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almostgenerallyalways · 5 months ago

Text

to absent friends and those at sea

Pairing: Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x fem reader Category: angst / fluff Word count: 6,2K CW: language, don't know how the navy works, maybe workplace bullying, this is a 'there's only one bed' fic that got out of control

Summary: Through seven years and almost as many deployments he’s carried this torch, the flame low but always burning somewhere in a condemned antechamber of his heart, one he tried hard to forget the route to.

2023

“Your flight is about to get canceled.”

You start, thrown by the appearance of Hangman at your side, interrupting your intense scrutiny of the departures board where another forty minutes have just been added to the already considerable delay of your outbound flight to Seattle.

“What are you still doing here?” You eye him suspiciously, adjusting your duffel bag over your shoulder.

“Nice to see you too, Mir.” He smiles, completely unperturbed as always. ��I stayed back to hang out with Coyote. Haven’t seen him much since he was transferred. He left this morning.” He pauses for a moment, indifferently examining his fingernails. “You?”

You sigh. “I thought I’d take advantage of being in the Rockies to hike.”

The man next to you smirks. “In other words, you got drenched.”

“More or less.”

Two days ago, Saturday, had been a beautiful, sunny day for a wedding: Every circumstance had been perfect to reunite most of your Top Gun class, gathered with assorted family, friends and colleagues of the happy couple, to watch Halo say yes to her wife.

You’d enjoyed yourself immensely; the majestic scenery of Halo’s remote hometown in the Colorado mountains, the beautiful venue and decorations, and best of all: being with one of your best friends on the happiest day of her life.

Then the next day, as you’d rolled out of bed bright and early, only slightly hungover, you’d opened the curtains of your hotel room to unannounced streaks of rain.

Not put off by a little change in weather, you’d checked if there were any safety warnings for the trail you’d chosen, and set out in spite of the adverse conditions. The experience had been less enjoyable than anticipated: the beautiful views over the Rockies obscured by a thick layer of fog, you’d returned to your room early last night, chilled to the bone, every stitch of clothing you’d been wearing soaked through.

Another announcement pings over the speakers, interrupting your reflections. The status next to your flight number and destination now blinks in bold, red typeface: CANCELED.

“Told you.” Your unwanted companion grins helpfully.

Around you, people are starting to move, expressing their panicked complaints. You groan as you realise you are going to be stuck here overnight: it is almost 8 PM, and with the rain and mist not letting up, there’s no way another flight is leaving this small airport tonight.

“Listen, Mir,” Hangman says, expression more sober now, “My flight to San Diego was canceled, and I just stood in line for two hours to get a room for tonight. You’ll be here for hours if you have to get one.”

He considers you, any trace of mockery gone from his face for once. “You wanna crash with me?”

Pressure starts to build behind your temples, as you quickly consider your options. On the one hand, you are tired and cranky and in desperate need of sleep: having been one of the last guests shutting down the wedding in the late hours of Saturday night, and having spent most of your Sunday hiking up a non-rewarding mountain in the pouring rain, you’d love to avoid spending hours in the line that you see the crowd of weary and pissed-off people scramble to form, leading up to the United desk.

On the other hand: Hangman.

He smiles tentatively, as if he can read your thoughts on your face. He probably can. “It’s a double.”

You close your eyes, feeling like you might live to regret this decision: “Okay. Fine. Thanks.” --------------------------------------------------------------------------

2016

Top Gun is a dream and an outright nightmare.

Brought in two weeks after the start of the program to replace someone who was summarily discharged, you’re determined to prove your worth.

When you are first introduced to the men and women (woman, singular, you correct yourself) who are to be your classmates and competition, it’s clear the group dynamics have already been cemented. Some eye you suspiciously, leaning back in their chairs, trying to get a read on the late addition. Some don’t even bother to look.

A blonde pilot in the second row scoffs when the instructor reads a short overview of your scant accomplishments, and another man sitting next to him laughs in response, poorly covering it up with a cough.

It takes everything you have to tough it out. They’re throwing you in the deep end, barely allowing any time or grace to make up for the hours and hours of valuable technical and practical training you’ve missed.

On day eight, though, you execute your first successful stealth manoeuvre, getting the upper hand over one of the instructors. As the details in the move are analysed in front of the class, for the first time, you feel a begrudging respect from some of them.

Not everyone, though. Two seats to your left, Seresin makes a show of studying his cuticles.

* * *

Halo is your lifeline. As the only two women in the class, you gravitate towards each other, finding some respite from the hyper-masculine bullshit of the rest of the group.

Or maybe she’s an angel, as her recently coined callsign suggests.

You’re lounging on the rec room couch with Halo’s feet in your lap, debriefing the day’s hop, when Seresin and two of his usual hangers-on walk in. (Their names are Miller and Wozniak. Halo and you have taken to referring to them as Crabbe and Goyle.)

“Ladies.” He grins, flashing you a smile with no warmth behind it.

A feeling of dread gathers in your stomach.

He casually picks an apple out of the fruit bowl and pretends to inspect it as he comments: “Poor showing out there today. You’re gonna have to do better than that if you wanna play in the big leagues with the boys.”

Halo, laid back on the couch, rolls her eyes. “Fuck off, Jake.”

He grins at her and takes a bite, crunching loudly. “You know, Halo, it’s not so much you I’m worried about. But this one-” He gestures at you with the piece of fruit. He has never referred to you by your name. “Is on thin ice, I hear. Heard they’re regretting calling her up.”

At this, Halo sits up, looking like she wants to give him a piece of her mind, but you stop her with a touch to her arm. “Forget it, Callie.”

* * *

You’re breathing heavy, blood rushing in your ears as your body is pushed to its physical limits, your F-18 protesting as you accelerate into a sharp turn curving around a particularly treacherous stretch of the San Jacinto mountains.

Your gamble has paid off, though, as you come out right on top of your prey. You can taste bile in the back of your throat as you lock tone on Fanboy’s jet.

It tastes like victory.

Back on the tarmac, peeling off the top half of your sweat-drenched flight suit, Halo throws her arms around your neck as Fanboy shakes your hand, a bemused smile on his face. “Nice work out there. Never even saw you coming.”

Later, at the Hard Deck, one pilot after another buys you drinks as you finally earn your callsign: Mirage.

* * *

It gets easier from there on out, and it doesn’t.

On the one hand, you don’t feel like you constantly have to defend your place anymore. After you score big in the mountains, Hangman finally has the decency to shut his mouth around you. You’ve found a natural understanding with most of the other pilots – the competition is fierce, but nights at the bar bring everyone back on equal footing.

Yet as the program ramps up to its conclusion, so does the pressure. Some mornings you can’t choke down breakfast, your stomach seized up into a knot of nerves and anticipation.

In week ten, you’re having so much trouble with a simulation that you, your wingman and his backseater get shot down six times in a row. Your arms burn with the hundreds of push-ups you’re grinding into the blistering tarmac, your CO never running out of the torrent of abuse he’s heaping onto your back.

You can’t sleep that night, keep seeing the disappointed look on your wingman’s face as you’d fucked up again and again. Around three in the morning, you give up on sleep and head to the on-base gym.

You crank a treadmill up to high and you run, run, run until your lungs are burning and your mouth tastes like metal. Rivulets of sweat drip down your back, down your face, mingling with tears you didn’t realise you’d been holding back, until finally your legs are screaming at you to stop, and you sit down at the end of another treadmill, your shoulders shaking, cradling your face in your knees.

You don’t know how long you sit there, but you know it’s not fully morning yet when a pair of white sneakers appears in your line of vision.

“Mir?”

Of course it had to be him, of all people, seeing you at your worst and most vulnerable.

“Go away.” You manage to grunt.

He doesn’t. Instead, he sits down next to you, hovering at a distance – still too close.

“Are you alright?” He asks, and if you weren’t burning with embarrassment and rage, his hesitant tone might give you pause.

You lift your face from your knees, steeling yourself. You must look ridiculous, you think, a sweaty heap of a girl having a mental breakdown at the bottom of some exercise equipment. You refuse to look at him. “I’m fine.”

He reaches out tentatively, trying to brush away a strand of hair that’s plastered to the side of your face, and you all but jump back: “Goddamn it, Seresin, don’t touch me.”

Finding the strength to push yourself up, you turn to him: “Don’t touch me, don’t talk to me, don’t come anywhere near me.”

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

2016

When Koehler is discharged, Jake Seresin feels like the rug’s been pulled out from under him.

They came up together through the Academy, and while Jake isn’t sure he would’ve called him a friend in any other circumstances, at least… At least he was an ally. Familiar. Someone who saw through his cocky bullshit and gave as good as he got.

The chances of both of them getting into Top Gun were astronomically small – and then Koehler immediately went and fucked it up. Jake cannot comprehend it.

He feels off-kilter, his only confidant having made a spectacularly embarrassing exit from the program. He can feel the rest of the class watching him, like sharks who’ve smelled blood in the water, waiting for him to make a deadly mistake too.

But Jake didn’t come here to screw up. He came here to win. So he does the only thing he knows how to do – he ramps it up, builds his walls higher, needles people harder – gets under their skin before they can get under his.

He knows it’s not making him many friends – but it works. People don’t question him. He takes no prisoners, flies like he’s the only one out there, puts himself first always – and is ranked near the top of the class for doing so.

When you’re introduced as Koehler’s replacement, he can’t believe it. It feels like adding salt to the wound, bringing in someone who didn’t even make the cut-off on their own merit. So if you get it a little worse than the others – well.

He sees you struggling, those first weeks, and it only confirms his thinking.

One scorching afternoon, after a long series of dogfights ends in embarrassment for half the class, he’s in the rec room pressing a cold compress to his face, discussing the day’s events with Wozniak: “I mean, did you see her out there? That’s what happens when you pull the B-team off the bench. She’s got no business being here. She’s dragging everyone down.”

Wozniak doesn’t immediately respond, and Jake looks up to find you standing in the doorway, looking caught off guard. You recover after a second, straightening your back, and grab a water from the cooler, studiously not looking at him.

You never look at him, after that.

But he looks at you.

* * *

You have bags under your eyes. The line of your jaw has gotten a little sharper. You get a little quieter, even more so than before.

He notices these things just like he notices the redoubled resolve stiffening your spine.

You start creeping up in the rankings, slowly, point by point, and while he doesn’t like that, he respects it.

After the mountains, where you pull a trick out of the bag that takes him completely by surprise, he lines up to congratulate you. Fanboy takes it on the chin, he’s a good guy, and Jake claps him on the back before turning to you, Halo still at your side. But you won’t look at him, and ignore his outstretched hand.

He supposes he deserves that.

* * *

A few weeks later, he wakes up earlier than usual after a night of fitful sleep, his body still processing the adrenaline from an open-sea simulation the day before. Jake came out on top, though he ditched his wingman to do so. Several others didn’t manage to complete the exercise, a crucial barrier for the last stretch of the thirteen-week program.

After tossing and turning for twenty minutes, the light outside his cracked window starting to shift incrementally from pitch black to indigo blue, he decides to head to the gym.

When he steps into the cavernous, air-conditioned room, he immediately senses someone else’s presence, though he can’t see anyone using any of the rows and rows of equipment. It’s not until he rounds into a stretch of treadmills that he spots you, hunched over into your bare knees.

“Mir?” He approaches hesitantly, noting the flushed skin of your back, your hair matted with sweat.

“Go away.” He gets in response, but he can’t, not when you’re sitting there trembling.

“Are you alright?” He asks, even though he can clearly see that you’re not.

You lift your face, surreptitiously swiping at your eyes with your palm. “I’m fine.”

Still not looking at him. Never looking at him.

He reaches out a hand, tentatively; he wants to make this better –

He has to make this better, make you feel–

- but you recoil from him, and he sits there for a long time after you’ve banged the door shut behind you like you couldn’t get away from him fast enough.

Sits there for a good long while, with the ghost of your presence.

* * *

Jake wins the trophy.

It’s a raucous night at the Hard Deck and he feels like a weight’s been lifted off his shoulders. Sure, he doesn’t know where they’re shipping him off next week – but for now, he has won and no one can take that away from him, not the pilots giving him sideways glances at the bar, not his father, no one.

Fanboy bumps his shoulder and hands him what must be his fifth or sixth beer of the night. Over on the jukebox, Son of a Preacher Man starts playing and he glances over to see you throw your arms around Halo’s shoulders, laughing, dancing her around the crowded room a little unsteadily. You look lighter, happier than he’s ever seen you.

He watches for long moment, transfixed, until he realises Mickey is talking to him.

Mickey turns around, trying to follow Jake’s line of sight, and finds you. “Oh, dude.” He turns back, clinks Jake’s beer with his own. “I’m sorry to tell you, I think that ship has sailed, man.”

Right, Jake thinks, taking a long pull of his beer. And why should he care? He’s got what he came to North Island for.

No one can take that away.

* * *

2018

He doesn’t see you again for two years. Two years of him being shipped from base to base, coast to coast and back again, the Navy’s prize pony, getting new orders every few months.

He shows up in Oceana, papers in hand; greets familiar faces at The Admiral’s and trades stories over the sound of classic rock and the clicking of pool cues.

Then he turns around and bumps into – you.

It puts him on the back foot, coming face to face with you unexpectedly. You look like you’re caught off guard, too, but you recover quickly. “Hangman.”

“Mirage.” He smirks, defences slotting into place. “Ain’t you a sight for sore eyes.”

You look a little bit older, sharper in ways, your watchful eyes clearly on guard as he leans against the bartop, giving you a once-over. It’s a tactical mistake, on his part – it only serves to ignite something warm deep inside of him.

“Gonna be here for a while. Think we can kiss and make up?”

You shoot him a withering glance, like you expected better out of him. “In your dreams, Bagman.”

The bartender brings you your drink, and you smile sweetly at him. “Terry, put one of whatever he’s having on my card, will you? Fucking new guy’s gonna need it.”

* * *

And it’s fine, it’s perfectly fine. You work perfectly well together.

It’s just that –

No matter how much he needles and cajoles, flirts or tries to rile you up, you only ever treat him as –

A colleague. Which is what he is, sure, but –

He doesn’t ever get that part of you, the part that laughs easy with Fanboy or does shots with Bambi, the part of you that bodily holds up Halo after she gets the call that her childhood dog has died, the part of you that sits next to the radio, fists clenched with anticipation when someone is flying a tough hop, the part of you that envelops them into a full body hug after.

The part of you that has your eyes light up when you look at someone, instead of straight through him.

And no matter how many times he tells himself to move on, he never quite stops wanting it.

* * *

2021

Deployed in the South China Sea, he flies one of the more difficult, harebrained missions of his life with you.

He finds you, after, where you’re slumped against a steel wall on deck, your flight suit half off, trying to catch your breath; and hands you a Sprite.

You consider him for a moment before taking the soda. It feels a little like you’re really looking at him for the first time.

“This is my favourite.”

He sits down, not close, exactly, but close enough to feel the heat radiating from your skin. “Yeah.”

A beat passes. You open the can with a hiss, and he exhales: “Nice work back there.”

“You too, Bagman.”

The wind whips across the deck, but you’re sheltered from it by the structure, leaving only the noise.

“Do you know where you’re headed after this?” he asks.

“Back to Bahrain, still got another fourteen months there. You?”

“San Diego.”

You give a little quirk of your mouth. “Lucky.”

“I thought you’d be stateside. I thought you might have…” He holds up his right hand, indicates his ring finger. “That guy in Fallon. Search & Rescue with the dark eyes.��

You take a sip of your drink. “You noticed his eyes?”

Jake shrugs.

You look at the wide expanse of ocean churning beyond the flanks of the carrier. “No. He was… He wanted to settle in Nevada, have kids.” You give him a wry smile that doesn’t quite make it to your eyes. “Wasn’t ready to give all this up.”

“Ah.” Jake says, his throat a little dry. It feels like the realest conversation he’s ever had with you, and yet, he can’t think what to say.

You sit there for a while, in what feels like something close to companiable silence, until it’s time to debrief.

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

2023

The receptionist looks up apologetically from her sleek desk. “I’m sorry, Lieutenant Seresin. Because of all the delayed passengers, we’re getting a lot of demand for double rooms for families. Is there any way you would take a single? We can offer you complimentary breakfast.”

Jake looks at you hesitantly, shifting the strap of his backpack over his shoulder.

You rub your temples, doing nothing to alleviate the increasing pounding in your skull. Of course this was going to happen. “It’s fine. Let’s go.”

* * *

“I can, uh,” You see him looking around for a sofa, but there isn’t one.

You sigh, letting your bag drop onto the plush grey-green carpet. “Don’t worry about it. We’ve shared worse sleeping arrangements.”

These have usually involved a barracks or an aircraft carrier, and between twenty to two hundred of your coworkers, but who’s counting.

“I suppose that’s true.” He replies, staring at the bed.

At least it’s big, you think, and you can’t wait to plop your head down on one of its crisp white pillows. “I’m gonna take a shower.”

* * *

After your shower, you’re in bed, waiting with no small amount of apprehension for Hangman to emerge from his turn in the bathroom.

When he does, in boxers and a t-shirt, his normally slicked-back hair slightly peaky and darkened by the water, he looks younger than he is. He looks a little like he did when you first knew him.

He pulls back the covers and settles against the pillows on his side, the mattress dipping with the weight of him. He’s heavier than he looks – you’re always a little surprised by the lean, solid mass of him. It’s a byproduct, you suppose, of years of studiously not looking at him when you can avoid it.

“I guess that’s goodnight, Mir.”

You look up at him, facing you. The proximity of him is unfamiliar, and a little unnerving.

You have to close your eyes against it.

“Night, Hangman.”

When you open your eyes again, he considers you for a moment with an expression you can’t place.

“I wanted to talk to you, you know, at the wedding, but you kept disappearing on me.”

You don’t really know what to say in response. “I didn’t realise we had much to say to each other.”

His face shutters, and you feel a little pang of guilt. “Yeah. I guess that’s true.”

He shifts onto his back. “You looked beautiful. Just wanted to say that.”

You can’t help but be a little taken aback, and it takes you a second to reply, guardedly: “Thanks. You didn’t look too bad yourself.”

But then he never does, does he? Jake Seresin, golden boy, never a hair out of place.

He doesn’t respond, and you burrow into your pillow, determined to let sleep take you over as soon as possible.

* * *

You wake from a fitful sleep to movement beside you. It takes you a second or two to remember where you are, and with whom, before you realise that the man next to you is breathing in wheezy stops and starts, a low, panicked murmur emanating from his throat.

You hesitate for an instant before propping yourself up on your arm, using your free hand to lightly shake his shoulder. “Bagman. Hey. Seresin, wake up.” He’s breathing hard, radiating heat. “Hey. Jake.”

He comes to, slowly, gasping for air, as if emerging from deep below the surface of a rough sea. His skin, where you are holding onto him, is overly hot, the fabric of his t-shirt damp. He scrambles to prop himself up, causing you to pull back your hand, but he grabs your wrist hard before you can fully pull away.

“What,” He manages, the look in his eyes still wild and unfocused, roaming over you. It takes a second, two, three, before realization dawns, and he starts to calm down. His tight grip on your wrist eases slightly.

Despite the low light of the dark room, you see a flush start to creep up the skin of his throat. “Mir. I’m sorry. I was…”

For the first time, you feel something akin to tenderness for him. You try to sweep some of the sweaty strands of hair off his forehead, hindered by his continued grasp on your arm. “It’s okay. You’re fine.” You pause, feeling a little awkward. “Could’ve just as well been me.”

At that, he lets go of your wrist, letting himself drop back onto the pillow. He stares at the ceiling, and you let yourself settle back onto your side, watching the steadily slowing rise and fall of his chest.

Just as you wonder whether you should just go back to sleep, let the both of you pretend this never happened, he says, “They’re always the same. Me, trying to save one of you, and failing. It’s getting better, they used to be much more frequent, I’m talking to someone, but…”

“I stop sleeping.” The words are out of your mouth before you realize you’re saying them. “When it gets really bad.”

You have never shared this broken, faulty part of yourself with anyone, but somehow, looking at the shadowy form of Hangman’s shoulder two inches from your face, it tumbles out.

“I can’t sleep, I can’t function, I fly like a zombie. Sometimes I genuinely worry they’re going to ground me.”

You see his little smirk appear, even in the dark. “I genuinely don’t think I’ve ever seen you fly badly.”

“Oh, fuck off, Bagman.” You say it without venom, thumping his stomach lightly. “That’s certainly not what you used to say.” On the rebound, he catches your hand, cradling it just below his ribs.

You don’t pull it back.

A few minutes go by in silence, and you just when you start thinking he may have fallen asleep, he says: “Mir.”

“Yeah?”

“Will you ever…?” He exhales a puff of breath. “Will you ever forgive me?”

You fold your arm under your pillow, wary, and consider your answer for a moment. “I forgave you a long time ago.” You pause, scared to say too much. “I just… don’t know how to be around you without feeling like I’m twenty-three again, always having to prove myself because I’m not good enough.”

You watch his chest rise as he inhales, fall again with a deep sigh. “I’m sorry I ever made you feel like that. I can’t excuse it. From the beginning I blamed you for replacing Koehler when it had nothing to do with you.”

His voice drops a little bit. “To be honest, I was scared I wouldn’t make it without him.”

