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professormembranexreader · 3 years

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Sub! Membrane x Fem! Dom! Reader (smut duh)

Includes:

•brief sad boi hours

•headcanon middle-name for Mem that I did research for

•a praise kink (me too)

•pussy eating (yEs plEasE)

•overstimulation (yESSSSSSSS)

•bondage (tie me up science daddy I mean what?)

Membrane's POV

'This is what I get for always setting the bar,' I thought to myself. I was currently sitting in my office, burying my head under mountains of failed designs. I'm such a failure. I don't understand why anyone likes me. I bet my kids hate me too. I'd had to make my wife take care of them for the past few weeks as I tried to work through this burnout. She'd always come into my office late at night and hug me from behind, telling me about what happened that day.

"Dib finally decided to try and make friends with that one kid down the street, and Gaz beat the Wither in Minecraft—she's been prepping for a while," she had said. She'd paused, rubbing my shoulders, "Any progress so far?" I shook my head and laid it down on my cluttered desk.

"Don't worry, baby. I'm sure you'll find a breakthrough soon enough." She patted my back and reminded me to take my medicine before she went to bed. I couldn't get into bed with her. I didn't deserve to. She was doing so much while I just... Why does she like me? I'm not half the man she married.

Going into the kitchen, I saw she left out a plate of food for me. 'I'll eat it later,' I thought. I made some coffee, took my medicine, and went back to work.

|—— time skip ƪ(˘⌣˘)ʃ ——|

Y/N POV

He was overworking himself. This was so easy to see, even his son could see it without his glasses. (And you don't even wanna know how bad his vision is.) If he continued like this, this burnout wouldn't be temporary.

But how to make him take a break? I sighed to myself as I made the kids their breakfast. I know Gaz has some friends she was going to hang out with over the weekend... if I could convince Dib to stay at a friend's house I could definitely...relieve some tension.

Speaking of, Dib looked up at me after he finished his pancakes. "Mom, do you think I could investigate Zim at his house?" I choked on air before composing myself. "Yeah, sure! That sounds great!" He immediately set out to grab his science stuff and ran next door. One down, one to go.

A few minutes after she finished eating, I went over to my daughter. "Gaz, sweetie, you ready for me to drive you over?" She nodded and went up to her room to grab her suitcase and a bag. I drove her down to her mysterious friend's house and returned to get my tired husband (bitch me too).

"Cariño~ ¿Dónde estás~? Desayuno está listo. " He trudged into the room, goggles off, mumbling a tired "buenos días". He grabbed a cup of black coffee and sat down with a plate of the now cold pancakes. His eyes were open. I couldn't help but stare into them. It was rare to see them after all.

His eyes are why I fell in love with him. It should be a crime to constantly hide away such a beautiful thing—they were milk chocolate with hazel flecks spattered near the pupil. However, the dark circles that almost constantly accented them? Not so much. He needs to take care of himself.

"You should show your eyes more."

"What?" Oh fuck I said that out loud. I turned slightly red as he chuckled. "Well, I'll try for you, mi amor." A smile tugged gently at my lips. He lifted up the surgical mask he wore and sipped his coffee. I couldn't help but smile sadly at him.

"Well... if you'll try doing that, do you think you could do something else?" I asked cautiously. He raised a brow. "Do you think you could, now hear me out, do you think you could take a break for me?" He visibly tensed. Eyes looking anywhere but mine, it was clear that he was nervous.

"Um... about that-" I put a finger up to his lips behind the mask.

"I already know. That's why I'm asking. If you don't stop overworking-"

"But what have I done to deserve a break?" he said, voice breaking, "I haven't come up with any plans or inventions, no innovative ideas whatsoever—I haven't even been there for the kids! I don't deserve a break."

"Oh, baby~" I wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled him down to my level. "You're trying too hard. Nothing will come if you try and force it. Clear your mind. Take a break. (Let me fuck you)." I muttered the last part under my breath, but he seemed to hear it.

"¿Q-qué?" He flushed a contagiously violent shade of red, as mine was soon crimson too.

"I-I mean... if you want to?" Oh fuck I made a mistake. "I just I thought it might make you feel better or relieve some tension or-" He gave me a quick, passionate kiss on the lips.

"I'd love to." Gears turned in his head, "But what about-" "I already took care of it." He gaped, but quickly shut his mouth and nodded.

Both red, I led him upstairs to the bedroom.

"Take off your clothes, Miguel. " His eyes widened. I raised my eyebrow, "Did I stutter? Strip." He flushed crimson and began to comply. I took off my blouse and shorts and threw them onto the floor. I looked over my shoulder as I went over to lock the door—he only had his boxers on, but a noticeable tent around his groin was preventing him from taking them off as well. I chuckled, and walked over to him.

"Tsk tsk tsk. Tell me, what did I tell you to do?"

"Desvisto."

"And what have you not done~?"

"...Desvisto."

Smiling coyly, I whispered, "Would you like any help with that~?" He nodded, not wanting to make eye contact. I grabbed his jaw and forced his head towards me. "Look at me and say it."

"Y-yes please~" I hummed in approval. I took my fingers and teased around the area his bulge was most present. "Ngh~ Y-Y/N~ pLEASE-" I quickly unbuttoned his boxers and his erect cock sprung up. He groaned in pleasure.

"Sounds like someone is a bit pent up~ hm?" I ran my fingers down his shaft, going at an uneven pace to mess with him. He leaned up against the bed frame, chest heaving up and down from my touch. "You really ARE pent up~!" I chuckled, "Man, am I gonna have fun with you~". I pulled my hand away and slowly took off my bra and panties, flinging both at him. I chuckled as he was still frozen in place yet red as ever. I pulled him onto the bed, placing his head at the foot of the bed.

"A-amor, ¿qué haces?" He stuttered. I smirked as I grabbed two pairs of handcuffs from my bedside table.

"Don't worry, darling~" I purred. "Just focus on me~" I handcuffed his hands to each side of the bed frame. I sat myself down on his abdomen, placing my hands on his broad chest.

I leaned down to his neck and whispered, "I want to break you. If it's ever too much just say our safe word, (s/w), got it?" He nodded. "Good boy~ now..." I lifted myself up onto his face, "Eat me out." I looked down to make sure he was okay with it. His mouth opened ever so slightly as I held open my pussy over his lips. "Come on, what are you waiting for~? You can start whenever you want to~" I settled myself down onto his face and felt his tongue push into me. I gasped and pulled his hair on instinct. I looked down to him, eyes full of lust. I bit my lip and smiled.

"I knew you were good at kissing but THIS is a pleasant surprise~" I nodded to him to go at his own pace. I bucked my hips against him, pressing him further in. His tongue pushed inside me reaching tight crevices that would otherwise be missed. "Gah~ Mi-Miguel~" My grip on his hair tightened as he began to probe around inside me. "Y-yeah~ Just like that~ Keep goING AH~" My thighs squished the sides of his face as I involuntarily tensed at the sudden ecstasy. I leaned back onto my arm, pushing his head closer to my heat.

"Just keep going~" I moaned, "You're doing so good~! Ngh yeah right there~ right tHERE YES~!" I bucked my hips as he worked on me with his tongue. "F-Fuck Miguel~ You're so good~ Just a bit longer~" I panted out between moans. The knot in my stomach was about to snap and I couldn't hold it back any longer. My back arched as I screamed his name and came all over his face. Waves of ecstasy crashed through me as I fell forward, only holding myself up with my arms.

Panting, I pulled myself off of his face and closer to his stomach.

"We aren't done?" He asked, out of breath. I raised an eyebrow and looked behind me. It seems that I wasn't the only one currently riding out an orgasm.

I smiled coyly, "Not yet, but you've done really good so far!" I looked him dead in the eyes—they were closed but it's the thought that counts. "Remember, if it's ever too much, just say (s/w). Okay?" He nodded.

