#this is gonna be a glorious year for music

[radio-4-is-static]

&疾走 / &SPRINT | Dios

ただしいフォーム＆疾走 美しいな　それだけ ただしいフォーム＆疾走 魔法なんてない

呼吸ととのえて腰をいれろ 生きるために走るな　くだらねえ 酸素とりこんで膝を曲げろ それが後ろ向きでも構わない

///

The correct form & sprint Just that is beautiful The correct form & sprint There’s no such thing as magic

Settle your breath and focus Don’t run just to live, how trivial Inhale the oxygen and bend your knees Doesn’t matter if it’s backwards

[eggmeralda]

I thought the october curse was gonna be skipped this year based on the fact I got a job on the first day but like. it turns out that was the bad luck disguising itself at good news and it's just another normal october

[stansthemans]

Stan sex work ptsd with Ford finding out during their first time goes brrrrrr in my brain

Sliding into the tight heat of Stan’s body should be amazing, transcendental, the most glorious physical experience of Ford’s life. For a moment, it is. For a moment, everything is perfection. His brother loves him, loves him in all the ways that Ford loves him in return. They have exchanged words of love and gentle kisses. Kisses that grow more and more heated as hands become more and more desperate. Desperate to touch, to feel every inch of each other, to memorize smooth planes and raised scars, both old and new.

Stan’s moans as Ford rolls his hips are so beautiful, music to his ears. The way he clenches around Ford’s cock, providing him with the most perfect pressure, it should only be obscene, but it too is beautiful. Feather light, Ford kisses his brother’s back, over the burn scar from so many years ago, and Stanley shudders.

“Getting—fuck—getting sentimental on me, Sixer,” Stanley says, rocking back to meet him.

Another kiss, an apology he has already spoken so many times, and will continue to speak. “Yes,” Ford says. “For you, absolutely.”

“Sap,” Stan says, and Ford hears the truth in that statement, that Stan adores him too, that this is good, it’s perfect. “You can do more. I ain’t gonna break.” He pushes his hips back hard to meet Ford’s next thrust, proving his point in the most delicious way.

Ford groans, his fingers digging deeper into the soft skin at Stan’s hips, deep enough to bruise. Yes, he wants that. He wants to mark Stan as his, lay complete claim to him. If anyone were ever in an opportunity to see these bruises, Ford is sure he would lose the entirety of his mind, but he wants those marks dark and deep—replenished each time they begin to fade—on Stan’s skin so that there can be no doubt that Stan belongs to him.

And if Stan is his, then it is Ford’s responsibility to give him what he wants. Ford picks up his pace, his thrusts harder and deeper. “Oh fuck,” Stan shouts. His arms, thick with corded muscle, tremble with the effort of supporting himself, and soon enough, he drops down to his forearms, back curved in a gorgeous arch. And Ford doesn’t have to wonder for even a second if the change of position is good, if it will lead to a truly glorious prize, because on the next thrust in, Stan is screaming into the pillow.

Ford pounds into him harder, desperate to hear more of those beautiful moans, desperate to make Stan feel better than he ever has in his life. But that pillow, that detestable pillow, is muffling those perfect moans, the transcendent sound of Ford’s name spilling from his brother’s lips. “No, Stanley,” Ford moans. “Let me hear you.” And he curls his fingers into Stan’s sweat damp hair and sharply tugs him back up.

It is in that instant that everything changes.

Stan goes rigid, and the whimper that escapes his lips is not one of pleasure. Ford freezes, his own blood like ice in his veins. “Stanley,” he asks, low and careful. “Stanley, are you—“

“Fine,” Stan chokes out, and the one word alone is broken glass.

Ford eases his grip, both on Stan’s hair and hip, and pulls out slowly. “N-no,” Stan stammers. “No, it’s—Ford, it’s fine. It’s fine. It’s nothing.”

Ford helps Stan to sit back, helps him fold his legs in a manner that won’t strain his knees or hips. “It is clearly not fine,” Ford says, cupping Stan’s face. Not only is Stan very noticeably no longer hard, but he’s begun to tremble like a leaf. It’s not the good sort of trembling it was earlier, when they had first pressed their bodies together, when they had said with plain and uncompromising words how they love each other.

“It is,” Stan says through his teeth, but the sweat on his forehead is cold, and his face is ashen, and his eyes are quickly growing distant. “It’s fine. It’s fine. It’s—“

Ford folds Stan into his arms, holds him tight against his chest. Stan clings back, blunt nails digging into Ford’s skin. “I’ve got you,” Ford says firmly. “I’m right here, Stanley. I’ve got you.”

He does not say that it’s fine, because it isn’t right now. He doesn’t say that it will be ok, because he doesn’t know what is going on in Stan’s mind. He does, however, recognize a panic attack when he sees one. He does recognize that far off look of someone slipping into the past. It’s agony to know that he can’t stop it, can’t protect his brother from his own memories. All Ford can do is sit there, hold him, promise him that he’s there, he isn’t leaving, he’ll always be right here, he loves him.

Ford doesn’t know how long it takes before Stan’s breathing begins to steady, before the desperate way he clings to Ford eases just the slightest bit. Ford pets at his brother’s hair, squeezes gently on the back of his neck. “Are you here,” he asks, voice a low whisper. “Are you back with me?”

“I—I’m sorry,” Stan gasps, and Ford’s heart breaks.

“No,” he says, pulling back just enough to cup Stan’s face, to look into his wet, red-rimmed eyes. “No, Stanley. No, you don’t—can I kiss you?”

“Please,” Stan begs, the tears falling from his eyes. Ford pulls him forward, lips slotting against Stan’s, desperate to tell him in this way too that he’s here and he loves him.

“What happened,” Ford asks, thumbs wiping the tears away. “What did I do?”

“Naw,” Stan says, kissing him again all too sweetly. “Wasn’t you.”

“It clearly was,” Ford says, distressed but trying very hard to not lose control himself because he hurt his brother. His teeth are on edge, but he knows if he loses control, it will only be worse for Stan, and he will not make it worse. “Everything was—it was so perfect but then I pulled your hair and—“ Ford stops short. “I pulled your hair.”

“I—uh—I guess I don’t like that,” Stan grumbles, and he won’t meet Ford’s eyes. There are certainly plenty of indicators to choose from that this situation is serious, but that’s the biggest one. Stan is more than capable of lying while looking someone directly in the eyes, but not Ford. Ford has always been able to see everything there, no matter how much Stan wants to hide it.

Ford folds his hands over Stan’s, intertwining their fingers. “It’s more than that,” Ford says. Stan still doesn’t look at him. “Please, love,” Ford says. “We—we have to talk about things. I know we’re bad at that, but there are so many bad things that wouldn’t have happened if we’d just bothered to talk to each other. I don’t—I can’t hurt you like this. Please, Stanley.”

For a long moment, they simply sit there, holding tight to each other’s hands. Stan still isn’t looking at him, but Ford cannot tear his eyes away. He watches everything, every slight twitch of Stan’s frowning lips, the clenching of his jaw, his throat working around a lump. A desperate part of Ford wants to demand that Stan speak, grab hold of him tight and shake until he spills. But that would only make things worse. He has to wait, even if the wait is agony.

Finally, Stan huffs a defeated sort of sigh, and he mutters, “Just reminded me of some bad times.”

They have spoken about their time apart, both before and after the initial portal incident. Ford knows that neither of them has gone into much detail, but they have told each other enough for them to know that neither of them was having a good time without his twin. Both dealt with homelessness, resorting to criminal activity to make ends meet, and crippling loneliness.

But what Stan says next, Ford is in no way expecting. “Some of Rico’s guys, you know, and just, shitty Johns in general.”

“Johns,” Ford echoes, trying to make that word make sense in connection to his brother, but there’s a mental block roughly the size of the Berlin Wall getting in the way.

“Yeah, Sixer,” Stan says slowly. “Johns are—“

“I know what Johns are,” Ford snaps. “Why would you—“

And Stan still isn’t looking at him, but everything about him radiates shame. Shame. That’s not—Stan does not do shame, not like this. When Stan decides to do something, he stands by it firmly and stubbornly, even when he is so clearly in the wrong. He had risked the entire world, this entire dimension including the kids that he loves so dearly, by turning on the portal to bring Ford back, Ford who might have been dead for all Stan knew. He had known all the risks and dangers, and he just hadn’t cared. In his mind, Ford was more important than it all, even if the odds were horribly stacked against him coming back.

Events big and small, Stan is never ashamed of himself. So why is that the emotion so clearly radiating from him in waves?

“Stanley, why would you be involved with Johns?” Ford still cannot make himself understand this.

“Come on, Sixer,” Stan says miserably. “You really gonna make me spell this out?”

“Apparently I must,” Ford says, his stomach twisting, because no. No, it can’t be.

“Pa kicked me out of the house at barely seventeen years old,” Stan says. “Fifty bucks and a half packed duffle. Shit went bad real fast, and everything I tried to make ends meet just was worse and worse. I—I had to do something, and apparently I was good at it. Or at least good enough to get paid.”

There is some odd noise ringing in Ford’s ears that makes each new word Stan speaks harder and harder to hear while at the same time comprehension slams into him like a tidal wave.

His brother spent some amount of time—possibly years, possibly when not even a legal adult yet—so desperate to survive that he was forced into selling his body for men to do with it as they pleased. His brother had looked at his life and seen only one option to get the money needed to put food into his belly and that was to allow strange and cruel men to fuck him and throw whatever amount of coin his way after. His brother had to allow himself to be treated like an object, something to be used and then discarded, little better than trash.

The blood in Ford’s veins is somehow both ice and molten lava at the same time. He’s shaking and sweating, numb and burning.

“I know it’s—I didn’t want to tell you. I should have,” Stan is saying. “That way you’d know that I’m—I’m not—“

Ford feels the same way he did when Stan told him the truth of the differences in how their father treated them as children. The hurricane of rage clouds everything but the desire to know names. He wants to find these men. He wants to erase their existence immediately with his quantum destabilizer, but he also wants to prolong it, to make them truly understand how badly they fucked up, how unforgivable their actions were, how they could have destroyed and shattered the most precious thing Ford has ever known, which is something that Ford cannot abide.

“You deserve better than me.”

“What?” Stan’s defeated, broken statement slams Ford back into his body. Did he just—? “How dare you,” Ford hisses.

Stan flinches and starts to move away. “I’m sorry, I’ll—“

No. Absolutely not. Stan is not allowed to move even a centimeter away from him. In fact, he needs to be closer. Ford darts forward and grabs Stan in a tight hold, pulling him fully into his lap, clinging to him with a renewed desperation. Away from him is where Stan gets hurt. Ford has hurt him too in the past, but never again. He’ll die first. “Shut up, Stanley,” Ford says, and he buries his face into Stan’s neck and locks his hands around his back in a tight hold that Stan will not be able to break.

“Not gonna lie, I’m kind of confused,” Stan says after a moment.

The rage is not quelled, but Ford does recognize that he has not been clear. Time to rectify that mistake. He will not allow Stan to labor under any delusions as to his feelings. “Do not ever talk about yourself like that again,” Ford says through his teeth. “There is no one better than you. You are perfect. I am extremely angry right now, but not at you. I wish very much that I could find every person who treated you so terribly and disintegrate their atoms.”

The tension in Stan’s body starts to ease, just slightly. “Not to out myself as kind of a nerd—but only by necessity—you can’t disintegrate non-radioactive atoms,” he says.


“I will find a way,” Ford promises in a dark, vengeful hiss. He is being fully serious, but his declaration makes Stan laugh. Ford is still angry. He will be angry about this for his entire life, but that beautiful sound of his brother laughing, a chuckle that builds up into a loud guffaw, lets Ford release at least some of the pressure threatening to make him snap.

“Sure you would, Poindexter,” Stan says. “But—um—this is ok?”

“That you were hurt like that will never be ok to me,” Ford says.

“No, I mean—“ Ford’s face is still pressed into his brother’s neck, but he can practically hear him chewing on his bottom lip. “You’re not—you know—“

“I don’t know,” Ford says.

“Fuck,” Stan grumbles. “You don’t think I’m disgusting? Like you don’t want to call all this off?”

Ford lifts his head and stares at Stan bewildered. “What are you talking about?” Stan isn’t exactly blushing, but his face is a bit red, and some of that impossible shame seems to be settling back into place. It’s a dilemma, but Ford makes the choice to release his hold around his brother but only so that his hands are free to cup Stan’s face. “I love you,” Ford says, slowly and firmly. “I have loved you and wanted this since long before I understood what I wanted. What do you mean, call it off?”

A dread begins to seep into his bones. Does Stan not want this anymore, now that Ford knows? Does he not want him, now that Ford has proven capable of so easily bringing up these old hurts?

“Hey, hey, stop it,” Stan says, all too gently, his own hands finding Ford’s face. “I can see that giant brain of yours going into overdrive. I love you too. I want you too. I just—“

“Explain,” Ford demands, his heart beating too fast, although Stan’s hands on his face are grounding and soothing.

“I don’t exactly feel good about that shit,” Stan says, his eyes lowering. Ford rubs his thumbs over Stan’s stubble rough cheeks. “It was fucked enough on its own, but I always used to—I thought if you knew, you’d hate me even more.”

“I have never hated you, Stanley,” Ford says. It’s true. No matter how angry, how bitter, how desperately sad Ford was ever feeling in the forty years they were separated, hatred was never something he could muster up. Those negative emotions were real, and they did taint much of how he thought of his brother, but always still, in and around it all, Ford loved him. There is nothing that either of them could ever do that would take that away. They are too ingrained into each other’s souls.

Stan shrugs a bit. “Or be disappointed in me,” he says in a manner that suggests it would be an inevitable and obvious way that Ford ought to feel, and that cuts Ford deeply. “Hey, what’re you—“ And then Stan’s thumbs are moving over Ford’s cheeks, and that’s when Ford realizes that he’s crying. And now that Ford realizes he’s crying, the tears come harder. “Oh shit, Sixer, no,” Stan says, so soft, so gentle, and now he’s the one holding Ford close, his hands moving in slow, steady, soothing trails over Ford’s neck and shoulders, his voice uttering a gentle mantra that he’s there, it’s ok.

It feels like it takes forever for Ford to calm down enough to force out the words, “I’m sorry.”

“Sixer, no,” Stan starts, but Ford shakes his head.

“No, I am,” Ford sobs. “You—I made you feel like I would have—“

“Hey, no.” Stan squeezes the back of his neck, and it helps Ford feel like he can breathe again. “I—fuck—I don’t know, Sixer. Maybe you did. Maybe I was just fucked up about it all on my own.”

Ford sniffles, and it’s a disgusting sound. He’s always been a disgusting crier. Despite that they have the exact same face, he always thought Stan did it better. If someone can cry better than others. Certainly Stan never produced as much snot or got quite so blotchy and puffy. “Still, I never meant,” Ford starts, and Stan shushes him.

“I know, Stanford, I know,” Stan says. He pauses for a moment, and then he leans forward and kisses the tears from Ford’s cheeks. “Hey, so we kind really beefed this thing up, huh?”