Now it’s your turn to smirk. “The great Hangman Seresin, scared?”

He turns onto his side to face you, his expression solemn. “Seriously, Mir. I was insecure and I covered it up by being a dick. Maybe I still do, to some extent.”

His eyes turn downwards, to the space between your bodies. “But I feel like I’ve been trying to make things right with you for a while.”

You can’t deny this. You’ve always rebuffed any attempt on his part to approach you beyond what was strictly necessary.

“I guess I’m a champion grudge holder.”

He looks back up to meet your eyes, a crooked smile appearing on his face. “Seven years and two entire deployments together, though?”

You scoff, realising how ridiculous this sounds, but you can’t help it – it felt very personal to you. “You don’t know what it was like. I didn’t make the initial cut. By the time I got to San Diego I was two weeks behind everyone, one of only two women, and on top of that you, the class golden boy, hated me being there.”

You pause, inhaling to steady yourself. “I felt like I was under so much pressure, it fucked me up.”

When you meet Hangman’s eyes again, something in his face has softened.

“I’m sorry.”

He squeezes your hand, the skin of his palm rough.

You take in the sharp lines and smooth planes of his face, hair in disarray from a sweaty, restless sleep. He’s very close, and you don’t know if it’s the weird, suspended-in-time quality of this darkened room, or the weight that’s been lifted off your shoulders through this little exchange, weight you hadn’t even realised was there; but for the first time you feel like you might like Hangman.

Not Hangman, Jake, brass and bravado stripped away, looking at you like you’re something precious, something he’s a little bit afraid of.

It's a lot of things to feel, in the middle of the night, after seven years of cold war.

You clear your throat, but your voice still comes out a little raspier than you intend to: “Alright then, Bagman. Détente?”

Out comes that crooked little quirk of his lips again: “Alright, Mirage. Détente.”

He’s still holding on to your hand, and he pulls it a little closer into his body.

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

Jake wakes up to the frantic buzzing of his phone and reaches for it on the nightstand, the endeavour complicated by your head weighing down his other arm. The crisp first light of day is seeping through a gap in the curtains, framing a picture of you sleeping curled into his chest so pointedly he almost has to assume he’s still asleep.

After a second or two, this assumption is dispelled by a very chipper United rep talking away at him, informing him that he’s booked onto a flight to San Diego at 10:45.

“Okay, uh, that works,” He manages, trying to keep his voice down so that you don’t wake up, but it’s too late: already you’re looking up at him, blinking sleep out of your eyes.

He ends the call, puts the phone down, and after a second’s hesitation, returns his arm to its place around your waist.

He looks down at you, not even sure what he’s asking: Is this okay? Do you still hate me?

Do you realize I’ve wanted this for years?

Through seven years and almost as many deployments he’s carried this torch, the flame low but always burning somewhere in a condemned antechamber of his heart, one he tried hard to forget the route to.

You shift slightly, and he reflexively tightens his fingers into the fabric of your shirt. He sees your pupils go wide, and it’s stupid, the jolt he feels at that – it goes straight to his gut.

Then your phone rings, too, and the moment bursts like a soap bubble. You prop yourself up, pulling away from him to answer it.

When you’re done arranging your flight, he can feel the atmosphere has shifted. You don’t look at him when you say: “We should probably start packing up, huh?”

“Mir, wait,” He says, and he knows he sounds a little desperate, but there’s so many things he wants to say, finally, if this is the best chance he’ll get.

“Jake,” you interrupt, and the pleading tone of your voice shuts him up.

Later, on his flight, he’ll think about falling asleep with your hand in his, and his heart will break a little.

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

Halo calls you, ten days into the honeymoon, to exalt Jess, marriage, and Hawaii, in that order.

You’re at home, cooking dinner, a Motown playlist on in the background while she details all the kayaking, wine tasting and gazing lovingly into each other’s eyes they’ve been doing. Your heart swells at her happiness. “I’m so glad you guys are having a great time.”

She asks how your hike went, and you end up telling her what happened – the canceled flight, Hangman, all of it.

Halo snorts. “Oh, poor guy. I’m not sure his outsize ego will recover from this.” She pauses to say something to Jess. “Though I’d feel more sorry for him if he hadn’t literally waited for an adverse weather event to try to tell you how he feels.”

You plop down on the couch with your plate of pasta. “Wait, what do you mean?”

“Come on, dude. He’s been in love with you for years.”

“Huh.” You say, eloquently.

* * *

You book a ticket to San Diego. You take four days’ leave, and you’re not even sure Jake is there. If he isn’t, you think, clicking to skip the seat selection, you’ll take it as a sign.

Which is stupid. You don’t believe in that kind of thing. Maybe this entire idea is stupid, you consider, as you board your flight at SeaTac.

When you walk into the Hard Deck on Friday night, it feels a little like the first time: You’re nervous, your hands clammy as you run them down your shorts. Penny waves you over and pours you a tequila soda, which you accept gratefully. People you know start noticing your presence, coming up to catch up at the bar.

You’re talking to Fritz, who’s already a little worse for wear, when Jake comes in. He catches sight of you and stops short. You forget what you were saying mid-sentence.

Fritz turns around and clocks him, shooting you a wide grin. “Ah. Guess that’s my cue to leave.”

He comes up next to you at the bar, taking the place Fritz vacates. “Hey. No one told me you were gonna be in town.”

He looks good, if a little tired: sun kissed skin and slightly deeper lines in the corners of his eyes when he gives you a smile that feels perfunctory. He’s wearing his khakis, in pristine condition, though he looks like he hasn’t been sleeping well. Penny has already put a beer in front of him, and he takes a long pull on it before really looking at you.

The look in his eyes feels like the confirmation you needed.

“Last minute decision.” You say, inclining your head in the direction of the back exit. “Would you mind if we talked somewhere quieter?”

If he’s surprised, he doesn’t question it, and he follows you out to the back porch.

It’s a warm night, late summer – the kind you love.

You set your drink down on the railing, suddenly nervous, and turn around, leaning back against the salt-weathered wood to face Jake. The music filters out from the bar, muted by the windows – a moody Tom Waits song.

“I’m sorry.” You start, “For leaving the way I did in Colorado. I think I was overwhelmed, by you, by what I was feeling- I got scared.”

“By what you were feeling,” He says, like he needs to repeat it to be sure.

You nod, willing yourself to be brave this time. “Yeah. I spent seven years keeping up my defences around you and then I wake up once with your arms around me and I’m like oh, fuck and-” You stop yourself, looking out at the calm ocean waves in the distance, the sun just beginning to dip into the horizon. “Fuck, I’m not explaining this very well.”

Jake’s face shows the beginning of a smile. “I think I understand what you’re trying to say.”

He steps in closer to you, and your hands go to his waist. You feel a little lightheaded with him so close, but you’re determined to continue. “And I didn’t know what to make of it. You looking at me like that. I told myself it wasn’t real so I could go back to where I was comfortable – not thinking about you.”

He closes the gap between you, an arm around your shoulder, tucking his face into your hair. “I assure you, Mir, that the way I feel about you is very real.”

His voice in your ear feels like a balm, and you tighten your fingers into his shirt, bringing your body flush with his. It’s still overwhelming – how he’s familiar and new at once, the scent of his warm skin and pressed uniform, the feeling of his lips against your temple. “Yeah, well. Not thinking about you wasn’t going very well.”

He lifts you up to sit on the railing, bringing your face level with his, and steadies you with his hands on your waist. “Mir. Did you come out here for me?”

You place your hands on his shoulders, running your thumbs up the sloped curve to his neck, and smile at the visible reaction this has on him. “Yes, Bagman.”

He kisses you then, and it feels like the solution to a problem you hadn’t even realised had been weighing on you – tangling your fingers into his hair, drawing him in closer between your knees. He keeps repeating your name, like he can’t quite believe you, and you keep answering him with more kisses, needing him to know – what?

That you’ve caught up with him. That you’re here now.

You both slow down when you simultaneously become aware that there’s a small crowd on the other side of the windows, gawking at you. You think you see an open-mouthed Mickey, pool cue still in hand. At the moment, you don’t have it in you to care.

“How long are you staying?” Jake murmurs into your neck, his arms around you.

“Monday.” You breathe, resting your chin on the top of his head. “But I’ll be back soon.”

*******

end notes: omg sorry i didn't write anything for so long - life's just been A LOT. i hope you enjoyed it. check out my masterlist <3 title from the royal navy toasts

#jake seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin x reader #hangman x you #hangman x reader #jake seresin x f!reader #top gun: maveric fic #jake 'hangman' seresin fanfiction

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awrestlinggirlwholoves80sbands · 1 year ago

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Screaming, deceiving, and bleeding for you and you still won't hear me (Raven x Stevie X fem!Reader) Chapter 2

A/N: Second chapter is here. Thank you so much for everyone who supported me <3

A big thanks to @aritamargarita @average-nash-enjoyer @x-s-t-i-t-c-h-e-s-x and @evenflowddts for giving me the confidence, love ya <3

Whoever said time heals all wounds was lying, or at least that was your opinion about it. Having to see Raven at work didn’t become easier, even if he seemed to be the one avoiding you two more times than you did with him. Was it a way to manipulate you? Maybe, but it drove you crazy nonetheless.

You felt that hiding in your beat up car was pathetic, yet it was not like you had any other opinions if you didn’t want to break down in front of your colleagues. Whenever you closed your eyes you kept seeing Raven in that alley, your stomach would turn into knots and you would start to have chills, it was a constant reminder of how you were never safe.

Stevie was in your same situation but he always plastered a smile on his face, making you forget all your problems just for a minute. You felt sick at the idea that your worries were poisoning him because it sounded like a Raven’s plan and you were carrying on with it.

“You think I’ll be gone if you walk out that door? Go ahead and try!”

The words dug like knives in your heart, making your blood boil. You wanted to punch him and scream but instead you were just drained, everything was too much which made you question if it was even worth fighting.

A loud bang on your windshield made you jump in fear. You quickly turned your head around only to see Sandman, with his usual cigarette in his mouth, signaling you to roll the window down.

“Are you trapped in the car?” He asked, a puff of smoke hitting you in your face.

“No. What are you doing here? Trying to make my car smell like a cheap nightclub bathroom?” You replied.

He laughed at you. “I need to talk to you, maybe the smoke can help clear your mind.”

You rolled your eyes but deep inside his words made your stomach twist. Sandman wasn’t the kind of guy to talk unless it was necessary.

“It’s about him, isn’t it? Did he do or say something?” You didn’t even try to hide the concern in your voice, which was a wrong move.

He puffed again in your face. “You still care too much.”

“Are you punishing me for asking? Just say what’s going on already!” You felt your face heating up.

“You and Stevie have a promo with him later, he has to confront you about the betrayal. If it was a storyline before, now it's real shit.”

Your breath stopped in your throat for a second. You hoped you had more time however life had planned to kick you down, what a classic!

“Why are you telling me this?”Your voice was shaking.

“Because you have two options: forgetting about him or staying with him but not letting the asshole walk all over you.”

You suppressed the urge to laugh, Sandman made it so easy but he had no idea about the chaos, the headaches and hurt. Leaving Raven was supposed to be so easy but only the thought made blood freeze.

If it hurts me, why do I want him?

“I am not talking to him anymore. Me and Stevie walked away.” Hesitation slipped through your words. Who were you trying to convince?

“However, he still controls ya. And if you let him have this kind of power over you, he will bring you and your lover boy down to hell again. Think about it during your promo.” He finished his cigarette and then he was walking away.

You throw your head in your hands, feeling your temples pulsating. At this point you were completely lost and seriously considering just not showing up, after all your nausea was growing so much you were afraid to throw up in the ring.

But that way you would have played Raven's game, you would have shown him that you couldn't confront him and probably Stevie would have worried to death. Taking a deep breath, you looked at yourself in the mirror and tried to smile.

“Fuck you, Raven!” You whispered, getting out of the car.

—

A mix of cheers and boos welcomed you walking down the ramp next to Stevie. It didn’t really surprise you because for every guy who wanted to see Raven’s ass kicked, there was another who hated Stevie’s goofiness and saw you two as traitors. If only they knew what was happening behind the curtains.

Raven was sitting in his usual ring corner, his face was masked by his hair yet you could feel his eyes burning your skin. The segment was set to be a back and forth, a fallout that would lead up to a feud, your job was pretty much to take a bump and support Stevie. It was irrational to fear for your life but you could never be sure with Raven, especially when you haven't seen him properly since the night club.

“What do you want, Raven?” You started, pronouncing his name with disgust.

“Me? Nothing. But what do you two want? What's next for Y/N and Stevie Richards?” His mocking tone made your blood boil. It didn't matter it was supposed to be “fake”, you felt like he really meant to bash you two. He still thought he had power over you, which only made you want to punch him.

“I know what you are trying to do. You think you can still get in our heads, well there's no fucking way!” The crowd erupted into a surprise cheer for Stevie standing up, which made it really hard to suppress a smile.

“After everything I have given you, after everything I shared with you, that's how I get repaid? That's the thanks I get for saving you two?”

Saving. There was a time where you really thought Raven was a savior, when he seemed better than anyone and anything else. But soon it turned into a twisted game of manipulation, where the more you stayed with him and the less you were yourself, only Stevie was your dim light at the end of the tunnel.

“Saving? How that's you call the beatings and the anger? The only thing that was saved was your sorry ass everytime me and Stevie sacrificed ourselves, without us you wouldn't even have that belt on your waist!” You gripped the microphone in your hand, preventing it from shaking.

You knew Paul wanted a raw and honest promo, both parties knew what the other would say yet you felt like poking the bear. Cocky Raven would have never enjoyed being reminded that he used people to get to the top, he never wanted to appear weak. Choosing to do this meant bruising his ego, even if it was scripted.

“I shared my brain, I shared my psychology, I even shared my house when you didn't have a place to stay. If you are here it's because of me!” He stood up, making your body paralyze before Stevie promptly shielded you.

It’s part of the script. He can't hurt you or Stevie more because there will be consequences. You tried to reassure yourself.

“Yeah, you also shared your pain, shared your anger, made us relieve something we weren't meant to : your childhood. You can say all those things but I am no longer your lackey, I no longer second to you. I stand with Y/N now.”

Raven walked even closer to Stevie. Adrenaline was rushing in your system as you recognized the moment where Stevie was supposed to be hit, leaving you alone and defenseless. However, Raven brought his mic to his mouth again.

“You know, I expected it from Stevie but Y/N, that was a surprise. After all, I thought you were going to show a little more gratitude after I saved your ass from the street after yet another fight with your ex boyfriend!” The crowd gasped while your eyes widened.

No, no, it couldn't be true. It was not part of the fucking script why was he saying that? Your heart started to beat faster as you felt trapped in the ring, desperately wanting to crawl out. You knew he could go low, but bringing up the darkest period in your life? That was crossing the line even for him.

As you tried your best to not let any emotion show, you thought about your next move. Probably it was smarter to let Stevie handle the situation but it was personal and the anger twisting your stomach was pushing you to react by stepping in front of him. He wanted to break you, so you had to show him that you knew his little secrets too.

“You disgust me. I am actually happy I didn't help your pathetic ass getting up when Sandman busted you open, just like I don't regret turning my back on you while you were puking your guts out!” You raised your voice, throwing all the emotions bubbling up inside you on that last sentence.

Raven's expression shifted, you saw the fire in his eyes as you humiliated him. It scared you, just like your ex did and for a moment you questioned if he would ever take his word back and actually hit you. However when he tugged your arms and hooked them, you know he planted you down with a Evenflow ddt. It didn’t matter how much training and experience you had, taking a bump would always hurt. You were thankful that your face was hidden against the mat because you felt your face becoming wet with tears. Fantastic, just the right moment to let your emotions run wild!

The crowd’s roar gave it away that Stevie was being beaten as part of the plan. You slightly rolled on the mat to get to a better position, surely you couldn’t have a full visual since you were technically “out” but you still wanted to have your eyes on Stevie.

The grip on your throat never lessened since you stepped in the ring, however it somehow got worse as the segment was approaching the end. You know Stevie could handle anything however you felt totally out of control, just waiting for the next shoe to drop. After all if Raven went off script once then he could have done it twice.

“Fuck!” You heard Stevie’s voice scream and suddenly your all attention was on him.

Blood was pouring from his nose, which didn’t seem to look like it was supposed to. Sure, accidents can happen while in the ring but that was done on purpose.

“Raven, stop!” You said, loud enough for him to hear but not the audience.

He seemed to ignore you, keeping punching Stevie’s face. Anger thrummed through your veins because he once again seemed to be the only one in control, making you feeling powerless and desperate for Stevie who was fighting for his leverage.

“You have two options: forgetting about him or staying with him but not letting the asshole walk all over you.”

You weren’t supposed to get up but Raven already fucked things up so why couldn’t you?

Standing up, the crow erupted in cheers as you threw yourself on Raven’s back like a koala. You knew you could only count on the surprise factor, hoping to buy some time for Stevie.

“What the hell are you doing?!” Raven screamed.

“I said leave him alone!” You covered his eyes with your hands, making him momentarily blind.

He tried to take them off but you were holding for dear life, using all the strength in your body. Your face was turning red and your hands were burning under Raven’s pressure, you weren’t going to last for much longer but you were ready to go down with a fight.

“Let her the fuck alone!” Stevie was on his feet now, his nose and mouth covered in blood. “Y/N, be ready to take a bump!” He said, as he kicked Raven in his groin.

You felt yourself leaning forward as Raven knelt for the pain, which prompted you to let him go and actually fell backwards on the mat. The palpitation almost drove your heart out of your chest but before you could think or say anything, Stevie was already picking you up and taking you backstage.

“Stevie, your nose… I am sorry… we need to… Paul will be angry…” Your words were incoherent, fear taking over your system and completely paralyzing you.

“I’m going to be okay. We just need to go to the trainer…” He didn’t get to finish his sentence because the curtains opened again and Raven appeared.

Seconds turned into hours, or so it felt, as you untangled yourself from Stevie and walked straight to Raven. He didn’t move, waiting for you for a small smirk and you felt so good when your hand slapped him across his face making said smirk fall down.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” You yelled, only to be met with silence. “Do you have any idea how irresponsible you were?! I knew you were a bastard but stepping as low as doing a shoot? I hope you get fucking fired!” You clutched your fists, your face turning red as you were just waiting for him to say something that would justify another slap to his face. Most times you hated when Raven took the worst of you out, but this time you really wanted to get angry at him without any remorse.

He laughed. A dry, sarcastic laugh that irritated you even more. You dug your nails in your palms, looking around to see if anyone was around but apparently they all decided to stay away from your show beside Stevie who was watching every move you made.

“Me, getting fired? You went off script as much as I did! Who the fuck do you think you are?! I’ll tell you: a sad, pathetic, good for nothing bitch. You only got here because you slept with me and Richards and you chose the wrong one."

All the rage and the adrenaline just disappeared instead you felt yourself paralyzed by his words. Hell, you knew he could be cruel but you knew he would be this much with you, a part of you always made yourself believe he loved you somehow.

You felt a pang to your heart, the words died in your throat as you just wanted to scream him to fuck off. Who the hell were you? Well, who the hell was he ! Did he know that you didn’t need him? Did he have any idea how many sacrifices you had to do to be here? Yes, but he didn’t care and that was the whole point.

He would have never cared about you or Stevie, you were only properties.

“What did you just say?” Stevie got closer, standing right in Raven’s face.

“Are you fucking idiot?! I said she’s just a bit…” His words got interrupted by a punch to his face, courtesy of Stevie.

The impact made Raven kneel down, holding his nose in pain and you would lie if you said it didn’t make you so satisfied. Raven seemed to agree with you as he slowly stood up, his mouth turned in a bloody smile and you knew he thought that he was in Stevie’s head he was generating chaos that would lead both of you to your own destruction. Even when he was losing, Raven was still winning.

Stevie grabbed him by his jacket, slamming against the wall. The noise made you flinch, you should have probably tried to calm him down but you were blocked by your own sadness and fear.

“You are nothing to me anymore. We should have never loved you because you don't deserve love in the first place." Stevie spat.

You waited for screams, punches or just a reaction but Raven didn’t move. Hard as a stone he stayed there looking down at the floor. You could feel the tension building up, slowly reaching the boiling point and you just couldn’t hold the tears anymore. Pure istinct guided you out of the door and you kept going until you got to your car. Your vision was blurred but you knew for sure that the steps approaching you and the arms surrounding your waist were Stevie’s. You turned around only to hide your face against his chest and bawling your eyes out.

“I can’t do it anymore. What’s even the point? The more we try to get away from him and the more he hurts us!” Your voice broke in a desperate sound.

“Babe… you told me to not give up. We have to keep fighting!”

You raised your head, taking a look at Stevie’s bloody nose and tired eyes and new tears came down.

“I dragged you into this. Look what happened! I am so sorry…” Your words get shushed by Stevie grabbing your chin.

“No. I am an adult, I can make my own choice and it was to follow you. And do you know why? Because I realized that you actually care about me. Without you I’d be gone, without Raven I’d be free.” Stevie reassured you.

Moving closer you felt his heartbeat against your ear. For a moment nothing mattered, no emotions were bothering you because you were safe in his arms, just like you felt that night at the club then reality crushed again leaving you breathless.

