#i’m sorry if you can’t relate to this character without morphing him out of the shows extremely meaningful canon to fit your own projection | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cyoc49 · 4 years ago

Text

HIMBO Magazine: Changing Departments

*click! click! click! click!*

Derek listened to the camera flash as he sat on the side of the bed. He was currently doing a photo shoot for HIMBO magazine, a fashion and lifestyle magazine “for the modern gay male™”. Fake blood dripped against his chest - they were doing some Halloween type of shoot. But let’s be honest, the blood wasn’t the focus of the shot: it was his body. Derek had never been the best student - and his attitude certainly didn’t help - but if there was one thing he knew how to do, it was make his body look as sexy as humanly possible. Derek scoured nutrition blogs to make sure he stayed up to date on everything related to fitness, and the dedication showed itself in his beautiful, sculpted body. Sitting here with no shirt on and wearing a pair of lethally tight skinny jeans, he looked like every gay man’s wet dream. To put it simply, Derek was hot as hell; problem is, he knew he was hot at hell.

“Alright, that’s good. I think we have what we need, thank you Mr. Hale” the director said. Derek stood up and two twinkish looking assistants came over to remove the blood. Derek stood still and tried to ignore the two obviously gay men putting their hands all over his body. Derek was the kind of guy who thought all gay men were jumping at the bit for any man they can find. Doing a photo shoot for a gay magazine was certainly not his dream, but hey: a paycheck is a paycheck.

After he was cleaned off, Derek put on a t shirt and enjoyed the feeing of it stretched tight against his pecs. He slung a Louis Vuitton backpack over his shoulders. All he had to do was collect his check and he could be done with this homo magazine. Derek headed towards the doorway connecting the studio space to the rest of the offices. He turned the corner into the hallway, only to immediately crash into someone coming from the opposite direction. Papers went flying.

Derek hesitated, then reluctantly crouched down to help the man pick up his papers. As he did, the man spoke to him in a deep voice “You know, you should really watch where you’re going. People are busy around here.”

This was the remark that set Derek off. It was enough that he had done a photo shoot outside his comfort zone, and ran into someone while he was leaving, but now he was being sassed by some worker who couldn’t slow down enough to watch out for passers. Derek had had enough of this magazine. “You know,” he said, “I’m surprised. I thought you fags would be more excited to slam into other guys.”

Derek could sense the shift in mood immediately. All the workers around him who had been buzzing about immediately stopped and looked at th scene. The office had gone dead silent. As Derek looked around at all the men staring at them, the man he had bumped into finished collecting his papers and stood up, allowing Derek to finally look at him properly. Woah, this was a fine looking man. Strappingly tall and ruggedly handsome. He filled out his expensive-looking three-piece suit perfectly. His whole demeanor was one of absolute confidence. Finally, Derek realized what had happened. He hadn’t bumped into some random employee. He had knocked over and subsequently cussed out the boss of the whole place.

*Well*, Derek said to himself, *I fucked up bad this time*.

The boss was surprisingly well-composed for someone who had just been called a slur, Derek thought. As if to prove this point, the boss suddenly started laughing. It was a good, deep laugh. And when he laughed, everyone else in the building laughed along with him. Derek stared at everyone in the office in confusion. Why did they find this so funny? Was it because he’s their boss? And they were all looking at the boss with such admiration. Derek just hoped this meant the issue would blow over and he could leave before embarrassing himself sooner.

But before he could step away, he was spoken to. “I used to get really angry when people said stuff like that to me,” the boss explained in a rich, inviting voice, “now it just makes me sad, because I see all the failed potential hiding behind that language.”

Derek took a little offense to that last statement, but he knew he was in no position to argue right now. It seemed like the laughter was the all-clear the rest of the office needed to know their boss was okay, because the normal hum of voices and keyboards had returned. Now it was just him and the extremely powerful man he had pissed off. Derek broke the silence. “Look, Mr...”

“Christian Le Maítre” the gorgeous boss informed him, “Editor in Chief of HIMBO magazine. But everyone around here just calls me Mr. M.”

“Right. Well, uh, Mr. M, I’m really sorry about-“

“No you’re not.” Christian cut him off without missing a beat. “I’ve seen so many models like you come and go through these halls. You think you’re hot shit, and take pity on all of my boys in this office who had to take desk jobs because their bodies weren’t nice enough to let them get by on looks alone. But you know, we’re hard workers here. And we’re a close knit family.”

Derek objected to being interrupted, but as Christian talked, he felt his defenses melt away with every word. Mr. M was right, Derek realized. I am a narcissistic asshole who holds myself above others. He had never felt like this before. But everything Mr. M said just seemed right. When this gorgeous, confident man spoke, Derek realized he was speaking the truth.

“What’s your name, son?” Mr. M asked him.

“D-Derek, sir. Derek Hale.” Derek was never one stutter, but how else could he feel right now?

“Well Derek, I’m sure our lame little office doesn’t fit your macho man swagger persona, but I think you’d find that working here is pretty great.”

Was that an offer? Derek didn’t know. He had completely forgotten the context of their conversation, and indeed his reason for being in this office in the first place was slowly becoming a distant memory. All Derek knew in this moment was that he HAD to work at HIMBO. In fact, he couldn’t imagine life without working here.

Derek tried to compose a response, but was increasingly timid in the presence of this incredible man. “Well, uh, Mr. M. Perhaps if you have any opening I might be able to, uh-”

Mr. M just laughed again, and this time Derek laughed right along with him.

“Well I’m shocked to hear you change your tune so quickly, but I can’t say I’m surprised. Working here is kind of a dream job, if I do say so myself. But there’s no need to submit your CV and go through the traditional channels. I am actually prepared to offer you a job on the spot.”

Derek felt his ears burning. How lucky was he! To be offered a job at the best company on earth. He would take it immediately!

“Mr. M, it would be an honor to work for you” Derek bowed his head as he said this. Respect was important, especially for the man who was giving him a job no questions asked.

“Glad to hear it, sport! Now full disclosure, it’s a clerking position. I know, not the most exciting stuff, but here at HIMBO we believe even the most mundane work can be made magical! Of course, you would have to change a few of your behaviors to *best* fit the position. Your ego, your hot-headedness. Do you think those are things good for a clerk to have?”

“No, sir” Derek said with convocation. “Anything you want me to change, I will change.”

Christian cracked a smile, as if Derek had said something unintentionally funny. “Well I admire your commitment. It’s just, clerks are so straight-laced and serious, and you are such a character, Derek. Mr. Macho Man with a great body. Actually, I do like this body.” Christian looked Derek up and down, “I think that can stay. But as for everything else, well, I can take care of that.”

Christian stopped talking and instead just looked at Derek. The hopeful employee stood there silently, unsure of what to do. Just then, he suddenly felt a draining feeling. It wasn’t his muscles or his IQ or any of that stuff that he felt fading away, it was more like he was losing... his personality? All the pride Derek felt over his hot body and great life was disappearing. All the anger he get towards people not like him, slipping away. But it wasn’t replaced by new emotions, it wasn’t replaced by anything. Derek stopped feeling strong feelings about much of anything. He liked his job, he followed the news, but he had never had any opinions of his own. Never tried to be individual or stand out. Derek was becoming like his new favorite flavor of ice cream: vanilla.

As Derek’s personality slowly morphed him into a contender for the World’s Most Dull Man, his wardrobe changed to follow suit. His designer t shirt loosened out a bit. The sleeves grew down his arms before spouting buttons and cuffs. Buttons also sprouted down the middle, and the shirt gained a collar, becoming a basic button-up shirt. A white plaid pattern spread across the shir. At the same time, Derek felt his skinny jeans go “pah” as all the tightness shrugged out of them, changing them into (gag) regular fit pants. They lightened to gray and changed material to thin cotton, becoming work slacks. His new plaid shirt automatically tucked itself into the pants, and a brown leather belt formed around his waist, with his expensive designer sneakers morphing into brown leather dress shoes to match. The LV backpack he wore fell as one of the straps broke off, before disappearing altogether. The remaining strap lengthened and slung itself over his shoulder, and the bag itself shifted into a basic messenger bag, holding plenty of important documents and paperwork.

For a brief moment, Derek felt confusion and fear. Why were these changes happening to him? Where did his nice stuff go, and what were these boring-ass clothes replacing them? These thoughts only lasted for half a second, before Derek realized how right this was. This was his style, or more accurately his *lack* of style. Derek had never cared about trends, or getting fancy new clothes. As long as they fit him well and looked professional enough for work, that was all that mattered in Derek’s eyes. A Ross Membership Card popped into his wallet to cement this change.

Derek felt something in his pocket, and pulled out a pair of black-rimmed glasses. These were the glasses he needed to see, of course. Derek opened them up and put them on. To follow suit, his hair parted itself to the side and became thick with gel holding his new professional haircut in place.

As promised, Christian had left Derek his body, but had taken basically everything else from him. Where there had once stood an arrogant, trendy mode, there was now a walking turtleneck. Normally in cases like this, Derek would sprout new memories of his new life. But no memories came, because Derek didn’t really *have* a life. He was now a total office drone. From 9-5 he worked faithfully for HIMBO, and after that he went home and solved jigsaw puzzles until it was time for bed... except on the nights where Mr. M invited Derek to his house. Derek truly wanted nothing more from life.

Christian smiled at the new corporate boy that stood before him. “Okay I think you’ve handled the onboarding process well, Dirk. Dirk, isn’t it?”

“Yes sir.” Dirk replied matter of factly. Dirk Kent. Filing clerk for HIMBO magazine.

“Great! But there’s actually one more thing I need from you. I’m still a little raw about that comment of yours earlier, and I would hate for it to taint our working relationship with each other, so allow me to bury this hatchet.”

Christian snapped his fingers, and Dirk felt his impressive manhood shrink, and shrink, and shrink, until he heard a “pop!” sound and knew that it was no more. Poor Dirk was smooth as could be in his private areas. But he didn’t mind: being unable to orgasm helped him focus on his work. And besides, if Mr. M needed help Dirk still had two perfectly serviceable holes on him.

Christian laughed again, eliciting another laugh from Dirk. “Dirk, pal, I don’t think I have ever been happier with one of my new hires. But you know, I do seal my deals with a kiss.”

“Why thank you sir!” Dirk replied with enthusiasm, as he allowed Christian to walk over, turn up his chin, and plant a kiss on his lips. And it was the greatest kiss Dirk had ever felt. Indeed, it was the only kiss he had ever felt, but as far as kisses go it was still pretty spectacular. As Dirk stood there with his lips pressed against those of his incredivle boss, he knew there was nothing more he would want from life.

As they parted, Derek looked hopefully up at his boss “Where should I start with my work, sir?” He lived to work.

Christian smiled again. “I’ll film you in on that in a minute, but let me take you to your desk. You’ll be down in the accounting department. In fact, I think you’ll be desk neighbors with our other new hire Bartholomew! You’ll love him. A total nerd but a sweet kid regardless.” Without warning, Christian turned and walked down the hall. He didn’t need to say anything. Dirk instinctively followed him, just as he instinctively obeyed every command Mr. M gave him. Life was easier that way.

#gaytf #gay #officetf #suittf #tyler hoechlin #suit #slick hair #derek hale #teen wolf tf #nerd derek #nerd Derek hale

190 notes · View notes

soyforramen · 4 years ago

Text

Whoops, I slipped into a follow up of this prompt.

“How’s the wrist?”

Such an innocuous question. It rings flat in the sharp crags that line the chasm between them, echoing hollowly between them. But it’s still more than he’d said Saturday night. More than he thought he’d say.

Betty, never one to let any pain shine through, smiles at him. Her face morphs into that perfect Cooper mask, no crack or wrinkle to suggest anything was out of the ordinary. It pierces his soul to realize that he doesn’t know how to read her anymore.

To him, she looks just as happy and carefree as the first day they’d met in third grade.

“Still sore, but no lasting damage,” she says, rolling her wrist as proof. Even her voice is peppy and varnished to perfection. “How’s your head?”

His hand moves without thought to his forehead, his fingertips grazing the ugly red mess. Jughead jerks his head to the right, a move practiced in the mirror this morning to ensure his hair covered the welt.

“Nothing an aspirin can’t take care of,” he mutters.

He raises his coffee cup to his lips to keep from mentioning the whisky and rye he’d fallen headfirst into, a palliative cure after she’d disappeared up the stairs, leaving nothing but confusion and nadir in her wake. The lingering hangover was still a symphony of banging pots and pans along his temples, a never-ending reminder of his regret (relief?) of doing nothing.

They sip their coffee in silence, waiting for the meeting to begin. The artificial bridge he’d thrown across the chasm between them frays, its tethers loosening. In less than a minute, it’s fallen into the yawning black hole that now lies between them.

Betty's words… no. Not that. It was his inaction. His confusion. His uncertainty that created this false rift between them. The gravity of it tugging and pulling at every second between them, every atom, every conceivable future between them, each a warped, stretched snapshot of a future never to be.

It was enough to make him want to crawl back into the bottle and never come out again. His hand shakes, an aftereffect of the late night drinking, and he shoves it deep into his pocket. Betty’s eyebrows draw too close together, too close to concern for his tastes.

Toni claps her hands together, and Betty shoots him one last curious look. He refuses to look at her, turning to refill his mug. When he turns back around, Betty is in her usual seat next to Archie, a plastic smile on her face. Jughead slouches against the counter, too lost in his own morbid thoughts to pay much attention to the upcoming game to notice the increasingly concerned glances Betty sends his way.

Jughead watches as his students shuffle in, the twins he affectionately calls Bill and Ted the only two showing any trace of life. The bell rings, a clanging, offensive noise that makes everyone wince. It’s doubtful he’s the only one nursing a hangover.

“How many of you did the reading?” he asks when they settle in.

A collective groan ripples throughout the room. He can’t blame them; he’d never been able to finish The Odyssey in high school either.

“Pop quiz time,” he says.

Another groan, this time with a rousing argument against it, echoes through his already pounding head. Jughead holds his hands up in a conciliatory gesture.

“I want you to write about betrayal.”

The class quiets, some exchanging glances. It’s a sharp turn, a quick 180 that throws all off them off balance. Jughead has been ruthless so far, both in his grading and in his push to get them to learn critical thinking skills. Even he’s surprised at this course of action.

“Any kind of betrayal you can think of. You can talk about personal betrayal, family betrayal. Maybe one of your friends kissed your girlfriend, or maybe your mother chose your sister’s side over yours. Or maybe you write about a fictional betrayal. Hamlet and Ophelia, Brutus and Julius Caesar, Edward Pensieve and the Turkish delight.”

Wynnie’s hand shoots up, and Jughead inwardly winces. She’s always been the one to push back against any assignment, the one who questions everything he expects from them and makes class ten times longer.

“Can we write about a made up betrayal? With characters on, like, TV or something?”

Breathing a sigh of relief, he nods. “Anything is fair game, as long as you write it in a way that someone not familiar with the show, or book, or whatever, can understand what’s going on.”

“What about poetry?” another student asks.

“So long as you put the effort in, poetry is fine. Text threads, short stories, poems, letters, anything written.”

“Can we work together?” one of the twins asks.

“Sure, as long as you don’t bother the other students,” Jughead says with a shrug.

Bill and Ted high five before dragging their desks together.

Jughead is surprised at how well they’re taking this assignment. Every last thing has been a fight with them, from getting their attention to taking a test. Betrayal, though, seems to be something everyone can relate to.

As the class begins to write, Jughead sits down at his own desk. For a moment, he watches his students, kids in the same position he was once in, and wonders why he’s even here. Riverdale offered him little more than characters he could mold into his own, a setting for the decline of small town America.

Today, though, his mind wanders along words and phrases, glimpses into a different sort of reality. One ravaged by decay and rot, left to perish alone. And yet, he can’t help but see the small, green shoots of the future poke out of the ashes, tiny hints of hope for what’s to come. Perhaps nothing is ever static and unchanging. Perhaps things can turn around.

Jughead reaches into his bag for his own blank notebook.

He’s sitting on the porch that afternoon, struggling with the illegibly written translation. It’s a shame the state requires them to teach only the recommended books; Jughead would love to see how the story unfolds when thrown onto a fire.

“Hey.”

Jughead starts. When he sees it’s only Betty (only?), he stands abruptly, his entire body on fire, his legs jittery and ready to run.

“Hey,” he repeats. “Archie’s not here, but –“

Betty shakes her head and shoves her hands into the pockets of her jacket. “Can we talk?”

He swallows. Stupid of him to think he’d get away from this conversation. Jughead waves to the chair next to him. As Betty passes, her perfume tickles his nose. Long gone is the strawberry body spray she used in high school, a sweet, cloying smell. Now it’s a perfume, one that tickles his nose and clogs his sinuses.

They sit there quietly, neither willing to speak first. He’s lost for words, unable to start.

She sits patiently, calmly. Betty seems as if she hasn’t a care in the world, as if they were there to talk about the weather. Part of her training, he realizes. She’s no longer as impulsive as she once was, reaching and grasping and desperate for an immediate answer. This Betty Cooper is a reminder of the past, but only that.

“I’m sorry,” he manages, starting with the simplest of things.

Next to him, Betty shifts. He thinks he hears her sniffle (crying? allergies? derision at his lame start?), and he has to quash his immediately reaction. All he wants to do is reach out to her, to comfort her, to promise her the world to keep her from suffering.

But he’d done that before, long ago, in a completely different world. And he’d been trod upon, brushed aside in favor of her own cruel form of betrayal. Nothing he could have done after would have fixed the wound she’d carved in his soul. Even now, seven years distanced from the teenage woes, it lay between them, still raw and sore and bleeding from the continued betrayals of his life.

He wonders how he would have responded to her if he hadn’t known. If he hadn’t come home one night early to hear her and Archie upstairs. If he hadn’t turned to the Wyrm and listened to Sweet Peas acidic sniping just to get lost among the agave pinas and the juniper berries.

“It’s not,” he stutters, trying to find his footing, unsure of what he wants to say. “I couldn’t stop loving the Betty Cooper I knew. But I also never stopped hating what she did to me.”

The admission is the first emotionally honest thing he’s said in years. It’s painful to realize how deep it lay inside him, how long it took to finally cut out this festering, putrid thing that burrowed into him. Like a tumor, it could only grow, fed by hate and anger and depression. Hate and anger for both of them. It hadn’t turned out like it was supposed to.

Now that it lay out in the open between them, he felt different. Heavier, in some ways. But there was also a release. The pressure that had been building for so long was slowly lowering, as if he’d finally found the valve that would bring things back to normal.

“And I don’t know you,” he said, the words pouring out now. “Seven years, and only a handful of texts, a few voicemails. You’re not the person I remember. Hell, everyone is different from who they were, who I thought they were.”

He pauses to run a hand through his hair. He can feel Betty’s bright eyes staring at him, pleading with him for something, anything, that will make this better.

“We’re both different now, and there’s no way you can still love me. You don’t know me, you know who I was. We can’t just pick up where we left off, even if we wanted to. There’s too much between… Even if we were stupid enough to try,” he trails off, his words meandering as they try to find footing in the rocky space between them.

“We didn’t leave things in a good place,” Betty murmurs in agreement.

She shifts, and he looks at her for the first time since they sat down. Her legs are tucked up against her body, arms wrapped around them. It’s a protective stance. Against him, perhaps, or against the bare truth that he’s put in the open. He can’t blame her, not since he’s protected himself against most of his own life in other, less healthy ways.

Jughead sighs, empty of anything else to say. He stares at the fading light glowing through the leaves. It’s the perfect, picturesque scene of two high school sweethearts reuniting. At least, it was supposed to be. He didn’t know if he ever could do that to himself again.

Archie’s old truck chugs up the street, and Jughead stands. He scrapes the palms of his free hand along his pants, the other hand gripping his book. Archie waves through the windshield with a bright grin, and Jughead gives a half-hearted wave back before going inside.

He’s exhausted; after being mad for so long, it’s strange to be so empty of feeling. He’d give the world to be able to retreat back to Alphabet City and it’s various loan sharks. There, at least, he’d know the pain was no one’s fault but his own.

Jughead closes the bedroom door behind him, shutting out the rest of the world. It wasn’t his business what Betty did despite her attempts to bring him back into her life. He didn’t know if he was ready for that, or if he’d ever be. Ever since he’d been back, her presence gnaws at him, chipping away at the walls he’d built up over the years against her presence, and it frightens him that she’s stepped back into his thoughts so quickly and easily.

Thoughts and ideas collide and churn violently in his head. He throws himself down on his bed, determined to fall asleep despite the chaos.

But this time, sleep doesn’t come as easily as it always has. Words and feelings and phrases splatter against the back of his eyelids, graffiti tattooing images of a world never known. He pushes back against the cacophony until he can stand it no longer. Desperate to empty his thoughts, Jughead turns on the bedside lamp, pulls his laptop out from under the bed, and begins to write more than he’s been able to for years.

#bughead fanfiction #riverdale #i heard you like angst with your angst

57 notes · View notes

bitter-sweet-coffee · 3 years ago

Note

Honey, Bark and *looking at the wiki for more obscure characters* Heavy Magician!

HONEY!!! MY BELOVED OKOK HER FIRST AND I GOTTA DRAW HER MORE BECAUSE I DIDNT THINK PEOPLE KNEW SHE EXISTED

1. my transbian best girl 💕

2. ok i'll whisper it but like... i always shipped her with Mina 🤭 but also her and Rouge DEF dated. and Wave. mmdmdkddkk when women 🥰

3. Her and Amy FOR SURE!!! Amy is like her little sister AND I'm quite sure she made Amy's dress sooooooooo BESTIES FOR LIFE

4. n/a i guess? she's not super popular in the fandom, so there's not much to hate. do people ship her with anyone i'm missing out on?

5. she's highschool friends with Rouge, and was neighbours with Amy... but neither girl knew Honey connected them so it's hilarious to think about. But specific to her, I always imagined she smells like liquorice and likes chilli peppers

6. gay. KIDDING!!! forgotten...? 😔 not kidding (only a little)

7. nothing at all because i'm in love with her i want to kiss her head mwah mwah mwah

8. CINNAMON ROLL THAT KICKS ASS! not sure how the fandom writes her but she's a sweetie in my eyes

BARK, MY BELOVED WHO I ALSO IGNORE BC I DONT THINK PEOPLE KNOW HIM

1. gay. oh so very homosexual but also ace. he/him pronouns and agab is up for interpretation!!! can i make a bear joke?

