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bahorell · 3 years

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Les Amis (& co.) and the stuff they have on their walls

Enjolras: Pictures of his friends. I loved this idea so much I had to expand on it so it’s the shortest paragraph here but he’ll have his own post in a couple days I PROMISE

Combeferre: He has framed bugs!!! They are mostly moths but he also has some really rare expensive beetles that he’s gotten for Christmas. One winter break when he really had nothing going on he did a bunch of research on what all of the bugs were and has little hand-written pieces of paper taped to the wall underneath the bugs with all the info like a little MUSEUM OMG it’s literally the cutest thing. And if you’ve never been to his place before he makes you pick which one if your favorite.

Courfeyrac: Has a bunch of plants all over the walls. They’re so big that he has nails in the walls and any vining plants he’ll hang the vines on the walls so they look like they’re crawling up the walls. He also strategically places big plants like any trees he has or Monsteras in corners or next to dressers. He really doesn’t like putting too much stuff on his walls because he thinks it’s a lot of commitment. He doesn’t really have a lot of printed pictures of his friends and he doesn’t really have enough art to fill a wall space without making it look awkward.

Joly: Joly is one of those really really cool guys that glues and frames all of the puzzles he finishes. Every time he goes somewhere he’s never been before he’ll go into a little tourist shop and buy the biggest puzzle he can find (the more pieces the better). There’s a separate table in the living room that he sits at and works on his puzzle at while he watches Grey’s Anatomy. He’s always rearranging things because he likes everything to have a you know that feng shui so his walls have a bunch of nail holes in them. He’s also quickly running out of wall space because now his friends have started gifting him puzzles as well.

Jehan: Jehan LOVES to collect calendars! But not just like… monthly calendars. They have moon phase calendars, lunisolar calendars, a really really cool mayan calendar replica, a roman calendar, seasonal calendar for things like when to plant and harvest fruits and veggies!, a crystal calendar, a japanese calendar… They really like to look at how different things look from different perspectives. The months look different on a seasonal calendar than they do on a “standard” calendar. It reminds them that they have more control over their time than they think they do. Bousset: Movie posters!!!! He has posters of all his favorite movies but he really is a sucker for the movie posters that are in a retro style. He tries to make sure to buy frames for all of the posters he has because he doesn’t want them to get ruined. He’s scared not only because he has bad luck but because all of his friends are slobs and if they come over you know someone is going to somehow get beer or lasagna on the wall and some of the posters were like limited edition and he CANNOT have them ruined. He also dusts them p regularly.

Feuilly: Feuilly collects but also makes a bunch of wood art that he is very proud of. Usually when he makes something he’ll keep the first draft of it since it isn’t polished enough for him to feel like he can try to sell it. It’s not very often he can find Purple Heart stuff but when he does he really struggles to say no if it’s out of his budget. Also he has a few pieces of moss art that he ADORES

Bahorel: Collects a bunch of small random things that he finds. Pretty much he thinks if he CAN hang it on a wall that he SHOULD hang it on a wall. There’s art pieces, cards he’s gotten from people, business cards that have a cute design on them, he has a shit ton of command strips that hang things like lanyards, his go-to jackets for easy access, his towel when he doesn’t feel like walking back to the bathroom to hang it up after he’s showered. He also has like 5 sets of mini battery powered string lights that he leaves on whenever he’s not sleeping (he spends a lot of money on batteries)

Grantaire: His walls kinda work as his sketchbook when he’s home. He’s found that sometimes working on a vertical surface instead of a horizontal surface helps get the gears turning in his head. It makes him a little frustrated sometimes because he’ll have a whole piece that’s done on one of his walls and then he basically has to repeat yet and put it back on paper but it doesn’t feel the same. Since his walls are pretty much a free-for-all, all of the amis have painted something on them at some point. He tries not to paint over those spots but sometimes he has to.

Marius: Marius has a bunch of shadow boxes of stuff. Most of them are antique items like he has a shadow box that has about 50 unused boxes of matches that are from all over the world, he has a shadow box of antique flies for fly fishing. He’s never fly fished before but seeing the colors on the flies makes him want to try it at least once. He makes most of them himself also! He has one that has a bunch of wine corks in it that he had been collecting for awhile. And he has one that has one item from each Ami that he asked them to contribute to. His favorite tho is the shadow box that is filled with metal caps from soda bottles. It was the first one he made and a lot of the caps he got one summer he spent with his dad when he was a kid trying to find the best brand of soda for each flavor.

Eponine: Eponine doesn’t have a lot of stuff on her walls, she never really has but ever since she got her apartment and moved out of her parents place she got a few art pieces. They aren’t framed or anything, she always thinks that if something happens and she has to move out of her place that big framed art pieces will just be one more thing she has to worry about. It never happens and she’s accumulated enough pieces that eventually she saves up some money and gets most of them framed.

Cosette: When she was a kid her dad bought her a really beautiful wall quilt that she never took off her wall even if she was cold. They’re pretty expensive and she’s managed to collect a few other larger quilts but she also has signed up for classes at a local quilt shop and has a couple small little baby quilts she’s done as practice that she hung up. They make her so proud and she’s loved looking at how her skills have improved since she started!

Musichetta: Musichetta doesn’t have too much stuff on her walls. She has a couple pieces that are really pretty that she has framed, but one of her walls she doesn’t ever hang stuff on because a couple years ago she bought some super cool bright wallpaper that has a bunch of citrus fruits on it. It really adds a bunch of color to her apartment and even in the winter helps makes the place feel warm and bright.

Gavroche: Gav has two of his walls covered in chalkboard paint! He does his homework on them sometimes but mostly he uses them to draw little doodles. One of the walls he hasn’t touched in months because Feuilly and Grantaire worked together on a super big mural for it that took them like 3 days. Gav won’t ever erase it but he has bumped into it enough times that it’s getting pretty smudged. Plus he figures if he erases it they can just do another one. But because he has chalkboard walls he doesn’t really have anything else on his walls. He maybe has one or two pictures on the last wall that isn’t being taken up by chalkboard or closet doors.

#this was so much fun to do #tag yourself #I'm p proud of Joly's tbh #He very much seems like a puzzle guy #les mis #enjolras #combeferre #courfeyrac #jehan #joly #bousset #bahorel #feuilly #grantaire #marius #eponine #musichetta #cosette #gavroche

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howtolongfurb · 3 years

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How to Long Furb

For whatever reason, furbies have taken over the internet. It’s beautiful and terrifying and I desperately want one. Original 1998 furbies are hard to acquire but that doesn’t mean you can’t make one of your own. Imagine the potential for neck pillows with long furbies! I’m going to walk you through step-by-step how I acquired the supplies and compiled these monstrosities. Note, this is not by any means a comprehensive guide, just my personal experience. I am an ameteur. There is a huge community of furby fans online with tips and tricks on executing a variety of furby modifications. Read more below!

I will start off by saying there were many points throughout this whole process where I got frustrated and set the project aside for weeks at a time. I initially started hand-sewing long furbs but was disappointed with the poor craftsmanship. That’s when I impulse bought a cheap Singer over the 2020 holidays and retaught myself how to use the machine. The point I want to make here is to persevere. Every furby is beautiful! Crooked faceplates and chunky bellies just give a furby more personality. They say practice makes perfect, right? So let’s get started. The main components of a furby are:

1) The faceplate: unless you can get your hands on an original furby, finding a faceplate for your project can be tricky. There are a variety of people online selling furby faceplates. You can also 3D print faceplates using files from thingiverse. I’ve even seen faceplates pressed in resin. My favorite faceplate is from MrDsPrintedCreations on Etsy. The iris of the eyes are recessed so you can easily insert glass eye chips. The first thing I do with my faceplate is glue a piece of fabric behind it so it’s easier to sew into the head. I paint my faceplate with acrylic craft paint and top it off with a clear gloss coat. 2) The spine: for a poseable long furb, there needs to be a flexible inner piece. I thought thin wire from Menards would do the job, but once it’s in the plush it doesn’t hold it’s shape. I found plastic doll armature works well as a spine. It even creaks when bent for that extra spritz of cursed, spooky energy! You can also use a flexible coolant hose as a spine. I’ve ordered doll armature online from CR’s Crafts: the 1/8th and 1/4th size works well. The 1/2th inch armature is hard to stuff around. 3) Fabric! Fur and belly piece: In order to make furbs, I knew I first needed a sewing pattern. Tumblr user Cavity Sam created a template based on the 1998 furby and I used this to make my first furb with my new machine and scrap fabric lying around. My friend Gunnar 3D printed a rudimentary faceplate to use. After using Cavity Sam’s sewing template, I modified the pattern to use for long furbs specifically. You can download that sewing pattern here.

You’ll need the following supplies per one 3-foot long furby:

quarter of a yard faux fur fabric (9 inches x 44 inches)

patterned fabric for belly, ears, feet (~3 inches x 44 inches)

sewing machine (thread, needle, scissors, pins)

faceplate, 14mm eye chips, eyelashes

E600 glue, scrap fabric

paint (acrylic or nail polish), paintbrushes, clear top coat

spine (plastic doll armature)

cotton stuffing (I cut open cheap pillows from Walmart)

Step one: Use the sewing pattern to cut fabric pieces for the head and body. When cutting on fur, make sure to trace the pattern on the flat backside of the fabric with the fur flattened in the right direction. For example, the hair on the Y-mane piece (back of the head) should be pointed downwards. I made notes on the paper pattern pieces where you can eyeball more or less space. The mane piece should have more rounded corners, for example. I made my furbies 3 feet long, so the front belly piece was 2 inches wide by 3 feet long. The back fur was 6.5 inches wide by 3 feet long.

Step two, feet and ears: Depending on how small you cut your fabric, it can be really hard to combine two separate pieces. For the feet I folded a piece of fabric in half and sewed the C-shapes before cutting them out. Using tweezers made it much easier to turn them back right-side-out. After cutting the ear pieces (making sure the hair on the fur was pointed in the right direction, inside out) I pinned them together before sewing. Turn back right-side-out.

Step three, head: Line the pattern pieces up so the Y-mane is in the middle. Sew the sides of the head to the mane first. Once that is one solid piece, fold it in half to sew the top curve of the head. I have pinned these pieces to ensure they don’t slip when going through the machine. Slow and steady wins the race; make sure to turn the fabric as you’re curving the top of the head. Finally you can sew the piece under the ear together, leaving a gap for the ear to go in.

Step four, ears: Everything up to this point has been done on the machine. I haven’t figured out a way to attach the ears with the machine, so this step was done by hand. With the ear facing right side out, pin the ear to the inside-out head. Make sure the patterned part of the ear is facing outwards (where the faceplate goes). By hand, sew the ear to the hole in the head. After the ear is secured, turn the head right side out and voila!

Step five, body: Lining up these pieces is important and a little tricky. You’ll want some excess belly fabric on the top to merge with the bottom of the beak on the faceplate. See the diagram; rotate everything 180 degrees to begin sewing. The fur hair needs to be pointed upwards and the belly fabric pattern is facing down on top of that. After sewing the belly fabric to the fur, fold it over to sew the other side. The fur should be on the inside of the sausage/ body piece. Once you’re finished sewing, the finished piece needs to be turned fur side out.

Step six: Faceplate break time! This step can be done at any point in the process, up until you hand sew the faceplate into the head. To start, glue a piece of fabric behind the faceplate. The faceplate itself should just be the eyes and the beak, making it easier to sew into the head of the furb. You don’t need that extra plastic around the bottom of the beak (or at least I haven’t figured out how to sew that in convincingly). I used grey scrap fabric and E6000 glue to adhere the faceplate. Then you need to paint the faceplates. In earlier furbs I used acrylic paint topped with clear DecoArt gloss varnish on top. You can also use colored nail polish with a clear coat on top. In the pictured furbs I tried sealing the faceplates with mod podge but it dried tacky/ uneven. Optional: you can accessorize your furb with jewelry!

Step seven, inserting the faceplate: You need to sew this part into the head by hand as well. Start from the top center (head inside out, faceplate facing into head) and work your way down the right. Make sure to use a thicker needle and poke the needle through as close as you can get to the faceplate to ensure the fabric fur is flush to the face. The needle may be stubborn (poking through the hardened glue) so use a thimble or bottle cap to help push the needle. When you get to the bottom corner of the eye, the fabric may not line up perfectly. Use excess fabric to sew a seam, effectively acting like a cheek. This part takes a little finessing. Finish attaching the fur fabric one third of the way down the beak. This is where the belly piece will connect to. The final step (later) will be to put the eye + glass chip in.

Step eight, attaching the head to body: I was able to use the machine for this part. Turning the head inside out, pin the head to the outside of the back fur. The head and back should line up so a gap is left for connecting the patterned belly to the bottom of the beak (that step comes later). After the head is connected to the back, I do a second pass to make sure there isn’t any gap in the seam. When turned right side out, you’ll see that excess patterned belly spills out the top. Keep the furb inside out to connect under the beak.

Step nine, connecting the belly to the beak: On the excess patterned fabric sticking out the top of the body, trace the shape of the “M” to cut out. See the highlighted yellow portion in the picture, as well as the printed sewing pattern piece. The piece directly below the beak needs to be done by hand. If you can manage it, you can sew a diagonal line with your machine before trimming the patterned belly. I found it easiest to start from the right and work my way to the left. The acute angle under the cheek will need finessing, but with small and tight enough stitches the end result is good. Turn the furb inside out to see your long sausage of a creation!

Step ten, spine insertion and stuffing: Now THIS is where I may have messed up (i.e. got frustrated multiple times) and need feedback from the furby community. The furby is essentially complete, it just needs the butt and feet attached to seal it off. Because of this long sausage of a furb, it was hard to push stuffing all the way up into the head/ ears, even using a yard stick. Maybe if I printed my original sewing pattern at 115% or 130% size, the completed project wouldn’t have been so narrow. (The ears are a perfect size now that I think about it, so maybe just the head pieces need to be bigger.) This resizing would make for a larger in diameter, plushier furby too. I thought I could insert the spine after stuffing, but the opposite is true. Insert your wire or doll armature after the ears and head are stuffed but before you begin stuffing below the beak. Alternatively, you can fasten the top of the spine behind the faceplate before stuffing. I taped a cup to the end of a yard stick and that helped push handfuls of stuffing into the furb at a time. Leave 2 to 4 inches of the bottom unstuffed so it’s easier to sew on the bottom circle. We will leave a small gap for the rest to be stuffed before totally sealing it off.

Step eleven, connecting the feet and bottom: Stuff the feet and seal them off with a couple stitches. Don’t stuff the feet completely full, the top seam should lay flat. Place the two feet on the bottom of the belly, pointing upwards. Sew the feet onto the belly in a straight line. Now comes the part that takes more finessing, the bottom. When you line up the bottom circle, make sure the hairs of the fabric are pointed backwards. If you can manage it with the machine, sew the bottom circle to the bottom of your furby where the feet connect to the belly, about a third of the way around the full circle. The fur of the circle should be facing down, touching the belly of the furb. Once you’ve attached the circle to the feet, you can fold the circle back to see the butt starting to take shape! You can give it another pass on the machine, sewing the opposite side/ flip the furby so you can see the backside of the belly. Leave enough room to stuff the rest of the cotton and close the gap by hand sewing. Now that your furby is essentially complete, you can add the finishing touches! I always leave the eye chips for last so I don’t scratch them in the process of turning my furb inside out. You can print or paint the eye designs to place behind the glass chip. Use clear glue like superglue or E600 for the best results. Gluing eyelashes on with superglue is an optional last step.

Aaaaaaand the furbies are done! Again, I’m an ameteur sewer who’s learning as I go. I’m always open to suggestions and feedback; if there’s a way to revise this process to make more efficient and better quality furbs, I’d love to know. Thanks yall and enjoy making these cursed friends!

#furby #long furby #long furb #furby community #furby sewing pattern #sewing guide

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bibliocratic · 3 years

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Do you think you might ever follow up that forking paths fic chapter where the two jons talk? Like after our jon leaves, id love to hear your take on how younger jon reacts when martin gets back from (what he now knows, thanks to our jon explaining) that trip to visit his mom. How do you think that jon goes about approaching martin, bc its def clear that our jons words really stick with him

Anon, I loved your prompt, and I’ve thought about it often.

No CWs apply. Set in an alternative series 2, pre JonMartin

This is related to a time-travel AU where both the ‘original universe’ Jon and Martin have visited alternative versions of the archives. There’s no major spoilers for that story, although if you’d like to have a read, it’s here. :)

Coat slumped onto its hanger by the front door. Keys jangling in a lumpen heap. He checks, then double checks the bolt lock, the latch, the door chain, and then toes a door wedge harshly in place for good measure.

Martin puts down his overnight bag, fat with clothes that need going in the wash.

A signal failure at Yeovil Junction, stretching a three-and-a-half-hour journey back from Devon by over an hour. There had been a motley gaggle of the rowdy and the drunk on the Victoria line, and they’d squawked and cheered at the inanity of nothing, their laughing getting louder. He had avoided eye contact, felt his headache building.

Back in his flat, he takes two paracetamol and sits down, feeling like the final pieces of a cliff-face, falling seaward.

A breath out. A breath in.

Sleep is slow to come, and he wakes more than once. Eventually, he just waits for his alarm to go off.

He can’t find an ironed shirt, so he wears a jacket to cover up the worst of the crinkles. He’s on time, but he still frets as he stands, compressed by strangers on the Tube.

The main office area is quiet when he comes in. Martin clicks on the light switch, with a heavy feeling of experiencing the entire weight of the upcoming week at once, then goes into the small staff room to make himself a tea.

Jon’s there when he gets back. Stood by his desk.

“Oh! Hi,” Martin says. The tea sloshes ominously as he jumps, but it doesn’t spill. “Didn’t - didn’t see you there.”

“Martin!” Jon says. Looking and sounding, rather unusually, like he’s slept more than his rationing of three or four hours nightly. “You’re – you’re back. Good. That’s. That’s good.”

“Oh. Er. Yeah.” Martin puts his tea down on a coaster. Jon skitters back to give him space but he’s still close. The bags under his eyes lighter. “Back to the old, er, grindstone, I guess.”

Martin trails off weakly. It’s not that he doesn’t enjoy Jon’s company, but it’s early, and Martin hasn’t stored up reserves to be his friendliest just yet, nor to navigate whatever mood Jon might have been stewing in. He’s half waiting for Jon to just tell him what work he wants him to be getting on with.

He wonders where Tim and Sasha are.

Jon, no better word for it, lingers. Weight shifted from one foot to another. He looks over Martin intently, and Martin’s face heats to think of what he probably sees; un-ironed shirt, scruffy shoes. He shaved this morning in a rush, and he’s likely missed a few bristles under his throat, down his jawline.

“How… How was your trip?”

“Um. Yeah. Ok,” Martin lies. “You know. Nice to get a few days away.”

Jon hums, opens his mouth to say something, and then shuts it. Then: “I’m… I’m going to Costas.”

“Oh. Ok. That’s fine.”

“Would you like anything?”

Martin’s small smile bursts onto his face like breaking the surface of a wave, and he’s surprised, by how touched he feels at Jon’s gesture.

Jon reflects his expression for a moment with a similar smile, before it’s quickly schooled into blankness.

“No. But thanks, Jon.”

“Ok.”

Jon makes no move to leave.

“Come with me?” he asks. He’s fiddling with his shirt cuffs, the ring on his finger. “It’s not far, and… I would like you to. If you, er. If you want to.”

Martin nods, and doesn’t understand the relief on Jon’s face.

Jon’s pace is clipped, brisk with speed, and Martin hurries after him, feeling a little bit like a satellite orbiting a force of gravity. By the time they get to the café, it’s the dregs of the morning rush in a small queue that trails limply from the counter around past the coolers stocking juices and sandwiches. Martin offers to get them a table, but Jon makes some flat-footed excuse about needing help to carry the tray while he pretends to peer at the overhead menus with far greater attention than they necessarily deserve. So, Martin waits with him. Listening to the whistling rush of the steamer and the juddering grind of the large silver coffee machine behind the counter. One of the baristas shouts to get the attention of a customer wearing headphones.

Jon won’t hear a word for Martin paying, waving him off impatiently in a distracted, short way that is followed up by a pause, and then a deliberately politer comment about how Martin can get the next one. It’s such a seesaw of tones that Martin’s left a little at sea by it all. Mumbling a thank you, jumbled and lost with the way this morning is going, the buoy lines and anchor points shifted since he went away.

