#they have actual opinions about how cockroaches taste
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void-botanist · 1 year ago
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'How well would your OCs do against a cockroach' Tag
Taking @touloserlautrec's open tag! I'll leave this an open tag too.
Winchester crew (TFA)
Dez: just watching it. Probably trying to identify it on the network. 0% concerned.
Syndy: ugh you have to smash these, they're bad news. [misses like five times and then manages to smash it into the engravings on her feet] Peeeteeeerrrrrrrrrrrrrr
Peter: it's okay I'll have these cleaned up in a sec. Oh look, there's another one. Let me-- oh, never mind, Tulip [his dog] just ate it.
Zel: believes the cockroach is too fast to squish, therefore it is, no matter how carefully she approaches it with a shoe (it would be Zalen's shoe if he ever wore anything that wasn't heels. This delicate procedure requires surface area).
Anni: chasing it around furniture trying to capture it in a glass while running through all the possible reasons there could be a cockroach??? in her house???
Julian: sighs and manages to stomp it on the first try.
Hoven: stares at it and wills it not to come any closer before he can make Julian deal with it.
Urma: climbs on the table and calls Anni.
Nicea crew
Declan: immediately decides this is above his pay grade and goes to find someone else to deal with it.
Cady: cockroach trapper extraordinaire. The cockroach is now living its best life over in the woods and it better stay there.
Rodney: he should do something about this. And he will. Probably. When he's done watching it in horror and not moving an inch.
Isabel: tries to smash it, misses, enters rage mode. It will not escape her. She will be waiting (and reasoning out whether she has brought the cockroach with her snack habits or it's unrelated).
Spinder: concocting a plan to hit it on the first try with whatever is closest to him, but it vanishes while he's thinking about it.
Tristan: not at all worried about getting up close and personal with the cockroach but still having a bad time trying to catch it or even squish it.
Tatya: in true cowgirl fashion, herds it out the door.
Bo: is anyone looking? No? They grab it off the wall and stuff it into their mouth.
Nicea taglist: @kahvilahuhut @kingkendrick7 @outpost51
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yi3248 · 5 months ago
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what’s your favorite roach headcanon?
hi anon!! sorry it took so long. your ask came in just as i decided to rewatch mw2 gameplay to refresh my memory so it took a While, but its finally here! it's a bit messy. feel free to ask if there's something specific you want an opinion of :D
i subscribe to the headcanon that he is selectively mute
was found hiding in a closet, somehow chilling with a cockroach in there
on another note, he finds the closet to be a comfortable place to be in, when everything gets too much. a makeshift barrier from everything
likes smooth peanut butter
when he was in primary school, while dropping him off, his mom got fed up with his nonverbal responses. parked near the gates, wants to know why he was being so difficult
(it wasnt on purpose. he wasnt trying to be difficult. he felt so exposed, through the windows, like other students could just know why he was locked in there, why they were taking too long to simply drop off someone)
hates tomatoes
likes the sweet kind of chili sauce
wears whatever graphic tees at his disposal when on leave
does dress up once in a while though, but like, for wildly mundane occasions
i want to say he has slightly bad vision (near-sighted) but its corrected with his goggles. doesnt wear the goggles on base, when hes not in immediate battle
either skips leg days, or hes the type who has difficulty building strength in his lower limbs
still trying to reason out why he failed 2 jumps lmao. since he was able to shake his pursuers in hornet’s nest, his running and jumping muscles should also be adequate. maybe as mactavish’s journal says, his gear was weighing him down (dear god, there was a lot of parallels mactavish drew in btwn him and roach)
likes snow. likes any snow activities. doesnt like how it freezes him though
probably hid in the toilet when there was a fire drill evacuation practice at school
roach and mactavish wouldve spend some time in the same room, quietly jotting out their thoughts on the mission in their respective journals
or even lets their frustration shine through. about their lack of ability to be better, to be more efficient (this was a common theme in mactavish’s journal. regrets and aftermaths)
a steady hand forces him to stop engraving his regrets deeply into a page. eyes snap up, mouth ready to follow along until he meets roach’s heavy gaze. he huffs, the exhaled air carrying some of his tension away, the shroud of distress slowly dissipates, but it lingers
he has his own team, and the burden, the need to watch them get through to the other end all safe and sound is so juxtaposed in their career. it is inevitable, but he can still try. they can be better, stronger, less chances to be picked off
he shakes his head, patting roach’s arm. “what? yer want to take a gander at my words?” he tuts, closes his journal with a snap, a wry smirk on his face. “go put that curiousity to proper work.” he ushers roach to the training area, ignoring roach’s pointed look of distaste
(dimly, he wonders if he will follow in price’s footsteps. if roach will assimilate some of his habits to remember him, in some sort of way. we’re all amalgamations of all the people we have met, naturally)
((as he yells into the comms for an answer that never comes, he doesnt have a chance to find out))
hates the water on base. it tastes different
somehow enjoys playing the mobile ads games more than the actual game
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rosesradio · 2 months ago
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thinking about spoils of war-verse percy in his quarters at the TA. the place is more luxurious than anything he could have dreamed of as a kid growing up in cramped apartments, perhaps even more luxurious than the Lotus hotel room. the place has everything he could need—a king-sized bed, magic plates from camp, a dresser filled with all types of clothes that fit him perfectly, a spacious claw foot tub in the conjoining bathroom.
even so, percy is naturally devastated, a kidnapped toy for the Titan army, for luke and ethan. he was entertainment for them in between their conquests to dominate the world. he has a hard time focusing on anything but spiraling, only finding relief in the several hours a day in which he sleeps—as no nightmare could be as bad as the one he’s currently living in.
ethan tries to aid his every need, though luke insists that he should do it, as he wants to be closer with percy and gain even a fraction of his trust.
percy doesn’t ask for much. he desperately wants out of his quarters, that much luke can tell, though it’s a privilege he can only grant for their shows. luke does gift him with a PlayStation that he helps set up, though the son of Poseidon looks so dreadful at the implication of a more permanent residence that luke can’t help but feel even more horrible.
eventually, though, percy tries to do something to ease his mind, something so he can experience joy in his life even under the circumstances. he enjoys the baths, the sunlit naps, and about 5 years of video games that he’d missed out on while busy with demigod duties. he still finds himself incredibly lonely…though he also finds it easy to confide in luke, simply because he’s there and listens and seems strangely earnest. percy even invites him to play with him, talking and even laughing in some strange grey reflection of what could have been.
and then percy puts the remote down, leans over, fingertips tracing luke’s cheekbone. and then he kisses him, something soft and sweet and so utterly out of place.
and luke can’t resist. he kisses him back.
he wraps his arms around percy’s waist, pulling him into his lap. percy straddles luke’s hips, rolling his own hips down, and—
luke realizes that percy’s hard-wired at this point, Pavlov’s dog when it comes to all touches leading to sex.
and that just makes luke want to walk into the domain of percy’s father, never to resurface again.
“this isn’t a show, perce,” luke would insist. “no audience. we don’t have to do anything…”
percy doesn’t argue. he doesn’t insist that he wants to because he’s probably not registering his opinion as one that mattered.
he just smiles and says okay. the slight relieving gleam in his eye will probably haunt luke for the rest of his gods-forsaken life.
percy asks if it’s okay to kiss him again, for fun and nothing more, and luke agrees.
a few days later, percy asks for some fast food from one of his old favorite chains. he knows he’s not allowed out because he’s a flight risk, even with luke and ethan as chaperones, though he still wants a taste of something familiar and comforting.
luke doesn’t have the heart to tell percy that, over the past six weeks he’d been here, 80% of the mortal population was dead. there were no outings, no restaurants, the remaining mortals scurrying from hiding place to hiding place like cockroaches.
luke tries to recreate what percy asks for, tempted to burn himself entirely all the while.
if percy notices the difference, he doesn’t voice it aloud.
a week after that, percy asks what day it is. luke replies that it’s october the ninth. percy then wonders aloud what they would be studying in school right now, what book they’d be telling percy to read, and how would he get out of it?
he asks luke, then, if he could somehow figure out what the other sophomores at his old school are studying. he promises that if luke can help him get what he needed, that he actually would study and try to learn.
luke tells him, sucking in a breath that he hopes will somehow be his last, that he’ll try his best to find out.
that evening, luke roves over the weak spot under his arm with annabeth’s knife. the blade is cool, release promising, though his heart pounds in foolish contradiction in his chest.
he’s too much of a coward to do it, so he will continue on another day.
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lakesbian · 1 year ago
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it's fair to point out that you draw similar art of taylor & victoria. the reason it's frankly exceedingly hard to not associate you with interpretations of amy as unironically inherently predatory, or assume you to be familiar with it, is that many of the loudest people about those depictions--e.g. henghost's fics about amy being unable to restrain herself from being literally dahmer, which play into blatant stereotypes--are the people you're clearly close w/ & frequently drawing that amy art for! so even if you are just tossing out shitposts about this or that worm character being dirty without regard for the more literary analysis based side of things, the depictions of amy as a cockroach or lice-ridden or whatever else are inevitably being presented as hand-in-hand with more obviously opinionated and politicized depictions of her in a way that imparts faaar more unpleasant connotations on your art than it would have in a void. & regardless of the precise mechanisms of how any one person contributing to that overarching type of sentiment regarding amy came to do so, or what their personal intent was, the overarching sentiment itself is open for critique. fandom shitposting online is obviously a different scenario than an entire actual book, but there's a point to be made wrt death of the author that content created without awareness of all the associations involved w/ the topic can risk being in poor taste despite no malicious intentions from the creator.
i will reiterate that the anon hate is besides the point except for its usage as an example of people taking the joke's implications seriously, and i don't, like, expect or care for some kind of Statement or extended hashing-out from you about it. and i do again admit directly to using the 'u.s. military' as an off-handed snark vs. a point i want to see litigated at length--i didn't know any real details beyond 'was in u.s. military' (i certainly did not hear 'on the frontlines' or 'drone operator'), and while i'm sure i would certainly still have Lengthy Opinions on the entire matter, i have no investment in digging for personal details or trying to articulate the precise morality of the life decisions of someone who sent me a pissy ask online once
"amy wouldn't have lice because she's not filthy or ontologically evil" "amy wouldn't have lice because lice like clean hair" none of you know the lice amy lore and it's that one time on discord in 2022 @despite saw an old art of amy of looking really grouchy and said "she looks so... lice-infested" and then that was all we drew for an hour straight
and now there's lice amy discourse and I look insane and an amy-hater because RIP despite is inactive. you have to believe me it's not that serious
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pallasperilous · 4 years ago
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Occursus
Castiel/Dean Winchester Gen/Teen, 4341 words 15x20 coda  AO3 version “The natural environment of the human soul is a human body,” Cas says. “Humans have yet to meet a foreign substrate that they don’t immediately attempt to colonize. My form in Hell was not an exception.” 
Then he shuts his mouth very deliberately and gestures back to Dean like his mic is going live in three, two. “Or the bit where my soul gave you some kind of STD?” Dean finishes. “It was a poor analogy. I apologize.” “So what’s a better one?” Castiel drums his fingers for a second. “It’s more like…the way a parasitic jewel wasp injects a cockroach with venom, and transforms it into a willing host for wasp larvae.” “Holy shit are you ever bad at this,” Dean says, with that signature brand of fond horror he special-orders just for Castiel, Angel of the Gourd.
It’s half past midnight by the time Dean gets another run at Cas.
Granted, what the fuck does half past midnight even mean here, where time is as free as tap water? Why does anybody even bother? For all it matters, Dean could set his watch to eleventy minutes past twenty o’ nope and still never miss last call.
Then again, somebody felt it necessary to invent the idea of Tuesday in the first place, and Dean’s not gonna volunteer himself for the task of replacing it with something better. What’s important is that he’s survived (or rather, he hasn’t survived) a battery of poignant moments and tearful reunions. He and Sam hugged out burdens registering in the triple digits. They even had a little fight, pretty much for the fun of it, while Ellen fucking Harvelle watched them over the bar with her eyes shining. She still charged them, though.
Right at the beginning of the party Dean and Castiel had their eyes-across-the-room thing, followed by the same magnetic, exhausted embrace they’ve shared on just about every plane of reality now. Dean supposes he could ask Cas for a nickel tour of the Empty just so they could hit for the cycle, but he’d really rather not. Sam let them eke out a few gruff, tear-choked monosyllables before diving in, sweeping Cas up in a bear hug and laughing like a fucking kid. Dean doesn’t push it, because it’s been longer for Sam, after all. Or something.
 And now it’s quiet, just the jukebox and the clink of glasses back in the kitchen, a few folks murmuring in booths. It might be dark outside, it might not; it’s waiting on Dean’s opinion before it commits to anything. And so is Cas, who is standing in the warm glow of the jukebox, hands in his pockets.
 Dean walks up, leans against it, bottle still dangling from one hand.
“C’mon, sunshine. I’ll show you yours, you show me mine.”
Cas looks up and into Dean’s eyes with the wary, elegant patience of a deer. “What is it that you would be showing me, Dean?”
Dean gives him a long, languid blink and bites his lip, and Castiel lags for half a second before rolling his own eyes. “I see death hasn’t refined your sense of humor.”
“Nope. Guess the billionth time aint the charm.”
Cas remains stonefaced, which means a corresponding you dumbass blush starts crawling up the sides of Dean’s neck. The jukebox switches records like it’s making a suggestion.
“I’m gonna sit down outside,” Dean says. “C’mon and sit down with me. There’s a patio somewhere, right? Ellen was always talking about adding one out back. No way she hasn’t bossed somebody into buildin’ it.”
“There’s a patio,” Cas says, taking his hands out of his pockets.
 Heaven’s patio is pretty nice; twenty square feet, some scattered picnic tables, fences covered in ivy and string lights. It still smells like fresh pine boards. There’s even a fire pit, which seems kinda bougie for the Roadhouse, but hell with it, it’s warm and pretty, and since when did pretentious people get to lay claim to “a hole with a fire in it”? There’s no moon overhead, and so the Milky Way is giving them the full monty — the runnelled spine of it, the ribcage packed with galaxies.
“Are they all alive?” Dean asks. The warmth from inside leaks out of his collar, wisps away.
“Who?”
Dean points up. “The stars. They always make a big deal about how most of the stars you can see from Earth have been dead for millions of years by the time we get the light from ‘em. That still true here? Or is everything on auto-renewal?”
“That’s a very complicated question,” Cas says, not looking up, only at Dean. He does that a lot, Dean knows, but it turns out to mean something different than what Dean had always assumed, which was ironically pretty similar to what it actually meant, but was reassuringly unactionable and therefore unfuckupable.
“I’m a very complicated guy,” Dean says.