2. him and Storm dated they were gymbro lovers

3. him and Bean are bros I don't care they are. This is canon in Archie, but they're loud twink meets quiet bear himbo and i'll kill for their found family dynamic bc they're brothers <3

4. based on the above, him and Bean! not sure if people ship it but i prefer not to

5. he plays harp 🥰 he seems like he'd be good at it too and whenever i hear Shannon Falls I think of him

6. rbf!!! people think he's a dick and he probably has a dark past depending on the canon, but is actually adorable. ok not calling myself adorable there bc i'm a Wave kinnie I'm not cute please don't talk abt me like that, but he has gentle giant energy and it makes me :")

7. not secondhand: i genuinely wish there was more about him because i'm embarrassed by how niche he is. my entire life i've had sonic as a special interest (even if i only got diagnosed as autistic like a month ago i still had the special brain juice from birth dkslslsl) but my memory makes it hard to like, address everyone? this applies to Honey and HM too but idk i want more content of him without me having to push for it like I do with all my fucking faves

8. cinnamon roll <3

HEAVY MAGICIAN

1. m..... milf 🤪

2. can i like, legally answer this? ethically, even???

3. well, she morphs into bean fang and bark, so i imagine they're all close, but i honestly didnt like mania i'm sorry i don't engage with it a lot don't cancel me

4. same as 2... don't wanna unpack the tumblr sexyman discourse

5. i feel like she likes flowers, a lot. a part of her wishes for organic life and that's noticeable if she's around nature without anyone judging her. I get like, Ophelia vibes from her! Insane, but something sentient and dark is within her and it can be expresses through nature because it's what she can't be even if she wanted to... don't make me sad over this djdkdkdkdk

6. unstable...? these characters are getting tricky to relate to but i really vibe with unhinged characters, as you can see from my list of faves 🥴

7. same as bark: i don't do enough with her. this time it's admittedly because i don't like her game but y'know, i could do better i'm sorry girlie

8. problematic fave i'll kill for her tho

#misc #asks #sonic analysis #honey the cat #bark the polar bear #heavy magician #i gotta talk about them more

2 notes · View notes

dafukdidiwatch · 4 years ago

Text

Signs (2002)

Were aliens always this boring?

Overview: Former Priest Graham is raising his two kids with his brother in a farmhouse after his wife died. However mysterious crop circles pop up and strange things start to happen as it appears aliens have arrived.

So this is a Shyamalan movie and honestly the track record for me liking his films is pretty low. Avatar the Live Action was terrible. You guys can all see my review of The Happening I did before. I think the only film I liked of his was Unbreakable which was a pretty realistic take of Superheroes. With that in mind, I didn’t really have high hopes here.

It also sort of doesn’t help that I first heard of this movie as a bad movie by watching movie reviews of it. I watched a lot of Nostalgia Critic for the longest time, and this movie was one of his reviews. So...didn’t really help my perception of a movie, as a movie.

But, I still tried to give a benefit of the doubt here. NC made Mama Mia seem bad but when I watched it, it was a fun dumb movie. Maybe it was lies, or a bit more exaggerated that what the movie really was like. Hence, watching the movie for my Movie Reviews.

I was bored out of my mind.

So my sister watched it with me because she said she saw it before and it also bore her out of her mind. So we decided to be bored together.

I couldn’t help it! Everyone spoke in a monotone all the time. Regardless of what paper-thin reaction they called an emotion they were trying to convey. It was really really hard to even get invested when everyone was speaking in the “this is a serious film, we need to be serious here, this is dramatic and serious so everyone has to have their serious face on” like, how an I supposed to care about the issues when the characters don’t even seem to care?

The only like that I liked because it actually had emotion was when the cop was saying was trying to give suggestions about who the morph-suit batman alien really way, and the brother Merrill says something along the lines of “So outside of Scandinavian women long-jumping outside our house, who do you think it really is?“ That’s the only good line in the film because it was Funny, Realistic, and had some fucking emotion in it damn.

It also doesn’t help that me and my sister fought over the boy of the film. I said it was the Home Alone kid, she said I’m crazy and it wasn’t. Turns out it was his brother. Has no relevance to the movie, just a fun thing to know.

For the most part, the movie just felt flat. Even though the plot beats were on point. I can see them do the build up, the tension, the “wtf is going on”, how the whole world is affected and not just them. I can see the logic and reason for how most of the film is structured, but it just doesn’t work for me. I’m sorry but monotone doesn’t make things more dramatic it makes it hard for me to relate to the characters. I can’t feel for them, if they can’t feel for themselves.

Not saying that everything was done pitch perfect here. Like, the slow-burn of how Graham lost his wife to the point of flash-backs. Ok, that can work. But then we have like the girl always leaving water glasses half way all over...ok weird but it’s a little kid so I get it. Then we have like, a scene where we all just got info-dumped by the military and some podunk punk about Merril’s failing baceball career? And Shyamalan being the guy who killed Graham’s wife and giving a monologue about how he was meant to have killed his wife?? While being also “oh btw I locked it in the closet, wood is it’s weakness, same with water, later“ like.....OKAY??? The plot beats were there but they could have done a lot better with the execution of exposition and foreshadowing.

I think it’s the way they also tried to humanize the characters just doesn’t work. Like when the Cop Lady was talking about how some mean old biddy was spitting on store skateboards, that reminded me of a scene in Jaws where the secretary was telling Brody that 9 year olds were karate chopping a fence. And comparing them, it works a lot better in Jaws than Signs. With Jaws, it’s 4th of July, literally the entire police squad is busy preparing for the holiday, dealing with the locals, and trying to go through the actual paperwork. The secretary was A) making the small town more realistic and B) just piling on to the already chaotic chores that Brody needs to take care of. But in Signs, there was no connection to this story and Graham. Graham had nothing to do with the crazy old lady, no connection between him and the town at that point. It might have tried to flesh her out, but nothing to actually bolster the plot. The environment doesn’t match the story she was telling, being quiet and alone and just the two of them.

And many questions about the Aliens. Actually, more comments than questions really. Because it took me a while after the movie to realize that, the Aliens never did anything bad did they? Think about it, all they did was be in camo and watched more/less. It wasn’t like they ever had guns, weapons, tried to nuke a city. Most of the “dangerous” alien feel was from the people not knowing why they were there, which we STILL don’t know why they were there in the first place. So the tension comes from us trying to react to a possible threat on a small-scale farmhouse, without actually knowing if it is a threat or not.

Now, you can say “well what about the alien that tried to kill Morgan, or when they attacked the house, that was bad” let me hit you back with this one. The Alien that mainly attacked was the one that Graham had chopped some fingers off. He was locked in a closet, barely got out. And by the time he did the rest of his team ditched him on a dangerous planet that he couldn’t leave from. This human asshole prevented him from going home, yeah I would probably be pissed and want revenge on that one guy.

Morgan said that there were only two options for aliens to have come here, which is bs because there could be other reasons why. Like, crash landing. Got Lost and putting out an SOS. Maybe scientists trying to study them. But having a child give out only 2 possible options does add to the parania so I’ll let that slide.

Science Wise I don’t think the aliens would have even worked. If water is like acid to them.....what about fog? Clouds? Mist? Where do you think morning due comes from? Hell the sky is BLUE because of the water being refracted in the air. So their weaknesses are Water, Wood, and being beating the shit out of them.

Also....the alien had fucking CLAWS. What is that bullshit of just puffing out poison perfume from their wrists?? Like, dude, shred him. You wanted to give the kid a more civilized death or something??

But the worst thing I can think of is, We Don’t See The Aliens. Yes, foreshadowing and slow reveal of the monster adds to the fear of the monster and the gravity of the situation when you do see it. Jaws did that well. And the slow reveal of the aliens was also well done in Signs too, like blurry cameras, only body parts where you don’t see them. The PROBLEM comes from the fact that Even at the END of the movie, where the alien HAS little boy Morgan captured and poisoned, you STILL don’t see shit! Nothing! It’s just backlighting to block the view or reflections in water glasses and frames. It’s the END! The dude it beating it with a BAT! Give us like SOMETHING here.

Overall: This wasn’t a good movie. Well, it was a “proper” movie, but not an enjoyable one. You can see the plot and think it makes sense. Some of the thriller tension scenes were done well like Graham and the Pantry Alien. But overall it was boring. There was no emotion for me to latch onto. I was confused by choices made in exposition and direction. It just wasn’t fun.

#dafukblog #Dafuking Films #signs #signs 2002 #week 43 movie

7 notes · View notes

novantinuum · 5 years ago

Text

Crack the Paragon, Chapter 10

Fandom: Steven Universe

Rating: General Audiences

Words: 5.8K~

Summary: In another world, he doesn’t have his mother’s sword or shield to hide behind when Bismuth lands her strike. The bubble pops.

Steven falls apart.

Chapter summary: In which Steven's done with moping around and waiting for something to change.

You can find the AO3 link in the reblogs! (I have to omit them from the original post these days to ensure this will show up in the tags.) If you enjoyed this, I’d greatly appreciate your support through reblogs here, or kudos on AO3 as well.

A big thank you to my friend Ganaroth for helping me with edits for this chapter!

Chapter 10: Beta, Part 1

Morning light filters through the loft’s window and glints off his phone screen, obscuring the selfie Connie just sent from his view. Though at some deep cognitive level Steven’s a bit annoyed at this interference, outwardly he moves on automatic with barely a feather ruffled, rolling onto his back atop the rumpled bedspread. He holds his phone above his face— right over his nose— humming as he admires the photo. She’s grinning, her long hair pinned back with clips. Her eyes shimmer with every bit of joy a smile that wide suggests. True happiness. Before he knows it he feels his cheeks lift, a smile of his own stretching across his face to mirror hers.

The rest of the photo is just as beautiful.

Beyond the railing his friend leans on is a breathtaking view of wild grasses, ferns, and delicate purple flowers, the patches of greenery half submerged in a lake of water as far as one can imagine. A large flock of birds float on the water’s surface some distance away. Behind her, the setting sun bathes the sky in streaks of orange and pink, the warmth of the ambient light kissing her brown skin. It looks like something straight out of a storybook.

Either that, or a dream. A good dream, the kind that lingers in your mind afterward like the sweet scent of wild strawberries.

oh, that’s so pretty!! he types in response, fingers flying over the keys. where is this?

Just as he hits send, though, another message from her pushes through and answers his question:

Morning!!! :DD Soooo rn we’re exploring this really cool wetlands area! Service is pretty terrible out here btw, so I probably can’t talk for a bit. Fingers crossed my texts send!

His heart grows warm as he reads her words. Even if it’s not as good as seeing her face to face, he’s still so happy they can communicate while she’s on her trip. She looks like she’s having so much fun. He wastes no time in sending a whole cluster of hearts, stars, and smiley faces back at her.

But as he watches his message deliver, the text’s bubble shifting from grey to blue, he finds that airy, bubbly feeling he got looking at Connie’s photo pulling away from him like sand and driftwood on the receding tides. Somehow, all these emoticon smiles just ring hollow right now.

Four days have passed since the disaster everyone’s come to refer to in whispers as ‘the forge incident.’ Not many, not enough for the terrifying memory of what happened down there amidst the blackened stone and fire to stop seeping into his dreams, but thankfully enough that the Gems have stopped coddling and babying him about it. (A sweet relief, that, and one of the many reasons he’s not planning on telling any of them about his recent nightmares. Goodness knows they already have enough to worry about.) Four days. That’s it. The thought of just how little time that is leaves him dizzy. Four days since he was almost shattered by someone he thought was a friend. Four days since two halves fused back into a whole, since his gem rotated to expose the facets that before, his mo... that Rose had hid from her friends… from the whole world. Four days since discovering that his pupils apparently morph into pink rimmed diamonds now whenever he taps into his powers. (And wasn’t that just another wallop to the gut for everyone, Pearl especially). Four days without Garnet, without stability, without blissful protection from the truth: that Rose wasn’t truly the quartz she claimed she was.

Steven still doesn’t understand the how or the why of that.

Truth be told, it’s not a topic he’s ready to dwell on yet.

He shifts to sit up on his bed. Somewhere on the distant shore beyond the window’s glass Amethyst is shouting, her rhythmic, guttural battle cries loud enough that they’re audible from inside the house. There’s no end to this on the radar. For the past few days she’s done nothing but seclude herself away and drill, pushing her hard light body to the brink through endless strength and agility exercises. In the light of recent difficulties no one’s addressed it with her yet, but it’s no secret this is partly related to her insecurities about Jasper.

Meanwhile, Ruby (who finally returned home on her own yesterday morning) sits on the floor right below him, handling the controller of his Grintendo console with an iron grip that would serve as a genuine contender in Beach City’s underground arm wrestling league. He set her up on his brand new copy of Fight Fighters just an hour or so ago. As far as he knows, she’s enjoying it. It’s sorta hard to tell. She certainly hasn’t given up yet, (she’s way too stubborn for that), but it seems like the levels are difficult enough that they’re giving her a run for her money. Glancing away from his phone, he watches her fuss with the first boss fight for a moment. The Gem’s face is— if it’s possible— even redder than usual as she mashes the proper buttons for her character’s combo attack, muttering in syllables spoken too low for him to intelligibly understand.

A few minutes pass. Ruby sneaks in one solid strike, but eventually the boss overtakes her by merit of their sheer size alone, and her character is defeated. Game Over flashes on the screen in bold orange striped letters.

“Aw, phooey! You were really close that time,” he says.

Truth be told, her playing style is kinda… a huge mess, but there’s no encouraging way to say that. Plus, it’s not like it’s a lie to say she got closer to beating this fight than the last time she attempted it. Maybe she’ll figure it out with a few more rounds.

Ruby drops the controller in her lap, and glances back at him. “Heh. Thanks, Steven,” she responds with a weak smile. “At least I finally got in a hit, right?”

“Yeah, you’re getting better every round! You still up for more? We can play tag team together, if you want.”

“Eh, I’m done for today. I’m no good at these kinda games. At least, not without...“

A wave of melancholy envelops her in a flash, suffocating the last glints of light within her burgundy red irises. Inhaling deeply, she lifts her gemless hand, holding it to her chest tight as she mourns what used to be. Steven doesn’t move to say anything, letting her have her silent moment. Reassurance can be nice, but as he’s learned recently, the sad truth is that sometimes not every problem can be solved with a few well-thought words.

Amethyst’s distant shouts interrupt the somber atmosphere like a jackhammer to concrete, yanking them both solidly back into reality. Ruby’s brow creases.

“Is she still at it out there?” she says, frowning as she glances at the door. “She looked exhausted when she came outta her room this morning.”

Steven frowns, stuffing his phone in his pocket. “Yeah. I tried to ask if she wanted to play Topple Tower with me last night, but I’m pretty sure she was ignoring me. I hope she’s okay…”

Sighing, she slumps back against the large swath of comforter that dangles halfway off his mattress, letting her compact, coily hair smush against its surface. “Oh, she’s not. No one in this dang house is. I just wish Sapphire would come back already,” she says, voice cracking as she speaks her name. “She’s been in there for so long now.”

Prompted by her heartbroken words, he glances at the temple door across the house, seeing both Pearl and Sapphire’s gems alight on the central star. Pearl is simply taking a rest in solitude this morning, but as for the blue Gem… she hasn’t shown her face since she disappeared into her room four days ago. It’s beginning to become mighty worrying. And besides, he really misses her. They barely get a chance to hang out beyond the rare emergency. His lip juts out in a small pout.

It’s so hard to move on with life when you’re constantly being reminded of what once was.

Eventually, Ruby decides she’s had enough challenge for the morning and passes command of the controller to him. Figuring he’s got nothing better to do today, he shrugs and starts a new save file. Half an hour or so passes as he grinds through levels like a pro. Now sitting next to him, bundled like a burrito in one of his blankets, the red Gem watches his gameplay with starry eyes, enraptured. He double jabs at the D-pad to call upon a secret ability, fingers blazing across the buttons with practiced fluency. Just as he’s about to hit the finishing blow on Professor Doom, the beach house door slams open. On sheer impulse he flings the controller to free his hands, his whole body seizing upon the sound. Hard plastic clatters against the floor. The world tints pink.

Ruby jolts to attention from inside his bubble, struggling to unwind herself from the blanket's grasp. “Whoa, what’s—“

“Hey, nerds,” Amethyst mumbles, dragging herself and her uncoiled whip through the doorway. The length of the weapon drags along the floorboards like a dejected dog’s tail. Her tired, hardened pupils meet his no doubt diamond-shaped ones, shades of confusion flickering across her expression as she visibly takes note of the shimmering sphere he’s subconsciously enveloped himself in. “Geez, it’s just me.”

“I- I know,” he croaks, flushing red, “s-sorry, I know. You spooked me, ‘s all.”

She squints, and dissipates her whip. “Dude, I didn’t even do anything.”

“I know... It’s just me being dumb, sorry.”

“You’re not dumb,” Ruby reminds him with a saddened frown, placing her gem adorned hand on his shoulder.

He doesn’t respond, instead taking a deep breath and willing the bubble to recede. Once it’s all but disappeared in a shimmering afterimage of hard light, he crawls across the floorboards to retrieve his poor abused controller. Joystick securely within his grip once more, his eyes drift back to his game. Seems he’s in dire health. Not only did his character lose his perfect attack window, but Dr. Doom has healed himself and continued to rail upon him while he remained idle. His heart drops.

“Awww,” he whines, deflating. “I almost had ‘im!”

The temple door slides open, causing both Steven and Ruby to snap to awareness. (For wildly differing reasons of course, but the result is the same.) Amethyst stands beyond the warp pad, about to cross the threshold into solitude once more.

Nooo, don’t leave! his heart cries in silence. You just came back!

This conversation is already the most interaction he’s gotten out of her since their waffle breakfast four days ago. Ever since, she’s hidden herself away to brood and train. He scowls, fingers shifting rhythmically on the casing of his game controller. Gosh, he’s so sick and tired of this. He’s tired of moping, of acting like they can never have a happy moment ever again just because their circumstances are different now. It’s not true. Things can get better! Heck, he’ll make it better! Somehow. Maybe. He just needs to figure out a plan, and soon… before everyone scatters to be on their own again.

Hmm, think, Steven, think think think! What makes Amethyst happy? Destroying trash? She’s been at it all morning already, probably not. Food? Wouldn’t necessarily get her out of the temple.

He eyes a green sock puppet strewn on the floor by his closet. Months-old memories rush through his mind, of wearing a cardboard box on his head, insisting amidst protests that this puppet represented the emerging Cluster.

...Peridot?

They did get along really well at Funland a few weeks back. Hmm. Y’know, that might actually work.

“Hey, Amethyst,” he calls, and sets the controller on his bedspread. She stops halfway through the doorway of her room, motionless, seemingly waiting for him to continue. It almost looks as if she wants him to give her a reason to stay outside. “You, uh- are you done training for today?”

“For now,” she answers in a low voice, rhythmically clenching and unclenching her fists.

“D’ya maybe wanna go visit Lapis and Peridot with me? Get outta the house?”

She turns, lips pursed as she deliberates in depth. After what feels like— to his antsy, impatient soul— an eternity later, she responds with a half-hearted shrug.

“Yeah, sure. Whatever.”

Steven grins. He scrambles to his feet and floats off the loft to the ground floor before she can decide otherwise. “Sweet, let’s go right now!” he says, bursting with enthusiasm. After crossing the room in a flash, he takes ahold of Amethyst’s arm and gently leads her up the steps to the warp pad, the other Gem making no obvious signs of dissent. Good. That’s a good sign. The immediate problem sorted, he glances back from whence he came. “Ruby, you want in?”

She’s still tangled within his bedding, but shifts upon mention.

“Nah, I’m good,” she says, rolling on her back under the covers so that she’s peering at them upside down. “If Sapphire finally comes out, I wanna be here for that.”

Steven nods. “Okay! Well, see ya’! We’ll be back sometime later this afternoon.”

“Probably,” Amethyst mutters, crossing her arms.

“Yeah, maybe longer, maybe not. We’ll see! Feel free to play any of my games if you wanna, okay?”

“And don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, ya’ party animal,” the quartz drones, the bite of dull sarcasm seeping into her words.

With a resounding ring the warp activates and whisks them away.

_________

The young half-Gem takes a deep lungful of air as he skips through the grassy countryside, his chest expanding to full capacity. Ah, it feels so good to be outside, and with a change of scenery, at that! He should’ve done this ages ago.

Outside of all the heartache of their recent family crisis, it’s a perfect September day; not too warm and not too blustery. The sky’s almost entirely clear, barring the faint streaks of white softening the horizon's edges. Birds chirp brazenly as they swoop with daring purpose from tree to tree. A few leaves are just beginning to flutter down from their overstuffed boughs. ‘Tis the season! Pretty soon this area will be awash with sprinkles of vibrant oranges, reds, and yellows. Gee, he hopes he can convince Amethyst to goof off in the woods with him again this year. They could go leaf sledding! That was the most fun he’d had in ages when they did it last time.

How is Amethyst doing, anyways?

Masking his worried frown, he glances behind. Her lips press in a sour scowl, her non-dominant hand clenched by her side. Barely a heartbeat passes as she reaches to her gem with the other, pulling her whip into existence in a glittering flash of light. Instantaneously, the crystal tips of the three-pronged flail expand into barbed spheres. She mutters to herself as she grips the handle, unsatisfied. He doesn’t understand why, though? She summoned it so fast! Like, under a second for sure. As far as he’s concerned, that’s awesome!

He watches her summon, dissipate, and re-summon her whip three times in a row before he decides it's time to intervene with her spiraling frustration.

“Hey, don’t ya’ wanna take a break from all that for a bit?” he begins with a measure of caution. “You’ve been working super hard lately!”

“I already am taking a break," she says, slashing at a few rocks strewn on the ground as they climb the last rolling hill. “That’s why I’m here with you, right?”

“Well sure, but breaks aren't supposed to be about training, they’re supposed to be about having fun. And visiting Peridot and Lapis should be tons of fun, I promise!”

Amethyst’s eyes narrow at the very thought. “Yeah, ‘cause when I think fun, I think Lapis.”

“Hmm, I wonder what they’re up to lately,” he muses out loud, hand pressed to his chin.

She lets out a dry scoff, allowing her whip to dissipate once more. “Don’t know, don’t care. Let’s just get this over with.”

He frowns. His shoulders drooping a bit at the sight of her almost hostile melancholy, he glances away.

Thankfully, in a well-timed diversion from the worries of her mental state, Lapis and Peridot’s place of settlement comes into full view as they reach the hill’s summit. Steven’s jaw falls ajar, stopping in his tracks at the sight. (Amethyst, who isn’t paying attention to where she’s walking amidst her brooding, almost rams into the back of him.)

“Whoa,” he says, drinking in the new additions. “Look what they did to the barn!”

He’s not sure ‘barn’ is an apt description for it anymore. No, no. Rather, in the weeks since he last saw Lapis and Peridot, this place has transformed into a full-out homestead.

