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missvelvetsstuff · 6 months ago

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With Friends Like You, Who Needs Enemies

Steve Rogers x Reader, Steve x Nat, Bucky Barnes x Reader

Reader is a mutant with the ability to turn sound into light who was 'adopted' aka stolen as a child by Baron Von Strucker to use for experimentation. She was given a form of the Super soldier serum so in addition to her mutant abilities she also has super strength, enhanced senses and healing. When he starts experimenting on his volunteers, the Maximoff twins, she tries to convince them to escape with her but they tell the Baron that she's planning to escape so he doubles her cell security. Steve and reader met when the team recovered Loki's scepter from Strucker.

She falls in love with Steve and becomes good friends with Nat but they aren't the friends she thinks they are.

This story is canon adjacent except that Thanos never happened.

Chapter 14

Warnings: NSFW, MDNI, SMUT! SMUTTY SMUT SMUT. PIV, oral-fem receiving, dirty talk, swearing

Notes: I've been sitting on this for ages because I'm obsessed with a couple of other stories where Bucky is being a tool and had a difficult time getting in the right frame of mind to write sweet, soft Bucky.

I hope it's worth the wait.

About an hour after Bucky and Rainbow left for their date, Steve shook himself and realised he was alone in his room, Y/N nowhere in sight. He became angry as he realised what happened, Wanda got in his head and tricked him. He would deal with her later because right now he was headed towards Y/N's room to wait for her to return. He started off leaning against the wall across from her door but sank down until he was sitting as time passed, before he fell asleep there.

When the carriage arrived back at the front of the building Bucky and Rainbow hurried out and up to her room. When they made it to her door, she noticed something in the hall.....Steve slumped over asleep across from her door. She held in a giggle and showed Bucky who smirked as he closed and locked her door behind him.

Bucky grabbed Rainbows hand to pull her closer to him, putting her arms around his neck where she wound her fingers through his hair. His hands drifted down to her waist and pulled her into him as he kissed and nibbled along her throat.

Rainbow shuddered at his touch and moaned "Jamie" she sighed before pulling back "Jamie"

Bucky stopped "What's wrong doll? Do you want me to stop?"

She shook her head "I just, I need to tell you something."

Bucky looked in her eyes and nodded "I'm listening."

Rainbow took a deep breath "I want this, I want you, Jamie. I just need you to understand some things. You know I'm not actually a virgin after you know, Strucker but I, I've never, I-" she sighed and leaned into Bucky's hand on her cheek, feeling her tears that she hadn't known were falling down her face, as he wiped them away.

"I've never had an orgasm or any kind of good feelings with sex. He, he wasn't concerned with my pleasure or feelings, only his." She paused "I don't think I can, I mean I I've tried b by by m myself and" she shook her head.

Bucky looked at her sadly "I am so sorry for what you've been through, you didn't deserve any of it. Strucker was a sick fuck." He kissed her softly "If you let me, I promise I will show you that you can cum and I'll make you feel so good." He mumbled into her neck as he kissed her "I wanna worship every inch of your beautiful body. I want to taste you and touch you and-" he growled "but only if you want doll and we can stop at any time. Just say the word."

She sighed as he nibbled on her ear "Please Jamie. I need you, don't stop. Please."

Bucky groaned "My sweet, beautiful Rainbow, I'm gonna make your lights so bright everyone's gonna think the northern lights are here again."

Rainbow shrugged her jacket off and kicked her shoes off, then she turned around "Can you unzip me, Jamie?"

Bucky nodded and ran his fingers down her neck and back until he reached the zipper of her dress and pulled it down so slowly that she thought she was going to lose her mind. He reached the bottom and traced his hands up her spine before sliding them under the dresses spaghetti straps, pushing them off her shoulders until the dress fell to the floor.

When he realized that she wasn't wearing a bra under the dress he growled and kissed her shoulders whispering "So beautiful, my sweet Rainbow. So perfect and all mine. Go lay down sweetheart, I'm gonna make you cum till you beg me to stop."

She hurried over to lay on the bed while Bucky ran his eyes over her, drinking in every inch of her exposed skin "Fuck you're beautiful, Rainbow."

Rainbow gasped, eyes tearing up "But, my scars."

Bucky pulled back from his daze and saw the scars he had been too enthralled to see. He ran his fingers softly over them "They are a part of you and beautiful. They prove your strength because a weak person wouldn't have survived. But now you're here, with me and no one will ever hurt you again. I won't let anyone hurt you, Rainbow, not ever." He traced down her sides and everywhere she had scars, kissing them.

When her reached her panties he looked up at her, seeing her watching curiously to figure out what he was doing. Certainly nothing Strucker had ever done to her.

He raised his brow "Can I take these off, doll?"

Rainbow nodded, tensing as her body remembered what usually came next. When Bucky removed her panties he gently spread her legs, watching her face for any sign of distress before he looked at her spread pussy and almost came right there. She was already all wet and swollen, he could barely control himself but forced his body to move slowly, deliberately so as not to scare her. He leaned and took a deep breath, her scent pushing him to lean in and-

"BUCKY! Wha what are you doing!" She squealed as he licked her from dripping hole to throbbing clit, groaning at her taste.

Bucky pulled back to see her eyes grow wide as she realised what the shine on his lips and chin was. He reached up and caressed her hand "Do you trust me, Rainbow?"

She nodded shakily "Yeah of course, but what're you-"

"Please trust me honey." He pleaded before he dove in, eating her pussy like he would die if he stopped.

Rainbow didn't know how to deal with the feelings Bucky was causing deep inside her. It didn't take long before she couldn't think about it anymore, it felt so good she couldn't think at all.

Then a spark started, deep inside her and every lick or suck on her sensitive bundle of nerves fanned it higher. She was pulling Bucky's hair, alternating between trying to pull him off and grinding her pussy into his face for more.

"Oh oh god Bucky, I'm I oh god stop I think I need to pee. Oh no, ohmygod"

Bucky mumbled with her clit in his mouth "Ya donneeta pee, trust mmmpph" then he carefully slid one of his fingers into her dripping hole and that was it.

Rainbow felt like she was exploding, like every cell burst into indescribable ecstasy before slamming back together only to burst again. Her vision went white and all she could hear was a long, low, pornographic sound that she eventually realized was coming from her.

Bucky watched her raptly, memorizing each expression, each sound, every little twitch or spasm.

It wasnt until she was slowly coming back to him that he realized he was soaked, the sheets were soaked, and he grinned like a crazy man when he put together what that meant. He gently licked at the wetness still streaming from her until she grunted and pushed his face away.

"Jamie? I I Jamie that was, ohmigohd. I never" she panted, body trembling as he moved up her body to kiss her.

As he moved she could feel the wetness on her legs, on him and the bed, making her flinch in embarrassment "Oh my God I did pee, I'm so-"

Bucky kissed her, cutting her off before she could get any further "No baby, sweet Rainbow. You squirted because you came so hard and were so wet. And it's the sexiest fucking thing I've ever seen."

He held her gently, rubbing her back and whispering sweet nothing's in her ear until her trembling stopped. "Are you ok sweetheart?"

Rainbow pulled him to her and kissed him with everything she had "I'm ok Jamie but-" she paused, embarrassed.

"But what honey? You can tell me anything." Bucky prodded.

"Well I mean I just." She giggled and then whispered "I want more. I want you Jamie all of you." She looked at him with her beautiful eyes "Please Jamie."

Bucky kissed her again, exploring her mouth and the taste of her pussy that lingered on his tongue "All you ever have to do is ask. Whatever you want I'll do everything in my power to give it to you, my love."

He adjusted himself so he was laying on top of her, holding himself up on his vibranium arm as he ran his aching cock along her soaked slit. She squealed when his head caught on her hole and he stopped to check in with her but she wrapped her legs around his waist and tried to pull him further in, making him chuckle at her eagerness. He slid the rest of the way in slowly, watching her face for signs of discomfort in between looking down to see her pussy swallow his cock until he was flush against her.

He paused for a moment "Are you ok doll? Need me to wait?"

Rainbow shook her head "No, please, more. Move Jamie!"

Bucky smirked "As you wish" and slowly started thrusting, pulling almost all the way out before pushing in a little faster, a little harder. Her soft moans and whines encouraging him "Jesus Rainbow, you feel so fucking good. So tight and wet and perfect, made to be mine. Sweet little pussy keeps pulling me back in. I don't know how long I'm gonna last baby. Feels so damn good."

He kept going until he was practically slamming into her, grinding as deep as he could get until he felt her starting to flutter and squeeze around him "That feel good doll, you like my fat cock stretching your tight pussy out?"

He moved his flesh hand down to her belly and pushed "Can you feel that, see my cock making your belly bulge every time I fuck into you? Youre taking me so well honey, I could live here, keep you wrapped around my cock forever" she whined and clenched around him "You like that idea? Just us in bed wrapped around each other forever?"

Rainbow felt that tingle starting up again but due to her sensitivity it was moving more quickly "Ohgod, oh, ohmygod, Jamie it's it's JAMIE PLEASEYESPLEASE"

"Thats it doll, let it go I wanna feel you come all over my cock I need to feel you gushing- I'm gonna Oh God please doll I need you I can't I'm oh" he felt her squeezing him and a rush of wetness and couldn't hold back any longer before grinding and pushing as deep as he could to paint her walls with his spend.

His face snuggled into her shoulder, kissing and nibbling as it felt like he would never stop cumming, with her pussy milking him for everything he had.

Bucky rolled to his side and cuddled her against him, gently rubbing her and whispering sweet words to her.

"My beautiful, precious Rainbow. I love you so much. You make everything I've been through worth it and I'd do it all over again as long as I end up here, with you."

"Oh Jamie, I love you so much" she felt tears rolling down her face and tried to wipe them away without Bucky noticing.

Of course he did notice and gently wiped them away "What's wrong baby? Did I hurt you? Are you ok?" His voice sounded panicky and she quickly shook her head.

"Nonono, no Jamie I'm fine. It's just so perfect, I never imagined I would have any of this. I'm just so happy."

After a little bit Bucky untangled from her until she whined "Noooo, stay."

"I'll be right back sweetheart" he returned with a damp washcloth and gently wiped her clean before tossing it aside. He laid a dry towel over the wet spot, climbed back under the covers and pulled her close to him, murmuring "I love you, Rainbow. Always and forever."

Rainbow was almost asleep but hummed softly in return "my Jamie".

Bucky fell asleep with a huge smile on his face.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In the hallway, leaned up against the wall opposite Rainbows door, Steve Rogers had heard every single second of it, their giggles and whispers woke him as they closed the door when they returned from their date. He heard their moans and declarations of love, the slight squeak of the bed, the squelching sounds. He saw the soft purplish glow coming from under her door.

Steve sat with his face in his hands quietly sobbing as he finally realized he wasn't getting Y/N back. Ever.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #james bucky barnes x reader #james bucky barnes #bucky barnes x you #angst with a happy ending #james bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x female reader #steve rogers x reader #with friends like you who needs enemies

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drunklander · 5 years ago

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Drunj!Der Yells About Outlander

Thoughts on Ep. 501

We’re back again for another season of men never having to demonstrate any personal growth on screen because the writers don’t feel like that’s important to show and instead force the audience to just forget everything that previously happened because look! The characters, who aren’t real and are just what we write them to be, are all cool now so why aren’t you? #BadFans

As a standalone episode/series premiere of a new show, this episode was really good! I enjoyed it a lot, with some obvious exceptions. As the season five premiere of a show with a long history? What the actual fuck, why do you keep doing this, writers?

In season one, Jamie beats Claire, never actually apologizes for it, and we’re expected to be like oh lol it’s cool now. No worries.

In season two, Jamie takes his pants off with some prostitutes while his pregnant wife is at home, blames it on his “mission,” and we’re expected to be like oh lol it’s cool now. No worries.

In season three, Jamie is an asshole and a half to Claire when she gives up literally everything (including their daughter) to come find him and knowingly marries the woman who tried to have Claire killed because of one dance with random children at a holiday party, and we’re expected to be like oh lol it’s cool now. No worries.

In season four, Roger is a rancid garbage heap to Bree all season and is only begrudgingly down to stay with her as if *he’s* the one who’s been wronged by her, and Jamie literally sends a guy into what he thinks is like certain death/slavery without getting any real information, and we’re expected to be like oh lol it’s cool now. No worries.

So watching this premiere, I was not at all shocked that there was a convenient time jump where everything was so handily worked out off screen and we’re all super cool now, and Jamie thinking Roger isn’t good enough for Bree is played for a joke instead of being THE ABSOLUTE TRUTH. #BreeDeservesBetter

Anywho, onward under the cut because I’m back on my drunken bullshit.

Ooo, a rape warning before the episode, starting off very on brand for you I see, show.

Fuck them very much, again, for including that very unnecessary story line in the first place.

I miss Scotland, y’all. Also, young Murtz can get ittt.

So can old Murtz.

#TeamMurtz

This bit though with wee Jamie made me feel feelings. Jamie and Murtagh’s relationship is literally one of my favorite parts of this whole damn show and saving Murtagh was the best adaptive choice these fuckwads made.

Unpopular opinion alert, but I actually really like the new credits music. I will always like season one’s the best, but this one is up there.

Also, am I a giant weirdo for being happy that even though they change stuff in the credits all the time, they keep in the shot of Claire’s legs running from the pilot? Idk why, but I’m like sentimentally attached to that shot.

Also, that is a fucking microscope I see in the credits, are we gettING SCIENCE!JIZZ?!??!?!?!

SCIENCE!JIZZ! SCIENCE!JIZZ! SCIENCE!JIZZ!

“Careful, or ye’ll lose yer head.” And we’d all be definitely super sad if that happened. Yep, can’t have that. #TeamCutthroatRazor

Jamie threateningly shaving and insulting Roger is the fandom minus the stans who for some inconceivable reason still like that fucker.

Seriously, fuck Roger. Jamie is apparently the only one who hasn’t gotten amnesia about how terrible he is. I guess it’s because Jamie has been really fucking terrible many times and like recognizes like.

I fucking love that Murtz made Bree’s ring. Makes it more meaningful than the random trinket Roger picks up at the Gathering Without End in the book. Like Claire’s Lallybroch key ring was more meaningful than the book!ring. Fuck the show for ditching the Lallybroch key ring because tHe BoOk RiNg Is WhAt FaNs LiKe. No. Stop. Bad choice.

The aerial shot going over the big house makes me hopeful that this season won’t be as fucking claustrophobic as last year. Because seriously, we can all tell you’re still in Scotland. Doing a whole season in basically closeups doesn’t make it seem any more North Carolina-y.

CLAIRE MAKING BREE’S DRESS AND GETTING TO BE THERE FOR HER DAUGHTER’S WEDDING WHEN SHE DIDN’T THINK SHE’D BE ABLE TO GIVES ME ALL THE FEELINGS! CLAIRE DESERVES ALL THE GOOD THINGS! I JUST LOVE CLAIRE A LOT OK! SORRY NOT AT ALL EVER FUCKING SORRY! #BeauchampBrigade5Eva

Bree’s dress is fucking gorgeous. I lowkey like it better than Claire’s.

Da!Jamie on his something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue quest is fucking adorable. He also never thought he’d get to see this one of his kids’ wedding so yay for him too.

“And we’re giving her away to a man who loves her.” “Oh.” “What? You doubt his love?” “Um, I’m sorry, did you SEE all last season?! Did everyone else get amnesia?!”

Also, bullshit about Roger being terrible aside, this right here, with Jamie and Claire actually talking to each other in an adorable and snuggly way. Like being all close and cuddly and shit. THIS IS MY SHIT. When we all bitch about wanting more Jamie and Claire couple stuff and the writers are all like “but the sex doesn’t advance the story” it’s like no you fuckwits, we don’t always mean sex! Sometimes we mean sex, because sex is important in their relationship (and sex does not necessarily equal nudity), but most of the time we mean SHOW US THAT THESE PEOPLE LOVE EACH OTHER WITH THE SMALL CUTE STUFF LIKE THIS! I’m *rull* curious to see how much more of stuff like this we get this season now that Balfe and Heughan are producers. Balfe especially, considering how dirty they did Claire last season...

DA!JAMIE AND ANOTHER OF HIS KIDDOS! Da!Jamie being sappy and sentimental at his kids’ weddings is 100% my jam.

HIS FACE WHEN BREE SAYS JE SUIS PREST MAKES ME FEEL ALL THE FEELINGSSS.

MOM AND DAD ARE AT THEIR LIL GIRL’S WEDDING AND MY SKIN IS CLEAR AND MY CROPS ARE THRIVING. Except that one weed over there in the groom’s place that just won’t go away.

I am so fucking glad they did away with the Gathering Without End. I swear to fuck 17% of a book that’s just like camping and periods and breast milk is aggressively not my jam.

Unfortunately the groom being a douchenozzle is not a legal reason to object to a wedding. But it really should be.

Fersali being all snuggly and cute during the vows is fucking precious. I love Fersali. Protect Fersali at all costs.

I’m ok with playing Jamie and Claire’s music over Bree and Roger’s wedding because like, this is the culmination of all the shit that Jamie and Claire went through together and I’m all for making stuff just about them, haha. But otherwise, weird choice to not give Bree and Roger their own theme?

Also, I get that it’s a better choice to have a character we already know and have established stakes with be here to do the red coat stuff, but loool at the thought of the fucking governor coming to this random backcountry wedding. Tryon, buddy, I get that Murtz is your white whale, but you look obsessed in a bad way, bruh.

GERMAIN!!! I FUCKING LOVE GERMAIN! I FUCKING LOVE THAT JAMIE TALKS SHIT ABOUT PRESBYTERIANS TO GERMAIN! GIVE ME ALL THE SASSY SMOLS!

“Some of us like to think before we act.” Oh fuck all the way off, Roger. ALL THE WAY OFF.

“There was me thinking that you were just trying to shut me up for a minute.” I mean, that was an added bonus, Rog.

Sophie has really gotten so much better at acting. She’s always such a goddamn delight on press tours and I’m like *rull* glad to see her growing into the role.

Lizzo/Flute Lady from the Wedding Band 2020

I 100% wanna chill with JQM and Fersali. This squad of cool kids seems aggressively more fun than the dancers.

Oh Isiah Morton. If only you could keep it in your pants.

I LOVE FERGUS WITH MY WHOLE HEART.

I LOVE MARSALI POSSIBLY EVEN MORE.

GODDAMN IT I JUST LOVE FERSALI SO FUCKING HARD.

Seriously, the sass and theatricality and sarcasm of Marsali Fraser. I stan. I fucking stan.

Also I 100% kept reciting “To sit in solemn silence...” through that whole scene. Once a theater kid, always a theater kid.

Don’t be a buzzkill, LJG. I love that posh nerd. Except when he’s being a fucking creeper about Jamie to Claire.

“Mistress, can I dance with the guy I thought raped you because he was such a twatwaffle?” “Sure, Lizzie, go for it! Because we’re all friends now.”

We’re just leaning in on the dad stuff this episode. The hot dads of Riverdale should form a gang with the hot dads of the Ridge just for kicks.

Obligatory fuck the writers for including Bree’s rape. Since they did though, good on them for showing her PTSD. Although fuck them for including such a graphic flashback. Much like the choices they made in the season one finale, it centers the rapist and the act more than the survivor.

Can this please be the only Fred reference this season? Also love to lightly joke about an emotionally abusive asshole who treated Claire like shit and used Bree as a weapon against her. Claire, being the bigger person she’s always been, will obvs not speak ill of Fred to Bree (unlike how Freddy boy undermined Claire in front of Bree), but Bree is now aware of just how shitty Fred was. Even if he wasn’t overtly shitty to her, her still being all lovey about him, knowing what he did to her mother, is lowkey super fucked up. “Well I know he was shitty to other people, but he never did anything to me” is never a good look.

Bree hugging Jemmy, oh man, I just wanna give her a hug and tell her everything’s gonna be ok.

Jocasta is still trash (there’s no such thing as a benevolent slave owner) but this Murcasta scene is a goddamn delight.

OK BUT NOW I NEED FAN ART OF MURTZ AS A FAIRY KING!

Roger singing to Bree is cute and all, but then using the music for the whole montage is cheesy af and I don’t think I like it.

Is that Arch and Murdina I spy there in the crowd?

Marsali is literally the most fertile woman in the Colonies.

Grannie and Granda trying to get it on veryyy quietly so they don’t wake Jemmy is fucking adorable as shit and I lowkey love it.

Awww, poor LJG. I ship Lord John with someone who actually loves him.

Ok I get Murcasta having to break up because of his regulator stuff, randomly introducing Duncan Innes is a fucking weird choice.

Maria Doyle Kennedy really was the fucking perfect casting choice.

Oh hey, Josiah Beardsley. I was hoping they’d cut out the whole thing with the Beardsleys and Lizzie, but honestly, I’ll take that silliness over Emo!Roger any day.

Good on Jocasta for being a clever MacKenzie, but fuck Roger for only doing the right thing when he’s insulted into it. TL;DR: Fuck Roger.

Is Gerald Forbes going to randomly turn into Neil Forbes at some point like he does in the book?

DOCTOR CLAIRE FOR THE WIN GIVE ME ALL THE DOCTOR CLAIRE.

Srsly, I am here for Jamie shitting on Roger at literally every opportunity. Preach, Jamie. Preach.

“I’ll leave you to yer patients. And to wage war with your wee invisible beasties.” Seriously though, this is my jam. This playful banter. For so much of the series, it’s been like do these two even like each other? Because the writers kept trying to make the show into something it wasn’t. Politics, war, characterization flipflops and assholery FoR tHe DrAmA. It was so hard to see why Claire would ever pick this guy. I’m very cautiously optimistic that more shit like this will be peppered in this year because dammit, this is why we’re all fucking here.

“Then ye must find yerself a lieutenant.” Can it be Marsali? Please? Can Marsali be Claire’s lieutenant?! Because cutting the whole Malva bullshit would be ideal. And Fersali gets so sidelined in the later books that I’d fucking LOVE the writers to make changes so they can be more centered with the rest of the fam. And I am fucking obsessed with Claire and Marsali’s relationship. Marsali is the most Claire Jr. character in this whole damn show and I WANT THEM TOGETHER IN FRONT OF MY EYEBALLS.

Roger pricks his index finger but smudges the blood on Jemmy’s head with his thumb. Not the takeaway of this scene at all. But since I don’t like Roger, that’s my bullet for it.

Also I love that they switched the whole raise a militia thing to a hunt for Murtz & Squad rather than needing to do it because some randos are somewhere doing a thing and then lol jk they left so you can all go home like it is in the book.

Totally called it that they were going to combine the two bonfires and that this was when the kilt was gonna make its triumphant return.

Also I fucking love that it’s the music from Je Suis Prest during the scene when Jamie puts his kilt back on.

And thank fuck they didn’t put any dialogue/voiceover in this scene when Claire sees Jamie. It’s so much more powerful without it.

Aaand we’re burning a cross. At least they were smart enough not to burn a Roman cross, but they’re still burning a cross instead of just doing a bonfire. The scene could be just as powerful had it been adapted to not have a burning cross. Fuck them, tbh.

Remember that time that fuckwit Roberts tried to be like oh we’re not *really* burning a cross so we’re not racist but we’re not gonna address it directly because lol out fanbase is fucking wicked conservative and also a fucking cult who will yell at us for changing anything.

Because seriously that twatwaffle really tried to pretend like a celtic cross isn’t a religious symbol so they’re not having a KKK rally in this white supremacist hellscape. FUCK THAT GUY FOR BOTH HIS SHITTY DECISIONS AND ALSO FOR ACTING LIKE WE’RE ALL FUCKING IDIOTS.

BuT hIsToRy AnD tHe BoOk! Fuck that. Do. Not. Burn. Crosses. But they showed a lynching last year for the sole purpose of showing the shocked white people, so of course they fucking burned a cross.

