#brother after he had a few beers and the specific smell of man + alcohol breath made my brain instinctively go ‘ahhh calming reminds me of

[aldieb]

somehow i need to enter my “i will never have many truths abt the past pinned down so who cares i’ll just do my thing” era

[johnkrrasinski]

burning desire;

full masterlist

Pairings: Ari Levinson x reader x August Walker 

Word count: 2,779

Warning: SMUT!!!! familial sex (step-uncle & niece), threesome, dirty talk, mentions of alcohol. 

Summary: your step-uncle, ari levinson, brought a friend, august walker to his house one night during you stayover and things heated up real fast. 

a/n: this idea popped into my head out of nowhere and i just had to write it immediately. (my other wips are sobbing so hard right now) enjoy! please leave a comment & like. 

The mid-August air feels clammy on your skin, and the daylight glared brightly into your eyes, but thank the heavens that you were clad in nothing but your pastel pink bikini and your eyes were protected by your heart-shaped sunglasses. you always loved basking in the sun in uncle Ari's pool in his massive backyard. Your parents were currently out of town for business matters, as they always were and when they were away, you always stayed at uncle Ari's place.

His place was only thirty minutes away from your parents' house and you always loved coming over to his house. What's not to love? The fact that it was just as huge as your parents', designed grandiosely and located in a secluded area made you wish you could just move here. Not that your parents' was any less palatial but- okay, honestly, your parents' house was just as fancy and you were the princess ruling your little castle, so what was really the reason that you wanted to move here so badly?

If you're being honest to yourself, it was because of your ridiculously good-looking uncle. Seriously, the man had no right to be that attractive at that age. He was nearing his 40's and he could still make every woman in his path weak on the knees. His cerulean blue eyes, the thick beard and those ripped muscles never ceased to make a particular part of your body tingle when he is nearby. It wasn't helping either that he'd touch you so close to the part where you wanted him the most when you two were alone, or that he would speak in a really low tone by your ear, causing you to shiver. And you definitely didn't miss those flirty glances when he thought you weren't watching or when you were dressed in something a tad provocative.

It was as if you were playing a secret cat and mouse game that you were both aware of and you both kept playing but no one dared to admit to partake in it or put it to an end by making a move. The tension in the dining table when your parents invited him to come over for dinner or when it was just the two of you watching a film on the couch and you would lift your legs and fold them so your bare thighs would be displayed for him (which you would pretend you weren't aware of its effect on him.)

You were lost in your daydreams of him tearing that bikini off your body and fucking you rough in this pool as the water splattered around you when you heard his voice.

"Enjoying yourself?" his smirk was smug as if he could see the pornographic movie that was playing in your head.

"Uncle! give a girl a warning, will you?" you tried to maintain your composure, not wanting to show him the wet stain in your thong.

He walked closer to you and crouched down to your level. "Didn't wanna disturb you, you looked so relaxed, I thought I'd give you a few more minutes." Was he watching you? How long had he been standing there? "I got a friend coming over tonight, to watch the game. Just wanted to let you know."

"it's your house uncle, you don't need my permissions to have a friend come over." You chuckled.

"I wasn't asking for permission sweetheart, I was just informing you so you wouldn't be startled to see a stranger in the living room," he stood back up. "I got some errands to run. I'll see you tonight." you scoffed. Curt and enigmatic as always.

You were lounging in the room that Ari specifically spared for you. There were six bedrooms in his house alone and five of them were empty. He figured you must have your own personal space every time you visited. You walked to the kitchen to grab some snacks when you were stopped by Ari’s voice calling your name.

“C’mere, say hi to my friend, August.”

The sight of the man sitting on the couch next to your uncle stopped you in your tracks. My God, he looked like a Greek god. His sleek black hair was combed to the side and moustaches weren’t your thing but damn, he rocked it so well. His blue eyes took your breath away as he smiled at you and shook your hand.

“Oh, so you’re the friend uncle told me about.”

“Well, your uncle here doesn't have that many friends so I might be the only friend of his you’ll ever hear.” oh, the things his voice is making you feel…

You chuckled, “well, I don’t wanna be a bother. You guys are watching the game, right? I was about to grab some-”

“No, of course not. Come, sit. We can all enjoy the game together, right?” He took a sip of his beer.

“I’m not really into-”

“We insist.” His tone left no room for argument.

“…okay, I guess.” August and Ari made a room on the couch for you so you sat between them. To say you were nervous was an understatement. A million scenarios were going through your head right now. The image of being sandwiched between these two bulky men with your clothes off was making you uneasy. You were only wearing a big loose shirt that barely reached your mid-thighs. You weren’t wearing any undergarments except a black lace thong because it was summer and petit clothing items were all you packed. (Not like you were trying to impress a certain person, not at all.)

“You want one?” August offered you a drink. “Yeah, sure.” You were an adult now so what’s the harm in one? Your parents were thousands of miles away and it wasn’t like you had to worry about dealing with the hangover in the morning.

August put his arm on the headrest, behind your head and it made your breath hitch. You put your leg over the other to cover the arousal growing in your extremely minimum underwear. Ari took a sip of his beer and then spread his legs and the side of his thigh graze yours and you were growing hotter every second. It was as if they could sense your arousal and fooled around to rile you. You had to take control over your breathing but it was getting more challenging every passing minute.

“So, y/n, what are your plans for college?” August broke the silence.

“I actually am in college. I’m currently in my second year and I always come home during summer.”

“Oh, you certainly don’t look like any older than nineteen. My bad.”

“It’s alright, uncle.”

“August is fine.” He was watching you intently as if he was paying attention to every detail on your face. What was he looking for?

“What are you studying?”

“I’m in fashion design.”

“Suits you.” He winked, retreating his arm from the headrest, to open another bottle of beer.

August asked you several questions about yourself and you answered every single one. After a couple more bottles and the soothing sound of the TV, you found yourself getting drowsy. It felt nice being in the presence of these two beautiful men so you let yourself drift away. You didn’t realize that you had fallen asleep on Ari’s shoulder. When Ari called your name in a low voice and you didn’t open your eyes, Ari and August looked at each other and were ready to execute their plan.

Little did you know Ari had been talking about you to August for months. Who was he kidding? Of course, Ari was attracted to you. You were hot, young and promiscuous. Also, something about the fact that you were his brother's stepdaughter turned him on even more. He and August had been friends since college and they shared a lot of things ever since. They had many hookups with women whom they shared with. They were also business partners of a company that had bestowed them a lot of fortune. Hence Ari’s swanky place and the fact that he stayed single throughout all these years. He was never the ‘settle down’ type. He never told you about his business partner, you only knew that he existed, you just didn’t know his identity.

August sniffed your scent on your open neck, and the vanilla smell turned him on. He began to spread your legs and caressed your thigh until he reached your underwear. He chuckled when he felt the delicate material on his fingers, “she’s practically begging for us to fuck her brains out on this couch.”

“You should see what she wears every day in this house, it’s like she wants me to pounce on her,” Ari replied.

“She’s soaked. She should’ve just asked, we would’ve obliged immediately.” August rubbed you in circular motions through your thong and when he felt you growing wetter, he pushed your panties to the side and inserted two fingers into your entrance.

You gasped in your slumber, feeling something scissoring you open but your head was too fuzzy to figure out what was happening. August curled his fingers and stroked your G-spot and your breathing became ragged. You began to stir and mumbled under your breath. Your brows furrowed and when August’s fingers moved faster in and out of you and Ari began fondling your breasts through your thin shirt, your opened your eyes.

“Uncle Ari…”

“Shh, just sit back and enjoy, sweetheart. We’re gonna make you feel good.” He whispered sultrily in your ear. You whimpered when August’s thumb circled your clit, causing your head to spin. “God, you’re so hot. I’ve been waiting to put my dick into this tight pussy for months now.” August whispered in your other ear.

Your hand went into August’s wrist, needing to hold onto something. You knew this was wrong, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to tell them to stop or get up and run to your room. Ari’s hand went to your jaw to turn your head to him and kissed you with fervently. He licked your bottom lip and you made room for his tongue to tangle itself with yours. You were making out on the couch with your uncle as his friend had his knuckles buried deep in you.

You felt your muscles tightening and then the dam broke, making a mess all over August’s fingers. He watched your expression as you hit your peak. The image of you losing your mind sent electricity right to their cocks and they were eager for more now. They couldn’t wait to see the face you were going to make when they gave you a bigger one.

You thought they would at least give you a few seconds of repose after the onslaught but you should’ve known better. You knew that Ari was a hustler when it comes to what his heart desired. And now, his body yearned for you and he didn’t waste any time in undressing you from the scanty garments you had on.

August sucked on the sensitive spot of your neck, leaving little love bites here and there before biting the spot where he wanted to mark you. You bit your lip at the thought of parading around Ari’s house with those sensual bruises reminding of the sinful act the three of you committed last night. You didn’t think as far as how you were going to act around Ari now after tonight but you were surely hoping that this wasn’t a one-time thing.  

Ari was still possessing your mouth with his, his plump lips felt soft on yours and they tasted even better than your fantasy. Ari pulled his lips away from yours and looked at his partner, “should we do doggy or missionary?” Ari asked as if you weren’t there at all.

“Missionary, I wanna see those tits bounce,” he smirked against your skin.

“Fuck yeah,” Ari keened.

They began stripping and you couldn’t help but watch. My God, they were sculpted to perfection by the hands of God themselves. The sweat on their skin made them glow from the ray of the TV. They pulled down their pants and their massive cocks sprung free and you could’ve come right there. Their packages were impressive, would they even fit inside you? You were drooling at the sight and you needed them to fill you up right now or you were going to explode.

“Lay back,” Ari commanded.

You did as he said and folded your legs to make room for Ari. The couch was large enough to fit two more people in here but you needed them as close as possible. Ari knelt on the couch and August was above your head. They both began stroking themselves as they kept their eyes on your naked body. Ari was staring at your drenched pussy and August imagined spurting all over your breasts.

“Open your lips, little girl.” You obliged and August pushed the tip of his cock into your lips and he pushed deeper until the tip hit the back of your throat. You looked up at him staring down at you with a predatory look. Ari pushed his cock into your entrance and your tight walls welcomed him with open arms causing him to throw his head back and groaned.

Ari had his hands on your thighs to keep them apart and he began pulling out until only the tip was left in you and pushed back vigorously like he was trying to invade your body. August began moving at the same pace, and he groped your breasts, pinching the nipples. The sting elicited a moan out of you, causing a delightful vibration flowing in his bones.

“Fuck, you’re as tight as I imagined,” Ari grunted. Your warmth wrapped his girth and he pounded into you as your breasts jiggled from the rough pounding. He lifted your legs onto his shoulders so he could delve deeper. He impaled the spot that made you forget your name and you clenched around him. The squelching noises that your pussy made blended with his pre-cum were lewd.

August grunted as you took him in your mouth as much as you could. You struggled to control your breathing with Ari ramming into you mercilessly and August’s size intruding your throat but you were getting off on it. You felt every inch of them inside you, the velvety skin and the raw taste were intoxicating. You hollowed your cheeks and let August use you. Let them both use you like a rag doll.

Soon, you were both moving in sync as the couch squeaked due to the impetuous action happening on it. Ari accelerated, chasing his own orgasm and you pulsated. The familiar pressure forming once more, ready to burst any second now. His cock throbbed and you tightened around him. A few more deep-seated thrusts and he came undone, painting your walls with his hot cum and filling you up so well.

You fell apart beneath him as well, moaning in ecstasy around August. If you weren’t muffled by his cock, you would’ve screamed so loud. You trembled and your legs shook. He pulled out of you and watched his juices leak out of you. The soreness between your thighs was pleasant and you were completely spent from Ari alone but you were definitely satisfied. If only your parents could see the blasphemous act you and your uncle had just committed. And you weren’t even finished yet.

August chased his own climax as well, needing to release the tension in his muscles. Profanities fell from his lips as he released on your tongue and you swallowed every drop of him. You were a sweet tooth but his salty taste had you addicted. You whimpered and panted on the couch, hoping that one of them would give you a warm bath to clean you up and bring you to your comfortable bed and wrap you in your blanket but then,

“We’re not done yet, princess.” August and Ari switched places and now August was kneeling between your legs while Ari was above your head. God, you were so worn out, you didn’t know if you had any more energy left in you to take them again. “You’re all ours tonight. And we’re gonna keep playing with until we’re satisfied. And trust me, we are far from being satisfied.” August whispered huskily in your ear as his raging hard cock penetrated you and Ari pushed himself through your opening lips and you could taste yourself on every inch of him.

Looks like it was going to be a long night.

[impala1967dwinchester]

Dean Winchester: Brandy

*Credit to the gif owner*

Pairing: Dean W. x Fem!Reader

Pov: Deans

Warnings: Drinking, drunk texting, bad dancing, having to rescue Dean, Friends to loversish, Believing in destiny kinda.

Summary: Dean spends the whole night at the bar, tryin' every bottled drink. Ends up drunk texting Y/n and being completely honest with her

Word Count: 2.1k

A/N: (Based on the song Wine, Beers, Whiskey by Little Big Town)

Dean Winchester Master List

Main Master List

I sat at the bar of the old bar. It reminded me of Harvelle's. The old smell, the plaid-up men and women that I noticed came walking in through that door.

It was amazing. I was a drinker, always had been. The first drink I had with my dad, I was fifteen. A beer we shared, that should be an amazing moment for father and son, but it was ruined for the simple fact that we had no home, and my father and instructed me to take care of my younger brother.

I grew up, mostly without my father after that. He prioritizes hunting and saving people over me, and over his youngest son. Everything was always secrets. So many secrets, that it's started to become how Sam and I live.

There were certain things that I had learned from my father. How to protect, how to be anger almost all of the time, and how to handle my liquor.

So I sat at the bar, my hand around an iced cold glass of beer. I sipped and watched people. I wasn't in the mood to hook up with any. I mean yeah sure there was probably someone out there that was meant for me, but that's getting into destiny shit.

You know how bars, almost always have music playing. Well being in the good old state of Kansas, so pretty much any place you walk into is playing music more specifically country music.

It started to come through the speakers. I had already been here for what seemed like hours, I had enough beers, that I had switched to drinking something harder.

Something like a whiskey.

"My friend named Jack"

"He's got my back"

"He always seems to know right where I'm at"

Well, this is definitely a song I could get used to listening to. I don't think anybody else was listening. All having their own private conversations. The barmaid was a beautiful young lady, but even still with her crop top of a shirt and the cleavage that was burst out of her shirt.

I wasn't interested in her. Every time she'd come over. "You need anything else sweetheart." Bending halfway down to try and have me look down.

I waved her off. Maybe I should try something else. Waving her back over, I asked "Do you have something stronger?" she looked at me sideways, before saying "If it's something stronger than you want I've got you" and then she walked away.

When she returned with the rest of the bottle of Jose. A half left standing in the clear bottle. "Here's something stronger, forty percent." She said taking my empty beer bottle and empty cup that had been holding the recently downed Jack Daniels.

"My friend Jose"

"He likes to play"

"He's always up for anything I say"

I downed the rest of the bottle, not even needing the new glass she had bought for me to use. Slamming the bottle down on the countertop. She snapped her head around, our eye making contact before she grabbed something off the shelf.

"If that's the type of night you're having you should have said." She said handing me a half empty glass of crown apple. "Thanks, I can handle my liquor so no need to worry about me," I said as she left to take care of other people sitting at the bar.

I sat alone. Like I always have, it was the best way to number one people watch, but it also gave me a reason to think. Nobody trying to pull my belt out of my jean loops. No need to save someone this was my safe haven sometimes.

Alcohol was my safe haven. It's always been that way. It's always been able to understand me ten times more than Sammy. Well I mean there was always Y/n, she lived with us, but she was my friend, my best friends. There is something that she just doesn't need to know.

I took a swig, drinking down most of the bottle.

"Little bit of red, lotta bit of crown"

"Don't matter what it is"

"I'm gonna drink it down, down, down"

Was it just me or was this song getting better by the second. Maybe, It was just me. I looked around me, couples stood dancing to this song, some sat with clasped hands. And the older men sat at the bar, I was an older man sitting at bar watching like a creep.

"The wine, the beer, the whiskey"

"Are the only things that fix me"

"I'm not saying it's a problem"

"I can stop it if I wanna"

"But the wine, the beer, the whiskey"

"They always get me"

Wow, I'm started to get the idea that I can relate to this song. The lyrics are right you know. Liquor is the only thing that can fix me, calms me down and then I sleep it off. It's right the lyrics I can stop if I wanna. But do I really wanna stop?

"Here," The young lady said, handing me a made drink "Here's a gin and tonic." Walking away yet again to take care of other patrons. A gin and tonic, not a drink I was every ballses enough to try.

Taking the little green umbrella out, I took my first sip. "Shit that's actually really good," I said more to myself than anyone else. I looked up from my gin and tonic drink, looking at the glass wall.

It held so many drinks that I hadn't heard of before. Like a new drink called "Screwball", "Kingfisher". Odd brand names but they all looked like awesome drinks. But of course, there was the regular drinks, the brandy, sherry which is a wine, and Jim Beam

"My friend named Gin"

"She's got some friends"

"I'm talking Brandy, Sherry, and their brother Jim"

"Hey, so it sorta looks like we're going along with the song, so I'll grab you a shot of rum, Captain." She said pulling a tiny shot glass out and pulling the bottle off of the shelf.

She slides the small glass across the table, I caught some rum tipping out and falling over my thumb. 'I wonder what Y/n would do if she was here with me? I wonder if I would have her pushed up against the wall, kissing down her neck.'

Shaking my head; stop thinking of her that she... She doesn't think of you in the same way, you are an idiot. Taking my rum-filled shot quickly. I pulled out my phone.

'Don't do what you're about to do'

"I'll be fine," I said to myself. The room was starting to spin. Or maybe I was just spinning. 'Stop thinking about Y/n. She doesn't need to deal with your drunk ass' "Oh come on I'm not that drunk" I was still sitting at the bar, but people were starting to look at me.

>Y/n, you know I've just gotta say. YOu're beautiful.

Dots played at the bottom of my screen.

>Dean that's very nice.

Minutes pass, so I send another message.

>You know I think I'm falling.

Immediate answers came

>Falling?? What do you mean?

>Winchester? Where are you?

She asked, she only ever called me Winchester when she was pissed off, but I was too worried about telling her the truth.

>Y/n, I've spent the past forever fawning over you. I spent it, wanting, yearning for you. I guess after years of wanting you, years after having nobody in my bed. Wishing and hoping that it was you.

>Dean send me your current loca!

>We can talk more tomorrow

I was able to send her my location, she pulled up in a rather crappy car. Walking in distress, her black night shorts, a pair of slippers on, and my red and black plaid shirt on.

She came over, apologizing grabbing my arm, and wrapping it over her head. "Dean, let's go, now," she said dragging me out. "You smell so good Y/n," I said going to pet her hair. She rested me up against the side of the baby.

"Where are your keys, Dean?" She asked her voice starting to become more worrisome. "In my.." I stopped talking and just reached for her hand, shoving it into my jacket pocket. "Right here!" I said I let go of her wrist and she looked up at me.

She got me into the car, somehow. I rested my head against the back of the front seat. "I felt and heard the rumble of baby engine. "Dean, what were you doing?" I looked over at her. "I wanted a drink."

The rest of the drive was quiet, she helped me out of the car after shutting the loud engine off. The sound finally stops bouncing off the cinderblock walls. "Dean. Couch, bed, or table?" She asked.

"Couch, comfier," I said breathing in more of Y/n's scent. I've never been this close to her, for this long. she smelled like a garden of flowers and honey. she smelt of summer. She looked like summer half the time.

"Are you a god?" I blurted out. Her eyebrows creased, licking her lips. "No, Dean I'm not a god," Y/n said reaching around behind the couch and grabbing a blanket but not before untying my boots.

She tossed the blanket over my body and went to walk off. "Y/n?" I asked. "Yes, Dean." She said with a sigh. "Can you get me a water, so I can maybe explain myself?" I asked.

A pleading look on my face, the puppy dog eyes I had learned from Sam. "Fine Winchester, but you've five to explain yourself." She said stomping off into the kitchen, and back with a tall glass of ice water.

She stood next to me. "Can you sit? Please Y/n?" I begged. I sipped on the water, trying to regain any sort of control of myself. She sat crisscrossing her legs. Her exposed legs, my eyes drifted from her legs.

My eyes came back up to hers. "Start explaining Winchester, you've got four minutes." I shook my head, clasping my hands together. I cleared my throat.

"I've sat here for the past few years, wondering why everything seems weird. It's hard. y'know because that song was right in the bar. I don't want to be alone not anymore, I don't wanna watch the couple dances anymore, I wanna be one of the couples, that hold each other hands."

I said, looking at her. She broke our eye contact when she started to fidget with the bottom of my flannel. "You know that's my flannel?" I asked grabbing her hands.

"I want you, I want you in my bed. I want to drink with my girl. I want to love you because Y/n that's really the truth." I said, "I love you Y/n" We sat in silence for a few, "Y/n please say something?" Now I'm begging her, this entire night has been a fucking mess.

"What are you waiting for you dumb Winchester? Come kiss your girl." It only took a few moments for the words to click in my mind. I grabbed the back of her neck and she fell into my lap.

It wasn't like fireworks or lighting coming down. It just fit so well, it was more like finishing a puzzle, puzzle pieces just fitting together so well. A missing part of me found filled and always there for you.

"Dean? Y/n?" I heard Sam said and properly say "Nevermind." And leave. I felt Y/n's lips leave mine. Realizing that I needed air, my lungs burning but in a good way.

"That was something," I said, catching my breath. "That's was awesome!" Y/n said kissing chastely. "Did you hear Sam?" I asked her, she giggled she rolled her. "I bet he's in there going I just knew it," Y/n said. I laughed and hugged.

"My feet hurt, I think I may have blacked out and started dancing by myself," I said, flexing my socked toes. "You dancing!?" Y/n questioned, "Oh we've gotta go back to that bar and get that tape, for FBI reasons." Y/n said.

My mouth gaping open. She laughed more, and she started to have a few tears. "You know Y/n. I'll you back for that, now come on. You'll love the memory foam bed." I said, Whispering closing to Y/n's ear "It remembers you Y/n." My hand landing on her lower as we walked to my room.

Completed on: 05/12/2021

Posted on: 05/14/2021

Dean Winchester Tag List: @akshi8278 @deanswaywardgirl @hit-meup69 @fofisstilinski @doctorlilo @wonderfulworldofwinchester

[dont-tempt-me-frodo]

The Jaskier Effect

Also on ao3

The first time that Eskel noticed things were changing, he was collecting the payment for a contract on a wraith in Velen. The alderman handed him a leather coin pouch with a wink, saying “Toss a coin to your Witcher,” and then proceeded to hum some tune as Eskel turned to leave.

Not every interaction was as odd, or as pleasant, but he did find that over the following months there was generally a slightly more tolerant attitude whenever he walked into a village or town, and less people tried to cheat him out of the coin he was owed for his work. If he hadn’t spent the better part of a century being shunned or ridiculed for being a Witcher, he probably wouldn’t have thought twice about it. Who was he to look a gift horse in the mouth? But he still kept his guard up. Aired on the side of caution. People don’t just change, and he was suspicious about this new growing respect for his kind.

It was in a tavern in Redania where he heard the song in full for the first time. He was perched at a table in the corner, thumbing a tankard of piss-poor ale when a young female bard started up and one of the patrons requested it.

It took Eskel a good few minutes to process that the song was about Geralt.

He didn’t know what was more surprising. The fact that his brother in arms had let a bard tag along on a hunt, or that he had allowed a song to be composed about him after the fact. Then again, he knew how much the title of ‘The Butcher of Blaviken’ upset Geralt, so maybe being sung about as a hero wouldn’t be so bad after all. Eskel had certainly noticed how this one song had started to affect people’s perceptions of Witchers, however subtle.

After the performance, Eskel had approached the female bard and asked if she was the one who wrote it. Essi, he later found out to be her name, had humbly thanked him but told him that a dear friend of hers had composed it. A bard called Jaskier.

Jaskier.