The grain silo that stood nearby has been tilt at an angle and used to enclose the side of the barn Peridot blew a hole in with her epic giant robot. Their smaller than average lake? It’s now fitted with a ladder, along with metal piping to keep the water level high. Stretched taut between the roof of that silo and a funky hodgepodge spire they formed out of old airplane parts is a clothes line, with a number of shirts and towels hanging off it. Admiring the finer details of their set up, if a person could point at an object and conceivably call it junk, they’ve probably found a creative way to make it decorative. Rusty bicycles, old tires, couch cushions, broken deer antlers, you name it. And then that old truck he slept in every night while working on the drill? It now serves as the proud centerpiece of their little home, the cargo bed solidly affixed above the barn’s entrance. He spots the two former Homeworld Gems sitting up there with the TV, shaded from the midmorning glow with a sun bleached umbrella. Whatever they’re watching, they’re transfixed.

Grinning, he peels away from Amethyst and dashes the rest of the way, feeling the faint breeze dance between his curls. Wow wow wow, he’s seriously got like a hundred questions for them, and a hundred missed hugs to make up for!

“Hey, guys!” he calls, once he’s directly below the truck.

Lapis’s browline raises, attention nabbed. It’s enough to peel her eyes away from the television (is that Camp Pining Hearts he hears??) to meet his. A subtle but undoubtedly caring smile rushes across her face as she sprouts wings and drops from the truck’s bed to greet him.

“Steven! It's so good to see y- oof!”

He nearly barrels her over with his hug, clutching to her like a lone life raft in the midst of the open sea. Surprised and still quite rigid in her affections, her arms awkwardly move to pat his back in return. It’s a silent embrace on his part, yet simultaneously manages to say more than words alone ever could. At this point he’s not even sure words could do justice to the complex emotions that are all jumbled in his head. Only a few short weeks have passed since they hung out together. So why then does he feel like he hasn’t seen either of them in years?

“Steven, Amethyst!” Peridot chimes eagerly, dropping down from the truck and striding out into the sun. She screeches to a halt in front of them, expression pressing inwards in that uniquely inquisitive Peridot-like manner as she takes inventory of the scene before her. “Uhm… Is… everything okay?”

He pulls back from the stunned Lapis, and gently wipes at the corners of his eyes. “Yeah, I’m just really, really happy to see you guys, that’s all!”

“Oh, yes! Of course. It’s only natural to miss the fulfillment of our company,” she says without missing a beat. Turning her gaze to her other visitor, the green Gem balls her hand against her chin. “Amethyst! Something looks different about you…”

She crosses her arms over the white tank top of her new form, her nose scrunching up. “Like what?”

“Have you grown taller since the last time I saw you?”

Amethyst’s eye twitches. An infinitude of silence passes, in which she shoots her a glare sharper than the edges of the crystal studs on her whip. Honestly, being on the receiving end of her weapon might’ve hurt less. Sweat beads at his brow as he watches the situation unfold, yearning with every fiber of his being for a world where he actually feels confident enough to delicately intervene instead of silently standing by as Peridot’s sense of tact veers straight off a cliff.

Behind them, Lapis saves them both and clears her throat.

“O-or… maybe I was mistaken,” the former kindergartener says lowly, flushing with shame. “My apologies.”

There’s a whisper of chill to the air enough to make him shiver as the quartz once more chooses not to respond, and shifts her gaze to her feet. She digs divots into the dirt with her toes, already disengaging from social interaction again, slipping further away with every passing birdsong from the entire purpose of this friendly visit. He presses his lips tight, masking a frown. So far, nothing is going as planned, huh? As big of a dreamer he may be, he can’t say he’s surprised. Nothing in his life has gone to plan since he accidentally slipped on that tree branch inside Lion’s mane. Still, there’s gotta be some way to save this, right?

Come on, Steven, think positive!

Before anyone can quite begin to catch on to his troubled nature, he plasters a manufactured smile on his face. “Wow, you guys are looking good!” he says cheerily. “And I love what you did to the barn!”

“Aww! I know,” she replies, regaining her grin as she glances between him and Lapis. “But wait, wait! You guys have to see the inside!”

And with this declaration, a few magical minutes pass wherein the two of them receive the highest honor of enjoying the Official Barn Grand Tour, presented by the very artists themselves. In a word, it’s a transformative experience. The outside looks amazing, yes, but in his wholehearted opinion the personal touches on the interior decor raises the place’s coziness to the next level. Over the past few weeks, Peridot and Lapis have spent their efforts transforming all the mementos and broken scraps of their lives into art, (or ‘meep-morp,’ as Lapis calls it), displaying the pieces all throughout their shared home. Peridot’s broken audio recorder now rests peacefully on a stand, a sky blue ribbon tied around the fractures at its middle. Touchingly, he learns that Lapis kept the leaf he gave her, delicately propping it upright in a clump of soil. A TV affixed to the ceiling beams with metal cables plays a clip of CPH on repeat. He has a niggling suspicion that the clip she selected represents her lingering trauma about, like... being trapped in a mirror for thousands of years, but according to her it’s merely a fan’s shrine of the show. Still, while discussing books together Connie once told him that all art is subjective and authorial intent is dead, so respectfully he’s sticking to his interpretation. But regardless of its meaning, he’s so, so happy to see her freely making things for herself.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the creative spectrum, Peridot’s green alien plush is floating alongside various hunks of garbage in the hodgepodge aquarium at the side wall. Its slow voyage through the tank is admittedly entrancing, but oh, do those big deep eyes grow more and more unnerving the longer he stares at them. The last straw comes when he watches stuffing slowly drift out of a gaping hole in the fabric at its neck. Subtly cringing, he takes a step back from the glass to go admire something else. Sometimes art isn’t made for everyone, and that’s okay.

It takes a few moments before he makes the proper connections and realizes that the red bow tie Peridot is wearing around her neck used to be that plush’s. Oh… oh geez.

Amethyst, however, doesn’t seem to be buying any of it. In fact, she’s barely cracked a smile since they entered the barn, not even at Peridot and Lapis’ collaborative toilet morp. And who doesn’t laugh at toilets? On any normal day she’d eat that kind of stuff right up.

“This is so stupid,” she mutters, her eyes thin slits as she stares with a frustratingly unreadable expression at the four liquid pillars shooting up out of the bowls.

Disappointment flickers across Lapis’ face like stars on the morning horizon. She quickly releases her iron hold on the water, channeling it into the heart of the tanks. A similar emotion colors Peridot’s features for a moment, and he briefly worries their visit may be cut off short, but after meeting his encouraging glance she shakes it off and promptly begins to move on to the next item of their home tour.

“Alright,” she says, folding her hands behind her back all prim and proper, “I see you're not impressed. But—“

“Hey, you guys!” a familiar voice shouts from the distance, growing closer and closer with each passing moment. “I’m here! I came! Is it too late to join in?”

All four of them whirl around at the interruption.

Peridot squints. “Is that…”

“Ruby?” Lapis finishes, confusion etched across her features with pinpoint precision.

“Ruby!” Steven calls, sliding across the floorboards to meet her at the barn door. “No, you're not late, you’re just in time! Look, look, look—“ He takes her by the hand and whisks her inside, almost sweeping her clear off her feet in the process.

Her mouth falls agape as she drinks in the rustic atmosphere, the air now a good deal lighter thanks to her interruption.

“Whoa… this place looks completely different!”

“I know, right??” he says with an untamable grin. He gestures wildly at all of their unique creations. “It’s art! Isn’t it great? Peridot and Lapis have been showing us all this super cool stuff they’ve made!”

“Yes, I suppose we are pretty great,” the green Gem says, puffing out her chest.

Lapis rolls her eyes in response. No amount of sass can hide the action’s underlying fondness, though. Steven’s no imperceptive fool. She may act pretty aloof at times, but once you get to know her she’s not that hard to read at all. One merely has to pay attention to the subtle shifts in her demeanor. It’s the little things: the incline of her brow, a slight tilt of the head, the blink-and-you’ll-miss-it twitch of her lips as she pretends she doesn’t care as much as she does. And then, the more she trusts you, the less tense her posture is and the more she opens up. It makes his heart sing to know that Peridot has seemingly been added to that roster.

“Eh,” she murmurs with the hint of a smile, leaning back against the wall behind her roommate. “I guess we’re okay.”

Amethyst crosses her arms, her eyes narrowing as she peers down at Ruby. “So, what’s up with you? I thought you said you wanted to mope at the temple.”

She shuffles her feet. “Well…”

“And I thought you and that Sapphire never unfused,” Lapis says, ever so blunt. “Except... for baseball,” she hastily amends. Consumed by a spike of panic, her gaze darts towards the doorway with guarded suspicion. “We don’t have to play baseball again... right?”

“Hmmm… I mean, we could play baseball,” Steven muses, pressing his hand to his jaw.

That’s certainly one way he could encourage Amethyst to enjoy some bonding time with everyone. He has a bunch of fond memories of the last game they played together. Well, okay, so maybe he could’ve done without the ceaseless feeling of dread brought by batting against Homeworld loyalists with unknown intentions, but beggars can’t be choosers. As his first time playing a full game it was still 70% a good time.

Meanwhile, Peridot’s petite frame quivers at the reminder of that day. She grips at her hair, large tufts of yellow poking out from between her fingers.

“Oh my stars, they’re coming back??”

Ruby throws her a bemused side glance. “Uh—“

“Get behind me, Lapis,” she continues, daringly throwing her body in front of her roommate. “I’ll protect us from those Homeworld brutes this time!”

“We’re not playing baseball!” Amethyst cuts in.

His lips curl into a pout. “Aw, but it’d be so much fun!”

She crosses her arms, visibly walling herself off. “Uh, no, it wouldn’t! ‘Sides, there’s no immediate danger, there’s no Homeworld Rubies on our doorstep, so there’s NO reason on this planet I’d play that stupid game again!”

Eyes narrowing with mild exasperation, Lapis nudges her way out from the green Gem’s overprotection. “‘Kay. So, is anyone here actually gonna explain what’s going on, or?”

Nervously rocking on her heels next to him, Ruby rests her hand against her chin.

“Well…”

“Ruby and Sapphire are kinda… taking some time apart?” he delicately explains in her steed, noticing her hesitation. It’s probably something that’s really hard for her to talk about right now, and boy can he relate to that.

“Yeah,” she says in confirmation, kicking her toes against the floor boards. “I didn’t exactly want to, but Sapphy needs her space.”

For all her initial dislike of the fusion Gem, Peridot looks genuinely heartbroken at this revelation. “But… why?” she asks, peering between the three Crystal Gems in wait of further clarification. “Aren’t you two basically inseparable?”

Faint hints of lemon peel and nutmeg linger in the air like silent sentries to their distress. Steven stands in the kitchen with Pearl, Garnet, and his dad, Amethyst lounging on the other side of the counter, and their dirty breakfast dishes still lying stagnant in the sink. Garnet’s kneeling before him. She’s speaking, but he’s so distraught he can’t quite recall what it is she said. His dad’s hand rests on his shoulder, the pressure ever so slightly working to ground him to this moment again. He’s biting back tears, isn’t he? Trying not to cry for the umpteenth time that day. What happened? What changed? Everything’s fixed, yeah? He’s whole again! They were all supposed to be so happy now, and yet… the sight of the morning sun reflecting off the face of Garnet’s visor as she delivers that ill-fated news is the bitter, tangible proof that they’re not.

“Ruby and Sapphire have decided they want to take some time apart. Indefinitely.”

Amethyst’s expression is colored with hurt. “But… why?”

In the present he stiffens, suddenly polarized by the realization that the path of this conversation has but one destined endpoint. Sooner or later, his friends will hear about what happened to him four days back, what happened to his family, what he learned about his... about Rose. There’s no avoiding this forever. After all, if they don’t learn it from him, they’ll eventually learn it from someone else. And don’t they deserve to know? This affects them too!

But if the recent past has taught him anything, it’s that the truth about Rose Quartz only succeeds in breaking people apart. It stole Garnet away. It shook his relationship with Amethyst and Pearl to the core. It caused them all to argue and fight, back at the fountain and at home. Give it time, and he’s sure the truth will find a way to press fissures in his relationships with Connie and Dad, too. So what happens, then, when Peridot and Lapis find out? In what way will the truth break them?

Just a little while longer, he promises himself. Just one more good day, please, that’s all I want…

“They, um- it’s just a couples thing,” he stammers, chest growing tight. “It’s just for a little bit. Sometimes people need time away from each other, y’know?”

Ruby‘s expression grows tense, sniffing out his white lie from a mile away. “Steven...“

“It’s totally healthy and normal, and not at all a reason for concern!”

“Kinda sounds like we should be concerned,” Lapis mutters. “All of you have been acting weird this whole time, so spill! What’s going on?”

Their words start to become faint and distant in the shadow of his wildly pounding heart, so wondrously human and organic and alive, and yet so endlessly frustrating in its autonomy. Why can’t he hear clearly? What’s up with that awful ringing he can’t get rid of? It’s almost as if he’s listening to everyone ten feet under choppy waters, but they’re all standing right next to him. They’re right there.

The red Gem scratches at her neck, meeting Amethyst's harsh, crystal-studded glance first. Her mouth opens. Still disorientated, Steven misses a good half of it.

“...wants to tell ‘em?” she finishes, waiting dutifully for their responses.

As expected the quartz remains silent on the matter, feigning indifference as she crosses her arms and returns to staring sullenly into the middle distance. Ruby turns to him next. His skin feels downright clammy now, almost as bad as it did when he was almost dyi— NO! Stop! He shakes his head fervently, sweeping his hands horizontal in a signal for her to cut the conversation. He can’t do this. Not now, not today, not ever, he can’t—

Lapis bristles. “Tell us what?”

“Um, nothing, nothing!” he bursts out, clumsy words pouring from his mouth almost quicker than his brain can move to stack them up. “It’s a long story, and we’re all here to have some fun and shoot the breeze, right? Right. ‘Course we are! So we don’t have to talk about that right now, we can talk about it later, and for now we should try to have a good time and enjoy each other’s compa—“

Amethyst slams her foot to the floor so hard the wooden board underneath cracks. Both Steven and Lapis flinch.

“Ughh, you guys! Stop dancing around the headline!” she shouts. “You really wanna know what happened? Steven almost died ‘cause he got his gem busted, and then we found out Rose Quartz was totally a sham and she’s like, Pink Diamond n’ junk, okay?!”

A stunning silence follows this inopportune announcement, in which he swears he can hear his stomach gurgle. On any typical day he'd be thinking about lunch around this time, except at the moment he genuinely almost feels sick to his stomach. Right now he wants nothing more than to turn tail and run, run away from all of this, and yet chained to his fate just as Lonely Blade was destined to his, his legs remain firmly shackled in place. Standing at his side, Peridot blinks in dumbfounded shock.

“What.”

“S-she’s- You’re a DIAMOND??” Lapis shrieks, water wings shooting from her back on impulse.

“Whaaaat?”

_______

Notes:

The next few chapters will be a bit familiar to y'all, but I'm not doing a beat for beat rehash, I assure you. Events start similarly here because the world external to Steven’s sphere of influence is still operating the same as it does in canon. The ripples haven’t fully spread yet. After this arc, they absolutely will have.

I do have a bonus scene to share soon- set between chapters 9 and 10. I'll likely post that before chapter 11.

Oh, and by the way- the location Connie's visiting is inspired by a real place- the Harike Wetlands in Punjab, India. Apparently India is actually a series of islands in the SU universe...? But I like to believe there’s still a cool wetlands region on one of those islands.

#su #steven universe #amethyst #su fanfiction #su fanfic #ruby #lapis lazuli #peridot #crack the paragon #my writing stuff

114 notes · View notes

ato-matsuri · 5 years ago

Text

The Tiger King -- Ruler

I'm so sorry.

Joe Exotic has got to be a Ruler, without a doubt. You may be expecting me to say that he ran for Pres and leave it at that, but there's more to his tale -- as we likely all know at this point.

So, when he's inevitably sworn into the Throne, what will his skills look like?

Why Ruler?

Putting aside the obvious (that he ran for Pres), let's look at what he did for a living.

He ran a 'tiger reserve' of a sort, where he'd stuff a shit ton of tigers into a zoo and feed them shitty meats. If it were just this, yeah, he'd probably be a Rider or something.

But there's more to his tale.

As you may remember, he had a group of people under his control. A small group, perhaps, ran by tigers, meth, and marriage. But it was a 'kingdom' of a sort, if a small one. These people followed Joe's command, by their own will or begrudgingly, running this place with almost comically bad rules with comically awful reasons to stick around.

It also helps that he had a long-standing rivalry with another 'ruler' in his eyes -- Carole Baskins, that would ultimately culminate in a murder-for-hire. The battle between the two was legendary (read: kinda boring, really), with Joe himself providing most of the anger between the two, fully convinced Carole killed her husband.

From this, I can conclude his best class is that of a Ruler -- though Avenger could also work, with his anger towards Baskins that he truly never forgot, or Rider, drawing from his Tiger King title. If you guys are masochistic enough to want more, I'll try and do writeups of them, too.

Passives

I imagine Joe would have some degree of Madness Enhancement. A Ruler simply can't have Avenger or any related skills for obvious reasons, but ME is theoretically possible. I'd stick him at EX, to be honest -- as his madness isn't always there, but comes out in full force with his mild obliviousness to reality, and his endless hatred towards Carole.

Apart from this, I don't quite think he'd have any passive skills, apart from perhaps Riding D. As a more modern human, he'd lack Magic Resistance, I imagine.

Active Skills

Charisma E - While I can't say the guy's a rallying master, he knows how to get people to do his thing -- even if it's a small group of people. The morale in the zoo wasn't all that great near the end of its cycle, and apart from the relationships, I can't recall him being much of a moral support.

Mana Burst (Rage) - Joe, as we saw with his rants and general hatred of Carole, quite likes his violent outbursts -- and his liking of weapons quite accentuates that. Personally, I see the Throne morphing that into a form of Mana Burst, letting his anger run wild for a short time, and letting him come in guns ablaze.

The Tiger King's Men EX -- What's a proper SSR without a personal skill? I like to imagine that this would be a 3-turn Buster buff to everyone on the field. As a strange offensive support character that he's turning out to be, he'd be able to strengthen everyone's punching power.

NP -- G.W. Zoo -- Hear thy Name, Baskins

The very zoo that Joe had created -- his life's work, sublimated into one existence.

As a Ruler, his violent nature isn't capitalized on as much here -- however, a pure support NP wouldn't make much sense for someone like Joe.

I imagine it working a bit like Sanat Kumara and Saint Seiya!Roma -- as the GW Zoo wasn't exactly a very safe place, I see it netting a decent deal of damage. An ATK buff on all allies could work, but I'd think that instead, the 'Tiger' tag would be placed upon everyone on the battlefield. Those with the Tiger tag on your side would be gifted with an ATK buff for each tag they had, while opponents with the tag would be hit with another DEF down for each tag they had.

Overall, an NP that winds up over time for a massive punch to the face later -- arguably, kind of like Joe's story was, what with the climactic ending of a murder-for-hire that went south.

(1/2)

#part 1 #fgo

2 notes · View notes

writingstarling · 6 years ago

Text

A bit of Insult to Injury from me about Endgame, but don't worry, I'm not that heartless

So basically, this is an imagine scenario where Peter finds out Tony's motivation to fight for their chance to get him and the people that were dusted back. And honestly, you won't be the only one suffering cuz this is gonna hurt me too. So this is basically my double-edged blade of Endgame. And I totally didn't cry when I wrote this, shut up.

¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤

After Tony's funeral, Peter spent most of his time with Morgan and Pepper. Helping Pepper with household work or just talk to her and helping Morgan with homework, playing with her, and telling her stories of her father.

Peter tucked Morgan in after a story of his internship with Tony. As Peter was about to walk out, Morgan called out to him.

"Peter," she called.

In a swift move Peter faced her, "Yes?"

"I love you 3000," Morgan grinned, her eyes drooping sleepily. Her grin showed her missing tooth at the front that just came off that morning.

Peter replied to her with a soft smile and whispered, "I love you 3001, good night, Morgan."

Peter turned the lights off before quietly exiting the room.

Peter went to the living room, hoping to silently exit the house without waking up Pepper or Morgan. As he was about to go out the window, footsteps were heard behind him.

"Leaving so soon?"

Peter turned to see Pepper with her hand holding a picture frame -- that Peter could only guess to be a picture of Tony -- and her other hand on her hips with a small smile across her face.

"And without saying goodbye?" Pepper continued.

Peter nervously chuckled before pulling his foot off the window frame and facing Pepper fully.

"Sorry, Ms. Potts -- I mean, Mrs. Stark," Peter rubbed the back of his neck in nervousness and in slight embarrassment.

Pepper's smile widened, "Just call me Pepper, and Peter."

"Yes?" he returned her smile.

Pepper sat down on the sofa and tapped the spot next to her, "Come sit here for awhile, I'm sure Aunt May won't mind if I keep you here a bit longer."

With slight hesitation, Peter sat down next to her. He eyed the picture frame, but couldn't quite see the picture inside due to the lighting of the room that bounced off the glass of the frame.

Pepper noticed Peter eyeing the picture in her hand and her smile morphed into a sad one.

"Pete, do you know what this picture is?" Pepper questioned, despite knowing that Peter is incapable of seeing it.

"Um, no, what picture is it?"

Instead of answering him, Pepper showed Peter the picture fully. The picture that brought tears to the corner of his eyes and a slight part of his lips. It was the picture of his internship with Tony. Both wearing peace signs behind the others' head while holding up Peter's internship certificate at Stark Industries.

"M-Mr. Stark still has this?" his voice cracking. Pepper nodded in reply.

Peter's hand reached out to the picture. His fingers softly caressing his younger self in the picture -- chuckling a little at how they held the certificate upside-down -- before glancing at Tony's neutral expression and the bunny ears he made behind Peter's head. The sight of it gave him mixed feelings, but one thing for sure is, he missed that sight.

Seeing how entranced Peter was brought a smile to Pepper's lips.

"Y'know, several times when he came home from seeing or training you, he'd always say the same thing to me."

"What is it, if I may ask?" Peter pulled his eyes off the picture to make eye contact with Pepper.

Pepper's smile widened at the memory, "He would say that you're a pain in his ass."

Peter's eyes widened and he looked away in embarrassment. He didn't know that he was that much of an inconvenience to Tony.

"But," Pepper trailed off, sparking Peter's curiosity.

"Everytime he said that, I could see it. I could see a glimpse of a smile, a smile that actually reached his eyes. A smile that rarely appears."

Blood rushed to Peter's cheeks, tinting them with a slight pink hue.

"Pete," Pepper called, her tone slightly empty, "I didn't keep you here just to show you this."