Ford huffs a wet chuckle. “Understatement.” He frowns. “I’m sorry.” Stan opens his mouth, but Ford plows on. “No, I am. I wanted—it was so perfect, Stanley. You were so perfect. I wanted to make you feel so good but—“

“You did,” he says. “If that’s how prostate exams went, I’d go more often.”

Ford snorts. “As if you’ve ever gone in for a proper prostate exam even once.”

Stan rolls his eyes. “Like I’m paying some quack doctor to stick a finger up my ass and not even get off for my troubles. But we can try again. I mean, not tonight. Mood’s definitely killed, but maybe in the morning?”

“I would like that very much,” Ford says. He leans forward just a bit, not quite closing the distance, until he sees the little uptick of Stan’s lips. Then Ford kisses his small smile. “Are you as tired as I am?”

“I think a marathon run of fucking worthy of teenagers would have been less exhausting than this talking about our feelings shit,” Stan says.

They settle back together in bed, this time under the covers. Ford wraps Stan up in his arms, the press of skin to skin soothing. Even more so is the warmth of Stan’s breath across his chest. Ford trails his hands along Stan’s arm slung across his stomach, up and down his back. Stan’s skin erupts in pleased goosebumps. Ford continues over his neck and then stops short.

Stan lets out a displeased grumble. “Why’d you stop?”

Ford has to swallow past a lump in his throat. “I—I almost touched your hair again. And I did it when you were—when you were upset—before you told me.”

“Hey, Sixer,” Stan starts.

“I’m sorry,” Ford says.

“Honestly, getting really sick of that phrase tonight.”

“Stanley,” Ford starts.

“No, I am,” Stan says. For a moment, they lie there, the calm broken again. Then, Stan sighs and asks lowly. “Remember what I told you about Pa?”

Immediately, Ford’s blood heats again, the anger starting to bubble towards a boil. Stan’s fingers dig into his side, both a warning and grounding. “He grabbed my hair a lot too,” Stan says. “To throw me around. ‘Cause that didn’t leave bruises like it did when he’d grab my arm or something.” Stan’s thumb starts to move in slow, steady trails over Ford’s ribs. Ford matches his breaths in time to it. “I hated people touching my hair. I hated when it was aunts at family functions. I hated when it was the couple of girls I went out with in high school. I hated guys at the gym or coaches ruffling it up. I hated the goddamned barber. I still do. But know what I never hated?”

Another lump forms up in Ford’s throat. Because he does know.

“I never hated this,” Stan says. “When it was just you and me. Maybe after I had a bad dream. Or you were reading some adventure book out loud. When it was just you and me, laying around like this, and yeah, we had on more clothes then.” Ford laughs wetly, and Stan snickers at his own joke. “But it was just like this, and you’d pet my hair or kind of drag your knuckles on my scalp, and I never hated that. I loved that.”

“Sap,” Ford accuses before Stan can. His voice only warbles slightly with the emotion as he buries his fingers into Stan’s hair, nails light on his scalp.

Stan melts. He melts just like he did when they were kids, when they curled up just like this—yes, with at least shorts on—as if they were the only two people in the world, locked into a perfect bubble of warmth and comfort and each other.

“Love you too,” Stan mumbles, starting to succumb to the exhaustion of the incredibly emotional evening.

“So much, Stanley,” Ford says, struggling also, but he manages to keep himself awake, keep his fingers moving in steady trails until Stan falls asleep. Then, Ford is seconds behind him.

[inf3ct3dd]

ACT 1. TROUBLE

summary: the plan hatches.

warnings: mentions of death, sex joke

wc: 3k

authors note: this fic has been my wonderfully niche vision for so long.... i hope you all enjoy

next chapter. masterlist

the unforgiving blaring heat of the desert was torturous.

the sun seemed to be beaming from right above, practically frying you and your companions skin as you treaded through the sand. one suffering the consequences worse than another, skin resembling a boiled lobster.

dry, chapped lips silently begging for water, only to be met with the sting of saltwater sweat dripping onto them. you can try to lick them away, but it will only worsen the pain. pain, your muscles ache and your bones feel as if they’ll crumble if you step forward once more. you needed…out.…of the heat……

ah, alas, a river! oh, how lovely, a quench to the terrible thirst…. you reach out towards it, cupping your hands to drink, and are met with the hot, cruel surface of a car door.

“are you done, r? you’re gonna set off the alarm.” ellie had destroyed your dramatic scene , rolling her eyes and slumping down on the concrete next to the car. her long ass jorts protected her skin from the heat of the ground.

“no, it can’t be! twas a mirage, my mind has fooled me!” draping a dramatic hand across your forehead, you’re met with a moist surface that you wipe away onto your shorts, falling next to the girl. your shorts however, did not protect you. you slightly hissed in pain, before bringing your knees to your chest.

“they shouldn’t have let you read othello. i think you’re actually going insane.” she bluntly remarks, offering you a light giggle.

your english teacher, honors english if you wanna brag, had just started a shakespeare unit, and you were over the moon. being the first to volunteer to read in class, writing your own gorgeous sonnets about even more gorgeous subjects , and torturing ellie with your constant chiming of “shall i compare thee to a midsummers day?”

“ugh, you hate to see a girl being theatrical.” with a quick roll of your eyes, you crossed your arms and pouted.

“yes, i do.”

ellie knew it wasn’t one of your actual sad pouts, like when she accidentally killed the snail you two found, but simply you being….theatrical. like your wonderful performance in the school musical last year, as sharpay in high school musical. was that fuckass blonde wig a disgrace? absolutely. but your wonderful acting skills distracted from it, or so you hoped.

“you know whats actually making me go insane? the fact that you made me walk to 7-11 in this heat!!! you tryna kill me?”

the taste of the slushy was still lingering in your mouth , along with the red color on your tounge, but the cold it brought was long gone.

“oh my lady, i would never do such a thing! but alas, i required a refreshment, and id hate to go alone.” ellie counters back in her own shitty-british accent , holding a hand to her chest.

“see, told you its fun.” you nudged her elbow with your own, sweaty limbs colliding with a gross “splat”.

“yeah yeah, whatever. you’re right about everything, my glorious queen-“

“indeed!” you interrupted, pout replaced with a cheeky smile.

you both sat for a second, catching your breath. your eyes wandered to ellies arms, and you noticed she had turned into a lobster. her arms were bright red and sunburnt, and you reached out to poke her.

“ow-fuck! why did you do that!!” she winced in pain, moving her arm away.

“jesus, why do you never put on sunscreen? you trying to get tan or something?”

“i didn’t think it would be this bad outside..”

“you’re stupid.”

“you’re mean..”

after a while of you both sitting in comfortable silence, both of your eyes fall on the vehicle across the street. it was the one thing you always loved staring at on this street. the ferrari was reflecting all the beams of ultraviolet hitting it, practically glowing in the humid hellscape. the dashboard and practically everything else was smothered in dust, the cause probably being its idle parking spot, same one it had been occupying since you and ellie were 5 years old. the black detailing and the shiny silver horse enchanted you, despite the cars mildly decrepit state. 13 years later, you wondered if it would even still run. wondered how the engine would feel rumbling underneath you as you pushed against the wind down the empty streets.

people always make driving seem so crazy and thrilling in movies. sharp turns, constant speeding, drifting, it was like the road was a rollercoaster. or maybe you had just watched too many fast and furious movies with your dad.

but every time you were in a car, you were calm. always having an arm out the window, sometimes waving your hand like the ocean, and others making finger legs and doing parkour off of the other cars. when it rained, especially at night, you’d always beg your dad to drive you around. you’d try to count the raindrops on the windshield , and often times you’d let the taps on the windows lull you to sleep.

you have many memories of your dad taking you on drives to get you to sleep. especially when you were younger, and didn’t want to go to bed because you ‘weren’t tired’. every time, he’d just say “you don’t have to sleep, just rest.” sometimes he’d sing the songs he burned onto his cds, other times he’d make lists of things you wanted to do the next day. but no matter what, within 10 minutes you were always out cold. most times he’d keep driving for a bit, just to make sure you were really sleeping, and then carry you as gently as possible up to your room.

now, you knew better than to try and make him carry you up the stairs. you’d have a dramatic stretch, and practically drag yourself to your house before flopping down on the couch. half of the time face first.

you never wanted to be the one driving, though. you didn’t trust yourself behind the wheel, thinking you’d get too relaxed and doze off the second you started driving. or get into a crash. every time you did bumper carts, you’d be the one annoying all the little kids by hitting them a thousand times with your car. plus, highways are scary as fuck.

but for some reason, every time you saw that car parked down your street, you imagined yourself behind the wheel. always with some of those cool ass driving gloves on, and the scorpion jacket ryan gosling had in drive. you’d drift like all those cool dudes in your dads movies, and never ever crash into anyone on the highway. you thought it was blessed with some spell that made everyone who drove it amazing at driving.

ellie had zero faith in you though.

“you’d total that thing in five seconds. do you not remember the last time you tried to drive?”

her rude remark reminded you of the “raspberry incident”, as you called it, from last summer. you were at your grandmas in the countryside, her in the passenger of her big ass suburban trying to teach you to drive in the raspberry fields. you had been pushing a bit hard on the gas a few times, making her tell you to “calm down” , but you were a damn good driver as far as you saw. but it allll went downhill when she made you practice turning. you had turned around one of the rows of berries perfectly, and you were driving a bit too fast to the next corner. but somehow, you turned on the wrong angle and drove straight into the berries. and to make things worse, you kept pushing the gas pedal on accident instead of the brakes. your grandma screaming at you to stop didn’t help much either. you had torn down no more than 1/5 of the row, but nothing happened to the car. a trip to the carwash and it was like nothing ever happened.

“that was soooo long ago. you weren’t even there either! what if i was just over exaggerating when i told you and it wasn’t that bad?”

“you calling yourself a liar?” ellie took a sip of her slushy. the one she made you take this whole treacherous journey for. she was somehow still nursing hers, while yours was in a trash can five blocks back.

“never. how are you still drinking that thing? we’ve been walking for like half an hour!” you grab the drink out of her hand, taking a sip for a biiit too long.

“hey! you can’t even ask? i spent my hard earned money on that thing.“

“oh please, it was only like 3 dollars. you sound like joel right now.”

you both chuckled. ellies dad acted just like yours, that’s probably why they’re such best friends. that and the two dead wives thing, they had a lot in common. and coincidentally, so did you and ellie. you knew each other since you came out of the womb. well, since you came out. ellie was there three weeks before you, and she never let you forget it. constantly on her “respect your elders” bullshit every time you punched her in the arm for stealing your food. you two were fighting over the same toys and blabbering to each other since birth. your parents were convinced you were some baby geniuses that had developed your own language with how much you ‘spoke’ to each other. you two always understood each other.

“whatever dude, i’d be a driving master in that thing. it’d probably be a total chick magnet too. i’d be cleaning that backseat every day.”

ellie poked you in the side at your joke, and you both shoved each other while you laughed.

“yeah, you and your spongebob boxers are definitely soooo seductive.”

“you can’t say shit, you have the matching patrick pair!”

almost half your closet was either clothes you took from ellies house, or ones you bought to match with her. your dad has a whole photo album of old pictures he took of you and her in your matching outfits. and you have a bin in the attic stacked to the brim with your matching halloween costumes. the one matching thing the two of you never took off was your necklaces. it was one of those basic hearts, two pieces of silver that fit together perfectly with “best friends” and an infinity sign engraved on it. you had begged your dad for it while you were at a beach store, and he reluctantly gave in. you had the ‘st ends’ side, and ellie had the ‘be fri’ one. no matter the occasion, even with the excessive amount of necklaces you always wore, that one was always a part of the stack. and ellie only ever wore the one. in fact, the only jewelry she ever wore was the bracelets you two had made for each other and her necklace.

“hey, they’re comfy! i love those things.”

“you know what i’d love?”

“deez nuts in your mouth??”

you slapped ellie on the arm , and she grabbed it in pain.

“fuck you! you know im sensitive right now!!”

“you’ll live. ANYWAYS, i was talking about the car.”

“pssht, who wouldn’t. who leaves a perfect 288 on the side of the road for this long?” ellies inner car-nerd spilled out,eyebrows furrowing in question.

you and ellie had dreamed of that car ever since you were barely taller than the side doors. pretending to drive it when she came over to yours, leaning against it as you ate your ice cream and accidentally setting off the alarm, even peering in through the windows occasionally. the white envelope with a small bulge always intrigued the two of you, desperately wondering what was inside of it. you’d never seen anyone get in or out of it, and you were surprised it lasted this long on this street.

“why’re you still on this anyway? its not like we’re gonna just steal it or something.”

when you stare back at her for a bit too long, she sighs at you and rolls her eyes. your dumb ideas almost always end horribly, and she wasn’t in for all that this summer.

like last year, when you two were working at this big outdoor restaurant. you had somehow convinced her to drive around one of the golf carts, and it ended with you accidentally ramming it into some dudes car. you both quit to avoid the guy, and you’ve never been back since.

“well, why not! i mean really ellie, I’ve seen you break into joels truck before. you could do it.”

it was an isolated incident. she had locked herself out of the car, and she used a random hanger she found in the mall parking lot to squeeze through the crack in the window and unlock the door.

“thats not the same as stealing some random car!!what if the dude who owns it is some mean gangster and he finds out we took his car and he fucking kills us??? or what if its full of a bunch of illegal shit and we get arrested while we’re driving it?”

“since when do you care this much about shit like that? you convinced me to keep a lizard in my closet for three weeks once. plus, do you really think anyone’s gonna come looking for it? that things been there longer than we’ve been alive.”

“even if we do steal it, what if it doesn’t even run anymore? and if it does, are we just gonna hotwire it every time we wanna drive?”

ellie was sadly thinking logically about this , and you weren’t having it. the pout on your face was growing bigger and bigger, and you rolled your eyes at her.

“you’re so boring.”

“im not boring, you’re just insane and impulsive.”

“besides, where would we even hide it? neither of us have a garage or anything.”

“you ask too many questions. come onnnn, this could be our little sappy senior year memory!! even if it goes like, totally wrong and we get arrested or some shit.”

you and ellies high school experience was..lackluster at most. no crazy adventures, no parties, no insane hookups, nothing. every movie about highschool you two had watched had completely lied to you, because it was boring as fuck. i mean, probably not for everyone else, but definitely for you two. this car would be a saving grace for you two, it could top off senior year perfectly.

“your idea of a great senior year memory is grand theft auto?”

“i mean, the games awesome. why not?”

she chuckled a bit at your bad joke, leaving a smile on your face. everything in her was telling her it was an awful idea, but you were giving her your most convincing puppy dog eyes, hands under your chin pleading to her.

you were amazing at persuading her, and the way your eyes practically sparkled when you spoke of even the mere idea of it sent her to the stars. how could she say no to you?

“…let me think about it.”

“WOOOO”

for ellie, ‘let me think about it’ was almost always code for yes. especially when it came to you. the two of you walked back to your house, ellie finally finishing her slushy. she chucked it in your garbage can before leaving you at your door. you tried to hug her goodbye, but she pushed you away.

“lobster skin. it still hurts. youll probably wanna hug me more tomorrow.”

and the next day, at 8:30, ellie showed up at your window with a toolbox smelling like aloe vera.