Jamie being both himself and Colum from the Gathering in season one at the same time is a fucking sight to see.

The look on Knox’s face is *chef’s kiss*. Bruh you don’t even *know* who you’re dealing with.

Aaand in a move that is not at all shocking, Roger hesitates *again*, when Jamie extends his hand to him. Fuck, and I cannot stress this enough, that guy. I get that he’s untrained and scared or whatever, but buddy you deal with that shit tomorrow. You don’t fucking leave Jamie hanging when he’s doing this big theatrical thing in an effort to fucking save his land and tenants. Ugh.

FERGUS, SON OF HIS NAME AND HIS HEART! Jamie and Claire’s first kid getting the props he fucking deserves. ILY SO MUCH FERGS!

Marsali’s face when Fergus goes to give his oath. Just the pride and love there. I JUST LOVE THEM SO FUCKING MUCH OK.

I appreciate the commitment to the shitty green screen of that titular Ridge, haha.

That is a *rull* phallic rock in your circle, Murtz.

BUT...ALWAYS TAKE A MURTAGH! *cries*

This is a real gut punch of a scene, tbh. It’s 100% the right thing to do, but damn, right in the fucking feels.

This episode, with my selective amnesia activated per the above lol, has me more hopeful for how a season might be than I’ve been in a while. But this feeling has consistently been crushed in the past. Here’s to hoping the show finally stops doing us dirty!

#*#outlander starz #outlander 5x01 #drunj!der yells about outlander

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arabellaaaas · 4 years ago

Text

Favourite Worst Nightmare

Part 5: Only ones who know

|An Alex Turner x Arabella Davis fanfiction series|

Description: When two broken hearted meet, they try and hide their past. This is a story about two young adults whose pasts won't let them find happiness again in each other's arms right away.

Word count: 3.1k

A/N: CREDITS TO THE GIF OWNER. So I have been missing for a bit, but I am back again!! I am still stuck on writing chapters ahead, but at least I have content to post. Tell me if you want to be tagged!!! Have a nice day ❤

Taggs: @imagine-that-100 @bettyschwallocksyee

With her legs up on the steel railing and the breeze going through her black hair, she was listening to her friend's ceaseless comments and remarks as she was taking the smoke from her small roll of organic tobacco into her mouth. She knew that Bree won't stop too soon, so she decided on looking at people passing by, analyzing them, giving each one a life prompt. The lassie did not even get the chance to end the whole story that she was telling. Her companion cut her right off before she could explain to her everything she was now mad about. But, of course, Bree's stubbornness had to make a comeback. The city meant a lot to Arabella for some reason. She believes that the city loves her in ways no person ever has. It listens to her fierce footsteps, the clicking of her shoes against its dirty pavements early on a Monday morning. It sees her smile ear to ear when she sees the windows on its huge buildings reflect the orange glow of the afternoon sun. It hears her satisfied sigh in winter as the first sip of the coffee she is taking out with her to smoke warms her thought. It celebrates with her when she is on top of the world and cries for her when life gets hard. The city sees and hears and feels every moment of every day of her life. The city understands.

"Are you even hearing what I am telling you here?" that was the sign that she was finally done expressing her angriness, or at least she took a small break. She heard everything. She did not even know how to make her understand that the man she was talking about was not on the edge of falling in love with her. "I am hearing it loud and clear. But are you hearing me when I say that it has been a week since we met and he only called me when he was high, or drunk, or something?" And with that, Arabella stopped Bree from almost losing her breath and voice as she was madly explaining non-sense to her friend. Bree did not want to admit that the woman next to her was right for once. Actually, there have been multiple occasions when Arabella was right, just that she could not understand why.

"I do hear that. But think about it, A", she stopped for a second so she can also light up her cigarette and take a cloud of smoke out of it and then went off again with her explanations: "Maybe he is going through something and he just wants you by his side. Because he wants you by his side" she accentuated the word "want" as if it was the last time she could say it. Arabella was already done with this, but she kept her calm since she loved her so much. Why was Bree so furious talking about Alexander? She did not even know him. Arabella was already used to this because she was expecting something like this, it looked like something he would do. This was the reason she was so impassive about this. She knew he is not the type of man to stay close to one woman only, at least he cannot do it this fast as he met her maybe three weeks ago. So why bother about the fact that he was kind of ghosting her and only remembering her when he was not sober? It was fine with her, but not by her friend. "He already told me he is not the one to find love in a flash, neither he is looking for that. Which I understand, 'cause I am not either." Arabella explained herself, pressing the cigar end on the bottom of the ashtray. She grabbed her glass filled with whiskey and took a sip, letting out a sight afterwords. Arabella swirled the whiskey in his glass, listening to the chinking of the ice cubes and breathing in the not so fresh air. Ever since she worked as a bartender years ago, she had a thing for whiskey. She also liked other strong drinks and a lot of other soft ones, but whiskey was her favorite choice. Maybe it was because of the mellow amber color of it or the uncomparable taste of it. Anywho, she loved it. It brought back a lot of memories of all kinds, good or bad.

"But what if this time is different? Have you thought about that?" Bree asks, looking to her right where Arabella was sitting. Bree was the kind of girl that women loved to hate. She was an adult as of her age, but so young that she still had the exuberance of youth. She had that movie star look, not overly tall and willowy, but more like an action star. Her muscle definition was perfect and she walked with the confidence of someone a decade older. She wasn't just flawless in her bone structure, her skin was like silk over a glass and she radiated an intelligent beauty. At least that is how Arabella saw her.

"Could you be kind and tell me why the fuck are you so obsessed about him liking me? I don't want to be with him anyway. If you want him, go on, I will give you his number."

"I am just trying to justify why he is someone who could potentially be your boyfriend. And a good one." she knew Bree was trying to make her get over her ex which was pretty hard to acquire. He was a big part of her life and helped her go through a lot. He was there when she moved and when she got a new job. Basically, he wined his way into her affections so he can use her as much as he wants. She was naive, she could not leave him when she first found out about what he was doing. She felt like the world was breaking right under her feet and she was going to fall deep into a deep hole with no end. Everything felt cold, nothing made sense anymore back then. Her head was full of thoughts and emotions that she could not show. She acted tough, but she was breaking inside. Everything came unexpectedly, the devastation was absolute, her emotional home leveled, torn apart. She cried for weeks every night as she was drinking the same drink she now has in her glass. Her body felt numb, she had bruises everywhere on her body, she was dehydrated from all the crying and screaming. She did not eat for days as she always made excuses in front of everyone for her lack of taste. She was always thinking of him and she could not believe he would leave her after everything she's done for him. She just wanted to disappear in the night and never see the light again. It was rough.

"Why would I want him?" Bree demanded and Arabella could tell by her tone that she was offended by her question.

"Because you keep asking me about him when you don't even know him. And why are you offended? He is a really pretty guy, it's not like I told you about someone you wouldn't like" Arabella quickly grabbed her glass and took it to her mouth to hide the grin she had on her face as she said the last few words.

"I have a boyfriend, unlike you" she snapped back, angrily putting the cigar in her mouth and breathing in the smoke while throwing her friend a deadly look. Only if eyes could kill...

"Yeah, for how long?"

___________

"Come on, Henders! It's fun, right?" the man with sunglasses said as he was moving his body on the music, not seeing a thing happening around him. Once again, Alex was not sober. For the past week or so he kept on getting drunk or high and regretting it the next day. Miles and Matthew were looking at each other, then at him, and then back to each other. They did not know what to do to help him get back to normal. It was not the first time they would see him drunk, it's just that they did not ever see him drink so much just "because he felt like it" in a whole week. Something was happening to him but he denied the accusations and told his friends to "fuck off" as he was singing along in gibberish. Matt and Miles knew about Arabella and they thought something might happen with her. He was always talking about how he should call her and talk to her and listen to her but hardly did it as Miles confiscated his phone.

Alex continued to swing around and pretend that he knows what is going on in the room. He was dizzy and could barely see anything. His vision was blurred and the sunglasses did not help at all. He could not feel his body anymore and everything he was hearing was funny for him. Under the influence of alcohol, everything seems like fun. Conversations which under usual circumstances would be dull, become either fun to hear either way too depressing for him. In the past week, he felt how his life was getting out of control. He was always thinking about his past and people that left him or searching for reasons why everyone left him behind, especially her. He was there for her always. He tried to help her with absolutely everything. He tried to make her feel like a princess and have everything she wanted. He always thought of her good instead of his own good. He never said no to any stupid idea she ever had or any trip she wanted. Nothing made sense in his head. Where there was the love, the light, the laughter was an aching hollowness. When he found out about his girl cheating on him, he drove to her apartment, not even knowing what will happen. Thankfully, the man she cheating with was not there. He opened her front door without knocking or anything and she ran over to the door with a huge smile on her face. When her happy eyes met his tired ones, her smile instantly faded. She was not happy to see him, her boyfriend, she was expecting someone else to show up. He looked down at her, staring at his own reflection he could see in her dark eyes. At that particular moment, Alexander realized the fool he was. In his head, he could hear Jamie's voice that warned him about his supposedly "girlfriend". Warnings that he ignored for almost six months, before finding out that he was actually right.

He did not think of everything that happened two years back in a long time and he was not sure why he was thinking about it now. But it was taking over him completely. He forgot his worth and he felt like jumping off a cliff sometimes. That's why he chose to drown his thoughts and sadness in alcohol for a little while. He is good with self-control, but he just did not want to use that ability of his then.

"No, it's mot fun, Alex. Why are you forcing yourself to drink this much? Did something happen with that chick you've been talking about?" Matthew asks him, watching him with worried eyes. Matthew has been Alex's friend since elementary school and usually, he was the first one to find out what was happening in his head. Probably the only one too. But this time he did not want to communicate, nor answer questions. "Don't call her that! She is not just a chick" Alex's drunk voice spoke with a wave of slight anger in his tone. Miles's head immediately turned over to meet Matt's wide eyes. "Did he just say that she is not just a chick?" Miles whispered so that the dizzy man could not hear. Matt just nodded with his head and they both turned over again to Alex. He was trying his best to light his cigarette, which after multiple failures he succeeded. He was acting like a child, he probably forgot the remark he just made. Matthew was in shock. Alexander Turner, the man that swore he won't find someone else after the whole Thea episode that lasted a long time, was admitting that Arabella was not "just a chick".

"What do you mean she is not just a chick?" Miles popped the question, following every more that the man was doing.

"All I am saying is that she is not just a chick" Turner repeated himself, quickly grabbing his phone from Miles. He turned around and as fast as he could, he searched for Arabella's name in his contacts and tried to write her a message. It was hard to understand what he was saying there, leaving the girl confused as she and her friend tried to guess the gibberish he just typed.

A small grin appeared on Matthew's face. "Is she your girlfriend?" he asks, and Alex's denies with a head shake with a huge idiot smile on his face. He was just like a child.

"Are you two just shagging?" Miles also asked and he got the same answer. They kept on asking him questions about what is between the two and Turner responded with the same gesture, still dancing and drinking. He was always checking his phone and smiling when he saw notifications coming his way. He felt like jumping around and singing, but he knew he couldn't jump because he will definitely fall and break something, a bone, or something around his apartment. He looked down at his phone and hardly read the message Arabella sent him. In a second, his mood switched from happiness to the polar opposite, sadness.

"Why is she asking me if I am drunk again?" he raised his head, looking at his friends with puppy eyes as if his feeling were hurt by her message. "Maybe because you are and because you can only type gibberish?" Matt asked him rhetorically but he didn't seem to deduce that.

As he typed back a whiny response, he violently sat down on the floor. He let out a sigh, running his hands through his messy hair that he didn't even bother to style earlier that morning. He was sick of the feeling of alcohol by now, but it was too late to go back. All he could feel was the smoke of the wrinkled toxic stick had a slow creeping stench. Could there be any more lame symbol of the era of addiction over true moral choice than the cigarette? He still thinks that smoking is his worst habit, but he still doesn't want to quit.

"So what are you two then?" Matthew asks again, noticing the sudden change of character. He did not even know how to respond. He was, for now, feeling miserable. His friends were looking at him with pity in their eyes and the only woman he actually got close to in the last two years is asking him if he is fine, when he was feeling all this because of some mad lady he was madly in love with years ago. He did not know why he felt this way after all this time when he moved on, but he was repeating himself that it was not fair.

"I don't know, man." he lied with a fake smirk exposed on his tired face, looking at both his mates with a fake pride he just built on the spot to help him get out of the situation he was in. "I've been feeling kind of foolish since she came around and replaced the peace and quiet for acrobatic blood. She does what the night does to the day".

Both Miles and Matt looked at him as if he was insane, whenge was just drunk over his head. His ears were making an uncomfortable sound which was the only thing he could hear. It was awful for him. He wasn't even aware of what he was saying.

"I mean-" he stoped mid-sentence to catch a breath and take one more sip from one bottle he just found next to him. "She's like a thunderstorm, you know?" he then continued, started to feel his tongue swirling in his mouth, making it hard for him to speak properly. Not that he has been doing it. "She's thunderstorms" he laughed, looking down, over to his phone. His sight was confusing, it was getting more blurred than before. His head was heavy, his nose was hurting for some unknown reason, and not to talk about how harsh the sound he was hearing was.

"What happened, Alex? Do you want to talk?"

Was the last message he could see before blacking out.

His head felt heavy, everything in front of his eyes was pitch black and he could only hear voices that felt like they were kilometers away from him. Matthew and Miles jumped from the couch and lifted up Turner and placed him on the couch. Matthew tried to wake him up by softly slapping his face and it was looking like it was not working. Miles brought a glass of cold water to sprinkle over his face, but still no reaction. After a few more tries and half an hour of panic as Alex was not waking up, he finally did. He was looking around him, trying to realize what happened. When he finally comprehended, he felt like slapping himself. He got up and thanked his mates for taking care of him and then begged them to leave him. At first, they disagreed, of course. The man just blacked out and now he wanted to be alone. Alex was losing his patience and they could tell that by looking at his face. It got all darken and cold, when an hour ago he was dancing and laughing.

When they finally left, he took the coldest shower he'd ever taken. His only wish at the moment was for his skin to freeze and break in million pieces as he would be looking at them. He got dressed up and went back to his living room. It was a mess, and the fault was no one's but his. Everything was out of place and the only thing he could smell was the smoke from the cigarettes he was smoking. He opened a window and on his way back to start cleaning a tiny bit, he found his phone and remembered the message he received right before passing out.

"I am now. Please excuse me for tonight. I would fancy if you would forget every strange message I've sent"

He wanted to apologize even more, but then his image would be ruined. "Not that it wasn't already. " he thought. He sat down on his settee and started contemplating what he had done.

"You're the same miserable guy, Turner" he sighed.

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sothischickshe · 4 years ago

Note

🔬for dirty, dirty game / 📈& 🎢for bringing down the neighbourhood / 📣for waiting for someone who needs me

🔬- Was there one scene you were building up to/knew you had to get just right?

Ah, so def one of the scenes in dirty dirty game I was building to was the one where Beth stumbles upon rio's at Jamie's, and thinks he's there for her. Partly cos the original idea for the story was post s2, and that's how Beth found out rio's alive so originally that was like HUGE! 😂

But also in the reconfigured version I wanted that to be plausibly surprising, but also bc it's probably not that surprising, for it to be funny and tense and terrible (but like good terrible). Especially because in the reconfigured version, that comes quite early on which I think is fun, because you might be expecting that reveal to be teased out for a lot of the story?

And also bc Beth's obsessed with knowing if rio knew it was her for the rest of the story, and I think there's a very very very light glaze of an answer to that question hovering within the story, and this scene is definitely part of that.

📈- Was there a clear character arch you wanted____ character to go on?

But who character in bdtn?? Danny? Marcus? Me?!

I think Beth's character arc is reasonablyish clear in the story, so I'll go rio.

It's like... Super angry yet convincing himself there's a reason to keep Beth alive (which I thought was pretty thin, so thanks for the justification I guess s3 lol), then just absolutely and repeatedly baffled by her being a total mess (and like this is who bested me? I mean really? This is embarrassing, I am embarrassed) and getting hints that she wants to make nice maybe, and then slightly letting his guard down and then feeling absolutely insane for doing so and being like NOPE NOT AGAIN REMEMBER THE EMBARRASSMENT, and then discovering how obsessed she is with him too, and then feeling very vindicated by that but still being VERY CRANKY and thus being like HA YOU THINK YOU CAN BEAT ME HA, and then being like OH SHIT AM I HAVING AN EMOTION OH NO THIS IS AWFUL, and then being like HA IS SHE HAVING AN EMOTION WHAT AN IDIOT, and then being like WELL AS LONG AS SHE DOESN'T THINK I LIKE HER HA I'M GREAT AT THIS and then being like oh oh dear I think she is kinda fucked up over it oh dear would I let her make nice whoops what's happening ah oh well fuck it, maybe her jokes aren't THAT bad

🎢- Were there any scenes you were nervous about? For audience reception or otherwise?

So one in bdtn was def the ending, but another one would be the one where they finally bone - firstly cos like it's fairly clear that's where the story is going so I still wanted it to be tense and unexpected, but also cos it features vaguely inappropriately lubricated unprotected sex cos they're stupid

📣-What was the best piece of encouragement you got?

Oh gosh, people were so nice about waiting for someone who needs me, it was ridonculous!

I think particularly bc I was having kind of a hard time with the editing process and after having an annoying fuck of a day just went YOU KNOW WHAT FUCK IT POST IT!!!!! FUCK ITTTTTT!!!! and @mego42 was like AHA YOU HAVE POSTED THIS AT THE PERFECT TIME!!! I WAS HAVING A FUCK OF A DAY AND NOW I AM CHEERED!! AND I WAS LIKE OH GOD!!!!! DAYS ARE STUPID AND I AM FUNDAMENTALLY AGAINST THEM!!! so I was like v happy that I let go of being obsessive about it and just threw it into the world rather than carried on looking at it (and then subsequently did change a couple of sentences that annoyed me anyway so win win 😂)

#It is nice to cheer ppl up by cheering yourself up!!#Like I actually love how long it turned out!#But I was expecting under 5k #And didn't have the mental bandwidth to edit like a full on loon!!#It was sposed to be short and sweet!!#A break before time 3!!!#Everything seems to be getting longer #Maybe I should publish that 7 word story????#The Turner pov thing is gonna be like 1200 words I swear #I mean.... This could sub in for rio's character arc in many of my canon fics tbh #Writing #On writing #Fanfiction #Fanfic #These are really fun!!

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beerecordings · 5 years ago

Note

“You think you know what pain is?” Henrik to Anti. ;)

okay… I am proud to report…. I have this done.

Bee why did it take you so long??? CAUSE I WAS OBSESSED WITH IT FOR WEEKS OH MY GOSH I LOVE THIS STORY. look it is unpolished AF alright maybe the most unpolished fic i’ve ever posted but that is okay cause i love it and I’m proud of it and if i want to clean it up later i can! also! you should know it is very long! so buckle up if’n you want to read it!

can you believe i wanted to have this done for schneep week i’m so late… but i loved writing it. thank you for requesting nikkil!!

Warnings for major abuse, blood and torture, pneumonia, and hypnosis with mild sexual themes (Anti kisses, strokes, at one point runs his hand over Jameson’s stomach. That’s the worst of it but no read if it will be too creepy)

Since writing this, I used it to create a story-blog about a variation of these characters (though this scene is not canon to that universe) called @my-brothers-corrupted. Feel free to check it out.

The Missing Piece

Citylights rush like wind across the glass of the window, casting him,intermittently, in gold and in darkness.

Doktorstares down at his feet.

Thedirty silver floor of the bus rattles against his torn up dress shoesas he shuffles uncomfortably, trying not to let his shoulder brushagainst that of the sleeping stranger at his side. Above the smell ofsweat and someone’s heavy magnolia perfume, the smoke of the citycurls around him in a gasoline purr, staining his mouth with thetaste of engines and fast food, dripping down his throat to sit inhis lungs, in his chest, near to his slow-moving heart.

Hewishes he had the strength to be annoyed.

Mosteveryone on the bus is silent, pressed against the backs of theirchairs or the cool, vibrating window panes, worn into quietude bylong days and long journeys. It’s late and everyone would rather beat home, asleep.

Doktorwishes he could sleep. Sleep and sleep and sleep and sleep and sleep.Sleep and sleep and not wake up again.

Themissing piece is the only one who seems to have any energy.

Glancingacross the aisle, Doktor’s eyes land on the boy’s black dress shoes,tapping rapidly against the floor. Higher up, he sees his worn handsgripping hard at the thighs of his slacks, clenching and unclenchinghis fists around the soft fabric. There is blood on his whitebutton-up shirt, but it is dark enough that no one has noticed. Smallmercies.

Jamesoncoughs frailly. His head is still but his eyes flicker wildly aroundthe bus, like the rolling pupils of a horse trapped in a house onfire. Henrik supposes he’s looking for help. For comfort. Foranything and anyone to save him.

Poorthing.

Jamesoncoughs again, a little louder. Doktor realizes he is doing it onpurpose, trying to attract attention to himself. Not easy with aguard dog at your side. Doktor shoots him a warning glare and thensits back, trying not to look at him.

Buthis hands are making a small sign, over and over again, shaking butdetermined, stiff but desperate –

“S,”signs Jameson, his mouth quivering. “C. H – ”

Ahand shoots out to snatch his wrist and Jameson jumps hard, curlingback against the seat of the chair, his face losing color in therapid-passing shadows of the city rushing past.

Redsqueezes the missing piece’s wrist so hard Doktor knows it willbruise black. Then he leans in, close enough that his hood brushesagainst Jameson’s downy brown hair, and he whispers – in words onlyheard by his brothers – with a voice so harsh as to cut the ear –

“Youso much as lift a finger and I will deliver your corpse to thedumpster personally.”

Thelight of a nearby casino rushes over the bus. Jameson’s tears areilluminated in gold.

“AmI understood?”

“Yes,”knocks Jameson, biting hard on his lip.

Redlets him go in silence and sits back.

Doktorsits back too.

Theyare just passengers like everyone else.

Amemory flashes across him the same way the lights do, here and thenleft behind in an instant.

Heremembers, with a nauseating effort of the will, a happier day, withJameson perched at his side just the same. His face was full of joyand he was smiling at him, his hands moving in rapid words now lessthan half-remembered. Their train raced past little white sheep inlittle green pastures, and Jameson spent half the trip staring at thewindow, slumping back occasionally to rest against Doktor’s shoulder.He was as warm as an engine against him, healthy, whole, andunharmed. He called him by a name Doktor can no longer recall.

Hecan’t remember where they were going or why. But he seems to rememberthat joy.

Thedarkness swallows him whole again. He closes his eyes and tries toforget.

It’seasier, these days, to obey.

It’seasier not to remember.

Thisis a time of pain.

Steppinginto the reach of the monster is a relief so heavy it is bettercompared to opium than home-coming. Outside Anti’s power there isconfusion, fear, guilt, and doubt above all else. Within it?

Doktorsteps across the thresh-hold of the abandoned house where they havetaken refuge and breathes in deep, shuddering hard as the darknesssteals back inside of him.

Bliss,bliss, bliss, bliss, bliss –

Hewishes he could spend every second of the rest of his life in thevery heart of Anti’s control, mindlessly numb, overwhelminglycontent, but unfortunately there is only so far his master canstretch, and so whenever he is sent away on missions like this one,he does his best to return home quickly.

Jamesonseems less relieved to enter the run-down little house. His wide eyesstare at the room around him, flickering over squirming rats andpatches of white mold patterned along the walls, until at last hisgaze lands on Trickshot, and he stiffens as though impaled.

Trickstares right back.

“Holyshit,” he whispers, and then his mouth breaks into a smile coldenough to re-freeze icebergs. “You found the little mouse. Donerunning, bitch?”