Jon’s face reads similar.

They sit down at a four-seater table, Martin insisting on being allowed to carry the tray, if only to give himself something to do. Jon makes a protracted faff of adding sugar to his tea, drip-feeding it milk until it reaches an acceptable shade while Martin’s fingertips prickle with heat as his hands make flood barriers around his own cup.

“What’s this about, Jon?” he finds it within himself to eventually blurt out.

Jon looks up from his cup. Glances away almost as fast. He manages to balance a fine line between guilty and defiant with only the set of his jaw.

Ah. It’s going to be one of those talks then.

Some sheltered, tentatively uncrumpling part of Martin had hoped that they were past this.

He might as well jump straight to it.

“If this is your idea of some… I dunno, public place where you feel you can accuse me of being a murderer again – ”

“What?! It’s – ”

“ – I know you’re going through a lot, I get it, I do, a-a-and I am trying to understand – ”

“It’s not – ”

“ – I-I thought we were past this, I thought you trusted me, at least not to murder you in your sleep, for God’s sake – ”

“I… It’s not, Martin.” Jon’s hands are held up, palms outwards. “I promise. I. I trust you. It’s not about anything like that.”

Martin’s hands unclench slightly from around his teacup. Jon’s expression bares the singular marks of a man struggling between emotion and ingrained habit.

Finally, nearly glowering, he stares into his own tea, rather than at Martin.

“Tim and Sasha will be here soon. I’ve texted them, told them to come here, not into the Archives.”

“What, why…?”

“There is every chance we may be overheard there, and – ”

“Not this again – ”

“Martin.” There is nothing harsh in Jon’s rebuke, for all it is phrased as a curt interruption. He huffs an irritated breath and meets Martin’s eye almost defiantly. It loosens into regret. “I know that I have… have not exactly given you much reason to take me on faith. And my behaviour these past… I suspect I owe you my apologies for a multitude of minor indignities that you have neither warranted nor deserved, and I am sure that if we had more time, we could both sit here listening my faults and failings to our mutual satisfaction. But the fact is that we don’t have time, and at the moment, my request for your patience and attention is far more important than my desire for your forgiveness.”

Jon’s sincerity is straight-forward, clean-edged.

“Tell me then,” Martin replies.

“Something happened, while you were visiting your mum.”

“How did you know I was – ?” Martin starts, but Jon waves a restless hand as though eager to move on to other matters, to which Martin’s temper rises because oh no you don’t, and he snaps: “Have you been following me?”

It was clearly not what Jon was expecting him to say. His face, scrunched up with impatience, slackens into a mild panic.

“No!” he says. “No, I. I haven’t. I swear, Martin, I haven’t.”

“Then how do you know about my mum?”

“I can explain, a-and I will. But let me finish, please?”

Martin nods. It is not fear that is starting to itch under his jacket, but it bears a family resemblance.

“We had a visitor,” Jon says. From his coat pocket, he pulls out two cassette tapes, like the ones they use for the difficult statements. “Two, actually. While you were away. We can listen to them both, later… and you should. You have a right to. They’re about you, a-and me – um, us. Tim and Sasha were here when the – er, the statement givers delivered them, and I’ve already filled them in on the supplementary information that we didn’t get on tape. I haven’t… I’m not asking you to trust me, or even believe me straight away, but there’s… Martin, there’s something dangerous at the Institute. Something that means all of us harm, and these tapes – ” He taps on them with a nail. “ – they’re a warning. About what our future might entail. And I… I firmly believe that together, all of us, we can stop it.”

Jon winds down like an exhausted clock, and he slumps, his gaze dragged away from Martin’s as though he’s suddenly embarrassed by his outburst.

Martin lets out a long, billowing sigh.

“OK,” he says.

Jon looks up.

“Ok?”

“I don’t – I don’t even begin to understand what’s going on here. But I believe you. Though God knows why.”

Almost furtively, Jon’s face fractures into one of those small, surface-breaking smiles again.

“Thank you, Martin. I – I appreciate that.”

Martin’s blood vessels at that moment traitorously decide to flush his face with heat. He clears his throat.

“Right,” he says. “Right, so, these are the – the warnings, yeah?”

“I’ve brought headphones if you want to listen.”

“Which one should I…” Martin begins, but his voice sputters silent in his throat as he reads the labelling down the sides, printed in Jon’s aggressively neat hand.

Case #0160920: Statement of Martin Blackwood, for the attention of Jonathan Sims. Case #0160921: Statement of Jonathan Sims, for one Martin Blackwood.

“I didn’t record any – ”

“No. You didn’t.” Jon’s expression is steady if wary. “And neither did I.”

“S-so this statement here, that’s – that’s – and that means that your one there, that’s – ”

“Yes.”

“Fuck me.”

He meets Jon’s eyes. Lets out another, decidedly less steady breath.

Jon promised to explain. Jon promised answers.

And Martin can trust that right now. It’s easier, somehow, with Jon looking at him like he won’t let him get lost.

“This one first?” he says, pointing at the tape that another Martin Blackwood has made.

Jon nods, and passes Martin the headphones.

And in a coffee shop on the Southbank, Jon’s gaze not breaking from him, Martin listens to the story of how the world ends.

#tma #the magnus archives #fic #jonmartin #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #no cws apply

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faithbetryin · 4 years

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Five Hargreeves X Reader | 2

(from my Wattpad: @FaithBeLovly)

Part 2

Pairing: Five Hargreeves X Reader

Word Count: 2,781

You find yourself sitting in front of the tv, watching the news broadcast of what happened at the cafe yesterday. You try to see if any information was said about the boy who saved you- shoved you, mostly. And he spilled scorching hot coffee all over you, but... all in all, he took a bullet while you were just peachy. You bite your nails a bit in nervousness. Hope was still in your mind that he didn't bleed out or get shot again and die or something. You don't get any information from the news channel and turn it off, tossing the remote on the couch as you walk out the door dawning a yellow rain coat and a pair of doc martens.

You walk along the damp sidewalk, stepping in every puddle you pass by. You grind your teeth with stress as you see the cafe not too far down the street. As you come closer, you notice detectives and caution tape surrounding the scene. You figure that whoever was in that van got away. You walk up to the tape and then start to backtrack away from it as you think about your chances of being questioned by gritty detectives if you stuck around in the open. You go towards the back door where you escaped from and try to open it. It was locked. You step back and remember the boy's school jacket. You remember it having some sort of umbrella on the patch on his shirt. It didn't give you any ideas about who the boy was or how to check on him. You walk away from the scene, pulling your hood over your head as it starts to rain again.

You start to wonder if this was just a small miracle, being saved by someone you'd never get to say thank you to. These kinds of things happened all the time right? It was just a world with everyone living their own lives, doing things without reward or consequence. You found the whole situation brave. No boy her age would have that kind of reaction if they were getting shot at. Maybe you were just lucky. Wouldn't it be some shit if you ended up getting shot the next day anyway? The world's cruel like that. An umbrella picture against stained glass windowed doors catches your attention. You walk backwards until you're in front of a big brick building. It seemed eerie and quiet. You see a bronze plaque on the outside of the building. You walk up the short steps to the door and read it, the distressed words engraved on it reading: The Umbrella Academy. You scrunch your nose, not hearing of such a thing. You wonder what kind of thing they teach here. Maybe making umbrellas, I don't fucking know. You look up at the doors in front of you and decide to knock on it with the brass knock-handles built onto it. You wait there for a few long moments, wondering if this place was abandoned or something. It seemed quiet, and dark. To your surprise the door opens slightly. A small eyeball peeks through the crack, a warm elderly man's voice welcoming you. "Can I help you?" The voice says.

You sit there, feeling dumb for not being prepared with something to say. You ask stupidly, "Uh, yes. I-Is this a school? The Umbrella Academy?"

The voice sighs a little before replying, "I'm afraid it isn't anymore.."

"Oh.. Well do you know anyone who'd wear a uniform from this place or something? Maybe an old student?" The eyes peering out at you get a little bigger. You explain yourself further, "It's just that- I saw someone near here wearing this umbrella symbol on their jacket a-and they got shot trying to save me and I wanted to make sure he was okay." The eyes from within the shadows look down and then back up at you as the voice says through a sigh,

"Five..." The door opens more to reveal a shorter figure- well, a... a fucking monkey. You blink in confusion, but smile a bit to be respectful. He wore a nice formal suit and small little glasses upon his chimpanzee face. He held the door with one chimp hand, the other holding himself up with a wooden cane. He was quite cute actually. Weird, but cute. "I'm so sorry that happened. I'm sure you must be a friend of Five's." You shake your head a little with confusion.

"I'm sorry? Five, you said? Five what?" You were very lost. As per usual. The polite ape in front of you lifts his cane to direct you inside. You reluctantly enter, not even sure what this place is. She wonders if she'll leave looking like a monkey too.

"The young boy in culottes? Tall socks? Well dressed?" He says, starting to wonder if Five might've saved a stranger, which was unusual for him. You nod to him as you walk in, looking around. It was much bigger inside than it appeared from the outside. It had old floors, walls, and set of two staircases leading upstairs somewhere in front of you. The rugs decorating the creaky floor looked antique. You stand in the lobby area, unsure what to do.

"Yeah, that one."

"The name's Five." A voice echoes through the room as the same boy from yesterday was standing across the room with a coffee mug in hand. You were caught off guard. You felt like you were intruding. Your face gets hot with embarrassment. You pick at a loose thread on your jeans as you look at the boy's leg. He had a proper bandage around his leg, the wound appearing fine considering the way he's even standing now. The suited ape closes the door behind you and smiles at the two of you as he waddles away with his cane, leaving us to it. The boy-Five, takes a sip of whatever's in the yellow mug. "You were at the cafe, weren't you? Yeah, the one with a staring problem." You drop your head to look at your shoes as you are ripping at the seams with embarrassment. You take a deep breath of recovery and look back at him, your hands in your pockets to hide the way they were fidgeting. The boy smiles a bit and nods towards the room behind him, motioning that you should follow him. You reluctantly walk over to him and follow him into a large living room/bar area. The wall was decorated with expensive-looking paintings and head mounts of animals. Tall bookcases lined the room. You clear your throat and say nervously as you look around, "Private school much?" Five chuckles into his mug as he takes another sip.

"This isn't a school," he says, clearly enjoying talking to such a lesser knowledgeable individual by the way he smiled widely, his dimples appearing. You make a face. "It's my home." You take a silent breath as you look around with wide eyes. You then shake your head in even more embarrassment as you realize you're intruding his house.

"Sorry- I just thought that-"

"The Umbrella Academy," he says with a smile, lifting his mug as if the name was glorious. You realize it's sarcastic praise as he laughs at it afterwards. "Yeah no, this place was home to a brooding rich man who decided to raise 7 children he didn't have time or sympathy for. Although, we did study and go through lectures everyday growing up here." You try to process that whole story as you look at him.

"S-So you have seven siblings?" You start to wonder what they're like and try to imagine what they look like while examining Five.

"Adopted. And always scattered. Hardly in one place." Well there goes trying to imagine his siblings' appearances in comparison to him.

"Oh," You say, feeling overwhelmed with all this information. You shake your head and turn back to him, remembering what you came here to say to him. "I just came to say thanks..." Five lowers his mug down from his thin raspberry-tinted lips without taking a sip. You wait for his delayed response. He eyes you up and down with that serious furrowed eyebrow expression. He has his head tilted to the side a bit, his Adam's apple exposed along his long neck. His hair fell a bit from its swoosh as he tilted his head.

"Didn't need someone getting shot for my messes." he says, his voice serious yet... gentle and sincere. A silence drifts between the two of you as you hold your arm along your side, looking at his leg. He lowers his head a bit to match the way you kept yours low. He catches your eyes and says, "It's fine. I got it patched up." You nod, taking his reassurance as you start to look a little guilty. He sets his coffee mug down on the bar counter and starts walking past you, turning to look at you. "Come on, I have something you might want."

You look at him with uncertainty before nodding and following behind him. You gain some reassurance as he turned to wait for you to catch up to him at the bottom of the steps. He didn't want to leave you alone behind him. You walk up the staircase side by side, holding onto the railing to give your hand something to focus on.

"Why are you nervous?" He asks very calmly. His voice was consistently cool and collected just like his demeanor. Your eyes dart around the stairs underneath you as you try to think of what to say to that. How did he know I'm nervous? You clear your throat as quietly as you can as you reply shakily,

"A-Anxiety. Kind of my thing I guess..." Five looks at your avoiding face, his brows lowered in a concerned, but understanding way. He keeps walking up the steps.

"Sorry." He says softly. The way his voice left his lips felt like a gentle warm breeze along your ears made you feel warm inside. You shake your head and laugh to diffuse the tension.

"Nothing to be sorry about. It's just something that's wrong with me." As you both reach the top of the steps, he looks at you with his hands in his pockets.

"Not a flaw. A quality." He says, reassuring you once again. You stand there for a moment too long as he walks where he's leading you, leaving you there in your thoughts. You never had anyone say something so honest and constructive like that. You didn't have anyone, really. You realize he's started to walk off and follow behind him quickly. You walk down the hallway past many rooms with closed doors. There were interesting laminated posters with self defense moves printed on them taped along the walls, low to the ground as if they were intended for kids to see. You stand behind Five as he opens his room door. You stand at the doorway respectfully as he walks in and fetches something from his closet. Lots of books and papers decorated the room along with a ridiculous amount of mathematical writing across every inch of the walls. You didn't recognize a single equation.

He comes back to the doorway, holding out a scarf. My scarf. It was clean, the blood stripped from its fabric. You take it from his hands slowly, your hands barely touching as neither of you let go of the scarf. You look up to find Five's eyes of oceans focused on your face, almost as if they've been gazing at you this whole time. His brows weren't tense anymore while his eyes were gentle. You blush hard, lifting the scarf to your face to hide it. He lets go as you lift it and scratches the back of his head as he looks at the scarf instead of you.

"I thought you might want that back," he says, adjusting his tie. You giggle a little from behind the scarf and move it away as you say,

"It's not even mine." The both of you laugh a little as his eyes widen a bit, a smile on his face. You stole that scarf from a Walmart a few weeks ago. You look down again but then back up at him, feeling more comfortable looking directly at someone- at him. "Thank you anyway." He nods and leans against the door frame, his hands in his pockets again. Must be a habit.

"So your name is...?"

"Y/N," you say quickly, just realizing you never introduced yourself back to him. "Sorry, I didn't mean to keep you on the edge of your seat to find out," you say, somewhat playfully flirting with him. His dimples jump out at you as he gives you a toothy grin. He scoffs with a slight chuckle.

"You do know you don't have to keep apologizing for everything." He says, his brows raised as he knows he got you there, proving it to him as you blush.

"Sorry-Agh fuck,"

"You did it again."

"I know, I know-" The both of you laugh, his actual laugh very pleasing to listen to. You shake your head and your smile starts to fade. He takes notice as he's now doing that thing where he lowers his head to your eye level and then lifts back up to encourage you to tell him what's wrong. "What was that...?" You ask, "At the cafe?" His smile quickly fades, his expression now that solemn, brooding look.

"Well, I've got a bit of trouble following me around lately." He scratches the back of his head. "Bunch of commission goons here to kill me." Your face immediately turns into concern and confusion.

"Kill you?! So they're gonna be back?"

"Yep," he sighs, lifting up on his toes and then falling back onto his heels. "And they're probably going to be coming after you now." You give him an even more concerned look.

"Me?? Wh- I don't even know what you're talking about! We gotta call the cops or something-"

"Cops are useless and very insignificant to this particular problem." He says. You shake your head and put your face into the scarf, your anxiety kicking up a notch. It feels like a slimy snake trickling up your throat, building pressure in your body. You try to keep it down and breathe heavily into the scarf. He shifts a little as he realizes what's going on with you, moving closer to you. He pulls your hands and scarf down from your face, looking at you. You feel exposed and vulnerable. He holds your arms and shakes them a bit to get you to pay attention.

"Listen to me," You continue to breathe more frequently, your hands shaking a bit. "No one's gonna kill you. You can stay here, I can protect you-"

"Protect me? I can't-"

"Listen, listen- I can. I can protect you. You just gotta calm down for me, alright?" He looks into your eyes, his grip on your arms becoming a little tighter to let you know he's got you. Your eyes dart back and forth across his face before closing, your head nodding quickly as you struggle to breathe regularly. He then puts his hands behind your ears, holding you gently as he tries to get you to focus.

"Breathe, take a deep breath. Come on, breathe." You nod to him to let him know you're trying as you close your eyes and take deep breaths, the break in between breaths letting your nerves calm down, your breathing becoming normal again. "There," he says, his thumb stroking the side of your face. You open your eyes, looking into his eyes. He was so close to you now, your faces inches away from each other. You feel your body relax, your head resting against his hands. You feel the tension between you both, the moment making your heart beat louder in your chest.

"Five has a girlfriend! And she's real! In the flesh!" a voice shrieks from behind them. Five immediately lets go of you and furrows his brows, his face showing complete agitated rage and annoyance. A lanky man in tight, suggestive hippy clothing watches you from the end of the hall.

"KLAUS, you are INCREDIBLY infuriating!" Five shouts as he warps through a bright blue light, disappearing from in front of you and appearing down the hallway after his brother, Klaus screaming and laughing as he makes a break for it. "I swear, I will kill you, you idiot!" You smile a little, feeling closer to the boy in culottes.

#five hargreeves imagines #five hargreeves #five #five hargreeves x reader #hargreeves #hargreeves x reader #tua x reader #five x reader #the boy #five x you #tua #the umbrella academy #umbrella academy #number5 #umbrella academy x reader #umbrella academy imagines #fanfic #fan fiction

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sevlgi · 4 years

Text

patient

requested: yes

group: mamamoo

pairing: hwasa x fem!reader

genre: fluff

contents: tattoo artist!hwasa, flustered!reader [15/33]

warnings: none

synopsis: It’s hard for you to be patient about your next tattoo session when your artist is so damn gorgeous.

a/n: um??? I love tattoo aus???? also don’t come at me for the name, I’m not creative

word count: 1.9k

“Elegant Chaos.”

You test the name out on your tongue, staring up at the slightly grimy neon sign of the shop. The entire front is one-way glass, so all you can see is your own reflection and the ones of the people bustling around you.

Before you can make up a decision to open the door to the store or not, someone else does; a pretty brunette woman steps out and smiles at you, crazy beautiful with full lips and crescent-eyes. “Hi. Can I help you?”

“Uh, yeah.” You show her the printed-out address your friend sent you and step a bit closer. “Is this a tattoo shop? I searched the address up but nothing resulted, I was referred by a friend.”

She barely takes a glance at the address before flashing another bright grin. “Oh, yep! This is our tattoo shop, we opened a couple months ago. It’s weird that we’re still not showing up, but oh, well. Want to come in?”

You barely register her quick words but step into the shop after her, the smell of rubbing alcohol, paper, and perfume vaguely stinging your nose. “I’m Solar, the receptionist,” she introduces, walking behind what you presume to be her desk. Out front, some teenagers talk quietly, a tall, dark-haired boy with a sleeve sipping at a banana milk.

“Cool. Uh, I’m Y/N. I don’t have an appointment, is that okay?”

Solar nods, tapping at her phone. “Sure. Jungkook over there is just waiting for Byul to finish her other client, and Wheein is prepping to pierce the kids. Hwasa’s our best artist, anyway, does that sound good?”

Her question startles you from staring at the intricate sketches taped all over the walls, the same 3 signatures stamped everywhere. “What?”

She laughs, though it’s not rude. “We have one artist left, Hwasa, but since you’re referred, you probably don’t have someone in mind, right? You can go to see her now, she’s free.”

“Great. Do I just...?” At Solar’s nod, you walk past her and into the back. The studio’s quite small, to be honest; there are 4 stations, two of them occupied. One of them, who you guess is Byul, is tattooing an elderly man, her sleeves rolled up to reveal the art on her bicep.

The second, probably Wheein, is wiping down her tools, and she’s the first to notice you. “Hi!” she grins, turning the music blasting from the radio down with her ungloved hand. “Can I help you?”

“Yeah. Solar mentioned that I should come find Hwasa,” you explain, eyes widening at the complicated art being tattooed on the elderly man. “Are you...?”