Castiel smiles at that. “I don’t actually know the answer,” he admits. “And it would take an extremely long time to investigate. There are some other things I’d rather do first.”
“What, you can’t just call the kid for directory assistance?”
Castiel lets a good-humored sigh. “Like many young people these days, Jack prefers to avoid the phone.”
This is a solid riff, and Dean respects it. He picks the table closest to the fire and takes a bench and Cas sits next to him, instead of opposite. Dean thought he managed to break him of this habit a few years ago, but here all things are made whole again.
“So what,” Cas says, without a single molecule of playfulness or seduction, “is it that you want us to show each other?”
“Yeah, I was…it was a dumb joke. But I mean it, just not in a ‘playing doctor’ way.”
Castiel frowns, tightens his lips; the firelight throws a fluttering shadow across his face.
“I mean…Christ.” Dean takes a medicinal slug of his dwindling beer. “I don’t really look like this anymore either, right?” And he gestures at his usual shitshow personal presentation, which death has also noticeably failed to refine.
Castiel frowns, smoothes his hand across the surface of the table. “This is a corporeal world, Dean. It operates on a different set of rules, but your body here is no more of an illusion than it was on earth.”
“Seriously?” Dean ponders a second, squints through the dim light at his fingernails, at the high-resolution grime contained therein. “Jesus, that sounds like a lot of work. At least compared to Holodeck Heaven.”
“It is. But we didn’t build this place to be a...a…doorprize. It’s a real world,” Castiel enthuses, looming forward. “It’s the one that should have been created for all of you in the first place.” He pauses, glances down. “For all of us.”
Dean shrugs. “Okay, so no holograms. I’ll keep all that in mind next time Charlie tries to convince me to go skydiving.”
Castiel snorts, but not in pure aggravation, so Dean feels like he’s finally got a point on the board. “What I’m sayin’ is…physical or not, this place has different rules, right? So could I look at you without my eyeballs exploding? The…you know, the angel parts of you. Not just your vessel,” and Dean fwippies his hand at Cas to indicate that true beauty is contained within and Dean is completely indifferent to the fact this dork-ass alien managed to bodysnatch a guy who’s never dipped below an 8.5.
“It isn’t a vessel anymore. We can create our own bodies, now.”
“Peachy,” Dean clips, because that shit is a little late coming off the line.
Castiel sighs. “You could see me in that form without coming to harm. But you should know that I don’t consider it any more a reflection who I am than this form. Not anymore.”
Dean rolls the bottle towards him, nudges a knuckle. “You’re a real boy now, huh?”
“Yes, I suppose so,” Castiel says, and smiles a smile so small that Dean would need a microscope to figure out if it’s pleased or pained.
So Dean thwacks the bottle down on the totally-real table and claps his totally-real hands. “Well then let’s go. Hit me with that angel weirdness. If we’re gonna do this, I gotta taste all thirty-one flavors.”
Castiel smiles a little more convincingly, but it still doesn’t reach his eyes. “There are really only the two,” he says, and holds his palms out to the warmth of the fire.
“Great, then we’ll be done in time to catch Letterman. Then if you’re good maybe you can help me shimmy out of this thing.”
Cas cocks his head. “Out of which thing?”
“This super real heavenly meat-suit, dude. It’s not fair if only one of us gets naked. Peep show has to go both ways. I see your angel-face, you see my soul.”
Cas looks stricken, like Dean is asking to suck on his toes next to a playground. “I mean, unless that’d fuck you up,” Dean adds.
“No,” Castiel replies, a little absently. “It wouldn’t fuck me up. But it…wouldn’t really accomplish anything, either.”
“What, no soul kink? That’s bullshit and you know it. You love this crap.”
Castiel replies, “Your soul is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” with the easy confidence of a regular latte order. With the same uncanny, 2 Blessed 2 B Stressed face he had when Dean plowed Ruby’s knife hilt-deep into Jimmy Novak’s sternum, that he had when the Empty collapsed him  like a carcass in an acid bath.
That face shuts Dean right the fuck up, because it sends him skipping backwards into that fucking basement, where his phone is buzzing and the gritty concrete chill of the floor is seeping through his jeans into the useless meat of his legs and leeching into the hot, wet channels of his piece of shit heart.
Turns out you can work up a good little panic attack in heaven, which seems like a significant oversight.
From a million miles away he feels Cas’s warm, dry palm slide over the back of his hand –– there’s a ring there now that Dean lost down a motel sink drain ages ago, is nobody spotting continuity errors here?—then Cas’s hand tightens on his and it feels like a Xanax kicking in. (The good kind, direct from the hot nurse with the little paper cup, not the kind you get in a from a shady burnout at a truckstop, that’s been ground up with baking soda or benadryl and carefully remolded, as if you could possibly give that much of a shit when you’re freaking out bad enough to buy Xanax at a truckstop.)
Point being, he calms the fuck down.
Cas has good hands. They can do a lot of impressive shit, and they look nice doing it. They don’t look like –– they’ve never looked like –– they belong to somebody whose main job is destroying people, places, or things. They’re hands that how to play the cello, or make tables from reclaimed wood, or give soapy, encompassing handjobs in the shower on cold evenings.
“It’s been years, though,” Dean rasps, not looking up yet. “I was a kid when you got me out of Hell, Cas. I’ve done a lot of shit since then. Maybe souls get stretch marks.”
Castiel’s hand tightens on his, clamps it down on the table. “I’ve always been able to see it.”
“Okay,” Dean mumbles, but Cas keeps on going –
“The only time I couldn’t see any part of your soul was when I was without grace, and I promise you that was one of the greatest deprivations imaginable.”
Dean snorts, looks away, but his hand is still on lockdown. “Worse than going hungry, huh?”
“Much.”
“Hey, what about Sam? Or, hell, fucking Donatello. They both were both walking around minus their creamy filling, and you didn’t say boo.”
Cas shrugs. “I can’t see their souls under ordinary circumstances.”
“So what, mine’s just extra loud, or day-glo, or what?”
“It’s both of those things, but that isn’t why,” Cas answers, and the boy is downright wry.
Dean tugs his hand out, raps his knuckles against the wood. “Okay, so stop bein’ coy and tell me before I get a complex. And if you say it’s because of love or some shit, I’m bailing to Rowena’s.”
“You infected me,” Cas says.
“Uh,” says Dean.
The fire pops and a log shifts; Cas glances over at the kerfuffle, absently lifts his fingers to his chin like he’s looking for an old scar. “In Hell, when I retrieved you…I had to grip your raw soul. I was meant to wear a gauntlet, so I wouldn’t be burned.”
Dean snickers. “You’re telling me you were supposed to be wearing a soul condom. What happened, you get too excited and forget to suit up? It’s okay, I know I’m a lot to take in.”
Castiel purses his lips. “No, I was properly armored. But my arm was torn off in combat shortly before I reached you.”
“Ouch.”
“Ouch,” Cas agrees. “I didn’t have time to retrieve the arm or its protection from the pit, so I had to grow a new one very quickly.”
Dean really should’ve switched to whiskey before starting this. “What, you didn’t pack a spare?” He wheezes.
“Ordinarily, yes, I would have had the resources, but I was equipped very lightly for that mission. It was a raid, not a siege. You understand the difference.”
“Sure, yeah, you left your emergency arms in the trunk. So you just popped out a new one. No big.”
“It was a big. Your soul was close enough that it forced me to grow a human arm, instead of a much quicker and more powerful extensor.”
“Okay, uh,” Dean pinches at the bridge of his nose, “there’s a lot to unpack there.”
“What part of it confuses you?”
“I dunno, the bit where apparently angels are I guess heavenly octopuses,”
“The plural in the Greek is octopodes,” Cas interjects, not without pleasure.
Dean glowers. “Or the part where you can apparently swap in different drill bits,” Dean continues,
“Mm,” Cas notes, careful not to open his mouth,
“Or that I, like, accidentally bullied you into growing a person arm,” and Dean pauses for breath here, which Cas evidently takes as permission to dive in with more Planet Earth commentary.
“The natural environment of the human soul is a human body,” he says. “Humans have yet to meet a foreign substrate that they don’t immediately attempt to colonize. My form in Hell was not an exception.” Then he shuts his mouth very deliberately and gestures back to Dean like his mic is going live in three, two.
“Or the bit where my soul gave you some kind of STD?” Dean finishes.
“It was a poor analogy. I apologize.”
“So what’s a better one?”
Castiel drums his fingers for a second, listens to the fire pop in its little cage. “It’s more like…the way a parasitic jewel wasp injects a cockroach with venom, and transforms it into a willing host for wasp larvae.”
“Holy shit are you ever bad at this,” Dean says, with that signature brand of fond horror he special-orders just for Castiel, Angel of the Gourd.
“What I’m trying to avoid saying,” Castiel sighs, “is that you rubbed off on me.”
Dean nods. “Yeah. That’s fair. I wouldn’t be dumb enough to say that around me, either.”  He lays a couple little pats on Cas’s hand. “Lookit you, though, seeing around that corner. I’m proud of you, man. That would’ve totally flipped your breaker back in the day.”
“Just one of the many ways you have reshaped me, Dean,” Cas says, with warm sarcasm.
“Alright, so you rawdogged me, I whammied you. Chocolate, peanut butter, peanut butter, chocolate.”
Cas’s forehead wrinkles in skepticism. “I still prefer the cockroach. But some part of your soul injected itself into one of my more exposed frequencies. Under different circumstances, I would’ve stopped and excised the affected area before it spread, but. I was being pursued, and the mission had taken much longer than any of us anticipated.”
“Us? Thought it was just you down there.”
Cas looks vaguely offended, straightens and folds his arms like he just remembered he’s giving a deposition. “No, of course not. Michael assigned sixty-six angels in eleven groups of six, each escorted to the field by a seraph. We struck simultaneously at six different areas in perdition. From there we dispersed to individual targets –– to cause as much chaos as possible in order to help obscure the object of our mission, and to increase the odds that one of us would actually find you.”
“And you were the lucky winner.” Dean pushes down a touch of sick shame at the thought of it — he’d been coiled up like a snake around somebody else’s torment, anesthetized by it. It was one of the random rags of infernal time where his own pain decreased in proportion to how much he dealt out, and that was the closest thing Hell had to a Friday night.
“I was,” Castiel nods. “I took some liberties with my assignment,” he adds, squinting. “I flattered myself that I shared a special affinity with The Righteous Man.”
“That guy always sounded like kind of a cunt to me,” Dean notes. “You know, not withstanding the fact that I’m him.”
Castiel shrugs. “I found you, and I did what was necessary to save you, and my siblings did what was necessary to save me.” A little falter enters his voice. “Only twelve of us returned from that mission.” Cas looks up, out, away. A dove coos somewhere nearby of the Roadhouse; did it have a run-in with the windshield of an eighteen wheeler one day and show up here, Dean wonders, or does heaven make its own birds from scratch? That’s gotta be a softball compared to whether Betelgeuse is still open for business.
Castiel waits until the bird shuts up, then says, “Of those twelve surviving angels, I personally murdered nine, in everything that followed.”
After a moment Dean says “Yeah,” with practiced neutrality. He’s got some similar tallies, written in Sharpie on the back of his eyelids.
Cas sighs and his attention comes back down to the table. “By the time I received the authority to restore your soul to your body, the infection had spread almost past the point of containment. That’s why I resisted taking a vessel at first. I worried that occupying a human form would speed up the process.”
“Hey now. I thought you showed up naked because you thought I’d be one of those special people,” Dean quips, “Who can handle angel stuff without going all kibbles ’n bits.”
“That was only a partial truth.”
Dean tips the beer bottle in salute. “You’re a real special flavor of asshole, Cas.”
“So I’ve been told. I was right, though. When I took Jimmy as a vessel, I contracted — condensed — myself very severely. The infection had a much shorter distance to travel to reach all of my extremities, and a human form was the most hospitable environment possible.”
“You got a raging case of the Deans.”
Cas’s head kicks back in a laugh that kinda surprises them both. “Yes,” he says, grinning. “I did. I was very displeased, and very concerned I’d be found out and judged unfit for duty. And I very much was. Unfit, that is. Though I was not found out.”
“C’mon, never? You went rogue on the company.”
“Uriel suspected. Naomi certainly detected it later, as did Metatron. But in the moment, no. The Host’s attention was focused on the Apocalypse ahead, not on debriefing a mission that was considered a success. After the Cage was closed, I had too much influence to come under that level of scrutiny.”
“Hmh.” Dean realizes he’s been systematically picking down the label on the beer bottle, so he sets it on the ground before he gets sticky little shreds everywhere. “So I gotta ask. My little souvenir, the handprint. That’s where you grabbed me, with your lil…Mister Potato Head human arm?”
“It is.”
“If I’m the one who infected you, how come I’m the one who got burned?”
“My hand didn’t burn you.”
“Well, it ain’t fingerpaint.”
“Your own soul burned it, as it flowed out of your flesh and into mine. It burned until the moment when I finally released you from my grip. My hand healed itself; your arm did not.” Castiel gives a thin scoff. “I hadn’t planned to leave you interred.”
“Oh, no? Well that’s nice to hear, you know, a decade after the fact. I still have nightmares about that shit.”
Castiel winces. “It’s no excuse, but I was in a great deal of…the equivalent of pain. It took an immense effort to break off the inflow of your soul, and when I did manage it, I was thrown quite a ways by the recoil. By the time I recovered enough to return, you were already looting a gas station,” He finishes, dryly.
“Yeah, well, Dad didn’t think much of leisure as a virtue. Also I was thirsty, because I’d just crawled out of my own grave.”
“And I was distracted, because I’d just fought my way out of the inferno while being digested by a demented human soul.”
“You wanna call it even?”
Cas lifts his brows. “If you don’t mind.”
 There is a long, dark breath, during which their little smiles fade. 
 “So, all that,” Dean says, because he’s a fucking coward.
“All that,” says Cas, because he isn’t.
 Dean clears his throat. “That means you can see my soul-stuff 24/7, huh?”
Castiel slides one leg up onto the bench, shifts to sit astride it, like he’s maybe about to deliver an after-school PSA on the Real Deal About Drugs. “I can always see myself, and extensions of my self. And since your soul made itself into an integral part of me…I can see you.”
“I take it that’s not exactly in the manual.”
“No. I didn’t entirely understand it at first — for a long time, I convinced myself it was because you were designed to be a celestial vessel, and that I had been destined to save you from Hell.”
That thin, acidic feelings starts to rise up in Dean’s chest again. “Do you…” A dry swallow reflex grabs his throat. “Hm. Fuck.”
“What?” Cas asks, scooting forward. An angel. Scooting. What a world. “You can ask me anything, Dean. I hope we’re both past being offended.”
