#kinda feel like i now know how people felt in 1980 when they were told lennon was shot

[ileikbees]

[fucker-anon]

Bloody Painter Headcanons

am i gonna write about helen even tho no one cares? fUCK YEA @creepy-bi-day hope you enjoy. Im still not a writer sorry :/. also my personal hcs, its okay to disagree. Also dark themes again. 

Bloody Painter

Backstory:

was born on Oct 1st, 1980, fully name Helen Otis

mother is white, father is Japanese

is an only child. Helen’s parents had a very difficult time in getting pregnant like yeeeaaars (10 ish) and they also really wanted a girl. Like in their head, they would be getting a girl. and when they did get pregnant the ultra scan did show a girl. so they were in shock when a boy popped out. 

they no likely. Since helen’s mom was a teacher, they decided to raise the boy as a girl and simply homeschool them until they had to go to college, once there they could simply transition into a girl. This is how they thought trans people were so they thought they’ll do the same to get a girl (This was obliviously wrong)

so they tried to do that but mother couldn’t get the needed forms and paperwork to homeschool Helen so they had to go to school. so their parents decided the best thing to do was to make them as manly as possible in 6 months. so everything pink and girl (lots of which were comfort items like plushies, and art things) were thrown out in front of poor 6 year old Helen who didn’t understand what was happening. Helen couldn’t do art, couldn’t wear certain clothes, couldn’t say certain things. punishments weren’t physical but there was a lot of yelling.

around the 3 month before school started, their parents decided that maybe Helen should meet their grandparents (parents kept giving excuses why they couldn’t visit). everything was going swell until the grandparents on the father’s side asked why name their BOY a GIRL name. before the parents could say anything, helen said “cause im a girl?” ... yaaaa queerphobic grandparents and little helen didn’t get along. plus helen was white passing so asian grandparents blamed their mom.

parents cut contact with the grandparents, and yelled at helen a lot. (poor bby) this mental abuse continued over 3 months and caused helen to stop talking and start repressing a lot of his feeling which his parents encouraged cause “”bOYs donT hAve fEeLinGs””

in school, the parents told the teacher that there was a mix up when filling out his name and that they should call him Otis. Of course one teacher messed up and called him Helen, and then they got a lot of comments form their peers, but they learned not to say that they were a girl at this point. 

helen was lightly bullied for his name, and when they tried to tell a teacher they were told to “man up :))” 

and so more repressing feelings

it wasn’t until middle school where someone (a kid who they later learned was named tom), stole and planted a watch of another girl into helen’s bag. This meant helen’s bullying got a lot worse. Before it was a comment here or there, now it was physical and a lot often. this is also when he began to develop symptoms of anxiety and depression.

he slowly became friends with Tom, who was also bullied a lot. But one day Tom took Helen to the roof where Tom confessed into planting the watch. Helen was very upset, and the two started to argue when Tom slipped off the edge, Helen tried to hold on to Tom, but Tom let go of his hand. Tom dead.

there was an investigation done, and Helen wasn’t in trouble as some students and teachers said how they saw him hold onto Tom. The school was given a speech about how bullying was bad, and tried to get things back to normal. Helen’s bully did die down, tho lots of ppl tried to spread rumors about how he pushed Tom. 

his parents were more upset over how this would look and not about Helen’s mental health. Helen never told them about the bulling. 

When high school started, the bullies acted as if nothing happened. and on Halloween, Helen snapped and killed 5 of the main bullies. He was caught and sent to a mental hospital. 

so you think that finally, Helen can get the help they need right :)). ahhah no....

so the hospital did diagnose Helen with depression and a mild case of anxiety, but basically put them on pills. the actually therapist had a very hard time getting Helen to open up. this is because the on their first session helen started with his gender identity, and the therapist told him “look you are biologically a boy, so you must be a boy :))” and when they said that sometimes he felt more comfortable when they were more fem, they was told that was wrong. 

so helen shut up like a clam cause they did not feel safe with this guy

at least they learned how to somewhat manage their depression and anxiety :)

once helen turned 18 he was released, and Helen decided to be an artist and not kill. but he saw another one of his bullies and said fuck it.

slender saw and was like “i like this child. imma adopt them”

and Helen joined the mansion

Personality:

look Helen was mocked and betrayed by basically every person in their life, they don’t trust ppl

they are nice, but they don’t new people

if you’re nice they’ll be nice, if you’re mean they’ll be mean, simple

cold hearted, look if you are neutral to them and get run over by car they wont do anything. the world was shit to them, they’re shit back.

quiet. like Helen could be inches away and you still won’t hear them

buttttt if you get close (good luck) you see a passionate, kinda nerdy, very kinda touch starved, sarcastic person who just lived a shitty life. 

Fun Facts:

k mans has a 6 inch dick, 7 when hard, but is thick, and stretches you out-

*cough* moving on-

bi sexual. Helen has a very hard time acknowledging romantic feelings but is down to date the girls, gays and theys. again good luck getting there but it may happen.

gender fluid Helen has come a long way and their gender identity has ranged from girl, boy, both, none and yes. They’ve settled on gender-neutral pronouns but doesn’t hate being called she/her or he/him usually. On a bad day, they can’t say the same. 

Called them painter. The only ppl who can called them by their birth names are ppl who are close to them. On fem days, they like Helen. On masc days, they like Otis. Sometimes they don’t care, sometimes they just wanna be called painter. If you’re not sure and you actually care just ask, he’ll say what day it is. usually they dress accordingly, but still if you’re not sure ask, they’ll prefer it.

Speaking of clothes, the fit??? is on point???? like imagine dark academia with more blues, blacks and tans. Helen looks like the protagonist of a boarding school au.

they will wear skirt and dresses and corsets, and do they’re (slightly basic) hair and makeup.

some creeps (jeff) tried to make fun of helen for this. And when you look at Helen you dont think that they’re much of a fight. Helen’s lean and kinda thin (kid doesn’t eat a lot), but Helen did karate for year cause their dad wanted their “perfectly normal son” to do something manly and kinda close to their culture. Helen learned how to fight with a very good guard and how to be very fast but not so much strong. Wasn’t until he got out of the mental hospital did he learn about pressure points, specially those that dont need a lot pressure :) you see where this is going. 

Basically Helen is that one movie character who touches a spot on someone's neck and they pass out. (this is the best i can describe it, they dont do this exactly but similar things) 

also very talented at art and arty things. like annoyingly good. he’ll try wood craving and make amazing things after only learning about it an hour ago. Current draws online and does online commissions to pay for his coffee

actually likes hunting, not with gun but with like bows an arrows. they dont hunt often cause they like animals

has to finish whatever they’re working on. please force this baby into bed

has a coffee addiction

likes classical music and lofi. 

dont talk about the whole painting with blood thing, they were 14, it was cringey, they know

hair is like chin length ish, its black with waves, so if they wanna be masc they can tie it up and when its fem, they can let it down and straighten it 

forgets to eat, feed them

k this is long. As you can see I can also write a whole essay about Helen. I will write about Helen’s and Johnny friendship, along with the other creeps later. but im tired. 

[perfeggso]

Noir (yutae) 

Week IV pt. 1

Tokyo – fall of 1983: Nakamoto Yuta is quickly rising in the ranks of one of Japan’s most notorious yakuza families, and he’s poised to climb even further if he can stop himself from being ruined by the pretty Korean boy who’s shown up out of nowhere.

Chapter 1  |  Chapter 2  |  Chapter 3  |  Chapter 4  |  Chapter 5  |  Chapter 6  |  Chapter 7  |  Chapter 8  |  Masterlist

Glossary of Japanese words

Characters: Yuta x Taeyong + NCT ensemble, Twice J-line (for funsies)

Genres: Gang!AU, angst, smut, fluff, 1980s!AU

Warnings: graphic violence, swearing, minor character death, alcohol use, mentions of drugs, period-typical homophobia, xenophobia, BDSM

Rating: 18+

Length: 7k

“Okay,” said Yuta, “this is the last time I’ll ask – I promise.  You’re sure I didn’t scare you last night?”

Taeyong sat in the passenger side of Yuta’s car, waiting in the pick-up area at Narita International Airport the morning after their first night together, listening to "4:00AM" by Taeko Onuki.  He rolled his eyes.  

“Yuta,” he began, “if I was going to be scared of you – which I am not, by the way – it wouldn’t be because you startled me when you yelled in the middle of the night, I can tell you that much.”

The night before, Taeyong had fallen asleep in Yuta’s arms; tired, sated, and oh so happy.  His little bundle of positivity only unwound when he was shaken rudely awake in the early hours of the morning by Yuta screaming.  It didn’t last for long, partially because Taeyong had used all the wits he could gather to coo over Yuta, calming him down and easing his tension, but it had been disturbing, nonetheless.  When Taeyong felt like he’d waited a sufficiently long time for Yuta to regain his bearings, he’d ventured to ask what was the matter.  All Yuta could put into words was that he’d had a bad dream, and that for as long as he could remember, his bad dreams could sometimes get horrifying or tangible enough to make him react quite violently in the real world, and he was sorry.  Taeyong didn’t press him on what that particular dream was about, but it must have been quite upsetting.  Who knew what kinds of things Yuta had seen in his life for his unconscious brain to draw upon?  Anyway, the next morning Yuta couldn’t stop the incident from preoccupying him, apparently very worried that it would somehow make him less desirable or something.  Taeyong was having none of it.

Yuta sighed as he sank farther into the driver’s seat, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel.  Taeyong felt a little pang of guilt that he might have insinuated that maybe he should fear Yuta for other, non-nightmare-related reasons.  But like he said, he didn’t.  He didn’t fear Yuta even though he’d watched him kill another man with his own eyes.  Yuta was too sweet and odd, too predictably human, and made him feel too good to scare him.  

“Okay, good.  It just happens sometimes.  Haven’t figured out how to control it yet,” Yuta said.  He switched the topic. “How’s your ass, by the way?” Taeyong smiled to himself.

“It’s fine, but you did bruise me a tiny bit.”

Now it was Yuta smiling.  “Sorry.”  He didn’t seem very sorry, though.  “Don’t Change” by INXS started to play over the radio.  

“I don’t care,” Taeyong admitted.  “I like a little reminder of who made me feel like this.”  

“Good,” said Yuta.  “Next time I’ll mark you up deliberately.”

Taeyong’s breath caught in his throat.  Should they even be talking about this on the job?  Wasn’t Yuta worried about being distracted?   Still, he filed Yuta’s promise away in his mind so he could hold him to his word.

“You wanted tattoos, anyway,” Yuta teased.  “I can give you the low commitment version.”

“You’re kinda corny sometimes, you know?” Taeyong said, causing Yuta to splutter laughter.  

“Yeah,” he confessed, “I know.”  He turned to regard Taeyong with a smile.

Taeyong hadn’t brought anything with him last night to change into for the next day, so (with permission!) he’d raided Yuta’s closet.  Taeyong wouldn’t have minded wearing his clothes from the night before – they weren’t particularly slutty and no one he’d be seeing today had seen him in them the previous night – but they still smelled pretty bad from all the sweat and spilled alcohol lodged in their threads.  Instead, Taeyong got to smell like Yuta.  

He wore a Bauhaus t-shirt, black jeans, and a gray blazer with a little gold pin with the Inagawa-kai logo on it attached to the lapel.  Yuta wore the same one on his black, patent-leather peacoat.  He had paired that with black aviator sunglasses for a truly eye-catching combination.  Taeyong thought it was funny that Yuta seemed incapable of not dressing like a mobster.  

Before Yuta could say whatever he was about to, a blue BMW pulled up right next to them and rolled down the window, revealing Taeil in the driver’s seat and Mark by his side.  Taeil was yelling something Taeyong couldn’t hear over the sound of departing airplanes, and apparently Yuta couldn’t understand it either because he yelled back for Taeil to repeat himself.  

“What?” Taeil asked instead.

“He’s wondering if you’ve gotten any updates!”  Mark repeated.

“No!” Yuta responded.  “And why are you double-parking me?  Just pull up a little!”

Taeil obliged and parked in front of Yuta and Taeyong, getting out once he’d cut the engine and walking to Yuta’s window.  Yuta turned off the radio.  

“Why do you need an update?” he asked.

Taeil rested his hands on the car door.  “Because,” he explained, “Mark was hanging around headquarters and really wanted to come even though I kept telling him that if they brought more than one extra person with them I would not hesitate to leave him at the airport.”

“Why didn’t you just say no?” Yuta inquired.  

“Because I thought he’d tell you I said no and then you’d be annoyed.”

Taeyong sat there as this whole interaction played out, watching Mark watch them from Taeil’s car.  It seemed like Mark got a lot of preferential treatment.  Not that Taeyong could talk.  

“Alright,” said Yuta.  “It’s not a problem.  I don’t have any reason to believe there will be more people with Kun than he said.”

Taeil clapped his hands over the car door a couple of times.  “Okay, just checking.  Shategashira ?”

“Yeah?”

“ Would you have been annoyed with me?”

Yuta pondered the question for a minute, eyes dancing around the cabin of his car.  “Probably,” he eventually admitted, smiling and looking at Taeil out of the corner of his eye.

“Knew it!”

Part of Taeyong wanted to know what Yuta’s deal was with Mark, scared the curiosity might be coming from a place of burgeoning jealousy.  Taeyong was over the moon about his relationship with Yuta, but sometimes he cursed his own decision making.  His infatuations always stressed him out terribly, and his situation was already stressful enough.  

He watched as a group of well-dressed men exited the door Kun and his people were supposed to be emerging from.  Yuta and Taeil were still talking – something to do with their meeting preparations, no doubt – and hadn’t seemed to notice the new arrivals in the pickup area.  

“Is that them?” Taeyong asked.

Yuta and Taeil both snapped their heads in the direction Taeyong was pointing.  Yuta blinked.  

“Yeah,” he confirmed.  “It is.”

“How many were there supposed to be?” Taeyong asked as a follow-up.

“Seven,” Taeil answered this time.  “They brought two extras with them.  Fuck.”

“Looks like someone’s going in the trunk,” Yuta joked.  

Taeyong and Yuta got out of the car, walking over to the Triads with Taeil and Mark, who’d finally stepped out onto the curb.  Taeyong thought he caught Mark giving him a once-over, perhaps registering the presence of Yuta’s clothing on his body.  

“I thought I told you to stay at your post,” Yuta scolded.  

Mark shrugged.  “I thought this was a special occasion.”

The Triads were more inconspicuous than the Inagawa-kai usually were, their tall builds and dark clothing lending them all an appearance more akin to a celebrity and his bodyguards (although who the celebrity was could be up to interpretation) than to a group of criminals.  

Kun, or at least the man Taeyong assumed was Kun, stood at the front of a near perfect triangle of his men, a relaxed confidence defining his features.  

Kun and Yuta acknowledged each other with a bow.  

“ Shategashira , good to see you,” Kun greeted.

“ Fu Shan Chu , the honor’s all mine.”

Taeyong didn’t know what Kun’s title meant, but he had a feeling Yuta wasn’t pronouncing it very well.  Not that he could have done any better.  As Taeil and Mark quickly extended their own greetings, Taeyong prayed a silent ‘thank you’ that the Triads all spoke Japanese; he didn’t need to be any more confused than he already was basically nonstop.  Although after a moment of thought, he realized this made perfect sense considering these men had been hand-picked to attend an important business meeting (if you could call it a “business meeting”) in Japan.    

“Taeyong,” Yuta began, the indulgent tone Taeyong had grown more and more used to him using when they were together overtaking his voice, “I want you to meet some dear friends.”  

Kun introduced himself first as a Deputy, second in command of his syndicate and in charge of international business; then came Sicheng, a skilled tracker and fighter despite his lithe build; followed by Ten, the Hong Kong liaison for the group’s Thai offshoot who explained by way of introduction that, since no one could ever pronounce his real name, he went by ‘Ten’ for the number of people he’d personally “interrogated” by the time he decided he needed a nickname (“but now I’ve lost count”).  The three of them were followed by Yukhei, a tall Hong Kong native and self-described yes-man for Ten; Dejun, who kept his introduction succinct but fixed an almost manic positive energy on Taeyong the whole time he spoke; Kunhang, the “Macanese Snoop,” whatever that meant; and Yangyang who once worked for the Taiwanese Triads and was in charge of smuggling since he used to do it between West and East Germany for some reason Taeyong didn’t quite catch.  The seven men were able to pack so much information into their introductions because they kept jumping in on each other’s sentences, adding information they deemed pertinent about their friends seemingly as a way of hyping one another up.

Once the seven men in front finished, Yuta peaked exaggeratedly to the back of the group to address the stragglers.  

“And you two, it seems to me, are none other than Zhong Chenle and Huang Renjun, all grown up now, hm?”  The pair smiled mischievously at each other.  They wore almost schoolboy-like suits that looked a little too expensive to be trusted in the hands of a late teen or early twenty-something, as they appeared to be.

“Hello Yuta-san,” they each chimed, a bit out of synch.

“I can tell that you’ve aged too, Shategashira,” quipped the shorter of the two.  The taller joined in.

“Yeah, please make sure you’re getting enough sleep, sir.”  Chenle and Renjun tittered as the Triads rolled their eyes and Kun shot them an absolutely lethal glare.  

“I’d be careful if I were you,” Mark jested from over Taeyong’s left shoulder.  “You’re on Yuta’s turf now and I can promise from experience you don’t want to see him pissed.  Can’t run to your daddies here.”

Now it was Chenle rolling his eyes.  “Shut the fuck up, Mark,” he said, and Mark cackled in amusement.

“Thank you, Mark,” Taeil interjected, a cautious impatience practically dripping from his voice.  “I think our Shategashira can defend himself.”

“Great!” said Yuta, trying to regain control of the interaction.  Taeyong was starting to get nervous because they were all still standing out in the open outside one of Narita’s many exits, and it wouldn’t have taken that much imagination on the part of an onlooker to identify them as a group of gangsters.  Yuta didn’t seem nervous though, so Taeyong pushed his anxiety as far down as he could until it was nearly imperceptible.  Yuta leaned closer to him a bit as he aimed to guide Taeyong through their ongoing introductions.  

“Those two meiwaku are the sons of Triad commanders.  They’re completely spoiled, as you can see.”  Taeyong almost giggled, amused by the amount of time Yuta seemed to spend getting bullied by people who were barely out of high school.  Yuta continued.  “So that’s everyone,” he concluded, pulling away from Taeyong.            

“I’m humbled to meet you all,” Taeyong said, brain overloaded for the hundredth time in a month by all the new faces and by Yuta’s proximity.  

Yuta brushed his finger over Taeyong’s sleeve.  It was a small movement and he doubted anyone else saw, but Taeyong had to suppress the heat threatening to overtake his face.  Yuta never got into the personal space of his subordinates while conducting business, but then again, Taeyong was an exception in more ways than one.  He couldn’t decide if he was more irritated by Yuta messing with him or by his own oversensitivity.  

“You don’t have to use kenjougo with them,” Yuta joked. “Polite language will do.  They’re all younger than you, anyway.”

Taeyong balked.  He knew that Chenle and Renjun were young, but his tone hadn’t been meant for them.  And he thought Yuta was a prodigy...  

“You want to introduce yourself, Taeyong?” Yuta suggested.  

“Oh, right!  Hello, my name is Lee Taeyong and I’m sort of a member-in-training, I suppose.  I’m helping Yuta prepare for your upcoming meeting.”  Taeyong bowed, having rushed through his introduction, and he was glad no one could see his downcast eyes go wide when he felt Yuta’s palm just above the small of his back, guiding him upright.  Could he not?

“Taeyong’s been a great asset to us lately,” said Yuta, and Taeyong thought he detected the tiniest hint of teasing in his words.  “I trust you’ll all come to appreciate him as we have.”  

Taeyong heard Taeil sigh from behind him.  “We should be going,” he stated, “but I regret to inform you that one of the pipsqueaks is going to need to improvise in terms of seating on the way into the city.  We were expecting fewer people.”  

Kun smiled wryly.  “Maybe I should have hired a professional driver,” he joked and Taeil stiffened in irritation.  “But no,” he continued, “I understand.  These two insisted last minute on a vacation to Tokyo and their fathers didn’t listen to my concerns about bringing them, so here we are.  We’ll figure it out.”  

“Shall we?” asked Yuta, turning on his heel towards the parked cars, and Kun made a hand motion that signaled for all the Triads to follow.  

“You know,” said Taeil, as he watched Mark drop back in formation to share more personal greetings with some of his Triad buddies, “we could just put Mark in the trunk, and this wouldn’t be an issue.  He did insist on joining after all.”

Mark turned his attention from Yukhei to Taeil and scowled.  “If you do that, I’ll yell so loud you get pulled over and then I’ll say I’m being kidnapped by the yakuza,” he warned.  

Ten sidled up to Mark and regarded him casually, a smirk forming on his face.  “Uh-huh,” he said, “and what do you think the cops will make of that Irezumi on your wrist?”

“Shut up,” said Mark, seeming to resign himself to an uncomfortable ride back.

Taeyong and Yuta returned to their car, trailed by Ten, Kun, and a skittish Renjun who held a finger to his lips as he slipped into the middle seat in back.  Taeyong paused in front of the vehicle for a moment, next to the passenger side door.  He was fairly certain he wasn’t supposed to sit shotgun, considering he had the lowest rank of the five of them save Renjun.  He looked at Yuta questioningly, expecting a word or gesture directing him to the back seats.  Instead, Yuta nodded for Taeyong to enter where he was, so Taeyong opened the door and sat in front, trying to be small and invisible by moving as little as possible.  Kun and Ten didn’t seem to question it.  

“Thank you for choosing Inagawa chauffeur service,” Yuta said jokingly once everyone was inside.  It took a moment to get going because Mark was trying to force Chenle into the trunk of Taeil’s car and Chenle responded by flailing and emitting a screech so high in pitch that Taeyong worried it might shatter all the windows of both cars.  

“You’re a smart boy, Renjun,” Kun stated, “choosing to come in this car.”

“Yeah,” Ten chimed, “what would you have done if we tried to force you into the trunk?”

Renjun smirked.  “I have a pocket knife on me and I’m not afraid to use it…” he explained in response, making everyone laugh.  In front of them, Mark pouted as the trunk door finally closed over him.  Taeyong caught a smile on Yuta’s face out of his peripheral vision as both car engines started.  

***

Taeyong had only been to the “training room” at headquarters a couple of times before.  The first time had been when Doyoung decided to nab him and teach him knife throwing, and the second was when Jaehyun asked him to hold arm pads for him to punch.  The space was painted yellow from floor to ceiling and had harsh lighting and mold growing like shadows in the corners.  One section had weights, mats, and boxing equipment set up next to a mirror; one, some knives and targets; and one, a table and small sitting area.

The Triads had only been in town a few hours and already, they seemed to be getting quite comfortable.  When Taeyong had a moment of free time, Ten and a few others grabbed him without explanation and dragged him off to go “have some fun and get to know each other.”  Apparently, that meant subjecting him to public mortification.  

