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porcelainseashore · 1 month

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Into the Ether (1)

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Vampire! Toreador! Leon Kennedy x Fem! Reader

Summary: At the all-night events cafe you run, you’ve become acquainted with an elusive patron, Leon, though you can never remember the last moments of your interactions together. After a harrowing encounter, a love-hate relationship develops between the two of you as you grapple with your newfound status in a world of darkness and investigate the reasons behind the untimely attacks.

Content & Warnings: 18+ Resident Evil x Vampire: The Masquerade crossover, horror, mystery, romance, slow burn, strangers to enemies to lovers, angst, fluff, eventual smut, swearing, smoking, non consensual blood drinking, blood bond, vampire turning, violence, injury, mild gore, torture, religious themes, minor character death, RE ensemble, VtM concepts.

Authors' Note: Super excited for this crossover series! I’ll try to keep a regular update schedule on Wednesdays. I might take some liberties with VtM lore and mechanics to fit the story, but hope to stay as true as I can to the source material. Finally, I imagined RE2R Leon (my favorite!) in this role 🫶

AO3 Link

Chapter 1: RC By Night

You first saw him in summer, when the days were long and the nights were short, and the streets came to life again. There was the heady smell of pollen in the air and the humidity was sweltering. Just a couple of months after you and a bunch of idealistic friends from your theater school days had taken the plunge, and opened an all-night cafe in one of the cheaper, grittier areas of town, east of the river of Raccoon City.

It had been a scrappy little project, one you didn’t expect to receive a cult following and gain in popularity amongst the intellectuals and counterculture crowd. But then again, there was also the City College nearby and the events program you’d lined up each week drew them in. From comedy nights and disco fevers to site-specific and performance art, you knew what people liked and how they wanted to be entertained. A bit of kitsch, a sprinkle of avant-garde and a generous dose of unpretentious social drinking. It pulled him in too.

Him. You didn’t even know his name. The first thing you had noticed were his striking blue eyes that seemed to glow from the shadows of the dimly lit space, peering out at you. Always observing, always watching, never speaking. Sometimes he’d glance over across the opposite end of the room at another pair of companions — a rugged, broad-shouldered man with a dark crew cut bumping shoulders with a younger, spunky redhead in a matching biker jacket. They’d exchange subtle looks of recognition and mild suspicion before returning to whatever they were doing. Though they never uttered a single word to each other.

He came back week after week, ordering the same drink each time, but never touching it. One Manhattan, please. You obliged. A waitress you had sent over to pry on your behalf told you he enjoyed the cocktail, but couldn’t tolerate much alcohol. You saw him lift the drink to his nose, sniffing it as the corners of his mouth turned upwards, silently smiling to himself before he placed it back down on the table again. Strange. You shook your head and prepared a cup of black coffee, taking it over to him as his eyes lit up in surprise with your approach.

“On the house,” you explained, plonking it down on the table. He raised an eyebrow but remained tight-lipped.

Maybe he didn’t like coffee? Or how did he usually take it? “Uh—” you turned back towards the service area, as if to check that the condiments were still in place. “Would you like some creamer or sugar to go with it?”

He raised his hand to indicate it wasn’t necessary and his jaw clenched, before fixing it into an awkward smile. “Thank you.”

Those were the first words he had spoken to you. It rolled off his tongue like a swirl of mist, a sliver of a dream you couldn’t quite remember when waking up. You took another step forward to get a better look at him. He had a baby face, angelic almost, with that typical, boy next door charm your mom would have gushed at, and you imagined he couldn’t be older than his early twenties. Upon closer inspection, he seemed slightly pale, faint dark circles around his eyes that had seen more than his fair share for his age. There was a sense of weariness and jadedness behind them that made him appear older than he was.

Bringing the cup to his lips, he sipped a small mouthful, letting it sit for a moment, before swallowing it down languidly. You admired the curve of his Adam’s apple, bobbing as the liquid poured down his throat, littered with freckles and specks of moles. Something about his very presence mesmerized you, even more so than earlier. It was hard to place a finger on what it was exactly, and why this feeling seemed to grow with every second you were lingering near him.

He pulled out a pack of cigarettes, tapping it on the table before offering one to you. Why not? You were a social smoker and took it as a sign to join him. In fact, there was no other place you’d rather be at the moment. You were confused, but did not question it as you took a seat beside him, noticing that he flinched each time he flicked open his lighter to ignite a flame.

His fingertips brushed across your wrist as he lit your cigarette, causing you to shiver in response, while his jaw tensed again, as if trying to rein something in. Licking his lips, he took a puff from his own, exhaling the smoke as it billowed around him and for a second you thought you’d lost him to a wall of fog. Both of you continued smoking in silence, checking in with each other through furtive glances, even though there was nothing to be ashamed about.

At some point, you followed the direction of his gaze and saw that same pair of companions he often regarded from the corner of his eye. They were frowning, giving him dirty looks as he shrugged nonchalantly in return.

“Not much of a talker, are you?” you broke through the thick stillness of the air that surrounded the both of you like a bubble, separated from the rest of the evening revelers.

“You’re observant,” he teased, his eyes crinkling as he stubbed out the leftovers of his cigarette in the ashtray. You followed suit.

“So, what brings you here?” you asked, gesturing to the suit attire sans tie that he was wearing. “Don’t get me wrong, but this place doesn’t exactly seem like the kind you types hang out at.”

“Hm,” he huffed, though your question didn’t phase him. “And what exactly is my type?”

“I’d say you were a yuppie,” you blurted out, your mouth rarely had a filter on these days. “But I can’t be sure, something about you seems…”

“Off?” he offered, smirking, yet his expression carried a hint of somberness.

“Different,” you corrected, but mumbled out a quick apology nonetheless soon after.

“Don’t be,” he grazed your hand again as he adjusted himself in his chair, and you felt like he was doing this on purpose. “At least you’re honest. It’s a rare quality to find these days.” Though the way he said the last sentence sounded loaded with a double meaning.

“These days?” you guffawed. “You’re speaking like an old man.”

He joined in your laughter though that was the end of your conversation for that night. The rest of the evening went by in a blind haze, and you found yourself in a dazed state later on in the wee hours of the morning, still sitting at the same table, but your newfound friend gone without a trace. None of your colleagues had noticed a thing. You didn’t even get his name, but you shook yourself, commanding your limbs to get back to business and clean up after the customers that had left.

The next time you saw him was when you were hosting the karaoke night of the month. Decked out in a shimmery mermaid glitter jumpsuit, hair tied up in pigtails and face caked with extravagant make up, you hopped onto the stage, only to nearly stumble on your flimsy heels when those piercing blue eyes landed on you from the all the way back. Of all the nights he could have dropped in, he chose this one.

You suppressed your embarrassment and warmed up the audience with a couple of well-placed jokes before kicking the event off with those who had registered to participate. It appeared to be a tough crowd as you only had a handful of sign ups, and would need to potentially seek out volunteers when they were done. You hoped the rackety sound system would hold up till then too.

Fortunately, when it came to the crunch — which it did — you always had an ace up your sleeve. “You there,” you called out, pointing towards the back of the room. “Yeah, blue eyes, you.” Crooking your finger, you beckoned him over, waiting in anticipation to see what he would do.

To your surprise, he bowed his head, accepting the challenge, before slowly weaving his way through the crowd, who were cheering him on with your prompting, towards the stage. He flashed you his pearly whites as he climbed up the short stairs, his floppy bangs bouncing with each step. For a moment, you thought you caught something feral in his gaze, but it dissipated when he reached out for the mic from you, his hands sweeping over yours with an electric touch.

You were in awe of him, like almost everyone else in the cafe, when he broke out in a rich tenor voice, effortlessly floating through the notes of the gentle melody, that you felt as though you were being wrapped in a serene, velvet cocoon. Enthusiastic claps and hoots filled the space when he finished. The only two people in the room who were scowling were the same pair of companions he knew from before.

“Will you join me after the show?” he whispered in your ear as he handed you back the mic. Nodding was the only appropriate response.

You were rushed off your feet for the next couple of hours and it was late by the time you called the event to a close, but he was still there, by his usual table, waiting patiently for you.

“So you decided to push me into the spotlight,” he accused with a wry smile.

“Don’t pretend you didn’t enjoy it,” you shot back. “Here.” You set a cup of black coffee down in front of him. “My treat.”

“You’re too kind.” It sounded flat, like a game that had become routine between the two of you. He took a sip from it, nothing more, nothing less.

That was all you could recall from your conversation. You didn’t get his name until a few nights after.

“Hey, blue eyes,” you acknowledged as he strolled in.

“Leon,” he disclosed sharply. “It’s Leon.”

That was the night of exchanging introductions. You named all the nights you’d spent with him under various labels, so you wouldn’t forget.

Another night, he had whipped out a flip phone and you nearly choked on your drink. “They still make those?” You stared in disbelief.

He turned to face you in amusement.

“Bet you don’t have a—”

You didn’t even need to finish your sentence for him to fish out his pager, dangling it in front of you like a toy.

“Fuck off,” you laughed. “No fucking way.”

He grinned at your outburst and it was one of those times, few and far between, where you experienced a glimpse of that youthful energy he often hid behind a calm, matured facade.

“You’re still living in the 90s dude?” you jested, grabbing the pager as you flipped it over, trying to determine if it was real. It was.

His lips curled up into a playful smirk. “Something like that.”

“Healthcare,” you guessed, squinting at him. “I heard people there still have them. You’re a doctor?”

“I wish.” He coughed out a self-deprecating laugh, before rummaging through his wallet for a sleek white card, sliding over to you. “PI, actually.”

“Private Investigator Leon S. Kennedy,” you read the title out loud, deliberately emphasizing each word.

“Go ahead, shout it from the rooftops,” he joked.

“Don’t tempt me.” You gave what you hoped was a cheeky wink, not flirty, definitely not flirty.

A lopsided smile spread across his face, and you wondered if you were finally beginning to unravel the mystery of this man, one that he seemed to carry around like a burden.

“Well, now you know where to find me.” He winked back, taking a tiny sip of his free coffee.

That was the night of P.I. Kennedy. Soon, these nights blurred into each other. You felt like you were getting a step closer, but yet you weren’t. He always had you at an arm’s length for some reason, even though he seemed to want more. Why did he keep coming back?

He also appeared to care about what you thought of him. At some point forth, he started dressing down, exchanging his usual formal attire for a shirt with no blazer, and his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. A fine gold chain necklace peeked out from underneath his top collar, which was left unbuttoned. “Better like this?” he asked with no context. You had to pause and consider what he meant for a while before you understood.

“If you’d like to fit in.” You shrugged indifferently. “But I don’t think you want to.”

“You know me well,” he murmured fondly. The back of his fingers caressed the side of your neck, just under your jawline, along a pulse point. You closed your eyes and sighed. It felt sensitive and tender.

“And how well do you know me?” you asked.

There was no reply, but somehow you already knew the answer.

Another thing you were vaguely aware of was that you kept missing the tail end of your interactions with him. It was as though after a certain point in the night, you would come to, like waking up from a daydream, and he would have disappeared by then.

Your colleagues asked if you were seeing each other. Were you? You were only chatting, you surmised. Nothing had gone that far yet, at least from what you had gathered. But you liked him more than you would’ve liked to admit.

He walked you home one night, and when you reached your doorstep, you were about to invite him in, but he interrupted you. “There’s something I need to tell you…”

Guilt clouded his eyes, unmistakable and heavy. But as he was about to say more, he held back, as if pulled by an invisible thread. Then, you felt yourself overcome with tiredness, but it was pleasant and comforting. “Can you help me to bed?” Your voice sounded far away.

All at once, you felt yourself being propped up under his arm and your weight shifting under your feet, until your head touched a feather-soft pillow. He draped a blanket over your unmoving body. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I never should have—” Even in your state, you could tell it pained him.

“I won’t do it again, unless you let me.”

That was the last you heard from him for a while.

━━━━━━━━━━━

Leon couldn’t get enough of you. Believe him, he tried countless times, but it didn’t work. From the moment he had set foot into that establishment, he had damned himself. He knew it when he spotted you and smelled your sanguine resonance from afar. It was the humor of your blood, and it was stronger and more consistent than he was used to. You were just so full of life, and enjoying it to the point where he was envious. You signified all the hopes and dreams that had been dashed spectacularly to the ground, ever since becoming… what he was now.

He had to have a taste of you. A little drop wouldn’t hurt, would it? He’d been taught ages ago, by Ada, his sire, that he needed people like you to survive. If one ignored their hunger for too long, things would get worse, so much worse, and not just for himself, but for everyone else around him. It was simply the lesser of two evils to feed, and he’d never actually killed anyone by doing so. Then, why did it feel so wrong? He had gotten good at pushing down these thoughts, until they were reduced to an inaudible hum at the back of his mind. Just like many other things, he learnt to compromise. But compromising meant that sometimes, he’d lose a piece of himself. If there was an equivalent of a soul within the monster he had become, then it was fragmented, and he’d never get back the ones that had dissolved into the ether, due to the bad decisions he had made. Like the ones he would soon make with you.

Taste. Taste was something he had acquired since young. In his human life, he always had an eye for detail, an eye for what fit, what worked, and what didn’t. It certainly helped when he became a cold case detective with the police force, filled with unbridled potential, only to have that overturned, when he decided to chase after love instead of missing people and puzzle pieces. For years, he would’ve done anything for her, only for it to amount to wasted time and regret when the inevitable boredom that came with time struck, and he was tossed aside over something exciting and new. Still, he knew a delicious vessel when he saw one. You were just meant to be a special curiosity that he could pass on to the older vampire for a favor or two. At least, that was what he told himself, when you took the initial bait and he beckoned you to stay through unnatural means. That was the first lie.

When he bit into you, he was met with a burst of color, vibrant shades of all kinds of red. The flavor saturated his mouth: sweet roses, his favorite kind, their scent carried on a gentle zephyr; warm light that enveloped him but didn’t hurt; traces of nicotine coursing through your veins; and the familiar iron tang that gave it its kick. Your face, your voice, your very essence haunted him in that taste. He could see you like a will-o'-the-wisp performing on stage in one of your many plays across a lifetime, laughing with your friends in the back of a car speeding down the highway, crying into a pillow when you had your heart broken by your first love… How was this possible? Your memories came flooding through him and you were blissfully unaware of it all. He felt like a spy, listening in to all your secrets and desires, and his blatant invasion of your privacy disgusted him.

This was wrong. He shouldn’t have gotten so close. He should’ve heeded the warning glances the Redfield siblings were throwing his way. So, he tried his best to stay away, but like an addict, he kept crawling back, seeking you out like a dog with its tail between its legs. How could a mere mortal have such an effect on him? Did he taste this way to Ada when she turned him? He laughed sardonically. If only she could see him now, being so torn up over a woman he had just met.

He tried to erase you from his mind, but you were always meant to be something more. You reminded him of all the things he missed when he was living. You were the best he had ever tasted, but he didn’t want to turn you over to her, not yet. After all, he could afford to enjoy you for just one more time. The second lie had spun its thick, dark webs throughout his head. Truth be told, he would never share you with anyone else.

The third lie came when he resolved to tell you what he really was. He couldn’t keep going on like this and deceiving you, but his sire’s words bore down on him. “You don’t get attached to a vessel,” she scoffed. Wait, wasn’t he one too at some point? Her contradictory words replayed in his ears like a broken record. In any case, he wasn’t attached. He was being brave and honest, which was how he liked to think of himself. But when it came to the crunch outside your doorstep, he was a coward, finding himself unable to breach the rules of the Masquerade and gave in to his urges instead. It was then that he realized deep down, he was truly a despicable and hateful low-life.

Thump! He felt his body slam against a solid wall, as he entered a secluded alleyway round the corner from your apartment. A dull ache bloomed across his skin. After the events that had happened that night, he didn’t even bother putting up a fight. He slumped down until the brawny, older male sibling, Chris, lifted him by his collar and pinned him in place. At the same time, the slender redhead, Claire, Chris’ female counterpart, spoke, “Where the hell are you going with this, Leon?”

“Why do you care?” he spat, blood coating his teeth. “The cafe’s in neutral ground, no one’s claimed domain over it yet. I can feed on whoever I like.”

“Listen, you’re Cam scum, but you saved my brother back then, and you used to hang with us,” she hissed, jabbing her finger into his shoulder to emphasize each point. “So, I’m gonna give you a tip, but just this once.”

She brought her mouth to his ear. “There’s interest in the domain… and you’re not the only suitor vying for her attention.”

His eyes widened at the threat.

“Whatever you do, do it fast.”