[sashasienna]

🔜

I've learned that, to really nail the great Wanting to Stay Alive Project that I'll probably be working on my whole life, I need to always have at least one thing to look forward to. More is better, and I try to find things for multiple time frames. Sometimes this means planning exciting events for the future, and sometimes it's choosing to look for everyday things to be excited about.

Right now, my excitement calendar looks something like this:

Today: I made really delicious spaghetti for dinner last night and I'm going to use some of the leftover ingredients to make lunch, which I hope will be equally delicious (I love to eat so meals are often one of the things I look forward to).

This week: Jonny and I are meeting with a mortgage adviser on Tuesday so we can start properly looking for a house. I'm not super psyched about the meeting itself, but the fact it's happening makes me feel really hopeful about the future overall. I also have a haircut appointment on Thursday, which is a mundane thing but I have a really great gender-affirming barber so it always makes me feel good.

This month: my brother turns 30 in a few weeks and a bunch of us are going camping for the weekend to celebrate. I'm not a good camper but it's a short trip and I'm really looking forward to celebrating with him. He's really cool and one of my best friends.

1-3 months: I'm going to a big outdoor music festival to see Blink-182 in about 6 weeks. I'm going with a really good friend and I can't wait for us to be the old people at the festival: we've paid a bit extra to use the grown-up campsite with flushing toilets and mattresses and we're gonna hang at the back of the crowds and be in bed by midnight and have an amazing time.

3-6 months: I'm going to visit some friends in Nottingham who I haven't seen in way too long. They're gonna teach me to play Kill Team, so I get to do a lot of mini-painting as a sort of active anticipation between now and then!

6+ months: I've just booked accommodation for me and a bunch of friends to go to an incredible TTRPG convention that's always my favourite week of the year. It's a straight week of renting out a holiday park by a gloomy beach in the middle of January and doing nothing but playing RPGs. It's absolutely glorious.

I haven't included a lot of game nights or tabletop conventions I'm attending for work, because I don't have time to write them all down and it would get repetitive, but they're also things I look forward to a lot and they give my life some structure it sorely needs!

[not-ur-boy-toy]

Hartbreak Ranch Chapter 1

AN: FINALLY Chapter 1 of Hartbreak Ranch, I really hope you enjoy it! (btw I'm bad at explaining plots so apologies :,) )

Plot: Shawn is a famous model on his way to a new photoshoot. However, he finds himself getting stuck in the middle of nowhere. Luck just has it though as he finds himself staying with the Hart family, finding himself being drawn to a certain Bret Hart.

TW: Foul language, Alcohol mentioned

Word count: 3.6K

Next >>>

───────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────

Blond hair flowed freely through the wind as the bright, cherry-red Ferrari 308 drove down the desolate Arizona road. Music blared from the car as it raced through the empty route. The driver of it didn’t have a care in the world as he held a phone to his ear, his free hand on the steering wheel.

“Diesel! Trust me here, I’m doin’ fine, I know where I’m going!”, a laugh rang through the car, as the man spoke, his grin large as he kept his eyes on the road. 

“I know you know where you’re going, Shawn... But you’re in the middle of nowhere” the other voice rang through the phone before continuing, “You’ve already said you’re taking a ’shortcut’ but I just don’t think It’s a good idea!” the voice argued back, trying to reason with the stubborn man.

Shawn rolled his eyes before a soft huff left his lips, he was used to his bodyguard being overprotective, they always traveled together! Wherever Shawn went, a 6’10, hunk-of-a-man followed him. But not this time. The young 30-year-old man wanted to travel by himself! He knew the area reasonably well… maybe just enough to get him to the closest town and ask for directions. But Diesel didn’t have to know! 

“Diesel, Hun, Big Daddy Coolio, I’ll be fine, I’ll be there for Ramon’s photoshoot with what's-his-face…” Shawn hummed to himself, rambling softly to himself as he tried to figure out who he was working with again. Before he could even figure out the guy’s name, Diesel’s deep voice rang through his phone again.

“You’re working with Kid, Ramon’s toyboy or whatever.”

���Riight… That guy, yeah, I won't miss it, anyway, gotta go, phone is gonna die, Byyee!” And just like that, with a small click, Shawn hung up the phone before Diesel could say goodbye. He carefully tossed his phone to the empty passenger seat before adjusting the thick, black sunglasses on his face, humming along to the music on the radio. It had been a glorious drive so far. No traffic, the sun was hot, there were no clouds in the sky… and there was nobody to annoy him- other than Diesel every 15 minutes. 

It was definitely a perfect drive, yet there was one small problem. Fuel. Shawn’s trusty lady was running low, and the next gas station was a good 50 miles out, but there was a small town coming up in a few miles. It was a risk to turn off into the town. There was the chance there was no gas station in the town in the middle of nowhere. But there was just a nagging feeling, something that just drew Shawn’s attention to this town. It just seemed to call his name, and who was he to ignore that feeling? Shawn stepped on the gas, dust blowing behind the wheels as he sped up, going way past the speed limit before he reached the town that seemed to hypnotize him.

Shawn wasn’t sure what he was expecting when he drove through the town. He was used to the luxurious life, like main cities from New York to Los Angeles… but this was beyond different. It was small, tiny, barely anything compared to what he was accustomed to. There wasn’t anything branded, no hotels with infinity pools, no Prada stores, nothing! There was barely anything in this town other than small boutiques, a few restaurants and a few small businesses, as well as a few houses.

“There has to be a gas station in this place…” Shawn mumbled to himself, trying to distract himself away from the feeling he had awhile ago.

Driving around aimlessly didn’t seem to get Shawn anywhere, there wasn’t a gas station in sight, and his car didn’t have enough fuel by the sounds of it as it seemed to hiss and moaning from his beloved Ferrari. However, what Shawn didn’t expect though was the sight of smoke appearing from underneath the hood of his car. He hadn’t realized how hot it was in this place. 

“Shit, Shit, SHIT!” Shawn gasped out, quickly pulling up to the side, and turning off his car. He scrambled to get out of his car with urgency, slamming the door shut. Shawn quickly moved to the front of the car, lifting the hood with a slight hiss of pain from how hot the metal was and how smokey the engine was. He drafted away most of the dark smoke with a small cough before moving back.

“Son of a bitch!” he hissed out in anger, kicking his car slightly with his black leather boot. Oh, how Diesel was right about taking this shitty shortcut. He could see Diesel’s smug face in his mind, which pissed him off more. He hated being wrong. He couldn’t stand it. Rubbing the stubble on his face in frustration, Shawn paced in circles in front of his car, kicking slightly at the dirt on the floor. What the fuck was he supposed to do? Shawn’s blue eyes glanced around, looking at the almost empty street, seeing a few people staring his way before looking away as he looked at them. They weren’t gonna help, clearly. Shawn grunted slightly before slamming the hood down. He had to figure something out, but calling Diesel was not one of them. He could try to find a mechanic, but it meant he had to leave his sweet, beloved Ferrari behind for now… with a reluctant, annoyed huff, Shawn grabbed what he needed from his car, his phone, wallet and keys, before starting his walk to find a mechanic.

Instantly, Shawn knew he was out of place as he walked down the street. He was dolled up in his finest clothes, that being a white, open-shirt bought from Polo Ralph Lauren, khaki brown pants from the same place, his favorite Gucci belt in black and gold and finally his favorite pair of black leather boots, ones with a small heel. Of course, he had a few accessories, like a gold watch and matching earrings. He wouldn’t leave the house without them! This was one of his more ‘casual’ outfits, something he would wear to go shopping in New York. But being in this town? It looked like he was overdressed and everyone walking by gave him a second look. Now, Shawn loved the attention. He loved having people’s eyes on him. People would even say he craved it, but the looks he was being given now, it was more looks of judgment. Shawn mindlessly messed with his shirt, trying to flatten down invisible creases, trying to distract himself from the looks. A mechanic couldn’t be too far away.

A few minutes' walk eventually turned into a 15-minute walk into the town. He had passed more small shops including a bakery (which looked heavenly, from the strawberry cakes that looked freshly made to the croissants that Shawn would have loved to buy), a few cafes, a general store and even a liquor store which he kept in mind. Luckily, he had eventually found the town's repair shop. It looked like an older building, the corners of the building being rusted, yet a new sign in black and neon pink stood out on the building, reading out ‘Hart & Co. Auto Repair’. Loud country music was blasting, and the smell of oil and rubber burnt Shawn’s nose slightly, something he definitely wasn’t used to. As he entered the small shop, he noticed a pair of blue overall cover legs underneath a truck and humming coming from the person. He glanced around the shop, trying to spot anyone else in there, but no one else was in the small space, not even a customer. Shawn cleared his throat, trying to get the person’s attention, but it didn’t seem to catch the guy's attention.

“Excuse me? Hey” Shawn spoke up, moving closer, yet there was still no response. “Hey!” he continued in a louder tone, which seemed to catch the person’s attention.

“Shoot, hold on!” The mechanic yelled out from under the truck, finally rolling out from under the truck. The man who rolled out was quite young-looking, younger than Shawn, and had a baby face. He had blonde hair up to his shoulders and bright blue eyes. Of course, his sun-kissed skin was dotted with some splotches of oil and some sort of grime, and the blue jumpsuit he wore was covered in oil and dirt. Shawn looked at the name tag the other wore, barely seeing the name ‘Owen’ under an oil splotch.

Owen carefully stood up, wiping his hands on a cloth he had in his pocket before smiling at the man in his shop and holding a hand to him.

“Hi! Sorry about that. I hope you haven’t been waiting too long. I’m Owen. What can I help you with?” Owen asked, his voice surprisingly soft and surprisingly, not an Arizona accent either.

Shawn eyed up Owen’s hand beneath his sunglasses before looking back at the man’s face before taking off the shades. He gave Owen one of his charming smiles before speaking.

“No, not at all, just got here actually,” he began, licking his lips slightly before continuing, “I need help with my car- Obviously-, It broke down a few streets back, smokin’ and all… and no fuel” Shawn explained as he watched Owen lower his hand.

Owen looked slightly hurt about the man not shaking his hand, a pout on his face slightly. He hummed slightly before grinning and nodding.

“Should be easy! Luckily, it’s been a slow day, so let me put my truck down and we can go grab your car and tow it with the truck,” the mechanic agreed eagerly after his slow day.

By the time Owen and Shawn had towed the cherry-red car back to the shop, Owen had realized it wasn’t exactly the easiest job… It was a newer car, one he had seen no one in the town drive before… but he wasn’t gonna let this new customer down! Owen had lifted the hood of the car, already knowing it would take a few days to fix from the parts he could see, knowing it would take a few days to order parts… and then a few additional days to actually fix it. 

“So… How long are you here for, Mr?...” 

“Michaels, Shawn Michaels… and I was only coming here to fuel up. "

Now that was an issue. Owen pulled a face, wincing at the thought that he’d have to give this guy bad news.

“Well, Mr. Michaels, I… I uh, suggest you plan your stay here for a few days, I don’t have parts for a car like this,” the mechanic explained, as he glanced over to Shawn who stood nearby with his arms crossed.

“A few days? You have to be kidding me, right? Fuck… Diesel is gonna kill me!” Shawn groaned out, pacing around. “Shit, there’s a decent hotel nearby… right?” he asked, raising a brow as he looked over to Owen. 

Owen winced again. Even more bad news to give the guy…

“Well… There’s a motel nearby… but it is a good 45-minute drive from town.”

Shawn ran a hand through his long, wavy locks in frustration. His day couldn’t get any worse. First, his car breaks, and now the closest place to stay is too far away for him! Diesel appeared in his mind again. That annoying, smug face. Shit, he needed a drink… or something stronger.

Owen could see the annoyance on the guy's face. He truly felt for him. He had a soft heart and couldn’t stand to see a customer disappointed.

“But! If it helps, you could stay at my family ranch for a few days? I can keep you updated on your car and you won’t need to worry about how you’d get back to my shop!” Owen offered. The family ranch had enough space to help the guy out for a few days.

At the sound of the ranch, Shawn instantly hated the idea. He imagined the place being muddy and just plain dirty! However, it meant he would have somewhere to sleep, and he wouldn’t have to worry about trying to get back to this hellhole, which was now his nightmare. He took in a deep breath, trying to calm his annoyance.

“I… I suppose it isn’t a bad idea…” He muttered, rubbing the back of his neck, “... Yeah, fine. I’ll stay at this ranch of yours.”

“Let me close up and we can be on our way then!”.

It was common sense to not take a stranger's offer to stay at their house, but what was there for Shawn to lose? He could simply tell a small lie to Diesel, just saying that he’s spending the night at a hotel… And the day after say he was stuck in traffic and then tell him his car has broken down, just to calm the man's nerves. That and Owen just seemed so… sweet. His personality was so genuine and that was so rare to see in Shawn’s life. Yeah, he had a social life as a model, but most of the people he had met never seemed genuine. The only ones he got that feeling from were Hunter, Chyna and Diesel. Shawn truly felt as if Owen did want to help him out. 

Owen hadn’t taken too long to finish locking up. It did leave plenty of time for Shawn to have a quick look around the place. He quickly noticed that Owen was clearly a family kind of guy. There were plenty of pictures scattered around the workroom of Owen with different people, some he assumed to be his parents, others he assumed were probably his brothers and sisters, and maybe even some aunts and uncles. There were even a few pictures of a few kids- one that looked like a younger version of Owen- In some snow. But either way, it was a big family. 

The ride to this ranch was rather quiet. Yeah, there was some small talk, such as where they were both from which Shawn found out that the man was actually from Canada, which was ironic. Another question had arisen as well, the question of Shawn’s job.

“So… You’re a model? I would have thought you were an actor or something,” Owen chuckled.

“That’s sweet of you, I did want to be one, but modeling? Being all dolled up, partying… It’s the life!” Shawn grinned out, not mentioning the bad side of the job. 

“Ah, so you get paid to be pretty and to party… I wish life was that easy” Owen joked. He knew his older brother, Bret, hated that lifestyle. He was always talking about working hard for a good life, which Owen had to agree with. But the thought of partying every so often sounded like a great time. When was the last time he, Jeff Jarrett, Davey and Brian went out for drinks… It had been too long.

“I wish it was that easy,” the model started, “Strict diets, working with people you might not like with… The list is long, but the positives do outdo the negatives in my eyes”. The downfalls of being a model were clearly a touchy subject as Shawn’s grin seemed to disappear. The excited glint in his eyes after the compliment disappeared. Owen knew not to push further on that.

Owen hummed in response, nodding his head slightly, “Well, we’re almost here”.

Seeing a rather rustic house in the distance after seeing cactus after cactus was rather refreshing. The place looked rather peaceful in Shawn’s eyes. It had its own charm to it. The wooden fences that seemed to carry on for ages were cared for, the wood seemed almost new, even if grass tangled and vined itself around the posts. A sign soon came up as they drove along the side of the property. Shawn eyed it up, raising a brow as he saw the name ‘Hart Ranch’. Very creative. 

Entering the beginning of the ranch, Shawn could already see a few animals around in different pastures. There were a few horses, even cows… It reminded Shawn of an old photoshoot he did, one which he enjoyed a lot. He got to dress up like he was a cowboy, the hat, boots and even chaps, the whole shebang! Hunter and Chyna were there as well and they looked amazing in their getup… even if Hunter’s horse he had to ride kept stealing his hat. A small, reminiscent smile graced his face.

