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asleeponelmstreet · 1 month

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French Inhale // Arlo Dittman X Female Reader Smut

Minors DNI

The new production assistant for Magic Funhouse catches Arlo on a night where he's not being a total tool.

tags: Arlo Dittman x reader, smut, loss of virginity, mentions of a degradation kink, alcohol and marijuana use, slight OOC Arlo because he's relatively calm and I'm still working on getting his voice right

Author's note: I have no idea if there is even an audience for this, but I really want to start posting fan fiction, specifically smut and this is the first one I've ever written that I've actually finished. I have a few other WIPs that I would like to post soon for Helluva Boss and Hazbin Hotel, but if someone ends up liking this maybe I'll delve more into the Brandon Rogers cinematic universe.

I wanted this to be a reader fic, but its my first time writing something like this for others and I made the mistake of making the reader bi and a former stoner so it might be harder for some readers to relate to.

Last note before we get to the good stuff, this came from the fact that I have a degradation kink and would love to be screamed at by Arlo. But I realized that poor man child is a virgin and I wanted his first time to be nice.

By your second week working on the set of Magic Funhouse, you felt like you were finally getting the hang of things. The cast and crew were chaotic to say the least and the star — specifically — was a massive tool. But you were getting to know some of their little quirks and learning the best ways to deescalate the absolutely batshit insane situations they found themselves in.

As their new executive producer, you did everything from man the lights and switch board to fixing the camera whenever one of them inevitably knocked it over and going on coffee runs. It wasn’t the best job, but it was a start and you were beginning to think you might actually be good at it.

Arlo had even stopped using the air horn to tell you when you messed up, opting instead to hurl verbal insults at you. But that was the beginning to be a new problem. You had always liked to be degraded in the bedroom but you never thought it would leak its way into your professional life.

There was something about that man-child, even if he was a total dick face, that made you wish he was bending you over a table while he degraded you. It made you fight back. And in a way, that you thought at least, brought a twinkle to those crazy eyes.

You were about to leave for the night, so you thought you’d try and get a few more words in with the performer before going home and spending the rest of the night with your vibrator. You knocked on his dressing room door.

“Who the fuck is it?” He yelled out.

You opened the door and started to say, “Hey it’s me” when you realized he was quickly pulling his hand out of his pants, trying to brush it off. He looked flushed and high, but he always looked high so that wasn’t new. “Sorry, Arlo. I shouldn’t have walked in like that.” You said sheepishly, thinking about how you would be keeping this image of him in your brain for later.

“Yeah, you really fucking shouldn’t have. What FUCK do you want?” He was yelling but keeping his hands on either sides of legs, looking a bit stiff.

“Oh, I just finished everything I needed to do for the day. And I was going to head out for the night, but I wanted to see if you needed any help with anything before I left.” You felt yourself starting to ramble, nervously you fidgeted with the hem of your skirt.

“Uh, yeah. I do need your help.” He said, which honestly surprised you. You raised your eyebrows, thinking about what you assumed the man had been doing moments ago. Was that what he needed help with? Even if he made your pussy wet, you weren’t sure if that was something you’d be willing to do.

“You do?” You asked him, realizing it was almost nine and that you were the last two in the studio.

“Yeah, I need help finishing this bottle.” He grinned. “And the rest of this fucking weed.”

Umm, what? Normally, you wouldn’t get fucked up with coworkers but you knew this job was pretty unconventional. And you hadn’t had a drink in a while or touched weed since college.

You stood there for a moment trying to decide what to do, but then your curiosity and hormones got the best of you so you sat down next to him and took the bottle from his hands taking a swig. You didn’t finish swallowing before motioning to him to hand you the taxidermied cat bong he was holding.

He obliged lying back on the couch with his hands folded behind his head watching you as if he was judging you and this was some sort of initiation into a secret club. You inhaled and instantly felt like a high schooler again before exhaling the way you always did with a little French inhale.

“That was hot,” he said, looking at you his eyes looking glassy and heated. You tried not to take his comment too seriously, but you felt warmth rush to your lower stomach just at his comment. “Teach me how to do that,” he demanded.

“I don’t really know how to teach it. I learned how to do it in high school and I’ve just always done it that way ever since.” There you go rambling again. Was it extra warm in his dressing room or was it just you? “This girl I liked did it and I thought it was hot, so I thought if I did it. I’d be hot too, I guess. Glad to know it still works.”

His face turned and he looked down at his lap and you realized what a mistake you had made. Mentioning high school probably was a trigger for him. You knew his past. You knew he had been in a coma since he was a child and only woke up a few years ago. No wonder he was such an asshole, he missed all the years when everyone is an asshole before most of them grow up and grow out of it.

“I can try and teach you, but I need to hit it again to try and think of how I can explain it. It’s basically instinct to me at this point.” He handed it back to you and you took another hit, this time really thinking about the motions of what you were doing.

“Okay so you take a large puff and hold it in your mouth… then you part your lips slowly letting it escape out of your mouth and maybe like use your tongue to push it up and out. That’s when you inhale through your nose.”

“Okay, okay. I got this. Give it to me,” he snatched the bong from your hands and gave it a shot. He failed miserably and even started coughing a bit. You reached forward and patted his back in a sad attempt to comfort him. Whatever it was, it was weird and you yanked your hand back as if you were a child who just touched a hot stove.

“It’s okay. It’s a bit hard at first. I remember I used to just sit in front of the mirror and watch myself for hours before I actually got it right. I never ended up learning any other tricks. They’re all hard.” He looked up at you, eyes wide and even more bloodshot than before. You wondered how red your eyes were about to be. He looked so soft and almost sweet and you realized this was one of the most pleasant and calm moments you had ever spent with him. “Try again. Maybe jut out your jaw a bit when you release the smoke. That might make it easier.”

He hit it again and you leaned back on the couch taking a swig of the bottle as you watched him. The drink wasn’t very good but you hadn’t been properly sauced in a while and decided tonight would be as good as any. It would also calm your nerves a bit. You hoped he didn’t notice the way your hands shook when you had pulled back from touching him.

This time he wasn’t quite there but it was definitely better than before. At least he wasn’t coughing. “You’re getting better,” You said with a smile that he reciprocated. Man, almost-nice Arlo was weird.

“I’ll keep practicing. But I’ve been hogging it. Your turn.” He handed it to you, and you questioned if you should keep going. You had been a major stoner in high school and college, but you stopped when you realized how lazy it was making you. You knew that even though your tolerance had been high at one point, it most definitely wasn’t anymore. But part of you wanted to see where the night went if you lost a bit of control.

You hit it again, and realized you were already feeling really high from the first two hits. And the warmth in your belly was growing from the combination of the alcohol and being so close to such a pretty man.

You handed the bong back to him, but he just set it down on the table. “You look really stoned,” he said.

“Ugh, do I? I haven’t smoked in a few years so my tolerance is low. I thought yours would be high though Arlo, but your eyes are bloodshot as hell.”

“This is some good shit. Something with moon rocks.” Your eyes widened at that. It would be a while before you were able to drive home. You resigned to drink a little more since now you knew you were stuck here for a while longer. “Shit, I remember moon rocks. I’m already feeling it but I’m about to be fucking weird.”

“About to be?” You smacked him on the chest playfully hoping it didn’t come across too much as flirting but also wondering if that wouldn’t be so bad. This side of Arlo, without the stressors and spotlights, was actually nice.

The two of you talked for hours about so many random subjects, about the show and other crew, your rebellious past and you even broached the subject of his parents and the coma at one point. He joked and teased but you dished it right back out to him, but it was fun. You were really enjoying him for once. Not just wanting him to hate fuck you against a wall.

At a certain point, he even mastered the French inhale and you stood up on the table and applauded, having forgotten about your plans to sober up at some point you had continued to drink and smoke here and there. You were still standing on the table, doing your best impression of Cronis kissing his stacks of money when you tripped and almost fell but he caught you, a little clumsily but he caught you.

Your skirt had ridden up, certainly giving him a decent view of your lace underwear (you liked to feel pretty even if no one was going to see you in them). The feeling of your breasts pressed against his chest even through the fabric of your shirts made you exhale sharply. He huffed, eyes locking with yours for a moment before setting you down on the couch and sitting a little further away from you than before. You were a bit confused, but pretty fucked up and horny so you made a strange decision.

You got on all fours and crawled on the couch to him. The v-neck of your shirt falling down, revealing a lot of cleavage. Heat rushed to his face but he looked almost scared. You started to regret what you were doing but you felt like you had to fully commit to not embarrass yourself. Once you were practically on his lap, you looked up at him with big puppy dog eyes. “Arlo, do you want to know a secret?”

He gulped. “Uh, yes.”

“I like it when you’re a jerk to me.”

His looked very confused. “Uh-what do you mean?”

You sat down next to him, realizing this might be harder than you thought. “Don’t get me wrong. I like seeing this softer side to you. But when you berate me in front of everyone, it turns me on.”

It looked like his eyes were about to pop out of his head. You decided to go bold, and settled yourself back in his lap. Your pulse quickened as you felt him go hard underneath you but you didn’t want to go any further before you got verbal consent from him. This was probably too far but your skin was practically buzzing from all the weed and alcohol and his lap just looked so inviting.

“Aren’t you a lesbian?” He asked.

You sputtered. “What? No,” then you realized where he got that from. The girl you told him about that inspired you to learn how to French inhale. “Oh, fuck. I’m bi.”

He looked a little confused.

“I like girls and guys.” You clarified and with that his face lit up.

“Fuck, that’s hot. I forgot that was thing now.” You wanted to correct him. Bisexuality had always been a thing, just less accepted and he was in a coma when people really started to come to terms with how fluid sexuality is but he grabbed your chin and pulled you in for a frenzied kiss. The feeling of his lips against yours, especially in this drugged state, was heavenly. He was a bit of a sloppy kisser, but you didn’t care and you doubted you were giving your best performance in this state.

You deepened the kiss, prying his lips open with your tongue and pushing it into his mouth. You ran your tongue along his and he let out a groan that made you squeeze your legs forgetting that he was between your thighs. Arlo bucked his hips into yours and then his hands wrapped around your waste pulling you as close to him as you could possibly be without taking your clothes off.

The two of you made out like this for a while, grinding your hips together and both making some of the most pornographic noises you’ve ever heard from yourself and partner from what was basically just dryhumping.

Panting, you drew apart to catch your breath but pressed your forehead against his not wanting to be too far from the dickhead. You could feel his growing bulge in his pants and your panties were getting embarrassingly wet. “Do you want to—?” He started to ask, but you cut him off.

“Have sex?” You finished for him.

“Fuck, yes.” You kissed him again. This time was a bit slower, less frantic. You ground your hips down onto him, loving the feeling of his hardness against your clothed sex. Then he pulled away. “Just warning you, I don’t have much experience.”

“That’s okay,” you assured him. “You’ll figure it out.” You dove in for another kiss halting to ask, “Do you have a condom?”

“Shit, no. Do you?”

You heaved. “No.” He practically whined at that. “I have a birth control implant. And I get tested between partners. What about you?”

“I don’t take birth control. I’m a boy,” he said with a shrug.

“You’re not a boy. You’re a man, especially if you want to be having sex.” You chided him for what was either a dumb joke or pure stupidity on his part. “When’s the last time you were tested?”

“Never,” he said. Ugh, this was disappointing. You were so close and the only barrier you had was an utter lack of condom. You started to get off his lap, but he grabbed you by the waist and pulled you back down. Shuddering at the feeling of you abruptly falling into his lap, he whispered the next few words. “I don’t exactly have any experience.”

“You’re a virgin?” He nodded. You guessed that made sense, but you had thought he would have had sex at some point since coming out of his coma. Especially given how frequently the subject seemed to come up on the set of the children’s television program he hosted. “Okay, are you sure you want to do this?”

“Fuck yes,” he said, before pulling you back to him with a searing kiss. His skills were improving, just in the last half hour or so since you shared your first kiss.

Just a few moments later, you pulled off your top and bra. His eyes glued to your tits, he balled up his fists into the material of your skirt. “Go ahead, touch them.” Once given permission, he didn’t need to be told twice, his hands went straight to your chest. He cupped your breasts and ran his thumbs over your pert nipples. You groaned at the touch.

“Take off your shirt, Arlo,” you ordered, but before he could even start unbuttoning it, you started it for him. You pushed it off his shoulders and placed your hands flat against his chest. “Pants too,” the two of you parted quickly. Both stripping down to nothing.

As soon as those boxers were down his hips, you grabbed a hold of cock and he let out of whine as you pushed him back down on the couch. You gathered saliva in your mouth, spitting it on his dick to lube it up before pumping it into your hand. As you stroked him, you could feel him throbbing in your tight grip. The sensation sent a rush of heat to your core and made you gush so much you were dripping down your thighs with arousal. You reached down and touched your own sex with the your hand, gathering slick with your digit.

Usually, you refused to have sex with anyone who wouldn’t go down on you first but you were already soaking and it was his first time so you didn’t want to put too much pressure on him to do anything he didn’t want to do. “F-fuck, Arlo, you still good? You ready?” He grabbed your head by the hair at the back of your neck, yanking your head in for another kiss in response.

You took that as Yes, so you pushed him to lie on his back and crawled back on top of him. You locked eyes with him before lining up his tip with your entrance and sinking down on him, reveling in the feeling of him filling you. You both groaned and Once he was fully sheathed in you, you stayed there for a moment giving him time to take in the sensations. He may not have been the one getting stretched, but you knew he was a twenty nine year-old virgin and you wanted to make it last as long as you could. You had a feeling he wouldn’t last long though by the way his face contorted in pleasure from the mere feeling of your warmth around him. You leaned down to plant a short and sweet kiss on his lips before you started rocking against his hips.

You started with slow, languid movements at first, but he clearly became fed up with this teasing because he began thrusting his hips in time with each of your bounces. He looked so beautiful between your legs and that normally loud mouth of his was shut other than the moans that escaped from his lips.

His hands wandered all over your body before settling back on your breasts. He groped them rougher this time, looking intently at the way your nipples pebbled at his touch. He rolled them between his fingers, making your thrusts onto him falter. The performer leaned down, sucking as much of your right breast into his mouth that he could fit.

“F-fuck, Arlo. That feels good,” you said praising him and he suckled on your nipple before, slowly released with a slight graze of his teeth against your bud. He dragged a kiss from one mound to the other on your chest and replicated the same motions in your other nipple. You were surprised he was even putting this much effort in, not just sitting back and enjoying the show like you expected him to but you were grateful because the divine feeling went straight to your neglected clit.

You decided you would take matters into your own hands so you reached down and grazed tight circles around the swollen bundle of nerves. The movement distracted him from his attention to your chest, he hungrily watched your deft fingers playing with yourself as he disappeared into your greedy cunt.

He slapped your hand away and you were about to protest, but he replaced it with his own. He grazed his thumb lightly across your clit, before circling it and trying his best to copy what he remembered you doing moments before.

The touch from him, though clearly a new action for him, made your thighs quiver and your thrusts falter so you were glad by now he was pulling a lot of the weight in that department. The sound of smacking flesh was music to your ears as he jackhammered into you. Tension began to coil in your lower belly and you started to lose any semblance on composure you had before. Your moans grew louder and louder with each thrust.

“Fuck, I-I’m going to cum,” he yelled out and you were about to tell him to cum anywhere he likes but you were too late. His hips stuttered and you could feel his cock pulsing as he emptied himself inside of you. Spent, you collapsed onto him as soon as he finished painting your walls with his seed and kissed him hard. You wrapped your arms around each other and basked in the afterglow of the mess you made of one another.

You may not have cum, but you were spent from all the tension. You really didn’t expect to once you learned it would be his first time. And he came pretty close to getting you over that threshold, which you thought was actually pretty impressive for his first time.

He stayed inside of you for a few minutes as the both of you gasped for air. The room was silent, the sounds of sex having ceased and both of you too tired to utter a word. But even after he pulled out, he clung on to you like a life raft keeping him afloat. It was so nice to be held like this. It has been so long since someone had wanted to cuddle after sex. You were so lost in your thoughts it took you a moment to realize his seed was spilling out of you. You jumped up, surprising him and looked around the room for something to clean yourself up with.

His brows furrowed, “What’s wrong?”

“I need something to clean up your cum,” you said, your eyes scanning the room for something you could use. He put one hand on your hip, keeping you on top of him as he reached down under the couch to grab a box of tissues. He handed them to you and you thanked him before really thinking about how it was a strange place to put them. “Why were these under your couch?” You asked.

“You interrupted my post-show jack off session. I had to hide them somewhere,” you giggled a bit at that as you patted yourself clean before moving on to wipe away the cum that spilled out on to him and the couch.

“I fucking knew it, so you were just trying to get your dick wet when you offered me a drink?”

“I was trying to get to know my favorite employee,” he said nuzzling his face into your chest sheepishly, before retreating slightly to add, “I thought about what it would be like to fuck you but I’ve convinced myself I’d be a virgin forever.”

“Well, now you know that’s not true.” You said before pressing your lips to sweat soaked forehead.

#brandon rogers #magic funhouse #arlo dittman #brandon rogers cinematic universe #fan fiction #smut #arlo dittman fan fiction #arlo dittman smut #brandon rogers fan fiction #brcu

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alyciaweliza · 2 years

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What is Blunt and How to Smoke the Blunt- a Beginners Guide

Each cannabis user has a favorite method of consuming the weed. Some really like to smoke joints, while others select orally consumed products like tinctures or edibles. Others favor concentrates like dabs and vape pens. There are advantages and drawbacks to each method of cannabis consumption, and finding the one that's appropriate for you is important. One of the most popular methods is smoking blunts.

Blunts are a particular favorite of social smokers (the people who smoke occasionally in gatherings), and they've been popularized through several channels of pop culture, including famous musicians like Snoop Dogg. So what are blunts, and do they represent a higher risk for the health of the smoker than different types of cannabis? Provided that this is true, is it really worth the risk, and what are a few alternatives to consider? We should investigate a portion of these inquiries in more depth.

