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dizzydancingdreamer · 4 years ago

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Persephone’s Symphony | Day One | Hades

Hey lovelies— here is the next part! I wanted to pause here and add a little note: the word tiny is thrown around here. I don’t want this to hinder anyone of you to not read this because you think the word doesn’t apply to you. I want to make a couple things clear. 1) All shapes and sizes are beautiful and I, myself, am a wonderfully plump lady. 2) I don’t use the word as a physical description in a way meant to limit a ‘reader insert’ type of fiction— I use it because Bucky Barnes is a super soldier and anyone would be small to him. Thus I hope you can enjoy it the same way I can— because sometimes we all just need to feel like a super soldier could rip us in half. Stay safe my lovelies and please do enjoy!

Synopsis: In which he is the bad one— the dangerous one, the clunky one, the one who only knows how to break things— and she is the good one— the fragile one, the soft one, the one who knows how to put things back together— and he has to keep her alive long enough for anyone else— anyone who can do more than kill— to save her like she deserves to be saved— to save her from him. There are no pomegranates, no three headed dogs, and no requirement to stay— that is, if they don’t count an assassin on the loose out for her neck. In that case, three days in a safe house doesn’t feel like a long time— just long enough for Persephone and Hades to remember why opposites attract.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader (third person)

Warnings: some angsty moments but overall no warnings

Word count: 4.1k

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She’s tiny. That’s the only thing he can think for the first couple hours. She is so damn tiny and fragile and soft and he doesn’t know how to be around a human that tiny and fragile and soft. Maybe it’s worse because he has to keep this tiny human alive. He hasn’t had to do that before— all the other tiny people in his life have been perfectly capable of keeping themselves alive. Even Steve all those years ago, when he only came up to his shoulder—barely— would have fought tooth and nail to stay alive. Even then it always felt like Bucky was just there in case. Maybe that was just Steve though.

He blinks— he doesn’t want to think about the man right now. He can’t afford to get lost in his head. Gods only know if he starts thinking about those days— the ‘good’ old days— he won’t stop. Maybe not for days. Maybe because they’ll remind him that he’s not supposed to be here— that he isn’t made to keep tiny, gentle, grilled cheese cooking, question asking things alive. Usually he’s the one hindering people from being alive— hindering life itself. Usually it doesn’t bug him this much but he can’t help but equate the girl in the Caltech hoodie with life—

“Is what they say about New York pizza true?”

— And himself with death.

“S’alright— Chicago is better.”

He watches as she flips through a book that she had picked up off the coffee table a few minutes ago. The Big Book of Dogs. Is he supposed to laugh at that? She is— giggling and flipping through pages upon pages of puppies. It isn’t aimed at him, her musical, soft sounds. She isn’t laughing at him. It only feels like she is. He’s learned to separate the difference these days— it’s just in his head. Still, he has to turn away from her, using the guise— his job— of being a bodyguard to keep his gaze moving.

From the corner of his eye he watches as she lowers the book, peaking over at him from behind a peppy looking Alaskan Malamute— yes, he knows his dogs. He is one, after all.

“You know, I think there are quite a few people who disagree with you on that one.”

Bucky pretends to ignore the way she quirks a brow at him, her eyes drifting back to the page. He also ignores the way his heart spikes at the little movement. Snap out of it, Barnes. He stands, stalking to the living room window and pulling back the heavy green curtain. Nobody is out there— he didn’t expect there would be someone, he just needed to move. How many more hours?

“Thought you were asking me.” He quips, staring out towards the bayou where the water has turned grey and choppy.

He watches as the rain pours down the window pane, tap tap tapping in front of his nose as the sunlight surrenders to the misty storm clouds. As much as he hates to admit it, Wilson was right— the rainy season’s rolling in on the dot. Even he is starting to feel the effects, his bones beginning to leaden.

As if on cue, she yawns, setting down The Big Book of Dogs and curling her legs into her chest, hiding them beneath the mountain of fabric she wears. “I was gauging. Consider it a test.”

Bucky huffs— not sure if he’s annoyed because of her questioning or because of how, despite the tension still laced through his shoulder blades like sailors knots, he isn’t that bothered by it. Annoyed because he isn’t annoyed— that’s a first. He lets the curtain drop again and turns to the TV where Netflix lays open but unused, blocking out one mind numbing haze for another. What would they even watch together?

“Oh yeah? Did I pass?”

Maybe some cheesy sit-com. That feels harmless enough and he’s been catching up on a few of them. Some of them even make him laugh. Maybe that’s in poor taste though. He’s never had to deal with someone else’s grief before— he rarely deals with his own as is.

“Maybe it would be better to just not ask that.”

He doesn’t think before he says it— he doesn’t have time to, it slips out before he can grab it and shove it back in his stupid, sentimental mouth. “You sound like Steve.”

Fuck. Her head pokes up, her doe eyes somehow managing to meet his gaze despite how hard he tries to force his neck to turn in the other direction. How does one person look so soft? He can see the question in her eyes, the way they spark with intrigue. He watches in slow motion as her lips— not glossy like they had been in the picture but still just as pink— peel apart.

“Who’s Steve?” Her voice is too sweet— too sincere. Like she actually doesn’t know. Then again, maybe she doesn’t— they never really used his name.

Bucky can’t answer. It’s too early and Steve is too long of a story. One hundred years worth of story, to be precise. How is he supposed to fit all of that into one answer? He can’t. He can’t answer but he can’t not answer either— not when she’s looking at him like she wants to know every little thing about him.

Bucky can’t answer so he doesn’t answer. “You ask a lot of questions, don’t you?”

She sinks back against the leather cushions, pulling her hands into her sweater. He almost curses when she curls her knees closer to her body. He can’t really see them from under her hoodie but he can see the movement— the way she wraps her arms around her legs so that she looks like a tiny blob of fabric and a head. His chest squeezes at the sight of her pulling away from him. Can he ever say anything right?

He told Wilson— he told him that he wouldn’t be a good fit for the job. What, a man like him? Man, dog, wolf, asshole. What’s the difference? He was right, that’s all that matters. It’s been all of five hours and he’s already making her uncomfortable all because he can’t—

“You’re the one who brought it up.” She grumbles, her soft— less sweet— voice pulling him from his unintentional staring contest with her forehead. His neck flushes with heat. Shit.

Bucky sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I know it’s just— it’s a long story, doll.”

Again, it just slips out. Instead of wanting to push the word back into his lips this time, though, he wants to punch himself in the mouth. Doll? Really? He watches as her eyes blow wide, his stomach sinking when her pink lips peel apart again, her jaw going slack but none of her honeyed words coming out this time. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Immediately he begins running through apologies in his head. Of course none of them are actually worth their weight— not in gold or anything else. Not even in the energy it would take to say them. What’s he supposed to say? Sorry the last time I spoke to a woman was eighty years ago. That would be even more explaining. Damnit, Bucky!

He tries not to groan out loud, clenching his jaw, still staring into her eyes. Look away, you idiot! He can’t. He’s about to say something— or maybe he’s about to literally throw himself out the window, he isn’t exactly sure which is going to play out just yet— but before he can do either the delicate girl in the Caltech sweater speaks first.

“I— erm—” she squirms in her seat but her eyes stay latched on him the entire time— maybe she’s a fighter after all— “we have time?”

For a moment he just stares at her, lost in the way her nose scrunches, her lips pressing together like she’s the one who said something out of line. Like she, too, is contemplating punching herself in the face. That’s when he caves. It’s to save her from a broken nose. He repeats it like a mantra. He isn’t giving in because he’s weak, he’s giving in because it’s his job to make sure she’s safe— even from herself.

He takes a step forward, only now realizing he’s been standing in the middle of the room the entire time. Has he always been this fucking awkward? Nodding his chin towards the floor, the space in front of where she’s perched, he shoots her a look he can only hope resonates as something along the lines of ‘can I sit?’. She nods and he lowers himself to the ground in front of her, leaning against the side of the couch as gently as the super soldier can muster. Despite his efforts he still lands with a thud, the couch shifting backwards a couple inches. It’s not terrible— she only slightly flinches this time and he only kind of wants to bury himself alive.

“Not that much time—” he watches as her face drops, the way her her cheek twitches like she's sinking her teeth into it, and he hurries the rest of his sentence— “but if you ask—” he tries for a smile that feels more like the right side of his face seizing than anything— “then I’ll answer.”

He waits for a beat, his gaze locked on her hands which she pulls from her sleeves only to twist together again. He has to stop himself from looking down at his own hands— from thinking again about how fragile and delicate she is. He doesn’t have to look to know that both of her hands could fit in one of his. Especially his special hand. She hasn’t asked about it. A few times he’s caught her peeking at it, no doubt a million questions swirling behind those wide eyes of hers, but those are questions she has kept to herself. He wouldn’t blame her if she did ask, though— or if she was terrified.

“Alright,” his eyes flick back to her face, meeting her determined stare and avoiding the way his chest lightens, “deal.”

He nods.

“But—”

Oh no.

“You have to ask me things too. It’s only fair— that way we both know things about each other.”

It’s only fair. He doesn’t know what to say. Again. It seems that every time he feels like he’s beginning to figure her out he gets shoved on his ass. Literally— he is quite literally on his ass right now. All because of what? A little girl? A little girl with small hands and a stare worse than his?

A little girl who thinks he of all people deserves fair. He knew life was cruel but this is worse— this is evil.

“Ask away.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

“Wait, wait, wait— you can’t be serious!”

Her giggles sound more like music than laughter to him. Usually he hates music— the newer stuff at least, maybe Wilson was right; maybe he is an old man— but this is bearable. This is mesmerizing.

He glances up at her from over his shoulder, fighting the same smile that’s been threatening his lips for the better part of two hours now. He isn’t sure why exactly he does it. Maybe because he knows it would be nothing compared to hers. Maybe it’s because it doesn’t deserve to be compared to hers. He isn’t a religious man but it feels blasphemous to even suggest he could exist with a margin of the sanctity she exudes. He’s committed many sins— that he can say with certainty— but to propose that he is the same as her would be the worst one of all.

Of course, that doesn’t stop him from soaking up every pious laugh into his wicked skull— he isn’t a perfect man, after all.

“Deadly serious. Steve was pissed at me for weeks. How was I supposed to know she had a husband?” He is rewarded with more giggles, ones that set his chest on fire.

Is that what happens when demons spend too much time around angels— they start to burn?

She pulls the blanket she acquired around an hour ago over her face, muffling her laughter much to his dismay. “You could have asked her!”

Bucky lifts a shoulder before letting it flop back down again. “You’re right.”

This is how it has gone since he proposed she ask him questions. She asks him her question— usually something light and easy— favourite color, favorite food, what was the last thing he bought. That one threw him for a loop but he answered anyway— Chinese food. She had giggled at that. You don’t seem like a Chinese food kind of guy. She’s not wrong. That is usually what she does after the questions, though— giggles. Giggles and teases him. Tortures him. Same thing. He doesn’t even think she knows what she’s doing.

Then, of course, he asks her questions of his own. They’re pretty much the same— favorite animal, middle name, what Passadena is like. Warm and busy. That was her answer— he’s never been to SoCal so who’s to say whether or not she was telling the truth. He really doesn’t care. He was more paying attention to the timbre of her voice— the way she makes normal words sound important. He didn’t know he could be so enthralled listening to someone talk about a cat named mittens.

For the first hour or so it was questions like that. The easy, no commitment kind. He wouldn’t have minded if they had stayed like that but, as he kept answering, she had grown more and more confident. Honestly, he didn’t mind that either. It was interesting to watch as she became comfortable around him. Well, more comfortable than before— more comfortable than he would have thought she could be around a guy like him. Her knees eventually pushed out of that hoodie and she relaxed into the couch. It was strange— completely and utterly strange.

By the second hour she had braved the first of many hard questions. It wasn’t what he thought it would be— still nothing about his arm— it was nothing close to that, actually.

It was about his mother.

Maybe it wasn’t supposed to be a hard question but it was, unexpectedly so. His mother. He hasn’t thought about his mother in years. Longer. Decades. He wasn’t expecting to feel so guilty about it but there he was, feeling like his throat was being crushed, while describing to the tiny, lovely girl— who has just lost her own mother— his mother’s lily of the valley perfume. He assumed that’s why she asked— because she misses her mother. He doesn’t blame her. He just never thought that he would miss his mother, too, today.

The rest weren’t as bad as that one. They still made his jaw ache, sure, but not like that. The ones about Steve were the only ones remotely comparable. How did you meet him? What was he like? What’s your favourite story with him in it? That was the last question— the one that made her giggle herself into a half hanging, half sprawling position over the arm of the couch— the position she is currently in right now.

He doctored the answers a little bit— he figured now isn’t the right time to tell her he’s pushing a hundred and ten— but he kept the good parts. Like how Steve and he had run through the streets of Brooklyn that night— Steve without a shirt and him in nothing but a pair of boxers that he is pretty sure to this day had belonged to her husband— being chased by the New York police. Good times.

“What, erm, what was her name?” Her voice is extra gentle— airy.

She’s nervous or maybe out of breath. He can’t quite tell, she’s too flopped over to get a proper look. She’s breathtaking either way.

All of a sudden it’s extra hard to fight back his smile. “I thought it was my turn to ask a question.”

Sitting up, she pools back into her seat. She scrunches her nose at him but doesn’t object. He can see that she wants to, though. Her eyes hide nothing. Then again he’s been trained to read people— to see the minute tick of her jaw and the invisible pulsing of her pupils. Invisible to anyone but him. Invisible to anyone who isn’t a monster— the big, bad wolf. His borderline smile dies quickly and he can’t bring himself to search for it again. This is how it should be.

Bucky clears his throat, mulling over what to ask her next. His eyes drift over the tan hoodie, the frays on the cuffs and the fact that there are no strings, and, like that, he has an idea.

“What’s the deal with that hoodie?” He tries to make it casual but he really does want to know— it’s like four sizes too big, there has to be a story.

He tries to make it casual but she still sobers. Like her hands receding once more into the cuffs of her sweater, the last remnants of the giggly girl fade from his line of sight. He chases it as far as he can, watching as her fingers disappear completely and lingering just in case it’s only a fluke. But no, they don’t come back, and he wishes he could disappear with them.

“It was—” her tongue pokes out, swiping against her pink lip and making it shine— “it was my dad’s. He, uh, he went to Caltech too. Was part of their alumni.”

The super soldier nods, pulling his legs up as well, hoping that by copying her she’ll see it as a signal to keep going. He doesn’t want to speak over her and accidentally derail her thoughts. He wants to know about her dad— her whole family actually. Whatever is important to her, like the hoodie.

“We used to go to these big alumni dinners and he would talk at them. Families like us were invited I guess— like a thank you of sorts.” Her eyes take on a faraway look, still latched on his but glassy and distant, no longer actually seeing him. It’s a look he understands too well. “One time he pulled me on stage with him. I think maybe I was thirteen? He said—” she stops, swallowing so hard her throat bobs, and he has to shove his hand under his leg to keep from reaching out— “ah, I’m sorry. He said ‘this girl right here— this is my daughter! If you think I’m good at what I do then you should see her. She’s something I tell you— Gonna be the best this school has ever seen!’”

His chest tightens— not necessarily from her story but from the way her voice cracks, her soft tone becoming scratchy. She swallows again and he hates it. He hates that he can see tears ready to fall and he hates that she’s even here with him under these circumstances.

He hates that he’s still grateful to be here anyway, being the person who she tells her story to.

“Was he right?” He knows it isn’t his question but he has to say something— anything— to make this better. He has no idea if this is it but it’s worth a shot.

Her brows push together, her head tilting slightly to the side, much too elegantly to be normal— are all women this pretty or is it just her? She blinks, clearing some of the mist, eyes drawing over his face. She traces across his brows, down his nose, stopping on his lips for a pulse— like tracing out the rhythm to a song only she can discern. Everything she does is like music. It must just be her.

“What?” She doesn’t say it rudely; she says it like she didn’t hear him— like she was too far lost in the wonderland of her memory to hear anything— and his chest tightens even further.

“You said your father told everyone you were going to be the best— were you?”

He doesn’t take his eyes off of her, slowing his words and waiting for the recognition to creep in. It takes a moment but it does, the last of the glass evaporating into something else.

“I, uhm, I don’t know—”

“You do.” He presses— he can hear the edge of that something in her tone. The downplay is scribed over her feature— lowered eyes, flat mouth, trembling fingers— she wants to say something.

“What do you even know?”

About anything going on in my head— yeah, that’s not familiar at all.

Bucky doesn’t flinch when she hisses the words at him— partly because, despite the clear ice in her words, he doubts they came out as hard as she was hoping they would. Her voice isn’t made to sound wretched. He knows she could tell him the filthiest things— tear him down to the last peg, spit his name out like a curse— and she would still sound like an angel. That makes her dangerous— or at least it would if she didn’t already have tears welling up in those big eyes of hers again.

He flicks a brow, letting one corner of his mouth tick up, telling himself that it’s only for her peace of mind— to let her know that he isn’t angry at her. That he gets it. That sometimes he feels so fucking confused and hurt and scared that he, too, wants to hiss at people because at least then they leave him alone. Yeah, it’s only for her peace of mind.

“Try slamming the ‘you’ harder next time—” he draws the word out, exaggerating the motion while keeping his features a mixture of schooled and relaxed— “usually works out better.”

Her hands— which have been tangling over the collar of her hoodie— drop into her lap with a thunk, her eyes rolling. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome— but you never answered.”

She shoots him a deadpan stare— well, sort of. She never actually stopped looking at him so her face just morphes from vexed to blank. So far it’s his least favourite expression— he would rather she just got angry. He’d rather see fire— or ice— than nothing.

“I thought it was my turn?” Doesn’t she know that the more she avoids the question, the more he wants to know the answer?

Bucky doesn’t let up— he will if she actually tells him to drop it but she hasn’t and he doubts she will— she’s too determined to win. “Consider it payment for your extra questions.”

He holds her gaze still, waiting for the moment she folds. It takes longer than he expects it would, sitting in silence with her eyes on him for almost three minutes. He almost breaks around two and a half minutes. The girl has a way of looking at him like she can see right into his head. Still, he holds, waiting, waiting, waiting until finally— there it is!

Light a light shining in the darkness, her mouth pulls into a merciful smile— well, if mercy means the coy glint in her eye, that is. “I was the best.”

