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doubleshotofsomething · 4 years

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Come Into My Life

This is my entry for @nekoannie-chan‘s writing challenge. Congratulations on 500followers :D! Thank you so much for letting me participate!

This is a series. The remaining parts will be posted throughout the day. It is a Thor fanfic with a song prompt “Entra en mi Vida” (its a beautiful song, i highly recommend).

Song Prompt: Entra en mi Vida by Sin Bandera

Warnings: swearing, like a lot of it. Mentions of human experimentation. that’s it?? Also, people are idiots here, folks. bare with me.

Summary: You live in a world where soulmates don’t exist. Like, at all. All that meant to be, fate has chosen nonsense? Not real. Literal, actual, from-the-TV-screen fairytale. So... why is the God of Thunder convinced that you’re his?

Part One: Entra en mi vida, te abro la puerta

"So—" You clear your throat, throwing yourself onto the only empty seat, "—all jokes aside, guys. What the fuck!"

Everyone blinks at you, drinks in their hands and confusion all over their faces.

You stare back at them, completely dismissing the new sets of eyes staring at you. "No, seriously, like what the fuck?" You reiterate. "Like, no guys, this fuck needs an answer. What the fuck."

"Are we supposed to know what this fuck is?" Ghost asks, the first among the group of five to surpass her confusion. "Because I have a what the fuck for that what the fuck."

You reach over to grab her drink and she – having been used to your antics after three years of friendship – moves it closer for you to grab. You take a sip, let the taste of her chamomile tea settle on your tongue, blanch and give it back.

"So, you know how the Avengers got their asses whipped after they pulled a deadbeat dad, right?" You make grabby hands towards Hope's drink, and she – just like Ghost – pushes it over to you.

"Careful," she grimaces, "it has a kick to it."

"So did Thanos," You mumble as you take a sip of her drink. The espresso sits heavily on your tongue and you swear you can feel it stain your teeth. "What the actual fuck, Hope? What is this? And why does it not have sugar?"

She chooses to roll her eyes at you and mimic the remaining two new faces by staying quiet. Her eyes narrow at you in warning.

"Don't get a tude with me, missy—" You wag your finger at her, “—you're the one that MIA'd for five years without a return address and pissed off the Feds. Like, seriously, what the fuck guys? We had plans and everything! Why the fuck would you leave me alone for that long? You know how I get when I'm not forced to socialise!"

Ghost snorts. "Don't be a baby."

Pouting, because you’re very mature, you feign a sniffle and stick your tongue out at her. "Weeeeeh."

The dude with the annoyingly short blond hair snorts, consequently gaining your attention, and tries to hide his smile with his cup.

"You're new," you narrow your eyes at him. "Why are you new? And why do you look like the dude that owes me 12K for wrecking my car?"

"Oh my god—" Ghost grumbles in the background, "—not this again."

"I have bills and crippling debts and things that need to be paid for, Ghost!"

"You're a trust fund baby, you shithead!" She argues. "You don't know what crippling debt looks like!"

"You don't know that! My investment portfolio has been crumbling since the stock market crashed last year due to the recession."

Sam grins cheekily at you. "You have no idea what you just said, do you?"

Huffing and puffing, all you can say is. "Let's go back to the what the fuck that needs to be discussed." You glare at him pointedly, "then maybe, we can discuss why you're still here and why you came back from ashes."

"I know you missed me, cupcake." The evil bastard reaches over and pinches your cheek.

"I miss dancing on your grave," You try to swat his hand away, "now, thanks to your selfishness, I need a new dance floor. Very rude of you to not stay dead."

"You're adorable."

"As I was whatting the fucks," You turn back to Hope and Ghost, "when the fuck did my life become Thor versus Thanos, and why am I the Thor without the hammer to fight Thanos?"

"Is that your what the fuck?" Ghost frowns.

It's her turn to get glared at. "Don't act like you haven't seen the footage. You know exactly how badly Thor got yeeted off his high horse. I'm only regretful that Captain Wrecking Ball wasn't knocked off his."

"You know he's over here, right?" Hope, ever the oblivious one to your obvious jabs, points at the dude that wrecked your car.

"Yeah, unlike my car and the check he has yet to hand over but hey—" lifting up the cup of espresso, you grin at her "—when life gives you lemons."

"I'm still confused and offended about the Thanos reference." Sam, the gift from the bad side of Pandora's box, begins. "What do we have to do with your life?"

"What does pulling a deadbeat dad mean?" The other new dude asks, his face is both the definition of confused and annoyed. "And what does it have to do with the Avengers?"

You frown. "Now I'm confused—"

"Oh no—" Ghost grimaces.

"—Why do you look like the dude from Gossip Girl but also like the dude on the UN's wanted poster of 20something?" You turn to Sam for assistance. "Doesn't he look like that old geezer from the museum?"

Sam grins, leans back in his seat to take a proper look at the manbun dude. Your table is the round one placed at the corner – the irony – and, until recently, it has always been occupied by the four of you. That was before they decided to ghost you for half a decade.

"Now that you mention it—"

"Oh, fuck off." Manbun snaps at Sam, and you swear you've never fallen in love faster in your entire life than you have in that moment.

Your grin is wide and shit-eating as you put the cup down. You extend your hand to Manbun and wiggle your freshly painted — somehow chapped – fingers.

"I'd tell you my name but it's better if you just called me sweetheart," You’re still grinning. "What's your sign and what time can you pick me up?"

He blinks at you, still confused, and frowns at your hand. Slowly, because you’re a patient girl, you lean over and pry his left hand away from his cup. You place your palm in his and wrap your fingers around each other.

"I'd ask for your name but I think I'll settle for calling you babe," You shake his hand, and then place it back on the cup. "Or hun. I'd call you handsome, but that's too tacky and we—” You point between the both of you, " – don't do tacky."

You sit back in your seat and glance at Sam. "Well... Most of the time anyway."

At this, the rest of your life flashes you a grin. "How does eight o'clock sound?"

"It sounds like a recipe for disaster." Ghost cuts in, narrowing her eyes at you. "Back off, shithead. You've hurt enough of my coworkers"

Jaw dropping and shock feigning, you gasp. "How is that my fault?"

"Is that joke?" Ghost frowns, "because I feel like it's a joke. Three incidences with the analysts and five tech support team make it look like a joke."

You scoff at that. "Look, if your little back up boys can't handle the essence of a real woman, then that's not my fault." Confidently – and silently annoyed – you also add. "Plus, I actually did SHIELD, or whatever ridiculous name you're calling the remake of a failed organisation, a favour. If your boys behind the boys in spandex can't handle being told off by a 'mouse' as they call us, then they shouldn't be behind the dude that wrecked my car.

"But now that I've said that out loud—" You pause, "—I finally understand why the Avengers are so bad at their job. I mean, with such poor support systems, it's no wonder boy blue and red uses cars as a landing mechanism. It's almost as if he's never heard of a parachute."

There's a pregnant pause as you pretend to ponder the situation. The new dude with the blond hair has visibly turned red and is shifting uncomfortably in his seat. Manbun has a very permanent looking frown smeared all over his face and you’re pretty sure you've just ruined whatever chances you had of giving him children. And Sam, because he's Sam and is patiently waiting his turn to roast you, has the biggest shit-eating grin on his face.

Ghost pretends to scowl at you, even though you’re pretty sure she's already drawing up the schematics for the pedestal she's about to build for you. Hope, because she's Hope and has first-hand experience of dealing with spoilt little brats that use creative antics to slowly drive people away, decides to use that exact moment to sigh and expose you.

"Hey sweetheart," she begins in that voice of betrayal. "Can you, like, not be an antisocial, territorial pain in the ass for five minutes and be nice? Stop trying to get our guests to leave with your little mind games, yeah?"

You blink at her. Once, twice. Because the betrayal always takes a few moments to sink in.

"They're not mind games." You retort. "Boy Blue over there did wreck my car. He used it to cushion his fall, because apparently the super-secret organisation that harbours entitled idiots doesn't invest in parachutes."

"But you don't even need that 12K—"

"I didn't ask for the 12k. I just simply pointed out that his reckless behaviour is very costly for those who suffer for it."

"Okay, guys—" Ghost tries to interject, but it's too late. The fire has already started, and Hope and you have never been on the same page when it comes to anything involving the Avengers.

"You're being unreasonable now. You, of all people, should understand that some things are out of our control."

"That doesn't excuse or make the damage done alright. The ruining of people’s livelihoods isn’t a necessary evil for your super heroe'ing righteousness." You point out, eyes narrowed, and teeth bared. "I, of all people, don't understand your defence. Because I don't use the lab that made me as an excuse to get away with the bad shit I do to people. Whether intentionally or not."

"Really? Because you weren't singing that same song when you cashed in on all that HYDRA inheritance."

"I am not the people that made me and it's not like I'm vacationing the money away. Or have you forgotten about that harbour I had to fix because your boyfriend decided to grow a few sizes?"

"Oh, how could I forget? It's not like you rub it in his face every time he tries to so much as even say hi to you."

"People should be held accountable for their actions. Excuse me for exercising my fifth amendment because I don't think communicating with the guy that turned your dad into a fugitive by siding with the anti-accords gang is cool!"

"That accords was messed and you know it!"

“Yeah, but I didn’t go around trying to be a vigilante about it!”

"Just admit that your stance for the accords is only because you need the government's protection against ex-Hydra agents."

She hit a cord and she knows it. "You're treading on very thin ice, Hope."

"Scared they might come back and finish what they started? Now that Pierce and Rumlow are gone, there's nothing stopping them from finishing what they started, is there?"

"You know," You sigh, reaching for Ghost's drink and taking a sip. "At least, I don't have to abduct a man from his home, nearly ruin his chances at freedom, risk his life numerous times for my personal gain, just cause I have a theory about my mom's whereabouts. And then—" You let out a condescending laugh at the thought, "—have the audacity to look him in the eye and call it love. Because, ya know, turning a guy into a science experiment and berating him for doing what he thought was right is so romantic."

She's turning red. You can see it before it actually happens and there is a sick sense of pleasure coursing through your veins at the thought. At the fact that you’re the one pressing all the buttons.

Boy, are you fucked up.

"Damn." Sam mumbles, then chortles, then belts out a laugh. "Shit. Who pissed in your gourmet breakfast?"

"People," You scowl at him. “Fucking people. Because, now call me a bitch if you insist, I don't remember telling management to sign a deal with SHIELD."

"What the fuck?" Ghost, ever so caring, contributes to your bewilderment and pissy mood.

You nod frantically at her. "Exactly! What the fuck! Do you see why I needed you guys so bad? Like, it's like the creation of the Strike Force all over again!"

"Hold on—" Captain Damage Ball cuts in. "—I'm confused. What exactly is going on and what does SHIELD have to do with it?"

"Oh boy. Germany, here we go again—"

"Don't be an asshole, shithead."

When SHIELD fell and Black Widow released all those classified documents to the public, your existence was made known to the public. It turned out that running a terrorist cell inside a super-secret organisation wasn't the only thing Pierce had hidden from the world. You were.

You were supposed to be an experiment. Another volunteer, like the Twins, for Hydra's ultimate plan. Another Bucky Barnes, but without the constant torture to keep you mindless and loyal.

You were supposed to be the next generation. The Rumlow that wouldn't need force and violence to get the job done. That was the requirement. Those were the orders. That's what you were supposed to be.

Instead, somewhere deep in the dark, cold corners of an abandoned Hydra lab, the inhumane attempt of creating Winter Soldiers through 'natural means' had taken place.

The surrogates were all volunteers, the scientist claimed.

The procedure was necessary for the mission, the doctor explained.

This is the only way forward, the master mind behind that plan argued.

Rumlow took care of the agents himself. Pierce burned down that lab himself. And, out of all the children born, you were the only one that lived longer than the rest. The others were unfortunate enough to be experimented on, before Rumlow found out.

Not knowing who to trust, Pierce kept you hidden from the world and Hydra. He never hid the truth from you, nor did Rumlow. They knew that, at some point, those that knew about the lab would eventually find you, and you needed to be prepared for when they did.

When SHIELD fell, the paper trail that led to your existence was small – miniscule, even – but it was there. Sam found it, but he kept you a secret as well until you were ready for the whole world to know.

But the world wasn't waiting for you to be ready. It wasn't that patient, nor kind. Because, with everything out in the open, chaos ensued, and you were still – at the end of the day – the next generation. All those assets couldn't remain frozen forever and all those lives that were ruined by Hydra couldn't remain unaided.

So, you had to step out and – begrudgingly – announce your existence to the world. Put a huge target on your back and claim the inheritance that Pierce had unwittingly left you.

"I'm gonna go piss off alot of bad people—" You had said to Sam over the phone, right before your News Interview. "What do you think I should start with?"

He wasn't having any of it. "Did you just wait for me to leave the country so you could do something stupid?"

"Of course not, I'm not you—" You scoffed, checking your outfit again. "—I hired a hacker to fake a series of cyber-attacks. Then I asked that girl, you know – the one that could walk through walls, to freak a bunch of people out. So, you know, it could be an Avenger level threat, but not the kind that needed Captain Spandex, so they'd send you. Then I scheduled the interview for the night of the supposed attack, because I knew you'd be gone—"

"Are you kidding me, Y/N— Clint, turn this thing around now!"

"—So, I was thinking I show up on stage and say 'the law says I can take all those assets and I'm gonna use them to do the exact opposite of what my ex-bosses would've wanted'. How does that sound?"

"Do me a favour. Don't move. I wanna kill you myself."

You grinned. "I knew you'd love it."

Next Part

TAGS: @nekoannie-chan , @thorfanficwriter

#annie's1stwritingchallenge #annie's500kittieswritingchallenge #writing challenge #sam wilson #thor x reader #x reader #avengers x you #thor x you #thor fanfiction #thor fluff #steve rogers #bucky barnes #sam x reader #mcu #Avengers

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indig0g0 · 4 years

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If you are so against theft, why you friends with gabriel tho? There has been HOW MUCH evidence against him? I don't know, Newt. Seems Pretty Sus To Me. SEEMS LIKE YOU ARE TRYING TO TAKE THE HEAT OFF THE CURRENT SHIT AGAINST GABE I'M JUST SAYING-

Hi kids, first of all! His name is GABRIEL! Calling him not his name, when he doesn’t like it! Is just like misgendering! Anyway! Lets sit down for this! I was waiting for you (or maybe it was someone else!) to come back for this!

Did you know that its possible, as an adult human being, to disagree with everyone in a situation? Did you also know.... That there’s a difference.... Between using the same concepts? And OUTRIGHT TRACING SOMEONE’S ART? Did you know...... That there was more to the story... than bo’s callout post made it out to be? Did you know there was a third whole design in the mix?

Also before we get started I want to state that as a 25 year old man, who has been in multiple different art communities. You cannot steal a concept. You cannot steal a concept. YOU CANNOT STEAL A CONCEPT. There are 800 trolls with white porcelain masks! There are 800 trans masc jadeblood trolls! These are all concepts! Iridescence as a concept! Is a CONCEPT.

Opalescence is a concept that is similar but different to iridescence.

ANYWAY!!!

LETS SIT DOWN FOR THE WHOLE STORY BECAUSE BOY HAVE I HAD ENOUGH OF BEING ASKED WHERE I STAND ON THIS!

Okay! So! Here’s the thing (the thing! Which I got from someone who WASN’T either Bo or Gabriel! Surprise! There’s AN OUTSIDE PARTY!)

Bo made an iridescent adopt! Gabriel wanted the adopt! But Liam bought the adopt first! Whatever! That’s the end of it of whatever that is! Bo and Gabriel stopped being friends in this time, i think, but that’s not my fucking business because i’m 25 years old and other people’s interpersonal problems aren’t my fucking business!!

Its reasonable here, then, to like the concept behind a design right? And you you probably think “oh this is where gabriel ripped off cosmit, right?” and you’d be wrong!

We’re going to cut to my favorite third party, a loving friend and wonderful person... Echo! Who makes adopts! As a source of income!

Who was like! Hey party people! Suggest themes for me to use in my next batch! of adopts! and now you think... oh... here comes opal.. WRONG AGAIN!

So what happened was... gabriel had been like “i saw this cool iridescent design, and the concept was really cool! maybe you should do an opalescent design!” and echo was like oh fuck yeah i’d love to do that! and so.... they did. Now i’m sure you’re thinking..... Oh it’s Opal!

Except. Actually it wasn’t.

The opalescent (NOT iridescent, they aren’t the same if you were wondering!) troll Echo original made? One of the ones that bo linked in their call out? Isnt opal.

It’s the original opalescent design that echo made! Which they.. Kept! That’s their Magiro!

This is magiro on the end! This is the original design!

this image? the girl on the bottom? THATS FUCKING MAGIRO. THAT IS ART. FROM ECHO’S BLOG. OF ECHO’S CHARACTER.

which looks..... NOTHING like...

this absurdly small screenshot i also pilfered from bo’s callout post! Of cosmit!

Who’s sprites I will not post out of respect for Liam because I have not asked him if I can use it! But the original is necessary so it’s here anyway. (I have permission from Echo to post the originals here! FYI!)

Now because they ended up keeping Magiro! They said! I’ll make you one for free with the same general concept! And lo!

Opal was born! This was the design that Echo did for gabriel! This is opal! As you can see... She looks nothing like cosmit! Except for the fact that she has

dark skin is meant to be black coded and has a similar theme. she even has a nose rings You can see it under her glasses!

and so these are the sprites Gabriel made based off the design ECHO made him

‘

Now! Here’s where it gets hinky!

Here’s where I don’t agree with either party!

Bo and Liam were upset that Gabriel (and Gabriel alone) apparently ripped off Opal! I don’t see it, and I don’t think you can steal a concept either! But whatever theyre adults they can make their own conclusions!

Now where I don’t agree with Gabriel is... Gabriel started making posts (after being told he was accused the first time, idk by who) about Opal being the BEST opalescent troll in the community! Which is fucked up! It’s immature and I was upset with him for it! And then it spiralled a little!

Gabriel got a call out blog made about him for reasons OTHER than opal! The callout blog tried to bring up opal! Liam made a public statement that he and gabriel were handling it privately! And I thought that was going to be that on that!

or was it!

So in private, and bo’s “call out” will confirm this, the whole party eventually agreed that Gabriel would be making edits to opal to make her theme different instead of white opalescent blah blah, this all is NOT my business and frankly I don’t fucking care.

My problem comes in when it become not enough for bo that Gabriel to make changes to or stop using Opal altogether and started... Boxing gabriel into a new solution? Because Gabriel apparently wasn’t bending over backwards enough? I don’t fucking know! It’s not my fucking business! DURING a time of crisis. DURING. BO DID THIS WHEN GABRIEL WAS ALREADY IN A POSITION TO HAVE A HARD TIME SAYING NO. THIS IS FUCKED UP NO? But! I don’t know how you can post screenshots of you saying “You’re having a bad time because of this tropical storm about to rock your shit and I hate you and want you to go away Take this Hilariously Low sum of money for a character with tons of art and effort” and then think you’re like. In the right here? Bo admits they were stupid angry and that they cancelled the deal on a whim IN Their call out post! And then turned around, in their anger, and started threatening gabriel ! That’s literally blackmailing him! Because he wasn’t doing what they wanted! it’s all literally in the post! I read the whole thing! Gabriel came back with a counter, which was getting rid of Opal altogether including making the replacement in the story NOT black coded, NOT a woman (explicitly stated to be transmasc for the new concept), No piercings etc.

Bo then, later AGAIN during a time of Financial and real life crisis (their confrontation was sent within HOURS of the announcement of another hurricane about to rock houston) decided to turn around and verbally berate Gabriel about how he failed to deliver his apology, turned around, and tried to post a largely evidence-less call out about him.

The reason for Bo doing this?

Gabriel reblogged female-coded aesthetic into the tag. And that was all the proof Bo needed that GABRIEL IS A LIAR BLAH BLAH

heres the thing.

gabriel and i are in a different artist’s server together.

Gabriel has posted the wip of the new design into the server. I’ve seen it. with my own two fucking eyes.

in fact. the new design. BARELY EVEN LOOKS LIKE A FUCKING TROLL AT ALL

IT LOOKS NOTHING LIKE COSMIT

IT DOESNT EVEN FUCKING LOOK LIKE OPAL

BO WENT OFF THE RAILS

FOR LITERALLY NO FUCKING REASON

AND NOW A BUNCH OF 17 YEAR OLDS ON TUMBLR

ARE TRYING TO RUIN NOT ONLY HIS LIVELIHOODS, BUT ALSO EVERYONE AROUND HIM

OVER A DESIGN THAT WAS 3 CONCEPTS REMOVED FROM THE ORIGINAL

ANYWAY TLDR: they both handled this extremely poorly! I do NOT agree with Gabriel’s handling of Bo’s and Liam’s initial concerns! But I SUPER don’t agree with “i own blackcoded opalescent characters as a concept bc i said so” and but mostly?

I really disagree with bo’s attempts to use the crisis of a TROPICAL STORM to solicit the response THEY ALONE wanted.

THIS is why I have bo blocked. I could give a shit LESS about all the other bullshit. Do I like it? No. It is my business? no.

But the sheer fucking LACK OF EMPATHY displayed here is FUCKING ASTOUNDING.

Theres actually OTHER reasons I don’t like bo, which are all 100% unrelated to all this fucking horse shit! But that’s my fucking business!! anyway!! fuck off!!

#newtnewt #read this if you want #i've been effectively blacklisted from the community since that one toddler called gabriel out in april anyway so what do i really have to l #drama #i fucking GUESS #Anonymous

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fletchphoenix · 4 years

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Change Of Plans

Chapter 3 of Hugo’s story - I’m thinking this is just the main 7k storyline but from Hugo’s (kinda) perspective! Hope you enjoy!

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Hugo groaned as Olivia rolled on the pillow beside his head, pushing the mechanical rodent away before immediately groaning in pain at the throbbing feeling in his shoulder. The hell was that? Oh. Yeah. Bullet wound. Mumbling, he pushed himself into a sitting position and flexed the metallic fingers of his prosthetic arm, glancing down at it and frowning at the reminder of his past.

He’d only just left the orphanage in town, not wanting to stay there and rot after he’d been tossed back and forth between orphanages and foster homes and just being abandoned each time by people. In his defence, he’d been needing parts to fix Olivia and the guy at the stall had his back turned - he really thought it would be an easy steal. Just get what he needed and go to his alley and fix Olivia.

But of course life was never that simple for Hugo, was it?

The guy had caught him, grabbing his arm and slicing it clean off until it was nothing but a bloody stump that cut off at his elbow. He was just a kid too - only just turned ten when the incident had happened, though that was the day he’d met Donella and been taken in by her. She’d done a lot for him, creating the prosthetic and training him in self defence, though it didn’t change or erase the memories that he was haunted with.

Hugo sighed softly, his hand sliding over his bedside table and picking up a few spheres full of alchemical compounds. After obtaining the spheres, he pressed a little button on the side of his prosthetic, a section popping up before he slid them into it and pressed it down gently to secure them in their hiding place.

Rising to his feet, Hugo changed into his clothes and stretched out, grumbling in pain as he, once again, hurt his shoulder. He pushed his glasses up his nose and reached out to take his hair tie, tying his hair back into a ponytail and heading towards the door.

Donella had said there was a mission for him, though he really wasn’t sure what she wanted. Hopefully it was just a short mission.

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It was not a short mission.

After an extensive explanation on her previous studies, which Hugo had almost fallen asleep in the middle of, she revealed where he was headed. Koto, aka one of his least favourite places to be, only topped by Ingvarr and the security there. Damn, Koto was terrible, and now Donella had doomed him to go there and make sure this..random child didn’t try to steal some ‘ancient totem’ because her ‘livelihood and career depended on it’.