What is a Blunt?

A cigar with the two ends cut off is thought of as a "blunt" to make it thin for casual use. At the end of the day, a cigar with no tobacco and a high concentration of marijuana is a blunt.

"Blunt" comes from the marijuana cigarette itself; it was originally called "a rolled spliff" prior to being rearranged to simply "blunt." Curiously, the French word "blonde" for carrot is where "blunt" originates.

What is a Spliff?

A spliff is made by blending ground cannabis flower with free tobacco. This combination of cannabis and tobacco is rolled in a rolling paper (e.g., raw, OCB, and so on). These papers, frequently made from non-wood fibers like hemp, flax, or rice, typically come in packs of 32 and range from a white tone to a light earthy tone. From an external perspective, they may appear similar to a joint, yet whereas a joint just contains unadulterated cannabis flower, a spliff also contains tobacco.

Stoner Etiquettes to Keep in Mind

In the event that you are new to smoking weed, there are a couple of etiquette tips that you might need to follow.

Stoners are generally a laid-back bunch, and there is some resentment about assuming that because of your break etiquette, you'll be kicked out of the gathering or something.

All in all, what are some fundamental stoner rules to keep in mind while you're smoking a blunt with others?

By and large, on the off chance that you don't have weed to contribute to the blend, you are essentially expected to buy the blunt wrap itself.

One of the greatest stoner etiquette rules is "rollers rights," which implies that whoever rolled it is preferred choice to light it.

On the off chance that you have not contributed any weed to the blunt, generally, the people who contributed will go a couple of turns without including you. If you didn't contribute, don't ask to participate, because genuine stoners will give you a few hits one way or another, just not usually on the first two or three turns. Individuals who consistently contribute receive what they require.

If a blunt comes to you and it has canoed, which implies that it has consumed a lot quicker on one side than the other, you need to ring it, which implies taking some spit and making a ring around the front, determined to dial back the part that is consuming quicker, to indeed make it even.

What Does it Mean When You Drop the Blunt?

Simply take a gander at the various implications related to the expression "dropping the blunts." Play

Dropping the blunt refers to smoking in pivot or passing your joint to someone else. Dropping the blunt is an indication of extraordinary ungainliness, or perhaps of being really prepared. In another manner, when a joint maneuvers starting with one companion's hands and then onto the next, it drops the blunt.

The expression is frequently used as a code for being sly or simply not being direct with someone. Saying, "I dropped him the blunt," for example, implies that I told him straight up that things wouldn't work out.

The expression can mean a few things while alluding to dropping a blunt. It can likewise be applied to legitimate stoner behavior. Regularly, holding the blunt with two hands is expected to cause it to drop. This is tantamount to batting your companion's hand when they act improperly. Be that as it may, dropping a blunt in a dimly lit vehicle isn't the correct thing to do.

It's best to inquire if you're unsure whether dropping the blunt is appropriate. For starters, it does not imply that you cause a commotion. If you're going to grunt marijuana to a friend, make sure your mouth is free of garbage first. Maintain a tight grip on your lips while you're doing it.

Regardless of which social shows you attend, you should not smoke marijuana if another person does not require it.

All things being equal, they ought to give it to a capable individual who can successfully smoke it more. What's more, on the off chance that you're a novice, cease from mentioning a subsequent hit. Try not to smoke marijuana on the off chance that you could do without it, except if you are constrained to do so.

Keep in mind that dropping the blunt may have adverse consequences as well. Dropping the blunt can have a number of negative consequences, including deterioration in air quality, the spread of infectious contaminants, and an increased risk of mishaps.

Final Thoughts

The techniques for consuming cannabis are broad and evolving, and there are upsides and downsides to each form of use. In the event that you're searching for the best choice, you'll need to avoid smoking or vaping completely. In the event that you're searching for a moderately clean smoke, vapes, joints, or pipes are the best methods.

As might be expected, there is a reasonable set of stoner etiquette and phrasing to learn if you intend to be a genuine stoner, one who is acknowledged as a feature of the gathering!

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zooterchet · 2 years

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How to Reverse “All Gay”

If you combine three point five grams of psilocybin, caps and stems, not flowersr, with a single orange adderral, eaten, not snorted or chewed, with a babysitter, you can do anything you want in a state of constant terror, realizing that homophobia, is being afraid of being gay; sanity and felonies soon follow, as the psychiatric system, doesn’t know how someone that isn’t afraid of beig explicit, fanciful, and non-compulsive, exists.

The problem is, if nobody babysits you during the trip, you’ll probably fuck yourself up, before you come down and go into a constant worker’s disorder, of being unable to cease memory type at protolithic dimensions, and your physical body “gimps” itself, while you crave creature pleasures meant to relax you, now unavailable due to finance and funding.

If you can make it a year, you’ll be superhuman in terms of your neolithic strategy, but “neo-nates”, the terms for hunters of unusual abilities, will profiteer off you, usually winning, since they don’t care about stomping people that are smarting without a gene, the “ducksforth”, the ability to convince others with your tongue, stomping in your head, like a gravy “stein”, something that makes white honey mental chirp syrup like an annoying “twat”, a woman with a hymen that won’t be devirginized for a lawsuit against whoever did it to marry them, your standard remilabeau (the word is French, not the character from Marvel, also the opposite, not just in gender).

Everything you know, will come crumbling down, but since you’re in a constant phobic state, you won’t care, until the aliens come, and nuke you down to size, for being smarter than them, the only reason they have for abduction, hence “the evil eye”, “witchcraft spells”, and “get smart” laws, all against buckling your safebelt if you’re “stupid”, you outsmart a cop on a wits game, taught to him by a law enforcement manual by a lunatic locked in a ward for the homeless that “caught a child playing with them” on the street and reported it to the police, actually little grey men, the mantis arthropods scouts, little men in cocoons from another planet (already conquered, ours, taken to an off-base facility, and stenothized, the model of our logic, from the cop manuals, in the 18th century, in London, the law about pooping or farting, being a cause for menstrual biaceps of your mother, sister, or you, if you’re a daughter or “fairy”, someone that caused a collision of any type young, and also has a parent with the condition - a genius at revealing abductions, the ‘stoner stereotype’, even without drugs, unless pushed them as “Charles Manson”, actually the protolith of the Manson hunter, “Mansonites” to the goth community).

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licncourt · 2 years

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I know you get quite a lot of these but you have any more headcanons about Daniel and Louis' friendship? I just can't get enough of them!

Also what are your opinions about Daniel/Louis as a ship? It's kind of a rarepare but there's something about this ship that I find very appealing, and your headcanons make me ship them even harder.

Have a lovely day and keep being the best vc blog with the best and most correct opinions😘💗

Aside from Louis or Loustat, Daniel & Louis is probably my absolute favorite VC topic of all. I will always be an unshakable Loustat shipper, so I can't really imagine actively putting Louis with anyone else, BUT if I had to like. Pick another ship, it'd be Daniel/Louis. Honestly, I've always been sort of surprised that there isn't a niche of D/L shippers like there are for Lestat/Armand. It's kind of right there and there's so SO much potential material. If someone wants to write it for me I'll happily read it because I wholeheartedly approve of 'fancy 18th century sad vampire/70s stoner man' in any form it's offered.

On that note, I'm positive if Louis had propositioned Daniel at any point in their interview, that boy would've been tripping over his own feet to get that vampire D. If not for Armand, he probably would still be down, though the infatuation has worn off and he's no longer slightly in love. Louis is aware of how bad Daniel wanted to fuck him initially and is very nice about the situation. He's used to it.

In return, Daniel is very nice about Loustat relationship drama. Interview with the Vampire was far from the end. Now it's Weepy Vent Session with the Vampire and it's like. Every Thursday at best. Sometimes more. ("I just don't know if I can do this. It's all so much." "Okay, fine. Dump him." "What?? No! I couldn't!" "Then why the FUCK are we having this conversation again, Louis?")

Daniel gets Louis into a very strange assortment of music. He takes to the expected, but there are enough wild cards that Daniel keeps experimenting on him by offering various records. Most are rejected, but Motorhead (no other hard rock or metal), The Beach Boys, Alanis Morrisette, and Toto (yacht rock is generally a go it turns out) are kept.

Louis attempts the same with books for Daniel and achieves similar results. Most receive an "eh", but Louis is absolutely delighted when he gets a good response to Camus and the absurdist philosophers. He can't seem to replicate the outcome with other genres, but a stoned Daniel is the platonic ideal of a conversation partner for Louis when he's in a philosophical yet chatty mood. This is great news for Lestat.

Daniel really wants to impress Armand (he's feeling a little insecure about his journalism degree in the face of Armand's classical education) so Louis drops everything for a solid week to hole himself up with Daniel and teach him French and Latin (vampire brain allows for maximum efficiency). Unfortunately for Louis, this means he can no longer talk shit about Daniel in French with Lestat during game nights.

Daniel is the first person Louis ever "comes out" to. Obviously he's into men, as evidenced by the...everything. But the first time he manages to verbalize it is alone with Daniel.

When smartphones hit the market, Louis totally helps Daniel win his word and trivia games with Armand. Daniel feeds Louis pop culture facts to stump Lestat. They are cheaters.

He's also the one who finally makes Louis feel comfortable feeding in front of others. Lestat is very supportive, but Daniel never makes a big deal out of it. He just lets Louis tag along on his own hunts. He can join in if he feels up to it or not. Daniel won't say anything or treat him differently either way. Eventually Louis goes from just coming for the social aspect, to snagging the occasional victim out of sight, to taking part every time.

Daniel, vampire or not, still has trouble with his alcoholism. The cravings stay, as does the ability to give into them by finding drunk victims. He has a hard time talking about it in the beginning, but if Armand isn't around, he goes straight to Louis. Louis is actually great at helping given his immense experience comforting certain individuals who refuse to verbalize their feelings or let go of the carefree persona they hold onto for dear life.

Aside from their respective partners, the only people Daniel or Louis ever blood share with is each other. It's a pretty rare occasion, but sometimes it's the last resort for comfort or affection if things are particularly bad, especially if Lestat or Armand is unavailable to help (or if they are the problem du jour). It's part of the reason they're so tightly bonded as much as it is a result of that bond.

#answered #vc #hc tag

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artificialqueens · 4 years

Text

Crying In My Prom Dress (Cracker x Jujubee) - Mumu

AN: Couldn’t get the Prom Queen Fantasy runway out of my head, so I wrote something for it! Read on AO3 here.

Summary: Jujubee knows she’s not winning prom queen. Brianna makes her night better.

Jujubee is bored out of her mind. Whoever said that prom is the highlight of your life must not have had very much of a life to begin with, because Jujubee has been to basement parties better than this. Then again, school dances are always boring, so maybe she should have known.

She’s been standing at the edge of the dance floor for what feels like hours, swirling a cup of punch in her left hand. Thank the heavens the stoners had the good sense to spike it a few hours before. If not for the alcohol, Jujubee probably would have ditched by now.

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Shea, head thrown back in the middle of a laugh. She looks absolutely gorgeous tonight, with red petals clipped into her hair, her pink dress shimmering under the cheap neon lights. She looks like every little girl’s dream.

Jujubee can’t help feeling childish in her own gown, an 80’s inspired tulle number. She loved it when she first picked it out, but now, eyeing Shea’s form-fitting choice, she sort of feels like an over-decorated cupcake. Jujubee’s stomach twists watching Shea, and she chugs the rest of her punch to cover the jealousy. It’s not like Jujubee isn’t popular, or pretty, but every school has a hierarchy. For as long as she can remember, Shea’s been at the top, and Jujubee has been playing second fiddle to her. The worst part is that Shea is genuinely a good person, which makes her impossible to hate.

Jujubee checks her phone again. The screen lights up: 11:55. Five minutes until prom queen is announced, and then Jujubee can slip away and get some real food. She’s been through three cups of punch by now, and all she’s eaten all day is some popcorn because her dress has a built-in corset and she’s not about to test the universe by risking a popped zipper. Maybe her empty stomach has something to do with her sour mood. Regardless, she’s craving fried chicken really bad right now.

“Girl!” Raven stumbles over, grabbing her arm. “You look stunning!”

“Fuck, did you pregame, Rav?” It’s a rhetorical question, given the fact that the girl looks absolutely slammed. It’s a miracle the administration even let her in. “Back up a step, your breath smells like vodka and I’m not tryna get that all on me.”

“Sure did, and fuck you,” Raven giggles. “C’mon, come dance with us!”

That sounds like the last thing Jujubee wants to do, especially cause she can barely breathe in this dress, but she knows it’ll be impossible to convince Raven to let her mope around on her own. Jujubee lets herself be led into the huddle her friends have made in the middle of the dance floor, plastering on a friendly smile.

“Juju!” Shea immediately wraps her in a warm hug, talking at a mile a minute. “Where have you been? This song is such a bop! I love your dress, purple looks so good on you.”

Jujubee feels a flash of guilt, realizing suddenly that she’s kept herself isolated this whole night.

It’s not Shea’s fault, really, that she’s a shoo-in for the prom queen title. It just hurts that Shea doesn’t even care about popularity or crowns and yet she’s constantly winning those things. Jujubee doesn’t trust herself not to be a bitter bitch about the whole thing, so she’d figured it would be best to avoid Shea for the night. It would be completely on-brand for her to make some petty little jab as a way to bring attention back to herself and soothe the blows to her ego. Jujubee doesn’t want to risk ruining the moment for her best friend, no matter how rocky their relationship.

Lucky for her, Shea has the attention span of a goldfish, and the girl is already back to grooving along to whatever the DJ is currently playing without Jujubee having to answer her question. Small mercies.

“Ladies and gentlemen, can I please have your attention?” A voice booms from the DJ booth. Everyone turns to face it. “The time has finally come. It’s my pleasure to announce to you the nominees for this year’s Prom Queen!”

Jujubee feels the bile rise in her throat. Shea grabs her hand and she flinches at the unexpected contact.

Shea shoots a concerned look at her. “You good, girl?”

“Yeah,” Jujubee lies. “Just nervous.”

“Mhmm,” Shea murmurs. “Don’t be, yeah? We got this.”

Easy for you to say, Jujubee wants to snap. She doesn’t. Shea’s done nothing wrong. It’s not her fault that the girl is prettier and nicer and more charismatic than Jujubee can ever hope to be, and it’s certainly not her fault that Jujubee’s being a bitter Betty tonight.

“Farrah Moan!” The DJ bellows.

A light swings over to a pink-haired girl to Jujubee’s left. Jujubee thinks she remembers her from French class last year. All she really recalls about Farrah is the pounds of highlighter she came to school with every day. By the looks of it, nothing has really changed: Farrah is practically metallic under the spotlight.

Jujubee applauds politely and resists the urge to roll her eyes at the girl’s fake smile. Everybody knows Shea’s going to win. Why do they even bother announcing the nominees?

“Shea Coulee!”

Shea shifts, stepping away from Jujubee so the spotlight falls solely on her. She smiles brightly. She looks radiant, and Jujubee feels that pang of jealousy again. It’s not fair that Jujubee has had to try twice as hard to even come close to the level of popularity Shea attained during her first month here. Then again, nothing is ever fair with Shea. The girl is just god’s favourite.

The light swings away from Shea after a few seconds, falling onto Raven next, and Jujubee lets out a breath she didn’t know she had been holding.

“Juju,” Shea says, mistaking her envy for nervousness. “Chill. You’re an amazing person. This doesn’t define you, okay?”

Jujubee doesn’t trust herself to respond over the lump that’s in her throat and the jealousy clawing at her insides, so she just offers the other girl a soft smile and a nod.

“Jujubee Inthyrath!” The light settles on her, finally.

Jujubee tries not to squint against the brightness. She squares her shoulders, flashing her most dazzling smile and blowing a kiss into what she thinks is the general direction of the DJ booth. The direct light is blinding, and Jujubee sees green and red spots at the back of her eyelids when she blinks.

After a few counts, the light shifts back towards the DJ booth again. She tries to recenter herself, shaking her head lightly.

“Bright, right?” Shea laughs good-naturedly at her dazed expression.

“That’s a lawsuit waiting to happen,” Jujubee jokes in response, swallowing over the jealousy that seems to have made a home in her throat tonight.

“Ladies and gentlemen…” The DJ says, dragging out the last word.

God, hurry up, Jujubee wants to complain. She fixes her best ‘runner-up who’s happy for her best friend’ look on her face instead. She’s been practising her graceful loser smile in the mirror for two months, and she’ll be damned if she lets any of her pettiness show now. As much as Jujubee thrives off of attention, she knows she will never be able to forgive herself if she messes this moment up for Shea.

“Your St. Charles Prom Queen is…”

Jujubee digs her nails into her palm.

“Shea Coulee!”

Besides her, Shea gasps, face breaking into a wide smile. The awful part is that Jujubee is absolutely sure she’s genuinely surprised. Shea’s never been one to expect anything to be given to her.

She forces her fake smile even wider, hugging Shea fiercely. “Congrats!”

“Oh my god,” Shea lets out an incredulous laugh. “Oh my god!”

Jujubee feels like her heart is being ripped out of her chest. She wonders if it would be suspicious to start crying. Probably, she decides. She’ll save her tears for later. Her cheeks hurt from maintaining the face-splitting grin she’s glued to her face, but she keeps it there anyways.

Shea shuffles towards the DJ, who drapes the sash around her and places a crown on her head. She still looks absolutely shocked at the outcome, tearing up a bit. Their friends gather around her, squealing their congratulations and crushing Shea in hugs.

Jujubee watches the scene unfold in front of her and can’t suppress the bitter chuckle that passes her lips. Everything is happening in slow motion. The neon lights dance across Shea’s features. Her eyes shiny are shiny with tears, and she’s slightly shaking as her hands go up to touch the crown on her head.