The super soldier nods, finally letting his gaze drop. He doesn’t say anything— he doesn’t have to. His point has already been made. He never wanted to be right. He just wanted her to say it. Not for him but for herself. He doesn’t let himself mull over what that says about him. Nothing good. That’s the only answer. It says nothing good about him, the lengths he’s already willing to go to keep this soft, icy girl safe. Him, a monster. It only tells him that he’s selfish— but he already knew that. Those are thoughts for another time.

“Your turn.” He reminds her, leaning back against the arm of the couch, all but aware of the foot of space between his head and her hand which is scratching over the leather behind him.

There is no pause this time— no beat, moment, or minute. Just like that she’s back, moving on to the next topic, almost as though she has had the question queued for ages now, dying to know the answer. He supposes it’s only fair— she let him ask his questions.

“What was her name?”

Her voice lacks the airy note it had held the last time she asked, clearly over waiting, and he has to turn to the window to hide the way he finally cracks, his lips sloping up in a grin that’s both too alien and too familiar. It tastes too much like the old days— like peach schnapps and movie theatre popcorn. She’s not ready for that. He knows because he isn’t.

“Delores.”

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Tag List: @xhollycowx @remembered-license @dumble-daddy @hellotvshowtrash @thesummerbucky (if i missed anyone I am so sorry please shoot me a message and I’ll fix it)

#Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes imagine #bucky #bucky fic #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky imagine #mcu #mcu fic #marvel cinematic universe #marvel cinematic universe fic #Persephone's Symphony

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actualbird · 4 years ago

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nobody asked but here is every unraveled episode (as of may 2020) as how they’d be as a lover | a 2.5k word long post written in the style of an unraveled about unraveled and also love

Ah. Unraveled. Polygon’s golden boy of a video series where Brian David Gilbert is beckoned into a suit, lured into a blackbox studio, and is only granted escape after he has explained to three cameras whatever batshit video game adjacent thesis he has been cursed with this time. Unraveled is a wonderful video series, and we all love it.

But what if it could love us?

If you’ve ever asked this question to yourself, boy, do I have some content for you, because for the past 2 days, I’ve been working on this post where, for entirely too long, I explain to you how each Unraveled episode would be as a lover. And more importantly, which ones would be the best lovers.

Before I fall deep into this unhinged hole and take you down with me, I need to explain some things.

First: I want to make it clear that I am not categorizing BDG as he portrays himself in each Unraveled. I am instead taking each Unraveled episode as a fully formed being, the story, performance, etc, and letting that shape a character of its own. This character is where I extrapolate details from to create an Unraveled episode’s qualities as a lover. What I’m basically doing is anthropomorphizing Polygon dot com video content. And then making you date them. If this doesn’t make sense, don’t worry, it will as you read along. And if it helps you to visualize the Unraveled Episode As A Lover, I invite you to just imagine whomever it is you are most attracted to---or for those who don’t experience attraction, whomever it is you find most aesthetically pleasing---and then just add in the wild personality traits I describe through the course of this post.

Second: I know what you’re thinking. “Avian, the characteristics of what makes a good lover is subjective!” And I wholeheartedly agree. I’ve been through college, and I’ve witnessed my friends whom I love so dearly enter relationships with some of the most wack ass motherfuckers I’ve ever met. I know that people are into different things. But do I judge them for it? Well, kinda, yeah! Yes, what we want in a lover is subjective, but I’ve consumed a metric fuckton of romance media over the course of my life and am also in a wonderful relationship with my own girlfriend, and thus have my own personal idealized ranking for what makes a good lover. Feel free to disagree with my rankings of Unraveled Lovers, but also, I’m writing this post. I say this with as much love as I possibly can, but if you disagree with me, make your own post. If you don’t wanna make your own post, you’re just going to have to trust me for 2.1k more words.

With that out of the way, let me take you on a journey through the 23 Unraveled Lovers, from worst to best.

BAD TIER: I would probably advise you to break up with these Unraveled Lovers as soon as you are emotionally capable of doing so.

Hoo boy, we’re starting at the bottom. The perfectionists, the nitpickers, the emotionally unavailables. These Unraveled Lovers would have good intentions, but just have aspects within their personality that will wear you and your relationship together down until both of you can no longer take it.

“Ranking all 200+ Megaman robots” is a lover obsessed with the concept of “is this worth it?” They would unknowingly but inevitably rank parts of your own personality on a scale of ‘worth the trouble in this relationship’ and ‘not worth the trouble’. Any lover who deals with you with this kind of dichotomy is somebody you should not be with. You should be accepted and loved for all your parts, the beautiful and the ugly.

“How to make the perfect E3 press conference” is a lover who spent years consuming romance media and has a list of what makes the perfect relationship. So not only do they have unrealistic expectations for what a relationship is, but they will be obsessed with reaching that unreachable perfection. That will definitely put a strain on your relationship until the veneer of desired perfection crumbles away, leaving you both tired and sad.

On a less deep note, “How to tell apart all 596 Fire Emblem characters” just won’t remember any of the names of your friends or family. Sure, they’ll try, but they’ll give up in like 15 minutes and you’ll never be able to take this Unraveled Lover to a family reunion or a party with your friends. Probably not a dealbreaker, but as the Spice Girls said “If you wanna be my lover, you gotta get with my friends.” This Unraveled Lover will not. Next.

“No one asked but I found Mortal Kombat’s best cuddler” and “I wasted 3 weeks of my life finding Castlevania’s hottest monster” are two Unraveled Lovers with a similar problem: they both won’t shut the fuck up about their exes. Mortal Kuddler constantly brings up all the other cuddles they’ve experienced and Castlevanias Hottest Monster will tell you you’re beautiful, but also bring up like 69 other monsters they think are also beautiful. This might not be a red flag, but personally, this would tire me out, always being thought of in comparison or contrast to others.

That ends the BAD TIER and brings us to the OKAY TIER where a large chunk of the Unraveled Lovers fall into, so much so that I had to create more specific sub tiers under the OKAY TIER.

So let’s get into the OKAY TIER: These Unraveleds Lovers are alright, you’ll just have a sublimely weird relationship.

These Unraveled Lovers will treat you right but they’re also just very peculiar. Nothing wrong with that at all, but I’m here to explain to you just in what ways these okayest lovers are bizarre. Let’s start with the first sub tier.

OKAY SUB TIER: College Students who are way too into their major

There are a lot of Unraveled Lovers under this subtier, and this shouldn’t surprise you, because Unraveleds are inherently nerdy. These are lovers that will be good to you but also just never fucking shut up about what it is they’re studying.

“I read all 337 books of Skyrim so that you don’t have to” and "Understanding Kingdom Hearts (and every other story" are Creative Writing majors obsessed with analyzing every single thing they read. As a Creative Writing major myself, I would advise you to never date a Creative Writing major unless you are a Creative Writing major yourself. I think that’s the only way the relationship can be ethical. Being sent essays from the New Yorker every day would be torture if you didn’t actively enjoy it.

“We made all 78 Breath of Wild recipes in one day” is a Culinary Arts major and, score, they’re gonna wanna cook for you! A lot! Beware though, because it’ll be a hit or miss on whether or not the food will be good, but you must admit, that there is nothing quite as attractive as your lover making you food (let’s just hope the food doesn’t harm you).

“Smash Bros. owes millions of dollars in OSHA violations” is going to law school and that should be a dealbreaker in itself, but I’ll be a bit lenient because they’re always working towards the safety of everybody. This Unraveled Lover will always remind you to put your seatbelt on and also tell you exactly what laws you are violating.

“Bowser’s military hierarchy” is a Political Science major, and Political Science majors scare me. So I’ll just say they’re okay, and leave it at that.

“Which Dark Souls Boss is the best manager?” is a rare non-evil Management major because they actually truly care for the welfare of employees. They just will always talk about it, even when you guys are on a date. I know worker’s rights are important, but it’s not exactly what I want to talk about in between kisses, yknow?

“I fixed Fallout’s music by creating a totally new genre” is a Music major who keeps accidentally making Ska love songs to you. You didn’t know Ska love songs could be a thing. This Unraveled Lover makes it a thing.

“Scientifically Calculating the Game of the Year” is a Math major so you will never have to worry about calculating bills because they can do it for you.

“Calculate your pet’s HP with my 100% legitimate formula” is a Veterinary Medicine major so if you’re an animal lover, this Unraveled is the one for you! Just beware, because this Unraveled Lover will also spend a lot of time observing you from afar to quantify your health points, but both of you will inexplicably find this activity strengthens your relationship.

And last but not least for this sub tier, “When can Mario retire?” is a disillusioned Accounting and Finance major who chose this line of study to get a job and, through the years, realized what a hellscape capitalism is. You may have to deal with a lot of zoning out and staring off into the distance, with this Unraveled Lover, but a lover who hates capitalism sure is a good egg.

That brings us to our next sub tier!

OKAY SUB TIER: Cultists or Conspiracy Theorists (AKA...College Students who are way too into their extracurriculars)

These Unraveled Lovers are alright! They’re just a little bit off the shits.

“Every Sonic game is blasphemous” will get really really worked up about things and probably try to start a cult. For most, that’s a definite dealbreaker, but what makes Sonic Bible an okay lover is that they eventually calm down from the cult outburst and apologize. So this Unraveled Lover will treat you well, you just have to be ready to ground them when they get a little bit bonkers.

“Solving the Zelda Timeline in 15 minutes” is very similar to Sonic Bible, except instead of starting a cult, every once in a while they’ll just sit you down on a chair and explain to you their latest obsession while slowly and intensely stripping. Which, hey, that could make for a fun night, if you’re into that kinda stuff! Definitely okay in my book.

That brings us to our last okay sub tier.

OKAY SUB TIER: Your Unraveled Lover might need to schedule some sessions with a therapist, and that’s Okay

Listen, we all have baggage. We all have problems. These are Unraveled Lovers who want to be the best for you, but at the same time have issues of their own, and you’re going to have to support them when they pop into their local psych clinic to make themselves better people.

“Waluigi” is an Unraveled Lover who is going through some identity issues. They want to be good for you, but they don’t even know who exactly they are. They may feel as if they are tricking you into being in this relationship, that they aren’t who you think they are, and while these fears are irrational, they wholeheartedly believe it and will never feel fully secure in this relationship until they have made peace with themselves. If you love this Unraveled Lover, you’re going to have to stick with them as they learn more about who they are.

“Kirby” is an Unraveled Lover who, for some reason, is obsessed with the constant quest to make things make sense. This need of theirs bleeds into every aspect of their life and can definitely affect your relationship. This Unraveled Lover may sometimes perhaps cite that they don’t deserve you because they can’t seem to figure out a logical and objective answer for why you are with them. This issue of treating everything like a puzzle to solve is an issue they will have to work out and recover from, and they will be receptive to this process of recovery because they cherish the relationship they have with you and understand that not everything has to be solved; some things can just be felt. If you choose to stay with this Unraveled Lover, you must be prepared to support them when they take a mysterious but needed soul searching journey in the woods. You must be prepared to sit with them along the shores of the beach and reassure them that life is about living, not about answers.

And that, dear readers, ends the OKAY TIERs. Now it’s time for the tier you have all been waiting for.

Drumroll, please!

GOOD TIER: Pop open the champagne, bring out the strawberries dipped in chocolate, and let Spotify play Careless Whisper, baby, because we’re in the Ideal Lover zone.

Welcome to the Ideal Lover Zone. Here, we have three Unraveled Lovers who are just extremely good fellas.

“I used the Sims to perfect my apartment” is an Unraveled Lover who will work their hardest to be the best for you, but unlike the BAD TIER perfectionists, it will naturally dawn to them that perfection is unattainable. After this realization, they will find comfort and happiness in your romantic relationship and the other healthy relationships they have with other people. This Unraveled Lover will be sincere with you when the time calls for it, but will also not be afraid to be goofy for it. Above all, this Unraveled Lover will ask for help when they need it. They may often be shy, at first, but they understand their limits and will openly communicate to you when situations call for it. Communication is the bedrock of any good relationship, and this Unraveled Lover will never keep you guessing.

“The Perfect Pokerap” is similar to the Sims, in the sense that they will at first strive for perfection in the honeymoon phase of your relationship but then understand that that isn’t possible and then set more reasonable and realistic goals. What sets this Unraveled Lover out from the crowd though is just how much they cherish you. How devoted they are to you. The love you will feel in this relationship will be transcendental, and, even if you do break up, this Unraveled Lover will never forget you.

And finally. Who---according to me, a mildly delirious 21 year old rando on the internet---is the most ideal Unraveled Lover?

It’s “Find your Kojima name with my simple 11 page form.” Why? Because this Unraveled Lover wants to know you. They want to know everything about you, the parts you like and the parts you don’t like. This is a lover who will not shy away from any aspect of yourself, but instead, embrace you for who you are as a full fledged person.

They’ll also give you a whack ass pet name, and boy, isn’t that romantic?

Well, there you have it. All (as of May, 2020) of the Unraveled Episodes as 23 Unraveled Lovers. What did I learn from this endeavor? That romantic love is complicated, but if you’re into it, it is definitely worth the trials and tribulations.

...As long as I’m not dating the Castlevania Unraveled. Seriously, when we’re making out, I don’t wanna hear about how sexy the Hyena With Gun is. Learn how to read the room, dude.

(Thanks for reading.)

#reposting because damn it i worked too hard on this that it BETTER FUCKIN SHOW UP IN THE TAG #polygon #bdg #unraveled #brian david gilbert #nobody asked but

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midnightwitch92 · 3 years ago

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Chapter 14 | Party crasher | Kate Kavanagh

Thank god for Friday nights. I and Ana finally finished our final exams. It was a nightmare to get through. We had spent endless hours buried in notes and doing my research on the internet to prepare for the day. During the exam, I got so nervous that my mind went blank. I had to keep repeating my notes in my head to remember every tiny little detail. I honestly wasn't sure if I'd made a bunch of mistakes or not. By the time we finished my fingers throbbed from all the typing and handwritten work, we had gone through. Now, all we could do was wait for the results.

After we returned to the apartment I didn't want to stay at home going nuts over whether or not I failed my exams, so I phoned Jose and talked Ana into coming with me to check out some nightclubs. That night I put on a slim purple dress. Ana had on a teal coloured t-shirt and grey skirt. As we helped do each other's make-up there was a loud knock on the door. When I opened the door, behind it was a delivery man in a grey uniform that I didn't recognise, holding a small package.

"Good evening. Is this the home of a Miss Anastasia Steele?" He smiled.

"Oh yes, one moment. Ana Its for you." I called out to her. The man was tall with a slightly sunburnt tan and stubble. After a moment she came out of the bathroom, now sporting some grey stockings.

"This is for you." He said, handing her the small brown package.

"Me? I think there's been a mistake I haven't ordered anything. Not recently anyway." She looked down at the package as if trying to remember if she did order it and perhaps forgot. The man pulled a small black binder from under his arm and flipped to the last page.

"Someone must have ordered it for you. It's definitely the right name and address. Don't worry, it's all paid for. If you could just sign for it here, please." Ana Signed the dotted line and he put the binder under his arm. "Have a nice evening, ladies." And with that, he just walked away. I shut the door and she ripped open the wrapping paper.

"Oh my god." She smiled.

"What? What is it?" I asked. She pulled back the paper to reveal three books. They were Agatha Christie novels. As she opened the first one, it had a note tucked between the pages, and beneath it was the authors signature on the cover page.

Dear Anastasia Steele

Thank you ever so much for yesterday. I would like to do it again.

Yours sincerely, Christian Grey.

"Wait, Christian Grey? As in the guy we interviewed? He sent you these?" I looked down at the note remembering the interview in Seattle. "What does he mean about thanking you for yesterday? Are the two of you dating?" I'll admit I didn't particularly like Grey. He came across like a pompous ass. That Morganstern guy didn't seem to like him either, but Ana seemed pretty keen on him so who was I to judge. Maybe the interview was just him on a bad day.

"Not exactly." She smiled. "He just walked into the hardware store looking for rope, cable ties and duck tape. I almost didn't recognize him without the fancy suit."

"Seriously? In a huge city of so many millions, the rich, handsome billionaire just happened to bump into you. It's like a Rom-com." I smiled back at her. I didn't want to say how weird her story sounded. Why on earth would a billionaire personally come 90 miles from Seattle to a small Corner shop in Vancouver, just to buy a handful of supplies? Of course, I was probably just being silly.

"I know right, he had just finished a long drive all the way from Seattle by himself and asked me to help him find everything, and when we were done he asked me out for coffee. It was so weird." Weird? that made me wonder.

"What was so weird about it?"

"We'll, He kinda went back and forth on the whole thing. One minute he seemed to want to know everything about me, then he said I should stay away, then he gave me his number." She said looking really baffled. "I just figured he wasn't so great with the whole dating thing and was trying to play hard to get. Maybe?"

"Maybe?" I nodded awkwardly. That just sounded so odd. "What brought him all the way over here? He must be on a business trip or something, right?" I had to ask.

"He didn't say. Maybe he's on the run from that Morganstern guy." She said.

"Are you going to see him again? Are we gonna be hearing wedding bells soon?" I joked. Ana didn't really give that much of an answer.

"Oh, I don't know. I have so much on my mind, like college and work, but I'll think about it." She said, taking the books to her room and I didn't think anything of it after that. We finished getting ready and I checked that everything was off. The living room window was wide open and as I leaned over to close it, I saw two men in suits, one of which was looking up at me from down across the street. They lingered for a moment before getting into their car and driving off. I wondered what the hell that was about for a moment until Ana told me to hurry up.

We didn't live far from the city centre so we decided to put on our flat shoes and walk. As we made our way down the street a crowd of people blocked our way at the local shop. We couldn't see what they were fussing about until someone said "There's been another murder. A man and a woman have been declared missing." The Washington vampires had been all over the news for while now. People were really starting to panic. First Seattle, now Forks, How long would it be until they hit Vancouver?

"Who was attacked?" Ana uttered, looking worried. She had family in Forks. Her aunt Renee's ex and her cousin Bella.

"Don't worry. I'm sure your family are fine." At least I hoped so. As people began to clear out of the shop, someone dropped a newspaper. The front page was a memorial to the victims. Jerry Myers, Lacey Corwin, Rhett Masters, Claude and Genie Griffin.

