#can't hear you over my yodeling | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

pocketramblr · 3 years ago

Note

oooo okay writing game - balter, linked universe, whichever character(s) who choose

Balter- to dance gracelessly, but with enjoyment

Ask game

"The others have a lot of musical instruments, don't they." The Champion mused as the two of them explored the caves.

"You mean how the Veteran could supply an entire orchestra twice over?" Link- Traveler, the others called him, but it was so hard to stop thinking of yourself by your own name. He had no idea how the princesses had managed it- snorted.

"Well, that too." The Champion nodded, then stepped out of the way of a large boulder. "But I mean, the Old Man's ocarina, and Sky's harp, and the Pirate's stick thing."

Link considered it. The Captain and Smithy too- did that only leave one? "I don't think I've ever seen the Rancher play."

"Oh, he howls."

Link stopped, and let the Champion take the next Keese.

"He what?"

The Champion looked back at him, brows knitted together. "Oh right, you- you and the Caption weren't there that night. Uh, it's a howling type of singing. They do it in Ordon apparently. It's called yodeling."

He remembered he and the Captain's detour to the Fairy Fountain, and was not quite sad enough to regret missing out on hearing something new.

"Shame. The Captain is probably glad for it though, imagine his poor ears."

The Champion agreed with a laugh.

Link caught his boomerang, and they kept waking on, silence light between them.

He'd miss it, when this journey was over.

"So, do you sing?" The Champion asked, and Link thought maybe he wouldn't miss it that much, actually, as his ears began to burn.

Bless the darkness of the cave hiding their color.

"Ah, not really." Not in this form, not in front of others. "I can carry a tune on my whistle, but that's about it."

"Oh." The Champion seemed almost disappointed with that answer.

Had he said something wrong?

What could it have been?

"Do you sing?" Link tried to keep his confusion from his voice, but it probably bled through anyway.

The Champion snorted. "Definitely not."

The silence returned, almost as light as it was before, until it wasn't.

"I can't play any other music either. I don't remember if I ever could."

Oh.

He wanted to take the whistle from his bag and give it to the other- the same instinct Link had had for years now, to part with a gift whenever he left a child or friend. The Hylian hospitality he'd learned after it saved his life on his first adventure long ago.

But his hands were full, and he could hardly teach the Champion how to play it without a second whistle, and it wasn't really something he knew formally anyway.

Not enough to teach.

A different idea stuck him like an Ache.

"Do you dance?"

"Huh?" The Champion looked like he was the one struck with no warning. "No, why?"

"Well, if the Rancher howling counts as music, I figure dancing does too."

"Oh. Probably, but like I said, no idea how."

"I can teach you." Link offered.

The Champion actually tripped.

Link took out the last bokoblin before it could capitalize on that opening, and sent a wave of fire to clear the last of the monsters in the cave.

"You can dance?" His formerly favorite exploring partner asked.

Like it was the most shocking thing in the world. Like they didn't all know the kinds of things and clothes he kept in his bag.

"I'll have you know I was brought up right, despite my best efforts." He sheathed the magical sword and put his boomerang away. Impa and Zelda Oriana had insisted on that, and learning to dance actually hadn't been so bad.

There were no fancy clothes or faraway nobels here to be the parts that were bad. So why not try?

"Where?"

"Why not here?"

"Now?"

The Champion looked dazed. Link would be worried about a concussion if he didn't know there was no cause for one today.

"Yeah. Here, I can teach you a simple one. You kick on your heal, then the other, the the first," he demonstrated with three kicks, then clapped his hands twice, "and clap. Then you repeat starting with you other foot, and just alternate like that."

The Champion gave him the same look the Old Man sometimes gave the moon- not completely trusting.

Link tried for his most earnest face, the one he made when talking to the Red Sisters about getting a healing potion.

Finally, the other nodded and repeated the meter Link had shown.

They'd make an odd sight, if there were anyone else to see. A sixteen year old Calatian heir to Hyrule, eons after his motherland vanished and his homeland changed forever, clapping his hands and calling steps as a Champion Knight both one year and one century older than him tried to dance along.

Magic brimmed under their skin, he could feel the similar lighting and protection and lift and healing that thrummed in both their veins, pushed as their hearts raced to keep up with their quickening steps.

Apparently, sharing the same hero spirit did not mean they were better at being in time with each other.

Breathing heavy- the Champion panting- he stopped. "Alright, good. So you do that like, eight or nine or ten times," no, it was probably an even number. "Well, eight or ten times."

It wasn't six, right?

The Champion huffed, but Link charitably chalked it up to being out of breath instead of doubting his instructor.

"And then, the next step,"

"There's more?"

"Just one!"

"I thought you said it was easy." He complained.

Link hadn't. "I said it was simpler. So, you take your partners arm like this, and spin while you step in- actually, just spin. Then you turn around and spin the other way. Then you go back to the first step."

They practiced that a fair while, and Link nodded. "Good. Ok, I'll play the tune on my whistle, you keep going!"

The Champion faired well until it was time for the partner step, and Link didn't move to help him.

He stared, waving his arms wildly to ask what he should do.

Link took a moment to wave his hand in a circle, and the Champion correctly read it as being told to figure it out solo.

The little spinning jump he did on his own could not be called graceful, or in time with the music, but it certainly looked fun.

He went back to the first step, and after one more set, Link lowered the whistle. He might not have been dancing, but he was just as out of breath for playing that long.

"Good job." He grinned, and the Champion's beam back was bright enough to light the cave on his own.

Which was useful, because they heard Wolfie barking outside irritably a few minutes later, and had to hurry back through the tunnels before they were dragged out.

#Hyrule teachers Wild la raspa bc i taught a bunch of kids la raspa a week ago dhgjhjj #you know what. i will tag this one. only this one.#linked universe #lu hyrule #lu wild #marshmelonfluff #pocket talks to people #ask game #prompt game #my writing #i think wild and rule are good friends and sometimes wild would forget his adventure didn't know about wolfie yet

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askvectorprime · 3 years ago

Text

This next shot needed to count.

Demolishor was a soldier, not a tactician, and there was no doubt that his opponent had the strategic edge. He gritted his teeth. The battle was nearly lost.

"D… 3."

"Miss." Maxie's grin widened. "B-4."

Demolishor scanned the board, his gaze finally settling in the middle of his aircraft carrier—the last ship in his dark fleet, heretofore unscathed. "Hmm," he mumbled, and with a thumb and forefinger the size of tank barrels (not coincidentally) he reached down into the little plastic tray to retrieve a peg. More spilled out to join the growing red pile on the floor.

"Was that a 'hit' I heard there?" asked Maxie.

From where he was standing on Demolishor's shoulder, arms wrapped around an anti-aircraft missile, DJ piped up. "Hit. You want a hint, Demolishor? I can see all her boats from here."

"If I wanted a hint, I'd use my heat vision. Are you sure you humans don't have heat vision?"

"We don't. Which is so unfair," chimed in Eli.

"I'm not cheating. Cross my heart!" Maxie promised.

"Then how do you keep sinking my battleships?"

"Okay, fine, I'll tell you. You placed them all next to each other in a big bunch."

"And?" said Demolishor, immediately on the defensive. "Of course they are. If they were spread all over the sea, what would they do when they need to combine?"

"Uhh, dude?" said DJ, reaching over to tap him on the head. "Boats don't combine."

"What? I can see their Powerlinx ports right there."

Eli scratched his head. "Maybe you should have picked a different game, Maxie."

"No, it's fine," Demolishor said. "Err… H-8?"

"Missed me," Maxie shook her head. "But your aim is getting better. C-4."

"Hit."

"Here," said DJ, hopping down from Demolishor's shoulder and deftly putting a peg in the right spot. For just an instant, something about the motion reminded him of Blackout, and waves of feelings crashed over him all at once. Nostalgia. Embarrassment. Anger. Uncertainty. The Mini-Cons had played games like this, he remembered—tiny games of war. DJ had helped him, not as a servant, but…

"You're dead in the water, Demolishor," cackled Maxie, and the moment passed.

Demolishor answered her with a grin of his own. "Not finished yet, kid," he said. "How about… F-7?" Playing at war with organics. What would Snow Cat say? Demolishor could still hear him yodeling away…

"Yodelodelaaaaay!"

"Is that… yodeling?" asked Eli, and Demolishor turned just in time for someone to barrel into him, sending him sprawling to the ground.

"Demolishor! It really is you! I can't believe it! Wow, I hate your new paint job!"

Demolishor switched his optics between spectral settings to check they weren't malfunctioning. The colors were all wrong, black and orange, but the form of the 'bot helping him to his feet was unmistakable.

"Snow Cat?" he exclaimed. "What- what are you doing here? I thought you'd-"

"Gone completely coocoo for energon chips?!" interrupted Snow Cat. "I thought so too! But there I was, freezing over a protoform orphanage, when the strangest thing happened!"

"Hello, friend Demolishor." A shadow fell over him.

Demolishor's eye widened, and his jaw fell open, as he heard another familiar voice. He turned to see a purple-and-tan mech with a pair of back-mounted cannons. But no, it couldn't be...

