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eyesofshinigami · 9 months ago

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It's The Little Things

Rating: G

CW: None

Tags: Established relationship, fluff, projection (lol), Short and sweet

Prompt: From @shofarshogood "Love is doing the dishes even when it's the worst chore ever"

WC: 900

Written for @steddielovemonth Day 5

If there is one chore Eddie could spend the rest of his life never doing again, it would be doing dishes. He hates it with flaming, raging passion. He’d almost rather be eaten by demobats again, but he would never say as much in front of Steve. It makes him all mopey when he says shit like that, even though Eddie’s pretty sure it was his near death, so he gets to joke about it.

At any rate, Eddie absolutely loathes washing dishes. He hates the feeling of wet food on his hands, the way it gets up under his fingernails. He hates the sound of the sponge squeaking against glass. He especially hates how he can never seem to stay dry while he washes them, either. It never fails, he always ends up a sopping wet mess (along with the floor, the counter, the pile of mail he still hasn’t opened yet…)

He would happily go the rest of his life without ever washing a single dish again.

Thankfully, Steve seems to find doing dishes therapeutic, or some shit. He always tells Eddie that it gives him the chance to zone out, to let his brain turn off and go on autopilot. Which, Eddie can kind of relate to, considering it’s the same sort of zen he finds when he’s folding their clothes. Especially towels. Eddie really likes folding towels.

Anyway, it works out. Eddie washes clothes and Steve does the dishes. It’s a pretty good balance and it means their dishes are always clean and they never run out of laundry.

Except lately, Steve has been swamped. Between working twelve-hour EMT shifts and trying to study for his finals, there just hasn’t been time. The dishes have just… been piling up in the sink. To the point where it’s kind of starting to overflow.

Shamefully, it takes Eddie a little bit longer to notice, considering that it’s not on his usual chore list. It isn’t until he’s having to precariously rest a cereal bowl on the pile so it doesn’t collapse that it actually occurs to him that maybe, just maybe, it’s time to fucking wash the dishes.

He lets out a sigh. God, he hates doing dishes, but… but he knows that Steve is too tired, has too much going on. It wouldn’t kill him to do it just this once, to make sure it’s one more thing his boyfriend doesn’t have to worry about. If he can make Steve’s life just a little bit easier, he can brave some stuck-on food and grimy soapy water.

So, Eddie pulls up his metaphorical big boy panties and grabs the dish soap and starts the tap running. Thankfully, he manages to locate the bright yellow gloves that Steve uses to clean under the sink, which should make this more tolerable. He pops one of his metal mixes into the cassette player and gets to work, bobbing his head and trying not to think about what might lurking under the soapy water.

He lets himself get lost in the repetition of it, scrubbing then rinsing then putting in the drainer that Steve insisted they buy when they moved in together. So lost, in fact, that he doesn’t hear the front door opening or the sound of approaching footsteps, until Steve is suddenly appearing in the doorway.

“Christ!” Eddie yells, almost dropping the slotted spoon he was washing.

“Sorry, baby. But uh… Eds… what are you doing?” Steve asks, motioning to the sink.

Eddie almost says something flip, it’s on the tip of his tongue, but he can see the dark circles under Steve’s eyes, the way his back is hunched. “Oh, uh, doing the dishes. They were piling up and I figured I was off today, I could just do them.”

Steve blinks at him. “But you hate doing the dishes.”

Eddie blinks back. “Yeah, but I knew you’d be home late. Like I said, I figured I could do them and… you know, help you out?”

Steve blinks again, before the sweetest smile breaks out onto his face. Like sunshine after the rain. “I appreciate that, thank you.” Steve steps into his space, wrapping his arms around Eddie and pulling him into a hug. He doesn’t even seem to care that Eddie’s shirt and sweatpants seem to soaked. “You’re the best.”

“I just washed a couple of dishes, Steve,” Eddie tries to joke, but he nuzzles against Steve, the best he can do right now while he’s still wearing these ridiculous rubber gloves. “You’ve been working hard, baby. I just wanted to make things easier for you.”

Steve lets out a shaky sigh. “You do, Eds. Every day. Thank you.” He leans in for a kiss, soft and sweet and thrilling Eddie down to his toes. When Steve pulls back, he pecks Eddie on the lips one more time before he says, “How about we order Chinese tonight? From the takeout place with the cartons, so we don’t have to dirty any more dishes, hmm?”

“Music to my ears, Stevie. Go order and I’ll finish up here, yeah?”

Steve nods and Eddie watches him walk away, seeing the way Steve is still smiling like Eddie just handed him a million bucks or something.

He might still hate it, but Eddie would wash all the dishes in the world to see Steve smile like that every day of the week.

#les writes thing #steddie #steddielovemonth #rating: g #fluff

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ohmyeyesmyeyes · 7 months ago

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IT'S NEVER OVER - PROLOGUE (sept. 2005)

summary: if anyone asked sid, he wouldn't say that he liked pittsburgh more after meeting nat. no, that would be absurd.

warnings: short and sweet! (none)

a/n: hi, hello! am i posting this without having finished it? yes. i don't know how long it's going to be but i'm slowly chipping away at it and i'm pretty excited about it. it might even be my favourite series thing i've done so far, and weirdly my first one? i've had the entire thing outlined for months but i've been too busy to even think about posting it, so...here you go! i can't promise posts for this will be regular because the chapters are so long, but i'll try my best to keep you posted! hope you enjoy (a series mastrlist will be out soon too so you can get the gist of where i'm at in the entire process) xo

sneak peak | pinterest board

(It started with music, but Nat didn’t know that.)

It was a total accident, a random encounter that Sidney couldn’t possibly have predicted – one that, without exaggerating, changed his life to an extent. On a whim, he’d decided to go into that coffee shop he’d walked past everyday for the past three weeks, and it was also on a whim he actually made it to the counter to order an uncharacteristic coffee – he was newly eighteen, being pulled in all sorts of sports-diet directions, the confinement of which kind of irked him, so to him, buying that coffee was a subtle rebellion.

It was also a complete accident that he’d wandered off to the right after taking his coffee from the counter, instead of left, or forwards, or even backwards.

Sidney wasn’t one to believe in fate or destiny: he believed those terms were too magical – they alluded to some other worldly forces coming into play, and he liked to stick to facts. Coincidences. Accidents. Nevertheless, he did find it almost inexplicable, the way that his life hurtled into a completely different route after a mere forty minutes inside a coffee shop that he’d just spontaneously decided to make a trip of. He couldn’t quite get his head around it all.

To him, it was a coincidence that he’d walked past her table. A coincidence that she happened to be blaring the only song he’d been able to listen to for the last four days. He’d barely made it three steps past her before he froze.

She was wearing those over-the-ear headphones, the ones with orange sponges from the 80s, plugged into the iPod that had come out a few years back. He recognised it because everyone that had one in his high school before he left never shut up about it. Sidney admittedly did own one at the time, but he never really felt the need to show it off – it was much easier than lugging around a cassette or CD player with songs burnt in.

The song still had him halting in his tracks and turning around, his body much further ahead than his brain because he had to steady his mug of coffee; his sharp actions had the liquid almost sloshing over the edge, but he managed to catch it just in time.

He wouldn’t have done either of those things: stop and turn, if it had been any other song he’d heard. He was just so taken aback by it – the exact, precise song.

The girl at the table didn’t pay him a single dime of attention when he froze, despite the fact that his hip was practically nudging her table. She wasn’t even looking in his direction, her eyes gazing out of the window on her right, skipping over empty faces as people walked past. It was clear she was supposed to be doing work of some sorts: there were textbooks, novels, and flashcards scattered across the entire table, a pencil case half emptied with pens strewn all over. She had a pen clutched in the fist she was resting her chin on, not caring for the study cards at all – entirely enamoured by the view.

Sidney followed her eyes. There wasn’t much to look at, just a street, and her chair was directly facing the side of a retail store, clothes and mannequins displayed in the window.

In hindsight, Sidney didn’t really know what compelled him to do what he did next.

He couldn’t tell if she was bored and just looking out, not paying attention to the music flowing into her ears, or if she was just so absorbed in what she was hearing that she couldn’t physically bring herself to think about her work – that she’d tuned out the outside world entirely.

What caught his attention the most was the crease between her brows. It drew him to look straight at her; an alluring combination of chestnut hair and pale eyes – though not too pale that they made him uneasy. She was also probably the only person in the establishment that was around his age.

She had impeccable music taste, if he did say so himself.

Yet, he couldn’t shake the inkling that this girl was wholly feeling the brilliance and soul-crushing heartache of Jeff Buckley’s genius – and he found himself hoping she was.

That was why he cleared his throat and took a small step to the other side of the table. He threw a quick glance over his shoulder, noting that the cafe was pretty busy, so he knew he could at least try to get away with what he was about to do.

He made sure to tilt his head up, because the hat covering his face would be nothing short of slightly suspicious in a public setting, and it wasn’t until he purposefully knocked into the chair that she flicked her eyes to look at him.

He held his breath, a moment when all they did was look at each other, until the crease in her brows disappeared and she reached to pause her music on her iPod, slowly sliding her earphones off so they rested around her neck.

“Hi.”

His assumptions had been correct. She was around his age – her voice was deeper than he’d originally anticipated – and when he found himself slightly closer than before, he was able to make out that she was studying for her SATs.

It was September.

“Hi.” He replied, forcing a smile that he hoped would convey the apology he felt for intruding on her personal time and in her personal space. Her clutter was all over the table, and he knew that if she was hopefully as kind to strangers as he hoped she’d to be, that it would be somewhat of a hassle to shove some of it away, “I’m really sorry, but there aren’t any other tables free. Would I be able to–”

“Oh, sure.” She interrupted, immediately going to reach to sweep a space clear for him over the other side of the table. Sidney watched with a mildly amused gaze; she didn’t seem to care for the way her flashcards seemed to mix themselves up, or the way her textbooks snapped shut and she lost her page.

She flashed him a welcoming, slightly embarrassed smile as she piled the books on top of each other, and before Sidney knew it, he was sitting in the chair opposite, accidentally knocking their knees together in the process, and sipping from his coffee mug. He fought to maintain the thankful smile on his face, despite the utterly bitter taste of the coffee that seemed to fester on his tongue.

No wonder he’d never tried coffee before, it tasted like dirt.

The girl broke a small chunk of a muffin off, a smile breaking out on her face as she fought a small laugh.

Sidney blushed, “I’m not a big coffee-fan.” He reasoned, shrugging.

“I can tell.” She pressed her lips together momentarily, looking down at the plate before turning her attention back to him. Sidney felt stunned at the colour of her eyes. He’d never seen grey eyes before, but hers seemed to balance more on the green side – only when the sun struck the side of her face, they turned a watery, clear blue. There was also a tinge of brown thrown in there.

What was that called? Heterochromia?

He felt his mouth dry, and before he could stop himself, he was taking another sip of his coffee, this time managing to control the urge to wince, “Thanks for letting me sit here.”

She shrugged, gathering the flashcards and lining them up, “It’s no problem. Sorry for the mess.”

He let his eyes wander over the books once more, the green ‘SATs’ letters jumping out at him, “You got an important date?”

The girl swallowed, not entirely understanding what he meant. That crease formed between her brows again, and she opened her mouth to question him, but Sidney beat her to it, a finger pointing at her stack of books.

She sighed, “Not entirely, they’re at the end of the school year, but one of my teachers gave us an assignment to get some study material done early.”

Sidney couldn’t say he understood her stress – it was something displayed across the planes of her face; evident when she looked rather tiredly at the stack of books, and hesitated at the flashcards, before throwing them to the side. She folded her arms across the table, then switched so that her hands were interlocked in front of her.

She looked as though she didn’t quite know what to do with herself, and Sidney couldn’t tell if it was because of the presence of a stranger, or if she was already feeling some sort of academic guilt for throwing her attention away from her studies for a couple of minutes.

He saw her jaw clench, and at that observation, the thought that maybe he was paying a little bit too much attention to her crossed his mind, so he turned his focus to the cup of coffee. He was beginning to feel its effects; his knee was shaking softly under the table and he could feel an influx of energy spark at his fingertips. Or maybe it wasn’t the coffee at all.

He hadn’t thought about hockey for five minutes.

He saw her turn her face towards him out of the corner of his eye, and he looked up, “What about you? Are you in school, or…?” She trailed off, her eyes skimming over the logo that had flashed itself from the safe and unzipped confines of his hoodie.

He felt his heart quicken at having been caught, worried that perhaps she’d shout out who he was – if she knew – across the entire cafe. He remained optimistic; she didn’t seem the type.

He cleared his throat, “Not anymore.” For some reason he hesitated. He could play off the logo as merchandise – he could be someone other than Sidney Crosby, the New Rookie of the Pens – or he could be honest. When he looked back at her, there was a challenge in her eyes, and Sidney knew then that she already knew who he was. “I just got drafted to the Pens for my first NHL season.”

She sighed, “Can I tell you something?”

Sidney furrowed his brows, his mouth tilting down in a smile. He was new to the whole ‘local celebrity’ deal, but this by far, is probably one of the least impressed reactions he’d ever had. She clearly knew he wasn’t in school, but had still taken the kind courtesy to ask him the question, despite the futility of it.

He nodded.

“I only know one Pens player.” Then she pointed to something out of the window, “That banner has been staring at me every week for the past three months.”

Sidney huffed a laugh, thinking she was joking, but followed her finger anyway. He was immediately faced with a street corner, tens of people walking past each other – he could even make out their voices if he concentrated hard enough, and it took a while to figure out what exactly she was pointing at, until his eyes settled on a billboard at least a block down.

He’d been told that for press reasons, the Pens had come up with the idea of a way of promoting him as a player, and a ‘person of Pittsburgh’, by plastering some action shots of him – still staged – around the city. He’d neglected to look up lately, fearing that if he did, he’d be faced with some images of himself, but he hadn’t escaped that entirely.

The billboard was small, and he wasn’t the only player on there, either, but he saw it nonetheless.

When he spun back around to look at her once more, the only thing that came out of his mouth was, “There’s two other players, not just me.”

She shrugged, “I was talking about Sergei Gonchar.”

Sidney felt the blush colour from his chest to his cheeks as he slowly put his hands over his face, consumed by humiliation. He felt himself smile into his hands when he heard the girl huff a snicker. He’d had quite a few people as of late kissing up to his ego, and apart from his teammates, she was the first one to really deliver a considerable blow – and he was thankful for that; that at least someone still had the ability to look past who he was and tease him like he was a normal person. He was aware of the irony that lay there.

He gathered himself, unabashedly removing his hands and displaying the creeping blush for her to see, and sticking his hand between them, “Sidney Crosby, rookie center for the Pittsburgh Penguins.”

She rolled her eyes, not commenting on the state of his cheeks, her smile fading slightly but still remaining, “I was joking, I know who you are.” She took his hand in hers, gripping it tightly, “Nat Brooks. Student.”

Sidney swallowed, his blush remaining for other reasons, and pulled his hand away, flexing it under the table, “Is Nat short for anything?”

“Natalia.”

“‘S very pretty.” He mumbled, and she smiled sweetly.

“Sidney’s very pretty, too. It suits you.”

Something clenched in his chest.

#sidney crosby x oc #sidney crosby fic #it's never over prologue #nhl fic #nhl series #sidney crosby imagine #sidney crosby oneshot #sidney crosby x reader

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wrenwinchester · 5 months ago

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Happy birthday to Millie Wren Winchester, she’s 43 today, and she truly deserves the world. Also, this is fairly raw writing, haven’t had a chance to edit or anything, just a heads up. But without further ado, here is the

Fourth of July 1996

Dean went out for a bit, I honestly had no idea what he was doing, Dad was off hunting who knows what in southern Michigan, hadn't heard from him in like a week. And Sam was being a bratty 13 year old. Dean and I had tried everything, taking him to the local pool, taking him shopping, finding his favorite anything really, and nothing helped. He was mad at Dad because he missed his birthday, and mad at Dad for about 1,000 other reasons. And now. I was dealing with it alone. "Great."

Sam looks up from whatever book he was reading, Oliver Twist maybe. "What's wrong?" He asks, sitting up on the bed. And I mentally curse. I hadn't meant to say that out loud.

"Nothing, I'm just tired and frustrated about stuff at the convenience store." I say, not entirely inaccurate, but definitely not what had me going.

"I can't believe you've already made assistant manager. I mean you just started what, a month ago?" He asks. Even though he knows the answer.

"Yeah, but think of all the different experience I have, and the fact that I actually have a work ethic." I say, and he nods looking over at me.

"That's true. Still, I'm proud of you." He smiles at me, and it feels like the first time he's smiled in weeks.

"Thanks, Sammy." I look at the time, it's 7:30. "Hey have you eaten yet?" I ask him.

"No, I wasn't really hungry earlier," his stomach growls. "Apparently that's not so true now."

"What do you want to eat?" Sam's not necessarily picky, but he is particular.

"Whatever you want is fine. I don't care." Ahh, there's the attitude I was expecting.

"Okay, well, I'm just doing cereal because it's easier, and right now cheaper." I say and Sam just shrugs. "By the way, do you know where Dean ran off to earlier? He didn't say anything to me." I say, and Sam shrugs again, putting his headphones on for the Walkman Dean and I pulled money together for his birthday, and goes back to reading. "Okay then."

Sam and I eat our cereal, basically ignoring each other, though it's more like he's ignoring me. I'm just respecting that.

Sam continues his reading when we're done, and I clean up our bowls and add milk to the shopping list. When that's done, I look over the newspaper for any possible cases.