I slowly put myself on top of his dick, groaning as it twitched inside me. I moaned out as I got closer to the base of his shaft. I bit my lip and looked up, tears threatening to spill from my eyes.

"Are you alright, dear?" I nodded hastily and started to slam myself onto him. Slower at first, but it soon got up to speed. My hands were planted on his sides as I rode him. "F-Fuck you're so gOOD~!" He moaned my name out loud and twisted against his restraints. Fuck he looks so hot... I picked up the pace and kept slamming down onto him. Tears began to stream down the sides of my face as I groaned out his name.

"¡(Y-Y/N)~ Voy a-!" "Just a bit longer, baby! You think you can do it?" He nodded and panted as he tried to delay the inevitable. He bit his lip and opened his eyes, rolled up to the top of his head.

"Almost~" I felt the knot burst yet again as he released inside me. I panted and quickly undid the handcuffs, pulling him overtop of me right-side-up in the bed.

"Te amo, amor, so please take care of yourself. Can you do that for me, please?" He simply nodded and pulled me closer.

"I'll do anything for you, mamacita~"

Middle name for Membrane came from Miguel Alcubierre (a Mexican theoretical physicist)

#writing #membrane #professor membrane #professor membrane x reader

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artxyra · 4 years

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Healing Gotham | Part 2

Prologue | Part 1

Just hours before her schedule plane ride from Paris, France to New York City, New York, Marinette was sitting across from her husband of five years. Luka and Marinette have been talking about this for months on end, but there was never a perfect time to enact it until now. Their eyes lock onto one another, he hums a soft tone knowing that it will calm his wife’s nerves just enough to talk or to think. While they stay in place, they don’t acknowledge the small flying gods watching them in curiosity.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” He asks once their silent conversation concludes. Marinette visibly gulps and nods. Though Luka could tell something was on her mind.

“Yes, I’m sure. Ever since I was little, I could feel the darkness that surrounds Gotham and I doubt anything has changed even with the help of Batman. Doing it now just seems perfect. Hawkmoth is no longer a threat, our careers are decently stable, and the Miraculous Team is finely spread across Europe. Granted, the European Justice League seems to butt in every now and then trying to recruit our members…so yeah now is perfect.” Marinette responds getting up from the couch and into her husband’s arm.

Luka instinctively wraps his arms around his wife’s small waist. Maybe this would be good. Marinette would finally get closure about Jason’s death and bond with her brother’s growing family—something that they have been meaning to start on their own.

“If anything, having Tikki around could help speed up the cleansing. If not, well…” Marinette trails off not sure what to say next. Will having Tikki help speed up the process? She wasn’t even sure herself.

“Say no more, everything will work out just fine. You’re healing years’ worth of pain and suffering, and on top of that, you need closure for yourself. I know Jason’s death took a lot out of you and going back just seems wrong to you.” Luka tightens his hold on Marinette. He knows she was near a mental breakdown of her own, and he just hopes that a hug would suffice.

Marinette smiles and looks up to her husband, “You’re right this might do me some good.” Her lips brush against Luka nearly nibbling on his bottom lip.

Breaking for air, the couple smile at one another but the moment is lost when Plagg decided to make himself known.

“As much as this is a sweet moment, can someone please get me more cheese?” The kwami of destruction moans out causing the two to chuckle.

“Sure Plagg, but remember you’re going with Luka on his tour while the others that aren’t active are coming with me, which means you’ll be on a strict cheese limit.” Marinette states before walking into the kitchen and returning with a small block of cheese. Plagg blanches at the thought of having a cheese limit. That defeats the purpose of his greatest love.

In honesty, Plagg could hear Tikki and the others somewhat laughing at him about this latest piece of news. While this isn’t like being with Adrien (his former wielder & best friend), it’s home to him.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know.” Plagg waves it away with little care in the world.

“You better keep an eye on him.” Marinette turns to Luka as if her husband hasn’t been the wielder of the black cat miraculous for years.

“I will,” Luka kisses Marinette’s forehead and turns to Plagg, “Are you coming or what?” Plagg flies over to Luka and settles down on the taller man’s shoulder.

“Well miss you bug; don’t let that brother of yours beat you down.” Marinette scoffs at the kwami before sending him a little chuckle.

Marinette looks at the time, her plane boards in just under three hours. That is enough time for her to get through the checkpoints and to her gate. She didn’t want to say goodbye, but maybe leaving Paris is a good idea—they haven’t exactly left unless it was for tours or fashion shows. Luka was going on tour with Jagged Stone and his own protégée, who he is currently the producer for, and Marinette didn't have any shows planned for weeks but visiting her Gotham branch is good. They plan to meet up in New York for the final show and then head back to Gotham depending on Marinette’s mental health stage and the progress she made in Gotham.

“Marin Etta Martha Wayne, you stay safe and we’ll see you in a few months.” Luka jokes at first but he seriously wants his wife to be safe in Gotham. Their lips meet saying goodbye to one another.

Making it to the airport was nothing. Originally, Marinette was supposed to take Kaalki but she didn’t want Bruce or anyone to question her early arrival. That and riding on a plane gives her ample time to think of a game plan and build her confidence.

“Flight 04857 to New York City is now boarding now.” A voice announces over the coms. Time really does pass quickly when someone is stuck in their head. Marinette barely would have acknowledged it if it wasn’t for Tikki making movements in her carry-on bag.

Taking a big breath, Marinette gathers her carry-on and takes her stance line to board. In less than twelve hours, she’ll be arriving in her birth city where it all started.

The flights were exhausting, on the first flight she had in front of a crying toddler (first time flying) and her seating partner would not shut up. Though there were some good moments before it all when down the hill. Then her second flight was slightly delayed. Apparently, Gotham’s airport was attacked, and this is the only flight that enters Gotham that day.

Miraculously, she managed to get into Gotham within the same time frame she gave Alfred just days before. Gathering her stuff, she takes notice of all the damage the fight did. Some parts of the airport were unavailable, and a handful of airplanes were destroyed. Seriously, how high is Gotham’s insurances for this to be an everyday occurrence? Due to regular superhero fights, Paris would be forever grateful for the miraculous cure because it saved so many people paperwork and having to replace what was lost.

After getting off the phone with Alfred, Marinette knew she had some time to spare which was enough time to grab a cup of coffee and find a nice bench in the cool weather.

“Welcome home, Miss Marin Etta.” Alfred states once the car is parked and he exits the vehicle to hug the person he has forever viewed as a daughter (or granddaughter at best). Marinette flings herself into Alfred’s arms.

“Alfred, please Marinette is just fine.” Marinette laughs before her voice lowers with the next statement, “And I missed you too, Alfie.”

They break the embrace to finish placing her three luggage into the car’s trunk. Marinette wanted to take a seat in the front, but she knew Alfred would instruct her to sit in the back, just like he did when she was little and six years ago.

“So, Miss Marinette how much of your life has changed? I hear your business MEM Fashions is looking to start a new branch.” Alfred knows everything that happens within the Wayne household but having a conversation with Marinette was always different than that with the boys. He doesn’t see her as often as the others.

Marinette’s eyes lit up, she loves talking about her fashion and retail business. Ever since she turned eighteen, she decided that MDC no longer represents her, who she truly is, so she rebranded to MEM Fashions (or Styles) when she gained access to her shares of Wayne Enterprise. Since then she takes care of the fashion business that runs through WE, but not many people know that. All they know is that MEM is a brand that is being sponsored by WE and nothing more.

When Alfred pulls in through the gates, Marinette had to take a deep breath. There was no turning back. The moment the doors to the Wayne Manor opens, she and Alfred knew that there will be chaos before them.

Tag List: *View my Tagging System guidelines for how to to be properly tagged or removed.