Jamesonflinches, turning his gaze away. Trickshot gets to his feet,approaching easily and grabbing JJ’s chin, lifting his face up to thelight.

“C?”signs Jameson frantically, forgetting his guardian for a moment.“What’s happened to – ”

Redsnatches his hands and yanks him towards his chest, throwing him offbalance and then shoving him hard to the ground, where nails and anundrying moisture found perpetually on the wooden slats of the floorpress against his palms. Jameson, mouth open with pain, gasps andcrawls backwards, clutching at the wounds from the fight –

Trickshotgrabs the boy by the back of his shirt and drags him to his feet.

Punishedfor speaking, Jameson makes good use of his large eyes instead,staring at what was once his brother with an undeniably agonizeddesperation in his eyes, reaching out to cling to the soft fabric ofthe torn grey shirt Trickshot wears.

“Getthe fuck off me,” snaps Trick in a voice so thin he can barely beheard, shoving his hands away. He decides to grip his hair instead ofhis shirt and Jameson scrambles as the pressure on his scalp pullshim onto his tip-toes, his face contorting with pain.

“Poorlittle thing,” purrs Trick in a babying voice, still rasping fromhis purple-bruised throat, using his spare hand to grab Jameson’schin and tilt his head up to what little light comes from theflickering overhead. “You beat him to hell, Hoodie!”

Theirony of this is that Trick is hardly better off himself. For everybruise, broken bone, and cut that Jameson’s body took tonight, thereis at least one match on Trickshot’s skin. His master has not beenkind to him. When it comes to a hierarchy, they all know whereTrickshot falls – the very bottom of the pack.

Tricktries to lift Jameson off his feet, but a sudden bout of coughingforces him to let his brother go. He doubles over, shaking handsclutching at his aching chest, and coughs so deep and so hard that itsounds as though pieces of bone are being shaken off his ribs.

Doktorwatches wearily, a little irritated. One more sickness he’s going tobe expected to fix. Red reaches over to smack the back of his head.“Do something, Deutsch!”

Yelping,Doktor grabs his smarting skull and staggers away, well wary of Red’stemper. “No medicine,” he whispers, scuffing his way towards theother room.

“Oh,that’s your fucking excuse? You’re supposed to be a doctor!”

Doktorhides his face in his hands, cowering against the wall, but all Reddoes is roll his eyes and turn away, shoving Trick to the side. Heheads toward the stairs, his victory only barely soured by hisbrothers’ stupidity. “Master, I found him!” he calls, smiling ashe moves down, down into the darkness of the basement. “I broughthim back for you!”

Removinghis hands from his eyes, Doktor turns to see if Jameson is afraid,but there is nothing in his eyes but worry. He’s helping Trickshot tostay standing, rubbing warmly at his chest. Trick does not have thestrength to push him away.

Andthen the darkness is upon them.

Jamesonwhirls wildly, his fighter’s hands out-stretched. Doktor catchessight of Trickshot staggering away, retreating from Anti’s attention.He knows it would be safer for him to run too, but he needs Antiright now – needs something to extinguish these thoughts in hishead – pity and guilt and concern, all useless remnants of a timewhen Jack was the one who pulled his strings.

Heneeds Anti to make his brain stop asking his mouth to say, Jameson,I’m sorry, run, now, while there’s still time –

“Arzt,”calls Anti’s voice, a whisper that echoes from every side, and Doktorjumps to attention, staring around him. “Bring my new little puppydown here.”

Jamesondoesn’t turn to run fast enough. Doktor’s grip on his wrist is tightas a blood pressure cuff.

“H-E-N-R,”he begs, and Doktor grabs his other hand and begins yanking himtowards the basement, dragging him across cold cement and oldbloodstains.

“Doctor,doctor, doctor,” signs Jamie again and again, using what littlemobility his hands have. He has begun to cry. Doktor will not look athim. Cannot look at him. “It’s me, it’s me, it’s me, brother,brother.”

“Child,be silent,” Doktor whispers.

Henever does anything more than whisper these days.

“Youwill only make this harder.”

Hedrags Jameson down to his master.

“Wereyou a good boy?”

“Iwas such a good boy,” Red swears, collapsed against Anti’s chest,his eyes shining with adoration. “I was so, so good. I brought himback to you, right back to you.”

“Yeah,you took good care of me.”

“Itook good care of you, you’ll be safe now. All the threats are gone.”

Red’seyes well with tears and he chokes, so overwhelmed with love that fora moment he cannot breathe at all. He shudders and puts his head downon Anti’s shoulder, stroking a hand through his hair. “I was nevergoing to let anything hurt you,” he promises, a sacred whisper.

“Iknow,” Anti soothes, running the flat edge of his blade alongJackie’s throat. “I know you weren’t, good boy.”

“Littlebrother,” hums Hoodie, daring to plant a kiss on Anti’s cheek.“Little brother. I’ll keep you safe.”

“Iwant to ask you something.”

“Yes,Anti.”

“What’sthe boy’s name?”

“JamesonJackson, Anti.”

“Jackson,do you like that?”

“Um,I don’t know. Do I?”

“Isthere anything you could shorten that to?”

“LikeJack?”

“Yeah,you could shorten it to Jack. Or maybe Jackie, would that be good?”

“Doyou want me to call him Jackie?”

Antigrins, dark and sweet.

Victorytastes like blood.

“No,sweetheart,” he purrs, pinching Red’s cheek. “Just wanted tocheck if that meant anything to you. You did so well today. You canhave something to eat tonight. Alright, time’s up. Get up. Good boy.Go sit with kitty for a minute.”

Simmeringwith pride, Red makes his way to the corner of the room and sits downat Blue’s side. The cat is sleeping, chained tightly to the wall, tooexhausted to wake up even for a newcomer. Red curls up fondly at hisside, playing with a length of his brother’s hair.

“Doc,”calls Anti warmly. “You come here.”

Doktorstartles, turning to look at Anti, adorned in blood on his throne, arotting wood chair in the basement. At his feet, Jameson Jackson isso unconscious Doktor cannot see his chest moving for air.

Antiattacked him like a shark in a frenzy.

Heldhim up in front of Doktor and Red and Blue one at a time and askedhim, mocking, which one of his big brothers would be the one to savehim now.

Promisedhim that it would be only a few days before he, too, was swallowedwhole by Anti’s power, begging like an animal for attention andaffection.

Beathim until his whole face was slicked in blood and bruises.

ButJameson did not beg or cry or complain. He took it with courage.Doktor remembers, very distantly, a time when he was more courageoustoo. Someone was torturing him, he remembers, but he tried so hardnot to give in. The details are slipping away from him.

“Deutsch,”calls Anti, a warning in his voice now. He does not like to wait.

Doktorhurries to his side.

“Howabout you?” he asks, getting up from his throne. He steps overJameson’s fingers. Doktor winces at a cracking sound. “Were you agood boy today?”

Whitewith terror and relief – Doktor does not know how he can besimultaneously so happy and so scared to see someone – he manages asmall nod, trying to smile.

“Youbrought the missing piece back to me, didn’t you?”

Anothernod. He can’t breathe. He wants to drown. With shaking hands, hereaches out, desperate for some comfort.

“Youdid well,” murmurs Anti, and takes him in his arms.

It’slike crashing into a river when you don’t know how to swim. But thewater is warm and he is little more than a corpse in its grip,sliding forward in Anti’s hands, a low groan trembling its way out ofhis mouth.

“Idid well,” he whispers. “I did, I did, I did…”

Henearly trips over Jameson and his eyes flicker down over his body,his poor face shattered into bone and blood, an agony written uponhis silent mouth even in sleep, and he is small and thin and so veryworn, still injured from the battle with Red, which must have hurthim in more ways than one –

“Doktor.”Anti has his mouth close to his ear, holding him tight. “You focuson me. Focus on master, there’s my good boy. You like being here withme?”

Doktorsways in place, swallowed by a wave of dizziness. “Yes, of course.”

Antitakes his chin gently in his hand and lifts up his head. Deutschmeets his gaze and shudders, and then smiles, his eyes glazing over.

Anti’seyes are dark and endless, colder than the stomach of the ocean,deeper than philosophy. Doktor chokes, collapsing against him,gripping at his brother’s shirt.

Theday is slipping away from them. What did he even do all day? Wherewas he?

“Closeyour eyes,” whispers Anti.

Doktorobeys. He always obeys. There is no other way to live. Just drowning.Just drowning. Anti curls his fingers through the hair of his nape ofhis neck. Yanks just hard enough to hurt, but Doktor doesn’t careanymore.

“Oh,I’m so tired,” Doktor whispers.

“Iknow.”

“You’rethe only thing I care about.”

“Iknow, baby.” It tooks him months to perfect this, but it’s done.Doc was his, and then the others, and now – oh, and now, his lastlittle missing piece. Jameson will be his too, soon enough, soonenough. “But listen, I need you to do something for me.”

“Yes,Anti, anything.”

“Red,you listen too.”

Redjoins Doktor at Anti’s side. Jealousy stings through them both, butthey’ll bottle up the anger for later, taking it out on each other inunexpected blows and stitches tugged too tight.

“Ineed time with my new puppy. He has to be broken in. You two willkeep things running while I work. Okay?”

“Yes,Anti,” they promise in sync.

��Red,anyone gets too close or too suspicious, you’re the one who takescare of it, alright? Doc, I want you to clean this little bitch up atthe end of the day when I’m done with him. And get rid of Trickshot’sfucking cough. If I have to hear him wheezing anymore I’ll go chophis head off.”

“Yes,Anti.”

“Good,then. Kitty cat, go with your brothers, you’re boring me.”

Blueopens pained eyes and drags himself to his feet. There is blood inhis hair. Doktor doesn’t remember who attacked him. Red takes hisbrother under his arm and leads him towards the stairs, pausing togive Anti a winning smile.

Hashe always had those scars, scattered like cross-hatching across hisface? Doc doesn’t think so, but he can never remember anymore. He cannever remember anything.

Forjust a second, he sees as though before his eyes Red and Blue inanother life, both smiling like twins, healthy and whole, unscarredand reaching out to him, the third star in their triangulum, a littlefamily, completely whole.

Wasthere a time before Anti?

“Goon, Doc-Doc.”

“Yes,Anti. But are you sure… are you sure you don’t need anything?”

Antilooks up, anger flashing through his eyes. Doktor backs slowlytowards the wall, turning down his gaze.

Hedidn’t mean to question. It’s just that he’s a doctor. He’s supposedto look after his brothers.

AndAnti?

Antilooks exhausted to the core of his being.

Athis feet, blood is leaking from Jameson’s eyes.

“Can’tbelieve this,” grumbles Red, pacing around the room. “Can’tgoddamn believe this.”

“Justgive it to me,” rasps Doktor. “No use complaining.”

Fuming,Red hands over vaporub and cough medicine and stalks away again. Thedull light of the paneless windows cast him in a cold evening light.

“Idon’t feel good,” moans Trickshot, writhing with fever in Doktor’slap. “I don’t feel good, I don’t feel good, I don’t feel – ”

“Hush,”orders Doktor harshly, shaking his shoulders. “Hush, you will annoyAnti.”

Trickwhimpers and falls into silence, but his rough breaths are scratchingtheir painful way up from a chest that is heavy with infection.

“Thisis pathetic,” gripes Red, glaring down at his little brother. “Hecan’t keep getting sick like this. We could have spent that money onfood if he wasn’t such a little bitch.”

“Ican’t handle pneumonia without better equipment. He needs to go tothe hospital,” mumbles Doktor, wetting someone’s spare t-shirt withwhat little water they have and pressing it to his forehead, openingup the chest rub with his free hand.

“Shutthe fuck up,” snaps Red. “You know we can’t do that. Keep himalive.”

Doktorcloses his eyes, rocking gently back and forth over Trickshot’s body.He stopped screaming or weeping or breaking down a long time ago, andnow he just shivers and rocks and hides his face when he needscomfort, understanding that none will come.

Redand Trick tell him he’s losing his mind. But it’s better than livinglike they do, devolving into panic attacks on the daily, so desperatefor Anti’s attention that they can barely function without praise anddirect orders. And meanwhile, Blue…

Redgrits his teeth at the low sound of skin grating against wood. “Blue,cut it out,” he growls, stalking over to drag his brother’s wristsaway from the sharpest piece of rotting wall he can find in thehouse. Blue’s collar jangles as Red pulls him to his feet and moveshim away. “You can’t even kill yourself properly, can you, kitty?Hey, hey, come on, look me in the eyes, you can do it.”

“Don’tmake him,” sighs Doktor, rubbing Trickshot’s chest slowly. Hisbrother stills under his hands, mumbling Anti’s name in what could bedreams or nightmares.

Redsighs and sits down with Blue slumped against his shoulder, strokinghis hair absent-mindedly. Blue doesn’t respond. Blue never respondsanymore.

“Youshould be more concerned about Trickshot,” whispers Doktor, in arare show of defiance. “He’s not well.”

“Don’ttell me what to feel, Deutsch. Ask me, you’re both wastes of fuckingoxygen. Hey, maybe he will die! It could just be me and Blue andAnti… the kid too, I guess…”

Doktorshivers, clutching Trick closer to his chest. Sometimes he’s scaredRed will kill him. Then again, he knows better than anyone where hisweak spots are – the slash in his stomach that JJ gave him in theirfight, the pains in his back they never seem to go away, everytrigger to send him into babbling terror, his eyes blown wide withconfusion and distress, screaming about the memories he’s lost –

Well.He just hopes it doesn’t come to a fight.

Bluebegins coughing low, low in his chest, trembling against Red’sshoulder.

“Oh,not you too,” groans Red, squeezing him close. “Oh, oh, Anti willbe furious if his pet gets sick. Doktor, stop it. My twin…”

“I’mdoing my best with vaporub and cough drops,” growls Doktor, tryingto get some water into Trick’s mouth.

Downstairs,Anti begins shouting. All four of them flinch as one, and Trick’seyes flash open full of panic.

“I’msure he’s going to finish with Jameson soon,” says Red, with bothadoration and terror in his mouth. “Then he’ll be happier. He’sjust doing what’s best for him.”

“Anti,Anti,” cries Trick. Doktor doesn’t know if he’s calling for him orcalling for help. Blue has gone so stiff he could be a corpse,staring dead-eyed at the wall. If he thinks anything on his ownanymore, he doesn’t show it.

Thisis a house of pain.

Doktorstares at the pathway to the basement.

Thisis a house of pain.

Whydoes he stay?

Hisstrings are slipping.

Antigags on a wave of weakness and throws JJ hard to the earth, steppingdown on his throat and turning away, taking deep breaths while thelittle one chokes.

“Glitchbitch,” signs the boy, between useless attempts to shove the footoff his neck. “Bastard, monster, virus, asshole.”

“Stupidlittle puppy,” croons Anti, pressing down on his throat. “Stillacting like you can defy me.”

He’shad Jameson for three days. It’s going well with the missing piece.Everday Jameson slips closer to his control.

Butthe problem is he’s stretching himself too thin. Even the bestpuppet-master can only move so many toys at once. Corruption takespower. It takes energy. Anti is running out. But he just needs tobreak this last little creature, this last little puppet. Just onemore corruption. He will not fail now.

“Iwill defy you,” Jameson promises. Anti finally lets up on histhroat and he draws in huge gasping breaths, slumped against theconcrete.

“Youdo your brothers a disservice,” says Anti. “Don’t you know theysaid the same? And now, what are they? I will make a liar of you too,little doll.”

Thebasement is cold as gravestone. Anti is the heater in the middle ofit, radiating warmth too heavily without any of it transfering to theroom around him. The only way to share his heat is to be touched byhim.

Hetakes a deep breath. For once in his life he needs to keep his calm.He leans down and puts his hands on Jameson’s wrists, falling to hisknees to straddle his hips, pinning him down against the stingingcement.

Jamesonturns his face away but does not protest. He is losing strength witheach day that passes. Anti knows how weak to keep him to stop himfrom using his powers, cutting frequent blood out of his back andstriking his aching head several times a day. He has not slept oreaten and any attempt to change the course of time will destroy him.He’s considering it.

Themoments where Anti tries to drag him under have become warm relief inthe middle of the torture.

“Comehere, baby,” purrs Anti, stroking his knuckles over his cheekbone,running his fingers across his mouth. “Come here, look at master.”

Jamesontries to get his hands together so he can sign the “h” thatbegins the word “hatred.”

Antigrabs a knife and slams it into Jameson’s shoulder. Pain sends hiswhole body into spasms, his body contorting with agony, his eyesrolling back in his head, and he is losing consciousness fast.

“It’sokay,” whispers a soft voice, and he knows it is Anti, but it couldso damn easily be any one of his brothers, torn away from him, couldbe Marvin or Henrik or Jackie or Chase –

Heis crying so hard he cannot breathe. When was the last time anyonetouched him? All he’s done for months is run.

“It’sokay.” Anti is stroking his hair. Stroking his stomach. Strokinghis wrists. He’s been starving to be touched and Anti is wonderfullywarm, even if his nails are overgrown and his teeth are just a littletoo sharp and one of his eyes is venomously black, a single greeniris shining down on Jameson’s smoke-grey face. “I’m sorry, I knowthis is scary. But listen, you’re going to be with your brotherssoon, right? You’ve missed them. Haven’t you?”

Hehas, he has, he’s been so lonely, he nods –

“Iknow,” sighs Anti, putting a firm pressure on Jameson’s shoulders,making his collarbone ache. He smells of blood and sleep. “Iunderstand. I can see every part of you, you know. I understandeveryone and everything. It will be so easy, once you’re mine. I’lltake that pretty clock and tie you up like Marvin and you can be mylittle puppy. No one will ever hurt you again. You won’t have to feelanything but this.”

Andwarmth and joy and relief and love come crashing over Jameson like ahigh, come flowing down the folds of his brain, trickling down histongue and down his throat, and he is melting like a witch in water,sinking down into Anti’s power –

“Openyour eyes,” calls a voice, gentle, gentle. He is held, carried,carressed. “Just open your eyes for me. Be a good boy. It’s alleasy after this. It will feel so wonderful. Open your eyes, Carver.”

That’snot his fucking name.

Justlike Doktor isn’t Henrik’s and Red isn’t Jackie’s and Trickshot isn’tChase’s and Blue isn’t Marvin’s, damn the glitch who stole his familyaway from him!

Hejerks up and slams his elbow into Anti’s nose, sending blood gushingfrom the demon’s nose. Falling back, Anti lets out a horrible screamof rage, the sound that metal makes as it grinds together, and thenhe is up again, coming forward again, holding a knife again, and whatcan Jameson do but cower?

“Iwill teach you pain,” Anti snarls. His teeth are gritted tight andhe no longer looks human. He is warm. He is too warm. He burns. “Iam pain and you will know me better than you know yourself, and then,before this is over, you will be mine, and forget the taste of yourown name, puppet kid.”

Doktordreams of bloodshed and video games.

Heholds a warm little computer mouse, shifting it across a pad on awooden desk. Everything is bright and clear and clean. He feels welland there is coffee next to his hand.

Fromthe speakers, a recorded cough and a splutter. A spray of simulatedblood hits the other side of the screen and Doktor adjusts in hisseat, reaching out to click on a button to order a lung exam for thepatient.

“Don’tworry now,” he narrates to the computer character, smiling at theblinking red eye of a camera near to his head. “The good Doktorwill make everything better, you will see!”

Thecharacter coughs again. Doktor realizes the game has not reacted tohis order. “Gah,” he growls, throwing up a hand and clicking onthe button again. “Come on, dumb machine.”

Still,the game does not respond. The character coughs and then groans,doubling over for a moment, its face still drawn into an unmovingsmile, dead-eyed and cold.

“Gottverdammt,”hisses Doktor, clicking once, twice, thrice. How frustrating, to knowwhat needs to be done and be unable to do it.

“Stopcoughing,” he begs, as the character shivers. “I’m trying to fixit. I will not have you die.”

Thecharacter reaches up to touch its chin and then draws away again.Startled, Doktor recognizes the sign for “please.”

“I’mtrying,” he says. “I am, I’m trying. I’m doing my best. I’m doingwhat’s right. I am, I am.”

Heclicks the button. Clicks, clicks, clicks. Why won’t it goddamn load?

“Stopdying,” he cries, slamming the mouse against the computer. Thetaste of copper is filling up his own mouth. His chest aches. A waveof heat rushes over him like sunlight exploding over the earth in themorning light. “Please, I’m scared, don’t die.”

Heneeds to get out of the whole program – he should get out of thewhole program – but how can he leave his patient behind? The othersare too sick to run with him. He cannot go until he saves them. Hecannot lose them! The memory of joy is sudden and present in hismind, but only for an instant, and then it is swallowed whole againby this terrible pain, pain, pain –

“Please!Let me save him!” he screams, and the character, deaf to his cries,is begging “please, please, please” in return, coughing harderand harder and harder. Blood drizzles down the screen. Doktor reachesout to touch it and his fingers come away red now, perhaps not sosimulated after all. He strikes the side of the computer and shakesit and click, click, clicks, but nothing happens, nothing saves him.There is only the heat of the patient’s fever and the dry heaving ashe chokes on pneumonia, bent over, collapsing, and Doktor lashes outtoo suddenly and spills his coffee, only it is blood that pours downfrom the edge of the mug, filling up the room like a flood –

Hedoes not scream upon awakening. Only gags, and whimpers, and rocks inplace, tears drizzling down his face.

Trickshotis hot at his side, trembling, coughing, conscious. Across the room,Anti’s twins sleep side-by-side, hunger and fatigue making themghostly in the moonlight, Blue touching Red with an out-stretchedhand abandoned on his shoulder.

“Trick?”whispers Doktor, trying to ground himself again, trying to banish thedream. He would call it a nightmare but he’s had far worse. “Trick,why are you awake?”

It’sstill dark out. It often is. Doktor guesses it is around three.

“Whatdid you dream of?” mumbles Trickshot, staring up at him withover-bright eyes. “Something nice?”

Hesmiles a little flicker of a smile, his mouth trembling.

Doktorsighs, calming. Just a bad dream, right? He’s not stuck. He’s notfrozen. He can take care of his patients. “Should not speak of it,”he tells him, pulling him straighter up, to help him breathe.Coughing must be keeping him awake. “You are weak. Go back tosleep.”

“I– I feel very weak,” concedes Trickshot. He sniffles and tearscome running out of his eyes. Doktor presses a hand to his foreheadand finds him burning. “Do you think Anti will let me die? Do youthink he will kill me? Did you dream of something nice?”

“Stop,Trick, stop, stop.” Doktor smooths down a bandage hanging off hischeek from where somebody struck him hard enough to break flesh.“You’re delirious. Don’t upset yourself. Go back to sleep.”

“Something– b-bright and lovely, maybe something where you were happy, didyou dream of – did you dream of something – ”

Hebegins coughing and must clutch at his heart, curling in on himself,agony coursing through his body. “Did you dream of something nice?”he stammers out, wheezing, working himself swiftly towards a completebreakdown. “Did you dream of – ”

“Trick,stop!” snarls Doktor, grabbing him by the throat in a sudden flashof fury. Trick gags and whimpers, collapsing against the floor,shivering in the cold night air.

Doktorreleases his throat, a rare twinge of guilt making itself known inhis stomach. As apology, he reaches out and touches the side ofTrick’s head awkwardly, frowning down at his blueing mouth. “Youreally are so sick,” he whispers, brushing down a strand of hissweaty hair. “Poor thing.”

“Don’tfeel good.”

“Iknow. Why don’t you tell me what you dreamed of, huh? I don’t want totalk about my dreams but you can. Did you dream of something nice?”

Trickshotpauses, biting his lip, and then nods, tears welling again in hisbright blue eyes. “A baby,” he whispers.

“Ababy?”