Sicheng had his arms wrapped around Taeyong’s midsection, bending him over and essentially   demobilizing him.  Taeyong breathed heavily, unable to do anything but struggle and watch the speckled floor under him shift along with his jerky movements.  

“Sicheng, maybe go easy on him?” he heard Kunhang suggest from the table area, where some of the Triads were sat watching.

“I thought Inagawa was tougher than this,” Yangyang heckled, and Taeyong felt hot shame pile on top of his bodily discomfort.  

Dejun piped up next.  “He’s new, Yangyang, give him a break.”

Taeyong wanted to respond, but he was too busy trying to defend himself physically to do it verbally.  Sicheng brought his knee up into Taeyong’s stomach, just hard enough to startle him without hurting him too badly.  He used Taeyong’s disorientation to trip him, and next thing he knew, Taeyong was sore and heaving with his ass on the padded floor.  

“Or don’t go easy on him,” Kunhang remarked.  “Either way.”

Taeyong looked to his audience.  Dejun, Kunhang, and Yangyang were all sitting around the table in the corner, a neglected game of poker which had started as a way of blowing off some competitive steam after “training” laid out between them.  Ten stood a bit off to the side, arms crossed and gaze sharp with scrutiny.  He took a couple of strides towards Taeyong and Sicheng, a smirk overtaking his mouth as he looked down at Taeyong like he was prey.  Taeyong had met plenty of scary people in his life, and the frequency of such encounters had only increased since he started hanging around the yakuza, but Ten, with his wicked expressiveness and black leather suit in this moment gave Taeyong a chill of pure terror.  

He noticed a movement out of the corner of his eye and turned his head to see it was Sicheng reaching his hand out to help Taeyong up.  He smiled, face inviting and a welcome contrast to Ten’s entire aura.  Taeyong took his hand and let Sicheng pull him to his feet.

“I thought you were supposed to be Yuta’s bodyguard,” Ten said plainly.  

“Well, not exactly,” Taeyong tried to explain.  “I just follow him around and keep a lookout for trouble; anything suspicious.”

Ten narrowed his eyes in a way Taeyong felt had to be partly for show.  “That’s all, huh? Doesn’t sound like much.”  Ten looked Taeyong head to toe and hummed thoughtfully.  “Could there be another reason Yuta keeps you around?”

Jesus Christ, did everyone know?   The room felt suddenly cold as Taeyong’s body came down from his previous exertion.  He tried to suppress a shiver as his brain rushed to come up with a response.  Thankfully, Sicheng stepped in.

“He knows how to fight, Ten, he’s just used to fighting brainless brutes.”

Taeyong nodded, hurrying to redeem himself. “Sicheng’s right,” he confirmed.  “M’sorry.”

Ten let out a laugh through his nose.  “No need to grovel,” he said, smile growing slightly less intimidating.  He pushed a finger playfully into Taeyong’s shoulder, sending Taeyong’s mind reeling.  “Anyway, I heard you saved Yuta from an assassin, so I’m in your corner.  I’m just taking it upon myself to help you improve and make yourself even more useful.”

Taeyong laughed in confusion, spitting out a sarcastic, “gee, thanks.”

Dejun expelled a sound of wounded disappointment from behind Ten, certainly brought about by the poker game.  Kunhang and Yangyang snickered.  Ten ignored them all, keeping his attention trained on Taeyong.  He raised an eyebrow and smiled, catlike.

“Wanna see something cool?”

“Sure?” Taeyong ventured, not sure if this was another way of saying “let’s have some fun and get to know each other.”  He steadied his core in case Ten decided to tackle him or something.  

Instead, Ten opened his leather jacket, giving his torso the effect of having bat wings.  Taeyong was surprised, but not as surprised as he would have been a month ago, to see the glint of what had to be at least two dozen small metal weapons emanating from the lining.  

“Shit…”

“Nice, huh?” Ten prompted, and Taeyong felt compelled to nod in agreement.  Ten used his head to indicate the right side of his jacket, where he had stored a slew of small knives, brass knuckles, and throwing stars, among other things Taeyong didn’t recognize.  

“This side is for hand to hand combat,” he explained, smiling like a snake about to bite.  He indicated to his left next, where he had some longer and thicker knives, plyers, metal clamps, and a bouquet of slim needles, each about nine inches in length.  “And this side is for extracting information.”  Ten seemed to register Taeyong’s cautious surprise.  “I only show you this so you know what you’re up against,” he cooed.  

“Al-alright,” Taeyong almost swallowed his words.  “I appreciate it.”

Before Ten could terrorize him any further, the door swung open and everyone was looking to see who had arrived.  It was Yukhei, trailed by Yuta.

“Yup, they’re in here,” Yukhei was saying, holding the door open for Yuta to enter.  

Yuta stalked towards Taeyong, Ten, and Sicheng and the boys at the corner table all stood in greeting.

“Ten,” Yuta said in mock disapproval, “are you traumatizing my poor partner?”

“I’d call it ‘educating,’” Ten responded.  “If he gets traumatized that’s simply a byproduct of necessary learning.”

“Okay, Ten, just don’t scare him off,” Yuta replied.

“It’s not like I could leave if I wanted to,” Taeyong grumbled, and Yuta shot him a cutting look, but it softened quickly into an expression of vague sadness.

“Taeyong, you’re wanted in room 2A.”

Taeyong schooled his face.  “Right away, Shategashira .”  

Yuta turned on his heel and exited the room.  Yukhei stayed by the door, Taeyong figured, because Ten needed him.  Taeyong followed hesitantly after, but Yukhei stopped him on the way out, looming over him but smiling so genuinely that Taeyong felt more comforted than scared.  

“If it’s any consolation,” Yukhei began, a thick accent coating his deep voice, “Sicheng kicks my ass all the time too.”  

Taeyong had a hard time believing that considering Yukhei, though he was roughly the same height as Sicheng, was noticeably larger in every other way.  He was probably either too nice or too reliant on blunt force.  Taeyong let out a breathy laugh.  

“Thanks.  That does make me feel a bit better.”

“No problem.”  

Taeyong left, hearing Ten’s call of “bye-bye, Taeyong!  I’ll see you again soon!” echo down the hall after him.  His stomach sank when he thought of the coldness he’d accidentally caused in Yuta, but the other man was nowhere to be found so he figured he’d just report where he was needed and find Yuta later.  

Room 2A was one floor down.  Taeyong tried to open it himself but it was locked, so he opted to bang on the metal to announce his presence.  It opened, a grinning pair of faces belonging to Johnny and Mina greeting him on the other side.  

“Yonggie!” Mina exclaimed, moving herself away from the entrance so Taeyong could pass her, which he did.  “Welcome!”

The room was little more than a cinder block box with a metal chair in the center.  If Taeyong didn’t trust Mina and Johnny at this point, he would be expecting something horrible to occur in such a room.  

“What’s going on, you guys?” Taeyong asked.  

Johnny closed the door and came to lean on the wall across from Taeyong.  

“Why don’t you take a seat,” he suggested, and Taeyong did.  “We’re here to impart on you some very valuable lessons.”  

Taeyong grimaced.  He was exhausted from what Sicheng had put him through and just wanted to find Yuta.  He’d had enough “education” and “lessons” for one day.  Nevertheless, he figured he had no choice but to indulge his captors.  

“What lessons are those?” Taeyong asked, rocking himself slightly against his chair.  Mina joined Johnny on the wall.

She answered, “Tactics for resisting interrogation.”

Taeyong started.  “Whoa.  Okay…”

“I know it sounds bad,” said Johnny, “but it’s really important for you to know.  Yuta asked us to do this.”

Taeyong felt his skin prickling as he grew more nervous.  Why didn’t Yuta just teach him himself, then? he wondered, posing the question out loud.  

Johnny smirked.  “Because, he has important shit to get done.  He can’t tend to his Yonggie constantly.  He has to delegate some of that.”

Taeyong gritted his teeth.  “Alright, alright.  But why do I need to know this?  I’m practically useless so why would anyone bother kidnapping me?”

Johnny slid down the wall until he was crouching against it, his face softening in mild concern.  

“First of all,” he said, “you should know you’re not useless, Taeyong.”

“Yeah!” Mina added.  “He might give you a hard time, but Johnny keeps telling me how much he likes having you around.”  Johnny smiled at this.  

“You hang around with a Lieutenant all day!” he said, and Mina finished his sentiment with, “you are TOTALLY kidnappable, Taeyong!”

Taeyong laughed at the preposterousness of this compliment.  “Thanks, guys.  I’m sorry, I’m just in a bit of a mood today,” he explained.  “And I guess you’re right.”

“Of course we are,” Johnny said, pushing back off the wall to standing.  “Anyway, now that we’re all on the same page, this is where things might get a bit unpleasant again.  We give this training to every member of the syndicate and all of our serious romantic partners, so contrary to your instincts, you are doubly in need of this.”

Taeyong squirmed, uncomfortable in a bad way over the fact that he wasn’t technically a syndicate member yet and uncomfortable in a good way at the knowledge that Yuta considered him serious .      

Mina smiled.  “Don’t worry, this has come in handy for me, for sure.”

“That just makes me worry more, you realize?” Taeyong replied with a grimace.  

“Okay, fair enough.  Sorry.  But it’s better you know than end up dead or betraying your friends and boyfriend!”

“Taeyong,” Johnny began.  “Let’s start with what you know.  When you picture a yakuza kidnapping, what’s happening?”

Taeyong’s mind flew to the image of Ten’s sparkling and deadly bat wings.  “I try not to picture that, but I saw what Ten carries around with him, so I think I have an idea.”

Johnny laughed hollowly as Mina watched him.  “Yeah, Ten’s a special guy.  I think he’s the only person I’ve met who genuinely enjoys that part of the job.  Anyway, so you know it could get bad.”

Johnny lifted his shirt to reveal his lower abdomen.  There was a long, thin scar across his obliques, slicing an inked koi fish in half.  

“Knives are common,” he explained vaguely.  “I got this one from a Sumiyoshi thug nicknamed ‘The Butcher.’  But we’ll get to that later.”

Taeyong swallowed thickly as he tried to steady his buzzing eyes.  Johnny continued.  

“Obviously, you know that we expect you not to divulge any sensitive information.  There are three things you are allowed to confirm for your captors though, just to get them thinking you won’t be a complete pain in their asses.  Those three things are name, rank, and clan.  Got it?”

Taeyong remembered how Yuta had lost patience quickly with the Yamaguchi assassin who refused to give any personal details.  He didn’t want to end up like that guy.  He nodded.  

“Lee Taeyong, Kumi-in, Inagawa-kai,” he recited, as if anyone in the room didn’t already know.

“But no more than that,” Johnny confirmed.  

“Another important thing to keep in mind,” Mina continued, “is that there are ways to avoid the worst tactics.  If they’ve gone to the trouble of capturing you, that’s because they think you have crucial information that they need.  It’s in their interest to keep you alive.”

Taeyong nodded along, determined to be a good student as he realized more and more clearly the very real possibility he might need to use some of what he was learning.  

“Although it can be tempting to act defiant as if you’re not bothered by the pain, and many experienced gangsters will do this to avoid hurting their fragile little egos,” Mina looked pointedly at Johnny, who just shrugged, guilty, “it can do you some good to play to the opposite.  You should exaggerate your injuries and pain.  Even if they try to use that against you and humiliate you, ultimately if they think you’re closer to death than you are they’ll let up much faster.  Make sense?”  

Taeyong nodded quickly.  Exaggerated pain, he could do that.  “Makes sense,” he confirmed.  

“Okay,” Johnny went on, “another thing.  Obviously if you ever did get kidnapped, we’d send some people out to find you, and hopefully they’d be successful.”

Taeyong shifted in his seat, watching Johnny start to pace.  Hopefully .  

“When you do get rescued, for that to end well you need to stay calm and not try to join in the fight.  If they see you moving around a lot or if you look like you’re about to break out of whatever restraints they have you in and fight back, then they’re way more likely to treat you like an enemy combatant and not like a prisoner.  You could get killed.  It’s kind of counterintuitive, but it’s important.”

Taeyong rolled his ankles, gaining some comfort out of the way the stretch and crack of the movement soothed his muscles.  He took a deep breath.

“Hey guys, why are we doing this right now?  Am I in danger?”    

Mina and Johnny exchanged a glance, sending Taeyong’s heart racing even faster than it already was as he tried to decipher their silent communication.  Mina spoke first.

“Not necessarily,” she said.

“We just want to prepare you,” Johnny added.  “Well, Yuta wanted us to prepare you because he’s been really worried since that assassin came after you two.  We can’t be sure that anything too serious will go down but if, say, a gang war does start over this Mitsubishi thing, we want you to be prepared.  Got it?”

“Oh…yeah, got it.”  Taeyong sighed.  “I supposed it’s too late to just…let me go, huh?”

Johnny’s face screwed up and Mina’s twitched.  Taeyong thought of their conversation at Johnny’s pachinko bar, assuming she too was pouring over the memory of her own warnings.  

“I – look,” Johnny began, and Taeyong already knew the answer he was about to receive.  “It’s been discussed, and the higher ups are adamant; you’ll be given the choice as soon as the Mitsubishi deal is secured, but no earlier.  They felt they needed to bring you on in the beginning, and I’m in no position to question if that was overkill, but at this point you’re certainly stuck, considering all the information you have.” Taeyong nodded, eyes fluttering to the floor as Johnny leaned back against the wall and crossed his arms.  He huffed a breath.  “Do you – do you want to leave, Taeyong?”

Taeyong blinked.  He didn’t know what to say.  He didn’t even know what leaving would mean or where he could ever go.  His new life was exciting in a way he’d always dreamed about and he liked the people around him more than he’d liked anyone in a long time; Johnny and Mina going out of their way to help him stay safe, the other Tora regiment members all welcoming him so easily, and Yuta…god, Yuta… At the same time though, Taeyong’s new life hadn’t managed to shake the feeling he so often had that he was floating through existence, incapable of being grounded even by the most intense experiences.  He wasn’t used to things working out for him.  Besides, the last time he made a major decision for himself, he’d been called xenophobic names and battered within an inch of his life.  

“I…don’t know,” he admitted.  “I don’t think so, anyway, but I don’t want to be a liability.”

Johnny smiled slightly.  “That’s not worth worrying about because you aren’t.”

Taeyong wasn’t convinced, but he nodded anyway.  “Alright,” he said.  “What else have you got to teach me?”

Johnny and Mina let him go after another half hour or so of discussion, teaching him how to school his demeanor to fit somewhere between deference and defiance, how to relax himself in a way that would prevent excessive bleeding and make blows easier to endure, and how to give answers that kept the line of questioning going but revealed nothing to the interrogators.  By the time he left room 2A, Taeyong was wondering if he should feel empowered or petrified, his mind careening from one emotion to the other with every new thought.  Once he was done processing, he decided to find Yuta.  

He’d barely had the chance to talk to him all day and it was weird for him.  The night before had been ridiculously intimate, Yuta fucking him so well, opening up to him about his past, and holding him as they fell asleep; so the weird shifts Taeyong had observed all day in Yuta between teasing and aloof were giving him whiplash since he couldn’t ask what was causing them.  He hoped Yuta wasn’t busy.  

“ Douzo .”

Taeyong’s heart sank when he opened Yuta’s office door and saw Kun there, though he tried not to show it.    

“Taeyong, what is it?” Yuta asked, an air of impatience radiating from him and from Kun as he turned around to see who was there.  

“ Shategashira ,” Taeyong saluted.  He felt like it was his first day all over again. “Sorry to interrupt.  I was just hoping to speak with you whenever you’re free.”

Yuta’s expression softened.  “Of course.  Why don’t you sit by the window while we finish up?”

“Thank you,” Taeyong said, bowing sheepishly and settling into one of the indicated chairs.  “Excuse me.”

Kun looked sideways at Taeyong, silent.  

“You can speak freely in front of him,” assured Yuta.  Kun nodded and pulled his attention back to the matter at hand.  

“I just don’t understand how they would have gotten ahold of that information.  Could it have been through Donghyuck’s crew?”  By “they” Taeyong assumed Kun meant the Yamaguchi-gumi.  

Yuta shook his head, placing his fingers in a check mark shape at his chin.  “I doubt it.  Donghyuck is extremely careful.”

Kun was growing exasperated.  Taeyong felt like maybe this was an interaction he shouldn’t be witnessing.  He didn’t quite know why he felt that way, though.  

“Well, Yuta, there has to be a weak link somewhere, and I trust that you’ll eliminate it.  We’re already in a less stable position than I was expecting upon arrival.”

Yuta smiled accommodatingly.  “Thank you for your confidence.  The leak could have also come from a different regiment, but I’m doing all I can to weed out whoever is responsible.”

“Good,” said Kun.  “Our success and our partnership could depend on this.”

“I understand.”

Right then, Chenle and Renjun showed up at the door, having finished a shopping trip down the street, to tell Kun that Ten was looking for him.  Taeyong thought he saw Kun direct a sliver of a smile his way as he left.  

Yuta sat up and joined Taeyong by the window in the chair to his left.  He sat and sighed, a big, open smile overtaking his face.  There was the whiplash again.

“Hi baby,” he said.

“Hi.”

“Did Johnny and Mina give you the talk?”

Taeyong snorted a laugh, looking at Yuta from under his fringy bangs.  “Yeah, they did.”

“You okay?” Yuta asked.  Taeyong shrugged.

“Could’ve been worse,” he guessed.  “Good stuff to know.”

Yuta leaned in.  “Is that what you wanted to talk about?”

“I guess a little.  But there was other stuff too.”

Taeyong looked around Yuta’s office.  He’d been stuck almost all day in rooms with concrete walls and fluorescent lighting, and it was making him want to jump out of his skin.  He told Yuta to wait a moment for him to get up and turn off the lights.  On second thought, while he was up and about, he opened the window to flush the room of the stench of stale cigarette smoke.  Yuta watched him with caution as he underwent his little chores.  Taeyong turned from the window and made his way back to his chair, eyes finally able to relax in the dimness.  

“Johnny and Mina said you’re worried I might be in danger.”

Yuta sighed again.  “I don’t necessarily think you’re in imminent danger, but I want to be safe.  It’s always a possibility.  Sorry if I scared you.”

“Like I told you this morning,” Taeyong repeated.  “You don’t scare me.  I just want you to be up front with me.”

“Up front, huh?” Yuta paused, his eyes flitting over the floor in thought.  “Truth is I’ve been worried about you since the Yamaguchi assassin.  It’s always risky to take on a new recruit, or a lover for that matter,” Taeyong blushed at the word, “but up until that point I don’t think the danger felt as real.  I would never forgive myself if I let something bad happen to you, Taeyong.”

One of the things Taeyong had been wondering about clicked into place for him.  “Your dream last night…is that what – ”

“Yes.  That’s part of why I was worried about frightening you.  Thought I might have said something while unconscious about you, I don’t know, getting abducted or something.”

“You didn’t,” said Taeyong, breathing a laugh.  

“Good.”  Yuta smiled, gaze trained at the open window and fingers fiddling with the bottom of his blazer.  Taeyong wondered if he was nervous to make eye contact.  “And then later when you mentioned how you’re basically stuck with me, then I felt like shit all over again because it’s true: you’re essentially my hostage.”  With that, Yuta finally looked Taeyong in the face.  “I just don’t know what to do when you say things like that. I know this seems silly, I mean I’ve never shied away from doing arguably unethical things before, but I couldn’t help but ask myself if you even like me -- ”

The pressure that had been threatening to send Taeyong shooting out of his own body finally became too much, and in lieu of doing the impossible, he found himself damming up Yuta’s stream of consciousness with a kiss.    

“There we go,” he teased, pulling away and reveling in the awestruck look on Yuta’s face.  “I had to shut you up somehow.”

Yuta’s face hadn’t moved since the kiss ended and a smile was spreading over it like melting butter. “That’s no way to speak to your commander,” he teased back, sounding a little drunk on relief.  Taeyong spoke.    

“ Shategashira , I hope you can forgive me.  But you are being ridiculous.  I like you, okay?  And it’s not because I’m scared or brainwashed.  I like you because I like you .  I like the way you make me feel.  I’m sorry for making you think I wanted to leave.”  

Yuta took Taeyong’s hand and kissed it.  “ I’m sorry for being such a basket case.  Aish, it’s embarrassing, huh?”

Taeyong snorted.  “Oh please.  If you weren’t insecure sometimes, I might actually be afraid of you.”

He smiled to himself, wondering for a moment if maybe he needed to stop thinking so much and just bask in the strange twist of fate that had brought him and Yuta together.  They were still getting to know each other, but Taeyong had never been with someone so charismatic yet so open.  If he was going to risk being kidnapped and tortured it might just end up being worth it.  Taeyong allowed himself to be lost enough in thought that a few seconds felt like minutes and he barely heard it when the door flung open without warning.  Yuta heard it though, wrenching his fingers from where they were laced between Taeyong’s.  

“Yuta-san!” said Renjun as he entered the room trailed by Chenle. “What’s going on in here?”

Yuta glared.  “Didn’t anyone teach you to knock?  That’s very disrespectful.”

“Sorry, didn’t know you had anything to hide,” Chenle quipped.  “Anyway, Kun is looking for you again.”

Yuta stood, reluctantly it seemed to Taeyong.  “Why couldn’t he send someone else to fetch me?”

Chenle rolled his eyes as they left the room and on the way out Taeyong heard Renjun explain, “because, he told us if all we were gonna do was loiter he might as well put us to use.”

Taeyong giggled, catching himself when Yuta peered back through the door.  “Hey, you can go home.  Or stick around and make some friends, yeah?”

Taeyong nodded.  “Yeah,” he agreed, and Yuta rapped his knuckles against the door with a grin before he was gone.  Taeyong stood, determined to have some Triad friends by the end of the day.    

[troop-scoop]

Mistakes & Regrets IX

Summary: When a trip to your Dad’s hometown of Hawkins goes wrong, you end up in the year 1983, and have to learn how to cope with being stuck in the past.

Pairing: Steve Harrington / Future!Reader (like, a really slow burn)

Warnings: Swearing, (Italics are memories when they’re in bulk, but if it’s one line it’s a thought!)

A/n: Yes I know, a bit of a confusing chapter, I will clear it up as the story goes on. 

•••

“Okay, so, in this example,” Mike pointed to the paper he’d drawn on in red pen, of a line, like a tightrope, with a stick figure and a crapily drawn bug. “We’re the acrobat, Will, Barbara, that monster and you are this flea.” the dark haired child told you, pointing to the paper. “And this is the Upside Down, where you hid, and where Will is hiding. Mr Clark said the only way to get there is through a rip through time and space, that’s how you got there, even though you’re from the future.”

You nodded without much though, brows furrowed. You didn’t expect such a detailed lecture from a twelve year old, yet, here you were.