#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy #leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy angst #leon kennedy fluff #resident evil #vampire au #vampire the masquerade #vtm #crossover #porcelainscribbles

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weepylucifer · 6 months

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Disco Elysium if it was a Hollywood Blockbuster

(inspired by the trailer by @brainrotdotorg)

Harry has to have a glowup arc where he regains his faith in his job and ability to be a good cop. The police isn't criticized here apart from maybe some handwaves at "a few bad apples" rhetoric. In the climactic moment, the phasmid appears and tells him it is his duty and his destiny... to reform the RCM

Because we don't have time for a nuanced take on addiction in this 90-minute movie, the narrative just turns on a dime halfway through to portraying Harry's alcoholism as rugged and badass instead of pathetic, or he suddenly stops drinking when he gets his groove back, with no withdrawal effects shown. The whole thing about speed helping him be better at his job doesn't factor in; Harry drinks and does drugs because he's sad about Dora and there's nothing more to it. All he needed was to buck up and focus on being the best cop in all of Revachol

Klaasje is portrayed as a one-dimensional scheming femme fatale. Her backstory doesn't really come up. She's dumbed down so that Harry can triumph over her, and is also genuinely attracted to him for some reason, "I am Sherlocked" style

Ruby is either cut entirely, or she's genuinely a predatory lesbian and that's it. If the latter, she shoots herself in the head in front of Harry and Kim and they make a MCU-style "Well that happened" quip about it

No political quests! We don't have time for that. Actually, both communism and fascism are only mentioned once in a backstory dump as stuff that happened in a bygone era. If anything, the film ends up really riding for moralism by complete accident

The film makers don't really know what to do with Kim, so he gets reduced to a guy that stands around and delivers snarky one-liners

The Hardie Boys are in one short interrogation scene, not quite enough to make casual moviegoers care when half of them are gunned down

Fan-favorite characters such as Cindy, Cuno or the Speedfreaks can be seen once in the background of a group scene, but have no lines (you KNOW hollywood couldn't handle the Cuno). It's announced on the director's insta as "a little easter egg for eagle-eyed fans"

Joyce has a way more active role, but also her character turns into an utterly flat "milf girlboss" type who gives Harry and Kim direct instructions on what to do, Madame Director style. The movie writers pat themselves on the backs for being more progressive and feminist than the source material. Also she has nothing to do with the mercs, they just sort of... appeared. Don't think about it too hard! It's stressed repeatedly that they're "rogue agents" and it's really nobody's fault that they're there

Evrart is a corrupt mob boss and that's it. He will be played by a skinny actor in a fatsuit. He also doesn't help find Harry's gun, Joyce has someone retrieve it offscreen so she can gravely and meaningfully hand it to him just in time for the mercenary tribunal

The Deserter just kinda being a shitty sad old man would be too anticlimactic for our summer blockbuster, so he is rewritten to be some kind of evil mastermind. Maybe he even directly communicates with Klaasje and tells her what to do, again "I am Sherlocked" style

The tribunal absolutely does end with RCM backup triumphantly arriving to save the day, led by Jean who underwent a mini-arc offscreen about putting his differences with Harry aside because at the end of the day, they're both cops, and goddamn it, cops help each other. He dramatically takes the wig off and chucks it on the ground to signal his character growth, and everything

No homo-sexual underground thought. The Smoker on the Balcony is allowed to show up in one scene, where he flirtily waves at Kim and Harry. Kim nods at him. Disney's first gay character--

There's a moment where Kim talks to Jean, expressing doubt about Harry. Cut to Harry doing something goofy across the room from them. Jean briefly glances at it, shakes his head, turns back to Kim and says gruffly: "He's a loose cannon... but he gets the job done." This is supposed to be a good thing

#posts by me #i have more i could do this all night #remember those blogs that were like ''[x series] if it was written by moffat''?? i guess this is DE if it was written by moffat #disco elysium

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sgiandubh · 14 days

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Anon rebelde.

A Cait le ha costado pero ha aprendido como intentar hacer creíble su relación con Tony aunque el sigue tan poco colaborativo como se ve en el vídeo de IFTA

No hay llegada a los premios porque la ultima vez, el papel de guardabrigo de Tony a la salida del coche de Cait quedó bien patente y ese paso atrás como buen asistente ha quedado para la historia.

No hay desfile en la Red Carpet con Tony porque la velocidad de Cait para alejarse de el saben que es carne de gifs.

Las manos de Tony debajo de la mesa porque sus últimos aplausos denotaban un cierto manierismo muy poco varonil.

Cait radiante, esperando el barrido de la cámara, mientras Tony parece ajeno a lo que sucede alrededor con una sonrisa que podríamos describir como una mueca.

En resumen, la enésima puesta en escena del circo Tait. Si aún hay alguien que compre entradas para ese espectáculo es su problema, no el nuestro.

Dear, dear Anon Rebelde,

¡Te extrañé! Bienvenida de nuevo, en uno de los momentos más bajos que parece que nos gustan con tanto masoquismo, de este lado de la valla. Pero primero, la traducción:

'It did cost Cait, but she learned how to try and make her relationship to Tony look credible, even if he still doesn't seem willing to collaborate, as the IFTA clip shows us.

There is no arrival at the awards because last year, Tony's role as coat handler when leaving Cait's car was blatantly obvious and that relegation to good assistant went on record.

There is no parade on the Red Carpet with Tony because of Cait's haste in getting away from him. They know it's gif material.

Tony's hands are under the table because last year's applause denoted a certain, very unmanly, mannerism.

Cait beams, waiting for the camera to pan, while Tony seems oblivious to what is happening around him, with a smile that could rather be described as a grimace.

In short, the umpteenth staging of the Tait circus. If there is still someone who buys tickets for that show, it is their problem, not ours.'

I overall agree, as always, with your very balanced evaluation of the current state of play. But I also think tickets for that particular show will always be a hot sale in this fandom, either because it will be just up some people's alley (Mordor - I am amazed at the stupidity of their discussing the concept and some of them never heard of Tolkien: mind boggles), or because of the collective trauma/Stockholm syndrome many of us, here, still display. What I mean by that is very simple: for eight years now, we, shippers have been hostages of that Narrative and when something happens along those lines, we will surely react, giving all its toxicity renewed space and airtime. I am not judging anybody, here, because this is only human (and to many, the trauma is palpable) and there is nothing to judge. This is, however, a well-known group behavior dynamic that never fails to deliver. What she did was simply to double down on her PDA. But the experiment failed, because even five years after that Remarkable Week-end, the man still can't be arsed to show any organic enthusiasm or even involvement in his whereabouts. Cue in the SC nostalgia pic galore on shipping blogs and I have to say I am not really a fan: it just fuels that disco inferno cycle and exposes us to the same old, vile criticism, when the core of the shipping belief system is to be found elsewhere. Again, not judging anyone, just trying to understand behavior patterns, here.

Plus, I am really sorry, but he has been looking all sorts of terrible for quite a while, now. Blaming the camera angle (cortisone bloating) or the lighting systems is as mendacious and idiotic as the people circulating it. This kind of free propaganda is also known by all the interested parties and it also never fails to deliver, for many reasons it would be useless to further analyze.

Looking forward to read your witty take on things next time, darling. Siempre un placer leerte, corazon.

#anon #fandom #shitshow

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roosterbruiser · 5 months

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VOULEZ-VOUS FINALE

Spans from December, 1978--December, 1992

Los Angeles, CA

She opens a bank account. Her bruise plays a big role in this chapter.

Another house party with just the gang. Cherry and Hangman are pretty much high the whole time. Everyone does a little bit of coke besides Rooster. She reads everyone’s palms.

Jake plays the tape of him and Cherry for everyone and Rooster gets pissy about it. And he tries to say it’s because he never watches his own stuff so he doesn’t understand why Jake does. And Cherry has to be like…relax, man. I fuck everyone.

Rooster sulks outside, smoking a cigar. And Cherry finally goes outside and sits on his lap and asks him what’s going on. He’s too afraid to admit that he’s in love with her. So he just says that he likes the way things have been and he doesn’t want things to change. She assures him they won’t.

And like she can sense that he needs it, she fucks him that night. Stays with him. Except there’s a moment where he tries to slow her down, holding her hips, helping her rock. And she lets him for a second--it feels good. It feels really, really good. But then she’s awash with something that feels too big and she takes over again and goes fast.

Rooster tells her that he sleeps very deeply when she sleeps with him. It feels like he’s saying that he loves her.

Los Angeles, CA May 29th, 1979

Jake’s guilty but unwilling to talk about things. They haven’t told anybody about what happened. They have a little get-together and watch some of the films Cherry has made and Rooster privately broods. She babies him--sits on his lap while he smokes a cigar. And then they have sex that night. It’s the first time they actually make love.

How come she can be sweet with Jake and not make it sexual but she can’t do that with Rooster?

Her and Rooster are like achingly close to being a couple. She’s spending all her time with him, they seem to have found some sort of domestic bliss together. She’s getting more money and he helps her open a bank account.

He is close to telling her that he loves her. But something that keeps happening is everytime they have an intimate moment together, she tries to get sexual with him. And he doesn’t know how to tell her now so he does it.

It comes to a head when Hangman is over one night. Her and Rooster go to bed and he is just holding her, kissing her, about to say he loves her. And she tries to initiate sex. And he lets it get to her sitting naked on top of him before he stops her. They have a small warble because she feels rejected and he doesn’t know how to explain to her that she doesn’t always have to fuck him.

So she gets out of bed and fucks Hangman. Then she sleeps in her own room.

Los Angeles, CA June 9th, 1979

Things are a bit stilted between her and Rooster now. She’s back on her bullshit with Jake, doing coke all the time and partying. It’s like what happened to her meant nothing. It didn’t touch her deeply enough for anything to change, especially since her and Rooster are in such a weird spot right now. And Rooter is too worried about something happening to Cherry, so he’s been accompanying them.

Cherry is feeling things for Rooster and it scares her. She is starting to get special treatment from people because they’ve seen her films. A few people ask for autographs.

Somewhere in here, Phoenix paints a portrait of Cherry.

One night at the disco, a woman approaches Rooster and she’s kind of all over him. But he’s just watching Cherry. And when Cherry comes back to the table, he says he’s ready to go and she says she wants to keep partying. The woman wants to fuck Rooster--Cherry can tell. She sees Rooster pushing her off and tells Rooster that he should just take her home.

They get into a spat about it and he ends up leaving with the woman and fucking her at home. But he can’t finish. He doesn’t know why. He lets her stay the night, but he doesn’t sleep in the bed. Really, he doesn’t sleep at all. He just paces.

Los Angeles, CA June 23rd, 1979

Cherry films a scene with Bob--nurse and patient. Then after, her and Bob go to the pier and she takes a walk with him. They get to know each other a little bit and he tells her what he knows about Rooster and Jake. They get to know each other. They both grew up on farms so they talk about it. They don’t fuck again. They have a friendship that translates off-screen and on. People like watching them fuck. But they never do it outside.

When she goes home, Rooster is making dinner. Things have been a bit odd between them. But she’s just overwhelmed. So she goes into the kitchen and just holds him from behind. And he melts in her touch. But then she starts kissing his neck and grabbing his cock and he just gives in because he knows that’s the only way he’s gonna feel her love. They fuck that night, but he tenderly kisses what remains of her bruise. She never takes the necklace off.

Cape Cod, MA July 1st-3rd, 1979

Phoenix has a vacation home on Cape Cod, so they all go to the house. It’s huge and beautiful and they’re all happy together. Cherry rooms with Rooster and it really excited him.

They kind of act like a couple for a little while there. She’s taking bumps with Jake but everyone’s taking bumps.

They have a few good days of just shopping and sun tanning and swimming and fucking. Maybe they play spin the bottle or seven minutes in heaven. Cherry ends up fucking everyone in the group during seven minutes in heaven.

When her and Jake are swimming together one night, she notices a scar on the back of his leg that she’s never seen before. He says it’s a piece of Gentry’s skull--embedded there forever because it was too deep. They couldn’t get it out.

For once, at the end of the night, Cherry is too tired to have sex. She asks Rooster if it’s okay if they just sleep. He says of course it is. He’s thrilled. He feels like this means something big.

Cape Cod, MA July 4th, 1979

They drink all day. Cherry takes a few bumps with Jake. They go out boating. It’s a good time. Everyone is beautiful, everything is beautiful.

They stay out on the water and watch the fireworks. She sits on Rooster’s lap all night.

When they get home, everyone is tired. They all go to bed. Her and Rooster go to bed too and they make love. Like they actually make love for the first time--she lets him. And it’s so intense and she doesn’t know what to do and she’s scared.

And he is so happy after. She can see that it pleased him so endlessly. And that terrifies her.

He tells her that he loves her. She pretends like she’s asleep. He falls for it.

Los Angeles, CA July 13th, 1979

Films a swingers scene with Rooster, Phoenix, and Hangman. She’s starting to get recognized on the street now wherever she goes. People from out of town are the only ones brave enough to ask for a picture together and she never says no.

Rooster is waiting for the perfect moment to tell her that he is in love with her. He wants to get it right. He wants to leave the business and take her with him. He has enough money for the both of them to live off of handsomely forever.

So then the four of them hang out at Phoenix’s place. Rooster sees the portrait of Cherry that she painted and says he wants to buy it. It’s the first piece of art he’s ever bought from Phoenix.

Jake tries to outbid Rooster. They have a weirdly tense squabble over it before Cherry intervenes and outbids both of them. She buys the portrait herself.

Later on, when her and Rooster go home, he turns on a record and asks her to dance with him. She’s confused because he never wants to dance. But then it’s a slow record and they slow dance and it feels good. She is in love with him maybe. But she’s having so much fun just fucking around, just being by herself, just doing whatever.

And then he says he wants to tell her something. And she asks him to make her cum first. He does--twice. And then he tells her that he’s in love with her. She is terrified but she knows that she loves him too. She feels powerless against it. So she says she loves him too.

Los Angeles, CA July 17th, 1979

Her and Rooster decide that they’re going to try monogamy. She’s scared, but she loves him. What else is there to do? The deal is that they only fuck other people for work. That’s it. Nothing outside of that.

They announce it to their friends while they’re all on the beach together. Everyone is happy for them. Honestly, it’s a good day. Jake isn’t an asshole--he doesn’t think it’s gonna last, but he doesn’t say that. He’s still touchy with her, which is okay for now.

That night, she takes a bath with Rooster. They tell each other about their childhoods.

Los Angeles, CA August 11th, 1979

She films a cuckold scene with Rooster and Bob.

Fucking other men on set isn’t helping. She wants to keep fucking other people. But she loves Rooster--she’s devoted to him. And it isn’t that he isn’t fulfilling her, it’s just that she’s a genuine nymphomaniac.

Cute moments with her and Rooster--maybe them swimming. Maybe them shopping. You know. Cute stuff. You can do it!

Monterey, CA August 17th-August 20th, 1979

Rooster takes Cherry on a road trip. They go up the coast and stay in a little cottage on the water. It’s nice. It’s just them. He loves that it feels so domestic. She just loves him. She’s insatiable, though. She always wants it--she always wants to be fucked.

Cherry wants to be with him but she’s afraid it won’t be enough. She’s trying so hard for it to be enough. For him. For Rooster. He tells her about his mom getting sick.

Los Angeles, CA September 1979

Films a domination scene with Rooster.

Cherry and Rooster are in love. But she wants to be fucked all the time.

There’s a scene where she tries to initiate sex and he doesn’t want to have sex. So she’s just frustrated. She has to touch herself and it just isn’t the same.

She grabs a drink with Jake and they end up going back to his house. They do too much coke and end up sleeping together. They both feel terrible about it.

She tells Rooster as soon as she gets home. And he forgives her and Jake immediately--I mean, it’s like handing a lighter to a pyromaniac. He gets it. He says that she can sleep with whoever she wants, as long as she comes home and is in bed with him every night.

Los Angeles, CA October, 1979

Films a Western thing with the full cast.

She fucks someone else one night and then comes home. Her and Rooster eat dinner. They got to bed. He initiates sex and in the heat of the moment, while he’s being rough with her, he tells her that he’s fucking someone else’s cum into her. He calls her a whore.

They stop. They’re both upset. They agree that it isn’t working. He asks her, as a last ditch effort, to quit porn and just be with him. She says no. They hold each other. In the morning, they agree to only fuck on set.

Los Angeles, CA November, 1979

Summer camp with the full cast. When her and Rooster fuck, it’s very much them longing for each other. It’s heartbreaking, really. They kiss a lot. He still makes her cum. She misses him so much. Just a long hug after the shoot.

She starts getting super into doing coke with Jake again. They’re hanging out all the time together. She’s still living with Rooster. But they’re achingly just friends--which is very hard for them.

She’s kind of in a tailspin. She fucks everyone. She misses Rooster.

Los Angeles, CA Late November, 1979

Her and Jake are hanging out, doing coke one night. They are talking and they start arguing. He says she doesn’t know the difference between sex and love. And they’re both high and they really get into it but then all of the sudden, he starts seizing.