“Alittle dark-haired baby, so, so warm, so, so beautiful, and I washolding him and I reached out and he wrapped his tiny little handaround my finger and fell asleep in my arms.”

Doktordidn’t mean to make him cry. Trickshot devolves into sobbing againsthis brother’s stomach, shaking with fever and grief alike.

“Quiet,quiet,” begs Doktor, gripping at his shoulder. “Don’t disturbhim, don’t make him angry.”

“Mybaby,” gasps Chase, growing closer to death. “I want my babies, Iwant my baby, where is he, where is he, where is he?”

“Stop,stop, don’t say such things, Anti will kill you.”

“Antiwill not give me my child back,” weeps Chase. “Not even thememory of him, not even his name. I can’t remember my baby.”

“Trick,”says Doktor. “Trick.”

Andthen there is the static warning of their brother’s appearance, andthey both stiffen like scarecrows, curling in on each other as theywait for him to turn shadows into form.

Glitchessplit the air around them and Trickshot pretends to be asleep againstDoktor’s stomach, near to passing out anyway. Cold static ringsthrough the air like a tornado warning.

“Cleanhim up.”

Antiis standing behind him so suddenly that Doktor nearly gasps aloud,rocking faster and faster. “C-clean Trickshot up?”

“No,you stupid little bitch,” snarls Anti. He grabs him by the hair andDoktor gasps hard enough to hurt the back of his throat, staggeringupright. “Jameson. In the room on the other side of the house. Go.Let him die and you cannot imagine the pain I will inflict upon you,am I understood? Darling?”

“Yes,Anti.”

“Go.”

Hereleases him and disappears back into the shadow.

Tricklies at his feet, trying not to cough. Blood stains the corner of hismouth.

Doktorreaches down to touch him – but no, he cannot care for him, notnow. He must go the missing piece.

Panting,he abandons Trick to his coughing and heads towards the spare room.They think it used to be a kitchen once, before the house was halfwaydemolished and then abandoned, but now there is nothing but missingtile and cockroaches and one drawer full of knives in the corner.There certainly isn’t any food.

Jamesonis chained to the porcelain body of what might have been a sink. Heslumps back against the clay, his chin fallen onto his chest. He isbreathing, but only slow, only thin.

Doktorapproaches.

Litteredwith wounds, frail as a broken-wing bird. He coughs. Doktor cleansgashes and stitches them back together, wipes away blood and wraps upbruises, relocates a broken wrist and makes the boy scream, his eyesrolling back in his head as he staggers about between consciousnessand shadow.

Hecoughs.

Doktorreaches out to touch his cheek.

Hecoughs.

Doktorswallows back memories of him.

Bright-eyedbrothers moving like light through a window, clean whole faces andthe steady rising and falling of the breast, a smile on the boy’sunspeaking mouth –

Hecoughs.

Doktorburies his face in his hands and rocks, rocks, rocks, cries until hecannot breathe either; listens, despairing, to the coughing of hisbrothers, scattered like weapons cast aside through Anti’s house.

Howcan this be worth it?

Howcan this pain be worth it?

Fromthe darkness, Anti is watching.

Doktorwas the first one to lose the fight to his power, and now he is thefirst to feel the strings loosening about his throat. Something mustbe done.

Buthe is too tired to drag Henrik back under.

“Givein.”

“Iwon’t.”

Bloodsplurts from Jameson’s throat. His mouth jerks open in a horriblesilent scream and he writhes in Anti’s grip, tearing at the handsaround his neck.

“Isthat the best you can do?” laughs Anti. He lets Jameson go, his armgrowing tired from holding him up, and the boy collapses like a pileof flesh. “Really, no sound at all? Can’t you wheeze or something?I’m bored.”

“Bitch,”signs Jameson. He rolls back and forth against the ground slightly,trying to work through the pain, trying to stop crying. He doesn’tknow how much more of this he can take.

“I’mabout to cut your hands off if you don’t watch your tongue,” Antiwarns, sitting down beside him and drawing his head into his lap.“Come on, can’t you whine or something?”

Jamesonis bewildered on top of irritated now. “What the fuck do you expectme to do? Regrow my vocal chords? I can’t vocalize.”

“Maybeyou’re not trying hard enough,” grins Anti.

Exhausted,exasperated, pissed, Jameson holds up his middle finger and lets thatspeak for him.

Antihums and leans in close. Jameson shivers as he’s kissed, Anti’s mouthrunning feather-light across the stubble on his jawline.

“Getoff me,” Jameson begs, trying to push him away. “Please.”

“That’sbetter,” murmurs Anti. “Good job, puppy. Hold still and you cango in a minute.”

Hekisses his cheek, beneath his eye. His mouth is hot.

“Getoff me!” cries Jameson. Oh, fuck, suddenly he’s so dizzy. “Getoff, I hate you.”

Antipulls gently at his shirt, exposing his stomach. Jameson squirms,frightened, but with one hand Anti can hold him steady. The otherhand runs over his belly.

Thena knife, cold, cold, cold against his stomach.

Antisighs against the base of his ear.

Andthen he jams his thinnest blade like a key between the perfect slotof his seventh and eighth ribs.

Thenoise that Jameson makes –

Thenoise, a braying little gasp, a broken little screech from somewherein his lungs rather than his vocal chords, a choke combined with themovement that should make a scream, is not a noise that Anti realizedhuman beings could make.

Antiwishes he had recorded it. He could play that on a loop and destroycivilizations with the high it gives him.

He’slaughing so hard it hurts to breathe.

“Doktor!”he calls, shoving Jameson off his throat. The boy shudders againstthe floor, slamming his head against the cement as his body overtakeshis brain, far more conscious than he’d like to be. “You’re goingto have to bandage this up for us, darling.”

Notlong now. Not long.

“Please.”

“Shutup.”

“Please,please, H-E-N - ”

Doktorshoves him hard back against the porcelain sink to which he is onceagain chained. Jameson gags, weeping. “Brother,” he cries,undeterred. “Why won’t you save me?”

“God,please!” Henrik screams. “Stop, stop, I can’t take this!”

“Pleasehelp me, please help me, I’m scared, I’m scared, soon he will make mehis, I can’t take any more, please save me, I love you.”

Henrikscreams and tears at his hair, falling back. He’s been cleaningJameson up every night for a week. They are both reaching breakingpoints.

“Deutsch!”cries a voice from downstairs. Red, he thinks. “Blue can’tbreathe!”

“Sithim upright!” he calls back, trying to raise his voice above arasp. He tries to push himself back up to kneeling and a nail thatonce held floorboard pierces his palm, making him gasp.

“It’snot working!” Red cries. “It’s not enough!”

“Doyou think I’m hiding oxygen up here?” Doktor shrieks. “What doyou want me to do?”

Redis weeping. It’s a new sound for Doktor, but he doesn’t have time tocare. Blue and Trick are just getting sicker, and Carver’s going toget an infection if he doesn’t bandage him up, and he never feelswell anymore, and nothing is right, nothing is right, nothing is –

Jamesoncan only reach his brother’s out-stretched hands. Teary-eyed, whiteas smoke, he grips Doktor’s wrist gently and rubs his thumb up anddown the veins at the heel of his hand.

“Stop,”says Doktor.

Hedoesn’t draw away.

Jamesontugs his hand closer and presses his forehead to it, massaging hispalm, holding him tight.

“Stop,”says Doktor.

Jamesonshivers and clings to each one of his fingers, examining the valleysand ridges of his swirling fingerprints. Brushes against his veinsfrom heel to thumb. Squeezes tight, tight, tight.

Doktorcan’t remember the last time anyway touched him gently.

“Stop,”he begs. “I can take no more.”

“Henrik,”says Jameson, releasing his hand to finally, finally make the namewhole. “Henrik, brother, help me. Let’s go. There’s still time.”

Thestrings are slipping. The strings are slipping. The strings areslipping.

Butthey are still tight enough.

“I’msorry, Jameson,” whispers Henrik.

“No,no,” begs Jamie. He tries to grab his hand again, but Henrik isdrawing away. “I need you to remember who you are.”

“I’msorry,” whispers Doktor. “I am. I’m sorry. But I am also Anti’s.You don’t understand what he would do to us if we tried to escape.There is no running away. He will haunt us for the rest of our days.Better to stay, and be good for him. I am Anti’s.”

Jamesoncurls in on himself like a child, wrapping his arms around himselfand hugging himself tight. He rocks against the sink, sobbing.

He’slost. He’s lost. It’s over.

“Soonyou will be too,” promises Doktor softly. “And then…”

Heknows he should say that things will be better.

Buthe can’t lie.

Thisis a life of pain.

Twilightmakes the floorboards grey and lilac. The air smells of dust, ofblood, of starvation.

Doktorsits slumped over Blue, staring, corpse-like, down at him, bleedingsluggishly from the palm of his hand as he tends to his brothers’illnesses.

“They’regoing to die, aren’t they?” whispers Red.

Inhis weakness, Trick has regained his favor, and both he and Blue areclose at hand, tucked up in the only blanket in the house, shiveringside-by-side, asleep. Trickshot wheezes with every breath.

Doktorcan’t even answer. He washes sweat from their foreheads and massagestheir chests with vaporub. Nothing else to fucking do.

“Ican’t – ” Red breaks off, covering his mouth, squeezing his eyestightly shut. “I can’t watch them die.”

Doktorhums a brief affirmation, staring blankly at Trickshot’s hollowedgrey cheeks. It’s a little too late for Red to start caring.

“Deutsch,”whispers Red. He touches Doktor’s hand.

Henrikjumps hard, turning to him with astonished eyes. Red’s hand is gentleon his own. There are tears in his eyes.

“Whatdo I need to do to save them?”

AndHenrik recognizes, suddenly, a light that he had forgotten evergraced Jackie’s eyes.

Aprotection in his outstretched hands, a courage in his stiffenedmouth, a light in his bright blue eyes.

“Holyshit,” whispers Henrik.

Doubt.Doubt. Rebellion. It sits between them, curled in the heat of theirfevering brothers and the wounds that litter the boy upstairs likeconstellations, in the memories that sift, slow, patient, throughtheir awakening hearts.

“Sauerstoff,”he manages, swallowing hard.

“What?”

“Oxygen,”he rasps.

“Wheredo I get that?”

“Youwill have to steal it. Once you stole computer code from the centerof a secret Ministry of Defense facility just so Anti could eludethem. You will be able to take oxygen from a hospital. Masks too,blankets, and medicine – bring me paper, I will write it all down.”

Whiteand silent with stress, Jackie brings him the torn wrapper of theirlast jug of water, and Henrik scratches names into it, recalling,with the smell of hand sanitizer in his nose, what it was to be areal healer.

“Youmust go quickly,” he murmurs, pressing the wrapper into Jackie’shand.

“Iknow,” Jackie answers, soft. “If I’m not back before Antirealizes I’m gone…”

Hewill kill him. The words stand silent in the air between them.

Henrikcan almost remember his name.

Henrikcan almost, almost remember his name.

“Doktor,”murmurs Jackie.

“Red,”Henrik answers, exhausted.

Hiseyes say go carefully and Jackie’s answer very well, as youwish, we were brothers once and in the memory I have forgotten thehatred he fostered within me.

Jackiesqueezes his hand, kisses both Blue and Trickshot goodbye, and goes.

Heknows he will be killed for the transgression of abandonment.

Buthis pain might be salvation, and the word “hero” rises once againin his mind, like a tattoo uncovered, impossibly forgotten,permanent, chosen, lasting.

Upstairs,Jameson grows weaker.

Thereisn’t much time left.

Antiwakes up.

Thisis unusual for him, having never actually lost consciousness before.His waking thoughts consist largely of what the fuck, what thefuck, what the fuck?

Didhe pass out?

He’sslumped downstairs on his little throne – hardly more than ablood-painted chair, but he loves it like a knife – and he doesn’tremember falling asleep.

He’sweak as a ball of cotton.

Panicrises in him like fire and he tries to get up, without success,panting hard. For a moment his whole body becomes as static, heavyand faraway. His tongue is leaden and stinging in his mouth and hishead collapses back against the wood of his chair, leaving himmotionless and terrified, fainted in his own throne room.

He’snever passed out before, he’s never been weak, he’s never used somuch energy, he didn’t realize he had a breaking point and he needsto stop –

No!screams the rest of his brain. The dizzy spell recedes as a wave fromthe ocean and he staggers to his feet, snarling at the world aroundhim, which continues to defy him. I won’t be stopped now! I’m sovery close. So very close to the perfect victory. Their stupidpersistence can’t stop me. I will hold all five of them at once,puppets from my hands.

Hespares a burst of pure hatred for his creator, who gave him justenough brothers to be a challenge.

Butnot enough to stop him. He will be victorious.

“Doktor!”he screams, dragging himself to the bottom of his staircase. Deutschappears shaking in the light above him, his eyes flashing quicklybetween all corners of the house. Anti can almost taste hisdisloyalty, but it does not matter. He must break his last littlecolt, and then he will reign in all five of his stallions, if ittakes every whip in the world. “Bring my the little brat,” hehisses, sinking back into the darkness. “We end this tonight, onceand for all.”

“Where,”whispers Anti, “Is your resistance now?”

Jamesonlies shivering. Jameson lies shaking.

“Ihave shattered it,” Anti tells him. He reaches down, slow, and runshis knuckles across Jameson’s cheek, scarred and blood-stained.

“Youwere not the one who shattered it,” Jameson answers, closing hiseyes.

Thedemon stands above him like a shadow, pierced by thin beams of lightforcing their way through the tiny windows at the tops of thebasement walls. Blue and green eyes coat Jameson in a unique form oflust, a power-hungry possession, a wolf that has gained a taste forhuman flesh.

“Youlove your brothers very much,” murmurs Anti. “After all they havedone to you.”

Hesits down, criss-cross, at Jameson’s side. Pulls him into his lap.Takes his hands into his own.

“Bemine,” he says. “And they will love you again too.”

“Isthis what you call love?” Jameson manages.

Heis slumping down against Anti’s shoulder, exhausted.

“Youdon’t know the first thing about love.”

“Whata pity,” Anti giggles, grabbing his wrists and pulling him evencloser. “I must be missing so much.”

Blood,blood on Jameson’s face.

“Poordapper darling, pretending to be strong. Your heart is broken andyou’ve been dying for a long time, running from me every day, runningfrom your family. Aren’t you tired?”

Jamesonis hiding against his chest. Tears soak Anti’s shirt.

“Poorthing,” whispers Anti, wrapping an arm around his waist. “I know.It hurts. I know. Poor, poor dapper.”

Careful,he reaches power out. Feels Jameson’s heart, racing with terror, soweak and so vulnerable.

Hewraps a string and breathes through a wave of dizziness.

Jameson’shands tighten on his shirt.

“Thereyou go,” whispers Anti, rubbing from his shoulder to the small ofhis back. “There you go, it’s okay. Stop crying so hard, littleone. Hush, hush. Here I am. Don’t be afraid.”

“Anti,”signs Jameson. Anti does not know what he is begging for and he doesnot care. His sign name is a slit throat ‘A’ and it makes him laugh.“Anti, please.”

“Lookat me,” Anti orders, taking his chin in his hand. “Look at menow.”

Jamesontries to hide, his eyelids fluttering. No, no, no…

“You’reso tired.” Anti’s fingers are soft, warm, loving against his faceand throat and hands. “So, so tired, poor little puppy.”

Andhe is, so, so exhausted, so tired it could kill him. All he wants inthe whole goddamn world is to lose himself in sleep, in power, inAnti…

“Lookat me,” says Anti. He hates him, he craves him, he owns him. “Lookat me, Carver, Dapper, Monochroma. Look at me.”

Jameson’seyes open. Dapper’s eyes meet his own.

Hot,rushing, overwhelming, terrifying, ecstatic, adoring, all-consuming,all-consuming, all-consuming; Carver gasps and sinks down in Anti’shands, reaching up to be held, an agony of possession writhingthrough his body as he collapses like a bird dead in the air andlanguishes in the dark, endless eyes of his older brother.

Antihas him.

Carverblinks, and closes his eyes, and sinks.

Sinkslike a mink sinks in the mouth of an alligator.

Downonto Anti’s lap.

Andwhen his brother traces his hands across his scalp, stroking gentlehis downy brown hair, he breathes out a sigh of relief.

Antihas him.

Joycrackles as a current of electricity through his body and Antismiles, letting himself curl down around Chroma’s body, pulling hisnew little puppet to him, running his hands over his flesh, tastingthe sweet copper taste of an implanted adoration, touching hisfingers to each one of the cuts he has spent the last two weekscutting into Dapper’s skin –

Aword of alarm flickers through his system. Anti sits up, his eyesfixed on the opening to the room.

Thereare footsteps coming towards him.

Hetries to get up, but dizziness pounds through his simulated skull andhe collapses back onto his throne, gripping at Carver’s shirt. Heover-exerted. Used too much power. He’s never been so tired in hislife. He could fall asleep right here, slumped over his littlebrother’s body, holding his new puppet close… his eyes flicker andglitch and he sways, drifting…

“Ican bear this no longer.”

Anti’seyes snap open.

Inthe doorway, Henrik.

NotDoktor.

Henrik.

Antican’t feel his hold over him.

Hetries anyway. “Go back upstairs, Deutsch.”

Dappershivers in his lap. Anti grips a knife warily, staring at Henrik’stwilight silhouette.

“Ican bear this no longer,” whispers Henrik.

“Arzt,”hisses Anti, glaring him down. “Go back upstairs. Now.” Hestrains his energy on the last word, reaching out for Henrik again,wrapping strings around his throat –

“Shutyour fucking mouth,” hisses Henrik.

Andstranger still is the look in his eyes, because, for the first timein his life, Anti doesn’t understand the emotion that he’s looking atin another’s face.

“So,”he drawls, rubbing Dapper’s back, just to mock this rebellious littlepuppet standing before him. “My strings got too loose, huh?”

Henrikmoves forward. His hands tremble.

“Upstairs,two of my brothers are dying,” he says. “Red – no, Jackie –has suffered so much at your hands that for many long months he hasdesired only to be yours, so full of hatred we all bear his marks onour flesh. I myself have hurt for years now because of you. Havenightmared, have scarred over, have shattered like ice into crystal.And this boy you have given me to care for for the past week. Eachtime I saw his face, each time I held him, bleeding in my arms, Ihave regained a little of myself. That is not because of you. That isbecause of me. Your strings are looser, yes. But I am the one whotore them off. And that is because you know nothing. You think youknow what pain is, Anti?”

Hepulls from the pocket of his torn khaki pants a stained scalpel.

“Answerme,” he snarls.

Antiis glaring at him now, teeth bared and drizzling blood. His skin isgreen and his eyes are black. He is not human.

Buthe shares the mortal propensity to fear.

“Yes,”he hisses back, draping himself over Jameson’s body like a wolf witha fresh kill. “And I will teach it to you for months and months andmonths, little one.”

“No!”screams Henrik. “No, you don’t know the first goddamn thing! Notyet, Anti! Not yet!”

Antineeds to get up. He has to get up. He cannot glitch at all; his fleshis so still it is painful, but he must rise nonetheless, he muststand nonetheless, he can still get up, even in his weakened state,surely –

Theweight of Jameson’s sleeping body across his lap is too heavy for himto move. He cannot even put his hands on him. He is losingcorporeality. He can see through his palms. This has never happened.This has never happened. This has never –

Feartastes like copper, copper, copper, blood.

“Painis love turned against you,” groans Henrik. “Brothers made toenemies and left to bleed on the seat of a bus, left to choke todeath in abandoned houses, wearing belled collars and clutching atwounds that will never heal. You think you know what that is?”

“Henrik,get away from me,” hisses Anti. Electrical signals buzz distortedlythrough his brain, making the whole world too bright and tooconfusing. He coughs and blood comes welling up in his mouth.

“Youwill,” promises Henrik.

Hiseyes are consumed by darkness.

“Iwill teach you what it is. Because Anti, Anti, Anti! Pain is weaknessand then, later, strength. I have suffered until the madness came,and arisen from it powerful, powerful, powerful. Be afraid, Anti. Iwill teach you what is pain.”

Anti’scoughing pierces deeper and deeper as his body begins to glitchapart. The more he tries to blacken his eyes and consume Henrik’swill, the more power he loses, and the more he falls apart. He cannotstop coughing. He cannot breathe.

“Youare nothing!” he shrieks, nearly hysteric with mad fervor, with howgoddamn close he is to having everything he’s ever wanted! So manybodies strewn aside, so much corruption and patience, so much time,effort, planning, blood, torment! No, he will not lose now! He willtear this whole world apart if that is what it takes! “I will ripyou apart like tendrils of dog meat!”

ButHenrik is no longer afraid of him. He continues forward, staring intohis black eyes, free of him.

“Iwill turn you against yourself,” he promises. Here is a threat toterrify, and Anti cannot help but shove himself against the back ofhis throne, straining away. “Tear you down into all the things youpromised yourself you would never be. Kill you with your own blade.Oh, I’ve hated you for so long.”

“Oh,no, Doktor,” giggles Anti. At least there is some humor to be foundin that. “No, no, no, you’ve loved me, adored me, prayed in my namefor months now. Even before I used power to make you mine completely,you would beg for a scrap of bread as you starved, for a touch ofcomfort as the pain killed you, for someone to kiss you and wipe upthe tears – ”

Henrikswings with the scalpel.

Anti’sbody finds the strength somewhere to glitch and he goes crashing tothe cement, scrambling away from Henrik, hatred and blood wellingfrom his mouth. He can’t stop coughing. It hurts. “Red!” hescreams. “Red, Blue, come here now!”

“Theytoo have abandoned you,” hisses Henrik. “Their brotherhoodovercomes your own.”

“Impossible,”Anti shrieks. “Impossible.”

“Youare alone,” says Henrik. “As you were always meant to be. I toldJameson you were inescapable, do you know that? Strange. Just daysago, you seemed deathless. But I have been watching your collapse.You have made yourself mortal. Maybe you will haunt us, after all, aghost, a memory. But you will never lay a hand on my family again.”

Anticoughs until he is sprawled against the earth, writhing in blood, inchunks of his own lungs, in hatred. He tries one last time to stopHenrik, and even makes him stagger back, confused, torn – but thislapse in control is enough to make the boy on the throne jerk back toreality, staggering to his feet and coming to stand at Henrik’s side,grabbing his hand and assuring him, comforting him, standing withhim.

Together,they are stronger than he is.

Forall that they have suffered, Jameson and Henrik are stronger thanAnti, stronger than hatred, stronger than blood.

Henrikraises the scalpel, and teaches his tormentor pain.

Teacheshis tormentor weakness.

Jackiereturns with medicine and food and masks and oxygen, filled with herocourage, hero strength, brother love. Marvin and Chase breathe. Antidoes not.

Henrikand Jameson cling to each other.

Nomore running. No more fighting. No more abuse. Just family. Gone isthe darkness. Here is the light, their stars, their brothers, alive.

Andfrom then on, when pain comes and they are haunted, well, the five ofthem face it together, as they did once before, and some day, oneday, soon, health and joy will come like sunlight in the morning,warm as the ashes of a fire proud and bright.

“Yousaved me,” says Jameson, warm against Henrik’s shoulder, trustingagainst his chest. “You saved me.”

“No,” says Henrik. “You, little brother, are the salvation Ihave longed for.”

#jameson jackson #antisepticeye #jse egos #bee writes #tw torture #tw hypnosis #tw pneumonia #tw abuse #so many ideas i just needed to get out there and this hit on so many of them #might polish it up one day and get a real story out of it #hope you enjoy #dapper and badass

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notribs · 5 years ago

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hello hello ! it is may again and i... am still 20, using she/her, and in the eastern standard timezone. i can’t say that’s changed in the amount of time between intros. anyway, i do want to say that i like this gif because i feel like it.............. is an accurate representation of ribs at........... almost all times.