That caught Peter's attention and rerouted it back to Pepper.

"Peter, the picture you see here, is the reason Tony chose to help the Avengers."

Peter's eyes widened like saucers. What does Mrs. Stark mean by that was the question replaying inside his head like a broken radio.

"W-what do you mean?" he finally voiced his confusion. To him, the words that flowed out of Pepper's lips are much more confusing than any scientific problem he has ever worked on.

"At first, when Captain America invited him, Tony didn't want any part of it. But, when he was doing the dishes, he accidentally sprayed water on this picture of the both of you. It made him doubt his earlier decision. He consulted to me, his doubts and calculations, but in the end, I supported him to help them.

I always knew that Iron Man would be the death of him, I just hoped that such thing won't happen. I know that telling you this would have its side effects, but, I have a feeling that it's better for you to know."

Big fat tears filled Peter's eyes. His lips parted from the shock. He felt as if the world had stopped spinning. The world didn't quite make sense to him anymore. Tony Stark left his family and joined the Avengers with the chance of death because of him -- for him. It made no sense to him. But one realization hit Peter like a speeding train from his discovery.

He's the reason Tony is gone.

He is the reason Morgan lost her father and Pepper lost her husband.

He is the reason...

he lost another father figure.

The demonic thoughts swirled inside his head, whispering -- yelling, accusations to him. Accusations that he saw as truth. He grasped his head with both of his hands, trying to stop the pounding of poisonous words in his head. Without really knowing it, his tears kept falling like a waterfall.

Sobs came from him, sobs and mumbles.

"I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, this-this is my fault, this is my fault, if-if it wasn't for that picture, he w-would still be here! Y-you would still have your husband and-and M-morgan would still have her father. It's my --!"

"Peter! Stop!" Peter was cut off by a pair of hands on his shoulders, shaking him to reality.

Peter stared at Pepper with tears still streaming down his cheeks. Pepper moved her hands to cup Peter's cheeks, wiping the tears on his face before pulling him into a hug.

Pepper rubbed calming circles on his back, "It's not your fault, Peter. It's not. No one blames you, not the Avengers, not me, and definitely not Morgan."

Slowly, Peter hugged her back. As Peter was about to thank Pepper, he felt two tiny arms snaking around his torso.

"I don't blame you, Peter," Morgan buried her face in Peter's back. Her words fillled him with warmth, the same warmth that he felt radiating from Tony, even though Tony himself didn't know.

A smile graced his lips, and a soft whisper, "Thank you, both of you."

Tears poured again from his eyes, but it wasn't tears of sadness and guilt. No, it was tears of relief and happiness.

After they felt like it was enough, Pepper and Peter let go of the embrace. However, Morgan still clung herself onto Peter's back, making him chuckle lightly.

"I thought I tucked you in already," Peter whispered, ruffling Morgan's hair, receiving a giggle from it.

"You didn't finish your story!" Morgan grinned.

"Oh, didn't I? Then I suppose we should head back to your room and finish it, huh?"

"We should!" Morgan cheered, before running off to her room.

Pepper and Peter chuckled at Morgan's innocent and childlike behaviour.

Peter stood up from the couch, "Guess I should go and tuck her in again before she can't sleep anymore."

"Yeah, and Peter," Pepper held the previous picture, "this is for you, I'm sure Tony would want you to have it, not as a bad reminder, but as a reminder of your achievements. And since it's late, how about you stay here? I'll contact your aunt."

Peter hesitantly accepted it and smiled, "Thank you, Mrs. Stark. And that would be nice."

After finishing his story and tucking Morgan in one last time. Pepper lead him to their guest bedroom. In the guest bedroom, Peter sat on his bed and held the picture, staring at it.

"I promise that I will protect Morgan and Mrs. Stark for you Mr. Stark so that you don't have to worry and can rest. Just watch me, Mr. Stark, I will try make you proud," Peter whispered, his eyes getting teary again, but a smile remained on his lips.

Peter put the picture near his nightstand, before retiring to bed. And as he fell asleep he could've sworn to hear Tony spoke in the form of a soft breeze saying,

"I know you will, kid."

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

K, I'm done. I'm finally done. This is honestly the first time I wrote something until it's finished just in the time span of 3 days. I'm actually proud of myself.

Oh and, thank you for reading and if any of the characters are OOC I am so sorry cuz this is the first time for me to write something Marvel related and not DC related, but still, I love both. And I apologize if it's bad and/or I made you go through a roller coaster of emotions up there.

Welp, thanks for reading.

182 notes · View notes

etherealwaifgoddess · 5 years ago

Text

What He Wants (Pt. 3)

Main Characters: Bucky Barnes x Enhanced Reader

Summary: On going series of Bucky getting his shit together and falling in love with you.

Warnings/ Content: Still angsty but with more cursing. Don’t judge our boy, he’s still grieving.

Word Count: 1710

Author’s Note: Ya’ll thought you were only getting one installment today, didn’t you? Nope! Your girl was busy editing yesterday (thank god for coffee) and I wanted to get up as much as possible. This is a long part but I couldn’t really find a better stopping point. This part has a major tone shift as we are now introduced to our other main character.... YOU!

If you missed it, check out parts One and Two

XOXO - Ash

What He Wants, Pt. 3

Bucky is met with eager smiles and admiration by the three men and one woman who wanted to shake the hand of what one dark haired man calls “a real American hero”. Bucky cringes at his word choice but forces himself to shake their hands. You sit up straighter on the sofa but don’t move to gaggle around him like the other four agents. You don’t look like an agent, Bucky thinks, you looked college kid. You are wearing a baggy University of Penn hoodie and thin grey leggings, your long curly hair sitting on top of your head in a messy bun. Bucky’s eyes trail over the soft, rounded curves of your body, thinking that you were just the type of girl he would have tried to chat up 80 years ago. Your eyes though, that piercing gaze, locked in on Bucky’s the second he entered the room like he was a puzzle you couldn’t quite figure out. Suddenly, a pressure builds in Bucky’s head almost like the early signs of one of his headaches but not as painful. You let out a harsh gasp and double over, eyes blazing at him as agony floods your senses. Just as quickly the pressure is gone and Bucky has a sinking feeling it was related to your outburst.

“What the fuck was that?” Bucky demands harshly.

“Minerva, play nice.” Michaels warns you.

“Were you in my fucking head?” Bucky is beyond anger as he storms across the room to you. You are no longer staring at him with curiosity, it has morphed to fear and pain but it doesn’t deter him. In that moment as he crosses the room Bucky doesn’t care how beautiful you are, or how scared and hurt you look, staring up at him with those large, doe eyes. All he knows is that he spent too many decades having his brain poked at by other people to let it happen again. He lashes out his metal hand, pressing you down by your sternum onto the sofa, “Do you know what happened to the last people who fucked around in my head?”

The other agents scramble to pull Bucky off of you as you struggle for air. Your small squeak of “yes” startles him so much he recoils, gaining control of himself briefly. Flashes from him are coming rapid fire as he towers over you, in your agitated state you can’t control things as well as you normally would. Everything coming from him is a scrambled mess of agony, terror, rage, and hate. Surprisingly, none of the emotions are aimed at you, they’re all aimed towards the man himself. You stare at him, trying desperately to control your breathing, wondering how he can function with all those awful things flying around his head.

“Then stay the fuck out.” He hisses before walking back over to Michaels “Just show me to my room and keep that one away from me if you want her to keep breathing.”

Michaels grimaces but leads Bucky down the maze of hallways to his quarters.

“She doesn’t always mean to do it.” Michaels says by way of explanation. “She’s well trained but sometimes she doesn’t have control over when it happens. Look, the mission itself won’t take more than a few hours if we’re lucky, and then you can be on your way. Please do your best to work with Minnie, she really is one of our best agents.”

Bucky wants to laugh at their nickname for you, Minnie is not a name he would have thought suitable for an agent of your caliber. He has no intention of going near you again but he is comforted by the loyalty and confidence Michaels has in you.

When Michaels storms back in the common room you cringe. It had been a mistake trying to peek behind the curtain of the Winter Soldier’s mind but you had started poking around before you had even realized what you were doing. Michaels joins you on the sofa, sighing heavily. “You really know how to make friends, Minnie.” He grumbles at you.

A lump forms in your throat, you hate letting him down. Michaels had been your first handler at SHIELD after your life had gone to hell and after everything you’d been through, you thought of him as a surrogate father. “Sorry, Michaels.” You say quietly, “I didn’t mean to at first and then there was this buzzing, like static, and I just wanted to know what was behind it. I’ve never seen anything like that before in my life.”

“It’s best to just leave that one alone. I was shocked as shit he agreed to come out and help us, it would be good we don’t burn our bridges right off the bat.”

“I’ll apologize to him later. Make it a little easier to work with him tomorrow.”

“You don’t go near that man, Minnie. I mean it. He’s a professional, tomorrow will be fine. I don’t want to risk you pissing him off more.”

“Okay,” you tell him, only partly agreeing. You grab your book from the coffee table. “I’m gonna go read in my room for a bit. It’s quieter.”

Michaels nods and lets you go without any further warnings. He knows things can get a little loud for you when there were too many people around and sometimes you just need some peace. It’s an unfortunate side effect of your ability, sometimes you can't shut it off completely even when you want to. You collapse on your stiff metal bed, enjoying the quietness of your room despite how bare it is. You miss your apartment on the farm back home. It’s a tiny, outdated apartment above a barn that was currently home to a herd of sheep. You had needed the isolation after the incident that left you able to enter other people's minds.

Eleven years ago you had been a bright eyed college kid getting to see New York City for the first time. You had one year of college left and then you would be graduating with your bachelors in psychology. The trip to NYC had been a last minute decision by your best friend to celebrate surviving finals. You were eating lunch in the park when the attack happened. Before you could get to safety, the Chitauri had flooded the park destroying everything in their path. You ran as fast as your legs could go, clinging to your best friend’s hand. You weren’t fast enough though and your arm jerked back as a creature split your best friend in two right before your eyes. The glowing sword like object in his hand swiped at you, lancing your arm open before an explosion knocked you apart.

You had woken up hours later in a holly bush, your body covered in cuts and bruised beyond belief. The cut on your arm had already healed into a thin red scar but the noise was what concerned you the most. It was like being inside a stadium with everyone shouting at once. Luckily a SHIELD agent had found you and you blubbered to him that your friend was killed and you were attacked and now everything was screaming. You had heard his thoughts, that you were just another crazy person, and you cried to him that you weren’t. He had realized you heard the thoughts he hadn’t spoken and decided to take you back to headquarters.

Director Fury had put you through a battery of testing and you had started to regret agreeing to them by the end. You spent weeks being tested like a lab ran until they had a plan in place to help you learn to control your ability. It had taken almost a year of hard work but you were finally able to return to a semi normal life. SHIELD was happy to accept you as an agent, though a freelance one. You took a few jobs here and there to cover your bills and pay off your student loans. You never got around to finishing your degree but had eventually saved up enough money to live comfortably. The farm had been a godsend. Cities were just too much for your senses anymore and you found refuge and a home on a little farm two hours outside Philadelphia in the backwoods of rural Pennsylvania. It was quiet and peaceful in a way you hadn't been able to enjoy since the incident. You knew you couldn’t hide there forever but part of you hoped you could. And you had, until Michaels had called with a high risk, but important mission.

