#20+ jobs in my life every single one fucked me over
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i was that budtender that always gave sooo much free shit. in hollywood they literally could never figure out how i had such low sales compared. bitch its bc i dont fuck with your corporate bullshit, ooohf i went in when they told us to upsale the homeless buying $6 grams!!!! holla at the under paid, i get my fuckinn my worth
#fuck every 9-5#n lmk if you need help#8 streams of income baby#20+ jobs in my life every single one fucked me over#fuckers sign contracts guranteeing a raise then its oh you already have the raise. bs bc my starting pay was a dollar more#fuck you pay me#the tables keep turning n they spiral up#take the stairs#lmao#life#love#trippy#drugs#smoke#weed#marijuana#cannabis#420#710#stoner#hippie#blunts#joints#bong rips#corporate bullshit#eat the rich but vegan#n this girl tellinn me she would give you extra if ya cute. chooseyyyyy. i dont fw that wildness#everybody smokes#everybody eats
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chris and the reader hate eachother but end up having to share a hotel bed
just tonight // chris sturniolo
summary: a trip with your friends turns into a hotel reservation mishap and having to share a bed with someone you hate
part 2
It’s no secret that Nick Sturniolo is my best friend.
It’s no secret that Matt Sturniolo is like a brother to me.
And it is no fucking surprise to anyone how knows me and the youngest Sturniolo that Chris Sturniolo is the one person above all that makes me want to rip my hair out strand by strand.
I don’t even know how it all happened. It’s like it was meant to be. I don’t remember a time in my life where me and Chris Sturniolo weren’t bickering, throwing shit at each other, or calling each other foul insults.
To others, it is another form of entertainment to see our arguments in person, but to Nick and Matt, it’s the bane of their existence.
Their brother is mine.
Which is why I am more than shocked to hear that the four of us are heading on a trip to San Diego with no one else to help break up fights.
With Matt driving us, Chris sits in the passenger seat, blasting music that no one has a say on. Matt bops his head to a few songs, but as soon as he becomes comfortable with one, Chris changes it mid song.
“Hang on, I have a better one,” he says every single time.
Nick sits next to me, half asleep with chunky headphones over his ears, blocking out the sound of his brother’s music taste. I wish I could say I’m doing the same, but my airpods died 20 minutes into the drive, so I’m stuck in the backseat staring out the window, contemplating throwing myself onto the highway at 80 miles per hour.
We make a few stops along the way despite it being only around a two hour drive.
The first was for some food.
The second was because Chris ran out of his drink and insisted that he needed to stop for more.
The third was because Chris decided to dump his drink on me, so I had to change into something I had packed.
The fourth was because Chris then faced his consequences and had nothing to drink, making Matt stop again. He promised he wouldn’t spill it this time.
Then a fifth time because Chris had to pee.
When we finally arrived at the hotel, we dragged our few bags inside and made our way to the front desk.
“Hi,” Nick said to the woman. His eyes were droopy as he had just woken up, so he rubbed them a bit before continuing. “It’s under Sturniolo. Four rooms on the same floor.”
The young woman’s eyebrows cinched together, almost like she was worried she had made a mistake.
“The reservation is for three rooms,” she says instead, making Chris step forward like he is going to correct her. “And they are on different floors.”
“Woah, woah,” Chris interrupts, shaking his head. “I know you’re just doing your job, but we definitely put in four rooms. I don’t think anyone minds that we are on different floors, but we’re going to need a fourth room if that’s what we paid for.”
The woman’s eyes scatter across her screen before she frowns slightly. “I’m really sorry, but we don’t have any other rooms available.”
Chris spins around, tossing his hands up slightly. “What are we going to do?”
“Why can’t one of you share a room?” I suggest the obvious.
Nick jumps in first. “If you guys want me to edit all your shit, then I need my own room. I won’t be able to focus and get it done if there’s someone else.”
“Okay,” I nod, knowing he has work to do. “Then Chris can stay with Matt.”
Chris’ face scrunches in disgust. “No way. He snores.”
I roll my eyes at his childish answer. “We don’t have any other options right now.”
“One of us is going to half to share with her,” Matt concludes. Chris makes a face as if to say ‘Not me!’
I scoff at how they’re talking about me while I’m standing right here. “Hello! Why can’t I get my own room since I’m the only girl!”
I’m ignored.
“Let’s play rock paper scissors for the room,” Matt suggests, making Chris roll up his sweatshirt sleeves as if he’s preparing.
Matt wins.
Chris’ eyes shoot open. “Best two out of three.”
“Nope,” Matt says as he grabs his room key off the desk and heads to the elevator.
“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” I mumble, walking behind Chris and following him to our shared room.
I would have been quiet so Nick could work, but he was so adamant about being alone that I never even got the chance to suggest that alternative. This stupid room situation is just the fucking icing on the cake after the car ride with Chris. It’s no surprise that my luck would put me in the same room as him somehow.
I brace myself for when Chris opens the door, expecting only one thing because it’s the obvious, but I still pray for a miracle.
No miracle.
There’s one bed.
I toss my bags on the bed before he can. “Dibs,” I call out immediately.
Chris kicks his shoes off. “That’s not fair. How are you gonna dibs a bed? Where am I supposed to sleep?”
I point to the balcony. “Out there. Just pray a rabid squirrel doesn’t bite you while you sleep.”
He fake smiles at me. “Very funny. You’re lucky I’m too fucking tired after the ride to argue with you.” He flashes his phone screen at me, revealing the time. 2:12 a.m. We left at night to try to beat any traffic and so we could have an extra full day in San Diego. “Let’s just go to bed and hope we’re too tired to realize what a shitty situation this is.”
I dig out some clothes from inside a duffel bag I brought, trying to find something to wear as pajamas. Since I was under the assumption I would be in my own room, I didn’t pack any pajama shorts or even athletic shorts that would do the job. I usually just sleep with a big shirt and underwear, and this was certainly not what I was anticipating.
I let out a sigh and turn around to face Chris. I hate asking for his help.
“Do you have any shorts or sweatpants I can wear to bed?”
He looks at me like he’s confused by my question. His tiny brain cells can usually only handle sentences with five words or less.
“Why didn’t you pack any?” he asks me instead.
“Because I normally sleep half naked, which I’m not doing with you here. So can I please wear shorts or something of yours to bed?”
He grins. “Say please again and maybe I’ll think about it.”
“I’ll scrub the toilet with your toothbrush while you sleep,” I threaten.
He reaches down and tosses me a pair of his boxers. “I would give you basketball shorts but they wouldn’t fit you. Plus I only have my celtics ones and they’re too nice for you to fuck up.”
I take his boxers and stand with my clothes in my hands, looking at him.
He looks at me like he has a problem with me. “Do you need anything else?” he says in a snippy tone.
“Go to the bathroom,” I instruct him.
“Why?”
“So I can change?” I say as a question, shocked and confused at how stupid he can be sometimes.
He rolls his eyes and crouches to his bag. “I’m not fucking looking. Just change.”
In an attempt to withhold us from fighting in the first ten minutes of us being here, I sigh and turn around, facing the curtains covering the window. I peel my shirt off and toss it on a chair, putting on an old t-shirt instead. I turn around quickly, making sure Chris isn’t watching. He’s sitting on his phone. I yank my pants off and tug on his boxers before he has a chance to peek.
“You done?” he asks.
“Yeah. I’ll go to the bathroom so you can change.”
I grab my toiletries bag so I can brush my teeth and wash my face while I’m in there, but as I make my way to the door, Chris steps in front of me. Looking at me, he pulls his shirt off from over his head. “That’s all I have to do. Now I’m dressed for bed.”
Do not look at his body. Do NOT look at his body.
“I still have to go to the bathroom,” I say anyway.
He gestures his hands to my destination and follows me in, brushing his teeth alongside me and watching me as I do my skincare. Before I have a chance to snap at him and tell him to go away, he does just that. I almost ask him why he did leave, throwing myself off. I shouldn’t care. I don’t care.
He’s laying on our bed. I have to remind myself that this is just a shitty situation before sliding in next to him, still keeping a distance. We sit in silence for some time, both of us still scrolling aimlessly on our phones, trying to distract ourselves so we don’t have to talk. Finally, I have enough of the silence, and I am suddenly on the hunt for answers.
I turn over in bed, now facing him. He side eyes me as he notices my change in position. “Do you need something else?” he asks.
“Why are you so mean to me?”
He lowers his phone from his gaze momentarily as he thinks. He settles on, “You’re mean to me too.”
“It’s different,” I argue.
“This is just how I am,” he continues. “I act this way with my brothers. Maybe you’re just not used to it yet.”
“It’s still different, Chris.”
He shrugs, not saying anything else, so I do.
“I feel like we could get along well but you don’t give me the chance. You never noticed we have the same taste in music and a lot of other similar interests? It’s like you don’t want to admit we could have something in common and I don’t know why.”
“I’m not petty like that,” he says instead. “I’m not going to blow you off because I don’t want us to have the same interests.”
“Then what is it,” I continue to push him.
“Can you just shut up and go to bed?” he snaps.
I seriously couldn’t have had a worse roommate.
I turn over, finding myself back in silence.
“Are you going to need my boxers every night while we’re here?” he asks.
“I mean, this is all I’ve got, so yeah,” I answer without turning around.
It’s silent for a good 30 seconds before Chris breaks it.
“Why don’t you just keep them?”
My eyebrows furrow, my expression bold even though he can’t see my face. “Why?”
“They look good,” he mumbles.
“Huh?”
“You heard me.”
“I literally didn’t doofus that’s why I said huh?”
“I said they look good on you!”
My stomach flips.
Motherfucker.
“You want me to keep them?” I ask for clarification.
“I’m just trying to be nice,” he defends. “Don’t try to make it something it’s not. But even if I was trying to turn it into something else, you know you look good.”
Oh my god.
No, he needs to stop.
I turn around so I can face him again. “You think I look good?”
He rolls his eyes so hard this time that his head shifts. “Oh shut up.”
The more I stare at him to try to dissect his answer, the more I see his face turning a darker shade of red.
“Oh my god! You’re blushing!” I tease.
He sits up straight. “Am not!”
“You are too!” I laugh, pointing at him.
He smacks my hand away. “Stop it!”
Everything suddenly clicks. Every time he was mean to me. Every time he called me names.
But there were also the times he would stand in a corner with eyes shooting daggers when I would talk about a guy.
Everything makes sense.
“You like me,” I piece together.
“Do not,” he lies. “You wish.”
“I don’t have to wish because you do!”
“You’re being childish,” he says, bold coming from him.
“Just admit it so I can go to bed.”
Without an answer he shoves his hand into my shoulder, pushing me away from him. I do the same back, but when I expect him to do it again, he grabs my wrist and yanks me towards him instead.
We both halt before our faces touch.
I watch him gulp.
“Tell me not to do it,” he practically begs.
I know exactly what he’s talking about. I know we shouldn’t but I sort of just want to know what would happen. Would anything come out of it? Would we both decide it was stupid and we won’t talk about it ever again and swear it won’t leave this hotel room.
“I could do it instead,” I suggest.
He clearly doesn’t expect this from me. His eyes were somewhere else until I finished my sentence. That’s when they flew to meet mine.
He gives me one last look before grabbing my cheeks and pulling me into him. I fall forward, wrapping my arms around him for support before my lips settle into his. We mesh together perfectly, a long peck before our lips part and he’s trying to snake his tongue into my mouth. I let him, and I don’t even notice when one of my hands rakes through his hair.
One of his hands drifts down my body, clinging to my waist. His thumb plays with the band of his own underwear hugging my body.
I don’t know how long we have been doing this. All I’m focusing on is the few sounds that come out of our mouths, little moans and deep breaths, others being the sound of our lips fighting for dominance. Then there’s the sound of slight creaks in the bed as we shift around.
I’m caught by surprise when he pulls me into his lap, but thank god he does. I don’t move around on him. I don’t grind my hips into his. I don’t try to feel how big he is underneath his clothing.
I sit there with my arms around him, a lustful makeout turning into soft kisses again as he holds my cheeks, his thumbs stroking my face.
I pull away for a moment to catch my breath, and I watch his face fall.
“I’m sorry,” he says immediately. “I shouldn’t have done that. Oh my god that was so fucking stupid.” He runs his hands through his hair in frustration, but all I’m focused on is how his biceps flexed in the process.
I pull his arms back down, a measly excuse to have my hands on the toned muscle, but also to comfort him. “Hey, it’s fine. Why don’t we just go to bed, and we can talk about this tomorrow?”
He takes a moment to think before he nods, placing a kiss on my cheek before letting me lay down next to him. Our backs face each other. We both stare at the wall in our direction, our heads clouded with thoughts.
After some time, when I was positive he was asleep, I feel the bed shift as he flips over, his body now facing the same way as mine.
His pinky hooks with mine in the softest grip.
I let his hand linger, taking it slow before I drive this car off a cliff.
I face him, looking down at his chest before I place my head on it and kick my leg to lay over his. Our bodies cling to each other immediately. He holds me like he’s scared of letting go.
I can’t get over how good this feels. Just laying here with him.
But I also know tomorrow could be a shit show after these events, so I have just tonight to bask in this before it all goes to shit.
#nick sturniolo#nicolas sturniolo#sturniolo fanfic#sturniolo x reader#sturniolo smut#christopher sturniolo#chris sturniolo#sturniolo triplets#matt sturniolo#chris sturniolo smut#sturniolo#matthew sturniolo#sturniolo imagine#matt sturniolo smut#matt sturniolo x you#matt sturniolo x reader#strawberrysturniolo#chris sturniolo x reader#chris sturniolo x you
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Why You Should Watch Bang Brave Bang Bravern
An essay by Junipei while they wait for they friends to come online so we can watch episode 3. Some spoilers for episode 1-2 I guess
Reason 1 - It be Nefarious
Ok so let me tell you how I came to actually watch this show. I have a friend who does one of those seasonal anime review podcast things and I was basically helping man go through the bottom of the barrel. Things that were either going to be cute for an episode before its gimmick ran into the ground or just straight up trash. I was the emotional support Juni.
So we boot up Bang Brave Bang Bravern knowing only that it's a generic mecha show with a fucked up name and a bromance thrown in for fun. That's what we thought
THAT'S WHAT WE THOUGHT
We thought things were getting interesting when the aliens showed up. Ok it's not just a gritty anime it's a Pacific Rim Top Gun thing, ok, that's more interesting than what we thought, that's fine.
AND THEN BRAVERN SHOWS UP.
AND WE REALISE THIS ISN'T JUST A GRITTY REALISTIC MECHA. IT GOT COLLIDED WITH A FUCKIN SUPER ROBOT SHOW FROM THE 70s.
I have not had my jaw this dropped since episode 1 of Code Geass. We were played like fiddles bro.