‹ TREVANTE RHODES, HE/HIM, CIS MAN, BISEXUAL. › DAVID “RIBS” SHAFFER is the TWENTY-EIGHT year old from EMERYVILLE, CA. when a friend asked them what they thought of the manor they said, ❝ IT LOOKS LIKE SOMEWHERE JAMIE LEE WOULD BE LURED INTO. ❞ they claim ANY HORROR MOVIE WITH JAMIE LEE CURTIS IN IT is their favorite scary movie, and if they were to die in a horror film they would EXPLAIN TO THE KILLER THAT THERE WAS NO WAY HE MET THE CRITERIA FOR THE ‘FINAL GIRL’… JUST TO BE KILLED IN THE MIDDLE OF HIS SPEECH. their fears include HALLUCINATING, PARALYZATION and FIREWORKS, and they don’t know we know, but… HE MADE MONEY AS A DEALER WHILE HE WAS STILL WAITING FOR THE BAND TO TAKE OFF. hope they enjoy their stay. ‹ MUSE B from STRESSED OUT. ›

QUICK FACTS:

full name: david “ribs” isaiah shaffer

date of birth: december 1, 1992

*does not perfectly reflect the below Big Three zodiac chart because that’s so much math

zodiac big three: sagittarius sun, capricorn moon, pisces rising

gender & pronouns: cis man & he/him

sexual orientation: bisexual

occupation: drummer + backup songwriter + history of drug dealing

the song i listen to on repeat while i write the intro: “make or break” - bugzy malone

BACKGROUND INFO:

triggers: violence, mentions of drug dealing, very very very brief mention of self-harm (not the product of a mental illness which is why i forgot to include this until i looked at it again this morning - the product of wanting to keep a lie), very very brief mention of guns and fire in the ‘fears’ section

born to a very loving family bc i need a sunnier background hasfkljwas

david was never EVER academically inclined. he’ll tell you it’s because he just wasn’t interested and was too involved in music and boxing, both of which will be gone over soon, but that wasn’t entirely true. he was also very busy working odd jobs days and nights as a kid and days and nights at successful businesses when he was 16+ (see: papa john’s)

his parents did own a music shop! they were clearly doing their part! but, in the digital era and the era of guitar center, they were only getting so much traction. they were also much too calm about it, at least outwardly, so david felt as though he needed to help.

but it is true that he spent a lot of time practicing music and boxing! as just mentioned, his parents owned a music store and were both very musically inclined. they taught him how to be, at the very least, INTERMEDIATE at as many instruments as possible. he can now confidently say that, if the band ever needed it, he could play the guitar, piano, bass, or saxophone.

that being said, his instrument of choice was the drums. he began using jazz drummers, as well as various hip-hop beats, as his inspiration. his original inspirations were buddy rich, gene krupa, chico hamilton, art blakey, and the beats of grime and 90s rap.

it shows.

when he ventured into other genres, however, he began taking inspiration from nick mason, john bonham, neil peart, keith moon, ginger baker, karen carpenter, and ringo starr

(i have a music theory + history lesson for you if you think ringo is a bad drummer ok - he was a “songwriter’s drummer,” which is much more important to being a drummer in a band than being technically skilled or being able to show off with complex patterns and, thus, overshadowing the song. that’s why the beatles continued asking ringo to play the drums on their songs, even after they broke up. john lennon never said “he’s not even the best drummer in the beatles” - a radio dj made that joke and people started taking it literally. love that.)

(also the same goes for nick mason but his drumming is rly only brought up when he’s brought up since pink floyd isn’t as talked about as the beatles)

ALSO!!! i have decided to be passionate about karen carpenter because girl won a 1975 poll that pit her against john bonham for best drummer and he got so mad and said she couldn’t last ten minutes with led zeppelin. the following is just alleged, but oh my god i hope it’s true: then she proceeded to compliment his drumming, say that she thinks it’s all very subjective, then got behind her set and played “babe i’m gonna leave you” while singing and not missing a single note. we have decided to stan forever.

he also took up boxing. as a kid, he was just practicing and taking any excess frustration out. when he turned 14, however, he found an opportunity in an underground circuit. he started fighting against other people, for real, and would be paid if he won the fight.

so: school from 8a-3p, drum practice from 3:30p-7:30p (i know), family from 8p-10p, boxing from 11p-2a.

his parents knew he boxed, but didn’t know it was as dangerous as it was. they assumed there were more safeguards in place..... but boy was bringing in a LOT of money for there to be a lot of safeguards in place. because of this, david NEVER let them see his matches.

when he was 16, he’d broken his ribs during one of the fights and refused to see a doctor over it. what did he say happened when his parents could TELL something was wrong? he said that he’d been mugged and beaten up. to support this theory, before he ‘showed’ it to them, he dug into himself with a knife to make it look like the muggers had a switchblade.

from there on out, he made everyone call him “ribs”

did his parents ever wonder where his excess income was coming from? DEFINITELY. he told them that, yes, his MINIATURE matches did bring in some money, but the rest of the money came from tips!! because people are clearly that generous!!

he also never showed them the full amount. he’d only give what was necessary, not out of selfishness, rather to keep his secret and save them from worrying about him. he put it in a savings account.

it should also be addressed that, during this time, he became friends with who would become the guitarist in his future band, joakim. he witnessed joakim fight a homophobic teenager and desperately wanted to join in... but his ribs were broken ahflskd

he continued boxing, even after being introduced to joakim’s college friend, gabe - the future singer of their band. that being said, they began jamming with each other and played in a few local circuits.

his parents were very encouraging of this and told him that he should go for this as a career opportunity.

can you tell they were idealists?

he wanted to... but it was very impractical. by now, however, he was out of school (and he never went to college). his parents let him continue living with them since they were under the belief they were short on cash and it’d be difficult for him to find an affordable apartment under the papa john’s salary.

he decided to take his parents up on this... but, while he was waiting for his band to find success, their music store was closed down. as they both began looking desperately for new jobs, he realized that papa john’s and the fighting payment wasn’t quite enough anymore... so he started selling drugs.

he doesn’t keep his fighting a secret anymore, but he does keep his drug dealing a secret. he fears that it’ll perpetuate stereotypes.

during one of his band’s gigs, he and the others met their future bassist - the missing piece - rory. she was marginally younger than they were, but she was an extremely talented bassist and songwriter, so the lineup was finally complete and devil’s wine was formed.

when they began skyrocketing, he quit drug dealing. he also stopped the dangerous boxing, although he continues to... box safely. he began sending money back home after they really started succeeding. his mother got a teacher licensure in music and his father got the opportunity to own..... a guitar center.

if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em.

VERY IMPORTANT: uses a pearl custom kit, istanbul cymbals, aquarian heads, and vic firth sticks.

that was very important.

PERSONALITY INFO:

literally obsessed with jamie lee curtis. watching her movies has also made him very genre-savvy.

would genuinely die for her.

is the epitome of bob belcher’s “oh my god.” in his band. they get off topic during practice/recording just ONCE?? queue “oh my god.” and the gif above.

isn’t necessarily ashamed of his past dealings (literally) - like, joakim knows - but is genuinely afraid of perpetuating the stereotype of the dirty black boy. he’s open about the rest of his life, but he’s convinced that if people learn he used to sell drugs, he would be setting people back. having a black drummer in a rock band that’s on the radio? he needs to keep up appearances!!

never wears shirts during concerts. has to show off his ribs and also drumming, with a bunch of lights directly on him, is an extreme exercise and guaranteed sweat machine. dresses like bugzy malone otherwise.

ahflskjd again,,, like adrian,,, look @ his chart ig alhkfjd

FEARS:

hallucinating: he hates not only the idea of losing his mind, but also the idea of having a skewed view of reality after he really... saw reality, you know? his uncle had schizophrenia and, while he rarely saw him, the thought of going through what his uncle had/has to go through terrifies him.

paralyzation: this was a constant worry of his during his boxing matches - he was terrified someone would wind up taking out a firearm and would shoot him into a state of paralysis. not to mention, all limbs are required for both drumming and boxing.... so.

fireworks: less deep than the others. the house next door to his was set on fire due to a firework display being too close. while no one died and most of the house was salvaged, the idea of losing anything he has is terrifying to him. also the sounds they make remind him of guns so?

WANTED CONNECTIONS:

ok,,, so unlike adrian,,, he lived in california,,, a state many other characters lived in. while some cities in california can be like,,,, seven hours away,,, IT’S STILL AN IMPROVEMENT, so i’ll list a few past connection ideas too!

fans

people who hate his music

people who’ve seen one of his matches

old friends

someone who was constantly in his parents’ music store

exes

fwb

ons

???? im bad at connections!!!!!! but im down for brainstorming and/or working off of urs!!!!!!

#manor:talk #will be updated when more is figured out w his subplot ofc!!

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smilingformoney · 6 years ago

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America’s Most Eligible 2 Diamond Scene: Tell Vince Off

You: Vince, you and your smug attitude are going down. Vince: Me? Whatever could I have done? You: You are so fake! You play this character all day long to protect your stupid website and your precious brand! Vince: My expertise has helped millions live out their dreams and become their best selves! You: You don’t really believe that… do you? Vince: Facts don’t depend on whether you believe in them or not, Jamie. You: It’s too bad your fans don’t get to see who you really are. They deserve to know…

You: You’re… -A world-class manipulator.

You: You get off on toying with people because it makes you feel powerful, but the Jury members aren’t puppets to be played with.

-Borderline obsessed!

You: I beat you, but rather than admit it, you’re hell-bent on dragging my team down too! You: Newsflash, Vince. Getting everyone to vote against me won’t put the $500,000 in your account.

Vince rolls his eyes. Vince: You can’t rewrite history, Jamie. If you don’t like how you’re portrayed, then maybe next time you’ll be on your best behaviour. You make eye contact with Adam, and a thought occurs to you. You: You’re right, Vince. I can’t change the past… but I’m not the only one who has one, either. You: Since you’re so keen to share my dirty laundry…

You: Let’s discuss… -Your underhanded tactics!

You: I seem to recall a certain ‘Bad Boy’ rival of yours being thrown from a bull… Vince: I had nothing to do with that! You: Fine. How about the time you and Sierra stabbed him in the back, then? Or was that not you either? Vince: I’m sorry, but my win that season is clouding my memory… Were you there? Vince: Because if not, it’s my word against his. You: I think I’ll take his.

-Why Adam intimidates you so much.

You: Is it because he’s a better person than you, or just because he’s better looking? Vince: Now I know you’re joking. I have fans across the world, a winning season under my belt, and a successful business. Vince: He’s never even finished a season. What could I possibly be intimidated by? Vince chances the briefest of looks at Adam, and you see his façade crack just a bit. You: Oh, I know… You: It’s because he’s naturally everything you have to pretend to be… Isn’t it?

Vince’s eyes shoot daggers at you, but his face remains unflappable. Vince: Once again, ‘perfect’ Jamie is the authority on something she knows nothing about. You: That’s where you’re wrong, Vince. After a season together, I know you better than you think. Vince: This I can’t wait to hear. Please, dazzle me with your knowledge, Jamie. You: You realised what a big mistake you made sabotaging Adam during Season 9, and instead of apologising, you’d rather torment him… You: Because it’s the only way he’ll give you the time of day.

You: And honestly it’s… -Kinda sweet.

You: In some weird, maladjusted way… You’re acting out because you miss his friendship. Mackenzie: That’s what you took from that? You: I’m not saying it’s right. Just that…

-Pathetic.

You: You’re a grown man. You should have mastered the art of apologies a long time ago. You: Clearly you’re the product of poor parenting, but all your behaviour proves is…

You: At the end of the day, power may be the key to success, stability, and self-assurance… You: but the only thing it pairs well with is an overpriced wine. Adam +4 Adam: It… all makes sense now. Derek +4 Derek: Wow. That was deep. Mackenzie +4 Mackenzie: Remind me to come to you the next time I need a deep dive into my psyche, Jamie. Vince: Please. What good has friendship ever done? I’d rather be feared than loved. You: Vince, I could be furious with you, but really, all I feel is pity. At that, Vince’s face turns a dark red, and fury colours every inch of his expression. Vince: You… pity me? Vince: I don’t need your pity! I have fame. I have followers. Vince: But most importantly, I have money! I could buy and sell every last one of you. Yvette +4 Yvette: If I were you, I’d invest in some class. Bianca +4 Bianca: Or at the very least, a chill pill. Bianca: It’s a game. Eliminated Villain +4 Eliminated Villain: Honestly, I’ve been waiting for that to happen all season. He was wound entirely too tight. Heath/Eden +4 Heath/Eden: I am so glad I get to watch this dumpster fire instead of being in it. Ronan +4 Ronan: When did AME become such a disgrace? In my day, we accepted our losses with dignity. Vince: Wait! That’s not what I… I just-- You: Maybe you should just apologise and see yourself to your seat. Everyone on set turns to look at a red-faced and embarrassed Vince. Vince: I’m… Vince: Sorry. He turns on his heel and heads to his chair among the other Jury members.

What do you do? -Tell Ivy off! -Tell Slater off! -Take the high road.

You: (That felt amazing, but I shouldn’t overdo it.) Mackenzie: Go, Jamie! Carson: Well then… now that we’ve gotten that off of our chests, please… welcome these two as they join the ranks of our All-Star Jury! Carson: Let’s see them off with a round of applause.

-If you already told Allied Villain off

Carson: Leave it to Jamie to bring some drama to every episode! You: What would AME be without drama? Carson: Well-said. Now, let’s see our All-Stars off with a round of applause.

#playchoices #choices ame #choices america’s most eligible #america's most eligible #choices stories you play

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chiwoopsie · 6 years ago

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“Songs I’ve Been Obsessed With Lately” tag

tagged by: @s-lay-ing (i’ve been really busy/tired from work lately so i’m just getting to this now 😅😅 BUT THANK YOU FOR TAGGING ME CLOUD!!)

tagging: EVERYONE WHO’S READING THIS AND WANTS TO DO THIS TAG (i would love to see what y’all are listening to~)

rules: list 10 songs you are obsessed with and write a little comment about why everybody needs to listen to them

1. Our Page by Shinee - Watching the live performances of Our Page with the lyrics was really powerful bc you could see the members singing their heart out every single time as if to make sure jonghyun could hear what they had to say to him from the heavens. The song is sad but also uplifting and conveys a sense of healing/closure from none other than the members themselves 🌹

2. This Is Not A Love Song by Eric Nam - ERICCCCC!!! i fkin love everything on his latest album but this song has a laid back beat that i can still jam to, not to mention Eric’s voice makes for easy listening. Also the title is cute and lowkey sassy LOL

3. Save Me by Jero and Jamie Park - I only know this song bc it was on a Spotify playlist lol but it’s really a gem. Jamie is a talent who is being done dirty by JYP 😤😤 she deserves so much better. Idk much about Jero but both of their voices are very complementary in this ~melancholy duet. Perfect for rainy days.

4. Shoot Me by Day6 - BANG BANG NEOYE BULLET BULLET BULLET istg this was the first thing that went through my head when i woke up one morning like it’s that catchy. It has more emo rock vibes than I prefer in my pop-rock songs but catch me rocking out to Shoot Me any time

5. Who Waits For Love by Shinee - I’m gonna cheat and put two Shinee songs on here bc I think their whole “The Story of Light” series of EPs is a masterpiece. But I remember loving Who Waits For Love the first time I heard it and I still consider it one of my favorites. Whenever I listen to the song, I always imagine walking/skipping through a field of tall vegetation on a gray cloudy day, which is calming to me for some reason 🤷‍♀️

6. Anpanman by BTS - When I first heard Anpanman, I thought my boys were stoopid for singing a song about Anpanman out of all things ngl. But after watching their stages, I fell for the cuteness and lyrics so I have a newfound appreciation/obsession with this song. Fun Fact: I only checked out their Anpanman performances in hopes to be inspired for Superhero Day at work :’)

7. I’m So Sick by Apink - In a comeback season featuring a lot of similar-sounding summer bops, I’m So Sick has a more sophisticated vibe that I find ironically refreshing, especially because it’s by Apink. The MV and live performances are aesthetic goals like I have serious wardrobe envy and I definitely found myself going on a Youtube run with this song ❤

8. Get It by Pristin V - I had my doubts about whether these girls could pull off a powerful badass concept without looking too cheesy/tacky but once I heard the first few seconds of Get It, I knew it was gonna be a good one. Although I feel that Nayoung’s rap is a little out of place, the song has a certain swagger to it that is addicting af

9. Crazy in Love by Monsta X - I’m only just now getting into this song and appreciating its slow sexy qualities. Crazy in Love has a similar feel to From Zero, which is another one of my faves, so I am totally whipped for it, especially when Jooheon and Changkyun do their thing. I’m probably gonna have an elated emotional breakdown when I see them perform it live haha...

10. Call Call Call by Seventeen - I can’t end a song rec tag without mentioning the classic that is Call Call Call! Just the amount of energy the song, MV, and choreo give off is infectious and quintessentially Seventeen ❤❤❤ I hafta give Pledis credit for not pulling any punches for the group’s Japanese debut b/c Call Call Call is p e r f e c t i o n

#these songs are kinda old bc i havent had much time to listen to newer releases :(((#all i hear these days is kidzbop bc i work at a summer camp OTL #wHERE IS YOUR TAG #songs of the week

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ladygloucester · 7 years ago

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Scáthach - Chapter 1

Well guys, I think this is probably my most personal work ever. I know it will sound quite outlandish (ha.) and even feel Claire and Jamie out of character. One thing I love about fanfic writing is that I feel so comfortable with these characters that I feel like I can bend them in ways I wouldn’t be able to do with others I created from scratch. So apologies if this is too far from what you like to see.

Watch out for language, triggers and all that stuff.

Prologue

I won’t go all David Copperfield on you. I consider you smart enough to recognize that if I’m here, talking to you, I might as well have been born in order to do so. What a presumptuous prick, that David. Anyway. Even though I’ve gone through basically the same stages of life as any other human being, I can’t say that I consider myself so. Not fully, at least. I’m what we call a Scáthach. Yeah, pretty much as the celtic deity, we’re that very original. Calling myself a warrior woman in the middle of the XXI century will sound… well, probably as presumptuous as our friend David. But it’s the truth. I am a warrior indeed, one that fights shit you wouldn’t even imagine before I told you so.

I won’t bother you with the same boring pest I had to deal with when they first approached me. You’ll thank me for that later. But the thing is, a Scáthach is pretty much what whoever that has ever played a video game, read a fantasy novel or watched a tv show would call a demon hunter. Well, demon falls actually a bit short. There are all kinds of disgusting beings, if you may call them so, in the Dubnos, but for anyone that’s not familiar with the hierarchies and classifications of the The Deep, we can stick with that. Demon.

I can hear you rolling your eyes so hard at me. I understand it. I used to think this was all bullshit. But well, I’ve had enough of my share of experiences —and whisky— to quiet my skepticism. But I’ll help you swallow this rather thick pill. Have you ever realized your friend, your coworker, even your neighbor is suddenly behaving completely out of character? Have you heard of those people that change their lives in the blink of an eye, turning it upside down and destroying themselves in the process? Have you even felt it? That unforeseen sting of desperation in the bottom of your heart when everything seems to be going perfectly well. That fit of lust that drives you into the arms of another person while your partner is happily waiting for you at home. That outburst of anger that pushes your feet on the gas pedal, terrorizing every other driver in the highway.

I thought so.

Science tries to give it an explanation. A man suddenly murders his entire family while his friends can’t understand how the loveliest of fathers would stab the love of his life to death. Psychiatrists say he had an underlying disorder. One nobody ever noticed. Not a single action in his behavior ever betrayed it. And yet, we all swallow it down, nod and thank God and pray that science will save us all. Put a tag on our diseases and magically cure them.

If only it was possible. I wouldn’t be here.

That is the doing of a demon, clever enough to make us believe that our brains would do that to ourselves, defying millions of years of evolution and self-preserving instincts. They find a way to sneak up on us and infect us. Of course there are people depressed. Angry people. People obsessed with others. Demons are not the cause of every single evil in the world, illogical as it may sound. But those unexpected explosions that ultimately breaks the person that feels them, of those they are responsible. Don’t fool yourself.

So I take care of them. That’s what I do for a living. Well, not out in the open, that’s for sure. In “real life” I volunteer at The Royal London Hospital. It’s most convenient to have access to quick meds and professionals when you work in a field like mine. But not for me, I… well, my body behaves slightly differently. Which is an advantage, you’ll see. Whenever I’m free and I have the time, I drop by the hospital and take a quick look to see if they need a hand. They once tried to put me on a schedule. It took them a couple of days to realize it wasn’t going to work, so since I’m nice and useful, they usually let me do my thing without making much of a fuss.

So far, I’ve told you about (a bit of) my job, my other job and what I am. But I haven’t told you my name yet.

I’m Claire.

And I’m alone.

Not that I care. I mean, it would be nice to have someone to have a Sunday lunch with, but it won’t keep me awake at night. Not most of the nights, at least. I’ve never been one to have many friends. Mainly because my line of work is an unpredictable one. People use to get tired of you when you cancel dates and plans more often than you make it.

Ok, now wait a second… I’m painting a fairly sociopathic image of myself. I may not win Miss Congeniality this year, but I’m not a bad person. Well, I wouldn’t say that I qualify as a person either, but you get what I mean. I do this to help others that can’t help themselves. So I think that should give me a few points.

Are we clear then? I slay demons, people live to see another day and I go home all by myself. Again, most of the nights.

The day it all changed I was about to leave the hospital after a short shift helping around, wheeling some elderly patients around and trying to crack them up with my stupid jokes. I loved to hear them laugh with their shot voices, always reprimanding me for being too crude. I know it’s a weird hobby, getting a chuckle out of those old crocks, but I guess it’s one of the quirks of being an orphan, unable to joke around with your own folks. Yay me. When my cellphone beeped, I snuck it out of my black jeans and checked it.

Frank. Shit.

“Tell me.”

“Hi Claire, how’s your—”

“Cut the crap. What is it?“ I demanded as I walked into a nearby alley. The sun was already setting and I knew I’d be in need of a dark, secluded place to open the Membrane sooner rather than later. Oh, wait. The Membrane, haven’t told you about that yet, have I? Well, just let me get through with this asshole.

“Ok,” the voice came through the speaker colder and snarky. “There’s a situation. You need to cross and take care of a deamhan that has found an weak spot in the Membrane. There’s a human involve, but don’t care about it. We’re already counting him as a hero.”

A hero. Yeah, they were hypocritical enough to give that name to the humans that died as a result of an unexpected encounter with a deamhan. Sometimes we were late and there was nothing we could do. Other times, fewer, I got orders to leave them be. Very ethical.

“Ok, show me.”

I hung up and closed my eyes. The image began to solidify in the back of my mind, slowly adding detail, color, texture, even smell. Well, stink. Even a foul taste flooded my mouth. I got it. Let me tell you about the Membrane, quick and dirty. In order to cross to the Dubnos, The Deep, if you prefer, you don’t have to pay the boatman to sail through the Styx lagoon. Though it would be pretty cool. No, between our two worlds there is a separation, a physical barrier that only a few of us can cross. The Membrane, that’s it. It works like an osmosis process. There’s part of you that stays back in the world of the living, and another that’s able to pass through. The Dubnos is restricted to the demons. So… yeah, you guessed right. I’m part demon myself. That’s why I can cross the Membrane back and forth, and live in both sides of it. Hope I didn’t freak you out. I don’t have scales or a pointy tale or bug eyes. Well, those I only have them in the Dubnos. Otherwise I wouldn’t be able to see shit there. But they usually fade after a while once I’ve come back. Don’t look at me that way, I’m sure you’ve ended a few nights out looking far worse.