“Have you ever thought that. This whole deal. Our…thing.” Dean lets out a breath. “The way you feel about me. The way I feel about you.”
“Do I worry that its only basis is our shared material?”
Dean licks his lips, works a jaw muscle, forces out a nod. 
Cas frowns, sets one elbow up against the table, then lets his head tip to the side. “Why do you love Sam?”
Dean rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I get it, he’s my brother. We got shared material, too. But we’re not talking genetics.”
“Genes were the initial basis of your love for Sam. But you share half as much material with Adam. Do you love him fifty percent as much as you do Sam?”
“One, love doesn’t work that way and you know it, and two, fucking of course not. I barely know the guy, and what I’ve seen didn’t exactly blow me away.” Not that the poor dumb kid ever really had a chance. “Sam’s Sam, he’s earned it a million times over just by bein’ him.”
“Then you understand.”
“But Cas, man…I…” Dean laughs, which is an abbreviated form of screaming, “I treated you like shit.”
Cas nods. “You did.”
“Okay, the rules say you’re not supposed to agree with me.”
“But the balance remains in your favor. Dean, are you genuinely afraid that you — care for me…”  and Dean can hear the FCC live-bleep in that one, like does his total cowardice have a special color Cas can see with his soul-o-vision? “Only out of some compulsion?”
“No,” Dean says, to the great surprise of his frontal cortex, which was busy kicking the shit out of itself. “No,” he says again, just to make sure it wasn’t a fluke, that that answer actually came out of him and entered the living air between them.
Then the wave is rolling towards him and he enters that slim moment of body-physics where you either take a lungful and commit to diving under the break, or you kick out against the undertow, arch your back to meet the blow, and let yourself be flown all the way up to the waiting shore––
“No,” Dean says, “I love you.” And he chokes up a little, first at the release of saying it, then at how much of exactly jack-shit it changes anything so what was he even scared of, and then at the look on Cas’s face: how he’s frozen. Like that dog from that video, the one that loved tennis balls so goddamn much that his owner bought him a thousand fucking tennis balls and dumps them out all at once and the dog absolutely stalls the fuck out, just seconds on end of underspecced dog-brain hang time before he finally snaps back to reality and loses his absolute shit scrabbling all over the porch.
Castiel comes back online with a little choking noise of his own, and a kind of awkward scrabble for Dean’s hand.
“I have for a long time,” Dean continues, because apparently he’s continuing, “I’ve loved you for fucking ages, Cas. In people years, anyway, I’m sure that mean’s fuckall to somebody who’s a zillion––”
“I don’t,” Cas says thickly, “really give a damn about the age difference, Dean,” and cracks into a chuckle.
“So how come you never knew it?” Dean asks, feeling freedom turn into a hunger or something like vertigo. “If you can see my soul, how could you not know?”
Cas shrugs, a bit helplessly.
“Seriously,” Dean laughs, “how did I manage to hide that shit so well? Sammy found every nudie mag I ever shoplifted.”
Cas shakes his head. “You’ve never actually been able to hide anything from me.”
Dean scoffs. “C’mon, man. I snowed you plenty, or else we woulda had this conversation dirtside a long time ago.”
“Whatever I missed, Dean…it wasn’t because you succeeded at hiding it,” Castiel says, softly. He takes a slow, shaky breath, and meets Dean’s eyes with a smile. He lifts a hand to Dean’s face, bone and flesh on flesh and bone. “I just loved you enough to look away.”
 It’s a long time before they go back inside. By any measure. {AO3}
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mister-lady · 4 years ago
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Hiii!!! I've been wanting to do a headcannons post and so I was asking for ideas (of course im always open for ideas whether i say so or not- 👀) fmdmdk but!!!! My lovely darling of a boyfriend @remusmainblog suggested that I could do one about my f/os reacting to my favorite movie!!! And as usual he gave out a terrific idea (if you need ideas 11/10 suggest going to him he's great at this stuff) and I loved it!!!! So thank you lots bby for this idea and I had tons of fun writing it, truly!!!🥰🥰🥰💖🌟💖🌟💖🌟🌟💖💖💖💖💖🌟✨✨✨✨
Now, I have a few several favorite movies but I can never remember them when I'm asked the question kfkdkdgjir so I did a little hunting for the movies and I went witthh: Wall-E
Look I know it's a kids movie and all the good stuff but it's such a good mooviieee!!!!! Jvdmmd its honestly one of my favorite movies and you can fight me ckfkdk
Also my opinion on how I wrote these headcannons certianky and totally weren't biased at alll... and also also I might miss or get some things wrong just cause I havent seen the movie since like.... 3ish years ago-
Also Alsoo!!!!! Spoilers. Yea,, just thought I'd put a spoilers warning hear :3. I'll try not to do any major spoilers but no promises.,,
Warnings(apply for the movies too incase it interests you at all kdkgm): mention of bugs, stuff about humanity crumbling, stuff about earth ending up with little to no life,
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Patton: is one of the guys that cried at some parts of the movie. Not that it was a sad movie, it's actually fairly upbeat and humorous! But just some of the parts were so impactful and seeing how the characters care for eachother and such is just a bit tear-jerking.
Logan: likes the message that the movie kinda sends out about needing to take care of the planet and such. Though he can and will argue on the fact that robots can't have feelings unless programmed otherwise, and even then it's not real feelings its just coding!(Eve and Wall-E weren't programmed to have feelings) But other than that he doesn't mind the movie too much.
Roman: He does that thing where he points out everything wrong with the movie but he actually enjoys the movie. Like theres no way fire-extinguishers can propel you through space, and theres no way Wall-E hung onto a rocketship that was moving at that speed, and theres no way you can tame a cockroach to sit!!! Lowkey is a sucker for how Wall-E is clearly in love with Eve and it takes about the whole movie for Eve to actually realise it likes Wall-E back. Peak romance arc.
Virgil: he likes the movie a fair amount. He wouldn't say it's his particular taste in movies but he doesn't mind it either. He likes the whole robot thing and how they're such well-rounded characters even just for being, well, robots.
Janus: Also enjoys the overall message the movie sends. He likes the characters a fair amount too and just how it all plays out. He also finds it entertaining to how Wall-E tries to reenact human stuff like dancing and collects different items that he really doesn't understand like rubix cubes and spoons and such.
Remus: Wall-E gets a pet cockroach??? Wheres his pet cockroach?? Why doesn't he have one yet??? He definitely wants one now that is. And he's probably going to get one too. Barely paid attention to the movie becuase he was too busy asking to get a pet roach.
Emile: Also may or may not have teared up during certain parts of the movie. He wishes it was one of those movies that got a cartoon version of it or at least some form of short-series. He likes the characters a lot in general and even though it's not crazy helpful in the movie, he likes that Wall-E can sorta turn into a box whenever he feels like it.
Remy: He isn't too big on movies in general, but he doesn't mind this one too much either. He likes the differnet functions from the side-character robots and how they almost come back in a sense. Since it's one of those movies that have a hpou ending and aren't too freaky it's nice to sleep too.
Dice: Has the typical kinda critic-y opinion on movies. Was it good in general? Well rounded characters? How was the plot? He likes to critique the whole thing the whole time even if it is a movie he likes. It just seems to be a habit he does.
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bethhxrmon · 4 years ago
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do flowers exist at night? -chapter eight
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Chapter Eight: A Turkey Dance
Pairing: Steve Harrington x OC
Chapter Summary: After a little while, Thanksgiving has finally decided to show up. It causes Annie to have some realizations about everything around her.
Word Count: 3.2k
Warnings: Swearing, mentions of trauma, dysfunctional family stuff
A/N: Howdy, not gonna lie, I’ve run out of motivation over the last month. I’ve got up through chapter sixteen written, but reblogs and comments are the best way to help me get that motivation! Also, school’s starting for me tomorrow so that is definitely going to come before this fic. Anyways, if you’d like to see the other parts of the fic you can go here.
~*~*~*~
Thanksgiving was ordinarily a good enough holiday. There was food and a parade to watch plus a cute dog show afterwards. Annie's parents were never into football, so she never had to put up with watching the sport. However, this year was a little different than other years.
By a little different, that meant it was a huge difference. Initially, she assumed that it would just be her mom and herself sitting in front of the television and watching whatever was on.
Now, Annie wasn't against her mom dating someone else, but introducing the guy at Thanksgiving just felt a little bit weird to her. It could have been worse, though. The guy could have been a complete dick and Annie would have purposely made the day a living hell for everyone.
Fortunately, Scott Clarke was a nice guy. There wasn't any way around it. A part of Annie wanted to just hate him, but it was easy to like the middle school science teacher. How he and her mom met was beyond her, but her mom seemed pretty happy about it.
Steve told her to just give him a call if things got unbearable. His parents would be around, but he swore he would make up an excuse to help her out. What were friends for if not saving what was originally a well-liked holiday?
Everything was pretty nice that morning. Annie was working on baking a pumpkin pie and was making some mashed sweet potatoes. That was about the extent of her cooking ability. The pie was easy, she just had to pour a few cans of mix into the premade crust and make sure it didn't burn. The sweet potatoes were just the anomaly of being able to cook one thing decently enough.
"I've heard a lot about you from your mom," Scott said.
Annie nodded as she poured in the pie filling, "Yeah, I've heard a bit about you from some kids I know."
"Which kids?"
"Um... I think they're your AV kids? Mike, Dustin, Lucas, Will, and I think Max is in there, right?"
"Yes, you'd be correct," he grinned, "They're a bright group. How do you know them?"
"Um..." she paused, realizing she couldn't explain the real circumstances, "I helped babysit them a couple of times."
It was obvious that Scott was trying and Annie had to give him some credit. From how the kids talked about him, he was a smart and nice guy. While she wasn't ordinarily inclined to trust the judgement of a bunch of eighth graders, she trusted those kids.
While this wasn't the Thanksgiving Annie had counted on, it wasn't warranting a call to Steve. However, when the doorbell rang, a few alarms automatically went off in Annie's brain.
She went over to open the door and saw none other than Carter Hardwick. Already, she could feel her stomach twisting in knots. As nice of a guy as Scott was, she doubted that he dad would take well to him. Hypocritical yes, but what was a shitty parent if not just that?
"Anne, aren't you happy to see me?" he asked.
Annie forced a smile, "Uh yeah! Just um- just a bit unexpected."
"Well, I wrote."
Maybe she shouldn't have burned those letters after all.
Begrudgingly, she let her dad into the house. What other choice did she have? If her mom wanted to force him out, she wouldn't stop her. However, Annie was all too aware that she had no way of telling anyone what to do in this situation.
"And who's this?" her dad asked, nodding at Scott.
"Mom's new boyfriend," she said, her brain simply short-circuiting.
How couldn’t that have happened? The way her dad stared at the other man made Annie want to crawl into a hole. Thankfully, her mom came out into the living room. There was no hiding the look of disdain on her face. It was even more obvious when her mom asked him to talk with her for a moment.
He shrugged, "I'm sure whatever you have to say to me can be heard by our daughter and whatever asshole you've got over here."
"I'm speaking to you alone," her mom insisted.
That left the living room with only Scott and Annie. They both decided to just watch the dog show going on in front of them. Erik hopped onto the arm of the couch and Annie busied herself with petting him.
"So what's that little guy's name?" he asked.
"Oh, this is Erik. He's the family cat, but he likes me the most. Probably because I'm the most relaxed one in the house, I guess."
He nodded, "Poor, poor Erik."
"Wait... you've read Phantom?"
"Well, of course. It has some of the most amazing scientific ideas for the time!"
She thought a moment before nodding, "Yeah, I guess you're right."
While Annie wasn't sure what to think of her mom dating someone, she was at least glad this guy was nicer than her dad. The contrast was obvious when her parents both walked out.
"Anne, you'll be happy to know your good-ole dad's gonna be here for the day," her dad said as she dodged him ruffling her hair.
"You're not my dad," she said plainly before her eyes widened a bit.
That wasn't something she counted on coming out of her mouth, but she wasn't about to take it back. Technically, she was right. Neither of her parents were biological. Still, they took care of her like they were. Except, with all the things her dad had said and done in the past, she knew she could hold that lack of biology against him as long as she wanted.
"Go to your room!" he snapped.
Annie let out a laugh, "Are you serious?! You don't even live here! If you actually wanted to be a good dad you would... you- well you would pay the damn child support once in a while! You only have to make thirteen of them!"
"Annette!" her mom said, "I think you could use a moment to cool off."
That was the nicest way her mom could tell her to go to her room. Maybe she hit a nerve or two, but Annie knew she hadn't said anything that wasn't already true. There wasn't any use in arguing, though. Not when she almost wanted out of the situation. She picked up her cat and took him to her room with her.
This was the exact sort of thing she was supposed to call Steve over. So she took the phone in her room and dialed his number. As it turned out, Steve did have a phone in his room. One which they had both completely neglected that night a few weeks ago. A night she wasn't over by any means. She hadn't told her mom about any of it, and she knew that she probably would never be able to explain it. It still stuck around in her head. The inter-dimensional and the real things that happened just wouldn't leave.
She let out a sigh as she heard the phone ringing and she twisted the phone cord around her finger.
"Hello?"
"Steve?"
"It's not even noon yet," he said, almost laughing, "That bad already?"
Annie chewed on her lip, "My dad made a surprise visit... I kinda told him he's not my dad and to pay the child support for once."
"Oh shit..." he sighed, "I'd try to come and get you but um- my parents sprung a surprise trip to my aunt's on me."
"That- that's fine, I get it. You gotta see your family."
"If it's any consolation, I'll wish I'm not there. I'd really prefer to hang out with you."
She smiled a bit, "That's nice... I'd rather hang out with you too. Of course, I'd rather hang out with a cockroach than be stuck here."
"Well, if I make it back early enough, maybe I can make something work," he suggested.
"I'd like that a lot."
There was shouting in the background of Steve's end, "Uh I gotta go. Good luck, though."
"Thanks um- you too."
Then the phone clicked off and Annie set her own on the receiver. Admittedly, she almost counted on hanging out with Steve. Aside from the kids, there really wasn't anyone else she spent a lot of time with.
The thought of him trying to come over later did make her feel special. Not that she was about to say so. It was normal, they sort of just had each other. She didn't have any friends to begin with and she knew Steve would sooner die than third wheel his ex all the time.
Aside from sort of being social outcasts and dealing with the Upside Down together, what did they have in common in the first place? Maybe they had a similar sense of humor and similar music tastes, but almost anyone could have those things in common. They were just friends and Annie knew that didn't mean they had to do anything more than that.
Either way, Annie knew that she wasn't going to bother with leaving her room until someone told her to. Continuing on with her reading of War and Peace was fine with her. Contrary to her dad's opinions, she thought it was an interesting book.