"Jesus," Ana uttered. I was so uncomfortable looking at that article. I looked up the news on my phone.

"It says here that a man, Sam Uley and a woman, Emily Young were both reported missing when neither showed up at Uley's engagement party earlier today." So many dead in such a short period of time. We continued to read the article for a moment while making our way into the Silver serpent pub. As we made our way inside and put on our heels, Jose arrived.

"Hey, there's my sexy girls. How have you been? Did your exams go well?" We both smiled as he sauntered up to the bar and hugged us.

"Yeah, It's finally over and done with," I said. "What are you having? The first round's on me." I reached into my bag and called the barmaid over.

"A pint of lager for me Kate. How about you Ana?" He gave her a seductive little smile.

"Rum and coke for me, Kate." She said, Smiling back at him.

"Ok, a pint of lager for him, a rum and coke for her, and I will have a bloody Mary."

They went to get a seat while I ordered the drinks. It was so cute seeing them like that together. Hopefully, this relationship might go somewhere. Jose was a good friend and Ana was still a virgin, hellbent on waiting for the right guy. I wish I could have had her sense of mind when I lost my virginity. My first time was awful. I met him at a bar where we were having a birthday party for a friend. When he looked at me with that drunken sweet-faced smile, I just lit up. He told me I was beautiful, that he truly believed I was the love of his life, and I was euphoric. I knew at that moment that I'd never want anyone else. I knew it.

A week later we met again. I instantly agreed to go with him to a party at his house. There were not a lot of girls there but his male friends were all really nice. About 3 or 4 boys kept bringing me drinks and asking me to dance. I had to say no because there were too many boys asking me at the same time. Eventually, I got really drunk. As I danced with him I felt dizzy and light-headed. Soon the room was spinning and I had to sit down as everything disappeared into the darkness. The next day I woke up on some old car tyres in a garden shed with him passed out next to me. I'd never felt more frightened and embarrassed in my life. When he finally woke up he was a completely different person. It turned out he only did all those things to see if I was stupid enough to sleep with him. As far as he was concerned I was just another easy notch on his bedpost. He made me feel like such a fool.

"Here you go. Are you alright miss?" The barmaid called out, pulling me out of my miserable thoughts.

"Oh yeah, I'm fine." I quickly paid for the drinks and brought them to the table. Jose and Ana were looking at the newspaper on the table.

"God, these guy's are total fucking psychopath's." Jose just looked stunned.

"Are you talking about the Vampires?" I asked as Jose moved over to let me sit down.

"look." he pointed to the picture. "It says here that these fuckers cannibalised them and drained their blood."

"Oh, God that's disgusting," Ana said, looking she could just throw up.

"The police are putting out a search for three health enthusiasts who are looking for victims in peek condition. There has recently been a local uproar since people are now frightened to visit their local gyms and other athletic establishments such as the national park. This has also caused such local businesses to lose customers and profit." Jose read it aloud.

"I feel so bad for these people." I shuddered.

"I know," Ana replied. "It says here Mrs Genie Griffin was killed instantly, while her husband, Claude was rushed to hospital where died soon after. Unfortunately his injuries made it impossible for him to communicate to the doctors or police." God, they almost had something. Maybe if that poor man had survived this whole thing would be over by now.

We soon put the newspaper away and carried on with our drinks. The bar had a new addition to the menu called the seven deadly sins challenge. Buy a pitcher of all seven cocktails and win one of many Gothic t-shirts or one of the stuffed animals hanging from the nooses at the bar. We started with a pitcher of Wrath. I don't remember what was in it, but it tasted gross, like something you'd clean the windows with. "I'll buy the next one. How about Envy?" Jose said standing up.

"Yeah. Let's see if we can win something." I agreed. As we watched him head to the bar I locked eyes with a real sexpot at the next table. He smiled back in our direction and I blushed. He had sandy, long flowing hair and neatly trimmed facial hair. He wore a tight fitted t-shirt, revealing a muscular torso beneath and slim, black jeans.

"I take it you'll be going for Lust. Am I right?" Ana joked.

"Oh come on, I don't even know him. Mind you, that's a body worth going to hell for." I joked back. "Besides he might be smiling at you." I giggled. Still smiling he got up and walked towards our table. I and Ana exchanged glances, wondering which who he was looking at. "Do we know you?" I asked him.

"No, but I'd like to get to know you. Miss?" He smiled.

"Kate. And this is Ana."

"Hello." Ana extended her hand to shake his.

"Nice to meet you, Ana and Kate. I'm Elliot." He shook Ana's hand. When Jose returned with our drinks, we invited Elliot to sit down with us and join in. As the night went on we got through six pitchers. Greed was the last to go as we decided what prizes we wanted. I had my eye on a really nice wolf t-shirt. Ana liked the red teddy bear hanging at the front of the bar.

"I'll be back in a minute. I need to go to the bathroom." Ana said, smiling as she lightly staggered to her feet.

"How about a dance?" Elliot asked.

"Alright. You coming too Jose" I said, getting to my feet.

"Nah, it's cool. I'm just gonna finish my drink." He smirked and raised the glass to his lips. As we made our way to the dance floor I saw Jose turn to look in Ana's direction. She was in line for the ladies and on the phone to someone. I laughed at her goofy movements as if she was doing charades to the person on the other end, not realising that they couldn't see her.

Elliot and I swayed to the music for some time. I was so buzzed I though my legs would give way beneath me. Luckily Elliot had his arms around my waist to keep me up. Suddenly my phone buzzed. It was Ana texting me to say I'm not feeling well so I'm going home. I called Christian while in line for the toilet and he just showed up outside the bar and insisted on taking me home. See you later. Oh and he said to tell Elliott not to over do it at the bar.

"What?" I said out loud.

"Is something wrong?" He asked.

"Ana just sent me a message saying she's left with Christian Grey and that he asked me to tell you not to over do it at the bar. How do you and him know each other?" His response made me so uncomfortable.

"He's my brother."

#twilight homicides #twilight fanfiction #50 shades of grey fanfiction #50 shades of grey #kate kavanagh #anastasia steele #christian grey #vampires #murder mystery

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padfootagain · 4 years ago

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Girl Crush (VII)

Chapter 7: A Time For Lilac

Here we go for a new chapter!!! It's getting a little angsty over here… oops?

I'm still very efficient writing this story, so I'll keep on updating it every 48 hours!

I hope you like this new chapter!! Tell me what you think about it :)

Word Count: 2887

It was the fourth time that this man came to the shop, and seemed to wait until you were available to walk inside and ask for a bouquet. Sometimes for his mother, sometimes for his sister, sometimes for a cousin, but never for his girlfriend.

Four visits in less than two weeks, you were starting to get a little suspicious.

Ever since the brilliant success of the wedding you had planned (that had almost turned into a disaster, but had been saved by your friends), you had earned more freedom in your work, alongside a nice raise. It was still far from enough to even imagine asking for a loan to the bank, but slowly, you were building a little pile of gold. A few years, and you would eventually have a chance at buying your own shop.

But these were days to be planned far ahead. In your immediate future, what needed your attention the most was this man coming again and again to the shop to see you.

Jasmine had dropped by, waiting for you so you could get lunch together. She was chatting with Sandra while you finished the bouquet of a client.

And that's when the mysterious man entered in the shop.

He was staring at you as you waved at the customer goodbye, and you welcomed him with a smile as he approached the counter.

"Hello, miss," he shyly smiled. "I… I was wondering if you could help me get a bouquet."

"Sure, what kind do you want?"

"Uhm… it's for… my colleague. She's just had a baby."

"Oh, one for congratulations then! I would advise… irises of course, they're perfect for congratulations and… some lilac too, to wish a good luck for the next step in life."

"That sounds perfect," he nodded.

Meanwhile, Jasmine was carefully watching the scene unfolding before her.

Because it was so obvious that this man was only here for you.

You, on the other hand, seemed partly oblivious, but not completely. She guessed that you suspected that something was up but had connected the dots yet. She wasn't surprised. You didn't believe in yourself enough when it came to relationships.

"Alright, I'll make you a bouquet with these then… Gareth, right?"

He gave you a bright grin, tumbling on his words a little, because you remembered his name.

"Yeah… that's… that's it. Y/N, right?"

You pointed at the pin with your name on your shirt.

"Yep!"

You laughed as you prepared his bouquet, and Jasmine was ready to throw up at how Gareth was giving you crazy heart-eyes…

Five minutes later, and he was leaving with a beautiful bouquet, and you were joining your friend to cross the street to buy some Tacos and eat lunch in the little park up the street.

"You didn't tell me about your secret admirer," Jasmine blurted out as you were taking a bite of your food.

"What do you mean?" you replied, your words distorted as you chewed on your food.

"Gareth! The guy in the shop. He was all mushy around you."

"He wasn't!"

"He was! How many times has he come to the shop?"

"Four times in ten days…?"

"Yeah, he wants to shag you."

"Jasmine!"

"Okay, date you… whatever."

You rolled your eyes, shaking your head, but the thought lingered in your mind.

"Do you really think that though?"

She knowingly nodded.

"Yep, I'm sure. But I didn't think you would be interested…"

"What do you mean?"

"What about Harry?"

You snorted in response, and took another bite of your tacos to avoid looking at your friend.

"Harry is my friend. My best friend."

"Harry is handsome and adorable."

"Harry is my best friend."

She put down her food, sign that she was getting serious. But if you thought that she was going to say something ridiculous, you were completely wrong this time. When she spoke again, her words were wise and concerned, so different from her usual light tone.

"Look, I've known you for years. I know when something is up with you. And I think that you really need to take a decision about how your relationship with Harry is going to evolve. Because you're falling for him, sweetie, and I really don't want to see you getting hurt."

You shrugged her remark away.

"He doesn't see me like that."

"How do you know? Have you asked him?"

You snorted once more.

"Don't be ridiculous! Of course not!"

"Then how do you know?"

You let out a breathy laugh, that sounded a little more bitter than what you meant to reveal about how you truly felt.

"I just know. He doesn't see me like this at all. I mean… look at me! Do you really think that I'm the kind of woman to write songs about? Of course not. It's not me at all. I'm his best friend, and that's all."

"Can I give you an advice then?"

"You're going to even if I refuse."

"Get him out of your system," Jasmine warned you. "Get him out before he settles there too much. Before he can truly slip under your skin. Gareth sounds like he is exactly what you need. Find someone else before your heart settles for someone you can't have."

You thought about it as you chewed on your food.

"I don't know… it feels like second choices…"

"You've just told me that you weren't going to be with Harry, so he's not really second choice, if Harry isn't one."

You nodded.

"I guess…"

"You should listen to me and squeeze the feeling before it becomes heartbreaking."

You chuckled.

"No worries, it's not that bad."

The pinch of guilt in your heart though made you think that perhaps you were lying a little now…

But you chose, as always, to ignore the feeling and look away. Some truths were not meant to be faced.

Harry was beyond nervous.

He wasn't done with his album yet, far from it, but he had finished this one song that… he thought it was good. He thought is was very good, actually.

But then, he had made it, crafted it himself with his friends and colleagues, and he reckoned that it ought to blur his judgement towards the piece. There was only one way to make sure that he wasn't heading in the wrong direction: he had to ask someone else's point of view. And who could help him better than you?

No, you weren't a musician, but that was an advantage in his eyes. He had spent so long working on this song in the studio, he needed someone who was completely out of the whole process of making music to tell him if there was any good in this or not.

He trusted you with his life, he would do anything you asked him blindly. He had absolutely no fear of you telling anyone about the song. It would be safe in your hands.

He climbed the steps to your apartment too fast, his lungs burning, but he paid little attention to his lack of air.

In his hand was the memory stick upon which he had saved his song. He hadn't told you about it at all, you were simply supposed to spend the evening together. Sleepless in Seattle was on TV, so it obviously called for an evening in, watching rom coms all night through while eating pizza and these chocolate chip cookies you adored. He had a whole bag of those in his purse to get you through the night.

He wasn't surprised to find the door open for him and didn't bother knocking.

"Hi, Y/N!" he chimed, coming in and locking the door behind him before taking off his shoes and throwing his jacket on the back of your armchair.

You were sitting on your sofa, already in your pyjamas, buried under two blankets while reading a book, and he couldn’t refrain the tender smile that made its way to his lips at the sight.

"Hi, Harry!" you grinned up at him, and let him lean down to kiss your cheek before he would settle on the sofa by your side. "How are you? How was your day?"

"Uhm… fine… what about you?"

"Great. Had lunch with Jas. It was nice."

"Hmm."

"So… pizza?"

"Pizza," he nodded.

You only needed a couple of minutes though to see that he was nervous, for some reason.

"Is everything okay?" you asked him with concern making you frown.

"Yeah… yeah… uhm… actually… can I ask for a favour?"

He seemed all shy now. What was wrong with him tonight?

"Of course! Anything."

He nervously ran a hand through his curls, messing his hair a little.

"I… uhm… I just… need your… opinion on something."

"Sure! What is it?"

"Uhm… I've just finished this song today… or at least I think it's done but, uhm… I'm not sure is it good or not so… could you listen to it and then tell me what you think?"

Your expression turned from worried to ecstatic in 0.1 second.

"YES! Of course! Oh, I'm so excited! Can I listen to it now?"

He wasn't expecting to see you so excited about it, but then, he didn't know what else he could have been expected from you. You were always so supportive with him.

"Sure, here."

He handed you the memory stick.

"You… don't have to do it right now though…"

But you were already reaching for your computer, so he let out a chuckle and reached for his phone.

"I guess I'm the one in charge of ordering the pizza for tonight," he smiled while dialling the right number.

The song was all there was on the memory stick.

Sign of the Times

So you just clicked on it…

"I'm gonna get some wine," Harry mumbled, jumping to his feet and hurrying to disappear in the kitchen.

He picked up two glasses and one of your bottles of red wine, knowing where everything was stowed, as if he were in his own home. But then, your home was a little bit his as well, just like Harry's large house was a second home to you.

He heard the first notes of the piano rising from the living room, and his heart started to beat so damn fast…

What if you didn't like it? What if you thought it was terrible? What if he had been wrong for the past few months?

His voice rang through the apartment as well, deep and soft and sounding exactly how he wanted it to sound like. Would it be enough though?

On one hand he reckoned that he was an artist, and he had to stick to what he wanted to achieve with this song. He wanted to make a record in which he would be himself, sing songs full of honesty, talking about stories he wanted to talk about…

But then, there was the reality of being good or terrible, and he had lost sight of this thin line between the two after so many hours spent on that one song.

He took a deep breath, and made his way back to the living room to see your reaction, no matter how terrified he was.

The guitar and drums were kicking in as his eyes fell on you. You had closed your eyes, your hand resting on your heart. You seemed to be breathing more heavily than usual.

So… that was the kind of songs he had in his heart, huh?

You felt overwhelmed, to be honest. The song was beautiful, and the lyrics pulled at all the right strings in your heart, and his voice… God, his voice was heavenly.

A thousand emotions crossed your frame as you listened intently to every detail of the song, from the melody to the instruments and the way his voice changed. A thousand emotions because of the song itself, because of its lyrics, because of how Harry's voice carried so much passion it was tearing your heart apart, but also because a realization was suddenly coursing through your veins, and you didn't want it to.

Just stop your crying

Have the time of your life

Breaking through the atmosphere

And things are pretty good from here

Remember everything will be alright

We can meet again somewhere

Somewhere far away from here

A single tear rolled down your cheek, but you were too immersed into the song to brush it away.

Your best friend had made that…

We never learn, we been here before

Why are we always stuck and running from

The bullets?

The bullets

It was his voice speaking such lyrics, and all you wanted to do was hold him close and never let go.

Just stop your crying

It's a sign of the times

We gotta get away from here

Stop your crying

Baby, it will be alright

They told me that the end is near

We gotta get away from here

This realization that had punched you in the guts though, it was so obvious now… You had been right all along.

We never learn, we been here before Why are we always stuck and running from The bullets? The bullets

Of course, you had always known the truth. You had simply done a wonderful job at hiding it right in the spotlight.

We don't talk enough

We should open up

Before it's all too much

Will we ever learn?

We've been here before

It's just what we know

There really was no need to talk about any of this. What an idiot you had been to ever question it, to ever imagine… oh, you were such a silly girl…

Stop your crying, baby

It's a sign of the times

We gotta get away

We got to get away

His voice on the recording turned into almost a shout, hitting a high note, but it sounded almost like a call for help. You were fully crying by now.

It was so beautiful, and you were so… so foolish indeed… unable to see what was right in front of you that whole time.

The song died out, and you needed a moment to open your eyes again. When you did, Harry was handing you a tissue.

"Please, don't tell me that you're crying because you think it's so bad and my entire career will be ruined."

You laughed. He really was the only person able to make you laugh while you were still crying.

He was so stupid sometimes. So… so stupid.

You looked at him as he gave you a shy smile, clearly waiting for you to tell him what you thought about the song. But how could you describe how you felt?

There was one word that fitted quite well though…

"Proud."

He frowned, not following your train of thoughts, but you shot him a bright smile letting out a breathy giggle.

"I'm so proud of you."

His frown turned into a touched smile, and you were quite certain there were tears shimmering in his eyes.

You pushed your computer aside and launched yourself to hold him in your arms, burying your face in his shoulder and holding him so close… just because you needed to let him know, physically, how much you l…

… hell, you couldn't say it, could you? 'How much you cared' would have to do.

"I'm so proud of you," you repeated, as he tightened his own hold on you. "This song is so… I have no words, really. It's such a beautiful song, Harry."

"Thank you," he smiled in your neck, his voice shaky but clearly relieved. "Thank you."

"It's so beautiful. And I'm so, so proud of you."

"Thank you."

He cleared his throat, his voice breaking several times before he could go on.

"So… I'm doing okay, right?"

You let out a laugh.

"I would say you're doing amazing!"

"Great."

Amazing. Yes, that was exactly what he was. Amazing.

What a foolish girl you had been, how could you even think that he would feel the same? He was so… he was way, way too good for you.

The realization was a punch in the stomach. You didn't deserve him. He was somewhere among the stars and you… were far behind.

He was your best friend, and would remain just that, because there was no way someone like him could feel anything more for someone like you.

Jasmine was right.

Get him out of your system. Get him out before he settles there too much. Before he can truly slip under your skin.

Get him out of your system before he could truly slip under your skin…

You should listen to me and squeeze the feeling before it becomes heartbreaking.