With the deamhan crystal clear in my mind, I opened the Membrane. I usually can open it anywhere. I just need it to be a dark place, without sunlight directly on it, and without prying eyes around, if only not to scare them to death. So I did it once again. I extended my hand with my fingers firmly aligned, acting like a blade able to cut the viscid film. It slowly pried open, parting like a primeval womb not giving pass to life, but rather absorbing it into its depths. I was already accustomed to the transition, but it always felt like losing a part of you that you were never positive you’d be able to gain back.

The first thing that hits you when you enter the Dubnos is the smell. There’s nothing that can compare to it. Like a mixture of ammonia and really, really rotten eggs. Only stinkier. I could only perceive it in the back of my nose. Once I cross the Membrane, most of my human senses are left behind and… well, demons aren’t particularly squeamish about stenches. Their sense of smell works differently, like a hound’s, but only sensitive to selective traces. I had the odor of that deamhan Frank had sent me still vivid in my nostrils. I sniffed around, trying to pick a scent. The path became distinct in a few seconds, my eyes able to discern it as if it was marked with bread crumbs. An eerie synesthesia, but definitely a useful one.

Even though it works as some sort of shadow of the reality, a muffled copy of the real world, time and space work a little differently in The Deep. Demons don’t have a natural sense of any of them, since they’re maleable, bendable. The same rules we have don’t apply there. So reaching the coast took me less than getting to the tube from the hospital. I’m a bit faster here as well, so by the time I could feel the power of the waves crashing against the jagged cliffs, I slowed down and crouched. There it was.

A thread, thinner than the thousandth part of a hair, came out of an amorphous blob of flesh, almost transparent, like muddy water. I frowned. If I recalled correctly, the human was already far gone. But the the opposite end of that thread was attached to a man. I could distinguish his form, a nebulous, barely distinctive shape on top of precipice. The deamhan was having a rough time pulling form its end. Usually once they were able to tie it to a person, the effect was instant. Most of the times there wasn’t even a struggle. But this wasn’t one of those. He was fighting. Even with his bare foot sticking out of the rock into the void of an indomitable sea, he was still holding on for dear life.

I could wait. You see, I could let the deamhan do its thing and let that poor bastard fall to his death. But remember when I told you that sometimes I get orders to leave them to their own devices? Well. I’m a shitty minion.

The fight was over before it began. By the time the demon became aware of my presence, I had already inserted my left arm all the way into its body, while I was tangling the thread around my right in order to withdraw it. The beast started to convulse, I clenched my teeth and looked away. It was stronger than I had foreseen. Painfully slowly, it initiated the process of swallowing my arm. I could feel its juices pouring on my skin, burning it. I pulled back but it was too far stuck. The thread broke. It was a shit show. I was there, a human about to kill himself and I, to be eaten and digested.

I closed my eyes. If I wanted it to work, I had to work quickly. With my right arm free, at least I was able to use it. The thread was surrounding it, hurting like acid on an open wound. I placed my palm against the slimy surface of the deamhan while I grabbed its insides with my other hand, and pulled. I pulled so hard I felt the muscles of my back strain and break. The energy started to condensate on the tips of my fingers. I hadn’t had to use it in quite sometime, so it took me longer than I expected. But by the time the bastard realized what was happening, it was a smoking spot on the floor.

I fell backwards, out of breath. Or I’d be if only I breathed there. Took me a second to remember the human. I looked at where he had been a second before, but he wasn’t there. He was already falling.

Fuck.

There was no time to think. I could see his shape plunging through the air, near the hair-raisingly sharp rocks of the cliff. Time slowed down to a tortuously lethargic cadence, enough for me to leap forward as fast as I could —which is, to be honest, faster than your eye could see—, as I opened the Membrane and pushed myself through. It slowed me down, but I had got enough momentum, more than enough to counter gravity. With the agonic rush I completely miscalculated the strength I was going to impact on his body with. I felt his shoulder pop out of the socket and his mouth crash against my (rather thick) head as I catapulted us over the cliff. I managed to protect him from further damage as we landed by, well, basically using my own body as an airbed. Not the best sensation, it crossed my mind, as I became aware of the size of the man. He lay on top of me, a dead weight that almost kept me from breathing properly, a few seconds before I crawled from underneath and turned him over on his back. My arms were still burned. In the Dubnos I was able to heal rather quickly, but once I crossed the Membrane back, my human body would became a burden. I still healed at an abnormal pace, but it was much more painful.

I could feel the ligaments of my jaw tightening with the pain, but I had no more time to waste. I straddled his waist, tore his shirt open and he, opportunistic as hell, decided it was the best time to come back from the dead. Or the unconscious. Whatever. So picture this: luckily, last thing he’ll probably remember is jumping off a cliff. Now he regains consciousness and a woman with black scleras and burnt arms is ripping his clothes off. If I’m the slightest bit less lucky, he’ll remember me, emerging from thin air, looking like I’m flying —and damn, I wish I could but that’s actually something I’m completely unable to do— and tackling him into safety. And ripping his clothes off, no, there’s no way to elude that.

“A Dhia…”

He tried to squirm out of my grasp with the arm he was still able to move, but I pushed him hard against the soft grass.

“Quiet,” I hissed while I gave him my most terrifying look. Which then was, well, actually the only look I had. He froze, trying to puzzle his memories, to instill some kind of reasoning into them, fighting the unlikeliness of it all. I arched an eyebrow, staring at him, waiting till he finally made up his mind provisionally. He had felt my strength. He knew, somewhere deep inside, he was at my mercy. Then, his eyes left mine for a second only to discover the wounded skin of my arms.

“Mary, Michael and Bride, your arms are burnt!”

“I. Said. Quiet.”

The fight behind his eyes began again for a few seconds, but he finally stopped wriggling and I was able to inspect his chest. Remember what I told you about the demons? About how they corrupt human beings? Well. that was precisely what that this human had been subjected to. Good thing I still had my bug eyes. I wouldn’t win a beauty contest, but it made it easier for me to find the corruption inside a body. I already suspected where it was. Despair was usually inserted near the heart. I placed my hand on his left pectoral and focused. This one was deep. I began pulling and his face became shadowed by the pain. It’s not the most pleasant process, but I’ve always found humans to be quite receptive to it. As if they knew, somehow, that the pain they feeling is a curative one. Gradually, a conical shape, with a dirty forest green shade, emerged from the flesh.

I let myself sat on the soft grass and sighed, looking at it. My human side felt the call of it, the words in the back of my mind, the pain that would conquer me if I let it. The waving surface was almost mesmerizing. I fell on my back and indulged in the cool feeling of the pasture and the first drops of rain. I heard him move, sitting up and closing his shirt. I could smell the blood from his broken lip. That could be a problem and staying there would only make it worse.

“Who are you?” He whispered, probably not sure if he had dreamt the whole thing, lost his mind or was having the worst trip in history.

I stood up as the rain began to pour down, appreciative of the coolness it impressed on my burns.

“You’ll be just fine. Don’t ever come back here. If you go south you’ll find a small train station if you want to go to the City. There won’t be enough light to go anywhere else.”

I rubbed my hands against my jeans and shrugged, not knowing what else to say. He wasn’t moving and kept staring at me like he was seeing a ghost. Which wasn’t too far from the truth, so who could blame him.

“Well, I—”

“Wait.” He grabbed my wrist and raised my arm, inspecting my clearly healing wounds.

“Do you really want to freak yourself out any more?”

He looked me with those slanted, incredibly blue eyes, as I realized for the first time, and let go of my wrist.

“What’s that… thing you pulled from my body?”

It was my time to freak out.

“You can see this?” I showed him the green cone and raised my eyebrows in absolute astonishment. He nodded, frowning.

“Why?”

“You aren’t supposed to be able to see a Fang. Nobody can.”

“Well, not nobody,” he pointed with indisputable common sense.

I was gaping like a fish out of water. I’ve seen plenty of terrifying, upsetting, disgusting, crippling stuff. Enough to make me almost immune to surprise. But this caught me perfectly out of balance. My eyes travelled from the Fang to his eyes, and I could tell he was waiting for an explanation. Probably more than one. Then, my gaze felt unavoidably attracted to the cut on his lip. My heart was already racing, and I didn’t know how much I could restrain myself.

“This— Remember what you felt when you jumped off?” A semblance of shame covered his features and nodded. “This is it. It wasn’t you. This made you jump.“

“But…”

“I have to go.“

“Wait!” He grabbed my wrist again but I pulled violently as soon as our skins made contact.

“Just wipe that fucking blood of your face!” I snapped, and it was his time to be caught off guard. I started pacing around, nervously. “I can’t stay. I can’t help you anymore. Go on, live your life and all that shit.“

And I vanished.

#scáthach #outlander #outlander fanfic #outlander fanfiction #ladygoutlanderfic #Jamie Fraser #jamie x claire #claire beauchamp #fanfiction #modern au

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the1975hqs · 7 years ago

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He’s Matty Healy of art-pop heroes The 1975. She’s Heather Baron-Gracie of pop newcomers Pale Waves. The first time Matty heard Heather’s band he declared he needed to work with them. Two singles, a video and a mega US tour later, Pale Waves are on course to be your new favourite band. We meet the mentor and mentee in London.

The hub of The 1975’s empire is not, as you might expect, an airy, pink neon-lit, minimalist space with Rothkos hanging on the walls. It is, instead, a top-floor unit in a building on a courtyard trading estate in west London. The floor below has a place stocking Christmas supplies, and even on this humid September day, Santa’s grotto twinkles back at you through the open door.

Upstairs is the HQ of Dirty Hit, the record label founded by The 1975’s manager, Jamie Oborne, as a vehicle for the band he discovered as Cheshire teenagers. Now it’s home to some of the UK’s most exciting bands, from the established, such as Wolf Alice, to rising stars such as The Japanese House – whose ‘Pools To Bathe In’ EP was produced by 1975 frontman Matty Healy and drummer George Daniel – and new signing No Rome. There’s a particular up-and-coming band that Healy has really taken under his wing, taking them on tour in the States, co-producing their first two singles and directing the video for the second, ‘Television Romance’ – and that band is Pale Waves.

“I was just so excited to hear a band that was positioned in the left, an alternative band, that was so in tune with pop sensibilities,” says Healy, sat in Oborne’s office, the pungent smell of marijuana emanating from somewhere about his person. “It kind of reminded me of The Cure or The Primitives or bands like that – it’s the happy/sad thing loads of bands have thrived on. I saw them first at Dingwalls, and there was this truth in there. There’s a naivety and a purity to them and an honesty to them that kind of comes through in their music.”

Frontwoman Heather Baron-Gracie, who receives a warm, brotherly hug from Matty after plonking herself on the sofa next to him, puts it more succinctly: “I just love pop music, and when it makes you feel something, it’s even better.” Heather, 22, formed the band four years ago with her best mate Ciara Doran. Joining later were guitarist Hugo Silvani and bassist Charlie Wood. Two women, two men; two goths, two skinny indie boys – it’s a look that shouldn’t work, but it just does. “People say we’re like two sets of twins,” says Heather. “You couldn’t dress Hugo and Charlie up as goths because it just wouldn’t work. Well, we do the make-up sometimes and dress them up in my little skirts and things – but that’s just for us.”

Matty is at pains to point out the precise extent of his involvement in Pale Waves. “The songs were there, so my involvement in writing was only editing,” he says. “I always have a fear of being overbearing. I know what it’s like to be want to be prided on your own merits, and I would hate to be resented by an artist for feeling I’d strong-armed my involvement for my own personal gain.”

Mainly, the message is that Pale Waves are perfectly capable of writing songs on their own – Matty’s a facilitator, not a svengali. And what songs they are. The group’s two singles so far are the near-flawless sugar rush of 2016’s ‘There’s A Honey’ and the heart-melting crush of 2017 follow-up ‘Television Romance’.

The video for the latter was directed by Matty. What’s he like in director mode? “I’m very aggressive, but Heather gives as much as she gets so it’s all good,” he says. “We don’t do miming, we do have the track on at full volume. So I have to shout above the track, ‘LOOK SEXY!’ That’s pretty much the only thing that I shout: ‘LOOK AT THE CAMERA! LOOK F**KING SEXY!’”

The video sees Pale Waves performing in an Ashton-under-Lyne council flat in that looks like a hipster’s wet dream – all retro furnishings and kitsch collectables. It actually all belongs to the 92-year-old woman who lives there. “She had no clue what was going on but she was loving it, watching videos of The 1975 on people’s phones,” says Matty. “She didn’t actually believe it was me in the ‘Love Me’ video, because I was there with my Spielberg cap on taking it all very seriously.”

The first time Heather saw The 1975, it was accompanying her cousin, who’d won tickets to a gig. The last time, it was when Pale Waves were supporting the band on their two-month 2017 tour of huge US venues. “The first night was absolutely mental. I couldn’t even look up because I was like, ‘Oh my god’. We went from playing to about 10 people in Ireland to 7,000 people in Phoenix. It was a bit unreal.” Did Matty have any advice about that? “Yeah,” says Heather. “He said, ‘Just get on with it!’”

Though they’re friends, the tour didn’t provide much time to hang out. Matty was frazzled from the months on the road, and trying to get his head around his own band’s next album. “I was quite busy and quite down and quite emo – I’d been on tour for so f**king long,” he says. “We were pretty much doing a show every day and then when you have a day off you’re in your own little hotel and the lights are out. But it was great to watch Pale Waves grow as a band.”

Heather often writes songs with US coming-of-age films playing in the background for inspiration – her favourite being ‘Adventureland’. That sense of the apocalyptic emotion of teenage life lives in her lyrics too. “Those films set you up for going to America, but when I went I was kinda like, it isn’t what I expected. Like, we went to Hollywood at midnight and I was so scared because there’s a lot of mental people just roaming about. I was going all, ‘Take me home!’”

1975 fans have already embraced Pale Waves, and not just on Matty’s say-so. The bands share a mentality for finding romance in the everyday, and each group is formed around a creative core based on a tight friendship: Healy and best mate George, Heather and Ciara.

“That’s the thing I identify with most, the duality between them reminds me of the relationship between me and George,” says Matty, who, post-success, bought a house across the road from his bandmate to make sure he’s only ever a short skateboard ride away. “I did notice on tour that they never really did separate, never one without the other.”

Heather found Ciara on social media before starting university. “I saw a picture of her in this big group chat and I thought, ‘She’s the only one who really looks like someone I’ll get along with’. The first day we got there we met up and haven’t really been apart since then. I get scared thinking that she might not be a part of my life one day.”

Though they formed in Manchester, Heather’s home town is Preston, a no-nonsense city where the way she dresses – Robert Smith of The Cure by way of Robert Smith of The Cure – marks her out as someone different. “When I go back home to Preston, they do not take to it very well,” she says. Needless to say, her look isn’t as big a deal to her as it is to other people. “Everyone who meets me thinks I’m in a heavy metal band,” she says. “I never really call myself a goth, but others do. I’m like, maybe I am a goth?”

Matty – who adopted his own take on Heather and Ciara’s style for NME’s cameras – says their commitment to it is a mark of their authenticity. “The make-up, the hair, the whole thing, it’s not a set-up for the band. I can see those two girls being like that and needing to be in a band to express that, needing to find each other.”

Though she stands out, Heather says her teenage years were about “keeping a low profile. I didn’t really find people that I got along with,” she explains. “At school I would go to a room to play piano when everybody else was talking in the cafeteria. I’m not really into that – I’m not really a massive social person. Ciara’s always telling me off for being socially awkward but I’m just like, ‘I can’t’.”

Heather has been writing songs since the age of 11. As a teen, she would write “kind of Avril Lavigne pop”; more recently it was “folksy, emotional and stripped-back acoustic stuff like Ben Howard – not very cool music.” It changed when she met Ciara. “She said, ‘Lets try something different, because I want to make people dance at our shows and not kinda just cry: they can cry and dance.’”

Right from that first week at university, Pale Waves became Heather and Ciara’s sole focus. The band rehearse daily, and dedicate every minute of spare time to music. University was a slog she had to get through. Jobs were another unwelcome distraction. “My parents tried to get me into this job entering numbers into a computer-based system for the NHS in St Helens, and I was just not doing it,” she says. “I went to the interview looking like this, but they offered me the job anyway. It was Monday to Friday with some weekends and my brain would just be fried.”

Heather’s days of keeping a low profile may soon be over. Even now, and particularly in Manchester, she’s recognised on the street by a growing band of obsessed fans. “They always call me ‘queen’. It’s dead cute. Or ‘mum’, I get ‘mum’ a lot,” she says. “I keep seeing girls dressed like me. They ask me about make-up – I’m not even that good at make-up! It’s quite scary having people look up to you. I don’t want to mess anyone up.”

The adulation looks set to grow as Pale Waves make their careful, precise steps forward. Later today, Heather’s back with the rest of the band in the studio recording an EP. An album will follow, but not for at least a year. “With the album, I think we’re just going to show another side to us which is a lot more emotional and not as – I don’t know how to put it… Just, like, a bit more intense.”

Matty perks up. “You mean like emotionally intense?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. That’s what I’m hoping for.

#matty healy #the 1975 #pale waves #heather baron gracie #interview

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sueboohscorner · 7 years ago

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OUTLANDER S3 Ep8 : "First Wife" or.....The Bitch Is Back

Okay, so I will admit it. I didn't hate this episode as much as I thought. It was actually a pretty good episode, so I give kudos to the new writer who wrote this one.

So, just as we found out at the end of the episode, Jamie and Claire are taking Young Ian back to Lallybroch. We are spared the tedious long journey across the country from Edinburgh and we see them come through the archway. Claire admits that she never thought to see that place again. However, the greeting she receives is not as welcoming as she thought. Jenny makes a few snide comments towards Claire. "So that's why your home, tail dragging and with a stray who's dropped back into our lives after 20 years as though nothing's changed."

Everyone heads inside and of course Young Ian has to chime in that Auntie Claire killed a man only a day after she arrived. "Killed him good!" he boasts. Claire sees the dirty looks and adds that yes, it wasn't her fault, the man attacked her and most importantly it wasn't in front of Young Ian. Young Ian is ordered from the room and to make sure he is easy to find when it is time for an ass whooping.

The conversation turns on Jamie and keeping the secret of their son's whereabouts. Jamie says he thinks of Young Ian as a son himself and would do anything to keep him safe. Well, Ian speaks up and hands Jamie his belt. If he thinks of Young Ian so much like a son, then he has to discipline him as such. In a change from the book (I mean God forbid we see a spanking on screen....especially being in the 1700's!), Jamie suggests that there is another way to punish the boy. Jenny adds a snide remark to her brother, “Listen to you telling me what I should do. You must ken it’s a mortal sin to take another wife while the first still walks the Earth!” Jamie replies that he would have never done such a thing if he had known that Claire was still alive.

A little while later we see that Young Ian is made to work in the muck and straw which he complains to his sister, hanging out laundry, that it is little kids work. He's miserable. LOL! Meanwhile, Claire sees that the Fraser/Murray family breeds like freaking rabbits. She meets a few of Young Jamie and his sister, Margaret's kids running around. Both Young Jamie and Margaret were just babies themselves when Claire left.

Jamie and Jenny have a moment to themselves and Jenny asks where the hell Claire has been all these years. Jamie just gives her the half truths as with everyone else. He got Claire to safety and he went back to Culloden prepared to die. She, thinking he was dead, boarded a ship and sailed to America and she has been living in Boston until now.

Jenny is not stupid by any means and can smell a lie a mile away. She tells Jamie, "The Claire I kenned would never have stopped looking for you." Well, Jenny, it is expensive and dangerous to cross the ocean on those boats and there is no easy way to do research from over there.....so......

In their room later that evening, Claire asks Jamie why they can't just tell Jenny the truth about her time travelling abilities. After all, it worked with Murtagh. Jamie's answer? That Murtagh was a worldly man, meaning he has been around and traveled and more open minded. Jenny has never been off the estate and she just wouldn't see it the same way and be as open to it. In my opinion, that is the DUMBEST answer ever. Basically calling Jenny a simpleton. Not cool dude.

Jamie suggests they could build a nice cottage for them both on the outskirts of the estate. Claire isn't so sure, as Jenny can't even stand the sight of her. Jamie remembers back to when he thought she might have come back and tells her how he escaped Ardsmuir prison after hearing the ranting of Duncan Kerr about a white witch that guards the treasure.

Here we get to see the part missing from that episode when Jamie swam to Silkie Island to search for Claire. The swimming of that sea must have been ice cold and in reality you have to think he might have gotten hypothermia or something. However, a wet, distraught, and desperate Jamie climbs up to the old ruins on the island and starts screaming for Claire. Jamie's voice over is telling Claire that of course he didn't find her, but he turned and looked in just the right direction and saw the McKenzie clan crest etched into a stone. He removed it and found a box that held ancient coins, some jewelry and some precious stones. He knew he couldn't take it with him, so he just grabbed one sapphire, which we know is the one he gave to Lord John.

Jamie tells Claire he would have given everything to be with her again. He tells Claire, “There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you, Sassenach…” We know he is about to admit to Claire about remarrying, but the door bursts open and two girls, one with red hair, are there and one yells "Daddy!"

Before Claire can totally react to that, the girl's mother appears.....none other that the bitch Laoghaire! Told you people you wouldn't like it! She looks at Jamie and then sees Claire and yells about him being with THAT WITCH and some other choice words I am not allowed to repeat here.

She sees Claire's confused reaction and takes advantage and gloats “He didn’t tell you?” Laoghaire asks. “He’s my husband now.” Claire is stunned and Jamie rushes Laoghaire out of the room.

Claire in a shocked stupor, but anger rising by the minute, starts to gather her things to leave. Jamie re-enters the room and tries to stop her from going. Claire turns on him saying, “It’s Laoghaire,!“She tried to have me killed!” Jamie answers “You’re the one who told me to be kind to the lass." Claire scoffs and says, “I told you to thank her, not marry her!”

Claire asks the ultimate question we have all been wondering, why did he feel it okay to tell her about Willie, but NOT about his other wife, Laoghaire? Jamie admits that he was scared that she would be upset and leave and he didn't want to lose her again.

The fight escalates and Jamie throws over a washstand and contents. Then the true feelings are revealed. Jamie feels abandoned by Claire leaving which she scoffs at since HE is the one that sent her away. Claire says that she feels betrayed that Jamie was able to move on with his life without her. Jamie replies that he resents the idea of Frank raising his child and screwing his wife. He asks Claire if she knows what it is like to live without a heart for so long. Duh! Claire answers that she does, she and Frank did not have a great marriage but he was a great dad to Bree. After some more, Claire tries to leave again, Jamie grabs her arm, she demands he get his hands off of her and let her go, he refuses and they end up overcome with passion. This would have been an awesome fight sex scene. They both end up trying to rip each other's clothing off and are on the floor grunting when none other than Jenny bursts in and throws a bucket of water over them. She tells them to stop rutting like two wild animals and that the entire household could hear them. Well, can't tell them to "get a room"....they already were there. Claire walks out leaving Jamie breathless and in shock on the floor.

Downstairs Claire is staring into the fire and is asked if she wants a whiskey. It is Jenny's other daughter Janet. She hands Claire the whiskey and asks for her apologies. She was the one who went to summon Laoghaire. Claire asks why and Janet admits it was because her mother told her to do it.

Claire goes to confront Jenny and asks her why she did it. Jenny said she had to watch her brother suffer all those years and then admits to seeing Claire's ghost (in the book it is her "fetch") inbetween Laoghaire and Jamie at the wedding. Jenny asks why Claire, in 20 years never bothered to write. Not once. Claire tries the excuse that she thought Jamie was dead, but it is evident that Jenny isn't buying it. Jenny makes a remark and Claire admits to having another husband in Boston as a matter of survival. That makes Jenny stop. Jenny admits to seeing Claire as a sister and it hurt that it seemed she wanted nothing to do with the family by not writing. Jenny says that it is apparent that there is more to the story, but maybe Claire will tell her the rest someday. It is a good moment between the two.