So we watch episode 2, wondering where the hell its going to go from there. IT GOES TO-
Reason 2 - Robot Gay Hell
As a person who enjoys human sized people kissing 10ft tall death machines, I have been starved my entire life. I take what I can get.
So imagine my surprise when the show sets up that Bravern is head over heels in love with his pilot Isami. So much so that he refuses to let anyone else get in that cockpit. Wahey!
It has mostly been played for a joke, that's the one single downside. That's not very sustainable. BUT I am very curious to see where it goes. This leads into-
Reason 3 - Something is UP my Dudes
If the carefully planned bait and switch says anything, it's that the show has a lot more planned up it sleeve. And you see that in allmost every scene. Bravern and the one-dimensional aliens creates a massive tonal dissonance with the original part of the show.
You see, the realistic gritty mecha bit is still playing out like a realistic gritty mecha. Our boy Isami gets waterboarded by the CIA for any info he has on Bravern. Things don't magically get better after Bravern saves the main cast, the Earth is going to shit real fast.
So if you think of Bravern and the aliens in the context of the more realistic part of the show, shit is mighty sus. Are you really going to take man's word that he's a hero here to defeat the bad guys?
It could turn darker, it could turn spicy, or it could sustain the show past the "gimmick turns stale real quick" problem anime has these days.
If you've made it this far good job soldier, now get out there and make me some gott damnged robot yaoi. I HAVE STARVED FOR 20 YEARS FOR THIS CONTENT. GIVE IT- GIVE IT OT ME NOW
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Ghost in your home.
Alastor/reader (gnc)
romantic-platonic
word count: 8.5k
or, ever since you came back into his life, you came back wrong. And every attempt to understand or to fix you only ever serves to widen the distance.
(have you ever love someone who died and came back so much you try to forced them into the mold of who they used to be without considering the fact they're no longer the same person? instead of learning to love them again? well have i got good news for you.)
tw: toxic relationship (what's new). 2-4 have a progression of injuries and gorish talk. semi unreliable narrator alastor
1. His house is always at a pleasant 20 degree Celsius, but it always feels like 0.
“Now, I’m sure this is a bit upsetting, yes. But I assured you it’s for the better— “
Sharp yellow teeth grinded against each other, Alastor do his best to keep his own temper in check when another pillow hit his chest. The sounds of radio dials going haywire blares out for a second before evening itself out and turn to a low frequency hum. He picked these because he knows you would’ve love them, seems your tantrum triumph your love for the colors, after all. Standing a respectable distance away from you, at the door, he simply tries to focus on the positive.
“Shut the fuck up!” you roared, whipping your head around to stare into his eyes from where you’re hunching over, he would try chiding you for your nasty mouth, but that can wait until he’s sure you won’t rip the carpet apart. “What are you even trying to do?! Was killing me before not enough for you? You just have to hunt me down and make me lose my job— “
“—An extremely unnecessary and useless job that you’ll never have to bother with ever again!” when he starts to walk towards you, arms open and still trying to put you above himself, your snarled at him and lowered yourself, as if ready to lung at any minute. It wasn’t until you bring your hands up that he realized what you were doing, your fingers clutching the duvet below you tightly. Almost like a wounded animal retreating into its hiding spot before choosing to fight, you sat on your knee with sharp fingers, and in a single tug, you tear it into two.
“I wanted that job, Alastor! That was my job!” bellowing out at him with a fury he have never seen in you while bunching however much of the useless cotton that can fit in your hand, you tried to throw it at him again. It fell just below his feet and bloom open instead. Alastor doesn’t bother kicking it off to the side, opting to step over it and the other mess you made in your room. “You go and get yourself one that can guarantee you decent rooming and livable wage in this hellhole without selling your soul you dog!”
His shadow covers your figure as he look down at you with what he hoped is a more than amicable smile. That duvet and the torn books, the lamp and the drawers, everything, was picked out just for you. Now it’s all on the floor, even before he got to your room. He laughs.
“That’s absurd, love! Are you really trying to justify working in that pigsty for nickels and dimes? And even so,” Judging from the way you cowered and the interference in his voice, Alastor made a wild guess that he failed, but there’s no need to dwell on the specific. Light escaped to the corners when statics runs through the air before cutting off completely and red stares back at him from the bottom of your irises, you grow just a tad smaller in his eyes. “There is absolutely no need throwing such fits over minor disagreements. We’re both decent folks raised right, aren’t we?” you winced visibly when he cranks his neck to a sharp ninety-degree, he almost feels bad for you.
“It’s not ‘minor’, everything I worked for is gone. You scorched them like they’re nothing…” You grumble out and break the eye contact, tone spiteful but small. There’s a tinge of cautions in it now, like a dog with tail in between it legs, still growling from it belly but caution of the fight.
“I wouldn’t have burn anything that meant something to you, love,” Cooing at you, he can feel his bones shifting back into place as Alastor reaches out a hand to smooth out your hair, finally able to frets over your messy and unkept state from the morning outburst. You keep absolutely still under his hold. “All those frivolous rubbish you kept in that tiny living quarter of yours combine won’t worth half as much as a single item in this room! And look at where they all ended up…”
“They meant something to me, Alastor.” He glances down at his hand, your sudden grip on it was tight, with the nail on your thumb pressing right at his vein as a warning. He can tell when someone’s doing something to scared him, this isn’t that at all. You seem to almost be unaware of it. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Alastor finds the notion of you needing to know how to do this —or the fact you’re even doing it out of habit— wholly annoying and unpleasant. “I like them, and I worked to buy them with my own means.”
At that, he smiles, such a messy little thing, you always are. Awfully sentimental and always get caught up on the wrong thing. Alastor gets it, he really does. He gets sentimental over stupid, silly little objects and items too. The rock he picked up somewhere when he was five, placed in the corner of the drawer that he threw out once he found it again as an adult. His first tailored suit that he worked day and night for, collecting dust in his closet by the time he looked back. That letter of acceptance kept in a box, the one he burns the day that lousy owner of the radio station was discovered at a bottom of a creek and got replaced with someone much more pleasant.
Alastor has things he treasured too, and unlike you, he knows when to let something go and when to take a hold of it. That’s why your old place stand as nothing more than ashes blowing in the wind. You always have a knack for frantically holding onto your romanticism and the nonsensical. He honestly would rather be giving you more time to adapt, but not only are you horribly fussy about it, Alastor now has his good grace thrown in his face.
“Well then, if you’re so hung up on them, then you’ll feel more than at home to work for everything you’ve wrecked today, yes? Afterwards, we can get talking about getting you something else.”
You’re a terribly lucky thing, still able to even breathe where Alastor maimed so many for much less. He thinks you know you are, that’s only why you’re so insistent on being so difficult, glaring up at him with hate in your eyes and a such a rotten attitude.
“Get out,” your voice was small, but far from scared. With fingers curling around his wrist uselessly, you all but snarled, “Get. Out.”
“They’re awfully expensive, as you already know. They’ll do good to motivate you too. One stone two bird, as they’d say~” ignoring your silly attempt to provoke him into losing his temper again, Alastor wrapped his free hand around yours, and with what he thought was a gentle tug, pulls it from his wrist. He releases it when you winced, almost caught surprise by the change in the way you sit. Slightly hunching over, you held your hand close to you. His index nicked your wrist, and a bead of red ran from it.
Although it was no more than an accident, he knows you’re more than familiar with the ensembles of screams and cries running from the radio he placed in your room. You don’t need to know he will never let you join in with the harmony, but it’s nice to keep you on your toes sometimes.
“Stay good for me. Will you, darling?”
2. He gives you everything you could’ve ever wanted and more than you could ever need. He remembers your rapidly cooling body underneath him.
“Dearest,” sweetly, he calls out for you, gripping onto your shoulder, “Why are all the books in your bathtub?” he can tell it’s hurting you, but you keep your gaze far beyond the window and into the cityscape.
It wasn’t only the books, all of your lovely stationaries and art supplies and music sheets and what-else swims in that damned bathtub like a bloated corpse. Your room, although not as clean as it was before your little fit, it’s still a substantial improvement. It also gives you little to nothing in terms of fun aside from the lonely cacti sitting silently on a table with scratch marks, you’d refuses to step foot outside unless he needs you at the dinner table. Say whatever you want, Alastor is everything but heartless when it came to you, so he starts coming up with ways to give you some fun in your life.
He thought it’ll be the right thing to do, gifting you something for you to spent your times on and make a home out of your room. Which, in turns, might be the first push he needs for his home to become yours, too. He couldn’t really give himself too much credit, though. If anyone were to pay attention, they would all come to the same conclusion about you. Terribly restless and honest little thing, always on the move, always doing something. That’s what he loves so much about you, you can’t hide a single thought from him with how you can barely keep yourself together at times. Anything you feel always came up to your face. And if you were to dislike someone, he will know.
Even by the end, where you eventually grew quieter and more muted, looking behind your shoulders and fretful over invisible shadows hiding in the dark; your heart still stays so comically beautiful and kind. So lovingly, you still use the same fountain pen he gifted you. You were still you. So when he got you those things, Alastor was somewhat hoping to see just what you can come up with to further antagonized him. He’s not delusional as to hot-blooded and petty you are. You can hate him in this moment, but he knows you well enough to know you’ll never be like him. Always the kinder of the pair; you were never one for outright belligerent.
“I don’t know,” your voice was airy and light, then, “I don’t like any of them.”
But now, without him noticing, your eyes somehow carried the same glint as he does.
Down here in Hell, the day always been just a little bit brighter than the night. Obnoxious red always painted the sky, it’s really the furthest thing from the scenery back on Earth. Even then, the evening shade reflected in your eyes almost reminded him of the lovely days of being alive. With his red thumb practically piercing your collarbone with how hard he’s pressing down on you, sitting on the only chair in the room that’s still intact, by your half clawed-up desk, face sitting all neatly in the palm of one hand; you can almost be considered graceful like this, body lax and a wistful gaze. Alastor can almost be taken by the sight. Almost.
Although Alastor was only trying to turn you towards him for yet another scolding, for a second, he’d forgotten just how easy it is for his claws to tear. One moment, you were on the only chair left in the room, staring out a window and paying no mind to his growing ire. Another, you crumbled on the floor, hand replaced his. Slightly dazed from what just happened, he stands and watches on while you clutch at the bits of tendon and bones showing through skin, trying to squeeze the opening together with shaking hands. Red streams through between your fingers without a care as the familiar smell of metallic fills the room. You now faced towards the floor, frozen stiff like a scared little fawn. Alastor couldn’t bring himself from the sight. Right, you’re made of flesh, too.
He clenched the hand that touched you once to get rid of the ache soaking itself in his bone marrow, opens it, then twice, as if testing out the way your blood settles on his blackened palm. Shaking himself awake, he can almost feel the hunger clawing through his throat and molding itself into the will to bite. You really are lucky, if you were any old Joe, you wouldn’t even have a shoulder to rest that stupidly stubborn head of yours on.
“Darling,” a knee touching the floor, he kneels at his spot and reach a bloody hand out, moving the tip-over chair out of the way with another. An apology on the tip of his tongue, he bites and swallowed it when you inched yourself back just a bit with eyes still glued to the stained carpet. You wouldn’t really deserve one anyway. Long, heavy breath seeps through your bared teeth, your hold on that obnoxious gash tightened while the floor beneath you catches the blood that fell in droves. He sighs. “Come now, I’ll help clean you up.”
He can hear the sound of your heart, still frantically beating as you refused to answer or take his hand. Through the curtains of your bangs, he spots wild eyes darting to the door, before settling on his patiently waiting red claws. The moment you looked as if ready to bolt away, Alastor decides that he have been more than patient with you – seizing you by the elbow and dragging you up, he took you to his room for the day. You made a weak attempt at fighting out of his grip before giving up entirely. When your footstep slowly catches up to him, he thanked Lucifer.
In his well-decorated and tidy bathroom, over your humiliated protest and pitiful whine, Alastor forced a proper apology from your mouth while he scrubbed away the urge to sink his teeth into something and the crusted brown clinging to your flesh with a sponge and a grip too tight. You couldn’t complaint, too focused on what must be one of the worst pain you’ve felt since the day you were reborn. There’s nothing he can do for you, he thought to himself – you can handle a little more pain, you were so insisted about being so unfairly difficult despite his multiple humbling attempts at a peace offering or at least a truce. A brat until the end of time, no matter the length he’d go through for you.
Alastor would’ve wondered over and over to himself about just what was it that makes you so incredibly indispensable to him, but he knows why already. Standing by his window after patching you up and sending you back to your room with a “gentle” warning, leaving the bathtub ordeal to be dealt with tomorrow and having nothing else to do, he let a familiar tune plays from the neglected microphone leaning on his bed.
As a person, Alastor knows not of regrets. Everything he does since the day he buried his bastard of a father below the soil of the earth have been mark and marred with several distinct goals in mind. So that his mother can finally live the life God owed her, so that he can live the life he deserves, Alastor cheated and lied his way through life and climb up the social rank. With bloody hands and a silver tongue, he bought a house in a nice neighborhood and became well known amongst the community for his charm. And somewhere along the way, with dirt caked under his nails, he finds you in his life and you stayed until the day you died.
Life in New Orleans was always colorful, even when he was surfing through the night alone. But with you, it’s like getting to live through the good part twice. The day you died, a part of him died with you on the forest floor. Blooming under rotting leaves and buried below the rocks is the one other person that Alastor dare entrusted with his heart. It rots too, along with you, but he never really minded it all. Alastor knows you; he knows why you’re utterly indispensable to him.
As a person, Alastor knows not of regrets. But as Alastor, he finds that thoughts and daydreams can never talk and laugh like you do. In your absence, his thoroughly decayed heart only grows fonder of the you he remembers. When he came down here, he wasn’t able to bring a single thing of you with him. When he finds his way back up there, everything of yours was burnt and destroyed. So for the longest time, Alastor lives on with the thought of you in his mind and your warmth in his heart.
It's awfully painful, he quietly admitted to himself, it’s awfully painful how, even though you’re just a walk away now, room set right next to his, divided by thick wood; Alastor has never felt so much further away from the life he envisioned. His claws, clean of your blood, dance on the windowsill as he hummed along to a tune from the older days, the better days. He’s willing to wait, however. You surely will come around, you have to, and when you do, you’ll laugh about your stubborn streaks and poke fun at his willingness to let you trampled all over his ego like this. Surely.
For now, for the rest of the night, Alastor sat and stare out the window with nothing in mind. He hopes this feeling of fulfilled emptiness can leave before it takes roots in his heart.
3. The AM radio frequency only read white noise. He can’t hear your voice.
Your miserable sobs don’t get any quieter, even when he slammed the door closed.
