#or maybe the mystery just kept me hooked i dunno. as i said not a big fan of romance
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i dont know if its because im not a fan of romance or of makoto shinkai in particular but even if its considered mid by a lot of people your name is still the one movie of his that made me ugly cry
#not that ive seen many. but im bitter because i had very high expectations for 5cm and it was just fine.#maybe its because shinkai likes to show 'romance that can never be' and while 5cm dramatically depicts realistic obstacles#in your name you really think its impossible for a second there. also i still like how the feeling of a dream is depicted#or maybe the mystery just kept me hooked i dunno. as i said not a big fan of romance
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maybe macklin keeps it to himself for a little bit he’s talking to blarie again and will noticed mack is glued to his phone more and when he tries to talk to mack about it macklin isn’t ready to talk about it yet
oh 100% bc he wants to keep it quiet for a bit incase things don’t go well and he doesn’t want the guys to bother her if they find out
au masterlist
“what are you doing?” will glanced at his friend who’d been staring at his phone for the past five minutes, which, wasn’t super unusual for mack, but unusual when him and will were hanging out.
the blonde was curious and mack was usually the one poking at him about texting samy and getting off his phone. the brunette finally looked up, “nothing,” he said a little too quickly.
“nothing? you’ve been staring at your phone for the past five minutes,” will laughed to himself as he continued fiddling around on the xbox.
“so?”
“i don’t know. you’re not usually on your phone so much,” the blonde shrugged, not trying to start anything by his comment.
“you don’t usually ask so many questions,” mack fired back.
“dude, i’m just asking. i don’t care,” will kept his voice light to avoid getting into an all out argument.
mack laid off, but his eyes were back on his phone and his fingers were moving fast across the keyboard which definitely meant he was talking to someone, will just didn’t know who.
the two continued sitting in silence on the couch. occasionally, mack would let out a small laugh and will would wonder what was going on, but the younger boy never elaborated so he didn’t know. he didn’t care to know really, but it still made him curious nonetheless.
over the next few days, it felt like mack’s phone never left his hands. he was on that thing 24/7. first thing in the morning to before practice and then after practice and then when they were riding back home. will didn’t consider himself a nosey person, but he wanted to know what suddenly had his friend’s attention.
“i think he has a girlfriend,” will concluded one night when talking to samy on their nightly facetime. the girl raised her eyebrow.
“what made you draw this conclusion?”
“he’s just like always on his phone texting someone and i can’t think of who would make him smile so much while they were talking unless it was some girl or something,” the blonde explained his thought process.
“i mean everyone’s addicted to their phones nowadays,” samy shrugged.
“yeah, but this is different. mack loves his phone, but he’s never loved it this much. i swear, i think it’s a girl,” will determined and believed the more he explained his thoughts out loud.
“well..have you seen anyone like..lingering at practices or games?” samy wondered, finally leaning into her boyfriend’s theory.
“no..not really but i’m also just not really looking.”
“who else do you think mack might tell besides you? maybe beckett knows?” the girl tried thinking.
“you think so? i also feel like mack would tell me anything first though, so if i don’t know i doubt anyone else would know,” the hockey player hummed, feeling stumped on this one.
“you can always ask around? ask beck?” samy suggested.
“can you ask him?”
“me? why?” the brunette laughed.
“i dunno, i just feel like he likes you more than me,” will shrugged making the youngest hughes role her eyes.
“beckett likes you i promise, but i’ll ask. it’s probably just some like..hook up or sneaky link that mack doesn’t wanna expose yet. he’s 18, give him a break,” the girl chuckled.
“i feel like people wouldn’t be aggressively smiling and texting their hookup like that though,” will raised his eyebrow.
“you never know. plus, how would you know anyway? we skipped that stage in our relationship,” the soccer player teased earning herself blush on will’s cheeks.
this mysterious person stayed a mystery to will.
#will smith hockey#hughes!sister x will smith au#samy x will#figure skater x macklin celebrini au#blaire stevenson#macklin x blaire#macklin celebrini#macklin celebrini 71#mc71#macklin celebrini fluff#macklin celebrini x oc#will smith hockey fluff#will smith hockey 2#san jose sharks#sjs#sj sharks#macklin celebrini fic#macklin celebrini blurb#samy + will universe#samy hughes#umich hockey#will smith x oc
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28: You’re off the hook.
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Ok loves, I've decided to try something to stretch myself creatively with this challenge. I'm gonna dribble my drabble and see if I can tie each theme into an actual story that I'll write day by day! We'll see how it goes! Wish me luck!
Here is my ongoing masterlist of this project.
My other works are here if you are interested!
Check out the fun challenge here by @slowsweetlove . Feel free to jump in too!
WARNINGS: Uncircumcised Fellatio (f)
“Hey, I have a question,” Callum says, red faced as you all resume your normal breathing. “What d’you mean your ‘keepin’ us’.”
Both he and Austin turn to you expectantly.
“Um,” you take a big breath, wondering yourself, just what it is that you actually meant,
“I dunno…I like you guys?” you shrug.
“C’mon now, that much is obvious and we’re not letting you off the hook that easy,” says Austin crossing his arms with a sparkle in his eyes.
“Okay, I guess it means I don’t want this to stop, even though it obviously has to at some point.” Your voice shakes with nerves, “Or maybe it’s a standing invitation to be friends, lovers, both. I just don't want to lose another ten years,” you look pointedly at Austin.
The room is quiet as you all process the words.
“Well said,” Austin nods.
“Standing invitation, I like that” says Cal.
“Ok, you’re off the hook then, ” says Austin, wrapping his arms around you, “cuz i’m keeping you too.”
The look he gives you melts away any trepidation. How he is able to cut right through you with those ocean eyes is a mystery. But there, naked in your kitchen, he sees right to the heart of you. You are forcibly reminded of that one article you read about orgasm and bonding hormones. You want nothing more than to be kept by this man.
The taste of creamy chocolate on his lips is better than the scotch.
The warmth of Callum’s big frame envelopes you as he presses in behind you, nibbling your neck.
“I may find myself in New York more often,” says Cal in your ear.
“You know what’s not off the hook?” asks Aus, swiping his thumb across your lips, “this mouth. I want to see it wrapped around this.”
Austin tugs gently, Callum moans.
You turn, following his hand to behind your back where Cal’s big cock is resting in his grasp.
There is something about Austin’s demand, his authority over both you and Cal that makes you want to drop to your knees, no questions asked.
The pie is pushed to the side and you are lifted up on the counter. A pillow from the couch magically appears for your head as you are pushed to lie back, legs dangling off the end of the bar.
Callum’s face is on a level with yours as he squats to kiss you. His lips are soft on yours. He pushes your hair back from your face, then stands.
He’s not fully hard, but his cock is the perfect height for you to turn your head and brush your lips across his skin. He softly feeds you his tip You take him into your mouth, easier right now, you suspect than at full mast. His skin is soft against your tongue. You keep your suction soft and your tongue busy, rimming his foreskin with the tip of your tongue.
“Oh god hunny, just like that,” he moans.
Second by second, you feel the sensitive flesh firm and start to fill your mouth.
You hear the scrape of a chair on the floor and feel hands wrap around the back of your upper thighs.
“Hang on Cal,” you hear Austin say.
Cal pulls out of your mouth. You squeal as Austin tugs your ass to the edge. Clearly he has more in mind than to just watch.
“Go on,” he nods with a wicked grin, “don’t mind me.” He sits on the chair and pulls your legs
“Yeah, where were we before we were so rudely interrupted,” Callum’s smile is infectious.
You turn your head and quickly realize that his now hard cock won’t totally fit in your mouth.
Apparently Callum is not only a shower, but a grower as well. And fuck it’s hot.
“It’s ok, take what you can,” he says, “the naked tip is real sensitive.”
You hold him in your hand as best you can at this angle, pulling back his foreskin and licking his exposed head. He groans as you run your tongue under his rim and suck gently. Your hand works up and down his length, in concert as you cradle his head on the curve of your tongue. Suck, release, suck release.
Meanwhile, Austin sits in the chair, propping your feet on his wide legs. He does nothing at first. He just watches your mouth work his friend's cock, knowing too well the way your tongue feels.
“Oh that’s hot to watch,” his voice barely a rumble in his throat. You wonder if he wants to join you. You are about to pull away and offer him Callum’s cock when your knees are pulled apart and fingers drift lazily up your inner thighs.
credit to @saradika for the graphic!
Always tag me: @purejasmine, @slowsweetlove, @richardslady121, @austinbutlerslovers, @tadpoleteef, @allittakesisoneflight
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#austin butler#austin butler fanfic#austin butler smut#austin butler fic#austin butler x reader#i love my readers#austin butler/reader#ddofab#creative challenge#callum turner#callum turner smut
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Art for Hearts’ Sake
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Pairing: Jean-François Mercier/Betty Vates
Rated E | 4400 words
Summary: Betty works in a care home and every week she sneaks out one of her elderly patients to a nearby art gallery. There she meets a mysterious Frenchman. He's an art dealer of some kind, or so she thinks, until he takes her on whirlwind escapade.
Fluff and smut / Art thief AU (loosely based on The Thomas Crown Affair)
Ao3
Betty peeked outside the room, left and right. At the end of the corridor, Mrs. Mansfield opened the door to the stairwell. As soon as it closed behind her, Betty whispered: “The coast is clear.”
“Let’s go.”
Eighty-three year-old, Maurice Delorme, donned his fedora, pushing it low on his forehead to shade his eyes.
Betty pushed his wheelchair out of the bedroom, down the corridor and into the hall. She winked at 92-year-old Annette who shrieked, clutching her chest, thus distracting the nurse away from the front desk. Betty and Maurice rushed past the reception area, out the front doors and around the building.
Betty stopped to catch her breath. Maurice laughed wheezily, slapping his thigh.
“We did it, ma chère.”
“Remind me to get that fudge Annette likes.”
“Did I ever tell you I once saw her perform at La Scalla de Milan in 1963?”
“Have you?” Betty replied though, of course, she had heard the story before. She didn’t mind, Maurice had had the most amazing life, and she enjoyed his reminiscence however embellished they might be.
The St. James, where she worked, was a small and exclusive care home for elderly millionaires. Certainly nothing like the conditions in which her mother had lived. For many years, Betty had taken care of her mother, who suffered from an early-onset form of dementia, in their small flat in Leeds. When her mother passed away, Betty not only had to grieve for her parent, but also for the many years during which she had put her own life on hold. The day after the funeral, she’d looked at herself in the mirror and realized she didn’t know who she was. On a whim, she had moved to London and promised herself to live life to the fullest.
Things had turned out significantly less glamorous than expected. She couldn’t afford a home in a desirable neighborhood. And, with no formal education or work experience to speak of, she had found employment doing the same chores she had done for her mother. At least, at the St. James, she was paid for it, had real days off, and suffered less verbal abuse. Most of all, moving away had not magically rid her of her shyness and anxieties. Wherever she went, they followed, but she was getting better at giving them the slip.
Part of living life to the fullest had involved letting Maurice convince her to sneak him out of the care home. His doctor advised against any taxing activities and public spaces where germs abounded. But he longed to visit a museum or a gallery.
“What is a life without art, but a body without a heart?” he’d complained dramatically.
And thus had begun their weekly escapades.
Just a few streets away from the care home was Kinwood Palace, an illustrious property with a world-class art collection open to the public. Betty loved the gorgeous gardens, but Maurice was here for the Rembrandts and Vermeers.
Betty pushed her accomplice over the gravel leading to the neoclassical villa. Despite being hot from the physical effort and warm summer air, Betty kept her cute coat on to hide her unflattering scrubs. She liked the coat’s sixties vibe with its big black buttons and bright colour, something she would never have worn before.
Tourists already filled the great blue and white entrance hall of Kinwood. Maurice flashed their English Heritage membership cards to the box office clerk. Betty scanned the crowd.
“Shall we pay a visit to Boticelli today?” Maurice asked. She nodded inattentively. “Or shall we visit Ringo Starr?”
“Whichever you prefer.”
“Betty, are you looking for him? The Frenchman.”
“Dunno what you’re on about.”
But her blushing cheeks betrayed her.
“You should invite him for— what is it youths call it?— ah, yes, for Netflix and chill.”
She burst out laughing. Her laughter echoed in the gallery, and she promptly slapped a hand over her mouth.
“If I were your age, I would invite him,” Maurice said.
“You were married when you were my age. And you loved Felicia.”
“Yes, yes. I could never love another woman after her. But I was always curious about sodomites… Do you think you could find me a rent boy, dear?”
She giggled and rolled her eyes.
“Well?” he insisted.
“Oh... Maybe?”
“It was good enough for Leonardo, after all,” he said as they stopped in front of framed sketches drawn by da Vinci himself.
Every room of Kinwood palace was breathtaking, Rococo frescoes decorated the walls between Roman columns, and hanging from the coffered ceiling, massive chandeliers sparkled. And there were books, so many books, and vases of fresh flowers everywhere. As Maurice admired the masterpieces in gilded frames, Betty imagined herself living in a place like this, a century ago, or imagined being an actress in a period drama.
“He’s here,” Maurice whispered.
“Who?”
“Who?” he parroted; She wasn’t fooling him.
She glanced sideways and spotted the Frenchman, smoking just outside the garden doors, his jacket hooked on a finger over his shoulder. His hair was neatly pomaded, his trousers tailored, his shirt smooth and sharp: an old-fashioned sort of cool, straight out of her wet dreams.
Her heart skipped a beat, and she bit back a simper. She knew that from behind his sunglasses, he was studying her. One corner of his mouth rose in a languid, crooked smile.
Five times now they had visited Kinwood at the same time. Five times he had watched her from afar, with that penetrating gaze of his, the hesitated— no, not hesitated, evaluated or calculated— and finally approached her. Though he never stayed long in their company, he’d made a lasting impression on both her and Maurice.
He’d said he was a subcontractor for Kinwood, as an art appraiser, she assumed because of the way he observed everything. Including Betty herself. Being seen, it unsettled her. Most days she felt indistinguishable from a potted plant. Perhaps a side effect of having lived with a mother who couldn’t recognize her anymore for years. Though Betty considered herself plain by contemporary standards, she liked to think that, on a good day, she had a hint of beauty from another era. Perhaps he could appreciate that.
He greeted Maurice warmly, in French, then turned to her, “I thought I’d recognized your laugh.” He pocketed his sunglasses, then took her hand and kissed her knuckles.
To anyone, she would have claimed he was laying it on a bit thick, but deep down she melted.
“Son nom est Betty et elle est célibataire,” Mr. Delorme said to the Frenchman.
Betty glared at him, though she didn’t know what he’d said beside her name.
“I’m Jean-François,” he said, mostly to her.
They walked together through the rooms, and soon forgot about the art. He had a way of mentioning things she had said in previous conversations: he’d read a book she liked, and he asked after the stray kittens she worried. Betty, too, remembered every word he had ever said to her, but was trying very hard to look like she didn’t. But here he was, being so openly infatuated, she’d convinced herself it was too good to be true. Yet every time they met, her misgivings vanished, and she let herself be thoroughly charmed.
They stopped in front of a small canvas, “The Enchanted Castle” by Claude Gellée, and this time Betty paid attention.
“It’s one of your favourites, isn’t it?” Jean-François remarked.
“I like landscapes the best. They’re like a window to another place, another time. I can almost… jump in. Escape.”
She covered her mouth, regretting that last word. But Jean-François brushed her hand away.
“Yes,” he said simply.
Emboldened by his touch, Betty said, “Would you— I mean, I’m working now, but later, maybe we could— if you’d like…”
“Yes,” he said again.
“Okay.” She laughed and bit her bottom lip.
“But first, I have a painting to steal.”
“What?”
He slipped his jacket on and popped the collar. He said a few words in French to Mr. Delorme, then vanished out of the gallery.
Betty blinked, mouth agape. Well, that’s one way of getting dumped.
“Oh, no, I think I dropped my pills,” Mr. Delorme said, patting his breast pockets. “I swear I had them.”
“I’ll go look for them,” she said, thankful for an excuse to get away.
Fifteen minutes later, she found the bottle of medication in the antechamber thanks to a security guard. After that, Mr. Delorme asked to leave.
On the way back, Betty didn’t say a word. In her mind, she kept replaying the scene, trying to figure out what she’d done wrong. Her eyes teared up, but she blamed it on the dry wind. Humiliation, sadness and anger warred in her chest.
*
They weren’t careful going back inside the care home and were caught by the nurse at the front desk. Mrs. Manfield was a real stickler for rules and disliked Betty.
“We were only out in the garden,” Maurice retorted before Betty could gather her wits.
The nurse narrowed her eyes at them. “If I find out otherwise…” she warned.
Betty could lose her job over these little escapades, all for what? A rich old man and a weird Frenchman?
She took Mr. Delorme back to his room. With an unusually cold attitude, she helped him out of his outerwear and onto the armchair in front of the TV. Her behaviour shocked him, and he tried to soothe her with jokes and charm, but she ignored him.
“We won’t be going back to Kinwood palace,” she announced and left his apartments.
She went back to work, to menial tasks and being called by other carers’ names.
By the end of her shift at 5 pm, on top of the humiliation, sadness, anger and fear of losing her job, she was now feeling guilty about having been so cold with Mr. Delorme. She changed out of her dirty scrubs into her own clothes. Putting on the yellow sundress and cardigan cheered her up. She decided to pay Maurice a visit before leaving.
*
“I’m so sorry, Mr. Delorme. I panicked.”
“Don’t worry about it, ma chère.” He patted her hands. “You will feel better soon, I just know it.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“I just am.” He winked.
She chalked it up to his eccentric nature, but then there was a knock at the door.
“Told you,” he said.
Betty opened the door and gasped at finding Jean-François standing there.
“Good evening, Betty.”
“What— what are you doing here?”
“I have some unfinished business.”
He closed the door behind him and walked to Mr. Delorme’s wheelchair. He knelt beside it and fiddled with the underside, finally pulling out a slim leather case.
“Let’s see it,” Mr. Delorme said, rubbing his hands excitedly.
In a smooth move, Jean-François set the case on the table, flipped the locks and revealed its content: a painting. A painting from the Kinwood collection. One of her favorites: a moonlit forest by Joseph Wright of Derby.
“Tell me it’s a very good fake,” she whispered.
“There is a very good fake,” he said, “whether it’s in that case or at the gallery, well…” he smirked.
He closed back the case and checked his watch.
“Perfect.” Jean-François offered her his arm. “Are you ready for our date?”
Betty rubbed her brow and laughed incredulously. She cast a glance at Mr. Delorme who was nothing but encouraging.
“Where would we go?”
“First, I am going to hang this in my home, then we can grab a bite to eat. Is that all right with you?”
Mr. Delorme whispered, “Netflix and chill.”
Betty felt rooted on the spot. Her first instinct was to refuse. Going to a stranger’s house on the first date, a stranger who might be a thief? That was a bad idea. A fantastically terrible idea. A terribly alluring idea.
She looped her arm through his. Striding out of her place of work on his arm, she felt like a million bucks. Which is to say, less than what that masterpiece was worth.
Outside the doors, a gleaming vintage Jaguar awaited them, chauffeur standing straight beside it. They slipped in the backseat. When the door closed, butterflies erupted in Betty’s stomach.
