ringer and stares you in the eye.

“So, now you wake up?” She says sternly. “Where were you last night? You didn’t pick up your phone.”

“It’s a long story.” You reply with attitude laced into your words. You hadn’t noticed it before, but you were now definitely aware of your hangover.

“How did I get in here? I didn’t have my keys last night.”

“I brought you in. You were passed out in front of the door.”

You gasp theatrically. “... Are you going soft on me now?”

“Never mind that, Y/N. Where is your bag? You had absolutely no ID on you. That’s dangerous.” Your roommate is starting to sound like your mother. You won’t admit it, but you kind of appreciate it on a good day. That’s not today. “Besides, you weren’t answering any of my texts or calls and you left the room a mess! I swear, the thought of you being kidnapped crossed my mind.”

“Please stop talking.” You blurt out and point to your head. “Migraine.”

“Then answer me this: Where is your phone and WHY isn’t it on you?”

“My phone?” You’re confused for a moment, but your memories catch up quickly. “MY PHONE! Dammit, I think I left it at the bar.”

“The bar? You were at a bar in the middle of the week nearing finals?” Here we go. “Y/N... I know you’re more responsible than this.”

“Look, I have today off. I can make it all better. I’ll even pick up a new textbook!” You give her a thumbs up, a symbol that everything will be alright.

“Something happened to your textbook?!” Oh okay, now you’ve really stoked the flames.

“While you’re already as pissed off as you’ll ever be, someone also snatched my purse with my dorm keys and wallet inside...” You’re already beginning to change into some clean clothing.

“Y/N, do you not care about your grades here?” Your roommate is looking more concerned than angry now.

“I do care.” You reply with a sigh. “Yesterday was just not my day. Nothing went how it should have and I really wish my closest friend was supporting me rather than nagging me.”

Ouch. She’s thinking over what you said. Honestly? That’s all you could ask for.

Never mind your roommate. You make your way out of your dorm, heading to the Student Services office to report your issue and get yourself a new key.

~

You don’t have a phone, no purse in sight and you definitely don’t have a wallet... but your new key is snuggly sitting in your back pocket and you find yourself with some cash in your secret pocket, given to you by the bar man you met last night.

You... really can’t remember his name, but you knew it was something odd.

While you do remember feeling guilty about the money, you also remember telling yourself to spend it well. Specifically to buy yourself a new textbook before class next week. Whatever is left can go towards your new phone.

Your mind is thinking of how funny it would be to suddenly run into your robber as you walk along the streets of Los Angeles. Would you ever see that hideous yet sentimental purse again?

You left campus a while ago, but didn’t bother getting yourself a cab. It wasn’t worth the little money you had.

Whatever. You need a textbook. Where do you find this exact textbook at this exact time of year?

A bookstore.

And this particular grocery store, which you so happen to find yourself walking by, seems to have one inside, lucky you!

~

You’ve stepped into Anavrin once or twice before.

You’ve never bought anything, though.

None of this appealed to you, but the first time you stepped foot in here, you followed behind your friend as she bought fresh lemons for a school project.

The second time you found yourself wandering Anavrin, you thought they would have a public bathroom. You didn’t bother asking, so if they did have one, you couldn’t find it and concluded that they did not.

Now, you found yourself wandering the rather pathetic excuse for a bookstore. You followed the alphabet and quickly made your way across. Your head was pounding and you felt restless. The faster you got this done, the sooner you could just sleep in a dark room and cry.

“Come here often?” You’re startled by a familiar voice and instantly recognize his stupid looking grin.

“Five.”

“It’s Forty.”

“Right.” For the sake of your own dignity, you hope not to make that mistake again.

“Wait. Let’s do another take.” He puts his hands up and turns around on his heel. “One, two, three...”

He spins back around to face you, a smile crossing his face once again. “Come here often?”

You can’t help but smile back and play along. “Only when I need a new textbook.”

“Oou, you think a grocery store carries college textbooks?” Hes cringing and you slap yourself in the face from a sudden wave of embarrassment.

How could you be so stupid...

“I’m kidding!” He puts his hands on your shoulders and lightly shakes you out of your own head. You definitely still feel that migraine. “They should be in storage and, since I’m feeling so incredibly generous, I’ll get Will to take them out for you.”

“Oh! Thank you!” You exclaim, very much surprised but mostly thankful for narrowly avoiding such an embarrassing scene.

“Hey old sport—“ He lets go of your shoulders and waltzes over to the bookstore clerk with an apron. You’re just out of earshot, but you can tell that this Will guy seems very disinterested in whatever Forty is saying.

While whatever happens over there happens, you begin to drift away and squint around at the rest of the store. You’re not particularly drawn to anything, but your head is killing you and you’re starting to really feel it.

Maybe... just maybe... you should of asked your roommate for a Tylenol or two.

“Are you doing okay?” He asks, a confused smile on his face. “You look like you’re about to burst into tears.”

“Heh, yeah. I think I might have a slight hangover. I’m fine though, really.” You’re smiling at him reassuringly.

His grin widens as he inhales. “I have just the remedy for your hangover!” His hands rest on your shoulders. “It’s called sleeping in.” Very funny. “Now, you probably haven’t heard of it but—“

You swat your hand infront of his face to grab his attention and frown. “I tried that but I have a bossy roommate.”

“Then maybe you should sleep over at my place.” His hands slide down to hug your forearms, his eyes are looking through yours for a reaction and you’re suddenly made aware of his statement.

“That’s—“

Thump!

“Your requested box.” Will huffs out and gestures downward.

You peer down to the large single cardboard box by your feet and immediately spot the familiar cover of the textbook you’re looking for. You reach down and fish it out of the box.

“This is it.” You say.

“Great! Hey, old sport... I’m gonna need you to bring that box back to where you found it.” Forty claps his hands together and Will reluctantly obeys. If only to get Forty out of his hair.

“Thanks for the help.” You say as you double-check the textbook in hand.

“It’s on me, so don’t mention it.” He gives you a charming wink. “Seriously though, don’t mention it because Calvin will have an aneurysm.”

He has quite the way with expressing himself. For the most part, Forty can keep a straight face as he describes the oddest of situations. You believe it’s one of the things that makes him a hoot to converse with.

“Do you have a phone number? I think my broken phone equals no phone number gag has run it’s course.” He states.

You cant help but laugh and nod your head. He hands you his phone and you quickly add yourself as a contact.