Leaning against it with a huff, Alastor brushes off the familiar and unwelcome fatigue settling in his mind and adjusted the collar of his vest with one hand. There’s no use in going in there again for the night. If there’s one thing he can ever be sure of, it’s that you would throw yourself out the window the moment you see him again and made an even bigger mess for him to clean up. It’s shameful to admit he ever lose control over himself like that. In a perfect world, nobody should know the exact buttons to push like you do, no word should ever get to him like yours does. But Alastor long since accepted that if you were to ask for his heart, you’ll have it on a silver platter. You’re very firm on taking the stand of martyrdom before you ever ask him for anything, but he likes to think that he’s working towards that.
Pinching the bridge of his nose, Alastor started towards the kitchen. He hasn’t cook anything for the day yet, and he’s sure that the first-aid kit was still in there from your last tantrum. All this trouble, and he can’t even make a roast out of this. He knows you’re not too fond of meatloaf – or anything he made for you nowadays – but it’ll have to do, since you’re so keen on wrecking his schedule with your childish attempt at a spat and your nonsensical sentimental for that useless life you kept insisting you want back. Despite all of it, he does feel just a tad bit of pity for you. You, and your right arm, the one sitting silently in his left, bleeding all over his carpet floor. Hopefully this will teach you to stop moving around so much next time, you’re not unfamiliar with a broken wrist, but you just kept writhing and clawing at his hands, and his slipped.
Quite frankly, this is still a much better life than for you to be in the same room and so close to those revolting roughnecks and floors stained with Satan-knows-what. He can’t even fathom just why you’re still clinging onto it so tightly when there’s so much for you here. When he’s here.
He stills remember the sinking feeling in his chest when he makes his way to a figure quickly retreating behind the counter, under the dim lights and the rowdiness of a dingy café that barely qualifies as one. He wasn’t sure at first – Hell has a way of masking one’s appearance with a roulette game, and despite his growing contracts and connections, information might just be wrong. You could’ve been exorcised, or even worse, managed to wrangled your way into Heaven somehow and left him down here alone. But he placed his confident in a good friend, who promised him that if this isn’t you, then nobody else can be.
Bless the Christian God himself for his mercy, the moment he let that familiar name fell from his lips again after so many years of living without it, Alastor find himself staring into the same gaze that haunted his waking days and sleepless night. Holding onto you with a bruising grip, when you finally bring yourself to stare back at him like a deer in front of head light, his rotting heart comes alive with a fervor and he knew you’ll never be separated from him ever again. Back in his arms and under his wings.
Despite the time it took and your less-than-ideal reunion, he was more than thrilled to show you he finally made good of himself down here, just like he said he would. As Alastor lead you back with a smile splitting his face open, he tells you all about what he’s been doing. In his house is a room prepared just for you with everything you’ve ever love that he can get his claws on. It used to sit there and taunt him in the night where the silence stretches on and on and nothing in the underworld can distract him from the idea of your separation lasting until the end of time and the end of his life, that for all his preparations to make sure you two will never parted, he managed to miss the one chance he had with you in life. His halls echoed a voice that he barely able to recalled while he chased a shadow he desperately tries to remembers in whatever he can remember of you. The passage of time and his work might take your lovely voice and visage from him, but it will never let him forget how you feel about dark coffee or your favorite composer.
The time he lost being far away from you, the time you both lost being away from each other, Alastor was ready to make up for all of it. With good food, good wine, a good home and a good life. Finally, nobody will ever be able to turn their nose up at you both. If they do, he has more than enough means to fix it. His broadcast station no longer stays dependent on some white hotshot he needs to keep in a good mood at all time, it now plays only the things Alastor wants it to, forever. And now that you’re back, it’ll plays whatever it is you want too. All of it, just for yours and his sake alone. And then you turn your nose up at him, demanding for your old pathetic life back.
Ever since Alastor found you and took you home, you’ve been nothing but ungrateful, unpredictable, and downright hazardous to yourself and his furniture. Nothing like the darling he cared for from way back then. All bites and no barks, that’s what your silly threats and your mischief used to be in life. It’s nothing here, too, but he can only get so far restraining you to your bed until you learn how to break your own hands and slip it through the cuffs. You were always a lot of things, but this vindictive side of you still are so incredibly off-putting to him.
And yet, even with all of this, Alastor’s eroding heart breaks for you. Recently, he discovered an old book, one he took with him from the burning pile of your apartment and kept in his overcoat for a long time. It was a book that you shared with him when you both were alive, he was more than elated once reminded of the fact. Stained with black on the cover and slightly misshapen, the book must’ve gone through so much, considering your occupation at the time. Alastor remembers just how hard it is to get used to the disrespectful crowd down here, even for someone like him who can simply waved his hand and turn them into red paste on the filthy streets. You must’ve been so confused and scared, having to re-familiarized yourself to a new and much more unwelcoming world, making your way through an utterly horrific landscape without him there to help you with.
Naive, kind hearted and gentle you, even when you’ve killed before, you’re an easy prey in an awful, awful world. Mother always reminded him that wounded animal takes time to trust and they bite and clawed their way out of hands that moves too fast, so he need to make good by her words and keep on giving you just that, time. No matter the fact you barely improve, no matter how much time he gave you, or the fact it was him who clawed off your arm in the first place.
So, with a bright attitude, Alastor strides to your shut door with the sounds of your hysteria long gone. He knocks three times and calls out to you, then leave you alone with the first-aid kit. He’ll give you until midnight to do it yourself.
4. Love and hate are a hair away, he realized he hates loving you at times.
You’ve been improving, day by day. You stop biting back so much and starts to listen more, you sit when he asked you to and learned not to talk so brazenly while you’re at it, too. You don’t ever smile, yes, and his hallways still feel so cold at times. You walked as if you’re on eggshells, and you sleep with your body huddled under the blanket, as if there’s something hiding in the dark that will take you away if you dare peak out from it. You stacked books and boxes underneath your bed, too.
At times, Alastor felt like he’s having a guest staying over, maybe it’s because you’re acting more and more like one. Someone whom he knows well enough to accommodate their every need, but there’s an air of unfamiliarity, of the fact they’re not a close enough friend to stay over for so long, and their every decision needed checking. The thought itself is beyond ridiculous, he knew you for years before you died. He’s the closest friend you have, alive or death. He knows how you like your eggs; he memorized your voice; he knows when you need to sleep and when you like to wake up. But he digressed. Progress is progress, you’re getting better day by day, and he only ever have to threatened you a bit at times.
Which must’ve been why it felt so wrong, holding you like this.
He can only hope you won’t be able to discern his heavy panting over your own growing panic. Alastor could’ve sworn that he’s a better man than this, that he has more patience and more tact, already lived through a childhood with his head down and a smile stitched neatly on his lips. But he rationalized the way his pointer and thumb pinch together with the same compassion he have for a stray dog, separate only by your tongue, slowed and unmoving only by his own desire to give you another chance to explain yourself and take back your word and let him returns to his days of thinking you’re getting better, never minded the fact he’s not hearing anything out of his good ear right now. It’s not that he’s drawn to the way your pupils dilating and turned pinprick as your near incoherent pleading slowly cut itself off, realizing this might not end well. It’s not that he’s intently observing the trickle of blood running into the back of your throat, or the way your hot breath hit his hand, unable to close your jaw from the grip he has on you.
From the first dawn of this day until mere minutes ago, things were just lovely. Alastor managed to hold a ten-minute conversation with you in the morning, and by noon, able to coaxed you out of your hiding spot and onto your seat at the table with the promises of getting you whatever else you requested, as long as you keep your manner in check. You raised an eyebrow at the unusual and grand display of dishes for what you must’ve thought was a normal meal, but you stay silent. The four walls in your room had to be decorated by his own hands, and anything you refuses to keep, you throw into the toilet or buried under your growing number of plants out in the garden he’s not allowed to step foot in; thusly, there’s no longer a calendar in your room for you to keep tracks on dates.
When he pulls out a bottle of wine – full bodied, his favorite from when he was alive, it feels like blood sliding down his throats at times – you look at him, your eyes tells a world of distrust as he smile at you and pour it into two glass and hand you one. Alastor could’ve cried true tears of joy when you accepted it without making a fuss and simply placed it by your left, picking up a fork with your dominant hand. You waited for him to say something, before quietly thank him for the food and starts to eat.
For most of the meal, you work away at your own plate while he talks for the both of you. Alastor doesn’t mind, the fact you bothered to pay attention is good enough, occasionally nodding along or giving him a small huff or two. You’ve been doing a great job at staying in line ever since a year ago, especially once you learned you’re also made of flesh, just like the rest of the voices stuck in his broadcast. Alastor would’ve gladly taken this, if not for how you’re glancing off every now and then, contemplating something.
Particularly, you’ve been holding onto your glass for an awfully long time now, drifting off in the middle of him relaying an encounter he had the day before. Alastor pauses when you take it near your face and cleared your throat.
“…It’s not your birthday today.” You said, nonchalantly staring into the bottom of the glass, spinning it to and fro between the middle of your pointer and thumb.
“I’m glad you still remember my birthday, dear. But yes, it’s not! It’s surprising you can even tell what day it is!” he laughs.
You only glance up, before letting out a deep sigh, “You’re way more eager on your birthday.”
“Well then love, would you care to enlighten me on how I am today?” Alastor leans over the table with a smile, mood light and hoping you stop with the implications. You look angsty, however, gently lifting the glass up to your lips and take a small gulp. When you finally look at him again, Alastor felt his smile strains, he knows what that look means.
“What day is it?” with a clink, the glass landed on the table and stay there, “It’s not my birthday, nor is it yours. It’s not a holiday, too, far as I know. “
The corner of his lips pulls taut, his half-lidded eyes stare straight into yours. The sounds of something sharp pulls through the radio, but you refuse to back down. Alastor caved and took his own glass into his right hand.
“I was going to keep it a secret until we finished with our meal, but if you’re so insistent on spoiling the surprise—“ taking a long sip before continuing, if this goes south, he might need something stronger, “—It’s been a year since the day we reunited, right on the dot. I figured we should do something to celebrate, but you’ve always been such a stick in the mud about your past. So, I was going to have us finishing the meal first— “
The clanking of silverwares being drop onto porcelain plate was the first thing he catch, the ear-grating sound of your chair scrapping harshly against the kitchen floor’s the second. With both hand bracing against the table, you look half ready to launch yourself over it and kill him with your bare hands, but you breathe in, back straight, and simply look at him.
“Your mother would be livid if this is the you she knows.”
You looked as if you still have something else to say, but in a second, he have your face in his hand, grinning down at you while the base of his horns itch and creaks.
“Apologies, dear. I think I’ve heard something wrong,” the lights in the room flickered, in between the burning bright and the cold dark, he can only see red, “Do you want to try and repeat that for me?”
“Your fucking mother would’ve hated you.” Over the radio static bursting his own eardrums and your lovely voice spewing utter putrid, he tucked a thumb in before you can properly close your mouth, you clamped down onto it and grinded your teeth. He laughs.
“Oh~ you think you’re so incredibly brave, aren’t you?” sticking in another thumb, Alastor slowly pried your mouth open, the more he does, the quicker your attitude change, “So strong and so special. You can handle yourself just fine without me, can’t you? nothing I do will ever be enough for you.”
“Al—waih—“ you choked out, desperate. But he’s not having it today.
His pointer and thumb pull on your tongue.
Alastor swore up and down, he was raised a tactful and patient man. He followed his mother‘s word very carefully and tries his best to be charitable with you.
With eyes glued onto the trail of his blood, quickly drying on your chin, then to your tongue, with increasing pressure, he can feel his smile splitting open his own face, but there’s no joy to be found in his woeful, heavy heart.
It feels so wrong, holding you like this. He feels so wrong, looking into your eyes. You almost certainly accepted your fate by now, he feels a bit bad for you. So utterly helpless in his hold, realizing just how little power you truly have without his generous love, giving into you and letting you plays out your fantasy, even after everything you did. He knows you’re still getting used to this, he knows you needed more time. Alastor would almost consider this a lesson learned, but the statics blinds him to your pain, and for a moment, all he knew was that he wanted you to feel the same pain as he does.
So, because he loves you so much, because you want to hate him so badly, he ignored your hysterical cries as he pinches down on your tongue, then in one motion, he rips it from your nasty, bitter mouth.
5. Before he realized it, you weighted 21 grams.
It’s almost like he’s haunted, at times. The thought would’ve been amusing.
Humming a tune and walking up the three steps leading to the front door, Alastor eyed the Ficus sitting on either side of him, a brown leaf fell from the lulling branch while he fetching the keys from his pocket with one hand. They’re wilting faster than he can water them. What a shame it really is, not only have you lost your will for everything, you also lost the mood to take care of tacky house plant decor. Maybe he should try for some Begonia next?
“I’m home, love!”
Alastor is greeted with an empty corridor and a faint melody dancing through the air. He can only sigh and step further into his home, heading for the kitchen. Every day he hoped something would magically change, and every day Lucifer laughed at him from the top of his luxurious throne.
You can hear him, he knows you do. You managed to crawl all the way into the studies just to put on a song the moment he steps foot outside the house, after all. It’s a blessing, how you haven’t bolt right back into your room the moment you hear the door opened, you must’ve been in a good mood. He hopes you can stay that way until tomorrow, but it’s fine if you don’t, as long as you’re willing to eat whatever he puts in front of you. He peaked into the spotless kitchen, and with nothing out of place, he stepped inside.
Setting the groceries down, he pulled out everything he needs for dinner. Already with a dish in mind, Alastor whisked out an iron cast pot and set it on the stove. He shooed his shadows off and away, he can prepare for this recipe himself, and he want to be alone for a while anyway. He prepares all the ingredients before getting to the rice. The music flows from upstairs as he works in silence, mindful of his own microphone and keeping it off.
He doesn’t remember this song, it must’ve been one of the newer ones Rosie gave him to give back to you, assuring him you “just need more fun things in your life, then you’ll get to talking again”. Alastor wasn’t sure if you would’ve like it enough for him to keep it, but he wasn’t going to bother fighting with Rosie.
Turning the fire down, he closed the lid and set the kitchen timer to twenty-two on the dot. It should be enough time for him to make the roux, but he can check the rice early. Pouring oil into a pot to his right, he turned the fire up to max and began whisking the flour into it, when it turned brown, he drops the onion in and lower the heat to medium.
If not for him constantly reminding you, you would’ve ignored the needle-like pain in your stomach. Granted, you ignore it even when he did remind you, so he took to just make things and leave it in your room until you’re in the mood to eat. It’s been going on for two years now, enough time for him to regret playing into your hands and losing his temper. Alastor had hope that if he were to deprived you of everything he’s willing to give you for some times, you would finally get it through your thick skull that he only ever wanted good for you. Only, the you that greeted him after three long month was silent and still, lying on your bed with close eyes. The only sign you’re still alive in the first place was your breathing, almost invisible to the common eye.