He sat on a roof silently, watching as the two boys weaved through people in a crowd towards a rather large lion statue, the smaller of the two babbling and seemingly annoying the taller one. Hugo’s head tilted slightly as he examined the taller boy, leaning forward slightly with a satisfied grin. He was kinda cute if he was being honest, the way he was trying to calm down the younger boy mesmerising Hugo in a way that he couldn’t describe. Hugo could tell from afar that he had buck teeth as well, a smile creeping its way onto Hugo’s face as he watched him awkwardly smile and talk to different stall owners. He genuinely looked happy to be there.

So naive.

The smaller boy beside him seemed very overexcited, pretty much jumping like a puppy and wondering at his side. If he didn’t know any better, he’d assume the pair were mentor and mentee, not just some people who met on a farm out of desperation. Hugo silently watched as they turned a corner and went out of sight, obscured by one of the red, paper lanterns that hung from rope across the city.

“Shit. Well Olivia, looks like we’ve gotta scavenge, sweetheart.” Hugo sighed, exasperated as he carefully made his way down from the roof and shifted in between bodies stuck in a crowd, Olivia squeaking from her place in his pocket. He felt like he’d travelled through endless crowds trying to track down the pair, though he couldn’t find them whatsoever. Curse his targets being small. A groan left his lips as he moved to the sidelines, a hand running through his fringe. Why did he even say yes to this job in the first place? He could’ve just said-

“Okay I think the entrance is here.” A voice echoed down an alleyway, Hugo slipping into it and positioning himself behind a wall as he watched the two younger boys press a few buttons and head down a staircase hidden underneath the statue. His job just got a whole lot easier, the blonde sneaking over after a few minutes and heading down the staircase.

This was about to be the easiest job in his life.

-------------------------

Hugo easily stepped through the trials, the two boys providing him a clear path to his goal. It was almost heavenly, being able to do what Donella wanted so easily. His eyes studied the room he was in as he strolled through it, ears trained to listen out for any traps that might be situated in the room.

The space itself was..rather pretty. Red pillars rose to the equally red ceiling of the cavern, seemingly carved out from the earth itself, which was plausible considering how far down he was under the ground. Emerald dragons curled up the dragons, with golden details at the top and on the walls surrounding him. He smiled smugly as he strutted past them, his hand wrapping around it.

“Hey! That belongs to us!” The same voice from earlier exclaimed, Hugo turning his head to meet the blue eyes of the pretty boy from earlier, the grin on his face widening. This day couldn’t get any better - upon a closer inspection of the teen’s face, he could see all the little freckles that decorated it and made tiny constellations across his cheeks.

“Yeah, we earned it!” the shorter boy complained, Hugo paying him no mind as he lifted the totem to his face and studied it. There was an abundance of little intricate details that decorated the totem, notably a little fire symbol in the centre and a slight reddish tint to the wood and overall design of the totem.

“Huh, weird. Cause I’m sort of the one who’s holding it...so I feel like that sort of means that it belongs to me-” He began before being rudely interrupted by the pretty boy, his wooden staff pointed out at the blonde as his face twisted into an expression of anger and resentment towards the man. It wasn’t a good look on him.

“No way! We completed the trial, not you! Whoever you are..Hand over the totem!” he yelled as the smaller boy fished into his pocket to point a red tube over at Hugo. So they wanted to do this the hard way, huh? Well, that sucked. He really wanted the pretty boy to be less confrontational, but when does anything in his life go right at this point?

“I like your magic wand. S’pretty!” He declared simply before glancing over at the smaller child with a smile. “Ooh! And some fireworks! How fun! But, you two are adorable,” He shot a wink to the taller of the pair, smirking at his discomfort in pleasure, “but I’m on a schedule, so..” And with that, he raised his prosthetic, ejecting a sulfur-infused stink bomb from its chamber in his arm and rushing away under the blue smoke as the two boys coughed and wheezed.

----------------

“You shoulda seen their faces, Cyrus! It was hilarious!” He laughed as the stronger, stoic man ushered him towards his boss’ tent. “Geez, couldn’t ya be a bit softer on a poor little orphan boy?” Hugo complained, Cyrus rolling his eyes and resorting to (quite literally) shoving the boy through the entrance and straight into his boss. “Hey Don. Got your glorified wood.”

“What took you so long? I thought I said it was a fast assignment.” Donella, as optimistic as ever, picked up the totem and examined it closely, something resembling a smile taking its place on her face before she glanced at the blonde again. “I’m waiting.”

“Oh yeah.” Hugo began, folding his arms and stretching. “Well, there were these two kids who were doing the weird little tasks in the room. One of ‘em was a tiny kid. Seemed local to the area and acted like a dog. And there was one with this long ass staff, a book and a blue streak in his hair.” His boss’ head shot up at that, her breath hitching for just a moment, though it was almost unnoticeable because of the noise outside the tent from her henchmen. “Ma’am?”

“Ulla’s boy.” She whispered under her breath as a hand raised to thread through her hair, Hugo’s eyebrow raising in confusion at the sudden change in atmosphere, before his boss raised her head with a smug expression.

“You’ve had a change in assignment. I want you to become...acquainted with those boys and finish the trials with them. Then, when you’re done, report back to me with all the totems. I’ll be willing to give you a generous raise in pay when you’re through. Enough to get you to the higher tiers of Pittsford. So. What do you say?” She grinned before pausing. “Hugo.”

Hugo stood in silence for a second as he raised his eyebrow at Donella skeptically. She was offering all he ever wanted. A home in the higher tiers of Pittsford, money, a life of luxury, and judging by the look in her eyes, she was being one hundred percent serious. But could he risk being away for that long with kids who have the potential to figure out he’s lying to them? “You aren’t kidding are you?” He saw a nod from his peripheral vision and a sigh passed through his lips. “See ya later then, boss. Don’t miss me too much.” He muttered as he left the tent, totem in hand and bag swung over his shoulder. Brilliant. Now he had to convince these kids that they could trust him.

It didn’t take him long to find the pair wandering through the forest aimlessly, carefully slipping in behind them. “Hey.” He began, a puff of smoke in his face as some kind of vial was thrown to the floor and a cloud of smoke filled his vision. He coughed and tried to move, glancing down at his feet. Some kind of pink goo kept him stationary as the pretty boy paced around him and looked him up and down. “Like what you see?” he chuckled at the flush on the boy’s face before the staff was raised to press against his throat. “Relax, goggles. I haven’t got any traps on me. Just wanted to return this with a proposal.”

Hugo reached into his bag to present the totem, the raven haired boy immediately trying to swipe for it before Hugo raised it above his head. “Ah ah ah! Patience. Me and the totem are a package deal. Let me come with you and get the rest of the totems.”

The trio stood in silence for a second before the taller boy spoke up. “Why should we trust you? And why the sudden change in heart?” He questioned, an eyebrow raised and lowering the staff a little, the wood now knocking against Hugo’s orange-tinted glasses that hung around his neck. Good. He was letting his guard down.

“Because i’m devilishly handsome, and I saw you two little helpless children and decided that I couldn’t leave two kids to suffer through such...strenuous trials.” Hugo glanced up to see two unimpressed faces staring back at him, letting out a frustrated sigh. “I felt bad and thought you needed someone to stop you from getting robbed. Oh, and the name’s Hugo. Don’t wear it out.”

The two boys locked eyes, silently debating for a few seconds, before finally the older relented and sprinkled a solution over the goo that covered the blonde’s feet. “I’m Varian.” He stated as he stood back up, “And the small one is Yong. Try anything and we’re taking the totems and leaving you in the nearest kingdom, is that clear?”

“Crystal.” Hugo replied as he began to walk forward. “Cmon then! We have some totems to collect!” he declared, a grin on his face at the sheer stupidity of the two teens and how easy this mission was gonna be.

His dream was finally coming true.

#tangled varian #varian tangled #tangled hugo #hugo tangled #varian and the seven kingdoms #rapunzels tangled adventure #tangled the series #tangled donella #donella tangled #yong tangled #tangled yong

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anotheronechicagobog · 4 years

Text

Yeah, I Would Part 2/Final Peter Mills x reader

written by @anotheronechicagobog

warnings: swearing, mention of corruption, slightly Erin bashing, canon compliant bombing/accident

You arrived at the diner, taking a deep breath. You spotted Peter working the grill and talking to a man who was sitting at the counter, the detective Peter had told you about presumably. “What’s up buttercup?”

“Not much hummingbird. Gumbo and a milkshake?”

“Please.”

“What kind?”

“Surprise me, I trust you.”

“Ha, good to know. Before I get started on that, this is Antonio Dawson, the detective. He’s good, you can trust him, okay? I’ll be back with your food in a sec okay?” He kissed your hair, gave you an encouraging dimpled smile, and then left you with Dawson. “Hi, it’s good to meet you. So you’re the guy investigating my dad?”

“Yes, Ms. Voight and I-”

“It’s Y/L/N, actually. I took my mom’s name when I turned eighteen.”

“Alright, Ms. Y/L/N, I don’t know exactly what Mills told you, but I have been investigating your dad and I need to talk to you about that, and you can’t tell him.”

“My dad is corrupt. Dirty. There’s not enough time in the day to talk about it. But still, I was raised by a cop and a social studies teacher, so one thing I learned very early on in life is that evidence is key. So, here,” you handed him a Hello Kitty flashdrive that you’d kept in your bra, he took it very gingerly, clearly uncomfortable with where it was placed, “I started collecting evidence on my dad once I figured out what he was doing. And every piece of it is on that drive. It’s not the original, and I have multiple other spares, but there’s years of photo and video evidence as well as scanned copies of documents and written statements from me on there. If you need stuff in hard copy I can give it to you before the trial, if it even gets there, because I want to make sure this sticks.”

“Okay, thank you for your time. I’ll leave you with your food. Here’s my card, I’ll be in contact.”

“Of course, have a good night.”

“Here you go, let’s move to this booth over here.” Peter unloaded a tray of Gumbo and milkshakes onto the table on the booth behind you. “You ready to dig in?”

“Oh absolutely.” He held off on asking until you’d gotten a few bites of food and slurps of milkshake in because he knew you got drained just thinking about your family. “How’d it go?”

“Good. At least I think it went well.”

“And how’s the food.”

“Incredible, but it always is.”

“Only the best for you hummingbird.”

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A few days later you walked behind Mills over to the rest of 51. You were a bit skeptical, you didn’t think that a picnic was cause for wearing celebratory blues, but hey, you weren’t a firefighter. You were, however, proven right when you walked over to a picnic table with about six guys laughing their asses off. “I can’t believe you actually did it candidate!”

“You look ridiculous!”

“Really? Cause I don’t think so.” The men you’d had yet to be introduced to watched as you pulled your boyfriend down into a full-on liplock. You bit your lip as Peter coughed, a little dazed, and you marvelled that you had that effect on him. “Uh, well, hi. I uh. My name is Brian Zvonecek but everyone calls me Otis. And who are you, exactly?”

“I’m Y/N Y/L/N, Peter’s girlfriend.”

“Peter did not tell you about us, we would remember if he had- uh, Joe Cruz by the way. No nickname, just Joe.”

“Capp”

“Tony.”

“Kelly.”

“Matt.”

“Well, hi, everyone. It’s nice to meet all of you. Sorry that didn’t happen sooner, but I thought it might be best if Peter found his footing with you guys first and then I had to work out of the country for a bit.”

“Well, it’s nice to finally meet you. You should introduce her to the chief Mills.”

And so he did. Along with Mouch and Hermann, the chief teased him for the blues before congratulating him on snagging a great girl. Cindy was lovely, just as sweet as her brownies. The day was going really well, even with the tension Gabby was creating with just about everyone. She was basically drooling over Matt and literally everyone was noticing, and for some reason, she was acting particularly cold towards you. But all in all, the day was a success, especially since it ended with the arrest of your dad, brother, and sister.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Erin was glaring at you so hard that you were thankful Antonio had gotten a freelance security detail hired for you. As it turned out, since a lot of the evidence you had was about your dad covering up the shit your siblings did, that they were in violation of the law as well. Part of you felt bad for Erin, she had worked really hard to get where she was. Yes, she made some mistakes when she was younger, but most of that was due to her mother’s neglect or influence, which you made sure to tell the court, but she still looked like she was planning your murder. “Be grateful detective Lindsay, you’d be going to prison and losing your badge if it wasn’t for Ms. Y/L/N.” She hmphed at the judge and you shrunk into your seat. Peter rubbed your arms, everything about him calming you.

“I hereby sentence Justin Voight to five years in prison with the chance of parole on charges of theft, DUI, neglectful driving, and conspiracy to commit corruption.”

“I hereby sentence Hank Voight to forty years in prison with no chance of parole on charges of corruption, money laundering, stalking, property damage, witness intimidation, and drug conspiracy.”

You left the courtroom feeling much lighter. You obviously didn’t feel good about sending your only remaining biological family to prison, but what other option did you have? They weren’t going to stop or pay reparations to the people they’d wronged. Just threaten and scare everyone who got in their way. And while you knew that Erin agreed with you on some level, you knew that she believed they shouldn’t go to prison. She would cover for them too, she had actually. And it was because of that that she was demoted to officer and barred from taking the detectives exam for five years. She stormed up to you, resembling a raging bull, after both trials had finished. “How could you, they are your family-”

“They have cost people their livelihoods, Justin actually paralyzed someone! I couldn’t stand by and do nothing, if they weren’t going to stop they had to be stopped. You have to realize that.”

“I just can’t believe-”

“Erin, you’re not joining them, and the only reason you’re not getting arrested for any of the shit you’ve done is because I spoke up and said it wasn’t your fault. All of it would have come out eventually, you know that. Now you don’t have to worry about when that happens. Don’t you get that?”

“You just betrayed your family-”

“Nope, you don’t get it. Goodbye Erin, I’ll talk to you when you pull your head out of my dad’s ass and apologize to me.”

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

ONE YEAR LATER

You woke up but it was difficult to see and breathe. You could feel dust entering your mouth and throat whenever you tried to get some air, there were some beams of light coming in but you could still see very little, only the shapes of concrete and metal. You didn’t feel good. Nauseous, light-headed, pounding in your head, ringing i your ears, and your thoughts were moving so muddled and slowly.

You remembered Kim, the CFD logo, and something about the nurses’ station? None of it made any sense to you, and thinking only hurt your head more. You were so heavy, and so tired, so you just let your eyes close.

The sunbeams were gone when you woke up, you heard sounds instead. Machines and ‘whooping’ mostly. But there were some people, you could not for the life of you hear what they were saying. And then you realized, ‘for the life of you’, Kim, CFD booth, charity race sign-up at the nurses’ station, three steps away, boom, nothing, rubble, rebar, dust, minimal light, minal air. The hospital exploded and you were underneath who knows how much of said hospital in pieces! Panic built up quickly, and suddenly you noticed metallic smelling liquid, aches, pains all over your body, something on top of your right leg. You didn’t think, you just acted. You screamed. Loud. In terror. In pain.

Peter, pizza, apartment, cat, Netflix, Cruz, Otis, pancakes, Molly’s, Hermann, Dawsons, coffee, doughnuts, Platt, Al, Justin, Erin, dad. Images, memories, flooded your mind, panic still securing you in its chokehold. You found an engagement ring in Peter’s nightstand last week. You were going to die. You were going to die. You were going to die. You were going to die. You hoadn’t been aware that you’d spent the entire time screaming as much as your lungs could bear until you vaguely recognized someone yelling at you. “Hey! Hello! Are you okay?”

“No! Help me- please!”

Everything was a blur, whether from your tears or your memory you weren’t sure. But in what felt like minutes you were out from and above the rubble, the night’s sky and a group of firefighters meeting your eyes. Their voices were muffled as you felt hands over you and you let yourself fall asleep again.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Crying, someone was crying. It wasn’t you but you could hear sobs coming from right next to you. The room was dark, the only light in the room coming from the cracks in the door and the machines attached to you. You were still in a lot of pain. Your head was throbbing, but not as much as earlier, your lower right leg was in a cast, you could feel bandages on various parts of your body, gauze wrapped around your chest, and there was a plastic lining around your nose in mouth and stale air making its way into your lungs. Your body didn’t feel as weighed down as before, but you could still feel the exhaustion throughout your body. “Peter?”

“Y/N? Oh, thank God. Dr. Rhodes? She’s awake!”

After a flurry of nurses and doctors and tests, Peter was let back in. Dr. Rhodes followed, giving a tentative smile. “Well, Y/N, you are lucky. After being unconscious for five days you have a severe concussion, four broken ribs that we might have to perform surgery on to make sure they don’t pierce your lungs or heart, a broken ankle with three torn ligaments, numerous lacerations, and your oxygen levels were low when you came in. You were initially on a breathing tube but your levels improved so we took it out and put on the mask instead. Is there anything you want me to go into further detail about?”

“My ribs; how close am I to needing surgery?”

“Very, we’ve done our best to secure and monitor them but we really think that surgery would be best, it’s just that your next of kin are arguing about the best course of action.”

“What? But Peter is my next of kin, my only next of kin. Who has been coming to you thinking they have any power here?”

“Uh, it’s your dad, Y/N. They went to the hospital board and argued that they should be considered next of kin. The board agreed. I tried to fight it, but you know how many strings your dad can pull.”

“What? Are you kidding me? Well, I’m awake now, and I can make medical decisions for myself now, right?”

“Yes, I have been told by the hospital’s lead attorney that once you completely woke up you could make all the decisions necessary. We’ve actually been hoping for that because your family has been causing a lot of trouble over this.”

“Do you recommend surgery?”

“Yes. Based on our observations surgery is inevitable. And the fact that your family opposed Peter and your doctors has actually added a significant amount of risks for you.”

“Alright, do the surgery.”

“A nurse will be in to prep you shortly.”

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You looked at Peter’s tear-streaked face. “I thought you were dead.”

“I thought that I was going to die, I hadn’t even been aware of where I was or what had happened for most of the time I was down there. I was so scared that I would never make it back to you.”

“When I found out that you were in that building before the bomb went off, I just lost my mind. I was digging through rubble screaming your name, Casey and Severide had to pull me away and restrain me from searching for you. When you weren’t found after eight hours, and all that crews were finding dead bodies, I... The look that Boden and the lieutenants had with each other... It was without a doubt the worst day of my life. I love you, so much.” He was stroking your face, looking at you as if you were a gift from the sun. “I found the ring, almost two weeks ago now.”

He smiled and pulled the black box out of his coat pocket which was draped over the back of his chair. “You mean this one?”

“Yes.”

“I had a much more romantic proposal plan, but I don’t want to wait until it’s too late. I do not want a life without you. I want to spend the rest of my existence with you. Will you please marry me?”

“Yes. I love you so much, Peter. So, so much.”

Your moment with Peter was broken by Doris entering the room “... I hate to break up this moment, I really, really, do, seriously you guys are adorable, but I have to prep Y/N for surgery.”

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The firehouse took turns visiting you and Leslie in the hospital, celebrating the fact that you were both alive and well and that you and Peter got engagement. Eliza, Peter’s kid sister, showed up with balloons and flowers. Peter spent the rest of your time in the hospital holding your hand and looking at you like you put the sun in the sky. And you looked at him like he hung the stars just for you. Everything finally felt like it was falling into place, and everyone, including your guilt-ridden dad, couldn’t be more happy for you two.

#One Chicago #Chicago PD #Chicago Fire #peter mills x reader #peter mills #hank voight #hank voight x daughter!reader #erin lindsay

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celestialprompts · 5 years

Text

"𝘝𝘦𝘭𝘷��𝘵 𝘉𝘶𝘻𝘻𝘴𝘢𝘸" 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘵𝘴 — 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘰𝘯𝘦.

𝘍𝘦𝘦𝘭 𝘧𝘳𝘦𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘥𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘵 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘵𝘴 𝘰𝘳 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨. 𝘐 𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘢𝘨𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘴 𝘩𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘢𝘴 𝘸𝘦𝘭𝘭!

[ Content warning: a lot of swearing and frivolous art talk. mild sexual talk at some point.]

❝Lovely to see you again.❞ ❝Have you ever felt invisible?❞ ❝No, it's new. Vastly different themes.❞ ❝No originality. No courage. My opinion.❞ ❝I mean, you can feel the winds of the apocalypse.❞ ❝I think sober hasn't been good for him.❞ ❝I answer phones and get coffee. I'd literally be, like, the last to know.❞ ❝Its about choice, desire, sex. [chuckles] The whole enchilada.❞ ❝So much easier to talk about money than art.❞ ❝I swear to God, I want to hurt him.❞ ❝Maybe it will free you up for new things.❞ ❝He actually has some fantasy about us getting married.❞ ❝I'm through dating artists. They're already in a relationship.❞ ❝All this... it's just a safari to hunt the next new thing and eat it.❞ ❝I heard you were the one to watch out for.❞ ❝I've gone from anarchist to purveyor of good taste.❞ ❝Listen, my tolerance for your bullshit is zero.❞ ❝Okay, that was the worst show I've seen in years.❞ ❝Ever since that day, I find myself thinking all the time about you." ❝I make you hard, huh?❞ ❝You make me confused.❞ ❝Well, get inspired and come join me in the pool.❞ ❝Hang up, right? Yeah, rich people are impatient.❞ ❝Why, why why. Why anything?❞ ❝Oh, wait. In our world, you are God.❞ ❝I'm not kidding. A neighbor actually died. I found the body.❞ ❝Then you insult my intelligent mind.❞ ❝Love the jumper. Cornsilk's a great color for you.❞ ❝I don't know where I am with anything else in my life, other than that I feel good with you.❞ ❝Okay, well, you failed.❞ ❝Didn't you tell me you wanted a cat?❞ ❝Um... can we talk about it later?❞ ❝What the fuck is wrong with you?❞ ❝I'm not just a man of primitive skills.❞ ❝Hey you. I heard you were coming by.❞ ❝No. Not in our records, and we have everyone.❞ ❝I wanted to change the world through art.❞ ❝The wealthy vacuum up everything, except crumbs.❞ ❝The best work is enjoyed by a tiny few.❞ ❝Mmm. It's everywhere, the money question.❞ ❝I asses out of adoration. I further the realm I analyze.❞ ❝I'm going to have to ask you to leave.❞ ❝It's none of your business.❞ ❝Don't make me pull some sort of heavy interrogation.❞ ❝Right now, it's just you and me, with all our active friendship and love for each other.❞ ❝Now, how did you get all of these?❞ ❝Well, I won't bother with the obvious questions but, oh, you must have some giant plans.❞ ❝You're in way over your head, babe.❞ ❝I'm willing to do all of that for... a reasonable percentage.❞ ❝You can engage me in an endless lawsuit, or... you can become rich.❞ ❝Critique is so limiting and emotionally draining.❞ ❝An artist toiling in the recesses, discovered in death. I wanna start researching immediatly.❞ ❝In return I want exclusive rights to a book and several pieces.❞ ❝Okay, send it over. And wash your hands of it. And add a zero to your bill.❞ ❝Using his art to dive deep into his own psyche.❞ ❝The result is an epic saga of violence and madness.❞ ❝You know, he hasn't had, like, an original idea in his whole life.❞ ❝Well, you're the adviser. Advise.❞ ❝Didn't they teach any of this in art school?❞ ❝I can't stomach cheery or upbeat.❞ ❝Just give me an honest goddamn opinion about what you're looking at.❞ ❝Too many addiction triggers.❞ ❝Ideas come, but they kill themselves as soon as they appear.❞ ❝This is a slaughterhouse. Welcome aboard.❞ ❝This shit goes sideways, and I'm telling you straight up, I will say this was all your idea. I had nothing to do with it.❞ ❝Hey, I've got some great champagne in the fridge. Open it while we get ready.❞ ❝You're too young.❞ ❝The position requires someone with years of experience. Stop back when you're forty, eh?❞ ❝Come back to my office and tell me what else you heard.❞ ❝I'm saying you left him the fuck alone.❞ ❝That casket. What color is that? Smog Orange? Did he buy it on sale?❞ ❝Seriously, imagine having to spend an eternity in that.❞ ❝Jesus. Nothing is ever good enough for you.❞ ❝I absolutely despise being here for this.❞ ❝I wanna share with you a little somethin' somethin'.❞ ❝These are heinous.❞ ❝That is an outrageous request. Even coming from you.❞ ❝The admiration I had for your work has completely evaporated!❞ ❝I was never particularly obsessed.❞ ❝Seriosly, (name here), I am talking to you.❞ ❝It seems you have no one around you to say this. Stop it.❞ ❝Something truly goddamn strange is going on!❞ ❝You now what? It's been a fucked-up few weeks!❞ ❝All art is dangerous, (name here).❞ ❝Baby, that's raw silk.❞ ❝You've got strong hands.❞ ❝Why? We break up, and you write an article to completely destroy my livelihood.❞ ❝Are you aware that you've completely lose your mind?❞ ❝We don't realize the value of friends until they're gone.❞ ❝Go fuck yourself and lose my number!❞ ❝Jesus! What's the point of art if nobody sees it!❞ ❝What do you mean, good for him? What are you talking about?❞ ❝Everything? Every image, every drawing, every postcard, every piece of art?❞Lovely to see you again.❞ ❝Have you ever felt invisible?❞ ❝No, it's new. Vastly different themes.❞ ❝No originality. No courage. My opinion.❞ ❝I mean, you can feel the winds of the apocalypse.❞ ❝I think sober hasn't been good for him.❞ ❝I answer phones and get coffee. I'd literally be, like, the last to know.❞ ❝Its about choice, desire, sex. [chuckles] The whole enchilada.❞ ❝So much easier to talk about money than art.❞ ❝I swear to God, I want to hurt him.❞ ❝Maybe it will free you up for new things.❞ ❝He actually has some fantasy about us getting married.❞ ❝I'm through dating artists. They're already in a relationship.❞ ❝All this... it's just a safari to hunt the next new thing and eat it.❞ ❝I heard you were the one to watch out for.❞ ❝I've gone from anarchist to purveyor of good taste.❞ ❝Listen, my tolerance for your bullshit is zero.❞ ❝Okay, that was the worst show I've seen in years.❞ ❝Ever since that day, I find myself thinking all the time about you." ❝I make you hard, huh?❞ ❝You make me confused.❞ ❝Well, get inspired and come join me in the pool.❞ ❝Hang up, right? Yeah, rich people are impatient.❞ ❝Why, why why. Why anything?❞ ❝Oh, wait. In our world, you are God.❞ ❝I'm not kidding. A neighbor actually died. I found the body.❞ ❝Then you insult my intelligent mind.❞ ❝Love the jumper. Cornsilk's a great color for you.❞ ❝I don't know where I am with anything else in my life, other than that I feel good with you.❞ ❝Okay, well, you failed.❞ ❝Didn't you tell me you wanted a cat?❞

#prompts #dialogue prompts #roleplay prompts #roleplay ideas #celestialprompts #velvet buzzsaw

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cinnaminsvga · 6 years

Text

Zemblanity | Jimin (M)

→ summary:

“I’ll write a song for you, Park Jimin,” you say, unaware of the weight of your promises slowly finding its way around your neck.

