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pluviophile-bookworm · 1 year

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Schmicago is Over and Done... so here are my thoughts on all of it (extra long post)

Episode 1: Welcome to Schmicago

In all honesty, I was fully prepared not to like this season bc I’m really not (or at least was not) that into this era of musicals, but all I needed was the start of Welcome to Schmicago and I was so completely in. Thank you to all the geniuses who made it possible.

No but… the second time round that the word ‘farrago’ comes up in the lyrics of the episode’s title song, I well, I was literally thinking ‘what the hey’s a farrago’, and the Narrator says ‘look it up’ — it’s like they’re reading the viewer’s thoughts. I love it. That’s the self-aware humour I’ve come for. Also, I did look it up and farrago means a confused mixture. I like it. It fits.

This is killing me (in the best way) — when they say ‘endings that are tragic’, the Narrator holds up a strand of Melissa’s hair. I love the double meaning.

I love love love this! At one point you can clearly hear Kristin Chenoweth saying ‘peas and carrots, peas and carrots’, and Josh and Melissa are like ‘Please don’t talk all at once, we can’t understand you’. Love that bit of theatre inside humour.

‘Do you have a cigarette, darling, I’m simply desperate’… what an introduction to Dove’s new character, Jenny Banks. Or, as I immediately dubbed her when I saw her, Liza Jr. I feel like I’m going to like her.

‘Fifty’s not that old’ — this coming, of course, from Keegan-Michael Key, who is 52 in real life. And ain’t he living proof of it, too.

I am loving Does That Shock You (I assume that’s the name of the song) [It’s Do We Shock You, actually, but there was no way for me to know that back when the episode aired, now was there?] — it’s like, ‘look, there’s a man and he’s wearing a dress’, ‘I like both boys and girls’, and, most hilariously, ‘I’ve experienced an orgasm. A female one.’ Goodness, this doesn’t shock me or Josh and Melissa, but it sure as the stars would render the people of Schmigadoon catatonic. And I love that, for some reason.

No but the cabaret girls… Annie, Kate, Molly, Tessie, Pepper, Duffy and Elsie. Like… a certain bunch of orphan girls from the same time period as all musicals referenced here take place. Plus Cabaret’s Elsie, of course. That’s basically as if… the girls grew up to become showgirls, which actually isn’t too far-fetched. And Ariana DeBose as the EmCee is slaying it. I love all of this. And Ann Harada is Madam Frau. Lady Lady. Cool! I love it.

‘My true passion is power [dramatic pause]… electricity’ I love love love all of this.

And Jenny Banks does a Cabaret-style number with chairography a la Mein Herr. Which is funny because Dove is just one of a whole bunch of people in this cast who would do (or, in certain cases, have done) a killer Mein Herr. Either way, I just know this will be one of my most replayed songs once the soundtrack comes out. When is that, btw? [That was yesterday, and I can fully attest to the above prediction being true.]

This number isn’t even subtle about what it’s doing. About as subtle as Va-Gi-Na or the Coming Out Reprise were last season ‘We’ve had a fine affair, but please get out of mein hair.’ I love this more than words can say.

Episode 2: Doorway to Where

The Narrator is just everything… ‘schmigadee-death… penalty’, anyone? Lovely.

Ahhh we’ve got Aaron!! That man’s voice makes me swoon in a way I didn’t think was possible to someone of my… identity. If you get what I’m trying to say. [What I’m trying to say is I’m aroace, but I do have a thing for voices, and for unconventionally attractive faces, except the latter isn’t relevant in very conventionally attractive Aaron’s case. He’s all voice to me. He could sing the phone book and I’d be done for.]

No but… his solo once again mentions squirrels and robins, and I’ve got to wonder why… like, is it just a reference to You Can’t Tame Me (my beloved), or is there something else? But also, his new character, Topher, strikes me as the only one who hasn’t changed quite as much — he’s once again a free spirit singing about squirrels and robins and wow, this is just utterly self-referential, isn’t it? I love that.

‘Please. Mr Flanagan was my father… after he lost his medical license.’ I love that. And I’m going to love Jane Krakowski’s character in this, I feel like. ‘First we court the press, then I press the court.’ I adore sentences like that. Sue me. But only with Bobby Flanagan as my solicitor.

Ok, so this one I caught. Melissa’s showgirl audition is set to a number evoking I Hope I Get It from A Chorus Line. Good going, me!

‘Dad was in the military. You know, the type with a whistle. He used to force my brothers, sisters and me to perform for guests at dinner parties. God, I hated when he did that.’ I see you, Sound of Music. I see you clear and bright. ‘So this one night I begged him for a taste of champagne’… ok, so you’re Liesl, are you? Well, funny, because all I can think of is Cecily as Liesl in that one SNL sketch with John Mulaney.

Ok but when Melissa meets Topher, she’s like ‘You look… groovy’, and I was like, his ‘pants’ are not really high-waisted in this one, though. But there’s a good chance he’s both high and wasted at any given time. I mean, so I imagine, he’s a hippie. Not to stereotype people, but hey, everyone is a walking steretype here.

When Topher’s buddies come to bust him and Josh out of jail on the happiness bus, Josh is like ‘it’s literal? I thought it was a metaphor.’ To which I say… ‘It’s not a metaphor, oh no, it’s something more — it’s a literal bus’. How’s that for a reference?

Episode 3: Bells and Whistles

Ok we’re on to episode 3 and… ‘ Rizzo, ChaCha, Doodie/ Zuko and Kenickie’… why, hello Grease! I didn’t quite expect you there, but of course that was a mistake. And also, in a number starring Danny Bailey/Zuko Aaron Tveit himself, no less.

I see you, Miss Kristin Hannigan! And I’m loving it. Mrs Lovett x Miss Hannigan has never made so much sense before. Add in some Mme Thenardier for good measure, and you’ve got the ultimate composite character.

No, I swear, between Kristin and Alan, this is giving me huge Thenardier vibes, even if it’s actually meant to be a homage to Sweeney Todd, I believe. I’m loving it either way.

Ok, so… Alan’s character, Butcher Dooley Blight, is Jenny’s father here. I love it. But oh wow, this got really bloody and dark and gory really fast.

This might as well be one of my favourite courtroom scenes. I mean, ‘On the grounds of Brooklyn’ is still my go-to, but Bells and Whistles, and Fosse jazz hands are truly something else.

‘Why am I flanked by fools’ is the new ‘I’m surrounded by idiots’, and I love it. No but, his song is actually about wanting love from women who don’t want him. He’s giving Phantom. And, oh gosh, the resounding bass note it ends on… almost more impressive than a high note.

Episode 4: Something Real

Well, it’s true that Dove and Aaron are, in my humblest of opinions, the two people whose characters from this season and the previous one are most alike — I mean, she’s a cheerful girl whose cluelessness may or may not be (and in this one definitely is) just an act and whose father would kill for her sake, and he’s a free spirit who sings about robins and squirrels (even though Danny’s ‘pants are really high-waisted’ whereas Topher would rather forgo any trousers at all because ‘flowers don’t wear pants’... which I think is a valid choice, wanting to emulate a flower. Go for it) — so, in a way, what I called has very much come to pass. Now how this is going to turn out by the end is a whole other matter, so we’ll have to wait and see.

Also, here’s a post I made the day the s1 finale came out, and... I was a bit blindsided, but I had the spirit:

Ok so the Narrator may be a bit of an arse to Mel and Josh, but I love him. I want Tituss Burgess to narrate every show in song.

Topher, arriving at the junkyard: ‘The prodigal son has returned. Someone write that down.’ The Fansie in me, knocking over about three walls at once: ‘I got a pencil!’

S1 Josh: ‘I’m not singing if you’re not singing.’ S2 Josh: ‘Talk to Daddy, talk, talk to Daddy’… now that’s what I call character growth. And that aside, this is just such a fun number. I can see myself listening to it on repeat once the soundtrack drops (which I need now btw). [Ah, yes, the ‘I’m not having an argument that’s part of a musical number’ to ‘I am not a man of many words’ to ‘Talk to Daddy’ pipeline. We stan.]

Whoever decided to pair up Dove and Aaron for a duet is a freaking genius. I need to know who that was so I can send them flowers to thank them for this vocal match made in heaven.

‘More romance’? If there’s one thing I don’t like about Schmigadoon/Schmicago, and it’s just this tiny little thing, really, but… it’s that it seems to emphasise romance as the ultimate solution, the single bringer of happiness. Only, I suppose, it will end up subverting that by the end of the season. Which would be nice if it does, indeed, happen. [Well... not exactly. But next season maybe... hope springs eternal.]

Ok, a scene centring around Kristin Chenoweth and Alan Cumming together in any sort of context is always welcome, but I’m just a bit too distracted by Dooley eating his mash using his cleaver as a spoon. It’s too funny!

No but the way he said ‘Life is just a pile of shit’… it spoke to my soul… somehow.

I have never, ever in my life laughed at the sight of someone openly discussing making children into meat, but if anyone can sell such a number, why, it’s those two. Marvellously morbid.

I hear you, ‘It’s a Hard-Knock Life’. I hear you loud and clear. Or should I say… It’s a Hard-Knock-off Life… ight I’ll see myself out. But who would have thought that mixing Annie with Sweeney Todd (and a sprinkle of Oliver!) would make such a delightfully dark and scrumptiously sinister song? Also, those tap-dancing children are so amazing! I wish we would get more than a number per season from them, but I always take what I can get. [This is another contender, along with Kaput and Talk to Daddy and Bells and Whistles, for my May Top Tracks on Spotify... what will end up happening remains to be seen, but the number of times I’ve looped those just since they were released there yesterday is already large enough to put them all in the top 20 if not the top 10.]

So this now marks two different songs I know where ‘scrumptious’ is rhymed with ‘presumptuous’ (Truly Scrumptious from Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, of course, being the first), and in neither of those songs do these words sound like they should rhyme. This must be what Mel meant by that comment about imperfect rhymes, you know.

Doesn’t this just go to prove that you could sell infanticide to me if it’s accompanied by a musical number, and I’d eat it up with a spoon, or even a cleaver if I had one handy… what does that say about me, I wonder…

Episode 5: Famous as Hell

Cecily is such a star! (hey, nice alliterative phrase there) But for real, she is. Also, is this supposed to be Maybe This Time? I’ll know for sure once I watch the Schmeakdown, but I think it is, if not intertwined with something else as well.

Ok but the tribe seems to have imprinted on Josh like a bunch of baby ducklings. He’s their mama now. I love that.

I’m thinking the Narrator’s name should change to the Instigator. Love that for him.

‘Another damn rhetorical question’ might just be funnier than ‘Schmigadee-death penalty’. Either way, I love Tituss Burgess and what he does as the Narrator, or the Instigator if you will.

Ooh… I love this. Famous As Hell seems to be the sort of number which references everybody’s themes, and I love that in a number.

Ok so nobody should be subjected to 12-show day, but, like, as an obsessed fan I’d be there all day for it. Still, don’t make people perform until they bleed. Then again, this is Schmicago, so…

Wait a sec… so that’s what ‘substitutes become expedient’ meant? Not just the obvious ‘children-for-animals’ substitute, but ‘orphans-for-Kratt’. Well. I’m thinking Kratt wouldn’t make a very desirable load of sausages, though. Oh, great, now I’m considering it. I’m in so deep I’m losing awareness of how gory this all is.

Are those the twins who played the white-faced women in ASOUE, playing another pair of white-faced women? Why yes, it is them, Jacqueline and Joyce Robbins. Nice.

Ooh… ‘You’ve been getting my roses? — Moses supposes I have.’ I loved that. I’ve been wondering if Singing in the Rain could make it into the farrago, and it seems like it has.

Ok, now Kratt is definitely Phantom. Kidnapping Mel just after she’s become a star on stage and essentially going like, ‘you marry me or the man you love dies’. Also, what kind of a cliffhanger was this? I’m dying. How on earth will I make it to the finale? And there are so many knots to be untied, too many loose ends to be tied up… that’s an ambitious setup for the finale. [It was, indeed. Bit of a rush to untangle and tie up everything, it really was, but I loved it nonetheless.]

Episode 6: Over and Done

Ahhhh Ariana DeBose solo at last!! I’ve missed that so much. And a Dreamgirls solo at that! I found she was really underutilised this season, which sucks because she’s a queen, but is also completely understandable because there were so many plotlines even without her being at the forefront. Still though…

‘I shut down a dream ballet, I will shut down this’ Yes Mel, be in control of the narrative devices even if you can’t control the narrative… that is so poetic in its way. I love it.

Idk how I came to this thought, but Sgt. Rivera upon being told he has to kill Josh is giving the huntsman from Snow White. Can’t say I love that for him because it’s a really tight spot to be in, but his reaction is still one of my favourite moments.

Ok but like… is Ms. Codwell reluctant to let the orphans be killed now? What exactly was it that made her change her mind? And also, these poor kids are so death-happy, I can’t even begin to comprehend the black comedy of it all. It’s not even black comedy anymore, it’s saccharine tragedy.

Also, if Dooley and Ms Codwell get married, does that mean Kristin is going to be Dove’s mum once again? Because at first I enjoyed the subversion of them being completely unrelated here, but I’m starting to miss them as a mother-daughter duo. Maybe s3 can amend that? Whatever, just please let there be a s3.

Ok but Topher being a JCS homage all season and his tribe digging everything he says, and then once he pulls a literal Jesus, ‘turn the other cheek’ and whatnot, they’re sceptical? Idk, but I kinda dig that just bc I find it (1) funny and (2) totally reasonable.

I can’t… the Somewhere Love Is Waiting for You riff as Dooley reunites with his daughter… it’s too much. I’m going to cry. I was already going to cry, but this really is too much.

Ok but even when he doesn’t intend it, Dooley sure is good with that cleaver. And the narrative pulling a Phantom on the Phantom shout-out character… now that’s what I call poetic justice.

Yeah, sure, I’ll drink to that too. From now on I want all the villain death announcements to be done via Kaput reprise. Ding Dong the Witch is Dead who?

Rocky Horror Sgt. Rivera isn’t what I ever expected, but I’m digging it. I’m actually tearing up. What is with Schmigadoon season finales and making me sob my heart out? I need to have more of that.

Now excuse me for crossing my fandoms over here, but the tribe’s ending is giving Ordinaryish People by AJR: ‘Your hippie friends call you a sellout cos you buckled down and got a job’… indeed.

Goodness, Something Real with Topher and Jenny was one thing, but with Mel and Josh it feels that much more… real. I mean. Tell me it doesn’t. I’m not crying over the cheesiness that is a musical ending number, you are. Except I am, too, of course. How could I not be?

I did not have Narrator x Rivera on my bingo cards for this season, but like, ‘I don’t hate it’. I actually wish I could see it play out.

What’s better than Leprechaun Martin Short? Leprechaun Martin Short x2. I am living for every bizarre, out-of-left-field thing this finale throws at me. I really really really want more.

Ok but, as a lover of child-centric musicals, I now need a s3 with Josh and Mel and their little one in a land with more than one child-centred musical number. It’s not a want, it’s a need.

#schmigadoon #schmigadoon s2 #schmicago #schmicago spoilers #an extra long reaction post for good old times' sake

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doctenwho · 3 years

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Hangovers, Love and Space Vodka (PE Pt. 2)

Hello! Requests are definitely open, even if I’m awfully slow! I feel bad at how slow these are coming out especially since there’s so many in waiting, but writing just hasn’t been on the table recently. Apologies for that!

But I’ve found the time and the motivation, so I decided to get this done! Thank you for your patience! This is such a cute idea, and it always makes me happy that people like the first parts enough to request a continuation. I had a lot of fun writing it, so I hope you readers like it too!

So, please enjoy the continuation of Purest Expression (also, you should probably read that one if you haven’t already, this fic heavily references it!) Also, I just thought the name was funny and I was in desperate need for one, so feel free to suggest others if you’ve got one!

Warnings: Talk of alcohol, but no drinking!

Word Count: 4,050

Summary: Check out the prompt above! :)

(Gif doesn’t belong to me, credit to the talented creator!)

You didn’t really remember a lot when you woke up. All you really knew was you'd drank far too much of that delicious cocktail, and that your brain was pounding in your head. This was quite possibly one of the worst hangovers you’d had, but honestly, you’d do it all over again to have another one of those space cocktails.

You rolled onto your back, lifting your hands to cover your eyes in an attempt to block out what little light managed to stream into the room. Your stomach churned at the movement, but it settled out easily enough after you didn’t move a muscle for a few minutes following your roll.

You relaxed back into the bed when your stomach settled down, and finally uncovered your eyes, staring up at the ceiling with a bleary gaze.

As you laid there, you tried to piece together the evening. The bits and pieces between arriving and having enough to drink that you could no longer walk a straight line.