Eskel was very intrigued.

That winter he waited impatiently for Geralt to join them at Kaer Morhen. He asked Lambert if he had noticed the change and, Lambert being Lambert, had jumped on the chance to use it as a new way of getting into people’s pants. Not that he needed any help with that in the first place, but this new growing respect for Witchers definitely had its advantages.

Vesemir, like Eskel, advised on the err of caution.

“It won’t last,” he had warned, “It never does.”

“All the more reason to reap the benefits now, right Eskel?” Lambert threw him a lewd wink.

Eskel had grunted but not really given Lambert an answer.

When Geralt eventually showed up, just as the first snows started to fall, Eskel quizzed him mercilessly about the bard. He wanted to know how on earth the young human had found himself in the prickly Witcher’s company.

Geralt gave a very stunted story of how he met Jaskier and the adventure that followed but Eskel knew him well enough to see that the bard and his songs had affected Geralt in more ways than one. The White Wolf held affection for Jaskier. His hard edges were slightly softer than they had been last time they met. There was a new warmth to his amber eyes. Geralt, usually so closed off to the world, had unwillingly, or unwittingly, let someone in.

Witchers don’t tend to have friends outside of their own kind, and even then, they usually stick to their own Witcher School, and even then, sometimes ‘friend’ was such a strong word, but Eskel could see that this Jaskier had the potential to help Geralt find that part of himself so many believed was stripped from him when he underwent the mutations.

Geralt of course, insisted that Jaskier was not his friend and, come spring, when Eskel asked him if he was going to travel with the bard again Geralt shrugged with a grunt.

“If our paths cross, our paths cross,” the white haired Witcher answered nonchalantly.

Eskel just rolled his eyes.

“Well thank him for me if they do,” he rumbled.

“What for?” frowned Geralt.

“For the good work he’s doing for all Witcher kind,” Eskel grinned with a wink.

Geralt scoffed, mounted his faithful mare and disappeared down the trail.

As the years passed by and more songs about the White Wolf emerged, Eskel found his job as a Witcher to be less monotonous and more interesting. People were actually willing to converse with him, even offer him better rates for contracts. One barkeep even gave him a free beer because he recognised the wolf medallion around Eskel’s neck.

“You a wolf Witcher? You know that Geralt? Drinks on the house!”

Eskel was sure he’d never get used to it.

And, as he expected, not everyone was keen on the new perspective of Witchers. Some still slandered him in the streets, threw stones, spat at him, tried to pick fights with him that he knew they’d never win. But, thanks to Jaskier and his influence, life as a Witcher had improved considerably.

When Geralt returned to Kaer Morhen each winter, he always brought more stories of his time spent travelling with the bard. Eskel could see the brightness in his eyes and the soft way he spoke about Jaskier. Geralt was warm and open and laughing and joking, and it had been a long time since Eskel had seen him like this. The affect the bard was having on him, it was nice. Good.

Lambert insisted that Geralt should invite Jaskier to Kaer Morhen the next winter. Geralt had laughed it off, saying that Jaskier would much rather spend his winters warm and cosy in Oxenfurt than freezing his balls off with the likes of them, but he could see the thought playing in Geralt’s mind and he really hoped that Geralt would introduce them to the bard next year.

Eskel didn’t have to wait that long though.

It was nearing the end of summer and Eskel was passing through Novigrad. He usually avoided the big cities, but he was running low on a very specific herb to brew his potions and he knew the herbalist off Hierarch Square was the only place for miles around where he could get it.

He had wrapped his travel cloak around himself, making sure his hood hid his face as he ventured into the city. The general attitude and acceptance towards Witchers was better than it had ever been but, in Novigrad, where the majority of the populace was still out to get anyone non-human, he couldn’t be too careful.

His transaction with the herbalist went as smoothly as he could have hoped, and he pocketed the small pouch of herbs carefully. By now though, it was starting to get late and his horse was tired from the long day of traveling so, he decided to stop off in a tavern for the night.

He left his mount in the capable hands of the stable boys and slunk into the ‘Kingfisher’ without drawing too much attention to himself.

The heat of the tavern hit him in a stifling cloud. The tang of alcohol and sweat swirled about him, and the wall of noise was a mixture of shouted conversation and singing along with whomever the entertainment was for the evening.

Eskel wove his way through the many patrons and quietly discussed a room for the night with the barkeep.

Wary of the Witcher, the squat man had warned him if there was any trouble, he’d be out quicker that you could say Gwent. Eskel accepted his terms and found a stool at the edge of the bar to inhabit as he nursed a tankard of ale.

Hood still drawn to shadow his face, he cast his keen eyes over the patrons and his attention was drawn to the musician in front of the hearth.

The bard was a few years shy of thirty. Dark brown windswept looking hair and bright blue eyes. He was stood on a stool and was stamping in time to the beat of his wild lute playing. His voice was rich and just as colourful as the teal doublet and breeches he wore, embroidered and patterned with navy blue.

There was something about him, like he was familiar somehow. Then it hit him. He knew exactly who this bard was.

“Ho Hey

But the Witcher knew

Took a Witcher’s brew

And the Witcher slew.

Ho Hey

And the village knew

That their beast was through

And tossed his way some coin and ale and stew.”

Jaskier beamed as he sang, the patrons around him joining in with this chorus, stamping and clapping in time.

Eskel couldn’t tare his eyes away. Geralt’s description of the bard had been spot on but he could never have been prepared for…well this.

The confidence, the elegance that came with his playing. The animated charm. The way he had everyone around him engaged and enjoying themselves. Eskel could understand why Geralt was drawn to him.

He was barely listening to the lyrics. Just staring at the man who had won over his brother in arms.

Jaskier sang the chorus again then finished with a flourish, grinning at the rambunctious applause.

“Thank you,” he winked at a passing barmaid who swooned, “I will be taking a short break but fear not. I will return.”

There was a mixture of cheers and protests as the young bard skipped through the crowd and leaned over the bar, very close to where Eskel was sitting.

Gods above, Eskel thought to himself, his scent!

Jaskier smelled like lavender and sandalwood, fresh parchment and woodsmoke. It was a scent that Eskel had picked up on many occasions throughout the last few winters. Lingering on Geralt’s clothing, on Roach’s saddlebags.

With a goblet of wine in hand, Jaskier thanked a woman who was excitedly complimenting his singing and when she finally melted back into the throng, he took a long drink and then rested his gaze on Eskel.

Amber eyes met blue and Jaskier quirked an eyebrow at him.

“Well, well, well,” the bard crooned, voice thick with curiosity, “Dark and mysterious stranger who has been ogling me since he came in turns out to be a dark and mysterious Witcher.”

Eskel swallowed hard, not quite sure what to say to him. Not that it really mattered because Jaskier barely paused for breath before he continued.

“Let me see. Wolf Witcher,” Jaskier indicated the medallion just visible through the folds of grey cloak then narrowed his eyes at him, “You must be Eskel.”

Eskel absently touched the long scar tracking down the right side of his face. Of course Geralt had talked about his brothers with the bard, described them to his friend.

Jaskier’s expression softened.

“No,” he smiled kindly, “It’s the eyes, the jaw. You look a lot like Geralt. Except, you know, he has white hair and you’ve got – is it dark brown? Black? Anyway. I’m Jaskier.”

Eskel hesitated before taking the offered hand and Jaskier shook it enthusiastically.

“I imagine Geralt has mentioned me. Though not all bad, I hope. So, what brings you to Novigrad? Some monster lurking about? You doing some Witchering?”

Eskel was baffled by this young man.

Jaskier talked quickly without much pause for thought, true, but he was talking to him like…they were equals. Friends even. The bard was warm and open and ridiculously handsome, though Eskel would never tell Geralt that he thought so. There wasn’t an ounce of the usual fear he experiences when talking to people. No guarded expression. No hidden motivation. Just an imploring gaze and friendly smile.

Eskel understood completely why Geralt had given in to allowing Jaskier to travel with him. He didn’t see what everyone else saw. Didn’t see the Witcher, the monster, the savage killer. He saw Geralt. And now, he saw Eskel.

“Thank you,” Eskel heard himself say.

Confusion twitched in Jaskier’s expression and he tilted his head slightly.

“For what?” he hummed.

For what? Eskel bit his cheek. For helping to improve Geralt’s image? For being Geralt’s friend? For changing how people see Witchers? For increasing the payment prospects of contracts for Witchers across the continent? For everything?

“For your songs,” he settled on.

Jaskier flashed him a dazzling smile.

“You’re welcome,” he smirked.

Eskel realised that Jaskier had no idea how much his songs had actually affected the Witchers and their place in the continent. He had no idea that singing about Geralt was just the start of a ripple that had spread across the lands and changed people for the better. He had no idea of the legacy he was building, for himself, for his friend, and for all the working Witcher’s who used to struggle to get a decent price for even a few Drowners.

The fame of Jaskier the bard wasn’t exclusive to the high courts and bustling taverns. Jaskier had no idea how big his impact actually was.

And Eskel didn’t have the first clue on how to start telling him.

“You staying in Novigrad long?” Jaskier asked breezily, taking a sip from his goblet.

“Not if I can help it,” the Witcher shrugged.

“No jobs enticing enough to make you change your mind?”

“Unfortunately no one puts out contracts on Priests of the Eternal Fire,” Eskel grunted.

Jaskier snorted into his wine and Eskel felt his lips pull in a small smile.

“Fair enough,” Jaskier composed himself, eyes blazing with mirth, “We can’t always be so lucky.”

“What about you? How long are you here for?” being drawn into conversation with the bard was easy. It felt natural and relaxed and safe.

“Meh, who knows? Until I bore of the markets and politics and need to get back out there on the Path,” Jaskier frowned at the dregs lining the bottom of his goblet and Eskel flagged down the barkeep to order more drinks.

“Going to look for Geralt?” Eskel glanced at Jaskier over the top of his tankard.

“I might,” Jaskier shot him a playful grin, “Unless you want the company on the road for a while.”

It was Eskel’s turn to choke slightly on his drink.

“A new muse could be just what I need. How about it Eskel? Not all my songs have to be about Geralt, you know.”

Eskel caught those blue eyes and held them for a moment.

“Sure. Why not?” he rumbled.

“Excellent,” Jaskier clapped his hands together gleefully, “You and me Eskel, we’re gonna change the world.”

You already have, Eskel thought to himself, and I’m going to spend whatever time we have together making you see it. Making you understand. Showing you what you’ve done for us. For me. And for Geralt. The affect you’ve had on all Witchers and the world you have created for us. Just you wait and see.

Impalaloompa on ao3

[jckelly]

you know exactly how it goes / pt i

1100 words

trigger warnings: violence, jail, alcohol, smoking

FINN IS VERY DISTURBED when his mind slips back to the months spent in Leeds, when he was eighteen, and Jack was fifteen and would visit him on the weekend, having semi recently acquired Claire and all of her proclamations about wanting to keep them together and close and in touch, a side effect of which was the weekly train ticket.

Finn himself had acquired a seemingly permanent position on the sofa of Maisie’s mother’s flat, where he silently withheld his judgement as Maisie whined at her mum cooking too much food or demanding to know where she was going so late at night. How dare she care? Finn kept his mouth shut, as always. Unlike his brother, he was blessed with the gift of locking his lips closed, an invisible bouncer vetting the words before they emerged, turning away any which seemed drunk enough to provoke conflict or upset. Inside, jealousy danced with envy, bought a drink for disgust. Better a mother who cared too much than not at all.

(His primary positive trait, perhaps only one, was his levelheadedness. He figured that the only reason Claire sent Jack back to him, despite seemingly professing a desire to move his life on from what it had been as quickly as possible, was out of some hopeless faith that Finn’s calm would neutralise all of the chaotic energy held deep inside his younger brother. Fat fucking chance, he thought but didn’t say, because he was calm and he didn’t need to cause upset with every other sentence.)

Finn is disturbed not because it was all bad, evidently it was not, there were days when he thought that they were almost like real siblings again, with the space to argue and pick on each other because it wasn’t them against the world anymore. He can be grateful to Claire for that much, at least, for the few months before everything went tits up. He can be a big person in that way. But he can’t cast his mind back to that time without that night in October passing through his eyes, the walk home illuminated by lit pumpkins and the sparks of cigarettes, because it was late and the pubs were closing so the drunks took it outside instead, nevermind the cool air. Nothing quite like vodka, drunk from a bottle in a paper bag (which made it yet more obvious rather than concealing the alcohol held within, may as well slap a label on the bag saying ALCOHOLIC) for warmth anyway.

And how if they had walked just the tiniest bit faster across the pavement, or left earlier, maybe they would have been out of earshot by the time the one specific drunk had chimed in with a howl of druggooooo, like a battle cry, Celtic warrior imagery from the books in the library slipping into Finn’s mind, except the blue face paint is replaced by the scrappy stubble of a teenage boy trying to be a man, hood up, eyes wild with a mix of substance and arrogance. The insult isn’t even particularly witty, it’s true in that it references their mother, Finn would have simply blown it off were he alone. But he wasn’t.

And how he’d still like to believe that when Jack raised his hand, it slipped his mind that the bottle was still in it; that he only intended to leave a bruise and that as the amber glass rained down in the eyes of the jack o’lanterns, illuminated like angular fireflies, the smell of the beer mixing with the metallic scent of blood, the inhale Jack took was as sharp as his brother’s, that his heart skipped as many beats with the realisation that this was something far worse.

Naturally, nobody questioned him when the police came, when all Finn could think to do was immediately claim responsibility. There were witnesses, but it had been so sudden. All they saw was in a split second, three boys standing went down to two. And did it truly matter who had struck the blow? When nobody had stepped in to stop them?

In the eyes of the law, it mattered because Finn was an adult, because they were given free rein to lock him up for three years, although he was released after eighteen months for good behaviour. Which didn’t really matter to him, because he had nothing much to leave for. Maisie, sure, although it took her a while before every phone call to him didn’t begin with what the fuck have you done? But in the eyes of Maisie’s mother, in the eyes of Claire, he was no longer levelheaded or calm or sensible. Now he was violent, unpredictable, dangerous. The personality traits which had made him desirable slipped into negatives, because they could seemingly change at any moment.

(If he could do this, who knew what else he was capable of?)

It’s not the months of prison which play on his mind. It’s not the fact that he struggles to get a visa to even visit the US, because he has a grievous bodily harm conviction and lord knows he’s a dangerous ex convict now no matter what he does, no matter who he is. What disturbs him, keeps him up late at night because it flashes before his eyes every time he tries to sleep, is the constant replay in his head of the moment he had announced his guilt.

And how he had expected Jack to say something, because doesn’t Jack pride himself on his loyalty to his family?

And how it hadn’t been a trick of the light when he saw a flicker pass across his brother’s blue eyes, the choice before him. In real time, Finn was watching Jack choose between his past and his future.

He’d said nothing, damned Finn to conviction without a second glance. And although Finn would have claimed otherwise had Jack gone as far as to say it was him who had glassed the boy (glassed is such an ugly word, he rarely lets it come into his head), some part of him resents that he never even tried to take the blame. Jack had weighed his options, and chosen the one which gave him a career and a spotless record, the one which against every value Finn had thought he held.

It makes Finn think that he doesn’t truly know his brother after all, now, when he looks into his eyes through Skype, the graininess failing to obscure the sheer determination held within. The determination which becomes only more obvious as he looks across to see Jack at graduation. Jack would do it again, that much he knows for sure. Jack would do anything to protect himself from his own actions.

[singtotheskiies]

an intervention was needed // thor x platonic!reader

request: Hey hey! I hope you're well & safe ☺️ can i request a fluffy but more platonic thor x reader, it's kinda specific: the reader is an asgardian and she's bff with Thor, basically like a sister. So he finally comes back to fight in Endgame after being depressed and shutting her out, and they reunite and there's a lot of feels and he just feels like a disappointment and a mess but she's like.. aw my sweet asgardian boi :( ill take care of u now, and oof i got carried away 😅 ty in advance hun!!

summary: after the fall of asgard, thor shut you out from his life completely. five years later, when that life is in danger, you take it upon yourself to fix things—if you are able.

words: 1497

warnings: infinity war/endgame spoilers, angst (sO much angst dude i never write it but this time,,,, i did), fluff at the end tho;)

a/n: i am SO sorry for the delay in writing this imagine—school has been very tough recently because teachers still feel the need to assign hours of work every day. however, this was a wonderful request, and i am absolutely loving writing, so please keep sending ‘em in!!! i love you all💕

✖✖✖

There were plenty of upsides to being Asgardian—increased reflexes and fighting skills, the ability to down enough liquor to make mortals stare, and of course your special power—the ability to heal physical wounds. Due to your fighting and healing abilities, the Avengers had taken you on as a valuable asset to their pursuit of justice. You had been on Midgard for a few years, now, and while it gave you great joy to be able to help, it was also the root of many of your problems.

You hadn’t been there when Asgard was ravaged by Thanos. Instead, you had been with the rest of the Avengers, discussing a possible threat in Seattle. You had felt the devastating pull in your gut that alerted you of something wrong in your home world. Instantly, you bolted to your feet, screaming for Heimdall to transport you so you could help in any way you can. You shouted your throat ragged, but you learned three unbearable days later that there was no more Bifrost tower and no Heimdall to defend it.

To make matters worse, you suffered not only the loss of your homeland, but also the presence of your best friend Thor. He had entered your room after those three days a broken shell of a man. You had tried to get through to him, to connect and mourn over your losses, but he had been nothing but cold to you.

“You cannot understand my grief,” he told you in a cold, distant voice you could barely recognize as his own.

“We are both Asgardians, Thor!” you cried. “We mourn for the same land—the land of our fathers and mothers before us.”

“And where were you when that land needed your help?” he snarled, turning and glaring at you.

“I screamed Heimdall’s name for an hour,” you spat indignantly, tears beginning to burn their way down your cheeks. “No one was there, it wasn’t my fault!”

“I had to watch my own brother die,” Thor choked, unable to control the tears welling up in his own eyes. “Thanos murdered him like he was merely an insect—but he was my brother. Do you have any idea—“

“Loki was also an acquaintance of mine, and I view his loss with no small sorrow. I cannot imagine the pain you must feel, my friend.”

“Friend,” Thor spat. “I hardly think so.”

“Please, Thor, rid yourself of this anger—I do not recognize you.”

“Perhaps it is for the better.”

With that, he spun Mjolnir and flew to gods-knew-where. You were so numb that it took you hours to notify Tony of the gaping hole through the building.

✖✖✖

You stood stock-still, emotions swirling from shock to embarrassment to pure confusion as you took in the man in front of you. He hadn’t shown his face on Earth the whole five years, and you were completely shocked at what he had done to himself. “Thor?” you breathed. “Why are you—um—well—“

He looked down his nose at you, tilting his sunglasses down with the hand that wasn’t holding a can of beer. Squinting, he tried to realize who he was speaking to. His realization was so slow that you could literally see it blooming across his features. When he recognized it was you, he merely turned around, mumbling something about wanting a Bloody Mary. You stared blankly after him as he stumbled out of the room, your mouth hanging open.

“Not sure what happened there,” Steve said as he came up behind you. “Clearly he hasn’t been taking things well.”

“Yes, I can see that,” you managed.

“Are you doing okay? I know you guys had a fight of some kind the last time he was here.”

“Yes, yes. I’m going to see if I can talk to him and find out what’s going on,” you decided. “He cannot fight like this.”

“I agree,” Steve said, wishing you luck as he left to confer with Natasha.

Although you tried, you had no luck throughout the day in getting Thor alone—mostly due to the fact that you were in meetings nearly constantly, and he seemed to be in a drunken stupor for every single one. It was sort of the elephant in the room for everybody, and you could tell more than a few of them were wondering if he was even capable of fighting in this state. Even you had your doubts about your former friend, so you decided to take matters into your own hands.

As it happened, you didn’t get your chance until late that night, when most of the Avengers were in their rooms thinking about the subjects of the day’s meetings. Taking a deep breath, you set your jaw resolutely and made your way through the numerous corridors to Thor’s room. Your heart pounded, but you furrowed your brow defiantly. You were Asgardian, and you definitely had the strength to help Thor out of—whatever this was.

At least, you hoped so.

You knocked on the door and were met with silence for several moments. Raising your knuckles, you were just about to repeat your action when you heard a faint mumble.

“‘s there?”

“It’s me.” You inhaled deeply, praying you wouldn’t be electrocuted on the spot. There was another, even longer silence, before—

“C’me in.” You were floored at his response, but recovered and turned the doorknob softly. The sight you were met with broke your heart.

Thor sat on the floor, leaning against his bed with tears tracking their way down his face and into his beard. Cans of alcohol littered the floor, and you could smell the sickly-sweet stench from where you stood. You forgot the five years of silence in an instant and rushed to his side, sitting down next to him.

“Thor?” you managed, and he turned his tear-filled eyes on you. As he took in your worried face, his own crumpled and he began to sob anew, nearly falling into you as you wrapped your arms around him. You simply let him cry for a while, rubbing soothing circles on his back with your thumbs. Eventually, he sat back up, his motions slow and sad. “What is it?” you ask.

“Seeing my brother die—my home laid waste—how do I move past that? How can I live knowing what has happened? I was unable to save Loki or Asgard,” he said, his words falling with deadly conviction. His voice lowered even more as he finished. “I couldn’t—I couldn’t even save myself.”

“Oh, Thor,” you whispered. These five years must have been pure hell for him. His eyes were tortured as they looked into yours, and without thinking, you took his hand as you spoke.

“What you have witnessed will no doubt haunt you for the rest of your life. I say now as I did five years ago that while I mourn with you, I cannot fathom how deep your sorrow must be. I can tell it has plagued you these last five years, and I only wish I had tried to fix things earlier. Thor, you could not have done anything more to save our world and everyone in it. You may be a god, but that does not mean you do not have limits. You fought hard, my friend. And I am proud of you. I am.” He was watching you intently as you spoke, tears renewing themselves as you went on.

“But this—“ You motioned to the alcohol scattered around the room. “This is not like you. You do not deserve to fade away into nothing, brought down by your own devices. Instead, you must take your grief and rage and use it as motivation, use it to heal. Only then can you find within yourself what you so desperately need. And I will be here every step of the way to help you through.”

Thor’s eyes overflowed again, but this time you could sense relief radiating off him. He drew you in for another hug, and you held him tight, knowing this is what he had needed to hear all this time. “Thank you, my friend,” he whispered in your ear.

“I am happy to do it, Thor. I would do anything to help you,” you told him sincerely.

“I must also apologize from the depths of my heart for shutting you out. The only thing my actions accomplished was create more hurt for both of us. I needed you by my side and instead I pushed you away.”

“It was only natural, Thor. You were grieving and were unsure of how to handle yourself. All is forgiven now,” you said, smiling at him. “Now, if you feel able, shall we go to the kitchen? I find that Midgardian food is most helpful in times like these.” You stood up, extending a hand to him.

And for the first time in five years, Thor felt hope coursing through him and found that he, too, was able to smile.

[agentsofsupernaturalmarvel]

Meeting The Family // Tom Holland

IN WHICH: Y/N O’Brien decides to bring her boyfriend to meet her parents and sister only to discover her older brother too. The older brother who influenced the relationship between the couple with his career. Will Tom made a good impression of the O’Brien clan? Specifically the protective brother?

Characters: O’Brien!Reader x Tom Holland, sister!reader x brother!Dylan O’Brien, Julia O’Brien, Lisa and Patrick O’Brien

Words: 2.7k

Warnings: Swearing, tooth decaying fluff and mentions of same sex relationships (this shouldn’t need to be a warning!)

A/N: This has been sitting in my drafts for a long time! Hope you enjoy!

YOU CAN REQUEST FROM ME AS WELL!

Masterlist

London was everything you had wanted to see since you graduated high school only a handful of years ago. When the Maze Runner series was ongoing, you often attended when they fell into the school breaks as support for your brother. While you and Julia were close, the bond you had with your older brother was closer. Dylan had always wanted a baby sibling from the time he understood what brother meant and your parents had no plan to have more children. Your conception was a complete surprise to the O'Brien clan, but a welcomed one. Three kids were enough for Lisa and Patrick O'Brien.