Then, I pick up one of my books, something about protective sigils from the library in town, and I get to work on cleaning the weapons. Granted, all the ones that are here have already been cleaned, but I can engrave protective sigils into the handles, anything to help keep my family safe. When I look up it's 9:30, and I glance over towards the bed Sam's been reading on, and notice he's fast asleep. Book closed on his chest, headphones still playing whatever music he chose. (It's probably one of Dean's cassettes, but I'm not supposed to know that Sam likes Dean's music.)

I walk over to the bed and pick the book up, careful not to lose his spot, and place a bookmark in it before setting it on the nightstand. Dean's been gone for hours at this point, and I'm starting to worry. He should have called or something.

I move across the room, grabbing one of the spare blankets off the couch, and bring it over to lay across Sam. He shifts like he's going to wake up, but doesn't. "Nice to know I haven't lost my touch." I whisper to myself with a smile across my face.

I glance at the door, worrying about Dean again, and I shake my head. He's seventeen, he can handle himself. I repeat the thought over and over again trying to find some comfort in it, but the truth is it ends up making me pissed at Dad. Dean and I have been able to "handle" ourselves since we were 7 years old. We shouldn't have had to.

"Great. Now I'm thinking about Dad and what might have gone wrong on the hunt. And now I'm worried about two Winchesters. I pick up another one of my knives, it's one I don't use often, but it was a gift from an older lady, couldn't tell you much more than she was a redhead, I got it, oh it had to be 6 years ago now. She was nice, saw that I liked knives, and offered it to me. I haven't seen her since. Bobby said that this one was just a normal dagger, but I'm not sure I believe him. So, I keep it in the bag he and I made when I was really in my sewing phase, before I was constantly sewing up skin instead of cloth. Bobby helped me put some sigils on it to keep whatever mystical knives somehow ended up in my possession. (After a witch hunt, dad would let me go through the witches belongings for things that seemed useful. I almost always grabbed at least one knife, but occasionally, they were gifts, that later turned out to be from witches, but more knives meant more ways and more things I could protect my family from.) I set the knife down, not needing protection sigils on it since I never use it, and continue going through everything. A couple hours later, I decide to practice my knife throwing. Not that I really needed practice, I'd been throwing knives since before I started school, and they're my favorite weapon.

I don't leave the room, leaving Sammy alone never ends well. I already know something will happen, and we won't get our deposit back, so it might as well be this, I find a spot on the wall, and make a little x, that's my target. I decide to only use this specific knife, I don't know why, but it just feels right, and as a hunter, I've learned to trust my gut. Just as I'm about to through it, get out some of my frustration and worry about my family, the door swings open, I guess someone else is my target tonight.

My arms already poised to throw the knife before it registers who is at the door, I miss hitting Dean by a fraction of an inch, almost cutting his ear off.

"You nicked me!" He yells, his hand coming away from his ear, and looking at me bewilderedly.

"Dude, you're lucky it didn't go through your eyeball." I reply, going to grab the knife from where it stuck in the wall. It was meant to be funny, but it comes off snarkier than I meant it to, and Dean looks a little taken aback. I don't really have words for why or any idea what to say, really, I just shrug, and say, "Keep it down would you, Sam's sleeping."

Dean looks apologetically towards the bed where Sam is sleeping, he's moved since I closed his book, he's now curled up, practically in the fetal position curling in on himself. "Sorry. And Sorry I was gone so long. My errand had me running around for a while to find the stuff." He smiles gleefully, "but I did find it."

"What is "it", Dean?" I ask perturbed. Walking to put my knife away, obviously I didn't mean to hit my brother, but I figured he was an intruder or monster. "Oh, and sorry about your ear, want me to patch it up?" I ask, it's as good an apology as he's gonna get, besides he knows my frustrations aren't with him. Entirely.

"'It' is a surprise." He smiles, but it fades when I don't smile back. "How's Sam doing?" He asks, probably hoping that's all that's bothering me.

"Moody as ever. One minute he's telling me how proud he is of me for being promoted at the convenience store, and the next he's not talking to me again, and ignoring me." I sigh, as Dean nods along. "We were never that bad." I pause. "Were we?" It comes out quieter than I meant it to. But it's all just hitting me right now.

Dean just gives a wry laugh. "We never had the opportunity. Dad kept us moving, and we were taking turns taking care of Sammy." He says, and he's right. I'm surprised he said it, but he's right.

"So, what you're saying is if Dad had been a better parent, we would have been as bad as Sam?" I ask, mostly because u feel like pushing his buttons.

"Dad's not a bad parent, he just has a lot going on, just leave him alone will you." Dean says, and I realize that nerve is tighter than it usually is.

"I know, I'm just worried that we haven't heard from him. Usually he calls by now." Dean nods. "Not to mention we don't even know what or exactly where he's hunting. How're we supposed to help him if something comes up?"

Dean just shakes his head. "It's Dad. He'll be fine. He's always fine." I nod, still not reassured. And Dean shakes his head. "You know what, we need to get out of here. We need to just relax a little, have fun. It's the Fourth of July after all." He says and goes to put his coat back on.

"Dean, we can't just leave Sam, especially not to galavant around town—"

"We're not," He says pointing at Sam as he continues. "Wake him up, I have a surprise." I stare at him.

"We're not waking up Sam, we can do the surprise in the morning." I say, trying to put my foot down. And then I laugh a little, you'd think we were grown adults parenting our kid, and reality is we're 17 and 15.

"Come on, Wrennie, let's just go have some fun, act our ages for once. I promise it'll be worth it. Besides, it has to happen tonight." Dean would never know, but he has puppy dog eyes just like Sam. And for once. I agree.

"Okay, fine. But you're waking him up, it's almost midnight, and I'm not gonna be at the receiving end of a Winchester cold shoulder right now." I point at him, and go to put shoes on.

"Fine by me." He says recrossing the room to get to Sam's bed. He always sleeps on the bed furthest from the door. Old habits and all that.

Dean starts shaking him. "Sam.Sammy.Sam. Wake up!" Dean practically yells, and I through a pillow at him. We aren't the only ones in the motel.

Of course, the pillow misses and hits Sam in the face, he groans.

"What's wrong." He says, throwing the pillow off his face.

"Get up, I've got a surprise for you." Dean says and I roll my eyes. It shouldn't really surprise me anymore the leeway Sam has for Dean. I mean. I have it too, but still it irks me that I'm not granted the same courtesy by Sam. But because of it, Sam gets up looking for where his book fell, and finding it placed neatly on the side table.

I sit in the back of the impala on the drive to wherever we're going. It's supposed to be special for Sam, and frankly, Sam is mad at me for hitting him with a pillow, and for whatever else he convinced himself to be mad about. I should have just stayed at the motel, let them have a boys night doing whatever it is Dean has planned, but Dean's right. We should just act our age for once.

After 20 minutes of driving, where Sam and Dean are talking and anytime I try to say something Sam gives the cold shoulder, and Dean gives an apologetic look, before they continue talking, we finally arrived wherever Dean wanted to take us, and...

It was an empty field. "Dean, what are we doing here?" I ask, as we get out of the car and he pops the trunk.

"Sam, you wanna see what I've got in the trunk?" He says, and Sam eagerly goes to see what we're doing. I hear his excited squeals, and I'm already getting confused about it, but then Sam comes around the corner, a crate of fireworks in hand.

"Seriously, Dee?" I ask incredulously, but I can't help the smile spreading across my face.

"Yeah, like I said, it's the Fourth of July." He smiles back and I just shake my head.

"Come on! Let's go," Sam says, the biggest smile he's worn in a while across his face. And Dean and I follow closely behind as he brings them along.

Sam sets the crate down in the middle of the field, far enough away from any trees, and the car, but still close enough to the car just in case, we are still a hunter's kids.

Dean gestures to a couple of thinner fireworks for Sammy to grab, and pass between the three of us.

"You got your lighter, Dean?" I ask and he pats his pockets checking for it. It takes him a minute, before he pulls it out with a winning grin on his face.

"Always." The smug bastard. But I smile anyway. And Sam looks at me with glee.

"Light 'em up!" He says, and so Dean lights all three of our fireworks, and we hold them up into the air. Watching as they go off. And Sam looks at Dean, "Dad would never let us do anything like this. Thanks, Dean. This is great." And hugs Dean.

When they're done hugging, Dean slips Sam his lighter, and gives him a nod, letting him light all the other fireworks. Sam comes running back, the biggest smile on his face as he yells, "FIRE IN THE HOLE!" And stands by Dean turning around to watch the fireworks go off.

As they continue going off, all of us laughing and smiling, Sam turns to dance under the sparks, and I turn to Dean. "You're right Dean, we really needed this. To act our own age for once." I smile up at him, before resting my head on his shoulder, and we continue watching Sam dance under the sparks and he gives both of us a smile. And of course, we smile back. And just enjoy our time just the three of us as the fireworks continue going off.

After the last of the fireworks explodes, and the sparks die down, we clean up most of our mess, and bring it back to the Impala. Sam sits in between Dean and I in the front, as he's still a little shorter than me. And the three of us ride back to our motel in a comfortable silence.

Sam falls asleep on my shoulder, and I revel in it, he's my baby brother, and I'd die right now if it meant getting could get out of this life, get Dean out. When I look over at Dean, he's got the biggest smile I've seen in a while on his face, just pure unfiltered joy.

"Dee," I whisper and he turns to look at me. I nod my head towards Sam, his body slumped over in a way that seems like it'd be uncomfortable, but he needs the sleep, and he's out cold.

Dean's smile grows soft, full of love, and admiration for our little brother, before his gaze slides back up to me. And he shrugs.

"I swear, you'd better be the one to carry him in, his getting too big for me to carry." I say jokingly as my left arm clutches Sammy closer to me, as if somehow I could just keep him this small, and protect him from all the pain in the world.

"I didn't say anything!" Dean whisper yells, and I just eyeball him. "Fine. I'll carry him in, but you know he's getting old enough where we could start waking him up when we get places." Dean says and I smack his arm. "I'm just saying, you and I were getting woken up when we arrived somewhere years before we hit double digits."

Of course, Dean is right. Sam is getting to be too big for either of us to carry, but the longer we do, the longer we can keep him little and safe. Even if it's not what Sam wants. It just means we have to work out more, build our muscles so we can carry him, especially if he's gonna be hunting more than just helping with the research.

I ignore the thought, because the truth is it terrifies me, ever since that wendigo incident a few years ago, the idea of Sam hunting isn't a comfortable one. I switch my focus back to tonight and look back at Dean.

"Hey, Dee?" I say, voice still quite so as not to wake Sam. He glances over at me in acknowledgement, "thank you, for tonight. I know it was mostly for Sam, but I really needed it too. The reminder that we are just kids." I smile at him. "And, I really needed to get out of the motel room, I think I'd been in there too long." I say, "and I know Sam needed it, to get his mind of off of Dad, and the fact he missed his birthday. I think you made up for it." Dean just shrugs me off, he's never been great at receiving praise, and I let him minimize what it meant to Sam and I, it's just easier. "I do mean it." Is all I say, and he just silently nods.

When we get to the motel, I help Dean get Sam, who turns into Dean and just holds onto his neck as he carries him up to our room. And I get the fireworks garbage out of the trunk, and toss it in the dumpster. Let someone else deal with the mess. When I make it into the room, Sam is still asleep, and Dean is being held down by him on the bed.

I lock the door as I glance between them, and I just shake my head before crawling into the bed and squishing Sam in the middle of us. It's a little small, but the three of us still fit, and we still need each other.

For the first time since we last saw Dad, I sleep completely peacefully without any nightmares. Because even if something does happen to Dad, I'll always have my brothers.

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tmbgareok · 2 years ago

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I have a question regarding vinyl printing on your website. I was really interested in purchasing John Henry on vinyl and I was wondering if it would ever be reprinted through your official distributor for purchase on tmbg.com. I'm also curious to know if this could possibly happen with other albums as well such as factory showroom, the spine, and any other albums/releases that were released in previous years but aren't being sold.

I was also curious about releases for kid's albums such as here comes science since you've released why?.

I'd appreciate if you responded it means a lot that you read this. Best regards, cheers!

JF: we are systematically addressing every album we have the ability to get on vinyl or back on vinyl. Some projects are easier than others in terms of existing films for artwork, and properly mastered audio. Others require a significant bit of finessing (curiously the repackaging of releases that were previously CD+cassette only are often harder as the films need to be blown up almost double their original size and resolution issues abound). The assembly line began a couple of years back with the pink album reissue, Lincoln, Mink Car, the Flood picture disc, and Apollo 18 and accompanying picture disc. We are working on a few things right now-Long Tall Weekend, The Spine, The Else, a compilation including The Spine Surfs Alone and additional semi-lost tracks around that era. New versions of John Henry, Factory Showroom and Severe Tire Damage are definitely front-of-mind, but there are art challenges there for sure. The Disney stuff is entirely out of our control, and I suspect they don't really have any interest in vinyl at all unless it was a million-selling piece of their catalog (and even then it might not be a market they service)

UPDATE/CLARIFICATION

This is a pretty complete list of what is in the works. That does not mean we know when even the next project will actually cross the finish line (we just finished Mink Car, Apollo 18 and picture disc, all of which were a bit of hassle to get going) We are a very small business with perfectly limited resources and not a ton of “pull” with our partners. A big issue we run up against over and over again is putting in an order, getting a delivery date of three months and it arrives nine months later. (think overwhelming increase in demand for vinyl in general, internal failures in vinyl production like the Apollo Masters fire, pandemic, war, supply chain breakdowns, international inflation, etc. The volatility in this kind of manufacturing has gotten so dire that we no longer take advanced orders on anything, because we simply can’t count on any manufacturer’s delivery estimate. So without even trying, something we might assume this week is showing up in February might not really get to us until September. In summary-the scene is nuts.

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geminimoonbeamx · 2 years ago

Text

Reality Bites: Dazed & Confused(3/6)

A/N: I hope you guys dig this! This was an extra little filler that I thought I’d give Ya’ll, a little peek into Bean, Peach and Steve’s dynamic. @allaboardthereadingrailroad, this might be my fave chapter.

Warnings: Copious amounts of drug use. Pass the dutchie.

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Plus Sized Reader

Summary: You invite Steve to come along on a ritual smoke-sesh with Bean. He cannot hang.

Chapter Three: You Spin Me Right Round Baby

You hate Fridays, how could a day that used to mean freedom, that you used to count down the hours to, now be the bane of your existence?

As you watch the line to the register grow and the store become increasingly more crowded its crystal clear.

Everyone and their fucking mother coms to the mall on Friday.

After five, once corporate releases its zombies, they all gather at Star Court.

You avoid the three to close shift like the plague on the weekends.

But well, Jimmy is a basket case and totally has it out for his workers because he’s upset he lives in his mom's basement.

You're forced to deal with another middle-aged woman shoving a cassette in your face and demanding a refund because she couldn't figure out that it had a B-Side,

“Ma’am, I understand your frustration but once it's been taken out of its wrapping, we can't give you a cash refund, it’s Sam’s policy. But we can issue you in-store credit”-

“That's simply unacceptable. I want to speak to a manager. I spend my money here and I expect better customer service than this. I want to speak to Sam, right now”

You want to choke her.

You want to burn down Jimmy’s moms house and the basement that he resides in,

Instead, you take a breath through your nose, and widen your smile “Ma’am, unfortunately there's not a manager in today, but I’m sure me or one of my team members can figure this out for you. As for Sam, that’s not a person- it’s short for Sam Goody”

The store you’re in you dumb bitch.

You add that part mentally.

Her face still screws, and you still take a tongue lashing for another five minutes before she accepts a new Joni Mitchel tape, snatching it out of your hands and storming out of the store.

You lock eyes with Bean, who’s fighting for her life in the Heavy Metal section. A screaming preteen and their parents in front of her-

“Black Sabbath is devil music! I will not hear, not one more bit’a it”

It's been one of those Fridays.

You’re hanging on by a thread, only the promise of your break keeping you sane. A joint and a smoothie from the Julius. You’d rather have a shake but well- you're not even craving one.

That badly.

Not badly enough to face Steve, who's also working until closing down at Scoops.

No, you needed some distance. Some space to breathe.

Lately your life had seemed to be choked full of nothing but him and it made your skin crawl, made sirens go off in your head.

Steve gives good head,

Without you even having to ask.

Why’d he have to make things weird?

We could get dinner at Enzo’s sometime, you're off this weekend right? I know reservations aren't easy to score but my dad actually gave the owner the loan to open so we can go in whenever. If you wanted…do you want?”

That had been two nights ago, the two of you in his bedroom.

Because that's something you do now, spend time in Steve Harrington's bedroom. His parents are like never home, as usual, and it was easier to hook up at his place when Uncle Elliot’s not at work.

All for convenience, really.

He’d just made you touch the moon, and before you could even wallow in post orgasmic haze fully there he was.

Being complicated.

Offering things like Italian by candlelight, and he’d pick you up at eight- if you wanted.

You very much did not want- and had pulled on your clothes with an excuse.

You have to be up early to take Bowie to the vet, no, Uncle Elliot can't do it. Bye, see ya later.

On the drive home, as you weaved in and out of the neighborhoods of Hawkins, you couldn't deny that penne vodka did sound good. Steve would look good in the warm glow of candles-

No.

Oh now.

“Hey miss, can you check me out or not?”

Break could not come soon enough.