Jujubee gets the feeling that all her friends are having their glorious teenage coming-of-age moment and she’s just an audience member sitting in the theatre. They’re only a few feet away, but they seem to be in a whole different world.

There’s a soreness building at the back of her throat. She has to leave, now, before she ends up having to explain why she’s crying over Shea’s win. Jujubee’s eyes dart around the banquet hall. Everyone seems to be occupied with congratulating the newly crowned queen.

Now is a good time as any, she supposes, so she slips out of the back doors and into the night air.

Jujubee takes a seat on a nearby bench, flinching at the cold steel pressing into her thighs. She shivers as a breeze blows by, suddenly acutely aware of how unpractical her dress is for San Francisco’s late-night weather.

The tears have been building all night, and now that she’s finally out of Shea’s sight, Jujubee lets them fall. Once she starts, she can’t stop, and before long she’s fully sobbing. She grinds the heels of her palms into her eyelids with complete disregard for her eyeshadow. Her hands come away a mess of glitter, mascara and pink pigment.

“Um, are you alright?” A voice asks.

She whips her head around so fast she almost breaks her neck. A girl is standing there, in a hot pink gown. Her platinum blonde hair is piled on top of her head in a voluminous updo. Fuck. This girl fully just witnessed Jujubee having a breakdown. She sniffles, wiping at her eyes and trying to maintain some shred of dignity.

“Yeah, uh-” Jujubee’s voice strains on the word, and, to her horror, she feels another wave of tears coming. She opens her mouth to reassure the girl that yes, she’s totally fine, thank you so much, but ends up bursting into tears again. Her dignity is officially gone. Every bit.

“Oh no, please don’t cry!” The girl slides onto the bench next to her.

She pats Jujubee awkwardly. After Jujubee shows no signs of stopping, she just sits quietly next to her, hand still on the small of Jujubee’s back, letting her cry it out. Jujubee has never hated someone as passionately as this girl right now. Can’t she just leave her alone? This is mortifying.

The girl pulls her hand back from Jujubee like she’s been burned. Fuck. Did she say that out loud? A sidelong glance at the girl’s hurt expression confirms her suspicions.

For what feels like the millionth time tonight, Jujubee feels guilt pooling in her stomach. This time it crawls all the way up, burning as it builds in her throat. Jujubee half-falls off of the bench in her haste, stumbling over to the bushes. She proceeds to hurl her guts out. Well—it’s more of a dry heave, really, since Jujubee hasn’t really eaten anything in the past few hours to throw up, but it’s embarrassing nonetheless.

“Holy shit, are you okay?” The girl rushes to her side, doing her best to hold Jujubee’s hair out of her face.

Despite her condition, Jujubee still manages a sarcastic, “Just peachy, thanks.”

She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, wincing as it comes away smeared with hot pink gloss. The girl helps her back to the bench, taking a seat next to her.

“I’m Brianna,” The girl offers.

“Juju,” Jujubee says.

“Wanna talk about it?” Brianna asks.

Jujubee almost snorts at her. In less than five minutes of meeting this girl, Jujubee’s managed to sob, throw up, and make a bitchy comment towards her. Brianna still wants to play therapist?

“Okay,” She says quietly, surprising herself. That was not what she meant to say, at all. But Brianna brightens considerably next to her, and suddenly Jujubee doesn’t have the heart to take it back. Besides, she sort of owes it to Brianna after being a bitch, Jujubee reasons. It’s not at all about the fact that Brianna’s kind of pretty and Jujubee needs to vent.

“Where do I even start? This night has been a mess.”

Brianna takes her hand gently. Jujubee tenses, but lets Brianna brush her fingers over her own. It’s strangely intimate. It’s also far more comfortable than it should be, given she and Brianna are complete strangers.

“You don’t have to talk about it if you aren’t comfortable,” Brianna whispers.

Jujubee feels something unfamiliar swell in her chest. She almost feels like crying again, but out of a different reason than before. She can’t really remember the last time someone was willing to listen to her feelings, nevermind being as gentle with her as Brianna is being right now. Usually, Jujubee would scoff and call herself pathetic for even considering opening up to this girl, but something about the mess that tonight has been has made her stone-cold exterior crack a bit. She takes a shaky breath in and out.

“No, I want to,” Jujubee says. She feels the other girl’s gaze but doesn’t meet it, staring down at the crystals on her shoes instead. She worries a loose cobblestone with her left heel. “I didn’t win prom queen.”

Brianna makes some kind of shocked noise next to her. When Jujubee peeks up at her, the girl looks like she’s trying her hardest not to laugh and to stay supportive.

“You think it’s ridiculous,” She says, a touch of amusement behind her words. It’s an accusation, but there’s no bite behind it.

“No, I don’t!” Brianna shakes her head. Her updo wobbles dangerously at the movement. Jujubee quirks a brow at her, and Brianna flushes. “It’s just… you look absolutely beautiful. Why let some stupid popularity contest ruin your night?”

“Oh,” Jujubee says, slightly reeling from the compliment. “This old thing?”

Thank god for her quick wit, because otherwise Jujubee definitely would have been stammering some sort of awkward “thank you.” She’s suddenly hyper-aware of how Brianna is pressed close against her side and how their fingers are laced together in the blonde’s lap.

“It’s just, my best friend, Shea? She won, and I know it sounds terrible, but I can’t help but feel super jealous. She’s just perfect, you know? She doesn’t even have to try. And I’m just-”

She laughs self-deprecatingly, gesturing at herself, “Well. You see me.”

“Juju, don’t downplay yourself,” Brianna says. “You’re amazing.”

“How do you know?”

Brianna furrows her brow. “Oh. Oh! Uh, you don’t remember me, do you?”

“Remember you?” Jujubee racks her brain for any memory she might have of Brianna. Nothing. Surely she would have recognized this barbie look-alike if she ever ran into her in school?

“Jesus,” Brianna reddens. “I must have seemed so creepy then, just coming up to you out of nowhere?”

Jujubee must still look confused because Brianna explains further. “We’ve had classes together since seventh grade. I was in your homeroom this year.”

This time it’s Jujubee’s turn to feel embarrassed. God, she’s such a bitch.

“Oh my gosh,” She buries her face into her hands. “I’m so sorry, I-”

“Don’t sweat it,” Brianna laughs. “You know who I am now, so that’s what matters, yeah?”

“Yeah, guess so.”

They sit in comfortable silence for a few minutes. The music leaks out of the banquet hall and wraps around them, bass throbbing. Jujubee breaths in the night air deeply. It’s always the after-party silence that she’s liked the best. That feeling of shivering in the chilly breeze and walking home barefoot, heels in hand. The atmosphere always makes her slightly nostalgic for an experience she’s never had and can’t quite name.

“Do you want to dance?” Brianna asks.

“Hmm? I like it out here,” Jujubee says. “If you don’t mind.”

Brianna smiles at her. She looks pretty when she smiles, Jujubee decides. The corners of her eyes crinkle and her nose scrunches up.

“We don’t have to go back inside,” Brianna says. “We can just dance here.”

“Oh! In that case, uh, sure!” Jujubee stammers. She’s barely gotten through the sentence before she’s mentally kicking herself. Of all the times to be socially awkward, of course it happens to her while talking to a pretty girl.

Brianna stands, brushing down the feathers on her dress. She extends a hand that Jujubee takes. Brianna’s palm is warm, and the skin-to-skin contact makes fireworks go off in her chest. Jujubee meets Brianna’s eyes tentatively, snaking a hand around the blonde girl’s waist.

She hears the song change into something slower, and Brianna guides her into a gentle sway. She can feel her cheeks flushing, and her teeth tug on her bottom lip. It’s quiet, save for the leaves crunching beneath their heels and the faint music leaking from the hall, but Jujubee doesn’t mind. It feels peaceful.

She’s always been hopeless romantic, has dreamt of slow-dancing at prom since she was five. Her younger self watched those Disney channel movies that cumulated with a girl being swept off her feet by the football captain religiously.

This is different from all of the scenes she dreamed up when she was younger. There’s no parting of the crowd, no spotlight illuminating her. There’s no crown on her head. But somehow, Jujubee doesn’t really mind.

“This is so cheesy,” Brianna laughs softly.

“This is our rom-com moment, I guess,” Jujubee agrees, grinning. “I don’t mind though.”

“I’ve liked you since seventh grade,” Brianna admits. “You walked into class with a pink streak in your hair and immediately cracked a joke that made everyone laugh.”

“You remember that?” Jujubee’s impressed. She remembers that hair. It was such a pain to have to re-dye her roots every few weeks that she’d sworn to never touch a semi-permanent colour again.

She tells Brianna this, and the girl laughs, gesturing to her updo. “You’re lucky you don’t touch your hair! I’ve been dying mine this icy platinum forever.”

“What? I totally thought that was natural,” Jujubee marvels. “What’s your normal colour?”

“It’s more of a honey shade,” Brianna explains.

Jujubee cocks her head, trying to imagine Brianna with a warm-toned colour. She’d look nice with it. “That sounds pretty.”

The song playing from inside the hall finishes, and the two girls step away from each other. Jujubee shivers, already missing the warmth of Brianna’s hands around her waist.

“Cold?” Brianna asks sympathetically.

“Yeah, my dress is fluffy but it’s still really thin,” Jujubee answers. Her stomach growls, loudly, and she flushes. “Sorry. I haven’t eaten anything in a while.”

“We can go get Denny’s if you wanna leave?” Brianna offers hesitantly. “I drove.”

Jujubee pauses at the request, considering.

“I’d like that,” She says, finally. “I think we have a few years worth of stuff to catch up on.”

“Yeah, well, conversation always flows easiest over pancakes,” Brianna says with a wink.

The action gives Jujubee butterflies. Yes, she would very much like to get to know Brianna better. Something tells her they’ll be awfully close in the future.

#rpdr fanfiction #jujubee #miz cracker #shea coulee #cracker x jujubee #high school au #lesbian au #crying in my prom dress #mumu #as5 #rare pair

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doomedandstoned · 3 years

Text

A Rendezvous with Moscow Doomers Train To Elsewhere

~By Sound Animal~

Photographs by Makhmud Podzhigay

This is a momentous occasion for people around the world who appreciate Stoner Doom Metal and its hybrid forms. The Russian Train to Elsewhere has been solid all along. Then, on May 21, 2021, they played live at Peak Sound Endless Misery Doom Fest, revealing their new lineup to the public. And it’s absolutely astonishing.

On June 9th they released the audio as a bootleg. Lead guitarist Maria K. "Gerard" integral to the band all along, now debuts the recording of her vocals, which intertwine with the lead vocalist, Anna Utopian, who also plays keyboards and stepped in to replace the previous vocalist. On drums we have M'aiq the Liar, Olga on the rhythm guitar that keeps me going and going with this band, and on bass, Anton "Vargtimmen" Bryukov. Their previous singer, Denis Generalov, is no longer with the band. We’ll miss him and always appreciate his massive contribution to the previous demo and album. I’m glad to see that in the wake of his moving onward, the band didn’t falter. In fact, this new era of Train to Elsewhere is electrifying.

Live at Peak Sound (Official Bootleg) by Train to Elsewhere

Their sound is hypnotic and contemplatively atmospheric. The excellent drums are pared down to the essentials, as the best Doom drums are. The slow lullaby groove takes us into the imaginative liminal world of Nod as if we’re on a sleeper car bumping over the metal tracks, hypnagogic images combining the forest landscape outside the window with the mind inside. They play everything at a slow, minimalistic, heavy pace, never giving into the egotistical show of shredding to demonstrate just how fast they can play meaningless notes. No, conversely, every note matters.

Anna Utopian’s expressive vocals are consistently strong and delicious, beautifully doing justice to the intense lyrics while she creates Eastern atmospherics on the keyboards. Rarely does any Metal band have so much female representation within it. All the women in this band come across as authentic, being purely themselves as much as the men are, which can be a challenging project, considering the objectified roles they are so regularly expected to play on stage in that particular genre. There are no distracting displays here.

This ability to be genuine is not surprising with this low-key band, though, as they are not about surface level of life. Instead, the music provokes profound speculations and nuanced states of consciousness. It was Anton’s articulate brilliance in interviews that first locked me into their work.

When Maria sings, I stop moving completely. Until she’s done. Only utter stillness will allow the cilia in my ears to vibrate with the kind of desperate attention they require when encountering my favorite female vocalist. I wasn’t expecting that. No one told me. But I’m telling you, Stoner Doom fans. You must listen to this band that has something to say, and you must prepare yourself for Maria’s one of a kind voice. Words don’t do it justice. It’s the low beneath low. Her throat allows everything through, not just part of the frequency of life. All of it. The inflections indicate so much nobility in the depths of life that surely no one could take living for granted again.

First, I’d like to ask about that slow groove that’s consistent through the songs. I’m curious how the different band members feel that movement within their bodies. As a loop circulating through the body, a sway side-to-side (like bumping over train tracks underneath), a sleepwalking headbang, a standing spiral? Perhaps the way they feel the groove move through their bodies changes song to song.

Maria: We’ve never rehearsed our on-stage choreography or something like that. It comes naturally from our perception of the music. I can say, I like the heavy, powerful low-tune sound of traditional Doom. I like the sound of our guitars, amplified and enhanced with stage gear, going through bodies of musicians and audience. I think the sound should fill all the possible space it can, changing it in its special way.

Anton: For our band it’s very individual, some of us stay more or less still, others move to the music, whichever is more comfortable. It’s an interesting question because movement to music and dance is a very early part of human culture in a way it’s ritualistic. Although we never rehearsed stage movement it’s interesting to see the connection with the audience in that light. It’s great when some people dance to our music and move to it.

Anna: Generally, when I’m playing on stage or rehearsing at the studio, I feel some kind of special energy coming through my body. Especially when I sing. I begin to feel very inspired and optimistic about everything around me. I don’t really rehearse my on-stage choreography; I just have some clear ideas about what I have to do on some of our songs. So most of the time I just improvise my on-stage movements. Also I enjoy having that special connection with the audience, it’s an unforgettable experience, especially, when you’re playing on stage and see the people dancing to your songs and even starting to sing any of your songs that you’re playing. That’s when the magic happens for me.

Olga: I felt this only after I became part of the band – the feeling of the unified space with a group of people. When I listen to our music I can almost see how our melodies combine with each other, winding and supporting each other. Seems like their directions and weight are not less material than stage equipment. And our bodies move with the space movement. In this context I like “The Path” most of all – it resonated with me first and still makes me sway to its rhythm emerging in my subconscious in everyday life. I like both versions of it – with Denis and with Anna on vocals, which feel very different.

I love that about the unified space and the melodies themselves playing a tangible role within it. And the rhythm arising from the subconscious. And Anna feels energy coming through her – I feel a tangible effect from that! What scales are you most fond of? Is that part of the particular Folk element of your Doom that creates that tonality? Are there any folk melodies that influence any of the songs? In what ways does your location influence you?

Maria: I’m fond of northern folk, especially Finno-Ugric music, also I try to look at our music from different dimensions, adding Eastern tonality (Arabic, Turkish, Jewish music), as well as blues riffs, chromatic and classical minor scales, influences from Southern and Eastern European folk tradition… Our “Nortern Summer” is a reminiscence to native Karelian folk tunes, and “Mothir” is our adaptation of Icelandic folk song.

Anton: The idea of our project was to express through the language of Traditional Doom some of our folk influences. Yet we are not a folk band in a traditional sense of the word; we try to incorporate those melodies a bit more delicately, but they are very important.

As for the location it has a great influence on us from the vast forests to the existential gloomy culture and literature, we are shaped by this as musicians. As for Finnish folk it is an important part of our culture which sometimes flies under the radar when people are talking about Russia. For instance, Russian poets of the XIXth century with their gloomy and even Gnostic outlook on existence are a big influence for the Russian language texts of our first album.

Anna: I feel inspired by nature. I like spending some time in the forest. In terms of music, I usually prefer songs in minor scales; I like songs that sound not so depressing, but emotional. For example, I like adding some French coldwave sound to our music, as well as some blues rock.

Olga: Here I agree with Anton. The country’s history defined the distinct visual component of our surroundings, inspired by the folklore ideas and concepts we faced from early childhood, it nurtured in our minds the tendency to reflect and the idea of complicated intricacy of life, even its wholeness in imperfection. Maria shapes those images in multilayered sincerity, bringing the ideas into reality.

Samhain by Train to Elsewhere

What is the composition and arranging like for these songs? Do they ever arise from improv jams? Is it mostly one person’s vision per tune? Do the words or riffs tend to come first? Are you most interested in getting across specific meaning through the lyrics or in something else, like creating a subtle mood that goes beyond words?

Maria: Most music comes from improvisations and jams. Sometimes it happens that I bring raw material – several riffs and text – and we try to combine them into a song and repeat it till it seems ready. Also, we have some texts and some jam records that could fit together – so, why not make a song out of them. The needed mood appears when the song is almost ready and we try to play it slower or heavier or faster, add keyboards and guitar solo elements – that comes out of practice.

Anton: My personal contribution is mostly the bass parts in terms of composition, that’s all I do. But sometimes I can advise the band to play slower and heavier, as well as bring in some references from the underground doom scene. Also, I write some of the English-language lyrics like our title track from the debut album Samhain, which has been influenced by folk horror films like The Wickerman (1973) and British classical poetry.

Olga: Most of all I value the moment when the composition is almost finished, when the main direction is defined, but the result can be changed in unexpected ways with new fragments. Then the experiments begin, making us closer to realization of the plot, and I like the way each of us adds his sound to the final feel of the composition and atmosphere.

I like that you call it a plot. Stories really do arise from the subtle nuances within the music itself, whether there are lyrics or not. What emotional process would you hope listeners go through with these paganism-referencing songs? Is there something subconscious about the ancient primal archetypes that can serve people even if they don’t think about those mythologies in their ordinary lives?

Maria: Every song has its own references, atmosphere and path to lead the listener through. Of course, when the full song structure appears in your head, it’s a powerful inspirational impulse.