Finally, he spoke, his voice a hushed whisper: "M...Mirage?!"

Snow Cat laughed as he danced between them, pulling both of them into the most awkward three-person hug of all time. "Old Mirage here walked up to me plain as day!" he said. "It was the strangest thing! I said to him-"

"You're supposed to be dead!" Demolishor blurted out.

"Yeah!" Snow Cat exclaimed. "That's what I said, exactly! After I stopped screaming."

"Mirage was dead," the taller Decepticon said, "but then Mirage wasn't. Something changed. Couldn't find Galvatron, so he decided to look for other Decepticons."

Snow Cat nodded, finally freeing them from the embrace. "And when he found me, it was like... this fog opening up, you know?" he said. "So I decided—forget freezing orphans, let's get the band back together!"

"Demolishor, who are these guys?" said Maxie. Demolishor, now standing at full height, peered down at her. Her hands were clenched into fists. She and Eli were standing either side of DJ, who had his arms folded. For his part, Eli looked distinctly nervous.

"They're," friends, Demolishor almost finished, but the word had started to take on some kind of new meaning that he was still figuring out, "old friends."

"And who are these little humans?" asked Snow Cat. "Target practise? Kidding, kidding. Aren't you going to introduce us?"

"Why are you here?" asked Demolishor, but it wasn't really a genuine question.

"To find you, of course," Mirage answered. "Heard of new Decepticon army forming on planet Mars. You'll join with us, yes?"

Demolisher glanced back down at the children. "Galvatron's not leading them?"

"Not yet," answered Snow Cat excitedly, "but we'll find him!"

"It means a lot that you came out this far for me," said Demolishor. "It's kinda like Mirage said, though—something, err, changed." He didn't know when it had happened, but things felt different. "I'm trying to change." Sometimes it felt like he didn't want to change, like the changes were being forced upon him, by the people around him, by the universe. Demolishor didn’t really know whether he wanted to change or not. He wasn't used to having to think for himself. But he was trying to change all of that too.

"We've all changed!" agreed Snow Cat, nodding vigorously. "Actually, Mirage, we should update your finish…" He looked around for inspiration, eyes settling on the board game. "How does gunmetal gray sound?"

"Listen, guys, I…"

"He's not going anywhere with you!" came a voice from below.

The three bots looked down to see a young human standing defiantly between them.

Eli pointed a trembling finger. "Demolishor's not a Decepticon any more.

"He's a hero," added Maxie.

"Which means he's got better things to be doing than sitting around on Mars with Galvatron's old goons," finished DJ.

"Goons? Why, you…" Snow Cat stepped forward, but suddenly there was a hand on his windscreen, gun barrels splayed up towards his face. "Demolishor? You serious right now?"

"They're my friends," he said.

Snow Cat studied him for a long moment. "This… this really makes you happy?"

Demolishor nodded. He wasn't always happy, but now he knew what happiness meant.

"Well… I guess that's all that matters," Snow Cat said, taking one last glance at the humans. "Come on, Mirage. Snow Cat, transform!" Yodeling farewell, he drove away.

"Mirage will see you later. Mirage transform!" he said, converting to Hyper-Mode and jetting after the other Decepticon.

"Sorry about them," said Demolishor.

"Don't worry about it," replied DJ. "C'mon, let's finish the game."

"Um, guys... I think that Snow Cat stepped on it." Maxie held up a piece of plastic as flat as a pancake, with white and red sprinkles. "So I guess it's a draw?"

At that moment, another vehicle drove up, converting to a sleek robot form with large wheels on its shoulders. "Eli! DJ, Maxie, Demolishor! Are you guys okay? Rhinox picked up Decepticon energy signatures in the area, but we couldn't get here any faster."

"You could have warned me," grumbled Demolishor. "With the radio."

"Well, uhh, we weren't sure how you'd-"

The brief whooping of sirens drowned him out as an ambulance pulled up, converting to robot mode. "Hot Shot, I said not to rush off ahead," she complained.

"Sorry, Red Alert, but I couldn't low-gear it. They might've been in danger."

"Yeah mate, that's why we don't blunder in without a plan. You're a right pain in the tailpipe sometimes. Everything hunky-dory here?"

"Yeah!" said Eli. "We were just playing this game when these two gearheads showed up, but Demolishor scared them off."

DJ punched the robot lightly on the tread. "Guess you're better at dealing with big space boats than teeny plastic ones, huh big guy?" he said, and the kids all laughed. Demolishor chuckled too.

They were giving him all the credit, but the truth was that Demolishor was not very good at saying 'no'. Part of him felt embarrassed that he'd needed them to say it for him, but mostly he was surprised at how nice it felt to have someone stand up for him.

"Rhinox to Autobots," came a transmission. "I hope you've shown our guests the door, because we've got a situation unfolding back in the city. Some kind of electric monster on a rampage. I need you to get the civilians to safety while I try to pinpoint its weakness. Prime's already en route."

Hot Shot looked around at the others. "You heard him. Let's be heroes," he grinned. "Autobots, roll out!"

They transformed, waiting just a moment for the humans to get in—Eli with Hot Shot, Maxie with Red Alert, and DJ with Demolishor—before driving off. DJ kicked back in the gunner's seat, and over the rumbling of the treads, murmured something to Demolishor, the kind of sentence that might be misinterpreted, or disregarded, or missed altogether. But Demolishor heard it.

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drabbles-mc · 18 days ago

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being on tumblr the MOMENT the chapter drops??? it's a sign!!!

but when have you ever picked sense over instinct? <- oh my dearest Lips. the way i sense this might be, what the scholars call, foreshadowing

Side by side, yeah, going steady and steady going. <- the way i want to be soooo 🥰🥰🥰🥰 about this, but i have it on good authority that perhaps there might be some angst awaiting me this chapter

but I bet you ain’t got the tape for it all. <- i can hear this so vividly in my mind. i stay kissing Lips on the mouth in my mind always

and it would’ve maybe been nothing if Benny hadn’t made it something <- sksksk they're so real for being annoyed about this but also this might've been the moment that i well and truly fell in love with Benny sitting in that theater 😂😂 just one little blurb of Gina saying his boyfriend's in trouble and the man turned into a heat-seeking missle. hot.

Like watching a group of toddlers work out that if they folded their hand up, it could make a, what’a ya call it? A fist. Wow. <- IM WEAKKKKKKK 😂😂😂 god this is such a good nad accurate fucking roast of what these guys are out here doing. I'm yodeling into the abyss i love this so much

Guys being dumb fucks, and fucking dumb about it. <- i want to have their commentary/take on every single club-wide event in the history of ever. i feel like their voice taps in soooo so well to the nature of the fact that the movie was a comedy before it became a tragedy. i love it so much

you said, real loud so the conversation died a little, and you sure enjoyed killing it <- fuckign OBSESSED with this line to much. sure enjoyed killing it!!! sure!!!! did!!!! AHHHHHH!!!!! idkidk there is something i love so much about how this dials into their current attitude and mindset. all of the frustration building

CORKY??!!!??!!!! CORKY WILL TAKE YOU???!!!! DAMN RIGHT!! WHY NOT!!!!! ohhhh the sick fucking grin on my face, mj. the sick twisted fucking grin at the mere thought lmfao

“Fuck you talkin’m bout,” he muttered, “fuck you will, Corky. Come on. Come on, Lips.” <- SKSKSK the man wasn't gonna let it fly. i knew that he woudln't but god just picturing that scene playing out in my mind's eye. so so fucking good. i love it so much. corky, my chaos king. i love him. EYE will let him take me home while Lips goes home with Johnny. we all win.

the way im picturing this visit to their friend's house to see the baby like a montage. nice music in the background and all. i love this for all of them. gotta give the baby a good squish and a sniff

Johnny turns up the next morning, Sunday, like he’d been coming by every day, or something, like he was coming by just to prove that you weren’t there still <- ohhhh something something it's the reverse of benny and Kathy. something something it's foreshadowing of canon and johnny going to the house looking for benny but he's not there. something something the porches in this canon do so much heavy lifting with those wooden planks

“I got a life too, you know. I don’t just sit around, waiting for you to swing by.” <- GET HIS ASS!!!!!!!

“Wrong fucking time to take off, Lips.” <- Jaws music has started playing in the background, i fear

He laughs. Well, sort of laughs, more like exhales with a smile weaselling up behind it. “No, we didn’t tell the cops. We handled it. S’all done with.” <- Johnny Fuckin' Davis, my friends. he really is That Bitch. i love him for it

He looks at you long enough to decide if you’re a person worth lying to or not, you reckon, and he settles on the right half of the debate. “Burned it down,” he says. <- BROOOOOOO!!!!! the lead-up to him telling them the truth??? chef's fucking kiss, baby. absolutely love that. i AM the hellmo gif with is a double entendre considering what we're talking about here sksksk

OH???? H I S BENNY????? DONT THINK I DIDNT CLOCK IT!!!! ITS BEEN CLOCKDE!!!!