She rides with him in the ambulance. The paramedics recognize her and one of them asks for her autograph. Rooster meets her at the hospital. He and Cherry comfort each other. She’s very distraught. Jake is okay--they get to go in and see him after a few hours. They stay in the hospital with him for a while.

When Rooster goes home to get him and Cherry some clothes, Jake tells her that he has something that he only wants to tell Cherry and she can’t tell anyone. She agrees. It’s very soft. She’s stroking his hair, they’re both crying. He said he met God and he licked his wounds. It was Gentry.

Los Angeles, CA December, 1979

Cherry is still reeling from seeing Jake overdose. She asks Dennis if she can push the shoot back. He says no. Rooster and him get into it.

Cherry shows up on set and Rooster and Dennis are arguing. Rooster tells Cherry that this is his last scene--ever. He’s leaving the business after this. This means several things: Cherry knows everyone will start to leave after him, they won’t fuck anymore, and she will miss him severely.

It’s a make-me-a-star scene. Very sad.

Dennis insults Rooster and Cherry decks Dennis in the face. She busts his lip open good and wide.

Los Angeles, CA Late December, 1979

It’s just her and Rooster over Christmas. It’s her first one away from her folks. She signs another contract with Goldman Homevideos. Dennis forgives her--so he can keep making money from her.

The prologue ties in here. It is Dennis. He drugged her.

She goes into Rooster’s room. He throws Dennis out. He cleans her up. It’s all very tender. She says she wishes that she could be what he wants her to be. He says that isn’t the issue here--the issue is that she can’t give herself to him fully. They hold each other. She still has the gold chain. She says that she thinks they’re soulmates. He says he’s always known it.

Los Angeles, CA November, 1980

It’s Cherry’s 23rd birthday. She celebrates with the whole crew. It’s a good party.

Afterwards, Rooster gives her another gift. It’s when they’re alone together. He gives her two thick, fat gold rings. One has a C engraved on it and the other has an A engraved on it. He says that the next time Dennis acts up, she can scar him up real good. So that everyone knows he fucked with Cherry Arsan.

Rooster finished Emmanuelle. He reads some out loud to her as they nurse their final cocktails of the night. They just go to sleep there on the couch together. They don’t have sex.

Cape Cod, MA July, 1981

They’re all at Phoenix’s house for the 4th again. Rooster, Payback, and Phoenix aren’t in the industry anymore. That leaves Cherry, Hangman, Coyote, and Fanboy.

They swim and eat and all just love each other. It’s a good time. Cherry and Hangman aren’t officially a couple, but they may as well be. Cherry lives with him now and they’re fuck buddies, even though they fuck other people.

But monogamy isn’t a thing. So she sleeps in Rooster’s bed because she misses him. And he misses her, too. They end up having sex and afterwards, Rooster is upset. He wants her. So he tells her that they can’t have sex again. It makes him miserable.

Los Angeles, CA April, 1982

Phoenix is getting married. Everyone attends the wedding. They dance--except Rooster, who just watches. But when a slow song comes on, her and Rooster dance together. They dance to the song Something On Your Mind by Karen Dalton.

He asks her if she ever wants to get married. They talk about it. She doesn’t know what she wants. She says that if she ever does get married, she hopes it’s him. But she doesn’t feel ready. He says he’ll wait for her.

Only Hangman and Cherry are in the industry still.

Los Angeles, CA December, 1983

It’s Christmas. It’s just Rooster and Cherry.

Hangman is starting to spend Christmas with Gentry’s family.

They’ve been doing this for a few years now. They reminisce all the years they’ve known each other and the way things have changed. She gets him very expensive cigars and a new gold chain since she still wears his. It’s very nice. He gets her a pair of shoes--nice, leather Mary Janes. And a pair of bell-bottoms.

They don’t have sex, but she sleeps in his bed. He says it’s the only time he sleeps through the night. She kisses his forehead.

Los Angeles, CA

June, 1984

It’s Rooster’s birthday now. They all celebrate with a big party at Rooster’s house. It takes place after, as she’s helping clean the place. Hangman quit the business. Cherry is getting her own place.

On the off-hand, Cherry asks Rooster to grab her purse. He sees that there’s a gun in it. She says the world isn’t what it used to be. He begs her to leave and just be with him. Just love him. Isn’t he enough? It’s sad.

This is when she also breaks the news to Rooster. Her and Hangman, during a coked up excursion in Las Vegas, got married. And when they came down, they decided they were gonna give things a go. Maybe not entirely monogamous, but devoted to each other. Rooster asks her if she regrets it. She says she doesn’t know yet, but she likes how warm he is in bed. Rooster is heartbroken, but also wise. He knows what they have isn’t going to last. They love each other the way an addict loves their next fix. There’s no longevity. What he and her have? That’s forever. He knows. He knows it.

Los Angeles, CA October, 1985

Cherry is on the cover of Playboy in September. Her mother sends her a letter. She lets Rooster read it. It’s very, very sad. She’s upset about it.

Rooster asks if she wants to go dancing to cheer her up. Bell Bottoms closed. So they just go for a swim. He skinny dips, just to cheer her up. She does, too. They almost have sex. Almost. But they stop in time.

Her and Jake aren’t doing very well in their marriage. Their relationship is tumultuous and immature. They fight over everything��their next fix, their marriage, their cars, their jobs. They’ve lost their friendship.

Los Angeles, CA January 1987

Cherry’s parents both die in a car accident. She finds out that they were in an immense amount of debt when they died, but they never asked her for help. She thinks that is sad and funny. Cherry would’ve given them money if she knew, but she didn’t. Her, Hangman, and Rooster go home to help with the house. She sees old people she’s fucked. Everyone ogles at her because they recognize her. The women give her hateful looks.

Her brother is terrible to her. Her parents left her nothing in their will--just what was in her childhood bedroom. She sees it--the way she left it when she was 21. Nothing is touched. They basically just boarded it up.

It’s melancholy.

Her, Rooster, and Hangman all squeeze into her childhood bed and sleep there together. It’s the worst sleep of her life. Between her husband and her soulmate.

Los Angeles, CA February 1988

Rooster introduces Cherry to his fiance. Her name is Samantha. She’s an accountant. Samantha is older. Like maybe close to forty. She’s beautiful. They all have dinner together. Samantha very obviously doesn’t like Cherry, but she’s very cordial towards her. Cherry is becoming very insecure as she ages. She liked being the pretty young thing on the scene, liked that everyone was always calling her a baby. But she’s not so super young anymore.

Jake, Cherry, and Bradley all go to dinner together to meet Samantha. Samantha and Bradley haven’t been together for very long. Cherry just got back from Italy and she’s talking a lot about herself. But she’s also coming to terms with the fact that she has an expiration date and it’s approaching. She’s struggling. Maybe she even talks about getting plastic surgery (which Samantha is super against).

She kind of fishes for compliments, very vain, always checking her makeup. Samantha is a very forward-thinking woman who can hold her own. But she has very rigid standards of what she considers feminist and what she doesn’t.

Samantha doesn’t like Cherry. Cherry is kind of being a bit off-putting and being touchy with Rooster and Jake.

They get into a discussion about porn.

Samantha says Rooster regrets doing porn. And Cherry is asking him but he’s on the spot. He talks about how it was predatory and how Dennis used them, but her whole perspective is like sure, maybe it was predatory, but look at the fucking house we’re sitting in. Look at the fucking gold chain you’re wearing. Look at the fucking steak we’re eating right now, with the perfect marble. And Jake and Rooster say that Cherry got the worst of it and she’s like yeah, I did. But what do I have to complain about when I’m sitting here in a Chanel dress, wearing a string of saltwater pearls?

So then Samantha brings up how when her and Rooster have kids, and if they have sons, they don’t want them to watch porn. Porn has such a negative effect on youth and it makes men violent. Cherry takes that as a personal offense. She says she doesn’t make men violent by having violent sex on camera--she has to have violent sex on camera because that’s what men want.

Her and Hangman hang around after dinner, when Samantha goes home. Her and Rooster don’t live together yet. They all talk about the years that have passed and how times have changed.

They talk about children. What they all want in life. And Cherry and Hangman tell Rooster that they’re getting a divorce--a very amicable one. As soon as they decided to divorce, they became friends again. They tell Rooster, while laughing, about the last fight that they had. Cherry called Jake a cokehead loser who couldn’t get over his dead gay boyfriend. Jake called Cherry an orphaned sell-out with too-big tits. Rooster doesn’t think any of this is funny.

Los Angeles, CA November-December, 1988

Cherry has an ectopic pregnancy. She has one egg drop and it ends up detaching in the wrong spot. She was a whole conversation with Rooster about it. Rooster comes to her in the hospital and won’t leave until she finishes eating. She’s very obviously struggling, even if she’s trying to still be fun and flirty and sexy. He asks whose it was. She says maybe Jake’s, but it’s anyone’s guess.

He leaves but waits outside the door. He hears Cherry sobbing. When he walks back in, she’s curled into herself and facing away from him. He just crawls into bed behind her and holds her tight.

The next month, Rooster invites Cherry over for dinner. Samantha is there. Samantha and Rooster are looking into fertility treatment because they want to start a family. And Cherry tries to talk to Samantha about it, but Samantha implies that her issues are different from Cherry’s and that she’s always known she was gonna have a hard time conceiving.

So first of all, Cherry asks Rooster if he wants kids. And he says that maybe he does. And she says you’ve never told me that. And Samantha is like why would he? And Cherry says that they were together. And Samantha has hit the ceiling at this point. So she’s like yeah, he told me about it. You couldn’t stop fucking other men.

Rooster stands up for Cherry. And Cherry and Rooster have an argument. Cherry is trying to be everybody’s baby and Rooster is upset by all this. She’s smoking a cigarette in his house and he tells her to take it outside. And she’s surprised bc he always bends the rules for her. And she won’t let Samantha take that.

But then he says that they’re engaged. She isn’t the woman in his life.

She leaves before she starts crying.

Los Angeles, CA July 1989

It’s the night before the wedding. Cherry quit the industry a few months ago. Everyone’s at the hotel. It’s late. She’s sitting at the hotel bar by herself, nursing a glass of wine. Rooster ends up coming down. They talk all night. It’s a lot of reflection--all her time in the industry, what she learned about love and sex. What she learned about men and herself. And he just loves her so much.

Cherry does not intend to ruin the wedding. She just tells Rooster that she wishes their timing had been better. She wishes she had been ready. She wishes she was his age. He tells her it’s too late for that now. That he is a good man with good intentions and there is a woman upstairs who he said he would marry. Cherry, very sadly and sweetly, says she knows he is a man of his word. She tells him that he is going to make a perfect husband and a perfect father. She squeezes his hand.

She goes upstairs to her hotel room and feels immense grief, but relief as well. The back and forth is finally ending. There is no more will-they-won’t-they with them. He’s moving on. She is heartbroken, but genuinely very happy for him.

There’s a knock on the door. It’s Rooster and he’s holding his suitcase. He tells her that she’s always had horrible timing. She says she’s been late to everything in her life. He leaves with Cherry.

Sonoma, CA December 1992

Cherry is 35 and Rooster is 45. They own a vineyard in Sonoma. They’re preparing things for Christmas with everyone. They make love before the fireplace. They’re lovingly getting their home ready for all their friends. They’ve got a couple dogs and some horses. Life is good--sweet.

A few of them have kids, most everyone is married. Cherry and Rooster got married a few months after the wedding was called off. They’re happy. They’re really, really happy. They look through photo albums while they’re getting things out. All the photos Rooster took of her over the years--some of them are devastatingly sexy. But others are sexy in a quieter way--like a picture he took without her knowing, one where she’s sitting at the end of her bed and rolling lace stockings up her legs. Another where she’s sucking her finger in the reflection of the mirror to get the lipstick off her teeth. And some of the pictures aren’t sexy at all--they’re just beautiful. Cherry on their honeymoon in Maine, bundled up in a sweater with a scarf in her hair waving in the wind. Cherry behind the wheel of Rooster’s cherry-red car, grinning sweetly with her big sunglasses on. Cherry first-thing in the morning, hair messy and toothbrush hanging out of her mouth. It’s the way he’s always seen her, which is not the way most men of the world see her: as a person. As herself. As something to be loved and not just fucked.

Fin.

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earlofbats · 11 months

Text

Okay so because this post about Harry being a bottom I'm going to give a genuine dissertation on the thematic relevance of sub Harry and maybe a little bit about dom Kim.

First I wanna establish the "Harry is definitely a subby little bottom boy" and is also definitely Bi and probably has some sorta fucking complex about it.

Evidence A. Contact Mike, Guillaume Le Million, Measurehead (when fascist).

Harry tends to idolize and gravitate towards extremely masculine figures.

This is probably due to a reflexive need to feel masculine and have masculine role models in the face of elements of identity that are seen as unmasculine by society and have become exacerbated by the breakup which had to be pretty emasculating for Harry.

Also :

Imma start a Harry's Kink counter here +1 light bondage.

+1 auto-erotic asphyxiation.

Uhm +1 uhh,Spanking? Additional +1 for being what I think is most possibly the horniest thought you have in the game also:

+1 Kim is a Dom.

I think Harry has kept his attraction to men or his desires about men fairly low key for his entire life. The way he conceptualizes Homosexuality in general as an "underground" society filled with whispering rooms and forbidden secrets is likely more of a reflection of how Harry views his own sexuality than how Queer culture is manifest in Revachol. (In reference to the way both Kim and The Smoker kinda laugh Harry about it)

The organizational element of the idea being likely reflective of the way internalization is akin to paranoia.

Harry is also extremely intimacy starved and I think part of that is due to an unmet need for affection and the desire to be taken care of. That masculinity and status as both a survivor and an oppressor was sorta thrust onto Harry, he was born the last year of the war on a hospital floor, given a name associated with war time and survival, grew up probably in a little street urchin gang, got into *Disco* (man I'm sure Harry brushed elbows with the underground then.) Was a gym teacher a good balance between masculinity and caretaker and guardian something that harry clearly excels at and enjoys. Then Dora encouraged him to be a cop for unknown reasons perhaps prestige, money, because Harry has a bleeding heart.

Engage Heterosexual Cop hell for 12 years then an additional 6 single Cop hell years.

And now you're like :

Another element is Harry's tendency to worship and diefy his partners which like man that's gotta be the subbiest fucking thing you can do. I honestly can't articulate all of the reasons why that's just extreme bottom behavior.

Harry is an empathic jelly creature who is forced to handle a job with dead people in it all day and has created this reflexive hyper masculine obsession to compensate for his perceived inadequacy in not living up to the patriarchal capitalist ideal of what's supposed to be his birthright as a well off, able bodied, 'straight', occidental, man.

Except the actual issue is that Harry is mostly perceived or perceiving himself as that, when in reality he's in clear conflict with his actual identity as a Poor, mentally Ill, bisexual, occidental, man.

And it's those last two that end up kind of making this smoke screen to Harrys deficiency in privilege. He can mask or hide behind being an Occidental Man.

Can buddy buddy with patriarchy and take up the idea of a Big Strong Manly Cop.

Something that Kim also seems to be doing by seeking out positions of authority he can compensate for the disrespect he gets as a Poor, blind, gay, seolite, man.

Last of which probably won't get him far because of how "juvenile" his body type is.

Kim can't really coast on patriarchy much the way Harry can. He has to work twice as hard cuz there's not a lot he can hide behind.

Pursuit for control in the face of denial

Shielding ones self behind control as a means of denial.

Dom/Sub dichotomy.

#disco elysium #kim kitsuragi #harry du bois #kimharry #harrykim #harrier du bois #harryxkim #its a sexuality dissertation bby

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blueberryarchive · 10 months

Text

Off The Races

In which you, the sweetheart of America and famous actress, gets tired of the director's bullshit and Taehyung, your two times winner Nascar boyfriend, it's called to "calm you down".

♡Pairing: Racer!Taehyung & Actress!Reader

♡Genre: 1950's Hollywood au, fwb

♡Word Count: 2.3k

♡Warnings: Mention of drugs and alcohol, drunk driving, sexism, penetration, oral, very dramatic lol

⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄

California, 1952

The makeup seemed to melt into your skin as the scorching California sun beat down on your face, blonde hair in voluminous waves tickling your shoulders. You didn't want to admit it, but the gold of the wig made your tan glow like a goddess.

A goddess on the brink of madness. The kind to let thunder fall on all the men who praised you with their words and profaned you with their eyes.

The lights that were put in front of you when singing action, the childish phrases that your new director wanted you to say in a tone of pure innocence. They made you tremble with disgust, but your agent had fought so much to get you this role and you, with so much time in this business, still didn't know how to say no to a good role that would catapult you back to heaven.

You loved the cameras, the attention, and the screams of the young women and girls seeking your divine attention in public. Be the cliché rag-to-riches icon. Icon of hope for America. America's little sweetheart.