“It’s so hard! I thought I would feel better but he makes everything so complicated. And the worst part is… that sometimes I feel like I miss him.” You didn't want to look in Stevie’s eyes, scared to see the disgust on his face.

“I totally get it, I feel the same way. He is a bastard but sometimes I miss when we used to cuddle all together in hotel rooms.”

You could tell from his tone that he was honest. It didn't matter that you knew he was bad for you, deep down you still loved him or at least your idea of him. There was no magic switch who could turn your heart into stone and freeze your feelings for Raven, you both would have to work through that which was utterly ridiculous in your opinion.

“Do you think Paul will fire us?” You bit your lip.

“I have no idea. I think people have done worse things and they are still employed. We will get a lecture, sure. But fired? Not on my watch!” Stevie’s confidence made you crack a small smile.

“I don't know what I would do without this job.” You admitted.

“We can always go to WCW. Hell, maybe WWF wants us, who knows!”

“Oh God, that would be funny!”

Silence fell between you, both of your arms were around each other and your head was still leaning against his chest.

“I know it's bad, but sometimes I wonder if we are doing the right thing.” Everything stopped around you, you could only hear Stevie’s question over and over in your head.

Are we doing the right thing?

You stared at Stevie’s face, at his shaky hands and defensive position as you could attack him at any moment. Raven's words replayed in your head in every detail, how they cut your heart and dig into your soul, how you feel completely insulted and busted at the seams.

That's not what love is supposed to be like.

“We are doing the right thing.” You said, kissing his lips. “We are saving ourselves.”

#Raven #Stevie Richards #ecw #extreme championship wrestling #raven x fem!reader #stevie richards x fem! reader #raven x stevie richards #Wrestling #my fanfiction #my fic

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zentaiges-blog · 10 months ago

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my new years resolutions

(Yes it took me 2 weeks into 2024 to materialize this and for some reason im putting this on tumblr for all to see. Idk why ok here we go)

Listen to more classical music cause it makes me feel good, also listen to more indie artists that make chill music for the same reason as stated earlier.

Listen to less anything else (god please dont get home from your draining and dead end job and fall into a mindless coma listening to video game ost that you liked 5 years ago ever again for like the whole rest of the day)

eat more fruit and vegetables, its better for the environment and also it helps you not get rashes and coughing and heartburn constantly thats making you miserable and slowly killing you cause of coca cola and mcdonalds and many other evil brands that want everyone to be unalive

watch more cute cartoons and look at flowers outside and little critters, listen to people on the bus and train and be nicer and friendlier even if you dont feel up to it, it will make things better

watch deep and meaningful movies and read good and meaningful books. No, you dont have a 'favourite genre' that you have to watch things of, just enjoy yourself for once instead of trying to make your behaviour fit your personality, which barely exists anyways

Dont buy stuff you dont need. No, i dont need 2 packs of cookies cause they are 30% off. In fact, you need 0 packs of cookies cause even if you get 1 pack youll eat it all immediately and get sick so whats the point. Just buy stuff that will actually get made into an enjoyable meal and not snacks that will make life suck more.

Dont wonder why you are here or why god is tormenting you ( if you believe in god, which changes constantly, its like a 50-50 coin toss every day). Just think about something to look forward to

And that leads into this point, which is a continuation of resolution number 6: dont buy stuff at all actually. Dont make a budget plan, just try and spend no money cause your future is uncertain my dude, me, I

Get into poetry. Remember when you were in that book club in school? And they read poetry all the time and you were like: eh i dont get it and why am i even here if they wont let me talk about the golden compass which was my fave book at the time( they did let me talk about it but most of the club was poetry). But now i finally get it. Poetry is like music or art. Its so beautiful. I dont know why i am such an idiot that it took me a quarter of a century to finally get poetry. But now i want to read and learn. And maybe even write my own and inspire others to discover this truly magical world. Its so much more than just words, stories, or information or emotion. Do you think i could get my sister to read poetry? Or maybe even some colleagues at work? Can I make enough money this year to keep living on my own or will i have to beg other people who dont like me to let me move back in? If this job doesnt work out, can i find another one that pays enough for me to feel safe? Will i fall back into depression somewhere along my path? Or will something unexpected and good happen? Maybe i will find people who like me despite my neurotic and unloving and apathetic (and pathetic) nature? Or will something bad happen? Will I live?

This is not a new resolution just me ending this post. I hope you have a better life than me and a great year. Best wishes!

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cassandraclare · 4 years ago

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The Letter Game (in full)

Many have asked to read last week’s letter game in a slightly simpler format. So here it is, for everyone’s enjoyment in plain text, under the cut. The action takes place between Chain of Gold and Chain of Iron. Read on . . .

1: INVITATION

To all and sundry—

The leaves are changing, and with them the season. It grows colder in London by the day, and even without the pestilence that recently ravaged us, even without demons breathing down our necks, cold with chill—now is the time for all good Shadowhunters to come to one another’s aid, and support one another in that most hallowed Nephilim tradition: song and dance.

So, a Musicale! The Townsends are pleased to invite the Enclave, in toto, to our West End home this Friday’s eve. Refreshments will of course be served, but the entertainment will be provided by you, our esteemed guests and friends. We would be so honored if you would help us welcome the coming of winter by bringing your most excellent capers and ballads, to keep us warm.

Grahame and Millie Townsend

2: Lucie » Cordelia

Cordelia, my sister, the very twin of my own heart,

Can you believe the Townsends’ invitation? How pretentious can one be, I ask you! It took all four Herondales an hour of discussion to conclude that “Friday’s eve” meant simply Friday evening rather than the eve before Friday (that is, Thursday). And is the demons or our necks that are meant to be cold with chill? “Cold with chill!” As a writer of words—no, even only as a reader of words—I am offended.

I digress, however. I write to ask whether you will be attending, as that will be significant to my own decision of whether to go. I asked James, and he was unenthused but “supposed” that “we must.” So I wish to let you know that if you don’t fancy attending, I believe James could be easily convinced. But, as unpleasant a night as it promises, I fear he may be correct that “we must.” You and he, after all, must do the social rounds as a betrothed pair, and I—well, I can hardly sit alone in my bedroom all night while all my friends witness Catherine Townsend’s cold-blooded murder of “O mio babbino caro.”

So whatever your preference, I will be amenable. We can put on our frills and watch the most foolish of our set warble and prance, and at least we will have each other’s company and champagne. Or, if you’d prefer, tea and draughts in the Institute parlour. I am yours to command, my warrior-sister.

(I have realized only at this moment that perhaps you not only wish to attend but to perform yourself; if that is the case, I retract all previous mentions of warbling in favor of my unconditional enthusiastic support. I will even accompany you, if you wish, but I am not very good at the spinnet so please, something fairly slow would be best.)

Yours ever across the still waters of time and space,

L. Herondale

3: Ariadne » Anna

Dear Miss Lightwood,

I expect that you will have received the same invitation to the Townsends’ Musicale that the rest of the Enclave has. I write with the question of whether it’s your intention to attend, and to say that I hope that you will, and that I hope to see you there.

It’s not your sort of party, of course—dull, bourgeois, and stuffy, I imagine you’d say—but since as the daughter of the Inquisitor I am rarely able to appear at the more lively gatherings that you prefer, I do plan to attend myself, much as I would rather be elsewhere. (At one of those lively gatherings, perhaps?) Catherine will have my head if I am not there to keep her mother out of her hair, for one thing, and for another…well, I wish to see you.

I have it on fairly good authority that your brother and his roisterous band, or whatever they call themselves, are planning to be there. So I also write to implore you to come so that a cooler head will be present and any explosions, or implosions, or indeed bedlam of any kind, will be, if not prevented, at least more easily contained and cleaned up after.

For the event I am thinking of a dress I have, in a deep ruby color, with a rather striking neckline. I am no great judge of my own appearance, but I do know your taste and I daresay you will find it flatters me. For your part, I hope you will wear those pinstriped trousers you have. You have not worn them in an age, and I miss them, or rather, I miss how elegantly you wear them.

In short, I hope to see you there.

I know it is not your habit to keep letters from admirers, but rather to use them to kindle your fireplace. Perhaps that will be the destiny of this note as well, but I believe not. I come to you not as an admirer, after all, but as a friend, and one who wishes you all the best things in the world—

Yrs.,

Ariadne Bridgestock

4: Anna » Matthew

Mr. Fairchild—

Matthew, I have instructed the courier bringing you this note to evaluate your sobriety and, if it is found wanting, to slap you across the face twice. Straighten up and pay attention, you debauched fool. It’s still breakfast-time. And this is important.

Are you going to the Townsends’ musicale?

Let me rephrase: if you know what’s good for you, you will be going to the Townsends’ musicale.

I hope to enjoy your company there, of course, as my friend and companion. But also, to be frank, I will need the support. My night was free and so I told them I would be there, but I wasn’t thinking, and now I’ve received a note from one A.B., letting me know in no uncertain terms that she will definitely be attending as well. It will be a large gathering, no doubt, and most of our time will be spent watching Thoby Baybrook chase after the juggling-balls he keeps dropping during his performance, rather than close-quarters socializing. But—and I trust in your confidence on this matter—I find I flutter with nerves. Imagine. I never flutter!

I hope I can count on you. I am not usually in the business of begging favors. However, this is an unusual situation. Matthew: she will be wearing the burgundy dress.

Anna

5: Ariadne » Matthew

To Matthew Fairchild—

All right, I’ve sent the letter. Against my better judgment, I should add. It seems more likely to drive her away than to attract her, to be honest, but you have her confidence in ways that I no longer do. If you think she is more likely to be there as a result, I will trust in your plan.

However.

I am fully aware that under most circumstances neither she nor you would be found as such a dreary party as an Enclave-wide musicale. (Nor would I, but as the daughter of the, et cetera et cetera, I hardly need to tell you.) So let this note serve as, not a threat, but a promise: if you even think about ditching the party for one of your Downworlder orgies, or whatever your usual scene, and you leave me and her to awkward politesse over stale canapes without showing up yourself…I will follow you to the ends of the Earth and your life will be forfeit. Forfeit, Fairchild. I daresay I can best you in a duel three times out of four, but also be assured I am very good with a dagger in the dark.

I look forward to enjoying this merry entry in the social season with you. I will see you there.

Yours sincerely,

Ariadne Bridgestock

6: Matthew » Cordelia

No, that won’t do at all. There are already other C’s. Christopher, for instance. Also Caiaphas, a werewolf from whom I sometimes purchase wine. (He has an excellent nose, you see.)

Cordelia Carstairs, you need not worry about the Townsends’ party. First, none of Our Lot are planning to perform at all, but merely hang back and watch the festivities while imbibing and filling seats. You certainly shouldn’t worry that you’ll be asked to dance as you did at the Ruelle. This will not be the Ruelle. It will be far more insipid.

I’m sure J is focused entirely on your responsibilities as an engaged couple to make the rounds and be seen by the whey-faced provincials of the Enclave. He is correct, as always, the bastard, but he worries too much. Rest assured that we Thieves will be concocting a plan in which we are able to (1) have a good time at the most boring gathering of the season and (2) not miss cake. (I don’t know if you have had cake at the Townsends’. They are a tedious family, but their cook is some kind of confection-obsessed elf who performs great conjurings with spun sugar and buttercream.) (Yes, he really is an elf, I think. Or Catherine was having me on. His ears are fairly pointed, in any event.)

I do not particularly anticipate this musicale with great pleasure, but I do, of course, anticipate the opportunity to spend time in your presence with great relish. Truly, my parabatai could not have picked a more suitable bride with whom to be mutually bored to tears at parties for years to come. I suggest that for this one you bring a flask to tuck into your reticule. If you don’t, worry not; I will bring two. At least two.

I remain, as always, yours sincerely, etc etc,

Matthew Fairchild

7: James » Thieves

CONFIDENTIAL—DO NOT DISTRIBUTE—ON PAIN OF TORTURE—THIS MEANS YOU

Merriest of Thieves,

After extensive discussion, we’ve reached consensus (or as close as we will come) on our plan for Having Fun At the Townsends’ Musicale Even Though It Is a Musicale Hosted By the Townsends. (A variety of alternate names were proposed, but all have been vetoed by the plan’s organizer, that is, myself. Please do not continue to send proposed names, Matthew.)

Our esteemed colleague Christopher has, it seems, been working in his spare time on a new method of rapidly sending written messages without the use of couriers. Instead, messages are sent with a combination of runes (so bring your steles) and a propellant of Christopher’s own invention. I’m told that the technique is not yet flawless, but Mr Lightwood reports that it is ready to be shown and tested, and what better place than a party at which missing the main entertainment would be not disappointing, but rather a great relief.

Down a corridor from the Townsends’ main parlour is a small games room. I say games room, but in truth it is empty of games, and nobody ever uses it. It is windowless and a bit close, but mostly empty of furnishings and a suitable location for a scientific demonstration. Even better, the corridor itself departs the parlour with a dog-leg, and once one has passed around the corner, one is invisible to the notice of the other partygoers. (See attached floor plan of the first storey of the house; thanks to TL for his freehand drafting skills.)

This plan assumes that none of you are planning to perform in the musicale itself; if this is not the case, then MF wishes me to remind you both of your loyalties and to the overall philistine-like qualities of most of the guests.

Surely this will provide sufficient entertainment to get us all through the evening.

The party is only one days away, so if there are any questions about this plan, please hiss them to me sotto voce tomorrow night while Millie Townsend is performing her murder ballads.

Courage, half a league, half a league onward, and so on,

James H

PS: For those whose main draw to this party is Morgaint’s famous Victoria sponge, Christopher assures me that we should be done well in time for dessert. (I should add a warning that it should not be referred to as a Victoria sponge within earshot of Morgaint, as he will lecture you at length about the recipe’s preceding Victoria by centuries, the history of confection in pre-Roman Britain, and so on. He is very temperamental, even for a faerie.)

8: Thomas » Alastair

Dear Mr Carstairs—

We have not spoken in many weeks, presumably as a result of the unfortunate circumstances under which we last met. Nevertheless, I write this evening to extend my wishes for your family’s continued health and good fortune.

As I’m sure you know, this Friday marks an Enclave-wide social event at the home of the Mr and Mrs Townsend. I know that your sister will be in attendance, with her fiancé. The Lightwoods—Eugenia, Anna, Christopher, and myself—are also planning to be there. And, of course, we expect the family of our esteemed Consul, including both of her sons, to make an appearance.

Shall we expect to see you there? I ask merely because if so, I will not be attending. I understand that as your family will be there you have every right to attend, so I am happy to be the one who bows out of the evening.

Yours sincerely,

Mr T. Lightwood

9: Alastair » Thomas

Mr Lightwood

Tom

Look, you,

I am amazed and impressed by the effrontery of you writing to me to ask whether I will be attending an event only to them tell me that if I attend, you will not. No doubt you are feeling aggrieved about the last time we met. Well, so am I. Jests and pranks from our schoolboy years are hardly a good enough reason for the kind of public humiliation I suffered, both from Matthew Fairchild’s rude outburst and your own. The very thought of attending a party with the likes of you sends me into a mixture of, on the one hand, paroxysms of helpless laughter, and on the other, a thumping headache of barely contained fury that I

[letter discarded, not sent]

Mr Lightwood,

Thank you for your kind letter. I am, of course, aware of the upcoming affair at the home of the Townsends, through the usual means of receiving my own request to attend. It would seem to me obvious that I had no need of being informed about the party as though I would otherwise be ignorant of it. Unlike some of the London Shadowhunter families, the Townsends have only ever been courteous to the Carstairs family, and the implication that I wouldn’t have received exactly the same invitation that you did is exactly the kind of nonsense that

[letter discarded, not sent]

Thomas,

I won’t be attending the Townsends’ musicale, as I am already committed to a preferable previous engagement cleaning out the pigeon cages in the Regent’s Park Zoo.

Thank you for thinking of me.

Receipt of your letter is hereby acknowledged.

I don’t know why you would write to me at all, but please do not write back to try to explain.

[letter discarded, not sent]

Thomas,

I do want to apologize, I have tried to apologize, but every time I come near you a wall of your friends prevents me from doing so. You can hardly hold it against me that I have not apologized when you will not allow me to do so. Yes, I know what I did rises far above the level of a jest or a prank. But one must be allowed to make amends somehow, for otherwise what is there? Hopelessness? Not I suppose that you care much what I feel. Just because you are beloved of your friends, and ridiculously tolerably handsome, you think —

[Letter discarded, not sent]

10: Cordelia » James

J—

Do you need rescuing? Everyone is in the games room for Christopher’s demonstration, even Thomas, who has spent most of the evening hiding from my brother. You on the other hand have been waylaid in the corner with Mrs Whatshername. I tried to get close enough to intervene but was swept away myself by Mr Townsend, who wanted to tell me about his travels in the Levant when he was a younger man. Could not tell if he was confused about my family’s origins or he simply assumed anyone would be fascinated by his tales of camels and pyramids. Anyway, M suggests he could interrupt and scold you for ignoring your betrothed. Lucie says you are ignoring your betrothed, but don’t listen to her, I know you are far too polite to interrupt a member of the older set. (If you yourself remember, please remind me of her name when you come.)

Come as soon as you can. Do not allow Mrs Whatshername to follow you.

Daisy

11: Christopher » Thieves

To: James, Lucie, Matthew, Thomas, Cordelia, Anna, Ariadne

From: Christopher

In an ideal world, I would have been able to send you this note through this very technique I am demonstrating tonight, but it does make a fairly loud bang, and I thought that would likely give the game away. Though I wish to not allow social proprieties to impede the progress of science, I have been reminded by several of you that discretion can be the better part of valor. Although I admit I can’t think of any personal examples where that would be the case.

In the games room I have piled a supply of protective spectacles, which I suggest you wear. There is no danger of damage to your eyes, but there may be some very bright flashes. In addition, the propellant which I will be using to send the message is an experimental mixture, similar to those I have tried in the past but not exactly the same. There is a very very small chance that inhalation of its fumes may cause some temporary effects to the mind, so I recommend that you hold a handkerchief over your nose and mouth during the demonstration. To be clear, I don’t think that any of these effects would have any negative impact on our ability to return to the party and attend the musical performances afterwards. At worst, it may make those performances seem more enjoyable than they would otherwise.

12: James » Townsends

Dear Mr and Mrs Townsend,

On behalf of myself, my family, my fiancée, and my fellows, I wished to extend sincerest apologies for departing your lovely gathering without saying proper goodbyes. Your musicale was, as all would have expected, a smashing success, with performances across the board demonstrating the falsehood of the common claim that the Nephilim are unable to produce works of art. Surely your daughter Catherine’s rendition of Puccini’s famous aria could stand alongside the finest professionals to be found in the Royal Albert Hall.

As you discovered along with the rest of the guests, Christopher Lightwood wished to use the opportunity of having us all present to demonstrate the state of his newest invention. I’m told that when it is completed, it will utterly revolutionize the way that Shadowhunters are able to communicate with one another, obviating the need for the runners, couriers, and use of the mundane Royal Mail to send messages to one another. Instead we will have a fully self-contained rune-based method. Surely anyone would agree that such a development would be well worth whatever growing pains the process of invention and experimentation might create.

As you also discovered, Mr Lightwood’s demonstration took an unexpected turn, with a good amount of his customized propellant being released into your games room and corridors. Luckily, it was a mild evening, and open windows as well as the vigorous fanning of the doors by Thomas Lightwood and Ariadne Bridgestock quickly dispersed the gasses.

That said, neither I nor my companions are able to account for an interval of roughly ninety minutes between the end of the demonstration and our departure from your house. To that end, it seems that we were sadly lacking in good manners by failing to thank you for your warm hospitality at the time. Again, please accept our deepest apologies, and our thanks for that hospitality, even if it has been delivered discourteously late.

Warmest regards,

James Herondale

13: Matthew » James

Jamie,

Good Lord, what was in that stuff of Christopher’s? Do you know if there will be any lasting effects? I hesitate to ask Kit, he seems too dismayed.

Also, I am trying to find out to whom exactly I owe an apology for specific behaviors that might have happened after the demonstration. I seem to have lost more than an hour from my memory, as well as my waistcoat and a garnet ring of which I was quite fond. Any thoughts you have would be appreciated.

Matthew

14: Lucie » James

James,

I have been expecting to hear from Matthew, but as it has been most of a day and I haven’t yet, can you please let him know that I will make myself available to be apologized to during teatime, either tomorrow or the next day. Please also tell him that I will be sending along a bill for the costs of cleaning arrack out of the skirt of my dress. For such a prodigious consumer of spirits, you would think he would have learned not to slosh them around so much when he talks. I suppose Christopher’s propellant takes some of the blame, but honestly, Shadowhunters are trained in agility and dexterity and even under the influence of one of Christopher’s experiments he should be able to, at very least, not slosh so.

Lucie

15: Cordelia » Anna

Dear Anna,

The last hour or so of the party was something of a blur for all of us, I think. But I feel confident in assuring you that both you and Ariadne acted with all due propriety, and that at no point did you “make an ass of yourself,” as you put it, either out among all the guests or in the games room.