You knew you’d gone out on the town with the Doctor—he'd been excited to show you things. He'd raved enthusiastically about the planet, and you’d listened along as your own excitement grew too. Then, you remember finally stepping out of the TARDIS and being completely astounded by this new planet, with all its colours, music and general liveliness.

The cute little bar wedged between two buildings; you remember that too. And of course, you remember the cocktail—you'd had two, or three, or... had it been four? You couldn’t really pinpoint it. The Doctor had said it was weaker than earth vodka, and maybe it was, but the after effects were definitely more intense to a human that human vodka was. That said you’d still be down for another drink or two before you left.

It was well worth the pain of a hangover to taste that drink again. Just the thought of it made your tastebuds tingle.

You let out a light laugh before rolling back over onto you side, but this time following it up with pulling yourself to a sitting position. The nausea was still there, but hardly noticeable; just a subtle warning to keep your movements slow and steady lest you start gagging.

Your head was still pounding, but you knew that wasn’t going to go away without pain killers, so you stumbled to your feet to go find the Doctor. He’d have something that could help, and at this point, you didn’t care what planet it came from, so long as it killed the raging headache and... well, didn’t kill you.

You found the Doctor in the kitchen of all places.

He was perched at the kitchen table with a mug of coffee in front of him, as well as a book. He startled when you stepped into the room, breathing a light, “oh, (Y/N),” as a greeting.

You continued into the room, wobbling on your feet for just a second, “good morning,” you greeted in return, forcing a smile onto your lips despite the headache, “you don’t happen to have any pain killers do you?”

The Doctor frowned, “are you unwell?”

“Just a bit of a hangover,” you promised with a wave of your hand, “a little worse than an earth alcohol hangover, but it’s manageable. I’ll be fine, my head just really hurts.”

“Right, of course,” the Doctor nodded, pushing himself up and moving towards the cupboards. He rifled around the cabinets, reading labels of things and putting them back before he finally found what he was looking for, “these aren’t of your earth, but they are basically the same thing as your planet’s Advils. I’m sorry I don’t have anything that’ll help from your earth, I should really invest in some if I’m going to keep soliciting companions from earth.”

“Soliciting?” You snorted a laugh, which made you wince lightly, “really?”

“Well, I do tempt you humans away with the offer of the entirety of the universe, now, don’t I?” You smiled at the Doctor’s cheeky grin as he joined you at your side, setting the pill bottle in front of you to do with as you pleased, whether that was to ignore it, or take a couple, before he carried on to the counter. “No different really, I offer the universe in exchange for companionship, and I’m proud to say very few have ever declined. Now, would you like a tea, or coffee?”

“Jokes on the ones who declined, they’re really missing out,” you huffed out as you picked up the pill bottle, surveying over the list of ingredients. None looked too out of the world, but honestly, you’d do anything at this point to ease the thrum of your headache, so you uncapped the bottle, “surprise me.”

The Doctor turned back to flash you a grin from where he’d busied himself at the counter, “will do, my Dear.”

You shook a few pills into your hand from the bottle, eyeing them as if they were about to change colours or something similarly alien-like, but when none of that happened, you frowned, “how many do I take?”

“Well...” the Doctor turned thoughtfully to lean against the counter, “I’d say to start off with one and see if it does anything for you. There will be small differences from planet to planet, and we wouldn’t want you to overdose. After a half an hour you can try taking another pill if one doesn’t help.”

“Sounds good,” you popped a single pill into your mouth before you could hesitate. As if the Doctor was magic, he slid a mug of you go-to morning beverage towards you, and you washed the pill down with a sip of the perfectly prepared drink.

You savored the taste of your drink, sighing into the warmth. When you’d had a couple sips, you put the cap back on the pill bottle and slid the bottle to the center of the table. You watched the Doctor move around the small kitchen as he made himself another coffee before joining you at the table.

The two of you settled into a silence, thankfully. You hunched over the table, your elbows on the surface and your cheeks cupped in your palms, as the Doctor continued reading, but he looked like he was lost in his thoughts instead of actually reading.

“How long have you been up?” you asked slowly, squeezing your eyes shut before blinking them open again to see the Doctor’s gaze on you. “You’re kinda spacing out.”

“I’ve just... some things on my mind,” the Doctor admits with a tiny curl upwards of his lips. It didn’t really answer the question, but at the same time it did. You didn’t think the Doctor had even gone to sleep. “Has the headache eased at all?”

Your mouth formed an ‘o’ shape noticing suddenly that the headache was in fact almost gone. You hadn’t even realized, “yeah,” you informed with a laugh, “almost gone. I didn’t even notice—space things are so much better than earth things; the drugs and alcohol.”

“That would be a very worrying observation if I didn’t know exactly what you were talking about,” the Doctor snorted a laugh. You laughed along too, even if the statement was completely true—it had only been about ten minutes and the space Advil was already working wonders, where as the earth stuff could take anywhere from fifteen to thirty minutes to actually kick in.

“So,” you drawled after another string of comfortable silence between the two of you, “what’s been on you mind then?”

The Doctor eyed you up and down briefly before sighing, running his fingers through his hair and making his already untamed locks stand up at odder angles, “I was just thinking about yesterday.”

“Yesterday,” you parroted under your breath. You’d been thinking about yesterday too. How could you not be? There were still gaps in time where you don’t really remember what happened. “What happened yesterday?”

“You don’t remember?” The Doctor blinked.

“No, I do,” you leaned back in your chair with a sigh, “well, most of it, I think. But some of it... I don’t know? It’s kind of a blur. I guess the cocktails started hitting me towards the end of the evening, I barely remember coming back.”

“You were a bit out of it,” the Doctor admits sheepishly, “glad I cut you off at three drinks then.”

“I could’ve handled more,” you scoffed, smiling widely in a teasing way.

The Doctor rolled his eyes, leaning forwards, closer to you as his voice dropped, “I do believe three is probably your limit, Love.”

You let out a bout of bright laughter and the Doctor smiled softly. You loved how easy it was to banter with the man—how the two of you were so comfortable with the other that you could tease back and forth like this.

As if to prove his point, your head gave a warning thrum of pain that drew a shallow breath from you, “yeah,” you shook the pain off, “you’re probably right about three being my space-cocktail limit.”

The Doctor shook his head fondly at you as he settled back in his chair, “so, anything you’d like to know about yesterday? I did promise I’d tell you anything you’d like to know?”

You thought back to what you remembered about yesterday: the walk from the TARDIS to the bar, the ideal seating at the bar, those amazing rainbow cocktails that tasted like dreams. Drinking and chatting and laughing with the Doctor—splitting a plate of chips that were unbelievably delicious... and then... well, the space English the TARDIS didn’t bother translating for you.

“What was the bartender saying to you?”

The Doctor drew in a breath as his cheeks dusted the faintest pink, “nothing important, I assure.”

“C’mon,” you pouted, cradling your half drank, significantly cooled drink between your hands as you leaned towards the Doctor this time, “you said you promised to tell me about yesterday, right?”

The man chewed at his lip, subdued, but clearly trying to figure out the best course of action, “alright, well, we... I suppose we were acting a tad bit... involved? And... some assumptions were made about us by the barkeep.”

“Involved how?” you raised a questioning eyebrow. “And... what kind of assumptions?”

“Involved involved,” the Doctor cleared his throat, eyeing your level of understanding before rubbing his forehead and adding, “uhm, romantically involved. Those were, well, the main assumptions made as well.”

You gaped for a second before a thought came back to you suddenly, “he kept calling us lovers.”

“Yes,” the Doctor managed a light, fond smile, “I did try to explain it to him: us, our companionship—but, well, he... he didn’t believe me.”

“He didn’t believe you?” You repeated back, surprised.

“No,” the Doctor laughed, rubbing the back of his neck, “he made some pretty solid points in favor of us being romantically involved too, actually.”

“Oh yeah?” you teased, “and what points might those be?”

“Well, we were sitting fairly close--”

“As friends do,” the excuse came easily. The Doctor raised an eyebrow, but continued on like you hadn’t spoken.

“--I was hovering close to you, I suppose... A bit at least--”

“You were worried about me,” you interjected with a fond eyeroll at how wrong the bartender had been. Lovers? Come on, no way. You guys were... you were friends. Obviously. Though the thought of the Doctor hovering over you, making sure you were okay warmed your heart.

“--we leaned into each other’s sides, uhm, multiple times throughout the evening--”

You struggled for an excuse for that one, you did tend to lean into his space, not that the Doctor ever seemed to mind. And he liked to press into your personal space as well—neither of you really cared about proximity, so you managed a one shouldered shrug, “it was just loud in the bar, hard to hear each other.”

“--and, well, he pointed out I was staring at you occasionally; odd for him to have noticed, when I didn’t even realize I was doing it.”

You couldn’t come up with an excuse for that one, eyebrows furrowing in confusion that made your breath catch in the weirdest way. He’d been staring at you? Why did that make you feel so happy?

“And then the fact that you returned the stare when I wasn’t looking. Honestly, that barkeep spent more time watching us than he did working last night, I’m sure.” The Doctor let out a playful scoff, genuinely amused that the bartender had put more time into them than his job.

You however, were suddenly caught up in the information.

He’d been staring at you when you weren’t looking—fondly, you were sure, if it had caught the bartender’s attention and led him to believe the two of you were in a relationship. Then there was the fact that you were staring at him in return? You’d been caught by someone staring at the Doctor? You knew you did it sometimes, how could you not? He was a good-looking, kind, compassionate man who liked your company. Just being with him made your heart speed up.

“That doesn’t mean we’re a couple,” you forced yourself to say, even if... well, you were questioning it just slightly. You knew, of course, that the two of you weren’t a couple but... “That bartender was just bored and looking too far into us, I’m sure he was doing it to everyone...”

“Of course not, surely we’d know if we were, right?” the Doctor agreed with a light grin. The grin only lingered for a second before it faltered and he chewed at his bottom lip. You were about to question it, but he spoke again before you could, “but, well, I suppose there is the song he had to go off of as well.”

“The song?” You questioned before it all flooded back—well, most of it, at least, “we were on a stage. We... we sang together. Was that a karaoke bar or something?”

“We were,” the Doctor ducked his head in a nod, “we... did. And it, well, it was kind of like your earth karaoke bar. Do you remember anything about it?”

You tried to remember, you know the Doctor explained it last night after he’d gotten the information from the barkeeper, but you still don’t really know. And you’re sure there were bits and pieces that he didn’t tell you last night as well. So, you shook your head.

“Right,” the man nodded, settling his elbows on the tabletop as he held his chin up, “well, the concept of the song ritual we were roped into performing is that you sing whatever song best corresponds to what you think about your peer. I’m not exactly sure how it works to be honest, the expression through song is just strong.”

“So, whatever I felt about you would be... conveyed through a song?”

“Yes.” The Doctor gives a light nod.

“And whatever you felt about me would... would also be?”

“Indeed,” his head tilts as he surveys you, trying to piece together where you were going with this string of questions.

“But... we sang a duet, didn’t we?” You furrowed your eyebrows, running a finger along the rim of your mug. You faintly remembered chiming in with the Doctor’s song, instantly knowing the new lines to his song despite not knowing his lines, or the actual song. “Does that happen? What... what does it mean?”

“Well,” the Doctor cleared his throat, looking nervous. “It does happen, it’s just, well, it’s rare? I suppose. The barkeeper, just before we left, told me that the last time he saw a duet happen during the expression through song ceremony was when he was a child.”

“Wow, okay,” you bit the inside of your cheek. You had a feeling you knew what it meant, and the thought made your cheeks heat up, but you asked anyways, “what does a duet mean?”

“Well, generally speaking...” the Doctor shot you a small, crooked smile, “it means that we feel exactly the same way about each other. Exactly the same to the point that our expression would be through the same song, at the same time.”

“Wow,” you couldn’t help but repeat, “that’s... wow. So it really is unusual then? Why did it happen to us? Was it a fluke?”

“No, don’t think so,” the Doctor shakes his head, a blush rising to his cheeks as his fingers tap against the table, “something like that would be hard to fake, so I doubt it was a fluke. We chose the song—deep in our subconscious when thinking of the other... I mean... I didn’t know the lyrics beforehand, did you?”

“No,” you breathed out, fingers fiddling with your empty mug, “I don’t even think I remember the lyrics now. They were just... in my head when they needed to be. I didn’t even know your lines of the song. It’s weird that we were the people that got the duet—random visitors.”

“It was the same for me,” the Doctor sends you a small smile, “I think few people view their... companion the same way their companion views them. It seems highly unlikely that any two people can feel the exact same way...”

You’re not sure why, but there’s something different about the way the Doctor says companion this time around. Maybe he holds a different fondness than you’re used to, or perhaps some other reason, but there’s an unfamiliar warmth in the word.

“But we did,” you whisper, looking up momentarily and catching the Doctor’s eyes before dropping your gaze back to your cup.

“But we did,” the Doctor repeats, just slightly louder than you. Like he too can’t wrap his brain around it. There’s a pause before the Doctor’s clearing his throat, forcing a crooked smile onto his lips. “Well, I promised you we head to the shops for some alcohol and other treats, didn’t I?”

The Doctor stands, moving swiftly towards the door without looking back.

“I meant it, you know?” You speak before you even realize you’re speaking. You don’t see the Doctor stop, since you’re facing the other direction, but you hear his steps come to a halt, feet planting in spot.

He doesn’t say anything for a second, which prompts you on, “I do need you.”

He still doesn’t say anything, or move, so you stand and gather both your mug and his own, walking in the opposite direction from him towards the sink. You set the mugs in but don’t touch the faucet, instead mumbling a soft, “I want you.”

You’re not even sure if he’d still there anymore, or if he’d taken you moving as his cue to escape. You don’t turn to look, afraid to not find him there, so instead you whisper what little of your lyrics from yesterday that you remember, “come on back to me.”

Another moment of silence drags in before you hear the Doctor moving. His steps are quick, and you think he’s leaving out the door when suddenly hands are on your waist and he’s swiftly turning you around and gently pushing you against the edge of the counter beside the sink.

You manage to muffle your surprise as his lips press against yours, soft but urgently all the same.

You melt into his lips, eyes slipping shut as his hands leave your waist, one wrapping around your middle, as the other rises to cup at your jaw. It spurs you on too, your arms wrapping around his neck and pulling him just slightest bit close, to which he blindly follows your lead.

You don’t pull away until the need to breath outweighs how good it feels to be kissing him.

You both gasp for breath, but neither of you pull away, lips still touching the faintest bit, “I didn’t think you even remembered the lyrics... how... intimate the duet was...” It’s the first thing the Doctor’s said since trying to flee the room.

You slowly open your eyes, catching his eyes waiting to make contact and a smile pulls at your lips. You pull away a bit, pushing your forehead against his, “I didn’t really remember the lyrics until just now, but I never forgot the feeling of singing them to you, and hearing you singing them back to me.”

The arm around your waist tightens around you, “I didn’t know you felt the same way,” the Doctor whispers. “I didn’t want to... make you uncomfortable, or chase you away. And then you woke up this morning, and didn’t remember anything with the hangover, so I... was going to let it go.”

You’re sure you make a noise of protest, maybe even disappointment, but you only assume because the Doctor lets out a chuckle before stealing another kiss that you’re more than happy to give.

When he goes to pull back, you snake your hand up to hold him in place, mumbling softly against his lips the last of your lyrics, a message he’d sure to understand, “I love you sundown.”

The Doctor freezes against you pulling back just enough to look into your eyes before a smile creeps onto his face. You smile at his smile, watching him fondly as his head tilts in that adorable way, affection bright in his eyes, “and I, you, my Love.”

You melt at the words leaning into him and pressing your head against his chest, fitted perfectly under his chin like a puzzle piece. Your arms wrap around him, and his move to hold you against himself just as you had done to him seconds earlier.

You stay like that for a while—you're not sure how long. You feel protected tucked against the Doctor, and it’s a feeling you’re never going to forget.

“How’s your head?” he asks softly above you, the voice after so long of nothing by his steady heart beats startles you. The Doctor presses an apologetic kiss to the top of your head.

“Better,” you decide, nuzzling closer to him, “why?”

“Well, I did promise we’d check out the shops, if you’re feeling up to it.”

“I almost forgot about that,” you laugh, finally pulling away. The Doctor unwraps his hand begrudgingly, frowning as he does so. You let out a laugh, slipping your hand into his. “I wanna see the shops before we leave this evening. We’ve gotta get some of that vodka.”

“I see more hangovers in your near future,” the Doctor snorts as he leads you along by the hand.

“Oh, and, we should definitely pick up a gift for the bartender from last night,” you add, ignoring the Doctor’s teasing jab at your weak human alcohol tolerance.