“I should get going now, before my roommate thinks I’ve gotten myself killed. Thank you again for the textbook!”

“See you around, Y/N.”

“Later, Five.”

“Forty.”

You did it again.

~

It’s been a couple days since you stepped foot into Anavrin.

The encounter with Forty was surprising and really did catch you off-guard. There’s a possibility that he had mentioned Anavrin by name and that it entered your subconscious when choosing where to go... but you felt that was too far of a stretch to call it your reality.

The equal possibility that you were fated to enter that exact building also crossed your mind, but you shot it down just as fast.

Well, anywho, you’ve gotten yourself a new phone with the same old phone number. Forty still hasn’t tried contacting you, but he may simply not be aware of your phone’s status.

Not that contacting you matters! You two are just acquaintances, right? Drinking buddies at most.

You’re currently sitting at the desk in your room, studying the useful new textbook Forty had given you free of charge.

It was very kind of him, but you really didn’t want this to become a regular occurrence. Not letting you pay and/or paying for you? That felt like a problem waiting to happen. Don’t get yourself wrong, you appreciate the gesture wholly, but you hate to be in a position of owing something to someone.

Like... that kiss.

Oh, look at you now. You’re blushing and you know it.

RING!

That’s... your phone. That’s your phone!

But wait, you’re studying. You really need to get your grades up with this final project if you want to stand a chance to get the hell out of this school.

But...... what good is studying if all you’re really doing is getting lost in your own head? You slam the textbook shut and answer the phone.

“Hello?” You say.

“Good, you gave me the right number. I almost believed you’d play me.”

“Is this Forty?”

“Hey! You got my name right.” He says excitedly. “So,” His voice moves into a whisper. “What are you wearing?”

“Um... sweatpants and a tank top?” You mentally slap yourself when you hear him chuckle and realize what the question implied.

“Hot.” He laughs and you smile embarrassingly. “Anyway, I would hate to cut into your studying but... Can I take you out tonight? I think you’d absolutely adore the place I had in mind.”

You feel you face heat up. “Uh— I finished studying earlier. What did you have in mind?”

“It’s a surprise, silly!” His tone likes to change a lot, as you’ve come to realize in your short time with him. “Wear something special for me, yeah? Okay, I’ll pick you up at 8.”

#forty quinn #forty quinn x reader #you #fanfiction #joe goldberg #love quinn #x reader #reader

[syncogon]

TKA Chapter 1479 - April Fools’ Chapter

Posted on April 1, 2019, a collaboration between myself and Nomyummi. The real chapter can be read on Webnovel starting April 2.

(While you’re here, feel free to check out the prequel translation!)

Thank you for reading, and thank you for your continued support! 

Chapter 1479: The Emperor’s New Clothes

Blue Rain's Big Defeat! This was the front-page headline of the latest edition of Esports Weekly.

Happy won the battle, but the reports after the match all focused on Blue Rain, as their loss on their home stage was a more interesting topic.

This was life, after all, you win some and you lose some, and the same applied to Glory. An outcome could never be too surprising. In fact, those who were genre-savvy enough to recognize that Team Happy was the protagonist team of this story probably predicted long ago that Happy would advance to the next round of the tournament.

What was surprising, however, was how Happy had totally shut down Blue Rain this match. You would have thought that Blue Rain would at least take this round of playoffs to a third match, especially considering that they beat Happy twice before, but unfortunately this was not the case. It seemed that someone realized that describing nine whole playoffs matches at this level of detail would be way too much for anyone to follow without getting tired. No, Blue Rain lost, and it was just kind of sad because we finally got to learn more about their motivations and backstories and what a great family they made, only to watch them fail. Press F to pay respects.

In any case, because Blue Rain really screwed up their home game, the media went after them like a pack of wolves, as they so often do. And it all started at the post-match press conference.

Strategy, tactics, judgment, performance, awareness…

Team Blue Rain sat on the stage as the audience stabbed them with their verbal knives. Clearly the press had never heard of the term "sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me."

Knife after knife. Everyone was hit.

Huang Shaotian couldn't restrain himself for long. Here were all these reporters, acting so high and mighty and knowledgeable, like the emperor in his new clothes who paraded the streets naked. He wanted to strip and show those reporters the jewels of a real emperor - that would surely shut them up. In fact, at several moments, he almost did exactly that, but each time he was stopped by a look from Captain Yu Wenzhou. Yu Wenzhou knew what a delinquent he was, both on and offstage. He knew exactly which comments from the reporters would set him off, and with his excellent prediction and judgment, cut him off every time. And people said that video games were useless for real life.

Other than keeping Huang Shaotian under control, which sometimes felt like his main job, Yu Wenzhou simply sat there and listened silently, still wearing a faint smile.

These endlessly chattering people in front of them, they were all mad at Blue Rain for failing live up to expectations. Yu Wenzhou was familiar with many of them as Blue Rain fans - they liked Blue Rain, so they had held high hopes for Blue Rain. The greater the hope, the greater the despair.

Yu Wenzhou simply listened, until the crowd finally ran out of things to say. They suddenly remembered that this was a press conference, and they were supposed to listen to what the players had to say, rather than pull a Huang Shaotian and blather away. Whoops.

No one knew how to continue. But at this moment, Blue Rain's Captain Yu Wenzhou finally opened his mouth.

"Thank you, everyone, for the concern and kindness you have shown Blue Rain."

The reporters perked up. That was a good sign, right? At least he was going to listen? Wouldn't this all be worth it in the end?

"Everyone, you are all anxious for Blue Rain, and you only wish the best for Blue Rain. This, I understand very well," Yu Wenzhou continued.

"But…" he paused, before continuing, "Frankly, I don't give a damn."

"Hahahahahaha!" At that, Huang Shaotian burst out laughing and took off his pants. Yu Wenzhou gave him a look but let him be.

While Huang Shaotian was cackling away - man, this was so much better than their Season 8 playoffs loss - the reporters were stunned. They never would have thought that anyone would give such sincere thanks only to straight-up swear at them afterwards. And this was Yu Wenzhou, of all people! Their good, gentle, kind Captain Yu??? Somewhere, Blue River was having an aneurysm.

A few stood up, but Yu Wenzhou's voice stopped them.

Starting from the very first critic in this press conference, Yu Wenzhou began his rebuttals. In total, there were fifteen reporters, and thus fifteen replies, of which some excerpts are delineated below.