“No, I’m Wheein.” Ah, so you were right. “This is Byul, she’s a bit preoccupied,” Wheein smiles, dimples poking into her cheeks. “I’ll get Hye- sorry, Hwasa for you.”

She hurries out to the back, and you can hear talking through the open door, before she comes back, the woman you presume to be Hwasa behind her.

Instantly, you’re starstruck; she’s stunning in a way that’s completely unique, long dark hair and tanned skin contrasting beautifully. The only makeup she wears is a bold red lipstick, her tank top showing the delicate tattoos she has. “Hey, I’m Hwasa,” she greets, sticking her hand out. Her nails are long, too.

“Y/N.” You accept the handshake, trying not to stare. “Uh, Solar said you were free for a consultation?”

“Yeah.” She sits at one of the free stations, clearing the things scattered on the table. “So, what’re you looking for? Do you already have a design chosen or am I freehanding?”

You fumble in your bag for a piece of paper, sliding it over to Hwasa. “Um, this is just something my friend drew up for me. I want it pretty small, on my forearm.”

The dark-haired woman shrugs, unfolding the paper. “I could do that. Is this your first tattoo?”

Nodding, you watch as Hwasa taps her long, red-painted nails on the desk. “Okay. Is this part of a sleeve or by itself?”

“Uh, how long would each one take?” To be honest, you have no idea why you said that; you didn’t consider a sleeve at all, though you considered multiple tattoos or a large one. There’s just something about the other woman that makes it impossible for you to think.

She considers the question before answering, “Depends on the size and how many small ones you want to work in for the sleeve, but I’d recommend a separate session for each small square, so maybe 8 or 10. I’ll be done with this in less than 30 minutes, though, if it’s just the one.”

To be honest, the only thing causing you to consider a sleeve is getting to see Hwasa again, and you curse your own attraction to her when you blurt, “Maybe a sleeve? I have to think about the other ones I want to work in, though.”

“Okay. I can just do the one today, and we can schedule another day for you to come in and design the whole thing,” she offers, picking the sketch up. “I’ll go make this into a stencil, then.”

“Sure.”

When she takes the sketch and walks to the back room, you slump down in the chair and pivot to look at the others. You quickly realize how long you were talking with Hwasa; Byul is already working on the coconut-haired boy, and Wheein is already done with the teenagers.

She seems to be the outgoing type, and waves at you while sanitizing her needles and packing her kit up again. “So, how did it go? Are you going to start today?”

“I am, yep. You’re already done with the kids?”

Wheein nods, placing the studs back into their cases. “Yep. They just wanted more lobe piercings, it’s really easy. I’m a tattoo artist, too, but I think the kids like me more. Except for Jungkook over here, they think Byul’s intimidating.”

“I’m not!” the other woman protests, hands still steady as she works on the boy. Her voice is deeper than you’d expect. “You literally call me a hamster.”

Flapping a hand, Wheein flashes you her dimples again. “So, what do you think of Hwasa?”

“Huh?” you blink, brain basically short-circuiting. “Uh, she’s a good artist? I saw some of her sketches, yours too; you’re all really talented.”

“No, no, that’s not what I mean. Wait, you’re not straight, are you?” she narrows her eyes at you, scanning you from head to toe. “Maybe my sense is broken, I didn’t peg you for a...”

“I’m not. Straight. I’m a lesbian.” Your cheeks burn to say it aloud, though nobody really reacts, not even Jungkook. “Are you?”

Wheein shrugs, “I mean, I’m attracted to women. All 4 of us are- Hyejin, Byul, Yongsun. Solar, to you. And we make sure everyone who comes in is accepting, we won’t serve bigots.”

For whatever reason, you’re almost relieved to hear that Hwasa’s also attracted to women in some sense, even though it doesn’t necessarily mean that she’s attracted to you. “Oh. That’s cool.”

“Yeah. So, is it just one tattoo or a sleeve?” Her knowing smile puts you off a bit; how did she figure it out? “A lot of girls who come in here change their original idea because of Hyejin-ah. You’re obviously attracted to her, to, so it’s no surprise.”

“Is it really that obvious?” you groan, surprising yourself with how open you’re being about it. “Do you think she knows?”

“Probably,” Wheein giggles, nodding when Solar pokes her head in the studio to tell her something. “Anyway. I’ve got to go, good luck!”

She waves as she leaves, the only noise left in the studio being the quiet music and Jungkook’s quiet talking. He seems just as awkward as you are, lifting his free hand in a half wave.

You’re saved by Hwasa returning with a stencil. “Here. Does that look good?”

She’s modified the original design just the tiniest bit, making the lines a little bit darker and the shading simpler, and it looks... “Perfect.” You grin, a weight on your chest lifted by your conversation with Wheein. “Should we start?”

“Sure.” She brings you over to one of the actual tattoo stations, the seat already smelling sanitized. You can barely listen as she explains what the process will be like- cleaning, the actual tattooing, pain; you finally come to when she asks, “Are you ready?”

“I... yeah. I am.”

It’s quiet until the buzzing of the tattoo gun brings you to life, the tiniest bit of fear sour on your tongue. Hwasa looks concentrated as she peels the stencil off, not exactly reassuring, either. “So. Is there a meaning behind this?”

“Uh, not really. Are there meanings behind yours?” You gasp when the needle first touches your skin, the cold wipe taking off excess ink.

“I have some matching tattoos with Wheein,” Hwasa explains, smiling at the mention of the other girl. “Uh, one is Maria, my Christian name. Wheein has more, but all of us have some kind of meaning behind ours. It’s not bad to have no meaning, though.”

You wince as she continues with the linework, slowly getting used to the pain. “Are you and Wheein...”

She looks up, raising an eyebrow. “Together? No, we’re best friends. I haven’t been with someone in a few years.”

“What’s stopping you?”

Hwasa laughs, wiping your arm once again. “Nothing, I guess. I’m just patient enough to wait for the right person.”

“Patient. Right.”

Conversation flows smoothly, mostly light topics. You learn each other’s ages, and you’re told to call Hwasa ‘Hyejin’ instead. You learn when she got her first tattoo, and when she learned to tattoo others. The more you talk, the more drawn in you are, fascinated by her every word.

The half an hour is over far too fast. “Done,” she announces, smiling as she turns off her gun. “Take a look.”

It looks gorgeous, as expected, though Hwasa plays off your barrage of compliments. “Uh, should I pay now?”

She shrugs, placing saran wrap over your arm. “We’ll go talk with Solar about that, she’s better with pricing than I am. But it probably won’t be much.”

“What? Why?” you frown, examining the tattoo. Usually, discounts only happen when something goes wrong, or you have a coupon. You’re pretty sure neither of those things apply.

Hwasa pauses, turning to send you a small smirk. “Well, the cute ones usually pay less.”

Your heart practically stops, though you force yourself to walk to the front with her. “Besides, you’re probably coming back again soon, right?”

“Oh! Uh, yeah. I think so. When will that be? The next session, I mean.”

She frowns, tapping at the tablet Solar hands her. “You can come in as soon as you’re free to design it, if you want, but you have to wait a bit for the next session, especially if you’re doing the things close together. If you want, I can give you my number.”

At your stricken expression, Hwasa’s lips curve into a knowing smile. “So you can send me ideas, for the sleeve.”

“Ah, of course.” Your cheeks burn as you take out your cash, counting out a surprisingly small amount. “That sounds good. I guess I’ll just have to be patient, then.”

“I guess so. Call me, Y/N,” she smiles, handing your phone back with a new contact in.

Being patient is going to be so damn hard.

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isolemnlyswearpevensie · 4 years

Text

Lightning in a Bottle | Edmund Pevensie x Reader

Warnings: None :)

Time/Era: Modern AU

Word Count: 2.6k

Summary: Music is Edmund’s love language, apparently.

Request: Hey! Could you possibly do a cute high school au with Edmund? Maybe they’re both crushing on each other and everyone knows except themselves, anything you wanna do really haha 😂 thanksss :)

A/N: Thanks for the request!! God, I love Edmund so much. And here, we have indie boi Ed. This oneshot is inspired by Electric Love by Børns. (Specifically, the video linked) This is one of my favorite songs, and I thought it fit the indie-main-character-high-school vibe :) I didn’t really nail the “everyone knows but them” thing, but still crushes! Enjoy ~

masterlist | here is a playlist of the songs in the mixtape mentioned | read on ao3

Edmund Pevensie was obsessed with listening to music, particularly with old musical technology. While it wasn’t uncommon to have a fascination with cassette tapes or vinyl records, it hit a special chord within Edmund’s heart. Something about listening to music, old and new, on the outdated tech made the music sound better, hit harder, and stick in his mind better. He was the type of guy who took the AUX on long car rides to play one of his thousand Spotify playlists.

Another notable thing about Edmund was that he was very intelligent with very high standards for himself. He was a natural at academics, having been in advanced classes since he was young, and he was the guy everyone hated in math class. After dozing off in class, and mouthing off to the teacher every now and again, he still came out as the teacher’s favorite and a straight-A student.

The majority of the time, though, he tended to keep to himself. While he was genuinely liked by his peers and was rather charming, he didn’t really consider anyone his friend. Unlike his older brother, Peter, he liked to remain closer to the shadows with earbuds in his ears. He knew he could never fill his brother’s shoes; Peter had basically come into Cair Paravel High School to be captain of the soccer team. He was so good that even though his grades were subpar at best, he received a full-ride scholarship to Archenland University to study sports medicine and play on their soccer team.

Then there was his older sister, Susan, who won her Student Body President campaign by a landslide. Everyone liked Susan; she was patient, gentle, and got along with pretty much everyone. She too got a pretty large scholarship to Beruna State College and is double majoring in child education and European history.

Finally, there was Edmund’s little sister, Lucy. She was only a freshman at Cair Paravel, and very into student council. Edmund thought she was practically made to be an ASB kid; she was excited, friendly, and much too kind. Lucy made the switch to high school seamlessly and had a big group of friends by the time the final bell rang on the first day.

Edmund was a senior now and he couldn’t wait to get out of high school. The people were unintelligent, he was constantly compared to his siblings and he was ready to start his life. Edmund had high ambitions to become a lawyer, specifically criminal law. He didn’t really have much to leave behind at this school, so he was just trying to get through it as soon as possible.

One thing he would miss was the quiet girl that sat behind him in his music appreciation class. Edmund didn’t really want to take the class, but at the last minute, he discovered he needed to fulfill an arts credit to graduate. He appreciated music and liked easy classes, so he chose this one. Little did he know it was mostly analyzing classical pieces.

Y/N was super cute in Edmund’s eyes. She always mumbled sarcastic comments whenever their easily excitable teacher, Mr. Tumnus, would stretch when over-analyzing a stanza of music. By the time October passed, Edmund had grown quite fond of the girl. She almost always was reading a comic book of some sort instead of paying attention in class. Y/N even ended up lending Edmund a few for his viewing pleasures; he always made sure to return them in the exact condition he received them. Batman seemed to Y/N’s favorite.

Y/N loved watching Edmund write. He held his pencil wrong and always had ink smudged all over his hand. Maybe it was because he was a leftie, or maybe it was because he wrote too fast. Probably a little bit of both. His handwriting was also weirdly slanted to the right, which didn’t make any sense to Y/N. He was left-handed but his letters slanted to the right? Not the mention how half of it was in cursive and half of it was in print. It was definitely messy but, oddly enough, still intelligible.

“What are you listening to?” Y/N asked Edmund. “Better not be Christmas music. Christmas was last month.”

Edmund pulled an earbud out of his left ear and turned so he was sitting horizontally in his chair. He leaned an arm on the top of her desk and grinned. “Currently, I’m listening to Can I Call You Tonight? By Dayglow. What are you reading?”

“Currently, I’m reading Volume 1 of The New Teen Titans,” Y/N copied Edmund. “I’ve never heard of Dayglow, are they good?”

Edmund smiled, offering her his earbuds. “Listen and see for yourself.”

As she listened Edmund searched her face for any clue to what she’s thinking. Her face housed a small smile so he concluded that she enjoyed it. Once the song ended, she took out one of his earbuds and placed it on her desk.

“I like it,” She concluded, listening to the next song.

“Good, so do I. It fits my mood for today.”

“What’s got you so happy today? You have a great way of showing happiness, by the way.” Edmund was dressed in all black with his hood up. Edmund rolled his eyes.

“What I can’t be in a good mood?”

“I never said that, Pevensie. You just look very Edmund-y today.” Y/N pulled the other earbud out of her head and held them out to him.

“No, keep listening. I’ll play some music for you throughout class and maybe you can tell me what you think at the end?” He pulled his hood off of his head and smoothed out his hair. “And what do you mean Edmund-y?”

“I don’t know, all black, hood up, dead look in your eyes.”

“I don’t have a dead look in my eyes!” Y/N giggled at her own joke. “Just for that, I’m going to take this.” He snatched the open comic book that laid open on her desk.

For the remainder of the class, Edmund dictated what Y/N listened to from his phone. He played everything from The Beatles, to The 1975, to COIN, to Duran Duran. Every now and then, Edmund would peek his head back to see her eyes glued to the back of his head. Her body swayed to the music almost lazily, and a smile graced her features. For some reason that made his stomach feel fuzzy.

She returned his earbuds at the end of class, and he returned her comic.

“That was fun,” Y/N complimented, shoving her materials into her bag. “I like the get better song you played.”

“I Wanna Get Better by Bleachers,” Edmund corrected her as they left the classroom. Music Appreciation was the class of the day for them, seeing as they were seniors who left at lunch, so the two started making their way towards the parking lot.

“You have to meet your sister right?” Y/N asks, pulling out her I.D. so she could leave campus. “The really sweet freshman girl? Honestly, you two are so different I wouldn’t have guessed you were siblings.”

“Oh, Lucy, yeah. We grab lunch every Thursday before I drop her back off for the remainder of her classes.” The two showed their I.D.’s to the campus aid and walked into the parking lot.

“That’s sweet. We should grab lunch sometime, or something. It could be fun! We could do our analysis questions about Bach.” Y/N started to walk in the opposite direction and Edmund felt his cheeks warm. Luckily, Y/N’s back was now towards him.

“Yeah, sure. Don Giovanni, right?”

Y/N’s laughter could be heard as she grew further away. “That’s Motzart, Pevensie!”

Edmund shook his head and met Lucy. She was leaning against his car looking bored.

“Who was that? Is that your girlfriend?” Lucy asks, opening the door once Edmund unlocks the car. This made his cheeks flush more.

“No, she’s just the girl that sits behind me in Tumnus,” Edmund puts the key in the ignition and starts the engine.

“Then why are you blushing?”

“I’m not, Lucy. It’s just hot in the car, it’s been sitting out here for ages.”

One day in the middle of March when Y/N walked into Music Appreciation, she noticed a small rectangle box on her desk. Upon opening it, she found a cassette and a note. The note looked as if it was typed using a typewriter.

Y/N,

I’m not very good when it comes to words, but I’m good when it comes to music. Hopefully, this says it all. Enjoy, my love.

Side A //

Electric Love / Børns

I Love You So / The Walters

Fallingforyou / The 1975

Your Song / Elton John

Someone To You / BANNERS

Side B //

Babe, Can I Call? / The Hunna

Tonight (I Wish I Was Your Boy) / The 1975

Luv, Hold Me Down / Drowners

love somebody like you / joan

TV Dream / Larkins

Y/N didn’t recognize most of the songs, but just reading the titles made her blush.

“Mr. Tumnus? Did you happen to see who left this on my desk?” She held up the cassette so he could see. He shook his head.

“No, sorry.”

Other students started to trickle in and soon the bell rang, no trace of Edmund. It wasn’t uncommon for him to skip this class, it was basically pointless, but it made Y/N sad every time he wasn’t there.

The door swings open and a drenched Edmund steps into the classroom. Without even looking up, Mr. Tumnus addresses him.

“You’re late again, Mr. Pevensie.”

“Sorry, I got stuck behind a group of Sophmore girls who wouldn’t move.”

“In the rain?” Mr. Tumnus raised an eyebrow.

“No, if it was in the rain I would be wet right now, sir.”

He plopped into his seat and started raking his hands through his wet hair. His cheeks were slightly rosey, as were his nose. His lips were pinker than usual and they stayed slightly parted. Hair stuck to his forehead as he ran his fingers ran through it and the hair on the nape of his neck dripped down his back. Y/N had to stop herself from staring at him with her jaw unhinged.

“What’s that?” He whispered, noticing the open present on Y/N’s desk. He had taken up sitting horizontal in his chair at all times so he could more easily talk to Y/N.

“It’s a mixtape. It was left on my desk when I got here,” Y/N responded and handed him the note. Edmund took it and began to read; his eyes scanned the paper and his lips moved slightly as he read. Y/N couldn’t help her this time, so she allowed herself to stare. His lips were always so pink and so puffy. She fantasized about how soft they must be.

“Wow, looks like someone really likes you,” He comments, placing the paper back on her desk. “Do you have a cassette player?”

Y/N didn’t even consider that. Who the hell has a cassette player in the year 2020? Apparently, her answer was evident on her face, and Edmund chuckles. He reaches into his bag and pulls out a walkman and a pair of earbuds.

“Here, you can have mine. I got a new one last month and I don’t really use this one as much.”

Oh, Edmund has a cassette player in the year 2020.

Y/N smiled, taking the player from his hand. “Thanks, Ed.”

“Wouldn’t want you to miss out on those songs. Whoever made that has good taste, you’re lucky.”

When Y/N got home tonight, she took out her walkman. It sat easily in her palm, just big enough for the cassette to fit inside. On the bottom, “E.P.” was scratched into the plastic. She smiled and put her mixtape inside.

As she listened, she couldn’t help but let her mind wander to Edmund. They had grown much closer in the past few months, even going lengths to hang out outside of school. Y/N learned that not only was Edmund extremely intelligent, but he was the funniest person Y/N had ever met. He always had a sarcastic comeback or joke to offer her, no matter the subject. He had also let many of his walls down, letting Y/N get to know him better. It all felt so comfortable and natural. No longer was he just the cute guy from Music Appreciation, but he was the pain in the ass that Y/N had fallen for. And Y/N had fallen hard.

Against her first impression of the mixtape, Y/N had actually heard all of these songs. After the first day in January, Edmund had lent her his earbuds near-daily and she would listen to whatever he played for her. Her eyes widened.

Why would Edmund carry around a cassette player he didn’t use? And to school for that matter? And the note; it was typed because Edmund had such distinct handwriting! Y/N rewound the cassette and listened to it again. Why didn’t she realize in the moment?

“Hello, Y/N,” Edmund greeted in the parking lot the morning, he happened to park next to Y/N. He gripped the coffee in his hand and got his backpack in the trunk. “How are you on this fine morning?”

“Tired, I stayed up, like, half the night listening to that cassette I got yesterday.” Y/N slung her own backpack over her shoulder. He closed his trunk and locked his car.

“Yeah? And what did you think?” The two started walking towards the building.

“I thought that the songs all sounded oddly familiar.”

Edmund took a long sip of his coffee. “Like you’ve heard them before?”

“Mmhm,” Y/N hummed and walked onto campus. She held one of the straps of her backpack as she walked. “Almost as if this dumbass guy I know played them for me a while back,” Y/N’s voice was teasing and light.

“Yeah? Who is this guy?” Y/N stopped walking and looked up at Edmund.

“Thanks for the mixtape, Ed.”

“Whaaaat...just because this guy has great taste in love songs doesn’t mean it was me. I’m flattered though, really,” Edmund took another long sip of his coffee.

“Oh, what a pity. I actually got excited when I figured out it was you. Considering normal people don’t just carry cassette players in their backpacks. Especially not ones they don’t use anymore.” Y/N’s voice was thick with sarcasm.

“Excited?”

“Yeah. I’ve kinda liked that Edmund guy for a while, but he doesn’t like me back so…”

“You like me back?” Edmund was grinning from ear to ear.

“Yes, babe, I like you back. I have since October since I started letting you borrow my comics,”

Edmund placed his coffee on a bench and pulled Y/N closer to him by the hips.

“October, huh?” Y/N smiled bashfully at Edmund’s tone but nodded.

“What? You’re cute, I couldn’t help myself. Plus, now you make me cute mixtapes.”

Edmund leans down and places his lips against hers. They were just as soft as she had imagined. Y/N wrapped her arms around his neck, her fingers quickly finding the hairs at the nape of his neck. He pulls away and leans his forehead against hers.