“Why’s that?”

“Well, without his instance that we sing, and his instance that we were a couple, none of this,” you gesture down to your interlocked hands as the two of you step out of the TARDIS and onto the busy, colourful streets, “would’ve happened.”

The Doctor’s quiet for a second as the two of you fall into step. “There’s nothing in the universe that can ever thank him enough for what he’s done,” the man softly admits, giving your hand an adoring squeeze that drives his words home.

Your cheeks heat up as you tuck yourself in his side. He moves easily to accommodate you, releasing your hand to wrap his arm over your shoulders instead. You move your hand to squeeze around his waist, grinning as you respond cheekily, “I don’t know, Doctor, the space vodka is pretty good...”

The man sputters at your response, glancing at you with a raised eyebrow, “I was being all cute and you’re comparing the gift of our newfound relationship to vodka?” the man questions, genuinely dumbfounded.

You give a one shouldered shrug at his side, giggling at his reaction. It wasn’t long until the man was letting out a fond sigh, thumb stroking against your collarbone, “what am I going to do with you?”

The tease in his words has you smiling. There really is nothing in the universe that seems equivalent to the gift the bartender bestowed to you, but... yeah, a bottle of space vodka was a nice start.

<><><><>

Hello again! Hopefully you liked this continuation. Not sure if it kept to the prompt exactly, I got a bit carried away writing it, but nonetheless, I hope it was good! Feel free to prompt again if it wasn’t what you were looking for, as always!

I’ll try to keep up with the prompts but idk how well I’ll be able to manage between life and the other works in other fandoms. Anyways, hope you have a great morning/day/night!

#Tenth Doctor #tenth doctor x reader #tenth doctor x you #10 #10th doctor #10th doctor x reader #10th doctor x you #doctor who #doctor who 2005 #reader insert #dw #TARDIS #ten #writing prompt #writing requests #fanfiction #fanfic

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lotusss-flowerbomb · 3 years

Text

Nice To Meet You (2)

Bucky x Wilson!reader

Warning: 18+, Smut (seriously, children are not welcomed here)

Word Count: 3,152 (I literally tried so hard to keep this short)

********

The drive to the docks to meet Sam and Sarah was too quick. You wanted to spend more time with him alone.

Once you arrived, you kept your distance from both Bucky and Sam and helped Sarah most of the time. You were sitting something inside of the wheel house when she silently followed behind you. You paused to look at Bucky and then turned around almost crashing into her.

"You know those glances you've been giving him hasn't been as subtle as you think," she squinted.

"Girl, what are you even talking about??" You feigned innocence.

She just stared at you until you finally cracked.

"Damn it!" You looked out at Sam and Bucky talking.

"So?? Tell me everything," she motioned for you to hurry up with her hand. "How was it?"

"Amazing," you sighed as you thought about all the nasty things the two of you had done.

"Aye man, what are you smiling about? Are you even listening to me? Why are you so weird?" You heard Sam yell.

When you looked up, you saw the window was open. Your heart rate sped up. There's simply no way he heard that... Did he??

"I can't believe you slept with a man you just met and Sam's friend of all people, " she shook her head.

"You look out there at that man and you look me in my face and tell me that you wouldn't," you challenged her.

"Yeah, he's kinda cute for a white guy," she said.

"Besides, they're not friends... they're coworkers."

When Bucky started laughing, you knew he could hear you. He got a real kick out of hearing you use the line he'd tried using on you last night.

You slammed the window shut embarrassed. Once Sarah realized what had just happened she fell into a fit of laughter.

"It's not funny, that's so embarrassing," you put your face in your hands.

"I just want to know how you plan on telling Sam? You know how he gets, he's gonna shit a brick."

"I know and I don't care if he's mad at me, but I don't want him to be mad at Bucky."

"Ooh, a sneaky link," she danced.

"Girl bye!" You laughed. "What do you know about a sneaky link?" You walked outside.

"I got Tik Tok too," she bragged.

You all finished the work you were doing on the boat for the day. You were happy Bucky was there to help move things along faster. You shook your head at the way he and Sam constantly bickered back and forth throughout the day.

"I know what I'm doing, I've been fixing on this boat my whole life!" Sam would yell.

"Hey, pipe down. You're still wet behind the ears. Just let me show you!" Bucky yelled back.

"Will you two just get a room?" Sarah asked, finally getting them to shut up.

Back home, the boys wanted to spend the rest of their weekend at their friend's house and Sarah welcomed the break.

"Alright, my kids aren't here so I'm not cooking," your sister announced.

"It's Sam's turn anyway," you said.

"No, it's your turn," he fired back.

"I cooked yesterday, you weren't here. Bucky ate, so it counts."

"Bucky definitely ate," he said.

Sarah choked on her drink. Sam, completely oblivious, patted her back and made a comment about hef never knowing how to drink without choking since she was little.

"So, pizza? Yeah, I'll order pizza. Sam, Sarah your usual right?"

"Yep," she answered in between breaths.

"Got it, I'll go up and order online." You jogged out of the room.

When Bucky followed behind you Sam asked where he was going.

"I'm from New York, Sam. I'm gonna make sure she picks the best pizza place." He said matter of factly.

When you two finally got to your room, you smacked Bucky on the arm.

"Ow!" He whined.

"Oh, please!" You smacked him again, "are you trying to get us caught?"

"Mmm hmm," he pulled you close and kissed your neck.

Your body melted into his. Unable to resist his advances, you put your arms around his neck and kissed him. Soon after your legs were wrapped around his waist and he had you pressed up against the wall.

"I want to fuck you so bad," he said in between kisses.

"Then do it," you teased.

Bucky didn't waste a single second turning you around and pulling down your joggers. He kicked your feet apart and pushed inside of you.

"Oh, fuck yesss," you hissed.

He put his hand over your mouth. The last thing he wanted was to be distracted by your sounds of pleasure and unable to hear someone coming.

Your pussy was so wet. The sloshing sound was driving him crazy and he wanted to get on his knees and suck it, but knew better.

He wanted to see your face, so he turned you back around and lifted you up again. This time he slid into your pussy slowly, watching as your mouth opened and you tried desperately not to make a sound.

"Do you know how good you feel?" He said into your ear. "I'm gonna cum in this tight little pussy. It's mine now and I don't care who knows it."

You grabbed his chin and pressed your lips to his. The knot in your belly unraveled as you creamed all over his dick.

"That's my girl," he fucked you quicker and harder as you tightened around him.

Bucky moaned into your mouth as his body stiffened and he came inside of you. He used one hand to brace himself on the wall and the other to keep you in place. He stopped you when you unwrapped your legs.

"No, wanna feel you," he panted into your throat.

"We don't have time for this, one of them will eventually come see what's taking so long," you wiggled out of his hold.

He let you down, but not before he got one more kiss.

He pulled his pants up while you grabbed a towel from the bathroom and wrapped yourself in it. You quickly placed the order for the pizzas and turned on your shower.

"Bucky, no," you giggled when he tried to follow you in.

"Fine," he kissed you and smacked your ass before leaving quickly.

********

"They've been up there for a long time," Sam said to Sarah.

"They're probably talking. You know how much she loved hearing old stories from daddy. He's probably telling her about how he was there when the wheel was invented or something," she replied.

"Mmm, I'ma go see," he said and walked away before she could stop him.

Bucky slipped into the guest room right before Sam hit the top of the stairs. He quickly rounded the bed and grabbed his bag as if he'd been looking through it.

"Hey, where's Y/N?" Sam questioned.

"Said she was getting in the shower," he never looked up.

"Oh... Why are your pants unzipped in my house?"

"Because I was also going to get in the shower, is that okay?" Bucky finally looked up at him and rolled his eyes.

Sam squinted at him before walking the short distance to your room. He could hear the water going in your bathroom, so he finally relaxed. Bucky came out of the guest room to go in the bathroom across the hall. He just shook his head at Sam. The man was definitely gonna pop a vein when he found out about the two of you.

********

While you all ate Sam and Bucky talked about their infamous first meeting.

"The guy puts his arm through my windshield and snatches the steering wheel clean off," Sam laughed. "Then I watched him jump over the side of a bridge and land on his feet."

"Come on, man," Bucky sounded embarrassed and looked over at you.

"It's funny now. Not so much back when you were trying to kill me, but definitely now," he took a drink.

"Alright, enough of those stories time for music," Sarah saved him. "Alexa, play some old school."

Alexa lit up and played Sexual Healing by Marvin Gaye.

"Nooo, Alexa, next song!" Sam yelled.

Alexa played Love and Happiness by Al Green.

"Oh, this the one right here," he stood.

You and Sarah stood on each side of him and let him take lead, eventually coming in to be his back up vocals.

Bucky couldn't help but smile seeing the three of you together.

"Ooh, come on, Buck, let's dance," you put your hand out.

"What? No, I haven't danced since the 40's," he said and took a sip of his whisky.

"Well, you're long overdue then," you grabbed his hand and pulled him to his feet.

You both swayed to the music. He smiled at you as he held on to your hips and led the dance. You were so caught up in him that you hadn't noticed Sam stopped singing and was just staring at you.

It wasn't until the music abruptly stopped that you remembered your siblings were even there.

Sam's jaw was on the ground as he stared at the two of you. You jumped out of his arms and started to explain, but he made a beeline for Bucky.

"Sam—"

He punched him in the face causing Bucky to flip over a chair.

"Samuel!" You and Sarah both yelled.

"He had it coming!" He walked away.

You helped Bucky up.

"Why didn't he hit that hard a few days ago when Walker was kicking our asses," he rubbed a finger across his eye.

"Are you okay? I didn't think he'd ever react like that," you checked his face.

"I'm fine," he assured you. "I should probably go," he said.

"You don't have to go, I'll talk to him. Besides, he just punched you; he didn't say you had to leave." You walked away to find your brother.

Sarah grabbed ice for his face and started cleaning up.

********

"Samuel Thomas Wilson!" You screamed when you saw his silhouette pacing back and forth on the dock. "Have you lost your mind?!"

"Have you?!" He yelled back.

"You're a real piece of work, do you know that?"

"Of all the men in the world, why did you have to choose him?"

"Oh please, you're acting like I ran off and married the guy," you rolled your eyes.

"That's just it, the man's been through enough. He doesn't need you playing with him and trying to figure it out."

"Wait, you're mad at me?? Why the hell did you hit him?"

"I'm mad at both of you. I don't want him hooking up with my kid sister. He's too damn old, " he said, finally starting to calm down.

"Hate to burst your bubble, but I'm not a kid anymore and the man is too old for everyone." You sat down and swung your feet over the edge.

"You'll always be my baby," he sat next to you.

"How's your hand?"

"Hurts like a bitch. The guy is very literally hard headed," he chuckled.

********

You found Bucky in the guest room lying in bed with the ice pack on his face.

"How's the eye?" You leaned up against the door.

"It'll survive," he looked over at you.

You walked over to the bed and laid flat on your back next to him. You were quiet until you couldn't hold in your laugh any longer.

"What's so funny?"

"He socked the shit out of you."

"Right?!" He laughed along with you. "But it was worth it. Besides, I had it coming. I did rip the man's steering wheel off while he was driving after all." He chuckled, referencing the earlier conversation.

"You know, he just jumped at the very first boyfriend I ever had and that poor guy never called me again," you moved the ice from his face.

"Yeah well, I don't scare that easily," he pecked your lips with a soft kiss.

You put your hand out for him to grab.

"You sure I'm not gonna get punched again," he laced his fingers with yours.

"Oh please, it was just a little love tap," you led him to the bedroom.

He locked the door behind you then quickly scooped you up to lie you down on your back.

"Bucky," you giggled as he kissed the insides of your thighs.

"I'm going back to Brooklyn tomorrow. I need to taste you one more time before I go." He pulled off your pants.

He slowly slid your underwear off and stuffed them in his back pocket. He definitely needed something to remember this moment by.

Bucky rubbed your pussy and then slowly pushed two fingers inside of you.

"Fuck, look how wet you are and I've barely touched you." He admired the wetness on his fingers when he pulled them out.

You opened your mouth wide and stuck your tongue out, letting him know you wanted a taste.

He happily stuck his fingers in your mouth. His dick pulsing as he watched you suck on his fingers. He could no longer resist diving in between your thighs after watching how much you enjoyed tasting yourself.

Bucky expertly rolled his tongue over your clit. Watching you as you struggled to keep quiet.

He rolled over onto his back while keeping you in place, so you were now riding his face. You buried your face in the pillows and let out the moans you'd been holding back.

"Fuck my tongue," he smacked your ass.

You bounced your ass on his face while he licked and sucked you.

Bucky stroked his cock. His balls were so full, he'd be cumming in no time.

"I'm gonna cum," you gripped the sheets.

Bucky flipped you again, as much as he wanted you to cum on his face, he wanted to see you come apart beneath him even more.

He pushed your legs back and nudged into you. Your breath caught in your throat as he stretched you.

He rubbed your clit as he fucked you slowly and deliberately. Putting his hand around your throat and squeezing lightly until damn broke and you shattered to pieces.

He caught your screams with his mouth and kept fucking until he could no longer hold back. He came inside of you for the second time that night.

After getting cleaned up, he wrapped his arms around you and before long he was asleep. You thought about what Sam said about him having been through enough. Sure, you had your time when you were just living life and didn't take men seriously, but after the blip you've realized that life is way too short. Besides, you actually liked Bucky and wanted to get to know him.

You ran your finger across the stubble on his sleeping face. His soft breathing continued as his fingers flexed lightly on your back.

Normally, even that light touch would've awakened him, but right now, he was completely comfortable and felt safe there with you and your family.

********

The next day Bucky got up early. He decided not to wake you and made his way down the stairs. Sam was already outside throwing the shield around.

Bucky walked up, but the two men didn't speak for a while. It wasn't until Sam threw the shield and Bucky caught it did they break the silence.

"I should've said something. The moment we got to the boat, I should've told you," he said.

"Yeah, you should have," Sam finally stopped to look at him. "That's my baby sister, man."

"I know and I didn't plan for it, hell, I didn't even know you had sisters... Or a boat? Which she got on my ass about by the way," he smiled.

"As she should," he laughed.

The two men talked about a few things and finally Bucky opened up to Sam a little bit.

"You still having those nightmares?" He asked.

"All the time... Except these past two nights." He inhaled as he felt himself becoming emotional. "For the first time in a long time, I felt a little at peace. Even when I was in Wakanda, I always felt like someone was coming, but with Y/N, I just..." his words trailed off.

"You know the Wilson's, we good for the soul man," Sam joked. "You can't use her as a crutch though," he became serious.

Bucky nodded in agreement. He knew exactly what he meant.

"You ready for a little bit of tough love?" He asked the older man.

********

You and Sarah watched out of the window while the two men talked.

"Oh look, they're doing the little high five dap thing," you said.

"He's walking away. Wow, that man broke your back and now he's leaving without saying goodbye," she teased.

"The hell he is," you ran to the front door.

"Hey!" You yelled after snatching it open and running out.

You ran past your brother and jumped into Bucky's arms. Wrapping your legs around him, you gave him a long, tongue filled goodbye kiss.

He set you on your feet after finally pulling himself away. You reached up and pinched his arm.

"Ow! Why is this family so violent?!" He yelled dramatically.

"How dare you try to leave without saying bye to me?" You huffed.

"I'm sorry, doll, but I'm not so good at goodbyes," he hugged you close. "I have some things I need to do back home, but I promise I'll be back as soon as I can."

"You'd better," you kissed him again. "Come on, I'll take you to the airport." You tugged him towards your car.

********

It had been weeks since you'd last seen Bucky, but you spoke on the phone almost everyday. You were excited when he told you that he was coming back to visit and would be at the big cookout.

You mingled with the people while you waited for him to show up, sitting with a group of friends talking when AJ and Cass took off running past you. You turned to see where they were headed and you saw Bucky walking up with a cake in his hand and sunglasses on.

"Damn, he looks better in person," one of your friends said.

"That he does. Excuse me, ladies," you vacated your seat and walked over to him.

The smile that stretched across his face was a mile long.

"Sargeant."

"Hey, baby doll," he wrapped his arms around you and kissed you passionately.

"Alright, alright, enough of that. We're trying to eat here." Sam said.

Bucky clapped his friend on the back and you all sat down together.

Bucky looked around the table at all the smiling faces. He never thought he'd have happiness. Let alone people he could call family. He kissed you at your temple one more time. The way you looked at him made his heart flutter.

Finally. The calm he'd been searching for.

#Bucky x reader #Bucky Barnes #bucky x you #Smut #marvel smut #marvel fanfic #Avengers #falcon and the winter soldier

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animefreak1145 · 3 years

Text

The Irony of Adler and Bell

Call of Duty: Black Ops Analysis of Adler’s Brainwashing

It’s me again. And I’m here with another analysis! This time based solely around Adler. It’s always about Adler. But also Bell.