You snort. “Great plan. Gang violence eradicated from America.” <- they're so fucking funny and real for this i can't

If Benny is what makes him tick, then God, keep it ticking. <-im??? actually fucking unwell about this???? certifiably so, I'm afriad

oh ym god this slow descent into a goodbye. the tension is suffocating me in a way that makes me want to melt into the couch (positive)

you got a mighty need to find out where that man of yours went. <- this and then the ending????? just reach directly through my ribs to take my heart out, actually. just do it!!!!! take me out back and shoot me. old yeller me. i cannot go on like this (i will be excitedly waiting for the next chapter)

white room - pt. 6

johnny davis x gn!reader, 18+, canon typical themes and language, 4.8k words, 6 of ? ao3 link | previous part a/n: hi <3 this felt like a whirlwind to write so i hope it translates

The car show-wheel show-fighting and drinking show, proved to be all those things at once, making ‘em all right when it came down to it; well, Kathy most of all. But she didn’t end up going, and by the time you were looking for that bike of Johnny’s in the dark, you were almost wishing you hadn’t bothered neither. She had the right idea after all, and she did warn you, or whatever, but when have you ever picked sense over instinct?

It started off nice enough, of course, you know, drinking and eating and chatting, and couples fucking on the hoods of cars too shiny to be fucking on, and cigarettes burning like the world was getting rid of them—but you was liking it enough to not be minding about all that. Even felt good to be out somewhere new again, cause you’ve never had much of a social life since moving back here. And Johnny was handsy and handsome and quiet in all the usual ways he is, and you were feeling real good about that, too. Like you belonged there, and not only belonged there, but belonged there with him, with Johnny. Side by side, yeah, going steady and steady going.

And that Danny kid must’a thought the same thing, cause he did wanna talk to you, and he found a minute when Johnny had gone to take a leak to ask you some stuff—nothing real personal or anything, just stuff you’d expect a guy to be asking when he’s doing whatever it is he’s doing, you know?

He said, “Can I put you down as Lips for this?”

And I said, “Sure, can’t be the only one of these bozos having a boring old name, can I?”

And he pressed the little button of his tape recorder thingy, half-smoked joint on the edge of his lips, clinging on for dear life, and said, “Ah, I don’t know that anyone rolling with Vandals can be boring.”

“Is that what I’m doing?” you asked, cause he was right, in a sort of way, but you know. You like talking a certain type of talk when you’re getting to know someone, don’t you? Specially a someone with a fancy microphone sitting between his fingers like that. “Rolling?”

“You tell me,” he said, “that’s kind of the whole thing I’m after.”

“What? What people think they’re doing vs. what they’re actually doing, you mean?”

“Yeah,” he smiled, “exactly.”

“Well, I could talk your ear off, right down to the bone, on all sorts of things like that if you want me too, but I bet you ain’t got the tape for it all.”

“Oh yeah?” He took a big drag, and let it out again, though the thing looked like it had nothing but paper left in it. “How’d you and Johnny meet?” he asked.

And you know, you promised Johnny, so you just said that you met him around.

“Around?”

“Yeah, around.”

And that you weren’t nothing serious, but weren’t nothing not serious, you know?

“How’s that work?”

“Just does.”

Nothing serious, but something sort of something, and you left it at that, all right, you aren’t one to be breaking nothing without meaning to—

“You don’t wanna talk about it?”

“No, I don’t mind talking about it.”

“But Johnny does?”

“Something like that.”

You’re just spending time with each other, you said, you and Johnny, you’re just getting to know each other and enjoying the fact, that’s all. You didn’t really say nothing about anything after that, every question that went a little too far, you shrugged off, you know, real professional about it, like they do at work when something’s close to the wire and purposely so.

“Johnny ever mention how things with him and Betty ended?”

“We don’t talk about that so much.”

Come on, right, your old thing and your new thing, that’s the kinda stuff no-one’s looking to mix up, and especially not someone like Johnny, you mean, well, what’s the kid thinking asking a thing like that? You had to say something, just to put him back in his place a little.

But then you really, actually, didn’t say much else afterwards, zipped up real tight, you promise—and besides, Johnny came back round about then, and Danny seemed to sense he was suddenly being nosey to a sort of person that don’t like being nosed to, and packed up real quick. Which was a little sad, sure, cause you would’a liked to hear him ask something the both of you could answer, but he just said,

“I’ll talk to you another time, Lips.”

And that was that.

Wasn’t long after that they started fighting, which was all sorts of dumb, and made you really wish you had spent more time talking to Danny, or maybe even gone to find somewhere to take a piss yourself, because, God, what a mess that was.

If it was any other guy, or bunch of guys, it would've really got to you, would’ve maybe even scared you, but, Hell, your boys were as misplaced as the other club they were scrapping, whichever way you looked at it. Something about someone accusing Cal of scratching some bike, something real small you know, and it would’ve maybe been nothing if Benny hadn’t made it something, but he came flying in all hot and swinging, and then the whole field was a mess. All punching and rolling and swearing. Like watching a group of toddlers work out that if they folded their hand up, it could make a, what’a ya call it? A fist. Wow.

Real load of tools.

At one point, Johnny had three guys hanging off him, and if you weren’t rolling your eyes so much, you could’ve thought that was impressive, you know, holding his own like that. But it was all just nonsense, and you were getting no sort of attention or consideration or nothing.

And like you said, if Benny hadn’t come in like that, and punched the guy when he was just talking to Johnny, only talking, the whole thing could’ve been avoided. They had no real reason to be fighting like that until Benny came in hotter than anyone with any sense would’ve, and he kept going like that, right up until his hand went through a window and the blood and the glass got all mushed up into some guys face—and that’s when Johnny finally had the brains to put a stop to it.

Thank God, you remember thinking, somebody finally told the dog ’no’ before he bit down too hard.

Never seen nothing like it, and what was weirder still? Afterwards the lot of them sat down with a crate of beers, and the guy that was accusing Cal of scratching, ended up sitting right there with him, laughing about some other story from another day. Like nothing ever happened, while their fists were still bleeding and their noses were going all black and blue.

It’s whatever, right? Guys being dumb fucks, and fucking dumb about it. The way you look at it, it had nothing to do with you, still got nothing to do with you, and as long as they were only hurting other fools like themselves, you ain’t too worried about it.

But it did sort of bother you afterwards, how Johnny was with you. He went even quieter than quiet. Spoke to Benny a little, and to Brucey. Took a beer from you to hold it against his knuckles—though it wasn’t much cool by then—and that was sort of it. When you was sitting about the place later, he didn’t even sit by you; just took a lean against his bike and left you between stinking drunk 1, and stinking drunk 2, which is what you’ve taken to calling Wahoo and Corky, cause you’ve never seen them anyway different.

You figured maybe he was tired. Or embarrassed. Or hurting from the scrap like an old man should be, but none of those things explained kind of ignoring you the way he was.

You couldn’t make peace with it—you still can’t—and by the end of the evening, you were standing while they were all sitting, and Johnny was across the circle from you there, and he hadn’t looked up at you since the fire got started. Too busy drinking and listening to Cal telling some story about a pot smoker he knew back some time ago. Which really did start to bother you. Cause, what? The fire, or some story you’ve heard a million times, is more interesting to you, John?

“I think I ought to be heading out now,” you said, real loud so the conversation died a little, and you sure enjoyed killing it. “Don’t fancy camping out here,” you said.

Then everyone was looking at you, but Johnny last, and no-one said anything until Corky said, “I’ll take you.”

Which would have sure enough been a death sentence, but did you more of a favour than he even knew, cause it got Johnny groaning and pulling himself up like it was the hardest thing in the world.

“Fuck you talkin’m bout,” he muttered, “fuck you will, Corky. Come on. Come on, Lips.”

And then his arm was over your shoulder and your arms stayed crossed, cause for a second you weren’t sure you wanted him touching you like that, though that second didn’t last anywhere near as long as it should’ve. If you had any pride, that is.

“So you do remember me?” you said, trying to be smart and cutting, in that petty way you can be, when things start stinging more than they itch.

“Huh?” he said. “What’s that?”

But he was already turning you toward that bike of his, somewhere out there in the dark. Red, shining, beacon that it is. So you decided to leave it.

And maybe it was a punishment, and maybe it was just a coincidence, and maybe it was kind of sort of both—but after that, you went away for a little while.

You got some friends a ways from here that just had a baby, well, you say just, but you’re hearing it’s—she’s—starting to crawl already, so maybe your just and their just ain’t really the same thing—but they had a baby anyhow. Two people that were stuck in the same company as you, and used to eat lunch with you, but two people people that got the fuck out of there when you didn’t, and made better for it, you know. Not that you hate your job, but it won’t be the end for you, and they took a highway to the start of the end; the good end you reckon, marriage, baby, big house with a fenced in yard, and you’ve never seen them since.

So you go to them. Figure you owe it to them, for being the only ones there that were worthwhile making friends of, and owe it to yourself to do a little something or other every now and then. Can’t just be work, porch, Johnny, sleep, work, forever now, can it?