The chauffeur smoothly navigated the traffic and drove them just outside London, to a private aerodrome. Jean-François opened the car door for her just as two men in coveralls rolled a ladder up to a small aircraft.
In a daze, Betty held Jean-François’s hand and followed him inside the cockpit. He buckled her seat harness and gave her some instructions she barely registered. He flicked switches and talked to Ground Control.
“Ready?” he asked her.
Betty should have been scared, but she couldn’t muster any fear, only excitement. Perhaps that’s what should have scared her.
She took a deep breath. “Ready.”
He taxied the plane into position and down the runway, faster and faster. Betty’s heart rate accelerated. Jean-François pulled back the controls, and as they rose in the air, a flush of adrenaline tingled through her body. Soon, they were flying over twilit London.
“Where are we going?”
“Like I said, to my home, first.”
She laughed as the blue-grey waters of the Channel appeared on the horizon. France straight ahead.
Her cheeks ached from smiling, and her heart never slowed.
They landed on a small strip in the middle of a wooded area. Betty’s legs wobbled when she stood up. Jean-François offered his hand to help her deplane. He was so frustratingly cool and composed for someone who’d just flown a stolen masterpiece across the border.
The country air was pure and warm. They weren’t in Paris, but in southern France. They walked along a trail then a grand villa came into view. Whitewashed stone, terracotta roof and blue shutters among ambitious vines and towering cypresses. Dogs ran in the tall grass, and wildflowers decorated the lawn. Solar panels hinted at an off-the-grid lifestyle.
“So?” he asked with a sweeping gesture.
She rolled her eyes with a grin. “Showoff.”
“When else can I show off if not on the first date?”
“All I’m saying is you’re setting the bar pretty high for the second date.”
She thought, even if this turns out to be all a ruse to get her in bed, even if he sends her back to London tomorrow without a goodbye, she didn’t care. It would be worth it. She deserved an incredible fling.
A middle-aged housekeeper came out to greet him and narrowed her eyes at his guest.
“You brought someone with you, monsieur?”
“Don’t worry, Marie.”
He stepped forward, still holding Betty’s hand, but she tugged him back.
“Hey, if I’m not back for my shift tomorrow morning, Mr. Delorme knows I’m with you and what you did.”
“Understood.” He bowed slightly. A curl fell to his forehead. “Smart girl.”
Although the house was old, the interior was modern. Selected antiques blended harmoniously with the warm, minimalist style. Crown molding and tapestries hid a high-end security system. She caught a glimpse of a library and of a workshop filled with art supplies. Portraits hung on the walls, going back generations. A photo of a younger Jean-François with a woman stood out: a wedding portrait. At the sight of it, Betty stopped dead in her tracks. Her nails bit into her palms. She didn’t trust her voice to ask a question evenly.
“Ah.” He scratched the back of his head. “She… she passed away five years ago.”
“I’m sorry. I thought— well, I’m sorry.”
He hesitated by the photo. For the first time, he looked almost destabilized.
“You thought what?” he asked after such a long pause she didn’t understand his question right away. “That I was a playboy?”
“Maybe. Are you?”
“Is that why you came with me?”
“No.”
He studied her for a moment then brushed a knuckle along her jaw. Without another word, he resumed guiding her through the house.
He led her to the living room. There was another painting in here: a large canvas of hazy water lilies.
“Another very good fake?” she asked.
“Maybe.”
He carefully removed the Wright of Derby painting from the leather case.
“What do you think?” he asked.
She had many thoughts, mostly about all the people who wouldn’t get to see it now.
“Dunno,” she said. “Will you sell it?”
“No. I will deliver it to Maurice’s granddaughter in Vienna. But until then...”
He placed the canvas upon a wooden picture ledge above the fireplace. The moonlit landscape shone against the plain wall.
“Hold on. What? Mr. Delorme?”
“The painting belonged to his wife’s family, but it was stolen by Nazis in ‘38.”
“Are you telling me you’re some sort of Robin Hood?”
“Oh, no. My fees are exorbitant.”
She snorted a laugh.
“Couldn’t they get it back legally?”
“They tried. In the 1960s, I believe. But they’d lost proof of ownership during the war, and the family at Kinwood denied any transaction with former Nazi officers, as one does.”
Betty puzzled over this new information. In less than twelve hours, her idea of him had shifted so many times she could hardly keep track. But one thing hadn’t changed: her attraction.
“You know, you nearly derailed my plans,” he said.
“How so?”
“A year of meticulous planning and then, out of nowhere, comes this lovely woman I cannot stop thinking about. I shouldn’t have let myself be seen talking to Maurice so often.”
“You’re having me on.”
“I brought you here, didn’t I?”
“Yeah, but I gave in too easily. Where’s the challenge in that for you?”
“Where’s the challenge in letting someone get close to me?” A rhetorical question veiling a confession.
She tilted her head to the side and considered him. He let her.
“Was anyone hurt by your plan?”
“Not a soul, I swear.”
Marie brought in a bottle of red wine with two glasses and a plate of cheese, bread and thin slices of roasted duck.
Jean-François pressed a button on the wall. Curtains swayed aside, revealing tall sliding glass doors that framed a landscape not unlike the one in the painting. One of the doors was open, warm air swirled in, balmy with dew and night blossoms.
He opened the wine bottle and sampled its bouquet. Satisfied, he filled their glasses which they rose in a silent toast to whatever delights the night might bring. Drinking, she stared at the landscape outside. Beyond a small terrace, the ground sloped to a valley where centennial trees grew around a lake, mist skated upon its silvery surface. Away from the city lights, myriad stars shone in the night sky.
An escape.
The glass pane hazily reflected Jean-François as he came to stand behind her. She felt his warmth radiate over her skin though he wasn’t touching her yet. Drawn in, she leaned back, just a little, an invitation, an ouverture.
He trailed a single finger from her earlobe, down her neck, to her shoulder. And she shivered with longing. He gently swiped her hair away, and his lips replaced his finger, careful, precise kisses, inching towards the strap of her dress and sliding it aside.
“What does it feel like, striding into a gallery and taking whatever you want from the walls?”
“Calming. At that moment, I am utterly focused and in control. Then when I slip away with my prize, my blood begins to sizzle.”
“Is it still sizzling now?”
“Yes.”
He met her reflected gaze on the glass pane.
“Mine too,” she said.
She turned around in his arms, and he watched patiently as she put their glasses on a side table. Placing her hands upon his chest, she felt his sharp intake of breath, his rapid heartbeat. She slid her palms up to his neck, and his eyelids fluttered when her fingers delved into the locks at the back of his head. With a gentle push, she guided his lips to hers. He let her take the lead, modest and timid at first, then slowly yielding to instinct and hunger. When she opened her mouth to his, he cupped her cheek and leaned into her until her back pressed to the window. He kissed her with dedication, with utter focus, tasting and caressing her lips, intent on making her tingle all over. Heat flared through her, and she arched into the curve of his body bent over her.
Oh boy.
Eyes still closed, she broke the kiss for air and licked his taste on her lips.
“That was some grade-A kissing,” she whispered.
Jean-François laughed and pecked her forehead. “I like you.”
“Yeah? ‘cause I stroke your ego?”
“Because you’re honest.”
“Well, if I’m being honest I'd very much like you to sweep me off my feet again.”
“As you wish.”
In one smooth move, he grabbed her thighs and hiked her up on his hips. Betty squeaked and held onto him. He kissed her against the glass door, exploring her neck and cleavage, all lips and teeth and tongue. She wound her legs tighter around him, seeking friction to soothe the throbbing he’d triggered. He sucked in a breath and bucked his hips.
He carried her outside, to a nearby wooden chaise lounge and laid her on the striped cushion.
She expected him to flip up her skirt and pound, but he knelt beside the chair. He rubbed her ankles, then slid his hand up her leg to her knee. Betty’s breath quickened. She parted her legs. The ascension continued, his hand slipped underneath the hem of her skirt and up inside her thigh. He stopped inches from her underwear, and kissed her again. It was agony to have his hand so close to where she needed it. His mouth traveled to her breasts, he pulled down the bodice of her dress, just enough to access a nipple. Betty squirmed and keened, and finally his fingers slipped inside her knickers.
She looked like a Renaissance muse, lounging, with her arms over her head, one breast bare, and layers of fabric bunched about her waist. And he studied her as he sought the spots that made her sigh and cry. Her lewd noises accompanied the cicadas’ song. And she should’ve been ashamed to make such a wanton display, but the heat in his eyes was worth it.
This man could take anything he wanted, and he had chosen her.
She came embarrassingly fast.
He licked his fingers and grinned.
“Showoff,” she said again.
She grabbed his tie and pulled him over her. He laughed against her lips, and it hurt with how good it felt to share this joke, this joy.
She blindly unknotted his tie as he fumbled with his buttons. Unable to wait any longer, she cupped the tantalizing bulge in his trousers. He groaned and that filled her with pride.
He stood up to take off his trousers, and she made him recline on the chaise. With half-lidded eyes, he observed her straddling his legs. She admired him, as he had her. His hair was completely disheveled now. His open shirt revealed a lean, firm chest and taut stomach down which she dragged her fingernails. His cock twitched as she neared it. She teased the surrounding skin until he growled her name. She stroked him to full hardness, enjoying the way he hardened in her hand. Because of her.
And now, for the pièce de résistance. She rose to her knees, and Jean-François’s jaw went slack. She had barely had time to enjoy his fingers, but she planned on savouring this. Slowly and with a long, luxuriating moan, she slid down every inch of him, wetting him to the root.
He gripped her hips, urging her to move. His chest heaved with panting breaths. She gorged herself on his lust and desperation. With every bounce, her dress slid lower down her torso.
She held onto the top of the seat for leverage, but she must have been too vigorous for the adjustable back suddenly collapsed. Betty yelped and Jean-François caught her.
“Crikey!” she said, pressing a hand to her heart.
“Are you hurt?”
“Scared me half to death, but I’m okay. You?”
“I’m fine.”
They looked at each other, then broke into a loud guffaw. Mirth and embarrassment heated her cheeks. She truly couldn’t stop laughing. Jean-François even teared up.
“You’re so beautiful when you laugh,” he said. It came out so naturally, it was almost reckless by his standards.
Her heart swelled, and she kissed him. He rolled on top of her, spurred on by this small shot of adrenaline.
Betty shivered; it was getting cold outside.
“Shall we go back inside?” he asked.
“If you don’t mind.”
They picked up their clothes and closed the patio door. With a remote control, he turned on the fireplace.
He picked up his glass of wine from where she’d left them. He drank while watching her undress and lie down on the plush carpet, in the orange glow of the flames. With a beckoning smile, she extended a hand toward him. He removed the last of his clothes and crawled over her.
Skin to skin, bodies entwined, they moved together. And suddenly it was so tender and so very real. A leisurely give-and-take of pleasure. Delight and satisfaction mirrored in each other’s face. They gasped and moaned and laughed, then fell silent, foreheads together, fingers entwined, staring in each other’s eyes, toeing the edge of bliss.
Even after climaxing, they didn’t part. Jean-François buried his face in her neck and held her even closer.
Betty looked up at the stolen painting, and, for once, didn’t feel the pull to lose herself in its landscape. She closed her eyes and stroked his hair and thought nothing would ever be this perfect.
*
Eventually, hunger and thirst caught up with them. They put their underwear back on, and Betty borrowed Jean-François’s shirt.
They ate, sitting on the carpet, their legs still entwined. The wine, the cheeses, the meat, everything was unbelievably tasteful. She licked her fingers clean and refilled their glasses. Jean-François slouched down, head against the couch, unwound like she had never seen him before.
“Betty, do you still want to go back to London in time for your morning shift?”
“Goodness no.”
“Good. I know an excellent restaurant in Vienna. It’s inside a tropical greenhouse, you’ll love it.”
“Vienna?”
“How is that for a second date?”
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Survey #430
“when the girl in the corner is everyone’s woman, she could kill you with a wink of her eye”
What kind of dog do you find most ugly? What a mean question. ;-; I don't think they're ugly, but I probably find chihuahuas to be the least visually appealing. Do you like wood floors or carpet better? Wood. Do you think the USA bullies other countries? Quite frankly, yes. Are you currently in love right now? No. Favorite fast food joint? Sonic. What would you do if your ex contacted you? THE ex, have a panic attack. Cry. Be wordlessly ecstatic. Be scared and confused. Do you still have feelings for your ex? Two, yes, but one is unrealistic considering I have no idea who he is anymore. It's been way too long for me to possibly, accurately like him. Ever tasted a flavored condom? No. Do you know CPR? No. How much do you care about your best friend? I'd die for her. Do you watch Dr. Phil? No. What age would you like to have a child? I don't want kids ever. Are your parents wealthy? Mom, absolutely not. Dad seems to be financially stable, but not wealthy or anything. Pick one state you’d love to live in? Alaska. How many pets do you want? And of what? Man, I want a LOT. I know I want more ball python morphs, a plains hognose, a woma python, numerous tarantulas, a fat-tailed gecko, a boa, orchid mantises, a sphynx, a tegu would be super cool... I'd love to have like an empire of pets one day, aha, but only so long as I could maintain them all and adequately provide for them. Have you ever asked someone out? Yes. When do you want to get married? I mean, I don't have a set age in mind. I want to get married when I'm ready. Can you play a musical instrument? I played the flute for yeeeaaaars in middle and high school, but I remember almost nothing by now. What if you stopped orgasming for the rest of your life? Idc, honestly. Does money make you happy? Money probably makes me happier than it should, but I'm not like madly in love with it or anything. Happens when you're poor your whole life. Your favorite breakfast food? Ugh, cinnamon rolls are a godsend. When was the last time you went to a funeral? I actually don't think I've ever been to one... only wakes. I really, really wish I could have gone to Jason's mom's, though... There was just no fucking way that I was going to risk upsetting Jason on THAT day of all days by popping up. Have you ever stolen someone’s boyfriend/girlfriend? Well, we never actually dated, but you could say that... Tell me the date of your first kiss. I don't know the exact date, but it was March 2012. Are your legs long or short? Normal, I guess? How many phobias do you have? Man, a lot. Is there a bookshelf in your room? No. Do you use the Facebook chat often? Barely at all. I only really use it to chat with Girt on the rare occasion we talk. Who got you hooked on the addiction you're addicted to (If you have one)? I discovered Mark on my own; I needed help in an Amnesia: The Dark Descent custom story, so I found his playthrough and watched it. Got a few laughs, subscribed. It was Jason who introduced me to Amnesia, though, so I can indirectly thank him, I guess? haha Are you currently worried about your parents finding out about something? No. Have you ever lived with a friend? Yeah, for a couple months. Have you ever only liked someone because you found out they liked you? No. Ever been on a real diet, or did you just stop eating? I've tried multiple diets. Have you ever known a white supremacist? I know multiple. Welcome to the South. Do you like the smell of a barbecue? Yesss. It's funny because I hate the food itself. Have you ever gone out in public in your pajamas? Yeah. It's not rare, if I'm being honest. How many times have you been to the ER? Too many times because of being suicidal. How many people are you currently texting? None. Anything exciting coming up? My nephew's birthday is in a few days! Would you rather get money or gift cards for your birthday? Money, so I can use it for anything. Do you have Instagram? I have three, ha ha. One for my basic photography, another for my morbid photos, and I went through a very short phase of having an Instagram for my pets. It still exists, but I don't really use it. Have you ever spoken to a detective before? No. Do you believe in ghosts? Yes. Do ladders scare you? Yes. Hot dogs or hamburgers? Cheeseburgers may possibly be my favorite food. Do you have any tattoos on your arms? I do. Have you ever owned or known someone who owned a black cat? I've owned plenty of black cats. What album is the last song you listened to from? It's from Disguise. What’s the last funny movie you watched? Probably Elf. Can you remember your parents’ birthdays? Mom's, yes. I only remember the month of my dad's. If you had to get a tattoo tomorrow, what would you pick? I think I want to get my tribute to Teddy next. How do you feel about band tattoos? Hey, go for it. I see nothing wrong with it. What piercing do you like most on the opposite sex? Probably snakebites. Lip piercings in general are hot lmao. Are you any good at applying make up? Noooo, my hands are so shaky. How old were the last 3 people you kissed? Sara's 23; idr the exact ages of Girt and Tyler. I think Tyler was a year younger than me, and Girt is at the bare minimum three years older than me. If you found out you got someone pregnant, what would you do? Well, I'm a cisgender female, so... Do you ever wonder what your ex is up to? Very frequently. Do you like your cell phone? I mean it's fine, but I'd like a new one. Is rap your favorite genre of music? No, it's actually my least favorite. Have you ever thrown up on anybody? Oh god, no. Do people think you’re happy? I think it's safe to say most people who know me know I'm clinically depressed. Or you know... maybe not. Quite a few people have been surprised to learn that about me because I can put on a good facade. What band would you stand in line for 24 hours to see? None, honestly. That's way too long. What was your worst childhood experience? I guess my dad's alcoholism. As a child, I thought it was a normal thing, but I do wonder if my fear of men has anything to do with how volatile drinking had a 50/50 chance of making him. He never hurt anyone, but he was just so mad and hateful towards the world sometimes. You can trade another person’s emotions for your own. Whose do you take? I have no idea. What was/is going to be your first waltz at your wedding? That'll depend on my partner and what song means the most to us/fits us best. "When It's Love" by Van Halen has been a consideration for forever, though. When it’s not summer, what do you miss most about it? I hate summer. I miss nothing about it. Do you consider yourself patriotic? No. What is the one thing that you need to do to die happy? Feel like I accomplished something notable. Do you consider yourself mainstream? No. What’s the riskiest thing you’ve ever done? Overdosing on cold medicine. What is life’s greatest mystery? Probably from whence we came. Humanity has fished for a definite answer forever. What was your favourite make-believe game as a kid? Pretending I was a meerkat hiding in a "burrow" that was a blanket fort, ha ha. Do you try your best at everything? Honestly, no. Who is your shoulder to cry on? My mom, without fail. What’s your standard excuse for not doing something? I dunno... it depends on the topic. Name the most beautiful person you know. As far as physical appearance goes, my friend Alon. Have you ever been to jail? No. What is one moment you wish you could have taken a picture of? Sara's face when I surprised her at her house for her birthday. It was absolutely fucking priceless. What place holds the most memories for you? Jason's house. Who was your first date? My puppy dog-love middle school bf Aaron. We went with a group of friends to a skating rink. My first one-on-one date was Jason. What’s the best trip you’ve ever been on? The zoo in 5th grade. It's the one and only time I've seen meerkats. For some weird reason, our zoo moved the meerkats not long after that visit. I THINK they said the environment just wasn't suitable for them, which I never really got... I think they mentioned the cold, but like, you have heating for them, and also, have you ever experienced a desert night? You consider all the other areas that have meerkats in their zoos and it's like... why, man. Bring my meerkats back. ;_; What do you think the earth will look like in 1,000 years? Oh dear God, I do NOT want to visualize that. My gut tells me it'll be a wasteland, probably without humans or most forms of life we have now. We have to get our shit straight, so very badly. I could rant for hours about how horribly and ungratefully we abuse our planet. Who makes you happy to be around? Sara! I feel like I can be my 100% authentic self, and we just vibe really well together. Like every time I've been there and she here, our friendship felt so natural and chill. I really, really need to save up for another trip up there. What secret have you tried to hide but it got out anyway? I kept the Joel situation to myself from pretty much everyone, but it eventually came out in front of Mom and Jason. It was actually the night of the breakup; I don't remember how it was relevant at all to mention, but I did in some form. Mom wisely never asked about it, and Jason obviously didn't. I was a stupid 12-year-old anyway, it's whatever now. Who/what is your everything? I will never. Ever. In five billion millennia. Let anyone be that again. How many people have you turned down when they asked you out? Ummm three? I think that's it. How many exes do you have? If I include everyone who ever had a title of "boyfriend/girlfriend," I have six. Who was your worst relationship with? Tyler. It was just pointless and the result of nothing but loneliness. What’s your ‘label’? (ex. punk, prep) I really, really don't care. Do you swear? How much? Like a sailor. I swore some beforehand, but I got really bad when Jason and I started dating. He swore a lot, and his mother did even more. I was around them as much as possible, so it rubbed off on me. What is the one thing that would make everything in your life fall apart? Losing my family, like being disowned or something like that. Especially when it comes to Mom. I rely on her so heavily, as much as I hate that. :/ What takes your breath away? Nature is very capable of that. Something like seeing big waterfalls in the mountains or something would marvel me. Are you patient? No, honestly. Are you a good dancer? No. Even when I took dance, I don't think I was great; however, I do think I was pretty skilled at clogging. Who would you call first in a life-threatening situation (not 911)? My mom. Who do you miss? Jason and his family, Megan, Alex, Hannia, Emily, Journee... a lot of people. Do you like snakes? I adore snakes.