Once Dylan was cast as Stiles in Teen Wolf, his entire world changed, and more roles were offered until it was hard to see him. He always made sure to be there for birthdays and your high school graduation and to scare any boys. He was however often unavailable to catch your softball games in high school, acting was his thing, and softball was yours. It was also Dylan's acting career that allowed you to be introduced to your boyfriend. The boyfriend that Dylan wasn't aware of.

Tom was smitten the minute he saw you at his movie premiere to the point he grew the balls to ask you out, and the rest was history. As a family member to an actor, you understood the relationship would be harder than most, but it was worth it. Tom was worth it.

"Tom! We gotta go!" You called out to your boyfriend in your hotel room. Tom made his appearance wearing that shirt you had loved from the first date he wore it on.

It was a muted green and black vertical striped button-up with white outlining each stripe that paired wonderfully with a pair of slim-fit black jeans. His hair was styled just enough to look presentable without losing the natural curly waves. His necklace resting against his clothed chest and the silver watch pulling it off. It was the perfect outfit for dinner with your family where they would meet the nameless boyfriend they knew about.

"What?" Tom asked, looking down at his outfit, "Is it bad?"

"No! It's my favourite shirt of yours." You admitted walking over to slide your fingers into his while leaning up to press a lingering kiss to his lips, "My Mom is going to love you."

"I hope so." Tom murmured nudging his nose against yours, "I would love to have my future mother-in-law like me."

While not engaged the topic of marriage and a family had been spoken about every once in a while. You both knew that each other was The One, but it had no formal engagement until your significant other met the future-in-laws.

"The only person you had to worry about is my brother."

"The brother that learned how to shoot a gun on three sets. Teen Wolf for comedy, Maze Runner series and American Assassin." Tom spoke with a nervous glint in his eye. Technically your father had met Tom on a Skype session, and he didn't recognize him surprisingly.

As you drove into your hometown, you gave the rundown of your family to Tom. Hermosa Beach, California hadn't changed in the months you had spent away during the fall and winter semesters at university. The lady that babysat you still lived a block away from the O'Brien house with the cute old fashioned style with window box flowers. You had helped her plant some ever spring.

The O'Brien home had changed very slightly, but being away made you more aware of the changes. Both Julia and Dylan's cars were already parked on the street against the curb, so Tom followed suit by parking behind Dylan.

"Oh god, Dylan and Julia are both here." You whispered glancing over at Tom, "Dylan's filming schedule must have changed."

The house smelled terrific inside with the voices carrying in the open space of the living room and the kitchen. Removing your shoes, Tom and you made your way to the kitchen where your mom was tossing a salad. Outside your father was grilling steak with Dylan talking his ear off.

"Hey, Mom." You breathed, pressing a kiss to her cheek before stepping back, "I'd like you to meet my boyfriend, Tom."

Lisa O'Brien was a loving person who accepted everyone with open arms no matter the circumstance and displayed this as she pulled Tom into a hug. Tom stiffened before hugging her back tightly, her energy and embrace reminding him of his parents back in England.

"Hello Tom, welcome to our home." Lisa smiled, stepping back, "If you want to join the boys outside, feel free."

"Actually, is there anything I can help you with?" Tom asked following your steps as you washed your hands at the sink. Lisa smiled once more nodding in response.

"Can you cut some cucumbers up please in circles," Lisa asked, and her approval grew as Tom stepped up to the job immediately. Her dark hair was pulled away from her face revealing features that Tom could see in you.

While Tom settled into a pleasant conversation with Lisa on his childhood and family, you finished setting the table. Once finished, you left the two of them to their own devices before stepping into the backyard where Dylan was talking animatedly about the Mets.

"I can't believe it. My dear Mets fanatic brother hasn't even invited me to a game." You gasped faking being scandalized with a grin that split your act. Dylan was quick to yank you into a tight hug holding his beer away to keep it from sloshing on you.

"Well if my little sister was around when I'm able to go." Dylan teased back stepping away to scan you, "You look more dressed up than normal for family supper."

He was right, typically when you wore a sweater and leggings; today you wore your favourite shirt and form-fitting jeans. Shoes were cute booties that matched the dark brown colour in your colourful cardigan. The most typical part of your outfit was your makeup being just like you wore every day.

"Mr. O'Brien, I've been sent to inform you that Mrs. O'B…I mean Lisa." Tom cut himself off as Lisa informed her to call her by her first name, "is finished with the side dishes."

Dylan was incredibly silent as he gazed at his fellow actor with a penetrating look in his eyes as his mind flipped through reasons he was there. You hadn't mentioned knowing the British actor in any of the conversations you had shared since you last saw each other in person. Tom returned to the kitchen before Dylan could question him, and you followed Tom as well. You didn't want to face Dylan's interrogation yet.

Dinner was spent with your parents asking Tom questions, from the typical childhood stories up until how you two met.

 "We met at a movie premiere a few months back," Tom spoke up wiping the corner of his mouth as he took a sip of his water. He didn't hide that he drank alcohol but had chosen to stick to non-alcoholic drinks as he was driving home.

"He stumbled over his words asking for my number." You blushed to look at the man sitting next to you. Julia was hanging onto every word of the meeting with a small smile, she adored knowing her little sister was happy.

"Thankfully, she took pity on my nerves by giving me her number, and after getting to know each other, I asked her out." Tom grinned, "I asked my Mum for ideas, and then I planned."

"How did you do it?"

"There's a hole in the wall coffee shop I go to. The owner is originally from London and serves authentic tea. I took Y/N there for our third date, and the owner was nice enough to let me play barista.”

"Play barista?" Julia questioned with a grin plastered on her face taking a sip of the wine your parents had cracked open. Dylan was invested in this story as he nursed his beer paired with his steak and potatoes.

"It was silly. Tom slips behind the counter with this cheesy grin taking my drink order, and then he decides to order himself a snack to share with me. He brings the order to our table and announces the names he put on the order, he had made a sticker of a bee on the food with the word 'Bee', and the drink had 'Mine'."

"Aww!" Your mom announced as Tom leaned over to kiss the side of your head without even thinking about it.

The sight alone made your father nostalgic and sad at seeing his little girl was grown up and found a good man. Patrick O'Brien had no doubts that he was looking at his youngest child's future husband. Tom was everything Patrick and Lisa had wished for Y/N's significant other and the charming British accent was a bonus.

"We're having a fire out back with a few friends if you two would like to join us," Dad spoke with a sparkle in his eye as he grasped his wife's hand and then stood up to clear his plate.

Tom was quick to offer his help by taking your empty plate and his before following Patrick into the kitchen.

"Can I help Sir?" Tom asked your father. Wordlessly Patrick waved the young man to follow into the kitchen to start the dishes; it was a rule in the family that whoever made dinner would relax while the one who didn't clean up.

"In our house, we like to follow a rule. Since Lisa made most of the supper, I do the dishes. Normally, I would tell you to visit with the others, but I'd like to speak to you." Patrick spoke, beginning to run the water while Dylan made his appearance with the rest of the dirty dishes, "And Dylan wants to speak to you as well."

"Do you love her?" Dylan finally broke his quiet domineer as he opened a drawer where the dishcloths and drying towels were.

Tom mulled the question overtaking his time to answer in a way that would be completely honest. These two men were the most important in your life, and he wanted to ensure they knew he was serious about the relationship.

"I do. I think I fell in love on our second date." Tom mused, thinking back to the beautiful picnic in a low-key park. A stroke of luck had kept the date under-wrap and didn't find itself way into the media, "She's everything I've ever wanted. She's kind, caring, emotionally mature, and while she isn't in the industry, she understands."

"That's Y/N." Dylan softly spoke, "I'm just surprised we didn't know it was you. I only heard she was going on dates, but we never got a name."

"It was a mutual decision to keep our relationship private from everyone. We went into the relationship hesitant, but we both have spoken about our future. We've been together for nine months now, and we're ready to meet each other's family's officially." Patrick and Dylan listened carefully to the man that had a steady blush growing and a soft loving grin.

"And?" Patrick asked, stopping his motions to put his full attention on the young British man.

"We'd like to keep the relationship private from the media, but I am going to announce that I'm seeing someone if it comes up." Tom finished as he passed a dry plate to Dylan. Tom's head peaked to see that you were sitting with your sister and mother in the living room, "I know I don't have to ask for permission, but I wanted to ask for your blessing. I'd like to ask Y/N to marry me, and I'm okay with waiting a while to ask or even a long engagement for our families to get to know us."

Dylan was scrutinizing the nervous, but sure body language was enough for him to stop his uncharacteristic behaviour. At that moment Dylan knew that Tom was a lot more mature than he had been at his age; the fame Tom had gotten hadn't gone to his head; this Tom was just like any other average guy.

"Well, you have my blessing," Patrick responded

"So, what's your favourite baseball team?" Dylan asked with a giant grin that he shared with his sisters. Just as he asked, you walked into the kitchen after an interrogation from the other O'Brien women.

"I haven't really been to a game," Tom admitted chuckling at the gasp the older actor released. His head came down to rest on yours as you wrapped your arms around his midsection.

"Already trying to sway him to the Mets?" You joked turning to face the males, Dylan had put the last dish away while Patrick rinsed the sink clean.

Julia made her appearance by poking you in the side just as she had since you were a child that led to a small squeal falling from your lips. The squeal that made an amused smile appear on everyone in the room, including you.

"Don't you know that's a requirement to be part of this family." Julia joked tilting her head to scrutinize the only person in the room that piqued her interest. Julia never expected you to fall for an actor, let alone a British one, "So where will you two be living?"

"Julia!" You whined, shaking your head at your older sister. Her words fell silent when the gate in your backyard opened to your neighbours and closest family friends, "Hey look! The Taylor's are here!"

You rushed out the room dragging Tom with you to meet your childhood friends and family, the Taylors. The Taylors consisted of Trevor and Jason along with their two children Sadie and Eric, one of two same-sex couples that lived in your vicinity. In fact, you had shared your first kiss with Sadie when you were ten, in that experience, you discovered you weren't into Sadie; Sadie went on to have a crush on Julia for three years.

"Y/N!" Sadie exclaimed practically tackling you into a hug. Her blonde hair brushing against your cheek as she pulled back, her features hadn't changed since the last time you saw her. Sadie was a gymnast at UCLA with a fast track to the Olympics.

"Tom, this is my best friend, Sadie. Sadie this is my boyfriend, Tom." You introduced the two while Eric made his way over. Eric was born a year older than you born at the beginning of 1994 while you were born in the late part of 1995.

A trait that Tom had was adapting to every situation and making friends with everyone, and that's what he did the next two hours with the Taylors. He made no judgment on the Taylor's or even Julia for their sexual orientation, he accepted everyone.

"We should head back." Tom murmured against your head, sitting by the fire he had positioned you to sit between his legs with his arms and a blanket wrapped around you two. Your eyes were slowly blinking away the sleep while Dylan cast a soft smile at you; he may have trouble seeing you with someone, but you looked happy.

"We're gonna head out." You spoke to the people surrounding the fire. Your family and friends made their goodbyes as you and Tom took in your drinks and the blanket. Once your bottles were disposed of and a blanket folded into the basket, you left, "What did you think?”

"That I'm going to have to buy a Mets jersey." Tom joked, tapping his thumbs against the steering wheel, "I had a great time. I love your family, there just like mine, and I know where you get your looks and personality from."

"Dylan didn't intimidate you too much?" You smiled tilting your head to stare at him. Tom shook his head, "I'm happy you guys get along."

"Now, you get to meet my family." Tom winked taking your hand in his to rest on his thigh while you got comfortable to sleep for the hour ride home. Tom glanced at your sleeping features with a decision in mind, he would make sure to remember the ring he had nestled in a hidden compartment to London.

[passionatefire]

Headcanons !

> realized I never made a HC post for these three ! Here’s some general Headcanons for you all ! My favorite format in the beginning is to write their five senses , so it will be under the cut since it’s a long post >

Rengoku Shinjurou ; 

SIGHT 

When he was younger, his vision was pristine. He does need reading glasses, though.

In an inebriated state, his vision gets blurry and disoriented pretty quickly. 

HEARING

With age, his hearing gets worse. He used to be able to hear every little rustle and whisper in his house ; but now his sons have to speak up a little bit for him to hear them clearly. 

Doesn’t like that his hearing is fading , so don’t mention it unless you want a glare and distasteful insult thrown your way. 

SMELL

Confuses his smells all the time, especially with food. He’ll think he’s smelling pork but it’s actually just rice with some spices mixed in. 

Doesn’t like the smell of flowers - it reminds him too much of his late wife. Specifically - lilies. 

Shinjurou has a natural musky scent that isn’t bad at all, but it’s drowned out by all the alcohol he drinks, and he reeks of that instead.

TASTE

Very obvious, but the man loves his beer and sake. On special occasions, he will buy his favorite sake which is a Honjozo-shu type of sake. It’s easier to drink and he will offer his sons a small cup if he’s in a good mood on the holidays. 

TOUCH

Shinjurou’s hands are very rough and worn, but they aren’t calloused since he stopped using his sword after his wife passed and he started drinking. Not known to many, his sense of touch is dull and faded in his feet and his face.

Rengoku Kyoujurou ;

SIGHT

Kyoujurou’s sight is one of his best senses - especially when it comes to fighting. Those large eyes of his can easily catch movement from far away. Out of the entire family, Kyoujurou’s eyesight is the best. 

HEARING

His hearing isn’t anything to really marvel at. Because of the battlefield, he’s naturally tuned in to try and catch soft sounds if he can. But Kyoujurou can get distracted easily and miss something.

There have been embarrassing times when he’s been so focused on something that Senjurou had to tug on his haori to get him to finally snap to attention. He had apparently been calling his name loudly from across the room. 

SMELL 

Despite how delicious it is, Kyoujurou doesn’t like the smell of meat. Raw, cooking, cooked- doesn’t matter. He will gag if he’s around rotting, spoiled meat. 

Other than that, the man himself frequently smells like the earth. Dirt and fresh cut grass- this might be because of how frequently he trains outside. 

TASTE

The man loves a good bento box ; especially if it’s made by his brother. He’s also fond of sweets - his favorite is green tea mochi. 

He also drinks on special occasions or during holidays, but he never gets inebriated. A little tipsy, maybe, but nothing to dull his senses. He hates not being aware of his surroundings, he’d rather be alert and ready for anything.

TOUCH

Kyoujurou has calloused, tough hands with neatly clipped nails. 

His hair is also quite soft, but it becomes oily rather quickly, so he frequently has to wash and rinse his hair for it to look the perfect way it always does. He hates it when it lies flat and sticks to his forehead. 

Rengoku Senjurou ;

SIGHT

Nothing remarkable about his sight, really. It’s painfully average, but as Senjurou grows up, he becomes slightly nearsighted and would also need readers like his father does.

HEARING

As the youngest in the family, his hearing is actually the best out of the three of them. Not many know that he hears mostly everything because he keeps quiet and doesn’t let it show that he might have heard that secret conversation you were having in the next room. 

SMELL

Senjurou smells like lilies. He doesn’t mind the smell, but he often masks it with pungent shampoos and soaps so that his father doesn’t get upset with his smell. 

When he grows up and Shinjurou inevitably passes, Senjurou would stop using the soaps. He loves that he smells like his mother.

TASTE

This one is also fond of sweets. For personal reasons, he would never drink alcohol, but he also hates the bitter taste of it. But even if someone offered him a fruity, sweet type of alcohol... he’d turn it down. 

Much like his brother, he also likes mochi. Vanilla is his favorite.

TOUCH

Soft, wonderfully small hands. Even as he grows up, his hands remain soft and small- but he has a few scars that you wouldn’t expect. They’re all from cooking mishaps. 

Senjurou also hates the feeling of gritty, rough things. They make him shiver and grimace. For example: never ask him to hold a coconut. He can do it, obviously, but he just hates it a lot.

[omgjasminesimone]

The Hot Exchange Student Part 3

Logan x MC (Ellie)

Previous Part: Part 2

Next Part: Part 4

Author’s Note: This is longer than usual, and I didn’t get as far as I originally wanted to. Hopefully you guys like the longer length! One last RoDAW entry!

Summary: Logan is an exchange student from Detroit a month into his exchange program in L.A. Tensions rise with his detective host father as Logan becomes involved in L.A.’s criminal underbelly, while simultaneously becoming romantically involved with the detective’s daughter.

Word Count: ~4000

For a few moments no one speaks, a silent showdown. Mr. Wheeler is looking at his daughter with his ‘I’m not mad, I’m disappointed’ face, but when his stare turns to Logan sitting beside her, his face reads, ‘I’m both mad and disappointed’.

“Where were you guys?” Detective Wheeler finally asks.

“A car show.” Ellie answers.

“I was unaware they had car shows at 11:00 PM on Saturday nights. Did you mean an illegal sideshow?” Detective Wheeler prompts.

Ellie sighs, her shoulders slumping. “Yes.”

Detective Wheeler nods. “Despite the fact that you guys are grounded, and you’re only supposed to leave the house for school or if you’re studying.”  

Ellie deflates further. “…Yes.” She answers when her father looks like he’s waiting for a response.

Detective Wheeler turns his gaze to Logan, who is sitting beside Ellie defiantly, not looking remorseful in the least. “Anything you want to say Logan?” Detective Wheeler asks, narrowed eyes informing Logan that he’s looking for an apology.

He doesn’t get one. “Just that the three week grounding for missing a 10:00 curfew seemed a little excessive to me. Ellie is a good person. You can loosen the leash a little bit.”

Ellie winces at that response. Her dad is going to explode.

The cold, calm anger Detective Wheeler speaks with next is more terrifying than the rare occasions when he’s yelled at her. “You’ve been very disrespectful since you got here Logan. We’ve had several conversations about it, and your behavior has not changed. I think you’re a bad influence on Ellie, and I really don’t like that. If you’re going to live under my roof, you’re going to follow my rules. Otherwise, you can leave my house and go back to Detroit early. Are we clear?”

This is the first time Detective Wheeler has actually threatened to kick Logan out of the house. Logan’s jaw clenches as he fights his desire to retort. He chances a quick look at Ellie before he nods. “Crystal.”

“Good. I also want to speak to your parents about your behavior.” Detective Wheeler adds, leaning back in his recliner.

Logan hesitates, taking a breath before he finally speaks. “I can give you my current foster father’s phone number if you really want it, but I can promise you he’s not going to care. And most of the time his phone doesn’t work because he spends his whole social security check on beer before paying the bill.” Logan reveals.  

Foster care. That explains a lot. The lack of belongings. His aversion to parental authority. His ‘situation’ in Detroit. Ellie feels bad for him, but she tries to fight down that feeling. She knows Logan well enough to know that he doesn’t want her pity. That’s probably why he never told her.

“I’d still like his number.” Detective Wheeler says, pulling out his address book while Logan goes through his phone to pull up his contacts. Logan recites the number, and Detective Wheeler writes it down. “I’ll call him tomorrow since it’s so late, even later Central time. You guys should get to bed too.”

Ellie looks at her dad suspiciously. That’s it? Ellie starts to get up, but then her father speaks again.

“By the way, you guys are grounded for another 3 weeks. And this time, I mean it.”

…

..

.

Ellie’s phone pings as she and Logan watch a movie on the couch, her head resting on his shoulder. She sits up to grab it from the coffee table. It’s a text from her dad.

Dad: Peace signs by the refrigerator.

“Logan, peace signs by the refrigerator.” Ellie reports, standing up and heading towards the kitchen. Logan follows behind her, hands in the pockets of his jeans.

“This is so stupid.” He complains as they pose for the selfie. Ellie sees he’s flipping a bird in her camera screen as she prepares to take the photo.

“Logan.” She admonishes, so he lifts his index finger as well to make the peace sign her father has requested.

To enforce his grounding when he’s away at work, Ellie’s father requests specific poses somewhere in the house. That way, he knows they’re home like they’re supposed to be. This is their last day of grounding, but it hasn’t been all bad.

Ellie has gotten a lot of studying done over the three weeks, and more importantly, she’s had a lot of quality time to spend with Logan. He’s more open with her now, since he’s not trying to hide his background anymore.

Logan told her that he was born in prison. That he doesn’t know who his father is. That his mom is still in jail for all he knows, they’ve never had any contact.

He told her about his current foster father, an alcoholic with 6 foster kids in a small three bedroom trailer. Logan shares a small bedroom with a 15 year old foster brother, who Logan simply describes as ‘troubled’. Despite this, he tells her it’s actually one of his better placements.

That’s why when his high school counselor told him about the opportunity for a full ride scholarship for the exchange program, he jumped on it.

 (“She’s straight out of college. So she’s not jaded yet, she still cares.” Logan scoffs, drawing skulls on the toes of his chucks as they hang out on the porch. “That won’t last long.”)

Another reason why the grounding hasn’t been all bad is because they’ve found creative ways to work around it. Ellie and Logan signed up for an after school SAT prep class, and Logan convinced her to lie to her father about what time it ends, giving them 2 hours of free time each day after school. Well, Logan has 4 hours of free time because he doesn’t actually go to the class. She’s not sure exactly what he’s doing, he’s very vague about it when she asks.

Ellie feels bad about lying, she didn’t habitually lie to her father before Logan got here, but she does enjoy those 2 hours with Logan. Sometimes, they go to the beach. Or that diner she loves with Riya and Darius. But usually, that time is dedicated to driving practice. Ellie really want to pass her license test.

Since they’re already in the kitchen, Ellie pops another bag of popcorn before they return to the couch. “Do you feel ready for your driving test tomorrow?” Logan asks, watching her instead of the cheesy horror movie.

“I think I am.” She smiles up at him. “You’ve taught me well.”

..

Hmm, what to wear. Ellie is looking for an outfit that says, hey, this girl is a competent driver who totally deserves a license. She settles on a denim skirt and a white shirt that hangs off her shoulders. She’s putting her long hair into her usual braid when Logan knocks.

“Hey troublemaker. Change of plans. I’m sorry, but I can’t take you to your test. Something important came up.” He takes in her outfit. “Wow, you look great.”

She’s too annoyed with him to be flustered at the compliment. “What do you mean you can’t take me? I can’t ask my dad and rescheduling with the DMV would be an absolute nightmare.”

“You can take the car, just drive yourself.” Logan underhand tosses her the keys.

She catches them with both hands, “But, I don’t have my license! It’s illegal for me to drive by myself.”

“Just don’t get pulled over on the way there and you’ll be fine. You’re definitely going to pass. Come here, good luck hug, not that you need it.”

She wants to ask him what he’s doing that’s so important, but she doubts he would tell her. So she just walks over and hugs him. He smells really good. Like, vanilla-y? She tightens her grip around his muscled chest, burying her face into his shirt.

“Text me when you’ve passed.” Logan says as he pulls away after one last squeeze.

She is even more of a stickler for the rules than she usually is as she drives to the DMV, cars behind her getting annoyed with her since she’s actually under the speed limit. But she doesn’t get pulled over, and when she finishes her test the instructor says she’s the best beginner he’s ever seen. She’s passed.

Ellie smiles for her new license photo, and once it’s printed she takes a photo of the freshly minted license and texts it to Logan. He replies right away.

Logan: congrats!!

Logan: knew u could do it troublemaker

Ellie: Thank you! I’m very excited, if you couldn’t tell from the big cheesy grin on my license photo. :D

Ellie: Where are you? I can come pick you up, we can get a celebratory late lunch/early dinner.

The three dots indicating that Logan is typing starts, stops, and then starts again as he probably writes and deletes a message.

Logan: I’m actually at a drive-in movie theater

Logan: come meet me troublemaker 😉

His next text includes an address on Rosecrans. Ellie plugs it into her phone and takes her first licensed solo drive.

..

Ellie wanders the parking lot on foot. Logan told her to park on the street (they charge by car), and that she’s looking for a white van. But there are a lot of cars here. She looks around helplessly, pulling out her phone to text Logan again.

“You lost, sweetheart?”

Ellie turns to see who would use sweetheart in such a condescending manner. She’s met with a boy who looks to be around her age, dark hair, even darker eyes, dressed in a leather jacket and carrying a tub of popcorn. He seems  familiar for some reason.