You pack up a little case, and wrap up those baby suits that are almost definitely too small by now, and stuff the lot and yourself onto a bus that goes overnight, cause you really aren’t keen on staying up for long journeys on your own.

They’re real happy, by the way. And the baby’s a dream, round and squishy and smiling like she knows everything you don’t, and it’s real good seeing them again. Felt like sitting right there at the lunch table like they never left, and if you’re honest, the whole time you’re there, you never mentioned Johnny once to them. Cause they wouldn’t…well, why would you? And you find you don’t really think about him all too much either. It’s just baby noises in the day and drinking when the house is finally quiet.

Which you think you needed, really, just for a change. Just you and them, you as you used to be, not even that long ago. Like opening the door to a neighbour who’s been away for a while.

You’re glad you went, and you’re just as glad to come back. Johnny creeps up on you on the bus home sorta, like, you’re trying to sleep, but you get thinking about him again, about how good it’ll be to see him. To kiss him. To tell him about your trip into the land of the normal people, where none of you guys are ever gonna belong.

But when you do get back, God, a week could’ve been a year.

Johnny turns up the next morning, Sunday, like he’d been coming by every day, or something, like he was coming by just to prove that you weren’t there still, only to find you actually were there, and, fuck, he looks so different. You almost feel like you don’t know him when you clock him through the window.

What it is, you see, is he’s not wearing his jacket, his colors. No leathers or patches. Got some blue shirt on and a white one underneath it, like he’s a, well, like he’s just some truck driver, or something. Some regular guy. And he’s not on his bike neither, he’s got the car, so when you’re opening that door it feels like you’re greeting a stranger.

A stranger who says, “Where’ve you been?” before you’re even off the step.

No hi, no hello, no thank God you’re back, I missed you so much, baby. Just, where’ve you been?

“Around.” You hug your arms a little. What’s going on with you—is what you wanna ask him, but he cuts you off right as you open your mouth.

“What’s that mean?” he asks, though he’s saying it like he doesn’t believe you before you even answer, like he’s mad at you, almost.

And look, you know, you’re not really in no position to be petty about it, seeing as you took a trip without saying nothing, and he’s not being any ruder than he might’ve been some other time, but it grates on you. Gets your hackles up. It’s only been a week, right? Just a week. What the hell can happen in a time like that?

“It means I’ve been around, Johnny. Seeing friends up state.” He don’t look satisfied by the answer, rattling his keys in his hands still, lingering on the street down there. So you say, “I got a life too, you know. I don’t just sit around, waiting for you to swing by.”

You don’t mean it like a real insult, just a matter of fact thing, and he seems to take it as much. Which is almost as worrying as if he didn’t, cause he really doesn’t seem like the man you left behind the other weekend.

“You could’ve told me,” he says, “could’a let me know.” And he is mad at you, you think, but he’s something else too, and he can’t even look at you really, just stares at your feet, at the step you’re waiting on.

So you drop down onto the next one, to give him a little help. “I could’ve,” you say. Probably should of, but you don’t feel like saying that part, cause, well, you’re not perfect and you don’t try to be. Who is? Gotta give yourself a little leeway sometime, don’t you?

He clears his throat. Flicks his eyes up for half a second that you don’t miss. “I was worrying about you.”

“Yeah?”

“Wrong fucking time to take off, Lips.”

He says it like he means it, in more than a boyfriend grumbling about missing a few kisses kind of way, which makes you frown, and cross your arms, and say his name once to get him to finally look at you. “Something happen?”

He shakes his head, no surprise there. Always fighting it on a reflex. Then he looks down the street to the right of him, then at his keys, thumb toying with one of them, and then he nods. It’s small, but you see it.

“You wanna come in?” you ask, and he makes a noise that’s Johnny speech for yeah, but I won’t be saying as much, so you turn back, up to the door, and he follows like he never has done before.

“Sit down. I’ll get a beer.”

Johnny grunts, but does what you say—and you hate that. You really do, you have to make yourself look away from him and into the kitchen before you can think too much on it. It’s just more fucking clues of him being all outside of himself, blue shirt, tired eyes, slack shoulders as he drops into the couch, there’s something up with him, sure, but it’s more up than it ever has been, you know. And you hope this isn’t your fault. It really can’t be all your whole entire fault, right?

Something happened, he said, something, not you, but something. And he was annoyed sure, but not cause you went away, only that you weren’t here when that something happened and he needed you to be, yeah? That sounds sort of reasonable, don’t it? Yeah, that’s all it is, you’re sure.

The fridge is empty, cause of course it is, but there’s a warm box of bottles in the back of the cupboard, so you take two of them out to him.

“Sorry,” you pass him one, “would’ve chilled ‘em if I knew.”

“S’okay.”

He pops the cap with the end of one of his keys, and then he holds it back out to you, cause he’s figured out what you haven’t—that you didn’t bring nothing to open them with—and switches his for yours, then opens that one too.

You take a swig at the same time. Him sitting, you standing. Looks real fucking weird from where you are, Johnny sitting in that beat up couch your Pops left behind. You never did think about what it’d be like to have him in here, and honestly, it’s sort of like nothing, but that sight, yeah, that’s a little strange. Johnny on the couch you opened Santa’s presents on. He’s right there in the middle, over the line where the two cushions meet, sinking in like he’s growing out of it, coming up like a loose spring, which leaves you no room as much as it leaves you plenty.

“First time you been in here,” you say.

“Yeah.”

“You like it?”

He looks at you over the end of the bottle, lips poised for another drink.

“Right. Yeah. Doesn’t matter.” You sit on the arm of the chair behind you, the big lounger that you eat, sleep, and live out of. “You don’t seem like yourself, Johnny.”

He makes you wait a little, rubbing his free palm over his face, scrubbing away at the look that won’t shift, but he does eventually tell you. Figures he can’t be sitting there saying nothing, when he’s already given you enough to know there’s something that needs saying. He says, “Benny got into some trouble.”

And of course, you say, “What sort of trouble?”

“The bad kind.” He shakes his head, making a noise like he’s got a word stuck and won’t let it out, settling on, “yeah, s’bad,” instead.

“Well, is he alright? What happened?”

“Got into it with some guys.”

You scoff. “Ain’t that normal for him?”

“Got his foot cut off, nearly. Almost all the way. The ankle.”

“Jesus Christ.” Now you’re looking like a real asshole, laughing at a man getting his foot chopped off. “Fuck.”

“Yeah,” Johnny says, looking at the rug, “yeah. Bad.”

“Why’d someone do a fucking thing like that?”

He drinks again and wipes his lips on the back of his hand afterwards. “For wearing his colors someplace that don’t like it.”

You sit on that for a minute, because that makes sense, sure, in the world of men eating men, but from that to something going right through Benny’s ankle, is a Hell of a leap to make. Elevation takes a few steps, you know, two to tango—but from the look on his face, you figure this ain’t the sort of thing Johnny’s gonna be gossiping about. No retelling of the punches that led to the slices, that’s for sure.

“D’you know who did it?” you ask.

“Yeah,” he says.

“Did you tell the cops?”

He laughs. Well, sort of laughs, more like exhales with a smile weaselling up behind it. “No, we didn’t tell the cops. We handled it. S’all done with.”

He says it with finality. With a big, fat, DO NOT ENTER sign pressed over his forehead. Done with. Handled. Don’t ask me no more things about it.

Yeah. The warm beer’s feeling even warmer now, with how cold your palms are going.

You’ve seen how clubs like the Vandals deal with arguments that aren’t really arguments, and you’ve seen how men act, when they catch a tougher man, out-toughing them. Handled never means what it would mean to regular folk, so you ask,

“What’d you do?”

“Nothing. Don’t worry about it.”

“Johnny, what did you do?”

He looks at you long enough to decide if you’re a person worth lying to or not, you reckon, and he settles on the right half of the debate. “Burned it down,” he says.

Now it’s your turn to breathe like you’re laughing, but only, it’s in blind disbelief when it’s coming from you. “Burned what down?”

“The bar they was hanging out in. Their place. Their Spotlight.”

“Are you fucking crazy?”

“Benny could’ve lost his leg, could’ve been off the bike for good.”

“And you could’ve been in fucking jail, Johnny, what the fuck?”

His head shakes a little, and he sits back into your couch with the beer on the crotch of his jeans. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. It’s done. Nothing happened and nothing will happen.”

You’re chewing on your lip, cause as much as you wanna tell him how stupid he is, how downright crazy and fucking irresponsible he is, you gotta play your next cards real neat. Cause this is the point, right? This is where the ship passes dock and you can either throw yourself overboard, or tuck in and hope the storm ain’t a bad one.

“And the guys that did it?” you churn out. “Handled them too?”

“Does it matter?”

“My God.” You put your head in your hand, massaging out the vein that’s no doubt bursting free of the skin. Handled it. They handled it. Jesus, you knew they were sort of bad, sort of righteous, and you figured they dabbled with shit the same way all big groups of dudes dabble with shit—you mean, even the kooks your Mom surrounded herself with had secrets that you could’ve never imagined, if you hadn’t been right there to hear it from them.