“Caused by a gate.” Dustin added. 

“That we tracked to Hawkins lab.”

“With our compasses.”

You nodded again. “That would make sense. . . It would probably have a stronger electromagnetic field than the north pole, so the needle would point you to the gate.” You weren’t good in science class, but you did still know things. 

“Exactly!” Dustin explained. “See, guys!” He told his friends, gesturing to you. “Even the time traveling weirdo knew!” 

“This gate underground?” Hopper asked. 

The girl, who’s name you learned was Eleven, looked to Hopper with a blank expression. “Yes.” 

“Near a large water tank?” He asked again.

Her answer was the same. “How did you know all that?” Dustin questioned.

“He’s seen it.”

You looked to your grandmother who’s grip on your hands tightened as she began to speak to Eleven. “Is there any way that you could. . . that you could reach Will? That you could talk to him in this-”

“The Upside Down.” Eleven corrected. 

You knew that Joyce was holding onto you so tightly because you were her granddaughter, and just a kid, but you also resembled her son in many ways. 

“Down. Yeah.” Joyce whispered. 

“She did it with me. . . When I was there. I saw her.” You told them. “She saw me too.”

“I didn’t do that.”

•••

What were you supposed to be thinking about while emptying a bag full of salt into the large kiddie pool with Hopper and Jonathan? That this was normal? That any of it had you feeling like you were perfectly sane. You felt like you were losing your mind. 

Maybe you were. Maybe you were really in 1983, but you’d imagined what that boy had said to you. That you imagined that entire scenario of buying a kid water balloons. Maybe you never did see Eleven in the Upside Down, as the middle schoolers liked to call it. But she remembered you too. 

Maybe you weren’t crazy. Maybe you were just. . . having a fever dream. That had to be it, right?

No, this was real, you were just trying to deny it, find any semblance of hope that you weren’t really there, filling up a kiddie pool with salt that Hawkins used for the roads. 

There was no explanation for how you could have possibly seen that boy in August, even though you didn’t show up in 1983 until September 5th. There was no explanation as to how you could have seen Eleven in that place, when she wasn’t the one who made it happen. 

But now you could clearly remember quite a few moments where things didn’t seem to add up in Hawkins. Like how you’d been walking with your dads and your brother, and stopped at the crosswalk with two girls who didn’t seem to know what personal space was, talking about Madonna as if she was new. Their clothing way out of date, with a pair of Levi’s, and , but you were never one to judge. 

But maybe they were talking about Madonna as if she was new, because she was to them. There were so many ‘maybes’ that you could dwell on, theorize over, analyze like you were good at, but that was exhausting. You’d barely eaten that day, just two donuts and a coffee and that was earlier in the day, it was late now, you were tired, and wanted to sit in the shower. 

The realizations just kept coming to you, though. Memories of being in Hawkins and seeing people who were out of place, or like the time you’d gone to a cafe with your family in what your dad used to be the arcade he always went to as a kid, and you’d blinked once after getting your smoothie, and the entire cafe was replaced with arcade games and children happily playing them before you blinked again and you were back in the cafe. 

The same happened when you’d been walking around Hawkins the afternoon before the incident in the restaurant that made you run off, and end up in that place. You’d been minding your own business when it happened, once again, you blinked, and everything was slightly different, hazy, yet clear. It looked like 1980’s Hawkins instead of the one you’d been in. 

Pulling the empty bag away from the kiddie pool, you tossed it onto the floor and looked at Joyce who nodded a bit, holding the goggles you’d found in a science lab that Joyce covered in duct tape to make it dark for Eleven. 

You then looked to Dustin who lowered an egg into the kiddie pool, and to your relief, it floated. “Okay, Kid, let’s get you in.” Eleven nodded a bit, taking the watch off of her wrist and handing it to Mike who put it on his wrist. Joyce handed her the goggles. Grabbing onto Eleven’s hand, you helped her into the pool while everyone surrounded the pool, watching as she lowered herself down to float in the salt water. 

Joyce took your hand, holding it in her own. Her spare steadying Eleven in the water while your spare reached out for the girl’s hand, which she grabbed onto and held tightly in her’s. 

“Barbara?” Eleven questioned. Your eyes looked to Nancy whose gaze was focused on the twelve year old female. 

“Is Barb okay? Is she okay?” 

You gave Eleven’s hand a gentle squeeze, the kind your Pa taught you how to do. She squeezed your hand back but didn’t relinquish her grasp, which told you something was wrong. 

“Gone. Gone! Gone!” Joyce released your hand and grabbed onto her shoulders while Hopper grabbed the girl’s other hand.

“It’s okay. It’s okay. It’s okay.” Joyce kept repeating while Eleven calmed down. But Nancy wasn’t calm, instead holding back tears of her own while Jonathan held her. 

“Castle Byers. Will?”

Your ears perked up, and so did Joyce’s. “Tell him. Tell him I’m coming, Mom is coming.”

From the walkie that you’d brought and placed on the medal cart holding the bags of salt you could hear his voice “Hurry”

•••

“Hey, Pa, Look at this!” Daniel said excitedly, holding out his phone for Pa to see the new high score on Tetris. 

“Kid, I can't, I’m driving.” Pa reminded, gesturing to the empty road. You were close to Dad’s hometown now. Hawkins, Indiana a small town in northern Indiana, but not anywhere close to Lake Michigan. 

“Yeah, Danny, Pa’s driving.” You told him matteraffactly with a smile. You were the older sibling, it was your job to antagonize your little brother. 

“Shut up!”

“Daniel!” Dad scolded, turning to face the two of you from the passenger seat of the Chevy. His usually soft and kind eyes, clearly annoyed with how the two of you had been treating each other the entire trip. “Stop telling your sister to shut up all the time. It’s rude, and annoying.”

You chuckled a bit and the tip of Dad’s pointer finger was facing you, causing you to just smile brightly at him, thoroughly amused. 

“Will, c’mon, you know her ‘fear sensor’ is broken. Remember when Danny threatened her with a fork?” 

You chuckled again and Dad just sighed at the memory, turning back to face the windshield. You’d all gotten back getting fast food, Daniel ordered boneless wings, and it came with a plastic fork. You’d said something to annoy him, and flat out, in front of your fathers, Danny threatened to stab you with it. To which you responded ��Do it, Punk.’ You weren’t scared of your brother. 

The car grew quiet except for the music playing on the radio, which quickly turned to mostly static, which drew everyone’s attention. “Can I connect my phone?” You asked, holding up the device. 

“Uh. . . yeah, yeah sure.” Dad told you.

“What? Why can’t I ever connect mine?” Daniel demanded. Offended that on the way to Indiana only you and your parents had played things from your phones. 

“Because we actually have good music!” You shot back. 

“What? Mine’s way better!” 

“Dubstep isn’t music, asshole!” 

“Hey!” Pa and Dad both shouted at the same time, Dad holding the cord out to you to connect your phone, and the moment you reached for it, the static shifted a bit. 

“August fifth 1985-”

Your dad reached to the volume knob, turning it to the right to turn it up, amplifying the static female voice over the airwaves. 

“September- Castle by-”

“Dad?”

“Sh!” Dad told Daniel. Your brother’s hand found your own on the center seat while the two of you watched your Dad staring at the radio intently while Pa stole frequent glances to his husband while still trying to keep an eye on the road. 

“I’m sorry- Mist-”

“Will? Babe, what’s wrong?” Pa asked. He was freaking all of you out a bit with how intently he was listening to the familiar voice. 

“Sh!” He repeated, stunning you all into permanent silence. 

“No word for- Explainat- Ste-”

The radio went back to normal, and you saw the unreadable expression on your dad’s face and he leaned back into his seat, eyes still on the radio as Ed Sheeran’s name came across the screen, as well as the name of the song. 

“Dad? What was that?”

He stayed silent.

“You know, Sweetheart, sometimes when we’re in a lower area than before, the signal doesn’t reach us as well. . . It kinda changes between two stations.” Pa tried to reason, his hand holding Dad’s as he continued driving. 

“Yeah. . . Right.” You agreed, though you weren’t convinced, something about it wasn’t right. 

•••

“Name please? Your full name.” 

Looking up from the iron tabletop you met eyes with the man who had a few papers sprawled around on his side of the table, a fountain pen at the ready to write. 

You hesitate for a moment. “Y/n Byers L/n.” 

Everything was too much, trying to process how Joyce and Hopper left you, Nancy and Jonathan with the kids, and then Nancy and Jonathan left which resulted in all of this. The trauma of holding Mike in your arms as tight as your could on the ground as if he was your own brother while Eleven and that. . . thing both died. 

You remembered his tears and how he clutched onto your shirt in that seventh grade science class classroom, his heat against your chest while you tried to soothe him. You remembered how Dustin and Lucas came to you for comfort as well. 

“Year of birth?”

“2004.” You relayed blankly. The sounds of Mike’s muffled sobbing echoing around in her head while you sat in front of the government official. 

“Home residence?”

“425 Culpepper Lane, Weehawken, New Jersey.” The voice that you’d heard while running with Eleven in your arms also still echoing. 

‘Today is just another day of trying to get by without her.’

It was your brother’s voice. But not as high pitched, or squeaky. 

He asked your age. “Fifteen.” Was your response, looking down at your hands, where Eleven’s dried blood was smeared over your palm when you wiped it away from her nose. It was caked into your skin. 

“Alright Miss Byers, correct me on anything I might have wrong. Y/n Byers L/n born 2004 aged fifteen, raised at the address of 425 Culpepper Lane in Weehawken, New Jersey?” You nodded a bit and looked back up at him, 

“Biological daughter of William Byers?” He asked. once again, you nodded.

“Alright, Miss Byers, we need to go over a few more things.” He told you, taking out a large file and placing it on the table in front of you. 

“LIke?”

“How your new life will look. Unfortunately, we can’t get you back home to your time, we’ll help you build a new life here. We’ll give you a birth certificate, emancipation papers, and we’ll give you a monthly stipend for however much minimum wage is where you’re from.” He told you, taking out a calculator from the folder, ready to calculate how much you’d be getting from them. “How much is it per hour?”

“Like, ten dollars.” You shrugged a bit. Now not only trying to process the sobbing and tears that had stained your shirt and the girl who had disappeared before your eyes, probably dead, but now you had to process that the government was going to try and buy your silence. 

“Ten dollars?” He questioned, looking up at you from the calculator. “That’s outrageous!”

You tilted your head a bit, brows furrowed and jaw clenched. “Yeah, out of everything about my life so far, the most outrageous thing is the minimum wage in New Jersey as of late 2019. Inflation’s a bit of a bitch, isn’t it?” 

The man’s pale skin went flush, as if he just remembered who he was talking to. That you weren’t just an adult he was negotiating with, but that you were a fifteen year old girl who wouldn’t see the world like you knew it for another 36 years, where, biological, you’d be a fifty-one year old woman who lived her entire life in the past, instead of the fifteen year old girl who had her entire future in front of her. 

“I apologize. . .” He spoke, typing into the device and then taking out a check book and uncapping his fountain pen, writing down on the small rectangular paper. Ripping it off, he handed it to you. 

You just stared at the check for a moment before reluctantly taking it from him. Holding

it between your thumb and index finger, staring down at the beige paper without much thought, your vision not focused on anything in particular on the sheet. 

“We’ll have you moved into an apartment by the end of next week, and pay for rent for the first few months. We’ll give you a budget for furniture,-”

You began to zone him out, going back to a few hours prior. How when Eleven threw Mike back he landed against the cabinets. You were by his side in an instant, holding him while everyone watched in shock as Eleven sacrificed herself. 

Even twenty minutes after it was all over, you still held him on the linoleum floor listening to his crying while he held onto you for dear life. To him, you were a stranger, yet he trusted you enough to cry in your arms. A twelve year old version of your Uncle Mike, who you knew well. But you barely knew this boy. He was just a kid. He wasn’t the man guy you knew as your Uncle Mike yet. He was just a scared and sad kid. 

“Miss. Byers.”

You looked up snapped out of your train of thought, meeting the ice blue eyes that the men held. “You’ll be going by Y/n L/n, only. Byers is no longer your name. And you have to stay quiet about all this. We’ll talking to Mr. Sinclair, Henderson, and Wheeler, as well as Mrs. Byers and her son. We’ll speak with the chief as well as Miss Wheeler. No one can know you’re from the future. Or anything that’s happened due to Hawkins lab. We need you to sign this NDA. You can never speak about this again. Is that understood?” His question was assertive as he put the fountain pen in your hand. 

“Okay.” It was a whisper, but he understood it while you signed the papers, handing them back to him. 

“You and the Byers boy will come to the lab periodically to get checked up, mentally and physically-”

“Excuse me?” You questioned, tilting your head a bit. 

He cleared his throat, “You and William were in that place for extended periods of time. And we’re concerned about your health. The atmosphere there was toxic. We’re afraid that it could affect your long term health. Especially yours. How long were you there exactly.”

“A while.” You started recounting the amount of times the hands on your watch went by. “A month? Maybe?” 

His face shifted as he stared at you, before writing something down on his paper. You could remember how many times you’d counted after the Demogorgon busted its way out of the wall in the middle school. You could remember plenty about it now. How you’d take a few sips of water from your water bottle to make sure you were at least a bit hydrated, but you were conserving it. 

You’d always retained a bit of your baby fat from being an infant, but you’d crawled out of that place without any of it, and your baby face was practically gone. Cheeks a bit sunken in, barely noticeable, but you’d noticed it. You’d also noticed how you could see the bump where your ribcage ended without having to stretch up. You didn’t look like you. You didn’t look like the little girl who ran around the house while either your pa or dad chased after you. You didn’t look like the kid who you’d seen in the mirror the morning you called yourself an expensive disappointment. Now you supposed you were an expensive missing disappointment. 

“Alright Miss L/n. Send in Henderson when you leave.” He gestured to the door. It didn’t seem right, everything about it was slightly off as you stood from the chair, grabbing your bag and leaving the room into the brightly lit hospital hallway. 

“Dustin.” You called to the waiting room, seeing the curly haired boy look up at you in curiosity before seeing you gesture to the door with your head. He got up and went in.

•••

You were sitting on the floor, your back against the wall and your walkman playing Queen at full volume. You needed it. It was the only thing keeping you sane while the boys were with Jonathan, Joyce and Will. 

You’d sat with the boys before they were able to go back. Being the emotional support that the three needed. Even if their parents were there, they’d never understand what the boys went through. You did, and you’d be there for them as best as you could. 

But the moment they left, and Nancy and her mother had gone to get something to eat, you’d gotten up and went over to the vending machine, which refused to work. So you’d opted for the ridiculous look of having your walkman clipped to the collar of your hoodie, hair a mess and dark bags under your eyes, a scowl on your face. 

Eyes closed you just listened to Freddie Mercury’s voice, your foot tapping to the guitar rift. And even though you were completely absorbed into your music, you weren’t oblivious the feeling of someone standing next to you before sitting down. 

Opening your eyes you turned your head to see Steve sitting next to you. His face bruised and a few cuts from how harshly Jonathan had punched him. But you were pretty sure the small one by the crease of his nostril was from you. 

You pulled the headset off of you ears and stared at him while he said nothing, the music now being heard by both of you. 

“I’m a giant prick, huh?” It made you smile a bit, tilting your head in confusion as he turned his head to look at you, eyes soft. “I mean- I fucked up. I over reacted over Jonathan and Nancy, I’m. . . I’m sorry that I was mean to you.” 

You shrugged a bit, keeping quiet which left him confused. You always had something to say to him, always was quick to playfully insult him, or give a come back, you usually said something witty to keep up the banter and conversations. 

“Y/n, you gotta give me something to work with, I don’t know how to talk to you right now. You look like you want to equally cry and punch me again.” 

“I don’t wanna punch you.” You finally said, turning your head back to where the wall and ceiling met in front of you. “Just a bad day overall. I mean, i go to very early this morning, like two am, and then Jonathan had the fucking audacity to wake me up at seven. And then you and your shit-stirrer friends pissed me off, I bruised my hand.” He said, lifting up the fist you’d used to punch him, maybe a bit too hard. “Got arrested, only ate two donuts in the morning, then I. . . deal with a lot of mind-fucking bullshit, then I filled a kiddie pool with salt. Fucking salt. It wasn’t even really a kiddie, it was giant. And then! Oh and then, I ate a fucking can of choclate pudding! I hate pudding! I was just hungry! And then I held a twelve year old in my arms in a empty science class while he cried.” 

Steve stared at you, seeing the stress that had been put on your shoulders throughout the entire day. He didn’t know what to say. What was there to be said? You were trying to cope with something, and he couldn’t see what it was. 

“Yeah, that. . . sucks.” Was all he could say but it got a frustrated and annoyed groan out of you. 

“Yikes! Just say yikes! Or if it’s really bad ‘big yikes!’” You’d said it so many times back to back that it didn’t sound like a real word to you.

But Steve found it interesting while he stared at you, examining the way the hoodie fell around your silhouette, and the ridiculous way you had your walkman clipped right under your neck. The pink medal being a very stark contrast to what you were wearing

“Yikes.” He repeated with a smile. 

A brief grin came across your face as he said it. 

“So, we’re still friends?” He asked, sitting up straight and turning his whole body to face you, his legs crossed like a kindergartener on the class carpet, in his own colored square. 

“We were friends before?” You asked teasingly, doing the same to face him, and like you were as a kindergartener, sticking a leg out. Which always got you into trouble. 

“Shut up.” 

“Y/n!” 

Turning your head you saw Jonathan coming down the hall, A piece of stained paper in hand as he came over. You didn’t miss the way that both Steve and Jonathan glanced at each other, though. 

“Jona-”

“Here. I think you’ll want to see this.” He told you, holding out the folded piece of paper out to you, which you hesitantly took as Steve picked up on the cue to leave 

“I’ll uh, I’ll talk to you later?” You nodded as a response, watching as Steve stood up and went back to the opened waiting area while Jonathan squatted down next to you as you unfolded the paper only to be met with a photo of your own face. The word ‘missing’ right above it in all capital letters, your name, age, and facial description on it, as well as what you’d been wearing when you’d ran off that night. The date of your birth, and the date of that night. 

“Mom said she found it in there.” Jonathan informed you while you kept examining the photo of yourself. Your hair pushed behind your ears, a smile on your face in a pale blue sweater around Christmas time. 

“No. . .”

•••

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[blackssuunn-mandoandyodito]

Tabaco y Brea

Part 7

Pairing: Javier Peña x female! DEA reader

Warnings: angst, brief mention of sex, embarrassment? If you think I should add something, let me know

Summary: Javi thinks about everything that led both of you here, and worries about what Escobar said.

A/N: well here it is! I hope you enjoy it. I wrote another part before this one that has, mmm, smut, I'll post it but I'm not sure when, keep an eye out. Also, I changed some things shown in the series a little bit, but nothing major. Thank you for reading!

Note: this is slightly edited, just a few format stuff.

Masterlist•Chapter 6• AO3 account

If you were to ask Javier what his craziest years have been, he wouldn’t even hesitate to tell you with certain fondness in his eyes, that both 1979 and 1980 were close to his breaking point.

When he arrived in Colombia in the early 70's, he didn't expect to get so attached to the land, to the people. Often, he came off as an asshole who was only there to do his job and fuck his way through Colombia. And usually, he had no problem with portraying that facade. It made everything easier, no one tried to mess with him or get close. He could sit silently on his desk and smoke as much as he wanted for as long as he desired, no one but the big bosses would mess with him. He was always in his own world.

The real world though, felt like it was falling apart every day, without thinking about stopping or at least slowing down. Javier always felt like he had to put it back together, which was ironic because if he wasn’t able to keep himself together, how much could he do for the world?

Everything had a dual perspective for him since the day he arrived. Knowing two languages gives you a certain advantage that changes slightly the way you see things. Sometimes the differences were strikingly wide, and sometimes he couldn’t tell the two apart. The way foreigners saw things was colder, insensitive. The locals felt things, mourned, and thought more about the people than politics.

Javier was always torn between the two. He was a foreigner but always tried his best to not act like one. That didn't stop him from fucking up greatly multiple times though.

Once, while he's looking at some pictures of a roadhouse, the sound of the Ambassador arguing with someone over the phone reaches his ears.

'And what the hell am I supposed to do with a girl who's mom is FBI? I have enough petulant bullshit to deal with Javier here"

That makes him frown. Is he really that annoying?

"I don't give a fuck if she was the best of her class, I don't need more agents."

It's not usual to hear the Ambassador swear, so Javier knows it must be something that really bothers her if she's so angry.

Trying not to alert anyone else about it, he sits more straight and leans his head slightly towards the Ambassador's office, trying to hear better.

"If you're gonna send her anyways, why the fuck did you bother to call me then?" There's a short pause. "Well thanks for the courtesy between agents, it's no fucking help. Goodbye."

Silence settles over the office again after that, and Javier didn't find out much anyways so he doesn't dwell on it and keeps reading about the new Narco that's growing quickly over México, with base in Nuevo Laredo. Something about it tells him it’s tied to Escobar in some way.

Days later, he finds out he's going to have a new partner. 

He doesn't care too much either. His partners always run away after some months. No one can handle this war for too long, and he's not sure how he's pulling through it. It weighs heavy on his shoulders. It makes him wake up sweaty from a nightmare, scares any kind of hunger away, reminds him why he should never get attached to anyone everyday. And still, he's doing much better than the people he's supposed to be helping. Several times he feels close to losing hope, to giving up. Every morning he wakes up, looks at the mirror and wonders what he's doing, why he's doing it. He's breaking, falling down, giving up. He wants to run away but it feels like betrayal, to just drop everything and go back to Texas as if nothing happened. He wants to, but knows he won't be able to live without guilt every day of his life. 

The guilt, the sorrow, everything is suffocating him. There's not a day when fresh air fills his lungs, the gun tucked inside his jeans feels like it weighs a ton and nothing makes sense anymore. He's working on autopilot.

And then you arrive. That pretty, smart girl from the Ventura Q of the DEA, top of her class, arrives and twists his entire life.

You, with your bright eyes and your bright smile and your love for life. With amazement showing in your features when you look at the city once he takes you to a viewpoint. You, with the little sounds of pleasure you make when you're eating something he bought for you to taste. With the addiction you have for dancing he knows came from your close relationship with your father. You, with your giggles and your little screams when he takes you to see The Shining.

You, with the love for little things he has never felt before.

And he's not a man who cares about many things, if he's being honest. He didn't know how overwhelming love feels, how it changes the way you see life once the sensation of pure ecstasy and happiness fills you and pumps through your veins.

But, once, as you both read through the reports of other agents after a raid, he stops for a second and turns to look at you.

And fuck if what he feels in that moment doesn't scare him shitless. 