#maribat #ml x dc #mlb x dc #lukanette #sibling brucinette #fic: Healing Gotham #ml crossover #dc crossover

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a-solitary-marshmallow · 4 years

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Rewind Chapter 4 - Fiddleford to the Rescue

Stan started when there was a sharp knocking at the front door. He hadn’t thought anyone was coming – but evidently Ford had known, because he jumped up to let them in. The person who stepped inside was a twig of a man, carrying a duffel bag in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. The guy looked pretty tired – sorta like those people who sometimes slept under the jetty with bloodshot eyes and cans scattered around them. But this man didn’t reek of beer and cigarettes. Blue eyes darted around behind thick glasses before landing on Stan and softening.

“Ah. This is your brother, I ‘spect?” The stranger spoke with a thick accent. Stan hadn’t heard an accent like his before.

“Yes. Thank you for coming.” Ford was a flurry of motion, darting here and there and packing things in a big shoulder bag. “I need to go, I have to get this barrier up as soon as possible. I should be back by this evening. There’s food in the fridge, I’m not sure what bills I’ve paid recently so there may or may not be hot water, and Stanley, behave!”

With that Ford disappeared, the front door slamming behind him. Stan froze, voice squeaking in a totally cool and manly way.

“Wait – Ford? Where are you-”

Yeah, he was already gone. Leaving Stan alone with this strange man. Stan stood self-consciously in the middle of the lounge, hyper aware of those eyes on him. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled.

The stranger broke the silence first, kneeling down to be at eye-level with Stan. “You must be Stanley. I guess Ford forgot ta introduce us. Wouldn’t be the first thing ‘e forgot.” The guy smiled a slightly crooked smile and held out one hand. “I’m Fiddleford, an old… friend of ya brother’s. I’m here to look after ya for a while. Is that okay?”

“…I guess so.” Stan stepped forward hesitantly to shake the man’s hand. Despite its thinness his hand was rough and calloused, worn with work. His smile was infectious and Stan found himself mirroring it. “You can call me Stan. Everyone does.”

“Well then, you can call me Fidds.” Fiddleford’s bright eyes combed over him for a moment before the man started riffling through his duffel bag. “Now, I got some old clothes of my son’s that I figure will fit better than that shirt. You wanna give it a shot?”

Stan nodded eagerly. “Yeah! Who’s your son? Is he coming too?”

“No, Tate’s in California right now.” The man lifted a couple items of clothing. “Alright, let’s take a looksee at what we got.”

Stanford’s little brother was cute as a button. Well, twin brother apparently, not that that made much of a difference right now. The boy was all gap-toothed grins and twinkling eyes and curious questions. Fiddleford let him choose some clothes he liked – a pirate shirt and a pair of faded yellow shorts – and helped the little kid get dressed. Stan chatted excitedly the whole time.

“S’weird! I just woke up here yesterday and Ford was all old. He’s grumpier now too. So if this is the future how do we know you? When do I meet you? We probably haven’t met yet while I’m this age right? No, I think I’d remember seein’ you even if you were a kid like me! You got a mem-or-ab-le nose. Kinda like mine!” Stan poked his own pink nose to demonstrate. “’Cept mine and Ford’s are wide and yours is long. Does your son have the same nose?”

Fiddleford laughed and slipped the shirt over the squirming boy’s head. There were so many questions, he figured he’d try and answer them in order.

“Ford is grumpy now, isn’t he? And I’m a friend of Ford’s from college. This is the first time we’ve met at all, so you wouldn’t know me even as an adult with all yer memories. And Tate does have my nose, unfortunately.”

Stan blinked up at him owlishly. Fiddleford smoothed down his ruffled cowlick. “So… you know Ford but not me? Why doesn’t future-me know you?” Then Stan shook his head with a smile. “You said college, right? I bet that’s why! Pa says I’m too stupid for college. But o’course Ford got in. He’s real smart, ya know!” The kid finished proudly. Fiddleford hesitated.

“Your father says…” Stanford hadn’t spoken much of his family. Fiddleford was starting to see why. The idea of a man telling his son – his son who couldn’t be any older then twelve – that he was stupid filled his chest with fire.

Fiddleford tried to stamp out the anger before Stan could see it on his face. No sense in scaring the child. Instead he changed the subject, carefully poking at one of Stan’s hands.

“So, ya got hands like ya brother’s?”

“Oh, no, I just got the borin’ five fingers.” Stan waggled his fingers to demonstrate.

“Really?” Well that was interesting. “But yer practically identical otherwise! Well, I guess it makes sense that yer not totally the same, seein’ as you don’t have the same eyesight anyway.”

“Oh, we do.” Stan chirped, leaving Fiddleford flabbergasted.

“But ya don’t have glasses!”

“Oh yeah, I don’t need em ‘cause I’m not smart.” Stan’s smile faltered for a moment before recovering. “Pa says glasses are expensive and Ford needs his, so I don’t. Hey, you got glasses too! You must be smart.”

Fiddleford once again tried very hard to not let his anger show. He must not have done a very good job, because Stan shrank back.

“Er – I’m sorry?”

Darn it, and he’d been trying to get the little tyke to trust him! Fiddleford forced an apologetic smile on his face.

“You got nothin’ to apologize for. I was just thinkin’ I’d like to have a word with yer brother when he gets back.”

Stan still looked dubious, so Fiddleford tried another strategy.

“You know, I reckon Ford’s gotta have a spare set of glasses lying around. Do you wanna look for ‘em, borrow ‘em for a while? The prescription should be close enough. I got some old books a’ Tates you might like and it’ll be easier if you can see ‘em.”

Stan twisted his hands together. “I dunno. Ford got pretty mad when I messed with his stuff before.”

“He’ll be fine. Besides, I’m just as adult as him. I think I can make decisions without that worrywart around.”

Just as Fiddleford had thought he would, Stan laughed. “Yeah, he is a worrywart! An’ Ford’s let me borrow his glasses before when we were switchin’ clothes to play a prank on Crampelter. So he can’t get mad now!”

The kid seemed to have immediately forgotten about his upset. That made Fiddleford’s smile come a little easier, a little warmer.

“Well, now that that’s settled, how about we go look for those glasses? And we’ll see if you like any a’ these books. Ya feel like learnin’ about isopods?”

“I have no idea what that is!” Stan whooped.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

_______________________________________________________________

It was nice, Fiddleford reflected, having a child around. He hadn’t interacted with kids since he’d last seen Tate. How long ago had that been…?

Fiddleford made sandwiches for lunch, and they ate while flipping through picture books. Stan especially liked the one with krill and whale sharks. Then the kid had started telling delightful stories about old ships and adventures on Glass Shard Beach, and who was Fiddleford to interrupt?

By evening Stan had worn himself out, and Fiddleford made him a cup of hot chocolate while he decided what to fix for dinner. Of course Ford had little in the way of food. There was some frozen and tinned stuff, but little in the way of healthy foods. Stanford was terrible at taking care of himself.

Fiddleford glanced out of the window at the ever-darkening sky. Sure, he was still hopping mad at Stanford, but… he couldn’t help but worry. Not when the man had been gone all day in the snow. And when his adorable little brother was getting antsy.

“Fidds, when’s Ford gettin’ back?” Stan whined, right on time. “You said he’d be back soon.”

Fiddleford busied himself with looking in the fridge. There were some assorted vegetables lying around, wrinkled with age but not rotten – he could make fritters. Satisfied, he started gathering the ingredients.

“He’ll get here when he gets here.” Fiddleford rooted around until he found a grater. Stan sulked into his hot chocolate. He certainly had Stanford’s stubbornness! Fiddleford wondered if it was a family trait.

As if on cue, there was a commotion outside the front door. Fiddleford tensed. It swung open, and thankfully a familiar figure trudged inside.

“Ford!” Stan squealed in delight. He scrambled from the kitchen table to throw himself at his brother’s legs. Ford, looking snow-flecked and rather frazzled, patted his head absently.