The mission in Somalia was enough to set you up for a lifetime if it was successful. You would be permanently retired after this one, no more running around playing super hero. It was mostly surveillance, reading people to know who was the bad guy and where the girls were being held, but it was also partly mercenary which you hated more than anything. There was a dark side to your ability that you tried your best not to think of, but which haunted you in the long hours of the night when you couldn’t sleep. If you wanted to you could do more than just witness people’s memories, you could manifest them. Even manipulate them if needed. You could reach into a murderer’s mind and bring up everything awful memory he had and make him think he was reliving them all over again one after another until they died from the agony, their hearts giving out under the stress. It wasn’t something you did often but the few times you had it left you cold inside for a long time after. Michaels knew you hated it, but in this case the men you were going after deserved no less cruel fate. You spent every day not on a mission trying to atone to whatever deity would care by using your ability to help trauma victims and returning soldiers deal with their emotional scars. You helped them focus their minds on the positive memories and in some cases had helped people move past their long buried trauma by working through what had really happened. It was exhausting work but you loved it.

~~~ Okay that’s all for today lovelies! Hope you enjoyed! ~~~

#bucky barnes #bucky x you #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes x reader #marvel #marvel fanfic #marvel fandom #marvel fangirl #marvel avengers #post endgame #post avengers endgame #series #part three #what he wants

48 notes · View notes

oceansandblades · 6 years ago

Text

Do you like gays with swords?

How about ocean side politics with some magic sprinkled on top? A heaping of that good old fanfiction favorite of watching two dorks pine after each other while everyone else tells them to get a room?

WELL DO I HAVE NEWS FOR YOU

Hi, I’m Ed, a queer queer who really wants a sword and someone to cuddle with, so I self-project through my art. My latest masterpiece is Ocean’s Blade, a low fantasy romance dealing with the heavy subjects of trust, selfishness, shirtless guys and the true meaning of strength.

First meet Rozwell Pendra, also known as Roz, a bi ass bear. Yep, that’s all folks, you can go home. Man with a plan, big sweetie, likes collecting rocks and can bench press. He’s also in charge of the fief Pearlmoor and is kinda bullshiting his way through life. It’s cool though, he knows goddesses. Well, not exactly knows… they follow him around and he hates them. He also might have broken a promise and plunged the entire country into absolute chaos but that wasn’t ALL his fault.

What’s not to love? Sorry, you can’t have him he’s head over heals for his gardener, he just doesn’t know it yet.

Yep, let’s talk about the gay disaster, Kane. The rash and mysterious survivalist. They’re yearning for Roz to hold their hand, a bit of a complete wreck, and are a relatable little shit. Have they killed people? Yes. Did they want to? Nope, but we’ll talk about their angsty backstory later. Just know that they’re kinda fucked up, has PTSD, back pain, and owns sharp knives and knows how to use them. They also like plants better than real people, the frick’n introverted nerd. Pronouns be wack, Julean gender standards just feel wrong.

Roz also has a few besties, Bitch and Wizard.

Sorry, Blanche Valent and Coi Limmerl. They are disasters. Blanche is basically Roz’s treasurer/right-hand lass, shes a huge ass and thinks the has a huge ass. Nobody likes her so she just wines, drinks wine and knocks stuff of his shelves. Meow. She will also date anyone who calls her out on her bullshit and is incredibly petty and incredibly pretty Coi does cool magic tricks with water and is a big fat dork who talks in big words that no one knows the meanings of. They are actually pretty powerful and definitely have big dick energy: they destroyed gender a long time ago. Owns the shipping company that used to belong to Roz’s family and is just a cool dude to have around.

Oh, right, plot exists to. Shit. (Do I even know what the plot is??)

Most of the plot is hard to go over without spoilers because it’s a very character-driven story (which is probably the mark of a bad writer, poor me). It mostly focuses on building Roz and Kane's relationship and them trying to combat the mistakes they made in the past. Not a lot of bloody battles in this one folks.

But hey fanfiction readers are all over this shit so I'll be fine.

But now you are probably screaming “Hey Ed what about the sword?” Ah yes. Caliburn. The sassiest inanimate object to ever exist.

Caliburn is a fragment of the core of the planet, broken off, and taken to the surface by the High Goddess, Lady Ocean. It can morph into cool stuff like weapons, jewelry or a cup for your tears tea.

So yeah it's pretty OP; however, it only answers to the High Royal, Julea's ruler. The goddesses pick the Royal to ensure that the Royal is of good heart and is a good leader and all that jazz.

But the people suspect that's not true anymore. The High Royal claims to have true power and shows off the sword at fancy parties, but something is amiss. Reid has been on the throne for far too long with no sign of a successor. No one knows anything and most are too scared to search for answers. Reid is surrounded by her elite team of mercenaries, The Mace, and anyone who questions her authority is violently executed or mysteriously vanishes.

Desperate, the goddesses chose a new Royal, one who could lead the country to prosperity again.

But he thinks he made the wrong choice. He was just a child when he said yes and he wants nothing to do with the throne. The problem? Caliburn has accepted by the goddess's choice. Until their pick dies or takes the throne, there is nothing the goddesses can do. So the Caliburn sits, waiting for its true master to come to claim it.

And it knows what the future holds.

#writers on tumblr #writerblr #writeblr #My writing #Ocean's Blade #a sillier post but the serious one is linked above!#the good Cush

5 notes · View notes

1kook · 6 years ago

Text

crisis averted

❀: Chanyeol x (F) Reader

summary → The doorbell rings not even ten minutes later, and you buzz him up without even checking the little screen to see if it’s actually Chanyeol. But who else would show up at your door past midnight? → friends to lovers, sexual content (smut) → 5.2k

this isn't proofread lmao mobile users: there is a read more inserted but it doesn't work unless the post is reblogged so I'm sorry if you have to scroll through all this! :(

for reference x!

Chanyeol was in the middle of what was probably his third mid-life crisis when you’d first met him, his hair a pastel array of colors that seemed to reflect the tumultuous state of his emotions. You’d been alarmed at his appearance, never before seeing someone as mismatched as he’d been, his very obviously buff figure hidden beneath a multitude of loose clothing, his boyish facial features thrown for a loop whenever he spoke in that deep tone of his. He was constantly changing, balancing between the happiest person in the universe, and the biggest crybaby ever. But his emotional state wasn’t due to some traumatic event that had occurred to him, like the death of a loved one, or a break-up more severe than any drama writer could ever imagine, but it was simply because he wasn’t sure whether or not he turned the stove off that morning.

In short, Chanyeol was an enigma, a perplexing being whose preferred choice of action always contained the most complex solution, even when the simplest answer was available.

Perhaps thats why it’d been so easy to befriend him during college, with the way he fluttered from group to group, seemingly finding something to relate to within everyone he ever met. Chanyeol had become the planner of your group outings, mostly the instigator of all those weird three a.m. adventures, and though your friend circle seemed large, he’d always found a time to sneak in a little conversation between the two of you. Of course, he’d done that for everyone and his never-ending kindness was what had made him such a lovable character among you all, one of those guys that you remembered way after college as the life of the party, and, in most cases, the one that ended up a deadbeat crackhead.

Yet Chanyeol was different in the sense that he had high hopes for his future, dreams that eclipsed any possibility of him becoming a failure. He was dead set on his career as an architect, putting aside his pride to even attend tutoring for that mathematics class he was falling behind in. His determination to succeed in life was so strong, that it was no surprise he did end up in the career he wanted, and had even advanced through different promotions all within your first year out of college.

The way he’d slithered his way into your life after graduation was also confusing.

Though you’d still kept in touch with the majority of your college friends, he seemed to be the one that stuck out the most, his presence nearly inevitable in your daily life. It wasn’t anything too major, not like his clothes were in your house, but just tiny things, like how he’d somehow managed to sneak his copy of Tokyo Drift into your movie collection, or the annoying habit of his to line up all your shoes every time he visited. It was those little gestures that seemed to stand out the most in your apartment, and eventually, you weren’t the only one that noticed.

“Did Chanyeol come over?” Jongdae called from the kitchen, where he was supposed to be grabbing the two of you a bottle of water. You hummed in response, your attention primarily focused on the paperwork before you. Your current occupation was as an elementary school teacher, and though you loved working with kids, their handwriting was absolutely atrocious, and the only other person willing to strain their eyes for two hours straight happened to be your best friend.

“Yeah, he dropped by yesterday,” you responded, handing a sheet over to Jongdae as he dutifully returned to his spot on the floor by the coffee table. In exchange, he handed you the water bottle, and you barely cracked the lid open when he dove into his interrogation.

“He loves bothering you, doesn’t he?” He teased, and you could only offer a half-hearted shrug, gulping down the water instead. Jongdae nudged your side, and you slowly lowered the bottle, raising your brows at him as if he was saying something useless. He was, but he’d smack you over the head with a throw pillow if you said as much.

“Don’t you think he comes over a little too much for someone who’s just a friend?” He sighed, and you blinked.

The thought had occurred to you multiple times. Chanyeol’s visits were often, probably at least once a week, more frequent than Jongdae’s, and he was supposed to be your best friend. You didn’t mind them though, as his presence seemed to calm you in a way no one else’s did. But you could see why Jongdae had his suspicions, and from an outsiders perspective, it did seem like Chanyeol was a nuisance to you, and the fact most of the stories you shared about him included Chanyeol being a bit overbearing didn’t seem to help.

But you knew Chanyeol in a way Jongdae didn't, despite you all being college pals, and you knew he wouldn’t understand that Chanyeol wasn’t bothering you for the mere fact he wanted someone to annoy, but because he cared about you, and valued your friendship enough to check up on you. There was also the fat he brightened your day when he’d pop in, even if his stay was only for a few minutes with the sole intention of grabbing a water in the middle of his jog. He was naturally friendly and nurturing, and the sight of him sprawled across your sofa as you reheated leftovers, waiting to hear about your week, was so ingrained in your mind already.

You weren’t exactly sure when Chanyeol had morphed from ‘that one guy’ in your group to someone you found yourself relying on, even when nothing was wrong. Since your first introduction, he’d had two other midlife crises, the first one making him impulsively dye his hair a flaming red color, but he was your friend so you were mandated to be there for him whenever another minor inconveniences occurred in his admittedly fast-paced life.

Chanyeol’s hair had been that fiery color when your dirtbag boyfriend had dumped you two weeks before graduation. You remember the way you’d bumped into him as you climbed off the bus in front of your campus, and how he’d dropped his grocery bag in an attempt to comfort you. You’d barely known each other then, and the sickening crack his carton of eggs had made as he pulled you into a soft side hug had sent you into a spiraling panic.

But Chanyeol hadn’t minded, he even walked you across the campus until you reached your dorm building. It was the first instance you’d found yourself leaning for him, any sort of reservations you’d had before flying out the window as he saw you to your dorm, and even went as far as waiting for you to wash your face and crawl into bed, before shutting the lights off and promptly leaving.

“He’s my close friend,” you drawl when you realize you’d left Jongdae hanging for too long. He eyes you as if he wants to ask more, but you beat him to it. “You’re the one who said I should be nicer to him,” you point out, and revel in the defeated sigh he gives in response.

Jongdae stays a while longer, but once the sun begins setting, he leaves. He’s been working weird shifts at work lately, so you don’t beg him to help you any longer, and even wrap up some of the homemade gelatin you’d made yesterday for him to take on his way out.

You’re left alone in your thoughts for the rest of the night, until Chanyeol texts you around midnight, and you contemplate ignoring it as you open your retainer case, face freshly washed and hair pulled away from your face. You’re beyond tired, and tomorrow’s Saturday, so you can sleep in for as long as you want; you want nothing more than to collapse right now.

But your curiosity gets the best of you and you find yourself setting aside your retainers in favor of reaching for your phone, swiping a finger across the screen until your messages open up and your faced with a challenge.

chanyeol [12:13 pm] we have a problem.

You can feel your last peaceful exhale leave you like the ocean’s pulling tide in the early morning hours, Chanyeol’s text burning itself into the back of your eyelids as you let them flutter shut. You can’t stop the palm you raise to your face, your pointer finger massaging your temples as you begin considering how to go about this. You could easily ignore the message and tell him in the morning that you’d already been asleep then. He was familiar with your sleeping habits enough to believe such a lie. But there’s also the possibility that Chanyeol really is in trouble this time, and not going through another minor inconvenience that even a toddler could easily get around.

___ [12:15 pm] what is your problem?

He responds right away.

chanyeol [12:15 pm] our* problem

chanyeol [12:16 pm] i’m coming over.

You nearly slam your head against your vanity. Leave it to Chanyeol to deprive you of your sleep. After the week you’ve had, you have to talk yourself out of strangling him the second he shows up. It’d only taken him five minutes to ruin your night so it’s only fair.

Pushing your irritation aside, you go about your apartment, picking up the stray socks here and there, and even doing a light sweep of the place. You weren’t kidding about your week, so it was natural your place had taken a little extra hit from your growing stress in the form of scattered cookie crumbs and misplaced shoes.

The doorbell rings not even ten minutes later, and you buzz him up without even checking the little screen to see if it’s actually Chanyeol. But who else would show up at your door past midnight? As you walk past the front door, broom in hand, you unlock the door before continuing down the hall to return the broom to its rightful place in the spare closet.

Chanyeol bursts in without knocking, a habit of his that had terrified the living daylights out of you when he'd first began visiting you. You don’t think much of it now, and don’t even flinch at his clambering as he tugs off his shoes, trailing your way back to the front door to greet him.

“Hey,” you say and all is calm for exactly a quarter of a second, before Chanyeol’s entire face goes up in flames. You’re immediately startled, and don't waste time ushering him inside as he struggles out a greeting that is only half comprehensible, his flustered state worrying you the longer he stutters about. “Jesus, Yeol, what happened to you?”

Chanyeol’s looking every bit the abducted civilian as he sits awkwardly perched on your couch, his brown eyes hidden behind the thin glass layer of his spectacles. Suddenly, you notice the soft hues of his hair, peeking out beneath the brim of his hat. Without much warning, you snatch the accessory off his head, greeted by the sight of his wavy hair colored a pastel shade, similar to the it’d been when you first met.

“I-I can explain!” he exclaims, snatching the hat back out of your grasp to stuff over his hair. He’s visibly a mess, and you can already tell he’s going through another one of his crises just by the way his gaze flickers between you and the potted plant behind you.

“Oh, dude,” you breathe, trying to chance another peek at his hair, which he dutifully avoids by clamping a palm over the top of his hat, holding it down firmly. “You’re going through some shit, aren’t you?” You plop down beside him, criss-crossing your legs as you turn to face his tense figure.

“You have no idea,” he whines, before slumping into the couch, long arms spreading over the entirety of the back. His hair makes him appear way tanner than he normally is, the soft pinks and purples curling around his ears where the hat doesn’t exactly cover.

You know you should feel sympathetic, but you can’t help the snort that escapes your lips as you stare at Chanyeol. He’d been so put together last week as he’d rambled on and on about some new project at work, and how awesome Sehun’s birthday party had been. He’d just finished moving into a new apartment too, one that allowed him to finally reclaim his dog from his family home and live with him. From an outsider’s perspective, Chanyeol couldn’t possibly have anything to complain about, especially with the life he lead now.

Carefully, you tug the black hat off his head, and when he doesn’t protest, you begin running your fingers through his newly dyed hair. You’re surprised he hasn’t begun balding, especially with the rate he changes up his hair; it’s unusually silky for someone who pours way too many chemicals into it.

“Wanna talk about it?” You hum, and his eyes flutter shut beneath your touch. He sighs, and you can already tell he’s going to dive into the venting of a lifetime right now. Hopefully, you can derail his stress enough that he doesn’t impulsively dye his hair another color tomorrow. By the way he’s slowly dissolving into a puddle beneath your fingers, it’s possible.

“They wanna build a villa,” Chanyeol murmurs, head tilting just the slightest in your direction. “A fucking villa,” he repeats, and an unamused huff leaves his throat. “Can you believe that, ___? He contracts me for a bachelor pad, and after we’ve finally hammered out all the stupid little details he spent months crying about, his fiancée says she wants a fucking villa.” He groans, and you run your nails against his scalp, until his agitated grunt melts into a soft whine.

You nod along, even though his eyes are shut, but you know he can feel your sympathy as you toy with his hair. “But it gets worse!” He shifts, so his head is pressed into the couch cushions and turned your way, his body slowly becoming one with the cotton beneath him. “Apparently, Toben can’t be in the complex backyard until I get him spayed, which, I could’ve sworn he was, but apparently he wasn’t!”

“You should take him to Minseok’s clinic,” you suggest, voice quiet compared to his loud tone as he continues on complaining over you. You don’t mind, and just listen for a few more minutes as he tells you everything wrong with his life, including how he’d gone to dye his hair a dark red, only to hastily decide on the pastel mess it was now, without considering the fact his work dress code only called for moderately natural hair colors. Now he’d have to go again before Monday to dye it black or brown (’or something! I don’t know!’) again.

You’ve long since abandoned combing through his locks, and instead chose to pick at a stray thread on one of your throw pillows, listening intently to everything he said. He rarely had moments like these, where every single thing seemed to get on nerves, but you yourself had plenty. And he was always there for you, so it was only just that you did the same for him.

By the time Chanyeol’s irritation is reaching its end, he’s basically cursing everything, even things that don’t have any correlation to his current distress. “And also, I haven’t vacuumed the living room carpet in weeks, the bathroom soap is about to run out, and I haven’t gotten laid in three fucking months now,” he whines, eyes screwing shut as his lips push out into a pout.

He seems settled after that, his ragged breath slowly turning into a soft sigh, until he’s completely cooled down from his blow up. “You should vacuum while Toben’s at the vet,” you say afterwards, brushing a stray hair behind your ear as you lean into the couch, one hand propped on your elbow.

Unconsciously, your fingers stretch out to toy with his hair again, but this time, his eyes flutter open. “And there’s definitely an unopened hand wash under the sink,” you add as you recall the tangerine scented bottle you’d seen last week when you’d all gone over for game night at Chanyeol’s place.

He sighs, leaning into your touch. He looks ridiculously soft in this state, and with his hair array of pinks and purples, the occasional baby blue peeking out, he looked almost heavenly. “You can’t have such an easy solution for everything,” he huffs, an though his comment is sarcastic, his tone is lighthearted. You give a noncommittal hum at his words, and his brown eyes slowly find yours. The glint in his eyes is different then, nothing like the jittery mess that had walked through your door. “What about getting laid?” He teases, the corner of his lip curling upwards.

You roll your eyes. “Just go to a club, or something,” you reply offhandedly, before turning away from him to stretch your cramping legs out. Chanyeol shifts, and when you sit back again, he’s sat up now.

“What if I don’t wanna go to a club?” He pushes, running his fingers through his hair until it’s pushed away from his forehead.

You shrug. “Then go to a brothel.”

Chanyeol huffs out a cackle, which you ignore in favor of watching the way his lips pull tight around his smile, and his Adams apple bops as he throws his head back. When he’s done, he turns his gaze back to you, and for the first time, Jongdae’s words ring in your mind again.

You shoo them away quickly though. “You have too many problems, Yeol,” you point out, and he chuckles again, though this time it’s more muted and less as amused.

“Yeah,” he muses, eyes trailing over your face in a way he’s never really done before. He’s eyeing you again, which you try to ignore, but when your gazes meet, suddenly you feel taken away at the intensity of his stare. It’s as if you’re suddenly realizing your situation. Alone with a man on a Friday night, both of you gazing at each other too deeply for people who are just friends. The sudden realization startles you into looking away first, eyes landing on the papers scattered across your coffee table.

A hand presses to your thigh, bare due to the length of your shorts. “My biggest problem,” Chanyeol murmurs, and your eyes instinctively snap back to him. He grins, his chest rising as he takes in another heavy breath. “Is you.”

“Huh?” You question, and for the first time, you feel nervous in front of Chanyeol. You feel unsure of the way he’s gazing at you, at the way his fingers press into your thigh, and the way he looks like he belongs there, nestled inside your apartment as if he’s always been there. Perhaps he does, you think, as your eyes slowly trace down his face until you catch yourself staring at his mouth, his lips turned upwards in an arrogant smirk you rarely see on Chanyeol.

He leans forward then, and your body betrays you, letting him press against you until he has you between his warm body and the armrest of the furniture. “You’re my biggest problem, ___,” he sighs, his mouth suddenly pressed against your neck, and you can’t help the tiny gasp that fights its way out of your throat.

“I-I don’t understand,” you breathe, though your hands curl their way around Chanyeol’s shoulders, and can feel the twitch of his muscles as his hand trails up your side. “Chanyeol,” you gasp, when he suddenly presses a kiss beneath your ear, and your faithless body arches up into him.

“God, ___” he says against the skin of your neck, and you jump when you feel his hand pull against the back of your thigh, slowly encouraging your legs aside until he’s cradled between your legs. “I come over here all the time, take you out to eat whenever you want, and I even buy you makeup shit that I don’t even know anything about,” he huffs, and nips at the vein in your neck. Your breath stutters and you find yourself melting under his touch, similar to the way he had been earlier when you’d brushed your fingers through his hair.

“I’ve been trying to win you over for the longest time, love,” he murmurs, his mouth on your neck getting bolder with every word he says. He pulls away only for a moment, brown eyes meeting yours as he quietly says, “you stress me the fuck out.”

You can’t help the snort that leaves your throat, and the blindingly bright smile Chanyeol sends your way is enough to make your heart tap dance in your chest. “Yeol, you’re the worst!” You huff, rolling your head back until it’s over the curve of the armrest. He seems weirdly complacent as he watches you war with yourself, all your past theories suddenly bubbling to the surface.

Jongdae was one hundred percent correct in his weird assumptions of Chanyeol, and though a deep part of you always knew he was way too touchy for someone who was just a friend, you hadn’t believed someone as marvelous as Chanyeol could be interested in you.

He doesn’t let you drown in your past self doubts for long before he’s resuming kissing along your neck, his lips slowly inching their way up. “Do you know how annoying it is having to watch you whine about how no one likes you every weekend,” he murmurs against your jaw, where he’s making quick work of reaching your lips.

“Shut up,” you whine, arms twining around his back to finally pull him closer. “Just kiss me before I kick you out.”

Chanyeol complies, pressing his pink lips to yours in what is your first kiss with him. He’s a disgustingly good kisser, and for a moment you kick yourself for letting him wander off with random women at parties, women who’d gotten to see another side of him, when you could’ve been seeing him in this light, hearing the sounds he makes as he pushes against your core. “You’re so pretty, baby,” he chuckles when he pulls away, cheeks adorably flushed and lips sinfully red and plump. God, do you really hate your own obliviousness.

Though he pecks your lips once more, he soon begins working his way in the direction he’d come from, lips pressing to your neck at all the right spots, leaving you a panting mess beneath him. The shirt you’re wearing only works in Chanyeol’s favor, and he crumples the over-sized material in one fist, pulling it away to expose one side of your neck.

“Ch-Chanyeol,” you pant when he shifts against you, and something brushes against your core. Your hands dig into the back of his own shirt, fisting the material under your tight grasp.

He hums, his hands finally releasing you to push up your shirt instead, long fingers tickling up your skin the further he goes. You’d tugged on a lacy bralette when he’d first announced his visit, too lazy to tug on a real bra but not bold enough to let the girls swing in his presence. Apparently, none of that mattered now as Chanyeol’s fingers traced along the soft lace of the only article keeping his hands from your hardening nipples.

He pushes your shirt back, and leans away just the slightest to stare at the cute lace that hugged your skin. “Wow,” he breathes, flashing you another one of those dopey smiles. There’s a bow sewed into the center of the garment, a dainty little thing that sits in the valley between your breasts, and you know what he’s going to say before he says it. “You’re like a present.”

You pinch his bicep, though he probably doesn’t feel it through all that muscle because all Chanyeol does is laugh, obnoxiously loud for someone currently making out. But it’s endearing in a way you never thought sex would be, his hands stroking up your side as he gazes at you intimately. “Hurry up,” you tell him, deciding the best way to get him back on track is with more skin. So you tug the shirt over your head, and make quick work of disposing his own.

“Relax, baby,” he says once you’ve managed to wrangle him out of his long sleeve shirt. There’s a new tattoo on his clavicle, a date that you hadn’t seen before, and when you point it out questioningly, Chanyeol’s only response is, “I love my mom.”

“Of course you do,” you murmur, before pulling him by the neck to kiss you again. He does so without complaint, and repositions himself above you until he’s somewhat on his knees, somewhat lying down, his skin on yours scorching.