It's not even a special moment. You're just frowning and circling a lot of things with a pink marker as you huff. But you manage to look like something his imagination would create to try and pull him out of self pity while doing so, tired from hours of nonstop working but still shining like a star, as marvelous as a work of art. Maybe something beyond that, something he doesn’t have a word for. He knows you're real because someone as dark and twisted as him could never create something as astonishing and beautiful as you.

 He shouldn't feel anything, he knows it's a stupid decision to pay attention to the feeling inside his chest.

But he does, he pays attention, and it's whispering this is how love feels. This is what you've been missing. 

Needless to say, it takes his breath away.

He falls in love.

He falls in love, without brakes or any kind of control that could stop him from doing so. He lets himself fall in love, embraces it but doesn't do anything about it. He yearns, he aches. He cries sometimes. He laughs others. He gets drunk and sings the songs the guys at Texas used to play when he still was the Deputy there. He still can’t sleep, but now there are entirely different reasons behind it. 

Sometimes, when he feels really good and he has a good day, he indulges in domestic fantasies that he knows won’t ever happen because he most likely won’t make it out alive from this mess. If the probability was small before, now that he has someone to lose and therefore protect, the probability is practically non-existent.

No, he doesn't do anything about it, but he refuses to let go of the feeling. It helped him see there are still things worth living and fighting for, after all.

And it comes to bite him in the ass when he hears Escobar shout "me saludas a tu papi" (say hello to your daddy for me) at you when he almost dies just after days of tension between you two, after he fucked up in Cali.

Why did he have to fuck up in Cali, of all places? Couldn't he fuck up in Medellín?

Then he fucks up a little more. In for a penny, in for a pound.

----

"Have you ever been in love before?"

Asking those words after what you've just done seems out of place. Asking the man you just fucked through the mattress if he knows about love comes as almost rude, but aren't nights supposed to be for this kinda thing?

Javier shakes his head. "No, I don't think so." he answers, voice low and tired. "I was gonna get married, but I don't think I loved her."

You prop into your elbow, turning to look at him. "What happened?"

He closes his eyes and takes a drag from his Marlboro. "She told me she was pregnant just to tie me to her. The day before the wedding, she called me," his voice turns bitter and somewhat disappointed, "and said she had gotten her period. I fled from there and drove without stopping for fear of her brothers following me."

You know who he’s talking about. Lorraine isn't someone he talks about much, but when he does it's never with a good tone, though never anything rude. Javi isn't much of talking anyways.

You nod and plop back to the bed. Silence fills the room again, hot and foggy from the sweat you worked up to with your activities.

This is a bad idea, you know it. Fucking and not actualy having a settled relationship is maybe the worst decision you've made with Javi, and the talks that always follow just make everything worse.

He lets out all the sounds he wants to, and you're sure he's not like that with other women. He's a sentimental man, sure, but he's too scared to let someone he doesn't know get too close, even if he aches for that kind of attention. He communicates a thousand things by touch, things that make you ask yourself if they're real or if you're only making everything up, too hopeful. You figure he feels safe in your embrace, thinking it's worth risking your working dynamic and your friendship by your actions.

You're happy to provide it, no problem. You just wonder how long will it last before you break or one of you gets hurt.

You cannot bring yourself to care enough to stop. 

"What about you?" He asks. Summers in México come to mind, along with days of the training in Ventura and parties in California, different names popping up. None of them make you feel quite as Javier always does with just a glance.

"I don't think so either." you answer honestly, "Not that I can remember, at least."

He shrugs. "If you can't remember any, then there isn't any. Love is not something you can forget about."

Javi also tends to become slightly poetic after a good fuck and a cigarette.

His ribs are still a little bit bruised from the gunshots of a few days ago, purple spots covering his waist and his chest. And you don’t like to think back to that day, it still haunts you. But every time you and Javi fucked in between that day and today, you have to ball your hands into fists and clench your teeth to stop your tears from falling. You have to remind yourself it’s just sex. Yes, you agreed to be exclusive but in no other way could you be considered a couple. Besides, relationships between agents are forbidden.

(Not that it would stop you, but still)

“And have you ever wanted to be in love?” 

Javier frowns at the ceiling. 

“I don’t think we have much of a choice when love comes our way. Either you fall in love and suffer, or you fall in love and embrace it.”

----

If he only knew.

Javier and Steve both turn to look at you, the question marks in their eyes are evident to you. You stand up, as clueless as them when you walk to the door.

“Bera,” the Ambassador’s voice comes from her office with too much volume. It makes you jump slightly. “Come here.”

Once inside, she gestures you to take a seat in one of the chairs in front of the desk. It feels like coming to the principal’s office as a little kid who got in trouble.

She just stares at you for a few seconds, not saying anything.

That’s never a good sign.

The silence becomes heavy, and you have to push down the urge to squirm under her stare. Once she speaks, you wish she hadn’t.

“Are you sure about what you’re doing?”

She doesn’t even have to say it aloud for you to understand what she’s talking about.

Fuck, is it really that obvious? You and Javier don’t even act different in front of anyone. There’s not even a big change to begin with. It's just sex. You’re not staring lovingly at each other’s eyes or playing footsie under the desk, Javier even stopped buying food for you only, now you have to share with him. 

You take a deep breath, torn between feigning ignorance or acknowledging the situation with as much dignity as possible.

She doesn’t even give you time to think.

“Don’t even try to act like you don’t know what I’m talking about, I’m old, I’ve seen some stuff and you can’t play dumb with me.”

Well, there goes that.

“Can I ask something first?”

That surprises her. She breaks from the intimidating posture from before and leans back on her chair, nodding.

“How did you notice?”

She laughs, interlacing her fingers in front of her and looking at you with amusement in her eyes.

“Honey, I noticed even before anything happened. You two are obvious as hell. Even a little kid could notice it by staying two minutes inside the same room as you.”

That doesn’t make any sense. Before Cali, even before Steve, you were never sure about Javier’s feelings. You knew he wasn’t indifferent to you, but with the way he carries himself around, it’s difficult to figure out if what he’s showing is really what he’s feeling.

You decide against saying anything else and nod. She sighs, shaking her head as she looks at you. 

“I just hope you don’t regret it later.”

Well, you’re right there with her on that one.

She ushers you outside and you quickly stand up, forcing your legs to work at a normal pace and not run away like your brain urges them to. 

Just as you’re about to get out of the office, you hear her speak again, but the words are not meant for you to hear.

“I’m gonna kill him. I’m gonna kill him and then bring him back to life just to cut his balls off if he ever hurts her.”

You cover your mouth to stop the giggle from escaping, and walk to your desk with a smile on your face.

Javi arches his eyebrow at you. “Everything okay?”

You bite your lip. “Yeah, everything’s great.”

He smiles at you and winks. You chuckle, shaking your head and turning to read the reports you have to deliver that day. Most likely than not, you’ll have to say late to finish. Javier too, just like the day before yesterday.

Blood runs hot down your body as you remember. It had been an amazing night. Javi’s desk has a crack on the edge to prove it.

Realization hits you.

Oh God, so that’s why she noticed.

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[willow-salix]

Day 96 of Isolation on Tracy Island and I did something today that I never thought I would and I’m sure that I will be regretting it for months, OK, maybe years to come.

It all started when I entered the lounge, which is honestly an everyday occurrence, I walk in and those little sods start acting up, but this time it was John that caught my attention.

“What was that?” I demanded to know.

“What was what?” he asked innocently.

“That face you just pulled.”

“What face? This is my normal expression.”

“No it wasn’t! It was the same face you pull when Gordon tells a bad joke or when Alan convinced you to try Marmite on your bagel, that one that is a cross between disgust and what the hell was that. And I want to know why you directed it at me!”

“I did no such thing,” he sniffed, turning back to his book.

I whipped the book away, tossing it onto the coffee table. “Yes, you did. Now, explain.”

“I didn’t do anything, I looked at you the same way I always do, with love, great respect and a little bit of thankfulness."

I raised an eyebrow at that. Space man was lying through his teeth. Considering I’d just gotten dressed after a leisurely bath and actually bothered with makeup I didn’t think I looked too bad. Apparently I was wrong.

“She doesn’t look like she believes you, bro,” Scott grinned, stretching out full length on the couch, arms behind his head, clearly settling in to watch the show.

“Do I look offensive today? Do I smell? Did I snore all night? Give me a hint here, babe, ‘cause I’m getting a wee bit paranoid.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong and you certainly aren’t offensive-” John started.

“Not all of her anyway,” Scott added in his loudest side whisper.

“Not ALL of me? So part of me is?” I crossed my arms defensively, feeling a huff coming on.

“No, not a part of you,” John promised, but I know when he’s deflecting and that was a definite deflection, the same tone he uses on prank callers and people being dramatic while he waits for the local authorities to answer the call.

I turned my glare on Scott. I’ll give him his due, he held out longer than I expected before he cracked, a whole ten seconds at least.

“He hates that top you’re wearing.”

“What?” I glanced down at my top, one of my favourites. It was a vintage number from somewhere in the 1980’s depicting cartoon characters of a band called Queen. It was baggy, saggy, ripped in places, fraying at the collar where I’d hacked it off and at the arm holes where I’d cut off the sleeves. It hung off one shoulder and sagged on the other and it was sooooo cool and comfy. It was just the best shirt ever.

“What's wrong with it?”

John made a face and crossed his legs protectively. I raised an eyebrow at that, don’t tempt me, dude.

“It’s just…” he paused as if trying to pick the least offensive way to describe it.

“He thinks it’s ugly.”

“Scott, stop helping!” John groaned, dropping his head into his hands.

“Oh!” I squawked, totally shocked and utterly appalled. “It is not ugly.”

“It is a little. It’s obnoxious, the cartoons are weird and it hurts my eyes to look at it,” John admitted. Scott burst out laughing, earning him a glare from both of us.

"Let me get this straight," I uncrossed my arms and dropped my hands to my hips, as sure sign I was getting annoyed. "You, the one who's favourite shirt makes you look like a rodeo clown. You who owns a dressing gown that looks like it mated with a 1970's couch, you who probably only keep it because you can actually see the damned thing from space, think my shirt is ugly? You are judging ugly?" I was utterly flabbergasted.

There was a thump as Scott rolled off the couch but still didn't stop laughing. We both ignored him.

"Yes, I'm judging ugly and those things on your chest are ugly."

I looked down at the twins in horror.

"You know it didn't mean those!"

Breathless wheezing was all Scott could manage as he gave up trying to haul himself back into the couch and just accepted his fate, laughing so hard that he was now incapable of making any sound at all.

I nudged him with my foot but it did little good so I just stepped over his flailing legs and advanced on John.

"This shirt is an album cover, it is a classic, it is an amazing album and I love it!"

"And I love my rodeo shirt…" he paused, realising what he had just said. "Not that it is a rodeo shirt," he backtracked hurriedly.

"Who are you trying to convince here?" I asked.

"Hey, what are you guys yelling about?" Gordon asked, coming into the room and skidding to a halt as he caught sight of one brother rolling around on the floor and another looking like he wished he was anywhere but there at that moment. His eyes slid to me and widened.

"Gordon!" John seized on his brother's presence gratefully, obviously needing backup. "Can you please tell her that my shirt is not ugly, nor is that dressing gown you gave me for Christmas."

"And please tell him that this shirt is cool and in no way obnoxious or ugly, not like his couch print nightmare!"

Gordon's eyes darted between us and he backed up a few steps.

"What's that Grandma?" he called over his shoulder. "You made fresh cookies? Sure, I'd love to try them!" he was gone before we could blink.

Scott gasped for air, wiping the tears from his eyes as he attempted to pull himself together.

I dived straight back into the fray, I'm a woman, we don't back down when we know we're right.

"Your things are so hideous they deserve to be burnt to put them and us out of our misery!"

"I'll burn my things when you burn that baggy sheet you call a shirt!"

I had a split second to make a decision, do I keep arguing, do I back down or do I make a sacrifice for the good of mankind (and my own eyes)?

No way was I backing down.

"Deal!" I yelled triumphantly.

"Fine!" he yelled back. "But you have to pick one, if you're only burning one thing so am I."

“Fine!” I agreed, nodding as if it were a done deal. “Burn that dressing gown, I can live with the clown shirt.”

“Fine! But now I’m going to wear that shirt every day and buy more to make sure I don’t smell!”

“Dude, how was that a threat?”

He paused. “I don’t know, but it was.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

“Go and get that ugly thing!”

“I will.”

“Oh, and can you be amazing and grab me another shirt since I will apparently be needing one?”

“Sure,” he stalked away, then paused at the door and turned back to look at me. “What shirt do you want?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know, just pick anything that takes your fancy, surprise me.”

He nodded and left again.

“Oh God, Oh I can’t breathe!” Scott gulped, taking deep breaths and letting them out slowly in an attempt to calm himself. “Even when you two are arguing you completely miss the point and end up being nice to each other and it’s hilarious.”

I nudged him with my foot again. “Get up, Chuckles, we need to build a fire.”

***

"What's going on?" Alan asked, wandering over.

"John finally admitted that he hates her shirt," Kayo told him.

"Does everyone know you hated it? Why am I always the last to know?"

John shrugged, obviously not willing to risk speaking and annoying me further.

“Are you two sure you want to do this?” Virgil asked, tossing another log onto the fire that he and Scott (when he finally pulled himself together enough to stand upright) had made in the firepit on the beach. Yes, we have a firepit, they are men, they like to make fire, it makes them feel all cave man and grrrr. Like speeding around the world in rockets wasn’t enough.

By the time we had emerged onto the beach, each gently carrying our precious sacrifices, the entire family had turned out to watch. Obviously lockdown had been so boring that anything was entertainment to them, even us doing a clothes barbecue.

I rubbed the hem of my shirt between my finger and thumb, feeling the soft material. It had been washed so many times and almost worn to death that it was super soft, broken in, more comfortable than anything else I owned. It was comfort clothing. You know what I mean, like when you slip on your favourite pyjamas and cuddle up under a blanket and then suddenly the world doesn’t seem so bad? Yeah, that was this shirt to me. I could wear it with leggings and slouch around the house as I had done today, or I could team it up with a pair of tight jeans, a studded belt and a few accessories, tie it at the corner to make it a little more form fitting and I’d be acing the rock chick look. It was multi purpose! Not like that disgusting dressing gown that seemed to exist just to spite me. That thing served absolutely no purpose at all.

I looked down at my shirt again. Could I really do this? Could I really destroy something I loved because he hated it? I glanced over at him, dressing gown rolled up and tucked under his arm. Yes, yes I could, if it would make him happy.

The offensive gown was just as hideous when you couldn’t see the shape of the thing. How was that even possible? OK, so maybe it did serve a little purpose, if only to annoy me. It’s kinda always been there, you know? I know when he’s having a bad day when he comes home and gets changed into that thing. Because it’s soft and silky and sometimes gravity is just a little too harsh after more than a week in space and all other clothes seem too heavy for him to deal with. I’m used to finding him in the kitchen at random times of the day making a sandwich while wearing it, or first thing in the morning when he’s hunched over a big mug of coffee, or when there’s an emergency call and that’s the first thing he grabs so he's dressed when he answers. Hell, I’ve grabbed it too, I’ve worn it when I’ve felt crampy and sick because it smells like him and that's comforting and I've lost count of the times that it was the closest thing to hand and I had the sudden urge for chocolate at 3am. And when I’ve come home and it’s not hanging up in the bedroom I know he’s home too and that’s just the best thing ever.

I stupidly risked a glance at his face and saw the utter devastation there. Nooo, why did I do that? Why did I look?

No! Be strong! I could buy him another that was just as soft and comfy, maybe even more so, I’d buy an even better one. One that actually has a nice pattern, or better yet, no pattern at all, a nice midnight blue one that would look amazing on him. He’d love it in the end. And I’d make him buy me like twenty cool new shirts to make up for this one.

“How are they going to do this?” Alan asked as we stood side by side beside the flickering fire.

“John should go first because he started this by not being able to lie properly,” Scott decided after John and I stared at each other for a few seconds, completely baffled. What can I say, burning clothes is a new experience for me. I’ve only done it once and that time I’d actually planned it.

“Fine, I can go first,” he set his shoulders and balled up the offensive gown. “A deal is a deal.”

“Is he actually going to do it?” Alan whispered to Gordon.

“If he doesn’t I’m going to tease him forever,” Kayo admitted, joining in the conversation.

I heard John take a deep breath and step forward. He inhaled slowly then threw the gown.

I don’t know why I did it, I don’t even think it was a conscious decision, my arm was moving before I even registered what was happening. I didn’t even know I could move that fast, usually I’d be hard pressed to outpace a sloth. But my hand shot out and I snatched the gown from certain death, dropping my own shirt in the process.

“Why did you do that?”

I looked down at the bundle of poop brown and gold ick that had magically appeared in my hands.

“I don’t know.”

“Then give it back.”

“No!” I tucked it away behind my back. “You love this ugly mess.”

“But you hate it.”

“So? What does that matter? This isn’t about me, it’s not mine.” I pushed it into his hands and snatched my shirt off the ground, balling it up ready to throw.

It was his turn to snatch. “What are you doing?”

“Duh, burning the offensive shirt, I made a promise,” I tried to tug it away from him but he held firm.

“You’d still burn it even though you won’t let me burn mine?”

“Sure.”

“But you love it.”

“Yeah, and you hate it,” I shrugged. Simple enough concept. No one wanted to walk into a room and be hit with the stink eye because they were wearing something that was apparently ugly.

“You’re not burning the shirt, it’s your favourite. We can’t like everything, that makes life boring.”

“So you’re agreeing to disagree?” Alan groaned. “This was the most ridiculous waste of time.”

Everyone nodded their agreement, Virgil and Scott looking sadly at their fire, now unused for the purposes for which it had been built, it would receive no sacrifice today.

WHUMMMP! Flames leapt up as something landed in the middle of the fire and quickly took hold.

“What the-?”

A shirtless Gordon shrugged. “Well, someone had to do it.”

So yes, I may have made a big mistake because I’ll never be able to complain about the thing again now that I’ve saved its life. It's going to haunt me forever more.

[kainumbernine009]

I literally cannot do anything else until I get this out.

I’m... really not okay.

And when I say that, I’m not mentally unstable. I say that because I’m tired of waiting on empty promises, I’m tired of never having money in our account, I’m tired of living in a fucking city where half of the white people fucking worship the ground Trump walks on, and where most of the gay community has so much messy drama that it’s worse than middle school. And I went to a rough middle school.

I never talk about my past, because I don’t like to. It sucked. HARD. Being and only child in my family was nothing less than torture, especially as a closeted queer person. We grew up in the white Christian part of Nashville that dominated Music Row in the 90′s and early 2000′s. I played basketball with Alan Jackson’s daughter, and being around famous people was just no big deal. But, my parents decided to leave Nashville after my dad lost his job at TPAC, and we moved down south an hour to the town where the KKK got started (Pulaski, TN).

I had maybe two non-white people in my private Christian school growing up. I was never afraid of Black people, but my parents showed their racist asses quick when we moved there. The KKK has never left America, guys, no matter how many articles you read or studies you do. From 2005 to 2009 I saw a white town show its very worst to the Black community. I’ll never forget the first time I saw a march for “White Christians for Purity” the summer before Obama got elected. The disgust I felt inside was palpable. I had all kinds of friends in school, and I didn’t give TWO SHITS who they were or what they looked like... but I saw children my age, being brainwashed by their parents, that “white” is “right.”

Ever since then, I have been learning and growing about the issues of race. I remember my white classmates using the N word and getting away with it. I remember hearing about the principal at the high school punishing all the Black kids but not the white kids. I remember being invited to a church south of town that was a historically Black church, and how nice the ladies were to me for coming.

But I’ll never forget the racism that the religious groups promoted there, especially First Baptist Church and the 12 Tribes. I’ll never forget how FBC told me that my friend was going to Hell because she killed herself. I’ll never forget my mom telling me not to marry a Black man because of “impure genes.” I WILL NEVER FORGET THE INJUSTICES I SAW WHITE PEOPLE DOING TO BLACK PEOPLE THERE. NEVER.

And thank God, I have shaken the burden of religious guilt, but I still fight against this mentality. I live in a place that’s usually not even 10 minutes away from Trump-humping, sister-fucking, meth-addicted Confederate cunts in any direction. And we’re even closer to the rich white people who silently supported him, upset that their taxes would go up because of Biden.

And in the past four years since Trump got elected, I’ve gotten married, graduated college with honors, started my own photography business, and was making more than my husband there for a minute. I did my own taxes, marketing, editing, and everything. And then I came out as trans.

I lost everything.

I lost my studio. I lost friends. I had rumors started about me. I had people post hate messages on my wall. I had people at my drag shows tell others not to tip me, for whatever fucking reasons. I’ve had bosses give cis people jobs over me, and I’ve had government workers give me second looks when I hand them my license.

It. Fucking. Sucks. To. Live. Here. Like. This.

Oh yeah, did I mention I’m also a witch/medium? I’ve talked to dead people before and have told their relatives things I shouldn’t have known otherwise about their grandparents. Like, this information doesn’t even exist on Google. And I’m attuned to reiki. I’m always aware of what’s happening on at least SOME metaphysical level. This is a gift that I’ve had to go through life developing and learning about myself, with no one’s help but me.

I didn’t even know until I was an adult that I have autism and ADHD.

I’ve taken bullets from people who were about to kill themselves. I’ve yelled at 5th grade music classrooms for doing racist dance moves and appropriating Native Americans (I have a degree in Music Education K-12). I’ve consoled kids in classrooms who suddenly have panic attacks. AND I’ve told horny teenagers to stay in their fucking lane and respect the girls around them. I’ve apparently been an inspiration to those around me, but inspiration NOR exposure pays the bills. I’ve already had COVID, and so has my husband, but I knew that after graduating college that I would never have a fulfilling life being a music teacher in Tennessee’s public schools.

And now that we have COVID, and an orange, small-dicked, pedophilic, rape apologizing, dirty, crusty white president who STILL REFUSES TO CONCEDE, who is DIRECTLY RESPONSIBLE FOR HAVING HIS FOLLOWERS SEND DEATH THREATS TO MY FAMILY, I really don’t know what the fuck else to do other than go burn down all the houses I know of in North Georgia that belong to these Christian sex cult pedophiles and call it a day. My girlfriend unfortunately was born into one of those families, and I know just how bad it can get. In fact, her dad’s lawyer threatened me with blackmail earlier in November, so that was fun!

And now, on December 11, 2020, I’m still sitting here in the same fucking house, doing the same fucking things I’ve been doing all year - trying to get a job and failing horribly. I’M SICK AND TIRED OF THIS COVID BULLSHIT AND OUR INCOMPOTENT CUNT OF A PRESIDENT! And there’s only ever one other person I’ve ever called a cunt... my own mother.

I’ve lived in many places. I’ve met many different people. I’ve made mistakes, and have grown, but there’s one thing for damn sure that I always make sure to do, every single fucking day.

I ALWAYS try to do better.