"Have you ever tried running around in a tornado? Yeah, I didn't think so. I haven't either, but I once met this grandma from Kentucky, who said she got isekai'd to some magical country when she was little, and she said it was mighty difficult to move around in one. She actually told a pretty good isekai story, no OP powers, no harem, unlike some; sure, there was some plot armor... but I'm getting sidetracked, the point is: moving around in strong winds is not as easy as you think."

"It's true that things did not go smoothly, but you, sir, actually managed to try and criticize the one part that went all according to jihua (TL note: jihua means plan)."

"Mr. Reporter, someone in your life told you that all your comments are insightful and important. People lie."

"Shaotian would like to add that Steamed Bun is a 'punk-ass bitch', and that the answer to the question 'if a tree falls in a forest and no one hears it, does it make a sound?' is 'fuck off, if you ever ask me that, I'll make sure you never make a sound again.'"

"Yeah, he got me," Yu Wenzhou said of how Ye Xiu dunked on him, "That Ye Xiu boomed me."

So, one by one, Yu Wenzhou took their arguments apart. He didn't miss a single one, and even followed the correct order in which they had spoken, which was kind of a weird flex but okay.

This was far more complex and high-end than they had imagined. Their brains just couldn't process such perfectly-crafted, culturally-literate arguments. After listening to Yu Wenzhou's analysis, the problems that they had brought up felt unbelievably shallow. And they couldn't even be mad.

When Yu Wenzhou finished speaking, the scene once again returned to silence.

"Then…" Yu Wenzhou looked at the crowd. "Peace." Unfortunately, he couldn't actually do a mic drop because it was attached to the table, but that sort of vibe was still there.

With that, Team Blue Rain departed.

In the player passageway, Blue Rain passed Happy, who was waiting for their turn at the press conference.

Ye Xiu said to Yu Wenzhou, "Damn, what did you do out there? Haven't seen the press like that in a while. Honestly, I didn't know you had it in you, Captain Yu."

And Yu Wenzhou replied calmly, "I only learned from the best."

#quan zhi gao shou #qzgs #the king's avatar #mine #synco writes #translation #...i guess #finally lived out my dreams of crack tl #in some ways this is the third time / version i've translated this chapter hahaha

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Fragile Things (ch.3, baon)

Summary:  It’s been a very long week

Tags: Spicyhoney, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Angst

Notes: Brace yourselves, you have to go forward to go back...but because I had a few people who were concerned enough to ask, let me reassure y'all that no one is dying in this series, nor would I ever have Edge and Stretch separate, nope, nope, nope. Life isn't perfect for them, never was, but you can count on that much, for certain.

part of the ‘by any other name’ series.

Read it on AO3

or

Read it here!

~~*~~

When Edge first opened his sockets, he wasn’t sure where he was. Blearily, he looked around the room, his thoughts tangled and sleepy.

The walls were painted a soft yellow and hanging on them were paintings of soothing landscapes and floral arrangements, done by the artists in the Monster community. On a corner table was a vase of dried flowers, carefully displayed to bring a touch of soft color to the room. The overall effect would have given the appearance of a luxury hotel room, if not for the hospital bed and the monitoring equipment.

There were comfortable chairs, a far cry from those in the waiting room. Blue was curled up asleep in one of them, his head resting on his updrawn knees. Beneath the curtained window was a cushioned bench. At some point in the night Sans had crawled up on it and he was sound sleep, unflinching at the dawn light pouring across his face.

They both had matching dark smudges beneath their sockets, their faces lined with weariness. He surely had a set of his own. Matching luggage, wasn’t that the witticism?

His exhaustion must be making him giddy, if he was thinking up jokes. Sleeping in a chair had done little for his fatigue but his magic had recovered quite a bit, they should all have gotten something to eat before they’d fallen asleep last night, they—

It was only when the blankets on the bed shifted that Edge woke up entirely, everything that had happened the night before falling painfully into place. Stretch stirring was likely what had woken him, and Edge leaned back in his chair, watching as Stretch’s face scrunched up, his sockets flickering.

At some point in the night, someone had removed most of the electrodes, which meant someone had been in this room and Edge had slept through it. That he’d berate himself for later; right now his attention was entirely on Stretch as he slowly woke.

He blinked rapidly, his head lifting from the pillow as he looked around in confusion. His eye lights met Edge’s and he could see dawning realization before he let his head drop back on the pillow, closed his sockets as he croaked out a heartfelt, “fuck.”

“Yes, I would call that an accurate assessment,” Edge said acidly. Stretch’s sockets pinched shut tighter for a brief moment before he slit them open again, fuzzy white lights meeting the crimson of his glare. “’Fuck’ is certainly a word to describe this. Perhaps I can use it in a sentence for you. For example, what the fuck were you thinking?”

Behind him, he could hear Sans and Blue stirring, but he didn’t look away from Stretch, who was shrinking down in a guilty cringe. It confirmed everything he’d been afraid of; not only had Stretch been doing something dangerous, he’d done it on purpose, without even the barest precaution of a lab partner. The fear he’d been swallowing back all night, waiting hours for if when his husband woke, was congealing within him, hardening into fury.

Pure carelessness, that was all it was, Stretch so foolhardy with his own life, and for what?

“Would you care to explain what happened?” Edge demanded. “Do you even know?”

Blue slid out of the chair, scrubbing hard at his sockets as he came up to Edge’s elbow, “Pappy, you should rest—"

They both ignored him and Stretch burst out, “look, i know, i fucked up.”

Edge laughed harshly and Stretch cringed harder, gripping his hands together, the bones scraping. “Oh, well, then, you know that you fucked up, that makes it all fine, doesn’t it?”

“i didn’t say that!” Stretch blurted. He was breathing heavily, the machines giving a beep of warning. But a quick Check showed his HP was fine and Edge wasn’t about to apologize for Checking him. As agitated as Stretch was, Edge doubted he noticed. “it’s just with everything that’s been happening lately, i was trying to…to get the fucking thing to work. i thought if i could get it working properly, things would get better.” He reached out tentatively, his fingers drifting limply down to the bed when Edge didn’t take his hand. “i thought, humans might not like us but if we could work through a way to help them heal? they’d be begging for us to stay aboveground.”

“Pray tell, how does that excuse cutting corners? I may not understand everything you do in your lab, but I do know Sans should have been with you.”

“edge,” Sans said behind him. His voice was low and miserable, but Edge couldn’t pay attention to that. His focus was a laser on Stretch, angry heat throbbing in his rib cage.