Chanyeol’s hand is already under the soft material of your bra, fingers toying with your hardened nipple, when he decides he needs to kiss you again, surging forward to sloppily press his mouth against yours. His tongue is all too skilled as he licks into the hot inside of your mouth, and you know he has that stupidly dopey grin on from the way you occasionally feel his teeth press against your lips. “Stop it,” you quietly whine, fingers knotted in the pastel tresses of his hair.

“I can’t help it, baby,” he replies, and you have a hard time swallowing the moan that builds in the back of your throat when he finally frees both your nipples from their clothed cage, only to capture them between his fingers. “You look so cute right now.”

Before you can point out his cheesiness, he’s manhandling you around the couch, until you’re seated in his lap. The dark shorts he’d shown up in have shifted from all the movement, until they’re clinging dangerously low on the dip of his waist, all taut muscles on display before you. He taps your arms, urging you to raise your arms, before he’s pulling the bralette over your head, and you’re left in the same state of dress as him, a feat he doesn’t let last long.

Chanyeol helps you shimmy out of the cotton shorts you’d been wearing, and when you’re finally seated on his lap in only a lacy little underwear you’d bought at a Victoria’s Secret sale, he takes you in. His hands are as wild as he is, tracing over your shoulders and down your spine, a ticklish feeling that makes you unconsciously arch into him, pressing your breasts a little too close to his face. Chanyeol doesn’t mind, and had you not sat back down onto his lap, he’d have leaned forward to lick at your nipples.

When he’s satisfied with the mapping out he’s done of your body, he lets his fingers trail between your legs, running one lone finger over the little dip where your folds meet. Your body twitches, and you bite down the moan building in your throat. “C’mon, ___,” he murmurs, lips pressed to your neck as his fingers continue their ministrations. “Tell me what you want.” He presses one finger against your clit, and you gasp, throwing your head back in pleasure.

“Y-You,” you stammer, already feeling the last traces of control leaving your body as you submit to him, body completely malleable under his touch. “I want you, Yeol,” you whimper, and you reach your hands out towards him in a last ditch effort to stabilize yourself. One hand digs into the taut muscles of his shoulder, while the other tangles itself in that bright head of his, your fingers buried between strands of pink and purple.

“Really?” Chanyeol grins, and before you can respond, he’s pushed aside your underwear and has one finger gently prodding at your slick pussy. His finger now halfway submerged inside of you, he presses a kiss against your neck, where a thin sheen of sweat has accumulated. His finger twists inside of you, and you're vaguely aware that he’s knuckles deep, as he adds in that low voice of his, “you like my fingers, baby?”

You nod, your lip bruising between your teeth. He’s only got one finger inside of you, yet you’re already a withering mess in front of him, thighs quivering with every curl of his digit, your whole body jolting when he brushes his thumb against your clit.

Chanyeol continues on fingering you, basking in the sounds you make, and the way you cry his name when he brushes against the sweet spot inside of you. You’re sweaty and gross, but the way he glances up at you like you’re an ancient goddess makes your heart thud faster until you can hear the blood rushing in your ears.

He slips another finger in to properly scissor you, and you nearly weep from the sensations coursing through your body. “Faster,” you beg, voice hoarse from all the incoherent babbling you’ve been doing, but Chanyeol complies, twisting his wrist hard and fast, until you’re pushing down into his fingers, desperate for more.

“Look at you,” he says, lips sucking at your collarbone. At this point, you’re contributing equally as much as Chanyeol to your impending orgasm, rutting against his hand like an animal in heat. He doesn’t seem to mind as he kisses along your damp skin, sucking marks against places you know will be hard to cover up, but in the moment you don’t seem to mind. “You’re making such a mess,” Chanyeol sighs, and when you glance down, his hand is glistening with your own pleasure.

Your orgasm is slowly creeping up on you, and your body feels ridiculously weak, your mind in an even more frazzled state from all that’s happened so far. You fall forward, burying your face against Chanyeol’s neck as his hands get faster and your hips get slower.

“Yeol,” you pant, and his hips unconsciously thrust up into your core, drawing a long moan from you. The sound only seems to work him further, and you’re suddenly aware he’s been holding himself back in favor of pleasuring you first. “It’s so good,” you tell him, lips flush against his skin, you tongue languidly licking at the spot just beneath his ear.

His makes a sound to let you know he’s listening, fingers curling inside of you as you continue whimpering against his chest. “Please, Yeol,” you whine, suddenly grinding your hips forward until his hand is trapped between the two of you and his covered cock is rubbing against your folds. “You make me feel s-so good.”

It doesn’t take much longer for you to finally release, the combined sensations of his thumb rubbing against your clit and his rock-hard outline against your lower lips enough to turn you into a whimpering mess before him, his name rolling off your tongue like honey, until your hips stutter against his, and you briefly fall into a placid state between his arms.

When you come to again, the feeling of his raging cock beneath you is enough to make your legs tremble again, but Chanyeol doesn’t let it go any further just yet.

“You were so good for me, baby,” he murmurs as he presses soft kisses along your shoulder, before grabbing your chin between his fingers to press his lips to yours. His mouth is still as hot as it was before, and you melt into his touch, running both hands through his light hair and tugging until he’s moaning against your lips, his hips slowly stirring beneath you.

You pull away with a loud pop, quickly pressing your lips against the corner of his jaw, and sucking a light bruise onto the hot skin. “Well,” he sighs, voice airy, “that solves one problem.”

You bite down hard, yet Chanyeol still laughs.

#park chanyeol smut #park chanyeol imagine #pcy smut #pcy imagine #chanyeol x reader #chanyeol smut #mine #whew boy i wrote this all in two hours #a bitch is struggling!!!#my eyesight!!! none existent #exo fic

146 notes · View notes

rochellespen · 6 years ago

Text

Watching Doctor Who Season 37 (Series 11), Episode Two

After taking the time to have a bit of nonlinear fun with Thirteen’s debut episode, it looks like Chibnall decided to go with a simple, running down corridors adventure that would not be out of place at all in Classic Who.

Whether this is a good or bad thing, I guess depends on who you ask. Me, I like to have a nice balance between the clever, thought-provoking, mind-bending Who and the more straightforward action romp Who. In other words, I think episodes like say, Blink, need some episodes like 42 to give us a good mix of fun and cerebral.

So seeing as I was fairly certain that this would be much more of the latter, I went in with an adjusted set of expectations. Now comes the question, were those expectations met?

Let’s find out by taking at look at The Ghost Monument.

Spoilers (for those who still need them for the episode) underneath the read more....

Episode Thoughts

This episode gave us this Doctor’s intro credits finally. It’s certainly a change from how other New Who seasons which have normally given us a much more defined “tunnel” or spiral look for us to travel through the credits. However, I also couldn’t help but think that it reminded me a bit of the watery, morphing credit sequence from Hartnell’s era.

By necessity, really, we got the admittedly cool cliffhanger out of the way by having everyone “scooped” out of space by a pair of dueling humanoid aliens. Graham and Ryan end up on the ship with a pilot who doesn’t believe a word they say while the Doctor and Yasmin end up on the ship that’s about to crash...which seems painfully apropos in relation to the Doctor....XD

I happened to notice in the end credits that this episode was shot in South Africa, a first, I believe, for Doctor Who. It’s a great choice for something beautiful and yet desolate and definitely different from the standby rock quarries. Watching everyone wander around these deserts with the yellow tinged lighting gave it a realistic alien feel.

In fact, I really liked the cinematography for this episode in general. A friend of mine mentioned that episodes in this season almost seem like a movie and I have to agree based on what I saw with the outer space and desert sequences.

Anyway, after some typical Doctor pulling everyone out of a crisis moments, we’re given our plot of two contestants in a race to save their families from some unknown (well, to us anyway...) threat. This certainly isn’t the first time that a race with a life-changing payoff was a central plot point on Doctor Who (Enlightenment, anyone?), but I did appreciate that we were given the details over the course of the episode rather than give us a big info dump at the beginning.

From there, the action of the plot is mainly a backdrop for continuing theme of how people are better off working together than on their own, a point that is illustrated in more than one way. Ryan tries to have his Halo moment and shoot his way past the sniper bots, but that ends with him screaming in retreat. Epzo keeps trying to go it alone so he can win the race and almost ends up getting killed more than once. It’s a bit obvious, but it’s also a solid way to let plot complement a story’s theme.

By the way, sniper bots...I kind of wish that we had spent more time on that. Or maybe not. Maybe it would have just turned out to be a bit too much like Raston Warrior Robots.... Ether way, we did get some good action sequences out of them.

What we also get are some questions and connections without resolutions. So...apparently the Stenza which attacked Earth in the first episode was also involved with wiping out Epzo’s and Angstrom’s planets? And had something to do with the scientists who were captured and tortured into making the planet Desolation a killing test ground? I’m thinking we might have a season long plot line forming here.

Much more distressing to me was that bit where the sentient mummy wrappings (yes, that’s what they looked like to me) became all cryptic while taunting the Doctor and mentioning things like “the Timeless Child”. We’re not going to have another Moffat type build up to absolutely nothing, are we? (I keep trying to forget about “the Hybrid”...). I guess only time will tell....

I suppose it is nice to have a happy ending with everyone living this time (the Ninth Doctor would be so proud...), but it did feel more than a bit forced for Epzo to suddenly decide to cooperate to give himself and Angstrom a win to save their families. Especially when you consider his firm “I have to be out for me because no one else will” stance for the rest of the episode. Having seen a character with a similar viewpoint develop and change more gradually on Doctor Who in the past (Turlough), it feels odd to have Epzo reform so quickly.

Chibnall wisely put an end to the Doctor chasing the TARDIS by having it appear at the end...with a new interior and everything. I’m sorry, Doctor, but while you might like it for once in your lifetimes, I wasn’t that thrilled with it. But maybe it will grow on me.

Character Thoughts

While Epzo’s characterization mainly revolved around the theme of not trusting others and only relying on one’s self, Angstrom’s characterization felt more subtle. I enjoyed her interactions with Yasmin and the Doctor when talking about family and the burden she has to save them.

On a slightly rant-y side note, I did notice the moment where Graham mentioned that the Stenza was responsible for his wife’s death and Angstrom responded “mine too”. As it played out in the episode, it was a gentle moment of solidarity between a companion and a guest character. But I also have to wonder if moments like this are what some people were raving about with Doctor Who suddenly becoming all “SJW, virtue-signaling”. Really? Because of a casual mention like that? If anything, I thought it hit just the right note of making sure to acknowledge representation while also not drawing undue attention to itself. Geez, some people are just awful....

We’re also given some more development on the ongoing situation between Ryan and Graham. Ryan still can’t see Graham as his family while Graham clearly wishes he would. Although, we’ve also seen hints of how Graham can probably seem like a patronizing, “back in my day we knew things” kind of guy even if he isn’t trying to come off that way. Thus, I like how the writers are not making any resolution between them easy and quick. And I look forward to seeing how they will continue this through the season.

Sadly, Yasmin didn’t seem to have as much to do, other than be a sounding board for Angstrom’s characterization. Then again, their moments were lovely and it’s unrealistic to expect the writers to full flesh out such a large companion team with every episode. So I’m hoping her turn will come later.

The Doctor, well the Doctor continues to intrigue me as far as how Whittaker is developing her. Her scene with the holographic Ilin was a nice bit of snark and sparring. And she’s continuing to show other classic Doctor traits such as her abhorrence for guns and violence and her insatiable curiosity about everything going on around her.

One important thing that I really appreciate is that, during those times when it seems like she’s not trusted or people around her have her doubts about her pulling off her plans and promises, it has nothing to do with her being a woman. Instead, it has everything to do with her being a high-energy babbling, flake-o who gets distracted by everything...at least on the surface. XD

And I love that. I love that she’s not taken seriously at times because she just can’t stop being herself as well as perhaps her apparent youth (which implies inexperience). It reminds me a lot of what Five and Eleven had to put up with at times when people mistook their youthful appearance and enthusiasm for naivete.

I think that one thing that surprised me though was that moment of faltering confidence at the end of the episode. It’s rare for the Doctor to openly express dismay over not following through with a promise and even though she brushed it off once she was in the TARDIS again, it was a moment of vulnerability that’s impossible to forget.

The Last Word

Was this a perfect episode with neatly tied up plot resolution? No. It had it’s thin parts and bits that could have been developed better.

Did it meet my expectations for a Doctor Who romp? Actually, yes. The plot moved along at a good pace while still giving us some substantial characterization. The camera and effects looked great and we’re given some questions to keep thinking about for later episodes.

And while it didn’t end on another mind-blowing cliffhanger, there’s enough good will built up by the end that I certainly want to see what lies ahead for our new friends in the TARDIS.

#Doctor Who #series eleven musings #the ghost monument #thirteenth doctor

2 notes · View notes

victoriasugden-blog1 · 7 years ago

Note

I know you are on hitaus, but I'd love your opinion on Emmerdale at the moment.

You know what, I am on hiatus so for me now is a great time to throw my unfiltered opinion out there into the cosmos and log off and not have to deal with it.

This is negative to the point where if you don’t like negative stuff don’t read it, seriously. You’ve been warned. Also, this is my opinion ya don’t have to agree with me.

Robron:

“No actual plot here,”

I’m going to say what I’ve been biting my tongue and not saying since the spoilers came out in fear of repercussions from the fandom. This “storyline” if you can even call it that, it’s more a “plot” is rubbish. It’s hands down in my “ED didn’t give a fuck about actually making an effort” notebook: alongside the kidnapping plot and many other plots in general cause let’s face it there’s been a lot.

This plot for me is fan-baiting at it’s finest, cause ya know it makes fucking no sense in the plot their currently in, wasn’t developed or given even an inch of actual depth or real meaning and ya know what you might be thinking “Laura wait for Monday,” but I’m allowed to think this way from what I’ve watched.

We had no build up, Aaron just “decided” he was gonna propose at least we got two scenes with him how lucky! We only got one of Robert who just “decided” he was gonna propose literally out of nowhere presuming because Aaron didn’t mind holding Seb I guess? That makes buckets of sense. I’m not the person who likes fluff for the sake of it and just welcomes it when it makes no sense to the plot.

And yeah Comedy plots aren’t my thing, but I could have enjoyed it if it was well plotted out and storylined correctly. I’m calling bullshit here, I’m calling bullshit on the whole thing cause IM has been bigging up this wedding for over a year and you’re telling me they didn’t have time to plot this out? For real????

Like I’m a simple gal, you wanna give me comedy, give me comedy but at least plot it out, storyline it correct, give me some development and make it believable and I’m happy. I’m not watching General Hospital, I have higher standards for Emmerdale.

That’s when for me it feels like rubbish, that’s when it feels like Emmerdale’s just like “meh we don’t have to try let’s just fan bait ‘em and they be happy!” And look if you are, good for you, this is my opinion no one here has to agree with me. For me, I go crazy when it’s a storyline they’ve clearly put no effort into and is just mindless fan baiting. Yeah, I’m not a fan.

Charity:

“It was meant to be important but what? 1.0″

Please tell me again how this storyline was originally meant to be the police force and their abuse of power? WHERE THE FUCK IS THAT STORYLINE? Because we’ve literally seen none of it.

It’s some fucking joke at this point, lbr half of Charity’s storyline was meant to be about how Bails was a cop/detective so no one fucking believed her? So why the hell aren’t we seeing that storyline? Yeah we’ve been hearing about the “trail” and we’ve had them send in DNA tests but like that’s it and it’s frankly I’m gonna say it again rubbish.

If this is about a cop and the way he abusive power, shouldn’t be we idk be seeing how the police are handling it? For me, that’s important to. If I was in Charity’s position watching this storyline, I still frankly wouldn’t want to come forward, not even an inch, because it wouldn’t have in any way made me feel like coming forward would bring me justice.

Maybe I gotta wait till the trail, but the way they’ve isolated her, more on the Vanity issue later, just feels unrealistic and takes away from a storyline that should be about her whole family supporting her.

For me, we haven’t really seen anything that highlights why a woman in these situations should come forward, and that’s the storyline Emmerdale was selling when they dubbed it “important” but like, am I shocked? No.

Charity & Ryan:

“We’re running around in circles”

I’m gonna start by saying: I like Ryan a lot, but do I think this storyline needed a “secret child?” the answer is flat at no. If anything I think it takes away from the storyline they were trying to tell above because it’s saying “don’t have a child that shares the coppers DNA well too bad your not gonna get justice!!” It’s also morphed into completely being about Ryan and Irene, and the real meat of Charity’s storyline which was meant at least I thought it was meant to be Bails seems to be forgotten and pushed back.

Apart from all that, they’ve decided to portray Irene as the one in the wrong, rather than Charity. I’m gonna be real here, Charity’s never been the mother of the year, she’s never gonna win an award. Noah didn’t even want to live with her at one point.

I’m sorry them portraying Charity as some a class mother is some a+ level bullshit right there. Of course, Irene is weary, this is her son, she’s Ryan’s mother and she’s trying to protect him from the mess that is Charity. Don’t get me twisted, I do think if Ryan wants to know Charity then he should get that chance he’s a grown man, it’s his decision. But man framing her as some great mother is like nope I’m sorry I can’t handle that bullshit.

Last but not least, this storyline is going around in circles and is held hostage by Debbie’s storyline and like why??? “I’m gonna tell them! Nope wait I’m not” over and over again this is in my opinion badly passed. Here is Charity saying she wants to make a go of it with Ryan but doesn’t even get how fundamentally she’s hurting him by continuing to keep him a secret from his family after she promised to tell them.

Ross:

“It was meant to be important but 2.0″

Ah Ross, don’t you just love it when acid is thrown in a character’s face and their somehow made to be the bad guy at the mercy of the character that ordered the attack on ya and ruined your life!

I’m not gonna go into too much depth because I think everyone knows how I feel about Ross’s storyline. It’s utter total garbage with no redeeming factors to it. They screwed over MP so hard he’ll be feeling it for years at this point. Like ouch.

I’d like to meet the person who thought this storyline was in anyway a good idea, not only has the person who threw acid been cleared, the person who paid that person has been pushed to the forefront, made to be the victim, and basically been told by pretty much everyone that what she’s done is pretty much “okay” cause it was an accident.

I get MP leaving screwed them over, but I don’t find that in any way a good excuse for not bothered to do a lick of research for this storyline. For not bothered to give a fuck about victims and turn it into a fucking circus show, where at the end of the day the victim comes off looking the worst.

Someone count how many times in those first few episodes they panned to Debbie’s face, and showed her crying. Someone count it for me because for the person who paid for the attack she’s shown a lot more she needed to be and by more I mean she didn’t need to be shown at all.

Joe:

“I’m a kind of Tate, but not really”

I don’t have much to say about Joe, purely because I have no fucking clue what they were thinking with this character, compared to what we’re actually seeing on screen. His entrance was strong, I imagine he was meant to be a villain before they decided to pair him with Debbie and pretty much ruin his character for me.

He literally got away with everything, including treating Debbie like a prostitute, living her and her kids homeless, sending Liv to prison and literally didn’t get punished for any of it…oh wait he jumped into a lake for a biscuit and almost died that was it.

Apart from his character given no depth, the reason for him being in Emmerdale in the first place was dropped. We shall never speak of it again apparently. They NEVER redeemed the character. They just cut off his balls and that was it.

Debbie & Joe:

“We’re a love story for the ages!! We promise..”

Remeber when I just said they cut of Joe’s balls, well your looking at what they cut them off for- for Joe to become a background character to Debbie’s plot. To pretty much “be totally in love with her” even though that wasn’t the plot. And for Emmerdale to push this couple even though they don’t really have chemistry because Debbie has chemistry with literally no one.

But don’t fret Emmerdale is gonna push it anyway, not let any character hate Joe / this couple for longer than 5 seconds and be completely tone deaf. So ya know there’s that: but it’s fine cause they’ve already ruined Debbie’s character for the foreseeable future to me.

Sarah:

“Side character”

Literally, her sl is for Debbie and Joe, why they recast an older actress is beyond me.

Graham:

“Tragic as they come”

There isn’t much to say about Graham, because he’s storyline hasn’t been fleshed out, it’s not developed and him getting a flashback episode is the most hilarious thing ever. Talk about giving a character with no substance a misery porn storyline and just expecting us to relate or feel bad for the character…another strike and a missing storyline.

Having one episode where Graham says he was an alcoholic and how he caused his pregnant wife to die and literally than not mention it again and stick in an affair with another boring character and then bring back his plot without actually giving it any attention or time.

Chaddy:

“It was meant to be important but 3.0″

Ah pro life, how are you, my old enemy? You don’t seem to ever be leaving Emmerdale. This storyline is filled with conations of how “weak” you are if you abort your child (and this is after the baby was announced to have a condition that won’t let her live more than a few hours after birth).

Guilt tripping parents who do by saying “we’re her parents don’t we owe it to her to try as hard a possible” FUCK YOU EMMERDALE, and basically making Chas an unbearable walking pro life advert, and basically shun the idea of giving her organs away even though that could have been a storyline that helped fuck tones of people.

This storyline features, no outside support, no support groups, no real-life experiences, the character basically shunning a woman who abort the pregnancy, and the actress actually saying “I did no research for this storyline” that’s right Lucy ACTUALLY SAID THAT. I mean they’ve made Paddy the better one in this storyline, like….. the horror.

And that was how they treated this storyline AFTER they announced the condition if we go into before that’s a whole other kettle of fish.

Tracy:

“I’m a savior, I’m gonna make it”

A breath of fresh air, literally she’s the only character to managed to escape this bullshit. Even though her sl was way too tied to Charity’s and I feel Amy deserved better. She was still given a well-paced storyline that worked gave her character the respect it deserved. My only qualm was that her abortion storyline was about David like fucking nope but at least she didn’t have to fucking carry that baby to term.

David & Maya:

“The bunny boiler one”

They came out of nowhere, won’t last long because Leyla is coming back and Maya is totally gonna be a bunny boiler. I don’t have much to say apart from damn Emmerdale you gave David this sl like 3 months after Leyla ax the character if ya have nothing left to do with him. Also, ax David causes his character is fucking gross.

Liam:

“Under the bus, we go”

Literally, nothing to say apart from the fact that they basically threw Liam’s character under the bus and brought him in for fucking David and like nope Emmerdale why? I’ve been wanting them to make Liam a regular for forever and they literally bring him in to throw in under the bus like what a waste of what could have been a really great character interaction.

Bob & Laurel:

“They hate us”

But their storyline is one of the only ones that actually had the only decently paced storyline, and was also storylined out well. Burn me at the stake.

Marlon and Jesse:

“They made no effort and stuck me with the chef”

I’m sorry I don’t like Marlon and Jesse, I think they don’t really have any chemistry. I think it’s a real shame because instead of spending months trying to push Jesse and Marlon together they could have fleshed out Jesse’s character and given her an actual storyline but nope!

They didn’t bother. Like think about it she’s been a regular for months and what do we actual know about the character? She had a good husband, she has a son and that’s it.

Matty:

“I’m undeveloped”

I like Matty as a character, so he’s entrance and storyline being underdeveloped and under fleshed tbh disappoints me. For me he’s storyline doesn’t feel that realistic, not that he’s trans or any of that stuff, it’s about how Moira took 3 episodes to just suddenly be okay and trying.

I know she’s beloved by the GA and they don’t want them to hate her for too long, but that was literally nothing, most parents who have a problem with it don’t come around in like a week. Not to mention Emmerdale is a conservative town, but everyone is suddenly okay with Matty after one meeting and for most their just automatically okay with it, it’s just not realistic.

Matty & Vic:

“Out of nowhere”

The thing is I could get behind Matty and Vic, but like it came out of nowhere and tbh Vic is still fucking wearing her ring to Adam and obviously still in love with him doesn’t even know he didn’t murder Emma and has been given no time to actually move on but I’m now meant to ship her with Adam’s bother? Ya, see my problem here? Yet another underdeveloped plot which seems to be the running theme.

And that’s it folks I’m out, have fun! This is my opinion, ya don’t have to agree with me!

#Emmerdale #anti everything tbh

14 notes · View notes

ladywinchester1967 · 7 years ago

Text

His Good Girl: Part II

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Alaina (formerly known as Female Character)

Characters: Dean Winchester, Alaina (OFC), Laura (OFC), Lisa (mentioned)

Warnings: Feels, fluff, angst, swearing. Dean being a sweetheart 💜

A/N: I wasn’t done with the first part for some reason and decided just to roll with it! Hope you guys like this wrap up. To the first part (if you missed it, I’ll link it.) Unbeta’d, all mistakes are mine, mine, mine but the pictures AREN’T. I found them on Pinterest.

PART 1 IS HERE