And this is about the brainwashing of not Bell, but Adler.

We have all had our theories since we first saw Adler getting tortured in the Cinematic Warzone Trailers, shown in Season 3 of COD:BOCW. Our suspicions growing when we see Sus Adler™️ doing what he does best in Season 4 by stealing an important looking chip within the crashed satellite that was taken down. (Also, Hudson, what is wrong with you letting Adler be cleared for a mission when he was just rescued like two weeks ago?!)

And although we did not see him in Season 5, we can all gather that anyone could be potentially brainwashed if you have a certain brand of earpiece. (Woods and Stryker appeared unaffected despite having their own earpieces). So the naive hope and calming words to others that Adler being different and strong is out the window. All it takes is hearing the numbers. What do the numbers mean, Mason?

Besides Bell wasn’t your average run of the mill agent either. An amazing decoder and created codes(I am with the theory that Bell did create the codes for Perseus that we have to decrypt in the game for Operation Chaos and Red Circus) with a brutal close combat skill as well as charming based on how one could talk to everyone and be a social butterfly. Also, able to handle and withstand torture after one hour of leaving Cuba despite previous injuries AND be able to go to Solovetsky/Duga and able to aim and shoot despite having a needle shoved in their eye a few hours earlier.

Bell had crazy skills. Just like Adler does. Bell was brainwashed. So is Adler.

Confirmed with this bundle that will be released. Thank you to @reclaimedbythesea who first found it and pointed it out.

We have the confirmation—the amazing, horrible, war criminal man we all love has become an agent of the man who he swore to chase down and capture/kill for longer than a decade. (Adler said thirteen years in COD:BOCW universe, so 1984 it would be sixteen years. Sheesh. Correct me if I’m wrong. I may be mistaken.) Is it wrong I kinda find it funny? Especially since he did the same thing to Bell—believing it to be necessary. Just as Stitch I’m sure finds it necessary.

It’s just a big brainwash back and forth between these two countries, a race to see who has the most mindless agents on their side in the end. But we’re not focusing on that.

We’re focusing on how Adler’s karma finally caught up to him with all his war crimes. We can infer that he hasn’t just done a cruel action like that to Bell, but to others. “Whatever it takes.” That’s his motto. He’s messed up other’s lives—hundreds, maybe even thousands. The Vietnam War has a deep dirty history, such as the real operation of Fracture Jaw, Operation Ranch Hand with the use of Agent Orange, the Mai(My) Lai Massacre and who knows how many other operations that would/did affect civilians. Not that I would see Adler doing anything like the massacre, but you can’t expect me to not believe that he may have been involved with Agent Orange somewhat? And who knows what other operations and missions he’s done as a CIA agent after the war?

My point is, the man has been gathering karma for awhile. Not just with Bell(I am aware he had his orders in the war, I’m just saying I’m not sure if he feels much guilt about some said orders. Guilt I believe he may has, but I’m not sure it’s a high degree.) Of course, Bell isn’t a saint either. They were willing to kill millions with Perseus after all. A wayyyy higher body count than Adler. And who knows what Bell did with Perseus even before the Greenlight plan? Didn’t seem to mind millions blinking in an eye, so must be pretty cold or delusional about the whole free world killing their country thing. Thank you @yunatheintrovert for this post pointing out and showing a hint of just how not good a person Bell was.

I’m not going to say they deserved what happened to them due to Adler. I feel for Bell. I really do. Just like I can’t say if Adler deserves it for everything—just can’t say that because I’m not at liberty to judge other’s actions and claim what is deserved and undeserved. Leave that to judges.

But now I’m going to point out certain things—other things. Such as what I think to be Adler’s “new” name. At least to those in the Perseus Collective/Stitch.

Do I realize that “Cipher” may just be what this awesome skin is called? Yes. Will I rather ignore it and rant about the name for two ten minutes? Also yes.

On to the analysis!

ci·pher/ˈsīfər/: a secret or disguised way of writing; a code.

This first definition is what we can all gather of what the numbers represent—the code and simultaneously the key of brainwashing others in earpieces with just a certain order of number together.

Stitch and co. used said numbers on Adler, so why not call him Cipher? The Code? Funny, cause he killed Bell—the Decoder. Maybe Bell would’ve helped him out if he didn’t kill them.

Another hammer to the irony of between these two.

But no. The name gets better. Second definition!

ci·pher /ˈsīfər/: a person or thing of no importance, especially a person who does the bidding of others and seems to have no will of their own.

PAHAHAHAHAHA! *clears throat* Now, this, this is what I think Stitch calls some true vengeance. Not only did he get to torture the man who did the same to him before, but made Adler a shadow of who he was before. A husk. Nothing really there. “Whatever it takes” indeed but for the opposite side now—a puppet with numbers for strings. Stitch did a good job in naming Cipher—I mean Adler. We don’t even know how far Adler shall go now, will the CIA have to kill him or will they be able to recondition him when/if they capture him? Will he even be the same? Nope.

Why do I find that definition funny? Well, I think Adler had a multitude of reasons for naming Bell, Bell. Just like Stitch did with Adler. And not just the obvious reasons of him ringing the bell at them to condition them as he was torturing/brainwashing them(we love Pavlov!). Let’s get the first definition out the way.

bell /bel/: a hollow object, typically made of metal and having the shape of a deep inverted cup widening at the lip, that sounds a clear musical note when struck, typically by means of a clapper inside.

I wonder if anyone knows where I’m going with this or I’m starting to seem like a madwoman.

I’m going to ask you guys to focus on the word, “hollow” for me. Hollow, as in not filled. There’s something in the bell alright, but it doesn’t do enough to fill out the hole does it? Like Cipher is now made a husk. Bell was made hollow—only a little bit filled with the little memory they got back before they were killed(maybe they weren’t, let’s just go with it for now). Or perhaps just a bit filled with false memories of Vietnam, of camaraderie. I doubt Stitch did anything like that.

Also, Bell is just an instrument for someone else to play. Play the right tune, and the Russian agent will do anything for you. Right, Adler?

Cipher is the puppet, just doing what he’s told when they give the orders. No will or thought. Just how Stitch likes it.

I’m not done yet! Second definition!

bell /bel/: a. A stroke on a hollow metal instrument to mark the hour.

b. The time indicated by the striking of this instrument, divided into half hours.

Another play on words of Bell being struck(jabbed with needles) to do what needs to be done. But it also represents the limited time that Bell has. Bell needs to help to stop Perseus and quick, Adler will make them go faster if needed by putting the highest dosage as possible without killing them to accomplish it. Or maybe it’s also a representation that Bell does actually have limited time left—Park did say MK—Ultra will be hard on the body physically and mentally. Perhaps MK-Ultra was slowly killing us and Adler just decided to give us a mercy kill while he was at it as he “tied up our strings.”( @cryinginthebackseat does point this out in their Adler/Bell story, go check it out!)

Let’s focus on the instrument thing again though, but back to Cipher. The third definition!

ci·pher /ˈsīfər/ : a continuous sounding of an organ pipe, caused by a mechanical defect.

Oh man. Sounds like Adler is being played like an instrument too, continuously due to all the numbers and how the numbers can be everywhere if one is in the armed forces since they all use earpieces. Interesting shape too, a pipe. Long and thin and has two holes, a beginning and an end but which one is the top or the bottom? The beginning and the end? We don’t know how far Adler will go like this—as Cipher. It will eventually come to a point, where something squeezes within the pipe and manages to get out. Maybe. Or maybe Adler is just forever defected, like the definition suggests.

Not quite Adler anymore and just Cipher.

Just like Bell will always just be Bell. The other self practically gone.

It seems these two will always somehow reflect and affect one another, whether one is dead or not.

I swear I love Adler, so don’t mind some of my dark humor about him and this situation he’s in. It is pretty funny. At least to me. Stitch is funny. And petty.

Hope you guys enjoyed!

@salvija @smokeywhalee @quizzyisdone @efingart @samatedeansbroccoli @weirdoartist21 @tr1ppylady

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spaceorphan18 · 3 years

Text

Head Over Feet (1/14)

After Kurt and Blaine broke up the second time, they went their separate ways, living their separate lives in New York City. Fifteen years later, a retirement party brings them back together into each other's orbit, with surprising, for both of them, consequences. Are they able to fit each other into their already complicated and messy lives? And are these newfound feelings real? Or just echoes of a past relationship?

Canon Divergent after Season 5.

Ao3 Link

A/N: Yes, I know I have a bunch of other WIPs - and I am still working on all of them! But I’ve been so excited about this one, I just want to get it out there...

Thanks to @snarkyhag for the beta. :)

***

Chapter 1: Loser Like Me (Part One)

Fall 2028

Blaine is dreaming. It’s all fuzzy, but there are hands… familiar hands that are on him clasping his own, cupping his face, trailing down, down, down to where it feels good. He begins to feel the warmth spread throughout his body. He feels good, so good… Lips are against his, rough and hungry, he is enveloped in want, in need… He lets out a groan, letting the pleasure overtake him. He reaches out, desperate for more, but as he does so, that good feeling starts to float away. He makes a grasp for it, but it’s no longer there, and he is left cold and wanting more.

And then his alarm goes off.

Blaine wakes up hard as a rock. He can’t remember the last time he had a dream about sex. Maybe when he had been a teenager? Or possibly college? But he doesn’t remember any of those dreams ending him with his dick actually aching to fuck something.

He stares at the ceiling for a good long moment, thinking the urgency will eventually wear off. He turns his head, slightly, to see the outline of his husband on the other side of the bed. He doesn’t bother to wake Sean -- not that morning sex had ever been a part of their marriage. They’re on opposite schedules; the show Sean is doing the costumes for is in the middle of its workshop, and if it gets picked up by a good producer, it could mean big things. And Sean is cranky in the morning, anyway.

Blaine can just as easily take care of himself.

He gets up, slowly. The erection still hasn’t died down, and Blaine begins to wonder if this is even normal for someone his age. Maybe he should call a doctor. He laughs to himself. Or maybe he should jack off and not worry about it.

He moves off the bed, having to go around it to get to the bathroom. In the process, he has to step over a huge pile of Sean’s clothes. Blaine takes a moment to pick them up, and throw them into the laundry basket. Two seconds, it takes. Is that really so hard?

The clothes also smell like booze and cigarettes, which means Sean has been staying out late with the company again. It’s fine, they used to both go all the time to the afterparties and the clubs, but some time after Blaine hit thirty, he didn’t find them as enticing any more. Something about feeling almost twice as old as everyone around him killed the spirit.

Blaine gets into the bathroom, turning on the light, and easily stripping out of the boxers that he wears to bed. His dick is still throbbing to be touched, so he gives himself a few hardy strokes before turning on the water for a shower. It’s weird, he thinks, as he gets in. Sex used to be the a staple of his marriage but, as the years passed, he and Sean manage once a week if they’re lucky. He hasn’t really missed it, or maybe he hasn’t noticed he missed it. Because getting off with just his hand doesn’t normally feel so good.

He indulges a little, thinking about that dream, and those hands on him. Letting someone else take over, take control, take him apart. He thinks, at first, of Sean, pulling from the catalogue of their sex life. Sean being the one to hold him, and stroke him, and suck him down. But as much as he tries to concentrate on his husband, the scene keeps pulling away, and there’s someone else there -- a faceless man with deft hands who knows exactly how Blaine likes to be touched.

He speeds up his hand, and yet somehow it doesn’t feel like enough. He braces himself against the tile of the bathroom wall, fucking furiously into his hand until his hips take on a life of their own. Eventually he comes, jolting hard into his hand. The orgasm tears through him, and he lets out a near scream that he hopes doesn’t wake Sean.

It takes a moment to come down, and he leans against the tiles, enjoying the blissed out feeling as the hot water sprays over him. He’s not sure what had brought all that on but he does feel more relaxed. He’s been too pent up lately. Maybe he does need to start seeing his therapist again…

***

On Wednesdays, Blaine only teaches one class and he is back home by noon in time, usually, to make himself lunch before heading out to do afternoon errands (or stay in and grade papers). Before the workshop started, he and Sean would usually make Wednesday nights their together time. But those have faded away over the past year or so. Blaine has gotten used to spending the evenings alone, to the point that when Blaine arrives back at the apartment that afternoon, he’s startled to see Sean there making himself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

Sean stands against the counter, chewing the sandwich slowly as he watches Blaine put his bag and coat on one of the kitchen table chairs. “You okay?” Sean asks, taking another bite. A bit of crust lands in his red beard, and he brushes it off and onto the floor. Blaine shakes his head, now he understands why the floor is always so filthy. “You’re looking at me as if I’m a stranger in the house.”

“No, it’s fine,” Blaine says. Maybe it’s not. It feels, weirdly, like an intrusion on his private time, but the thought is laughable. His husband is home -- he should be happy. Blaine begins to rifle through the fridge, pulling out a container of tuna fish to have for lunch. They could eat together, at the table, like civilized people. “What happened with the workshop?”

“Remember me telling you about Ashleigh and Karyn and their obsessive ambition to be the first to win a Tony? Or whatever the fuck they’re actually looking for.”

“Yes.” No? Maybe? He can’t keep all of the cast members of Sean’s show straight. But Blaine doesn’t really feel like listening to a who’s who tangent. He finishes making the sandwich as Sean explains further.

“Well, I don’t know how it started, but I know how it ended -- with the both of them in the hospital,” Sean says. “So with both the lead and the understudy out, the workshop is on hold for a little while.”

“Wait, who was the lead again?” Blaine asks. Sandwich made, he grabs some chips from the pantry and a bottle of water and heads to the kitchen table. Sean follows him, leaving his now empty plate on the counter, before taking his usual seat across from Blaine.

“Karyn,” Sean says, stealing some chips from Blaine’s bag. “The blonde.”

“Right.”

“So, I guess you have me home for a while.”

Blaine plasters an immediate smile to his face. He’s not entirely sure how to feel, though. “Are you still getting paid?”

“Yeah,” Sean grabs more chips. “Marv’s gotta girl lined up in case it takes longer. Shouldn’t be more than a week.”

“Ah.”

Sean taps his fingers on the table. Blaine sips from his water bottle. There’s a siren outside somewhere, and the upstairs neighbor’s dog sprints back and forth, causing the ceiling to creek.

“I paid the water bill,” Sean says after a long moment.

“Great,” Blaine says. “I still say we should get reimbursed for the neighbors tapping into our pipes.”

“I’ll talk to Greg about it.”

“Great.”

Blaine eats his sandwich in a strange sort of silence as Sean watches him. He feels like they should talk about something. What do they usually talk about these days? Work? The apartment? The new musical mini-series Netflix put out? Sean doesn’t ask how Blaine’s class went. Blaine doesn’t offer to talk about it. Nothing really feels like a good conversation.

Which is why Blaine decides to mention it… “So, I had the weirdest dream last night.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, it was some kind of sex dream,” Blaine says, licking the tuna from his fingers. “I woke up hard as fuck.”

Sean gives a smirk. “I can’t tell if this is your way of telling me you want to fool around tonight, or if you’re concerned and want to see a doctor.”

Blaine laughs into his water. “I decided I’m too young still to have dick problems, and jacked off in the shower.”

Sean’s eyes go wide with amusement. “Shame I missed that show. If you’re still feeling it, we can mess around after lunch if you want.”

Blaine gives an unenthused shrug. “I’ve got some errands to run. Then I’m having dinner with Santana tonight, but if you want to catch the late show, it can be arranged.”

“We’ll see,” Sean says. “I told some of the guys I’d meet them out for drinks tonight. There’s a new bar opening over in SoHo.”

A flash of irritation runs through Blaine. It’s not the turning down of sex that bothers him. He really doesn’t want to spend his evening at a bar in SoHo. He really doesn’t want to spend the evening with Sean’s questionable friends ‘Way-Too-Flirty’ Don and ‘Drinks-Too-Much’ Steve. He doesn’t even really want to go out, especially when he has to teach an early morning class. But he’s not there to tell Sean what to do.

He finishes off the sandwich without a word. It’s not like Sean feels differently about Santana.

“You know, speaking of Santana, that reminds me,” Sean says, getting up from his seat. He goes over to the counter and brings back a red envelope. “This came for you today -- from McKinley High.”

Blaine takes it with interest. He gets mailers from Dalton Academy all the time -- even if he didn’t graduate from there, he had still technically been an alumni. But something from McKinley? That just seems weird. It isn’t the right time for there to be a reunion. He has no idea what it could possibly be.

He opens it up to find a black and gold invitation. “Oh,” he says a little fondly as he reads it. “My old glee club teacher is retiring. He’s inviting everyone back for homecoming weekend to celebrate. Cute.”

