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darter-blue · 4 years ago

Text

Read it here on ao3

Or part one, two, three, four , five , six and seven on tumblr

Bucky

It’s a little like whiplash, one minute Bucky is in Steve’s arms, pressed against the elevator wall, getting his mind blown by Steve’s giant hands on his bare skin and his giant dick rutting into Bucky’s, hips rocking into Bucky’s, and the next minute there’s a crash and Steve is gripping Bucky tight and shielding him with his body.

Bucky could be mistaken, he is a little hungover, but it looks like Iron Man has just landed on the roof of their elevator. Presumably to save them from the terror of being trapped at the very high height between the first and second floor.

Except Iron Man - Tony Stark, even Bucky knows who Tony Stark is - is looking at them both with a very pleased expression and seems to be leering in at them through the service cover.

'Well well well,' Stark says, shaking his head, 'I leave you alone for five minutes.'

Bucky may be having a hullicinatory episode.

‘Tony, I mean,’ Steve looks down at Bucky, at the pink ‘groom’ t-shirt and the ring on his finger - down at his own much smaller, matching blue ‘Elvis said we do!’ t-shirt - and then back up at the superhero peering in at them. He steps back and carefully lowers Bucky to a standing position, but keeps one giant hand on his waist. ‘I guess this is actually exactly what it looks like.’

‘Oh I know,’ Stark says, boosting himself up by his rockets (wowowow, Bucky is four feet from the most advanced piece of mechanical engineering in the United States right now) and hovering through the hole and into the elevator, ‘it’s all over twitter, genius.’

‘Oh shit,’ Bucky says, ripping the phone he had put on silent (because fucking Darcy would not stop texting him) and sees way too many missed calls from his sister. One from his mother.

The texts from Darcy are still rolling in.

‘Twitter? You flew all the way here because a bunch of people twittered about this?’ Steve’s voice had dropped to a tone that Bucky doesn’t recognise but oh, he likes it.

‘Tweeted,’ Stark says, shaking his head.

Steve narrows his eyes, and the sweet open face that Bucky has been staring at all morning suddenly morphs into something much more menacing.

If Bucky hadn’t just come in his pants he'd be in trouble - as it is he can feel his heart rate picking up again at the effortless authority Steve is exuding. Okay fuck, now that’s he’s thinking about it, his dick is perking up and no, no, no. This is not the time.

Please do not let this situation get any more weird than it already is.

‘Tony, what are you doing here?’

Iron Man - looming huge in his suit in the tiny elevator - takes a small step back from Steve, and doesn’t seem confident when he answers, ‘Rescuing you?’

‘From what?’ Steve asks, ice cold.

‘From being stuck in a broken elevator?’

‘Bullshit,’ Steve says, less cold, more heat this time.

‘Uh, okay, look, full disclosure, I flew here in the quinjet to make sure that Thor hadn’t addled your brain with his god juice and left you to get yourself vegas married to a gold digger,’ he looks over at Bucky, whom Steve tightens his grip on, moving his body further between Stark and Bucky with zero subtlety, ‘seems like I maybe underestimated how literally you would take my advice to do something crazy.’

Steve is shaking his head in a sharp, hard, definitive no.

Bucky is letting him do all the talking, having a… not a great memory of what had gone down the night before (flashes of images, feelings, sounds. An overwhelming sense of comfort and happiness. Contentment… but no real basis from which those emotions have stemmed) and also this is Tony Stark, Iron Man… and Bucky isn't really sure what to do with that.

Just staying out of it seems like the wisest course.

Steve, in lieu of using his words, chooses to reach past Bucky and depress the emergency button.

‘Woah, hey!’ Stark says, grabbing at the wall as the elevator starts to move.

‘Don’t you have something rich and important you should be doing, Tony.’

‘Okay, I’m getting the impression that you’re not that happy to see me.’

‘Gee, you have some real keen observational skills,’ Steve snaps.

‘Look-’

‘With all due respect, Mister Stark-’ Bucky starts.

‘Mister Stark was my father kid,’;

‘Mister Iron Man,’ Bucky says, heavy on the sarcasm, ‘This has nothing to do with you.’

‘Listen Kid,’

‘Bucky,’ Steve corrects him.

‘Bucky?’

Bucky doesn’t bother to nod, he lets Steve’s glare do his talking.

‘That’s a name?’ Stark’s lip is raised in a grimace.

‘It’s a great name,’ Steve has his shoulders squared and his Jaw lifted and he looks suddenly one hundred percent a man not to be questioned.

Bucky can’t help the smile spreading across his face. Doesn’t even want to.

‘Steve, you can’t be serious about this.’

The elevator comes to a stop on their floor and Steve’s grip on Bucky loosens as the doors open.

‘Excuse us, Tony.’

‘Steven Grant Rogers you are trending. There’s photos of you in this ridiculous T-Shirt all over the internet. We need to do damage control!’

‘What’s wrong with his T-shirt?’ Bucky asks, hands on his hips as he lets Steve lead him out of the elevator with a gently hand on his lower back. ‘Are you being self righteous about Elvis, or about the fact that Steve married a guy?’

‘Hey now,’ Stark says from the elevator, ‘I’m mad that he didn’t know you yesterday and today you’ve got matching rings on your fingers.’

‘And?’

‘And that's… Not normal!’

Both Steve and Bucky turn around at Stark’s words.

‘When, Tony, in your entire life, have you ever aspired to be normal?’ Steve asks, standing to Bucky’s right and crossing his lovely arms over his very large chest.

Tony Stark has his mouth halfway open, his eyebrows pinching into a ‘v’ over his narrowed eyes, standing in the doorway of the elevator as the doors move in and out like a concertina at the obstruction.

‘Am I a grown man, Tony?’ Steve asks.

Stark rolls his eyes at the question.

‘Have I ever once interrupted you or questioned your life choices in the middle of a romantic interlude.’

‘Interlude? Steve, come on.’

‘Have. I. Ever?’

‘Okay, no-’

Bucky’s phone rings for the thousandth time - his mother again - and, as fascinating as it is to watch Tony Stark get his ass handed to him by a man that might really actually be Bucky’s husband - his husband - they probably do need to take a step into reality for a second.

‘Steve?’ he says, interrupting the argument and drawing both sets of eyes his way, ‘I think maybe we need to, maybe have a quick chat and ah… make some decisions?’

Steve’s face freezes, then smoothes out to as close an approximation to expressionless as Bucky has seen it all morning.

It looks wrong. It looks… like a mask.

Steve nods his head slowly, his shoulders creeping up before he forces them back down, taking a deep breath.

Stark starts talking before Steve can say a word, ‘I think that’s wise, Kid, I have some questions-’

‘Not you,’ Bucky says, shaking his head at Stark, ‘If we need you, we’ll call you, Mister Iron Man.’

Stark lifts a finger to point it at Bucky, his suit suddenly receding like magic and shrinking into a cuff on his wrist, ‘Listen-’

‘Give us some time please, Tony.’

Stark looks between Steve and Bucky and back again. He narrows his eyes at Steve and then nods once. ‘Okay. You have ten minutes.’

Steve glares at Stark again but doesn't protest. He turns away and leads Bucky the few steps back to his room and opens the door for him.

‘Should we… did you want to sit? Or…?’

‘We can sit,’ Bucky says, sinking down into the couch in the lounge area of the suite.

‘Are you… can I…’ Steve looks so lost as he takes a seat next to Bucky, mirroring Bucky’s slight angle, their knees facing towards each other.

‘I want to ask you something,’ Bucky says, palms on his thighs, swallowing awkwardly. Wishing he had a clean pair of pants to change into.

Steve just nods, his mask slipping further and further away as his face pales and he shrinks into himself.

‘How much of this is real?’

Steve’s face cracks, he winces, something like pain, and it cuts into Bucky. Slices at him. He doesn't know this man - at least… he doesn’t remember why he knows him, or how he knows him, but the pain on Steve’s face reaches in and pulls at something in Bucky and it hurts.

‘For me?’ Steve asks.

Bucky isn’t sure that’s what he was asking, but he nods, because he wants to know the answer regardless.

‘All of it,’ Steve whispers.

Bucky has to take a deep breath. Has to steal himself.

‘I want… I want it to be real for me too.’

Steve’s eyes snap up to Bucky’s.

‘I mean, it feels real.’ Bucky twists at the ring in his finger. Feels the texture of the metal, solid against his skin.

Real.

‘It feels like… not a mistake,’ Bucky says.

He’s trying and maybe failing to explain this right. But whatever he’s doing, it might be working, because Steve is staring at him, not breathing, not moving, but there’s colour back in his cheeks, and he starts leaning slowly closer and closer as Bucky continues.

‘I woke up and thought, you know, maybe I’d just gotten lucky enough to spend a night with the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen in my life... and then,’ Bucky looks back down at his ring, ‘and then I saw this, and I thought… fuck. I thought I’d won the lottery maybe, or somehow dreamt my fantasies into reality. And you…’ Bucky looks back up at Steve and his eyes… His eyes are so cool and blue and limitless. Everything Bucky ever needed or wanted is reflected there back at him. ‘You feel like home to me.’

‘You feel like home to me too, Buck.’

‘And you… you want to stay married to me?’

Steve nods.

‘Even if it turns out I’m a complete disaster?’

‘Especially then’ Steve says, a smile spreading across his face, reaching his eyes, crinkling them at the corners.

‘No, I’m serious, I’m awful.’

Steve shakes his head and Bucky nods, emphatic.

‘No, listen, I’m a mess. My refrigerator is full of cheap beer and canned cheese, and one jar of twenty year old mayo.’

Steve is laughing but Bucky won’t have it, he needs Steve to understand the total dumpster fire that he has unwittingly attached himself to.

‘No, Steve, my bed is so covered in bike parts right now I’m sleeping on the floor.’

‘I sleep on the floor every night, Bucky.’ Steve has reached out and stopped Bucky’s hands flying through the air, is holding them, bringing them to rest against their knees between them.

‘You do?’

‘I do,’ Steve says, fond and sad all at once, ‘first time I’ve slept in a long time was here with you last night.’ He looks over at the rumpled sheets on the bed, the bed where Bucky and Steve woke up wrapped around each other.

It hits Bucky that, if they’re married, are they supposed to move in together? Where would they even live?

‘I live above my shop, Steve,’ Bucky says, panic making his voice squeak.

‘It’s not a problem, Bucky, we don’t have to work everything out all at once.’

‘But I… It’s like two rooms and a toilet.’

‘My apartment is just an empty space Shield gave me to live in because I had nowhere else to go.’

Bucky’s body is moving before his brain even realises. ‘Baby, no,’ he says, pulling one of his hands free and reaching up to cup Steve’s cheek, ‘your apartment is a shitty walk up over a bike mechanic with no space and the kitchen from hell.’ He runs his thumb over Steve’s perfect cheekbone. ‘We just need to move your stuff in.’

‘I’m a terrible cook anyway,’ Steve says, huffing a laugh.

‘See?’ Bucky says with an exaggerated sigh, leaning his head in to rest against Steve’s forehead, ‘it’s meant to be.’

‘I know you’re joking, but I honestly believe that.’

‘Who says I’m joking?’ Bucky smiles as Steve laughs. ‘So what do we need to do to get all this finalised? I’m gonna need to call my mother back at some stage.’

That snaps Steve into action, he sits up straight and pulls Bucky with him, so that Bucky is almost sitting in his lap.

‘We need to get the paperwork off Mavis, we need to get our stuff, and then I guess we need to figure out whether the license is even legal outside of the state of Nevada.’

‘Well,’ Bucky says, moving himself fully into Steve’s lap and swinging a leg over to straddle him, ‘I can think of one way to make it legal.’

‘You don’t have time for that!’ Stark yells from outside the door.

‘Goddamn it Tony!’ Steve yells back.

Bucky is laughing, he can’t help it. And Steve is laughing with him. Bucky’s head falls onto Steve’s shoulder and Steve rests his palm against the nape of Bucky’s neck. Safe and familiar and blanketing him in warmth. It feels like the kind of comfort that Bucky has spent his whole life searching for.

‘We better go.’

Bucky nods his head as much as the limited space will allow. They both pull away slowly, reluctantly. But they’re smiling now. The air around them is full of promise.

Happiness.

Even Tony Stark and his ugly tracksuit and his disapproving glare can’t dampen it.

‘Where now?’

‘To the chapel,’ Steve says, pulling Bucky along by the hand and smiling ridiculously wide.

‘To file for annulment?’

‘No Tony.’

‘To pick up the wedding album,’ Bucky says with a laugh. He’s not even sure where the thought came from, but it’s vivid, a hot pink vinyl album cover, Bucky can see it. It has to be a memory.

Steve is looking back at him and smiling, somehow, impossibly wider.

‘Jesus Christ on a cracker,’ Stark says, rolling his eyes, feet shuffling to keep up with them.

They all ride down the elevator together, Steve and Bucky practically glued at the hip and Stark shaking his head at them the entire way.

It’s objectively hilarious. Bucky is holding back his laughter, but the smirk is surely stuck fast to his face.

They make it to the Casino floor, wind their way through the mostly empty gaming rooms and dance floors to a familiar set of swinging doors under a garish ‘Wedding Chapel’ sign, where a strangely familiar man is leaning against the wall only to jump up and shout as he sees them approach.

'Cap!'

'Scott,' Steve replies, much more subdued.

'Hey, Bucky,' he says, looking Bucky's way, then doing a double take as he spots Tony Stark. 'Hey! Iron Man!'

'Who is this?' Stark asks, turning to Steve, 'Steven, who is this?'

'Hey, I'm Scott,' Scott says, reaching out a hand for Stark to shake, then pulling back with a shrug when Stark makes no move to accept it.

'Scott was our best man, Tony,' Steve says, smug and smiling.

Scott looks a little like he might faint at the title, but he pulls it together, nodding along like an excited puppy.

'Oh, Bucky, I sent you the video like you asked. And then I saw all the internet stuff this morning and I thought, well I just thought, you know… did you guys need anything? A getaway van? I don't know. I know a guy, you know?'

'We're okay,' Steve says, calm and relaxed in the face of Scott's exuberance. But Bucky’s too busy checking his phone to hear anymore.

A video.

Of the wedding.

He finds the text from Scott (whose contact info he must have entered as ‘Scott - Cap?’ last night). Opens the video file and watches it like a starving man staring through the windows of a restaurant as the images load and it starts to play.

He can feel Stark leaning over his shoulder but he doesn't care.

It's there. In colour.

Steve and Bucky, at the altar. Elvis between them, Scott filming from the side, a woman Bucky recognises - Mavis, his brain helpfully supplies - beautiful blonde beehive and rockabilly skirt and everyone is smiling. Laughing.

And Bucky remembers.

He remembers standing there next to Steve. Remembers reading his vows from a tiny scrap of pink paper, remembers Steve saying Bucky was his fate, sliding the ring onto his finger.

Bucky looks down at it now, touches it reverently. 'For we are but two halves,' he says, remembering the inscription, the way it had felt so perfect. He looks back up at Steve, who is watching Bucky, waiting for something, eyes shining. 'Together whole.'

And Steve crashes into him, clutches at Bucky, pulling him close and pressing their lips together.

'You remember,' he says between kisses, running his nose against Bucky’s nose, cupping his face in his hands, 'You remember.'

And Bucky just clutches him back. Kisses him back. Just as desperate, just as joyful. 'I remember everything, Steve-Steve Rogers.' He presses his hands against Steve’s chest. Against the beat of his heart. The most beautiful part of him. 'We danced together. We've been dancing together from the very beginning.'

'Always,' Steve says. Oblivious to their audience, to Scott's squeals and Stark's scoffs.

To the crowd gathering around them.

'Forever.' Bucky whispers it. Barely a word. But he knows Steve can hear it. Knows it will thrill him.

Means it, as crazy as that seems.

They both do.

And they have the rest of their lives to make it the truth.

#steve x bucky #stucky #shrunkyclunks #fluff #bucky barnes #modern bucky #captain america steve rogers #my writing #accidental husbands

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i8jisoo · 5 years ago

Text

𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐘 𝐊𝐈𝐃𝐒 ⇉ skz with pregnant!reader

felix x reader | part six of dad!skz

↬ genre; fluff

↬ warnings; pregnancy, slight relation to sex, birth

↬ notes; this took so long lmfao i just had it sitting but i’m finishing up seungmin rnnn 🤓 i’ve been doing requests whew i just have EVERYTHING coming at once

u guys r really surprised

u two had been in a relationship for four years now so this was inevitable as u two were putting off the pressure of marriage for awhile now

“woah, i’m gonna be a dad!! does this mean u have to call me daddy now?”

0_0

u r s e n s i t i v e

felix first notices this when he gives u a kiss in the morning n ur crying like two seconds after

:((

“why are you crying??!”

“you just leave so early and i miss you!!”

felix skips the day, not rly caring he just wants to cuddle u 🥺

speaking of cuddling u two r so cuddly together now

u guys just cant get enough of each other

ur at practice less often just bc of media and he thinks the house is safer for u

so the boys come over a ton more to the dorm just bc they wanna see u and spend time with u

he is so cute, whenever he sees you he’ll instantly be on his knees to kiss your baby bump and leave u with a light kiss on ur lips

u guys go to ur scan at the beginning of the second trimester

its hush hush and ofc felix has u with the best doctor hes heard of

his hands are clammy asf, hes smiling and so dazed while he stares at the ultrasound

“look at that!! baby a and baby b!!”

felix is like,

“oh im gonna pass out”

now he gets these corny ass JOKES like

“wow lix has really GOOD swimmers!!!”

“felix knows his way around the bedroom!!!!!!!!”

poor baby jeongin :( they are POLLUTING HIS MIND

he doesnt but this boy is scared shitless now, two babies?? thats a lot to handle

he likes to shop, a lot.

for some reason everything is dog themed, puppies on everything and he’ll come home with bags of baby stuff everyday

lix is just so in love with your body

sweaters, t-shirts, hoodies, anything he owns, he 100% wants you to wear it

he might be a little excited at the thought of u in his clothes, it was usual but now u pregnant, he was a little MORE excited

abnormally this guy worships your body 100%

he loves how easily you can just unravel, to the point of tears and have u begging for him to stop

ok lemme not ill start writing shit type smut anyways chile yes lix loves u A LOT in and out of the bedroom

mmm he’ll always be brainstorming names

aeygo for the babies 🥺

tons of kisses he has plenty to go around

he acquires a new skill called cooking 😣

ur his new favorite taste tester

he’ll read books for them both

tons of research on expecting twins and what to do

“hey, okay.. so i bought a pregnancy pillow, and like, i wanna use it?”

felix has this smirk, holding the huge pillow that is supposed to be a maternity one, but he much prefers himself using it as a regular pillow

he actually goes public with this, knowing that the fans adored u after being his girlfriend for so long nd u soon became a favorite for them

some shit like ‘stays meet your new members’ 😣

this guy has a knack for painting, his newest canvas is your large baby bump, doodling little flowers n hearts or animals on it, sometimes painting characters on it or whatever it may be

u two have this rly cute vlive together which consists of him painting ur baby bump, plenty of fun while he asked stays to tell him what to draw on ur bump :v

“ooh!! a ladybug!!”

he posts the finished project in nice high quality on their official instagram, showing off the many things he had painted

the dreaded bed rest comes into play

u are now nearing seven months, which meant that u should be experiencing labor or maybe labor pains soon

he takes his paternal leave, now indulging in ice-cream and gummy bears with u, rather than working out and drinking nasty smoothies

guess who has that sympathy weight

(jk he just uses it as an excuse so he can just give up on his diet)

sleep all day

sleep all night

u two are honestly so tired for WHATEVER reason

lix is there to be a cuddle bug, pulling ur back close to his body, ur legs entwined and his hand on top of ur own that was on ur bump

its rly cute just try and picture it for a moment

u guys r trying everything to hurry and get to the end of this seemingly forever pregnancy

he’ll def buy two yoga balls instead of just one for u and he’ll bounce on them with u

who cares ab trying to hurry up y’all are having so much fun regardless of the fact u have to pee every ten minutes

u both forget the thought of it and just go with the flow

making a deal to go with the names for whomever u claimed aka baby a or baby b

i see ur guys timing to be during the summer so its miserable in ur house

its hot n stuffy

u two r just lounging n u both have popsicles, then ur just like

“oh! oh.”

it was a steady gush of fluid between ur legs and that was when the nervousness set in

u two just look at each-other in shock

“oh! we’re having a baby- um.. wow!”

he is abnormally good at keeping calm, helping u keep ur breathing steady and getting everything together

felix is a pro.

u guys r kinda chilling in the parking lot just quiet and sort of nervous that the next time ur walking out of there you both will have not one, but two babies

“i don’t know if i’m ready yet.”

felix groans, grabbing ur hand

“ur right, ur more than ready. look at us!! parents of two in at least the next twenty-four hours!!”

his hands r around u in a second to help u up and there to help u walk in

u two honestly decide to play games on ur phone to kill time

felix crawls into ur bed, seeing as how u looked extremely lonely, letting his arms and legs wrap around u n he’s just playing with ur hair

its honestly adorable

u two are really tired for whatever reason, falling asleep like this before u would be consumed in the late nights of being parents

these nurses wake u both up and are just like

“let’s see if we’re ready to meet ur babies!!”

felix is kinda scared but nonetheless he’ll grab ur hand and hold onto it with a smile

10cm woo!

if he wasn’t hyping u up before he is hyping u up right now

ur somewhat laughing and crying while in pain

yall r so weird

felix is there to wipe ur face with the wet cloth, or to give u a sip of water, rly whatever u need he is on it

poor baby just wants to be of help

“here’s baby a! it’s a girl!”

u two have at least a moment with her, taking in her small appearance, felix holding her out for u to see

abruptly cut off by baby b needing to make an appearance

“i don’t wanna do this again.”

“it’s alright, shh. we’re going to have two babies, two perfect ones. we have one little girl, let’s get ready for the next one, yeah? our two babies, you’re doing so good.”

they take away ur little girl while felix does what he already did beforehand

“here’s your second one!! we have a pair of sisters!”

u and felix are so overjoyed at this news, literally sobbing, u two r a mess

both r brought over to u, felix taking in the fact he’s a father of two girls, such small girls

ur both smiley while u kiss them n cuddle them, getting the nurse to take a picture of u two

ur obviously tired, felix emotionally worn out but having the brightest smiles on ur faces while u hold onto ur pair of newborn girls

he’s so proud, he’s the definition of a proud father

lix is holding onto one and he comes over to you, the other one cooing

“that’s it, my three girls.”

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moonbeamsung · 5 years ago

Text

Winter Nights & City Lights

Because nothing says ‘Christmas’ like spending the big day (and not to mention the whole holiday season) in the Big Apple living with your high school friend-turned-roommate, Mark Lee.

member: mark (featuring johnny)

au: roommate!mark x gn!reader, college roommate au, christmas au, ‘the gift of the magi’ au/inspired

word count: 9.5k

genre: fluff, angst, slice of life

warnings: profanity, underage drinking, hangovers, insecurities, mentions of food and drink, money issues, embarrassing moments

author’s note: This fic is close to becoming my favorite that I’ve ever written. It’s also almost twice as long as I planned, not to mention that tumblr crashed right as I tried to post it so here I am, two hours later. Overall I had a blast writing it and I hope you enjoy reading it! Please let me know what you think, too! :,) Happy holidays! <3

taglist: @astroboy-lele @kisshim @radiorenjun

network tags: @kpopscape @neo-constellations @starryktown @culture-cafe @dreamlab-nct

“That parade was so cool! I mean, did you see the size of all those balloons? They were huge! I’ve never seen so many people all in one place before,” Mark chatters away like an excited child as you navigate through the crowd that always seems to grow bigger year after year, gathered along the curbs of the New York streets to watch the famed Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade.

“How are you not more excited about this?” He questions, and you stifle an amused giggle. “I’ve lived in the city for over a year, Mark. I’ve seen a thing or two.”

“Oh, right. I knew that.” The cold air only accentuates the blush on his face as he remembers that particular detail about you. It isn’t often that it’s demonstrated, however, considering you spend so much time cooped up inside of your shared apartment cramming in university work and studying. There are hardly any opportunities during the year to take in the sights of the concrete jungle you live in the very heart of, but luckily, one of your long-awaited breaks is coming up soon.

Thoughts of Christmas vacation are the only things keeping you going, along with countless cups of steaming hot coffee, as you prepare for exams in just a few weeks, weeks that seem to go by in a flurry of snow.

There’s less than three days left until your first one, but you’re nothing short of drained after pulling so many all-nighters, and you need a break. A breath of fresh air seems like just the cure for your burnout, so you slam your textbook shut and lethargically drag yourself off of the soft comforter you’ve been sitting on for the past two hours. You grimace at the deep imprint left behind.

Trudging through the living area, you knock softly on Mark’s bedroom door. A tired “Come in” sounds from the other side, and you push it open, immediately noticing his disheveled state. Eyes heavy with fatigue and lacking their usual sparkle of youthful innocence, he blinks back at you, “What’s up?”

“You look like you need a break just as much as I do,” you insist. His already-open mouth widens a bit more, “But... our first exam is on Monday, we can’t just—”

“Mark, come on, you’re one of the smartest people in our class. If anyone’s going to pass, it’s you.”

He huffs, “Maybe you have a point.”

“I do have a point, and you know it. A little walk in the park never hurt anyone, right?”

Mark rubs his eyes with the back of his hand, fingers raking through his dark locks before he musters up enough strength to push himself off of his bed and into a standing position.

“I’ll get my jacket.”

Central Park is a sight to behold on its own all year round, but something about the Christmas season makes it even more magical. You and Mark step at the same pace, your paths lined by metal benches blanketed in fresh snow. Even through the many layers of warmth you’re both wearing, the chilly air still nips at your skin. It’s Mark’s first time experiencing the holidays in New York City, and you’re determined to show him everything this real-life winter wonderland has to offer.

The story of how you two came to be roommates in the first place is an extremely lucky one. You met in high school, and had been part of the same group of friends along with six younger boys. Both Canadian, you’d been hoping to get into the same New York college since what felt like forever. The day that you received your acceptance letters in the mail was full of joy and celebration, but not even a week later, Mark got an unexpected scholarship to a local but prestigious university not far from where you lived that he simply couldn’t pass up.

Parting ways after graduation, you had thought you might never see each other again until you got a call from him. It was the day after your last exam of the spring semester in college and you were sitting on your two-person couch, feeling rather lonely. The number seemed too familiar, too good to be true, and scrambling to pick up the phone as it blared throughout your fairly small apartment, you answered with a shaky voice. Mark’s recognizable tone met your ears, and a wide smile met your face. Though he couldn’t see it, he could hear the happiness in your words.

As it turned out, his college had given him the opportunity to transfer to yours for the remainder of his four years, as their programs were closely linked and on similar levels. Graciously, he had accepted, and wanted you to be the first to know.

“So, uh... are you living with anyone?”

The question he dreaded asking more than anything else. Call him cliché, but he had the biggest crush on you in high school, much to his dismay and to the rest of his friends’ excitement. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to like you, but he feared that college could tear a potential relationship apart, regardless of whether or not you went to the same one.

As a result of this, he had never acted on his emotions. But he’s older now, and wiser, which leads him to believe that maybe it wouldn’t be so hard to maintain one, should he ever gain enough courage to ask you out.

“No, actually, I have my own apartment.”

Silence.

“...Are you looking for somewhere to stay?”

“Yes! Yes,” he replied a little too quickly, eager to accept what would hopefully be an invitation from you. He wasn’t disappointed.

“Well, my place isn’t the biggest, but you can live with me if you want to. Plus, we could split the rent between us!”

You’ve always liked Mark. He’s hardworking, kind, and humble, maybe a little too much of all these things for his own good. Even back in high school, you spent endless nights and very early mornings on the phone with him, trying to convince him to go to bed after he refused to stop studying. To reassure him that he did the right thing by ending that friendship, or to insist that he tell the teacher no one worked on the group project, so he did everything himself. You’ve been his shoulder to cry on for years, you’ve seen a side of him that he’s never been brave enough to show anyone else because they expect so much of him.

Mark knows he’s blessed to have had a picture-perfect childhood, a good family, and an education that was rigorous yet rewarding enough to prepare him for his next chapter in life. The pressures that came with being so lucky just got to him sometimes, and they made four years of high school seem more like fourteen.

You, on the other hand, didn’t quite have all the same luxuries that he did, but you still managed. He’s been there for you plenty of times, too. In your opinion, though, he’s the much more vulnerable one of the two of you, mainly to his cumbersome insecurities and shortcomings, however rare those shortcomings may be.

So in your mind, Mark Lee deserves the entire world and then some. The least you can do is share your apartment with him, either until he finds what you’re sure would be a much more desirable place to live, or if he wants to stay with you indefinitely.

What you don’t realize, and will eventually struggle to admit to yourself, is that your admiration for his perseverance and endless generosity is teetering rather precariously on the edge of blossoming into something more than just platonic.

“Sounds good, then. Thanks so much!” He had exclaimed, the sound of his pure excitement and gratefulness bringing a wave of heat to your face, and you were glad he wasn’t there in front of you to see it.

You talked a little bit more for the next few minutes, catching up and enjoying a lighthearted conversation about what you had both been up to. These sessions on the phone began to occur more and more frequently, turning into weekly, and soon daily, affairs. Mark planned to move in a couple weeks before school started again, giving himself some time to settle in and adapt to urban life in general. The calls became a highlight of your summer vacation, and every day without fail, you found yourself waiting to hear the unique ringtone you had set his contact to.