“You should’ve seen him, Lips,” Johnny says. “Was in a real bad way. Just for being one of us, y’know, he didn’t do nothing.”

You take another drink, having forgotten it was even an option, and honestly, you can’t even look at him for a little while. You put your eyes on the label like you’re reading it, or whatever. He thought he was gonna lose him, clearly, thought his Benny was one tendon away from disappearing on him, and look what happened. How quick he went from Johnny Davis to Johnny Strabler.

“So, what?” you say eventually. “You never wearing your patches again?”

“Nah, just when we’re on our own, y’know. Just for a little while.”

You snort. “Great plan. Gang violence eradicated from America.”

“Hey.” He says it so sharp that you look up at him. “No. Don’t say shit like that.”

“You gonna deny it?” you bite back. “I don’t see many chess clubs burning places down, Johnny.”

He doesn’t think you get it, doesn’t think your view of things is the fair view of things—you can tell by the way he’s frowning at you. “We look after each other,” he says, “wasn’t gonna let them do that to one of ours and get away with it.”

You shake your head, growing real tired of it real quick. It’s done, you suppose, like he said, everything’s all square—until some other guy pisses on their territory, that is.

“I don’t like it,” you say, which is putting it way lighter than he deserves, but you can’t think of nothing else to say. He’s set on it, the shit’s over with, and you weren’t even around when it happened. You didn’t come into it at all, really.

“So you’re gonna leave again,” he says.

“What?”

“That’s why you went away, right? After the show?”

“I told you, I was visiting friends.”

“Without saying nothing?”

You shrug. He didn’t ask if you’d be around when he dropped you off that night, and you were still icing him out for being so indifferent with you—which, you might’ve asked him about now, if things didn’t go the way they have, cause if he was regretting you seeing him scrapping with a bunch of fools in the grass, then he sure got over that quick. Sitting there, drinking your beer, talking about burning bars down and ‘handling’ guys for hurting what’s ours.

“If you don’t…if you don’t want this—“

“I never said I didn’t want nothing,” you cut him off, real snappy with it. “I’m just thinking, is all. Jeez.”

He nods, looking a little bit hurt, like a pup that caught Mom’s canine tooth, but you kinda think he deserves it. Just this once. “I had to do something,” he says. “Make a point.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“S’better that they’re scared of us.”

“Johnny,” you wince a little, “I really can’t be dealing with you saying things like that. It’s not—it’s not you.”

He hums one of his hums, and it’s not agreeing or disagreeing at all, it’s something completely flat. Undecided. Something he does just to save him from saying anything else.

“Benny’s gonna be alright?” you ask, cause you’re trying to shake all the drops of the conversation off of you, tick all the boxes and shut it up for good. “He can walk still?”

“Yeah,” Johnny nods, then clears his throat, “Doc says it’ll take a bit, but, yeah. S’gone be alright.”

“Well, that’s something.”

Benny will walk again, meaning Benny will ride again, meaning Johnny really shouldn’t go doing something stupid again. At least not on that scale, you hope. You wish it wasn’t hooked up that way, but well, wishing never got you nothing so far. If Benny is what makes him tick, then God, keep it ticking.

“You wanna go get some food?” you suggest, watching him finish the last of his beer. Cause he did say he’d been worrying, you remember, when he first got here, and maybe he really had been swinging by every day just to check on you. “Feel like I should at least make up for my, y’know, disappearing on you.”

And he really should make up for—

“Nah, I gotta head off.”

“Oh?”

“Gotta go get the girls. Said I’d take them shopping.” He stands, leaving the bottle on the floor by his feet, and wipes his palms down his stomach as he stretches. “Stopped by just to—yeah. I’m glad you’re back.”

You nod, standing too, in that awkward, expected of you way, that people do when guests are making an exit.

“Glad you’re sticking around,” he says, “even with all the…”

“Yeah.”

With all the violence and bullshit that should have you running for the fucking hills. But the way you see it, you spent all your childhood in those hills, and a long while after that too, and you really don’t feel like making your way back there anytime soon. First time in a long while that you’ve had somewhere flat to plant your feet.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you tell him. Meaning now, and in the bigger sense, too, which he gets. You can see it in his eyes, in the way he puts his arm up to touch your waist, cause you’re far enough that he can’t reach anything else. “Come by after you drop them home?”

His eyebrow quirks a little. “Yeah? It’ll be late.”

“I’ll be up.”

“Alright, sure. I’ll come.”

And you’re glad of that, cause as he leaves, he’s still sort of looking like a stranger to you—even more so than he did when he got in here—and you got a mighty need to find out where that man of yours went. Where he’s staying, somewhere under those new clothes of his. You’d wait up all night, for him to come back around, if it meant finding him again.

____________

taglist: @drabbles-mc @hausofmamadas @cositapreciosa @raven-black102 @lyralu91 @hoodeddreams13 @businesscalamity

#johnny davis

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mavigator · 2 years ago

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izzy

ahhhh my brother.

i cant think of anything for

yfortunately, deep in the forest, there's this HUGE locked door. and it's perfect for practicing knock knock jokes. so one day, i'm knocking 'em out, like usual. i knock on the door and say "knock knock." and suddenly, from the other side... i hear a woman's voice. "who is there?" so, naturally, I respond: "dishes." "dishes who?" "dishes a very bad joke." then she just howls with laughter. like it's the best joke she's heard in a hundred years. so I keep 'em coming, and she keeps laughing. she's the best audience i've ever had. then, after a dozen of 'em, SHE knocks and says... "knock knock!" i say "whos there?" "old lady!" "old lady who?" "oh! I did not know you could yodel!" wow. needless to say, this woman was extremely good. we kept telling each other jokes for hours. eventually, i had to leave. papyrus gets kind of cranky without his bedtime story. but she told me to come by again, and so i did. then i did again. and again. it's a thing now. telling bad jokes through the door. it rules. one day, though, i noticed she wasn't laughing very much. i asked her what was up. then she told me something strange. "if a human ever comes through this door... could you please, please promise something? watch over them, and protect them, will you not?" now, i hate making promises. and this woman, i don't even know her name. but. someone who sincerely likes bad jokes... has an integrity you can't say "no" to. do you get what i'm saying? that promise i made to her... you know what would have happened if she hadn't said anything? ... buddy. You'd be dead where you stand. hey, lighten up, bucko! i'm just joking with you. besides... haven't i done a great job protecting you? i mean, look at yourself. you haven't died a single time. hey, what's that look supposed to mean? am i wrong...? heh. well. take care of yourself, kid. 'cause someone really cares about you.

#what kind of terriblyname has two Z

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mocacheezy · 4 years ago

Text

Looking at the trailer for the upcoming Netflix Cuphead show, I am just a little dissapointed. I mean it's a short teaser trailer, I dunno what I expected. I was so excited I was hoping the show was out already but aight. Aight. My mistake, am still very excited though.

The animation reminds me of the new Mickey mouse cartoons, which aight, will take me some time to get used to, since it combines the rubberhosey style but also makes it fast. But hey, it's good. I like that the animators are bringing the old timey charm and modern cartoons action pacing together. But, may I say:

King Dice looks amazing, though his voice sounds??? Off??? To me???

It might just be the fact it's been a long, LONG TIME since I've been in Cuphead waters and I didn't play the games (wistfully looks @ Switch prices and vows once more to get that game and the console), but the voice for him I have in my mind is that of Alana Bridgewaters, who sang the Die House song (and how I adore the performance, I am in love with this song still, relistening to it made me smile).

But like, from what lil' dive into the trivia I made (this is just me musing about this stuff, so I am not looking too deep. Don't take this small rant of mine as The Truest Truth Of All Truths aight?) here are some inspirations for the guy:

Now I knew about Calloway, because again, I loved the game since I was also in the BATIM fandom at the time, and the two games are both in the old timey style. Not to mention the jazz music covers and fan songs these two spawned.

Just, *chefs kiss* it was beautiful I tell you guys. My "old soul" heart sang with joy.

But anyways, thanks to that combined hyperfixation I did learn just a bit more about old timey animation (and the studios that competed at the time, and the practices/working conditions, and the lawsuits, and the -... well, you get the picture. It was a hyperfixation of almost three years or so.) which also made me realize that yea, I can see the influence of the singer.

And the song that was sung by Bridgewaters is how I imagined his voice to be (aight, also some of the amazing VAs that used to dub the fancomics, have to pay my respects to them, because they did a wonderful, amazing work. The voice claims for him were all over the place, but her version od Die House was and is my fave) so hearing the speaking voice in the show is... Off. Strange.

