#My job and my hobbies are VERY separate so it’s always a little weird to me when they overlap

[dumpsterfirepropaganda]

Nobody told me writing fanfiction was a transferable skill but I’m working on a manuscript for a small scientific publication and my prose is much better (and less painful to produce) than it was when I slapped out my senior thesis almost two years ago, and the only substantial writing I’ve done between those two professional projects is a God-forsaken crossover fanfiction and a metric ton of OC backstory nonsense and it’s feeling a little bit like correlation equals causation

[incomingalbatross]

Things about Gus:

He has ALWAYS lived a compartmentalized life. His parents didn't approve of Shawn, so his friendship with Shawn meant half-living over at the Spencers' as a kid, and putting "friend" and "home" in separate boxes.

This seems to continue into adulthood; Gus loves his parents and family, and maintains good relationships with them, but he also doesn't seem to share a lot of his outside interests or priorities with them. (Though I'm on S2 of this rewatch so I may not have all my data.)

He also compartmentalizes, as many people do, while at work. He's good at his career, knows the ins and outs of his workplace and coworkers, and puts in the work to stay in good standing there...but at the same time his work friends have NO presence in his life outside of work, and his job has very little overlap with the rest of his daily concerns. He knows which coworker hand-makes her own pasta and which routes have just opened up, but he also checks off his duties as quickly as possible and spends the rest of his work hours quietly coasting.

Psych, of course, is his hobby/side job/true calling, depending who you ask and when, and very much bound up in his friendship with Shawn. Gus clearly loves and is invested in it and equally clearly does NOT want it, or Shawn, leaking into the other areas of his life.

FURTHERMORE, however, Gus has even more interests and hobbies that are sectioned off even from Shawn's attention—mainly because Shawn thinks they're nerdy and absurd. He's a nerd! He got all excited about the Santa Barbara con. He knew several cosplayers there by name. He is WAY into Harry Potter. He collects coins and plays online poker and frankly gets up to all kinds of stuff that he doesn't talk about at work or with his parents or with Shawn. I know in my heart that he has a Livejournal.

Oh, and let's not forget he got married in college and never even mentioned it to Shawn until it came up.

Anyway! My point is, Gus is used to compartmentalizing his life, and when considering whether or not he thinks of himself as "normal," I think it's important to note he probably has a very relativistic understanding of "normal" as a concept. His double-act is considered weird and immature by most people, yes. But most of his hobbies would ALSO be considered weird and nerdy by most people, INCLUDING Shawn. And on the flip side, he probably knows that most of his coworkers have "weird" hobbies or interests of their own that just don't come up, and he definitely knows most of his weird fandom friends are leading "normal" lives irl.

So I think his response to the question would be...is he normal? Well, normal in what context? He can fit in well with a variety of people, and that's as much as anybody can truthfully claim, isn't it? What's normal for his parents isn't normal for work, which isn't what's normal around his nerd friends, which isn't what's normal around Shawn.

And like. There are some valid points there. It just completely misses the fact that he and Shawn together are an unhinged pair of 12-year-olds in adult bodies and no one else is reaching their native levels of Nonsense, ever.

[judgeanon]

Plastic Skies - Model 8: F-16A Falcon

It’s been a little under two months since the last time I posted one of these, but without being dramatic, it feels closer to two years. Issues with getting paid at work meant I spent most of the early weeks of 2023 in a constant state of anxiety, and models only added to it. Or rather, knowing that I wasn’t gonna be getting any models done any time soon. Eventually, the fever broke and after paying any outstanding debts, I decided to treat myself. And it sure was a treat.

I like the F-16 Falcon a lot. Light, compact but still sporting some fine lines and a great silhouette, I always think of it as the pony car to the F-14′s muscle drag racer. The Camaro of fighter jets. That love for the F-16 runs deep, since I remember it being another one of the kits my brother or I built as kids, and one I had a big fondness for. The intake in particular I remember thinking looked very cool. And more recently, I kept running into it on every single Ace Combat game I touched, along with its cool seafaring Japanese cousin, the F-2.

Speaking of Japan, this particular F-16 comes from the fine folks at Hobby Boss, and is the first time I bought a Japanese kit. I got it for a decent price and at a 1/72 scale, mostly because all the 1/144 kits I could find had some wacky paintjob or something. So HB it was, and right out of the box, I was in love. The plastic felt strong and durable, the pieces all looked beautiful, none of them had to be cut or drilled, and as I would later find out, the kit came witha  bunch of small touches to make it an extremely easy build.

Along with the model, I also bought a couple of extra tools and paints I’d been missing, including one that was an immediate “How the FUCK have I been doing this for so long without you?” moment: a pair of spruce cutting pliers that made separating parts an absolute joy. That was, in general, my main goal with this model. Joy, relaxation, just having a good time building one of my favorites and giving it a cool desert camo job (appropriate, considering the scorching summer we had while I was building it). But I also had a bunch of other goals in mind that turned this kit into a test bed of sorts.

The first and most obvious one was finally getting to use a bottle of Mig Jimenez’ AMMO paint, a particular shade of grey I bought months ago in preparation for the “final boss” project I’ve had in my mind pretty much since I started doing this stuff. It’s a very strange kind of grey, almost turquoise under certain lights, but definitely eyecatching. I wanted to see how it’d look like when applied, and while it was a little weird at first, the more I got used to it, the more I liked it.

For the top, as mentioned above, I decided to go for a desert camo. I'd already painted two woodland camos before, so I figured this would be a nice change of pace while still using brown. Beyond the paints, however, the build proved to be really satisfying. All the pieces fit together perfectly (although some required a bit more pressure than usual) and the whole model, even before being finished, felt sturdy in ways no other model had felt so far. Turns out, the “Boss” part of Hobby Boss ain’t just hype.

Speaking of Japan, I also bought a can of Tamiya’s burnt iron metallic paint, since I’d seen it in a lot of instruction manuals. And just like every other metallic paint before it, I immediately fell in love with its easy application and lovely tone. This feels like the edgy member of the metallic paint crew and if I could, I’d probably try to paint a whole plane with it. Just to see what that’d look like.

And speaking of paints, the brown part was a bit painful, requiring about three coats before it looked decent enough to varnish. Maybe I need to start using primer, but I swear I have three or four specific paints that just refuse to stick properly until I get a bunch of coats in there. A bit frustrating, but the end result was still decent enough, and before I knew it, it was time for decals.

This is where things got a little interesting: the model I bought had decals for the Belgian and Norwegian air forces. But I had other plans. Using a couple of USAF roundels leftover from my F-14 Tomcat (as seen in Plastic Skies: Model 3) and a pair of emblems from the Ace Combat decal sheet I’d ordered last year, I decided to turn this into a Warwolf Squadron F-16, from Ace Combat: Assault Horizon. It was never going to be canon, since that game’s desert F-16 has a different camo scheme and I didn’t have any serial number decals, but the idea was to test the decals I did have while also finally doing something with those USAF emblems. And something was done indeed.

Unfortunately, however, decal application ended up being an absolute mess. The sheet that came with the plane was extremely packed together, so cutting around things was a terrifying labor. The decal solution I used dried up terribly quick, leading to decals that landed on a surface and immediately refused to move no matter what I tried. And one or two decals were just absolutely nuts to begin with. The job was taxing and the results were a bit disheartening, but I’ve long since learned to accept imperfections. Or at least, I try.

Lastly, I applied a bit of grey wash to accent the panel lines, a process that continues to haunt me. I’m trying not to rely on the “sludge” method of just covering the entire surface in wash and then cleaning it up, but I’ve tried three brands of wash so far and none of them seem to really slip into the lines as easily as advertised. I’m worried that I might be the problem, that my paints and varnishes may be so thick that the washes just can’t find the lines, but despite asking a couple of shop owners it seems like I’m doing everything right. Oh well.

Of course, you might notice something missing, and not just talent or skill. Hobby Boss, turns out, sells missiles and other weaponry separate from their models. I already knew this going in, having looked at the model on a few websites, and to be honest it was a little relaxing to not have to worry about tiny little decals on tiny little missiles. Plus, I already have a plan laid out to deal with this. But the way things are going, it might take a while.

Despite problems big and small, I’m pretty happy with this F-16. Every time I spend more than a month without building a new kit, I’m terrified that I’ll get rusty, that my hands will forget the meager skills I’ve gained so far and that my final goal keeps getting away. So doing something in this scale and spending so much time on it was a relief in several ways. And who knows? Maybe someday I will find some applicable serial decals for the fin. Still, it’s good to be back on the saddle.

And thanks to a very generous friend, the wait until the next one would end up being way, way shorter this time.

[entomycetic]

Written tidbits for some weird dwarf OCs under the cut so as to not spam the feed; maybe someday they'll get actual drawings and ref sheets :,)

Engineer (Beetle)

- Makes every solution to every problem Far too complex. Much to R&D's displeasure, he doesn't carry turret packages on the job. Rather, he's created his own RC drones with their own set of close combat melee weapons. The drone is able to project a hologram of a dwarf around itself so as to warn teammates where the drone is in the dark; Engie uses a headset to control the drone, at the cost of losing mobility. Yes I want a melee class how could you tell. No I don't care how impractical it is - Doesn't know what to think of Hoxxes anymore, due to current events brought up below - Is gay for Scout. His absolutely bonkers takes amused him

Scout (Dragonfly)

- A conspiracy theorist to the max, avoided by anyone beyond his crew; slightly comparable to a constantly shaking yet vicious chihuahua. He swears to core and back that DRG is only setting themselves up for a major disaster on Hoxxes, that the disruption of local life and food chains is going to come back to bite them in the ass, quite literally. This guy harbors all my little headcanons and love for Hoxxes' biosphere -...And in this timeline, he turns out to be correct! He and Engie found out in a very unfun way, and barely made it back alive. - Is gay for Engie. Someone finally believed him

Gunner (Spider)

- Will vehemently claim he's the Normal One of the group, and in the same breath will furiously defend his Oops! All Ziplines loadout (BFG, zipline, zipline, zipline, pickaxe). Always some level of grumpy until he has alcohol in hand, acts as if he's team leader (and everyone lets him), teases Scout as a hobby, yet still manages to be the most optimistic of the bunch in even the most dire of situations. He insists that the main reason he stays on this team is because they won't let him take such an R&D unapproved loadout with any "reasonable" team. While true, the amount of shit the team had gone through together forged a bond not even he can deny. - While they had been through plenty else, Gunner had been with Engie and Scout when the Conspiracy Fuckening occurred, but was in a separate part of the cave. While he could hear and feel what the other two were experiencing from so far away, he finds it difficult to believe what he was told went down

Driller (Cricket)

- Until recently, this position was frequently rotated. The vibes of the team were incredibly hard to match, much to Mission Control's torment. - In short, not long after The Incident: Scout would come across a crater in a cave harboring a starving grunt eating at very wounded yet still alive grabber. His bug-sympathizing ass deletes the grunt and successfully convinces the team to help the grabber. By some miracle they sneak it back on board, patch it up, and once they're off duty, Engie cyborgs the hell out of it. ..Only after enough time passes of them getting it to Not immediately attack them with the promise of food. It was first given general limb prosthetics, then experimented on with brain chips, all the way to building the now artificially enlightened beast a dwarf shaped mech suit. It remembered how it was found, now gladly and violently working alongside its team. Mission Control has been gaslit to high hell into believing all the weird shit this thing does is normal dwarf behavior. - As its ability to communicate and understand advances, Scout hopes they can get some insight into the ecology of Hoxxes that goes unnoticed by dwarfkind. For now though, drill go bzzzz and gun go pewpew

[khelinski]

The Michigan Multiplex Massacre

or

How I Spliced-and-Diced at the Movies!

My name is Norm Cain, and I sliced and diced people at the EYS theater in Buena Heights. I stuffed the body parts in theater seats. I was placed here because I got carried away with my last endeavor. She was...something special. Something...joyful! Her parents would be proud of her...she was raised well. And I had her, well done! I'm sorry. That was uncalled for. Gosh, I hope I didn't offend Sunny Johnson's parents. She was quite...sunny side up!

           Listen:

           If you are reading this, you are as sick as me. I don't consider myself sick. For my liking, nothing I did was sick. According to everyone that had me committed, I am sick. That's their opinion. Unfortunately, their opinion forced me here. How did I get here, you ask? Or did you ask? Hmmm...

           Most might suspect I had a dad that sexually molested me, or I was abused by my mother. Hate to disappoint the masses; I actually had a normal childhood.

           Psychopaths, as I seem to be labeled as, had a troubled past that explains their psychopathic behavior. Those psychopaths inspired books, TV shows, and movies - the whole works. Could it be possible, though, my beloved readers, that I just loved what I did? Could it be possible that all psychopaths love what they do/did? I had such fondness cherry-picking those that were worthy enough to participate in my joyful theater, and be part of it. How I miss that jingle from EYS?

           "There's more joy at EYS!"

1. My Humble Beginnings

Anywho, where was I? Oh yeah...here comes the tedious and boring but vitally important to the overall horror you desperately seek here: back story. I wasn't born as a collector of exquisite human artifacts. My childhood was as normal as any. My mom and dad didn't separate. As I said before, my dad didn't violate me. My mom didn't molest me either. Nothing weird or out of the ordinary transpired, folks. I grew up in Buena Heights. My father worked for the Aireon Universe. My mother crocheted Afghans as a hobby and sold them at various art fairs (including Gibraltar Trade Center).

           I had an older brother. Had, being the keyword there. And no, I didn't kill him, if that's what you were thinking. He died in a gruesome car accident on 696 the same year EYS Buena Heights was built.

           I was the shit in school. I ate up learning as much as I could about anything and everything. I wasn't an A+ student. I was more in the B range most of the time. Wasn't until high school that I excelled. That's when I joined the film club at Buena Heights High and learned how to edit video (which became crucial later on).

I wasn't very social, but I wasn't one of those quiet types that people always suspect would SNAP! No. I had a group of friends. Not too nerdy. Not the burnouts. The intellectual kind. I've dated my share of girls. Nobody serious, until that bitch cunt-face Courtney Green came into the picture.

           I started working at Cinemark Warren in 1999. I was a concessionist. My first weekend was the opening of that mediocre animated fluff-piece about little creatures making orgasm sounds for 90-minutes: Pokemon! Dreadful shit!

           I was very good at my job. I provided the best fake smiles in the business. I could pop kernels faster than anyone. Managers liked me. I became a supervisor the following year. Yay for me. 2000 was a good year for me, though. No mistake about that. It was the year I discovered the movie American Psycho. Unfortunately, Cinemark didn't showcase it on their screens. I had to go to the old (and discarded) Bates Theater in Buena Heights for that film. I wasn't old enough, so my big brother (who was a senior in high school then) took me.

           The movie inspired the Norm Cain you are reading about now. But it was in 2001, the film Hannibal came into my cheery world. Wasn't exactly a great movie (or sequel, for that matter). But, boy, did it have a startling impact! Why you might have asked? I just don't know.

           We can't describe the why's to who we were. We could only embrace ourselves.

But rest assure I didn't partake in my little hobby until I got myself the gig running EYS Buena Heights on my own. It was in 2002 (the year Red Dragon was released in theaters) that I got acquainted to the EYS company.

My father got laid off from Aireon Universe, so he took a job in Chesterfield as a car salesman (my family and I relocated there as a result). A fucking car salesman! He went from a multibillion-dollar firm to a mid-level car salesman.

           I had to quit my job at Cinemark (obviously), which was a blow since I was close to getting a management position there (and I hadn't even graduated from high school, yet!) I applied at EYS in Chesterfield, and immediately got hired as a proj (short for projectionist). Of course, nowadays - the world doesn't need proj's! Everything is digital. Despite how quick technology improved in just a short amount of years, 2002 was still a time when there was a demand for proj's. And I was one of the best.

           I could slice, ahem, splice, and build a film reel quicker than most. I was efficient, and I kept the booth clean all of the time. I was like Totò from Cinema Paradiso, passionate over what was presented on the celluloid screen (even if it was a shitty Adam Sandler weekday matinee or an unnecessary Friday night sold out horror remake). I spent most of my time at the theater.

           After just a couple of years of being the best damn proj in the company, EYS promoted me to general manager at the Chesterfield theater. I was also becoming buddy-buddy with the owner of the company, Mister Rick Miles (who happened to be the nephew of the late great Ted Dozen, who was responsible for all the Dime-a-Dozen's). Ever noticed why EYS's were always near a Dime-a-Dozen? That's why.

           Rick Miles came up with the idea of EYS (short for Enjoy Your Show) back in the late '80s. The first of its kind was built in Lincoln Park to compete with AMC and the old Bates' theaters (which slowly dwindled in Michigan by the mid-2000s). EYS caught on fast. Three were built by the mid-90s in different locations in MI (but illogically in close proximity from each other). Once I became good pals with Rick, I tried talking him into building theaters up north in small towns like Standish, Alpena, or hell - Hell, Michigan. He preferred the McDonalds, Subway, and Starbucks business strategy - one at every corner of every block, one mile apart – close by.

           The fifth EYS, residing in Chesterfield, was built by the late 90s. After the old Bates' Theater in Buena Heights closed down in 2004, Rick Miles jumped at buying that land and build his sixth EYS. Because I was doing very well running Chesterfield (and charmed my way up the ladder), Rick Miles had in mind of me helping him construct the Buena Heights site.

           Mind you, I never intended for my dark fetish of the grim gore to unleash itself. One could say I was conflicted with my feelings, almost like I was chained up in a closet. I was unaware of the many possibilities (and freedom) I had once the keys to a brand new theater, built for me was handed my way. So despite the disbelief, my readers, I didn't come up with the infamous 'kill room' right away.

           My Buena Heights construction suggestions were, for the most part, granted. I had liked the idea of replicating the preview board EYS had in the lobby of the Chesterfield theater. But, I didn't want the green-pea soup color scheme. I wanted the classic theater look from the '40s. Yes, this was a multiplex. 20 houses (that's theater speak for auditoriums). At the time, we could only afford one digital projector. That was ahead of its time, but funny how it caught on quick. I do miss the nostalgia of the 35-mm projectors. The sound of cinematic-clickety-click-click and black pixels on the celluloid silver screen. But must get with the HD times, I guess. Oh well.

           What I couldn't include in my own theater: a coffee cafe stand, a movie poster store attached to the theater, and a separate auditorium that showcased classic movies...limited in space, I suppose. Oh well.

           By November 2005 - EYS Buena Heights Cinema saw its grand opening. The business was slow for the first few months. Even with the fourth Harry Potter film out, then, it was rough for us. No matter. We had modest ticket sales, and the concession was doing a solid run. Do I really need to continue with this, though? I mean, you didn't pick this book up to read about some boring shit about an aspiring theater manager - or the daily routines of running a theater. If you wanted to know what it was like to work at the movies, you should've bought a used copy of Enjoy Your Show by Wade Bradford on Amazon, or go online and check out the weekly comic-strip of Multiplex by Gordon McAlpin, or even Netflix search the independent film, Surviving the Rush. All of those are great for seeking out what theater life is like.

You sick fuck, you bought this book because you wanted to know in details how I did 'it'...when I started doing 'it.' 'It,' quotations, equals...gutting people and stuffing them in seats. Once again, I raise the question - who is the sick fuck here, me - writing this delightful joyful piece in my cell I call home; or you, reading this piece in the comforts of your home (I certainly wouldn't expect you to read this at a doctor's office). It would be in bad taste to bring this book to a movie theater, though, there are worst things to take (like a gun, in reference to those true sick fucks out there).

           On the contrary to what you may (or may not) think of me, I loved movie theaters. There was something beautiful about a dimmed auditorium where the only light source is a projector, beaming its glorious magic on a screen. It's an escape from the real horrors of life. What I did may not be considered joyful, beautiful, magical, or even sane to most. But I never interrupted anyone's viewing pleasure in the middle of the showing. And I never intended to hurt the masses. Now that that public service statement is out of the way, let us fast-forward to the year 2007, shall we?

EYS Buena Heights was making a killing, ahem, in sales. The concession stand was doing well. Ticket sales were increasing, the weekend after weekend. We were competing with the AMC theaters in the area.

           Enough of that shit. Moral of the story - roses are red, violets are blue; die bitch, die! But my first kill wasn't a bitch. Bitchin', maybe. But far from a bitch. His name was Jason. And it was his birthday. But his last name wasn't Voorhees. It wasn't Smith, either. No. His last name was Johnson. Jason Johnson.

 2. Jason Johnson

Fun fact # 1: there are 2,211,773 people in the U.S. with Johnson as a last name. There were 2,211,775 people in the U.S. with the last name, Johnson. But I killed two of them (unrelated to each other). Statistically, Johnson is the 2nd most popular last name. That does hold true since I killed two Johnsons (unrelated). I've killed others, too. But none of them shared the same last name. It was odd that my first and last victim shared the same last name. Is it a coincidence or a forced connection a desperate author would write for no reason other than their own sick and twisted humor? Who's to say? But there you have it - two less Johnson's in the country. You're welcome!

Jason Johnson was an old fella that got laid off at a factory that supplied parts for the Big Three. What parts exactly, I can't say. I'd like to think of something useless, like turn signals - since no one uses them anymore (I guess you need an app for something to use it properly - since most don't use turn signals anymore, but rather have a phone in front of their faces while driving). Gosh, I hope you aren't reading this on your I-Phone 7 while driving on 1-75. I had already killed 13 people - maybe 14 (the 14th is debatable). I hate to be the cause of any accidental deaths.

           Anyways, his factory folded as a result of the Big Three deciding it was more efficient to have those same parts made by Mexican hands. And no, that is not an alternative fact. It's simply called the reality of Corporate America. Remember Jason Johnson, and his old employer, next time you argue over the misconception of 'buy American.'

           I remember Jason Johnson as a free-loader patron at my EYS multiplex. He would come in, buy one single ticket - and hop theaters the whole day. He would sit through one movie for maybe an hour, then hop to another movie for another hour (and make an entire day out of it). He would walk to the theater every other day (he lived close by). He had no family or friends, just the movies. My useless ushers would just let him in, feeling sorry for the poor bastard. To me, he was nothing but a nuisance. And he caught me on a bad night. The night Rob Zombie killed Michael Myers on the silver screen. The Halloween remake was unleashed to the masses, and it was doing a killin' (pun glory there, folks!) It pissed me off that it was doing well.

           I could go into details of why I hated the movie, and why it set me off, but you didn't purchase this book to read a critique of a shitty remake. No. You bought this book to hear about my mass, joyful, delightful, killings.

           So Saturday night, while Halloween was doing well (countless sold-out shows), I caught Jason Johnson picking up abandoned popcorn off the concession stand counter, and eating them. Eww. How disgusting.

03. Courtney Green

Oh, and my girlfriend of four years dumped me that evening via text message. That may have set me off, too. Bitch.

04. Jason Johnson

I approached Jason Johnson as he was gobbling left-over's on the concession counter. Dare I repeat it, eww! For a second or two, I didn't know what to say to him, or what I was about to do. I had the sheer image of taking a Tensabarrier stand and bashing his head in. Or grabbing his head and pushing it up against the concession candy case. Or throwing him over the balcony upstairs.

           He looked at me as I stepped toward his direction, popcorn kernels falling out of his mouth. Disgusting, pathetic, useless man. Society didn't need him anymore. My multiplex certainly didn't need him. Eww. But I didn't tell him what I was thinking. Instead, I smiled my fake, grade A smile - the same smile that helped me climb up the ladder to where I was - and –

05. Courtney Green

- the same smile that seduced Country Green to falling in love with me...before she gutted my heart out...that bitch –

06. Jason Johnson

- said to fuck-tard Johnson, "Good evening, sir. Are you enjoying EYS?"

           He looked at me like a confused fuck-tard. I would consider calling him a retard, but that's an insult by definition. So fuck-tard will do. Fuck-tard Jason Johnson, or, Jason Johnson, the fuck-tard. However, and whatever you prefer was up to your liking, I prefer fuck-tard Jason fuck-tard Johnson, the fuck-tard!

           Fun fact # 2: There were seven fucks, seven tard's, and one retard in that last paragraph - and still two less Johnson's in the country. Sorry folks. I am stalling here.      

           And I was stalling then, too.

           I didn't know what I was about to do to Jason Johnson at that moment I asked him if he was enjoying EYS. And because he isn't familiar with social interaction - he didn't seem like he knew what to do, either. In most incidents when a manager at a place of business asks a paying customer (or, in theater terms, patron), how they were enjoying themselves at the place of business; the correct phrase would be, 'I am enjoying myself immensely,' or, 'I am having a dreadful time.' We call this interaction and dialogue. It's crucial in movies, and most undoubtedly essential when creating a story. I had no idea the story I was about to create for myself, involved the demise of fuck-tard Jason fuck-tard Johnson, the fuck-tard.

           Jason mumbled something unintelligible and was about to walk away from me. I then took a few steps closer to him, introducing myself and asking if he wanted a private screening of The Simpson's Movie. Considering no one was seeing the 9:10 P.M. showing anyway, it was easy to arrange. Like a predicable free-loader, he took the bait, ahem, offer. I ushered him to theater 5 (which was toward the end of the theater, a small-house for movies that had been at the theater for a while). I waited near the door entrance of the theater as he plopped his fat, lazy, fuck-tard ass on the theater seat. A vision of his fat, lazy, fuck-tard ass - dead, came to my head. I turned around and went to the janitor's room. I closed the door and looked around. I was in uncharted territory with evil, gruesome, fucked-up thoughts in my head. I kept on having a tug-of-war with myself; should I, shouldn't I, should I, shouldn't I? And when I mean, should I, I mean, should I fucking kill fuck-tard Jason fuck-tard Johnson, the fuck-tard.

           I was leaning more toward the left - which isn't toward the right. This doesn't reflect upon the left side of the brain, because in all actuality, I would be acting upon the right side of the brain. But in matters of should I, which was on the left - and shouldn't I, which was on the right; my urge of ending fuck-tard Jason fuck-tard Johnson, the fuck-tard - which was on the left. The left, should I - was now determined that I should.

           Once I made my decision, I was now playing tug-of-war with how I should kill...

           I glanced over at a garbage bag. I then looked at a broom-stick. How I should kill him, I wondered.

           With Jason Johnson, or, as I have been referring to him as fuck-tard Jason fuck-tard Johnson, the fuck-tard, tucked away in theater 5 watching The Simpsons Movie - let's take a break for a moment, and go back to that bitch - because the talk of garbage bags and broom-sticks made me think of her.

07. Courtney Green

I met Courtney Green at a film class I took at Macomb Community College. That was back when I was climbing the ladder at the EYS in Chesterfield. We became good friends in class, started talking outside of class on a regular basis and ended up dating a year afterwards. We became serious. And man, we were great together. Friends and family would label us, 'perfect-looking couple.' She was the kind of gal I could see myself spending the rest of my life with.

           We were planning on moving in together, but she decided to fuck someone else instead. I found out about it soon after. And once I found out about it, she broke up with me via a text message the same weekend Rob Zombie took his devil rejected ax and butchered a classic on the screen.

           Fuck you, Courtney Green. And fuck you, Rob Zombie! Fuck you, both!

           I imagine I am losing you here. Where was I?

           Oh, yeah!

08. Jason Johnson

The black garbage bag that went over Johnson's head came from the janitor's room. The garbage bags were used strictly to wrap around broken theater seats. Made the theater look a little ghetto, but it worked. And the garbage bag over fuck-tard Jason fuck-tard Johnson, the fuck-tard, also worked. The sudden surprise of the bag left him gasping for air in less than a minute. Once he realized that his free-loading days were over, he kicked the theater seat in front of him a few times and then fell silent. I let go of him and backed away a few feet. I stared at my handy-work. An average person would freak out. Some would even cry, or yell, or faint. Me, I just stared. Stared. And stared some more. It was dead silent in the theater. Oops, mind my poor excuse of a pun!