Anton: I would like to add that myths are powerful archetypes in our subconscious. We like to work with that because the modern world is not concerned with authentic myth and we want to help the listeners experience them. Of course, the interpretation of the myth is psychologically different for every individual but there are important patterns.

For example, facing death and mortality has been approached differently in different cultures. And aesthetically the pagan myth is very poetic and it fascinates me. The main themes of the lyrics are the recognition of one's mortality and different aspects of death -- on "The Path," mystical dark field of pre-Christian pagan tradition in "Samhain" and "Mothir," Gnosticism in "Ashes," omens and symbolism in "Silent Guard," romanticism in "Where you live," and pagan beauty of nature in "Northern Summer." The title track "Samhain" was inspired by a cult folk horror film The Wicker Man (1973) while also referencing the original pagan roots of Halloween -- Samhain.

Olga: The concept of mythology and paganism is the great mirror for the human soul, referring to times, when there were fewer concrete facts and the whole world consisted of trembling windings of human fears and desires.

“Trembling winding of human fears and desires.” I love that. Back before we could fact check everything in a search engine, reality was more amorphous, full of outrageous possibilities, eccentric cutting-edge experiments. Would you like to tell us about Sigil of Time? Is there a mentally different approach to folk music in that one? Some of you are able to participate in that band. Does it feel like a new compartment of the self opening up, like a new realm of a room that you can inhabit? How is that room decorated differently than the room in which Train to Elsewhere sleeps and dreams?

Maria: First material was recorded about ten years ago as my solo project, then we collaborated with Anton for a rather long time – but never released it till spring 2020. In this project I can release my vision that cannot be expressed with a heavy band. Usually, I create meditative multi-instrumentalist soundscapes in a much more intuitive way; most of them are instrumentals or vocals that don't carry any lyrics. Often the recordings wait for some time to be reviewed and even corrected a bit before releasing. Anton records a bass line and manages different synthetic and noise parts. To talk about the room: it’s for chamber music and solitary thoughts.

Anton: Sigil of Time was mostly our experiments with post-industrial dark ambient and dark folk music as well as some field recordings. We didn’t plan to release it to the public but our label Kryrart Records encouraged us to share our music with the world. It’s more of an abstract stream of consciousness inspired by dreams and visions but some lyrics and melodies which ended up in Train to Elsewhere were first composed for Sigil of Time so the two are interconnected.

What were the mechanical methods you used to get the post-industrial effects? That’s intriguing: I’d be curious to hear about any specific dream or vision that inspired a song.

Maria: Sigil of Time is mostly based on acoustic instruments (especially guitars), as we could mention earlier. We use it for recording guitar pedals and post-production with different kinds of distortion and delay, octavers and reversed echoes, also adding such things as different samples, raw analog synthesizer sound… In different periods of time Sigil had a tendency to explore various sources, while anthologies unite tracks from earlier times.

Usually, a song starts from the feeling of total clarity, when the idea of lyrics meets the image of musical sketch, giving a whole plan of what to do. It changes several times while recording, usually each part is improvisation, keeping only several repeating moments. Mixing inserts its corrections, and when the song is almost ready, I leave it for several days, returning to it later with minimal changes.

Anton: As for Train to Elsewhere we use techniques common for recording traditional doom metal. Maybe one thing that sets us apart is that we use the sounds of the amps and their built-in distortion power rather than custom distortion pedals for pedal boards. We want to capture a primal raw sound of early rock and metal. About dreams – before writing the lyrics to Samhain I saw a dream in which I was in a vast endless autumn forest as far as I could see. The forest seemed very old, even ancient; later the dream inspired me to write the lyrics to Samhain.

We would like to thank you for these wonderful interesting questions, it was great answering them. We’re very glad and honored you enjoyed our music so much.

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#D&S Interviews #Train To Elsewhere #Moscow #Russia #doom metal #epic doom #death doom #Sound Animal #Doomed and Stoned

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ncityislove · 5 years

Text

➳Genre: smut

➳Pairing: Stoner!Mark x Reader

➳Word Count: 4k+

You meet Mark at one of your parents’ boring dinner parties and when Mark shows you his stash of weed things get heated in more ways than one.

Requested? lol naw but y’all nasties wanted it anyways

Your heels echoed on the wooden floors of the over-sized dining room as you sauntered over to the open bar, ordering a shot of Hennessy. Your parents dragged you to yet another one of their friends' gathering to "make more connections" as they had put it. You were out of school on summer break but you wished you had taken up those extra classes because then you'd have an excuse not to be here.

The bartender placed your glass in front of you and you downed it in the blink of an eye, ordering another just as your mom approached you.

"Ah, there you are! Come along, dear, I want to introduce you to someone," she said, grabbing your wrist.

As if there was someone here you hadn't already introduced me to, you thought, rolling your eyes. Your mom lead you across the crowded room to a secluded area where your father was standing in his freshly ironed blue button down and matching tie, his jacket draped over his arm.

"Oh! Speaking of the devil--this is my daughter, y/n!" he exclaimed, clapping his hands together.

You forced a smile, avoiding eye contact with the small family standing before you.

"Oh, she's gorgeous! Isn't she gorgeous, honey?" asked a woman wearing too much makeup.

"She sure is. The apple doesn't fall too far from the tree!" the man next to her boomed and everyone burst into laughter.

"Stop it, Todd! I'm married!" your mom giggled. "And so are you!" Everyone laughed again and you tried not to gag. It was obvious your mom didn't want to be here just as much as you and it was shameful how badly you wanted to laugh. Your mom was never very good at pretending and it showed now more than ever.

"Hey, Mom? The maid said you wanted to see me," said a young looking man dressed in grey sweats and a t-shirt. His voice matched his face perfectly, soft yet deep at the same time.

Suddenly, the night had become much more interesting.

His parents seemed repulsed by his attire but you, on the other hand, thought it suited him very well. His joggers hung low on his hips and his baggy t-shirt was loose but not loose enough that you couldn't see his toned figure underneath. His hair was a mess but it surprisingly didn't make him look any less handsome. You couldn't help but imagine how soft the tufts of hair would feel between fingers as you tugged at the strands begging him for more.

"Mark, sweetheart, you couldn't have put something nice on before you came down?!" his mom shrieked.

"Oh, sorry," he apologized although he seemed like he didn't really mean it.

"It's alright, Beverly. My son, Doyoung, is the exact same way," your father chuckled.

You sighed, wishing it was your brother who was standing here instead of you but unfortunately he had a better excuse than you for not being able to make it. He was in Paris "studying" for his law degree for another year but you knew he was probably just messing around with some French girl in that big fancy penthouse your father bought him.

"Then you must understand how embarrassing this is," his father sighed. "Well, this is my son, Mark. He's in college right now but he came back home for an internship at the company! Isn't that right, son?"

Mark nodded, chewing his bottom lip, his eyes meeting yours briefly then flitting away, his ears turning red.

"Now that I think about it, you two are the same age!" said Beverly. "Isn't that wonderful?"

Mark looked up at you in surprise, his big amber eyes looking even larger as he gaped at you. You smiled at him, eyeing him from head to toe as you licked your lips. You didn't mean to be so obvious but you couldn't deny how cute he looked when he blushed.

"Oh that is!" your mom cheered. "Maybe they'll become good friends!"

"That would be great! It's too bad Mark's got so much work to do right now," said Tom.

"Yes, it truly is a shame," you agreed, everyone turning to look at you.

"R-really?" your mom stuttered, surprised at you for showing interest in the conversation for once. "I mean—it really is a shame."

Mark cleared his throat. "Well, I can take a break and stay a while...that is if you'd like me to," he trailed off, glancing at you.

"I'd like that," you said, grinning innocently as filthy thoughts ran through your mind.

This was exactly what you needed. A cute boy to toy with until you can go home and finally finish the last season of The Vampire Diaries. The show was cheesy and the characters got on your nerves but you wouldn't be able to sleep at night if you never finished it.

"Is that okay?" he asked his dad who looked hesitant.

"If it's only for a bit then what harm could it do?" he said waving his glass of wine in the air.

"I'll just go change then," Mark said stepping back.

"Marvelous!" his mother remarked, as she took a polite sip from her glass.

Your dad patted you on the shoulder, showing his gratitude towards your sudden act of kindness towards him but what he didn't know was you weren't doing this for him, it was for you. If your parents were going to force you to go to every boring party for the next three months you needed something to entertain yourself. Or rather someone.

Mark came down the elegant spiraled staircase in a crisp black button-down tucked into his slacks with a rather expensive-looking watch adorning his wrist. His hair looked tamed this time, slicked back in a way that resembled his father's. Although he looked absolutely drool-worthy all dressed up, you much preferred him messy-haired and wearing sweats.

You met him at the bottom of the steps, not even trying to hide the fact that you were checking him out.

"I never got your name," he said, offering his arm out to you.

"Y/n," you replied, linking your elbow to his. "Let's head to the bar, I need a drink."

Mark nodded, as he escorted you to the open bar at the end of the corridor.

"Two shots of vodka, please," you called out.

"Ah, none for me, sir. I don't drink," interjected Mark.

You raised your eyebrows at him. "I'm sorry?"

Mark smiled. "I'm not much of a drinker. I always regret it in the morning and it tastes awful."

You laughed at his explanation, finding it cute. Mark was different than all of the other kids you met through your parents. Most of them jumped at the opportunity to get wasted at these boring affairs and you were one of them.

"I'll still take those two shots," you said.

The bartender nodded, setting two shot glasses in front of you and you threw your head back, finishing them in seconds. Mark watched you with amusement in his eyes as you gently placed the glasses back onto the counter.

"So if you don't drink," you began. "then what the hell do you to deal with...all of this?"

"All of this?" he questioned.

"You know...everything. These parties, the fancy suits and all that."

"I know what you meant," Mark chuckled. "I don't have to be intoxicated to have fun."

You squinted your eyes at him. "I'm not buying that."

Mark smirked, looking down then back at you, a mysterious glint in his eyes. "Yeah, I didn't think you would."

You propped a knee onto the bar stool, leaning closer to him, not caring that you were wearing a dress. "Then what do you do?"

Mark cocked his head to the side, a smile playing on his lips. "Why don't I show you?"

You blinked at the large hand being offered to you, curiosity getting the best of you as you placed your palm on top of his. Mark look satisfied as he laced his fingers between yours, leading you up the stairs to his room.

His house was big but not as big as yours. The hallway was spacious, decorated with art pieces that must've cost thousands. The band music faded more and more until the only sound left was the click-clack of your heels.

His room was just as impressive as the rest of the house. It was black and white themed with a modern renaissance inspired wallpaper with just as much art hanging on it as in the hall. His desk was the only part of the room that looked messy, papers and folders thrown everywhere, even some littering the floor around it. But the bed. The bed was what really made the room so beautiful. It was huge. The bedposts were made out of a beautiful oak wood and almost as high as the ceiling! The comforter was draped beautifully over the bed and with perfectly fluffed pillows placed on top.

"Nice room," you said, sitting on the chair by the bookshelf.

"Thanks," said Mark as he opened his closet door, disappearing for a few moments.

You got up, wandering around his room, pausing at the wall of trophies and medals next to the fireplace. Most of them were from years ago, but there were a few a golfing trophies with this year's date on them.

"Ready to have some fun?" Mark asked, startling you as he emerged from the closet.

"Sure, why not," you retorted, walking to his bed where he was sitting with a small wooden box in his lap.

"You're not gonna pull out a gun on me are you?" you asked, eyeing the box.

"Just sit down and watch," Mark said half-chuckling.

You plopped down next to him on the bed, peering over his shoulder as he opened the lid of the box, revealing something you hadn't been expecting at all.

"Weed?"

"Yep. Weed," he said pulling out a lighter from the bottom of the box.

"You don't look like the stoner kind," you said, scooting further back on the bed.

"I'll take that as a compliment," he said, lighting up a blunt.

You hummed, watching as he put the object to his lips, inhaling then blowing out a puff of white. Mark let out a content sigh before offering the blunt to you.

You took it from him, taking a hit then passing it back.

"Shouldn't you open a window or something?" You asked, already beginning to feel lighter.

"Nah, my parents already know." Mark took another hit, holding his breath for a beat before exhaling.

"My parents would lose their shit if they found out their precious daughter was up here smoking pot with you."

"I bet your parents probably smoke too," Mark mused.

You let out a surprised laugh. The idea of your parents getting high on marijuana out of all things was absolutely hilarious to you.

"Please, they won't even have more than three glasses of wine."

"That's what they want you to think," Mark sing-songed and you giggled.

Mark laid down next to you, giving you a lazy smile.

"What?" You asked, a cloud of smoke escaping your lips.

"You're just really pretty, that's all," he said, his voice sounding confident but the blush on his cheeks evident as he looked away.

"You're really pretty too, Mark," you said, trying not to smile as you took another hit from the blunt.

Mark crinkled his nose at you, snatching the brown object from your fingers. "You're totally high right now."

You looked shocked as you snatched it right back, your lips turned downwards. He was way off base—there was no way your tolerance was that low. And if it was? It was none of his business how much weed you could smoke, anyways.

"What? No way, I'm not high yet."

Mark shook his head, a teasing smile on his face. "If you say so."

You scoffed, shoving his shoulder. "I do say so."

"Oh yeah?" Mark stood up, towering over you with a smug grin, blowing out a white cloud of smoke at your face. "And I say, you're much better at handling your liquor than a measly blunt. I mean, you've only had like three hits? It's barely halfway done yet."

You wanted to smack that grin right off of his face right then and there. Nothing irked you more than a man who challenged you. What you say is law and if you say you're not high (although you may have been a teensy bit) then you weren't.

To other people, it might seem like you were over-reacting but who could blame you? You always got what you wanted, when you wanted, and how you wanted it. No limits. No one to tell you 'no' when you really needed to hear it the most.

"I don't like to be teased, Mark."

"Really? Because I think you look cute when you get all worked up."

You squinted your eyes at him. The poor boy. He didn't realize what he was in for. "Where was that shy, blushing boy I met earlier? I wanna talk to him."

Mark's eyebrows raised at your comment. "I don't know what you're talking about, love, but I'm all ears to listen to whatever you have to say."

You stared at him for a second, sitting completely still and Mark grew uneasy. "Um, was that too much? Sorry, if I got the wrong vibe but I just figured—"

"Kiss me," you said, your voice calm.

Mark's eyes nearly popped out of his head. "W-what?"

You tugged at the sleeve of his shirt, dragging his body down to level your faces. "Kiss me, Mark."

Mark looked at you with wild eyes, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed. You brought your hands up to his face, cupping his cheeks, encouraging him as he slowly inched forward, finally, his lips meeting yours. It was awkward at first, your lips moving at different paces but you didn't mind. In fact, it was kind of...endearing.

His nose brushed yours as he deepened the kiss, your legs wrapping around him on their own as Mark emitted a soft groan. Your hands moved from his face down to the expensive belt on his pants, undoing it with haste.

Mark broke the kiss, startled by your urgent hands. "What are you doing?" he asked, his chest heaving as if he were trying to catch his breath.

"Is this not okay?" you asked, your fingers pausing at the latch of the belt.

"N-no—I mean yes! Yes!" Mark stuttered, his cheeks glowing red again.

The tingling that surged through your body at the sight of the flushing boy before you took you by surprise. Every time Mark blushed it made you want to do things to him. You craved to see those naive big brown eyes of his rolling to the back of his head from pleasure. You wanted to hear him pleading for you. Begging you to make him feel good after he couldn't take your teasing any longer.

Once you successfully removed his belt, you wrapped it around his wrists, careful not to irritate his skin.

"What's this?" Mark asked, looking uncertain.

You brought your lips back to his briefly for a chaste kiss. "Teaching you a lesson. The first thing to know about me is I don't do well with any kind of disagreements."

Mark looked down at his bound wrists before glancing back up at you. "Are you doing this because I was teasing you?" he asked, his tone too playful for your liking. "You know I'm right."

You grabbed a fistful of his shirt, pulling him down with you in the bed, your leg lifting over his body so that you were sitting right over his crotch, roughly braying your hips. Mark cursed under his breath.

You leaned over him, pressing your lips to the shell of his ear, "If you keep up this tough guy act of yours, this won't end well for you,"

Mark shuddered underneath you as your cool breath caressed his ears. You took the forgotten blunt, which was shrinking in size by the second, from the ashtray next to the bed, putting it up to his lips. Mark's eyes didn't waver from yours as he filled his lungs to its capacity, the butt of the blunt glowing a dangerous red. Your lips connected to his as he blew the smoke into your mouth. You released the white clouds from your mouth, making sure to blow it back into his face as he did earlier.

"You're gonna be good for me now, won't you, Mark?"

Mark nodded, his eyes wide.

"Why do you look so nervous," you giggled, your mind starting to feel hazy.

Mark's lips parted, his eyes adverting yours abashedly. "I just...I never did anything like this before."

You pulled his arms over his head so that you could lay on top of him without his hands sitting between your bodies awkwardly. "If you start to feel uncomfortable just say so and I'll stop. Although, I didn't think you'd turn out to be so vanilla."

"Hey! I'm not vanil—"

"That's enough, Mark," you cut him off by stuffing the blunt between his lips. "Good boys don't talk back.

Mark could only blink at you, unable to respond without the blunt falling out and burning a hole in his expensive sheets.

"Perfect," you said, unbuttoning his shirt, revealing the smooth skin underneath. You began your assault on his neck, nipping and sucking without caring if it left any marks behind. Mark groaned, extending his neck to you as your hand slipped under his half-undone shirt, your fingers dancing over the firm muscle. His body responded to your touch, his back lifting off of the mattress slightly, chasing your fleeting hands.