“Be my girlfriend, then?”

“You nerd,” Y/N took a small step forwards and pecked his lips again. “I would love to.”

#edmund pevensie #edmund pevensie x reader #edmund x reader #edmund pevensie fanfic #edmund pevensie fanfiction #king edmund the just #king edmund #narnia #the chronicles of narnia #the chronicles of narnia fanfic #the chronicles of narnia fanfiction #modern au #fluff #c.s. lewis #c. s. lewis #skandar keynes #narnia fanfic #narnia fanfiction

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snusbandxknifewife · 3 years

Text

Not me seeing this post:

And starting an entirely new Jurdan AU based on it lmao. Rated E for “Excessive Mentioning Of Sex Toys”

~~~

Dun dun.

Jude looks up as the front door of her father’s business, Lawn & Order, opens. The bell, added by her eldest sister in an effort to annoy their father, has been going off all day. Work is piling up on the receptionist desk and she curses to herself, knowing that more paperwork means less time outside.

A USPS delivery man walks in, hauling a hand truck nearly overflowing with boxes. Sweat drips down his face, pooling at his collar as Jude decides that maybe a little time in the AC isn’t too bad on a day as hot as this one.

“Sign here,” the obviously exhausted man says as he turns a clipboard towards her.

Funny, Madoc didn’t tell her they’d be getting a delivery today.

Still, she shrugs and absentmindedly signs the clipboard as the man unloads the hand truck with a dramatic groan. She should get up and help him, and, on any other day, she probably would. But today is for licking wounds and pouting.

The clock ticks quietly as Jude considers how she has to file papers and phone customers and clean the shop, just to go home for family dinner where her sister will undoubtedly be moaning about her cheating ass of an ex.

Not sure why she’s surprised, considering he cheated on JUDE with HER.

Taryn and Locke had been a thing officially for only three months, but they’d been sleeping together behind Jude’s back for much longer than that. The very idea makes her skin crawl and she would much rather spend her valuable time cutting someone’s lawn with nail clippers instead of playing nice with her poor heartbroken witch of a twin.

“Have a good one!” Jude clocks back into reality as the USPS man walks out the door, taking his hand truck with him and leaving her to the quiet of the AC unit and the court room tv playing in the corner.

Sighing, she gets up from her leather stool and walks around the counter to pick up the boxes. They look innocent enough, simple white USPS priority mail boxes that she expects to contain samples of seeds or maybe replacement weed whacking string trimmers. She could use some of those, the weed whacker she takes in her truck hasn’t been working as well as usual and Mrs. Mitsgunmins is kind of an asshole about precision.

She lets out a groan as she picks up the top two. The boxes are a lot heavier than she thought they’d be. Puzzled, she sets the two boxes on the counter, leaving behind the other two as she goes on a hunt for some scissors. Making it almost to her father’s office, she cusses audibly as she remembers the hunting knife she keeps in her boot.

It’s been a long fucking day.

Jude hums along to a commercial as she walks back to the counter, pulling out her knife along the way and slicing the tape of the top box. With a whistle, she opens the box and frowns at finding a bunch of little cardboard boxes stuffed inside. What the hell did Madoc order?

Her whistling stops in horror as she picks up one of the packages and spins it around, only to find bold neon print plastered along the front: XXX RECHARGEABLE NIPPLE CLAMPS

“WHAT THE FUCK?” Jude screeches at the top of her lungs as she drops the box and jumps back. Why the hell does her father need some hundred-or-so sets of rechargeable nipple clamps? Why do nipple clamps even need to be charged in the first place?

Taking a moment to steel herself, Jude moves towards the second box—staying as far away from the nipple clamps as possible—and reads the label for an explanation.

Ohhhh, these are for next door. The delivery man must’ve mixed up the addresses.

Letting out a sigh of relief, she pushes the nipple clamps back into their box and closes the lid, checking the other labels and seeing that all four boxes are meant for next door and thanking her lucky stars that Madoc didn’t suddenly decide to get his kink on.

Looking out across the driveway to the innocuous white building beside Lawn & Order, she rolls her eyes. The Sinful Serpent—complete with its shimmering golden apple sign—has been the bane of her father’s existence since it opened a year ago. Every day she has to hear about how he hates sharing space with some gross sex shop. While adult stores aren’t really Jude’s thing, she hasn’t cared too much because she hasn’t had to interact with the store or owner.

Until, she supposes, today.

She stacks the boxes back up and picks them all up with a grunt, thankful for the workout routine that her work provides as she curses the delivery man for taking his hand truck with him.

Only one car is in the parking lot of the sex shop and she celebrates the fact that nobody will see her going into the store. The last thing she needs is people recognizing her workplace on her shirt and bothering her or her dad. It’s already bad enough listening to old men ogle her when she goes to do landscaping work.

The front door is hooked up to an electronic bell that sounds like the twinkle of magic. As she pushes her way into the Sinful Serpent, she lets out a sound of surprise. Whatever she expected a sex shop to look like, this certainly isn’t it.

The entire store is decorated to look like a forest at twilight, with displays cut into bookshelves that look like giant trees and murals depicting faeries dancing through delicate nature landscapes wrapping around the walls. The lighting is low, except for where spotlights illuminate the wares. Over along one wall, by where the lingerie and exotic dancing costumes are, is a stage with a pole, the whole area bathed in blue light and covered in decor like coral. Between the entrance and exit door, the area for the registers resembles a castle.

“Give me a moment,” a voice calls out from within the castle. “I’ve got to check your ID.”

Jude panics, the very suggestion that she might be a customer in a store like this sending her brain into red alert. “I’m not here to shop!”

“The hell you here for then? Last I checked we didn’t have a gloryhole.”

She all but screams, short circuiting at being faced with a worse option than shopping at a store like this. As she tries to think of what to say, a young man pops up from behind the counter and surveys her, his kohl-lined eyes narrowed as he tries to figure out what her deal is.

He’s dressed in all black, his button up shirt undone halfway down his chest, exposing edges of tattoos that she doesn’t study enough to identify. His bottom lip and septum are pierced, as are his ears—which appear to have been elfed, because they end in sharp points. When he crosses his arms in front of his chest, his fingers are covered in glittering rings.

And he’s grinning at her.

“I uh, um,” she shakes her head, and then remembers the heavy boxes she’s hauled all the way over. “I work next door and, uh, the mailman,” she trails off again, her cheeks flaming as she lowers her voice and mutters, “I think he mixed up our addresses.”

His smile widens and his eyes look dangerous as he tilts his head. “And why would you think that?”

She glares at him and he chuckles lowly.

“We didn’t order these.”

“Can you be sure?” He asks, raising one painted nail to tap thoughtfully against his chin. “A landscaping company and adult entertainment store must have some overlap. Ropes and chains come to mind.”

“We don’t need rechargeable nipple clamps!”

“Everybody needs rechargeable nipple clamps,” he counters, his smirk replaced by reverent intensity.

She lets out a frustrated noise and slams the boxes on the counter, her back cracking in protest. “I don’t!”

“Woah! Stow the seriosity, Sunshine,” he lifts his hands in mock surrender. “I’m just playing with you.”

Grinding her teeth and digging her nails into her palms, she does her very best to keep from choking him out as he leans across the counter, his falling shirt collar exposing a necklace with a snake pendant hanging at his sternum.

She goes to spin on her heel and leave, but stops when a door—hidden behind a painting of a faun and nymph doing unspeakable things—opens, revealing a pretty young woman with blue hair pulled up into a messy bun.

“Cardan I can’t find the damn nipple clamps. I thought they were supposed to be delivered today?”

“Don’t worry, Nic,” the young man calls back with a smile. “Sunshine here brought them over.”

Jude, bristling at the title, misses how the woman momentarily blanches when she lays eyes on her. Quickly recovering and putting on a stony face, she walks over to the castle counter and inspects the opened box.

“You look familiar,” she observes and Jude zeroes in on her carefully cool tone. “Don’t you work at that coffee shop downtown? Bean There, Done That?”

“You’re thinking of my twin, Taryn.” Jude bites her tongue, doing her beat to avoid sounding annoyed at being confused with that backstabbing little—

“Sunshine here is our neighbor, Nicasia,” Cardan cheerfully announces. “She got our order and was kind enough to haul it over.”

“My name is Jude,” she grumbles.

He ignores her, leaning in conspiratorially and stage whispering in Nicasia’s ear. “She has insisted that she doesn’t need rechargeable nipple clamps, so surely they must belong to us.”

“Everyone needs rechargeable nipple clamps,” Nicasia whispers back.

“That’s what I said!”

Jude, rooted in place from the pure horror of listening to this conversation, watches as Cardan picks up a pair of scissors and opens a second box; pulling out a pair of fuzzy pink handcuffs and grinning when he notices her watching him. Nicasia raises a perfectly groomed brow at the situation before grabbing the box of nipple clamps and heading to restock the shelves.

Once again, he leans forward, fingers spinning the handcuffs around as he smirks at her. “Now that the packages are handled, what can I do you for?”

Jude frowns, sure that he misspoke. It’s then that her phone goes off and she celebrates any excuse to get the fuck out.

Emergency situation at Dr. Wullworth’s. Need you to take over cutting at the Collethes. -Madoc

“I’m good, I’ve got a lawn to trim,” she says, turning off her phone and tucking it back into her pocket.

“Awe, Sunshine, you ain’t gotta clean up for me.”

She tilts her head in confusion before shrugging and turning to leave.

“Gotta go out the other door, Sunshine,” he sighs, almost like he’s disappointed. Weird.

Jude still tries the door, but it won’t open from this side, so she grabs ahold of her pride and walks around the castle counter, moving as quickly as she can and keeping her head down to avoid getting any further education.

“Bye,” she waves her hand awkwardly as she hits the exit door.

“Bye, Sunshine.”

~~~~~

Mostly setup for the AU. Yes all the last names are keysmashes. Yes I did go on early 2 bed’s website and choose random buttons until I found a sex toy that seemed a little odd. (The nipple clamps are rechargeable because they vibrate.) Big thanks to the discord server for helping me with ideas!

Tag list: @cardan-greenbriar-tcp @hizqueen4life @slightlyrebelliouswriter23 @thewickedkings @aelin-queen-of-terrasen @cheekycheekycheeks @queen-of-glass @b00kworm @doingmyrainbow @andromeddea @jurdanhell @thesirenwashere @illyrianwitchling @courtofjurdan @clockworkgraystairs @st00pid231 @booksandlewks @fateandluminary

Let me know if you want to be tagged!

#jurdan #Jude Duarte #cardan greenbriar #tfota #tfota fanfic #sex shop/landscaping au #tyrannosaurus lex writes #literally just crack

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lennydaisy · 4 years

Text

EPIPHANY // OUTER BANKS

The Outer Banks. Paradise on earth. Well, it is if you can afford it.

Figure 8, home of the portentous and intitled. So detached from reality that you'd have to use their private jets to bring them back down to the ground. If they're not lounging around on their secluded beaches in front of their White House sized mansions, then they're at the country club complaining that their ice-cold lemonade isn't ice-cold enough. We call them Kooks. Guess where I don't live?

Next up, The Cut, neutral habitat of, drum roll please ladies and gentleman... The Pogues. Lowest members of the food chain. You see, it's one island divided in two. You either have two houses or two jobs. I have two jobs and will still never be able to afford one house, let alone two, but that's life I guess. The Pogues are like those kids your parents tell you to stay away from when you visit the park. Well, now the park has stretched to all aspects of life warranting us to be unwanted and neglected which isn't such a bad thing, that just means we get to do whatever we want, whenever we want.

Right now, however, this is the last place I want to be. Save-A-Lot. One of my two jobs. See how this all ties in?

The continuous, subtly, beeping of the scanner, the bright overhead lights that the same moth has been flying into for a week now, that one cart that you can hear before you see, and this frustratingly itchy, red polo shirt that I'm wearing because it's 'oh-so mandatory'.

It's been reported that a storm is going to hit us in a couple of days, so naturally, the stores been busier than usual, with both Kooks and Pogues. It's like sacred land, all differences get put aside in this very store unless there's a two for one deal at the seafood counter. In that case, no one's safe, not even me, the poor, little employee. I've been slapped with a Tuna Fish before. I don't want to talk about it.

"Can I interest you in some... What are they again? Sea salted chocolate with a crushed Macadamia nut shell and a rich creamy filling, homemade by Mrs Adams?" I squint at the packaging before smiling at the man before me who peered at me, head tilted slightly. Nodding instantly, already knowing the answer, "I don't blame you, I wouldn't trust anything made by that lady."

Smashing my fingers on the scratch invested, touch screen register, slapping the side of the machine until it eventually rings up the total, "That'll be $148.98 however, you get the extended family discount, so that makes it..." twirling my finger around the air, attempting the mental math, "10% off $148," I utter, closing my eyes as if that's going to help me find the answer quicker. 'I knew I should have joined the math team with Pope.'

"$134," the man affirms looking at me sympathetically, halting my search for my calculator that is normally taped to the till. I take the mans money, squinting at him, "Okay, I'll take your word for it man but if I get fired, I want a job at The Wreck," handing him his receipt.

"We'll see," he said putting his packed bags back into his cart, "I'll get through to you one day. You can't deny I'm your favourite" I state in a matter of fact, waving him off as he pushes his cart away from the checkout, "Bye Mason."

"I don't hear you denying it," I shout, watching him hurridly pushing his cart towards the door, "Okay bye Mr Carrera, tell Kie I said hi!"

Twirling around in my chair a couple of times, I came to a stop at the sight of a pink calculator, my pink calculator, taped to Mrs Adams till. That Bitch. I sit patiently for her to be done with her customers, waving at the elderly couple as they pass, "See you later Mr and Mrs Graham, have a nice day," I smile.

"Oh you too Mason, you should stop by again, you and your friends were such a delight the last time," Mrs Graham praises tapping her ringed fingers on my counter. Nodding at her request as her husband began to drag her away from me, claiming he 'Wants to be home today not tomorrow,' knowing his wife to be quite the blether.

"What a pleasant young lady. Wouldn't you agree, Marty?"

"Oh yes, very well mannered."

"Listen here, sticky fingers, I know you stole my calculator" My smile instantly dropping as I look upon the thief that I have the pleasure of calling my co-worker.

Mrs Adams is your typical grandma. Tonged hair, thick-rimmed glasses and filled with opinions that are always unwarranted. She has had it out for as long as I can remember, once locking me in the walk-in freezer claiming to not know I was in there despite being in there with me moments before. At least I only have to deal with her a few days a week, I couldn't handle any more than that.

"What calculator?" she questions innocently. Pointing my finger accusingly at her till where low and behold, sits my calculator, "Oh really, what's that then?"

Sparing a glance at my calculator, she shakes her head, nose pointed up, "That's an anniversary gift from my husband. I, by no means, stole your calculator."

I can't believe I'm having this conversation.

Laughing at her alibi, "Are you aware of how much bullsh-", the clearing of a throat interrupts my tangent and I suddenly became aware of where I am again. Mrs Adams raises her eyebrows at me, is she mocking me? Glaring at her one last time as to say 'this conversation isn't over', I timidly spun my chair back around, plastering a smile on my face, getting ready to greet my next customer.

Oh no.

"Hi, Mr Cameron," I greet the man, scratching behind my ear hoping he didn't overhear me. Beginning to scan his items, another figure catches my eye.

Rafe.

Here, ladies and gentlemen, I present the biggest dickhead on the entire island. He thinks everybody owes him something just because his daddy is well known throughout the OBX and has no problem expressing his distaste for anyone who doesn't fit his agenda. He's a cocky, arrogant snob who needs to be knocked off his podium a few inches, or feet.

"Hello, Mason, and how many times have I told you to call me Ward?"

"Clearly not enough for me to listen," I mutter under my breath, passing the already packed bags towards a very accepting Rafe, who snatched them with a scrawl printed on his face, "Your face will stay like that if the winds change" I advise innocently, waving my fingers around my forehead area, "Don't want to get any wrinkles, but if you need some anti-ageing cream, I'm sure Mrs Adams can recommend a few of her favourites,"

"Maybe even get you a coupon," I suggest finishing to scan the last of their items, "Isn't that right, Mrs Adams," I called to the lady over my shoulder how instantly peeped up at the chance to chat with the boy.

"Oh, yes. Come here deary, I'll show you my collection,"

It's no secret throughout the OBX that Mrs Adams is a bit of a renowned cougar, having no problem expressing herself towards any sort of male attention. Mrs Adam doesn't discriminate, so even assholes like Rafe can't escape the clutches of her fondness, but she's harmless... most of the time.

Ward nudges his son in the direction of the lady, who is eagerly waiting for the boy with her creams placed in an orderly fashion before her. Rafe's eyes practically begging for his dad to have some mercy on him only to earn a point in her direction.

"I hate you," he huffs at me, feet dragging towards the ladies till.

Fluttering my eyes with a cheesy smile, "I know," I say before turning to finish Mr Cameron's groceries.

"That's $236 please," I state ringing up his total as he slides his card into the swipe machine, "It'll take a minute, a caveman has better technology than this place." He shakes his head at me, waving his hand slightly, understanding.

"Sea salted chocolate, uh?" he wonders picking up the bar, as I mentally slap myself for forgetting to ask if he was interested, "Would you like to buy one?" I questioned despite already knowing his answer. It's the same one that I've heard all day.

Placing the packet back in its place he shakes his head, "No thank you, I wouldn't trust anything made by that lady."

"That's what I'm saying," ripping off his receipt before handing it to him, "Thank you, Mason," he laughs before turning towards his son, who is still listening to Mrs Adams ramble on about why she prefers Olay over Caudlíne.

About to bid farewell to the man, he turns and asks, "I hate to be a bother and I know it's short notice, but would you mind babysitting Wheezie for me on Saturday morning, I know you don't normally work weekends, it's just this storm's going to cause a run-in with my properties and-"

"Of course I will, Mr Cameron," I interrupted his ramble. He looks at me relieved, nodding his head, "See you later, Mason."

"Bye Ward," gross, I'm sticking with Mr Cameron.

Watching as the pair walk past my till I can't help but laugh as I see Rafe slouching away with a tub of Olay Anti-ageing cream. Turning around at the sound, he flips me off, "I'll get you back for this," earning a shoving on the shoulder from his dad, but I can't help but wave cheerily, "Oh, I'm sure you will."

Mr Ward Cameron, my other boss. A few years ago I put up flyers with a tear-off of my phone number offering a babysitting service. Safe to say, I got my fair share of prank calls and when I got a call from someone claiming to be Mr Cameron I assumed it was someone messing with me again, but it turns out it wasn't. He genuinely needed someone to watch his youngest daughter Wheezie and I needed cash, and he does pay generously, especially now considering recent circumstances.

Glancing at the clock that is nailed above the exit I see that it's 2:00 P.M, the best time of my day, getting out of here. Grabbing the key from my pocket, I lock up the till before heading toward the poor excuse of a staff room.

Glancing around the room blue painted room, making sure no one is still on their lunch, I quickly grab my bag and dash over to the fridge. I never, and mean never, condone stealing, that's why I don't call it that. I prefer 'borrowing and then 'forgetting' to give it back'. Sure, I never asked if I could 'borrow' the alcohol that I am currently stuffing in my bag but, that's neither here nor there.

I throw my bag, which I can already tell is going to cause my back hell, over my shoulder. I grab Kie longboard, which I did ask for permission to use, and begin to make my way past the checkouts.

Before leaving, I pivot around, "Hey, Mrs Adams," I called out just to see that she was already glaring in my direction, a bit creepy if you ask me, "Don't worry, you've only got like what, another 6 hours?" acting like I didn't know as I pointed at the clock.

"Oh, and before I forget," I rush over to her counter and rip my calculator off her till. Smiling sweetly at the older lady, saluting her as I leave, "See you next week, Mrs Adams," I laugh, running out the door, jumping onto the longboard.

Let the fun begin.

Now there is something about my friends that you should know. As cheesy as its sounds, we're a group of misfits who happen to fit perfectly together, well almost perfectly, but no matter what we've got each other backs.

Now, where do we start?

JJ Maybank. We've been best friends since the third grade after he got into a fight with some kids who were making fun of me for having a 'boys name', and I haven't been able to get rid of him since. He's the guy who jokingly pushed me off the HMS Pogue only to quickly find out that I couldn't swim. I insisted that it was fine but JJ doesn't take no for an answer and took it upon himself to personally teach me.