           The film ended - credits rolled - and because it was the last showing, no ushers came in to clean it. It was just me and the dead fuck-tard Jason fuck-tard Johnson, the dead fuck-tard.

           I admired what I did. I had no regrets then, and I have no regrets now. But how do I make a dead body disappear? I didn't want to dispose of him. But I knew in most cultures, displaying a dead body would be considered wrong. Though, if we go to any church, a displayed dead body on a cross was deemed to be holy and inspiring. But I don't think nailing Johnson on a cross would be holy and inspiring to today's standards of living (and dying).

           I also didn't want to turn myself in. I will admit it officer that I am guilty. I did like my freedom.

I kept staring at the dead body in theater 5 with a black garbage bag over its head. I guess you could consider a dead body as an inanimate object. Certainly doesn't move on its own. And that inanimate object made me think of another inanimate object: a chair. A theater chair, to be exact. I could cut the body in pieces, and store those pieces in the seats. That's fucked up. But I was on the left side of things, in fucked up territory.

           I created a temporary workshop in a spare room near theater 5. I worked, pun glory, graveyard shifts, chopping the dead fuck-tard Jason fuck-tard Johnson, the dead fuck-tard, into little pieces. That was the easy part. Cleaning the pieces so there would be no gushing, slobbery, slimy, gooey, and juicy, liquidly blood oozing from the pieces was the hard part. I had to rinse every single piece (big or small) and freeze the parts. Once the various body parts were frozen, I unfroze the pieces and coated each piece with a popcorn scented cologne (it does really exist, look it up) - and started placing the pieces in the various seats in theater 5. I killed him in that theater. Might as well keep his body in that theater.

           Each seat that had a garbage bag wrapped around it was being worked on by me. Each seat I selected to be worked on was a nice home for body parts. I would rip the seat cover from the bottom, taking out some cushion. I then wrapped cushion around the body part, and then place it comfortably in the middle of the seat. Once it looked pretty enough, I sewed the seat back together. I sat on it, making sure the seat wasn't lumpy or uncomfortable. It still felt like a seat to me. I analyzed, whiffed, examined, and making sure the seat was suitable for a regular patron. There was nothing to suspect that a body part was stuffed into the seat.

           Holy shit, I might actually get away with it!

           And so Jason Johnson, or, the dead fuck-tard Jason fuck-tard Johnson, the dead fuck-tard, is scattered throughout theater 5. Other than the landlord of Johnson's apartment filing a missing person's police report - no one came looking for Jason Johnson. Oh, and I found out while looking in his wallet before I chopped him up - the day I killed him was also his birthday.

09. Sue Curtis

Though I wanted to lie low for a while - my second killing occurred sooner than I imagined it would. Sue Curtis was a proud member of the Red Hat Society, a religious nut-job, and a real big annoyance to my theater. Did you catch the word, was? Was was a keyword here. Was. She was. Sue Curtis was a person. Was.

Anyways…!

Each time there would be a Harry Potter film released, she would be outside the theater picketing it because of the evil nature of the films, I guess. She also picketed The Da Vinci Code, the shitty The Omen remake, and for some oddball reason - Tyler Perry movies. She once went into a showing of Brokeback Mountain (not realizing what the film was about), and soon after the infamous tent scene emerged on the screen - she ran out of the theater and into the bathroom, barfed up her medium popcorn, and then raced herself to the box office - demanding a refund. She then wanted to see a manager (me), only to bitch me out for, her own words: ‘showcasing God’s sin on the screen.’ She then picketed the film during its reign (with the Oscar prospects it had, she had to stand there outside the theater a good, long, while).

           She was also very rude to my employees, always demanding a hand-out because she spread 'the word of God.' I had no patience for religion. Certainly had no patience for brain-washed religious nut-jobs.

           What was odd about her, like Jason Johnson - she had no family. She may have had friends, but my impression was no one around her liked her. She would bitch about one friend in front of another friend. She then would bitch about that other friend to the friend she bitched about five minutes earlier. The Red Hat Society that surrounded her didn't seem to be pleased anytime her highness, Sue Curtis, was around.

           I hadn't planned on killing Sue Curtis. Not at first. Her annoyance was nothing more than a pesky fly that would sometimes bother.

           However, that soon changed when she started irritating me over a couple of horror movies coming out around the same time. She hated horror movies, and always picketed them. But this time - she raised more hell than just standing outside like a buffoon with an illegible sign over her head.

The Mist had a November release date. Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street had a December release date. And she demanded me to cancel both. She then kept leaving inspiring pamphlets about saving your immortal soul in the bathrooms. Ugh. I don't know what disgusted me more - her persistent nut-job salesmanship - or the fuck-tard Jason fuck-tard Johnson, the fuck-tard's free-loading off the concession stand counters.

           Once The Mist was released, she changed environments of picketing, going from outside the theater to outside the auditorium the film was being shown in. She paid for a ticket to a random movie (certainly wasn't The Mist, which would be insulting to her). She then stood in front of the theater with a sign in one hand, and pamphlets in the other. She kept pestering every patron that went inside the theater. The last straw was when the film started; she entered the theater and announced to everyone that they were going to hell. I don't think hell could be any worse than hearing her ear-piercing voice.

           Each time Sue Curtis annoyed the masses, I would have to kick her out. I could've called the police. Maybe I should have to avoid the big mess that would soon occur. Instead, I kicked her out of the theater four times. She would not take the hint. So once she bought her ticket the fifth day of her strike against The Mist, I asked her politely if she could come with me to my office so we could talk about maybe, possibly, perhaps, banning The Mist in theaters. She smiled a big ol' smile, showcasing her yellow-stained teeth.

           But I didn't usher her to my office. Instead, I ushered her to the room near theater 5. I think you may know where I was going with this. Sue Curtis, on the other hand, didn't know where she was going.

           I opened the door and directed my hands for her to enter the room first. She complied. That would be her last time walking into a room. It would also be her last time entering the theater. I took a broom-stick that was leaning against the wall outside the room and jammed the plastic end of it into the back of Sue Curtis' ego-filled head. She screamed for a second and then quieted down. The world will no longer suffer from her ear, piercing voice.

           She fell headfirst onto the floor.

           THUMP!

           Blood kept gushing out of her head. The stupid ass red hat was still attached to her head. I stared. Stared. And stared some more. A dead body was a funny thing to stare at. You imagine it would move like a live body. But it doesn't. It just laid there.

           Fun fact # 3: The brain of a dead person still functioned a few minutes after that person was dead. However, for every minute, the brain did not receive oxygen, the brain would slowly die. But because there was a broom-stick jammed up Sue Curtis's noggin, I suspected the brain died a little sooner than a few minutes. I wondered if before I stabbed her senseless, she actually thought I would consider her illogical request. There was a "d" word that might come to mind. Oh yeah...delusional. But her delusions no longer exist. Her delusions died with her when I killed her!

           It took a month for me to dismember her, and another couple of months before she was wholly scattered throughout the theater. Why? I had fun. Because she was such a pain in the ass and visited the theater often in her pathetic, useless existence - I wanted every piece of her to be all over the theater. Even a finger (or two) was placed under the cement outside the theater as a reference to her picketing.

           The police showed up a few weeks after her death. I guess someone cared enough to place a missing person's report. I didn't feed the cops with too much information. I stated to them that she protested a handful of times in my theater, and I kicked her out each time. I fabricated the last part of the story - how she left the theater the last time she came in - and I haven't seen her since. Technically, that was true.

10. The Room

Between the time I finished spreading Sue Curtis's gospels, and body parts throughout EYS Buena Heights - and before the theater was introduced to digital projectors and a bar; I constructed the ultimate kill room. The temporary room that I used for Johnson and Curtis wouldn't cut it (another dreadful pun). It was too small.

           The room located on the opposite side of the theater that held one-sheets (that's theater lingo for movie posters, folks) is slightly bigger. I decided that it would be a perfect location to fulfill my creative outbursts.

           I also needed supplies. Saws, knives, a freezer, workshop table, a gurney. I slowly bought the tools, using EYS petty cash. No one suspected what I was doing. I guess it helped that EYS Buena Heights was becoming a busy theater.

           By spring the next year, my kill room was complete.

11. The Rules

Like Dexter Morgan on the Showtime TV series, I needed to discipline myself on specific rules when killing so I could never be caught. Funny how that never, ever works out. But at the time, I actually thought I could get away with things. And by golly - I did - for several years!

           Rule number one: thou shall not kill theater workers or anyone affiliated with the theater.

           [I broke that rule with Sunny Johnson.]

           Rule number two: thou shall not kill any minors.

           [I broke that rule with Sunny Johnson.]

           Rule number three: thou shall have a gap of time between kills.

           [I didn't break that rule with Sunny Johnson.]

           Rule number four: thou shall not kill my own family members, friends, or ex's   (including that bitch, Courtney Green).

           [I didn't break that rule with Sunny Johnson.]

           Rule number five: once I kill a person, thou shall keep their body within the confines of the theater.

           [I broke that rule with Sunny Johnson.]

12. There's more joy at...

Between the times I completed the kill room to the time Sunny Johnson started her employment at the joyous EYS Buena Heights, I killed a lot of people. If this was a movie right now, I suspect a montage of my killings would be shown with the Megadeth song, "Killing Is My Business... and Business Is Good!"

           But I don't like that song. And I most certainly didn't play that song while I spliced and diced! Instead, I hummed the jingle to EYS while my full-of-life victims became lifeless as I killed them. Or, sometimes, I would hum the Outsider's Vengeance tune, "My Last Thought." Not because I liked the song, or because the band is from Buena Heights. I hummed "My Last Thought" because I thought it was a bit funny to hum a song about having a last remaining thought.

           I perfected my kills since Johnson and Curtis. I invited unsuspected patrons to private screenings. I spiked their soft drink. And they never knew I killed them until their last few seconds of life-span.

           Did I mention I killed a lot of people?

           Let's see - after Sue Curtis - there was Kathleen Green, John Martin, Stephen Hill, Clive King, Robert Rowl, Margaret Baker, Jeff Mitchell, Kurt Harris, and Thomas Gut (I kid you not, his last name was Gut until he became, dare I say it, gut-less).

           That's all the people I killed and scattered body parts throughout the joyous EYS.

           No, wait. There was someone I am forgetting. Just give me a second, it will come to me.

           Oh, yeah.

13. Michael Loomis

The god awful blogger of 'They're Here,' Michael Loomis. I killed him, too.

           Fun fact # 4: Most of Loomis's body parts were in the theater seat 148, top row in theater 10. Some parts were placed in the butt-cushion part of the seat. Other parts were stored in the back-cushion part of the seat. No one noticed throughout the years that that seat was the most jammed pack out of all the seats I happened to insert body parts in.

14. There's more joy at...

Fun fact # 5: There were 13 people I killed all-together, but only 12 that I dismembered and scattered body parts in the theater. You might think I am being repetitious here, but I want to make sure that you get the point. I don't recall how many body parts I had all-together, but let's estimate that there were 50 body parts per body. 50 times 12 is 600.

           There might be a little less or a little more than that (I am sure Buena Heights finest added up the exact number of body parts they recovered, hopefully; they didn't miss any). But let's go with 600, shall we? So 600 body parts scattered throughout EYS Buena Heights. That could fill theater 10 since 10 was the biggest auditorium (of, would you believe it, 600 seats). But I didn't want just one theater full of body parts. I wanted the pieces scattered throughout. That way, if I did get caught - it would be a disgusting treasure hunt.

           To the Buena Heights Police Department: you’re welcome!

15. Temptations

Sunny Johnson wasn't the only poor unfortunate soul that I was tempted to...you know. But unlike Sunny Johnson, I didn't, you know, to those people.

           Despite the rules I set up for myself (and then failed to obey at the end), I was tempted to kill my employees that stepped out of line. I was so tempted to end the lives of minors that always caused hell in my theaters (sneak in R rated movies, being noisy during movies, always making a mess). I had been tempted to kill another the very next day I had already killed.

           Fun fact # 6: Courtney Green - my ex, the bitch - and the dearly departed Kathleen Green are unrelated to each other. Much like the dead fuck-tard Jason fuck-tard Johnson, the dead fuck-tard and Sunny Johnson are unrelated to each other.

16. There's more joy at...

It was merely a coincidence that most (if not, all) of these victims I killed ended up at EYS at some point of their last known sighting before they disappeared (at least, that's what I tell police). "Merely coincidental." I had my share of police interrogations. A couple of times, there would be strong circumstantial evidence that I was involved in some way. But the edited videotapes I gave the police and fast clean up I had perfected always proved my innocence.

A tad bit before Sunny Johnson stepped into EYS as an employee - EYS theaters added digital projectors to their theaters. It was an exciting time. It's the biggest change since the introduction of widescreen format in movie theaters. 3D wasn't just hyped anymore - it was gaining appeal. We were crushing competition left and right. And if that wasn't enough, EYS was toying with the idea of adding a full-fledged bar. I was a little hesitant, not because it was a risky business. Because it might interfere with my joyful hobby (and the hobby room, which was near where the planned bar would go in the building). But it was decided to go for it. And I made sure the construction of the bar wouldn't cause a reveal of my kill room.

           With all those perks that became selling points to keep our theater in business, there were nice distractions from the increased missing person's list - that sometimes revolved around EYS. Oddly enough, no one in corporate had any suspicions about me anytime the police sought questions. As long as the money was made, everything was just a mandatory routine.

"There's more Joy at…

EYS!

That's no BS, we confess!

…so enjoy your show…

at EYS!"

I probably would have continued to kill to this day if I was never caught. EYS probably would still be in business. That was until a chain reaction occurred. One would call it a domino effect.

           Fun fact # 7: The Walt Disney Company bought Lucasfilm in 2012 for $4.05 billion. The Force Awakens was the first of many new films to come, with a release date of December 18, 2015. It was a huge event. To prepare for that event, EYS Buena Heights did its first job fair in a decade. It was that job fair in which Sunny Johnson was hired.

           Soon after, things fell apart for me, and for the joyful EYS. But things didn't fall apart for Star Wars, or Mickey.

17. Fun facts

Fun fact # 8: There are 7 fun facts throughout this book. Now there are 8. Also, up to this point - I had killed 12 people - and spread their body parts all over EYS Buena Heights. And then, Sunny Johnson came into the picture. She made unlucky number 13. But her body parts weren't spread throughout the EYS Buena Heights premises. What I did with the body could make you disgusted if you aren't already.

           If you are disgusted with what you've read so far, my invisible hat goes off to you, for you are a person with emotions. Emotions are good to have, I guess. I wouldn't know. I am a person, sure. At least, that's what they tell me. But I am also a monster. They tell me that, too. Who's they? Everyone.

           If you aren't disgusted by what you've read so far, my invisible hat goes off to you, for you are like me, an emotionless monster, but also, a person.

           Fun fact # 9: It's easy to kill a person you don't like (take my word for it). But it's much harder to kill a person that you do like. That's why Sunny Johnson was very unlucky. Not because she was number 13, but because I did really like her (take my word for it - or don't take my word for it).

18. Sunny Johnson

When Sunny Johnson was hired, I became obsessed with her. She just turned 17. She had dyed blond hair (but she was a natural brunette). She was perfectly petite. I think jailbait might come to mind. But my god - she was drop-dead gorgeous. Oops. Poor use of a pun. My apologies!

           EYS had always employed youngsters from high schools. That was nothing new. And yeah - a good majority of the employees at EYS were attractive, male and female alike. I did attempt to force a 'NO DATING' policy in the theater, but let's be honest - no one followed that. Put a bunch of attractive, hormone-filled teens in a building together for a good period of time - you would see couples in a matter of weeks. You would then see boyfriends/girlfriends/ex-boyfriends/ex-girlfriends, and more boyfriends/girlfriends. In fact, it was pretty much musical beds at the EYS.

           I never really paid attention to any of that or the gossip that came with it. Obviously, I was more attentive to how much cushion the theater seats had after stuffing it with random dead body parts.

           But then, I started paying attention to Sunny Johnson. She didn't pay much attention to me. In fact, we hardly said anything to each other. She viewed me as an old boss. This was her first job. She was an usher.

           I would watch her from the concession stand as she stood at the ticket podium, tearing tickets and directing people. She had a timid shyness to her, but I could tell that she was cracking from her shell.

           On her breaks, she would always buy a cheese pizza from the concession stand - and go to a random theater. I was happy to make her pizzas for her. She would smile, say thank you to me, and walk away.

I don't know if it was a minor crush, love, or what - but my heart would beat a few beats faster when I saw her. But (!), she was 17. I was...well...a hell of a lot older. I tried to reset my mind away from naughty thoughts - but it kept creeping back. I couldn't handle it anymore - so finally, I asked Sunny to stay after her shift one random Saturday night. It was a month after the biggest Star Wars movie ever was released (until the next biggest Star Wars movie ever released - comes out).

After everyone left the theater, I invited Sunny to the office. I didn't know where or what or how or why or when or...huh? I just...wanted...her. I didn't even know what I would do if I...had...her. I...just...wanted...her.

           When she entered the office, I locked the door. She was already in high alert. In fact, this would be a good example of a sexual harassment video. Except, this wasn't a video. And it got much, much, worse. The #metoos and #timesup crowd would be livid at this point.  

           I tried to force myself on her and kiss her.

           She wore her EYS uniform, which consisted of the following: a black vest with EYS logo to the right, a black bow-tie, and white shirt underneath the vest, black pants, and black shoes. Everyone who wore the uniform looked like a penguin. Sunny Johnson also looked like a penguin in the uniform, but a sexy penguin.

           Before I even approached her lips, she slapped me a few dozen times. Her parents taught her well. What happened next - didn't end well, though. More like, sunny side down.

Out of reaction - I choked her. After a few minutes, she fell over - dead. Even as a corpse, she was drop-dead gorgeous. I guess now was a perfect time to use that pun, but I suspect it's still slightly inappropriate.

           I stared. Stared. And stared. Then I cried. Wait, huh?! I am a monster. Monsters don't cry. But this monster did. I got carried away and reacted without thinking. But thinking had to come quick. What was done was done. Now what?

           I won't lie - dirty thoughts crept in my head for a few seconds as I stared at the dead corpse that represented Sunny Johnson.

           'Since I had killed her, why not look under her...'

           Disgust all you want - admit that the curiosity would creep in your head if you just killed a very attractive individual.

           I didn't want to add her to my collection. For one thing, the collection of body parts symbolizes my annoyances. Sunny Johnson was far from an annoyance - though, the last few moments of her life might be a smudge of annoyance. Just a smudge.

           But I knew I had to dispose of the body...somehow. I dragged her to my kill room, placed her on the table - and stared at her beauty. Such beauty. What a fucking waste - and it was my fault. I still feel bad about it...well, sort of. Well, maybe, partially. Well, perhaps, I feel completely and utterly bad. I don't know. When it comes to Sunny Johnson's demise - I have all kinds of emotions. And monsters aren't supposed to have emotion of any kind.

           Back to the scene. I still have a dead body. A minor dead body. Wait, let me reword that. A dead body, which happened to be a minor.           There - that reads better!

           Sunny's cell-phone had just ringed. Uh oh. I didn't even know if she drove, or had a ride, or missed a ride. Shit. How do I get out of this one? I smashed her phone in pieces and then threw it in the trash.

           Well - I had already killed her...so...I guess...it can't get any worse than that.

           It did. 

I slowly took off her clothes, not out of sexual needs. I usually have to take off clothes when I start to disassemble a body. That was just how it went, folks. Once Sunny was naked, a little paler than usual - I stared. I couldn't help it. And yes, those dark, dirty nasty thoughts invaded my brain. But I withdrawal from temptation, and went to work chopping her up to tiny pieces. That took some muscle!

           I then placed Sunny's little body parts into poster tubes (postal tubes movie posters are shipped in). I had about thirty poster tubes worth of Sunny Johnson's remains.

           If you think that's disgusting, it gets worse!                                 

I took those poster tubes home with me - and had them all lying on the floor that night. Who knew an entire body could be de-constructed into thirty poster tubes. As I stared at the poster tubes on the floor, my stomach made a funny noise. Not out of disgust of what I just did. No. I was hungry. I realized I haven't eaten all day. I grabbed one of the poster tubes and walked toward the kitchen. I placed the poster tube on the table. I then took a frying pan from the cabinet and put it on the stove. I then grabbed hold of the poster tube and unscrewed the cap - dipping the tube into the frying pan. All kinds of gross, bloody body parts started dropping from the tube. I can't even tell you which body part(s) were what.

           Anyhow, I don't know what inspired me to start cooking Sunny Johnson's parts - other than the realization that I had to get rid of the body somehow. At the time, it made sense.

           If I had to do it over again, I probably wouldn't have invited Sunny Johnson into my office that night. But...here we are. And the second I choked Sunny Johnson to death - my future - as well as the future of EYS, also died with Sunny Johnson.

           But she did taste very good. Her parents should be proud. She was concocted in a few different recipes. My favorite was a Sunny Johnson piece, with a few eggs on the side. Would it amuse you to know the eggs were sunny side up?!            

19. ...there's less joy at EYS.

Things happened very rapidly, drastically, and abruptly soon after. The police came by the theater the next day - asking all kinds of questions about Sunny Johnson's disappearance. I wasn't as smooth-talking as I usually am. In fact, I don't recall what I was asked or what I said as a response. But I became under their radar. And soon, an investigation unfolded. An investigation that uncovered...oh my gosh, the body parts in the theater seats. I was then arrested.

           As soon as I was arrested, EYS Buena Heights closed. As soon as I was put on trial, EYS - the company, filed chapter 11. As soon as I was found guilty of my crimes, good ol' Rick Miles (remember him - former-owner of EYS) committed suicide. He was found lifeless with two empty bottles of Tylenol PM.

           Fun fact # 10: The drummer of Outsider's Vengeance died of similar circumstances.

           I guess Rick Miles had a lot of pressure against him. I mean, not only did his company folded - but people held him just as responsible for the killings as me.

           Though I only killed 13 people - I guess you could blame me for Rick's death.

20. Guilty

The trial was a perfect display of how infatuated the public was to disgusting, gruesome shit. All the ‘journalists’ talking heads reevaluated all the evil, unspeakable crimes I accomplished (though, I must comment – how is a topic unspeakable if one is speaking about such an unspeakable topic at hand?) They may (or may not) have uncovered my past, trying to analyze every little micro to why I did what I did.

           I suspect the investigation was a lot like connecting the dots - once Sunny Johnson was realized to be missing - and was connected to me; that uncovered all the other missing person's in the area (which I am responsible for only 13). I can't imagine what it was like uncovering all those body parts at what was being called 'The Michigan Multiplex Massacre.' Clever, whoever thought of that title! I wonder, though, if someone had the brilliant idea of trying to identify who's who before the trial.

           But it was when I was put to the stand, in which I swear on a fictitious holy book, that the truth behind my so-called 'crimes' would be clarified in wholesome, gory details. And boy, did I disgust them all in the courtroom. I think even the judge had a disgusted look. Yet - it made headline news for months. I guess the most disgusting equals the most newsworthy.

Sunny Johnson's pieces I chopped up and stored in poster tubes - ended up (regretfully) consumed by me. All of it. Once the poster tube was empty, I burned it. There were times I was quite disgusted with myself, eating pieces of Sunny Johnson. I never once considered myself a cannibal. But I also didn't leave any leftovers anywhere.          

           "What about the bones?" you might be asking. Did I mention I also had a dog? No? Well, I did...which took care of Sunny's bones. I could've been a real sick fuck, and used the bones as furniture, much like the home stylings of Ed Gein. However, that was too much to stomach - even for me.

I pleaded guilty, unashamed of what I did (aside from Sunny Johnson). And, would you believe it, the jury found me guilty. Who knew, right? They added the ages of all the victims I killed; the amount they came up with is the number of years I would have to serve in prison. Let me put it this way, it was in the triple digits - if that helps any!

           Fun fact # 11: If I lived in another state that still had the death penalty, there was a good bet that would be my sentence. But luckily, I live in Michigan! The death penalty in Michigan was abolished in 1846.

           Yay, Pure Michigan!

I now reside in a prison, somewhere between Alpena and Buena Heights. I can't really disclose that information. If you've seen the movie The Shawshank Redemption or binge-watched Orange is the New Black on Netflix, it might give you a sense of what my everyday life was like.

           The plus side in things, I do get to read a lot - though, the book selection here sucks. Because it was prison, they push the bible very heavily. Ugh. All I can think about when I see a bible lying around - Sue Curtis. I wonder if Buena Heights' finest found all her pieces. Gosh, I hope they didn't miss the two fingers I placed outside the theater.

           Anyway, I was able to find an old 1973 paperback copy of Kurt Vonnegut's Slaughterhouse-Five. It was stained to hell, had blue pages (weird), and page 1 & page 215 was missing (very weird), which happened to be the first and last page of the book.          

           Oh, well.

21. Courtney Green

I also get to see a little bit of TV in prison. When I started writing this book, I saw my bitch ex do an interview on Inside Edition in which she proclaimed that she suspected I was a psycho from the very beginning. And she was appalled that one of the victims I killed happened to share the same last name as her. Toward the end of the interview, she started tearing up - proclaiming that she feared for her life tail-end of our relationship.

           What a fake bitch! Wonder if she realized that her cheating ass did inspire me to kill.

           Oh, and Rob Zombie's shit Halloween remake. That also inspired me to murder.

22. In retrospect

Aside from Sunny Johnson, and dating that bitch Courtney bitch Green, the bitch (!) - I don't regret a damn thing. And despite how disgusted people are about my crimes - I am disgusted that the majority knows my name very well, but doesn't know any of the victim’s names. I know their names. Do you? Would you have to go back to previous chapters to remember?

           Fun fact # 12: With most mass murders - the murderers are more well-known than the victims.

           Why was that? Was it the media's fault? Was it the public's fault? Was it both?

           Fun fact # 13: Back in 2011, there were constant fights outside of the courtroom of Casey Anthony’s trial in Florida. What caused the brawls? People were cutting in line to get free tickets to the trial.

I'll say it again...you people are as disgusting as I am.

           I do know for a fact that my strange and bizarre hobby at the joyous EYS Buena Heights will be talked about in Buena Heights for quite a long time. The city is tainted. I tainted it.

           And I suspect after you read this, you won't sit in a movie theater seat again without thinking how lumpy the seat seems. And then, you will wonder if that was just cushioning in the seat...or...something...else...somebody else…that…was!

K.H.; March 24, 2014 - February 6, 2017.

[allisas]

[ Original Blog Post ]

THE SIMS 4 DREAM HOME DECORATOR GAME PACK

Sul sul! I’m Patina Wainscot*, and I’m thrilled you could join me today for what I’m calling Dream Home Decorator 101. We’re diving deep into the ins and outs of designing for clients because that’s the main thing to remember: it’s all about making your clients happy!

ALL ABOUT CLIENTS

Take it from me: the best designs start with the Sims you’re creating for. I never go into a project without getting to know my clients first—at least, not if I plan to be successful. Back in my early days, I made that mistake a lot. Once, I planned a whole space around the gnome statue in the middle of my client’s living room—come to find out, that Sim was terrified of the gnome and wanted it gone!

Everyone has Preferences, you know? Likes and Dislikes matter when it comes to decorating. So ask questions! Find out their favorite color and music genre and decor style. Ask about the things that inspire them, if they have any hobbies, what their favorite pieces are. Walk them through color swatches and maybe some of the work in your portfolio. Take a few Before pictures for the client, too. After all, the more you know about someone, the easier it is to imagine a space that will truly bring them joy.

Remember to keep it professional, though! (Shower before you arrive. Trust me.) Every interaction impacts your reputation, and if you want to move up to bigger gigs, that matters.