“Oh fuck.” She said, clapping her hand over her mouth as she stared at the pregnancy test.

“Alaina,” Laura said “what happened?”

“I’m pretty sure you’re familiar with how babies are made!” Alaina exclaimed, a tear escaping her eye.

“You didn’t use a condom?” Laura asked “you’re not on birth control?”

“Good job,” Laura mock applauded “you’re every trope in every teen soap opera ever.”

“Shut up Laura.” Alaina said and raked a hand through her hair “Oh fuck, Dean. Oh god, he’s gonna blow a fucking gasket when I tell him.” She took a few deep breaths and said “If I tell him that is.”

Laura shook her head

“Alaina, you can’t do that.” She said

“It’s my body!” Alaina yelled “I can do what I want!”

“Whoa,” Laura sad and rubbed her hands up and down Alaina’s arms “you’re in shock. I need you to take a few deep breaths. This is Dean remember? Your best friend? The only man you’d ever take a bullet for?”

“Oh fuck, you’re right.” Alaina said and slumped to the floor “If he doesn’t die of shock first that is.”

Laura shushed Alaina, smoothing her hair out of her face. Laura hugged her friend tightly and rocked her.

“You can do this,” Laura said and then shifted Alaina’s face up to hers “worst case, WE can do this.”

“You’re cute and all,” Alaina said “but you’re not my type.”

“You bitch!” Laura exclaimed and ruffled Alaina’s hair.

The next week, Alaina met Dean for burgers at their favorite diner.

“So what’s kept you away so long?” Dean asked as they sat down “That lawyer thing can’t be that hard.” He chided

“You dick!” She exclaimed “Do you have any idea how many cases come across my desk a DAY?!”

“I don’t,” he said as he grabbed his menu “enlighten me.”

“Forty five,” Alaina told him “per day. At minimum.”

Dean’s green eyes went wide

“No shit,” he breathed and she nodded “well damn, I’m wrong.”

“I’m sorry, could you repeat that?” She asked, cupping a hand around her ear and leaning into him.

“You bitch.” He said with a laugh and their waitress came by. Dean ordered a beer while Alaina ordered sweet tea. “You’re making me drink by myself?” He teased “I’m losing a little bit of respect for you.”

“I will gut you.” She shot back, holding up a butter knife. He laughed and took a swig of his beer.

“Watch out, we got a bad ass over here.” He said and they both grinned, then skimmed over the menu. After a few moments of comfortable silence, the waitress came by and took their orders and collected their menus before leaving them alone.

“So,” Alaina said “I have news; two pieces of news actually.”

“Oh?” Dean asked and took another sip of beer “Good news?”

“Yes,” she said, she was beaming “first is that I have a job interview.”

His eyebrows shot up

“The public defender not working out?” He asked

“No,” she said “well, I mean it is working out, but I know a guy who knows a guy that owes another guy a favor or something. Anyway, this law firm downtown, Stanley and Corey, is looking for another lawyer and my contact handed in my resume and they liked what they saw.”

Dean’s face split into a huge grin

“That’s fantastic sweetheart!” He exclaimed “Congratulations, I mean that. I’m so happy for you!”

Her grin mirrored his as her heart began to pound, he may not be as excited about her next piece of news.

“A toast to you,” Dean said holding up his beer bottle “my favorite lawyer and best friend in the world.”

“Deeeeean,” She said, her face blushing “stop!”

“One, I’m happy for you and I can do what I want.” Dean quipped “two, you say my name like that again, we may not make it to the main course.” His eyes were lit up with mischief. She let out a laugh and they clinked their drinks together and took a sip.

“What’s the other piece of news?” He asked after finishing his sip.

Alaina set her cup down, her hands shaking and her breath quickening.

“Well, it relates to the job interview,” she said “kind of anyway.” He raised an eyebrow and she went on “Okay, it has to deal with why I submitted my resume in the first place.”

“Okay, so?” Dean asked, his hands clasped together in front of him on the table. Alaina looked down at her lap, her foot jiggling under the table. She looked up at him.

“When I tell you this, I need you not to give me a knee jerk reaction okay? I want you to think before you talk.” She insisted “Can you do that for me? Please?”

“Alaina, you’re shaking.” He pointed out, suddenly looking concerned “What’s wrong?”

She looked away, then back at him, then away again before closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. Once she had let it out, she opened her eyes and faced him, her heart pounding at a painful level.

“Dean, I’m pregnant.” She said.

Dean stared at her blankly for a few seconds and then blinked; no emotion registering on his face.

“Um, what?” He asked, stunned.

“I’m-I’m,” She stammered and looked around before saying “I’m pregnant.”

“With what? A food baby?” He asked, the gravity of her words not registering in his mind.

She scrunched up her eyebrows, floored.

“No,” she said slowly “with an actual baby.”

He blinked again and the words finally sunk in and he sat back in the booth. Now it was his turn for his heart rate to speed up and his palms to sweat.

“You’re-“ he started “you’re-on my god.” He said and placed his hands over his face.

“Dean, I need you to listen to me.” She said steadily “Are you listening?”

“No.” He said through his hands, his voice muffled by his rough palms.

“Please, just listen.” She begged him.

After a few moments of her revelation sinking in, he moved his hands away from his face.

“How long have you known?” He asked and sat up

“For sure? Only a few hours.” She told him “I had an inkling two weeks ago when I took a pregnancy test and it was positive.”

“Why didn’t you call me then?!” He asked, stunned.

“I wanted to make SURE,” she told him “I wanted to know beyond a shadow of a doubt before I told you. I went to my doctor, got a blood test and she confirmed it.”

“But, how far along are you?” He asked, he could barely remember what he had for lunch that day, let alone how many times they had done it without a condom.

“Doctor says I'm about eight to ten weeks.” She told him.

“Shit,” he cursed under his breath, a million and a half thoughts racing through his head as he struggled to regain his composure “What the fuck?”

“My honest reaction if you want the truth.” She said and whipped her hair into her hand, playing with the ends of it and avoiding his gaze. They were both silent for a few more seconds and she took a deep breath.

“I know you’re scared and all kinds of other crazy shit.” She said

“Yeah, that’s one expression for it.” He said as the waitress returned with their food.

“Another beer for you?” She asked Dean and he nodded. She left and Alaina went on.

“But I don’t want you to worry okay?” She asked and his expression morphed into the bitchiest face.

“I’m sorry, have you MET me?” He asked “How am I not supposed to worry?”

“Because,” She said “I’m not expecting anything from you.”

He raised his eyebrows

“What’s THAT supposed to mean?” He asked

“Look,” She said and grabbed some French fries, then shoved them in her mouth. When she was done chewing, she went on “we didn’t plan this. I’m not holding you to any obligation that you don’t want.” He continued to stare and she kept talking “I’m not going to MAKE you be involved, if you want nothing to do with me or the baby, I totally understand. I won’t be mad or hate you.”

“What about you?” He asked “What do you want?”

“From you?” She asked

“No; what do you want to do with the baby?” He asked, chewing on his lower lip.

She sighed and said

“I’ve given it a lot of thought and I want to keep it. It’s the reason I’m even considering leaving my job and taking a different one.”

He suddenly looked angry

“You want to raise this baby by yourself?” He asked

“No, I don’t WANT to,” She told him “but I’m not going to force you to be a parent if you don’t want to be.”

He laughed humorlessly

“Alaina, you have got to be kidding me.” He said

“What? You think I can’t raise a baby by myself?” She challenged.

“I know you can,” he said “you’re Wonder Woman if we’re being honest here. But I want to help. I’ll take you to your doctor’s appointments, I’ll be there when the baby is born. I want to be a father; don’t take that away from me.”

“I’m not trying to take anything from you,” She told him “I’m giving you an out if you want one.”

He shook his head and took her hand

“I don’t want one,” he said and looked up at her “I mean that.”

She smiled, her heart thumping in her chest. She knew he wouldn’t abandon her; she knew him as well as her own family. However, that didn’t stop her from feeling bad.

“Have you raised a baby Dean?” She asked “They’re a lot of work.”

“I didn’t RAISE Sam,” he said “but I remember what it was like when he was a baby, and when him and Jess had Morgan.” He was referring to his three year old niece “I know some stuff.”

Tears welled up in her eyes

“But they cry and they poop, pee and scream and it’s A LOT,” she told him “I’m scared.”

He shushed her and got up. He sat on her side of the booth and wrapped an arm around her shoulders as she sobbed into him. He stroked her hair and held her while she cried. When her tears finally subsided he said

“I’m scared too, but we can do this. You and me.”

She looked up at him and nodded

“We can.” She said.

That night, Dean took Alaina home and made sure she got into her house safely.

“So, I didn't know how to bring this up at dinner,” he said as he scratched the back of his head “but I started seeing someone.”

“Oh?” Alaina asked as she shut and locked the door behind them “Who?”

“Lisa,” Dean said “her name is Lisa.”

Alaina nodded and then shrugged

“Well, do you like her?” Alaina asked

“Yeah,” he said with a smile “I do, but I'm gonna break it off with her.”

“But you like her,” Alaina pointed out “does she have some terrible personality or something?”

Dean shook his head

“No, she's great. Really, but after your news today, I don't think it'd be right to keep seeing her.” he told her.

“No,” Alaina said firmly “Dean, I didn't tell you this so that you would be with me. You're the father and I wanted you to know so that you could make your decision if you wanted to be involved. You want to be involved, so I'll tell you when things are going on.”

“Such as?” he asked

“I'll give you plenty of notice for my doctor's appointments,” she told him “if you want to come to birthing classes with me, you can. If you wanna help pick a hospital or paint colors for the nursery, you can. When baby furniture needs to be assembled, I'll call you. If there's an emergency, I'll call you.”

Dean studied her face, he knew she wasn't lying. She'd never lie about something that she knew was so important to him. He finally bit his lip and nodded.

“Okay,” he conceded “I know you will.”

She smiled at him and asked

“See? Settled.”

A silence stretched between them as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

“One question before I go.” He said

“Only one?” she teased and he smirked

“Are you showing yet?” he asked and she shook her head

“No, not yet. That won't be for a little while longer.” she told him. He looked like he was struggling to ask his next question and she gave him a tender smile “What? You wanna see my belly and touch it or something?”

“When there's something to see, yeah.” he said “If you don't mind.”

She laughed

“Again, you're the dad, you can see and touch my belly as much as you want.”

This made him chuckle as he walked toward her. He wrapped her into a hug, his arms around her neck. She folded her arms around his midsection and returned the hug, laying her head on his chest. His heart beat was faster than normal, but she chalked it up to nerves.

“Thank you.” he said in her ear.

She pulled back and looked up at him

“For what?” she asked

“Giving me a chance,” he said “this could have gone in so many different directions. I'm so fucking happy.”

She smiled at him

“Dean; you're my best friend, if I can't give you a chance, who can?” she asked him

He tenderly kissed her forehead and told her

“I gotta get going, early day tomorrow.”

“Me too.” she told him and they broke apart. He headed for the door and unlocked it.

“Be safe okay?” he asked “You need anything, call me.”

She nodded

“I will.” she told him.

With one last legendary smirk, he was gone. She locked the door behind him and watched through the window next to the door as he got in his car and fired it up.

“That's your Dad and he's,” she paused as she placed a hand over her belly, talking to the baby as the engine in Dean's Impala roared to life “and he's my everything.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

SOOOOOOOO; what did ya’ll think?! I’m feeling this as a 5 part series.....mostly because 5 parts have been written and I’m enjoying it! I’m not sure when parts 3-5 will be up, I’m in the process of editing them right now. As always, leave your KIND feedback below, share, like and maybe follow?

The Squad/ Tag Team Champions:

@waywardbaby @waywardnerd67 @familybusinesswritingbro @carryonmytardisjohn @ain-t-bovvered @kittenofdoomage @mrswhozeewhatsis @sis-tafics @xscarletxedgex @sugarprincess3 @bkp810 @bamcrux @imma-winchester-addict @charliebradbury1104 @depressed-moose-78 @dacleverfox @ellen-reincarnated1967 @pheonyxstorm @theworldiscolorful @thewaywardvalkyrie

#dean winchester #lady winchester writes #dean winchester fic #dean winchester fluff #supernatural imagine #supernatural fic

55 notes · View notes

thejonzone · 4 years ago

Text

Jon Writes a Year-End List

My favorite songs of 2020, alphabetically by artist

Bedouine (Margo Guryan cover)- The Hum

The original Guryan version is good but Bedouine’s take is cleaner, all the better to emphasize Guryan’s blissful songwriting. I could listen to the chords in the chorus forever.

Bob Dylan- I’ve Made Up My Mind to Give My Heart to You

It’s nice to hear Bob sing a yearning and clear-eyed love song. And the way he stretches out his words gives the whole thing a confidence that’s easy to get lost in.

Boldy James- Giant Slide

Boldy had a great year, and it’s The Price of Tea in China with Alchemist producing that stood out to me.

Empty Country- Becca

I don’t go to music festivals anymore, but listening to this album makes me dream of hearing it live, while being dehydrated, sweaty, feet hurting, holding in a p*op, a late afternoon sunburn loading. I want the whole thing!!

fawning, Rui Gabriel ft. Jack Riley- God

Toss it on the cloudy day walking playlist!

Frances Quinlan- Went to LA

Great cathartic yell in this one. Quinlan builds up a palpable tension here. It rocks.

Judy ft. Jack Dolan, jommis- Say What U Mean

You’ve got to imagine these fellas knew they had put a few catchy melodies down while trying to out-croon each other.

Kurt Vile ft. John Prine (John Prine cover)- How Lucky

A Prine acolyte with a feature from the man himself. RIP.

Lala Lala, Grapetooth- Valentine

Kind of like a slow-dance song at nightmare prom. I love the percussion and Frankel’s villainously-low voice.

Lil Durk- Street Affection

The range of emotions Durk can access and scroll through is impressive.

Miranda Winters- Little Baby Dead Bird

Scuzzy guitar and violin create a hypnotic effect in this evocative dirge. Miranda Winters is such a good singer. Check out her main band, Melkbelly-- they put out a great album this year!

Nap Eyes- Mark Zuckerberg

Two guitars: one is pointy, the other is chugging. That is the correct way to do two guitars.

Noname- Song 33

This song is 70 seconds. 70! Noname casually negates J. Cole and the song isn’t even about him. She’s so great.

Ratboys- I Go Out at Night

Julia Steiner is on her The Hours shit in this melancholic fantasy of leaving and not returning.

Rio da Yung OG, Lil Yachty- 1v1

I like how Yachty comes in on his verse! It’s been fun to see him back in action with his new Michigan friends. Rio is the star here, though. And Enrgy too.

Soccer Mommy- yellow is the color of her eyes

Sophia Allison’s delivery of “The tiny lie I told to myself is making me hollow” might be my line of the year.

Swamp Dogg- Memories

The whole of Sorry You Couldn’t Make It is great, but for Swamp Dogg, who has covered John Prine, to work with the man before he died is a special accomplishment, and we’re better off that it’s recorded.

Tall Juan- Irene

One of my favorite 2020 releases. And I’ll be a bit vulnerable here folks….when I am walking outside and this song comes on, I push my butt out a little bit and walk like I have rhythm and purpose.

Tierra Whack- Dora

I’m so excited to see what Tierra Whack does, from her beat selection to how she jumps between flow and cadence. She understands herself so well.

Non-2020-specific Music I Enjoyed, in Superlative Form

Group Vocal Performance Most Likely to Pierce Your Heartless Facade

Yesu Ka Mkwebaze

Best Song to Listen to if You are an 1850’s-era whaler in Your Feels

Mary Ann

Favorite Duet (Not Blood-Related)

Emmylou Harris and Herb Pedersen (but mostly Emmylou) create such an intricate and gorgeous melody on “If I Could Only Win Your Love”. Pedal steel heads and mandolin freaks, eat up.

Favorite Duet (Blood-related)

The Louvin Brothers- When I Stop Dreaming

Any longtime friends of the show know I’m a big fan of the singing duo The Louvin Brothers. They’ve got that golden country tone but it’s the blood harmony that turns these guys into something else entirely.

And here’s the kicker, folks. Emmylou covered When I Stop Dreaming! How coincidental for all of us reading this End of Year list…. The Louvins are my preferred version, but Emmylou, that you could help me make this connection is enough, dayenu!

Most Surprising Use of a Song in a Network TV Show

"Yama Yama" by the Yamasuki Singers, Fargo Season 2

When I was a dishwasher at St. James Cheese Co., late 2016ish, this CD was in our back of house music rotation. It is a magical album-- a Japanese children's choir with French pop production (think a bunch of bells and shit). I never learned the name of the album while working there and it fell out of my mind until years later when, after remembering how much I loved it, realized I had no idea how to find it. The pain of typing different spellings of “japanese children’s choir” into google for days on end.....I literally yelled when Fargo used this in its Season 2 big boy shootout. *chef’s kiss*

Best Album by a Spiritually Hungry Musical Genius, Lapping Her Contemporaries in Arrangement, Theme, and Songwriting, Gone Before Her Time

Judee Sill’s self-titled debut.

Best Use of a Second Keyboard in A Keyboard Solo

Fountains of Wayne’s Red Dragon Tattoo

Do I mean to say synthesizer? Not sure. RIP Adam Schlesinger and long live FoW. What a loss.

Best Vibes/ Song I’d Most Want to Show Ezra Koenig so That We’d Bond & Become Friends

Zibote

Best Lyrics Written by a Jew in 1920’s NYC Being Sung by Willie Nelson

Lonely rivers flow to the sea, to the sea / to the open arms of the sea

Favorite TV Shows

Ramy

-Second season shook its focus on the titular character and oh am I thankful. Not that Ramy himself isn’t great, he is, but the entire cast here deserves attention. The Uncle Naseem episode. The Uncle Naseem episode. Ahem. The Uncle Naseem episode.

Joe Pera Talks with You

Lovecraft Country

-Small gripes and complicated plotlines aside, this anthology connecting gothic horror, racism, and American history is phenomenal.

Small Axe

-The second installment in this series, Lovers Rock, which takes place at a party, is the vicarious shot in the arm you deserve, you little extroverted thing you.

I May Destroy You

Betty

The Last Dance

-The first Bulls game I ever went to was the first game *without* Michael Jordan, at the beginning of the ‘98-’99 season. Bad timing.

The Chi

Schitt’s Creek

-This show was never about the plot. Am I allowed to say that? I’ve never cared less for a plot and more for a cast. Catherine O’Hara is in her own league above us all.

Jon Writes a Year-End List

In 2019, my roommate June and I took a road trip through the Upper Peninsula of Michigan. I was out of a relationship, happily or unhappily I wasn’t sure yet, but along the way I downloaded Tinder hoping to meet a local who’d be excited to make out with me. There wasn’t much bite on my line, but by the time we reached Marquette, largely due to my good looks and charisma I’d orchestrated some type of group date with June, me, a girl from Tinder, and her friend.

We met at a dingy karaoke bar and drank for cheap. Nobody wanted to hear me sing, but I got on stage anyway and gave “Willin” by Little Feat a go. Some guy at the bar in a maroon work shirt looked at me, scoffed, and left to smoke outside. The four of us weren’t hitting it off, even with alcohol. I and the friend made a plan to sing “Mommas Don’t Let Your Babies Grow up to Be Cowboys'', but she quickly abandoned the duet after we had begun, citing a lack of vibes.

But we kept singing and drinking and hours later I was leaning against the bar, waiting to order, standing next to maroon-shirt guy who had so easily shrugged off my existence earlier. What caught my eye as I stood next to him was a Star of David tattoo on his forearm. And sure enough, the name tag stitched onto his shirt identified him as “Isaac”. Well I’ll goddamn be-- this guy was frickin Jewish! I was shocked-- I assumed he was goy in the same way I assumed everyone I ran into up there would be.

For just one unconscious assumption (I’m the only Jewish person in this Marquette karaoke bar) to be wrong felt great. My assumptions are really awful. I assumed maroon-shirt hated my guts. I assumed these two girls we were drinking with thought I was a loser too. I assume people don’t like me or respect me or have any interest in getting to know me. I tell awful stories about myself to myself, and my assumptions about the world are limiting and boring! With patience, “guy at bar who kinda scowled at me” had all of a sudden turned into “my new friend Isaac” who, after a few minutes of conversation, I “asked to bum a cigarette from.”

One of my favorite shows of 2020 was Joe Pera Talks With You. I still remember watching Joe Pera’s stand-up for the first time, and then rewatching and rewatching, savoring his cadence. He dressed and spoke like a grandpa, replete with pitch-perfect, kinda-gross mouth sounds, stutters, and low-but-driving energy. It’s a good bit, and Joe has morphed it into probably the funniest, sweetest, and least-pandering show of 2020. What I love about this show is its foundational belief that anyone can surprise you, you just need to give yourself time to notice.

I didn’t end up making out with anyone but I did wake up the next morning with the worst hangover of my life. Wake up, barf, whimper. As June drove us out of Marquette, I could barely keep my eyes open. I did notice, however, a massive, wooden structure jutting out into Lake Superior.

It is this same Lake Superior structure that Joe Pera Talks With You fixates on for its first shot of Season 2. Yes, this is an Adult Swim show that takes place in none other than Marquette, Michigan! Which is weird. Think about other movies, shows, or books that take place in the U.P. You can’t! Even zooming out to include the larger Upper-Great Lakes region leaves us with an almost-empty net: The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald by Gordon Lightfoot and titular Gatsby’s origin story on Lake Superior. These are stories of hard living and life and death on the dangerous Great Lakes. But neither of those are specific to the Upper Peninsula.

Regions are an easy if reductive lens with which to attempt to view and understand people. In 2020, broad and sweeping generalizations about large swaths of people continued to gain power. There was the movie adaptation of JD Vance’s ahistorical Hillbilly Elegy. Woolly-eyed liberals trotted out fake maps of a preferred America that holds only the “good” blue states, not at all engaging in the history of racism and voter suppression that got us here. Besides the fact that Georgia went blue. And Democratic strongholds like California, New York, and Chicago betray any notion of a “better” America. The sins of this nation are not cordoned off into one section or time zone, no region is monolithic, and most importantly, no person can be explained away with a quick sentence.

There is no regional monolith more widely misunderstood than the Midwestern gestalt. Fargo (the show) does a great job of serializing this one type of Midwestern character-- they say “oh sure, happy to help” and they’re murderers. So for Joe Pera to settle his show in the U.P. is a fun choice. Most Americans are probably hard-pressed to conjure an accurate mental picture of who the U.P. is, so Pera creates his own flavor of a seemingly-recognizable small Midwestern town.

In the first episode, Joe walks us through the bean arch he’s growing. Why grow snap beans? “Beans are straightforward.” Straightforwardness, or the appearance of, is central to Pera’s charm. Pera’s shtick is walking the audience through a basic task that can serve as a metaphor for a larger existential question. This conceit isn’t new to Pera, but it has been en vogue recently, with shows like Andy Daly’s Review and the new HBO show How To with John Wilson. These shows present a simple stated goal that obfuscates a larger, more complex grapple.

Joe Pera Talks With You is incredible and endearing because of the genuine tone Pera gives his tight-knit Marquette. We’re getting deranged lunatics like Conner O’Malley and Dan Licata to write jokes for 70-year old Michigan grandmas at a salon. The show trades in the perceived Midwestern folksiness for a punchline, yet doesn’t lose itself in irony or resentment.

Every character in the Joe Pera universe has the opportunity to be profound. Pera gives every character the patience they deserve; even O’Malley’s berserk Joe Rogan listening-caricature Mike Melsky gets incredible moments of vulnerability. It’s a rare comedy: self-aware but not self-obsessed, sweet but not gross, and uniquely funny.

Nowhere else on TV are you going to see such consistently great acting. Some of the best working comedians are in this season. Conner O’Malley has found a way to tap into his unsettling grotesque that is a pleasure to watch, playing characters at the ends of their ropes, shrieking. Jo Firestone is hilarious and essential as Joe’s doom-prepper girlfriend Sarah. We get guest stars like genius Carmen Christopher. Even one-line role players like Joe’s teacher-coworker, who says Joe and Sarah go together “like desk and chair,” knock it out of the park.

The questions at the heart of Talks With You feel more pronounced in a year of death and isolation. How do we connect with people? How can we really be there for our loved ones? How can we feel comfortable in our own skin? The show came out pre-pandemic but Pera’s touch and pacing is universal.

It’s difficult not to compare Talks With You to How to with John Wilson. The two shows have a lot in common. Both protagonists are soft-spoken, and speak at an arrhythmic clip. John Wilson’s voice is affected just like Pera’s; both vocal deliveries are meant to engender trust by signaling to us that they’re lacking some social confidence. But I don’t buy Wilson’s shtick as much as Pera’s.

John Wilson’s show is not straightforward in the same way Pera’s is, and the show suffers under the added weight of pretense. Wilson’s tangents lead us to places that barely fit under the established thematic umbrella and feel forced. On memory, Wilson’s adventure with the Mandela Effect turns from fascinating to boring as the truthers devolve into sketch characters, viewing simple spelling errors with magnifying glasses. “How to Cover Your Furniture” spends an upsettingly long amount of time with an anti-circumcision advocate as Wilson works through the question of how much we are allowed to change parts of other people. Meant to appear as if they effortlessly fell into place, these characters feel shoe-horned in.

Both characters and shows are performative authenticity, and Joe Pera and John Wilson’s whole deal is their status as observer. This year, many of us have become observers. I know I have: unemployed, unable to see people, watching death counts climb, sending money to various bail funds and rent relief to people and organizations near and far. There is a responsibility to being an observer. It is not some callous task. Being an effective observer means allowing your subject the space they need to be as they are and not foisting your own nonsense onto them.

In Joe Pera’s America, it’s understood that everyone is weird. By virtue of being human, we are all weird, off, we do confusing things, and say dumb stuff that doesn’t make sense. Even you’re a weird freak. John Wilson’s subjects seem like circus animals, squeezed in front of the camera for their fucked-up little flip. I can’t shake the feeling that John Wilson is making fun of the people he’s observing. Pera’s observations are rooted in the fairness that comes from seeing humanity in people-- every person has an equal chance of surprising you with how weird they are if you just make them comfortable and let them talk. We owe that to each other.

To be fair, these shows are also very different. Wilson’s found-footage, documentary style is ingenious, hilarious, and completely not the vibe that Pera and Co. are going for at all. And region here is everything. Wacky stuff happening in NYC? Eh, isn’t that par for the course over there? Wait, a show set in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula? Ok...now that I’ve never seen.

Obviously I was wrong about Isaac in Marquette, just as any broad assumption about a region and its people will be. I actually learned that Jews have a significant relationship to the U.P. And I found similarities between my own Jewish history, covering a similarly nebulous area of the Rust Belt/Midwest, and my U.P. cousins. Yes, home was closer than I thought, even across the length of Lake Michigan. Yes, people don’t just hate my guts. Yes, we can overcome lazy assumptions and we can even connect with people. We can make a better world. It just requires patience and listening.