Squeeze the feeling… Yes, that was what you needed to do. Squeeze the feeling until it died out. Until it was nothing more than a memory…

"Alright, enough tears for tonight, at least, until Meg Ryan listens to Tom Hanks in that car," Harry pulled away, drying his cheeks with his palms. "Let's drink to that, huh? To my song?"

You accepted the glass he offered you, giving him a warm smile.

"To your song."

And as your glasses rang together, you knew you were right.

Gareth was a much safer choice indeed…

***********************************************

Tag list: @ponycake27 @horsesreign @xinyourdreamsx @jbluevelvet@notkeppeki @daynigt-dreamer-stuff @fudgeflyss @stuckupstucky@snek-shit @suchatinyinfinity@i-padfootblack-things @buckybsarmy @heyohheyitsgabi@jigsawlover10 @emyyjemyy @addictedtofictionalcharacters @staringmoony@madamrogers @cronias13

#harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles series #harry styles fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #writing #series #imagine #harry styles imagine

51 notes · View notes

xomiri · 4 years ago

Text

Another Chapter? No Way!

Chapter 3, Baby. Decided to upload the whole thing this time idk.

A/N: Heyo! I'm super sorry for how long it took for this chapter to come out. I sometimes have motivational issues when it comes to doing things, and it impacts even the things I really enjoy doing. Nonetheless, Within time, I finally finished it, and it motivated me to keep going. So don't worry! hopefully the next chapters won't be as slow as this, but if they are, please bear with me! I don't want to give you sloppy writing, so I do so when I feel my best. Love you, and thank you for reading :)

"So finally, at the end of the interview, I tell him - Guess what I tell 'em?" Nick asked, snickering throughout the explanation of his joke.

The duo made their way down the hall, Judy trying not to murder the fox in cold blood. She entertained Nick as she scrambled her book-bag for her apartment keys.

"What'd you tell 'em Nick?"

she asked, almost, no, exactly like she'd been talking to a fourth grader.

"I told the guy that he didn't have the right Koala-fications! Eh? Eh?"

"Heheh.." She let out slowly, still rummaging through her book-bag.

Nick poked at her sides.

"Ah!" she flinched, swatting away at his paws.

"Yeah, yeah, it would've been funnier had this not be the fortieth time you've told me!"

They stopped at the end of the hall. Judy still shuffled through her bag, begging and pleading that she could find her keys, so she'd no longer have to tolerate his wisecracks.

"You wouldn't know comedy if it killed you."

He leaned against the doorway, and began to pick his claws.

"If it's your kind of humor, I hope it does." Judy mumbled, letting the jingle of her apartment keys mask the jab that she threw his way.

"I heard that." Nick nudged Judy's ear with his free elbow.

The creaking of the recently departed door welcomed them into the familiar darkness. Nick took Judy's bag, and turned to pick up his own. Judy walked into her safe haven, wiping the day off of her face. She looked around, not really knowing what she'd been looking for. It'd been a long day, so there'd be no surprise if she was daydreaming.

Her apartment had its own charm, convincing you to drop a memory each time you entered and exited. Some of her fondest memories were made here, even fonder ones to come.

Lights on.

Her home oddly contradicted her personality. You could see the months slowly engraving themselves into the bleak dark walls. The lavender undertones that emanated from her body, pervaded this new, cold air, making it as pungent as it's ever been before. It was intoxicating. This, along with a noticeable clean smell in the air. The way this cutesy rabbit made her bright, pastel mark upon the bleak, light grey space around her always made Nick smile. You truly couldn't miss it. Instances of magenta's and pastel blues, light pink's, yellows. Whether it be a notebook, a pillow or a shirt, it stood out, just like Judy; A blatant, yet unexpected aberrance. It was rewarding how much he could garner from something as simple as a color in her living room.

With a groan, Judy dragged herself to her room, unbuckling her utility belt.

Nick took the entirety of the home in. Although he'd been there before, these feelings could never escape him. She closed the door and left the rest of the space to Nick. The fact that she trusted him enough to leave her whole home to him for even a couple of seconds, made him feel warm inside. Someone finally looked at him for what he actually had been, rather than the species he'd been stuck with. The light ringing in his ears took over his thoughts, recovering him from his daze. Silence without Judy was silence he couldn't stand. He walked in and dropped the bags to his right, keeping eyes on the city-scape that made itself known through the wall-wide window on the far side of the room. As he inched forward, the notch of soft carpet that collided with his toes broke his concentration once more. His eyes flickered to the carpet, and back up to the window. Bedroom door, Kitchen, then the TV.

"Can't hurt."

He snatched the remote from the wood stained coffee table that sat close to him. He switched the TV on, allowing the incessant rambling of the news anchors on screen to fill the emptiness. Placing the remote on the arm of the couch, he let his head fall back and took a deep breath.

A door opening. His ears moved with the creak.

The bunny moved from the shadows of the room, entering the living room with her eyes closed, attempting to adjust to the abundance of light.

"Oh! Uh.."

Nick raced towards the light switch. He pressed it, and watched as the green dot danced up and down, as the lights began to dim.

"Better?"

The bunny did nothing but nod.

She made her way to the couch, light bouncing off of the folds of her flowy nightgown. She plopped down and slid her upper half sideways until her head eventually came in contact with the cushions of the couch. She let out a long sigh, that would soon be abruptly cut off by the sound of her remote hitting the ground.

The gong of the plastic remote resonated within the apartment walls, accompanied by yet another groan from the fluffy, agitated mass.

"I'll get it, my damsel in distress." Nick japed, before preening the kitchen of it's snacks and drinks.

Judy and Nick had the next day off. When they'd first become partners, Judy thought their friendship could blossom more than it had, in turn making their workflow easier to deal with. They'd been friends, even before Judy asked Nick to become her partner, so evidently, Judy wanted to do "friend things." Whatever that meant. This list included all the regular "friend things" that "friends" did. Walking in the park, visiting famous city monuments, going out to get food on select days of the week, and having movie nights. However, as time went on, and work became tougher to manage, some of these time consuming, albeit fun, activities came more and more scarce. Today had been one of those days. Usually, when both of them had the day off, they'd arrange a movie night. Scary movies, Comedies, Rom-Coms, Tragedies, you name it. Nick would come over, they'd laugh and joke, watch a couple of stupid movies, and he'd leave in the morning. Nothing more, nothing less. But this time was different. For the first time in a really long time, Nick felt...awkward. He didn't know if it'd genuinely been a long time since he'd been over, or if time just passed painfully slowly when he was alone. Time flew with Judy after all, there'd never be a dull moment.

"Nick. Please. Hurry.

She groaned, the gravel in her voice becoming more prominent.

"ZNN is on, and I can't stand to listen to this moose talk any longer."

"Whoa there, hot stuff, what's wrong with the news?"

He set two cups onto the counter, and turned to look into the fridge for a smoothie. Judy always made the same kind. It lasted from the beginning from the week until the weekend, and when the time came, she'd make another. With both hands, he slid the large glass container out of the fridge and onto the table. He held the container with one hand, the glass in the other, and leaned it just enough to where the smoothie came out ever so slightly..

"There's some pretty interesting stuff sometimes."

Judy rolled onto her back and shot her arm up.

"Riiight, 'cause who doesn't love listening to news anchors rub other people's tragedies in their face? Who doesn't love having the idea that someone is in danger right now shoved into conscience? I could be out there doing whatever I can to help the people in need, but my stupid brain wants to give me problems. God, I shouldn't have told Clawhauser my head hurt. Aah, That snitch!"

She clasped at the air before letting her arm drop onto her chest. Her eyes fell shut, hoping the sigh that she'd let out would drown out the voices that bombarded her ears, forever. Nick noticed the genuine distress in her voice. He looked up, with a furrow in his brow.

"Carrots..."

"Nick, we're police officers. That's what we do. We save people, not watch them get worse. If I can't do something to fix it, I don't wanna know about it."

She shuffled, turning to lay back onto her side.

A cold sensation reaching his fingers.

The cup is overflowing.

He quickly pulled the container away, and set it down. After drying his hands, he sidled over to the couch, picking up the remote on the way there.

Silence filled the air. An animated moose flung his arms around, detailing all sorts of presumably important things.

Nick sat down on his knees in front of her, Wishing he'd pay more heed to the headache medicine on the coffee table. Confused on how he didn't notice it beforehand, he gave the topic little thought. He dug his elbow into the space that she left over and let his head rest in his hand, while he let his other hand rest on her forehead.

"You're gonna get another headache." He rubbed his thumb back and forth on her temple.

Her eyes tightened. Nick stared at her, brows still furrowed. It was moments like these that confused him on how much she trusted him. He wanted to do as much as he could to make sure that she was comfortable. He wanted to do as much as she can so she can live her life as content as it possible could be. Being a police officer obviously didn't make it easy, but if he could make her smile even once, it showed promise for the future. A lot of mammals like to say to take things with a grain of rice, but Nick took every mannerism to heart. He couldn't help it. He really couldn't help it.

He kissed her on the forehead.

Judy's eyes fluttered open. She stared into Nick's eyes, shaking him down for everything he knew.

"You're so selfish, y'know that?"

"Nick, I-"

"You're right. We are police officers. But… He paused.

"But it's dumb to think you can save everyone." His words took the air out of her chest. Her eyes widened and her lips parted.

Nick moved Judy's ears in front of her eyes. Her eye contact made him nervous.

The hand he once had on her forehead, gravitated towards his lap.

"If you were expected to save everyone you come across, you'd be the only one on the job... I know how hard you work, God, everyone knows how hard you work. It's almost selfish to think that there aren't other people that work as hard as you do… It's okay to not…"

He paused. Would she understand what he was saying? He didn't want to make it seem like he was belittling her or downplaying her emotions, but he didn't want her to dwell on something that she couldn't fix. It didn't make any sense. Judy's overwhelming selflessness annoyed him. He wanted her to not care about things, like he did. Otherwise she'd be aching every day of her waking life. Even though he had everything laid out for her, It'd still been hard for him to tell her these things. What if she did understand? What if she understood a little too well, and decided to change completely? He wanted to convey the right message, without trying to force an entirely different mindset onto her.

His brow furrowed.

Judy sat up, bringing Nick back to attention. She grabbed his cheeks, and kissed him on the forehead.

She pulled away, looking at him with worry.

"You're gonna get another headache." Judy mocked him.

His ears drooped, but not out of sadness.

I get what you mean, it's just a little upsetting, is all. I promise I'm not freaking out over things I don't need to be."

He smiled.

She understood exactly what he meant. Deep down, he knew that she'd understand what he was saying. He knew that she was going to take everything he wanted to say the way he wanted her to. Although he knew she understood him better than anyone else did, there'd still always be this inkling of doubt. When it came to almost everything, there was always an inkling of doubt. Sometimes he reprimanded himself for not being as open with Judy as she had been with him.

How can you call her selfish, when you're more selfish than she is?

His newfound thoughts rattled his brain, but he decided to push them away. For another time...always for another time.

Their smiles shone. Judy booped his nose, but couldn't shake the tinge of worry from her face.

Once more in this scenario. Eye to eye, nose to nose. But this time, it was more comfortable. No sand brushing against the side of their ankles, no wind attempting to drown out the sounds of their hearts. It was an ever growing and shrinking silence. A silence that spoke softly and nonchalantly. A silence that seeped from the walls and echoed throughout the rooms. A silence that made its way through all the creases and crevices of the floors.

"Thank you for your work today, Nick."

She met her forehead with his.

"You know me. Always here for ya." He spoke with a smoky tone.

Judy broke contact and pushed him, knocking him backwards.

"Aah!" He caught himself with his elbows.

"My favorite."

Judy scoffed, stepping around him and making her way to the kitchen.

Nick couldn't help but stare, the way her hips swayed ever so slightly when she walked. He could feel his heart begin to beat throughout his entire body. Her hourglass figure, made prominent by the kitchen light that bathed her. He thought of her every feature. The curves, the dips, the arches. But most evident, her eyes. He fell in love with those faux apathetic eyes. Although her half lidded eyes had usually been to mock Nick, sometimes she used them to her own volition. He couldn't stand it. Those eyes, attached to a mind that he couldn't read. Residing within a body he couldn't explore.

Nick stood and brushed himself off, attempting not to lose himself in thought. He shook his head, and made his way to the bar.

"You aren't very slick, Slick."

She began to clean the smoothie spill.

"Who's to say?"

She couldn't help but giggle at the finger guns he shot at her. She folded the towel she used over the handle of the oven, and began to rummage through her fridge, no longer letting hunger get the best of her. The squeak of the bar-stool Nick sat in, prompted her to turn back around, to which he whisked his head in a random direction, until he found a focal point. He began filing through a cookbook her mother gave her before she moved to the city. As expected, nothing but carrot recipes.

"Staring again?."

"Gasp! Me? No way! Whatever could you mean?"

He let the book cover his face, and after a a millisecond, slowly moved the book down to see if she'd still been facing him. Once his eyes met hers, he shot the book back up in front of his face.

Judy shook her head, a sly grin on her face.

"What's for dinner, Slick?" She asked, leaning onto the counter and pulling down on the book. The movement of the book moving Nick away from the nothingness he'd been staring at for the past minute.

He thought out loud.

"Well...We've been picking up lots of fast food on breaks, so how 'bout something healthy?"

"My, My! Look at you wanting to be healthy! Good for you, Nick!"

Judy gestured for a high five, but when the fox went for it, she swiped her hand away, turning to get to work on the food. A turn of a knob here, and the filling of a pot there. She'd been so tired, but within seconds, it seemed as if it all went away. Maybe the meds were finally kicking in. Nick watched her cover up her struggle with a hum, dancing atop a step stool as she set the carrots into a pot with water. She was so quick to assume responsibility when it came to just about anything. It just goes to show that she'll never really learn, even after that semi-serious conversation that they'd had a couple minutes ago.

Nick hopped off of the stool he'd been swiveling back and forth in, and made his way to the kitchen. He stood behind Judy, and lifted her to where she could place the carrots into the pot with ease.

"Oh! Thanks!"

"Nothin' to it. Just… hurry up, I ain't got all night."

"Way to ruin the moment." Judy scoffed.

"Hey, it's what I do best."

After a tedious couple minutes of swapping between holding her up and grabbing seasonings that might not have been supposed to be there, he set her down and grabbed the carrot she'd been holding, out of her hand.

"I'll take it from here. All that "headaching" you've been going through all day must have you begging for some rest, huh?"

"Oh...yeah…"

Judy hopped off of the stool, and made her way back to the couch, She sat, and began to flip through the channels, separating interest and disinterest in mere seconds. Time passed. Not too fast, but not too slow. Nick didn't want to take too much time making food. To be completely honest, he wasn't hungry, but that wasn't going to stop him from making sure she was comfortable. The tapering scrape of cooking utensils, along with the short lived syllables of different voices that shot out of the TV, made for an oddly peaceful environment as it fought the tranquil silence that previously filled the room. After what she deemed too much flipping, Judy decided to switch to a pre-recorded soap opera that she'd reminded herself to watch earlier.

"Oh boy, pawgliacci? Nick muttered.

"What? It's good!"

"That's what they all say, until you get about forty-five minutes in.."

The food, prepared, and the mammals hungry,

Nick dished out the food as quickly as he could, speaking in an obnoxious French accent.

He imitated,

"Ahh yes, cahrraht noodles weeth speecy zai peanut sauce fahr ze

beauteeful bunny!

Giggling, she took the bowl. There wasn't anything better than hearing her giggle. Hearing her laugh made his heart flutter, he wouldn't even begin to explain what her smile did to him.

He flashed her a smile, and a little giggle of his own. He turned back to the kitchen and announced as he walked.

"Eef you dahn't like eet, mahney bahck! Guarahntee!"

Through snickers and chuckles, they'd finally been together on the couch, attempting to watch the soap opera that'd been on for about twenty minutes already. It hadn't necessarily mattered, considering how they'd been chatting the whole time, paying little to no mind to the TV.

"What were you saying about the history of your farm, was it farm or family? Something like that."

"What are you even- Oh! I don't even remember, how'd you pick up on that?

"Well I was curious, so I kept it in the back of my mind. Nothing this big brain can't handle.."

He rubbed the back of his neck. He wasn't nervous, but quite the opposite. He'd been way more comfortable that he was in a long time. A tick, maybe?

"Well, I appreciate it, but it'd take way too long to go into detail about."

"That's just fine, I like long stories anyway." He gazed at the invisible watch on his wrist.

"I've got just about…. All night."

He smirked before setting his bowl down on the small table to his left.

Leaning into the couch, He tucked one leg underneath him, and laid his head into his fist. He wasn't going anywhere, anytime soon.

Judy smiled, but the smile faded slowly. Not because of his smug attitude, but because of how much he cared for her and the things she cared about. She loved and hated how he'd be satisfied just being around her. Why couldn't he be a lowlife, apathetic narcissist through and through? It was only once you got to know him that you found out he was so much more than that. It was only then did you find out that he actually is more than some dumb fox. He had character…substance. He cared about things.

Although, deep down, she wanted much more than to watch this movie, she knew that that'd probably been what he was there for. Nothing more, nothing less.

She continued,

"You said you didn't have all night when we were in the kitchen. What happened now?"

"Eh, my arms were tired. a life of hustlin' cute fuzzy-wuzzy bunnies takes a lot out of y- Ow!" Another strike, landing clean on his arm.

Judy cleared her throat.

"Well…"

She trailed off about the history of her family and the farm she grew up on. The different types of crops and botanical "this's" and "that's", her family tree, and surprisingly, the names of every single one of her siblings. All...275 of them… Big brain for a little bunny.

Judy stretched her arms, letting out the sigh she'd been holding in for who knows how long. She grabbed both bowls and made her way to the kitchen.

Nick's eyes followed her until she'd been out of his peripheral. His eyes then meandered until they came across the carrot charm she'd recently added to her phone case. He fiddled with the charm, then spoke up.

"With a nickname like Carrots, I would've expected you to eat more than two bites."

"Hey, Hey! Keep your eyes on your own food! I can eat this later, Okay? I like to savour my food. Not wolf it down like some savage beast." She mocked him.

"Woah, woah! Be careful, this savage beast is still hungry, and rabbit would be delicious right about now!"