"Patience," you muttered as you sat up on the back of your legs. You unfastened the hatch of his slacks, pulling the loose clothing down to his ankles. Mark looked down at you, trying his best to take a hit from the blunt without dropping it. You chuckled, helping him take a drag from it before putting it out in the ashtray, discarding it for now. Mark whined, protesting your actions and you rolled your eyes covering his mouth with the palm of your hands.

"Didn't I tell you good boys don't talk?" You asked, your other hand reaching down to palm him through his boxers, his cock hardening immediately. Mark's eyes closed as he let out a soft grunt from underneath your hand, lighting a spark in your core.

You licked your lips, humming as you teased his member, squeezing him through the thin material. Mark let out a muffled noise you couldn't make out.

"What is it, baby?" you asked, removing your hand.

"Please..." he begged.

You cocked your head curiously at him. "Please...what? Tell me and I might give it to you,"

Mark's tongue peeked out to wet his bottom lip, his cheeks rosy. "Your mouth--your hands--anything. Please, I don't think I can wait, I need you."

You core reacted, clenching around nothing. "Is that what you really want?" you asked, your lips ghosting across his jaw. Mark said yes, trying his best to keep his composure. "I'm afraid I can't do that. Not yet, baby."

Mark huffed, his chest dejecting with a small pout in his lips as he struggled against his restraints. "Undo this so I can fuck you, goddamnit."

"Bad boy," You clicked your tongue as you hiked up the hem of your dress, bunching it at your hips. Mark ogled at the newly revealed skin, a look of longing imprinted on his face.

You peeled off your panties, balling them up and stuffing them inside his mouth, shivering as the cold air hit your slick core. Mark looked absolutely helpless as he grunted, staring at your exposed heat, his eyes dark as the night sky just outside of the window. Your hands returned back to his boxers, sliding underneath the waistband this time. His dick jumped in your hands as you teased the head, smearing his arousal as a lubricant. You gave him a squeeze for good measure and Mark jolted in response.

You bit your lip, pumping his dick slowly, deciding to torture him a little more. You knew what you were doing was unfair but he was just so fun to play with, you couldn't help yourself. Mark's fist clenched and unclenched as he tried to stop himself from bucking up into your hands, knowing you would take your hands away altogether.

"Does that feel good? Do you want me to go faster?"

Mark nodded his head vigorously and you complied, feeling a little guilty for teasing him too long. You pulled down his boxers, his cock springing free and hitting his stomach. Maybe you were super horny but it may just have been the prettiest sight you've ever seen in your entire life.

Your face hovered over his writhing member, your breath tickling his skin as a silver pool of liquid fell from your mouth into your hand. Mark's breathing picked up as you massaged your hand over his length in a single twisting motion. You watched intently as his expression morphed into one of pleasure, his eyebrows scrunching cutely.

Your tongue swiped over your teeth as an idea popped into your head.

"I wonder...should I untie you?"

Mark nodded again.

"I don't know..." you said, pretending to think about it.

Mark mumbled something unintelligible as he waved his restrained hands at you, whining.

"I don't think you deserve it. I'm afraid you might do something and then I'll have to punish you."

Mark huffed, giving you a pleading look as he wiggled his fingers at you.

"Okay, okay," you laughed, unbuckling the belt.

The first thing Mark did once his hands were free was reach under your dress and grab your ass. You gasped in shock, slapping his hands off of you.

"Did I give you permission to touch me?" you asked but received no response, as his mouth was still full of your underwear.

"I thought you would've taken that out first," you mused, pulling the lace from his mouth.

Mark licked his dry lips as you brought your face close to his.

"So tell me," you whispered. "Isn't this much better than those lame ass vanilla girls?"

His lips parted to respond but he couldn't find his voice to speak so he nodded instead.

"I bet they just laid down and made you do all the work, didn't they?" Your hands trailed down his stomach. "That's no fun, is it? Hmm?"

"No," Mark answered, his breath hitching in the back of his throat when your slick folds rubbed against his length.

You nipped your teeth at his collarbone receiving a hiss from Mark. "Unzip me," you commanded.

You could've sworn you heard him say 'thank you' as he yanked your zipper down your back, eagerly ripping it off of your body so that you were only left in your bra. You told him to unhook your bra next as you sank down on him, filling yourself up to the brim. Mark complied with fumbling fingers and after a few failed attempts he finally got off, his hands flying to your chest as soon as the garment was discarded.

You decided to let the action slide, the feeling of his hands on you better than you ever imagined. You raised up your hips only to slam yourself back down on him, a moan escaping your lips. You repeated the movement again and again until you built up a steady rhythm.

Mark pushed your back down so that you were face to face and encased your lips with his, his tongue sliding into your mouth for a heated kiss. He let out a broken moan, his mouth parting from yours briefly before kissing you again.

"Faster," Mark groaned, his lips swollen from kissing.

"Manners," You hissed, biting down harshly on his jaw.

"P-please?" He begged, his face flushing again. "Please, I'm so close."

You slammed hips down harder, ignoring the stinging in your thighs. Mark's moans mingled with yours as you pushed each other towards your climaxes.

"F-fuck," he husked, his hips meeting yours as he thrust up into you. Your hands clutched his shoulders, the skin turning white under your fingers. You squeezed your eyes shut at the overwhelming amount of pleasure washing over your body, your legs turning to jelly.

You called out his name as you came, Mark gripping your hips as he continued to fuck you through your high, chasing his own in the process. Mark rubbed his thumb on your clit in tight circles causing you to cry out as you threw you head into the crew of his neck, your fingernails raking down his chest. Mark cursed when you clenched around him, his hips snapping up into yours with vigor as he neared his climax. His skin smacked against the bottom of your ass, a loud slapping noise filling the room.

You came again, letting out a strangled moan of ecstasy pulling Mark over the edge with you as spurts of warm cum filled you up. The two of you stayed there for a few moments to catch your breath, basking in your post-orgasm state.

You were the first one to move, rolling off of him after carefully pulling out his softening member.

"I never told you, you could cum inside me," you complained.

Mark turned to you, pulling you into his arms with a chuckle. "I'm sorry, I should've asked."

"Do you always cum inside girls' without permission?"

"I've always used a condom so I never really needed it," he responded, lips resting on the back of your shoulder.

"Well, I'm glad to know there won't be any chances of me catching any STD's from you," you laughed.

Mark traced circles on your hip with the pad of his thumb. "Haha. Very funny. Shouldn't we get back to the party before our parents notice we're gone?"

You sat up, with a grunt. "Yeah, you're probably right." The two of you got cleaned up and dressed as quickly as possible which took longer than it normally would considering you both were as high as a kite and your legs kept giving out every five seconds.

"Can I get a kiss, before we go back?" Mark asked, grabbing onto your elbow.

You smirked, bringing his face to yours. "What's the magic word?"

Mark never failed to blush at your requests but nonetheless played along. "Please?"

You barely gave him time to finish before your lips crashed onto his, your fingers gripping at the strands of hair at the nape of his neck. His hands rested on your lower back, pushing you further into him.

When you pulled away, his lips chased after yours and you found yourself smiling at how adorable he was.

"Should I get more weed for next time?" he asked, his forehead pressed against yours.

"Next time?" You repeated.

"Oh, don't tell me there won't be a next time," he pouted, his hands sliding down to grip your ass.

"I'll think about it," was the last thing you said before pulling away to go downstairs, only for Mark to follow behind you on the back of your heels like a lost puppy.

#mark lee #nct mark #nct 127 smut #mark lee smut #nct smut #nct 127 reactions #nct 127 2019 #nct imagines #nct 127 imagines #nct #mark nct #kpop #kpop scenarios #kpop smut #kpop reactions #nct recs

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smallblueandloud · 5 years

Text

on that bumpy road to love

summary: “And- you are?”

“I’m Eleanor,” she says, and holds her hand out. “I’m the Architect here.” The capital letter is obvious. “Welcome to the Good Place, Chidi.”

(or, five times someone in chidi's afterlife was a really big weirdo and he didn't know what to do about it)

relationships: chidi/eleanor, chidi & everyone in team cockroach (although he doesn’t know what that is, lol)

notes: the song to listen to is 'they can't take that away from me' (the sarah vaughan version), which i like to think was comforting to eleanor during the course of this fic. behind the scenes, obviously.

oh, man, this one took me a long time. i've had the idea for this fic since the season ended, and google drive says i created the doc in FEBRUARY, so uh, take from that what you will lol. i just really love the idea of outsider pov, and outsider pov + amnesia = the best tropes in existence.

check out the notes for the ao3 link! (which will include the italics as i wrote them instead of how i had to redo them for this post. i promise you, i’ll have missed some.) and feel free to like/reblog/leave the vaguest impression of happiness, like the faint notes of a flower’s fragrance on a summer’s breeze, on this post - i’m not picky. thanks for reading <3

1. Janet

Chidi opens his eyes.

He’s sitting on a couch, in a small, beige room. There are three notable things about where he is: a lot of potted plants, a door to his right, and big, friendly, green letters on the wall in front of him that read Everything is fine.

Yeah, right, he thinks, bracing himself for the usual anxiety spiral. The last thing he remembers, he was going to his friend’s wedding, and the fact that he’s here and not there means-

Nothing. It means nothing. It doesn’t matter that he’s at his friend’s wedding, because he’s here, and everything is fine.

Scratch that. There’s a fourth notable thing: the anxiety that has plagued Chidi his entire life is gone. There’s nothing - no butterflies in his stomach, no sweaty palms, not even an anxious rant directed at the plants. He doesn’t even have anxiety about his lack of anxiety.

He doesn’t know where he is. And he’s not panicking. He has to take advantage of this, immediately.

He’s sitting there, trying to memorize how it feels to just be without freaking out, when the door to his right opens. A blonde woman pokes her head out and looks straight at him.

(He doesn’t even feel the need to apologize for his presence. What’s wrong with him?)

“Chidi?” she asks, smiling. Chidi nods. She jerks her thumb behind her. “Come on in.”

As he follows her, he notices several things: a portrait of a white man who looks like a stoner on the wall, a bowl of paper clips in the corner, and the sheer normalcy of the blonde woman now sitting at the other side of the desk, which seems very out of place in this strange, anxiety-less set of rooms. What is going on?

He sits down in the only other chair (thank god for small mercies - no choices needed). Then he adjusts his position. Then he does it again.

“You okay there, buddy?” asks the woman, looking like she’s trying not to smile. Chidi laughs, sort of nervously, and realizes that the anxiety is back. Oh, great.

“When I opened my eyes, I felt really- uh- calm,” he says, hearing his voice get higher without knowing how to stop it. “And there was only one chair, so I didn’t think about- I didn’t have to- well, now the anxiety’s back? I don’t know how to-”

He can feel himself spiraling, so he takes a deep breath, drying his hands on his pants, and starts at the beginning.

“Uh. Where am I?”

The woman smiles, settling her hands onto the table in front of her, very carefully. “You, Chidi, have died.”

“Oh,” says Chidi, feeling unsurprised. That’s weird. Everything here is weird. Why is everything here weird?

“You’re now in the afterlife,” she says, and then frowns. “In the Good Place, that is.” She smiles again, and shoots him a thumbs up. “You made it! Good job!”

Chidi doesn’t know what to say to that, so his brain turns to the nearest thing to comment on in order to avoid processing. “They speak French in the afterlife?”

She laughs quickly, and for the first time he notices that she seems sort of nervous. “No, no, this place automatically translates whatever someone says into a language you’re comfortable in. I’m speaking English now.”

“Oh,” he says, nodding. And then: “And- you are?”

“I’m Eleanor,” she says, and holds her hand out. “I’m the Architect here.” The capital letter is obvious. “Welcome to the Good Place, Chidi.”

“...Thank you,” he says, shaking her hand, sort of awkwardly, because it’s just a little too close for him to stretch out his arm but far enough that he can’t really keep his elbow close, either. “I have- uh- a lot of questions? First, uh-”

Eleanor holds up a finger. “I’m gonna have to stop you there, buddy. I have a few more residents to get ready for, so I’m going to introduce you to Janet, and you can ask her all of those questions. She can also give you a tour of the neighborhood.”

Chidi nods, slowly. The Architect seems very competent, and he always does well around people who are good at their jobs. “Okay.” He stretches out the first syllable of the word and pats his thighs, the way he does when he’s starting to calm down, and that helps even more.

Eleanor smiles at him, seeming to understand that. “Great. Janet?”

A woman pops into existence right next to her. “Yes, Eleanor?”

“She- she just appeared,” says Chidi, tearing his eyes away from the woman in the purple dress. He’s not feeling relaxed anymore. In fact, he’s feeling dangerously close to having a full-out panic attack, and he doesn’t like that. “She just- appeared, out of nowhere? In plain sight? Is that even-”

“Remember, you’re in the afterlife, buddy?” asks Eleanor. For the first time, her calm demeanor is starting to really crack - her voice sounds panicked, and she reaches out a hand as if to touch his arm before pulling it back, quickly. “Chidi? Can you hear me?”

Chidi takes a deep breath, and then another one, and then chances a look at the strange, physics-defying woman. She smiles at him, calmly, and that helps. “Y- Yeah, I can hear you.”

“Good,” says Eleanor. “This is Janet. She’s not a resident, and she was never alive - she’s just here to answer any and all questions you have, about- Janet, what is your formal job description?”

“I am the source of all information and knowledge for humans within the Good Place,” says Janet, in a calm voice. Chidi’s shoulders relax. “I can also provide you with any object as requested.”

“Wow, your voice is really soothing,” says Chidi. Janet nods. “I am designed to be as helpful as possible to both the residents of this neighborhood and the Architect. To do that, I have a soothing voice and no real emotions, so I won’t judge you for whatever questions or requests you may have.”

“That’s- thank you,” says Chidi, and then he realizes he’s still leaning away from her, as if in self defense. He consciously moves back to the middle of his chair and smiles at her, apologetically. “Sorry, I’m still not- uh- over the whole appearing-disappearing thing. You just- show up? Out of nowhere?”

“Yep!” says Janet, smiling, but it’s smaller now. “Just say my name, and I’ll be there.” She glances at Eleanor, looking almost nervous - she must have simulated emotions, he realizes - and the Architect smiles at her, reassuring.

“Oh. Well. Thank you,” says Chidi.

“It’s my job,” says Janet, and takes a deep breath like she’s bracing herself for something. Which is weird, because he’d assume she doesn’t have to breathe. “Now, just for safety reasons, I have to do a little checkup on you.”

Before Chidi has time to consider what that might mean, she’s right next to him, and she’s asking questions faster than he can keep up.

“How are you feeling? Have you ever met anyone from Jacksonville? What’s the last thing you remember? Do you feel in any danger of spontaneously bursting into flames? Do you have a strong urge to drink almond milk? Does the name Shawn mean anything to you? What is the Time Knife? What-”

“Janet!” interrupts Eleanor. She mimes a cut it out gesture, looking worried. He doesn’t know why she’s bothering. He’s confused, but he’s not going to panic again over just some weird questions. “Tone it down, dude.”

“Sorry,” says Janet, and backs away, her face starting to crumple into tears. “I’m just so nervous about this experiment-”

“Janet!” says Eleanor, her voice getting more urgent. “Stop talking.” She turns back to Chidi, noticeably forcing a smile onto her face. “Why don’t you go explore the neighborhood, bud?”

He hesitates. It feels like something’s going wrong. Janet seems to be too emotionally volatile for someone with fake emotions. “Is everything okay?” asks Chidi, frowning. “Didn’t she say she doesn’t have emotions?”

“She doesn’t!” says Eleanor, louder than necessary. “I don’t know where you’re pulling this stuff out of, dude! Just- go explore the neighborhood - here’s a map, okay, bye!”

Chidi finds himself unceremoniously dumped back into the room that he woke up in. He spends a few seconds standing there, baffled, before noticing another door, opposite the one into Eleanor’s office.

Time to go exploring, I guess, he thinks, and tries not to think about his diagnosis of directional insanity. He glances back at the door, where he’s pretty sure he can hear raised voices belonging to both Eleanor and Janet. They sound upset, although he can’t imagine what about.

He can’t stop thinking about how weird Janet was just acting. If she’s only supposed to be pretending to have emotions, why was she pretending to have such weird ones?

And why is she yelling at Eleanor now? he thinks, and then shrugs. He’s in actual, literal heaven now. Maybe it’s time he started to accept that some things are out of his control.

Time to explore, he tells himself, and pushes open the door.

2. Tahani

Chidi has a tiny apartment in the middle of the neighborhood, and it’s kind of perfect. Which is weird, because determining a dream home involves a lot of choices that he knows he would never be able to make in a normal situation and-

He’s just grateful it seems to have showed up out of nowhere, with no conscious input from him. Eleanor really knows what she’s doing, and it’s comforting to have something nice for once without having to go through the anxiety beforehand.

Speaking of which: the usual anxiety seems to have calmed down. Significantly. It’s not absolutely gone, not the way it was when he woke up, but he’s able to make small choices with almost no freaking out. His theory is that since Janet created the whole neighborhood and everything in it, he doesn’t have to worry about repercussions like supporting the exploitation of workers in China or giving money to homophobic business owners.

He’s not sure, though - so he’d asked Janet what she thought the cause was, since she knows everything there is to know in the universe. But she apparently doesn’t know everything, because she’d stammered for a few seconds before saying that residents tend to keep their emotional state from their last few seconds and that he probably died perfectly at peace.

Which can’t be true. Chidi wasn’t at peace for a day in his life. Plus, he doesn’t even remember his death because traumatic memories hinder adjustment to the neighborhood. Eleanor had refused to go into any sort of detail, which only made him more sure that Janet’s theory was wrong.

He didn’t have to tell that to her, though. She’d winced as soon as she said it and changed the subject to meeting the other residents.

“I have a few that I think you’ll hit it off with,” she’d said, her voice sounding conspiratorial, before getting his permission to invite two people to his apartment: Jianyu, a Buddist monk who’s sticking with his vow of silence, and Tahani, a former British socialite who’s planning a welcome party in a few days.