“What is wrong with people?” Bean laments as the two of you navigate the parking lot. The crow is so thick out here, it must look like ants from an aerial view. “The world needs a new epidemic. The human race needs to be culled”

You snort and stuff the last couple fries in your mouth “That lady was like ninety years old, she didn't mean to spill your Icee”

“Not just her, I mean like generally”

“Mmkay, sure” You throw an arm around her shoulder “It’s okay, Grumpy Bear, in like ten minutes the rest of the world will barely exist. That shit we got from that scary guy actually turned out to be pretty dank”

“True, very true, it was worth the life risking” Bean agrees, “I mean we could’ve been chopped up into a million little pieces, but I really have never been so high in my life. Shit, you should've seen what happened at dinner the other night. It’s like my mom could smell it on me- and Erica’s such a little asshole, she almost got me caught”

You loved Bean's little sister, you aspired to be Erica Sinclair when you grew up. You tell Bean of that fact often.

“Are you sure she couldn't actually smell it on you?”

“Absolutely the fuck not. I smoked in the woods behind our house, and then showered after, tooth paste and mouth wash. You know I have to be extra careful, my parents would literally kill me if they found out”

“You’re right, it would be the actual end of the world if their Purdue bound, future Scientist got caught smoking a little Ganja. I really could literally see your dad breaking down in to tears”

“No dude, he’d totally cry. Act like I’m snorting hack drugs or something in my spare time”

You can’t help but chuckle at the mental image of Mr. Sinclair weeping over his drug addled daughter.

Beans parents are kind of overbearing, but like, in the normal way. It makes you wonder what having a live mother and real father would be like.

You’d acquired a few too many bad habits for parentals at this point, you think.

The lot is full, there’s people everywhere, and you don’t notice the maroon BMW until you’re already right in front of it. Until the driver's side door slams shut behind the lanky brunette.

What are the odds that you and Steve just happen to have your break at the same time?

“It’s the universe. I don’t know what signs it’s trying to give me, but it keeps aligning at just the wrong point. It’s like I can’t get away from him”

“It may be universe, or you know what else it might be? The fact that we all work at the same place, Peach”

You’d told Bean, told her that you and Steve were stuck in some wacky loophole. If this isn’t proof, then what is?

“Um, Hi Steve” you greet, keeping it cool. Casual. There’s nothing going on, this isn’t weird.

You slip your arm from the perch of Bean's shoulder and stand a little straighter.

“Hey girls” Steve nods at the two of you and the small smile and wave that Bean gives is terribly forced. “What are you up to?”

“Nothing much. Just taking our break- as far away from this hell hole as possible” you crack the joke and for some reason it doesn’t make impact. Steve’s laugh is half-hearted, more of a short grunt then anything.

What the hell? He always laughs at your jokes.

“Same here” he answers instead

“Oh. That’s cool?”

“Yeah, um if you want we could go do something“ he throws out, casts a line.

“Can’t, we already have plans” you reply, softer, and even then, he looks a little bit like a kicked puppy. He masks it with bravado and nods, because of course you do.

That’s why the two of you are together- plans.

Obviously.

“Can we go smoke now? We should hurry, so we have enough time to get back and clock in?” Bean interjects and God you love her and you know she can’t handle tension like this, but right now, you want to wallop her.

Because you know the moment it comes out, what you’ve been forced to do.

“Yeah, let’s go. Steve, do you wanna come with?” It’s polite. It’s the right thing to do, the right thing to ask.

“What?” The inquiry comes at you from both ways, feminine and masculine voices converging as to sets of dark eyes zero in on you. Bean looks shocked. Steve hesitant.

“Come smoke with us? Fridays are literal dumpster fire and I think we could all use the relief. But if you don’t want to that’s okay” Please say you don’t want to.

“No, I’ll come. Where do you guys usually go because I could drive. We could take my car?” Steve offers and you can feel Bean still staring at you like you’d grown a second head.

“We don’t need to drive, just follow us, okay? Oh and bring that cologne you keep on the dash, you might need it” you warn him, because the weed in your bookbag is anything but mild.

When he bends back into his car Bean pinches your arm

What the fuck.

She doesn’t have to scream it, doesn’t even have to open her mouth to say it. It’s written all over her face.

You know I couldn’t just leave him here. It’s not my fault!

Women have this gift, the gift of telepathic gab.

The two of you have an entire conversation, silently, before Steve rejoins you and you’re off.

You suck ass.

At least that’s what you think Beans last little glare would be translated to.

You take Steve to your secret spot. Which is not as much secret as it is unknown. A little corner off the east loading bay, gated off.

What most people don’t know? The gates never locked.

You had discovered it early into your Star Court career, perpetually lost you’d somehow ended up here. No one ever uses the space and it’s hidden away from view.

The perfect place to spark up.

It’s kind of a walk, but there’s a little bench and to this day you and Bean hadn’t had any run-ins with security.

You inform Steve of this as you’re sat on the green metal, pulling the tin from your bag.

“You smoke at work? Like all the time” he clarifies, looking doubtful. He turns the look to Bean who shrugs and nods.

“All the time, it’s really no biggie” You explain, pulling out the joint that bean had pre-rolled in your car on the way to work. It’s a beauty, but then again they always are. She’s an artist.

“Do you want greens?” You offer and when he looks hesitant you sign “look I’m not into that peer pressure shit. You don’t have to smoke if you don’t want to”

You spark the joint, running your purple lighter along the twisted edge and until it’s cherried and then taking a long drag. The smoke and burn familiar.

You hand it off to Bean who hits it long and smooth.

“We never get caught, if that’s any consolation” she tells him, exhaling a large flume of smoke before holding it up, a small non-forceful offer.

Steve takes one more moment, and then gives the universal sign of fuck it. Shoulders shrugged, taking the spliff.

He hits it way too hard, and ends up hacking. You both wince because ouch.

“Jeeze Steve, come on. I know you don’t have baby lungs. You got me high for my first time at the twins’ party back in eighth grade” you tease him, taking the joint from him and trying not to laugh as he composes himself.

“I don’t that’s just harsh” his pretty face is flushed, but he’s catching his breath. Kind of.

You scoot on the bench, closer to Bean, giving him room to sit. It’s always a perfect fit for the two of you but with Steve it’s tight, you’re sandwiched in the middle, and that’s not so bad, is it?

That might just be the weed taking. Strongest shit ever.

The three of you bleed away the minutes, puff-puff passing. Chatting about nothing.

Well you and Steve chat, mostly Steve who you now know gets extremely talkative when he’s got THC in his system.

Beans quieter but that’s to be expected, she doesn’t know Steve. And what she does know of him, she’s not sure she likes.

“It’s been real life hell. This woman threw a Mannilow record at our coworker, shit was nuts. Right, Bean”

“Bean? Is that your actual name?” Steve wonders, sitting up to look past you and at your friend.

You wonder if she knows how cool she looks, hair tied up, sunglasses resting on her nose. Even if you told her she wouldn’t believe you.

“Um, no?” She answers, giving him a look over her dark glasses that has you bursting into laughter, you cover your mouth with your hand in an attempt to smother it.

“I didn’t think so. You're Lucas' sister, right?” Steve goes on, extroverted as ever. He could talk to anyone, it had always been his trade.

Beans a tough egg to crack though.

You’d learnt that. Last year when you were partnered with her, back in school. It had taken a minute for your friendship to bloom.

“Yeah, Lucas is my little brother” Bean replies easily, taking her turn “My name’s B/R/N”

“Oh yeah! We had that Geometry class together, right?” Steve insists, excited, like he’d solved an equation.

“No” Bean counters. Not rude, maybe a little aloof but mostly just high.

Steve face falls a bit, lips pursed “You sure, I could’ve sworn?-“

“I was in honors math all throughout High School- so when you were taking Geometry, I was taking Trig” she explains, the fucking brainiac. “Must’ve been someone else”

“Ugh” you gag “even hearing math terms makes me want to slit my wrists”

“Shit, honors all throughout school? You must be going off somewhere big in the fall” Steve guesses, correctly unbeknownst to him.

“Purdue”

He whistles and even though talking about the impending doom that is Autumn, you can’t help but grin.

You’re happy for her, even if you’re sad for yourself.

“Our little scientist. She’s going to win a Nobel Prize one day” you gush like a proud mom. I mean, Beans mom is already proud, but she can have two of them.

“I’m aiming more for a Fields Medal” She corrects you and you blow a very mature raspberry at her

“Okay smart ass, maybe aim for not killing one of our customers tonight”

“Peach, did you or did you not just say that you wanted to burn our bosses house to the ground, with him and his family trapped inside?” She reminds you, dead serious, of the threats you’d made against Jimmy’s life.

“I did, yes” it only takes you locking gazes with your friend for a moment before you’re both chuckling.

This weed is good as hell.

Giggle weed, you’d named it.

It made you feel cloud-like and light. Everything was funnier on this high, the world and all of its issues less rigid.

“Peach? Is that a nickname for you, Y/N?” Steve is just full of questions, he looks you up and down with a smile “When did you guys get so close? I don’t remember you ever hanging out in school”

“When did you become friends with a bunch of thirteen year olds, including my brother?” Bean shoots back fast and you think that Steve will have to get the hang of her eventually.

Figure out that she’s all wit and no bite.

I mean, if he wanted to be…friends with you at all, that would be a necessity.

The sky is blue, and yeah it’s hot as balls, even in the evening- but you’re sitting between two of your favorite people.

Or maybe just your favorite person and Steve, you hadn’t decided yet.

But the with every puff you think that yeah. It might not be so bad- Steve might not be so bad.

“You’re the worst”

You accuse Steve in a whisper as the three of you walk through the sliding doors of the mall “pull it the fuck together, I swear, I’m never smoking with you again”

Steve’s first talkative when he’s high. And then giggily, which might just have been the strain. But now he’s paranoid.

Super paranoid.

“I smell like weed, you smell like weed. There’s no way Robins not going to be able to smell me” he insists, like he has been for the last ten minutes.

Even though he’s drowned himself in so much cologne that all you could smell within a mile radius of him was Dior.

“It’s fine. Robin isn’t going to know if you just chill out” you whisper at him, allowing the grip he has on your hand to tighten because he’s freaking out for no reason and you feel just a tad bit responsible.

You should’ve known he couldn’t keep up with you and Bean.

Steve’s “I smoke at parties” tolerance was far from you and Bean's “I smoke the moment I wake up” tolerance.

It had only been one joint, but for him it was way too much.

“It’s all in your head, on the outside you look fine. I mean you’re in a sailor costume, but you look fine” Beans reassures in a way only she could. “And plus, who cares about Robin?”

“Exactly, who cares about Robin? She’s not your boss. She can’t fire you. Fuck her. Just go in and be chill. Hah, get it. Chill. Because you work at an ice cream place-“

At least someone gets your joke, the peal of laughter Bean lets out makes you snigger along.

“It’s not funny and it’s not fuck Robin, we’re friends. Kind of“

“Oh?” You observe,

“No, not like that. Not like we’re friends. She just likes to bust my balls-“

“I bet” you nod, and you probably shouldn’t be putting him through the usual wringer, not while he’s this stoned but you just can’t help yourself.

“Stop it, I know what you’re doing and I’m already tripping out. I can’t handle any freaky foreplay head games right now” Steve’s serious and grasping your hand tighter, his palm sweaty as your fingers interlock.

And if you have to take the rest of the day off to take this idiot home and take care of him you’re going to be so annoyed.

“Hey Steve,” Bean calls, giving him just a moment before taking a piece of ice from her water cup she’d scored at the food court and placing it in his empty hand “There, sudden exposure to cold is known to bring down a high. And you work in an Ice Cream parlor. It’s fine. Stop tripping out, you’re harshing my mellow”

He looks shocked for a second, before fisting the ice “Yeah, you’re right, that does feel better”

She shrugs and turns her back, her jet-black bun bobbing.

“You’re going to be okay, dude. If anything, just clock out early. I’ll come check on you, if I get the time” you instruct him as you and Bean drop him off in the doorway of Scoops.

Like he’s your kindergartener.

He nods, and goes forward into the abyss. The rainbow colored, multi flavored abyss.

“Oh my god I’m never smoking with you and your boyfriend again” Bean hisses, once he’s out of earshot and you glare at her and bump her arm with yours as you redirect.

“He's not my boyfriend. Not even close. He’s barely even my friend, he’s just a friend with benefits. Benefits, mostly” you correct her, because she’s got it all wrong.

“Who are you trying to convince? Me or yourself. Because Honestly, you’re doing a poor job of both” Bean is cutting.

You’d learned that a long time ago. She’s direct and blunt and sometimes? She has too good of an aim.

“Fuck you, Yoda. I hate that you get all philosophical when you’re stoned, you’re the worst” you accuse her, glaring at the side of her head as you make your way back to work.

“Right back at ya”

And the two of you clock back into hell.

Were halfway done. How did that happen? I hope you guys are enjoying the adventures of Peach and Bean as much as we enjoyed writing them. Please, continue to leave feedback. It means more then you know.

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x plus sized reader #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fluff

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nat-20s · 4 years ago

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for @jonmartinweek day 4 prompt- tape recorders! once again post canon, but this time babes? it’s pure sappiness

~*~

When Martin dumps the box in front of him, Jon can’t help the sardonic huff of a laugh that escapes him. “Really? I would’ve thought you’d had enough enough of these damn things for a lifetime.”

Martin beams at him, obviously expecting a less than thrilled response to the charity shop cassettes. “Oh, believe me, I have. Buuuut..”

It’s clear Martin wants him to bite, and, what the hell, Jon can’t deny he’s curious. He sets aside the paperback he’s been thumbing through and asks, “But?”

“But it’s been a year and a half since we got here, and you know that I’ve been writing again, and the poems really do sound better on tape.”

“Oh..kay? Is that all? Because, love, you do know you can replicate that sound digitally, right? No need to bring..to bring those things into our home.”

“Aha! I knew you would say that, but, no, Jon, that’s not all. Remember how our therapist said something about softening bad associations by re-contextualizing items with new, positive memories, or whatever? I thought these would be a good start, considering they’re not quite so visceral as lotion or, eugh, peaches. And, yes, there’s always the whole possibility of something listening on the other side, but I have actually accounted for that. I’ve had the recorder in my bag for the past week, and I’ve taken it to all sorts of locations that would be considered interesting or scary, and nothing. I brought it to a job interview, for Christ’s sake, and not a peep. I am almost certain that we have total control over when the recordings start and stop, and who gets to listen to them. You have full veto power here, obviously, and you don’t have to record anything yourself, but, I thought it might be nice, to record just notes and grocery lists or songs stuck in our heads or whatever. Maybe we could make tapes into something mundane and maybe even pleasant, if a bit outdated.”

Standing up for a better viewpoint, Jon eyes the box of cassettes and, crammed in the corner, the recorder itself. He’s not overly enthused at the sight, and if it comes on by itself at any moment, he’s tossing everything into an industrial shredder and never looking back. Yet, it would be preferable to not wince at the sound of static, to be able to use the tape deck in their beater car. He knows already that he won’t be using it himself, the imagined press of the recorder in his hand more than enough to make his skin crawl and throat tighten. Just Martin’s voice, however, might be tolerable. Perhaps even enjoyable, on those rare occasions that they have to spend more than a handful of hours apart. “All right.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes. I suppose it won’t hurt to try. Though I must admit my confidence in this experiment isn’t particularly high.”

Martin rewards his willingness to go along with this with a kiss to the temple, and informs him, “That’s fine. I can be optimistic for both of us on this one.”

~*~

The next morning, Jon rolls over to find an upsetting lack of warmth at his side. He opens his eyes to find his delightful boyfriend has been replaced with a cold, uncaring tape recorder. It’s apparently locked and loaded, as it has a sticky note in Martin’s loopy handwriting that says “Play me :-)”. With bated breath, he ever so carefully presses play.

Hello, love. Remember how we completely neglected to do our shopping on Tuesday? Turns out, we have zero breakfast food now. I’m grabbing some bagels from the cafe that’s too pricey for us to regularly justify, I’ll be back in 15. I love you.”

Huh. Not terrible. Maybe this is something Jon could get used to after all.

After that morning, and Jon’s lack of averse reaction to it, Martin keeps his word and begins to record all sorts of things. Little reminders for both of them, a spoken journal, affirmations for Jon, and, yes, grocery lists, despite Jon’s continued insistence that a whiteboard would be infinitely easier. Martin even manages to capture Jon on tape a few times, either singing or having a very earnest conversation with their incredibly chatty cat.

The wild thing is that it works. Jon doesn’t flinch at the sight of a cassette anymore. At worst, they’re mental background noise, nothing to take note of. At best, they’re audio treats, a physical token of something wonderful or peaceful or loving or all of the above.

This culminates six months later, when Jon finds a tape awaiting it. On it is a spoken clue from Martin, leading to another cassette. He follows the path, and he has to admit, he’s enjoying the playful puzzle. After being lead to a number of locations loaded with fond memories, he ends up in front of Martin, waiting on a bench in the park where they first woke up Here. He goes to sit next to him, and with a silent smile, he’s handed one final tape. Jon raises an eyebrow at him, questioning, but Martin doesn’t give away anything, just nodding at the recorder. Jon shrugs, and goes for it.

My dearest Jon,We’ve been through hell and back more times than I can count, and throughout it all, we’ve somehow managed to stick by each other. Right now, I’m the happiest that I’ve ever been, and I have an inkling that it’s much the same for you. While it’s largely a formality at this point, I would like to declare to the world that we’re going to spend the rest of our lives, and perhaps even beyond them, together. My love, my light, my anchor, will you marry me?

Okay. He can admit he’s glad to have that on tape.