ALL ABOUT RENOVATIONS

Once you’ve gotten a feel for what your client wants, nudge them out the door and turn your attention to the space around you. Sometimes clients want to redo the nursery, or add an in-law unit. I even had a Sim ask for a gym in the basement once. Whatever the task, I’m sure you’re up for it. Simply follow the budget, the client’s preferences, the available tile count, and the client’s actual ask.

(Sidebar: okay, yes, sometimes the requests get a little… weird. It’s your job to do what you can, though. I could share some wild stories, but client-designer confidentiality is a professional courtesy.)

Start with an empty space by selling off the items you can’t use (it’s a good budget tip, too!). Then, it’s all up to you to make your client’s dreams come true.

I personally love this phase of a project. Maybe Sims tend to be a little messy, so why not play around with modular shelving units for innovative storage solutions? Open concept is very in right now, and sectional sofas divide living spaces from the kitchen perfectly while keeping a roomy, airy atmosphere. And speaking of the kitchen, built-in appliances like ovens and stovetops save space too. For kids’ rooms, bunk beds are my go-to. As children grow, it’s easy to change the configuration and add a desk for homework!

My point is, don’t be afraid to play around. Sometimes the unexpected works best, and sometimes you’ll have a tried-and-true solution in mind.

ALL ABOUT REVEALS

Once you finish the work, there’s just one thing left: the reveal! Once you’ve perfected the space, invite the client back to see the results. Personally, this is the moment I live for. That first reaction means the world to me. Whether Sims cry, throw their arms around me, or immediately start daydreaming, I always know when I’ve done a good job, and it’s amazingly fun to show off the Before and After photos.

So many factors go into whether or not a gig is successful. Did you stay within the budget? Build around your client’s preferences? Complete your objective? Were you respectful and fun? Hopefully, the answer to all of these questions is “YES!” Not only does it make your client happy and make you feel good, but it improves your reputation as a decorator. After all, people love to talk about things they love. So make them love their space!

A FEW EXTRA TIPS

Speaking of reputation, the more you get your name out there, the more gigs open up to you. Start with something small like a room remodel; by the time you’ve reached my level, you’ll be redesigning the neighborhood bar! Client referrals make a real difference, but I used to blog and promote myself on social media, too. Now, you can watch me on the home decorator channel!

Every Sim is different. I know, I know, I’ve said that a few times now, but I really mean it! In households with more than one occupant, sometimes it gets tough to balance what they want. Maybe two Sims have different color preferences; if you can’t make both work together, find some common ground to focus on instead. And never assume you know what a client will ask for! I had an adult client ask for a kids’ tent once—turns out, it was for their nephew!

And last but not least, the most important advice I have: just have fun with it. Remember why you chose this path. You’re a dream home maker, after all.

Thank you for coming to my Sims Talk. I’ll catch you on the home decorating channel soon! And don’t forget to follow The Sims Instagram—I have a new series called Spaces With Patina that I’m super excited to share!

The Sims™ 4 Dream Home Decorator Game Pack** arrives on June 1, 2021, at 10:00 a.m. PT in your region on Origin (for Mac and PC), Steam, Xbox One, Xbox Series X|S, PlayStation®4, and PlayStation®5!

We have a lot planned in the next few weeks as the Summer of Sims kicks into high gear! The launch of Dream Home Decorator is just one bright spot to look forward to, so make sure you’ve got your sunglasses—we’ve absolutely packed the next few weeks!

*Patina is a decorator extraordinaire, but she’s also a Sim, so this has been translated from Simlish. 😉

**REQUIRES THE SIMS 4 (SOLD SEPARATELY) AND ALL GAME UPDATES. FOR PC, SEE MINIMUM SYSTEM REQUIREMENTS FOR THE PACK.

[pinkhairedlily]

Every Glance A Step Closer

Prompt: Glances | AO3 link here. Connect with me on Twitter. Happy SS Month everyone! 🌸🍅🥗 @ssskmonth

“This one barely goes out of her laboratory. I swear to god she smells like formaline.”

“He smells like the dust and cobwebs in the library. I cannot even pronounce what he’s doing – archi…something. I just know he handles lots of old papers and books. B-o-r-i-n-g.”

“So anyway, Haruno Sakura meet Uchiha Sasuke.”

This was her one free day in her experiment period week, but she needed to steam off for a night and so she allowed her friend to tug her along for a chill night drink. What Sakura didn’t expect was to socialize with a small group of people in their year and to suffer the cold indifference of the guy in front of her.

To her another surprise, he held out a hand to her. “Hello there.” She took it, slightly conscious whether she used her formaline-cancelling hand lotion. A brief and firm shake and he quicky turned away.

“Sasuke finally speaks.”

“That hello sounded a little spicier.”

“Oh my, that hand holding definitely had some electricity.”

The cajoling and teasing finally stopped when the first round of beers came in. Local university gossip was the go-to conversation opener, from the open secret student-teacher relationships to recent couple break-ups. It eventually led to Sasuke and his list of confessions.

“I heard you turned down Mio from fashion design department.”

“No way. I heard she was approached by Celine for a gig.”

“Really Sasuke? That makes her the fifth girl you dumped for this week alone.”

“You never actually had a girlfriend, did you?”

Sakura stared at him doe-eyed, genuinely curious of his answer. He returned her gaze and raised one brow. “I have high standards.”

Oh wow, what a douche, Sakura thought. Hoots erupted in their table but only for a few seconds. While the drinking and the exchanges went on, Sakura found herself wanting to go home early. She was bored and her neck was tired from not looking at him. Under the guise of stretching her already strained neck, she stole a glance, hoping to have a brief moment to take in all of his features and remember his face.

But he was already looking at her. His eyes went to the door of the restaurant then back to her. Bored? He mouthed.

Sakura looked at the door, knowing perfectly what he meant. She chugged her supposedly last bottle of beer and made a small gap with her thumb and index finger. He caught her signal and started to stand up. Their group was tipsy enough not to notice their sudden movements as they shuffled out of the door.

She halted after a few steps, Sasuke’s figure already paces in front of her, wondering whether she should say goodbye or just walk towards the opposite direction back to her apartment. She didn’t think too much of it and quickly chose the latter.

She had to get ice cream first though, a sugar rush to help jolt her senses awake. She was choosing between chocolate and strawberry when a large figure stood beside her.

“A vanilla one, please,” Sasuke said, looking smug with his hands both in his pockets. “Your treat.”

Sakura felt weirded out by the fact that he actively kept on engaging her. His reputation preceded him, but she decided to humor him for tonight. “So library science and you’re an archivist.”

“Intern archivist actually. So you actually know me.” There was arrogance in his voice that made Sakura almost choke on her ice cream.

“Process of elimination. There is no male major in our year in the History department.” She glanced at him and saw that smug look slowly transition into a slight flush of embarrassment. Cute.

“And what if it was a hobby?” Sasuke fiddled with his still unopened vanilla ice cream.

“There was a job posting in the bulletin specifically calling for Library Science students.” Their feet led them to the park still bustling with university night life and settled on a bench under the canopy of a fully bloomed dogwood tree. “See, I’m not your admirer.”

“Well, that’s a downer,” he smirked.

They talked like that for a while, fleetingly exploring related topics to their degree programs, the usual prominent teachers, the busy schedules, until Sakura finished her chocolate and strawberry popsicles. It was on her way home, finally this time, that she realized he never ate his ice cream.

--------------------------

She next saw him on their building’s rooftop with a group of friends, a piece of unsmoked cigarette in between his fingers. He quickly met her eyes, did a brief nod, and looked away. She inadvertently expected more than that but she wasn’t here for a smoke break, and it wasn’t her intention to take it further. She was here for a quick getaway from her microscope and to appreciate the city view dotted with the flowers of spring.

He kept glancing her way, however. He would be in the middle of a conversation and his eyes would stray to her, and she would catch it in her periphery, trying not to notice it. She got tired after a few repetitions of this, and the next time he glanced, she caught his gaze.

Stop it, she mouthed.

I’m bored, he mouthed back. Walk with me. His fingers mimicked the gesture, his fingers walking in the air.

She put her hands together and slightly bowed in apology. Next time, she winked at him before running back to her laboratory, a small smile painted on her lips.

--------------------------

It became like this for the next few weeks; they conversed through glances and awkward gestures whenever they were in public with their friends. When it was time to come home, they would walk in separate ways and meet again in the park under the same dogwood tree and they would converse for hours. It was mostly Sakura word-vomiting about her experiments while Sasuke would look at her with abandoned fascination.

“Stop doing that,” Sakura called him out one time.

“Stop doing what?” Sasuke asked, his ember eyes never leaving her face.

“You stare too much I feel like I’m melting.”

Sasuke made a small grunt and wore his hoodie over his head to mess with her more. He waved his hands on both sides of his face, and she immediately understood the reference of a horse having its blinders on. “Good because usually I’m the one being stared at.”

Sakura reached out to his hoodie and tightened the strings around his neck. “You’re hopeless.”

He leaned forward, almost touching her lips, his face still between her palms. “Hmm, maybe I am.”

Sakura moved away just as quickly as he moved into her personal space, a hot flush creeping to her cheeks. She hated this particular situation since blushing always made her look like a cherry tomato.

“Cute.” Sasuke apparently said his thoughts aloud because he was taken aback the moment she glanced back at him. “Cool, I said cool.”

She laughed this off just as he completely covered his face inside his hoodie.

--------------------------

She visited the basement section of the library for reference materials. Her writeup was due tomorrow and she was missing a section on historical evolution of vaccines and dosages for the viral DNA she uncovered. The small library slip in her hand, she made her way to the dimly lit rows on Biology. The shelves were twice taller than her, but there were spaces in between stacked books.

Would make it very easy to spot a ghost, Sakura chided to herself. A shadow moved along the row adjacent to the Biology section, but she dismissed this as the library staff. Her fingers traced the spines of ragged books and examined the list of recommended titles in her hand. When she raised her head, ember eyes stared back at her between the spaces of the opposite row.

Hi, Sasuke mouthed. He glanced around and seeing no one, he whispered, “Can I come over to your side?”

She found it hard to stop her grin from rising. “More eyes, the better.”

It took only a few minutes for Sasuke to find all the titles in her list, but they littered around, walking in between shelves, taking one random book and flipping its pages, stopping when they find something interesting. When heavy footfalls were heard on the stairs, Sakura inclined her head, gesturing she needed to go.

Sasuke seemed to misunderstand as he pulled her through the sleeve of her cardigan to the area further behind the room, and as the shadows grew darker, and the noise became more muted, she heard the racing beat of her heart.

Finally reaching the wall, Sasuke slumped to the floor and patted the space beside him. Sakura followed suit, consciously leaving a space between them as she was slowly becoming hyper-aware of their proximity.

“How are you faring so far? Done with the requirements?” Sasuke asked, his voice low but audible enough for her.

Sakura nodded, and after beat, rolled her eyes at him. “Shouldn’t you be out there assisting others?”

“I believe you need more immediate help.” Sasuke pulled his knees in to rest his chin on and trained his eyes on her. “Sakura.”

“Sasuke.”

The longest minute of silence hung between them, tension strung by the stare, until Sakura broke it off with her eyes shifting to the floor. “What are you doing?”

“Flirting,” he said like it’s a matter-of-fact. “This is what they usually do to me.”

“And what should I do?” She let the words roll out of her mouth, unsure why she asked, uncertain also of what he felt. She met his gaze again.

And in that moment, he just sincerely looked at her. “Flirt back.”

--------------------------

Sakura was done for the school year. She will be officially graduating in a month, and to celebrate, she went out with their group for a sem-ender discotheque clubbing. She was gonna shoot her shot for a one-night stand with literally anyone who had chemistry with her – haha she was just kidding. As this seemed to be the final cap-off to her university life, she went all out with her clothes Sakura-style – basically a boxy cropped tea, high waisted jeans, and old heels her best friend gave to her in pity.

This was actually her first club experience, but she was glad to be with veteran friends. The first few minutes inside a closed space with bass boosted, unfamiliar crowds, and lots of skinship made her very uncomfortable. Her only reprieve was the free-flowing drinks – ironically she can handle alcohol well. The disco lights would have made it difficult to spot faces, but she found him in the dark, on the corner directly across her group, his eyes already glued on her.

She wondered if he ever forgave her for scrambling out of his presence in the reference section last time, explicitly avoiding his request to flirt back. It seemed like she worried for nothing since Sasuke raised his glass to her and mouthed congratulations. She raised her glass back, resolving to mind her own business tonight. But he kept looking, a smirk etched on his beautiful face, urging her to meet him halfway.

She didn’t need to look for an excuse as her friends suddenly pulled her into the harmless mosh pit of friendly grinding. Sakura allowed herself to move to the beat, enjoying the bubble offered by the club to lose herself for a few seconds. But she kept glancing towards his direction, his eyes looking for her in the mass of bodies. At first, the glances were mischievous, like playing hide-and-seek, then they held gravity, heavy lidded and palpable.

Sasuke was impatient, and soon enough, at her next spin on her heels, he was right behind her, his hands hovering over her arms, seeking consent to touch. Sakura turned to face him, one part shy, other parts unnerved, and she slowly encircled her arms around his neck, her eyes a definite yes. His hands went to her waist, and he brought her closer to his embrace.

“You don’t have your hoodie though,” Sakura said, a little louder over the crooning of Carly Rae Jepsen to Gimmie Love. “Someone will definitely see you.”

Sasuke closed whatever distance was between them and brought his lips to her ears. “That’s a relief then. I want to be seen with you.”

“Simp,” Sakura teased. “You’re probably expecting a confession out of me, aren’t you?” This was a long time coming and she wanted to get it over with tonight especially when she had alcohol buzzing on her side.

“I am actually,” Sasuke said. “I was hoping to beat you to it in the library last time, but you ran away. Coward.”

“What?”

“What? Didn’t you hear me?”

“You like me.” Sakura said in realization. She edged her face away from his hold to take a good look at his embarrassed face. “Oh, you really do.”

“You could be dense sometimes, Sakura.” Sasuke poked her forehead playfully, and he was rewarded with a bubbly laughter from her.

Their friends finally noticed them and the intense skinship happening. The yells and woots started to drown out the speakers.

“That took you two long enough, huh?”

“They really waited for the end of the school year to do their big reveal.”

“As if the whole school doesn’t know already.”

“What?” Sasuke and Sakura asked in unison.

“It was the constant eyesmex.”

“Really, they do it every time with no shame. It gives me secondhand embarrassment.”

“Right? Sometimes I think I need to yell get a room.”

“Maybe they’ll get a room tonight.”

“Oh my god, shut up."

🌸 It's my first time participating actively for SS Month so please go easy on me haha. Work is loosely inspired by Nevertheless webtoon (which now has a Netflix adaptation). Hope you enjoyed reading!

[mandalorewhore]

Common Ground

Part 2 of Hunter  (formerly Hunter and Prey)

gif by @themandaloriandaily​

Rating: Explicit Content Warnings: SMUT, Oral Sex (fem recieving), Cock Warming, Descriptions of violence/blood , Edging (maybe?), Dirty talk, Praise kink, Size kink, Big Dick Mando, Blindfolded Sex Words: 11.7k AO3 LINK

Summary: Reader and Mando land on Nevarro to meet with Karga

A/N: im sorry to niceguy!Karga in season 2

This would be less awkward if you knew how to talk to the man. 

The awkwardness is probably one-sided though you doubt he’s brooding over what the two of you did last night in this cockpit. You’re not a blushing virgin afraid to talk about sex, but it would be nice if you actually knew  something you both had in common, since you’re going to be spending a lot of time together. The extent of your conversations have been about sex, mechanics, and killing people. That’s pretty fitting for the two of you, you suppose. He is… Officially? your bounty hunting partner now.

However, he’s very comfortable in silence, so much so that it seems to be a central part of his character, much like the armor strapped to his body. Is being reserved a part of the Mandalorian creed too, or does he just prefer it? Does he want to talk about how you sucked his dick mere hours after abandoning your jobs as mercenaries? What is he thinking about right now? You could probably ask him all this, you know. Your internal argument is boiling over like a forgotten pot as you ruminate in the passenger seat of the Crest’s cockpit.

    You woke up in his arms a few hours ago, curled up in the pilot seat together, your face feeling a bit grimey due to  not scrubbing it clean after he gave you that facial. Feeling cozy in the quiet moments that follow waking, you snuggled in closer to his warmth, still only separated by the thin layer of his undershirt. You started when his palm squeezed your shoulder, his way of letting you know he was already awake. 

There’s an unspoken feeling about the way he fell asleep in your presence. You may work together now, but you’re still virtual strangers and Mando is a professional. You doubt he’ll pass out in front of you again. 

Slumped in your seat, you mull over every second that passed between the two of you. Meanwhile, he’s just sitting there like a lump of metal. Unaffected. Impassive. If you didn’t have first-hand proof of the deliciously warm skin he hides, you would’ve passed him off  as a droid. 

Actually when you think about it… when it comes to conversation topics, maybe metal is the place to start. As in, the ship that is now your impromptu home for the foreseeable future. You’ve gleaned that the Crest is like home to the Mandalorian and, come to think of it, he seemingly opted to sleep on his little cot down in the ship’s hull instead of taking up a bunk back on the space station. If he were anyone else, the gesture would’ve been ostentatious. It gave the impression that he was ready to leave at any moment. 

But no one wants to confront a Mandalorian.

Bringing up the Crest is probably a safe option and you’re knowledgeable about ships. You can hold your ground when it comes to the technicalities of mechanics. Plus, you can be charming when you want to be; on merc jobs you weren’t put into the femme fatal role for no reason.  Although you’ve casually lured men to their death, you’re more nervous to chat with Mando. But you’re determined to try. Try to be appealing...

    “I’m curious… Once I have some credits saved up, would you be interested in adding mods to the Razor Crest? I haven’t gotten a good look yet, but I’m floating some ideas around.” You bite your lip automatically out of apprehension, but hoping it comes across as playful. You’re not out of line or anything; it's been hours since you last exchanged any words so it's not like you’ve been chatting his ear off. Still, you worry that you sound extra loud to someone who’s spent so long in stillness. 

“That may be useful. What were you thinking?” Mando’s response comes only a second later, and even though he faces the cockpit’s transparisteel windows as he speaks, you’re giddy at his swiftness to respond. 

    “Well, I would love to touch her up a little. There are some issues with the hyper-drive and coms that could be fixed pretty easy. As for modifying, I saw that you installed a mobile carbonite-freezing chamber for bounties?” He nods to affirm your guess. “I could move that ‘round to utilize the space for storage and better suit two people living here. Either install a bed that can swing down or-”

    “Separate beds are unnecessary. We can sleep in shifts or share the bunk.”

    “O-oh. Sound’s good.” You gulp, feeling a little warm. The implication makes you sweat even if he shot down your idea. “Well, upgrading the deflector shields would be a good idea. Protect her better, plus efficient heat dispersal during atmospheric flight would let us jump into hyperspace faster. If we need to run or just want to fuck off somewhere.”

    “Hm. That is a good idea. She’s fast but there's always room for improvement.” He accentuates his response by patting the console lightly, and something about the way his hand lingers gently on the surface reminds you of a parent touseling their child’s hair. A smile stretches across your face, finally relaxing a little after being so tense all morning. For someone that you thought was so serious, he sometimes reveals a sentimental side to his personality. It makes you want to ask him more, to know more about him and how he thinks, but you’re so nervous about asking him anything even slightly personal, anything that has to do with his preferences or opinions. Your short exchange about his ship went pretty smoothly you think, maybe you can ask him more, you’ll just stay on the topic of starships. That should be fine. 

    “Do you have a dream ship?” You blurt, sounding a little less casual than you were trying for. Oops. 

    He takes longer to respond this time, seemingly thinking the question over. “No. Maybe when I was younger. I have the Crest now, there isn’t a need to plan for another ship.” 

    There's that seriousness again, the way he responds to you makes you think that he has never had to answer hypothetical questions before. It makes perfect sense, the average person doesn’t go around asking tall, intimidating Mandolorians about their hobbies. What a Gonk Droid. I’m jealous he can get away with talking like that. Still, you do want to continue this conversation if only to hear his voice. “Nothin’ about planning Mando, just a little make-believe. Personally, I like an A-Wing, the RZ-1 variant is classic even if the 2 is flashier. X-Wings are neat too, minus the pigs flying them.” 

    A weird huff passes through his voice filter and he finally turns to face you. You’re caught off guard by the sudden eye-visor contact, so it’s a second later when you process what that noise was, and the realization makes you positively giddy. “Oh shit, did I make a Mandolorian laugh? Am I on Spice?” 

    “That’s funny- pigs don’t deserve the nice Starfighters.” He laughs again, clearer this time while warmth feelings bloom within you at his reaction. It’s so unbelievable to you that he’s here laughing at something you said. You never once heard a reaction like that from him before now. “Those fast ships are impressive and great for combat, but I need a bigger space… a YV-929 would suit my needs.”

    “Of course it would, there’s like 1000 guns on that blocky thing. Plus the Empire banned it and you like to break rules.” The ship he named is virtually the same build as the Razor Crest, just with more guns, which is amusing to you. 

Creature of habit, you think, finding yourself leaning subtly closer to his body with every exchange. You don’t think you’re imagining him doing the same.

    “16. Could add more though.” He murmurs and something in his voice makes you think that he isn’t being entirely humorous. 

Maker, he is probably mapping out all the baster mods he could stick on that bulky freighter. You’re still amused by his very literal sense of things. You settle back in your seat to observe the hyperspace light streaking across the cockpit, a comfortable silence falling over the cockpit.

As you sit there and ruminate, the topic of weapons brings forth a vague memory in your mind. 

Someone once told you that Mandalorians aren’t considered great fighters due only to reputation and rumor. Most people are aware that armor and weaponry is part of the Mandalorian culture, but fewer are aware that such items have religious significance, going much deeper than a learned skill. Mandalorians are revered as great warriors not just because of their physical training, but because fighting and waging battle is a form of prayer. 

Despite finding rumors about Mandalorians to be generally exaggerated, you feel this one may be true.

 You’re curious but afraid to ask him to elaborate. The fact that neither of you exchanged more than a few words when you worked together is proof of his preferred privacy. Even though you’re pretty sure he wouldn’t mind giving you some sort of explanation about his culture, you decide to avoid any personal questions. 

Plus you really don’t want to come across as asking about his helmet.

    You break the silence shyly, trying to smoothly bring up a different topic. “Down in the hull… I haven’t explored much of your ship, I don’t want to come across as snooping. But I’m wondering, what sort of manpower have you got stored here?” 

“I installed an armory. Do you want to see it?” 

Fuck yes you want to check it out, his personal collection must be a wet dream.

“Yes, I’d love to!” You reply excitedly. The weapons Mando carried were always fascinating. You especially admired that rifle he slung across his back. You’ve never seen it in action but you heard it evaporated its targets. The two spokes at the end made you wonder how it shot. There has to be different settings on the gun, it would be impractical to evaporate all your targets especially if you need to bring back bounties, dead or alive. The bullets he slung across his chest must be paired with the rifle based on their size and shape when you compare them to the rifle chamber. What sort of charge do they contain to completely disintegrate its victims?

You’re tapping your fingers on your bottom lip, calculating how the rifle might function when his leg brushes past you. Glancing up in surprise, you realize he’s already headed to the cockpit ladder, twisting his upper body as he turns his helmet to look back at you.

“Come on.” You’re unable to read his face but something in his body language makes you think he’s amused by you. Flushing red, you scramble upright from the leather seat to follow him down to his armory. He slides first down the ladder, not bothering to use the rungs. Being unfamiliar with the area you opt to carefully descend one portion at a time, unaware of the view you’re giving Mando. By the time you reach the bottom, he’s diverted his gaze. 

Tall body moving to a panel on the wall, he punches in a four-digit code, prompting a smooth metal cabinet on the opposite wall to slide open with a hiss. You shake your head at this. The man has a tiny metal cot but he installed a hydraulic system for his weapons cabinet. But when you look closer at the exhibit your jaw falls open.

Oh my… Now that’s sexy.

The two side doors hang open to reveal a space in the middle filled with large blasters. His mid-sized guns are stacked horizontally above each other while the longer rifles lay vertically to the right of the center display. The doors contain smaller handguns of varying design and purpose. Each weapon is unique, there is not a single inch of wasted space given to any blaster if it doesn’t have distinct properties. Eyes locked on the arsenal, you scoot forward and make grabby hands at the cabinet. 

“Oo, they’re beautiful! Can I- May I see?” You are immediately drawn to a cylindrical pistol mounted at the very top of the stack, the gun’s sight a smooth metal and grip warm brown. Despite its deadly properties, it is a fucking gun, something about it looks soft to the touch. You’re finding more and more that you enjoy the juxtaposition of lethality and softness. 

Even though you’ve made no specification on which gun you want to hold, Mando reaches out and selects the very gun you’re attracted to and hands it to you. I should stare less, it's like he can read my mind. Despite resolving to do so the thought is fuzzy, unimportant when you’re so excited about handling one of the prettiest pistols you’ve ever seen. Mando watches you from a few feet away. 

“Good choice. I usually conceal-carry that blaster since it’s small on me, looks like the perfect size for you though.” Mando’s compliment has you grinning up at him, feeling giddy and full of light, but you’re quickly drawn back to look at the gun. Turning the weapon over in your hands you admire the polished metal, the texture making a satisfying noise as you run your fingers on its silky surface. The weight is perfectly balanced as you aim it at the wall, lining up the sight with a seam in the metal paneling. 

“You can carry it from now on.” 

What? It’s a good thing you know your trigger safety otherwise you would’ve pulled the trigger in shock, probably ricocheting the blast into your head. The giddy energy drains from you, replaced by apprehension and confusion. Why is he giving me so much shit? 

Of course you’re thankful. You’re incredibly thankful to be on the Razor Crest at all; however you can’t help feeling as if you owe Mando on a level where you’re incapable of repaying him. He didn’t have to take you with him when he dropped Ran’s crew, he didn’t have to indulge your sexual fantasies, he didn’t have to comfort you, didn’t have to partner with you, and he doesn’t need to give you this blaster. It is certainly a collectible, a rarity. A Mandalorian wouldn’t have it on hand if it were some run of the mill E-11 handed out to every Stormtrooper in the Empire. 

But what can you even say to him? It would be incredibly awkward if you refused him right now. Your mind races.

Best focus on the easy stuff. As long as he doesn’t drop me off on some wasteland I’ll be fine. That blaster is too pretty to decline so with your willfulness broken by aesthetic pleasure, you holster the gun on your hip, opposite the blaster you already carry. 

“Thank you. I’ll put it to good use.” You try to inject as much gratefulness into your voice as possible, even though you still feel odd about taking it.

“Yes, you will. Get ready and come back to the cockpit, we’ll be on Nevarro in a hour.”

------------------------------------------

 You’re used to men like Greef Karga but that doesn’t mean they’ll stop being annoying.

The way he speaks like he’s owed something from you just because you’re listening, the way it’s clear that every decision he makes is in self-interest, the way he eyes the women around him, yourself included. He isn’t outright dismissive like some men; such as the guard placed behind him only having eyes for your partner; but you can tell he either doesn’t take you seriously or he is more concerned about how he can sexualize you. 

He definitely isn’t treating Mando as a joke. Annoying.

          But, it’s not all bad. You got a kick out of how a hush came over the dusty cantina when the Mandalorian entered. He had been walking behind you which, with a little imagination, gave the effect that they were all reacting to your presence instead. Even though in reality, no one had ever reacted to you that way unless they were leering. You like how they fear him. It's a turn-on. 

You wish they would fear you like that.