In addition to this, I treat everyone with the same amount of respect, unless they have done something directly to me to negate that. If I know that someone believes in something that directly harms me or my family, I don’t even associate with them. I don’t spend my energy on things that don’t need it. And everyone else should, too.

The problem with some of y’all is that you care about the wrong things. Like will Becky text me back or did I get front row seats to that concert, or did I slave my life away to capitalism just so that I can own a Mercedes and have my friends jealous. I’ve had way too many dear death experiences to know that EVERY single fucking day is a gift. EVERY day.

I don’t want to be remembered first for the art I create. I want to be remembered for my character. I want to be remembered as the courageous person who never backed down in the face of adversity. But when you live in a place that already hates you and that is against you, that’s really fucking hard. Trust me. My marriage went from a cis straight passing couple to a white gay passing couple. I’ve seen how people’s attitudes changed around me as I transitioned. I know what it feels like to slowly lose a piece of your privilege you were born with.

So yeah, I kinda get a little fucking upset when I see people saying All Lives Matter, or when I see doctors refusing to treat trans patients in pandemics, or when I see cops YET AGAIN harassing Black people only a few blocks away from my house for no other reason than racism. And at this point, anyone who thinks they know me but only knows what people think they know about me can suck my entire ass and eat ten dicks. I don’t give a FUCK about who you are or what you’ve done. If you treat me or other people with no respect for no reason other than to be an asshole, you’re just plain shit. If you SERIOUSLY believe every little rumor and lie that someone tells about me before meeting me, fuck you AND the horse you rode in on.

What I can’t stand is people doing or saying things just to get a rise out of me or others. I thought we left petty shit in high school. Some of the people that “know” me really need to fucking grow up and grow a pair and either say what they want to my face, or stay mad. I’m tired of playing fucking petty games with y’all. We have a whole ass pandemic to solve.

So here’s the ultimatum... if you agree that Black Lives Matter and that queer people deserve basic human rights, EVEN THE ONES YOU HATE, then that’s the bare minimum to even be a decent person. If you can’t even do those things, then I don’t fucking know what else to say to you.

So NBC, maybe not have John Mulaney joke about my license debacle with my gold van on SNL, and Seth Meyers... maybe HIRE ME INSTEAD of Mulaney because clearly y’all don’t know about the south as much as I do? Oh, and that gazeebo joke with Lee University... I caught that. I may have autism, but I’m not a fucking idiot. I mean. I’m funny when I’m given the chance. And yeah, I’m on a watchlist, but who the fuck isn’t these days? At least all my secrets are out for the world to see, and I have a bangin’ tattoo.

I’m tired of everyone being like “omg, I’ve seen what he can do, it’s fantastic!” or “omg you’re so funny haha” and bragging on me and then NOT FUCKING HIRING ME. I’m TIRED of waiting on something that’s clearly at this point never coming.

I don’t even have testicles, and my balls are bigger than most of the cis men I have EVER met.

So, if you want to help me, or hire me, or get me out to an audition... I’ll be there. But until then, I’m so fucking MAD at some of these producers. Yeah, my mom is a cunt, but she worked in various forms of digital production from the 1980′s until she retired this year. She taught me SO MUCH about directing, writing, shooting, and more. I know how these things are supposed to run behind the scenes. I know what the fuck I’m doing, and I don’t take constructive criticism like a bitch. I actually WANT to be criticized, so I can do even better.

So PLEASE, for the love of Christ... y’all need to get your priorities together AND PLEASE STOP LEAVING ME OUT OF THE LOOP WITH THIS BULLSHIT. Grow a fucking pair and either call me, email me, or leave me alone. It’s really not that fucking hard. Looking at you, Lorne Michaels.

Oh and someone tell my husband what the fuck’s been going on because I’m tired of him gaslighting me about it.

[blissfulparker]

Highschool Sweetheart→p.p.

Parings→Peter Parker x reader

Summary→you write little notes in your yearbook about each person. But what does peters say?

Warnings→fluff

A/n→this was originally a concept post. Someone sent this in and this is the cutest! I forgot who sent it because the person did come off anon so if you’re out there let me know so I can give you the credit for the idea! Update! Their @ is @softstefcn

“Ned we need to do something!” Peters voice cracks as he scoots his desk closer to Ned’s during algebra. Ned perks up and looks at his best friend with a distraught look.

At the end of the year, just about every student bought a yearbook. A large hardcover book with all the high school memories in it. You had one just like everyone else, although you were treating yours differently. You and Betty joked around, you made notes on students you knew. You drew on flashes face, ‘rich brat who is Spider-Man’s fanboy’. Or how you doodled all over brads photo, ‘once a dork, now kinda hot.’ He knew you had to have written one about him.you two were friends and had written one about MJ and Ned, so there was definitely one about him.

He even heard you giggling about it with Betty at lunch the other day.

“What about peter?” She giggled and you look up with wide eyes.

“Our peter?” You asked and Betty nodded as she flipped to a picture of pete.

“Peter Parker...”

Was all he heard before ned rudely interrupted his spying that day and now it hasn’t left his mind.

“What?” Ned looked up and peter looked back over to you.

“(Y/n)’s yearbook. I need it.” He says and ned grows a soft smirk.

“Oh, I see. You wanna write your phone number. That’s cute peter but a little cliché—“ He starts and peter shakes his head.

“No, no, (y/n) and Betty wrote something about me and I wanna know what they wrote.” He looks over and sees you work on the problem. Your lip between your teeth, that meant you didn’t understand yet we’re too scared to ask the teacher for help. He knew your body language very well.

He wanted to know so badly, he wanted to know if you wrote anything about liking him. Or maybe you wrote something about how much you hate him. He needed to know.

“You want to take her yearbook so you can see if they wrote something about you? Of course they did.” Ned says and peter peeks up with a soft smile.

“Do you know what they wrote?” Peter asks and ned shrugs.

“No, but in chemistry I over heard her giggle while she wrote something down and it started with ‘peter Parker...’ that’s all I heard. I don’t know what they wrote but I know they wrote something.” Ned says and peter goes down.

“That’s What I heard at lunch too! Please, I need to know. I wanna ask her out but I don’t know if she likes me.” Peter says and ned rolls his eyes hearing the same conversation as usual when it came to peters little—huge—crush on you.

“Then ask her if she likes you. It’s kinda obvious that she does. That pink skirt you told her she looked good in? She wears that all the time because of you, Betty told me.” Ned says going back to the math problem.

“She does that?” He smiles thinking about you in the pink skirt. “Anyways, I need my hands on that book.” He says and ned puts his paper back in the folder knowing he’s not getting anything done.

“Peter, I get it, you want help from a man who experienced love...” Ned starts and peter furrows his Brows.

“That’s not what I wanted—“

“Just ask to sign her yearbook, I’ll distract her, then when you see what she wrote and I’m sure it’s not terrible. Then ask her on a date to that coffee shop she likes.” Ned gives him advice and peter sees how it’s not that bad.

“Okay, next period in history?” Peter asks and ned nods as the bell rings as if its on cue.

Peter has never been more excited for history. He takes a seat at his desk and taps his foot eagerly waiting for you to waltz on in holding the midtown high yearbook.

There you were, blue sweater and blue jeans, the outfit was simple but peter looked at you like you were the only girl in the world.

“(Y/n)!” Peter smiled as he walked over to your desk.

“Hey pete.” You smile and he looks down at the book.

“Can I sign your—“ He starts but then the last bell rings.

“Parker, take a seat.” The teacher spoke and peter sighed as he made his way back to his desk and sat down in the metal chair. Instead of listening to the teacher he spent his whole lecture looking at you, the way you took notes and the way you would bite your lip when something confused you. He wanted so badly to know what was written in that book about him.

He watched as the worksheet went out as it was now his time to get his hands on that book.

“(Y/n)!” Peter started but quickly brad came in front of him seeming to be wanting the same thing. Peters jaw clenched as he walked over to ned.

“Ned! I need your help!” He whispered and ned looked over to you who seemed a little too friendly with brad.

“Oh right!” Ned smiles as he gets up from his desk and makes his way to start talking to you. Ned inneruped brad and with the sly movement of his hand, he pushed the book over to peter.

Peter signed his name with a small note on the last page before quickly flipping to the ‘pa’ last names.

He skimmed though all of it until he found his awkward year book picture surrounded by hearts.

‘Peter Parker, the prettiest and sweetest boy I know.(also really suspicious)’

was written in black and silver sharpie and it made peters heart flip. You thought he was pretty, wasn’t exactly what he was going for but he looked at other people’s and no one else had Hearts around their pictures and it seemed to be everyone of peters pictures had hearts, you had drew little hearts around the field trip to the stark tower around peters picture.

‘My sweetest pumpkin boy!’ Made peters heart flip as you wrote ‘pumpkin’ as an inside joke from the eighth grade when aunt may made all of you carve pumpkins and peter ended up doing yours to try and show off. That was before he acted weird around people.

Peter grew red and then all of the sudden the last bell rang. You stood up and peter handed you back your yearbook.

“Oh, you signed it?” You asked and he nodded. His beet red face made you nervous, he looked nervous which made you nervous.

“Yep, my signature is under Ned’s.” He smiles akwardly and you nodded.

“Okay...I was wondering if you did the worksheet for math? I need help and you’re the only—“ you start and peter can’t help the word vomit that comes next.

“I think you’re really pretty too!” He squeaks and your mouth falls open and you start to feel embarrassed. He saw what you did to his pictures, like a fifth grade girl, drawing little hearts and love notes around your crush.

You liked peter, a lot, any time you’d try and ask him out he’d get weird and quickly run away. You thought maybe he didn’t like you but he did it to a lot of people. He’d just look down at his phone or look down at his arms that always seemed to have goosebumps even in the hottest weather.

“W-what?” You ask as you start to move out of the classroom.

“You wrote that you thought I was pretty, I think you’re pretty too.” He blushes hard and you smile. You don’t really know what to say, you’ve imagined peter asking you out, hell you’ve dreamed about it every night. But now that it was happening, you feel like you don’t have the right words.

“I—uh...was just playing around!” You grip the book right to your chest. You and peter step off to the side. Peter can’t get his eyes off of you, his eyes locked with yours no matter how hard you try and break eye contact.

“I think you’re pretty, handsome? Whatever. I just didn’t think you liked me.” You tapped your finger nails against the book.

“Why would you think I don’t like you?” He asks and you give him a dumbfounded look.

“Because everytime I try and talk to you alone you run away, it’s kinda rude pete. Actually, it’s really rude—“ something in peter snapped, his heart pounding as he leaned in and pressed a quick peck to your lips.

Your eyes are wide, forgetting what you said before. You felt peter Parker’s lips against yours. The boy you had a crush on sinice middle school kissed you.

“I like—“ He starts but you lean in and kiss him like he did you. Peter let his hands find the side of your arms pulling him closer to you.

“Hey! You two!” Mr. Harrington pointed and you immediately pulled yourself away from peter. “Go home.” He said as if he was tired of catching teens makeout in the hallway.

You have a soft smile on your face as peter is still holding your arms.

“Uhh, you said you needed help with that worksheet from math?” He asked and you laughed s little before letting your hand touch his cheek and then finding His hand and walking down the hall.

“Let’s go, loser.” You smile as you hold peters hand down the hall.

“We should go to your favorite coffee place?” He suggests and you smile knowing that either Betty or Ned told him to tell you that.

“Sure, you can help me and kiss me all you want over a hazelnut latte.”

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[har-rison-s]

pretty proud

“pretty” part four

request: Maybe one based off the one about Bill’s older sister and Stan except she’s the person that Richie told about his crush on Eddie, and at the dinner scene, she smiles at Richie because she knows and as they’re leaving the restaurant, she hugs him and tells him it’s okay to still have feelings and she encourages him to go after Eddie 

A/N: Hello. I love this and I love continuing the Pretty series. Also, I want to write some Reddie as of now. I feel like I could be very good at writing them, and maybe I should try out something direct some day. Let's see about that :) Anywho, I think Pretty's gonna end with this and one more chapter. I think that'd be pretty swell. Happy reading!

IT masterlist

main masterlist

gif credit goes to owners, which isn’t me!

“Hey, uh, Brooke Shields--” Richie started to say. Y/N lifted her head to him, a little carelessly, but ready to listen to whatever he's got to say. “Sorry, Y/N.” He added then, and Y/N smiles, her eyes closing. They were alone in the Denbrough kitchen. Bill, Eddie and Stanley were cleaning the rest of the house while Richie was put on kitchen duty. The boys had had a sleepover, in which Y/N also participated in, and Bill had already made them promise they'd help him with cleaning everything up afterwards. And Y/N had wandered into the kitchen while Richie was still there.

“I don't mind. I kinda like the nickname.” Y/N shrugged. “Something you wanted to say?”

“Yeah, uh... “ Richie looked down. “No, nevermind, I shouldn't.”

Y/N walked over to Richie and put her hand on his shoulder. “It's okay. You can… You can trust me. What's wrong?”

“I know we're not the best of friends, I don't know if I should.” The boy says. “I mean, I just… It's not right - what I want to say, I…”

Y/N sat the boy down at the kitchen counter and then took a seat next to him. She leaned her back against the counter so she'd be facing Richie. “Take your time. We've got plenty.” She told him and patiently waited.

“I just… Just promise me you won't tell anyone. Anyone at all.” Richie looked into her eyes very strongly. Y/N nodded, but furrowed her eyebrows. She's a little wary of what he wanted to say. 

“I won't tell anyone.” 

“Okay, uh…” Richie looked down again and sighs. He opened his mouth to speak, but then closed it. “Jeez, I'm such a pussy, I can't even say words.”

“Richie, it's okay. You can relax around me, I'm not judging.” Y/N assured him. “Tell me.” She said softer.

“Well, alright, I'll do my best. God, I never say such things.” Richie breathed in sharply. “Um, okay. Okay, I… I think I might have… I might like, I definitely might like Eddie.” He finally said, his voice quieter than before, and felt like a horribly heavy stone had fallen off his heart. He breathed deeply, remembering that he can actually breathe, and for a moment Y/N even thought he'd be having an asthma attack. 

“You like him?” Y/N echoed quietly. Richie nodded, but hesitantly and shamefully, and he took off his glasses. He put them down on the counter in front of him. Richie rubbed his eyes. “Hey, hey, don't you cry.” Y/N's hand was once again on Richie's shoulder and she moved her thumb back and forth to give him some sort of soothe. “It's okay to have feelings. It's okay.” Richie sighed shakily. “For how long do you think you've liked him?” 

“I don't--I don't know exactly.” Richie said. “Is it really okay? I mean I'm… I've never met someone… I don't even know if I am…”

“Richie, it is okay.” Y/N said. “It's totally human. We love who we love. And there's nothing wrong with that. It's love.” She shrugged. “Does anyone else know?”

“No!” Richie almost shouted, contradictory to his rule about keeping his voice down. Y/N visibly tensed up at his outburst. “Sorry. No, nobody else knows. I'm scared for anyone to know.”

“Wouldn't you want to trust Stanley with this? He's your best friend. If you don't wanna tell Eddie, which I understand very well.” 

“I don't know… That's true, yeah, but… I don't know. He might look at me different. And you might.”

“Well, I don't.” Y/N stated confidently. “You're still the same Richie.” She told him. 

“Thanks.” Richie said. “How do you have so much wisdom at fifteen-years-old? You're some sort of witch… Y/N the Wise.”

Y/N laughed. “Thanks, Richie.” There's a pause. “Don't be ashamed of your feelings, alright? It's harder to do than to say, but… They're normal feelings. You're not a freak or anything.”

Richie nodded and sniffed. He put his glasses back on and he turned his head to the kitchen entrance door. Someone had just entered through it.

“Hey, Rich, did you clean everything yet? We're thinking of going to the Arcade.” It was Eddie. “Oh, hey, Y/N.”

Y/N remembers very well how scared, but in awe Richie looked at that moment. His eyes had fallen on the first and only love of his life. And for a moment, the Trashmouth was silent. He took a long look upon Eddie before becoming his usual self again.

She looks at the boy now grown up into a man. All boys and Beverly still look like kids in Y/N's eyes, it's so strange to see them again. Bill she had met frequently during this twenty-seven years period, but her brother doesn't carry any significant change in appearance or otherwise.

It's truly strange to see Bill's friends grown up. Y/N can barely believe her eyes. And she wonders where's Stanley. Is he late? Is he not coming? Has something happened to him along the way? But she tries to keep these questions out of her mind, figuring they worry her too much and keep her away from the people actualy present.

Richie looks the same, she could say. He's just… Ah, but he's different. Seems like this contradiction fits all the Losers. Richie's still his old self, and Y/N's glad he hasn't changed. She's sitting between him and Eddie, and at first she thought it'd be torture, but it's funny sitting between the two. They still bicker, they still cuss at each other, but they still joke around, as well. That's what makes sitting between them so fun. 

And when she remembers her and Richie's conversation in the Denbrough kitchen all those years ago, she suddenly feels strange sitting between Richie and his first crush. And she feels so much love and support for Richie, just like she did when they were kids. She's so proud of him. He's grown up well and has made a name for himself, and he's still the same Richie. The same funny, but deeply caring Richie Tozier she remembers knowing as one of her brother's friends. The boy who always gave everyone nicknames and covered his anxieties with comedy. 

Richie notices her looking at him longingly and glances at her. “What is it, Shields?” Richie asks and Y/N laughs, holding her belly. She shakes her head, still giggling, and only smiles fondly at Richie. He has once again used the nickname he gave her as a teenager. It's a reference to her extreme resemblance to the actress Brooke Shields. Every teenage boy in the 1980's loved her and wished to have a girl like her in their arms, including, for a while, Richie and his friends.

“I only remembered something.” She says and reaches for her beer. 

“What? About what?”

“Your mom.”

The Losers burst into laughter when Trashmouth gets silenced by Y/N using his own joke, the loudest one being Eddie. Someone's got back at Trashmouth finally! Richie instead sits at the table trying to suppress his smile. The alcohol makes him a little sheepish. Richie's proud that Y/N's outdone him, but he's embarrassed, too, and won't admit it. He feels embarrassment for one of the few times in his life. 

“Oh man, Shields, I thought I could trust you.” Richie states, shaking his head, which only makes Y/N laugh harder. “You traitor.”

“You'll get back at me in no time, I bet.” She replies and pats Richie's shoulder. This gesture brings back a forgotten memory to Richie. A forgotten, or perhaps, gladly hidden away conversation he had with Y/N a long time ago. Or maybe it's just a made-up dream. No, it feels like a memory. Just like the one where he and Big Bill went to the house on Neibolt Street. Or Henry Bowers calling him Trashmouth. 

Richie suddenly looks away from her and instead glances at Eddie sitting next to her. But he looks at the man for only half a second. He fears that looking at him will somehow expose Richie. He can't explain this feeling, but it's strong enough to make him stare into table in front of him, and not at any of his friends.

The dinner came to a close soon, a terror thrown by a row of fortune cookies being the closing act and scaring the bejesus out of everyone for the rest of the evening. And the mystery that came out of the little papers ate away at Y/N's mind. Though she wants to stay focused on it and listen to what Beverly can get from calling Stanley himself, she also wants to speak to Richie. To both take her mind off the worries and to remind him of something. 

“Hey, Rich,” she tugs on his arm and Richie immediately turns around to her, stopping in his tracks. Eddie turns for a second, as well, wondering what's the matter, but soon joins the others going outside, leaving Y/N and Richie in the lobby.

“Yeah?” Richie asks, seemingly clueless about what Y/N could want to say. Something about Stanley? Does she know if anything's happened?

But Y/N only embraces him. Well, she does her best to embrace the six foot tall Richie while being not so tall herself. He furrows his eyebrows at the gesture, but he wraps his arms around her in response and lets his head fall on her shoulder. Even if his face is still scrunched in confusion and his mind wanders to all the possibilities that could have led to this hug. 

“I saw the look in your eyes at the table.” She tells him, and she even laughs, relieved. A proud tear escapes her eyes. “You still like him, don't you?” Y/N then pulls back to see the certainty in Richie's eyes. He turns his head slightly, not catching onto her at first. But then he gets it, and he understands the memory that came back earlier better.

“Eddie?” He whispers and quickly glances over his shoulder to see if the mentioned person is anywhere near them. He's standing outside and waving at Richie and Y/N, waving them over to the rest of the group. Richie huffs and looks back at Y/N. “It's so weird, Y/N, that… That I feel everything coming back so suddenly. Eddie, you guys, my whole childhood… And…”

“And the feeling's strong, right?” Y/N finishes, and Richie nods. She smiles wide, another proud tear making its way out on her cheek. “God, Richie, it's so wonderful. You should… Maybe you should finally tell him.”

To this Richie's face twists in the opposite feeling of pleasure, and he wants to shake his head. But then he thinks, hey, maybe I should. No. No way. He probably doesn't even--

“Come on, take the risk.” Y/N whispers and nods. “Who knows how many of us are coming out of this alive? What can you lose?”

“Y/N, I could lose everything. My whole childhood with him, and my best friend with that. I don't know what he'd tell me back!” Richie panics. “If he'd have anything to say…”

Y/N realises it's not so easy for Richie, after all. It's not easy at all. She sighs quietly. “I don't want to push it on you, but you know… The feelings are true, Richie.” She states. “And they're beautiful feelings. I hope you don't feel ashamed by them.”

Richie huffs again and looks around for a brief moment, panic in his eyes still, but calmer now. “It's really hard not to.” He tells her. “God, I remember how I told you... Only you. No one else knows, right?” Y/N shakes her head. “Oh, God, okay, good.” Richie breathes deeply.

“I was really the only one you told?”

Richie nods. “Yes.” He pauses. “Thank you.” He tells her and pulls her small form into another hug, and his strong hold almost crushes her bones. But Y/N loves this hug, she loves the feeling she's now getting from Richie. “Thank you for that. For everything, really. You always had the right words to say.” 

“Maybe we are best friends, after all.” Y/N tells him and chuckles. Richie gives a shakier chuckle in response.

“Don't you underestimate that, Shields, we're definitely best friends.” He pulls back from her and then turns towards the door. Y/N smiles so proudly at Richie, feeling as though she might burst from pride. “Let's go outside and get the hell out of here.” Richie suggests. Y/N nods, though hesitantly, wanting to see what her brother thinks in terms of leaving or staying before she makes up her own mind, but follows Richie out the door anyway.

Their friends seem to be in a sort-of shocked stance, all of them, and when Richie and Y/N see their friends, it confuses and scares them. What has happened?

“Guys, why the long faces?” Richie asks, and Y/N chuckles at the humorous question. Beverly turns to the smiling Y/N, and so do the rest of her friends.

They know what kind of impact the news they've got will have on Y/N, and they feel so sorry for her. They hesitate to talk. They hesitate because none of them really want to hurt her. She would never live through it, Ben thinks, but Bill, instead, is sure of it. He knows his sister like the back of his hand. The news will kill her. He probably holds the most concern in his eyes when he looks at her, deeply wishing she wouldn't have to face this terrible truth.