”Pinky swear?”

The noose tightens. “I swear on my life.”

→ genre: fan!jimin, idol!reader, horror/thriller, angst, smut || part of this collab!! → warnings: major character death, non-graphic descriptions of rape and sexual harassment, psychological + physical torture, physical violence, and obsessive behavior → words: 11.8K → a/n: this physically hurt to write, mostly because i was drunk 99% of the time. also a lot of triggering material in this, so be warned. and i’m sorry jimin for always making you the bad guy... some day, i’ll write a soft fic for you. (special thanks to @seokkbuns for supporting me the whole way... love you)

Sometimes you wished the universe would congratulate you for being a decent human being. Sure, that would defeat the purpose of giving awards in the first place, but can you really help that you wanted to be recognized for your mediocrity, occasionally? Maybe a little ribbon for opening the door for a stranger, or perhaps a coupon from Mcdonalds for not parking in the handicap spot. You weren’t asking for a lot.

Hell, where the fuck was your Nobel Peace Prize for not absolutely decimating your annoying, hoity-toity, bitchass, toe-sucking CEO? If you could somehow convert the anger slowly seeping its way through your veins into renewable energy, you could probably power the entirety city of Seoul at this point.

“Y/N. How difficult can it be to produce one fucking album?” President Kim Namjoon groans, gesticulating at the air madly like the buffoon that he is. All he needs is a banana and unicycle, and his Harambe cosplay would be complete.The ridiculous mental image hardly calms you down, dumbfounded by the absolute audacity of his question.

“Are you seriously asking me that question, or are you just pretending to be an idiot to make me angry?” You seethe, teeth gnashing in a way that would probably make your dentist cringe. Namjoon is not fazed by your reaction. Instead, he reaches into his desk drawers and pulls out a thin stack of papers. You can’t see any of the text, but you have a good idea as to what it was about.

“This is a compilation of news reports written about you and Serendipity over the past year,” he emphasizes, slamming a page filled with graphs and jargon whose meaning escape you. He jabs a finger at one of the angry red graphs, and you can see that he was pointing at what appears to be a significant drop. “As you can see, there haven’t been many reports, if at all.”

“So? That’s what happens when an idol group is waiting for their next comeback.” You shrug your shoulders, kicking a leg up onto his table just to piss him off. Namjoon is quick to stab your ankle with a pencil in retaliation, causing you to pull back with a yelp. “Yo, what the fuck! That hurt!” You exclaim, rubbing the reddening spot sullenly.

“It’s like you’re purposefully being difficult, Y/N.”

“So you’ve noticed?”

Namjoon heaves a sigh, and you speculate that it might have been his thirtieth one within the past hour. A tense silence befalls the two of you, and you watch as the older man rubs his temples in frustration. You can’t help but notice the age lines beginning to form on his forehead, and do your eyes deceive you? Were those wrinkles under his eyes?

“You’re getting old, chief,” you comment, grabbing one of Namjoon’s numerous pencils to poke the lines away. He swats at you tiredly, but it is clear that he knows it is useless scolding you. If getting mad at you would produce results, you would’ve bended to his will ages ago. As it is, the man looks ready to drop dead in his seat. He slumps over his desk, eyes closing in meditation.

“No thanks to you, I assure you,” he mumbles back, voice muffled from his table. “Why can’t you just be like Hoseok? He writes music like it’s his only drug.”

“That’s because that kid is literally always on drugs, chief.” You snort, crossing your arms. “And at least the drugs help him with inspiration. Me? I’ve been stuck in a ditch since January. You know this, Joon.”

“I know. It doesn’t make it any less frustrating. What happened, Y/N? I’ve given you almost everything you could ask for.” Namjoon says, lifting his head up to stare back at you. He appears as dejected as you feel. “Why isn’t that big head of yours making music like it used to?”

“You haven’t given me everything I could ask for.”

“What else do you need? You have the studio, the resources, the funding…”

“Time. You haven’t given me enough time.”

Namjoon sighs his thirty-first sigh. “That’s simply a request that even I cannot grant, Y/N. You and I both know that this industry… it moves quicker than any of us would like. Soon enough, people will forget your name. Your members will be left in the dust. Do you want that, Y/N? Are you willing to succumb to your writer’s block in exchange for your members’ livelihoods?”

The two of you already knew the answer to that. You could only glare back at him, irritated that he had used the only weakness you had, the only people you were willing to risk a limb for.

He smiles sadly back at you. “Three months, Y/N. We need an album by December, or else your group is gone. I don’t want you to fail, believe me.”

Oh, I believe you, you think bitterly to yourself, slamming the door to his office with more force than necessary. Of course the bastard doesn’t want you to fail. Other than Hoseok’s group, Serendipity was the only other money-making group in the company. Rookie group after rookie group have debuted in the past, but none of them have stuck out to the public. They were all waiting for you to come back, whenever that may be.

“Maybe I should just go solo,” you whisper wistfully to yourself, but the image of your three other members staring at you in betrayal is the only thing holding you back.

It would have been easy, too. As the main vocalist in the group, you could potentially survive if your group were to disband. With numerous songwriting and producing credits under your belt, you could definitely stay afloat for another year or so.

These thoughts have been burdening your mind for months now, but you have tried your best to hide this from your members. Perhaps the stress of speaking with Namjoon is what allowed your walls to crumble, making your internal conflict clear as day on your face. Contrary to how you had acted in front of your superior, you actually did feel the strain of your hiatus. Your members were itching to return to the limelight, especially since all of them lived and breathed performance. You hated going home everyday, their eyes sparkling with hope for news of a comeback, only for it to fizzle out as quickly as it had come.

With all this mind, you suppose you shouldn’t have been all that surprised when you arrive back in your dorm that afternoon, your three sisters are sitting forlornly in the living room, waiting for you to arrive.

“What’s with the impromptu meeting? Did Sooyoung clog the toilet again?” You try to joke, but there is no sign of mirth in the eldest’s eyes. Sooyoung clearly means business if she can’t even bother cracking a smile; the kind leader has never looked so dark.

“Y/N. We need to talk,” Sooyoung says. The two younger girls nod in tandem, their head bobbing like pendulums on a taut string. You feel sweat beginning to form on your palms.

“I know what you guys are want to say and I get it. We all want a comeback. Do you think I don’t want to return to the stage? To perform in front of thousands of fans?” You can’t help yourself for immediately going into defensive mode. It feels like you were being cornered by a pack of hyenas, as you were certain they had gathered here to gang up on you. Your worst fears are getting realized, and the thought of going solo passes your mind for the second time that day.

“You sure aren’t acting like it,” Hana murmurs, but the maknae stomps on her feet to silence her. Hana yelps in shock, pouting sulkily.

“Shut up, Hana,” Gowon warns, her normally bright face marred with a deep frown. She turns to you, smiling apologetically. “Sorry, Y/N… She didn’t mean it.”

You snort. “Yeah? If she didn’t mean it, then why the hell are you all sitting here just waiting to attack me?”

“We’re not here to attack you, Y/N. Stop overreacting,” Hana says, rolling her eyes. She yelps again, rubbing her arm petulantly where she had been slapped, but Gowon’s face is an indomitable fortress. For once, you wonder what your maknae would do if she were truly pissed off.

“Y/N, we just wanted to ask if you needed any… help?” Sooyoung tries, brows furrowed in concentration. It is obvious that she is choosing her words slowly, as if she is afraid to startle you off like a deer. “Like, I know none of us are even half as good at producing like you, but if you need someone to take the wheel instead…”

“No, that won’t be necessary,” you say, voice edged with ice. You had not meant to say that as coldly as you did, but you couldn’t help that the stress was talking for you. Hana’s face goes dark in an instant.

“Oh? Does little miss producer have her shit together? Because at the very least, you’d think you would have some work to show for it,” she mocks, irises dancing with flames. Gowon tries to get her to shut up, but the elder seems to have a lot more to say.

“You think we don’t know what you do in that studio of yours? Sooyoung-unnie looked through your hard drive and found hundreds of unfinished samples. Hundreds! If you’re so good at your damn job, then I don’t see why you can’t finish even one of your stupid––”

Before you realize it, your palm is stinging with heat as the two other girls stare in shock at Hana’s reddening cheek. Hana stares at you too, mouth opening in shock rather than in pain. You raise your hands up in surrender, appalled by your own actions. The silence is a blanket, suffocating the air out of your lungs as the two of you are locked in a heavy stalemate. Then, she scoffs.

“Oh, is that all you got? Not even an excuse? If you can’t even defend yourself, I don’t even know why I’m bothering to listen,” she says, standing up to leave. Gowon tries to tug her back down, but she swats the younger’s hand away. “Sorry Gowonnie. I know you care a lot for Y/N, but I can’t care for someone who doesn’t even care for us,” she hisses. The slam of her bedroom door reverberates across the dorm, rattling your bones.

With Hana gone, Sooyoung sighs deeply, rubbing her temples not unlike the way Namjoon had done earlier that day. You hate yourself for not noticing the deeper lines forming across her forehead, too.

“Y/N. We know that you are very proud of your work, and that you’re trying your best. We really do. But it wouldn’t hurt if you could at least… be transparent with us.”

You snort, disbelief coloring your face at Sooyoung’s audacity. “I can’t believe you can say that with a straight face after you looked through my stuff without permission.”

Sooyoung has the decency to look guilty. “I’m sorry, Y/N. You left your studio door open once and well… I was just curious, you know? You never talk about your music process with us, and the girls and I were wondering if you actually… still cared.”

The sadness in her voice quickly dispels any dredges of anger still left in your body. Sighing in defeat, you haphazardly throw your tired body where Hana had been sitting. With the cool leather of the couch enveloping you in a hug, it is only then that you notice how incredibly weary you felt.

“I know. I’m sorry, I really am,” you murmur, closing your eyes so you don’t have to see their disappointed faces. You can feel Sooyoung’s soft hands carding themselves through your hair. “I just… I’m trying so hard to make an album for you guys but it’s just so difficult because I have to think about charting on Billboard and adjusting beats to the choreographies…”

“We understand, unnie.” Gowon says softly, patting your knee. “And believe me, it’s all thanks to you that we were able to win seven times during our last comeback. We don’t always have to beat our last record, you know? I’m sure the fans will love anything you put out.”

“I know,” you sniffle, allowing a few tears to escape. The same gentle hands leave your hair to wipe them away. “But I still don’t wanna disappoint you all…”

“You won’t, Y/N. We’re all very proud of you,” Sooyoung says, wrapping her arms around you. Gowon joins soon after, and you feel guilty for allowing yourself to believe them. You don’t deserve their patience––not after all the grief you had inadvertently put them through.

“I doubt Hana feels the same way,” you laugh, but it comes out sounding more like a creaky door more than anything.

Gowon pinches your cheek lightly. “Ah, she’ll get around. You know how she gets when things don’t go her way. I’d say we were all itching to slap her once or twice in our life.”

The three of you laugh, only feeling slightly bad for bad-mouthing the poor girl. As grumpy as the younger girl might be, all of you still love her despite her faults.

“Y/N-unnie? I have a suggestion, actually.” Gowon says, once the laughter had died down. You hum, raising your eyebrow at her.

“Yeah? Do you want to help me write some songs?”

Gowon shakes her head, waving her hands in embarrassment. “No! Well, I do, but that’s not what I wanted to suggest,” she says, rubbing her neck nervously. You squint at her, curious as to what has gotten the younger feeling too anxious to say.

“Do you think that maybe… a vacation might do you well?” she says, almost too quietly. You think you must have misheard her, and judging by the way she pouts back at you, the confusion must have been visible on your face.

“I said, you need a vacation, unnie. A real one, and not one that will get filmed for a reality show or something,” she repeats, firmer this time. From the corner of your eye, you can see Sooyoung nodding in agreement.

“That’s a great idea, Gowon. Y/N, I think you need a little break from all the stress. Perhaps you can get inspiration during your time away from work,” Sooyoung adds. You turn to face the eldest, eyebrows reaching your hairline at the fact that she was even agreeing to such a terrible idea.

“It’s not a terrible idea, for your information,” Gowon huffs, seemingly having read your mind. “Out of all of us, I think you deserve to relax and learn how to have fun.”

You splutter indignantly, somewhat offended at Gowon’s frank admission. “I know how to have fun! I bought a rice cooker last week with a coupon from the newspaper. I saved $20!”

“Oh my God,” Sooyoung laughs, shoulders shaking with mirth. “How the fuck are you younger than me, ahjumma?”

“This is what I’m saying,” Gowon deadpans, flicking your forehead. You yelp, rubbing the area with a pout. What is it with this girl and doing bodily harm on her members? “When I mean fun, I meant regular, young adult stuff. Shit like…”

“Going to karaoke! Watching movies! Travelling! Spa treatments! Reading books!” Sooyoung lists, bouncing up and down in her seat. If you hadn’t known better, it is as if Sooyoung was planning her own vacation instead.

“Maybe sex?” Gowon adds, and that earns a strangled cough from you.

“Gowon!” You yell, slapping the giggling maknae in the back. “Who told you about the s word?”

“Learned from the best,” she says coyly, earning another slap from you. “Ouch! Okay, I’m joking. But I have to admit, Sooyoung-unnie has some good ideas. Maybe you should travel or go back home?”

“If the company will even let me,” you say, rolling your eyes. “Do you really think Namjoon-ssi will let me leave when he basically gave me only three months to produce an album? I don’t think so.”

“I’ll make him agree,” Gowon says ominously.

“You’ll make him agree,” you repeat.

“Yup,” she says, a mysterious smile on her lips. “So, since you’re agreeing to my proposal––”

“Who says I’m going?” you interject, but Sooyoung slaps a hand over your mouth, silencing you.

“Hush! I have an idea. You see, one of my old high school classmates owns a spa resort up in the mountains near Busan. It’s super remote, so you don’t even have to worry about being recognized by anyone.” She prattles on, already whipping out her phone to text who knows what. Her fingers are flying at the speed of light, and you try your best to snatch it out of her hands.

When you try to grab it, Gowon holds your arms behind your back, effectively imprisoning you. She points a shit-eating grin at you. “Nu-uh, Y/N. You’re going to relax, even if it fucking kills you. So let Sooyoung and I handle everything, okay? We’ll get Namjoon’s approval tomorrow, and you’ll be off to Busan by the weekend. Sound good?”

No, it did not sound good at all. You have been an idol for five years now, plus your three years working as a trainee. You hardly remember what it felt like to not work, and you can only imagine how bored you’ll be once you get there.

Before you know it, Sooyoung finishes speaking with her classmate, booking a room for three nights. Gowon claps excitedly, already planning to pack for you to lessen your burden. You smile wryly at the two of them because you can’t help but be endeared by their pure enthusiasm.

You go to your room that night, wanting to believe Gowon’s words. Maybe she’s right; all you need is a vacation. When your eyes finally close and your breathing has steadied, you go to sleep believing that everything might turn out okay.

––♡♡♡––

It does not turn out okay, unsurprisingly.

Like Sooyoung had mentioned, the spa is remote, far away from any semblance of city life. It sits halfway up the mountain, where it is said to have the nicest hot spring baths in the country. There is a small town at the bottom of the mountain, which is where the taxi had dropped you off. When you ask him why he can’t drive you all the way to the resort, he shakes his head apologetically.

“Sorry, miss. The roads up to Blue Springs Resort are pretty narrow and I can’t risk going up there at this time of night. You could probably ask one of the locals here to drive you up. Good luck!” He bids you goodbye cheerily, snatching your payment out of your hands and driving off without another word. You stand at the edge of the road, mouth agape at his brazen desertion.

“Fuck me, I guess,” you groan, taking your phone out to try and dial for help. Of course, the reception is horrendous, and you suppress your screams at this terrible turn of events.

“This is all Sooyoung’s fault,” you mutter darkly, dragging your suitcase into the dark town to look for help. It is only 7pm, but it seems like the townsfolk have decided to hit the hay for the night. The shop windows and houses that you pass are all dark, and your dying phone can barely light the way as you try to find any sign of human life that might help you find a place to stay.

After thirty minutes of searching, you are two seconds away from just breaking and entering into some poor bastard’s house when a young man exits his house. He stares at you, with your sweat matted hair and scuffed luggage, and you have half the mind to wonder if there were any traces of ketchup on your lips, leftover from the hotdog you had eaten on the way there.

“Hi,” you greet. You raise your hand hesitantly.

He raises his own, incredibly confused. “Uh. Hi?”

“Sorry, I know I look really weird and all, but I was wondering if you could help me find a way to Blue Springs Resort? The taxi I took pretty much left me on the side of the road, and I don’t have anywhere else to stay,” you finish, teeth chattering from the cold. The man’s eyes soften, and he approaches you.

“Oh, that happens sometimes. The resort usually has a shuttle come through here, but I guess it’s too late to call them now,” he explains, “I could drive you there, if you want? I was going to head to the city, so I could drop you off first before heading out.”

You can hardly believe your ears, unsure whether you could trust this man’s goodness or not. “Are you sure? I’m not bothering you, am I? Also, not to look a gift horse in the mouth, but I don’t really feel safe going inside a stranger’s car.”

The man laughs, shaking his head. “Nah, I get you. If it makes you feel any better, I actually work at this town’s local police station. I can show you my badge in my car, if you want,” he says, rubbing his neck shyly. “My name is Jungkook, by the way. Officer Jungkook, usually, but I’m off duty so feel free to drop the title.”

You grin, charmed by his little awkward mannerisms. “Nice to meet you, Jungkook. I’m Y/N.”

To your relief, his expression doesn’t change at the sound of your name, but you had already figured that he didn’t recognized you from the moment you met. It isn’t like you expected everyone in South Korea to know who you or your band was, but it never hurt to be cautious. You loved your fans, but you never knew what type of things they could do to you.

The two of you jump into his car after he kindly pops his trunk open and takes your luggage from you. He lets you take control of the radio, and the soft sound of some American ballad fills the car as the two of you ride into the night. The drive is silent, save for the music and your occasional humming. True to his word, a police radio and badge are sitting idly on his console, and you half expect it to come to life with news of some incident or whatnot.

Jungkook notices your curious gaze, and he grins at you. “Don’t worry, Y/N. I’m off duty, so I doubt I’ll be getting any calls. Besides, hardly anything happens in this sleepy town, so I’d be surprised if that radio would light up, even when I’m on patrol.”

“Not to be offensive, but doesn’t it get boring around these parts? With nothing happening?” you ask, lightly fingering the radio and badge in fascination.

Jungkook shrugs his shoulders. “Boring is safe, I suppose. That’s what my chief always says. Besides, it isn’t entirely quiet. There are always reports of crashes around the mountains because the roads are so difficult to maneuver. Speaking of…” he trails off, his driving growing increasingly slow as the path begins to grow narrow. “Gotta be careful. The mayor has been working to get railways around these roads, but funding it pretty tight. It’s particularly dangerous at night.”

You watch, tense as his grip grows tighter on the wheel. You are starting to get worried that Jungkook might accelerate off the cliff, but he manages to offer you a shaky smile in assurance. “Don’t worry, miss. I’m a good driver, and I’m used to these parts. Just gotta make it past this one particularly nasty turn and––”

He goes silent, brow furrowed in concentration as you arrive at the aforementioned turn. He slows the car to a crawl, inching his way around the sharp edge when the radio suddenly switches the song from a love ballad to an energetic pop song. The sudden noise startles Jungkook, and he jams his foot straight down on the pedal.

You scream, clutching your seatbelt as the car revs forward and for a brief moment––you are flying. Your stomach flies to your throat as you feel nothing but weightlessness, and you think you can hear Jungkook cursing obscenities as he tries to pull the break but––nothing.

The car drops, crashing like a tin can against a large tree. Pain blooms all across your body, and you want nothing more than to scream, but no sound would come out. In the edges of your consciousness, you can still hear the radio playing, the sound of your own sweet melodious voice being the last thing you remember before your world fades to black.

––♡♡♡––

Everything hurts. Scratch that––it feels like there were broken shards of glass that had a physical vendetta against your vital organs inside of you. You swear that there are weights attached to your eyelids, and it feels like hours until you can finally get them to open.

The first thing you notice is that it’s bright. The room (“A bedroom,” you murmur, noticing the bedside table and closet near the door. There is an electronic keyboard gathering dust in the corner too.) is filled with sunlight, the small window on your right devoid of any curtains. The sheets smell like lavender, and there are at least two pillows underneath your head. When you try to move, your body screams in protest as a sharp pain throbs somewhere on your torso.

Craning your neck, you gingerly peel the blanket off your body, and even then the effort is too much. When you successfully pull everything off, you are bombarded with the sight of bandages everywhere. You look like those discount mummy costumes, the ones that no one bought and are always sold for a third of its original price. You must have jostled one of your wounds while you were shifting, and you watch with morbid fascination as red starts to bloom across your stomach.