I consider myself someone who can and WILL find a way to make even a slight detail in a piece of media make sense or find an explanation, so a thing that doesn't fit with what I thought about a show/character/etc., etc. ends up working, so here it is:

The voice a person talks in can be completely different than the way they sing (and honestly in jazz? In the way these people sing where it can be like listening to silk and smoke, a voice that puts your mind in a relaxed haze, but can also be a wild whirlwind depending on the singer performing?? Like... Yea, there is def a difference, gotta keep that voice in shape and that throat well tuned)

The voice actor for the character Alameda Slim in Disney's Home on the Range (2004) could not yodel, so the studio contacted a singer who was in the scene, was well known and could yodel so well, that my lil slovene self wanted to learn how to yodel, and probably drew my parents NUTS with my attempts. So there IS a big chance in my opinion, of our Mr. getting a different VA for singing (oh let the man sing, please good goth give us the sleazy bastard singing, I will throw all of my non existent cash at his feet, go into proper debt and sign my soul to his boss if that happens. Yes, it appears I am an unshamed simp for villain men who have purple in their colorscheme. With each year I mind it less)

Not only that, but I am uncertain if the song was a spurr of the moment decision/fun easter egg made by the creative team, or if they wanted to include it, but lacked the budget/time/ideas who to contact (the game was supposed to be released earlier, but took longer to complete which... Have you SEEN the game? Like, I bet the wait was worth it, the animation is HAND FUCKING DRAWN!!!). Whatever the reason was, Madam Bridgewaters has my heart, and my wish to one day be able to get my voice to that kind of tones because damn. Damn my heart. Hearing that voice after years had me melt. Hats off madam. Miss? Madam? Ma'am.

Netflix gave them a good budget. They are using their budget. That's it. They have a vision of how the show will look, however I do hope we get an actual trailer soon. I want to see more of this amazing thing they are making (but patience is a virtue, so just *vibrates with restrained excitement*)

...

So to wrap up this Netflix Cuphead rant of mine:

Mr. King Dice still has my heart, even if I am a bit iffy about the voice. Also, shout out to the people in charge of getting the sneak peak out, they KNOW who the fans simp for.

The animation is more crisp than I'd imagine and faster than what the game style animation was. Again, will get used to it, but it will take some time. Kudos to the animators because well damn, even the other cartoons have great designs and I love the phone dude. I hope he rolls high. (also good fucking point from some other people, if the full show was done in the style the game was done, it would take years for one/few episodes to be finished)

I will keep an eye out for when the show drops, and might screech about it in the future. I CAN'T WAIT TO SEE THOSE TWO CUPS BE THEIR MOST AMAZING RASCAL SELVES!!!

Anyone who will not be able to look @ the gaming dice if I start simping for that dapper casino manager again, I apologize, may your gaming nights not be too awkward if you own purple/lavender dice. There will be no actual content that you'll have to shield your eyes from, but just know it's out there and that it is 😙👌 and you are being spared from my full on thirsting on main.

#moca talks #cuphead show #Netflix cuphead show #Am I excited? Yes.#Am I delighted that it exists? YES.#Am I ready for it? ABSOLUTELY NOT.#I can't wait for it to drop though I am so curious what they did with it ✨

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drabbles-mc · 2 years ago

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Settling down to enjoy this with the BIGGEST fucking tub of popcorn that you could ever imagine. Cartoonishly large.

“Señorita! N— no puedes entrar ahí, por favor! He’s in a meeting. I can’t— If you don’t have an appointment, I can’t let you back there!” -> no but it's SOOOO not fair that you have me cackling right off the rip. I'm yodeling. Andrea doesn't give a FUCK if she needs an appointment. Nor should she!!! 😂😂

And this, ladies, is why it pays to wear sensible footwear. -> no but this is so true. on my days at the office I wear heels to be ~fashionable and professional~ and it makes me MISS my days at the school wearing my nikes sksksk

She turned back and kept on tearing down the hallway, closer and closer to the door marked, ‘Colonel Horacio Carrillo’ in block letters that were just as uppity and patronizing as he was. Or maybe it was just because it was his office, the arrogant prick. -> you're going to have me screaming for the ENTIRE 2.5k of this, aren't you???? I'm not upset about it!!!! I'm not upset about this. But this has me losing my shit in SUCH a way. Like. OF COURSE this is how she feels about him. Why wouldn't she???? 😂😂 She's so valid and right for her bitterness. I don't even need further context to know that she's right 😂

He wasn’t even threatening to slash her tires. -> I fucking LOVE the way you write her. All I'm picturing is

For a split second and against her own will, the image of him sitting at the bar flashed in her mind. -> GAGGED that we are getting backstory. I'm vibrating into the next plane of existence. I'm soooo 👀👀👀👀👀

Dressed like a dad, but in khakis and a grey polo that fit far too smartly for him to actually be anyone’s dad. -> there's a daddy joke to be made here but i shan't do it KEKW

car windows all smudged with insistent palm prints that said something like, ‘mmm, that’s right. Just a little closer.’ -> fuck OFF Kay this is so hot it's not fair. it's just!!! it's not fair!!!!!

Carrillo’s nostrils flared. Yeah, that’s right. Fuck off. -> these three sentences in successio of one another is just. so so fucking good. I'm pumping my fist in the air

Or is that how you rolled back in Colombia? You and your search bloc. -> my eyes are fucking MASSIVE!!!!!!!!!!! I'm going to rupture a fucking cornea!!!! Carrillo's gonna rupture one of the veins in his forehead!!!! None of us are safe!!!!!

It seems, despite her due diligence, Ms. Nuñez must not be that great a journalist because she doesn’t know how to take ‘no comment’ for an answer. -> my lord this man is SUCH a prick but god the way i can FUCKING HEAR HIMMMM!!!! this bastard man is rattling around in my brain!!!!!!! Andrea should swing on him. Just once. Sometimes violence really should be the answer :pasevil:

The other nearly tripped over his chair on the way out, seemingly unable resist the temptation to observe them with wonder like a couple of zoo animals. -> chismoso 😂😂 but i can't pretend that i would've been any better sksksk

Her eyes narrowed. What the fuck was he playing at paying her a compliment like that. -> she's so right for this because i, too, would be off-put if Carrillo said anything vaguely complimentary to me 😂😂

Oh, she was positively— she wanted— but no, she couldn’t— oh, but she fucking could though. She would if she could— she really could actually fucking punch him. -> she way I can just absolutely FEEL this entire paragraph. Like. I've had this exact train of thoughts in my head before I swear. I love it so much. Also she should DEFINITELY punch him 😂

“Do it,” he said again quietly, eyes virtually unreadable. “If that’s what you really want. Hit me.” -> DON'T LOOK A GIFT HORSE IN THE MOUTH, ANDREA!!!! JUST!!!! DO IT!!!!!

On reflex, she scrunched her fingers in the hair at the base of his neck and yanked back so hard, he hissed. -> Carrillo getting his hair pulled is a song that slaps EVERY fucking time. Thank you can I have another. It just. It doesn't get old ever.

“Don’t ever make the mistake of thinking I need you. I’ll never need you. And that’s why you love this.” -> WHAT A FIIIIIIIRE FUCKIN WAY TO CLOSE OUT THE FIC!!!!! MY GOD!!!!!!

The fact that these two mever got to share the screen is a CRIME. I need a bonus Narcos or NMX episode where they meet and they fuck and it gets horrid and messy!!!!!!!!

| OUR MAN IN MEXICO |

Pairing: Andrea Nuñez x Horacio Carrillo

For @narcosfandomdiscord Summer of Smut Alphabet: July 1 - [A] Angry sex

Word count: ≈ 2.5K

TWs: smut, biting, slapping, hair pulling andrea being her bestest, most cuntiest self

⁂

“Don’t ever make the mistake of thinking I need you.”

⁂

“Señorita! N— no puedes entrar ahí, por favor! He’s in a meeting. I can’t— If you don’t have an appointment, I can’t let you back there!”

Andrea walked over to the door of the embassy office without a word and barged through, tearing down the hall. The secretary scrambled from behind the desk like a spooked rabbit, little kitten heels click-clacking on the tiled floor as she struggled to keep up with Andrea’s long, steadfast strides. And this, ladies, is why it pays to wear sensible footwear. The poor woman was just doing her job but her frantic puttering and cries of, “Señorita! You can’t be back here!” only served to build the rage in Andrea’s chest more.

She stopped so cold and turned around so fast, the woman’s forehead nearly slammed right into her own.

Andrea crossed her arms. “Mira, vieja. You haven’t even called security, so unless you’re going to tackle me to the ground and throw me out yourself, and—“ she glanced down at the woman’s heels, eyebrow cocked smugly, “—you could try but I don’t think you’d get far in those— I’m getting into that goddamn office one way or another.”

The woman sputtered something unintelligible. Andrea couldn’t be bothered to let her piece a proper sentence together before cutting her off with a curt, “ya eso es lo que pensaba.”

Sure, he was a legend back in Colombia. Sure, he helped take down the biggest, baddest drug trafficker the world had ever seen. But if this asshole thought a gag order was gonna fly in the wake of Rebollo’s mess — which, oh by the way, she helped to expose — he was deader than General Jesus Gutiérrez Rebollo’s reputation. She refused to be cowed by the AFO goons who followed her to her car on late nights after work. She certainly wasn’t going to be intimidated by this Colombian haircut. He wasn’t even threatening to slash her tires. So, what was a bit of healthy confrontation between friendly colleagues? Making an appointment would’ve just spoiled the mood.