Sean grabs at the paper after Blaine lets it drop back to the table. “Do you want me to come with you?” he offers quietly.

“Would you want to go?” It’s not often that Sean comes with him on the rare occasions he heads back to Ohio.

Sean hesitates before he speaks, and snacks on another couple of chips before replying. “I probably should stay to make sure Marv has a handle on this whole Ashleigh-Karyn thing. That is, unless you’d like me to go.”

Blaine stares hard at the paper. It’s not like he couldn’t go. He doesn’t have to teach on Fridays, and the school is having a holiday weekend that same weekend. In theory, he could and it wouldn’t be a problem. “I don’t even know if I should.”

“Maybe go to see your parents, Blaine,�� Sean says. “It’s got to be at least a few years since you’ve seen them.”

“I saw them last year at…” Blaine considers. Has time really flown by so quickly? “Huh, I guess it has been at least two since that Christmas we spent in Ohio.” He sits back in his chair to think about it.

“Hey, Blaine…” There’s suddenly a heaviness in the air. There’s something behind Sean’s eyes that hadn’t been there earlier. Something that Blaine catches glimpses of every once in a while. Something that they’ve been avoiding and, for a moment, Blaine fears that Sean is actually going to bring it up. The room gets darker, just a cloud passing by the sun, but everything is still -- too still, and Blaine’s heart begins to race. The moment passes, though, and whatever Sean had been about to say changes. “I guess talk to Santana about it, and see what she says.”

Blaine stares down at the paper again. Suddenly, a weekend away from the apartment, away from the city, away from Sean doesn’t seem like such a bad idea. “Yeah, I’ll do that.”

***

The fall wind is sharp in its crispness, but it’s still a nice enough evening to go for a run in Central Park. Three days a week, he and Santana Lopez go out for a jog then grab dinner at a nearby taco truck so they can sit and gossip. Santana, who’s office isn’t far from where they meet, is already waiting for Blaine when he arrives. She is stretching her legs, bent over in a V, wearing her usual black spandex pants with a bright, blue bomber jacket that billows slightly. Her designer sunglasses rest on the top of her head.

Because he has been thinking about high school all day, he can’t help but think that she hasn’t changed much. Her face has hardened a little with age, but Blaine knows her beauty care routine is much more extensive than his, and he knows how much she spends on wigs and dye jobs. Today, though, her long, black hair is pulled back tightly in a high pony, amusingly reminiscent of how she wore it in high school.

“Okay, so I have some hot goss for you today,” she says, immediately after they exchange pleasantries. She waits for him to do his own stretching, but continues to launch into her news. “So, you remember how I’ve been endlessly talking about the cute redhead on the floor below?”

“The one who works as a secretary for the greasy lawyer?” Blaine pulls his leg back. The stretching feels nice, he is glad he is able to get out of the stuffy apartment in some capacity tonight, even if he can tell Santana is a bit more ramped up than usual.

Santana nods. “So for weeks now, it’s been flirty glances, and unbuttoning buttons to show off some pretty pricey brassieres, but you know, nothing direct. Well, today she comes up to my floor, claiming the bathroom is not working in their offices -- and I checked, she was totally lying -- and she’s wearing this tight, and I mean tight, nearly see-through button-down. With no bra. She had on no bra. I could see her fucking nipples, Blaine.”

“The nerve,” Blaine teases. They begin to walk down their usual path. They have a good quarter of a mile before they usually start jogging, though they might go the first half of their two miles at a walking pace just so Santana could release her pent up energy verbally.

“Who doesn’t wear a bra in a professional setting?” Santana continues. Blaine arches an eyebrow at her. “Okay, so I have totally done it, but I promise you it was warranted. Anyway, I think she’s trying to kill me. I took all of my restraint not to pull her directly into the janitor’s closet and make out with her. And play with her tits. I can’t unsee her fucking hot tits, Blaine.” Santana grumbles, putting a fist to her head, as if it’ll magically erase the image.

“You know, you could ask for her number,” Blaine suggests, for maybe the third time since Santana has started talking about the woman. “Or, you know, find out her name.”

Santana looks at him sharply. He knows, she just wants a minute to bitch and revel in her janitor closet fantasies, but it’s not in him not to offer suggestions. “Her name is Liz. I at least found that out today.”

“Well, that’s a start,” Blaine offers.

“Alright, what’s up with you?” she asks abruptly. “Usually, you’re talking my head off about school, and I’m always having to catch up to you. You’re trailing me by nearly a foot. Something’s going on.”

Santana’s senses are rarely off, he shouldn’t be as surprised as he is by it. He tries to quicken his pace but she is right, he is been in his head all day. “I’m thinking of going back to therapy.” He says it simply, laying it out as if it’s another fact, and not something that’s been weighing on his mind.

She gives him a concerned look. “Is this a ‘just you’ thing? Or a ‘you and Sean’ thing?”

“A ‘just me’ thing,” he admits. They are nearly at the lamp post where they usually start to jog, but he’s not feeling as up to it as he had been when he arrived at the park. “Sean’s staying home for a few days, and I’ve been restless lately…” he doesn’t quite say the things he’s thinking. “And, I don’t know, I had a weird sex dream this morning. I’ve been off all day.”

“Well, what does Sean think?”

“He offered to fuck, but I told him I had it taken care of.”

“What, no, not about the sex dream,” Santana stops in her tracks. They have to wait a moment for an older woman walking a doberman to pass in-between them. “What does your husband think about you going to therapy?”

“It didn’t come up.”

“God, Blaine,” Santana says, exasperated. “Well, if you really would rather spend your evening with me than reconnecting with your husband who is, as you well know, built like a fucking viking, then maybe therapy is what you need.”

It’s more complicated than that. She knows some of it, but maybe not all of it, and it’s more than Blaine would really like to get into on their fairly public walk through Central Park. But Santana has also grown to be one of his closest friends and, if nothing else, he can confide in her.

“I’m going to set up an appointment,” he tries to play it off as just another thing. She knows better, and gives him one of her infamous staredowns. “And if it’s something I think I need to continue to do, I’ll keep you informed,” he tries to assure her.

“You better, Anderson.” Her voice is sharp. “I may have a cold, dead heart, but I want you to be happy. And you know I’m always going to be blatantly honest with you, so I say this with all the love I can muster, but I don’t think you are.”

“I know, I know…” He’s not not happy. He loves his job. He loves his little apartment. He loves being in one of the greatest cities in all of the world. He and Sean are… “So, hey, did you get your invitation to Mr. Schue’s retirement party?” He begins to walk again. He knows he’s avoiding the conversation, so does Santana. But she rolls with it.

“He’s retiring? Dear god, he’s barely over fifty.”

Blaine lets out a little laugh. “Well, that’s what the invitation said.”

“And, fuck, no, I haven’t gotten one,” Santana says. “Though, it’s been a couple weeks since I’ve checked the mail. Who sends invitations through the mail these days? Just start a text chain like a normal person.”

“Would you go?” He asks. He’s been back and forth on the idea all day. Does he really want or need to see anyone from high school again? Possibly? Would it be nice to get away for a weekend? Most definitely. Can he really afford to skip town for a little while? That is the big unanswered question.

Santana bites her lip, thinking it over. “I mean it really depends on who else got these magical invitations. Oh, god, will Rachel Berry be there? Please tell me Rachel Berry will be there. Because I have got to see how little Miss TV-Princess does in a place that does not revolve around her ego.”

Blaine has never had the issues with Rachel that Santana had, but he does remember college. He does remember Funny Girl. “Sorry, Santana, I don’t actually have an answer for you on that one.”

Santana throws her hands in the air. “You keep in touch with everyone, right? Well, isn’t she part of everyone?”

“I think she’s become a little out of my status level,” Blaine replies, with a smirk. “Besides, I don’t keep in touch with everyone .” Truth be told, Santana might be the only person he talks to from high school. At least on a regular basis. For all the promises made during the time of staying BFFs forever, real life managed to get in the way of the magical thinking.

“Alright, let’s work it out, right now, cause this will be the determining factor,” she says. She pulls at a leaf from one of the trees above her, causing the branch to bounce. It nearly whacks him in the head, which causes her to giggle a little and shake her head. “Let’s see… Rachel Berry, possibly. Said ego might drive her back to the place where it all began.”

“Sam Evans will probably be there,” Blaine says. “He does still live in the area.” He and Sam don’t have a lot of contact, but occasionally they’ll do a long distance Fantasy Football thing or chat about a new video game they both own. He hopes Sam will go - he could use more of that laid back charm in his life.

“Artie clearly won’t be,” Santana continues. “I know, because I’m the one who put him on the European press tour for his new film.”

“I doubt Tina will be there either,” Blaine adds. “She just had her third baby, and she and Ron probably don’t want to make the trip from Boston to Lima with three young children.”

He thinks of Tina’s Instagram, the only way he really communicates with her, and the constant updates for her hectic life. She’s happy and looking good, and way too busy to drop everything and run back to Ohio. Blaine makes a note to give her a call at some point to congratulate her formally on the new baby, even if he had already left a cute note on the Instagram pictures.

Santana is too caught up in her thought process to say more about Tina. “Finn won’t be there for obvious reasons. What the fuck happened to Puck? I doubt he has an address to even send anything to. Quinn’s too prideful to drag her divorced ass out of Connecticut. You know she’s already taken a new lover ? She’s in her mid-thirties, and still hitting up the sugardaddies. I mean, have some goddamn respect for yourself.”

“Well, Mike’s in Chicago,” Blaine offers. Mike had been part of the Chicago Ballet for a long time, and had since become a dance instructor. Blaine had been at Mike’s wedding to his wife, Marie, a couple of years ago, and he’s another one whom Blaine wouldn’t mind seeing again. Maybe he, Mike, and Sam could have a nice guys’ night out that weekend. He’ll have to get in touch.

Santana nods. They walk by a woman sitting on a bench with two screaming children. Blaine feels bad for the woman, but he and Santana share a look -- both of them glad that they don’t have to deal with that kind of hot mess at home.

“Then there’s Mercedes,” Santana says, looking up and out into the world. “Goddess among women. We do not have the privilege to be in her presence.” Santana laughs at her own comments. “Seriously, though, I love my girl, but I don’t judge her for continuing to live her best life.”

“What about Brittany?” Blaine asks, tentatively. He has no idea if this is a sore subject for her or not because he doesn’t think Santana has brought her up once over the course of their friendship.

Santana becomes stoney-faced, as if not to give herself too much away. “No,” she says simply. “Brittany’s living in some commune in LA where she does Fondue for Two and runs a cat babysitting service.”

“That’s a thing?”

“In LA it is.” A fond smile climbs on her lips. “In any case, as much as I am always up for seeing my girl again, I highly doubt she’ll be back. I mean, we were still hooking up for a while the few times I made it out to LA, but recently she’s found someone a little more… permanent. And before you go on pitying me, let me assure you, I am more than fine.” She’s quiet for a moment as she reflects. For a person who is almost always open about her thoughts, she’s decidedly reclusive when it comes to matters of her heart. Blaine knows better than to try to pry it out of her. “Anyway, if we’re going to be upfront about exes, I believe there’s only one person left, if we’re not counting random chicks with mafia dads or weird Irish exchange students. And I’m sure we both know that there’s no way in hell Lady Hummel is coming back to Lima, Ohio.”

“Oh!” Blaine says, as if it’s a complete revelation. Kurt hadn’t even entered his mind, and it is surreal to think that his brain didn’t go there first.

“Oh, please, don’t tell me you actually forgot about Lady Hummel and his heartbreaking ways,” Santana scoffs. “Pretty sure years of therapy couldn’t undo all the trauma that did.”

She isn’t wrong, and she would know, because she helped pick him up a year after everything had happened. But that’s the funny thing -- it’s not that he doesn’t remember Kurt. (God, he remembers all of Kurt.) He doesn’t remember the person he used to be when he had been with Kurt. There had been a time when he would have shifted the Sun and the Moon and the entire Earth for Kurt Hummel. A time when his heart had pointed in only one direction. And a time so dark that when Kurt had ended it, Blaine didn’t know how he would ever move on.

And yet he did.

The person he had been is now such a faded memory he can barely remember what those feelings were like. Kurt Hummel is just another name from his past, a person who, yes, helped shape him into the person he is now. But long gone are the emotions once attached to that name. Funny how things can change. Someone could mean so much to you at one point in time, and yet after time…

“I didn’t forget about Kurt, clearly,” Blaine says. He grabs her arm, and loops his own through it. The jog isn’t happening today, and he’s fine with that. Some days, it’s best just to have the company rather than the exercise. “I just think you’re right, unless Burt is dying or something. But doubtful that he’ll return for a silly retirement party.”

“You almost sound disappointed.”

Blaine shrugs, and gives a smile. He doesn’t know how he feels about whether or not Kurt will be there. He hasn’t thought about him so long. But he does know that after all this talk of the past, maybe he is ready to go back and see if anyone else is feeling the same way. “I think we should do it. Go back. I mean, why not?”

Santana shakes her head. “Oh, this whole idea sounds like the worst, but if there’s a chance I get to make-out with Quinn Fabray again, then I’m in.”

For the first time in a while, Blaine feels a little lighter on his feet.

***

Not a few weeks later, Blaine is on a plane back to Ohio.

He and Sean talked it over and, while Sean had been technically free to go, they agreed that maybe it would be better if Blaine went himself; the unspoken dialogue being that space isn’t the worst thing they could give each other. Blaine had not been able to help but be fidgety with his wedding ring during the flight but, intent on giving himself a weekend off from real life, he drowned himself in his favorite podcasts, and had tried not to think about his life in New York.

The party is on a Saturday afternoon, but he’s there on Friday so to spend time with his mom. They end up having a nice lunch together, and she takes him shopping. She’s as feisty as ever, somehow managing to remind Blaine of Santana, and he wonders if she’s always been like that or if that’s a new trait of being in your sixties. They end up FaceTiming with Cooper and the kids, and Blaine indulges his little nieces by singing them Disney Princess songs. The whole day weirdly feels like the family they usually are only around Christmas time, but he’s in good enough spirits that he doesn’t question it.

Later that night, his dad comes home, and they have pizza before his parents go off for one of their social benefit parties they often frequent, reminding Blaine of the old days when his parents were never home on a Friday night. He doesn’t mind so much because McKinley’s Homecoming Football game is that night.

His original plan had been to meet up with Sam since Santana’s plane isn’t coming in until tomorrow. But Sam declined, stating that Mercedes Jones is coming late that night and she needs a ride from the airport. Sam didn’t ask Blaine to come with him. Blaine calls up Mike, who is happy to hear from him, and says that he will be at the party but is only going to make the trip to Lima once on Saturday. He doesn’t bother trying to get a hold of anyone else, and ends up going to the game alone.

Coming back to McKinley feels like going back in time, and yet the kids running around make him feel entirely too old to be there. He half expects Sue Sylvester to pop out and start yelling at the cheerleaders, or Mr. Figgins to make some sort of half-time speech, but the world of McKinley has moved on, even if the campus has remained remarkably the same. The game is fun, but kind of boring, and he’s not surprised when the team loses by seventeen points. Still, seeing the array of alumni all cheering around him, he feels a strange sort of connection to the place in a way that he really didn’t when he actually went to the school. It’s a bit surreal.

Afterwards, not ready to go home to an empty house, he drives around for a bit, until by chance, he drives by Scandals, Lima’s decrepit excuse for a gay bar. Feeling somewhat amused, a little nostalgic, and a lot in need of a drink, he decides to grab a beer for old times’ sake. He decides, on a whim, to put his wedding ring in his pocket. He’s not actually planning anything, but it’s also not like Sean wears his anymore, anyway.

Scandals is even more in a sad state of affairs then he remembers, even if ‘Funk-It-Up-Friday’ is trying to give the place some of that Mid-Western Charm. He orders a bottled beer, and sips as he thinks fondly about the time he watched Dave Karofsky try to line dance. God, that had been so long ago…

“I’m guessing this place rarely sees a man as gorgeous as you. Mind if I buy you a drink?”

It takes a moment for Blaine to realize the pick-up line is directed at him, but he does instantly recognize the voice. Much to his shock, when he turns around, he’s face to face with a much older, and yet still dazzlingly magnificent, Kurt Hummel.

#s.o. writes things #head over feet #klaine #klaine fic #it's the older klaine reunion fic!#i'm loving writing this one

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findingjoynweirdstuff · 3 years

Text

Dream SMP Recap (February 2/2021)

The Crimson has continued to whisper. It has a plan for everyone. Each person plays a part in its plot. But some people resist their plans.

---

- Ponk has heard the Egg, and it’s been getting mad. It’s telling him to sacrifice Fran.