Also, when next you speak to Ariadne, please compliment her on her lovely dress. It suited her quite well! I wondered if you were responsible for finding it for her? You do have such an excellent eye for what colors and cuts will flatter.

Anyway, do not worry. I have made some private inquiries, and nobody took note of any unusual behavior on the part of either yourself or Miss Bridgestock. (In fact, Rosamund seemed to be under the impression that you were shamelessly flirting with her. I can confirm that you were not and that Rosamund simply has an odd way about her.)

Are we still on for tea Wednesday? Let me know if not and otherwise I will see you then.

Cordelia Carstairs

16: Townsends » Everybody

For the attention of:

James Herondale

Lucie Herondale

Matthew Fairchild

Thomas Lightwood

Anna Lightwood

Christopher Lightwood

Alastair Carstairs

Cordelia Carstairs

On behalf of not just our own family, but the parental generation of the Enclave more generally, we wish to communicate our displeasure with your behavior at our soirée on Friday’s eve. You are all adults or near-enough, under Nephilim Law, and so you should be held to account as any adults would be. And you should be ashamed of yourselves.

Given the influence had by many of your families, and the small size of the London Enclave, we cannot bar you from all of our future events. If only we could. We will, however, be more careful in future about shutting off access to rooms in our house that are not intended for use by party guests.

Rather than taking the time to craft individual complaints, we hereby itemize the most obvious of our grievances, so that you may all have your behavior exposed to one another. Certainly none of you deserve to have your actions kept private.

Alastair: We were glad to see you eventually arrive, though there is a wide difference between “fashionably late” and the hour you appeared. (Just in time for the desserts, we note.) Also, the song you performed was highly inappropriate for the ladies present, especially the unmarried ones, such as our daughter, and also your own sister.

Lucie: While we have always supported your hobby of writing down entertaining tales, and we understand that the storyteller’s art does involve artistic creativity, your ongoing, strident, melodramatic narration of the events following the Christopher Lightwood Incident was not appreciated by us or, especially, Mrs Rosewain, who you referred to throughout as “Mrs Whatshername.”

James: Your interruption of the cake serving to declare your undying devotion to your true love was a gallant gesture. It might, however, have gone over better had you not pledged your troth to a portrait in oils of our ancestral matriarch, Frideswide Townsend. Your taste is admirable, of course, and she was considered a great beauty. It is unfortunate for your affections that she passed away in the late sixteenth century.

Anna: We would thank you to come by and pick up your brother from our house at some point. He has been muttering to himself, fiddling with a pencil and paper, and threatening “another test, much improved.” Please retrieve him post-haste.

Thomas: We don’t know how you made the acquaintance of that vampire who attempted to accompany all of the performers on his dulcimer, but he is not welcome back to our house, and if we see him again, neither are you.

Matthew: Whatever was in that bottle you were plying to my mother, we only found her this morning, napping on our roof. When we woke her she said it was of a greenish color and asked for more of it. We would be obliged if you could bring another bottle by, at your convenience.

Cordelia: Your demonstration of the supernatural sharpness of your sword was very impressive, even if it was not in the spirit of the kinds of performance we expected for a musicale. It is, however, not all that surprising that it was able to cut through our drapes, a dining-room chair, or the sponge cake. We spoke to your brother, and he suggested that we should feel free to send an invoice for replacement costs to the Herondale family, since soon enough you will be their trouble, and not his.

In short, you have all behaved abominably, and are, each and every one of you, embarrassments to your various hallowed family names.

We hope you will join us the Thursday after next, for boating and luncheon in Hyde Park.

Mr and Mrs Graham Townsend

#letter game #the merry thieves #the last hours #chain of gold #chain of iron

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shadowdianne · 4 years ago

Note

Okay but it would be really cute for a Cissamione prompt to be like, at a ball or something and Andy interrupts them before they kiss 🤣

Nine months later here I present…. Something Xd Hope you like it anon <3 And thanks for the prompt 😉

As always ever-present reminder that I might be a little bit of a brat when it comes to details… and far too invested in long sentences, lack of perfect edition if I happen to write this in the middle of the night as it is, and far too short actual dialogue. Apologies for everything and I do hope this is enjoyable.

Less of me, on with this :P

Lights illuminated the room, pools of flickering flame that climbed their way through the decorations that had been carefully hexed a few hours prior, so they maintained their shape and form while floating soundlessly above the chatting crowd below. Marble and wood splayed beyond the lights, its colors swallowing whatever little droplets of that very same light that absconded its way into Narcissa’s hair for everything that Hermione was concerned.

Unperturbed, or perhaps far too lost in the other witch’s silhouette, the brunette witch didn’t quite see her fellow colleagues as they laughed and talked around her, conversations inane, lacking most of the times, insipid, and far too work-related in others even if today’s ball had been called in the hopes, perhaps, of creating a divisive line between work and pleasure. After all, Imbolc was shining bright among the magic present in the air and the ones at the ballroom, the members of the Ministry that is, weren’t the only ones celebrating such a moment. Beyond the curtains and veils and walls so carefully jinxed so no muggle could hear them above in the grey-surfaced city, many other members of the Wizarding Community would be enjoying the festivity as well. And yet, Hermione had caught herself realizing, half-apologizingly, despite the boredom their conversations had for her that she would have been one of the many others who couldn’t quite separate themselves from their work-related company if it hadn’t been -that is- for the far too good dressed witch that had made her entrance just late enough for the alcohol to have been poured and refilled more than twice already.

She had hoped she would come, she had given her own invite herself after all; a cacophony of nerves and what-ifs stuck at the back of her throat as she had played with the envelope made out in parchment and pressed celandine and violets that had left minute granules she has promptly shaken off as Narcissa had risen her brows and tilted her head, all angles and shadows and eyes that shone as conjured ice.

“Are you sure of this?” She had asked then, within the confines of the apartment that had become theirs even if none of them dared to speak such truth out loud. Despite the reality of Narcissa still living at the Manor that had become rightfully hers after the Trials and the divorce and some other legal affairs that had become far too long to enumerate while trying to find the better way to explain that nothing would please her and burn her more than seeing her there, among others, next to her, distance close enough that maybe, just maybe, she could grab her fingers and squeeze them between hers.

Hermione had bitten into her bottom lip then, sheets around her, the chill of mid-January chasing the fine hairs at the back of her hair as she moved up on their bed, moving closer, farther from where she had fished out the letter from, a simple, sober “And plus one” written at the very top of the envelope on itself. The words laconic, mute of the colors Narcissa’s eyes kept on bringing as she scanned the parchment again and again, as if waiting for the letters to slid of the page, transformed into fog and glass. She had taken Narcissa’s empty hand with one of hers then, kissing the palm, curving her fingers along so the blonde witch would mimic her as she laid her chin against their conjoined hands.

“Only if you want.” She had replied then, serious, expectant, willing, needy, burning.

But, the brunette witch now thought as she maneuvered herself away from her colleagues, away from the walls, away from the fire and flames that framed the edges of a room that couldn’t contain the happiness at seeing Narcissa entering and searching for her, finding her and promptly doing the same as she was doing, wasn’t Imbolc meant to be fire? Didn’t she deserve to have the one she wanted at her side then and there? She emitted a small smile as she finally moved close enough for Narcissa to grasp both of her hands by her wrists, thumb running through her pulse points, as she appraised her, blonde and dark on her hair, glass, and jewels on her hair, black and fire and white on her silhouette having forgone her usual Slytherin colors for something more appropriate for the evening and reason of the party itself.

Hermione knew her stunning, knew her beautiful, gorgeous, divine, and with that in mind, she licked her lips and reminded herself, dazedly, that despite her will and want and accepted offer at accompanying her neither of them had truly talked about how much or how little would they be willing to show. So, sadly, she pressed her lips together, blushing, always blushing, and -still trapped by Narcissa’s hands, turned them palm up so she could feel the tipping dance of the blonde’s own heartbeat against the pads of her fingers. A staccato of nerves and -yet- resolution.

“Been some time since I was here.” The blonde mentioned, almost in passing, eyes glued to the walls, to Hermione if the brunette narrowed her eyes enough to see the quick pupil movement. Anything, everything, that would shield them both to the onlookers, the ones who were trying to be subtle, the ones who weren’t. “I like what they have done for today. You will need to tell me if you managed to get them to do the eternal flame spell you talked me about.”

Narcissa had been pardoned. In a fashion, after a trial that had been far too long and work that had needed to be done inside the blonde’s own mind once she had risen her head towards the Wizengamot and admitted her part, subscribing to where her faults had lied, admitting her will of changing, of not quite leaving everything behind but ready to try to. She had paid, obliging to what both others wanted of her and she herself had asked of her. And yet her presence, her memory, was still followed by the very same eyes that glanced and looked and judged Hermione’s own presence in the Ministry, even after all those years, even after showcasing time and time again that her place there hadn’t been nepotism but something earned, something good.

So she jutted out her chin and pretended not to see them, none of them, as she glanced up towards the fires; the colors changing ever so slowly from bright red to purple and mauve if one stared at them long enough.

“They finally went with a spell over Incendio so the flames remained cold longer.” She informed, contrite and Narcissa scoffed a little as she -sadly- dropped her hands, grasping a glass that had floated towards her in the attempt to get her to start drinking.

“Their miss.” She said, taking a sip, liquid splashing slowing, lazily, as she appraised Hermione with the promise of a shadow of a smile, eyes slow, weighing, smoldering.

Maybe she should just kiss her, no matter the murmurs and scolds and gasps and questions that would come later. Or maybe she could just, simply, ask her to leave the place, find another one, secluded, safe.

“I…”

Her train of thought was interrupted, however, when a profile appeared amongst the many others around them all, the instantaneous wave of panic not appearing as it had once done but yet making her tremble with the realization they were about to be interrupted by none other than Narcissa’s sister as Andromeda promptly abandoned her own conversation with some members of a department Hermione didn’t truly focus on, and strode towards them with the resolution of someone about to start an equally long conversation with them both.

“Your sister is here.” She said in the spare seconds they had, the flashing idea of convincing Narcissa to climb to her own office, beyond the hall, beyond the elevators, beyond the sleeping memorandums turning into ash.

While Narcissa baited looks, Andromeda was a very different beast altogether. She had been, after all, the good sister as far as the general public was concerned. She wasn’t followed nor judged but was still as looked at as the others who have been there, on their own, during the war. She was invited to the usual feasts, however, either by ones or others wanting to get some edge out of the almost perfect living copy of Bellatrix Lestrange herself and so as she moved everyone deferred around her as her smile caught Narcissa’s eyes the second the blonde turned towards where Hermione’s gaze was lost, shoulders rising in surprise at the sight.

“I didn’t know you had been invited Cissy! I would have sent you an invite but I was already a plus one…”

“I was, kind of a last-minute thing, though, hence why I couldn’t find a moment for…”

They were warm to each other, the sadness that had peppered their conversations having been diluted some time ago. And so, Hermione couldn’t blame Andromeda for wanting a moment with her younger sister. Decided to move away, leave them so they could be as free as they could be among so many others, she stepped at her right, a passing caress on Narcissa’s forearm that could very well look intentional to others who were paying enough attention.

“Andy.” She said, all smiles and warm eyes but the other witch wasn’t having any of it and, grabbing her by the very same point her sister had had mere moments before, she spun Hermione until she was between them both, head tilted, mischievous.

“Oh no you don’t.” She said merrily. “You are going to stay here and listen as I ask my sister why she hasn’t kissed you yet. Noisy ones be dammed, Cissy, have you seen her?”

Oh, well. Or she could just question if she could ask for a non-verbal approach of disappearing without a trace.

#cissamione #prompt #Anonymous

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rndavus · 3 years ago

Text

The Collector

TW/CW: mentions of We*pons, bl*od, d***h, vi*lence

I purchased a painting from the merchant's stall at the back of an abandoned alleyway, it looked wonderful. It really did. The gorgeous face of a middle-aged woman played with my lonely heart with a devilish smile, making my breathing uncontrollable.

I was in the habit of collecting paintings, mostly portraits of beautiful young women. One might have called me a connoisseur of the beauties of the visual arts. As I walked with the bag I was keeping the canvas in, it seemed to become heavier with every step. I tried to protect it from all the Victorian dangers that could've damaged the painting. By the time I had reached the doorstep of my house, my arms ached as the weight of the bag began to make me understand how Atlas must've felt holding Earth in his arms.

I entered my house, a familiar smell coming to me as I walked past the threshold. Everything I had grown accustomed to and took a chair on which I placed the bagged painting. After I removed the cloth, exposing the naked, revealed canvas for my delighted gaze. Oh, how beautiful she still was, although her smile had gone astray. I could see no more glee on her face. Instead, she looked at me with widened eyes. Her lips slightly parted, exposing her front teeth in the candle light that lit up the room. She slumped to the side a little.

"How could it have changed?"

The painting also looked worn to me, as if decay had somehow gotten to it in that small amount of time. As I bought it before, the canvas looked new. That is what attracted me to it so much, what urged me to buy this work of magnificent art. The painting appeared as if it had just been created. As I looked at the painting then, it was scratched up, old, and almost ready to be thrown away. There were cuts in canvas everywhere and the paint had scratches, deep enough to have taken parts of the paint away. I analyzed it for hours, my mind was unable to process the strange sight that I observed.

I got up and walked away from the painting to get a whiskey. Perhaps that would straighten out the confusion so heavily set on me. I took a few sips from the bottle of whiskey that had stood on the counter since the last couple of days and turned around to take another glance at the portrait.

"By God!"

I gazed at it as I noticed it seemed like the frame had been broken. When I bought it, there had been no damage to it, nor as I brought it in. It was in pristine condition. To see damage to my new canvas saddened me. It used to be such a beautiful painting, and presently, the painting appeared more decrepit with my every glance .

To prevent any further damage, I decided to watch it more closely. I grabbed a chair from the table in the small dinner area, shoved it to the opposite side of the painting, and stared at the painting, refusing to take my eyes from it. For hours, I kept a close watch on it, not allowing this mystery to unfold any more and my painting to become more damaged than it already was. But staring can be more tiresome than one would think. After a long passage of time, in which I denied my eyes the rest they needed; that they demanded, they forced themselves to close.

Hours went by with me sleeping in that chair, guarded by the painting across me. As I awoke, my shock was immense. The painting had lost all its color. There stood a gray painting in front of me. No more were the colors vibrant. But the colors were not the worst of it. Those eyes - the eyes that were vibrant when I observed the painting before, were dull. The color had disappeared from them. They looked horrifying. What beauty had once lied in them was a long-gone fantasy. It broke my heart to see the eyes staring back at me with such a vacancy.

Why the painting was acting in such a manner, I don't know. Perhaps it was the paint that was of an inferior quality, perhaps it was bad luck, but the radiant image was fading with such speed that I couldn't keep up with it. I thought about staring at it again , but my mind quickly told me that in the long run, this would be futile, as I would grow tired yet again, and my consciousness would eventually extinguish. I stood up, walked back to the bottle, and then heard it. A short groan, as of someone waking up and gasping for air. It was impossible though, since I was alone in the house.

I tell you, I am not insane, nor do I have the tendency to hear things that weren't there. But as I stood by the counter and reached for another bottle of whiskey after having finished the last one, I heard another groan come from behind me, close to the painting, but not from it.

My heart raced within my chest as I jolted around and freaked out. The bottle of whiskey dropped as I turned, my hand shoving it off the counter and hit the ground. For a moment, I stayed still, expecting to hear the sound again. But alas, my silence was answered by more silence. My eyes darted to each corner of the room, scanning whether I could, before hearing the sound again, see the origin of the sound that was chilling me. Yet again, I was met with failure.

With my heart still racing, I bent over to pick up the bottle off the floor. My ears kept listening to my surroundings as I cleaned the floor, expecting to hear that dreadful sound again. The more I listened, the more it seemed like all sound was starting to be sucked from the room. I walked to the window and opened it. I hoped to hear horseshoes prancing and the wheels of carriages rolling on the stone roads, birds chirping, people talking, or even the leaves from the trees being rustled by the summer wind. Instead, I heard the groan again, now coming from right behind me, almost at the place where I stood.

My head turned to the source of the sound. It was now close enough for me to locate where the sound came from. It came from the floorboards. It was in the room, there was no doubt. I was sure that it came from under the floor now. I know I am not insane, and I know that I heard it from there. You might say that a groan could never come from the floor. Where else would it come from? My eyes glanced over at the painting once more, and the sight I beheld terrified me. The woman in the painting looked at me with those gray eyes. Perhaps even through my soul. Her lips curled into a small grin as she gazed at me.

A loud gasp escaped me with an impressive echo which overwhelmed the otherwise silent room. I observed the room, fear taking over my mind. My head felt dizzy, and my stomach felt as if it was about to spill all the contents of the day to the ground. My breathing became loud and heavy. What was going on? Why had this simple painting brought this insanity into my home?

"My God!" My lungs inflated in synchrony with the words, "Why have I deserved this? Why have you brought this misery to me? What sins have I committed to deserve such punishment upon my mortal soul?"

I received no response from the God that I had once adored. I still stood in the room, alone, pestered by the loud groan. I turned around and dropped to my knees. I began desperately looking through all the cracks of the floor, searching whether I could see through them and, perhaps, discover the source of the horrible sound.

Then I heard another groan. This one came from a different place. It sounded different and was more guttural. It was somewhat louder than the others.I quickly ran to the kitchen and took the first knife that I could find. I held it tightly in my hand as I walked around the room and scanned every inch of it, trying to determine from where the new torturous sound came.

As time went by, it started to seem as if the room filled with the vile groaning. It filled my ears until I could no longer hear anything else, nor think about anything else. I had to stop it before it would have cost me my entire sanity. Wherever I looked, it appeared to become the one source of the ear-shattering noise. In the insanity that was beginning to conquer my mind, I could suddenly distinctly hear the source of another groan. It was the closet - the damned closet. I marched towards it and opened it, the uncontrollable force of my anger pulling the closet door nearly out of its hinges.

There she was: another painting. The painting of a young girl which I had brought only a few days ago. How beautiful she looked! Yet, she had begun boring me all those days ago. That was an issue I had since my early years. I would get something new, and within a short amount of time, I'd become bored with it and needed to get rid of it, as it would become a bothersome thing for my eyes. For that reason, I had placed the painting within the closet so my eyes wouldn't have to look upon it. The gaze of the girl in the painting looked directly into mine. I saw the mouth move, and before a groan could come out, I smashed the knife into the canvas, ripping through it.

Suddenly, a loud knocking on my door disrupted the salvation I delivered myself. I jerked the knife back and forth while I watched the door. I looked at the knife, and saw that my hands were covered in a scarlet liquid, sticky substance. My mind could only grasp this to be paint. I looked at it with raised eyebrows and smirked at the prospect of having stopped at least part of that terrible sound. My enjoyment was short-lived as the knocking at my door became louder. almost louder than the groans were. I began walking to the door, marching over the floorboards and through the deafening noise. I pulled the door open, and in my anger I stabbed the knife into whoever stood outside, adding to the noise that was already enraging me.

My eyes grew wider as I saw a police officer standing before me. The large fellow looked at me in shock. As I looked over at my hand, I realised I had stabbed his colleague in the stomach. He sat on his knees, as life slowly left his body. His pained gaze darted at me as the sounds of his teeth grinding tightly together ground against my mind.

That brings us to today. I am now sitting in a cell. It is tiny, but I will soon be out of her and be guided to the gallows. They tell me that I murdered many women... That my house was filled with victims... That the stench of the dead women could be smelled everywhere in my house... Their words confuse me. I couldn't even hurt a fly. Yet they keep telling me that I'm a killer?! They said that I had abducted a woman that day, strangled her, and placed her dead body upon a chair in my house. They also said there were corpses of women in the closet and under the floorboards. I now sit in my cell confused, able to only conjure the sight of the many paintings that I had bought.

I am sure that no women, dead or alive, were in my house. I can swear to that, as God is my witness. I was alone in that house as the police arrested me. I merely collected paintings. That was all which was present in my house. Now they are calling me "insane", but as I have stated before: I am not insane. Of that fact I am sure. Never have I felt insane, nor have I felt any urge to put harm upon anyone. I merely enjoyed collecting my paintings. The only insanity that may have pierced through my sanity is how I became bored with the paintings after a while, and kept putting them away in various places around my house.

But it doesn't matter. I have already been declared insane, and thus, my words aren't believed by anyone. No matter how much I speak, the gallows shall be my final destination. That is a fact of which I am sure.

#short story #horror #suspense #Mystery #writerscommunity #writersnetwork #writers aesthetic #fiction #my writing #writing #exciting #writerscorner #writers #writers on tumblr #writeaway #horror writing #horror fiction #Short-story #short fiction

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ellie-e-marcovitz · 3 years ago

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October 2021

I groaned as I sank into the couch. I couldn't even muster the energy to pull off my prosthesis, despite the discomfort of the cool weather.

Mask shed, it wasn't the reason I was hating the return to largely in-person work and classes. The masks I could deal with.

It was the demanding personalities and lack of regard (still) for personal space that my otherwise enjoyable colleagues seemed to have mastered during the year and a half of virtual work.

Humans still didn't come with translated subtitles.

A warm hand drew me from my thoughts, before Charlie crouched in front of me, and pulled off my prosthesis, which elicited a groan of relief.