          Someone says your name, startling you out of your thoughts. You realize that everyone at the table is looking at you expectantly but you didn’t hear the question at all. Kriff, you need to show yourself up more. Mando’s reputation is practically handing you the job but you still need to sell your skills to get anything decent out of Karga. He’s so stingy with the quarry's, even with Mando despite how he kissed the Mandalorian’s ass when greeting him. You figure that Mando didn’t take on bounties often, which put his skills in high demand.

          “Uhh, sorry. A bit distracted. Can you repeat the question, please?” You reply, accentuating the please with a bat of your lashes while looking Karga full in the face. If he’s going to objectify you, you may as well play into it. Smiling, he leans forward and pushes a glass of Spotchka into your hands, lingering a little longer than necessary when your fingers meet.

          “I asked if you wanted a drink. Take it, I can see you need one.” He winks at you while you stare indignantly, wondering what he means by that. It’s not like you’re sweating bullets in here. You’ve been here countless times on countless planets. Seedy cantinas with seedier people. Hopefully, he’s just flirting and doesn’t think you’re nervous. Maybe the flirting is backfiring.

You grip the glass and wet your mouth with the drink, enjoying the burn for a moment. Mando tilts his helmet at the way you accept Karga’s drink, seemingly looking sideways at you. Narrowing your eyes at him, you drink again and turn back to Karga.

          “Thank you, the Spotchka here is lovely.” It’s average, but flattery can’t hurt. Karga laughs robustly at this.

          “It’s no Alderaan wine, but it’ll do.” He drains his glass then pours himself another, filling it to the brim before turning to your partner. “So, Mando! Word travels fast around here. I take it you’re a full-time guild member now! I’m not surprised, always took you for the loner type. In fact, I already updated your status to full-time before you landed.” Karga waits for a response from Mando but the man sits silently at your side. Unbothered, Karga continues, “But, I am surprised you stayed that long with Ran in the first place. Must be the pretty ladies he keeps around.”

          The comment makes you cringe but you still smile brightly back at him since what he is inferring is clear. Can he just register you already?

          “Not alone. She’s with me.” Mando’s reply is short and flat, with no reaction to how you’re attempting to work Karga’s attention, nor at the revelation that Mando’s departure from mercenary work has apparently spread across the sector. 

          Karga’s smile twists into a smirk as he glances between you and Mando, looking at both of you as if he wants to fit your bodies together like a puzzle. “Well, well, well Mando. Didn’t think you were the type. Is she a bed warmer?”

          Your grip tightens on the glass. What the fuck is he implying? You’re rising in your seat, about to let loose on Karga when a gloved hand settles on your shoulder and pulls you down. Excuse me? Do I have to go off on everyone here? Why the fu-

          “She’s my hunting partner, my equal. Don’t insult us again.” Oh okay, you don’t know why he stopped you and he still doesn’t sound all that offended, but at least he’s defending you. 

Not wanting to be spoken for, you add on, “I’m prepared with my information so that you can register me in the Bounty Hunters Guild. Pull up your holo, I’m done with the small talk.” Your back is rod-straight in the cantina booth, trying to look down at the Guild leader even if he’s seated higher than you. “Also, your Spotchka is shit.”

          Karga’s is unphased at your reactions, even rolling his eyes. He replies bluntly, “If you’re going to join my guild then you need to prove to me that I’m not wasting my pucks on you. Don’t rely on the Mandalorian’s reputation. If you aren't out of some brothel then you were a mercenary, were you not?”

At first, the audacity of Karga has you fuming, ready to stand again despite whatever Mando wants. However, as you’re looking out of the corner of your eye at the crowd you realize that the bodies filling the cantina are no longer milling around quite as naturally. It's subtle, to an untrained ear and eye not much has changed. The chatter around you remains at a consistent volume and no one is blatantly staring. But your senses are sharp enough to tell that everyone in this room is On Greef Karga’s side. If a fight broke out you’d likely lose, even with Mando being worth ten men and the shiny new blaster strapped to your hip. 

Also, your prospects with the guild would be fucked if you fought everyone right now, which is the whole reason you’re here. You have to play nice and it infuriates you… But you still need the job. 

Taking a deep breath to quiet your anger you look to your left away from Karga, only to be startled by Mando’s visor locked directly on you. Sharing a look, one that you can only guess the meaning behind, you find the patience to calm down. You turn back to Karga, locking eyes steadily.

“Sorry for insulting your drinks, that was petty of me. But I am not sorry about how you implied that Mando would keep some poor sex slave around, nor am I sorry for reacting that way. I’d like to start over… If you’ll accept my apology, I’ll accept yours.” You can’t help letting some stubbornness slip into your words. If he’s supposed to be your boss then you aren’t going to keep up a pretense of respect after that. Not without an apology. 

You’ve never given much thought to how you look to other people, how you affect the crowd when you enter a room. It’s not that you don’t think you’re pretty. Being assigned roles by Ran that allowed you to dress up and distract targets was a direct affirmation of how you looked, even if they were creeps. But when you walked into this place, the only heads that turned were for the Mandalorian. You've never had the experience of being scary to other people. You’re always having to prove yourself and show everyone that you’re someone who can handle what’s handed to them, an equal to every other hard character in the galaxy’s Outer Rim... it’s tiresome. 

Karga is looking at you again, a little differently this time. 

    “I respect you for being blunt. Do accept my apology.” He sounds sincere enough so you nod, lips drawn tight. Heavy metal suddenly settles on your knee, Mando’s vambrace is laying across the soft flesh on your upper thigh. He squeezes, oh stars. Now you’re feeling flushed for other reasons than anger. 

    “Do I get an apology?” Mando asks Karga quietly, voice frustratingly mild just like the other two times he’s spoken up in this booth. The other man grins at Mando, more jolly than he should be considering who he insulted. 

    “My apologies, Mando! Do stay with the guild, your skills are irreplaceable! I’m afraid my jokes can go too far.`` His response is light and humorous but no one is fooled by the tone. A Mandalorian is far too valuable to lose. 

    After a few seconds pass between the two men you clear your throat, annoyed by everyone dancing around each other while you’re still not signed up to hunt bounties. It’s your only purpose here but whatever. Karga directs his smile at you, pulling his holo from behind him out of his guard’s hand.

    “I haven’t forgotten about you, sweetheart. Now, I’m going to put your basic details in… Do you happen to be registered elsewhere, such as under an Identichip?” You shake your head; you always worked behind a moniker. “Great! That makes this easy for me. Simply provide a name, real or not, and I’ll set up a chain code so quarries are tied to your data.” 

    You provide your name while Karga fiddles around on the device. It’s unclear if it is really that complicated to work the thing or if he is just stalling. This feels a little too easy so far. Didn’t he make a huge fuss about proving yourself? You decide to ask outright, wanting to bring it up instead of waiting around for him to finish.

    “I thought I needed to prove myself to you. Aren’t you worried about wasting pucks?” You were trying to tease but the bite in your voice can’t be helped. You worry you might’ve gone too far when Karga looks up at you with open annoyance.

    “Do you want to go out back and shoot a few bottles down? Seems childish to me.” He huffs out a short breath and returns to his holo. “I know that you worked with Ran’s crew on mercenary missions which grants you some cred. You can tell me what your specialties were on such jobs and it might convince me to give you the mid-level pucks instead of entry.”

    This is unfair, everyone knows it, he’s the one who told you to prove yourself and now he’s making you feel stupid for reminding him. He’s the one who was so concerned about wasting his precious pucks. But now that you’re here… you might actually be able to talk Karga into giving you a better quarry. Taking a deep breath, you start to list your qualifications.

    “On mercenary jobs, I usually took a stealth role due to my stature. For certain missions, I would dress to infiltrate a group, sometimes carrying hidden weapons but mostly I would conceal poison in my jewelry, skin powder, or anything similar. I’m a great shot and am knowledgeable about starships. When I first started I had to work my way up the ranks, the lowest being mechanics. Within a year I managed to go from handywoman to assassin... There’s more if you want to hear, although I can’t directly prove anything.” You wish you could actually show all these skills to him instead of just telling him. Karga is right, shooting down dusty bottles like some sort of carnival game would be pretty useless, but at least it would feel more substantial than this. 

You’re about to open your mouth and tell Karga more when you’re interrupted by Mando, and he finally sounds emotive, no longer inscrutable in tone. “This is all true. I haven’t worked closely with her on every job but I noticed her when I did. Her stealth was critical to our success during hits. She often worked on my starship. The Crest always came out in better shape once she looked at it.” You’re not sure what emotion is in his voice but whatever it is, it reminds you that his hand is still resting on your knee under the table.

Trying not to smile too widely, you bring your hand down on top of the one on your leg, giving it a pat of thanks. Karga’s eyes follow your movement but thankfully he stays silent, leaning back with a pensive look.

“Alright, this is all very interesting. Tell you what, and don’t take this as an insult, you can either have two entry-level pucks or one mid-tier. It all adds up to the same amount of credits, however, the mid-tier quarries will boost your rank… Mid also comes with a time constraint.” 

There’s always a catch with this man you think, a little displeased, but at the same time, you understand that he can’t maintain his business if all pucks were given away in good faith. Mid-tier seems like the best deal, and you aren’t just here for the money. Presumably, this will be your job for a while so you may as well aim ambitiously. 

“What are the last known coordinates of the mid-tier bounties?” You ask him, trying to sound like you’ve not already decided to take it. 

“One for Corellia and one for Mimban. Neighboring planets.” You grimace, recognizing the names. How lovely, you get to choose between two shitholes. Karga is correct, the planets are right next to each other, so at least you don’t have to worry about fuel. Corellia is more dangerous but the planet is explored thoroughly when compared to Mimban and you’ve already been to Corellia once.

“I’ll take the Corellian bounty, thank you.” Karga slides the puck across the table with an unpleasant scrape before drawing out three more, stacking them in front of the Mandalorian one by one.

“Two are bail jumpers but the credits for each are decent. I also threw in one S level criminal, let's see how you do with that one now that you’re dedicated to my wonderful guild.” Karga grins at Mando so widely that it is almost a grimace. Well, he didn’t have to beg for the good pucks. Yeesh… Mando’s arm lifts from your knee and he gathers the pucks wordlessly.

Mando moves to leave, rising quickly from the booth and leaving you scrambling behind him, slipping your puck in the pocket on your pants.  He’s at the door by the time you remember to say goodbye to Karga. Not wanting to be rude even if you don’t really like him, you turn and wave. “Um, bye! Take care.” 

He waves back. “You as well, girl.” 

A powerful hand grips your forearm and pulls you none too gently to the doors and out into the acrid, volcanic air.

----------------   

    It would be nice if the man who called you his equal an hour ago would tell you his plans. Instead, he had placed a small bag of credits in your palm and told you to go get some food and wait. You couldn’t find it in yourself to snap at him since you were starving, the last time you ate was probably several days ago, before Cantonica. Your hunger might explain the snippiness you’ve felt all day, actually.

    Having finished your meal of dubious-looking soup, you get up to explore a bit before heading back to the ship. The settlement is small and you think it may be the only town on the planet or at least the only one in the area. The land around you is flat enough to see for miles. It’s impressive that Mando disappeared considering the lack of terrain to hide behind. He must be in the city somewhere. 

    As you wander through the busy main strip, peering at different vendors and booths, you start to feel dejected. Mando defended you, spoke up for you, and even backed up your claims so that you’d look better in front of Karga. Then he just… disappeared. Somewhere. No communication. That's fine.

    It’s a little worrisome, the speed at which you’ve become attached to the man. You’ve been together for less than three days, and you already feel weird being alone. You know that you’re being unfair to yourself right now, it's not abnormal to feel lost on a foreign planet plus you literally just lost everything you’ve worked for as a mercenary. But in the end...

    Being here, alone and penniless, reminds you of home, the one you had as a child. It’s something you try to forget about. 

    Swallowing the memories away into that off-limits area within yourself, you decide to leave the bustling road and wander down a dingy alley. Probably not the smartest move but you do have two blasters on your hip. The sounds of the crowd fade in the background as you wander farther and farther down the twisting path. 

    It’s almost funny how quickly things go south. 

Mere minutes later, you find yourself backed up into a wall with two Rodians aiming their blasters at you, your huddled form reflected in their massive, black eyes. One of them jabs your arm with his gun saying something in that grating, echoey voice that most Rodians speak with. You get that they’re both aiming deadly weapons at you but you’re honestly just irritated. 

    “I don’t have credits on me fellas, you can search me but you won't find shit.” They must understand Basic because one of them pins you to the wall while the other pats your body down, searching for anything valuable. Pulling the empty credit pouch from your belt and throwing it to the ground, he twists you to face the wall, grabbing at one of your blasters. The rare one that Mando just gave you. You start to panic now, the positioning of your bodies making you nervous as you realize how vulnerable you are, fearful that they aren’t just looking for something to steal. Kicking backward at the Rodian pinning your arms, you start to struggle against them, trying hard to wiggle free and pull your other blaster.

    You must’ve connected with a kneecap because you hear a sickening crunch at the same time the Rodian howls, falling to the ground. His companion makes a furious sound then lashes out at your face, fingertips just barely connecting with your cheek as you duck slightly too late. Your face stings and feels wet, his gloves seem to have sharp points on the ends. You pray that they aren’t spiked with poison. 

    The injured member is still preoccupied with his hyperextended knee, granting you just enough time to pull the other blaster from your hip before he joins his partner and turns on you. You throw yourself to the ground, aiming at the same time and squeezing the trigger right before you hit the earth. The shot connects with the Rodian who swung at you and he falls to the ground, shriek cut short. Twisting to your side so you can attempt an evasive roll, you attempt to line the sight up with the chest of your living assailant but your shoulder connects with debris on the ground, jerking it out of your smooth movement. 

The blast misses by a few inches. 

The pain from whatever you landed on shoots to your fingertips, numbing them. Noticing your distraction, he hurls his body at you thankfully unable to jump accurately due to the injury you gave him. Despite that, he lands on your legs and starts to drag you toward him, abandoning his blaster in his rage while dirt billows around your struggling bodies.

    You’re terrified, fear making you clumsy as you handle your blaster. You don’t want to die being strangled by some alien in this dirty alley but the numbness in your fingers has you moving slower than usual, hand heavy as you try to aim again. Sucking in a deep breath you scream, hoping that someone on the busy strip will hear you. But no one is coming for you and there is no time to wait. Panicked, you fire in the direction of the Rodian, not taking care to calculate possible ricochet points in the area. A shot connects, his heavy body falling on your hips, dead.

    Fingers still numb, you hurtle upwards and try to wipe the dust out of your eyes to look at the bodies. The first Rodian you shot is a few feet away, slumped against the wall you were pinned to, blaster marks littering the brick surface from your panicked shots. Disgusted, you shove the dead body off of your legs and stand up.

 As you analyze the second alien you realize something doesn’t add up here. 

Somehow the blaster shot that killed him seems to be on the back of his head. How is that possible? Did I manage to reflect it off something and hit him from behind? You’re approaching the body to look for other possible causes of death when a large shadow leaps from the rooftop, landing heavily in a cloud of dust. You curse and aim your blaster at his head, pulling the trigger before you realize who it is.

He’s lucky his helmet is pure Beskar.

“Mando! What the fuck, I could’ve killed you!” Stomach feeling like it’s full of rocks, you march up to the man and slam a fist into his chest plate, hard. Looking up into his visor you feel a flash of misguided anger, lifting your fist to pound on his armor again. “Where the fuck were you anyway?!”

A large hand flashes up to catch your wrist before it can connect with his chest. He looks at you darkly. “Do you always hit people to thank them?” he asks, while his other hand reholsters the silver blaster back onto your hip.

“What do you mean, you-” The pieces connect in your mind, the impossible blaster shot in the back of the head of the Rodian and Mando’s positioning on the roof. 

He saved your ass. Again. 

You already realize your anger is misdirected, he didn’t do anything to warrant it. But the adrenaline and fear paired with your entire experience on Nevarro have wound you up to the point of lashing out. You shouldn’t be mad at him, and you should definitely apologize for almost killing him. Also, you should be thanking him for saving you even though you probably would’ve survived the mugging anyway. That criminal was unarmed at the end there. 

But you don’t care. You weirdly want to argue with him, to try and break that cool attitude he’s been maintaining nearly all day.

“I could’ve gotten him easily. If I didn’t hurt my arm he would’ve been dead before you arrived, also you didn’t answer my fucking question. I thought I was your equal, Mando.” You mock his earlier phrasing from the cantina, hoping he’ll snap and say something back. But he doesn’t.

Instead, he does something so strange that all the turbulent emotions you’ve been harboring fly out of your body in one instant.

Bringing up one glove to cover your eyes, he holds the hand you punched him with at the bottom edge of his helmet, pushing it up with your clasped fingers. There is a quiet hiss and you can feel the weight of metal digging into your knuckles as the Beskar lifts. Your fingers meet with soft lips, coarse facial hair brushing your skin as he presses a kiss on the blossoming bruises there. Heat rushes to your cheeks and you suddenly can’t remember what you were yelling about. 

It’s odd. You’ve seen the most intimate parts of him but only now, having felt his lips, do you truly recognize how rawly human he is. 

Too soon- he draws away, the helmet settles back on his head. You step back blinking as the light hits your eyes, cradling your hand to your chest like it's been hurt. Which you guess it has. You can’t really feel it. 

Unable to meet his gaze you stare at his boots, “You’re weird and I don’t understand you.” Your words sound embarrassingly breathless.

    He chuckles quietly. “Good.” And after a beat of silence- “Do I get an apology?” 

Annoyed at how he mirrored you throwing his words back at him, you look up glaring, but you’re unable to put any actual heat into your halfhearted expression. You’re still thinking about how soft his lips felt plus, you actually feel bad for lashing out at him.

“Yes, um, I’m sorry Mando, I was only mad because I was scared. I actually could’ve killed you, and those guys almost killed me- or worse.” You shrug, eyes round as you look at the violent scene in the alley. “Plus Karga is an asshole and you disappeared, telling me to wait around like a kid. I was in a bad mood.”

“Yeah.” He offers shortly. Is he gonna say more or- “Karga is an asshole.”

“...Is that all you’re going to address.”

“You’re a good shot. You could’ve killed these muggers without me, I just didn’t want you hurt.” He smoothes away a strand of hair from your cheek, tucking it behind your ear before gripping your chin, twisting your head to look at the scratches the Rodian left. “Pretty girl.”

Flushing red again while frozen in his grip, you stand there with him as he examines your face. His gaze is piercing, and you don’t know what he’s staring at. It doesn’t take this long to examine a face. You think he’s just looking at you.

“Let’s get back to the ship, that scratch needs some Bacta gel.” He drops his arm abruptly causing you to sway at the loss of an anchor. Hand flashing out to grip his bicep, you regain your balance before starting to pull him along, heading to the street. 

----------------   

The walk back to the Crest is short.

 You don’t know your way around this city but shipyards are easy enough to find. You recognize the signs pointing it out after your time spent as a mechanic, streets gradually widening to form into a flat strip of land for the vessels, heavy machinery appearing here and there. As you walk, you oddly find yourself getting dizzy, steps starting to drag as you realize you may have injured yourself in the struggle. You can’t recall if you hit your head or if anyone hurt you aside from the gash on your cheek, which has begun to throb. Did you knock your head on the alley wall? 

The Mandalorian grunts behind you when you trip, quickly overtaking your pace to throw your arm over his elbow, then walking at your side and subtly holding you steady. The Razor Crest rises into view over the horizon, so you speed up, relieved. You want to sit down so badly that you even try to jog but Mando holds you back. His helmet ducks down next to your ear.

“Don’t overexert yourself. I want to make sure that scratch isn’t poisoned.” He murmurs, voice overwhelmingly low. Your stomach twists with desire and surprise at the tone of it, he sounds like he’s flirting with you. 

“Does danger turn you on or something?” You blurt, wondering if there is a pattern to the man's desires. He did let you suck him off right after yesterday's conflict and now he seems to be coming onto you after an attempted mugging. Is this a Mandalorian thing? Weirdo. He doesn’t answer you, but the ship is right there so you break away and march up to the lowering ramp. 

You pause in the middle of the hull noticing some changes. The small cot seems to be upgraded, a patterned blanket is folded at the end and there is even a pillow. That sorry excuse of a fresher is more orderly too, shower hose hung from the ceiling like an actual, well, shower. There’s a sliding metal door for privacy installed on the entrance now too. The previously barren hull has a touch of coziness now, not enough to get in the way of efficiency, but everything is just a little more livable. It is unlikely that he did this just because you live with him now but the gesture is still thoughtful.

“Is this what you were doing?” You ask excitedly, walking across the room to sit on the end of the cot. 

“Not the entire time.” He answers vaguely, fiddling with his vambrace to close the ramp and flick the lights on. You just sigh in response, laying back against the bed, the thin mattress has a soft squish that cradles your sore body. Eyes sliding shut you take in the lovely sensation for a few moments. A shadow covers the light behind your eyelids. You open them to peek at the end of the bed, already feeling a blush hot on your cheeks.

Mando is standing there, towering over you with his legs just brushing your dangling lower half. He leans over your frame, arm reaching over you like he’s going to prop himself on top of your body. Your heart pounds as he comes close enough to settle his hand next to your head, helmet hovering right above your forehead. The visor tilts down to look at you frozen underneath him, heat pooling in your lower belly. An almost inaudible hum comes through the voice filter sounding like the beginning of a word as if he were about to say something but decided against it. 

You find your voice, asking him in a trembling whisper. ‘Wha-what? Did you say something?”

He makes that low noise again, replying, “Those scratches need Bacta,” before he gently shoves his hand under your shoulder and pulls, sitting you upright at the end of the cot. 

Your eyes are round, lips pursed in confusion. Honestly, you forgot all about that. 

“O-Oh yeah…” You manage to stutter out as Mando backs up from the opening, making his way to the storage shelves to rummage around. He comes back to the cot with a tin box, undoing the clasps to fish out a tube of gel and gauze. The imagery of medical equipment reminds you of the throbbing on your cheek, which is now accompanied by a throbbing in your cunt. Very conflicting feelings.

“There’s no discoloration or swelling, you’re likely not poisoned.” He starts wiping at your jaw with a wet fabric that smells of chemicals, cleaning off the rust-colored blood that dried there. “How are you feeling?”

“Ummm, fine pretty much.” His gentle motions make it hard to think, the swiping over your skin is so gentle that you’re zoning out. That is until he reaches the actual wound, which stings harshly from whatever liquid is saturating the fabric. You flinch, “Ouch! Well, it hurts now.”

“That means it's working.” Mando picks up the gel and dabs it on your cheek which helps to soothe the sting. “You say you feel fine yet you were stumbling around a minute ago. Are you sure you’re alright?” 

His question is sweet but you don’t like how he points out your loss of balance. It both concerns you and is slightly embarrassing. Are you alright? You aren't sure, the stumbling could’ve been from a number of things, exhaustion, blood loss, or any other affliction. You feel worried now, grabbing at Mando’s free arm and locking eyes with the visor.

“I-I’m not sure… I’m kinda freaked out, is it possible that a toxin could have a delayed-release? What if I kneel over while we’re in hyperspace?” You finish the sentence a little high-pitched, unable to hide the worry in your voice. The Mandalorian circles your wrist with his fingers, bringing your hand to rest on top of your leg and placing his palm over it. His thumb rubs soothingly over your knuckles. 

“I don’t think you’re in any danger. I’ll take a blood sample for testing then we can stay on Nevarro for an hour, just in case.” You make a sad noise when he removes his hand from yours, but he’s already sifting through the box of medical supplies, probably to find something to test your blood with. Pulling out a tube he turns to you and holds your hand again, which makes you smile until you realize the tube contains a needlepoint to prick your finger with. Oh yuck, you hate needles. A life spent surrounded by danger and that tiny jab still makes you nervous. Breaking out into a cold sweat, you look away as Mando jabs your pointer finger; he must’ve noticed your reaction because his thumb starts up that soothing pattern again. 

“You’re a trained mercenary who is scared of needles?” His tone isn’t mocking, he seems to be trying to distract you. You just stick your tongue out at him instead of verbally responding, worried that your voice will shake. For some reason, Mando freezes at this, one arm halfway to the metal box, the tube of your blood in hand. It is so odd of him that you instantly take note of the reaction, wondering what you did. After a second he starts jerkily moving again, laying a small strip of paper down and dripping your blood on it. He pointedly keeps his gaze on the paper, refusing to face you even when you poke at him. 

‘What? I can’t stick my tongue out at you?” You prod him again trying to provoke a response. You gasp when his hand flashes up and stops your finger in its path, his thick fingers wrapped around your wrist just like when you punched him in the alley.

“Not,” he punctuates the word by dragging your hand down his waist, “When it reminds me of my cock down your throat.”

Your clit throbs again, slickness starting to gather between your legs. “Ummm… sorry?” You reply dumbly, throat going dry when he presses your palm into his growing bulge with a groan. 

His helmet glances at the strip of paper again. “Results are normal. We should still stay on the planet for an hour, just in case… How will we fill the time?”

You don’t know how to respond. Any former thoughts you had in your mind have flown away, leaving you blank. Staring at Mando, your mind races to form a decent response, but you must’ve hesitated for too long because he rolls his hips into your hand, fully hard now. 

Whining, you lean toward him reaching out your free hand to wrap around his neck, but he moves away from your touch leaving you flushed on the cot. His helmet looks you up and down, contemplating something.

“Are you feeling alright?” He asks for the second time, voice an octave lower than before. He picks up the roll of gauze, unused at this point, and holds it halfway lifted in the air in front of you. You aren’t sure what he is going to use it for, you assumed to dress the wound but from the way he is holding it, he must have other ideas. He would’ve already patched you up if this were just about the fabric’s typical function.

“I’m feeling fine. The gel is working.” It’s the truth. You can’t feel your cheek throbbing anymore. The Bacta in your bloodstream has a calming effect as well, soothing your anxiety from before. You feel good even, clear-minded and thrumming with energy. You can’t imagine what he is planning but you know you want him so badly it hurts. Your heart quickens.

“Mando…” You breathe, the way you say his name is both a question and a prompt. He answers by unrolling a strip of gauze and holding it out in front of your face. The breathing through his modulator is audible now, pants heavy with desire. 

“I cant- I can’t go slowly, if I fuck you right now. I want to try something else.” You nod fervently, completely ready for whatever he is thinking of doing to you however, you’re admittedly confused when he starts wrapping the gauze around your head and over your eyes. Mando unrolls several layers of gauze, a decently thick strip obstructing your vision to the point where little light penetrates the fabric. His voice startles you when you hear it right by your ear, asking, “Is this okay?”

You’re still wordless, nodding in response again. Mando hums and parts your legs with his hips, pulling you to his body and grinding against you. You mewl into the empty space in front of you and fling your arms out to find him, suddenly needing to feel as much of him as you can reach. 

Hands connecting with his shoulders, you pull him down hard as if you were going to kiss him. The helmet bumps you in the face instead. 

“Oops..” You murmur, embarrassed. Admittedly, you forgot all about the armor barrier between your bodies. Mando huffs softly and bumps you again, gently as to not hurt you with the heavy metal. 

“Wanna guess my idea? “ He asks, sliding down your body, his fingers trailing over every inch of you, touching you as if to replace him kissing down your body. He reaches your hips and pauses there. You can’t see anything but you’re guessing he is staring at you, the thin leggings don’t leave much to the imagination. A finger presses onto your clothed slit, running up and down the length of your pussy to gather the wetness there. You can feel yourself soaking through your clothing, Mando’s fingertip is gliding wetly along your folds as if you were unclothed. You arch into his touch, needing more from him; the overwhelming sensation has you falling back onto the cot, laying there with your legs parted and the Mandalorian still between your legs.