He remembers hovering over you, a finger set on your chin and pulls it down. With an odd lump in his throat and a heaviness he rarely knows of, Alastor let out a weak chuckled, watching as a reformed lump of meat pulsates and weakly twitching in place of your tongue. Turns out, without the correct nutrients, the citizen of hell could only pray that whatever injury they obtained will kill them faster than they can heal it. And just as fate would have it, you’ve been holding onto such a thing ever since he locked you in.
Maybe that’s why your eyes haven’t change since, maybe that’s why you refuse to talk, maybe it still hurts, and maybe you afraid of getting used to the comfort he provides you. Or maybe you hated him for it, he wouldn’t know, you never really made yourself clear since that day. It’s the longest you’ve ever gone without anything that he gave you, and he’s trying his best now to make sure it’ll stay the longest you will ever go without anything ever again.
The roux turned a dark, shiny brown. He added almost everything else and stirs it for five minutes sharp. Quickly checking the rice once the timer calls for his attention, Alastor turned off the fire and reaches for the tomatoes and stocks. The music from upstairs come to a halt.
It’s became synonymous with you now, silent and stillness. Somewhere in the middle of an evening, Alastor came to the oddly upsetting realization that you just as well never return to the same you that he was trying so hard to recover.
Throwing in the two ingredients, he raises the heat back to high. When it began to boils, he puts it to medium and let it simmers for six minutes. A shadow came by and whispered winds and chimes into his flickering left ear, you’re back in your room with the gramophone.
When he was alive, every moment spent with you was bright and different. You were a wild spark of fire in the cold city, silently chasing after dreams with a caring and delicate heart. Your shared mirth used to fill the room as you talk over jazz and the constant chattering from loudmouth patrons. Those days became the only thing he held onto in the midst of his busy life down here.
Then one day, within his first few years of working his way up the ladder, still without your shadow haunting the empty room in his house; Alastor looked back on those days, the better days, and realized he can’t remember the exact note of your voice, he can only recall that you were happy. So he hunts down every corner of hell in a rush, afraid that the rest of you will slip away again. He laughs silently to himself; a meaningless thought crosses his mind. Is there even any of you left to fall through his fingers?
Putting the heat to low and adding in butter, he stirs until it blends and throws the shrimps and scallions in and something else hit him. He hasn’t been able to pin down the exact note and tone you tend to laugh in yet, nor have he able to watch any of your painting comes to life. He kept on stirring, after three minutes, he added seasoning. He catches a faraway song, barely making out the notes, he thinks that’s your favorite.
For weeks now, he kept going over everything he could’ve done wrong. Although he tries to ignore it, the animosity you shown since the second you saw him in Hell, maybe even before you’re dead, it might’ve stemmed from before he chased you down in the woods. But you know what he can do even in life, and you should’ve known Alastor would never hunt you down just to lock you inside the cacophonies he broadcasts on the daily. Alastor can at least understand that he struggled between giving into you and maintaining control. Perhaps that’s where your path diverts, perhaps you’re not meant to be by his side after all, ever since the day you die. Maybe you died before he even got to buried you, but Alastor can no longer pinpoint since when you died because he doesn’t know since when you started to play along with him. All he knows is that if he were to stops your breathing today, you’ll wake up tomorrow with no faith lost in him. The thought sits in his stomach and made itself home. But that’s alright.
Alastor rather stomached the idea of breaking you, the alternative was worse. If a life time of chasing your shadow only resulted in endless hate, that’s alright to him. As long as you’re still breathing and by his side, there’s surely a place for him in your heart. Surely.
His microphone sudden sparks up to life and died again. Right, the food, dinner. He gets to setting up your plate.
Having lived for this long, Alastor’s used to playing along and getting along with the oddest of crooks. He’s unsure of how to ever get along with you, though. You have been nothing but nasty and callous before, but at least you talk and react. Now, you walk at a slowed pace, no longer making any sort of distinguishable noise as you do. Less of a guest, and more of a transparent image of someone he barely able to call himself an acquaintance to.
Or more precisely, it’s as if he’s fostering a ghost in his own home, and now he’s going through all the troubles that came with one. At first, the ghost thrashed and trashed everything, confused and in pain and determined to hurt. Then, the ghost calmed and it starts making compromises to try and look for a way out. What he have now, Alastor muses as he plated your meal and ready his heart, is the melancholy of the ghost. When the grieving and the anger and the bargaining and the hurt passes on and left the shell behind, there’s only ever the emptiness lingering.
The stairs creaks under his shoes, shadows hanging around the corner and slowly melts back under Alastor as he walks by. One in particular waits on your door and chirps when he stepped towards it, seemingly in a good mood, its laughter akin to windchime as it reconnects itself to him. He ignores it and knock three times to give you time and hide away whatever it was you’re working on. The music kept on playing, a vulgar but joyous song burst through the door the instant he opens it, Alastor swallowed his disdain and step inside with a smile.
“Lovely tune, dear. Is it one of Rosie’s discs?” facing out the window, you sit at your desk, long void of the marks from your first tantrum. From here, he can see your index finger tapping gently to the beat, you must’ve memorized it. “Certainly interesting taste you both shared…but I’ll make sure to ask her for more.”
Living with the melancholy of the ghost means you know there’s something there, behind the peeling wallpaper and below the hollowed floorboards. You talk to it every day. You tell it about the dreams you abandoned on the sidewalk since you were a child in favor of carving out a path for yourself, you tell it about your day. You whispered words heavy with affection in the morning and practice your apology to it in the night. You do all of it, knowing it doesn’t have the vocal cord to formulate words, knowing even if it does, it won’t talk to you anymore. But you have hope.
Akin to whispering into an empty seashell, he supposed, there’s always the sounds of the waves hiding deep inside, but there’s no voice. He should get you some seashells, maybe that can give you some joy.
“I figured you’d like something a bit more filling, so shrimp étouffée it is! I met sir Vox on the way to the grocer, and we have a rather pleasant chat. He mentioned some talkies I think you’d quite enjoy, too.” he laugh, standing behind you. Alastor catches the charcoal line on white paper, knitting together to create a familiar figure that he just can’t quite put together yet, more taken aback by the fact you haven’t bothered to cover it up at all. He divert his eyes and place the plate down, right by your left hand. “But you wouldn’t ever be in the mood for it, and it sounds far from my taste, so I turn down the offer to go with him.”
Living with a ghost means you see shadows in the corners of your eyes and hear your familiar home echoes a thousand scream at night, but living with its melancholy means plunging deep under the ocean floor and hearing nothing but the silent of the water. Where there’s supposed to be sound, there’s only the slight echoes of one, barely reaching your ears under the blue. You learn to embrace the silence and linger in its weightlessness.
His ears flickered twice when a sigh escaped your lips, barely audible under the belting of a jazz singer. Alastor let his right hand lingered by your shoulder, you shrink a bit under his touch, he doesn’t move.
“The Ficus died. I was hoping they last longer than the roses would, but you were right,” Leaning in just a bit closer, Alastor laugh, “I never really have a talent for cultivating plants, it seems.”
And then one day, you look back, and maybe you’ll finally see that there was no ghost. And you’re all alone in a house that used to be a home, with dirt under your fingernails and blood leaking under your door. And while you drag a corpse to its final resting place, you hear dogs barking and feel rows of sharp teeth bit into your arms, there’s a familiar clicking sound. When you look up, the world embraces you in a white and burning pain for a single tick of a second. And then you came back to life, just as new. In a new house, in a new world, you do it all over again, you go and look for the ghost.
But a ghost is see-through and rigid cold and it held onto regrets it can never fulfill with cold hands and misty eyes. You’re warm and tangible and alive under his hands even after everything but he’s not sure if you still have any regrets you haven’t given up on, other than meeting him. Having a ghost haunts him would’ve bring less heartache, too.
Ever since you came back into his life, you came back wrong. And every attempt to understand you, to bring back the old you, the you he adores, the you he longed for, only ever serves to buried that you six more feet under the ground. He hates to admit defeat, but he thinks you won’t ever be the same anymore.
“I’ll think I’ll get some Gardenia and Begonia tomorrow for the front porch, but you should keep some in here. It must be boring only seeing the same five things a day, love.” With that, he slinks back out the hallway. Taking a final look of you, he closed the door without a goodbye, he never felt well saying such a thing to you anymore. As Alastor walks back down to the kitchen, another song plays out from your room.
Like the rest of the plants Alastor inevitably rots but refusing to stop holding onto, you also rot. His dinner table is set for two, and one of them is for a corpse. For the rest of the night, like every night, he drowned out the sound from your room with a bottle of whiskey and the thought of a you he can barely recalled. Without knowing what he’s holding onto, Alastor came to an oddly hallowing realization that he might've never know you at all.
He hoped you won't know, but maybe that's why you let him see your sketchbook.
(if he’s a ghost, will you let him hold you again)
#alastor#hazbin hotel x reader#x reader#alastor x reader#hazbin alastor x reader#hazbin hotel alastor#hazbin alastor#hazbin hotel#hazbin x reader#hazbin hotel imagine#hazbin hotel oneshot#hazbin hotel oneshots
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𝖲𝗍𝖺𝗋𝖽𝗎𝗌𝗍 - 𝖢.𝖲. (𝗉𝗍. 1)
Author's Note: First series about Chris & Y/n! I have a lot of ideas for them so I hope you enjoy part one! I was inspired to write this by the song Martin & Gina by Polo G 🫶🏼 This chapter is in Chris's POV but it will go back & forth!
Synopsis: (Chris's POV) Chris would do absolutely anything to keep his best friend safe and happy.
Warnings: Language, small use of the word r*pe (nothing happens), alcohol/over drinking, fluff
Word Count: 2k+
Chris’s POV
My eyes were locked on her. I couldn’t help but smile as I watched the way she moved her body on the dancefloor. She was so effortlessly beautiful. She always had been.
I was fascinated by her the second I met her at nine years old. It was the first time I ever felt any type of feeling for a girl. The way she smiled and waved at me from across the street as she helped her parents carry boxes inside. I couldn’t help but smile back. And when my mom insisted me and my brothers go help our new neighbors, I got choked up in her presence.
But that’s a story I’ll reminisce about another day. Right now my job as her best friend was to protect her at all costs. Y/n had a lot of ups and downs in her life and I was by her side for every single one of them. But now that we were in our 20’s living in LA, free from the confines of our parents and hometown, she really loved to let loose and forget everything that ever happened to her. I loved watching her have fun but she wasn’t always the most graceful drunk. And if I’ve learned anything from the guys that frequent the sleazy bars and clubs downtown, it’s that they have no respect for women, which made my drunk and vulnerable best friend an easy target.
So yeah, while my brothers and friends were also letting loose, I always had an eye on Y/n and remained close enough to her to rescue her if she needed me but not too close that I was hovering like an overprotective dog.
Me and Matt both threw back a shot of whiskey at the bar. I checked my phone, it was 11:34 pm. Taking me all of two, maybe three seconds tops. I glanced back over to where I had last seen Y/n and Madi dancing but now Y/n was missing. I make my way through the sea of people towards Madi.
“Where’s Y/n?!” I yell over the music.
Madi looks around. “I don’t know! She was just here!”
I could feel my stomach tighten as I looked around the room. She couldn’t have gone far, I only looked away for two seconds. My eyes landed on her new gold dress, she was barely able to walk, leaning on some random guy for support as he led her towards the exit of the club.
“Y/n!” I yelled, pushing past people to get to her as quickly as I could. I reached out and grabbed her arm, spinning her around to face me. “Y/n! Are you okay?!”
“Chrisssyyyyy!” She beamed and fell into me, wrapping her arms loosely around my neck. “I’m drunkkkk!”
“Yo, do you mind? I’m tryna get some tail!” The skeezy fuck that had his dirty hands on her said to me.
“Uh, yeah, I fucking mind!” I snapped back at him, pulling Y/n to my side. “Back the fuck up, homie!”
“What’s going on?!” Nick asked as he approached with Matt and Madi.
I handed Y/n off to Madi. “This fucking sleaze bag was about to take Y/n home and fucking rape her!”
“I wasn’t gonna rape her, man! She said she was down!” He replied.
“Does she look like she’s in any state to consent?!” Nick shot back at him.
I could feel a heat rising in my chest as he eyed Y/n again.
“Looks like she takes it all the time!” The guy laughed and it triggered an immediate reaction in me.
Before I even knew what was happening, my fist crashed against his jaw, knocking it out of place. He attempted to swing back but I was already two steps ahead of him, laying into him with everything I had.
“Chris!” Matt and Nick yelled simultaneously, grabbing my arms and pulling me away as a few other people dragged the guys limp body away from me.
“Say it again, homie! See what fucking happens!” I was screaming at him. “Oh what’s that?! Can’t talk with a busted ass jaw?!”
“You three, out!” The bouncer yelled, grabbing me, Nick, and Matt and throwing us out the front door. “Get out of here before the cops show up, kid.” He said to me.
“I’m not leaving without Y/n.” I told him.
“We’re coming…” Madi said, guiding Y/n out of the club.
I took her into my arms once again and tilted her chin up to look at me. “Y/n, sweetheart. Look at me.” I said to her, it took a moment for her eyes to focus but once they did she smiled. “You okay?”
“Mhmm,” She giggled. “I missed you!” She had no recollection of what just happened.
I was annoyed with the events that just took place but her honey soaked voice always made me smile. “Let’s get you home, yeah?”
“Mmmmkay…” She agreed. “
“Is she okay?” Matt asked.
“She’ll be fine. I’m taking her home.” I told them. “You guys can stay out if you want.”
“You sure you don’t need any help?” Nick asked.
“I got her. Go have fun. I’ll see you guys in the morning.” I said, crouching down slightly. “Get on my back, sweetheart.” I said to Y/n.
She sloppily threw herself against me, wrapping her arms around my neck and I helped her onto my back. She was minutes away from passing out and since home was right up the street, I didn’t mind carrying her.
“Alright…text us when you’re home.” Matt said. I gave him a mock salute and made my way towards my house.
-
“Y/n, wake up!” I whispered to her softly as I let her down. “We’re home.”
“Hmm?” She hummed.
“We’re home. Let’s get you to bed, okay?”
“Chris, I don’t feel good…” She said.
“Are you gonna be si-” I was quickly cut off with the answer to my question as she threw up all over her new dress. “Fuck, sweetheart, come here.” I shifted her to the side so that she was aiming for the bushes as I held her hair back. “Just let it out.” She puked for a full minute before finally being able to catch her breath.
“I might have drank too much…” She said softly. Her voice was hoarse.
She seemed so weak and pitiful. It broke my heart. I hated seeing her like this. “It’s okay, let’s get you cleaned up, okay? Can you walk?”
She nodded. I led her into the house and helped her downstairs to my room. I turned on the shower and grabbed her some towels. “I’ll grab you some clothes to wear. Do you want me to wash your dress?”