#jonmartinweek2021 #jonmartin #jon sims #martin blackwood #tma #post canon #yall this is so saccharine #AND it was posted during daylight hours WILD #HEY THIS WAS MISSING THE FIRST SENTENCE BUT IT'S FIXED NOW

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supremeinlilac · 3 years ago

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Hurt me once

Pairing: Billie Dean Howard x Fem!Reader

Prompt: Hurt me once- Ben Platt, also there will be a Mina one too :))

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: Cheating, lying, basically Billie is how I imagine some celebrities in reality tv to be like, so soz.

Maybe you were reading into it too much. Since Billie had started dating you, you’d wanted to pull away from working for her and get your own job on the pretence that you could never be equal if you worked as her assistant day in and day out. You supposed you’d brought it upon yourself.

She still needed an assistant. Her job was demanding and stressful so of course she’d rehire. You’d been naïve to think any differently.

“No one can replace you.” She’d purred when you’d admitted to wanting to quit. Assuring that you’d been her best help to date.

She was lying.

You’d tried to remain focus in work but Billie Dean Howard had this addicting aura about her person and you couldn’t help but become distracted. Especially when she’d aim flirty remarks and winks with pinpoint precision at you. Like a lamb to slaughter you were set up to fail.

She’d taken you to watch a drive in movie for your first date. Huddled together under blankets on the plush of her backseat. It had been an action, the name escapes you now; but at the time you’d been far more aware of the way the light from the screen caught against her skin instead of the actual film.

The way she’d catch you staring and the signature cocky grin would form, tongue poking into her cheek as she pulled you closer. Under the stars that night you’d felt her lips for the first time, the moon a perfect witness. Stark and full above you, beaming down in chords of silvery light.

Naturally, it became routine for the moon to bare witness to such moments. For you both to come together under the pale light and either dance or watch another movie. The moon was hers, delicately and wholly and irrevocably hers.

You can’t look at the moon now without feeling the need to howl at it like a wolf does. For the moon had stolen Billie from you. The moon was no longer a thing you shared alone.

Billie took her new assistant to a drive in theatre.

It rained. The sky cried and protested like a petulant child because it should have been you. It should have been you there, huddled together under blankets on the plush of her backseat. Instead of throwing a tantrum, you told yourself that she was just being kind. Billie Dean was kind. Annoyingly so, in this case.

You told yourself that she didn’t realise that doing that was your thing, something that you did together. It was special. A rare pearl lodged in the mouth of a clam, the gem that you were lucky to have had. Had. Had you lost it, was its touch fleeting? Inevitably drawn back after being loaned so cruelly?

You started to notice the little ways Billie was pulling away. At least, you thought she was pulling away. Little landmines that were buried under your feet, growing and ticking dangerously, waiting for you to lose balance and fall. Triggering them. A looming explosion.

Billie would eat with her production team after long scheduled days of filming, she’d message you fleetingly with wordless apologies for her absence, and slip into bed after you slept. She never saw the tears that would stain the skin of your cheeks. At least you hoped she didn’t notice them, because she never mentioned it, and you’d prefer her to be ignorant to it than to ignore your pain.

She’d started to take her phone calls on the porch, leaving the dinner table with only a motion to the ringing to say where she was going. She’d mouth that she’d be back in a minute but you’d always have to reheat her food. Eating alone with the silhouette of your lover in the window had become the regular, leaving an uneasy feeling in your gut which you couldn’t seem to shake.

It seemed like you’d forgotten how to read her face.

No. You’d always been able to sense her mood by the twitch of a lip or the furrow of a brow, could know what she was thinking without even having to try.

It struck you that maybe that was only the case because she was letting you, an open book, the tells of her mood bright against the curves of her face. The book was no longer open, fragile pages torn in an attempt to hide the contents. The library of Billie Dean’s emotions padlocked and closed to you.

At the back of your mind however, you knew that you could still read her like you always had been able to. A feeble attempt to disguise the fact that you could see the words strewn carefully across the page, so clearly in front of you. But you don’t like what you read, instead feigning oblivion rather than face the truth.

It was red to love Billie Dean.

Passionate and fuelled, excitement sparking your muscles involuntarily. It was hot, blushed faces between silken sheets. The feeling one gets as the rollercoaster reaches its peak, and hovers just over the edge, dipping so you can see the fall. Your breath hitches in your throat and for a moment you feel like you might live forever, stay in this moment and this safety with Billie.

But a moment doesn’t last forever.

And then it’s dropping. Falling, falling. You reach out to grasp for something sturdy but fingers only close around the fragments of memories that you’re losing. Moments you won’t experience again. And your breath draws in a way that is painful, burning down to your lungs. Red. Fire. Dangerous.

For it was dangerous to love Billie Dean.

You knew it all too well.

You’d read the suggestive articles about the mysterious, nameless new girl that clung to Billie’s arm, sheltered by the umbrella she’d once used to protect you from the rain.

Now, you’d dance fearlessly under it with closed eyes and a head tilted to the sky. Welcoming the rain from your apologetic moon. For your moon was panoptic, it saw your pain and her infidelity, sending shards of silver regret.

You wanted the looming explosion to be destructive. To be angry and snapping and make her understand that she’d hurt you with inexistent loyalty when yours had been unwavering.

But the explosion wasn’t big. It wasn’t sudden and angry, a dog snarling and baring steak knives for teeth, loud and frothing at the mouth. Looking back you wished it had been, it would have been easier to hate her, to blame her.

Hating Billie Dean Howard was impossible. Even the people with the least humility would sooner blame themselves, sinking and struggling beneath the waves themselves lest have Billie drown.

You found yourself drawing back into yourself, a child curled into itself in the corner, a small animal frantic to take up the least space possible. You shrunk, imploding instead of exploding. Crippling hatred gnawed at your skin, vultures picking your body clean and leaving it to rot in the burning sun.

Doubt crushes your ribs to ash, filling your lungs and mixing with blood to a paste no amount of coughing will clear. It was deep and bruising, and you knew that not even Billie’s empty reassurance wouldn’t settle the ache.

The night you confronted Billie played in your mind like a broken cassette, looping the scene, a single jumping moment on display endlessly.

You’d been crying. Billie hadn’t turned up for the dinner you’d made for your anniversary, well she’d showed, hours later and stumbling through the door. She’d been drinking and the curve of her lips was smudged with a crimson lipstick under the moonlight.

Your moonlight.

You couldn’t remember a time when Billie Dean had worn red lipstick. Hooker lipstick, as she’d once said. The fact only made the tears run anew.

Her intoxication made it easier. Perhaps you’d be able to vent and cry and confess to her and she wouldn’t remember come the morning. The spirits in the walls would remind her though, whispers and taunts in sobriety.

You wanted to be big and angry, pushing back against her when her actions cut you, hurting and scarring her back. But you were kinder than her. Billie was kind but she had nothing on you.

You’d stood, bags packed in a pile by the door, and she’d sat. You’d cried, and she didn’t. She didn’t even speak until you made to leave, didn’t move until it was to cling onto your wrists in a frantic effort to keep you.

“Did you sleep with her?” You found yourself asking without even registering your words. You hadn’t planned on being so direct.

“Y/n, listen to me. I-”

“Did you, sleep with her?” Ignoring her, you spoke. Slower, punctuating and almost spitting your words at her, as if keeping them against your tongue would do more damage.

“Once, yes. But she’s not you.” Billie said, slender fingers reaching to pull at the pearls around her neck, instead of reaching to you.

You found yourself backing away again, struck anew at her final admission. Somehow it hurt more to hear her confirm what you already knew to be true. Like when you know someone to be dying, yet it only really hits you when they’re gone. When it’s too late to change anything.

“I don’t know why I did it, I just-” her voice trailed off, hands hitting out at nothing. Slumping onto the sofa, you mirrored her movement, perching yourself tentatively on the arm of the coach.

Your eyes flitted from her form to the door, the escape should you need it. Should youchoose it.

“You did it because you could, Billie.” You breathed, knuckles pressing at your temple to ease an impending migraine. Fighting with Billie always gave you a headache, it was a headache to get your point across when she’d ceased to listen. “I mean I get it, it’s exciting. Young girls like me, fawning. You feel, I don’t know? Appreciated, flattered?”

You knew that it was commonplace among celebrities like Billie, to chain date young girls who fed into their egos and made them feel young. Billie didn’t speak for a while, head in her hands and knees knocking together while you forced yourself to not watch her, eyes fixing instead on the way the curtains sways slightly with the open window. Even the curtains ached to free themselves.

“Look. I’m sorry, I swear.” Her voice thawed, defensiveness gone and replaced with a vulnerability she rarely let herself show. You wrung your hands in your lap and stared at the way they whitened with pressure. Your lungs felt like that, blood pressed out with the crushing doubt, a band wrapped around your ribs. You almost reached a hand up to your chest to help you breathe.

She stood, reaching into the cabinet drawer and retrieving a packet of cigarettes and flicking one between her fingers. She didn’t light it. What would be the point of creating more of a separating fog between you both? Instead, she just fiddled with it, a nervous tic.

“Can we still be in love?” She pleaded, eyes shining and you screwed yours tight as to not be lost to the depths of them. Her eyes were your weakness, and she knew it. You’d once told her that you thought you’d seen the man on the moon, reflected in them. The man on the moon, dancing on a music box in her eyes.

“I don’t know you. Your voice, it’s different.” The shake of your head and the riddle of your words had the medium narrowing her eyes in confusion. For one who loved to play games, Billie wasn’t playing fair.

“What do you mean? Different how?”

Frustration bit at you, and you wondered if this was the explosion people spoke of. An internal understanding of grief for something you never had.

“I can’t with you Billie! Did you ever even love me? You say you want to be in love but were you ever in love with me? What makes me different from the others?” The chime of the music box, opened and singing in the splash of your tears.

She sighed, tying her hair loosely behind her head to stop her from running her hands through it in anguish. She didn’t like to see you in pain knowing she was the one who’d caused it. Unjustly caused it. Guilt washed smoothly over her only now at the sight of her baby girl, a small ache in the gut. But the realisation hit like a winter wave in a storm. She’d lose you if she didn’t fight to keep you.

She reached out to wipe your tears with a comforting hand.

“Let me in. Please.”

Who were you to seek comfort in the person who’d broken you? Much alike to a shadow seeking solace with the sun, the sun that burned and cut through the shade. Prey looking to please the predator.

But you did. You craved the musk of smoke that would cling to her clothes, the rasp to her voice in the morning. The suggestive lilt to her eyebrow when she’d dress you in her favourite dress, dancing in an empty crowd because she used to only see you.

“I love you.” She begged; voice hoarse from overuse. “You’re a part of me.”

That made you stop. Made you question.

Who were you without her? Billie Dean Howard, medium to the stars. She was a light, cutting through the dangerous darkness a path forged for you. The darkness was exciting and inviting and you wanted to be comfortable in its depths, but without her you are nothing.

You sell your soul for the chance at happiness. For the hope that she may learn to love you properly, how you love, and deserve to be loved back. To walk in the light.

You tell yourself how easy it would be to leave the city and find peace elsewhere. Get a steady job in television production, a steady and reliable wage. Reliability. Billie had made you crave it. Crave it from her, selfishly asking for something that you aren’t even sure if she’s capable to give you.

But you're ensnared in her trap. Her charm and confidence has bound you on a tether, an obedient puppy just looking to please. Young and impressionable.

How could you settle for a simple life when Billie had shown you the city from the highest building. Made you watch as the lights illuminated the world below in perfect technicolour. She’d shown you what could be, what was destined to not to be, but what you’d reach for nonetheless.

You’d known about Billie’s previous proclivities toward girls your age, but you’d believed that you could change her. Naively, you, another wide eyed, hopeful wannabee, believed you could make her settle down. Stupid. She’d lain with dozens of girls like you, before you, and she would lay with dozens more.

This realisation did nothing to stop you from letting her back in, agreeing to her empty promise of change.

Was change even possible?

She was Billie Dean Howard, the stars. The stars could make deals with the people of Earth, but they could not bargain in return. You can’t catch a star and claim it as your own. She held all the cards, all the choices while you remained empty. Without her, you were nothing.

You let yourself be engulfed by the stars. Opening your arms for her warmth to invade you once again as she pulled you into a hug. Letting yourself be hers again.

But you’d always been hers, ever since she’d strode, cocky and confident, into your life. You didn’t think that she’d ever truly been yours, or ever would.

Billie Dean Howard held the unpredictability of a tornado’s spin, and people got caught up in her exciting whirlwind. You weren’t sure if she really meant for them to, or if she realised the damage she left in her wake. Travelling from place to place, never looking back.

It was a defence mechanism the job forced upon her. But who was defending you?

“No second chances.” You warned her through gritted teeth, chin propped against her shoulder. She couldn’t see the angry tears that pricked at your eyes, anger at her, at yourself. You’d been reminded of the dangers over and over and yet you still allowed yourself to fall victim to her charm.

“I won’t need one, I promise. I swear I won’t,” Billie reassured, palms rubbing up your back and making you shiver involuntarily. You clutched her blouse in trembling fingers, perhaps if you held on strong enough your bones might turn to ash in her grasp and she’d be the one to mourn. You convinced yourself she wouldmourn.

“I can’t do this again.” Truth.

“I won’t do this again.” Lie.

She hummed, accepting your whispers as truth, for who was Billie Dean Howard to question you? Who was she to take your love for granted and render it infinite? Fame did not mean she was entitled to your loyalty if she refused to give hers.

Billie wasn’t stupid, she knew it wasn’t a game she could win without consequences. She couldn’t have it all. Wouldn’t have it all.

“I love you.” A kiss against skin mottled by tears.

You didn’t say it back, she didn’t deserve it yet. Despite wanting to let your lips form the words, your teeth bit down on your tongue and refused for the phrase to drip demurely from it, she had not yet earned the nectar of your spoken love.

Instead; you let Billie believe that you would have actually left. That you would leave next time.

Not that you wouldn’t have eventually, when you finally broke the spell she had over you, being the television star that she is. You loathed that you would forgive her for hurting you so easily, self-respect forgotten in lieu of kissing under the gentle moon once more.

You were ashamed that you were proud of the fact that she could do anything and you’d still be in love with her. You’d chosen her, your colour sealed with the crimson blood that coursed through your veins.

Red was once your favourite colour, wasn’t it?

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#sarah paulson #sarah paulson x reader #billie dean howard #billie dean howard x reader #american horror story #ahs murder house #imagine

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gelo-p · 3 years ago

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It may be a long request, but what memorable moments (scenes) for each characters from OddTaxi caught your eyes the most ? (included images as well) It will be interesting to hear it from you, as someone who reviewed each episode of this series.(and was fun to read) I can wait if this take some time to answer back, no need to rush(> ◡ 0) Honestly ,this show is so unique & such an underrated gem!! It's like you said: "DAMN. ODDTAXI WHY YOU SO GOOD"

LOL thanks, I’m flattered that you found my weekly ramblings fun to read ^^; I didn’t intend to review the series though. I was planning to just make a series of minor complaints about an otherwise good story, but... well. It was clear by episode 5 that the writing was deeper than I thought.

Having said that, here are my favorite moments for each characters anyway!

(●'◡'●)

------

Taeko-san

Episode 8.

Suddenly acting all cutesy and embarrassed ^^;

------

Nagashima

Episode 1.

I was just surprised to find that he’s in the first 5 minutes of episode 1.

------

Kabasawa

Episode 9.

DEYM, SON @_@

Maaaaybe focus on catching Dobu? Also what the hell, 10k yen to assist on catching Dobu???

Slow clap. Brilliant, mate.

Episode 9.

I did feel bad for him though. In his pursuit of fame, he’s bitten more than he could chew. This scene stood out to me for a different reason though:

Who apologizes in less than a minute???

------

Shibagaki

Episode 6.

It didn’t initially carry much weight, but once you realize he did this to try and remain relevant in the entertainment world, it’s kinda sad. Especially with Baba getting all the attention recently.

Episode 6, ending credits.

------

Baba

Episode 6, ending credits.

Contrast to Shibagaki, Baba is experiencing one hell of a high in his career. Can’t entirely blame him for not focusing too much attention on the N-1 contest anymore. This entire exchange with Shibagaki was so memorable because... it just shows how different their careers have become.

Also, just right before this scene, it was shown that

HE’S ACTUALLY DATING NIKAIDO WTF

------

Kuroda

Episode 3.

This scene where Kakihana thought Kuroda was talking to him was just hilarious. Not to mention once you hear him speak, you realize...

He’s voiced by this guy.

-----

Donraku

Episode 1.

This annoyed the hell out of me. I thought this was one of those typical Japanese TV commentary panels. When I wondered if “Don-chan” might be Donraku, I thought of this scene and concluded “Nah, can’t be him. Would you act all calm - let alone appear on TV like that - if your daughter was missing? Nah.”

How wrong I was of course, but this scene has always stuck in my head.

Of course, the president of the agency being in the shot was probably meant as a clue of some sort... But we didn’t know that yet, did we?

Episode 11.

------

Kakihana

Episode 5.

This was just so awkward to watch. 🤦‍♂️

Episode 9.

I still feel bad for him at the end of it all, of course. He just wants to move on and throws the ring away... but he realizes how much it cost. ^^;

(Finally, of course there’s also that scene with Kuroda from earlier)

------

Tanaka

Episode 4.

This scene. I’ve ranted about it before already :v

Episode 9.

Does this count? Of course we now know that this was actually Little Daimon, but at the time, I was so annoyed at how overpowered Tanaka was made to be.

------

Imai

Episode 8.

Episode 11.

Imai’s love for Mystery Kiss (well, Nikaido) is probably greater than all our love for ODDTAXI combined.

A true man of culture.

------

Big Daimon

Episode 1.

DIRTY COP! DIRTY COP RIGHT HERE- *bang* ughh

------

Little Daimon

Episode 7.