Even when you seemed to be failing, you could hear people gasp in the streets at the sight of your emerald dress full of beads and stones, the tulle piled up inside your little car. A thin veil of whitish powder delicately covered your nostrils, the red lipstick smeared on your dress, and the long scarf that floated out of your Disco Volante, the cute car that Taehyung gave you a couple of months ago. The car looked like a red bullet flying through the streets, the palms shading your clown-like theatre makeup.

Your right hand, covered in lace, moved as abruptly against the steering wheel as if you were driving alone through the streets, dodging the other cars by almost brushing their rear bumpers.

From your left hand, dangled a cigarette that was finishing with the seconds and the harsh wind. You didn't know when you'd light it on, maybe between the time you ran out screaming that you wouldn't do a tenth take of the same fucking scene and when your car seemed to roar just under your stiletto heels.

No one chased you, not even your agent, he knew it would be worse if they treated you like a child to convince you to be submissive. Much less that son of a bitch of a director that thought he could get into your panties for knowing how to look behind his glasses and yell 'Cut!' over and over again.

On the other hand, Taehyung was finishing his cigarette leaning against his red Hudson Hornet, one of his most precious jewels after you.

The workshop was alive with the noise of men talking and laughing, machines, and the roar of engines being tested. His car was being checked for the race on Sunday, and he looked into the engine himself whenever he could, even when he had a crew of mechanics.

His favorite part was wiping the towel over the car to give it the finishing touch, his last name on the side next to a 7 painted in white. It was beautiful. He felt his chest swell with pride every time he did it.

The Korean boy who played with cars made from milk cartons and soda caps. Now a two-time Nascar championship winner.

He dropped his cigarette butt to the ground as Little James, one of his mechanics, called several times from the small office at the end of the workshop. The telephone was in Little James' hand with a face of surprise and terror. The corner of Taehyung's lip lifted because he knew who could cause that expression with just a look and a simple action.

He walked slowly, keeping the cigarette box in the sleeve of his white shirt. Grabbing the phone, he asked Little James to leave him alone with a single raised hand.

"Now what?"

"She did it again, Kim. I don't know what I'm going to do with her."

"You should throw her off a bridge and tell her that'll make her more famous" Taehyung chuckled wiping his oily hands on the fabric of his shirt. Taehyung could almost hear your agent squinting his eyes under his bottle-bottom glasses.

One of these days you would kill him from a heart attack, Taehyung thought that was your purpose.

"I don't know where she's gone but we need to finish at least three scenes today and-" the man stammered. "Kim, she's wearing a dress that costs twice my salary. She needs to stop acting like a child, you should control her."

"Mmm," Taehyung snorted. "You've been with her for years, dear Carl. You've been handling her since she turned sixteen and still don't know how to tell her to calm down? To fucking stop her nagging?"

"No" he complained, not understanding the sarcasm in Taehyung's voice. "Since she turned twenty I don't know what to do with her"

Taehyung rolled his eyes "You can calm down, Carl" he assured with a serene voice.

"Are you going to look for her?"

"Yeah, cancel the whole week too, and tell that fucking director of yours not to try to change the actress because he's going to regret it"

"Do you know who you're talking about? Mr. Truman doesn't take shit from anyone, not even her"

"If they take her out of the movie, you won't find anyone like her"

"Kim..." Carl sighed in disappointment, he more than anyone knew it was the truth.

"Goodbye, Carl" Taehyung put the phone down, searching for his motorcycle keys.

You were on one of the highest hills, revealing a city of papers and moving images.

The air around you was sweet and heavy; the palms were unfazed by the desperate heat. You gripped the wheel tightly looking up the rocky steep, of course you thought about it. You're also not trying to lie to yourself when you hear the sound in your head of how your body falls sharply, hitting each sharp stone.

You took a deep breath and looked inside your car, white leather decorated to the smallest detail. A shuddering hand grabbed the bag on the passenger seat, a bottle so small it looked like a toy; with your fingernail covered in red varnish, you picked up the white dust.

"What do you think you're doing?" your body tensed upon hearing the unfathomable voice of your boyfriend. Or so the magazines said, not that it bothered you that it was called that.

His motorcycle was behind the car, high waisted jeans and sculpted white tee. A feast to the eyes. He came to you with slow steps, lighting a cigarette on his oily hands while he analyzed the scene in front of him: the biggest dress he has seen and your dilated pupils.

You cocked your head at Taehyung, his eyes unreadable. Your heart pounded when you saw him, eyes narrowed by the scorching sunlight, his eyebrows almost knit together with the lit wrinkled cigarette on his lips.

They had already been five months since the first time you two met and the ineffable splendor that exuded from Taehyung was such, that every time you saw him, you felt like a schoolgirl. A girl having her first infatuation upon knowing what a man was; not the kind who pulled your hair to get your attention but one of those men who fix things and says the right thing all the time.

Taehyung didn't talk much, he kept his voice like a rivulet, firm but gentle. You loved that about him, you loved when he would say the strangest things to you and then adorn it with "my love."

For example: "Don't you think if you're going to go up a hill at noon, at least have something lighter, my love?" You didn't know if he was talking about the dress or the cocaine that was spreading away from your fingernail.

"For the moment, it suits me perfectly, honey" You got out of the car removing your sunglasses to see him without the dark tint. His smell of smoke and perfume eternalized your nerves.

"What are you doing here?" you said, pleased with the view.

"Your agent is worried about you"

"Let him worry, he doesn't know what awaits him on this shoot"

"I thought you wanted this role" his hands slid to the tight part of your waist, the smoke of both of your cigars blinding you.

"It's not the role I want, Taehyung dear" You looked at him with half-closed eyes, drunk with obsession.

"Mmhm," was all he said, letting smoke out of his nose. You didn't realize when but you exhaled when you felt how the dress no longer tightened your waist; the open zipper on your back.

"And what does my doll want?" he asked, throwing the cigar from your mouth away, spitting his.

"My face...everywhere" you smiled just thinking about it. Taehyung gently squeezed your breast, studying your face.

"I want women to cut their hair to look like me and for men to masturbate in their bathrooms just by watching me on TV" a moan escaped your lips as you felt Taehyung's tongue cool your neck.

"What else?" said he leaving wet kisses all over your chest.

"I want-" your mind was overflowing with flashing pictures, "I want to enter rooms with a simple dress, and people to still make a fuzz about it, for them to think it's easy." You sighed, hearing the fabric break under his hands.

"What's easy?" He stopped the trail of kisses to see your face, close enough to smell the alcohol on your tongue.

"To be me." You smiled, him too. He grasped your untouched finger, still covered with the angel dust, took your wrist, and began to brush his gums with your index, the fine powder disappearing with his saliva. You never looked away.

He took your face in his grubby hands, cupped your cheeks, and drank you in like it was the first time, the last too. With a kiss, he pressed you against the side of the car. Putting his hands beneath your knees, he lifted you to take you to the hood.

Number two of the things you discovered about him, it's the way he could make you melt. His hands opened your knees and broke the last pieces of the detailed skirt, glitter and stones flew in the air.

The only thing you could do was let him do his part, you loved watching him perform. He crawled on top of you, the metallic noise of the hood sinking because of the weight. He ripped your white panties letting your pussy feel the cool air. "Oh, honey." You purred with a cocaine-induced smile, the alcohol making your whole core blush. "The way you move, makes me feel like one of your precious cars"

He laughed while going down on you, his tongue found the throbbing nub beneath all the fabric and stones sticking to your sweaty skin. You yelped.

"I love the way you taste." He whined nibbling the skin of your inner thigh, he was going insane and you loved it. His tongue made its way to your core moving his head like a wild animal, growling while he ate you out.

You couldn't give two fucks about who saw you or heard you, though, it was difficult people were going to when you were in the middle of nowhere. What a shame, really. You would've loved letting people see the stoic Kim Tae Hyung going down on you. His head lifted looking for air and looked at you with hooded eyes.

"Take my belt off, pretty thing." He demanded in a low voice, swallowing your taste. You obeyed with a rush.

He took your hand and spit on it, with the raise of his brows you understood. You started wetting his shaft with his spit. His eyebrows furrow, tilting his head letting the sweat on his neck glist in the harsh light. "Fuck" he whispered and you felt so proud of your hard work.

After a few pumps, he couldn't control himself. His body fell on top of yours, softly putting your hands behind your head. His cock find your entrance and you both twitched at the feeling, he moved as slowly as he could. Breathy groans came out of his throat.

"What about me, darling?" He started saying brushing his lips in your ear. "I'm not a billboard or a little shiny statue. Can you still take my adoration as something precious?" His heart was at the edge of a cliff, the tears too.

Your body trembled and laughed nervously. You've heard so many adorations from men, took them all like thrown roses.

This one felt like a dagger, a begging instead of a prayer.

"Don't be silly, Kim." Was everything you could say.

"When have I been a fool with you?" He interrupted, sinking the blade a little more when he stopped smiling. Gripping your hands harder under his.

You denied. The in-and-out had you seeing stars around him. "Never" you exhaled.

"Let me take you on a date, please, honey" he whined leaving sweet pecks in your face and neck. "Let me treat you right"

You breathe so hard you shake, and with a roll of his skilled hips, you rolled your eyes, biting your lips. This man took his job so seriously, even when he was begging.

"I never liked jesters anyways" you finally said, he smiles and pushed his body up without stopping his hips, taking the sweaty top off.

His thumbs caressed your tummy and grip your sides so hard you squinted, he went as hard as possible. The car creaked under the movements.

Taehyung's wet hair dripped salty drops. The sun made a halo around his body behind him and you could swear you were in heaven.

You hummed when you came, almost singing away your orgasm. It came so soft and smooth, the high was lovely.

The boy on top of you groaned and smiled brightly, laughing so beautifully when his cum started coming out in hot shots. "God" he laughed even more throwing his head back. "You're insane" he denied seeing the mess of green diamonds, dripping mascara in your face, your sweaty wig letting your hair peek through the cap. "I love it" he whispered kissing your hand with adornment.

"I love it too" you sighed.

a/n: Thanks to @peachypinkygloss for giving me the courage to actually write, lots of love. This two characters have been in my mind and my journal for quiet some time and it's time i give it a try.

You can write to me on private if you have some critics or want to help me on my grammar.

#taehyung #taehyung x reader #taehyung smut #bts #bts imagines #lana del rey aes #fanfic #tumblr #bts smut #bts x reader #bts drabble #bts fanfic #one shot #one shot bts #drabble bts #taehyung drabble

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funnywormz · 2 years

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i like how there are parts of harry's personality that are impossible to change or suppress in disco elysium. honestly the role of the player tends to feel more like you're guiding him to become better, rather than controlling him like a puppet or whatever. it's almost like you're acting as his conscience (or darker desires and thoughts, it depends on how you play it). but in the end he's always gonna be harry and have harry moments. he imbues undeniable harry vibes into everything he does.

this is especially apparent with failed checks, imo. when a check fails then things tend to go out of the player's hands completely, and you just have to kinda sit back and watch harry be harry. my favourite example of this is the failed check with the hat when you're talking to acele. like if you fail is harry is gonna cry. no matter what. you can't stop it. he's gonna go on an angry rant abt fucking his own hat and then break down into sobs and there's nothing you can do to stop him.

obv failed checks show the worse side of harry too. failed checks can end up with him being mean or insensitive or downright awful. but there's also this element of charm to a lot of them, because they make his personality and his flaws so obvious. like no matter how hard you try, you can't stop harry from being harry. and even with checks that you succeed at, the options are limited and generally still lead to an undeniable sense of harry-ness no matter which ones you pick. despite being a player character, he has a painfully loud, immutable personality of his own. as the player you have to work with him rather than just controlling him imo. he can get better or he can get worse, but in the end he's still harry... idk i just rlly like that aspect of the game lol

#disco elysium #harry du bois

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rabarbarzcukrem · 4 months

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So... I've finally watched the first Utena musical

The whole cast singing the lines of the prince in masks without him appearing himself...do you get it... he's an idea...he doesn't exist... He's just a concept from a fairytale repeated by everyone...

Utena's deep voice <333

"What's so special about this letter?" said to Wakaba...

Saionji is so dramatic I love it

I don't like the fact that Utena's uniform clearly has a different shape to the shape of the ones worn by guys. It was like that in the anime too, but in real life it looks weird, like it's too small for the actress. Otherwise the costumes are amazing tho

Zettai unmei mokushiroku was used so well... Compared to the first few songs it's very sudden and intense, very fitting for the first scene in which Utena enters the dueling arena

The way everyone moves is so in character, Anthy picking up her dress when she walks (like a princess), Touga constantly with hands in his pockets (laid-back and indifferent), Juri with arms crossed (shielding herself), Utena's strong butch energy

I love how they did the sword of Dios thing

Wtf is this disco song??? It's so random and out of nowhere...Wait. Is it this musical's equivalent of the anime intro?? That's so smart...

The song slaps actually

OF COURSE the EGG SPEECH is a SONG

Anthy's voice is so pretty I'm gonna cry

Utena immediately calling Anthy her friend, even though she doesn't know her...she is so full of love to give and so starved for close human connection.... (how very middle school of her too). I can't look at this scene without thinking about what's to come.. "you showed me a taste of true friendship"...

"Are you (anthy and touga) close?" Oooh boy

Nanami is perfect...Her song with Miki on the keys lmao. Wakaba constantly in the background... foreshadowing??

There are like. 5 different scenes happening at once

Utena and Wakaba's friendship contrasted with Touga and Saionji's broken one...damn...

"I measure the time I spend hating the student council" LMAOOO

Anthy's creepy laugh... Actually this is a good visual way to show how weird she appears to the other characters and make sure the audience associates this uneasy feeling with her

Juri standing on the chair lol. The humor in this version makes it so clear that those are highschool students

And I adore the meta jokes about weird shit going on in the background during the council meetings and no one really knowing what the stop watch does

I noticed that Juri touches her hair whenever she's vulnerable. Nice detail

Juri angst...ouch...

Why is the sword of Dios so big tho

"The sword Juri sent flying through the air came down to shatter her own rose...was the floor of the arena the only thing it pierced?" OW OW OW

THIS SCENE BROKE ME

Saionji calling Touga "motherfucker" I'm dead

Different girls playing Utena in the coffin, covering their faces with the doll...

AND THEN DUELISTS JOINING TO SING UTENA'S LINES THAT SHE WILL NEVER LEAVE THE COFFIN. WITH ANTHY AT THE END. GENIUS

The cooking song is so cute and catchy

UTENA SPITTING AT SAIONJI I'M LOVING THIS

Saionji joining the shadow girls...this is hilarious

I love the desperate song of Wakaba inspiring Utena to take back who she was. And her being the only one to say that the girl's outfit doesn't suit Utena... But as soon as her role of inspiring the main character is fulfilled, the curtain falls and only Utena is left on stage.

...Surely....

The ending was amazing..

All in all I'm convinced that a stage play of Utena is the best type of adaptation that could ever be made. The anime already had allusions to theatre and stages so it works perfectly.

#I can't wait to watch the second one #revolutionary girl utena #rgu #moje

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mortispoxi · 11 months

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After taking the time to really sit and process the roller coaster of information that was the recent People Make Games video about the drama surrounding Studio ZA/UM, I wanted to make this post to go over some of my thoughts that I had about the video. If you have not watched the video but are curious what people are saying about it or you have and you want to read someone else’s perspective, then I invite you to read through as I babble incoherently.

Overall, I thought it provided an interesting, in-depth look at the timeline of events leading up to Kurvitz, Rostov, and Hindpere’s dismissals while also giving us a proper inside scoop to the interpersonal relationships of both the former and current Studio ZA/UM employees. However, I do think the video has a couple of problems specifically with the way some of the information is presented on top of the fact that it loses focus partway through from the real issue which is the alleged fraud that took place by the investors to acquire the majority share within the company.

A big problem that I had with the video was the way in which Kurvitz behavior and final statement are disproportionately framed in the narrative. Now I am not about to go on a lengthy rant to dismiss everything Robert Kurvitz did to his friends during his time at the studio. In fact, the thing that I really liked about this video was how Chris Bratt, the writer and interviewer, holds no punches when it comes to the accusations of misconduct we heard from current Studio ZA/UM employees against him. Instead, I think it needs to be addressed that Bratt left out background context, whether intentionally or unintentionally I do not want to speculate, that could potentially explain what happened to everyone leading up to the expulsions to make Kurvitz appear far worse than how he might’ve been. I fully believe every word Argo Tuulik, Kaspar Tamsula, and Petteri Sulonen has said about working under Kurvitz and his inner circle so by piecing together all their statements to create a timeline of events the investors start to look far less innocent than how they portray themselves to be in the video.