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May I humbly request some poly lucy x Juvia x Lisanna? It’s my new fave spiteship but also... gfs 🥺
Lucy stirred groggily from deep slumber, feeling incredibly hot and sweaty. Her hair and underwear clung tightly to her like a second skin, and she was keenly aware of a depression on the mattress beside her indicating another presence on it. “Ugh, Natsu,” she groaned, slapping her forearm against the form next to her. “You’re too hot. Get out of my bed...” Really, the summer was too hot for this crap. She was going to have to give her sheets a thorough wash now.
The form next to her groaned at the rude awakening, and despite the heat, Lucy felt every cell in her body frost over.
That was... too high pitched to be Natsu. Not even if she’d hit him there.
Slowly, Lucy turned her head to face the other person, who was scowling back at her grumpily.
“Why did you hit Juvia, Lucy...?” complained Juvia. Her mouth opened in a great yawn. “What did Juvia do...?”
Looking at Juvia’s face - and at her largely bare state - hazy memories of the night before finally filtered their way into Lucy’s conscious mind. Suddenly, she felt sweaty and sticky for a whole different reason. She doubled down on the internal note to wash the sheets later. “I’m sorry, Juvia,” she apologized. “I wasn’t fully awake and my first instinct was that you were Natsu. Did I hurt you?”
“Juvia is fine.” The confused frown on the woman’s face only deepened. “But is that... normal...?” she inquired. Juvia rubbed her eyes with a fist. “Why is Natsu crawling into your bed at night?”
“Because he’s a heat-seeking missile,” Lucy grumbled. Somehow her best friend still managed to be irritating even when he wasn’t around. Lucy gave Juvia a half-shrug. “I dunno, he just does sometimes.” The mysteries of how Natsu functioned were better left unsolved.
A giggle arose from Lucy’s kitchen, as the second guest in the apartment made her presence known. The only fully clothed person in it, Lisanna was sporting Lucy’s light pink and hardly used apron as she added something to a frying pan. “Natsu’s been like that ever since we were children,” she informed them, keeping a careful watch on the contents. “One time when we were children, he came looking for me and mistakenly crawled into Mira’s bed and she beat the snot out of him. Then he crawled into Elfman’s bed and nearly got crushed in a bear hug. Natsu doesn’t mean anything by it though, I promise.”
Lucy smiled and inhaled deeply. “Hmm. I’ll take your word for it. Whatever you’re making smells delicious, Lisanna.”
“Thank you.” Lisanna flipped the contents of the frying pan. “I hope you don’t mind that I borrowed your kitchen. I woke up first and I thought we could all use a nice breakfast.”
“No, no,” Lucy hurriedly reassured her. “I don’t mind at all.” Especially after the previous nights... activities. She was ravenous. Although, Lucy was mildly curious about where the ingredients for it had come from. Lucy rarely kept her apartment stocked, but if Lisanna and Juvia were going to be coming over more often, then she felt she should start. “In fact, do this every day,” she suggested with a gleam in her eyes.
Lisanna turned slightly and winked at the celestial mage over her shoulder. “If that’s an offer to move in...”
That thought had not occurred to Lucy before that moment, but she suddenly wanted it more than anything. If she could wake up every morning to these two... well in her books that would be something pretty close to paradise.
A pout surfaced on Juvia’s face and she reached towards Lucy, clutching the gossamer-like sleeve of Lucy’s lingerie. “Don’t leave Juvia out.”
Light laughter burst from Lucy’s chest. “Maybe if I can find a bigger place.” Then she patted the bed for emphasis. “And a bigger mattress for the three of us.” It had taken a bit of a beating the night before.
Juvia smiled smugly at the blonde woman. “Lucy didn’t mind so much last night, though.”
With a snort, Lucy lightly shoved Juvia over. Yelping, Juvia tumbled off the bed and hit the floor hard. “I’m sorry, Juvia!” Lucy apologized, crawling over to the edge of the bed. She peered down at her girlfriend. “Are you alri-AHCK!!” she yelled as Juvia pulled Lucy down on top of her.
“Revenge!” declared Juvia, holding Lucy tightly to her body. “Juvia wins!”
Giggles erupted from the pair of women. “Actually, I think I do,” Lucy said, curling her arms around the water woman and staring into her bottomless blue eyes. “I have the most wonderful girlfriends in the world, who I love more than anything else.”
“Even writing?” Juvia asked. Before Lucy could answer, Juvia kissed her deeply. After a moment, Juvia broke the kiss, pulling away and smiling up at Lucy. “Juvia is joking. Juvia wouldn’t ask Lucy to choose.”
Lucy pressed her forehead against Juvia’s, their noses brushing against each other with feather-lightness. “What did I ever do to deserve you?”
Reaching up with her hands, Juvia cupped Lucy’s face and tenderly stroked her cheeks. “Everything,” she breathed.
The clink of plates on the table distracted them, causing them to look up. Steam rose from the plates and the mugs Lisanna had already placed down. Lisanna herself hung up the apron on its hook, and gazed at the other two women with immense fondness. “Breakfast is served,” she said softly. “And where is my good-morning kisses, hmm?”
Peeling herself off of Juvia, Lucy was the first to her feet. She trotted over to the white-haired woman and threw herself into Lisanna’s arms. Lucy placed a kiss upon her cheek, joined a moment later by Juvia on Lisanna’s other side.
“Good morning,” they told her, nuzzling her soft cheeks. Juvia placed another butterfly kiss beneath her eye while Lucy claimed the corner of Lisanna’s mouth.
Lisanna laughed, the sound bright and wonderful to hear so early in the day. She curled her arms tighter around her girls. “What a wonderful morning it is,” she said. “Now let’s eat breakfast together.”
And a wonderful morning it indeed was and continued to be.
#lulivia#lucy heartfilia#juvia lockser#lisanna strauss#fairy tail#fanfiction#dragon did a request thing#i am hella in love with these three#gaymirajane#dragon roars
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So, I’ve been working on this VERY long bkdk fanfiction, and I’ve been losing some creative spirit, so I’ve decided to post one of the chapters to brew up some more condidence.
BTW, for context, Izuku is walking around in a world he already knows and interacting with people he has already seen, he ust can’t remeber it. ;) The song is Black Sheep from the movie Scott Pilgrim vs the World.
LOADING…
LOADING…
LOADING…
START?
The bar seemed to be overly swarmed for a Thursday night. Dancing bodies take up the middle of the room, and conversing couples and groups stand on the outskirts. Both of which make it almost impossible for Izuku to make his way to the bar. However, he does manage to grab a seat and takes a look at the possible drink options in his hand. An empty glass slams into his field of vision.
Izuku blinks and looks up to see a frowning middle-aged man glaring at him. His eyes are tired and irritated, and his mouth seemed to be set in a permanent frown. “I said, ‘What’s your poison, kid’? The bartender reiterates.
His face flushes, and he lowers his head in embarrassment. “Sorry, I must have not heard from you. Tequila?” With that, the bartender walks away leaving Izuku to give a sigh of relief. He looks around dazedly at the distracted masses. None of them seemed to be the person he was looking for.
“One shot of Tequila. The bartender says tiredly. His tone of voice triggers something inside of Izuku, and he tilts his head in confusion. The bartender raises his eyebrows in response, “Can I get you anything else?”
“No…Aizawa?” He says. The name almost feels familiar coming out of his mouth. Almost like he had said them before or seen them.
Aizawa does not share his sense of confusion because he rolls his eyes and says patronizingly, “Yes, that is what my how you read my nametag.” Izuku looks down at the nametag on his chest to see that the kanji for his name is indeed printed the same way. He flushes in embarrassment once more as Aizawa walks away mumbling something about not getting enough pay.
Izuku sighs into his drink and throws it back. The only thing worse than crowds is interacting with them. Though he can’t seem to pick out any faces, he does have to admit the various people are realistically detailed and unique. It really does feel like he’s in a real bar.
“Alright! Who is ready to party?” The host shouts from the center stage. The crowd answers back enthusiastically. Izuku turns around intrigued.
“We’ve got some fan favorites here ready to grace the stage today. Everybody, give it up for the Ground Zero!” The cheering gets louder at the name of the band, and the host quickly makes his way off the stage to give them some room.
The cheering only gets louder as the members become visible under the building’s soft lights. In the back-center, a sandy blond man takes his place behind the drums. He smirks at the audience as he picks up the sticks, and Izuku can feel his chest tighten at the familiar face. A pink-haired woman in a purple zebra pink dress takes the mic. “What’s up, Tokyo! I’m Mina, and behind me are my associates, Kirishima, Jirou, and *******. As you probably already know, we’re Ground Zero.”
Kirishima, a man with spiky red hair and sharp-toothed grin, and Jirou, a woman with a short cut bob and bored expression, come from behind Mina to stand at her side with guitars in both of their hands. They continue waving to the audience until the unnamed drummer rolls his eyes at the introduction and yells something at Mina that Izuku can’t hear from where he stands. Whatever he yells makes Mina laugh and she gives her bandmates a signal for the song to begin.
Izuku couldn’t help but shake in excitement. Not only did they sound amazing, but they were playing one of his favorite songs.
Black sheep come home, black sheep come home Black sheep come home, black sheep come home
Jirou works off the crowd’s energy and provides beginning background vocals and harmonies for the chorus. Her guitar’s bass shakes the walls of the bar, and her harmonies reverberate throughout the walls of the bar. The energy she gave off undercut her seemingly uninterested demeanor. As the established frontman, she led the group throughout every melody and note change with ease, just as a prodigy should.
Hello again, friend of a friend, I knew you when
Our common goal was waiting for the world to end
Mina’s voice is soft but airy enough to give the rock ballad a seductive sound. She sings the words while bouncing on around the stage with the beat. She seems to be the one having the most fun under the attention striking flirty poses along with some of the more risque lyrics. Looking to her left, she kept in time with Jirou and Kaminari while occasionally looking back to the obscured drummer.
Send you my love on a wire
Lift you up, every time, everyone, ooh, pulls away, ooh
From you
Kirishima keeps up in step and strumming in time to Jirou’s notes. He hypes the crowd in between chords and keeps them moving throughout the track. He looks to the crowd shouting out some of the lyrics while occasionally losing himself in a few of his own dance moves. His position on stage allows him to keep his strumming on beat with the drummer while hearing any switch ups from Jirou, so that the group stays in sync.
Though he’s in the back, the audience seems to automatically be drawn to Bakugou. His low vocals work with Jriou’s higher voice to create the perfect harmonies on the chorus while keeping time with the beats of his drum. From the looks of the signs, many of the crowd seems to be carrying, it seems as though he’s a fan favorite.
It's a mechanical bull, the number one
You'll take a ride from anyone
Everyone wants a ride, pulls away, ooh, from you
Izuku can say the same. He hasn’t been able to take his eyes off of him. The way his hair moves as he bangs his head up and down in time, the way he closes his eyes and seems to be lost in the music and his aura seems to scream for attention over the already loud room. Izuku can safely say that he is hooked.
The song ends with roaring applause, and Mina wishes the crowd a good night as they take their leave. Izuku’s eyes widen at the retreating figures, and he knows he has to act fast. Without thinking, he begins to push his way through the tightly knit crowd, almost getting crushed for his efforts. Without looking back at the people he nudged a little too hard, he made his way to the back of the stage. The backstage entrance isn’t hard to find as much as it’s hard to get to, but the green-haired man manages to make his way. The guards at the door were already having a rough time calming down a horde of fans who had the same idea he did.
One burly man was speaking with a blond woman in front of all the others, and he overhears their conversation as he approaches.
“Please…Please! Why can’t I see Kirishima-Kun?” The blonde pleads with the apathetic security guard, and his frown deepens. She was one of the audience members carrying a sign, although hers seemed to be dedicated to the guitarist.
“No one is getting in, by direct orders. If you have a problem with it, take it up with the manager.” He says dryly. The blonde continues her pestering to the increasingly annoyed man who looks to be about three seconds away from giving her the boot.
Izuku slowly approaches the two and clears his throat. The squabbling pair look back at him. The blonde’s face is curious, and the guard seems to be annoyed. “Is there any way to ask permission to get backstage?”
“Take it up with Aizawa. All of you.” He waves them off. “Now, get out of my face before I call the police.”
Aizawa? He quickly turns to head back toward the bar, barreling his way through the dance floor this time. He reaches the seat he was previously in and looks around. While the patrons seem to be good and drunk, there was no bartender in sight. Izuku sighed in disappointment. The groupies at the door seem to be ready to call it a day and walk off from the guards with scowls and curses. Izuku himself sighs while taking a seat in the exact same place he was in before the show. He wishes this wasn’t so difficult. He just needed to-
“What’s your poison, kid?” Aizawa appears in front of him suddenly as if answering a prayer. Izuku can hardly believe it.
“Can you help me? I mean- I need to get backstage,” he says hurriedly. His heart is pounding out of his chest, and his breath comes out in short pants.
Aizawa looks back at him as if he had grown a third head. “Calm down, Izuku.”
But Izuku is way past the point of calming down. He runs his fingers through his hair and grits his teeth. “I’m sorry. It’s just really important that I get backstage and talk to Kacchan before he leaves tonight.”
Kacchan?
“I mean…” Izuku stutters with a flush. He takes a deep breath and plops down in the seat. “What am I talking about? There’s no way I can talk to him. Everything about him screams confidence and I- I just… You know how you meet someone for the first time and instantly feel a connection. I know it sounds crazy to say but I just felt like if I talked to him for a second, then maybe I could tell him-I dunno. Forget it, just bring me another tequila.” He lowers his head in embarrassment.
For a long minute, there’s nothing but silence between them. Izuku keeps his head down expecting the bartender to walk away. Soon enough, he does, and Izuku lets go of a breath he didn’t know he was holding. Another group had taken the stage, and while most had left after Ground Zero’s performance, a good number of them were around to cheer while the next singer performed. Izuku sighed, knowing that the band was pretty popular. It was pretty stupid of him to think-
A calloused hand slammed down a twenty-dollar bill beside him. “Hey, nerd,” Izuku turns around to see Ground Zero’s drummer standing behind him.
He stares at him with an indiscernible look in his eyes and makes sure he got into his space. Before Izuku could say anything, the blonde pulls him forward and presses his lips against his. Izuku’s mind goes blank as he registers lips moving against his, and by the time he pulls away, his mind is sufficiently fried. A smirk comes back to his face as he sees the look in his eyes, and he leans forward once more to huskily whisper in his ear,
“What’s my name, Deku?”
Please be nice It’s just a first draft.
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Sense and Sensibility Readthrough Part 19
Chapter 22, Pages 111-119
Hubris is defined as not taking your medication for the week and assuming you'd still have a productive time. It's only 5pm Wednesday so it's not too late to humble myself.
Previously, the Miss Steeles were introduced. The older is very much into beaux, and the younger is very often socially mortified by the former. Elinor is disapproves, but, they mysteriously know Eddie Ferrars, so perhaps she will have to put up with them until they give up the goods.
Not that her opinion matters too greatly when Sir Middleton never runs out of social plans. :'D
Also, thank you for telling me beaux is plural of beau!
Commenting from after having read the chapter: Oh, Elinor...
Readthrough below.
Chapter 22
MARIANNE, WHO never had much tolerance for anything like [...]
And this first sentence goes the whole first paragraph for a whopping 11 lines! It's not exclusively about Marianne's intolerances but there's still quite a lot of that. The second half is about how the Steele sisters prefer Elinor because Marianne is just that standoffish with them but I wonder if there's a literary purpose to cramming all that information into one sentence? It's certainly taxing to get my mind around, though I'm not really sure that's reflective of the Steeles when it's partially about Marianne. Perhaps all parties are exhausting?
In Lucy Steele, the younger sister, Elinor finds a companion of natural wit and intelligence, but lacking in any formal education; though I assume by "illiterate" Austen means that Lucy is simply not versed in literature, as opposed to outright illiterate.
She still doesn't like her.
Seems she also finds Lucy to be flippant and lacking any consistency of opinion, and maybe also attention-seeky. Also that they can't really talk about anything interesting to Elinor as she's not educated enough to share any tastes. That's... a shame that Elinor takes this stance. She reads Lucy's constant flattery of everything as insincerety but I don't have any reason not to think Lucy is just a genuinely positive person about everything. Personally, I would call nearabouts everyone I meet really nice, but that doesn't mean I don't think it's true! As you can see as I try to defy the interpretations of almost every character that has been described unflatteringly by the Dashwood sisters. :'D
Except Mr. Palmer, I have no good interpretations of Mr. Palmer.
Also, just because she's not formally educated doesn't mean she can't be fun to talk to! Engage people on their interests Elinor, not just your personal tastes! Well, I say all this but it's not as though I always live up to my ideal of open sociability.
Lucy asks Elinor if she knows Mrs. Ferrars, Eddie's mother. Elinor is reticent to reveal that she thinks his mother is uh, controlling, but does I think truthfully respond that she's never met the lady in person.
Elinor replies without explicit dialogue a lot, which in the Dashwood sisters I've started to take as signifying instances where not merely do they have nothing interesting to say for the reader to read, but also that they are not invested enough in their conversation partner enough to give a proper reply. Elinor does this a little bit here to Lucy, until, that is, Lucy really catches her interest. Now it's ALL DIALOGUE.
See, Lucy really genuinely wants to know about Mrs. Ferrars, surprising Elinor indeed, who's still hung up on the question of how the Steeles are connected to the Ferrars.
"But if I dared not tell you all, you would not be so much surprised. Mrs. Ferrars is certainly nothing to me at present - but the time may come - how soon it will come must depend upon herself - when we may be very intimately connected."