You think you are going to be sick.

Panic surges through your bones and you feel the desperate urge to get out of bed––for what reason, you do not know. It isn’t like you could go anywhere in your condition, but you just needed to do something. You don’t know where you are, or what happened, or even what day it is. You need to get out of here––

Suddenly, the door opens, and a man with blonde hair and droopy eyes enters with a cup of tea in hand. He yelps in surprise when he sees you, one leg already off the bed as you were still in the middle of your panic-induced escape. He rushes towards you, and gently pushes you back onto the bed.

“Hey, hey… Relax. You’re going to hurt yourself if you move too much,” he says, his tone soft and calming. Your heartbeat refuses to relax, and you must have looked crazed to the young man. He places the cup of tea by the table, and firmly tucks the blanket back over your body.

“Oh damn. I think your stitches might have opened… I’ll have to clean that up later,” he murmurs. He reaches behind you to fluff up your pillows, and you catch a whiff of his lavender body soap. He sits by your side, a worried look marring his soft features. He places a hand on your head and asks, “Y/N, does your head hurt? I’m not all that good with head injuries, so I’m not sure if I bandaged it correctly… I tried researching techniques, but I’m worried I didn’t do it right…”

His words feel like cotton in your ears, but you manage to catch the first part of his sentence. “Wait, how do you know my name?” You ask, voice sounding hoarse after hours (days?) of misuse. The man notices, and offers you his cup of tea. You try to wrap your hands around it, but even your fingers are wrapped in bandages. You notice there is a splint on your index finger, and you let out a sob at the sight. How would you be able to play the piano now?

Pitying you, Jimin brings the cup to your lips and lets you drink. The tea scalds your tongue, but your sandpaper throat accepts it with open arms. He places the empty cup by the table before answering your question. “My name is Jimin. I’m the owner of Blue Spring Resorts. I was a friend of Sooyoung back in high school.”

At the mention of Sooyoung and the resort, memories of the previous night floods your mind. You remember how the car had driven off the side of the road, the feeling of weightlessness and dread filling you like poison. You remember the sound of music playing as you slipped in and out of consciousness. You remember––

“Jungkook,” you say, gripping the man’s arm with frightening strength. He holds your hand, alarmed. “Jungkook,” you repeat, tears welling in your eyes. “Where?”

“Jungkook? Who’s Jungkook?” Jimin asks, patting your hand in an attempt to calm you. You push his hand away, and shake his arm more urgently.

“He––he was in the car, with me. He was the one driving me to this resort when he accidentally drove off the cliff. He––where is he?” You stutter, words flying out of your mouth quicker than you can process. Luckily, Jimin seems to understand the gist of your babbling.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. When I found you on the side of the cliff, I only saw your body under the mangled car. I didn’t bother checking further, because I was more concerned with getting you back to safety,” he explains, tears springing in his eyes from guilt. Your heart drops. “I’m so sorry. I just wanted to get you out of there.”

Tears flow freely down your cheeks as you sob, a loud wail escaping you as you think about the sweet police officer who was probably dead on the side of the road. Jimin wraps an arm around you, rubbing your shoulder as you choked on your sins.

“I––I can go check again later. I was meaning to head back to town to shuttle some more customers to the resort until I saw your car…” he says, lips pursing. “I can also go back to salvage whatever I can…” he offers, and you nod sadly, already weary despite having just woken up.

He gazes at you sadly, unfurling your fingers off of his arm and putting them back onto your lap. He does not berate you for the small nail marks you had left against his honey skin. “Go to sleep, Y/N. I'll be back by nightfall. Get some rest."

Soon after he had made sure your blankets and pillows are at their optimal position, you fall into a fitful sleep, your heart feeling heavier than it did before.

––♡♡♡––

Just as he had promised, he returns later that night. You had awakened when you heard the faint sound of a door slamming shut, the anxiety starting to build until Jimin's fluffy blonde head peaks out from behind the bedroom door.

He smiles apologetically, clicking the door shut as he enters the room quietly. "Sorry, did my arrival awaken you?" he says, sitting beside your form. He notices your breathing relax at his proximity, and the grin spreads like wildfire on his face.

"It's fine. I was going to wake up soon, anyway," you say, voice still warbled with grogginess. He smiles, patting your knee before standing up once more.

"I'm gonna get you some water and food," he says when he notices your curious gaze. "Also, I passed by the wreckage again, and..." he trails off, sounding worried for your reaction. You steel yourself, and you try your best to look like you weren't about to burst into tears at any moment.

"There wasn't anyone there," he says, finally. You freeze, confused by his admission.

"What?"

"It's true," he says, shrugging his shoulders. "I tried looking everywhere, even around the vicinity of the crash. All I found was the car and your things."

You deflate at the news, but you can't help the remaining dredges of hope beginning to resurrect in your heart. Maybe he had escaped and had run off to get help, or at least you wished.

"Did you try contacting the police? Jungkook mentioned that he was part of the police force."

An odd look flashes across his face, but it leaves before you can decipher it. He coughs awkwardly, rubbing his nose. "Uh, yes. I contacted the police about the crash a few days ago, and they said they would be focusing on looking for that Jungkook fella. For now, I'll take care of you until you can safely return to town."

If his reasoning sounds odd, you don't question it. You are too busy grieving Jungkook that you can barely think for yourself. Jimin rubs your shoulder, before turning to leave and fetch your belongings.

When he returns, he brings the remains of what was once your black suitcase. He places them by your side, riffling through the things he salvaged from the wreckage. "I tried taking some of your clothes and toiletries, but I'm afraid your laptop was crushed completely," he says, placing your folded clothes beside you. When he takes out the ruined laptop in question, and you gaze at it with empty acceptance.

It isn't the end of the world, you suppose. You saved most of your photos and music online and in your work computer, so all is not lost. To your surprise, however, Jimin pulls out another small black object from his bag and hands it to you.

"My hard drive survived?" You stare at it in wonder, turning it over in your hands delicately. You ignored the pain in your fingers as you clutch the small object to your chest, tear ducts starting to burn. You give Jimin a grateful look. "Thank you for everything," you whisper.

Jimin's cheeks turn a brilliant shade of pink, eyes downturned in sudden embarrassment. "I-it's no big deal," he stammers, twiddling his thumbs. You chuckle, pinching his cheeks endearingly.

"No, really. You did so much for me when I've done nothing to deserve it. You even bandaged me up, which I have no idea how you managed, by the way."

Somehow, Jimin's cheeks darken even further. The color spreads like wildfire, inking the delicate skin of his neck and ears. "I, um... About that..." He coughs awkwardly, looking anywhere but at you. You raise your eyebrows in question.

"Yeah? You didn't do anything weird right? I'm not gonna get out of here with an extra foot, am I?" You joke, and it seems to have made Jimin loosen up slightly.

He shakes his head, a small grin on his lips. "No, of course not. But I did have to undress you, and uh..." He trails off once more, unable to finish his sentence. You feel blood start to rush to your face as well, but you try your best to seem unfazed by his confession. Clearing your throat, you pat his shoulder as nonchalantly as you can.

"I would hope so. Bandages wouldn't exactly work if I had clothes underneath them, wouldn't you say?" You quip, and your ears are blessed with the pleasant sound of his tinkling laughter. You feel your breathing stop, and you wonder if it would be weird if you could ask him to do it again.

"Cute," you eventually say, which probably isn't any less embarrassing than your previous intrusive thought. The blood vessels around Jimin's face must be working on overtime right now, but you can't find it in yourself to feel bad when he looked so damn cute.

"Me? You must be mistaken... You're the cute one here," he squeaks. He must have only belatedly realize what he had said because he slaps a hand over his mouth in shock, screaming slightly muffled by his hands. "Oh my Gooood I did not just say that!"

You let out a loud laugh, the action agitating your dry throat but you can't help but do it anyway. He takes a peek at you from behind his hands, eyes wide in awe.

"Your laugh is even prettier in person," he says absentmindedly, before slapping his hand over his mouth again. "Fuck! I mean––"

"In person?" You question, peering at him inquisitively.

Jimin shrugs his shoulders, sheepish. "I'm, uh... a bit of a fan of yours, I guess? When I found out that Sooyoung had joined a girl group all those years ago, I couldn't help myself from researching you guys and I supposed you've caught me in your spell ever since," he confesses, the redness in his cheeks never fading. "You could say that you're my..."

"I'm your favorite?" You finish, smiling cheekily. He nods back, his mortification palpable. Taking pity on him, you choose not to tease him and instead ask, "Speaking of Sooyoung, do you mind lending me your phone? I want to call her to tell her I'm alright."

"Oh, there's no signal out here, unfortunately," Jimin explains, frowning. "However, I do have a landline you could use, but it's too far away... I could call her for you, if you'd like?"

"That would be great, thanks." You say, grabbing his hand gratefully. Jimin stills, allowing your bandaged fingers to caress the calluses on his palms. "I mean it when I say that, you know? I owe you my life."

Jimin swallows, hands shaking as he laces his fingers through yours. Poor kid must be nervous being with his idol, you think to yourself, impossibly endeared by this lovely boy.

His smile is as sweet as his voice. "Anything for you, Y/N."

––♡♡♡––

After that, Jimin brings you some dinner. He bashfully admits that he isn't the best cook around, and he'd normally ask one of the chefs at the resort to cook something up but they were all incredibly busy due to the influx of customers. When he spoon-feeds you some of the kimchi stew, your eyes light up from the explosion of flavor on your tongue.

"This is wonderful, Jimin!' You exclaim, mouth already opening for the next spoonful. Jimin chuckles at your enthusiasm, beaming proudly as his favorite idol sings praises over his cooking.

The two of you spend the remainder of the night getting to know each other. You ask him a myriad of questions, mostly about his job and the resort. You find out that he had inherited this place after his father had passed away, despite his initial dreams of becoming a singer. You apologize for prying, but he shakes your concern away.

"Nah, it happened years ago. It's fine," he says, his eyes crinkling from the intensity of his smile. You can't help your face from mirroring his own, despite noticing the slight sadness tinging his tone. "Besides, I love my job. I get to meet lots of interesting people like you."

"You're just saying that because you're my fan. I'm not interesting," you say, cheeks dusted with pink. Jimin shakes his head, and you're almost worried that he might dislodge his head from how violently he moves.

"No! You're amazing! All your fans and members know that you're amazingly talented. The songs you write are so incredibly deep and meaningful, and you've helped a lot of them go through some tough times––me included," he admits. You gaze sadly at him, knowing that he isn't the first one to share this with you.

"I know... But I haven't been all that good at writing these days. In fact, the only reason I came out to this resort was to get some inspiration..."

Jimin stares at you, a look of concern in his irises and something... else. When you look closer, all you see are his shiny brown eyes gazing back at you. "I'm sure you'll be fine. You're the amazing Y/N. I'm sure anything you write will be fantastic."

You doubt it, but you nod your head anyway to appease him.

"Since you said you wanted to be a singer, maybe I'll write a song for you in the future," you say, laughing lightly when he stares at you incredulously. He points at himself, as if uncertain that you were talking about the same person.

You roll your eyes. "Yes, I was talking about you, silly."

He shakes his head, disbelief coloring his face but you don't miss the way a slight blush has invaded his honey skin. "For me? But I'm a nobody. You don't even know if I can sing well."

"I think you'd be a great singer, Jimin. You've got a nice, soothing voice," you say, shameless.

"Stop teasing me," he says, pouting in such an adorable way that you can't help but continue teasing him.

"I'll write a song for you, Park Jimin," you say, unaware of the weight of your promise slowly finding its way around your neck. “I swear on my life.”

Even if you had no intention of fulfilling that promise or not, it is definitely worth seeing the way a soft smile blossoms across Jimin's cherubic features.

"By the way Y/N, I had been meaning to ask... You don't have to answer by the way, but..." he starts, hesitant to continue. Judging from his sudden shift in demeanor, you have a feeling you already know what he's going to ask, anyway.

"You're going to ask about the comeback, right?"

Jimin's face lights up immediately. "Yeah! So, it's happening soon, right? We've all been waiting since November of last year, so I was wondering..."

You shrug your shoulders noncommittally. "I guess... But like I said, I haven't been writing as well as I'd like, so I don't know how soon it'll happen but... Yeah, it's in the works."

Jimin sighs as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. "Thank God... I've been arguing with people on Twitter who had been making weird rumors that you guys were going to disband... I knew you guys would never do that, right?" he says, eyes sparkling with pure adoration.

You swallow down your guilt, unable to bear looking at his hopeful face. You croak, "Yeah. We would never."

Two nights pass quickly as you lay in Jimin's cabin to recover. You had learned that he had placed you in his room because it was comfier than the guest rooms, and when you had insisted to be moved, he quickly shut you down, assuring you that he was perfectly fine with letting you stay as long as you needed. You acquiesce, pouting as the young man practically babied you and attended to your every beck and call.

You know he means well, and it isn't like you were averse to the attention being showered upon you by this handsome boy. So you allow yourself to be pampered just this once; after all, you were supposed to be at a spa resort.

"Speaking of," Jimin says after he finishes feeding you your lunch. "I wanted to offer you something, if you don't mind." You hum, eyelids closing from the blissful feeling of being well-fed.

"What do you think about having a massage?"

That wakes you right back up.

"What?" You ask, gaping slightly at the young man. Jimin, who had been previously emboldened by your satiated state, is sweating bullets, astonished by his own brazenness.

He tries to backtrack. "Uh, you can say no, of course. I was just, well, since we're at a spa and such, and it just so happens that I happen to be a licensed masseur, and uh––"

"I'd love one, if you don't mind."

"And just, I mean––wait? You want one?" He splutters, plump cheeks turning pink. You tap them gently, giggling when they redden under your attention. God, you wanted so badly to kiss them and see if they were as soft under your lips as they were under your hands.

"Yeah. I mean, my company did pay for this trip, and I'm supposed to be here to relax, so I might as well take advantage of the situation," you say plainly.

Jimin nods dumbly, semi-disbelieving that you had agreed so easily. He assures you that he'll be careful, the both of you still worried about your injuries. He says that he'll pay more attention to your shoulders and upper legs, since those seem to be the only areas where you aren't severely wounded.

He turns you over gently, a continuous stream of apologies leaving his mouth every time you let out even the slightest hiss of pain. With your back fully exposed to him, he carefully peels your the night shirt off of you, and you can only imagine the way his cheeks must be reddening all the while. Thankfully, he leaves your shorts on as he goes about to preparing the materials for the massage.

"Tell me if I'm being too rough, okay?" he says, and you can hear him opening the cap of massage oil. After a few moments, you feel his steady hands start kneading soft circles into your shoulders, and a sigh escapes you before you can stop it.

Jimin chuckles lightly. "Good?"

"Wonderful," you sigh, feeling the tense knots from months of stress starting to unravel under his skilled fingers. A particularly hard press of his fingers elicits a loud moan from you, and you whimper when his fingers freeze abruptly.

"Why'd you stop?" You whined, nudging his thigh with your foot. You can't see Jimin's face, so you are unsure as to why he had stopped so suddenly.

"N-nothing," he stammers, and he continues on as if nothing had happened.

Under his care, you release a litany of moans and whimpers, unable to stop yourself from enjoying the smooth glide of his hands. In the edges of your pleasure-addled brain, you wonder what would have happened if your body hadn't been seriously injured. You can imagine how his hands would descend lower down your back and onto your hips, pressing dangerously close to your center but never quite reaching it. You squeeze your legs, hoping that Jimin doesn't notice that your moans might have started sounding a little bit more erotic than before.

As if reading your mind, Jimin pauses to clear his throat. "Uh, would you mind if I moved on to your thighs? If you don't want me to touch you there, then..."

You don't know what comes over you. His fingers have you locked under some sort of spell, so you can only whimper pathetically back in response. He takes that as a sign of approval, and the next thing you know, you feel him grabbing fistfuls of your thighs.

"Oh fuck," you moan out, your voice loud in the silence of the room. Jimin's ministrations quicken, almost as if he was trying to milk the sounds out of you. Somewhere along the way, you moan something that sounds suspiciously like "Jimin," a fact that the man greatly appreciates.

"Fuck, you're so hot," Jimin groans, his thumbs snagging onto the edges of your shorts. He tugs them down slightly, and you feel your lower regions light up like wildfire. You lift your hips imperceptibly, but it's enough for Jimin to wrench your flimsy shorts out of the way, leaving you bare for him and his hands.

Breathing heavier than before, Jimin takes a moment to calm himself. He rubs himself against the edge of the bed, biting his lip as he tries to keep his own moans at bay.

"Touch me," you whine, snaking your hand around your back and grabbing his wrist in impatience. You direct him directly to your center, the both of you gasping at the wetness already there. Jimin experimentally swipes a finger up your slit, gazing in awe as your slick mixes with the oil already on his digits.

Ever the gentleman, he asks, "Can I really...?"

You think you might be going insane from his indomitable patience. "Yes! Just fucking finger me already, Jimin," you gasp, feeling his fingers rubbing small circles around your clit. He teases you like this for a few moments, and you're about to sneak your hand down there to take care of it yourself when you hear the sound of a phone ringing from downstairs.

Jimin pauses, removing his hands from your core and leaving you feeling cold and wanting. You manage to turn your head to the side, and you see Jimin looking torn as he stares at you and the door.

"I have to..." His voices tapers off, a war waging in his warm brown eyes. "Customers, and..."

Even though you would love nothing more than for him to finish you off, you of all people understand the importance of work. "Go," you say, offering him what you hope is a comforting smile.

He gives you one last rueful look before he leaves, the sound of the door closing echoing in your skull.

"Fucking hell," you groan, your treacherous hands trailing down your body after his departure. When you reach your climax to the image of blonde hair and plump cheeks, you trick yourself into thinking your fingers were not your own.

––♡♡♡––

"I don't think I can keep staying here anymore, Jimin."

The weather has turned colder overnight, and Jimin has to reinstall the curtains back onto his bedroom window. You had been stuck in this room for a week already, with only Jimin as your only source of comfort.

You would always be grateful for the kind man's hospitality, but sitting in a room for days on end was starting to get to your head. You didn't really see yourself as the type to get cabin fever, since you were used to being cooped up in the studio for even longer periods of time. But you suppose there is a difference, since you couldn't even properly make music here with Jimin always staring down your neck at every opportunity. At the very least, your days spent here have done wonders on your stress, as it has given you the time to ponder and contemplate some of pressing your life choices.

"Oh? But you're not fully healed though," he comments dismissively, collecting the plates and utensils you had used for dinner that night. You thank him quietly, but he doesn't respond to it like he normally would. He places them by your bedside before tucking you under your blanket until only your head can be seen.

"Yeah, I know but I think I should be well enough to head back home, don't you think?"

"Maybe in a few more days," he says, refusing to look you in the eyes. When you grab his shoulder to force him to pay attention to you, his gaze is still averted to the ground.

"Jimin."

"Y/N."

"Why won't you look at me?"

Jimin finally does, and you are surprised by the amount of sadness that you find. "I'm sorry. I guess I'm just... worried? I don't want to risk taking you down this mountain and having you get injured again..."

"I won't though, right? You're used to driving down the mountain. I trust you," you say, honeying your words to try and get him to agree. It must have worked, judging from the way his shoulders droop in defeat.

"Yeah, I guess. But maybe after the weekend? It's a bit busy at the resort this week, so you'll have to wait until Monday."

Squealing at the prospect of going home, you envelop the man in a bone-crushing hug, ignoring the way your stomach protests at the sudden movement. "Thank you so much, Jimin. You don't understand how hard it's been being away from home, but I'm glad it was you who I got to spend this time with," you say.

Jimin smiles, patting your back. "Of course. Anything for you––"

"What's more, my time here has allowed me to really think about my life, you know?" You interject, prattling on as if he hadn't spoken. He furrows his brow, looking at you curiously.

"What do you mean about your life?"

"Oh, you know. I know that I said that I came here to write songs for Serendipity's comeback, but I actually came here to think about my own solo career," you say, shrugging your shoulders. You miss the way Jimin's entire body freezes as you continue on speaking. "I've been thinking about the pros and cons of what would happen if I actually did leave the band, and suffice to say I think it really would be for the best if I left the group. I was never the favorite member anyway, so I think it would be best if––"

"No."

"––I left the company and––excuse me?" You pause, finally noticing the rigid way Jimin was sitting. You stare at him, confused by his sudden change in demeanor. "What do you mean by 'no?'"

"I mean, you can't fucking just leave the band, Y/N," he snarls, standing up and beginning to pace around the room. You sit up on the bed, feeling on edge at this sudden appearance of a Jimin you had never met before.

"Of course I can. My contract is about to end in a year anyway, so it's not like the company can force me to stay––"

"What about your fucking promise then, huh? Was all of that bullshit?" Jimin roars, the volume of his voice startling you immensely.

"What promise?" You squeak when he slams a fist into the bed frame, rattling your entire mattress from the force.

He raises his hands in the air, unperturbed by the purple bruise already forming across his fist. "Of course you don't remember! It's because you were lying. You were lying to all of us."

"What the actual fuck are you talking about?"

"On your first win, don't you remember? You made a promise that Serendipity would never disband, not even when you turned 50," he says, breathing turning ragged with rage. He stalks his way towards you, and you try your best to burrow yourself under the covers.

"Well, things change okay? The Y/N from 5 years ago probably didn't know she would be neck deep in stress to the point where she thinks she's going to die, okay? I thought you, as my fan, would understand that my well-being should come first," you say, your voice growing louder as you realized the ridiculousness of this situation. Who the hell did Jimin think he was? Who gave him the right to be angry when you were only doing what was best for you? "Hell, you wanted to be singer, didn't you? You should understand better than anyone how difficult it is to always be under public scrutiny!"

The sneer on Jimin's face is feral-looking, almost murderous. "No, I don't. I don't understand."

Before you can react, he goes to slam the door shut, the sound of the lock clicking in place. The final nail on your coffin. No matter how hard you twist the knob or bang your hands against the door, no one would come. No one could hear you.

––♡♡♡––

Jimin doesn't visit your room once in over three days. That means he has stopped giving you food and water, purposefully starving you until you bend to his will. He had only slipped a small note under the door frame, detailing the conditions for nourishment.

"If you want to live, then you'll write me a song. Prove to me that you don't break your promises."

Easier said than done. Even during a life and death situation, that specific part of your brain refuses to cooperate, and you can hardly write a verse without breaking down and crying.

How pathetic. What type of producer were you, if you couldn't even safe your life by doing the only thing you were supposedly good at?

On the third day, your vision has started to grow hazy from dehydration. You have yet to resort to drinking your own urine, but you were hoping to attempt to satiate Jimin before that. With the lyrics and notes hastily scribbled on a piece of paper, you slide it under the door, waiting for your captor to judge your draft. Never has a song frightened you as much as this, and you laugh mirthlessly at how you had been worried about charting just a week prior.

You hear his footsteps approaching, and you wait with bated breath as the rustle of paper signals that he has begun to read your song. You hold your breath, the seconds feeling like decades as you wait for him to pass his judgment.

The lock clicks. The door opens.

Jimin, with his blonde hair and plump cheeks, crumples the paper in his hands without a word. He rips the paper in shreds, and you watch in horror as he grinds his foot into the sorry remains of your draft.

"Nice try, but I know this song. I listened to the songs on your hard drive all those nights ago, and I know this is a draft for a solo song," he says, grinning sadistically at the sight of your face crumpling in despair. While you are still in the midst of mourning your one chance of escape, he walks past your kneeling form, grabbing something from the bedside table.

When you look, you see the small black hard drive in his hands. He waves it at you, almost mockingly, before slamming it onto the ground––hard. He stomps on it, grinding his foot onto it just like he had done to your draft just minutes ago. You scream, jumping to save your precious hard drive from further harm––but alas. It is too late.