He's the most loyal guy I know, willing to drop anything to help his friends. I most definitely developed my kleptomaniac tendencies from him and despite how much I deny it, I have a soft spot for him.

Next, Kiara Carrera or Kie, my best and only girl friend. I met Kie during her first year at the Kook Academy, I had seen her around before, passing out leaflets about how 'we're killing our planet' and that 'the turtles deserve better'.

I was about to go fishing with my dad when I saw someone sitting at the dock, feet dangling in the water. Long story short: she was supposed to meet up with some of her 'friends' but they had sailed away leaving her behind. So, I asked if she would like to come fishing with us, half expecting her to say no, being partly a Kook and all, but she said yes. And now she's one of us, the Pogues. Not sure how her parents feel about that, but there is no denying I'm their favourite. Right?

There's Pope Heyward. I met Pope in the first grade. We were sitting beside each other at assembly and he dared to tell me that my singing voice sounded like cats dying, not that he was any better mind you. I had seen him around the cut a few times, helping his dad with deliveries and after seeing him struggle to carry four bags of groceries, I offered him some help. Of course, being a stubborn 6-year old boy, he delined saying 'I don't need your help, I'm super strong'. Safe to say, two seconds later I was carrying two bags and helped Pope and Mr Heyward with the rest of the deliveries that day.

I got an earful from my dad when I got home, but I didn't care, I'd made a friend that wasn't my brother. They didn't believe me when I said I had a friend called Pope, just brushing it off as one of my imaginary friends. Let's just say they got a fright when my 'imaginary friend, Pope' showed up at the Château.

Speaking of, up next, John Booker Routledge, John B. My twin, fraternal twin. Is 12 minutes older than me and will never let me forget it. My favourite memory with John B was when he fought to the death with our triplet in the womb. Okay, maybe that didn't happen, but you weren't there so, where's your evidence that it didn't?

He's my other half, not my better half because we all know I'm the better twin, and I couldn't live with him and his optimism. He can be irrational at times, but he always has plan A-Z mapped out in his head. I'm currently trying to convince him that we psychic powers, and by currently I'm mean from the day we were born. It's a weird sensation like there's a pit in the bottom of my stomach, and once I get that feeling I know that something's not right. And with a brother like John B, I get that feeling at least 3 times a day.

Might as well introduce myself whilst I'm at it. I'm Mason, Mason Routledge. The better twin. Yes, I too, have a middle name but I will never tell it to anyone because of how utterly embarrassing it is. I have managed to swear John B to secrecy, but I know it's just a matter of time before he blurts it out.

Now I know what you're probably thinking, 'Mason? That's a boys name.' Well yes, you'd be right but really what is a boys or girls name? The reason why I'm called Mason is simple, mom and dad were expecting twins. Twin boys. They had the names planned out as soon as they heard the news. One would be named John B after our dad, Big John, and the other would be named Mason, after our mom's dad. Makes sense, right?. Well, it was until I popped out, y' know not being a boy. But I love my name and I wouldn't change it for the world. My unspoken middle name, however, yes, I would rather that just not be associated with me.

I like to believe that I can hold my own, maybe it's because I grow up in a predominantly male household or the fact that I'm a Pogue, but I don't take peoples shit. My friends and I seem to always have the world against us, but without a doubt, I'd ride or die for them. They're my family.

Seeing the all too familiar hippie van parked at the side off the road brings me out of my autopilot state. Jumping off the longboard, I hurriedly shoved it into the back of the van. Fun fact about John B's van, he never locks it. There would be the fear about someone stealing it, but honestly, it's trashed and smells like weed, no thanks to JJ.

Quickly scaling the fence and as quietly as possible I tip-toed into the under-construction house and up the cement stairs, dodging the dangling wires and leftover pots of plaster.

'I can't believe they got rid of the turtles for this'

I'd know that voice anywhere. Peering around the corner, I spot Kie, hunched over a table reading what I'm assuming is maps for the house. Coming up with an idea, I slowly start to creep towards her, raising my hands just to clasp them down on her shoulders, "And what do you think you're doing?" I say in the deepest voice I can muster.

Jumping out her skin with a squeal, she spins around, hand over her heart, breathing heavily, "Macy, what the fuck? Don't do that," she exclaims, slapping my arm after she realises it was only me.

Unable to stop myself from laughing at her shock, "God, Kie, didn't know you had such a girly scream," I wheeze, arms wrapped around my stomach in an attempt to stop the ache.

Nodding her head pettily, "Yeah okay, you got me," clicking her tongue, but against her best efforts, a small smile dances across her face.

Taking a few deep breaths to calm my giggles, "Once you're done with sad girl hours, come out back, I've got beer," making my way towards the open glass doors.

"Caring about the turtles doesn't make me a sad girl," she exclaims as I nod my head understandingly, "You keep telling yourself that," I wave stepping outside, breathing in the fresh ocean breeze.

From under the scaffolding, I see a pair of dangling legs, "Afternoon, boys," I announce, jumping up in an attempt to smack the dangling feet that I now know belong to JJ

"Did you get the goods?" asks John B causing me to hold my hand on my heart, mocking insult, "Do you have no faith in me Johnny boy," tosing him a beer, "Of course, I got the goods."

Holding one out for Pope, even though I knew he would decline, proving my point as he shook his head, "And where did you get said goods?" he asked, raising an eyebrow at me.

Grabbing two beers, I begin to climb up the scaffolding, plopping down next to JJ, handing him a beer which he greatly excepts, "Are you question my morals?" I ask, taking a big gulp of my beer instantly wincing at the lukewarm taste.

"No, no," I hear him say, turning around, occupying himself with the builder's tools.

It a pretty view from up here. The calm crashing of the waves. The way the cold ocean and the warm sky meet for a perfect kiss on the horizon. Imagine living here. Having no worries. Being full Kook.

Glancing at the boy beside me, I see that he was already looking at me. Lifting my eyebrows in question, "You look cute," he cheekily says, picking at the loose thread on my sleeve.

"Very funny JJ," I saying, looking back out at the water, "No, I'm serious. I love a woman in uniform," nudging his shoulder into mine and I nudge him right back, "Hey," he laughs, dramatically falling to his side, "Watch the sweet nectar," holding his can of beer dearly to his chest.

Shaking my head, I turn to see John B scaling the house, jumping up to the peak of the roof, "Hey, please be careful, Johnny B, we don't earn enough to cover a medical bill," I warn sitting my beer beside me, using my hands to block the blinding sun, staring questionably at the boy.

"Oh, but you'd catch me though, right?" he says, now taunting the idea of falling, balancing on one foot with outstretched arms, "And break your fall? Nope," I popped, reach over to grab my can only to grasp the air. Looking at where I know I placed it, my confusion vanishes when I hear the sounds of slurping beside me.

Blinking at the boy, who just peers back at me after tanning my can, crushing it, and letting out a pleasant burp which he so graciously blows in my direction, "Gross, JJ," attempting to swat away the smell. The boy just shrugs, "What were you not done with that?" faux concern covering his face but his eyes glistening with knowing mischief.

"Should I do it?"

"Yeah, jump. I'll shoot you on the way down," says Pope, aim a drill in my brother's direction, "You'll shoot me?" John B taunts, holding up a finger gun, "Pow," he laughs as Pope fall back onto the table pretending to be shot.

"They're going to have Japanese toilets with towel warmers," complains Kie, slugging her way onto the balcony, voicing her distaste for the future Kook's beach house.

"Didn't I tell you to come out when you were done being sad?", I direct, leaning my chin against the cold pole, feeling on top of the world as the fresh breeze blows through my hair.

That swiftly changes when Kie dashes towards my feet, tugging the laces on my converses loose as I hastily attempt to lift my feet away from her snapping fingers, "Go away!" I exclaim hugging my legs to my chest, tusking at her antics "God, you're annoying."

My comment doesn't affect her as she blows me a kiss which I can't help but catch, holding it to my heart sending a wink in her direction, "This used to be a turtle habitat, but who cares about the turtle I guess?"

"Well, I did, but since you've-" I start, but the feeling of my shoe gets tighter distracts me, "...What are you doing?" I question as JJ finishes up my shoes, "You should double knot your laces," he comments, tapping his fingers in a random beat on the toe of my shoes.

Lightly, I begin to flick his hand away only for him to grab my wrist, fiddling with the silver ladybug charm on my bracelet, "Can I have this?" He has asked me this multiple times in the past and the answer has always been the same, "No."

"Can you please not kill yourself?" Kie squints up at my brother, "And don't spill that beer, you're not getting another one," JJ adds just as a sudden gust of wind brushed past causing John B to lose his balance and drop his beer.

Jinx.

"Oh, shit. No!" cries John B, making grabby hands at his fallen beer.

"Of course you did, like right when I told you."

"Smooth."

"Well done, dumbass!"

"Hey!"

The sound of a car pull up to the driveway halts our attack on John B, yelling being heard, "Hey, uh, securities here. Let's wrap it up," confirms Pope, making JJ and I raise to our feet as John B slides off the roof, "Boys are here early today."

Rushing over to grab my bag once my feet are back on the balcony, I lean over the railing squinting, "Gary? Is that you?" I asked, "You know it's me, Mason."

Turning around to look at friends, "It's Gary guys," I smile, "Gary, good to see you, man!" JJ adds and quickly pulls the back of my bag when he sees Gary climb up the stairs, "JJ!"

"You two, are asking for it," Kie laughs as we all rush back through the house, all of us laughing and cheering, running down the stairs, "Go, go!" I giggled as I Gary's attempts to grab me but I duck under his swinging arms, running out to the garden.

"Not much of a hugger man," JJs joke echoing off the empty wall of the house.

Running up beside Pope, I urge him up over the fence, "Come on, Pope, go, go, go," landing on the other side, watching as he lands flat on his face, "Graceful as always Pope," I giggle pulling him back on his feet.

"Come on Pope, Fatso's coming" JJ encourages, suddenly landing beside us just barely missing the hot-headed security who is dangling over the fence, "Come here, you little pricks!"

"Bus is leaving," John B pulls up the van honking the horn, Kie opening the door for us, laughing as we shove each other in. John B wastes no time hitting the gas, driving away from the angry security.

"Check out Gary, gunnin' for a raise," Pope laughs as we watch a hopeless Gary chase after the van.

Having an idea, JJ unzips my bag and leans out of the open door, "Come on Gary," he taunts, waving the beer can in front of the man like you would a dog with a treat.

"You're going to give him a heart attack," Kie sympathises but still finds his actions amusing, "You're so close! You can do it. There you go," he tosses the can at the poor man who attempts to dodge it.

"God, they don't pay you enough, man" I laugh peering out the door, taking in the sight of Gray who is wheezing with his hands planted on his knees.

Seeing enough torture for one day, Kie tugs us back in, "That's enough," she says finally feeling sorry for the poor man, sliding the door close.

"Oh, come on. That sort of initiative is just begging to be punished," reasons JJ, plopping down in the back of the van, now finding interest fiddling with the blunt he pulled from his back pocket.

I lean my head on Kie's shoulder and sigh, "I love Gary," I confess, earning a flick on the head from Pope and a nudge on the leg from JJ

We're the Pogues, and our mission this summer is to have a good time, all the time.

Prologue: FIN!

What did you think?

I’m really excited to explore Mason’s character and her adventures with the Pogues. I have so much planned for her.

I hope you enjoyed this introduction <3

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halfwaythereroyalwrites · 4 years

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Balikbayan Box (Pietro Maximoff x Filipinx!Reader Kilig One-Shot)

Pairing: Pietro Maximoff x Filipinx!Reader

Warnings: Cursing. Cheeky flirting. Gets “suggestive” toward the end. Mostly a heartwarming story

Word count: 1,691 words

A/N: I love that writing a Filipina!Reader story allowed me to find more Filipinxs on this platform! Please check out my other stories on my masterlist, and let me know what you think!

Requested by: @princeabomination

Kilig is a Tagalog word to describe the feeling of excitement and exhilaration and possibly embarrassment from anything remotely romantic.

Masterlist

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Pietro wasn’t sure what he was expecting when he came home, but he surely didn’t expect for the aggressive squeaky sound of packing tape to greet him instead of your usual chirpy, “Hey babe!” He furrowed his brows at your current task. You were unfolding and taping up two large boxes half your body size. The empty boxes had the name of a Philippine shipping company printed on the side in sizeable bold letters, followed by an addressing line. Scattered all around the living room were numerous, humongous piles of canned goods, coffee creamers, gently used clothes, candy, toiletries, shoes, school supplies, and what Pietro was pretty sure was his partner’s sanity. Your hair was in disarray, your finger subconsciously on your lips — nibbling at your nails — and your face was contorted in worry when scanning the various labeled piles.

Pietro’s voice broke your train of thought. “Darling, are you ok? What is all this?” You shook your head in response.

“I’m sending some stuff home to my family, but I don’t know how this is all going to fit! I knew I should have bought that third box. I’m pretty sure I forgot Tita Maria’s favorite lotion. I don’t think I have enough chocolates for all my pamangkin. Oh shit!” You were glancing around the piles when a logo caught your frenzied attention. You grabbed a polo shirt from a neat, folded pile of clothes. “I think I got the wrong brand of shirts for Tito Eddie! He likes Calvin Klein! Not Ralph Lauren! Fuck. Shit. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I said I would ship this out by tomorrow, but I got everything wrong, and I…”

“Darling,” Pietro sped over in a blur and gently held your face in between his hands, directing your fraught gaze onto his face. “Breathe.” You tried to take a deep breath, but the breath stuck in your throat, not being able to move past the panicked constriction of your chest. Pietro quickly noticed your struggle, took your hand, and placed it in the middle of his chest. He flattened your palm over his heart and kept your hand pressed there with his own. “Breathe with me, my love. In.” You slowly inhaled in sync with the rise of his chest. “Out.” You let out your breath through pursed lips, following the fall of his chest. “Again.” You both repeated this action until your body visibly relaxed. You stepped closer to Pietro, leaning your forehead against his chest.

“Pietro, I’m so stupid. How am I gonna get this done on time?” you whispered against his chest.

“I could always help you, my love,” he took your face in between his hands and focused your eyes on his. “ Just tell me what you need, and I’ll get it done faster than you can blink. I can even run it over to your family.” His heavy, comforting accent enveloped your worries and made you momentarily forget your near-breakdown earlier. The scent of his cologne coupled with the feel of his calloused fingers running up and down your arm anchored you down to reality. You sighed, shook your head, and muttered.

“I want to do this myself. These are my first balikbayan boxes that I am sending home to my family, and I want it to be special.”

“What are these for anyway?” Pietro repeated his earlier question. You broke out of his embrace and started surveying the piles you have neatly laid out all around the living room.

“When a family member lives overseas, they always send presents, or pasalubong, to their family back home,” you explained. You picked up a couple of canned goods and started arranging them into the bottom of one box. “A balikbayan box shows your family how much you love them. There’s always something for everyone in here, and they take months to ship.” You picked up a pile of children’s clothes and started folding them into the box. You paused, holding up a brightly colored shirt with a popular cartoon character drawn on it. “Opening up balikbayan boxes was a huge family event for me. Everyone gathers in the living room, and they would unpack the box little by little, handing out each person’s individual gift. The boxes always had my favorite chocolates and clothes that no other kids in our barangay could find at the malls. Wearing the clothes and eating the treats that came from abroad was almost like…a message to others…that there is someone outside of the country who loves you so much that they remembered to send you presents.”

Tears were welling up in your eyes as you reminisced. You could picture those mornings vividly. Your mother would wake you up in excitement, saying how the balikbayan box had finally arrived. You would run into the living room to find your father or one of your uncles tearing the layered. brown packing tape open with a knife. Your address would be neatly written on one side while the sender’s address would be written on the other. You imagined the foreign country this box hailed from to be overflowing with the presents it contained. As soon as the box was torn open, you would peer inside and look for your name to be written on one of the tightly packed items. You wanted to dig into the chocolates immediately, but your parents would make you try on the shoes and clothes addressed to you before eating your treats.

“My love, are you ok?” Pietro had encircled his arms around you from behind, pressing his body against yours. You wiped the tear running down your cheek away and nodded your head. You allowed your body to melt into Pietro’s. The warmth of his body alleviating the tightness you unconsciously held in between your shoulders. Pietro began peppering the side of your face with small kisses, pointedly kissing the trail your tear left behind. He gripped your hips and spun you around to face him. He laid his forehead against yours, noses touching. His hands rested on the sides of your face, thumbs caressing your cheeks. His lips ghosted over yours as he whispered, “You let me know if you need anything, my love. Say the word, and I’ll do it for you.” He pressed a sweet kiss to your lips. When he pulled away, he kept his forehead against yours.

“What did I do to deserve you, Pietro?” you wondered aloud. Pietro took both of your hands to his lips and placed a kiss on each one before holding your hands against his chest.

“You have my heart, darling.” He placed a kiss on your forehead before leaning into your ear. His voice are deeper as he whispered the next words. “You know what else you have?”

“No, what?” you answered, confused. He softly took a hold of your wrist and led it down toward the direction of his crotch. Before your hand even touched his groin, you snatched your hand out of his wrist and smacked his chest.

“You idiot!” you laughed in disbelief.

“There’s that beautiful smile! I was only joking, my love” Pietro chuckled at your incredulous reaction. “…unless?” he cocked an eyebrow suggestively.

“No! Get out of here! I need to finish this.” you waved him away but not before Pietro sneaked one last kiss on your lips and a cheeky slap on your ass. He walked over to the bedroom, and you got to work on packing up the boxes. The only indication time was passing was the changing colors against the walls, courtesy of the light shining through the windows. When you first began, the light filtering through the windows and hitting your walls had been a bright white, nearly blinding in its luminance. As the day went on, the light became less blinding and more vibrant — shifting back and forth from hues of golden yellow and orange for a few hours before turning into the softer white of moonlight coupled with the orange tint of the streetlight flickering outside. The sound of crickets could be heard from the window by the time you finished packing. You dragged the boxes over to one corner of the living room before plopping down onto the couch, celebrating your victory.

You had your eyes closed when you heard the bedroom door creak open to reveal a shirtless Pietro in gray sweatpants. His chiseled figure made its way onto the couch and sat next to you. He turned his head to glance at you and asked “So is everything done?”

“Yup.” you popped your p at the end, continuing to keep your eyes closed, oblivious to the Adonis of a man seated next to you.

“Good. You need rest, darling. Come to bed.” Pietro squeezed your thigh, the movement prompting you to open your eyes and gaze sideways at his shirtless body casually laid back against the couch.

“Thank you for everything today, babe. I really appreciate you knowing how much this meant to me.”

“Of course, my love.” his husky voice had dropped down an octave, making his accent thicker and his voice deeper. He held your cheek in one hand, staring into your eyes as his thumb drew back and forth against your cheek. He rose from the couch to stand in front of your seated figure, holding out a hand for you to take. “Let’s go to bed.”

You scooted your body forward and peered up at him through your eyelashes. Your hands traveled up and down his thighs, slowly and suggestively. “I wanted to thank you…properly.”

“…but you already did.”

You sighed at his obliviousness. Without saying a word and keeping your gaze locked on his confused eyes, you got down on your knees in front of him while slowly undoing the knotted drawstrings on his sweatpants. You lightly traced the V that led down to his groin and placed a hot, open-mouthed kiss on his lower stomach. You grabbed his hand and placed it in your hair and proceeded to pull down his sweatpants and underwear. Pietro’s eyes, meanwhile, went from confused to wide-eyed realization.

“oh…OH!”