It’s abundantly clear that Kurvitz was notoriously hard to work with. However, what’s also clear was the tremendous amount of stress everyone was under while also still being in the throes of burnout after working on the game nonstop for months. I think the investors (Kender, Haavel, and Kompus) purposefully set the team up for failure by creating impossible deadlines without informing the writers, approving Kurvitz and his inner circle to take time off while disallowing the others from taking theirs, and attempting to restructure the company in preparation to franchise Disco Elysium against Kurvitz wishes and thus he felt scared enough to push for his role to be de facto creative leader anywhere he could. What seems to be three full years of forcing everyone to crunch, miscommunicating when important deadlines were, setting impossible work standards to meet, and readying themselves to snatch more power within the company may have helped sow the seeds of animosity the writers began growing towards one another.

All of this is nothing new for those of us who have been keeping an eye on the drama from the start. We were told long in advance by the likes of Martin Luiga, who although left the project early on has been friends and worked alongside him for the better part of two decades, that Kurvitz possesses less than stellar leadership skills and that there was no merit in what the investors would end up accusing him of doing to warrant his dismissal. That confirmation was given long before the release of the PMG video and cements the idea in my mind that perhaps Kurvitz erratic behavior that was described by the current Studio ZA/UM employees was not the cause but rather a symptom of a much larger problem happening around him (i.e. a toxic work environment brought on by the investors using manipulation tactics to further stress and cause resentment amongst the collective). Yes, Kurvitz was at times uncooperative and dismissive towards his fellow employees, but this aspect of his character and the situation was played up to be a far greater problem in the PMG video than what the context suggests. I’m also inclined to believe this interpretation because Argo Tuulik, despite having legitimate, unresolved issues with his friend, does still regard Kurvitz very highly and even believes that he should still have artistic access to Elysium.

When you think about it from this perspective, it makes perfect sense as to why Kurvitz was acting erratically around his fellow coworkers who eventually lashed out at him. On top of Kurvitz’s subpar leadership skills, he clearly was rapidly losing control of the situation which caused a great amount of stress for everybody involved as he scrambled in every which way to hold onto his position within the studio. It does not surprise me when it’s admitted by Sulonen that Kurvitz was thinking of taking the source code to potentially start over with a newly founded company since the situation was rapidly deteriorating and everyone was getting more and more frustrated with him and his inner circle. The impossible working conditions they found themselves in was a pressure cooker for the animosity and resentment building within the disillusioned group. Clearly the investors made their workers run themselves ragged in order to divide everyone and make it easier for them to take advantage of Kurvitz’s now frequent outbursts to finally push him out of their way.

Everything that I’ve said above can easily be discerned from the context clues found in the interviews from the current and former ZA/UM members. Which if you think about it is an unfortunate statement because Bratt does not seem to register the complaints of mismanagement by the hands of the investors from either side and instead only points the spotlight at Kurvitz’s past transgressions. What I am describing is one of the major issues I have with the PMG video. The video talking about the ongoing legal battle to determine if corporate fraud took place seemed to disproportionately focus on the problems Kurvitz and his inner circle had with other team members and not issuing a public apology to his former colleagues. Now that doesn’t sound all too bad on paper, right? If Kurvitz apologized, it could help begin the healing process and make for a good closer for the video. Well, that’s where the problem comes into play because Kurvitz response to Bratt’s request for comment regarding what Tuulik, Tamsalu, and Sulonen said about his poor conduct should not come as a surprise to anyone who had been paying attention. In the video, Bratt hails the email Kurvitz sent back to him as arrogant and dismissive which he then uses to accuse him of not standing with his fellow workers in solidarity and not taking accountability for his actions. However, right at the start of his interview, Kurvitz informs Bratt that at the behest of his lawyers he does not want the full interview to be published as they are worried Studio ZA/UM might take something he said as an admission of guilt and use it against him in a court of law. Therefore, when asked to comment about what his former colleagues said about him, he fires back an email that basically says that he wants the focus to be on the thing that really matters, the lawsuits and the shady activities of the investors. Bratt, clearly not liking his response, decided to attack his statement even though had Kurvitz given PMG what they wanted he could potentially be incriminating himself. Whether he denies or fully understands that his actions hurt others, the way he responded is 100% justified and did not deserve the level of vitriol he got from both Bratt and the public. It seems like a double standard that Ilmar Kompus can deny answering a question by claiming he cannot comment due to the ongoing lawsuit during his interview but when Kurvitz does it for the exact same reasons he is attacked. Again, Kurvitz is fully responsible to rectify the hurt he caused others but legally he’s in the clear and Bratt seemed to purposely neglect that aspect of the ongoing narrative.

Now, I’m not about to pull a whole reddit conspiracy in my write up. I do believe Chris Bratt, who directed this video, went into this with the very best of intentions to tell the full story with an emphasis on the workers who were affected by the situation. However, the problems that I’ve listed above make me worry what will be the takeaway from someone who is only a casual observer of the ZA/UM situation. Personally, I have been following this from the beginning so I’ve had a lot of time to develop my own insight into things but that’s usually not the case for most people. What I’m concerned about is whether Bratt may have unintentionally furthered the investors narrative by pushing people’s focus away from themselves and onto Kurvitz who has largely had the support of fans and outside viewers up until this point. Studio ZA/UM as it stands is desperate for a leg up in the PR battle it’s had with Kurvitz since October 1st, 2022. They lost so much support once the announcement was made that Kurvitz and his inner circle had been terminated, and lost even more upon the release of collage mode, that it makes logical sense that they want more people to be on their side so when the time comes for the studio to announce another game their reviews and sales numbers won’t immediately be tanked by angry fans. So, the fact that this video seemingly only held its focus on the misgivings of Kurvitz closing statement and personality instead of what is actually being fought over, alleged corporate fraud and theft of IP, may have unwittingly handed the investors that distraction that they have been looking for. Since the release of this video, I’ve seen an unfortunate mix of people arguing over the ethics of the situation, those switching sides to now support the studio, and outright calling for Kurvitz to lose the right to access his life’s work. This is not the outcome me and many other like minded fans want to see from this mess. At the end of the day, Elysium is Robert Kurvitz’s life work, and he deserves a chance to legally regain those rights even if he is a prideful and arrogant person. His personality should not dictate whether he is allowed to prove in a court of law that the investors took something that isn’t theirs. Bratt’s well-meaning but deeply misguided efforts to report on the ZA/UM situation may have done more harm than good. I consider this to be the biggest flaw of the video and the reason why the contents ultimately did not sit right with me despite the accuracy and importance of the reporting.

Just as a quick reminder for those who aren’t entirely up to speed or want a refresher, the reason why Kurvitz and Studio ZA/UM are fighting over the IP rights in the first place started when Kurvitz was promised by the investors that if he signed over the rights to Elysium and his book he would eventually be able to buy back a portion of the shares to the company and upon release of the sequel buy back even more. At no point was anyone supposed to possess a majority percent of the shares in the company to remain equitable amongst all participants. So, Kurvitz signed this contract under the assumption that the investors would hold up their end of the bargain while in the short term he would get the funding needed to complete the rest of the game. Unfortunately, when Margus Linnamäe left his position within the company, Ilmar Kompus agreed to buy him out of his share allegedly using the money intended to produce the sequel thus acquiring the majority share which tipped the balance of power. Now, the IP rights are currently held by the company YESSIRNOSIR Ltd. which no one holds shares of but is still owned and controlled by sources within Studio ZA/UM. The lawsuit itself is Kurvitz claiming that the way Kompus bought into the majority share of the company was done illegally and should he be able to prove in a court of law that fraud took place it would immediately delegitimize and invalidate Kompus’s control which would then give Kurvitz and Rostov a chance to reclaim power along with all the subsidiaries of the company which includes YESSIRNOSIR Ltd.

From the way I saw it, it certainly felt like Bratt went out of his way to put blame on the deteriorating work environment and splintering of a two-decade old artist collective squarely on Robert Kurvitz shoulders. If I were to speculate, I think in his anger after not receiving the conclusion he had been hoping for from his interviewee, Bratt refused to acknowledge the very real fact that his hands are legally tied with the things that he can publicly talk about which had the unintentional consequence of villainizing Kurvitz. Bratt is still correct in his assessment that Kurvitz is arrogant and people were hurt by his actions but whether intentional or not misrepresenting how much Kurvitz and his inner circle was responsible for the strife while neglecting to even acknowledge the amount of meddling the investors were doing behind the scenes only detracts from his argument and puts into question who he’s really representing in his video.

#disco elysium #za/um #studio za/um #robert kurvitz #people make games #my thoughts #'kurvtiz was a shitty boss' and 'kurvtiz didn't deserve to have his shit stolen from him' are two statements that can coexist #i don't condone his actions but I do think they didn't just come out of a vacuum #cause if it was just his bad behavior that got him dismissed it doesn't explain why Rostov and Hindpere were fired along with him #it's just weird to me that pmg didn't think to question if the investors might've been the ones to kick off the chain of events #yes yes I know this is meandering but this is a ramble post so it was never gonna be concise in the first place #mp

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onedaughterofman · 1 year

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You, forever (Chapter VII: Zenith interlude)

Pairing: Papa Emeritus IV x g/n reader

Summary: The Clergy takes something from Copia, but he refuses to let go.

Warnings/tags: Mostly fluff, some angst here and there. Mentions of blood, some sexual innuendos. I put my whole heart and pussy into this. It was supposed so be "short and sweet". It's more than 6K words, I think.

PREV CHAPTER HERE

“Cardinal? Care for a dance?”

Draped in ceremonial robes and surrounded by a faint, golden glow, a Sibling of Sin stands right in front of him. The Cardinal lifts up his head, focuses for a brief moment on their face before looking away again.

The music coming from the ballroom is distant, barely above an echo in the air. This party is supposed to be for him, Imperator said. A celebration of his arrival at the Ministry and a welcoming to his recent role as the head of the Ghost project. They are celebrating the release of Prequelle, the general favorable reception it caused on the public.

Despite that, the Cardinal is hidden away from the rest of the clergy and Siblings. He’s on a bench, and the halls continue for a long way to his right and left following a labyrinthine path. A part of Copia wishes he could mingle with the rest of the guests and celebrate, but he’s positively not in the proper mood. Even if Prequelle is a work born from his blood and sweat, he can’t help feeling that there’s something missing. He tried hard, so hard to make something good, but people are still clinging to the past.

During tedious days and interminable nights, he paid attention to the critics and reception. It didn’t matter how hard Imperator tried to shelter him from the negative reviews, focusing exclusively on the praises and applause. Copia read everything, listened to each complaint.

At last, there’s no way to escape the truth. He’s not Terzo. Not Primo or Secondo, either. He’s not the mastermind behind Infestissumam, the rebel innovator behind Meliora or the messiah that brought Opus Eponymus to life, relaunching Ghost.

No. He’s only Cardinal Copia, creator of nothing but a mild disco-flirtatious album that lacks the raw power or lyrical profundity of his predecessors.

What a disappointment. He doesn’t deserve this stupid party or even his appointment as the new frontman. A brief noise forces his head to shift again. Next, he notes you are still standing there, staring at him with dark pupils and piercing eyes. The strength behind your gaze makes his shoulders tense, and he struggles to summon the right words as he swallows. You follow the movement of his throat, the way his muscles contract and relax.

Fuck. What did you say to him?

“I’m sorry,” Copia stutters, after a beat. “I’m not… I’m not good at dancing.”

The phantom of a smug smile appears on your lips, vanishing almost as rapidly. You nod slowly, taking a few steps forward until you take a seat right next to him. The Cardinal instinctively scoots away, putting as much distance as he can without standing up.

Without mercy, you move a bit closer. There’s that small, tight smile in your lips again, and your stare is heavy on his skin.

“Is that so? Because I saw you in the Rats video and that looked a lot like knowing how to dance.”

Oh, Satan. What do you expect from him? Are you here to laugh, to mock him? Is this part of some cruel joke, or a bet?

He’s too old for this.

You are too, but some people never grow over their mean phase. He’s about to excuse himself and sprint away when you finally look away, eyes locking into the paintings on the wall. Copia does the same, analyzing the minor details in the frame before observing the painting.

The infinity is built in front of his gaze. A red snake, swallowing its own tail, symbolizing the never-ending circle of life, death and rebirth. Just like the snake, Copia feels terribly trapped in an eternal cyclic path that will just lead to his own demise. The recent, tragic and sudden passing of the Emeritus lineage has struck hard in the Abbey, causing all kinds of speculations

If he’s not cautious, Copia will end up just like them, he fears.

In the distance, the music changes. The piano is a bit softer, carrying the melody with grace. Your head follows the rhythm, foot tapping on the stone floor. “I must admit I didn’t know what to expect when I first watched the video,” you continue, whispering. The tone of your voice is soft, hushed, as if this was a secret no one else should discover. “I never saw any Papa doing something like that before.”

That’s it, then. You’re here to remind him how different he’s from the rest, how he doesn’t fit along the Emeritus’ heirs. The Cardinal gathers a deep breath, feeling the air burn in his lungs before exhaling. It’s useless for you to come here to taunt him, when he already knows anything you may say and more. He knows he’s extremely different, too unusual or particular. It doesn’t matter how hard Imperator insists he’s suitable for this job, Copia knows she’s wrong.

And here you are, to solidify his theory. No one in the Clergy agrees with his designation. He’s…

A failure.

“I like it.”

The music stops for a moment. The echo travels through the air, following the interminable corridors until it disappears down the hall. Copia studies your face, searching for any clue of sarcasm or a lie, but not a single trace appears. Your mouth is stretched in a smile, and your eyes are sincere, shining with the reflection of the faint golden light.

“You left me speechless for a while, Cardinal.” You continue, averting your gaze. An air of familiarity clings to your body and hair, slowly tearing at his walls. You’re not the frightening, intimidating person he initially thought you were. No, you’re calmer, way kinder. “That’s why I was hoping you might dance with me. Everybody's having fun tonight. It’s a shame you’re here all alone.”

“We can try it, if you want?”

The words leave his mouth before his brain can process them. Copia's mouth is agape while he's fighting to produce a coherent thought. The way your face lights up at his proposal doesn’t make things easier for him, but he achieves the strength to continue. “I mean, I still remember some of my dancing lessons.”

“I knew it!” Your hand lands on his arm, a fleeting and yet burning touch, marking his skin with your emotion. “You looked so professional in that video! You took lessons?”

“A long time ago. Sister thought it would help me become a bit less… shy? I don’t know, truly.”

“I assume it didn’t work.” The mischief coats your words, and he smiles in return.

“No, but it was a good workout. I still work-out, you know. Lots of walking inside the Ministry.”

“You do have a nice, toned body.”

The confession seizes him by surprise. Being raised inside the Ministry has made him almost immune to all sorts of lascivious, hedonist behavior. He has heard and seen things that will be forever branded in his memory, no matter how hard he tries to forget them. However, he’s not used to that being directed at him.

He should get used to it, probably. He’s read the comments some people make about his clothing and moves. They are... creative, to say at least. Tremendously interesting.

“Ah, si. I also… run a bit,” Copia says, when the silence becomes excessively oppressive on his back. “And I do some thrusting, here and there.”

You chuckle.

He has made you laugh, and it’s a breathtaking sight to behold. “Not that I need the training,” the Cardinal continues, moving a bit closer. “My junk works just fine. More than fine. Uh…No complaints.”

When you laugh once more, Copia fears the entire world has come to a stop. He sees you in slow motion, notes the way your lips stretch and your hair sways following the movement of your head. He swallows, but his mouth is incredibly dry.

You’re beautiful.

“Do I know you? No, sorry. I mean, can you tell me your name?”

You do. “I’ve been serving the Ministry for a while, but I’m mostly cleaning and cooking. I’m afraid Sister Imperator doesn’t trust me in clerical duties.”

“Why not?”

“Apparently I speak awful Latin and get lots of herbs and incense confused. I need to study more diligently, she said.”

“Well, if you need any extra help, you can ask me. I know some stuff.”

“I’d be honored, your Dark Eminence.”

“No need for that. Cardinal it’s okay. Or just Copia.”

“Copia.” The way you mention his name, pronouncing each sound with a slow, clear intonation is music to his ears. The Cardinal fears he might become addicted to it. He knows he has just met you, but he’s passionate at the core of his heart. He can’t help but to yearn for love, for someone to adore during days and nights.

It might be a fantasy, but he keeps his hopes high. Maybe, you can become the one he’s been searching for.

“So, dancing lessons?”

Holding onto your hand, Copia follows you through the corridors.

Your hand is warm between his fingers. Copia holds onto it, following you through the empty corridors.

“Thank you for helping me hide from Imperator.”

“You’re welcome,” Copia says, breathless from all the running. “But I don’t see why we are running. I thought you did well in your Latin lessons.”

“I did, that’s the problem! She thinks I cheated!”

He laughs, absentmindedly leaning closer to you.“I’m sorry for being such a good teacher.”

“Then I’m sorry for being such a good student.”