- Ponk plants more seeds in Awesam’s home.

- He’s having doubts. He’s stuck between a rock and a hard place. What would happen to Purpled if he didn’t kill Fran?

- Ponk does what must be done and kills F ran, not Fran. He can’t kill Fran.

- Ponk uses ancient magic and secrets to transport himself to the farm house.

- He goes down into the basement and reads a book.

- The book tells a story of a man made of straw with emerald eyes who is fascinated by lemons, and a new land of gold and sandstone.

The man talks of ancient magic and gifts 21 statues to be transported in boats.

- Jack keeps hearing cats in the walls. He tells Shrimpy about the statues.

- Jack gets the urge to murder. Helga is tempting, but her husband absolutely needs to go.

- Jack ends up alone with Shrimpy and the statues.

- Ponk creates a portal for easier travel.

- Tommy comes online. He sees all the Blood Vines everywhere and doesn’t like that they’re on his territory.

- He goes over to Sam Nook, who tells him to clear all the weeds and Crimson from the build site. Tommy is disappointed with the lack of progress on the hotel, so he beats Sam up.

- Sam Nook explains that he’s worried that Awesam might not be alright and has been missing. Tommy tells him to not let his emotions get in the way of business. Sam says that Awesam might need more payment to prioritize the building of the hotel.

- Sam asks for two stacks of diamonds.

- Tommy asks Foolish for diamonds, then comes across Ponk on the path.

- Tommy offers him marijuana. Ponk says he only smokes pain au chocolat.

- Ponk leads Tommy through the Nether, saying he can give diamonds. He brings Tommy to ancestor Jack’s estate, telling him not to go downstairs. Tommy immediately goes downstairs and tells Ponk that these villagers are breaking the rules.

- Ponk gives Tommy 33 diamonds blocks in exchange for 3 pieces of kelp.

- Tommy gives the diamonds to Sam Nook, who says he’ll deliver them to Awesamdude.

- Sam Nook asks Tommy to deliver flyers to potential customers, and also to clear out the Egg.

- Sam Nook has not had contact with Awesam since Awesam’s encounter with the Egg.

- Tommy goes down to the Egg Room.

The Crimson begins to scream.

“Do you think you’re powerful than I AM?”

- Tommy goes to the Egg but...hesitates. If he destroys it, he’d start a war and everyone would be after his head. He’d start the biggest war on the entire server. He shouldn’t be reckless. Look what happened to L’manburg.

- How’s the Egg ever actually hurt anyone? It didn’t really hurt Tubbo, did it? Everyone else loves the Egg.

- Maybe he could control it?

- He takes the piece he cut off of the real Egg and replaces the injury to the Egg with a piece of Vine. If he puts the piece of real Crimson at his hotel, then he could say it’s endorsed by the Egg.

- Ponk, his eyes red (he might be high) starts attacking Tommy and Tommy runs.

- Tommy brings the Egg piece to Sam and gets stabbed to death by Antfrost. Punz arrives as well. Sam Nook tells them to get away.

- The Egg piece is in the Ender Chest.

- Tommy writes the first flyer to Dream. If he ever escapes from prison, Dream’s invited to come to the hotel as long as he pays.

I will be checking in on you soon.

He gives it to Sam Nook to deliver.

- He also writes a flyer for Tubbo, and one for Technoblade.

- Afterwards, Sam puts things in the chest and reads the book Tommy wrote for Dream. He takes off the Sam Nook outfit and puts on the Warden’s armor (possible switch of character?) He takes the Dream book and says he’ll “save that with us.”

- He says he should’ve given Sam Nook more things for Tommy to do.

- Awesam heads home. He hasn’t been home in a while, he’s been busy with the prison. He’s excited to see Fran again.

- His home is covered in Vines, and the murmurs of the Crimson can be heard.

The Crimson whispers as Sam approaches Fran, who is sitting there patiently. Strange that she appeared up there. Wasn’t she downstairs?

“No, no! You can’t have Fran, you can’t have Fran! What do you mean? No, I won’t give you Fran.”

The Crimson speaks again.

- Sam starts breaking the Vines as the Crimson continues.

---

(The Crimson says numerous lines throughout, unsure of when each one is played specifically)

“Do you think you’re more powerful than I am do you think you’re more powerful than I am do you think you’re more powerful than I am”

“I can save Fran, just give yourself to me.”

“How...how did you escape my grasp?”

---

- Sam destroys the seeds of the Crimson that Ponk placed.

- Sam gets rid of most of it as the Crimson murmurs incessantly.

- Callahan dies with no specific death message and leaves the game (this death message isn’t possible normally, without code or plugins)

- It’s too much. Sam starts exploding his home with TNT to try and get rid of all that remains.

- He breaks the last piece and the Crimson goes silent.

- Sam gathers the remnants and destroys them with the blue fire in Sapnap’s room.

- Sam goes back to the mainland and is horrified by how out of control the Vines have gotten. He flies to the prison and makes sure there’s not any there.

- He finds Ponk hiding in a box, his eyes still red (he’s still high)

- Sam goes down to the Egg Room.

The Crimson speaks, ever loudly.

- Sam gets scared and runs back up.

- Sam goes to Church Prime. Antfrost whispers to him in Galactic.

We know you hear our call, you cannot resist us.

- Ponk blows a hole in the church by accident.

“Don’t tell XD man.”

- Sam brings him snacks. Ponk asks if he has any plans for the 14th.

- Antfrost says hello.

- Sam goes to the meeting room and sees Antfrost down there. He has pearls this time. He jumps down into the Egg Room. Antfrost is just standing there next to the Egg.

- Sam speaks with Antfrost. Ant is just talking to the Egg, and asks if Sam has heard its voice.

- Sam asks what it says to him just as Bad also logs on.

“It says what it says to all of us, Sam.”

- Antfrost just says the Egg has told him his plans for Ant. The Egg doesn’t want Ant to share his plan yet.

- Bad speaks with them. Sam asks about the plan, but Bad repeats that the Egg wouldn’t want them to divulge their plans.

“You know what the ultimate plan is, right?”

“We need to bring as many people to love the Egg just as much as we do.”

“One way or another.”

- Bad says the Egg requires nourishment. Ponk will nourish the Egg.

- Sam gets away and heads back home. He decides he has to lock the portal.

- Sam makes a clock and takes Fran outside for a walk.

- He sits with her on the side of a music and they watch the sunrise together.

---

Upcoming events remain the same.

#dream smp #dream smp recaps

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writefightandflightclub · 3 years

Text

Trial by Fire (Part 1/3) Santiago “Pope” Garcia x GN reader

Summary: You’re finally introducing your new boyfriend to The Boys. It must be intimidating for your guy because, hello? Not only are they literally lethal, as well as infeasibly handsome, but they’re hella protective of you to boot. They want the best for you so, naturally, they make your guy run the gauntlet the whole evening. Santiago, though? Well. Given that he is secretly in love with you? Let’s just say he doesn’t handle the situation very well at all.

Genre / tropes: angst, friends to lovers, love confession.

Author’s note: I wasn’t planning on writing this (in fact I’m writing the opposite, where “Santi has a new girlfriend and you don’t take it well” as a series, loosely based around the 7 deadly sins); but, in the meatime, I wrote this to get back into the swing of things after a lil break. It’s just a quick one, but there will be a second and final part, if you want it! Let me know!

Word count: somehow, 4.4k.

Warnings: language, angst, best friends arguing, Santi being an asshole.

Rating: T

The boys aren’t being as awful as you had anticipated, at least. For the most part, they’re actually being pretty friendly, and although they’ve transitioned into grilling Dean about every aspect of his life, they are at least listening intently and smiling at his answers. All except for one fucker, of course; and, naturally, surprising no-one, the fucker misbehaving is one (1) Santiago “Pope” Garcia.

The group - the boys, yourself, and Dean- are huddled comfortably around the blazing warmth of the fire pit in Frankie’s yard. The dancing, oranged flames cut through the dark and cold of the crisp night, as you sit upwind of the smoke on scattered, mis-matched camp chairs.

Whilst the others are evidently enjoying the evening -faces painted with smiles, body language open and leaning-in to chat to Dean- that fucker Santi is leaning back in his chair, his jaw twitching in seeming aggravation, his arms folded, and his intense eyes needling your beau. In this dim light, with the firelight licking over the sharp planes of his face, he looks every bit like a trained killer about to leap out of the shadows and garotte someone. Well… a very petulant trained killer. His call sign should have been Mr. Grumpy Pants, you think idly.

What’s up with him this time?! you wonder.

He gets these moods sometimes. And, when it strikes him, he can be a little bit hostile - despite the fact he’s a puppy underneath it all. You had hoped that for once, maybe he would suck it up, and yet, your hopes had been in vain, it seems.

Every time Dean speaks, or touches you, or even laughs at another of the guys’ stories, Santi’s expression sinks further and further through layers of distaste; and, by this point, he’s eyeing Dean as though he’s a war criminal the squad have been sent to take-out. You half expect him to leap up and take down Frankie any second for fraternizing with “the enemy”, if you’re honest.

Truth be told, you’ve had just about enough of this. Your friend had better buck his ideas up, sharpish, or he’d be reminded very swiftly that you were Delta Force too.

For now, trying to ignore the bastard, you look back at Dean, and the sight of him in animated conversation with your buddies causes at least some of your aggravation to fall away. Things have been going well between you and Dean, even if you do say so yourself. Originally from Michigan, he now worked as a lecturer at a nearby music school. He was also a banjo musician in a bluegrass / synth power-pop mash-up of a band, which (sort of) explained his retro-inspired mop of brown hair and his thick dark moustache - majestic enough to rival Frankie’s. True, he wasn’t your usual type, but he was honest, and sweet and kind... Plus, he’d never killed anyone with his bare hands, which was rather refreshing too, if you were honest.

Safe to say, so far, things were working out. So well, in fact, that you’d recently met his parents for the first time while they were in town. So well, in fact, that -after keeping him purposefully away from the boys for as long as you feasibly could- you’d now brought him to meet your family. That’s what this squad was to you, after all. Your family.

Remembering sporadic moments from the past few months together, you smile gently as you listen to Dean talk. You watch him seamlessly integrate some tailored conversation starters you’d fed him ahead of time, and you gently squeeze his thigh in an act of reassurance and appreciation. He is feeling the pressure, you can tell, although he is handling it well. To be fair, you think, who wouldn’t feel the pressure? You’d been nervous enough to meet his parents, but this? A bunch of Delta Force guys and an MMA champion? This squad was lethal; literally -you’ve lost track of your combined kill count, though Will probably hasn’t, you are sure.

Aside from that though, most of all, they are your family. You need them to like Dean and vice versa, and you know that isn’t necessarily a given. You are a tight-knit group, with little hope of outsiders grasping the full extent of your decade’s old in-jokes, or the intense camaraderie instilled by facing a hail of bullets together. Plus, as the baby of the group, they were protective as all hell of you.

It came from a good place, you knew: they wanted what was best for you. But, there was a reason you’d delayed this meeting... It’s not as though they were threatening or anything. They didn’t do the whole “if you hurt our buddy, I’ll kill you” thing, for example (at least, not while you were present – you couldn’t vouch for what happened when you were out of earshot). However, after introducing a succession of boyfriends to them over the years, the squad had developed a well-rehearsed system for sizing-up your new squeeze. In the past, not all of your squeezes had made it through the gauntlet. It was a trial by fire, to be sure, and you were pleased that Dean has not yet been burned.

Of course, whilst the boys’ approval didn’t mean everything to you, you couldn’t deny it was important; perhaps especially this time, with this guy. And, out of all of the group, Santi’s approval meant the most to you. Always had. Probably because Santi meant the most to you, full stop. You simply couldn’t imagine having someone in your life that didn’t get on with your best friend. And, so, you are not overly thrilled at the reception Santi is giving Dean right now. The reception he had been giving him all evening, in fact. And the more you dwell on it, the more an anger bubbles forth from you. Even though you try to push it down, and focus on Dean, that fucker in the corner of your eye sends you.

“What’s wrong with you tonight, Garcia?” you blurt out, a little louder than intended, causing the amiable chat and giggles to stall, all eyes turning to you - then, in turn, following the direction of your fiery gaze over to Santi, who shifts uncomfortably in his seat.

Now, he leans forward. Looks back at you with a rare venom in his eyes. With a smug curl of his mouth, he dips to pick up his beer from the floor and takes a swig - buying himself some time. Trying to brush you off. Still, your gaze does not relent as he rests his elbows on his thighs, bridging his fingers together in the space between, thumbs sticking in the air.

Now, he engages, and he looks directly at Dean, his eyes sweeping dismissively over the entirety of his form. Now, he speaks, his voice filled with far more bitterness than the situation merits. “Nothing at all. I’m fucking peachy. So, Dean. You play the motherfuckin’ banjo?” he offers, and yet, it sounds far more like an accusation than a question.

What the fuck is up with him?

Wilting a little beneath Santi’s stare, as the ex-operative squints his eyes in his direction, Dean casts a helpless, sideward glance at you from his place in the circle, and yet, you are so stupefied by anger that you can do little to help.

“I think what my dear friend means to say -” Frankie dips in valiantly, smacking Santi pointedly on the thigh, likely hoping to smack some sense into him too “- is why don’t you tell us more about your music, Dean?”

Frankie’s eyes and smile are soft when he looks at you, surreptitiously exchanging a pointed look -what’s up with that pendejo?- and you are grateful that at least some of the evident tension is diffused when he picks up the slack in the conversation.

Santi and his mood swings be damned, and, feeling bolstered, Dean continues on.

“Actually, it’s going pretty frickin’ well with the band. It’s a side-gig to my lecturing job, but we’re planning a tour during summer vacation. The States -east coast- and Western Europe for now. Maybe headlining a couple of small festivals, if that pans out, who knows.” Dean relates, humbly.

“That’s great, man,” Will chips in, helping Frankie get things back on track. “We’ll have to come down to a gig soon, hear you play.”

“Actually, we have something to tell you about the tour, don’t we, babe?” Dean says bashfully, and he looks at you expectantly, waiting for you to pick-up the thread. You’d talked about it before coming today, and it had seemed like a great idea at the time, but suddenly, now that the announcement is imminent, your mouth is dry - as if filled with cotton. Still, you force a smile, and you’re not sure why, but you look anywhere else but at Santi as your lips form the words. “Yeah – kinda big news, fellas. I’m going to join Dean on the Europe leg of the tour. I’ll be leaving you losers behind for a few months.”

Dean’s face cracks into a smile and he reaches for your hand, looking made-up at the prospect. Still, while you will yourself to be fully present in the moment, you find yourself focussed on looking anywhere but at Santi, sure that his stare must be boring into the side of your head. You hadn’t told him yet. Unfortunately, at Santi is where just about everyone else ends up looking, as the fucker abruptly pushes his camp chair back and stands, storming indoors before anyone can hope to fathom it.

You exchange glances with Frankie, Will, and Benny, with Benny thankfully stepping-in this time to distract Dean from the obvious, and asking him which stops you two will be making, and which sights you plan to see.

“Look, man, don’t mind that tool. Got any sightseeing plans?”

What is Santi’s problem? Why can’t he give Dean a chance? Yes, you’ve made some mistakes in the past- been hurt, and Santi had helped you pick up the pieces -every time- but you had a good feeling about Dean. A really good feeling. Can’t he see that too?

Frankie throws a concerned glance back towards the house and motions as if to stand, but you beat him to it, wanting to get to the bottom of this. “I’ll go,” you insist, motioning for Frankie to stay put, and with a quick promise to Dean that you’ll be back soon (and a silent plea to your boys to take care of him in your absence), you do just that, walk-jogging across the grass.

When you step inside to the kitchen, you find Santi stood, hunched over the counter, his palms clasping the surface tight enough that his knuckles pale, and his head hung low, his shoulders rising and falling as he takes in exaggerated breaths.

“Well?” you ask pointedly, with zero tolerance for his bullshit. “What’s going on with you? Wanna explain why you’re being an ass to my boyfriend?” you challenge to the back of him, and he instantly whips around at the sound of your voice.

“I’m being an ass?” he asks indignantly, his eyebrows shooting towards the top of his head.

“Yes. In a nutshell. Yes,” you hiss, any other interpretation feeling impossible. You fold your arms and purse your lips, making it plainly evident that you are waiting for some explanation. And, oh boy, it had better be good.

Instead of explaining though, Santi simply huffs out breath, gesturing angrily out of the window. “That guy, really? That’s the guy you’re gonna go all in for? Go to fucking Europe for?”

That guy, you mouth silently, completely stupefied for a moment. You’re not sure exactly what your so-called friend is insinuating, but you are clear that you don’t like it one bit.