The world feels like it’s spinning for a multitude of reasons, first and foremost being the desire you feel for the man crouched before you. Other, more complex thoughts on the situation swirl in your mind, paralyzing you with their intensity. You honestly didn’t think he would want you sexually again, especially not so soon. It just didn’t make sense for your idea of the Mandalorian, the image you carry of him as a person, all based on your time together even if much of that time was spent living separate lives. He flirted and inferred to sex a few times today, plus there was that kiss he lay on your bruised knuckles earlier. He defended you, backed up your claims, and spoke of respecting you and your skills. He’s done so much for you today, but you’re still blindsided as you sit here before him, unseeing in more ways than one. Most of all... you can’t stop thinking about that kiss.

Seconds after you physically attacked him and he offers you a kiss. It was the absolute last outcome you expected from your efforts to taunt him, you wonder if he’s even allowed to do that considering his vow to never show his face. You knew he was actively sexual just from your awful experiences on the mercenary station, although you never gave much thought to that drive. It didn’t need much thought, in your opinion. He is a man after all. Face bared or hidden away from the galaxy he still has needs, even if he is devoted to a religion that you can barely fathom the depths of. Your wants and needs seem minuscule next to the enigma of the Mandalorian. 

This all seems unimportant when his fingers hook in the waistband of your leggings and pull. You whimper and lift your hips, trying desperately to speed up the process and bare yourself to him. The blasters you carry are still attached to your waist but you don’t try to remove them. Sex and guns pair together perfectly for the man.

Cool air hits your pussy at the same moment he moans low in his throat. “Fuck, look at you. Beautiful.” 

That reminds you, “Can’t look, can I? N-not like this…” You still weren’t sure about the gauze blindfold he secured over your eyes, your only idea so far is that he must be into this sort of thing. Not that you’re complaining. The temporary loss of sight has heightened every other sense you have, especially touch and sound. You’re certain you’ll remember every word of this encounter for the rest of your life. He’s complimented you several times over the past few days. Pretty. Beautiful. You’ll never forget that. 

“Still haven’t guessed?” The Mandalorian rumbles at your thigh, pulling your pants off your ankles and spreading your legs as wide as the cot doorway will allow. A short growl rips from his throat, his touch leaving your thighs much to your dismay as he fumbles with something. There is a heavy thud that you can't make sense of, he had to have set something large on the ground to make that noise but you don’t know what- oh. Oh, stars I can feel his breath. 

He took his helmet off. For you. The pieces are falling in place quickly but you can’t react to it- you can’t even breathe, every implication of his gesture setting your world ablaze. Your heart is pounding, arms stretched out from the tension you hold in your limbs, you need an anchor, anything-

There's a hot puff of air on your clit and gloveless fingers digging into your thighs. He must’ve removed those too.

It’s like you’ve been sucked into a stasis chamber, the buzz of your cerebral cortex halting all efforts to process what’s happening, enveloped in a place so quiet that you feel fucking crazy. The anticipation is killing you, you’re going to die here and that’s alright, that’s fine, you’d love to die here, in fact- wait where is he? His face is somewhere near your aching center, you know this because you can feel each breath he exhales ghosting over your pussy, the muscles in your hips want to squirm and seek him out but you can’t. Not with all this atmospheric pressure gathering, the weighted air pressing harder and harder down on you and you know you’re about to break. But you’re terrified you’ll disrupt the spell that keeps you both frozen here, still and aching with pleasure. You’re gathering the courage to make the first move when Mando finally breaks the silence.

“From now on,” you interrupt him with a gasp at how different he sounds without the voice filter, the tone is so much fuller and warm, but he then continues unperturbed, “This is fucking mine.”

Your yelp echos off the walls when his hot, skillful tongue liiicks up your slit, flicking at the very top of its path off of your clit. 

Fuck this feels so good, this feels so good, how does it feel like this, so fucking amazing? He barely even talks, how is he so dexterous with his tongue? Tortured noises fall out of your throat as Mando licks through your folds, trying to taste everything his mouth can possibly reach. He rolls his tongue repeatedly over your clit making you tense up and shake from the overwhelming sensation. There's a sound in the hull, you can barely discern the source of it at first but you suddenly realize it coming from your own mouth, a filthy mantra falling from your tongue.

Mando-Mando-Mando-Don’t stop- Please dont-Mando

He stops.

“Hey! What-” Your hands fly down and flounder around finding soft locks of hair and immediately latching on for dear life. Impatiently tugging at his scalp, you try to scoot down and find his talented tongue, your clit feeling cold and achy without his touch. But he’s so strong, a solid pillar of immovable stone and you can’t budge him at all, his only reaction being a deep growl when you yank a little too hard on his head. You must’ve pissed him off because one hand is suddenly on your heat, cupping your pussy with his palm but leaving a gap between your bodies, torturing you with the lack of friction. You whine pathetically at this game. 

“Mando-fuck- why… pleeeaaase.” His touch leaves you entirely and you’re more desperate than ever, writhing to the point where you almost slide off the thin mattress onto the floor. Your inner thighs connect with broad hips again, this time without the barrier of your leggings between you. When your cunt presses into his crotch you realize you can feel more than the cloth of his dark pants, he must’ve pulled his cock out because you can feel his skin, the skin of his cock brushing over you plus just a patch of it from where the hem of his pants is pulled under his balls. A ragged sound tears from both of you when his thick length parts your lips, grinding against your clit.

“I-I thought you weren’t, I mean you said-” 

“I’m not g-going to fuck you-” he gasps out, voice breaking despite the clear determination in his response, “not yet. I want you to use me and make yourself-fuck- cum. Fuck yourself on me.”

You’re speechless, there are absolutely no words in any of the Galaxy’s countless languages, known or unknown, that can succinctly express just how fucking turned on his suggestion makes you. Is this his way of giving back to you after you made him cum the night before? You don’t know, fuck- you don’t care either. Fuck whatever complex you had about owing him, you deserve this and you want it more than you’ve ever wanted anything in your fucking life. 

His broad body is propped over yours, cock grinding into you over and over again as he rolls his hips and groans out, “Well? You want it like this, pretty girl? Or do you-” 

You interrupt him by reaching between your legs and finding his cock, pushing it down your lips to your aching hole. He sucks in a sharp breath and everything is frozen in that quiet place again, just for a split second, before you press his length into your body, sinking down to the hilt. 

A broken sound comes out of you, your throat so tight that your vocal cords can’t rub together to produce anything louder than a squeak. However, the Mandalorian is not without his words, a string of curses tumbling from him in that gorgeous, rough voice. Fuck, holy fuck, you wish you could hear him speak like that for the rest of time, his real voice without the modulator hits you straight in the gut. He called you beautiful yet he doesn’t realize the power of his beauty has completely destroyed you. You’ll do anything for him, for that voice. When he claimed your pussy as his you realized that there was never a point in time where it didn’t belong to him. The Mandalorian moves mountains with his claims. 

He is like a mountain himself, completely stilling his body the second you let him inside you. You clench down on his thick length and drag yourself off of him, leaving only the swollen head inside your hole. You’re burning up, a sweat breaking out over your entire body as you try to take his cock. He’s so thick inside you, stars you can't control your fluttering lower muscles that pulse from the strain. The saliva and slickness helped him slide inside initially but now you’re clenched around him painfully tight as you try and adjust to his size. He lays so still for you, still muttering curses at the feeling of you, yet patient as you work yourself on his cock. But at some point, you can’t help letting out a little wail when you fuck yourself on him, the debilitating mix of pain and pleasure is fucking overwhelming and he can tell you’re struggling.

Mando settles lower on your body, elbows next to your head and armored torso brushing against your upper half, the ridges on his cuirass catching your nipples through your shirt. The movement slightly ruts his hips, an inch of his cock entering you accidentally. You swear and freeze at the sensation, face screwing up-it’s so good but you hurt just slightly. His mouth must be close to your face because you can feel his breath on your skin when he starts whispering filthy encouragement. 

“You’re doing so fucking good for me, taking my cock- fuck you’re so tight, how are you so tight- Maker that has to hurt, you can do it baby, keep-keep trying.” The elbow to your right lifts off the thin mattress, his hand caressing down your body, over your breasts, down your side, gentle trails from his fingertips ghosting over your skin and sending tingles all over. This helps to relax your muscles a little, you feel the walls of your cunt loosen just enough to relieve the uncomfortable ache. Wetness gathers around his cock from his encouragement, as you slide with more ease along him grinding yourself up and down on his solid cock.

It is fucking indescribable, a nearly out of body experience fucking yourself on him, every time you bottom out the thick head presses into a spot that sends flashes of white behind your eyelids. You can't even moan right now, the only noises you manage are shuddering gasps and whines as you feel yourself rise higher and higher. The peak is right there, you can feel it, you’re right fucking there-

“M-Mando, I’m gonna-gonna-fuck, I’m going-I-” You’re frantic, unable to string together the words 

The hand exploring your body diverts its path, reaching between your legs to rub strong circles around your clit.

He’s saying something to you but you can’t understand him, a rush of blood in your ears drowns out all other senses, the only thing you can feel is your blinding climax and the thick cock in your body. You’re clamped down tight on him as the sensation rips through you, building you up and destroying you over and over again. You can’t comprehend how he has the control to just hold himself there, you feel like you’re being wrung dry with how tightly you clench around him with each pulse of your orgasm. Eventually, the white noise fades from your ears and sensation returns to the rest of you, limbs tingling as you stretch the taut muscles.

Mando is trembling above you, arms shaking from the effort of propping himself up for so long. A soft noise leaves you and you wrap your arms around him, trying to soothe the tightness in his muscles like he did for you but the armor gets in your way. He makes a low noise in his throat when you skim over his side, finally allowing himself to rest when he lays on top of you, one arm still holding his full weight back so as to not crush you. You reach an arm under his shirt trying to feel more of his skin, but the padding and metal still attached to his body prevent you from moving more than a few inches.

This time, you’re first to break the silence, “What did-what were you saying?” you ask, not wanting to miss anything he says to you in his real, unfiltered voice. He doesn’t say or do anything at first, his hesitation lasting long enough that you resign yourself to never knowing. But then he lifts his head from where it lays next to yours and you feel the sharp tip of his nose brush your good cheek, over the bridge of your nose to the other side, then press closer into you as his lips meet yours. 

His kiss is so gentle that you forget he’s still hard inside you. All you can think about is the heat of his mouth crushing against yours, pressure held back enough so that he doesn’t dig into your injured cheek but filled with a promise of the energy he holds in his powerful body. You fucking hate those Rodians more than ever because you would give anything for him to kiss you with his full strength right now, holding back nothing. 

But soon -too soon, he draws back from your mouth and pulls his cock out of you. You blush at the obscene noise your wetness makes as he curses and wrenches the last inch away from your pussy, leaving you empty.

‘Come back to me…” You whisper desperately, reaching out for him.

“Fuck I can’t- I don’t want to hurt you.” Mando spits out, sounding wrecked, “I want to so fucking bad but I-”

You try pleading with him, wanting him to feel just as much blinding pleasure as you did from the way your bodies fit so perfectly together. “You won’t hurt me I swear, I can take it-you said I could.” 

He groans in a tortured, painful way, hesitating for a moment and you think you might’ve just convinced him to come back and fuck you- but the hand that eventually touches you isn’t anywhere near your pussy. He’s wrapping the gauze from your eyes, pulling it from your head to press into your cheek. You blink as your eyes adjust to the yellow light of the Crests hull, the usually dull fluorescents are piercing. Still, your vision is not quite blurry enough to hide the gleam of the polished Beskar sitting back on Mandos’s head. You swallow your disappointment at losing the pure tone of his voice to that damn modulator. 

“I can't,” he says softly, “you’re bleeding again. It was too rough.” 

You can’t argue with him. You feel a bit weak and dizzy which is not just from your powerful orgasm. Sleeping in the cockpit didn’t grant you the most restful night; you’re exhausted, slipping away even as he speaks. 

“I’m sleepy...” You mumble, your speech very simple when you’re this exhausted. Mando makes a low noise, indiscernible in tone now that it is passing through the voice filter. You hate that thing for stealing away the depth of his voice even as it fades with your consciousness. 

“Sleep now… I’ll pilot the ship while you rest. Sleep…”

And so you do.

------------------------------------------

     It’s many hours later. The ship hurtles through hyperspace as you stand and examine your cheek in the tiny mirror of the fresher, basked in yellow light. The wound isn't very deep but it’s long, stretching from the high point of your cheekbone halfway down to your jaw. You grimace at the sight. That will definitely leave a scar...

    The Mandalorian is moving quickly behind you in the ship's hull, arranging the carbonite freezing slabs in a way that you can’t make sense of but don’t really care about. You’re too preoccupied with your reflection to consider it. Mando takes note of this. 

    “Warrior marks.” He tells you, walking across the length of the ship to lean against the doorway of the small fresher. “Wear them proudly, burc’ya.”

Wear them proudly. 

And so you do.

[lachimolala0713]

Unforeseen || Chapter I

Summary | I have always loved my boyfriend Jimin. He is the light and love of my life. We are happy and in love for 9 years. Until one day his best friend, Taehyung, confessed his affection to me and it struck the unforeseen circumstances in our lives.

Type / Genre  |  Angst, Drama, Fluff, and a little bit of smut

Characters | Jimin x reader | Taehyung x reader (ft. BTS)

Author’s Note | I want to thank my co-ARMY and great friend Pied Piper for encouraging me to write my first story. To the future readers of this story, I hope you’ll enjoy this one. Thank you!

I dreamt of seeing a couple. They were walking together happily while holding hands, smiling at each other. As I took a closer look at them, the woman was me and I expected the man to be the love of my life, Jimin, but as I got to see the man’s face it’s not him and I woke up.

“That was weird?” I said to myself.  My heart was beating so fast I can hear and feel it in my head.

As I continue to breathe slowly I felt someone’s arm wrapped around my waist and I looked to my side and it was Jimin. He’s sleeping so peacefully that I envy him in my situation right now. I checked my phone on the bedside table and it’s 3:00 o’clock in the morning. “Shit!” I cursed to myself. I heard Jimin groan beside me, I must’ve woke him up. “Hey.” he said in his raspy voice, “Hey.” I said calmly, “Why are up so early? Did you had a bad dream?” he asked while his eyes are squinting and I can’t help but to give him an endearing smile because of his cuteness. “Yeah, I had.” I said, “Don’t worry, I’m here. Try to get back to sleep now.” he said sweetly. I fixed the blanket and snuggled myself into his hold. “I’ll hold you tight until you wake up in the morning.” he said.

He kissed the top of my head and held me tight until I my eyes are getting me back to my slumber.

A warm smile welcomed me in the morning as I opened my eyes. “Good morning, love!” he said happily. His warm smile relaxes me and always gives me an assurance and security. “Good morning.” I said and giving him a warm smile as well. Jimin got closer to me and planted sweet kisses all over my face and I burst into giggles. Before I knew it, his hands are tickling my sides, he hold my wrists and now he’s on top of me, pinning me down. We just stared at each other’s eyes, I can feel his heartbeat pounding so fast, “I always love hearing your laugh and those soft giggles of yours.” he said, and I felt my heart flutter and my cheeks went hot. He leaned closer to my ear, “It’s music to my ears, princess.” he whispered. I can’t help but feel the heat running through my body whenever he calls me that, he knows my weakness and I can’t blame him. We’ve been together for 9 years and he knows my body very well. I bit my lip, “You know I hate it when you do that.” he said and he suddenly attacked me with his undeniably strong, seductive and wet kiss. “You know it drives me crazy.” he whispered through his kisses, he leaned on to my ear and let out his tongue to my earlobe, making me giggle even more. It’s an intoxicating feeling. He let go my wrists and I wrapped my hands on the back of his neck, his hands travelled on my sides, his wet kisses are travel from my jawline and to my neck as I tilted my head giving him access, “Fuck! I love you princess.” he whispered, “I love you more.” I breathed. He suddenly grabbed my breasts, holding and kneading them really hard, making me moan, “Fuck!” I hissed. “Fuck, I want to get inside you right now.” he said. He quickly removed my shorts and underwear without any hesitation, I quickly got up and removed his boxer brief and his thick cock is so hard wet with his pre-cum, he removed his shirt and he suddenly pushed me onto the mattress and I can feel he’s anxious to get inside me. He pressed himself on top of me and now we’re chest to chest, and while he’s holding his length he slowly went in. Both our moans were synchronized like poetry. “Shit Y/N, you’re so fucking tight.” and he slowly keeping up his pace and I can’t help but close my eyes with the wave of electricity he’s giving me, “You were made for me, Y/N.” he breathed. “Oh fuck, Jimin!” I moaned as he increased his pace, he held my wrists tightly above my head, he smoothly glide his tongue from my nipples, up to my chest and to my neck, he stayed there, sucking my skin, leaving hickeys. He moved his index finger to my clit, making hard circular motion and it increased my libido even more. I moaned, crying for his name like holding onto it for my dear life. “Jimin...” I moaned, “Say my name.” he commanded, “Jimin...fuck!” he continued his pace, fucking me just how he wanted and the sensation is driving me crazy like I’m holding for my dear life, “I’m close...ah!” I screamed, “Don’t come yet.” he grunted and fuck it feels so good, he feels so good, the way he’s pounding me like there’s no tomorrow is such a pleasurable sensation. “Please, Jimin! It’s too much!” I cried, "Not yet!" he grunted, he increased his speed, going in and out inside me, he quickly looked at me and he bit my lip, "Ah!" I yelped, "Please Jimin, I want to come please!" I begged, he moaned as he continue his pace, “Come for me, Y/N!” he commanded, and I screamed as my orgasm sends me a sensational feeling. “I’m coming, Y/N!” Jimin grunted, he suddenly kissed me and moaned inside my mouth as I felt his warm juices filled inside me, I squirmed because of the pleasurable feeling. It’s tingling yet it feels so fucking good. 

He looked me in the eye and planted a soft kiss on my lips and it still feels like our first kiss. His soft and pillowy lips gives me butterflies whenever it connects to mine. “Let’s take a shower and get ready for work.” he said, “No second round, okay?” I asked, because I can’t be late for work. “How about I make you come again with just a finger?” he teased, “No!” I laughed, I get out of the bed and went to the shower room while Jimin is behind me, “You know your best friend hates tardy people. Even I’m a supervisor, I still have to go to work early.” I said, “Yeah but Taehyung knows me.” he pouted, and his lips looked so scrumptious and succulent that I want to bite it but I can’t. I have to go to work. “Not an excuse and even you as a CEO, you can’t be late either.” I said, and he just continued pouting and sending puppy eyes at me.

I parked my car and went inside the building. As I go towards the elevator, my phone keeps vibrating in my bag and I checked it and received tons of text messages from Jimin.

[Mochii ♡]: Text me when you arrived at the office, jagiya. I want to know you’re safe.

[Mochii ♡]: I LOVE UUUUUUUUUU!

[Mochii ♡]: Your baby mochi misses you!

[Mochii ♡]: Meetings are so boring, jagiya. 

Since the elevator is still on the 40th floor, I have enough time to send him back a message.

[Y/N]: Aw, poor you. I just arrived at the building, waiting for the elevator.

[Y/N]: I LOVE YOU MOST! 

Someone stand close behind me and I flinched when I heard a deep baritone voice, “Hey there, Y/N. Good morning.” I turned around to look at the guy and it’s Taehyung. “Good morning, Taehyung!” I said brightly. 

Taehyung is Jimin’s best friend. They were together from kindergarten to college, until they went to their separate ways to start their career but they were still connected. Jimin followed his passion in arts and media and is now a CEO of Persona & Beyond Agency, an advertising company that handles high end brands in the country and some across the globe. While Taehyung chose business as he took his father’s footsteps, setting aside his passion for photography and using it as a hobby instead. 

I met Taehyung when Jimin introduced me to him as his girlfriend a year after they graduated from college and we became close to each other. After I graduated with a degree of Business Administration I applied several jobs and I landed to Kim Enterprise and I didn't know Taehyung will be my boss. It was unexpected. Jimin was okay with it as we both agreed that if we worked together in the same company it might affect our work.

Taehyung's smile was diminished when his eyes looked at my neck and it made me conscious, "Please cover that hickey. It's inappropriate especially you're in the office building and right in front of your boss." he said, and I gasped and covered it with my hand, "I'm sorry. It won't happen again." I said nervously. The ding sound of the elevator came in and Taehyung just walked past me to get inside the elevator and I followed since we're going on the same floor. When the elevator door was closed I quickly checked my bag and luckily there's a scarf I can use to wrap around my neck. Good thing it matched my outfit today. Damn it, I'm going to kill Jimin for this.

We arrived at the 40th floor, the interior of this building is very luxurious and premium. White painted walls with huge glass windows to see the skyline, floors that are made from porcelain tiles and even the chairs in the lobby of this floor is beautiful and spacious. I stepped out of the elevator and walked to my office then Taehyung walked past behind me, "Y/N in my office. Now." he said sternly. "Yes." I said, I throw my things on the couch inside my office and quickly followed Taehyung. I suddenly got scared because he was never that bossy around me before. Yes, we're close but when it comes to work he sets that aside and I understand that. Even I'm a supervisor I'm still under his command.

I'm in front of office and his secretary gesture me to go inside. I knocked on his door, "Come in." he said, and I pushed one door of his two doorway and every time I'm here in his office I became conscious because it's so spacious that I felt like I'm the center of attraction. He's in his chair and holding a cup of coffee while reading his paperworks. "Good morning, Taehyung. May I know why you called me?" I said calmly. He placed the paperworks he's reading on his desk and looked at me while drinking his coffee, I'm really nervous now. What does he want? After taking a sip of his coffee he put it down, "How are the employees under your supervision?" he asked with his eyes just staring at me, "Um..." I stuttered, I took a quick breath, "They're great actually. They managed to follow the instruction and tasks given to them." I said, "Mmm." he reacted, "I want you to take them overtime -" "but why?" I interrupted, "- and you also." he continued. "What?" I asked, "The team I'm handling are doing great, why double their shift?", I debated, "So you're questioning my order?" he asked, and his tone is different, I'm hearing Big Boss Taehyung and it's irritating me. God, why is this guy is Jimin's best friend? "Okay." I said plainly, I gave up. "Is there anything else you need from me?" I asked professionally. I don't want to show him that I'm really pissed. He just stared at me for 10 seconds, he moved his index finger to his lips, "None. You can go." he said, finally! I left his office and went to mine. I sat down on my chair and looked at the view. It relaxed me a little bit, it's a good thing I have this end to end glass window in my office. I opened my laptop and sent an email to notify my team that they need to do double shift today and I sent Jimin a text message, he might be waiting for me to come home early at home.

[Y/N]: Hi love. I'll be home late tonight. I have to do double shift with my team. Don't wait for me. Go home and get some rest okay?

Living in with Jimin made me feel safe. He's always looking after me like we're married. When he finally bought a 2 storey and huge house he didn't hesitated to ask me to come and live with him. He almost cried asking me that question that it brought me to tears of happiness because I love him very much. I trust him with my whole life ever since. My phone vibrated and I saw Jimin's pet name.

[Mochii ♡]: Jagiya, you're working too hard again. I can stay at the office and wait until you finish your shift. I'll pick you up later. I'll have Mr. Choi pick up your car and drive it to our home.

The way he mentioned our home melted my heart out. Good thing it's weekend tomorrow so I guess it's okay to stay late at work.

[Y/N]: Thank you love. You're the sweetest! I'll wait for you later. I love you.

[Mochii ♡]: Anything for my jagiya. It's not safe for you to drive late at night. I'll never forgive myself if something happens to you.

[Mochii ♡]: Laters, love. I have a meeting again. I'll pick you up later, okay? I love you too!

I smiled while reading his replies. His words just gives me warmth and it became my source of strength when I'm down and exhausted at work. Working at Kim Enterprises for 5 years burned me out so much. High expectations every day needed to set a bar and it's dragging me down sometimes. I haven't filed any vacation leave ever since I started here. I feel sorry for Jimin that we hadn't spent much time when we started working.

Maybe I should file a one week vacation leave, I think I deserve that.

JIMIN POV

It’s 9 o’clock in the evening and here I am scrolling on a website, checking what engagement ring I should get for Y/N. Looking for the right ring for 3 months is stressful and nervous. She’s beautiful, kind, simple, sweet, and caring that even she doesn’t like luxury things she’s like a precious jewel to me every time I look at her.

A knock came to the door of my office, “Come in.” I said, the door opened and Jungkook’s head popped in, “Oh, hey Jungkook!” I greeted, Jungkook is my hardworking and most reliable executive assistant I ever had and one of my trusted friends. “Hey. You’re staying late?” he asked, “Yeah. I’m just waiting for Y/N to finish her work then I’ll pick her up.” I said while looking at the damn screen and going back and forth on each selection of rings. Jungkook walked towards my desk, “Well that’s sweet.” he sat down on the couch and looked at me with a smirk, “What?” I asked, “So when will you pop the question?” he said, my eyes widened in his sudden question, “What are you talking about?” I couldn’t hide my surprised reaction, Jungkook pointed his lips on the glass window behind me, “I can see your laptop screen on the glass window.” he laughed. “Aish!” I hissed, “What are you doing here?” I asked while looking at him with my brows furrowed, trying to change the subject. “I just want to inform you that your Monday and Tuesday schedule is free. Two clients wants to reschedule their meetings on Wednesday.” he said, “And what is the reason?” I asked, looking back to my laptop and continued scrolling. “Nothing serious, don’t worry. It’s just that both brand managers had to attend a seminar for advertising for 2 consecutive days.” he said, I paused scrolling and sighed, I turned around to look at the cityscape, “Maybe I can use those days to spend time with Y/N.” I smiled. 

“I can block your schedule for that.” he said, I turned around to face him and just by hearing what he said I can’t help but feel exhilarated with the thought of spending more time with Y/N. “I think that would be great, thank you, Jungkook.” I smiled warmly, “Awesome. I’ll work on it now and head off.” he got off the couch, fixed his tie and I looked at my watch and it’s almost 10 o’clock in the evening, “I should go now. I have to pick up Y/N at work.” I said, I closed my laptop and put it in my shoulder bag, “You should go home now too, Jungkook. You can work on it at home so you can get some rest afterwards.” he nodded and we head out from my office, “Sure. Thank you. Have a safe drive.” he said, “You too.” I said and left the building.

I walked towards my black Porsche in the carpark and went inside. I started the engine and drive the car on the road to Y/N’s office.

TAEHYUNG POV

9 years ago

“Taehyung, I want you to meet Y/N. My girlfriend.” Jimin happily introduced her to me. She was breathtaking, how her long eyelashes flutter, how her eyes squint as she smiled at me. “Hello, Taehyung!” she reached out her hand to me and I just stared at her beauty. “Tae! Are you okay?” Jimin asked and I flinched, I cleared my throat and reached for her hand, “Hey, Y/N. Nice to meet you.” I said, and damn her hand is so soft, I just want to hold it forever.  I chuckled, “I know she’s beautiful, Tae.” Jimin said proudly, he wrapped his arms on her shoulders. I suddenly felt a pang in my heart while looking at how the two of them stared at each other and it confused me how I wish I was the one holding her close. How I wish I was the one who can make her giggle like that.

From that moment I realized I fell in love at first sight with my best friend’s girl.

Present

I noticed Y/N hasn’t come out of her office since our conversation. I think I made it too personal but after I saw that hickey on her neck it made me furious. It hurts that I’m not the one touching and holding her. I don’t know how much longer I can hold my feelings towards her. I tried everything to get rid of her in my mind but she’s still stuck in my head and in my heart. 

God I hope she’s not mad at me. I went to my pantry to make some coffee, good thing I know how much she likes her coffee - not too bitter. After making it I went to the front door of her office but since my hands are full, I knocked using my foot. “Come in.” she said, but I can’t open the door so I knocked again, “I already said come in.” she said, and I heard her foot steps getting closer to the door, she opened the door hastily and she stared at me trying to grasp why I was knocking several times, “Oh...” she reacted, “Sorry. My hands were full.” I grinned while holding up the two cups of coffee. “Can you join me for coffee?” I asked, handing her over her drink while wearing my boxy smile, she took the cup, “Sure. Come in.” she said, she stepped aside to let me enter her office.