“Yes please…” She said softly.
“I’ll be right back,” I said as I closed the bathroom door, allowing her to strip out of her dress and heels. I went to my dresser and grabbed my favorite t-shirt and a pair of basketball shorts. I also grabbed her a bottle of water. She already had her own drawer in my bathroom with all of her basic necessities. She stayed over all the time so I wanted to be sure she had everything she needed. I went over and knocked on the door. She swung it open, a towel draped around her body and mascara running down her cheeks.
“Y/n, what’s wrong? Do you feel sick again?” I asked.
“No. I’m just…I’m sorry…” She mumbled.
“Hey!” I said, taking her chin between my thumb and index finger, forcing her to look up at me. “Don’t be sorry. Everything is fine, alright?” She sniffled softly and I pulled her in for a hug, placing a soft kiss on her forehead. “Take your time, get cleaned up, okay? I’ll make you something to eat and then we can go to bed, yeah?”
She nodded in agreement and I smiled at her. “Here’s some clean clothes and water. Give me your dress, I’ll throw it in the wash. She handed me her dress and I moved to close the door. “Yell if you need me, okay?”
She smiled in agreement and with that, I left her alone to gather herself. I headed upstairs and threw her dress in the washer. I looked at all the cycle options with confusion, trying to decide how exactly this machine worked. I picked up my phone and texted Matt.
Chris: How do I work the washer?
Matt: What are you washing?
Chris: Y/n’s dress. She got sick.
Matt: Just put a little bit of detergent in, turn it to delicate and press start.
Chris: Thx bro
I put my phone down and sighed. I went to the freezer and grabbed a pizza, throwing it in the oven before I thought back on the events of the night. I couldn’t fucking believe how shitty some people were. What if I hadn’t caught Y/n in time? What if she ended up in that dude's car and he took her home to do God knows what? It made me sick just thinking about it. I looked down at my hand and noticed the dried blood on my knuckles. I didn’t notice it until now but the second I realized I had split one open I began to feel the pain.
I went over to the sink to scrub my hands, hissing as the water ran over the gash on my knuckle, proving to be a lot larger than I had originally thought. I opened the cabinet above the microwave where Nick had dedicated a space to cures for any ailment. I pulled out the first aid kit and wrapped a bandage around my hand, using my teeth to tear the cloth.
The oven went off and I pulled the pizza out, cutting it and throwing a few slices onto a plate. It was a regular cheese pizza but I knew it would help sober Y/n up a bit so she could hopefully sleep peacefully tonight.
I grabbed a Pepsi and water from the fridge and made my way downstairs. When I got to my room, Y/n was still in the shower. I put her pizza and water on her side of the bed and grabbed the remote, flipping through the channels to find something decent to watch at this hour. I finally landed on Spongebob and thought that would be a good option to fall asleep to.
I heard the shower shut off and I scrolled my phone as I waited for Y/n to join me in bed. It was another 20 minutes before she finally emerged from the bathroom.
“Hey! How’re you feeling?” I ask her as I pulled the covers back for her to get into bed. She looked so cute with her braided hair and bare face with my t-shirt draped over her like a dress.
“A little better,” She shrugged. “Less drunk.”
“Good. Let’s get some sleep, sweetheart.”
“I don’t even remember what happened tonight. I completely blacked out.” She said as she sat in bed and hugged her knees to her chest.
“Don’t worry about it,” I said, pulling her into me. “Everything is fine. You’re here and you’re safe, okay?” She nodded and rested her head on my shoulder. She felt so weak and fragile. “Do you want some food? I made pizza if you want it.”
“Maybe in a bit,” She sniffles. “Can we just cuddle first?”
“Of course, come here.” I leaned back and Y/n rested her head on my chest. I dragged my fingers softly over her back, willing her to sleep while she had an arm and leg draped over me.
In less than ten minutes I could hear soft snores escape her lips and I smiled. I felt like such a dick for losing sight of her. I had to keep reminding myself that she was here with me and safe. Nothing could hurt her now.
She was an adult and she could do as she pleased. But I so badly just wanted to spend eternity with her here in my room where I knew I could protect her from all the evil of the world. She didn’t deserve the shit life has thrown at her and watching her drink her pain away broke my heart. I wish I knew how to help her…
Tags: @strniohoeee @daisysturniolo. @justangelheree @flowerxbunnie @recklesssturniolo @lustfulslxt @mangosrar @bluesturniolo333 @christinarowie332 @kenzieiskoolaid @sturniolopepsi @mattenthusiast @ilovecrazymen @sturnphilia @poopydroopt
#sturniolo triplets#chris sturniolo#chris sturniolo x reader#matt sturniolo#nick sturniolo#sturniolo fanfic#matt sturniolo x reader#nick sturniolo x reader#stardust#chris sturniolo fluff#chris sturniolo smut#chris sturniolo imagine#chris sturniolo series#Spotify
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02/20/2024 Daily OFMD Recap
TLDR; Cast&CrewSightings;SambaSchutteBTS;RhysDarbyCameo; DavidJenkins/RuiboQian; SaveOFMDCrew IG; Articles; Analysis & Trends; LoveNotes;DailyDarby/Tonight'sTaika;
== Cast & Crew Sightings ==
= Samba Schute Feat Rhys Darby =
Srcs: Samba's Instagram
Videos on Tumblr:
Steard Video - @kiwistede
Merstede Video - @kiwistede
Videos on IG:
Steard Video
Merstede Video
And just to distract all of you again: gif courtesy of @bizarrelittlemew
== Rhys Darby ==
The Our Flag Means Death Fan Page on Facebook was kind enough to get a Cameo for the crew! This one features all things to visit if you're heading to Aotearoa! It's quite a large file so tumblr won't let me upload it so please visit: their site (where you can download the video) or on facebook!
The admin on the page was also kind enough to give us some links to the places he talks about in the video! Thanks friends!
Te Henga Walkway
Kemeu, New Zealand
Te Rimu Tahi Ponsonby
Aoraki Mount Cook National Park
Fiordland National Park
Franz Josef Glacier
Lake Tekapo
Punakaiki
Piopiotahi
== David Jenkins / Ruibo Qian ==
Hey! We got some proof of life from Chaos Dad on Samba's BTS, and a bit of love from Ruibo!
＝＝ Fan Spotlight ＝＝
February Love Collage Fest! So I am very behind on these so I'm going to share a few a day to try and catch up on these awesome collages our dear crewmember WanderingNomad @wndrngnomad on Twitter made!
Today's: Feb 20: Ra Vincent!
Feb 1 : Samba Schutte
== Save OFMD Crew IG Calendar ==
Over on Instagram the SaveOFMD Crew is keeping engagement up with "Crossover Cruesday", suggesting lots of fun ofmd crossovers (including Jurassic Park!) Feel free to check them out on their stories!
Tomorrow's engagement is #WrongWednesday!
== Analysis & Trends ==
So much data regarding OFMD's rank on Max. Thank you @adoptourcrew for this awesome analysis!
FULL EPISODE: https://t.co/HFVLQgm1Um
＝Trends＝
Huh, I wonder why RHYS could be trending today?
Thanks to @iamadequate1 for catching that #OurFlagMeansDeath was trending! A lot higher than the last few days too.
==Articles==
All The Shows Canceled In 2024 On TV & Streaming (So Far)
13 TV Shows Have Been Canceled in 2024 (Including 2 Netflix Series, 4 HBO Shows & More)
== Love Notes ==
Can I just take a moment here to tell you how very proud I am of you lovelies?
Like seriously, you are being so supportive and sweet towards each other. You've been sending out love and positivity and sexy things to make everyone feel better and gah I just, every time I flip through this site/cross platform I am so incredibly moved.
You all are the absolute best, and I'm so very grateful to be a part of this wonderful group of misfits.
I'm sure I've said this recently, but IM SAYING IT AGAIN BECAUSE I FUCKING MEAN IT.
Okay sorry for the caps, but for real I love you guys (gn), you make me smile and laugh every single day and I just you make the world such a better place to be in. I hope you know just how much you matter and what an amazing job you're doing making this community great.
And I just wanted to add some additional love notes from @bethdrawsthings on IG because she always has things I want to say too. Goodnight or Goodday lovelies, I can't wait to see what shenanigans and love we get up to tomorrow <3
= Daily Darby / Tonight's Taika =
ALRIGHT, alright. You might think I'm lazy in choosing the gif everyone has seen but I just can't let you leave this post without seeing it again. Plus it fits with a taika gif, I love.
Taika gif courtesy @meluli!
Rhys gif courtesy of @bizarrelittlemew right here on tumblr!
And bonus Taika cause it's #TaikaTuesday, and I feel like it follows the theme... after...whatever happens after the gifs above.
@blakbonnet Ty once again for this lovely gifset <3<3<3 It's HD and Gorgeous and you rock my socks off.
#ofmd daily recap#ofmd daily recaps#daily ofmd recap#daily ofmd recaps#rhys darby#ruibo qian#david jenkins#samba schutte#ofmd#ofmd bts#our flag means death#save our flag means death#saveofmd#adopt our crew#save ofmd#renew our flag means death
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Gymswap: the first case
Yeah that's me, and I'm not talking about the arrogant and sweaty young man who is posing in the center of the photo but the fat and bald old man in the background... but I used to be, My name is Danny and although it may not seem like it, I'm only 20 years old , I was hired as a model for a new chain of gyms that will begin rolling out across the country next year.
I used to be used to all the brands fighting over me, after all I have a ton of followers who would buy whatever shit I was wearing or eating, I used to be used to getting a ton of merchandise from my sponsors and all they wanted was a photo of me with all that shit while flexing my muscles in front of the cameras, I miss my life… and my body.
I thought it would be just another job and just focused on the huge number of zeros on my paycheck. They took my perfect, hot body and gave it to a perverted obese old man named Bruce, and when I realized what was happening now I was Bruce.
A fat 55 year old single man who lives in a tiny apartment and has a crappy job as a telemarketer, Every day I have to go through the horrible humiliation of going back to that crappy Gym and training Bruce's fucking body while I do it. I watch mine "train", I feel disgusted every time I'm inside Bruce's body, but… I signed that fucking contract and if I refuse to give my body to that fucking old man they're going to sue me for every penny in my bank account… I'm super fucked up.
I have been in these sessions of 3 hours a day training in Bruce's body for 2 weeks and I have only lost 1 kilo, the contract that I sign says that everything will end when I finish putting Bruce's body back in shape… so I will be in this I work much longer than I thought.
And while I sweat all of Bruce's fucking fat on the treadmill he does everything he can to make me uncomfortable, there is no corner of my body that Bruce hasn't touched with my bare hands, at first he listened to me when I told him how to exercise my body now he doesn't It does more than pose in front of the cameraman and showing off my own body that it cost me so many years and effort to build.
Thank god I'm done training for today, I just have to take a shower in Bruce's horrible hairy body and I can go back to my body, It's so strange to be in Bruce's body, of course I'm totally straight but... Watching my own body getting naked and worshiping, kissing his own biceps and licking his doubtful armpits like a fucking pervert in front of the mirror and in front of everyone in the gym who doesn't know what's really going on makes me so horny, it's disgusting to feel the small cock that I now have between my legs hardened while I try to use one of the gym equipment.
When I'm alone in the shower I unload what's left of my energy into massaging Bruce's tiny cock with my fingertips, it even fucking feels better than when I do it on my real body. It is so sensitive that the bathrooms are filled with my moans in my thick old voice.
Who knew there's still a little cum left on these wrinkled old balls?
Hey! You can support me to continue creating stories, see similar stories on my patreon, you can also join my discord if you are interested in role-playing about bodyswap, possession and transformation, m2m!
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Ok, I swear, this one's for the people who DON'T follow K-pop, and only know BTS as some Korean boyband that uses a lot of autotune. Just to highlight some things I'm currently enjoying the hell out of from their careers. Lemme start with some context.
So in Korea, Idol is a job above and beyond just performing onstage. You are meant to be a product. An object for adoration, specifically trained and cultivated to create the sort of parasocial relationship that sells out shows and merchandise. It is fucking rigorous. It usually involves substantial economic hardship unless and until you're one of the handful of groups that makes it big. It's also blatantly predatory, and idols are chosen when they're literally kids, at most 18 usually.
Your contract with the label frequently specifies that you're not allowed to swear, smoke, date, or generally do anything not squeaky clean anywhere you might be seen, which, since they've got cameras shoved up your ass and bolted to your bed, is everywhere. Merely touching a person of the opposite sex can set off a whole scandal and get you (or the poor unfortunate you breathed near) a huge pile of hate. They're also perfectly aware that they're "just" idols, just boybands or girl bands, to a lot of people, and not considered serious musicians, even in their own country.
Idols also have a pretty short shelf-life. Korean beauty standards are, as far as I can tell, even more youth-obsessed than in the US. The oldest female artists are like, 34. There's like, one woman over 30 for every twenty under 20. Men's careers often founder on their mandated military service, which is roughly two years (depending on branch). They've got to serve that by the time they're 30.
BTS got extensions, because they're a statistically significant percent of the entire South Korean GDP. But now the elder members have got to do their service, no way around it. Kim Seokjin (Jin) went in a couple months ago, Jung Hoseok (J-Hope) a few days ago. So the group is on hiatus, there's no helping it.
That was the background. What happens now is the fun part.
The Korean government played politics, bouncing back and forth on "should idols big enough get exemptions" for years, specifically namedropping and using BTS as a political toy. BTS themselves didn't comment on any of it, and played their cards very close to their chest and said nothing about their military service. Then they did a huge concert in Busan, Korea, where they resurrected an old rap cipher which involves chanting "Fuck you I don't care, you can't control my shit", performed it with such fire that it looked like they were legit about to start a riot, and then the next week announced that they were going on hiatus and Jin was entering the military.
Since then, let's see: nearly every member has at least posted a shirtless photo, and the three youngest members have done entire photoshoots (and in one case a music video) shirtless. Jimin released a single titled "Set Me Free"--not terribly subtle--and a photoshoot he made a point of saying he'd designed from the ground up, which is SOAKED in queer symbology. I have to emphasize that these choices are all MUCH more significant than they would be in the US. Min Yoongi put an entire album full of rage and violent imagery and painful intimacy and swearing, and smoked and shot people and performed self-harm in his music videos. J Hope released an album full of dark driving rhythms utterly unlike his previous work, and broke sales records as a solo star at Lollapalooza, even while still singing and rapping primarily in Korean.
Some of the members are quieter, clearly a bit unmoored without the thing that has shaped and dictated their entire adult lives, but they're also shrugging off the idol image with deep relief. Namjoon is philosophizing and being extremely frank about mental struggles and crying on camera. Jungkook is having regular almost uncomfortably intimate lives, where he just sings along with the music or folds his laundry or even just smiles sleepily at the camera for a while. Who the hell knows what Taehyung does. Exactly as he pleases, probably, but definitely while wearing thousands of dollars of fashion and looking like the prince of the dark sidhe.