Claire is walking past the outbuildings heading out. Jamie yells to her and she ignores him. He pleads with her not to go, but she says she made a HUGE mistake in coming back here. She reminds Jamie that he said that he promised not to lie and had her say it too. He LIED this time.

Before they can argue anymore, Laoghaire appears and has a gun which she points at Claire. "He's mine." comes up (I am getting images of an episode of Bones here....mental lady obsessed with a man). She is about to shoot and Jamie steps in front of Claire. Laoghaire accidentally shoots the gun and buckshot gets Jamie's arm. Laoghaire tries to come to Jamie's side, but Claire turns vehemently on her and actually scares her away. LOL!!

Doctor Claire comes out and they get Jamie on a table. Jamie makes a comment and Claire says that she is tempted but will not let him die. Ian is sent for hot water and Claire gets her tools and is assisted by Young Ian. It is not easy, since it is buckshot and there is one piece lodged near an artery. However, Claire is successful and gets him bandaged up.

He is resting with Claire nearby and when he stirs, Claire asks why he married that woman. He claimed that upon returning from Helwater, he had been away from Lallybroch too long.

He was like a ghost and not needed. He felt empty and possibly a little lonely especially at Hogaminy (Christmas / New Years) when Lallybroch was alive like it was when his parents were alive. Two girls come up to him and ask him to dance and he decides to do so. Afterward, he discovers that their mother is Laoghaire. She had been married a couple of times, and now was alone trying to raise her girls by herself. Jamie continues that it was okay at first, but there were days she wouldn't talk to him and she would recoil at his touch. He tried to be gentle, but it was never enough. She must have been sexually abused in her past marriages. He eventually left and ended up in Edinburgh and would send money home. Jamie starts to doze and Claire looks at him and feels his forehead. He has a high fever. She gets out the penicillin and the needle. Jamie tries to protest and asks if it will hurt and Claire jabs him in the ass. Yep.

The next day, Ned Gowan comes to visit and Claire is surprised to see that he is still alive and almost looks exactly the same. He is there to counsel Jamie on his most unfortunate circumstance named Laoghaire. Well, the good news is that since Jamie's first wife, Claire has returned, they are still married and the one with the other woman is not. However, the bitch wants something in restitution. 20 pounds plus 10 pounds a year until the girls are wed. Jamie and the family discuss the extortion of this woman and Jamie says it is his to bear, not Jenny and Ian's. He remembers the treasure on the island, but because of his arm, he can't swim across to get it. Young Ian offers himself, and Jamie admits the boy is a "brawny swimmer". From there, they will head to France to meet up with cousin Jared who will be able to exchange the goods for sterling which he will send home to get to Laoghaire. Jenny of course, hates this idea, but eventually gives in to allowing her youngest son to be a man and gain experience and adventure (don't worry....lots of that coming up in the future!)

Claire and Jamie stand on a cliff watching Young Ian swim out to the island. Claire starts to wonder if her and Jamie are still meant to be together. Jamie tells Claire about a type of bird that when hunting it and you kill one, you must wait until morning for its mate to arrive and then kill it too or it would mourn itself to death.

He says that Claire and he are mated for life. He would not live without her (again). Before they can get any deeper into their conversation, Claire notices something and has Jamie turn around. It is a ship! Jamie looks for Ian and sees him coming down from the ruins with the box. However, the ship has dispatched a boat of men, who come upon the island.

Jamie and Claire run down to the shoreline and are yelling to Ian when the men grab him, and throw him in the boat. Great.....Jenny is going to LOVE THIS ONE!

So that is where it ends this week. Finally we will be on the open sea next week for more adventure.

Tell me your thoughts in the comment section below! Overall I would say a B+ for this episode!

#Outlander Season 3 #Outlander #Outlander Starz #Outlander (TV series)#Jamie Fraser #Jenny Murray #Ian Murray #Young Ian Murray #Laoghaire MacKenzie #Sam Heughan #Caitriona Balfe #Steven Cree #Laura Donnelly #First Wife

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svubloods · 8 years ago

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Imagine your boyfriend Sonny and your brother Jamie protecting you from a handsy Detective

(A/N: For Anon, I hope you enjoy and that it meets your expectations. This is probably bad. I’m half asleep writing this because it’s like 2:00 am and I’ve been working all day and I was too stupid to check my plan and was writing the wrong imagine up for the whole of my writing time. So I hope you’ll forgive me for being late. Even though it’s still Tuesday in some places!)

Imagine your boyfriend Sonny and your brother Jamie protecting you from a handsy Detective

“Jameson!” You shouted sternly right behind Jamie’s back, intending to scare him.

You were successful. Obviously, that police academy training did nothing to help with how easy Jamie was to scare. You watched in delight as he jumped up slightly and spilling the coffee he was holding slightly down himself before realising and saving the majority from spilling. He turned to look at you and glared.

“Y/N,” He hissed, looking down at himself and assessing the caffeinated damage.

“You’re still so easy, Jamie.” You giggled profusely, bending over and clutching your stomach.

“Do you not having better to do than to annoy me, Detective?” He asked, sighing and shaking his head at you.

“I’m only doing my job,” You shrugged with a grin.

“It’s your job to annoy me?” He questioned sceptically.

“It’s literally in my job description as a little sister,” You reminded with a smirk.

“I thought you were talking about being a detective,” He confessed finally with a small smile as he cleaned himself off with some nearby napkins.

“Oh it is also part of the Detective job description to mess with uniforms,” You informed, playfully raising your eyebrows at him.

“Is it now?” He questioned unamused.

“Uh huh,” You nodded enthusiastically, “We get a pamphlet on it and everything. You’ll get the same one if you become a detective.”

“Yeah, ‘if’ Rook,” You commented, “Oh and by the way how did guarding my crime scene for five hours go?”

“You’re the one that ordered me to that?” He asked.

“Yep,” You admitted, “That’s what you get for telling everyone at Sunday dinner that I let a perp outrun me,”

“But you did,” He defended, about to put his hand up in defence only to remember that he had a coffee in his hand.

“He took a shot at me!” You argued.

“He did?” He asked surprised.

“Yeah, “ You reaffirmed, “Excuse me, for taking cover instead of dying trying to catch a perp!”

“You just enjoy bossing me around,” Jamie countered.

“It’s every little sister’s dream to be in charge of her big brother,” You grinned.

“Wait till we’re off the clock,” He chuckled.

“We’re still going shopping?” You asked.

“Definitely,” He smiled before walking away and heading back on patrol.

You headed back to your desk with a smirk on your face.

“You really need to stop messing with him,” Your boyfriend and partner Sonny said as you sat down at your desk, which was opposite his.

“And stop all the fun I’m having? No way!” You responded, looking up at him.

“He’ll get you back! There will be an encore of what happened on Sunday.” He warned.

“And when it happens. I’ll just get him back.” You grinned, “Anyway are you ready to go?”

“I was waiting for you,” He insisted, standing up and fixing the collar of his coat.

“Whatever,” You commented, getting up and putting on your coat.

“By the way, Lieu says that a Detective from Brooklyn Homicide is going to meet us at the scene?” Sonny informed as you began walking out the station side by side.

“Why?” You questioned confused.

“He thinks it’s connected to one of his,” He explained.

“But he’s homicide?” You questioned.

“I know but he says that he thinks his guy is escalating and besides from the sexual assault part with ours and it’s exactly the same apparently,” He continued.

“We’ll see,” You commented, going through the door that Sonny held open for you.

You couldn’t help but smile to yourself as you walked through the door. Sonny always went out of his way to do stuff like that for you. He did the typical stuff like holding the door open for you, opening the car door for you and giving you his jacket when it was cold and you were too stupid to bring one yourself. But it was the other things he did as well that he probably thinks you don’t notice like warning you of cracks in the sidewalk because he knows that you’re strangely superstitious with stuff like that or when you were walking and talking making sure he stood on your left side because you have the strange tendency to veer to the left when walking and talking instead of just walking straight.

It was the little things that Sonny picked up about you and consequently catered to, which made you realise that he was the one. He was the only person you’d ever met that wanted to know everything about you. Little or small. You were healthily obsessed with each other. And you’d never had that before. He was the first person who completely got you. Like he just understood how your brain worked from the second your met. It was an instant thing. You were the same but completely different at the same time. He changed your whole world with the profound bond that you shared. You were connected, that was the only way you could describe it.

You were never believed in soulmates and falling in love at first sight but your Mother always did. Your Dad was her soulmate. When you asked for an explanation because you and your logical brain couldn’t comprehend the concept. She explained it as when you met the ‘one’, you fall in love at first sight but you don’t realise it straight away. But you will and when you do you’ll understand and then that’s how you know you’re with the right person. You’ll admit, you didn’t believe her until you realised you were in love with Sonny.

Then you understood.

You met Sonny on the job over three years ago now, when you transferred to SVU. You had an instant connection and it was hard to deny. You were and still are a great team because you are so different in terms of personality but had the same moral, values and way of thinking. You couldn’t help but fall for him and he clearly couldn’t help falling for you.

You went on your first real date about two months after meeting and becoming partners. And obviously, you’d been dating ever since. Your three year anniversary was a couple of weeks away. You moved into together after a year but more importantly, he became a regular at Reagan Sunday dinner after about six months of dating. Your family loved him. Sonny is a sweetheart and he could charm almost anyone, including your older brother. They even have a group-chat. They loved him but their favourite thing about him according to your Dad was that he made you happier than any one of them had seen before.

Your favourite thing about him was how found all the things about yourself that you thought were embarrassing as cute or endearing. Like he thinks it’s cute that you’re always writing notes to yourself because you’re so forgetful. He also loved it when you wrote him notes. He thinks you don’t know but you know that he’s kept every single one you’d ever written for him and he keeps all the ones you write to yourself if he finds them. Everyone else thought it was weird or strange but not him. It made you realise that he was as willing to accept every part of you good or bad as you were for him. And in your case, there were bad parts, broken parts and in particular lost parts.

"Do you mind if I drive today?" Sonny asked as you reached your car and circled to the driver’s door.

“What? Why?” You asked defensively, "I'm not that bad of a driver you know! Okay, I’ll admit last time I was a bit off but in my defence, that pole came from nowhere.”

“Hey, that wasn’t what I was getting at! I think you're a great driver. It's just that the driver’s seat in your car is cleaner," He clarified.

"Are you calling my car dirty?" You demanded, crossing your arms across your chest and looking at him over the roof of your car.

"Not dirty exactly just messy," He clarified once again "Please,"

“Fine,” You huffed, chuckling the keys at him which he caught, “But or have you know everything in my car is organised just not in a way that you would understand.”

“I’m sure there is a method to the madness I just can’t sit amongst it,” He explained as you both got into your seats, buckled up and took off.

“Like this for example,” You began attempting to make a point, as you picked up a long role of carnival tickets, “What is this to you?”

“Trash,” He stated.

“What it really is, is a token from the date we had three weeks before our second anniversary of the first time we held hands,” You informed, nodding at him before putting it on the floor again.

“How do remember stuff like that but you can’t remember the grocery list a minute after I tell you?” He asked in disbelief.

“I don’t know?” You shrugged, “My brain works in a weird way,”

“You don’t need to tell me that,” Sonny chuckled.

“Hey,” You protested, glaring at him.

“I don’t mean it in a bad way,” He reassured, “I love the way your brain works. It’s part of the reason that you’re with me, right?”

“Sure,” You giggled.

“So…um…do still you want to do that thing after work today,” He asked after a few minutes of bickering over what radio station that you were going to listen to on this fifteen-minute drive.

“You mean ‘that’ thing?” You countered matching his allusiveness.

He nodded.

“If you still want me to come with you Sonny,” You informed, “I’m all for it.”

“I do,” He reassured.

“I’m just surprised you want to do it this way. It’s very non-traditional of you,” You commented.

“I know but I just think for us. It’s the best way. It’s a compromise which I know you didn’t ask for but I want to give to you anyway,” He sighed in relief, “And, anyway the one I want to give you is broken and it’s going to be yours soon so it’s only fair that you get to make it the way you want it. You’ll be the one to wear and hopefully pass it on, one day. I was going to have to do it anyway so that you could have it so why not have you there to help and make it yours?”

“I’m really excited,” You blushed, looking away from him and onto the road ahead, “I didn’t ever think I would get to do something like this.”

“Me neither.” He grinned, grabbing your hand and kissing it.

“We’re here,” You announced.

“I know. I’m the one that stopped the car,” He smirked.

“Look at you, getting all sarcastic,” You commented with an unimpressed expression.

“What can I say? You’re rubbing off on me!” He said as you both got out of the car and headed down the street and into the building where the crime scene was.

You started laughing automatically.

“What’s dirty about what I just said?” He demanded, now unimpressed himself.

“Rubbing off,” You spluttered.

“You have the humour of a twelve-year-old boy,” He sighed, nodding to a nearby uniform and lifting up the crime scene tape.

“You say as if it’s bad thing,” You grinned before strolling ahead as he was pulled aside by the same uniform to get the rundown on the crime scene.

You, on the other hand, continued to walk towards the body of your victim and the Medical Examiner who was in the process of examining it. There was also another person standing over the body and you can only assume that was the homicide detective you were meeting. As you approached you were greeted by the ME, which you returned and then you turned to the detective.

“Brooklyn Homicide?” You asked typically.

You pride yourself on being an observant person. Much like your memory you always picked up on the little things and in particular especially when meeting someone new you picked up on their body language. And this guys body language was definitely off. His eyes were on your face for a second before moving south. He straightened up in typical wannabe alpha male by thrusting his chest forward and spreading his legs slightly. As if he needed to prove his masculinity and alpha male or lack thereof status to you.

Unusually, though you dismissed these signs because he was a cop. If it were anyone else you wouldn’t have but coming from a cop family you trusted anyone with a badge. Reflecting back on it now you realise that some people don’t carry the same respect for it that you have and have been taught to have.

“You must be Detective Reagan,” He commented putting his hand out.

“I am indeed,” You confirmed, shaking his hand, his hand wrapped around yours tight and firm as he briefly rubbed circles into your palm, “Detective Y/N Reagan,”

“Detective Brandon Harris,” He introduced and as he did you dropped his grip quickly to avoid shuddering at his over-affectionate handshake.

He must do that to everyone.

“So what about my vic makes you think it’s connected to yours?” You inquired, crossing your arms and engaging in standard cop talk.

“It’s exactly the same MO expect for the rape aspect and the fact that it is in Manhattan this time.” He informed.

You engaged in a general discussion about his case. It had been well publicised in the papers, the string of murders he was investigating. Public interest was strong as one of the families had put up a reward. Tips were constantly coming in but he saw this body on the bulletin and saw the similarities. You discussed these similarities and why he thought your cases were connected and why he thought that they were committed by the same person

“Could just be a copy cat,” You suggested, “Especially, as it’s so well publicised and reported on.”

“I don’t think so,” He replied before gesturing towards the body, “Take a look at this,”

You mimicked his actions and angled yourself, leaning awkwardly to see what he was indicating. You saw was he was motioning at straight away and was about to straighten up again when you felt a hand on the square of you back. Guiding you unnecessarily but you ignored it for the most part as you assumed he was just trying to show you the killers calling card. Holy water on the victims forehead. You could only see it when the light was hitting it right. You straightened up in attempt to get the detective to take his hand off you but he lingered.

“Y/N?” Sonny’s voice from behind asked.

As you span around Detective Harris took his hand away from your back.

“Hey Sonny…um…Detective Harris. This is my partner Detective Dominick Carisi.” You smiled normally, in that moment you decided to ignore the incident, you assumed you were reading too much into it, “Sonny, this is Detective Harris from Brooklyn Homicide,”

“Nice to meet you,” Sonny said unusually as he shook his hand and exchanged pleasantries.

You almost immediately noticed that Sonny was acting slightly off but you didn’t know why.

“So what’s the verdict, connected or not?” He asked.

“Well, we definitely think it is,” Detective Harris interjected and replied for you.

“Do ‘we’?” Sonny questioned, looking right in your direction this time.

You nodded, “Has the same calling target, couldn’t have been a copy cat as it was kept from the media and public reports.”

“Okay,” He acknowledged, “So what’s the plan?”

“There are a couple of leads that I’ve been working on,” He informed, “We could split them up and work them,”

“I’m good with that,” You nodded, “But I’m pretty sure we’d like to take a better look at the body and crime scene beforehand though,

“Need any help?” He asked.

“I know that she’s capable of doing that herself,” Sonny interrupted to state.

“I’m only trying to be helpful,” He defended.

Sonny was about to say something else but his phone started to ring and he excused himself and then consequently walked away to answer it.

“What’s his problem?” He joked, giving you a little nudge.

You shrugged helplessly before heading over to some of the evidence stops a couple feet away and heading back. As you got closer to the opposite edge of the crime scene vicinity you noticed Jamie talking to another uniform. He must have been assigned to watch the sense again and you didn’t even have to ask. You were working your way back when Detective Harris called you back over.

“What’s up?” You asked, coming back to him.

“Come look at this,” He replied, crouching down beside the body.

You followed quickly, crouching down yourself as he lifted the body up gently to the side to reveal a surprise injury.

“A stab wound?” You questioned, surprised, examining it yourself.

You were starting to feel like his case wasn’t connected to yours at all. You were about to say something when…

“Detective Reagan?” You heard Jamie call formally.

“Yeah?” You responded, standing up and looking over at him.

He motioned for you to come over and talk to him. You sighed dramatically and tossed Detective Harris a sympathetic smile before heading over. No one was letting you stay put at this particular crime scene.

“What’s up?” You asked as soon as you reached him.

“Who is that?” He asked, his demeanour was off as well, which was making you suspicious and confused.

“The detective from Brooklyn homicide,” You explained, examining his face carefully tying to figure out what was going on.

“I don’t like him,” He stated.

“What? Why? You haven’t even met him.” You argued even though you didn’t particular like him yourself.

“I don’t like the way he looks at you,” He elaborated.

“Huh?” You asked, taken aback.

“He keeps looking at you like you’re a peace of meat or something. And when you were crouching down he was looking at your ass,” He continued to explain.

“He was?” You asked.

“He was ogling it. It was disgusting it.” He spat truly disgusted.

“You’re probably seeing things J.” You suggested, “Maybe you looked over at the wrong moment or …?”

“He shouldn’t be doing it in the first place,” Jamie countered, “This is a professional environment not to mention you were inspecting a dead body. That guy has no respect,”

“Thanks for letting me know,” You sighed.

“You don’t need to thank me, Y/N. You might be the boss at work but you’re still my baby sister and if some creep is disrespecting you, I’m going to have something to say and I'm going to warn you.” He stated.

“Why don’t you head back to the station?” You suggested.

“Are you relieving me from duty?” He countered.

You nodded.

“I don’t know how I feel about leaving you with that guy,” He breathed, glaring over at him.

“I can handle myself, go,” You reassured before prompting.

“Keep your eye on him,” Jamie reminded before heading to his patrol car.

You kept what Jamie said in mind as well as your own instincts and feelings about everything as you headed back over. Not to mention the discrepancies in the connection that kept coming up. You were having doubts not only about the connection of the cases but your decision to ignore all of this inappropriate behaviour just because he was a fellow officer.

“Listen, Harris,” You began upon arrival, “I’m starting to think our cases aren’t related.”

The crime scene was empty bar him. The ME had left with the body, lab techs were out getting more equipment to collect all the evidence. As you had received Jamie, the only other officers were stationed round a corner so they couldn’t actually see the crime scene. Only stop people form getting into it as that was the only entrance and exit.

“Why not?” He demanded, almost forcefully.

“There are too many differences coming up. The rape, the stab wound, even the location. It isn;t consistent with your guys MO, if you think about it. All your supposed connections are stetted, to say the least,” You explained.

“You didn’t think so before,” He commented.

“I try and not to critique the skill of a detective I just met,” You countered.

“But the holy water,” He argued, taking a step closer to you.

“Tomorrow was Sunday, they might have just gone to church,” You suggested.

“Maybe you’re right,” He eventually gave in, “That’s disappointing though,”

“You still have some leads without this fresh one don’t you?” You asked to ensure.

“Yeah, I have a couple but that wasn’t what I meant.” He replied and then corrected.

“Then what did you mean?” You asked.

“I was hoping to spend a little more time with you,” He whispered into your ear taking a step closer and practically leaning into your body.

“Umm,” You spluttered flustered, you were so taken back by this scene.

You never expected anything like this from another cop. You were raised by some in your opinion the greats not to mention their colleagues who were always around you. Maybe you held cops to that high standard because you were always with other cops who did.

“Come on,” He smirked, grabbing hold of your arm and pulling it closer towards him, “You can’t deny that there is something between us,”

“I can because there isn’t,” You defied, ripping your hand out of his grip, “We just met. There isn’t anything between us,”

“How about I show you?” He suggested, lowering his head down as if he was going to kiss you.

You took a step back and dodged it.

“What the hell?” You demanded, “Are you a fucking idiot? We’re at a crime scene. I’m a cop! What do you think you’re doing,”

“Just having some fun. You must like having fun. Anybody as hot as you does. And anybody who dresses like you does,” He chuckled creepily.

“You’ve got to be kidding me?” You sighed.

“It will be fun,” He winked as if it was a promise, taking hold of you again and pulling you close.

You were so taken aback and surprise by the situation. That you didn’t fight back like you knew you always would in a similar situation with anyone else. You just froze and you didn’t know why.

“Let go of me!” You protested.

“You like it really,” He argued.

“I said let go of me,” You repeated, unable to struggle as you were still paralysed in movement.

“We’re only having some fun,” He argued again.

“She said let go,” Sonny said, his tone so dangerously calm it was terrifying.

“We’re only having some fun,” Detective Harris chuckled loudly but he proceeded to let you go.

“She told you to stop,” Sonny reminded, cornering the detective as soon as you were out the way, causing him to back up, “Are you deaf, stupid or just plain disgusting? Or perhaps it’s a mixture of the two?”

“Come one man…” He began to say before his back hit the walk and Sonny slammed his palm into it.

“If you ever touch her again. I will kill you and you know I know how. That’s my partner you’re disrespecting and if you ever do that to her or any other women. I will hunt you down and make you pay. Are we clear?” Sonny threatened, slamming his fist in time with the last word.

Detective Harris nodded.

“It’s clear that these cases aren’t connected so get lost!” Sonny demanded, continuing his scarily calm voice until the last word.

Detective Harris practically ran out the room. You’d never seen Sonny be so terrifying to another person before not to mention so protective over you. You were struggling to process the whole situation and that just added to it. You watched as Sonny’s face switched from fuming to concerned as he looked over at you and hurried over.

“Are you okay?” He asked, pulling you into a gentle hug.

“Yeah,” You reassured, returning the hug, “Just surprised. I never thought a cop could be or act like that, you know? It just shocked me so much I couldn’t anything. If a cop can be like that what makes us any better than half the people we arrest?”

“Cops are just normal people. You get good ones and bad ones,” Sonny said, “Unfortunately, some cops act more like perps than cops.”

“Thanks for having my back partner,” You smiled as he let go.

“I’m only returning the favour,” He grinned, “You’ve helped me so many times. How can I not help you on the rare occasions you need it?”

“God,” You breathed, still in disbelief of it all.

“I can finish up here.” Sonny offered, “How about you go sit in the car and clear your head? We ca future out together what to do about what happened if you want.”

You nodded in agreement and started to walk toward the door before turning around and saying, “I love you, Sonny,”

“Love you too,” He returned with a broad smile.

“Are we still ring shopping tonight?” You asked.

“If you still want to marry me,” He joked.

“There isn’t anything I want more…” You replied.

620 notes · View notes

gaiatheorist · 7 years ago

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Standards.