"Then come and get it." She teased. Setting the plates down into the sink. She walked to the edge of the counter and leaned onto it with one hand, sinking into her hip. She dropped her head slightly, letting her eyes fixate on him. Letting him know that she was nothing short of serious.

Nick chuckled. She gave him permission. Nothing more, nothing less. He wasn't sure what she'd been hinting at, but he wasn't going to give up this opportunity, not just yet. He strolled over to her.

"Hehe, y'know you surprise me sometimes Carrots. I never seem to know what's going on in your head. One second you're all tired and brazen, and the next, you're…"

He swooped her up in his arms before speaking, but the bunny cut him off.

"I can be as brazen as I want."

She pulled on his collar, her breath flirting with the fur on his neck and ears.

"Scratch tired of the list, then?

He whispered in her ear.

"Hm, my arms were just tired."

"Hm.."

A contagious smile grew between the both of them. The passing of time fell short and unnoticeable. They once again slipped into the same void of space, filled with a calm, pleasing silence, neither of them daring to interrupt. Until they did.

Seemingly at the same time, their lips imitated magnets, and slowly but surely, they met.

ff account :)

here

#zootopia #zootopia fanfiction #eeriiee #fanfiction #romance #friendship #suspense #nick wilde #judy hopps #wildehopps #znn #zootopia comics

9 notes · View notes

ilistenedin · 4 years ago

Text

1. coffee mugs, teacups, wine glasses, water bottles, or soda cans?

Soda cans

2. chocolate bars or lollipops?

Lollipops

3. bubblegum or cotton candy?

Bubblegum

4. how did your elementary school teachers describe you?

Smart but lazy.

5. do you prefer to drink soda from soda cans, soda bottles, plastic cups or glass cups?

Soda cans

6. pastel, boho, tomboy, preppy, goth, grunge, formal or sportswear?

Tomboy

7. earbuds or headphones?

No preference

8. movies or tv shows?

Movies

9. favorite smell in the summer?

Fresh cut grass or when it’s about to rain

10. game you were best at in p.e.?

Basketball in elementary, dodgeball in middle, and sitting in high school

11. what you have for breakfast on an average day?

Nothing

12. name of your favorite playlist?

I don’t have one

13. lanyard or key ring?

Both

14. favorite non-chocolate candy?

I don’t think I have a favorite candy tbh. I don’t do sweets often. Starburst are alright?

15. favorite book you read as a school assignment?

La Casa de los Espíritus

16. most comfortable position to sit in?

Knees apart, ankles crossed

17. most frequently worn pair of shoes?

Birkenstock’s, baby

18. ideal weather?

If staying indoors; rainy and gloomy and cold.

If going out; cold with lots of clouds where the sun occasionally peeks thru

19. sleeping position?

On stomach, hugging pillow, one leg hiked up

20. preferred place to write (i.e., in a note book, on your laptop, sketchpad, post-it notes, etc.)?

Lately, in my notes app.

21. obsession from childhood?

Sharks. Horror. Cats.

22. role model?

I don’t really have one. But I do hold a special place in my heart for Gerard Way.

23. strange habits?

I don’t think I have any strange habits. I’m pretty boring.

24. favorite crystal?

Amerhysts, opal, moonstone

25. first song you remember hearing?

I have bad memory

26. favorite activity to do in warm weather?

Stay indoors lol

27. favorite activity to do in cold weather?

Just be outside. Maybe go chill in a park and drink some tea and smoke a cigarette/joint

28. five songs to describe you?

I don’t have the brain capacity for that rn.

29. best way to bond with you?

Interests. Asking questions.

30. places that you find sacred?

Book stores.

31. what outfit do you wear to kick ass and take names?

I don’t lol

32. top five favorite vines?

Oh god I don’t know lol. I love the “Adam!” one. “Two dudes chilling in a hot tub..” the one where the girl is about to play Mozart and the keyboard is on the wrong mode. And I can’t think of any other ones rn

33. most used phrase in your phone?

Probably lol

34. advertisements you have stuck in your head?

Oreilly auto parts for sure.

35. average time you fall asleep?

It varies way too much

36. what is the first meme you remember ever seeing?

Probably the forever alone dude

37. suitcase or duffel bag?

Duffel bag

38. lemonade or tea?

Tea

39. lemon cake or lemon meringue pie?

Lemon cake

40. weirdest thing to ever happen at your school?

Ummm weird is a choice of word I guess. My sophomore year some poor girls home made sex video w her bf got leaked and it was pretty fucking bad.

41. last person you texted?

Lauryn

42. jacket pockets or pants pockets?

Pants

43. hoodie, leather jacket, cardigan, jean jacket or bomber jacket?

I am incapable of choosing. I’m a slut for all of them.

44. favorite scent for soap?

I like mint, citrus, patchouli, and lavender

45. which genre: sci-fi, fantasy or superhero?

Tie between sci-fi and fantasy

46. most comfortable outfit to sleep in?

Sports bra and boxers

47. favorite type of cheese?

It’s impossible for me to choose. I’ve never met a cheese I didn’t like.

48. if you were a fruit, what kind would you be?

My friends used to call me Apple in HS so I guess an apple

49. what saying or quote do you live by?

None

50. what made you laugh the hardest you ever have?

I laugh hard too often

51. current stresses?

My life as a whole

52. favorite font?

Times new Roman

53. what is the current state of your hands?

I’ve stopped biting my nails and instead I file them (I wonder how long that’ll last) and they are a bit dry cause of the changing of seasons; this always happens. They get like, cracked and peely. It’s gross, don’t judge.

54. what did you learn from your first job?

How to drive stick shift. I was a valet.

55. favorite fairy tale?

I don’t think I have one tbh

56. favorite tradition?

Every year for my grandmothers birthday and death anniversary we go out to this famous church that over looks the Miami Bay Area and we throw sunflowers into the ocean for her. I’m not religious or anything, but the church location is great and it’s extremely important in my culture (Cuban).

57. the three biggest struggles you’ve overcome?

I haven’t overcome shit

58. four talents you’re proud of having?

I don’t think I have any talents per se. I used to drum. I have been told I can sing. I like to write. I doodle.

59. if you were a video game character, what would your catchphrase be?

“Sorry, can’t help it, I’m gay”

60. if you were a character in an anime, what kind of anime would you want it to be?

Horror

61. favorite line you heard from a book/movie/tv show/etc.?

Brain too tired to think of anything

62. seven characters you relate to?

I’m too tired to think lol

63. five songs that would play in your club?

Bad Bunny’s discography.

64. favorite website from your childhood?

Lol. Rotten dot com

65. any permanent scars?

One on my knee.

66. favorite flower(s)?

Peonies and roses and pansies

67. good luck charms?

I have un azabache on my wrist

68. worst flavor of any food or drink you’ve ever tried?

Don’t like cucumbers or raw carrots. Oh and recently I tried pickles that have been pickled in moonshine. Fucking no.

69. a fun fact that you don’t know how you learned?

Head empty

70. left or right handed?

Right

71. least favorite pattern?

My patterns in my love life 😁

72. worst subject?

Math for sure

73. favorite weird flavor combo?

Idk. I will literally put an egg on everything.

74. at what pain level out of ten (1 through 10) do you have to be at before you take an advil or ibuprofen?

75. when did you lose your first tooth?

No idea

76. what’s your favorite potato food (i.e. tater tots, baked potatoes, fries, chips, etc.)?

Mashed probably

77. best plant to grow on a windowsill?

Succulent

78. coffee from a gas station or sushi from a grocery store?

Publix has decent sushi

79. which looks better, your school id photo or your driver’s license photo?

I don’t have a school I’d anymore, but it was pretty fucking bad. But my license one is also pretty fucking bad.

80. earth tones or jewel tones?

Earth tones

81. fireflies or lightning bugs?

Aren’t they the same? I call them cocuyos

82. pc or console?

Console

83. writing or drawing?

Writing

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cmweller · 4 years ago

Text

Challenge #02848-G291: The Punk Choice

They are preppers, but not the type people think of. They did have places of safety, yes. They did have a way to defend themselves, hunt, fish, and all the usual equipment, though instead of firearms they had crossbows and regular bows. And instead of tons of expensive fishing equipment, it was basic rods and reels, fishing lines, hooks, bobbers and sinkers, no expensive lures, nothing like that.

They did have some dried and canned foodstuffs, things that could be eaten and swapped out over time, but they also kept things such as heirloom seeds. They gathered books on pre-industrial cooking and preserving techniques, took classes on first aid and medical care, practiced woodland survival, water purification techniques, survival in arctic-like conditions, how to find supplies even in the food deserts that were so often seen in larger cities. Weaving, stitching, making cloth, how to make blankets and clothing out of that cloth, how to spin flax, cotton, and various types of wool into thread and yarn, and so forth. All in the name of survival.

They knew things were starting to go bad. They saw it in how their country was falling apart. In how people were turning on each other. They tried to warn people, they offered to teach people how to prepare as well. They tried to advise on supplies, what would be useful, what would not, and were rebuffed time and again. Then things got worse, just as they predicted, just as they'd warned. People began to go crazy, stealing from each other, raiding stores, stockpiling stupid things, and again, they offered to teach, to help with food crops, they were again, rebuffed despite begging people to reconsider their habits.

Then came the day those same crowds were banging at the door of their shelter demanding, not asking, to be helped. A part of their heart said "I offered before when it could've mattered, why should I care?" But the rest of their heart, as they reached for the radio to answer the crowds outside, spoke as well. "Because they're people too." -- DaniAndShali

So many Preppers claim that they would do anything to ensure the survival of their core group. Live in forts, live in bunkers, carry arms at all times, fight to the death for every square inch, eat rats, eat cockroaches... you know all the claims. As I watched the world fall apart, as I watched my country fall apart, so many of them were not prepared to do the things that would have ensured the most survival and maybe even a rebuilding of a better society. They refused, in essence, to care about anyone else but themselves.

When asked to carry guns, when asked to fight, when asked to murder the Other, so many raise their hand. When asked to wear a piece of fabric over their nose and mouth, when asked to keep a distance from another person, when asked to buy only what was necessary, they freak out and act like it's the worst thing in the world. The difference I have found, is that in the fantasy, they are asked to kill. In the reality, they have been asked to be kind[1]. Therein lies the rot.

I'm not a Prepper in the traditional sense. Yes, I coupon. Yes, I hoard a bunch of non-perishable supplies. Yes, I grow my own food and make my own preserves and spend time learning all the survival skills you wouldn't think you'd need. Yes, I have a bunker, and yes, there are rooms dedicated to hydroponic crops. That said, I'm more Punk than the average Prepper. And for that, I have to explain what Punk is.

[Be sure to visit internutter (dot) org for a link to the rest of this story, and details on how to support this artist. Or visit peakd (dot) com (slash at) internutter for the stories at their freshest]

#instant story #just add prompt #fantastic fables #renewal #post apocalypse

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internutter · 4 years ago

Text

Challenge #02848-G291: The Punk Choice

#instant story #just add prompt #fantastic fables #doomsday preppers #after doomsday

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mxsinistir · 5 years ago

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May I request a Good Omens Gabriel x Human! Reader please?

Pairing: Gabriel x [y/n]

Warnings: n/a besides the fact that the bad writing ™ becomes worse writing ™ towards the end bc it’s 2 am while I’m writing this.

Summary: Freelance London Photographer [y/n] is friends with the bookshop owner Aziraphale, and happens to be sitting in one day when a mysterious stranger enters to have a meeting with her friend. Suspicious, this artist is ready to find out as much as she can about the man.

Word Count: 2390

(tried to keep this gender-neutral but tell me if I screwed this up anywhere bc I probably did)

Hope you enjoy!

***

The first time you met him was whenever you were inside A.Z. Fell & Co., discussing a book you’d just read and returned (since you were aware he despised the permanent purchasing of his collection) over two cups of hot chocolate.

The moment he entered, you were intrigued. You turned your head to watch him saunter in, and some part of you screamed deafeningly that whatever he was, he did not belong here. That was saying something since unusual people were not uncommon in the little London bookshop. You’d known Aziraphale’s eccentric friend Crowley for quite some time now.

“Aziraphale,” His voice was hearty, one you should have taken comfort in hearing. But in addition to his picture-perfect, incredibly fake smile, it set your nerves on end. “May I have a word?” Part of you decided this was your chance to run from the off-setting visitor, but that would leave your friend alone with him.

“Hi, I’m [Y/n],” You shoved a hand into space between you, “I don’t believe we’ve met before.” He looked you up and down, your eyes unwavering until he met your stare. His eyes - your stomach flipped, oh god his eyes - bore into yours, and you nearly recoiled when you noticed the color. A glassy purple with no signs of contacts. Just unexplainably rich violet that made the hair stand up on the back of your neck.

“Gabriel,” He said, shaking your hand with a grip that was just a little too strong. You were too proud to coddle your sore hand, though. “I need a moment with Aziraphale.”

“Sorry, can’t,” You couldn’t leave Aziraphale with him! What if something happened? You’d picked up that Aziraphale had been involved with some sketchy people before, and what if this guy happened to be a well-dressed gang member? Well . . . well dressed wasn’t exactly the way to put it. You didn’t know what look Gabriel was going for, but it just added to his overall wrongness.

Besides, Aziraphale and Crowley had always remarked on your excellent intuition. Warning Aziraphale about bad customers, giving Crowley advice on problems he hadn’t explicitly explained, knowing that both your friends were thinking at a given time - and at this time, Aziraphale felt very, very anxious about Gabriel waltzing into his shop.

“What do you mean, you can’t?” He half-snarled, his fake smile faltering.

“My bike got stolen earlier,” You explained, casually turning to drink the rest of your cocoa before it went cold. You also needed something to hide your growing smile. “I told the police to drop it off here when they found it.”“Are you sure you didn’t miss them during your chat?” He said, “I swore I saw a bike parked in the front.” You stepped past him, putting your nose against Aziraphale’s window. Sure enough, a blue bike was leaned against the glass pane.

“Well, silly me - Guess they just left it and had better things to do.” You laughed, turning back to smile at Aziraphale and Gabriel. “See you later, Zira!”

You walked outside, planning on walking home. You weren’t going to take some random bike from in front of the bookshop just because some guy had snapped and made it appear for you.

You didn’t own a bike.

***

The next morning, before you even had the chance to ask questions about the purple-eyed man, Crowley had come into your studio, mentioning that he was bored, due to Aziraphale’s sudden occupation with work. Aziraphale had never been truly busy since you’d known him.

“Crowley, do you know a Gabriel?” You asked, not looking up from the photo you were currently editing the lighting of, trying to decide if you could amend the conflict between the clashing color palettes. If anything, Crowley just hoped that you were too occupied with your work to even notice that you opened your mouth to ask the question. A few seconds ticked by, and then you stared up at the redhead.

“Yeah, I know him.” He said under his breath, “He’s a friend of Aziraphale’s. Definitely not a friend fo mine. I’d keep your distance.”

“What does he do?” Even without being able to see his eyes through the glasses, you sensed the panic in them as he proceeded to mumble out an answer.

“Paperwork,” He steadied himself, easing into the lie now. “Some company Aziraphale used to work for. I think he’s kind of a jerk, but he and Zira go way back, so I don’t intrude.”

“Funny, I thought the bookshop had been family owned for a hundred years?”

“Part-time job, maybe?” Crowley stammered out. You just rolled your eyes.

“Is Aziraphale in . . . is he in any danger with this guy?”“What? No, no, [Y/n], you’re just being paranoid.” You weren’t so sure. You’d never heard Crowley so nervous about the subject of someone, and you’d certainly never heard of him willing staying out of Aziraphale’s affairs. It was common knowledge that he was the nosiest man in London, especially when it came to his friends. “Seriously, Just stay out of his way and it should be fine.” He had a certain voice he used when he wanted you to believe things were fine, even if they weren’t.

“I’ll just ask Aziraphale since apparently, you won’t explain.” That little taunt was usually enough to make Crowley spill everything. Not for this, apparently. “He listens to you, Crowley. Just make sure he doesn’t get hurt.”

Just because he didn’t say the promise doesn’t mean she didn’t see him make it.

***

The second time you saw Gabriel wasn’t at the bookshop, but on a bench in St. James’ Park. You were currently looking over some pictures you’d taken of the vibrant area, the photographs dotted with jogging passersby and fluffy ducks that reminded you of Aziraphale. You stood up to walk by, snapping a few more when your camera focused in on a not-quite-familiar face.

“Gabriel,” You said, curiously approaching the benched man. “Fancy seeing you here,”

“[Y/n], is it? Aziraphale’s . . . acquaintance.” Who the hell used the word acquaintance anymore? You thought. “Is there something you need?”

“Just came to clear my eyes - I’ve been staring at this one picture I took for Aziraphale last week.” You briefly explained how one of the customers had split their coffee on one of Aziraphale’s old wall paintings, which he had sat on the table to clean the walls behind it. He had been furious, and though you knew you couldn’t possibly replace the expertly preserved painting - ruined by only human clumsiness - you’d offered to gift a photograph to him. Though he was obviously still disgruntled over the lost air, he did say that even something modern would eventually become history. You’d gotten to work. “I’m supposed to bring it to him this evening.”

“I was planning to speak with him this evening as well, actually.” The man remarked.

“Well, if you wanted, you could com toe hang out at my studio for a while.” You had a feeling that no matter what, this man would try to keep up appearances. Meaning he would accept your offer, even if only not to appear rude. Thanks to some information you’d gotten out of Crowley, you now knew that you wouldn’t be in any real danger as a human inviting him to your studio. He, on the other hand, wouldn’t be expecting the onslaught of questions you had for him.

“That sounds great,” He said with clenched teeth, and so you just smiled and packed up your laptop and camera equipment, making sure to walk beside him all the way back to your flat.

The square footage wasn’t much - you were honestly surprised you could manage to fit two people inside at once. Beyond that, every inch of the place was stacked high with frames and camera equipment and printed portraits. Your bed was usually just the couch by the window, and even then, you more often than not just fell asleep at your work desk, head draped over crossed arms.

“I’m gonna be a little bit - I’ve gotta play with some finishing touches, and then I’ve got to print it.” You explained - Aziraphale had given you a faux-gold 18 x 21 frame, nearly identical to the one bordering the ruined painting. “You can sit on the couch if you still want to hang out. You okay with music?” You asked casually, bringing him a glass of water. You may be suspicious of him, but your mother had always stressed the importance of hospitality.