"We have to be getting rain soon," I muttered, feeling the couch shift as he sat down next to me. "M'knee's been killing me since yesterday."

"We do need it," Charlie agreed, hands comfortably warm against my sore shoulders.

"Just wish I wasn't a weather indicator," I grumbled, doing my best to absorb the latent body heat. The chill that was starting to linger seemed more pronounced, ever since the last little storm that left a good dusting of snow around the reserve for a couple days afterwards.

Ever since seventh year and Rakepick's attack, my body seemed to ache off and on, even more so since the battle back in '98. Particularly along my scalp, where my head had briefly impacted on a wall with her initial blow.

I relaxed in Charlie’s embrace, as one hand slid up to cover the spot. The warmth of his hand, coupled with the warmth and relative silence of the house, created a comfortable environment

#hphm ellie #charlie weasley #Ellie Marcovitz #fic #rainy weather

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gaycrouton · 5 years ago

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The Newlywed Game

early msr // fluff // fake marriage but real yearning

This is dedicated to the always wonderful, always supportive Brandy (@dbebrandy) who was AMAZINGLY GENEROUS and helped me get some awesome merch when I couldn't. My grattitude is endless.

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

Part of her should have known that burying her face in the menu and crouching wouldn’t have gone unnoticed by Mulder. Nothing ever did. It was just her first instinctual move when she saw her ex walk into the bar. He looked good, smiling, a young girl hanging off his arm like a trophy. Maybe they were celebrating her high school graduation.

Fucking asshole.

She didn’t want to draw any attention to him, or herself, but she heard a gentle psst, and she peeked around her menu to see Mulder mimicking her. “What are we hiding from?” he whispered.

How Mulder of him, following her on simple blind faith. She was just as embarrassed at her frivolous desire to go unnoticed by her ex as she was irritated that it had to happen on one of the rare nights Mulder and her stayed so late they ended up getting dinner together. Quality time with him without mentionings of chupacabras or paranormal activities were few and far between, not only that, but last week had been so hard on him with the Roche case - and she felt like he was finally getting back to his old self. “It’s stupid,” she whispered back, but not moving to let her face be seen.

“Scull-ee,” he whined. “Tell me.”

She rolled her eyes before peering over again, “An old boyfriend of mine is here and I don’t want him to see me.”

“Did he do something to you?” Mulder asked, still confused by her out of character actions.

“No,” she corrected, raising her voice a little. “The break-up was just awkward and I don’t want him to-”

“Dana Scully, as I live and breathe,” she heard a familiar tenor proclaim in faux enthusiasm.

With a sigh, she let the menu fall and she was met with the sight of Paul Staehle standing in front of her with a boastful smile and a protective-puppy Mulder glaring across from her. “Hi, Paul,” she sighed, putting the menu down. “How are you?”

“I’m fantastic. I’m here with my girlfriend,” he boasted. “What about you, Dana? Is this a colleague?” He was clearly teasing her and she simply drew in a breath to conceal her reaction.

“Y-”

“No,” Mulder interrupted, drawing both the parties attentions to him. He smiled the most radiant smile she’d ever seen on his face as he reached across the table and grabbed her hand, stroking the back of it with his thumb. “I’m her husband.”

She felt her eyes widen involuntarily as a waiter walked passed and filled their cups, oblivious to the tension. “Married? Really? Since when?” Paul asked.

“Six months ago,” Mulder answered, his voice barely concealing his happiness. He was such a good actor it was startling. “But we’ve been together for a little over four years now.”

“Where’s your ring?” Paul asked accusatory, trying to catch them in a lie.

“In Dana’s line of work, it’s dangerous to wear it. She keeps it close to her, but it’s personal,” Mulder informed seriously, so convincing she could even believe it. She was still reeling from hearing her name and those words come out of his mouth when she heard Paul’s disbelieving grunt.

“Huh, well Dana. I never thought I’d see you like this. You were always so...frigid. I’m glad to see you’ve chilled out,” he smiled, as if that was actually a compliment.

“You should probably get back to your date,” she responded evenly.

They both watched him leave and Scully turned to Mulder with a raised eyebrow. “Married?” she repeated.

He shrugged his shoulders like a kid with his hand caught in the cookie jar, “You looked upset, so I wanted to help.” He noticed he was still grabbing her hand and shyly let go, with a little laugh. “So, why was the breakup awkward?” he asked.

“Because I told him I realized I was a lesbian,”she deadpanned honestly.

A look of embarrassed shock passed over his face and he incredulously asked, “Y-you what?”

She smiled at his expression before explaining, “I know it was awful of me, you should never use someone else's sexual identity like that, but he was so weird.”

“Weird’s not your thing?” he asked, sounding exaggeratedly disappointed, but she could tell the disappointment was real.

“I like my weird on the spooky side, not the borderline stalker type,” she laughed, taking a sip of water to avoid his eyes while he digested that.

“So you told him you were a lesbian?”

She blushed lightly at her youthful antics, “Well,” she chuckled in embarrassment, brushing her hair behind her ear. “In my defense, I was in high school, so blame it on childish foolishness. I wasn’t receptive to his advances and when I told him I just wanted to focus on my schoolwork he fetishized it.”

“Smart is sexy,” he mimicked.

She exhaled a small laugh, “Not like that, more like the sexy school girl fetish.”

“Oh,” he said, his eyebrows shooting up. “How did the lesbian route possibly stop that from happening?”

“Oh, I’m sure he thought about it a lot with his hand, but he left me alone,” she chuckled. “And - nevermind,” she laughed, shaking her head.

“What?” he asked, fully curious.

“I asked one of my friends to pretend to be my girlfriend, so anytime he came around, she’d be all over me,” she explained, blushing.

“Scully, I don’t mean to sound like a caveman, or objectify women of that community, but how did that possibly stop him from following you?”

She smiled at his honesty. “Because she could have gotten in a fight with Hulk Hogan and come out without a scratch.”

They both started laughing when the waiter from earlier came back over, but instead of re-filling, he gave them a look that could rival a car salesman. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but did I hear you guys say you were married?”

“N-” she started correcting.

“You sure did,” Mulder beamed, sending a teasing look to Scully.

“Oh thank god,” the young boy exhaled in relief, much to their confusion. He must’ve caught sight of their curious expressions when he explained, “We were hosting a Newlywed’s Game here tonight, but the couples didn’t show. There are people who came just for the event and we don’t know what to do, and I’m getting in trouble - and I really, really, really, really need you guys to say yes,” he rambled, wearing a sheen of sweat acting as an attestment to his anxiety.

“Yes to what?” Scully asked skeptically.

“Will you guys be the couple of the night and play?”

Scully laughed and gently responded, “No, no. I’m sorry.” She was surprised to see there were two disappointed faces looking back at her rather than just one.

“Come on,” he drew out, pouting his lip like a little kid in the hopes that if he endeared her, she’d agree. “It’d be fun.”

“Mulder,” she chastised, “You’ve never remembered my birthday for the past three I’ve had with you. I’m just sparing you embarrassment.”

“Scully, have you met me? When have I ever shied away from public ridicule?” he smiled. “Come on, let’s do it”

“No,” she stated plainly, looking at the menu while trying to ignore his attempts and the waiter’s desperation.

“The prize for the winning couple was a year’s worth of free pies, and since you would be the only couple, if you say yes it’s a guarantee,” the teenage boy offered.

“Scully, the pie. If not for me, do it for the sweet goodness,” Mulder pleaded.

She had to admit, as selfish as it was, she was kind of excited to hear Mulder try to answer personal questions about her. He was so absorbed sometimes that she was honestly curious how much he did know about her. That, and she simply couldn’t resist the puppy dog eyes he was giving her. “Fine,” she sighed relenting, snapping her menu shut and standing up.

She had to bite back a smile at the beaming grin that passed over Mulder’s face. Despite his relentlessness, he apparently hadn’t expected she’d conceed. However, her smile quickly disappeared as she followed the boy to the impromptu stage. All it consisted of was two barstools with dry erase boards, markers, and hand towels sitting on top - the finishing touch being a microphone standing proudly in between.

She made sure to send Mulder a few pointed glances as she settled into the chair, gathering the materials on her lap. The lights dimmed as the boy spoke into the microphone and it made it impossible to see how many people were actually out in the audience, or even, how many were actually paying attention. She didn’t know if that made her feel better or worse, but she didn’t spend much time worrying about it as she focused on the boy’s words. This was moving too fast and she was already regretting saying yes.

“Lucky for us, we were able to find a newlywed couple to step up and play for us all! So let’s allow them to introduce themselves.” He turned and gestured to Mulder.

He sat up in his chair and she got a little enjoyment seeing that, despite his previous confidence, he was just as uncomfortable being up here as she was. “Oh, uh, hello. My name’s Fox Mulder and this is my wife, Dana Sc-Mulder.”

She saw the way his lips twitched when he said wife and called her by his surname and she tried to stop herself from seeing what she wanted to see. “And how long have you been married?” he asked, turning to her.

“Uh, six months,” she stumbled, appreciative that their fumbling could be blamed on the newness of their relationship and not the compulsive lying it was.

“Congratulations! So, we’ve compiled some questions from the audience and a few of our staff and, customers, if you want to participate, write down your prediction on who will win and, if you’re right, your meal will be half off! Okay, so, for those that don’t know, we’ll simply be asking different types of questions and we want to see either who is right, or if they are able to agree. So, let’s begin,” he exclaimed, grabbing a folded piece of paper out of a bowl. “Where did you go on your first date?”

Scully pursed her lips in thought as Mulder started writing immediately. How was he writing like he already knew? It hadn’t even happened. She wasn’t sure if he was just making something up, or if he was writing where he would take her? She felt a blush creep across her cheeks when she wrote ‘Chinese takeout at his place’, as far as she was aware, that was the first thing they’d ever done off the clock together, so it probably counted.

“What did you put Mrs. Mulder?”

“Yeah, what’d you put Mrs. Mulder?” Mulder teased, enjoying this far too much in her opinion.

“Um,” she started, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear nervously. “Chinese at his place,” she murmured, turning her board around.

Mulder smiled sweetly at her and she instantly knew that wasn’t what he’d put and she felt exposed. Every part of her wanted to whisper that she hadn’t actually considered it a date. She just thought-

“Bellefleur, Oregon. A romantic walk through the rain,” Mulder laughed, with similar chagrin she’d been feeling. She smiled and giggled lightly at the fact he’d put their first case.

“Oh yeah,” she mused, pretending like she’d simply forgotten such a strange first date.

The announcer seemed confused, and she could hear the audience chattering amongst themselves, speculating how walking through the rain could be a date. “Um, hahaha,” the announcer awkwardly laughed, “Okay, uh so. Next question.”

This was going to be a long night.

Soooo, I have a few already, but I mean, you guys ARE THE AUDIENCE, so what pressing questions would you like to have answered? ;)

#gaycrouton #my fanfiction #x files fanfiction #msr fanfic #fluff #mulder and scully

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admirable-mairon · 5 years ago

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Yet another tiny crossover Fanfic for Swilmarillion!

Yeah you read that right.

Remember the whole Sauron meeting the Modern!AU gang? Ever wondered what would happen if Sauron was to come with them to the office? Well here we have some of it!

I’ve been meaning to get around to this for so long, @swilmarillion <3 It’s not too much but it is something to get my creativity flowing ;)

Also as a tiny reminder of what Modern!Annatar looks like!

Mairon was heading towards the roof, rather disgruntled and admittedly a little nervous. He had been at a meeting when Melkor decided to turn up, which wasn’t necessarily an uncommon occurance, but today Melkor had apparently decided to bring his demon to work. As in the literal demon he had accidentally summoned that had previously shown itself to be able to walk through doors, melt things by touching them, and was determined to pick apart literally everything it came across. That last fact was the reason Mairon was nervous - He simply couldn’t afford for all of his hard work to be undone by a demonic entity...!

Another thing that was nagging him just a little was the fact that the demon had looked eerily similar to a DnD version of himself every time he had seen it, and to have a duplicate with an appetite for chaos walk around didn’t bode well.

When he arrived on the roof he spotted three figures rather quickly. Two of them were easy enough to recognize - Melkor and Gothmog - but the third was.... Not what he had expected.

Tall (of course), broad and strong shoulders, beautiful smooth dark skin and the dark braids put up in a rather striking but casual hairstyle. His shirt was tight, as were his pants.... And on the whole he simply looked like a rather handsome ‘prep’.

The three were apparently taking a smoke break, though Melkor didn’t have a cigarette like the other two. Instead he just occassionally took a drag from the prep’s cig... And very much stopping once he spotted Mairon.

“Mairon! There you are! I couldn’t find you before and Thil warned me against interrupting your little meeting” Melkor called out, grinning in a way he was sure was charming (Mairon would never admit that it was), and Mairon frowned.

“Yes, that would be true. Interrupting my meetings is never a good idea - especially when the purpose of said meetings are to bring you more money and power” he pointed out, glaring at the supposed demon who simply grinned back at him.

“So uptight, little spark” it chuckled as it took a drag of it’s cigarette. No smoke emerged once he was done.

“Cut it with the nicknames, Crowley. What are you supposed to be now? An intern who was locked inside a storage for Forever 21?”

“I am supposed to be a hired consultant, according to my lord” it said, taking yet another drag of the cigarette without letting the smoke out again. “I was told, however, that Tar-Mairon would be confusing for your poor little servants, and so I instead go by the name Annatar”

Mairon kept his expression firm and still at that, despite the chill that went through his heart as he heard that. Annatar.... That was an alias he occassionally used in some places online.....! How in the fuck did this demon keep doing that...!?

“I figured it wouldn’t help” said Melkor, noticing that Mairon was uncomfortable and attempting to comfort him at least a little by wrapping an arm around his shoulders so he could lean in and kiss his forehead. “Annatar has many abilities that could be useful to us, but in order to actually help getting Angbang to the top he needs to know what’s going on here.You are the best engineer we have, and with his ability for magic and other thing-a-majicks you two could potentially be unstoppable! We literally have a lesser God at our disposal, Mai! Surely you don’t think we should waste this opportunity?”

Well fuck.... Melkor did have a point there, reluctant though he was to admit it. It could help, and it wasn’t like the demon would understand any of his own work anyway, so he wouldn’t be replaced...

“... Fine. But if he breaks my models or computers, I’m going to skin him alive”

“Oho~ Kinky” Annatar simply chuckled, and ate the rest of the cigarette.

---

“So these are your servants?”

“I wouldn’t call them that”

“Goons? Slaves? Cattle?”

“Sometimes that fits, but no. They’re my team of programmers”

“Do they work under you? Do your bidding?”

“‘Do my bidding’ - God you’re such a cliché....”

“Just answer the question”

“Yes”

“Then I would say that qualifies them as your servants”

Mairon rolled his eyes and took another sip of his coffee as the two of them watched over the work in the hangar. This far they were unnoticed, but that could change.... Or well it COULD have changed, but Annatar seemed to do a trick with the shadows, which meant that literally no one could see them even when looking directly at where they were standing.

“I thought you said you never eat anything that isn’t alive” he pointed out teasingly as Annatar brought his own cup of coffee to his lips. That actually brought a laugh out of him, and he grinned at the shorter man.

“You remember that, huh? Well, you are right. I don’t like eating dead things.... But this... This drink still has some form of energy that I find enjoyable. And the taste is lovely” he shrugged, before tapping a finger against the edge of his cup.

“... So, what kind of surveillance do you have? You have some way to keep track of their activities, yes?”

“I certainly do” Mairon replied, grinning sharply himself. “I have logs upon logs filled with information about what they do, and don’t do. They know I’m watching, but if I hold off from scolding them the moment they do something wrong, they sometimes relax and think I haven’t noticed. Until we have a big, official meeting where I can tell them off and shame them in front of their colleagues. I enjoy watching them squirm in the knowledge of their own failures and my disappointment”

That brought out yet another laugh of the demon, and Mairon honestly didn’t know if that made him proud or not.

“Ah little spark - We truly are alike!” he chuckled, nudging Mairon gently with his elbow. “.... What is your policy on intimacy between servants?”

“.... Depends” Mairon replied, his eyes narrowing and for once he didn’t correct him. “Why?”

“Well becacuse those two-” Annatar said, pointing at two of the people below. “- just had sex”

“What?! How do you-?!”

“I can smell it” he grinned, tapping his nose. “And I’m fairly certain I know where it happened as well”

“Oh?”

“Storage area on floor 3″

“Motherfuckers - That’s our place...!”

“.... Want to come up with a creative form of punishment?”

“Yes”

#my writing #swilmarillion #FYD #Annatar #Sauron #Modern AU

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talltalesandbedtimestories · 5 years ago

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A View To A Winchester (Part 6)

Series Page

Summary: Julie’s starting a new life after divorce in a home with a very nice view.

A Dean X OFC story. No idea how long it will be, but I’ve got time on my hands. I got this idea staring out the view of my home office window and thinking how nice it would be to have Dean Winchester to ogle. I’m thinking it will go the fluffy route, with some angst, and maybe some smut down the line. Not sure yet.

Section Word Count: 3,787

Section Warnings: fluff, angst, R-rated language, drunk-dialing, Dean flirting/arousing/drinking

~~~~~

“I’m going to be a big tub of lard if this goes incredibly bad, really quickly.” Julie mumbled to herself in the kitchen bright and early the next morning. “I’ll eat my rejection in calories.”

She had not slept well, despite Dean wishing her a good night. And, it had been all his fault. She couldn’t stop thinking about him. And pie.

There had been numerous Pinterest searches late into the night for tips and tricks on how to make the perfect crust. The barely used pastry cutter had been dug out of her wedding gifts box in the basement at about four am. At what was now six am, she was using it to cut the cold fats - a not-yet-tried-by-Julie mix of shortening and butter recommended by one blogger - into the flour.

Next came the slow addition of ice water and another novel ingredient, cold vodka. She had to wait an hour before even starting the dough that morning, placing a bottle of vodka in the freezer to chill. The alcohol apparently inhibited gluten formation which should, in theory, promote a tender and flaky crust. She was not a chemistry gal but she did enjoy learning how to use it to her advantage when it came to food. Forget Bill Nye the Science Guy. She was an Alton Brown, Good Eats fan.

What the hell am I doing this all for? Desperation? Thy name is Julie. What happened to telling Mr. Winchester you had lots of time to get to know him? Hitting the accelerator, baking a pie because you know he loves pie? It’s like exposing Superman to kryptonite. But is Dean Superman, and pie is the kryptonite in this analogy? Or am I Superman and Dean is my kryptonite?

“Fuck. I need sleep.”

She turned the dough out onto the floured counter. The folding was always the part that made her nervous. Her mind wandered to Dean again. Focus, don’t overwork it. Dimpling the soft, crumbling dough with her fingers brought her back to the feeling of his, dancing over her skin.

A weird, tweaked out bliss washed over her. She understood the enjoyment mom got out of cooking for others, even if she wouldn’t admit it. For Julie, it came from baking up treats for co-workers that made their eyes double in size and the occasional dinner parties with friends that ended with a multitude of compliments and full bellies. The parties I use to throw with Steve.

A flour cloud billowed from her continued kneading. Her nose tickled at the dust entering her nostrils.

She’d lost a lot of their shared acquaintances over the past few months. Julie didn’t have it in her to compete for a mutual friend’s attention. Steve always needed the camaraderie more than she did anyway. She didn’t have the strength or inclination to work that hard for friendships that had already begun to dissolve or become distant over the last decade. The choice to not have children had put them both on a decidedly different path than all their married friends. In her honest opinion, the patriarchal society created a more obvious division between her and her female peers. It didn’t help that she was not one to offer to babysit. Let Steve be the fun uncle. Asshole.

Julie backed away when she realized the folding motion had gotten aggressive. There was no need to take her anger out on the innocent pastry. She separated the dough, formed two balls, covered them in cling wrap, and whacked them in the freezer to prepare for rolling out later. The Great British Baking Show is goddamn addicting.

But Dean. Dean’s lascivious, pornographic attitude toward food had set something off. If a cobbler or a cake could get the kind of a reaction she had witnessed from that man, she really wanted to see what a pie could do. She imagined those green eyes melting her with a gaze of adoration after her pie passed his lips.

I don’t think we’re talking about apples anymore. That mouth. Sweet Jesus. She had picked up on his affinity for lip licking and how his gaze lingered on her own mouth. Oral fixation. He has to be an amazing kisser. I bet he knows how to use that tongue. Everywhere.

Julie shivered. She poured her second cup of black coffee and strolled to the tiny foyer. The reflection in the hall mirror under unflattering light only magnified the suitcases replacing the bags under her eyes. Her two sizes too big tattered pajamas reminded her of a potato sack. Dean is certainly going to want to get all up in this. Inhaling the aroma first, she then blew in the mug and took a languid sip. So, pie would be a good deflection from your appearance. But the friggin’ pie won’t be ready for hours. And, anyway, it might turn out horrible.

She still had to peel, core, and chop up a ton of apples for the filling. Christ, the sun isn’t even up yet. A yawn overpowered her, despite the injection of caffeine. I should try and take a nap. Her body slipped into her favorite sofa corner. Just a quick one. The mug steamed on the side table. Her lids closed.