Less than twelve hours before Mark was scheduled to arrive at New York’s largest airport, you were on the phone with him just like always. The clock in your apartment chimed eleven o’clock, and as reluctant as you were to hang up, you knew you should turn in for the night. After all, the sooner you went to sleep, the sooner the morning would come. The morning you would meet him at the airport.

“So I’ll see you tomorrow?” His voice was hopeful. Slightly unsteady, but hopeful all the same.

“I guess so. What time does your plane land, again?” You confirmed the time you had scribbled down onto a neon yellow sticky note a few days earlier as he repeated the short string of numbers, nodding to no one in particular. Why did you feel so nervous? It’s just Mark, you had told yourself.

“Have a safe flight!”

He bade you goodnight in return, accidentally throwing in a “sweet dreams” before he could stop himself. When you put your phones down, you were both too busy trying to calm your racing pulses, however, so it didn’t matter. Mark collapsed onto his bed, hand bumping his duffel bag and heaving a sigh. You sank down into the couch cushion, closing your eyes and leaning your head against the back of the furniture. Neither of you could find the strength to stand in those moments, scared that your legs would give in from the unsteadiness of your nerves, your hearts, your emotions.

A singular worry occupied both of your minds from that point on until you greeted him in the JFK airport terminal the next morning, shy smiles on your faces: is it dangerous to enter into the impending situation of living together? Are you really ready to be in such constant close proximity to the object of your affections, however oblivious you might be to them?

Before his brain could talk his heart out of it, Mark had wrapped you in a tight hug, extra thankful for the welcome since you were all he had here, in the city. You wouldn’t have missed his arrival for the world, and you told him so. You also wouldn’t have missed the chance to make him flush a deep but adorable shade of red, reaching from his rounded cheeks all the way to the tips of his ears.

In your long-term rental car, you drove him back to your apartment, enjoying the quiet sounds of surprise and amazement that spilled from his lips, generated by the city’s sights. As you passed underneath towering skyscrapers, navigated bustling avenues, and caught glimpses of world-renowned landmarks that you both had seen only in the movies when you were younger, you just knew Mark’s eyes held their signature sparkle, despite your inability to see the dark brown orbs glimmer with wonder. You kept yours on the road ahead.

His first day was spent unpacking his suitcases and bags full of possessions, one of which was his most prized: an acoustic guitar.

It had been a gift from his parents when he finished the eighth grade, and all throughout high school, he had turned to music as an escape whenever he needed it. As any new musician does, Mark had played around with chords, experimenting and seeing what sounded good, and before you knew it he had composed a song. Another one followed, then another, and by the end of his freshman year he had written enough to fill an entire album if he so wished.

The guitar had heard every note, every lyric, carried every melody from his heart into the world. It had grown to be a part of him, a worldly sliver of his soul in the form of a simple musical instrument that could convey every hope and every dream, every concern or every frustration. Every love confession. Though that wasn’t saying much, since he only had eyes for you. You didn’t know it, but one of those songs was about you. For you.

You and Mark’s circle of friends tried to set you two up one day in the school’s band room after hours, with the excuse that the second-youngest of the group, Chenle, had forgotten his piano sheet music in there. They sent you to retrieve it, which you only agreed to do after being persuaded by the boy’s intimidating but still lovable pout.

With no sheet music in sight, your eyes landed instead on a diligent Mark that appeared to be the only sign of life in the room, plucking away at the strings as the sun set outside. You had sat with him for a while, neglecting your task and listening to him strum gracefully, softly murmuring lyrics that sounded like your name at one point. You didn’t think much of it, though, not making the connection behind the rest of the words coming out of his mouth and accompanying the chords. His love song was left unacknowledged by the subject of it themselves, and that was both the first and last time he ever attempted to confess to you.

He wondered if now that you were sharing an apartment, he would let something slip by accident. What would he do then?

University had other plans, though, and his fears were temporarily relieved. So fortunately and unfortunately, you were so occupied with schoolwork that trying to balance dating, or even mere thoughts of doing so, with all of your other responsibilities would have been exhausting, not to mention impossible.

Snapping out of your memory-induced daze, you realize that you nearly wandered off the path into a deep snowbank, only aware of this fact because Mark catches you by the wrist and pulls you back toward him to walk at his side. His fingers stay curled around your forearm as you approach a famous bridge, stepping to the side and gazing down at the icy waters below, calm and rippling with the chilly breeze.

“What do you want for Christmas?”

You honestly haven’t thought about it yet, so you can’t give Mark a definite answer. The same goes for him, both of you leaning against the brick railing in a comfortable silence.

In Mark’s mind though, he knows what he wants to give you: something to complement your own equivalent of his guitar, a large collection of handwritten letters and notes from your childhood and school days. Sentimental by nature, you had saved every colorful post-it note one of your friends would slip through the narrow slats of your locker, every birthday card received over the years, every thoughtful postcard from someone’s vacation.

Your favorites are undoubtedly the always-awkward Christmas cards that your friends’ families consistently mail out each December, by far the most humorous parts of your growing collection. You always found yourself chuckling at the pictures displayed on the front. Eyes bright with mirth, you would observe their forced smiles and arms slung carelessly over siblings’ shoulders, their eyes flickering between the camera and something going on behind it, probably the family pet getting into trouble across the yard. You pitied the photographers, surely beyond frustrated as they would try to get everyone to stand still for more than five measly seconds. Mouths were clamped shut and for a brief moment, the air was void of complaints of how itchy someone’s sweater was.

Then the camera would snap, capturing an image that was simply “good enough.” They’d plaster it on the card and in a few days, it would magically appear in the mailboxes of relatives and close friends. Grandparents would overlook the uncomfortable expressions and focus instead on how fast the kids were growing up. You didn’t blame them. Even in four years’ worth of cards, so much could change. In between fits of laughter, you’d stare in awe at the way your friends grew into their features, only becoming more handsome with time and some growing so tall that they even towered over their fathers. You always kept the letters they included, too, detailing the highlights of the year that was soon to come to an end by the time they dropped it into a nearby mailbox.

And like he could read your mind, Mark makes an offhand comment right then and there. “My folks texted me the other day to ask for our address. You know, for the Christmas card.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah,” he laughs. “Shame I couldn’t be there for the family photos this year.”

“Is it really a shame, though?” You prod, tilting your head a bit at the boy. “You always told me you couldn’t stand waiting around for the so-called ‘right lighting’ and all that.”

“Well, I couldn’t, but now that I’m not there I wish I could go back to those days. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, you know?”

“Right,” you sigh, thinking about how the same saying could easily apply to the way you felt about Mark all throughout your first year of university.

You have a box, made of a dark mahogany wood and lined with elegant golden trim, where you keep all of these letters, these handwritten memories and souvenirs from some of the happiest moments in your life. A gift from a past Christmas, your family had your initials engraved onto the front in a loopy cursive font, making it truly unique and utterly irreplaceable. And, you’ll soon come to realize, valuable.

Mark remembers it well, remembers the many times you’ve shown him its contents, remembers how his eyes sometimes land on the delicate container resting beneath the windowsill in your room, sunlight catching the accents. He knows how much those letters mean to you, and he also knows how much you love returning the favor.

That’s why he wants to give you the tools you need to do just that, and to do it well.

You’ve always been one for writing thank-you notes for any and every gift you receive, your parents having ingrained the habit in you since you were very young. Slowly, crayons turned into pencils and lead became ink. To this day you remain unfazed by the increasing amount of yellowing papers residing in the letter box, but the words imprinted on them never quite fade, strong enough to withstand the test of time.

Too many times in high school Mark would find you, hunched over your dining room table in frustration with a stack of letters beside your arm that you deemed “failed” because your handwriting was bad, or something of the sort. Usually it was the other way around, him being the one in need of comfort, but on those days your roles were reversed.

He had always wondered why you didn’t have fancier supplies that were more suited to your task, but he supposes now that maybe it simply wasn’t an option for you and your family. So a stationery set seems like the perfect gift for you this year.

On a similar note, you’ve already decided what you’re getting him: a guitar case. You happened upon a sleek leather one while browsing the website of a popular music store, coincidentally with a location not too far from your apartment.

Now it’s no longer a question of what to get the other, but how. As university students living on your own, money is scarce. Unknowingly, you both contemplate this concern as you walk side by side, returning to the start of the path that you set out on at least a half hour ago.

This stroll of yours was supposed to clear your minds, but why are they racing even more than before?

There’s no time to worry now, though, and for the next week, your thoughts are forced to shift back to the topic of school and midterms and all your academic endeavors.

Your exam week is over before you know it, and the two of you return to your apartment after the last one only to collapse onto your respective beds, beyond exhausted.

The dreary Friday afternoon clearly calls for a nap, but unbeknownst to you, Mark decides to seize the opportunity that has so conveniently presented itself to him: a chance for him to go out and buy your gift without suspicion. He drops his backpack on the carpet next to his dresser and sighs, wondering if what he’s about to do will be worth it. But it’s you, of course it’ll be worth it.

Thus, his next move is done with a heavy heart. He’s been forced by a lack of funds to come to a decision about your gift, and a difficult one at that. The only thing he can think of doing to even come close to affording a nice stationery set is to sell some things in exchange for cash. Namely, the most valuable item he owns: his beloved guitar. He doesn’t really want to, but deep down he knows that a true friendship warrants the occasional sacrifice. He’s done some research on a nearby pawn shop, and however sketchy those kinds of places may seem, it’s his only feasible option at the moment, with just a week left until Christmas Day.

After making sure you’re fast asleep, he not-so-stealthily slips out of your shared flat, his actions far from silent but even so, you don’t wake up. Mark winces at the unintended high volume of pulling the front door shut behind him, sticking his hand into his jeans pocket and relaxing when he feels his keys at the bottom of the fabric compartment. Guitar strung over his shoulder by the flimsy, fraying strap, he sets off.

With his phone in hand and directions to the pawn shop displayed on the screen, he strides through the lobby of the apartment building and pushes the revolving door, stepping onto the busy sidewalk and into the cold winter air. Shoppers crowd the pavement with hands full of department store tote bags, crinkling loudly as they pass by one another. Shoulders knock together and heels click against the concrete, just some of the many sounds of the city that Mark is still growing used to hearing.

A few blocks and several wrong turns later, he finds himself on a quieter street, standing in front of the shop. It’s dimly lit inside and looks almost abandoned, the letters painted on the window chipped and faded from the wear and weather of past years. A soft bell rings when he lets himself in, searching for some sort of employee.

From behind a cluttered shelf a tall man emerges, the shabby name tag pinned to his vest reading “Johnny.” Well, he’s not some shifty-eyed, balding man wearing a muscle shirt stained with grease. New York continues to be full of surprises.

His dark hair looks neat, the jacket he’s wearing free of any wrinkles and face young but chiseled, high cheekbones prominent.

“How can I help you today?” Johnny booms, stepping behind the counter and absentmindedly sifting through some loose change in bottom of the cash register.

Mark gulps, “I’d like to sell something.” Still not entirely sure he wants to do this, he instinctively tugs on the strap resting atop the fabric of his wool jacket.

“Well, you’ve come to the right place,” Johnny assures with a small laugh. “What did you have in mind?”

Taking a deep breath, Mark slides the guitar off his shoulder and holds it near his chest for a moment, before extending his arms out towards the counter.

“A guitar, huh? We don’t see many of these,” the tall man comments. “Are you sure? It seems pretty valuable to you in more ways than one.”

Mark’s fingertips trace the strings for the last time and he decides to just get it over with, before he can change his mind. His hands are shaky as he gently places the instrument down on the counter in front of Johnny, taking a step back once he’s done so. “I don’t have much of a choice. I need the money to buy a gift for my… uh, my friend.”

Johnny raises an eyebrow, “Just a friend? Or a special someone?”

“They are special,” Mark confirms, noncommittal to either title that Johnny suggested.

“They must be if you’re willing to give up something like this for them. Okay, that’ll be…”

Johnny tells him what the guitar is worth, matching the amount with a stack of cash and a few old coins, rusty but still holding their value.

Despite the pain of letting something so meaningful go, a bit of joy creeps into Mark’s heart as he realizes that now he can give you a gift that will hopefully become just as meaningful to you as his guitar was to him.

He thanks Johnny and bids him goodbye, step lighter than when he entered, much to his surprise.

It’s the next day when you and Mark find yourselves getting into the Christmas spirit for the first time this season. After he had returned yesterday, you were still out cold on your bed, so he chose to follow your example and do the same. The both of you had slept the rest of the day and almost the entirety of the following morning away, waking up just before noon.

With a sudden burst of energy you spring up from the sheets, overtaken by your excitement for the nearing holiday as you dig out the artificial Christmas tree you had bought last year from your closet. Sure, it may seem lazy of you, but let’s face it: there was no easy way to find a real one in New York City, let alone lug it down the streets, through an elevator and down a narrow hallway to a door it wouldn’t even fit through.

Mark hears the loud rustling of various decorations as he begins to stir, leisurely getting out of bed and checking one of his dresser drawers to make sure he hadn’t merely dreamed up his shopping adventure of the previous evening. There the stationery set sits, tucked safely at the back of the wooden cabinet.

The bookstore he stopped at on his way back last night had many different options to choose from, so he made sure to get one that both matched your box of letters and reminded him of you, with its color scheme and style. A surge of pride brings a smile to his features, pleased with his choice, and he pushes the drawer shut before joining you in the living area.

Your knees brush as he sits down next to you to help unpack the large but manageable box, taking out the tiers of the tree to eventually stack on top of one another. Working more quickly than usual (and probably necessary, there are six days left after all), you assign Mark to stringing the lights across your small balcony while you finish setting up the tree. You knew you shouldn’t have let him do it alone, though, because when you look over at his progress you find more lights wrapped around his body than the metal railing.

“Do you need a hand?” You question, holding back a laugh at the way the cord restricts his arm movements to the point where he can’t even reach for the handle on the sliding door.

From outside he opens his mouth to reply, but pauses, looking down at himself and the mess he’s made of the lights before meeting your eyes once more. His voice is muffled by the glass, but you hear him shout playfully, “I’m the tree now! We don’t need that one.” He tries to gesture to the one you’re currently decorating, but fails, and this time you aren’t able to contain your amusement.

“Let me help you,” you offer, joining him on the balcony and helping him untangle himself from the glowing strands. “Thanks,” Mark replies, sheepishly rubbing at the back of his neck. With your combined efforts, you manage to thread the string of lights through the railing with little to no mishaps, and both of you continue decking out the apartment with other seasonal items for the next several hours.

At some point during the afternoon one of you decided to connect their phone to a speaker and play some music, all Christmas songs of course. As the classic version of “Jingle Bell Rock” begins to blare throughout the living room, Mark abandons his task momentarily to walk over to you. He extends a hand down to you, sitting on the floor, and you accept the invitation to stand up with a questioning look.

“Dance with me?”

It’s hardly a platonic request, Mark realizes once the words leave his lips, but even so you don’t shy away, glancing down at your feet with a slight trace of bashfulness in the action.

He intertwines your fingers somewhat loosely, placing his non-dominant hand on your waist and beginning to sway, slowly at first but then his movements become more exaggerated, shoulders tilting dramatically to one side after the other and straying from the rhythm of the music. You join Mark in drawing out the jesting movements, losing yourself in laughter and leaning forward to bury your face in his shoulder, the heat of your breath hitting his skin through the thin t-shirt he’s wearing. In one last attempt to keep the joyful smile on your face, he steps back a bit and holds your wrist above your head to twirl you in a circle.

The electric guitar in the song fades as you collapse onto the carpet, recovering from your fit of giggles. The sun has begun to sink in the sky, you can tell by the gold and orange glow that your apartment becomes bathed in as it sets, inching closer to the horizon and eventually becoming hidden by tall skyscrapers in the distance.

Satisfied with your progress so far, you both decide to call it a day, though in truth there aren’t many decorations left to put out. A few stray ornaments and some garlands remain, still packed up in boxes that you would need help reaching. You’re also eager to get your mind off of the way your heart was palpitating as you danced with Mark, your roommate and friend but nothing more, nothing less. You have enough to worry about at the moment, not wanting to add potential feelings for the boy into the mix. Shit, you think, you still need to buy his gift.

“What should we watch?” Mark asks, scrolling through the list of movie choices on the TV screen.

“I don’t really care, anything’s fine.”

His finger presses a button on the remote to select a film at random, the intro playing as you scan the refrigerator shelves for a frozen meal. Hopefully it’s not one of those cheesy holiday romances.

Settling down on the couch a few minutes later, you with the warmed-up container in your lap and Mark holding a cup of ramen noodles, both of you fall into a comfortable chatter about the movie. Thank god it’s a comedy.

Occasionally you find yourself diverting your attention from the harsh display and directing it over to the panes of floor-to-ceiling windows, where you watch more and more lights flicker on in the distance, illuminating the urban landscape as night falls. The view is breathtaking, but so is the way your face softly glows with their warmth, even from blocks away. Not that Mark would ever tell you that, of course.

“I’m going out!” Mark hears shuffling from outside his bedroom the next morning, your voice instantly bringing him to his senses. Curious, he shoots out of bed and flings the door open to find you, one arm stuck through the sleeve of your coat and the other buried in a bag, but it’s not the one you usually bring when you leave the flat. Eyes wide and panicked at the boy’s unexpected appearance, you clutch it to your chest with a visible amount of difficulty, Mark notices.

“Where are you off to?” He squints at the brightness of the living room, the early morning light pouring in through the glass on the far wall.

“...Maybe I can’t tell you,” you respond with a huff, slinging the heavy bag over your shoulder and pulling the rest of your coat on.

“What do you mean, you can’t—oh.”

“Nice going, genius,” you shake your head, feigning disappointment. “It’s not like it’s Christmas this week or anything.”

“My bad, sorry.” Mark winces and rakes a hand through his bedhead, abashed.

“I’ll be back soon, okay?”

With that, you step into the hallway and offer a parting smile over your shoulder, shutting the front door behind you.

At least your being out of the apartment gives Mark time to wrap your gift. All he has to do is figure out how.

Johnny gets a familiar feeling when he sees you enter the pawn shop, fumbling with your things and reluctantly gazing at whatever’s in the tote you’re holding. Are you also about to make an exchange you could potentially regret?

“One second,” you excuse yourself as you step up to the counter, placing the heavy bag down and removing the large item from inside: your letter box, minus its contents. Of course you would never get rid of those, but despite the letters and notes being so special to you, the box they were always kept in is also a significant part of your attachment and the memories you hold dear.

With a thud you set it down, Johnny glancing between the hesitation on your face and the wooden container on the counter in front of him. “Let me guess, you want to exchange this for cash?”

“Yes, sir, that’s exactly what I—” You pause, biting your tongue. “Hold on… Look, I know this is a pawn shop and that’s what people do here, but how are you so sure?”

Johnny’s gut tells him he shouldn’t give away the fact that a boy wearing the very same expression and with the same sense of purpose and determination was in here just two days earlier. So he corrects his mistake with a simple “Lucky guess” and a hearty chuckle.

Without Johnny even asking, you tell him that you’re also looking for some extra cash in order to afford a gift for your “friend,” and you say the word with so much conviction and certainty that it’s almost laughable. The information given to Johnny helps him fully connect the dots in his mind, realizing that each of you are the one the other talked about.

Before handing you the money, Johnny tears off a sheet of paper from a nearby notepad and asks you to fill out your information, most importantly your address. He has to lie a bit, saying it’s for contact purposes, but his heart is in the right place nonetheless. Just in case something goes south (and the sinking feeling in his stomach tells him that it will somehow), doing so gives him an option, even if he doesn’t know what that option might be yet.

“Thank you, Johnny, and Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas!” He returns your wish cheerfully as you push the door open to leave.

“Good luck finding a gift for your ‘friend,’ too.”

You feel heat rise to your cheeks when you see his teasing use of air quotes, but still smile.

On your way back to the apartment Mark texts you and asks you to check the mail, saying he forgot to do so yesterday. When you arrive in the lobby and make your way over to the cluster of mailboxes, you’re instantly shocked to find a large cardboard box shoved into the small cubby with your and Mark’s name on it. You’re already struggling to carry the guitar case you bought for him, so you decide to make a second trip later.

A few moments after stepping out of the elevator, you knock on the door to your apartment, hoping with all your might that Mark won’t actually open it and instead just answer with a “Come in” as he always does. Your wish is, thankfully, granted, but it’s quickly followed by “Wait, wait, wait!” As it happens, he just finished wrapping your gift and needs another minute or two to tuck it away somewhere until the big day arrives. “Can you stay out there until I say?”

“Sure,” you reply, “but I’m going to have to ask you to do the same.”

“How about I stay in my room while you come in and do… whatever you need to?”

“Sounds good.”

With his door closed, Mark hears the front one open and shut as you enter. Trying not to make any noise that would give away the size of the item you just bought, you finally settle for hiding the leather case underneath your bed, concealed by the drapery attached to its frame that hovers just above the floor.

Mark had hastily placed the now-wrapped (though not elegantly so) stationery set back into his dresser, so he’s already out of his room by the time you leave yours. “Any letters or packages?” He questions when he sees you.

“Oh, right!” You snap your fingers, “We do have a package but my hands were full, so I’ll bring it up right now.”

“Eggnog?”

While the box had looked fairly ordinary from the outside, upon opening it and glancing at the return address you learned it was actually anything but that. Mark’s and your parents had sent a holiday care package of sorts, including both of your families’ Christmas cards and a carton of eggnog, along with some small gifts that are meant to be saved for the morning of the 25th. Also mixed in are a few small decorations (not that you need more), some baking supplies complete with a copy of the recipe for the cookies you make every year, and a soft pair of mittens for each of you. He hopes you don’t realize that one of the items is a sprig of mistletoe.

“You don’t like eggnog?” You ask, stunned. Mark shrugs, “I don’t really care for milk but it’s the thought that counts, I guess.”

That evening you and Mark take another stroll, this time choosing to stay on the streets and admire the festively adorned buildings and shops as you pass by them. Admiring Christmas lights at this time of year is nothing new to you and Mark. In fact, when you lived in Canada you would do the same thing. The only difference is that back then, it involved driving through quiet suburban neighborhoods and not ambling through crowded city streets and alleyways on foot.

Snowflakes begin to cascade from the heavens as you make your way back around to the block where you live. Mark sticks his tongue out to catch one of the small crystals, and it immediately melts in his mouth, eliciting a high-pitched laugh from the boy. Snow is also something you both are more than used to by now, having grown up with white Christmases all your lives. It makes you wonder if the holiday season would be the same without it.

“You know what we should do?” Mark turns to you just as you’re about to enter the apartment building again. “Go ice skating at Rockefeller Center.”

“Mark, c’mon, you know stuff like that is overpriced. And besides, I can’t skate to save my life. Remember—”

“That time in sophomore year? You bet I do,” he laughs as he remembers how you clumsily fell not even two seconds after stepping onto the ice with your skates, and then refused to let go of the railing for the rest of the day. The elevator whirs to life, climbing floor after floor with ease.

“Hey,” you offer, “we can still go and watch people skate, I’m sure there’s some place to sit.”

“And we can look at the Christmas tree, too,” Mark adds, eyes brightening at the idea.

“Right. I forget you haven’t seen it in person before.” The cabin doors open with a ding and you step out, your eyes landing on the door to your apartment a few yards away.

When you turn on the TV, Mark becomes mesmerized by the movie that’s playing, since it takes place in NYC and he recognizes so many places from actually being there. He scrambles to remove his jacket and beanie, plopping down onto the couch once they’re safely hooked on the coat rack.

Watching him, you sigh. Would anything really change if you were dating? Assuming your feelings were returned, of course, but you can’t imagine that your relationship would differ much. You certainly wouldn’t go on extravagant dates, or buy expensive gifts for each other, but that’s not what love is about, anyway. With the exception of a few extra hugs and the addition of kisses, along with more forms of physical affection in general (actually, scratch that, Mark’s always been awkward with those kinds of things), you’d still be by each other’s side just like always.

As you sit down next to him and feel an arm wrap around your shoulder, you don’t shrug it off, instead embracing the warm and fuzzy feeling in your heart that you can’t blame on the holiday season this time.

Mark’s glad, too. He’s been working up the courage to do that all day.

Late that night, you quietly tiptoe into the living area, retrieving an old box from your move-in last year that will fit his gift perfectly, and won’t give away what’s inside. Your hands fold and tape the wrapping paper with care, tying a neat ribbon once you’re done. Sure, you had to give up something that meant a lot to you in order to afford Mark’s present, but the gains outweigh the losses. You find comfort in imagining the way his face will surely light up with pure joy on Christmas morning, drifting off to sleep with ease once you’ve hidden the rectangular parcel back underneath your bed.

A few days pass and soon it’s the 23rd, and you join Mark at the railing of the ice rink, of course on the side with solid ground. “Ice is solid ground,” Mark had corrected, but you stood firm in your words. “More like slippery ground, if you ask me.”

Luckily you had been allowed to stand here for free, because god only knows what small, simple thing someone would be charged for in New York. It’s happened to you before, and you’re not even a tourist.

Mark’s dark eyes gaze up at the 75-foot-tall tree in wonder, pupils dilating and reflecting the tens of thousands of bright lights strung through the dark green branches. They seem to sparkle with sheer amazement. Just then someone skates a little too close to the section of railing you’re leaning on, startling Mark out of his LED-induced daze and putting the most adorable look of surprise on his face.

His focus shifts to the people on the ice, wearing sweaters and jackets of every color imaginable, and the sight is still as beautiful as the looming Christmas tree above. He notices some couples, holding onto one another or skating hand-in-hand, and it makes him wonder if that could be you two someday, at a future Christmas, or if it’s an idea absurd enough for an alternate reality.

Mark sees you shiver out of the corner of his eye, and it’s his cue to suggest returning home for the evening. In a very cliché and boyfriend-esque gesture he offers you his jacket, but you decline, insisting that it’s not far and assuring him that you’ll be okay.

Back in your heated flat, you twist open the lid of the eggnog carton and pour a small glass for yourself. “Are you sure you don’t want some?” You call out to Mark from the kitchen, snatching one of the cookies you made the other day and finding a paper plate for the thin shortbread wafer, lined with elegant white icing and dusted with sprinkles.

“I already told you, I don’t like eggnog!”

“Have you even tried it before?” Mark grumbles at your nagging. You really sound like his mom right now.

“No…”

You appear at the other end of the couch, holding out a small cup with just a sip or two of eggnog in it. “Try it. You never know.”

He knows you won’t leave until you see him lift it to his lips for yourself, so he does. Immediately the sweet drink overwhelms his taste buds, and also leaves a slight sting on his tongue.

“What’s in this stuff?” He coughs, nose scrunching a bit from the strong taste. Surprisingly, though, he doesn’t hate it. Following you back to the kitchen, Mark pours a full glass this time, already gulping it down.

“Uh,” you scan the ingredients on the back of the carton once he sets it down on the counter, “milk, cream, sugar, eggs…”

“...whiskey? What the hell?”

“It has alcohol,” Mark slurs, his giggling interrupted by a hiccup. Having never drank before, he’s undeniably a lightweight, and even a little bit can get him wasted almost instantly.

“Mom and Dad must have mixed something up, because they definitely didn’t mean to send us alcoholic eggnog.”

Sure enough, back home in Canada your parents are wondering why they only have the kid-friendly stuff in their fridge.

Mark latches on to you, arm curling lazily around your waist. Great, he’s one of those people that gets clingy when they’re drunk. “Try some,” he whines, nuzzling into your shoulder a little.

“Are you crazy?”

“No one will know,” he laughs, hiccuping again. Giving in to his adorably drunken pout, you take one sip from your original glass but no more, an unpleasant buzz taking over your whole mouth.

Not looking forward to finding a hangover cure on Christmas Eve of all days, you pray that you’ll stay sober enough to take care of the tipsy boy, who’s currently pressing his face into the back of your neck and—shit, did he just kiss you there? You really don’t need this right now.

“Mark, you’re drunk, okay? Stop it,” you caution.

“But I love you,” he murmurs, warm breath fanning your skin, and you want to kick yourself for almost saying it back. Does he even mean it, though? Alcohol makes people say crazy things, things they don’t mean, so you shouldn’t get your hopes up. You unhook his arm from your torso and turn around to push against his chest, frustrated. “Let’s get you to bed.”

He seems to have just remembered something, because he ignores you and instead goes over to where the care package was still sitting, digging into the bottom and pulling out something you hadn’t noticed before. “Look,” Mark declares in a nasal voice, “mistletoe.”

You exasperatedly hang your head, desperate to slam it into the nearest wall. With much difficulty, you eventually manage to get him tucked underneath the blanket, leaving a glass of water on his nightstand for when he wakes up. “Get some sleep,” you say simply.

He tells you goodnight with a fond mumble of your name as you shut the bedroom door behind you. Rubbing your eyes, you yawn before turning off the lights and heading to bed yourself, trying to block out the events that had just taken place.

Your head aches when you wake up the next morning, and you feel like garbage, so you can only imagine how much worse Mark must be doing. Quickly chugging a water bottle, you reluctantly go to knock on his door, hearing a pained groan once you enter. He’s sitting up, chin resting in one hand and the other anchored onto the heavy comforter covering his legs.