“Yes, yes, hello Stanley. Fiddleford.”

Fiddleford rolled his eyes and continued making the fritters. Trust Stanford to make a dramatic entrance. Still, he eyed the man as he took off his snow-covered coat and boots. Stanford looked… rough. Not physically, but exhaustion was etched into every line on his face.

Fiddleford tutted and poured the man a coffee. Ford blinked as it was pushed into his hand.

“Oh – thank you, Fiddleford.”

“Didja meet the unicorn?” Stan pulled on his brother’s shirt, his own tiredness evidently forgotten in his excitement. Ford sighed.

“Yes, though she still stubbornly refuses to give me any of her hair. I did manage to obtain the rest of the ingredients though, so as soon as I get the hair I’ll be able to ward the house.”

Unicorn hair? Fiddleford was confused for all of two seconds before he shrugged it off. With Stanford, everything was a surprise. You just learned to roll with it.

And now that Ford was here…

“Stan, wouldja do me a favour?” Fiddleford asked gently. Stan nodded. “There should be a blanket up in the closet upstairs, all red and gold with snowflakes printed on it. It’s my favourite one. Could you go get it for me?”

“Sure.” Stan chirped, darting out of the room. Ford made a sound of confusion.

“I don’t remember that blanket.”

“’Course ya don’t, I made it up as an excuse to get Stan out of the room.” Fiddleford put down the grater and turned to meet Ford’s wary gaze from across the kitchen bench.

“…okay.” Ford said. “What did you want to talk about?”

“Stanford.” Fiddleford fixed him with a serious look. “Yer little brother’s a good kid.”

Ford sighed. “Twin brother. We’re twenty-seven.”

“Well right now he’s just seven. And you’d better not mess ‘im up. I’m watchin’ you.” He added with narrowed eyes.

Ford laughed nervously. “Honestly, what do you take me for?”

“A scientist who’s obsessed with his work and has no idea how to care for a child, ‘specially not a child who’s been abused.”

Ford’s eyes widened. “Abused? I can assure you that Stanley hasn’t been abused.”

“I beg to differ!” Fiddleford said sharply. Ford had the audacity to look insulted. “With what the kid’s been tellin’ me, there’s no way he hasn’t been abused. For god’s sake, he doesn’t have glasses when he needs ‘em! And ‘e flinches when I so much as raise my voice – or my hand, for that matter. E’s got bruises all over, too. What am I supposed to think?”

“Stanley… he refuses to wear his glasses.” Ford said weakly. Fiddleford snorted.

“He’s been usin’ yer spare ones all day. Says ‘e likes bein’ able to see for once. In fact, he basically said yer father refused to buy ‘im glasses after his old pair got broken!”

“He’s been wearing my-?”

“Of course you didn’t notice. Have ya even laid eyes on the kid?”

“Of course I have.”

“So you did notice him wearin’ your spare glasses? No wonder ‘e thinks he’s stupid, he can’t read the words on a page two inches from his nose!”

Ford looked devastated. Right now, Fiddleford didn’t care. “But… no, that’s not right. Stanley always told me he hated wearing them.”

“Even besides that, what about the bruises?” Fiddleford challenged. “The kid’s covered in ‘em. And I’m givin’ you the benefit of the doubt here, because I don’t believe you’re the one who’s been roughin’ him up.”

“I – I-”

“So you’ll forgive me for bein’ a little concerned here! What kinda father would I be if I just sat back and ignored this? Yer brother’s been abused, plain and simple.”

Ford floundered. Fiddleford sighed, a little of his anger evaporating.

“Well... I suppose if ya are really twins, ya probably wouldn’t have had a hand in it. An’ I don’t know the full story. But I do know this.” He leveled a finger at Ford’s face. “That kid trusts ya, more than he probably should. An’ we’re gonna have words if you hurt him, or put him in danger, or do anything that’ll cause him harm. The boy’s suffered enough, I’ll not stand around and let it happen again. Ya understand?”

“Yes.” Stanford said quietly. “Yes, I do.”

“Good. Now that’s outta the way, I gotta ask; why on earth didja not tell me about him before? We went to visit Shermie and his kids during that Christmas break a while back an’ no one mentioned another brother.”

Stanford flushed. “It’s… a family matter.”

Fiddleford leveled a cold stare at him. After a moment Ford sighed and averted his gaze.

“When we were teenagers Stanley sabotaged my one chance at getting into my dream college. He says it was an accident, but… anyway our father kicked him out and I haven’t heard from him since.”

Fiddleford held up a hand. “Hang on. Are my ears decievin’ me? You’re telling me your brother, who got booted outta his own home as a teenager, hasn’t been mistreated? My friend, you’ve got issues.”

Ford opened his mouth to argue, but he was cut off by Stan’s return. Fiddleford turned his attention to the sheepish boy who was currently wringing his hands and wincing at the doorway. “Um, sorry Fidds. I couldn’t find it.”

“That’s alright, I musta left it somewhere else. Now, didja wanna help me with makin’ dinner?”

Stan perked up at Fiddleford’s breezy tone, as if surprised he wasn’t in trouble. “Jeez! Can I?”

“Well sure, why wouldn’t you?” Fiddleford flashed the boy a smile. Stan beamed in return and scrambled to join him in the kitchen.

“Pa says cookin’s for ladies and we shouldn’t do it.”

“Well, your Pa seems to be wrong about a lotta things. Now, you know how ta use a grater? I’ll show you.”

Fiddleford could feel Ford’s gaze searing into his forehead. He flicked his attention up from Stan and cooking, just for a moment, to catch the conflicted stare. Ford looked away when their eyes met and cleared his throat.

“I’ll just – um – put these ingredients away for later.”

“You do that.” Fiddleford agreed coolly.

Stanford walked away, more subdued than usual. The sight of his slumped shoulders was enough to send a spark of guilt through Fiddleford’s chest. He knew he was being too hard on the guy – especially with how wrecked Ford was looking – but his blood boiled for this gap-toothed child with his cute curls and nervous laughs.

Fiddleford couldn’t comprehend the idea of kicking out his son. The idea was as foreign to him as the idea that they should all put sticks of butter under their hats and walk on their hands instead of their feet. Tate was his son – his boy, his child. Fiddleford was sure that there was nothing Tate could do that would made Fiddleford throw him out. The idea of Stanley and Stanford’s father kicking out a helpless teen? No matter what mess that teen had gotten himself into, it shouldn’t have happened. He felt a fierce protectiveness rise up in him.

No, and it most certainly wouldn’t happen again. No kid was getting kicked out on his watch. Nor hurt, even unintentionally by an oblivious scientist of a brother. Fiddleford would make sure of it.

He made sure both the Pines boys were fed before packing up his things with the promise of returning tomorrow. Stanley hugged his legs with a surprisingly strong grip – Fiddleford crouched down to return the hug properly.

“I had a real good time today. We’ll have to do this again some time, huh? Now, you got my phone number? Good. Call me if you need anything. Especially if that brother of yours gets into any trouble, okay?”

“Yes sir!” Stan saluted enthusiastically. Fiddleford laughed and ruffled his hair before glancing up to meet Stanford’s eyes. Ford was hovering in the doorway, seemingly unsure of whether to join them.

Fiddleford took pity on him and offered his old friend a smile. “I’ll see ya later, Stanford. Take care of ya brother.”

Ford smiled back nervously. And maybe, just maybe, everything was going to be okay.

_______________________________________________________________

Stanford couldn’t smother the huge yawns that bubbled out of him. Curse this sleep deprivation! It made everything harder than it had to be. His sentences kept being interrupted by his own body’s involuntary reflexes.

Stanley followed him like a baby duck – a rather apt description, actually – while Ford bustled around the house. Ford sighed in annoyance when he very nearly tripped over his brother yet again, upon doubling back to retrieve a piece of equipment he’d forgotten.