Steps resonate in the distance. You flinch, drawing a short breath before your hand jolts to grip his forearm. The Cardinal hurries behind you, rapidly hiding from whoever is wandering the Ministry. It’s only when the noise fades he realizes how close he is, how your fingers are still closed on his flesh and your bodies are almost pressed together.

The air is not enough to allow him to breathe. Copia opens his mouth to let out a slight gasp, fighting to calm the frantic beating of his heart. He can’t move. In the enclosed space, he doesn’t know where he wants to go, if he wants to put more distance between the two of you or to lean closer. His hands hoovers over your body, fingers twitching in an effort not to touch you. He wants to, but doesn’t dare.

To resist his desire becomes harder when you look at him through your lashes. From this distance, you can feel the heat radiating from his body, smell the way his perfume mixes with the minty scent of his aftershave. The Cardinal averts his gaze, staring at the stone wall. He’s extremely nervous, timid.

“Copia?” You whisper. That sultry, half lidded stare burns on his face like fire. “Thank you.”

Without saying anything else, you lean to place a kiss on his cheek. It’s a soft gesture, a chaste one, full of innocence and tenderness he never experienced before. You begin to walk away, turning around to call for him when he remains in place.

“Are you coming?”

Dumbfounded, he follows.

“Come on! Faster!”

“Come on! You can go faster!”

The wheels on the tricycle don’t agree. They creak and whine, almost as if they were about to fall off the frame and roll into nothingness. It's natural. The frame is not meant to support the weight of not only one, but two adults.

Yet, your nails dig in the Cardinal’s shoulders, as you cling to him for dear life. You laugh loud and the sound echoes on the walls and before disappearing into the hallways. Copia’s voice alerts you shortly before he turns on a corner, hoping not to crash and wreck anything. He can’t explain to Papa Nihil why more and more vases and decorations keep getting broken in the vestibules.

Oblivious to his worry, you merely chuckle louder, gripping onto him with more strength. “Faster!”

“I’m the only one pedaling here!” He yells, breathless. The muscles on his legs burn and ache, but not as much as they will tomorrow in the morning.

Oh, well. A bit of pain is nothing when he can enjoy the comfort of your body pressed against his back or hear the sound of your chuckles. You look so cheerful, gull of joy. It makes his heart race and sing.

“I thought you said you worked out!”

Upon hearing your words, Copia continues. A dead end halts him on his tracks. The wheels produce a sonorous screech on the floors, leaving behind marks. You climb down from the tricycle, and a sad, disappointed expression manifests on your face. Copia doesn’t like seeing it. He despises it.

Even if your feet make contact with the ground, your hands remain on his shoulders, toying with the collar of his cassock. The gesture sends shivers down his spine, electrifying his body. “We’ll have more space to ride outside,” he says, hoping you’ll accept his invitation.

“A race, then?”

You run without waiting for him to signal the beginning of the competition. He grants you some advantage before following at full speed.

On the patio, you run. Copia’s voice is carried by the wind, no more than a faint counting sound in the distance.

You're extremely thrilled he’s taking some time to indulge in a foolish game with you. He’s been exceptionally busy lately, so full of stress with all the tours and his clerical obligations. Sadly, you almost don’t have time to spend with him, even if he tries to dedicate a few minutes of his days to you.

Crouching behind a big statue, you cover your mouth with your palms in an effort to muffle the noise of your panting. All your efforts are fruitless, because Copia takes no time to find you.

His fingers tickle at your skin, over the ribs, and you jump in place both from the sudden contact and the surprise. “This is unfair! You always win.”

“Si, certo. I used to play here all the time when I was a child, there’s no corner I don’t know. Most orphans preferred the playground near the west entrance and not this one because it’s close to the Chapel of Rituals, so nobody bothered me.”

In a swift movement, your fingers close over his wrists, pulling him closer. Copia falls on the soft ground, green grass staining the white material of his suit. Despite that, you don’t stop tugging until his head is set on your lap. Even if he attempts sitting up, you don’t let go. You merely move your hands from his arm to his face, ghosting over his cheekbones and nose before setting down on his hair.

Gradually, your nails lightly scratch at his scalp. Copia’s eyes go from wide open in surprise to half lidded, all fluttering eyelashes. “You need some rest, Copia,” you mumble, making him nod.

“I know, I know. There’s so much to do.”

He’s right. The clerical duties are never ending, so heavy on his shoulders. More than once you have discovered him passed out in the library or in his office, head against the hard wood of the desk and hand clutching a pen. The Cardinal’s shoulders are always so tense and high on his body, from carrying both Nihil’s and Imperator’s expectations.

If only you could do anything to relieve him from some of that pressure, you would. You have been gaining more and more responsibilities, but it’s never enough to grant him respite. “I’ll tell you what,” you offer, when you think he might start snoring softly at any moment. “When this is all over, we’ll go to the beach. I heard the Ministry owned a beach house not too far away from here.”

Eyes batting open, he furrows his brows. “Where did you hear that?”

“Imperator mentioned something when she was talking with Papa Nihil the other day. I might have eavesdropped.”

A deep, slow sigh it’s the sole answer you get. “It doesn’t matter” you cut him before he can complain.“Promise it. When you have time, we’ll go to the beach.”

“I don’t like the beach.”

“Because you have never been there with me.”

The glint in your eyes, he clearly sees it. There’s so much hope and excitement within your pupils, it’s impossible to deny you. Hell, he’d accept anything you propose, asking only for you to gaze at him in return. “Okay, okay,” Copia whispers, looking elsewhere. His lips stretch in a timid smile. “When this is over, I’ll take you to the beach. But then, we’ll have to go somewhere I want.”

“Where?”

“Let’s go get rigatoni affumicati al pecorino, from that nice Italian restaurant near here,” he declares after a beat. “ Do you want to?”

“Deal. But first, the beach.”

“Vabbè. The beach.” Your palm is warm and soft when his fingers make contact with your hand. He takes it gently, placing his lips on the back of it. The black makeup leaves behind the faint mark of a kiss. “I promise it.”

There’s so much echo around. Step after step, your shoes make a loud noise that breaks the heavy silence of this place. Almost as if he was sensing your uneasiness, Copia’s fingers caress the back of your hand, moving to graze over the palm. “Only a bit more,” he murmurs. “Watch your steps, my dear.”

“It’d be easier if I wasn't blindfolded.”

“You didn't complain about it last night.”

Copia abruptly stops before you can reply. His hands move to your head, deft fingers swiftly removing the blindfold. Nothing prepares you for what you see.

The space is large and broad around you. Illuminated by candle light and a few faint lamps, there’s a fountain in the middle of the room. From right to left, you note some tunnels extend for meters and meters before disappearing in the dark distance.

Where's this place?

Has it always been here, hidden under the main building?

“I know this is not like the beach.” Copia speaks up from behind you. His fingers bend around your shoulders, pulling you lightly until your back meets his chest. As always, he’s gentle and tender, an incredibly comforting presence. He makes you feel giddy inside, so at ease. “But I thought it was a nice sight anyway.”

“Are we under the Abbey?”

“Si, ecco. A whole system of tunnels goes even beyond the fences. It’s supposed to be an escape route, used during the old times in case of an attack. Nowadays it’s mostly abandoned and closed, unless you have permission to be here.”

“Do we have permission?”

“I do. Don’t worry. I’m the only one who comes here.”

“That’s selfish of you. Maybe I want to come too.”

“I can help you with that, very well.”

His arms are strong when he surrounds you in a hug, tilting your head until his lips find yours. Copia lets out a few chuckles against your skin, closing his eyes to thoroughly enjoy the coziness of your body next to his. In front of your eyes, the water of the fountain dances to its own song. The statue of the Fallen Angel stands watchfully in the middle of it, beautiful and magnificent.

Just like Lucifer fell from the heavens to the ground, searching for freedom and truth, you feel yourself falling for Copia. If he’s your damnation or the promised land, you don’t care. As long as you can have him close, worship him and walk by his side, then nothing else matters.

Nothing can offer you absolution or console, if it’s not him.

“Thank you for showing me this.” Your voice is scratchy, coarse from the lack of use.

“Prego,” Copia replies, holding closer. “This place was always a shelter for me, to hide when things became too bad. I want you to have it too.”

The murmur of the water travels through the air, lulling you into a sense of peace and safety. In your lover’s arms, you cling to these private moments you get to expend together, away from the rest of the Clergy. Now and forever, the light from memory will conduct you through the shadows.

In moments like these, away from the world and outside expectations, you feel incredibly free.

Over the muffled music, the water is a constant buzzing in your ears. It’s dusky in the tunnels, more than usual, and a part of you wonders if Copia dimmed the lights on purpose to allow himself to camouflage into the shadows.

The entrance to the main room stands in front of you. Written in stone, an ancient warning lays carved in somber color for your eyes to see.

“Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch'intrate.”

You take a step forward. The distant ticking of the clock it’s the only sign of time passing. Under the Abbey, everything seems to be put on a stop. “Copia?” You call, and for a long moment there’s no reply. “I know you are here.”

“Si, uh. I was just…”

“Hiding?” Your chuckle is full of air. “You need to stop hiding during celebrations prepared in your honor. Everybody is up there wanting to congratulate the new Papa Emeritus the IV.”

“Lo so, believe me. I just need some air.”

Distorted, the melody of the piano keys hardly manages to resonate in the underground. You don’t recognize it, only acknowledging it’s a slow ballad. Your hand extends in Copia’s direction, floats in front of his face until his eyes look up to meet yours. There’s sadness clinging to his factions, drenching him in a unique kind of sorrow you fear you’ll never completely understand.

This man, as much as you love him, remains mostly a mystery. He has shared a few details, scarce information about his childhood and teenage years. How someone who has been through much can remain kind and cheerful it’s something you can’t comprehend.Every so often, you feel as if the world’s weight was balancing on his tense shoulders, oppressing his true nature into dust.

The Clergy clearly searches to transform Copia into the perfect frontman, a well curated marionette they can maneuver round and round. There’s a bitter glint behind your irises, a misery you hope he can’t discern in the shadows.

If your love could guard him, then not a god or Satan would be able to touch a single hair of his head.

Then, you’re just a human. Another Sibling of Sin, someone who performed their vows not too long ago and who comes from nowhere.

“We met on a night like this. Do you remember?”

Copia’s hair follows the movement of his head when he nods leisurely. He holds onto your hand, tenderly cradling the palm to his cheek. His eyelids are pressed together when he snuggles closer, lessening the deep crease of his brows.

“How could I forget it?”

“Was I the first person you danced with? After you were ordained as the new leader?”

“Yes.”

“Can I be the first person to dance with you, now that you have become a Papa?”

As if your words had struck him right on the face, Copia’s eyes flutter open. “Please,” he whispers, through gritted teeth and quivering lips. He’s scared, terrified even, and now he’s clinging to you as a life line.

It’s okay. You can be his anchor, his sheltered place. Everything will be alright, for as long as you are together.

Even if the music is muffled by the sturdy stone walls, you begin to escort him through the vast room. Your voice rises in a melody you heard him singing, nights and nights ago. Copia seems surprised that you recall it, but how could you forget the way that song draped around your aching heart and eager soul, touching every nerve of your sensitive core?

If he composed it for you or not, you don’t care. That’s the song you love, the one you’d sing forever and ever if you were ever granted life eternal. The humming travels up your chest, throat and mouth, exiting your lips and filling the silence before getting lost into a distant echo.

Clinging to your body tight and circling around the room, you dance.

Copia’s body is squeezed tight against you. Laying in bed, limbs tangled and hair tousled, the two of you struggle to regain a regular breathing rhythm.

For a long moment, you stay silent. There’s a thick veil of worry covering your skin. He realizes, sensitive as he always is to your emotions. Copia clutches your hand between his, caresses the back of it without breaking eye contact. “What’s wrong, my dear?” He asks gently.

There are no words in your mouth, nothing logical that can explain why your throat is filled with anguish. It’s most likely nothing, you know it, but your heart beats rapidly and heavy inside your chest.

“I think it’s going to rain soon.”

“Why do you say that? There’s not a cloud in the sky tonight.”

“The wind has changed,” you murmur, averting your gaze. “And I’m worried.”

“About what?”

“Your trip. How long will you be gone?”

This time, his facial expression is the one that denotes concern. “Not too long, and there’s no need to worry,” he comments, squeezing your hand. His fingers curl around your wrist, pulling you closer. “Sister will be there with me. It’s just a dumb meeting with some members of the Clergy, to plan the next tour and album.”

“Let me go with you, then. No one should object to a Sibling of Sin accompanying their Papa.”

“You’ll get bored.”

The same conversation, time after time, is what bores you the most. Why can’t Copia allow you to travel with him? That is something you don’t fathom. A part of you suspects it has to do with Imperator’s presence always following him like a shadow.

“I mean it, Copia,” you stand firm, sitting up. “ I miss you so much when you are gone. Why can’t I go instead of Imperator?”

“She’s the one behind the whole project, I can’t ask her not to go.”

“Then why does she despise me so much?”

As usual, he remains silent. “She doesn't,” Copia states, but there’s an undeniable doubt in his voice.“She has an old vision of how things should be.”

“She has a vision of me dead, I’m telling you.”

“Come on, don’t say that.I’ll be okay and will take care of you. Do you trust me?”

Yes.

“Of course I do, Papa.” The mention of his title, the one he holds in the highest regards, causes him to feel as if he’s about to burn and melt into the silky sheets. His heart is about to explode in a whirlwind of emotions and excitement. Copia is happy, so moved and sensitive every time you call him that.

“Then believe me when I say this. Everything is going to be alright. I’ll be back from my trip soon, and then we might even have some time before the tour. You know what that means?”

“Our beach trip?”

“Yes, why not.”

“It’s winter, Papa.”

“That won't stop me. If it’s not the beach, I’ll take you somewhere else.”

“Okay. Maybe somewhere warm. I really think it’s going to rain soon.”

The next morning, the clouds are distant in the blue horizon when Copia takes one last look at the Ministry before stepping into the car.

Dark clouds float above his head. It’s going to rain soon and the drops of dew that cling to the air are almost frigid cold, dampening his clothes and hair.

“They are looking for you.”

The ghoul maintains his distance. The sturdy boots barely produce any noise against the moist ground, due to the carefulness of his walking. He advances slowly, step by step, as if he’s dealing with a hurt and scared animal that might bolt away at the first sign of danger.

Maybe the ghoul is right. Copia feels like a wounded and terrified creature, about to dissolve into dust. His body is closed tight, holding him together by threads that may break and disintegrate with the slightest wrong movement.

Still, he breathes.

“Saltarian and the rest are wondering where you are.”

“How… How did you find me?”

Without hurrying, the ghoul outstretches one hand. He’s not wearing any gloves, and his silver jewelry shines under the pale glow coming from the lamps. One finger points to himself, right at the chest, over the place where the Emeritus’ sigil has been branded on his skin. “We’re bound together by our deal,” he says. “I’ll always know where you are. That way I can come when you call me.”

“Then the others know where I am too.”

Under the black night sky, the ghoul stands still. Through the dark glass of his mask, his pupils emit a dull light that can barely be discerned. Copia focuses on that glow, on the way the ghoul’s head tilts in his direction as he lowers his body to the ground. Sitting on the dirt, the creature only stares at him.

Next, his fingers toy with the long sleeves of his uniform, rolling them up his arms. Copia follows the action, silently. “Do you remember when you summoned us?” The ghoul questions. His body irradiates heat, reaching a temperature that would be too hot for any normal human. Copia feels half tempted to lean into him, because he’s freezing to his bones.

“Sí, I do. I was terrified,” he admits, narrowing his eyes and breathing through his mouth. It’s a bad habit. He knows it, but he can’t help himself. The oxygen isn’t enough. It’s never enough,

“Then you remember our deal, right?”

“You serve me, and in exchange I let you inhabit a human vessel to roam through the earth.”

This time, the ghoul moves his head slowly. His tongue clicks. “Not exactly. We are summoned here to look after the Ministry’s best interest and ensure the safety of Papa Emeritus. In exchange we are provided with a body to possess and energy to feed off. It’s simple, but the contract is up to interpretation, as it always is.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because the Clergy has issued a command in your absence. They told us to stop you from leaving the Abbey’s ground, no matter what," the creature confesses. “And right now, you’re very close to abandoning our profane land.”

Copia stiffens, skin pale. He’s struggling to inhale and exhale, almost shaking.

“Where is Sister? Has she arrived?” Copia whispers through his teeth. Each syllable is hard to pronounce, because his jaw is almost as tense as the rest of his body. The cold stone causes his teeth to clatter and stomach to shiver, but he doesn’t want to step out of his hiding spot and go back inside the building.

No. His shelter is safe, while the abbey is dangerous. Copia doesn’t know who he can trust in anymore, who might be waiting for him in the shadows. The ghoul shakes his head, solemnly.