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A/N: Feel free to message me if you have any comments, request, or would like to be added to my taglist!

taglist: @multifandomlife22 @thottiewinemom @princeabomination

If you want more Filipina!Reader fics: @self-proclaimed-chaotic-good and @propertyofpoeandbucky have some great ones and inspired me to write these. Thank you so much y’all! I didn’t even realize I never saw myself in fics until I read yours, and it meant so much to me

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elston57 · 3 years

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Pokemon Birthday Party Games

So you have little colleagues who love Pokemon and their birthday is fast moving nearer? Never fear, help is here. Both of my little youngsters love Pokemon, they are ages 6 and 9. What is Pokemon you say? Pokemon means "Pocket Monster" in Japanese. The crazy characters form into different characters and they use pokemon moves to "fight" each other causing "hurt". This free for all has begun in Japan, anyway is significantly standard here in the US. The Pokemon characters all have a HP number, how much the Pokemon is worth and the higher HP cards are significantly longed for young fellows. At any rate, back to your social affair issue. I just set up a mind boggling Pokemon party for my kid's 10th birthday festivity. He loved it and his colleagues made some incredible memories. Coming up next are some acceptable musings for you and they are EASY and INEXPENSIVE to do. I plunked down one evening and created a couple of games that I could without a doubt make the arrangements for and they would be interesting to play. Coming up next is a framework overview of the games we considered and read on to get the nuances of each one. Keep in mind, these are EASY, FUN and INEXPENSIVE and I will exhort you correctly how I did it and what you need:

o Pass the Pokeball

o Pin the Tail on Pikachu

o Pokemon Balloon Dart Throw

o Pokemon Master Tracking

o Gliscor Bean Bag Score

1. Pass the Pokeball If you are indirectly familiar with Pokemon, you will contemplate pokeballs. To play this game, I went to a strength store and purchased a LARGE Styrofoam ball, they seem to go in cost from $5 to $11. I moreover got some red launderable claim to fame paint while I was at the craftsmanship store. Paint a huge bit of the ball with the red workmanship paint, let it dry, then use dim electrical tape to tape around the circuit of the ball right where the white Styrofoam gets along with the red paint. This made the PERFECT pokeball. Rapid and straightforward and humble. Then we had a little control center (humble one) that could be normally set to play music. If you don't have a control center, utilize anything that can make music, collection player, instrument, drum set, guitar, whatever plays music and can be ended and started. Have every one of the youngsters sit in general and they need to hand the pokeball to each other in an indirect plan. They can't throw the ball. I would then starting the music on the control center and close my eyes and stop it following 20 to 30 seconds. I shut my eyes, so I wouldn't understand who might have been holding the ball when the music ended. Whoever is holding the ball when the music stops is out, then play again until there is only 1 player left. Give the player who is left a get-together prize.

Supplies recap:

I. Tremendous Styrofoam ball

ii. Red workmanship paint

iii. Electrical tape

2. Nail the Tail to Pikachu - Pikachu is one of the rule pokemon characters and if your kids like Pokemon they like Pikachu. For this game, I found a nice picture of Pikachu. I used a picture out of the Pokemon Handbook that we have, yet if you don't have one of those, use a pokemon card of Pikachu, or print a picture of Pikachu at pokemon.com. I bought a heap of 10 white posterboards at a deal shop. Look at the picture and draw a tremendous picture of Pikachu to cover most of the posterboard (1 sheet). Do whatever it takes not to draw his tail. Use an alternate posterboard to draw enough Pikachu tails (shaped like a lightning bolt) for each get-together guest to have one. After I drew the Pikachu and a while later drew the tails, I had my kids concealing the Pikachu and tails, they valued having an effect. Eliminate the Pikachu tails. I had an old plug board that I had the alternative to mount this Pin the Tail on the Pikachu game onto so it had a solid back and could be hung up outside. Put the name of each social affair guest on one of the tails and not long before they play, add a lone section of twofold sided tape. Exactly when you are ready to play this, use a hanky to cover the eyes of your get-together guests, whirl them around in a circle twice and direct them towards the Pikachu. Do whatever it takes not to allow them to feel their bearing around, any spot they contact the Pikachu they should put the tail on there, regardless the kids who go last will really need to encourage where to put the tails by feeling where various kids tails are trapped. Give a prize to the social event guest who gets Pikachu's tail closest to the right spot Pokemon Go Plus .

Supplies recap:

I. Picture of Pikachu

ii. Immense white posterboard for drawing picture of Pikachu

iii. Immense white posterboard for drawing different Pikachu tails figuratively speaking

iv. Twofold sided tape

v. Tissue

3. Pokemon Balloon Dart Throw - Kids love to pop inflatables and throw darts, so set up these two things in a fun and straightforward activity. The night preceding the social event I bought 50 inflatables at a get-together store. Each Pokemon character has a HP regard, or a centers regard. For example, Pikachu might be 60 HP, Shadowlugia 300 HP, etc You can find the names of various Pokemon characters in a Pokemon handbook or you can find them online at Pokemon.com. Take some plain white paper and cut it into strips that are around 1 inch high by 3 inches long. Make the name out of a substitute Pokemon and their HP Number on the strips. We had 6 youngsters at the get-together and I detonated 45 inflatables. For example, you might make Ryperior 90 HP on a slip. Make each piece of paper with a substitute individual and add the HP number (use results of 10 only for the HP regards). We used each character name simply a solitary time yet reused the HP 50, HP60, HP70, HP80, HP90, etc Anyway we just had 1 individual (Shadowlugia) that had the most raised HP of HP300, no other card had the HP300 on it. Overlay the bits of paper nearly nothing and punch it inside the inflatable prior to detonating the inflatable. I then used an air blower to detonate the inflatables quickly and tie them in a knot. You will see the little bits of paper inside. I set aside the inflatables overnight in huge trash bags and they remained coursed up fine. I purchased a lot of 6 darts at a games store to use for this game. If you have a tremendous fitting board, join the inflatables with push pins to the plug board. Host the party guests stay back around 8 feet and throw 2 darts a piece and endeavor to pop the inflatables (like a customary sideshow fascination). In case they pop an inflatable have them get together and keep the piece of paper with the Pokemon character on it and the HP number (see the accompanying Pokemon Master following in regards to how to deal with the bits of paper and checking the HP numbers). They needed to pop these inflatables and they loved finding the bits of paper to find which Pokemon character they had and what was the HP number. We played a couple of rounds of this game!

Supplies recap:

I. Pack of inflatables (have something like somewhere around 40)

ii. Plain white paper

iii. Names of Pokemon characters and made up HP numbers (I didn't save the work to investigate each characters veritable HP number, that is a great deal of work, just put down any HP number you need, anyway have one individual with the most significant HP

iv. Heap of 6 darts (about $2.50)

4. Pokemon Master following - There is no doubt your youngsters think about Ash Ketchum if they like Pokemon, he is a Pokemon expert. To make it fun and to get the youngsters to have to get the bits of paper I put inside the inflatables, I made a Pokemon Master graph to follow each get-together guests characters and HP regards. I used a gigantic white posterboard and made Pokemon Masters at the top and used some Pokemon stickers to plan with. You can buy Pokemon stickers, or use sticker paper in your printer and essentially print some Pokemon cards or Pokemon characters from the web. I then apportioned (using a secret market) the posterboard into the quantity of get-together guests I have a made a huge square for all of them. As the young fellows collected the Pokemon character slips from popping the inflatables, I had another adult sign in their Pokemon characters and their connected HP Values onto the Pokemon Master diagram. I just had it taped to my auxiliary entry and the young fellows venerated moving toward see what their Pokemon scores were. I gave a prizes for the most raised HP complete in each round of darts. One child may pop an inflatable with the Pokemon character piece of paper that said Metagross 90 HP and his ensuing pop may have been Snover 60 HP, we recorded these both onto his square on the Pokemon Master following posterboard and his hard and fast HP for the round was 150 HP. If he had the most raised score that round, he got a prize. I let the youngsters throw 2 darts a piece for each turn. I furthermore gave a prize for the most decreased HP score, so no one found out about left. Have an adult record the names and HP numbers to keep it moving. Around the completion of all the inflatable popping I gave a prize to party guest who found the Shadowlugia 300 HP piece of paper, as it was our most raised HP regard "card".

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headoverhiddles · 4 years

Text

Go On, Smile - Marilyn Manson x Reader

Synopsis: You and the band terrorize the local mall. AKA The totally fictional, fucked up origins of the samples from Cake and Sodomy.

Notes: Portrait era! Warning for intentions of assault (not from Manson) and general immature debauchery.

There's nothing left to do in this town.

You, your boyfriend, and a few members of his band that aren't still sleeping, are wandering around the small town they're set to perform tonight. The venue's gonna be tiny, just like the town, but at this point, any gig is a good gig. They're touring their asses off to promote their first studio album, an album nobody thought could possibly get produced. Lots of touring meant a few shitty stops (okay, a fair amount), and it meant days of either doing drugs in hotel rooms, pasting flyers around the city, or trying to do normal things.

"We could vandalize buses," Jeordie suggests.

"There's only one bus that comes by here, once every hour at half past sharp," Pogo replies, staring at the palm of his hand. "I've been watching it."

"What about the mall?" you suggest.

"Does barbie want to go shopping?" Pogo mutters. You throw a crumpled up fast food bag from the ground at him.

Brian finally speaks up. "The mall's not a bad idea, actually. There might be makeup stores there, I can swipe some pancake shit for tonight's show."

Now that their fearless leader had spoken, everyone grunted their own form of agreement, getting up off the park bench.

Making it to the mall, Jeordie runs over to the directory. "I'm going to the candy store." Pogo seems to like that idea, and the two walk off. Brian calls after them.

"Assholes! Meet us back at the doors by six, we've got a show to get to!" He turns to you, taking your hand and rolling his eyes. "As if they don't get enough drugs. Now they need sugar highs too."

The two of you walk toward the drugstore to check out the makeup. Brian immediately heads over to the lip aisle, and starts pocketing some reds and plum colours.

"You know... I wouldn't mind a bit of candy," you tell him, swinging your hand with his, "A nice, big lollipop."

Brian licks his lips. "How would you lick it, baby? Swirl your tongue over the tip?"

"I'd get it all into my mouth, then when it hits the back of my throat, I'd swallow all that sweet sugar." Brian groans, starting to walk toward the candy store with you too, and you shrug. "But I'd settle for some sugar babies."

"You get the sugar babies," he smirks, "I'll get the sugar daddy."

"You are not a sugar daddy," you laugh. He scoffs.

"I could be!" He slides his hand down to feel up your ass. "I could be your daddy, babygirl."

"You're the same fucking age as me, and you've got no money."

He shakes his head. "Just give this record a little more time. Once Interscope pushes it and Portrait sells a billion copies, stadiums all over the world'll want Marilyn Manson to scare the crap out of their upstanding citizens. We'll be in demand! Then I can buy you all sorts of weird relics."

"Special," you smile, "Normal sugar daddies buy their babies diamonds. No, I get prosthetic hands and Eichmann's aluminum dentures."

"You love it."

"I do," you giggle, and his eyes suddenly take on that mischievous glint.

"Photo booth."

"Bri, really?"

"We gotta go in, and do a porno shoot."

"What?!"

"There's nobody around but us. Come on baby, let's take really fucking dirty pictures."

"You know, they probably save these somewhere to print them, right?"

"Good, you can flash your tits, make the mall cop jack off. Here, we can record, and put it on the new single, Cake and Sodomy! It'll be perfect."

You blush, and he pulls you into the little tent in the middle of the pathetically empty strip mall. He sets up the camera, closes the curtain, and you keep giggling.

"You go here," he sets you up on mark like a master movie director, and you check the screen, making sure the star anatomy is properly centered. Then you reach down and pull your top over your head, unhooking your bra. Brian bites his bottom lip.

"Shit, you're gonna make me have to jack off." You knee him lightly in the crotch playfully.

"Focus on the shoot, Spielberg." He puts his hands over your breasts from behind, and you yelp.

"Jesus Christ, Brian!"

"What?!"

"At least warm your hands up a little. God, it's like being fondled by the Grim Reaper!”

“Geez--”

“Boobs are very delicate things, okay, they're not like dicks, you can't just whip them out and expect--"

"Okay, alright, there. There! All warmed up. You happy?"

"Yes," you pout, and he kisses your cheek quickly, before darting forward to press capture and resuming his position. The first flash goes off, with Brian's hands grabbing your breasts. Second one begins to count down.

"What should we do, quick, what should we do?!" you squeal, laughing, and he looks around. He gets on his knees, bringing his face up, and sucks on your nipple for the third shot.

"Get your dick out," you urge, "Hurry, do it!"

He unzips his pants, and gets his dick as close as he can to the camera.

For the fifth shot, you get on your knees this time, holding Brian's dick and licking the tip as the last flash goes off. He presses play on his tape recorder, and you stand up, kissing him and making the sexiest noises you can.

"Alright.... mmm... mmmm!"

The two of you are laughing uncontrollably like children as you exit the booth with the printed strip. "Gorgeous," you nod, inspecting it.

"We're hot. I'd wanna fuck us," he says.

"God, same."

"We should use these as album art."

"Go for it," you shrug, "I'm sure it'd help sell all those billions of copies you promised." You bite your pinkie nail, looking back at the booth. "What if there were cameras that were watching inside, though? Like other cameras?" He massages your shoulders as you walk.

"I told you, there probably were. I already shoplifted, might as well be arrested for public indecency as well. It'll help my, uh... dangerous rock star image."

You groan, hiding your face in Brian's shoulder as you two keep walking.

You meet up with Jeordie and Pogo in front of the candy shop, Brian having shoved the strip down his back pocket. Jeordie has a bag full of sweets.

"What did you get?" you ask, burrowing inside it. He hands you some laffy taffy.

"I know you like this stuff."

"Jeord! I absolutely love you!"

"I know." He grins. "Hehe, Star Wars."

Just then, a big, hairy motherfucker of a security guard approaches you four quickly. He's an imposing figure, even on your 6'1 boyfriend.

"I promise I paid for all these gummy worms," Jeordie begins to tell him, but he looks at you and Brian.

"You the kids from the photo booth?"

You're too shocked to speak, so Brian, ever the antagonist, nods, sizing him up. "Yeah. Is there a problem?"

"You're going to have to come with me," the portly guard says sternly, and Brian shoves him off.

"Like hell, buddy."

The guard starts to take something out of the back of his belt, so before either of you can find out what, you stop him.

"Wait! Wait, it's okay. We'll go." You lean in to Brian pleadingly. "The most he can do is give us a warning. Don't get your show banned here over some stupid, bloated mall guy with a bone to pick."

"Fine." You and Brian turn, noticing Jeordie and Pogo had fled the scene. "Great friends," Brian mutters, and the two of you start walking.

The guard leads you into a dark, grimy room down some steps under the mall's CVS, where you see a bunch of security camera feeds, and... your topless photos displayed on one of them. It smells strange down here, like spoiled chicken and vaseline. The guard sits down.

"So. You think creating pornography in public is funny, do you?"

Brian lets loose a stream of vitriol you knew had been simmering. "I do. In fact, I think it's the most goddamn hilarious thing I've ever done, you stuffy old dickhead!"

"Brian..."

"You wouldn't know much about that though, since you're probably so miserable working overtime for a mall who sees the local crackhead walk through maybe once every month or so and that's it--"

"Brian."

"--Getting paid to sit behind a desk in the dark, eat donuts and creep on people like a glorified cam-stalker--"

"Brian!"

"I bet you liked looking at my girlfriend's tits, huh? You like em, you fucking pervert? Why don't you--"

The guard finally has enough, and gets up out of his chair, walking behind Brian and tying a gag around his mouth. You go to stop him, but he grabs some duct tape, and sits you down, tying your wrists behind the chair. He does the same to Brian, restraining him. Shaking in fear, you sit still, paralyzed, as the guard sits back down in front of you two.

"You kids now and your alternative lifestyles. Think that acting outlandish and wearing black, Satanic clothing that never would've flown in my day is the way to give us civilized folk here in this good, god fearing little town the middle finger, huh?"

He sneers down at your leather miniskirt, and then to Brian's thick platform boots, looking him up and down. He's not really helping disprove the man's point about outlandish clothes, with his lipstick and shaved eyebrows. You think you see Brian fiddle with something in his back pocket, but your attention is directed back to the guard.

"Performing sexual acts in my mall. You won't get away with that."

"What are you gonna do?" you whimper.

"Put on a little show of my own," he starts to smile sadistically. You start to feel cold all over. He doesn't mean...

Brian's eyes close. Of course the two of you had found the Buffalo Bill of mall cops. Fucking lucky. Well. It'd be a story for the show.

The man sits back. "Smile."

Brian watches the guy closely. "You touch her..." your boyfriend warns. You struggle to pull your restraints free.

"Smile for me," the guard repeats, growing impatient.

You swallow. "Just let us go. We're really sorry about the photos!"

He finally stands up, cracking a fist. "Go on smile, you cunt!"

Brian jumps up, and though his wrists are still bound like yours, he turns around to grab you, pulling you both to the door. He spits the gag out. "Run."

The two of you dash out the side entrance to the mall, and keep running until you can't hear the guard yelling anymore.

Jeordie and Pogo come out of the woodwork, quickly gathering around you.

"Fuckin' redneck tyrant!" Brian shouts back, grabbing and tossing Jeordie's milkshake at the building. Jeordie stares in longing at the destroyed strawberry goop on the ground, debating if the 5 second rule worked for drinks too. Pogo takes a switchblade out to cut you two loose.

"I got the perfect sound bites on tape we can sample for Cake and Sodomy, of you moaning like a whore and that guy being a general asshole," Brian tells you, and you roll your eyes.

"After nearly being killed by a psychotic mall cop, that's all you have to say? Typical."

"What did you guys even do?!" Jeordie asks.

You dig out the photo strip from Brian's back pocket, and pass it to the other guys. Pogo nods, stroking his goatee like a critic.

"That's art."

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owenshire · 3 years

Text

Robert Muhlbock (virtually) Inducts Nine Inch Nails into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame 2020

Nine Inch Nails. One band, and often one man, with a computer (and guitar) against the world. Oh yes, Nine Inch Nails have added members for live performances and gained members (well, a member) for studio compositions, but from this “band-like-musical-entity’s” earliest days, it was just one person—one person who combined pop-hooks with industrial whirs, and harrowing rage with uncomfortable vulnerability. And his name is Trent Reznor.

No one should claim that Nine Inch Nails invented a genre. They didn’t. But they sure as hell popularized and perfected it. Electronic, Industrial, ‘Disco Death Metal’—whatever you want to call it, the labels don’t really matter. In fact, I think the genre should just be called “sounds like Nine Inch Nails” which is compliment enough on its own, right?

Nine Inch Nails are one of the most important, vital, inspirational, talented, and unique of musical artists. I love them. And now I’m going to tell you why…in a lengthy video essay, so settle in. And if you don’t have the fandom or attention span for what I’m about to say, go back to consuming shitty tweets and dumbfuck Instagram posts because you’re not wanted here anyway.

_______________________________

My first introduction to NIN began like so many others: by catching the iconic video for “Head Like A Hole” on MTV—the band rocking out amidst electrical wires and magnetic tape, until it seemed like the entire writhing mess would consume them whole. It’s an image as potent today as it was some 30 years ago.

However, my real introduction to NIN was originally steeped in urban legend. I was in grade 10 and I heard Pretty Hate Machine played on my school bus on the way home. The owner of this cassette tape, a “cool girl” who shall remain nameless, told me that the album was “out of print” and “unavailable.” In short, she assured me that I would never be able to find a copy, but, guess what, I did.

In a trade with former MMA coach Shawn Tompkins—and in my grade 10 art class no less—I swapped two ninja stars for a box of his old cassette tapes, and Pretty Hate Machine was one of them. This was my own NINJA moment, if you will—does anyone get that reference—anyway, upon witnessing said trade some random guy in my art class immediately offered me $25 for the Pretty Hate Machine cassette tape—a king’s ransom in 1990—but of course I wouldn’t sell. I knew it was valuable—and in more than one way. Instead I played the hell out of the cassette in my Walkman. I was 14 years old. “Terrible Lie” was my favourite song from the album. And it still is.

And then—poof—like that, NIN dropped out of my life. Where’d they go? Well, I guess they were making a name for themselves during Lollapalooza 1991, white chalk dust and all. Not that I knew any of this. Pre-internet I had no idea what was going on. In fact, I wouldn’t hear any new NIN music until almost a full year later when one of my friends with a penchant for industrial music introduced me to the Broken EP. As he handed me his CD for borrowing, he warned me that it was “pretty extreme.” And he was right. The Broken EP is why album warning stickers were invented: it was a fist to the face, a kick to the face—it was even an ass to the face.

Anyway, the Broken EP was my real introduction to the seemingly bottomless rage of NIN. When I heard Broken I was just starting to get into so-called “heavy” music, but nothing could have prepared me for the lyrical and musical brutality of “Wish.” While Reznor’s litany of profanity was extreme—at least to my sheltered 16 year old ears—what truly staggered me was the song’s main riff (you know the one I mean) the one that is so distorted, so disturbing, that it sounds like a guitar being burned alive while flailing in a wind tunnel.