Bits of wire and shards of plastic are all that's left of your entire library of secret solo songs. These are the files you hadn't saved to your studio computer in fear of it being discovered by the wrong people. Years of blood, sweat, and tears––gone.

In an instant, your vision grows red, red, red.

"I'll fucking kill you!" You scream, hurtling your weak body at him with all the power you could muster. Despite his small frame, he is able to wrestle you down quickly, barely breaking a sweat as you squirmed and screamed murder at him. Tear blurred your visions as you tried your best to hurt Jimin in any way you can, but he takes it like it's nothing. Growing tired of your noise, he slams your head against the floor, knocking you unconscious.

––♡♡♡––

When you awaken a day later, you find cuts all over your legs and arms, as well as a strange ache between your legs. You don't even have the energy to let out a sob as you curl back into yourself.

A note by your bedside table:

"Since I took something away from you, I thought it was only fair that I gave you something back in return. Something you will always remember me by."

––♡♡♡––

You keep trying to write songs to please Jimin. As it turns out, anything you churn out will earn you his seal of approval, so long as it is none of the drafts from your old hard drive. Every song you write garners you a meal and cup of water. You don't know what he does with the songs you write, and you honestly don't care. None of the songs have any meaning to you; they are all just strings of words and notes hastily sewn together for the sake of having something to present to Jimin.

Five days since he had broken your hard drive, and you have written almost twenty songs in that time frame. "Enough songs for an album," you mutter darkly to yourself, staring forlornly out the window. Some time during your confinement, Jimin had installed metal bars across the window, leaving you no means of escape––or death.

You were his own personal music box.

In the distance, a police siren blares. Your ears perk up, straining your eyes to find any signs of an approaching car. To your incredible joy, you can see the telltale signs of a blue and red light growing closer to the cabin. You start hammering on the windows, hoping for them to notice you, but your cries are unfortunately unheard from the third floor. You watch, hopeless as two police officers jump out of the car and towards the front door. From your perch, you cannot see their faces, but you think you can see one of them dragging their foot with a light limp.

Pressing your ear against the floor, you try your hardest to listen to their conversation, but Jimin has always talked in very hushed tones. You catch the sound of a deeper voice, loud enough to hear but not enough to decipher his words. There is another voice, but this one is slightly familiar. You pound your fists against the floorboards, but neither of the police officers seem to have noticed.

You try your best to scream for help, but your voice is too hoarse from hours of crying yourself to sleep. You punch the floor in misery, despair wracking your body as another chance to escape slips through your fingers for the second time.

Your gaze catches on the keyboard in the corner of you room. You had forgotten about its presence, largely unable to use it due to some of your fingers still being broken. You plug the thing in, raising the volume to its highest setting and testing it out to find that it was much louder than you had anticipated.

Despite the insistent throbbing of your fingers, you begin to play.

––♡♡♡––

"What's that sound?" Officer Yoongi says, turning back just as Jimin was about to usher him out the door. Jimin huffs in annoyance, but his face melts back into its usual sunshine-y way when the officer stares at him expectantly.

"Oh, probably my guest. She likes playing the piano during this time of day," he replies smoothly. Officer Jungkook limps back into the house, peering at his chief curiously.

"Chief? What are you waiting for? We still have other houses to search," he says.

"I recognize this song," Officer Yoongi replies, humming slightly as the piano's haunting melody echoes throughout the house. "I used to play piano back in the day. I think this is Schubert."

"Shoe who?" Officer Jungkook laughs, the mirth dying in his eyes when he sees the concentrated look on his chief's face. "Yoongi-hyung?" He questions once more.

"Nothing," he finally says, his gaze still turned upward in thought. He waves absentmindedly at Jimin. "Sorry for intruding. Like Jungkook said, we still have other houses to search. Let us know if you hear news about Y/N."

"No problem," Jimin says sweetly, shutting the door firmly on their way out.

When the car reaches the bottom of the mountain, it is only then when Yoongi remembers. "Erlkönig. That's the song," he says.

Something stirs uncomfortably in the pit of his stomach.

––♡♡♡––

Days have passed and it takes longer for you to produce enough songs to feed yourself. Malnourished and severely weak, you pass out almost consistently, unable to keep awake long enough to even leave the bed to write. After the fourteenth day, you suppose Jimin must have taken pity on you, because suddenly you find yourself submerged in a warm bath with his gentle hands rubbing soap all over your body.

You might have tried resisting, or you might have not. It’s hard to remember the details, even while it is happening You are too weak to even speak, allowing this wretched man to wash you without struggle. He rubs at your breasts and thighs, his fingers grazing your core teasingly, but you feel nothing. You are a living corpse, waiting for your captor to let you rot in peace.

"This must feel good, huh? After weeks of leaving you in your own filth... See? I can be forgiving too," he murmurs, fingers rubbing circles over your slit.

Your tired eyes can barely keep themselves open, but as luck might have it, you manage to see the toilet's porcelain cover is slightly ajar. Perhaps Jimin had been busy repairing the toilet earlier that day––it did not matter. All that matters is that you had one final chance to escape right under your fingertips, and you'd be damned if you wouldn't try one last time before completely submitting yourself to your fate.

I will not die. I will not die. I will not die.

You chant these words incessantly into your head until it is all you can hear, see, feel. Jimin turns his head for a moment to get more soap, and in that moment, you are filled with enough energy to grab the porcelain slab and slam it against his head. Jimin crumbles against the impact, his body folding in agony as he cradles his head in pain.

You swing it again and again, aiming for his head every time until he moved no longer.

"And stay fucking dead," you finish, dropping the chipped slab onto his unmoving carcass.

Adrenaline continues to pump through your veins as you slump back into the tub, the gravity of what you had done still keeping your mind on overdrive. After a few more minutes of heavy breathing, you manage to pull yourself out of the tub. You shrug on your shirt and pants, limping haphazardly out of the door.

When you go to lock the bathroom door, you scream in surprise when Jimin jams his foot in the doorway. Awake and alive, he struggles to go into a sitting position, his eyes blazing with unrestrained fury. You slam the door repeatedly over his foot, but he manages to hold the door open enough to pull himself up.

"You bitch," he growls, blood dripping from his broken skull. You scream louder, desperately pushing his foot out of the way in order to close the door. Despite Jimin's unexpected reanimation, it appears that he is still weak from your brutal battering to his head, so you are able to push his foot out of the doorway and lock the door. To your horror, you can hear his nails scratch against the wood, his cries of anguish sounding warbled and inhuman. You step back, waiting for the door to burst open and for your inevitable death––and it never comes. The scratches stop, the wailing ends, and the house is still.

Finally free of your captor, you run out the front door and take your first breath of fresh air in weeks. With a smile on your face and blood on your hands, you promptly pass out in the middle of the lawn.

––♡♡♡––

You wake up in the back of Jungkook's police car.

"Wha––?" You jolt awake, fear starting to pump through you as you whipped around to survey your surroundings. A large hand pushes you back into your seat, and your eyes focus on the face of a dead man standing.

Well, sitting.

"Y/N, relax! You're safe with us," he whispers, urging you to take deep breaths. You inhale and exhale, eyes still wide in shock at the sight of the man you had thought to be dead.

"I––Jungkook, I thought you were de––"

"I'm so sorry Y/N," Jungkook says instead, enveloping you into a tight hug. You release a sob, partly in confusion but mostly in relief for having a friend around you. The two of you cry in tandem, apologies coming out of your both your mouths as you tried to make sense of what was going on.

"Wait, why are you sorry? I was the one who crashed the car and led you to being kidnapped," Jungkook says, tears staining his handsome face.

You shake your head. "No. This is all my fault. If I hadn't asked you to drive me all the way to this stupid resort at night, we wouldn't have crashed and just––"

"Hey," Jungkook whispers, shushing with a finger. "Let's stop blaming ourselves, okay? We're taking you to the hospital downtown so you can get your injuries checked. Yoongi-hyung sent the other officers to clean up Park's resort while we––"

"No!" You scream, shaking Jungkook off of you in a panic. You shake the driver, begging him to turn around. "Jimin is still alive! He's going to kill them––"

"Aish. Jungkook-ah, restrain Miss Y/N, will you? I don't want the three of us getting killed by an avoidable car crash, okay?" The driver growls. Jungkook carefully hugs you to his chest, effectively imprisoning you in his gentle but firm hold.

"Yes sir, Officer Yoongi," he says before turning his attention to you. "Don't worry, Y/N. Jimin's dead. We found his body outside his garden. He jumped out of the bathroom window, probably in an attempt to escape the authorities," he explains. You shiver at the news, knowing full well that Jimin had probably been on the way to murder you.

“How did you find me? I thought I was going to die in front of that house,” you ask, hands trembling despite the warmth of the car. Jungkook cups your bloodied fingers in his larger ones, being careful not to jostle your wounds too much. You want to tell him that it’s fine––most of it was Jimin’s blood, anyway.

“After the crash, I had woken up alone with my legs broken. I called dispatch to try and look for you, but it seems that we had been missing for two days already,” he explains, voice soft and smooth. It’s almost odd hearing him speak, after being so used to listening only to the sound of Jimin’s voice and your own sobs.

“We had visited Jimin’s cabin a few days ago, trying to find you. Yoongi-hyung already had a bad feeling about him, since his mannerisms seemed too practiced and controlled––trademark signs of someone who is very good at hiding his secrets. Then, we heard the sound of your piano,” he says, gazing at you in awe. “It was brilliant of you.”

“Erlkönig,” Yoongi comments from the front, nodding grimly. “I thought it was an odd choice to play. It’s a song laced with death. I’m glad I trusted my gut instinct and returned to the cabin after we received a search warrant.” He shifts his head slightly to look at you, his gaze piercing but kind. Different from the sickly saccharine gaze that Jimin always used to have. “Music really did save your life.”

You don’t want to think about music right now. You don’t want to think about anything at all. "I just want to go home," you whisper, body slumping from exhaustion. Jungkook cards his hands through your hair, murmuring words of comfort as you slowly dropped off into dreamland.

"It's going to be all right... You're safe now... Nothing can ever hurt you again..."

––♡♡♡––

5 years later.

You enter the concert venue's VIP booth without a sound. Most of the other attendees hardly bat their eyes as you slink your way to your seat. You hold a picket fan with Gowon's smiling face on it, a banner with Sooyoung's name, and a wristband with Hana's grumpy face emblazoned on the side. You make it just in time for them to open the concert with their opening song.

The deep bass of Zemblanity filters its way through the overhead speakers, and the sound of thousands of screaming fans almost drown out the song entirely. You grin at the sight of young men and women screaming the fanchants in tandem, even laughing loudly when you'd catch the faint sound of "Y/N" mixed in at the end. You join the chants for most of the songs––all except the first song.

A boy with pink and yellow hair notices your silence, and points a boxy-grin back at you.

"Not a fan of Zemblanity? Even though it topped the Billboard charts twice in a row?"

The boy looks nothing like him. His cheeks are too thin, and his eyes are too dark. And yet, there's something about him that brings a chill up your spine. You make a mental note to make an appointment with your therapist first thing in the morning.

"Nah. Not a big fan. Heard the producer is an asshat," you say, shrugging your shoulders. The boy laughs, loud and pretty.

#BangtanWriters-Net #networkbangtan #jiminnetwork #bts scenarios #bts fanfiction #bts #bts imagines #park jimin #jimin #jimin imagine #jimin scenarios #jimin au #bts horror #bangtan #BTS x you #bts fanfic #bro im... what the fuck was this LMAO #anyway... im going to bed

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divainity-aa · 5 years

Text

reggie + old age / death trigger warnings: death, abuse mention, alcoholism word count: 2080

ACT I. THE MANTLE EMPIRE CRUMBLES

richard mantle gets diagnosed with lung cancer at age 65. reggie is age 30. the mantle men never had a long life expectancy. riddled with a history of mental illness and addiction, they were doomed behind the delusion of material wealth and success that they were immortal. drowning in more money than they knew what to do with, though lacking in matters of the heart. it’s the start of the family’s estrangement, long overdue. victoria mantle wipes her tears on the drive home from the appointment. features remain motionless when she delivers the news. his heart seems to have no sympathy as she embraces him, searching for some sort of support. his hands remain at their sides.

he watches as the disease kills his father, having made him into a senile old man with not even half the spunk and livelihood he used to have as a young, up-and-coming entrepreneur. it eats him alive, taking first his body and then his spirit. the chemo, the hair loss, the medication, the appointments. he finds a reason not to be there for any of it. he can’t help but feel a kind of satisfaction, that it’s the universe doing itself due diligence, paying him back for his suffering all these years that he was made afraid in his own home. it was what he had prayed for all these years, every time he bit his tongue saying his father’s name.

so why wasn’t he happy?

richard mantle dies at age 73. on his deathbed, he begs to see his only son, now age 38. you’d think the years of treatment would have given them time to reconcile, to move past their past, but the opposite is quite true. pride seems to be the vice on both ends, keeping them apart. his father finds shame in his illness and need for victoria’s constant assistance and reggie has no interest in making amends even in light of a tragedy. the roles have reversed, reggie now the one never home and his parents never leaving. part of it was spite, wanting to leave them alone the way they left him and part of it was in fear that he would be there when it came to an end.

one night, he’s told that richard called only for him, the heir to his throne, his so-called pride and joy, mumbling something about seeing him before he met with god. he’s told that his father wanted to tell him everything he should have said, beg for forgiveness while he’s bedridden and his mother called for him profusely. he doesn’t pick up the phone. he picks up the bottle and brings it to his lips instead, for it is far more comforting, in a bar nearly 20 minutes away. waiting.

there’s a call later in the night, this time from the hospital.

hi, i’d like to speak to reginald mantle. it’s urgent. ... yeah. sir.. we regret to inform you that your father just passed away. ... sir ? ... ... sir are you still— is she still there ? your mother? yes she’s still here. do you want me to hand her the pho— no. don’t tell her i answered. .. oh. okay. is there a message you’d like me to pass on? ..... .... sir is there a message— .... tell her to let me know when i get my part of the inheritance.

he was right. his father’s pride would be what killed him.

reggie doesn’t attend the funeral. his mother pleads with him on the phone, begging that he’ll do the right thing and put past wrongs aside. he’s your father, goddamnit! but he doesn’t show. he burned the invitation, with a match of his own light, watching his father’s glowing portrait disintegrate upon gloss paper. he stares, hoping that some kind memory, some fond recollection that can guilt him into feeling sorry. but like most times, he feels nothing.

he spits on his grave and pours his father a drink through the soil. he thanks him for nothing and never goes back.

soon, all of riverdale knows and they begin pouring in meaningless condolences. old acquaintances emerge from the woodwork, knowing of the inheritance he has on its way, and honest friends reach out to apologize for something that isn’t their fault. it’s hard to tell which is which, but it doesn’t matter. he ignores them all, paying mind only to the numbness from hard liquor. he packs a bag with his things, enough clothes for a week, before leaving riverdale without intending to return.

ACT II. THE LAST MANTLE STANDING

reggie moves back into the mantle mansion at age 40. it’s not until years later that he decides that he’s ready to even make a reappearance at what was never a loving home. his mother is there to greet him, she herself decreasing in health and taking after that of her husband. they’ve not been in contact all this time, too painful for both of them, but still she embraces him with tears in her eyes. for the first time in forever, a hand raises to reciprocate, tears streaming quietly down chiseled cheeks. maybe it’s the sight of his mother, aged but still the same, maybe it’s her compassion. he was never the perfect son, nor she the perfect mother, but grief has a way of bringing families together after setting them apart. he’s not quite ready to forgive her and she knows it.

but he’s home. they both are.

reggie’s mother dies at age 80. reggie is age 47. no diagnosis, no illness: simply the wrath of father time. her bones finally became to brittle and her heartbeat too slow. she passes away in her sleep. reggie finds her in the morning when he’s bringing her breakfast. there’s still a grape juice stain on the carpet from where it is he dropped the tray.

he calls the family he never knew, her estranged sister and two brothers. they come to riverdale for a private service and he meets them for the first time, having never before because his mother didn’t keep in contact after marrying. they look so much like her it hurts. they share a few embraces and exchange information. it’s the last time he ever sees them until 20 years later. they collect her things that she left them and leave before the weekend is over, leaving him with the lease.

he remembers when he thought the house was emptier with his parents in it.

ACT III. A LEGACY REBORN.

the mantle foundation and recreational center is founded in 2050. his hair begins to gray and he’s painfully aware that there’s little time left for him to salvage what’s left of his life. it could be over tomorrow & he has no heir: no wife or children. his fear of a legacy, of a child bearing his name and his burden too great for him, leaving him truly and utterly alone. and with nothing to lose, more importantly.

he sells the riverdale gazette for a sizeable amount and uses the earnings to renovate an old building, a former warehouse, into a clubhouse, one for kids ages 12-19. the doors are always open and there’s no entrance fee— only the request that you treat others the way you’d like to be treated. a rule he never followed. the inheritance he receives from both his mother and father are poured into its operation, furnishing it with love & comfort, and its foundation creates countless opportunities for riverdale’s youth. students are given access to endless resources, human and material alike. new school supplies, toys, books for the taking. tutors, therapists, coaches and advisors at the ready. free of charge, at the disposal of those who otherwise wouldn’t have access.

college scholarship funds are opened in the names of influential people in his life, including the archie andrews scholarship, the betty cooper award, and the veronica lodge fund ( in partnership w/her namesake ), to help riverdale’s follow their dreams to higher education. every application is read by reggie himself and he interviews every candidate to hear their stories. he often ends up giving more awards than promised, quite literally having money to burn, just not at anyone’s expense but his own.

he’s there for all of it. from getting his hands dirty when the building was built to being there to greet kids every day and lock the building when it’s closing : he is invested. his face is no longer attached to misery, but delight. hope. the kids know him by name when they bustle in after school and he treats them like the children they never had. in a lot of ways, they are.

the people of riverdale almost can’t believe their eyes, its once infamous villain now having had a change of heart. some are still skeptical, others have accepted the change and donate regularly to the cause. he’ll never fully undo the wrongs he’s done, but this is where he begins. and better to have started now, than never being given a chance to.

all the while, he lives a quiet life, tending to his kids at the center when he’s not at home. visits are seldom, but each one is appreciated and cherished as time continues its march alongside him.

ACT IV. A SOLEMN REPRISE.

reggie is diagnosed with liver cancer at age 70. and it seems with every day that he may not outlive his father. damaged by the consumption of hard liquor from premature age has caught up and it’s eager to collect its dues. he lived comfortably in the delusion that illness had skipped his generation, that he was where it ended, but he is sorely mistaken. he refuses all treatment, remembering how it is his father died, under flourescent lights that burned his eyes, and he grimaces. he’d rather die able-bodied, than drag out his suffering. though fearful, he is accepting and continues business as usual. the world still turns and it will even after he goes.

reggie dies at 75. it’s in his sleep, the same as his mother. a night he never woke up from. suspicion grows when he’s not seen around town, nor at his own foundation’s headquarters. a coworker finds him after he doesn’t pick up any calls and alerts authorities.

the town comes together for the funeral, knowing there’s no family of his that would do it himself. archie, betty, jughead and veronica help plan it with the help of the lives he’s touched. the scholars he’s changed the futures of return home without a second though and pay their respects. there’s an exchange of stories, recounting every part of his life. the core four give eulogy together. riverdale high pays tribute to him not just as a public servant but for the stellar athlete and leader that he was. there’s a plaque dedicated to him at the mantle foundation center and a portrait painted of his likeness hung to remind all its guests why it is they have what they do.

ACT V. A NEVER - ENDING STORY.

his will. he’s cremated, the way he wanted to be, and his ashes spread in the wind, on the shore of his favorite beach. a free spirit while alive, he wanted to same for his soul. he’s also given a gravestone next to his family, just for looks.

in his will, he leaves the mansion to the next CEO of the mantle foundation, instructing that it’s used to expand their headquarters whether it be to create a second location or another office for its business staff. he leaves each of his three cars to archie, betty, and veronica, telling them they can give it to their kids for their 16th birthday, keep them for themselves, or sell them at market value. whatever works best. his motorcycle goes to jughead.

he leaves a video for each person who’s stuck around this long behind, on a thumbdrive that’s mailed upon his death. each video is personal, with things he just wants to make sure are known, even after his passing, and heartfelt in its own way. each of the core four receives one and so does his foundation staff.

his personal funds to be completely depleted after this division of assets. the remaining funds are all left to the foundation to ensure it’s kept running until the next person takes charge.

the empire ended with him, but its name will last forever now because of it.

#╰ I. ⦊ HEADCANONS / METAS.#long post tw /#THIS SHIT LONG ASF.#haven't decided who he'd want as his successor to run the place but .#it's verse dependent .#eveRYTHING ELSE IS ABT RIGHT THO FJDKA THIS TURNED INTO A STORY HONESTLY .#lowkey proud? i should write a novel #the phone call is so Cinematic jfdlj

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bartsugsy · 6 years

Note

i'm not trying to be fun sponge but its just weird for me when people try to attribute words and feelings to a character when that's not the case. from reading some posts you'd think that was a scene where aaron was worried about robert but it wasn't. it was a scene where he was justifiably annoyed about robert basically ruining people's livelihoods and scheming when they'd just had an argument two days ago where he'd asked robert to stop said scheming

fair play anon, this legit made me go back and rewatch the scene lmao

OK U KNOW WHAT,

ETA OK I STARTED OFF THIS POST DISAGREEING WITH YOU AND THEN I KEPT WRITING WITH IT AND FRANKLY U HAVE CONVINCED ME, SO I AGREE WITH YOU, TY ANON, UR THE REAL ONE

LET’S KEEP THE REST OF THE POST IN HERE ANYWAY BC OOH META

LET’S DO THIS, I’LL GIVE U MY EXTENDED THOUGHTS ON THE SCENE and if we still don’t agree by the end, that’s cool, but i rewatched and i still feel the same way about it (and i kind of love the scene even more honestly, it was great, there’s lots to it that one can meta and those are my favourite kinds of scenes) ETA I DO NOT FEEL THE SAME WAY ABOUT IT, I WAS WRONG

so we start the (robron part of the) scene out by aaron just

the second robert walks into the house, dramatically throwing away surrogacy forms lmao

robert obviously immediately spots him and is like why are you throwing all of the surrogacy stuff away? and he sounds sad and concerned

aaron, having thrown that shit in the bin, responds with a still dramatic because what’s the point? we could never afford it and now we never will be able to

rob admits that he messed up, but says it isn’t over and that he can still make it happen. he says he can find another way

aaron is meanwhile legit rolling his eyes and generally looking tired. he answers with another scam?

and rob is obviously like yes if that’s what it takes, yeah.

AND THEN

DUMBASS MISTAKE, BUT EXPLAINS SO MUCH

ROBERT IS LIKE i could see how much you wanted it, so i was willing to take a few risks. aaron, i did this for you, you have to see that

AND UH

AARON =/= NOT HAPPY

he says don’t try to blame me for this mess. i warned you it wouldn’t end well.