~~~~~

Julie’s eyes shot open. Sunlight filtered through the golden sheer curtains covering the sliding doors. The mug was no longer steaming. It was quiet outside.

“Shit.”

She unfolded out of her seat and rose to stand. Her body creaked in resistance. Discomfort in her muscles delayed their response with a stab of pins and needles. She cringed and cursed under her breath. A swish opened the curtains. Her mouth dropped open.

Lawn’s mowed. Her gaze shot up to Dean’s backyard. Impala’s gone.

“Shit.”

Phone. Julie flew to the kitchen. The phone had been used to look up the crust recipe. She swiped at the flour dusted screen. A groan. It was one o’clock in the afternoon. She groaned again at the notifications. Four messages. All from Dean.

“Shit.”

Knock, knock.

Anybody home?

Hey, Sleeping Beauty. All done with your scheduled lawn service. Was going to drop off your cake. Text me when you wake up so I can make a delivery.

Julie, I had to take care of some business. Be gone until tomorrow. I’m holding your cake hostage. In fact, I’m bringing a few slices with me for the road. Might not be much left. But, seriously, let me know you’re okay. Or I’m knocking your door DOWN when I get back.

“I missed him.” She whispered, in total dejection. She hit reply and began talking out her text. This new tick was happening every time she had a virtual conversation with Dean. “I’m so sorry I didn’t hear you. I teeter between an insomniac and coma patient lately. You can have ALL the cake.”

Her heart skipped a few beats when the phone rang, displaying Dean’s name.

She answered on the fourth ring. “Hello?”

“I was thinking you dropped the phone and ran away after your text message.” Exasperation threaded through the bass of his voice. He sighed, faraway, on what sounded like his phone’s speaker. “Are you trying to play hard to get?”

“I’m still waking up.” It wasn’t a total lie.

“Hm. Pretty impressive. You slept through me knocking on the front and back door.”

“I slept through an earthquake and two aftershocks once.” She offered.

“Bullshit.” Dean stated without hesitation.

“I did.” Her defenses were up. “I was in California.” She didn’t bother to say she had been on her honeymoon.

“You should get that checked.”

“I did. I’m good. Just a sound sleeper when I actually get some needed rest. I take it you’re a light sleeper?”

“Pretty much. I’m programmed to wake up at the slightest noise.”

“Work took you away again, huh?”

“Yep.”

She waited. “Is this where you tell me what you do?”

He chuckled. “It’s not as exciting as you’re probably imagining.”

“Try me.”

Without missing a beat, he responded, “Bail Enforcement Agent.”

“Wha-?”

“Bounty Hunter. Even though my colleagues don’t particularly care for the term, I’ve found.”

She gave it a few seconds to sink in. “Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

Her mind replayed the conversation she overheard Dean have with his brother on the phone. He mentioned coming back from a hunting trip. “Is that the business you were in with your brother?”

“No.” He paused. “Let’s say it was bounty hunting adjacent.”

“That’s all I get, huh?”

Another chuckle. “Yep.”

“Now who’s playing hard to get?”

“Not I, sweetheart. You’ll never know what you would’ve been in for today... if you’d heard me knocking.”

She swallowed. A swooshing sound filled the absence of his voice on the line. He’s driving.

“Give me a hint?” A breathy whine escaped along with the question. She bit her lip at the accidental slip.

“Hell. I’ve got someone on the other line. Give me a minute and I’ll call you back.” He hung up abruptly.

She cringed at her reaction. Sexy. Ugh. You are so out of your league with this one. Well, no need to finish working on that pie now. She waved a hand and marched upstairs to change out of her pjs. The crust will keep.

Minutes ticked by. He got busy with work. Bounty hunting? She finished changing and pounced onto her bed, landing on her stomach. Her head shook. It’s an actual thing people do. But he could be lying, leading me on with some absurd and inflated story to see what he can get away with. She’d been that naive with men before, believing what they said at face value. Because, if she wouldn’t flat out lie, why would someone else? Life experience was a hell of a teacher. It turned her hard and cynical and untrusting.

Ten minutes turned into thirty. She browsed through social media apps on her phone. Every second increased her agitation. My window of opportunity has passed.

Over the next half hour, she applied some makeup and gave herself a pep talk in the mirror. “You are channeling all of your pent-up energy, attention, and sexual frustration into this one man. Not healthy. I mean, yeah, the sexual frustration part is totally understandable. But…” she trailed off and stared at her reflection.

Don’t want to get your mind off a messed-up relationship with a quick hop in the sheets. Take care of you. Remember? That was my mantra when I signed the divorce papers. Christ, the single hardest thing I’ve probably ever had to do. And, I added my name to that document like John Fucking Hancock.

She nodded.

“Go out. Get some air. Run some errands. Just be. And be okay with that.”