"Please sit down." she gestured to the couch, I sat down and took a few sip of my coffee. She went to her desk and I can she busy or pissed at me.

It was an awkward silence and all I can hear is her typing from her laptop. "Hey..." I said, trying to break this silence. She didn't respond. Shit. "I'm sorry about this morning." I said, and she finally looked at me. I can see her eyes are tired and I hate myself that I was the caused of it. "I just had a rough morning." I lied, "I'm really sorry, Y/N." she took a breath and drank her coffee. "It's okay." she said, and I can feel she's not angry. She's exhausted.

As I try to come up with words to say to her, the door opened and it was Jimin. "Jagi!" he greeted happily and he was surprised to see me in her office, "Oh, Taehyung! Good to see you!" he went inside, "Hey, Jimin! Great to see you too." I said happily, "Are you guys having a meeting?" Jimin asked, "No, Taehyung just asked me for a coffee break." Y/N said weakly, and I can't hide my pain just by hearing how her voice sounded. Is she sick? 

"Hey, are you okay?" Jimin worried, He went to her side and touched her forehead, "You're burning." he said. My eyes widened with what I just heard. Oh my god. I overworked her. This is my fault. "Probably the air conditioner's temperature is too low." she smiled weakly to him, I looked at the clock and it's already past her overtime, I get off the couch, fixed my tie and cleared my throat, "You should go home now and get some rest." she stared at me blankly, "It's already past your overtime work." I tried my best to smile at her. I don't want to show her how worried I am to her. "Thank you, Taehyung. I'll tell my team to go home too." she said, "No it's okay. I'll be the one to tell them. Besides, Jimin is getting worried about you." she nodded and started to fix her things. "Thank you, Taehyung." Jimin said, "You're welcome. Y/N is a wonderful woman Jimin. You're very lucky to have her." a pang in my chest struck my heart with the words I just said. Jimin smiled "I know. That’s why I’m always looking after her.”

Y/N finally finished packing her things, "We'll be going now, Taehyung. If you have free time tomorrow maybe you can come over to our house. Just to relax and catch up." Jimin offered, "Thank you and I would love to. I'll check my schedule tomorrow if I can squeeze it in." I said, "You've been working too hard too, Tae." he frowned. He's right, since I started running the company, socializing was never one of my list of doings.

I just nodded and smiled to my best friend. "Enjoy your weekend." I said. "Bye Taehyung." Y/N said, I bid them farewell and they left. Leaving me alone in her office and I just stood here. I felt my heart aching, after seeing how Jimin held her close, how he touch her and how lucky he is to have her.

I wish I was the lucky man to have her instead of Jimin.

Will I ever have the chance to tell her how I feel? Does she also feel the same way to me? Will she leave Jimin for me?

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoy it! Feel free to share your thoughts. I would love to read them.

[quarantined-with-bucky]

I Was Good To You

Bucky x Reader

Words: ~ 4,000 (lol sorry)

Summary: You were good to Bucky

Warnings: Angst

A/N: I really love the song “you were good to me” by Jeremy Zucker and Chelsea Cutler (actually they have a lot of good songs, together and separately). But I felt like this song needs to be read from the opposite perspective literally every time I hear it, hence this fic. It’s a little different than what I have written so far, so I hope you still enjoy it! I put some of the original lyrics in the fic as quote-block format; it’s mostly in the reader’s POV and I’m sorry in advance for having to do Bucky like this – it just fits the song.

...

It was a fairly new relationship. And while you and he were both equally cautious about taking said new relationship too fast, it couldn’t be helped that the two of you were inseparable. From the day you met, he had been invested in you – your life. He claims it was because he was frozen for so long; because he didn’t know how to live “normally” in the twenty-first century. He went from World War II to Hydra to today. While that made perfect sense to you, a part of you always wondered if it was something more. Sure, Bucky had never had the chance to (and likely will never the chance to) live mundanely. He won’t ever work a 9 to 5 job, he won’t spend nights cooking and washing dishes, he won’t be doing lawn maintenance, working on a dingey car, or grocery shopping (and then forgetting your grocery list at home). You thought that he may have attached himself so quickly to you so he could partly experience the normalcy of civilian life. Not that you were complaining.

He often spent nights at your house, sleeping in your too-small bed, sitting on your countertop, and lounging on your loveseat. Waking up next to him was heaven. If you weren’t securely wrapped in his arms, head laying on his bulky torso, then he was using your chest as a pillow, the weight of him almost making it impossible to breathe. But that extra weight was calming; he may have even been the weighted blanket that has been sitting in your Amazon cart for well over four months. You’d wake up from an uninterrupted night of bliss, fingers running through his long hair, Bucky refusing to get up until you promised pancakes.

But then, three months into it, he left. Its not like he had a choice, you reminded yourself, its his job. And you were well aware of it – he made you aware of it. He told you he would be gone for three weeks. And that’s fine; you could spare less than a month of your life for the good of the rest of the world? It felt almost selfish to think that way. He wasn’t yours; he had to save the world, he belonged to the world – to himself.

So, you tried to keep yourself busy to distract yourself. But there really wasn’t much to do; hobbies you once enjoyed felt exhaustive and boring. The issue is you used to do everything with him: eat, work, eat, shower, sleep. Now it’s eat alone, work alone, eat alone, shower alone, sleep alone; each task a glaring reminder how desolate it was.

Floating, but I feel like I’m dying

Your routine felt like nothing – it just felt empty, the way that it lacked conversation, playfulness, fun, it lacked him. Nothing, in fact, felt real. You walked around the neighborhood and it felt like a fever dream, like you were gliding along the sidewalks. Not a single thought roamed through your mind, just the absence of what used to be. The days always went by painstakingly slow, but every Friday night you wondered how the week had gone by so quickly.

Your friends invited you out on the weekend, and while you mostly said no, they made sure to drag you out a couple times. The company was honestly welcome, it just felt like an empty effort to get dressed up and go to the bar when you really would rather be there (or home – in bed) with someone else. But by the time your friends got you in a routine to go out, Bucky came back home to you.

Months went by while the two of you were attached at the hip, smiles never leaving either of your mouths.

You woke up one morning to a heavy figure sprawled across half of your naked body. Yawning and trying your best to inhale a breath with his chest laying directly on top of yours, you flexed your arms and legs straight out, cracking a few joints that had been overused just a few hours ago. Bucky’s eyes popped open, his blue iris’s peering into your own. He rubbed an eye-booger away with the palm of his hand and started off the morning with “I have to leave tonight.”

You were confused and you knew he could read it on your face. “No good morning?” You joked haphazardly, trying your best not to blurt out every thought racing across your mind at that moment – the main one being what the fuck?

“’M sorry, baby,” he mumbled, still half asleep, pushing his face into the corner of your neck, planting a wet kiss to your shoulder, then your collarbone, then your jaw.

“How long do you think you’ll be gone for?” Your fingers traced up and down his back, nicking on the scratches you left last night; nearly healed but you knew they were there.

He hummed and lifted his head to press a kiss to your lips. “Couple weeks.” Another kiss. “I’m not sure.” That being said, you didn’t bring it up again. It was better to spend the day binging pancakes and watching movies in bed than discussing it any further.

I know it’s easier to run

After everything I’ve done

It was finally time for him to leave. After all your distraction kisses didn’t work. As soon as the clock hit 8:00 pm, he stood, despite you feigning sleep beside him. He leaned over you on the bed and held a head to your cheek, then pushed the hair from your face. You opened your eyes, holding his hand in yours. He stood there for a moment that felt like an eternity, just watching each other with sad eyes. “I wish I could stay,” he murmured.

You nodded, unable to find your voice. As he straightened back up, you stood next to him, pulling a shirt on and following him to the door. After opening the door, he cupped your face with both his hands and pulled you close to him. “See you soon, okay, doll?” If this was his best reassurance tactic, it wasn’t very good. You met his mouth in an open-mouthed kiss, tongues swiping over each other, exchanging the words you couldn’t find earlier. Slowly, he kissed you back, releasing a long breath as he pulled away.

And then you did it.

“I love you.”

And then you regretted it.

He stared back at you, eyes scanning over the whole of your face: faltering smile, eyebrows drawn together, eyes suddenly glazed with worry.

“Goodbye, (Y/N).”

He turned and shut the door without looking back or saying another word. He really left. He really ran away.

Tears welled up into your eyes. Like that morning, the only thought you could process: what the fuck? albeit, this time, it was a little angrier than before. What did that mean? You immediately assumed he was done with you. But the more you laid on your bed, sobbing your eyes out into your pillow, the more that didn’t make sense. There’s no way he wanted to breakup with you – he was so happy before he left. Maybe he just didn’t love you? Maybe he loved you but he just wasn’t ready to say it? And honestly, knowing Bucky, it was most likely the last option. He enjoyed spending every waking moment with you doing the most absolute boring tasks; you don’t just suffer like that if you don’t love that person.

Then again, despite agreeing to take this relationship slow, he surely did not have a problem basically moving into your house and sleeping with you (which you would’ve assumed to be a much greater step than saying “I love you,” considering he was from 1917 where usually the order is reversed).

All that worrying seemed to be in vain. He returned to you no later than 13 days after.

You pulled open to your front door only to find a sheepish-looking Bucky on the other side. His hands were tucked into his pockets, shoulders shrugged unusually high as he stared directly at the ground. But as soon as that door swung open and he saw you standing bewildered on the other side, he grabbed you by the waist and pulled you off the ground against his chest. He hummed softly into your collarbone, “I missed you.”

And suddenly your heart began beating out of your chest. You hands found his hair and you gently untangled the knots, while you shut your eyes and breathed in his earthy scent. So, you’d been right: Bucky was just weird. You didn’t want to relive that scene from two weeks ago, instead opting to relax in his arms. “I missed you, too.”

Growing, but I’m just growing tired

Now I’m worried for my soul

And I’m still scared of growing old

As time went on, him leaving became more frequent. You couldn’t help the fact that they were getting a lot of new leads. Honestly, you couldn’t be more grateful to have Bucky. Not only is he the light of your life, but invariantly the same for everyone else in the world. His job was to protect people and you couldn’t imagine the world if he wasn’t off doing what he did so well. But they became more frequent and longer. Lately, it had felt like the two of you had spent more time apart than together.

Laying on the couch, his cheek resting atop of your chest, his torso and hips nestled between your legs, you broke the calm silence. “So next Friday’s my birthday,” you mumbled.

He chuckles in response, tilting his head up to meet your gaze. “Is this your way of reminding me to get you a gift? Because don’t worry, doll, I already got you something.” He winked and set his cheek back to his original position, softly shutting his eyes as you curled a lock of his hair around your finger.

“No,” you giggle back, rolling your eyes to yourself. “I want to take a trip. I think we should get away for the weekend.” You released the strand of hair, instead running your hand over the back of his neck. “What do you think?”

He sits up immediately, no disregard for your hands, and shakes his head. “(Y/N), you know that I can’t. What if they need me and I’m not here?”

You bite your lip, quickly searching for something to say. And what you blurt out actually happens to be the dumbest thing you’ve ever said. “Aren’t there like a million Avengers? I think you can take one weekend off.”

Now he rolls his eyes and scoffs. “(Y/N), you can’t be serious. You know it doesn’t work like that.” And at this point, you’re not sure if he’s talking about the Avengers not working like that or if your relationship doesn’t work like that – after all, he still never said “I love you” back. Not when he came home that time, not when he left for the next mission, not for your one-year anniversary, and not after the fact he realized that date occurred while he was away on work.

“I know, but – ”

“I’m sorry,” he interrupts, his tone harsh. “But no.” The way his jaw sets and eyes narrow at you doesn’t make you think he’s very sorry.

Staring back at him, you nod, getting up from the couch before he can see the tears well up in your eyes (for the record, he saw them). “I’m tired, Buck. Goodnight.” And with that, you scurried off to your bedroom. You locked the door and fell onto the bed, silently letting the tears fall down your cheeks. You buried your face into your pillow, throwing his against the wall, the smell of your bed – that smelled like him – pissing you off beyond belief.

Was this going to be your life? Constantly leaving, never saying “I love you” when everything he does clearly shows that he’s in love with you. There as a point in your life when you thought men were confusing. But, damn, James Barnes is a whole new story.

He clearly got the message that he’d be sleeping on the couch that night. He didn’t disturb you for the rest of the night – he didn’t even try. Could he hear you sobbing in your room? You could only assume yes. But that clearly didn’t make a difference to him.

But that’s okay. You’ve learned how to console yourself, how to calm yourself down during a panic attack, how to make the tears stop on your own.

That would become your reality. Would that be your future? Bucky talked about the future – quite a lot, actually, especially for being the one who won’t say “I love you.” He wanted to settle down, he wanted the future that was taken away from him years ago: to eventually settle down, raise little babies, grow old with you. He surely liked to talk about it, but never show it. There had to be some way he could ask Steve to take a weekend off. If he was reluctant to do it now, would he ever? Or would you just live in the shadows of his life, tying down the house alone, raising babies alone, growing old alone.

The next morning, you woke up to Bucky next to you in bed. He stroked your hair until you opened your eyes (that you could only assumed were swollen and red). He had apologized for the night before, pleaded for you to understand, and even gave you your birthday gift early. While you decided to forgive him, for the sake of the universe, you still couldn’t bury the hatchet completely. You weren’t going to show it, but what you were thinking about was important, and dammit you were justified in asking yourself those questions. (Even more justified to ask him those questions, but it was just never the right time).

And I’m so used to letting go

But I don’t want to be alone

One day, months later, your grandfather had passed away. It came as quite a shock, and it took you a few hours to even process the fact that he was gone. You’d been through countless calls with other family members and friends checking in on you. And while everyone meant well, every call resulted with you in a rush to hang-up, falling into a fit of sobs as you ended each call.

He had basically raised you since you were born and the fact that he had been ripped away from you so suddenly had burned you even more. Despite how sad you were, however, you had to be glad that you were able to fall apart in Bucky’s arms. Holding you tightly, reassuring you yet never telling you you’re overreacting. As someone who had been around loss his whole life, he definitely understood and thought it best to let you express your feelings earnestly.

That’s why, when Steve Rogers called his phone later that night, you couldn’t help but express your feelings very earnestly.

“Bucky, no, you’re not going.” You were sitting up in bed, in the middle of the night, darkness swallowing the room as Bucky stood to dress, not even bothering to turn on the lamp beside him.

“(Y/N), I have to. Please, don’t make this hard, baby.” His hand reached out to touch your cheek if only for a moment before he continued to dress and gather his things.

Tears fell down your cheeks freely, your voice coming out cracked as you begged him once more. It might have been pitiful, from his eyes, you’d assume. You were only one step away from looking like a sobbing toddler making grabby hands at her favorite toy. “Please, Bucky. You can’t leave me alone right now.” A sob rips through your throat and you nearly scream. “I’m always alone. I don’t want to be alone right now.”

You’d done the research: there were at least 12 Avengers nowadays. You didn’t know who was in what galaxy, but you were positive that one of them could take his place. Its not like he even really had superpowers. He was basically an enhanced man – plus they already had one of those? Surely, he could be spared this time around.

He shakes his head but sits down to pull you in his arms. “Baby, please. You can’t do this to me.”

And it takes everything in your whole being to not scoff. Do this to him? What exactly are you doing to him? Oh, just something he does to you on the weekly basis. You swallow your tears and shove him away. You don’t know what made you pull a complete 180, but it did finally feel good to get some things off your chest that had been plaguing your mind recently. “You always leave. I’m used to it.”

He opens his mouth to speak. Nothing comes out. He watches you pull the covers over yourself and turn away from him. He closes his mouth and leaves the room.

God only knows where our fears go

Hearts I’ve broke, now my tears flow

You’ll see that I’m sorry

Cause you were good to me

It was the post-mission jitters. The remnants of the adrenaline from earlier that day still coursed through his veins as he paced back and forth around the jet, eagerly anticipating his return to you.

“What’s up yours?” Sam asks, eyes narrowed at Bucky, clearly in confusion but also in annoyance.

Bucky stops in his tracks, eyes wide, feeling as though he had been invisible for the whole plane ride. He shrugs, and as Sam raises an eyebrow, he offers an explanation: “I’ve gotta see (Y/N).”

A grin breaks out on Sam’s face. He falls back in his chair, throws a hand over his heart and pretends to faint. “Oh, you have to see your lover. I’m Bucky, I’m so in love,” he mimics in a high-pitched voice.

Where Bucky normally would threaten to beat Sam to within an inch of his life, he couldn’t bring himself to do anything. He stood, staring at Sam’s hideous imitation of himself – he swears his heart stopped beating. “Yes, exactly.”

Sam chokes and stutters a “what?” before Steve interrupts them from the cockpit.

“We’re landing, guys. Buck, grab a seat.” So, Bucky does exactly what he’s told, plopping himself into the seat across from Sam, ignoring all the questions and comments from the man across from him.

God, he mentally kicks himself. It’s been almost two years. Two years you let him treat you like that. Now, while Bucky doesn’t think he’s done anything outwardly wrong and had obviously never purposely tried to hurt you, maybe he could’ve been a little better regarding work. Maybe he could’ve taken that weekend off with you.

You really consumed his whole life. His thoughts were constantly about you (mostly sweet and innocent, sometimes dirty), he constantly wanted to be by you, talking, laughing, touching.

He made up his mind before the plane even lands. The last mission is over, and new – personal – one begins.

He leaves the complex, stopping by the florist to buy the biggest bouquet of roses he can get his hands on. A grin is itching at his mouth as he anticipates your reaction during the rest of his drive. His heart is racing – in a good way. In a way he hasn’t felt in, well, forever. His confidence is at an all-time high as he’s never felt surer of himself in his life.

He’s already planned it out. You’ll open the door and he’ll scoop you up in his arms, hand you the flowers, and finally say “I love you.” He doesn’t know what took him so long anyway.

And now I’m closing every door

Cause I’m sick of wanting more

You know he didn’t get to decide when he left and for how long he’d be gone.

But he did get to decide his priorities. And honestly, you weren’t even sure if you were one of them anymore.

You were torn because you know how much his work means to him. Not only was it his calling, but it was something he thought was important to use his good work as a means to make up for all the bad things he’s done in the past. And while you’ve told him multiple times that that’s definitely not how it works, nothing will change his logic. So, you’ve stood by him; if it was important to him, it was important to you. Of course, you wanted to see your boyfriend exceed, feel fulfilled.

Now, you were just tired of seeing Bucky like that when it cost you everything. He was your everything. You had a job, yes, a home, a family. But the one person you were supposed to be with – actually be with – didn’t value you the same as his job. And thinking that to yourself just has to be the worst, most necessary wake-up call you need.

That was all you needed. You sat at your desk with a pen and a piece of paper. You couldn’t even think of an opening line for about two hours. Sitting there, chewing the inside of your cheek, you wrote countless paragraphs, scrapping some, keeping others, adjusting sentences, trying not to sound too mean – then having to start over because your teardrops fell onto the paper and smudged the ink.

All in all, it took you two days to write him the note – note turned letter. You folded it in three, left it on his pillow. As you placed it down, you broke out in tears. Falling to your knees, you shoved your face into the mattress, wailing into the sheets one last time. It remarkably still smelled of Bucky’s soap; probably just god handing you one more gut-wrenching blow.

You’d spent the night on the couch, unable to bear the sight of that letter or the smell of those blankets. The next morning, you tried to keep your head as clear as possible. No breakfast (no more pancakes with Bucky), no music (no reminders of your song), no phone (no messages from Bucky). It was time to leave. Time to leave this house, this life, this relationship. You’d quickly shoved a few bags full of clothes and necessities and threw them in the back of your car, not looking back. Just like he did after you’d told him you loved him.

Swear I’m different than before

I won’t hurt you anymore

Cause you were good to me

He practically skips up the steps. Knocking first, he rocks up and down on his tip-toes unable to contain his excitement anymore. Not getting an immediate response, he knocks again.

It would make sense that you weren’t home if it was work hours, but it was 7:00 pm. Bucky was thrown-off; you’d be at home eating dinner right now. Chalking it off to maybe you were in the bathtub, he digs around in his pocket for the key. Pushing the door open, he cautiously looks around the kitchen, then the dining room and living room, unable to find you. The bathroom was empty, and you hadn’t responded to him calling your name, echoing throughout the house.

He pulled out his phone while carefully kicking the bedroom door open with his foot. Straight to voicemail. Voicemailbox full. He tosses the roses beside him on the bed and sits on the edge, nearly ready to go searching again before a piece of paper catches his eye.

His heart drops.

It sinks.

There’s not a time in his whole one-hundred-year existence that he’d felt this much anticipation and fear.

He grabs the letter with shaking hands, carefully unfolding it and his eyes are fixated on the date you’d scribbled at the top of the page. Two months ago.

[spnfanficpond]

Pond Diving - Katelynw93

Welcome to today’s Pond Diving Spotlight! We hope that you enjoy this little insight to our members and perhaps even find some useful tips for your own writing. Happy reading!

Want to volunteer, send us an ask! We’re looking forward to learning more about all of you! Not sure what PD is, you can learn more here.

“Don’t Be Koi About It” - All About You

Name: Katelyn, but most people call me Kate, Katie or sometimes even Kat.

Age: 27

Location: Originally from Kansas, but have been located in Upstate NY for the last six years.

URL: @katelynw93​

Why did you choose your URL: It’s usually the username that I use for everything and if I’m being honest, I’m not very creative when it comes to titles or names. Lol. I’ve been meaning to change it; I just need to decide on what.  

What inspired you to become a writer: Well, when I was in middle school (maybe seventh or eighth grade), my best friend and I decided to write a story together and post it on a fanfiction site (Can’t remember the site name, though.) And I just loved it. We never did finish that story. Lol. But eventually I started branching out and found some roleplay writing sites.  

How long have you been writing: Started writing in middle school (2006/2007), but really got into it in 2009 with RP. However, September of this year (2020) was the first year I started really writing fics by myself and opening posting them. 

What do you do when you are not writing i.e. Job/Hobbies etc? I work a lot, usually an average of 40+ hours a week; I am a manager at a popular food chain restaurant and on the weekends, a cashier at a gas station to provide a little extra cash for my family. When I’m not working, my time is spent with my two kids; Alekzander (Zander) who just turned five this past November and Lincoln (Link) who will be two in February. Outside of work and my family, I’m usually writing. Sometimes if I’m feeling extra creative or inspired, I’ll create a few crackships for couples I really enjoy. Lol. 

How long have you been in the SPN Fandom? I actually found Supernatural around the same time I started writing, so back in ninth grade, so 2008/2009. It was honestly an accident too, because I was searching for Smallville episodes (I have an unhealthy addiction to Superman and DC/Marvel.) and stumbled upon an ad for Supernatural. Was instantly intrigued and fell in love. Seasons 1 - 5 (the Kripke era) are my favorite. 

Are you in any other fandoms and do you write for them? Oh yea, I love TV shows and movies, and as I’ve already stated above, I love DC and Marvel. I’ve also written for Grey’s Anatomy and am willing to write for more, but SPN, DC and Grey’s are currently the only ones I’ve written for. I love The Vampire Diaries, One Tree Hill, Private Practice, Station 19, 9-1-1, Game of Thrones, The Witcher, Merlin, Dexter, Psych, and so, so many more. There are too many to list. Lol.  

Do you do any writing outside of fanfiction? If so, tell us about it? Other than RPing, not really. I mean, I did try to do an original story with my friend when I was younger, but it never went anywhere. But I am willing to try someday. 

Favorite published author: Other than the really big authors like; J.K. Rowling, George R.R. Martin, Jim Butcher, Nicholas Sparks, Suszanne Collins, I really like (and maybe it’s cliche) Stephenie Meyer. The Twilight Saga made me fall in love with reading and eventually, that love led me to writing. Those books hold a special place in my heart.  

Have you ever read a book that made an impact on your life? Which one and why?: Well, I guess I sort of answered that one already. But there truly are so many amazing books out there and still so many more to discover. 

Favorite genre of fanfic (smut, angst, fluff, crack, rpf, etc): Oh man, I’m not gonna lie, a majority of what I read is probably smut. But I am particularly fond of angst. I want you to make me cry. Really dig and stab into my emotions. Lol. And then come back in with some fluff. Haha. 

Favorite piece of your own writing: Well, that would have to be Sweet Cherry Pie because it was really the first piece I’ve ever finished and published online. It was inspired by an RP that I am currently involved in and they are my favorite couple in said RP. It got so much positive feedback after I shared it that it inspired me to keep writing. I was so nervous about posting it, but I am glad I did. 

Most underrated fic you have written: Oh I’m not sure. Maybe Love Bites. I am a sucker for Supernatural and The Vampire Diaries crossovers. I really loved writing this fic and am eager to write more. 

Story of yours that you’d most like to see turned into a movie/tv show: Oh damn, um, it’d be cool to see any of them like that. But maybe Sweet Cherry Pie or Out of the Fire (my firefighter!Dean series).  

Favorite Tumblr Writer(s): There are so many, but I usually find myself reading work from; @impala-dreamer​, @katehuntington​  @deanwanddamons​, @muchamusedaboutnothing​.  

Favorite Fic from another writer: This one is tough because there are so many amazing fics out there, especially ones that I adddddore; but if forced to choose, one story that will always stick with me would have to be Treacherous by @idkhaylijah​ OR The Sullivan Series by Kate Huntington 

Favorite character to write: Dean Winchester. I adore Dean and he’s probably the easiest for me to write. I have written the most fics with him and I portray him often in the RPs that I do. 

Favorite Pairing to write: Dean with anyone, but my favorite would be Dean x Caroline. 

Least favorite character to write (and why): That’s a tough one, cause there’s not really any that I’m uncomfortable with or dislike writing. Maybe characters with accents, because I don’t really know how to capture that in writing yet? I’m pretty open with my writing and am willing to try mostly anything. 

Do you have anyone you consider a mentor? Oh definitely. When I first started RPing, there was another girl (Jocelyn) that I used to write with and she influenced a lot of my writing. She was older than me and had more experience and gave me a lot of tips on how to get better. She is an amazing writer and had the potential of going far with it, but life happens and unfortunately, she doesn’t write anymore. But she is booming on Youtube, so that’s pretty impressive. It’s pretty cool to see how far she’s come. 

Do you have any aspirations involving your writing? I used to want to be a journalist when I was younger, but other than that, not really. I just want to have fun with it and write something meaningful for someone, and always improve and get better.  

How many work-in-progress stories do you have: I have a few ideas jotted down, maybe ten, but I haven’t actually started any of them. I have so many bingo cards I need to finish, but with my work schedule, it’s been pretty crazy. 

What are you currently working on? My main project is Out of the Fire.

“Pond Diving” - All About The Writing

What/who has had the biggest influence on your writing? Definitely the RPing that I’ve done and am currently doing. My friend Alesha has been the longest RP partner that I’ve had and her writing is phenomenal - and it helps a lot too when your mind's work in similar ways; her and I always seem to be on the same wavelength when it comes to writing. I love it. But like me, she has a very busy schedule and writing is limited. 

Best writing advice you've been given: Have fun with it, write what you want to write and always be open to helpful criticism. And don’t stress about it, either. Write in your own time. It’s meant to be fun, not stressful. 

Biggest obstacle you’ve faced in your writing: Just finding the time to write and getting over being so self conscious about my writing. I don’t let anyone in my real life read what I write.  