“Maybe a little lost. Logan’s directions were a little vague.” She admits.

“Aah, you must be Ellie. Logan said you were coming.” He looks her up and down. “What is a girl like you doing hanging out with a lowlife like Logan?” Before Ellie can say anything in Logan’s defense, the boy walks off. Ellie assumes she should follow him.

He stops in front of an old white cargo van, opening the sliding door. Inside there’s Logan, a man with long hair, prominent neck tattoos, and glasses, an extremely tall woman, and another woman with long black hair and a piercing gaze all resting on bean bag chairs in the back.

“Hey Ellie, you made it.” Logan says, taking her hand to help her into the van. “Ellie, this is Toby, Ximena, Mona, and Colt.”

Toby and Ximena both give her a welcoming smile, while Mona just looks at her appraisingly. “Take a seat Ellie! Or you’re going to miss the best part!” Toby warns, eyes returning to the screen.

Ellie squeezes onto Logan’s bean bag chair, leg flush against his. “How’d you meet your friends?” She asks Logan softly.

“I wouldn’t say they’re my friends. Just coworkers I get along with. Well, I don’t always get along with Colt. But he’s just visiting Kaneko over his Fall Break.” Logan answers.

Ahh, so that’s why Colt looked familiar, he’s Kaneko’s son. Ellie’s brow furrows as she goes over the rest of his statement. “Coworkers? You have a job?”

His eyes widen slightly at his slip up. He gives her a measured glance, as if he’s deciding how much he should tell her. “I’m doing some work for Kaneko.”

Ellie’s blood runs cold, remembering how everyone feared Kaneko. Knowing that whatever work Kaneko is offering is probably criminal. What has Logan gotten himself into? “What kind of work?” She presses.

“Shh you two! Blown Gasket is playing!” Toby chastises, looking at the screen raptly during a car chase scene.  

Ellie shuts up, but not before giving Logan a look that clearly says the discussion isn’t over.

Colt scoffs at Toby’s enthusiasm. “Calm down Toby. You’ve only seen this stupid movie fifty times.”

“No one forced you to come Kaneko Jr.” Mona retorts, not even bothering to turn away from the screen to look at Colt.

“My dad wanted everyone out of the garage while he does whatever he’s doing, especially me.” Colt replies.

Logan leans over slightly to whisper in Ellie’s ear, not wanting Toby’s wrath. “Does your dad know where we are?”

“I just told him we’re out with friends. We’re not grounded anymore, so he was fine with it.” Ellie whispers back.

Half an hour later, Ellie finishes the last of the popcorn in the extra large tub. She starts to put the empty tub down on the floor, when Ximena interjects. “Nuh uh sweetie. Whoever finishes it gets the next refill.”

Toby gives Ellie a $100 bill. “Does anyone have anything smaller?” Ellie asks, standing from the bean bag chair and heading for the door.  

“Nope.” Mona responds, opening the door for Ellie.

Ellie is walking across the lot towards the concession stand when suddenly someone steps in front of her, blocking her path. Ellie looks up and is met with Salazar’s smirking face. “I can’t believe it, real nice of you to join us.” Salazar sneers.

“Salazar…” Ellie mumbles, dropping the popcorn bucket and turning around to head back to the van when Salazar steps towards her menacingly. Ellie’s escape path is cut off by the same four goons who had accompanied Salazar when he lost the race.

“I heard the Mercy Park Crew was hanging around here, came to see for myself.” He spits out when he reaches her. Mercy Park Crew? Ellie has no idea what he’s talking about. “Your boyfriend owes me money for what he did, lots of it.”

“You lost the race. You both agreed on the terms.” Ellie mutters weakly, looking around for a possible escape but finding nothing.

“I don’t remember him stealing the opportunity I had with Kaneko being one of the terms. I worked hard to build respect in the streets, to make a name for myself, and now some punk kid shows up and gets everything handed to him? That’s bullshit.” He turns to the biggest goon. “Grab her. He’ll pay to get her back.”

“No!” Ellie tries to fight off the heavily tattooed man gripping her arm roughly, but he’s twice her size so she doesn’t stand a chance.

“Get away from her. You got a problem with me, you leave her out of it.” Logan’s voice has a dangerous edge to it that Ellie has never heard before. The goon looks to Salazar, waiting for a small nod, before releasing her.

Ellie quickly retreats to Logan’s side, and he gently pushes her behind him. Salazar smirks, eyeing Logan venomously. “Now it’s a party.”

The goons close in, encircling Logan. Logan clenches his fists, gearing up for a fight.

“No, Logan! You can’t fight them five on one. We need to run.” Ellie reasons.

He briefly turns to look at her, his gaze hard. “You need to run. Now.” He swings his fist at the nearest goon, rocking his jaw.

That goon goes down, clutching his jaw, but one of the others cries “Get him!”, and the remaining goons and Salazar attack all at once. Ellie doesn’t run as instructed, instead she looks on worriedly as Logan fights like an animal, punching, grappling, slamming.

Her heart hurts a little as she wonders where he learned to fight like this. Was it a particularly abusive group home? Out on the streets of Detroit? He holds his own for a while, but eventually he can’t fend them all off and they get him down to the ground.

“You piece of shit.” Salazar sneers, kicking Logan hard in the ribs, again, and again. Ellie can’t take anymore, so she grabs a forgotten pipe on the asphalt as she runs towards the melee.

“Stop it!” She cries, swinging as hard as she can into Salazar’s back. He topples over with a grunt.

Salazar glares at her. “You little bitch.” Logan takes advantage of Salazar being momentarily preoccupied, kicking straight into one of the goon’s chin. He falls with a yelp. But another goon grabs Ellie, throwing her roughly into a car door. Ellie feels a searing pain from her forehead, raising her hand to grasp at it. When she brings her hand back down, there’s blood on her palm. “Nnh.” She mutters weakly, putting both hands to the asphalt in an attempt to get back to her feet.

“Ellie!” Logan exclaims. He’s covered in bruises, but he tries to push himself up anyway. He is quickly beaten back down.

Salazar gets to his feet, dusting himself off. “You don’t know who you messed with.” He threatens, readying to stomp down on Logan.

Suddenly, a razor sharp knife flicks to Salazar’s throat, Mona appears behind him with Toby, Colt, and Ximena, all looking very threatening. Ellie is surprised Toby can pull off such a menacing look.

“Do you?” Mona asks, allowing the blade to dig in a little more. Salazar lowers his foot, putting his hands up, knowing he’s been beaten. “Don’t show your faces here again.” Mona threatens, shoving Salazar away. Salazar glares at Ellie and Logan one more time before stalking away, his injured goons following behind him.

Colt offers Logan a hand up. “You’re pretty lucky I saved your ass, huh? Pshh…and dad thinks you could replace me.”

Logan ignores Colt’s hand, getting up on his own. “Funny, I don’t feel too lucky right about now. Where’s Ellie?”

“Logan!” Ellie runs to the group, taking Logan’s face into her hands and gently examining the bruising, the worst of it around his right eye, which is swollen shut. He smiles weakly at her, apologetically. Ellie sighs, gently rubbing her thumb on his cheek. “We need to get you home Logan.”

She turns towards the others. “Thank you for saving him.”

Colt smirks, crossing his arms over his chest. “Consider it Mercy Park Crew community service.”

…

..

.

“Ellie? Logan?” Her dad’s voice carries from the kitchen as Ellie opens the front door and the door alarm chimes shortly.

“Hey Dad, we’re home.” Ellie calls back, trying to tug Logan up the stairs before her dad sees his bruises, which will no doubt lead to questions they’re unprepared to answer.

“Dinner is almost ready!” Her dad calls back. The smell of his home made spaghetti permeates the air.

“Okay! We’ll be down shortly!” Ellie yells from the top of the stairs, pulling Logan into his room. She pulls the door almost closed behind them, leaving it open just a crack. That’s another one of her dad’s rules, she and Logan aren’t allowed to be in a room together with the door closed.

Ellie pulls the first aid kid from the closet. “Sit.” She commands, so Logan takes a seat on his bed. Ellie turns the lamp beside the bed on, bathing Logan in its soft glow. For the first time she sees how badly injured he is. She sighs, taking a seat beside him. “You shouldn’t have gone through all that trouble for me.”

“What are you talking about? They never would have gone after you if it wasn’t for me. So yes, I did” Logan insists. Ellie tenderly touches Logan’s face, and he tries to hide his wince, but she sees it. He places his hand over hers before she can pull back. “I’m fine Ellie. I’ve been in worse fights. They only got a few licks in.”

They clearly got more than a few licks in, but Ellie doesn’t argue with him. Instead, she opens the first aid kit. She remembers watching Salazar kick him in the ribs, knowing they’re probably seriously injured. “Can you take off your shirt?” She asks softly.

He peels off the white t-shirt, wincing a little at the movement, and tosses the shirt to the floor. He keeps the spark plug necklace he’s always wearing on.

She’s felt how toned he is when they’ve hugged, but it’s an entirely different experience to see all his taut muscles exposed in the low light of the lamp. But before she can become too distracted by his amazing body and six pack abs, she notices the dark purple bruising all over his sides. And beneath that, the scars from the car accident he told her about when he was teaching her to drive, making her promise to always be in control.    

Ellie grabs the peroxide from the kit and dabs it on a long gash running down his collarbone. “Fuck, that stings.” Logan complains, squeezing his eyes shut as he tries not to pull away from her.

“I’m sorry.” She apologizes, placing a soft kiss to the tan skin near the gash without even thinking about it. But she notices his soft intake of breath and realizes what she just did. She slowly raises her gaze to meet his.

Something electric passes between them, and then Logan’s eyes go up further, to the cut on her forehead. He pushes her hair out of her face and traces it, his touch gentler than she could ever expect from the same boy she saw just a half hour earlier fighting the goons so viciously.

“You’re hurt.” He observes.

“I’m fine. You’re the one who’s hurt.” She retorts, knocking his hand aside and getting back to her task of bandaging up the cut.

He shakes his head softly, watching her as she starts to bandage up his ribs. “You should have run Ellie. Why didn’t you run like I told you to?” Logan admonishes.

“I couldn’t just leave you there Logan.”

“You have to. You have to be able to leave me Ellie. Otherwise…” He trails off, turning away from her.

“Otherwise what? Logan?” When he still doesn’t respond, she puts both hands on his face and forces him to make eye contact. “What are you trying to tell me Logan?” She asks softly, looking deeply into his brown eyes.

Suddenly, he surges forward, lips capturing hers in a searing kiss.

Oh my God, he’s kissing her. She’s having her first kiss. She’ll have to call Riya later, her long-time best friend will want to know about this. Logan’s hands tangle in her hair, tilting her head as he attempts to deepen the kiss. Ellie doesn’t know what to do with her hands, she starts to put them on his strong bare shoulders, but chickens out at the last moment and let’s them fall back to her sides.

Wait, he’s licking at her lips now. Does that mean something? Does he want her to open her mouth? Is she ready for that? What if she’s a bad kisser? Is she totally embarrassing herself?  

Logan pulls away from her lips, resting his forehead against hers as both of their eyes open. “You’re overthinking this.”

“I overthink everything.”

Logan smiles softly at that response, giving her a quick peck. “Just relax. Do what feels natural. Trust me Ellie, there’s nothing you can do that I won’t like.” He closes his eyes and kisses her again, and Ellie takes his advice. She doesn’t think, she does what feels natural. Ellie’s hands trail up his arms to loop around his neck, pulling herself closer to him. He opens his mouth, and because of the way their wet lips are staggered, her mouth opens too, allowing him to slip his tongue in.

It’s an unfamiliar sensation, but she decides she likes it. She tentatively circles his tongue with her own, and he hums appreciatively. Despite his injuries, he pulls her onto his lap, letting her straddle him. He pulls back to give her time to breathe, kissing down her neck and across her collar bone.  

She tangles her fingers in his hair. It’s as soft as she always imagined it would be. Logan’s name escapes her lips on a breathy sigh as he sucks on her collar bone, marking her. He returns to her lips, kissing her more forcefully, hand pressed to her lower back to pull her even closer.

“Dinner!” Detective Wheeler calls from downstairs, causing the two teens to quickly spring away from each other, remembering where they are.

“We can’t let him see you like this. I’ll tell him you’re tired and skipping dinner. I’ll bring up your food later. Hopefully your eye will be less swollen tomorrow, we’ll put some concealer on your bruises.” Ellie plans out loud.

Logan smiles softly, really wanting to kiss her again. “Sounds like a plan troublemaker.” She turns to head downstairs. “Wait!” Logan calls out, reaching for her hand. He gently pulls her back to him and tugs her shirt up a little, covering the hickey forming on her collar bone. “Okay, you can go now.”

…

..

.

Taglist: @choicesarehard @ifyouseekheart @brightpinkpeppercorn @regina-and-happiness @choicelogansbitch @flyawayboo @fairydustandsarcasm @alesana45 @umiumichan @maxwellsquidsuit @lahelable @god-save-the-keen @mrsmckenziesworld @paisleylovergirl @iplaydrake @sinclaire-made-me-sin @hazah @lovehugsandcandy @desiree-0816 @cora-nova @justdani14 @lady-dianelewis @emceesynonymroll @emichelle @badchoicesposts @client-327 @riverrune @liamzigmichael4ever @princessstellaris

[faefictions]

The Kids From Yesterday | 1

Pairing: Harrison Osterfield x Reader

Word Count: 3,770

Summary: A road trip with her friends on the way to move in with her boyfriend makes the reader realize that she might not be as in love with the person she thought she was. 

A/N: Ok, so this was going to be just a one shot, but I couldn't control myself, and it got to be over 10k words before it was even half done, so here is part one of a 3 part (or not, idk how many) series!! 

Being in your early twenties is a weird time. Some of your friends are still living at home with curfews, some are still slogging through college, and some are getting married and starting the rest of their lives. When you were younger, you didn’t particularly see yourself being the latter of those options, you had imagined you would wait until your late twenties to settle down. But here you were, 22, sitting across from your boyfriend of 3 years. He had just asked you to move back home with him, and you were sitting speechless. He took it as a happy shock, but if you were going to be honest, it was anything but. 

None of your friends really liked your boyfriend, Adam. He wasn’t specifically terrible in any way, but he wasn’t exactly the best fit for you. He was very reserved in social settings, which wasn’t too off-putting for you, but it made it impossible to hang out with your group of friends. You had been friends with the Hollands since birth, so it was difficult to see them not get along with Adam, but you weren’t surprised. 

As Adam waited for your reply, you tried to use logic instead of listening to your heart. You of course had a place to stay already, and had never lived anywhere else, but your lease with your best friend and roommate, Harry, was going to be up in a couple months and you were already talking about trying to find a new place. You hadn’t been set on it, but this seemed to be a sign that maybe it was time. And you had never lived far from your hometown, so maybe this was a new adventurous chapter for you. So you agreed. You hadn’t thought about the implications it had for the relationship, but it was too late. 

When you got home that night and told Harry, he was less than happy. 

“Are you shitting me? Isn’t that something you should think over?” 

“Harry, come on. I’ve been dating him for years now, it’s about time we move in together anyway.”

“Yeah, in a flat across town, not in another city, hours away.”

“Harry, come on…”

“When?”

“I think he said next month? But I told him I was staying here with you until our lease is up and that I can just fly out and meet him there.”

Harry went to bed with a frown that night, but it was nothing compared to telling the rest of your friends. Harry’s twin, Sam, was the only one who tried to be at all supportive of you. Their older brother Tom was just as outraged as Harry, but the worst out of all of them was Harrison. 

You had only met Harrison a few years before you started dating Adam, so your relationship was different than the ones you had with the Holland boys. To be completely honest, you had had a huge crush on him before you got with Adam, but you knew that dating a friend would cause nothing but trouble, so you gave it up and moved on. 

Harrison was very protective of you, something that you loved. Even when Harry would simply tease you, Harrison would be by your side to defend you. He had been there for every single stupid fight you had with Adam, always holding you until you were stable enough to confront your boyfriend again. So when he heard the news of your leaving, his face fell, and it broke your heart. 

The 4 boys left empty beer cans littering the counters of your apartment’s kitchen while they drunkenly discussed their “secret” plans to get you to stay. You had argued that it wasn’t secret if you were there to listen, but they shushed you each time. You had to draw the line when they eventually came up with a plan to kill Adam and kidnap you. 

“Guys,” you laughed out to get their attention, “I’m sorry, but I have to go. As much as I would love to stay here and spend the rest of my life with you drunken idiots, I have to settle down at some point.”

A sad silence fell over the room, but Harry put a quick end to it. 

“You said he was going to head out there before you, yeah?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Well, how about, we all drive you out instead of you flying to meet him? We can make it a road trip, we’ll take the weekend off and send you off with some proper memories to remember us by.”

The boys all agreed that that was the only way they were going to let you out of their grasp. It sounded like fun, and would save you money since you didn’t have to book a last minute flight, so you agreed. 

A month later, Adam flew back to his hometown and began to look for an apartment for the two of you. He had a job arranged already, and you had a few interviews. You tried your best to be excited. You had been craving a change to spice up your mundane life for a while, but this just felt wrong. You loved Adam, but the second he had asked you to go, you had started to question how far that feeling extended. Moving to his home town with him was a big commitment, but you weren’t sure it was one you were wanting to make. You were sure you weren’t ready to be married to him, but the more time you had to think about it, the more you realized that you were fine with being married at this age, you just didn’t want to be married to Adam. But you were in too deep to back out, and every time Adam called you to update you on the apartment search you were reminded by the hope that he would never find something. 

A week before your lease was up, your phone screen lit up, and you knew it was the call you had been dreading. He had found the perfect apartment. It was affordable and 10 minutes from a beach. It had a large kitchen and beautiful patio with a view. It was more than you could ask for, and the pictures should have made you feel better about the move, but not even a mansion could make you happy about leaving. 

You of course decided to hide this feeling from your friends. If any of the 4 boys found out, they would easily talk you out of it. You just didn’t want to hurt Adam, so you decided to give it a year. If you weren’t happy, you could always move back. 

Despite losing his roommate, Harry decided to renew the lease under his name, and he told you if you ever wanted to come back, your room would be open for you. He helped you pack up your things every night for a week before you had to go. It mostly consisted of him throwing things in boxes from across the room and you yelling at him for nearly breaking all of your belongings, but it didn’t make it any less special. 

The night before you were set to leave, you both sat on the kitchen floor with a complete mess surrounding you. You were going through each and every belonging and sorting through what belonged to each of you. An hour into sorting, you guys broke out the alcohol, and the sorting became much slower, but the laughter that filled the apartment made it ok. There were mugs and plates scattered across the floor, random utensils and gadgets lying between them, and in the middle was the pair of you with bottles in your hands. 

“Ok, but do you remember when our neighbor lit her curtains on fire? They smell spread through the entire building, and you thought it was my cooking,” Harry laughed. 

“Of course I do. Do you remember when that same neighbor had that man over and we had to turn the volume on our movie up as far as it could go to drown out their moaning?”

“Burned into my skull.”

You both continued to reminisce as a knock came at the door. You chose to ignore it at first, you wanted to enjoy the last moments you had with Harry as your roommate, the person you wished you could remain living with. But the knock came again, so you got up, realizing suddenly that you had had more to drink than you originally thought. 

You stumbled over to the door and opened it to reveal Harrison on the other side. The frown you had from being dragged away from Harry was quickly replaced with a beaming smile when you realized who it was. 

“Haz,” you exclaimed, throwing your arms around his neck, “What are you doing here?”

“Have you been drinking?” he chuckled, hands going to your waist. 

“I am an adult and it is 10 pm, you have no room to judge, buddy.”

He smiled at you and took a few steps past so he could close the front door for you. “Is Harry around?”

“In here,” Harry called from the kitchen floor. 

When Harrison saw the mess surrounding Harry, his face fell to confusion. “Are you guys just trashing the place now?”

“We were sorting through our things, don’t want y/n missing anything when she leaves. What are you doing here?” Harry asked as he stood up to join you. 

“I just wanted to see y/n one last time before we left. The apartments not going to be the same without you.” 

You tried to hide your blush as you went to offer Harrison a beer from your nearly emptied fridge. He happily took the drink and joined both of you on the kitchen floor. He sat quietly as you and Harry continued to reminisce, a smile appearing on his face with each story. You had noticed that he was quieter than usual, but you were too caught up in the conversation to ask him if he was alright. 

After a few hours of drinking on the kitchen floor, the three of you had finally sorted through everything in the kitchen and cleaned up the mess. It was nearing midnight, and as much as you wanted to soak up every last second in the place you had spent the happiest moments of your life, you knew that you had to get some rest for the trip. 

“Do you want to stay over tonight, Harrison?”

“Yeah, if that’s fine with you guys.”

“Can we have a sleepover in the living room?” you excitedly asked both of them. There was no way they could say no to your excitement. Within minutes, the couches were covered in blankets and pillows and you were searching for a movie to fall asleep to. You settled on an old action movie that you had seen multiple times with Harry. By the time you had settled into your corner of the couch, Harry was already asleep. You were laying with your head on the arm rest, feet curled up near your chest to leave room for Harrison on the other end of the couch. 

“Are you excited to leave tomorrow?” you heard Harrison quietly ask over the movie. 

You sat up a little so you could see him clearly. He looked over at you, patiently waiting for a response. You considering telling him about the internal dread you held on the subject, but you had hid it to prevent any of the boys from talking you out of it. Since you were still able to be coerced to stay, you decided against it, but hated lying to him. 

You settled on replying with, “I’m a bit nervous.”

“Why would you be nervous?”

Of course it was because you didn’t want to be with Adam, but that was more information you couldn’t divulge. 

“It’s just further than I’ve ever been from home, you know? But I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

Harrison could tell you were hiding something, but he knew that you were holding back for a reason, so he pretended to believe you. 

Nothing else was said as both of your eyes reluctantly turned back to the television, slowly coaxing you both to sleep. 

The next morning, you woke up to your alarm going off. The slight headache from the alcohol you had consumed the night before was the last thing on your mind. You tried not to tear up as you woke up the 2 boys. You were feeling a depressing amount of nostalgia, and it was getting hard to hide. But you powered through, and once the boys were awake, all attention was off of you as they began to take your things out to the car. Sam and Tom showed up within an hour after you had woken up, and shortly after, everyone was packed into the car along with the bags and boxes. Luckily you hadn’t needed to bring much. All of your furniture was going to be picked up by your parents to be brought back to your childhood bedroom, and Adam had the furnishings of your new apartment arranged. 

The five of you had arranged to share a large hotel room so you could split the drive over 2 days. You could have easily made it in one, but they refused to let you go so soon. They had also planned a few surprise stops along the way. 

You spent the first leg of the drive trying to force yourself to live in the moment. Your brain was torn between wanting to soak in every last second with your friends and dreading the destination of your trip. While you knew you would see them again, you weren’t used to not seeing at least one of the boys everyday, so you did your best to focus on them, but the dread was built up so high in the back of your mind that it became impossible to ignore anymore. 

After a couple hours of driving, you made it to the first planned stop. It was a large restaurant in the middle of a town you hadn’t heard of. You had no idea why the boys were all so excited to take you there, but it was obvious once you saw the interior. There were deep red tablecloths covering each small table, fancy dishes professionally set atop each one. There was a large, beautiful chandelier in the middle of the large room. The boys all watched your face light up when you saw the inside, and their smiles matched yours when they saw your excitement. 

“How did you guys find this place?”

“It was Harrison’s idea,” Tom smiled. 

“I saw a picture of it on Instagram, thought you might like it.”

You were surprised that the hostess led your group to a table with how you all were dressed. None of you were wearing anything fancier than jeans, and this restaurant didn’t seem like the kind of place to allow anything less than black tie apparel.

The food you received was amazing, and the company was of equal quality. The meal could have lasted 15 minutes, but you remained seated for over an hour, laughter filling the quiet room. For being so fancy, the place was surprisingly empty. 

When you got back on the road, you sat in the backseat between Harry and Sam. Music was blasting through the stereo speakers and the windows were all down, allowing the breeze to blow everyones hair into their faces. You were finally able to push the thoughts to the back of your head and enjoy the car ride, listening to the boys sing along to every song. The drive passed by quicker than you hoped, and you were at the hotel before sundown. 