And maybe it's some sort of sibling connection, maybe not, but Y/N looks at Bill first. “What's happened?” She asks carefully, scared of what she will get in response.

Bill gulps and glances at Beverly. They're asking each other who will be the bearer of bad news. Bill huffs. And his eyes tell Beverly that he can't do it. So Beverly looks down for a moment, readying herself for what she will say and how Y/N could react, and then looks straight into Y/N's eyes. She looks at Bev then, wondering what's that strange look on her face. As if she'd seen a ghost, or looked straight into death's pitless eyes.

“Honey, Stanley's…” Beverly gulps, “Stanley's dead.”

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[purplesurveys]

871

Tell me...

Something about your family? We’re very emotionally distant and we haven’t hugged each other since my siblings and I were kids. Luckily I’ve found friends who are very expressive and fill my need for occasional affection.

Something about your age? Taylor Swift has a song about it and a line from it has become a very cliché social media caption for whenever somebody turns 22.

Something about your childhood friends? Pretty much all of them have migrated either to the US or Canada, and the only one that’s remained my friend is Angela.

Something about your eating habits? I skipped meals so much throughout high school and college that my body has adapted to it, and it takes a longer time for me to go hungry now.

Something you do every day? Greet my dog.

Something you've only tried once? Gulab jamun, an Indian dessert. It looked super appetizing on the menu and I thought it would be something like doughnut holes, but I had never been more wrong. The balls themselves were fine, but the syrup just clashed so badly with my tongue. I love Indian food, but I have no regrets taking one bite out of a dish I had to pay in full for. Something about your job/school? The campus is so big we’re the only university in the whole country to have its own transportation system. Students usually take jeepneys to go from one class to another. Something you'd like to do before you die? Go to a Wrestlemania :) Something you want to change? The entire Philippine government.

Something you wish never changed? Kimi being alive and kicking. I wish he can stay with me forever. Something about the weather? I’m so glad it’s not too humid tonight. It can be colder, but at least I’m not sweating through my shirt and at least I don’t feel the need to bitch about the weather. Something about your country? It’s a whole goddamn mess, but don’t even get me started on that now... just know that it’s miserable being here, in all ways you can think of. Something about this month? July was the month of my original breakup with Gabie, so I like poking fun at it with her every July 23rd. Something about your house? It has a rooftop, and a wide open space is all I can ask for in a house. I like going there to be alone, reflect on things, play my music, etc. Something about your experiences? My experiences on...? Lmao this is very vague. Something bad that has happened? I have several cuts and marks on my skin c/o Cooper biting me a little too hard sometimes when we play. The worst one is a gash on my right leg. He’s a total sweetheart, but he just gets too excited literally all the time so I try to be patient with him. Something good that has happened? I have a cheesecake all to myself and tonight my mom got me a pack of revel bars :) I missed my sweeeeeeets. Something you miss? Drinking during weeknights and basically being dumb college kids with my friends. Something you're looking forward to? Drinking during weeknights and being a-little-less-dumb fresh graduates with my friends. Something you've read recently? I read up on the disappearance of Brian Shaffer earlier tonight because of a Reddit post I came across.

Something you've heard? Recently? The notif sound for my Twitter rang on my phone two minutes ago because someone sent me a DM. Something you've seen that amazed you? Cooper has started climbing up our stairs by god he’s learning so much shit SO FAST. He can do the first three steps on his own, but I have to have my hands ready by his back and butt for the rest of the higher steps because he’s not too tall yet and might miss and tumble all the way down. Something you want to say to someone? I miss you, and I wish you were graduating with us. Something you wish you never said to someone? There was one time I told Gab something, but I genuinely wasn’t able to realize how hurtful it was. I really meant it innocently but once she broke down and cried and explained it to me, I felt like utter shittttttttttt. I don’t wanna say it on here though, it still makes me wince to this day. Something you wish more people knew about you? I’m really really nice, just approach me first. Something you wish people didn't know about you? I don’t think like this. I wear my heart on my sleeve, no regrets on that front. Something you have always wanted? Money. Something you've got that no one else has? Extensive knowledge on the 1980s sitcom Perfect Strangers because of the time my parents introduced me to it when I was 10. I’d be very surprised (and excited, lol) if I meet someone as enthusiastic about the show in 2020. Something you're interested in this year? Kanye West announcing that he’s running for president has got me invested in that side of US politics loooooooooooool

Something you remember from 2001? Having ‘camping trips,’ which meant sleeping in a tent in our family room. Something you don't understand? Hawaiian, for one. Something you'd like to see? I’d love to see an aurora borealis at least once. Something you wish you were asked? Ok so I’m not directly answering the question but it’s kinda related? but it’d be cool if some companies contacted me hahaha. This is definitely not to say that I’m lazy and that I wanna let companies do the recruiting for me lol, but I only went with my answer because when I heard about job-hunting experiences from my older friends when they graduated, all of them told me that some companies were the ones who contacted them – I didn’t even know that was possible. It’d be pretty exciting just to get one call, haha.

[petersshirts]

The Truth | tom holland

summary: tom just can’t hide his feelings anymore

warnings: none, just fluff

words: 1,7 k

A/N: this is for @hollandsosterfield and @spidey-caps birthday writing challenge, i chose the prompt „I sleep better if you’re around.“ with my boi tom, i hope you enjoy!! and as always, feedback is greatly appreciated!

„Y/N, you’re up!“ The voice of an unfamiliar man woke you from your daydreams and you looked up, trying to remember where you were. There were people all around you, fixing cameras and talking quietly while you just sat there, waiting for the next interview.

You just nodded and got up to walk to the blue couch that was still empty but as soon as you sat down, you heard a familiar laugh that made your insides churn. Tom walked into the room and shook hands with a few of the journalists, that handsome smile never leaving his lips.

You had always hated press tours. Especially with Marvel - there was never anything you could really talk about and it seemed like you never slept. But with Tom around, you never wanted this to be over. Your co-star always lit up every room he walked in, just like he lit up your heart.

You had met Tom on the day of your audition for the first Spider-Man movie and you were completely overwhelmed. This was your first movie and Tom was just so nice and welcoming - he showed you the food and encouraged you all day, knowing somehow that you would get the part. And since that, you just couldn’t stop thinking about him.

You knew that you were only co-stars and you were just playing one of his classmates - but somehow it felt like so much more. There were stolen glances in between takes and smiles that were just meant for you. But you never dared to make the next step. The two of you spend a few nights in hotel rooms watching movies and falling asleep together, but there was never more. You were too afraid to let him in.

„Hey, you.“ Tom whispered and send you a smile that made you weak in the knees. Thank god for that couch you were sitting on. „H- hi.“ It was always hard for you to talk to him - you always wondered why he even talked to you. There were so many more beautiful girls out there like Zendaya. God, Zendaya. She was a goddess.

„How’s LA been treating you?“ Toms’ eyes were full of curiosity and you could only smile, happy that someone like Tom was around. He really cared about the people around him. But you hoped that he could care a bit more about you.

„It’s been good. The city’s just a bit too big for me.“ Tom nodded, knowing how you felt. Just like him, you were from the UK but you came from a much smaller town than him. Because of that, the two of you hit it right off. When you started talking, it felt like Tom was a long lost friend you’ve been looking for. With him, you were not an outcast surrounded by Americans.

„I know the feeling. I’m so excited to head back home.“ You smiled at Tom but before you could answer him, you were interrupted by the interviewer talking to the camera to tell you that the interview was starting and it was time to put on that smile you just wanted to throw in the trash.

After a few hours of talking about a movie you couldn’t really talk about, the day was finally done. Tom had a few more interviews with Jake Gyllenhaal, so you just waved at him before you left the room. But with you turning your back away from Tom, you didn’t see the longing look on his face.

Since it was already 6 pm, you told your driver to bring you back to the hotel. There were only two more days left until you headed back home to your family for a week. In your room, you ordered room service and changed into some comfy pyjamas and opened Netflix. When you look at the list of your recently watched movies, you had to grin.

Last week, Tom told you that he had never watched the Princess Diaries so you forced him to watch it with you. And he loved it. Tom was such a sap at heart and you just loved watching him laugh out loud and just smile like a goofball through the whole movie. After you finished the first one, Tom insisted on watching the second one and even though it was pretty late you agreed, because you just couldn’t say no to him.

But as soon as the intro started, you fell asleep. Tom covered you with a blanket and when you woke the next morning, he was still there. Your stomach erupted with butterflies when you saw his sleeping face right next to you, his mouth slightly open and his curls all over the place. He looked so peaceful at that moment and you had wished that you could stay like this forever. You wanted to reach out and touch his hair and wake him up with a kiss, but you were just friends.

You sighed and looked for something else to watch to get your mind off the British boy. It was particularly hard when you saw him every day, trying to tell yourself that he was way too good for you.

Room service arrived pretty quickly and you found yourself on the bed, eating your burger and fries while watching a sad romantic movie that was just right up your alley. When you finished the food, the movie was getting more heart-wrenching and you started crying, always really touched by those cliche movies. Suddenly, there was a knock on your door and your eyes widened, wondering who would want something for you this late at night.

You hopped off the bed without a second thought and rushed to the door, only to reveal the by that you couldn’t stop thinking about. Tom smiled at you but as soon as he saw your tears, he looked a lot more worried. He moved forward and grabbed your arms, his eyes searching for what caused those tears.

„Hey, are you okay?“ You couldn’t help yourself and started to giggle, causing Tom to look even more concerned. „Yeah, I was just watching a sad movie. I’ll be fine.“ Tom let out a breath and smiled, happy that nothing was wrong. He would hate himself if there was something he had done.

„What are you doing here?“ You raised an eyebrow, not sure why he had shown up in front of your room. Normally, he would send you a text and ask if he could come over to talk, but it was unusual for him to just show up in front of your door. But to be honest - you weren’t complaining.

Suddenly, Tom started to blush and look to the ground, avoiding your gaze. „Uhm, I kinda need to talk to you. Can I come in?“ Well, this was even weirder. But you just smiled and opened the door wider.

Tom walked in and you followed him, slowly realising that your room looked like a complete mess. There were plates everywhere and it looked like a raccoon just ravished this place. But Tom didn’t even comment on that and just sat down on the bed, his eyes still fixated on the ground. Something must be terribly wrong.

You sat down next to him, unsure what to say. You fidgeted with your fingers, hoping that he would actually say something. Maybe he had girl problems and he needed your help. That would be the worst - how could you help the boy you really liked with another girl??„Okay, I’m just gonna say it.“ Tom finally looked up and right into your eyes. You just stared at him, waiting.

„I like you, Y/N. For quite a while now. And I don’t know if you feel the same but I just can’t stand watching from the side when I just want you to be mine.“ Your eyes widened and you tried to understand what Tom just said The exact words you’ve been dreaming of for a long time. You wanted to tell him the same thing, that you just couldn’t stop thinking about him whenever he was near or gone, but Tom was faster than you.

„And I know that it’s pretty cliche with us being co-stars but when I saw you the first time and I saw you smile, I just couldn’t stop thinking about you. You’re my match, Y/N. Whenever we had those movie nights and you fell asleep, I just wanted to hold you close and kiss you, but I was never sure that you felt the same way. But now I’m selfish. And I’m sorry if this is…“ but before he could say anything else, you grabbed his hand to get his attention. A smile was on your lips and you just grinned at the boy, your heart beating a million times a minute.

„Tom, I feel the same way. I always wanted to tell you but I was just too scared.“ Now it was Toms’ turn to look shocked, but soon he started to grin like a 10-year-old. „Does that mean I can kiss you?“ His words were only a whisper and you could only nod, a blush rising on your cheeks.

Tom slowly moved forward and your lips met his and a small whine escaped his throat. Your hands wandered to his waist, pulling him closer, wanting to feel him. Tom nudged your nose and you giggled, happy that everything had finally fallen into place.

Soon, Tom moved you on the bed and the two of you cuddled while you finished the movie you started. And when it was don, you asked him to stay. Toms’ face lit up and he just nodded when he turned off the light turning the room into complete darkness. Tom nuzzled his face into your neck and you sighed, the smile never leaving your lips. Finally, after all those years, things had fallen into place.

„I sleep better if you’re around.“ Tom mumbled into your neck and you laughed at the soft touch, but you knew exactly what he meant. With him, you felt safe. Like everything would be even brighter the next day with your boy by your side.

I would love some feedback! x

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[poeedamerons]

all I know, all I know (loving you is a losing game)

Read it on A03

Ps: I know it’s December and I am posting a Halloween fic but that's just how my muse works and I can't do much about it, but I hope you guys enjoy this.

Michael would never admit it out loud, but he is absolutely afraid of anything even remotely scary. Halloween truly is the stuff of nightmares to him. With that being said, it is no wonder that his heart is pounding so fast he is afraid he might faint. All because he got roped into going to Roswell’s Horrorland.

As if the city’s reputation of alien activity wasn’t enough, it was decided that Roswell should also be the place for all fans of horror and aliens to go to on Halloween (Michael could actually punch whoever had that idea in the first place). Hence the new alien haunted themed park right on the outskirts of the city, surrounded by the eerie New Mexico desert.

It was just his luck that his boyfriend was not only an alien enthusiast (he is dating Michael, after all) but also a huge fan of Halloween. Almost obsessively.

Michael really didn’t get it and was absolutely positively-one-hundred-per-cent-a-fucking-fraid. The cherry on the top is that no one knows this. If people think that being an actual alien is his biggest secret, they have another thing coming their way.

He is secure in his masculinity, but admitting this secret out loud feels very… well, emasculating. Plus, no one would ever let him down gently for this. He would be bulldozed by their teasing, and Alex? Alex would be merciless; he is sure of it.

So, thanks but no thanks. He will keep a death grip on his jacket pocket and pray to any and all gods that might have been listening to keep his other hand from sweating too much into Alex’s.

“Come on, Guerin!” Alex’s gleeful laughter distracted him from his death infused trance as they strolled inside the gates of the themed park alongside their friends. The younger man was pulling him through their joined hands with the excitement of a child on Christmas day and Michael had to keep the butterflies in his stomach in check. Sadly, for him, the butterflies had more to do with the fact that he might, in reality, throw up than adoration over Alex’s joy.

Michael really thought he could survive this night with careful dodging and fake enjoyment, but he could feel in his gut that this was going to be a disaster.

The stuff he did for love, really.

Before he could quite grasp what was going on – the flashing lights, bright neon paint everywhere and fake smoke impairing his senses – they were next in line to board a ride called “Moon Base”. Initially, the name sounded non-threatening to Michael, but the closer they got to the ride’s entry gate, the louder the screams were and sweat started to exude from him in buckets. He had no idea how Alex hadn't noticed how wet he was through his clothes.

His friends were chatting excitedly in front of him, but Michael felt like the room was spinning around in slow motion and noises seemed far away from him. He could already feel a peculiar wave of nausea in the pit of his stomach.

“Michael, come on!” Alex urged, pulling him by his wrist and he hummed in agreement, as that was all form of communication he could muster.

His feet seemed to have a life of their own as they led him to his seat, next to Alex’s. He buckled his belt in a trance, the muscles in his jaw clenching in anticipation. As it turned out the ride consisted of an elevator drop, it raised you all the way to the top, dropping down one floor at a time. On every floor the room would shake and cast members dressed in costumes from a 1980s style gory alien movie would come out to scare the people on the ride.

His hand clutched the railings on his seat, knuckles turning white as the metal creases and creaks beneath his palm. Fuck, fuck, fuck Michael thought. This was literally the worst thing that has ever happened to him and they are still going up.

Only when the ride finally started its doomed way down and Michael started screaming bloody murder did Alex and the others close to him finally noticed that, in fact, he was not okay.

“Michael, are you okay?” He could hear Alex yelling at him, trying to get him to hear over the noise of the ride and other peoples screams, but all he was able to do was to keep his eyes tightly shut and scream at the top of his lungs as blood thumped in his ears.

“Michael???” Alex's voice was frantic, and he felt his boyfriend’s hand reach into his, but the warmth of the other man’s fingers was not enough to calm his hammering heart down.

“Fuck, we need to stop this ride,” was the last thing Michael remembered hearing before it all suddenly stopped. He felt people around him, his belt being unbuckled, and his death grip being moved out of the way. Light filtered through the back of his eyelids.

“Babe?” He could hear Alex's voice calling to him and when he, unwillingly, he might add, opened his eyes he could see worried looks stamped on everyone’s faces. He was still shaking and his heart rate was wildly out of control, rapidly hammering against his ribcage. His legs felt numb and he just wanted to lie down and never wake up.

“Hey there, big guy. Let’s get you outta here, okay?” His boyfriend's gentle voice filled the room, and he was one hundred percent down with this, but he had no idea how he would achieve it; but once again all he knew is that indeed he was led out of that death trap and onto a bench. A water bottle was shoved in front of him, and he gulped its contents greedily.

He had no idea how long they sat down together – Alex the only one remaining with him in what apparently was a group decision to give him space – but eventually, he started feeling better as the gut-wrenching fear passed.

Alex reached for his free hand, pulling it up all the way to his lips, placing a gentle warm kiss on the inside of his wrist. “Are you feeling better now?” Alex still sounded worried.

Michael deeply exhaled through his nose, groaning quietly before giving his boyfriend a one-word answer. “Yes.”

“I don’t want to push, but babe, please tell me. What happened?” His boyfriend, for someone so observant and smart, sometimes could be so blind. If he hadn’t almost had a heart attack minutes ago he would be astonished at the extent of Alex’s absent-mindedness.

“I really, really don’t want to talk about it.” He tried to keep the distress out of his voice, getting up in an attempt to run from this conversation, but Alex’s light squeeze of his hands told him he wasn’t successful.

“Michael, please talk to me,” Alex urged helplessly. “You really scared me in there.”

He finally, finally, looked at him then, his eyes revealing his reluctance and embarrassment. But he sighed and bit his lip. “Scary things? Not a fan.”

“That’s an understatement, Guerin.” Alex's voice faltered while trying to stop his choked-up laughter when he noticed Michael’s glare. “Sorry, sorry. I’m not laughing at you…” The asshole really was, and this was one of the reasons why Michael didn’t want to tell Alex, ever. “Well, yeah, I kind of am, but just because I think it’s cute, and honestly, I'm kinda relieved. I thought you were sick or having a stroke or something.”

He chose to willingly ignore the last comment. “Bleh, bleh, bleh I think it’s cute,” Michael mocked, trying to pull away from his boyfriends’ grip, making Alex laugh even harder at his antics; but before he could fully grasp himself out of it Alex gently pulled Michael to him, tucking his head into his neck.

“Scared of scary things,” Alex told him, his warm breath tickling Michael's nape. “How cliché for an alien cowboy like you.” He teased, kissing the side of Michael's neck in a clear (and wildly successful) attempt to appease him.

Michael grunted in response, still pressing his face into Alex’s silky black hair, breathing in his soothing fragrance. The smell of warm cinnamon apples Alex seemed to carry around always had a calming effect on him.

“Hey,” Alex nuzzled his nose against Michael’s jaw. “I know I teased you,” Alex said, his tone distressed. “But it’s okay that you’re scared, babe. You shoulda just told me,” Michael’s eyes were now staring intensely at Alex’s dark ones. “I hate knowing that I dragged you into something that made you so frightened you had a panic attack.” Alex bit his lip contritely, something Michael should have not found as adorable and sexy.

“No, Alex,” Michael argued helplessly, hugging Alex while he gently rubbed his face into the other man’s hair. “Don’t be upset. I was being stupid,” He grimaced, this whole ordeal is a bigger emotional roller-coaster than he expected. “I just- I really wanted to do this for you, because you love it so much, and –” Please, God help him not to die from embarrassment. “I really didn’t want to look like a pussy in front of you.” There he said it, hoping the ground would open a hole and swallow him.

He could feel the smile Alex was fighting against his jawline. “That is both very sweet and ridiculous.” Michael must admit that ‘sweet’ wasn’t that bad. He could even live with ridiculous if Alex persuaded him enough.

“Yeah?” He asked the dark-haired man in front of him, giving him his best winning smile, hoping to make Alex’s heart flutter.

“Yeah,” Alex answered, sliding his hands down the length of Michael’s arms before intertwining their fingers together and resting his head against the taller man’s shoulder.

“Oh, and don’t worry, Guerin.” A roguish grin crossed Alex’s face. “I’ll protect you.” Alex, the cheeky - unbearably sexy - idiot had the gall to wink.

He should really have swatted Alex’s round, perfectly shaped ass right then, but they were in a family park and Michael would rather not be kicked out for public indecency.

“I should really punish you for that later,” He whispered in Alex’s ear, sending chills to the other man’s toes.

Alex swallowed audibly, a light blush catching on his tanned cheeks. Michael found the whole thing highly endearing.

“How about we play some games?” Alex suggested lightly, sobering up and pulling Michael by the hand. A gentle loving smile was playing on his lips. Michael, being such an idiot in love, couldn't help but lean in for a kiss.

He pressed his lips against Alex’s, aware that his are slightly dry. But Alex’s lips are soft and wet. His boyfriend’s breath hitches for a moment in surprise, but then he pushes forward, his nose brushing against Michael’s as he tilts his head slightly for a better angle.

Alex’s tongue traced against his lips a moment before he pushed it forward slightly, but pulling back quickly as to not deepen it too much. Michael groaned deeply in dismay, making Alex chuckle mid-kiss. His other hand started to trail upwards, his fingers grazed against Alex's warm side as the shirt rucked up with his touch. He delved his tongue into Alex's open mouth, groaning again when their tongues brushed against each other. But before their kiss could progress from sweet to filthy, Alex pulled away and Michael could help but pout.

"We're in public, you silly goose!" Alex protested with a bright grin, eyes alight, "I'm not- we can't do that here. C'mon," he cleared his throat, trying to bring himself back into a state that was appropriate for being in public, "C'mon, let's find a stall for you to throw something at all alpha-male and win me a stuffed animal."

They strolled lazily and quietly towards the game booths, enjoying each other’s company, taking in the cold, crisp air of the night. Michael could feel a lightness come back to his limbs, all the stress from the Horrorland around them almost forgotten.

It did help that where they were, apart from some awfully intricate alien invasion decoration, – with a sickening amount of neon green and purple glowing slime – in this section of the park that was free of rides and cast members dressed in blood-curdling costumes.

Yikes.

Lost in thought, Michael almost bumped into Alex’s back. The other man stopped dead in his tracks and Michael furrowed his brows, his eyes frantically searching around them for anything suspicious. Or as suspicious, it could get in a theme park.

Finally, his eyes zero in what has caught Alex’s attention: a giant, bright green alien plush with a holographic hooded cape. In one of his paw-like feet, he could read the words “Roswell NM” in bold black letters.