As her hand landed on the door handle, she smirked at the sound of muffled voices inside. Huh. So, he really was conducting business. In Mexico, “he’s in a meeting,” was usually code for he’s actually chain smoking at his desk, on the phone chatting away with his mistress on company time. But no, it seemed Carrillo hadn’t been dodging the press. Maybe just her calls.

For a split second and against her own will, the image of him sitting at the bar flashed in her mind. The night she met him. Well, not him, him. Not as she knew him now, no more than a stranger, dressed like a dad, but in well-tailored khakis and a grey polo that fit far too smartly for him to actually be anyone’s dad. She’d come to find out he was divorced, no kids, so a dad he certainly wasn’t which, if the rumors she’d heard about Search Bloc were true, made more sense and still wasn’t comforting in the slightest. But she didn’t know about any of that yet.

Around here, strangers in dimly lit bars were seldom safe and fewer troubled themselves to even establish a pretense of safety. But he was a different, safer kind of stranger. She didn't know how she knew but she didn't. He must’ve been anyway, since she didn’t usually make it a habit of taking strangers back to her car after some pleasant, cheap conversation and a few shots of even cheaper bourbon.

And yet, that’s where he ended up. The back seat of her stationwagon, his firm lips encased against hers, breath deliciously hot and sticky on her neck, fingers ruthlessly digging into the flesh of her hips as she ground them down onto his, car windows all smudged with insistent palm prints that said something along the lines of, ‘mmm, that’s right. Yes, just a little closer.’ A couple of months later and those stupid smudges were still there. She noticed them crossly when she’d parked outside, moments before accosting the man’s poor secretary. She'd wondered aimlessly if he’d even know what they were if he saw them. Would she want him to? Maybe that’s why she was in such a foul mood. She didn’t know.

Shaking her head, the indecent image dissolved noncommittally into thick, black ink behind her eyelids, like answers disappearing in a magic eight ball. Outlook not so good, ask again later. Oh whatever, fuck off. I don’t even have enough sense to regret the whole thing. So just fuck off.

The momentum of the door swinging open fueled her ire again, and she breathed it in, soaking it up., letting it fuel her. When the handle smacked against the wall, three heads whipped around to stare at her in shock. It looked so rehearsed, she couldn’t resist the urge to crack a sly smile. Carrillo’s nostrils flared. Yeah, that’s right. Fuck off. She strode between the two suits seated at each corner of his desk, to face him across it. He barely moved an inch, elbows propped up on the armrests of that big, obnoxious executive chair he sat in behind the desk.

Leaning forward, knuckles pressed flat on the papers strewn across like all of it was hers, she said cooly, “Sorry to interrupt, Colonel. But you’ve been dodging my calls, so thought it best to pay you a visit. Call it professional due diligence.”

He was fuming, dark eyes lit with indignation and what else was it? Maybe panic. But all that Boy-Scout-School-of-the-Americas training must’ve kicked in because he didn’t miss a beat. “Mm. Due diligence? About what, exactly?

“To ask you a simple but very important question.”

He waited.

“To ask how— after only a few months, just how is it that you think you already own the journalists in this city? I thought the point of bringing in an outsider was to avoid corruption, not perpetuate it by silencing the people’s right to free press. Or is that how you rolled back in Colombia? You and your Search Bloc.”

He knit his brows and, as if he just remembered they were there, glanced at the two men still seated, who watched them with a combination of confusion and the voyeuristic enthusiasm of a housewife watching her favorite novela.

“Gentlemen,” Carrillo cleared his throat and motioned to the door, “we’ll have to pick this up later.” His jaw hardened, eyes moving from the door to Andrea, going from resigned to livid in mere seconds. “It seems, despite her due diligence, Ms. Nuñez must not be that great a journalist because she doesn’t know how to take ‘no comment’ for an answer.”

That was a low fucking blow and he knew it. Well, what the man lacked for in hospitality, he more than made up for in emotional range. One of the men tipped his hat as he stood up and gave a sheepish shrug before heading to the door. The other nearly tripped over his chair on the way out, seemingly unable resist the temptation to observe them with wonder like a couple of zoo animals. Two fingers to her forehead, Andrea gave them a tiny salute filled to the brim with disdain.

Once the door closed, she rolled her head back around to face Carrillo, who looked like he could throttle her right there.

“If I were a man, you’d hit me right now, wouldn’t you?” she said like it was a dare. Ignoring the blaze of shock all over his face, she continued to press, still leaning over the desk. “You didn’t answer my question.”

Carrillo opened a drawer and rifled around for something. He came out with a pack of cigarettes, pulled one out, lit it, and then leaned back in his chair with a heavy sigh.

“Well?”

He took an infuriatingly long drag, and exhaled the smoke in her face, so that an opaque cloud now filled the space between them. On purpose. Naturally. This wasn’t his first rodeo with angry reporters. But this was his first rodeo with her. She straightened upright, waiting for him to speak.

“Well, before I can answer that, I have a follow-up question.”

She crossed her arms, swinging one hip out to the side, “O, sí?” inviting him to continue treading on dangerous conversational ground.

Nodding, “Sí, sí,” he flashed a cynical smirk that dissolved into a glare as he looked up at her and gave a perfunctory tap of his cigarette into the ashtray on his desk. “Just who the fuck do you think you are, barging into my office like this?”

“Just who the fuck do you think you are, putting a gag order on all press inquiries relating to Rebollo’s trial?” she shot back.

He dragged long and deep from his cigarette again like it was an oxygen mask, then said dismissively, “It’s a big case. A lot of moving parts. You know the judge makes that call, not me.”

“Wow, you really must believe I am that bad at my job if you think I’m naive enough to buy that bullshit. As if you have no sway with Mexican judges who can be bought for less than a few pesos.” She laughed bitter as battery acid, “Venga ya pues. No me shingües con esas mamadas, cabrón.”

There was a beat of silence before he stood up, stubbing his cigarette out in the ashtray, saying through gritted teeth, “No. I don’t think you’re bad at your job.” He rolled his eyes, grumbling, “That’s the entire problem. Cierto? Sí porque eres una cachorra con un pinche hueso entre tus dientes.”

Her eyes narrowed. What the fuck was he playing at paying her a compliment like that.

“What? What am I supposed to say? Thank you?”

A tacit desperation crept under his glare now, an equal measure of anger and pleading for her to understand.

Oh, no. That’s when she put it together. Oh, hell no. Her face fell and she dropped her arms to her sides. No. No, he didn’t. He wouldn’t dare.

“No. No me digas que t—“

His glare melted, eyes full of nothing but pleading now as he stepped around the desk to join her on the other side.

“Okay, yes I talked to the judge. But Andrea, I only sugges—“

“No.” She backed away, dropping her bag on the ground. “Don’t do that. You don’t get to say my name like you know me well enough to patronize me this way.”

“You have to underst—“

“Understand?? What do I need to understand??? Hmm? What? That I might get hurt? That my job is dangerous? That journalists in this town have a short fucking shelf life? Or oh, that you what? You care now? You’re what? Trying to protect me?”

“Look, Andrea.” She wished he’d stop saying her name. “I know you're tough. You can take care of yourself. But this is bigger than you and you're not bulletproof. The pockets this Rebollo had his hands in? They’re more dangerous than some thugs following you to work or harassing you in the street. They’ll ruin your reputation, your livelihood, take anything you have, maybe even have you killed.”

“That’s never stopped me before.”

Carrillo pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “Andrea. After you’re gone, they’ll come after your colleagues, friends, family.” She could tell he was growing more defensive by the way he strained to keep his voice level. “Corruption on this scale does more than just ruffle feathers. The more you uncover, the further you dig, the easier it is to bury you and anyone you care for. And that’d be too hard to bear for anyone who might be starting t— well, maybe— who does care for you.”

Her chest burned. She was roiling with indignant fury, practically breathing fire, nostrils flared, hands balled into fists at her side. Este pinshe pendejo. They’d been working together for weeks now, and not once did it step outside the confines of professional conduct with the exception of the— well, it was just the one time. She’d assumed they were moving on because of course they were. What was one night in the backseat of her car when they were nothing to each other? Nothing. But now this, all of a sudden, out of the blue. Why? Because. Because he cared. Well, he’d neglected to fill her in on the feelings and the caring before taking it upon himself to violate a boundary, meddling in her work ostensibly on her behalf.

Oh, she was positively— she wanted— but no, she couldn’t— oh, but she fucking could though. She would if she could— she really could actually fucking punch him.

As she stood there, vibrating, ready to go nuclear, he stepped closer. “Now who’s the one who wants to hit someone?”

Barely beyond strangers, and yet, he understood her implicitly. It only made the whole thing all the more aggravating. He stepped closer again, until they were nearly chin to chin.

“Do it.”

She looked up, stunned. “Excuse me?”

“Do it,” he said again quietly, eyes virtually unreadable. “If that’s what you really want. Hit me.”