“Do you like music?” He thought for a moment, staring blankly before nodding as if he’d been assessing whether or not it was the correct response to say so. “Queen?” He looked even more confused but nodded again. You synced your Spotify to a small speaker and set it to shuffle, sliding into your chair as We Are the Champions began to play. You snuck a glance over at Gabriel while mouthing the words and concluded he was possibly the only person in the world who didn’t know the lyrics. If anything, that just confirmed your suspicions of the man.

Gabriel, on the other hand, was just as confused by you as you were by him. When you’d first met, he hadn’t known how to react to you. You’d stood up to him with no background knowledge, purely because you thought he had ill intentions towards your friend. Humans were always willing to throw themselves at things for no reason, but you were different - you had a reason, and that reason was nothing more than intuition to protect those you care about.

And now, you’d carelessly brought him into your apartment - if he could even call it that. It was a glorified storage closet, filled to the brim with art and junk and beauty. He’d never been exposed to such a mess; heaven would have never tolerated it. He couldn’t even imagine that Hell was this chaotically organized.

He could barely focus on that. How could he anymore, when there was you to look at? Smiling truly and losing yourself in the music blaring, snapping your fingers with bad timing, singing the guitar riffs, and constantly standing up just to pace around while mouthing the lyrics.

You walked around him more than a few times, asking him random questions while leaning far back to see what your photo looked like from afar. He eventually saw that it was of an eggshell white duck in St. James, curiously floating alongside a dark goose that had landed in the waters. He could have scoffed at the symbolism, wondering if you understood the irony of it all yourself.

Gabriel had never seen so much life in one plac.e It radiated from you, from your camera, from your fingers. It felt raw and unexplainably human, and not in the way that disgusted him with its mediocrity. There was nothing mediocre about you. You oozed with some sort of high that no angel could ever dream of finding themselves on. Angels were too flawless for something as uncontained as the day-to-day life you lead.

During the middle of one of your lyrical outbursts, you glanced over at Gabriel. He was drinking tea now, staring out into London from your window, sunbeams casting over his dusty hair and stunning eyes. Without a word, you pulled your camera in front of you and stepped towards him, snapping photos of him a quick succession. He whipped around at the sound, just quick enough to see you smiling.

“Stay where you are - the lighting’s amazing.” You said, steadily walking closer to the man. He truly was a vision in an element like this. You leaned back to observe the picture he’d found himself in. “Do you think you could give me one with your wings?”

And just like that, you watched the Archangel Gabriel freeze to the core as you shuttered a few more photographs.

“Come on, everyone knows Aziraphale isn’t human.” And of course, there was no way Crowley could keep a secret like that once he was sufficiently drunk. “And besides, humans don’t usually make this pretty of muses.”

He unfurled his wings gently, being careful not to knock over anything. All three pairs appeared in pristine, white condition, though when the window light scattered them, they reflected a spectrum of glistening violet.

He nearly asked to confirm that you were human, though he knew the answer. No one but a human could accomplish this - a demon nor an angel could live in such harmonious chaos with their own little world, dancing to the raw beauty of it all and flourishing in the flaws you did not perceive as such.

Gabriel had never felt love - a sort of ‘love for all humanity’, of course, but not the thrumming in his heart he felt now, looking at you in your element, high on the artistry of what you saw in him. On what no one else had ever seen in him.

“I could have a photoshoot with you, you know.” You said, looking at your camera screen. “You look great on camera.”

“There’s still a few hours before I need to meet with Aziraphale,” He lied - he was two hours behind schedule, not that that mattered. “He’d told me about this bakery beside his bookshop that he apparently adores.” He didn’t even like food. It didn’t matter - he figured you would.

“Am I being asked out by the Archangel Gabriel?”“That’s strong wording-”“I’m famished,” You smiled, and as you walked over to your computer, he expected you to print and frame your imperfect perfection. Instead, you just saved the photo and eased your computer shut. “I can make something here, though. I don’t want to leave. Does the Archangel Gabriel want to watch a movie?”

He was about to make a snarky comment about your sarcastically calling him that, but he paused as you did the unexpected. You settled down on your couch right next to him and smiled. That was enough for him to decide that his meeting with Aziraphale could wait till morning. To hell with Heaven questioning him - him of all people - being off schedule. He would deal with that in time.

Right now, all that mattered was that he was sharing in on an artist’s high, and he wasn’t ever coming off.

#good omens #good omens gabriel #archangels #archangel gabriel #gabriel good omens #gabriel #good omens x reader #gabriel x reader #goom #i love artists x gabriel #gabriel x human #good omens imagines #gabriel imagines #archangels gabriel imagines

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fingerguneds · 5 years ago

Note

Stozier + going to the movies

im like one hundred percent sure this is not what you wanted and it turns out i dont know what a drabble is so it’s 4.4k long but um..yeah hope you like it

Richie is tired. Okay, “tired” is actually a litotes — he’s fucking exhausted. Two weeks of pre-holiday classes — two weeks of deadlines, exams and final test, two weeks of nervous breakdowns and panic attacks for all students, and for him, probably the biggest procrastinator in their year, it was a hell ride. Sugar-high, coffee-flavoured satanic ritual.

But in the end, he finished up good, of course he did, because not only he’s a phenomenal fuckup of a person with a pathological time-management crisis, he’s also a smart fucking guy. And now, after his last French exam, it’s only fair that he goes home and tries to recover from his two weeks long sleep deficit, but…no.

The problem is, he promised Bill to accompany him to the new Star Wars film premiere, they got the tickets days ago, and even though Richie feels like throwing up and lying in his puke for a month and crying helplessly about of it, he promised. And it’s not just someone, it’s Bill, his best friend, and the newest part of Star Wars! And maybe, if three Red Bulls and two strawberry-flavoured Fantas didn’t make his heart stop, another large-sized slushie won’t either. His heart’s a strong one, it’s been to hell and back and he can show you vouchers — his student’s record book, thank you very much.

“You’re gonna have diabetes,” Eddie, Bill’s boyfriend, intones, when Richie arrives to their apartment to pick up Bill with a venti gingerbread latte in his right hand. “Feed him something or come up with a good eulogy,” he tells Bill, standing on tiptoe to leave a quick peck on his cheek.

“But your mom told me I shouldn’t ever force myself to eat—” Richie tries, but Bill pushes him out of the apartment with a sigh and closes the door, leaving Eddie’s pink-cheeked and ready-to-fight face behind it.

“Sure you’re not hungry?”

“It’s always like that when you miss a night of your beauty sleep,” Richie grimaces as they get into the elevator. “But we still can grab something to go.”

“McDonalds?”

Richie chuckles. As kids, they always went to McDonalds before films, hiding burgers and fries in their little hats in winter or bringing a special backpack “for illegal purposes only” in summer so the cinema boys wouldn’t kick them out, or worse — make them throw everything away. Now, no one cares whether you bring your own snacks or not, and they actually finish their food while driving, but there’s still a lingering touch of nostalgia to the whole process.

They’re barely on time, because Richie insisted on buying a goddamn slushie, although the line was fucking enormous, and yet they take their seats exactly one minute before upcoming film trailers begin. They’re both excited as hell, the slushie tastes amazing after the first proper meal he’s had since yesterday’s evening (yes, fries, nuggets and a Big Mac is a meal, unlike two Kit Kats and a bag of Doritos), and yet…nothing goes as planned.

After fifteen minutes of the film, Richie starts to zone the fuck out. The food is still warm in his belly, his winter scarf he didn’t pull off is soft and comfortable under his crooked neck, his eyelids feel like the only thing heavier than them is his head. He tries, he really does, he clears his glasses twice, he finishes his slushie with the largest gulps to wake up, he bites the insides of his cheeks, but it’s all pointless.

Thirty minutes into the film, and Richie’s gone.

***

“Richie! Richie, wuw-wake up! Oh my guh-god, I’m so suh-sorry, he—Richie!“

Bill sounds nervous. His childhood stutter comes back when he is. There’s a tug at Richie’s hand he barely registers.

“It’s okay,” someone chuckles curtly right above Richie’s ear. “At least his hair is clean.”

Um, rude.

Well, maybe in a different situation, Richie wouldn’t have thought that it’s rude. Like, it’s always nice when people have clean hair. Yes.

But.

He’s diabolically tired. His nerves are nothing but a strained, stiff line that is in an alarming danger to snap and slap you in the face, his mind is dangerously aggressive, meeting every single thing with feverish hostility, and Richie doesn’t even wonder if it’s him the voice is talking about. Even if it’s not, it’s still rude. He tries to remember when he last washed his hair — this morning, to not die before emerging from his flat. And his shampoo is nice too, it’s his mom’s shampoo, because he has her curls and—

“Richie!”

He straightens up abruptly, as if someone just kicked him in the balls, eyes still blurry, like a newborn bird’s.

“Ye.”

Someone starts laughing.

“He sounds like that vine.”

Richie blinks and turns to his left, still not quite conscious of the situation, yet quite aware that this someone’s laughing at him.

The first boy he sees sits one seat away from Richie, but he’s leaning forward, elbows on knees, face on the palms of his hands. He’s the one who said about the vine (Richie’s almost one hundred percent sure he knows which vine), and although Richie feels very attacked, he has to admit, the boy’s cute. He has dark skin, dark eyes, jawline to kill (and to die) for, and his smile is so wide and genuinely nice that it would be a shame to get mad at the owner.

Fuck this guy, he’s educated on vines and he’s hot. If it wasn’t for the “basically a ray of sunshine” part, Richie would fall.

And then there’s the asshole. He opens his mouth again.

“The peanut baby vine?” Richie looks at the mop of curly dark-blond hair, currently hiding the said asshole’s face as he turns to look at the first guy, and Richie’s offended diva is back. He may be a fuckup, but no one has a right to say anything about his hair with a voice like this. Even if it’s greasy as fuck, knotty and smells like used oil, like everyone’s hair smells after visiting places where kitchens are inside the main room and they just keep frying the shit out of food right in front of you; even then, no one can say shit about his hair, even—

“Yeah, that one,” the dark-skinned guy laughs again, and the curly asshole turns to face Richie.

No one can say shit about Richie’s hair, even if they own Cupid’s face. No joke, the guy—pardon, the motherfucker looks like an epitome of Cupid from the Psyche myth (not the fat winged baby). Richie quickly gets mad at himself for paying this much attention to the guy, but know your enemy, right? Know your enemy — their hair dark blond hair, like fields of rye in November, their plump pale lips and pale, although with a warm undertone, skin with an almost invisible constellation of freckles on the wings of his nose, their eyes and their dark, muddy colour Richie can’t really identify in the poor lighting of the auditorium. They’re bright with joy and fox-like curiosity, yet insolent and a little arrogant; daring.

Seriously, do people have to be this pretty? One is hot, like an Abercrombie model you see once and think of for days, the second one is not hot but really, really attractive, like someone who would make a fortune with this intense stare, peeling you off right there, where you’ve had a misfortune to capitulate.

“Rich,” he feels Bill’s large hand on his shoulder, still participating in this ugly staring competition with the curly one. “Guys, we’re sorry ag-again, huh-he’s really tired and doesn’t cuh-control himself.”

Richie blinks and frowns, ready to explode right into Bill’s face, but he cuts him off.

“Come on, Richie, we gotta go.”

They stand up, Richie taking his empty slurpie glass in one hand and looking at the guys again. Everything feels like a dream, his brain is too heavy, his legs disobey, his hands don’t feel like they belong to him.

“ ‘s alright, no big deal,” the first boy says again with the gentlest glimmer to his eyes and the loveliest smile, but Richie…Richie’s tired and bitter and…stupid.

“Yeah, you’re probably used to people leaving after waking up with you,” he says, looking directly into the curly one’s eyes. “Not you, you’re cool,” he winks quickly at his friend, as Bill starts swearing quietly and pulling Richie towards the door.

“Dude,” he says, when they both emerge from the cinema doors, a cig already in his fingers. He offers his pack to Richie without a word.

They smoke in silence, walking towards Richie’s car, and Richie is the one to break it.

“Did I really fall asleep on him?”

Bill chuckles and rolls his eyes.

“Yes you did. I didn’t notice until the lights were on.”

“Surprised he didn’t say anything,” Richie mutters, turning the car key.

“You’re too hard on the guy,” Bill huffs out, lips still wearing a lopsided grin. “He didn’t say anything—“

“Yes he did, I heard what he said about my hair, it’s—“

“Rich,” Bill sighs, but he’s not in the least bit mad or disapproving. Bill has always been a keeper of the wonderful gift of understanding. “He said you weren’t a bother and that he’s glad your hair’s not greasy. This is a perfectly normal thing to say, you’re just tired and tensed, and take things too personally. You just need a rest. C’mon, want me to drive you home? I’ll catch a bus to mine, no problem.”

***

The next four days Richie spends at home, sleeping and eating. Sleeping, eating, watching Netflix, thinking about the curly boy, sometimes. Actually, the memory of that day quickly turns into something embarrassing for Richie, something he knows that will make his cheeks grow hot and pink even years later. He was really, really rude to the guy, rude for nothing, and the worst part of the situation is — he can’t apologize. And! The worst-worst part is that the second-to-worst part is — the boy was absolutely gorg dot com. What an unfortunate turn of events: Richie can’t even suck his dick as an apology. Or just suck his dick. Whatever, he’d find a way to make it up to the boy, he’s talented with all parts of his body.

But it’s like falling in love with someone you saw on a train or in line at grocery store. Or maybe slightly worse, because Richie manage to fall fucking asleep on the guy, but still — a crush, doomed to picturesque longing and a quiet little death. It’s all about the masochistic nature of humankind — Richie concludes bitterly to himself, because although he’s a certificated Trashmouth, there’s a pathologically romanticistic heart under all these layers of shit.

No, seriously. He’s too much for everyone, even for himself. Especially for himself.

But enough with this shit, Richie decides the moment next, because his mood swings are the only thing wilder than his imagination. C’est la vie, you fuck up and you keep going until you fuck up again. Maybe there is a lesson he can learn, like to keep his mouth shut when he’s tired or, um, to do his homework in time and not traumatize himself…but it’s Richie. He never learns.

He falls asleep on his couch again, trying to decide what he wants to eat after waking up. God only knows why his actual last thought is so, what the curly boy smelled like?

***

Richie doesn’t remember the last time he’s been to a library. He’s always felt that a book should belong to him for being able to read it comfortably, but when you’re assigned to write a research on Andrei Tarkovskiy’s connection with slavic symbolism…not many books you can find in a regular American bookshop down the street.

The library is huge. The entrance is decorated with ionic columns and the door is so massive Richie barely manages to open it. Inside, it’s just as impressive, with the highest ceilings he’s ever seen and beautiful bookcases and tables of dark wood, situated under big thick windows. Richie undoes his scarf and immediately walks towards the service desk, knowing for sure there’s no way he’ll manage to find anything without help. His steps are loud in the monumental silence of this place.

“Uh, hi?” he says, as quietly as he can, and the boy behind the desk looks up at him and smiles politely.

“Good afternoon. How can I help you?”

“Well,” Richie chuckles, trying to hope for the best. “Do you happen to know any books related to slavic symbolism in Soviet cinematography, Andrei Tarkovskiy’s specifically?”

The boy arches his eyebrows. Richie smiles unsurely and gets ready to shrug it off and maybe convince his lecturer to change his topic of research.

“I’ll have to be honest, I have no idea how to help you, sir, but my colleague, who is currently in the section number eight is probably more educated on this matter.”

“Oh, okay,” Richie nods, considering to leave the place right now, but the boy’s softest, a little apologetic smile decide for him.

“It’s to the left, straight up until you see the number.”

“Thank you very much,” Richie tells him and turns towards the rows of bookcases.

12, 11, 10, 9…here it is.

The amount of books is almost frightening. The bookshelves are no less than two and a half meters tall, and Richie immediately imagines one of these things crashing epically right on his head. He licks his lips and takes a deep breath, then turns behind the number Eight.

Five or more bookcases, forming some kind of a wall. In a couple of steps from where Richie’s standing, leaning on one of them, there’s a ladder, and on the ladder, one and a half meters above the floor, there’s a boy with a couple of books in his hands. Richie, even in glasses, can’t really see his face, because the light doesn’t reach it.

“Hi,” the boy speaks up first, although Richie decides to wait until he’s finished. It’s like, dangerous. The whole construction looks…unsafe. “Can I help you?”

“Yes, hello, uh, the boy at the desk told me you could help me to find some resources on slavic symbolism in Andrei Tarkovskiy’s films?”

Richie doesn’t notice that he’s holding his breath. The boy’s hands don’t stop, they don’t even flinch, he surely keeps placing the books one by one to where they belong. They’re both silent for a long minute.

“I’m not sure I can help you to find something with both Andrei Tarkovskiy and slavic symbolism, but you could look through slavic symbolism analysis in Russian art in general and the language of Andrei Tarkovskiy’s separately.”

Motherfucker.

“Oh wow, that would actually—“

“Also on the Internet there are a lot of articles on what inspired Tarkovskiy’s methods, if I were you I’d check them out as well.”

The last two books stay tucked under his arm, and that is when he begins to climb down.

“God, lemme help you,” Richie’s heart trembles and starts beating faster at the sight of how tremendously dangerous the boy’s position looks, and he rushes towards the ladder.

“I’m alri—“ the boy turns his head to look at Richie, and when their eyes meet and the spark of recognition explodes between them, two things happen at once: first, Richie’s heart stops, and second, the boy falls down the ladder.

“Bloody fuck,” Richie breathes out, already on his knees beside the boy’s sprawled body. It’s him, of course it’s him, his curly hair, pale freckles on heart-shaped face, but now it’s all red, wearing a grimace of breathless pain. Richie’s so shocked he doesn’t know what to do. The boy turns to lay on his back and a hard moan escapes his lips.

“Oh God, oh fuck, what the—“

“Shut up,” the boy manages to say, chest trembling from the efforts to control his breath. “Shut up and call the—“

“Stan! Jesus, what happened!?”

The other boy is now here too, Richie sees him with the corner of his eye. He looks back though, quickly inspecting the boy’s—Stan’s body.

“What does it look like,” he mocks, cheeks darker than a pomegranate. If Richie wasn’t so terrified, he would appreciate this. Like, a lot. “Call an ambulance, quick, I think my collarbone is broken.”