This was the moment I started considering that Odokawa really has nothing to hide in his closet. It would have been extremely risky for him, considering how straight of a cop (albeit a little naive) Little Daimon is.

Episode 12.

This was a genuinely sad moment for me. Your brother, who you decided to punish evil with, was part of the evil you’ve been trying to punish all along. That’s gotta hurt, man.

------

Dobu

Episode 9.

Dobu’s actually quite a nice guy, huh? I mean, yeah, not really, but come on. He did let Kabasawa off with a life lesson instead of a more serious beating.

Episode 10.

Really? :))

Episode 12.

Again, DOBU SHOULD HAVE JUST SHUT UP. “IT’S A SILHOUETTE BRO, THAT’S NOT ME, WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT.”

Also, I kinda refuse to believe Dobu would use his silhouette for the game. We couldn’t even tell who the hell ditch-11 was but suddenly *poof* it’s Dobu’s silhouette!

I would have preferred if Tanaka’s story of sending a message was true. It would be much more believable. Then Tanaka sends another message to ditch-11 then and there...

And then Dobu’s phone rings. Surprised pikachu face.

Also, Dobu quit playing some time ago but was still Rank 1??? What the hell?

------

Yano

Episode 7.

When Yano was introduced, I was amazed that they actually made him rhyme all his lines (or at least introduce some rhythm). Even the translation was keeping up!

Episode 8.

He’s an asshole, but he makes funny faces.

Episode 12.

Funny faces :))

------

Sekiguchi

Episode 10.

Sekiguchi provides a very good example of how bad guys can use your social media data. This is practically a PSA.

DON’T POST TOO MUCH PERSONAL INFORMATION ONLINE!!

Episode 11.

I still need an explanation why Nikaido had to do the lifting WHEN SEKIGUCHI, A LITERAL HUGE THUG, IS RIGHT THERE. It’s not like he doesn’t want to get his hands dirty, he’s already filthy AF at the 2nd pic!!

Episode 12.

About to be “arrested”, still worried about Yano’s rhyming. ^^;

------

Yamamoto

Episode 2.

Right off the bat, we immediately know that he... has his own share of secrets.

Episode 5.

...But that he also genuinely cares for the girls.

...To some extent, as shown in that entire taxi ride :))

------

Ichimura

Episode 3.

“Oh no.”

Obviously, anybody who shows interest in you, Kakihana, after you misrepresent your salary... probably should be red-flagged. Of course, we the viewers immediately know that she’s being tailed by her manager, so we have an idea that she’s being roped into it.

Episode 8.

I can’t even-

------

Nikaido

Episode 2.

This Nikaido - she’s seen some things.

Episode 7.

Damn, probably done some things as well! D:

Also, that entire thing where Sekiguchi refused to carry Mitsuya’s body?

Nikaido is strong!!!

Idols are scary, man.

------

Mitsuya

Episode 11.

It’s saddening because Mitsuya genuinely wanted to support Nikaido. Had she not gone to the office that night, things would have been much different for all of us.

------

Wadagaki

Episode 5.

“Why is she helping Tanaka???” Of course, I thought she was Mitsuya at this point.

Also, she really loves karaage, huh. I wondered if that was a clue, but I guess not. ^^

...It’s not, right..?

Episode 13.

Need I say more about this scene?

------

Goriki

Episode 1.

THIS WAS CONFUSING, MAN.

Episode 1.

Also, that entire exchange about cassette tapes and Bruce Springsteen ^^;

“Damn these guys are old” LOL

-----

Odokawa

Episode 1.

I like how... rude he is :))

Episode 3.

And so done with bullshit :))

Episode 8.

I do remember when he sneezed while taking the photo, in order to hide the shutter sound. Smart :^)

...

Odokawa’s in a weird position because even though he’s the main character, I remember him more for moving the story rather than being a character, if that makes sense. Sorry! >_<

Episode 13.

Of course, there’s the entire sequence of him flying his taxi... But again, that’s more of a nod to the story, not him. If it counts as “memorable scene involving Odokawa”, then there you go! That final sequence was just beautiful to watch. ^^

------

AND FINALLY!

------

Shirakawa

Episode 2.

Shirakawa’s just a straight-up lovable character. I love that Odokawa can’t handle her XD That entire taxi ride scene was just brilliant.

Episode 2.

And then she tops it all off with that power move with the front camera.

Episode 3.

PLUS SHE CAN DO CAPOEIRA!

Episode 10.

ACTUALLY USABLE-IN-COMBAT CAPOEIRA!

Episode 13.

EVEN UNDERWATER!

Where do I sign up for the Church of Shirakawa???

Shirakawa’s just too damn memorable for me. ^^;

------

Goddamn that was the longest ask I’ve ever answered. I hope my answers were at least satisfactory XD

ODDTAXI AOTY!!

(I didn’t realize answering this kind of question would be hard work :’D Compiling screenshots to make a somewhat objective point is surprisingly easier, huh)

#odd taxi #oddtaxi

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theseshipsshallsail · 3 years ago

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Oliver has developed a particular fondness for dinner drudgery over the past decade. At thirty-four, he felt a greater appreciation for the twinkle in Samuel’s eyes as he lured some unsuspecting academic into a debate he was destined to lose. The all-too-familiar smirk hidden behind a wine glass as Annella caught his gaze mid-rebuttal, the same mischief written over her features as that of her son’s. He even welcomed Mafalda’s regular fretting about his diminuito waistline as she cleared away what little remained of a feast fit for a king.

And then there was the man to his right. The man who held a cigarette in one hand, and his heart in the other. The man who slanted his head on Oliver’s shoulder as the evening wore on, allowing him to drop a kiss to the riotous curls that drew his fingers like a siren’s call. There were no more secrets between the four of them - though according to Annella there had never been any to begin with - and when Elio yawned twice in as many minutes Oliver found his own jaw cracking in sympathy.

International flights never got any easier, and although they’d managed a short nap on the train in from Milan, they were both flagging fast.

The after-dinner conversation had revolved around his latest manuscript for the past half an hour, and slipping an arm around Elio’s side, Oliver tapped his ankle beneath the table. “You still with me?” he murmured softly, and Elio scoffed as he nestled closer.

“Seulement. One more limoncello and you’ll have to carry me to bed.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time.”

“Or the last,” Elio said, as Samuel raised a toast in their direction.

“Happiness resides not in possessions or gold, but in the soul. Wouldn’t you agree, our wayward Americano?” he asked, prompting Oliver to back up his argument as he stole the last arancini from Elio’s plate.

“Big results require big ambitions, Sami.”

“And nothing endures but change.”

“Always with the Heraclitus...” Elio grumbled good-naturedly, leaning over to kiss Annella on the cheek. “Bonne nuit, maman. Remind me to show you that biography in the morning.”

“The Piaf?” she asked, and Elio nodded as he rose to his feet.

“There’s a new bookstore just opened in the Village.”

“Che magnifico!” Annella said, stubbing out her cigarette. “Tell me all about it when you’re not falling asleep in your tortelli.” Smiling, she took Elio’s face between her palms. “Dormi bene, piccino. Et toi, Cauboi.”

Oliver laughed as he finished shaking hands with the other two guests - stalwarts of the Bocconi Languages department he vaguely remembered from his brief stint at the university. “I doubt that’ll be a problem. The moment my head hits the pillow I’ll be dead to the world.”

Elio raised an eyebrow. “The dead don’t snore like Anchise’s old generator,” he said with a wink as Samuel rounded the table to join them. “Papà, siamo stanchi. It’s been a long day.”

“It certainly has,” Samuel said, hugging him tightly. “Go! Go! Don’t make me sprain anything by rolling you out of here.” Stepping back, he clasped Elio by the forearms. “I’ll ask Mafalda to save you something if you sleep through breakfast.”

“Molte grazie.”

“Anytime, figli miei,” Samuel said, embracing Oliver in turn. “Goodnight, the pair of you.”

“Thanks, Pro.”

Enfolding Elio’s hand in his, Oliver led him towards the villa, taking the time to appreciate the sounds of nature after six months of city living. One day, he’d love to move here permanently - spend his golden years in the country that spurred his reinvention - but there was no rush. Not when the best part of Italy was a permanent fixture in his life, already.

The house was in shadows when they stepped over the threshold, but they each navigated the lofty hallways with ease as they headed upstairs. It was a journey they could do with their eyes closed, and avoiding the creaky top step out of habit they shut the door to Elio’s room behind them with a quiet click. Their room, technically, but in Oliver’s mind it would always be his. He may have usurped it for six weeks in the summer of ‘83, but the overstuffed bookcase and outdated cassette tapes were like a portal to the past, and it never failed to make him feel twenty-four again.

Conflicting though those feelings might be.

The only obvious difference was the double bed now taking up space along the back wall - though Oliver quite missed the creaky single frames of yesteryear. The shutters were latched apart, letting out the stifling afternoon air, and the bathroom doors were pinned open, turning the space into the large suite that originally befitted Elio’s grandfather.

Toeing off his espadrilles, Oliver watched as Elio fell face first onto the bed. Dramatic as always, he groaned into the crisp, blue sheets, so Oliver hung his shirt up in the wardrobe then walked over to tug off his sneakers, placing them beneath the writing desk where he was unlikely to trip over them come morning.

“I haven’t been this exhausted since I finished that three week stretch with the Philharmonic,” Elio said, words muffled, and Oliver chuckled as he sat down beside him.

“Fifteen hours by plane, and a ninety minute schlep on the Regionale? I think that’s to be expected.” Reaching over, he stroked a palm up Elio’s spine, bunching his t-shirt in its wake. “You can’t stay young and restless forever.”

“Speak for yourself, old man.” Elio shot him a sideways glance. “Why are you all the way over there?”

Over there, meaning beyond kissing range.

“I thought you were too tired?” Oliver asked, and Elio rolled his eyes like the precocious teenager he’d fallen so hopelessly in love with.

“Too tired for Democritus and his atomic theory,” he said, shifting onto his side. “Never too tired for you, tesoro.”

“Glad to hear it.”

Cradling Elio’s cheek in one hand, Oliver felt a hot lick of satisfaction as he brushed his thumb over the smooth skin, drawing his bottom lip between his teeth, then nibbling gently. A soft whine fell between them, and Elio slung his arms around Oliver’s shoulders, legs banding around his waist like a tether.

“That’s better,” he said, half-hard in his jeans. “Just like old times.”

Oliver sniggered. “Someone better warn the peaches.”

“Connard.”

“And a fine one it is, too,” he teased, swatting Elio’s ass through the stiff denim.

The resultant yelp was a thing of beauty as Oliver ran his nose along Elio’s collarbone, savouring his scent. Beneath the sour musk of travel were the sweet notes of juniper and cherry laurel, and sucking briefly at his pulse point, Oliver actually felt the yawn building before Elio was forced to pull away, sighing in frustration.

“This isn’t happening, is it?”

“Define this,” Oliver said, licking away his pout.

They might not be about to set any records for horizontal gymnastics, but the needy whimper Elio pressed to Oliver’s throat was enough to spur him onwards as they quickly rid each other of their clothing. Silver light streamed in through the windows, casting shadows over their naked bodies, and finesse fell by the wayside when Oliver brought their erections together, stroking them both in tandem. Transfixed, he watched the pleasure flick across Elio’s features, treasuring the way his lashes fluttered if he twisted just so - the glazed expression as he kissed him like they had all the time in the world. Leisurely and indulgent.

“I’m going to come,” Elio whispered scant minutes later.

Like it was a secret.

Like it was something precious.

And it was, Oliver knew, as the other man rutted into his palm, shuddering against him. It was there in every touch. Every tender endearment. Elio might wear his heart on his sleeve, but none of his previous lovers had been privy to the true depths of his emotions, and as he threw his head back in release Oliver couldn’t help but chase him over the edge, inarticulate and inelegant in his abandon.

Pearly white covered his fist as liquid fire rushed through his veins, each movement growing slower and slower until they eventually ground to a stop, swallowing each other’s gasps between needy pulls of their mouths. Groggy with sensation, his lungs felt constricted by the memory of how to breathe, yet sweaty, sated - and in dire need of a shower - they lay there in the aftermath, neither of them willing to give in as their eyelids started to droop.

He loved Elio like this. Loved him always of course, but especially like this. With his hair mussed - his face relaxed - his lips swollen as a result of his kisses, and Oliver sighed fondly as he brushed the curls from his forehead, only to receive an incoherent grumble for his efforts. It was his mind he’d fallen in love with first, though. The way he challenged him constantly. Pushed his boundaries day-by-day. Always striving for more.

He’d been a fool to consider walking away. To give Elio up, however begrudgingly. He was a part of him - perfect in his imperfections - and as Elio drifted off between one blink and the next, Oliver banished such dismal thoughts to the shadows of the past, refusing to give them life when his future lay literally in his arms.

“Goodnight, amore mio,” he whispered, and grinning, hooked his toes in the underwear hanging from the bedpost - his, Elio’s, he couldn’t quite tell - wiped the worst of the mess from their painted stomachs, then followed him into a dreamless stupor.

Something was tickling Oliver’s nose as he floated in the trance-like state between sleep and reality. It was a familiar experience, and forcing one eye open he smiled down at Elio’s crown where it rested upon his chest. Their legs were entangled beneath the sheets, the toes of Elio’s left foot twitching beside his calf, and Oliver tapped an idle rhythm along his spine as he squinted at the blessedly silent alarm clock.

It was almost seven a.m, and with zero intentions of moving anytime soon, Oliver watched the dust motes dance in the pink strokes of dawn. He was still foggy, but with his recent promotion and the increased demands of Elio’s tour schedule, moments like these were few and far between in New York, so Oliver indulged himself by listening to Elio’s steady breaths, unwilling to disturb him prematurely.

The villa was quiet and still as the sun climbed higher in the sky, and when Elio burrowed into his neck, Oliver felt the same dizzy thrill he always had, thanking his lucky stars for the man who’d turned his life upside down in the very best of ways.

Sappho once wrote what cannot be said will be wept, and this room had seen it’s fair share of tears at the start of their relationship. Even now, it was hard to believe how close he’d come to losing it all. But like Odysseus, Oliver had returned to his love, and he had every intention of seeing this journey through to completion.

“In the crooks of your body, I find my religion,” he whispered, continuing to smooth random patterns over Elio’s trapezius, and it was all he could do not to moan in response as an arm wrapped around his waist, skimming his burgeoning erection.

“Mere air, these words, but delicious to hear...”

Verbal and cognizant was more than Oliver would usually expect before Elio’s first cup of coffee, but taking a chance, he tilted his face up to see him properly. “Morning, sunshine. I thought you were asleep.”

Elio yawned into the hand at his jaw. “Not with you scribbling Ancient Greek on my ribcage.”

“You caught that?”

“Ovviamente.” Humming, he dug his chin into Oliver’s sternum. “It felt like you were writing your name at first, but then you drew the symbol for pi, and I figured you were just hungry.”

Oliver snickered. “Did you not notice Mafalda’s continued attempts to fatten me up? Maybe I should tell her it’s your hip bones that leave bruises, instead.”

“You love it.”

“More than she’ll ever know,” he conceded, mourning the loss of skin on skin as he eased out from underneath him. “Alright, genius. Since you’re so good at this...” Pushing the covers out of the way, Oliver traced a treble clef from the middle of Elio’s back to his sacrum, finishing it off with a flourish. “What was that?”

Elio smacked his lips. “Too easy,” he murmured into his folded arms. “And a bit crooked. My old music tutor would plotz.”

“Brat.” Oliver smirked as he knelt between his thighs. “Are you challenging my artistry?”

“Might be.”

“Might be, he says.” Chuckling, he ran his thumb up from Elio’s tailbone, sure and certain. “How about my penmanship, then? What letter?”

A pink flush spread over Elio’s cheek. “D,” he decided, squirming slightly as Oliver’s huff stirred the loose curls beside his ear.

“How on earth do you confuse a P with a D?”

“Have you seen the state of your handwriting?” Elio protested, constantly offended by his messy scrawl. “Aren’t you professor types meant to set an example?”

Oliver scoffed. ”Perish the thought,” he said, dropping a lingering kiss to his nape. Elio’s cock lay flushed with need, and though he had no intention of bringing him off quite yet, Oliver couldn’t resist brushing his palm over the underside. “Indulge me,” he continued, stroking from root to tip. “Let’s play a game.”

“What sort of game?”

“An easy one, apparently.” Fighting his own arousal, Oliver followed the thick vein up then back, tugging gently on Elio’s balls. “But guess right, and I promise I’ll take care of this for you when I’m done. How’s that for an example?”

“Your generosity knows no bounds...”

“Ready?”

“Che diavolo!” Elio turned towards him, and Oliver felt breathless as he looked him square in the eye. “Tell me you’re joking?”

“Just a little longer,” he promised, propping himself on one arm to walk his fingers over Elio’s scapula, leaving a thin trail of slickness when he curved it round to his lower back. “Letter?”

Elio settled down with a put-upon sigh. “An S?”

“Correct.” Oliver pressed a fingertip to the freckle on his hip. “Next one,” he said, drawing a diagonal line up to his top vertebrae, then sweeping down to its twin.

“A?” Elio asked, then went rigid as Oliver poked him between his ribs. “Smetilla! That tickles!”

“It’s supposed to.”

“Why?” Laughing, he batted him away. “Did I get it wrong?”

“Not at all,” Oliver said, splaying a proprietary hand over his right buttock. “But next time, let me finish first, yeah?”

“Never heard you say that before.”

“Don’t be jealous of my stamina, Perlman.”