He was inscrutable. There was no more pleading. No humor. No anger either. Something else. Something baser. She thought about those smudges on her car window.

Her hand moved so quickly, he didn’t even have time to flinch. She slapped him. Hard. Hard enough to send him back a couple of steps. The blood rushed to his cheek, angry and red, as he turned back to face her with an expression of something like dazed admiration. He began to speak but before he got a word out, she grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, pulling him close to bury him in a kiss so deep, the force of it nearly hurt her teeth. She inhaled the rumble that escaped from the back of his throat like it was a breath of life, before breaking away and shoving him back to sit on the desk.

Hooking his fingers in the belt loops of her jeans, he yanked her close, positioning her between his knees. She felt a tug at her hair as he pulled out her hair band. Catching his hand on its way down her shoulder, she brought it around her waist, sinking into another brutal kiss that had them both gasping for air. As one of her hands slid up the back of his neck, fingers threading through his hair and the other traveled down to palm the bulge in his pants, his hips bucked against hers and she felt a sharp sting as he bit her bottom lip. On reflex, she scrunched her fingers in the hair at the base of his neck and pulled so hard, he hissed.

Oh yeah, that felt good. She’d liked how it sounded and how he looked, head back like that, chin up, throat exposed. Getting lost in those deep, dark brown eyes, she kept him pinned in that position, regarding him for a moment. She suddenly found herself thinking about those nature documentaries on the Discovery Channel, ones where the lions take down gazelles, sharp canines puncturing their throats right there. His skin tasted salty as she tongued his neck in that very spot. If she were a wild animal, he’d be bleeding out on the floor for what he’d done. Trying to save the poor damsel-in-distress reporter from her own recklessness because oh, she can’t possibly know what’s good for her. That wasn't what it was until he made it that way. Co;onel Horacio Carrillo, our man in Mexico, nothing but a mouse in her trap.

Then she said, sincere but grave, “Don’t ever make the mistake of thinking I need you. I’ll never need you.” To soothe the wounded expression on his face, she planted a soft kiss on his mouth and trailed a few more along his jaw, mumbling as her lips made their way back down to his throat, “And that’s exactly why you love this.”

═

taglist: @drabbles-mc @narcolini @ashlingnarcos @cositapreciosa @narcosfandomdiscord

#i'm hyperventilating #andrea nuñez #horacio carrillo #nffalphabet

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vvnm · 4 years ago

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You're definitely not a brat, and I definitely can't want to pull you over my lap for a talk.

Are you stealing my culture from me right now? I guess that's fair, to be honest. I can't wait to hear you speak in the accent irl, it'll be so cute to hear you call someone a wasteyute.

Double fisting 😳 📝 got it, baby. But I gotta know what flavour is your go-to for slushies cause blue raspberry is the way to go. Fuck hearing you talk about sweet warm desserts would make me wet too 🥵

- Churono Jean

Yeah? I’d really like to see you try.

true true. 😘 I can’t talk in the accent. I literally can’t figure it out and end up sounding like i’m yodeling and that’s def not the culture i’m tryna appropriate rn.

You know I was jokin when i called u a perv earlier but i’m building evidence against u to say u really are. also it’s blue raspberry too. on the rez at the gas station there was a slush pup machine BRO IT WAS SO GOOD 🤧 Honestly, I don’t blame you. Makes ur tip drip huh 🤪 what the fuck does wonderland put in their funnel cake fr tho

#churono jean / text

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prancis-film-reviews · 5 years ago

Text

Trolls 2 - World Tour (2020) Review:

SING IT TOGETHER, LOUDER THAN EVER! TROLLS 2 IS LIVELY AND COLORFUL 🤩

written by: Prancis

It's pretty disappointing to see this movie at home when you're suppose to enjoy watching it at the cinema because of its visually-stunning animation and fun songs. Sadly, we're still in quarantine and can't go elsewhere. Instead, this was released (maybe forcely) through streaming last March 11 when its original release was scheduled, April 10. But anyway, that won't pretty much change the fact that this movie still satisfied me the way the first movie did. This sequel might not be as emotionally-driven or better than the first one, but still it was rather good.

This sequel's definitely even more visually-stunning than the first one. As you can see, we get to see a bigger vision of what the trolls' universe looks like from the Pop trolls' land, to Techno, to Classical, Country, Funk, and to the Rock trolls' land—All of them have different, captivating visuals and essence. They're all colorful, beautifully and cleverly animated. Which is the thing that I admire the most in the film. I really love the visuals.

My favorite place is the Funk one. It looks like Bikini Bottom from SpongeBob but with better colors and they even have their own technology...😂

The song covers on this one is obviously cannot be compared to the first one. The songs were good, their chosen soundtracks featured in the film were a good choice, but not really as memorable and better than the songs from the first one. Remember when True Colors was such a hit? We heared it almost everyday on the radio? Yeah, it was all because of the first film. It's songs have better impact to the audience. The first one definitely have better songs compared to this one but still, it was all good. I really admire Anna Kendrick and Justin Timberlake's voices tho...😭😭

Let's talk about the plot.

This film heading to the end was so damn fast; It doesn't feel like a one-hour movie. One time you're having fun jamming to the song, then a character argument comes (always Poppy and Branch), it introduces new setting and characters after, argument comes again, back to the songs then repeat 'till it reaches the climax. It moves so damn fast you will definitely wish it could be longer...😭

The plot about the evil Rock troll 'Barb' collecting the music strings to feed her desire to make Rock the only genre that shall exist is hilarious. Since this movie came out after Avengers: Infinity War, we can assume that this film's plot is really similar to that and that being said, it's inspired from that: collecting 6 artifacts, wanting to change the world? Yeah, it's the same. But I don't have any issues about that tho. I just find it funny..😂

Well obviously, we can all agree that this film is intended for children satisfaction. I was a fan of the first one and I happen to love this sequel as well; but there are people out there who hated the film because it's too plot-driven or it has a lot of scenes where it's just all about having fun and music jamming rather than focusing to the character development and all that shit. If you're not a fan of the first one, you obviously won't enjoy this film as much as the fans did—little and reasonable disappointments are expected. It's not a bad thing tho 'cause I couldn't agree more when they're actually right. We only see a few serious character conversations because the film is so busy satisfying the audience with pleasing, funny scenes and amusing cover songs and dancing.

The film still did a great job tho we have that kind of issue. Everything paid off when we realized the beauty and the message of the film. It all paid off when the film gave us a heart-felt ending with a good character development from Poppy, Branch and to Barb as well.

The final 20 minutes the film was so fun and emotional. They were at a huge concert stadium with all the 6 different trolls. It was Barb's plan to held a concert after she succeeds in collecting the 6 strings and make everyone love one music only which is Rock.

Eventually she failed. Something came up (not gonna talk about it) and Poppy broke all the strings which leads us to the most beautiful scene of the entire film: Everyone were sad and their colors fade. Everyone went silent when the 6 strings broke and their music was gone. Suddenly, Cooper's heart beat were beating loud and everyone heard it. His brother did a beat box, one did tapping and clapping and eventually turning out to be a music coming from within them realizing that music is not just about its physical instruments but also with the heart. That shit was so emotional. Everyone started singing and I lost my shit...😭😭 It was so beautiful!! That scene alone carried the entire film. Lol, just kidding!

In the same setting, the characters had their character developments: Poppy learns to listen. Branch learns to understand. And Barb learns to love all kinds of music and have friends. Then all music unites. In conclusion, the ending was so satisfyingly good!

Thinking about what I love about the film, I think it was because I was so captivated by the idea that an animated movie that I loved—now have a sequel about all genres of music in one film. I really love music and I have no issues with languege barriers or where it's from and how it sounds like. I listen to a lot of genres without prejudice and this film happens to feed my satisfaction by having all of my favorite songs and genres into one film. One thing I still couldn't believe that finally, ugh finally, K-pop is featured in a mainstream film and Red Velvet was chosen—One of my favorite girl groups. I was so happy about this that's why I was so excited to watch it. Red Velvet even did the voice over and I'm here for it...😭 Also, I'm glad that since the focus of the film is mainly to the 6 genres, It's good that Reggaeton, K-pop, Jazz and Yodele are present 'cause I love these genres too especially K-pop and Reggaeton...💕

Musical genres having their own people, their own visuals and land, kingdom or whatsoever, is definitely one of the things I love about the film too. It's such a clever imagination at some point...

I'm gonna rate this film a 7 / 10 👍

I really loved it! The movie was visually-stunning and amazingly fun and satisfying but I can't get over of how the plot moves—It bothers me. At some point, this film have some things that are a bit off also. But I can agree on the fact that this still did a great job of maintaining the fun and making the audience relate to the film. Anyways, thank you for reading!! 😉

Movie Info:

Rating: PG

Genre: Animation, Adventure, Comedy, Family, Fantasy, & Musical

Directed by: Walt Dohrn

Release Date: March 11, 2020

Watch the trailer here!

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#Trolls2ReviewByPrancis #TrollsWorldTour #FilmReviews #MovieReviews #Movie #Film #Anna Kendrick #justin timberlake #2020

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