“Something horrible happened,” Copia adds, and his companion only nods. “I know something happened.”

Word by word, his shoulders rise as his head drops. The dirt is wet, wetting his clothes. “I can’t find them anywhere,” he mutters, quivering. He wants to disappear, to curl up in a hole and die from anguish and pain.

You can’t abandon him, you can’t simply go and never come back. Copia needs you, more than anything in this world, more than anyone else.

Love me, his soul screams. Love me and never leave me. Never cast me aside, never ignore me.

Love me

Love me.

“I smell blood on the dirt.”

No.

“Not too old. It’s recent. A few kilometers from here, down the south.”

Copia stands up, but the demon grabs him by the sleeve of his jacket before he can move. The sharp nails leave behind marks, slicing through the cloth. “I have to go,” he pleads.

“You can’t leave the Ministry grounds. That’s the order.”

“Let me go.”

“Even if I do, the others will follow you. And I’m not going to lie, most of them don’t care if they have to drag you back by force.”

The reasoning falls into deaf ears. Copia struggles with all his might, but it's useless in the face of an eternal, inhuman being. “I’m the one in charge here. It’s an order!", he yells, desperate. "I command you to let me go!”

“No, you don't. You can’t even use the binding magic right. It’s a sad attempt.” There’s a glimpse of something in his voice, a bitten emotion that doesn’t quite match the ferocity of his nature. He’s not aggressive, or indifferent. He’s almost sorrowful.

“I don’t understand! You are my ghoul. You serve me!”

A deep sigh is the only reply he gets. “My loyalty is to you, but contractually I serve the Ministry's interests. The pact doesn’t mind who’s in charge of it, if it’s you, another Papa or some old human behind the shadows.”

“Then come with me. That way you’ll be certain I’m safe. No harm done to anybody in the Ministry.”

“You don’t get it, right? To ensure Papa Emeritus’ safety is not the same as to obey you. If you ask most of us, an easy way to keep Papa safe is to lock him inside the Abbey and forbid him from doing something crazy, like going outside in the middle of the night when it’s about to rain.”

Like a marionette with no strings, Copia's arms fall to his side. The creature's grip on his flesh lessens, but the sting of sharp claws remains. “If something happens to Papa Emeritus, if you get sick or injured and can’t perform, then the Old One’s message won’t be spread. There is a tour coming soon. It would be a problem to lose you.”

In the wind, the top of the trees dances in a serpent-like manner. Copia focuses on it, trying hard to match the movement with the rhythm of his air intake.

It's useless. Nothing can bring him peace if you are not around. “But I have to find my beloved.”

“That’s the problem here. You’re not only Papa Emeritus IV. That’s merely a title you endorse. Sadly, right now my duty is to stop you from leaving, not to care about Copia’s feelings and wishes. They don’t serve the Clergy or Satan.”

“I have to find them, please. You said you smelled blood. They need help.”

“I smell blood under the dirt, permeating the ground. It’s not fresh, just recent. I don’t think they need help anymore.”

No.

It can't be.

He won't believe it. Hasn't he given enough? Hasn't he given away his name, his face, years and years of his life to serve this Ministry? Hasn't he done enough?

Copia is asking only for one thing in return to his efforts: you.

They can't take you away.

No one can.

“Silenzio!” He yells. In the darkness, his eye emits a faint pale glow. “Tell me where they are, now. I’ll go.”

The ghoul's bared teeth shine when he growls, in a silent warning. His muscles are tense under his tight skin, almost as if he was ready to pounce and devour him to the bones. “Alright," he breathes out, after a beat. "No need to get so mad, I said my loyalty is to you and not to the Clergy.”

“Why?”

“Maybe I spend too much time with humans. I’m starting to feel things I’m not supposed to, like empathy and pity. It might be your fault. You always treated me like a friend and not a servant.”

“You’re like family to me.”

Instead of offering comfort, his words seem to shatter the creature's spirit even more. “Something I learnt from humans is that even family can stab you in the back. Don’t trust us. We’re not like you in the end.”

Copia listens carefully when the ghoul tells him where to go. It's not far away, but it is beyond the Ministry's fences. He can make it before it begins to rain, probably, but it will be a tough journey.

It doesn't matter. He can't fail.

“One last thing. The tunnels under us, you know them right?”

“Yes.”

“Most of us would consider them part of the Ministry’s grounds. That way, you can get farther away without any ghoul on your heels. I’ll try to distract them as much as I can, but there’s no guarantee.”

“Thank you. For everything.”

“I hope you don’t regret it. This won’t go unpunished for me.”

“I’ll reward you when I get back.”

Without agreeing, the infernal creature begins to walk away. He doesn’t turn around when Copia speaks up, only tilting his head to examine him through the corner of his eyes.

“You said you spent too much time around us, and that’s why you’re experiencing new feelings.” Copia inquires. “Would it be too bad to be a bit more human?”

For a small eternity, an infinite of seconds that weigh as much as his sorrow, the ghoul stays in silence. After that, he swallows. His fists are pressed against his body. “It’s dangerous,” he says softly. “What happens when you lose everything that makes you yourself?”

Copia doesn’t know what to reply. His gaze pierces into the creature, searching for any clue. He detects nothing, only a rare sense of humanity.

To discover humanity in a demon, that’s something he was never prepared for. Copia feels his blood freeze when he witnesses him go without looking back. Before completely disappearing in the distance, the ghoul’s voice continues in an incredibly gentle manner, almost breaking at the end

“You die.”

NEXT CHAPTER

Ps: Sorry for writing a nice ghoul and then implying they died. That wasn't very fluff of me.

Next chapter is probably the end! This is a wild ride. Be prepared, maybe? And, as always, thanks for the support! This wouldn't have been a multi-chapter fic without it <3

#ghost band #ghost band fanfic #ghost band x reader #papa emeritus iv #cardinal copia #papa emeritus x reader #cardinal copia x reader #evil cardinal copia #antichrist copia #nameless ghouls #my writing #my fics

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granvarones · 7 months

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the roots of queer clubs can be traced back to the early 20th century. many of these spaces existed in secrecy, then in the aftermath of the stonewall uprising against police violence in june 1969, queer clubs began to emerge from the shadows. the uprisings served as catalyst for transformation of queer nightlife.

in the 1970s and 1980s and throughout the 1990s, clubs continued to serve a profound role personal and collective liberation. these venues provided a space that offered a sense of freedom and refuge from homophobia and discrimination and music played a pivotal role. the songs , which often times could only be heard in queer spaces - months before they crossed over to mainstream pop radio, were a sonic invitation for everyone to come out to dance and be free on the dance floor.

below are a few of the songs that soundtracked the celebration of coming out to and/or inviting people into your world. may we all find a dance floor to move and be with abandon as we sing, or lip sync, to our favorite songs!

I WAS BORN THIS WAY • CARL BEAN

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defiant in its profound message about gay pride, self-acceptance, and self-affirmation, “i was born this way” was initially released in 1975 by motown recording artist valentino. two years later, in 1977, carl bean, also on motown, covered the song and made it an anthem on and off the dance floor. bean’s version was remixed and re-released as the “better days” remix. it ignited dance floors again - almost a decade later.

I’M COMING OUT • DIANA ROSS

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written by the prolific producer nile rodgers, “i’m coming out” was inspired after nile saw multiple diana ross drag performers in a bathroom at a new york queer club in 1979.

although the term “coming out” had been used to describe self-disclosure around sexual orientation and gender identity since the turn of the 20th century, ross was surprisingly unaware of the concept until nile told diana, “..this song is gonna be your coming-out song. we think of you as our black queen…”

I AM WHAT I AM | GLORIA GAYNOR

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“i am what i am” was initially written for the 1983 broadway musical “la cage aux folles.” gloria gaynor, first lady of disco, released a dance version later that year. “i am what i am,” became a global queer anthem during a time when “coming out” was fiercely encouraged to build community and organize around the still unfolding AIDS crisis.

I’M COMING OUT OF HIDING | PAMALA STANLEY

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philadelphia-born and raised pamela stanley scored a string of dance hits in the early 1980s. Her most notable song was the Hi-NRG classic “coming out of hiding.”

released nationally in 1984, “coming out of hiding” became a massive club hit, reaching #4 on billboard’s dance chart, and became an anthem among gay men during the onset of the AIDS crisis. a time when severe homophobia threatened to chase LGBTQ folks back into the closet.

NEW ATTITUDE | PATTI LABELLE

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by the release of “new attitude” at the end of 1984, patti labelle had already cemented herself as a queer icon for her fashion, performance style, and resilience. she was also one of the first recording artists to support and perform at AIDS benefits.

if a jolt of energy could be a timeless self-empowering anthem, it would be “new attitude.” the song’s uplifting message of self-confidence, transformation, and embracing one’s connection with queer audiences.

COME INTO MY HOUSE | QUEEN LATIFAH

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“welcome into my queendom, come one, come all…,” the opening line of the first verse of queen latifah’s 1990 hip-hop/house track “come into my house” is an invitation into her world, extended to those of us who were either exiled from or denied entry into kingdoms that valued hyper-masculinity and conformity. and visitors are greeted with the song’s refrain, “give me body!,” an invitation into her world and community.

GO WEST | PET SHOP BOYS

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originally recorded and released by queer disco group the village people in 1979, “go west” is an unapologetic rallying cry about gay freedom and migration to san francisco. english synth-pop queer duo pet shop boys’ 1993 cover was hopeful and reflective in its yearning for acceptance and community. a theme that resonated emotionally during immense loss during the height of the AIDS crisis.

FREE HAPPY & GAY | THE COMING OUT CREW

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in the 1990s, as LGBTQ+ culture continued to gain mainstream visibility, the coming out crew’s 1995 exuberant dance track “free, gay and happy” captured the unwavering power of queer joy and hope. written and performed by renowned vocalist sabrina johnston, “free, gay and happy” became a club hit in both the US and UK.

#granvarones #gay #queer #latinx #storytelling #afrolatinx #lgbtq history month #latinx heritage month #AIDS #national coming out day #Youtube #Spotify

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voxofthevoid · 2 months

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no. 40 sukuna/gojo role swap........ your MIND ohmy god. they're both power tripping menaces just different flavors, idk why i never thought of their places exchanged oughghhu DELICIOUS!!!!! And goyuu, what's closer than close? The vessel and the curse nestled in your ribs huh... the sweet rot growing into your heart and lungs and oh wowowow!!! I'm never not going to be thinking about Fallen God Gojo sealed into eyeballs. King of Curses Sukuna manifesting evil red eyes on yuuji boringgg— King of Blasphemy GOJO turning Yuuji in a overbright disco ball with too many all-seeing eyes like freckles, like stars, eheheeeee I love it i love it♡ and Yuuji popping eyeballs like grapes. I can't unsee it help😭 I found one(1, SINGULAR) fic w this premise already i need to hunt down moreee😬😬😬 thank you SO BMUCH for sharing your fics idea with us, your brain is a marvel♡♡♡ + and a terror, if my wip folder was closer to 100 than 50 for one fandom i'd crack like an egg are you kidding me🫠

Haha thank you 💙

The funny thing is that this idea was actually sparked by an anon ask from several months ago (when my plot bunny count was nearly half what it is now—nvm, I checked again and it was 61 then) that asked if I had any ideas for KoC!Gojou. At that time, I didn't! There was only KoC!Yuuji with Sukuna as the vessel.

But the issue with asking me if I have any ideas is that, if I find it interesting enough, my mind will end up latching onto it and spawning something, which is how #40 came into being.

Also, it's delightfully eerie how closely you've nailed my outline for Gojou's and Yuuji's appearances in that AU:

Blind eyes all over Gojou's body, filling with blue every time Yuuji eats one shriveled little ball. Number of active eyes depends on the number of eyes consumed. Closed slits all over Yuuji's body that stay open but blind after Gojou exits him. He'd have a time looking in a mirror and thinking of the time he called Gojou beautiful.

This is mostly a dark, angsty romance because I think there's no kind ending for Yuuji falling in love with the monster in his soul, even (especially) if that monster loves him back. The fic is meant to start with the aftermath of Gojou getting out and taking over...not the world, but Yuuji's corner of it and then work backward. Either reverse chronological order or non-linear, I haven't decided yet, but I want to cover all the important bits from their first meeting to the botched execution.

Also, I believe @laughing-sock was working on a KoC!Gojou fic when that linked ask came in, so that might help scratch your itch for such fics. Happy hunting!

(Bonus note about Sukuna in this AU: Special-grade curse user Sukuna. Yuuji's brother. He can be Yuuji's best inspiration to not let Gojou out.)

And well, are we very sure I haven't cracked like an egg? The more the WIP/idea number grows, the less sane I feel 😂

#anon #i love my anons #fic: tell me it was for the hunger #goyuu

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shredsandpatches · 25 days

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Teatro la Fenice's new production of Mefistofele (with Alex Esposito in the title role) opens tonight so I've been seeing a lot of preview pics on the bird site, including this one and a video of the chorus from the end of this scene (which does look cool despite the schlubby costumes on the two leads, why are they putting Alex Esposito in sweatpants, come on, they put him in fishnets for Gounod!). ANYWAY it got me thinking about the various props I've seen used for the globe in "Ecco il mondo." For the uninitiated: this scene is set at Walpurgisnacht, the witches' sabbath and the primary event of the infernal social calendar. At one point the chorus presents their sexy demon overlord with a globe, symbolizing his mastery over the world and prompting Mefistofele's aria about the folly of humanity, at the end of which he smashes it. (The original libretto mentions a glass globe, and they did have sugar glass in the 1870s so I think that's probably what it would have been.)

Anyway, if you look at the video from later in the scene you can see that disco ball earth looks substantially redder and more burnt out by the end of the scene, a lighting effect which I am guessing takes place at the end of the aria. Which is pretty cool! I rather like that! Not as much as something that can go boom, but still pretty neat.

Other prop choices I've seen, roughly in order of how much I liked them:

Nothing (Festspielhaus Baden-Baden 2016, ft. Erwin Schrott). Come on. Why would you do it this way. I love this production quite a lot (and I actually otherwise really liked their Walpurgisnacht staging) but sometimes it makes questionable choices and this was one of them. Projecting equations all over the giant stage skull does not count. LET MEPH SMASH THINGS.

Giant blue lighted globe (I forget what production this was, but I saw this scene on youtube and couldn't find it when I looked just now). Pretty attractive visually, and stood out amid an otherwise red-dominated scene. Also the closest on this list to authorial intent (and, let's be real, Boito would certainly have used a lighted globe if it were possible to do safely at the time). However, you lose a lot of the impact if your singer has to carefully drop the prop globe into a trapdoor. This is kind of a common theme in this post and a principle by which I would abide: if you can't break it, use something else.

Cow heart (Bayerische Staatsoper 2015, ft. Rene Pape). Well, it's certainly creatively gross! I'll give it points for that. It was definitely not the worst idea this production had in re: Walpurgisnacht. But there are also a few problems: one is the destructibility issue outlined in the last entry. If you do something gross like that it's not gonna be as effective if it doesn't get to go splat, which obviously the prop cannot do. Another is that it doesn't really go with the symbolism of the aria (why is the world a cow heart, specifically?). A third is that the scene had already placed a bunch of writhing pregnant women downstage which made me worry that things were going to go a LOT darker than they actually did. I neither need nor want to see sacrificial baby yeeting in Mefistofele, but if your production is generally committed to maximum squalor, you probably shouldn't do anything that would make the audience imagine it and consequently doubt that commitment.

Paper globe (Teatro dell'Opera di Roma 2023, ft. John Relyea). A solid choice! He spikes it into an oil drum fire pit and and it makes a nicely scary-looking flame for an instant. It would have looked cooler if it were bigger, but it was definitely visually interesting (unlike most of the scene, alas; Relyea was typically fantastic but the director did not give him much to work with in this sequence beyond dressing him like Mussolini) and appropriately destructive.

Latex balloon (San Francisco Opera 1989, ft. Samuel Ramey). This one sometimes draws sniffs from opera purists for being cheap and tacky, but honestly that's entirely on-theme: behold the world! It's a piece of crap! This staging is iconic for a reason (it's on the cover of the dvd) and the simple balloon is satisfyingly destructible (Ramey dramatically stabs it with a very large pin), easy to bat around before destroying it, and inexpensive to replace. Full marks. Of course, this is a famous enough production that any other one that goes that route will probably be seen to be alluding to it.