What aspects of writing do you find difficult when you write fanfiction? Just capturing the personalities of the canon characters sometimes; if it’s a character I’m not used to writing, I worry about portraying them the right way. And I have trouble individualizing the characters (separating them from myself/my own personality), like when I create an OC for an RP, sometimes when I have too many, their personalities all become the same in ways (if that makes sense?). And accents. I have trouble with accents. Oh, and fight/action scenes. They take me a bit.  

Is there anything you want to write but are afraid to (and why): I am always going to be afraid, no matter what it is that I’m writing, because I worry about it succeeding. I want to write for other fandoms though, I guess, but like I said, I worry about capturing the characters right and having a decent storyline that is unique. 

What inspires/motivates you to write: Honestly, positive feedback. I love hearing what people think about my writing and it motivates me to continue. 

How do you deal with self-doubt: That’s a tough one. I guess I just look towards my writing friends or beta’s for reassurance or I go back and read the positive comments and likes on the fics I’ve already shared. It encourages me to continue. 

How do you deal with writer's block: I usually listen to music and I’ll look up gifs of my favorite characters, create stories in my head with those gifs or I’ll create gif sets of specific scenes. If that doesn’t work, I’ll take a break and watch one of my favorite TV shows for inspiration. 

Do you plan/outline your story before you start: For my RPs, I have a group chat with those I’m writing with and we usually shoot ideas back and forth, but mostly we wing it. For my fics, I normally just wing it, but with Out of the Fire, I have a rough idea of what I want from each part. With that said, my ideas or plans often change as I’m writing. These characters have a mind of their own sometimes. Lol.  

Do you have any weird writing habits: I don’t know about any weird habits, but I always have music on and I guess I have to do it in spurts. I’ll write a few paragraphs or sentences, pause and scroll tumblr or facebook or gifs, and then go back, reread what I wrote and then write a few more. Rise and repeat. 

Have you ever received hateful comments on your fic and how do you deal with it? So far, no I haven’t, and I hope I don’t ever have to deal with that. But I know it’s bound to happen. I guess if I were to ever encounter that, I’d like to say that I’ll take it as a learning experience but I honestly don’t know I’d feel about that.  

Conversely: what’s been some of your favorite feedback on your fanfic? Oh man, I guess my favorite would have to be ellewritesfix05 reaction to the secret santa fic I wrote for her; Dean Fucking Winchester. And all the positive feedback I’ve gotten for Out of the Fire.

If you could give one piece of advice to a new and/or struggling writer, what would it be? Have fun with it. Write what you want and what you’re comfortable with. Don’t be afraid of constructive criticism and most importantly, don’t stress. Writing is fun.

[aboutlouishofmann]

White Lies Magazine Interview with Louis Hofmann

How long are you in England for? I'm currently staying for six weeks, but I've already been here for five and a half so I'm only here for a couple more days before heading back to Germany for rehearsals for my next film.

Really, or did they kick you out because of Brexit ? 

No they didn't (laughs) - and luckily there are no real changes until December so I can get in and out without a problem. I'm not exactly sure what will change for Germans anyway, if there are new regulations or if it will be the same in terms of travelling. It's gonna be really crappy for basically everyone leaving the UK - if you consider that someone who has a band for example and plays a tour around Europe will need to pay or be passport-controlled with their equipment every time they cross borders. It might not matter for a big band like Coldplay but small bands will have a lot of trouble with that.

Actually Coldplay has suspended their tours until they can find a way to make them sustainable.

I know and I think that is amazing! 

How are you with environmentalism, are you active? 

I wish I was more active to be honest, because I have a platform on Instagram which I could use a bit more - I'm just always quite scared when it comes to posting because I know that so many people then talk about it and judge me for what I have posted. l don't have an issue with taking a political side on an I think fairly easy topic to take sides on when it comes to the environment. But then again it's this general thing of posting something and l know 400.000 people will look at it or make up their mind about it - have an opinion and voice it. It's just something that scares me, so that is holding me back a bit but I'm trying a bit more. 

Understood. But isn't it the same with doing a movie or starring in a TV series, you put it out there and everyone is going to judge you ? Even more people than just your followers as a matter of fact.

Of course. But that's my job. That's what I love to do, that's what I've chosen to do. I have not chosen to be someone who is followed by 400.000 people on Instagram, that sort of just happened. 

It's a side effect. 

It is and I am grateful for it but it also scares me (laughs). 

That makes sense. But do you even realise how famous you are? I remember I walked into someone's house in Korea last year and they were watching "Dark" that very moment, all fans of yours. 

I don't think I get it. No, I don't quite get it. When I talk to casting directors about my value on the English language market they will eventually tell me that it's not as profound as they want it to be to play a main role in an English language feature film. You have to separate between being known from something and being so known for quality that you have international value - having sort of a critical acclaim and value in different countries. I don't think I'm there yet and would only consider myself famous, which is already weird to discuss and acknowledge out loud. For now, to be fair, I'm just the guy from "Dark". 

It did reach a bit of an iconic status though, also your character. Everyone is going to remember you for that yellow raincoat.

I hope they won't only remember me for only that (laughs). 

Do you wear a yellow raincoat in private ?

No, there is no opportunity for me anymore to wear a yellow raincoat. It's not possible. But let's get back once more to environmentalism. One thing is stating your opinion on social media but the other thing is when it comes to acting myself, to change my daily life to help the environment. I would say I'm quite conscious about it and avoid flying and consuming local produce. Focus on quality and try to not waste products. 

Who is inspiring you?

Leonardo Dicaprio for example. But I don't know if he necessarily acts himself that way, but he does something about speaking out about it - using his figure and position as an activist to talk about it. I quite like that.

He is doing one thing I could personally not do however. Speaking out for something and then doing the opposite in his private life. And that judgement is what I'm afraid of. I'm afraid of getting perceived as a hypocrite. But then again being perceived as that in terms of climate change doesn't really help because it needs to be spoken about and maybe you do not do as much as you talk about it. But at least you raise awareness and take even just a small part.

I absolutely agree. I think we need to re-think that whole concept of hypocrisy in this thing because if he reaches a couple of million people and they are changing something about it - even if he is doing the opposite - he is still doing a lot of good with it. Even though he is a hypocrite I think we need to redefine what it means - at the end of the day we will all be hypocrites because no one is really going to be able to live completely sustainably, we can't think in those absolute terms too much. Everyone needs to start with one thing - picking their battles. Focus on plastic for example, we may get better at disposing of it while still being bad in terms of traveling for example, but that is okay, we can only do one thing at a time. 

Don't you think it's crazy that in relation to something like the coronavirus pandemic, pressing and tangible as it affects us now - everybody is afraid, everyone acts, the government acts and everyone is doing their part. Then there is climate change which is more intangible because it's still far away and people don't really care about it - I think this is a problem. Why only act about something that only affects yourself? It's quite selfish and stands for a lot more than only this. 

That's it. We went really deep pretty quick didn't we? The most pressing question however is - how often do you cry watching movies ? 

I do like to cry when I watch films, because I think I'm quite empathetic so I can relate to the characters a lot. I don't often do it but I really do not mind - it means I'm involved in the story. I like crying in movies. Therefore I know it has touched me somehow.

I have a weird relationship to crying in movies, I like doing it but there is a certain place where I cry much more easily - on planes. It's quite strange actually but I get very emotional when I'm up in the air.

That's good, I guess? Have you seen the film "Click"? It's not the greatest film out there, it's with Adam Sandler. But there is a scene in the end where he (spoiler alert) dies. There is a remote with which he can forward his life and he fasts forward to the moment when he dies. It's very dramatic, tragic - almost pathetic and still I started crying because I imagined that happening to me and felt so sad (laughs). 

This is going to be the headline: Louis Hofmann, the guy who cries at Adam Sandler movies.

I can imagine you being the guy who would make a head- line like this. 

Have you ever died in a movie?

[START OF SPOILER]

Yes, I've died in "Alone in Berlin" and also in "Prélude", where my character hangs himself in the end. 

How was that for you?

I was not very attached to myself at that moment. I mean eventually it gets cut out. So the moment I actually die they cut off and it turns black. I still enacted the scenes but it was weird, it was more of a physical thing than an emotional one when I acted it. It's just sometimes with very physical scenes - the dynamic approach and action can be so mentally and intellectually exhausting that there is not much room left for emotional attachment. It didn't feel I was dying myself. It did hurt though, I had the rope around my neck.

[END OF SPOILER]

Good one. Do you believe in fairytales?

No I don't. But I do like "Bojack Horseman" though because it seems so dumb first but turns so philosophical. 

In general, what is happiness to you?

I don't know what it means to me but I know when l feel happy - that's when I'm grounded, when I'm self-assured and when I feel like I'm really being myself. When I reach that state I feel happiness. Sharing that happiness with someone is what's most important. Happiness is truly being yourself.

Very profound answer. How is your work- life balance, are you always working?

I think it's quite okay. The only thing I kind of need to improve is that - when I work I work 100% and I tend to think about the year in little phases. I work then I'm free, then I work then I'm free. And I always only take really care of myself in the times when I have spare time. When I work my health and my hobbies - I just do not look at that. It's all about the work. I want to get somewhere where I can balance those things better.

The thing I really wanted to touch base with you on was the future of movies. We are talking about technology, virtual reality, 3D. Would you like to do some work in 3D?

I would only like to do something in 3D if the new technology elevates the film to another level and makes sense story-wise. I'm not a fan of it only if it looks good. If it helps the story to evolve into something bigger then it's okay. I'm an admirer of that old cinema look, of that really organic taste of a film. I don't know if I would like to act in a VR film. What I don't like about new technologies is that the acting itself and the characters and craft are kind-of left behind. In the foreground it's only the technique, the focus is too much on the visual aspects rather than the screencraft.

I totally understand what you're saying - but if you think about it this way now - people probably said the same thing about colour films in times of black/white films because colours took away the attention from the acting. I think it's about what we are used to. If we say in a couple of years it's normal to consume everything in 3D and VR, do we still think about that?

I mean it surely is incredible what they have achieved and still continue to achieve with 3D and VR. Remarkable how they portray an illusion and tell a story in such a unique and involving way. I'm just always afraid that if you want to tell a character based story with that technique, the characters and the acting will be left behind due to the sheer amount of attention the technical stuff needs from the cast and the team. But of course it's fascinating and intriguing. And since we sort of got used to seeing films in 3D, maybe that's also gonna happen to VR.

How do you think we will consume movies and series in 20 years or how does acting actually change? Looking at "Death Stranding", a video game by Hideo Koji-ma that stars an impressive cast with Mads Mikkelsen, Lea Seydoux and Norman Reedus, to name but a few. They are in this game as actors through 3D scanning. Imagine this fast-forwarded 20 years.

I really hope that traditional acting doesn't die. I don't know - in 30 years I'll probably think differently but right now I think you can not replace something natural with something computer-generated. If the technology evolves, maybe it will be possible.

Anyway, how does it feel like to see yourself in a sex scene?

(laughs) I've always said I separate myself from the character when I watch my films. It's the character who gets naked and has sex, it's not me. It's just when you are around people who you know personally, it might get awkward, for example with my mom. You just have to evaluate if nudity and sex is necessary for the story and the character - if it is, it's not tough to watch.

It's a powerful meditation on how to detach yourself from something, isn't it?

For sure, it doesn't always work though.

[0poole]

Soul

Breaking news, everyone: Pixar made another slapper.

I’m gonna get it out of the way first, but the only (and yes, only. Not like someone trying to say “only” even though they have many more nitpicks that they just don’t want to talk about) problem I had at all was that the super high realism of the settings of Earth kind of made the more cartoony faces of the people look a little more off. But, it’s kinda like the same thing people were talking about with that cat in Toy Story 4. It looks super real, which is impressive, but I feel like it was almost too real compared to the faces. Obviously it was too real compared to the supernatural settings because that was intentional, but yeah. It’s not even a big problem, it’s just the only one I can think of. I do think the realistic renderings of hair, light, water, etc at least work with cartoony stuff, but apart from that it looked almost like it could’ve been a photograph, with no exaggeration in the buildings or anything else.

I mean, I love the faces, so I definitely wish they went the extra mile showing extra personality and character in the buildings, as faces do with characters. Considering the faces matter like a bazillion times more, I still think they knocked it out of the park on the visuals. People with more investment and knowledge into the topic already said that the faces of any of the people of color felt cartoony and unique while also being true to life and respectful (My family recently stumbled onto some old animations from the 30s and lemme tell ya... We’ve come a long way), but seriously the characters that sold me on the visuals were the Picasso-esque beings who may or may not be the Gods of the universe maybe?

Spoiler boundary of course. It’s definitely worth a watch.

And that’s honestly what made the realistic world so much better. When the accountant guy went into the real world to set the count right, it was one of the most fun I’ve had just watching something. The sheer contrast between him and the world was so much fun, and it even solidified that those beings weren’t even acting in a different dimension or anything. They’re literally just beings that exist, meaning that all the other parts with the unborn souls and such are just as real as Earth. Or, even better, they’re the ones who can just casually rip a hole in dimensions. As far as depictions of Gods go, if they are even Gods at all, I think they’re one of the best I’ve ever seen. They feel like they could actually be how Gods actually exist, since all the commonalities of Gods involve supernatural power, which would suggest they’re supernatural themselves. I mean, I have a story with Gods in it too and they’re basically just that although admittedly a lot less imaginative.

With those guys being my favorite design, second place definitely goes to the lost souls, although obviously for more subjective reasons. 1) They’re purple, 2) They have one eye, 3) That eye is yellow which I always think is the best compliment to purple, 4) Tentacles, 5) Creepy in a kid’s movie. Franky, I would’ve made them a lot creepier, but even then they’re super creepy, if not visually then in their behavior. They’d just be kind of sad if they were just mumbling around, but since the first introduction to them starts charging at the main characters like a deranged monster. Considering how weird everything in that dimension is, finding something that isn’t nearly as innocent as everything else instantly invokes fear, since you have no idea what that thing can and wants to do to you. Sort of similar, I would’ve also made the “In the Zone” moments a bit more crazy and colorful, like when Joe fell through the void between the road to the Great Beyond and the You-seminar (is that how it’s spelled?), but these “I would do it differently”s might just be a fault of my design ideas or just subjective interests. I would’ve watched 2 hours of pure, nonsensical abstract worlds like the You-seminar with no explanation to how they work.

I definitely have a relief with the story, mostly entirely revolving around 22′s character. I was kind of worried she’d be too childish to really enjoy, but I feel like she was done really well. All the major historical figures’ remarks on how hopeless she were both funny and also really tied into her character “flaw” at the end as she was a lost soul. It might not be the most unique character archetype of all time, but it definitely makes sense, with all the people bringing her down implanting in her mind that she was an anomaly, and after a while was just sort of following it. Plus, she seemed genuinely interested in Joe’s weirdness, instead of being super mindlessly irreverent. And her being able to expand Joe’s understanding about his own world, like with the barber and his student, brings her up as more than a whiny, bratty child in the scope of the story. She didn’t JUST learn.

Even though I kind of expected it from the get-go, I’m also relieved that the movie didn’t shy away as much with the dark elements of death. It was kind of suggested that this wasn’t going to be a perfectly casual romp through a magical afterlife like Inside Out was with the mind because of the unborn souls unabashedly saying “Hell” in the TRAILER of the movie. I feel like that alone made the story super interesting, because it shows they’re actually going to be a bit more serious with things instead of just simplifying the unknowable complexities of the before & afterlife. Even with the dead souls going into the Great Beyond, it was a mix of being weirdly peaceful for some and super scary for others. My family thought it was peaceful for the most part, but my mom specifically though it was terrifying, and even though it’s a lot more peaceful than almost all other depictions of death, I can’t blame her. The souls were just kinda accepting it, like they’d been brainwashed or something, but still acknowledged that they were dead and were going into the afterlife. Plus, Joe, being the main character who we are supposed to sort of reflect in a way, was super freaked out by it, so that could easily suggest it’s to be afraid of and the other people are the weird ones.

I think the true message of the story being so strange was better too, because it would’ve been so boring if it fell into a super basic message we’ve heard millions of times. I feel like it has a similar sentiment to the basic messages, but is at least a more interesting way of saying it, if it is even like that in the first place, because it’s also somewhat vague in a good way. I think my brother/mother misinterpreted and simplified things a bit too much, where they thought it was sort of like a happier way of saying “accept your lot in life and don’t change it.” I could probably go on a full other rant about why I think this is wrong, but part of it is I don’t really know how they came to this conclusion in the first place, considering with that scene with that guy who threw the computers off his desk as his lost soul was cured (I guess you could call it that?), who obviously realized he wasn’t okay with his lot in life and was destined to change it. I think they sort of misinterpreted “the spark” and other things it as a 100% for-real, this-is-how-the-real-world-works sort of way, and not as much as a fictional way of saying things. Not necessarily symbolic, but I guess symbolic also? It has some of the same weird logical problems as the Cutie Marks from My Little Pony, except they’re obviously better since Cutie Marks determine your life down to your very job some of the time, while “sparks” are more vague and seemingly up to you. They’re more like when an unborn soul realizes there’s something on Earth they want to figure out, not necessarily their hobbies or jobs. For example, they kind of cited the barber character as the one who supported their point, but I think he does the complete opposite. He wanted to be a vet, but he ended up being a barber. But, they sort of assumed his “spark” was to be a barber, and that his personal interests didn’t matter because the “spark” forced him into a less favorable job. But, in reality, I feel like his “spark” is more his interest in love for the people around him, which is why he decided to get a more practical job to support his daughter (wife? one of the two) when he really needed to. Plus, he still enjoys being a barber because his devotion to love lets him connect to people as he cuts their hair. After all, he seems to be succeeding in his goal, since Joe was just like “Hey, let’s go see this guy he’s the exact guy we need!” People who don’t show love and interest for others don’t make that kind of impression in people’s minds. I feel like if we knew each story of everyone’s life down to the last detail we could fully determine what the mechanics of the world and its people are meant to say from a fictional context, but with such a limited selection I don’t think you can say something so sure. Sure, every choice in a movie is made specifically for a purpose, but I feel like if a movie tries to hard to be like “Oh but don’t worry here’s an exception” a million times it gets bogged down by its own attempt to make the message as obvious as possible.

Anyway...

There are also a lot of neat little details I loved, like how even though they did this for basically no other point in the movie, they made sure to include people from all around the world in that mess of dead souls, firmly sort of putting in the idea that the entire globe is in a sense one single entity that leads to the same place. They could’ve so easily just made everyone speak English for that throwaway scene, but I feel like including people from all around the world was very beneficial. Even the EXTRA little things, like the path to the Great Beyond looking like the neck portion of a guitar with the metal bits that separate the notes, or the facial features of the Gods blurring when they turned their heads in the other direction.

But yeah, who would’ve guessed Pixar made another good movie, right? Even then, Soul’s in the upper echelon of Pixar films. I really hope they (and Disney) realize they can go bonkers with a movie and still benefit/survive from it, since they’re so damn rich and inherently profitable. I think AAA animated movies like this that are the perfect amount of artsy are few and far between, and we need more of them. If anything, I hope they get more artsy, but I guess I’ll still never say no to a fun fantastical romp either. Basically, Pixar has looped me into watching any and everything they produce because it’s never “bad” I think. In the grand scheme of quality, even their worst work (Cars 2) is still not “terrible,” per se, even if it feels like it exists more as a cash grab than a genuine tale.

[drawbauchery]

The Second Session

fic by cartoons-tothemoon

“So, let’s review, last session, we broke you down to many of your core traits and neuroses.”

“Thanks for reminding me, it’s not like I have the capacity to remember last week.” Skipper muttered.

“Well, now we’re here to build you back up, and work from that onwards.” Hans said. He had his hands folded plainly in his lap, and he’d changed the lighting in the office. Skipper hated it. He hated having to sit across from a smug as shit Hans as he waited calmly and quietly for Skipper to begin talking, with that terrible, blinding light that gave off a strangely clinical feel that makes him more uneasy than anything else. He wonders if Hans would let him sleep for the hour he was meant to spend here. Sure, he’d be paying $35 for a nap, which was crazy in of itself, but he knows from experience that sometimes all you need is a good nap to be a functioning person again.

“I’m not in the position to really diagnose you with anything, and even if I was, I’d still need more time to get to know your mind before I could really prescribe anything for your current conditions.”

“Conditions?”

“Plural. Like children trying to sneak into a cineplex in a trench coat, what was once one turned out to be two or more disorders standing on top of one another’s shoulders. Bouts of aggression and insomnia tied to intense paranoia, a complex that comes from being a leader, and a fear of depending on others. Abandonment issues, repression-“

Skipper waved his hands in a forceful sort of wave, “yes, thank you. Just tell me what to do about it already.”

“What?”

“Just fix me already.” Skipper seemed frustrated. “You’re the one who thinks I’m broken in the first place, the only reason I’m here in the first place is to prevent any future surprise tea parties.”

Hans sighed. They were barely even 5 minutes in, and Hans just knew he was going to be spending the rest of the session constructing arguments for statements Skipper constructed in seconds.

“If this was only to prevent any more…surprise visits from moi, then I would’ve been fine with just the first session. And I think you know that.”

He did. He did know that. Hans suggested the idea of a second session, and so did Skipper, in the way that you do when you’re bonding with people you have a rather hostile history with. No commitment was really stated, which left the ball in Skipper’s court, but what was he supposed to do after that thorough deconstruction, let it simmer in his soul for the rest of his known life?

He couldn’t even let it simmer for a whole week at this point, after all, he was already considering asking RICO of all people if he was too arrogant a leader and intentionally pushing people away.

RICO.

It made sense at the time, Kowalski would question where he was learning such jargon and be able to draw conclusions based on his recent absence, and Private would do nothing but validate him. Because he was just that nice, he supposed.

“Second, it’s not about being “broken” or “fixed” or what have you, the fact of the matter is that you have the most high-stress job in your already high-stress career. As much as I enjoyed our battles in the fish markets of Denmark, it’s not like the experience hasn’t done something to me, or you for that matter.”

Hans sighed, he was already just so exhausted by this…session. He’d even revealed that he too shared in mental health struggles if Skipper was willing to pick up the scraps left behind for him. Skipper looked a little surprised, sure, but fell back into an understood complacency sooner than later.

Was this the closest they were ever going to get to a true understanding of the other?

He supposed he’d have to take it.

“And lastly, I can’t tell you how to “fix” yourself. I’m a therapist, not a life coach. I’m not here to give advice, I’m here to examine your trauma, and give you a better perspective on how to move forward. However, I can’t take those steps for you. You kinda have to figure out a lot of those things on your own.”

Skipper looked positively moody about this, but less in a spoiled, petulant five-year-old sort of way, and more…accepting of it. He looked tired, and less because it was barely just a quarter past 1. It was an abstract tiredness, one not born of resting or restlessness, but a thing all its own.

Skipper sighed. “Then what am I supposed to do?”

“This is a timely process for a reason, Skipper. Many people can spend years in therapy trying to handle these exact issues.”

“I didn’t realize this was a life sentence in the making.” Skipper muttered.

God, this was already such a process. Hans could tell that Skipper couldn’t stand the vagueness of this all. He was an action guy, he wanted an easy solution of doing task A to accomplish thing B, and achieve reward C, and go on with his life.

No, not even an easy solution. A clear solution. Skipper was a problem solver. All of this was already so abstract, and he didn’t even know if he was so vehemently against this whole process just because it was him, or just because it was therapy at all. He even had a client who after a bad experience with a therapist in middle school decided to turn her sessions into stand-up, just because she was already so familiar and so bored with the process.

Maybe that’s what he needed to channel. Therapy in of itself was at the best of times uncomfortable and at the worst of times boring. He was already dealing with a high energy, high stress client, who was uncomfortable as all hell with being there. If he put him back into a comfortable situation, he may or may not get something out of him, and if he doesn’t, at the very least make him more comfortable with spending time with him at all, off the clock, at least.

“What do you like to do, Skipper? In your free-time?”

Skipper eyed him suspiciously. “Uh, why?”

“I’m trying something. Trust me here.”

That could’ve been phrased SO much better, from nemesis to nemesis, but Skipper seemed willing in the moment to run with that trust. “I like working on my combat capabilities, driving around, sometimes I watch TV and movies, I help Private bake when he feels like it, I nap, I gamble…”

Skipper seemed to be drawing a blank for whatever reason. Surely, he had things he did in his free time, right? It wasn’t like he was ALWAYS on the clock, he just never really thought of certain periods of time as…free. What even counted as free-time anyhow? Was it just time that wasn’t spent doing other things? Under that definition, no time was free.

“Can I say this to you as both a friend, an enemy, and somebody who’s known you for quite a few years at this point?”

Skipper nodded hesitantly.

“Jesus Christ, you need some hobbies.” Hans stated, matter of factly. “Working on your “combat capabilities,” as you put it, seems to be a literal constant considering your job as…however your job is defined, so it’s less play and more work than anything else. You mentioned helping Private bake “when he feels like it,” and I wouldn’t exactly call napping a hobby, or gambling a healthy one.”

Skipper shrugged. It’s not like “Stomp the Wombat” ever left the confines of the lair, anyhow.

“It just feels like you don’t have a lot of things you do just for yourself, you know? Driving around and watching TV are the only hobbies that feel wholly your own, something you don’t do for work or for others. Keep in mind that you can keep doing these things you enjoy, but perhaps you should find other things for yourself. Like an instrument, or a cooking class.”

“I told the boys that I joined a bowling league just to be here.”

“And did that seem believable enough for you to do to be here?”

His silence told Hans everything, but not the literal everything of Skipper “going to bed” at 8 just to climb through his window at 12:30, shimmy down the fire escape, and walk to Hans’s office.

But he probably could tell anyhow.

Of course, this kind of put a blight on Hans’s plans to make Skipper more comfortable while being here, and as he told him such, Skipper proceeded to lay down on the couch. Hans couldn’t tell the exact reason for the action, but it did seem to be a point of exasperation for him.

“Well, damn, sorry I “foiled your plot” to make myself comfortable in the den of the beast.”

“Skipper, you insult me. You really think I’d decorate my den with wooden sailboats? Absolutely criminal.”

“You seem to forget that.” He muttered. Hans ignored it.

“Although the hobby talk didn’t exactly lead where I thought it could…It did lead me elsewhere.”

“Goddamn it.”

“What skill have you always wanted to learn? What’s something that you’ve wanted to try for just, so long, and never got the chance to?”

Skipper began to pick at his lip. This whole talk already made him nervous, but now what was he supposed to say? That he figured he’d be in the back of a truck with is hand hanging out the taillight since he was 14, for whatever reason, so he didn’t even bother considering his top 3 colleges, let alone any future ambitions?

Still, if he was quiet for too long, either Hans would judge him, or he’d render his lips a bloody mess, and that’d be a whole different thing to deal with.

“…Archery sounds fun.” He said. Hans nodded.

“That’s interesting. It’s closely related to your pre-established interests but it’s closer to a sport now than something to be used in an actual combat situation, which sort of allows it to be separated from your work.”

Skipper nodded as well, allowing Hans to believe that that was his thought process from the start, and more of just curious to see if he could shoot a flame off a candle like Annie Oakley.

“You mentioned you liked baking with Private. Do you like the idea of baking itself, or just doing it with another person?”

“Food is meant to be shared?” Skipper seemed to be asking, but also stated in a very definitive way. “It’s a process. It’d be weird not to help in the process.”

Hans pulled his hand away from Skipper’s mouth, where a few small cuts were beginning to form. “If you’d like to have a session where we did a low-stress activity you wanted to do, and we talked while doing so, I think it’d put you in the best conductive environment possible to actually combat the problems that seem so visible to me. This was a good first development, though. I just don’t know if I can expect on accidental issues to identify and attack every time.”

Hans sighed and got up from his chair to stare out the window. Skipper didn’t know why he did this, outside of being a dramatic bitch, but it got him to look anyhow.