“How are you feeling?” The obvious question with an even more obvious answer makes Mark wince. “Awful.”

“Sorry.” It’s silent for a moment, Mark pressing three fingers to his throbbing forehead and you staring aimlessly at the wall. “I knew that eggnog was a bad idea.”

“You were the one that told me to try it!”

“I didn't know it had alcohol in it!”

You sigh, dejected. Something tells Mark that your head isn’t the only thing hurting.

“Hey, I know that look. What’s wrong?” He prods, voice soft and gentle and altogether unlike how it had been last night. You meet his eyes for a moment, about to speak but biting your lip at the last second. Mark’s brain puts two and two together at your expression.

“Oh god, did I say something? Do something?”

“Yeah, actually,” you reply in a huff. “First you kissed my neck, then you told me you loved me, and then you held up a clump of mistletoe and implied that we should kiss underneath it.”

His memories of the previous evening are all a blur, so he truly would have no idea what happened if you hadn’t just said something. Mark knows he screwed up, bad.

You tense when you feel him place his hand over yours, but you don’t snatch it away. After collecting his thoughts, Mark clears his throat.

“Look, I… I know that’s not the best way for you to find out how someone feels about you. But I’m completely sober, and I can tell you that I meant what I said last night.”

“You promise?”

“Promise,” Mark replies.

“...Can you say it again, then?”

He blushes, “That I…?”

You nod, the corners of your lips lifting into a small smile.

“I love you,” Mark tells you for the second time in the last 24 hours, but this time you know you can believe him. The pain of your hangover goes away for a moment as he takes your jaw in his hands and connects your lips, just barely retaining the buzz of the alcohol but not enough to bother you. Slowly you kiss him back, sinking down onto the mattress beside him.

Mark pulls away for air a few seconds later, thumb grazing your cheek lovingly. “Does this mean we’re—”

“Dating? If you want it to, then sure,” your finger traces swirly shapes on the small of his back while you assure him that neither of you need to rush into anything if you aren’t ready.

“I don’t want things to change, though.”

“Who said they have to? I’ve been thinking about it for a while, and we’re already pretty close, you know? Making it ‘official’ doesn’t necessarily mean ‘different,’ so...”

Mark hums in agreement, “You’re right. Okay, I can live with that.”

“And I can’t live another second without food. I’m making breakfast,” you quip, reverting back to the usual banter between you and him.

“I’ll cook the eggs,” Mark insists as you both make your way out of his bedroom and into the kitchen.

“You absolutely will not!”

The night before Christmas had started out unlike any that you’d ever experienced before, with you confronting your now-boyfriend about a drunken love confession the previous day. But now, it’s ending just like every year, with you cozy and curled up in front of the television as the last few segments of the news play.

It’s the coldest Christmas Eve in years. You learned this after the meteorologist had informed viewers of the record only a few minutes earlier, inadvertently planting an idea in Mark’s mind.

Right as you’re about to turn in for the night, setting a plate of decorated cookies and a glass of milk down on the end table (as is tradition in your families, no matter how old you are), Mark holds out his arms like a child might. “Can we…?” He asks in a quiet voice, nervous to finish his sentence.

“Huh?”

The boy inhales sharply, “It’s freezing. Do you wanna sleep in my bed tonight?” His cheeks flush a deep red that’s almost the color of Christmas itself.

You’re slightly taken aback, and then you remember it’s just Mark. “Sure, why not,” you answer with a light shrug and a smile on your face.

“But no funny business,” you inform him as you climb under the sheets together, instantly happy with your choice to join him because double the people means double the body heat. “I wouldn’t dream of it,” Mark replies, pecking your lips. His wrist finds the warm skin of your neck and you flinch away.

“Your hands are cold!” He just snickers at your whining.

The two of you fall asleep more quickly than you ever have on Christmas Eve, usually overcome with nerves and excitement, but now, as two college-aged kids, you’re comfortable and not rushing the morning’s arrival at all, content in each other’s arms for the moment.

You feel like you’re 10 years old again as you rush into the living room at 8am the next day, the bright, early morning sky lighting up your entire apartment. At the base of your Christmas tree sits a humble amount of presents, composed of the two that you bought for each other plus the half-dozen small ones from your parents.

You hand Mark one of the cookies from the end table and grab one for yourself, taking a bite of the sweet treat as you sit down and motioning for him to do the same.

“Open yours first,” you say eagerly, referring to your gift for him. Mark shakes his head and points to what he got you, “No, you go first.”

“Fine, we’ll open them at the same time.” Mark nods, satisfied with the compromise and handing you both the packages.

“On three. One, two…”

The final number barely leaves your lips before you both begin tearing into the paper excitedly, Mark reaching for the flaps on the box and you unfolding the tissue paper.

When you each see what the other gifted you with, it’s completely silent, save for the TV playing a Christmas Day special in the background.

He gazes blankly at you, licking his lips as his eyes dart between the guitar case and your expression.

“I appreciate the gift, but I…” Mark pauses, unsure how to tell you this.

You don’t say a word, raising your eyebrows as a signal for him to continue.

“I sold my guitar to pay for your gift,” he breathes.

“You what? Mark, that guitar means everything to you! Why would you do that?”

“Because you’re worth it, of course!”

“Well, I did the same thing,” you break the news with an unamused expression. “I sold my letter box to pay for that case.”

His eyes become impossibly wider at that, nearly bulging out of their sockets. “Are you serious?”

“Dead serious.”

You groan and lie down on the floor, beyond discouraged. “Let me guess, the pawn shop on 23rd?”

“Yep.”

“Hey, wait a minute.” An idea hits Mark like a rush of cold air. “Maybe we can work out a deal or something.”

“Meaning?”

“We go back and see if we can trade in our new gifts for enough money to get our old things back.”

“One, I doubt it’s that easy, and two, pretty much everything is closed on Christmas Day.” You’re half tempted to laugh because of how ironic this situation is.

Mark sighs, “I guess that makes sense.”

“We can still try, though.”

Sure enough, the pawn shop is dark, even more so than usual, and the door doesn’t budge. A sign taped to the window from the inside confirms your fear: Closed on Christmas. Gloved hands pressed onto the glass, you and Mark admit your defeat. You had been bested by the giving spirit of the holiday season, almost too generous for your own good.

But it’s the message that the day itself stands for after all, for putting aside material value and doing something out of the kindness of your heart just to make someone else happy. That’s what it’s all about, and you and Mark had personally experienced it this year.

So you’re surprised to find two boxes leaning on the wall beside the door to your apartment the next morning, shapes oddly familiar. Could it be?

Just hours earlier, the hallway surveillance cameras caught a tall man striding down the corridor, carrying those exact packages under his arms. In the video he pulls out a scrap of paper and a pen from his coat pocket, scribbling a short message before tucking it underneath the ribbon of the larger parcel and leaving the building just as quickly as he came.

You and Mark’s only clue as to who had returned your items is a messy ‘J’ at the end of the note attached to the box containing his guitar. Exchanging knowing glances, you both grin, squeezing your intertwined hands with the same name in mind.

...So what if Johnny had to take a bit of money out of his own paycheck to cover the cost of the items? Besides, it’s Christmas. And his boss never has to know.

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burnoutsyndrometheseries · 4 years ago

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addressing everything

hello. since yihwas, minghao-ah and 1akorn won’t leave me alone and will continue to stalk my blog and bully me, I feel obligated to make this post. my name is axelle, I’m 21 years old and I’ve had a tumblr blog for almost six years now. most of my online presence has been surrounded by lgbtq+ voices and from the very first moment I started to ship my first mlm ship, I have always questioned my relationship to it as I’ve never wanted to fetishize or hurt anyone in the lgbtq+ community.

it’s always been very important to me to be the best ally possible and I’ve been watching videos and reading articles on various lgbtq+ topics for years. so yes, hearing that there are people out there who should know my character as a person as they have followed me and agreed with me for years but are still trying to commit some sort of character assassination, upsets me. hearing that those people are attacking my core values of tolerance, love of others and acceptance with baseless accusations hurts me.

I have tried to ignore the situation for months because I know how vicious these people (that used to be so nice to me) are, but it’s clearly not working as they will stop at nothing until I have left tumblr. so today I will go over the entire situation as I can not take this psychological harassment and blatant lies anymore.

the situation

it all started when I was accused of whitewashing my gifsets, because I posted one gifset that I had rushed to make where the brightness was too high. I received a very mean and accusatory ask which I posted more out of shock that someone would accuse me of such a thing since I have posted literal hundreds of gifsets on this blog that clearly weren’t whitewashing anyone. that’s when the backlash started, and I believe that’s when those three blogs went from liking me to disliking me. they might have been part of those who sent me private anon messages, I don’t know. I did end up apologizing for that mistake and explaining myself by saying that I’ve always paid attention to characters’ skintones and this was a one time mistake but that I will pay more attention going forward.

a month or so later, I received an private message from minghao-ah demanding me explanations on a joke I made. I had found it funny that the not me director had chosen to post (from probably multiple pictures that were taken), a picture where it looks like first’s hand is on off’s crotch. it instantly annoyed me that someone I didn’t know would come ask me for explanations in such a demanding way, especially amidst me getting at least one hate anon a day since the whitewashing allegations. I did still respond to them nicely and explained what I said previously. then a few days later they sent me another message on the fact that I had said that most mlm representation was still representation regardless of quality. in the message they were picking apart, I had explicitly stated that I was talking about quality of production, acting & writing and I was NOT saying that every representation even those that include sexual assault, homophobia, etc. were okay. therefore that whole message was completely unnecessary and made me grow even more annoyed. in that same message they asked me to tell them if I didn’t want them to send me these kinds of messages, which I did. I still replied nicely to them and ended my message by asking them to stop sending me that type of questions. what I learned later and made the whole thing even more infuriating is that minghao-ah is yihwas and 1akorn’s friend, and had probably come in my dms with their full knowledge and encouragement.

then a little while after 1akorn reblogged an answer I gave to that same ask by pointing out what they found problematic in my post. we talked about it in the comments of that same post and we actually agreed on everything. this answer was clearly just nitpicking on what I said when again we shared the same opinion. I was very upset to see her talk publicly about me when again she was essentially just misinterpreting what I said even though in reality we were in agreement. what upset me even more was yihwas reblogging her post, as I thought we were very friendly and had recently had an hours long conversation. since I am very honest I sent a message to yihwas who was extremely unempathetic to the anon hate I was getting as a result of 1akorn’s response and her reblog, even though she herself had had to password-protect her blog about a year before because she got too much hate. I thought she would understand me and try to stop the hate coming my way, but instead just told me to disable anonymous messages even when I explained to her that I still wanted to talk to the nice anons I received (which still were a majority). his is also when I learned from her own messages that she was close friends with minghao-ah and had a whole group chat with them & 1akorn where they talked about things they found problematic. it left a bitter taste in my mouth as it felt like they had essentially sent minghao-ah to interrogate me instead of coming to me directly when I knew them a lot more than minghao-ah. in the end, yihwas and me agreed to disagree and parted ways. I didn’t block yihwas or 1akorn because they were blogs I had once admired greatly and it would pain me to block them. I was depressed for a few weeks after that because my core values had been questioned; little did I know that this was only the beginning of this situation.

a week or two ago, an anonymous ask was sent to me warning me that yihwas was talking about me on her blog. and what I discovered was frankly flabbergasting. so many of her posts were about me, but what shocked me the most was that some were clearly in reference to posts I had made after our argument. therefore she and her friends were still coming onto my blog to try and find things to nitpick. I do not find this to be a healthy response to an argument at all. normally if you hate someone and think they’re a bad person, you want to stay as far away from them as you can. instead, they went through all of my blog to take screenshots of it and post vaguely about them. this is incredibly unsettling and creepy and borders on obsessesion. I blocked yihwas.

then a few nights ago I received an ask about how calling off jumpol ‘daddy’ was sexualising him. it was most certainly sent by minghao-ah because you’ll see that they sent me a very similar message the same night. even if it wasn’t, that is not the question anyway. I responded that no, daddy isn’t inherently sexual and has become more of a meme than anything else in the past years and that off’s nickame papi literally means daddy in spanish. right after I answered it, I received a message from minghao-ah’s other blog which was extremely disturbing. I do not understand why someone I have blocked would think it’s okay to come talk to me again, but it was very clear to me that their goal was to get me riled up in order to take screenshots of the conversation. coincidentally they did not share our recent interaction in their ‘exposé’ of me, probably because they know it would reflect bad on them. they still have then referenced the screenshots of that conversation many times publicly though, and also shared our conversations in their recent post, which proves my initial instinct right. the goal was clearly to escalate the situation to a public “exposing” of me. I then blocked this second blog of theirs as well as all of the blogs I know of that belong to these three individuals.

here’s the “discussion” with minghao-ah where I beg them to leave me alone which they still don’t do:

then I received another ask alerting me that blogs were spreading rumors about me and this time I answered it as it didn’t name anyone contrarily to the first one I had received. I was still very much aware that this would make them even angrier as they had been enjoying my silence in the past few weeks. then, you just have to look at their blogs to see what they’ve said of me. my response to that ask clearly bothered them as it wasn’t one-sided accusations anymore. funny how they completely glossed over the fact that they are in fact bullying me (ganging up on someone and trying to destroy their reputation IS bullying), and harrassing me (still coming to talk to me, looking through my blog and most certainly sending me anonymous asks) when I’m supposed to be the one who plays the victim and can’t take criticism.

harrassment and bullying

contrarily to what they want to believe, still coming into my (and my friends) dms & asks after I’ve blocked them and coming into my blog with the intent of nitpicking everything I have ever said is harrassment. especially since I do not believe one bit that you really think I’m a danger to society. you are simply obsessed with me and the fact that I’m a straight woman with a big blog and want to push me off of the platform. you can try and defend yourselves saying that you just want to call a bad person out, but once again you’ve followed me for years and agreed with a lot of things I said, things I still believe to this day, so I do not believe one bit you truly think I’m the person you publicly say I am. so knowing a person has blocked you on all of your blogs and still going out of your way to spy on what they’re doing in the hopes of finding something to nitpick is incredibly creepy and as I’ve said before, I wish you would just leave me alone. but that’s not your goal, your goal is to attack me so much that I decide to leave tumblr. if you truly thought I was a bad person, you would have blocked me and moved on with your lives. instead you are trying to push everyone away from me, because this was never about me being problematic. this was about me not bowing down to you and you being annoyed that I’m a straight women who supports lgbtq+ media and has a big blog.

they have also went in the dms of several of my friends to try and persuade them to stop being friends with me & supporting me:

I’m problematic?

I haven’t been able to see every screenshots of what these people are essentially reproaching me, but I thought I’d address the few criticism that have been raised against me:

the whitewashing: as I’ve said at the beginning of this post, this was a one time mistake and it’s never my intention to make someone look less like who they are ethnically. I have spoken many times on colorism in thai dramas especially on this blog and while I do not believe it makes me immune to criticism, I do believe it shows the extent of my opinion on the question.

being transphobic: again something I’ve already addressed but these people are still using against me because they do not care about the truth but they care about destroying me. I was briefly excited for the show drag I love you as I love everyone in the cast & I was especially excited to see a show with such an extensive lgbtq+ cast. I watched the trailer once on the live gmmtv put out and got excited about it. for a while I did not address the anon hate I got for being transphobic because they simply were accusatory and didn’t explain why they thought I was transphobic nor even why drag I love you was transphobic. it’s only when someone politely explained to me why they were bothered by my opinion that I did more research and completely distanced myself from the show. which they know because again they’ve looked all over my blog but decided to ignore because it doesn’t fit their narrative.

fetishizing actors: I... genuinely have nothing to say on this because I find this absolutely baseless. do I like actors? yes. do I find them attractive? yes. do I fetishize them? no. calling an actor daddy and saying he’s hot is not fetishization, it’s called being attracted to someone. in that case we’re all fetishizing every actor we like? or does that apply only to straight people and men who find women attractive? because I do not get it. as for me fetishizing an underage actor (drake laedeke) by calling him a thicc daddy (again a joke that doesn’t seem to have landed), drake is 20. I’m 21. we’re a year apart. stop proving that I’m right to say you’re nitpicking everything I say by choosing dumb examples like this one.

hating women: ?????? like, what do you want me to say to that apart again pointing to the many posts of mine that either celebrate great female representation or criticize the poor treatement of female characters in thai dramas.

obsessed with mlm & bl: that’s funny when I’m one of the only thai drama blogs who doesn’t only post bl. I’ve giffed profusely the few wlw thai ships that happened and I’m constantly recommending non bl thai shows. again you’re just picking and choosing what fits your narrative and completely disregarding the rest.

not taking criticism: I plead 100% guilty for this one. I am very strong-headed, and yes my default response to this kind (saying I’m a fetishizer and transphobic) of accusations is not to bow down to them. especially since most of them are false as already discussed previously. but when people have worded things nicely and actually explained things to me (because yes saying I’m a fetishizer is nice but WHY? because I’ve used the word daddy a couple of times? that argument wouldn’t hold up in court), I have immediately corrected myself and apologized like in the case of me promoting drag I love you.

hypocrisy

it is incredibly sad to see how much hypocrisy has been going on in this whole situation. especially again coming from a blog like yihwas who had to password-protect her blog because of anon hate. it is clear to me that the biggest issue these three have is that I’m a straight woman and I have one of the biggest blogs in this fandom. I will not stoop as low as trying to guess why they have a problem with that, because anyone who has been paying attention knows. it’s very “funny” (in a sad sense) to try and analyze if their criticism of me would hold up if I wasn’t straight. and no being straight is sadly for them not a valid reason to say someone is problematic.

it’s also very concerning to me that people who followed me for YEARS, who interacted with my posts for YEARS, who reblogged my stuff for YEARS, are suddenly realizing that I’m such a bad person. I’m not saying that people can’t change for the worst, but I definitely haven’t. in fact I’ve grown for the best, as one of the posts they’ve been using to show how horrible I am was made when I was 16. does that excuse the fact that this post was gross? no. but the fact that they’re completely glossing over the part where I was underage is clearly showing bias and their wish to make me look bad no matter what. also the fact that they’ve gone through the 18,000 posts on my blog even though again they’ve been blocked many times and I’ve asked them to leave me alone shows more about their character than it does mine. I’m sorry for saying gross shit when I was 16, I was emulating the content I saw on the internet and thought it was the cool thing to do. I have realized long ago that this is something fucked up to say and it obviously doesn’t align with my beliefs.

I posted a video about how all of off jumpol’s characters are coded as bisexual. I prefaced it by saying that I was only talking about fictional characters and not his real sexuality, and my video clearly shows that some of his roles are very heavily coded that way. here’s what yihwas had to say about it:

again, completely misinterpreting my words BECAUSE I’m a straight woman. if it had been anyone non-straight (like @disaster-j for example) she would have never posted something like that. why would it be problematic to point out the very clear subtext in so many off jumpol characters? did I ever mention I wanted to have a threesome with fictional characters? it just shows that I could say anything and it would get twisted to fit their narrative.

just a few days ago, I posted that aom sushar had starred in a cute wlw movie and here’s what yihwas posted in response to that:

this is absolutely disturbing to me... I never said that movie was a very accurate representation of the wlw experience or anything of the sorts, I just... said I liked a movie? that’s a wlw romance? it’s not about straight voices silencing or at least being louder than lgbtq+ voices because that’s obviously not what I want, but... does that mean I can’t watch any kind of lgbtq+ representation? or if I do, I can’t give my opinion about it bc I’m not lgbtq+? that’s some very dangerous things to say.

an apology?

you’ve all mentioned wanting an apology from me in your posts, but I’m a little confused as to why. never once has either of you expressed the need for me to apologize, and again even if you did, why would I need to apologize to you? I never attacked any of you, in fact it’s the three of you who are not only stalking me but also sending messages to anyone who interacts with me. so do you want an apology for the whole lgbtq+ community? do you think you three represent the millions of lgbtq+ individuals? moreover, as I’ve expressed before, I have done nothing that warrants an apology. have I sometimes worded things poorly? sure. I do not think that takes away from ALL of my other posts in support of the lgbtq+ community and my years of allyship.

mob mentality

it’s for me very concerning to see how much mob mentality has played a role in this situation. a lie from minghao-ah that I had been condescending to them prompted the two others to dislike me even more. I have never even talked to 1akorn directly as I’ve learned to know that talking to one of them is talking to the three. they have constantly hyped themselves up as being the ones who hold the truth, but let me tell you something: you being three doesn’t make you more right than me who is one. me being straight doesn’t make me automatically wrong. you are lying about, nitpicking, harrassing me. and you are neither heroes nor the representant of the entire lgbtq+ community. you are bullies who are bitter because I won’t bow down to you even though you’re more numerous than me.

conclusion

so here it was, all of my opinions on this situation. I hope that me posting them will get them to leave me alone, but I doubt it. though that says more about them than it says about me. as I’ve said in my ask answer yesterday, I am not perfect. my life just like all of yours is constantly evolving and we’re all growing as individuals. but no one deserves the harrassment I have been living in the past few weeks. no one deserves to feel like they could say absolutely anything, and it would still get twisted to show them in a bad light. so in the end if you believe I’m a bad person, then feel free to block me. but don’t obsess about me like these three because this is a whole other level of fucked up.

as for anyone who might want to send me screenshots of what they’re doing or saying behind my back, I appreciate the sentiment but don’t. I have wasted enough time and enough of my mental health looking at those already, I don’t need more. but know that I appreciate your kindness and support.

and for sophie, shannon and morgan: I hope one day you realize how unacceptable what you’ve been doing is. how being three to hype yourselves up doesn’t mean you’re right. how you do not represent the whole lgbtq+ community nor the entire thai dramas fandom for that matter. that what you have been doing is unequivocally harrassment. and mostly, that you leave me alone like I’ve been asking for weeks. no I won’t leave tumblr. even if I wanted to I can’t possibly give you the satisfaction that you bullied me into quitting. so keep being obsessed with me, and I believe karma will do its job one day anyway.

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hookedonapirate · 5 years ago

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Summary: The Jones brothers are polar opposites. Liam's the safe and honorable one, straight-laced and straight as an arrow. The good son.

Killian's the dangerous one, the bad boy with tats, leather jackets, a motorcycle and a questionable past.

The only things they have in common are panty-melting sea-blue eyes, the flat they share in Storybrooke and a rare blood type.

Oh, and apparently their taste in women.

Or rather, one woman.

Feisty.

Blonde.

Gorgeous.

Green-eyed Goddess.

Killian saw her first, but she chose his brother—the nice guy over the playboy. And even though she’s dating his brother, it doesn't make him want her any less. If that's not bad enough, she moves in with them and he has to pretend he's not completely in love with her. His life could not get any worse…

Until Liam dies in a tragic motorcycle accident.

Leaving each of them with one half of a broken heart.

Now Killian and Emma are left helping each other pick up the pieces.

Just as they're beginning to learn how to live in their new reality, another riptide pulls them further into the deep end when she finds out she's pregnant with Liam's baby.

Notes: So I made this post on Tumblr the other day, and then this fic happened. If you haven't seen the tags, please read them before starting this story or becoming invested because it’s very angsty. First of all, this starts out as Swan Jewel? I don't know what their ship name is or if there is an official name, but yes, Liam and Emma are in a relationship in the beginning, and I know it’s not everyone’s cup of tea. If you're not comfortable with that, I highly encourage you to hit the back button.

Thank you @ultraluckycatnd for looking it over!

This story was inspired by Baby Mine by Kennedy Fox, and I loved the book so much and thought it was very much underrated. I’ve wanted to write a fic like this for a long time now because it’s one of my favorite tropes, but after I read that book, I just had to write my own take. Also, I made this post about a Baby Yodarita drink last year when it was trending and since the beginning of this story starts one year prior, 2019 and since Killian is a bartender, it was a perfect way to include the prompt.

The title comes from the lyrics of the song, Lay By Me by Ruben. The particular line goes like this:

"I hope you know through the rising tide That I'll be here and you can lay by my side"

If you've never heard it, I recommend giving it a listen. It's an amazing song and very fitting for this story.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VFJbLzEtoZw

P.S. In case you're unable to read the shoulder tattoo in the picture above and are wondering what it says—

"There is no happiness without tears

No life without death

And no true love without heartbreak"

Rated: Explicit for smut (including sexual fantasies, masturbation, implied and detailed sex, etc.) and language (lots of F-bombs).

Also available on: AO3 FF.N

Chapter 1

“Late again?” Liam chides when Ruby waltzes into work as if everything is completely normal. As if she’s not an hour late for her shift.

For the third time that week.

She gives him an apologetic smile, but Killian knows she’s not actually sorry.

He’s just wondering who she was with this time.

“Won't happen again, boss.”

“Damn right it won’t. This is your third warning. Next time, there will be a write-up,” he admonishes.

Frustration creases her forehead. “Geez, would you just chill? My car broke down.”

Liam crosses his arms, narrowing his eyes at her. “So, you mean to tell me your car has broken down three times this week?” he asks, holding up three fingers. “And on either of these occasions, you couldn’t pick up the phone and give me a heads up? Did your phone break, too?”

She flashes him a look as though the answer to his question is obvious. “I told you my car’s a piece of junk. And I tried to call, but no one answered.”

Killian fights off a laugh, knowing for a fact Ruby is bluffing. At least about calling tonight, since the phone hadn’t rung in the past hour. But he could easily check to see if she’d called on the other two days on the bar phone’s caller i.d. to find out for sure if he really wanted to.

“So get a new car. Don’t you make enough from your tips and the hourly wage I pay you?”

“I make enough from my tips,” she replies with a sarcastic smirk, “but I have more important things to buy.”

Liam rolls his eyes. “Like what? More six-inch heels, low-cut tops and short skirts?”

Ruby lets out an exasperated sigh. “How do you think I get good tips—by dressing like a Catholic schoolgirl?” She twists her lips and presses the back of her long, red-painted fingernail to her chin, pondering her own words for a second. “On second thought, that actually might bring in even more tips. Besides, you should be paying for my work clothes. Maybe then I could afford a new car.”

Liam scoffs. “You want me to pay for your outfits?” He shakes his head. “I don’t think so.”

Ruby's eyes widen, as though she’s shocked he declined her request. “Why not? Can’t you claim them as a work expense?”

He nods. “Alright, fine. But if I’m paying for your work attire, then I’m choosing what you wear. Sound good to you?” he asks, knowing damn well she’ll never go for it.

Unsurprisingly, she shakes her head. “Absolutely not. I ain’t wearing no damn polo shirt and black slacks. I like my low-cut tops and short skirts, thank you very much.”

Liam sighs and cups his forehead in his hand to indicate she’s giving him a headache as he turns around and walks toward his office. “Just get to work, Ruby.”

She wraps her apron around her waist and mimics his words in a mocking tone, “Just get to work, Ruby.”

“I heard that!” Liam hollers.

“I could be already serving customers if it weren’t for my pain in the ass boss riding me every two goddamn seconds!” she shouts, hoping he heard that too.

Killian chuckles to himself as he rings up a customer for his drinks and hands him the change.

“That dude seriously needs to get laid,” Ruby huffs. “Maybe then he’d back off a little.”

“Ha! I doubt it,” Killian comments before taking another drink order.

Ruby heads to the dining area to wait on customers. She knows Killian’s not wrong to doubt Liam’s ability to show a little mercy. He’s worked for his brother for two years, longer than anyone has ever been able to stand working for him, and he’s never once seen Liam be lenient, not even to his own brother. He runs a tight ship, and Killian doesn’t see that ever changing. Liam has owned this bar for five years and takes his job very seriously.

Killian’s just glad he only has to work here for another six months. Or at least that’s the plan. He’s about to graduate from Storybrooke University and get his degree in engineering. As much as he enjoys working for his brother, or rather listening to his coworkers complain about his brother behind Liam’s back, he doesn’t plan on spending his entire life making drinks.

Liam emerges from his office an hour later and announces he has to take off for a while to run some errands. Killian’s confused because this is Liam’s night to manage the bar. He dedicates the majority of his other time performing administrative tasks during the week.

“What errands do you have to run on a Friday night?” Killian asks, his words laced with suspicion.

“Just some errands I promised someone I’d take care of. You’re in charge while I’m gone.” He pulls on his jacket and leaves Killian behind the bar with a confused expression on his face, wondering what his brother is up to.

Killian brushes off the thought, deciding to further question him later.

Liam heads out the door, but not before scolding Ruby for sitting down at a table full of rowdy men, chatting (and not about the menu). She may be into women, but she flirts with customers regardless of their gender for the tips.

Ruby curses under her breath and gets up, moving to her next table to jot down orders.

~*~

Emma sighs as Mary Margaret grabs her hand and pulls her into The Captain's Rum. Or more like, drags her in kicking and screaming. She doesn’t wish to be at this bar any more than she wanted to be at the last two. But her sister-in-law insists on the outlandish idea Emma’s going to find Mr. Perfect tonight. Or somehow get over her asshole of an ex-boyfriend after one night of drinking.

And even though it's been two months since she left Neal and his thieving and cheating ass, and as much as she wants to get over him, Emma knows it’s not gonna happen for a while. At least not tonight.

And yet, here she is.

One night of drinking can’t hurt, she supposes. One night of forgetting everything. Of numbing her pain. Or so she keeps telling herself, but that could be the alcohol she’s already imbibed at the other two bars speaking.