“Stronzo.” Elio arched into his touch. “Another.”

“Eager, are we?”

Elio snorted into his forearm. “Eager. Horny. Non vedo differenza.”

“Fair enough.” Oliver angled his thumb and forefinger towards Elio’s spine, fluid and precise. “This one’s harder,” he said, pinching them together.

“V?” Elio asked before he could go any further, and Oliver tutted as he began a downwards line towards his tailbone.

“Au contraire, mon chéri,” he said with a playful growl. “Not till I’m finished, remember?”

It was the work of a moment to complete the action, and Elio shivered as he glanced back at him through heavy lashes. “Y,” he muttered, shoulders hitching with a snigger. “A few inches can make all the difference, sì?”

Oliver smiled. “So I’ve been told,” he said, the slight breeze from the window lifting the hair from his forehead. “And what can we derive from that?”

Elio had a specific weakness for his public speaking voice. One which Oliver wasn’t above exploiting at every opportunity.

“Fuck…”

“Nope.”

Slender fingers circled his wrist as Elio cursed him out in several languages.

“Spell it for me,” Oliver encouraged, turning his lips to the salt-gleam dimple above his ass, before remembering to narrow it down. “In English, per favore.”

“S-A-Y,” Elio answered obediently, already sounding flustered. “Say.”

“And you thought you’d never complete your Masters…”

“Attaccati a sto cazzo.”

“Rude.” Oliver licked a stripe across his earlobe. “Be a good boy, and I’ll cling to yours, though.”

“Santo Cielo…” Elio huffed in annoyance. “I really hate you right now.”

“No you don’t.” Oliver snuck an apologetic kiss to his temple. “Not even a little bit,” he told him, copying the exact same pattern from earlier. “Second word, if you please.”

“Another Y?”

“Another Y,” he confirmed, watching as Elio clutched the pillow in a white-knuckled grip.

He remained perfectly still, however, so Oliver drew a deliberate line along his left flank before placing the pad of his thumb back at the beginning, then dragging it to the right. Once more, from the middle, then again from the bottom, and Elio was almost panting when he finally stopped.

“E,” he whispered, causing Oliver’s heart to skip a beat.

Because this was it.

No turning back.

There was an urgent pressure in his throat, and when he tried to swallow it down, the emotions damn near choked him. “Last one,” he muttered, snaking his index finger in another winding curve, and Elio waited until he lifted it away completely before answering.

“That’s an S,” he said, then paused to string all three letters together. “Yes?” Freeing his wrist, Elio rolled over to face him. “Say yes?” he asked, sleep-rumpled and adorably confused, so Oliver hummed something vaguely agreeable as he mouthed at his jawline, needing the rough scratch of stubble to ground him. “I don’t understand.” Brows knit, Elio pushed up on his elbows. “Say yes to what? What is it that you want?”

Oliver had spent weeks trying to find the right words, but ultimately, only three would suffice.

“To marry you,” he said, light-headed - and slightly concerned he was about to vomit. He hadn’t felt this terrified since he’d knocked on the adjoining door nine years ago, nothing but a broken heart and the vain hope of forgiveness to his name. “A piece of paper won’t change anything. I know that. But I told you once - out on that very balcony - that I loved you. All of you. Body, mind, and everything in between. You make me happier than I ever thought possible, Elio. This… you… you’re it for me.”

“Cuore mio…” Elio released a plaintive sigh. “I love you, too,” he whispered, taking Oliver’s cheeks in his hands as he sat up against the headboard. “But the courts... you know they won’t recognise -”

“Legally, no,” Oliver agreed, shifting to his knees. “Not yet. But we can do this our own way. Have a ceremony for us alone.”

“Not alone,” Elio corrected absently, hooking his heels behind him. “Together.” His lips pressed into a firm line, and the seconds in which he blinked back at him were the longest of Oliver’s existence. “You’re serious, aren’t you?” he asked, and instead of answering, Oliver reached for the small box he’d hidden in the bedside cabinet upon their arrival.

“Open it?” he asked nervously, and Elio made a sound that was almost a laugh, high-pitched and fluttering.

“Only you...” he said, and if it weren’t for the tell-tale crack in his voice, Oliver might be worried. “Only you would wait until I’m jet-lagged and sporting a semi to ask me the second most important question of my life.”

“Just a semi?” Oliver slid a palm to the crease of his thigh. “Hang on. Second? What was the first?” he asked, and Elio smiled as he gently butted against him.

“Does this make you happy?”

“Oh...”

Elio held his gaze. “So important you asked me twice, in fact.”

“I did, didn’t I?” No doubt there would be a third time, too. He’d always admired the sight of Elio in a tux - slightly more so than the sight of him out of one - and Oliver resolved there and then to fit it into his vows. “Still, that was before your rejection of all things cliché. How’s a man supposed to plan a proposal around that?”

“Quelle question!”

“Such high maintenance,” Oliver murmured, tipping his chin. “But I wouldn’t change you for the world.”

It was a struggle to kiss whilst grinning inanely, but they gave it a good try nonetheless.

“Are you going to open this or what?” Oliver asked, bracing himself as Elio cracked upon the box to reveal the antique gold and onyx band.

“That’s my grandfather’s ring,” he whispered softly.

“It is.” Giddy, Oliver watched the sunlight glint off the heirloom’s polished surface. “Sami wanted you to have it. He’s had it cleaned and resized for the occasion.”

“My father?” Elio raised an eyebrow. “Plotting again, were you?”

“Not as such,” Oliver said, remembering the two word inscription on the inside. “I couldn’t care less about government approval, but I needed to know we have it from those whose opinion I actually value.” His heart tripped over itself as he chuckled apprehensively. “I think your mother’s already chosen a hat,” he confessed, and Elio groaned.

“She’s going to invite everyone we’ve ever met.”

“She’ll not be inviting anyone if you don’t say yes,” Oliver teased, and the look he received could cut glass.

“Idiota.”

“Charming.”

“In what possible scenario would I ever say no to you?” Elio asked, reeling him in by the Star of David around his neck. “You’re a part of me. You are me.” Leaning in, he nuzzled into his hairline. “Oliver… you’re the best person I’ve ever met. Credimi. You’ve always been my forever.”

“Cor cordium.”

“Yes.”

“I can’t even -” Oliver froze. “Wait. Did you just -”

“Yes,” Elio repeated, eyes bright. “Yes, Oliver!”

It didn’t matter that his own vision was blurred. That the full extent of his vulnerabilities were on display. That Elio saw just how lost in him he truly was. Relief purged his body, sparks detonated across his skin, and Oliver made a chorus of his name as he freed the ring from its velvet cushion. It was cool to the touch when he picked it up - the weight of it heavy with promise - yet with unsteady fingers he slid it onto Elio’s left hand, sealing his declaration with a heartfelt kiss to his knuckles.

“Please tell me these are happy tears,” Oliver whispered, pulling him into his arms.

“Why? Afraid I’ll get a nosebleed?”

“Way to spoil the mood, Casanova…”

“The sweetest pleasures are those which are hardest to be won,” Elio quoted, studying the black inlay almost reverentially.

Oliver studied him instead. “You like it?”

“È perfetto.” Elio sniffed as he ducked his head. “I want to get you one, too. If you’ll wear it.”

“Wear it?” Oliver’s lungs were far too tight, but at least that meant he wasn’t dreaming. “Why would I ever take it off?”

“And change my name. Officially, this time.”

His smile was so wide it hurt his cheeks. “Anything you want, sweetheart,” Oliver said, clutching Elio close, pressing his face into the hollow of his shoulder. This was their life, chosen and built together. Theirs to have, now and for always. “As long as I can call you mine… anything at all.”

#cmbyn #fanfic #elio x oliver #sequel #fluff and smut

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bungou-stray-dingus · 4 years ago

Text

Wilting Flowers

Pairing : Fyodor x Fem!Reader

A/N : I love Fyodor, so he's of course going to be a part of Angstember!

T/W : Breaking and Entering; Violence; Death;

Word Count : 2.7K

Angstember Day 3

You knew what his job consisted of, you knew the risks, but he always made you feel so safe. How could you not feel as such, nothing had happened to him, and he promised that as long as you were his, nothing would ever happen to you either. You trusted him, you believed in him. Maybe it was silly, maybe it was foolish to put your life in the palms of his hands, but what were the chances of something actually going wrong?

He was sitting on the couch, his face mere inches away from his laptop screen. Working from home, he didn't do it often, but on days that he did you tried to help him, making sure he had enough to eat, enough to drink, making sure he took breaks occasionally. This was one of those moments, you brought the glass of water over, placing it on the coffee table that his feet were propped up on. "Darling, please drink. Also, don't get so close to the screen. You'll hurt your eyes." You said, sitting next to him on the couch. You knew not to ask him about his work, he tried to keep you out of the loop, knowing that it would be dangerous if you knew too much. You did sometimes catch a glimpse, but most of the time it was just black screens with confusing letters and numbers that made absolutely no sense to you.

He leaned back only slightly, but for you it was enough. He reached his arm out, his eyes still glued to the laptop screen as he grabbed the glass of water and took a quick sip before placing it back on the table. You knew that would be the most he would do, it was just to make you happy honestly. He knew you wouldn't complain, he had drank the water, you didn't say to drink all of it. He did move away from the computer screen, you hadn't told him specifically how far he should move though. You sighed, kissing his cheek quickly before getting up off the couch. He wouldn't be "available" for the next three or four hours, so you decided to keep yourself busy around the apartment.

"Do you know what you want for dinner, darling?" You asked, leaning over the kitchen counter to stare into the living room at him. He was still buried in his work, and you thought he hadn't heard you. "Fyod-"

"Don't worry about it, love. I have to go out for a bit. Make whatever you like. Don't wait up for me." The words were rushed as he closed his laptop, standing up from the couch and walking over to where you were standing, kissing you gently on the forehead before walking out the door.

Something must have happened, he usually didn't leave like that. It had your heart pounding, you were worried about him, it made your stomach turn whenever he left. Would he come back home? The next time you saw him, would it be in a casket? It gave you nightmares, you hated his line of work, but you knew that he did it for the greater good. You would never tell him these things, not because it would upset him, he would never stop doing what he did, but if you brought up your fears to him he would kindly tell you to leave. His work always came first. That was something that you had come to terms with, and it didn't bother you, it's just that you loved him so much, you didn't want him to get hurt.

You started preparing dinner, hoping that maybe your mind would be taken off of the fact that he was out somewhere and you didn't know where he was and he could possibly be injured or dead. Your hands were shaking as you shaped the dumplings, the sound of the boiling water in the pot behind you would have been soothing if you weren't so on edge. He always told you that if you ever got scared, or if you ever worried about him that you should listen to classical music. You had never felt the need to do that up until now. There was just something about the way he rushed out of the apartment.

The Pelmeni was boiling in the pot, it was one of his favorite dishes, something that you knew he would actually eat. You walked over to the radio, the shelves surrounding it were stacked with CD's and cassette tapes of some of his favorite classical artists. You didn't know much about the composers, but you knew that the ones at the top were the ones he liked the most, so you popped in the cassette and turned up the volume. The strings began, the beautiful song of Kamarinskaya by Mikhail Glinka filled the apartment. You recognized it immediately, he would often turn it on when he was enjoying a cup of tea after work. It was soothing, it made you feel like he was there with you.

The strings crescendo'd as you stirred the dumplings, then you heard the glass shattering. You turned to see that one of the windows had been busted, then the living room began filling with smoke. You lifted your hand to cover your mouth and your nose as you backed away from the smoke, but it filled the room so quickly, and it was spreading just as fast. "This is where it came from!" You heard the voice outside the door, then it was kicked in. You fell back, sliding down the wall, hoping that they wouldn't find you in the smoke cover.

You heard things getting knocked over in the living room, the music had come to a complete stop, CD's and cassette tapes were thrown to the floor as they ransacked your living room. You were holding your breath, but you couldn't do it anymore, you felt like you were choking. It was dumb, you knew it as soon as you did it, you took a deep breath and immediately started coughing. You couldn't get yourself the stop, the smoke had filled your lungs and it stung the back of your throat. "Did you hear that? Find them!" You heard the voice, and then the footsteps, they were coming closer. How many were there? What did they want?

They had found you, you saw their legs as they surrounded you entirely. "Wh-what do you want?" You asked weakly, still gasping from the painful smoke inhalation. You got no answers, they lifted you off the floor, yanking you up by your arms roughly. Your arm had been pulled from the socket and you winced in pain as they continued to pull you across the room. They had gas masks on, you couldn't see their faces, they were all dressed in black, the only thing that differentiated them was their height differences. "P-please..."

There was one figure, taller than the others, but they all looked to him as you pleaded. No words were exchanged, they just nodded, walking out of your apartment leaving behind only the tall one. "Such a shame, you're so beautiful. This is going to hurt me as much as it's going to hurt you." You didn't recognize the voice, the only thing you could make out was that this person was a male. You didn't know what he was talking about though. What did he mean it was going to hurt him as much it it'll hurt you?

"What are you t-talking about!? What did I d-do?" You asked, trying to pull away from him. His hold was strong and firm on your shoulders but he didn't let go. Every time you moved he would just grip onto you tighter, his fingers digging into your shoulder blades. You yelped as his thumb pressed deeper before pushing you down onto the couch. "I don't underst-stand!" You cried out, the smoke was slowly clearing away, but he never removed the mask. He hovered menacingly over you, his hands clasped behind his back, his head tilted as he stared down at you.

"You don't understand? I'll make this easier for you. I really don't want to hurt such a beautiful woman, so just tell me where he is." You froze, finally understanding why they were here. They had managed to trace Fyodor back to the apartment, the one place he said you would be safe, the one place he had said they would never find you. They had finally tracked him down, but he wasn't here. Did he know they were coming? Is that why he left? Did he think that you would be safer if he wasn't there, that you wouldn't get hurt?

"I... I don't know what you're talking about..." You mumbled, dropping your gaze down to your lap. Flour hand prints covered your black leggings. The man grabbed your chin, jerking your head up to look at him. He was rough, he said that he didn't want to hurt you, but from the way he was acting he either really enjoyed it, or he just didn't care.

"You know exactly what I'm talking about. So, tell me where he's at. I won't hesitate to kill you, I've killed many people for lesser things. You're covering for a terrorist, and that's a crime in itself." His grip was tight, if he squeezed any harder he would break your jaw, but he didn't dare do that yet, you wouldn't be able to talk if that were the case.

"I'm not a rat..." You spat at him, his hand pulled back only for his open palm to connect with your cheek. The sting resonated through your entire face, you shuddered from the sheer shock of being slapped. It hurt, it stung, your eyes welled with tears, but he only seemed to enjoy it more. He liked seeing you in pain. He grabbed a fistful of your hair and yanked your head back.

"He's a rat, and you're protecting him... That makes you a rat."

"I'm not telling you where he is. You can hurt me all you want, I'd never tell you."

"Is that so. Hmm... that makes you useless. Might as well have a little fun before taking the trash out."

His fingers flexed as he extended his hand toward you, his hand curving as it got closer to your throat. You could have struggled, you should have struggled... and maybe you would have struggled if you knew that you had a chance of making it. You didn't though, there was no chance for you. Against this man you were entirely helpless, the way that he spoke, the way he loomed over you, he was much like Fyodor, and you knew that it would be far easier to accept death then to fight against it. His hand closed around your throat, the breath that you had just begun to take was forcibly cut off, it burnt in your airways, your lungs worked desperately to obtain oxygen to no avail.

"You won't even fight against me. How sad, what a pitiful death this will be. Was it worth it?"

His hand never let up, he didn't let go to allow you to answer his question, but you wondered if it really was worth it to protect Fyodor. As his fingers squeezed tighter into the sides of your neck, blocking off your blood flow, your vision was becoming cloudy, you remembered why you were doing this, why you were willingly going through this, willingly sacrificing yourself to save him.

You loved Fyodor, you loved him more than you loved yourself, that much was clear. Would he do the same for you? No, definitely not. He had a mission to complete, but you knew that he loved you, he would do anything for you, anything but what you were doing for him in this moment. His mission was important, he was cleansing the earth of sin, he was creating a better world for everyone to live in, that was something worth dying for.

Trying to breathe was hopeless, so you stopped trying to live, allowing your mind to replay your favorite memories with Fyodor, the way he would smile at you, how his arms felt when they were wrapped around you. Dying was peaceful when your mind was in the right place. You weren't scared anymore, the last image in your mind was Fyodor laying next to you, his eyes staring deep into yours as the morning sun accented his beautiful features. Death was as beautiful as you could make it.

Fyodor called constantly while he was gone, his mission had him away for a week this time. He was beginning to worry on the second day, but he couldn't do anything but worry. He was being tracked by the Agency, but he knew that once he lost them he would return home to you. He was hoping that you didn't respond to keep him safe, or because you were worried about someone tracing your phone. He wasn't prepared for what he came in to, he wasn't ready, this wasn't how it was supposed to be...

He pushed the door open, it was late into the night, the lights were off, but everything was still, silent, calm in a way. There was a sense of lingering dread in the air, and he felt almost scared to turn on the lights, something in his chest told him it wouldn't be good, there was nothing pretty waiting to be seen when those lights came on, but he found the switch anyway and he flicked it on.

His eyes zeroed in on your body, pale and lifeless, propped on the couch. How long had you been gone? How long had you been like this? He took the remaining steps closer, reaching out to grab your hand that was sprawled out at your side, it was stiff, it was cold. Your lips were turned up at the corners, they were a mixture of dark blue and purple. His fingers moved over your face, closing your eyes. He scanned over your body, he saw the dark purple hand print on your throat, his heart seemed to stop for a second as he imagined your last minutes. How much pain had you been in? How long had you suffered before finally letting go?