Oh. Oooooohhhh no. Oooooooh boy. Hmm. Yes. Well. I remember Eddie has a more successful (younger?) brother, but I feel like this isn't a fake-out just to give Elinor a heart attack and then move on. Somebody familiar with Austen and queer readings correct me on this, but I also don't see the remote possibility that this is implying Miss Steele is hooking up with Eddie's mother. So.........
I'm sitting here having not turned to the next page yet. Good heavens! indeed, Elinor.
"No," replied Lucy, "not to Mr. Robert Ferrars - I never saw him in my life; but," fixing her eyes upon Elinor, "to his eldest brother."
T-there it is. And Eddie has the hair ring too, doesn't sound one-sided... could still be parental setup, but Lucy apparently doesn't know nearly enough about Mrs. Ferrars...
What Elinor felt at that moment? Astonishment, that would have been as painful as it was strong, had not an immediate disbelief of assertion attended it.
Oh no. As painful as it is strong? Poor Elinor, that's going to hurt when the shock wears off...
A moment of silence for Elinor before I continue, which I'm going to take a short walk on.
So Elinor's... outwardly taking it well. Lucy continues her explanation.
FOUR YEARS.
FOUR YEARS.
LUCY AND EDDIE HAVE BEEN ENGAGED FOUR YEARS.
EDWARD AND LUCY HAVE KEPT THEIR ENGAGEMENT A SECRET FOR FOUR YEARS.
"May I ask if your engagement is long standing?" "We have been engaged these four years."
FOUR YEARS.
ELINOR NEVER HAD A CHANCE.
"I know he has the highest opinion in the world of all your family, and looks upon yourself and the other Miss Dashwoods quite as his own sisters -"
SHE WAS JUST A FRIEND. SHE WAS JUST A F R I E N D.
S H E W A S L I K E A S I S T E R T O H I M.
Alright. Well I needed to process that a bit too.
See, it's one thing for me to expect that Eddie was already engaged to somebody else. I would've been ready for that. Maybe he just moved on after Elinor was gone or something. I would've been like "yep, yeah that was expected." But FOUR YEARS. HE WAS ALREADY ENGAGED FOUR YEARS AGO.
How does this recontextualise the earlier parts of the novel? It was a hundred pages ago I don't even remember! Was this all the Dashwoods' imaginations? Am I going to go back and find out the narrative very specifically refused to state anything except that the Dashwoods thought this to be the case? Was Edward leading Elinor along the whole time? Did he know?? He seemed to be feeling guilt or shame or something so he must know about Elinor's feelings right??? AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
ANyway.
So it's been a secret the whole time. Of Lucy's family only Anne Steele knows, and considering Edward I imagine literally nobody knows in general. Lucy and Edward have known each other for many years, ever since Edward stayed with her uncle Mr. Pratt, whom I don't recall coming up at all before but I wouldn't be surprised if he was name-dropped once in the beginning. Edward is so reticent about himself that Elinor barely knows/remembers anything about Mr. Pratt's existence.
I'm taking these quotes thoroughly out of order because I have been knocked out of order, but I want to highlight this;
Her astonishment at what she heard was at first too great for words; but at length forcing herself to speak, and to speak cautiously, she said, with calmness of manner, which tolerably well concealed her surprise and solicitude:
The forced calm, trying to suppress the adrenaline early, trying to keep up the mask of the disaffected. It was obvious enough that Lucy noticed and stopped mid-sentence to wait for her. Oh Elinor. How fast is her heart beating? Where has her breath gone? And "tolerably well concealed" is not "concealed." She's speaking slowly and carefully, before she's even calmed down. How much shakiness is still audible in her words? How taut has each syllable been stretched, to maintain control? Where was the misplaced pause, a necessity to find the next word?
"May- may I ask if your engagement has been long standing?" "May I ask if your engagement has been long- long standing?" "May I ask if your engagement has been longstanding?"
Anyway.
Elinor's in either the denial stage or the bargaining stage. Well it's a lot to spring on her, we can't all have omniescent narrative security from beyond the fourth wall.
"Though you do not know him so well as me, Miss Dashwood, you must have seen enough of him to be sensible he is very capable of making a woman sincerely attached to him." “Certainly," answered Elinor, without knowing what she said;
PFFHAHA. Well, Elinor's composure is well and truly gone. If there's one positive thing that might come out of love triangles (positive negotiation sort, not toxic rivalry) it would be the sincere solidarity over the best qualities of the subject of their competitive affections. Though it doesn't seem like Elinor is disposed to be friends with Lucy, sadly...
I think Lucy just wants to be friends, but, uh, well. On the one hand I don't know how sensitive she's being right now really but on the other hand, I dunno how you can sensitively break it to someone that their crush has actually been your fiance for FOUR YEARS. Like, if Eddie knew, this is something he shoulda nipped in the bud long ago.
I think I've already spent an hour trying to process everything here.
The secrecy of the engagement makes sense too. I don't think Eddie's mother would ever have approved of any engagement without thorough vetting of the suitor's prospects. A secret youthful engagement must therefore remain very secret. No wonder Lucy's so concerned about Mrs. Ferrars now, too. And Eddie's only known the Dashwoods with the context of his sister hovering nearby, just ready to be generally Fanny. If information about Lucy had gotten out to Marianne that would already be a risk, but there was MARGARET too, and that sure worked out for Elinor. No wonder the Dashwoods heard nothing.
...
Elinor could tank this if she leaked the engagement. Please don't do that Elinor, it- oh no. Elinor won't do that. What if Marianne does it on Elinor's behalf? Oh no oh no. I hope that doesn't happen. Lucy's a nice girl. :(
Come to think of it, as far as underhanded deals go, there is a possibility that Lucy is actually faking this information, knowing that Elinor is interested in Edward, in order to drive her away. That... wouldn't be the case would it...? But he does have the hair ring... It's not like she pressed her into an engagement right...? AM I BARGAINING ON ELINOR'S BEHALF?
Lucy demonstrably proves she's talking about Edward Ferrars and nobody else by showing Elinor a picture of her beau. A thought, considering how much Edward has spoken to Lucy of the Dashwoods, no wonder she was so keen to meet them.
And Lucy is so happy to be able to confide in Elinor because she has noone else besides Anne, who is understandably a liablity in terms of secrecy, and gives poor advice in general. How fortunate to have somebody so level-headed as Elinor! Edward's name coming up at all from Sir Middleton did mortify her at the possibility of beans being spilled. Lucy is so stressed that the secrecy is such that she barely gets to see Edward at all, and never knows what will be of her future. Please Lucy, you know the context of Edward's being mentioned at all, spare a thought for Elinor. :(
Here she took out her handkerchief; but Elinor did not feel very compassionate.
... Yeah.
"Sometimes," continued Lucy, after wiping her eyes, "I think whether it would not be better for us both to break off the matter entirely. [...] What would you advise me to do in such a case, Miss Dashwood?"
Uh. Wrong person to ask. Elinor sure thinks so too. Ah but Lucy even explains why he's been despirited. So it's not as much any guilt or shame so much as stress about his future with Lucy. It does also explain him leaving in a hurry with no explanation, anything related to Lucy would have no explanation given.
And Lucy shows Elinor a letter sent to her by Edward; now all doubts are cleared. She also explains that the hair-set ring is hers, asking her if she had seen it;
"I did," said Elinor, with a composure of voice, under which was concealed an emotion and distress beyond anything she had ever felt before."
After sitting with them a few minutes, the Miss Steeles returned to the Park, and Elinor was at liberty to think and be wretched.
Poor Elinor. "at liberty to think and be wretched" is also a very nice line to end a chapter on. I've definitely felt that before too.
Well.
This chapter. A lot happened here. What's Marianne going to find out next about Willoughby when the Palmers return?? We still don't know about Brandon's daughter!!
I understand now too why the chapter with the Palmers got sandwiched between the preceding chapters and the introduction of the Steeles, and why the transition seemed strangely long. The lack of information lulls a false sense of security, and also it's a small buffer in the pacing to not immediately just, roll reveals onto the reader.
I can think of Lucy as nothing but earnest at least, though, quite insensitive to Elinor's feelings in a way that should have been obvious. Umm. I don't know what to say or think about Edward right now. He's barely appeared really, I can't get a read on him. Floating the idea at the end that Lucy is not secure in her engagement, and also that it could be easily broken by the secret getting out, does... leave the whole consequences of this reveal up in the air really. It's thoroughly within Elinor's power to break them up, but...
Ah, my minds a bit overloaded now and I've gone way overtime so I'll leave the rest to consider next time after I've digested it a bit.
Poor Elinor.
#2400 words#dear lord I went long#and i'm exhausted#poor Elinor#Jane Austen#Sense and Sensibility#readthrough#novels
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“That was completely reckless!” Dewey
“Dewey, that was completely reckless!” Webby shouted as they ran out of the ancient mayan temple that was actively shooting arrows and other such weaponry at them.
“I was curious, okay?! It’s not like what you did was any help too!” Dewey huffed as he turned a corner and they both dove out of the fire line and the door from the entrance closed.
“Well geez, sorry I couldn’t read this specific dialect of ancient Mayan as well as the other fifty. My bad,” She rolled her eyes and dusted herself off.
“It’s fine, it’s fine,” Dewey huffed and did the same, “We just might need a local guide this time.”
“Local guide? Since when have we ever needed a guide?” Webby asked as they started walking back toward town.
“Since you couldn’t read the writing on the wall and told me to just go for it and that set off all of the traps,” Dewey crossed his arms.
“I didn’t say that,” Webby corrected, “All I said was ‘I think you can go but to be safe-’ and you ran off.”
“Okay so maybe that’s true. We’re getting a guide anyway,” Dewey admitted his defeat.
“Fine by me. I’ll text Louie and tell him I’ll be late,” Webby fumbled for her phone in her pocket and gasped.
“Dewey, my engagement ring is gone! It must’ve fallen off at the temple,” she face palmed.
“It’s fine, we’ll go back,” Dewey shrugged. It wasn’t like there was much else he could say or do to fix it. It... was what it was. Plus the topic of their engagement made him still feel weird. Of course he was overjoyed Webby would actually become his sister, but it felt weird that they were old enough to be married soon. And Louie was actually doing it. He was going to get married. And here he was, with an ex-crush soon to be sister, dating absolutely no one.
He sighed to himself and they kept walking.
They walked in silence for the most part as they made their way through the forest and back into the small town, weaving their way through merchants and normal tourists who had no interest in real adventure, just cheesy tourist stuff. Some people gave them odd looks, since they were covered in dirt and looked like all around hot messes, but nonetheless, they made their way to the local tavern (the best place to find useful locals according to Webby) and sat down at a table.
“What do you think of him? He looks hardened by weather and looks like he knows stuff,” Dewey gestured to a man in the corner wearing a leather jacket an a bandana wrapped around his head. He was cleaning out his teeth with a knife so he seemed tough in Dewey’s mind.
“Nah, seems like a swindler who’s trying too hard,” Webby shook her head when a waitress came by and
“I didn’t order this,” Webby pushed it back.
“It’s from the gentleman across the room. And it’s not for you,” she pushed it toward Dewey, who blinked.
“Ookkkayy then,” he eye it suspiciously, looking to where the woman had pointed and saw a scarlet macaw wink at him from across the room. The man stood up and went over to their table.
“Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Dante Canul. I see you two are travelers looking for treasure, and I must say you look quite more prepared than the usual adventures. Unfortunately, no one has ever made it out of their with even a coin alive,” His voice was deep and intriguing, as a handsome, mysterious stranger ought to be.
“Well that sounds like it would be a bummer, but you’re talking to two of the greatest adventurers in the world,” Dewey snarked, challenging in the stranger.
“Oh I see, you’re the cocky one, eh? You make me laugh,” Dante teased. “I can agree to help you, if you’d like. I basically lived in that temple when I was a kid,” he proposed. Webby eyed him up and down.
“How do we know we can trust you?” she questioned.
“You can’t,” he smirked.
“Webbigail, can we talk a second?” Dewey pulled her to the side.
“I think we should let him guide us,” He said.
“What? Why?” Webby asked an honestly reasonable question.
“I dunno he seems... useful,” Dewey scratched the back of his neck. “I just have a feeling. I dunno...”
“A feeling. Riiiight,” she rolled her eyes.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” He blushed a little.
“Oh nothing, nothing at all,” Webby smirked and spun around to face Dante again.
“Dante Canul, welcome aboard,” She shook hands with him to seal the deal.
“It’ll be my pleasure,” he nodded.
“Right, right. So when will we be going?” Dewey asked.
“I am offended you even asked. We’re leaving right away,” He said.
“We just came back from there,” Webby stated.
“Yes? That means the memories are fresher. You had a solid thirty minute rest and some water. We can head on back as soon as you fill your water bottles again, and then we can be off,” He instructed before walking off to go grab his own supplies from where he had left them.
“You know, you're lucky i left my ring in there or I might have suggested never going back," Webby crossed her arms.
"No you wouldn't have," Dewey stated flatly.
"Okay, you're right. But I can tell you think this guy is major cute so that's also a plus," she smirked.
"What-?! I do not think he is- ugh- 'cute'," he acted disgusted at the word, but his words did nothing to sway Webby. And unfortunately, she was right he did think he was... attractive. His long flaming red hair, the leather vest he wore over his white flowing shirt... it was very much a style. Okay. Okay. He was hot. Dante Canul was hot.
Or maybe his impending loneliness was starting to effect him so he was clinging to the first person he saw.
"C'mon, you've dated tons of people. A mysterious stranger offers to be your guide in a mysterious land, will sparks fly between the two? Yes!!" Webby got over excited.
"Webby, you are literally killing the mood. Let's go," he grabbed her hand and their stuff and went to refill the water.
"Okay, okay. I'll calm myself," she said. It was a promise he knew she wouldn't be able to keep.
"Ready to go?" Dante asked.
"Yep," Dewey put his hands on his hips and posed awkwardly. Webby face palmed behind him.
"Of course," she said. Dante nodded and Webby and Dewey followed.
"Since when are you, Dewey i-couldn't-stop-flirting-with-every-person-i-saw-in-high-school-and-college Duck, nervous at the prospect of a hot guy?" Webby punched his arm.
"Hey- you can't think he's hot. You're engaged to my brother,'" he glared.
"Stop avoiding the question," she squinted dramatically.
"You travelers okay?" He grinned and asked.
"Absolutely perfect, my dear Dante," Dewey closed his eyed confidently, before tripping over a tree root and Dante caught him in his strong, muscular arms.
"Watch it there," he smirked at Dewey before setting him back upright. Webby snickered behind him.
"Right," he did his best to hide his blushing by dusting himself off.
"Anyhow, let's keep going," Dante winked and they continued making their way through the forest. Webby kept trying to give Dewey 'why are you nervous' faces but Dewey kept ignoring them and kept walking onward.
Soon enough Webby and Dante started talking while Dewey, for the first time ever in his whole life, remained silent. For the first time as well, he was actually intimidated by someone that he liked. For the first time, he met someone smoother than himself.
"Here we are! Temple sweet temple," dante announced and snapped Dewey out of his trance.
"Right sooooooooooooooooo... now what?" Dewey asked. Dante went up to the bottom step and removed a giant stone from the ground.
"We go under," he said, reaching into his bag and getting out a torch.
"Under! Of course! We tried the entrance but it was ner impossible to get through, heh," Webby explained to him.
"Do not worry about a thing. I know exactly where we can find your ring. Let's go," he had gotten out a lighter and lit his torch and they all started heading under.
Dante did seem to know what he was doing. He guided them boldly and confidently. He lifted heavy rocks and even helped Webby read some of the glyphs. It was fun. It was fine. He was fine.
"Aha! The last booby trap! This is where we got stumped last time," Webby pointed out the hundreds of arrows in the wall.
"I see. And just so you know, if your ring is anywhere, it's up there," he pointed to a pile of gold, ssurrounded by slithering snakes of all kinds of varieties.
"I got this," Webby reached into her bag and got out her grappling hook but he stopped her.
"Those are some of the most deadly snakes on the planet. We'll have to either kill it or get it to go away before he go for any of the treasure," he explained.
"How do you know so much about this place?" Webby eyed him with suspicion.
"He said he practically grew up here. Now, do you have any meat in your bag? Dead mice? A thing we can kill a lot of snakes with? Also- how to we avoid the arrows again?" Dewey asked.
"You don't run in blindly like a fool. As you can see, there is a cursed tile, which causes all traps to go off, as these glyphs dictate," he pointed out.
"Okay we get it," Dewey rolled his eyes.
"You know, Dewey called me crazy but I did bring my flute. Could they be charmed into going away?" Webby reached into her bag and presented it to the boys.
"I suppose it could..." Dante eyed it. Webby nodded, handed Dewey her grappling hook and began to play it. Slowly the snakes were drawn away from the treasure. Once gone Dewey fired it and went up to the treasure and started putting it into the bags. Dante watched them both work when suddenly the walls trembled.
"Dante?" Dewey asked, closing his bag after had grabbed the most valuable things he could find up there.
"Relax, it's nothing. Let's go," Dante instructed. Dewey made his way down with the grappling hook and Webby eventually weaved her way through the snakes and all of them started making a run for the exit, but the exit was blocked off by people in masks and leather jackets like the one man they saw at the bar.
"Aww cute! I love when besties match outfits," Webby cracked her knuckles and started fighting them. Dewey got in it too. Both were throwing punches left and right, defending their earnings until it seemed they were surrounded. Webby and Dewey were preparing to fight their way out of it when the one guy they recognized whistled in the distance and they suddenly all ran away, which was very, very suspicious.
"They just... left?" Webby tilted her head.
"Must've known they were about to lose. Anyway. Let's go. Pretty sure the temple is about to collapse," Dante ran ahead and Dewey and Webby followed behind. As they ran down the steps, the temple seemed to be crumbling just behind their steps and when they reached the bottom it was practically reduced to rubble.
"Welp. That was fun," Dewey grinned at Webby.
"Did you see my ring? Louie would kill me if I lost it. I don't even know when it fell off," Webby asked. Just as Dewey was going to speak, Dante interrupted.
"Right here," he got it out from his pocket.
"You found it! Thanks!" Webby smiled and put it back on.
"Well let's head back. Drinks on me," Dante suggested.
"Sounds good to me. I never did get a chance to drink the one you got me earlier," Dewey cleared his throat.
"Wow, really like wasting my money don't you?" Dante grinned.
"Yeah yeah, let's go," Dewey rolled his eyes and they went back into the town.
By ths time they got back the sun had set and it was a gorgeous and clear starry night above them. Webby had called it in early since she wanted to "get some shut eye before the flight", whatever that meant. Dewey knew she probably just wanted to face time his brother. Shocker. So it was Dewey and Dante.
"You have some pretty slick moves you know that?" Dante asked.
"Oh yeah, i'm like... the coolest guy I know," he tried to sound as confident as possible.
"Oh i can believe that," Dante teased.
"Mhm. But what about you, huh? You got a story? Tragic backstory? Why'd you buy me a drink huh?" Dewey asked.
"You ask a lot of questions," Dante said, undoing then redoing his ponytail. His feathers shone softly in the moonlight to a point where it was almost entrancing.
"You know- i don't normally drink while at adventures for fears of being kicked out of a foreign country," Dewey said.
"Really life of a party eh?" Dante grinned.
"You bet," he finger gunned awkwardly and hated it immediately. Dante laughed and told him he was funny, which just made him feel more awkward.