“So, how’s it going tonight, Rubes?” Mary Margaret asks the cocktail server once they’re seated at a booth.

Apparently, they know each other.

“Well, no one's tried to manhandle me yet, so it's a start.” The tall brunette with red streaks in her hair leans over the table and murmurs, “Not a great start, but it's a start.”

Mary Margaret rolls her eyes and laughs as she gestures at Emma. “Rubes, this is my sister-in-law, Emma. She just moved here from New York.”

Looking at Emma, Ruby grins and sticks out her hand. “Hi! Nice to meet you!”

Emma gives her a polite smile and shakes her hand. “Likewise.”

When Ruby brings the chips and cheese Mary Margaret ordered, she places them on the table along with two empty plates. Before arriving here, Mary Margaret decided they would put some food in their bellies before they added more alcohol so they wouldn't get too drunk too fast and have to head home early. Well, that was Mary Margaret’s idea at least. Emma would much rather be home in the comfort of her bedroom watching Netflix. Or rather, her brother’s and sister-in-law's guestroom they so graciously let her sleep in until she gets her own place.

“Enjoy, ladies.”

“Sure will,” Mary Margaret beams as Ruby leaves their table. She sips on some water as she scans the bar. Probably for potential suitors she can hook her sister-in-law up with, Emma surmises. “What about him? He's cute,” Mary Margaret remarks, her eyes trained on someone behind her.

Emma looks over her shoulder and arches a brow. “He’s cute if you’re sixteen. He looks way too young.”

“Well, he’s drinking, so he must be at least twenty-one,” Mary Margaret points out.

“He looks sixteen, and sorry, I don’t date children.”

“Emma, he’s not a child, probably a college student. And you act like you’re so old just because you already graduated. You’re twenty-two,” Mary Margaret points out like she’s jealous and wishes to be so young again. But she's only a few years older—the same age as David.

Emma groans. “No, thanks.” Her last boyfriend was immature enough as it was, and he was ten years her senior. “So, tell me, how are you and my brother getting along?” Emma asks, attempting to change the subject and get her sister-in-law to avert her attention from the college boys across the room. “Sick of each other yet?”

Mary Margaret whips her head around and scowls. “Of course not. Why would you ask such a thing?”

Emma laughs and raises her hands in defense. “Because I knew it was the only thing that would get your attention.”

Guilt and apology flicker in Mary Margaret’s eyes. “Sorry, Emma.” She lays her palms on the table. “David and I are just worried about you, that’s all.”

Emma sighs, frustration creasing her forehead. “I’m fine, I promise. Neal was an ass, and honestly, him cheating on me was a good thing. I needed the wake-up call, okay? I was blinded by love. But now that we're over, I can move on with my life. That’s why I let you talk me into bar hopping.”

A slow, hopeful smile spreads across her lips. “I know, and I’m so happy you got out of that relationship, Emma. David and I both are.”

Emma laughs. “I know. When I landed on your door stoop, we both had to stop him from driving all the way to New York to kick Neal's ass.”

Mary Margaret nods. “True. He’s very protective of you.”

Emma rolls her eyes. “I know. It’s both a blessing and a curse.” She takes a sip of water as she scans the bar. It’s the first time she’s been to The Captain's Rum, and everyone is so unfamiliar to her. New York is a huge place, especially compared to Storybrooke, but in this bar, it feels like she‘s back in New York. She swears everyone in Storybrooke is here.

Ruby returns to their table to sit and chat. And steal some of their chips, double-dipping them in the cheese. Emma fights off the urge to laugh at this as her eyes wander past Ruby’s shoulder.

Huge mistake.

The group at the bar counter disperses, revealing the most gorgeous sight she's ever seen.

Holy. Fucking. Hell.

She loses a breath when she sees what she can only describe as a fine specimen.

Good Lord.

Handsome features and such a delicious smile to accompany his perfect face as he chats with a male patron at the bar, she finds herself licking her lips.

“What about him?” Emma manages when she’s able to find the words in her throat.

Mary Margaret’s eyes light up before she even looks to see who Emma is staring so unabashedly at. “Who?!” She and Ruby both turn their heads, their eyes following the path of Emma’s gaze until they land on the target.

“You mean the bartender?” Mary Margaret asks, though, to Emma’s surprise, she doesn’t seem very excited; more like disappointed.

Emma tears her gaze away from the bartender, as much as she doesn’t want to. But she couldn’t breathe when she looked at him and she needed to come up for air. “Yeah, why not?”

“Why not what?” Ruby asks as she looks at Emma, curiosity flashing in her big hazel eyes. “Because if you’re asking ‘why not jump his bones,’ then I can’t think of one good reason.”

“Ruby, don’t encourage her,” Mary Margaret chides with a glare.

Ruby frowns, confusion etched in her features. “Why not?”

“Because… Killian is a player. Emma just broke up with her player of a boyfriend a couple of months ago. She doesn't need another one in her life.”

“Um, excuse me, I’m right here,” Emma groans wryly. “And I’m perfectly capable of making my own decisions.”

“She’s not wrong though,” Ruby remarks. “He is a player. But a fucking hot player. Between the two of us, we’ve conquered all the women of Storybrooke.”

Emma lifts a brow. “Does that mean what I think it means?”

“Yep. Probably even some of the same women,” she winks, her words bearing no shame or remorse.

“Ruby, would you stop? Besides, neither of you have conquered me,” Mary Margaret points out with air quotes.

Ruby rolls her eyes. “Of course not. Prince Charming had already parked his car in your garage long ago.” She reverts her eyes to Emma. “If you’re looking for a relationship, he’s definitely not for you…” she leans over toward Emma, speaking softly, “but if you’re looking for a hookup to get over that cheating ex of yours, then he’s absolutely perfect for that. He’ll give you an orgasm sooooo hard, you’ll forget all about that scumbag. Then he’ll do it over and over again until he knows you won’t be able to walk for weeks.” Ruby grins wide. “Hell, you’ll forget your own fucking name for weeks.”

Emma gulps, having to recover from the images Ruby implanted in her mind of the man on the other side of the bar. Once she recovers, she furrows her brows at the conclusions she’s drawn from Ruby’s graphic depictions of what a night with the handsome, dark-haired bartender would be like. “How would you know? Have you two—”

Ruby laughs as though Emma just said the funniest thing she’s ever heard in her life. “Oh Gaaaaawwwwd, no! I don’t swing that way, honey,” she says, rising and waving off Emma’s words with a flick of her hand. “But I’ve seen the number Killian’s done on his conquests. People talk, especially the drunk, horny females who enter the bar. Plus, as I said, he’s my competition, so I have to know what he's working with… if you know what I mean,” she says with a wink.

“Yeah, I got it,” Emma groans as Ruby saunters away. Why do all the hot guys have to be players?

It’s just her luck.

Emma turns to catch another look at him.

God, he’s gorgeous.

Dark, wild hair, stubble on his chin and cheeks, and a fantastic body based on what she can see from her vantage point.

“Emma! Don’t even think about it! That man’s trouble and you know David would never approve,” Mary Margaret explains, pulling Emma from her trance.

She turns her head, glaring at her sister-in-law. “David is not my father. And besides, I’m a grown-ass woman! He can’t tell me who I can or cannot date.”

Mary Margaret gives her a motherly look. “I know, sweetie, but this man doesn’t date women, he fucks them and then sends them packing. David only wants to protect you from guys like him.”

“I don’t need his protection, okay? Or yours. I’m perfectly capable of looking out for myself.” Emma stands from her seat, and she’s not sure if it’s because of the alcohol still brewing in her system, or because her sister-law has expressed disapproval from both her and David, making this man seem like a forbidden, sinful dessert she’s dying to get a taste of, even though she’ll pay for it later. But right now she doesn't give a fuck.

She sucks in a breath and strides across the bar, ignoring Mary Margaret’s pleas and warnings.

Her eyes are fixed on him like a magnet. He’s wearing a black v-neck that fits him like a glove and shows off a provocative amount of chest hair, his tight, firm muscles bulging as he wipes down the bar counter. His muscles aren’t inhumanly large, just big enough for her to imagine him picking her up and easily carrying her to his bedroom like she weighs nothing. Emma can feel her panties grow wet just from watching him work.

But even though she doesn’t wish to be told who to be with, she knows she should heed her sister-in-law’s warnings.

What would one night of fun hurt, though? She’s spent too much time holed up in her New York apartment, wallowing in self-pity and heartache after Neal hurt her. She hasn’t been with anyone since then. And maybe she’s not looking to dive into a serious relationship right now. Or ever. Maybe she just wants to blow off some steam. And this man looks like he can handle such a task. She’s more than willing to find out.

Emma approaches the bar and stands in front of him, placing her hands on the counter.

“What can I get you, lass?”

Well, fuck me sideways.

He has a British accent too?

She knows she should run for her life, but before she can talk herself out of it, he looks up from his task, and she feels like her feet are glued to the floor.

Ho-ly hell.

He’s even more gorgeous up close.

His arms are inked with tattoos she so badly wants to trace with her fingers, and his striking blue eyes sparkle as he stares at her, his smile showing off a set of pearly white teeth.

Well shit.

She couldn’t run away if she wanted to.

~*~

Killian had been running back and forth behind the bar for hours, ringing up bar patrons, making drinks and engaging in small talk. It’s a typical Friday night at The Captain’s Rum; the place is normally busy on the weekends, especially since the bar is only a stone’s throw away from the university, and tonight is no exception. It’s crowded and loud, couples are dancing, and the women are scantily clad in either tiny dresses or short tops and skirts. As he’s grabbing beers and making cocktails, the bar continues to fill and grow louder.

He hands off drinks to a couple before moving on to the next customer.

“Hey Jones, can I get two Blue Ribbons?” his good mate, Robin, calls over the blaring music.

Killian chuckles and grabs the desired beers, popping off the caps before handing them over. “Taking it easy tonight?” he asks, leaning against the counter and gripping the edge of it with both hands.

“Aye. Regina doesn’t like the hard stuff. She’s more of a wine person.”

“Ah, I see.” Killian nods; he can definitely see that about Regina. He doesn't want to say this to one of his best mates, but the lass can be a little stuck up and quite bossy at times. She makes Robin happy though, so he keeps his mouth shut.

He chats with him for a few minutes, finally getting a few minutes of reprieve. As Robin heads back to his girlfriend, Killian takes the opportunity to wipe down the bar top. But before he’s finished, someone approaches the counter. His eyes are still trained on his task, but he can’t miss the long blonde hair, pink lace and fantastic cleavage, seeing as the view is directly in front of him. “What can I get you, lass?” he asks, throwing on his most charming grin as he lifts his head.

His smile is cemented on his face the second he looks up.

Killian’s accustomed to seeing pretty women entering his brother’s bar and parading around in clothes that barely cover their essential parts.

Yet nothing in the world could’ve prepared him for the woman standing in front of him on the other side of the bar counter.

No, not woman.

Goddess.

Emerald green eyes, soft pink lips curved into a shy smile, smooth creamy skin, long golden hair cascading over her shoulders.

Good.

God.

She’s breathtaking.

Stunning.

“What would you recommend?” she asks in a teasing tone.

Fuck.

Her voice is that of an angel’s. Pure and sweet and innocent.

She looks like everything he doesn’t deserve but wants every... fucking... part of.

“Uh… I um…” he stutters, scratching nervously behind his ear. He can’t form a cohesive sentence as he looks into those hypnotizing eyes. He wants to get lost in them, drown in them. “What are you… what are you in the mood for, love?” he finally musters, adding another one of his signature grins. “I can make you anything your heart desires.” What he wants to say is, “I can give you anything your heart desires,” but even that may not be true. As gorgeous as she is, he’s afraid he wouldn’t be the man she deserves. He’s never been the guy women like to take home to their parents, anyway. He’s the guy chicks like to have around for a good time before they eventually settle into a serious relationship with Mr. Perfect. He’s definitely no Mr. Perfect, more like a Good Luck Chuck, but at the moment, he feels like he could be fucking Superman for this woman. And he's only exchanged a few words with her so far.

She arches a brow and it’s literally the most adorable and sexiest thing he’s ever witnessed in his life. “Anything?” He senses a challenge in her tone.

“Try me,” he encourages.

She bites her bottom lip in thought.

He lied. Now that’s the most adorable and sexiest thing he’s ever witnessed.

“What if I said I wanted a Baby Yodarita?”

He arches a brow, very much intrigued. “A Baby Yodarita? Never heard of it.”

She laughs and the sound is music to his ears. “That's because I made up the name. But I figure it would be a green drink that looks like baby Yoda.”

“So, I take it you’re a Star Wars fan?”

“Are you a bartender?”

Just as he answers like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, since he’s behind the bar serving drinks, he catches her drift and flashes a smirk.

Could this woman be any hotter? And yes, as he’s asking this question in his head, he’s picturing Chandler Bing and the way he would say it, emphasizing the word be. Gods, he hates that he knows that about Friends. He hates that he actually likes that show.

“You don't really have to be a Star Wars fan to be a baby Yoda fan though. He's so cute, he's trending on the internet, haven't you seen?”

He chuckles. “Aye, who hasn't?”

She plants her hand on her hip, donning a sultry smirk. “So, are you up for the task, or not?”

He licks his lips and leans over the bar counter, his eyes locked with hers. He wants to ask her if she fell from heaven. Or if he just died and went to heaven. But he has a feeling cheesy lines wouldn't work on a woman like her. “I'm afraid you'll have to be more specific as to what task you’re referring to, love.” But who the fuck is he kidding? There is nothing he could do for her he would consider a task.

Only a pleasure.

Blush paints her cheeks and she leans over, meeting him halfway until her face is mere inches from his. “I have a few in mind… but how ‘bout that drink, first?”

Bloody. Fuck-ing. Hell.

Her voice is a mixture of sweet and seductive. He doesn’t know how she manages to pull off a combination like that. His eyes drop to her lips and he’s seriously considering kissing the holy fuck out of her over the bar counter, audience be damned. He almost groans just thinking about her soft, luscious looking lips pressed against his, but he swallows the sound before it leaves his throat.

He lifts his eyes to hers. “Sit tight, sweetheart.”

“Okay,” she says with a smile and takes a seat on a barstool. “Oh, and a Cosmo for my sister-in-law.”

“Coming right up.” It takes every ounce of strength within him to pull away, but somehow he does.

He has to take slow, deep breaths to peel his mind from the fantasies he’s already having of him and the blonde temptress watching him intently as he prepares her drink.

~*~

Emma snorts. She honestly didn’t think he would actually take her seriously. She was only kidding around. But he took her very seriously and eagerly accepted her challenge. And he did an amazing job.

She stares at the green drink in amusement, impressed, to say the least. He brought it to her in a margarita glass with two lime wedges sticking out like ears. The stem is wrapped in a napkin tied with twine and clearly made to look like Baby Yoda’s coat. And there's a cocktail stick tucked into the twine like a sword.

“Well? How did I do?” he asks, eagerly seeking her answer.

“It's so cute,” she comments honestly. “It looks great, but does it taste as good as it looks?” As she asks that question, she’s looking up into his gorgeous eyes. And she can’t deny she’s wondering the same about him.

Does he taste as good as he looks?

Before she brings the glass to her lips, he puts up a finger to stop her.

“Hold on.” He grabs a toothpick and stabs two cherries, one on each end, before sticking it into the drink, giving the baby Yoda a pair of eyes. “For the finishing touch,” he smirks.

After she stops laughing, she takes a hesitant drink. Once she takes the first sip, her face sours and she blinks a few times as she swallows. “Wow, that’s strong.” She arches her brow, pinning him with an accusatory stare. “Are you trying to get me drunk?”

He chuckles. “Aye, isn't that the intention?”

She nods and grins. “This will certainly do the trick.” She rises from the stool and reaches into her back pocket, pulling out her phone case wallet, which holds her phone and money. “How much?” she asks, pulling out some cash.

He waves off her offer. “The drinks are on me,” he says with a wink.

“Are you sure? I don't wanna get you in trouble.”

“Trust me, I won't get in trouble.”

Taking his word for it, she tucks the cash into her wallet. “Thanks for the drinks, Killian.”

He arches a sultry brow, making her heart skip a beat. “So, you’ve heard of me, but I have yet to learn your name?”

She laughs and points at the name embroidered into his shirt. “Yours is right there.”

“Oh, that,” he chuckles, a light blush tinting his cheeks as he peers down and brushes his fingers over the letters. “My boss insists we have our names displayed on our shirts.”

“Well, your boss sounds like a pain in the ass.”

“He is, but I only have to work here for another six months. I’m graduating from SBU in the Spring.”

She nods as a group of people approach the counter beside her. She glances over at them and shifts her gaze back to him, wishing he had more time to chat, but she knows he has to work. “It's Emma,” she makes sure to tell him before the counter becomes too overcrowded. “My name,” she clarifies, in case that wasn't obvious.

“It’s nice to meet you, Emma,” he says sweetly, reaching over to shake her hand. When she slips her palm into his, she can feel the sparks from his touch, but instead of shaking her hand, he brings it to his lips and kisses the back of it.

Oh, God.

This man’s lips on her skin feel like heaven and sin. She has to clench her thighs to stop the throbbing she feels between her legs.

Fuck.

She feels the loss when she pulls her hand away and sees the loss written all over his face. “Well, I should um… I should get back to my sister-in-law,” she stammers after learning how to form words again.

He scratches behind his ear and opens his mouth to speak before closing it again like he’s nervous about something. “Of course, love.”

Emma swallows thickly and lingers a bit, patiently waiting for him to say what’s on his mind.

He must sense she's waiting for him because as she grabs the drinks and starts to back away from the counter, his voice stops her. “Emma?”

Good Lord, she loves the way her name slides off his tongue.

She cocks a brow, hoping he's about to ask for her number. Praying he does. “Yes?”

“I um… can you come back here before you leave? Say in an hour when it slows down a bit? I’d love to chat with you some more,” he says sincerely.

Emma purses her lips like she has to mull over his question. The offer is extremely tempting. But she has something else in mind other than talking. Something involving his hands all over her body and her legs wrapped around his hips as he's plunging into her.

And you know what? Fuck it.

She’s sure whatever he has in mind is exactly what she has in mind. Or at least, close to it. “Sure.”

His eyes widen in excitement and surprise, as though he wasn't actually expecting her to say yes. “Really?”

She flashes him her sexiest grin. “Yeah, why not? I’ll see you in an hour.”

“See you then, love. Enjoy your drink. May the booze be with you.”

She snorts and backs away from the counter, holding up her glass in salute before taking a sip. Their eyes are still locked before she turns around.

As she walks away, she cranes her neck to see him still watching her, even as he's serving other customers. She winks at him and has the pleasure of witnessing that adorable pink blush coloring his cheeks and the smirk on his lips before she faces forward and heads back to Mary Margaret.

She’s not looking forward to the lecture her sister-in-law is about to give her, but honestly, she doesn't care. She's looking forward to returning to the hot bartender, hoping to go back to his bedroom. Or the restroom. Either will do, really. As long as she gets to have him.

After Mary Margaret is done chewing Emma out and reminding her of what a player Killian is, and after she finally realizes Emma is going to do what she wants, regardless of what anyone says, they are able to have some fun.

Ruby keeps the drinks coming, and soon they’re tipsy enough to get up and dance among the crowd of gyrating bodies already on the dance floor. Emma glances over at the counter every now and then, and every other time, she catches Killian staring at her, sending shivers down her spine. And every time he tosses her one of his cheeky smiles, her stomach flutters with butterflies.

Emma's thankful Mary Margaret is plastered enough to let loose and not give her any shit because she has no idea what Mary Margaret would do if Emma told her she's going back to talk to Killian. Though she has a feeling if Mary Margaret were sober, she'd do anything in her power to make sure Emma stayed away from him.

When the time finally comes, they order an Uber, which takes much longer than expected. She helps Mary Margaret into the backseat and tells her she's staying for a bit longer and will catch another Uber when she's ready to leave. She doesn't dare mention Killian's name, or that she plans on leaving with him, for fear Mary Margaret will blabber to her brother. Because then he'll come marching into the bar on his white horse to find his sister with the bartender and embarrass the hell out of her.

Mary Margaret's too drunk and in no shape to talk her out of anything, so Emma’s able to escape, knowing her brother will take care of his wife when she gets home.

Emma quickly shoots David a text to let him know his wife had a few too many drinks and is on her way home in an Uber and that Emma decided to stay a little longer but will be home soon. Which is a lie.

She hopes.

Before the Uber drives away, Emma slips her phone into her pocket before heading back into the bar. She's fifteen minutes late, but it's not like Killian can go anywhere. He’s the bartender.

Once inside, she takes a deep breath and tucks some hair behind her ears, a smile playing along her lips as she makes her way to the bar counter. She has no idea what exactly will happen once she reaches him, but with a face as gorgeous as his, she’s pretty sure she would let him do anything he wanted to.

She’s also pretty sure he could help Emma get over her ex. As they say, the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else. And that’s exactly what she plans on doing.

As Emma nears the counter and spots Killian, the beaming smile on her face immediately falls flat.

And her heart sinks.

A busty blonde is standing at the bar, her hand running up and down Killian’s arm, her fingers tracing his tattoos. The woman is sitting on a barstool at the opposite side of the counter in a low-cut top that leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination, and a skirt so short and tight it looks like it's been painted on. Killian’s standing in front of her, so his back is to Emma as he gives his full attention to the other blonde. It's almost time for last call, so it's now much quieter in the bar, and she's close enough to be able to hear their conversation.

“What can I get you, love?”

“A Tequila.”

“Tequilas are trouble,” he says matter-of-factly.

She moves in closer, biting her smile. “So am I,” she taunts.

“I’m fully aware,” he replies with a chuckle. He tries to move, probably to make her Tequila, but she grabs his arm, forcing him to stay. Though, forcing is a bit of an overstatement; Killian doesn't seem to be putting up much of a fight. “Would you like a snack, too?”

Mischief dances in her eyes as she licks her lips, ogling him like he’s the snack. “I’m looking at it, honey.”

Emma feels like she's going to be sick.

The woman leans in and bites his ear and then pulls away slightly. “Last weekend was incredible. Can’t stop thinking about having my legs wrapped around you,” she giggles.

Jealousy stabs Emma’s gut and disappointment shoots through her like a lightning bolt, bringing her back to reality.

Mary Margaret and Ruby were totally right.

He’s a player.

Unable to listen to them for another second, Emma spins on her heels and dashes out the door so fast, she almost tramples over some guys heading in at the last minute.

She should’ve listened to the warnings, but she was too blinded by the attraction she felt for Killian.

God, she’s a fucking idiot.

Why does she always fall for the dangerous guys? The ones who are bad for her? Why can’t she just find a nice guy for once? Someone safe. Someone who won’t stomp on her heart and discard it like trash without batting an eye.

She pushes open the door, tears stinging her eyes as she runs outside into the bitter, chilly night, hoping the Uber driver hasn’t taken off yet. But it's wishful thinking because she can't think of a reason why he wouldn't have left by now.

“Ooof.”

The air rushes from her lungs as she slams into a tall, solid mass.

Hands are gripping her arms to keep her from falling as apologies leave her lips. “Sorry.” She looks up at the man towering over her, Emma's eyes connecting with soft blue ones, which are full of apology.

He flashes a warm smile, his lips framed by a light brown scruff.

“I’m the one who should be sorry, lass. I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going.”

Shit.

He has an accent too?

What’s with all the accents in this town? She’s noticed a lot of the locals here weren’t actually born here. Or the States. She didn’t realize how much she liked men with foreign accents until tonight.

This man continues to apologize, but he doesn’t sound very sorry. At least not for crashing into her. “I was distracted,” he says with a smirk, giving Emma the impression she was what he was distracted by.

Emma tears herself from the trance she’s in and glances at the side of the road, where the Uber once was. “Shit,” she curses under her breath.

“Are you okay?” he asks in genuine concern.

“Yeah, it’s just… my ride has already left. And I’m too drunk to drive home,” she sighs.

Before the man can respond, his phone chimes from his jacket. “Excuse me,” he says apologetically, pulling out the device. He studies whatever’s on the screen with a worried expression, then looks up at her, his mouth slightly agape.

“Everything okay?” she asks with an arched brow, starting to shiver as a frigid wind sweeps around her.

“Um, yeah.” He glances at his phone again before lifting his gaze. “You wouldn’t happen to be Emma, would you?”

She freezes and just stares at him, not knowing how to answer that. Or rather, why she should answer that.

What the hell?

She's never seen this man before in her life, so how does he know her name?

Her heart pounds and she wants to run, but she's afraid she’s not sober enough for that at the moment. “How do you know my name?”

He appears to be hesitant as he holds up his phone, showing her his screen.

Emma takes it in her hands so she can get a better look.

Her eyes widen when she sees a text from a Nolan.

Nolan, as in her brother? Who else with the last name, Nolan, lives with a Mary Margaret and an Emma?

Nolan: I just received a text from Emma. She sent Mary Margaret home in an Uber and is at your bar. Can you make sure she gets home all right?

Her blood sizzles as she rereads the message. Then she reads the texts before it, a couple in particular sticking out like sore thumbs.

Nolan: So… I have a huge favor to ask.

Me: Sure, what’s up, mate?

Nolan: The wife and sister are going to the Rabbit Hole tonight. Emma just moved here from New York after a terrible break-up and Mary Margaret is determined to hook her up with someone.

Nolan: Think you have time to get away from work and keep an eye on my sister, make sure she doesn’t find any trouble?

What the actual fuck?

Why is her brother having this man spy on her?

Emma turns around and pulls back the hand still holding the phone, about to toss the damn thing.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, don’t shoot the messenger, love,” he pleads. “I need my phone.”

The endearment makes her shiver. Killian had called her love, too.

She spins around to glare at the stranger. “David’s using you to spy on me?” she demands firmly.

He holds up his hands in surrender. “I didn’t want to, lass, I promise, but I would’ve felt terrible if I said no and then, later on, found out something bad happened to you. I promise, I was only helping a friend and looking out for you.”

Emma sighs and hands his phone back, knowing he’s telling the truth. She saw his responses to David’s texts and gathered he didn’t wish to put his nose where it didn’t belong or to stir up any trouble. “David always has been good at persuading people,” she grumbles.

“Aye, especially when it comes to protecting the ones he loves,” he winks.

“Even so, he has no business spying on me!” she states louder than intended.

“I wholeheartedly agree,” he states adamantly, making sure to express how much he was against this whole idea, to begin with.

Emma crosses her arms over her chest, wondering how she never saw him at the Rabbit Hole when she was there. “So, you spied on me at the Rabbit Hole?”

He shakes his head. “No, I didn’t get the chance to. By the time I got there, you and Mary Margaret were already gone.”

Emma shakes her head and rolls her eyes at the thought of her own brother asking someone to spy on her. But she’s not surprised. “Brothers are so annoying,” she grumbles.

He chuckles, and the deep, hearty sound warms her heart a little, despite the chill in the air. “Agreed.”

She arches her brow, as though to ask him to expand on why.

“I have one of those, too. So I get it.”

Emma’s features soften, a small smile pulling at her lips. “Older or younger?”

“Younger. He can be quite the ponce sometimes, but at the end of the day, I’d lay down my life for him.”

“I usually feel the same about David… and then he goes and pulls something like this,” Emma remarks bitterly.

“I take it he does this a lot?”

“He did when we were younger. But then I moved to New York and he came here, so we didn’t see each other very much.”

“Ah, I see.”

Another gust of wind makes her shiver and has him removing his jacket and offering it to her. Even though she’s already wearing one.

“May I?”

She cocks a brow. “Won’t you be cold?”

He shrugs. “I rarely get cold.”

She gives him a soft nod. He looks like he’d be the type of man who knows how to stay warm, and therefore knows how to keep a woman warm. He has those big, strong arms and broad shoulders, and he’s very tall. She could picture herself being buried in his warmth, but maybe because she's currently freezing her ass off. “Thanks,” she murmurs when he goes behind her and drapes the jacket over her shoulders.

“It’s my pleasure, love.” When he’s standing in front of her again, he sticks out his hand. “The name’s Liam.”

Emma smiles and slips her palm in his.

She was right. He is warm. Very warm. “I think David’s mentioned your name a few times.”

“Probably not as much as he talks about you. In fact, I feel like I already know you,” he chuckles as they break the handshake.

“Hopefully, he had good things to say?” She almost groans at the idea of David spewing a bunch of embarrassing stories about her from when she was a kid.

“Aye. Very good things… well, mostly,” he admits. “But who doesn’t have at least a complaint or two about their siblings?”

She nods in agreement. “True. I complain about him all the time.”

He grins big and wide. “I don’t doubt that.” When his smile fades a little, he scratches his head as he looks at her, hesitant to form the next words he wants to say. “Well, uh… seeing as it’s,” he checks his watch, “almost two o’clock and not getting any warmer out here, how about I give you a ride home?”

Emma twists her lips in thought. Normally she wouldn’t even think twice about rejecting a ride from a stranger, but there’s something about this guy that tells her he’s not a serial killer or rapist. There’s something pure about him, a vast contrast to the bartender inside. That guy screamed danger and sin, but this man standing before her gives off completely different vibes. He has a warm personality, which is very refreshing, and he has honest eyes. Besides, she may not be able to stand her brother and his antics sometimes, but he's always had good taste in friends. And if David trusts Liam enough to keep tabs on his sister, then he must be trustworthy.