“Stanley, shouldn’t you be in bed?”

Stan glanced away and rubbed his arm. “Well, I guess. But every time I go to sleep I get these weird dreams. I dunno, I was kinda hoping I could hang out with you?”

Dreams – dammit, Ford had forgotten to warn his brother! He dropped down to be at eye-level with Stan, who blinked at the sudden movement.

“Uh, what-?”

“You’re having odd dreams, correct?” Stan nodded so Ford continued. “Rest assured, they won’t be able to harm you, so long as you never make a deal. If you come across anything triangular or yellow while in a dream you must not talk to it. It will talk to you and try to be your friend. Don’t trust anyone with yellow eyes, even if – no, especially if that person is me. Don’t talk to it and never shake its hand. Do you understand?”

“Um, yeah, but why? This is all soundin’ like Ma’s predictions.” Stan perked up. “Can you tell the future too? Does that mean I can as well?”

Ford sighed. “No, I can’t tell the future.”

“…can you make the weird dreams go away?” Stan questioned hesitantly.

“Yes, when I manage to get that unicorn hair – though I fear it may be a hopeless endeavor.” The weight of the day’s events – how could he ever hope to be pure of heart with all the wrong he had done? – sat heavily on his shoulders. Ford lifted a hand to rub at his forehead. “Go to bed, Stanley, and remember what I said about people with yellow eyes.”

“Yeah, yeah, never make a deal, I get it.” Stan paused, eyes flickering to the journal resting in Ford’s pocket and lighting up. “Can you tell me some more stories from your book before bed? Yesterday we got to the hidey-thing!”

“I don’t have time to read you stories, I have important work to do.”

Stan pouted. He looked up at Ford with those big brown eyes that were bigger than usual. It was then that Ford noticed the glasses – yes, Fiddleford had mentioned them, hadn’t he? Stan was wearing Ford’s spare glasses and they threatened to slip down his nose at every movement, far too big for him. They also had the added benefit of making him look very, very cute.

“How about I lend you my journal?” Ford relented. “You can read it by yourself before you go to sleep. I can tell you other stories later.”

Stan hesitated. “…yeah? I can borrow it?”

“So long as you don’t damage it, you may.” Ford dropped the book in his brother’s hands and turned to gather up an armful of equipment. “Go along now.”

Stanley scurried off to read, and Ford descended into the basement where his work waited.

When he emerged at seven thirty the next morning, Stan was gone.

#writing #gravity falls #rewind #chapter 4

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inessencedevided · 4 years

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The Untamed, episode 46 - watching notes

Countdown is down to 4 episodes :'(

See this first scene? Just them stroling around between serious business - that's what I'd pay good money to see another 50 episodes of

Matchmaker-wwx for Wen Ning? I'd read that fic :D

Although I'm trying to imagine what that would be like. "Hey lady, this is my best friend. He's got a really sweet personality. He's great with kids. Very loyal. And let's just say, you'll never have to cook for two, isn't that great?"

Yeah, lan Sizhui is indeed a good candidate for a friend :')

Oh no, someone hug him 😥

I feel like I'll feel really stupid later, but should "Guanyin Temple" ring a bell for me?

Or is it a cultural thing that I'm just unaware of?

Aaaah, the temple was mentioned in the chamber! I remember!

Sorry that you guys have to endure my thought process in real time ^^

I've never seen someone bow so passive aggressively as that monk when wwx called him out on not being ordained (so not really a monk, right?)

Okay, no, he can't hold a candle to Jin Guangyao

Btw, I did a double take when they said it was a Buddhist temple. I'm really not used to there being real world religions in high fantasy settings. Usually, if there are religions (such as in got) or creation myths (such as in lotr), even though they are always modeled somewhat after real world believes they aren't called that. Having Buddhism in this universe is a bit like Georg R.R. Martin replacing the conflict between the seven gods and the old gods with a conflict between christianity and paganism or something like that ^^

I know it might sound like it, but this is not a judgement by the way, it doesn't bother mem. I just did a double take, that's all

Wei Wuxian would still call Jiang Cheng for backup :')

That's ominous 😳

What the hell is Jin Ling doing there?

Also how cute is it that our tough boy named his dog Fairy?

Lan Xichen?

What? Is? Happening?

I thought he was a prisoner?

Aren't those Jin disciples in there? Why doesn't jin Ling know about that and if he doesn't how come he's just coincidentally in the same city as them?

🤔

Hey yo, guys, maybe don't shoot your clan heir?!?

Does Jin Ling have a death wish?

Oh, the flute. That makes me weirdly sad :'(

Lan Xichen, you himbo! What are you doing???

Your otp could never

Oh now, THAT'S a villain entrance

Someone gets to choke Wei Wuxian and it's not Lan Wangji! A travesty! 😱

Sorry ^^

Oh, so Lan Xichen lost his power

Sorry, but that wonder dog does not look ferocious 😅

Please don't kill fairy though :/

I just wander ... at this point Jin Guangyao must plan to kill everyone of them. Because non of them would keep quiet about what happened permanently

Digging in a temple must be some form of blasphemy right?

Uuuhhh, Jin Guangyao knows how to hit even Lan Wangji's weak spots in reminding him of hoe he fought wwx earlier. He's GOOD

Oh this is beautiful and so so sad. He really never blamed him, even when they fought shortly before wwx's death, he only said that he always expected them to end up on opposite sides. There was no anger for lwj, even then 😥

And he gives him an out, which of course lwj won't take, cause he's not loosing him again! 😭

Holy shit, that's big. He just made himself powerless 😳

There is SO MUCH in that Lan Zhan I can't even begin to describe it 😭

Poor Lan Xichen ... :'(

Lan men, meditating their heartbreak away since ... probably Lan An

Also, I just noticed that Jin Ling is clutching his father's sword like he did when he was crying and now I imagine he always does this when he needs comfort and 😥

Wei Wuxian STILL thinks Lan Wangji is doing this because he feels like he owes him something? Darling ... I know you have issues, but you should trust his choice by now

Uhkayii, someone angered a god or why is there suddenly wind in that temple?

What even is his plan right now?

Nie Huaisang??? 😳 what's he doing here? Why is everyone in this random town?

No seriously, knowing the Lan men now, I'm not sure he'll recover from this :(

Netflix just translated whatever wwx said to "Lan Zhan gets a bum rep" and I can't stop laughing 😂

I love how there's a parallel between lan Wangji always putting himself in front of physical threats to wwx and how wwx always defends him verbally 💙🖤

"I'm not afraid of death. I just don't want to die." Is a pretty great line and I love how wwx justifies it. My first thoughts went to the deathly hallows and the invisibility cloak in particular first, though. Can't help it.

"My destiny is up to me and loss and gain don't concern me." My first, very quick, interpretation of that would be that it's his philosophy to cease the moment and use the time that is given to him as he sees fit. So he has a meaning and purpose in life and doesn't want to die. On the other hand, he is at piece with what he has achieved or not achieved in life, and should he die, he wouldn't begrudge the loss or mourn what could have been.

🤷‍♀️

Oooh

How is it that, in a show full if dramatic gays™️, Jiang Cheng is still the most dramatic of all of them???

Godda love that lwj protects wwx from a very cute dog with as much quiet stoicism as from someone pointing a sword at him 😁

So that gets rid of Su She ^^

Now THIS is one cool fight!

Jiggy with his clapping. They're ALL such dramatic bitches. I love them 😂

Wait, he acts like he knows about the core. HOW would he know about the core?

But he's GOOD

I know I keep saying it. But he's even found wei Wuxian's weak spot and that's difficult at this point

Did I just see Jiang Cheng save Lan Wangji?