WHICH OK

LO INTERJECTION

AARON, AS WE REMEMBER, LOOKED A BIT LIKE HE WAS MID-BREAKDOWN WHEN HE WAS CAMPAIGNING FOR SURROGACY

BUT ROBERT LEGIT DID NOT AGREE UNTIL HE’D SPENT TIME WITH NICOLA AND JIMMY’S KIDS AND WAS LIKE hmmm ok i need 50

and so maybe robert did do it for aaron, but it wasn’t just for aaron. it was for their family and for both of them, just in a very robert-like way (i.e. the quickest but also by far riskiest way)

but also robert is trying to??? sweet talk aaron round maybe??? in a stupid ass way though, lol

or he’s just being a dumbass, one or the other

and aaron is immediately mad at this because HE DID IN FACT TELL ROBERT NOT TO DO THE ILLEGAL THING UNTIL ROBERT SWEET TALKED HIM ROUND AND GAVE HIM VETO POWER

AND THEN AARON IS ALL LIKE

AND JIMMY’S A MATE. YOU AND NICOLA PROBABLY RUINED HIM

AND AGAIN, EXCUSE THE META, BUT PLS POINT ME TO ANY MOMENT WHERE AARON HAS EVER CARED ABOUT JIMMY MORE THAN ROBERT BEFORE. he’s just mad and spewing shit at robert, literally. he’s just accusing robert of being a terrible person and a bad friend bc that’s all aaron has got here and he’s MAD

rob is like i never meant for that to happen and aaron is like *pew pew parting shot* yes well u never do, do you robert. so long as you win that’s all that matters *pew pew anOTHER PARTING SHOT* and yeah u know what i did want a kid. i did. but not like this. it’s too big a price to pay. and no, i’m not talking about the money. *fucki MIC DROP bye*

and then rob looks guilty as hell and the scene ends.

SO ANYWAY MORE META HELLO

AARON IS LEGIT JUST SAYING SHIT AT ROBERT. HE’S JUST FIRING OFF SHIT AND SEEING WHAT WILL STICK. LIKE, AARON HAS NEVER CARED ABOUT JIMMY’S FEELINGS BEFORE, SO IT’S SENSIBLE TO INFER THAT IT’S PROBABLY NOT ABOUT THAT

BUT THEN WE GET TO THE END OF THE SCENE AND AARON SAYS THAT HE DOESN’T WANT A KID “LIKE THIS” BECAUSE “IT’S TOO BIG A PRICE TO PAY”

AND HONESTLY LIKE

LOL OK I JUST CHANGED MY MIND ENTIRELY AND I FEEL LIKE I’VE HAD A REVELATION BUT THE REVELATION IS IN FACT JUST AGREEING WITH YOUR ASK slfkkldo classic lo, what a donut

OK MIGHT AS WELL FINISH THIS

OK SO THE QUESTION BECOMES WHAT IS THE ‘IT’ THAT IS TOO BIG A PRICE TO PAY

not to be dramatiq, but honestly from what aaron’s saying, the ‘it’ is robert’s fuckin soul lmao. it’s robert not ruining people’s lives, as u say, and not being terrible. aaron doesn’t want this experience of them having a child together to also be tainted by robert... uh.... not being.... great.... (touchy subject, moving on, might explain why he’s particularly mad/suddenly v reluctant to procreate with his husband though) (what if they spoke about it) (would anyone else be highkey down for that, or just me?)

ANYWAY, aaron’s mad because robert fucked up people’s lives and got caught. he was, it should be noted, a lot less bothered about fucking up graham’s life, even in this scene. i think there’s still just... some anger at robert getting caught and being in a shitty situation in general. he specifically says it’s not about the money. he’s not actually mad about the money. it’s about robert getting them into this situation, about people they (and robert specifically) supposedly care about getting caught in the crossfire, particularly after robert fucked over vic to get to billy literally just a few days back (as u said)

and aaron at the moment, bc he’s dramatic and kind of insane, but also probably bc he knows his husband, can’t see a way out of this that doesn’t involve robert potentially sinking further down that rabbit hole of ‘bad’, which aaron absolutely doesn’t want - he’s ok with robert doing shitty stuff up until a point (providing he’s careful) and we know this, but he actively doesn’t want robert.... i guess, throwing people he supposedly cares about under the bus for his own gains again? because that’s understandably like a step back for rob, in the soul and morality department

even though frankly, we all know robert would throw every single person under the bus for aaron at any given opportunity and that will never change

it’s probs for the best that aaron is someone who is going to call rob out on that shit and try to stop him from fucking up his life, though. aaron cares about robert’s terrible little soul.

SO ANYWAY, AARON IS CONCERNED AND LASHING OUT AT ROBERT BC OF IT AND THIS SCENE GOT MORE PERFECT WITH MORE REWATCHES AND EXTRA META AND NOW I LOVE IT AND IM SORRY THIS POST IS LONG AND EXTRA AND ALSO IM SORRY FOR CONTRADICTING YOU EARLIER, WHEN I’M NOW P SURE YOU’RE CORRECT this has been a real journey for me

#answering anons #robron #long post #meta #Anonymous

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saigebeaumont · 6 years

Text

- ̗̀ * ( robert sheehan + cismale + he/him ) have you seen ( benjamin ‘benjy’ magwitch ) walking around campus ? they are a ( twenty-three ) year old, studying ( political science ). we hear they are in ( rho pi rho ), and can be ( magnetic & irresponsible ), maybe it’s because they are a ( leo ). they sort of remind us of ( shiny red apples, walking on ledges, kaleidoscopes ), maybe we can find out more ! ( james + 19 + est + they/she ) * ̖́- + theatre/track

hi hello as u may have seen my name is james and this is my baby, benjy. i dont know how long this is going to get so pls bare with me

tw; fire?

gen. info

full name: benjamin ‘benjy’ henry magwitch / joshua hollowood but u will never catch him actually using his real name tbqh

nickname(s): think of a random name. any century, any gender, any amount of letters or lack thereof. that’s it that’s his nickname. previous aliases that he has claimed to be are - thaddeus, balthazar, dante, romulus, etc., etc.

b.o.d. - july 31st, age 23

label(s): the icarian, the blackhole, the insouciant, etc. etc.

height: tall

hometown: ???

sexuality: chaotically bisexual

bio. info

let’s try and make this short n sweet

so like. y’know when a faerie steals a human baby and replaces it with it’s own, weaker, inferior baby? benjy is the human baby in this case

except they weren’t faeries

dorothea and fawley were two...somewhat, in love, folks--who had really wanted to have a child of their own. when they did, finally, have their child--he was very sickly and small and neither of them wanted their child to be weak goddammit

so they did a switcharoo, like...switched at birth except i’ve never ever seen switched at birth, and ran off with this extremely rich family’s newborn baby instead!

dorothea and fawley were part of a circus, and thus, lil benjy was raised in a circus !! how cute.

needless to say he was raised in a very nontraditional setting, like, homeboy was homeschooled bc they were literally always travelling, around the country and once or twice out of country.

despite that, he never doubted that his circus family didn’t love him or anything like ?? yeah he never called his ‘parents’ mom or dad, but that’s bc it was like...everyone was his parent.

dorothea and fawley told benjy that his name will never define him, and he could be anyone or anything he wants to be.

this caused a tiny benjy to be CONSTANTLY changing his name. like, almost everyday he’d just declare a new name and everybody in the circus would call him that specific name. even when he did acts, he’d go by a different name every single time

this carried onto adulthood and benjy still doesn’t tell people his real name very often. sometimes they’re sort of normal names n other times they’re fucking bizarre.

when he was seven he declared his name was ‘sock’ for an entire month.

grew up doing a buncha odd lil jobs and roles in the circus, from being a lil handyman like fawley to being a magician’s assistant like dorothea. t’was a lil tiny animal tamer (before the circus stopped using animals in their acts because we don’t stan circuses like that no we do NOT) at some point but reeeaaally liked tightrope walking and things as such

also tried his hand at fire-throwing/etc. etc. but the like eighteen (minor!) burn scars across his body will tell u that it was not for him and he gave it up to pursue knife throwing tricks and juggling

wasn’t rly ever around ppl his own age, also never had a smartphone before he was like eighteen or so--he’s not old fashioned but he can definitely be behind on the times

also grew up listening to primarily older rock/folk music/whatever the fuck music his family created/his own music

that being said benjy is good w a guitar but bitch cannot sing. he sounds like a dying frog.

he also did a bunch of petty theft but that’s bc some of the other folk in the circus did it and he was like huh. looks like fun. bc benjy is thoroughly an idiot but more on that later. so he got some shit on his record but he got them sealed when he turned 18, like, asap

but. benjy is a dumbass. he committed ANOTHER petty crime, because the boy has addictive qualities, and he left some dna evidence bc boy’s got some mf hair

surprisingly, it wasn’t through his records that they found him via his dna but, rather, his real parents who did a whole ass dna kit thing for fun one day

this came as a shock to everybody involved, honestly, though tbh ? benjy didn’t care that much that he had parents who weren’t the circus, but that’s bc of his entire upbringing.

either way his birth parents wanted to like. y’know. meet their delinquent biological son and when they did they were like ‘woah woah woah wtf ur in a circus’ and he was like haha yeah

n that was...sort of it, for a while. benjy was 18, had his GED, n wasn’t planning on going to college at all.

the circus was still traveling, the world was all right, etc. etc, benjy maintained contact with his bio parents bc it was Polite to do

and then the circus burned down! somebody did a flaming knife trick when they weren’t supposed to and, long story short--the entire circus went up in flames. there were no victims, no worries, but their entire livelihood was gone and they were all effectively displaced.

when his Rich Biological Parents found out about benjy’s newfound predicament that he 100% was not responsible for whatsoever, they were like . . . . listen. we’ve got a Reputation to uphold, but we’ll send you to college.

he’s been here since he was like, 21, so he’s a junior i think ??

he’s majoring in political science but it’s like technically his first year as the major bc his freshmen yr he wanted to do anthropology and then he switched to mathematics and homeboy was nvr satisfied but now he thinks he wants to do smth w social welfare so he’s doing political science w theatre and public affairs as minors

personality

he’s got. a big personality

he’s got this sort of energy that attracts others but they don’t really know why bc holy shit benjy can be annoying

he’s just super intense ?? like the boy does not know how to calm down, he’s constantly moving around and being dramatic and sometimes whiny

pouts more than a person should averagely pouts

i wouldn’t call him a liar because he can be, very very blunt, and doesn’t know how to beat around the bush, but he likes telling half-truths simply to either confuse others or to just b a lil bitch tbh

he’s got big dumbass energy like okay he’s smart he just doesn’t apply himself very often and he just. does dumb things

gets into fights bc he’s a dumbass. like. he will purposely provoke ppl he doesn’t like, n when he’s drunk he’ll do it to literally anybody esp ppl he likes

also just. doesn’t know when to stop talking. can find ways to ramble about nothing, asks questions w the intent of being annoying, etc. etc.

his ~parents~ didn’t rly believe in modern medicine n they were just like ‘an apple a day keeps the doctor away!’ so he’s got this obsession w apples. literally is always chewing on an apple or a toothpick or anything he can get his hands on. he’s like a teething toddler, essentially

probably the dumbass who plays wonderwall at a party tbh

okay but fun fact! he’s super nimble and just. cat-like, from all his yrs of practicing n performing tightrope walking. if he falls over it’s because he wants to fall over and if he falls over it’s bc he wants ATTENTION

he loves. being the center of attention? but he’s also content with being in the background if it makes sense. he just wants to be doing something, anything

anyways he doesn’t take shit seriously at all like, i don’t think he’s ever had a serious conversation in his life ?

big slut for parties. he loves partying, he nvr knew he loved partying until he went to ucla but he loves it

he’s got an addictive personality so like okay. he’s not Addicted Addicted to anything specific (besides nicotine) but he definitely has no problem with drinking n doing drugs Often.

i mean he’s reckless too he never knows when to stop, feels like he’s tryn to be the Superior boy but he’s not and he’s probably overcompensating nowadays to deal w the guilt of accidentally burning down his entire life

drives cars too fast, drinks too much, has no problem getting into heavier drugs

also okay on a lighter note the boy used to be addicted to cigarettes bc he started fairly young but hoo boy he’s now on that juul game

literally he always has a juul on him. spends all his money on juuls

he works as a florist n a gardener for extra cash even tho his bio parents send him money, just bc its one of the only things that really calm him down tbh ??

also i meant it when i said he doesnt tell ppl his real name, like, ever. at least his first name bc he loves his last name but ? u probably dont know him as benjamin or even benjy, just smth stupid like marcellus the magnificent or booboo the fool hahahsdfgh

did i mention he casually juggles bc i genuinely cannot remember lmao

uuuhh there’s more i’m sure but !! i have a really bad memory!

i also dunno if im keeping his fc but we will SEE

he’s basically like....still a five yr old child

OH okay so i remembered smth else

he’s essentially a nomad which means he hates being rooted to ucla so he’s usually off drivin’ around the coast bc he’s bored goddammit but he always comes back bc he’s a loyal dog

speaking of loyal dogs. he’s got commitment issues. but not commitment issues? it’s sort of like. he gets really interested in things/people, kind of focuses all his energy on that thing or person, and then one day wakes up and is just. terribly bored. tends to drop ppl like that, esp relationships, and he doesn’t think much of it bc it’s Normal for him

but believe it or not, if u call him in the middle of the night he WILL show up, or if u wrong him instead of him wronging u, he’ll still b endlessly loyal

like he’s shitty but he’s got a heart ?

also like i said. he is chaotically bi. both chaotic and bisexual and also the two combined.

he’s chaotic neutral in general

wanted connections ?? possibly ??

frat bros - [hulk hogan voice] brother. he needs them

general friends ! - if u dont hate him then u just. love him, man. no inbetween

exes - he’s probably got...a few of these, because his attention span lasts like a max of two weeks

hookups - they also dont tend to last very long just bc of how he is as a person, but y’know. they good while they last

ex-hookups, specifically

ex-friends - bc he’s an idiot

if u really want to u can bring in a circus pal but firstly idk how they’d afford school but honestly. we can work smth out. hmu [kissy face]

roommate - do they hate each other ?? who knows

bad influence - they only egg on benjy’s dumbass behavior

good influence - probably forces him to study for once, or take care of his dumb ass

idk what to call it but like. ppl who HE eggs on to be bad, is generally toxic to the other person

anything else u want [another kissy face]

#uclas:intro #hi sorry benjy and i are both messes

8 notes · View notes

wineanddinosaur · 3 years

Text

VinePair Podcast: Will Sports Bars Score Big This Fall?

As athletic stadium seats begin to fill up this fall, the drinking culture surrounding sporting events makes its return, too. For sports bars with livelihoods that largely depend on game-day drinking, it is a welcome shift toward normalcy. But will it be enough?

On this episode of the “VinePair Podcast,” hosts Adam Teeter, Joanna Sciarrino, and Zach Geballe assess the state of sports bars and how they foresee athletics impacting the scene. Sports stadiums are increasingly opting to serve alcohol at games, too — a move that may further influence how and where fans drink.

LISTEN ONLINE

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OR CHECK OUT THE CONVERSATION HERE

Adam Teeter: From VinePair’s New York City headquarters, I’m Adam Teeter.

Joanna Sciarrino: And I’m Joanna Sciarrino.

Zach Geballe: And in Seattle, Washington, I’m Zach Geballe.

A: And this is the “VinePair Podcast.” Before we start, I want to talk about something that’s a little bit of a bummer, and that is that Joanna’s in the phone booth of the office, because we still don’t have the studio set up again from Covid. I’m in my office with the door closed, and Joanna has the phone booth. It’s so weird.

J: It’s real tight in here.

A: I’m just thinking about Joanna sitting in the phone booth right now. It’s too funny.

Z: Can we blame someone for it not being set up? Maybe Keith?

J: Covid.

A: It’s Covid’s fault. Keith is here right now, figuring out how we’re going to bring in the panels and everything. We were in the process of building a full studio before Covid. We stopped, obviously. Now we’re doing this. We’re all coming back into the office.

Z: I miss being in a studio. Shout-out to our former engineer, Nick Patri.

A: Oh, yeah. Nick was a great guy.

Z: I haven’t talked to him in a while, but I’m sure he’s got lots of thoughts about hard seltzer.

A: He was a big hard seltzer person. So, how have you both been? What’s been going on? What have you been drinking?

J: I’ve been well. I had a really great weekend of drinking. I took my banana rum and made the Banana Justino cocktail. It came out really, really well. I can’t wait to do it again. It’s my new thing.

A: I love it.

Z: So it was worth whatever the effort was?

J: Yes. Absolutely worth the effort.

A: I kind of want to make this now.

J: You just need this enzyme, the Pectinex stuff that I talked about. It’s a quick order, and then you’re good to go.

A: That’s so interesting. What else did you do this weekend?

J: I went to the Dead Rabbit, which I had never been to. It was awesome. What a great place. I had the Irish Coffee there, which is incredible.

A: It’s famous.

J: It’s so good. I really want to make it at home. I also had a really delicious gin cocktail with vermouth and snap pea.

A: Interesting. Cool.

J: It was really wonderful, and I can’t wait to go back. That was the extent of my drinking this weekend. What about you guys?

Z: The thing that I had this past weekend that was really exciting for me was when we were celebrating one of my sisters’ birthdays. It was a small family gathering, and I brought a magnum of Prosecco from Adami, which is one of my favorite producers. It’s one of their higher-end bottlings from a single vineyard. Most of the time, when I drink Prosecco, it’s probably something like that. It’s a DOCG bottle. It’s so good. I used to think, “Prosecco. Yeah, sure. Whatever.” Maybe it’s something about — as has been the case with other wine regions for me — going to a place, seeing it, trying some of the wines, and meeting some of the people. Sometimes that makes you feel differently about it. I also think there is something about the balance of Prosecco and how it’s a little less intensely effervescent than a lot of other sparkling wines. It’s often a touch sweeter. It’s a little more fruit-driven. It’s not quite as much about long bottle aging and conditioning. It’s delicious. There’s a lot of mediocre Prosecco out there, but even that stuff is pretty good. The good stuff is actually really good. It reminded me that I should drink more Prosecco. What about you, Adam?

A: I had some fun adventures over the weekend. I went to the western Catskills. I think I’ve talked about this before, but we went to check out this new hotel that opened, called Callicoon Hills. It was a fun hotel. It was one of my last big weekends traveling, except for what I’m about to talk about for our subject this week. I had some delicious cocktails in the area. I went to this really great pizzeria and bar called Kaatskeller. I had a hemlock Negroni, which was really delicious.

Z: And you survived? Aren’t hemlocks poisonous?

A: Yeah, I think it’s supposed to be. Who knows? That was the name of it. It was a really good Negroni, very floral, and quite enjoyable. You’ve been before, right, Joanna?

J: I have. It’s a cool spot.

A: There’s a connection between the owner and his partner, or someone, who is the owner of Apotheke.

J: Yes, you’re right.

A: I think that’s who does the cocktails. That was really cool. Then, I continued to search for an Old Fashioned and continued to not be served an Old Fashioned with a large cube. I think I’m done searching for an Old Fashioned. I think I’m tapped out.

J: You just have to make it yourself, man.

A: I tried, multiple times, after listening to the first episode of “Cocktail College,” and every place basically did chunk ice.

Z: Did you never ask for a big cube, or did you just take it how they gave it to you?

A: Yes. Let me be clear. The first few times I just took it and thought, “I guess this is what we’re doing again.” The last time, we were at dinner at a place that was having some issues. They were newer. I think they were having some service issues, still getting their sea legs, and had only been open for a few months. They had a bottle-aged Old Fashioned on their list. I thought that was interesting, and that they had to serve it over a big cube. The server comes over. I said, “I’m looking at your cocktails and trying to choose between one thing or the bottle-aged Old Fashioned. It sounds really delicious. How do you guys serve it? Over a big cube? Orange twists?” The server was very enthusiastic about it. Then, it comes out over chunk ice. Anyways, I did have two service issues that I was curious about. One happened at the same restaurant, and another that happened later in the week. As our resident hospitality professional, I wanted to ask how to handle these situations and what you would do.

Z: OK.

A: I’m going to give you both scenarios and let you talk about both of them. In scenario one, we ordered cocktails that took forever to come out because the bar was backed up. They were having a huge party outside, which I always understand. Make that money. There was one bartender behind the bar and the dining room was full. It just totally sucks. When you first go out to eat, you’re craving that first cocktail when you sit down. We ordered cocktails and starters. We ordered our mains, and the cocktails came out. The starters still hadn’t come, so we figured we had some time. They placed the starters down and saw that our cocktails were a quarter full. They asked if we wanted wine. We ordered glasses of wine for our entrees. They walk back. The starters had just come out. Then, the entrees came out.

Z: Oh, man.

A: Naomi literally said, “Excuse me, could you please send those back to the kitchen?” They were really surprised and taken aback by that. We had literally just gotten salad and were sharing an appetizer. I could tell they were caught off guard. Then, of course, when the entrees came out, they were cold. That was really a bummer. I’m curious how we should have handled that and how you would handle it. I didn’t know what to do, because either way they were going to get cold. They were going to sit to the side of us and get cold while we ate the starters. I’m just curious what they should have done. The other question I have for you was a situation where we went out to dinner and ordered wine. There was a somm. We went to a nicer place in New York that has a Michelin star. The somm asked if we were interested in red or white, something funky. I told him what we’re looking at and mentioned a wine that was around $80. He recommends this producer and says we have to try her. I look at the list, and it’s $150. That’s a lot more than the $80 bottle I told him I was looking at. He walks away and Josh and I are looking at the menu. Both of us realized we had never had a Cabernet Franc from Anjou before.

Z: OK.

A: There’s one on the list at $85. We ordered that. He comes back and is pouring the Anjou. I taste it and say, “This is so cool. It’s such a great Cabernet Franc. I’ve never had a Cab from Anjou before.” He said, “Yeah. My favorite Cabernet Franc on the list is from Saumur. It’s amazing. It’s a better deal at $70.” He literally said that to me.

Z: After he’s already poured you the wine?

A: I was so taken aback. I was like, “What? I don’t know what to do here.” I wondered if he was pissed that we didn’t take his original recommendation? Did I do something wrong? Am I right? Was this bad behavior, or should I have done something better? What’s going on here, Zach? And, Joanna, would you be just as shocked as me?

J: Oh, my God. Yes. I think like in the first instance, I probably would have just let them give us the entrees and eaten it all together. That’s not great, though. With the second, I truly don’t know what I would have done. What a wild thing to do. He should’ve said that when you ordered. You were clearly looking for recommendations and his input on wine, if you’re ordering this Cab Franc, then he says, “Actually, this is a better deal.”

A: Maybe he thought I was very assertive. Then I thought, if you thought I was very assertive, there was no reason to say something else to me after you poured that wine.

J: Right. Just say, “This is a really great wine. You’re going to love it.”

Z: OK. Let me try to put this together. With the entree thing, I’m generally in Joanna’s camp that I would rather get the entrees, even if it’s way too early. I can try a couple of bites while it’s still warm. It’s not a great situation. Having worked service for many years, timing food out of a kitchen, especially a busy or new kitchen, is really hard. It may be the case that the server is new. It may be the case that the chef is a tyrant, and if the server goes back to say the table isn’t ready for their entrees and they need to be re-fired, the server might get screamed at. I don’t blame the server, totally. But, it is true that part of what you pay for when you go out to a meal is pacing. When I make dinner at home, all the food gets made at the same time because I want to sit down and eat it. I don’t get up and make multiple courses, generally. We all accept that as a given. When you go out to eat, you are hoping to get a lot of those things done for you, including proper coursing. That’s just a bummer, but that’s a bummer that happens, right?

A: Talking to both of you, I think we should have just let them place it. We were just so taken aback, but we should have just let them drop it on the table.

Z: You’re kind of damned if you do, damned if you don’t in that situation. If you’re at a one-star Michelin restaurant, you would reasonably expect that not to happen. I think you would be well within your right to say, “We just got our appetizers, can you hold on to these?” If they can’t keep them at peak condition, warm, then they should remake it. That’s just the reality of that kind of restaurant. I’ve certainly done that plenty of times in my career. It’s not fun, but that’s the deal. That’s how it works. If you don’t get the timing right on your end, that’s not the guest’s fault. As far as the somm goes, what blows me away here is that I don’t think it’s totally outlandish for them to have recommended a wine that’s significantly more expensive, but only if they also recommended other wines that were in your price range. If they had said, “Hey, you’re looking at this wine, so maybe you like lighter-to-medium-bodied reds. I’ve got this great Cabernet Franc from Saumur. I’ve also got this really cool other wine.” Give the cool story behind the situation with this wine. When people asked me for recommendations, or say something they’re interested in, often I would throw wines at them that were at or below their price range, and above. You never know when someone might be willing to spend $120 or more on a bottle of wine if you can give them a reason to do it. That’s the somm’s job in many cases: to upsell.