Michael knew deep in his heart that this gruesome and honestly offensive depiction of an alien was exactly the kind of ‘cute’ thing Alex was searching for and Michael was going to be the alien idiot that would win it for him.

The things he did for love.

He doesn’t regret a single one of them.

He snorts for  good measure and turns to Alex. “Like something you see?” His voice was laced with indulgence. The other man locked eyes with him, a mischievous smile lighting up to his eyes.

“Come on Guerin.” And once more he is being dragged by his over-eager boyfriend to the booth, but this time as they reach their destiny Michael steps in front of Alex, handing over the tickets in exchange for a turn at the task. His demeanor showing Alex he meant business.

“Are you sure you're up for this, cowboy??” Alex's voice is filled with mirth, clearly baiting him.

“Oh, you are so on, Manes.” He can hardly contain the boyish delight that took over his body at the challenge.

------

He should have known that these carnival games were rigged.

There he was trying to win Alex that stupid alien plush (without his powers, he would like to point out) and he has no idea how much money he has spent so far – and he feels like it has been more than the actual monstrosity is worth – and now is a matter of dignity he wins Alex this blasted thing, the amount of money he spends be damned.

“Michael, let it go, c'mon, it's really not that big of a deal.” His boyfriend assured him. “I think I saw a hoodie over there with a huge alien head on the front and I really want one.” Alex pleaded with him.

While he had no doubt that Alex did see that hoodie and wanted one so he could wear it around the house with only boxers on and giggle in his general direction like the bewitching, evil flirt that he is, he is also sure he is only saying that in an attempt to help Michael save face and get him off the booth after thirty tries.

Not a chance in hell he is leaving without the toy now.

“Yes, it really is, Alex.” Michael answered, exasperation strung through his tone as he takes a breath and scowls at the offending stall. “I am going to get you that stupid, unnecessarily huge, plush alien you want and I will march out of this godforsaken park victorious.” He smashed his fist on the booth table, shoving the new dollar bills down.

The guy in the black and white shirt running the stall wasn't technically supposed to take literal money, only tickets, but Michael was pretty sure that he'd worked out by now that stopping him on a technicality wouldn't end well for anyone. He did keep raising his judgy eyebrows though, smothering a self-satisfied smile every time Michael cursed himself out for failing at a rigged game, though. Jackass.

Alex better appreciate how sweet he is being by trying this hard to get that stupid thing that he will be forced to share a bed with at least tonight while Alex joyfully snuggles with his ironic prize and leaves him to fend for himself on his side of the bed.

Michael took a deep breath and placed all his focus once again in the game. He tries to block the sounds around them and Alex’s general aura of exasperation and amusement. He wound up his arm, squinting his eyes to aim before throwing the ring once more and the seconds it takes to reach its destination pass in slow motion movie to Michael. The smacking noise of the rim on the bottle mocked him once again. He throws his hands up in the air in absolute frustration.

“Anytime now, Michael.” Alex teased, probably trying a whole new approach to get him to give up on this. But he would not be answering Alex’s siren call this time.

Fuck it, he thought to himself. He was absolutely going to use his powers to beat this game and no one, not even Alex, would know. This game clearly wasn’t meant to be won and Michael would not be welcoming people’s opinion on the matter, thank you very much.

Alex chuckled.

“It’s not funny.” He mumbled back.

“Oh, it is.” Alex taunted.

“Fine, this is gonna be my last shot. If I don’t win, I walk, ‘kay?” He knew he was going to make it this time, but he wasn't going to waste the opportunity to be dramatic about winning at the very last minute like a conquering underdog.

“Deal,” Alex replied, getting down from the booth’s counter, smoothing down his pants, ready to leave.

Michael made a show of intensely looking at his target, taking a deep breath and adjusting his footing. He picked the ring and gently tossed in the direction of the bottle, this time controlling the ring’s path with his mind, wrapping around the biggest, furthest bottle.

He whooped with excitement, rendering both Alex and the booth keeper shocked with the turn of events. He lost no time and picked Alex up and spun him around once, much to the disinterest of the man behind the booth.

“You did it,” Alex whispered, amazed, but a peal of delicious laughter soon rang past his lips. “My hero,” He gazed lovingly into Michael's eyes, leaning in for a quick kiss on the lips in reward for his efforts.

“Do you want your prize?” The man asked, and Michael turned to him dumbfounded. The gall this guy had to ask that like he wasn't a private spectator to Michael’s efforts to win the prize.

“Yes,” Alex quickly filled in pointing up at the green alien as if the man had forgotten. A light blush spread through the dark-haired man cheeks, his eyes shining with childish delight.

He really would do anything to see Alex looking this precious.

“Happy?” Michael asked as they made their way out of the booth, wrapping his arms around Alex, as the man clutched the ridiculous sized stuffed animal on his other side like a lifeline.

“Uhum,” Alex sing-songed in reply, a big smile taking over his facial expression. “You totally used your powers, didn’t you?” Alex’s smile was so big now, Michael was sure it was going to rip on the edges.

“No!” He gasped in fake hurt. “Do you think it would have taken me that many tries if I did?” He stopped walking in the middle of the busy corridor, his hand still deep in Alex's back pocket. “Do you think so little of your awesome boyfriend that absolutely made an idiot out of himself to get you an ugly-ass alien plushie like a normal human?”

Alex squinted his eyes, looking deeply into his. “I guess…” He didn’t sound convinced, but the night was young and there was no way he would spend more time than necessary in this horrible place, so he really could change Alex’s mind with a little bit of cajoling.

“Exactly!” He exclaimed. “Now, where is all my gratitude?” He closed his eyes and leaned in Alex space, earning him a chuckle from the man.

“Thank you,” Alex answered him back. “I love it,” He felt Alex give a quick peck at his both cheeks and he had to fight a smile. “I will cherish it forever,” Alex's voice was adoring before he peppered all around Michael’s face with little kisses, ultimately making him smile and shiver.

He opened his eyes, making sure all his love could be conveyed through them. “I love you,” He muttered as he rested his forehead into Alex’s.

“And I love you, you silly alien.”

------

Rosa’s delighted giggled ringed loudly over the park crowd, followed by Liz’s and Isobel’s buoyant screams at the sight of the two of them making their way towards the group.

“Please,” Rosa’s excited voice began, “tell me that you made Michael win this for you.” Her eyes sparkled with mirth. The concept of an alien playing some silly game to win his boyfriend an alien plush was the exact kind of humor Rosa lived for.

“Yeap,” Alex answered with a pop on the ‘p’, completely proud of his achievement. Michael could not help but roll his eyes adoringly. Her head bent back with full-body laughter.

“How am I supposed to compete with that?” Max exclaimed loudly; his humor clearly affected by this turn of events. Michael shot his brother a wolfish grin.

“Don’t be a baby, Max,” Rosa nipped. “I am sure my sister can lick your wounds.” Now it was Rosa’s turn to smirk. Like that interaction never happened, her attention was back on him and Alex, determined to milk all the jokes this situation could give.

“This is the best thing ever. I need a picture of this.” She exclaimed loudly, frantically searching in her bag for her phone.

“You better watch out, little brother,” Isobel said. “Alex might have finally found the alien for him.” Her lips curled into a vicious smirk.

“You are just jealous Alex is the only one with a giant plush and not you.” He grinned back and Isobel stuck her tongue out, distinctively making his point for him. Looking to his side, Alex was talking cheerfully to Liz, clutching his alien close to him, making Michael smile at the scene.

Despite what it felt like a train wreck of an evening, Alex had a happy smile playing on his lips, a light contentment about his mood, indicating that after everything that went down they still had a great time together, and if love is a losing game, Michael would lose it every time to make Alex happy.

------

One could already guess that Alex does very much love his new alien plush and not only slept with him on the bed that very night, but the nights that followed for a month until it’s mysterious disappearance and no, it was not me, Alex, for god’s sake stop asking even though we all know that in fact, it was very much one Michael Guerin that did burn the godforsaken, ugly thing one day, out in the back, while Alex was not home, because if there is one alien that gets to sleep curled around Alex, it’s him.

[the-evil-space-trio-au]

180 Shift, a Navy X Aquamarine fanfic

Ao3 Link

Summary:  Navy meets a cute girl at the club and decides to flirt with her. She’s pretty shy at first, not really opening up that much. But a few too many drinks quickly changes that.

Rating: T

Warnings: None

Notes: Human AU, 1980s, Nightclub, Drinking, Slight Dirty Talk, Flirting

Fic 2 of T.E.S.T. Week

---

”So, you come here often?”

Aqua turned around, the bright flashing lights, loud music, and the smell of hairspray all mixing together in the background of the nightclub she had decided to visit tonight. In front of her was a girl around the same age as her, no clue where she had come from.

She had brown skin, a dark brown afro, and was sporting a red crop top with black short shorts. To make her even more extra, she wore dark red tights and black heels. It was all so extravagant compared to Aqua’s plain blue dress and black flats. She never really did follow the latest fashion trends.

”No, this is my first time.” she told her, a bit overwhelmed. Aqua had never really cared much for nightclubs, but decided to give it a try. ”What about you?

”Nah, I’m here like twice a month.”

”Oh...”

”You’re really cute.” the girl said. ”How about I buy you a drink or two?”

Aqua blushed. She didn’t know what to think of this girl who approached her, but she seemed friendly, so she accepted her request. ”Sure.”

They walked over to the bar and sat down next to each other. Aqua made sure her posture was straight and proper, which prompted the girl to giggle.

”You don’t need to be so formal here.” She commented. ”But that’s kinda adorable.”

”I can’t help the way I was raised.” she stated proudly. Normally it could come across as slightly snobby, but this girl’s properness seemed amusing.

”I understand.” the girl replied. ”So what’s your name, dollface?”

”Aqua Marie.” she told her. ”And yours?”

”Navy. But you can call me... anytime.”

Aqua blushed again. ”Oh, you’re too much.” she joked.

”You’re too pretty.” Navy countered.

The bartender arrived and asked them what they would like. Navy asked for wine while Aqua ordered a blue fruity drink.

”You like the classy stuff, don’t you?”

”Isn’t red wine classy?”

”I guess.” she said. Something about the way the lights danced around her brown eyes got Aqua’s attention. ”Are you from around here?”

”Me?” she responded. “I lived here a while.”

”Well I’ve never seen you around.”

”I’m not normally a nightclub person.” she revealed, blushing at the sight of two people with big hair on the dance floor moving rather provocatively with each other to the beat of a techno song. ”I’m new to this sort of... activity.”

”I figured.”

”Is that bad?”

”Of course not...” she took her hand and kissed it. ”Your look is pretty beautiful.”

Aqua blushed even harder. Damn, she was good. Not that she would admit that, though.

There was something about Navy that set her apart from the rest of the nightclub. The noise that irritated Aqua seemed to no longer bother her. It was a nice sort of feeling, but she couldn’t find a way to show it. Straightening her dress, she adjusted herself once more.

”Th-thank you.” she looked away shyly.

The bartender came back with their drinks. They both thanked him and clinked their glasses together. Navy winked at her again and Aqua smiled, feeling a bit more welcome.

---

They talked for a while, ordering more drinks that Navy happily agreed to pay for and getting to know each other more. The loud music became muted white noise compared to their conversation. With each drink, Aqua felt more comfortable opening up. Navy even showed her how to trick the bartender into giving free drinks.

However, it wasn’t too long when it became clear that she had too much. Navy, who was a bit better at holding her liquor, seemed to notice this as well.

It was funny at first. Aqua seemed to act so different. When sober, she kept her emotions mostly to herself. But here she seemed to be speaking her mind.

”I sweah... al’ this political crap got me so bloody annoyed.... who does this Reagan arsehole think ’e is anaway... not like the bitch back in England is any bettah...” Aqua slurred, her accent a bit thicker(and more playful) than usual. ”I oughta play a real mean trick on ’im. That’ll showem!” she then giggled loudly, her high pitched voice echoing in Navy’s ears. Which she had to admit, was a gorgeous laugh.

”I think you need to rest now, Aqua.” Navy told her.

”Whaddya mean?” she asked.

Navy took her hand and led her off the bar stool. “It’s time to go.”

”Come on, dahling...” she continued. ”I don’ wanna stop seeing your face.”

”I’m just going to take you home, kay?”

”You can do a lot more than that if you want...” she winked. Navy blushed a little.

“Oh... oh?” she wasn’t sure what to make of what Aqua just said.

“Take me to my room... pin me to the bed... make me yours~” she whispered, wrapping her arms around her waist.

Navy realized what she wanted. She knew it all too well as someone who was pretty experienced in the matter herself. It was quite entertaining to see such a prim and proper girl act like this. The tables have turned, now she was the one being all flirty with her.

Aqua was pretty and she wouldn’t mind sleeping with her. She would love that, actually. But she was drunk, so her mind was too clouded for her to know what she was doing. Navy knew it was not the right time.

”If you rest first then maybe. You’re way took drunk to even think.” the red clad girl replied, moving Aqua’s arms away from her waist. ”Now where do you live?”

---

The walk back to Aqua’s apartment took a while thanks to the alcohol messing with her motor skills. Thankfully it didn’t mess with her sense of direction, and Navy was there to guide her into staying up and on the side walk. There was plenty of stumbling involved, along with incoherent monologues about become a villainess who tricked people into doing her bidding.

Upon getting to the apartment and opening the door(good thing lockpicking was a specialty of hers), Navy carried Aqua bridal style into the living room.

”Ooh.” Aqua murmured as Navy placed her onto the couch.

”Now you stay there and get some rest.” she requested.

”You’re not gonna leave, are you? The fun’s just getting stahted...” she took Navy’s hand and looked at into her eyes. ”Sure I’m prim and proper, but for you I can be bad as I want~” She giggled a bit evilly this time.

Something about that got Navy a bit flustered. Holy hell, that was kinda hot. Who knew she had that in her. But it was time to focus on the situation at hand. She let go of Aqua’s hand and placed it on her shoulder. ”Don’t worry, I’ll be here when you wake up.”

“Why don’t you come closer, though?” Aqua pouted. “I can’t think straight, you really got me good. Lockpicked your way into my heart. You’re so pretty... I just want you take me and... and... fffff-“

“How about we continue this conversation when we’re both aware of ourselves, hm?” Unsure of what to do in this situation, Navy walked over to the television set, tuning into a static station in hopes that it would help Aqua fall asleep.

For now, she just waited.

---

It took a while, but soon, Aqua fell asleep.

Making sure she was surely asleep, Navy picked her up again, quietly leaving the living room and trying to find what could most likely be Aqua’s bedroom. Once she found it, she placed Aqua down onto her bed and put the covers over her.

She looked peaceful sleeping despite the fact that her short blue hair was a complete mess at this point.

Navy figured she’d stay the night just in case, so she went to sleep on the couch. It wasn’t like she had anywhere to be, so she was content with staying at a random stranger’s house. If anything, she would get to see that cute girl again.

---

Aqua woke up the next morning with a throbbing headache. She immediately regretting drinking last night. The first thing she noticed was that she was in her own bedroom. Not only that, but she felt like a hot mess. What even happened... Oh wait. That girl! The pretty girl... Navy! Where was she?

Suddenly, Navy walked in to see Aqua awake. Speak of the devil. “Oh, hey! You’re awake.” She sat down on the bed in   front of her. ”Good morning.”

”Uuuggghhhh.” Aqua groaned, placing a hand on her head. “What happened?”

”You got really drunk, so I took you home.” she told her.

“How drunk was I?”

“You were flirting with me.”

“I flirted with you?” Aqua was a bit surprised at the fact. Was she really that wasted.

“Yeah, it was pretty wild.” she added, laying back, her eyes towards the ceiling, still blushing at what she had heard from her last night.

“Well, to be honest, I do geniunely think you’re attractive.” she admitted.

”Oh really?”

”Yeah...” Aqua replied sheepishly. ”What did I say?”

“Well...” Navy explained. “How do I put this...

“Go on...”

“You wanted me to have sex with you.”

Aqua went silent. “Did... did we...?”

“No, I just took you home to rest.”

“Oh...” she trailed off. Her voice went quiet. Now she was completely embarassed. The fact that she would just.. but then again... did that really sound all that bad? “Canwethough?”

“Oh? You really want to?” Navy asked, a bit smugly.

“W-well... if you want to...” Aqua replied. Taking a deep breath, she continued. “At this point, there’s no use in hiding the fact that I like you, since you already know.”

”Well, I’m definitely down for it if you want.” she accepted. ”But maybe we should wait until later tonight.”

”Yeah, I’ve still got a headache. And I’m a mess.”

”I can come back, how does 9pm sound?”

”Alright. I can call you when I’m ready.” she suggested, getting up from the bed, still a bit hungover but already getting used to it. ”We can exchange phone numbers.”

”Sure! But I have to warn you, one of my sisters might pick up.”

”I’ll ask for you.” Aqua noted, writing her number down on a piece of paper. ”Here you go.”

”Thanks.” Navy handed out another piece of paper.

”That was fast.”

”I already had it on me.” she said. ”Just in case I happen to meet a cutie.”

”Aren’t you a little charmer.” she teased. ”Well I can do you one better.” she quickly kissed Navy on the cheek.

She giggled. ”You may have gotten me this time, but just wait til tonight... I’ll have you moaning my name and whimpering at the sound of my voice.”

”And I’ll have you begging to hear more...”

[holyrose-ethers]

03.05 Björk: -I think, people are always scared of new things. If you wanna make happen something that hasn't happen before you're gonna to allow yourself to make a lot of mistakes. Then the real magic WILL happen. Because if you just play really safe you won't get any treats.

03.21 Vigdís Finnbogadóttir (President of Iceland, 1980-1996): -You can not say that Björk is copying anybody. This personality that's absolutely unique, the warmth, the mature attitude to life, that heart of a child and her Icelandic way of being.

03.51 Björk: - I come from Iceland and this harbor is probably my roots you know. And and aah and the weather, and the mountains. - For me this is the heart of Reykjavik.

04.07 Björk: - I never try to do things that are Icelandic, you know. I don't ?surgo? my way, just the fact that that ahh like all my family a thousand year back are Icelandic and I was born here with all those things inside me and... with those fat face and this body, you know. And, and with this influence I think that's enough I don't have to... It' so much subconsciously there, I don't have to focus on it consciously as well. But I'm, but I'm... yeah, there IS a big chunk there.

07.52 Björk: - I've been singing professionally more or less since I was about eleven-twelve.

07.56 [clip: Bænin]

08.10 Björk: - It's a small town and people knew I did gigs, I played flute, I sang. And then this guy wanted to make a childrish record.

08.17 Björk: - It sold 5 000 copies which which is gold in Iceland. But but then they wanted to do... then it came out in a record company in a record company it was like they wanted to do another one. But I didn't want to. I, so I... said OK, that's it. Because I felt very ?ungood? I was doing interviews and all sort of stuff and people recognize me in the street and my school. I got much more attention that I wanted... before I asked for it. Well, I think a lot of people don't get the attention till long after they want it. So so I immediately sorted down in my head that that's not what I want. I want to make music.

14.37 Vigdís Finnbogadóttir: - The women of the sagas they are very strong. And Björk is one of them.

14.46 Vigdís Finnbogadóttir: - It is said about the Icelanders is that they are bold in art. They do not calculate the steps: "If I do this today this will happened tomorrow". They do today what they have to do today. All that is very Icelandic because we live with this nature on the elements that we have to defy all the time. We are not thinking about it every day but it forms our character of course

15.11 Björk: - I think when you come from a place where nature can kill, I mean you could literally not be here in a week... that is something that makes you humble. And I think it's healthy, it puts you in your place.

15.39 Björk: - If there's such a thing as Icelandic characteristics we're talking about an individual who is fiercely independent. It's like so self-sufficient, it's like arrogant. And like anarchy it's just like... somebody people who invented anarchy like hundred, 2 hundred years ago... you know, Iceland people, it's like "So?".

16.19 Einar Örn Benediktsson: - The Renaissance of Icelandic music was happening in 79-80 and so... that scene was like has been called "the Icelandic punk scene" because that scene, it was like so much do-it-yourself. It was not like a political thing, like right wing or left wing or anything like that. We were singing in Icelandic and we were dealing with Icelandic reality and we were putting out our records and doing basically everything ourselves.

16.49 Björk: - It was, you know, very stupid local sense of humor. Bunch of 16 year old terrorists drinking absinthe that was smuggled from Spain, and writing terrible tunes and being arrested a lot of times and having art exhibitions and making our own films and and basically act as sort of terrorism, if you want, sort of sabotaging what we thought was really snotty.

17.17 Björk: “I think the people ended up forming Kukl and the Sugarcubes, Badtaste... ah... they... they... they were bound to meet, you know, because in such a small town having same obsessions basically being terrified of mediocracy... I think that was always being our biggest enemy... that mediocracy, materialism and narrow-mindedness... aah small-town mentality. And we'd do anything to break that down.“

19.19 Einar Örn Benediktsson: - There was nothing like it. There was a void in the world of pop music and certainly there was a light. And it happened to be us and we were from Iceland and we were the Sugarcubes.

19.31 Einar Örn Benediktsson: - Somebody told me that Birthday had been chosen single of the week in Melody Maker. And my response was "Oh, shit!" Because I knew it was trouble. And boy, it did prove out to be trouble for us.

19.44 Björk: - That was like companies they came here and got offer to succeed trillion billions and... and and we just told them all you know to "F U C K off" because we were being terrorists you know that. And that took about one and a half year that we just kept sending them back.

20.01 Einar Örn Benediktsson: - The agenda of the Sugarcubes was never to become like... world famous. We were doing this for fun.

20.10 Björk: - Two or even three of the Sugarcubes were probably the most promising poets or writers of Iceland's new generation. And they were finding themselves they haven't written a letter for two years... ehhh... ehhh because they were doing sound checks in like Texas and Alabama and playing doing guitar solos. Which which is kinda funny. I mean, it IS funny. But it's only funny for so long, you know.

20.37 Einar Örn Benediktsson: - The trappings of the business, I think, were the like the end of the Sugarcubes. We just had had enough and we were all friends and so instead of spoiling a very good friendship ... we destroyed a business relationship.

20.51 Björk: - I had been making music like for theatre, for film, like pop stuff eee jazz stuff eee experimental stuff, electronic stuff... basically try everything basically work with everybody in Iceland. But always with other people's visions.

21.27 Björk: - I moved to London to make my own album. It was time for me then to write songs about me. I was 27. I thought: 'OK, you know, you're coward if you don't try move things. It was a very big decision to move, mostly because of my son. I'm a really family orientated person.

21.55 Björk: - When I came to London I was very looking. And and and I was very sure that I wasn't gonna do... I was gonna do an album that haven't been done before. So hmm... when I'm... the people I was most attracted to and and the scene I was most attracted to when I came here was people who knew as little as I did about what was gonna happen. Not people that already established things but people that was still trying to sort of entering the unknown, if you want, and and trying to discover something that hadn't been discovered before.