The room the boys had rented had two beds and a pullout couch. The twins called one of the beds, and Tom suggested you share the other with Harrison and he could take the pullout. 

You brought your small bag into the room and set it next to the bed designated as yours. The white sheets made it look incredibly inviting, and you were almost tempted to crawl underneath them and take a nap, but it was only late afternoon and if you slept at that point, you were going to be up way too early the next morning.  

You weren’t sure who had suggested it first, but everyone had agreed that you all needed to find somewhere to get drunk together. You put your shoes on as the others rushed in and out of the bathroom to get ready. 

Within the hour, you left the hotel room and found yourself at a loud local bar. The music blasted through the speakers, and you smiled endlessly as you downed shot after shot of whatever drink was cheapest. You planned on getting the most out of your money for the night. You tried to drag Harry out to the dance floor that had a small crowd of people who were just as terrible as you, but he refused to be seen dancing in public. 

“I don’t care how much I have in me, I won’t be caught dead out there tonight, y/n.”

As Harry walked to the booth where his twin was sitting, Harrison took your hand and laughed at your angry, scrunched up face. He led you to where you were trying to take Harry, and you stuck your tongue out over your shoulder to Harry from across the room. He smiled and did the same to you. 

The three Holland boys watched as you drunkenly danced with Harrison. You were a few shots ahead of all of them, and it was no secret that you didn’t hold your liquor as well either. You bought a few more shots, but Harrison cut you off eventually, trying to get you to go sit down at the booth with the rest of your friends. 

“Its either dancing or more alcohol for me, pick your poison, Haz.”

“Actually, it’s your poison. Dancing it is.”

Your dancing was more of a series of jumping and singing along loudly as you flailed yours and Harrison’s arms. To anyone else, it may have looked ridiculous, but to your friends, it was just you having a good time, something they had missed seeing. It was rare to get a night out like this with you. Adam had really put a damper on your adventures with these boys, and eventually he had put an end to them. 

You told Harrison you were going to the bathroom a few minutes after you had been “cut-off”, but you just used it as an excuse to order a few more shots while his back was turned. You had one down when Harrison reached you, wrapped his arms around your waist and tried to carry you away from the counter. You were laughing too hard and flailing around too much for him to get very far. He set you down on the dance floor, a few feet away from where he had grabbed you. 

“I said no more,” he lectured, but he couldn’t help the smile creeping up on his face. You were pretending to have no idea what he was talking about, and he found it adorable.  

“I just wanted one more. I’m having a good time, Haz,” you finally admitted. 

“And you’re one shot away from a bad time.”

You scrunched your nose at him, just like you had done when Harry refused to dance with you. You both knew he was right, so you didn’t fight him on it. 

You two walked back to the table and spent some quality time with the rest of the group. They mostly just made fun of your dancing, but you just claimed they were all too chicken to have any real fun by making fools of themselves. You did sneak off one more time to get the last shot you had already paid for, but no one caught you that time. 

You were almost asleep on Harry’s shoulder when the boys decided it was time to go back to the hotel. They each offered to carry you, but you insisted that you were completely capable of making it back. 

As you walked back to the hotel, you did stumble a little, so Harrison slowed down to your pace, keeping an arm tight around your shoulder as you both trailed behind the others. 

“Thanks for dancing with me tonight,” you beamed up at him. 

“Of course, I was just glad to see you having a good time.”

“It’s been a while.”

“Well you’ve been living your life, we understand.”

“No, I mean it’s been a while since I’ve had a good time.”

Harrison furrowed his brow at the change in your tone. He wanted to ask what you meant, but felt that he shouldn’t push it when you were this intoxicated. 

“Can you keep a secret?” You asked, a little slurred. 

“Of course, but…”

“I don’t think I love Adam. I’m kind of afraid I’m making a huge mistake.”

“Y/n…”

“I really should have dumped him when he asked me to move in with him instead of saying yes, but I was dumb. And I’ve been thinking about it, I think I’d rather marry a…a sea urchin.”

He laughed at how you spat the words “sea urchin”, but his laughter quickly subsided as he sadly glanced down at you. Your eyes were set in front of you, and he had never seen them look so dead. 

“I wish I could go back in time and say no,” you whispered after a few beats, and he caught a glimpse of a tear roll down your cheek. 

He finally paused on the sidewalk and pulled you into his arms, hugging you tightly as a quiet sob came out. His hand held your head against his chest. There was so much he wanted to say in that moment, but he knew he couldn’t. He wasn’t even sure you would remember this moment in the morning. So he just held you in his arms on the sidewalk for a little longer.

Harrison gave you a piggyback for the rest of the way. The moment your head hit the pillow, you were out for the night. Harrison, on the other hand, took your shoes off for you and laid them by the bed. Everyone in the room was snoring as he sat awake with your words running through his head. 

Let me know if you would like to be tagged in the other parts of this series! (or if you would like to be added to my permanent taglist!)

taglist: @smilexcaptainx @artsycth @rose-marys-love @chonisberonica @5sos-wdw @chloe-geoghegan1 @spiderlingsweb @embrace-themagic

[sanderssidesfanfiction]

We’ll Carry On - Chapter Thirteen

We’ll Carry On Tag

General Content Warnings: Sympathetic Deceit Sanders, Substance Abuse, Abandonment, Minor Character Death, Transphobia, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Dissociation, Bullying, Homophobia

Chapter-Specific Warnings: Police

January 12th, 2017

Virgil was absolutely terrified. He didn’t know what to do. One minute, he and Patton had been playfully arguing over a game of Operation, and the next, Charles was in the room, bellowing at them to be quiet. Virgil flinched at the loud tone of voice, and Charles got up in his face, breath reeking of stale beer. “What’s the matter, boy? Can’t take a little bit of noise?!” Charles sneered.

Tears were coming to Virgil’s eyes and he tried to keep his breathing even. He was five, about to be six. He was old enough to keep his emotions in check, especially when Charles was mad.

Patton was staring between the two of them with terror in his eyes. “Hey, Virgil, we can keep this going in our room, sound good?” he asked.

Virgil nodded and the two scurried out of the room, game in hand. Virgil took a deep breath. “Why did he yell? He’s never yelled like that before,” Virgil whispered.

Patton just shook his head. “I’m just glad he didn’t hit you.”

Virgil’s terror skyrocketed. What had Charles exactly threatened Patton with?

February 6th, 2019

Virgil swallowed in terror when he heard the man at the door say he wanted to come in. He wanted to scream, to tell Mister Emile to not let them in, because people he didn’t know could be bad, and if they were police, what if they took him and Patton back to Mom and Charles?

But he couldn’t say any of that. He was rooted to his spot on the couch, staring at the doorway with wide eyes. Patton kept a hand on his shoulder, like he always did when Charles would get angry, and Virgil only felt more scared because of it.

Mister Emile stepped back and a man and a woman walked in, neither of whom Virgil recognized. The woman had a badge on her hip and the man had a gun. Virgil squeaked and ducked behind the back of the couch, panicking. Patton hugged him, though Virgil could feel Patton’s tears starting to soak his hair.

The man peered over the couch at the two of them and pulled out a picture, frowning. He turned to Mister Emile. “Sir, where did you get these two children?”

“My husband found them freezing to death in the streets last night,” Mister Emile said. He wasn’t trying to stand tall and intimidate the police, but he wasn’t backing down from them either. “He took them to the hospital, and made sure they were all right. We called their grandmother this morning, because the kids had her number. She was unable to take care of them for the time being, so my husband and I agreed to house them until we knew what was going to happen to them. We had called Sarah McGee at Child Protective Services.”

The woman frowned. “Sir, these children were reported as having been kidnapped last night. Can you explain that?”

Mister Emile looked shocked. “I cannot,” he said. “If these two were taken, they said nothing about it. They spoke of an alcoholic stepfather, and their mother being neglectful, however.”

The police shared a look and Virgil blurted out, “Don’t send us back!” before he could stop himself.

They looked at him. He was shaking like a leaf, but he couldn’t help it. He was terrified. “Don’t send us back,” he pleaded. “I don’t wanna see Charles again. I don’t want him to yell and drink. I don’t...I don’t want him to hit me or Pat. And I don’t want our mom telling us that if we were just quieter he wouldn’t have to hurt us, because that’s not true! We’re always quiet there, and he gets mad and comes after us anyway!”

The woman walked over to him and Virgil flinched. “Honey, is what you’re saying true?”

“He’s not lying,” Patton assured her. “Charles...he likes to hit. He likes to hit me and Virgil where no one can see the bruises. And he drinks too much. Mom used to help us, but...but now she doesn’t. And she likes Charles too much to leave him or kick him out. So...so we ran away. And when we were cold in the middle of the street, and we were gonna be popsicles because it was snowing last night, you know, Mister Remy helped us get somewhere warm. Charles wouldn’t have done that for us. Mom might or might not, depending on how much she chose to listen to Charles. But Mister Remy and Mister Emile helped us. Mister Emile is our...” he turned to Virgil. “What was that word?”

“Biological?” Virgil asked.

“Yeah!” Patton exclaimed. He turned back to the woman. “He’s our biological dad. Mom told us about him all the time when we were little. Just what she knew from that bank place, because she never met him in person, but he’s super nice. He hasn’t hit me or Virgil once, and he and Mister Remy could have left us where we were to freeze, but they didn’t. They helped us. I don’t wanna go back to Charles, and I know Virgil doesn’t either. Even if we might miss Mom, she would never leave Charles, and that means we don’t want to be with her. Right?”

Virgil nodded. “Charles would hurt us for running away. I don’t wanna get hurt.”

Patton turned to the police. “You see? It’s not safe for us to go back! Doesn’t that mean we can’t go back?”

The police looked at each other. “We’ll need to make sure what you’re saying is true,” the policeman said.

Virgil summoned all his courage and stood on the couch, pulling up his shirt to show a boot-shaped bruise on his stomach. “Is this proof enough?” he asked. “It doesn’t hurt too much, because I’ve gotten used to it, but is this enough proof?”

Mister Emile paled when he saw the bruise. “When did you get that?!” he asked.

“The day we ran away, Charles was kicking things around. And I was one of those things,” Virgil said with a shrug. “Patton pulled me out of the room to hide in our closet. That’s when we decided to run away.”

The policewoman looked extremely angry. “I told you I got a bad feeling when we went to the house,” she said.

“Did it smell like beer?” Patton asked. “Because that probably means Charles was in a bad mood and did something bad last night.”

The police shared a look, before turning to Mister Emile. “Sir, you wouldn’t happen to know any foster families in the area that these two would feel safe at?”

“Here!” Roman said, jumping through the hallway. “Mister Emile and Mister Remy are certified foster parents!”

Logan piped up from behind Patton and Virgil. “I’m currently one of their foster kids, and I can say with certainty that they would make accommodations for these two. They’re already trying to build beds for them in case they decide they want to stay here.”

The police shared another look, and Virgil was almost convinced they were telepathic at this point. “Where is your husband, sir?” the man asked.

“Upstairs,” Mister Emile said. “You’re free to talk to him.”

“Yeah, Curatola, you go,” the man said.

The woman nodded and went upstairs, and the man winced. “Listen. Even with what the boys are saying, their mom is pretty insistent on wanting them back,” he said. “You might have to fight for custody in court.”

Mister Emile closed his eyes and sighed. “Yeah. I don’t like it, but I do understand.”

The man nodded. “You said you contacted Sarah McGee? I’m familiar with her, she’s one of the good ones.”

“Definitely,” Mister Emile said. “Do you really think I’ll have to fight for custody?”

“Well, as of right now, you’ve known these boys all of two days. The court system is also stacked against fathers, usually, which is unfortunate. I’m not saying it’s impossible to keep the boys out of that house, but it’s unlikely. For now, they can stay here, until the investigation with their mother is finished, but I’d look into finding a good lawyer if I were you,” the man said.

Tears blurred Virgil’s vision and Patton was hugging him tightly. “I don’t wanna go back,” he mumbled. “I don’t, I don’t.”

“It’s okay, Virge,” Patton whispered into his ear. “Even if we get taken back, we can run away again.”

Virgil sniffled and shook his head. “Charles probably painted our windows shut by now,” he whimpered.

“So we leave through the front door, or tell a teacher on him so they have to take us away,” Patton reasoned. “I won’t let us be stuck with yucky Charles for the rest of our lives.”

“It won’t work,” Virgil said. “If we go back we’ll never leave. I don’t wanna be stuck with them forever.”

“We won’t be,” Patton insisted. “I won’t let that happen. Understand, Virge? We’re not going back there. No matter what.”

“How can you say that, baby bro? There’s no guarantee that Mister Emile and Mister Remy will even win a court case, let alone be approved to keep us,” Virgil hissed.

“We’ll find a way,” Patton assured him again, voice a little louder. “We won’t go back to Mom and Charles.”

Virgil shook his head, a few tears starting to fall.

Patton bit his lip and turned to the policeman. “Mister Police Officer, sir?”

The man turned to him and Virgil watched the interaction with morbid fascination.

“Do you think the judge person will let me and my brother choose where we want to go?” he asked. “Our friend Tommy got to choose if he went to his mom or dad when they got a divorce.”

The policeman thought it over and hummed. “It would depend on the judge, kid. And even if you want to stay here, the judge could decide you’d be better with your mother.”

“But we wouldn’t be!” Patton exclaimed. “That’s the whole point of why we ran away!”

“Yeah, but sometimes people don’t make the right choice,” the policeman said. “My partner and I will testify if needed, based on what we see here and at your original home, but even then there’s only so much we can do.”

Patton set his jaw. “Well, you can tell the judge that even if Virgil and I have to go back to our mom, we’ll just run away again. And next time, we won’t go here, we’ll go somewhere no one can find us. Because I’m not letting me and my brother fear for our lives every day.”

The policeman blinked. “I’ll let the people at CPS know,” he said slowly. “That has to count for something in their investigation.”

“Reagan!” the woman said, coming down the stairs. “We have to go, the chief wants to talk to us.”

“All right,” the man said. He turned to Mister Emile “You have any concerns, you can contact me or my partner Detective Curatola, all right? You might be seeing us again soon, as well as CPS. This looks like it’s about to get messy, so keep sharp.”

Mister Emile nodded and the two detectives left. Immediately, Mister Emile came over to Virgil. “Are you both all right?” he asked, voice filled with genuine concern.

“I’m okay,” Patton said, but Virgil felt frozen in place.

He felt like he couldn’t breathe. His chest was too tight and he thought he might faint. He didn’t want to go back. He knew that Charles would be furious at them for running away, for getting the police involved, for everything. He wasn’t looking forward to that in the slightest. Coupled with the fact that they might have to go to court of all places just to be sent back home, it was a small wonder that he was only crying a little.

Patton was hugging him and Mister Emile was asking him questions, but they sounded garbled, and Patton’s touch burned like fire. He whimpered and curled into a ball, burying his head in his knees. He didn’t want to get in trouble for crying, or making noise, but it looked like he didn’t have much of a choice at this point. He was sobbing, huge shuddering breaths going in and out as quietly as he could manage. He was struggling, and he knew straightening up might help his breathing, but he couldn’t stand up right now. That was too dangerous. He didn’t want to be at risk for getting hit.

Patton was still hugging him and Virgil forced himself to not flinch away. Patton was good, he was trying to help. He wouldn’t hurt Virgil. He would never hurt Virgil.

Eventually, his sobs started to die down and he took in a big gulp of air, then another. When he peeked out from behind his knees he saw everyone’s eyes on him. He turned scarlet. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

“No need to be sorry, Virgil,” Mister Emile said. “Panic attacks are scary things. Do you feel better?”

“I guess,” Virgil said. “I can breathe again.”

“That’s good, at least,” Mister Emile said with a smile. “Don’t worry, Virgil, we’ll figure things out, all right? Everything’s going to be a-okay.”

Virgil really, really hoped so.

[dont-tempt-me-frodo]

The Jaskier Effect

Impalaloompa on ao3

The first time that Eskel noticed things were changing, he was collecting the payment for a contract on a wraith in Velen. The alderman handed him a leather coin pouch with a wink, saying “Toss a coin to your Witcher,” and then proceeded to hum some tune as Eskel turned to leave.  

Not every interaction was as odd, or as pleasant, but he did find that over the following months there was generally a slightly more tolerant attitude whenever he walked into a village or town, and less people tried to cheat him out of the coin he was owed for his work. If he hadn’t spent the better part of a century being shunned or ridiculed for being a Witcher, he probably wouldn’t have thought twice about it. Who was he to look a gift horse in the mouth? But he still kept his guard up. Aired on the side of caution. People don’t just change, and he was suspicious about this new growing respect for his kind.

It was in a tavern in Redania where he heard the song in full for the first time. He was perched at a table in the corner, thumbing a tankard of piss-poor ale when a young female bard started up and one of the patrons requested it.

It took Eskel a good few minutes to process that the song was about Geralt.

He didn’t know what was more surprising. The fact that his brother in arms had let a bard tag along on a hunt, or that he had allowed a song to be composed about him after the fact. Then again, he knew how much the title of ‘The Butcher of Blaviken’ upset Geralt, so maybe being sung about as a hero wouldn’t be so bad after all. Eskel had certainly noticed how this one song had started to affect people’s perceptions of Witchers, however subtle.

After the performance, Eskel had approached the female bard and asked if she was the one who wrote it. Essi, he later found out to be her name, had humbly thanked him but told him that a dear friend of hers had composed it. A bard called Jaskier.

Jaskier.

Eskel was very intrigued.

That winter he waited impatiently for Geralt to join them at Kaer Morhen. He asked Lambert if he had noticed the change and, Lambert being Lambert, had jumped on the chance to use it as a new way of getting into people’s pants. Not that he needed any help with that in the first place, but this new growing respect for Witchers definitely had its advantages.

Vesemir, like Eskel, advised on the err of caution.

“It won’t last,” he had warned, “It never does.”

“All the more reason to reap the benefits now, right Eskel?” Lambert threw him a lewd wink.

Eskel had grunted but not really given Lambert an answer.

When Geralt eventually showed up, just as the first snows started to fall, Eskel quizzed him mercilessly about the bard. He wanted to know how on earth the young human had found himself in the prickly Witcher’s company.

Geralt gave a very stunted story of how he met Jaskier and the adventure that followed but Eskel knew him well enough to see that the bard and his songs had affected Geralt in more ways than one. The White Wolf held affection for Jaskier. His hard edges were slightly softer than they had been last time they met. There was a new warmth to his amber eyes. Geralt, usually so closed off to the world, had unwillingly, or unwittingly, let someone in.

Witchers don’t tend to have friends outside of their own kind, and even then, they usually stick to their own Witcher School, and even then, sometimes ‘friend’ was such a strong word, but Eskel could see that this Jaskier had the potential to help Geralt find that part of himself so many believed was stripped from him when he underwent the mutations.

Geralt of course, insisted that Jaskier was not his friend and, come spring, when Eskel asked him if he was going to travel with the bard again Geralt shrugged with a grunt.

“If our paths cross, our paths cross,” the white haired Witcher answered nonchalantly.

Eskel just rolled his eyes.

“Well thank him for me if they do,” he rumbled.

“What for?” frowned Geralt.

“For the good work he’s doing for all Witcher kind,” Eskel grinned with a wink.

Geralt scoffed, mounted his faithful mare and disappeared down the trail.  

As the years passed by and more songs about the White Wolf emerged, Eskel found his job as a Witcher to be less monotonous and more interesting. People were actually willing to converse with him, even offer him better rates for contracts. One barkeep even gave him a free beer because he recognised the wolf medallion around Eskel’s neck.

“You a wolf Witcher? You know that Geralt? Drinks on the house!”

Eskel was sure he’d never get used to it.

And, as he expected, not everyone was keen on the new perspective of Witchers. Some still slandered him in the streets, threw stones, spat at him, tried to pick fights with him that he knew they’d never win. But, thanks to Jaskier and his influence, life as a Witcher had improved considerably.

When Geralt returned to Kaer Morhen each winter, he always brought more stories of his time spent travelling with the bard. Eskel could see the brightness in his eyes and the soft way he spoke about Jaskier. Geralt was warm and open and laughing and joking, and it had been a long time since Eskel had seen him like this. The affect the bard was having on him, it was nice. Good.

Lambert insisted that Geralt should invite Jaskier to Kaer Morhen the next winter. Geralt had laughed it off, saying that Jaskier would much rather spend his winters warm and cosy in Oxenfurt than freezing his balls off with the likes of them, but he could see the thought playing in Geralt’s mind and he really hoped that Geralt would introduce them to the bard next year.

Eskel didn’t have to wait that long though.

It was nearing the end of summer and Eskel was passing through Novigrad. He usually avoided the big cities, but he was running low on a very specific herb to brew his potions and he knew the herbalist off Hierarch Square was the only place for miles around where he could get it.

He had wrapped his travel cloak around himself, making sure his hood hid his face as he ventured into the city. The general attitude and acceptance towards Witchers was better than it had ever been but, in Novigrad, where the majority of the populace was still out to get anyone non-human, he couldn’t be too careful.

His transaction with the herbalist went as smoothly as he could have hoped, and he pocketed the small pouch of herbs carefully. By now though, it was starting to get late and his horse was tired from the long day of traveling so, he decided to stop off in a tavern for the night.

He left his mount in the capable hands of the stable boys and slunk into the ‘Kingfisher’ without drawing too much attention to himself.

The heat of the tavern hit him in a stifling cloud. The tang of alcohol and sweat swirled about him, and the wall of noise was a mixture of shouted conversation and singing along with whomever the entertainment was for the evening.

Eskel wove his way through the many patrons and quietly discussed a room for the night with the barkeep.

Wary of the Witcher, the squat man had warned him if there was any trouble, he’d be out quicker that you could say Gwent. Eskel accepted his terms and found a stool at the edge of the bar to inhabit as he nursed a tankard of ale.

Hood still drawn to shadow his face, he cast his keen eyes over the patrons and his attention was drawn to the musician in front of the hearth.

The bard was a few years shy of thirty. Dark brown windswept looking hair and bright blue eyes. He was stood on a stool and was stamping in time to the beat of his wild lute playing. His voice was rich and just as colourful as the teal doublet and breeches he wore, embroidered and patterned with navy blue.  

There was something about him, like he was familiar somehow. Then it hit him. He knew exactly who this bard was.

“Ho Hey

But the Witcher knew

Took a Witcher’s brew

And the Witcher slew.

Ho Hey

And the village knew

That their beast was through

And tossed his way some coin and ale and stew.”

Jaskier beamed as he sang, the patrons around him joining in with this chorus, stamping and clapping in time.

Eskel couldn’t tare his eyes away. Geralt’s description of the bard had been spot on but he could never have been prepared for…well this.

The confidence, the elegance that came with his playing. The animated charm. The way he had everyone around him engaged and enjoying themselves. Eskel could understand why Geralt was drawn to him.

He was barely listening to the lyrics. Just staring at the man who had won over his brother in arms.

Jaskier sang the chorus again then finished with a flourish, grinning at the rambunctious applause.

“Thank you,” he winked at a passing barmaid who swooned, “I will be taking a short break but fear not. I will return.”

There was a mixture of cheers and protests as the young bard skipped through the crowd and leaned over the bar, very close to where Eskel was sitting.

Gods above, Eskel thought to himself, his scent!

Jaskier smelled like lavender and sandalwood, fresh parchment and woodsmoke. It was a scent that Eskel had picked up on many occasions throughout the last few winters. Lingering on Geralt’s clothing, on Roach’s saddlebags.

With a goblet of wine in hand, Jaskier thanked a woman who was excitedly complimenting his singing and when she finally melted back into the throng, he took a long drink and then rested his gaze on Eskel.

Amber eyes met blue and Jaskier quirked an eyebrow at him.

“Well, well, well,” the bard crooned, voice thick with curiosity, “Dark and mysterious stranger who has been ogling me since he came in turns out to be a dark and mysterious Witcher.”

Eskel swallowed hard, not quite sure what to say to him. Not that it really mattered because Jaskier barely paused for breath before he continued.