“i know,” Stretch whispered. A tear streaked down his cheekbone and for the first time since they’d gotten together Edge felt a brief, vicious moment of satisfaction at seeing it, coupled with distant pain. 

“Do you have any idea how it felt to go downstairs and see you like that?” Edge went on, relentlessly.

“i get it, okay?” Stretch’s voice broke, pleading.

“If you don’t care how it made me feel, then think about your brother!”

“i care how you feel!” Stretch shouted. The tears were flowing now, bright orange against the paleness of his skull. “of course i fucking care! you’ve been under so much stress lately, i only wanted to—" Stretch bit off the words, scrubbing angrily at his cheek bones with the back of his hand. “i was trying to help!”

That was like a blow, directly to his soul and abruptly it all made a glaring sort of sense. Stretch had done this because of him. He'd risked his life for him, all for him.

Slowly, Edge stood, the chair scraping loudly on the floor as he pushed it back. Without a word, he turned and walked out, couldn’t listen to Stretch frantically calling his name. He needed a moment, or he was going to say something he’d truly regret.

His boots were too loud against the clean tile of the floor, the steady sound of them lulling as Edge walked swiftly through the corridors. His feet carried him automatically to the visitor area where doors led outside to a terrace. Distantly, he registered someone standing on one end, smelled a whiff of cigarette smoke. He ignored them, pushing aside the flutter of emotion that familiar scent gave him, and walked to the other side to brace his hands against the snowy stone balustrade.

The volcanic heat in his soul was pounding with molten fury, LV that rarely troubled him clamoring unforgivingly. Edge dug his fingers into the stone until they hurt, the pain purposefully distracting as he concentrated on breathing. In to a count of four, then out, drawing out the exhalation as long as he could. Finding a rhythm, letting it soothe him.

The cold helped as well; it cleared his head, helped him focus. Edge stood there until his feet and hands were numb, his skull chilly with drying sweat.

He gave it another long moment before he said, acidly, “I know you’re there.”

Red stepped out from a shadow, the glow of his eye lights appearing abruptly. “good, was getting sick of hiding.”

He reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulled out a slender cigar, biting off the end with sharp teeth and spitting it over the terrace. He took his time lighting it, scratching the match against the stone balustrade and holding the cigar in the tiny flame until the end glowed cherry red. He took a long puff, exhaling a vile cloud of smoke that wafted directly into Edge’s face. “all right now?”

Edge considered it before he answered, watching the ash grow in length at the cigar tip before his brother tapped it carefully away. “Yes. If you blow that smoke in my face again, I’m going to shove that cigar through your eye socket.”

A grin quirked up the corner of Red’s mouth, but he moved to stand downwind. “whatever you say, boss.”

It wasn’t worth the argument to tell his brother not to call him that, not at this moment. “How long have you been here?”

Red shrugged, leaning with his back against the railing. “since last night. didn’t want to interrupt your little slumber party, so i talked with the doc. sleeping pretty heavy these days, aren’t you, bro.”

Edge didn’t bother answering that. His brother would find a way to punish him for it, eventually. For now, he had more important questions, “What did the doctor say?”

“said that your liability is fucking lucky you found him when you did,” Red said bluntly. Edge did not flinch, only met his brother’s gaze evenly. Eventually, Red nodded. “he’ll be okay. sans was a little forthcoming, at least,” something in his expression soured a little at that. Perhaps Edge wasn’t the only one with a reprimand in his future. “that little toy of theirs was supposed to take a little of their magic. no big deal, both of them have it in spades. only, something backfired and instead it drained him dry. when it ran out of magic, it went for his hp.”

Perhaps it was a measure of kindness that Red stopped there, that he didn’t confirm what Edge already knew. If he hadn’t been worried when Stretch didn’t show up for dinner, if he’d stayed later at work, if, if, if. Or perhaps Red didn’t want to antagonize his LV any further by saying what they were both thinking.

Dust.

With a flick of his wrist, Red tamped out his cigar, tossing the butt into a nearby ashtray. “if you’re done with your bitch fit, we should get back. your pretty little honey bun is about to have an aneurysm. doc is talking about sedating him if he doesn’t calm down.”

Guilt flared, as painfully cold as his anger had been hot but Red was already shaking his head. “don’t even, kid. sometimes you gotta walk away. Better to take a chance leaving than staying like that.”

Edge nodded curtly, turning on heel and walking away. His brother didn’t follow him, but then, Edge didn’t expect him to. Red would find his own way back to the room.

He could hear weeping before he even made it to the doorway, taking a slow breath and bracing himself before he walked in. Blue was sitting on the bed with Stretch, holding his brother and rocking him, singing softly. Sans was nowhere in sight.

Blue’s eye lights jerked towards Edge as he stepped through the door, wide and accusing but he said nothing, only loosened his hold as Edge moved up to the side of the bed.

When Stretch lifted his face from his brother’s shoulder, his face was awash with tears. The sound he made, a low, whimpering moan, tore at Edge’s battered soul. He let Stretch grab him with frantic hands, let him pull him in, holding him achingly tight.

“don’t leave me,” Stretch pleaded, his unsettled hands grasping at him frantically. “please, i’m sorry, i’m so sorry, don’t leave, please…”

“Hush,” Edge murmured. Uselessly; Stretch only babbled on, but he managed to move enough to pull Stretch into his lap in a tangle of blankets and tubes. Gently, he cupped the back of Stretch’s skull, guiding his head down to his own shoulder. Wetness seeped through his shirt almost immediately. Edge ignored it, petting softly, soothingly, as he crooned, “Shh, it’s all right, it’s all right now, I wasn’t leaving, I would never leave you, shhhh. You aren't getting rid of me that easily.”

He heard the door close and sent a thought of silent gratitude at Red, for surely he’d dragged Blue out; it was highly unlikely he’d leave on his own, not with his brother like this. But Edge preferred to deal with his husband’s upset without an audience and he didn’t care to be soothing both Swap brothers. He cared about Blue, for all that he could be an occasional irritant, but his passion and his love was for one skeleton alone, the one in his arms.

Edge only held Stretch as he cried himself out, murmuring useless reassurances until he fell asleep. He waited until he was sure Stretch was sleeping soundly, then, with as much care as he could, Edge lifted Stretch back into the bed. He took his time tucking the blankets around him, wiping away the drying dregs of his tears, then lay down next to him, on top of the covers.