I’d never heard anything like it before—it wasn’t cock-rock; it wasn’t fake satanic rage done for laughs, theatre or to impress--no. Instead it was the audio embodiment of complete destruction and utter despair. And 30 years later, it’s lost none of its power.

__________________________________

These same sentiments must be applied to The Downward Spiral, Nine Inch Nail’s career defining work that launched the band into mainstream success. Too often discussions of the record get bogged down by emphasis on “Hurt” or “Closer,” or, to some extent, “Heresy.”

Yes, “Hurt” is the perfect album closer and expression of pleading vulnerability, and, yes, “Closer” and “Heresy’s” choruses were brutally raw and shocking in 1994 (and, it should be said, still above average shocking in 2020), but I feel the album is best presented as a whole. This was the beginning of NIN’s discovery that (to paraphrase one rock critic) just as much tension can be generated with a whisper as with a scream.

Dynamics have always been a huge part of NIN’s’ sound, and The Downward Spiral stands as a defining moment. The album, as all of you know, begins with “Mr. Self Destruct” (well, that’s not entirely true—the album actually begins with the audio of what appears to be a man being beaten to death while submerged underwater)—but anyway, “Mr. Self Destruct” was as sonically astonishing to me as “Wish” was two years prior. As I listened to the verses of “Mr. Self Destruct” I kept asking myself “Is it supposed to sound like this? I can’t hear what he’s saying”—it was such a cacophony of meticulously detailed and layered noises, but of course not without substance or a melody: its quiet refrain of “And I control you” buried so deep in the mix, it mirrored the subconscious itself.

“Mr. Self Destruct” gives way to “Piggy”—again a haunting track that’s almost tender and such a shock in sequence given the song that preceded it. Again. Dynamics. Surprise. Making the atypical typical in the best non-traditional way. Does that make any sense? Anyway, I felt the same way about the mini-piano solo/ lyric pairing of “now doesn’t it make you feel better” before the dramatic pause in “March Of The Pigs”—I don’t think any of us saw THAT coming. I was literally shocked when that phrasing appeared out of no where, emerging like a tiny ironic rainbow out of the whirlwind of thrashing drums, crazy guitars, and “stains like blood on your teeth” screams the preceded it.

Speaking of screams, the title-track of The Downward Spiral still stands as a monument to vulnerability, despair, and pure abject horror. It’s the only song I’ve ever heard that I am afraid to listen to. When I listen to The Downward Spiral, I wait for the song the way a child hides behind a blanket awaiting glimpses of a film monster: I know it’s coming, and I know it’s going to be horrifying…and it always is. So why do I subject myself to it?

______________________

That’s a fair question. Let’s be frank here: Nine Inch Nails isn’t for everyone. It takes a certain personality to fully appreciate the band’s complete package of black, blue, and bleeding, “but you can dance to it!” Still, NIN is more than mere nihilism and hopelessness. Those who label the band in such ways, kind of miss the point. To me, NIN has always been—lyrically at least—about catharsis: I suppose ALL music functions as such—a tool of understanding, and a mechanism for coping. Trent Reznor once commented on the vulnerability of his lyrics, saying in an interview with NPR that his topic of choice was less about vanity than it was about delivering a performance with honesty and integrity. The only topic that mattered—his emotional struggle—was the only subject he could speak about with authority and with conviction.

However, it just so happens to be a struggle that millions of other people share. When Trent Reznor sings “Now you know/ this is what it feels like” on The Fragile’s “The Wretched,” he is inviting his audience to share in his pain. Whether he intended it this way or not, his is a gesture borne or isolation but ending in comradery: many of us certainly know what “this” “feels like.” And many, many more of us can certainly relate to the words “Dear World, I can hardly recognize you anymore.”

In short, Trent Reznor’s lyrics, as personal as they are, speak for us: his fans. He speaks for me. He still does.

Interestingly, themes consistent in NIN’s best work offer a type of almost emotional ambivalence: caring, but not caring; wanting to be helped, yet rejecting help; and most importantly, wanting to be alone, yet desperately wishing to connect with others. The songs “We’re In This Together” and “The Fragile” perfectly illustrate these sentiments. To me, it is no coincidence they are sequenced side by side on the “some-critics-didn’t-like-it-at-the-time-but-have-since-come-to-their-senses-album” The Fragile.

_________________

Musically, however, NIN is best known for three distinct styles of music: computer chaos, groovy beats, and symphonic soundscapes. I’ve touched on the first—and will return to it—but for now, let’s discuss the second. I’m not a huge fan of the term “death-disco”; however, NIN’s long list of ass-shaking beats, should not be overlooked. What began on Pretty Hate Machine with “Sin” and “The Only Time,” pleasantly resurface on “Into The Void” only to be perfected on “The Hand That Feeds,” “Only” “Capital G,” and “Discipline” not to mention a large portion of Hesitation Marks.

But back to computer chaos—or maybe just chaos in general. I can think of no better example to illustrate my point than the final coda to the song “The Great Destroyer” on the fabulous dystopian opus Year Zero—one of my favourite albums of all time: the sound of things falling apart—wires frayed, systems destroyed, screens cracked: static humming and ‘please stand by’ messages flicking forever. The Eater of Dreams. “All we ever were—just zeros and ones.”

____________________

The final cornerstone of NIN’s musical contribution is soundscapes and instrumentals, and what a can of worms THAT is given all that’s transpired since 2011. Anyway, when The Fragile was released in 1999, more than a few fans bemoaned its inclusion of no less than 7 instrumentals, and yet these contributions have always been a signature addition to NIN’s body of work: from “pinion,” “help me I am in hell,” “a warm place,” the deeply personal “La Mer,” to Ghosts I through VI, NIN’s experiments with sound have always been integral to their songwriting process—a willingness to experiment and a love of discovery which surprisingly, yet somewhat inevitably, lead to NIN’s work in soundtracks. Beginning somewhat inadvertently with Tony Scott’s Man On Fire (look it up), and then deliberately on the video game Quake, this creative direction eventually resulted in (as we all know) various Oscar and Emmy nominations and wins for Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross, and yeah, while technically not “Nine Inch Nails” releases, I think we can all agree it’s hard to separate the two sometimes because as we all know, the line begins to blur, amiright?

The point is this: Nine Inch Nails were and are no strangers to pushing boundaries musically, visually, and artistically. Some defining unconventional moments in the band’s career to me are as follows:

· The 97 one-second tracks on the Broken EP before its final two songs; the infamous Broken film itself—a movie I found on a bootlegged VHS tape and rented for a mere 1 dollar at the time—and then proceeded to wish that I never did.

· Moving on, there is of course the band’s seminal 1994 Woodstock performance, where the musicians arrived on stage in a foggy haze, caked head to toe in mud, and bringing the apocalypse with them;

· Next we have the Alternate Reality Game developed around the release of Year Zero,

· There was the free download of The Slip; and the free downloads of Ghosts V and VI some years later

· Who could also forget about the NINREMIX website where fans were invited to remix the band’s songs and post them for all to enjoy, and copyright be damned.

· Um, there was also that time they said “a heartfelt fuck you” to the Grammy’s.

· And finally we have Nine Inch Nail’s unexpected live appearance on the rather toned down Austin City Limits.

And the list goes on. Trent Reznor once explained such actions in the most self-aware terms possible: he likes pushing himself (as well as his fans) out of comfort zones, to flirt with mainstream conventions but to approach and execute them as only Nine Inch Nails can: with integrity and—to borrow Trent’s appraisal of the late David Bowie—“uncompromising vision.”

_______________________________

Speaking of integrity and uncompromising vision, NIN’s humility is one of the band’s most inspiring and endearing characteristics. In Reznor’s case, we’re talking about an accomplished artist who admitted publically that he still feels he has so much to learn about his craft—that he’s barely scratched the surface regarding his mastery of sound and songwriting; a man that mocked his own starry eyed expression upon receiving an Oscar by pairing it with the caption “I see unicorns” and inviting fans to provide similar self-deprecating taglines. A man who speaks in measured tones about his opportunities and successes in his life—and does so, repeatedly I might add, quietly, humbly, and gratefully.

Such self-awareness is extremely rare in show-business let alone by a band that’s achieved as much as Nine Inch Nails.

And guess what? Here’s the thing. I think there’s no stopping them. With Nine Inch Nails—particularly, Trent and Atticus no matter what they call themselves and until they are inducted into the IHOR as solo artists, anything’s possible:

· Scoring a children’s movie? The upcoming Pixar film Soul? Why not? Let’s have some more. Give me a children’s album!

· Creating a vintage jazz ballad (the unparalleled “The Way It Used to Be”) in a week and making it indistinguishable from other songs of the era? Of course!

· Winning a Tony Award to become part of the EGOT club—I say sure. In fact, prediction: before the end of the world (so basically, in about 30 years) Nine Inch Nails will get an EGOT. There. Prove me wrong.

______________________

In 1997 Spin Magazine once hailed Trent Reznor as “the most vital artist in music today,” while in that same year Trent Reznor appeared on Time Magazine’s list of the top 25 most influential Americans.

These accolades were well earned; however, I prefer a statement made by some music magazine critic whose name escapes me in their review of a Nine Inch Nails album whose name also escapes me: they said, “we can only hope something else pisses him off,” sentiments which I’m sure are echoed by many, and to which I reply…there seems to be no worry about that.

____________________

Nine Inch Nails encompass a facet of popular art that is as necessary as it is compulsory: they remind us that the world is not pleasant; tragedy is inevitable; the game is rigged; faith is a lie; and everyone you know will abandon or disappoint you.

But guess what? If you’re lucky, the way out is through, motherfuckers.

I am honoured to induct Nine Inch Nails into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame.

#trent reznor #Robert Muhlbock #Owenshire #Nine Inch Nails #Rock and Roll Hall of Fame #Rock Hall 2020 #The Fragile #Year Zero #Pretty Hate Machine #Broken #Hesitation Marks #The Downward Spiral

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cyclone-rachel · 4 years

Text

rest your soul and feed your brain

part 3: on AO3 here

The camera turns on, showing Winn- just Winn, for once. He’s staring at where the audience would be, with an expression in his eyes that could be considered haunted, or perhaps bewildered. His eyes are wide, certainly, and he’s leaning slightly over the desk, hands out in front of him, held in a sort of tented position. He seems to be waiting for someone, his lips pursed, and he stands and looks at someone slightly off to the side.

“James? Are you getting this?” he asks.

James nods, and focuses the camera on him closer, as Winn sits down again.

His voice is hushed, as he continues.

“Hey. Okay, so… I probably shouldn’t be doing this. If he finds out, he might kill me, and get James to take over for me- even though all the comments talk about how funny I am, or how much I do my research. Well, actually, they give me long lists of nitpicks and corrections on the subject of my research, and they say how funny it is when I scream, or make dirty jokes. Even though me screaming is completely normal for the kind of thing I’m doing here, and I actually don’t make that many dirty jokes. They’re not that dirty anyway. Whatever.

The point is… this is about… I’m investigating Brainy. My partner- not that way. Even though he is cute, and I am very bisexual. He’s like a young Keanu Reeves, in how he looks- it’s actually kind of freaky, looking at them side by side. But in a nice way. Anyhow, you already know what he looks like, because we’re friends, and we do this show every week for you guys.”

Winn pauses, looking up at James, expression cautious. He turns back to the camera.

“I might not actually release this. Or it could go up on our Patreon page, and I would just have to make sure he doesn’t see it, or put it under an unassuming title so he doesn’t suspect anything and doesn’t want to click on it. He already doesn’t check anything on our computer anyway, I’ve never seen him use it, but somehow he still knows all the statistics of our videos, so I feel like I could get away with that. Maybe something about sex tapes, it’s really funny the reaction that gets whenever I bring them up. Anyway. If I do release this, it’s going to be because I feel like you all should know something about Brainy. Something I want to say I’ve suspected all along, given how much I already liked researching this kind of stuff, but embarrassingly enough, I’ve only started putting the pieces together recently.

Wow, I’m delaying this a lot. I’m sorry- to the audience, and to myself. Maybe I’m not saying it because I don’t feel like I can? Like if I do say it, he’ll hear, and he’ll find me. I don’t think he would hurt me if he found out I was doing this. After all, we are friends. Or at least, I hope we still are. I don’t know. Maybe this is the last recording I’ll ever do, and he’ll find this, and he’ll leave. I… don’t want to lose him, as much of a know-it-all as he is. I’m the believer, I need my skeptic, you know? That’s just how things should be. It’s the natural dynamic, and without it, we’d lose viewers. I would lose viewers. So maybe I won’t put this up online. But if I do, and we keep going… assume he hasn’t found it, or that he’s okay with it.

Maybe I just don’t want to admit it out loud, because it’ll make me sound insane. Like I’m headed for a downward spiral, like my dad- except instead of taking my anger out on the partner who stole my patent, and ending up killing people who weren’t him instead, I’ll be the conspiracy theory guy who got too obsessed with what he was so interested in, and it’ll end up ruining my friendship with… with one of the only people who really knows me well, and gets me. Or at least I thought he did.

Do I hate Brainy, for hiding so much? Am I angry at him, because he keeps so many secrets? I don’t think so. I’m not. I’m just… well, can you blame me for being interested, and maybe a little bit suspicious? That’s the only name he’s ever given me, to tell me to call him. He started emailing me, after I put up the video asking for people to do that if they wanted to host this show with me, and almost too quickly- within the day, actually, once I’d made sure he wasn’t an axe-murderer or any other kind of murderer, like my dad, and that he genuinely wanted to do this with me and didn’t want to make fun of my videos, he was there for the interview. And then he was hired, after I said something about tomatoes being fruits, and he insisted on them being vegetables, and we argued about it for like an hour. Actually fun times, believe it or not.

He’s never told me where he lives, or where he grew up, or how old he is, other than I know that he’s around my age and his birthday is December 30th. I remember because it’s 5 days after mine, and I saw him circle it on the calendar once. I know he was homeschooled, but he never gave any details on that, and for how long he was homeschooled. He doesn’t have any siblings. His parents raised him together until he was eight years old, when they separated and his father raised him. He hasn’t said anything about what happened afterwards, or where his mother went, or anything else about his life- he changes the subject, asking about my family instead, and whenever he’s admitted these things to me he always looks at me like he’s being held at gunpoint while saying them, even though I honestly want to know because he’s just so goddamn mysterious. And you all know how much of a difficult subject my family is for me. But for his credit, he listens, and it’s kind of nice.

Oh god, I’m rambling. But I have a point with this, I promise.

I don’t doubt that Brainy is a good person. I don’t doubt that he likes me- or at least, doesn’t hate me. He hasn’t left me, which is a virtue all on its own, and he listens to me, with- it feels like he understands me, whenever I talk about my parents and describe how their abandonment felt. What it was like to see my dad arrested, to be interrogated about his murder and under constant scrutiny afterwards from my foster families because at any time I could snap and become just like him. How it felt to sit in the police station, waiting for my mother, but she never came back for me.

Maybe this is why I won’t release this video. I’ve only ever told him that, and I’ve tried not to tell anyone that my father is Winslow Schott, the notorious Toyman. I even use my nickname, Winn, and my mom’s maiden name, McGowan, for these videos… but I know I’m still a Schott, and that potential is inside me. Like a ticking time bomb.”

Winn sighs.

“I hope I’m not turning out like him. I want to think I’m using whatever I got from my father for good- though I can’t really tell whether or not this is a good use for the skills I do have. And maybe this, what happens if Brainy finds out, will be the nail in the coffin for me. What sets me down the path to becoming the Toyman, just like my dad.

I don’t want to.

But… if anyone from the future is listening, consider this the secret origin story of… something. The play that was never released, the first edition book that’s different from all the others, the action figure that was recalled for a defect, the hidden Easter egg in a video game or the comic that only ever got one printing or the unaired pilot of a TV show or a movie that never even made it to DVD. I think this metaphor ran away from me. Point is. If you’re seeing this, count yourself lucky, because you’re one of a few- if anyone other than James and I see this at all.”

Winn pauses again, turns to James.

“You’re not gonna leak this on Youtube, are you?”

“No.”

“Good man.” Winn says. “Thank you.”

He turns back to the camera, and continues talking, all the while also continuing to gesture with his hands, as though he were truly in a living, animated conversation with the audience.

“And keep in mind, I don’t say all of this stuff because I want his career to be ruined, or because I’m jealous of him, or anything. I just think he’s so… I’ve already used the words interesting, and suspicious, and mysterious, and cute. He’s all of those things, but he transcends description. He’s a walking enigma, and I wish I were worthy of knowing his secrets.

He’s my friend, and I can’t help noticing things like… well. He always wakes up earlier than I do. That’s probably because I always stay up late. But one time, I woke up first, and saw him get up out of bed. And he… I don’t know how to say this. He touched his face, and it- shifted? And I don’t think it was the light coming in from outside- I swear to you, his face looked blue. All of him did. He touched it again, and he looked like he always does otherwise, but I’ve never forgotten that. It might’ve been an early-morning dream kind of thing, like when you’re half asleep and half-awake. But it felt real.

And then there’s things like what I mentioned before- he always seems to know exactly what our statistics are, even though I’ve never seen him use our computer. Any kind of technical problem, he fixes it- without even moving, or touching it. Most of the time I don’t even have to ask him, he just knows. Knows everything. Comes in real handy, can’t say I’m not grateful, but also…

Oh! Also, one time, I caught him sitting on the roof of our trailer, and when I called his name, he jumped down- but it was slower, somehow, than normal jumping. Like he was kind of… not flying. But hovering, maybe. Or falling with style. But whatever it is, I couldn’t have done it. And I’ve tried to scare him, since then, and make him jump. Hasn’t worked, but I’m gonna keep trying, mark my words.”

“Marking them.” Calls James, and Winn rolls his eyes.

“Anyway. All of these things… and the fact that because he’s only introduced himself by his pretentious nickname, and never given me his real name- God knows I’ve tried to find it- I can’t look him up in any way and verify that he exists- I don’t know how to explain them. I want to- that’s the whole point of this show, solving the unsolvable, explaining the unexplainable, playfully arguing with each other along the way, sometimes scaring the shit out of each other but mostly just enjoying each other’s company. But the two first things are the most important, and how am I supposed to call myself a good solver of mysteries if I can’t come to a solid conclusion on the person who’s probably my best friend? Besides you, James.”

“Thank you.”

“And Kara and Alex, back home. But they’re not gonna see this. Probably. That doesn’t matter. Point is… the whole idea of this long, twisting rant… I have reason to believe that my collaborator, my partner, my friend, Brainy… isn’t human. And I don’t know what he is, exactly, or who he is, or where he’s from. He could be the Mothman. He could be what he calls a Necrofriggian. He could be any of the other cryptids I totally did my research on and didn’t just see while watching shows about them on TV, or reading Wikipedia entries. Or- and this is the most absurd one- he might even be from another planet. Is he an alien, or a cryptid? Or is he just a completely normal guy who’s fucking with me, and I’m the one who’s talking myself in circles over nothing? Whatever the case, it looks like the impenetrable identity of my cohost is, for now, a case that’s going to remain-“

“Winn? Why are you recording an episode without me? What’s this about?”

“Oh shi-“

“James, turn that off, please.”

#papa don't look #fanfics #supergirl #supergirl au #buzzfeed unsolved au #winn schott #querl dox #brainiac 5 #winndox #otp: turbulence #it's the winndox buzzfeed unsolved au #anyway! i did this thing #it's. uh. kind of weird #but i hope people read/like it anyway #pesky carol and brandi this is for you especially

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aloeveraspeaks · 4 years

Text

Something Sweet (Part 1)

A/N: This is a short I’ve been working on and it’s longer than I intended but it’s basically what happened in FPA cooking club before it was set on fire on the first day.

Nanda walked into the cooking club room to see if anyone was in there, “Hi?” she asked hesitantly. Receiving no response Nanda decides to sit down in a nearby chair and draw. A few minutes later Coraline waltzes into the room with an apron and a cat paw oven mitt in hand. She notices Nanda and decides to introduce herself.

“Hello, I’m Coraline! What’s your name?” She chirps.

Tika notices Coraline wander in, she’s curious as to what she’s doing so she follows her into the room.

Adrien checks their watch as they sprint down the hallway. They’re late for their club, so they round the corner and jump into the room. Out of breath they burst out, “Sorry for being late! I hope we can still get stated on baking.”