I was looking forward to this. Not to the military service, of course. As a non-Korean, I'm well aware that it's none of my damn business, but of course I don't like it. But I was looking forward to these guys slipping the leash and having lives and careers beyond the chains of idolhood. And it's been pretty awesome so far.
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so I haven't really found the words to talk about this yet but I'm finally starting to, so here goes -
I'm finding myself with a very minimal, fringe sort of scattered friends in this town. at best I don't fit in with, nor do I have the desire to fit in with, really, any of the travelers or backpackers or working holiday visa people who inhabit this place (btw; anon who warned me not to go here.... 'bogan' isn't what I'd call it but your read on the vibe was right); at worst I'm finding myself on the borderline of being straight up bullied the way I was in high school - no one outright saying mean things to my face, but that very high school esque cocktail of snarky and condescending side comments, people always going off to talk without me, laughing, and stopping laughing immediately once they're back near me, being rude enough to know it's rude but just the right balance where if I say something about it I'm the one who looks weird. how isolating that is and how it pushes you down and down and down and down inside your head. I think as an adult, once you grow up and find yourself out in the world, and get to choose the people you're around, you forget what that was like. Working in the music industry specifically and knowing only one soul in real life with a "regular" job (hi Jo), I've completely forget what that's like. In the spirit of "emotional maturity", I've probably found a way to tell myself it's all kid shit and I made it seem worse than it all was, etc, and maybe it's just people being people.
Maybe that's true.
Specifically, though, the thing I've found myself being harassed over, the main tension point, is my music taste. I've been put into this twilight zone of a reality where everyone around me straight up hates Taylor Swift (in the year 2023 I genuinely didn't think that existed more than a few fringe rondo's, but apparently all those fringe rondo's live in this town), and the ones who don't say "fuck this bitch" out loud every time her music comes on, are, at their warmest, completely indifferent to the fact that she's even alive. I haven't met one person here who would even say they enjoy 1989 or whatever. I work around 20-25 y/o's mostly, and yet I put on Lorde and Maisie and Sabrina and Backseat Lovers and The 1975 and all the pop stuff I'm aware myself and that age group really like (with a bunch of famous Aussie artists thrown in), and I'm asked if we can stop with all the "weird music" and "play things everyone knows and likes" - another twilight zone thing because I had no fucking idea every girl ever wasn't on this type of pop. I put on classic throwback Fall Out Boy and All Time Low and Paramore or even Halsey's hit songs and I'm asked why everything I listen to is "so depressing". I get fully HARASSED about my music taste by the people I work with every single day. like, multiple times an hour snide comments about "weird people music" and shit like that when I really thought my taste was pretty mainstream. then they all put on either like, the most generic of generic Top 40 radio that I didn't even realize people willingly put on; just thought big labels decided it was gonna be successful so shoved it onto commercials and radio and a bunch of Spotify playlists until they gave up, OR music that I literally would need to be borderline overdosing on cocaine to enjoy - I'm talking blasting dubstep club beats and the like... at 5:30am in a coffee shop. And I haven’t said a word to them about it or been mean about it at all, and I try really hard to be polite to them but it just doesn’t matter how nice I am; they feast on me like a pack of hungry lions anyway. I moved here to be outside, and people only ever want to go to the club. Even people I get along with want to go to the damn club every other night at the least, and I’m weird for not wanting to be anywhere near something other than a bar we can have some drinks and laughs - I didn’t even know people still went to clubs, especially not vagabond travelers in an eco tourism hotspot.
And suddenly I am my high school self all over again; feeling completely fucking normal but not falling in, not able to make myself fit no matter how hard I try. I talk to people and people laugh at what I say when we have to make conversation, because, well. I'm fucking likable and I can chat up anybody. and then, for no real reason, 20 minutes later they remember they're supposed to be bullying me and go back to it. just like how it was for me in high school, where I won the “most talkative” superlative and yet when I walked on stage to graduate half the class shouted at me that I was “scum” (lol).
So anyway. That's all to say, I photographed full-band live music last night for the first time in 3 months. And suddenly, doing that, too, I was back in high school. Living in a normal world that everyone else is at and is aware of, but in my own secret pocket of it I've carved out: a pocket where I fit. where I'm still a loser by the standards of everyone around me, but a loser who is doing something objectively cool and objectively impressive, something I thrive at that no one can talk shit about because I'm GOOD. someone I knew but have nothing in common with came up to me last night and said, “I got that you took pictures but then I saw you on stage and was like OHHHH”. and I might not belong anywhere else, might not get along with anyone else, but the second a camera is in my hand and I'm crawling behind a drum kit and jumping off a stage an artist is playing a show on, and the band who I’m acquainted with is smiling at me and they love it, and everyone sees me doing it... I belong there, and I know I belong there, and no naysayer can do or say a word about it... that's what it's all about. like the loser theater kid who comes alive on a stage in front of people when they perform and no one can argue with it anymore. I remembered why I do what I do last night. How I found it (or maybe how it found me) suddenly makes sense all over again; not some poorly made impulsive choice by a girl who was too influenced by wanting to be around the boy bands she liked, committed too hard and got stuck - which is how I've seen it in adult hindsight. live music is the faction of the world that I am just the perfect puzzle piece for. somehow the most niche thing in the world - and it does seem niche once again when surrounded by people like this - is my only solid ground in this life. I am my truest self when I am running around with a camera while someone's singing; a self that anyone can see and immediately will get it. and that's just how it is.
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I think at least for me Schwarz is in the same boat as Tomimi: I recognize the horny design, but she's too funny for me to be horny about. She's not nearly as funny as Tomimi, don't get me wrong, but I just love this like, born and raised assassin who met this upper-middle-class bookworm with a parasol and because the bookworm didn't know any better to be scared of her Schwarz decided she had no choice but to simp.
No no you're right, Schwarz IS funny.
Schwarz was a normal kid that HAHA THAT'S A LIE She is originally from Rim Billiton and her parents were ore traders, but then one day they got scammed into buying not Whatever Ore They Wanted but Originium Ore instead, which 1) they didn't deal with and 2) got Schwarz infected. So they went to complain like "hey you scammed us" and the scammers were like "the customer is always WRONG" and killed them, then grabbed Babby Schwarz and sold her to slavery, where she was purchased by a mercenary group that trained her to be the Ultimate Child Assassin later Ultimate Assassin in general, and they were like "Ok, we finally can take on this big job! We're going to kill the Mayor of Siesta! And for that, we need our BIGGEST GUN" and who else would be the gun of sizeable heft if not Schwarz?
So Unfailing Super Assassin Schwarz confronts the Mayor, and the Mayor says "hey, you are pretty good at this, you should be my daughter's bodyguard" and Schwarz was like "literally why" and Majorman was like "better pay, better life, I have a cute daughter your age" and Schwarz was like "bet" and well, she did just that, but they don't tell Ceylon ANY of this, so as far as Ceylon knows, Schwarz is just her weird stoic lovable bodyguard friend gal pal who makes really good tea and also for some reason can destroy entire armored platoons with just a crossbow but otherwise totally normal.
What you have to remember is that Ceylon is a scholar, an academic, a researcher, she's high int, but definitely low wis, because you know she has witnessed Schwarz go full John Wick With A Pen on at least six different people and all Ceylon could think was "Wau! I can't wait to go home so we can continue watching Utena :D" like, this was NORMAL for Ceylon, this was normality, no wonder she sees every freak at Rhodes Island and is like "this is a peaceful place with kind inhabitants, a true and tried pharmaceuticals company cut from the finest of cloths!", when your frame of reference for normality is SCHWARZ, of course you'll witness Specter chewing on reinforced metal, Ifrit burning entire hallways in a bout of rage, Shamare playing medium to the forces of the abyss, and Lappland eating a Kitkat wrong and be like "this is literally just Tuesday". Ceylon probably believes Shalem is a normal guy.
It gets even worse/better when you realize that Schwarz was getting MK Ultra Superassassin training when she was like 8.
Schwarz has 20 years of combat experience. That's an insane amount!
But she got infected when she was 6! Which means she was sold to slavery and subsequently trained to be Solid Snake Catgirl around the time when she was maybe 8 or so! NO WONDER Schwarz looks at all the freaks at Rhodes Island and is like "haha oh wow you are all freaks I respect literally every single one of you" LIKE YEAH OK SCHWARZ, THEY ARE FREAKS, but not you, oh, no, not you, you are only accomplishing what all these people manage with extreme dimensional-reality warping powers and super unholy magic, by simply being that good with your crossbow. Schwarz' superpower is literally "is REALLY good with a crossbow" and it matches and surpasses people with fucking reality altering powers or control over gravity or what the hell ever, Schwarz is a fucking riot, she really said "Wow! I never thought I'd see anyone like you people!" well yeah no one would expect a single catgirl with a crossbow to fucking blow up the Pentagon singlehandedly if she could, Schwarz definitely has the sheer firepower and skill for it, just because she's THAT good at Crossbow.
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realizing im a lesbian has genuinely been one of the most life-ruining things ive experienced so far :0(
i dont think i know any other lesbians
i am a baby dyke. who likes a baby dyke? apparently nobody. i dont seem to fit into ANY lesbian spaces because i'm green but how do i become not green without experience? apparently i need 10 years experience for an entry-level job :0(??
how... do i even find other lesbians irl? "gay bar" ok first off why would i ever go to a bar. also im pretty sure those dont exist where i live
do i love lesbians because i hate and am traumatized by men or do i love lesbians because im normal. only one answer actually makes me a lesbian
if im not lesbian what am i? :0( i dont want to Just be asexual, that doesnt Mean anything
lesbians are fucking scary. i used to follow 10 sapphic-centric blogs but.... theyre always talking about how horrible/annoying other lesbians are over discourse ive never heard of, meaning, im probably participating in it without knowing
oh yeah. that too. i know nothing about lesbians. and being a lesbian. apparently when you're a lesbian you have to know every single piece of sapphic literature and every lesbian of history or you're bad and stupid and dont deserve to be talked to
it really feels like being hetero is free and easy, like you dont have to think about it you just Love Someone, but being queer is hard and energy-consuming and you have no choice but to dedicate the rest of your life to learning and knowing every single piece of sapphic-centered discourse. it seems like being a lesbian has more to do with knowing facts about historic lesbianism than it has to do with loving another lesbian and i'm sooooo not interested in being queer for the sake of discourse i just want to kiss a lady or whatever but thats not allowed until i pass my lesbian exam that every other lesbian passed 20 years ago
idk. maybe all of this confusion means im not a lesbian. i think if i really was sapphic i'd know the answers to this stuff already, researching would be easy and enjoyable..... but the master lesbian google doc..... idk... it seems like being sapphic requires more than just "Girls Kinda Pretty" and that is awful to me. i dont want to spend 4 years in lesbian university studying lesbianism just to get my lesbian degree so i can kiss a girl. i want to just kiss a girl Now why do i need a masters degree?? why do i have to study and earn and prove my place in a society where i thought the bottom line was Kiss Girls And Chill
"community history is important" i agree but why do i need to know all of this shit First, Before i am a lesbian. why cant i kiss ladies and research at the same time. idfk. idk anymore. i just want to love my gf. why am i 22 trying to figure out my sexuality when everyone i know did it when we were 14, how is that fair to me?? im sorry for being a late bloomer i dont know what you want from me
#i think to other lesbians im always going to be That Bisexual who only dates men but never shuts up about loving women#but its deeper than that. those were longterm relationships. nobody i know irl was ever queer in a way where we could have a relationship#i dont know if im a lesbian but i know how nervous i get around a hot butch or a hot femme#i dont know if im a lesbian but i can describe to you every butch ive ever had a crush on#i dont know if im a lesbian but i think in grade 3 i was trying to impress that pretty girl for reasons beyond wanting to be friends#i dont know if im a lesbian but i am head over heels in love with my gf#i dont know i just dont know anymore i feel like a failure#everyone else had their sexyality figured out at 14 and im 22#i hated going to the gaystraight alliance at my high school because they would buly me for not being gay enough when the teacher wasnt there#maybe its true maybe they knew better than me that im faking it or something#but on more than one occassion in hs i had classmates beefing about my sexuality i wish i was making this up#ive been told i have a lesbian voice i have lesbian vibes but i dont know if thats true especially if my actual queer friends didnt see it#i feel like im failing myself and every queer person ever i feel like every other lesbian just hates me so much and im so sorry#not dog#personal#big feelings
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Cirque du Soleil Alegría In a New Light review
So far the kindest thing I've done for myself in 2024 was go all the way to London to see this show. What a lovely, desperately needed reset. No need to linger on the preamble because team: this show continues to be damn near perfect. It felt like a true gift to be there. There are three total changes I would make if it were to suit me perfectly. Just three. That's insane. For comparison I love Ka with all my heart but I'd make probably fifty changes if given the opportunity. The three I'd make are:
Less clown time (though I swear the reason is different from my usual clown complaints)
Replace duo adagio
Reinstate Valsajoïa, the single greatest original song Cirque has produced since probably 2016. Possibly even 2008.
So let's talk about those three, and also the other one million reasons this is Cirque's greatest show in nearly 20 years.
Preshow animation: My friend and I had a time getting to Royal Albert Hall on time so I didn't get to soak in everything to quite the extent that I prefer to before a show starts, but the moment I walked in my guess that this show in this setting was the most perfect pair imaginable was validated. I don't think I'm even being biased because it's so recent - I genuinely think the only set that could maybe suit this theatre better is Quidam. The crown of the stage disappeared into the darkness above, creating an astounding sense of immersion and scale, and even the iconic mushroom acoustic diffusers look like they belonged to the set. The rigging was a delight to see too - I'm always fascinated by how they adapt the rigging to adjust for the lack of pylons. It wasn't as cozy as a Grand Chapiteau, of course, but the audience is so dense and extends so high, and the entire setting is so elegant, that the size and scope were a perfect match.
The animation itself was Fleur messing around with the Old Birds. Pretty unremarkable. He didn't shout Alegria! like in the original show, but then again I'm not sure I remember him doing it back in 2019 either. Bring it baaaack, it's iconiiiic.
Opening: Gonna confess up front that I was in tears for the duration of Mirko. The current singer duo, Sarah Menesse and Cassía Raquel, are incredible in every way. I'll talk more about them further down but it bears stating now that I was in shambles within the first five seconds. Details I never want to forget: the silhouette of the Nymphs' wings behind the curtain; the sharp, prim, yet commanding presence of the White Singer on the right side. I was completely taken by her in four notes.