“Oh my God,” Richie and the other boy mutter in unison, and Stan rolls his eyes.

“Well unfortunately, it’s not my fucking neck, so I’m kind of in pain right now and would really appreciate—“

“God, yes, sorry, yes.”

Richie too pulls out his phone, hands shaking, while Stan closes his eyes and tries to remain unmoving. There’s not much Richie can do, but it’s still something. The other boy’s panicked voice is explaining something in the background. Every ring lasts forever, and when Eddie finally picks the phone, Richie’s sure he almost had a heart attack. Twice.

“Eds? Hi, listen, what do I do if someone breaks their collarbone?”

He accidentally catches Stan’s unreadable stare and looks away, heart already on fire.

“What? Richie, what the fuck, are you okay?”

“I’m fine, I’m just—“

“Did anyone break their collarbone?”

“Well it looks like this, yeah.”

“Did you call—“

“Yeah, but—“

“Okay, fuck, okay, most importantly, do not try to move the body until they arrive, it’s really fucking important, got it? Let them stay where they are, immobilize the shoulders completely, also—do you have ice there?”

“Do you—“ Richie turns to the other boy, but he’s still on the phone, so he has to ask Stan. “Do you have ice?”

Stan blinks, and for the first time, Richie notices that he’s balancing his head above the floor. It’s clear lowering it hurts him. Oh, and his pride is too hard-to-swallow to ask for help. It’s hot.

“Yes, I think we do.”

“Yeah, we do,” Richie repeats and moves awkwardly on his knees to help Stan keep his head up. Stan freezes for a second, but then blinks and relaxes into Richie’s hands.

“Use it for pain, you can give them an ibuprofen too, but don’t let them move, Richie, okay!? Now tell me what the fuck—“

“Later, Eds, thanks a lot, bye,” Richie breaths out as fast as he can and focuses on Stan.

Even upside down, he looks pretty.

Fuck.

Richie, shut the hell up, you’ll think about this later, you sick fuck.

Stan looks him in the eye, and Richie sees that those irises are brown. They’re bright with accidental tears, framed with dark thick lashes, and the colour is not exactly brown, more like greenish-brown, like pine tree needles three weeks after Christmas.

“You shouldn’t move,” Richie says, back to reality. “You shouldn’t move, we need ice and you’re allowed to take an ibuprofen.”

“They’re gonna be here in ten minutes,” the other boy finally joins them, face as red as Stan’s. Actually, even worse: red is his neck and probably his shoulders are too.

“Could you bring me some ice? And a glass of water with an ibuprofen?” Stan asks him, and Richie’s finally calmed down enough to notice how calm Stan is, although the situation is…literally the craziest he’s ever been in. He moves his leg to support his arm holding Stan’s head. Fuck, those curls are soft. Not like Richie’s, Richie’s are soft too, but Stan’s are in thicker rings, curling tenderly around Richie’s pale fingers, licking the boy’s unhealthily pale sweaty forehead.

“Like what you see?” Richie hears Stan’s voice and meets his intense gaze again. There is this daring glimmer to his eyes again, and Richie willingly accepts it.

“Dude, stop,” he chuckles weakly, licking his lips. “ You know I’m already in love.”

Despite their position, Stan huffs, but then his face skews of pain.

“Shh,” Richie winces and moves his fingers in an instinctive soothing motion. “You’re gonna be fine soon.”

“It’s not that bad, just a collarbone. Happens to people all the time.”

“At least it didn’t break through your skin,” Richie blurts out and regrets it immediately, cheeks flaming up.

But then, Stan chuckles. There’s a dimple in one of his cheeks, the left one. Richie’s almost sure his eyes are fully heart-shaped by now.

“Here,” the other librarian boy rushes up to them with what looks like a towel, stuffed with ice cubes, and a glass of water.

He puts a pill in Stan’s lips and lets him drink carefully, then passes Richie the towel.

“Tell me where,” Richie murmurs, and despite how fucked up the situation actually is, this feels oddly intimate. He lowers the towel and feels how more tensed Stan grows.

“A bit—yeah,” he breathes out, and Richie presses down a little.

“Told you you should’ve taken a lunch break,” the librarian guy mumbles softly, and for a moment Richie thinks he’s gonna cry.

Stan rolls his eyes. Richie keeps holding. Somewhere near the door bursts open.

***

“This shit’s surreal,” Bill says after a long pause, when Richie calls him from the hospital an hour later. “I don’t believe this.”

“Fair enough,” Richie nods to himself, inspecting his shoes. “And yet.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Probably something stupid,” Richie hears Eddie’s voice and grins.

“You’re absolutely correct, Edward.”

“You scared the shit out of me,” comes an answer, and Richie thanks him once again for helping out.

“Trust me, I was ten times worse.”

“It’s actually unbelievable,” Bill says again, and Richie knows the face he’s probably wearing at the moment: blue eyes wide, eyebrows furrowed in the slightest bit, one corner of his lips crooked a little. “If it’s not fate, I don’t know what it is.”

“Ooooow,” Richie and Eddie fondly mock him in unison, and Richie knows for sure someone’s gonna get some when he hangs up. “Don’t get too emotional, Big Bill, Edster likes it rough, just like his mom.”

“Oh for fuck’s—“ Eddie’s scandalized howl is the last thing he hears before the line goes silent, and he’s alone again, with the most shit-eating smirk on his face.

The other librarian boy — Ben, he learned when the ambulance arrived — stayed at the library, and Richie was secretly happy to accompany Stan to the hospital alone, although he insisted a couple of times that Richie doesn’t need to.

Richie’s stomach growls and he needs a fag asap, but there’s no way he’s missing Stan. God only knows when he’s at the library again, and Richie needs…Richie needs to talk.

And when Stan, with a sling supporting his hand, walks out of the emergency room, Richie stands up, not being able to help a smile forming on his face.

“Don’t you have other things to do?” Stan asks him, but he’s not annoyed. He looks tired and disheveled, but still calm, and Richie notices that they’re both the same height. Stan’s all legs though, all legs and curls.

“You’re the most important one on the list,” Richie answers automatically, and Stan purses his lips, clearly unimpressed. His eyes glimmer brighter, though. “Hungry?”

Stan graciously arches his dark eyebrow.

“Are you—“ he cuts himself off, clearly thinking it’s a bad idea, but when Richie keeps waiting (politely, although he’s nervous as fuck, because hello to today’s third heart attack), he licks his lips and starts again. “Are you trying to ask me out?”

“Maybe?” thank God his voice sounds much, much more confident than he, in fact, is.

Richie probably needs to get comfortable with Stan needing a moment of silence to think good. Unlike other people that start…to ramble.

“Sorry, I’m just used to people leaving after waking up with me.”

Richie’s jaw hits the floor harder than that meteor hit the Earth and fucked up the dinosaurs. Go off, Stan the Man, go the fuck off.

And he doesn’t even look proud of himself. It’s as casual for him as it is for Richie to tell your dad a mom joke. For Heaven’s sake, who is this guy?

“Well,” Richie squeaks, feeling that his body is on again, as if something blew his fuse for a moment. “It’s not happening any time soon, pretty boy,” he points at Stan’s sling, “so I thought maybe I could try something different.”

“Like what?” he’s smiling now. Legit.

“A dinner? A couple of them? Maybe films? Although I’ll have to be careful with this one, your shoulders are fragile now.”

Stan’s smile becomes even wider as Richie continues to ramble, and although it’s not the brightest and sunniest smile he’s ever seen, it sure feels like the most precious one. It feels like a reward.

It still feels like the most precious reward, weeks later, when they finally wake up together and Richie only leaves to pee and to make them a coffee. Months later, when Richie lets his hand slide down Stan’s shoulder and feels the slightest crook to his collarbone with the tips of his fingers. Years later, after some shitty horror film about some monster clown who eats kids, when he proposes in that empty cinema auditorium, in those exact seats.

Stan still needs a minute to think good, but his burning, incandescent smile says everything Richie needs to know.

#i hope this is believably unbelievable though #stozier #kaspbrough #drabble #okay we concluded its not a drabble #ficlet #...i guess?#stanley uris #richie tozier #mine

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peanutbutterisland-blog · 4 years ago

Text

Lui- A short story by Owami Jackson

Chapter 1: Franks intro

So, how do you start one of these things? Do I tell you my name, the backstory of my character, where I am from? How and why I killed Lui?

*Fuck I ruined the whole story didn’t I? Oh well. Guess we have to start somewhere

Okay boys and girls, to save you the suspense and inner turmoil, yes this is the story of how I killed a girl named Lui. This is not an attempt to bait you into reading a story. You could easily go watch a reality show about this kind of stuff, I mean you’d be surprised at how much of this shit happens, and is televised. honestly I could give two fucks about you or the author of this short story who saw it fit too conjure me from his imagination because he couldn’t sleep or because of his “anxiety” but since we are here I’ll give you the 411. This is not a story about murder nor is it a story about romance, I’m sorry if you wanted a sequel to “A fault in our stars” but this is unfortunately not the place, go rent it at a DVD store like the rest of the perverts who still go to DVD stores. As you will come to find my personality borders on asshole territory. This is not a trait I am particularly fond off but I’m not the author here. So if you are ready for a nihilistic, self-centred, self-deprivation kind of story, buckle up your seat belt ladies and gentlemen, its time for a ride. Oh and my name is Frank.

Chapter 2: Why is it so hard to find a good blowjob in Paris?

It’s a beautiful city Lyon, dead middle in the heart of it all, who would’ve thought a piece of shit like me would make it to a place like this. Don’t get me wrong I much rather be in my shitty apartment, with my noisy ass neighbours but every once in a while you find something that gets you out of the house and gives a rational explanation to the world. You might be asking yourself why I’m in Paris or where I’m from. Let’s just say I’m here for a permanent vacation and I can’t disclose where I’m from because I don’t know you guys like that.

*or the author is a lazy fuck who can’t give me a decent enough back story because his writing this dead late in the middle of the night and doesn’t have any depth.

The thing about the city of Lyon is that you actually start to believe the romantic hype. Its covered by water as if it was being hugged by Atlantis, the air is warm, the noise is music and the music is art. The afternoons, oh God the afternoons, the sky turns a light navy blue with small stokes of the pink sunset embellished on top of it. Sitting outside of a hotel restaurant and eating what could only be described as an orgasm in my mouth feels like paradise.

Waiter: can I get you anything else monsieur?

Just top me off on the wine would you. No, matter of fact bring me the bottle and add a gin and tonic while you’re at it

Waiter: aucun problème

Okay back to you lovely annoying readers; yes Paris, Lyon a beautiful part of fucking civilization, if I wasn’t going to blow my head off in the next couple of days I would have moved here

*is it me or did I ruin another vital part of the story, Fuck!

Okay let’s make this quick, we’ve wasted enough time talking about a city that you can just google. I came here because out of all my travels it is the most beautiful place I have ever been to. This is where I plan to kill myself, everything is already planned, I’ve booked an exquisite hotel in the presidential suite with an extraordinary balcony view, I know what my last meal will be and I’ve hired enough prostitutes and drugs to give Charlie Sheen a boner. While your reading the story please don’t act like you care and even if you did, I did tell you that I’m a piece of shit so that says a lot about you weirdo. This will not end with a coming to Jesus moment; I will not tell you a sad backstory as to what lead me to this decision. The only thing I can say is that I am okay, I’m just not happy. I figured shooting myself in the head would be quicker and as a last ode to me being an asshole someone would have to clean my mushy brain and skull fragments and that brings me so much joy. Now back too regular proceedings.

Concierge: sir I have been informed to tell you that there is a female waiting for you at the front desk

Oh yes, the first of many lovely prostitutes that will be joining me, send her up Garson

Concierge: yes sir.

Time for my first act. I’m guessing you weirdos are going to stay and read about my sexual escapade, just don’t masturbate to it, it’s hard enough giving a good performance to an A list prostitute from Paris and having you weirdos jacking off to it, this is not 50 shades and you are not a middle aged housewife, grow up. What I can tell you though is that I’ve frequented some of the ladies of the night in Paris and despite their beauty they can’t give a decent enough blowjob, I mean it’s like they are physically trained not to produce decent fallatio. It’s a question that has plagued me for years but nonetheless I digress. So yeah this whole backstory shit has been fun but it’s time for me to go, see you in the next chapter.

Chapter 3: Baby! Baby! Baby!

Even in the desolate night where the room is quiet and covered by luminance moonlight, the air in Paris is still warm. I mean I am sleeping next to two prostitutes with nothing on but the air is still comfy. If you’re here to find out if the blowjob was good, yes it was. Turns out when you use two girls the tongue ratio is rationed and abracadabra you have a good blowjob now back to the story pervert.

I’ve never been one to have a good night’s sleep. the last time I slept a full night was when I was blacked out drunk and even then I woke up to take a piss but fell on my own vomit and hit my head on the toilet seat thus inducing a slight concussion but it was a good night’s sleep nonetheless. When I can’t sleep I tend to take a walk, luckily this was a city made for mid night walks and I needed to go buy more condoms. As if only the day was replaced by the moon, the city of Lyon was still vibrant and full of life. bars where open, jazz players where still playing on the road and couples walked around freely as if they were at a market in the middle of the day, I asked one of the locals for the nearest convince store and the fucker told me it was three blocks away. I didn’t mind, it seemed the further I walked the further away my problems became, I got to the convince store and started browsing as one does when in a foreign convince store. Everything is the same if you don’t count the different cereals and sodas. I was the only one in the store at least I thought I was until I heard the softest voice talking to the store clerk. I’ve heard French before I mean how can’t you when you’re in the middle of fucking Paris but this sounded heavenly, almost extra-terrestrial like an instrument yet to be created but sounded like something sweet from your past. I walked in front of the store, as one would do upon hearing the voice of an angel and in awe, I saw her. I’m not going to give you the whole rom com speal because like I said this is not a fucking romance. She was just there, like she was meant to be there as if she was there for me. She had a little back pack and short dress complimented with airforce 1 sneakers and a tiny hat. I had to say something; I had to fill up the space that was between us. “Bonjour, what adventure are you going to? Fuck do you speak English, sorry I mean uhhm fuck never mind” she smiled and said “Hey my name is Lui, yes I do speak English and do you have any adventure we can go on”. I paid for my shit, left the condoms of course and we walked around the city the whole night talked about our lives and our past and…

*fuck this is turning into a romance isn’t it

Fast forward to the end of the night we found ourselves next to a fountain talking about shit we knew we weren’t going to remember, she told me she lived near the hotel I was at ,a tiny apartment full of paintings done by her and her eccentric friends. She said she was having a party later into the day and invited me, I mean a night with pretentious art dealers and middle-aged drunks didn’t sound half as good as a night of sniffing cocaine up a hookers ass but she intrigued me and I wanted to go. The great thing about hookers is that they never run out so I could spare some debaucherous time to be a social human for one night, I mean semi social.

*relax we’re going back to the plot of the story in the next chapter you impatience fuck

Chapter 4: Expiry date.

It was the tiniest apartment I have ever been in but with some miracle, it was able to house 15 drunken belligerent artsy fartsy bearded and incense-smelling individuals. The music switched from pop rock to electric folk to some weird shit that can only be described as LSD in liquefied form and everybody in the room seemed to know everything about the musician or band. It was as if I joined a cult unknowingly and we were about to fuck a goat and eat celebratory rice cakes. From the minute, I entered the room I immediately regretted calling off my nightly escapades with hookers and cocaine until I saw her. She had a short poker dotted skirt on with the harshest BDSM boots I’ve ever seen in my life, her hair was shaped like a mushroom and she had glitter all over her face.

*can somebody tell this Disney ass author that this is not A FUCKING ROMANCE NOVEL

The minute I clocked eyes with her she gestured me towards her friends, I put my hand up as if to say no thanks, she saw my reluctance, smiled and came right over to me

Lui: thank you for making it, I didn’t think you would come

Frank: yeah, I haven’t listened to pop rock in a while so I decided to pop in

*Good she’s smiling

Lui: would you like something to drink?

Frank: yeah what do you have on the menu?

Lui: this is Paris so we have wine obviously, I can make you a gin cocktail and we have beer if you’re trying to be a prude

Frank: I’ll be a Prude thank you.

Lui: ill be right back, just don’t move

Frank: I’ll be right here

I scrolled through my phone looking at pictures I’ve already seen before as one does in a socially award situation. A pixie girl with pink hair came up to me and proceeded to bombard me with a verbal avalanche of gypsy talk and indigo gibberish. I entertained her for a while until Lui came back to save me. Lui and I sat on the sofa together and besides the interruptions of people telling us how high or drunk they were we had a very in depth conversation. Within an hour we were making out, we decided to go up the roof of her apartment for some fresh air.

Frank: i expected a bed looking unto the stars but I guess this will do.

Lui: I’ve had sex on harsher and more abstract places

Frank: London 2003 I had sex in a cemetery while people where burying my father.

Lui: Wow! Impressive, Paris 2012 I had sex in a church with the youth pastor while the service was still in progress. The pastor’s wife walked in on us and told the whole church, my mother didn’t talk to me for years.

Frank: Wow, I didn’t take you in for a church person.

Lui: what can I say Youth pastors are hot.

The sky was bare with sprinkles of stars. the stars were clear and vivid as if they wanted you to look at them. The moon was not shy as well. a crescent moon held the sky together and on top of the roof, it looked larger than life. As always the air was warm, I laid the big trench coat I had, on the floor and well yeah we had sex.

*I’m sorry but what’s this author’s obsession with my sex life like fuck, has he heard of porn before?

Lui: Fuck! Oh my God. Ahhhhhh, wow you’re amazing.

Frank: You’re not too bad yourself. Wow, thank you, I guess.

Lui: you’re welcome. Im gonna miss this

Frank: I mean we can do it again.

Lui: no I mean sex, intimacy, love, passion just life

Frank: are you transferring to a nun school tomorrow?

Lui: I have Lupus and not to get into the nitty grittys of it all but yeah im going to die in a couple of months, I’m in pain every day and I want to kill myself everyday but I never find the strength to do it

*well this just got awkward.

Frank: one way to kill the romance Lui

Lui: I’m sorry but were never going to see each other again so I just thought id lay it all onto you

Frank: well if there’s an afterlife, which there isn’t, ill be sure to pop you in a visit

Lui: I’ll be next to Jesus and the youth pastors trying to get some dick

Frank: You’re hilarious, life shouldn’t take people like you, you deserve to grow old and have kids and grandkids and share your light and lessons with them

Lui: I’ve made peace with it, I mean I don’t have control over it but I do have control on how I want it to happen

Frank: oh yeah?