Eventually a nurse came in, pausing as she caught sight of Edge on the bed. Edge glared at her, but she didn’t say a word, only changed the IV bag and left.

With a sigh, he settled in, resting his head on the pillow next to Stretch’s and closed his sockets. He didn’t care what anyone did or didn’t say, doctors, brothers, or the Angel herself.

He wasn’t going anywhere.

-finis-

#spicyhoney #papcest #keelywolfe #underfell #underswap #underswap papyrus #underfell papyrus #by any other name

[echoes-of-realities]

be my fire in the cold (and I'll be waiting by the mistletoe) - 3/25

* * *

[From the Start] // [Fanfiction] // [ao3]

[Previous Chapter] // [Next Chapter]

Chapter Summary: Santana shows up to breakfast with her friends looking like a drowned cat; Brittany’s far too adorable for Santana’s wellbeing.

Chapter 3: so they gathered all they could

///

Santana groans and rings her hair out as she steps through the first set of doors to the restaurant, feeling more drowned cat than human. The weather had seemed fine this morning when she left her apartment, a little grey and cold but nothing she wasn’t used to; or, it was fine until she emerged from the subway into what could only be described as a torrential downpour. With no umbrella or hood on her jacket, she had spent the three blocks to the restaurant cold and uncomfortable, rain plastering her hair to her face in heavy tendrils and sneaking down the collar of her jacket until her shirt was sticking uncomfortably to her back. She finally rings her hair out enough that it’s not dripping too much, opening the second set of doors to the restaurant and feeling a little less rude about the fact that she’s leaving droplets of water all over when she’s not literally trailing puddles of water behind her. Tina and Mike are already cuddled up on their usual side of their corner booth, facing the rest of the restaurant and sipping their drinks; coffee for Mike and a hot chocolate for Tina, like always.

As soon as she steps into their line of sight Tina bursts out laughing, so loud that Santana can hear it all the way from the front door, her giggles not letting up the entire time Santana stalks across the restaurant. “Oh, shut up,” Santana growls as she falls into the booth across from them.

Mike has the grace to hide his grin around a sip of his coffee, but Tina has no such qualms. “You want a glass to go with that water?” she teases, gesturing at Santana’s limp hair.

Santana flicks her hand in Tina’s direction, spraying her with a healthy spatter of rainwater. Tina sputters a laugh as their waitress arrives at their table with a coffee and a water, giving Santana a sympathetic look even though her eyes dance with amusement as she sets the drinks in front of Santana. “Don’t you start in on me too,” Santana grumbles.

The waitress is more than used to Santana’s general morning grumpiness over the years, especially before her coffee, and just laughs and takes her order, not even bothering to offer Santana a menu; Santana’s pretty sure she hasn’t been offered a menu here since her second year of college. She struggles to peel out of her jacket as the waitress heads to the kitchen, even though she knows that her shirt is probably only marginally drier. Mike reaches across the table to tug on her sleeve and Santana mutters her thanks as the soaked fabric finally starts to peel away from her skin. She sighs in relief, scooting along the booth to hang her jacket on the coat rack attached to the divider between the booths before settling back against the window.

“Eugh,” Santana complains, plucking at her jeans; they barely peel away from her skin they’re so wet. “Remind me why I agreed to come here so early?”

“Because you love their pancakes,” Tina says easily.

“And their coffee,” Mike adds.

“And it’s tradition.”

Santana rolls her eyes but she doesn’t bother hiding her grin. “All valid reasons. But I’m bringing an umbrella next time.”

“Just get an actual raincoat for once,” Tina suggests.

“Or check the weather,” Mike adds helpfully.

Santana narrows her eyes at them. “Remind me again why I’m friends with you?”

Neither of them dignify that with an answer, just give identical snorts of amusement.

“So how’s the new big shot production stage manager handling the show?” Mike asks with a fondly teasing smile.

“Pretty good,” Santana says with an exhausted grin. She was up most of the night writing notes into her prompt book, marking practically every single call so she can hopefully learn the show a little quicker, but it’s a satisfying kind of exhaustion. “I mean, it’s insane that I’m running a show in a theatre that I hadn’t even step foot in three days ago, but I like the challenge.”

“How’s it going with the other departments?” Tina asks.

Santana takes a quick sip of her coffee, savouring the way her senses start to finally wake up at the first hint of caffeine; she just wishes it would be enough to burn away the chill that’s settled into her bones. “Quinn and Zizes and Artie are great,” Santana says, “They all work really well together to start with, and they haven’t had any problems with me taking charge. The stagehands trust them, so they seem to trust me now, which is really helpful. Costumes and props and automatons have been good so far too. I made a couple changes with the lighting prompts for the battle scene and Unique thinks it’ll help illuminate the back soldiers. But,” Santana rolls her eyes involuntarily before she continues, “that greasy haired head of sound is always yapping in my ear. I swear to god he nitpicks my every decision just to spite me.”

Tina’s brows furrow in confusion. “Blaine,” Mike clarifies.

“I refuse to even say his name least he be summoned like some demon spawn,” Santana sneers. “He told me that having a phone on me during will ‘interfere with the sound waves and audio feedback from the pit,’ which makes no fucking sense because, one, every single stage manager I know keeps a phone on them in case of emergencies, and two, I’m no scientist but I’m pretty fucking sure that’s not how sound waves or instruments work.”

“What did you say?” Tina asks warily.

Santana shrugs and smirks. “I told him that his hair gel is noxious and interfering with his brain waves.”

Mike laughs but chokes it off when Tina elbows him in admonishment. “That was rude,” he says, but he can’t hide the approving grin.

“Maybe,” Santana grins, “But it doesn’t mean I’m not right.”

“You probably shouldn’t antagonize someone you have to talk to practically every single day,” Tina suggests mildly.

Santana just shrugs her off, as she usually does when Tina suggests dialling it back a little; ignoring Tina’s advice is generally how she gets into messy situations, but they all know that Santana wouldn’t be Santana if she didn’t move at her own pace. “I can handle him and the overpowering fumes seeping from his head.”

Mike leans forward, glancing around the restaurant like he’s about to start gossiping in a high school cafeteria and is checking who might be listening. “His hair gel keeps him from looking like a chia pet,” he says lowly, and Tina and Santana burst into laughter.

“Oh my god,” Tina gasps, delighted.

“Fuck that explains so much,” Santana says around her laughter.

Mike grins and leans back in his seat with a satisfied grin, stretching his arm across the back of the booth behind Tina. “I noticed you finally met Brittany,” he says once the two women have calmed down.