“Let me see. Wolf Witcher,” Jaskier indicated the medallion just visible through the folds of grey cloak then narrowed his eyes at him, “You must be Eskel.”

Eskel absently touched the long scar tracking down the right side of his face. Of course Geralt had talked about his brothers with the bard, described them to his friend.

Jaskier’s expression softened.

“No,” he smiled kindly, “It’s the eyes, the jaw. You look a lot like Geralt. Except, you know, he has white hair and you’ve got – is it dark brown? Black? Anyway. I’m Jaskier.”

Eskel hesitated before taking the offered hand and Jaskier shook it enthusiastically.

“I imagine Geralt has mentioned me. Though not all bad, I hope. So, what brings you to Novigrad? Some monster lurking about? You doing some Witchering?”

Eskel was baffled by this young man.

Jaskier talked quickly without much pause for thought, true, but he was talking to him like…they were equals. Friends even. The bard was warm and open and ridiculously handsome, though Eskel would never tell Geralt that he thought so. There wasn’t an ounce of the usual fear he experiences when talking to people. No guarded expression. No hidden motivation. Just an imploring gaze and friendly smile.

Eskel understood completely why Geralt had given in to allowing Jaskier to travel with him. He didn’t see what everyone else saw. Didn’t see the Witcher, the monster, the savage killer. He saw Geralt. And now, he saw Eskel.

“Thank you,” Eskel heard himself say.

Confusion twitched in Jaskier’s expression and he tilted his head slightly.

“For what?” he hummed.

For what? Eskel bit his cheek. For helping to improve Geralt’s image? For being Geralt’s friend? For changing how people see Witchers? For increasing the payment prospects of contracts for Witchers across the continent? For everything?

“For your songs,” he settled on.

Jaskier flashed him a dazzling smile.

“You’re welcome,” he smirked.

Eskel realised that Jaskier had no idea how much his songs had actually affected the Witchers and their place in the continent. He had no idea that singing about Geralt was just the start of a ripple that had spread across the lands and changed people for the better. He had no idea of the legacy he was building, for himself, for his friend, and for all the working Witcher’s who used to struggle to get a decent price for even a few Drowners.

The fame of Jaskier the bard wasn’t exclusive to the high courts and bustling taverns. Jaskier had no idea how big his impact actually was.

And Eskel didn’t have the first clue on how to start telling him.

“You staying in Novigrad long?” Jaskier asked breezily, taking a sip from his goblet.

“Not if I can help it,” the Witcher shrugged.

“No jobs enticing enough to make you change your mind?”

“Unfortunately no one puts out contracts on Priests of the Eternal Fire,” Eskel grunted.

Jaskier snorted into his wine and Eskel felt his lips pull in a small smile.

“Fair enough,” Jaskier composed himself, eyes blazing with mirth, “We can’t always be so lucky.”

“What about you? How long are you here for?” being drawn into conversation with the bard was easy. It felt natural and relaxed and safe.

“Meh, who knows? Until I bore of the markets and politics and need to get back out there on the Path,” Jaskier frowned at the dregs lining the bottom of his goblet and Eskel flagged down the barkeep to order more drinks.

“Going to look for Geralt?” Eskel glanced at Jaskier over the top of his tankard.

“I might,” Jaskier shot him a playful grin, “Unless you want the company on the road for a while.”

It was Eskel’s turn to choke slightly on his drink.

“A new muse could be just what I need. How about it Eskel? Not all my songs have to be about Geralt, you know.”

Eskel caught those blue eyes and held them for a moment.

“Sure. Why not?” he rumbled.

“Excellent,” Jaskier clapped his hands together gleefully, “You and me Eskel, we’re gonna change the world.”

You already have, Eskel thought to himself, and I’m going to spend whatever time we have together making you see it. Making you understand. Showing you what you’ve done for us. For me. And for Geralt. The affect you’ve had on all Witchers and the world you have created for us. Just you wait and see.

[thatsabae]

Payback - Jungkook | Chapter 6

genre: romance/comedy/friends-to-lovers

summary: “Revenge is sweet”, that’s what they say, and your plan is to find out if that statement is true. After finding out about your boyfriend’s infidelity, you seek after his lover’s boyfriend, cause mama always told you that sweets are better when shared. But first, you need to convince him to join you.

prologue

|

chapter 1

|

chapter 2

|

chapter 3

|

chapter 4

|

chapter 5

|

chapter 6

|

chapter 7

|

chapter 8

|

chapter 9

|

chapter 10

|

chapter 11

|

final

Y/N: It will be awesome, Jungkook! [sent: 07:59 p.m. / read: -]

Y/N: So anxious! [sent: 08:00 p.m. / read: -]

Passing in front of Jin’s house scared you. There were so many people that you wondered if your plan would work. He can’t possibly know all those people, right? Jordan would want to leave the party before you could even find Jungkook or Jin and all the hard work would go to waste. It would be an achievement if he even entered.

You sigh. 

“I think the party is here.” Taehyung joked, in the backseat. You smiled, but Jordan was silent. An angry silence. 

Convincing him to come was harder than what you thought it would be. Guess the fake tears and screams for attention would only work once. But you were lucky that Taehyung was also interested in the party so Jordan couldn’t handle you two nagging on him. 

Jordan said he was tired from work, and having to park the car three blocks away did not help to lighten up his mood. You try to not show in your eyes how much pleasure this is giving you.

“What kind of music is this? And the smell?”

You just rolled your eyes, ignoring him and opening the front door.

“You’re not even inside, Jordan. Stop acting like a grandpa, you ain’t that old yet”. 

You smile to Taehyung, even if he can’t see. He always had your back. It was like this since you were a child. He could make fun of you and be annoying, but no one else could.

Inside the house was just as crowded as it was outside. People at the sofas, the staircase, and also some sitting on each other’s laps to make room. With so many people, there was no way you could notice the decoration. 

Trying to seem just curious, you look for your backup and you can easily spot Jungkook and Calli with a group of people, and with them, you also see Jin, in the middle of them, telling them something so interesting that they barely blink. He was the first to notices you, and a moment later, Jungkook turned his head to your direction. 

The plan is following the right course. 

“How did you find out about this party…” You interrupt Jordan before he says something that would reveal your lie too soon.

“Should I get us something to drink?” 

“I’m good.” Your brother tells you, looking around, trying to find any familiar faces and not realizing Jordan was talking to him before. 

“I don’t think we should drink anything from here. We don’t know what it is”. 

Your brother and you exchange a meaningful look. 

How did you handle being with this guy for more than a year and think about marriage? Five minutes with him were driving you nuts already. 

You start chatting with Taehyung, about nothing really important, when you notice that Jordan’s body suddenly got tense, and you know what that means. He saw Calli. 

Spying the spot you last saw her, you notice she’s trying to hide behind Jungkook. 

You look at your cellphone and it’s not the right time yet. Just a little more. 

Even bringing your brother along was part of the plan. When Jordan realizes that he was fooled, you wouldn’t have to deal with him alone. Taehyung would be there, so your boyfriend wouldn’t really express how mad he is. You would face him later.

You even had money prepared for the cab ride. All possibilities were thought during the last three days before the party. 

Every possibility. Except that one of Jungkook’s friend would get closer before what you had planned. What was going on? 

You were at the party not even half an hour when you noticed a guy leaving Jungkook’s group of friends and walking to yours, and it was enough to have you panicking. You could only hope that your face was looking neutral. 

“Taehyung, right?” 

“Yeah…”  

“Don’t you remember me? We studied together. I’m Jimin, man”. 

Your shoulders fell, relieved. You thought that, for some unknown reason, one of Jungkook’s friend that would be there to help was acting way too soon. You just observed while they were excitedly chatting.

“We went to the same school, Y/N. Don’t you remember him? Our families sat together at the graduation party!” 

You did remember him, but not from Taehyung’s graduation. You really went to the same school? 

“Sure, how could I forget?” You lie, not ashamed. 

“You look familiar. Didn’t we meet…” 

“At the party? Yes. Probably, I mean, we sat together! We must have talked. That explains why I thought you looked familiar too”. 

You know you sounded suspicious, but it was better than him speaking of last week when you entered Jungkook’s office and made a scene. You were sure that he was one of the guys.

He seemed to understand you were avoiding the subject because he didn’t try to mention it again. After talking to Taehyung a few minutes more, he invited him to meet his friends. 

Jungkook’s friends. 

You were lucky that Jin was paying more attention than it looked like because when you were almost reaching their group, he touched Jungkook, that left them, almost running. If the situation was different, you wouldn’t hold back your laughter. 

You could see Calli’s discomfort even from afar. If Jordan was too, he wasn’t showing. 

“Jimin, introduce your new friends to us!” Jin asked him, with a grin on his face. If the situation was other, you would have loved his sense of humor, but now it made you nervous. 

Jin, noticing that Jimin would probably tell that he was the owner of the house, decided to do the meeting himself. You were glad that Jungkook decided to seek his help. You realize that Jin, actually, introduced only his friends to you, none of your names. 

When you see Calli looking for Jungkook, you know it’s time to put your plan to work. 

“Are you thirsty?” 

Jordan denied again, focused on whatever Jin was talking about. He had this power, more like a charm, that would draw everyone’s attention to him.

“I’ll go for you.” Your brother offered, and you hoped that the expression in your face would not reveal the panic you felt again. 

“No. Stay here and catch up with your friend. I won’t take long!” Feeling that was not enough, you whisper: “I’ll also go to the bathroom”. 

Trusting on Jin, you leave them there. 

“So I said to the cashier that it was absurd. He had no other option but to agree with me!” He laughed, and the others around him did it too. He saw you entering the kitchen, so he started preparing himself for the countdown. 

“Enough of yourself, Jin. You told us the same story too many times.” One of his friends mentioned. 

“Yeah, but they haven’t heard it yet. It’s interesting, right Jordan?” The boyfriend agrees but doesn’t realize that he hadn’t been introduced yet. The party’s owner smile at the secret provocation. 

When he was first asked to be part of the plan, he was reluctant, but thinking about it, would be great. Too fun to let it pass. It also could help him write his next novel. The others were missing how fun this was. He had the power to ignite the real party. He just needed to wait a little more, until both Jordan and Calli started wondering where their partners were and why they were taking so long.  

It’s not that he enjoyed seeing the chaos -always-, but this specific one was too good to be denied. 

Knowing about the situation, he was the only one, besides the cheaters, that understood why they were so uncomfortable in the same group. He took another sip of his beer, smiled at both, before starting another tale.

You sighed, relieved, when you found Jungkook inside the kitchen, drinking from his red cup and sitting at the counter, just listening to the beat, eyes closed. You were not sure where the speakers were, but the music plays through the whole house. 

“It was more complicated than I thought it would be.” You whisper, careful so the others around wouldn’t hear. Not that they would understand a thing. 

The music changed, and he laughed at you. 

“But everything is going like planned?” He was up again, in front of you. 

“I think so. Jin is talking to them right now. Actually, all of your friends are”. 

He filled his cup again. 

“I don’t see how they can ruin our plan, Jin will handle things well”. 

“Jimin recognized me”. 

Jungkook froze, with his cup in the air, almost reaching his mouth. He stared you for a moment, waiting for you to explain.

“I took care of it”. 

“Well, since they know nothing, saying that we saw each other last week won’t reveal much. It would actually help us, wouldn’t?” 

You thought about it and accepted the cup he just filled and gave you. You begin to pay attention to the music. A remixed version Talking Body? Wasn’t it from 201andsomething? People still listened to it? You felt like dancing but you controlled to not embarrass yourself anymore. You usually didn’t like remixed versions, but this one was better than the original. 

“How many of these did you take?” You ask, abruptly, noticing he was filling his cup again.

“I think four before I came to the kitchen, but I’m okay”. 

You smell the cup, and the alcohol hits your nose before you get too close. You give it a try, it’s better than you expected. Very sweet. 

“How long should we stay here before they start looking for us?” 

“Excuse me.” A girl asked Jungkook to move so she could fill her own cup, that making him gets too close to you. Close enough.

It felt like in movies, where there’s a magical moment, tense, between two kids who never thought about themselves in that way. 

If we’re talking body, you mentally sang with Tove Lo, you got a perfect one, so put it on me. You wonder if his body was as perfect as it looked like. What? 

You notice your heartbeats increasing and how hot your face feels now. Was this the drink? It could also be the music or just the frat party’s atmosphere. Maybe his cologne. But it could also be the crush you developed on Jungkook showing its face right now. 

Jungkook is close, but you could move if you wanted. You just don’t. You look into his big brown eyes, wondering if he’s feeling like you. If for him is just as easy as it is for you to give everything up, all you both worked so hard for, and give in. Were they always this intense?

You feel his hands on your back, pulling you closer. You haven’t felt like this with Jordan for a long time. Your hands move to his neck, careful to not drop your drink. 

It looks like it really is that easy. 

Jin finished his third story and knew Jordan wasn’t paying attention anymore, so he knew it was time to checkmate the plan. 

“By the way, Taehyung, right?” He acted like a drunk, the best he could. He hoped that his friends would keep quiet, they knew how Jin really was when drunk. “You both came together?” He pointed to Jordan. “He’s a little bit boring.” He pretended to be whispering but instead talking loud. 

“And with my sister. I don’t really know where she is now.” He tried looking for you, not noticing how Jin moved his head, showing he knew you. “She went to grab something to drink”. 

“Ah, you’re the famous brother?” Jin noticed that Jordan was paying full attention to their conversation. “And you?” He pointed at your boyfriend. 

“Her boyfriend.” The look at his face made Jin realize that he was almost done, so he should push a little more. “I should look for her”. 

“Boyfriend?” Jin gripped his arm. “I didn’t know she had a boyfriend”. 

“How do you know her?” Jordan is getting angry.

“Because of Jungkook.” Jin looks around. “Where is he, Calli?” 

Jin thought about asking something in return for this favor, but the pleasure he felt seeing their reactions was payment enough. 

“Oh, I knew that I’ve met her before!” Jimin exclaimed by his side, adding fuel to the fire, but innocently. “Not at the graduation party”. 

By now, Jordan and Calli were looking mad, and Taehyung confused. 

“What’s wrong?” Jin asked, innocent. “Why do you think I invited Y/N to my party?” 

That was it, there was no way back anymore. He could only hope that they knew what they were doing.

“What is happening?” Taehyung asked, trying to understand the situation. 

“Weren’t you the one invited?” 

“No, Jordan. Y/N invited me. Tuesday”. 

“Wait a second.” Jin covered his mouth, pretending to be shocked. “It was a secret that Y/N and Jungkook are...?” He looked at Calli, pretending to be sorry. “Oh, shit”. 

“Why would it be a secret?” Jimin innocently added. He really was drunk. “Even us know that”.  

“Taehyung, please, go find her. We’re leaving.” 

“Already?” Jin asked, trying to sound sad before Jordan left, pissed. He was dying to laugh. Taking a look at Calli, she was as pissed as her lover. 

They deserve it, Jin thought, paying attention to his friends again, that didn’t notice what just happened. The grin never leaving his face. 

Jungkook and you were so close now, but none of you moved anymore, afraid to break whatever it was that you both had. Scared that one of you would give up and not do anything. 

You could finally feel his lips on yours when you heard Taehyung calling your name. You pushed Jungkook away from you, but the sensation was still burning your lips. If you weren’t so tense because of what just almost happened, you would be celebrating your plan. Taehyung coming look for you could only mean one thing. You feel your hands wet and you know that your drink is not in your red cup anymore but on Jungkook’s shoulders. 

Taehyung’s face tells you that he saw something he shouldn’t. Something he reproved. Your heartbeat increases more. What would he think of you? You cheating was never part of the plan.

“We’re leaving”. 

He sounded disappointed, and it wrecked your heart. You didn’t include this on your plan, Taehyung should know nothing. You would have to tell him the truth. 

“I gotta go”. 

Jungkook is frozen in the same place when you leave the kitchen. 

[rose-gold-romantic]

Whatever It Takes: Chapter Eight

A Loki x Reader based in the Tesseract fic universe! Avengers: Infinity War follow-up fic. Next in the Tesseract fic series. Links to Tesseract, Lokasenna, What Heroes Do, and Fidelity. Also to my AU Feel You.

I WOULD LOVE FEEDBACK! Want to be tagged in updates? Let me know!

@malignentmac @fandomsfanman @i-am-supermerwholoked221b @markusstrayya @sincereleygmg @pandaqua​ @person-born-winchester

Just a forewarning, this one has a major POV shift from the past entries, since Reader was Dusted at the end of Fidelity! Keeping with my recent trend in fic titles, it’s named after a track on the official soundtrack. I also constantly watch this Video, and recommend it to hype you up!

“If you guys wanted to grab lunch, Bruce and Scott were making tacos in the kitchen.” Natasha said, when we met her inside. “I just put out the call to everyone to come in. Okoye has to stay in Wakanda to keep things running, and I don’t know if Danvers is going to even get our message, but everyone else is on their way right now.”

“Do we have any other way of getting Danvers here faster?” Tony asked.

“We don’t know specifically where she is, so no.” Natasha sighed.

The ground rumbled, and a glance out the panel windows confirmed that Rocket and Nebula had arrived. The Benatar landed next to the building, Scott sitting on a bench and staring in awe at the spaceship.

Rocket and Scott shared a brief exchange, and Rocket came inside to find Bruce and myself. As we exited to get into the Benatar, Rhodes arrived, startling Scott into dropping his taco all over the sidewalk.

“What’s up, regular-sized man?” Rhodey joked, turning to walk into the building.

Bruce passed Scott a few tacos from his own lunch as we boarded the ship, leaving Scott looking both puzzled and thankful.

“Where are we headed?” Bruce asked.

“We’re going to get Thor.” Rocket answered. “I called Val to tell him to come, but she was saying it’s going to be more difficult than that. That’s why you two are coming with.”

This news unsettled me. I had instructed both Thor and Val to contact me if anything went awry, and I had heard nothing from either of them. I had presumed that Thor would leap at the chance to undo what had been done, especially considering what had happened in Wakanda. Had I been wrong about his willingness? Or was something else wrong?

Thoughts continued to spin in my head as we travelled to New Asgard. The Benatar landed outside its outskirts, and we rode in the back of a truck into the city limits.

As we all exited the vehicle, Rocket looked around.

“Kind of a step down from a golden palace and whatnot.” Rocket mumbled.

“Have a little compassion, pal.” Bruce interjected before I could respond. “First, they’ve lost Asgard, then half their people. They’re probably just happy to have a home to live in.”

“You shouldn’t have come!” Val called out to us, looking directly at me.

“Aahhh Valkyrie!” Bruce answered, smiling. “Great to see you, Angry Girl!”

Val raised an eyebrow, looking Bruce up and down. “I think I liked you better either of the other ways.”

“This is Rocket.” Bruce said, trying to shift the subject.

“You you doin’?” Rocket nodded.

“He won’t see you.” Val continued. “I told you that.”

“What happened?” I asked, “Why won’t he see us?”

“He’s holed up in his place, never comes out.” She answered. “Nothing threatening was happening, and I know you had important stuff to do. I was managing on my own alright, didn’t want to needlessly bother you.”

“That bad, huh?” Bruce asked.

“We only see him once a month, when he comes for…” She glanced over to a large pile of beer kegs on the side of the pier, “...supplies.”

“It’s that bad.” Rocket sighed.

“Yea.” Rocket agreed.

“Let’s get my brother out of here.” I said, “We have people to save.”

We walked over to my brother’s home, Rocket pushing open the front door. We all grimaced at the smell that wafted from the house’s interior.

“What the…” Bruce said, confused.

“Whoo!” Rocket said, waving his hand in front of his face. “Something died in here. Hello?”

“Thor?” I called out, my concern rising.

“Are you here about the cable?” Thor called out from a separate room.

Thor slowly walked into view, and my worst hopes for him fell through the floorboards as I saw him. He was walking around shirtless, and had gained an incredible amount of weight since I had been in last. He had obviously leaned heavily into drinking to cope, and the scent of alcohol clung to him.

“The cinemax ran out two weeks ago, and the sports were all kind of fuzzy.” Thor mumbled, turning to face us, finally noticing who we were. “Boys, brother! Oh my God! How have you been?” Thor leaned to try to hug Rocket, “Come here you little rascal!”

“No, I’m good. I’m good.” Rocket said, pushing away. “That’s not necessary.”

“Hulk, you know my friends, Miek, Korg, right?” Thor gestured to the duo sitting on the sofa, playing video games whilst they ate chips.

“Hey, long time no see!” Bruce waved to them.

“Hey guys.” Korg waved back. “Beer’s on the bucket. Feel free to log onto the Wi-Fi. No password, obviously.” After a pause, he looked to Thor. “Thor, he’s back, the kid on the TV. He called me a dickhead again.”

“Noobmaster?” Thor slurred.

“Yea, Noobmaster69.” Korg confirmed, handing Thor the headphones.

As Thor went off on the other player, I sighed. While Thor had always been a happy drunk, I knew that this was nothing more than him trying to escape from everything that had happened. Not that I had been much different. I chose to stay busy to distract myself, and he had chosen to drown his sorrows with drink. I wished that I had realized sooner, perhaps I could have prevented his decline. I had initially left because he had said that he didn’t want to talk, he didn’t want to even interact with me much. Perhaps more insistence from me would have helped him through it...

Thor handed the headphones back to Korg before turning back to us. “So, do you guys want a drink? What are you drinking? We have beer, tequila, all sorts of things.”

Thor picked up a beer, removing the cap with Stormbreaker’s edge. I came up to him, placing my hands on his shoulders firmly.

“Buddy, you alright?” Bruce asked, placing his hand on Thor’s shoulder.

“I’m fine!” Thor insisted between gulps, “Why, don’t I look alright?”

“You look like melted ice cream.” Rocket said, rolling his eyes.

Thor laughed, taking another drink. “So, what’s up?”

“We need your help.” Bruce said, trying to calmly get through my brother’s drunken stupor. “There might be a chance that we could fix everything.”

“What, like the cable?” Thor asked with a belch. “Cause that’s been driving me bananas for weeks.”

“Like Thanos.” Bruce said softly.

Thor’s face darkened instantly, the smile gone from his face. Thor placed a shaky hand on Bruce’s shoulder and pointed at him, beer bottle still in his hand.

“Don’t you say that name.” Thor slurred.

Korg stood, removing his headphones. “Um, yea. We don’t actually say that name in here.”

“Please, take your hand off me.” Bruce said, removing Thor’s hand gently. “Now, I know that… guy… might scare you.”

“Why would I be? Why would, why would I be scared of that guy? I'm the one who killed that guy, remember? Anyone else here killed that guy?” Thor said, his emotions fighting to be acknowledged. “Nope. Didn't think so. Korg, why don't you, tell everybody who chopped Thanos' big head off.”

“Umm, Stormbreaker?” Korg answered, unsure.

“Now, who was swinging Stormbreaker?” Thor continued.

“I get it. You're in a rough spot, okay? I've been there myself.” Bruce said, gently trying to break through the wall Thor had built up. “You wanna know who helped me out of it?”

“I don't know.” Thor mused, smiling. “Is it… Natasha?”

“It was you.” Bruce answered. “You helped me”

Thor walked over to a window, pointing out through the dirty glass. “Why don't you ask the, Asgardians down there, how much my help was worth.” He sighed, sitting onto a chair. “The ones that are left, anyway.”

“I think we can bring them back.” Bruce said.

“Stop. Just, stop…” Thor said, reaching for a snack. “I know you think I’m down here wallowing in my own self-pity, waiting to be rescued and saved. But I’m fine okay? We’re fine, aren’t we?”

“All good here, mate!” Korg replied, waving.

“So, whatever it is that you’re offering, we’re not into it, don’t care couldn’t care less.” Thor said, finishing off his bottle. “Goodbye.”

Unable to bear it any longer, I broke my silence.

“But you’re not fine! Look at yourself, brother.” I said, my voice raised. “I know as well as anyone what it’s like to lose everyone, to feel like you’ve failed everyone you’ve ever cared about.” I bit my tongue, lowering my voice as my own emotions began to influence my words.

“To know that you’ve failed them, that you’re the reason they’re gone.” I almost whispered, my throat tight.