“I’d host it tonight, but we still have two residents who haven’t arrived yet,” says Tahani, her gracious smile never wavering. She had ducked under his doorway with the same ever-present grace, but Chidi had gotten the distinct feeling that she was holding back several comments about how small his apartment was. “Isn’t that right, Eleanor?”

For some reason, Eleanor had tagged along. Chidi’s chalking it up to making sure no one starts off on the wrong foot.

“Huh- oh, yeah,” says Eleanor, studying the pictures on Chidi’s walls. “Where were these taken?”

“In my home city, in Senegal,” says Chidi. It’s weird that she doesn’t know about his decorations, given that she designed the whole neighborhood, including this ideal apartment. “That’s me and my parents. Why?”

“Oh- just curious,” she says, glancing at him, and goes straight back to staring at the wall. Tahani swats Eleanor’s arm, quickly, as if in reproach, and then looks back at him, her smile intact. Jianyu keeps grinning at her side. The monk had spent the first five minutes poking Tahani until she’d whispered something very fast and angry-sounding about pizza and he’d calmed down. “Please disregard her rudeness. I’d love for you to come to the party. It will just be a small get together, but formal dress, please-”

“Yes,” says Chidi, feeling slightly awkward. “Of course.”

“I’m so glad to see you arrived safely,” she says. How does she talk through a smile that big? “We were really quite concerned - strange circumstances surrounding your death, you know.”

“I... don’t, actually,” he says, slowly. “No one will tell me how I died.” He stops. “Do you... know... how I died, Tahani?”

She looks at him for a second, somehow looking like a very wealthy deer caught in headlights, before she laughs awkwardly and waves her hand dismissively. “No, of course not! How silly of you to think so. No, I only assumed- since, after all, Eleanor was so- well, anyways, it doesn’t matter much. You will come to the party?”

“Yeah,” says Chidi. He hesitates, but he has a bad feeling about the way that she just dodged his question, and anyway, it’s heaven, the anxiety is still at a low boil, and if Chidi can’t be a little rude here, where can he?

He takes the leap before he overthinks it. “Any other reason why you’re all in my apartment?”

“No!” says Tahani, brightly. She doesn’t seem terribly offended, just artificial. “We’re leaving now. Come along, Jianyu,” she says, grabbing him by the elbow. As Chidi watches, Jianyu gives him a wide smile and then bows slowly, before Tahani drags him out.

Eleanor doesn’t move.

“Uh- Eleanor?” he says. She doesn’t react. “Eleanor?” He reaches forward to tap her on the shoulder, and she jumps about a foot into the air. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she says, without turning around. Her voice sounds watery.

“Um. Eleanor. Do you... need anything?”

“What?”

“Tahani said there are still two residents who haven’t arrived yet,” he says. “Shouldn’t you be- I don’t know, preparing or something?”

“Right,” she says, turning around quickly. Her eyes are dry, which is slightly surprising for reasons he doesn’t understand. “Fork! You’re right. Oh, I gotta go,” she says, hurrying to the door. Right before she gets to it, though, she flips around to look at him. “Thanks for hosting us. I know Tahani can be a handful sometimes.”

“No- problem?” he says, curious despite himself, because it sounds like their Architect has known those two for much longer than a couple of hours. “How long have they been here?”

“Not long,” she says, and spins around just as quickly as she’d dodged his question. “Bye!”

Then she pulls the door open and disappears through before he can register what’s happening. It strikes him as odd, sure, but next to what just happened with Tahani - maybe not so strange.

I can’t believe I’m stuck with these weird people for the rest of time, Chidi thinks, and then, since there’s not much he can do about it, goes to see a man about some frozen yogurt.

3. Michael

“Ah, Chidi,” says Tahani, gliding over to him in a blue dress that could be described as a wedding cake, if a wedding cake could have an excellent sense of fashion and a British accent. “I’m so glad you could make it!”

“This place is huge,” he says in response. He’s kind of incapable of saying anything else. “I’m sorry, I’m just- your house is enormous.” It’s not that he’s jealous, it’s just that - he’s taught in lecture halls smaller than this foyer.

“Isn’t it just?” says Tahani, beaming. “Well, make yourself at home!” she says, patting his chest. And then she moves away, presumably to welcome someone else.

Easier said than done, he thinks, looking around. Tahani invited every resident to her welcome party, and it seems like all 322 of them have shown up. The decorations are exactly tasteful, all of the attire is appropriate, and the music is perfect. It reminds Chidi of one of the fundraising galas his university used to host, only actually appealing; he’d always hated them back then, but tonight, he wants to get to know the people he’s going to be spending eternity with. So he puts his best foot forward and walks in.

Except, pretty quickly, he gets stuck in a conversation with a woman named Helena, who seems perfectly nice but has been saying absolutely nothing for five minutes. Coincidentally, Chidi has been silently discarding his ideas of being social for four and a half minutes.

Out of the corner of his eye, he spots Eleanor and quickly makes his excuses, sending a silent thank you to- well, probably Janet, if anyone.

She jumps when he says hello from her left, and he sees that there’s an older white man on her right arm as she puts a hand on her chest and smiles at him.

“Sorry,” he says, smiling slightly. Don’t make me leave. “Didn’t realize you had a date.”

“Oh, no, it’s not like that,” says Eleanor, glancing at the man next to her, who looks like he’s just been handed a pin and a grenade, separately. “No, this is Michael. He’s- he’s my partner Architect. I’m the newbie and he’s the experienced one,” she says, laughing slightly. She nudges him. “Say hello to Chidi.” Her voice is gentle.

“Hello, Chidi,” says Michael, getting over himself enough to wave both of his (very large) hands awkwardly. “It’s very nice to meet you.” His smile seems strained.

He’s very tall, has glasses, and is wearing a grey suit with a black bow tie. The clear symptoms of anxiety he’s showing make him look very harmless. Chidi likes him instantly.

“I like your bowtie,” he says, trying to make conversation. Please don’t make me go back to Helena, he thinks, and immediately feels guilty.

“Thank you, Chidi. Although it is rather plain,” says Michael, and something in his voice eases the guilt. “But then again, we are mourning. Your deaths, that is!” His laugh is loud, but when neither Chidi nor Eleanor join him, it peters out quickly, before something else hits him and he raises his left hand like he’s a fictional lawyer about to present episode-changing evidence. “And it matches Eleanor’s dress, which itself perfectly illustrates the human concept of irony.”

Chidi glances at Eleanor’s completely black dress, which is sleeveless and has some sort of tie in front. He doesn’t recognize it at all. He also doesn’t get the joke, although Eleanor evidently does, because she hits Michael’s arm with the back of her hand, softly. “That’s not funny.”

“I guess not,” he says, his gaze settling on Chidi. They stand in silence for a minute, awkwardly, until Chidi manages to think of something to ask him. “How did you and Eleanor-”

Michael looks away from him, his gaze falling on something over Chidi’s shoulder. “Oh look, Janet needs our help!”

With that, he clamps his hand over Eleanor’s shoulder and rushes her away. Chidi turns, but can’t see any hint of their resident Google.

Consciously, he shrugs it off and looks away. His feelings aren’t especially hurt - if Michael needs to take a breather, Chidi understands more than most.

Anyway, even though he doesn’t know who the last two residents are, he feels like he should welcome them, and hopefully save them from any extended encounters with the very odd people who live here.

Maybe they’ll even be slightly interesting, he thinks, and that’s what finally gets him to square his shoulders and start to search.

4. Jianyu

A few hours later, Chidi’s taking a break from wandering around the party. Everyone here is really nice, but rather boring, or as in the case of the two new residents, sort of annoying, and he has a bad feeling that the majority of intellectuals didn’t actually manage to make the cut into the Good Place.

He leans against the wall, thinking about asking Janet about where Kant ended up, and hears voices - Eleanor and Tahani’s, to be specific. They’re standing outside, he supposes, and this wall just happens to be thin enough that he can hear what they’re talking about.

“Eleanor!” says Tahani. She sounds exasperated. Chidi’s never heard her show so much genuine emotion, and it’s surprising enough that he leans closer. Against his better judgement.

“What, Tahani? What do you have to say to me?” hisses Eleanor. “How can you possibly understand-”

“You can’t keep doing this to yourself!” Tahani interrupts, sounding imperfect and unsmiling and worried. “You can’t, darling. You can’t keep watching that godforsaken video from Michael every day-”

“I do what I want-”

“You’re torturing yourself-”

“Well then, I fit in just right, don’t I?” says Eleanor, her voice low, and even Chidi knows that sentence was meant to wound. “Look, you need to get the fork out of my life and let me take care of myself, ashhole. Capiche?”

There’s a moment or two of silence that certainly sounds very stunned.

“I’m your friend, Eleanor,” Tahani says eventually, her voice quiet. “I’m your friend, and even if I may not understand, I’m here for you. That’s how this works, right? How we become better?”

Eleanor doesn’t say anything.

“It’s what we owe to each other, even if we’re all hurting,” says Tahani. The words sound vaguely familiar and he’s not sure why. “You know that.”

Chidi hears nothing, and then sniffling, and then something that sounds like Eleanor swatting Tahani’s shoulder. “You’re such a bench.”

“You know I’m right,” Tahani says. Her British accent makes it sound arrogant, even though he figures she meant it teasingly.

How long has she been here, anyways? Because it sounds like they’re really close.

“Yeah,” says Eleanor, and her voice gets quieter. “I guess I do.”

There’s a long period of silence. Chidi’s leaning closer, trying to determine if they’re just whispering, when someone taps him on the shoulder.

“I’m not eave-” starts Chidi, whipping around, but it’s just Jianyu the monk, smiling at him very wide. He’d thought he’d heard something about a vow of silence, but apparently that wasn’t true, because Jianyu waves and says, “Hey, dude!”

“Hi,” says Chidi, hesitantly. Something about this guy strikes him as weird. “Look, this isn’t-”

“How do you like the pizza?” asks Jianyu. “I asked for Tahani to get it so you could have some.”

“It’s... good,” says Chidi, feeling very lost. “Uh- why?”

“I wasn’t sure you’d remember pizza,” says Jianyu, as if it’s obvious. “Because you don’t remember anything else. Like how you think my name’s Jianyu-”

“Jianyu! Hey, buddy,” says Eleanor, from behind him. Chidi jumps - he hadn’t even heard her coming. “Remember what we’ve talked about? About Chidi and the other residents? We don’t-”

“We don’t talk about the Judge, or Mindy, or Derek,” says Jianyu, making a face. Then he brightens. “Or about me and my girl J-”

“That’s good enough,” interrupts Eleanor. “Thank you, Jianyu, you can go mingle now.”

Jianyu doesn’t move. “This reminds me of that time when we were planning this surprise party for my friend Pillb-”

“Pilibuster,” interrupts Eleanor, reaching out and grabbing Jianyu’s upper arm, glancing back at Chidi. “It’s Irish. He was the foreign asphyxiate at Jianyu’s monastery.” She turns her eyes up towards the ceiling. “Janet, please help me out here.”

“Did you mean novitiate?” asks Chidi, but Eleanor ignores him in favor of Janet, who’s just appeared.

“What do you need, Eleanor?” she asks. Eleanor sighs, her shoulders barely relaxing. “Can you take Jianyu home, please? I think he’s had enough excitement for tonight.”

There’s a pause. Chidi almost says something, like Are you okay, Janet?, but she starts to speak.

“Sure thing,” says Janet, nodding more than seems necessary. “No problem. I can take Jianyu to his house. The house that I know the location of. Which I only know the location of because I am omnipotent, and know everything. No other reason.”

“Janet.”

“We’re leaving now,” says Janet, turning around quickly. “Goodnight, Chidi.”

Jianyu waves over his shoulder as he’s marched away, with much more enthusiasm than Chidi thinks the action really deserves. He watches them go, feeling totally baffled. “What just happened?”

Eleanor sighs. “Trust me, bud, you don’t want to know.”

5. Eleanor

“This is your house?” asks Chidi, walking inside. It’s his third month in the neighborhood, and this is the first time he’s ever visited Eleanor’s house. “This is your house?”

Eleanor makes her way to the kitchen, starting to put dishes away. “Yeah, I know.”

“You- but- you hate clowns!”

“Yeah,” says Eleanor, absent-mindedly. “It’s sort of an- an inside joke.”

“You live in an inside joke?”

“It’s- it’s really not a big deal, bud- Chidi.”

Chidi looks up from his examination of the corner of clown portraits, because Eleanor doesn’t stutter often. Sure enough, she’s stopped what she’s doing, the way that she always does when she stutters or hesitates or looks at him like he’s not who she’s expecting to be there.

“It’s- it’s a nice house,” he says, lamely, because he never knows what to do in these situations. He’s not even sure why he’s here - she’d asked him over yesterday, with zero explanation. He’s hoping it’s not because he’s teaching ethics to someone who definitely doesn’t belong in her perfect heavenly neighborhood.

“Thanks,” she says eventually, emerging from wherever she was. “If you don’t know what to say, I get the feeling. Michael designed it, and I don’t know what the fork he was thinking-”

“I’ve been meaning to ask you,” he interrupts. “Why do you keep saying fork?”

“Oh,” she says, looking down and blushing. Her smile is very pretty, although Chidi tend to try not to notice it, most of the time. “In the Good Place, not everyone appreciates cursing, so there’s sort of an automatic filter. I can’t say anything worse than hell. Fork. Bench. Ash. Shirt. And so on.”

“Makes sense,” he says, before realizing something that doesn’t. “You curse a lot for someone from a place that doesn’t approve of cursing.” If she’s an angel or whatever, shouldn’t she be as pure as the rest of them?

“What?” she asks, confused, looking up again. “Plenty of people- Oh, right. Yeah. I’m-” she stops, hesitating. “I’m not supposed to tell you this, but I’m not actually from here. I was human.”

“What?” he asks, frowning. He wasn’t expecting that. “How does- how does that work?”

“Well, I died, and through a really forking long series of events I became an architect,” she says, not really explaining anything. She does that a lot. “Michael sort of took me in. He’s not the main architect because- well- technically, they have to interact with the residents, and he’s not really- uh- good with people. So I got the short straw. And I’m trying my best! But I wasn’t really meant for this job.”

“Ah,” says Chidi. The anxiety in his chest is starting to get worse, and he has a bad feeling that a stomach ache’s on the way. He’s not up for this kind of constant lying. Eleanor’s done such a great job on this neighborhood (besides the obvious mistake), and he knows that things are harder than she likes to show. He doesn’t like lying to her about her life’s (actually, apparently, her death’s) work.

“You good, buddy?” asks Eleanor, probably noticing his expression. She’s finished with her dishes and is wiping her hands on a dishtowel. “What’s wrong?” She rounds the island and puts her hands on his shoulders, trying to help him sit.

“It’s just a stomach ache,” he says, silently apologizing to Kant as she gets him settled. Lying is immoral, he thinks, and then, Getting them caught would be worse. “I get those sometimes. It’s not a big deal.”

Eleanor stops and pulls back to look him in the eye. “You sure? You can’t lie to me, buster.”

“Yes!” says Chidi, louder than he was expecting, and then tries to backtrack. “I mean. Yeah. I’m fine. There’s nothing causing it, I don’t know why it’s suddenly coming on.” He looks up to smile at Eleanor and finds her looking up as her eyes unfocus, her brain a million miles away again.

“Uh- Eleanor?” he says, waving his hand slightly in front of her face. “You in there? It’s me, Chidi.”

She doesn’t react for a couple seconds, before suddenly starting to move again. “Yeah, I know,” she says suddenly, blinking rapidly as she backs away. “I know it’s you.”

He doesn’t say anything, because she’s looking at him like she doesn’t quite recognize him and he doesn’t want to make it worse. This odd behavior is getting more and more common, as time goes by, and he has no clue how he’s supposed to react. After a short while of silence, though, she seems to back down, sighing as her shoulders relax. “I’m sorry,” she says.

“It’s okay,” Chidi says, and is surprised to find that he means it. “Uh- so- what am I doing here, exactly?”

Eleanor stops, looking at him.

“I mean-” he says. “It’s not that I don’t want to spend time with you.” He curses himself, inwardly - she’s The Architect and you’re a dead moral philosophy professor and you’re lying to her about who’s not supposed to be here and-

“I know what you mean,” says Eleanor, giving him a small smile. “It’s not a big issue, really. I just wanted to apologize for all of the weird stuff that’s been happening.”

“You mean-?”

“The sinkhole, the giraffe stampede, that time that trash started falling out of the sky...” she says, counting them on her fingers. “I could go on. But I know you don’t deal well with uncertainty, and I know it’s been kind of- weird, here. So I’m sorry about that.”

“It’s okay,” says Chidi. “I know you’re doing your best, and this is your first neighborhood.”

“Yeah,” says Eleanor, looking at him like they’re friends. “No kidding. And- I know-”

And now she looks nervous.

“I know some people here have been acting weird around you, too.”

“That- that is a thing that’s been happening, yes,” says Chidi. “But that’s not your fault-”

“I know,” she interrupts, studying his face. “But I’m still sorry. I’ve been talking with them about it, and trust me, it’s not about you. Tahani’s been having some trouble with John- I don’t know if you’ve noticed-”

“I hadn’t, actually, but that’s reassuring,” says Chidi, smiling at her. She smiles back. “Anyway, I’ve spoken with everyone - including Janet - and things should be a little more normal, now. At least, as normal as things can be, in the afterlife.”

“Yeah,” he says. “Thank you.”

“No problem,” she says. “And- Chidi?”

“Yeah?”

She looks away from him. “I really am sorry.”

He’s lost. He hates feeling lost, but it seems to keep happening here. “About what?”

Eleanor sighs. “About everything.”

He stares at her, and she looks away, throwing her hands up. “Don’t look at me like that, dude! I’m doing my best here.”

“I don’t know what any of this means, Eleanor.”

“I know,” she says. “It’s okay. Things’ll make sense soon. Just a few more months.”