Akaiif wanders into the room seeming to be looking for something. “Hm? Hello?” They take a step in.

“I really should think about getting here earlier.” Adrien sighs. He heads to the back of the room pocketing a note from Aloe with some vegetables from gardening club. He chuckles at whatever the note said as he begins to put everything away. Then he turns to greet the others.

“Do you need something?” Coraline asks Akaiif with a friendly smile.

“I was just looking around the school, it’s been a while since I’ve been here.” They look around once more. “Are you part of the cooking club?”

Coraline nods, “Yup! Not freshly new, I’ve been in this club since last year.”

“Ohhh, I think I saw you last year… anyways, I’m Akaiif.” They move in more to sit down at a table.

Adrien goes up to address the two, “Are you joining the club today Akaiif?”

“Oh no I actually used to come here to talk to the teach since he got handy tips on cooking. I’m already a part of a different club though.”

“Oh that’s alright! You can still join us for today if you’d like.” Adrian smiles kindly, “we’re not doing much today, just baking cookies, but it should still be fun!”

“How delightful!” Akaiif responds, “I wouldn’t mind helping, but I don’t think I’ll be eating cookies anytime soon.” They point to their mouth, it seems to be covered in duct tape.

Nanda finally notices the others, she must’ve gotten absorbed into her sketching. “Oh hi guys. I’m Ananda but you can call me Nanda. Nice to meet you!”

At this point Aloe walks into the room to see if anyone got the vegetables, “Hello!” She greets noticing everyone in the club. She glances to Adrian.

Akaiif waves to Nanda and Aloe, “Hello.”

Afrien loked a bit confused, but he didn’t want to ask about the duct tape so he turns his attention to Aloe, “Ah Aloe, Hello there!”

“What’re you guys making?” Aloe asks.

“Cookies!” Adrian respinds gleefully practically bouncing wih excitement, “what are you doing here roomie? Plan to join us too?”

Akaiff got up and put on an Apron. Aloe joined them, “Sure why not.” She responded. “I was actually just coming to see if you got the ingredients.”

“You two have the right idea! Everyone put on your aprons, while I search for the recipe I found.” Adrien pulls a stack of paper from his bag and ruffles through them.

“Mind if I join?” Tika asks, “I’ve been wandering in and out for an hour, not gonna lie.”

Adrian nods, “Anyone is allowed to join, cooking is more fun as a group!” He hands out the recipe for raspberry thumb print cookies then puts on an apron.

“I can help bake! Thanks!” Tika says.

“I believe Mr.Hour puts the flour here.” Akaiif opens a cabinet and grabs some flour.

“I actually might need some help.” Tika laughs nervously.

“That’s alright, you don’t need to know how to cook, any of us can help.”

“Thank you! You’re so Sweet.” Tika replies.

“I think Mr. Hour keeps the jam in the fridge let me get it.” Aloe says rushing to the fridge to pull out the ingredient.

“Oooh I’ve never had these.” Nanda says having finished reading the recipe. She put on an apron.

“I try.” Adrian replies to Tika, as he sets his recipe on the table and grabs the sugar. “The cookies are really good, trust me.”

“All cookies are good don’t worry.”

“Thumbprint cookies can be amazing as long as you bake them right, I once had a batch with too much salt and it was gross.” Aloe chimes in.

“Aloe is right.” Adrian agrees.

Akaiif looks into the counters grabbing a bowl, rolling pin, and cookie cutters. “alright I got these things.”

“Um anything easy I can help make? I’m good with knives and Sh*t.”

“Good job, I fon;t know if we’ll need the rolling pin or cookie cutters but I hink it might be interesting to try making the cookies in special shapes!” Adrian smiled, “The fun of cooking is trying things out.”

Akaiif turns to Tika and sarcastically says, “Depends, can you cut out a cookie by using a knife?”

“Yea probably.”

“How about we do star shapes for some.” Aloe suggests as Adrian skillfully mixes the ingredients together.”

“Oooh! I can cut the school logo on others!” Tika adds.

“Star shapes seem pretty cute.” Akaiif nods and says as Adrian speaks.

“Star shapes sound cute I like that.”

Aloe chuckles at how in unison they were.

“Yeah, Ooh wait do you guys like my nails? I got them done in the bathroom on the third floor.” She sticks out her hand.

“The school logo would be a great idea!” Akaiif says helping to mix.

“Well, make sure none of the nail polish gets in the cookies!” Adrian warned half serious half joking.

“Don’t worry, not gonna be a problem.”

“We should do each of the house logos too!” Aloe suggests again.

“Yeah, I got ideas in mind let me just pull the logos up on my phone.” Tika replies.

“That’s nice.” Akaiif said as they looked over the recipe.

“Let me turn on the over.” Aloe says as they turn it to the temperature directed. She smiles satisfied with it as Akaiif pours the dough onto the counter. Adrian rolls it out then Tika gets ready to cut it.

Tika cuts the dough into shapes with a thing knife, “Is this good?”

“Yeah! Great, thanks!”

“Hello…! Can I join? Library was boring because no one wants to join in.” Alyssya peeks through the door shyly. She has to know what the equipment the group has so she can use it at about three am in the morning secretly

“I think the logo cookies would also be nice to thank our teachers for all their hard work!” Adrian said, “We should also make bells, to thank Mr. Hour for letting us destroy his kitchen every afternoon.” He laughed nervously.

“Pretty good.” Akaiif compliments leaning over Tika’s shoulder.

“No problem! Yeah that’s a great idea! We can drop off a batch at the office, and hey there. Of course you can join!”

“Yup, anyone is allowed to join us.” Adrian chimes in.

Tika finishes cutting up a batch, and goes over to the pantry. “Does anyone mind if I make some tea to go with the cookies?”

“Thanks!” Alyssya replies, “I kinda have to make a custom breakfast for my dorm mates.”

“Oh cool. What kind?” Tika asks, making the tea despite not receiving a response.

“That’s nice.” Akaiff adds.

“How nice of you! Your roommates must be lucky to have you.”

Akaiff starts cutting some dough to make some cookies too. Tika twirls a knife in her hand while waiting for the kettle to sound, “So how many batches are we making?”

“I’ll have to do that for you and Ella sometime Adrian.” Aloe Jokes fondly nudging him in the shoulder.

“Lucky, I’d say no? I love mothering a lot of people so…” Alyssya puts her bag down obviously filled with math text books.

Adrian chuckled at Aloe, “You better.” He then turns to Tika, “we don’t have to make too many batches. We can’t overbake again or else Mr. Hour will have my head.” He says dramatically.

“I mean… The more the merrier?” Tika suggests.

“We can pass out the extras to the students!” Aloe chimes in.

“Yeah… true.” Adrian says thoughtfully. “I’m sure people would love our baking.”

“I can give some to student council.”

Akaiif starts putting the cookies into rows on a baking pan. “Has anyone finished any cookies? I’m ready to put some in the oven.”

“Go ahead and put the cookies you’ve finished in the oven, we’ll catch up to you!” Adrian says.

“Alright.” Akaiif replies putting them in then setting a timer. They’re about to close the over when Aloe speaks up.

“Wait!” She shouts, “Let me put mine in too!” She quickly runs over with the cookies on a pan and shoves them in closing the oven.

“I’m mostly Chaotic at day! After all, I am the Dermit cult leader with… uh… hahaha…” Alyssya seems nervous like she’s not supposed to say a word, “Anyways what can I help y’all with.”

“Alright two batches in the oven.”

“I’m usually very chaotic, but like… student council and sh*t. Also baking is so domestic you legit can not be chaotic with this.” Tika replies.

“Oh trust me, you can.” Aloe laughs.

“I guess since we’re handing some out to the students you can start your own batch of cookies if you’d like!” Adrian replies, smiling and holding out a recipe.

“Well fair.” Tika replies, “but I’m too tired to set anything on fire right now and I’ve already stabbed a lot of dough.”

“Relatable.” Akaiif looks at the timer, “5 more minutes.”

“Alright, I think I will make brownies! …Which is totally different from cookies but whatever! Everyone loves brownies!” Alyssya took her oversized jacket off and tied it around her waist. She rolls up her sleeves and begins measuring out the ingredients she will need.

“So what do we do while we wait, guys?” Aloe asks.

“Sure, brownies sound good too, but don’t make too much of a mess!”

“Hmmm…. I don’t know.” Akaiif sat down thinking.

“20 questions?” Aloe suggests.

“Sounds fun!” Adrian agrees

“I’m up for anything.” Alyssya says sifting flour.

“Okay then I’ll start.” Aloe says pausing for a second, “Would you rather be a pig or a cow?”

#FPA #Fanplan #fanplan academy #fanplan academy (tumblr ver.)#fanplan academy discord

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spideymybucky · 5 years

Text

Make it stop

MJ x Peter Parker (Kind of) Reader x Peter Parker, Ned x Betty, Tony Stark x adopted!reader

warnings: depression, sadness, angst, betrayal.

A/N: I was bored and did this. Based on some level of my life.

Word count: 2k+

Chapter 1, Next >>>

(Y/n) hadn’t realized when the change between MJ and Peter had started. Maybe, it was the party she didn’t go to. No, she was pretty sure it was there. Peter didn’t give out to much detail but Ned had; and with the bits and pieces she heard around school, she was sure that Peter and MJ had kissed or something similar to that.

(Y/n) didn’t say anything or wanted to ask, because that would mean her best friend had betrayed her. She had already lost to many people in her life, so the best thing she could do was ignore Peter and MJ until the flirting stopped. Was it going to be hard? Yes, but she was sure she could make it, probably.

“Hey (Y/n), you’re hearing me out? Cause I really wouldn’t want to say it all again.” Ned said, leaning against her locker. She nodded and smiled at him, not really concentrating as she was overlooking at MJ’s and Peters interactions. God, please don’t let MJ fall for him. She thought to herself.

“I know. We’ve been planning this for a while now Ned. Its gonna be MJ, Betty and Me on the big room. You’ll be next door with Pete, so we; we’re all good.” She said closing my locker. MJ smiles sweetly at Peter, as he grabs some of her stuff. Ned looks at her and then turn around to see what she’s ignoring him for.

“They’ll probably get together in Europe, y’know? I really think he deserves this, after all with Liz and her dad, and well the other stuff… He deserves happiness.” (Y/n) faked a smile and nodded. The heavy, unsettling, feeling was burning through her chest and telling her how good MJ was for Peter. She was always going to be the better version of her.

“I’ll should get going, see ya later ned” She said quickly. Ned waved enthusiastically at her and left as well. She wasn’t prepared to talk to Peter or MJ, or face the reality of her feelings towards her best friends. She wanted one more day of normality, of ignorance and bliss. (Y/n) passed right through them, not acknowledging their smiles or small hand gestures. She bee lined to the bathroom and ran to the stall, closing it quickly.

Everything was changing and it was to fast. She couldn’t handle this. Sitting on the toilet, she looked at the blue doors. Her breathes were uneven, her palms sweaty and her feeling taping away. She couldn’t control her anxiety; she couldn’t control her feeling, which made everything worse. She liked her lips and tried breathing in and out. In and out. In and out. The door opened and the sound of feet cluttering in stopped her breathing. She looked down and saw black doc martins with a white and black Adidas super stars. It was MJ and Betty.

“You’re gonna tell (Y/n) about the thing?” Bettys perky voiced broke the silence.

“What thing, Betty? That he breaths and I breath?” MJ retorted back, jumping on the counter.

“No, the thing between you and Peter, like the kiss and the semi-date to Delmars…” Betty responded pushing MJ down. (Y/n) sat there hearing everything, as her heart broke little by little.

“No, it’s not like she likes him and, this is between me and Peter. No one else should be involved.” MJ responded, walking towards the door. Betty followed her but (Y/n) couldn’t hear her answer. She walked out of the stall and looked at herself in the mirror. She didn’t know tears were running down her face, she also didn’t know that MJ, the loyal and almighty girl, could’ve done this to her. She was stupid in trusting her. This was the last time.

———————————————————————————————————

“God MJ, he’s so cute and just… hot” she said admiring Peter from afar. The way his brown hair moved as he ran through the field made her heart beat faster.

“You should stop staring, drools forming on the corner of your mouth.” MJ said, not even looking up from her book.

“You think Pete will notice me one day?” (Y/n) asked, turning her full attention to her best friend.

“He would be stupid if he didn’t.” MJ replayed with a full on smile, leaving her book down.

———————————————————————————————————

(Y/n) grabbed her bag, that was left in the stall, and quickly made her way to principals office. She entered the small common area and looked at Rachel, Mr. Moritas’ secretary. She walked straight up to her and smiled, trying to get her attention.

“Oh hey, (Y/n), shouldn’t you be in class?” She said as she adjusted her glasses.

“Yes, well I’m here cause Tony just called with an emergency and wanted me to retrieve from the Europe trip.” (Y/n) said. She looked at her nails, biting the small freckles of skin leave the sides of the nails. Tony hated when she did that, beating her nails till they were raw or bleeding.

“You already did the first deposit, and they aren’t refundable. You do know that, right?” She said looking at the screen.

“Yeah, we know that and don’t, actually, mind. I just have this really important meeting the same week as Europe so…” Rachel nodded in an understanding way. She looked at her screen for a few more minutes and printed a form and handed it to her.

“You’ll have to return this signed by your parent or guardian, ok? After that you’re laid off of Europe and can go do that important event.” (Y/n) nodded and thanked her repeatedly, only stopping when she left the room.

She looked at the time, 11:50 am, if she ran for it she could still make it to Chemistry but didn’t want to. She slowly walked down the hall, mumbling to a Post Malone song, when she saw Peter and MJ slightly close to each other. MJ turned her head and instantly jumped away from Peter. She smiled at (Y/n) and walked up to her, trying to do their handshake but failing.

“Hey (Y/n), aren’t you supposed to be in Chem?” MJ asked.

“Since when do you call chemistry “Chem”? MJ shrugged and leaned away from her. She wasn’t feeling welcoming or as appreciated like other times.

“You ok?” Peter asked, sensing something off.

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” (Y/n) stated walking past both of them, not really wanting to be there. She passed the school doors, leaving towards the sunny streets. (Y/n) walked through the streets of queens, deactivating her location so she wouldn’t be found. Nothing really stuck. She was going in circles until she found a subway station. She went down, paid her ticket and boarded the first train she found. The motion of going forward and back, for the first 2 hours, made her fall asleep.

“Fuck” She squealed, startled by the smack on her cane. She looked up to see a small old man, smiling widely at her.

“Well, aren’t you a beautiful young girl.” The old man stated.

“Thanks.” She smiled uncomfortably at him and looked away.

“Well, aren’t you gonna move young lady? You’re seating on a reserved sit. I feel young but my body ain’t.” He asked again.

“Oh, sorry Mr…” (Y/n) said, quickly standing up and moving out of his way.

“Mr. Stan and you are?” She looked at him weirdly. Should she say her name or not? He didn’t seem anything but nice.

“(Y/n)” She responded courtly. He nodded and smiled, patting the seat next to him.

“What made you come on this train? You’ve been sleeping for more than hour” She looked at the time, 5:48. She was utterly fucked. Happy must be worried out of his mind, she thought. The last thing she wanted to do was put more pressure on Happy or Tony.

“Oh shit. I must’ve fallen asleep… Shit!” (Y/n) exclaimed jumping out of the seat. The train stopped and she ran out, screaming a goodbye to Mr. Stan. She grabbed her phone, turned it on and told F.R.I.D.A.Y. to activate her location status. In matter of seconds, her screen was filled with notifications from texts to missed calls, and DM’s on Instagram. With a small sigh she entered “Main Danger”, which was Tonys handle on her phone.

12:48 - School called and said you missed class. You ok?

1:58 - I’m starting to think you ditched school, might as well come back to the compound

3:08 - Where the hell are you? Happy can’t find you.

5:09 - When I get my hadn’t on you, you’re dead kid. Peter’s looking for you near queens, pray he finds you first.

She was in so much shit for this. Grabbing her backpack, she exited the subway near Delmars market. She was near Peters place and the probabilities of him finding her were big. She didn’t want that cause then he would find the need to probe into her mind, asking her why she did it. Sometimes, his nice and interested attitude wasn’t what she needed.

(Y/n) walked towards Delmars, thinking what her next move should be. Should she just go to Peters and end this or call Tony? Each one had their own consequence but the latter seemed better. Facing Tony was much better than Peter. Right now If she saw him, she might explode. She was never good with feelings, better to avoid them. She dialed Tonys number, embracing herself for the worst but hoping that he might be in a good mood somehow.

“Where the fuck are you?” He screamed through the phone.

“At Delmars, looking for a ride home.” (Y/n) sighed out.

“Wait there, I’m gonna call Peter to pick yo- ”

“No! Don’t call Peter. ” She screamed at the phone.

“What? Why?” Tony said confused.

“I’m just not in the mood. All I want to do is go home, please?” She was desperate, and Tony heard the pleading in her voice. He sighed, knowing he shouldn’t cave in but he still did.

“I’m sending Happy, don’t move ok?” He murmured.

“Don’t worry Tony, I’m gonna stay here.” She hanged up the phone and went inside the store. 30 minutes and a sub half eaten passed until Happy arrived. She walked out of the door and into the car, where Tony awaited her.

“Where the hell were you all day?” Tony screamed at her.

“I’m sorry, ok? I just feel asleep on the subway, I was tired and just…” She sighed, holding back tears. These past few weeks were hard on her, she didn’t say anything but they were. Training everyday was taking its toll. She was loosing interest in everything; going out didn’t seem fun anymore, her grades were slowly decreasing and the only thing she held hope for was Peter and her feelings towards him. She felt like MJ had taken her only hope, but she didn’t blame her. How could she? MJ was gorgeous, smart, funny, witty. She was everything she could never be.

“I couldn’t handle school today.” She whispered out. (Y/n) looked out the window, ignoring Tonys presence.

“You’re gonna have to talk to me or Pepper. She was worried out of her mind, you know? We were all worried.” He said towards the teenage girl. He thought taking care of her would be easy, thats why he volunteered when her parents died.

“It was a one time thing Tony. It won’t happen again.” She mumbled out, with her eyes closed. An hour later the mumbling of her name woke her up. Tony had already left the car, without (Y/n).

“How long have I been asleep?” She said in a husky voice.

“M'bout an hour or so” Happy said, turning off the car.

“I fucked up, didn’t I?” He sighed.

“You did kid. I haven’t seen Tony like that since Peter fucked up.” She sighed and left the car, walking towards the elevator.

“Doesn’t mean they won’t forgive you.” Happy screamed out. She stepped in the elevator, not really knowing where to go. She didn’t want to face them today, maybe ever, but it seemed easier to do it the next day. She was drained and had homework to do.

“Tony had requested your presence at the common area” F.R.I.D.A.Y. broke the silence.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y. tell’em that we can have this discussion tomorrow. I have homework to do.”

“He insists.” F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s feminine voice said.

“Just take me to my floor please.”

“Sure (y/n)” the AI responded. The elevator moved rapidly towards her floor, as she stepped out and unlocked her door. She wasn’t in the mood for anything. Exhaustion had filled her bones, as she threw herself on her bed. It wasn’t late, at all, and she should be awake but her body was refusing to cope with her.

At taping on her window startled her, making her jump out of the her bed. She looked at the clock, 11:46 PM. Who the hell has knocking at almost midnight? She thought. Slipping into her bunny slippers, she walked to her door and opened it but no one was there. What the hell? I swear to god I hear knocking. Confused, she went back to her bed and opened her phone. Missed calls were pilling up, and the text notification had grown from one digit to three. The tapping continued, slightly scaring her.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y. can you check who’s knocking?”

“Mr. Parker is outside your window, trying to get your attention.” The AI stated. (Y/n) closed her eyes and sat down on her bed. She didn’t want to see him, her wounds were fresh and it would be messy. She hated causing a mess.

“Tell him, I’m sleeping or something. I can’t do this right now.” Her voice cracked at the end of the sentence. A few minuted passed in complete silence. Tears prickled down her skin, leaving wet traces and falling down to her favorite sweater. She felt wrong and tired, like she was missing something. It wasn’t her first time feeling this but it was augmented by her feelings towards her spiderlying friend. God, she hated herself for feeling like this towards MJ and Peter.

All she wanted was to make everything stop.

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