“There is nothing I would want more than to be able to run away from my duties. I tried to. To run away from the fact that nearly my entire family was stolen from me, and that I’m the one to blame for all of it!” I shouted, hot tears streaming down my face as Thor continued to look down at the ground and his empty hands. “I’m sorry that I wasn’t there. I’m sorry that I couldn’t fix everything, no matter how hard I may have tried. I’m sorry that I was too wrapped up in my own selfish interests to help you when you needed it most. But I’m trying to fix that now, and I need you to let me! I can’t lose the only family I have left! I can’t lose you the way that I lost mother, the way that I lost (Y/N). The guilt of their deaths eats away at me every single day, and while I have no one to blame but myself for that, I refuse to let you throw yourself away like this. I need you, Thor, and I know that you need me too.”

I stepped back, trying to compose myself. “I want to be better, I want to do what’s right. All I’m asking is that you come along with me. I need you.”

“We all need you, pal.” Bruce added softly.

Thor sighed heavily, grabbing a few beers and standing up.

“What’s our plan?”

[upontheshelfreviews]

And now we come to the final piece of Walt Disney’s original animation trifecta, Fantasia, and it’s one I’m both anticipating and dreading. Fantasia isn’t just one of the crowning jewels in Disney’s canon, a landmark in motion picture animation, and second only to Snow White in terms of influential music and storytelling in the whole medium, it’s one of my top three favorite movies of all time. Discussing it without sounding like an old history professor, a pretentious internet snob, or a hyper Disney fangirl is one hell of a daunting task.

“Did someone say hyper Disney fangirl?! I LOVE Disney!!”

“I thought you only liked Frozen.”

“Well, DUH, Frozen is my favorite, which makes it, like, the best Disney movie ever! But Disney’s awesome! There’s a bunch of other movies I like that are almost as good!”

“And Fantasia’s one of them?”

“Yeah!!…Which one is that again?”

“The one with Sorcerer Mickey?”

“Ohhhh, you’re talking about the fireworks show where he fights the dragon!”

“No, that’s Fantasmic. I’m referring to Fantasia. Came out the same year as Pinocchio? All done in hand-drawn animation…has the big devil guy at the end?”

“THAT’S where he’s from?! Geez, that’s some old movie. Why haven’t I heard about ’til now?”

“Probably because you spend twelve hours a day searching for more Frozen GIFs to reblog on your Tumblr.”

“Ooh, that reminds me! I need to go post my next batch of theories about the upcoming sequel! Toodles!!”

“Thanks. Another second with her and I would’ve bust a gasket.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Anyway, it’s no surprise Sorcerer Mickey is what people remember the most from Fantasia, and not just because he’s the company mascot. “The Sorcerer’s Apprentice” was the reason we have the movie in the first place. It began as a pet project between Walt Disney and renowned conductor Leopold Stokowski.

“Yep. THAT Leopold.”

However, between the upscale in animation and the use of the Philadelphia Orchestra, the cost grew too high to justify the creation of only one short. Over time more sequences featuring animation set to various pieces of classical music were added in what was initially dubbed “The Concert Feature”. Later it was wisely changed to the more memorable “Fantasia”. It works not only because it’s derived from the word “fantasy”, but because “fantasia” is a term for a musical composition that doesn’t follow any strict form and leans towards improvisation. Combine the two meanings and you get the whole movie in a nutshell.

And this leads us to –

Things Fantasia Fans Are Sick of Hearing #1: “It’s SOOOOOO boring! Nobody’s talking and nothing ever happens!”

You know, few recall that decades before Warner Brothers was known as that studio that made rushed prequels to beloved fantasy franchises and a hastily cobbled together superhero universe, it had humble origins in the music business; their Merrie Melodies and Looney Tunes shorts began as music videos made to sell their records. Disney’s Silly Symphonies followed in the same vein, though they focused more on pushing the envelope in animation technique and character resonance than selling music, as did the lesser known Harman-Ising Happy Harmonies.

And if that’s the case, then Fantasia is the Thriller of animated music videos. It’s the result of years of technological advancement and trial and error, all culminating in the flawless weaving together of visuals and some of the greatest music mankind has created to tell seven stories and elicit an emotional response for each one.

Let me repeat that: FANTASIA. PREDATES. THRILLER.

“And unlike Thriller, Fantasia has the advantage of NOT being directed by a man who literally got away with murder or involving an artist whose pedophilia accusations are still discussed a decade after his passing…at least as far as we know.”

By the way, if you’re watching the current version of Fantasia that’s available, do me a favor and pause the movie to watch the original Deems Taylor intros; while they’re shorter than the ones on the blu-ray, they have Deem’s original voice. All later releases have him dubbed over by Corey Burton because the audio for these parts hasn’t held up as well over time. Now Corey Burton is a phenomenal voice actor who’s done countless work for Disney before, but there’s a problem I have with him taking over these segments: One, he and Deems sound nothing alike, and Two, he makes him sound so dry and dull. Not to mention the longer intros practically spoil everything you’re about to see whereas the cut versions give you just enough to build some intrigue for what’s to follow.

Regardless of whichever one you’re watching, Deems gives us the rundown on what Fantasia is all about and lists the three categories that the sequences fall under.

A concrete story

Clearly defined images with something of a narrative

Music and visuals that exist for its own sake

And the very first of these parts falls directly into the last one.

Toccata and Fugue in D Minor – Johann Sebastian Bach

Some hear this tune and attribute it as stock horror music, but for me it’s the start of a grand, dark, fantastical journey through realms of the imagination. While it is intended as an organ piece, this full orchestration blows me away. Capturing the orchestra in bold hues and shadows with colors specific to certain highlighted instruments was a brilliant move, setting the stage for what’s to come.

And if the previously referenced Bugs Bunny cartoon was any indication, the real Leopold Stokowski is one of the main draws to this segment. Stokowski’s claim to fame was that he ditched the traditional conductor’s baton and used his hands to guide the orchestra. His passion and restraint is plain for all to see, even in silhouette.

Ultimately Stokowski and the orchestra fade away into the animated ether. The idea behind Toccota and Fugue was to show a gradual transformation from the conscious world to the subconscious, providing a literal and figurative representation of what you see and hear with the music. That’s why the first animated images resemble violin bows sweeping over strings. Over time those distinct objects evolve into abstract geometric shapes.

Honestly, no amount of stills can capture what it’s like to watch this sequence play out. It’s a radically unique experience, almost like a dream.

Things Fantasia Fans Are Sick of Hearing #2: “It’s the world’s first screensaver/musicalizer!”

This is something I hear often from people (ie. the people making the complaints I’ve chosen to highlight). First, read the previous Thing. Second, Toccata is not so much about recreating a story as it is capturing a feeling. And yet a story isn’t out of the question. I always saw at as glimpses of a battle of light versus dark, heaven versus hell, albeit not as overt as the opening of Fantasia 2000. That’s the beauty of this segment. It’s all up for interpretation. You can let the images and sounds wash over you as if you were dreaming it, or attach whatever meaning you find.

And on that note (ha) –

Things Fantasia Fans Are Sick of Hearing #3: “God, all these animators must have been so fucking high to come up with this shit.”

I tell ya what, if you’re one of those people who think that, take whatever drug is handy, grab some crayons or whatever you feel comfortable doodling with, and when you’re comfortably high, draw one full second of animation. That’s 24 consecutive drawings that need to flow, squash and stretch into each other realistically. It doesn’t have complicated; it can be a ball bouncing, a flower blowing in the wind, an eye blinking, but it has to work.

Not so easy, huh?

Classic Disney animators who lectured at art schools received comments like this all the time. While there were some like Fred Moore who would go for the occasional beer run on breaks, there’s no record of narcotic or alcoholic influence on the animators’ turnout. I’m pretty sure Walt would’ve fired anyone who turned in work produced while high because it’d be awful. Animation was still a fairly new medium at the time, and Disney was constantly experimenting with what it could do, which is why we got things like this, the Pink Elephants, and other delightfully trippy moments throughout the 40’s, not because of drugs. Isn’t that right, classic Disney animator Bill Tytla?

“Of course! I’ve never done drugs, and I never drink…wine.”

The Nutcracker Suite – Pyotr Illich Tchaichovsky

Things Fantasia Fans Are Sick of Hearing #4: “Yawn. Nutcracker is SO overplayed. Of course Disney had to jump on the bandwagon with their version!”

Ironically, the extended Deems Taylor intro has him mention how nobody performs Tchaikovsky’s Nutcracker; in light of its modern seasonal popularity, the sentiment is rendered archaic. True, the ballet wasn’t an initial critical hit and Tchaikovsky himself virtually disowned it, but much of its ubiquity is largely due in part to Disney adapting it for Fantasia. It eschews the title character in favor of a nature ballet portraying the cycle of seasons. Initial planning included the overture and the famous march featuring woodland critters, though they were eventually cut. Walt considered pumping scents into the theater during this part, but was unable to figure out how to do it naturally. If they had Smell-O-Vision that might work, but what scents would you have to scratch off for the other Fantasia segments? Wood resin? Wine? Wet hippo? Brimstone?

The sequence begins with The Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy. In the night a group of fairies dance like fireflies, gracing spring flowers and spiderwebs with delicately timed dewdrops.

“Any of you girls seen Tinkerbell?” “She ditched us to hang out with that obnoxious flyboy.” “Again?! That’s the third time this month!”

The scene is atmospheric with beautifully rendered pastel backgrounds. After the fairies comes The Chinese Dance performed by a group of little mushrooms. It’s a cute number, and just another that was parodied more than a few times in other cartoons – wait do those mushrooms have slant eyes? And they’re prancing around nodding like extras in The Mikado…

You fungi are lucky you’re so darn adorable otherwise I’d sic the self-righteous side of Twitter on you.

Dance of the Reed Flutes follows. Lilies gently float on to the surface of a pond before inverting themselves to resemble twirling dancers with long, flowing skirts. And since I’m not always one to take the easy route, enjoy this niche reference instead of “You Spin Me Right Round”.

A gust of wind blows the spinning lilies over a waterfall into some moody underwater caverns, where a school of unusually sultry goldfish perform the Arabian Dance.

Cleo, does Gepetto know about this?

A novel idea, using the basic swimming motions of a goldfish and their naturally diaphanous tails and fins as veils to resemble exotic dancers, though like other animated characters in a similar vein, this has led to some…”interesting” reactions from certain people.

Right, well, bubbles transition us into the penultimate movement, the Russian Dance. Thistles and orchids resembling dancers clad in traditional Russian peasant clothing spring to life in this brightly colored energetic minute. You’ll be chanting “hey!” along with it.

And finally, the Waltz of the Flowers. As a little girl I would often hold my own “ballets” to this scene, which mainly comprised of me in a ballet costume or fancy nightgown spinning around in circles for family members with this playing in the background. Top that, Baryshnikov.

Fairies similar to the ones from the beginning transform the leaves from fresh summer green to autumn orange, brown and gold. Milkweed seeds blossom forth and float through the air like waltzing ladies. This piece above all else is what really shows the beauty of nature. I feel more emotion watching the leaves pirouette in the wind than any plain live-action drama.

Fall turns into winter, and the fairies, now snow sprites, skate across a pond creating ice swirls while even more spiral down from the sky as snowflakes. The secret of animating these snowflakes was nearly lost to time. Several years ago a notebook by technician Herman Schultheis was rediscovered, revealing how many of the special effects in Disney’s early films – Fantasia in particular – were brought to life. The snowflakes were cels on spools attached to small rails from a train set that were filmed falling in stop motion and black and white, then superimposed on the final picture.

In conclusion, The Nutcracker Suite is a lovely piece of animation and music, and I’ll pop in Fantasia at Christmastime just to watch it. This was my introduction to The Nutcracker, and it’s an excellent and unique one.

The Sorcerer’s Apprentice – Paul Dukas

The symphonic poem of the same name now gets a proper name with Mickey Mouse stepping in the title role. It’s impossible to imagine any other character in his shoes, but for a time there were other considerations.

“Nope. Too wooden.”

“Too angry.”

“I’m sorry, but you’re just too darn loud.”

As we all know, Mickey was given the part since his popularity needed a boost. He doesn’t talk here, and I know those who find his voice grating wholeheartedly embrace that fact, but what we’re given is proof that Mickey works just as well silently as he does speaking. Very few cartoon characters can pull off that kind of versatility.

And while we’re on the topic of sound, Walt was so determined for the sound quality to match what was happening on screen that he devised a system he dubbed “FantaSound”, where it would seem as though the music would move around the the theater instead of just blare out from one speaker.

You read that right. Fantasia is the movie that invented SURROUND SOUND.

But that’s not the only technological leap Fantasia is responsible for – this is the first time we see Mickey with sclera.

That’s the white of the eyes for those who don’t speak science.

Before Fantasia, Mickey had what we refer to today as “pie eyes”, a relic of the era he was created in. As the art of animation progressed, animators found it increasingly difficult to create believable expressions with two little dots. Fred Moore is responsible for the mouse’s welcome redesign. Mickey as the apprentice serves the sorcerer Yen Sid, named after his real world counterpart.

“Hey! I didn’t teach him that!”

Mickey’s craving a taste of his master’s power, so he borrows his magical cap after he goes to bed and enchants a broom to finish his work of gathering water. It’s fun and bouncy, though the part where Mickey dreams he can control the cosmos, seas and sky is something to behold.

“The power! The absolute POWER!! The universe is mine to command! To CONTROOOOOOL!!!”

But Mickey is jolted from his dream of ultimate conquest when the broom begins flooding the place. Unfortunately the sorcerer’s hat doesn’t come with a manual so Mickey doesn’t know how to turn it off. He resorts to violently chopping the broom to pieces with an axe. The animation originally called for the massacre to happen on screen, but was altered to showing it through shadows instead. I think it’s much more effective this way. The implied violence is more dramatic than what we could have gotten.

One of my favorite stylistic choices in Fantasia is what follows. The color is sucked out, drained if you will, mirroring Mickey’s exhausted emotional and physical state after committing broomslaughter. But it slowly returns as the broom’s splinters rise up and form an army of bucket-wielding drones. They overpower Mickey and catch him in a whirlpool until Yen Sid returns and parts the waters like a pissed off Moses.

“You! Shall not! SWIM!!!”

Mickey sheepishly returns the hat, and I have to give credit to the animators for the subtle touches on Yen Sid. He appears stern at first glance, but the raised eyebrow borrowed from Walt? The slight smirk at the corner of his mouth? Deep down, he’s amused by his apprentice’s shenanigans. Even the backside slap with the broom, while rendered harshly due to the sudden swell of music, is done less out of malice and more out of playfulness.

The piece ends with Mickey breaking the barriers of reality to congratulate Stokowski on a job well done.

“Hey! I didn’t teach him that!”

If you haven’t already guessed, The Sorcerer’s Apprentice is easily one of my preferred sequences. It’s energetic, perfectly matches the music, and features my favorite mouse in one of his most iconic roles. I joke about the scene where Mickey controls the waves and the sky due to Disney’s far-reaching acquisitions in the past decade, but within the context of the film it’s one of the most magical moments. Some theorize that The Sorcerer’s Apprentice is an allegory of Walt’s journey to create Fantasia itself, and there’s some merit to it – Mickey’s always been Walt’s avatar after all, and here he dreams big only to wind up way in over his head. But you don’t need to look for coincidental parallels to enjoy this part.

Rite of Spring – Igor Stravinsky

Stravinsky’s Rite of Spring is admittedly my least favorite part of Fantasia, though I don’t hate it by all means. Thematically it’s the furthest from the original work’s intent: instead of a pagan ritual involving a virgin sacrifice, we witness the earth’s infancy. I was never really into dinosaurs as a kid (I didn’t even see Jurassic Park until I was in fourth or fifth grade), and the thundering, threatening music put me off. I found it too long (twenty-two minutes is an eternity in child time), uninteresting, and dour compared to the other sequences, with the exception of one moment. I can appreciate it now that I’m older, though.

A solitary oboe echoes through the vast darkness of space. We soar past comets, galaxies, suns, and down into our lonely little planet still in the early stages of formation. Volcanoes cover the earth. They spew toxic gas, but their magma bubbles burst in precision with the music. Once again this is due to Herman Schultheis. He filmed a mixture of oatmeal, coffee grounds, and mud with air pushed up through a vent, and let the animators go to town on it.

The volcanoes erupt simultaneously. Lava flows and the ensuing millennia of cooling form the continents. But deep in the sea, the first protozoan life wriggles, divides, and evolves into multi-cellular organisms. One of them crawls up on to land, and finally we’re back in the time where dinosaurs weren’t just confined to zoos.

Things Fantasia Fans Are Sick of Hearing #4: “Dinosaur inaccuracies…brain melting…”

True, most of the dinosaur and plant species here never shared the same period of existence, but try telling that to the animation studio or John Hammond. They mostly went for whatever looked cool and prehistoric regardless of scientific accuracy. Some of the designs themselves are a bit off, but the animators did their best considering how much we knew about the creatures in the 30’s and 40’s. Heck, we’ve only recently discovered that most dinosaurs were covered with feathers or fur, and I don’t see anyone harping on Jurassic Park for omitting that detail. Thank God Steven Spielberg doesn’t harbor George Lucas’ affinity for reworking his past movies with extra CGI.

Believe it or not, this scene was once considered the height of accurate dinosaur depictions on film, because nobody else had done it before with this level of research and care in animation. Without Rite Of Spring, we wouldn’t have The Land Before Time or Jurassic Park in the first place. Look at Land Before Time’s bleak, orangey atmosphere and the Sharptooth fights and tell me this didn’t influence it in any way.

The dinosaurs themselves have little character and, while fascinating to see how they might have lived, are not particularly engaging. Until…

Yes, when the king of all dinosaurs makes his entrance, bringing a thunderstorm along with him no less, all the others are wise to run and hide from him. I would hide under a quilt but still peek through the holes in awe. He snaps about throwing his weight around, but when it goes toe to toe with a stegosaurus? That’s when things get real.

This battle, by the way, is animated by Woolie Reitherman, who had a knack for bringing gargantuan characters to life. He was responsible for animating Monstro in Pinocchio, and was behind Maleficent’s dragon form in Sleeping Beauty.

Though what follows is far from triumphant. The earth has become a hot, barren wasteland. The dinosaurs trudge through deserts and tar pits, their fruitless search for water turning into a slow death march. Not even the mighty T-Rex can survive this.

California: present day.

Some time later, the dinosaurs are all gone. Only their bones bleaching in the sun remain. Without warning, a massive earthquake hits and the seas flood through, washing away the remains of the old prehistoric world. The sequence comes full circle as the lonely oboe plays over a solar eclipse, which sets on an earth ready to step into the next stage of life.

If Walt had his way, the segment would have continued with the evolution of man and ended on a triumphant note with the discovery of fire, but he was worried about the possible backlash from zealous creationists. And I don’t blame him for wanting to avoid a confrontation with that crowd.

“It’s bad enough he makes a mouse act like a people with his dadgum pencil sorcery, but propagandizin’ evil-loution in mah Saturday mornin’ toon box? That’s just plum un-okkily-dokkily!”

“…You wouldn’t happen to have a dictionary on hand, would you?”

“DICTIONARIES ARE THE DEVIL’S BOOSTER SEAT!!”

Subsequently, those edits made to Stravinsky’s score pissed off the composer so much that he considered suing Disney for tampering with his work. He opted not to, yet the experience turned him off animation for good. A crying shame; Stravinsky, apart from being the only classical composer alive to see his work made part of a Fantasia feature, was excited to work with Walt. The two deeply respected and recognized each other as artists ahead of their time. Who knows what else could have come from their collaboration if things ended better?

With that knowledge, it makes sense that one of Stravinsky’s most famous pieces, the Firebird Suite, was included in Fantasia 2000: perhaps on some level Disney wanted to apologize for how the finale of Rite of Spring was mishandled by making Firebird the grand finale (though knowing Stravinsky he would have hated the little changes made to his music there as well).

Following the intermission, the orchestra reconvenes and has a fun little jam session. Deems Taylor takes a moment to introduce us to the most important – but rarely seen – figure that makes Fantasia and most music in movies possible, The Soundtrack.

Once again, Disney does what it does best and anthropomorphizes what no one thought was possible. Think about it: giving personalities to animals is one thing, but they’ve successfully done the same for plants, planes, houses, hats, and here, sound itself. It may seem silly and out of place, but I think it’s brilliant and charming. The visuals it creates to represent different instruments are perfectly matched; some of them harken back to Toccata and Fugue. This, combined with the improv from the orchestra, is a good way to ease us back into comfort after the harshness of Rite of Spring.

Pastoral Symphony – Ludwig Van Beethoven

There’s a famous story about Walt Disney while he was pitching this segment. When met with complaints that it wasn’t working, he cried out This’ll MAKE Beethoven!” In a way, he was right. This was the very first piece of Beethoven I ever heard, even before the famous “da da da DUUUUUN” of Symphony #5. And as far as I know, it was for a good many Disney fans too. We still get a romantic depiction of the countryside as was the composer’s intent, but instead of an rural utopia, we see the Fields of Elysium at the foot of Mount Olympus. It’s home to a variety of mythical creatures from the golden age of Greece: fauns, unicorns, cherubs, centaurs and Pegasi.

If there was ever a Disney world I wanted to spend a day in, this would be it. It’s so innocent, laidback and colorful; it takes me right back to my childhood. A great portion of this sequence was used in my favorite music video in the Simply Mad About the Mouse anthology album, “Zip A Dee Doo Dah” sung by Ric Ocasek from The Cars. Whether that was my favorite because it featured Pastoral Symphony or Pastoral Symphony was my favorite because it was featured in the video I don’t know. There’s nothing that could ever destroy it for –

Oh son of a…

Things Fantasia Fans Are Sick of Hearing #5: “RACIST. FUCKING. CENTAUR. EQUALS. RACIST. DISNEY… RACIST!!!”

Yes ladies and gents, that image is real. Meet Sunflower (or Otika, I’m not sure which one she is) one of the the censored centaurettes (for very obvious reasons). I’m of two minds when it comes to their inclusion. First off, yes, they’re crude and demeaning blackface caricatures that have no place in a Disney movie, let alone one of the best ones and in one of my favorite sequences. But my inner art/film historian that despises censorship feels that erasing these depictions is the same as pretending they and other prejudices of the time never existed.

Thank you, Warner Bros.

As time and the civil rights movement marched on, all traces of the Sunflower squad were removed from later releases of Fantasia. The downside to that was editing techniques at the time weren’t as high-tech as they are today; I was lucky to see a film print of Fantasia at the Museum of Modern Art in 2015 that must have dated as far back as the ’60s because she wasn’t there, but the cuts were very noticeable. Sad to say the amazing remastered tracks done by Irwin Kostal in the 80’s used a similar print because the shift in the music is very jarring at points in this segment. It wasn’t until Fantasia’s 50th anniversary that they were able to zoom in and crop the scenes that had Sunflower in them while recycling other pieces of animation over parts where they couldn’t get rid of her, eventually managing to digitally erase her from some of the film entirely (look carefully at the part where the red carpet is being rolled out for Bacchus on the blu-ray. Unless he got it from the Cave of Wonders, carpets normally don’t roll themselves…)

I completely understand the reasoning behind Sunflower’s removal, but can also see why animation aficionados would try to pressure Disney into bringing her back with each new re-release for Fantasia, possibly with one of those great Leonard Maltin intros putting everything into context like in the tragically out-of-print Disney Treasures dvds – though the chances of that happening are as likely as Song of the South being made public again (the Disney+ promo should have made that clearer when they claimed Disney’s entire back catalogue would be available for streaming, but I doubt the tag line “We have everything except Song of the South” would hook people). It’s an issue I’m very torn on. So if there was ever a chance that a version of Fantasia with a restored Sunflower was possible, either through Disney themselves or fan edits, my thoughts on it would be a very resounding…

The first movement of the symphony is “Awakening of Pleasant Feelings upon Arriving in the Country”, and this part does just that. As the sun rises and we get our first glimpse of the technicolor fantasyland. Pan flute-playing fauns and unicorns frolic with each other while a herd of Pegasi take to the sky. Again, going back to other notable movies taking cues from Fantasia, Ray Harryhausen carefully studied the movement of the Pegasi here when creating his stop-motion Pegasus for Clash of the Titans. They canter through the air as they would on land, but in the water they move with the grace of a swan.