So with a feeble smile, she finally answers. “Okay.”

Tagging people who have shown interest. Let me know if you would like to be added. @itsfabianadocarmo @resident-of-storybrooke @onceuponaprincessworld @viajandosinalas @teamhook @captainswan-shipper88 @jamif @katielovesstarcrossedlovers��@uhthreeyuh @lfh1226-linda @babyyouremyqueen @sthonour @julesep3026 @fairytalewhispersinmyheart @andiirivera @wefoundloveunderthelight @wickedsw4n @eleveneitherway @eherron14 @ouatpost @transparentclodsludgeweasel

#cs ff #captain swan #liam and emma #swan jewel #forced roommates #minor character death #angst #heartache #pregnancy #healing #through the rising tide #my fic

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nat-20s · 5 years ago

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MEDIA THAT I RECOMMEND YOU CONSUME INSTEAD OF SUPERNATURAL FOR BOTH HEART AND HEALTH BROKEN DOWN BY TYPE OF MEDIA AND WHY YOU MIGHT LIKE IT IF AT ANY POINT YOU, LIKE MY POOR POOR SEVENTEEN YEAR OLD SELF, WERE INVESTED IN THIS ABSOLUTE GARBAGE FIRE OF A SHOW

with apologies to anyone on mobile who’s readmore function APPARENTLY doesn’t work

(I haven’t watched supernatural for at least five years and, given any sort of luck, I will never do so again, do not @ me)

hello babes. I am talking to you know bc I keep seeing supernatural, unironically, on my dash, and I think we can all do better. I see what’s happening and I think: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hU3i_o5Xd4g

Supernatural is fudge stripes. You are Megan. We can fix this.

So a list of alternate things that I think are overall better written/characterized/just generally more enjoyable that might scratch some of those itches:

TV SHOWS

Good Omens

okay look if u were on tumblr last year u probably already watched this show but like. If u haven’t, it’s only six episodes babe and there’s a large enough fandom that u can go down a fanart hole for days on end

Basic summary: the antichrist has reached that lovely young age where he’s supposed to bring about the apocalypse. An angel and a demon who have decided that actually they like the world as is, thank you very much, try to stop the end times. They’re not very good at it though, which makes for a comedy of errors.

Shared elements with supernatural that you might Vibe with: theologic (mostly christian) exploration/parody/imagery without inherently being a religious show. Fighting off the apocalypse narrative, which I think pretty much always goes hard as hell, but that’s just me. There’s a gay angel who’s socially awkward. There’s a fun very British demon. Touches on the hierarchies of heaven and hell, with framing Heaven as a bureaucracy and blurs the differences between angels and demons. Pining. Tenderness. A deep nostalgia for 80s music, though in this case it’s specifically queen, and who doesn’t love queen. Main character has a weirdly strong bond with his black vintage car. Satan is (sort of) fought.

Gravity Falls

sometimes...things that are kids shows...with a set story and a predetermined ending...are better

(also this isn’t relevant to any of what I’m talking about but I really appreciate that Gravity Falls specifically went against the thing that most begged me about ATLA aka that a 15 year old girl would be like yeah I’m into a 12 year old boy because the 12 year old boy has a crush on me and I apparently don’t get to really have a say in this. How does that make sense.)

Basic Summary: Twelve year old twins Dipper and Mabel go to stay with their Grunkle Stan for the summer in a small Oregon town called Gravity Falls. Turns out this town is filled with all sorts of strange phenomena that they often have to confront, work around, learn about, or befriend!

Shared elements with supernatural that you might Vibe with: The core focus of the show is a close sibling duo, but like It’s obvious that the siblings actually like and love each other and while they have their spats it’s still incredibly clear that they deeply care about each other even with their differences LIKE SORRY SUPERNATURAL YOU CAN’T JUST TELL ME THAT SIBLINGS CARE ABOUT EACH OTHER AND THEN THEY SPEND ALL THEIR TIME FIGHTING AND LYING TO EACH OTHER AND GENERALLY ACTING LIKE THEY CAN’T STAND EACH OTHER’S COMPANY BUT THEN OOOHHH YOU CRY ON TOP OF THE HOOD OF A CAR EVERY THREE EPISODE AND SUDDENLY THEY’RE SOULMATES OR WHATEVER

Anyway. Yeah. GF has a solid sibling dynamic. Monster of the week that builds up to greater over-arching plot. A little bit of body horror, you know, for humor. Fair amount of meta humor playing with the tropes of the genre. A Good Ol Big Bad that tries to pit the siblings against each other. Have to fight the apocalypse (you’ll see this point on like a good half of these recs, I really like ‘what are we gonna do about Armageddon’ media). Interesting creature design. Planned, satisfying ending (which supernatural absolutely does not have, but I still think if it had ended with the season 5 finale like it uhh pretty obviously was supposed to, that would sort of counted. Don’t revive shows that have clearly already told their stories kids.) Tie in media that gives you some fun extra stories when you miss the characters. (yes I read some of the supernatural novels when I was a c h i l d, yes I’m pretty sure there’s one or two of them still buried somewhere on my laptop, no I don’t wanna talk about it.) Older father figure (?) who owns a tbh kind of shitty shop. Both already in place and found family.

It’s a good show, and it’s two seasons. John Mulaney Voice: I dunno it’s 40 episodes

MINI REC ALERT! (mini recs are basically things that I’m not gonna go into detail about for whatever reason [probably either due to i’m not familiar enough with it OR I just don’t like. Have a bunch to say about it in regards to how it will scratch the itches presented to u by spn] but still seem like a Good Watch)

Mini Rec: Over The Garden Wall. Spooky Kids Media! Episodic! Miniseries so you can watch it in like 2 hours! Cool ass Animation! About two brothers encountering said spooky stuff! Big Bad tries to pit brothers against each other! Might haunt you for the rest of your life! Check it out!

The Haunting of Bly Manor

I think about this show every goddamn day of my life. (Also not relevant but Greg Sestero makes a brief cameo in it and I was like hi greg my friend greg!)

Basic Summary: An girl named Dani, while staying in London, decides to take on an Au Pair job for two young children, an older brother named Miles (age 10) and the younger sister Flora (age 8) at the spoooooky and mysteeerious Bly Manor, and she gets far more than she bargained for.

Shared elements with supernatural that you might Vibe with: Okay so supernatural doesn’t actually do this but I know I KNOW why we let ourselves be queerbaited in 2012. Four words for you: CENTRAL! GAY! TRAGIC! ROMANCE! You want some pining? Some tenderness? Some LOVE? Some dealing with internalized homophobia but no, like, actual violent onscreen homophobia? HAVE I GOT THE SHOW FOR YOU. If ur favorite episodes where the ones that make you sob (for me it was kevin’s death on god), I recommend this show. If you wished that supernatural literally ever had consequences or perma deaths or didn’t retcon major plot events like every five goddamn episodes so that there could be some exploration of like grief and trauma through the lens of/ higher stakes of horror, I recommend this show. If you really do stay up at night picturing a supernatural that wasn’t made by dumbass cishettie white men hack writers but was actually allowed to have Dean and Cas be in love over the course of the show so they could have like actual development and not the most homophobic gay reveal of all time, I recommend this show. Hell, if you just want a banger ghost story in general, I recommend this show.

As for what they actually have in common: horror setting/aesthetic without actually being all that scary most of the time. A strong sibling duo, though they’re not nearly as much of the focus of Bly Manor. Found family. Strong themes of grief. Questions of what turns someone into a monster (and done much better) An actual, much better noble sacrifice done out of love. Escalation of stakes until there’s a big final confrontation. Semi-big bad trying to tear this family apart. Found and pre-installed family. Sad orphans.

Watch this show. Vibe with me. Cry with me. Yell at me about Owen Sharma

MINI REC ALERT!

Haunting of Hill House- spiritual predecessor to Haunting of Bly Manor, though they’re not actually the same universe/story. However, it’s made by the same dude and has a shared aesthetic/sensibilities/some of the cast. This is only a mini rec bc I haven’t actually seen it, but I’ve heard good things and that it, while much more heavily leaning into family dynamics, has similar themes of exploring Grief and Trauma through ghooossstttsss.

Community

Okay I know that this may seem like a Wild rec considering community is a school sitcom with basically Zero paranormal elements but just like. Hear me out. And no this isn’t just because I think it’s a realy good show and I want more people to watch it, though that is a factor. If I was just recommending comedies that I think are good and more people should watch regardless of them serving as a replacement for supernatural I would demand you all go watch Galavant and Crazy Ex-Girlfriend. I’m gonna demand it anyway. Everyone go watch Galavant and Crazy Ex-Girlfriend. Now back to your original program:

Basic Summary: A group of students at Greendale Community College form a Spanish study group, and things quickly go Off The Fucking Rails in the best way possible.

Shared elements with supernatural that you might Vibe with: All right I’m gonna be real honest this rec is for all of my (correct) bitches who’s favorite episodes of Supernatural were French Mistake, Changing Channels, and/or Mystery Spot. You think if Supernatural would’ve been fucking fantastic if it had been a committed comedy instead of a CW melodrama that occasionally landed some admittedly really fucking funny episodes/concepts, Community (and the movies on this list) will gently take you into its loving arms and give you everything you desire. It’s about the Meta comedy. It’s about the discussion, exploration, and subversion of common tropes within the format. It’s about the grand use of group/ found family dynamics in order to max both the goofs and the heart. It’s about fantastic callbacks. It’s about having one of the few “asshole with a heart of gold” leads I can actually stand because. You know. Growth. It’s about the INCREDIBLE genre and pop culture parody. Which genre do they parody, you ask. All of them. They parody all the genres. The glee parody episode is a fucking masterpiece of television. If you don’t want to watch a show that features a Halloween party where everyone turns into zombies and the ABBA discography blasts in the background, you can stop reading right now, because I can guarantee you won’t be interested in a damn thing I have to say.

MINI REC ALERT: The X-Files. I’ve also never seen this but a: everything I’ve seen out of context has been fantastically weird and delightful b: it appears that there’s a general consensus that Scully and Mulder are one of the only valid straight couples so it’s probably pretty fun and c: let’s all be honest. Supernatural was already basically an x-files rip off, it had like half of their original writers swiped from the x-files crew, I’m pretty sure if you liked especially the first couple of seasons of supernatural, you’re gonna like the X-files.

Subcategory: TV SHOWS ( A WHOLE TWO OF ‘EM, OR MORE LIKE ONE AND HALF IF YOU WANNA GET TECHNICAL) I’M SPECIFICALLY RECOMMENDING FOR THAT COCAINE HIT OF PURE UNADULTERATED UNCUT 2012 TUMBLR NOSTALGIA

BBC Merlin

Yes, I know the show ended in 2010. Yes, it still provides that 2012 Tumblr nostalgia. 2012 Tumblr is a feeling, not an actual time period.

I love this stupid show. I plan on rewatching it all over the month of January. I harbor a deep amount of fondness for it. It’s why every time I see literally any depiction of Merlin I get just so fucking excited, and why I’ve consumed as many ridiculous Arthurian adaptations as I have (side note: my two favorite other ridiculous Arthurian legend adaptation are Avalon High, a DEEPLY silly DCOM that is required viewing to level up friendship with me, and The Kid Who Would Be King, which is the only movie that I think truly understands the comedic potential of playing a King Arthur Adaptation mostly straight but everyone in it is 12. I’m not sure it intended to be as fucking funny as it was, but again, they’re all middle schoolers. I have never been more jealous of an actor than I was of the 22 year old that got to play a 16 year old dumbass Merlin who was sometimes also Patrick Stewart and did all of his magic with ridiculous hand gestures That should’ve been me that should’ve been me that should’ve been me. Also Sword in the Stone by TH White is pretty good, because Merlin knows germ theory in the fantasy 400’s and he just uses it to be petty mostly. Also listen to High Noon Over Camelot by The Mechanisms. Also Also I tend to prefer family friendly adaptations because they don’t have the uhhh. You know. Incest and sexual violence of the original legend. Love to Not have that shit!) Whether you watched it initially and are due for a rewatch, or you’re intrigued enough by the concept of the show to watch it for the first time, you should join me on this wild wild ride.

Basic Summary: You know who Guinevere, Arthur, and Merlin are, come on. BBC said let’s make em all YOUNG let’s make em SEXY let’s make em FAMILY FRIENDLY and let’s make magic REALLY SEEM LIKE A THINLY VEILED ALLEGORY FOR BEING GAY BUT TO THIS DAY IM NOT SURE IF THAT WAS INTENTIONAL OR NOT BUT IT SURE SEEMS LIKE IT WAS. @ THE BBC MERLIN CREATORS WHAT IS THE TRUTH BECAUSE THERE WAS SOME INTERVI-

Basic Summary but like a bit more helpful: A BABY version of Merlin (and by baby I mean like 20 year old.) is sent from his small town to the big city the Kingdom of Camelot to find his destiny. Staying with the town physician and friend of his mom’s, Gaius, he ends up as both his assistant and personal manservant to Prince Arthur. But in a kingdom where magic is punished with death and the prince seems hell bent on getting himself into situations that are going to kill him, the young sorcerer has his more than his share of work cut out for him.

Shared elements with supernatural that you might Vibe with: Primo supremo queerbaiting. Like, yeah, okay, it’s queerbaiting, you know it’s queerbaiting, but you watch some of the scenes and ur like okay. I know why I let this bait me. Obviously with a modern show, I would expect more, I would expect better, I would raise my standards, but I gotta admit. Some of these scenes are fuckin compelling as hell, and the subtext is like barely sub. Monster of the week shenanigans. Some awful CGI creatures but like a charming awful. Like the kind of awful that tells you their very limited budget was more focused on cool swords than realistic creatures. Episodic stories build into a more overarching plot, with things getting darker in season 4/5. Shitty father that end up eating shit and while the son of said father is rightfully conflicted and upset over the death it’s cathartic and victorious as all hell for the audience. Multiple hot evil women, and I love hot evil women. There’s also nice hot women, which is a bonus. These women don’t all immediately stupidly die, so that’s a nice change. Also like a LOT of sarcastic humor and shenanigans if u like Sass Merlin is there for u personally name a more iconic line than “Oh I’m sorry, how long have you been training to be a prat, my lord?” AND THAT’S IN THE FIRST FUCKIN EPISODE brilliant amazing fantastic show stopping. Also you know those like dumb hijink episodes where like Dean was possessed by the spirit of a dog or some shit? You bet your bottom fuckin dollar BBC Merlin has those kinds of storylines. Also I know some people go to spn bc it had that HUGE fanbase and like BBC Merlin’s fanbase is still SURPRISINGLY poppin even though it’s been a decade since there was new content so like. Have fun!

Doctor Who but Specifically the RTD Era

Look I’m not here to say that the first four seasons of reboot doctor who are the only good doctor who or inherently better than all the rest (though the RTD era is my favorite personally) BUT when ur seekin that sweet sweet superwholock frenzy nostalgia, this is the ‘who’ that is being referred to. Also like. Stan 9. We should all collectively stan the ninth doctor. Chris Eccleston, the Objectively Best Famous Chris, deserved better.

Basic Summary: An immortal alien that goes by “The Doctor” travels across time and space with a variety of different companions, often to try and save the day or fix a (sometimes self created) mess. It’s distilled campy sci-fi with a family friendly tone that has made me cry on several occasions.

Shared elements with supernatural that you might Vibe with: Monster of the week that, you guessed it, builds into bigger overarching plot style narrative. Fighting off the apocalypse, but like every couple of weeks because worlds are in danger a LOT. A semi-tragic romance that made people go absolutely buck fuckin wild bc pining n shit. Wamen, but they aren’t fridged. (actually for real though none of the main women die and I just think that’s really fun and flirty even though I could go on a COMPLETELY SEPARATE rant about the injustice of one of the character’s ending YES season 4 is my favorite season and one of my favorite pieces of media ever and I am currently actively recommending it to you YES im still fucking pissed over how it ended YES we exist) Specifically, a Wonderful and Very Excellent woman named Donna who goes on a spa trip that doesn’t end up going very well. That seems like a highly specific example, and it is, but it did happen in both shows. (Also, to anyone that continued watching SPN after like idk season 9 what happened to Donna? I always liked her and I know she became a recurring character so like DM whatever probably injustice was the end of her story line pls and thank you) I’m also extra specifically recommending for Supernatural Fans and also The World At Large: Season Four of Reboot Who. I rewatched it last year and it still goes so fucking hard. Donna Noble is the best character in existence. In regards to the appeal for SPN, personally I think the best part of SPN was when people who are soulmates went on adventures and tried to save the day and it was a good mix of banter and sincerity AND GUESS WHAT’S BASICALLY THE ENTIRETY OF SEASON 4 OF DOCTOR WHO. It’s so good y’all I wish Everything was about soulmates going on adventures and trying to save the day.

OKAY TV SHOWS DONE TIME FOR M O V I E S which I don’t have nearly as many recs for but uhh here goes

What We Do In The Shadows/ Shaun of the Dead

I’m lumping these two together bc my reasons for recommending them are largely the same, and I would call them tonally similar enough that if you like one you’ll probably like the other

Basic Summary (Shaun of The Dead): Uh-oh! London’s had a break out of some of that good ol’ zombieism. Shaun and friends decide to hunker down in a local bar, but they have to get there first. Will they survive? Will they fuck up some zom zoms? Who’s to say?

Basic Summary (What We Do In The Shadows): Some vampire roommates dick around. I think there’s technically, like, a plot, but it’s really just about some vampires Doin Their Thing. Vibin.

Shared elements with supernatural that you might Vibe with: This is kind of similar to the Community recommendation, in that supernatural had the opportunity to be one of those things that was both a parody of a genre but also just a really good example of the genre. WWDITS and SotD are both those things for vampire and zombly movies, respectively. Have the aesthetic and some of the themes of a horror but is not actually all that scary. Horror Comedy is a god tier genre and I don’t know why it’s not more widespread. Fun monsters/cast of characters in general, so at least one person in it is probably going to make you go “oh gender” ya know? With SotD you have the fantasy power trip that comes with like any piece of media that involves hunting monsters. With WWDITS I go “yep that’s how bisexuals dress” and I Will Not Clarify which character I’m talking about.

MINI REC ALERT: All of Taika Watiti’s filmography. Thor:Ragnarok is one of like 3 marvel movies that I consider genuinely fucking fantastic completely independent of the MCU and my own tendency to be like “hurr bdurr I love. Superheros”. For the one that is most tonally like Supernatural But Significantly Better and Written By Someone Competent I think I would say try out Hunt For The Wilderpeople. It’s got a reluctant curmudgeonly father figure and I KNOW some of you motherfuckers were so invested in spn when you were like 16 bc you had daddy issues. This is a callout post for my friend [REDACTED], who I should text to watch Hunt for the Wilderpeople, actually.

MINI REC ALERT X2!!!: Bram Stoker’s Dracula. I’ve never seen it but it has both Winona Ryder AND Keanu Reaves so like. Goth bi rights.

Happy Death Day (and Happy Death Day 2 U)

happy death day was one of those movies that I saw the trailer, went “eh”, heard other people say it was great, watched, and went holy fuck this slaps. Not nearly as much of a slasher film as the trailers implied if im remembering the trailer correctly

Basic Summary: Our main character Tree keeps waking up on the day she was murdered. The day resets every time that she dies. That’s right, it’s a time loop storey babey!!!!!!!!!!!

Shared elements with supernatural that you might Vibe with: If you were anything like me you were foolishly lulled into supernatural for way longer than you should’ve been on the promise that the characters would idk like grow and change and become better and learn lessons and some of that would be through the power of receiving love and kindness. You know. Like how good writers would do it especially if their main characters are kind of dicks that really should make some changes. Well, Happy Death Day fucking delivers on that promise in SPADES. It’s about growth! It’s about change! It’s about making the active decision to become a better person and putting effort into doing so! There’s heavy themes of like grief and trauma and acknowledging them and facing them head on in order to move on and the negative consequences of refusing to do so and just trying avoid it until it goes away. There’s a romance that makes my dumb little self do the pleading face emoji. Tree is also one of the only good asshole with a heart of gold characters. I also think media is improved by having at least one character that is a Good Good Boy (note: Good Good Boy character does not have to be a man.) and Happy Death Day has Carter. Oh on that note: Tree Voice: I’ve only had character for (the same repeating over and over) a day but if anything happens to him I’ll kill everyone here and then myself. Also the movie is funny so like hell yeah.

that’s all I got for relevant movies right now

BOOK RECS

jk i’m illiterate. Everyone should feel free to go ahead and add their own suggestions for this section The best I can do is uhhhh I think y’all would probably like Mira Grant’s novels, particularly the Newsflesh stories, bc sibling dynamics. Also the book The Haunting of Hill House is really good. Ballad of Black Tom slaps? There’s of course the Good Omens novel that the show was based on. I’m about to recommend some podcasts after this section which will include to Welcome to Nightvale because of course it will and the tie in novels for that slap, especially It Devours!, and I’m pretty sure they work as stories even if you know nothing about the podcast. Also also I think you should read “The Long Way to A Small, Angry Planet” by Becky Chambers It’s not thematically similar to supernatural at all but it’s one of my all time favorite sci fi novels and only like four people have read it which is a goddamn TRAVESTY.

Anyway yeah that’s it that’s all there is. Onto the medium that is like books but I can fold laundry or cook while consuming their narratives.

PODCAST RECS

Okay so this is getting uhhh wicked long so I’m gonna limit myself to only three full blown recs and a

mini rec

Alice Isn’t Dead

Fuck me running this show is so good. Literally hands down my all time favorite (and scariest!) horror podcast. Mamma mia, that’s a good fuckin story. The Book version is also good and has fewer Weird events but some further character development so I recommend them both.

Basic Summary: After her wife Alice disappears mysteriously, Keisha takes up a job as a long haul trucker, traveling all across America in order to find her, but ends up finding so much. Pursued by a deadly creature she calls The Thistle Man, the stakes of her journey are raised.

Shared elements with supernatural that you might Vibe with: okay so I have a lost of bullet points of things that appealed to me specifically about supernatural and how no other shows covers all of them which sucks bc it means I basically Yearn for a show that’s supernatural but good. Alice isn’t Dead, however, hits the most of these bullet points AND is so fucking good. It has monster hunting. It has stopping a cataclysmic event BUT also discussion of the cyclical nature of events such as these and how the fight never truly ends but you can make some fucking progress nonetheless. It has a central gay romance that’s actually a central gay romance. It’s the ONLY show on this list that really hits that the weird and dark underside of americana vibe but specifically the americana of not like suburbs and shit but that eerie haunted feeling you get when you’re hours into a late night drive on open roads with no civilization around and an expansive sky and it just Seems like something should be watching you. Have you ever been out for a walk at midnight and encountered a deer and you looked into each other’s eyes and it felt like it was telling you a message that you couldn’t possibly hope to parse? Have you ever felt an incredible sense of deja vu eating in a restaurant you couldn’t have possibly been in before, because you’ve been to a thousand diners a thousand times just like one, and there’s an incredibly sense of homogeneity even though you’re 2000 miles away from anyone and anything that could possibly know you? Have you ever traveled to an area that seems to be stuck in a bubble of time, the only thing that shows any evidence of having aged past 2006 being yourself, and you wonder how your cell phone even works around here? THAT’S the spooky americana I’m fuckin talking about! Messed up road trips! Too much goddamn space! America is scary because it’s big and Filled With Things but also Not Enough Things! Fuck yeah!!!!! That time bubble fuckin EXISTS in Wyoming the most recent song on the radio I heard was fuckin Hey Soul Sister!

Also has a thing where like are there even good guys and bad guys in a conflict or is it all just one umbrella nightmare that you’re trying to stand against in anyway possible (u kno..like how the overarching structures of both heaven and hell were kinda fucked in spn? No spoilers but similar shit be happenin in Alice Isn’t Dead). Exploration of what makes someone into a monster, like how do you go down that path? Also this is the only show on this whole damn list that southern gothic music really suits it so points for that.

The Magnus Archives

You know I had to do it to ‘em.

Basic Summary: Jonathan Sims has just become the Head Archivist at the Magnus Institute, a “research” “facility” that looks into paranormal/esoteric/unexplained phenomena.

John Mulaney Voice, Again: Nobody knows what the archivist is going to do next, least of all the archivist. He’s never been in an archives before, he’s just as confused as you are.

Shared elements with supernatural that you might Vibe with: Oh fuck this document is over 5k long I said I wasn’t gonna do this hhhhh so lipton lightning round: Slowburn Gay Romance but Actually Canon, Monster Hunting but Hey What Even Is A Monster Anyway, Acts Somewhat like a Loosely Connected Horror Anthology until it DOESNT, Little Things Build to Bigger Narrative, Characters Be Goin Through It (On God These People Need Therapy), Trying to Prevent/Fix The Apocalypse (X2!!!), Smug Asshole Big Bad, Horror as a Metaphor For Various Shit, Basically if you thought that the Men of Letter concept slapped and you think it should’ve been the whole damn show including being Deeply British you would probably really fuckin like TMA. Also if ur like the ideal piece of media is a horror tragedy but also like it’s a wacky sitcom but also also fuck cops. U will like tma.

Welcome to Nightvale

IF ANY 2012 TUMBLR FANDOM DESERVES TO MAKE A MASSIVE COMEBACK AND BE EVERYWHERE AGAIN AND ABSOLUTELY FLOOD MY DASH IT’S WELCOME TO NIGHTVALE WHY DID WE ABANDON THE SHOW THAT TREATED US THE MOST KINDLY DID YOU KNOW THAT EPISODES 108-110 ARE THE BEST FUCKING BUILT UP NARRATIVE REVEAL THAT I HAVE WITNESSED IN MY LIFE DID YOU KNOW THAT IT CONTINUED TO BE REALLY FUCKING GOOD AFTER MOST PEOPLE STOPPED LISTENING DID YOU KNOW CECIL AND CARLOS ARE MARRIED AND THEY HAVE A DOG AND A TODDLER NOW BECAUSE OF ALL THE GAY PODCAST PROTAGONISTS CECIL GERSHWIN PALMER LOVE OF MY LIFE ELDRITCHIAN CHEERLEADER AND CERTIFIED BIMBO KEEPS FUCKIN WINNIN BABY. DID YOU KNOW THAT CECIL THINKS PEANUT BUTTER IS A ROCK.