Acro poles: This was a strong act five years ago and I think it's only grown tighter with time! This show wastes no time on ceremony and dives right into the action, which is a fun contrast between the old and new versions. The original made a grand show of parading and presenting the different factions. Here it's more bam here are the Aristocrats, bam here are the Bronx real quick, now everyone out of the way, we're getting right to it. Where the original was the story of forcibly overthrowing an old order, this one respects the structure of the past while willingly - if cautiously - making way for the future. This act does a very good job of illustrating that. The Aristocrats look like a fun, if slightly catty bunch! You almost want to be one... until you meet the Bronx.
Cyr wheel: I completely forgot Rinalto Vera is back for this act. I had only just recovered from Mirko and then this fucking song starts and I'm beside myself all over again. This is the kind of thing that makes me hold onto faith that the old Cirque is still in there somewhere - this, the musical refs to La Nouba in Drawn to Life... they know how to respect their old shows! When they bother, they do it beautifully! I only wish they treated their new creations with the same respect and care they pay to their golden era.
Anyway Ghislain Ramage is the only person I want to see on a cyr wheel ever again. I saw him work magic in Kooza and that was without the deliberate weight that comes from a non-rotational act. Something about him seems impossible - like he's too tall to be that lithe and fluid, or that you couldn't possibly evoke so much emotion from a cyr wheel act. He does. Every moment of it was mesmerizing.
It's the nitpickiest thing I could possibly say, but I do think something is lost in not having this act performed by an Old Bird or Aristocrat. Though since the mirror imagery of the original wasn't brought over to IANL, I suppose it's not completely necessary. Still. That was an element that really brought an inimitable quality to the original act and I wished there was an analog in this version. It could very well have made it the best act in the entire show. Yes, the entire show, which is crazy because you already know how I feel about.......
Duo trapeze: Fuck me, people. This act. It's a wonder I can be relied upon to behave rationally because it. is. utter. perfection. The only thing that holds me in my seat is the fear that if I move or blink I'll miss a split-second. I forgot the White Singer was onstage because I was too busy watching. That is fucking unheard of. My hands were clasped over my heart. I was beaming in awe the entire time. No other artist has had the particular effect Nicolai Kuntz has on me. Fucking this?? That relaxed, cross-legged on a goddamn trapeze gazing in admiration? That is shit designed to kill me. That is fucking lethal.
Anyway the skill level in this act is exquisite from both Nicolai and Roxane - another perfect act that has somehow grown more perfect with time. And what I love most about it is that though although they're a duo, although the song is called Querer, although the entire point is that they're impossibly aligned, it still feels just shy of romantic. The love being expressed here is not specifically for one another, but for flight itself, and the joy of sharing it with someone who understands. I might be projecting, since this act feels like a live illustration of my personal love for trapeze, but they have never seemed like lovers to me. More perfectly kindred spirits, and it serves the act beautifully.
Fire knife dance: Excellent! Impossibly high energy! The crowd adored it! We had one drop, which I've never seen in a fire act, but the artist handled it with fun and grace. There is nothing negative to be said for this act, but I can't not mention how exceptional Tuione Tovo was. Holding that against this artist feels like a teacher never giving A+s because "there's always something better." But there really was something undefinable in Tuione's energy and smile that isn't quite here.
Aerial straps: How many times can I say "a perfect act has become yet more perfect"? I've seen a lot of straps acts, people. Like, too many. I have immense respect for the discipline so it's not hard to impress me, but it's quite difficult to surprise me. There is a drop to ankles in this act that surprised me. I gasped. This act looks at every other romantic straps duo act and says "ok amateurs." The little smooch had the audience in raptures. The snow is used to better effect than the world deserves. It's just exquisite.
Hoops: I know Elena Lev is the queen, but I think this artist might actually be better! And she's so young! She's got her whole career ahead of her! This is probably the best hoops act Cirque has going for it right now, and that's really saying something. She does the "spin like fifteen hoops" thing better than I think I've ever seen anyone do it. Her control over her apparatus is unmatched.
Powertrack: OOO-EE! POWERTRAAAAACK. Top five act in the show right here, and it would earn that position through energy alone. And it's got a fuck ton going on for it besides. Every trick is massive. Every one is executed with fierce, tangible joy. Fleur has an excellent highlight moment that's indicative of a character adjustment in the new version (see below) that I really loved. I wanted to see Lucie Colebeck's triple bad (the first and so far only female triple tuck in Cirque history!!) but it was performed by another artist tonight. Still amazing. Watching this act makes you feel like you can run a marathon.
Duo adagio: The one and only let down of the whole show. I just do not like these Nymphs. I don't like their wings, I never have, and I can't believe Cirque is so opposed to returning to something just a notch closer to the luxurious feathers of the original. Their wings feel like a symbol of their overall impact on the show: kinda just there and we don't really know why. This act was the same. And it's a goddamn shame because Cassía's Vai Vedrai is power made musical. Slotting this act so late in the show makes it feel like a rotational act and it's just not fair to the artists or the song, probably the second most famous in Alegria's history. Last time I got handbalancing in instead and it was a gorgeous story of an Angel supported by a Bronx that was reiterated in high bar. Any sort of connection to the broader show is unfortunately missing in this act, which seems to only exist to remind you that the Nymphs are characters. I'd prefer to see this replaced with a return to the slow, luxurious contortion style of the 90s. Or imagine Dralion's ballet on lights here!! Or ribbon manipulation from the early days. Maybe a little too similar to hoops, but don't forget this is the show that has swinging trapeze and aerials traps and...
Flying trapeze: My light, my love, my delight. The Flying Tunizianis are immaculate. This is perfect flying trapeze act construction imo: some swings to let the audience know what's happening, an easy trick or two (planches) to prime them, then flips and twists galore to show what the fuck it's really all about. And! Importantly! A pause in the middle with a few styles and splits to bring back some grace and remind you trapeze is more than just guessing what the fuck you just saw. It is so, so good. For myriad stupid reasons I haven't flown in a month, and I'm so excited and inspired to get back at it after seeing this act. iirc the biggest tricks were triples and a double double (or full out? it all happened so fast!!). Either way, difficulty level second only to Mystere and I would argue better act composition overall.
However. I felt the removal of Valsajoïa acutely. It was nice to hear a little Icare, but if we didn't need it for aerial high bar's comeback, we certainly don't need it here. I suppose they were going for a more "daring" sound, but tbh I don't think it does a lot to enhance the act further, especially with the way the Tunizianis have choreographed it. The result isn't as graceful nor as impactful, even with the (tragic! teasing!) snatches of Valsapena and Valsajoïa still left in there.
I spent the whole act praying for some kind of suicide dismount and the very last was a reverse one and lost my fucking mind. My inspiration trick, my signature, my beloved!!! I gotta learn a reverse one bad.
Finale: What is there left to say? It's brief, it's gorgeous, it's effective: just like the transition from opening to acro pole, the transition from flying trapeze to finale is quick and honest, and the whole thing is over before you know it. It feels like a real thank you for joining the cast in the journey of the show. A joyous, magical feeling.
Music: I leaned back and scrubbed my face with my hands just now. That's what it's like trying to summarize what the fuck was going on vocally and instrumentally in this show.
It. Was. Splendid. I was utterly convinced that no one could do an IANL White Singer like Irene Lombard, and then here's comes Sarah with a flavor and characterization all her own. Where Irene was an angel, Sarah was a witch. She was sharp, she annunciated, every note was a call to action that drove the plot forward. Some songs were her strength (like Mirko), and some I prefer Irene (like Querer). At all times both singers' presences were impossible to ignore, and for a show with such a reputation for well-recognized, highly awarded music, the legacy is not lost.
This is also a very mobile band, which I always love. Accordion and cello parade around at times, sometimes even to emphasize character arcs (like the accordion following one clown after he's cast out of court to highlight his sorrow to both comical and emotional effect). Drums have a fantastic, well deserved Kooza-esque highlight moment during fire knife dance. Though you don't see them every moment, there's no point in the show that you can miss the fact that the music is live. They've struck an exceptional balance between highlighted and unobtrusive.
If anyone would like a recording of this performance's audio, drop me an ask and I'll be glad to share.
Clowns: My primary critique. Listen: they are so good. But I think Cirque noticed that and responded by giving them too much time. Their every act is strong but maybe 2-3 minutes too long, and it has the effect of pulling focus from the theme of the show and settling it on their shoulders instead. The result weakens both: they are not highlighted enough to carry a show like the Luzia clown main character does, and they take up too much time for the audience to realize they are meant to be one story among many.
Taken as they are though, the clown acts really are excellent. They are not tedious in the moment, only when held up against the broader landscape of the show. Their relationship still feels a little transgressive in a beautiful, comforting, validating way. Muted though the love story is, something about that adds to the honesty as much as the bravery. It deserves a ton of praise for that. Everyone in the room was fully invested in them. Snowstorm was beautiful and the music does so much to enhance the storytelling they give us.
(I did not remember the extended gun cleaning/masturbation gag from 2019 but that was the only part where I was like okay, let's move it along, boys.)
Misc.
Fleur doesn't seem like much of a bad guy anymore, and though I miss his old ornery edge, I'm not bothered by his current phase. He helps paint a picture not of a broken kingdom, but of a confused one, which leaves room for collaboration and acceptance reinforced by acts like acro pole and powertrack. There is room for both regimes in this new future. When it comes time to hand the crystal over to the White Singer, he does so without an ounce of reluctance or apprehension. It's a gesture of "let's do this together," not "you take the lead." It's very warm and effective.
Le Bal isn't quite as fun as it was in 2019. It wasn't positioned as a joking funeral march but rather just further hijinks between Fleur and the Old Birds. Like the lack of mirrors in cyr wheel, this wasn't a detriment to the show as it exists today, but it was a simplification of something that was once a little more dynamic.
Overall: As always I am exhausted just writing this. I beg you: see Alegria. Travel as far and as long as you can to make it happen. It is worth it. I live in fear that it'll never come back to do a full and proper North American tour (NYC deserves it, god damn it, it's been over six years), but if it never does, I'll know I made every effort, and I'll know it paid off in droves.
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i didn't wanna reply over there cus this ended up getting rly long but there's this post by @shitpostingperidot and @marvelsassbutts about carol and maria's GNR concert in 88 and my brainworms got to making up hc after hc now all i think about is how that could've been the first time they got together despite mutually pining and coparenting monica for like 4/5 years or so anywayyy
idk if there's like a screenshot frame of monica's sword file or smth that shows her birthday in exact terms so i might be going on abt nothing here but listen
mcu wiki says she was born around june/october of 1983
it also says carol and maria met in their first year of AF academy "shortly after turning 18", so that's either late 1983 or early 1984, bc carol's birthday is late 65
which means monica was already in the picture by then 🥺🥺
what i'm thinking is maria got pregnant at around 17/18 and her parents took care of monica for the first year or so when she enlisted bc why wouldn't they
but as soon as she lands the test pilot job and starts making bank they're like "i love you so much and i'm very proud of you now here's your child go be her mom"
this is like in their 2nd or 3rd year of flight school so it catches everyone by surprise, and ofc higher ups use it as excuse to subtly and passive-aggressively ground maria on paid vacations and maternity leaves
obviously she sees right through the fake benevolent facade and overcompensates by not only refusing benefits, but taking on even bigger workloads
which then obviously gets her drained and exhausted and ofc carol notices and worries
she's been trying to give maria space through the whole ordeal but there's a line between giving you space and watching you get put through the wringer without doing anything
so she finally corners maria like "hey i know this is fucked up but maybe you could find another way to stick it to them without slowly killing yourself in the process can u pls just give me a call when it's too much to handle i am begging on my knees"
("my best friend, who supported me as a mother and a pilot when no one else did")
maria does slow down a bit but she still hesitates to call for help, until one particular hard night she cracks and carol gets there at flying speed to do chores and dinner and take care of monica while maria (a single mom in her early 20s who is also an overworked test pilot) finally gets some goddamn rest
(after changing monica's diaper tho bc apparently carol can't help with that)
from then on carol pretty much moves in with them
maria starts slowing down and taking care of herself and getting her due leaves and relying more on her parents and friends and she loves monica so much and things are so overwhelmingly good right now...............except for this one small carol shaped situation
they've been roommates before, you see, and maria is very aware she's been in love with this goobster for a minute
but she's also a black single mom in the US air force she really doesn't have to make things harder on herself so she's been trying rly damn hard to keep carol at arm's length for both their sakes
carol too is very aware that she's in love with maria and probably has been since forever (she's not super in touch with her feelings to pinpoint when the gears shifted, plus thinking back on it she can't rmbr a time when she wasn't in love with her yknow)
but "maria has a kid she's straight" (wrong) and also carol is very insecure (canon) so she's afraid of rejection and doesn't wanna ruin the friendship and she'd rather have maria in her life as a friend instead of not at all
even if it breaks her to wake up literally next to the love of her life every single day and not spill her entire heart out
especially bc maria's mask slips sometimes, mostly when she's drunk (even if just a bit tipsy) or when they share a particularly emotional moment (quite often tbf, considering how close to dying the very nature of their job gets them on a regular basis)
fast forward to 1988
carol and maria pretty much live together and monica loves auntie carol to pieces and their hearts are both so close to exploding they might actually die for real at any given moment
now to finally tie back to where this whole thing started: carol brings home tickets to a GNR concert, maria stares at her dead in the eye like "bitch this is 500 miles away" and carol's like "oh..........................road trip? :D"
you'll never guess what happens there
one year later, carol's missing
presumed dead
#captain marvel#carol danvers#maria rambeau#danbeau#'hey whats up wyd how u been'#twirling hair around my finger#nth rly just binge reading marvel comics and hyperfixating on my comfort pilot wives#googled usaf 80s maternity leave to feed the brainworms#edit: didn't google very well APPARENTLY !
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Fic tag game!
tagged by my buddies @cuillere and @lizzy0305! thank you for this!!
How many works do you have on AO3?
93 😎
2. What's your total AO3 word count?
831,467 (holy fucking shit when did it get that long?!?!?! #ThatsWhatSheSaid
3. What fandoms do you write for?
Stranger Things, Detroit become human, the breakfast club, marvel/spiderverses, Ted lasso, House MD, Harry Potter
4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?
Tony Stark: Billionaire, playboy, philanthropist, Daddy: (starker) 1074
I think I need help: (harringrove) 927
Call me Doctor: (Chase/House & Chase/House/Wilson 739
Rockabye Baby: (Wincest kinda??) 670
You know what they say about assuming. (steddiegrove) 645
5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?
Every. Single. One. Comments are the lifeblood to my work. Its so intimidating to be posting to a empty void but y'alls comments give life to the achieve and are just as important to a WIPs development as anything I write on my own!
6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?