22.59 Björk: - The people that ended up in my band without me planning it so were like... one person form Iran, one from India, one from Turkey, one from Cypress, one from Barbados. This is a bit like immigrants united.

23.13 Björk: - For me... for whole... brit-pop thing and the Oasis thing and the whole guitar thing. It's this kind of British scare of loosing britishness. And the immigrants taking over in that.

23.27 Björk: - English people, like the brit-pop scene, they just seem to repeating on one, trying to sort of hold the Victorian flag alive but it's just... you know, dead, you know. And and it don't seem to to be doing anything fertile.

27.22 Einar Örn Benediktsson: - Björk does not need adolation adoration for her to make her music. And being stared at in the street and whispering "There's Björk". It does her more harm than anybody people can ex... no, they don't know how much harm they are doing.

PART TWO

29.12 Narrator: - Much of the past year Björk has been living in Southern Spain where she recorded her third solo album.

29.24 Björk: - I think there's something very special about living at the ahh edges of of continents. And it fee.. it just feels completely different and it shouldn't, you know. That you look out the window and you can see another continent other there. And and it's just kinda like... is a really healthy turn on somehow. The idea that every morning you could wake up and literally go to Africa.

29.46 Björk: - When I lived by the ocean there I used to wake up every morning and have to walk for like an hour and and like cross ("p-hhh" shows a splash). And then I felt like I was in Spain. And then I could work. And I wake up the morning after and I still hadn't just grasped the idea. So I did do that for a month. And then I moved up here to the mountain. And and the only way I can take all this in, because it's just so outrageous... And and I keep just thinking on that not just looking at the backdrop or something ... and it's just like... you gonna pull the curtains in the sack.

30.33 Björk: - These are the thing that I owe, that I usually have in my house where I do only demoes. So we we set this up in, brought these down to Spain.

30.47 Björk: - When I did Debut and Post they were very much like greatest hits of my musical passions for all my life. And I knew it would take two albums to do that. That's why I called them "Debut" and "Post" - "Before" and "After" of getting rid of the the back catalogue almost, you know. Gracefully, you know. Because you can only move on if you do that, you know. So this is like a fresh start for me and that's why I want to call this album "Homogenic" or "-genous" or "-genius" or whatever, I'm still working on that. Because it's one flavour. It's just me, now, you know, here. And and it's gonna be... instead of like all these different instruments, it's just gonna be beats, strings and voice.

32.01 Björk: - I knew that this album would be like "back to Iceland" sort of what I'm about. But it's very hard to get a start from a complete scratch with no tradition whatsoever. But there were some pioneers who were trying to hmm look at the landscapes and the country and try to change that what they saw and what they felt into audio.

32.21 Sibbi Bernhardsson (violinist): - There are certain Icelandic composers and when they compose Icelandic music they, you know, try to imitate... geisers or volcanoes. 'Cause the landscape in Iceland is very rough. It's, you know, we don't have like this, you know, trees. We don't barely have any trees. We've lot of lavas, we've lot of volcanoes and there's a lot of outburst stuff, you know. Weather is only the wind comes or snow storms. And that kind of sounds, I think, she's looking after. And she has talked about that, she wants more this raw sound, not this beautiful european sound maybe.

32.55 Björk: - To find that voice is is very chalenging, you know. And it's almost like you have to invent your own roots. And that's one of the reasons why I got the eight string players. I wanted them all to be Icelandic.

It needs more vibrato... - ...more drama - ...just very Mata Hari - It's almost too... - It can be a little bit...

33.29 Sibbi Bernhardsson: - Well, I've picked up some her uses of intervals, for instance, fifths. And it's very traditional in Iceland and actually very unique. Icelandic folk songs often use this interval of fifths. It throughout, you know, the whole song, you know. And that and she uses that in her pieces that way, it makes it very Icelandic.

33.47 Sibbi Bernhardsson: - For instance in the "Hunter" the two celloes they are playing two bar motive, and, you know, one of them plays the lower note then the other cellist plays it the fifth above. And and there when you hear that that's just right away, you know, that's Icelandic.

34.11 Björk: - I wrote a song called Hunter and it's based on... what my grandmother told me on Christmas about two different types of birds who are aahm birds that always have the same nest all their life like swans. And they always have the same partners, all life. And the birds that travel all the time and they always have different partners all the time. And kinda like ehh to make a concsious decision to stay a hunter.

34.36 Björk: - It kinda ended up being a little bit of a bolero, I guess. Maybe because it's Spain.

34.41 Björk: - That's the only song with the string arrangement I asked Deodato to do completely.

34.46 Eumir Deodato (strings arranger): - One of the notes that we had and we discussed maybe trying a figure such as a bolero, you know, Ravel's Bolero. In the course of the recording we've decided to exaggerate certain aspects of of the string parts by having the strings doings lighting notes and kind of lugish and a sluring.

- ... so lovely if the one person could do a solo... on top. - Ah? - One person could do a solo on top. - Sure. - There have to be stun.

35.28 Deodato: - When she says me something it's prety much done... What she what I understanded and and I was correct in understanding it that way is that she really wants a colour. She really wants the humanizing factor into tracks that are basically...ahm I just say sequenced, using different sounds or using electronic sounds.

35.50 [clip: Björk and Deodato in studio]: - It's good if we just put one take down and have that as well. We come tomorrow ..(Deodato: We can do more scenic sense...) we can listen to it. And then we know what to fix (Deodato: - Absolutely), if that works or not. But at least we put it down,OK?

[skruffie]

Family ancestry update!

The first part of the information arrived today, so I flipped through it and took it to my parent’s house since Zack and I were going to have tacos with them for my birthday a day early. There was a scan of an article talking about McDonald Creek and gave a very detailed description of where their homestead was, and their house was like... a major stopover for mulers and people going through the trails, and they had enough acreage to where they could hold five muleing trains at a time (25 mules or so a train). Very, very wealthy. I take all of this information with a heaping of salt because the price of all this wealth was the loss of Katherine’s land, family, and culture.

So, the history of Thomas as we knew it before was that he was born in New York to Scottish parents, orphaned, and at some point hopped on a ship that sailed around Panama and eventually landed in California. What we learned with these papers is that he set foot down in California in 1849, joining everyone else in the gold rush and prospecting on the Trinity river a lot. He started mining the Gold Bluffs area in 1855 (this we DID NOT know but that gives us more of a time frame for when he met Katherine). By 1860, he and Katherine had begun their homestead on top of a hill in Big Lagoon. 1862 is when my ggg-grandma Nancy was born. Katherine in 1862 was only about 20 years old, with Thomas being 32.

YIKES

What we can attribute about her life from the writings of her grandson is that she hated white men (naturally) and I can’t wrap my head about them being like, happily married. They created a large family and had a very well known, very established homestead where she cooked for all the rough dudes that came through there, and the McDonalds (and later, Huntleys) were known to Grant. Before he was president.

So, that was a cool update.

We also got validation of a set of writing mom said was called Barefoot Boys, which was written by one of the Huntley kids. She said it was a book, which was a thing told to her by her mom, but I couldn’t find anything like it on Google Books or anything so I kinda chalked it up to a story that got warped over time. You’d think I would start learning to really appreciate and trust oral history at this point, but NOPE!! ANYWAY within this list of papers I got from the historian was the first couple pages of the letter that my gg uncle Jim wrote detailing the family history Our copy has 30+ pages in it, but this one was only two. At the very bottom of the second page was “Huntley, “Barefoot Boys” 1980″.

SON OF A BITCH, IT’S REAL???

So I showed that to my mom today and she started crying, whoops

After that, she texted the woman I’ve been in on and off contact with down in Yurok country because she felt it was finally time they had a proper talk, and she disappeared upstairs to have the conversation after dinner... mom was told a lot of the same information that I was told when I had my conversation with her, and then some additional ones.

Mom told her how Katherine had been born at Gold Bluffs, and the lady goes “Gold Beach? OH” and apparently! A P P A R E N T LY THERE IS A WOMAN THERE WHO IS VERY INVESTED IN RESEARCH ABOUT DESCENDANTS FROM THE VILLAGES THERE AND KNOWS ALL THE SHIT AND MOM NOW HAS HER CONTACT INFO

THIS

THIS IS WHAT I’VE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS WHOLE TIME

This is the EXACT thing I’ve been seeking--that we’ve all been seeking--for YEARS and it is very possible we are finally going to solve the mystery!! We may find out who Katherine’s family was, if any survived the genocide, who else we’re related to, HOW we are related to them, it’s all coming together!! Every single person that we’ve been in communication with has been so helpful, and like

at the start of this, I was not anticipating that. I was taking as much caution as possible and compiling all the information that I could find that this was legit because I didn’t want to be another one of those stupid white* people saying OH I’M NATIVE without actually knowing anything about it and using it as a bragging point to make themselves feel more interesting. I took caution also when researching my Métis heritage. This one... with the Yurok heritage, I wanted to be extra careful because it’s felt very distant for us, but i think now we are really starting some kind of healing process. It’s actually much closer than we think, and people are helping us with no judgement attached to it and I just feel so, so deeply grateful. I don’t even know if there’s anything I can do to show my gratitude. It is a deep current.

[sunnysynthsunshine]

7th Comedy Monologue

“Hey my Cheese bags I’m back from my adventure in 1985”

“No joke if you look it up

the timeframe of days for each month this year

are the exact same as they were in 1985”

So all this “80s revival stuff” with Duran Duran and Depeche Mode touring, Petshop Boys releasing a new album, a new generation falling in love with Queen and She-Ra while the world is being messed up by a tyrannical iron lady and a talking tangerine makes a bit of sense doesn’t it?”

Even though I was born in the 2000s I’ve always loved most of the media from that decade, the gothic and upbeat synthesizer music,the cheaply made but entertaining cartoons,the video games,the basic but stylish fashion,the musicals and John Hughes films,the mix of music genres in the charts,Goth,Synth,Punk,2 Tone,Post-Punk,New Wave,Glam Metal,Alternative,Shoegaze,Hip Hop,Electronica

I was watching Saved by the Bell  before Netflix even existed

Then again a lot of the shows from then were also being revived back in my day

Dal Winton was presenting game shows, Pingu replaced the scary walrus monsters with rap music, I watched or had VHS tapes of the Muppet show, Noddy, Postman Pat and Scooby Doo.

Scooby-Doo! Now that’s a show that never gets old because it never changes, anyone regardless of what generation they’re from would be able to tell you

“Oh Yeah, I remember Scooby Doo”

When you think about it Scooby Doo is quite philosophical

we are all just a gang going on our own adventures

that and the first few live-action movies are modern masterpieces

I was just browsing Twitter or Tumblr or literally anywhere on the internet only to see that screencaps were taken from the live action Scooby Doo interviews had turned into memes

*ahem*

Well,I was auditioning for the role of Velma, I could sense from the way Matthew Lillard just fully encompassed the role of Shaggy, it felt like he was Shaggy, he was our saviour as he felt his spiritual energy increase, that’s when I knew we were working with a legend

Something like that although Matthew isn’t too fond of the memes himself specifically the ones where his spiritual connections are described more like demon possession rituals

*ahem*

“Being Shaggy has led me down a path of death and destruction. I’ve killed many mortals in hope of replicating 1% of Shaggy’s being, by the end of filming I hope to become one with him”

In which Matthew responded with

*deadpan voice*

This is wrong

I mean I might also have inspirations where I feel like I can philosophically connect with them, in their performing style and personality but that’s where I draw the line

Personality?  That’s a tricky subject

You could say some people have consistent personalities

People said Freddie Mercury and David Bowie were party animals who were incredible on stage with their charisma, creativity and charm but other sources have said they were relaxed, laid back people who were shy when being interviewed.

That could just be the contrast between their onstage and offstage personas but not all of us have that, even if we are all  just actors in a play, hoping each day goes the right way

Some of us are punk, even if we don’t explicitly say that we are, or have the stereotypical style associated with it,a lot of us just try to be ourselves,some of us can enjoy reality shows and horror movies at the same time,some of us can enjoy One Direction and Gorillaz,some of us can love fashion but also love memes, Theatre, and 1980s aesthetics

I’d say I’m the same but sometimes my personality is all over the place

I can go from being cheerful, relaxed and happy to being dazed and clumsy or cynical or entranced and hyper-fixated to Pessimistic and Cold to Quiet and Timid to Mellow and Loud   what personality traits you associate with me, however, is up to your own conclusion

call me any internet subculture stereotype and I’d be able to tell you about how I either, unfortunately, was the stereotype or I hung around people who were those stereotypes

if you said I was someone who watched Cbbc and citv you’d be right

if you said I was a classic rock enthusiast years ago and now you’d be right

if you said I used to be a cringy anime enthusiast  you’d be right

if you said I was one of those theatre kids who watched Disney sitcoms you’d be right

if you said I was one of those meme posters who referenced movies like Shrek and bee movie you’d be right

Another thing punks did was and sometimes still do was creating fanzines, magazines related to their favourite band or tv show or their own opinions on what’s going in the world, nowadays you could say social media has replaced that, but publications like the Daily Mirror, The Sun and TMZ still have a presence on there,I’d say fanzines should have a revival.

The BAFTA’s also happened recently and I wasn’t impressed, then again when are awards shows anything other than beauty pageants for films anyway?

Some films deserved their awards, but some films barely got a mention, Paddington 2 wasn’t included in there or in any of the other film awards this year and Stan and Ollie got nothing…

A darn shame because that film was so well made, it felt authentic, while Stan and Ollie also have a bit of a universal following, there are still some people who probably don’t know who they are!

Before Walliams and Lucas, Before the Two Ronnies, Before Richie and Eddie

There was…Laurel and Hardy

Two moustached blokes, who in the 20s and 50s would just try to delight audiences the best way they could, through slapstick and laughter, without them, most of the world’s double acts wouldn’t exist and even Spongebob wouldn’t exist

Yep, you heard me right, all those misadventures Spongebob and Patrick would have, they were loosely based on the adventures of Laurel and Hardy, except instead of it being about a tall British man and a fat American it was about an anthropomorphic sponge and a dumb but caring starfish.

Speaking of Spongebob, there was some sad news involving Spongebob not too long ago

The creator of Spongebob, Stephen Hillenburg…had passed away from ALS

I know, it’s awful,stupid motor neuron diseases and stupid Adam Levine too,for those who don’t know there was an episode of Spongebob called Band Geeks where they ended the episode with the cast playing a song called Sweet Victory over a Superbowl type of event, for the actual super bowl Spongebob fans around the world petitioned for that song to be played in tribute for Stephen,however we got Adam Levine singing a different song instead….what a letdown

If it wasn’t for SpongeBob I and some of the rest of the new generation, wouldn’t know half the old music or old films we know now.

To let down millions of fans like that makes me sick

Honestly, I was a bit sick a few weeks ago, I’ve been sick before and hospitalized twice but this particular moment of sickness was odd

It was like any other night, I was trying to get some sleep and lucid dream, but then it happened, the shivers, the shakes the trembling aches,

Out of nowhere, I felt like an ice-cube stuck in a microwave, It was too cold but it was too warm, I eventually got to sleep but when I got up the next morning I felt sick again, sorry for disclosing those details but it was like the exorcist…

Usually, when I’m sick watching documentaries, Kitchen Nightmares or 90s films weirdly cheers me up

Speaking of films, Rocketman the Elton John movie is out and it actually looks good

It’s being directed by the guy who was the replacement director for Bo Rhap and if it ends up being brilliant I won’t be surprised, the trailer gave off Velvet Goldmine vibes, the style of composed cinematography and I’m sounding like Film Twitter, Isle of Dogs was a good film…oh wait it wasn’t acknowledged much by the award shows either.

Another amazing film I recently watched was Rocky Horror…I know I’ve mentioned it before but that was when I only knew the sequel and some of the soundtrack,

It was amazing, it was brilliant, it was fantastic, it was out of this world,

ah! Rocky Horror was splendid

I definitely now understand why it’s still going strong to this day

It’s that hybrid of rock and roll, optimistic nihilism and soft aesthetics

That just works for me, another thing I’ve remembered was that Richard O’ Brien played the dad in Phineas and Ferb, well that explains that part of me liked that cartoon for the music and some of the characters but other characters did my head in like that Isabel character

“Hey, Phineas what ya dooing?”

“How about you let me finish my invention and you mind your own business”

Oof that’s too harsh…but considering aspects of the marvel Phineas and Ferb crossover were surprisingly a bit sexist at times outdated for the show that is usually quite progressive in its representation and characters…it’s probably accurate

Another person who hasn’t changed but is also often harsh, Piers Morgan, a little tweety bird told me he had a mysterious illness, good riddance I’d say, he’s the new Noel Edmonds, the presenter who used to be ok but now is unbearable…because he never shuts up

Thankfully though he’s “taking a break” from GMB that will rest our eardrums

Russell Brand has also been in the tabloids again, even though he’s more focused on his Buddhist spiritual recovery enlightening, looking back he wasn’t as bad as people described him, yeah at times he was a bit too over the top,but he was and is quite an ok bloke, but I’d say temporarily banning tickling is a bit of a stretch,

when you think about the number of people who disrespect our literal and figurative personal space on a daily basis, it kinda makes a bit of sense,

whether your sensory sensitive or not, I’m sure you hate it, when people are too touchy at times

although years ago I would’ve been a bit of an ignorant hypocrite about that

Hating it when crowds of kids would chase me like how the paparazzi chase their next gossip target, yet often annoyingly running up to people to talk to or entertain them.

I really need to learn to enjoy loneliness more because I get some of my best ideas when alone, but emotionally I feel a lot better when around others, a bit of an Ambivert really,

I’m sorry I can be a bit all over the place, I’m trying to make my energy more manageable

as that lucid dreaming thing has been misused at times,

I shouldn’t let myself be controlled…

by anyone or anything..no overthinking, no overworking,

treat the world as your stage, start your first act, motivated and ready, take your recharging interval breaks and then move on for your second act

fancy that me an ex-drama student making that metaphor when my current course  involves digitally drawing art, editing audio and sitting at a computer for most of the day

But then again just because someone shows good charisma that doesn’t always mean their a good person.

Ted Bundy, one of America's most notorious serial killers used charisma and charm in his court cases, and with the amount of fangirls giving him fanmail it was like the Beatles fandom but for people with Stockholm syndrome,and now with Netflix’s documentary and Troy from High School Musical in an upcoming film about him, that seems to be repeating itself…

*Alien voice* Ted Bundy the 1960s called they want your fangirls back!

One show I know you probably haven’t heard of is The Boondocks, a south park esque cartoon with an anime esque art style, referencing the social commentary of African American culture and media, celebrating some aspects while critiquing others, through the lenses of a socialist boy named Huey Freeman, his rapper wannabe brother Riley and their activist grandad Robert.

This show was quite revolutionary,it referenced the issue of each episode quite well, even though it only lasted 4 seasons, however, because the show is quite American, apart from the animation which is done in Korea,The Boondocks is not well known in the UK, which is a shame because it is a really good show that still holds up…however, it does fall under one mousetrap that most other adult cartoons fall into….

Because of the references to violence,innuendo and other dark subject matter sometimes referenced in a satirically humorous way,some audiences  would just watch the show because it’s offensive thinking that the show was made just to be offensive..instead of what the show was actually made for..which was to give social commentary on the issues relevant to African American communities in America.

I had watched this show years ago, it only just came back on my radar, because the creator Aaron McGruder, who based the show off his webcomic of the same name, had recently made a new issue.

There’s a difference between being satirical and being offensive

Your either making fun of something bad that a system or people are doing to make people aware of how stupid and sad the world can be at times,subjectively making fun of a stereotype, or your an arse who thinks they’re a comedian when they waste their time on social media, thinking they’re amazing and funny when they’re holding up the line at Mcdonald’s and the only people laughing at their jokes are gammon and people who found Bernard Manning funny

“Oh Wait”

I know sometimes I have unpopular opinions such as how my views of someone dip depending on their views of Kanye West

and sometimes I can be a bit snarky, and I hate and love stuff in equal amounts, but we need a bit of that don’t we, if we bottle it all up we explode like volcanos, but if we overshare too much, we crash like out of control cars

It’s all about moderation, salt is a tasty condiment but eat too much of it and your arteries will get clogged,

A few days back it was the day Mark Ashton passed away, for those who don’t know,he was an LGBT activist in the 80s,he volunteered with organizations such as the Campaign for Nuclear Disarmament,he and the other activists helped to support the miners during the miner strike, creating the LGSM Alliance,Lesbians and Gays Support the Miners,there was a film made about them too, called Pride,but what some people don’t know is that….Mark Ashton was Northern Irish…he was one of us..he was the Marsha P Johnson of our time..if we were a bit like Mark Ashton this country would be a slightly more accepting place, why don’t we give love!

Let’s move on, plant more flowers in our garden..I know I sound like a hippie but it’s true, our Celtic Summerland is being used as a cesspool for Nuclear Waste

Oi! use your own bins, not the place we’re living in, pick up your rubbish and clean up your own mess…

The 80s were telling us something with all those protect and survive adverts, yes some of us were prepared as the older generation made us alert, others couldn’t recognize that a lot of innocent people were getting hurt.

When we say we want a 1980s comeback we want the music, clothes, games and  films,

but Nope

while we have some of that the 1980s revival we get is the one that involves Nuclear Danger and the ghost of Margaret Thatcher

All these TV and Film revivals, some are cool others are just unnecessary  Do we really need a Snow White sequel? No, we don’t but we did get one even if it was unofficial

Back in 2007 a French animation company made a sequel to Snow White which was also a bit like Shrek in how it satirised the fairy tale tropes, how Prince Charming feels like he is objectified while he ends up doing the same thing to the female characters, quite a tosser but that’s the point of the parody to point out the flaws with fairy tale logic, and to put the likes of Snow White, Sleeping Beauty and Cinderella in more realistic scenarios.

…it’s strange, weird but brilliant too

The English dub had quite a few familiar faces doing the character voices

Stephen Fry as the narrator, Morwenna Banks, Simon Greenall and another British actor

Rik someone...

Ah! I remember his name now, he was in many successful sitcoms in the 80s and 90s,he was a legend, he knew how to keep people laughing, whether they were children, adults, teenagers,

in television, theatre, film or music

quite an eclectic range of talent

Although

I’m a new fan, I might adore his work, but I had just learnt his name 2 years ago, whereas, with other fans, they have created their own work, such as Charlie Brooker and Simon Pegg… some were able to meet him…lucky...

Some encounters were quite interesting, I had heard someone’s nan got to meet him in the 90s but she got his name wrong so she ended up saying

“‘oh hello can I have your autograph please Mr mayo?’

Well that happened, she probably still got that autograph,...

And somewhere up there, Rik Mayall is thinking of us, he, Stephen Hillenburg and David Bowie are probably chatting away

Let’s make the lord of misrule proud