The house seemed to grow as they traveled down the long, dirt road. From a while back it looked tiny, something that an old couple would live in. Yet now being so close to it, he noticed how huge it was. It must have been handbuilt, there were uneven grooves in the woods of the walls and fences in front of the house, something that showed how much hard work was put into it. There were even some stone bricks that decorated the oak wood. Bright, fresh vines climbed through the maze of bricks in the house, adding more color to the home. This must have been built years ago, even before Shawn was born. 

Owen and Shawn exited the truck. Owen helped his guest by grabbing the large bag that they had lugged into the truck before they left.

“I’m not too sure who will be in… I know my Ma will be in, my dad will probably be working with Bret, my older brother, somewhere on the ranch… probably fixing something” Owen laughed, “and my sister Diana will be probably looking after the horses… So it should be luckily quiet for you, just for now at least”.

Quietly, Shawn followed Owen up the steps to the patio before opening the screen door, which had a beautiful panel at the bottom that had been engraved by hand into a tree, and entering the rather cool home, the door closing with a soft bang. The home was decorated with even more pictures than what was at the auto repair home, some that were in black and gray, their corners torn and frayed from age which confirmed Shawn’s thought of the place being handbuilt, while others were newer and fresher. There were a few shoes scattered around by the front door being in different sizes and styles, some being boots, some were flats and even a few heels. Owen placed down Shawn’s bag by the oak stairs that stood in front of them before moving into the large, spacious room to the right of them which Shawn slowly followed after.

“Ma! I’m home! I have a guest!” Owen hollered out into the rather silent home, the only noise he could hear after was the sound of the cicadas that buzzed louder. Owen continued to walk towards the kitchen, which Shawn assumed it was. 

Instead of following the young man, Shawn looked around the cozy looking living room. There were a few brown leather couches that surrounded a fireplace, a few blankets were carefully and almost lovingly lined up over the top. Handmade throw pillows laid untouched in the corners by the arms of the couches, embroidery were neatly laced throughout the rather soft looking material which had quotes such as ‘Home Sweet Home’ and ‘Welcome to our happy place’. It was rather sickeningly sweet to see, yet it seemed to suit the home rather well. A large, thick cow rug of brown, black and white laid underneath an oak table, a mug left on a coaster, clearly left and forgotten by accident in the clean house. Bookcases lined the back walls of the living room, full of leather bound books of different colors and sizes before more newer kids books littered between well used and loved books. Finally, Shawn noticed more family pictures, one of a whole family that was framed above the fireplace in front of a different house. 

Shawn wasn’t the type to get homesick. He had a pretty close relationship with his mom, but that was it. He’d phone her every so often. But even in his parents home, there were barely any photos of them as a family, as Shawn grew up, the pictures dwindled down until there was nothing new. Seeing these pictures though, it tugged at Shawn’s heart, the feeling of homesickness being more apparent. He quickly shook his head, trying not to get sentimental.

The perfect distraction eventually came, pulling Shawn out of his thoughts as he heard the front door open again. Shawn glanced over his shoulder, his eyes landing on a taller man. Now, Shawn may not have been the type to be homesick, but he was the type to be a hopeless romantic, and when this guy walked into the house? Shawn could feel blood rush to his cheeks.

The guy had curly, deep brown hair that reached his shoulders. His skin was tanned much like a god, the sheen of sweat clung to the man's brows and neck. His eyes were a dark, melted chocolate color that held warmth in them. And his outfit? Shawn was loving it. A black cowboy hat sat upon his head like a halo, his blue, checkered shirt hugged around his strong, muscular chest perfectly, his jeans hugged oh-so-perfectly around his legs. This man was something Shawn wanted and needed.

Silence filled the room as the man stared down Shawn, staring down his outfit before looking around the living room. It was an awkward silence, one that Shawn could tell that this guy was trying to figure out who Shawn was and why he was just standing there. 

Before Shawn could even speak, the mans low voice filled the room, “Who the hell are you? What are you doing in my home?”.

[jbaileyfansite]

Jonathan Bailey and Jeff Goldblum's interview about Jurassic World Rebirth (2024)

Jeff Goldblum and Jonathan Bailey might be starring in Wicked together, but they have another franchise in common, too: Jurassic Park.

Bailey is starring opposite Scarlett Johansson in the upcoming Jurassic World Rebirth, while Goldblum played chaos theorist Ian Malcolm in multiple Jurassic Park movies (most recently in Jurassic World Dominion).

So, when GamesRadar+ sat down with Goldblum and Bailey to talk all about Wicked, we also had to ask if Goldblum had any advice for his co-star about joining the Jurassic Park franchise. Their answer follows below, edited for length and clarity.

Jeff Goldblum: No tips whatsoever. You are on your capable own. Your broad shoulders can handle any dinosaur.

Jonathan Bailey: We stand on the shoulders of Jeff, Laura [Dern], Sam [Neill], Chris Pratt.

JG: Be careful, these little bony shoulders are frail little things. No, you're just on your own two glorious feet. And what a park that's going to be. What a world.

JB: You know Scarlett really well, don't you?

JG: I love that Scarlett Johansson! How much did you do with – I know nothing about it, what did you do?

JB: Yeah I did a lot, with Scarlett mostly. She's special, and she's gonna do amazing.

JG: I want to see the two of you together. Did you sing at all? Because she sings up a storm.

JB: She does, she's got an amazing voice.

JG:: I know!

JB: Yeah, and we will find out about that next year, maybe.

JG: It's a secret but I can't tell you what. Were you singing on the set? I wish you had a musical number in Jurassic Park.

JB: Yeah we did, actually. She's got an innate ability to turn anything into a song. Similar to you, actually. But, yeah, the locations, the dinosaurs, the cultural experiences of travelling all around the world, she made into song.

We have to agree with Goldblum and say we want a Jurassic Park musical, too, but sadly we think Bailey is just joking around about that particular aspect of the movie. Still, never say never...

In the meantime, you can see both Goldblum and Bailey singing and dancing up a storm in Wicked this November 22. Bailey plays the charming Prince Fiyero, while Goldblum is the smooth-talking Wizard of Oz himself.

Source

[gremlinmodetweeker]

A Man Among Ruins

So do any of you guys remember this one post HERE where someone told me about phantom of the opera!König? Well it's stuck in my head now. I'm gonna be reading the books, but before I did I wanted to start out with this little drabble here to set the stage.

TW: references to König being a nazi colonel (he left the army because he was disgusted by the nazis)

Wordcount: 1.5k

Art from This Post

Story below the cut

A Man Among Ruins

In 1861, construction of an opera house began in Vienna. Over the course of many years, an elaborate building of columns, gold and marble was constructed. Stone was shipped from across the land to build up into the towering building, carved to perfection by the finest sculptors Austria could find. It took decades of work, but the Vienna State Opera opened its doors to the public.

Music echoed from the great belly of the beast across the land. Many came to take in the great and elaborate shrine of the arts, a beautiful and majestic plinth upon which life, death, romance and tragedy was acted out upon, dazzling spectators for generations to come.

Glorious, beautiful, and tragic.

During the world wars, the building was bombed by Allies, reduced to naught but rubble. There were no sculptors who came from generations of artisans, most had died in the war. There were less painters of great standing, for they had died in the war as well. All the greats of the time were lost, and the people were left to weep over what once had been.

However, in this tragedy, there came a small miracle.

A man, tarnished by war and now an outcast among his cohorts, found refuge in the basements beneath the building. Nobody saw the man slip in, nobody cared when he disappeared amongst the halls and stages of the rubble. Who could care? And why? He was a homeless man who could matter less, so why bother him when he slept among rubble and bones?

Maybe, that’s where he belonged. It certainly seemed that way, at least.

He was left to his meager kingdom, and so he relished in it. He took from the scraps left behind, fashioning himself a gentleman in costume garb. He found a great cloak, one big enough to hide even his grand size, and he managed to fashion himself a pretty mask from some remains. He then hid himself in the darkness fro years to come, only leaving at night to feast from rubbish bins and off local scraps. Occasionally, someone would find him and give him offerings, taking sympathy on his sorry state. He’d thank them in broken words, and retreat back into the darkness where no being could ever have the misfortune of laying eyes on him.

But the Vienna State Opera lived on as more than a memory. This man, no longer able to remember his name of who he was, was awoken by the sound of machines and men’s voices. He ventured forth from his lair, hiding among the ruined gardens to dare see who would trespass on his lands.

To his surprise, they were architects. They were overviewing the building, debating its demolition or its salvation. The man suspected they would disappear, but they came back. He feared they’d destroy his home, but they did nothing of the sort.

In fact, they built around him.

These practical people were stable and pragmatic, undeterred by whispered stories of giant men who lived among the ruins. Instead, they took to teasing each other as they cleared out what was lost, and rebuilt what they could. 

The man watched as his palace was built around him. Great stone columns stood tall and proud in the yard. Cherubs fluttered in pairs above doorways. The man watched the building rise around him, and though once he was afraid, now he saw himself as a king of a new land, and so he called himself as such.

He would watch from below as painters lay on their backs as they brushed billowing clouds and lush forests onto the ceilings. He saw designers bicker and argue over which curtains to hang on the main stage, hidden just out of view in the newly built seating area. He would crawl through the catwalks to follow set designers shaping the stage to their views. 

And he was proud.

He had been a soldier, a good soldier at that. He’d risen up the ranks, but when he learned of the war he was fighting, he fled. All the titles he’d earned, once glorious and beautiful, now were blemishes to his name. He would tell you he fled the world because of the blemishes that consumed his face, but this was not so. Rather, he could not live to be a part of such an evil on earth.

So, shame followed him wherever he went, a shadow of a deserter cast onto the walls behind him.

Now, he was different.

It started one day when a young actor caught sight of him on the catwalks.

He only knew she saw him because she raised her finger at him, and called out a word he’d never heard used against him before.

“A ghost!”

A ghost? Was that what he was?

He didn’t stay long enough to figure it out. Instead, he swung out of sight and back into the darkness. He worried someone might shoo him from his home like a common gutter rat, but instead, he was more welcomed than before.

“It’s a ghost,” he heard someone whisper when he crawled through the backways of the building, now perching to peer down at the backstage where the actors had huddled.

“It must be a man who was here during the bombing,” said a big, burly man with a resonating voice.

“Do you think it’s possible?” a strawberry blonde waif of a woman perched on a velvet stool before her vanity.

“I saw him with my own eyes!” the blond woman from before declared, “it’s not just possible, it’s real!”

“Do you think he means any harm?” the woman on the stool finally turned to her coworkers.

The blonde woman thought for a moment. She pressed a finger to her chin in deliberation, then said, “I think he was more afraid of me than I was of him.”

“Well, if he was afraid of you, what’s the likelihood he could do any harm?” the big man’s laughter rolled like thunder.

The man smugly thought that he could kill them all within a minute of descending down on them, but was quite content to keep such things to himself. He’d come to like these patrons of his home, considered them a sort of family by now. He was more than happy to let them stay, as long as they didn’t try to drive him out.

And they didn’t. Instead, they welcomed him in with new rumors, and to his delight, gifts. They said that if the phantom accepted your offerings, your performance would go smoothly. The man was more than glad to ensure all their performances were exemplary, so long as his stomach was full.

He didn’t take too kindly to one woman begrudgingly complaining that ‘the phantom’s going to get too heavy to sneak so silently if this keeps up’, but he still ate her offered truffles happily, and when a stagelight looked as though it might fall, he held it in place the entire evening. Only when the last guest left did he let go, where it tumbled down into a cacophonous mess. She notably left out two boxes of truffles the next time she was set to go on stage.

The man relished in his palace. He was a beloved being, a mascot for the theater. They adored him and showered him with gifts, and he took them in kind.

Of course, looking from the balconies could be lonely. He watched them perform, acting out beautiful stories of love and joy below him, and he would imagine himself as the great hero below. He envied the men, sometimes. However, he still took their gifts and watched over them. They were all part of his watch, and he’d treat each of them in kind.

When the stage was empty and nobody was around, the man would go down and onto the stage. There, he would sing to the empty chairs. His voice would project, following all the tips those singers gave each other, and he would fill the entire building with his beautiful, sonorous voice.

So there he stood on his stage, singing The Marriage of Figaro’s ‘Se voul ballare’ so brightly to an empty stadium, accompanied by a silent orchestra. He sang with all his heart, his voice carrying across the entire hall and resonating back at him. Beautiful, glorious and true. He was glad, and you could only imagine his surprise when he heard a small set of hands clapping.

His eyes snapped over to the source of the sound, and there he laid eyes upon the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen in his life. And just as soon as he was spotted, he dashed to a stage ladder, scrambled up to a series of props, and ducked behind them out of sight.

As he raced back to the basement, he could feel his heart pounding in his chest. He could hardly believe he’d let himself be seen. And for how long? He’d finished the song by the time they made their presence known. A part of him wondered what they thought of his singing. Did they like his voice? He’d trained for so long, but he’d never expected an audience. He was never quite good enough for that.

But they had clapped for him.

Warmth bloomed in his chest.

Yes, they had clapped for him, and they had done so happily.

He would need to keep watch over this new little songbird.

Konig Dump

Konig AU stories

[sinning-23]

Publicity (Introduction)

Gorillaz 2D/Stuart Pot x Music!Artist!Reader

Warnings; language

A/N: Alright so I’ve gonna back to one of my old hyper fixations and was distraught by the lack of Gorillaz content(damn me for not the best writer and a damn child back 2009🥲😂)

ANYWAY! I might crack out a few of these while I’m still obsessed with it (I made a FAWKING oc and everything-) I also might make this a multi-part cause every fanfic I found was from 3-6 years ago and unfinished lol

PS> Bear with me sometimes i like writting the accents in and sometimes if drives me insane-

ENJOY!

Link to Publicity Pt.1

Being a singer, songwriter, and all-around musical artist was a lot harder to accomplish than people gave you credit for. Demands were all you'd grown used to from fans and your record label as you had gone on a 5-year hiatus.

Scrolling away on your phone you sigh, at an influx of fan emails, comments, likes, and shares on each platform your social celebrity presence graced.

However one in particular had caught your eye...well ear more accurately. Tik tok was one of your favorite pastimes, and on this specific post, \ there was someone mashing together two songs. One of your own, and one from a separate band You immediately fly to the comments, taking in the nice, familiar melody as your vocals come in paired with the lead singer.

-Holy shit this is actually really good -Wait this eatttsss -someone tag her in the comments i NEED them to -collab like yesterday- reply: yeah if she ever hops her ass outta retirement- WE MISS YOU QUEEN reply: honestly i dont see this hype this mashup kinda ass -Gorillaz x Y/n Collab whennn???

You chuckle, scrolling past comments as you note the artists. Huh, when was the last time you'd heard from Gorillaz? Last you heard they were on hiatus far longer than you had been and-

Wait....

Taking a breath you press the record icon, fluffing your hair and testing a 'glamour' filter before filming. And right as you posted, the glorious internet we WILD.