A part of her was almost too invested in some of the drama of it all. What with Natasha now being tempted by Anatole as Sonya tried to be a good and loyal cousin as well as a friend. It had her reading the pages as quickly as she could. Though, a huge factor in getting through the book as quickly as she was had to be waking up in the middle of the night.
The nightmares didn't happen every night, but it wouldn't have made much of a difference either way. It was too much for her to deal with. While Steve wanted her to talk about it with him, she still didn't say much about it.
"Annie?" her mom knocked at her door.
She marked her book, "What's up?"
The door opened as her mom stepped inside, "You know, I think we still need a couple of things from the grocery store."
"Wait," she looked over the list being handed to her, "I thought we had-"
Her mom cut her off, "We're gonna run out soon. Just take your time, alright? There's no rush."
"Oh, okay."
This happened often enough when they lived in New York. If tensions got really high, her mom would send her out somewhere to do something. That didn't mean she missed out on all the yelling and arguing, though.
Still, it was enough for Annie to take the hint and grab her red, fleece-lined jacket off a hanger and left the house without saying anything. She was almost positive they didn't need any of this. They had more than enough butter and Annie could barely stand Stove Top stuffing in the first place.
She walked rather aimlessly, though she was headed toward the town. If she were too aimless, she would have ended up in the woods. As bright as the day seemed, she still didn't trust herself to go there alone.
Besides, she still hadn't found her switchblade since trying to fight Billy. A part of her thought it was possible he had it. Though, it was just as likely that it was in some obscure place of the Byers' house. She didn't want to go back there any time soon. It wasn't that she had anything against the family, but the thought of going back into the house or stepping into the living room? That was out of the question.
A part of her wished she had some way to actually make Billy pay for everything he did. The problem was that there wasn't any way to do that without giving away everything else. Not that she could think of, anyway. And who knows, maybe she didn't interpret everything properly. Maybe he hadn't done anything.
Her hands clenched inside her jacket pockets as she continued walking. A part of her wanted to tell her mom at the very least. The closest that got was when her mom saw the scar that the cut she got on her face left behind. She blamed it on getting into a bit of an altercation with Erik.
After walking for some time, Annie found her way to a small park. Someone was sitting on the swings. She could see the red hair from pretty far off, but she was unsure of who it was. Though, the closer she got, the more certain she was.
"Max? What're you doing out here?" she asked, sitting on the other swing.
Max looked over to her, "Um... just hanging out."
"None of the guys are available?" she asked.
Max shook her head, "It's Thanksgiving, everyone's with their families."
"Yeah? Well, then what're you doing out here? It's a bit chilly."
"Um..." Max let out a sigh, "You know how the whole divorced kid thing goes. It's my first Thanksgiving without my dad around and Neil and Billy are... um... they're being themselves."
Annie frowned, "They're not hurting you are they? Because if they are I-"
"No, not like that. After I almost hit Billy's nuts with that bat he's been a bit better. It still um- it scares me sometimes, though.
She nodded, "I guess that makes sense. I wish I could look forward to my dad showing up out of nowhere today, but that guy's a dick."
"Oh, was it just gonna be you and your mom?"
"And your science teacher."
"Mr. Clarke?!" Max exclaimed, laughing, "You're kidding!"
She laughed along with Max, "I'm not- I mean, having my mom date some guy like this is weird, but- but I guess things could be a lot worse, you know? Well, before my dad showed up and managed to make it awkward for everyone."
"Oh, that sucks. Sorry, I just don't know what else would help you."
Annie shook her head, "That's alright. You're, like, thirteen? You don't need to worry about helping me."
The both of them stuck around and talked to each other for a while. They managed to avoid actually talking about the awful things Billy had done. Likely because neither of them were prepared for a conversation like that. At the very least, Annie knew that just thinking about talking about that with anyone was enough to make her nauseous.
Eventually, it was for the best that Max went home, so Annie walked her back before turning around and heading back to her own house. She would have to face everything there eventually. But maybe her dad decided to buzz off by that point.
There was no such luck, though. As awkward as it was for her, she gave Scott props for not finding an excuse to get out of the house until the meal was over. If she were him, she  would have faked a family emergency in a heartbeat. Though, it was possible that he was just a better person than she was. Lots of people were.
"So, Anne, I've heard you're reading War and Peace," her dad said as they all sat around eating pie.
Annie nodded, "Yep."
"I don't understand why you would bother. I've already told you all the reasons it's a waste of time."
Annie set down her fork before looking over at him, "Maybe I started to realize you compulsively lie about everything. Oh, or maybe I realized people have different tastes from you. Hm, maybe it's the fact that I couldn't give a shit about your opinion of me after everything you've done."
"Language, young lady! Elsa, is this really what you're letting our daughter get away with?"
"I'm not your kid! If I were, you wouldn't send me a ten page letter about how I-"
"Cut it out! Both of you," her mom snapped, "Look, I'm not about to kick my own daughter out of my house, but Carter? I've done nothing but try to make this day decent and, frankly, I'm tired of that. I need you to leave."
Annie focused on her pie as her mom and dad headed out of the kitchen. It beat getting told to quiet down or to stop rambling. Although, it was clear the enjoyment of silence wasn't mutual.
"This pie is great," Scott told her.
She forced a smile, "Thanks... my mom ended up doing most of the work this year, though."
"You know, I hope you don't think I'm intruding on anything. I know this wasn't the best time to try and introduce myself."
"Look, I'm gonna be honest with you. Having my mom date someone is super weird, but I don't hate you. That being said, if you even so much as think about hurting my mom, I'll find a way to make your life a living hell."
Eventually, Annie was able to go back to her room for reasons other than getting into it with her dad. It was nearly midnight and she was focused on the book in front of her as she sat in her bed. There wasn't any school the next day, so she didn't worry about what time she went to bed.
Her distracted state didn't last long when she heard something knock on the window. When she looked out she only saw a shadowy figure outside and her eyes widened. Though, looking closer, it was obviously just Steve.
She opened the door, though she did so a bit sheepishly. How could she have been so easily scared by her closest friend? Steve slid in quietly, though there was a bit of tumbling in since her bed was right under her window. If he got his shoes on her light grey comforter, she would have probably screamed.
He grinned, "Told ya I'd come over."
"Steve, I- I wish you'd told me first," she said.
His smile faded a bit, "I can leave if-"
"No, sorry, just," she sighed, "I don't know, everything just really sucks right now."
There was a long pause before Annie let herself say what happened that day. She wished today could have been normal. That every day could be normal. If that meant her life was boring then so be it. Maybe all the boring people had it right.
"That's really shitty," Steve said, looking at her.
"Yeah."
"Hey, maybe it'll get better."
"Maybe."
A few more minutes and Steve was doing everything he could to get Annie to laugh. It took a solid half hour to get a real laugh out of her, but he did it. After getting her a bit more distracted, they ended up talking about everything except the things they should have probably talked about.
Instead, it meant both of them staying up until the clock in Annie's room read that it was nearly three in the morning. It was around that point that Steve passed out in the chair next to her desk and Annie was only partially on the bed with her head and torso laid out on the carpet and her legs on the mattress.
Tag List (lmk if you want on): @dungeons-and-demodogs​ @nxncywheeler​ @ilovebucketbarnes​
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hurlumerlu · 5 years ago
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You already know who ;) Cad, Molly and Nott ?
Get ready for a novel !
Caduceus :D
Sexuality Headcanon : That man is G.A.Y. I’m hesitant to put him somewhere on the ace spectrum because I’m not ace myself and I feel like headcanoning sheltered, soft, slightly “weird” characters as ace comes with a lot of bagages (and there’s also fandom’s history of treating gay sex as icky/weird/not pure enough) but I’m drawn to that headcanon nonetheless. Gender Headcanon : He’s not super aware of his own gender, but if you actually ask him he would identify as a man. After a very longue pause. And he would probably thinks it’s kinda rude of you to ask. A ship I have with said character : I low-key ship everyone (but Beau) with him. He just has this very easygoing chemistry with pretty much everyone ? Except with Nott but I can see the two of them in a trouple with Yeza (they’re not sure how they got there ? but it works ?). But like who am I kidding, we all know I’m super into Fjord/Caduceus. The care ! The respect ! The awkwardness ! This is going to devolve into a Fjord/Caduceus manifesto so I’ll stop there. BROTP I have with said character : God squad ! The dynamic between Caduceus, Jester and Yasha is amazing, very tender  and supportive but also extremely fertile ground for wacky shenanigans, they straight up don’t speak the same language, I love them. I’m also very curious to see more interraction between him and Beau, partly because I love the way Taliesin and Marisha play off each other, but also partly because Cad’s very supportive of Beau and she seems a bit... distant ? with him ? idk I may be imagining things. A NOTP I have with said character : not really ? I mean Beau’s a lesbian so that would be a big no, but I’ve never seen people shipping them so it’s very theoretical. A random headcanon : He was the kind of kid who raises all sort of “gross” pets growing up. Spiders, snails, cockroaches... he loved them all, but he only kept his beetles. General Opinion over said character : I loved him from his very first sentence and that love have only grown so far ? I’m always a bit wary around very religious characters but with Cad it’s an interesting kind of nervousness rather than a dealbreaker or even a real downside of him. I like that we have completely different viewpoints ! I love how genuinely nice and supportive he is, I love when he does cryptid-level shit, I love his incredible ability to just go with the flow, I love when he gets snide (”sleep well with your bad decisions”) and I just love how well he fits within the Nein (poor dude had a rough start, they really didn’t appreciate him enough at first). I hope he’s going in a direction where he’ll feel more comfortable being cared for (rather than always being the one taking care of), but if he’s not I won’t be disapointed. I hope we also get more angry Caduceus, because that was sexy badass.
Molly :D
Sexuality Headcanon : Bi ! Gender Headcanon : Well he’s canonically nonbinary but I feel like he’s specifically interested in gender as something to subvert. A ship I have with said character : I was slowly getting into Molly/Fjord (I’m not sure they would have managed to encourage the best in each other but they would have been a very fun and hot couple). But, well, RIP. A BROTP I have with said character : Molly and Yashaaaaaaaa T-T. Also Beau and Molly’s relationship was fucking amazing, I still miss it. A NOTP I have with said character : Not really ? Though again, Beau/Molly would piss me off but I haven’t seen that pairing either. A random headcanon : He hasn’t actually had that much sex or many different partners, people just kinda assumed and since most of them seemed to disaprove, he leaned into it. General Opinion over said character : I love how messy and complex he was ! He could have been your usual cliche of a person who perform for a living (vain ! good liars ! egotistic !) but instead was very close in personnality to a lot of performers I actually met (pretending to be vain for fun and because everyone assumes already, lying=/=acting, very community minded because everyone has to pull their weight if you actually want to succeed). His weird relationship with his body/past was also both relatable and strange enough to be extremely engaging and his flaws made him very entertaining, also I think of the scene after the fight with the Manticore where he chats amiably with a bartender and only after that has a quiet mental breakdown over his drink at least once a week. I want to know more about his backstory soooooooo badly.
Nott :D
Sexuality Headcanon : As much as riot’s Beau/Nott headcanon does things for me, I must face the truth : in canon, Nott is incurably straight. Gender Headcanon : Clearly her womanhood is very important to her, but I don’t think she has the healthiest view of what being a woman entail. I just want her to be happy and not constantly doubting her worth T-T A ship I have with said character : Nott/Caleb, Nott/Yeza, Caleb/Nott/Yeza, Nott/Beau and my little crackship Nott/Yeza/Caduceus (and also Nott/Yasha is good, actually ?) A BROTP I have with said character : Caleb was the founder of the Nott stanning club, which demonstrates his good taste and perceptiveness. I also think the various revelations that came along the story made their relationship much less unbalanced and codependant, and thus stronger. But I’m also very partial to Jester and Nott’s friendship. They’re hilarious and sweet, and putting Laura and Sam next to each other was a stroke of genius. A NOTP I have with said character : uH... Nott/Yeza if it means Nott stops adventuring, I’m just not(t) ready for that. But other than that, I don’t have one A random headcanon : I’ve already written this one but like... if something she’s reading makes her feel too much feels she just. straight up it eat. She’s been like that since childhood. General Opinion over said character : ugh... she’s so good... she’s just a walking whirpool of contradictions, if walking whirlpools of contradictions were extremely smart and scientifically minded and fiercely protective of a chosen few people. I was ambivalent on the whole polymorph thing because i really, really love goblins (and have mixed feelings about my love for goblins, but let’s no go there tonight) but I love that she’s still her weird, abbrasive self. Also her design is fucking great. I really want to see her conflict between her desire to keep adventuring and her belief that she should just want to go back to her old life being explored even more than it already has, but if she does stop adventuring I will be heartbroken, I love her so much. EDIT because I was tired but I can’t believe I didn’t mention her voice, it’s so good ! Probably the first thing I loved about her.
thanks <3 <3 <3
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nincompoopydoo · 5 years ago
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Trouble Man
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Pairing: Sam Wilson x reader Words: 1.5k Summary: You and Sam Wilson are neighbors. Never spoke a word a to one another but somewhat developed an unhealthy crush on each other. As a series of unfortunate events that began with the burning of spaghetti, you find yourself entangled in a mess of the appreciation for Marvin Gaye and your fear of cockroaches with the very man himself. Note: Oooo an unrequested Sam Wilson one shot? Yeap, that’s right darlings. Been wanting to write one for awhile now. Not exactly my best but it’s alright. Cute cute and fluffy stuff. Enjoy xo [ REWRITTEN ON 14/08/2021 ] Masterlist
Spaghetti. Should be easy enough.
Ah, words of the once optimist, now turned depressing pessimist. You told yourself that with a rather annoying cheery voice that echoed in your head before everything went swooping down the metaphorical hill and into the trash. You don’t do too well with simple distractions, for what you first thought was to lighten up the mood in your gloomy kitchen by singing along to an ultimate Marvin Gaye playlist.
Much to your embarrassment, you may have forgotten how sound travels far too easily, with the kitchen window opened for the whole neighborhood to hear your lovely singing. Someone might call the police, either out of spite of your contribution to noise pollution or they might think someone was being murdered, muffled by soul music.
The plate of Spaghetti stares at you mockingly from the kitchen counter, strands grazed in an odd shade of brown. Spaghetti is not supposed to be that shade of brown. With a pathetic scowl upon your lips, you gaze at the plate, wishing it smelled as good as it did. The thought of eating resides in your mind, wondering if you should just close your nose and power through the dish itself until you’re sick or throw it in the trash and feed several stray cats of D.C. when it reaches the landfill. By the looks of it, the cats probably don’t even want to eat it anyway.