I started this one yesterday, inflamed by the Tim Lott article in The Guardian. My impression of the column was that he was suggesting that women created their own mental health issues, by virtue of being virtuous. Maybe I read it wrong, maybe, in my perilously precarious psychological state, I’m looking for issues that aren’t there. What do I know, I’m only a woman, with mental health issues. (No current formal diagnosis, I’m free-range mad.)

I am not a virtuous woman. I try to do the ‘right’ thing more often than the ‘wrong’ one, and, as much as I rant about amusingly disturbing revenge on the neighbours that steal my bin, I don’t actually intend them harm. The reason that I didn’t finish this yesterday was other people’s standards. The ex in-laws were collecting my son, to take him to his Dad’s for the weekend, and the house looked like it had been rolled down a hill, due to the kid being back from uni, and having no concept of putting things ‘away’.

Domesticity isn’t my strongest suit, if I was a domestic Goddess, I’d be Kali, I’m barely house-trained, house-proud is an alien concept, but the in-laws look at me all disapproving if the house is untidy. (Manic urge to tell them to wait outside next time, I have a thundering headache from the Mother-in-law’s gallons of perfume, and the Father-in-law has a habit of picking up and inspecting things that don’t belong to him. The kid has given me very stern instructions NOT to ‘leave’ any sex-toys on top of the cupboard that the F-i-l likes to have a good old nosey at.) It’s me, it’s not them. Years of the ex telling me to ‘straighten up a bit before my Dad calls.’ resulted in resentment, because it was his mess I was expected to ‘straighten.’

His standards were embedded by being raised as the blue-eyed boy who could do no wrong. A mother and an older sister idolised him when he was young, then, when his mother died, his father married the ironing gremlin, with her three daughters, and equally spoiled, and much-longed-for son. They’re weird-to-me, with their shopping-trips, and flowers, and soap operas, and chocolate, a different kind of dysfunctional. I don’t suppose there’s anything really ‘wrong’ with them, on a cosmic scale, I was just a square peg, refusing to spin in their chosen direction to fit a hole I didn’t want to occupy. I was a feral thing, the ex sometimes said that the ‘spark’ in me reminded him of his Mother, which is way too Oedipal to unpick at half past two in the morning.

I was feral because I hadn’t really been ‘raised’ by my parents, Creepy Carpet Tile Man referred to me as “An experiment, to see how far a person could be pushed, and sill remain vaguely functional.”, he has a point. A brutal, awful, impoverished, abusive childhood, with two parents who were barely functional. If there had been some sort of test that people needed to pass before having children, my brother and I wouldn’t exist. I’m covered in scars from wounds that should have been stitched, but my Dad was ‘scared of hospitals’, and my brother had a minor obsession with setting things on fire, how the two of us made it to adulthood still astounds me. Dirty, scruffy, feral children, and I have no idea how that happened, because both sets of grandparents ‘kept a nice house.’ My parents muddled through, times have changed, and there’s no point at all using my now-knowledge to reflect on all the ‘missed opportunities’ for that scruffy little girl and boy, I’ll park all of that in the ‘shit that happened’ file.

Standards, in my early development, were essentially “Do as you’re told the first time, or you’ll get a crack.” There were lots of ‘cracks’, sometimes there would be an identifiable trigger, more often not, if there had been a lovingly hand-sewn cross-stitch thing above the fireplace, it wouldn’t have said “Home sweet home.”, it might have said “If you don’t stop crying, I’ll GIVE you something to cry about.”. Dad hit us because he was an unpredictable, egocentric alcoholic, Mum hit us because Dad hit her, and she’d never really wanted us in the first place, we just tethered her to him. No fancy finishing school for me, I sit with my knees together in public because I hate the thought of uninvited physical contact, and, if you put me in a fancy restaurant with more than one knife and fork, I wouldn’t know whether to start with the inside ones, or the outside. (It’s outside, isn’t it? It has to be, it doesn’t make sense the other way. I do, however, know which side to ‘serve’ from.)

Chaotic, dirty, and very often hungry, my mother lit endless cigarettes from the gas-fire, and my father had endless ridiculous ideas to make his fortune. (Hello, direct comparison to my ex, and his stupid, expensive ‘projects.’) It was our ‘normal’, all we’d ever known, we didn’t know that other people didn’t have a goat living in the house, we just accepted that there ‘was’ a goat. We didn’t know that other people’s Dads didn’t butcher pig-heads on the manky kitchen floor, with missing tiles, and no doors on the cupboards. (I still have the scar from that, it was the only way I could tell left from right, I’ve always been a bit odd with directions.) Dirt-poor, too poor for cheesy chips in front of the TV, Jamie Oliver. Our ‘standard�� life quite frequently involved our mother, covered in tears, and snot, sometimes blood, dragging us out of bed in the middle of the night, putting our coats on over our pyjamas, and driving us to a friend’s house, ‘leaving that bastard’ again. She always reneged, and brought us back after a couple of days, though.

I was 7, and my brother 5 when she did it properly. I’ve never asked her what the catalyst was, I always assumed it was just the cumulative toll. “More power to you.” was a line she threw me in a text-message conversation the other day, in some ways we’re similar, but not very many. She made an appalling decision in the direction she moved us in, again, I’ll file that under ‘shit that happened’, and move on. She would have been 28, so I’ll give her the points for ‘getting out’ of the abusive marriage at a younger age than I did mine, but I’ll take them away again, because she went on to marry another violent alcoholic. (I’m not awarding myself any points for staying married to an emotionally controlling, coercive egotist for nearly 20 years.)

The point of re-telling all that seemingly disjointed history does loop-around to standards. She moved us away from my father before he killed her, or one of us, she worked, and paid the mortgage on a crappy house on a rough estate, we had food in the cupboards consistently. It was shit food, and she was a terrible cook, the St Ivel Gold margarine, and the frozen curry sauce microwaved on the pickings from the Sunday lunch triggered my ‘Eating disorder not otherwise specified.’ I had no control whatsoever over any aspect of my life, so I’d periodically stop eating. Nobody noticed my little rebellions of pushing the food around my plate, and not actually putting any of it in my mouth, because we ate in front of the TV. It was never a body-image thing, it was the mid 1980s, all that malarkey hadn’t been given a name yet, it was just me controlling the only thing I could. I buggered up my appetite with that, I’ll still go days without eating at all, and I can’t stand cheap-bland food, it tastes of ‘what happened to me.’

Major, major issues with, and around food. The last two tabs open in my browser are Jack Monroe’s ‘Bootstrap Cook’ site, and a Google search on recipes for lobster. I know, right? Looking up 20p meals on one tab, and lobster on another. I ‘fell into’ Jack’s website quite badly yesterday, because I needed something to focus on, distract-deflect, it’s what I do. Food seemed like a relatively safe rabbit-hole for me to stick my loopy head into, and distract myself from the imminent in-laws applying their standards to a life that’s none of their business. (Side-loop, they’re prolific ‘feeders’, the father-in-law likes fat women, and the mother-in-law likes making people fat. I’m not quite “All elbows and Adam’s apple.” emaciated, like I was a couple of years ago, but I cover myself in baggy clothes, I’m like a train-wreck that’s collided with a jumble sale.) The ex didn’t like cheap food, his family aren’t exceptionally wealthy, but there was always ‘good’ food, and plenty of it. The ex was spoiled, if he didn’t fancy what his step-mum put on his plate, he’d ask for something else, and she’d make it. He thought that was normal behaviour, “I’m sorry, love, I can’t eat this, is there anything else?” I’m having a BFG-moment here, the BFG explaining to Sophie that “There is no ‘else’.”

I’m unemployed, and disabled. There’s a frozen lobster thawing in my fridge. Have that, Jamie Oliver and crew, with your ‘poor people eat rubbish.’ theory, the kid and I are having lobster tomorrow. Stand down with the soap-boxes, I was working when I bought it. The juxtaposition of 20p meals, and suggestions for lobster would have amused me more if I wasn’t looking at the “This woman has tattoos, and mirrored kitchen tiles.” article. Other people’s standards, yet again, it’s a good thing it’s an old blog, because I’m pure outraged at some numpty commenting “Economy brand food is not nutritious.” They’re missing the point entirely, tinned pulses and frozen veg are probably more nutritious than fancy-flouncy ready-meals. Yes, there is some skills-gap, where people who were not ‘taught’ to cook-from-scratch will see own-brand chicken nuggets for 69p as a less contentious meal-choice for children than explaining what all the ‘bits’ are in something cobbled together from tins. Nobody ‘taught’ me to cook, my mother was a disaster in the kitchen, and my only concrete memories of Home Economics lessons at school are how to rescue a sponge-cake mix if you add the eggs too quickly, and carrying a Roses chocolate tin full of slightly warm chilli the mile home from school.

Standards. I’ve stopped buying the ‘emergency’ £1 ready-meals, for the days when my cognitive fatigue makes sharp-knives-and-hot-pans a dangerous activity. That’s partly because £1 for a single serving isn’t affordable on Universal Credit, I was splitting the single meal across two meal-times. It’s more because they’re not ‘really’ food, the stress of the last year has massively flared my digestive issues, and the value-range ready meals invariably contain either wheat-gluten to thicken them, or artificial sweeteners, both of which have undesirable outcomes for me. Far-away trolls and commenters, telling poor people that a bag of carrots is 50p have different standards. I’ve siege-mentality stocked my cupboards and freezer, because I won’t be able to afford groceries soon. My work-coach has started offering me food bank vouchers, which I’ve declined, because I still have food in the house, some of the new Universal Credit claimants won’t have had time to stock up.

Gods, I went the long way around that, didn’t I? Everyone has their own ‘normal’, their own ‘standards’, and Tim Lott’s column, saying that women might have fewer mental health issues if they lowered their standards irritated me. They’re not ‘our’ standards, Tim. They’re the standards imposed on us by others. Most of us don’t want to spend hours making ourselves ‘presentable’ in line with whatever the glossy magazines tell us is aesthetically acceptable this month, some choose to, and that’s their business, not mine. I don’t think any of us enjoy ironing clothes for other people, or cleaning yet more piss off the toilet. We don’t do these things because we want to, we do them because nobody else does, and we can’t inhabit environments that hover between ‘Men Behaving Badly’ and ‘Bottom’. Asserting that ‘women’ might be happier if they didn’t expend energy being ‘nice’, or ‘good’ enraged me, because we’re expected to be both of those, continually, and unconditionally. Good-wives.

My ex had standards that he expected the pixies to maintain. He’d stuff his rancid worn socks down the arm of the sofa, and then buy new socks when he couldn’t find any clean ones. (In his SOCK DRAWER.) He’d leave used crockery all over the house, and then suggest I ‘have a quick run around with the Hoover’, because he was expecting visitors, and the house was covered in toast-crumbs and dog-hair. I put up with that for far too long, and, when I started to challenge him on it, he’d reply “Yeah, in a minute, I’m just watching this.” His parents embedded that in him, that he could do as he pleased, and somebody else would pick up after him, they skewed their standards of acceptable ‘house-keeping’ onto me. I was ill yesterday, because I knew that they were coming, and that if they realised that I wasn’t coping, they’d judge my competency at dusting, rather than my disabilities, due to me being ‘female.’ I’m still not free of their expectations, and they’re nothing to do with me, I can’t ‘just leave it’, because they’ll see the mess, and want to help, I don’t want them anywhere near me, so I tidy to give them the impression that I’m managing.

I’ve had contact with my various parents and step-parents recently. My step-mother is a mouse of a thing, terrified of my father. My mother looks at my step-father before she speaks, as if asking permission, she has to iron his clothes just-so, and made reference to an argument they’d had recently, where he’d burned his arm on the iron after she refused to do it for him. She was messaging me as she was ironing. We’re extreme examples, I know, but the assertion that ‘women’ would be in better mental health if we stopped being ‘good’ or ‘nice’, stopped caring doesn’t work. We’re still being conditioned to care. By other people’s standards.

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cringeynews · 8 years ago

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New Post has been published on

New Post has been published on http://cringeynews.com/featured/to-understand-britney-spears-you-need-to-understand-her-hair/

To understand Britney Spears, you need to understand her hair

Pogs. Furbys. Juicy Couture tracksuits. American Pie. Willa Ford.

These are just a few of the trends Britney Spears has outlasted in her long and storied career, which spans nine albums, 20 years, and countless iconic moments that today’s celebrity Snapchat wars could never hope to replicate.

Even as new generations of bobbleheaded pop stars keep cropping up to snatch her crown, Britney has been a unique fascination from the moment she danced her way around a Catholic high school in 1998’s “…Baby One More Time” video.

Even escaping to Las Vegas for a multiple-year residency — an eternity in the celebrity news cycle — hasn’t stopped Spears from being one of the biggest and most instantly recognizable stars on this whole dumb planet.

When the aliens come, don’t be surprised if they don’t care about us taking them to our leaders when they could meet Britney Jean Spears instead.

She’s also gone through so many career transformations, rock bottoms, and comebacks that it can be hard to remember how, exactly, Britney Spears became the icon she is today. As any of her devoted fans will tell you, though, Britney’s always played the poker game of celebrity with one painfully obvious tell: her hair.

If you want to know how Britney Spears is doing, all you have to do is look at her hair (or the wigs and weaves she wears to approximate it) — which, when you think about it, makes her about as relatable as a pop star can get.

So as we celebrate Brit’s 35th birthday, let’s take a break from our own mundane lives to look back at the 20 years that brought Britney Spears to this point, by way of her mood ring hairstyles.

1) Britney Spears Original Flavor: dirty blonde (1998–2001)

Javier Zarracina / Vox

When Britney Spears charged into the spotlight on the edge of a new millennium, her naughty Catholic schoolgirl routine for “…Baby One More Time” was tempered by the fact that the bubbly 17-year-old also seemed like your kid’s favorite babysitter — a contrast that was, of course, purposeful.

As we later came to realize, Britney’s family and managerial team carefully calibrated her public persona, and in the beginning that meant selling sex while being a paragon of virtue. So while the other pop starlets in Britney’s early orbit — Christina Aguilera, Jessica Simpson, even Mandy Moore — defaulted to brighter, louder blondes, she started off as a softer honey blonde, to slightly undercut her salacious image.

2) Blonde(r) ambition (2001–2005)

Javier Zarracina / Vox

Soon enough, though, Britney couldn’t escape the blonde — nor, arguably, did she want to. Though her team kept assigning her a virginal narrative even throughout her high-profile relationship with cocky N’Sync leading man Justin Timberlake, Britney pushed back against that sterile persona, becoming more openly sexual, even a little dangerous.

By the time she debuted her legendary “I’m a Slave 4 U” performance at the 2001 VMAs, she’d amped up not only her dance moves but also the amount of peroxide in her perpetually whipping hair.

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From there on out, Britney made clear that she was — say it with me/I am so sorry — not that innocent. (First and last one, I swear.) She became the sex symbol her image had always teased, vamping it up with a self-aware smirk. This glorious time included her 2003 album In the Zone — widely considered one of her best — not to mention her 2003 hit “Britney makes out with Madonna at the VMAs.”

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But by 2004, Britney’s grip on her world was starting to slip — or maybe more accurately, Britney started to slip from the world. Forces within both her own circle and the salivating music industry were pulling the sweetly dorky Louisiana girl in a thousand directions, and it was only a matter of time before she broke.

2004 was the end of polished Britney. Reports of drug use and mental health breaks started circulating in the tabloids, and then a Vegas trip with childhood friends ended in a spontaneous wedding — and hasty annulment — that gave the press ammunition for years. She met Kevin Federline, a backup dancer with cornrows and a “who gives a fuck?” vibe that Britney probably found refreshing. Finally, her tour got delayed when she tore her ACL during dance rehearsal — and shortly thereafter, she proposed to Federline.

This time is maybe best summed up by the 2005 reality show Britney and Federline starred in, featuring footage they shot of each other acting stoned and snorting through Cheetos: Chaotic.

3) The debut of “Brunetteny” (2006)

Javier Zarracina / Vox

One of the first signs that Britney was about to go even more dramatically off script came when she ditched any semblance of blonde for a dark brown weave in 2006.

Two years after she tore her ACL, “Brunetteny” — as her fiercely loyal self-described “Brit Army” of fans call this bizarro version of her — played by a different set of rules than the pop star we’d come to know.

She abandoned her old persona completely, embracing the chaos of being exactly the opposite of everything people thought she was before. Then Britney got pregnant, and Brunetteny became an even more clearly different persona, separate from her previous blonde teen princess act. She had two sons within two years — Sean Preston in 2005, Jayden James in 2006 — and backed off the grueling performance schedule she’d been under since she was just a kid herself.

Britney was done trying to be the slick package of sexed-up stardust the industry had sold her as, and Brunetteny was her way of saying so.

But if anyone thought Britney’s rebellious stage would culminate in something as banal as a Vegas wedding, an ill-advised investment in a shady backup dancer, or brunette wigs … well, they were mistaken.

4) Shaved hair, don’t care (2007)

Javier Zarracina / Vox

In 2007, Britney’s marriage to Federline crumbled into a fine powder, and her mental health became the subject of worldwide discussion. Once her family and Federline took her sons away from her, she spiraled hard.

She tried rehab, ditched rehab, and cut out her family and friends for a new circle of people whose close ties with the paparazzi ushered in an unprecedented new era of scrutiny into Britney’s personal life at the exact moment when she was at her lowest.

The situation, Rolling Stone wrote then, was dire. When Britney left rehab without completing any kind of program, her family and friends wondered if she was about to self-destruct:

She arrived at Federline’s house for her babies, but he had joined forces with Lynne [Britney’s mother] and Rudolph [Britney’s manager], and wouldn’t talk to her until she registered at the Malibu rehab center Promises. She circled his house three times, furious at having to concede to their demands, before pulling into a random hair salon in the Valley and taking her hair off in big clumps, less as a penance than a liberation. Then she stayed up for forty-eight hours straight, driving around, sucking down dozens of Red Bulls, afraid that she was being followed by demons, or that a cell-phone charger was taping her thoughts, and obsessively listening to the radio for news about Anna Nicole Smith’s death earlier that month. That was her fate, she declared — she was next.

Everyone — including Britney, apparently — thought they knew what was coming. But when she did snap, she still managed to surprise the hell out of all of us.

You know the pictures. Britney, peering at herself in a mirror, shaves off what’s left of her brown hair with a giant grin. Britney, bald head peeking out of a loose sweatshirt, gets tattooed. Britney, wild-eyed, grips an umbrella and beats the hell out of a paparazzo’s car.

As “fuck you”s go, though, this one was pretty spectacular.

5) The pink wig (2007–2008)

Javier Zarracina / Vox

The moments after the head shaving were dark for Britney. Rehab wouldn’t take, she had lost custody of her kids, and Kevin Federline was screening her calls. But Britney’s always been able to put on a show, and in 2007 she might’ve singlehandedly staged the most compelling entertainment of the year. (Google reminds me that the Oscar winner for Best Picture that year was The Departed, but I don’t care, I stand by it.)

Britney’s biggest fans at this point might have been the paparazzi, who stalked her from her driveway to Starbucks and back again. They learned how to anticipate when she was likely to give them something of interest beyond detailing which Frappuccino flavor is her favorite. (She revealed in 2011 that it’s strawberry, and also, the fact that we still cared about what her favorite Frappuccino flavor was a good five years after we were done caring about Frappuccinos speaks to Britney’s strange charisma.)

One detail of Britney’s appearance was a particularly solid indication that something strange was on the horizon: a hot pink bobbed wig, crumpled and frizzy, like she’d just fished it out of the bottom of a long-forgotten Party City sale bin. As one charming paparazzo told People then: “When she puts on the pink wig, you just know something crazy is about to happen.”

And so it did. She’d throw on the wig and tear around the Los Angeles canyons, leading the paparazzi on wild goose chases while taunting them in a British accent, seemingly manic and desperate for approval. Sometimes she’d even stop to hang out with them — which is how she met boyfriend Adnan Ghalib, a former paparazzo whose job used to be to follow her around.

Consider all this when you realize that in October 2007 — eight months after she shaved her head — Britney still managed to put out Blackout, her best album to date.

The wig reluctantly went into retirement once her father, Jamie Spears, stepped in, securing a temporary conservatorship over his daughter’s life and finances — a drastic measure, and one that’s since become a permanent fixture of Britney’s life.

Britney still loves wigs, but that pink bob is imprinted on her history like a bruise that refuses to fade.

6) Finding a new normal through questionable blond weaves (2008– 2013)

Javier Zarracina / Vox

These were the best of times. These were the worst of times.

As Spears tried to grow out her hair underneath a series of excruciatingly bad weaves, her career ramped back up into high gear — though she clearly wasn’t ready.

Watching her now-infamous performance of “Gimme More” at the 2007 VMA’s is like watching someone sleepwalking, and not being sure if waking her would be the best or worst thing. Instead of really dancing — always Britney’s favorite part of performing — she listlessly wandered across the stage, looking less like a pop star than a figure skater who got bored and started thinking about where to get lunch.

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In a 2008 cover story titled “The Tragedy of Britney Spears,” Rolling Stone called her “a perfectly proportioned twenty-six-year-old porcelain doll with a nasty weave.”

Slowly, though, Britney clawed her way out of her hell. Though her father’s conservatorship monitored her every decision — and, again, continues to do so today — she recommitted to being a pop star. She released solid pop albums Circus (2008) and Femme Fatale (2011), before the more introspective Britney Jean (2013). In 2013 she announced her Vegas residency, a show called Piece of Me that would run 50 times a year.

In her exclusive announcement with Good Morning America, Britney smiled from behind enormous sunglasses, a helicopter whirring away behind her. “I’m definitely ready,” she said.

And she was right.

7) A new contender — “Auburtney”? “Redheadny?” — appears (2014)

Javier Zarracina / Vox

As Britney settled into the role of anchoring her own Vegas experience, she turned back to her Brunetteny roots, this time with more of a red sheen than she’d ever had. This was a brief period, but still significant if only because Britney trying brown hair on for size usually signals a restlessness with her own image.

Vegas was a whole new stage for Britney’s career, and though she ended up embracing it to the point where she’s now extended her stay through 2017, she was still figuring out exactly what it — not to mention she — was going to be. For Britney, that usually means dusting off another wig, slipping on a different persona, and trying something new for the sake of it.

8) Mermaid Britney (2015)

Javier Zarracina / Vox

Maybe the best sign of Britney’s improved mental state is her Instagram. In 2015, the boilerplate posts telling fans to go to Vegas in unsettlingly stilted social media speak disappeared. Britney’s Instagram became way more personal, filled with videos of her sons doing skateboard tricks in their Vegas backyard, motivational quotes, and more pictures of sparkly fairies and apple-cheeked babies than Anne Geddes could stuff in a teapot.

At one point, Britney got her hands on a phosphorescent mermaid tail, which she wore to lounge around the pool with her sons and niece in the Vegas heat. She dyed the tips of her hair to match, and thus, Mermaid Britney — a determined performer and goofy mom — got her name.

Also: Mermaid Britney came to slay.

When she started the show in 2014, she was tentative; in 2015, she owned that stage. Her performing is more solid than it’s been in a decade, as she switches up her Piece of Me dance numbers and incorporates new jams for dozens of high-octane performances a year.

9) Back to blonde (2016–?)

Javier Zarracina / Vox

Today, Britney Spears has settled into her role about as comfortably as could be expected, given the fact that she’s spent her entire life trying to be a person while everyone surrounding her tries to fold her into boxes.

But at 35, Britney’s fully twice the age she was when “…Baby One More Time” came out and her life changed forever. She’s a mom who posts inspirational memes and videos of her sons with her giggle as their soundtracks. She’s a performer who churns out show after show, who released a ninth album that has more variation than any she’s done, who knows everything you think of her and has become her own person in spite of it.

Glory be.

Via

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