-Somewhere in Los Angeles-

"Check this out," Noodle smiles, turning her phone screen to the two gentlemen before her.

"Oh, that's that one girl uhhh, Y/n?" Russel confirms as Noodle nods, your stitch of the video playing amongst their conversation.

"If we get this all the way to the UK...I'll collaborate with Gorillaz to commemorate the end of our hiatus. That is if they are accepting of my invitation!" You challenge, with a smile.

"Ah, we don't need to do all tha'" Murdoc grumbles, plopping into the seat before kicking his boots up on the table. No decorum.

"What're you talking about? You know how cool that would be?" Noodle is already convinced, turning the phone back to the group.

Despite the bickering, 2D's eyes are glued to the screen. Pretty girl from the States. Her hair was wow...and that smile? The way she lowkey called them out for being gone but also herself...the confidence to request a collab?

"Noodle's got a point. We could add her to the new album before it drops." Russel includes, a smile already over his features

2 outta four convinced

"Y'know how expensive collabs are? You runnin' my pockets into the groun' " Murdoc grumbles again, glancing back down at the screen as the video loops.

He presses the stitch icon to watch the original before folding his arms over his chest in thought.

" Think we should 'ave a go at it? I mean, she invited us?" 2D finally pipes up, gaining his bandmates' attention.

Murdoc's been overrulled with a whopping 3 outta 4.

"Oh you would wan' to collab you dog-" Murdoc scoffs, despite being one to talk.

That man probably had more illegitimate children than there were stars on the flag- 2D opens his mouth to bicker and respond back but Noodle beats him to it.

"Well, we don't have a choice because I already contacted her team." Noodle interrupts, flashing the email.

"Since when the hell 'ave you had control over media and collabs?!" Murdoc shrieks

-Meanwhile-

You'd gone from vanished to trending in a matter of minutes. People in your comments were thriving off the fact that their favorite artist/artists would possibly be coming out of their hiatus over some silly mash-up! It didn't take long for word to spread from the States all the way to the UK because, within 2-3 hours, you received an email.

It was fairly simple and friendly acceptance to your collab invitation...something you knew was a possibility but, fuck it was happening now!?

Apparently, the Gorillaz guitarist, Noodle, said the whole band had seen your video and were wondering if you were serious about a collab. The combination of your talents would surely kickstart your careers once again and besides, what kind of celebrities would you be if you didn't give the people wanted?

Good fuckin music.

You pause for a moment, thinking this could easily be a scam, but upon further examination (and a brief chat with your media team who hadn't approved your video at all (yeah they were pissy about it)) you were sure you had the right people.

According to your coordinators, you’d been booked to fly out to LA within a day! Fuck things were happening fast and the sudden dread from 5 years prior managed to worm its way into your chest, sinking further into your stomach.

Shit.

Shit this was actually happening

SHIT!

You stand from your bed, now pacing as your breath quickens. When was the last time you wrote a song?! Hell, when was the last time you touched a fucking keyboard, or a microphone, or a fucking synthesizer?! When was the last time you'd opened your lyric book?

You scramble, thinking of the next best thing to distract yourself but the notion was cut short when your phone rang. With a deep breath, you answer, the fate time call immediately revealing a woman with dark, black hair and large round 3D-esque glasses. She has this huge smile on her face and faint bickering can be heard in her background.

You both speak,

"Hi!"

"Helloo!"

The two of you giggle and the woman who you soon learned to be THE Noodle who had contacted you prior, was wondering about your travel dates.

"You'll be headed this way in a day or two?" She confirms as you nod.

"So soon I know but, good to get started while the creative juices are still flowing. It's an honor to be able to work with such talented artists like yourselves." You compliment, hearing a gruff, more rugged voice call out,

"She's a nice one in' she? All in the day's work darling all in the day's work-" in the back before swiftly being cut off.

"We can't wait to have you! I'm sure we can all come up with something together, you've got quite the skillset." Noodle compliments back, the bond between girls only growing by the minute.

The two of you would get along just fine.

The conversation didn't last much longer though, because your team works damn near fast as the speed of light. Before you knew it you were being escorted onto a plane with a nice first class seat on its way back to your home state. With the occasional photo and autograph, the airport went a lot smoother than usual.

Once the plane had taken off, your 6 hour flight was filled with the very band you'd be collaborating with. From the discography to lore, history, and drama, you were determined to know as much about these guys as you could...

-6 grueling flight hours later-

It had been a while since you'd been home. The salty sea air of LA warms you to your core and the sun paints the sky a vibrant blue. Your luggage is carted away and just as you manage to shuffle past fans down an escalator. There, someone with a sign is already waiting for you.

Scribbled in chicken scratch damn near is your name on a large white sign. Holding said sign is a lanky-looking guy, hair bright blue and eyes black as night.

Part of you considers walking past him and pretending you dont know who it is, but your stupid 6 hour research journey told you everything you needed to know. Besides, your heart knew that would be quite rude to ignore the lead singer going out of his way to grab you from the busy airport.

Don't they have people for that though? To transport celebrities without making a fuss? This guy might as well be walking around with a target on him with his rather defining features. And what's up with that sign?! Isn't the whole point to avoid attention and a swarm of fans???

"Hi! I'm uhh, assuming you're-"

"Oh my god is that 2D!? AND Y/N?!?! She was serious, oh my god look!"

The speed at which your head moves to the direction of the sound ought to have given you whiplash. A swarm of people began to grow, and the flash of cameras and video surrounded the two of you as your heart raced. This is why you hire people for this shit.

A sea of fans demand autographs and pictures as they closed in, each of them asking different questions faster than you can process them

"Are you happy to be back in LA?"

"Over here Please can I get a picture!"

"Is there a reason you two are here alone?"

It's hot, the breath of now hundreds circling as your stomach turns, each poke and taunt making it harder to breathe as the airport terminal spins. Fuck you needed to get out. NOW.

"Why isn't the rest of Gorillaz here?"

"Are you nervous about your new song?"

"What happened at your last show?"

"Why did you run away y/n?"

Turning almost comically, your eyes narrow, sweat beaded and falling down the side of your face.

"What?"

You're soon being dragged, the one faceless figure in the crowd not bothering to follow the swarm as they rush after you and the blue-ette. Speaking of which, that was who was dragging you now, trying to run away from feral fans.

His fingers are long and cold against the skin of your wrist as he tries to navigate not only out the airport but also away from the swarm that is slowly dispersing.

So, this was the man behind those gorgeous vocals? You couldn't help but recall the entirety of their discography, that echo, something so unique about his sound. Like a distant, melancholic megaphone.

But when he opened his mouth-

"Murdoc 'ad me come pick you up! I-" You can't help the sound that comes out of your mouth. It's like a mix of complete shock and your face is about the same. You had no idea what you were expecting. The accent was a given, duh. But, there was no way that was his voice?! How could you have missed this in your research???

"Y'ok miss? Look like y' seen a ghost?" He asks again, his voice snapping you back to reality.

Oh that was 100% his voice, he was NOT fucking with you. And this was gonna be a long car ride.

Author's Note: OKAYYY so im gonna make some more parts this is definitely gonna have some smut and hopefully while I on winter break I can update my masterlist- Ayway see yall next chapter, yes I know this is cringe but I am free lmao

[popcornforone]

One Last Dance

A Max Phillips Fic

Day 24 of Pedrotober (Sundance Prompt)

Masterlist

Dramatic licence time. This is the one I had a hard time competing up with a concept for. I didn’t want to do more of our general, I know Joel is coming up soon so I didn’t want to do his hair, & I’ve done 3 for Dieter. So I’ve gone to our wonderful Bitey Maxie, to take thing literally.

Synopsis:- Max wants you to have vivid memories before you are turned.

Word Count:-1200

Warnings over & above:- death, fear of death, vampire lore, oral sex, ptsd, overwhelmed, swearing, blood drinking, possible manipulation but not too much.

Thanks as always for the read peoples. It’s a bit scary there’s now only a weeks to go, I can’t believe how much I’ve written. Thanks @alyssamariag & @norththelemon for the prompts as always.

When max asked you if you would like any last requests, he was thinking like a last meal or maybe a holiday with friends or if you wanted your family to know before you were turned. But instead you asked for something surreal. A Sundance.

You wanted to spend the afternoon on the night of your transformation dancing on the beach, in the midday sun. Days like this are the reason why for the last 3 years you have put off agreeing to Max turning you. You are a beach bunny & you love to swim In the sea & get tanned. But that will no longer be an option. Vampires don’t set a blaze like they do in fiction, but more than an hour without protection & precautions & they fade fast. Turning grey, needing blood, needing sleep. It’s not a nice sight. So this is your last day to enjoy being mortal, & going to the beach is how you want to spend it.

You were shocked when you saw Max ready & waiting for you that morning by the front door of your house with a bag full of stuff.

“Omg Maxie” you say excitedly.

“Only the best for my bride” he giggles “I got you a bucket & spade, a water pistol, a picnic with garlic dip” you both laugh”& I got you a new sun hat” you laugh as he hands it to you. It reads “it’s burning hot”

“Oooh Max thank you baby” you hug him & go to grab the car keys, but he’s holding them. “Max?”

“I’m coming too”

You look in shock.

“You can’t”

“Yes I can” he then reaches up & puts on a huge grey coat & a huge sun hat. Once you thought people only wore to look funny.

“Your gonna die wear that or not wearing that.” You exclaime trying to protect him. It’s such a thick padded coat.

“Not when the left side is filled with blood & the right side is filled with our vampiric supplements”

“It’s padded with that?”

“Yep I’ve thought of everything” you leap into his arms & he holds you as you wrap your legs around him. He’s got a beard today, he says he will be clean shaven on the day you awaken from your transformations.

“Oooh Maxie” you give him a deep seductive kiss & he smacks your bum. You smirk.”we could stay here all day & have sex” you lick your lips & look deeply in his eyes.

“Nah, we have eternity to do that, this is your last mortal day, my bride gets what she wants”

You sit on your bed at 7pm flicking through the photos that Max took of you on the beach today. You look so carefree & happy. He sat in a coffee shop making sure he had the perfect view so he didn’t get to hit. You then skip to a video of you & 3 others listening to some loud drum & bass music on the beach. You’re in your swim suit & coverall, dancing away, singing your heart out, as the sun gives you a glorious glow. You smile & start to well up, it suddenly hits that this will never happen again to you. Max had always said that if you have a choice to turn on the day, you will always second guess it. It’s almost like he knew this would set you off because as soon as your eyes sting a comforting hand caresses your shoulder.

“Still not too late my love” he says, that large hand a comfort that you grip to. You turn your head & look up, a single tear drops.

“Max I want to be with you, I want to be your vampire bride, we’ve been through this hundreds of times over the years, if we don’t do it now I’ll never do it”

“You have a choice, I didn’t, I don’t want you to do something that will make you sad” he sounds soft & genuine as he sits next to you wrapping his arms around you.

“I know Max, but I don’t want to get it wrong”

“The transformation?”

“No!” You say firmly. “If I stayed mortal, I’d be a huge target, I’d be open season, & it would kill me to know that I could have a life with you, but you wouldn’t get immortality with me” you hug him & he kisses your forehead.

“Damn, even now your still trying to comfort me, I can’t believe your more worried about that than anything else”

“I love you Max, I’ve made you wait long enough” you stroke his curls & beard. Yes his hair has grown too. “Also I need to be turned, I can’t deal with this hair & beard anymore” you giggile & give him a small peck on his lips.

“What if I like my hair like this?”

“Maxie, you kept pushing it out of your eyes earlier”

“But it’s a …”

“No Max” he then pushes you into the mattress & spreads your legs. God he’s a strong vampire.

“You’re saying you don’t want to run your hands through these luscious locks once more while I lick your pussy one last time as a mortal” you smirk.

“Well when you put it like that…” your panties are down under your dress in seconds flung across the room as Max licks a long stripe across your entrance to your clit.

“I’m gonna miss tasting this for 3 weeks…”

You sleep. Unaware you are asleep. Unaware you are dead. Unaware of the days passing. The last thing you saw before you were injected with the venom was Max kissing the back of your hand wishing you the soundests of sleep & devoting his immortal life to yours.

“AHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!”

You jolt up right & realise your lying sat up in bed. You clutch yourself. You feel like you. Had it been a weird dream? what was going on? Where were you? Your eyes readjust to the light. You hiss. You’re in his basement as promised. His coffin empty. Your blink readjusting & then realise where the light is coming from. The tv. It’s showing on loop you on the beach on your last day as a mortal. You hear the sound of the sea, the laughing & the light & you smile. Your eyes almost completely working. That’s when you realise you’re not breathing, & you start to shaking suddenly feeling cold. But something less cold holds your hand quickly as you silently panic.

“Hey hey hey baby” Max whispers “I’m here, I’m here, it worked, your with me now, your safe”

“I’m dead?”

“Oooh far from it” he giggles kissing your cheek. You can’t help but smile. Your hand caresses his face. Clean shaven, no curls, he did as he promised.

“How long have I been out”

“16 days, you started to fidget on day 13, so we knew you’d be awake soon & that the transformation was a success”

“Any issues?” Max had told you there could be issues with your transformation & that 25% end in death.

“Just the one”

“Oooh what is it Max?”

He chuckles & your red eyes lock with his.

“I’ve not been able to fuck my vampire bride for 16 days”

[decapitatedsnake]

My little (to no) context reaction to the wisdom saga 💙💙💙💙💙💙💙

(I couldn't stay up to watch the live so I'm just listening to the music = no animatics)

[30th of august 14:58]

Legendary

. I mean I've already heard legendary but I'm excited

. Gorgeous music, I feel transported into like ancient greece

. This sounds amazing

. The guy who voices Telemachus (MICO?) is adorable

. I don't like the riffs but he sounds good

. Telemachus deserves the world

. "L-l-l-l egendary"

. 108??!

. Isn't he like 13 here? (anywhere from 12-15 i feel like)

. I don't think we got a snippet of the ending

. MAN OF THE HOUSE

. AHHHA

. 20 YEARS?? WHAT

. I can't tell if they said 12 or 20

."BOY" Lowkey scared me

. EXCUSE YOU SIR TRAMP?? WHO DOES HE THINK-

. Antinous didn't come to play DAYUM

. This is insane

. "Whatcha gonna do about it champ?" Jorge was totally right Ayron is such a good Antinous

. Awwww he can't do anything :<

. Wait?

Little wolf

. GET HIM TELEY

. I love Antinous's voice

. I really loved the snippets for this one

. "I'll teach you all the lessons your daddy never could" it's on sight actually

. And little wolf is just so ughh I wanna punch him

. ATHENA

. FIGHT BACK

. BAHAHAHA UPPERCUT?

. QUICK THOUGHT

. And he👏is👏a 👏bully👏

. SHOW HIM

. ATHENA IS SO COOL

. OMG OMG

. Her voice is stunning

. The animatics are gonna go so hard

. Awww

. Oh he lost??

. Telemachus:((

. I mean yeah why did she come to your aid?

We'll be fine

. We only got Teleys bit so I'm excited

. Oo start with Athena

. FRIEND??

. Don't make me cry

. "He was a lot like you" gee I wonder why

. GREW APART :((

. HIS LIGHT!!