Now, on to my thoughts regarding Fiona Apple’s landmark album Fetch the Bolt Cutters...

1 note · View note

edsbrak · 7 years ago

Text

CH 1 | CH 2 | CH 3 | CH 4 Coming Soon

Read on Ao3 | New Kid AU

It's senior year and Eddie is determined to get through it with ease while also scared about what awaits him on the other side. But then a new kid arrives in town and turns Eddie's life completely upside down, in ways he never would have expected.

Tags: Modern Setting, Strangers To Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Coming Of Age

Chapter 2: Prescriptions and Mixtapes (5.1k)

It’s Saturday morning and Eddie’s mum sends him over the road to pick up his standard refills.

Eddie’s certain he and his mum are the pharmacists best customers based on how frequently they visit here. He can’t even place the time when he’d started regularly picking up his prescriptions by himself, and now he’d often wonder if there would come a day when he wouldn’t need to take all of these different drugs to help ‘keep him better’ as his mum put it simply.

He blows into his cupped hands thrice and steps inside the store, saying his greetings to Mr. Keene before the man wonders off behind the counter to collect Eddie’s refills.

Saturday’s were always Derry’s busiest mornings. Most shops stayed closed on Sunday’s, so people in their town were all forced out of bed early in the morning to purchase the week’s shopping supplies. Which is where his mum was right now; Eddie always takes the pharmacy while his mother did the grocery shopping (her tastes always differ so she insists on taking charge of the food).

Eddie was fine with that – the disgusting floors and ridiculously confusing shelving of the grocery store was something Eddie prefers to avoid.

“Here you go Eddie,” Mr. Keene says once he returns. “And say hi to your mum for me.”

Eddie nods, taking the small rattling jars quickly and walking away. “Thanks. I will.”

He exits the store and squints into the light as he glances down the street. He can see his mother’s car still parked out the front of the shop, so he decides to wait outside on the footpath.

He observes other residents of the town as they walk past; a girl and her mother, an old man and his small yappy dog, two kids from his school who both give him a look as they pass. Eddie clutches his bag closer to his side and avoids any eye contact after that.

When a few more minutes pass and his mother still hasn’t shown, Eddie peaks halfway into the sliding doors of the grocery to see if he can spot her.

She was in the confectionary aisle, seemingly flirting (if her shrill giggles were anything to go by) with the man that Eddie thinks owns the dry cleaners around the corner. He sighs, knowing his mum will probably take her time now, and reluctantly leaves to go and find something else to occupy his time.

There’s a second-hand bookstore across the street that sometimes has magazines out the back that he can flip through. But before he can enter the shop the bell on the door rings out and another customer bumps right into his shoulder.

“Hey—” starts Eddie, but he’s cut short by a familiar laugh.

He looks up to see Richie standing in front of him, giving Eddie that all-knowing grin he’s seemed to master in the past week. His signature leather jacket has disappeared in favour of a denim jacket that’s covered in patches and politically-aware pins. He’s also branding a t-shirt that says ‘Death To The Man’.

“Well, well, if it ain’t ol’ Eds,” says Richie in a particularly horrible English accent. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this meeting?”

“Pure coincidence,” says Eddie, figuring his plan to hide away behind the magazines have now been cut short. “Don’t get too comfortable.”

“Our meetings are always a pleasure, Eds. Don’t deny it,” winks Richie, and Eddie looks away with a huff.

Eddie then realizes they’re standing quite close, so he steps away quickly to allow Richie to leave the doorframe of the shop. They make eye contact, and the longer it lasts the wider Richie’s smile grows. Eddie looks away again. Ugh.

“Sorry, did you have somewhere to be?” asks Eddie flippantly, mostly out of politeness and slightly out of curiosity. A ridiculous part of him hopes Richie says ‘no’, which he ignores.

“Want me to stick around, eh, Eds?” coos Richie as he crosses his arms over his chest. There’s a book clutched in his hand Eddie hadn’t noticed before. “I would if I could, but my uncle wants me back at his shop in five minutes or so.”

His uncle? thinks Eddie, until he remembers. “Oh, right. You said in English class you live with him.” He pauses to remember anything else. “You finally get those supplies so you don’t need to borrow off of me anymore?”

“Aw, Eds, you know you love being my sole provider,” says Richie, leaning in closer.

Eddie doesn’t step away and instead tries to make himself appear taller. “Well, from the looks of it you are capable of buying things, although nothing related to school, it seems.”

Richie glances down at the book he’d just bought. “Oh, yeah. Well, this is a classic, so you can’t blame me for that.” He shows the cover to Eddie proudly.

“Eva Luna?” says Eddie. “I don’t think something that’s only existed for a handful of years can be dubbed a ‘classic’.”

“This is an exception to the rule, then,” says Richie. “You read much?”

“Occasionally,” shrugs Eddie. “I’m guessing you do?”

“Oh, not really,” admits Richie, and Eddie frowns questioningly at him. “I tend to get distracted easily. So, reading’s always been kind of hard for me. But there are a few books I’m willing to put the extra effort into reading, you know?”

“Not really,” echoes Eddie. He can’t really think of anything in particular he feels that passionately about, to do just for himself. His mother likes to disapprove of a lot of things.

Richie turns and makes a slow step away in the opposite direction of the grocery store. Without thinking, Eddie follows him almost instinctually, as if knowing their conversation hasn’t quite finished yet. Richie seems pleased, and he swings his arm out to tap Eddie’s shopping bag lightly.

“What’ve you been shopping for?”

“Oh, uh,” says Eddie slowly, wondering what Richie might say in response to his many, many prescriptions. “Just… my medication. Um, my mum… says that I’ve always needed them from a young age. Before I can even really remember.”

Richie hums lowly, but doesn’t appear to want to push him further. Eddie finds he’s kind of thankful for it, since trying to explain the inner workings of his mother’s crazy mind to someone who is essentially still a stranger can be a tedious process. Suddenly, some kids run past them at full speed, and Eddie finds himself bumping into Richie’s side to avoid a collision. Richie’s hand reaches out to steady him, and Eddie’s previously spiked heart-rate morphs into a different causation.

“You okay?” asks Richie, clearly trying to hide his smile.

“Yeah,” dismisses Eddie quickly. They fall back into step as Eddie rubs where Richie’s warm hand had just been. “So, um, what’s your uncle’s store?”

“Oh,” says Richie, and points up ahead. “He owns the pizza parlour. I help him out with deliveries on weekends.”

“Your uncle is Mr. Chernik?”

“Yeah. What, you two friendly with each other?”

“It’s the only pizza place in town,” says Eddie. “My friends and I go there at least once a week. We love it there.”

“Yeah well,” says Richie, and his tone turns slightly bitter. “I guess my parents think the same thing, since they decided to send me up here to quote ‘improve upon my character growth’ unquote.”

“Oh,” says Eddie, feeling slightly awkward. He’s not sure how much he can ask about Richie’s situation. He’s not even sure why he cares to know at all. He plays it safe: “Where did they send you from?”

“Portland,” answers Richie, and he sounds happier. “My friends said they’d come up and visit as soon as they could. It’s strange, being in a small town like this.”

“I wouldn’t know what it’s like living in a big city,” offers Eddie.

He can imagine what it must be like though; taking into account what he’s seen in movies and TV. The only thing he finds less appealing is the higher crime rates compared to a small town like Derry. He wonders how much Richie must feel like a fish out of water right now – to be sent away by his parents doesn’t exactly scream great home life. Eddie can sympathize.

“I guess if one good thing has come out of all of this, it’s been getting to know you, Eddie Spaghetti,” says Richie, turning to smile at Eddie.

If Richie hadn’t have sounded so sincere, Eddie would have brushed it off as another one of Richie’s ploys to annoy him. But instead, it merely causes a bloom of warmth to burst in Eddie’s chest.

“That’s the only good thing?” he tries to deflect with a laugh. “So, okay. You live with your uncle above the pizzeria. And you do deliveries. So, that means you drive?”

Richie nods, looking down at the pavement. “As soon as I turned sixteen. My plan is to save up enough money to buy myself a scrappy car to fix up, and then travel the country.”

“Really?”

“Absolutely,” says Richie. “Haven’t you ever wanted to just… escape? To leave everything behind and start fresh?”

Eddie opens his mouth and then closes it. He has no idea, honestly. Up until now, the possibility of ever leaving Derry had been slim to none. As much as he tries sometimes, he just can’t see past life after high school. He knows his mother is the cause of a big part of that, but how much is because of himself? Where had this fear come from?

“Eddie,” says Richie, and Eddie’s attention snaps over to him. “You okay? You spaced out for a bit there.”

Eddie clears his throat and resists reaching for his inhaler. “Yeah, yes. I’m fine.”

Richie still gives him a concerned look, but lets it slide. They finally reach the end of the street, and there’s some noise coming from the alleyway next to the pizzaria. A man covered head to toe in flour appears from around the corner, and he startles slightly when he spots them near the entrance.

“Ah, Richie, you’re back,” says Mr. Chernik. “Eddie, almost didn’t see you there.” He walks over to them and nods while he cleans off his hands. “Nice to see you’ve made a friend, Rich.”

“Yeah, yeah,” says Richie on an eye-roll.

“Alright, well I need you inside to help Robert out back in storage, okay?” says Mr. Chernik to Richie, and says his goodbye to Eddie before stepping inside the shop.

“You said you were saving up, right?” asks Eddie. “So your uncle pays you to work? That’s nice, at least.”

“Yeah,” Richie says after a moment passes. “I guess that’s a silver lining.”

There’s s shrill call coming from back down the street, and Eddie turns around to see his mother has finally left the grocery store and is having trouble trying to pile everything into the trunk of their bangwagon. She calls out for him again and Eddie knows it’s really time to go.

“Well, nice seeing you,” says Eddie, and finds he actually means it this time. Huh. “But I have to go.”

“Me too,” Richie gestures behind him, and then they both hesitate for a moment.

When nothing life-changing happens Eddie finally makes the first move and begins to walk away out of ear-shot, but not before Richie can call out to him in that familiar teasing tone:

“Hey, tell you mum I say hi! She seems like a positively charming woman!”

With a disbelieving snort, Eddie swivels around to shout back: “You’re such a goddamn trash-mouth, you know that?”

Richie simply finger-salutes back and disappears inside the store. When Eddie arrives at their car and his mum asks him why he was taking so long, Eddie lies and says the pharmacy misplaced his prescriptions.

On the ride home, Eddie finds himself actually looking forward to the coming school weeks.

Tin the end, the weeks pass by relatively uneventfully.

Classes do start to become that little bit harder, when all of the teachers collectively decide to pile up their homework when it’s clear to any outsider that they already have plenty to deal with as it is.

Eddie never realized that the life of a senior really wasn’t all it’s cracked up to be, if up until now you still hadn’t joined a sports team or a popular clique. Really, it was all just an elaborate popularity contest that Eddie had no intention of winning. He was content, in this moment, to get through the year unnoticed and to continue living out a perfectly normal life.

Fuck the system, Eddie thinks.

And during those first few weeks, Eddie regularly saw Richie hanging out around the school (and again a couple of times on the roof). He was almost always alone, unless begrudgingly copping it from a faculty member. And no matter when or where, he was always occupying his attention either with a book or doodling or skipping through songs on an old walkman he carried around with him.

Often times when Eddie had hung out with Stan and Bill after school, he’d see Richie walking along the main street in their town, or sometimes sitting outside the library with a book under a nice shady tree.

Eddie felt like he should be asking Richie to join them, perhaps; to see if he wanted to come with them down to the quarry he probably hadn’t visited yet. But then he stops, wondering if maybe Richie preferred to be alone, and soon the moment passed and Eddie would just see him the next day at school.

Although there were always their trips walking to and from school, something they’d done a few more times since that fateful first day. Eddie can admit (only to himself, of course) that he rather enjoys their conversations, and each morning catches himself hoping to see Richie approaching on his bike.

And then one day he realizes something.

“Hey,” he starts, and waits for Richie to acknowledge him. “You live above the pizzeria, and yet you bother to bike way off of your route to travel to school.”

“Uh, yeah,” says Richie, and if Eddie didn’t know any better he’d say he sounds nervous. “I just thought, may as well grace you with the pleasure of my company, of course.”

Eddie doesn’t satisfy him with a remark, finding sometimes he quite enjoys keeping Richie on his toes.

Walking into English class the following Monday morning, Eddie takes his trademark seat and greets Stan with a casual nod when his friend takes his spot beside him. The room starts to fill up slowly, as per usual, and through no fault of his own it’s only natural when Eddie’s gaze continuously glances over to the door in the hopes of spying out one Richie Tozier.

Call it habitual biology, if you will.

When Mrs. Crawford begins handing out permission slips for the viewing of an 18+ film she’ll be showing in class, it distracts Eddie long enough that he doesn’t notice a body plop into the seat to his right.

“Hey Eds.”

Eddie would argue he does not twitch like a frightened animal when Richie greets him, rather he was more shocked by the lack of black clothing Richie was sporting today therefore Eddie couldn’t recognize him. The obnoxiously bright colours of his Hawaiian shirt stood out considerably amongst the bleak senior class, as did his almost neon yellow shoes. Where does one even find shoes like that? More importantly, who even makes shoes like that?

“Hey,” Eddie eventually replies.

“Hey Stan,” Richie adds.

“Hey man,” Stan says, and passes along the slips to them.

Eddie looks at it and knows he’ll have to forge his mother’s signature, otherwise he won’t be watching the film. Unfortunately, he’s not so good with his copying skills. Fortunately, he thinks Richie might be. He makes a note to ask him later.

“Now everyone,” calls Mrs. Crawford, “We won’t be viewing the film in class for another two weeks, so until then, I am assigning you all a brief, partnered essay on whichever two topics you wish off the board up the front. It must be no less than one thousand words.”

Eddie groans, hating partnering up for assignments. Maybe he’ll be paired with Stan, which would make it a lot more tolerable.

“When I call your names, find your assigned partner and talk amongst each other. I insist you have your topic outlines completed by the end of class.”

Eddie scribbles in his notebook as he waits, and then slumps considerably when Stan’s name is called out along with someone else. Finally his name pops up:

“Eddie, and… Richie.”

“Nice, high five,” whispers Richie, and Eddie thinks it could be worse.

Mrs. Crawford tends to whatever other work she deems more necessary and allows the students to organize their assignments by themselves for the remainder of the lesson. Instead most take the chance to simply talk about movies or pass along school gossip. Stan leaves to take a seat next to his new partner sitting up the back, and Eddie turns to face Richie and hopes to have this sorted by the end of the lesson.

“Fate sure likes to throw us together, right Eds?”

At this point, Eddie has already stopped correcting him on the nickname.

“Sure,” he agrees easily. “So, any thoughts on the topic selection?”

“You can pick whichever,” says Richie. “I’m happy to follow your lead.”

“As long as I’m not stuck doing everything,” warns Eddie.

“You have my word.” Richie places his hand over his heart dramatically and gives him a wink. Eddie wants desperately to believe him.

“I’m holding you to that.”

Eventually, Eddie narrows down the topic choices and selects two for them to study, all the while Richie had pulled out a pen to doodle throughout most of the lesson. Eddie observed him occasionally, and thought Richie was actually quite a decent drawer. He seemed to specialize specifically on caricatures.

Eddie really did hope Richie wouldn’t flake out on him with this assignment, but from what little Eddie knew of him, somehow he felt Richie wouldn’t just leave him in the dust. He appears to be a smart guy, too, although with trouble actually applying himself, it seems.

When the bell rang out and students piled out of the classroom left, right and centre, Eddie caught sight of Stan and they began walking down the hall together. Only then did Eddie catch himself and turn around to search out Richie.

“Looking for me?”

Eddie jerks slightly away when Richie pops up to his right. “Jesus, stop doing that! And, uh… yeah.”

“We’re heading outside for our break,” says Stan. “Would you like to eat with us?”

Eddie can clearly see Richie is mildly surprised by the offer, and his gaze switches over to Eddie, as if asking for permission. It hurts, slightly, for Richie to think that Eddie might not want him there. But then again, Eddie has never voiced otherwise.

“Come with us,” insists Eddie. “I mean, we can figure out a plan for days we can meet up to study, right? And you haven’t met Bill, either.”

“Right,” says Richie, pausing slightly. And then he smiles. “Yeah, okay. Well then, led the way my good fellows!” he brings out his poor English accent again.

Stan laughs, and that almost surprises Eddie, in a good way.

“That was terrible. I like it,” says Stan.

“Happy to be of service.”

“Come on,” says Eddie, and they all continue on down the hall. Eddie brushes against Richie’s side a few times, and suddenly, as if it were completely natural, Richie slings his arm around Eddie’s shoulders like a steady vice. Eddie hopes Richie doesn’t notice how tense he becomes.

And only after Richie steps away can Eddie feel like he can breathe properly.

After their impromptu hang out session at school and Richie had formally met Bill, Eddie had suggested they all meet up at the library after school on Wednesday to study. Everyone seemed to have some other commitment either on Monday or Tuesday, so eventually Wednesday became the default.

On Tuesday, Richie had joined them again at lunch, fitting in almost seamlessly and chatting away with Stan and Bill as if he’d always been there.

It simultaneously made Eddie glad and irritated.

It was still hard to dissect if he liked Richie or not. The other boy was funny when he really wanted to be, and Eddie enjoyed his company most times they ran into each other. But he could also be cocky, and brash, and sometimes it was hard to differentiate between his jokes and when he was actually being honest. He was a puzzle, really, and Eddie had never really been a fan of puzzles before.

When Wednesday morning rolls around, Eddie wakes up in bed feeling like utter crap.

Something like this would be downright impossible to hide from his mother, so he did not even attempt to act as if everything was okay and leave for school like usual. She checks his temperature immediately, fussing about in a panic and shoving what feels like 20 pills into his hand to swallow.

She calls up the school to inform them Eddie will not be coming in. Sent back to bed, she continuously checks up on him every hour on the hour, refilling his glass of water and changing the damp cloth resting over his forehead.

When Eddie feels himself growing irritated of her pestering, he fakes that his illness is acting up so she will have to leave the house to buy more medicine. It works, and once he hears the car pulling out of the driveway he groggily stumbles out of bed and rummages the house for some loose batteries. When he successfully finds some he retreats to his room and pulls out his old walkie-talkie that his mother thinks she threw away years ago. Eddie knows Stan and Bill still have theirs.

He places the batteries in it and crosses his fingers it will still work.

“Hey guys, it’s Eddie, do you copy? Over.”

It’s just after when school finishes, and Eddie knows his friends like to swing by Stan’s house to get some snacks before heading out to the library. He can only hope he’ll catch them.

He repeats his phrase plenty more times over the next ten minutes, and just as he’s about to give up, he hears Stan’s voice crackle on the other end.

“Eddie? Was that you? We’re here, over.”

Eddie brings it back up to his lips at lightning speed. “Yeah, it’s me. I’m at home with the flu. Over.”

There’s brief static and then: “That sucks. I’m guessing you can’t make it to study then? Over.”

“No, sorry. Over.” he says, before adding: “Is Richie with you? Over.”

“No, we’re meeting him there. I’ll let him know you’re sick. We’ll probably just hang out, anyway. Over.”

Eddie feels a pang of jealousy. And about what? “Okay, thanks. Um, have fun. Over.”

“Get better, man. Oh, and it’s nice to hear you over the walkies again, dude. We’ve missed you. Over.”

Eddie can’t help but smile. “Thanks. I’ll see you guys real soon. Over and out.”

“Over and out.”

Once the room is silent again Eddie sits there for a while, just fiddling with the buttons and listening out for his mother to return. He ends up putting the walkie-talkie in an old shoebox and hides it far under his bed. Soon his previous jealousy acts up again and he can’t help but fester on it for a while.

It was irrational, and he knew it. It wasn’t like they were five years old again and dumping old friends for new ones were a weekly occurrence. He knew Richie wouldn’t edge him out. He knew Stan and Bill wouldn’t suddenly realize what a nuisance Eddie was and drop him as a friend.

And yet, even knowing all of this he still couldn’t help but feel left out.

Later his mother makes up dinner for him and somehow includes every steamed vegetable known to man on one plate. Eddie picks at it after a few bites, his stomach not agreeing with him anymore, and his mother cleans up his room before leaving him to an early sleep. And he might have been fine with that if his body wasn’t still intent on murdering him on the inside and allowed him to actually rest.

A little after 8 o’clock Eddie hears the doorbell ring downstairs.

Curious, he gets out of bed and cracks open his door, trying to listen in to who could possibly be visiting at this hour.

“Yes? Who are you, what do you want?” his mother says.

“Um, is Eddie around? I’m a… friend of his.”

Eddie feels a flush of heat not related to his flu course through him. Richie. What on Earth?

“He’s sick. Why are you here?”

“I, uh,” stumbles Richie, clearly not used to his mother’s unrelenting personality. “I just… had some homework to give him. From today.”

There’s a moment of silence, where Eddie guesses his mother is probably looking over whatever pieces of paper Richie must have handed her. Eddie holds his breath without meaning to. Finally she says:

“Okay, I will give it to him. You can go now.”

“Right. Sure. Thanks.”

The door closes and Eddie wishes he could have been the one to open the door instead. Quickly, he turns around and crosses his room, lifting up his window as quietly as he can, and tries to spot Richie leaving their property. Around the corner a figure and a bike appear, and Eddie is sure it’s him.

“Richie!” he whisper-shouts.

The figure seems to stop and search around for the caller, and eventually he looks up to see Eddie waving to beckon him over. Richie dumps his bike again and inches closer, and soon the moonlight is showing Richie’s patched-up denim jacket and that shit-eating grin.

“Eds? Thought you were asleep. Cheeky.”

“I tried. Can’t.” says Eddie. He lowers his voice in fear of his mother hearing. “Did you really come over to give me homework?”

“What?” asks Richie, clearly not hearing him properly, and then he shakes his head. “Hold on, I’m coming up.”

“Wait,” says Eddie, panicking. “Wait, you can’t, my mum—”

Only Richie has already started to climb up the tree that grows along the side of their house. It takes him a few good minutes, but he’s getting higher and closer and Eddie cannot believe Richie Tozier is now climbing through his window like this is some goddamn 80s teen rom-com.

“Hey,” grins Richie, slightly panting.

“I can’t believe you just did that,” Eddie grits out. “If my mum catches you—”

“Then I’ll just charm her, obviously.” Richie winks lewdly before looking around the room slowly. Eddie shuffles on the spot, still a bit dizzy from his flu. He goes to sit down in an attempt to settle it.

“Yeah, ‘cause you did so well downstairs,” jokes Eddie before he groans uncomfortably.

“Sorry, I know you’re not feeling good,” apologizes Richie. “I did actually bring over the homework from English class. I started on both topics today at the library, and I thought you might wanna check over it.”

Eddie blinks at him. That had almost been the last thing he’d expected. “Oh. Thank you.”

“I know you want a good grade, so I put in the effort for you,” says Richie, and perhaps so they don’t have to talk so loud he goes to sit right next to Eddie on the bed. Eddie tries to stop his eyes from widening. He reaches for his water desperately.

“What, you don’t usually put in any effort for yourself?” asks Eddie when he’s done.

Richie shrugs noncommittally, and doesn’t answer.

Richie Tozier is in my room, Richie Tozier is in my room, thinks Eddie over and over.

“Sad you couldn’t make it tonight,” says Richie after a moment, and he sounds completely honest. Eddie flushes again. “Bill and Stan were good company, though. You have cool friends.”

This time, there aren’t any stabs of jealousy, only pride. “Yeah, I do.”

Richie smiles at him and Eddie can’t bring it in himself to look away. And then Richie is pulling out a small box from his jacket pocket and handing it to Eddie.

“Remember when I said you could come over any time and look through my music? Well, I couldn’t really wait, so… I made you a mixtape.”

“You did?” asks Eddie, accepting the tape shyly. The cover reads: Eddie Spaghetti Volume 1. His fingers run over the smooth casing as Richie answers him.

“Yeah. It’s uh… well, I know we’ve never really talked about other artists, so I kind of just took a gamble and put this together. I think you’ll like it, though.”

Eddie realizes, with striking clarity, that no one has ever cared to make him a mixtape before. He’s not sure what to think knowing Richie has made this one for him, and he’s instantly curious to listen to whatever is on it.

“Thank you,” he whispers.

“I should um… go, I guess,” says Richie as he rubs his hands along his thighs. He stands slowly and looks back down at Eddie. “I hope you feel better soon. And… yeah.”

It was startling to see Richie acting so out of his element. Eddie nods, and watches Richie retreat to the window, and he’s halfway out when he angles around to give Eddie one last smile.

“See you soon, Eds.”

The minute Eddie is sure Richie has biked around the corner and is out of sight he goes to fish out his old tape player from his wardrobe and sets up the mixtape from the very beginning. Making sure the volume is on low, he presses play, and lies back on his bed and listens along with only the beating of his heart to accompany him.

Song after song goes by and Eddie hasn’t skipped any of them. It’s frightening, almost, how eerily accurate Richie is tuned to his tastes. The mix comes to a song that Eddie can recognize from the first two chords, and he rolls over onto his side to curl up better.

But I won’t cry for yesterday, there’s an ordinary world, somehow I have to find…

Eddie draws in a deep breath, letting the words blanket him in a moment of calm.

And as I try to make my way, to the ordinary world, I will learn to survive…

When the song is finished, Eddie stares up at his ceiling, eyelids heavy as he feels as though he’s sinking away and going happily. He thinks of Richie one final time.

“What the fuck?” he whispers to himself.

the next chapter will be up much sooner this time I promise! :D

let me know if you wanna be added to the tag list! xxx

@just-an-akward-fangirl @trashmouth-smashmouth @jas6236 @klancelets @emptygreyspaces @kikyomibu @kkfra808 @ageorgymi @allycatlovesoakleshineplusphan

#reddie #reddie fic #lost and found #my fics #new kid au #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak

60 notes · View notes