"You know- i- uh..." Dewey started to say something but trailed.
"What?" Dante leaned closer.
"You were really useful today. We could... we could use you on the team," Dewey tried to act, once more, as calm and nonchalant as possible but was pretty much a failure. Dante got out a piece of paper from his pocket and wrote down his number.
"Here. Take it," he handed it to Dewey with a wink.
"Incase you ever need another sidekick or maybe even just another person to talk to. Im always here," he winked, got up and went away.
"Coolcoolcool. Got it... totallyyyy got it," Dewey nodded slowly until Dante was out of earshot and gave a giant sigh of relief. Somehow he didn't screw this up. Well- of course he didn't. He's Dewey Turbo Duck. He's cool and swave and the handsome duck brother.
And he now had a hot guy's phone number.
#my fics#dewey duck#my ocs#dante canul#new oc y'all#ducktales#ducktales fanfics#idk what this is#i lowkey hate it#oh well#webby vanderquack#dewey low key has loneliness issues
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Prompt, eh? Hmm, perhaps try a monologue from a character's perspective as they come to the horrible realization that are falling deeper and deeper in love. Bonus points if it starts over something as simple as thinking the individual has a cute sneeze.
So my first thought was “oh Ghidorah” but then I was like “but I’ve basically already done that with Ghidorah in the form of arguing with themselves about Rodan, what other character that we both know could I do that with” and then I was like “oh Gigan?”
And then I was like “well obviously he’s gotta have somebody to be monologuing to” and then it uh turned into a whole fic with a plot arc and a cliffhanger instead of a simple monologue, and also took me like seven hours to write instead of thirty minutes.
I haven’t proofed it because it’s 5 a.m.! Enjoy!!!
###
The Fissures Between Flesh and Metal
###
“The first time I saw them,” Gigan said, turned to take in both the bartender and the robot on the stool next to him, “they’d just stolen a million credit job out from under me.”
The bartender rapped the sharp tip of one tentacle against the bar disapprovingly, and the robot let out a low whistle.
“Yeah,” Gigan said. “I was ready to kill them on the spot. The apocalyptic mercenary market’s already crowded enough—there’s practically more people running around who can destroy planets than there are people who actually want a planet destroyed, you know? I’ll put up with professional rivalry, fine, but I’m not gonna take this from some edgy new guys in town who don’t have enough respect for their fellow professionals not to horn in on someone else’s job. Gimme another hit?”
The robot obligingly picked up the battery that it and Gigan had been sharing and quickly pressed the terminals to the side of Gigan’s metal beak. Electricity jolted straight into his brain. He tipped his head back, letting the rush wash through his circuits, his thoughts popping and static flashing in his optical band.
As the power boost sizzled out and he came back down, for a moment he saw a blurry golden shape with three heads and enormous wings. Then his vision cleared and it was gone.
Gigan shook his head. “But as I’m standing in a freshly-leveled village on this planet that shoulda been my job, watching these jerks who undercut me walk strut around and trying to decide the best angle to attack them from, one of them bends over and licks up this smear made out of one of the locals. The other two screw up their faces in disgust, the one that licked it is scraping his tongue off on a rock, the middle one’s biting his horn in revenge—and then the head on the other side takes a taste too, and they do it all over again.” He threw back his head, squawking in laughter. The bartender rattled a couple of tentacles in amusement. The robot just shook its head.
“Anyway,” Gigan went on, “I figured then either they were too damn stupid to realize they’d stolen someone’s job—heck, maybe they were just wild animals that had been dropped off to make a mess—or, they were the most fun guys I’d ever seen. So I let ‘em live.”
“Did you talk to them?” the robot asked. It wasn’t looking at Gigan anymore; its optic was off. A dozen different open tabs in glowing squares and rectangles floated in front of the bot, projected from the computer plugged into its wrist. The robot groped around blindly for the battery and took another hit; the floating screens sizzled and wavered.
Gigan waited for the static to die down before he replied. “Nah, not then. Had no idea what language to start with. I figured if they really were mercs and not someone’s pet planet squashers, I’d eventually run into them again somewhere like this.”
“This” being the bar around them: an illicit pop-up stop clinging precariously to the surface of an asteroid under a makeshift canopy tent, with a smattering of round tables and stools screwed directly into the asteroid’s surface and a bar made out of a row of coolers. Places like this were a dime a dozen in this arm of the galaxy, appearing in a matter of hours and disappearing just as fast, lasting anywhere from a week to five years. All you needed to make one was a force field to keep out nearby asteroids and to keep in enough air to prevent customers’ heads from popping—but providing gravity and breathable air was the customers’ responsibility. The bartender wore goggles and an air filter that snaked around her head to an air tank strapped between three larger tentacles; Gigan had enough internal air storage and a good enough filter in his throat that he’d be fine for hours as long as he didn’t get in a fight. He kept his tail and one leg curled beneath his seat to keep himself from floating off it.
Bars like this were the best place to find odd jobs and the odd guys to do them: hired killers, hackers, thugs, dealers in contraband of all kind. Gigan couldn’t count how many bars like this he and the triple threat had hung out in—either because they’d run into each other there between jobs, or because they’d come together.
“We crossed paths a lotta times over the next, uh…” he waved a scythe vaguely, “dunno. Few centuries, I guess? It’s hard to keep track of standard galactic time when you spend all your time bouncing between different planets with different year lengths. Sometimes we got hired by two different employers to hit the same world—I usually, y'know, got hired as muscle to extort a ransom, but the only jobs they ever did were full mass extinctions. I got to see them in action—wow. They’re a moving force of nature. On the right planets—wet ones, mainly—they create storms hundreds of miles across just by flying.” To the bartender, he said, “You’re from an aquatic world, right? You look like it.”
Rapping on the makeshift bar top with the tips of half a dozen tentacles, the bartender said, “My ancestral world? Mostly aquatic. About four fifths of the planet, I’m told.”
“Yeah, they’d tear your planet to shreds.“ He didn’t have enough appendages to speak the bartender’s percussive language properly—like the robot, he was speaking it by synthesizing the right raps and taps through his speaker—but he added a scrape with one scythe on the bar top to underscore the sentiment.
She shrugged.
"Fought them a few times, too,” Gigan said. “They’re vicious in close combat. It's kill or be killed, no in between. I’d usually have to cut and run, heh, just take the financial hit, cuz there’s no beating them without getting damaged so bad the victory isn’t worth it. They’re probably the best warriors I’ve ever met, but the worst mercenaries to share a market with.”
He thought his tone was admiring, but the robot said, “I thought you got along with each other?”
“We did,” Gigan insisted, and immediately corrected himself, “We do. It just took a while to get properly introduced to each other, you know? Every time I met them, they were in the middle of a job—and they had that whole... intense, mysterious, aloof loner schtick going on. For the longest time, I didn’t even know whether they could talk.” He hooked one of his wrist spurs through the handle of his drink, took a sip through the straw—hated straws, but a lid with a straw was the cheapest way to keep a drink from floating out of a mug and bars like this were nothing if not cheap—and grimaced. Either his drink had gone off in the past five minutes or that battery was messing with his taste buds. Probably the latter. "When we finally met each other properly, it was in—you know that cruddy little strip of solar systems that ended up under no one’s jurisdiction after the 'Rog turf war? Buncha little lawless hellholes?“
The bartender said, "My ancestral home world was in that strip.”
“Sucks,” Gigan said. “Hope it wasn’t one of the ones the 'Rogs asked me to clear out. Anyway, I crossed paths with them in one of the space port cities near the edge of the contested territory. They’d gotten in a bar fight. And lost.”
They’d been thrown across the bar onto their back, legs kicking uselessly in the air, hissing and spitting in the worst Suneri that Gigan had ever heard. Someone had been mad at them because they’d finished the job they’d been hired for even after they'd been told the world had paid the ransom their employer had demanded; they were mad that they’d been ordered to stop when they’d said from the start that wasn’t how they worked. They were twice the height of anyone else in the bar besides Gigan; but they were fighting completely naked—weaponless and defenseless—and consequently got their tails handed to them.
He’d learned a little bit more about them by then. Over past few centuries, he’d asked around about a three-headed, golden, scaled, winged warrior that spat lightning. He'd eventually stumbled on some sparse info about the prize weapons of a conquering empire in some far-flung corner of the galaxy, a race rather like the local Garogas. Their three-headed warriors were some sort of genetically engineered killing machines.
So was Gigan.
The warriors he’d seen were very, very far from their home.
So was Gigan.
Over time, he'd found enough info on the empire to download its dominant species’ language, so when he’d crossed paths with the warriors again and confirmed that they could, in fact, speak—
“I offered to buy them drinks.” In their home world’s language. “And they kicked me in the chest.” He laughed.
It was his fault. He should’ve known that anyone who’d flown that far to get away from their masters wouldn’t wanna hear a stranger speaking their masters’ language. Would Gigan have?
“And this is when you started making friends?” the bartender asked dubiously.
“Sure! It was the first time they didn’t try to kill me,” Gigan said. “And they did let me buy them that drink. They were flat broke. Get this—this is why I kept running into them everywhere—they were snapping up half the jobs on the market because they were doing them for free.”
The robot made a painful-sounding buzz low in its abdomen that Gigan took for a laugh.
“Yeah! Yeah. Remember what I said about that edgy loner schtick of theirs?” He drummed emphatically on the bar top. “They just wanted to watch worlds burn. No money. No rewards. They didn’t turn down anyone stupid enough to hire them, but they don’t take any orders, either. Get what you pay for, huh?”
“What is their name?” the robot asked.
Gigan’s good cheer immediately disappeared. “They don’t have one,” he said sharply.
“Of course they do.”
“No, they said they don’t. They weren’t given one. They wanna be nameless, I’ll respect that.”
“I am in the Xiliens’ military personnel database.”
Gigan leaned over, trying to see the screens from the robot’s angle. “Yeah? You’ve got a connection to their empire from here?”
“A really slow one,” the robot shot back, “patched into the network via a Xilien spy two star systems away who is connected to the home world with the worst ansible I have ever had the displeasure of interfacing with, so I would like to spend as little time doing unnecessary searches as possible. It looks like they have got hundreds of files on three-headed monsters like your buddies. Once I have cracked the security encryption on them, I do not want to open them one by one.”
For a moment, Gigan was silent. Then he said, “They said their home world didn’t name them—it numbered them.”
“Sympathies,” the robot said. “I have still got a bar code on my ass with my factory serial number. Do you know theirs?”
“He said they’re Zero.” He felt like a traitor. They'd only trusted him with that information because they'd believed him when he swore that he'd never call them by their homeworld's label—and certainly that he'd never tell anyone else.
The robot froze momentarily, processing that. “Easy to remember.” One of the screens changed as the robot started searching.
“Just one 'he’ now?” the bartender asked. “You were talking about all three together earlier.”
“Yeah, uh, he as in—as in the one on the left,” Gigan said. He didn't think of the information as coming from them, but from him—the one who'd persuaded the other two to share it, the one who'd leaned in to whisper it to him in the dark while the other two watched for eavesdroppers. “You’ve got lefty, righty, and front-and-center. Totally different people. Lefty’s… probably my favorite. I like them all about the same, but he—makes himself easiest to like, you know? Great sense of humor—the murderous kind—the kind of guy that can find anything entertaining. From explosions to head wounds. That’s rare.”
Although sometimes Gigan had gotten the impression that, on some level, lefty was forcing himself to feel entertained. The more Gigan got to know him, to see under the aloof façade they all put on, the more he got the sense that lefty had this... desperate fragility about him, like he was crumbling apart and looking for something to latch onto—a weird taste or a unique view or a good fight—something to hold him together.
All three of them gave off that impression, truth be told, just in different ways. Righty looked for stability in his other two heads, ever turned inward, to the point he was all but oblivious to life outside of them. Front-and-center held himself together through sheer force of will, and held back anything from getting close enough to touch him and break him apart.
They were all three so very brittle. They had fissures deep in their body and minds, fissures traced along the paths of the invisible scars where they’d been stitched together into a three-headed monster. And whenever Gigan glimpsed that brittleness—whenever they withdrew into themselves at a question about their past, whenever they tried to pretend they weren’t nervous around employers who paraded about mind-controlled thralls, whenever they hesitated in front of a door that said “No Pets” like they didn’t think they qualified as people instead of animals—he felt the fissures between his flesh and his metal, too.
He didn’t like to talk about his fissures. But they liked to talk about theirs even less, so it all worked out neatly—except that, sometimes, he wished he could talk to them about how he kept his from cracking open, in hopes that it could help them too. He hated their brittleness. He hated how it hurt them.
“But they’re all fun,” he said. “Fighting them especially, once you get them to a place where they’re trying to beat you instead of kill you. They don’t mind losing a few body parts, even—they just regrow them. I even saw them regrow front-and-center’s whole head, once. I didn’t take him off, just saw it happen. Fighting alongside them, though—sometimes we'd get hired for jobs together—watching the way they can work a hurricane, wow…” To think that they didn’t think they were people. Had they never heard themselves sing before? Had they never seen the way they danced through clouds and lightning? Had they never noticed how they effortlessly conducted both rain and minds alike like they were symphonies? Didn’t they know that they were maestros in the sky? Their sheer visionary genius, their unsurpassed grace, the beauty of golden scales gyrating through the cloudless eye of a storm…
“Hit me again,” he asked the robot, and he wasn’t sure whether it was in hopes of pushing the images out of his RAM or in hopes of summoning up another hallucinatory vision of them. The robot flicked on its optic long enough to pick up the battery and lean over.
When Gigan came back down, the robot said, “I am not finding any monsters named Zero. Have you got another name?”
“No—what do you mean 'named’? They don’t have names besides numbers, do they?”
“They do. The Xiliens gave them all code names. They are things like 'Death’ and 'Hyper’ and 'Kaiser.’”
Gigan shouldn’t have been surprised that they’d lied about their name, after everything else. But he was. And it hurt. “Well—keep looking. You’ve got the picture I sent you, right?”
“I will have to look through every file individually to find a visual match.”
“I’m paying you for your time, aren’t I? Come on.”
The robot made an irritated buzzing noise, but snapped, “Fine.”
“Why do you have to track them down anyway?” the bartender asked. “If you’re so close.”
Gigan shrugged. “They went and disappeared on me ages ago. I’m just trying to figure out where they went. I figured their home world might be looking for their lost planet-flatteners, so…” Although they’d never said so, he’d always got the sense that they were terrified of their home world—and terrified that they were being followed. Not the vague paranoia that any escaped weapon felt, but like they knew.
“So why’d they take off? You have a fight?”
“No. We didn’t. In fact, the last time we spoke was—was the opposite of a fight.”
The last time they spoke, Gigan had asked them to come with him. For good. He thought they should market themselves as a package apocalyptic deal, let Gigan handle finessing the employers and victims while the triple threat handled the razing. Give the three of them the opportunity to experience the cushy things you can only get when you’re getting paid for your jobs—fine dining, luxury hotels, resort planets—because they deserved those things all the time, not just when they happened to cross paths with Gigan between jobs. Take them to symphonies and operas—he heard them singing, constantly, any time things were still and they thought no one was listening, in languages he’d never learned. Travel the galaxy together. Get as far away from their pasts as they could.
They said they’d think about it.
He’d never seen them again.
He snatched up his drink and irritably stirred the straw, trying to suck up the last drops floating around inside. He slammed the mug back down. "Just trying to see if they tripped and fell in a black hole or something,“ he muttered. "Get me another. Less blood this time, it tastes funky.” The bartender took back the empty mug and opened one of the coolers.
The robot turned on its optic. “I think we have a match,” it said. Gigan immediately leaned over, squinting at the screens. Something in him sparked and simmered when he saw the photo. That was them—far younger, with a near-feral bloodthirst in their eyes that he’d only ever seen when they were fighting for their lives.
“The Xiliens have a database of AWOL monsters where they document their efforts to track them down. It was a lot faster to go through than all the files,” the robot said. “You were right—they are numbered, and they were assigned zero. I believe your friends were the prototype for the others.” It pointed at small text at the top of their file, Monster #0, and then dragged its finger down to the far larger text underneath: KING. “That is their name.”
Gigan wondered why they would rather claim they’d been named “Zero” than “King.” They deserved to be called King. “Well? What’s it say? Do they know where they are?”
The robot pulled up a map of the galaxy. It showed a cone stretching away from their general neighborhood—like the maps that came from trying to predict the path of a hurricane crossing an ocean. It curved counterclockwise in an arc, a little more than half the galaxy’s radius out from the supermassive black hole. The path was thousands of lightyears long and, at its widest point, hundreds across.
“They found faint psychic traces of King’s interstellar path almost a hundred thousand years ago heading roughly along that arc, assuming they continued on the same trajectory,” the robot said. “But that is the most recent data the Xiliens have.”
“It’ll do,” Gigan said. At least it was a starting point. Even if they’d long moved on, Gigan might be able to pick up the trail again if he knew where they’d been. “What are these 'psychic traces’ the Xiliens are tracking? Any way I can track that too?”
“I can look it up, but it will cost you more.”
“Yeah yeah yeah. That’s fine.”
“Hold on,” the bartender said, setting down Gigan’s new drink. “A hundred thousand years ago? You’re looking for someone who disappeared a hundred thousand years ago?”
Gigan winced. “Technically, no. It was—longer than that, actually.”
“How long ago?”
Gigan opened his mouth. And stuck the straw in it so he wouldn’t have to answer.
The bartender tapped out disapproval on the bar top. “They could be anywhere in the galaxy by now.”
“Yeah, if they had any idea how to hitch rides,” Gigan said. “They fly everywhere. With their own wings. They spend long flights inside these things.” He stamped a hooked foot on the asteroid. “And I don’t mean a ship disguised to look like an asteroid, they travel in rocks!”
“This is gross,” the robot said. “Organic brains are gross. But here. I got the unique psychic frequency that the Xiliens are using to track King and blueprints to a machine to do it with. I do not know if they are good blueprints. I refuse to think about brains any more than that.”
“It’ll do. Beam it over.”
The robot mentally transferred over its exorbitant invoice. The instant Gigan transferred payment, it followed up with the files. “Pleasure,” it said, unplugging from its computer and beginning to pack up. It pointed at the battery. “Do you want more?”
“Keep the rest. Consider it a tip.”
“Nice.” It carefully wrapped the battery in a napkin and stowed it with the computer.
Gigan sucked down the rest of his drink, pulled some physical cash out of a compartment in his calf, and slapped it down on the bar.
The bartender put a tentacle over the money and carefully slid it to the edge of the bar so it wouldn't float away. Several taps dragging out into wry scrapes, she said, "Must be a more impressive lay than they look like.“
If Gigan hadn’t already finished his drink, he would have choked. "We never—! I mean—we're—colleagues. Colleague-friend-…mercenaries.” He shifted the leg he had anchored around the bar stool uncomfortably. “Does it... seem like something else?”
Several tentacles rippled in a shrug. “I don’t know anything about your species,” she said. “But in most, no one spends that kind of money, obsesses that amount of time, and crosses that amount of space unless it's for an offspring, a hive mind hub, a nearly-extinct food source, or a mate of some kind.”