“What is your fucking problem?” you ask, punctuating your words with motions of your hands, as if you are trying to strangle the air in-between you in lieu of his neck. “Dean’s a catch. He’s hot, he’s sweet, he’s a nice guy. He’s there for me. He takes care of me.”

“Like I don’t take care of you?!” Santi exclaims, his voice rising and abrasive; and then, immediately after the words tumble forth from his lips, he steps back imperceptibly, as if startled by his own outburst, his hand rasping over the stubble on his chin.

“What in the...? This isn’t about you, you ass!” you bite back, face scrunching up in confusion. Your fingers come to your temples as you grow increasingly lost-off and perplexed, and seemingly, your riposte only makes Santi double down on whatever the hell he is complaining about.

“Who’s the one who’s always been there for you, hmm? Who picks up the pieces every time you make yet another dumb shitty choice with another shitty guy?” he rambles, gesturing his hand towards you dismissively.

You step back from him this time, just a little, tears spiking instantaneously in your eyes at such an unnecessarily cruel blow. He’s right, in a sense: you had always relied on Santi to heal you, not to hurt you - and yet here he was dealing these painful, incoherent blows out of nowhere.

“Shit, Garcia. If it’s that much trouble to be there for me don’t bother next time,” you snap, your voice breaking as the swell of anger and hurt and adrenalin sends tears spilling over your cheeks. “Don’t worry though, I don’t think I’ll need you again. In fact, I have a feeling this guy might stick. So, maybe? Maybe you should think about the fact that the only shitty guy around here is you.”

“You really think he’s good enough for you, hmm? He’s really who you want to end up with?”

You listen, aghast, as his tirade keeps coming. However, as Santi’s voice breaks with emotion part-way through his second question, you can’t explain it, but you feel an intolerable sadness in the pit of you. Even though you’re not sure what’s causing all this, what you’re barrelling toward, you want to thrust this sadness away from you. Push him away from you. You want to push away the knot in your stomach for fear that if you tug at that thread, you might arrive at an answer to his question.

Exasperated, overwhelmed, you roughly paw tears from your cheeks, not knowing where all of these feelings are coming from, in either direction. “Fuck, I... I don’t understand what this is. I don’t get it!” you say, waving your hands, palms-up, through the air. “Is this some macho bullshit? Have I pissed you off somehow?”

At that, the wave of Santi’s anger crests and breaks; as you wonder if you annoyed him. Then, as suddenly as his anger came it is waning, his eyes pooling with rare tears now. With a huff of breath he tears off his damn cap, tossing it aside to run a hand through his grizzled hair.

“No. No,” he backtracks a little, palms up in surrender. “You haven’t... I.... I just...” He pinches his lips in-between his teeth and looks up at the ceiling as his words trail off, perhaps trying to steady his voice before continuing. Or, perhaps he has nothing else to say to you. Perhaps he’s said enough.

You examine him. Still pissed as all hell, but worried now too, and ultimately, your love for your best friend slightly edging-out the anger. It’s rare that anything affects him like this, and you can’t help the sudden rush of concern.

Cresting too, you exhale a tightly held breath into the now silent, taut space between you, and your body sags - just a little. You chew over your words a moment, but when your voice comes back the volume is lower, your tone softer - and, although it cannot be considered friendly, by any stretch, it’s the best you can do right now.

“You know what,” you offer, generously, wrapping your arms around your own middle, stroking your forearms with your own fingertips. “I’m giving you a pass. You don’t even want to give Dean a chance? Then just leave, Santi. Just go. I’ll give the guys some bullshit excuse that doesn’t leave you looking like a total ass, because I’m not a dick to my friends. So just go, okay?” You pump your eyebrow at him indignantly and await a response, your manner stiff and unyielding.

Santi closes his eyes and knits his brow together, something like regret finally passing over his face and he shuffles guiltily from foot-to-foot.

You puff out air through your teeth and shake your head, as you observe this Delta Force hero; the bravest man you know in many ways, but still too cowardly to tell it like it is. To admit that he’s in the wrong. You are afraid to say that even as his gaze comes back to you, misty-eyed, you have little sympathy for his plight. You are sure it is of his own doing. You are almost as sure that he won’t open-up.

“You know,” you begin, breaking from your position and gathering up a fresh cooler of beers from the fridge, turned away from him as you speak. “I brought Dean to meet my family. Do you understand that? I didn’t have parents and siblings for him to meet. I have you guys. You’re my family.”

Still nothing. Nothing but silence greets you. Nothing but a pained expression on his face, his brows drown together and the artificial light of the kitchen highlighting the harsh planes of his face as you look over your shoulder at him, waiting for some reaction. Some admission of guilt. None comes. He simply slots his hands into his jean pockets, looking sheepish.

“So,” you continue, greeted with a brick wall, “fuck knows why you don’t want me to be happy, but I am. I’m happy with him. Thanks a ton for shitting all over that.”

You don’t even bother to look towards him this time, instead placing the last of the clinking, condensation-adorned bottles into the carrier, resigned to head back out without him, and without any apology.

“I’m sorry,” he finally says, and your head whips towards him in surprise.

He looks it - sorry. He looks apologetic. Deeply so. He looks sorry for this, for every way he’s ever slighted you, for every time he’s hurt you, even in ways and moments you never knew about. He looks sorry down to the pit of him, and it catches you off-guard when you see it freely offered there in his eyes.

Even so, this is a stubborn man. There’s an apology, but there’s no explanation. Nothing to explain his behaviour. So, even though it seems genuine, it also doesn’t seem like enough.

It doesn’t appease you, and yet, all you can bring yourself to do is sigh deeply.

You know Santi better than anyone, but there’s always been a part of him that has seemed out of reach, even to you. You’re not sure -never have been- whether to be scared or excited by those unknown parts of him. Not sure whether the impasse hints at buried secrets too dark and deep to bear, or whether it hints of a possibility of something more. Something deeper or something better you could have together, if only he would let you in. You don’t know, and you never have, but all you are sure of is that you have constantly teetered on the edge of that abyss, too much left unknown to know all of him, however much you may have wished to. He’s entitled to his secrets, of course, but you hate how they hurt him.

With a little sympathy now, you examine his watery eyes, and when your voice comes back this time, it is softer and slower than you intended. More tired than you expected.

“You know, Dean wants to be with me. And he tells me so.” You casually dip down to pick-up the cooler handle, eyes still fixed on your best friend. “He might not be Delta Force… he might be a banjo player from Michigan… but even he’s brave enough for that.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Santi says, bristling all over again, his hand rasping angrily over his stubbled jaw, and yet, you decline him an explanation. Instead, keeping your own secrets now, holding back, you head towards the door, beers in hand.

Still, you turn back to him. You might be angry, but you still care for him -more than you could say.

“If you figure out what’s up with you, let me know, and I’ll be there for you. Whatever you’ve got going on, you know that, right? But this? This isn’t okay, Garcia. You might think that I make dumb choices -you ass, by the way- but I’ve watched you hit self-destruct so many times instead of dealing with your feelings. Maybe you should look at your own life, huh, instead of shitting all over me for trying to be happy? Shit, at least I fucking try.”

His eyes shift from side to side in the room, the muscles in his jaw twitching, chin jutting forward, and his thumbs locked in his belt loops. He can’t quite bring himself to meet your gaze; at least not until you are disappearing through the threshold; until it’s almost too late. Why can’t he ever manage anything unless it’s too late?

“Wait!” he pleads, but you cut him off, before he can speak. Even though, truth be told, you’re not sure he would muster anything to say at all, even if you gave him a chance. He’s so used to holding back.

“No,” you say firmly. “Forget it, I’m done. I still love you- you’re my best friend. But, fuck, just go home, and get out of my sight, Santiago. I’m so pissed with you right now.”

And so, you turn away, and when his words finally do come, they are spoken to the back of your head. They are spoken without you ever seeing his lips move, and you wonder if he ever said them at all, or if this might be some cruel trick of the night. Some witching hour spell. That is, until you turn towards him and you see the words painted clearly on his face too.

“Fuck it. I’m in love with you.”

I’m in love with you.

Why can’t he ever manage anything unless it’s too late?

You’re not sure what reaction he was expecting, but you almost choke on the sudden lump in your throat. You feel a taste of bile rising-up into your mouth. An intense, resurgent anger fills you, which near makes the room spin, and makes your hands and your legs tremble.

Even if a hidden, unconscious part of you has been waiting, hoping for these words all these years, when they finally come all you can feel is... royally pissed off.

“Oh. No. No. No,” you repeat, words gradually increasing in volume, looking at Santi as if he has mortally wounded you, rather than offered that confession. “You do not get to do this to me.”

You see a hard swallow bob down his throat, a near-instant regret on his face, and your heart pounds in your chest as you reel with the implications of his words.

The coward. The fucking asshole. He waited until now? All the times things had gone to shit, and he waited until you were happy?

“All the times...” you accuse, your tone as bitter as the taste in your mouth, the metallic tang of blood as you feel a rushing in your ears. “All the fucking times. All the chances, Santi, and you do this now?” you continue, your finger sawing through the air, wagging accusations at him, even as your voice wavers, as your hands notceably tremble. “No. Fuck you, Garcia. Fuck you.”

You want to cry, or scream, but you are too angry. So angry, that it eclipses anything else which might come to light. So angry that you almost come full circle again, beginning to stabilise out at eerily calm.

Santi looks down at the floor, and exhales air, chuckling disbelievingly to himself, then lightly nodding his head, lips pressed tightly together. His feet shift agitatedly below him as he brings his endlessly familiar eyes back up to meet yours. This time when he looks at you, it hurts. You remember bullet wounds, and you swear that was nothing compared to this.

“That’s it? That’s all you’ve got to say to me, hmm? Fuck you, Garcia?”

“What the fuck were you expecting?” you say, launching your words before you realise the implications of them. Yes, you know fine well that your boyfriend is sitting outside, likely wondering where you have got to. But, if you had the wherewithall to have thought about it, you would know exactly what Santi was expecting, despite all of that. You would know that a part of him must be expecting, hoping, that when he told you, you might reciprocate. That you might love him back.

And, would that be so outside of the realms of possibility? Would it be so hard to imagine that the deep, magnetic, and unshakeable friendship you shared could be something else? Something more? That you could tip over the edge you had long been teetering on? Maybe it could, or maybe it could have, but right now, you can’t see past the flashbang he has just dropped over your life, and it is clouding your vision.

You were happy. You are happy. Fuck him for doing this now.

Why would you fall into the unknown for him, if you never knew whether he would catch you? If you never knew whether ruin or safety awaited you if you let yourself tip? He always held back.

What the fuck were you expecting?

Your words linger in the space between you, and in lieu of any other lifeline, realisation dawns on Santi’s face. Realisation that, although he jumped, you are not intending to catch him either. But how could you catch him, with your arms already full?

And, so, he slowly nods his head once again, his eyes beading with glassy tears and his hand grazing over his chin in a self-soothing gesture. Wordlessly, he sets his jaw and he abruptly replaces his baseball cap on his head, padding a few steps forward to stand opposite you, sucking all of the breath from your lungs. This time, when he looks at you, you see all of your past, but you still can’t see beyond that. The abyss still scares you too much.

Like this, facing each other down, eye-to-eye, the silence in the room grows sharp as a knife, refined to a point. So, when Santi abruptly turns to leave in a sharp, determined trajectory, without so much as looking at you, it is as if he has dragged the blade across your skin in an equally swift motion. As if he has left you open and bleeding-out, having delivered a mortal wound with the act of his exit. You’ve felt like this on the battelfield before, and in life, yet he was always there for you. Always there to patch you. To pick up the pieces.

Instead of screaming open-mouthed for help, this time, you simply watch him go, and now you are the wordless one, mustering nothing but a gasped inhale of breath before your vision blurs with tears - as you watch his hazy form disappear along the hall and out of your sight.

“Santi,” you call pathetically, your voice small and weak and teary, barely making it past your throat, and he doesn’t hear you. He doesn’t hear you but even if he had, you’re not sure anymore if he would have stopped.

When Santi slams the front door behind him, you shudder with it in its frame, your hand coming to your chest as if to hold your heart inside your opened-up ribs, and you close your eyes against the jarring sound, tears spilling down your cheeks, your face screwing-up into a shined, contorted grimace.

Entirely lost, now alone, you bizarrely wish for the room to be filled with anger again, instead of the intolerable sadness - which all too suddenly takes hold of you as your emotions crest and break. It is all you can do to stumble forward a few paces and hunch over the countertop, finding yourself in the exact position you had discovered Santi in. You stand, bracing yourself with your arms, fingers clutching the edge of the worktop, and your head slumped forward, tears freely spilling out of you as your chest heaves.

You wonder whether he’d held himself in this same position because he had felt an intolerable sadness too. An intolerable sadness at seeing you happy.

Suddenly you could understand it.

That fucker. Santiago “Pope” Garcia.

I’m in love with you.

The words echo in your mind, but this time, if you’re honest, you’re not wholly sure if they’re his, or yours.

PART TWO IS HERE

#santiago pope garcia x reader #santiago pope garcia #santiago garcia x reader #triple frontier #triple frontier x reader #triple frontier fanfic

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this-is-spn20 · 3 years

Text

FLUFF ALPHABET! Sam Winchester!

A/N: Here’s Sammy boy! My small adorable baby! Let me know what you guys think about this!

-Marissa

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A ctivities- What do they like to do with their s/o? How do they spend their free time with them?

Sam is a pretty laid-back man. When he sees a chance at relaxing with you, he snatches as quickly as possible. Whether it’s just walking or driving around towns, going to the local library (cause God knows the only book they have at the bunker are the Wizard of Oz books, and the men of letters’ books.), to looking up fun recipes to try with you. The man will always keep you occupied!

B eauty- What do they like to do with their s/o? How do they spend their free time with them?

Sam likes that despite you being very soft-spoken, you’re nowhere near dumb. You’re also very confident. Of course, you’ll still ask Sam what he thinks if you piece together a somewhat bold outfit. But you might as well call him Bruno Mars cause- well you know.

I feel like if you are an artist of some sort, he might decide to pick up your art of choice as a hobby for when he has no research or hunts. Maybe if you draw, he’ll buy both of you sketchbooks and pencils. Or if you use a tablet he might buy you a better one. He’ll try doing simple drawings to start off with a tree or two. An eye here and there. He struggling and he’s probably gonna get a bit upset with himself if his skills don’t pick up like yours. But he’s trying really hard! If you like making music, he might ask you to play guitar. He might even ask you to teach him how to sing! But be patient, he can barely carry a tune but he’s so happy to learn! Might take him almost a year to get the hang of it, but once he does, he is an absolute Beast with some strings!

C omfort- How would they help their s/o when they feel down/have a panic attack etc.?

Sam has anxiety himself so he knows the signs when one is coming on. He’s been around stressful things/people/events all his life. His father was abusive throughout his and Dean’s childhood. When he ran away to go to college, he had to learn to interact with new environments and people. In conclusion, the man KNOWS what anxiety is. And how to handle it. He’ll have you sit down and close your eyes. He won’t touch you just in case it makes you more nervous. He’ll breathe slowly with you, serving as a guide to get your bearings. Once you’ve slowed your breathing he knows you can’t hold anything so he gets you a glass of water with a straw and holds the glass for you. He knows you probably won’t want to eat anything so he just picks you up when you say he can, and brings you to bed, and reads you to sleep while holding you close.

D reams- How do they picture their future with their s/o?

Sam knows for sure he wants to marry you. He also wants kids with you but the risk of being raised in the life he kept him up at night. Now don’t get him wrong, he knows that whatever happens, family will take care of it. They always do. But he’s not sure if that’s a risk worth taking. He just wants to have the apple pie life. He’d kill every monster with his bare hands just to have that with you.

E qual- Are they the dominant one in the relationship, or rather passive?

Sam is quite dominant in the relationship. He always takes care of everything for you. He doesn't buy into the stereotype that women should be doing everything for their partners. He tries to help you out with everything and he doesn't take no for an answer. You've known for a while that Sam's love language is Acts of Service. All he's done all his life is help people, so it just seeps into the relationship. Sure he believes that a relationship should be a healthy balance of 50\50, but at the same time, he can't help take over and take care of you. This man is just precious.

F ight- Would they be easy to forgive their s/o? How are they fighting?

Depending on what the fight was about Sam would be pretty open to forgiving you pretty quickly. However sweet Sam can be, if he believes that he has even a pinky toe to stand on in the fight, he’ll stick to it. It’s only when the shouting has gotten too much for you that you walk away that he may see where you’re coming from. Give him a or two. That way you both had time to cool down. You’ll spend the rest of the day talking it through, seeing each other’s perspectives. Even if you guys can’t agree with each other, you’ll know how to better handle the situation next time.