J: You can always say, “If you’re looking to splurge, here’s an option.”

Z: Exactly. Or say, “If you want something really special.” As a customer, you can say, “That sounds great, but maybe not for tonight. The thing that you were more turned off by, and understandably, is him saying that afterwards. Maybe they felt like you were really sure that you wanted this Cab Franc from Anjou, and they didn’t want to tell you no. What they could say to you is, “If you really liked this, next time you come in, there’s this other great Cabernet Franc on our list from Saumur that I think is also really good. It’s in that price range. Definitely keep your eye on that next time.” They can tell you about it and it still may be a little odd, but they wouldn’t have made you feel like an ass. Why do that? There’s just nothing in it for them, other than getting to lord it over you that you made a bad choice. That’s on them. Their job is to not let you make a bad choice, if at all possible. It sounds like you enjoyed your wine.

A: It was great. It was super cool.

Z: No harm there. If that was me — and that $70 Cab Franc from Saumur was my favorite wine on the list — and someone ordered a different Cab Franc in that price range from a nearby region, I’d let them know that this other wine is my personal favorite so they could consider that. The truth is that some somms are weird about it. They don’t want to down-sell. You already turned down the up-sell. I don’t think they have an obligation to talk you out of your $95 bottle of wine, but they do have an obligation to not make you feel like a moron for having bought it as you’re tasting it.

A: It was literally at the very beginning of the glass.

Z: I’m sorry. That’s no fun.

A: Thank you. It’s just funny. Maybe we’re just all getting our sea legs back in terms of going out to dinner. I don’t want to hold it against the somm. I was just very taken aback by it. Josh and Naomi were, too. When he walked away, they were like, “Did that just happen?”

Z: Adam, you are a weird magnet for strange interactions with sommeliers.

A: I think I just share them more.

Z: You do have a podcast. That’s true.

A: I just share them more because I’m curious about them. I also want people to know this stuff happens to all of us. I want to understand how we should handle it. That’s sort of where the intimidation comes from.

Z: For sure.

A: When you’re talking about beverage especially, it can be really intimidating. It feels easier to talk about the menu and say, “I definitely don’t want the $195 prime ribeye.”

Z: Imagine if you did order a steak, the server brings it, you take one bite, and they say, “Oh, by the way, do you know what’s way better?” The flatiron steak for two-thirds the price. It doesn’t matter the context. That’s just terrible service. That’s unfortunate.

A: Totally. So, I thought we would have a really fun conversation this week.

Z: We did have a really fun conversation. This already was one.

A: We’ll keep this one fairly brief. This weekend, I’m doing something a little bit crazy.

Z: OK?

A: I promise I’ll get a PCR test when I’m back. Those of you that are loyal listeners know that I am originally from Auburn, Ala., and I’m a huge Auburn Tigers football fan. They are playing a White Out game, primetime ABC, on Saturday night at Penn State. I have tickets. I’m going with my friend Ryan. We are going to a sporting event. I’m really curious to see what sporting events are going to start looking like as we’re coming out of Covid and the drinking around sporting events. Last weekend was the first weekend of NFL football. I know lots of people that went out to watch the games. There are lots of brands that are really hopeful that this happens. These are great entertaining occasions where people love to grab cans of seltzer, bottles of beer, make cocktails, drink wine, et cetera. I’m curious what you guys think the fall holds for drinking and sports. Right now, it feels to me like a lot of people are acting like we’re getting back to normal in that regard.

Z: Well, Joanna is our biggest sports fan. You should go first.

J: What is a White Out game?

A: Penn State’s tradition is that, at their biggest night games of the year, every single Penn State fan wears white in the stadium that holds 80,000 people. Apparently, it’s very intimidating, because all you can see is this bright white. I think Georgia does a Black Out game. Because one of Penn State’s colors is white, it has become very famous in college sports as this thing that happens.

Z: I assume you will not be wearing white?

A: I’m going to wear orange and blue on purpose and hope that I don’t get beat up. I think we’re sitting deep in the Penn State section, so it’s going to be a little freaky. It’s going to be interesting. Joanna, what’s your opinion here? How do you feel about sports and drinking?

J: I have a few thoughts on football, specifically. I have been to a few professional sports games recently. I’ve been to a few baseball games. I actually went to the U.S. Open, which was also fun. I have a feeling that they’re tamer than what I imagine college football to be.

A: Yeah. I have a theory of why that is, but we can get to that in a second.

J: I think it’s actually going to be really interesting to see, like you were saying, Adam, the sports bars. I’m curious what that situation is like, because college football has started already. I feel like I’ve seen a lot of our local sports bars pretty packed with people watching games. I will not be participating. I do not care for football.

A: Why?

J: I think it’s so boring. I have no allegiance to any team. This is a fun fact about me. I am married to a very lovely Canadian man who, when we first met, had no interest in the NFL. He has subsequently joined a fantasy football team. It’s so dreadful because now he cares to watch the games.

Z: We’ve corrupted him.

J: Yeah. It’s horrible. He spends hours at night on his phone, setting his draft. It’s so horrible.

A: It’s so good. Naomi hates when I do that, too. Zach, how is it in Seattle? You guys have, at least, a very famous quarterback. I don’t know how the Seahawks are this year.

Z: Oh, they’re good.

A: Is it full? Are people going out to the bars and watching the games? What have you heard? What are you seeing?

Z: Really good question. The Seahawks have not played at home yet. They started their season on the road. They’ll be at home over this coming weekend, so by the time this podcast airs, that game will have happened. I was recently reaching out to a contact who works for the Seattle Mariners because I’ve been interested in what they’re doing about beverage service. My wife and I went to a Mariners game a few weeks ago. It was interesting to see how, even in the couple of years since I’ve been to a game, the product mix and how things are done at the games has changed. Some of that may be Covid-related. Some of that is just due to changes in the market. It was definitely a little different than it had been in the past. The University of Washington’s football team appears to be dreadful, but they are serving beer and wine at games for the first time in a long time. Last year the Seahawks played, but they did not play in front of fans. A huge part of the game- day profitability for these franchises are concessions, and beer in particular. Alcohol is a big driver. There’s certainly a lot of hope that things will be back to normal. Stadiums are at full capacity. There are vaccines and mask mandates here in Washington for these events. People can be in the stands drinking, obviously. To the question about sports bars, I think that what you’re seeing is a little bit of a mixed bag, from what I can gather. Around the stadiums, you’re definitely seeing bars that are game day spots being pretty busy. What I’ve heard of more, just anecdotally this year, is what you were getting to in the intro, Adam, which is that a lot more people are doing stuff at home. A lot of people have decided they may not be comfortable going out to a sports bar with strangers and spending hours eating and drinking, unmasked. They are comfortable having 10 to 15 people over in their house. People may feel a little more comfortable with their own entertaining chops because they’ve had to do so much more at home as of late. Overall, I think you’re definitely going to see a real uptick in the sales of light beer or seltzer. Those things are already doing well. If I was a sports bar owner and not near a stadium, I might be a little concerned. Those things revolve around the big NFL Sundays and college football Saturdays. They’re not necessarily super profitable on a Wednesday night. I think we will see. In Seattle, we’re just transitioning weather-wise from summer into fall. What are people going to do when it’s dark, gloomy, rainy, and cold? Do you really want to be at home again? Maybe Sunday seems like a good day to go out to a sports bar because it’s just something to do.

A: Yeah. In Seattle, are they requiring vaccination proof to come inside?

Z: Not yet for all restaurants, It’s required at all of the sporting events, including the outdoor events. Somehow, the Mariners are not implementing it until October, which is convenient for them because their season is going to be over in October. I have not been tracking it ultra-diligently, in part because we have a small child and another one due any day. We are not going out to eat much right now. If there isn’t a vaccine mandate yet, though, it will be coming soon. I think they’re just trying to get everyone on the same page, which is tricky.

A: I wonder if part of the reason there is more excitement around sports bars in New York is just because the vaccine is required. When you’re in the sports bar watching the game with people and drinking Truly, White Claw, or Bud Light, you know you’re there with other vaccinated fans. It might feel a little safer. To go back to your original point, Joanna — about college seeming crazier — I think that all has to do with the fact that college has a real problem admitting that its of-age fans drink before the game and would like to drink at the game. I think we’ve had this conversation before, Zach. There are still so few college stadiums that allow the legal sale of alcohol, so a lot of fans smuggle alcohol in and drink to oblivion before. Both are very bad. These are not things that should happen.

Z: I mentioned that the University of Washington is allowing alcohol sales at games now. One of the reasons they cited was basically that. They think they can decrease people getting blackout drunk before they even get in or smuggling stuff into the stands if the stadium can provide them with an option. Cynically, I don’t know if that’s true. It’s obviously a cash grab. There is something to the idea that, if a lot of these games are dry, people aren’t going to just be sober. That’s just not how people are going to behave.

A: I do think that it’s different when you attend a sporting event in New York or any professional sporting event. I also went to the U.S. Open this year. When I did, I got on the train and I hadn’t had a drink. I got to the stadium and had two beers.

J: You paid $40 for your drink.

A: That’s why I only had two beers. It’s cool to have a beer and watch tennis. I think if I wanted to have a beer but I couldn’t, something psychologically happens for people. There’s the mentality that “you’re not going to stop me from being less than sober for this.” That’s why I think college is crazier. More universities are starting to think the way that University of Washington is. There’s a very easy fix here: Sell alcohol and continue to ban it in the student section, because they probably should. Only one-quarter of the student section population should be of age. In the rest of the stadium, allow adults to buy beer and wine. In the places that have done it, they’ve seen some success. A lot of times, in these stadiums, the people who have the worst behavior are the older people, to be very honest. It’s really depressing to see an older person get taken away because they’re been confiscated for illegal booze. It’s never a good look.

Z: That’s one thing you can roll with when you’re 21. It’s a little harder to roll with when you’re 51, I’d imagine.

A: That’s embarrassing.

Z: All that to say, what do you anticipate drinking at this Penn State and Auburn game? Rolling Rock?

A: I don’t know. My friend Ryan, who lives in New York, too, is actually an alum of Auburn. I’m from the town and my parents are professors there, but I didn’t go to Auburn. He was invited to the alumni tailgate. I think they’re providing alcohol. It’ll be beer. I don’t know what it will be. We’ll go. He was allowed to bring a guest. I think they’re providing beer and barbecue. Then, we’ll go into the game. Normally, I’d check out one of the local bars beforehand. I’m definitely not going to do that this time. I feel pretty safe because Ryan is a doctor in New York at Mount Sinai, and he’s been very involved in Covid. If he feels safe to go, then I feel safer to go as long as we stay outside and wear our masks. But, I’m not going to go downtown, try to go into a few of the college bars, and check out what’s going on. We’ll go to this tailgate. We’ll have a few beers. We’ll go in the stadium.

Z: Give us a prediction. What’s the final score?

A: I think it’s going to be 35 Auburn, 21 Penn State. I think we’re going to run up the score. I think we have a better quarterback. We have a new coach. I think we’re the better talent. Road games are hard. Being the away team is not easy. This is why I’m a little scared, as is Ryan. This is the first home game for Penn State since Covid, and it is a White Out game. They are going to be rocking. It will be a very live crowd. This has been a great conversation. I’d love to hear what some of the listeners think. If you’re attending any sporting events this fall, tell us what sports bars in your area look like and what you think the fall holds for drinking and sports. Zach and Joanna, I’ll talk to you on Friday.

J: See you.

Z: Sounds great.

Thanks so much for listening to the “VinePair Podcast.” If you love this show as much as we love making it, please leave us a rating or review on iTunes, Spotify, Stitcher or wherever it is you get your podcasts. It really helps everyone else discover the show.

Now for the credits, VinePair is produced and recorded in New York City and Seattle, Washington, by myself and Zach Geballe, who does all the editing and loves to get the credit. Also, I would love to give a special shout-out to my VinePair co-founder, Josh Malin, for helping make all this possible, and also to Keith Beavers, VinePair’s tastings director, who is additionally a producer on the show. I also want to, of course, thank every other member of the VinePair team who are instrumental in all of the ideas that go into making the show every week. Thanks so much for listening, and we’ll see you again.

Ed. note: This episode has been edited for length and clarity.

Joanna’s Take on Dave Arnold’s Banana Justino

Ingredients

1 750-milliliter bottle of rum (I used Diplomático Mantuano)

3 yellow bananas (not too green or too brown/ripe)

½ teaspoon vanilla bean paste (optional)

2 grams Pectinex Ultra SP-L

Limes

Coconut water

Whole star anise

Technique

Make the banana rum

Add the rum, bananas, vanilla bean paste if using, and Pectinex to a blender and blend for a minute or two until completely smooth. Keep the rum bottle for decanting later.

Pour the mixture into a sealable container and leave on the countertop for about a week, until the mixture has fully, visibly separated.

Slowly pour the mixture through a coffee filter (I used a Chemex) to clarify. Pour the extracted liquid (your banana rum) back into the original bottle.

Make the Banana Justino

Freeze coconut water into large ice cubes.

In an Old Fashioned glass, add an ice cube and pour over the banana rum (about 2 ounces); stir briefly.

Squeeze in a wedge of lime and garnish with a whole star anise.

The article VinePair Podcast: Will Sports Bars Score Big This Fall? appeared first on VinePair.

source https://vinepair.com/articles/will-sports-bars-score-big-this-fall/

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basedonatruestory-official · 5 years

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CHAPTER TWO: HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME

It's quite easy to fall into a routine: getting up, going to school, eating a shitty lunch, going home, doing homework. Repeat, like a robot. It's only been a few days since the start of the school year and yet I already feel the pressure. The first days of class are critical to figuring out who might be approachable and who might be an asshole. There’s generally no in between. Speaking of, a girl bumps into me while entering the classroom and she mutters something along the lines of "look where you're going, dwarf". It's been quite a while since someone has picked on me because of my height, and I did not miss the feeling. I immediately blush and keep my head down so my hair covers my face.

"Rude. Also, is that the best you can come up with?"

Wait, did I say it out loud? No, someone else did. I turn my head and see the girl from the first day, the one with the contagious laugh.

I stare at her as Midge, the girl who insulted me, snorts and walks away.

“Man, her only neuron must be feeling so lonely up there,” she points at her forehead with her index finger and a breathy laugh escapes my lips. Her American accent is so evident, I don't know how I didn't notice before.

“Thank you. Most of the time people just go along with the snickering and the teasing.”

“You mustn’t have met many smart people then,” she grins and we start walking towards our seats. When she reaches her chair she extends her hand.

“My name’s Maggie, by the way."

“Robin,” I shake her hand, mentally cursing myself for being so nervous when meeting new people.

“Yeah, I know. You’re with sunshine over there,” she tilts her head towards Beca, who is just sitting at her desk with an emotionless expression. I laugh and bend my head at her words, amused by this girl's sense of humour.

"Can I have your number?" she asks passing me her phone. I instantly blush, not knowing why.

"So we can keep in touch about school and homework, you know," she clarifies.

"Haven't really met anyone apart from you."

I type in my number and give the phone back to her. Our conversation is cut short before I can say anything.

“Good morning class!” Mrs Potts exclaims while slamming the door shut. Maggie rolls her eyes and itches closer to me to mutter something about teachers being too cheerful so early in the morning. I grin and turn around to face our English literature teacher, but I’d rather chat with Maggie a bit more.

I celebrate my birthday with my parents on Wednesday; it sounds pretty depressing, but I don't have any friends so that is the only way I usually celebrate. My mum and my dad have always been sweet about it: they have always bought me a cake and we have always had dinner together. Back when I was younger they both lost their jobs and we have struggled with money ever since, but they always try to get me something to open for my birthday. This year is nothing different, we've eaten chocolate cake and they've given me some money to spend however I want. My grandma has also scheduled the usual Sunday lunch to celebrate with my aunt, I must admit I'm not particularly looking forward to it because my aunt can be... unpleasant to say the least.

The next morning I find myself chatting with Maggie in between classes, we're walking around the hallways. We've talked every day since the "Midge incident" and her livelihood infected me from the start.

"Hey, can I take a quick look at your planner? I haven't written down next week's homework," she asks while toying with a curl of hair. I hand it to her and she quickly scans over the pages but suddenly stops walking. I notice after a few seconds and ask her what's wrong.

"Yesterday was your birthday."

"Um, yeah," I reply feeling self-conscious for having written a huge "happy birthday to me!" on yesterday's page. It feels childish now.

"Why didn't you say anything? We could have done something together!" she exclaims opening her arms.

I open my mouth to reply, but I'm so taken aback that I don't even know what to say. The bell suddenly rings and Maggie is giving me back my planner and I'm soon standing in the middle of the hallway surrounded by kids trying to get to class.

Later that day I'm laying on my bed with my cat and I chuckle at my phone as I get a text.

"You are cordially invited to Ivory manor on Friday, the 24th.

You don't need to worry about food and entertainment: everything will be provided by your host (me)!

Kind regards,

Maggie Ivory"

I try to keep it cool so that my parents don't notice anything out of the ordinary, but I'm actually freaking out. My palms are sweaty and I can feel my heart pounding against my chest.

"I kindly accept your invite, Miss Ivory!" I text back quickly.

"Hey mum, I'm not coming home straight after school tomorrow."

"Why? Where are you going?"

"To a friend's house," I reply smiling. Apparently, I have made a friend within the first two weeks of school. Who would have thought?

I feel my phone vibrate on my lap so I don't hear my mum saying she's happy that I'm going out more; Maggie and I text each other for the rest of the day.

•••

On Friday my classes are over in the blink of an eye and I'm soon making my way to the school gate by Maggie's side.

"So, you haven't told me where you live yet."

She points at the building facing the south side of our school, across from its playground.

"What? You literally live five minutes away from school!" She shrugs and smiles smugly at me. I, on the other hand, have to wake up at six in the morning and take two buses to get to class on time.

The building where Maggie lives is very tall and dilapidated, like most houses on the outskirts of the city. It's mainly grey, but it also has reddish details in certain areas.

When we get to the entrance door Maggie buzzes whoever is home at the moment.

"Yeah?" A voice comes through the intercom.

"It's me, Jas," she says, "open up."

We make our way through several hallways and finally get to the lift.

"Sorry, that was my brother, he's stupid," says Maggie, timidly. It's the first time I've seen her act like this and I feel a sort of pull, I want to know more about this girl.

"Oh come on, he can't be that bad," I reply grinning, but she doesn't say anything.

We get to the ninth floor, just below the rooftop, and Ivory manor turns out to be... not a manor after all. Not that I was expecting one, of course. It's a simple flat, there's a small corridor that goes from the entrance to the living room, which is also connected to the kitchen. All the other rooms are joined to a long hallway that starts from the living room: there's Maggie's bedroom, Jasper's bedroom, their parents' bedroom and two bathrooms.

Jasper turns out to be a scrawny ten-year-old boy with sandy blond hair, a far cry from her sister, who has dark brown locks. He comes out of his room just as we're walking down the corridor to get to Maggie's room and follows us.

"Oh hi! I'm Jasper, Maggie's brother! You can call me Jas. You're Robin, right? Be careful about my sister, she's going to use you to get good grades!" He talks so fast that I almost don't understand what he is saying. As soon as he's done talking he sprints towards the living room and Maggie is about to go after him but stops abruptly, probably because I'm present.

"I told you, he's stupid," she mutters seriously. I notice she's clenching her fists and she shoves her backpack on her bed a little too forcefully. Not knowing what to do, I place my backpack at the foot of her bed and look around. There's a wardrobe on the immediate right and a desk on the left, her king-size bed is positioned against the right wall, which is an intense dark red, while the others are a light grey. There's a big window with long white curtains on the wall opposite the door.

Maggie has flung herself on the bed and she's now resting with her eyes closed. It looks very comfy and, as if reading my mind, she pops one eye open and tells me to join her.

"Are you sure? I mean, it's your bed."

"Oh stop fussing and get over here!"

I look over at her and a shy smile starts taking over my face. I jump right beside her and we burst out laughing: I don't know exactly why we're laughing, but it feels so good.

"Hey sis, what do I need to do with the- What are you doing?" Jasper is standing in the doorway and he's looking at us with a weirded out expression on his face. As our laughter quickly dies down, Maggie gets up and tells me she needs to check something. A few minutes later I hear her calling me so I make my way to the kitchen, where she is sprawled over the kitchen island. It looks like she's covering something with her body, but before I can see anything both Jasper and Maggie scream.

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY!"

I can feel the heat creeping up my cheeks and I'm pretty sure my eyes are about to pop out of my head.

"I- what- when-", I stutter repeatedly while staring at the very good looking raspberry cake in front of me.

"Would you like to buy a vowel?" Maggie laughs and pushes the cake towards me while I sit down on one of the stools.

"Did you bake this?"

"Actually yes, could you tell 'cause it's ugly?"

"What? No! It's actually really good! I don't know what to say..." I look up at my new friend and feel overwhelmed by her thoughtfulness.

"You don't need to say anything, you need to eat", she smiles the biggest smile I've ever seen and I can't help but comply with her order.

"I gotta say I'm famished myself!" Jasper exclaims expectantly and we all burst into laughter.

youtube

The weekend is over in a flash and lunch at my grandma's has been postponed to next week because my aunt couldn't make it. I've told my parents all about Maggie's surprise and they were very pleased, I keep thinking about it and it makes me smile. I'm brought back to reality by Mr Dwight yelling out the number of laps we have to complete around the track.

"Twenty-five laps, no exceptions! I also have some good news for you as motivation. We're going on a trip!"

Everyone starts chattering, especially a group of boys who is weirdly looking my way.

"A trip, huh? This is gonna be interesting. Ride next to me on the bus?" Maggie has come up behind me and is now leaning on my shoulder with her elbow.

"Sure."

Read on Wattpad: https://www.wattpad.com/797340172-based-on-a-true-story-chapter-two-happy-birthday

Read Chapter Three: Smells Like Teen Spirit.

#based on a true story #based on a true story chapter two #chapter two: happy birthday to me #robin sallow #maggie ivory #jasper ivory #LGBTQ story #LGBTQ storyline #LGBTQ character #LGBTQ characters

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peachhoneii · 7 years

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I am legit curious on how they’re going to play up and work with the triplets newfound independence.

In the old shorts and cartoons, the Triplets were always very identical. They didn’t stray too far from this unified voice. It was like that in Carls Barks and Don Rosa’s comics. I think, if I remember correctly, there was a slight departure in 80s Ducktales, but not enough to give them individual characters.

Quack Pack was the closest, and yes, no one likes to remember Quack Pack. But I think there was a good idea going on, but it was a product of its time.

From the shorts, as far as I’ve seen, Huey and Louie have gotten the most out of pre-show characterization. Louis is curious, sarcastic, and possibly the funny guy. He’s the ‘evil’ twin.

Huey is adventurous and smart. He had his own short compared to his brothers. In that short we got a good glimpse of his character and what to expect from him. Also, the Junior Woodchuck guidebook makes a return, and I’m frickin’ glad for it. In the comics it was literally The Library of Alexandria, and one of the few things Scrooge could not get. Ha.

But Dewey? Not yet. We’ve gotten the “Our family is awesome” quote. It tells us Dewey obviously loves his family and sees them as more, possibly, than he thought they were. Because I’m 100% positive none of the twins knew about Donald’s past, just as they didn’t know Scrooge McDuck was their great uncle.

It’s a family trait for McDucks and their descendants to be adventurers. In L&T, Scrooge’s ancestors intervene on his behalf (near death tbh) only because they knew he was going to be filthy rich but frugal, penny pincher, tight af with his money.