Tina turns her dark gaze on Santana, eyes glinting suggestively. “I could hear you laughing in her dressing room last night again.”

Santana rolls her eyes and doesn’t acknowledge the slight swooping feeling in her stomach. “She’s funny,” Santana shoots back easily, “Unlike the other principals.”

Mike gasps dramatically. “You take that back!” he accuses.

Santana just shrugs and leans back in the booth with a smirk. “You know me, Chang, I’m always unapologetically honest.”

“Brittany!” Tina interrupts.

Santana glances at her in confusion. “Yeah,” she says slowly, “You forget who we were talking about, twinkle toes?”

Tina rolls her eyes and waves at the front of the restaurant instead of answering. Santana turns and cranes her neck over the back of the booth and, sure enough, there’s Brittany waving back with one hand and brushing water off the shoulders of her jacket with the other, a knitted hat tugged, adorably, a little too low over her forehead. Mercedes and Sam stand behind her, both of them shaking out umbrellas, looking a little damp but nowhere near as soaked as Santana.

Tina waves them over and Brittany, after a quick glance behind her to point out the group at the table to Mercedes and Sam, leads their group across the restaurant. “Hey!” Brittany greets brightly, her eyes scanning the table and landing on Santana with a warm smile.

Everyone else choruses their greetings and Tina grins at up at them. “You guys here for the best pancakes in the city?”

Sam grins widely, putting his hands on Mercedes and Brittany’s outside shoulders and leaning between them until he’s practically hanging off of them. “They’ve never been here before, can you believe that?”

Mike and Santana gasp in scandalized sync; they’ve been coming here for pancakes since they were in college, and meeting people who’ve never had a taste of heaven borders on sacrilegious. Tina shares an eye roll with Mercedes. “Well,” Tina says mildly, “you two better taste them before these weirdos have an aneurysm.”

Mike and Santana make obnoxious faces at Tina, singsonging “You love us” in strangely harmonized sync.

Brittany, Mercedes, and Sam all burst out laughing at the obvious teasing affection between the group of friends. “Why don’t you guys eat with us?” Tina offers, resolutely refusing to acknowledge her boyfriend or her best friend being absolutely embarrassing—and endearingly dorky, not that she’d ever admit that part. “You can help me keep my sanity.”

Mercedes and Sam glance at each other and shrug before giving the table a smile in agreement. Brittany presses her lips together, the bottom one pouting out just a little bit, as she glances at Santana. “You sure?” she directs at the whole table but her eyes never leave Santana’s, and it makes Santana feel warm all over, and the chill still in her bones from the rain finally starts to ease a little.

“Of course,” Santana says at the same time Tina and Mike nod earnestly. Brittany’s lip stops pouting as she smiles, her eyes turning catlike and bright, and Santana briefly wonders if Brittany knows exactly how adorable she is just, like, all the time. Brittany quickly divests her self of her jacket and hangs it right beside Santana’s on the coat rack attached to the wall dividing the booths; Sam gently helps Mercedes out of hers, before carelessly shrugging off his as well.

Brittany gasps as she slides along the booth, quickly standing awkwardly and hovering above the seat, her knees bent under the table as she stares at the fabric beneath her. “It’s wet?” She turns to Santana with a look so adorably confused that Santana’s lips curl up into a smile.

“Sorry,” Santana says, nodding out the window where the rain is still pelting the city with everything it’s got; she’s pretty sure her limp hair and soaked clothes do the rest of the explaining.

Brittany just giggles, reaching over to tug playfully on a damp curl of dark hair; it makes Santana’s breath catch for a reason she doesn’t quite understand. “You should know better than to leave your apartment without an umbrella,” Brittany says seriously, but her blue eyes are sparkling brighter than anything Santana’s ever seen, “You never know when you need it to keep the cats and dogs away.”

It surprises a laugh out of Santana and she tries to cover it by rolling her eyes, though she knows she doesn’t quite succeed. Brittany giggles, tugging her hat off her head and using to swipe at the drops of water that haven’t yet soaked the fabric of seat, drying it for her and Mercedes. Her blonde hair is staticky and sticking up in wild patterns and Santana ignores the urge to smooth it down. Brittany pulls the hat back on her head and finally sits down, scooting along the booth seat until her shoulder and arm and hip are pressed to Santana’s, allowing Mercedes to slide in next.

The waitress appears out of nowhere to take the newcomers orders. “I didn’t realize these three have other friends,” she teases, gesturing at her regulars. Said regulars’ protests are covered up the other’s laughter, and the waitress waits until they’ve all calmed down before she smiles around the table. “What can I get for the rest of you?”

Mercedes glances around the table, only now seeming to realize that she doesn’t have a menu. “Uh, what do you suggest?” she directs back at the waitress.

“Why don’t you ask these three, hon,” the waitress suggests with a fond grin, “I’m pretty sure they know the menu better than I do.”

Mike immediately starts recommending dishes to Mercedes and Sam, launching into what is practically a recitation of the menu, but Brittany turns to look at Santana instead, and Santana sucks in a sharp breathe when she realizes how close Brittany’s face actually is to hers. There’s a spattering of fading freckles across Brittany’s nose and crowding up by the amber-coloured roots of her lower lashes, and this close she can see the tiny licks of cobalt blue against the cerulean of her eyes. “What do you suggest?” Brittany says quietly while Sam debates with the rest of the table whether he’s craving pancakes or an omelet, and her voice shocks Santana out of the daze she fell into.

“The Sunshine Special,” Santana says automatically, “It’s my favourite.”

Something in Brittany’s eyes shifts and her lips curl into a small smile as she turns to the waitress and asks for the Sunshine Special and a glass of orange juice, please. She turns back to Santana with something teasing in her smile as she reaches forwards and takes Santana’s cup of coffee, bringing it to smirking lips as she takes a sip. Santana gasps in mock outrage. “You’re flirting with death there, Pierce,” Santana warns.

Brittany’s grin just widens as she puts the coffee cup back down. “I’ll take my chances,” she says with a wink.

Santana shakes her head even as something curls and flutters in her chest. “You’re lucky I’m too tired to fight you,” she snarks.

Brittany bursts into bright, guileless laughter. “You’re, like, tiny,” Brittany teases, “I could fit you in my pocket.”