Gigan turned that over. In his head, he called up the photo in the file that the robot had sent him. They were so young, so furious, so bestial—so much more broken than they had been even when Gigan knew them. It was a damn pity that the Xiliens kept visual instead of audial files. He wondered if they had sang back then, too.
“Honestly?” he said. “I don’t know much about my species, either.”
His flesh felt icy and his metal felt numb during the few seconds after exiting the bar’s force field as he crossed the asteroid to where he’d parked his junk heap of a ship. He was warm again by the time he’d powered it up and gotten off the rock. He turned toward the nearest proper spaceport that accommodated people of his size and profession. He had a very long search ahead of him, and he had no idea when he was next going to cross paths with a proper spacefaring planet. He had to stock up on supplies.
He needed to buy a ship that wasn’t falling apart, too. Something built for deep space exploration.
Careful not to cut it, he peeled the one picture he had of the triple threat off of his windshield and stowed it in his calf compartment, to transfer to his new ship later.
###
If you wanna read my other KOTM fics, link’s in the source below. It’s mostly Rodorah, but this fic is canon to that verse.
#gigan#king ghidorah#ghidorah#godzilla#kotm#my writing#fanfic#('hey puff what do you like about kotm?' 'worldbuilding alien societies')#('but there's no alien societies in kotm—' 'WORLDBUILDING ALIEN SOCIETIES')#(gig and ghid need a ship name)#perishablehomosexual#ask
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The Pen Pal Project (Chris Evans x Latina!OC)
Masterlist
Previously on The Pen Pal Project...
Warnings: Cute gif of Chris Evans ahead.
Word Count: Uhhhhh
Chapter 3
Letter #3
October 31th, 2019
Chris’s POV
Chris woke up, doing his usual routine when he was home. Which consisted of him working out and things that kind of included Dodger in the mix. But it was Halloween, Chris seemed to be rushing his usual routine in order to get to his sisters' house to see his young Niece’s and Nephews.
It wasn’t until he was at his sister's house that he had received a phone call, excusing himself to the other room he quickly answered the call, knowing the number all too well.
“Hello?”
“Mr. Evans?” A soft voice said in the other line, “this is Dr. Holts receptionists, I’m assuming you know why I am calling.”
Chris chuckled, “yeah, I do, I can pick up the letter in an hour if that’s alright?”
“Perfectly fine, see you then, Mr. Evans,” with that the girl hung up the phone.
“What was that all about?” He heard his sister ask from behind him, he quickly turned around and smiled at his older sister, Carly.
“Just my therapist, wanting me to pick up a letter.” She looked at him with a raised eyebrow, “she asked me to be a part of this project of hers, in which I get a letter from a stranger and we communicate that way.”
“Sounds interesting,” she said as she sat on the couch, “tell me more.”
“Well, she wants to know if this would make some people feel better, maybe the effect of writing down their problems to a stranger and sending it out only to wait a couple days for a reply would help a person deal with things emotionally. Maybe it’ll help them to wait things out if things turn for the worse,” Chris hoped his sister knew what he was implying. It wasn’t something that had crossed Chris’s mind but he knew that many people out there have thought of it. It saddened him at the thought. At the thought that many fans of his had ever dealt with it.
If he could help prevent that in any way, Chris wouldn’t hesitate to do it.
“Well, what do you know about this person?”
“Well, from what I know, her name is Julie and she’s a waitress in California.... so far that’s it. Also, she loves Star Wars and dogs.”
“sounds like your kind of girl,” Carly mumbled but she didn’t mumble low enough because Chris heard her, easily giving her a small glare.
“No, Carly,” he sighed, “probably isn’t the best idea.”
“Well, you never know!”
“She’s twenty-three anyways, you know how people are with age-gaps.”
“Yeah, and let me tell you that age doesn’t really matter. Well, it does in some cases but not in this one!” Chris sighed, not wanting to hear this from his sister, he already hated the thought of almost being forty and alone. No wife or kids. It felt like if anything were to happen with someone it’d be rushed, “Look, I’m just saying, don’t say no just yet. Just... Just let things happen if it were to happen.”
Chris rolled her eyes, “it’s just a pen pal, Carly, nothing else. Alright?”
Carly sighed, “alright.”
“Look I should get going, I’ll be back later to help the kids with their costumes,” Chris said as gave his sister a kiss on the cheek before leaving the house.
Chris began his drive to his therapist's office. The talk he had with his sister Carly not once leaving his mind. “just a pen pal,” he reminded himself as he focused on the road, “nothing is going to happen, we’ll probably only send each other a handful of letters before one of us gets tired of the other.” Chris didn’t want to think that way if anything he wanted this project to work. He wanted to find sources for people to seek help.
But Chris couldn’t help but think of how much this girl, Julie, made him laugh. The way she wrote her letters, he couldn’t help but wonder if she were the same way in real life. Did the words, the comebacks, slip out of her tongue the way they so easily come into a sentence on a piece of paper? did she write that letter with ease or did she sit down for hours contemplating on what to say?
Chris didn’t know. But he knew that there was some sort of connection.
Chris finally arrived at his therapist's office, he greeted the receptionist as she gave him his letter, “they sure do arrive quickly,” he commented.
“Priority mail,” she said with a small smile. He said his goodbyes and then walked over to his car. He couldn’t wait to get home, so he opened the letter right there in his car, in front of his therapist's office.
Dear Chris,
I feel that after a while, we will stop using ‘Dear’ and end up using ‘wassup, Chris.’ I dunno, just a random thought. But you are right, it is a ‘my bad’ that I did not give you my last name. Although I have to say, I like the mystery of it. No last name, just first names. Keeps us guessing. Like your last name can be Smith. Chris Smith. Nah, now that I wrote it, it doesn’t sound as great as it did in my head. Plus, it’s such a basic last name for such a basic first name. Did I just roast you? Wow.
I guess that just means that you are officially my friend. Congrats. Don’t expect me to lend you any money.
And to answer your question as to if I like waitressing… it’s in between yes and no. There are rude customers and the very nice customers that make me love my job. And career-wise? No clue. I guess I started waitressing while I thought about it what I wanted to do career-wise, but now, I don’t know. I thought it would be photography but now I’m not sure. I thought I was so good at photography, but things happened with family and I just... stopped. It was a dream of mine.
Anyways, these letters are way different than texting and although I do prefer texting, this is nice. Different. I feel like I’m in the fifties, with some Etta James playing in the background, writing to some long-lost relative and wondering when my husband will come back from the war.
Chris chuckled, “sounds something like what Steve would do, or maybe even Peggy?” He shook his head and kept reading.
Thirty-seven? Wow, I imagine you like some old guy that probably is a secret ax murderer. Are you an ax murderer? An ax murderer wouldn’t tell me that. Unless he did just so I wouldn’t believe him, so he’d be off the hook, you know? I say, ‘you know’ a lot.
And what does ‘career in the arts’ mean? Do you make porn? Is that what that means? Is it a fancy way of saying that you a porn artist? Because if it is, I’m cool with it and I have lots of follow up questions. One for example, do you ever get recognized in the streets? Or in the sheets, if you know what I mean? ; )
I’ve been dealing with my anxiety since I could remember. Different triggers now that I am older, though. We will always need help, I guess.
Alright, you are immediately one of my favorite humans. And that’s saying a lot because there isn’t many. Dogs are EVERYTHING. I have one, Boo. Don’t judge on the name. I had him since I was five. He’s my baby and my everything. The poor little guy is on his last days, though. Sad to see him that way, you know? He’s helped me through so much, my anxiety, depression, my parent's divorce. He lives with my dad, my apartment complex doesn’t accept dogs. Rude right? How old is Dodger? And why the name Dodger?
Question: Do you have any siblings?
Thought I should add that since we are getting to know each other we must keep this huge conversation going, you know?
Later Vader.
P.S. If you like ‘Toodles’ then why didn’t you use it? I think you should use it. I better see ‘Toodles’ in my next letter. It’s a good thing you do like Star Wars. Lit? I think so. I’m not sure. I’m no longer up to date with the things kids say nowadays. I’m pretty sure Lit is still cool, though. I’ll have to ask my nephews when I see them.
Chris sat there in his car, rereading the letter over and over, he looked at his therapist's office, noticing they were still open. He got out of his car, quickly making his way over to the office, “Do you have a pen and paper? maybe even an envelope?” The receptionist looked at him confused but handed him the materials he needed, he thanked her and began scribbling some things on the paper, “are you writing back already?” She asked as she watched as he wrote fairly quickly.
he chuckled, “just couldn’t wait... you said you guys send this through priority mail, correct?” She gave him a nod. “Great!”
#chris evans#chris evans fanfic#chris evans imagine#chris evans one shot#Chris Evans fandom#chris evans x latina!reader#chris evans x latina reader#chris evans x latina#chris evans x reader#chris evans x oc#chris evans x latina!oc#chris evans x latina oc#chris evans fanfiction#the pen pal project chris evans#the pen pal project#chris evans x you#chris evans x ofc#chris evans x y/n
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The Bad Guy
Septics Inverted
A JSE Fanfic
We got a hero, we got a villain, but which is which? Or are they so tangled up that nobody can tell? Who knows? Actually I do, because I’m the author and I’m writing this blurb thing to conceal the mystery for newcomers lol. This is the story about Anti and Jackie I mentioned last week. It’s the first time Anti had any direct contact with the other boys, and then that became a regular thing and also one of the main driving conflicts of this AU. So yeah, rather important story to cover
Read the intro story: Part One | Part Two
Various other AU-related stuff found here
Taglist: @evyptids @awkward-bullshit @watermelonsinmyattic @asunachinadoll @a-humble-narcissus @metautske @odysseus-is-best-boi @acuriousquail @beerecordings
Jackie knew this city was hell. Sometimes he thought he was the only one who knew, who saw the signs even when taking a simple walk. Why else would he be the only one with the courage to do this? The only one who actively sought out information on what the gangs were up to next? The only one currently perched on the slanted roof of this warehouse, staring through the skylights, waiting for those criminals to show up? Either the citizens just didn’t realize how bad the situation was, or they were too scared to do anything about it.
His phone buzzed in his pocket. Thank god he remembered to silence it. Nothing much was happening on the floor down below, so he pulled it out and checked the text from Chase that had appeared on screen: You coming home soon?
Jackie rolled his eyes, then pulled off the glove on his right hand so he could type out a reply, chicken-peck style. No. Nothings happened yet
Im bored! Chase replied. Everyone is off doing work shit!
Go talk to Jack or something
Im not at home
Jackie paused. Where the hell are u then??? He thought he knew.
The little typing bubbles stayed for a while before he got Chase’s reply. I dunno the name of the place. Its on Forest Ave. Prices are low so i checked it out. But im still bored drinking alone! Cmon and join me here. Besides didnt you say theyd meet at 11? Its 1230 now and if their not there their probably not coming.
*They’re, dude Jackie glanced back through the skylight. It was true. Members of the Spotted Snakes gang were supposed to meet here at eleven to discuss weapon arrangements. Jackie had even heard there was going to be one of the leaders there. It would’ve been a perfect opportunity to eliminate them, but they hadn’t appeared, and by this point it was just insane for every member to be an hour and a half late. Something must’ve been up. Jackie sent another text to Chase: OK, Im gonna go down and check it out. If I find nothing Ill meet u there.
Whoo! Jackies going out on the town! :D
Night on the town! But dont count on it yet, still might be something up. Text u later Jackie shut off his phone. The skylight was unlocked, as he’d checked two hours ago, so he eased it open. There was a quite a drop to the floor of the warehouse, but luckily he’d prepared for these situations. His belt had a cable with a hook, for climbing easily. Jackie unwound the cable, hooked it around the edge of the skylight, and gently lowered himself down. The moment his feet touched solid ground he yanked on the cable until it unhooked, then retracted it back into his belt.
It looked like a normal warehouse. Huge storage boxes and crates were stacked along the walls and in rows, with a big empty space in the middle where Jackie had landed . There were long metal rafters holding up the slanted ceiling. A few of the large industrial lights were on, casting an eerie glow over the stacks. That alone must’ve been a sign someone was here, but they’d been on since before Jackie had arrived. Maybe they were on a timer?
Well, even if the gang wasn’t here, he might as well look for evidence. Maybe they had some of those alleged weapons stored in those boxes that he could get rid of. The warehouse could go too, they’ll lose a place to meet.
Jackie walked over to the nearest crate. It would be hard to open, even for him, but luckily someone had conveniently left a crowbar on top of it, maybe planning to open it later. Jackie picked it up and, with no small effort, pried the crate open. Nothing was in this one, just a bunch of loose packing peanuts.
One of the lights overhead flickered and died. That was...weird. There must’ve been a whole shitload of lightbulbs inside it, they couldn’t have all gone out at once. Jackie glanced toward it, but couldn’t see anything from this far away. He shrugged it off and moved on to the next crate, also empty. As were the third, fourth, and fifth one.
He had the strangest feeling someone was watching him. At first he put it down to paranoia, but as time went on the feeling only intensified. He stopped his attack on the crates and looked around. He couldn’t see anybody, but that didn’t mean nobody was there. Jackie shouldered the crowbar and stalked away, determined to find out if somebody was actually watching him, or if he was just going crazy.
Another light flickered off. The stacks of boxes were casting long shadows, where anyone could be hiding. Jackie didn’t like it, but he took advantage of it when he could, keeping to the edges of the stacks where the shadows were deepest. No one would see him coming, if anyone was indeed there.
A third light died, this time the one directly above him. And now Jackie was suspicious. Things like that don’t just happen. He glared up at the light, and caught a bit of movement high above. Something...slithery, like a flag in the wind. It definitely wasn’t a loose wire or anything with a normal explanation. Jackie tightened his grip on the crowbar. It wouldn’t do any good from down here, but just in case. “Hey!” he shouted. “If anyone’s up there, I can see you! Why are you hiding?”
There was no doubt about it this time: something big, person-sized, moved on top of the lighting fixture. Whoever it was, they didn’t answer.
“Your cover’s blown!” Jackie said. “And you’ll have to get down at some point. I can wait. Or you can just answer me.”
Nothing for a moment. Then out of nowhere, a person-shaped shadow leaped from the light and landed smoothly on one of the rafters. Something fluttered behind them, probably a piece of clothing. Jackie gaped. How...?
“You’ve got me,” a voice said. Jackie jumped. It sounded like it was right beside him and far away at the same time. And it also seemed familiar for some reason. “What are you going to do now, Jackieboy? Arrest me? Or am I too dange͡ro͟ùs͏ for that?”
“I don’t even know who you are,” Jackie said cautiously. His eyes followed as the shape of the person jumped to another rafter. They—he?—shouldn’t have made that distance. It was much too far. And that voice...if Jackie hadn’t been living with Marvin, unfortunately, for the past year or so, he would’ve been so confused right now. But now he just suspected magic.
“You’ve heard of me,” the voice said. “But we’ve never met. You’d recognize my name if I told you.”
“Then why don’t you tell me?” Jackie asked. “I’m sure we can come to a...an agreement.”
The voice chuckled. “Like the agreement you have with your roommates? You look the other way, and they’ll help you get rid of troublesome tricksters? For someone who brags about his strong morals you sure like to let them bend.”
“How do you know about that?!” Jackie demanded. Then he reconsidered. “I—I mean, not the thing about morals. You’re wrong about that. I mean that I have roommates, and an arrangement.”
“I know a lot about you, Ja̶c͝ki̛ébo͟y.” The voice spat his name out like it tasted bitter. “And I don’t like any of it.”
Jackie growled. “Easy to say from up there. But if you were down on my level, I’d set you straight.”
“Ok̵ày̴,” the voice said, amused. Jackie wasn’t sure what exactly happened next. The shadowy hint of a person was suddenly not in the rafters anymore, and with an electric crack like a computer screen fracturing in two, there was someone right in front of Jackie. He gasped and backed up. The other person stayed stone-still.
The dark lighting fixture overhead burst back into life, while every other light in the warehouse dimmed and died. Jackie stared at the man in front of him. It seemed they’d found a seventh doppelganger: same hair, same build, same eyes. Well, not exactly on that last part, as his right eye was covered by a patch. He wore a black t-shirt, blue jeans with holes in the knees, and black tennis shoes. The green scarf around his neck must’ve been what caught Jackie’s attention up on the lighting. Jackie kept an eye on the man’s hands, in case the man attacked him, but his arms were crossed and Jackie couldn’t see a weapon.
“Well?” the man asked, grinning a bit. “I’ve stooped to your level now. Literally, of course, because I would ņev̷e̵r͢ mean that in the way it’s supposed to be meant.”
“You do realize I didn’t mean that, right?” Jackie said. He tried to sound casual, but he was very aware of the crowbar in his hand. “I get angry sometimes. I just want to know what you’re doing here. The Spotted Snakes were supposed to be meeting here, but nobody showed up. If you know something, I have to be in on that.”
“Why?” the man asked innocently.
“I—look, I—if someone is doing illegal shit in a warehouse like some sort of crime show, someone should stop that! That’s what I do!”
“And w̶h͡ò ̛gave y̨ou tha̴t ̀aut̢hor̶i̸t̵y̧?” the man growled. “The police? Maybe not the best, but they wouldn’t sanction this. The government? Absolutely not. Yourself?” He laughed. “Perhaps if you’d had the right idea, I’d let you. But instead, you have knives on your person and gasoline waiting for you outside. Do you understand why I had to tell them you were coming?”
Jackie blinked. “Excuse me?”
“Oh, come on. You noticed this place was empty. Did it not occur to you that they were warned the crazy vigilante would be stalking them tonight? How easy is it to send an anonymous text these days?”
“You little—” Jackie didn’t even finish his sentence before lunging forward, swinging the crowbar at the man’s head. But just before it connected, the man dissolved. That was the only word for it, he came apart like loose atoms flying everywhere. Jackie barely caught himself before he fell. The other man reformed to the side, his body still caught partly in that glitchy swarm state.
Jackie turned toward him, seething. “I’m gonna kill you.”
“Yoų'̷l͢l try͟.”
Jackie swung again, only for the man to dodge. And again, from the other side, to the same result. He tried a feint with the crowbar while going for a hit with his fist. The man disappeared and came back in the exact same spot. Jesus christ, couldn’t this guy just stop cheating for five fucking seconds?! Jackie gritted his teeth and flew forward, giving up on tactic and just trying in vain to land a hit. But he couldn’t, no matter what. The guy just dodged, or glitched out of the way, or let the hits pass right through him.
“T̕h̢i̛s ͢is get̡ţi͠n̢g̨ ͟bor͝i̶n͏g̀,” the man said. And that just made Jackie angrier. Was this a game to him?! Jackie went for one more two-handed swing with the crowbar. But the world broke. That was the only way to explain the momentary freezing of time, the way the surroundings became sharp red and green shapes, the loud hum of screaming static. Jackie dropped the crowbar in shock, then next thing he knew the strange man was behind him, wrenching his arms behind his back. Not enough to hurt, but certainly enough to immobilize them.
“Are you fucking—” Jackie did his best to stomp on the man’s feet or kick him or something, but he got no reaction no matter how hard he hit.
“I hope you realize yoų a͞re͟n'̸t̴ doin̡g ͠a̸ny͠thìng,” the man remarked. “Now. I have questions. You have answers. We can play a matching game.”
“Fuck off!” Jackie spat. “I’m not gonna tell you anything, and you can’t make me!”