So I don’t want to say Dewey’s the cautious twin since none of them look to be 100% cautious, but Dewey might be the one most grounded. He has the most practical, common sense when it comes to his siblings.

It’s possible he gets it from Donald. Yeah, Donald has a temper, but he’s not dumb. He’s actually pretty level headed when it comes to domestic, living things, or to the boys’ livelihoods. ((But this can depend entirely on the writer. He has a tendency to go off the rails with arrogance and anger, which screws him over in dramatic irony).

#ducktales #ducktales 2017 #donald duck #huey dewey and louie #dewey duck

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scarlettaagni · 7 years

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The Birthmark (play rewrite)

In Creative Writing, we read The Birthmark by Nathaniel Hawthorne and for an assignment, had to rewrite it as a one act play.

This is mine. And perhaps the sassiest thing I’ve ever written.

In the times of the 19th century… science was advancing at a rapid pace. The work was so important, that the men making it happen were so into it, they couldn’t see their wives waiting impatiently for them just in their field of vision. Or rather, they didn’t even have time to get wives. Nerds. They were the definition of “nerd”. Like dang, you must have married her for some reason if you married at all, go and be a gosh dang husband to your wife, she’s a person with feelings and needs too and you most likely vowed to be by her side, and not by a stupid beaker full of acid’s side. GOSH. Anyways, Aylmer was one of these turbo nerds, and Georgiana was his wife.

Georgiana was the finest little lady to ever bless the earth. Very sweet, very cute, and just a pleasant little thing to boot. But she had a birthmark on her cheek, just the smallest little red mark in the shape of a hand. Of course, turbo nerd Aylmer couldn’t focus on the amazingness of his wife, or even the astonishing revelation that he had a wife at all, only on that sole mark. Very stupid, but if something is insignificant but still exists, is it really so insignificant at all? Aside from that, its very existence haunted Aylmer, because he’s superficial wrapped up under clear “science can make anything perfect!” cellophane. But he was making such a big deal out of it, even though it was just him looking at the mark and looking away like he was about to vomit, it began to affect Georgiana as well.

She loved him, with all her heart, and GOSH DARN this mark for upsetting him! Obviously, the solution was for turbo nerd extraordinaire Aylmer get rid of something she’s had since birth rather than him to stop being a superficial walnut and accept her as she is! Now, to their dilemma...

Georgiana: *preferably read in a Southern accent* Oh dear! Oh my! My nearest and dearest love, how you look upon me in disgust because of this accursed mark! Remove it! Remove it with the science you love so much!

Aylmer: *feel free to sound like a nasally little brat* No worries, my lady! My wife Science and I can scrub this imperfection from your perfect cheek! I mean, my livelihood. My livelihood science and I.

Georgiana: Oh, thank you! Thank you, thank you, thank you! If it means you can look on me without disgust because of this meaningless insignificant mark! ...Wait, excuse me?

Aylmer: AMINADAB! Have you ever met him? He’s my lackey. Don’t be horrified when he walks in, it took me months to get used to it, because my shallow self could only ever perceive him as vaguely simian.

Aminadab: *sound like you hate your life, through gritted teeth* Yes, ssssssir?

Aylmer: You know that HIDEOUS blob on my wife’s face? She’s getting it removed. I’m removing it. Prepare my instruments!

Aminadab: You know, if she were my wife, I would treasure her love and reward her with my own love, because this societal perception that your spouse is like a ball-and-chain is an unhealthy idea and promotes neglectful or even abusive relationships when the whole point of marriage nowadays is that you meet someone you love and bond with them eternally, and this whole ha-ha-funny shtick of acting like they’re a burden right when they marry you is sick and backwards and frankly, quite insulting. Georgiana, you are perfect even with all your imperfections, because with them, you can do anything. A mere mark that was in fact seen as nice by some others and wasn’t a bother for most of your life since birth should be left alone. How convenient it is, not for him to accept this minute detail but to remove it altogether… It is emotionally abusive to convince your spouse to hate themselves or aspects of themselves, and even moreso in that silent passive-aggressive way he looks at you and reviles at that birthmark. If a mark is putting a hinder on your relationship, that is not the sign of a horrible mark, but of a weak and shallow marriage.

Georgiana: ...

Aylmer: … Excuse me?

Aminadab: Huh? Oh, I meant, “Right away.” (aside) Jackass.

Aylmer: Nevertheless, onward we go! I will take off that abysmal-- OH, HOLY MARY, I NEARLY FORGOT HOW UGLY IT WAS!

Georgiana: Oh! Oh, my! *faints, twirls down into his arms, hand brought to her forehead, dramatic sigh*

Aylmer: Oh, I forgot how gentle and sensitive she is… AMINADAB! Prepare the special room for her awakening.

Aminadab: Yeah, sure, sure… (aside) Jackass.

----------------------

Georgiana: *wakes up* Oh… Oh my heavens, am I in Heaven?

Aylmer: Nay, my love, just an aesthetically pleasing room. Don’t you like it? Here, have a flower. Take it quick.

Georgiana: *barely touches petal, flower literally combusts* It’s magic! Burn it, burn it!

Aylmer: It’s already burned you dolt! You touched it too hard! *singsong* ANYWAYS… *tosses metal plate into a vat of acid*

Aylmer: Hey, want to see the elixir of immortality I made?

Georgiana: Whuh- Why would you keep this from the world?

Aylmer: So I can sell it 50 dollars a mere drop and monopolize the medical industry and extort money from the sick and poor and take bribes from the extremely rich, I MEAN… It’s, uh… too powerful for mankind… Yeah… More importantly, a few drops of this in a liter of water can wash away any imperfection.

Georgiana: Oh, so is that for lil’ ol’ me?

Aylmer: No, dear, your mark runs farther than skin deep, like a vein. This baby can only wash away things like freckles.

Georgiana: Why did you show me this, then?

Aylmer: *loudly* Oh, well, you know, to get the idea of flaw removal across and show you I can make things that will get rid of imperfections--*leans in, whispers in her ear* Also if I get arrested for monopolizing the medical industry, you’ll go down with me as a knowing accomplice.

Georgiana: …

Aylmer: I must attend to my scientific duties. Off I go.

Georgiana: What about my--

Aylmer: *singsong* I’m leaving…

Georgiana: Doh, sometimes I feel you love your scientific duties more than me! *marches into lab*

---------------------

Aylmer: What are you doing in here, woman?! *pushes skeleton diorama away from his embrace* You must not trust me!

Georgiana: Oh, I trust you! It’s you who must not trust me! Use your precious science and get this blemish off my face, right now!

Aylmer: Oh, well… I’ve never seen this side of you… I must say it’s quite… attractive.

Georgiana: You know what else is attractive? NOT THIS BIRTHMARK! Get it off of my face and out of our lives this instant!

Aylmer: And so you will it! By God, I’ll purify your image!

Aminadab: It is literally just a birthmark.

Aylmer: Silence, lackey! Bring me… the pitcher.

Aminadab: Here you are, sir… (aside) Jackass.

Aylmer: Here, take a sip, babe.

Georgiana: No thank you, I’m not very thirsty.

Aylmer: It’ll get rid of your mark, genius. No wait, I’m the only genius here. Just drink the freaking thing.

Georgiana: *drinks it* Oh, is it going away already?

Aylmer: Of course it is! Of course my invention is working! How do you feel?

Georgiana: I feel so-- no, wait… I feel like I’m dying.

Aylmer: Like the angel you are to become!

Georgiana: No, I literally mean I’m dying.

Aylmer: Oh. Darn?

Georgiana: *dies, spirit rises and gently cradles Aylmer’s face in her hand* I was a literal freaking angel and that birthmark was the only thing tying me to this earthly realm, you judgmental turd. *ascends to Heaven*

Aylmer: Well… I did said it’d get rid of your birthmark, never occurred to me that you dying was a possibility… let this be a lesson to both of us.

#nerd stuff #the birthmark #scarletta scribbles

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writingismyhappytime · 8 years

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Baby Daddy (Part 3)

Ryan Sitkowski x reader

Warnings: language, angst, mention of abortion

You're standing on his doorstep, your hand poised to knock, yet you just can't make yourself do it.

Should you even tell him you're pregnant? It still doesn't feel real, knowing doesn't make your body feel different. You don't have to tell him, you reason, you don't have to tell anyone. You could always just make yourself an appointment and get rid of it without anyone the wiser. And yet... It doesn't seem right to do it that way. It's not just your child, it's Ryans too, and he should have a choice in the.... In the... God, how are you even going to tell him that the two of you had fucked up? How are you going to tell him you're pregnant, something that's going to completely change his life? You take a deep breath, knowing you have to do it somehow. Your knock is feeble, you can barely hear it. You scowl, knocking a little harder, your brain still flicking through different scenarios. You could bail right now, change your name and your hair, and move to Cuba. Somehow though that's not going to help the fact that you're pregnant. Probably make it worse. Alright, so no Cuba. You tense as the front door opens, and Ryan blinks at you, a little surprised to see you; normally you call before you pop over. "Uh, hey," he says, frowning when he sees your anxious expression. "Um..." "Can I come in?" "Uh, yeah." He opens the door a little wider, seeing your tense shoulders as you walk past him, the way you don't even take your coat off --- you don't intend on staying long apparently. "What's up?" He asks, scratching his beard; he can tell somethings wrong, you're not sitting down or relaxing, not even looking at him. "Where's Ricky?" "He's in his room." "Can we go to yours?" You ask, wringing your hands; you don't want to be overheard, you want this to be just between you and Ryan. "Sure, but --- what's going on?" "I'll explain upstairs," you mutter, turning hastily away from him, taking the stairs two at a time. Ryan reluctantly trails after you; he has a feeling he's not going to like this conversation. You step into his room and wait, shutting the door almost on his heels. You take a deep breath as you turn to face him, biting your lip. "You might want to sit down for this," you mutter, but Ryan shakes his head, his stomach dropping. Are you gong to break up with him? What did he do wrong? "I'm fine," he slouches, rocking back on his heels as he gazes at you. "What's going on?" "I.... I went to the doctor today." You say after a moment, looking down. "Because I keep getting sick." "Okay." Ryan's waiting for the punch card. "Are you okay?" "Yeah, I'm fine. Perfectly. But..." god how are you going to tell him this? You take a deep breath, raising your eyes to his face, knowing you have to just say it. "Ryan, I'm pregnant." He just looks at you, and you can tell it takes him several seconds to process your words. "What?" He finally says, still just looking at you. "You...?" "I'm pregnant." You repeat, the words curling your tongue; this is the first time you've actually said them out loud. "You're...." Ryan trails off, waiting for you to suddenly laugh, say you're joking. But when you just stand there, looking anxiously at him, he realizes you're serious. "Oh shit," he mutters, feeling his legs go out from under him. He sits heavily on the edge of his bed, pressing his hands against his mouth. You just stand in front of him, your lips trembling; you want to cry again. "How... far along are you?" He asks after a moment, his voice muffled by his hands. "I, I don't know. I get my blood test results back next week." "Do you know for sure you're...?" "I took six tests." Ryan grimaces, and he runs his hands through his hair as he leans up. "How long did you suspect?" Pfft. "I... didn't." You flush, a little embarrassed. "I thought I had a bug, it's why I went to the doctor. But then he kept mentioning pregnancy so when I got home I took a test." "Six tests." "Yes. They're positive. all of them." You'd brought them with you if he wants to see, they're in your purse. "I'm sorry," you nearly whisper, feeling sick again, a little dizzy if you're being honest. "I don't know how this happened. I'm on birth control, and we were always careful ---." You choke up, and you take a deep breath, trying to keep your composure. Ryan doesn't say anything, just sits there, taking it all in. You're pregnant. With his kid, since you're telling him this. Fuck. He'd never noticed a condom breaking, and he's seen you take your birth control religiously, so he knows this isn't something you did on purpose. Besides, you're not that kind of person. So.... what did this mean then? You sit down slowly beside him, as if afraid to get too close to him. He's been so silent, you can't tell what he's thinking. "What do you want to do?" You ask after a moment, looking at your hands. "Do?" Ryan asks, finally looking at you. Your eyes are red and puffy, it's clear you've been crying for a while. Do you even want this baby? "Are we.... should we keep it?" You sound so uncertain. "We.... we don't have too." Right. Ryan frowns. You can get an abortion, put an end to the worry before it becomes serious. Neither of you have to be parents, you don't have to have your entire lives put on hold or shaken up so drastically everything changes. You could literally not worry at all. Ryans never gotten someone pregnant before, not that he knows of, he's never even considered that he could be a father. One day, sure, when he's ready, but not right now. "I'm, I'm in a band." He says after a moment, frowning at his hands. "I go on tour... I'm not home a lot when the season hits." "I have a store, all my money's tied up in it." You say, nodding. "I spend more time there then I do at home." "We do stay busy a lot," he hesitates, daring to look at you. "both of us." "We do." You Agree. "Our lives are hectic. I don't have a lot of money, all of its in the store right now, I can't really... I can't afford..." "You're not alone." Ryan's hand hovers a moment, then closes firmly over yours, squeezing. Your hands are freezing, and his are so warm. "I mean, I'll help you, whatever... whatever you want to do." You don't know. You've never been in this situation before. "I don't know what to do," you say softly, unhappily. "I mean, Ryan, we have a baby together." Your fingers clench. "A child. But... but we..." "It's bad timing," Ryan murmurs, seeing the stress on your face. "For both of us. And we've not been together long." "Do you want me to get rid of it?" You ask after a moment, needing to know for sure. You want to know his opinion before you make any decisions yourself. You look at him when he doesn't answer, seeing the indecision on his face. "We have time, don't we?" He asks, looking away. "I mean, we don't even know how far along you are." He doesn't want to say it, but he'd read or heard somewhere that until so many weeks in, the pregnancy is iffy, right? Like you're not supposed to announce it until you're fairly far along. And there's no way you are. Well, then again.... He's been sleeping with you for a while now. You two were bed buddies two months before he ever officially asked you out. So, technically.... yeah, it's plausible you're pregnant, that somewhere, somehow, something went wrong and he managed to knock you up. Fuck. "I'll know next week," you mumble, your body starting to ache from how tense it is. "Dr. Tim will let me know." "Okay. Then let's not make any decisions until then," he tells you, squeezing your hands. "Let's just... think it over." "Okay," you whisper, your hair falling into your eyes as you look down, wanting nothing more then to curl into a ball and weep. This is awful. You feel awful, both for putting Ryan in this situation and just in general. "I don't... I don't want a kid right now," you say eventually, both of you just sitting on the edge of his bed. "I can't raise it by myself." "You wouldn't be alone," he says instantly. "I wouldn't do that to you. We'd raise it together. The two of us. We.... I mean, we'd make it work." Somehow. Ryans.... he still doesn't know how he feels about it. He can't say he's excited, when you told him he'd just felt dread. He's never home when touring starts, he's gone for months at a time. You'd be all by yourself with a small human, trying to care for it and run your store, and it would just be too much. He'd never even get to see his kid. That's not what he wants. He won't give up the band, the music, so that's not even an option. It's his livelihood, all he knows how to do. He's not cut out for a nine to five job if he could even hold one. You press your hands against your face. You can't believe this is happening. It's terrible. "Cmere," Ryan murmurs, pulling you to him, shuffling around so that the two of you are lying in bed . You sniffle as you press your face against his neck, curling up against his side. He presses his lips into your hair, holding you tightly against him. "Don't worry, this is gonna work itself out," he tells you, shifting a little. He rolls, putting himself on his side so that you're facing each other. Your eyes are red-rimmed, tears slowly rolling down your face. "It's gonna be okay," he tells you, brushing at your tears. "I promise. We'll figure this out." You hope so. ~~~~~ "Congratulations, you're seven weeks pregnant." Dr. Tim says as he stands in front of you, not looking like the news is surprising. Your face falls. It was one thing to take the tests, but now that the doctor has confirmed it... now you and Ryan are really going to have to talk about it. You're going to have to decide what to do. Do you keep this baby or not? Dr. Tim sees your face fall. "I see this isn't a joyous moment." "No," you mutter, rubbing your face. "It's not." Fuck. "Ah." Dr. Tim sits down on his tiny stool, letting you have a moment of silence. "You have options, you know." "I.... I know." "Have you considered them?" He asks calmly, gazing at your troubled expression. "Have you told your boyfriend?" "He knows," you mumble, leaning back in your chair, resigned. "He wanted to wait until you confirmed it before we made a decision." "Does he want a child?" "... I don't know. This isn't.... this isn't really a good time for us, we've only been dating a few months." "Ah, I see. You have many options right now. You can keep your child, of course. Or give it up for adoption, or choose abortion." You shudder at that word. "There are two forms," he continues, pretending he didn't notice. "There is the surgery, of course, and there's also also a pill." "A pill?" You didn't know that. "Yes. The pill is called mifepristone. You take it at an office, and then you take a second pill at home. The pill causes heavy cramps and bleeding, which can last for several hours. You come back later to make sure the abortion is complete." Complete??? He sounds so matter of fact, like he's said the words so many times it's just a speech for him. "Does it hurt?" You ask after a moment, clenching your hands in your lap. "It's not painless. You can expect mild to strong cramping no matter which you choose, but you can take pain medication for it." It's sounding less and less appealing. "How much does it... how much is it?" "It depends on the facility. The lowest I've found is three hundred dollars." WHAT!? You stare at him, sinking a little low in your chair. It costs a lot, and you're not sure if it's even worth it. An abortion sounds sort of painful, plus you'd heard they don't always work. You don't want to hurt the baby, you just.... You press your hands against your face, feeling overwhelmed. "I know this is a lot to take in, but you have a way out of you wish it. If not, I know you'll be a good mother," the doctor tells you. "Thanks." You don't want to be a mother! Fuck! ~~~~~ You: it's positive. 7 weeks

Fuck. Ryan stares at his texts, pursing his lips unhappily as his stomach sinks. He'd kind of hoped you wouldn't be, that somehow those tests would all be wrong. He doesn't want to have to make a decision like.... ".... telling this chick, hey, I got a girlfriend..." What do you want to do? It's been a week and the two of you didn't even mention it. He's only seen you once since you'd told him, it's like you're avoiding each other. He can't look at you without thinking about the baby. If you get an abortion, if that's the decision the two of you make, is he going to be okay with that? Will he ever be able to look at you the same, knowing you'd carried his child? He's not sure, he doesn't understand why it makes a difference. "... told me peace, love, and fairy dust ..." You keep saying you don't want a child, but you're obviously torn. The timing is just bad, neither of you have time to spare. He figures you'd wanted kids one day, but later on. He'd never... fuck, he doesn't want it, not right now. He's only been with you a few months, you hadnt discussed a life together yet! How could either of you bring a child into that equation? Where would the three of you live? Ryan doubts Rickys going to enjoy a screaming poop burrito in the house they share, so he'd have to move out. Would he move in with you? Would you get a place together? Did you even want that? Would you prefer the two of you stay separate? Too many fucking questions! ".... glitter. I was so outta that joint!" Ryan runs a hand down his face in frustration. He needs to text you back, he just doesn't know what to say. He doesn't even know how he feels right now! It's a disaster! "... not taco bell, I get too sick. Try that..." He needs to reply, though. He'd told you he'd be there for you and he meant it.

Ryan: k.

He knows he should say more but he's having a meltdown on the inside and he doesn't know how to respond. He's surprised there isn't smoke curling out of his ears he's so frustrated. And he can't exactly tell anyone what's going on! This is something between the two of you, no one else, and he knows you wouldn't want anyone else involved. So he's gotta figure this out. ".... round table of panties, right? And I'm like...."

Ryan: what are you gonna do?

He needs to know, he's getting an ulcer from worrying so much.

You: I don't know....

Well that isn't helpful.

Ryan: it's okay, we'll figure it out You: you keep saying that but it's not helping anything Ryan: what else do you want me to say?

It takes you a few minutes to reply.

You: I called the local clinic, it'll cost four hundred and some change to get an abortion there

Ryan winces; he suddenly hates that word.

Ryan: is that what u want to do? You: is that what you want me to do? Ryan:... if this was any other time, if we'd been together five years and we could both say we were happy, I'd want it. You: I know, I understand. But this is a child, a baby! OUR baby! It's not that easy Ryan: ik it's not. If you want to keep it, we'll make it work. You: I can't afford to raise a baby on my own Ryan: u wouldn't I'll help it's mine too You: you don't even want it Ryan: neither do you.

He grinds his teeth, sinking lower in his chair. The two of you have never had a fight before, but he supposes if there is anything to fight over, it's this.

You: Ryan, if we both don't want it...

Ryan sighs.

Ryan: I can't be a good dad right now. Not like I'd want to be. I can't be there for it, I'll be gone for six months out of the year on tour, maybe longer. You'd be all by yourself and I don't want that for you or it. Ryan: maybe in five or ten years, when times are better. I want a kid eventually, but I couldn't do it right now. That's how I feel. I couldn't be the dad that it would deserve. You: fine

Fine? That's it? He gives you this big long speel and all you say is fine!? "God dammit," he mutters. "What?" He glances up, seeing five startled faces looking at him. Oh, right. "Nothing," he mumbles, looking down. "I'll be right back." He's going to call you, he's not content with just "fine." Ricky watches him go worriedly. Something is up between the two of you. Usually you're always at their house, even if you don't spend the night, but suddenly you're absent. Ryan has been skulking around like he's got a permanent cloud over his head. "What's going on with him?" Chris, the lead singer of the band, asks. "I think him and his girlfriend are fighting," Ricky sighs, leaning back in his chair, his guitar in his lap. "She's not been over lately." "We haven't met her, have we?" Vinny, the drummer, asks, and Ricky shakes his head, dark hair brushing his shoulders. "No, they've only been together like three months. She's nice, though, she's always at the house. Well, not lately." He shrugs. Chris sighs as he leans back against the desk, frowning. He brushes his black hair from his face, brown eyes glancing over the rest of his band. If one of them is having a hard time, it generally makes it difficult to get the music flowing. "Do you think the fighting is going to last a while?" Balz asks, sitting in the floor with Vinny, both of them watching YouTube videos. "I dunno. I don't know what their problem is." "I'm sure it'll work itself out," Ghost, the other guitarist, says lightly. "Most things do." ~~~~ You can't stop crying and you don't know why. You'd made the appointment, it's next week. You and Ryan had argued on the phone for almost an hour, both of you heated and pissed off over the situation. You don't want an abortion, you're scared. You're scared it'll hurt, you're scared it won't work and it'll damage the baby instead, you're scared to go alone ---. You sit down heavily on your couch, pressing your hands against your stomach. What's going to happen to it? Is it alive? Does it already have thoughts and feelings? Is it a person? Is it even big enough to see? You know they get fingernails quickly, thanks to Juno, but that's it. You researched abortions, you know all the horror stories now and the many different ways it could go wrong. You bite your lip. Ryan doesn't want it; he never flat out said it to you, but it's clear his stance on the matter. He thinks you should get rid of it. Maybe in another few years... No, it didn't work that way. How could you be content to have a baby in a few years when you got rid of this one? How would that be fair? Doesn't Ryan see it that way? How do women do this? You know you have too, you've made the appointment, you have to go. You don't doubt if you keep it that Ryan will help you, stick with you, but he's right. He'll be gone a lot. He won't have time to help you, he won't even be here! You have a store to run, you don't have any savings left. You can't raise it on your own, you'll sink quickly. Your only practical option is to get rid of it. You just hope you don't hate yourself for it in the long run.

Tags: @isaxhorror @lucifersnudes @allthepeppercorn. @iknightwriter. @miss-mcbotty. @my-gothic-doctor. @little-h0rr0r @imaginemiw

#miw #Ryan Sitkowski #ryan x reader #Ryan sitkowski imagine #miw imagine #abortion #Baby daddy #ryan sitkowski x reader #Ryan sitkowski baby

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