Santana bites her lip to try and fight the smile threatening her, trying to keep up her grumpy attitude. “Watch it, blondie,” she retorts, “It’s not the size of the dog in the fight, it’s the size of the fight in the dog.”

“Did you just quote Shania Twain at me?” Brittany laughs.

Santana’s smile escapes her and she looks at Brittany in delight, something bright and lifting filling her stomach. “Mark Twain,” she corrects.

“Is that, like, her brother?”

Santana grins and shakes her head. “Not at all.”

“Damn,” Brittany says, “I guess an a hundred and forty year gap between siblings would be a bit much.”

Santana laughs loudly at that, feeling light and delighted and just a little bit adoring. “Dork,” she accuses.

“Says the person who just quoted Mark Twain at me.”

“Rude.” Brittany’s hand creeps towards her coffee again and Santana smacks it away lightly. “Double rude,” she adds, curling her fingers protectively around her mug. Brittany just shrugs, her blue eyes sparkling brightly, and changes course to steal Santana’s water instead.

Santana rolls her eyes but lets Brittany commandeer her water; she can feel Tina’s curious gaze on her but she resolutely doesn’t glance at her best friend, because she has a feeling she won’t be able to fight off a blush if she meets Tina’s eyes.

She tunes back into the conversation while Brittany sips on Santana’s water. She usually finds it kind of hard to feel completely comfortable around the company and crew because she spends so much time bossing them around (Tina and Mike aside, because she’s known them for far too long and walked in on far too many heated make-out sessions to feel any sense of awkwardness around them anymore). But there’s something bright and lighthearted about Mercedes and Sam and Brittany that makes her feel at ease, and it goes a long way to alleviating any awkwardness she usually feels—the fact that every time Santana manages to make Brittany laugh she feels like the luckiest person in the world doesn’t hurt.

She learns that Mercedes and Sam have been dating for only about a month, and she finds the tentative newness of their relationship sweet, even if she would never admit it. She learns that Sam does a pretty decent impression of Sean Connery, but that doesn’t stop Mercedes and Brittany from mercilessly teasing him about it. She learns that she actually went to the same huge high school as Mercedes after her and her mom moved to the city from Ohio, and they reminisce on their old, weird teachers even though the school was so big that they never had any classes together. She learns that Brittany is guilelessly tactile and before she knows it, Brittany is running her hands up and down Santana’s bare arm when she feels the goosebumps prickling Santana’s skin, trying to work warmth back into her skin. She learns that Sam and Mike met when Sam was first fitted for his Mouse King costume and he smacked Mike with his tail so hard he almost knocked Mike into a rack of snowflake costumes. She learns that Mercedes was hired for the ballet company long before anyone else at the table was, and because of that she always has all the best gossip about anything and everything related to the theatre. She learns that Brittany is about as unexcited for Christmas as Santana is when they both groan and complain at the sudden change over the speakers to from some radio station to Christmas music, and when the rest of the table start singing along to whatever classic song is crooning through the restaurant, Brittany and Santana just roll their eyes at each other and resolutely ignore their embarrassing friends.

When all of their food arrives, it’s a jostle to get everyone’s elbows in a position where they won’t knock into each other constantly; Brittany eventually ends up pressed even closer to Santana to give Mercedes enough room to eat her breakfast sandwich without their elbows banging into the other’s, her opposite handed dominance to Santana meaning that they don’t end up having any issues eating beside each other at all.

Sam does another impression as he finishes his last bite of pancake, and when the rest of the table bursts into bright laughter and teasingly comments, Brittany’s hand lands on Santana’s thigh briefly instead of her own. Something in Santana’s chest knocks loose as she watches pink bloom in splotches across Brittany’s face, her smile bashful as she mumbles an apology to Santana with a breathy laugh. Santana’s quick to smile at Brittany and playfully tease her until that bright, bright laughter is bursting forth from her and her embarrassment starts to fade.

She meets Tina’s eyes across the table for a split second, and the amusement sparkling in her best friend’s eyes tells all Santana needs to know: She’s so screwed.

#brittana #brittany pierce #santana lopez #glee #brittana fanfiction #glee fanfiction #tina cohen chang #mike chang #mercedes jones #sam evans #story: be my fire in the cold (and I'll be waiting by the mistletoe) #fun fact: this was actually the first chapter I wrote

[aspernamentum]

jimmy straight up fights a fucking bear: a random thing by me

He hated leaving his daughter. Sometimes the safest place for Amy wasn’t by his side. Fight or flight was a strange concept, Jimmy often preferred to plant himself and throw punches until his problem was solved, but he was smart enough to realize when he was beat. He was feeling the heat, it was causing him to sweat, so Jimmy reckoned it was about time to get the fuck out of dodge. In the back of his car were three duffel bags, one filled with cash, the other filled with guns, and the final one filled with clothes and provisions. Jimmy wasn’t expecting anyone to track him to the cabin upstate, but he’d rather have them and not need them than need them and not have them. He had shotguns, handguns, semi-automatics, uzis, shit, he even packed a grenade. He’d done most of his packing whilst unbelievably wired, gripped by a paranoid high. He had packed more guns than he had clothes. He stopped the car. It would be good to relax, a welcome change of pace. He’d missed just getting hammered in front of the TV. He considered it a vacation, and although he didn’t like being cooped up, after the shit the Russian’s did to him, he sincerely needed to clear his head. Plus, he’d packed for the occasion. He’d brought enough coke and dope to give an elephant an aneurysm. He’d even spent the afternoon previous making an insane quantity of pot brownies, something he’d surprisingly never had before. He was a little psyched to see what state he’d be in after eating them all in one go. He parked up and looked at the cabin. It wasn’t much, small, basic, the perfect place for a man to disappear. He grabbed his keys and glanced in the back seat. He grabbed the money and his provisions, the lightest two of the three bags. He stepped out his car and began towards the cabin. He stopped. Something didn’t feel right. What was that noise? Shuffling, movement. It was the absence of sound that brought it to his attention, no birds, no bugs, nothing. Then he heard it. An almighty roar, he spun to see a big black hairy mass swiping at the rear lights of his car.

Oh shit.