You worked at a hamburger joint downtown for heaven’s sake; cooking hamburgers might as well be your only decent skill. Nevertheless, with a heavy sigh, you plopped the spaghetti into the trash. The plastic bag unceremoniously crinkles at impact as you fight back a wince.
So much for coming home early to prepare dinner. For yourself. Damn, you’re lonely. And as far as you’re concerned, only lonely people deserve microwaved leftovers from a week ago that have been sitting in the fridge for far too long. Overhead, Cleo's Apartment begins to play.
Goddamn it, Marvin Gaye.
Minutes ago, Sam Wilson had returned home from the VA, and through the jingles of his keys whilst unlocking his front door, the familiar tune of What’s Going On glides its way to his ears, ringing with the melody of your singing. He knows it’s you because as much as you don’t realize it, you sing in the kitchen very often. It’s unpleasant but he doesn’t complain because your taste in music speaks to him on another level, another plane of existence. Ever since you moved in after the previous owner passed, you had his whole heart with a single glance and a shy wave.
Courage was easy, having built that up during his military days. Yet, now that’s over, he finds himself forgetting his technique in approaching beautiful people. Deep down he knows it. Sam needs to try to talk to you. Just talking, not asking you out. That’s too much, for now.
His analytical side itches to take over—he needs a plan because walking up to your doorstep and hoping to spark up some sort of sudden conversation with you isn’t going to turn out well. So, he maps it out in his head, playing each possible scenario like he always does in bed, half-awake, wishing he had the guts to talk to you when he bumped into you at the grocery store or at the hamburger joint you work at. Coincidences usually don’t play out in his favor so, forcing it sounds like it would have a better outcome. He will wait until it’s 9:30, there’s a possibility you will be taking out the trash. Then, he’ll make his move. Hopefully.
Totally not creepy.
Sometimes, the universe listens. It especially listens to the thoughts of the lonely and then, some supernatural cosmic decision is made to guide two lonely beings to each other. It’s rare but happens. People call it fate. Now, fate seems to work in tandem with a certain man named Sam, who has fallen for his neighbor, who seems to feel the same way.
There’s hardly any rubbish in the trash bag within his grasp but he makes it a point to walk across the lawn despite the humidity in hopes of seeing you. Then, he hears the creaking of your front door swinging open and slamming shut. Though, all attempts to act casual fails when he ignores his previous resistance to turn and glance your way.
There you were, in an oversized Shania Twain shirt paired with track shorts—it’s very short. I mean, it’s summer after all. No one’s complaining. He’s certainly not complaining. His breath hitches when you meet his gaze, smiling sheepishly. Sam wonders if your cheeks are always this crimson and rosy. You smile, intending to hide your growing blush, heat blooming in your chest as you admire how he looks under the yellow hues of the street light, beautifully carving the structure of his face.
Then, the impossible happened.
“So, you like Marvin Gaye?” he spoke with a little too much enthusiasm. You looked at him with a wide-eyed gaze, completely caught off guard by his sudden question. Your mind is now only filled with the panic of him hearing you sing—it’s your biggest fear. Sam realizes his question may have been a little too obstructive in terms of privacy. Bad idea, really bad idea. “Sorry, just forget I ever said that. I didn’t mean to—"
"No, no. I mean, yeah, I do like Marvin Gaye. I love Marvin Gaye actually,” you cut him off in a somewhat desperate attempt to not scare him off because, in truth, you really want to talk to him. You have been meaning to for a while now. You purse your lips, deciding that elaboration is worth the risk, “Trouble Man is one of my favorites."
It’s risky because it’s an unpopular opinion and the irrational side of you is afraid that because of your weird and maybe obscure taste in music might as well turn him off. Yet, he’s not running now. Instead, Sam blinks, mouth slightly agape. A sentence runs through his mind, a quiet voice, a whisper: I think I might marry you if you don’t stop being so perfect.
Sam beams at you, "You like Trouble Man?” he asks, voice laced with amusement.
You return a smile, “Yeah, I do. It’s probably the best—OH MY GOD—” Your sudden scream cuts through the white noise of the night like a searing knife when you spot a cockroach crawling up the trash can. You dropped the trash bag on the ground and started to stagger backward.
Sam feels bad for laughing.
“Hey! Quit laughing and help me get rid of it,” you shriek, watching the insect crawl around with a mortified look. Sam snorts at your sudden burst of command. "Okay, okay. But I’m not killing it.” Turns out that isn’t enough to calm your nerves and your fear of cockroaches. “Excuse me, sir, you HAVE to slay the beast!” you yelled dramatically. He chuckles with great amusement, swiftly plucking it with his bare hands before it could run, “Now, let’s not murder our new friend here, Bernie.” He watches your face morph into an unamused look, “Bernie? Like the politician?” Sam merely hums, “Yeah. Like the politician.”
Then, he’s walking towards you, purposefully dangling poor Bernie within his grasp. You stagger in your step, yelping at the sight of Sam nearing you. “Alright, alright. I’ll get rid of Bernie,” he says through attempted suppressed laughs, flicking Bernie across the road. You can finally breathe but your eyes remain wide. “And what if he comes back?”
Sam turns to you as you return to stand at your original spot as you cautiously scan the trash bin for any more unwanted pests. He notices a stray strand of your hair, falling against your cheek. He resists the urge to push back behind your ear, reminding himself to stay casual and stay cool. "Well, you know where to find me.” He sends a somewhat smooth wink your way. You go absolutely red.
Silence once again and the two of you have seemed to have caught yourselves in some awkward dance of pining and wanting to be close to each other. Then, Sam clears his throat, deciding to speak first before he misses the opportunity once more. “I was wondering if you wanna, you know, uh, come by for a drink sometime?” It’s a simple question, really. But, Sam doesn’t know why you make him so nervous. Maybe, it’s because you’re looking at him like you can see right through him. His mind starts to wonder, overthinking once more. “I mean, if you don’t drink, it’s okay. We can have something else. I have orange juice, I think. Snacks?—”
“Now?” you stop his rambling, feeling your brain equally shutting down because you’re very confused about the whole situation. Sam pauses, slightly hesitant, “Yeah, sure. If you want to. I mean, you have work tomorrow and it’s late and—”
“Yeah, that’ll be great.” you interrupt him again, the curve of your lips widening by the second. “And maybe, we could listen to some Marvin Gaye.” You don’t exactly know what you meant or hinted but neither does he, too distracted to notice the context of your words because you’re here, smiling at him.
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nightmare-circus · 4 years ago
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Serica | Reaction 4/4 | Ode to…
When: Second motive, when their surroundings were not these ephemeral islands but a quiet village. In the midst of suffocating fear, after she had committed to holing up in her room, before he had come to stay with her.
Where: On their mirrors. Due to aforementioned self-isolation.
Who: One conspiracy theorist, one nurse. Just friends, for now.
What:
( > seriously though i dont want to find you dead )
> then don’t go looking
( > how could i not? )
Why:
IX. Yamamoto, Deacon
Was it her fault, for trying to make concrete plans for the future?
( “Deacon Yamamoto, I will do everything in my power to make sure you and I can leave here, that I will find you and bring you home and we’ll spend days just sitting on the couch watching terrible sitcoms, riding on the subway gossiping about tourists, walking through the park hand in hand…“ )
No, that was stupid. 
Serica may have been a woman who believed in more than the average person, trusted in platitudes and jinxes where others would scoff, but even in the midst of the unthinkable she was dimly aware this wasn’t her fault. It wasn’t his fault. It was…. someone else. Someone else’s fault.
A someone else who she needed to find. But, she found herself once again incapable of meaningfully investigating. Not this time for exaggerated pain and weakness, but of a pure inability to move forward both physically and psychologically.
She’s done this before. She had just forced herself to shallowly rationalize and pack away the deaths of Miles, Juniper, Tatsuya, Elise. One more couldn’t be bad. She was great at compartmentalization wasn’t she? She was able to laugh and have drinks hours after poisoning a man, she was able to pretend to be a victim when only half an hour before she had killed one Danny Ostergard with her two hands. If she approached this from a distance, with the veneer of a woman who had nothing to do with the dead man before her, with the objectivity of a woman who simply was trying to figure out what was going on… she could do this, right?
Let’s begin.
How does she even begin to explain Deacon Yamamoto?
(Ah… he’d probably like that reference, wouldn’t he?)
u/BoysBBUGS ||  u/aviary23
Head mod of Fanatical Ravings of the Disappeared, he(?) had a lot of theories that she didn’t necessarily subscribe to, but saw his contributions interesting to pick at. Ships passing through the night on the world wide web ocean.
IX. The Hermit || XI. Justice
A neighbor of a neighbor, though she hadn’t seen him around much. Does he keep to himself? Why the mask?
Cockroach & Serica
A riot of a man, able to make her laugh to hysterics at their first meeting. Supposedly 32 years old, supposedly unable to bath for fear of chemicals, supposedly with child with a man he had just met. Willing to have himself come off as incredibly unreasonable in public. Despite all this, clearly intelligent, clearly possessed a mind that had a voracious appetite for information and was wonderful to bounce theories on. An asset, despite it all.
( “I’m Serica by the way!” )
[…]
“They gave me the name Cockroach. Fucking COCKROACH Ser. What kinda joke is this shit?”
“I have a dumb fucking gift and Cockroach might as well be my real name since I doubt I’ll ever hear my original one ever again.”
Roach & Riccy
Slippery in every way, but not so unreasonable as he seemed. Logic was a great way to combat him, and any answer often had to be weaseled with either heavy theorizing (her specialty) or with a tango with some off the cuff roleplaying (decidedly not her specialty). She wouldn’t be so cocky to say that he changed his habits for her but… she thinks she had a hand in convincing him. He really wasn’t so bad, if you gave him a chance, and he’d surprised her more than once with acts of care and thoughtfulness.
Dee & ██
A friend for sure, and one who seemed to have a genuine loyalty. No qualms at seeing her drop a stun gun in front of him, no reservations when she admitted tentatively that she slept with a knife, no judgements when she casually brought up murder once more. Morals in the traditional sense didn’t seem to shackle him, which was very convenient to incorporating him into her tentative plans. 26, not 32. A New Yorker, as well though rather than any borough, his car was his home. Given his life he had become a stranger to hugs, to positive affection, but once he had a taste he was hungry for more. For all his mock lovers and public swooning, he was dense to actual subtle flirting.
( “My middle name. Aka, no risk of harming me if a faelien hears it. ██.” )
“I don’t have a middle name. I’d tell you if I did, swear. You can call me Dee though. It’s a part of my first name and you already know the first letter of it when I fucked up that one time. So Dee is a pretty good substitute then, yeah?”
Deacon & ███
Incredibly cute. A true newcomer to being hit on, to being told he’s handsome, to being kissed, to being in a relationship. A strong backbone even as she herself wavered in the days leading up to the decisive moment. Determined, stating possibilities as if they were facts and refusing to acknowledge her agonizing over the worst case scenario. Through everything, an unwavering support, a hand on her back, a shoulder to lean on. A good singer of lullabies, in her opinion.
( “███. My name is ███.” )
“Deacon.”
Deacon Yamamoto & ███ ██ █
Did not hold himself in the same concern he showed her. Makes a fuss in the public chat about the wrongs done to him but brushes off the severity when questioned by his own girlfriend. Still a liar, still a master of faking a smile. 
( “I won’t remember much but i’ll know your name, your, that you helped me so much in escaping that, that you mean the World to me–” she’s just babbling “I probably will believe myself if, if I actually try to find your information or maybe your drivers license– maybe if I put you in as a missing person or– But oh no will you believe me? What if I just show up at your car and you just think I’m a scam artist or–” )
“My license plate is HGO789. Deacon Yamamoto. I’ll believe you. I’ll always believe you.”
( “…█. My last name is… █.” )
███ ██ █
There once was a man upon whom was foisted a change. Upon his rise to a breathing dream, he was stripped of his taste and stripped of subsequent limits. Immune not only to the aches of poison but the salve of saccharin, the burn of capsaicin. To match with his steel stomach was his mercurial tongue, not gifted but cultivated carefully. Silvery and poisonous with every other word, it was at the command of a mind that paralleled in fluidity. It was as if he was a maestro, and his instrument of choice was a dictionary, phrases and scenarios slung with such rapidity that all who listened were on guard for constant whiplash.
So, it meant something when words became actions.
Anyone can say anything. He especially was able to say anything, a master class perjurer of the highest degree. The sun was about to peek through the sky at any moment, he was a Staten Island woman in an unhappy marriage trying to hook up her hair dresser with her son, he was fine, he was going to be okay, he was going to get out of here–
There is a difference, between telling someone that you will take consideration for the situation, and spending precious currency to fit yourself with a weapon.
There is a difference, between telling someone that you will help them, protect them, and taking the extra mile to pull down the mattress of a woman who’s waking hell of a gift would not let her climb up the steps otherwise.
There is a difference, between telling someone that you want them to live and helping them plan and execute the death of another person.
There is a difference, between telling someone that you want to live and…
(She was failing miserably in this task).
No one who looked at his body, at the stagnant ichor dripping out of his head, could understand the potential for warmth like she would. His fingers combing through her hair, pulling out loose tangles and tucking locks behind her ear so she could look at him unfettered. A grin, not sharp and pulled taught, but gently reassuring, murmuring soothing phrases to ease her anxious hands. Irises, bright not with the promise of information to unravel but with unbridled emotion that made his eyes crinkle, a devoted gaze meant for one.
One person, who stood here alone.
“And it’s not like I need it, yanno? I kinda wasted my life away before all of this. Not sure if I want it back.”
"I won’t die. Not yet at least. I have some things that need getting done." 
“I mean I’m not gonna let myself die after I break a leg like some racehorse. I wanna be useful, not a damn trigger happy martyr. ” He had snorted. “I’ll still make a valiant effort to get out of here Rics. But if it comes down to me and you? Well.” He had shrugged. “As a consolation prize I will say, you do make me wanna become someone worth living again.”
"I was impliiiied my dear, of course I’m making it out of here with you. What would the point be otherwise. I was trying to make it seem all badass and broody, adding a technicality to it all would’ve been underwhelming.”
“You’re going to be stuck with me until the end of times.”
“You’re getting out of- we’re getting out of here. You were wonderful.”
“Yes I know. I will. I’m going to get out. With you.”
“Of course, █. We can live a life worth living together out there.”
“It’s going to be alright █.”
“I love you █, please. Trust me, things are gonna be fine.”
“One day at a time.”
One day at a time, she had repeated.
One day at a time, she repeats, staring at his face, flesh frozen in the way that only a cadaver could. She’d never forget the first time she had touched a dead body, and was forced to confront the jarring dissonance, the coldness, the stiffness, the pallor of the skin that had been warm, soft, pliable, just hours before. Only a child, forced to confront the concept of lives ending for the first time. Since then she had seen more than her fair share, from work, from this place, before her very eyes.