“You don’t ḱn̨ow̢ that,” the man hissed. “Now shut up and let me start. Where’s Jack?”
Jackie stopped struggling out of pure shock. “Wait, what?”
“Where. Is Jack.” The man repeated. “I kn̢ow͠ yo̧u ̛k͠n͝o͏w. You’re one of his rotten f̷̴͟r̵í͡é́͞nd̶͟͞s̛͢͞ that took him. Where is he?”
“Why do you—” Jackie cut himself off. This guy looked a lot like Jack. Could it be? “Wait...you’re his demon friend aren’t you? Anti. The one with the eye-patch that he talked about all the time.”
“Yes, that’s me,” the man—Anti—confirmed. “And I’m not a d̡e͡mo̡n͏. You’ve talked to him, huh?”
“Of course I have! He’s my friend, as you pointed out.” A smile curved his lips. “Which is more than I can say for you.”
Anti’s grip on his arms tightened. “Ẁh̷at̢ ar̸e͡ ̴y̛ou͞ ͏sa̡ying̡?̀”
Jackie laughed. “Just that he’s finally realized the truth about you. You’re a monster. A demon, as much as you deny it. He’s not gonna want to see you again.”
“Y̸̡͞o̡ú're̸̛ ̶̢͢ly̶̢̕i̷͟n̨̕g!̵͡” Anti shoved Jackie away from him, like he couldn’t stand to be near him anymore. Jackie landed hard on the floor, flipping over to face the glitch. The distortion had increased to the point where it was starting to affect the world around him. His visible eye had turned green, with a black sclera. There was a knife in his hand now, gleaming and sharp.
Jackie tensed, getting ready for an attack but not standing up in case that provoked him. “I don’t lie. I’m just telling you what he thinks. And if anything, it’s your fault for being that way. I’ve been told it’s easy to use bad memories from Halloween as a starting point.”
“ W̡͢h̵̢a̢̢̡t̡̕͠ ̨͟͝d͡͞id ̨͡yo͝͏͏u̷ ̷͠d͡o ͟͟to̴̷͢ ͏̛h̶̡i̢m?̷̧” Anti growled.
“I didn’t do anything. I just don’t stop people from doing things.”
“A̸nd how ͢n̴ob̕le͢ ́of̷ you!͠ H̴ow ͠h̕e̕r̵oi͏c̷!” Anti flipped the knife into a stabbing position. “Th̛a̸t's̸ exac̕tl̕y wh͡at ̕a͢ ̛s͡up̡e̵rh̨e͝ro wo̕u̧l̨d d̴o, s̢i͡t͠ a̡ro͠und and ͡watc̕h b̛y̸st́an̷de̢rş ̡b̷e͡ hurt͡.̛” His lip curled in disgust. “T͝oo̸ s͞c͏are̴d t͢o ̸e͝n̢dan̢ger̴ ỳou͏r̵ ̸l̸it͏tl͡e ́fr̸i͟ends̡hips͝ ̨w͢ith ́t̀he̷ ͏ba̷d ̧gu̢ys̴ to ̷do ͞so̶m̵et͢hi̶nǵ g͡ood͢ fơr on͠ce,̶ ̵t͟h̕en?!”
“I do good things all the time!” Jackie protested. “The streets are safer with me out on them.”
“N̴ó,̧ ͝th̶ey͡'͠re̕ ̕f͡uck͡in͟g̢ worse be͟ca͏use anyo̕ne̶ ̀cou͞l̨d̀ b͢e ͟dragged̷ ͠i͝ntơ an̵ ̵a͞lley ̶a̵nd ͟iǹt͟err̡ǫga͡ted ͢be̷cau͝se ̶th̸éy ̛ḿaý ̸be͟ a̧ cr̀i͠min͡a͟l̡!̢”
“You know what?!” Jackie stood up, keeping an eye on the knife. “Why don’t you stop accusing me and start looking for answers! I can take it! I’ll give you as much as I get, I can promise you that!”
Anti stared at him. Then, with a glitch, the knife in his hands disappeared. The distortion lessened. “I'̢m͏ ͝n͢ot l͞i̢k͏e̴ y̵o̴u,” he said bitterly. “Sometimes I think I could be. Bu̶t ̨I̢'̢m̶ n̢ó̵͡t̨̛.͟ And I’m trying to keep it that way, something your little group is̢n͞'ţ h̨e͠l̛p̷i͏ng̛ wi̶th́.” He rolled his shoulders. “I’ll find him myself.”
Jackie was stunned. This wasn’t how he was expecting it to go. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. He didn’t get it. If Anti wanted information, why wasn’t he seeking it out? In an effort to cover up his confusion, he laughed. “Oh, good luck. Marvin’s got the house warded, and we got some upgraded manpower now that this new guy’s joined up.”
Anti smiled. “Thanks for that.”
Wait, no. “Wh-what?” Jackie stuttered.
“Now I know he’s just at your house. And I know where that is. So, th̢a͡nk͏s͞.͠” Anti turned on his heel and vanished in an explosion of pixels. All the overhead lights turned off.
Jackie just stood there for a moment. Had he really just? And given away information? But he was fine? This guy...this Anti guy...god, he was the worst. He was the fucking worst. Something needed to be done.
He leaned over and picked up the crowbar. Hey, no sense in leaving a perfectly good tool in the middle of an empty warehouse. Then he reached into his belt and took out the flashlight, making sure he could see in this new dark. He started towards the exit, taking out his phone on the way.
Chase, r u still there? he texted.
Almost immediate reply. Yeah dude! Not on Forest anymore, tho, so I guess youll need the address of the new place
No! Forget that! Jackie hurried to text. Look some big shit just went down and EVERYONE NEEDS TO KNOW. Get back home and tell the others im on my way
Damn dude whats the rush?
Yknow Jacks demon friend he used to talk about? The one James messed up his head of?
Yeah
Thats the rush. Now i remember Jack said this guy was all electronic so im not gonna give details but get everyone there right now. Call it a family meeting if you have to this is obligatory. Got it?
Wow. Okay that actually sounds important. On it, see you later
See u
Jackie exited the warehouse and entered the cool December night. This Anti was a threat. Not only had he interfered with Jackie’s plan, but now he wanted to get Jack back? Honestly, Jackie didn’t mind that second part so much, but he knew the others would, especially Chase. He couldn’t risk getting on the guys’ bad side.
And the way Anti had talked back there had really pissed him off. Like he was the one saving people. Nobody even knew he existed. Jackie knew he’d done more for this city than anyone else. And Anti had talked to him like that? Like he was the one messing everything up.
He was wrong. Jackie would prove it if he had to. He would show that this way was the only way.
Jackie started running back towards the house. First step was to let the others know. Next step? He hadn’t thought that far yet.
But whatever they decided, he would do it. The ends greatly justify the means.
#jacksepticeye#jacksepticeye fanfiction#jacksepticegos#septic egos#septic egos au#jackieboy man#antisepticeye#brigid writes fanfiction#septics inverted au#invertedau
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{Hungry hearts} VIII. Zoochberry pie and eggnog
A/N: I didn’t have time to read this twice so I don’t even know. I’ll edit it better eventually! First fic of the year, enjoy!
There was a bunch of strange-looking weeds tied up with string hanging from the ceiling above Leia’s workstation that morning. As rebels from the night shift left and others came in, she called out to them. ‘Who put this here?’
A few heads turned her way and shrugged. Frowning, she took a closer look. The leaves were long, thin and dark green, with sharp tips. Nestled amongst them were clusters of tiny, translucent blueish-white berries.
She had never seen this kind of plant. She didn’t dare touch it in case it was poisonous (it was unlikely that it was part of a double-agent’s scheme to kill her, as she doubted they would be quite this stupid—but one could never be sure). Leia didn’t want to cut it down and throw it away lest she disrespect someone’s tradition that she hadn’t heard of yet (but nobody seemed to be able to enlighten her). It was far enough above her head that Leia could easily sit down and get to work without worrying about it touching her or getting in her field of vision, so that was what she ended up doing.
Through the morning, newcomers who would walk or stop by Leia’s station asked her about the mysterious bouquet with curiosity, to the point she considered sticking a sign to it that said “I DON’T KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT THIS SO DON’T ASK”. Others looked at it and then her with what she’d recognized as sympathy, perhaps believing it was an Alderaanian ritual she was observing, but said nothing. A couple of them sniggered as if it was a private joke, but were gone before she could get it out of them.
At noon, the mystery was solved… by none other than Han Solo.
‘Will you look at that , Princess!’ he said dramatically as he strode up to her station.
Leia took her headphones off and gave him a withering look before repeating a well-honed sentence: ‘It was here when I got in this morning, I don’t know what it is or who put it there, but you’re free to take it down.’
‘You don’t know what it is, huh?’ he asked, his smile smug enough that it let her know that he did know what the wildlife decoration was about.
She shook her head, looking back at her screens. ‘I don’t, and unless you want to tell me in as few words as possible, I’ll go back to work if that’s all.’
Unfazed, he leaned against her console and pointed at the hanging bouquet. ‘That right there is needle blossom from Kashyyyk.’
‘What’s it doing here?’
‘Well, Wookiees hang them around for Life Day.’
‘So Chewie put this here? Is it Life Day today?’ Leia asked, her curiosity piqued.
‘Yeah, today’s Life Day,’ he said, ignoring the first question. Han opened his mouth but Leia cut him off.
‘Tell him thank you,’ she said, gesturing at the plants. ‘I’ll go wish him a happy Life Day myself later… unless that goes against the customs for the occasion? Should I get him anything?’
Han waved a hand at her impatiently. ‘Nah, don’t worry ‘bout it. So this…’ He reached out a finger to poke at the waxy berries. ‘Accordin’ to Life Day tradition, anyone who’s standin’ under needle blossom has to get a kiss for good luck.’
Leia looked brusquely up at him, narrowing her eyes. ‘Oh, really?’
‘Yup,’ he replied, examining the bouquet with apparent interest.
‘Seems to me the tradition has been rigged, since I didn’t see needle blossom hanging anywhere else.’
Han shrugged. ‘I don’t make the rules.’
‘Are you sure about that?’ she muttered darkly. Standing up, she stepped away from the ornament. ‘I’m off to lunch.’
‘Don’t mind if I do,’ Han said, following her.
‘Oh, but I do.’
‘Hey, I just came to warn you!’ Han said, holding up his hands as he walked next to her. ‘You know, if you refuse a kiss, you get bad luck for seven years—’
‘Yeah? I’ll take my chances.’
‘—so lotsa people are going to want to kiss you just to spare you from that awful fate—’
‘I’m sure they will.’
‘—but if you get just one kiss, you’re safe, and they’ll leave you alone,’ Han finished.
‘Maybe I should ask Luke and get it over with, then,’ Leia said, stopping dead on her tracks. ‘Or Wedge. Or—’
‘Or you could get it over with right now, Princess,’ Han said, pointing upwards. Leia’s eyes followed his finger and she groaned: hanging from the hatch of the corridor they were about to exit was another bunch of needle blossom. She took a quick leap forward and kept walking.
‘ Or , it’s only appropriate that I ask Chewie to do the honours, since it’s his tradition,’ she said as if nothing had happened.
‘Would you rather kiss a Wookiee?’ he yelled after her before continuing his pursuit.
‘So if this is an actual holiday, how come it’s the first time I’m hearing about it?’ Leia asked, since she couldn’t shake him off. ‘You two have been here for nearly three years.’
‘That’s ‘cos it’s celebrated every three years.’
Leia raised an eyebrow at him over her shoulder.
‘If you’re making this up, you can stop.’
‘I’m not! Came all the way here to invite you to the Falcon tonight, you can ask Chewie yourself if you don’t believe me,’ Han said, giving her a mock wounded look.
Before she could answer, a series of things happened in rapid succession.
‘Look out, Princess!’ Wes Janson exclaimed, jumping into her path. He thrusted a long branch at her and something dangled above her head. Leia instinctively jumped back, crashing into Han. His arms shot up to hold her steady—then, she looked up and saw the tied up sprouts of needle blossom mocking her from above.
Leia pushed Han away and glowered at him and Janson in turns. She addressed the Rogue pilot first, adjusting her tone to a controlled, biting iciness.
‘If you or anyone else pull anything like that again, I'll be sure to make a recommendation for you to be reassigned to janitor duties. Understood, soldier?’
‘Aye, ma'am,’ Janson said, looking abashed, before hurrying away.
‘And you ,’ Leia said, turning around to face Han and poking a sharp finger to his chest. I don’t care about any tradition; you try and get me to kiss you under those things again and I will kick your ass.’
There was something on Han’s face for a split second that Leia didn’t register; it was not an expression of contrition (she wasn’t sure Han was capable of such a thing), fright, dismay or embarrassment. It could be close to shock, amazement even, but there was something about his eyes…
It lasted only a moment, seemingly escaping Han’s control before he rearranged his features into his signature I-did-nothing-wrong-it-wasn’t-my-fault face.
‘I dunno what you’re talkin’ about, sweetheart, I was just tryin’ to be helpful here!’
Without another word, Leia turned on her heel to resume her walk to the mess hall.
‘So you comin’ tonight?’
His voice sounded like he’d started following her again but was choosing to remain a few paces behind.
‘I don’t think I will,’ Leia said, her voice heavy with sarcasm.
‘Why not?’
‘Because it sounds like an ambush and I’m not in the mood for games.’
‘I swear on the Falcon , it’s not a trap. Luke’s comin’ too, you can come together.’
Leia considered that. If this was an actual celebration that was important to Chewbacca, she didn’t want to dismiss it. She liked Chewie, and she knew how much it hurt to observe traditions and holidays when you were far away from home. She could ask Luke about it, and if he was going, she would too.
‘I can and will beat you up, you understand that?’ Leia said, turning back to face him.
‘Oh, I know,’ Han said, and there was that look again.
She took a couple of steps backwards, levelling a serious, studious look at him as he stood in the middle of the hallway with his thumbs hooked in his belt.
Finally, she turned around and left. He didn’t follow her this time.
It was a relief to find out that, as insufferable as Han had been that morning, he hadn’t been lying about Life Day. What she hadn’t expected when she arrived with Luke to the makeshift landing the Millennium Falcon was on, was the sight of several people milling around the freighter, chatting, with drinks in their hands. She had thought Han’s invitation was for a quiet dinner, just him, Chewie, Luke and Leia, but the closer they got, the closer this gathering resembled a party.
Luke looked just as confused.
‘Did you know there was going to be this many people?’ she asked.
‘No, I thought it’d be just us, like usual!’
Leia spotted Chewie, towering above a knot of rebels, and made a beeline for him.
‘Hi, Chewie,’ she said, patting his elbow to catch his attention. With a friendly growl, he bent down to give her a hug. ‘Happy Life Day! I had no idea there was going to be a party and everything!’
‘There wasn’t.’
Han was walking down the ramp behind them, carrying a big bowl of hubba chips and a pitcher. He set them down on top of a crate, next to a container of spicy warra nuts, and approached Leia and Chewie.
‘These assholes eavesdropped me an’ Chewie talkin’ about the eggnog and invited themselves over,’ he said.
‘Eggnog?’ What’s that?’ Luke asked, joining them.
‘Eggs, milk, sugar, rum an’ spices,’ Han said. He grabbed the pitcher, which had already been emptied down to half, and poured two cups for Luke and Leia.
Leia looked at the creamy drink and took a sip. Evening was falling, and in the tundra region where this base was settled it meant the temperature had already dropped several degrees. The eggnog was smooth, tasty and warmed Leia from the inside.
‘Nice,’ Luke said enthusiastically.
‘Chewie, is it true you only celebrate Life Day every three years?’ Leia asked.
‘[Three years is what it takes for a wroshyr tree to give out their old roots to us. We eat them in a ceremony to help our spirit find their way back to the Tree of Life, from which all life on Kashyyyk began],’ Chewie explained, with Han making the necessary translations when Leia or Luke’s understanding of Shyriiwook failed.
‘So that’s what Life Day celebrates? The Tree of Life?’ Luke asked.
‘[It celebrates all of Kashyyyk’s lifeforms. We remember those who have died and honour the young who will carry on our legacy].’ There was a tinge of sadness in the last of Chewie’s growls. Han patted him on the back.
‘You’re supposed to go back to Kashyyyk to celebrate,’ he explained, ‘but I haven’t been able to take Chewie since the Empire tightened security on the planet. This is the second one we miss, right pal?’
Leia was about to ask what did he mean by “we”, but in that moment, someone yelled ‘Let me get Han’s sabacc cards!’
‘Wait a minute, don’t just go takin’ stuff from my ship!’ Han shouted back, and he was gone.
Luke laughed, and soon he left to join a group of his fellow Rogues, leaving Leia and Chewie alone.
‘You can tell me now,’ she said to the Wookiee. ‘That thing about kissing under needle blossom, Han made it up. Didn’t he?’
Chewie whined and looked away.
‘Please?’
A chuckle, then, baring his teeth at her.
‘[How can I say no to those cute little eyes of yours? You don’t give anyone a chance, Princess.]’ Leia laughed once her brain made sense of the Wookiee’s words. He spoke slowly for her benefit. ‘[It is a tradition, Han did not lie on this. But he asked me to tell you that I was the one who hung it over your space. It was not me.]’
Leia didn’t need to ask who it was.
Han came back with his sabacc set, more eggnog and the reminder that his ship was not Rebel Alliance property and therefore anyone who wasn’t him or Chewie should keep their hands and feet off her if they liked their natural shape.
As the evening wore off, Leia found herself joining a couple of rounds of sabacc, then choosing to watch from the sidelines when the gambling started. Chewie shared more Life Day traditions—Leia rarely saw him being this talkative around so many people, especially when not half of them understood his language—and eventually, the rebels started sharing stories about similar holidays from their own homeworlds.
She was leaning against the hull of the Falcon , watching pensievely at the gamblers, hugging herself to stop the chill from creeping in, when Han slid up next to her.
‘Cold, Princess?’ he asked.
‘A little. Did you lose?’
‘On purpose,’ he said, giving her a wink. ‘You weren’t payin’ much attention, I see.’
He took off his jacket and offered it to her. ‘Here. You can borrow it.’
Leia looked at it, a bit stunned. ‘Are you sure? Won't you be cold?’
Han waved her off. ‘Unless you don't want my rags, take it.’
She put it on, the sleeves falling past her hands. It smelled distinctly of Han. She couldn’t have described it, or picked apart the components of the Han Solo Scent, but she knew one thing for sure: it was kind of arousing.
‘Why would you lose on purpose?’ Leia asked, trying to force her cheeks into cooling off.
‘Well, tell you the truth, this is nice and all,’ he said, nodding at the gathering, ‘and looks like Chewie’s enjoyin’ himself, but it wasn’t really what we had in mind.’
Han cast a glance at the rebels, as if checking nobody was looking his way, and pointed quickly at the entrance of the ship.
‘C’mon,’ he told Leia.
Suspicion arose in her again. What was he inviting her alone into his ship for?
The puzzle of Han was one that could be as intriguing as it was frustrating. He would joke night and day about her secretly wanting to kiss him, would tease the living daylights out of her with bad innuendo, but he never acted on it, not even when it was just the two of them sharing a somewhat intimate moment and he could have tried, and, maybe, Leia wouldn’t have pulled away.