. GLORIOUS VOICE

. WAITT THEY CHANGED IT

. "Or if hes worth the hype but" > " I don't know what he's like"

. Fair enough

. And they changed "Cuz I got in a fight, sailed to an island when I've never left home shores"

. Okay it's been less than 5 minutes please refrain on the whole "friend" thing rn lol

. God telemachus voice (I can't shut up they're such good singers"

. DUET!!!!

. YOU WILL BE FINE

. Kid? Is he twenty or 12 I can't tell

Love in paradise

. FUCK YES

. WAIT THE INTRO?

. THEY WERE AT SEA FOR 10 YEARS, damn

. THE MUSIC SOARING, IT'S SO COOL, ouch

. CALYPSO MY LOVE (only the epic version though) [Ik it's up to interpretation but for me she doesn't sa him in this version]

. She's my wife 🙂 anyway 🤨

. HELL NO

. Oh shit love in paradise is athena watching, not Odysseus's experience

. Like this is when they first met and Calypso and Odysseus have been together for 7 years

. 7 YEARS

. YEAH I SAID THAT, before the song did

. ODYSSEUS!!

. WHAT > THE LEDGE

. ODYSSEUS 😭😭😭😭

. Wtf I am not emotionally stable enough for this

. Open..... arms.. BRO

. HIS MUM, POLITES AND EURY AND PENELOPE AND ATHENA??? BROO 😢

. YEAH I THINK HE DOES NEED HELP UGH

God games

. Ooo very grand

. Athena get him PLEASE

. She's about that business

. YES GOD GAMES INTRO OMGG

. WAIT WERE GONNA HEAR APOLLO AND HEAPHESTUS I'M SO EXCITED

. THE LITTLE MUSIC CHANEGS ARE SO GOOD

. ZEUS VOICE IS SO AMASZNIGN

. "and me" 😎

. That is not how I thought Apollo would sound

. He's batting for the sirens?? Um Ig that makes sense

. Oh Heaphestus I totally thought that aphrodite was next

. Well she's level 3 anyway

. BRO HIS DAD VOICES HEAPHESTUS I LOVE THAT

. Wait Apollo and Heaphestus are very reasonable, good for them

. NOW THE ONE WE'VE ALL BEEN WAITING FOR (excluding Hera)

. OMG IT'S THE SNIPPET THAT'S THE FINAL

. Athena's voice is new?

. Hmm she rerecorded but they didn't

. DIDN'T EVEN TRY TO KILL HER

. Don't fuck with Telemachus in front of Athena

. "Ughh release him"

. HERA

. OH FUCK SHE'S PERFECT CMON

. RELEASE HIM

. ZEUS YOU DICKHEAD SHE'S THE GODESS OF WISDOM LITERALLY ONLY HER COULD BEAT YOUR GAME

. WHAT WHAT

. NO

. WHAT???

. WHAT'S going on

. The music is telling me she like survived whatever his ambush was

. Zeus....

.THATS THE END WHATT

[aziraphales-library]

Hello beautiful human !

Can I find in, your glorious library, stories where Crowley has good friends who care for him deeply? Aside from Aziraphale, ofc.

Thank you so much in advance ❤️

Hi! I would recommend our #apocalypse buddies, #crowley & muriel, and #friendship tags for fics to enjoy. Here are more fics in which Crowley has good friends...

Angel, Please by GhostOfCallisto (M)

Crowley and Aziraphale are both regular old humans who met under human circumstances. Crowley is a part of a struggling band called Hellish Rebuke with the demon crew, Aziraphale is a former drag queen named Angel Fell attempting to be a professional dancer. Maggie and Nina are best friends with Crowley and big fans of his band.

I'm Gonna Set Things Right Again by iocallistoeuropa (G)

Aziraphale has gone off to Heaven, Crowley is driving around the country aimlessly, Muriel has learned how to have a "cupperty", and Give Me Coffee... or Give Me Death has now been expanded and renamed Give Me Coffee, Give Me Records... or Give Me Death. Some things have changed for the better, but others have turned into quite a mess. Is there any way to set things right again?

Who Am I Without You? by Lainey_Marie (T)

After Aziraphale left for Heaven, all Crowley wanted to do was lose control of himself and spiral until he couldn't feel anything anymore but there is an angel needing his help to adjust to life on Earth and a pesky coffee shop owner who just won't let him drown in his immense sorrow. With the help of his new friends, Crowley attempts to figure out who he is when he isn't living for Aziraphale or to do Hell's bidding. But what happens when that very same angel returns in desperate need of a hand to save the world once more?

You're Just a Little Under Rehearsed by MickyRC (T)

Drama teacher Crowley loves directing the Tadfield Community Players' shows—interacting with the rest of the staff at the community center, not so much. So when he meets the new accompanist for this year's musical, he's shocked to find that he might actually like him. Possibly more than like, if he's being honest. Aziraphale is fresh from leaving a long career as a church pianist, and hoping that a new job will get him out of the lonely rut he's found himself in. The attention and kindness of the flashy community theater director are unexpected, but not unwelcome. Far from it. But with a community theater to run, a show to put on, and a disgruntled R.P. Tyler looking for any excuse to get rid of Crowley and his theater program, will they be able to make a relationship work? And, more importantly, can they make sure the show still goes on?

The Prize by Caedmon (E)

Need a car? Date my brother. My brother is a real angel but needs a helping hand in the social/romance department, so I’m trying to help him find a good guy. Ages 35-50, employed, good looking, emotionally stable. After an entrance interview, if you successfully date my brother for a set amount of time and pull him out of his shell, I will give you my garage kept 1933 Bentley. Serious inquiries only. Contact gabriel@messenger.com

love like yours (will surely come my way) by CCs_World (T)

Dr Zira Fell is a new professor of theology at St Beryl's University. His first day there he meets the mysterious and enchanting Dr AJ Crowley, an art history professor and a painter. They almost immediately become friends, and spend most of their time getting lunch together, talking, drinking wine, making art, and falling slowly in love with one another. Featuring cameos of everyone's favorite (and least favorite) characters, gratuitous descriptions of paintings, long text messaging conversations, and one cranky cat.

- Mod D

[sadhours]

ABSENTEE - 1

next chapter • masterlist • my requests are open!!

my new series!!! i promise the finale to wicked sensations is coming soon but in the mean time, enjoy this :) it’ll be mostly Billy centric, not terribly romantic and it takes place before he moves to hawkins

content warnings: minors dni 18+, violence, child abuse (physical and verbal), homophobic slur, cannabis use, smut, unprotected sex, p in v, blow job

word count: 6k+

///.

The rooftop is his favorite place to be. It’s calm, though you can hear the sounds of the city below you. Billy likes the whooshing of the cars on the highway and the drunken chatter of college kids bar hopping. Soothing. Happy sounds. Not like the ones he hears at home. The second he’s through the door, Neil’s berating him for whatever he’s stewed on while Billy was gone. So suffice to say, Billy stays out of the house most days and nights. The grace period from having Max and Susan is over and Neil isn’t hiding who he truly is anymore. As Billy rolls his spliff, he remembers Susan’s reaction the first time his dad had smacked him upside the head in front of her. It was unmoving, her face stoic and a look in her eye like Billy deserved it. He can’t even remember what prompted it, but that was the glorious thing about Neil’s fists, they didn’t need a reason. Billy could have moved the dish soap in the kitchen a centimeter and that would be enough to set his dad off. So why the hell would he be home when he could be anywhere else?

Absent. That’s what Max called him this morning. Just like his mother, he thought. It was true. Billy was numb to it all. He could be there but not really. Auto pilot, doing what’s expected but without reason behind it. He’s floating through life without real meaning to it. Billy hopes he’ll find something worth living for. Shit, most sixteen year olds have no true passion for life but no other kids have Neil as a father. He’s pulled out of his thoughts when his buddy, Reggie changes the cassette in the boombox. He’s supposed to be having a good time, he reminds himself, not thinking about how bad he doesn’t want to be at home. Billy licks up the side of the paper to seal the spliff, reaching for his zippo and lighting it up. He inhales deeply, letting his eyelids close with the motion as the sharp smoke fills his lungs and immediately relaxes him. Fuck, weeds awesome. Reggie’s been on this New Wave kick and Billy can’t stand it, unless he’s stoned. When he’s stoned, all music is pretty rad. So the Joy Division cassette isn’t the worst he’s heard. It fits Billy’s mood pretty well. He won’t admit it, the goddamn hopelessness of the lyrics hit him square in the chest and make him feel a little less alone.

“The girls are taking forever,” Reggie complains and Billy agrees. He could really use a beer, cotton mouth kicking in far too quick for his liking.

With a shrug, Billy peers over the edge to see if he can get a glimpse of you guys. You’ve been dating a couple months at this point, but you’ve been friends for years. Right after Billy’s mom left and Neil uprooted him from the house they shared to an apartment in the heart of the city. Billy misses that house and that apartment. You lived in the complex and he’d met you while he was graffitiing the apartments playground slide with a sharpie. He thinks he was drawing a crude pair of tits but he can’t remember, knows for sure he’d scribbled his favorite swear words at the time all over it. You guys were eleven years old. You came up to him and asked if you could draw something. You drew a cartoonish dick and right then, Billy decided you were gonna be friends.

Then Neil met Susan a few years later when he was fourteen. They moved quick and got married a month after meeting. He hates moving, so he wasn’t thrilled when Neil and Susan insisted on finding a three bedroom house closer to Max’s school. Luckily, Billy didn’t have to change schools but the house was in a cookie cutter suburb instead of the city. Plus, you weren’t a two minute walk away anymore and Neil got to keep him on a shorter leash.

“Beeeer!!!” you and Cindy, Reggie’s girlfriend cheer in unison as you climb up onto the roof through the fire escape.

“Finally,” Reggie grunts, snatching the spliff from Billy’s fingers and extends his opposite hand for a beer.

“Why are you listening to this depressing shit?” Cindy complains as she hands him an Old Milwaukee, “We’re supposed to be partying.”

“Eh, it’s not so bad,” Billy shrugs as you nestle yourself next to him on the edge of the roof, he wraps his arm around you and accepts the beer you offer.

Cindy gapes, “You’re the last person I’d expect that from.”

Billy doesn’t respond. Instead, he cracks his beer open and looks over the edge of the roof again. He sees a handful of girls stumbling beneath and he wonders if he hawked a loogie down could he hit them and what would they do. Saliva fills his mouth in anticipation but he decides against it. They’re pretty and their reactions probably won’t be all that exciting. He’s confident about his aim, though, figures he could land it on one particular girls’ cleavage. He smirks to himself as he brings the can to his lips and averts his eyes to his friends, looking for the spliff. It’s in Reggie’s hands again so Billy leans over and snatches it.

“Stop bogarting, asshat,” he snaps.

“Relax,” Reggie mumbles, “we tried passing it but you’re too busy checking out the chicks on the street.”

“I wasn’t checking them out,” Billy defends himself.

“Sure,” you sigh next to him before standing up and making your way to sit on the torn up couch Reggie and Cindy are lounging on.

Billy rolls his eyes, taking a hit off the spliff before looking down at his watch. The football game is probably almost over and Neil’s most likely dozing to sleep, drunk off a twelve pack. But Billy doesn’t intend to go home for a while, well after midnight. It’s summer after all. He could probably crash at Reggie’s tonight. It’s a good excuse to spend time with him because usually, Billy has to steer clear of him during the school year. Neil would kill him if he’d seen Billy hanging around a black kid. He’d probably kill Reggie too. In the summer it’s safe, but during the school year, his curfew is strict and Neil would rather Billy hang out at home. He brings friends around sometimes, but never Reggie.

You keep giving Billy an angry look. Max’s words this morning ring in his ears. Absent. Billy knows that’s why you’re mad at him too. You’d had the conversation a hundred times this summer alone. He doesn’t put enough effort into the relationship, you told him. Asked him if he wanted to go back to being just friends. But Billy assured you that he didn’t, promised to do better. He’s always being told he isn’t good enough. By everyone in his life. So much so that he’s gone numb to that too. Figures the least he can do is accept that he’s never going to be what people want him to be. It’s easier that way, anyways. Hard to let it get to him if he just doesn’t give a shit anymore.

The thing is, Billy just turned 16 and Neil’s expecting him to work this summer so you’ll just have to deal. He’s excited to get a job, excited to save up his money so he can get a car. He got his license the day after his birthday, figures by the end of August he should have enough to buy a beater car. Something he can fix up real nice. Something that’s his, proof he can accomplish a goal, proof he’s not such a goddamn waste.

He was supposed to be job hunting today but he didn’t. He got up early enough to surf, got home and showered, put on his fanciest button up that was a hand-me-down from his dad and told him he was off to fill out applications. He got stoned at Reggie’s house and the two of them watched TV for hours until Cindy called. Billy can do it tomorrow. It shouldn’t be too hard to find a job. Maybe he can work at the surf shop. The owner likes him a lot. He’s even talked about Billy becoming a team rider. Billy tries not to get his hopes up about that. Neil doesn’t care for surfing, tells Billy it’s a waste of time. Not a skill for the real world. That’s what Billy likes about surfing though. It drags him far away from reality, his mind can finally relax when he’s catching waves.

He smokes the spliff until it’s a burnt roach, tossing it over the roof and stands up. Pacing around, he ignores the conversation the three of you are having as he focuses in on the buzz from the weed. He can feel the air better, feels like he can breathe better than ever before. He stares up at the moon, admiring how the clouds skate passed it. He lays on the floor, hands behind his head and focuses on the craters he can see in the moon. It’s full and he can kind of see a face in the craters, if he tilts his head it also looks like a little girl with a triangle dress.

Suddenly, he feels a hand on his stomach and he turns to see you, sitting beside him with a curious smile. He returns it with lopsided one of his own.

“Get bored of ‘em?” he asks, softly.

You turn to look at Reggie and Cindy, his eyes follow to see the couple making out.

“Ah,” he purses his lips, “It’s that portion of the party, is it?”

You nod and Billy pats his hips, signaling you to climb into his lap. Once you do, he’s wrapping a hand around your neck and luring you down, lips hovering. You feel his teeth as he smiles before placing a tentative kiss to your lips. It starts slow, lazy from his dazed, stoned state. Billy prefers kissing when he’s high, doesn’t much care for it when he’s sober. But for some reason, in this altered state, it doesn’t feel as gross to him. Billy never tells you he doesn’t like kissing or that he thinks it’s kind of disgusting. When he’s horny enough, it’s not gross and he’ll lick into your mouth all sloppy as long as his dicks inside you. It’s not his foreplay though.

He can hear Reggie grunting and groaning. He doesn’t have to look over to know Cindy’s going down on him. She’s loud about it and Billy doesn’t admit that it turns him on. Billy thinks it must turn you on too because you start grinding your hips against his. Plus, he figures Reggie and Cindy won’t care much if they started it in the first place. Billy always feels a bit strange about the lack of boundaries, the fact that the four of you mess around in front of each other. Figures that you all get it when you can and it’s not often you guys are secluded enough to pull it off.