“...Eleanor, what does that mean?” She doesn’t say anything. “Eleanor, I don’t know what that means.”

She takes a deep breath. “I know.”

“Eleanor,” he says, hesitating - except that the answer to this question seems like it’ll solve every mysterious thing that’s happened to him, in the months that he’s been here. “Why is everyone being so weird?”

“It doesn’t matter,” she says, quietly, and then she smiles gently, like someone who’s about to beat you in a poker game and is waiting for you to spot the final clue. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

He glances at the clock and jumps. It’s five minutes until the ethics lesson Chidi holds in his apartment, and it takes him six to walk there.

“Yes! Sorry, Eleanor, I have to go-”

And he stops.

Does she know about the ethics lessons?

What else could she be talking about?

Chidi studies her face, quickly. She’s looking at him calmly, but there’s no way she can know about the lessons. Even if she is the Architect, and she knows everything that happens in the neighborhood.

Or, well. Hopefully not.

(And it’s not like he can do anything, if she does know. Best to try not to worry about it.)

“I have a- frozen yogurt date,” he says, slowly. “That’s where I have to go now.”

“Right,” says Eleanor, nodding and shaking her head at the same time. “Yes. Absolutely.”

“So I’ll be- going now,” he says. “To the frozen yogurt place.”

“Yep,” says Eleanor, and then she shoots him a thumbs up, smiling like they’re keeping a secret. “Go get ‘em, tiger.”

“Thanks,” he says, walking out and closing the door behind him. He stops, taking a deep breath. If she knows, she knows, and at least the conversation they just had makes some measure of sense. And if she doesn’t?

It’s just more proof that everyone here is completely insane.

#cheleanor #tgpfic #the good place #chidi anagonye #eleanor shellstrop #i've tried but i have NO clue how this fandom tags anything so... hopefully this works lol #i am SO ready to have this fic OUT of my life and my wips folder #sb and l writes #fic: on that bumpy road to love #chidi x eleanor #fic rec #and now i have to... reblog this with the ao3 link #ughhhhhh #why is tumblr so broken #anyways @ everyone who got this far: i love you and thank you for reading!!

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pomegranateanarchist · 5 years

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things about the lightning thief musical

#the lightning thief #the lightning thief musical #percy jackson #annabeth chase #grover underwood #luke castellan #clarisse la rue #chris mccarrell #kristin stokes #james hayden rodriguez #jorrel javier #ryan knowles #sarah beth pfeifer #jalynn steele #original

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philip-walsh · 4 years

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[ & ; * - sean teale / pansexual / he/him ] isn’t it weird how close { philip walsh } resembles { sean teale }? damn, i heard they are a { twenty-four } year old { undergraduate } and a member of { zeta lambda epsilon } studying { business management and international business/trade }. outside of class { phil } participates in { rugby, business club, & debate team. } and their party anthem is { power is power } by { sza and the weeknd }.

helloo! i’m lisa and i’m super pumped to be here. this is my bby philip and here is his incredibly and obnoxiously long introduction. i’m open to pretty much all connections and love ALL plots, especially the really angsty stuff. hit me up if you want to plot. i apologize for this word vomit.

{ Triggers: bad parenting tw, abuse tw, physical abuse tw, }

FULL NAME: Philip Marsilius Walsh NICKNAMES: Phil, Philly, Boy ( by his father) AGE: Twenty-four BIRTHPLACE: Greenwich, Connecticut OCCUPATION: student / hotel heir EDUCATION: Fairfield Prep — Yale University MAJOR: Business Management and International Business/Trade AFFILIATIONS: zeta lambda epsilon, rugby, business club, & debate team ZODIAC: Aries LANGUAGES: English, French, & Spanish (and some Italian, mostly inappropriate phrases)

♘ Philip Walsh came from a long line of captains of industry. His great grandfather got his start in New York City as a newspaper mogul and it was something his family kept to until the early 1950′s. It was then that his grandfather began to make the shift to the hotel business. He built his great empire from the ground up and his 5-star luxury hotels began popping up across the globe over the decades.

♘ His first, and favorite, home was on the water in Greenwich, Connecticut. Most of his childhood was spent there and he wouldn’t have changed those early years for the world. His mother owned a small but very popular equestrian school and taught her only son to ride and respect horses at a young age. Something that’s always stayed with him.

♘ By the time he was ten, his family had purchased a large estate in Oyster Bay Cove, New York, and it began the constant shuffle of going from one family home to the other. It was also around that time Philip’s parents began traveling for work and leaving him behind in the care of their trusted house staff. The child learned just how tight his parents held his leash the first time left him on his own.

♘ Philip had lost count of all the times he’d wished for a more normal childhood. Or even to be shipped off to boarding school, to gain even a scrap of the freedom he so desperately sought. His parents were rough on him and expected nothing but the absolute best from him from an early age and it never got any easier. His father was a firm believer in discipline and taught him as a young boy to fear his firm hand. And his constant drinking never quelled the old man’s rage.

♘ Despite all the hardships he faced at the hands of his parents, he grew into a well-rounded, obedient young man. A son his socialite parents could be proud of. Brought up in the lap of luxury and never having to truly want for anything, Philip was constantly restless and looking for something new to do. His interests were primarily held by music and horses which eventually turned to polo. His father, however, was vehemently against his son playing music—let alone in a public setting, but his mother was constantly encouraging the music career that could be just out of reach.

♘ For several years, Philip received mixed messages from his parents about his love and pursuit of music and unbeknownst to him, it destroyed their marriage. By the start of his junior year, his parent's divorce was final and his mother moved to Europe leaving her son in the unforgiving care of his father.

♘ When Philip turned 18, he started at Yale as per his father’s orders, determined that the family legacy would live on. The majors he chose could hardly be considered as such, as both were at his father’s request, one he didn’t feel he could refuse. Despite his mother’s unquestioning abandonment, both of his parents still expected nothing but perfect grades and not a single toe put over the line. Something Philip struggled with his first year as the university was his first real taste of freedom.

♘ Though as usual, Philip’s plan wasn’t good enough for his father and he had something else in mind for him completely. , but never had he imagined would it be so soon. There were important investors all over the world and his father wanted him to wine and dine them all. To begin to make his own connections and even bring in a few new investors while he was at it.

♘ The young man knew that one day his father would expect him to be the face of the empire and with that, his father had put the weight of their world on his shoulders and no matter how much he hated it, Philip obeyed. He’d been groomed all his life to take over the family business and without his mother to stand up for him any longer, fighting his fate was futile.

♘ For the most part, Philip’s come to terms with what awaits him after graduation, but he can’t fully ignore the nagging voice in the back of his mind. Reminding him that he’ll never be happy as his father’s puppet, knowing his father would never relinquish full control. As a way to get back at his father, Philip’s decided to take his sweet old time finishing out his degrees, even taking extra courses just for the ‘fun’ of it.

OTHER PERSONAL INFO:

♔ Despite how hard his mother is on him at times, he loves her dearly and they are quite close. She was the one who introduced him to the things he loves most, horses and music. Both are things he distanced himself from since she left him in the sole care of his father.

♔ Philip has never truly known anything but hatred and resentment towards his father. Perhaps as a small child, he'd felt something else for him, but it’s not something he remembers. He learned at a young age how to bury those feelings deep.

♔ The man is very smart, his parents made sure of it when they raised him and spend hundreds of thousands on his education.

♔ He loves to party and there’s a good chance he’s bringing the booze or the weed. He’s learned to be a very functional stoner.

♔ There’s a 96% chance he’s got a flask or bottle of alcohol in his backpack at all times. And if he doesn’t, it’s probably because it was just polished off. He’s always been pretty good about holding his liquor as he’s been drinking since high school.

♔ He’s an only child, but he has lots of cousins so he’s never really felt like it.

♔ He can get really reactive or heated very fast when rubbed the wrong way or if he’s been offended. The temper and rage is the one thing he inherited from his father that he hates about himself.

♔ Philip would never admit this to just anyone, but he is snobby AF. A total spoiled brat who expects all the finer things in life.

♔ He started playing rugby while at Fairfield Prep and loved the physical contact and how it gave him an outlet to express his anger. Which he has a really unhealthy amount of.

♔ He likes to take power trips every now and then, letting arrogance get the better of him. It usually happens when he’s been drinking. Sarcasm is his favorite defense mechanism.

♔ He’s also really dominant in the sense he’s not going to back down from anything (unless it’s his father). He was taught at a young age that being the top dog was always important and he could never let someone take that away from. He will always accept a challenge thrown down.

WANTED CONNECTIONS:

best friends [ 0/3 ]

good friends [ 0/∞ ]

cousins [ 0/2 ]

coworkers [ 1/10 ]

classmates [ 0/∞ ]

serious ex — ( ended very badly ) [ 0/1 ] (posting a WC probably )

not serious exes — remained friends [ 0/2 ]

former classmates from HS [ 0/3 ]

former or current fwb/flings [ 0/5 ]

one-night stands [ 0/10 ]

enemies/rivals [ 0/∞ ]

anything, i love all plots <3

#yale:intro #abuse tw #physical abuse tw #bad parenting tw

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blackpantherismyish · 5 years

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Nights Like This

A/N: Shoutout to the G.O.A.T herself, @whoramilaje for helping flesh this out. This idea has been in my head since this song came out because Lani is the loml. This is pre-marriage H&E. Don't worry. Also grab ya tissues cause whew chile.

Song: Nights Like This - Kehlani ft Ty Dolla $ign

Warning(s): Angst... Don't say I didn't warn you.

Italics are flashbacks

---

The clock on his phone read 11:46 pm on a Friday night. The wind whipping past Erik's ears softly as the flicker of his lighter and the soft hiss of his blunt filled the air around him. It had been a while since he had done this alone. He could still remembered` when he would sit outside with her, smoke a blunt and stare at the stars…

“Ugh! That tasted disgusting!” she gagged as she recovered from her coughing fit. They were smoking a hybrid mixture of two very earthy strains.

“Well nobody told you to pull like you were smoking a gahdamn chimney..” Erik choked back a laugh as he took the blunt away from her.

“Nigga whatever… I don't see how you do it. That tasted like I was smoking oregano.” Hennessy wiped her face and sat back in one of the lounge chairs they had on their balcony. It was an ungodly time of night and this man wanted to get high… Niggas.

Erik slapped his thigh as he held the blunt between his lips.

“Did you j-just say oregano?” He howled a laugh, throwing his head back.

“I did. How dare you make me smoke lawn clippings. Disrespectful ass.” Henny giggled watching Erik continue to laugh his ass off. It really wasn't that bad, she just loved making him laugh with her foolishness.

“Stop. P-please. My stomach hurts.” Tears had made their way down his face as he continued to laugh. He probably wasn't even that high, but she wasn't helping. Laughing herself, she looked up at stars. They were so bright. Little white specks littering the sky above.

“Are you going to pass it back and stop laughing?” She glanced over at him as he calmed down, his shoulders still jumping. Sitting up slightly, he handed the blunt over.

“Thought you said I was making you smoke lawn clippings…” He leaned on his arm and looked her in awe. She was one of those people that could make the simplest things the most intriguing to watch.

“Well these lawn chippings 'bout to get me high off my ass so I really don't care.” She french inhaled with ease, then blew the smoke out of her nose like a dragon.

“You damn right…” Slowly sitting back in the chair, his gaze shifted from the tiny woman to the sky, just in time for a shooting star to fly by.

“Make a wish…” Henny whispered softly, closing her eyes.

“Don't need to, It's already come true.” Erik reached over and engulfed her tiny hand in his own.

“What is it?” Her eyes remained closed as his thumb rubbed against the back of her hand.

“That I'd finally find happiness..” His voice faded away as he got lost in the stars. She could hear the smile in his voice.

A cold breeze pulled Erik out of his thoughts. He could feel something cold and wet on his face. He was… crying? Legit tears. Eye sweat. Whatever you want to call it. But why? He was tough. This big beast of a man. Why was he crying over a stupid memory?

The truth?

His heart ached. Worse than any other pain he had ever experienced. Lifting the blunt back to his lips, he blinked away other tears that had welled in his eyes. She had been the only person to affect him in such a way. When she left, she took his happiness with her.

“Eriiiik.” Her whines echoed through the hallway along with the shuffle of her feet.

“In the kitchen, Shy.” He chuckled stirring a pot of soup. Soon after the shuffling ceased, her small arms wrapped around his midsection and her head rested on his back.

“Why weren't you in bed?” She croaked, coughing briefly afterwards.

“Because I'm making you tea and soup,” he hummed, grabbing the bowl from the counter.

“R-really?” She lifted her head, putting it under his arm to look up at him. Being such a light complexion, you could tell when she was sick. Her nose turned a bright red.

“Yes Rudolph,” he teased placing a soft kiss on her forehead. “You're running a fever… Go lay back down.” Her bottom lip began to poke out.

“B-but Daaakkkaa,” she whined. She always sang his name as a means of getting her way, but he wouldn’t back down.

“Bed Shy. Now..” He pointed out of the kitchen, looking down at her. Whimpering one last time, she hugged him briefly and shuffled her way back to bed, dragging her feet extra loud for dramatic emphasis. She always became a big baby when she got sick. Not like he cared too much, she was his big baby after all.

By the time the wind pulled Erik out of his thoughts again, he only had a little bit of his blunt left. The fact that he was absentmindedly smoking his way through his memory didn't surprise him too much. That was the effect she had on him. Time stood still when they were together and apparently the same still existed in his memories. He finished his blunt before slowly dragging back into the house. He hated everything about it now because everywhere he turned, he saw her. In his bedroom he still smelled her. He could still see her tiny hand print next to his against the foggy bathroom mirror. He couldn’t even partake in his favorite drink anymore because it was her gahdamn name.

“Man fuck!” he screamed into the darkness. He placed his back against the cool metal of the refrigerator and slid down to the floor, the note she left still where he left it.

“I’m sorry, but I’m not the one you need. I have more issues than I’m ready to deal with and it’s not fair to drag you along with me. I hope one day you find that one person that loves you as deeply as you love them. -Shy”

He’s read it a million times in the last 3 months and it still didn’t make any sense. Didn’t she understand that his sun rose and set for her and that there was no woman alive that would love him the way she did and if he were being honest, he didn’t want anyone else. It was like that feeling you get when you capture a Firefly in a jar. Your own little light that shined through all the darkness that surrounded you. But the night she left, his light slowly went out.

“Alexa, play Shy’s Songs.” 12 Midnight. The time that he spent torturing himself with memories of his sunshine. Within seconds, Kehlani’s soft voice filled the space.

On some nights like this, shawty, I can't help but think of us

I've been reminiscin', sippin', missin' ya

Can you tell me what's with all this distant love?

If I called, would you pick it up?

That line stirred something in him. She always said that if he ever needed her, she’d be there regardless of the situation. He stood, grabbing his phone from the kitchen counter. With a deep sigh he clicked her contact photo.

—

She watched as the phone lit up. It was the first time in 3 months that she’d seen his face flash across her phone screen and it made her sick. She knew that Erik Stevens wasn’t like the men of her past the day she met him and that’s what scared her the most. Things were easier when they were “just friends”. The dealer and the stoner living in peaceful bliss. She thought it would be easier this way, leaving like a thief in the night while he slept peacefully.

Looking at the phone, Erik sighed. His thumb hovered over the end call button when he heard a click.

“Hello?” Her soft voice echoed through the phone's speaker.

Time stood still like it always did when he talked to her. This is the first time he didn't know what to do. She was the first to break the silence, firing out apologies like an auctioneer.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you. I was just afraid. I didn’t wanna fall for you and then end up breaking your heart. Please forgive me.” The last 3 words were hushed and he couldn’t make out if she were crying or not, but his heart aches for her. She’d been going through just as much hell as he had.

“Where are you Princess? I’ll meet you and we can talk about this.”

“I’m outside.”

---

Taglist: @panthergoddessbast @sweetsexysavagery @blackpanthersmut @thiccdaddy-mbaku @wakandas-vibranium @wakanda-4evr @hearteyes-for-killmonger @killmongersgurl @dreamingoftchalla @drsunshine97 @thehomierobbstark @texasbama @youreadthatright @hailerikmonger @wakanda-inspired @lunaerly @wawakanda-btch @ange-sensuel @magic-madness-heavensin @eriknutinthispoosy @muse-of-mbaku @sicksadgen @killmvnger @allhailnjadaka @whoramilaje @amethyst1993 @thickoreo @blackpantherimagines @kxnfuzed-blog-blog @bidibidibombaclaat @blowmymbackout

(I is alive. School is stressful but eh. Sorry if I didn't tag you, this was a quick list that is overdue for an update.🙄 I don't know when I'mma update Soo we'll see what happens. Buh-bye now👋🏽)

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ambroseblack · 5 years

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In continuation of my improvised story/ first attempt at something horror-paranormally, here is chapter 2 to whisper. If you haven't read the first chapter, you can read it here now!

Stay spooky beloved friends!

Love and Peace,

Ambrose

Chapter 2: Daylight

I woke up with my face nearly glued to the wooden table in the dining room. I apparently had a fair amount of liquid in my body at one time, being that my face was surrounded by a pool of drool and sweat. My mouth was terribly dry, making my tongue feel like a cat's, as I licked my lips with no apparent gratification.

The soft gray light of a rainy fall morning drifted through the half-open burgundy curtains that the previous owner had left on the main floor. They were much nicer than anything I would have bought. I would have been happy with some sheets to be honest. But they did give the large house a touch of grandeur. It was fitting, being that the house was so old and well maintained. A museum of sorts. Walking through the front door was like walking into a different time.

The soft tapping of pouring rain echoed throughout the house. I always found the sound to be soothing. It was a sound I had missed in my apartment in the city. It reminded me of rainy days when I was a kid. The kind of days where one is at peace just laying in bed thinking, as the cool water pours down around the world outside.

I looked at the laptop that was resting untouched in front of me. The screen was still up at attention, but black from not being used.