Basic Summary: Welcome to the sleepy desert town of Ņ̶̏ight V̶͚̰̮͗̔̊̊ale! Community radio how host Cé̵̟͚͕̗̞̙͂͑̽̄́c̵̤̼̞͈̪͓̍̽̋̚̕͜il Pǎ̵̧̨̢͚̻̈̂̄̇͐̇̊̀̆ͅl̶͚͎͕͉͖̬͓͑́̐̒̍̿̈́͢͜͝ͅm̸̧͙̟̖̠̳̬͋́͋́͌̚̚ͅȩ̙̖͎̖͂́̒͐͜͞r̢̢̛̰̻̮̺̩͙̼̈́͋̀͘ is here to k̠̠̰̦͙̯̥̎̄̆͌̎̀̿̔̌̚ê̷̢̬̥̞̩̯̘͒̽̈̓͐̂̔̍e̶̡̝̗̺̫̪̜͆̓̿̈͌͌̆͒͞ͅp̵̹̗̬̼̠̬͙̏͐͐̉̅͊͊́͟͞ͅͅ ỷ̛͙̞̦̦͖̑̉̌̎͞͡͡͝ͅo̧̧̥͎̻̥̲͇͋́́̔̈͌͞ǔ̸̬̯̫͇̦̮͕̤̲̯̽̔̀̔͆͋̈́͘̚ up to date all the local happenings, including w̸̢̢̢̧̡̡͍͖̻̳̹̼̼̰̬̭̱͔̲͙͍̰̠̥̺̝͖̺̖̼̮̼̞̳̞̜͉̤̯͇̖̳͖̠̙̺̲̤͇͈͚͓̮̭̱̭̩͚̟̥̬̟̻̝̼̖͚̘͐̆̅̂̃̈́͆͊̉̏͒́̈́̋͗͑̄̉́̐̌́̿̌͛̾̎̊̾̃̈́̉̔̍̐͛̕͘̚͜͜͠͠é̵̢̡̧̨̨̡̧̨̡̛̹̥̥̞̮̯͙͈̻̝͓͖͙̦̰͍̖̜̲̰̞͎͈̭̯̳͕̗͓͈̭̫̼̯̪̞̯̰̲̘̭͎̪̱̗̝̝̞̤̱͉͙̯͎̬͎̙̜̗͉̩̦͕̪̳͇͙̺̙̰̠͚͎̜̠͔̬͎̺̣͕̜̊̓̃̐̂́͂̎̐̾̔̽̀̉́̍̊̂̿̎͂͐̎̐̄̍̔̋̐̃͗̈́͂̀̒̊̎͘͘̕̚̕͜͝͝͝͠ͅͅa̸̡̧̡̡̨̡̨̛̛͙̣̘̳͎͖̥̝̟̱̩̥͙͉̝̲̙̮̩̩̹̱͔͎̥̹̻̜͚̭̬̳͚̤̙̖̯͎̱̫̞̪̻͖̱̞͔̭̻̺͚͚̯̬͓͓̳͇̳̦͓̞͈̮̤̭̣͉̲̞͚̘͗̆̃͌̅̍͊̓̈̇̌̒͊͑̊̏̊͌̈̓̿͗̒̏̒͊͒̏̃̎̒̀̅̾̍̀͘͘͜͝͠ͅt̵̢̡̨̧̧̛̛̛̯̤͓̘̻̤͓̪̰͔̪̝̫͎̻͔͈͎͔͙͕͈̰͓͍̀̏͒̆͋̈́̈́͂̔͋͆͂̅͗̍̆̍̆̔̑͊̏̈͒́̽͊́̿͂́̓͛̽͐͌̌̐̈̇̃̓̆̍̅̃̔̚̕͜͝͝͝ͅͅh̸̨̨̡̢̢̡̢̧̡̧̢̡̨̡̭̜̬̬̙͕̗̙̻̯̠̘͙̻̥͉͚̼̗͚͇͉̰͍̥͉̗͎̬̫͖͉͔̼̮̯̞̫̬̟̻͉̖̙̥̫͖̬͚̟̜̭͇͎̭̘̝̲̤͕͎̰̭̗̯̮̤̙̙̯͍̞̭͚͔͎̞̹̲̟͉̩̭̖̱̠͍̺͈̟̩̋̆̈́͆̍̆̄̏͜ͅͅȇ̸̢̢̨̨̧̛̜͍̺͎̬̪͙̻̝̣͓͈̺̩̳̟̲̠̣͈͎͎͈͉̙̪͖̳̺͇̹̊̍͊͑̿͊̌͛̿̓͊̾̀͂͛̉͆̾̽͆̈̏͛̊͛̍̈́̇͋̔͂̑͐̂̿͊̽͑͘̚͘͝͝͠͝ͅͅŕ̵̨̡̨̨̢̧̡̧̨̘̟͙̦̲̲̪̦̙̼̠̳͚̞̦̞͖͚͇̳͖̲̭͕̜̫̳̖̙͖͉͎̘̘̤̠͈̬͕̝̻͚̥͍͕̠̥͙̙̪̖̯͍̘̘̲̣̹̜̪̲̭̟̮̫̖̤̰͔̩̩͉̲͚̟̝̦̬̪̘̬̮̱͔̻̦̼̃̐̂͋̐̅̋͒̉͛́̅̈́̒̒͆̑̆͊̒͒̀̍̈́̍͌̍̏̔͋͌̒̍̌͛̓̈̂̐̕͘͘͜͜͝͝͝ͅͅͅ ̶̢̡̨̛̠͇̹̯͕͍̻̟̼̼̗̩̱̗̙̱̥̜̬̫̜͎͉̺̣͓̟̯̱͖̣̞̠̝̥͍̲̳̙̠͔̹̘̲̲̻̖̈́̊͋͜͜ą̵̡̧̟͕̬̳̜͈͈̳̝̜̣̬͔͈͈͎͉͍̯̟̞̺͎̝͇̰̥͖̬̯͙̤̬̼̲̦̯̭͓̠̺̳̱̰̮̎͋͆̈́͌͆̎̉̓̇̐͋͋́̃̉̈̄̏̓̉̿̅̒̉̒̉͂͛̄̀̇̒͊͛́͊̎́͆̌̆́̌͂̈́̽̋͛͗̑̊̀́̍͊̌͆͊͐͆̅̒̊̉̾̄͛̑̕͘͘͘͘͝͝͝͝͠͠͝n̸̡̛̛̛̛̛̙͎̬̦̠̼͓͈̝̾̍͑͛̅̒̾́̌̍͛̇̋̇̓̏͛̔͛̈́͆̿̌͐̿͊̿́͒̍̃̀̈͐̐̆͐̉̒̂̉̀̅̇̾͋̍͒̋̈̌̿͒͐̍́͗̀̌̌̚̕̕̕͘̚͘͘̚͜͠͝͝͝d̴̡̢̢̛̛̛̺̠̳̬͎̞̲̣̲̱̳̪̹͉̝̠̱̗̙̫̠̹̼̙̝͉̲̟̮̙̙̮̻̹͈̦̙̞͚̜̙̖̞͓̙̭͉̃̽̌̅̔̾̈́̒̽͑́̒͋̓̈́͆͋̽̒̃̽̋̐͌͂̍͑́̽̋̍͗̋͗͂̅̽̈̈̾͐̄̃̕̕͜͠͠͝͠͝ͅͅ ̵̡̡̢̛̛̗͚͍̺͇̲̳̯͓̰͍̙̮̙̜̟̞̣̼͕̝͔͙̺̫͈͈̠̻̘̱͍̦̭͔͈̤̺̗̮͕̦̞̘͍̯̻̝͓̤̳̫͔̩͉̬̈́͋̈́̐͒́̔́́̿̓̆͐̎͆̇͒̄̈̿̓̑̾̏̔̿͊̌͆͒̒͊̓̅̓́̔̅̀̀̀̃̿̂̑͂͆̅̎̾̏̓̂̈́͛͌̇̾͌͐̈̂̆͐̅̓̍̓̃̆͗̃͛̏̒̌̀̅͊́̽̐̆̿́̌͘͘̚̕͘̕̕͜͜͜͠͝͠͝͠t̷̢̥͓̄͗̾̄̅̚͜r̵̨̡̨̧̧̢̛̛̛̛̛͍͙͚̥̱̞̜̦̜̼̺͉̠̬͎̰̻̜̼̫̤͓͖͖̤͇̞̥̖̈́͊̆̓͊̑̑̋̒̈́̔̆͆́̐͛͑͊͋̇̈́̓̑̍̏͐͛̽̋̎͑̃̈́͒̇̂̇̌͂̀̍̊̇̓̋̈́̌̏̕͘̚̕̚͝͝͠ǎ̴͓͓̯̘̥̱̱͖̦̐̅͆̏̈́̍́͂̃̾͑̓͋̽̄̾́̾̆̾͒͋̎͂̈́͘̕̕̚͜ͅ��̡͓̘͉͖̞̟̦͈̜̥̰̘̞͈̦̠̼̯̙̭̼͚̟̖̲̠̝̜ͅf̷̢̡̡̧̢̨̡̧̢̢̧̡̧̫͖̖͇̲̫̮͕͉͓̩̪̳̹̩͎̖̟̤̤̲̟̪̫̻̻̖̟̦͉̼͎͖̭͍͖͎̖̳̳͙̜͉̝̘̺̖͚̙͉͕͙̯͖̞͚̮̲̻͉͙̺̭͓͎̤͙̦̦̺̯͕̜̰͍̳̙̦͉̪̥́͋̓̅̀͋͐̀̄̊̆̉̒̐͒̀̏̈̇̊̉̆̐̏̾̀̀̓͛͆̍̾͗͌̀̄̔͒̀̍̈́͆̔̒̑̏̍̏͆́̾̐̂͋̂̔̂́̓̓̌͌̉͛́̒̐̽̏́̑͊́̌̆̂̑͋̇̈́͌̑̿̅͗̚̕͘̕̚͜͠͝͝͠͠f̴̨̨̛̹͌̂̓͌͛̀͑̾̓̍͗̽͆̉̊͗̇́̍͌̊͐̔̈́̊̇͆̄̃̑̕̕͘͘͘͠͝͝͝͠i̴̧̡̢̢̧̢̨̨̧̧̧̛̛͎̗̳̦̘̙͓̦̙͔̜̼̘͇͇̺̭͉̠̩̟̤̥̘͙̤̩͔̪̱̻͈̪̼̼̞̠͎̟̹͕̻̭̤̪̲͕̟̺̻̻͖͕͚̣͇̖̰̝̩͈̤͕͇͕̝͙̙̪͔̗̫͇͎̙̲̲͖̗̘͉̲̣̤͎̔̐̆͒̄̈́̀̎̃̃̅͆̌̈́̽̈́̅̈́̑̄̇͒͐̀̐̀̒̍̀̓͌͗̓̽́͗̓̎͂͛̅̑̔̀͛̈́̽̾̃̊͊͆̄̍͑̍̆̌̾͗̄̊̽̉̅̆̀̎̀͑̿̎̋̄̆̃͐̾̏͛͒̍̋̅͘̕̚̕̕͜͜͝͝͝͝͠ͅͅc̷̛̛͚̝̻̣̞̓́̃́̀̃̓͗͌̂͛́̒̊͑̓͆̇̈́͑̏̆̀͌̑͂͂̄͌̉̔̋́̎͒̿͗͒͛̇͛̿̎̍̕̕̕͝͝͝͝͝ ̴̢̧̢̡̨̢̡̨̡̢̢̛̺̘̹̯̤̩̘̯͔̞̟̬̠̣̟̻̥̜̤͔̥͕̠̥̞͎̗̩̱̮͉͔͎̲̯̱̙̜̥̳̮͔̦̣͖͔̜͉̗̪̳̹̦̤͇̣̙͕̯̫̖̝̼̹͍̠͎͓̗͎̦͓̲̯̱̠̰͇̮̹͔̝͉͙̹̜̹͈̹̥͖̣̳̲͖̓́͌̈́̈́̀͌̄͂̌̾́̍̔̊̓̿͋͂͋̈́̋́́̒̓̀̒̃͂̀͑̐͛̆̆͒̈́̅̿͊͌̍͗̌̌͆̂͌́̉̏̒̓͊̾̒̓̋̽͐̏̾͘̕͜͝͠͝ͅͅr̸̨̢̛̪̞̬͓͔̥̤̣͔̭̥̙͉̦̗̠̳̩͙̂̈́͑͑̿̋̓̀͋͆̋̕͝͝ë̴̢̡̨̬͈͉̖̞͔͎͓͖̼̘̬͕̰͈̥͈̝̩͎͉͉̫̜͚͕̤͔̟̯͓͎̟͙̜̭̩̗̮͎̗̤͇̝̩͎̜̺̯͕͇̝͎̯͙̖͙̮̗̮̘́̑͑͛̂̅̄̌̽̓̒̾̿͆̏̏͐͛̾̂̃͑͆̅̄̿͋̅͂̈́̽͋͒̎͐̒̓͆̌̉͑͊́̀̈̾͛̋͑̋̎̈̀̽̀͊̏͘͝͝͝͝͠͝ͅp̴̧̧̡̢̢̢̛̛̛͚̟͓̖̭̪̻̪̲̬̥̙̥̰̼̹͎͕̪̞̮̺̰̬̘̫̤͉̦͙̮̖̙̹̻͔̖̮̲̞̣̻̜̠͇̬͚̱̦̼̲̮̀̂͌̍̈̒̍̋̌̏͐̓͛̉̂̈̀͑̈́͊͗͋͗́̂̎̎̃͆͒̅̑̇́̈͐̾̀̔̒̉͑͒̅̓̈́̋͋̀̍̄̿̌̀̉͆̇̔̈́͗̋̄̓̇͗̎̉̆͊̒͗̚̕͘͘̕̕̚͜͜͝͝͠͠͠͠͠ͅͅͅơ̶̢̡̧̨̡̛̛͔̦̼̰̠̯̰̟̲̣̜͙̲͙̪̱̱͕̺̪͈͉̺̻̙̥̲̩̲̩͔̠͚̩͓̞̠̯̟̫̣̗̦̰͉͚͙̺͎̼͖̥̙͈̯̲̝̞͎̻͕̮͔̰̖͔̭͙̩̼͔̫̹̘͓͔̜̘͍̍̅̄͋͑̋̍̊̉̄̈̽̈͐̀͌͐̆͊͂̐̋̃̎͆͛̐̀̂̿̈́͂́̈̌͐̇̀̒͋͑͐́͌̐̇̊͆̀͂͋̏́͋͆̏͗͂͑̂̓̽͘͘̚̕̕̕̕̚͘͜͜͠͝͝ͅͅͅr̴̨̨̨̧̨̛̘͕͈͔͙̠̬̯̩̗̰̗̬̦͈̗̝̣͓͓̟͕͙͈̠̘̻͓̭̝̘̦̦͓̭̘͙̻̙̼̩̰̝͈̱̝̱̬͉͙̣̖̮̲͈̙̱̩̣͕̦̰̮͔͈͓̙̮͍̳̟̠̞͎̱̣̰͕̩̝̲̝͐́́̍̈͐͋̐̑̌͋̓̈́̈͗̿̈̈́͗̑̚͜͜͜͜͜͝ͅͅţ̴̢̨̧͇͉͎̣̬̣̝̗̬̹͇̮̞̈́̐̌̇̈́̌͊̐̅̂̌̂͒͌́̈͌̂̊͗̍̿͑͋̎̓͂̀̎̎͒̾̏̒͌̃̄͋̌̾̍̈́̐̏͑̊̍͑͆̉̓́̆̌̾̓͊̊̈̑͘̚̕͘͘̕͝͝͝͝͝s̴̢̢̡̛̬̹͚̻͉̦̦̣̦̠̜͕̤̳͓͙̟̬͕̘̦̿͗̉̏̒͆̓̄͊͌͛͂͑̒̃͛͘͜͝͝!

Shared elements with supernatural that you might Vibe with: Honestly, probably bc Nightvale and Alice are by the Same Dudes, a lot of these points are the same as Alice Isn’t Dead, but it’s less scawy and more funney. Also hits the “horror, but make it kind of a sitcom” vibes. Doesn’t have the same road trip vibes, but DOES capture the exact weirdness of South Western USA, so I’m still giving it “fucked up americana” credit. If you’ve never been to New Mexico ur like this is an exaggeration clearly no desert town is subject to like ACTUAL cosmic horror and unexplainable sights but I’m telling you New Mexico is just Like That. (I highly recommend visiting the land of enchantment if you ever get the oppurtunity it is a deeply odd and wonderfully unsettling experience.) Look man it’s gay it’s a horror comedy cecil has a wonderfully soothing voice and it hates capitalism so fucking much like oh my god so much what more could you want.

MINI REC ALERT: Wolf 359! I have nothing deep to say about this I just like it and my gut tells me that y’all would enjoy it too I know there isnt much for physical descriptions in the show but I know in my heart that the main character is so so pretty and so so stupid. I KNOW yall like some himbos that experience character growth.

Okay since It’s my party and I’ll speak if I want to rapid fire list of podcasts I just like and want more people to listen to even though I’m behind on like all of them shhhhh: The Penumbra Podcast, BomBARDed, Dungeons and Daddies, Stellar Firma, Wonderful!

SONG RECS

okay these aren’t like replacement recs or anything they’re just really good and I almost certainly would have put them on some sort of supernatural playlist in 2013 but I don’t, like, have a good playlist for them now so I’m subjecting y’all to them also they all have the youtube link for ease of access

Woah There Kimmy- Felix Hagan & the Family

Devil’s Backbone- The Civil Wars

Blood On My Name- The Brothers Bright

Awake O Sleeper- The Brothers Bright

The Bottom of the River- Delta Rae

Old Number 7- The Devil Makes Three

The Bullet- The Devil Makes Three

In Hell I’ll Be In Good Company- The Dead South

Bartholomew- The Silent Comedy

Pomegranate Seeds- Julian Moon

Curses- The Crane Wives

Tongues & Teeth -The Crane Wives

OKAY THAT’S IT! THAT’S ALL FOLKS! FUCK!

#long post #if you didn't want this blame of-mice-and-mentality for enabling me posting #supernatural

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for-a-muse-of-fire · 5 years ago

Text

before the otherness came (2)

the wench and the witcher

“before the otherness came”

Fandom: The Witcher (2019)

Paring: Geralt of Rivia x Fem!POC Reader.

Summary: Two years go by.

Warnings: Language, some violence and sexism.

A/N: Part 2 of my “As It Was” fic set. Once again, big love to my darling Tumblr wife, @inber ,for helping me sus these bad boys out. This was a beast to write, and I think the longest think I’ve banged out. I will always and forever second-guess my ability to write angst, but I did it and it’s y’all’s problem now.

@coconutxraikage - @onyour-right - @ly–canthrope - @kianya-loves - @c-s-stars - @gczanetti1 - @alwaysnatz - @agniavateira - @inber - @owillofthewisps - @hina-chans-stuff - @yespolkadotkitty - @wastingmypotential

Part 1 can be found here.

Tell me if somehow, some of it remains How long you would wait for me? And how long I've been away

Heartache has a particular bite to it. It’s bitter – metallic - like holding a copper coin in your mouth, it sits heavy on the tongue. You’ve been trying to choke back the taste of it since Geralt left.

He always takes a piece of you with him when he goes but gods it feels different, this time.

This time the empty space left behind is jagged. It splinters. It breaks off sharp little pieces that slice deep as you try to go about your life. As you try to pretend that it’s fine, when you try to keep moving, and working – walking and talking and living as if there isn’t a piece of your own heart missing. It’s exhausting. You end your days almost too tired to sleep, curled up in your empty bed and each night. Your fingers reach out and drift over the space where he should be and the chasm widens.

More jagged bits break away. More cuts, more pain.

You hadn’t started to worry, really worry, until Geralt had been gone for two months. It wasn’t uncommon, but the longer you went without hearing word, the more you worried. When you still hadn’t heard anything in four months, the fear set in. The Continent is vast and wide, though – he could be anywhere.

After six months, the fear turns to dread. After ten months and no word, nothing, you’d reached out to Jaskier, but even his connections had their limits and that was when the sorrow found you. There was a chance the White Wolf didn’t want to be found, but the more likely alternative, well.

The Path is dangerous. Geralt of Rivia is big, and bad, but he’s not invulnerable.

You haven’t seen him in over two years. No one has.

With a shaky inhale, you pull your gaze from the flame of the candle at your elbow. You make another attempt to focus on the open ledger in front of you with middling success. The sharp bits, the cutting bits he left behind have mostly been pieced together. Some days you can almost ignore them, but today it feels like you’re on the verge of breaking apart again. Swearing quietly, you tally the last of the earnings for the week and flip the book closed before rubbing at your aching eyes.

You take the small flask from your desk drawer. The brandy is smooth and warm on the way down, dulling the edge of your pain until you feel like you might be able to stand and smile in the land of the living. Another sip and you decide to try and do just that.

It’s not terribly crowded tonight, but the people eating your food and drinking your ale are in good spirits. It warms you some, watching them smile and laugh over your recipes. You cast your gaze across the room, grinning and waving when your name is called until your eyes light on a newer face at the bar. He’s certainly handsome. Curly copper-colored hair, pretty green eyes – some manner of tradesman by the cut and styling of his clothes. Not poor, but certainly no well-moneyed type; that lot doesn’t drink here. The copper-haired stranger catches you looking. He has one of those secretive smiles, dimpled and cheeky, and you find yourself returning the one he flashes your way.

You touch the necklace at your throat. It’s almost enough to give you pause, but…

The redhead’s name is Nathaniel.

A carpenter and a shameless flirt, you let him buy you a pint of your own ale and don’t mind when he touches your hand. He listens to you when you talk about the tavern and your cooking, tells you that you make the best rabbit he’s ever had, and you let him slide closer as the evening wears on. His hand is warm on your lower back, his voice lilts in a sweet Skelliger brogue, and he’s entirely too charming for his own good.

When he starts to call you ‘darling’, you don’t feel like correcting him.

You let him tuck you against his side, relishing in the way he bows his mouth close to your ear and you nearly miss the way the room goes quiet. You’re not sure what makes you tear your gaze from Nathaniel’s lips, but then you meet a pair of honey-gold eyes across the room, your heart stops.

Geralt’s face passes through a number of emotions in a split second before you see him shut down.

Gods on high. The bastard’s alive.

Elation and relief make you feel dizzy, you such in a breath and it feels like being punched square in the ribs. Fuck’s sake. The bastard’s alive – he’s been alive this whole godsdamned time.

It suddenly feels as if the stays of your bodice are laced too tight. The room is too loud, too crowded, and the copper-haired man at your side far too close. Nathaniel’s hand brushes down your spine and you bristle, squirming away with a muttered apology. You hear him call after you and ignore it, at least until he grabs your wrist and pulls.

“Hold on, darlin’,’ the redhead leers down at you. “I dun’ think we’re through yet.”

“Let go – “

“Nooo, I dinna think so – “ He pulls again, hard, and his palm chaffs against your skin until you hiss in pain. “You cannae just leave a man high and dry like this, lovey,” Nathaniel says with a smirk. “Come on. Why don’t ye take me upstairs and you can make it up to – “

Over the Skelliger’s shoulder you see the hulking form of the white-haired Witcher and you’ve never seen Geralt so angry. Soft lips are curled back into a deadly sneer, bright eyes flashing with malicious intent. You say his name, warning him off to no avail; you’re not his focus. He grips Nathaniel by the collar and pulls; the smaller man is yanked away and you stumble as his hold on you is broken suddenly.

“Geralt, stop,” you bark.

Nathaniel regains his footing before glancing between you and the Witcher. He looks gobsmacked, at first, and then he laughs, but there’s no humor in it. It’s mean; spiteful.

“You let a Witcher have you?” he scoffs. “Fuck all, love – if I’d-a known you were that easy, I would’nae tried so hard. You’ll let jus’ about anythin’ settle between those pretty legs, won’t ye?”

Geralt snarls, actually snarls, before grabbing the redhead by the shirtfront and slamming his fist across his face. You shout at him to stop. Nathaniel breaks the grip on his shirt with a sweep of his arm before returning blows; man and Witcher ignore your furious cries for cessation, trading blows like brawling idiots, until you roar, “Enough!”

You throw all your weight at Geralt, shoving him hard enough to knock him off balance and away from Nathaniel. “I said enough!” you bellow.

Man and mutant are panting, the former bleeding from his nose and the latter sporting the beginning of a good shiner. Nathaniel sneers at you, “Mutant-humping bitch.”

With a snarl of your own you spin – a flash of metal, and the point of your dirk sits at the redhead’s pulse. “This is my bar, boy,” you snap. “You don’t speak to me like that. Set foot in here again and I’ll finish what he started – do you understand me?”

Nathaniel’s eyes go wide before he glares and spits at the hem of your skirt. Regardless, he does as he’s told. You watch him skulk out the door with your teeth grit so hard that your jaw starts to ache. The rest of the bar is silent as the grave and you can feel embarrassment flush your cheeks with heat. Poor Lucja behind the bar gapes like a fish in a dry stream. It takes a second to find your voice. The dirk slides smoothly back into your bodice.

“I’m sorry for the disturbance, friends,” you call out, grateful that you sound steadier than you feel. “Accept a round, on me.”

At the bar, one of your old regulars makes a show of clearing his throat. “See that, lads?” he growls. “That’s why you don’t tangle with the lady of the house.”

The unbearable tension breaks, laughter rippling lowly over the room. You almost smile, and then you look back to see Geralt. Something awful and prickling hot starts to claw through you when you meet his gaze. The terrible, gut-wrenching feeling only gets worse when you turn towards your study and he follows. You know the sensible thing would be to throw him out on his ass, but you let him follow and turn to face him when the door slams shut.

He just… stares at you. His gold eyes are flat and impassive, handsome face gone hard, and the heat in your gut goes so cold that it hurts. You’re on him in two short strides, both hands shoving hard at his chest. Geralt barely wobbles.

You haul back and slap him hard across the face instead.

The momentum snaps his head to the side; you hear him exhale, slowly. When he turns back to pin you with his gaze again, his eyes flicker dangerously. “Don’t,” he growls.

You strike him again.

He bursts into movement so quickly that you give a short scream of surprise. You swear at him, punching at his chest, trying to kick at his knees – or his groin – before your back hits the wall hard enough to rattle your teeth together. Geralt pins your wrists with bruising force, presses his full weight into you until you’re immobilized. “Don’t you fucking hit me,” he snarls.

You bare your teeth at him. “I oughta black your eye. Put me the fuck down.”

“You gonna calm down?”

“Try it and find out.”

Each short exhale rushes over your face, disturbing the curls that have fallen over. Geralt moves slowly, flint-cold eyes fixed on yours as he eases back. You yank yourself away from him as soon as your feet hit the ground and rub at your sore wrists. Beneath the anger, beneath the hurt and embarrassment, you feel the sharp stab of your old heartache. It shifts in your chest, pieces of jagged glass that drag over the bits of yourself that you had so carefully packed back together.

Oh, it hurts. It scrapes you raw. The pain snags at the breath in your lungs, but your fury surges to the foreground and you shake with it. Your nails dig crescents into the flesh of your palms.

“You asshole,” you spit. “You do not come here and attack my fucking customers – “

“Sweetheart – “

The petname makes you see red. “Don’t fucking call me that. Don’t you dare – you do not get to storm in here half-cocked after you vanish and try to, what, defend my fucking honor?”

Geralt growls from low in his chest. “He all but called you a whore.”

“And you all but treated me like one,” you bite back.

“That’s not fucking fair – “

“Not fair? You fucking left, Geralt. You were gone – “ You choke on the words - they sit too heavy in your mouth.

“For fuck’s sake – it’s my life, the Path! What the fuck am I supposed to do –“

“Try picking up a godsdamned quill.”

Geralt’s teeth click together. You see his jaw twitch, watch his golden eyes flash with barely contained anger and you feel your eyes begin to smart. His face goes hazy and you hate it – it feels like weakness when all you want to do is put your fist through something. The tears spill over your lashes and you wipe at them, angry and embarrassed.

“Two. Years,” you snarl. “Two fucking years I waited, and you couldn’t be arsed to send word?”

The Witcher barks out a laugh, sharp and cold as splintering ice. “You call that waiting? Found the first hard prick looked like he had money and hopped on, so maybe the ginger cunt wasn’t wrong - “

The rage, the hurt surges – bonfire hot – and you turn, grabbing the inkwell from your desk to pitch straight at the Witcher’s head. He dodges with curse and the glass shatters, but the cacophony does nothing to cover your howl:

“I THOUGHT YOU WERE DEAD, YOU BASTARD!”

The words tear their way up from your heart, breaking open the makeshift cage where that fear had been desperately packed after weeks, then months of nothing and damn him. Jagged bits of yourself run you through and let the grief well up. You try to grit your teeth against it, try to force it down, but those sharp pieces cut and bleed you.

“You unimaginable bastard,” you hiss. “I thought you were dead and – and Jaskier didn’t know where to find you – no one did. Gods damn you, Geralt. I thought I would never see you again.“

Your voice cracks. Geralt’s stares at you, wide-eyed, and you have to drop your gaze. You bite your tongue and close your eyes, shoulders trembling with each silent sob. If only the earth could open up and swallow you whole – you wish for it, pray silently for it, to no avail. The sound of the Witcher’s footfalls breaks through and you expect to hear the door closing as he leaves. Instead, you feel his fingers close on your elbow. You open your eyes, staring hard at the ground; you can see the toes of his heavy, dirt-caked boots butted up against the edge of your skirt. Geralt’s fingers pull once, gently, and that’s all it takes; you stumble forward against his chest with a low keen.

His grip is just shy of too tight. You feel the press of his face against your hair, so familiar that it hurts. He whispers your name, curls his fingers in your hair to keep you close. Your hands fist in the black of his shirt. He lets you cry until there is nothing left.

When your breathing evens and the tears have ebbed, you let him tilt your face up to his, but his expression is no easier to read. It stings at you – salt in the open wound – and the space around your heart aches. His gloved thumb drags gently over the apple of your cheek and you’re tired, of a sudden. Too tired to keep fighting this.

“Damn you, Witcher,” you breathe. “I love you.”

Geralt goes utterly still. Frozen like a cornered cat. You see a flash behind his pretty golden eyes before his hand drops away from your cheek. The look on his face makes your stomach turn over. “I never meant to hurt you, sweetheart,” he mumbles.

Humiliation has a particular taste to it.

The bitter, copper bite coats your tongue and, this time, you can’t swallow it down. It has thorns now, burrs that stick in your throat. You’re not sure why you laugh – it’s a hollow, bitter sound.

“Of course you didn’t,” you say as your voice shakes. “No, you just… you just ran. I said I was yours, and you made a promise, and then you ran.”

The leather cord on your necklace is old enough that it gives with little resistance when you pull. Geralt’s brow creases when you take his hand, but you watch his face go ice cold as you press the wolf’s tooth into his palm. You retreat, move away and behind your desk to pick mindlessly at a few papers before you stop and simply brace there. The smooth, polished oak is cool under your hands.

Geralt’s voice is rough over your name – you grit your teeth and snap, “No. No more. I have done with you, Witcher. Leave me be.”

He doesn’t move, at first. You can just make out his still form in your periphery, and you feel the weight of his eyes on you before he turns, making his silent way to the door. There’s a creak of old wood on ancient hinges. The tavern noise rushes back in for a moment and is cut off with a slam. You screw your eyes shut against a fresh wash of tears to no avail.

You manage to bite your cheek hard enough to keep your sobs muffled.

#geralt x you #geralt x reader #geralt x poc reader #geralt of rivia x reader #geralt of rivia #the witcher netflix #the witcher #fanfic #fanfiction #reader insert #the wench and the witcher #tutu scribbles

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whoslaurapalmer · 4 years ago

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utena manga AND adolescence manga!!!! the longest of any of my utena posts why did i have so much to say.

-i do have to say that the box set is amazing. i’ve never owned hardcover manga before!! and the art is really beautiful and i love all the color illustrations....... -also came with a poster!! but i, don’t particularly want naked utena and anthy on my wall.