Joints creak and echo through her body as she moves, finally. To fold her knees under herself, sit at his side, hand hovering indefinitely, torn between not having to face that final moment of confirmation and wanting to just hold him once more. Before she would have to be torn from him for hours, before they returned from a useless trial and his body would be gone, before she’d have to trudge to their caravan, who’s emptiness would threaten to collapse on her.
“There is nothing worse than not knowing.”
( “No, there’s nothing worse than not living.” )
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lilyvandersteen · 5 years ago
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Out of the Blue: Chapter 5
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Cover art: @redheadgleek​
Beta extraordinaire: @hkvoyage​
Author’s Note:
For Halloween, Kurt dresses up as Loki, and Blaine as Gaston. Are you drooling yet? You're welcome!
Chapter 5: Halloween Party
“In my opinion, the younger son of an earl can know very little of either. Now seriously, what have you ever known of self-denial and dependence? When have you been prevented by want of money from going wherever you chose, or procuring anything you had a fancy for?"
(An excerpt from Pride and Prejudice, by Jane Austen)
Not even five minutes after his tirade, Blaine felt like a crushed cockroach.
Without so much as raising his voice, Kurt had torn apart Blaine’s whole reasoning and proved to him that he’d been completely wrong in attacking the brides.
Blaine had ruined the atmosphere and perhaps the entire wedding by throwing a tantrum like a sleep-deprived toddler.
Well, the sleep deprivation fits… Still, I’m old enough to deal with that issue in a more mature way!
Cooper, bless him, did his best to smooth things over, but Kurt wasn’t having it, addressing Blaine again and defending his choice to plan a wedding for his friends.
A silly romantic, is he? Me too. But now he’ll certainly never give me the time of day. Still. I should apologise.
So apologise Blaine did, but Kurt’s eyes flashed in a way that showed he wasn’t forgiven yet. He would need to grovel.
When Cooper put on the charm again and flirted with Kurt, the both of them whispering conspiratorially and winking, Blaine’s heart sank straight into his shoes.
Yeah, Kurt was out of his league. Totally. He didn’t even make a blip on Kurt’s radar.
But he had something to make up for, so he allowed himself only the briefest wallow in self-pity before he went to help Kurt out with clearing the tables and doing the dishes.
Kurt seemed surprised he would stoop to that, and Blaine cursed himself for his outburst. Now Kurt and his friends would think he was a total snob!
There was nothing to do but try to repair the damage, so Blaine washed dishes diligently, humming Frank Sinatra under his breath as he worked and stealing glances at Kurt whenever he dared.
By the time they were done, Kurt had thawed out a little, and offered Blaine another piece of cake as thanks for his help. Well, he was not going to say no to that!
They moved to the sofa with their plate, Blaine praising the cake to the high heavens, and Kurt smiling at him and offering to share the recipe.
Blaine’s cake was soon gone, and he looked towards Kurt to take his plate, too, and bring it to the kitchen.
But Kurt’s cake wasn’t finished. There was still a piece on his fork, and a bigger piece on his plate, which was teetering off his lap, in danger of falling. And Kurt? Kurt was fast asleep, his head lolling to the side and his expression serene.
Blaine smiled at him, and then carefully took away Kurt’s plate and fork.
Kurt snuffled and turned, his arm flinging over Blaine’s belly and his head landing half on Blaine’s arm and half on his chest.
Blaine froze for a moment, and then stretched out his free arm to put the plates and forks on the coffee table. When that was done, he curled his arm protectively around Kurt, to keep him from falling off the sofa if he turned around again, and then just basked in the moment.
With his mouth half open and a thin line of drool making its way down his chin, Kurt was still no less than stunning. And he didn’t only look good, he also smelled divine. His cologne was woodsy, with a slight hint of something sweet. What was it?
Blaine sniffed surreptitiously. Vanilla. Yes. Probably because Kurt had done the baking for the wedding.
Kurt smacked his lips and slid his head a bit further onto Blaine’s pecs, making a soft purring noise that made Blaine melt.
There was no-one in the loft but them at the moment, so Blaine didn’t feel any qualms about letting Kurt sleep all cuddled up to him. What wouldn’t he give to have a man like this for real… To get to sleep with him tucked into his side, or spooning him…
Blaine must have fallen asleep picturing a life with Kurt by his side, because the next thing he knew, his brother was shaking him awake and telling him that it was time to go.
Still half asleep, Blaine griped at Coop, and then remembered he had to be quiet for Kurt, who was asleep next to him.
Too late… He’d already woken him up with his whining. Well, maybe that was a good thing, seeing as Kurt could now move to his bed.
But apparently, Kurt slept on the sofa whenever Santana had Brittany over. Huh? They didn’t have beds for everyone living here? Oh, they were saving up for it?
Blaine frowned, and before he could stop to think, he’d blurted out that it was silly of the newlyweds to ask for an expensive pet pavilion when they didn’t even have basic necessities like a bed.
Kurt seemed suitably chagrined about that, and explained that the idiotic cat stuff had all been Brittany’s idea. He told Coop to cancel the order. “We’ve been feeling awful about that.”
Blaine’s mouth ran away with him again, and he wondered out loud how the newlyweds had been able to afford the wedding.
Kurt looked murder again, and no wonder. Blaine REALLY shouldn’t have said that.
Still, Kurt explained how they had managed. Basically, he’d worked his ass off to give his friends the wedding of their dreams. No wonder he’d fallen asleep just now. He probably hadn’t slept properly in weeks. Blaine envied the brides that they had such a fierce and loyal friend.
Kurt’s eyes flashed when Blaine gave him nothing but a mute nod in reply to his explanation.
Uh-oh, I’ve messed everything up again. Why couldn’t I have held my tongue?
Cooper came to the rescue again, assuring Kurt that the wedding had been wonderful in every way, that they weren’t to worry about the gifts he’d bought, and that he hoped to see Kurt again soon for another party.
That coaxed a smile out of Kurt, and thawed him enough to shake hands with Blaine as well.
Blaine took the opportunity to apologise again for behaving like an idiot. Kurt’s impassive expression made him slink off with his tail between his legs.
On the way home, Coop berated him for his rudeness. “Seriously, squirt, what was up with you? I could tell you were totally into Kurt, and then you go and say all the wrong things. He’s going to think you’re a total tool!”
Blaine hunched up and mumbled, “I am. And now I’ve ruined my chances with him forever.”
Coop clapped him on the shoulder. “Hey now, don’t be like that. There’s always next time. Kurt promised to invite me again, didn’t he? And I’ll take you as my plus one, and you will pour on that Anderson charm, and he won’t be able to resist you.”
Blaine heaved a sigh that seemed to come straight from his toes.
Did he want to go to another party where Kurt fawned over Coop and paid no attention to him? Yes, he did. Clearly, he loved torturing himself.
K&B
Two months later, Cooper came bounding into the living room yelling, “Guess what?!”
Blaine, who was working for school, was so startled he dropped a book on his toe. “Ow!”
“Guess what, guess what, guess what?”
Cooper danced around the table like a kid who’d eaten too much candy.
“What? You have a hot date and want me out of the house tonight?”
Coop rolled his eyes. “Nope. Try again.”
“You met another celebrity?”
“Nope. Try again.”
Blaine sighed and raked a hand through his hair. “Coop, I’ve got no time for this. Just tell me outright, please.”
Coop handed Blaine a card. It showed a black cat lying on a large pumpkin, while three witches were stirring in a kettle nearby. The message read:
“Something wicked this way comes!
Halloween Party at the loft on Friday the 31st of October, starting at 8 p.m.
Dress up like a villain and bring your own booze.”
Blaine frowned at the invitation. What on earth…?
“It’s from Kurt!” Coop beamed. “He invited us to his Halloween party. Awesome, right? You get to see Kurt again! So figure out a good costume, and make sure you’re on your best behavior this time, okay?”
Blaine felt nerves slam into his gut. Yes, he’d be happy to see Kurt again, but would he manage not to make a fool of himself or offend Kurt at this party? Chances of that were slim.
“I was thinking of Dorian Gray.”
Blaine quirked an eyebrow at Cooper.
“For my costume, squirt, keep up! I get to wear fancy old duds and look handsome, and all I have to do is put a tiny portrait of myself in my inside pocket, where I’m looking all ugly and aged up, and show it to people asking who I’m supposed to be.”
Blaine tilted his head to the side. “That’s brilliant, actually.”
Cooper bowed and doffed an imaginary hat. “Thank you, thank you. I have my moments.”
“So what are you going to take to the party?” Blaine asked.
“What do you mean?”
“As a gift to the host.”
Coop grabbed the invitation and perused it. “It says to bring your own booze. I’ll bring a nice bottle of whiskey or something.”
Blaine shook his head. “That’s just a waste of money. Students drink to get drunk. Fast. They’re going to down big glasses of your top shelf whiskey in one go without so much as tasting it. You’d better give them something useful. Remember how Santana doesn’t have a bed or even a decent sofa bed?”
“Huh. Right. But wouldn’t they have saved up for it by now?”
Blaine shrugged. “I doubt it. There are always emergencies eating up your savings.”
Cooper gave him a quizzical look. “Yes… That’s true. I know that from my early days in LA. But how would you know that, Mr. Silver Spoon? You’ve never lacked for anything a day in your life.”
Blaine felt his cheeks heat up. “Um… I might have… done some research?”
Now Cooper’s gaze became even more piercing. “You’ve got it bad!”
Blaine looked down. Yes. That was always his curse. He fell for someone instantly. Head over heels. No looking back. That hadn’t ever worked out well. People took advantage of him, and then threw him out like yesterday’s garbage. Telling him he was too intense. Too clingy. Too much.
Not that Kurt would ever give him the time of day, regardless. Last time, he’d been civil to Blaine only for Cooper’s sake.
Still, Blaine wanted to help somehow. He felt so ashamed of what his reactions had been at the wedding. It’s easy to criticize, yes, but it’s far more commendable to stay positive and make the best of the situation you were dealt. Kurt was quite right about that, and Blaine admired him for his pluck. Among other things.
“So what do you suggest? That we have a sofa bed delivered the day of the party, when they’re busy getting everything ready? Or that we bring two delivery men carrying a sofa when we go to the party?”
Blaine laughed at that last suggestion, shook his head and looked up at Cooper beseechingly. “We could bring the sofa bed a few days in advance maybe?”
Coop grinned. “So that you would get to see Kurt twice? I’m on to you, mister!”
Blaine didn’t deny that was his intent.
“Okay, I’ll call and ask if we can go drop it off somewhere this week. All right?”
“All right. Look, this one has a memory foam mattress, and it looks classy.”
Coop got his credit card, sat down next to Blaine and ordered the sofa bed.
Then he called the RSVP number on the Halloween party invitation.
Kurt must have been waiting to hear from Coop, ‘cause he picked up the phone after only three rings, and seemed happy that Coop and Blaine were coming.
When Cooper told Kurt he’d like to give him a decent sofa bed as a host gift, and could he have it dropped off sometime this week, there was silence on Kurt’s end for a while. Then he said, his voice weirdly strangled, “You don’t need to do this. Really. We didn’t ask you to the party because you’re obscenely rich. We asked you because we enjoy your company.”
Coop grinned. “That’s nice to hear. I’m still giving you the sofa bed, seeing as I already bought it. What would be the best day and time for it to be delivered to the loft?”
Kurt took a while to answer. Then he said, slowly, “Seriously, this is not necessary. All our other friends are just bringing some cheap beer or wine. Or even nothing at all, if I know Puck.”
Coop laughed. “I thought of bringing a nice bottle of whiskey, but Blaine said that I had better give you something useful. Always the practical one, my brother.”
Kurt sighed. “The thing is that I don’t want you spending a lot of money on our behalf!”
“Oh, the sofa bed costs far less than the whiskey I wanted to buy,” Cooper reassured Kurt.
From the new prolonged silence, Blaine inferred that Kurt didn’t find this reassuring in the least.
“So, what day would suit you best?” Cooper pressed.
Kurt laughed. It was short, and didn’t sound amused so much as exasperated. “All right, then. If you insist…”
“I do.”
“Then Wednesday would be the best day. In the afternoon. I don’t have class and my shift at the diner doesn’t start until seven.”
“Wednesday at two p.m. it is. See you then!”
“Um… You’ll… You’ll be there, too?”
Coop grinned. “Of course. I need to make sure they bring you the right stuff, and not something substandard because it’s a delivery to somebody else than me. Got cheated once when I bought my mom a brunch basket for Mother’s Day. Half of the things that were supposed to be in the basket were missing. Thank heavens she took a picture and sent it to me. I fixed that soon enough. Nobody pulls the wool over my eyes!”
“Um… All right then. See you on Wednesday. And… Thank you. This is… Thank you.”
“You’re most welcome. Looking forward to the party. Will there be pumpkin pie? That’s my favourite.”
Kurt laughed again, but this time it sounded happier. “There will be now! I’ll make sure of it. Thanks for the heads-up.”
Cooper rang off with a huge smile on his face. “And he makes pumpkin pie! You better marry that guy, or I will!”
That resulted in a brotherly scuffle, with Blaine telling Coop to “get his own”.
“Just telling you, squirt! Don’t let this one get away!”
“Not planning on it.”
Coop, his hair a mess and his clothes wrinkled now, grinned at Blaine. “You have the ring and the house and the dog and the schools for the children picked out already, don’t you?”
Blaine bit his lip. “Maybe.”
Coop threw his head back and laughed.
“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Blaine said sourly.
Coop clapped him on the back. “Hey, don’t be like that. I’ll be the best wingman there ever was, I promise.”
Blaine sighed. “I’m sure he wishes YOU would date him. And marry him. The way he fawned over you last time was just…”
“Discouraging?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll talk you up as much as I can. And I’ll mention that I’m a commitment phobe, shall I?”
Blaine poked Coop in the side. “You are NOT. You’ve just had a couple of bad experiences that have made you wary of commitment, that’s all.”
“Aww, you put that so nicely. Instead of saying that I’m an idiot who can’t tell a gold digger from someone who actually likes me for me. Thanks again for helping me dodge that bullet!”
“Anytime.”
K&B
That Wednesday, Blaine knocked at the door of the loft at precisely two p.m. The truck had arrived five minutes earlier, and two burly men had carried the sofa bed upstairs.
Kurt rolled the door open, dressed to the nines in a black sword print shirt with a white vest on top and very tight black jeans.
Blaine smiled at Kurt. “Delivery for Mr. Hummel.”
“Come on in, sir.”
Blaine’s heart sank into his shoes at the formal reply. Clearly, Kurt hadn’t recognized him.