Billy grabs your hair to pull you away, moving his hands to undo his belt and you get the hint, lifting yourself up just enough to get your underwear off and Billy’s jeans and briefs down to his knees. You hold your skirt up, looking down at his pulsing erection settled against his stomach. He wraps his fingers around the base and spits onto his other hand, smearing it all over the head before lining it up with your entrance. You gasp when you feel him prodding, eyebrows knit together in desperation and Billy loves that. Feels like he’s done something good to make you want him so badly. You slowly lower yourself until he bottoms out and Billy grunts softly, pressing his palms to yours and lacing your fingers. It’s sweet, makes your whole body fill with adoration for him. His eyes are barely open, eyelids looking heavy while his mouth hangs open just enough for you to see his tongue pressing to his bottom lip. A roll of your hips and his tongue rolls against his bottom lip, a lewd moan tumbling out of him that has your toes curling in your shoes. Through all the bullshit he seems to drag you through, you wouldn’t ever give this up. He gets you fired up like no one else could. Billy’s a literal wet dream come to life and you have the fucking privilege of being with him. The slight curve of his cock is practically designed to fit you perfectly, hooking just right to nail that wonderful, spongy part inside of you. But you think you could cum just from looking at him, sometimes. Or hearing his voice.

You bend down to whisper in his ear, “You feel so good.”

He lets go of your hands to wrap his arms around your middle, pulling your bodies flush as he groans breathy against your ear. You press gentle kisses along his jaw, bouncing in his lap over and over. He snakes his hands up your shirt and scratches down your back, arching his own which only buries him deeper inside of you. Deep enough he hits your cervix and you yelp. Billy chuckles softly before easing up, his hands steadying at your hips.

“M’sorry,” he mumbles against the shell of your ear.

“It’s okay,” you reply softly, pulling back to look down at his face. He looks fucked out, totally blissful and all the stress and worry usually living there is gone. It makes your insides turn. You’d give absolutely anything to do that for him all the time. He starts thrusting his hips up at you, his hands holding your hips still so he can take control. He does it whenever he’s close and you’re almost there too so you keep staring down at his face, trying to commit it to memory like you haven’t seen it a hundred times, like you don’t see his face whenever you close your eyes.

Billy’s eyes open slowly and he maintains eye contact with you, his mouth open while pants and soft moans flood out of it. Just the look and sound of him is enough and your orgasm comes crashing through you.

“Billy,” you gasp, thighs shaking against his hips while you involuntarily hump against him.

He smiles then, all lips and no teeth but looking satisfied. You don’t get the opportunity to completely ride through it, he pulls out of you and you’re quick to move down and take his cock in your mouth, eyes wide as you look up at him. He gives a pathetic thrust and clenches his teeth, squeezing his eyes closed as he shoots his load into your mouth. You swallow and pull back, licking up the last of it that dribbles out of his slit. He whimpers and it sends another wave of arousal to your center.

With a sigh, he pulls his pants back on and hands you your discarded panties. You awkwardly pull them back on and reach your hand out to help your boyfriend back up. Billy kisses you softly before wandering over to the sixer and pulling another beer from it. He stands taller now, relaxed and you’re relieved you can help him in some way. Even if it seems like only sex.

Billy and Reggie share a look before the two of them burst out into giggles, Cindy rolls her eyes but immediately shoots you a pleased look. She enjoys it and so do you. Billy makes his way back to the edge of the rooftop, sitting down and lighting up a cigarette. He keeps peering over and it’s making you nervous. You don’t know what he’s thinking but sometimes you worry Billy imagines jumping off. What you don’t expect is to hear the sound of him hawking up a loogie.

“Billy,” you warn, standing up.

Reggie’s standing up with you but with excitement as he stumbles over and peers down with Billy.

Billy spits down and you hear a man from below shouting.

“Billy! Fucking hell,” you scold but your boyfriend is in a laughing fit, holding his gut as the careless sound rips through him.

Absent.

“I’m gonna beat your fucking face in!” the guy from the street shouts up at him.

“I’d like to see you try!” Billy replies.

“Then get your ass down here!”

Billy’s up to his feet, the excitement of violence bubbling through him as he makes his way to the fire escape. He ignores the protests from you and his friends, though the three of you follow him down. Billy chugs the rest of his beer once he’s on the ground, tossing the empty can and puffing his chest up as he stalks over to the guy.

Billy’s in shape, he spends a lot of time lifting weights but that’s not what makes him dangerous. It’s the fact that he doesn’t really give a shit and all the pent up anger from the abuse he faces. The guy he nailed with his phlegm is bigger but Billy doesn’t seem scared. He yells out, fists clenched tight at his sides as they meet face to face. Billy’s grinning wide, he always looks so happy when he’s about to get in a fight. It fucking worries you.

The guy swings first but Billy dodges it and then his fist is connecting with the dudes jaw with a horrific pop. The guy reels, like he wasn’t expecting so much power behind a teenagers fist. He stumbles but is back quick, socking Billy in the face and you wince, knowing that he’ll have one helluva shiner.

Billy laughs, “Is that all you got, fucker?”

Another punch and the guys on the ground but Billy’s on him in an instant, delivering blow after blow to the guys face before Reggie’s pulling him off.

“Fuck!” he screams out, eyes lit up with something that terrifies you. He enjoys this too much. You reach for his wrist and pull, dragging him along as the four of you run down the block. The dudes knocked out but his friends chase after you guys. They’re not fast enough and you lose them after cutting through an alley and ending up in a deserted plot of land. It’s mostly dirt but the occasional construction debris. There used to be a motel here but it’s got plans to become yet another parking lot. Billy screams out again, cheeks split with a devious smile.

“Why the fuck did you do that?” you yell at him, pushing against his chest. He turns to you with that eerie smile and you notice his nose is bleeding.

“That was fucking rad, darling,” he gushes, “I totally knocked his fucking lights out!”

“It wasn’t rad!” you argue, “God damn you’re such a fucking child sometimes!”

Billy laughs, but it’s laced with venom, “And you’re fucking boring.”

The word hits you hard, breaking your heart in an instant. You sniffle, pissed off with yourself that you’re crying so easily. Billy could be mean, to everyone around him. You knew that when you started dating. But it still hurts. You wanted to be an exception to that, but you realize how foolish that was.

“You’re fucking crying?” he scoffs, “Jesus Christ.”

You turn on your heel and start walking, Cindy me Reggie are quick to follow you but when you’re a block away and you turn back, Billy’s not following you. He’s wandered in the other direction.

///.

Billy finds the spare key under the mat and tries his absolute best to keep quiet as he unlocks the door. Susan should’ve got his dad to bed by this hour but he doesn’t want to risk it. He slowly opens the door, stepping inside and unzipping his boots before taking them off and leaving them by the door. He peers into the living room. Shit. Neil isn’t in bed. It’s nearly two a.m., he and Susan must’ve had an argument. Billy closes the door as quietly as he can before turning the deadbolt. He tiptoes to his room, turning the knob cautiously. Once he’s inside, he flicks the light on and starts to undress. He opens his closet and grabs out a pair of grey sweats to change into. As he’s changing, he looks into the mirror, seeing the dried blood under his nose and the beginnings of a gnarly bruise under both eyes. He presses his thumb to the bridge of his nose and hisses. It’s not broken but fuck, it hurts. He sighs. He needs to clean it up. Billy desperately needs a shower but it’s too late. He’d definitely wake his dad.

Carefully, he sneaks out of his room and into the hallway bathroom. He flicks the light on and gets a better look at his face. Billy barely recognizes himself. It’s a problem he’s been having for years. He knows that’s his face staring back at him but he can’t help but feeling like he doesn’t know his reflection. Like the icy blue eyes staring back at him belong to a stranger. He quietly cleans the blood from under his nose but when he opens the medicine cabinet to grab his toothbrush, a slew of pill bottles and soaps fall out of it and land into the sink with a loud clatter. Max had probably haphazardly shoved her things inside. Billy closes his eyes and shuts off the light, steadying his breathing and tries to hear for a sign that he’s woken his father up.

Footsteps, loud ones clamber up the hallway and Billy braces himself. He hates this house, there’s no lock on the bathroom. There’s no locks on any doors besides the master bedroom. The door swings open and the light is switched on. Billy’s met with the angry face of his father.

“What in gods name are you doing at this hour?” Neil asks, tone cloaked in outrage. “Did you just get home?”

“No sir,” Billy replies, voice cracking.

Neil surveys his face, “You reek of pot, boy.”

Billy doesn’t respond to that, just stares blankly at his domineering father. There’s no point. He definitely smells like weed and no matter what he’d say, the next row of actions is a guarantee. Neil shoves him into the towel rack, the edge of it nicks Billy’s bare back and he can feel the blood drip down. He keeps still, looking stoically up at his dad. Neil backhands him, Billy’s face turns with the force of it and Neil grabs his throat, shoving him harder into the rack which just scraps Billy’s back up more.

“You have no regard for anyone but yourself. We’ve talked about this, huh? Respect and responsibility. Simple shit, but you’re too fucking stupid or selfish to learn,” Neil hisses.

His fathers grip tightens just enough where Billy struggles to breath but he knows his dad’s too pussy to actually kill him. He chokes out a sob, can’t help himself even if he knows it’ll only piss Neil off more. Another smack to the face, another shove into the rack and Neil knees him in the stomach.

“You’re crying? You goddamn pussy. Man up!”

From the ground, Billy seethes. He knows this will seal his fate and he’ll be forced into makeshift solitary confinement but he doesn’t give a fuck. He’s overflowing with hatred for the man towering over him.

“Fuck you,” he says behind clenched teeth.

Neil kicks him once more before grabbing a fistful of Billy’s curls and pulling him back to his feet. His dad looks him square in the face before head butting him. The sharp jolt of pain rings through him, his eyebrow feels hot and then Billy feels blood before he sees it when it drips into his eye. Neil drags him by his hair, through the hall and kicks Billy’s door open, the wood slamming into the plaster of the wall and no doubt leaving a hole from the doorknob. He shoves his son into the room.

“You’re goddamn worthless. I give and give but you refuse to fucking be respectful. You’re grounded, I’ll let you out when I can look at you again. Goddamn faggot,” he spits and slams the door back closed, Billy can hear as he fastens the chain lock he’s drilled into the outside of Billy’s door.

Billy holds his sobs, reaching for whatever material is closest to him on the floor and holds the dirty t-shirt to the split in his eyebrow. He falls asleep on the floor like that.

When he wakes up, the t-shirt has fused to his face with the dried blood and he’s reminded of the beating as he peels it off. Except it opens the wound back up and he groans, pressing a clean part of the shirt back to it. His heads pounding, his whole body aches. As he stands up to look in the mirror, he sees the bruising taking place on his stomach and ribs. His face is bruised but not from his dad. He’s too scared to look at his eyebrow, the pulsing pain and blood tells him he definitely needs stitches and he’ll be ending up with a gnarly scar instead. He peers out of his window to see Neil’s truck and Susan’s station wagon aren’t in the driveway but he can hear someone’s out in the living room. His throat burns and his mouth feels like it’s got cotton in it. Glancing around the room, he sees he’s got no water stashed away. Max.

Billy sighs, trudging over to the door and opening it as much as the chain lock will allow.

“Max,” he calls out, voice hoarse and fucking pathetic but his step sister is quick to run down the hall. Billy can see her red hair flying before he can see her blue eyes looking up at him. “Water, can you get me some water?”

She nods and disappears. Billy lays on his bed, closing his eyes while he waits. He hears the stool slam against the floor and he sits up, waiting for Max to climb up it so she can reach the lock. Once she does, she scoots the stool again and opens the door. She hands him the tall glass of water and he gulps it down in record time. He extends it out to her, “More?”

Max nods but she takes longer to return this time. Billy sees why when she’s holding the first aid kid they store under the bathroom sink. Billy gives her a half-hearted smile, she can be a little shit but she does care. It makes Billy feel weird, his initial instinct is to push her away and say he’s fine but he doesn’t. He lets her set the first aid kit on his bed and open it, she pulls out the peroxide and grabs the shirt from his face. She bunches it up against his eye and pours the peroxide on the wound on his eyebrow. It tingles but the sting is dull. She pats it dry before digging through the box for butterfly bandages. They stay silent as she dresses the wound. She’s a smart little fucker, Billy hadn’t even thought about asking for the first aid kit. She stands back and puts her finger against her chin, checking over her work before nodding to herself.

“Quick,” she says, “Use the bathroom before they get home.”

Billy nods, he hadn’t thought of that either. He stands and puts his hand on the top of her head, rustling her hair up. “Thanks, kiddo,” he mumbles before trudging into the bathroom.

As he steps inside, the events from last night flash around in his head but he pushes them away. He lifts the lid on the toilet and relieves himself. When he’s washing his hands he gets a good look at his reflection in the fluorescent lighting. He looks like shit. He aches for a shower but that’s too risky plus he’s not looking forward to the cuts on his back stinging from the water. He dries his hands and makes his way back to his room, where Max is waiting outside the door. Once he’s inside, he can hear her fastening the lock back up and jumping off the stool. Billy decides to tidy his room while he’s stuck in here, pressing play on his stereo so he can drown his thoughts in heavy guitar riffs and Vince Niel’s voice. After his rooms all clean, he shuts off the stereo and looks for a book to read to pass the time. He has no idea how long he’ll be trapped in here. Sometimes it’s a day, sometimes it’s a week.

///.

You haven’t heard from Billy in two days. It’s been two days since your little fight in the field and you’re getting worried. Billy was pretty adamant about you not coming over unannounced but the landline has been giving you nothing but a busy tone every time you try to call. You’re out of options and that’s why you take the bus out into the suburb and walk to his place. Neil’s truck is outside, along with his stepmoms car but you’re determined to check on him.

The wood of the door is warm on your knuckles as you scrap against it. Thankfully, Susan answers the door but her face falls and he looks back into the house before meeting your eyes.

“Billy’s not here,” she says.

“Where is he? I haven’t heard from him in a couple of days,” you reply, shoving your hands in your pockets.

“He’s out looking for a job,” it’s a lie. You can see it on her face. Susan’s a horrible liar, just like Max is.

You chew on your bottom lip before trying your luck, “Bummer. He must be mad at me still. Could I use your bathroom? Long bus ride out here.”

Susan heaves a sigh before stepping back and letting you inside, “Be quick.”

“Course,” you say and start making the descent down the hall.

“He’s not here!” Neil yells after you which causes you to stop, the sound of his voice always makes your skin crawl.

“I know, just using the bathroom,” you reply, eyes turning to Billy’s bedroom door in the hallway. The chain lock is fastened and your heart sinks into your stomach. You know Billy’s been trapped in there for days. He’s never told you this happens to him but when you’d noticed the lock, you connected the dots.

You lock yourself in the bathroom, staring at yourself in the mirror as you try to somehow telepathically communicate with your boyfriend. You so desperately want to call CPS on Neil but the first time Billy admitted his dad hit him, he made you promise and swear that you wouldn’t. Billy assured you he could handle it, that he didn’t want to be stuck in the foster system. I only have 5 more years, you remember him telling you. With a sigh, you finally sit down on the toilet and relieve yourself. It was a long bus ride. After washing your hands, you make your escape.

“Nice to see you, Mr. Hargrove,” you call out to Neil, hoping Billy can hear you and know you’re here.

“Whatever,” Neil mumbles with a wave of his hand.