And look at the little baby ones, they’re just too cute!

The second movement, “Scene by the Brook”, takes place exactly where you think it does. A group of female centaurs, named “centaurettes” by the animators, doll themselves up with the help of some cupids (and the aforementioned Sunflower) in preparation for mating season.

“”I used to like the centaurettes not just because they were pretty but because each of them having different colors could be interpreted as women of all colors hanging out together and finding love. But no, having Sunflower there confirms that they’re all supposed to be lighter-skinned ladies. Racism given context makes it no less of a pain in the ass.”

The male centaurs arrive and hook up with their conveniently color-matching counterparts. The cherubs help set the mood for their flirting interludes until they discover two shy, lonely centaurs (Brudus and Melinda, because I’m that big of a Disney nerd that I know their actual names) who haven’t found each other yet. They lure them to a grove with some flute music a la The Pied Piper and it’s love at first sight.

One of my favorite details throughout the Pastoral Symphony is that we keep coming back to Brudus and Melinda. They’re a cute couple, one of the closest things we have to main characters in this sequence, and it’s nice to follow them.

Our third movement is “Peasants’ Merrymaking”. The centaur brigade prepare an overflowing vat of wine for Bacchus, god of booze and merrymaking. Bacchus, forever tipsy, arrives backed up by some black zebra centaurettes serving him. Maybe they were considered attractive enough to avoid being censored.

The bacchanalia is in full swing with everyone dancing and getting loaded. But Zeus, who appears more sinister than Laurence Olivier or his future Disney counterpart, crashes the party with a big thunderstorm. I used to think he was a jerk for endangering his subjects just for kicks, but in light of recent revelations maybe he had ulterior motives.

“Feel the wrath of the thunder god, you fucking racists!”

“Come on, dad, you used to be fun! Where’s the Zeus turns into a cow to pick up chicks?!”

“He grew up. Maybe you should too, son. Now EAT LIGHNING!”

“The Storm”, our fourth movement, provides some stunning imagery against the torrential backdrop, from the centaurs being called to shelter to the pegasus mother braving the gale to rescue her baby.

Ultimately Zeus grows tired and turns in for the night, ending the storm. Iris, goddess of the rainbow, emerges and leaves her technicolor trail across the sky. The creatures revel in the effects it has on their surroundings, then gather on a hill to watch the sunset, driven by Apollo and his chariot. Everyone settles in to sleep, and Artemis, hunting goddess of the moon, shoots an comet across the sky like an arrow that fills the sky with twinkling stars.

Pastoral Symphony was the one part of Fantasia that always received the most derision from critics, but racist characters aside I simply don’t get the hate for it. It may be longer than Rite of Spring but feels nowhere near as drawn out. I love the colors, characters, and the calm, bucolic fantasy world it creates. This was my first exposure to Beethoven and the world of Greek mythology and I still hold plenty of nostalgia for it. I admit it’s not perfect, and not just for the reason you think. Out of all the Fantasia pieces, this is the one whose quality is closest to an original Disney short than a theatrical feature. It’s a bit more cartoony and there’s some notable errors, particularly when the baby Pegasi dive into the water and emerge different colors. Also, Deems and the animators flip between using the gods’ Greek and Roman names, and the stickler in me wants them to pick a mythos and stick with it. But for all it’s flaws it’s still among my very favorite Fantasia pieces and nothing can change that.

  The Dance of the Hours from the Opera “La Giaconda” – Amilcare Ponichelli

Like I said before, Disney was a master of the art of anthropomorphism. And nowhere is this more true than Dance of the Hours. Animals portray dancers symbolizing morning, noon, dusk and evening – only they’re the most unlikely ones for the job. The characters of our penultimate act are as cartoony as any you’d see in a Disney short from the era, but what puts the animation above it is the right balance of elasticity and realism. The exaggeration is on point, but there’s enough heft and weight to the animals that I can buy them being grounded in (some semblance of) reality. The animators studied professional dancers and incorporated their moves and elegance flawlessly. Half of the comedy derives from this.

The other half comes from how seriously the mock ballet is treated. We’re never informed who the dancers will be, leading anyone who hasn’t seen this before to assume they’re people. The ballet itself is a parody of the traditional pageant, but the performers carry on with the utmost sincerity. It doubles the laughs when it comes to moments such as Ben Ali Gator trying to catch Hyacinth Hippo in a dramatic pas de deux or an elephant getting a foot stuck in one of her own bubbles as she prances around. The familiar lighthearted refrain of the dance provides wonderful contrast to the caricatures on screen, particularly if you recall its other most famous iteration beyond Fantasia.

No one ever told me Camp Grenada was this Arcadian or zoological.

Morning begins with a troupe of uppity ostriches in ballet gear waking up, exercising and helping themselves to a cornucopia of fruit for breakfast. They fight over some grapes only to lose them in a pool. Something bubbles up from beneath and the ostriches run away in terror, but it’s only the prima ballerina of the piece, Hyacinth Hippo. She prepares for the day with help from her handmaidens and dances around a bit. Then she lies down for a nap, but no sooner do her ladies in waiting leave than some playful elephants come out of hiding and dance around Hyacinth unawares.

Elephants blowing bubbles in a Disney feature…nah, it’ll never catch on.

The elephants are blown away by a gust of wind (must be a really strong breeze), and with the coming of night a sinister band of crocodiles sneak up on Hyacinth. They scatter at the sudden arrival of their leader, Prince Ben Ali Gator, who immediately falls in love with Hyacinth. Surprisingly, the feeling is mutual.

I’m calling it – first body positivity romance in a Disney flick.

The climax of the piece has the crocodiles returning to wreak havoc on the palace and pulling the ostriches, elephants, and hippos back into a frenzied dance which brings down the house.

No bones about it, Dance of the Hours is a comic masterpiece and one of Fantasia’s crowning jewels. And the moment it ended was always the signal for younger me to stop the tape and rewind it to the beginning, due to what follows making a complete and terrifying 180…

Night on Bald Mountain – Modest Mussorgsky / Ave Maria – Franz Schubert

At last we come to our final part, two radically different classical works that blend perfectly into each other. And brother, what a note to end on.

Composer Modest Mussorgsky passed away before completing his masterwork “Night on the Bare Mountain”, a tonal poem depicting a witches’ sabbath from Slavic mythology. His friend, the great Rimsky-Korsakov, finished it for him while adding his own personal touch. The result is some of the most iconic and terrifying music ever created, and the accompanying animation, with the exception of The Sorcerer’s Apprentice, is the most faithful to its source material.

The scene takes place on Walpurgis Night, which is the closest thing Europe has to a real-life Summerween (those lucky so-and-so’s), on the titular mountain. The mountain’s peak opens up revealing Chernabog, the Slavic deity of darkness.

Chernabog is a masterclass in design and form. It’s easy to mistake him for Satan himself – Walt Disney and Deems Taylor both refer to him as such – though considering he’s technically Slavic Satan, there’s not too big a distinction. Chernabog radiates power, terror and pure darkness from his intro alone. You can imagine him influencing all other Disney villains to do his will, essentially filling in the horned one’s hooves. Chernabog was skillfully handled by Bill Tylta, an early Disney animator with enough talent to create characters as diverse as Stromboli and Dumbo. Bela Lugosi, the original Dracula, posed for reference pictures in the early design stages, though Tylta ultimately discarded them in favor of some different inspiration – sequence director Wilfred Jackson as model, and Tytla’s own Czech heritage. He grew up with folktales of Chernabog, which served him well during the production.

“Soon, master. The one known as Jackson shall take up your mantle and we shall feast upon humanity yet again.”

Chernabog unleashes his might on to the sleeping village below and raises the dead from the cemetery. A cabal of witches, wraiths and demons gallop on the wind and take part in his infernal revelry. Yet they are but playthings to the evil being. He transforms the creatures into alluring sirens and wretched beasts, sics harpies on them, condemns them to the flames, and lustfully embraces the hellish blaze. It’s an in your face pageantry of pure malevolence that you can’t look away from

Things Fantasia Fans Are Sick of Hearing #6: “This is too scary for kids!! What the hell were they thinking?!”

I think it’s time we made one thing clear: Fantasia was NOT made for children – or to be more accurate, not EXCLUSIVELY for children. While Disney movies are made to be enjoyed by both kids and adults, Fantasia is the only one who dared to appeal to a more mature audience, and Night on Bald Mountain is proof of that. It had the audacity to explore some of the most darkest, ancient depictions of evil in a way that no Disney feature has before or since. Most importantly, it’s not done for shock value like any random horror movie you could name. It’s meant to show the juxtaposition between the darkest depravity and purest good; combined with Ave Maria it makes for the perfect symbolic climax to Fantasia. Light versus darkness, chaos versus order, life versus death, profane versus sacred, and the quest to master them all are the themes that unify the seemingly disparate sequences, and this finale is the apotheosis of that.

I stated in my Mickey’s Christmas Carol review that Bald Mountain was one of my first introductions to the concept of eternal damnation at the tender age of…I wanna say four, five? It was easily one of the most petrifying things from my childhood, but at least I could avoid some exposure to it thanks to its position at the very end. Though now I adore Night on Bald Mountain for how bold and striking it is. Tytla’s animation, Kay Nielsen’s stunning demon designs, and Schultheis’ effects culminate in harmonious diabolical artwork that’s impossible to extricate from the music. It’s a shame Schultheis left the studio after Fantasia. He met a mysterious, tragic end in Guatemala, right around the time Bill Tytla left too as a matter of fact…

“He knew too much…about the secrets of animation, I mean. Nothing at all about das vampyr walking the earth. No sir.”

Yet at the height of his power, one thing stops Chernabog cold – the sound of church bells. Disney historian John Culhane saw Fantasia during its original theatrical run (lucky so and so…) and he recalled how much having FantaSound affected his screening: when the bells rang, he could hear them coming from the back of the theater and slowly course their way up front as their power grew. It was an awe-inspiring moment that took the Bald Mountain experience one step further into reality.

The bells and the rising sun drive Chernabog and his minions back into the mountain and the restless spirits return to their graves. In the misty morning a procession of pilgrims glides through the woods like a parade of tiny lights, and thus the Ave Maria begins. It’s one of the rare times Disney has gone overtly Christian. Maybe Walt wanted to get back into the God-fearing American public’s good graces after the sorcery, paganism, devil worship and evolution theory we’ve witnessed in the past hour and fifty minutes. It does relieve the tension from the previous turn of events.

The first pitch had the march enter a cathedral, but Walt didn’t believe recreating something people can already see in Europe. So instead they move through a forest with trees and natural rock formations resembling the Gothic architecture of a cathedral. It’s the stronger choice in my opinion. The implication speaks greater volumes than a specific location, subtly connecting nature to the divine. It’s difficult to make out most of the hymn’s words, but regardless it sounds beautiful, especially those final triumphant notes as the sky lights up over a view of the verdant hilltops.

“When the sun hits that ridge just right, these hills sing.”

And with that, Fantasia comes to a close.

Really, what else can I say about it at this point. I keep forgetting this movie came out in 1940. It’s virtually timeless, and a must-see for anyone who loves animation and classic film and wants to jump into either one.

Fantasia was a critical and box office success…sort of. Despite the praise and high box office returns for the time, it sadly wasn’t enough to make up for the cost of putting it all together. Like Pinocchio before it, the war cut off any foreign revenue. And not every theater was willing or able to shell out for that nifty surround sound so the effects were lost on most people. Then there’s the audience response, which is the most depressing of all. The casual moviegoers still viewed Walt as the guy behind those wacky mouse cartoons and called him out for being a pretentious snob, while the highbrow intellectuals accused Walt of debasing classical music by shackling it to animation. The poor guy just couldn’t win.

Fantasia marked the end of an era. Never again would Walt attempt a feature so ambitious. His plans of making Fantasia a recurring series, with old segments regularly swapped out for new ones, would not be seen in his lifetime. There’s been the occasional copycat (Allegra non troppo), a handful of spiritual successors (Make Mine Music, Yellow Submarine), and of course the sequel which I’m sure I’ll get to eventually, but through it all, there is only one Fantasia. And no amount of my ramblings can hope to measure up to it. Fantasia is one of those movies you simply have to experience for yourself, preferably on the biggest screen available with a top of the line sound system. I know it’s a cliche for Internet critics to name this as their favorite animated Disney movie, but…yes, it’s mine too. It opened a door to a world of culture and art at a young age. The power of animation is on full display, and it’s affected the way I look at the medium forever. Fantasia was, and still is, a film ahead of its time.

Thank you for reading. I hope you can understand why this review took me nearly three months! If you enjoyed this, please consider supporting me on Patreon. Patreon supporters get perks such as extra votes and adding movies of their choice to the Shelf. If I can get to $100, I can go back to making weekly tv show reviews. Right now I’m halfway there! Special thanks to Amelia Jones and Gordhan Ranaj for their contributions.

You can vote for whatever movie you want me to look at next by leaving it in the comments or emailing me at upontheshelfshow@gmail.com. Remember, unless you’re a Patreon supporter, you can only vote once a month. The list of movies available to vote for are under “What’s On the Shelf”.

Artwork by Charles Moss. Certain screencaps courtesy of animationscreencaps.com.

To learn more about Fantasia, I highly recommend both John Culhane’s perennial book on the film and The Lost Notebook by John Canemaker, which reveals the long-lost special effects secrets which made Fantasia look so magical.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to be spending the rest of the month with my handy dandy garlic, stake and crucifix and pray Bill Tytla doesn’t visit me this Walpurgis Night. I suggest you do the same.

March Review: Fantasia (1940) And now we come to the final piece of Walt Disney's original animation trifecta, Fantasia, and it's one I'm both anticipating and dreading.

[cskiner]

Floyetta

           A few months ago, my mother texted me while I was at work—pray for your grandmother, she said. To an outside audience, this would seem a vague and ominous phrase, but to me it was not. My grandmother was not a nice woman. She was rude to my mother and worse to my father, who was her second of two sons. Perhaps she blamed him for her divorce from my grandfather when my father and his brother were very young; more likely, she decided my ten-year-old uncle would be the new patriarch, and wrapped in her own tragedy, could only thinly love one man and bestow guilt upon the other. My mother avoided her as often as she could. My uncle’s wife only referred to her as “the mother,” the corners of her lips curling downward in distaste when the phrase had to be uttered. My grandmother was not a nice woman.

The text message, my mother showing any level of compassion for her mother-in-law, meant that my grandmother might die.

           I took the call at work, stepping out for the fifteen I never used. I did not like my grandmother, but that does not mean that I did not love her. My dad told me on the phone that she had fallen at home and broken her hip, and that during hip surgery her heart stopped. She was resuscitated, but lost several liters of blood and broke a rib in the process. Plus, her hip was still broken, but she was much too weak to undergo a second surgery tonight. They would have to try again in a few days.

My parents were living in New Zealand. My aunt and uncle were vacationing in Maui. My cousins that had not recently been alienated by my grandmother’s biting insults were busy holding down their father’s business. My older brother lived in the Bay Area and had just started a new job that he could spare little time from, and I, in Los Angeles, was the closest to my grandmother’s hospital in San Diego. I hated this hospital. My other grandmother, my beloved Lola, had died there a few years ago from an unexpected brain bleed, and my family had slept in the waiting room for days before her heart stopped. I wanted to throw up, but Fridays at work were thirteen-hour shifts, and I was only nine hours in.

           My dad called me during hour twelve for an update: grandma was stable for the night. I told my bitch of a boss that I might have to take the weekend off, attempting an appeal to sympathy with an excuse I once promised myself I would never use: “my grandmother is dying.” She made me stay late at work that night.

           I downed more whiskey, neat, than usual at my boyfriend’s house that night while crying into his arms. Not for my grandmother—for myself, for the unfair circumstances that had thrust me into adulthood sooner than I wanted. We packed overnight bags and were on the road early the next morning. Will distracted me on the drive down with stories of his grandmother to counter my own—she moved in with his family when he was a teenager and brought her own elderly chaos to the household. I explained a little more about grandma to give him context about her self-pity.

           My grandmother was named Floyetta. Not because my great-grandparents liked the name, no—because her father had wanted a boy to name after himself, a Floyd II. Having a girl instead apparently wasn’t reason enough to look through the baby book for a different name. Her mother, Frances, who I knew until she died at age 99, was a frivolous and inexplicably happy woman. She loved everything pink, wore only muumuus, ate only fine steaks and sugary sweets, and let her poodle sit in a high chair at the dinner table. Her love for this poodle was so strong that when her husband died of liver failure (alcoholism was the true culprit), she drafted a will, expecting that she wouldn’t live much longer. The will left almost everything to her poodle, rather than her daughter, a struggling single mother. When Frances did live for twenty more years, my grandmother moved her in and took care of her day in and day out, feeding her by hand when she lost her teeth. Telling her story, I began to remember why my grandmother was not a nice woman.[Office1] 

           I remembered insults she had spat at my cousin, Andrea, about Andrea’s mother being at fault for her father’s infidelity. I remembered hearing that she tried to get out of my dad’s car while he was driving her home on the freeway, and he had to lock the doors so that she couldn’t tumble out. I remembered that she threw a fit when I was eight because when she vaguely implied dehydration, I brought her too much water. That she “accidentally” called and admonished me for forgetting to call her during finals week at college. That my mother refused to tell me why she almost never came with us to visit my grandmother: I was too young to hear. But she was family. I was her only available support system. It was an obligation, rather than a favor—she had not exactly been our family’s ‘rock,’ but I went anyway.

           When we reached the hospital, I braced myself, but not enough. In her hospital gown and twenty pounds lighter than when I last saw her, grandma looked like Frances had right before she died. The resemblance shocked me back into my twelve-year old body, visiting my withering great grandmother Frances at the hospital and following the nurse’s instructions to douse my forearms in hand sanitizer. Dismal beeps from heart monitors echoed down the hallways and I counted the tiles on the floor to avoid glimpsing other sick patients. The hospital smelled like sterile death and I wanted to get out.

Will steadied me, holding my hand with an iron grip he had never deployed before. I tried to feed grandma her pain medication, crushed into a few tablespoons of vanilla yogurt. She refused after one spoonful (one was impressive, really—she’s not known for cooperating) and we switched back to the tiny sponge soaked in apple juice. It was clear that she was not faking the pain the way she used to. I was disarmed. Grandma’s refusal to do anything productive had always made me angry, indignant at the very least. Now, it just made me sad.

           Will found the nurse and asked her if they could increase the pain medication or try a different kind while I held back tears in the corner, fighting the urge to bolt. He knew all the specific terms, all the alternatives to suggest. He was authoritative but not rude to the nurse and asked the doctor all the questions I had forgotten.

Will had not met my grandmother before this, and I had told him very little about her in the last year that we had been together. I knew family was important to him, but he was not the first man I’d heard that from. My last boyfriend broke up with me because his mother told him to—the wrong kind of “family was important to him.” Will, on the other hand, had voluntarily become my miserable grandmother’s healthcare advocate because the look on my face was telling him, I want to, but I can’t, and somehow he understood.

After a few hours, grandma fell asleep. I sat with her awhile, squeezing her hand when she woke up. Once, she woke up and couldn’t see me; I was on a bench by the window rather than the chair by her bedside.

“Where is my granddaughter?!” she mustered the loudest voice she would use all day, panicked. I rushed to her side and waited until she fell asleep again.

She really loves you, Will mouthed. I know, I responded through tears. I remembered that when she could drive, she did not miss a single one of my dance performances. Last spring, she showed me pictures that she took on her digital camera when I got my first pair of pointe shoes at age ten and refused to take them off, walking them around the house until I had blisters.

Grandma’s grandchildren were the closest thing she had to pride and joy, if she had any. She boasted our accomplishments to anyone who would listen, although in a way that made us feel a little more like circus animals rather than precious grandbabies. A portrait she sketched of my brother around age twelve is still framed in my parents’ house. Grandma spent months on it, trying to get his nose just right. Her artwork was beautifully meticulous, detailed beyond necessity, and realistic in a way that made me wonder why her own reality was so skewed—but it never left her bedroom. She had a habit of mastering things that never turned into practical skills. She told me last year that she finished law school after her divorce, but never took the bar exam. She didn’t have an explanation as to why—or if she did, she wouldn’t tell me.

Grandma fell asleep again during her second very slow blood transfusion, and an old friend came in to watch her for the evening, promising to send us updates. Will stood beside me as I looked at grandma one more time, thinking it very well may be the last, and steadied my shaking hand again to lead me out of the hospital. When my parents flew home to visit grandma a week later, my mother noted that when grandma recounted my visit, she remembered Will vividly, but forgot Andrea’s boyfriend of five years.

Leaving the hospital, Will and I realized we had not eaten anything all day. Dinnertime was quickly approaching, and in my hunger and shock I had fixated on one option: a sandwich shop called Cheese Shop in La Jolla. My parents had taken my brother and me to Cheese Shop every summer when I was a child—they had both grown up in the San Diego area, and La Jolla was about in between their families’ homes. Every summer until we could no longer afford it, we stayed a week at a hotel on the La Jolla Shores, from which Cheese Shop was only a three-minute walk down the beachfront. The taste of deli sandwiches permeates these memories strongly: I would always throw out the pickle and revel in the extra four slices of cheese that I was never allowed at home.

My father would take me with him to the deli for eccentric root beer bottles, turkey avocado club sandwiches, and the best oatmeal cookie that the world has ever seen. We wandered through the selection of European chocolates and came home with more sweets than sandwiches, and one summer I drank myself sick on vanilla cream sodas. Surfers in their towels tracked in sand so that we could smell the ocean in the sandwich shop. We lugged our haul back onto the beach, where I demolished my sandwich and then plunged right back into the waves for a stomachache.[Office2] 

Will and I plugged Cheese Shop into the navigation system, and even though it was almost an hour away, my mind was blank for food alternatives anywhere nearer. He asked no questions.

My father and I bonded over our obsession with Cheese Shop sandwiches, a bond that I rarely felt we had despite our very similar dispositions. I couldn’t help but think it would be strange to visit the deli without him, but I felt a strange sort of compulsion to go, and an even stronger compulsion to show Will this landmark of my childhood. Though we had only been together about a year, I felt this way about him often, as though I could share everything good and never lose ownership of my secrets. He displayed a very similar compulsion when we visited his hometown last month, showing me all his hidden passageways and the boy scout summer camp he loved so dearly.

Arriving at the little shop on the beach, I exhaled for the first time since leaving the hospital. Will humored me by raving about his pastrami sandwich and buying extra oatmeal cookies for our drive home. I knew he could sense that this visit had thrown me more than I wanted it to—his hand rested over mine the entire meal. Warm physical contact does wonders for comfort.

Parents at the table next to us were having trouble controlling their toddler son: he was a bit possessive over his mother’s phone, on which he was playing a game or watching a video or something else with obnoxious sound effects. Will and I looked at each other knowingly, and on our walk down the street we discussed. I loved talking about children with him—it was a recent development that let me know he was on the same page in regards to our future. In the last few months, we had tentatively transitioned from saying “when I raise my kids” to “when we raise ours.” The idea that a family could be made from this, from someone I chose to love and that loved me, became overwhelming. I had always been taught that family was an obligatory acceptance, one that I would have to excuse flaws for. Family was not an easy love. Yet here in front of me was this lovely being who loved me back, who I could decide to build a life with. And I loved him for his flaws, not despite them. The easiest love I had and have ever known.

We walked down the beach, arm in arm. I had forgotten to account for summer gloom, so Will donated his sweater and I disappeared inside it. We settled in a little nook to watch the waves crash, on the beach that had occupied my childhood. Musing about our future and watching children play in the waves, I fell asleep in his lap and dreamed of days, months, years ahead.

---

csk

10/2019

to all my beautiful readers: sorry I haven’t posted in so long, and I know this one was a lot to get through! I’ve been doing a little more narrative and a little less poetry lately, but I’m especially proud of this one so I thought I’d post it. more poetry to come next semester, I hope!