Lui: I want my last moments to be in an island at a beach somewhere looking Over the horizon with wine in my hand a blunt in the other and a smile on my face

Frank: wow that’s a very specific request

Lui: I read it on those cancer books those white people read, you know the ones where one teenager is dying of cancer and the other does something romantic for them

Frank: like ‘A fault in our stars’?

Lui: Exactly! But I know I’ll probably die in a hospital or in my house if I’m lucky.

Frank: I never thought I’d have sex and talk about a terminal disease right after

Lui: stick with me baby and you’ll be introduced to a world of new sexual dialogue.

We walked back into the party, I had every reason to leave but I wanted to stay, so I stayed. The party ended at 3 in the morning. The host blacked out and I had nothing to do so I cleaned up her house, I went to a local coffee shop at 6 in the morning, came back to the apartment to find her awake, blushing and with a terrible hangover. I gave her coffee and waited for her to come out the shower, I didn’t know what I was waiting for but it seemed like the right thing to do, I heard a gut wrenching scream from the bathroom. I ran in and there she was naked, convulsing in pain, I held her and tried to cradle her to health but it didn’t work. I called the ambulance and spent the rest of the day in hospital. Throughout the day her friends and her family showed up. They all asked who I was and I just kept on saying I was an acquaintance. The doctor came in and told us that She was responsive but she was in immense pain, she could make out words and she kept on telling the doctors that she was in pain and she just wanted to go. The doctors said there was nothing they could do but wait. the pain wouldn’t stop. She could go home and wait to die there or die in the hospital. A decision was made for her to go home. I walked passed the doctors as secretly as I could, grabbed a wheel chair, went into her room and took her out the back of the hospital. I called out a cab and told him to drive to the beach, it was 5 o’clock in the morning and the sun was coming up. We pulled up to the beach, I gave the cab driver a thousand Euros and told him to wait for us. We pushed the wheel chair onto the sand close to the water, I took off her shoes and put them in the water, I cradled her and we watched the sun rise. A tear fell from her eyes, she tried to mumble out a thank you but she couldn’t move her mouth, I looked at her and kissed her on her head. I took her back into cab and told the cab driver to drive back to her apartment, laid her on her bed. Took a pillow and smothered her the fastest way I could. Her hand shaking with pain from her Lupas, stopped and for a while it seemed like her body was at peace, I left a note on top of the kitchen counter next to the cold coffee detailing what I had done and why I did it. I told her parents they could hate me or blame me but this is what she wanted. I also gave them the address of my hotel. I took her phone, called the first contact I found and told them that she was at her apartment.

*I told you this is not a fucking Disney story

Chapter 5- Walking with the lights off

I honestly don’t know how you stayed through out the story but you’re here now, you’ve made it, I would say I’m proud of you but I don’t really care. I guess the author wanted the last chapter to be a mushy moment that would provoke me to come to a Jesus moment and not kill myself

*pussy

And he was right, I think my character arch was cemented in the last chapter. I found something that I cared about and realized that life is meaningful and watching a life fade away in-front of my eyes, she made me realize that I have so much to live for, Sike I’m still going to kill myself. I told you that I’m a nihilistic asshole and things would come to this, you read on and I told you not too, so now that we’re here time to end this chapter with a bang.

I waited in the hotel for 4 days and no one came, no police, no family member and no friends. Sometimes blue lights would flicker outside and I would get myself ready but they never came. I don’t know what I was waiting for, redemption, pain, punishment, I don’t even know why I left my address in Lui’s apartment. All I know is that in the days and nights I spent with Lui I felt a sense of belonging that I had never felt before and doing what I did to her made me realize that maybe I do have a moral compass. Within 5 days I figured the family had understood the letter and how she was in pain, I hoped that they understood that I didn’t do anything maliciously. Until I got a visit from a middle aged women in all black attire with sunglasses on. It was Lui’s mom. We sat in the garden of the hotel and I didn’t know what to say, I mean what do you say to the mother of someone you’ve killed. She looked at me, and said “Your eyes carry pain, just like my daughters eyes” I didn’t say anything. That was not something I was expecting her to say. She continued “I’ve been fighting with my family the whole week on whether we should arrest you or kill you ourselves”. I then replied “Since there are no police here I’m thinking you decided to do the latter?”

“No, I convinced them not to do both, you see I knew the pain my daughter was going through, I think I just got selfish and wanted her to stay a little longer. I want to thank you for helping her with her pain, although you’ve brought my family great pain as we couldn’t say goodbye to her the way we wanted to, you’ve closed a chapter that needed to be closed. I wanted to see you before you disappeared, I don’t know why but I wanted to see your eyes and now that I’m here I realize that there is no one who can save you from your turmoil, your eyes long for a rest you can’t have, I pray that you find solace in this life or the next” and just like that she got up, shook my hand and left. I didn’t know what to feel afterwards but I knew what I had to do.

I grabbed a gym bag, walked out the hotel room at 3am in the morning, I hired a cab to drive me to Lui’s apartment, I left flowers on the entrance of her apartment I then told the driver to drive to the beach, I waited till the clock hit 4:30. The sun came up slowly. It was beautiful I didn’t deserve the view . I kneeled along the shore and took out the gun

*you see, one thing I know about myself is that I’m very self aware. I know my wrongs and I know my rights(as little as they may be). I understand that I’m probably a sick individual, I understand that sometimes someone like myself needs help but I think I’ve ran enough, from my past, my demons and myself. I don’t remember a time I was ever happy and I don’t resent God, my family or myself for it. I have limits and I just happened to run out of them. Sometimes you just have to take the brunt of your inner turmoil and throw them in the fire. As much as I am an asshole, I have a soul and I hope somehow I’ve been able to leave a positive peace of myself attached to someone and changed their lives cause it would be a shame living such a shitty life to not impact at least one person, anyway....

BANG!!

End.

#short story

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klaineccfanficlibrary · 6 years ago

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hey there, im very sick and sad at the moment, do you have super fluffy(preferably multichapter) fics?

Hey Nonnie,

Fluffy multichapters? I’ll see what I can do :-) Most multichapters will contain some angst, though, even when the story is mostly fluff.

Here are some virtual hugs for you in the hopes of making you feel a bit better XOXOXO

Marjan

A Month, A Week and Three Days by @it-avi

"Why does everyone take me seriously when I talk about that?" Kurt mused. "My Step-Brother, my Dad, my-" he stumbled over his words for a second. "-Blaine." He finished lamely, his cheeks turning quickly to a rosy, adorable pink.

A Place to Stay by ItsNotEasyBeingQueen

Kurt is a blogger who has reserved a room at a hotel for Fashion Week - a hotel which just happens to be managed by the charming Blaine Anderson. Circumstances force them into each other's lives for the week in a way neither of them expected. What exactly will happen when Blaine gives Kurt a place to stay?

A Universe Where Prop 8 And Other Related Homophobic State Laws Have Long Been Defeated by @rockinhamburger

Fast-forward several years in the future. Kurt and Blaine are navigating the waters of marriage, and everything that entails.

Along for the Rides by @slayediest

AU. Blaine and Kurt get their summer romance on. Mostly fluff, awkward flirting, a side of misunderstanding and some hanky panky.

Another Time, Another Place by elfinder

What if Kurt had met Blaine a year earlier? How would his life have changed? In his sophomore year, during the spring, Kurt Hummel ends up by chance meeting a charming young man named Blaine Anderson, who turns out to be in his own Glee club. The two begin down the road of becoming friends and then the journey that their relationship takes them. Will they be able to face any problems ahead? No matter what they may be?

Black and White by rainjoy

Kurt and Blaine do a crossword. Amongst other things.

Click and Press Send by @loveheartlover

Blaine Anderson is 18 years old and in his final year at McKinley High. His best friends know everything about him- apart from that whole thing where he's in love with an online blogger.

ThreeDomsToRuleThemAll are the best thing to ever happen to Blaine; three friends who post audio and video that more than satisfies his need to submit, and Kimber is the man who makes every Thursday the best day of Blaine's week. It's just a shame that Blaine is little more than another number, another follower to him. He doesn't even know Blaine exists.

Until one day, he does.

This is their story.

Crema verse by @twobirdsonesong

Kurt’s just landed a job at Vogue as Carrie Bradshaw’s assistant. One of his tasks is to bring her coffee in the morning. Enter Blaine, the barista. This is the story of how they change each other’s lives.

Equality by idoltina

Obligatory 'gay marriage becomes legal in New York and the boys react' fic.Also: Blaine just wants a blowjob. His elderly neighbor, Kurt's parents, and a plan that's been in the making for three and a half years all serve as sources to Blaine's seemingly never-ending sexual frustration.

Excited about things by @a-simple-rainbow

"It's not fair because I'll never get to make fun of your pictures!" He whines and Kurt stops dead on his track. The silence is thick and then Blaine sighs and laughs "Relax, I'm kidding." "I'm… I…" "You're gonna have to get used to blind jokes if this is gonna work." Blaine announces, smirking as he leaves the kitchen, glass in hand. (Blind!blaine, Skank!Kurt, FLUFF)

Gourmet Rhapsody by @hazelandglasz

Kurt has been working as a designer in a high-end fashion house but he just reaches his emotional limit.He goes through a burnout and during the time he has been given to recover, he goes back to what has always been his way to cope with stress : cooking and more particularly baking.It acts as an epiphany : why does he keep on working for someone else who doesn’t really let him make the right decisions and put too much pressure on him, if he can try being his own boss ?With Blaine’s support and Adam’s collaboration, he opens “Nibble on”, a bakery that cares about feeding you, body and soul.

How Kurt Hummel Loses His Virginity by @scatter-the-stars

Tired of being a virgin, and not having anybody be interested in him, shy and insecure, Kurt, decides that for his twentieth birthday, as a present to himself, he will hire an escort and lose the big V. Little does he know, that when he meets Blaine, his escort, everything will change.

How Many Days... by @fictionallylost

How many days does it take to fall in love? For Music Producer, Blaine Anderson it’s just another day at the office working on a valentines record for an international, top selling artist; with the idea of love as far from his mind as possible…that is until he meets lead backing vocalist, Kurt Hummel.

In Want of Magic by @trufflemores

3.01-4.01. "I just want my senior year to be magic."

Italian Boy by @kookaburrito

Every Saturday morning Kurt takes the bus to Little Italy. During the ride he keeps seeing the same cute boy who reads Italian books, and decides to learn the language, you know, just because it might turn out useful in the end.

Jump by @scatter-the-stars

It's been over a year since the injury that took away his dream. No longer able to take the questions and concerns, Kurt has escaped to a small town to think about what he wants. What he doesn't expect to find are Blaine and his little girl, who both quickly steal his heart. And it's not long before he has to make the choice of where his heart truly lies.

life is like a song (i want you to sing to me) by @luthien82

Kurt and Blaine have been best friends since college. They would do anything for each other, which Blaine proves when Kurt confesses he has to go home for a wedding - a wedding where everyone expects him to bring his long time boyfriend. The thing is: Kurt doesn't have one. But he has a Blaine, who is willing to help. Enter one group of crazy, well meaning friends, a week full of wedding preparations, and lots of sexual tension and you've got yourself a mix that's just bound to blow up in their faces...

Loving You Is Easy by @mrscriss2012

Single parent Kurt is moving back to Ohio. Having been hurt before, will he ever find anyone to love and trust again?

Make the Yuletide Gay by @razorsharpquill

When the invitation comes, Blaine Anderson is delighted -- he can't think of a better way to usher in the holidays than an impromptu Warbler reunion to celebrate one of their own getting married. Unfortunately that includes ALL of the Warblers, including his ex-boyfriend Sebastian. Avoiding the ex might just call for drastic measures -- and Blaine knows just the man for the job.

Missing Pieces by @sunshineoptimismandangels

Even after living in New York City for three years Kurt Hummel still hasn't found love. He thought that the city of his dreams would make all of his dreams come true, but maybe he just isn't made for romance. That is until Kurt is home for the summer, helping his father run his growing Android Repair shop and getting to know hid dad's latest acquisition, a handsome and sweet android with curly hair, and a kind smile and a love for musicals. Maybe Kurt will discover that love isn't what he always thought it was.

NYADA Crushes by @notthetoothfairy

Kurt doesn’t think it’s going to be a big deal if he posts an anonymous message on the NYADA Crushes Facebook page about the cute guy he just saw fall on his ass in front of the NYADA main entrance. Little does he know that Blaine is going to be his dance TA once the new school year starts, and that Blaine has a history with NYADA Crushes, too.

Operation Secret Santa by @ckerouac

Kurt can't stop staring at the cute guy who comes by the coffee station near his desk every morning, but can never muster up the courage to say hello. Until the assignment for their office Secret Santa is revealed and his reads 'Blaine Anderson'. Written in pieces for Klaine Advent 2017.

Shiftings by @chazzam (check out the entire verse, it’s lovely!)

Shiftings 'verse #1 - The shift in their relationship didn't come out of left field at all. Beneath the surface, things had been changing all along. Set right after THE KLISS. Kind of fluffy.

Somebody to Love by @bazllton

Klaine Coffee shop AU in which Kurt is a barista and Blaine is a dorky customer. Basically just lots and lots of fluff.

Sum verse by flaming_muse

The whole of Kurt and Blaine’s relationship is greater than the sum of its parts. Scenes of two boys in love.

Three Weeks of Summer by @antarcticbird

Kurt just wants to get some work done, Rachel just wants him to relax, and Blaine shows up and makes everything even more complicated than it is already.

Written On My Heart by @gingerfic

Kurt draws Blaine’s name in a massive secret pal exchange at work. He doesn’t know Blaine, and thinks he is giving to a female. Will he decide to reveal himself and actually meet Blaine at the end of the six weeks?Meanwhile, he has started noticing an attractive stranger...

Also, if you don’t mind me reccing one of my own fics:

Catch Me A Catch by lilyvandersteen

Blaine is a hard-working pre-law student and part-time barista, whose brother Cooper has snagged a role in Funny Girl. Kurt is a diligent NYADA student and intern at Vogue dot com, whose roommate Rachel is the new Fanny Brice. Cooper and Rachel hit it off immediately, and then start scheming to get Kurt and Blaine together.

#klaine #klaine fanfiction #fluff #multichapter #fic finder #Anonymous

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midnightwitch92 · 5 years ago

Text

Chapter 14 | Party crasher | Kate Kavanagh

"Good evening. Is this the home of a Miss Anastasia Steele?" He smiled.

"Oh yes, one moment. Ana Its for you." I called out to her. The man was tall with a slightly sunburnt tan and stubble. After a moment she came out of the bathroom, now sporting some grey stockings.

"This is for you." He said, handing her the small brown package.

"Oh my god." She smiled.

Dear Anastasia Steele

Thank you ever so much for yesterday. I would like to do it again.

Yours sincerely, Christian Grey.

"Not exactly." She smiled. "He just walked into the hardware store looking for rope, cable ties and duck tape. I almost didn't recognize him without the fancy suit."

"What was so weird about it?"

"Maybe?" I nodded awkwardly. That just sounded so odd. "What brought him all the way over here? He must be on a business trip or something, right?" I had to ask.

"He didn't say. Maybe he's on the run from that Morganstern guy." She said.

"Are you going to see him again? Are we gonna be hearing wedding bells soon?" I joked. Ana didn't really give that much of an answer.

"Who was attacked?" Ana uttered, looking worried. She had family in Forks. Her aunt Renee's ex and her cousin Bella.

"Jesus," Ana uttered. I was so uncomfortable looking at that article. I looked up the news on my phone.

"Hey, there's my sexy girls. How have you been? Did your exams go well?" We both smiled as he sauntered up to the bar and hugged us.

"Yeah, It's finally over and done with," I said. "What are you having? The first round's on me." I reached into my bag and called the barmaid over.

"A pint of lager for me Kate. How about you Ana?" He gave her a seductive little smile.

"Rum and coke for me, Kate." She said, Smiling back at him.

"Ok, a pint of lager for him, a rum and coke for her, and I will have a bloody Mary."

"Here you go. Are you alright miss?" The barmaid called out, pulling me out of my miserable thoughts.

"Oh yeah, I'm fine." I quickly paid for the drinks and brought them to the table. Jose and Ana were looking at the newspaper on the table.

"God, these guy's are total fucking psychopath's." Jose just looked stunned.

"Are you talking about Vampires?" I asked as Jose moved over to let me sit down.

"look." he pointed to the picture. "It says here that these fuckers cannibalised them and drained their blood."

"Oh, God that's disgusting," Ana said, looking she could just throw up.

"I feel so bad for these people." I shuddered.

"I know," Ana replied. "It says here Mrs Genie Griffin was killed instantly, while her husband, Claude was rushed to hospital where died soon after. Unfortunately, his injuries made it impossible for him to communicate with the doctors or police." God, they almost had something. Maybe if that poor man had survived this whole thing would be over by now.

"I take it you'll be going for Lust. Am I right?" Ana joked.

"No, but I'd like to get to know you. Miss?" He smiled.

"Kate. And this is Ana."

"Hello." Ana extended her hand to shake his.

"I'll be back in a minute. I need to go to the bathroom." Ana said, smiling as she lightly staggered to her feet.

"How about a dance?" Elliot asked.

"Alright. You coming too Jose" I said, getting to my feet.

Elliot and I swayed to the music for some time. I was so buzzed I though my legs would give way beneath me. Luckily Elliot had his arms around my waist to keep me up. Suddenly my phone buzzed. It was Ana texting me to say I'm not feeling well so I'm going home. I called Christian while in line for the toilet and he just showed up outside the bar and insisted on taking me home. See you later. Oh, and he said to tell Elliott not to overdo it at the bar.

"What?" I said out loud.

"Is something wrong?" He asked.

"Ana just sent me a message saying she's left with Christian Grey and that he asked me to tell you not to overdo it at the bar. How do you and he know each other?" His response made me so uncomfortable.

"He's my brother."

#twilight homicides #kate kavanagh #Anastasia Steele #christian grey #vampires #murder mystery #jose #charlie swan #Bella Swan #sam uley #emily young #werewoles #bar #silver serpent

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