I must have dreamed everything. The shadow. The whisper.

I chuckled to myself as I stood up from my seat to go make coffee in the kitchen. My knees ached quietly. They probably just hurt from being bent all night long. At least, that is what I told myself. It's always far easier to write off the truly unexplained. We are always happy remaining ignorant.

I slowly trudged into the kitchen. My crocs quietly squeaked on the tile floors. They were horribly ugly things to have on your feet, but goddam...they were comfortable. Besides, I was a writer. I had nobody to impress.

I grabbed the tarnished silver teapot that sat on the stove and filled it with cold water from the tap. The teapot, just like the drapery in the house, had been left by the previous owner. In fact, there were a lot of remnants left behind. A large grandfather clock that rang out in the most frightening of ways. An old, apparently never touched couch in the front room. A baby grand piano in the foyer with worn keys. I felt like I was living in someone else's house, being that I had barely unpacked any of my own belongings. I kind of liked it, to be honest. It was like I had stepped into the story where another left off. Or died off...I had no idea. Who really cares?

I placed the teapot on the stove and lit the burner. Bright blue flames licked the bottom of the silver, slowly tickling the water held within. I fumbled through the cabinets looking for the coffee and french press. I had still not really organized the cabinets, so I would always find things in different places each day. At last I found my treasures next to a half-eaten box of frosted flakes. The box itself wasn't eaten, however the cereal inside was. Next to the box was a gallon of milk that I must have put in there by mistake. What can I say...I enjoy frosted flakes after indulging in some fabulous things. The kind of things that open your mind up to be able to do things like write. For all you know, I'm eating frosted flakes right now as I type these words. You don't fucking know. I mean, I'm not. But I could be.

I unscrewed the cap to the milk and took a faint whiff to see if it had gone sour. It was fairly decent. Could have been worst. I took a nearly-clean bowl out of the sink, poured some of the thickening milk into into it, and sprinkled some of the flaked cereal into it. I thought about finding a spoon, but who needs a spoon when you really don't give a shit. I would slurp it like the animal I was.

The teapot began to whistle its horrible song as steam spewed out of the spout like a stoner exhaling at a Phish concert. I scooped some coffee grounds out of the bag with my hand and poured their fragrant particles into the french press. I used to use a coffee pot like a normal person, but once I found the french press I never looked back. Very honestly, it's a completely different coffee experience. Like the difference between having sex when you are a teenager versus sex when you have an understanding of what the clitoris is. Or prostate. Whatever tickles your fancy, really. Like mind-blowingly different. I'm not sure "blowingly" is an actual word, but I guess it is now. Never mind...it is...I just googled it. Feel free to use it.

The smell of coffee began to fill the kitchen immediately after I poured the steaming water into the glass beaker. The smell brightened the gloom of the gray filtering in through the windows from the outside. I was beginning to feel better. The nightmare was slowly slipping away from my thoughts.

<<<:>>>

I half-hazardly carried the bowl of soggy cereal and the mug of piping hot black coffee into the dining room. Splashes of both semi-cold milk and scalding liquid both found their way onto the flesh of my hands. On one hand, it hurt. On the other, it didn't. Pain and indifference, really. The joys of life.

I sat down at the table and coaxed my laptop to wake up with a gentle touch to its mouse pad. I nearly spit out the mouthful of cereal I had just poured into my mouth from the bowl when I read what was typed in bold capitals on the shit story I was working on. There, in the middle of the screen of the electronic page were two words.

KEEP WRITING

"Fuck man..." I quietly said out loud to myself. Even though I convinced myself I must have just written that as a message to myself in my sleepy/high state the night prior, it still gave me chills. I thought back to the dream. The sharp whisper I had heard. There it was again; that unsettled feeling in the bottom of my stomach. But that too could be explained away by the half-spoiled milk I was consuming.

I had to get out of that house for a little while. I felt like I had given myself cabin fever.

<<<:>>>

I found my old black boots by the front door and rummaged through a box to find my long black rain coat that was still packed away. I opened the large oak door that squealed when moved and was smacked in the face with a brisk wind. Deciding that I needed to re-think my outfit (which included dirty sweatpants, a faded Tenacious D t-shirt, the boots, and the coat), I made my way up the wooden staircase to find an outfit better suited for the elements. I had also worn the same sweats and t-shirt for over a week... if not, longer. Thinking about it, I had not really left the house for probably two weeks. That is just sort of my brand of a writing lifestyle I guess. Disgusting? Absolutely. But it bought the house and the things I needed just the same.

I pulled a tattered black sweater over my head and over the Tenacious D t-shirt. The fabric of the sweater was stretched in odd places, but it was comfortable and warm. I pulled off the stinking black sweat pants as well as the crispy boxers. I thought for a moment about showering and then decided against it. What good was deodorant if it couldn't cover up the smell of filth? Besides, the cigarette I planned to smoke when I got out on the porch would provide a strong enough fragrant blanket to cover up the sweaty ass smell. And if it didn't...so be it.

After completing my outfit with a fresh pair of boxers, stained jeans, thick wool socks, long striped gray scarf, and an olive-green knit hat, I was ready to be off on my way to do whatever I was going to do. I didn't really have a plan. Maybe a walk to the tiny downtown. Anything that would get me out of the house. I couldn't bring myself to really care.

As I turned to leave the enormous bedroom my eyesight caught something on the wall just above the headboard. There, on the white wall it looked like a symbol was leaking through the paint. You know how when your paint a lighter color over a darker color and sometimes it kind of comes through? It's always faint, yet always noticeable.

It was hard to see, but it definitely wasn't my imagination. A red symbol shaped like an eye was coming out of the white. Just enough to be seen by me at that moment despite the depressing light filtering in through the wall of windows.

I felt myself want to approach the wall to examine the symbol more, but found myself caught by a momentary feeling of fear and hesitation again. I couldn't stand there any longer and ponder its meaning. I had to fucking get out that house just for a little bit of time. It wouldn't take long for me to recharge.

Get out of the house.

I nearly tripped down the staircase as I feverishly fumbled to slip on my coat to get out of that prison-like space. I yanked open the heavy oak door with haste and nearly let out a scream as I found myself face to face with a tiny old woman. She let out startled gasp at my rapid presence. She was standing on my porch nearly lost within a bundle of winter coat and scarf. She had a plastic bag over her hair which I found both funny and alarming. I assumed it was to keep her hair dry. Or, at least I hoped.

"I am so sorry for startling you honey," the woman said with a sweetly calm voice.

"Uh...yeah...likewise..." I said in an almost whisper. I was internally trying to convince my heart to stop beating itself to death.

"My name is Emma," the woman said with a smile, "I live just across the street." She pointed to the historic home directly across from my house. It was in pristine condition. The beam across the woman's face as well as the intricately manicured landscape across the front of her yard revealed that she was proud of her dwelling. "I've lived there over 50 years. My husband and I..."

"Nice to meet you. I'm Ambrose," I said, cutting her off. I said it in a pleasant tone, but I secretly wished she wasn't there. I needed to get the hell away from that space. For the love of God, I silently thought, shut the fuck up...

"Oh Ambrose, what a pretty name..." Emma said with a smile.

"I thought so too when I picked it out..." I said. Annoyance peeked through the pleasantry of my tone. I needed to work on conversation and people skills. My response obviously confused the woman. She didn't know Ambrose wasn't my real name. How would she? And I wasn't about to explain how I was a writer who came up with some bullshit of a name to write under. It was far more humorous to watch her try to work it out in her head how I had named myself when I was a baby.

"I hate to rush you," I said while coaxing myself out of the door and onto the large porch, "but I'm running a bit late for an...an appointment. Big client. You know...things to do and places to be."

The woman's smile faltered for a second and then found itself back; stretched across her face as if hiding a grimace.

"Oh, I'm sorry honey. I won't be keeping you," she said while patting my hand with her pink gloved hand. " I just wanted to pop on over and introduce myself real quick. I figured you have been here long enough to settle in. I didn't want to come over prematurely...didn't want you to think you were being watched or anything...."

The way she said "watched" was horrifying, because what she really was saying was that she had been watching me. Lonely old hag just watching the new guy. Trying to spy and see what he was up to. Nosy bitch.

I faked a smile.

"Well, it was great to meet you Emma. Thank you for stopping by. Maybe one day soon we can sit down for some coffee or something. It would be great to chat with you...I'm sure you have a lot of stories of this town that I would absolutely love to hear!" I lied.

"Oh of course, of course sweetie!" She said with that same forced smile and overly sweet tone. "I brought you a little house warming gift...nothing big...just something I think everyone needs..." Emma reached inside her cartoonishly large flower-print purse and pulled out a neatly wrapped gift. It was complete with a large pink bow on top. Fucking gag.

"Oh, you didn't have to do that," I said, faking surprise and gratitude. I know she was being nice and all, but something just felt off. Like when a dog growls at one person but not the next.

"Oh, it's nothing my dear. I just hope you get some use out of it," the old woman said, handing the wrapped gift over to me. Immediately when my hands held the package I could tell it was a book. A fairly large one. My curiosity was momentarily tickled as I pondered what book it could be.

And with that, the woman was off. Not in a speedy way. She was old as shit. But at least she was making her way off my porch to leave me in peace. Wrapped book still in hand, I pulled a cigarette out of the pack that was nestled in an interior breast pocket of my rain coat that I had found earlier. I lit it with the tiny green bic that I kept in the mailbox attached to the brick by the front door. I breathed in that familiar smoke. The smoke that reminded me I was alive, even if I sometimes wished I wasn't.

I looked at the gift Emma had given me in my hand. The paper wrapped around was perfectly pressed and folded. It was a print of lavender bunches, all repeated over and over. The bow wrapped around it had been painstakingly tied. Almost too perfect. Like something a robot would do.

I exhaled a puff of smoke through my nose as I fumbled to untie the artwork. I couldn't see her, but I imagined the old woman was watching me through one of the windows of her house. I imagined her beady little eyes watching my every move. Just the thought made me shudder a little, despite the warmth of my attire.

And then there it was.

"Jesus fucking Christ..." I said out loud to the rainy world around me as I realized what the gift was. "A fucking bible?"

Yep. A bible. And not like the little orange ones the weirdos try to force in your hands at festivals. No, it was a big-ass one bound in soft brown leather. It seemed to be fairly new; the pages still stiff. I opened the front cover and found a note perfectly written in black ink on the first blank page. The letters were scripted in cursive; beautiful calligraphy etched on the paper.

The Lord is faithful, and he will strengthen you and protect you from the evil one.

2 Thessalonians 3:3

My heart skipped a beat when I read "evil one". Those two words were written thicker than all of the other words, making them bounce off the page and into my face.

"What....the actual FUCK!?" I whispered in horror out loud to myself.

The rain continued to pour as I stood on my porch with the half-smoked cigarette hanging out my mouth and leather-bound bible in my hand.

Maybe moving there wasn't the right decision after all.

#prose #writers #writers on tumblr #spilled words #literature #my writing #short fiction #short story #horror #thriller #paranormal #halloween #all hallows eve #improvisation #demon #detroit

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budgie2budgie · 5 years

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-GET TO KNOW ME-

You have to make a simself and put whatever you wish there, traits, anything about you. After the keep reading thingy are +100 questions I found that you can answer if you want, but you don’t have to (it’s tiring as hell)

tagged by @xrattrap & @twinklepixels, <3

tagging: @thesimsblues, @magnasimblr, @floppant, @anotherplumbob, @eslanes no pressure! it’s hard work! lol

1. What is your full name? mia 2. What is your nickname? budgie? 3. Birthday? feb 5 4. What is your favorite book series? uhm.. *blank* 5. Do you believe in aliens or ghosts? no..? 6. Who is your favorite author? liv strömquist 7. What is your favorite radio station? spotify’s weekly discovery... 8. What is your favorite flavor of anything? lemon 9. What word would you use often to describe something great or wonderful? super 10. What is your current favorite song? lux prima - karen o 11. What is your favorite word? so many... lol 12. What was the last song you listened to? slow dancing in the dark - joji, i blame @floppant 13. What TV show would you recommend for everybody to watch? i love dick! 14. What is your favorite movie to watch when you’re feeling down? *blank* 15. Do you play video games? duh! 16. What is your biggest fear? losing people (and animals) i love 17. What is your best quality, in your opinion? i’m good at picking my fights 18. What is your worst quality, in your opinion? way too lazy 19. Do you like cats or dogs better? cats 20. What is your favorite season? early spring 21. Are you in a relationship? yes 22. What is something you miss from your childhood? my granny 23. Who is your best friend? N 24. What is your eye color? Blue 25. What is your hair color? blackbrowngrey 26. Who is someone you love? oh so many 27. Who is someone you trust? my man 28. Who is someone you think about often? my niece, she’s the best 29. Are you currently excited about/for something? yes, konstfacks’ (art school) christmas market tomorrow :) 30. What is your biggest obsession? music, food, sims - in that order 31. What was your favorite TV show as a child? oh, probably somthing that teached out “make your own barbie bathtub out of a milk carton” 32. Who of the opposite gender can you tell anything to, if anyone? my brother 33. Are you superstitious? nah 34. Do you have any unusual phobias? no? 35. Do you prefer to be in front of the camera or behind it? behind 36. What is your favorite hobby? pottery and sims 37. What was the last book you read? stoner - j. williams 38. What was the last movie you watched? 20th century women on netflix 39. What musical instruments do you play, if any? a tiny tiny bit piano 40. What is your favorite animal? cats 41. What are your top 5 favorite Tumblr blogs that you follow? i have more favorites than that! 42. What superpower do you wish you had? teleporting 43. When and where do you feel most at peace? swimming in “our” summer lake 44. What makes you smile? the end of this video! 45. What sports do you play, if any? sports... ugh, running, RARELY, and sometimes i go to my friend’s yoga class... other than that, nothing :/ 46. What is your favorite drink? hot - coffee! cold - beer 47. When was the last time you wrote a hand-written letter or note to somebody? thursday, to my colleague 48. Are you afraid of heights? nope, or ok maybe if i had to walk on a glass floor on the 122th floor 49. What is your biggest pet peeve? greediness 50. Have you ever been to a concert? yes! it’s my favorite thing to do! 51. Are you vegan/vegetarian? yes 52. When you were little, what did you want to be when you grew up? a dentist lol 53. What fictional world would you like to live in? - 54. What is something you worry about? my sick cat :( 55. Are you scared of the dark? yes, and i hate being that 56. Do you like to sing? yes, but only when i’m alone! 57. Have you ever skipped school? oh yeah 58. What is your favorite place on the planet? our summer cottage 59. Where would you like to live? in a bigger city somewhere else, toronto (fav) or NY, or belfast, loved belfast. 60. Do you have any pets? two cats 61. Are you more of an early bird or a night owl? night owl 62. Do you like sunrises or sunsets better? sunrises. 63. Do you know how to drive? NO! O_O i’m a biker 64. Do you prefer earbuds or headphones? headphones 65. Have you ever had braces? no 66. What is your favorite genre of music? singer-songwriters 67. Who is your hero? there are so many cool people out there, cheers to them all! 68. Do you read comic books? yes 69. What makes you the most angry? small-minded people 70. Do you prefer to read on an electronic device or with a real book? paper! 71. What is your favorite subject in school? art 72. Do you have any siblings? half siblings: 2 brothers, 1 sister 73. What was the last thing you bought? a kimono online! 74. How tall are you? 166cm 75. Can you cook? yes. 76. What are three things that you love? clay, pop-up books, new music. 77. What are three things that you hate? racism, intolerance and animal abuse <- what rat said 78. Do you have more female friends or more male friends? female 79. What is your sexual orientation? straight 80. Where do you currently live? sweden 81. Who was the last person you texted? my dad 82. When was the last time you cried? last week 83. Who is your favorite YouTuber? - 84. Do you like to take selfies? no. 85. What is your favorite app? uhm... instagram? 86. What is your relationship with your parent(s) like? “normal” 87. What is your favorite foreign accent? french 88. What is a place that you’ve never been to, but you want to visit? japan! 89. What is your favorite number? - 90. Can you juggle? no 91. Are you religious? nope 92. Do you find outer space or the deep ocean to be more interesting? the ocean 93. Do you consider yourself to be a daredevil? not really 94. Are you allergic to anything? no 95. Can you curl your tongue? yes 96. Can you wiggle your ears? no 97. How often do you admit that you were wrong about something? every time, if that’s the case 98. Do you prefer the forest or the beach? beach 99. What is your favorite piece of advice that anyone has ever given you? hm, *blank* 100. Are you a good liar? maybe? ;) 101. What is your Hogwarts House? hufflepuff 102. Do you talk to yourself? all the time 103. Are you an introvert or an extrovert? both! 104. Do you keep a journal/diary? i have a bullet journal 105. Do you believe in second chances? yes 106. If you found a wallet full of money on the ground, what would you do? celebrate! jk, probably try to find the owner? 107. Do you believe that people are capable of change? yes 108. Are you ticklish? yes 109. Have you ever been on a plane? yes 110. Do you have any piercings? in my ears 111. What fictional character do you wish was real? O_o... *blank* 112. Do you have any tattoos? no, only because i can’t decide what i want to have on my body FOREVER 113. What is the best decision that you’ve made in your life so far? made a bold move even tho i was scared 114. Do you believe in karma? yes, and she’s a bitch 115. Do you wear glasses or contacts? contacts 116. Do you want children? nope 117. Who is the smartest person you know? my friend S 118. What is your most embarrassing memory? ugh, do we have to? 119. Have you ever pulled an all-nighter? yes 120. What color are most of you clothes? black 121. Do you like adventures? sometimes 122. Have you ever been on TV? no 123. How old are you? what did you say? 124. What is your favorite quote? “i'm steady on my feet till it hit me on my teeth“ 125. Do you prefer sweet or savory foods? both, sometimes at the same time.

#non sims #saviorhide #me me me #this took FOREVER

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