Idk, I have ALOT of wips without endings/one shots. Probs the most angsty one I have in general is either The New Kid or Silence isn't Golden
wait wait wait, I found a dual suicide Wincest fic, that wins
7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?
uhhhhhhh this Thor/Bruce fic may be the fluffiest one I have haha
8. Do you get hate on fics?
HA! yeah, but oddly its just the ones with sex work in them. Who would have guessed 🙄🙄🙄🙄
9. Do you write smut? If so what kind?
Yes 😈😈😈 kink wise all over the place, from super vanilla to BDSM and anything else I can think of. Peoplewise LGBTQ and queer characters, canon or fanon, polycules. Trope wise, enemies to lovers is my fav, but I also love pining or tragic love 👌
10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?
Yes!! not too many, but I've written a few. This one isn't crazy but it is the most developed of all the wips. It's a Supernatural/The Breakfast Club crossover called Supernatural activity at shermer high
11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?
a few times by a bot, im really really hoping it doesn't happen again but with AI about to fuck us all out of work, im a lil worried.
12. Have you ever had a fic translated?
Yes! two of my Starker fics were translated into Russian and on fic book but that website got torched a few years ago :( I think I also had a reader translate a TBC fic into Portuguese
13. Have you ever cowritten a fic before?
Many! probably 20-30 at this point
14. What's your all-time favourite ship?
not possible for me to choose. So here's my favs of the moment. Hankconvin800 or hankvin1700, steddiegrove, parksborn, steadyhands
15. What's a WIP you want to finish, but doubt you ever will?
get a few scotches in him and he'll hit on anything in a 5 mile radius.
its a cowritten work I worked on years ago and just, meh idk I dont really wanna go back to it haha
16. What are your writing strengths?
I've gotten compliments on my dialogue, dynamic character relationships, smut, and angst
17. What are your writing weaknesses?
proof reading and editing
18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?
i never trust google translate to do a good enough job so to avoid looking like a fool i dont do it. I should try though, expand my horizons. I'm learning Danish so maybe ill make a fic using that.
19. First fandom you wrote for?
Harry Potter
20. Favourite fic you've ever written?
all of them hold significant places in my heart. they are all pieces of me and I'm trying to learn to love all of me. And that's gotta start somewhere!
tagging all my mututals and anyone who wants to do it
@sweeteatercat @disdaidal @sweetasblack @writerwhowritesao3 @geekinglikeaboss @destroya-hargrove @kissoflightning @moviemuncherao3 @cuillere @late-to-the-party-81 @spaceofentropy @strangebrainrot @treeffles @heiko-goes-detroit
#sinful sunday#find me on ao3#sunwarmed ash#links in bio#stranger things#i post new stuff every sunday#detroit become human#the breakfast club#house md#marvel mcu#harry potter#supernatural
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@febuwhump End Notes/ Masterlist
So... this was my second year and, hell, guess who did it again??
28 days, 28 prompts, and slightly less words than last year but STILL somehow over 45k but the thing is... last year I hated my job, was on the verge of quitting AND was going out of my way to ignore it but not this time. This year I have a job that I LOVE and have taken on a bazillion additional responsibilities. I threw a party and did a speech for ONE THOUSAND people in the middle of the month, like WHAT? How did I still hit 45k??
I'm gonna tell you, so uh, sorry in advance if this gets lengthy - it's time for the yearly awards speech (you can see the last one here) 😅
Super mega shout-out to @5ummit and @sparklingbinjuice who built on every single prompt each day to give me something to run with, who sprinted with me pretty much daily, who fed me encouragement and fucking poked and prodded at me until I forced out some words when I was having hard nights trying to manage fandom and life and work. AGAIN, Wendy, your goddamn gorgeous galaxy brain saved me (and Abby, the smutty RP helped too 😏)
I also want to say thanks to AO3/ tumblr users: trinipedia (AO3) @winterbonesthings @justalostsoldier @possumwoodpie and @astralhux who basically commented on every single thing I wrote all month - you're all insane for that and I love you very much. AND everyone else who commented or kudos'd, even on only one, you made it easier for me to keep going and I appreciate it so goddamn much.
And just like, generally, to everyone: thanks for not unfollowing me while I was just posting text posts all month 😅
20/28 ended up being smut and I'm pretty pleased with that. Let's try for 28/28 next year 😘
Okay. OKAY.
FEBUWHUMP 2023: HTP EDITION
(or should I say winterbones edition 😅)
Day 1: Touchstarved (NSFW)
Bucky/Rumlow, winterbones - 1410 words
NON-CON/RAPE, touchstarved, chains, choke collar, finger sucking, imprisonment, captivity, blow jobs, spitting in mouth, deepthroating, conditioning, hydratrashparty
Day 2: Flinching (NSFW)
Steve/Bucky, stucky - 575 words
past non-con/rape, past abuse, whump, bucky’s broken dick, unsatisfying sex, this is not nice to anyone
Day 3: Muzzled (NSFW)
Rumlow/Bucky, winterbones - 2150 words
NON-CON/RAPE, gags, gag mask, blood and injury, anal sex, no lube, handjobs, finger sucking, hydra trash party
Day 4: Knife to the throat
Steve/Bucky (implied) - 240 words
past abuse, panic, mild violence
Day 5: "That's gonna scar"
Rumlow & the soldier - 300 words
blood, knife wound, stitches
Day 6: Secrets Revealed (NSFW)
Rumlow/Bucky, Steve/Bucky (implied) - 2200 words
NON-CON/RAPE, past non-con/rape, rape on film, Bucky’s broken dick, anal sex, choking, spitting in mouth, begging, crying, Steve whump, coming on command, coming untouched, pet names, hydra trash party
Day 7: Made to Watch (NSFW)
Hydra Agents/Bucky, Rumlow/Bucky, winterbones - 1040 words
Second part coming on Day 10: difficulty breathing
NON-CON/RAPE, prostitution, filmed without consent, jealousy, possessiveness, anal sex, hydra trash party
Day 8: Panic (NSFW)
Rumlow/Bucky, winterbones - 1300 words
NON-CON/RAPE, anal sex, coming early, panic, punishment, come eating
Day 9: Voice Loss (NSFW)
Rollins/Bucky, Rumlow/Bucky (implied) - 1450
NON-CON/RAPE, wet and messy, blowjobs, deepthroating, pain, ripped vocal chords, loss of voice, pet names, panic, hydra trash party
Day 10: Difficulty Breathing (NSFW)
Rumlow/Bucky, winterbones - 2045 words
Second half to Day 7: forced to watch
NON-CON/RAPE, jealousy, anger, anal fingering, rough sex, conditioning, confusion, name calling, begging, choking, smothering, anal sex, kissing, hydra trash party
Day 11: Fever
Rumlow/Bucky, Rollins - 1100 words
fever, body heat, light grinding
Day 12: "Can you hear me?" (NSFW)
Rumlow/Bucky (very implied) - 810 words
stream of consciousness, dethawing process, confusion, finger sucking (light)
Day 13: Forced to hurt a loved one
Steve/Bucky, Rumlow/Bucky (past, implied) - 1590
past non-con/rape, past abuse, trauma, safe words, violence, choking, crying, begging
Day 14: Captivity (NSFW)
Rumlow/Bucky (implied) - 1155 words
Second chapter on Day19: “You deserve this.”
past non-con/rape, past abuse, abuse, trauma, bad decisions, hydra trash party (incoming)
Day 15: ALT: Found Footage (NSFW)
Steve/Bucky, Rumlow/Bucky (past) - 1815 words
past non-con/rape, past abuse, bucky’s broken dick, rape on film, masturbation, begging, guilt, blowjobs, deepthroating, betrayal, pet names, hydra trash party
Day 16: Semiconscious (NSFW)
Rumlow/Bucky - 1610 words
a continuation of Day12: Can you hear me?
non-con/rape, wet and messy, finger sucking, anal fingering, anal sex, disorientation, confusion, semi-conscious, possessiveness, hydra trash party
Day 17: Silent Tears (NSFW)
Rumlow/Bucky (past), Steve/Bucky (implied) - 1310 words
past non-con/rape, past abuse, betrayal, crying, rape on film, masturbation, anal fingering, finger sucking, no lube, trauma, voyeurism, whump, hydra trash party
Day 18: Can't Stay Awake (NSFW)
Rumlow/Bucky - 2180 words
incredibly dubious consent, the soldier can’t consent, panic, panic attacks, anal sex, no lube, handjobs, the world’s most fucked up safety blanket
Day 19: "You deserve this" (NSFW)
Hydra Agent/Bucky, Rumlow/Bucky - 3690 words
non-con/rape, improper use of a shock baton, dirty talk, anal sex, dehumanization, shame, guilt, anger, ~feelings~, jerking off, hydra trash party,
Day 20: Knife Wound (NSFW)
Rumlow/Bucky, Rollins - 800 words
past non-con/rape, past-knifeplay, abuse, gaslighting, Rumlow is not a good person, Rollins is a sadist, blood, violence, hydra trash party
Day 21: Shackled (NSFW)
Rumlow/Bucky - 1110 words
non-con/rape, spider gag, prong collar, anal hook, overstimulation, wet & messy, bad bdsm practices, handjob, hydra trash party
Day 22: Can’t Scream (NSFW)
Hydra Agents/Bucky - 630 words
non-con/rape, inappropriate use of a shock stick, anal sex, double penetration, violence, abuse, hydra trash party
Day 23: “You’ll have to go through me” (NSFW)
Steve/Bucky, Rumlow/Bucky - 3065 words
past non-con/rape, past abuse, shower masturbation, betrayal, violence, whump
Day 24: Bloody Clothes (NSFW)
Rumlow/Bucky - 2240 words
holy fuck this is so soft, weirdly consensual winterbones??, hurt/comfort, injury, blow jobs
Day 25 ALT: Caged
Rumlow & Bucky - 1385 words
abuse, cages, shock batons, violence, starving, handfeeding
Day 26: Forced to Choose (NSFW)
Steve/Bucky, Rumlow/Bucky - 3635 words
Part Seven of ‘Til the End of the Line
past non-con/rape, past abuse, dialogue heavy, betrayal, breakup, unhealthy relationships, kissing, grinding, erectile dysfunction, Steve whump, Bucky’s broken dick, past hydra trash party, the end of the line
Day27: Survivor’s Guilt
Rumlow/Bucky - 430 words
dreams, blood, buried alive, fucked up soulmates
Day28: “You’re safe now” (NSFW)
Rumlow/Bucky - 2585 words
Continued from Day20: Knife Wound
non-con/rape, past non-con/rape, (sing songs) the soldier can’t consent, past violence, hurt/comfort, conditioning, anal fingering (brief), anal sex, wet&messy, hydra trash party
#febuwhump#febuwhump 2023#cara writes#hydratrashparty#writing masterlist#check those tags!#rape tw#abuse tw#noncon tw
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Swap hotel:Giveaway
This was one of the only moments of relaxation that I had this last week, I had them closed I was so relaxed that soon I would take one of the long naps that caused me to drink 5 margaritas and 2 piña coladas, I almost returned home in an ambulance when I started to feel Carl's withdrawal, it was very hot that day but I was lying on a soft bed, under an artificial palm tree.
The whole moment was interrupted by the blow when a very familiar masculine voice took me away from the dream, - Hey Bro! Where have you been? I've been looking for you, but the guy from the bar told me you were out here- a young blonde sat on the side of the bed holding an iced coffee, it was pretty obvious to me that this happened. It was just to show off his huge biceps and rub sweet in the face once again.
- Anyway! I don't have much time I have a big night planned before I turn all this over to you, I just wanted to say thank you, it's been the best week of my life and if you want to repeat it just call me I'm sure you have my phone! -
had been crazy all this shit, when I return to my body I'm going to make my father sue them for every penny and close his fucking Instagram account! I didn't know what I was getting into when Swap Corp's Instagram account invited me to promote their social networks, I had already done these hundreds of times, a fucking brand gives me a lot of shit that my parents could buy me and they only ask me for one single photo or video eating or wearing their overpriced clothes, with a shitty logo.
They promised me a lot of followers and more "job" offers in another of their exclusive 5-star hotels, of course, I accepted immediately when I saw all the internet celebrities who had been there, people from the world of bodybuilding that I admired in the list in addition to some actors and models.
When I arrived everything was perfect, the hotel had everything from a gym to a spa, which is great for me because although they promised me everything I wanted to drink, eat or smoke, all I needed was a pool full of beautiful models to massage my biceps in the pool after a long session at the gym.
Before I could even unpack and take a shower, I was drugged and put in this shitty body for 1 fucking week! Those pageant motherfuckers came and ravaged my room for 3 fucking minutes until I came out of the bathroom, my whole body randomly covered in shower suds with just a towel around my waist and my huge feet leaving stains all over the carpet and as soon as I opened the door I knew something was wrong.
The guy who organized the contest was accompanied by two hotel guards, of course, they were clean and well dressed, but there was one person who stood out among all of them, he was a fucking whale, he had never seen someone so fucked up! The man in the suit started talking as he tried to guess how much the man in front of him was thinking 286 pounds. I'd bet 20 bucks on that.
Before I could react, the man in the suit took me by the arm and stretched out his hand to hand a cloth necklace with a VIP identification... without thinking I left my last chance to give up the worst week of my life, I put the identification on the neck without looking that didn't even have my picture on it, instead of my hot handsome face, there was the picture of that man with that white unkempt beard that hid most of his obese face.
I felt a small chill and after a simple blink, my mind was transferred to the body of the man in the photo of my necklace, when my eyes opened the first thing I saw was a huge hairy belly, my legs would almost bend if it weren't for the wall that was at my back, the 4 men in front of me turned around and looked at me to help me not fall from all the extra weight on my knees.
When I recovered they gave me a glass of water and explained the situation to me, those sons of bitches launched another contest and the prize was a week of vacation in this hotel on my body, And while the man in a suit was explaining all this to me, that man is nice He kept putting his kinky hands on my cock and pecs, maybe he didn't notice or maybe he didn't even care when a newlywed couple came out of another room and stared at the show for several minutes.
Since then I am Stuck as "Carl" Every day I wake up thinking that this has only been a nightmare and at any moment I am going to wake up in my bed next to a model who seduces me at a party to take her to my bed.
but no, I wasn't dreaming what I always saw Waking up was this mountain of hairy fat uniting my old and aching body, The first thing I did Upon waking up swallowed the huge amount of pills that were in the drawer next to my bed to try to relieve the pain in my back, after that I went to shit and piss and came back to order a huge breakfast while watching what was new on Netflix.
I was able to up on “Love death and robots”, At least they kept their deal my Instagram followers doubled in a week. The only bad thing is that most of them are middle-aged men who put obscene comments in the comments like "fuck me" or "show us your dick"
From time to time I saw Carl having fun on my body while being photographed with my iPhone, being worshiped by two bald middle-aged men in the hot tub, or playing volleyball with all the lucky bastards with incredibly hot, skinny bodies.
Hey! You can support me to continue creating stories and see all my stories on my patreon and have access to the stories on my discord server.
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