That's a VERY sane smile

Oh no, there is going to be an emotional confrontation about the golden core next. Right? I feel like I'll need a cup of hot chocolate to bear that 😥

@sweetlittlevampire @fandom-glazed @elenirlachlagos @allhailthedramallama @luckymoony @kyrrahbird @i-love-him-on-purpose

Imma be honest. This episode still only raised more questions than it answered. I still have no idea what Jiggy's plan is 😅

#the untamed #sophie watches the untamed #wei wuxian #wwx #lan wangji #lwj #wangxian #jiang cheng #lan xichen #jin ling #the untamed liveblog

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floatingmushrooms · 3 years

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help me this is what im doing at 2:00 AM-

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7MMr2GpWyLg Alright max. You've had your cookies and milk. Now go to sleep- I'lL tRy... go to s l e e p. NoT lIkE tHaT! Sing em a lullaby. MeMmMmmE mMmMmEMMEEE MeMeMe~ heck is tHiS?? This girl can't sing a lullaby for c r a c k- "OcEaN mAn, TaKe mE bY tHe LaNd LeAd mE tO tHe LaNd, ThAt YoU uNdErStAnD" I'LL SHOW YOU BEAT: Close your eyes, shut your mouth, meme a meme and get us out. Meme meme meme meme meme meeeme UwU. Hit the hay, fast to sleep, meme a meme you little b l e e p- meme meme meme meme meme meeeme. It's working! Keep it up, ShArK bOi! LESS GOO! JUST RELAX, LAY ABOUT OR MY FIST WILL PUT YOU OUT- MEME MEME MEME MEME MEME MEEEME! TAKE YOUR TIME, BUT BEWARE; T̴͐͊H̷̛͂E̵̅͘R̶̉̄Ȅ̷͗ ̵̓̈I̴͌̍S̷̍͝ ̷͂͗D̴̅̊A̸̓̽R̵͋̍Ǩ̵̅N̸̍͊E̸͖͂S̴̽̒S̶̐̄ ̷͊͗Ȉ̷̐Ǹ̸̂ ̴͆̾T̵̍̍H̵̿̅Ȇ̸͆ ̶̿̾A̴̛̚I̶̊̏R̸̿̐ MEME MEME MEME MEME MEME MEEEME...! DON'T DESPAIR, STEP RIGHT UP! GLASS OF WATER? HERES A CUP! MEME MMEME MEME MEME MEME MEM- hEs HaViNg A nIgHtMaRe WaKe Up, MaX, WaKe Up! STOP THAT RACKET, SHARK BOI, YOU'RE GIVING HIM NIGHTMARES 0_o SoWwY mAx- Ā̷͆A̴̓̓A̸͐̃Ȧ̴̬Á̸͑A̵̾̓A̷̾̌Ä̷̃A̷̐͝Ã̶̿H̷͊̑H̴́̐H̶͆̊ ̵̀͌ OUCH- WHAT THE FRICK FRACK SNICK SNACK BODY WHACK DIDDLY DACK, CRACK PAT SNACK PACK COOLAID PACK CRACKER JACK BIO FEEDBACK BACK TRACK THUMBTACK SIDETRACK TICK TACK DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING- Ā̷͆A̴̓A̸͐̃Ȧ̴̬Á̸͑Ä̷̃A̷̐͝Ã̶̿HH Credit to Flamy{フラミ} for the youtube vid- honestly idek-

#lyrics #tw all caps #idek #shitpost

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shannygoatgruff · 4 years

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My Brother’s Keeper - Chapter II

Genre: Psychological Thriller

Modern Ivar X Modern Hvitserk

Rating: MA

Overall Warning: Dark story told from an emotionally distributed person’s POV with graphic and sadistic material including rape, terror, torture, kidnapping, drug use, slash, implied incest, necrophilia and insecurity. Heavy trigger warnings.

Chapter Warning: Talks sexual assault, murder, joy kills

Summary: Mama always said to be their brothers’ keeper. Now there is absolutely nothing these two won’t do for each other. Boys will be boys…

Chapter II

The sun assaults my eyes as soon as I open them. It's all I can do to raise my hand to shield them from the blinding light. Who the fuck opened the curtains These things are never open. I bought blackout curtains for a reason. I want it dark in here.

Ivar must have come in, in an attempt to get me out of bed. He could have just woken me up, instead, he tries to blind me out of bed. Any other day I would be annoyed, but right now all I can seem to concentrate on is the scent of coffee creeping under the crack of my door.

As I lay here rubbing my forehead, I close my eyes and try to piece together anything from before. I wonder how I got here. I don't remember coming home, much less stripping out of my clothes and landing in the bed. Then I look down at what I'm wearing. How did I end up in my Vikings t-shirt? I thought for sure I lost it weeks ago.

The sound of the ashtray hitting the floor when I swing my legs around pulls me out of my own head for a moment. Ivar is going to be pissed about that. Not only does he hate it that I smoke in bed, but he hates when there are ashes on the carpet. I'm not one for vacuuming and when he comes in here and sees a black stain against this white floor he's going to have a fucking fit.

I wish I could sit here and collect my thoughts…give me some time to let the morning fogginess wear off but I can't. I gotta take a leak and the smell of the coffee is making my stomach growl.

The sounds of Skynard’s Simple Man playing in the distance and clanging of frying pans on the stove tells me right away that Ivar's in a good mood. That was Mother's favorite song. All that racket he's making downstairs as he tries to sing along with the song can only mean one thing: he's making pancakes, bacon, and eggs. It's what Mother used to make us when we were little; our special meal when she wanted us to know that we were her special boys. Now, Ivar cooks it when he wants to celebrate.

If we're celebrating then we must've had a good time. Damn. Why can't I remember it? I don't have one clear memory of last night, only flashes of things that might have happened. I assume Ivar and I took that girl out, but I don't have that exciting feeling that I always have when I know that we had a great night.

I never noticed how cold the bathroom tiles were until I lean against them so I won't drip on the side of the toilet. He hates it when I do that. He's always bitching about having to clean my piss up from around the toilet and off the floor, like I don't help clean up the mess he makes when we party. He says that's just an occupational hazard and not him being a fucking slob. Whatever. I call it him being a fucking neat freak.

Still, I can't stop the chuckle coming from my lips when the stream hits the side of the bowl but then the pain makes me wince. Something's wrong, I think. It hurts to piss. Not like on the inside, more like my dick is raw; like I fucked so much and so hard that I broke the skin. It feels like that one time I got a friction burn the first time I tried anal. I think I was rushing and didn't move the underwear over enough so the material rubbed my dick raw. I don't even remember who that was with. I just remember seeing the blood on my dick and this raw patch. I guess it felt good because I still like anal, but sometimes the thought of it makes me nauseous. It doesn't look like I did anything to myself. There's no broken skin or anything, but it still hurts.

What the fuck did we do last night? I wasn't that fucked up. I hardly had anything at the bar and I know I didn't do more than two Percocet. I was going light for a reason. I was so fucked up when we went out the night before that I could barely get it up when we entertained our guests.

I wonder if Ivar had me doing some crazy shit to that girl like I did to that one a few weeks ago. Damn, I wish I could remember it. Remembering helps keep the hunger away. Right now, I feel like I haven't done anything. It’s almost like I missed out on a night of partying. This feeling is enough to make me salivate.

I pull my shirt over my t-shirt as I walk toward the stairs, hoping that I'm not forgetting anything. The wooden steps creaking under my weight is enough to alert Ivar that I'm awake. I still don't know what time it is. All I know is it's too early to be up, but late enough that I won't make it into work on time. I don't really care. I feel out of it today. I'll call them and tell them I'm sick or something. I just don't think I could concentrate on that shit today if I tried.

Ivar is already sitting down to breakfast, looking like he's been awake for hours. I never understood why he wakes up so early or why he insists that we dress for breakfast. He has this thing where he likes for us to be presentable at the table. It's not like we ever have company. It was how Father did it. He liked all of his boys dressed and looking our best around the table when he sat down. It seems pointless to me, since it's just us two. I think it's cold and stuffy; Ivar finds it intimate. I don't know why we need to be intimate over pancakes but it seems to make him happy, so do it.