He laid you down on the couch, your body was stiff as a board, but even in death you seemed so fragile. You were still beautiful, even with all the color drained from your face. For once, your body temperature matched his, and it still felt like you were smiling at him. As he situated your body on the sofa a small note fell out from your jacket pocket. His eyes zeroed in on the folded square of paper, kneeling down to pick it up.

"September 4

Vermin has no place in this world. Rats only cause problems, but whats worse is people who try to protect those rats. It truly is a shame that she tried to protect you, she could have lived. She didn't struggle, she didn't fight, is that what you taught her to do? Was your life more important than hers? Or maybe you hadn't even planned for us to track you back here. Either way, she's only one of the many casualties, and it's your fault. Maybe you'll avenge her, maybe not... but if you choose to, we'll be waiting for you."

His fists tightened around the paper. crumbling it into a ball in his hand before throwing it across the room. The room was trashed, his records had been destroyed, but none of that mattered, nothing mattered anymore. You were gone, and no matter how much he worked to make the world a better place, it would still be dark without you in it.

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fancysimpinghere · 4 years ago

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Euphories pt.3 (Sykkuno x reader)

Hey everyone! I wanted to thank all of you for liking this story! Every little heart means a lot for me, so big thank you’s for all of you! Please take care and stay healthy, and remember - I love you! <3

summary: Even if you don’t know him well enough, small voice in your head is convincig you to believe in his sincere words. It is time to make a decision, which is going to affect your life, and might give a start of beautiful friendship.

You stood there, feeling like a total dumbass because you really didn’t know what to do. You considered what will happen if you simply leave right now. You were sure that you will not forget what you just experienced - your adventurous side will not let you, no matter what. But this was so strange, so unexpected and new. Your mind was full of doubts, but you felt sparks of curiosity in your heart and you decided you want to let them take control.

- I promise I'll tell you everything. - You heard a soft declaration from behind you, and you gave up. You turned around to face Sykkuno - you thought it suited him better than Thomas, and looked into his eyes. He blushed again and you almost melted at his expression. In that exact moment you hated your body for betraying you - you have to admit that you already have been fond of that boy, even if you met him less than an hour ago.

- Okay. Explain it to me. - you said, leaving doubts far away behind you and voicing your thoughts. - Is there more portals? Who had made them?

- Actually yeah. There are a couple more cassettes like this. - he answered sheepily, lifting one of his hands and rubbing his neck.

- And you have them all… here? - you asked with a little disbelief in your voice.

- Uhm, I guess… - was his answer. - At least every piece that I know about.

You slowly nodded, repeating his words in your head. Just the thought about it was unbelievable - you weren't even sure if your imagination was capable of inventing new worlds, and more - lead you to the worlds of games.

-So I suppose you aren't the only one who knows about it? - you asked. He chuckled nervously before he answered.

-You're right. - he said with a glimmering eyes. - Now you know about it too.

- Oh, you know I didn’t mean that! - you snickered, shooting him a scolding look.

- But I’m saying the truth! - Sykkuno said, lifting his hands to chest in a gesture of defense.- This man over there is my grandpa and he has owned this shop and all these cassettes ever since I can remember. And I’ve been hanging around in every free time I’ve had, and discovered many secrets about old games. I prefered to do this than play with other kids, so I’ve been a bit lonely, but soon I found myself belonging to this place more than the rest of the world. Luckily my grandpa let me work here and I truly enjoy that.

- And your grandpa doesn't know about it? - a question left your mouth.- About travelling and all this stuff?

- To be honest, I didn’t talk with him about that. You see, he is very strict… - he replied and silence fell for a moment. - I have never managed to ask him. If he knows, he hides it very well. And my online friends don’t know either, God, they don’t even know my real name.

An awkward silence appeared from nowhere, slightly distracting you from thinking. You were still proceeding his words and you didn’t know what to say in answer to his short history. You felt a little bad for not keeping a conversation, but also you knew you had a right to be silent. It was so new, so foreign, your mind has to accept those things.

-Uhm... But today was my first time traveling with someone else! - he said softly with a little voice raise in the end of sentence, and smiled warmly, a shy blush creeping his cheeks.

- Yeah, it was my first time too. - you said, still drowned in your thoughts about all this situation. - But how is it even possible? Are these travels real, like physical? It means that the games must be real too. - you finally said your doubts aloud.

You were this type of person that had to know the reasons or causes. When you knew about these things, you could think in a more logical way, it was easier to clear your mind and organize your thoughts.

- I don’t know. It’s just happening and it’s all I know. - he answered with a more serious face. - I don’t know who has made these portals or how it exactly works. And you are right, it’s very strange, but when you enter a game world, it’s real. One time, a year ago, I cut myself with a sword in the Skyrim world and when I returned to reality, I still have had this wound.

- So we could die in this palace, if we would not make it on time. - you responded, following his train of thinking. It was lowkey terrifying, but you distracted yourself from this thought - after all, you survived.

- Exactly. You feel everything real there - hunger, thirst, pain, it is like a normal life, but in a fictional world.- he agreed and cleared his throat, his face suddenly flustered.

- I’m truly sorry for dragging you into this. You must’ve been terrified and confused, I didn’t mean to… - he said, looking everywhere but not at you, and fiddling nervously with his fingers.

You suddenly felt bad for him. He said he was lonely and he for sure didn’t interact with someone in his age for God knows how long. He must’ve been terrified just like you, when he saw you tied to the pillar - you remembered his eyes, you were sure that he almost freaked out. He wanted to show you his secret and something messed up, but it wasn’t his fault.

-I know it will sound pathetic, but when you entered the shop, I felt something. - he said with a bit more courage, but also desperation in his voice. - I don’t know if you felt that too, but at that moment I was sure that you were the right person to share this. Not many people in our age are interested in old games, you know.

You stood there, mesmerized by his outburst, still soft, but present. Also, what concerned you was that you felt something too. You remembered this feeling - small sparkles in your body, even toes and fingers. It was strange and confusing, you have never felt something like this. Even now, you felt odd attraction that was pulling you to this boy and you assumed that even if you would wanted to refuse this, it’s not going to work. You didn’t know him good enough to be sure if he was sincere, but his words seemed honest. You knew it was not very wise from your side to believe in every word of recently met boy, but you were not always wise. This situation was an example.

-You probably don’t want to know me after this situation. - he mumbled to himself, but you heard that and your heart almost broke at how sad he sounded. You sighed and a decision was made in your head. To be honest, a small voice in your head told you it will end like this. And even if you had any doubts at that moment, you threw them away and decided to give Sykkuno a chance.

- Actually… - you started, smiling slowly at him to encourage the poor boy to look at you. - It made me want to know you more.

And when you said that aloud and looked him in the face, you discovered your new hobby - making Sykkuno a blushing mess.

#sykkuno #sykkuno imagines #sykkuno x reader #sykkuno x y/n #imagines #imagine #reader #x reader #yn #y/n #y/n imagine #euphories #videoclub #games

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xaandiir · 4 years ago

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Last Stop to Nowhere - Chapter Three

AO3 Link | FF.net Link

First | Previous | Next

Summary: Ryan and Min got off the train, but spending several months away from home while dealing with a very traumatic experience on an interdimensional judgment train. Recovery is not instantaneous and one good band session does not mean that everything is solved. It’s going to take more work, more talking, and being honest. However, it’s very hard to have an absolutely honest conversation in the 1980s, especially with everything that both boys are withholding.

Warnings: Homophobia, micro-aggressions

Word Count: 2549

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Ryan didn't wake up on his own. He was woken up by the clatter of dishes and drawers from in the kitchen. He is half hanging off the couch when his eyes open, and drool is staining the throw pillow he was lying on. Ryan groans, holding his head and pushing himself up onto his elbow. He peers over the couch, managing to get just a glimpse into the kitchen. He can't quite see who is in there, even if he had his glasses on.

After sitting up and stretching, Ryan slips on his glasses and walks to the kitchen. He stands hesitantly in the doorway to see his dad preparing breakfast. His father always found time to get food made for all the kids, despite how many of them there were, and that he still had his own job to attend to. Ryan's stomach twists as he watches his dad work, though his dad's back is turned to him.

"Are you just gonna stand there?" his dad asks, giving a quick glance over his shoulder. "First time you're home in almost two years."

"Oh. Yeah," Ryan murmurs, glancing down at the ground. "Um. How've you been, Dad?"

"Good." He starts mixing up some pancake mix in a bowl.

Ryan scuffs his shoes against the ground and crosses his arms. He leans in the doorway and looks anywhere but his dad. "I can, uh, leave? Just needed a place to stay back in town."

"No, no, stay. Your mother will be happy to see you," his dad says. "Besides. You think I still make pancakes every morning? This is a special occasion."

Ryan looks back up and smiles a bit. "Yeah?"

His dad nods and gives him a smile. "Want to help me cook?"

Ryan's heart does a little dance in his chest. He hasn't helped his dad cook breakfast since he was younger, and that turned out--messy. When he got older, he was too focused on music to try and help his dad with any kind of cooking. It almost feels like a nostalgic kind of activity now. "Uh--yeah, sure, dad."

"I'll need a pan and some oil." He continues mixing up the batter while Ryan goes to grab the items.

The oil was easy to find, but the pans aren't in the place they always were. Ryan frowns and checks the next cabinet, finding nothing there either.

"They're in top cabinets now," his dad says. "Over the stove. Easier to grab that way."

"Oh. Yeah, that, that makes sense." Ryan moves to that cabinet and grabs a larger pan from it. "It seems like a lot has changed since I left."

His dad shrugs. "Well you had a central room in the house. Your mom was excited to get things moved around once there were a few rooms opened up after you and your sisters moved out."

'Moved out' wasn't exactly an apt description for Ryan. His was more like 'got out'. He says, "So she rearranged like everything in the house?"

"Just about. I keep forgetting that she moved the sock drawer in our room." His dad laughs.

Ryan pours some oil into the pan and turns on the stove, letting it heat up. He watches it closely so the oil doesn't pop. It also gives him something else to focus on. Something other than his dad, or this kitchen, or how different this house has become in the time that he's been gone.

"Y'know, I was surprised you didn't call on your birthday," Ryan's dad says. "I would have expected that you would have wanted to come back and ask me to throw you a few bucks so you could celebrate."

Ryan is quiet for a long minute. His birthday. Yeah. His birthday passed. They were gone for months and he was only a month away from turning nineteen when he took Min onto the train. He wanted to celebrate with Min. He wanted their nineteenth birthday to be special together, on the road, in New York. He kind of got what he wished for, but not in the way that he actually wanted. It never even crossed their minds that their birthday passed.

He finally finds his words and he says, "Oh, well. Y'know. I was doing okay on my own and all. Got busy and stuff."

His dad nods as he steps up beside him. He pours some of the batter into the pan and it sizzles as the batter starts to cook. "Well you're home in time for Tommy's birthday next week. Are you sticking around that long?"

Ryan chews his lip. He has been doing a lot in the past year and a half. Not even counting the train. It might be good if he takes a bit of time to stay at home and collect himself before he hits out on the road again. That is...

"Would I be able to?" Ryan asks hesitantly.

His father gives him a weird look and then laughs. He pats Ryan's back. "Of course. Just. Don't be weird while you're here."

Weird. Right.

"Are you making pancakes?" a familiar voice laughs. Ryan looks over his shoulder just as his mother enters the room. She somehow looks so much older just in the last year and a half he's been gone. He notices more prominent wrinkles and she's stopped dyeing her hair so some grays are being shown at the roots. She stares at her son for a moment, like her mind is catching up to what it is that she is seeing in her kitchen. "Ryan. You're home."

Ryan smiles sheepishly. "Uh. Yeah. I came by last night .I got in pretty, uh--pretty late."

She nods slowly. Her expression adjusts and it looks like she has accepted the circumstances. "It's nice to have you home. Did Mark let you in?"

"Yeah." Ryan looks down at his brother's pajamas he's wearing. "He let me get cleaned and everything."

"Good of him," Ryan's dad says. "I'm sure he and Tommy will be up later into the morning, so it'll just be the three of us eating breakfast this morning."

Oh. Great.

"Come on, Ryan," his mother says, gesturing for him to come and sit at the kitchen table with her. "How have things been on the road? We got your cassette."

"You've got some pretty good ones on there," his dad adds.

Ryan's eyes widen. "You--You listened to it?"

"I think you could clean up a few songs," Ryan's dad adds. "But you've definitely got potential. I bet you could really make it if you applied yourself."

"I do. I am!" Ryan promises. "It's been really fun touring around the place." Even if it hasn't been exactly successful.

"What sorts of places have you performed?" his mother asks.

His dad chimes in, "Anywhere really cool? Any big gigs?"

Ryan feels embarrassment burn on his cheeks. "Oh. No, nothing super special. Mostly just open mics and casual parties and stuff. It takes a while to get noticed. Once I get an album made, I'm sure that I'll really start to make it."

His mother pats her hand on Ryan's hand, in that way that she always did when she was comforting one of the kids that was crying over something silly. It makes Ryan's stomach turns over like the pancakes that his father was flipping.

"I hope you...enjoyed your time on the road," his mother says. "And didn't get into any trouble."

Ryan wants to force a smile on his face the same way Min does, but he can't bring himself to. "Yeah. I was--I got a girlfriend actually. Uh. Three, actually."

"Three?" His father whistles and grins wide. His mother also smiles at that. "Looks like you inherited the same genes as your dad after all."

"Oh hush," his mother huffs.

"C'mon Yui, I know that you fell for me because I made you jealous with all my arm candy," he teases.

She rolls her eyes. "You were the one who begged me to go on a date with you for half a year. I just wanted to see how long you would try."

Ryan watches his parents banter. He wants to enjoy it. He always enjoyed seeing his parents talk like this when he was younger--even if some of the lovey-dovey stuff was gross--but it just makes him feel sick now. They don't want to acknowledge any of it beyond vague references and hopeful glimpses at his love life. Nobody wants the queer kid as their son.

The pancakes are served on the table after they are finished cooking. Ryan silently takes a couple and douses them in syrup, choosing to skip the butter. He's had plenty of that for a lifetime.

"Hey," Ryan says quietly, "Dad, when you were a kid, did you get served like. Super nasty food in America?"

His mother gives a grossed-out moan. "Did you find out about American post-war food? What a travesty."

"Hey, it was delicious," his dad insists. "I still think that if you would just let me throw some bologna on the grill-"

"Absolutely not," she says, shaking her head. "You grew up in an era where everything was stuck inside of gelatin."

"It wasn't the brightly colored sugary mess that it is now!"

"Still a crime," she says simply.

Ryan chuckles. "I tried cooking some of that," he says. "It was a disaster. The only thing I could make was brownies."

That makes Ryan's dad smile. "Now what were you doing trying to cook post-war recipes?"

"Oh. Just, y'know, I was um. Thinking about home. I wanted to give it a shot."

"Well if there's something you didn't inherit from your father, it was your cooking skills," his mom said. "You really made it all on your own?"

"Min-Gi helped," Ryan promises.

His parents grow quiet for a minute. Ryan pauses, his fork almost to his mouth, as he looks at his parents inquisitively. His mother is the first to speak. "The Parks called us a few months ago asking about Min-Gi. You were with him?"

"Oh, yeah, we--we went to New York together. For a gig thing." Ryan looks down at his plate. "I kinda made him."

His mother gives a disappointed sigh. "You should have let his parents know. Or just not made him. They were out of their minds. They bothered us for almost two months. We kept telling them that it was probably fine, but after a while we started to get worried too."

"You wouldn't answer your phone when we tried to call too," his father points out.

His mother nods. "You should have put more thought into things."

Ryan picks at his pancakes, losing his appetite with every passing minute. "Yeah. I guess I didn't really think about it at all. Sorry."

"Well so long as Min-Gi is back, then that's all that matters," his mother says.

Ryan nods a bit. He sets his fork down. "I'm actually not that hungry. I think I'm going to just go for a walk for a while."

His father laughs. "A walk? I would have thought that you would want to go for a drive. Sick of staying in that van after so long?"

Ryan's cheeks flush an embarrassed red. He had never exactly planned on going back home, so the van was never something that he planned to...

He clears his throat and says, "I kind of, uh. Don't have the van."

"You-" His father blinks a couple times. "You don't have the van?"

"It's, um, it--Y'know, a long story, but-"

"Ryan!" his mother cries.

"Are you kidding me? You lost my van?" his father demands.

"It was--um--It was my van. You gave it to me," Ryan stammers.

His father shakes his head vigorously. "Under the assumption that you wouldn't lose it, Ryan! How do you just lose a van?" He groans and holds his head in his hands. "Actually, no. It was probably t hat you were just being foolish and weren't thinking."

"I'm...I'm sorry, Dad."

"You know what?" He sighs and stands up, picking up his plate. "It's a good thing you're staying here for a while, Ryan. You need to apply yourself. Get a real job. Stop messing around and actually apply yourself."

Ryan stands up too, feeling his face burning hot with shame. "You--No, I. I don't have to stay here."

"You're going to pay me back for that van," his father snaps. "I lent it to you on the assumption that you would be responsible, Ryan. Instead you come back with nothing to show for it, and you have lost a van! You are going to stop all of this messing around you did in high school. You're going to get a job and--and be more like Min-Gi! Learn to be responsible!"

Ryan's chest is pulled so tight it feels like he's going to tear in half. He has to swallow several times before the lump in his throat is pushed down far enough that he can speak. "I'm going for a walk."