Kurt turned around and gestured to follow him. The ratty sofa they’d napped on at the wedding was gone, and Kurt had cleared the space all around too.
“He doesn’t even remember you from the wedding,” Coop whispered in Blaine’s ear. “That’s bad!”
Blaine rolled his eyes. “I’m aware.”
The delivery men installed the sofa, and then Blaine showed Kurt how to turn it into a bed.
When Kurt thanked him, still overly formal, Coop came up behind Blaine and threw his arm over Blaine’s shoulder. “My little bro knows his stuff, doesn’t he?”
Kurt smiled. “He does. Do you work in the sofa business?”
Blaine looked at Kurt wide-eyed. “Um… No. I’m a student. NYU. Music composition.”
“Oh, me too. A student, that is. I go to NYADA. I want to be on Broadway.”
Blaine grinned. “Let me guess… As the MC for Cabaret? Evan Hansen? Tony from West Side Story?”
Kurt grimaced. “They’d never give me Tony. In high school, I auditioned for that role and I was laughed away. They said I wasn’t manly enough.”
Blaine tilted his head to the side and gave Kurt a slow once-over. “Are they nuts? You look all man to me.”
Kurt’s cheeks coloured, but a small smile showed that he appreciated Blaine’s comment.
“You do,” Coop chimed in. “Look at your cheekbones. And shoulders. Anytime you want to star in an ad of mine, you just say the word and I’ll make it happen.”
Kurt’s smile widened. “Really? Santana’s done lots of commercials, but she’s gorgeous, of course.”
“So are you,” Blaine assured him. “Absolutely stunning.”
Kurt side-eyed him.
Uh-oh. Was that too much? Did I put my foot in it again?
Coop nodded. “You are! Just say the word, and you’re in. I have a jeans campaign coming up you’d be perfect for.”
Kurt went back to beaming, and promised to get in touch with Coop for the campaign.
Coop and Blaine left soon after that, telling Kurt they looked forward to attending the party.
Coop whistled happily as Bill drove them back home, but Blaine didn’t know whether to be sad or elated about his second meeting with Kurt.
Kurt hadn’t recognized him, and had fawned over Cooper again. But on the plus side, he had talked to Blaine. Without any snark or bite. And Blaine would be working on the jeans campaign too, so he’d get to see Kurt again, and hopefully make more of an impression.
Blaine sighed, and resolved to try again on Friday. His costume was all sorted out, and he’d made it as sexy as possible. Operation Charm Kurt Hummel was a-go.
K & B
That Friday night, Coop and Blaine followed the noise again to the loft. The door opened to a colourful chaos. The place was packed with people in all sorts of costumes, and a bass was pounding so loud it gave Blaine an instant headache.
A green witch came to greet them. “Welcome, welcome! As you can see, I’m not Rachel Berry today but Elphaba. *Dramatic sigh* My dream role!”
“I’m sure you’d rock it,” Blaine told her, and she beamed as if he’d just made her day.
“Come! Kurt and Santana are here somewhere, I saw them just now… There! Come with me!”
Rachel tucked Blaine’s and Cooper’s arms under her elbows and tugged them towards her roommates.
“San! Kurt! Look who’s here!”
“I told you, Rach, it’s Malificent today,” Santana drawled, and yes, she wore the horned hat and the cloak with the pointy collar, and very red lipstick. Brittany, on her lap, was dressed as Catwoman, and another pretty girl sitting next to them portrayed Poison Ivy.
“Niiiiice!” said Cooper, giving her a once-over.
Santana rolled her eyes. “Let me guess, now you’re going to ask me what I’m wearing underneath? That’s always the follow-up to ‘Niiice!’ when someone sees my costume.”
Coop threw his head back and laughed. Then he mimed zipping his lips.
Blaine laughed along with his brother, but his chuckle petered out when he took in Kurt. Or should he say Loki? Yep, Kurt was sporting long black locks, a horned helmet and a long Asgardian coat. Its green accents did wonderful things for Kurt’s eyes.
“Who are you supposed to be, anyway?” Santana asked, and Coop got out his Dorian Gray portrait to explain.
She hummed, not very convinced, and then turned to Blaine. “And you are?”
Blaine’s face fell. He’d looked at himself in the mirror before they left and thought his costume was really good and self-explanatory. Wasn’t it?
He looked at Coop uncertainly, and his big brother winked at him and started singing.
“Gosh, it disturbs me to see you, Gaston
Looking so down in the dumps
Every guy here'd love to be you, Gaston
Even when taking your lumps”
Rachel laughed delightedly and clapped her hands, and Kurt cracked a smile too.
Blaine beamed at Coop. Now this, he could work with!
Together, the two brothers hammed it up, and by the time they’d finished, they’d drawn quite the crowd. Someone had turned down the music, and everyone was singing along with the refrain, and applauded enthusiastically at the end.
“I didn’t know we were doing karaoke at this party of yours, Kurt!” Rachel said. “But I’m all in favour! Let me go fetch my pair of microphones, and we can sing. I’m Elphaba tonight, so we MUST sing For Good. We sound so good together in that song!”
And off she was.
Santana rolled her eyes and mumbled something like, “There we go again!”
Then, she turned to Kurt, holding her hand out with the palm up. “Pay up, Hummel. I said less than an hour, and it hasn’t even been half an hour!”
Kurt sighed, fished out his wallet and gave her ten dollars.
Blaine quirked an eyebrow.
“We took bets on how long it would take for Rachel to suggest karaoke,” Kurt explained. “I thought – well, hoped – she’d at least wait an hour. But then you guys started to sing, and, well…”
He gestured towards Rachel, who hurried towards them holding the two bedazzled pink microphones Blaine recognized from the wedding.
“I asked Sam and Elliott to set up the stage!” she beamed, and sure enough, a tall guy dressed like Jafar and another dressed like Jaws from James Bond were putting together a small wooden stage.
Rachel tugged Kurt up from the sofa. “Come on, Kurt!”
K&B
Hearing Kurt sing was a revelation. Blaine was sure his jaw was hanging open unattractively, but really, you couldn’t spring something like that on him and expect him to keep his cool.
Kurt was a countertenor! He had a fabulous range, and he and Rachel sounded wonderful together. Blaine clapped until his hands were raw when the duet was finished.
Rachel beamed and curtsied, and was about to sing another song when a friend of hers took the mic from her with the admonishment, “Now, now, Rach, we said no hogging the mic, remember? Give everyone their turn!”
It was the most fun Blaine had ever had at a party. Fun people, stellar food, and karaoke! With people who actually sounded good!
He kept thinking that until a girl called Sugar went on stage to perform. As soon as she opened her mouth, the whole audience cringed. Good heavens, what a hideous singing voice! And she seemed to actually expect praise after her performance!
“Well, that was a very good impression of a velociraptor,” Cooper said loudly. “You’ve got that screech down pat. Maybe stick to the human register next time, though? Give our ears a break?”
Sugar gave him a disdainful sniff and stalked off.
Blaine rolled his eyes at his brother, but couldn’t help grinning.
“What? You know I’m right!”
“You are, too!” Santana concurred. “Ugh, she sounds awful. And she didn’t even dress up as a villain!”
Blaine quirked an eyebrow. “She didn’t? I took her to be Regina from Mean Girls. She’s dressed all in pink, isn’t she?”
Santana shrugged. “Sure, let’s give her the benefit of the doubt. And let’s keep her off the stage from now on!”
Everyone concurred with that, and made sure to ply Sugar with drinks and conversation. When it was Blaine’s turn to talk with her, he found that she always said exactly what she thought. Which was that Cooper was so way more handsome than Blaine that she wondered whether Blaine was adopted.
“We’re half-brothers, really. Cooper has another mom,” Blaine explained. The twitting of his looks stung. Yes, Cooper was more striking, everyone said so, but Blaine had been called good-looking by many people too, so there.
“Aah, that makes sense. So when are you gonna make your move? You’ve been panting after Hummel for hours now!”
“Um… I’m sorry, what?”
“Kurt! Why are you here with me and not chatting him up?”
Blaine eyed her uncertainly.
Sugar flapped her hands at him. “Go, go, go! Shoo!!”
So Blaine obediently drew closer to Kurt, and offered him a drink.
They’d just struck up a conversation about the remake of A Star Is Born starring Lady Gaga, of whom Kurt seemed a big fan, when the music was shut off and a nervous throat-clearing made everyone look towards the stage.
“Mercedes, could you come here please?” the guy dressed up as Jaws asked, and when she did, he sank down to one knee and proposed to her.
Blaine snuck a look at Kurt, who was smiling and tearing up. His face was open and soft, and though he was clearly happy for his friends, there were other emotions at play too: envy, wistfulness, and a bare-faced longing that took Blaine’s breath away.
“You know, I don’t think I’d have the confidence to propose to someone dressed like a terrifying villain,” Blaine remarked off-hand. “I’d be too afraid to be turned down flat.”
Kurt laughed. “Yep, he looks a fright with those metal teeth. And Mercedes still said yes. And is kissing him. It must be true love.”
Blaine stuck close to Kurt from then on, determined to cheer him up again. He even managed to dance with him, though not as closely as he would have wanted. Kurt laughed at Blaine’s dorky moves, but Blaine was buzzed enough by now not to care.
When Cooper came and told him they were going home because he had a photoshoot the following day, Blaine pouted.
“Oh, don’t you use those puppy eyes on me! We’ve already stayed a few hours longer than I intended to, because I saw you were enjoying yourself. But I really want to get some sleep or I’ll mess up the shoot. So say goodbye to your crush and come along, squirt.”
“Never!” Blaine declared grandly.
“All right, then.”
Blaine grinned at his brother stupidly, thinking he’d won himself some time, but then cringed when Coop hollered, “Bye, everyone! Thanks so much for the invite! We had a great time!”
Amid a chorus of byes and see yous, Coop took Blaine by the arm and led him out of the loft and down the stairs, where the town car was already waiting for them at the curb.
They got in fast, Blaine sighing and looking behind him one last time before he closed the car door.
“Well, squirt? When’s the wedding going to be?”
Blaine rolled his eyes. “Don’t call me squirt, please. And hold your horses. I’m working on it, okay?”
“Okay. Just don’t wait too long, or you won’t be pretty anymore. Think of the wedding pictures.”
Blaine’s eyes glazed over as he pictured it in his mind. Hmm, Kurt in a grey or black tuxedo, with a sleek silver waistcoat and a white flower corsage, coming towards Blaine or waiting at the altar for him with a glowing smile on his face.
“Hey! Earth to Blaine!”
Coop waved a hand in front of his face.
“What?” Blaine snapped.
“A little less daydreaming and some more action, please. I got you another chance to see Kurt by booking him for that jeans campaign next week, but it’s up to you to grab that opportunity and turn it into a success. Make sure you don’t blow it. Be on your best behavior, and charm the guy’s pants off!”
Blaine saluted Coop cockily. “Aye, aye, sir! Might be hard with those tight jeans he’ll be wearing, but I’ll try!”
Coop rolled his eyes at his tipsy brother. Then his expression softened. “Your man throws good parties, doesn’t he?”
Blaine nodded, grinning. “The best.”
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in-tua-deep · 6 years ago
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do you have any hc’s about the kids’ prank wars & tickle fights as they grow closer post apocalypse? xx
HMMM i mean I’d think that Reginald wasn’t exactly receptive to pranks or too much in fighting between his children that wasn’t sanctioned by him trying to turn them against each other which isn’t to say prank wars didn’t spring up in their youth they just had to be a lot more careful about it
post apocalypse however, all bets are off
at first the siblings thoughts with Five would be to trap him in the court of the public by doing something that would treat him like a child or something like telling him they’re going to a museum and then showing up at a childrens museum proudly or when someone makes an assumption about their relation rolling with it (usually Klaus, and usually making up outlandish stories to go with) about their son and how proud they are of him
jokes on them though because Five doesn’t care one lick about the public’s opinion of him and WILL look at a total stranger with wide eyes and a wobbling lip and tell them that he has no idea who this person with him is and that he doesn’t know where his parents with etc etc. and make everyone freak out and then jump away before the consequences of his actions can catch up with him
any prank regarding food is banned because Five has an iron stomach and everyone is pretty sure his taste buds were wrecked by cockroaches because he can and will eat genuinely anything put in front of him
actually tbh pranks are difficult bc they all have issues and landmines the others have to be careful of. Like,, switch off the lights on Vanya when she’s in the shower and she doesn’t care. Switch them off on Klaus who has terrible associations with small dark rooms and it’s a lot worse oof
so they stick to like,, the weird petty shit like whoopee cushions or soaking someone’s shoes or hiding their hairbrush in the microwave or if they’re getting creative shit like slowly adding to the bottom of five’s chair at the table and then pointing out that he’s so short his feet don’t reach the floor (i’m pretty sure that there’s a roald dahl book where someone convinces the other that they’re shrinking or something) but i mean most petty shit i think they’d do i probably wouldn’t classify under ‘pranks’ per se, i’d just classify it under ‘petty shit’ u know?
as for tickling i mean they are technically adults but they’re also siblings so tickling would probably only happen when they’re getting on one another’s nerves and are close in reach tbh
like,, the only times i mess with my sister is when we’re wrestling for the same spot on the couch or she’s decided to come over and bother me and i’m not having it and we devolve into being brats (whenever we do shit like that at home my mum’s always like “HOW OLD ARE YOU TWO?” and we aren’t quite as old as the Hargreeves yet lmao)
or that one time we were playing spoons and i grabbed the last spoon and shoved it down my shirt and she tackled me to try and get it, like tickling to try and make the other person give up something they stole/you need
that’s what i picture the Hargreeves doing - not randomly or anything but just like siblings do in case of emergency or when they’re hiding shit u know??
tickling is a Last Resort thing because u never know when it’s gonna be used against you man
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lewyn-martell · 6 years ago
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tagged by @laurels-things in our saga of constructing a friendship by being two socially awkward people. it will happen, dude, i’m sure of it
Favorite snack? ice cream !!!!
Favorite place to go on vacation? uhhhhhh i don’t know..... i never go on vacation to the countryside but i would like that more than anything
Tea or coffee? What kind?  coffee with milk, sugar and.. uh i think it’s ‘tapioca flour’ how you say it... it looks like tiny popcorns (but tastes nothing like it) and it’s delicious on coffee
Do you play an instrument? mostly percussion, flute, some guitar
What’s your favorite type of personality?  sweet, polite, non-judgmental people
Favorite comedian? hmm john mulaney is the only guy whose stand ups i watch but also there’s a brazillian guy with a comedic youtube channel that i also really like called fabio porchat
Gummy candy or chocolate? chocolate, definitely
What did you “want to be when you grew up” as a kid? astronomer!