I like it when Ivar's happy.

The chair screeches on the hardwood floor as I pull it back to take a seat. He's sitting there quietly sipping on a cup of coffee and reading is iPad. He never looks up at me in the morning; most of the time I doubt that he even knows I'm here. "Morning."

His blue eyes lift from the printed text on the screen. The slight way his head turns in my direction before his eyes makes me feel uneasy, but then he smiles. "How'd you sleep?"

I reach for a pancake and break off a piece before sitting it on my plate. My coffee is already at my place on the table, loaded with two shots of vodka, cream, and a shit load of sugar, no doubt. Dunking my pancaked into my coffee, I shrug my shoulders. "Okay, I guess. Why didn't you wake me?"

"You needed to rest." He answers as if I should already know that. His voice is calm and soothing. I don't know how he always manages to put me at ease. "I called work for you."

"Yeah? What'd you say?"

He lays one hand carefully over the iPad, covering up most of the article he's reading. Placing his coffee cup back on the table, he tilts the iPad back up to his eyes. "I told Ubbe you were taking off the rest of the week.” If I keep missing work like this, my older brother is going to get pissed. I’m sure he’ll be calling me later today to see why I begged off. He’ll perform his brotherly duties, and make sure everything is alright. I guess I need to think of a real excuse before that time comes.

A bemused look hits Ivar's face and he points to a section of the screen as if I can see it. "Listen to this, ‘The police discovered the body of a runaway that was already presumed dead, in an abandoned apartment complex. According to crime scene detectives, the victim was tied up, tortured, and raped. 'I feel sorry for this young woman,' says Detective Torstein, Homicide. 'From the information we've gathered, she ran away from an abusive foster home two years ago and was thought to be dead. The reason it took us so long to find her was that no one reported her missing."

I can't help but notice the mirth in Ivar's voice as he reads the article. There's something in the gleam in his eye that tells me right away she's the girl we picked up at the bar. Poor thing. It sucks that she had such a rough life. "Well at least nobody can hurt her anymore." The dry pancake is thick in my throat but a few sips of coffee quickly remedy the discomfort.

"The cause of death was blunt force trauma to the face…” I feel like I have a massive migraine all of a sudden. My head doesn't really hurt but the flashes of light that shoot through my head are blinding.

“’An object of substantial size was used to crush every bone in her face sending fragments of her skull to her brain.' Detective Torstein adds, 'More than likely, the victim died on impact.' Jesus, Hvitserk. What did you do to her?”

It's like a dream almost. I can't really remember anything specifically; it just comes back in snippets. I remember sitting down and talking to her. I remember enjoying a cigarette, but that's it. "Me? The beating and shit, that's your deal." I can feel a smile tickle the corners of my mouth.

"Not this time. Why her face?" Ivar folds his hands on the table and studies me with great interest. He's not upset, more like in awe. He gets so excited about these things.

As I reach for my coffee cup again, I notice my left hand. It's red and swollen at my web between my index finger and my thumb. I can see a set of perfectly outlined teeth prints that have turned purple from where the skin was broken. Now, I can remember how that happened. "She started screaming, so I covered her mouth." I can even feel her bite me, sending a sharp pain through my hand when I struggled to pry her legs open.

I wish the memories were vivid, but they're more like me watching someone else through a dense fog. It's vague and not necessarily in order, but the one thing that remains constant is the sound of her screaming. "She bit me."

"The victim's underwear was found in her throat." Ivar's actually laughing at that detail. "That's fucking awesome." He acts like that is something that I should be proud of or that maybe it's something that he wants to try.

"My hand was bleeding and it kept sliding off of her mouth. I had to stop the screaming." A flash of memory comes to me of and I recall taking the white laced panties and pushing them into her mouth. It muffled her voice, but I could still hear it. It bothered me. "But then she started gurgling. She was getting on my fucking nerves."

"'The victim's undergarments were lodged in her esophagus, cutting off the oxygen supply to her brain,' explains the Detective.'Whoever did this crime was truly an animal.'" Ivar reads along with the article as if to back up my story.

I open and close my hand, staring at the colors it has turned from the bite. There are scratches on my knuckles too, but it doesn't really hurt. Why didn't I notice this before? I should have remembered all of this before Ivar read all of that to me. "That sound was horrible. There was a cinder-block, I think. Just a big chunk of something concrete on the floor. I didn't hit her with it. I dropped it on her. I just wanted her to shut the fuck up." I guess that's what killed her.

"Well, Astrid's not screaming anymore." Ivar's smile is so wide that his eyes crinkle at the corners.

"Who?"

"Astrid. Her name was Astrid." As soon as he says that, I open my mouth and piece of pancake, coffee, bile and everything else that was resting comfortably in my stomach land on the table. I clutch the sides of the table, when my stomach muscles contract, forcing more vomit to spew from my lips. I can't really see due to the tears in my eyes, but I do notice Ivar stand up and carry his coffee mug and plate to the sink. He moves so gracefully, so calmly. He's doing this like it's no big deal that I'm puking on the kitchen table.

I think my stomach is finally returning to normal, but I don't know what made me lose it. Maybe it's the fact that she had a name. I hate knowing that they have names. It almost makes them seem as real, when I know what people called them. I can live with the fact that I killed a girl. But, can I deal with the fact that I killed Astrid, the throw-away, runaway girl with the annoying voice and the shitty past? Fuck. Why did I have to know her name?

Ivar's hand fists my hair and brings my head to rest against his stomach. He presses the damp paper towel to my forehead and then dabs the corners of my mouth. "Shh." His hand cups my neck as he rubs his thumb against my jaw to calm me. "It's okay, Serk. You told her not to scream. She didn't listen to you. This wasn't your fault, it was hers."

I don't understand how we got to this point. Ivar is the one into torture and pain and hurting and shit. I'm just there for the ride. I fuck them. That's all I do. Sometimes he does things to them and when they're almost broken, I fuck the shit out of them before he finishes them off however he wants. Sometimes they're alive when I get them; sometimes they're not. But one thing remains constant, I don't kill. That's not what I'm there for. We don't switch roles. Ivar has never fucked any of them, ever. He gets off on watching me do it. Just like I get off on watching him so happy fucking with them. And then we come home and talk about it and laugh and drink and get fucked up. It's what we do. It's how we have fun. Why did I change that?

I bury my head in Ivar's stomach as the last of my tears come out. I guess I'm crying for her, or at least I feel like I should be. But I can't really concentrate on that right now because I happen to notice the iPad sitting on the table. I slide it over and look at him confused. "Wednesday? How the fuck is it Wednesday?"

"You slept for three days. You always do when you make a mistake." He leans down and places a soft kiss in my hair. "It's okay, though. I made everything better. They'll never know. You got nothing to feel sorry for. You just need some rest. You'll feel better after a hot bath, and then you can sleep it off. I’ll even talk to Ubbe, if he calls." He helps me from my chair and leads me to the stairs. "Go run your bath. I'll bring you some tea and toast to settle your stomach."

I nod, because I know he's right. I do need to rest. I know he'll take care of me while I try to make peace with what I've done. He'll make sure I don't blame myself. He'll see to it that I eat, sleep, Ubbe is off my back, and that there's no evidence to link me to the crime. Ivar will take care of everything.

He always does.

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elceeu2morrow · 5 years

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By Matt Galea 18/12/2019

It was the morning after our staff Christmas party that I got on the horn to Louis Tomlinson.

While the entire office was munching on bacon and egg rolls and chugging coffee to revive themselves, I was in the studio, eagerly awaiting a call from the UK to chat to my favourite member of One Direction (yep, you read that correctly).