He doesn't give his parents a moment to protest. He grabs his jacket from the couch and jams on his shoes and leaves. He doesn't care that he's still dressed in pajamas or that his heels are sticking out of the back of his shoes so they clop as he hurries down the sidewalk. He just has to get out of there, as fast as he can.

Ryan is hunched forward as he walks, feeling anger begin to fester in his gut as the anxiety of facing his angry parents starts to subside. He mutters under his breath to the tune of his song My Dad's Van. "What does my dad love more than anything? My dad's van, my dad's van." He kicks a rock and it goes skittering across the pavement. "What gets more attention even though I went missing? My dad's van, my dad's van."

He comes to a stop and lets out a loud groan. "Gee Ryan!" he shouts to the sky. "It's great that you're home! We missed you so much, we thought about you every day! We didn't change your room because we wanted to make sure you had a place to stay when you finally visited home. We've accepted you fully and realized that we were foolish for how we treated you before you left! We'll never be so mean to you again!"

He sighs and lets his head fall back forward, defeated. "Get a job," he mutters. "I'm nineteen and I have no job experience and they expect that I can get a job just like that, huh?" He crosses his arms. "...Maybe I can get a job at Dumpty's with Min-Gi? Wait. Does he still work there?" He remembers how Min threw the Dumpty keys out of the castle. Yeah. No way is he still employed there.

"Oh yeah. We're nineteen now," Ryan says softly to himself. They didn't get to celebrate anything when they were on the train. Maybe they can have a late celebration. Ryan has no money to his name, but if he gets a job, then maybe... He groans again. "Fine. But Dad isn't getting my first paycheck."

#infinity train #infinity train spoilers #rymin #ryan akagi #infinity train season 4 #xaandiir fic

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sbtlns · 4 years ago

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Invisible String

Warnings: description of panic attack, mentions of death

A/N: Sorry for not posting in a while, school’s been crazy! As always, my requests are open. I hope yall enjoy (◕ᴗ◕✿)

“Y/N it’s for your own good,” Castiel said in a pained voice. Your heart clenched as he took another step towards you. You shook your head, too terrified to respond, taking another step back until your back hit the wall behind you. The pain was clear in Castiel’s eyes, not wanting to do this but knowing that he had to in order to keep you safe. He spent billions of years alone and when he met you everything changed. Ever since the Winchesters introduced you to him, he was drawn to you, as if there were an invisible string pulling him to you. When you finally revealed that you could see his wings, it all clicked for him. You were his soulmate, indefinitely and irrefutably. Unfortunately for Castiel, nothing good came without a cost.

Shortly after the two of you made your relationship official, heaven caught word of it and immediately made attempts to break it off. You had been kidnapped more than once and each time Castiel and the Winchesters barely made it to you in time. Castiel knew that this was starting to take a toll on you, but he also knew he wasn’t strong enough to leave you. He finally made his decision after exhausting all of his options, all except one. He knew it was to protect you, but that didn’t make it any easier.

“Cas,” you gasped, a sob threatening to wrack over you. “Don’t do this. Please,” you begged as hot tears rolled down your cheeks. Castiel kept his glassy eyes locked on yours as he closed the gap between you. “There isn’t another way, my love,” he said, voice ladened with heartbreak. “I’m sorry, Y/N, truly,” he said, reaching his hand out to your forehead. You tried to move away from his hand, but there was nowhere to go. You shivered as you felt his fingers press against your forehead, your surroundings suddenly spinning around you.

When the spinning stopped, you found yourself on a sidewalk outside of a storefront. You looked up to see a stranger with dark hair and the bluest eyes you had ever seen. A breeze ruffled through his trenchcoat as he stared at you with a pained expression. Drawing your jacket closer around your body, you hesitantly asked, “um, can I help you sir?” You saw his throat bob and his jaw clench before he muttered a quiet “no” and turned to walk away from you. For some reason, you felt inclined to walk after him, as if there was something pulling you towards him. You started walking to catch up with him as he neared the crosswalk and turned to look at you one last time. The pain in his eyes made your heart clench, but you couldn’t explain why. You picked up your pace to meet him but he had already crossed the street. You were about to cross as well, but a few cars came speeding through. After they had passed you went to cross but the man was gone.

You stared down the street bewildered. Slowly you began to realize that you didn’t recognize any of your surroundings. Panic started to settle over you when you couldn’t remember where you were or how you got there. Come to think of it, you couldn’t remember anything, not your family, not your friends, not your job, not where you lived, hell-not even your name. You felt your chest tightening and it got harder to breathe. Trying to snap out of the impending panic attack, you realized that you might have some form of identification on you that could trigger some memories. You quickly pat your jacket pockets before moving down to your jean pockets, sighing with relief when you felt a lump in your back pocket.

You took the wallet out of your jeans and quickly thumbed through to find an ID. “Y/N L/N,” you muttered to yourself. Maybe my phone has more information you thought to yourself. More panic washed over you with the realization that you didn’t have a phone on you and it was starting to get dark. You took a few deep breaths to steady yourself before making a plan. Shelter, you heard your instincts screaming at you. You took in your current surroundings, spotting a 24/7 diner further up the street. You started towards it, deciding that the staff would probably be able to point you in the direction of a motel in town for you to stay until you figured out what the hell was going on. A familiar feeling washed over you as you walked into the diner, a comforting and nostalgic feeling that you couldn’t place.

The woman at the counter had given you the name of a motel not too far away, so you set off to get a room. Once in your room, you realized just how exhausted you were and passed out as soon as your head hit the pillow. In your sleep you dreamed of those piercing blue eyes and the unknown pain behind them. When you woke up, you decided to hit up the library you had passed on your way to the motel last night. You made a beeline to the computers to see if you could figure out anymore about yourself. After typing in your name, you clicked on the top result, “Eighteen Year-Old Sole Survivor of Animal Attack.” You read in horror as the article described a camping trip you had taken with your family that had ended abruptly with an unexplained animal attack, you were the only one who had made it out. You felt a familiar wave of grief reading the names of your deceased parents and siblings even though you couldn’t place them in your memories. After coming up with little other information on yourself, you came to the conclusion that you were on your own with no one else to go to.

The sound of your stomach growling pulled you away from your thoughts. Not knowing a lot about this town, you decided to go back to the diner from last night. As you were eating your food, one of the waitresses stormed out of the kitchen screaming “I quit!” behind her. Your waitress, who was just about to top off your coffee, looked to the door she had stormed out of and back to you. “Need a job?” she asked jokingly. “Actually,” you started, wheels turning in your head. “I do.”

You started working at the diner, using your paycheck to pay for your semi-permanent stay at the motel while trying to also save up to get an apartment. You made friends with the other waitresses there and you reluctantly told them your story. Suddenly in a foreign place, no memory of how or why you ended up there. The girls helped you through it, offering spare clothes, money, and good company.

One day, you were refilling a customer’s coffee when out of the corner of your eye, you saw a tan trenchcoat passing by the storefront. You immediately whipped your head around to get a better look, but it was gone. You kept your stare out of the window until you realized you were spilling coffee on the table. You quickly wiped it up, apologizing profusely. You gave one more longing glance out of the window before getting back to your other tables.

This wasn’t the only time you were reminded of the stranger. You still dreamt of his piercing eyes, waking up in a cold sweat every time. A few times, you could’ve sworn you saw the trenchcoat in a crowd of people walking past the diner’s storefront, your heartbeat speeding up every time. Days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into months of you stuck with unanswered questions.

You were ringing in a table’s order one day when your friend came up behind you. “Don’t look now, but there’s a total hottie checking you out.” You laughed, not looking up from the register. “If he’s such a hottie, why don’t you go take his order?” you asked. She scoffed before replying, “I would but..he’s not even at a table he’s just staring from outside.” This piqued your interest. You looked up from the register with a cocked eyebrow, trying to follow her line of vision. Your breath caught in your throat when you met his piercing blue stare. Keeping eye contact, your legs started numbly carrying you towards the door. This seemed to startle the stranger, as his eyes widened and he abruptly turned to walk away. You ignored your name being called by your friend and kept walking towards the door, picking up your pace determined not to lose him again.

Your friend yelled your name as you swung the door of the diner open, eyes frantically searching for the tan trenchcoat. You ignored your name being called for the third time as you spotted the trenchcoat and started sprinting towards it, feeling like an invisible string was pulling you towards him. You finally caught up to him when another group of people cut him off from crossing the street. “Hey!” you yelled as you got closer to him. He stiffened, before slowly turning around.

You stared into those blue eyes, swimming with a mixture of pain and guilt. You suddenly realized that you had no plan on what to say to him, figuring you wouldn’t get this far. “Um,” you started, not really knowing where to go from there. “I’m Y/N,” you said, sticking out your hand for him to shake. He looked down at it hesitantly before looking back up to you. An awkward moment passed before you said, “this is the part where you shake my hand and tell me your name,” you laughed, pushing your hand closer to him. With a shaky breath, he took your hand and said, “I’m-”

Suddenly thousands of memories flooded your brain with the contact. You remembered two tall men introducing you to the stranger with huge black wings spread behind him, Sam..Dean you thought. You remembered a hunt going wrong and a werewolf pinning you against a tree before your stranger smote it, saving your life. You remembered sitting with Sam, Dean and your stranger in a diner booth, laughing at the way Dean shoved half of his burger in his mouth with one bite. You remembered shooting up in bed from a nightmare with your stranger sitting on the edge of your bed ready to soothe you back to sleep. You remembered sitting in the backseat of the Impala with your stranger, singing loudly to an old Bob Segar song off one of Dean’s cassettes. More memories flashed before your eyes before suddenly they stopped and your vision was clear. Your grip on his hand tightened and you looked up at him with wide eyes. You took a shaky breath before finishing his sentence.

“Castiel.”

#castiel #castiel fic #castiel fanfiction #cas x reader #castiel x reader #supernatural #supernatural fic

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radramblog · 3 years ago

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Album Discussion- Shinjuku Mad

Usually on a Tuesday I like to take my time with a blog post. Listen to a full album, do a little research, put some real effort into it.

Unfortunately, time is not my ally today. So I kinda have to do one that’s a bit easier- in this case, I think I’d rather go after one of the ones that’s already on my phone, in case I have to do this on the bus or something.

(wait, I drove in today…)

Today we’re going to go into a self-titled album that is somehow not the artist’s debut. Rather, Shinjuku Mad is the second of two albums released under the name- the reason I specify as such is that one of the two (and later, the vocalist would help out again) members would go on to relative fame under a different name- Vaportrap pioneer Blank Banshee.

Peering into this album is like looking at a beta version of what was to come. It’s very much a different genre, an IDM album that completely predates Vaporwave’s explosion of popularity and Blank Banshee’s seminal album, Blank Banshee 0. It’s a solid enough album in addition to this, but it’s kind of hard to talk about seeing as there’s basically nobody who knows about Shinjuku Mad that didn’t learn about it through Blank Banshee. As such, expect a lot of BB coming up in this post.

Also a block of words, because no music videos exist for this at all. It’s one of those obscure albums.

This album opens on Cure for Fear. It’s one of those introductory tracks you often get in albums, at about a minute and a half long, with very reverb-y percussion and vocals and an almost ethereal haze of noise. It’s got these chimes that occasionally come up, reminiscent of some of the tracks from the AKIRA soundtrack, but beyond that there’s not a huge amount going on here. It does introduce a problem, however, one which we’ll get to later. It’ll be pretty evident if you’re listening along, though.

Track 2: Kowloon. I really did forget how short a lot of these songs were, with this being 2:13- the whole 10-track album clocks in at under half an hour. There’s a mix of drum machine and hollow wood percussion on this track that gives it a really interesting sort of feel, and some of the effects on the vocals feel extremely vaporwave- it’s no surprise that the dude behind this went on into that genre. Here’s where I can’t help but hammer on that issue I mentioned earlier, though.

The vocals on this album are quite weak. I know they’re very much trying to be ethereal, the reverb and falsetto make that much clear, and that style very much suits the instrumentation. But it just doesn’t sound great. It kinda comes and goes, but by and large I’d label them as subpar. I don’t really think it’s the fault of the performance either, it’s not like the bloke is missing his lines or mumbling more than is necessary for the album’s aesthetic, but there’s just something about them. They might be too loud in the mix for this kind of genre? I’m not 100% sure.

Resistor, the third track, is the best known song from this album by an order of magnitude. I mean that quite literally, as the track as over 540,000 monthly listens on Spotify as compared to Kowloon’s 32000. It’s kind of shocking, I mean for such an obscure album with zero singles, why is this of all tracks the one people suddenly latched onto?

As it turns out, it’s because again of the artist’s future work as Blank Banshee. Resistor would be reworked into one of the more popular tracks from BB0, Dreamcast, and it would appear that people got curious as to what the source was.

The thing is, aside from sharing a vocal performance, the tracks are very different. As it is, Resistor is a much faster track than the previous, driven by this fast percussion and bassline, making for a genuinely solid exercise track of all things (I say from experience). It’s got a fun little synth solo in the middle, the vocals are pretty solid (aside from like right at the end of the last chorus, holy shit), and the song’s coda and outro are a fun little bit of controlled chaos. I’d put Resistor as one of the better tracks on the album, is what I’m saying.

I’m going to do something I haven’t done in a while when discussing music on this blog- I’m going to jump through a few things. As much as I like this album, the songs aren’t nearly interesting enough to justify a song-by-song breakdown. I think if you listen to Resistor and like it, it’s probably worth chucking on the rest of the album- it is, again, less than half an hour long. But its an album where it’s more valuable on a meta level than it is sonically.

Shinjuku Mad as an album feels a lot like a hybrid between older IDM trends and the synth/vaporwave elements that would become popularised in the 2010s. There’s also tracks like Inductor, which border on rock songs with the power behind that bassline and percussion- in general much of the instrumentation is cleaner than you’d expect from an artist like this, especially considering how muddied much of the vocals get. There is a real focus on the vocals, which as I’ve discussed is a weakness of the album, but I do think it’s possible to look past that issue. There’s some really fun synth lines, some excellent percussion, and real aesthetic. Songs like Human Wave Attack feel stark and lonely, notes echoing into the void, which ironically is not at all like Track 4, Void- with synths and vocals disguising a guitar and drum line that feels extremely garage band. As in, the concept, not the program. Singularity is a song that feels again predictive of Blank Banshee’s future work, a low, slow synth track reminiscent of BB songs like Hyper Object or Metamaterial.

There are some genuine gems on here in addition to Resistor, though. City of No Tomorrow, the eighth song, has got to be one of my favourites- somehow, despite featuring none of the instrumentation typical of the genre, it’s extremely cyberpunk, a sense of struggle and futility resonant through the track. It’s the one song on the album I listen to regularly, getting myself lost in the groove of the bass and tapping my foot along to the percussion. It’s just really good, man.

If this isn’t your first time encountering Shinjuku Mad, reading this might cause you to go back and have another listen, upon which you may notice a few somethings missing. I don’t expect that to be the case for literally anyone reading this…but I needed a segue. This is because, upon the reintegration of Shinjuku Mad and its predecessor Organic Thoughts from the Synthetic Mind into Hologram Bay’s catalogue for the 2019 reissue, two songs were cut, likely for fears of legal issues regarding sampling. The version of this album that I remember has those tracks!

Those songs are Negatives (formerly track 6) and Neon Exodus (formerly track 12). Negatives is another one that’d show up as a Blank Banshee track (in this case, Gunshots), and is actually really solid? Like it integrates a raid siren into the instrumentation without having it sound weird, out of place, or, well, alarming. Neon Exodus is…wow I just don’t know this track at all. It’s fuckin aesthetic though. Welcome to this spontaneous live-reaction, I guess. I recognize the sample this is built around (and thereby why it isn’t on the album anymore) but I cannot name it for the life of me. It’s, uh, interesting. I dunno, 6.5/10?

Anyway, part of the reason I bring this up is that before I want to close this out I have some complaining to do. Said 2019 reissue was something I tracked at the time, and noticed both SM albums were releasing on Vinyl, Cassette (because, you know, nerds), and digitally. But not CD. I threw an email at the website about it, and they did eventually respond (it genuinely took like two months though), but not in the positive. The reissue had no plans to include a CD, unlike all three previous Blank Banshee albums.

But the original 2010 version of the album, along with a few slight differences in songs and in album order, does have a CD release, albeit an extremely limited one, according to Discogs. These CDs have to exist, they’re now listed on the new Shinjuku Mad website. Apparently one sold 6 months ago through Discogs. I need to find a copy, though considering on that site 7 people list it as owned and 72 (including myself) list it as wanted, it’s probably not going to happen.

And that, ultimately, is Shinjuku Mad. It’s a very odd piece of history as far as vaporwave goes, considering it’s both a prototype and also something completely, utterly different. The album is pretty decent on its own, but not mindblowing, and something you could probably live without. There are like two tracks (three if you include Negatives) that are 100% worth it, but the rest are skippable. Which is a shame, but mediocre music has to exist somewhere, right?

That I apparently haven’t discussed Blank Banshee on this blog before (aside from when I was talking about Vaperror) is actually kind of shocking. I suppose, then, that there might be some lacking context. I probably will have to do that at some point, though I probably won’t do BB0 because I like picking the hipster options- so either BB1 or MEGA. Metamorphosis didn’t really pique my interest, and I somehow missed GAIA existing in the first place and still haven’t listened to it. So if you’re interested in seeing me ramble over some of that, I’ll see you then. I mean, it’ll still happen if you aren’t interested, but nobody’s going to make you read it.

Or am I…?

#ramble #music #electronica #vaporwave #vapourwave #shinjuku mad

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