Julie attempted to make herself believe her words as she went about her day.

~~~~~

Her mom had called to check in while she was out. So had her brother. Kelly, her co-worker, had texted about a project due the next day, bright and early Monday morning. Julie had taken off that upcoming week and wouldn’t be in the office to help. Kelly needed a pep type. Julie didn’t have the strength for a talk.

Nothing major was planned for her staycation. The only thing she’d sort of been forced into by her old friend, Karen, was to host a mini belated housewarming that Friday night. Aside from the food prep and cleaning, nothing was on her to-do list for days. Now, she debated if she should just hop in the car and go somewhere. Anywhere, to get away from the temptation that was Dean Winchester. With her mother back home, she didn’t have anything keeping her tied to the house. Except the possibility of a very bad decision clad in plaid.

She returned home with a bottle of wine and a bottle of bourbon, the latter item she never drank. Wandering down the aisle of whiskeys in the liquor store made her think of Dean. He seemed like a bourbon guy, or a man that would appreciate the drink. The clerk had recommended the bottle with an unassuming label filled with a beautiful amber liquid.

Not depressing at all. It was six pm when she strolled up the steps to her bedroom. Her hands balanced an open wine bottle and foil wrapped hazelnut chocolates stuffed into her drinking glass. She tipped the glass and dumped the chocolates onto the bedspread. Let me not be that pathetic and put some clean pjs on at least. The plan was to settle in for an 80s comfort movie marathon. She’d started with “The Goonies”, then “The Dark Crystal”. She had polished off all the chocolates, wrappers littering the bed, and was almost through “Labyrinth” and the wine when the phone lit up.

U up?

Ten o’clock and Dean was messaging. The alcohol buzz and trippy Henson atmosphere contributed to her out of body feeling. She watched her fingers tap the phone icon and dial his number.

“Sorry about not calling you back earlier. Got a lead on my skip and had to jump on it.” His voice was super close, husky and low.

“Were you on a stakeout?” A throaty laugh in response to her question ignited a full body tingle. It started at the top of her head and worked its way down to the tips of her bare toes. She muted the television, sank into the pillows, and focused on the ceiling. And Dean’s voice.

“Not quite. I found out he was backtracking to visit his girlfriend. I beat him there, talked to her, explained his situation, and how bad it could really get if he kept running. She convinced him to turn himself in.”

Julie’s tracking was fuzzy on the details. “Is he handcuffed in your backseat now? Or, your trunk?”

“No. Already dropped him off at the police station.”

“Where?”

“Poconos.”

That was well over two hours from Pike Creek. “Long way for a fugitive.”

“Not really. Just another Sunday drive for me.”

It sounded too quiet on Dean’s end. “On your way back?”

“I was.” He sighed. “But then I decided to stop at a bar. Had a few too many. So, I’m crashing at a classy motel, stone’s throw away from said bar.”

“Hm. I should be crashing soon, too.” Julie slurred.

Another long pause. “Have you been drinking?”

“Yep.” She popped the “p” out of her mouth with pursed lips.

“Huh. Sounds like you’ve been at it for a while.”

“The almost empty wine bottle would agree.”

He tisked. “Drunk. And I’m missing it.”

The back of her hand pressed against the warmth of her cheek. “You’re partaking in this event virt-,” the train of thought left the station without her. “Not missing it. Did you take the drinking party back to your room?”

“I did. Always keep a bottle of Jack in my trunk.”

“We should toast, then, to drinking alone… but, not.” Julie sat up and took a swig, even if Dean wasn’t going to do the same.

She didn’t know how much time passed before he asked in an even, steady tone, “You wanted a hint, earlier, didn’t you?”

Silence.

“Julie?” His voice teased out her name, soft and slow.

She battled to focus. “Yes. A hint would be nice.”

“How about a confession?”

Electric currents pulsed under her skin. “A confession would be even better.”

“Okay. I should’ve told you this that first day. But... I’ve been watching you… spying on me… for a while.”

Her posture straightened, bolting upright from her reclined position, now stiff as a board. “I-I…”

“Don’t try to deny it.” Silence. “I noticed you one morning, a couple months back. I was in the kitchen, fixing some coffee. When I looked out the window, you were staring into my backyard, then over toward my house. I just chalked it up to you being a hot, nosy neighbor. And, honestly, I didn’t mind the view. Business casual looks very good on you.”

A distinct sip filled her ear, followed by a smack of his lips. Those perfect lips. Julie chose to focus on the fact that he used the word “hot” and not “creepy”.

“But then, you did it again the next morning. You were wearing that dark blue sweater. I was jealous of that sweater, the way it hugs those curves of yours.”

In the effort to stifle a swoon, her mouth let out, “I’d trade places with that red plaid flannel of yours any day.”

He cleared his throat after her admission. “Should I keep confessing?”

“Please. Go on.”

“I could tell you were looking for me, in particular, not just inspecting my property for things to complain about. Call it a hunter’s instinct. You’d seen me before, hadn’t you?”

“Yes.”

He didn’t exactly chuckle that time. It was a short, almost sweet little laugh. “So... every morning when I was home, I’d wait for you to do your search. I’d batted around the idea of coming out one day to say hi…”

“Why didn’t you?”

“What was I going to say? Hi, I’m Dean. I’m a low-rate bounty hunter with a couple hundred dollars to my name, a shitty little house, and a drinking problem?” He sighed into her ear. “You saw something that interested you. But I do better sticking to the surface level, remember? I know how to work with what I’ve been given. Not much beyond that.”

She wanted to berate him for talking about himself that way. But all she could manage was to ask, “So, you have been playing hide and seek with me?”

He chuckled. “I guess.”

“I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable with all of that ridiculous behavior. I can usually keep my voyeuristic tendencies to a minimum.” Words tumbled out, sarcastic and apologetic.

“You didn’t make me uncomfortable. My backyard view was made much nicer. And you gave me the opportunity to get to know you.”

Julie scoffed. “How could you get to know me that way?”

“This is where you’ll probably get irritated.”

She waited.

“I used my skills and resources to do a little digging on you.”

She laughed out loud. “Did you bounty hunt me?”

��Kinda.”

“Interesting. You’re lucky I’m drunk right now, because I find it highly amusing.” And pretty damn hot. She sipped. “What’d you find out?”

“Basic stuff. You’re an accounting manager at a bank in downtown Wilmington. No speeding tickets, pretty straight and narrow. You went to school at University of Delaware - nice GPA. Got married about ten years ago…” his voice trailed off.

“You found out all that stuff even before we met?”

“Yes. And I apologize. But I wanted to get to know my pretty Italian neighbor that liked me, too.”

Too. He could have just ended that sentence with “liked me.” “Those are just facts. You don’t get to know someone from a distance.”

“I’ve gotten to know some things. I know when you’re deep in concentration you bite the inside of your cheek. And, when you get frustrated, you scrunch up your nose. You do that a lot when you’re on a work call, heading into the house after a long day. I’ve even seen you skip, sometimes, when you come home on a Friday. Just a few feet or so, when you don’t think anyone’s looking. When you leave the house every morning, you test the handle of the sliding door twice to make sure it’s locked. Your hairstyle of choice is a ponytail. But, on the rare occasion when you let your hair down… well, I’m glad you wore it down last night. And, that I got the chance to touch a few strands. Soft as I imagined.”

He’s imagined that. She had no witty retort for his monologue. He’d knocked every ounce of air out of her lungs. Her entire body was hot and charged from his confession. He’d examined her, been allowed access to her quirks and habits in high definition, and this Adonis of a man sounded downright intrigued by all of it. Holy shit. The stalkee has become the stalker. And, I’m finding the table turning extremely hot right now.

“Julie, I know you’re not perfect. But whatever asshat of a man let you slip away… I don’t think he had any idea what he had to begin with.” He cursed under his breath. “I shouldn’t be saying all this. Making more of a mess of things.”

“No, you’re not.” She swallowed. “How ‘bout that hint?”

“About what I was going to do if you opened the door earlier today?”

“Yes.”

“Give you back half of your cake and ask you out on a proper date. Whatever the hell that is.” It almost sounded like a low, throaty growl escaped his lips. “But that was earlier today. If I had come home tonight and knocked on your door… I don’t know if I could’ve behaved myself. I would have slammed back too many shots when I got home to work up the nerve. Plus, the adrenaline from the hunt has me riled up.”

God. That voice. She crossed her legs to restrict the pulsing in her core. “What does misbehaving look like?”

The silence stretched out to an excruciating span. “We goin’ there?” he asked.

“Yes.” Her head was spinning. She didn’t really know where “there” was.

“Loose lips...” He mumbled. A noisy gulp of liquid followed. The faraway slam of a glass came next. “Well... my misbehaving hands would end up all over that rosy skin. Every inch.”

She bit her lip and held her breath.

“God.” He groaned, his voice not as close now. “I’d like to say I’d be able to take my time. But it might have ended up hard and fast on the floor.”

An instinctive, quite loud gasp escaped from Julie. She slapped a hand over her traitorous mouth.

“Shit, I’m sorry.” Dean fumbled over his words. “I shouldn’t have… first, I’m telling you I’ve been investigating you… then, I’m talking about ways I’d… it’s just... it’s been a while.”

Julie exhaled a breath. “I pushed you into sharing. When you say ‘a while’...”

“Since I moved to Delaware. Two years.”

The statement woke her from the orgasmic lullaby. “Bullshit.

He laughed. “Not exactly something I’m proud to share.”

“What the hell are you saving yourself for?”

Without a beat missed, he responded, “You, apparently.”

He stunned her again.

“This has been… well, I don’t know what this has been… I’m going to let you go before the conversation crashes into the point of no return.”

“Dean…”

He sighed. “Yeah.”

“I’ll expect the rest of my cake returned… as soon as you get back.”

He laughed. “Yes, Ma’am.”

Part 7

Series Page

#dean winchester fanfiction #spn fanfic #dean x ofc #supernatural fanfiction #spnfanficpond #spn fanfic series #spn fanfiction #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester angst

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thefloatingstone · 6 years ago

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Somebody asked me for some anime recs. I asked them what kind of genres they’re into but I’m not getting a reply, so here are just some general recommendations for good stuff to watch.

I assume they meant new anime so I’m only focusing on those.

Made in Abyss (2017) (warning for Body horror, violence and gore)

The Abyss—a gaping chasm stretching down into the depths of the earth, filled with mysterious creatures and relics from a time long past. How did it come to be? What lies at the bottom? Countless brave individuals, known as Divers, have sought to solve these mysteries of the Abyss, fearlessly descending into its darkest realms. The best and bravest of the Divers, the White Whistles, are hailed as legends by those who remain on the surface.

Riko, daughter of the missing White Whistle Lyza the Annihilator, aspires to become like her mother and explore the furthest reaches of the Abyss. However, just a novice Red Whistle herself, she is only permitted to roam its most upper layer. Even so, Riko has a chance encounter with a mysterious robot with the appearance of an ordinary young boy. She comes to name him Reg, and he has no recollection of the events preceding his discovery. Certain that the technology to create Reg must come from deep within the Abyss, the two decide to venture forth into the chasm to recover his memories and see the bottom of the great pit with their own eyes. However, they know not of the harsh reality that is the true existence of the Abyss.

Pros:

Ghibli artists working on the backgrounds and environments

likeable characters

crushing atmosphere

incredible world building

Really compelling mysteries

Very emotional

Cons:

The manga its based on has a lot of lolicon bullshit. But the anime has doneits best to either remove or downplay those elements as childhood innocence rather than the author being a creep

Ends without clear answers as we have to wait for season 2

Not for you if you dislike violence or body horror

That Time I got Reincarnated as a Slime (2018)

Thirty-seven-year-old Satoru Mikami is a typical corporate worker, who is perfectly content with his monotonous lifestyle in Tokyo. In the midst of a casual encounter with his colleague, a knife weilding maniac attacks them. Satoru, in shielding his co-worker and his co-worker’s new girlfriend, is fatally stabbed, and dies.

And then he wakes up again. But now, in the body of a blob of slime. In doing so, he acquires newfound skills—notably, the power to devour anything and mimic its appearance and abilities. He then stumbles upon the sealed Catastrophe-level monster "Storm Dragon" Veldora who had been sealed away for the past 300 years for devastating a town to ashes. Sympathetic to his predicament, Satoru befriends him, promising to assist in destroying the seal. In return, Verudora bestows upon him the name Rimuru Tempest to grant him divine protection.

With a goal now, the newly named Rimuru sets out to explore this fantasy world, stumbling into situations where other people need help, and since finding ways to live peacefully is much less hassle, Rimuru does his best to settle conflicts and help people to get along. Mostly because he’s got nothing better to do.

Pros:

Likeable, chilled out protagonist who acts and behaves like an adult

Not the average wish-fullfilment harem-in-disguise type stuff you expect from the average Isekai show

Characters focusing on trying to help each other and be kind without coming across as cheesy or unrealistic

Fun powers and “how are you gonna fix this mess?” situations

Cons:

occasional anime tiddy

Mob Psycho 100 (2016) (If you’ve seen season 1 already then watch season 2)

An Eighth-grader Shigeo "Mob" Kageyama is possibly the most powerful psychic on earth. Which is the only thing he has going for him which, in his opinion, isn’t much. Due to his powers going crazy if he gets overwhelmed by his emotions, Mob has spent his life suppressing his feelings, both negative and positive. As a result, however, Mob is an extremely socially awkward and shy person who struggles to connect to people.

The story follows Mob as he tries to find ways to better himself as a person, aided by the fake psychic Reigen who both uses Mob’s real psychic powers to exorcise ghosts, but also uses his fake con-man skill of charming people and being a smooth talker to help people fix their problems rather than have them rely on a psychic for help. He also acts as a mentor to Mob, not on how to be a better psychic, but on how to mature into a good, capable person. Because according to Reigen “Having psychic powers is just a skill. Some people can run fast, some people can can sing well, some people are good at studying, some people are funny, and some people have psychic powers.”

Now if only the assortment of Cult leaders, Ghosts, Secret organizations and Powerful psychics trying to take over the world could leave him alone.

Pros:

A subversion of the “I must get stronger!” shounen story where the character is already the strongest and needs to focus on being a better person instead.

Probably the best animated show to come out in years

Good uplifting morals

A wacky off-beat art style and sense of humour

Genuinely complex and 3 dimensional characters who are likeable

Really relatable in many ways

Cons:

I can’t think of any tbh

Then we have anime I have on my “to watch” list and come highly recommended but I haven’t seen yet. But I want to recommend them anyway

A Place Further Than The Universe (2018)

a “Cute Girls Doing Cute Things” show.

Filled with an overwhelming sense of wonder for the world around her, Mari Tamaki has always dreamt of what lies beyond the reaches of the universe. However, despite harboring such large aspirations on the inside, her fear of the unknown and anxiety over her own possible limitations have always held her back from chasing them. But now, in her second year of high school, Mari is more determined than ever to not let any more of her youth go to waste. Still, her fear continues to prevent her from taking that ambitious step forward—that is, until she has a chance encounter with a girl who has grand dreams of her own. Spurred by her mother's disappearance, Shirase Kobuchizawa has been working hard to fund her trip to Antarctica. Despite facing doubt and ridicule from virtually everyone, Shirase is determined to embark on this expedition to search for her mother in a place further than the universe itself. Inspired by Shirase's resolve, Mari jumps at the chance to join her. Soon, their efforts attract the attention of the bubbly Hinata Miyake, who is eager to stand out, and Yuzuki Shiraishi, a polite girl from a high class background. Together, they set sail toward the frozen south.

The Promised Neverland (2019) (warning for violence and gore)

Surrounded by a forest and a gated entrance, the Grace Field House is inhabited by orphans happily living together as one big family, looked after by their "Mama," Isabella. Although they are required to take tests daily, the children are free to spend their time as they see fit, usually playing outside, as long as they do not venture too far from the orphanage—a rule they are expected to follow no matter what. However, all good times must come to an end, as every few months, a child is adopted and sent to live with their new family... never to be heard from again. However, the three oldest siblings have their suspicions about what is actually happening at the orphanage, and they are about to discover the cruel fate that awaits the children living at Grace Field, including the twisted nature of their beloved Mama.

Zombieland Saga (2018)

There’s a good chance you might have heard or seen this one floating around tumblr as its one of the really big, really popular anime to have come out that features a trans main character written and presented in a positive light.

Zombieland Saga is both a satirical parody of Idol anime, a complete embracing of what makes idol anime enjoyable, and a criticism of how the Idol industry treat women and young girls. A lot of the girls in the idol group are the complete opposite of what is considered a “good Idol” from one girl being trans, one girl having been an Oiran many many years ago (a historic proffession for women where they play instruments, perform tea ceremonies and entertain paying guests. As well as being very high class prostitutes) as well as debating and comparing the ideal of an Idol as they were seen in the 80s versus the modern interpretation.

Zombieland Saga is at both times the complete antithesis of everything an Idol anime should be, while also being one of the best examples of the genre at the same time. It also features really well written characters with emotional depth and arcs to them and boasts a lot of good humour to boot.

Yuru Camp△ (2018)

Another “Cute Girls Doing Cute things” anime

While the perfect getaway for most girls her age might be a fancy vacation with their loved ones, Rin Shima's ideal way of spending her days off is camping alone at the base of Mount Fuji. From pitching her tent to gathering firewood, she has always done everything by herself, and has no plans of leaving her little solitary world. However, what starts off as one of Rin's usual camping sessions somehow ends up as a surprise get-together for two when the lost Nadeshiko Kagamihara is forced to take refuge at her campsite. Originally intending to see the picturesque view of Mount Fuji for herself, Nadeshiko's plans are disrupted when she ends up falling asleep partway to her destination. Alone and with no other choice, she seeks help from the only other person nearby. Despite their hasty introductions, the two girls nevertheless enjoy the chilly night together, eating ramen and conversing while the campfire keeps them warm. And even after Nadeshiko's sister finally picks her up later that night, both girls silently ponder the possibility of another camping trip together.

Rascal Does Not Dream of Bunny Girl Senpai (2018)

You’re gonna look at this gif and that title and think this is some Light-Novel sexy fantasy wish fullfillment bullshit, but I absolutely assure you it’s not.

The rare and inexplicable Puberty Syndrome is thought of as a myth. It is a rare disease which only affects teenagers, and its symptoms are so supernatural that hardly anyone recognizes it as a legitimate occurrence. However, high school student Sakuta Azusagawa knows from personal experience that it is very much real, and happens to be quite prevalent in his school. Mai Sakurajima is a third-year high school student who gained fame in her youth as a child actress, but recently halted her promising career for reasons unknown to the public. With an air of unapproachability, she is well known throughout the school, but none dare interact with her—that is until Sakuta sees her wandering the library in a bunny girl costume. Despite the getup, no one seems to notice her, and after confronting her, he realizes that she is another victim of Puberty Syndrome. Mai’s unapproachability and air of not wanting to interact with people has manifested that it is now borderline impossible for people to physically notice her. Or in some cases see her at all. As Sakuta tries to help Mai through her predicament, his actions bring him into contact with more girls afflicted with the elusive disease.

Bunny Girl Senpai is an anime that deals with Societal pressures, especially as they apply to teenagers, as well as being a criticism of the Japanese mentality of “not rocking the boat” and in dutifully conforming and falling in line with what society dictates is “proper behavior”. It has the running theme that this mentality of just accepting the way things are and not doing anything to change it is unhealthy, and does more harm than good.

Dororo (2019) (warning for violence and Gore)

A samurai lord has bartered away his newborn son's organs to forty-eight demons in exchange for dominance on the battlefield. Yet, the abandoned infant survives thanks to a medicine man who equips him with primitive prosthetics—lethal ones with which the wronged son will use to hunt down the multitude of demons to reclaim his body one piece at a time, before confronting his father. On his journeys the young hero encounters an orphan who claims to be the greatest thief in Japan.

An anime adaptation of one of Osamu Tezuka’s manga, but deciding to go for an updated, darker art style to match its mature tone.

Dororo is currently still airing but so far reviews are extremely high.

Anyway I hope those are enough to give you at least one new show to check out.

#Anime #recommendations #long post #gif heavy

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majdalenaska · 5 years ago

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Up in the air aka glorified waitress

Today it’s been exactly two years since I officially started my cabin crew journey and working for Norwegian Air, hence I‘ve decided to start a blog. Let’s see how it goes..

Below I describe my 6 days‘ trip down route. I hope you will enjoy it a bit and get a little glimpse into my flying world.

I’m talking to a young girl in the elevator; she looks at me in my uniform and says: „Wow, you are a cabin crew? Well, in fact she meant to say : „ Wow you are so lucky, you get to travel the whole world“!

That made me smile, but deep down I thought, hmm that’s a bit of an overstatement.

No, really, many of my friends have a bit biased ideas about this world of flying and what it really feels like to work on a plane. Initially, I was very naive as well, not having a clue as to how I was going to feel on board, how I was going to interact with passengers from different countries and cultures who speak languages that I might not understand. What it is like meeting a different crew every single flight - a bunch of folks who you have never met before, and having to pretend you are proficient enough to provide excellent customer service.

No one can prepare you for the actual flight and being on board. The jetlagg, the anxiety, stress and fatique but with time it all goes away and you get used to it, somehow.

But, on the other hand, who can say they’ve had a steak for dinner in one of the most famous restaurant in Buenos Aires and danced Tango with one of the locals? Or who gets to experience flying in the skies at 39 000 ft every week using a Dreamliner 787 as their office? And getting paid for all the traveling around the world? To sum it up all, I’d say my life is kinda up and down, literally.

This week I’ve had a 6 days‘ trip: London-New York-Madrid-New York-Madrid-London, sounds awful, doesn’t it? It is kind of an odd pattern but since we cover the workload of other bases, we have to be ready anytime for anything. This is aviation! Sometimes you never know where you could be flying next.

28.8./ 8:20 CET- London Gatwick

I meet my crew at Costa coffee at Gatwick and first introductions can begin. There are over 800 crews in Norwegian, so in most cases you will see everyone for the first time, and there is a little chance that you will be flying with someone you’ve already met before. I really appreciate when I see someone I’ve worked with on my previous flights, so there is a slight possibility. I’m feeling a bit awkward, I don’t seem to know anyone. I am not keen on small talk but there is no other choice. The flight crew aren‘t looking very happy today but maybe a smile from cabin crew will cheer them up.

Together we are headed on board and in the forward cabin (PREMIUM) we have a quick briefing before the flight. Our senior assigns positions of the door which we are responsible for. Together we talk through all emergency questions and also discuss first aid topics. The Captain provides us with information regarding turbulences and the flight time, which is the only information everyone’s been waiting for. I’m feeling tired, didn’t have a good night’s sleep , but once the meal service starts, I am ready to go. The flight runs relatively smoothly, we do have an enormous bunch of orders though, which is not ideal, if there are only 8 cabin crew in total. Flights, especially to NYC, are ridicilously busy sometimes.

We finish the service and half the crew can hit the crew rest, which is located at the rear of the cabin. It’s my turn so I can get myself into the little bunk, close my eyes trying to get some rest;this is so far the best part of the flight. If anyone of my readers has ever flown on a Boeing 787 before - please keep reading. You can find the lavatories on the other side of the crew rest and if you see the sign CABIN CREW ONLY , please stay away, this is definitely not a lavatory. You might wonder why I mention this, but 99% of our passengers do try to open our doors and fail miserably.

Anyway, we get to New York city around 1 PM local time (18.00 CET), and since this airport is one of the busiest airports out there we sometimes spend around 45 minutes taxing to the gate and waiting and waiting… (the worst part of a flight)

15:30 local time/ 20 : 30 CET – New York City

Two hours later, we finally reach our hotel in Manhattan; the whole journey from the airport can take up to 1 hour. But we stay in a hotel in Manhattan, so no one complains really. Everyone gets to their rooms and we talk about what to do later. We plan a rooftop bar in Brooklyn, but it starts raining, bummer. I take a shower and a short nap, since later I plan on going to Whole Foods with one of my colleagues. Shouldn’t have done that; after waking up I feel so drained that I am only capable of going downstairs for a pizza at the corner.

The pizza tastes delicious though and I put a Netflix on, unwind and relax. At 8 o´clock I can’t keep my eyes open anymore and I fall asleep. At 2 am I wake up and lie around in bed till 5 am. Thank you jet lag! Being an experienced flight attendant, however, I do have my morning routine. I do a bit of yoga, meditate and head for the coast to have a jog, which works perfect for jetlagg issues. You usually need a buddy who will drag you out of the bed, though. This time I pulled it off on my own!

It really feels amazing to be jogging along the Hudson river at 7 am, passing thrilled New Yorkers with their dogs and strollers, thinking about how awesome it might be to actually live here. After a while, I sit on a bench, listen to music and admire the views over Manhattan and get carried away. I come for a run here every single morning.

Back at the hotel, I go downstairs to have breakfast and meet the rest of my crew. A big breakfast makes me tired once again, so no big plans for today, I’m afraid. But maybe I could manage some shopping in Century 21 and a lunch in Whole foods? ( BTW This place is awesome, just don’t get too carried away, otherwise you’ll be crying at the till.) Later we fly back to Madrid and I desperately long for a good night’s sleep. Tough luck, though.

I play a meditation video to calm me down but it’s pointless.

29.8/21:15 local time( 02:15 CET)- New York City

It’s not ideal to start your flight at 3 am European time, as you can imagine. Anyway, in the world of flight attendants you get used to anything…anything at all. One hour on a bus to the airport, one hour taxing to the gate…man, I am drained. I am sitting on my jumpseat about 50 minutes and there are 3 passengers sitting opposite me.( Cabin crew must smile no matter what, so wakey wakey Magdalena!) Luckily all the passengers are asleep so I can relax. The flight is stress and turbulence free and it only takes 6 hours and 30 minutes,yay. Well, sometimes it is rather enjoyable. Although every flight is utterly different, to be honest. Fatique, arguments with passengers, arguments with crew, fainting passengers, drunk passengers…take your pick. But, hooray, today no one has vomitted on me and I haven‘t spilled any drinks on anyone. Not yet, at least.

30.8/14:35 local time - Madrid

We are thrilled arriving in Madrid. My idea of the upcoming days looks like this: The sun, the pool and chill. I leave my uniform in the hotel room and in the evening I meet my colleagues from Hungary and Poland. Together we set off towards the center of Madrid. The plan is to stroll around the city and get some Tapas and Sangria. We are lucky enough to be guided by one of our colleagues who is local in Madrid.

He shows us a few places of interests. I am mainly excited by the beautiful park called Cuarttel de la Montana, which gives you a stunning view over the city. We can‘t possibly finish our evening in Madrid without visiting the local Chocolateria San Gines, where the best Churros is made. The next day we explore the shopping mall next door, and spend a great time relaxing at the pool and regaining energy for the upcoming night flight.

31.8./18:25 local time

All bags packed and prepared, I am headed down to the lobby to meet my crew. We are flying back to New York City, which I am not really keen on, due to my poor sleep on the East Coast. Interestingly, lately I‘ve preferred flying to the West coast of USA where I don’t have a major issue with jetlagg and sleep.( Though it only took a year and half to get used to all those time differences, haha.) We have a nice flight, the only trouble being that almost 80% of all passengers are Spanish speaking, so we send our only Spanish speaking colleague L. everywhere we can. L. is not that excited about the situation. We have a small issue with a passenger who refuses to give up on her own meal with nuts. Unfortunately for her, we have a passenger on board, who is allergic to nuts and hence it’s strictly forbidden to be eating anything containing nuts. But Mrs. B. is not happy about that and complains that she only eats foods that are vegan, gluten free an organic and we can’t really provide that from our snack bar, according to her. I try my best explaining and offering something else but in the end I have to call my senior. We bribe her with a freshly made coffee which is the only thing she is willing to consume. Anyway, at the end of the flight. Mrs. B opens up her own meal box risking an anaphylactic shock for the poor passenger. Fortunately, nothing happens and her meal doesn‘t trigger an allergic reaction. It really feels utterly frustrating that although we do our best to explain the seriousness of the situation, Mrs. B. ignores everything we say and put the life of a co - passenger at a risk. I think it is outrageous how some people are so ignorant and arrogant. Yet, there‘s so much more a cabin crew can come up against and have to deal with.( I just can‘t really stress enough the importance of working on yourself, your resiliance and patience, to be able to face all those kinds of challenges without ever losing your head and nerve.)

Another situation comes up with a lady complaining about not getting a seat in exit row , where she can hang up a bassinet for her baby during the flight. Since she only speaks spanish, my colleague L. apologizes to her saying that they must have made a mistake at the check in desk and she will have to take another seat unfortunately.

Service is taking ages and is not pleasant at all, no one can understand me, but eventually I am good to go with Vino Bianco and Vino Rosso. Spanish is not that difficult after all.

We get to the Manhattan hotel at around 1 am in the morning, which is 6 am European time. Having an alcoholic beverage goes aside and I am only focused on my beautiful bed on 23rd floor. I am so tired I would happily stay in that cosy warm bed until tomorrow’s pick up. But I forget I am at East coast so I am up at 6.30 heading for breakfast. I don’t feel like running today, apologies Hudson river. After breakfast I feel drowsy again, I roll in the bed and put on some Netflix. I get my lunch in Preta Manger nearby and go back to my hotel room. You‘re thinking right, jetlagg is not an easy beast sometimes.