“It’s so incidental, many people struggle with balancing work and life as is, but this could easily be one of the main causes of your paranoia, as well as causing a level of detachment and depersonalization, which relates to how you relate to others.”

And well, damn. What was Skipper supposed to say to that?

“Our time’s almost up.” Hans said, checking his watch. Skipper was coming to realize how strange time in therapy was. It simultaneously felt like hours and seconds passing all at once. Perhaps it was because there were no clocks, like a casino. Or maybe it was because going to therapy at 1 in the morning didn’t exactly give you a sun to follow in terms of time. Hans handed Skipper a weird sort of rack with string on it, along with some tissues.

“It’s a loom. Fidget with something that won’t bleed for the next five minutes, if you would.”

Skipper glared at him for the snide comment, but Skipper didn’t exactly put it back where Hans had stored it originally. Picking at the strings inanely didn’t feel as satisfying as his usual fidgets, but it would work until he lost focus and the skin had time to heal.

“I’m giving you three assignments until our next session.” Skipper would’ve originally rolled his eyes at the idea of homework, but there was something that felt already strange about this session. Last session, he was so thoroughly antagonized and owned in such a way that his entire psychological history had been exposed, but this made last session feel like…a misstep. It was almost like Hans was trying to give the rug back to Skipper after it had already been so unceremoniously swept away from him.

He seemed as unsure about this as he was, he even confided about the state of his own mental health, something he probably wasn’t supposed to do. Which, honestly, made Skipper feel better about the whole thing. He didn’t like being guided, and as much as he detested having to do this whole thing with Hans in particular, the idea of having to figure out a stranger at the same time they were trying to figure out him sounded like a nightmare. More than this already was.

The whole session felt off, sure, but it wasn’t as off as it could’ve been, and he knows it could only be worse.

“I want you to begin researching archery, if you really want to pursue it as a hobby, you should try to learn what you can about it before jumping in and figuring out it isn’t what you thought it was.”

“I want you to pay a compliment to each of your team members in a casual way, this’ll strengthen your bonds with them, in a way that allows you to affirm that you appreciate them, as much as they appreciate you.”

Okay, that sounded like hippie nonsense, but who was he to judge at this point.

“And finally, I want you to pick out a recipe to prepare during our next session.”

“Wait, what?”

“A recipe. Something that’ll take less than an hour. I have a friend who’d give me access to their kitchen in the middle of the night, so we’ll be on neutral ground, and I’m sure it’ll be more believable to your “boys” that if you really are doing something in the middle of the night, that you have physical proof of it. Considering how weirdly secretive you are already, the idea you covered up secret cooking lessons with a bowling league doesn’t sound too far-fetched.” Hans was muttering at this point. All these things answered questions he figured he’d have, but nothing that helped with where he was NOW.

“I know it’s a weird idea, but the clients who have had the chance to do different, vaguely active things during our sessions tend to be more open and honest with me about things that they’re worried about, things that they struggle with, and they can make for more engaging sessions where you actually take in what I’m telling you, and makes it less of a lecture.” Hans sighed. “If you hate it, we never have to try anything like that again, but, I do really want you to give it a try. This is a two-way street, I can only give as much as I myself get. I just got lucky this week.”

Skipper stopped strumming the loom.

“Text me the address.” He said, and Hans would have burst with joy if such a thing was appropriate in present company, until he realized.

“I…don’t have your number?”

“Oh, no, session’s over! Wow, how did the time fly? Guess you’ll just have to figure that out for yourself, what a swell talk we had, doc,” Skipper yelled as he headed out the door.

“Pay at the front desk!” Hans yelled back before relaxing into his chair. Skipper was never going to be an easy client to deal with. Maybe he wouldn’t ALWAYS dance around the issues at hand, but he was never going to REALLY come clean about it. There may be things they never talk about, the same way Hans did.

And that was fine. Maybe it made what little he did learn all the more rewarding. Maybe it made what little he learned all the more meaningless if Skipper ever reached a point of complete and utter honesty with him, a fantasy he knew would never see come to light.

But who was to say, really?

It was all a matter of time.

After all, this was only the second session.

(Ahh! I can’t believe I didn’t post another fic for a whole! Month! I think it’s just because I didn’t really know what to do for the second session, and I think you can kinda tell, considering it’s not like Hans knows what to do either. Do you guys really want a whole fic series about Skipper going to therapy? I have no idea. It’s pretty fun, though. I don’t know how Hans became a therapist, either, but I guess that’s just what the dude does now. By the way, the client who turned her therapy sessions into stand-up comedy? That was just me in high school with my mandated therapist. I once gave a funeral to a squeaky toy I broke in the middle of the session. It was simultaneously so sad and so funny at the exact same time.

This fic will be up on my ao3, https://archiveofourown.org/users/tadstrangerthings, as soon as @drawbauchery posts it!)

[logical-little-lies]

{Chapter Three- Not A Baby}//Soft, Cute, and Far Smarter Than You (Sanders Sides Agere/CGLRE)

A/N: Before we begin with this chapter, I want to show some art that @english-chips made for this fic! The first one is inspired by the last chapter, logan the science kid!

And this next one is based off of Teenspace!Logan (which is officially introduced in this chapter). Don't ask about the braces, that gets tied into the story later.

Anyways, enjoy the chapter!! feel free to leave comments/send asks (Wattpad/Tumblr) with any questions you have or your reactions+thoughts on the chapter/story in general! I also wanted to credit the people from my discord server for a lot of the ideas used throughout this fic, so I will probably be repeating this a lot bc they’re creative and help me a lot when it comes to this story!

--

"I mean, I personally only really go to baby and toddler ages. From less than one to five. But you're still figuring your range out, right?" Virgil was talking to Logan as they washed the dishes. Virgil and Logan were getting into the habit of mentioning age regression related things in normal conversations, so they could normalize it even when they weren't in the headspace.

"I guess so. There's sometimes where I don't feel little, but I'm not exactly an adult either? I don't know how to explain it." Logan was honest with him, taking the plate he handed to him and putting it into the dishwasher.

"Maybe you're a middle?" Virgil suggested.

"Middle?" Logan repeated him, a confused tone laced in his voice.

"A middle is someone who regresses to pre-teen and teenage ages. It's still regression by definition as long as it's younger then your bio age," Virgil explained, rinsing out a bowl before handing it to him.

"I didn't know that was a thing. I sorta thought age regression was just baby, toddler, and young kid. I never really considered the fact that people might regress to an older age then that..." he trailed off.

"I don't know a ton about middles, or middlespace, but I know that some just find comfort in acting younger. That doesn't always mean a cute baby voice and stuffed animals, that can mean video games and they're old favorite books. Whatever makes you most comfortable." Virgil shrugged, using a sponge to scrub at a plate.

"That's kinda cool, actually. Um...anyways, what did you do today?" Logan changed the subject, keeping the term in mind. The idea that he could regress, but just to teenage years, made sense to him. He felt as if he might've been in that headspace before.

He'd want someone to look after him, but only to a certain extent. He'd be moody and get frustrated easier, he would want to indulge in old dorky hobbies, like video games or reading comic books. When he got like that, he told himself he was just being immature, and that he wasn't little, because it wasn't the same feeling. But now, knowing that regressing to teenage ages was a thing, he'd have to rethink things and maybe let himself indulge in this new feeling.

Not bad, just different.

--

"Good morning, Logan!" Patton knocked on Logan's door, waiting to hear a reply before opening it.

"Morning, come in." he remarked simply, seemingly distracted by something.

"Virgil isn't little right now, but as always, I just wanted to check up on you to check if you were." Patton closed the door behind him, coming over to Logan's bed and sitting down.

"I'm not little," he replied quickly, flipping a page in whatever he was reading. Upon closer inspection, it was a comic book. When Logan saw Patton looking at it, he shut it and pulled it closer to him. "Can you get out of my room? I'm busy." he said, speaking in a very annoyed tone.

Patton looked shocked, and a bit hurt. "Oh, I'm sorry. Yeah, I'll leave. Um, breakfast will be ready soon, let me know if you need anything..." he got up, going to leave when Logan spoke.

"Sorry for being rude, or whatever. I didn't mean to make you sad." he promised, speaking softer and in an apologetic way.

"It's alright, Logan. Are you feeling okay?"

"Why wouldn't I be, I'm fine?" he questioned.

"You're acting a bit..different? It's not bad!" Patton defended quickly before explaining himself, seeing Logan's skeptical look, "You're just...acting younger? But not quite little, y'know?" he tried to explain what he was thinking, but it was difficult.

"Patton! Come help me do this!" Roman called Patton from the kitchen before Logan go the chance to respond. Maybe Logan should've told his carer that he had a teenspace before going into it. Right after he heard about it from Virgil, connecting the dots was easy. So letting himself do what he wanted, and act slightly 'immature' was easier, because he knew it wasn't some weird thing. It was just a part of his personal regression.

But just because he accepted it himself, didn't quite mean that he wanted to explain it to his caregiver. Once Patton was gone, he made a motion with his hand and the door slammed shut.

You'd think he wouldn't break his own rule, but a lot of things you wouldn't expect were happening recently. Logan made a rule for the core sides, avoid using powers (both summoning and physical) because apparently it made them more "realistic". He had claimed that if they lived a life that was closer to an actual persons, in a mind palace designed to mimic the real world, they'd understand Thomas's problems and emotions more.

Roman hated those rules, and the fact that creating the realistic town and staying there sort of made it so that he couldn't escape to the mindscape for fantasy adventures. Logan even went so far as to make it so they got a limited allowance each week, as pay for doing your job for Thomas. Big Logan managed this whole system, but he said that if they just continued to be able to buy things without limited money, there was no point in trying to live more like people.

He groaned, shutting the comic book and abandoning it on his bed. He went over to his closet, looking inside of it for something to wear. Some things were to adult, and some things were to childish. He didn't have anything for in between, and that was frustrating. He almost considered summoning something for himself, when he was actually fourteen, they still lived in their separate rooms and just summoned things they wanted or needed.

He knew that he shouldn't, if he starts breaking his own rules regularly, then everyone else will and it'll be chaos. He looked through the part of his closet that had pajama shirts. Most of these were random t-shirts with graphic designs that adult Logan would never wear in front of the others (without the excuse of "it's an old shirt that I kept for sleeping."). He found a dark gray shirt that said "Game On", with a white game controller on it. He deemed it acceptable and he tossed it over to his bed, looking for jeans to go with it.

"Aha!" he cheered when he finally found simple dark blue jeans, taking the outfit and disappearing into his bathroom.

--

"You said that he's acting weird? Is he small and trying to hide it?" Roman suggested, passing Patton a plate to set on the table. Virgil was serving the food, dividing it between their plates.

"No, I don't think so? He said he wasn't little, but he just seemed really annoyed and...I don't know." Patton seemed confused, taking the cluttery Roman handed him and going around the table, setting it down. Patton was the one who suggested that they start eating breakfast, along with other meals together when possible. It was common that someone would skip out on famILY meals, but that didn't meal he wouldn't put the effort in  to made the meals for everyone.

"You think he's just stressed and he needs to regress?" Virgil spoke up, setting a bottle of syrup on the table.

"I don't think he was stressed, just annoyed."

No one got the chance to reply because Logan came down the stairs, clad in a dorky t-shirt, dark blue jeans, and a beanie. Virgil seemed to have a realization upon seeing him.

"Hello?" he broke the silence after a few seconds, "Why is everyone staring at me?"

"Oh, um..." Patton spoke first, trying to come up with an excuse.

"Did I walk in on you guys talking about me?" he immediately questioned with suspicion.

"pshh! No, surely not!" Roman lied, Logan giving him a look.

"Hey, Logan? How old are you, like mentally, right now?" Virgil asked hesitantly, Patton seeming confused.

"He already said that he wasn't little?" he restated, looking over at Logan, who blushed a bit.

"I never said that I wasn't regressed at all..." he trailed off, stratching the back of his head awkwardly before looking at Virgil. "And um, fourteen." he replied quickly, shuffling over to the table and taking a seat.

"Oh! Why didn't you tell me that when I asked you if you were little?" Patton asked, taking his seat next to Logan.

"Because I'm not little. Little is like, baby and toddler, y'know? I'm just...not an adult for now." he explained, not looking at his caregiver much.

"Oh...I didn't even know your range went that far, sweetheart." Patton seemed to be processing this, lightly grabbing his fork as Roman and Virgil took their seats.

"Sorry I didn't tell you, Dad." he apologized quickly, starting to eat his food.

Patton smiled, both from the fact that Logan called him "dad" while he wasn't six years old, and as a source of comfort. "It's alright, Lo." he assured. Logan gave him a little awkward smile, going back to eating.

"So...what is everyone planning on doing today? I'll probably work on brainstorming for Thomas's next project." Roman tried to start a conversation.

"I'll probably just chill, I finished the work I had to do yesterday." Virgil replied, looking to Patton and Logan to talk next.

"I might play video games, or watch something. I don't know," Logan shrugged a bit.

"Have you ever really been in teenspace before? Do you know what you want to do?" Patton asked in curiosity.

"I..um," he paused, thinking. "I kinda have been before, but I thought it was weird so I pushed it down..."

"Regressing to teenage ages is not weird, at all! I actually think it's fitting for you, because you can regress without having to be babyish, which is what you're most shy about when you do go little!" Patton immediately defended, Logan holding back a small smile.

"I knowwww, but I thought this was just me being immature. Not like, a part of my regression. It feels different then when I'm a toddler or a kid." he explained, seeming like he didn't want to be talking about this. He'd felt like a teenager, and addressing the fact that he was simply just thinking like one made him second guess him choice to allow himself to go into that headspace.

"Okay, okay. Would you like me to spend the day with you, sweetheart?" Patton offered. Logan quickly shook his head in rejection.

"Nope, I'm good. Actually, I'm gonna head back to my room now." he scooted his chair back, standing up before pushing it in.

"Bye, Logan!" Roman called after him. Logan didn't respond, but you could hear his door shut from upstairs. Patton simply pushed his plate forwards, putting his head down on the table in his arms.

"You good there, padre?" Roman questioned.

"I'm fine, kiddo." he replied weakly.

--

"Hey, kiddo! I just wanted to check on you," Patton knocked on Logan's door, opening it after a few moments. Logan wasn't on his bed, so he shut the door and found the boy at his desk. There was sort of a dip in the wall where his desk inserted, perfectly fitting. There was white shelving above the desk, with mostly books on it. Under the desk, there was a portable dresser with black and gray drawers.

He was watching youtube on his laptop, leaning back in his office chair with headphones on. Patton realized Logan didn't hear him, tapping on his shoulder. Logan flinched, quickly pulling his headphones off. "Helloooo? What's up?" he questioned, reaching forward and pausing his video.

"I just wanted to check on you, that's all." Patton replied, coming closer to him and standing behind his chair.

"Well, I'm fine. Just watching youtube," he shrugged, motioning to his screen.

Patton read over the channel name, along with the video title. "Markiplier, who's that?" he asked.

"Just a youtuber, dad. Do you need something?" Logan reached forward, shutting his laptop and looking up at Patton.

"Not really. I just wanted to know what you've been up too,baby."

"I'm not a baby." Logan replied simply, sounding a little annoyed.

"But you're my baby," Patton teasingly. Logan's face went pink, and he gave a mostly-playful glare. Patton was glad he was getting him to be playful to some extent, because so far it felt like Logan just wanted to isolate himself while in this headspace.

If he was going to be Logan's caregiver, he wanted to know at least a little bit about how Logan acts in each part of his headspace, so he knows how best to care for him. But it currently seemed like Logan didn't want any care.

"No, I'm a teenager. Not a babyyy," he whined, not in a baby voice, but in a 'dad you're embarrassing me please stop' type of voice.

"Yeah, yeah, okay. I'll stop teasing you." Patton smiled at him. Logan crossed his arms, but both of them knew he wasn't actually upset.

"Are you sure you don't want to go watch a movie in the living room or something? You said you might play video games, I know you can't do much on your laptop." Patton was silently pleading to spend some time with him, but Logan shook his head.

"I think I'll stick with Markiplier vids. But I'll see you at dinner!" he reminded, which did cheer Patton up a bit. Patton nodded.

"Alright, Littl-" Logan gave him a look, "Not little. Uh, bye Logan!" he corrected somewhat awkwardly, leaning down to kiss Logan's forehead quickly before leaving. Logan rolled his eyes, slowly opening his computer back up. He pressed the space bar button, and readjusted his headphones on his ears before leaning back in his seat.

Maybe this wasn't so bad after all.

--

"Dinner's ready, baby." Patton peeked his head into Logan's room, to see him watching something on Netflix at his desk.

"Kay, Dad. I'll be down in a sec," he replied, without missing a beat. "Also, not a baby."

"Alright, sorry Lo. Just head down soon, okay?"

Logan nodded,already starting to pause his show and log out of everything. Patton gave a slight smile, leaving his door open and heading back down stairs.

"So...how's teenage Logan?" Roman asked quickly as he came downstairs, already sitting down for dinner. Virgil looked at Patton.

"He keeps getting embarrassed when I call him baby. But I think he's good, he seemed pretty content with just hanging out in his room and doing whatever." Patton replied, pulling out his chair to take a seat.

"Oh, Logan! Hey!" Roman called when he saw Logan entering the kitchen. He held his phone in his hand.

"Hey. What are we having?" he asked, pulling his chair out and sitting next to Patton, as usual. He glanced down at his phone screen and tapping it a few times. Virgil came and sat some containers on the table. "Oh, spaghetti. Question answered."

"Can you put your phone down at the dinner table, sweetheart? Dinner is time for us to spend time as a family," Patton tapped his shoulder softly, instructing him to turn it off. Logan rolled his eyes, shutting off his phone and hovering it an inch above the table before dramatically dropping it. The attitude wasn't appreciated, but at least he listened.

"So..Logan, what did you do today?" Roman asked after a few moments of silence, reaching forward to server himself some food. He grabbed a piece or garlic bread at Logan started to respond.

"I watched Youtube and Netflix." he replied, quickly loading his plate with food. He seemed somewhat tense, like he wanted to leave.

"That's cool! What did you watch on Youtube and Netflix?" Virgil asked. Virgil was picking up on Roman's tactic of asking simple questions to hopefully start a conversation.

"Markiplier and The Floor is Lava." Logan kept going like this to every curious question they had, responding in short sentences before going back to eating. Soon enough, his plate was clear and he attempted to leave.

"You didn't even ask to be excused, young man. Sit back down." Patton instructed, Logan immediately listening and sinking back into his chair.

"C-can I go?" he asked, looking at Patton with a nervous look now. He didn't mean to upset him, he just wanted to go back to his room and be by himself again. This was a new headspace for him, and being around other people for long periods of time made him anxious. What if he did something stupid? What if they thought he was weird?

Patton didn't mean to scare him, so he softened up his face before talking again. "How about you tell us about your day, sweetie?"

Logan shifted from nervous to annoyed in maybe two seconds. "I've already told you everything! I watched Netflix and Youtube. There's nothing to talk about, dad!" he snapped, grabbing his phone from the table. Patton's eyes went wide, he definitely did not expect Logan to snap at him.

"Hey, kiddo..." he spoke softly to the annoyed regressor, who just want an escape. Logan took a few breaths while Virgil and Roman watched in silence. Patton hesitantly put his hand on Logan's arm in a simple attempt to comfort him. "Why don't you just walk me through what you did after breakfast, whatever you remember?" Logan looked at him now, nodding. He seemed a bit nervous, he did not mean to snap or shout or anything. But it seemed as if Patton wasn't upset with him.

He thought back to that morning, beginning the story. "So I went up to my room after breakfast. I read comic books for a little bit, and then-"

"What did you read about?" Roman interrupted. This didn't seem to annoy Logan, just shock him. He wanted to hear about whatever dorky comic book he had read? The last of dinner went on like that, Logan walking through his day up until the meal, and the other three inturrupting to ask curious questions.

Logan would go on side rambles about whatever it was. A question as to what The Floor Is Lava was about lead him into a ramble about how the game works. But no one else minded, because learning about this part of Logan, neither a baby, nor completely big, was really nice. Every few minutes, he'd stop his rambling, and ask if someone else wanted to talk.

But every single time, they'd share a few thoughts and assure that they didn't mind his excited rambling. He revealed that he also watched documentaries and information youtube videos, so he started sharing a bunch of random facts.

The anxiousness, the awkwardness, and even the extreme want to go away, faded as they encouraged him to keep dorkily discussing his favorite teen-ish things to do.

They hoped teenage Logan would come back again sometime soon.

[meaty4spicedbuns]

My freaking opinion on the sign

Hoy hoy hoy ! I’m here simply because i read a lot about astrology and i wanted to gave my opinion too (nothing stop me after all). Since i’m a bitch for astrology (and simply a bitch), i take a good care to ask almost all my friend about their natal chart so i could just read about them, having information to see if it was accurate to they behavior.

 SO this is what i feel for each sign 

BIG DISCLAIMER : This is MY opinion. This engage only me, me and... well, me. It’s not my fault if you felt attacked by my opinion after you’ve been curious enought to read MY opinion. (like, seriously, grow up)

Now, if you’re enought open minded to read and spit the tea with me about astrology, I would be happy to do so. By the way, I’m one of those you think that sign have both side like a coin ; and they energy are actually pretty different in some way.

And i propose you a little game : by the description i do of the sign, wich sign do you think I am ?

(based on PEOPLE I KNOW AND KNEW)

Aries : Pain in the ass because of they behavior. They always tend to say they are right, and thus need to go straight into the wall to finally admit they were wrong. Don’t get me bad, they are pretty inteligent, but it’s seems like they do not know how to learn from they mistake them made except if you point them out for them. I know an Aries that is pretty toxic, as much as i know one that is a good person. And let me tell you, they have enought energy to defend you, or to drown you. Pretty coleric. I don’t get along with Aries anyway.

Taurus : Same as Aries. I know some, and let me tell you that they are kind of annoying. Indecisive about change, don’t know what they want, they seems completely lost when you change their routine. Then cling to every person when they can. Some are also very stuborn (to throw themself out the windows -true story i know from a taurus-), but they are also down to earth a LOT. The taurus i knew were nice, but also problematic, it’s all cold or hot. And also, they are very bad at communication ; like.... A lot. They also tend to answer you everyday for a week before disapear for months. Otherwise, they are open-minded and simple. One of the few very nice person i knew were a Taurus.

Gemini : I can’t, and belive me I know someone close to me as a Gemini. And i can’t. Don’t know what they want, but act like they know what they want. Always changing they way of life, but always doubting too. Always playing hot and cold. *rolling eyes and do the mind blowing action*

Cancer : Harsh with you. They supposed to be turn to familly, but not in the fluffy way. They will act hard on you if they think you need to become tougher (because life’s a bitch). They will act the way they think it’s good for you, and will never feel bad for it. A cancer is also very rensentful. But a good person in the end. I’ve never being in an argue with a cancer.

Lion : Remember when i said i couldn’t stand a Aries ? *stare in the camera like in the office* Well, same way goes to Lion. They are too needy of validation and resentful. Worst than cancer while they can’t admit they are wrong. To the point to get themself in danger, or in a bad state of they life, to be right. They’d prefer to continu through the path they made than go back and follow you. Do i smeel wrong placed ego AND pride ? Yes. They need to be better than you, shine as much, if it’s not more, than you.

Ok, maybe I spit too much tea. And I know all lion aren’t that bad. I knew one that were just doing his life and looking for pride in his work and were doing well. They just needed the light, but would be happy to help your voice get heard. But from the two with who i were close, the friendship were pretty toxic.

Libra : I don’t know much about them. I knew a guy who were Libra and i knew it before he said his birthday. He was taking care of him, his image, showing himself. I mean, like every libra. Kinda narcisic tho.

Scorpio : I don’t know if life wanted to show me each side of almost each sign, but with scorpio it also the same. All black or white. While i know a scorpio that is very helpful, loyal, nice and -oh my- they know what they stand for (and you don’t want them to fight against you belive me). While they other way around is just so vicious and horrible. Manipulating and turning people around against you. If a scorpio don't like you, they gonna made it understandable but act like nothing happening ; the only two of you will know what is it about. Also, they throw spike at you, pushing where it hurt. The bad side of a scorpio manipulate a lot, be carefull. But if it happen to be the good side of a Scorpio, never loose they trust ; first it’s pretty difficult to win it, but if you get it you will have a strong allie with you.

Sagittarius : Well... All i know about sagittarius is that they are cliché on one point : from the sagittarian (and placement of them i know can affect the behavior) they all want to travel. From saying they want, to got straight living for months in another country, to planned a trip a month before going to, they love traveling. Otherwise i didn’t read enought about them to see the characterial behavior of a sagittarian and see if it’s accurate to their sign y’know ? 

Aquarius : Either a lovely af or so hard to handle. For a part of my life i was around FOUR aquarius at the same time. Can you imagine how much it’s to handle four aquarius ? *see flash of the war*

Well... maybe i’m over reacting,BUT i can tell you i could see that they were aquarius. So curious, but mastered they hobby (if not, then they were trying to). So much energy. Always needed to be in a new project, trying new things. If it’s your friends, be honnest, in one of the side of an Aquarian, they can smell bullshit. Or... not at all. It’s all or nothing with the sign ; wich isn’t a bad things for them since that mean they know what they want... But they mind turn around quickly because of boredom if it don't go fast enough. And also, they love weird shit and supernatural things. They are all original in they own way that so fucking true. And be careful, if you go against them, saying they are wrong, you gonna hear about that. They hate it, it directly go against they ego. AND ALSO THEY ARE BAD AT HUMAN. But we love them so much for their weirdness (and they hidden soft side).

Piscies : Must be protected, or no. They are thougher than you thought, but keep so much inside. They are emotional, that true. And nice. But don't break they trust. They are pretty sensitive in both good and bad way. But they are always here for they friend, and always here to listen to you. Maybe they tend to get your problem on their shoulder (it’s a characteristic of a piscies), and they also get involved in your story a lot. But it’s they sensitive way, and the fact they love they friends a lot. They also often have their head in clouds

Capricorn : Pretty hard to live with BELIVE ME. A capricorn is always so secretive and it’s hard to understand them. They hardwork a lot, or like to stick on a project. They love to learn. And are very stubborn (it's pretty competitive between an aries and capricorn to know who will be the best). They also are pretty weird (cf :Norman reedus is a capricorn). A capricorn while be bad at human too, it's pretty difficult to handle emotion. If you ask for advice, they will help you act for you situation to go better because they have a hard time to deal with human emotion. They also can be feel as cold and detached. They are the type to bring work at home and work at home and forget their life and Hobbie. They are also weird, but not in the cute way (like aquarius),, more like wEiRd and sometimes cringy,, They also like quality things, and rather have quality over quantity. And,,,, can easily get addicted to soft drug like coffee or nicotine.

Virgo : (editing cause, shit, I forgot virgo sorry) Virgo is a pretty difficult type to live with. First of all, they are maniac with cleaning (the one I live with is uncontrollable about that). They act strictly firm and thought... Or... The other way around. But they are straight in their boot and like disciple. They are perfectionist too, and hard worker (not as much as a capricorn, they like to keep they life split in two between hobby and work), still they are the type to sometimes bring work at home, but they're are very organized about it. If they can't keep things organized, they might choose a job they can be completely separated from they life. And if they want something, they will fucking work that out (they might be pretty good layer if they want to). They are also down to earth. Emotionally : virgo are lost, all of nothing and a little bit stubborn (they will listen to you and applying what they think you said was right in your back. And they will come back with feedback about how your advice turnout). Virgo are also pretty difficult to understand. From the one I know they excuse themself with gift, and are either cold or clingy. They are the most prone (of all the zodiac sign) with taurus, of liking to have a organized and routine life.