Because I am obsessed with this opera and have an unattainable fantasy of directing it I have a lot of thoughts about all kinds of staging details, and so I would definitely return to the "inflatable earth" well, but distinguish it by getting Faust into the act: the second and third verse of the aria, after all, are about how dumb and generally shitty humans are. (And I think it's important for stagings of this sequence not to lose sight of him, which sometimes happens.) I'm picturing Meph dragging Faust up "onstage" and handing the globe off to him, as a representative of said dumb shitty humans (a lot of teasing interspersed with aggressive flirting going on here ofc). At the climactic "Ecco il mondo!" he flicks a finger in Faust's direction, and the globe explodes in his hands, to the great delight of the chorus. It's different, and it's a nice moment for making your singers cooperate in selling it (Faust, of course, has the more difficult job here since he'd have to play startled at a stage effect he is largely responsible for carrying off). My throughline for Mefistofele is that it's fundamentally a toxic, destructive love story that's still somehow weirdly ennobling for the participants on some level, and the Walpurgisnacht scene is a pivotal moment in that arc (it's where Meph's switch flips from "I want to win my wager" to "I want Faust") so that staging choice would be a another little thing that makes that relationship central.

#mefistofele #hot faust summer #faust friday #my imaginary production of mefistofele is fucking amazing you guys #child death for ts #(hypothetical and pretend)#how to destroy the world #opera

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waynes-multiverse · 1 year

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Plastic Hearts – Part 1

Pairing: Director!Dean Winchester x Actress!Reader

Series Summary: Los Angeles, 1985. Y/N’s a young actress without any success, hopping from one failed audition to the next until one desperate mistake brings her to her breaking point. Dean Winchester, on the other hand, is a grade A asshole and washed-up director at the end of his career, known for his godawful slasher movies in the 70s and his love for blow, booze, and women. Lost in the toxic Hollywood life, their paths cross when one hopeless little wrestling show changes their trajectory.

Chapter Warnings: +18, GLOW AU, self-worth issues, implied smut (reader x unknown dude 🤷‍♀️), cheating, Sam and Dean are not related in this story (--> check the series masterlist for overall warnings!)

Word Count: 2.8k

A/N: Truthfully, I wasn’t gonna share it because it was just a fun, silly project to get over some writer’s block (which I did!). Netflix never gave me an ending to this amazing show, so I wanted to write my own, y’know? But hey, it’s already written, so why not share it with the class, right? As my awesome cheerleader on this project @panicking-outside-the-disco said, the dilaogue screams Dean AU 🖤 (Thank you so much for your encouragement, bestie!) Fellow fans of the show, you’ll be happy to know I kept all the good stuff in there, from Steel Horse to pink, frosted donuts. Everyone else will make sense of those words soon enough. So, hopefully, you’ll enjoy this nostalgic love tribute, and let’s give ourselves a decent ending, shall we? 🤩

Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist

1. Holding Out For A Hero

Another failed audition.

Moving from Nebraska to Los Angeles at the sweet age of eighteen, Y/N has played the Hollywood game for quite some time. Now, at the ripe age of twenty-seven by La-La Land standards, she only has little to show for herself, though. She’s had a few background roles and starred in a handful of low-budget plays, but her big breakthrough, the role that changes everything, still remains a hopeless and seemingly unreachable daydream.

Worst of all, she is sick and tired of the simple and reduced roles Hollywood forces upon its actresses. She wants more than the shitty role of the secretary who tells a powerful man his wife is on the phone. Y/N wants a real part instead of playing second fiddle to yet another pompous dick.

Desperate times call for desperate measures.

After her latest failure, she even became so desperate she hid in a bathroom stall for three hours before ambushing her casting director Josie while the poor woman was fucking peeing. But instead of the customary, unexplained rejection, Y/N wanted to hear reasons this time. She wanted to find out why she always gets pushed over for someone else, wanted to know if she could do something better, for crying out loud.

Usually, it’s the agent’s job to tell an actor all the reasons why they were wrong for the role, but she doesn’t even have an agent anymore because, as it bitterly turns out, everyone stops fucking caring about you if you haven’t worked in over two years. For once, though, she wanted some goddamn feedback.

The casting director’s response?

“Look Y/N, every director I work with says, ‘Get me someone I don’t know. Someone I haven’t seen. I want a girl who’s real.’ That’s when I bring you in, so they can see that they don’t actually want the thing they think they want. It’s 1985. Everyone wants Jane fucking Fonda. I’m sorry, honey… But listen, I have some experimental projects in the Valley, if you’re interested. Would you consider doing erotica?”

So, fucking porn. That’s where she’s at with her life.

Defeatedly, Y/N leaves the casting office in West Hollywood once more and gets swallowed by the city’s filth, lost between hellfire and demons. No matter what she does, she never feels like it’s enough. Each audition, you throw yourself against the wall and hope, this time, it’ll stick. It’s an endless game, a gamble of hope – hope isn’t an infinite resource, though, and hers is running out.

Y/N likes getting tortured. That’s the conclusion she’s come to. And because she seems to thrive on torment, she joins her best friend Joanna for a Jazzercise class – aka a room full of toned women in leotards, sweatbands, and leg warmers. The two friends have known each other since middle school and have done everything together since then, including their move to the big city. Joanna is a blonde bombshell who immediately got a role on a popular soap until she quit acting and had a baby a couple of months ago. Now, she’s a housewife and mother in Pasadena while her husband brings home the money.

Y/N loves Joanna, but admittedly, the blonde sometimes makes her feel small and insecure. She doesn’t have the big tits, the perfect curves, or the shiny hair. Jo has always been more successful than her in every aspect of their respective lives, the friendly competition leaving Y/N, more often than not, with a bad aftertaste in her mouth. She constantly tries to keep her envy in check, though, even when the blonde’s boobs exploded during their freshman year of high school. Simply put: Joanna is a sparkling diamond, while Y/N feels like a dirty lump of coal next to her.

The cheer captain versus the theater geek.

“You know, I’d actually do porn if it had a good story. Like, Shakespeare porn,” Y/N half-heartedly jokes as the women change in the locker room after their class.

Jo arches an eyebrow at her, the smile on her lips a bit condescending. “C’mon, Y/N, would you actually do porn, though? You hate being naked in front of people.”

“Things have changed since you disappeared,” Y/N shrugs her shoulders, her voice laced with rebellion, and purposely changes out of her leotard in front of her friend to drive the point home. She also tries not to sound too bitter about the fact that the blonde basically abandoned her after getting married and pushing a human out of her vagina. She knows her jealousy is silly. It’s just part of life. That’s how it goes. It wasn’t always going to be them vs. the world forever.

“I didn’t disappear. I had a baby,” Jo retorts on cue before her face lights up with an insane amount of excitement. “Which you could too! Then we’d both have babies.”

“Great idea,” Y/N snorts sarcastically and slips into her sneakers, playfully musing, “Who of the guys I randomly fuck would make a good baby daddy, huh? The alcoholic I met at the farmer’s market or the depressed stand-up with a heroin addiction?”

Jo sits down on the bench next to her and conspiratorially leans closer. “Can I tell you something that I realized recently?”

Y/N gives her a raised look that borders on amused. “What?”

The blonde has been a bit of a postpartum mess these days. It’s the lack of sleep and the fact that her boobs won’t stop leaking. Also, her kid is a biter.

“When I first was cast on Paradise Bay, I was thrilled, okay? I mean, it was so exciting, remember? And then they put me in that year-long coma, and I was just lying there in this hospital bed, feeling powerless. And then when season three came, and they graduated me to that wheelchair with that blanket–”

“I’m sorry… Is this going somewhere?” Y/N interrupts her because the last thing she needs to hear today is another one of Joanna’s success stories.

“I’m getting there,” Jo frowns and continues straightaway, “Anyways, I was so relieved when Sam asked me to marry him and told me to stop working. He was right. It was completely ridiculous. Why would I do this to myself, you know? I swear to God getting pregnant and written off that show was the best decision I ever made,” she tells her enthusiastically.

Y/N just twitches her shoulders and ignores the guilt that’s bubbling in her gut. “Well, we’re different people. I choose work. I can have a baby once I win an Oscar.”

Jo lets out a deep sigh, “But you’re not even working, Y/N. Don’t you wanna be happy and have a family?”

“Of course I do.” Y/N’s not sure that answer is the whole truth. She knows she’s supposed to want the supportive husband, the cute kids, and the white picket fence, but all those things come with the end of your career. She’s not ready to give up and pay that price yet. She wants to make it on her own first, not needing a hero to save her like some damsel in distress. “‘Sides, don’t I need a boyfriend for starters? Isn’t that how it works?”

“Oh, it’s not that complicated,” Jo huffs and rolls her eyes dismissively. “Just pick the first nice guy with money you find. It’s what I did. I mean, Sam is a complete idiot and so out of my league, but it works,” she shrugs. “Why don’t you come visit me in Pasadena sometimes if you miss me so much? I called you like a million times in the last few weeks.”

“I know,” Y/N groans in response and finishes buttoning her blouse, swallowing the giant lump of shame in her throat. “It’s so far away,” she excuses, even though it’s another white lie. A big one, this time.

Jo tilts her head at her, but Y/N knows the wrinkles on the blonde’s brow are not out of concern. It’s pity. She’s seen that look all her life. “Y/N, are you okay? ‘Cause you look sad and fucking depressing, honestly.”

“Thanks. But I’m fine,” she brushes her friend off with a bitter smile. “Just the usual, you know? I have $28 left to pay my bills, including rent, which is why I’ve been waitressing at that awful diner in Downey all week… Oh, and, uhm, I’ve eaten Honey Nut Cheerios for my last eight meals,” she lists off her miserable life and grabs her duffel bag, feigning the brightest grin, “But hey, I’m gonna do porn. Things are looking up.”

It’s late at night when Y/N returns to her rundown shoebox apartment. Her decorations include one dead plant and two ripped posters of Angela Lansbury and Barbra Streisand, respectively. It’s a sad affair, really.

Completely beat, she checks her fridge, which resembles an empty ice cave, except for that half-full box of cheap wine. Yeah, she can’t even afford to get drunk properly. The old mattress squeaks as she falls face-down on the bed and exhaustively snatches the rotary dial phone from her nightstand, only reaching her parents’ answering machine.

“Hey, Mom. It’s Y/N. I didn’t get the audition today either, but I’ll get another one soon. So, fingers crossed… again. But I was just wondering if you and Dad could maybe wire me some money? You know, just so I can pay my electricity bill and… eat food. I’m really sorry… I know I can’t keep asking you guys for money because I’m a grown-up now… but I swear it’s the last time, okay? And I’m aware I said that the last time, too… Anyways, love you. Call me back, please? Okay, thanks… Bye.”

Slamming the receiver onto the phone, she groans loudly and is close to screaming into her goddamn pillow. When did she become such a pathetic fucking loser?

Needless to say, she imagined her life would go a lot differently.

In the midst of her nervous breakdown, her ears then perk up at a strange noise, eyes darting warily to the window. There’s an audible jam of the lock, followed by the rustling of the yellowed blinds before a large hand pops through the crack.

Shit. Someone’s trying to break in.

Anxiously, she grabs the phone and holds it up like a weapon, her heart thrashing wildly in her ribcage, the sound ringing in her ears. Then, she bravely yells with a shaky voice, “Whoever you are, I have a knife in my hand and already called the cops!”

“Whoa, whoa… Y/N, it’s just me.” A young man’s head pokes through the window, raising his large palms with a chuckle.

Her shoulders slump, the tension of fear replaced with one of annoyance as she sighs half-heartedly in relief, recognizing the intruder. Y/N lowers her makeshift weapon, tossing it on the bed. “Oh my God! What the fuck are you doing here? Why are you climbing through my window? You can’t be here! Climb back out – now!”

“You said the last time that no one can find out about us, so I took that seriously,” he explains as he gaspingly pushes his tall body through the small opening. “Can’t you just be happy to see me, Y/N? It took some effort to come here and climb through that window, you know?” A charming laugh bounces off the thin, bare walls once he’s made it into her apartment and towers over her.

Y/N folds her arms over her chest and cocks an eyebrow, “You want credit for cheating on your wife?”

He sighs and rolls his eyes back a little, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Can we please not call it that?”

“What would you like me to call it? You’re married to someone and had sex with me,” she counters sternly. She absolutely doesn’t want him here. That man is only trouble and part of the reason why her life is so fucking shitty these days.

“Look, this isn’t normal behavior for me,” he shrugs innocently as if the madness can’t be helped and adds the softest puppy dog look. “I just-, I can’t stop thinking about you.”

“So?! It was a huge fucking mistake!” There’s a sharp inhale of breath as she tries to gulp down the anger, guilt, and shame inside of her. “It happened weeks ago! You shouldn’t be here… It was a party. The drinks were free… I-I was feeling sorry for myself, and you took advantage of that.”

Quietly clearing his throat, he mumbles under his breath, “I think we both took advantage of that.” As he meets her gaze, his whiskey-colored orbs mirror the same guilt she feels.

Y/N places her hands on her hips with a deep exhale, her head bobbing as the words sink in and her head begins to spin. She knows he’s right. They’re both equally to blame, but it doesn’t change anything about her regrets. “Please leave. Go home to your family,” she begs him softly, too soft, not enough strength left to fight.

“You can’t just pull the plug on this. You and me. This is real,” he tells her, his hazel eyes boring into hers. “I think you’re the one, Y/N.”

“No, I’m not,” she stresses with a heavy shake of her head, fighting against the tears that prick her eyes and cloud her mind. “I’m nothing special.”

Pensively, he nods and licks his lips, a humorless chuckle escaping between them as he rubs his mouth and ponders, “I keep thinking about what you said to me that night… You know, how there are shiny people who have everything? And then there are people like us who have to go to parties with those people and watch them get their pictures taken. And it’s not fair... ‘Cause we deserve good things, too. We deserve attention and love and… sex.”

Silently staring at him for what feels like an eternity, her mind races a mile a minute as her heart shatters into a thousand sharp daggers that pierce through her skin and leave deep scars in their wake. And then, Y/N foolishly crashes her lips against his just to stop the goddamn pain in her chest.

What is there to say that even justifies any of this? She’s fucking weak.

The harsh sunbeams that fall on her face and blind her eyes announce another dreadful morning as she wakes with a pessimistic groan. The bed is cold and empty; the married guy is long gone, leaving right after the fuck.

Y/N is alone again – with nowhere to go.

Why did she do what she did? In all honesty, she can’t quite understand it herself, the truth too cruel and pathetic to accept it. The only positive thing she can find about her situation is that at least she can’t sink any lower than rock bottom. She’s certain she’s reached the depths of Hell at this point. Los Angeles mistakenly gets called the city of angels. Truthfully, though, it’s filled with devils who lure you to the dark side until you can’t even look in the mirror anymore without seeing a white line instead of your own goddamn reflection.

The funny thing, though? She’s never even been into drugs or booze or whatever bad habit you can catch in this city, like an STD. She has always worked her ass off and walked the straight and narrow. And for fucking what?

Y/N is definitely at her lowest of lows, but that also means there’s nowhere to go but up, right? And when the red light on her answering machine keeps blinking, her hope and good spirit return as she eagerly presses the button, restarting the endless cycle once more.

“Y/N, this is Josie. I have an audition for you tomorrow. I’m not running it, but I thought of you. It’s in Watts. And it’s not porn... They’re looking for unconventional women, whatever the fuck that means… Oh, and uhm, if you ever ambush me in the restroom again, I’ll make sure you’re gonna be blacklisted on every casting call in Los Angeles. Are we clear? Anyways, good luck, honey!”

A loud scream echoes through the tiny apartment. Y/N can’t believe her fucking ears and jumps excitedly up and down when Josie’s message ends, tears of joy streaming down her cheeks.

The game is back on – and it’s not fucking porn.

2. Livin’ On A Prayer

Yikes! I think it’s fairly easy to guess who this mystery guy is, but let me know all your suspicions and gasps, anyways! 😉 And don’t worry. You’re getting plenty of Dean tomorrow (some would say too much Dean) 😎😈

Everything Jensen (1st part tag only): @extraterrestriali @this-is-me19 @writercole @awkward-and-indecisive @eevvvaa @imherefordeanandbones @dean-winchester-is-a-warrior @jassackles @maggiegirl17 @perpetualabsurdity @deandreamernp @roseblue373 @lyarr24 @deanwanddamons @deanwithscissors @flamencodiva @chriszgirl92 @lhymer1995 @wittyboldsoul @djs8891 @snowlovespie @b3autyfuldisast3r @recoveringpastaaddict @muhahaha303

Plastic Hearts Series: @spnexploration @jessjad @siospins2 @mrsjenniferwinchester @akshi8278 @xlynnbbyx @wayward-dreamer @foxyjwls007 @smellingofpoetry @justrealizedimmascifygurl @ladysparkles78 @leigh70 @4getfulimaginator2022 @globetrotter28

#plastic hearts #glow au #dean winchester x reader #director!dean x actress!reader #dean winchester #dean winchester fic #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester reader insert #dean winchester series #dean winchester x #dean winchester imagine #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x y/n #dean x reader #dean winchester x female reader #director!dean #supernatural imagine #netflix glow #glow fanfiction

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