-i always love utena, so much -“it’s not shocking pink, it’s rose! it’s a nice color. i picked it out, after all.” babygirl (-omg the explanation that there is a list of stylists that she could get uniforms from and at least she picked one on the list) -poor kaido.......he’s the true Pre-Series Friend Who Shows Up In The First Episode And Is Never Heard From Again Once The Plot Kicks In

-i like that the manga has an explanation of how utena found ohtori academy because, you do wonder -- but i also like how she’s just There in the anime, with absolutely no explanation of how she got There, she’s just There and maybe she’s always been there!, re: time, it ultimately doesn’t matter, it’s where she wound up regardless -the.......floaty dreaminess of it......... -uggg wait especially because even though it has been akio manipulating her around all this time she still doesn’t truly go to ohtori because of akio she goes because of anthy

-i’m. look i don’t even want to say it cause this is a straight-up terrible nickname and i am in pain over it but i have to say something -mr -mr l -mr -licky -lick -i have to wonder how other people have translated that

-me: hey that looks like he licked the tears off her face??? utena: i named him -- the narrator living inside my brain: and at that moment lulu vandelay considered launching a book across the room for the first time in her twenty-six years of life

-you know utena if your aunt got transfered to amsterdam, you still would’ve wound up at an ohtori academy -what even happens at the ohtori in amsterdam?????????????? -what -do they do an exchange program?? do they ever get anyone back??? is amsterdam also creating a world?????? or are they fine over there??? -is it alt universe ohtori????

-chu-chu is so fluffy!!!! so soft.......big squish........huggable............ -anthy making him a tie because she felt bad about him not wearing anything!!!!

-THE MANGA MOVES VERY FAST HONESTLY -especially because i hit a point where i too was reading as fast as possible to get through it but there was still SO MUCH

-no nanami????? no nanami at all??????? except for that one picture of her??????? -no??????? -look. i really love nanami and i didn’t realize how much i really liked her until she wasn’t there :( cause i liked her in the first place but i miss all her antics :( and i liked where her character arc went a lot :( -she’s very loud about this but she’s really just that tumblr post that’s like ‘i put ‘i love salsa’ in the chat and no one said anything and i wondered if salsa had killed a parent or if salsa ever really existed’ and that’s relatable -and the second-guessing embarrassment of every single thing in your life and yet the commitment to radical high-and-mighty confidence about the same exact things to compensate??? good for her!!!!

-utena, with the power of dios: i can see every move! me: wow didn’t know dios had the sharingan

-INTRIGUED actually by touga having. a secret room with a big fucking calendar with zodiac symbols and all the fights predetermined -like there’s something super interesting about that -like...... -on one hand a physical representation of The Plot Being Controlled. The Plot Has A Map Now. on the other hand, touga has to write it all down like a nerd bc he’s not akio and has no sway himself over the narrative and he needs a reference

-i’m absolutely fascinated by how a group of people can come together and create The Same Story that is so different in the manga and the anime..... -just. how -in a good way and a bad way. in the good way, how do you collaborate with people like that????? in the bad way, how do you create two completely separate thematic takes on the same story -with so many of the same base scenes!!!! they go completely different ways!!!!! i’m!!!!!!!!!!!!

-oh i do love the character profiles. i like knowing birthdays!!

-akio grabbing utena because he thought she was anthy

-it fucking goes from. ‘everyone in this manga wants to fuck touga’ to ‘everyone in this manga will support utena, EVEN TOUGA?????’ like wow -he’s just.........living with them..................................... -like a creep -AND HE JUST GIVES UP THE STUDENT COUNCIL PRESIDENCY THAT’S THE FUNNIEST FUCKING THING -doesn’t take much to get them to break the system down here but they’re still not breaking the system down here -oh my god it’s like the sad lemon man movie speedrunning the first 3 books and hitting the plot notes with none of the substantial theme -it’s just, i don’t think the manga is completely terrible, like i think there are some interesting moments but i also know the common perception is The Manga Is Terrible? so i’m like. do i pick out the interesting things and try and give them meaning? or do i just. wholesale agree that this is, on a whole other thematic plane and terrible (-my whole life is ‘i should be able to make my own opinion on something!’ vs ‘but i like to read other people’s opinions to make sure i don’t miss anything but that should not replace my own capacity for critical thought which i am clearly capable of and did a great deal of work on as a lit major!!’) (oh this is anxiety.) (it’s a lot of ‘i don’t want to misinterpret this in any way because that is a failure on my part so i’m digging around for explanations’ oh that’s still anxiety.)

-i mean. the emphasis on ‘friendship’ more than anything with anthy is, disappointing, but i DO also like utena trying to get anthy to make friends and that anthy’s first instinct is to take after wakaba because that’s super cute

-chu-chu narrating the curry story!! -he’s just such a sweet bean.

-utena: akio? the devil, lucifer? me, reigning my brain back in as it shoots into hyperdrive: okay lulu you’re right about the tarot symbolism but now is not the time, bring it back, girl (......utena’s the fool nemuro hall is the tower the car at the end of the movie is the world anthy stabbing utena is the ten of swords (not in the sense of betrayal but in the end of the cycle/story portrayed in the swords suit)) (ANYWAY)

-and then touga still somehow stays at the center of the story and utena relies on him....... -there’s a bigger reliance on men in the manga that is not, challenged at all, re: touga and dios -but at least akio’s still a full-on creep -actually i think he unsettled me just a smidge more which was a big accomplishment, considering the time i almost fell over furniture

-me: oh my god are utena and anthy gonna switch places??? me: NOOOOOOO -anthy’s coffin breaking because utena puts the ring back on....... -but, like........dios is completely incapable of action as well and utena doesn’t need him to rescue anthy -dios is more some ethereal grand thing here instead of an idealized past self that akio has lost access to and can never regain and was never truly good in the first place -although utena and anthy switching is, interesting. reinforces akio making utena a princess when again she’s neither and it’s.......a little “in the end, girls are all like rose brides” and women are manipulated around by men, but also, kind of loses what anthy holding the swords meant in the first place?

-touga: you have to do it, utena me: touga stop trying to steal the scene. get out. get out now

-THE CASTLE IS REAL?????????????????????????

-okay the absolute roller coaster between ‘he’s gonna kill dios????’ ‘that’s the manga backstory?????’ ‘DIOS IS JUST DEAD NOW????’ ‘NO HE WAS STILL DIOS THE WHOLE TIME!!!!!!’ -oh but you know you could read it as a, killing your past self sort of thing -...........although that doesn’t really vibe here, does it

-i think them being specifically ‘gods’ takes away from just the, cycle of humanity kind of thing........ -it’s so pleasantly vague in the anime because how dios came to be Dios and why anthy had to put a stop to it just doesn’t matter. it’s not what matters. it’s not what’s important. the fact that it happened at all is what matters. -and somehow he still wasn’t dios the whole time!!!!! -“she kept his sword in her bosom, one last token of her love!” that’s an.........interesting way to put it -i mean, yeah maybe?? but also, no??????????????????????????????

-anthy’s kind of, watered down a little in the manga too, in a way? -STABBING UTENA WAS SO IMPORTANT TOO

-noooooo where are my girls learning that it’s not about being a prince and that it’s just genuine love and being there for someone -i mean i guess the love is here but. “i must be the prince myself” no!!!! noooooooooo -you know what i don’t even want to THINK about akio and utena..........like that

-AND THERE’S STILL TOUGA!!! IN THE MIDDLE OF IT ALL!!!!!!!!!! TOUGAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA -anthy: /wearing utena’s uniform me: /staring into the camera like i’m on the office

-like...............well that just continues the cycle then, doesn’t it, in a way -which, is its own kind of story.............. -and i guess you could also make a case for ‘well no one’s immediately recovered right after a story that takes time and it’s not always perfect and that could involve anthy emulating utena’ -BUT NO!!!! NO??????? NO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! -i think that’s giving the manga too much credit considering how much it forced ‘the prince’ at the end!!!!!!!! -i get it. i get the ‘the manga is terrible.’ i see you. -it wasn’t, completely terrible, but, wow. i get it.

-okay hold on i still have two side stories before adolescence

-OH ARE YOU KIDDING ME????? ONCE AGAIN I HAVE TO DEAL WITH RUKA -WAS IT NOT ENOUGH THAT I HAVE ALREADY SUFFERED -ruka i still hate you. that’s all i have to say on that

-and black rose arc condensed to thirty pages???? -the way mikage acts towards mamiya is like. blatantly creepy in the anime but i didn’t think it was here???? rude. -anthy and utena holding hands after it, though.......

-OKAY, adolescence -i feel like, i was unduly harsh on the movie...... -mostly because i was reading the youtube comments on the dub before i watched and people were talking about how terrible the dub was (i did not watch the dub) -and i knew about the car and i was just really thrown by the car. the cars. just. unexpected -but if the manga speedruns in a bad way the movie speedruns in a way that not only hit the plot elements but picked up a lot of the thematic elements as well!! -i mean every arc was touched upon in some way! even the black rose arc! -which haunts me, regularly. -also i am forever going to be thinking about the fwwm parallel like damn -it really was a good time....... -oh! this in particular was why i was a little concerned about missing anything in thinking about the manga -like...is this a bad character choice in good writing, or is this a bad character choice in bad writing? sometimes i’m not always great at that

-anyway. -the manga was really mostly the same except somehow touga was more uncomfortable, there were no cars, and utena and touga had sex uggg -god i SWEAR when i was flipping through last week i saw a car though. i swear???? i thought i did????? -guess i didn’t!!

-touga: as long as you keep me there in your heart, i can continue to exist like this. i can stay at this school for all eternity. me: The Grief™ vs ohtori academy doing its thing vs I HATE THIS AAAAAAAAA

-anthy, to akio: be gone! you’re only in my mind! me: oh that’s a powerful statement though. re: like, how akio keeps anthy

-what i DID really really love was the little scene at the end with anthy and utena out of ohtori and older in a planetarium theater after everything and being cute on a date (with chu-chu!) and that that’s how it ends (even if utena was still thinking about touga) with them holding hands walking out............... -the softness!!!! 💖💖

#lulu talks about utena

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eugeniedanglars · 4 years ago

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k i’m just starting episode 4 of shadow and bone but i can’t contain my thoughts any longer so i’m putting them under a cut

watching this show when i’ve only absorbed the books through tumblr osmosis is SO weird. like i fully didn’t know alina’s storyline or any of the characters involved in it existed. i’ve been informed that this is because in the books alina’s storyline is a whole separate trilogy from six of crows and my mutuals only ever seem to talk about six of crows. regardless the end result is this weird viewing experience where half the time i’m going into the storyline completely blind and the other half i... still don’t actually know anything about the storyline but i at least recognize the characters and know their major relationships and what they think is the best way to steal a man’s wallet. also i’m weirded out by how despite not having read the books i can tell that the casting is visually perfect. like that’s literally exactly what kaz looks like according to my knowledge of the show through years of incomprehensible posts by my mutuals

the darkling/general aleksandr niskljfdnkjshfd whatever his name is idk i don’t speak fantasy-russian. his vibes. they are so rancid. i could not give you a concrete reason why but he skeeves me the FUCK out, like fully i feel the hair standing up on the back of my neck whenever he talks. every scene he’s in he just leaches joy from the atmosphere. i want to punch him but i feel like if i did my hand would start rapidly decaying from the point of contact

on a very much related note, i know that there are people who ship him with alina and i’m willing to bet that the venn diagram of those people and reylo shippers is a circle, and i mean that in the most derogatory way possible. i truly can’t tell if the show is trying to build sexual tension between them or if the intent is in fact for us to be creeped out by their relationship but either way i am having a Bad Time

i love mal. his vibes are the opposite of the general’s he’s actively calming to have on my screen and he and alina are SO sweet together. i assume he dies or turns evil or something because i’m not allowed to have joy or good things in my life

i also love jesper. i mean i love all the characters in the crows’ storyline but jesper in particular. my god i want to be his best friend and also smoke a joint with him

i’m enjoying alina’s storyline but it’s very much a Typical Fantasy Chosen One Narrative so far and i feel like it’s mostly the unique world-building and racial commentary that keeps it from being a complete snoozefest. thank god they decided to merge her storyline with the crows because i love heist/criminal found family stories and if they had split these into separate shows i would not have gotten past the first episode of alina’s story

that being said the racial commentary part of alina’s storyline does kind of confuse me because there are other Black and Asian people in east ravka so why is it seemingly just her and mal getting singled out?? are east ravkans only prejudiced against multiracial people or??? idk maybe i’m missing something, like i said i just started episode 4 and i don’t know anything about this show or the books beyond what i’ve gleaned from tumblr

#shadow and bone

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lovemesomesurveys · 4 years ago

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What time are you starting this? It’s 3:49AM. Name? Stephanie. Nicknames? Steph or Sis. Date of birth? July 28th. Sex? Female.

Height? About 5′4. Eye color? Brown. Where were you born? Somewhere in California. Number of candles on your last birthday cake? 32. D; Pets? I have a 4 year old doggo named Princess Leia. Hair color? Dark Brown. Piercings? Just my earlobes. Town you live in? I’m not sharing that. Favorite foods? Eggs, ramen, chicken tenders, garlic parm and lemon pepper boneless wings from Wingstop, pastas, turkey or bologna sandwiches, potatoes in various forms, and pizza. Ever been to Africa? No. Been toilet papering? No, and I’d never participate in something like that. Love someone so much it made you cry? Yes. Been in a car accident? No, fortunately. Croutons or bacon bits? Croutons. Favorite day of the week? I don’t have one really since my days seem to just blend together. Favorite resturant? I don’t have one. Favorite flower? I don’t have one. Favorite sport to watch? None. Favorite drink? Coffee, Starbucks Doubleshot energy drink, Coke, Cherry Coke, Dr. Pepper, Cherry Dr. Pepper, Pepsi, Cherry Pepsi... lol clearly I like the cherry flavored sodas. And *gasp* I like Coke and Pepsi, highly controversial I know. Favorite ice cream flavor? Strawberry, mint chocolate chip, birthday cake, cookies and cream. Warner Bros. or Disney? Disney. Favorite fast food restuarant? I guess Jack in the Box because I really like their chicken strips. Carpet color in your bedroom? Tan. Whom did you get your last email from? From one of the stores I’m subscribed to. Which store would you choose to max out your credit card? I don’t wanna max out any credit cards. What do you do most often when you are bored? I do the same things regardless: scroll through Tumblr, do surveys, check social medias, watch TV, read, color, play The Sims... Most annoying thing to say to me? I hate being told to “calm down.” Bedtime? I fall asleep in the early morning hours. Favorite TV show? I have several. Last person you went out to dinner with?: I haven’t gone out to dinner in quite awhile. Been out of country? Once when I went to Mexico. Believe in magick? No. Ford or Chevy? Ford. What are you listening to right now? An ASMR video. Have you ever failed a grade? No. If you have, what grade did you fail? -- Do you have a crush on someone? No. Do you have a bf/gf? No. If so, what is their name? -- How long have you been together? -- What are you wearing right now? A t-shirt dress. Would you have sex before marriage? I don’t plan on getting married, I just want to be in a long-term committed relationship with someone I’m in love and feel comfortable with before engaging in that. Have you ever had a crush on any of your teachers? Nope. Are you a virgin? I am. Do you smoke? No. Do you drink? No. Are you a player? Np. What are your favorite colors? Pastels, rose gold, sea foam green, coral, and yellow. What is your favorite animal? Dogs and giraffes. Do you have any birthmarks? Yeah, one on my right elbow. Who do you talk to most on the phone? My mom. I don’t talk on the phone except for quick calls from my mom or sometimes from my brother who call to ask/tell me something real quick or my mom might call on her lunch at work to talk for a bit. They’re just brief calls. Have you ever been slapped? No. Do you get online a lot? Yeah, I spend a lot of time online. Are you shy or outgoing? I’m very shy. Do you shower? Yes. Do you hate school? I’m not in school anymore, but no I wouldn’t say I hated it. Well, not overall anyway. I definitely felt that way at times, but there were parts I liked. Do you have a social life? Nope. How easily do you trust people? I don’t really have a trust issue, I just have a hard time opening up and expressing myself to others. That even includes people I’m close to. Would you ever sky dive? Nooo. Do you like to dance? I don’t dance except for like nodding my head to the beat or moving my arms or hands a little. Have you ever been out of state? Yes, a few times. Do you like to travel? I do. Have you ever been expelled from school? Nope. Have you ever been suspended from school? Nope. Do you want to get out of your hometown? Yes. Are you a brat? I feel like I’ve been acting like one nowadays. I’m just so irritable and moody and snippy all the time. :/ Have you ever been dumped? Yes. Do you like snapple? Sure. It’s bee awhile since I’ve had it, though. Do you drink a lot of water? Not nearly enough. What toothpaste do you use? Sensodyne. Do you have a cell phone? I do. Do you have a curfew? No, I’m 32 years old. I actually never had a curfew, though. There was no need to set one because I didn’t go anywhere. Who do you look up to? My mom. Are you a role model? I wouldn’t say so. Have you ever been to Six Flags or Cedar Point? I’ve been to Six Flags several times. What name brand do you wear the most? I have a lot of Adidas clothes, shoes, and accessories. What kind of jewelry do you wear? I hardly ever wear jewelry, but if I do it’ll likely be bracelets. What do you want pierced? Nothing. Do you like takin pictures? Not of myself. Do you like gettin your picture taken? No. Do you have a tan? I have a slight tan from my beach trip earlier this month. Do you get annoyed easily? Yes. Have you ever started a rumor? No. Do you have your own phone or phone line? I have a cell phone. Do you have your own pool? No. Do you have any siblings? I have two brothers. Have you ever been played? Yes. Have you ever played anyone? No. Do you get along with your parents? I do. How do you vent your anger? By crying. Have you ever ran away? No. Have you ever been fired from a job? No. Do you even have a job? Nope. Do you daydream a lot? I suppose so. Do you run your mouth? No. What do you want a tattoo of? I highly doubt I’ll ever get one. What do you have a tattoo of? I don’t have any. Are you rude? I truly don’t mean or intend to be, but like I said I’m so moody, irritable, and snippy nowadays that I feel like I probably am kind of rude at times. :/ What was the last compliment you recieved? On my hair, I think. What is your lucky number? I don’t believe in luck, but my favorite number is 8. What does your hair look like right now? It’s really short. Could you ever be a vegetarian? No. Describe your looks? Really short dark brown hair, brown eyes, some freckles, thin, about 5′4... quite average, nothing special. Would you ever date someone younger than you? I’d much prefer someone older but in my range. I wouldn’t date anyone younger than 30. Would you ever date someone older than you? Yes. When was the last time you were drunk? Almost 10 years ago on my birthday. How many rings until you answer the phone? I don’t answer after a certain amount of rings. Have you ever been skinny dipping? No, and I have no desire to ever do so. If yes, when was the last time? -- When was the last time you went on a date? It’s been a few years. Do you look more like your mother or father? My mom. Do you cry a lot? I feel like such a crybaby nowadays. What phrase do you use most when on the phone? I don’tave a certain phrase I always use when on the phone. Have you ever been chased by cops? No. What do you like most about your body? Nothing.

What do you like least about your body? Everything. When did you have your first crush? When I was in 3rd grade. When was the last time you threw up? It’s been a few years. In the opposite sex, do you prefer blondes or brunettes? I don’t care. Do you ever wear shirts do show your belly? No. What about cleavage? No. Is your best friend a virgin? No. What theme does your room have? It doesn’t really have one. What size show do you wear? I wear a size 6 in women’s US. What is your screen name on AIM? Aw, rip AIM. How are you feeling right now? Tired and hungry. When was the last time you were at a party? Back in June for my bro’s grad party. Has there ever been a rumor spread about you? No. What is one of your bad qualilties? One of many is that I’m very stubborn. What is one of your good qualilties? I’m understanding. Would you marry for money? No. What do you drive? I don’t. What kind of music do you like? I like variety. Would you ever bungee jump? Nooo. What is your worst fear? Losing my loved ones, never getting better/getting worse, never doing anything with my life. Would you ever join the army? No. Do you like cows? Sure. If you were to die today, what would you do? Uhhh. If you had one last word to say to someone before you die, what would it b? I would tell them I love them and thank them for everything. Do you like to party? I like small, chill get togethers. Hearts or broken hearts? Uh, hearts. Moons or stars? Stars. Coke or pepsi? Both. Favorite scent? I have a lot. Favorite band? One will always be Linkin Park. Would you ever dye your hair red? I was dyeing my hair red for the past 5 years and plan on doing so again when my hair grows out more. How many languages can you speak? I’m only fluent in English. What time are you finishing this? 10:47AM. I fell asleep at some point so I finished this later.

#personal #text #survey #surveys #long survey

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dippedanddripped · 4 years ago

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Earlier this year, writer and Highsnobiety contributor Eugene Rabkin dissected what it’s really like to work in the fashion industry, the good and the bad. In the brutally honest essay Read This Before You Decide To Work in Fashion, he writes about the industry keeping its grip on its hierarchy as tightly as an aristocracy that knows its hegemony is temporary.

“Fashion has always been the great illusion maker. It ostensibly champions democratization while trading on exclusivity. It nods enthusiastically to demands for inclusivity with token gestures,” he writes. “Fashion gatekeepers keep the gates tightly shut, promulgating the you-can’t-sit-with-us mindset. It does its best to maintain the status quo.”

As Rabkin notes, however, a growing contingent of those entering the industry are realizing that they “cannot depend on the existing power structures of glossy magazines, fashion councils, and conglomerates, and have formed their own networks, at times with great success.”

Yet how much does the fashion establishment really care about changing the structures that have kept the power in the hands of the same people for so long? How much will it fall when those who are denied a seat at the table create a table of their own? Are most traditional luxury brands already playing catch-up with their younger counterparts? And, most importantly — what needs to change in terms of who is let into the room, and for whom it’s time to go? We dive into these layered topics in the discussion below:

THE PANEL

Louis Pisano, Writer and Critic | @louispisano

"I didn’t get into fashion media intentionally. It was around 2010, with the start of Twitter. I had just moved to Europe and I wanted to work in fashion. I was going to Milan all the time and seeing all these people, and I just started tweeting everything I was observing into the void of god knows who. As time went on, it turned into this space where people really wanted to be unfiltered and behind the scenes. People at different online magazines started to offer me to write pieces about what it was like to be behind the scenes; I just sort of fell into it."

Brenda Weischer, Founder of Disruptive Berlin | @brendahashtag

"I was in PR for a little bit. I worked for PR Consulting in New York and then decided instead of kissing the editors’ asses, how about I start writing? I applied to Central Saint Martin’s [in London] to do my Masters in journalism; [then] I realized you can't really make much money, so I wanted to stay freelance. I am now the founder of vintage archive Disruptive Berlin. I was never on Twitter; I was more of a Tumblr person. That switched over to Instagram at some point. I sell vintage clothing, so I'm a bit removed, but all of my friends work in fashion, so it was an everyday topic — what goes on behind the scenes. I'm frustrated that not many people are opinionated in the public eye, but are in their private life."

Hanan Besovic, Commentator | @ideservecouture

"I grew up in Croatia and studied management, small business, and hospitality. When I moved to the United States, I started working in a hotel. [Then] the pandemic hit, and I turned to Instagram and fashion. I started posting stuff on my personal account, [with followers like] my aunt who doesn't know what Givenchy is. So I'm like, 'Okay, this is a completely wrong demographic. I need to create something new.' That’s when I started @ideservecouture. I used memes as my main medium, just because I can reach more people with them. Plus, to be honest, I want to make people laugh, and I want to piss off a couple of people, also."

THE CHAT

Christopher Morency: Welcome all. To start, I want to hear how you see the fashion industry being reported on today, and what role fashion critique plays. Now that brands have decided to open their doors with livestreams, the audience can make up their minds on a collection immediately. do we still need traditional fashion commentating by big magazines and editors?

Brenda Weischer: I think, besides us, not everyone is as opinionated. People want to be told what to say. They want someone else's opinions to look up to and shape their own opinion. Even with TikTok, for example, the first thing I do is go to the comment section, to know what everyone else is thinking. So there's definitely a need for some kind of review. But I agree with you, Chris, I don't really read anything anymore, besides what my friends write. Then on TikTok, there are these 19-year-old fashion students who are doing these reviews, and I keep thinking, “What the fuck are you talking about?” But [on the flipside], you have these [traditional media] reviews where even I, with the same press release and professional knowledge, don’t know what they’re talking about; you’re made to feel stupid. Like, I don’t know this poem you’re referencing. And there’s not much in between — until the last six months. So I think the need for reviews is there, but what’s in mainstream media doesn’t feel authentic at all, especially when you know they’re talking about an advertiser.

Hanan Besovic: Brenda, you’re completely right about the two extremes of reviews. What I’m missing is the critical part. What I’ve learned since doing this is that fashion is very much oriented. It’s okay to praise, but it’s never okay to criticize. And that’s just wrong. When I criticize, I never try to be mean about it. It’s just my opinion. If you're going to get offended by an opinion, that’s 100 percent on you. For example, the other day there was one designer who's been following me for a while; I reviewed his show and I was super positive, but I said he needed to edit, as it looked too busy. The next thing I knew, he unfollowed me. I think the honest criticism [today] is on social media. The praise is on Vogue Runway, because at the end of the day, that’s what [the brands] are paying for. I also think this certain generation of fashion journalists take themselves too seriously.

People want to be told what to say. They want someone else’s opinions to look up to and shape their own opinion.

Weischer: It’s so highbrow now. There’s no fun in anything.

Besovic: Exactly. That’s why I like what’s happening on Instagram with people that do the same kind of thing we do. Let’s just have fun. I know it sounds infantile, but at the end of the day, it’s just clothes.

Louis Pisano: People are going to either buy it or not. They’re not going to not buy it because we made a meme about it or because we said we didn’t like this or that piece.

Morency: Does fashion critique even matter today, regardless of whether it’s written by editors or reviewers on Instagram and TikTok?

Besovic: It depends on who you ask. I think the stupidest thing a designer can do is surround themselves with “yes” people. And that's why, at the core of fashion, you can’t say you don’t like something or something isn’t good. That just doesn’t fly very well. As long as you’re making money, who cares? Have fun with it. You should be happy that people are talking about you. I secretly feel that [Dior’s] Maria Grazia Chiuri loves it when we talk shit about her.

Weischer: Louis, you were very humble to say it doesn't really make a difference to their pay check, but I think it does, at least for my audience. If I really were to continuously talk about someone, it does make a difference, because a lot of people want to be told what's cool and what isn't. There are opinions of taste-makers that at some point do trickle either up or down.

It’s okay to praise, but it’s never okay to criticize. And that’s just wrong. When I criticize, I never try to be mean about it. It’s just my opinion.

Morency: So, what’s changed? Why is this clash between old and new critiquing happening?

Besovic: When you criticize stuff, there is so much more to take into consideration. Before it was just clothes; now, we're critiquing the full company and the decisions that they make. I always say that if you make smart decisions, you’re not going to get criticized. It’s your fault if you fuck up. For example, when it came to Chanel and the Michel Gaubert thing happened with “Wuhan girls,” the brand said they accepted his apology — it’s not your apology to accept.

Morency: I’ve written a bit about brand universes, and how these days it’s about everything from the soundtrack to who is at an event or show to what’s happening outside. Not just the clothing. Brands are still getting used to being critiqued about these other things, outside of fashion. Do you think they want to genuinely listen and evolve when it comes to these things?

Besovic: I really do think as “the chosen,” they cannot shape the narrative that they want, because there's so many other people talking about it all the time. But the scandals change things.

Weischer: Yeah. It's either if their money is at risk, or if there’s public pressure. I don't think there's anything else. Change from within — I don't think that's possible, at this point. I mean, maybe I'm too negative, but I really think these kinds of scandals have a huge effect.

Pisano: I agree. Public perception turns into money.

There’s an extent to how much critique and how much of a voice you’re allowed to have within the industry, especially for new voices.

Morency: So, who can still shift the public perception of brands? Is it still the legacy titles, critics, and editors? Or is it the digitally native generation of commentators and writers, who are a lot more honest and open towards each other’s presence? Or is it even the general public?

Pisano: It’s whoever can make the biggest mess for a brand.

Weischer: I agree – whoever creates the biggest mess. And not in a vicious way, just whoever has a platform and is willing to speak out. But then there are a lot of people with a platform who still have to make money from brands. I find it sad when you speak out about something and the people in your DMs agree, yet they’re still posting [positive] images of them being at the show. That’s frustrating.

Pisano: I can attend a show and just be there and not really post an opinion or anything if the brand wants to invite me. [Now] if you want to pay me for something, we're going to discuss how I'm going to be my authentic self and still partner with you. But I'm not going to publicly praise a brand and then privately [talk negatively about it].

Morency: When it comes to brands opening their door more, to not just invite editors and buyers, do you see more openness in the industry? Or does it keep its nepotistic and gatekeeping reputation?

Pisano: I think it’s a marketing toy. I'm just looking at it as a whole; allowing you to have a voice and work with you only goes so far. There's an extent to how much critique and how much of a voice you're allowed to have within the industry, especially for new voices. I'm the only one out of all of you that Valentino doesn't work with, for example, as I’ve criticized a lot of decisions that Valentino has made, before it was cool and trendy to be diverse. I think the way you do it [Hanan] is genius, because it’s funny and not too vicious. But I can only go so far with humor until I’m genuinely pissed off. And when it loses that sort of funny viral entertainment value for the brand, it’s a no. And that gets you blacklisted. Brands don't like [when] they can't really control you.