But she still didn’t know if she would kiss him back. If she should.
‘Come on , I wanna show you something,’ Han insisted, frowning at her reticence. Shaking off her thoughts, Leia nodded and followed him up the ramp and into the main hold.
‘What was wrong with you, Your Worship? Didn’t think I wanted to take advantage of you, did you?’ he asked, throwing a smirk her way as he opened a chiller unit, but Leia didn’t miss a hint of worry in his expression.
‘Of course not,’ she said. ‘What is it?’
Han straightened up with a dish in his hands. ‘Dessert.’ He set it down on the Dejarik table and uncovered it with a flourish. ‘It’s zoochberry pie, Chewie made it. Didn’t make enough for the whole party down there, but… Thought we shouldn’t let it go to waste. I’ll sneak Luke in later for his piece.’
Leia hummed in appreciation as he cut and handed her a slice. The filling was a mixture of cream and zoochberries, which she’d never had before, with a touch of alcohol and a crumbly crust.
‘I haven’t had anything this delicious in a very long time,’ she said.
Han grinned.
‘Chewie’ll be glad to hear that. Here.’ He poured her a fresh glass of eggnog and one for himself.
‘Cheers,’ he said, and they clinked glasses.
‘Have you celebrated Life Day on Kashyyyk with Chewie before, then?’ Leia asked.
‘Yeah. Twice since I’ve met him.’ Han smiled slightly, a faraway look on his face as if conjuring up old memories. ‘You should see it, it’s a whole thing. Pretty impressive. Humans don’t give a shit about Wookiees unless they can use them to fight or haul things, but their culture is no joke. Very spiritual beings.’
‘Did you meet his family?’
He nodded. ‘Malla an’ Lumpy. Hope they’re okay,’ he added with a heavy sigh.
It was rare to see Han this open. He hated people thinking of him as caring or, worse, vulnerable. But Leia knew he did care. She just hated that he went to such great lengths to hide it. She knew that, sometimes, hiding that you cared could have the same effect as not caring at all.
Glancing at her chrono, she was startled to see how late it was.
‘I think I better turn in,’ she said softly, regretting to break the moment.
‘Sure.’ His face lit up in mischief as he spotted something above Leia’s head. ‘Look, Princess. Needle blossom.’
Before Leia could move away, Han made a series of growling sounds, waving his hands around her.
‘There. Said a Wookiee prayer for ya, now you’re protected from bad luck.’
Leia laughed and he smiled back at her.
‘Oh, wait,’ she said, remembering the jacket she was still wearing, but Han shook his head, placing a hand on her arm to stop her.
‘Give it back tomorrow, it’ll be cold to your quarters.’
It would, but his hand was warm, and soft, and pulling her to him without physically doing so…
‘Night, Leia,’ Han said, taking his hand back.
As she made her way out of the Falcon , Leia knew she wouldn’t have pulled away. And maybe that mistake wouldn’t be so bad after all.
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Blessed by the Saints: Ch 1
Chapter 1: Of course the Mysterious Girl is Gone
C H R I S T I A N
Hounds of Hades tried to kill me on my 18th birthday. I remember it like it was yesterday, I was walking home alone after a night out with my friends, we were celebrating my 18th birthday, I didn't join them in the ride since, Jackson seems too drunk to drive. Anyways, It was very late at night, my head was spinning like crazy, I saw an alleyway and decided o sit down and have a rest for a moment. After a while, I heard growling, I ignored it at first but then it got louder, I finally opened my eyes and saw that at the end of the alley was three pairs of eyes, red glowing eyes. My eyes widened at the sight and slowly stood up. I slowly backed away to hopefully lose their attention of me, but that didn't work since they started running towards me.
I screamed and tried to run but one of the dogs got a hold of me, making me fall on the ground, I started kicking the dog, that's where I started to notice that this ain't a normal dog. Its mouth opened three ways, with blood rather than saliva coming out. Its eyes red as blood, hungry.
I snapped back from my thoughts and noticed that everyone is already leaving, I grabbed my stuff and shoved it in my bag, rushing to get home.
"Hey Chris!" I turned around to see Jackson, Annalise, and Andrew waving at me. I smile. I walk towards them hearing Annalise and Andrew arguing again. "Wanda is stronger than Captain Marvel! If Thanos hadn't initiated a blitz, Wanda would've bodied that grimace!" Annalise said pretending to choke Andrew. "Carol also came close to defeating Thanos! It's just that the raw power of the power stone was used directly at Carol!" It was Andrew's turn to shake Annalise as he makes his argument.
I smiled at them. "Hey! Can't we just agree that it depends on the writer? I mean squirrel girl can win against Thanos if the writers wanted to!" I say, separating them. "Chris is right, now come on! Evans is throwing a party!" Jackson said from behind me.
I smiled, though not a full one. I just wanna go home.
.-.-.-.-.
Evans house was huge. That made sense since his father is a lawyer and her mom is a doctor. Jackson was with his jock buddies and Andrew with his band geeks. So that left me with Annalise. Annalise and I are kind of the same. Just lowkey, trying to get by high school. Barely.
"I never liked these kinds of parties." Annalise says, while sipping a drink. "So why come?" I ask looking at her. Annalise was beautiful, she was from the UK, until her family moved here, for reasons she won't say. She has a slight accent, I asked her once why her accent is slowly going away. She said that she wanted to fit in. That made me frown for her. She tucks a strand of her blonde hair behind her ear before answering.
"To fully experience the American high school life! At least that's what my mother tells me." Looking at her drink, she stands up, "I'm gonna go to the bathroom." She says, while giving her drink to me.
I sighed. Isn't this a fun party.
.-.-.-.-.
It's been a while since Annalise went to the bathroom. I should check on her. I stand up heading to the bathroom, I knock twice saying her name but no answer. I remembered there's another bathroom upstairs. Maybe she went there. I go up the stairs, along the hall with multiple doors. Must be the bedrooms. It has to be, since two of the rooms had people moaning. I reached the bathroom and knocked twice. "Annalise? Are you in there? Are you okay?"
I heard shuffling from the inside, "Uh yes! I'll be right outside Chris! Just wait for me downstairs!" I said okay, but without hearing another voice inside. I couldn't understand though, but it sounded like a boy. Geez Annalise. I never would've guessed you were the kind of person to hook up with a stranger in a party. I turned around and almost gasped. At the end of the hall was a girl. She has a hijabi on her, covering her face. Though that ended with her removing it, not entirely just to reveal her face. She has brown skin and very dark eyes. She starts walking towards me. That's when I noticed that it got quiet. I wanted to step back, or run away from her. But something about her didn't seem dangerous.
"I am Aminah. A student of Cathedral et Sanctum Sanctorum." She says. "Are you Christian Trinidad?" She asks. Hesitantly, I nod. She reaches for her boots and pulled out a piece of paper. "Please give this to your parents, only they can read this." She hands me the paper. It was like one of those old an archaic letters. It had a sealing wax, a shield with a cross with it and a sword behind. Behind was my parents names and address, but their names had an (I'm guessing) abbreviation. KoL. "What does KoL mean?" I look up from the paper to ask Aminah, but she's gone. Wow. Of course the mysterious girl leaves when I look away from her for a moment. I put the letter in my pocket, heading downstairs.
.-.-.-.-.-.
I found for Jackson at the backyard, no sign of Andrew though. Some students were in the pool, swimming. Look at them, shirtless and proud of their body, showing it off. I could never. heh.
"Hey Jackson!" Jackson swam to the surface and wagged the water off like a dog. "Hey Chris! Where's Anna? Wanna come swim? The water's really great!" He says, full of adrenaline. "Oh, you know I could never show off my sack of a body, but Annalise is inside, I think he's with a guy so keep an eye on her." I looked around at the backyard. "Where's Andrew?"
"I dunno! Probably having sex with a sax." He says laughing off.
"Well, I'm heading home! My mother needs me!" I said, crouching down so he can hear me better.
"Boo! Can't you stay for a bit longer?" He says while swimming closer, "Come on, the water great." He says while grabbing a hold of my hand.
"Maybe next time Jackson." I said smiling at him, puling back my hand. He frowns. I stand up and head for the front door.
.-.-.-.-.
Walking to my house, I saw the light from the living room. I looked at my watch and saw its 9:16 p.m., dad must be home from church work. I opened the door to see my dad cleaning up in the kitchen and my mother wiping the table.
"Hi anak! How was the party?" Mom asked, smiling.
"It was fine, I met a girl-" I was cut off with my mom and dad going 'ooooh'. "Oh stop it! It's not like that! Anyways she wanted me to give you this." I said handing them the letter.
With their brows furrowed, they grabbed the letter from me. When they saw the sealing wax, their eyes widened. They suddenly tensed. They kept looking at each other, mumbling to each other. Talking about a school and wondering how they found out. Find out what exactly?
"Does this concern me? Cause I just wanna head upstairs and get ready for bed." I asked, interrupting them in the middle of their argument.
They both looked at me, their faces softened. Mom walked to me. She caressed my cheek as if it's the first time she's gonna see me, or rather the last time. My dad walked up to me then hugging me all of a sudden.
"Are we getting deported or something?" I jokingly asked as I hugged my father back. This feels nice. I haven't really hugged my father for... well forever. Dad wasn't the best when it comes to being emotionally supportive. We'll open that whole can of beans later. "Seriously, what's going on?"
"'nak we have to tell you something." Dad says. They led me to the living room. "Just know we only have your best interest, and we hid it from you to keep you safe."
"Okay save the intro, just tell me!" I frantically said. "My anxiety cannot take this?! Hide what exactly?!"
They both looked at each other, before my mom saying, "You're enrolled to be a saint."
---------
Notes:
Anak, 'nak = can mean son, daughter or child or anything the same in tagalog.
It’s on wattpad with the same title!
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Rambles, not reviews.....
Catching up. The fact I was watching a movie about pregnancy followed by one about a baby didn’t occur to me until just now.
I saw:
Juno- A teenage girl gets pregnant from hete friend boy. During the course of the pregnancy she arranges an adoption by a seemingly ideal couple, only to discover discontent marital beneath the surface. She also figures out that maybe her friend boy could, kinda, maybe be her boy friend.
Through out the movie the hyper articulate girl demonstrates a true talent for continually using her particular brand of humor to distract from the emotional. Not that even she can avoid a bit of feeling oozing out around the edges of that verbal cork. Though saying “cork” conjures up images of it shoved in her mouth like the apple in the snout of a roast pig, which considering all the chatter she does it’s kinda the exact opposite. And ewww, roast pig...not only do I not eat red meat (despite evolution making me an omnivore) I have a pet pig and if anyone tried to roast Ryoga I know who would end up jammed on a spit and it wouldn’t be the one with the hooves......
Sorry. I’ve had a draining day, so now my brain is running on empty. Too bad I’ve never figured out what fuel it takes or....
Sorry, sorry! Really living up to the “rambles”part tonight....
Anyway, the humor curiously managing to seem both emotionally valid and moves it a step or two from reality. I can’t say no one talks like that, because lots of people do....just not all the time. And speaking of unreality, the kid sure had an ideal time of an unplanned under age pregnancy, because the girls I knew that got pregnant in school had a tougher time of it. (my first knocked up classmate happened in 7th grade and she wasn’t the last by a long shot) She’s the casually cool bright teen gal that carries a pregnancy, up until the birth anyway, with minimal physical or emotional stress and with the instant full support of all her family and friends.....
But, you know, movies are mostly fantasies. It just happens to be a teen pregnancy fantasy instead of superheroes saving the world or opposites that end up in a screwball romance type.
On the plus side it depicted a pregnant teen who wasn’t defined by it. It wasn’t going moralistic, trying to warn teens that sex causes suffering punishing her. It kept her in charge of decisions about herself and true to her nature, even if that nature is a lot more wisecracks and angst than most folks in her situation would experience.
So, I dunno. It was amusing.
The Boss Baby- An imaginative little boy finds out that the new baby brother, rocking a suit and toting a briefcase, is not what he seems to the adults. The baby is actually an infant executive from the company responsible for all babies. He’s been sent on a mission because the world has started to shift to thinking puppies are cuter than babies (Well, duh! They are!!) and it’s been discovered that the head of the company the kids’ parents work for has developed a mysterious new puppy that could doom babies to loose out entirely in the love market. While the little boy and the baby corporate spy fight like brothers at first, they soon have to work together to save both the world from the emotional blackhole that would be puppies that never age and save their parents.
You know, I went into this expecting the worst. The idea of an adult voiced and behaving baby has been done to death in animation, after all. But to my surprise I actually enjoyed it.
Yeah, it does poop and fart jokes. Kids movies seem addicted to them since that taboo got broken years ago. But it also has the solid emotional hook of sibling rivalry.
Better still, the animation could take gorgeous turns particularly during the little boy’s flights of fantasy. Varying animation styles, color schemes, compositions and so were employed, and while maybe not pushed to the extreme of some art film it certainly played around with the look more than the average studio animated film. It reminded me at times a bit of certain old cartoons like the ones Chuck Jones did about a daydreaming little boy. I’d been baffled about it’s academy award nomination until I saw it.
Which is NOT to say it should have won. It isn’t even to say there weren’t other movies from 2017 I should have been nominated in it’s place. But the fact is, it is skillfully made with some lovely visual touches and and enjoyable story. I have no interest in them making sequels (not that I have a choice), but I liked it.
That said, the fact it inverts the situation with my brother got me a bit emotional. What I mean is, I was delighted to have a baby brother and we were incredibly close until he was about 8. Stuff at our hell school planted a seed that would grow into something horrible, twisting him all up and making me the focus of all his rage. So now, as adults, our relationship...well, let’s just say that it’s bad with no hope of getting better. Best to remember the bad times to remind myself it might sadly be for the best. (no really, it was bad. Bad enough I used to start trembling at the sound of his car. Bad enough I don’t want to post about it) Feel good movies about sibling love make me miss my brother. Or at least what were to each other and what might still be if only.................
So anyway, of the 2017 best animated feature academy award nominees I’d rank them
1) The Breadwinner 2) Loving Vincent 3) Coco 4) Ferdinand 5) The Boss Baby
To be honest, those last two are very close in quality so I could easily switch them depending on what I feel like focusing on.
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Bloop x3
Thank you mystery person! It took me a second to remember this was the word for that meme, I just thought ‘hey, same’ XD
Okay so three facts for ocs? Any random ones?I’ll go with the one I’m currently developing: gremory hawthorne aka Darklord Jerkdad
* He’s the kind of guy who meticulously sharpens all his pencils to the same length. Gets super hung up on the ‘proper way’ to do things, so he’s spent the whole day making his office look presentable and hasn’t even started on the work! Seeing how he’ll do this as an evil overlord could be quite fun ^_^* Even though he’s very loud and obnoxious with his ego now, before he had the power to act on it he just kept his sarcastic monologue inside his head. Think of it as a guy who played the ‘blank slate personalityless protagonist’ for most of his life until he’d finally had enough! Most people in his workplace just considered him a boring dogsbody, and wouldn’t have figured him even smart enough to be writing elaborate ‘that’s what I should have said’ fantasies under his breath. Then again, being a jerk isnt much of a step up from being nobody.* He’s too much of a grump to admit it’s a weakness, but he’s actually really skittish about being touched! Mostly it’s just stuff like jumping a mile if he’s tapped on the shoulder, and generally staying in the corner of the room in all social situations. He doesn’t often have people trying to hug him so he hasn’t had to deal with this problem in a long time...
Bonus fact:* 85% of people he’s ever met have mispelled his name as gregory
And I’ve actually been trying to practise a writing tip I saw in a film review video that was like “good stories can tell something about the character in every scene, without you even noticing”. I THINK it was this video? Its quite long so I didnt rewatch it all to make sure.Stuff like ‘you can tell from the way he handles the sword that he’s more familiar with it than he claims, and you can see his face drop when the governer tells him to compliment his boss on making it. And he’s clearly humble and self-sacrificing if he can take this without retorting, but also very aware of his class status and resigned to it.’It really blew me awaybecause I’d never even thought about that! It’s like foreshadowing but for personality!
So yeah I’m gonna try and think about what these traits might say about this character/what showing these goofy lil scenes would foreshadow for the audience/at least what I was trying to deliver but my writing skill will determine whether it actually works, lol
* Goofy pencils scene of course shows that he’s gonna be a comical kind of jerk, instead of just a legit one. And although he’s quite nerdy he’s also kind of reckless and lacking in common sense. He gets hung up on the ‘idea’ of things and never really makes plans before he gets going. Just like how he went ‘HELL YES, GIMME!’ at the idea of becoming powerful and respected, but soon began to realize that he has no clue how to be a demon lord. And then he’s probably gonna focus on the aesthetics of the job and what he thinks he should do, rather than what’s actually the best choice. Hoo boy, we’re in for a ride!* Him snarking under his breath during that same office intro scene would establish that he’s a spineless coward who wouldn’t have the balls to be such a jerk if there were actual consequences on the line. And how generally self-focused his sense of morality is, since all he cares about is whether he gets caught. or, at least, this is who he is at the start of the game, and (hopefully) through your choices he’ll be able to develop beyond this. Fingers crossed?* On the one hand it might be funny to see him jump at the slightest thing, but also it’ll hopefully be somewhat sympathetic and act as one humanizing point to an otherwise completely villainous protagonist. It doesn’t necessarily make him seem GOOD, but it makes him seem more like he might have a reason for how he behaves. Not that a sad backstory is an excuse to be an asshole, of course, plenty of people have suffered in life and chosen not to take it out on others. But the possibility of a sad backstory is at least.. well.. sad? You feel one more emotion for him other than just ‘shut up jerk’ or ‘keep talking jerk you’re kinda funny’. And it’s a good potential hook to make you wanna read more, without having to find a contrived way to outright state HEY THERE MIGHT BE A BACKSTORY LATERAlso I’m thinking there could be a lot of potential scenes stemming from this character quirk. Like, it could help him realize that he’s developing some affection for his monsters when like.. one of them tries to nuzzle his leg and he jumps and scares it, and he ACTUALLY FEELS BAD. Such nonsense! Illogical! How can this be! And maybe he could find himself wishing he was able to touch others, when he hasn’t for so long. I feel like he’d be an absolute explosion of love once you get past his crusty exterior of grumpleness! And maybe he either tries exposing himself more to affectionate situations to try and work on his problem, or he tries to develop other creative ways of expressing his affection? That could fit really well with him cos it allows him to be all tsundere ‘I’m totally not a dad but also please understand I love you dearly but also please never tell anyone’. Also just because alternative displays of affection are cute and underappreciated! I dunno if anyone out there has seen the show Pushing Daisies, but they have a really sweet odd supernatural plot of the love interest being a sort of zombie and she can’t hold hands with the protagonist cos he’s a necromancer and its all very odd and sweet and they find lots of ways to show their love even though they can’t kiss. If you wnat loads of sweet dreams and also some sadness and then some more sweet dreams, watch that show!
wow i ended up rambling way too muchI guess im just very attatched to this oc already??Oh and one extra thing!! maybe he likes wearing long socks and gloves and wearing capes? I have no idea why but i do that as someone who also suffers from the whole ‘really wanna hug everyone but am also scared about anyone touching me’ dilemma. I guess its the ‘cover all my skin’ factor combined with a cape being like a snuggly blanket hug?
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