You see, unlike most folks who occasionally whack on ‘What Makes You Beautiful’ during road trip karaoke or follow Harry Styles on Instagram to stay up to date with his dazzling wardrobe, I have been a true 1D stan since day dot: X Factor.

As soon as the band was pieced together, punters began choosing their faves, most of them picking Harry and don’t get me wrong, he’s an absolute lord (I’ve literally travelled to another country to see Harry live, I’ve had his album(s) on repeat since their release and I have tons of his merch), but I was instantly enchanted by the quiet, brooding, eldest member of the band and as their popularity skyrocketed, so, too, did my love for Louis.

I guess it’s a combination of his sleek style, his dreamy eyes plus the fact that he’s sassy (his public feuds have rightfully earned him the name ‘Sass Master of Doncaster’) and also has a ‘yuge heart and loves his fans unconditionally.

So naturally when the band went on hiatus, I followed Louis’ career like a hawk and, my fellow Louis stans, our time has finally come ‘coz 2020 is going to be THE year of Louis Tomlinson.

Let me repeat that louder for the people in the back:

2020 is going to be THE year of Louis Tomlinson.

The excitement in his voice is palpable as he discusses his debut studio album Walls which drops on January 31, 2020.

“I’m quite big on lyrics, it’s important for me to be honest and real and, at times, vulnerable,” he says of the album.

“My fans already know a lot about me but hopefully I can bring them an album that shows them another side.

”This ~other side~ includes personal yarns and tales from Louis’ life as he explains that he draws inspiration “from my life events.

“There were times in the past where I tried to write in a fictional sense, and there are a couple of songs on the album like that, but mostly I find it easier to write autobiographically.”

He adds, “Things happen to you and sometimes it might seem mundane but it makes you feel a certain way and it’s worth writing about.”

If you haven’t already listened to his latest singles, first of all what the heck is wrong with you? Second of all, go give them a listen and you’ll know exactly what he means by writing autobiographically.

He says his newest single ‘Don’t Let It Break Your Heart’ is “something that I’m definitely really proud of.”

“It’s a song trying to invoke hope, it’s about seeing the glass as half full as opposed to half empty and no matter what life throws at you, don’t let it break your heart.”

I then point out that he has a lot of positive, inspirational, anthemic bops under his belt and I ask if this is intentional.

“I think so,” he responds. “You always want to write lyrics that are relatable and inspiring, and I think songs like the song I did with Steve [Aoki] ‘Just Hold On’, it’s got the same kind of vibe of hope. I think it’s a pretty cool topic.”

He then talks me through my personal favourite, ‘We Made It.’

“It’s kind of about two things because we started out with just the title and what it meant to me in that moment was me picturing our first show of the tour and all the hard work it took me to get there and with the fans, it’s a collective, we made it here together, and that’s how the song started out,” he says.

“And then in the verse you have to add a bit more of a story so we’re talking about me going to visit my girlfriend at the university halls while I was on tour with the boys, so I was going off that dynamic.”

Directioners will be happy to know that Louis doesn’t shy away from name-dropping his bandmates and when I ask him to talk me through the best moments from the past decade, he literally lists three 1D-centric mems.

“When we first got put together as a band, that was a magical moment,” he says.

“We didn’t know each other that well and we went through that whole journey together, so that was pretty special.”

“When we played Madison Square Gardens in New York, that was a pretty memorable one. All of our families came down to watch.”

And finally, “We were lucky enough to play at the Olympics which was definitely one of the proudest moments I’ve ever had, definitely.”

Speaking of performing with 1D, Louis’ forthcoming trip to Australia will be his first without his bandmates and he is, as he put it, “proper excited to come back.”

“The gigs [in Oz] are always incredible and also for any Brit, it’s the ultimate dream to travel to Australia.”

But punters who have been lucky enough to see a One Direction show in their lifetime should expect a very, very different vibe from Tomlinson now that he’s flying solo (~obviously~).

“It’s not going to be a massive production with any gimmicks, it’s just going to be pretty straightforward. Just a good live show focusing on music and hopefully we’ll have a good night.”

Going from touring with his besties to being on the road by himself (and the backing band, of course) is bound to be a huge adjustment that Louis plans on easing into.

“I like creating normality [on the road], I just like to be sat with mates chatting, listening to music and then head out onto stage.”

He also gave me this lil tidbit about his travelling style, which should come as no surprise to the die-hards.

“I’m notoriously a really bad packer, I always leave with not enough clothes and not enough things that I need.”

But while he’s often short a pair of sneakers or a sweater or two, he always makes sure to pack the essentials.

“I like to take tea bags with me on tour. You can’t get a good cup of tea everywhere so it’s important to travel with your own.”

Which prompts me to ask about his thoughts on our tea Down Under.

“It’s good, yeah! It’s good,” he assures me.

So now that we’ve discussed what 2020 will look like for him (including starting his sophomore album in the second half of the year!), along with his highlights from the last decade, I’m eager to know what his plans are for the next decade.

Brace yourselves for the response…

“Fucking hell, I’m not that good at thinking far ahead,” he immediately quips. Legit, there’s nothing I love more than when celebs drop an F word in an interview. It shows that they’re not doing the super-polished, media-trained thing and they’re happy just being themselves.

Frankly, if Louis didn’t swear in the interview, I would’ve been convinced that he’d been abducted by aliens and replaced with a cyborg. But you’ll be happy to know that in our nine-minute convo, he swore a grand total of three times which is a great score, IMO.

But anyway, back to the question at hand.

“Hopefully still making music, still making albums. My intention is to get better as a songwriter with every album, so hopefully still making music and still touring.”

We wrap up our good old chinwag with a message to his fans, particularly the Aussies who he’ll finally be treating to his angel voice when he plays the Big Top in Sydney and the Palais Theatre in Melbourne in April.

“Massive thank you for your patience and your support. I’m so excited to release the album. I’m as excited, if not more, to come and see everyone on tour so thanks for your love and I’ll see you on tour.”

Final tickets for Louis Tomlinson’s debut Australian tour are available now via livenation.com.au.

SAT APR 25 – BIG TOP, SYDNEY

MON APR 27 – PALAIS THEATRE, MELBOURNE

#lt news #lt interview #pedestrian #australia #wmi promo #walls promo #dlibyh promo #elounor 2.0 #in the usual uni part #bad packer #but packing yorkshire tea

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hlupdate · 5 years

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It was the morning after our staff Christmas party that I got on the horn to Louis Tomlinson.

So naturally when the band went on hiatus, I followed Louis’ career like a hawk and, my fellow Louis stans, our time has finally come ‘coz 2020 is going to be THE year of Louis Tomlinson.

Let me repeat that louder for the people in the back:

2020 is going to be THE year of Louis Tomlinson.

The excitement in his voice is palpable as he discusses his debut studio album Walls which drops on January 31, 2020.

“I’m quite big on lyrics, it’s important for me to be honest and real and, at times, vulnerable,” he says of the album.

“My fans already know a lot about me but hopefully I can bring them an album that shows them another side.”

This ~other side~ includes personal yarns and tales from Louis’ life as he explains that he draws inspiration “from my life events.”

“There were times in the past where I tried to write in a fictional sense, and there are a couple of songs on the album like that, but mostly I find it easier to write autobiographically.”

He says his newest single ‘Don’t Let It Break Your Heart’ is “something that I’m definitely really proud of.”

“It’s a song trying to invoke hope, it’s about seeing the glass as half full as opposed to half empty and no matter what life throws at you, don’t let it break your heart.”

I then point out that he has a lot of positive, inspirational, anthemic bops under his belt and I ask if this is intentional.

“I think so,” he responds. “You always want to write lyrics that are relatable and inspiring, and I think songs like the song I did with Steve [Aoki]‘Just Hold On’, it’s got the same kind of vibe of hope. I think it’s a pretty cool topic.”