I’m aware that we’re slowly closing the doors on ourselves when we criticize somebody, and I think that we’re fine with that, because all of us here want the best for fashion and its future.

Besovic: I 100 percent get what you’re saying, Louis. I hope that my message still gets across with humor, and that people start to talk about [issues]. I’m aware that we’re slowly closing the doors on ourselves when we criticize somebody, and I think that we’re fine with that, because all of us here want the best for fashion and its future.

Morency: In my opinion, the fashion industry still loves the traditional system of building up certain people by allowing the chosen ones into this traditional sequence of gatekeeping steps. The lucky few go to a prestigious fashion school, you get big internships, you get scouted, you enter these incubator programs after which you get the same press coverage, the same stores buy your clothes, and you are the new fashion darling until the next one comes around. What challenges do you see with that system?

Besovic: I will never praise and acknowledge someone who came up through nepotism. I will never praise these people the same way that I am praising, let’s say, a Thebe Magugu, who I think is amazing because he gives me a story, trauma, and beauty, which he puts into the clothes. Your work should speak for itself.

I’m more excited that the voices are changing. I’m excited to see other people’s opinions and not always having the same people in the room.

Morency: But what’s going to shift the industry’s mindset to start thinking this way?

Pisano: Maybe it sounds too pessimistic, but I don’t think that it’s going to change, because we live in such a celebrity-driven culture where fashion has become pay-to-play. Regardless if we think someone like Lila Moss is an adequate model, she still has the last name that will draw in that star power, regardless of whether she executes the walking part of the assignment — she executes the celebrity part of the assignment.

Weischer: Yes, and a magazine no longer sells without a celebrity on the cover. And, to touch back on the university thing — whenever I tell an editor where I study, within a second I get the nod of approval, which is insane, as I don’t know anyone there anymore and was at [Central Saint Martins] for like a year. I remember when people from LVMH came to visit the design studios and would be like, “Okay, we want you for this brand, you for that brand.” Same with magazines. You didn’t even have to apply anywhere.

Morency: To round things off, what brands do it well and do things differently? Who do you get excited about?

Pisano: Telfar, 100 percent. I’m so disappointed that the Telfar x Gap collection didn’t pan out. Then also LaQuan Smith; I’m waiting for him to have that big house moment, because he deserves it.

Besovic: Thebe [Magugu] steals my heart. I’m always excited about Peter Do, because it’s interesting and new. And Schiaparelli.

Weischer: I’m more excited that the voices are changing. I’m excited to see other people’s opinions and not always having the same people in the room. I’m generally excited for anything that’s changing.

#streetwear blog #fashion blog #gatekeepers

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oneweekoneband · 5 years ago

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I’m slightly nauseous already with knowing I’m going to say this, but what does “self-awareness” even mean? In modern parlance, as a descriptive phrase, as a comment on art? I’m asking in earnest, like, I’ve been Googling lately, which for me is basically on par with doctoral study in terms of academic rigor. The self is king, anyway, tyrant, so where is the line of distinction between material that intentionally is nodding at some truth about the artist’s life and what’s just, like, all the rest of the regular navel-gazing bullshit. I mean, I’m all self, I am guilty here. I can’t get it out of my poems or even make it more quiet. This is the tenth time I’ve invoked “I” in the space of six sentences. Processing art has always necessitated a certain amount of grappling with the creator, but the busywork of it lately grows more and more tedious. Joy drains out of my body parsing marks left behind not just in stylistic tendencies and themes, but in literal, intentional tags like graffiti on a water tower. This feels an age old and moth-holed complaint, dull, and I am no historian, or really a serious thinker of any kind. I’ve now complained at some length about self-referential art, but didn’t I love how Martin Scorsese nodded to the famous Goodfellas Copacabana tracking shot with the opening frames of last year’s The Irishman? Didn’t I find that terribly fun and sort of sweet? So there’s distinctions. I’m only saying I don’t know with certainty what they even are. I’m unreliable, and someone smarter than me has likely already solved my quandary about why self-knowledge often transforms into overly precious self-reflexivity in such a way that the knowledge is diminished and obscured, leaving only cutesy Easter eggs behind. Postmodernism has birthed a moralizing culture where art exists to be termed either “self-aware Good” or “self-aware Bad”. Self-referentiality in media is so commonplace, so much the standard, that what was once credited as metatextual inventiveness often feels lazy now. In 1996, Scream was revitalizing a genre. Today, two thirds of all horror movies spend half their running time making sure that you know that they know they’re a horror movie, which is fine, I guess, except sometimes you just wanna watch someone get butchered with an axe in peace.

This is all to say that in 2020 Taylor Swift looked long and hard upon her image in the reflecting pool of her heart and has written yet another song about Gone Girl.

“mirrorball” is a very good piece of Gone Girl —feels insane to tell anyone reading a post on a blog what Gone Girl is but, you know, the extremely popular 2012 novel about a woman who pretends to have been murdered and frames her husband for it, and subsequently the 2014 film adaption where you kinda see Ben Affleck’s dick for a second—fanfiction. It would be a fine song, a good song, really, even if it weren’t that, if it were just something normal and not unhinged written by a chill person who behaves in a regular way, but we need to acknowledge the facts for what they are. When Taylor Swift watched Rosamund Pike toss her freshly self-bobbed hair out of her face and hiss, “You think you’d be happy with some nice Midwestern girl? No way, baby. I’m it!” her brain lit up like a Christmas tree, and she’s never been the same. If you Google “taylor swift gone girl” there waiting for you will be a medium sized lake’s worth of articles speculating about how Gone Girl influenced and is referenced in past Swift singles “Blank Space” and “Look What You Made Me Do”. This is not new behavior, and if anything it’s getting a bit troubling to think that it’s been this long since Taylor’s read another book. Still, while the prior offerings were a fair attempt at this particular feat of depravity, “mirrorball” has brought Taylor’s Amy Elliott Dunne deification to stunning new heights. And most importantly, Taylor has done a service to every person alive with more than six brain cells and a Internet connection by putting an end to the “Cool Girl” discourse once and for all. By the power invested in “mirrorball”, it is hereby decreed that the Cool Girl speech from Gone Girl is neither feminist or antifeminist, not ironic nor aspirational. No. It’s something much better than all that. It’s a threat. I ! Can ! Change ! Everything ! About ! Me ! To ! Fit ! In !

Gone Girl (2012) by Gillian Flynn

“mirrorball” (2020) by Taylor Swift

When the twinkly musical stylings of Jack Antonoff, a man I distinctly distrust, but for no one specific reason, whirl to life at the beginning of this song I feel instantly entranced, blurry-brained and pleasure-pickled like an infant beneath a light-up crib mobile or, I guess, myself in the old times, the outside times, three tequila sodas deep under the disco lights at The Short Stop. Under a mirrorball in my head. I know very little about music, as a craft, and I really don’t care to know more. I’m happy in a world of pure, dumb sensation. I’m not even sure what kind of instruments are making these jangly little sounds. I just like it. I am vibing. We may not ever be able to behave badly in a club again, but I can sway to my stupid Taylor Swift-and-the-brother-of-the-lady-who-makes-like-those-sweatshirts-with-little-sayings-or-like-vulvas-which-famous-white-women-wear-on-instagram-you-know-what-I-mean song, pressing up onto my tiptoes on the linoleum tile of our kitchen floor and can feel for a second or two something approaching bliss. “mirrorball” is a lush sound bath that I like a lot and then also it’s about being all things to all people, chameleoning at a second’s notice, doing Oscar worthy work on every Zoom call, performing the you who is good, performing the you who is funny, performing the you who draws a liter of your own blood and throws it around the kitchen then cleans it up badly all to get your husband sent to jail for sleeping with a college student... Too much talk about making and unmaking of the self is way too, like, 2012 Tumblr for me now, and I start hearing the word “praxis” ring threateningly in my head, but I’m not yet so evolved that I don’t feel a pull. Musings on the disorganized self—on how we are new all the time, and not just because of all the fresh skin coming up under the dead, personhood in the end so frighteningly flexible—are always going to compel me, I’m afraid, but that goes double for musings on the disorganized self which posit that Taylor Swift still thinks Amy Dunne made some points.

Because on “mirrorball” Taylor is for once not hamfistedly addressing some “hater”, in the quiet and the lack of embarrassing martyrdom it actually offers an interesting answer to the complaint that Taylor is insufficiently self-aware. This criticism emerges often in tandem with claiming to have discovered some crack in the chassis of Swift’s public self, revealing the sweetness to be insincere. My instinct is to dismiss this more or less out of hand as just a mutation of the school of thought that presumes all work by women must be autobiography. And, regardless, it is made altogether laughable by the fact that anyone actually paying attention has known since at least Speak Now, a delightful record populated by the most appalling, horrible characters imaginable, and all of them written by a twenty year old Taylor Swift, that this woman is a pure weirdo. To accuse Taylor Swift of lacking in self-awareness is a reductive misunderstanding, I think, of artifice. Being a fake bitch takes work. Which is to say, if we agree that her public self is a calculated performance—eliding the fact that all public selves are a performance to avoid getting too in the weeds yadda yadda— why, then, should it be presumed that performance is rooted in ignorance? Would it not make more sense that, in fact, someone able to contort themselves so ably into various shapes for public consumption would have a certain understanding of the basic materials they’re working with and concealing? Taylor Swift, in a decade and a half of fame, has presented herself from inside a number of distinct packages. The gangly teenager draped in long curls like climbing wisteria who wrote lyrics down her arms in glitter paint gave way to red lipstick, a Diet Coke campaign, and bad dancing at awards shows. There was the period where she was surrounded constantly by a gaggle of models, then suddenly wasn’t anymore, and that rough interlude with the bleached hair. The whole Polaroid thing. Last year she boldly revealed she’s a democrat. Now it’s the end of the world and she’s got frizzy bangs and flannels and muted little piano songs. Perhaps this endless shape-shifting contradicts or undermines, for some, the pose of tender authenticity which has remained static through each phase, but that doesn’t mean she hasn’t been doing it all on purpose the entire time. I’ve never been a natural, all I do is try, try, try...

In the Disney+ documentary—which, in order to watch, I had to grudgingly give the vile mouse seven dollars, because the login information that I’d begged off of my little sister didn’t work and I was too embarrassed to bring it up a second time—Taylor referred to “mirrorball” as the first time on the album where she explicitly addressed the pandemic, referring to the lyrics that start, “And they called off the circus, Burned the disco down,” and end with “I’m still on that tightrope, I’m still trying everything to get you laughing at me,” which actually did made me laugh, feeling sort of warmly foolish and a little fond, because it never would have occurred to me that she was trying to be literal there. I suppose we really do all contain multitudes. Hate that.

#taylor swift #folklore

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tripstaysnoided · 5 years ago

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Flow Just Like Water

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Story and writing-related transparency update and my many shames...

The Question on Everyone’s Mind

“Hey you haven’t updated No Stars over Uptown in almost a year...”

Hmm, I hate it when you’re right. (This section has been rewritten ad-nauseam to curb back the bitchiness by the way)

So back in early/mid 2018, the idea was to divorce Uptown from a person who influenced it (and myself) heavily. She was my most important audience member, the closest friend I ever had, and unfortunately someone who used her power to bully, ostracize, and hurt others with my help. I cut contact when the hurt + some self-awareness finally reached me. Apologies were made and I feel like my work will never be done with it, but there was still Uptown.

Between censored comments, entirely recasting Axel’s save, different plot threads, and a load of disclaimers, there was nothing that would scrub her influence from the story. There was no way to cleanly drop everything because of how deep her influence went. It disgusted me to look back at it, and I had to private the blog because I feared what it endorsed, even if just in the past.

I pulled back from that sims writing community. I had its main thread on the Official Forums removed too (I guess if that was a mystery to anyone). It was a surrender that I never wanted to do, but I had it in my mind that if I was gone, then she wouldn’t be there either. Uptown became this cursed item, and as I quietly retired it, I noticed that she went quieter too. Not gone, but enough to make me sleep easier at night and even occasionally say hello to old friends.

And I hope deep in my heart that no one else is getting hurt in my place, but now this is gonna haunt me all day huh!

The two paths forward...

1) Complete Uptown rewrite that I’ve been threatening everyone with all year. While it won’t ever be clean because I can’t undo time, I do have a sound outline for a story that is much more true to my actual vision and how I’ve evolved, with a few necessary boundaries in place that are going to be there for all stories moving forward: no more casting calls and no more collaborative efforts. I am not going to open myself up to this happening again, even if the people have changed.

2) Same as above, but I continue the original Uptown as a favor to loyal readers alongside the rewrite. I would try to put the effort into it that I initially did, but with no promises on an update schedule and no advertising. I did ask myself “is there Patreon but without pledging money, just the private posts function” but it could operate as part of a private forum, a members-only part of a website, etc.

Also readers of the original would be beholden to a rule of “don’t spoil the rewrite for new readers, c’mon guys”. I mean, not really, but it is a good courtesy to extend to people.

Priority on this isn’t high but you at least will see what is!

I will probably make the blog public again either way due to the many broken links on my Tumblr but we’ll see. There are other things to deal with as I shall list!

Where Life’s Been Regardless

Been spending more time with my grandpa every weekend. Life’s pretty good and he’s warming up to my dogs.

Shiny New Webbed Site

Cucumber Fields Forever is a site I own now. We have a full domain, cucumberfieldsforever.com, a blog with one post, and the framework needed to host stories the way I want to and still through WordPress. The functionality of likes, comments, and following should still be the same but you know...I’ll take feedback too...

The main blog still has an undefined purpose though I do have drafts sitting around about:

The maybe/maybe not hoax band that was on the Metal Archives and the history of Funeral Doom Metal.

The curious case of when Sims 4 babies get their genetics and my only collaboration (read: was talking about it with a friend and might quote her if needed, it’s actually a bit of a doozy)

Amazon.com’s fake dried udon noodles, an actual issue by the way.

Things I’m reading! (This’d be a monthly feature if so)

For the sake of unity, I am thinking of solutions for hosting old and shameful content there including Uptown and for the real fans in my followers feed, Eight Cicadas...a world I totally have plans for too (not really). I don’t want them to be front-and-center, and that’s why I mentioned forums/members-only content. I finally have that power! Maybe.

Ooooh but what are the costs? Not too much to handle, that’s what. 😉 (Like really, I don’t need any hand-wringing about this, I can manage my finances)

Project Queue (In Order of Confirmedness)

Outrun the Scythe: have you seen me post out-of-context Sims 3 pictures? Did you want more? Did you hope it was Linda in Custody? If the answers are yes, yes, and “meh, whatever you want”, then you’re in luck.

Outrun the Scythe is a Sims 3-based tale of a young gay man and his zombie grandma, as they are both offered separate roles of being the undying intermediaries between the world of humans and the influence of a race of space daemons. It’s pretty familiar if you’ve been following me pre-Uptown, taking some cues from stories I’ve kept under lock and key like Eight Cicadas, The Chains of Lyra, and the not-so-locked-up Ironstar Immortals (of which Outrun is just the direct sequel to sans any retconning...ah the smell of early 2013 and performative heterosexuality)

Ah, back to my roots.

It’s a hybrid of gameplay, story, and lore about my little race of daemons with a lot of my own idiosyncrasies that I’m not really ashamed of: basing it off a super-polarizing Sims 3 challenge from a site I moderate, using a lot of EA’s pre-made townies and their genes, lots of unnecessary posemaking, stupid references. It’s a comfort to have in my roster.

While the first few chapters are in the middle of revision, I have around six in the queue and will be making this public when I have ten. I’m guessing December then?

Undocumented Black Widow Challenge: I just did this for fun/forum kudos (yes, in fact I have joined many forums), there was going to be a short story but it was quickly becoming something against my code of ethics. I mean, sims die and all. (read: I had to choose between “heterosexual widow” and “widow with some same-sex marriages that still end in tragedy, reinforcing negative stereotypes to the public for the sake of me not getting bored and detached during gameplay” so there were no good choices. Except for her affair with the mailwoman, 10/10) I hope to finish this before October ends and get my medal on Boolprop, I’m pretty far through it all. I might upload the sims involved anyways. This is for TS4.

I mentioned it because it’s keeping me busy. But not for long!

NaNoWriMo 2020: Dipping my toes into that again! It’s not sims-related, just a tale of lesbians, nosy neighbors, a haunted beach house, and some light murder and kidnapping. And I actually got my brother to scout out locations for me this weekend. If there’s any demand, I can share chapters as the rough drafts are finished, especially for the sake of proofreading.

Not saying I’m publishable, but wouldn’t it be nice? Will keep me occupied for much of November.

Untitled “Dear Diary” Challenge: Tired of feeling left out of the fun on the Boolprop forums, their “Dear Diary” challenge was the one that appealed to me the most on first glance. Why? Probably once I found an idea that let it be set in the early/mid-2000′s to begin with and explore some interesting characters through diary entries (which I have mixed feelings on as a literary device but I think that’s just me saying “well I didn’t like Dracula”, yes you get bonus points for writing it like a diary)

Also writing is the one skill I’m good at across multiple games. Wanna hear me bitch about the cooking skill tree in TS4 or riding in TS3? I’ll spare you.

I guess I could have included “spending time on Boolprop with old and new friends” in where my life has been. It’s a nice lil community if also a place with its own idiosyncrasies as well. So it doesn’t feel like I’m promoting another community if/when I make a thread there for Outrun the Scythe, I want to have a couple chapters of this ready to go by Outrun’s release, though it’s not gonna be the highest priority compared to it nor as long because I think I can blast through the gameplay quickly.

This one will be played in TS4 due to it having the easiest writing skill/I dunno variety is the spice of life. And hopefully another December release.

Defunded or Forgotten?: Oh shit I actually released stuff in 2020 and told no one? I do have a “mortifying ordeal of being known” sinking feeling whenever I get a site hit because it’s not my best work (but good enough) and veered sharply into issues I may be over my head in, though I try to be a good noodle with research and listening. Maybe hiding is bad after all.

Being based off a very flawed and incomplete Sims 3 challenge I found in the annals of the Official Forums, there’s a lot of behind-the-scenes work just making sense of things. And I’m scared of working on reconstructing the house but I haven’t abandoned the project yet. The story has eight chapters so far and is pretty game-based with some additions here and there. Scared of how long it could be though!

Date for this unknown.

Untitled Sunlit Tides Decadynasty: another year-long abandoned TS3 project with a much stupider reason why. Last update was about Hua getting ready for her wedding, and I wanted to do some poses for a bait-and-switch wedding chapter because to put it mildly, her real one was an absolute disaster.

Blender decided to fuck up its interface again, I got discouraged (this probably does account for some of the Uptown delays too), and when I decided to plow forward, it was for other projects instead.

Meanwhile I played all the way to Gen 5′s teenhood and the only thing stopping me is time (it takes almost 30 minutes to load the file right now, though they’ll be looking at moving towns in a couple gens) and maybe fear of the Logic skill.

Date for this also unknown but it’s easy to pump out updates once I’m in the groove for it. My third heir had a difficult life so maybe I’m just trying to bury it.

Also I just noticed the view count there was really good and probably because I linked it here on Tumblr last year. Thank you so much guys. I can’t really fret over views on Carl’s forum these days thanks to the years-long death spiral pretty much every forum anywhere has been riding on. But it’s a nice surprise. And it’s an alright little challenge recap to read during your lunch break or whatever.

The Wawas

I figured I’d end on the real news everyone wants! Both the chihuahuas are a year and a half now and reached their adult size around a year ago. For the most part, they are happy and healthy dogs.

#state of the uwunion #long post

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ronoken · 5 years ago

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Fic Snippit

So, I read tow lovely comments this week and saw someone was kind enough to give me a shout out on Tumblr. So... A quick epilouge piece?

A quick epilouge piece! Comment on this, dammit.

***

In the really, really far future...

Caline M. Bourgeois, age 13, stood in the wings of the Francois Dupont auditorium and wrung her hands as the act in front of her finished up. Olive was twirling the crap out of that baton and the blacklight admittedly looked awesome, but she was winding down and that meant Caline was next.

‘Fuck,’ she thought to herself.

She was in a white dress with some (but not too much) frill, accented with two bows holding her sandy blonde hair back in a ponytail. One bow was red, the other yellow. She didn’t want two bows, but her mother insisted this was the best way to keep the peace.

Caline glanced into the audience from where she was hiding, and sure enough, the whole Goddamn family was there. Grandpa, all three Grammas, dad with his phone ready to go, Aunt Emilie, Aunt Camille…

And an empty seat.

Caline frowned and felt her stomach start to knot up. Olive was bowing as the audience politely clapped. Behind her, two stagehands were wheeling out the beat-up school piano for Caline’s performance.

“She didn’t come,” Caline said.

She felt something rustle in the frills on her shoulder.

“Aw shucks, girly,” a voice with a thick, southern drawl said. “Y’all just need ta have some faith. Yer mama may be a bit flighty, but that dere woman ain’t one ta miss her own kin’s recital. No ma’am. She’ll be here. Y’all see.”

Caline smiled and patted the tiny lump hiding in her frills. “Thanks, Ziggy. But,” She looked again at the empty chair. “She’s not here.”

Ziggy popped his head out and patted Caline on the shoulder. “She will be. Jus’ give her time.”

“But I’m going on now!” Caline said, slightly panicked. Out on stage, Ms. Beauréal was going on ad nauseam about how hard the students had worked for the talent show this year, and how excited she was to introduce the next performer. “Ziggy, what do I do?”

“Ya get out there and ya play fer everyone, of course. Yall gonna let yer dad and yer grammas and grampa down?”

Caline bit her lip. Of course the whole family was there. Of course dad was recording. Of course this had to happen today.

“She knew this was important to me, Ziggs. She knew.” Caline muttered as she walked on stage. From the audience, she heard two voices cheering for her.

“Go Caline!” The first one cheered.

“You’re gonna do great! Gramma loves you!” The second one chimed in.

“I love you more!” The first voice said.

“I love you most!” The second one screamed.

There were sounds of a scuffle. Caline ignored them and turned to face the audience. Her eyes drifted to the empty chair…

And sitting there was a woman with short, light brown hair and glasses. She had her phone out to film, and she was waving.

Caline’s eyes went wide. “Mom?” She asked under her breath.

Beside her mom, Caline’s father looked practically spooked. At least one of her Grandmas was frowning and had her arms crossed while her Grandpa was busy laughing into his shoulder. He was doing his best to cover it with a cough.

Caline smiled.

“Toldja,” her shoulder whispered.

***

Out in the audience, Caline’s mom grinned as she watched her daughter being playing Nocturne No. 2 by Chopin. Caline had worked for two months with her Grandpa on the piece, and the dedication had paid off.

It didn’t hurt that Adrien was a good teacher.

“Where were you?” Marinette quietly hissed beside her daughter.

“Work,” Gina whispered back. Her eyes never left Caline as she played.

“You were almost late,” Marinette growled. “How can you of all people be late?”

“But I wasn’t,” Gina rebuffed. “And she saw me. You think I’d miss today?”

Gina didn’t have to turn her head to see the glare her mother was shooting her. She could feel it.

Gina felt a hand squeeze her shoulder. She glanced back to see Aunt Chloé smiling at her. “Ignore your mother. She’s just mad because she lost a bet.”

At that, Gina did look to her mother. “You bet I wouldn’t be here?”

Marinette blushed and crossed her arms. She turned her attention to her granddaughter on stage. “When they closed the doors, I might have been overly upset.”

Gina nudged her. “Hey, it’s me.”

“I know,” Marinette sighed.

“Shh!” Sabrina shushed them both from behind. “I’m trying to enjoy my granddaughter’s performance!”

They shut up.

Caline had barely finished up when Marinette and Chloé both rocketed to their feet, cheering and applauding wildly. Caline visibly recoiled on stage from the outpouring she was receiving from her grandmothers, but she was still smiling. Mainly because beside Gramma Marinette, her mother was also standing and applauding louder than everyone else put together. She was cheering and whistling and making a scene, and Caline was 100% loving it.

Afterwards, once the other nineteen acts were done (Aurore refused to cut any students that wanted to be on stage. Something about it not being right to deny a student their moment in the spotlight), The family group headed out for a walk by the Seine to grab some dinner and gush about the performance. All three grandmothers had argued over where to eat, but André settled things quickly by loudly asking Caline what she wanted.

So, chilidogs it was.

“Hey,” Gina said as she took a large bite. “You did great up there, sweetie. I am so, so proud of you, you don’t even know.”

Caline blushed and grinned. “Thanks. Um, hey. So, like, where were you? I didn’t think you were coming.” Her eyes drifted to Gina’s green blouse. “Um, there’s some blood on your collar.”

Gina’s smile fell a bit. “Work was a bit much tonight. Sorry about that, but I was doing my best to make sure of things. I, um, I panicked and got the time slightly wrong. Otherwise I would have been in my seat sooner. Sorry.”

Marinette’s eyebrow went up at that. “What things, exactly? Is everything okay?”

Gina nodded. “Everything is fine. Nothing interrupted the recital, and nothing is going to interrupt our dinner. We all get a nice, normal, uneventful evening to ourselves.”

Marinette was the first to catch on. “How many times did you have to go back?” She asked.

“Seven,” Gina fired right back. “It took me over four hours to figure everything out. There were gonna be two akumas tonight, and don’t get me started on the werewolf.”

“Werewolf?” Caline asked.

“There wolf,” Gina quickly replied. “Seriously, how does Aunt Alix do this?”

The group went quiet.

Gina quickly read the room. “Sorry. I know that’s a sore… Look, I know it’s weird, but I’ve honestly seen more of her since she died than I ever did before. It’s nuts in the Burrow. She was super active with monitoring time. In fact, I’m pretty sure she lived in there. Like, right before I got to the school, I ran into her.”

Adrien bit his hip. “Is she okay? Was she okay? Geez, I don’t know what the best wording is for this.”

“She was good. She was in her PJ’s and brushing her teeth. I think she’d been sleeping in a side portal again. Oh,” Gina turned to Marinette. “She also told me to tell you not to worry about your appointment next week and that it’s just a clump of fat cells. You’re okay.”

Chloé laughed a little while Marinette blushed and smirked. “That sounds like her,” the bluenette said. “But did you have to say that in front of everyone?”

Gina shrugged. “You wanna drag me for my punctuality in front of my daughter again?”

Marinette glanced at her daughter. “Touché.”

“I’m just glad you came,” Caline said. “It meant so much.”

Gina smiled and kissed her daughter on the head. “I know, sweetie.” She glanced to her husband and smiled. “I wouldn’t miss tonight for the world.”

***

Later that night, after Caline had been put to bed, Gina snuck out to the patio for a moment and slipped into a waiting portal.

“Sup, kiddo.” Alix called out from the center of the Burrow. She was transformed and kicked back in a recliner. Even though her hair had long since gone from pink to red to silver, she looked as feisty as ever. She was slurping down a smoothie and swiping through floating ovals, each showing a different moment in time. “You make it on time?”

“Would you please explain to me how the wall clock in the center of time itself is six minutes slow?” Gina huffed. She gestured to a clock floating in the void. “Seriously! I was almost late!”

“But you weren’t,” Alix pointed out. “Look, changing it means going all the way over there and taking it down and fiddling with it, and that’s just a lot of work. I’ve just gotten used to the difference, you know? And if I did it now, then that would completely mess me up going forward. I mean, I’d look at it and be off by six minutes. Screw that.” She slurped her drink.

Gina shook her head and sighed. “You were more tolerable before you died.”

“Which time?” Alix asked with a grin. “Thank you again, by the way. You’re really not supposed to redo things that often, but I do prefer being alive to dead, so no complaints.”

Gina smirked as she stood beside her favorite aunt and watched the portals with her.

“Thanks for your help tonight,” Alix said casually.

“It’s my job,” Gina replied. “You know I won’t say no.”

Alix glanced to her. “You ever get upset that I, um, that you got drafted into all this?”

Gina didn’t answer for a moment. She crossed her arms and settled in place as she thought.

“I used to think being Ladybug was the hardest of our jobs,” Gina said. She glanced to Alix. “I was so wrong.”

“Well, regardless? I’m proud of you, Gina. I always have been.” She considered Gina for a moment. “Hey, I’ve got tonight, okay? Go spend some time with your family.”

“Oh, did you see the recital?” Gina asked.

Alix smiled and swiped the portal in front of her. An image of Caline appeared as she sat at the piano. “You think I’d miss it?”

Gina smiled at her aunt and patted her on the shoulder. “Try not to stay up too late, okay?” She leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. “Love you, Aunt Alix. Please get some rest. Please?”

“Psssh,” Alix said as she waved her off. “Get out of here. I’ll give you a holler if anything pops up. Promise.”

Gina smiled and turned to leave. Someday, she’d have to tell this version of Alix that her version, the one that had… That wasn’t here anymore, preferred electric blue slushies, not cherry. Still, it was sweet of her to keep popping in and pretending.

Gina wasn’t sure what timeline this Alix was even from, but it didn’t matter. They were all her Aunt, after all.

Gina stopped at the entrance to her portal and glanced back to the woman who was casually kicked back in the recliner, a familiar ghost that if Gina squinted, was enough to help her to forget for a while.

“Good night, Bunnyx,” Gina called out.

“G’night, Time Bandit,” Alix called back. She toasted her with the half-finished slushie.

Smiling, Gina slipped through the portal, and back to home.

#fanfiction #miraculous ladybug #mamabug #gina agreste

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