1.9 /21.15 local tme- 02.15 CET- New York

Here comes the very last working flight of this pattern and we are going back to Madrid, yay, feels like Dejavu. On the way to the JFK airport everyone falls asleep since it takes about an hour to get there and it is quite late in the evening. What is the best thing about night flights? Almost every passenger is fast asleep before the take off, awesome! We have a quiet time in both galleys and the flight only takes 6,5 hours, which is a big plus of NYC flights. Compared it with Buenos Aires, which is about 13 hours from London Gatwick, a bit of a difference, eh?

2.9. /12:59 CET – Madrid

We’ve arrived in Madrid but our flight back to London Gatwick is due in 5 hours. We are lucky enough to have our hotel booked for us so we can refresh and relax for a bit. We don’t operate this flight- it is called DEADHEADING, which means, that we fly as passengers in our civil clothes. We get to Gatwick around 7.30 in the evening and everything seems great. There wasn’t any delay, no baggage was lost, everything is as should be. Around 10 o’clock in the evening I get home and order a pizza and a beer from Deliveroo. Unpacking my suitcase can wait till tomorrow - I fall into my cosy bed and I am not getting out of it for the next 12 hours.

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theudaipurmates · 3 years ago

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What are the best places to stay in Udaipur?

The caravan trails in Udaipur are one of the best places to stay (*400), but also the best hostel in Udaipur with its peaceful setting between the hills of the Aravalli Range where people from all walks of life are welcomed with love and affection. Visiting a caravan in Udaipur is a great way to enjoy time with family and friends, or have romantic dates, or just spend some alone time. This is a place where you can stay on a budget and stay at a homestay in Udaipur. I strongly recommend you mark this place on your list of Places To Visit In Udaipur whenever you visit Udaipur. It is also the best homestay in Udaipur if you are an outsider looking for a place that gives you the sense of being at home. Among the best things about a caravan are its Tibetan cuisine and the best homestay from a hostel in Udaipur.

All of us possess some talents within us; all we need to do is recognize them. It is not uncommon for us to recognize but not to be appreciated. Since this place's owner is a great artist herself, amazing things have been prepared for you to enjoy here. A whiteboard is available to showcase your art, chalk down ideas, hold a poetry session, or join an open mic session. A broader audience will be able to recognize and appreciate your work in this way.

Besides being the best hostel in Udaipur these places also help you to arrange rocking parties, work meetings, spend some chill time with friends which also makes it the best hangout place as well the best place to stay in Udaipur.

In my opinion, it is the best place to stay because this place gives you a sense of a visually attractive view in a charming way that allows you to make a lot of memorable moments and preserve them for a lifetime. If you want to experience the Night Life In Udaipur this place should be on the top of the list of Places To Visit in Udaipur.

You can also enjoy delicious food at this place, full of colorful, delicious, and flavorful foods, and for this reason, I would definitely include it as one of the most popular cafes in Udaipur.

Most of us have experienced luxury in a hotel room, but have you ever lived in a tent? With bonfire nights, this place provides an incredible camping experience. As part of Udaipur's Nightlife, this is also one of the Adventure Places in Udaipur.

For more information, watch the video below -

https://theudaipurmates.page.link/Places-to-stay-in-udaipur

They offer watching movies under the stars, bonfires, entertainment, karaoke, and a lot more enjoyable and interactive activities which will make your stay the most fun you can imagine. If you love to party with your friends, this would be the best place for you.

Caravan Trails is an exotic Party Place in Udaipur I would love to recommend that you should plan soon to visit here with your friends, colleagues, and cousins you would surely fall in love with this place.

#best place to stay in udaipur #places to stay in udaipur #camp stay in udaipur #hostels in udaipur #the udaipur mates #best food blogger in udaipur #cheap places to stay in udaipur

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michaelandy101-blog · 4 years ago

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18 Humorous Out-of-Workplace Messages to Encourage Your Personal [+ Templates]

New Post has been published on https://tiptopreview.com/18-funny-out-of-office-messages-to-inspire-your-own-templates/

18 Humorous Out-of-Workplace Messages to Encourage Your Personal [+ Templates]

In terms of the ultimate days earlier than trip, folks are likely to fall into one in all two camps: 1) those that watch the clock incessantly, and a couple of) those that are so busy earlier than they go away, they could even overlook to place up an out-of-office (OOO) e mail message.

For those who’re something like I’m, you in all probability fall into workforce two. That does not go away plenty of time to get inventive. However in case you plan forward, you may have the ability to craft some hilarity.

On this put up, I’ll go over what an OOO message is and share a few of the finest examples I’ve discovered on Google, in addition to a number of from my coworkers).

Out-of-Workplace Message

An out-of-office message is an automated e mail despatched by an e mail account that’s quickly not being checked by its proprietor. Each new e mail to this account will set off the out-of-office message, which is distributed on to the unique e mail’s sender. Most e mail service suppliers can help you activate this feature and customise your message.

Often known as “autoresponder emails,” out-of-office messages run the gamut. From humorous, to intelligent, to snarky, this message can each present your persona and let senders know that, properly, you’re out of workplace.

Whilst you can hold it easy, you too can have some enjoyable with it.

What ought to I placed on my out-of-office message?

First issues first: let’s go over the fundamentals of an OOO e mail. In your away message, you sometimes embody the next:

A fast “I’m out of the office” phrase.

The date or time vary you’ll be out.

Who to achieve out to in case the sender wants quick consideration.

An indication-off.

Placing all of it collectively, your autoresponder would learn one thing like:

“Hello there,

Thanks to your e mail. I’m at present out of workplace till mm/dd/yyyy. For those who need assistance, e mail my colleague at [email protected].

Finest,

[Name]”

However that sounds boring, proper? Fortunately, there are methods to boost your OOO message by including humor in simply the correct locations.

For those who’re feeling caught, attempt our free OOO email generator to draft a message that completely captures who you’re and the place you are going.

Featured Useful resource: OOO Email Generator

Create your OOO email by clicking here.

Humorous Out-of-Workplace Messages

I’ll e mail you again as soon as I’ve defrosted.

If discovered, contact somebody aside from me.

I’ll get again to you after I return to civilization.

If you could attain me, journey to my residence land of Florida.

I do know I’m purported to say that I’ll have restricted entry to e mail, however…

Hello, I’m Troy McClure.

The unhealthy information is that I’m out of workplace. The excellent news is that I’m out of workplace.

I’m at present out of the workplace and doubtless chilling on the seashore. Get pleasure from your work week.

Are you able to guess the place I’m?

Vacation revelry and debauchery forward. Proceed with warning (in case you dare).

Thanks a lot to your e mail. I find it irresistible already.

Die Laborious Quiz.

Listed here are 10 issues I’m grateful for.

I’m busy watching Christmas films. Catch ya later.

Thanks to your consideration throughout this festive or not-festive time.

I’ll get again to you as soon as I’m again from my long-awaited journey to the fridge.

The doorbell simply rang. It’s the usdriver. He’s loading me onto the truck.

Out-of-Workplace Messages for Trip

1. “I’ll email you back once I’ve defrosted.”

Most instances, when folks go on trip, they journey to a heat, tropical place…

However a few of us simply aren’t as fortunate. Or if we’re touring in the course of the winter and heading up north — properly, we’re going to run into some snow, aren’t we?

Whereas this will not show so lucky for us, we will use the poor climate for comedic aid. You may even embody a screenshot of the climate forecast for a way of realism. Not solely will it give senders a chuckle, but it surely’ll additionally generate a specific amount of empathy — which is commonly the important thing to good content material.

Instance

Thanks to your message! I’m at present buried in snow and can get again to you as soon as I’ve defrosted on January 2nd.

And in case you suppose I’m mendacity…

Image Source

Gotta go, my fingers are frostbitten. If you actually need me, both get a shovel and dig me out of right here, or attain out to my colleague Anna — who’s not frozen below snow with frostbitten fingers — at [email protected]

2. “If found, contact someone other than me.”

In case your e mail consumer permits it, you possibly can at all times simply use a picture to precise your out-office sentiment, like this one. In spite of everything, they are saying image is value a thousand phrases — and visible content material continues to be important to profitable marketing.

On this picture, you are letting folks know you are OOO with a “Missing” discover on a milk carton. Genius. Simply watch out — this form of autoresponder is finest for inside emails, not for autoresponders that get despatched to prospects and purchasers.

three. “I’ll get back to you when I return to civilization.”

For those who’re touring to a distant, mountainous space, why not jab some enjoyable at your lack of WiFi in your autoresponder? Plus, that makes it much less seemingly that folks will anticipate an instantaneous response or proceed to e mail you after the primary attempt.

Instance

Hello there,

Sorry I missed you — I’m unable to get to my e mail proper this second. Why? I’m on a backpacking journey, surviving on Spam, actually good water, and path combine. You need to see the celebs out right here.

I’ll get again to you after I return to civilization. Or to an space with WiFi. Or to the workplace on Might 10th. Whichever comes first.

For those who need assistance proper now, e mail my workforce at [email protected].

four. “If you need to reach me, travel to my homeland of Florida.”

When one in all my colleagues went on trip, he despatched an out-of-office message that was each intelligent and sensible. First, he despatched the recipient on an imaginary scavenger hunt to “the highest peak of the tallest mountain.” He used humorous absurdity to make it clear that he wouldn’t be checking e mail whereas he was away.

Plus, he integrated a pleasant method to let folks know that in the event that they actually needed him to learn their emails, they need to in all probability ship them once more after his return. Not solely does that hold the sender accountable by saying, “If this is really important, you know when to reach me,” but it surely additionally helps him really vacate his work whereas he is away. And that is laborious to do.

Beneath is an instance you should utilize for your self.

Instance

Hey!

I’m on trip till July 18th. If you could attain me, right here’s what you’ll have to do:

First, journey to my homeland of Florida.

Climb to the best peak of the tallest mountain.

Discover a uncommon flower (no specifics, after all… It’d be dishonest).

Put the flower again, as a result of because the previous climbing rule goes, “Leave everything as you found it.”

If you perceive that flower, you’ll know to achieve me. Belief me. You’ll know.

In case your message requires a response quicker than that, please e mail my supervisor at [email protected].

If you wish to ensure your message will get a response ASAP after I return, please ship it on July 18th. I like to recommend utilizing one in all our sales automation tools to schedule it now, when you’re enthusiastic about it.

5. “I know I’m supposed to say that I’ll have limited access to email, but…”

Josh Kopelman’s trip e mail is a traditional instance of taking a blunt strategy at OOO messages.

Not solely did Kopelman handle to show his out-of-office message into an epic poem of types, but in addition, he really went by way of the difficulty of making a delightfully snarky, vacation-specific e mail tackle for his recipients.

Giving the choice to contact an e mail tackle containing “interruptyourvacation” supplies two issues — 1) A dose of humor, and a couple of) discouragement from really doing what the identify suggests. Plus, he prefaces it with a request for empathy, by explaining that he promised high quality time to his household.

Positive, Kopelman is truthful about the truth that he is on trip, however he additionally lets the recipient know that she or he can be interrupting essential household time if the primary choice is chosen. It states a degree merely and makes use of humor to keep away from making it sound like he needs the reader to really feel responsible.

Beneath is an instance you should utilize for your self.

Instance

Hello there,

You bought this e mail instantly (traditional autoresponder conduct), which suggests I’m out of workplace on trip.

Whereas I hypothetically may attain my e mail, whereas I hypothetically do have my cellphone readily available, and whereas I hypothetically do have entry to WiFi, I’d slightly take pleasure in time with my household. My children are rising up on the pace of a supersonic jet, and if I blink yet another time, they’ll be 35. And I’ll be 73. And I don’t need that.

For those who nonetheless want to achieve me, you’ll be able to e mail [email protected]. Or you’ll be able to e mail my assistant at [email protected]. They will level you in the correct route.

Trying ahead to reconnecting as soon as I’m again.

6. “Hi, I’m Troy McClure.”

When one in all my colleagues is out of the workplace, he would not fiddle. The truth is, he is turned his auto-responses right into a operating collection of commentary from fictional cartoon character Troy McClure.

Every time McClure makes an look in these out-of-office messages, he “speaks” on behalf of my colleague and alludes to the earlier auto-responses through which he starred. It is a gentle type of self-deprecating humor — as if to say, “I know, I’m out of the office again” — made solely funnier by the made-up teaser title included within the final line.

Do not be afraid to make use of a pop cultural reference that the viewers would acknowledge. As an alternative of bemoaning your absence, they will have one thing enjoyable and acquainted to snigger at.

Instance

Image Source

Hello, I’m Troy McClure. You may bear in mind me from such out-of-office messages as Avenge My Demise if I Don’t Return from DMEXCO and Bye Now, I’m on an Absurdly Lengthy Biking Journey.

I’m right here to speak to you about somebody you already know. Catalina Wong is out of workplace till September 27. She needed me to let you already know that she’ll get again to you after her return.

That’s all for now. Look ahead to me within the upcoming out-of-office message, It’s Not a Hangover, It’s Meals Poisoning — I Swear! And be secure on the market.

7. “The bad news is that I’m out of office. The good news is that I’m out of office.”

You may present simply how thrilled you’re about your trip whereas nonetheless offering an apology (of types… not likely).

Instance

Hey there — I’ve obtained good and unhealthy information for you. Let’s go along with the unhealthy first.

The unhealthy information is that I’m out of workplace. The excellent news is that I’m out of workplace and having fun with elotes in Cancún.

For those who can’t anticipate a response, my colleague might be completely satisfied to care for you. Simply e mail them at [email protected].

I’ll be again on February seventh.

eight. “I am currently out of the office and probably chilling on the beach. Enjoy your work week.”

That’s it. That’s all. Easy and to the purpose, this message will let folks know that you would be able to’t reply to messages.

That mentioned, watch out with messages which can be this curt. Be sure to’re acquainted sufficient together with your viewers — and your boss, for that matter — to know that this form of out-of-office message might be met with a snicker, and never with annoyance.

9. “Can you guess where I am?”

There is a time period that we like to make use of round right here referred to as “snowbirds,” which is used to explain those that as soon as resided within the northern a part of the U.S., solely to flee to hotter elements of the nation in the course of the winter.

And though my colleague had blended emotions about her personal mother and father becoming a member of that inhabitants in Florida, she could not be too upset when her dad urged flying down from Boston for a Crimson Sox spring coaching recreation.

Naturally, she needed to take the day without work — and could not let people know with any previous generic auto-response. As an alternative, she made a guessing recreation of it in her out-of-office e mail, which you should utilize for your self, under.

Instance

Hey there,

I’m at present out of the workplace, having fun with some peanuts and Cracker Jacks with my household. Are you able to guess the place I’m? That’s okay, you’re busy.

In case your message is pressing, worry not — we’ll get it addressed. Attempt doing one in all two issues:

Ship me an e mail at [email protected].

Simply kidding. That’s not an actual e mail tackle.

Attain out to my supervisor at [email protected] in my absence.

I’ll be again within the workplace on 7/19 and can fortunately reply then. Have an excellent weekend!

Vacation Out-of-Workplace Messages

10. “Holiday revelry and debauchery ahead. Proceed with caution (if you dare).”

If you’re out for the vacations, how will you specific your thrill for the season with out sounding, properly, tacky?

How about warning folks of what’s to come back? Check out an instance you should utilize under.

Instance

Hey there,

Cautious. Vacation revelry and debauchery forward. Proceed with warning (in case you dare).

By which I imply to say: I’m on vacation, I’m positively sunburnt, and I’m sorry I missed your e mail.

Don’t you are worried: whereas I fake to be Santa in entrance of my children, my colleague, Hannah, will cowl for me. Simply e mail her at [email protected] in case you want pressing help.

Take care, and don’t get too carried away with the sunbathing!

11. “Thank you so much for your email. I love it already.”

This vacation out-of-office e mail is unquestionably on theme, if not slightly passive aggressive. For those who’re getting emails in the course of the holidays, why not deal with every part you obtain that season like the current it’s, and ship a thanks be aware?

My snarky colleague positive did in his out-of-office message under. We ship thank-you letters in response to vacation presents, so it is solely pure to anticipate the identical gesture in our work inboxes …

Instance

Hey there,

Thanks a lot to your e mail. I find it irresistible already. It’s wrapped so properly in its charming topic line that I simply knew this message was going to be one thing particular. Items like these simply don’t come round on daily basis.

Sadly, I’m going to need to return your message. Because it’s the vacation season, I’m at present away from the workplace. Once I return, I’ll give your e mail a great strong learn and discover that your request is strictly what I wanted in any case! However till then, I’m going to maintain it within the inbox so it doesn’t get broken and revisit it after the vacations are over.

Joyful holidays!

12. “Die Hard Quiz.”

Try this message from a HubSpot worker that definitely turns the tables on the e-mail sender. Proper while you thought you have been the one requesting motion, the recipient despatched again an project — a enjoyable one, a minimum of.

Whereas the sender waits to your response to their e mail, take the sting out of your absence by involving them in a vacation survey, just like the one under.

Instance

Sorry I missed you. I’ll be out of the workplace and gradual to reply till after the break. Whereas I’ve you, although, assist settle an argument amongst my colleagues and me:

Die Laborious Quiz

What was the very best Die Laborious film?

Die Laborious 1: The Workplace Christmas Get together Gone Improper.

Die Laborious 2: Airport Conspiracy.

Die Laborious three: Samuel L. Jackson. Sufficient mentioned.

Die Laborious four: Cyberthreat.

Die Laborious 5: You need to in all probability not choose this one.

Unattainable! It’s like selecting a favourite little one!

Submit

13. “Here are 10 things I’m thankful for.”

This e mail comes from one other one in all my colleagues. The aim of this e mail is to intercept messages throughout Thanksgiving, and the way in which through which it does so is, properly, with thankfulness.

The humorous and charming e mail template under retains the boldness of your colleagues with a listing of issues anybody who works in an workplace is grateful for. In fact, be at liberty to customise this record in response to the quirks of your personal office. Thanksgiving is the proper time to disclose them.

Instance

Since I’m out of the workplace for the Thanksgiving weekend, I’ll reply to your e mail with a listing of 10 issues I’m grateful for:

Copiers that collate

Co-workers that brew extra espresso once they empty the pot

Donuts on Mondays AND Fridays

When IT shocked me with a brand new laptop computer AND remembered to switch my recordsdata

When You-Know-Who died on the finish of e book 7

Dry-erase boards that really erase

The courageous soul who cleaned out the fridge

Once I’m early to an all-staff assembly and rating a desk close to the door

HR lastly despatched a memo telling folks to STOP clipping their nails at their desk

OOO autoresponders

Have an excellent Thanksgiving, and I’ll get again to you Monday.

14. “I’m busy watching Christmas movies. Catch ya later.”

There is no disgrace in utilizing Christmas to take pleasure in your childhood film tastes, however there’s disgrace in not sharing that cute facet of your self when individuals are attempting to achieve you in the course of the holidays.

So, take a lesson from @courtwhip, editor at PEDESTRIAN.TV, who wrote the above hilarious out-of-office e mail, totally stocked with mentions of the very best films from the 1990s. (By the way in which, “Splinter” is from Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, and as everyone knows, he loves pizza.)

Beneath is an instance you possibly can use for your self. Properly, it’s the identical e mail.

Instance

Oh hey, it’s Christmas, what are you doing emailing me?

I’m extraordinarily busy watching Dwelling Alone, Die Laborious, and the 1994 Ninja Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle Christmas Particular on repeat till the brand new 12 months.

I would cease for meals and bathroom breaks, I additionally may not.

No matter my normal well being and hygiene over the foolish season, I’ll be again within the workplace on January 2.

Catch ya then, don’t overlook to purchase a pepperoni pizza for Splinter.

15. “Thank you for your consideration during this festive or not-festive time.”

Terrified of offending a coworker who could or could not rejoice the vacations? Fear not — I’ve obtained the proper e mail for you. If this OOO message does something significantly properly, it is that it respects the differing views, religions, traditions, and opinions of your coworkers — whereas amusing so many others.

It’s additionally an excellent impersonation of a robotic. So if that’s up your alley…

Instance

Hey,

You’ve reached Michael Abioye’s inbox. It is a normal discover informing you of Michael Abioye’s absence till January 2nd, 20XX. He’s at present partaking within the traditions of a sure vacation, which can or is probably not denominational or non-denominational. Instance Firm is by no means endorsing or not endorsing mentioned vacation, nor encouraging or discouraging workers of all demographics to interact in celebratory actions. Thanks to your consideration throughout this festive or not-festive time.

Sincerely,

Administration

Out-of-Workplace Messages When Working from Dwelling

Working from residence? Attempt these OOO messages to let folks know you’re taking a break.

16. “I’ll get back to you once I’m back from my long-awaited trip to the fridge.”

For those who’re taking a trip and staying residence, your purchasers or coworkers should still anticipate you to pop into the workplace and reply their e mail. Use this autoresponder to allow them to know you’re actually not out there — even in case you’re bumming round on the sofa.

Instance

Hey,

Thanks to your e mail. I’m on trip. On the sofa. Consuming chips. And bingeing Stranger Issues for the eighth time (don’t inform anybody).

Sadly, I can’t reply your e mail (despite the fact that my workplace is three toes away). I’ll get again to you as soon as I’m again from my long-awaited journey to the fridge. Purchased tickets on TripAdvisor and every part.

I’ll be again within the workplace on the third and can get again to you then.

17. “Alexa, play Vacation by Dirty Heads.”

Do you personal an Alexa? This is likely to be the e-mail for you.

Instance

“Alexa, play Vacation by Dirty Heads.”

And… it’s enjoying within the background as I write this e mail. Guess what? I’m on trip! And I do love my occupation.

Your e mail has been acquired and I’ll get again to you as quickly as I get again to my residence workplace. Now, how do I flip off this Alexa factor?

18. “The doorbell just rang. It’s the UPS driver. He’s loading me onto the truck.”

On this e mail, you’re a UPS package deal getting delivered to your trip vacation spot. Ah, I want UPS provided this service.

Instance

Hey — you’ve reached my inbox, however maintain on, the doorbell simply rang. It’s the usdriver. He’s loading me onto the truck. Dang, it’s stuffy on this truck with all these packing containers. He’s taking me right down to… Oh! Florida! And now I’m on the seashore. Thanks, UPS driver!

The united statesdriver is scheduled to choose me again up on the eighth. He ought to ship me again to the workplace by the ninth (assuming he’s not late like he was this time).

Don’t fear — I’ll wrap myself in bubble wrap so nothing breaks.

Humorous OOO Messages By no means Fail

Are you totally impressed by the inventive out-of-office messages above? It is time to write your personal — your upcoming trip is determined by it. Attempt HubSpot’s OOO Electronic mail Generator in case you’re feeling caught, and bear in mind, an out-of-office e mail doesn’t should be boring. Quite the opposite, it ought to inform and entertain. You don’t need folks hating on you since you took a much-needed break.

Editor’s be aware: This put up was initially revealed in December 2018 and has been up to date for comprehensiveness.

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womenofcolor15 · 4 years ago

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‘Glee’ Star Samantha Ware & TV Host Shaun Robinson Call Out Lea Michele, Billy Bush & Hollywood Colleagues For Privileged Behavior

Long gone are the days where Black Hollywood is keeping quiet about racist, privileged behavior. Both “Glee” star Samantha Ware and TV host Shaun Robinson are calling folks out and we're here for it. More inside…

Black Hollywood isn’t taking anyone’s ish anymore! It’s 2020 and folks are no longer staying silent on mistreatment in Hollywood.

Apparently, “Glee” star Lea Michele posted a tweets about George Floyd’s killing and her support of the Black Lives Matter movement on Twitter and that snowballed into something controversial. Then, all hell broke loose.

"George Floyd did not deserve this. This was not an isolated incident and it must end. #BlackLivesMatter," Lea Michele tweeted.

Peep the full thread below:

George Floyd did not deserve this. This was not an isolated incident and it must end. #BlackLivesMatter

— Lea Michele (@LeaMichele) May 29, 2020

Lea’s former co-star Samantha Ware (a black woman) felt a way that Samantha would tweet bout Black Lives, but was allegedly SO mean to her on the set of “Glee.” She brought up a time where Lea allegedly said she wanted to "sh*t in her wig" and that she made her tim on the "Glee" set a "living hell."

Peep her tweet below:

Oh, and Samantha isn't the only one who felt Lea's alleged wrath.

pic.twitter.com/mgq6Vtcmgm

— Amber Patrice Riley (@MsAmberPRiley) June 2, 2020

As ish was popping off, "Glee" star Amber Riley posted a gif of herself sipping teal. She came to Samantha's defense and said she has heard similar stories during an interview on “Real Quick with Danielle Young.”

“I’m not going to say that Lea Michele is racist. That’s not what I’m saying. That was the assumption because of what’s going on right now in the world and it happened toward a Black person,” Amber said. “I’m not going to say that she’s racist. She’s also pregnant and I think that everyone needs to chill. Y’all dragged her for a couple of days. But at the same time, in my inbox there are a lot of Black actors and actresses telling me their stories and letting me know they have dealt with the same things on set, being terrorized by the white girls that are the leads of the show,” she said.

Glee co-star Heather Morris spoke out, revealing Lea was very “unpleasant” to work with and said she continually disrespected others and deserved to be called out. Cast members Alex Newell and Melissa Benoist, amongst a slew of others, have also spoke out about Lea's behavior.

Actress Imia Edwards, also came forward with claims that Lea Michele was disgusting towards her on the set. She claims Lea burped in her face and stomped on her foot.

"She did treat me like I was nothing, like I wasn't even worth making eye contact with, so maybe," Imia said. "These things can offend and hurt us, and sometimes they don't know what they're saying or maybe they think they can get away with it – 'Oh it's just a black person, they don't really care, they're less than'."

She'a also accused of calling people (black people) cockroaches on the set.

did somebody say cockroaches? because that’s what she used to refer to the background as on the set of glee. but we grow up and we don’t stay background forever sooooo...

— Jeanté Godlock (@jeantegodlock) June 2, 2020

I’m gonna say this one time... when my friends goes through something traumatic I also go through it... that’s what friendship is... and if you can’t understand that then you’re part of the problem... and that’s on PERIODT! And I mean that for both sides of this coin!

— Alex Newell (@thealexnewell) June 2, 2020

Nope.

Less of this energy. EVERY person on a set matters. EVERY person on a set deserves respect. And it is the RESPONSIBILITY of every series regular to make EVERY person who visits their home feel welcome.

This dismissive attitude is what’s wrong in Hollywood AND the world.

— yvette nicole brown (@YNB) June 2, 2020

The controversy resulted in Lea losing a brand partnership with Hell Fresh. The company said they cannot remain indifferent to any type of racism or discrimination, so that's why they dropped her.

“Recent statements about Lea sadden and disappoint us. We take these types of situations very seriously and have concluded our association with her, with immediate effect,” they said in a statement released via Twitter.

HelloFresh has announced that they are officially ending their partnership with Lea Michele, following the revelations about her past racist behavior. pic.twitter.com/58MGS6xVAi

— The AHS News (@theahsnews) June 2, 2020

One former colleague recently came to Lea'shttps://www.usmagazine.com/celebrity-news/news/lea-michele-was-self-obse... "> defense:

“Though she was completely self-obsessed toward everyone, she did not discriminate,” a source who worked with Lea told US Weekly. “It didn’t matter if you were young or old, black or white — it’s just kind of her world."

Of course, Lea Michele issued a lengthy apology for actions she claims she doesn't even remember doing.

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Lea Michele (@leamichele) on Jun 3, 2020 at 4:03am PDT

“Whether it was my privileged position and perspective that made me appear to be acting callously or inappropriately, or my immaturity and being unnecessarily difficult, I want to apologize for my behavior and the pain it may have caused,” she said.

Lea posted her apology, so this will likely kept swept under the rug and Hollywood will STILL offer her opportunities. Hopefully, Black Hollywood stays on her neck and doesn't let that happen.

Another YBF star calling folks out....

TV host Shaun Robinson is also calling folks out for their privilege amid the George Floyd protests. After her former "Access Hollywood" co-host Billy Bush Bush shared a tweet that she felt was hypocritical, Shaun addressed it publicly and called him out for jumping on the bandwagon.

“Good Morning, Billy Bush,” Shaun tweeted. “I appreciate you being an ally NOW. But, if you want to talk about the pain #WhitePrivilege causes African Americans, you should probably also talk to the black woman who sat next to you on the set of #AccessHollywood for years.”

Good Morning @thebillybush. I appreciate you being an ally NOW. But, if you want to talk about the pain #WhitePrivilege causes African Americans, you should probably also talk to the black woman who sat next to you on the set of #AccessHollywood for years. https://t.co/CN5jnJ4NOb

— Shaun Robinson (@shaunrobinson) June 3, 2020

Womp.

Shaun and Billy worked at "Access Hollywood" from 2004 until 2015 and it clearly wasn't an enjoyable experience for Shaun, so she's letting the masses know about fake and phony people are. You can't post up a tweet saying "Black Lives Matter" when you you treat black people like sh*t on a daily. The tweets in solidarity are nice and all, but what are you - as a white person - doing to fight racsim and injustice? Posting tweets and memes isn't going to get rid of racism. And if that's not how you REALLY feel...save IT.

EXTRAS:

1. "Tiger King's" Carole Baskin was granted TV star Joe Exotic’s former zoo properties in Oklahoma, finding they were fraudulently transferred to avoid paying her under a $1 million trademark judgment. STORY

Photos: Jaguar PS/Ron Adar/Shutterstock.com

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