///.

Once it’s midnight, you figure it’s safe and you stalk over to the window with the black grocery bag tucked tight against your side. The windows have bars on them, you’ve overheard Susan calling them decorative but they’re definitely a safety precaution, to ward off potential burglars. You can’t help but think about the way they make Billy’s room just that much more of a prison. God, if you could save him from this shit you would. This is the least you could do.

The bars are far enough apart that you can reach your arm through it. You quietly knock against it and step back to wait for your boyfriend to appear behind the sheet he uses as a curtain.

Billy snakes himself between the sheet and the window, his eyebrow is slit open and there’s some gnarly bruising under his eyes. You give him a sympathetic smile, lifting the plastic bag. Billy opens the window slowly, careful not to make too much noise.

“Hey, little lady,” he purrs, laying the charm on thick even though he’s a goddamn prisoner in his own fucking house. “What’re you doing here?”

You smile at him, you’ve found it’s best if you act like everything’s normal, “Wanted to give you some goodies and see your face. I miss you.”

“I miss you,” he reaches out and pokes your nose. “Whatcha get me?”

Peeking into the bag, you pull out the Mickey’s 40 you’d purchased and hand it over. Billy moans at the can, grinning from ear to ear. Next you hand him a pack of Marlboro Reds and he gives you another moan.

“Fuck, I could marry you,” he takes the pack and rips it open, lighting a smoke immediately.

You bite your lip, “Do it.”

He chuckles, leaning his forehead against the metal bars, “Maybe one day I will. Then you’ll really be sorry.”

You giggle softly and pull out a pack of sour candies for him. He places them down on his floor and smiles at you, “Think we could manage a kiss through these?” his fingers tapping against the bars.

“We could try,” you suggest, stepping closer and smiling up at him.

You manage to touch your lips to his but it’s wildly uncomfortable and you both strain your lips to do it. Billy sits on the sill and reaches his hand out to hold yours.

“Sorry about the other night… I was being a dickhead but hey,” he motions to his face, “got my punishment for it.”

“Billy,” you squeeze his hand, “You didn’t deserve that. You never do… I don’t even care about the dumb fight we had.”

He shrugs but moves his hand to your chin, stroking his thumb against it, “It’s nothing new. I shouldn’t have come home that night but ya know, I didn’t know where else to go.”

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have ran off like that…”

“It’s cool, I’ll probably get a sick ass scar from this one,” he points to his eyebrow.

You shake your head but smile at him.

“You really gave it to my old man today,” he grins.

You cackle, “Did I?”

“Oh, yeah! I think the kindness kills him more than if you were to ignore him. How’d you get into the house, though?” he takes a long drag from his smoke before handing it over.

You take it and smile, “I told Susan I had to pee.”

“Oh!” his eyes widen and he disappears behind the sheet again, only to reappear with a Gatorade bottle full of what you can only assume is piss. “I know it’s gross but could you uh, dump this for me?”

You take it from him carefully and hand him back the cigarette, “Why don’t you just piss out the window, Billy?”

“In broad daylight? I can’t,” he says, sounding ashamed as you unscrew the cap and dump the bottle out into the bushes next to you. You screw the lid back on and hand it back through the bars.

“I fucking hate your dad,” you mumble.

“You and me both, babe,” he goes back behind the curtain to put the bottle back. When he returns, he’s got a folded up piece of paper and he passes it to you. “I drew ya something, don’t look at it until you’re far away from me.”

You giggle and slide it into your back pocket, “Can we try another one of those kisses?”

Billy chuckles, nods and you guys attempt it again. When he pulls back, he wiggles his eyebrows, “You could probably suck my dick through here.”

“You wanna attempt that but you won’t pee out the window,” you raise an eyebrow but smile back at him. “I’m not gonna blow you through your window. Nice try though.”

Billy laughs and pokes your nose, “I better get to bed. I’m sure I’ll be released soon enough and I can maybe take you out or something.”

“That sounds nice,” you smile warmly at him.

“A thank you for the necessities,” he holds up the beer and pack of smokes.

I’d do anything for you, you want to say but it dies in your throat. Billy doesn’t really get mushy with you so you’ve been scared to tell him just how infatuated with him you are. Sometimes he’s like a skittish dog and you feel you haven’t completely earned his trust yet.

“Stay safe, Billy.”

“Eh, that’s no fun. See ya later, little lady,” he smirks with the pet name before closing his window.

As you begin your journey down the street, you remember the paper folded up in your pocket and you quickly pull it out. Unfolding it, you see lines but you’re confused. Once it’s completely unfolded you see a crude drawing of a penis. Actually, it looks like Billy’s laid his dick on the paper and traced around it. It’s the most ridiculous and hilarious thing you’ve ever seen and you can’t help the roar of giggles erupting from your chest. The image of him so utterly bored while he’s locked away and getting the idea to trace his hard dick against the paper is the funniest thing in the world to you. God, you adore him.

[yayroos]

anyway i've been saying this in like replies and tags but here's my take on the MCR thing here's my theory ok

so according to the caption under the video

a) it's been 17 years since the band The Black Parade was sent to the MOAT

ok so 'MOAT' is clearly an acronym but also they were sent there they didn't go, so someone did this one way or another.

b) In that time, a great Dictator has risen to power

ok so the fascist and the regime came about at some point after The Black Parade was sent away - if it was fairly soon after, then i would say the MOAT is probably complicated fascist political prison for people who might be useful someday. I don't know what it stands for but i have a vibe of what it is.

c) bringing about "THE CONCRETE AGE", a glorious time of stability and abundance

ok so that's a song title. like. come on.

d) in the history of DRAAG.

so 'DRAAG' is another acronym, presumably for the name of this country. It's phrased to imply that the country existed before the regime, but fascists like to make shit up to make themselves look good, so I'm gonna say maybe there was a very different place called that in the past and then the regime took over and is basically co-opting that because that's what regimes do

e) His Grand Immortal Dictator wishes to celebrate our rich and storied culture, fine foods, and musical entertainments by welcoming you to these great demonstrations of power and resolve.

politicians across the spectrum and for a very long time have taken and twisted and used music and culture to serve their own ends. This happens all the time. Other people have said it better in the last day or so but like think of who's played what songs in campaign rallies and on tv ads and shit over not just recent election cycles but for 30+ years at this point. This is a constant of politics, and only gets amplified when fascism enters the picture. This is propaganda, this is using people's memory of what The Black Parade used to be before to give legitimacy to the regime.

f) And lending voice and song for the first time in six thousand two hundred and forty six days,

that lines up with the 17 years, and IRL with their last Black Parade performance and 'the black parade is dead'

g) their work privilege ceremonially reinstated

this tells us a huge huge amount about the nature of the regime and makes it clear that the band was, we'll say, forcibly retired, at some point

h) will be His Grand Immortal Dictator's National Band... The Black Parade

the regime and the dictator have claimed them, even though we know from the start they 'were sent to the MOAT' before the regime actually rose. That means that after 17 years and a complete change in regime, the cultural identity still tied to The Black Parade is still valuable enough to bother wheeling them out at this point. That's a long time for a seemingly inactive band to stay relevant.

Knowing what we know about MCR and politics and the current political moment, The Black Parade then were political enemies of the rising regime. They've been off hidden away somewhere but the people still remember their music, which makes them prime material for the quiet little rebellions from which revolution grows. The regime then gets word of this, and brings the band back to a) take away the power of it being from before by rebranding it under their own banner, and b) try and squash the resistance by demonstrating that their rallying cry is actually totally on the regimes side (no don't worry about how they were 'sent to the MOAT' 17 years ago they were totally on board the whole time...)

So The Black Parade will perform, but we know MCR and we know Gerard and we know the moment we're in, so that's not the whole plan here. The show will start heavy on the regime themes, but the band will break out somehow and instead of doing what the regime plans for and shutting down the rebellion, it will fan the flames and tear the whole thing down.

[caffstrink]

Have you ever thought about what kindof musical themes would be associated with your OCs? Like, what their theme tune or leitmotif might be played on, that kind of thing?

First off im so sorry for not replying earlier ive kept this in my drafts for like a year

Rubs my hand evily like a little hungry fly YEEEESSS YESSSS YESSSSSSSSSS

Honestly tho i dont rly have much (if any) musical knowledge to be able to use precise or specific terms for musical theory stuff or the right name for certain instruments, so overall i can only try describe the ~vibe~ for what each character/setting would be, also since i was given the opportunity to talk about the topic ill just go ham and talk way more than what was asked bc honestly what are the chances of being asked about this in the future? Hashtag yolo 2012

This is gonna get long so i apologize in advance to those who dont care. ill try to clump characters together by emojis, first emoji for setting/universe and second for character

👼💖For cupid/arisu i imagine music box notes, happy pop and "sparkly" over-the-top cheery music like magical girl anime openings, one of the main musical inspirations for her and a song i like to listen to when i draw her is pururin and dokuro-chan's op

👼💚Levia-tan/himari would also have the music box motif but in lower notes, a song much more subtle than cupid's but slowly building up energy over time until it's ready to snap.

🍄🐐 Juandice would be folk music, but often getting off-key as to give an unsettling tone. A song i think that enclapsulates his vibe perfectly is AJJ's A Song Dedicated To The Memory Of Stormy The Rabbit (ive been meaning to do a juan animatic to this song for a while now but i never get around to it)

🍄⛪ father rot id like it to be very unsettling off-key strings. Maybe a little bit of carnival sounding music but very very faintly. Kinda giving you a vibe the guy isnt good news but at the same time there's something unnatural about him it just makes you curious

🪐🛸 ak-47 happy cheery chiptune music, voice synthesizers (aka vocaloids etc) and breakcore, something like Anamanaguchi, METAROOM, pinocchio-p's older music (hello there earthling, nina, loney ufo)

🪐🍀 clovers is a tough one, i can imagine it being a song structured in three parts where the first is the normal theme, something more old school sounding like DS soundfont. Think pokemon BW's soundtrack. The second part is a more raw, loud, incomprehensible type of music like Shinsei Kamattechan, specifically Ikareta NEET. Third part would be a much quieter, sadder version of the first part melody. Think of how Snowy during genocide route in Undertale.

😈🗡 Alma would be metal instruments, specifically guitar riffs

😈🍥 carol would be trash metal/grunge, bass

😈🏥 cirrus would be either drums or piano. I like Unreasonable Behavior from offgame and Alone In Town from silent hill as examples

😈🦇 fontini would be music box and intense sounding music. At the price of oblivion from homestuck is a good example

😈🦟 dominic would be spanish guitar.

😈⚡paloma indie rock/acid rock guitar

😈⚔ rouxinol.. im not sure. Something very intense and intimidating sounding, but i dont know instruments that much. For now i can just say in my mind it sounds like something out of carpenter bruts music

😈💎 lyre would be a specific genre of pop that idk the name. Venus by lady gaga, heavun by hemlock springs, glorious by muse.

👿🐦 corbin would be among "instruments that arent instruments" like industrial noise music. Music that sounds like it was composed entirely out of regular warehouse tools. Dentist drills included

This isnt all of my ocs but if theyre not included then its bc i dont have much in mind musically for them

[shallowseeker]

Harper repeats the demon's words, and Jack braces himself for the truth to hit.

"Two," she says. "She said you were two. As in, two years old?"

Jack nods, trying to steady himself.

"You were born two years ago. In 2017."

"May 18th," he adds, the date hanging in the air like a weight.

At first, she takes it like a champ.

Then, she starts muttering to herself, her eyes bulging like she’s about to pop. (It makes her look like Theodore from Alvin and the Chipmunks.)

Her hand skitters to her elbow, where she starts picking at a scab. (The one she got fighting the cougar: mushy, not even healed enough for the scab to dry out.)

When her muttering grows louder, the cashier starts shooting furtive, suspicious glances their way. If she’s about to have another meltdown in the middle of Burger King, he’ll have to drag her out to the parking lot.

All Jack wants right now is a glorious Spicy Tendercrisp. He hasn’t eaten in 36 hours, and it feels worse than dying. He would know.

"...yesterday," she whispers.

"Yesterday?" he pushes, hoping she’ll snap out of it.

She turns to him, a bright, almost too-bright smile blooming on her face. It’s googly and pretty, the kind of smile that messes with people’s heads—enough that the people behind them in line stop talking to stare.

"You're my Born Sexy Yesterday."

He blinks at her, waiting for her to explain, as she often does to the point of overload.

"Gosh, Jack. Don’t you read?"

He tries not to roll his eyes—Sam’s always doing that and it drives him crazy—but it’s hard when she’s talking like this. He forces out a tight smile and offers up a new spin on the truth: "I read lore."

She goes into one of her prattling, long-winded rants again. "So. You're my Adam from Blast from the Past, Jack, or—maybe my very own George of the Jungle. Except more clothes, of course."

"I haven’t read either of those," he says, genuinely lost.

"They’re movies."

"Oh."

"Gosh. We need to expand your horizons, Jack."

Jack’s not exactly sure what to say to that. She's kind of right. He’s used to the same old movies on loop—Dean’s idea of a movie night is basically a rotation of the same handful of films. Even if Harper's shrill and emotional about it, he’s kind of been enjoying the different music she puts on the radio in the Impala—even though it sounds really bad when she sings to it.

They move up in line.

"Actually, I think this is a good thing for us," she mutters to herself, her voice trailing off.

Jack’s only half-listening, but he nods as they approach the register. She orders a Fish n' Crisp, and Jack finally secures the promise of a Spicy Tendercrisp.

As they step aside to wait, Harper turns to face him more directly, her expression softening. "I was worried, you know. The way you're so strong and how you handled those demons made me think there was this... big power imbalance between us. I mean, it was one thing to learn you're a Hunter, but an Angel? I thought I’d have to cut ties and run."

Jack doesn't bring up that she's already tried to leave him behind on three different occasions.

"But this? That you're so new to the world? I think it's a perfect equalizer between the two of us. You're way too strong for me, like, you could probably break me in half." She says it with surprising excitement. "But I can teach you things about how the normal world works. I'm like Alicia Silverstone!"

He doesn't know a single person she's naming in today's psycho-babble. "Okay," he says. He cranes his neck and hopes that it's their order the worker is finishing up.

"And she doesn’t fall in love with Brendan Fraser because of his inexperience or childlike wonder or fear of the world around him. She loves him because he's tenacious; he keeps trying. I'm not gonna be your Humbert Humbert. Okay?"

"Okay." When Jack looks at her again, her expression’s changed. It’s harder somehow, strange and a little aloof.

"I'm not afraid of your rejection, you know. You can reject me, Jack. I don't mind. In fact, I—I'm expecting it."

And now the tiny Dean inside Jack's head is screaming at him to stab her in the neck with one of the plastic forks and run.

Their staring gets broken by the clatter of a tray, announcing the momentous arrival of Spicy Tendercrisp, Fish n' Crisp, and a side of extra fries.

Finally.

As Jack eagerly grabs the tray and ushers them down the aisle to a booth, he almost misses her next diatribe.

"Just, don't be my Vision," she says, faux-sadly. "I'd hate to become so grief-stricken that I become a dark witch, you know? That's a comic book. Surely you read those."

Jack doesn't point out that she's already a dark witch.