That’s a fucking bear. Jimmy had made many mistakes. He once tried to microwave a tin can of beans, he’d taken acid at a mob sit down, punched a police officer, antagonized the Russians, antagonized everyone, he’d stood by and watched people die, he’d bottled a foreign diplomat, gotten on the wrong side of the cartels, lit fire to a hospital, point is the guy was a walking mistake, but the second he turned his back on that bear and burst into a sprint he realized he’d made a mistake. The roar he’d thought was so almighty paled in comparison as the bear sprinted at him. He made it to the door, dropping one of the duffel bags to fumble for his keys, the bear was on the porch, the bear was on the fucking porch. Jimmy spun and threw up the bag of money, the bear threw it’s paw at Jimmy with a strength unparalleled in men. The money bag split, Jimmy was flung to the ground, money raining down on him and fluttering off in the light breeze. Noise, they always said noise scared bears. Jimmy scrambled to pull himself up, shouting “hey! Fuck you bear! Get the fuck out’ta here you rat coward!” He backed off, keeping his eye on the bear, its paws were raised, ready to take another swipe, trying to fumble it’s feet to get closer the Hopkins. Jimmy made it to one of the windows, he clenched his fist and punched it. The window didn’t even shudder, Jimmy yelped. “Fucking double-glazing!” It was difficult to engage his brain, but he managed. He hopped the porch; the bear caught his pants in what could only be described as the worst wedgie Jimmy could’ve ever experienced. Luckily the fabric gave way, Jimmy tripped and stumbled to his knees, managing to regain his footing, he circled the bear and back to the front door, the key shoved in the lock, he opened the door. Jimmy grabbed his provisions bag and jumped inside, the bear barreled into the door. Jimmy was flung onto the beautiful hardwood flooring of the cabin. He took a moment to appreciate it. He sighed in relief. He heard a loud bang at the door. “Haha, fuck you bear.” Jimmy panted. He pulled himself up using the couch, his eye caught something as he watched the door. The hinges were loose. “Oh Jesus.” The bear slammed into the door again, the nails shunted further out the door. “Oh Jesus fuck!” Jimmy scrambled, he headed for the kitchen. “OK, OK, OK, fuck, fuck, fuck.” He pulled out a kitchen knife, he shoved it in the back of his pants. He felt a pang of regret for skipping “The Revenant”. He took a moment to look back at the door, which was now at an angle, the bear desperately trying to force its way inside. Jimmy tried the back door, it was locked, the latch was stuck. He had the think fast. Fight or flight. Jimmy slid back into the living room just in time to see the bear batter down the door and below at him, a gruff screech as it made itself look huge. Jimmy bounced over the sofa and grabbed the old-style big-back TV. He chucked it at the bear, which seemed to knock it off it’s stance, it stumbled back knocking into the wall and letting out disorientated grunts. Jimmy noted the bear was male, it took a swipe at Jimmy, this time catching him on the rib-cage. The gashes were deep, Jimmy hit the ground next to the fireplace. The bear stumbled over the sofa, Jimmy grabbed the poker from the fireplace and rammed it into the bears gut as it towered over him. He rolled out of the way, then grabbed the poker that was still in the bears gut. It took another swipe at him, luckily hitting him with the pad of its paw on the side of the head. Jimmy grabbed the poker, put his foot on the bears leg and wiggled it around. The bear let out pained moans as Jimmy pulled the poker out completely. The bear dropped to all fours, it’s jaw clamped onto Jimmy’s shoulder. Jimmy screamed in pain, grabbed the knife out the back of his pants with his other hand and rammed it into the base of the bears neck. He pulled the knife out and rammed it in again, blood pissed over the bears fur, matting the hair. “Jesus fucking Christ!” Jimmy screamed out. He rammed the knife in again and again and again, the bear threw him to the opposite side of the room, the knife was still jutting out the side of the poor creatures’ neck. Jimmy held his shoulder, the pain was unreal, the bear had really fucked him up. The bear reared up again, stamping on the ground, the way it made noise, it was as if it was trying to communicate with Jimmy, trying to tell him that he’d been sent on a mission from God to make sure Jimmy died in the middle of nowhere alone. Bear attack. Out of all the things to finish him off, a fucking bear attack?  Jimmy stood up. “Alright, you piece of shit, if you’re gon’na kill me I’m going out fighting.” Jimmy took a running start and booted the bear in the balls with such force he tore a tendon in his foot. He then continued to repeatedly punch the wound he’d left with the poker, then he dodged the fuck out of there, backing off quickly, keeping his eyes on the bear. The bear was letting out pained moans, Jimmy was limping backwards to the kitchen. He made eye-contact with the bear. The bear went ape-shit. It dropped on all fours and ran at Jimmy, Jimmy moved, the bear tried to turn to follow him, it slammed into the wall, the plasterboard gave way. The bear burst into the kitchen, running head-first into the fridge, Jimmy slid under the dining table, the bear flopped on top of it, the table legs began to give way. Jimmy pulled himself out from under the table just as it gave way, wood splintering everywhere. Jimmy was backed into a corner now. Shit. He opened one of the drawers, grabbed a bottle-opener and jabbed it into the bears eye. The bear groaned and howled, Jimmy dodged past the bear and bolted for the door. The bear came rumbling after him. Jimmy had lost his keys in the tumble, and he figured he was already fucked up, he dived straight through the window of his car, his head smashing through the glass and slicing up his face pretty badly, blood in his eyes and head swimming with the pain he was feeling all over, he opened his gun-bag. He grabbed the shotgun and rooted around for ammo. Where the fuck was the ammo? Where the fuck was the ammo? “Fucking – FUCK!” Jimmy yelled. He still had the grenade. The grenade! This was basically going to be the end of jaws except way cooler. But Jimmy needed a minute. The bear was nowhere to be seen.

He sat in the front of the car for nearly an hour, the bear was nowhere to be seen. Jimmy regretted not taking his cell, he’d intended on picking up a burner when he was in town. He’d passed the store on the way in but he’d thought “fuck it, I’ll do it later”. Fucking idiot. With the grenade in hand, Jimmy got out the car through the busted window. He kept spinning as he headed back inside, looking around for that big hairy bastard. Jimmy approached the cabin, he saw the bear sat up against the wall next to his duffel bag. The bear seemed somewhat spaced out. Jimmy spotted the Tupperware boxes lying all chewed up next to the bear. The bear had eaten all of Jimmy’s pot brownies. The thing was fucking stoned. “Aaaaarffff.” The bear groaned. Jimmy slid down the wall, a trail of blood left on the flowery wallpaper. “Yeah, I know how you feel.” Jimmy replied.  

#ch; jimmy #idk i got the idea for this when i was baked last night so #have jimmy fighting a straight up bear #headcanons #headcanon #cant remember what my fucking headcanon tag is