What’s your favorite physical feature about yourself? hair... i have a really good hair
When was the last time you watched a show or movie on a TV? just this morning i watched bojack horseman, i’m doing a rewatch :) also just watched the big mouth valentine day’s special just before that and i loved it
Unpopular opinion? hmmm 
Are you scared of bugs? YEs, i grew up in a house full of women so i caught their hysteric fear of cockroaches AND CAN YOU BELIEVE that just as i was typing this i saw a HUGE FLYING cockrach in my bedroom and i just wanted to scream but i’m living with my dad now and i can’t seem like a scaredy cat because, uh, Men™ (urgh) so i had to act tough and calmly deal with it myself and the queer gods listened to me and i was able to defeat that hoe with venom (i’m physically incapable of running after it with a sandal, especially when it’s a FLYING one) so i maintained the image of tough™ to my father e_e
Cats or dogs? cats hauhaua i would answer either dogs or both before i started living with my dad, but there are two HUGE dogs here who keep licking me after shower and smelling my crotch and bum (jesus christ) and jumping on me all the time and making me almost fall and destroying stuff, forcing me to always keep an eye on them when there’s only the three of us home so my dad doesn’t come home to a chewed house.... i’m a bit done with dogs to be honest
Are you allergic to any foods? not that i know of
Does the description of your star sign match your personality? ok, i had to do some reading to answer this one, so let’s break it down: i agree that: i’m very intuitive, i like longtime friends, maybe i am a bit calculating and passionate. i disagree with: everything else. basically, i don’t believe in it, but it is kinda fun nonetheless.
Favorite type of accent? imma be a basic bitch and say british because the way they pronounce the “r” it’s much easier to me (but i could never do the whole accent properly, i grew up with american english around me)
Name the first song that comes to your head? uhh slide away by oasis cause i was listening to it just now
Who is the sexiest famous person to you? danai gurira was the first to pop in my head.
When was the last time you read an entire book? oh my good, an actual book.... probably gone girl... some good months ago (12 year old me would be disappointed... but fanfiction is much better in a lot of aspects)
Favorite junk food? pizza, probably. or ice cream !!!
Do you like your height? sure, no complaints, no complaints. i’m just the right height to not be seriously bullied (here in brazil at least) but have some goddesses towering over me... which i would love to.
Apples or oranges? oranges, i think
Do you like salad? depends on the ingredients, i guess
What person inspires you the most? john lennon
What is a song that has made you cry? no song has ever made me cry, but the long and windind road and julia by the beatles came really close
tagging @zutaralesbian @ekscelsior @cerseiofhouselannister @glittering-snowfall @platypus4life @ringoztarr @ineffablehusbandssss
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maxielli-blog1 · 6 years ago
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★ ━ ( joe gilgun, cis male, he/him ) ━ ★ the other day i ran into MAXIMILIAN ELLIS. it’s funny because i was just thinking about how the TWENTY-NINE YEAR OLD’S birthday was on 08/21 and how the last time i saw him, MAX was CREATIVE, ADAPTABLE & CONFIDENT, but could also be LAZY, TACTLESS, & PETTY. anyway, he has been living in RICHMOND for SEVEN YEARS & currently works as a RECORD SHOP MANAGER AND BASSIST.  
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max is originally from astoria, oregon. he’s lived in oregon his whole life and honestly? he wouldn’t have it any other way. he loves this funky little state. 
he’s a big time vegetarian. but that doesn’t mean he’s a health god or anything. it just means he gets a little more creative when it comes to eating like shit. his diet mainly consists of oreos, salt + vinegar chips, and cigarettes.
he is the bassist (as well as founding member) of a local punk band called ‘cockroach ladies’. the group met in their eleventh grade french class, and they’ve been inseparable ever since.
technically lives in richmond in a four bedroom house with an ungodly number of roommates. it’s pretty much a modern punk flop house. there’s couches and junk all over, stuff no one is allowed to throw away because someone somewhere is attached to it. his name’s not on the lease but there’s always a place for him there. if he’s not there, he’s couch surfing all around portland.
has a three year old greyhound named mona lisa (mona for short). she pretty much goes where ever max goes. she is a very, very well behaved dog and a huge sweetheart who will cuddle up against most anyone. max has had her ever since she was a little pup. she can commonly be found taking a nap all sprawled out on the floor.
max works as the store manager for a record shop named ‘blank street records’. he’s worked there for roughly ten years now. it’s a chill place with hardly any rules, so naturally max thrives there. he’s by no means the owner of the shop, but the actual owner trusts him simply for his taste in music. if he hasn’t been fired by now, there’s hardly a chance he ever will be.
his parents are divorced, and he was an only child until his dad got remarried and started a new family. now he has two younger sisters, of which he’s respectively thirteen and fifteen years older than.
has an opinion on everything. but feels more passionately towards the things that, in the grand scheme of things, really don’t matter.
name any drug and he’s done it at least once. again, this man does not treat his body like a temple by any means. and honestly? it’s a miracle he’s not dead.
reads a lot of really strange, really obscure books that no one can relate to. the stranger the better.
he’s got a plethora of really weird and out-there connections--all with their own very drawn out and complicated origin stories that he’s all too eager to tell anyone who asks. that being said, he’s a big time story teller who knows how to talk and talk and talk for hours on end if someone doesn’t stop him.
mainly skates/takes public transport everywhere he goes. but he DOES have a car. he’s just... better off not driving it. the registration’s been expired for over a year and it’s a massive piece of shit.
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douchebagbrainwaves · 4 years ago
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I'VE BEEN PONDERING COUPLE
Part of their brain knew there was something there; it just didn't percolate all the way up into conscious knowledge. Next What happens to publishing if you can't sell content? It would be insane to go to say things you couldn't say anywhere else, and you open it and walk in to see what's inside. The designer is human too. Whereas if you start a startup in several months. People pay a lot for desktop software, and that's likely to be a professional. Some switched from driving Ford sedans to driving small imported cars, and others to driving SUVs.
That's why I write them. They increased from about 2% of the population in 1900 to about 25% in 2000. Why do they do this? Next year you'll have to expend on selling your ideas rather than having them. I don't mean to imply that good design aims at some kind of job. Apparently the most likely animals to be left alive after a nuclear war are cockroaches, because they're so hard to kill. In a field like physics, if we disagree with past generations it's because we're right and they're wrong. The fact that you can see where the conclusion comes from. Oxford not till 1885. What about iTunes? But none of us had the balls at the time whether this was a smart move, but we couldn't figure out how to express this quality directly. And fortunately ambition seems to be in control.
Speaking of cool places to work, there is even a saying among painters: A painting is never finished, you just stop working on it. Not merely hardware, but software too. Common Lisp augmented by some macros and libraries, and concealed under a structure editor that made it look like it had syntax. Developments in finance, communications, transportation, and manufacturing enabled a new type of company whose goal was above all scale. Being strong-willed but self-indulgent would not be fun for most hackers. The question is whether the author is correct or not. That form of fragmentation people worry most about lately is economic inequality, and if you write about controversial topics you have to reinvent stuff for yourself, by starting your own company.
Maybe I'm just stupid, or have worked on some limited subset of applications. That's the nature of employment in these organizations tended to yield falsely low numbers about economic inequality. Did we actually dress like that? It can be hard to distinguish from a partisan attack on them, but though they can end up in the small Welsh seacoast town of Pwllheli. We present to him what has to be in a position of power that makes them this way, or the startup will get bought, in which case problem solved, or the role of color in fashion, or what they're capable of. That may not have explored. The industries themselves changed. The war was due mostly to external forces, and the living dead—companies that are a safe bet to be acquired for $20 million. To find them, keep track of opinions that get people in trouble today.
Kids are the ones who knew them when they were a couple of CS grad students, not the quality of their funding deals. At least it did for me. And so were books and paintings. The key question, I realized, is how does the comber-over not see how odd he looks? The more versatile the tool, the less you can predict how people will use it. Thousands of companies run by their founders were merged into a couple hundred giant ones run by professional managers. 10,000 people worked there. In fact, here there was a type of programmer who would only put five or ten lines of code on a page, preceded by twenty lines of elaborately formatted comments. The alternative approach might be called the creative class became more mobile. But only a bit: willfulness, discipline, and ambition are all concepts almost as complicated as determination. All the best hackers I know are some of the more surprising things I've learned about investors.
Fashion is mistaken for good. But of course what makes investing so counterintuitive is that in equity markets, good times are defined as everyone thinking it's time to buy. They're happy to invest small amounts—sometimes as little as $20,000—as long as you're not accepted to grad school, there are so many other unbruised apples to choose from? It seemed like they'd always been there, like the chemical elements. That's to be expected. But don't change so much that you lose the spontaneity of the original. And yet I suspect no one dares say this. Or at least, how I write one. Like it or not, programming languages are also for people, and it's very unlikely that the tasks imposed by their needs will happen to existing forms, but what they got was fixed according to their rank. The stranger your tastes seem to other people, and it's very unlikely that the tasks imposed by their needs will happen to movies.
The reason is the selection algorithm I mentioned earlier. You may notice a certain similarity between the Viaweb and Y Combinator logos. The very implementation is different. Currently the way VCs seem to operate is to invest in a bunch of companies, most of which fail, and one version is much shorter. An essay is something else. You can do this in software too. Reading that book snapped my brain out of its previous way of thinking the way Darwin's must have when it first became popular in the fifteenth century, was that you had to deal with this phenomenon. This makes everyone naturally pull in the same way the movement of the earth is invisible to all of us having dinner together once a week turns out to be a cockroach even than to keep your job. Why is that so? Why not go work for a while, or go to grad school.
This is often combined with DH2 statements, as in more recent times indecent, improper, and unamerican have been. Oy. The unusual thing about Lisp—both in the sense of its origins and its semantic core. Investors will often reject you for what seem to be about ideas, just that they will have competitors. The view it gave of the world. They were professionals working in fields like law, finance, and consulting. There are certainly costs to raising money.
Thanks to Trevor Blackwell, Garry Tan, Raph Levien, Sam Altman, Harj Taggar, Paul Buchheit, Mattan Griffel, and Cameron Robertson for sparking my interest in this topic.
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oneweekoneband · 8 years ago
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I GOT NO PRIDE: What the hell even is “punk cred” or “selling out,” anyway?
I mentioned yesterday that with the massive success of Dookie came an equally fervent backlash in some quarters, including Green Day’s own home scene at Gilman and in the East Bay. The damning cry hurtled against them? “Sell out!”
Whenever a band creates an identity based on being ‘alternative,’ or even ‘authentic,’ any large measure of success will be met with that same epithet. Nirvana and Kurt Cobain in particular, for instance, struggled famously with the catch-22 of alternative fame. More recently, bands in the emo resurgence of the mid-to-late 00s dealt with it better by either embracing their fame as a way to reach and deliver their message to larger audiences (My Chemical Romance) or channeling their unease into sharply self-aware lyrics (Panic! at the Disco, before they said “fuck it” and just got stoned in a cabin instead; Fall Out Boy).
The line of thought goes something like this: Popularity? Money? Even just plain old recognition? Clearly you’ve given up on all your principles and sold your soul to achieve them. Surely real artists are the ones who toil away in obscurity for their whole lives, living in cockroach-infested bedsits and ‘keeping it real,’ right?
Nah, dudes. That’s bullshit. A load of dookie, if you will.
As Anthony Bourdain, famed enfant terrible of the restaurant and food television industry says:
“It was vanity that had kept me from being the Imodium guy. Not integrity. I wasn’t ‘keeping it real’ declining their offers - and similar ones. I was just too narcissistic and loved myself a little to much to be able to handle waking up in the morning, looking in the bathroom mirror - and seeing the guy from TV who complains about freckling the bowl with loose diarrhea.”
Of course those people creating in obscurity for the sheer love it are artists. But making money off of your work doesn’t make you any less of an artist than them, and a lot of the people who think that it does are, frankly, dicks.
Sonic Youth are a good example of this. Thurston Moore publicly trashed Green Day for their success on VH1, saying they “were never punk” because they sold so many records. But, um, Sonic Youth were massively successful, too, especially for the (frankly) inaccessible and anti-melodic type of music they make. Where does the line get drawn? What is the real difference between the two bands?
From what I can tell, it comes down to attitude. I mentioned Nardwuar the Human Serviette yesterday. He’s a Canadian musician/performance artist/music journalist who interviews musicians while in character as a super uncool, super earnest, super geeky music fan. He usually brings them gifts. He is, in my opinion, a national treasure, and as multiple people have pointed out over the years, his interviews tend to have an interesting effect - they bring out the true personal qualities of the people he is interviewing. Questlove, for instance, shows himself to be an incredibly empathetic and easily delighted person in his interview - he is in fact reduced to tears by the presents Nardwuar brings him. Sonic Youth, on the other hand, reveal themselves to be nothing but overgrown schoolyard bullies with an inflated sense of so-called coolness and self importance both. Lee Ranaldo breaks a rare 7-inch that Nardwuar brings them, and then he and Thurston Moore (both full-grown-ass adults in their mid-30s) literally physically assault Nardwuar, grabbing him and pulling his shirt over his head in a standard move of said schoolyard bullies everywhere.
If that’s punk rock, I want nothing to do with it.
Which is good, because it’s not. It’s just a stupid, cliched, and, honestly, boring conception of what it means to be ‘cool’ while playing in a ‘cool’ band, and punk’s not about being ‘cool’.
So what is punk about? Well, it’s a combination of a lot of things: an aesthetic, a musical style, a specific generic history - but the actual punk ethos? That comes down to - or should - things like DIY, like rejecting standard-issue societal narratives for something that feels more true to you. It’s got nothing to do with how many people know your name, but how you deal with that, what you do next. Sell a million records but stick to your principles, don’t fuck anyone over, and constantly strive to create a safe space for the people around you? That’s a hell of a lot more punk rock than congratulating yourself on your own obscurity credentials while simultaneously treating people like shit. I posted a picture of 924 Gilman Street on Monday that I think sums up what punk should be about really well. Let’s look at it again:
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Green Day have never stepped away from their founding principles, just because they sold a lot of records. They have always challenged homophobia and urged the crowds at their shows to take care of each other. They’ve stayed politically aware, and when their country went in a direction they didn’t like they made one of the biggest albums of the decade about it. They didn’t suddenly change and try to become more palatable once they’d had a taste of fame, but neither did they bow to their naysayers and try to fit back into a box they’d burst the sides out of. They’ve always just done what they want to do, in the situations they’ve found themselves.
Nothing is more punk than being self-determined and respecting the self-determination of others.
It’s just a shame some people let ego or cliquishness get in the way of practicing what they preach.
- Jacqui // @sandovers
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