G ratitude- How grateful are they in general? Are they aware of what their s/o is doing for them?

Even though he mostly does mundane things for you, you try to help out as much as he’ll let you. For example, if you noticed that he has a lot of research to do, while he’s sleeping or is on a supply run, you’ll continue his research so that he’ll have more time to relax and let loose a bit more. You think he doesn’t notice but he does, and he appreciates it. It makes him feel like he hasn’t been ‘slacking off’, or that he hasn’t wasted too much time doing other things. Sometimes you’ll even finish the research and he’ll have nothing much to do for a while. Except relaxing with you of course!

H onesty- Do they have secrets they hide from their s/o? Or do they share everything?

Sam doesn’t have to hide much from you. You’re a damn good hunter. He would even go as far as to say you were better than him and Dean. He knows damn well you can take care of yourself and that you don’t like being babied often. He knows your secrets as well as you know his. It takes a big weight off his shoulders, knowing he doesn’t have to hide who he is with you.

I nspiration- Did their s/o change them somehow, or the other way around? Like trying out new things or helped them overcome personal problems?

You were always an adventurous and carefree person. You always had a hard time balancing fun and work. Sometimes it got you into trouble. Sam noticed this when you two first met and as your relationship got more serious and tried to help you with the balence. By all means you aren’t magically better, but you’re learning. Sam on the other hand, had the same issue. The work and fun balance is a tricky one to master. You help Sam have more fun, like you he’s getting better at having more fun. But again it’s not going to happen overnight. Oh and you eat a salad of two once a month now!

J ealousy- Do they get jealous easily? How do they deal with it?

On the rare occasion the Sam gets extremely jealous, it's usually when someone tries to touch. Regardless of whether you let it happen (for fun) or not, he can’t help himself. He wants you all to himself. No Sharing!!

K iss- Are they a good kisser? What was the first kiss like?

Sam is a very good kisser. He always kisses you like he hasn’t seen you in years. Most of the time his kisses are very rough but intimate. The first kiss was after four dates. Yes that’s a long time but you wanted to make sure you did this right with Sam. Plus he reassured you that he’d wait as long as you wanted to. You were sitting next to Sam in the Library doing some light research since most of it had gotten done earlier that week. The tension had been building up all week, you were finally ready to kiss Sam. Despite this not being your first kiss, you hadn’t kissed many people so understandably, you were nervous. You reached your arm over his and gently closed his laptop and angled your body toward his. You leaned over to him slowly, creeping your hand to his shoulder and finally your lips connected. Sam’s hand softly grabbed your hand on his shoulder and you both stayed like that until you both needed air. That was one of, if not, the most intimate moment you’ve had with Sam so far.

L ove Confession- How would they confess to their s/o?

Sam would be a bundle of nerves when he tries to confess. He’s tried to do it at least three times but each time he either got too nervous or something would interrupt him. Eventually settled for being simple, yet intimate. He had invited you to come to the library with him to sit and read for a while. It was about an hour and a half of you both being immersed in your own books that he told you he was going to the coffee shop in the bookstore to get a coffee. He got you your favorite drink. He had the barista give him a sharpie before they made your drink, then he wrote his message to you and bought you the drink when the order was done. You could see Sam was shaking and fidgeting but you couldn’t tell why.You figured you’d let him tell you when he’s ready. If only you know. You were only a few sips into your drink when you noticed some writing on the cup. Curious, you read the message which read;

(Y/n), I have loved you from the best of times to the worst. Would you do the honor of going on a date with me?

-Sam

You sat up, a bit stunned. You looked at Sam to see him smiling shyly at you. You couldn’t do much but giggle and nod at the giant softie.

M arriage- Do they want to get married? How do they propose? What would the marriage be like?

Marriage is something Sam and you have talked a lot about it. You two know you definitely want to get married but the question was when. You want to do it sooner rather than later. While Sam agrees, he also feels like that it should be a sign of both of you leaving life for good. Sam is a very nostalgic person, which means he’ll most likely recreate him asking you out and your first date. At the end of the night he’d get down on one knee and before he gets to say one word you burst into tears. When he finishes his speech, you of course say yes and the night continues...elsewhere.

N icknames- What do they call their s/o?

Sugar is used more often than not. Baby and babygirl are pretty prevalent. Honey Bunch is used less but when he does call you that usually puppy dog eyes are shortly behind.

O n Cloud Nine- What are they like when they are in love? Is it obvious for others? How do they express their feelings?

When Sam is in love it’s less obvious to everyone, but if they know Sam, they’ll notice the little things. Things like Sam now has permanent smile lines and his shoulders don’t hold so much tension anymore. If you didn’t come on a hunt with him and Dean he always has Dean stop off to get a bouquet of flowers. Of course he gets shit from Dean but he still does it everytime cause he is a good big brother.

P DA- Are they upfront about their relationship? Do they brag with their s/o in front of others? Or are they rather shy to kiss etc. when others are watching?

While Sam will let anyone know that you’re together (if need be), he’s pretty subtle about it. There is the subtle hand on your thigh or around your waist. Maybe a little quick forehead kiss but other than that unless they knew you, someone wouldn’t be able to guess you two are together.

Q uirk- Some random ability they have that’s beneficial in a relationship.

Sam has this really deep, rich, raspy type of voice. That makes him the BEST narrator ever! He often reads you to sleep when you two spend a lazy night in or if you have a nightmare. He’s there with a book you’ve been reading and he reads you a chapter or two before you’re out like a light.

R omance- How romantic are they? What would they do to make their s/o happy? Cliché or rather creative?

Sam is the KING of romance. When he plans something for you, he goes all out! When it comes to making you happy, he’ll do whatever it takes. There are almost no limits to his love. He lives by the term “Happy Wife, Happy Life.”. Sam is pretty nostalgic so he’ll be cliche, but he’ll be creative and add his own twist to it! So you could say he’s pretty creative.

S upport- Are they helping their s/o achieve their goals? Do they believe in them?

Sam loves learning about your goals and helping you achieve them. If you have 5 different goals, he's all there for you, helping you learn ways to achieve them quicker. If you want to. If you feel like those goals are impossible to reach, he’s there to help you see nothing’s impossible.

T hrill- Do they need to try out new things to spice up your relationship? Or do they prefer a certain routine?

While Sam likes to have a solid routine, he tries to keep things *spicy* when it comes to your relationship. Whether it's something mundane or outrageous, you and Sam try your best to keep things fun for the both of you.

U nderstanding- How good do they know their partner? Are they empathetic?

You and Sam know each other so well it's gotten to the point where if you or him need something, you know what’s needed and how much before the other even opened their mouth. When this happens, Dean just kinda stares at the both of you with a “what the actual fuck?’ look.

Sam: *sees you walking into the kitchen* Hey babe we-

Y/N: We need to get some milk today. You wanna leave at 11?

Sam: *goes back to drinking his coffee* Yep.

Dean: *freaking the fuck out*

V alue- How important is the relationship to them? What is it’s worth in comparison to other things in their life?

Sam knew from the first date that his life would be in your hands. He trusts you with everything he has. What’s your relationship worth to him? More than any diamonds, jewels, or power. Nothing can ever be worth more than you.

W ild Card- A random Fluff Headcanon.

Sam took you to an event at a bar one night for a date. The theme that night was ‘50’s and 60’s dance night!’ He bought you a dress that would be worn in that era and he wore his brand new tux he bought, just for tonight. Just for you. Your feet were screaming in your heels but you and Sam were having too much fun to leave the dance floor. When you guys got home that night Sam gave you the BEST foot rub ever.

X OXO- Are they very affectionate? Do they love to kiss and cuddle?

In private, Sam will smother you with kisses and cuddles. The man can almost never let you go. The poor touch starved baby.

Y earning- How will they cope when they’re missing their partner?

Sam likes to log in to your Spotify, he knows most likely wherever you are, you’re listening to your music. He likes to listen to your playlists with you. It makes him feel closer to you.

(He’ll never admit it but you have better taste in music than him.)

Z eal- Are they willing to go to great lenghts for the relationship? If so, what kind of?

It’ll be a close call but if he had to choose to save Dean or you, he’d choose you. It’d break him for a while, but he knows his brother wants him to have the apple pie life with you. And in the end, he’d always do it. No matter how hard it’d be for him and you every time, he wouldn’t change a thing.

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A/N: Thank you guys for reading! I hope you enjoyed it. Requests are always open!

Spread Love!

-Marissa

#Sam Winchester #sam winchester imagine #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester x y/n #sam winchester x you #dean winchester #supernatural imagines #supernatural

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obeymeluv · 4 years

Text

Cute + Awkward Headcanons (SFW/NSFW)

Trying to turn a bad day around, so I thought of these

Lucifer

Sometimes you can’t tell if he’s giving you bedroom eyes or if he’s actually angry. Lucifer has spent THOUSANDS of years glaring at his brothers and doesn’t know if he’s just staring or glaring

I think he’s super out of practice with romance so he’s hella awkward but when he gets that first positive sign that you’re into him, the charm and pride wakes up and suddenly he’s smooth AF

Flirts so formally he misses his shot 8/10 times

Has a habit of trying to police you like one of his brothers and it’s a knee-jerk, 1000+ year reaction to looking after 6 man-children of various difficulties. Always owns up and apologizes

Has accidentally almost made you pass out from kissing too long. Forgets you don’t have the same lung capacity

BRUISES YOU TO HELL! FORGETS SO MUCH! FEELS SO BAD!

That’s why he has the gloves, to soften his grip because he was one of the strongest in the Celestial Realm and that translates to power in the Devildom

Only complains to you about his back pain from long nights burning the candle at both ends. You find it cute and sad at the same time

Is probably physically very heavy given his stature and the weight of his wings, so if he falls asleep on you, you’re trapped

Rare midnight snack dates when he MUST finish papers by the deadline.

You may or may not have had a Demonus date in his study when a particularly bad batch of paperwork was finally done

You’ve probably cracked at least one (1) antique wood chair

Quickly learned he CANNOT spank you because that shit seriously bruised your ass. You either need a strengthening charm or he has to re-learn how to use his strength around people

That caused one awkward visit to the infirmary because you didn’t know if you were just sore, pinched, dislocated, or cracked. Turns out you were fine. There was no mistaking that hand print, though

It was the second time he’d apologized so profusely in his life. There was no pride left in this man.

You had a special cushion to ease the pain and it looked top of the line (hella fancy. Could probably resell it as fake Gucci in the human world.)

Lucifer gives me big dom vibes and orgasm denial/over-stimulation kink because of his pride basically demanding you beg for him. You passed out at least once from over-stimulation.

When you first start dating he wouldn’t want to own up to any awkward boners so if you sit in his lap while he’s taking a paper break, he’ll make every excuse under the sun (”That’s my belt,”, etc.)

Mammon

This boy is nothing but awkward moments, are you kidding me?

It’s a lot of ‘open mouth, insert foot’ because he can’t be upfront with his feelings. It’s partly not wanting to lose any ‘cred’ he has with people, but also because he’s embarrassed and can’t be honest

There’s lots of tracking you down to sort out things you might have overheard (that he didn’t honestly mean if they sounded bad)

Super sentimental about anything to do with you. You once kissed a piece of Grimm as a good luck charm for his exam and he’d kill someone over it. Always has it on him.

This lovable doofus just assumes you’re dating because you’re always together and you’re perfect and he’s your best man so who’s better?!

When you actually ask him out (with something silly, like ‘I think us dating would be pretty cash money’), he’s so confused. (”But we’ve been dating for, like, a month! Right, human?!”)

He talks big but he’s weak. You’ll always be able to fluster him

Wanted to make love to you on some Grimm and quickly realized that it’s uncomfortable. Porn lied to him and the idea’s ruined. You guys cut the session short to find every piece of Grimm so you can actually lay in the bed

Tends to plunk his head down on your chest and demand scratches/cuddles and has bruised you several times.

Accidentally fought you once or twice for his glasses while half asleep. Levi, Asmo, and Satan used to take them and hide from him

You learned he’s actually hella blind (contacts with non-prescription sunglasses or prescription yellow glasses) and have walked him around the House of Lamentation several times when his glasses went missing

He’ll complain about his brothers having it out for him and getting back at him, but it turns out they just wanted to make an excuse for you guys to hold hands. It’s like a date!

Made you hit your head on the headboard once when he was doing missionary style. Had to stop and check on you, then it got awkward. He cuddled and kissed you the whole time, though. Even got you an ice pack!

The type to flirt with you, try to lean on something, and take himself out on the way down

You’ve had a few of those cliche ‘trip and fell on each other’ moments

Has accidentally swung you into doors and walls trying to scoop you up and run/march out of a room

Levi

This boy is also super awkward

When you’re alone, he’s an absolute sucker for any kind of affection you can give. This boy will literally slither across the floor to make himself comfortable in your lap so he can game.

Pet his hair. He loves that.

Will also have to re-train himself on how to be with you in public. With him, it’s not making fun of a ‘normie’ as much.

Not big on PDA but will definitely hold your hand. How ELSE are people going to know you’re together?!

You get cute matching shirts or jewelry with the ‘Player 1, Player 2′ theme

Does a lot more snake-like things with his tongue. Especially when frustrated. Rub his jaw and chin to see it come out a little bit. It’s like a happy floppy dog tongue, just not as long or wide.

Craves a soft, warm thing to sleep on. You will be his new bed.

The first time you had sex, he broke out his demon form because he looked at you and loved you. He knew he’d get jealous if anyone ever saw you.

Was a little clumsy but determined. Sank in and started going at it, but wanted to look down and watch. He got his horns stuck in your hair and had to stop.

Is #1 fan when you’re naked. (”Ugh. Smother me.”) Boy can’t stand it. He needs it.

Tries to dress a little nicer (even if it’s casual) when you guys go out on dates.

You pack little snack bags when he stands in line for midnight releases and GODDAMN he’s gonna marry you?!

If you’re napping together and someone comes to wake him up or needs you, he just glares at them from underneath you, tail swishing threateningly. No one takes his human, okay?!

He has over-the-ear headphones but I bet he carries earbuds and has probably done that ‘share an earbud’ thing to hold you close and listen to music

Do you need to get up while he’s still sleeping? Untangle yourself and tuck your pillow in his arms. He’ll be fine. Bonus: you get to see the snuggling in action.

Between all the anime and centuries in the Devildom, he’s gotten used to using tails as another way of expression. They act subconsciously based on what the demon’s thinking. He’s surprised both of you several times by accidentally wrapping you up in his tail because he doesn’t want you to leave.

When he gets visibly uncomfortable in social situations, slip him something with your scent on it. It’s comforting. If you make up an excuse to get him out of there (he’s your escort and all), he’s over the moon.

Satan

Had more awkward moments than he’s willing to admit, but he’s more open about them than Lucifer. Basically, if someone guesses it happened, he won’t deny it.

BOY HAS A BOWTIE KINK. PLAY WITH HIS. STEAL ONE AND WEAR IT!

Has probably tripped over books walking you through his room or rushing to answer the door (not that you’d know how happy it makes him).

There’s a 50-50 chance that he’ll steal a glance and act like he didn’t, hiding behind an upside down book or something

Has definitely dropped books on his head after charming them down from the shelf. Your voice just sucks all his concentration up. You get bonus points for checking on him because some of those books are HELLA HEAVY

Say the right thing during a quiet tea session and you might hear him choke

Has probably been outed by one of his friends. Satan always seems to make friends without trying and gets invited to tons of stuff. What didn’t seem like a date turns out to DEFINITELY be a date (according to the friend).

Plan some silly treasure hunt/detective date and this guy is yours for life (especially if you’re the prize at the end).

Isn’t the most upfront about the disdain for his demon form, or how he feels weird about not being a true angel (just an extension of Lucifer), so expect a lot of raw, near-tears conversations in his demon form.

Hold him, run your fingers along the inside of his wings and the tips of his horns and Satan hugs you like there’s no tomorrow. He’ll cry, but he doesn’t regret these tears because they’re healing.

Weak for hand kisses. Smooch them hands.

Not super into PDA, but he’ll do other things to show he cares like carry your books and make sure you know what the weather’s like before you leave

Satan still hasn’t lived down the time Lucifer and the others broke down his door because they smelled blood and thought he’d hurt you. Turns out you guys were having sex and he just bit too hard.

Wouldn’t talk to any of them for a week. He swept you up on an impromptu hotel vacation and you continued to avoid everyone by shopping and eating at cafes.

The type to hold your panties hostage or like a trophy. Gives them back eventually, and enjoys watching Mammon almost have an aneurysm as he tries to figure out why his room smells so strongly of you.

Tea dates, cat cafe dates, and plenty of couple pictures with cat filters. Satan’s Devilgram activity goes up substantially when he’s dating.

You’re not his lock screen, but you’re his background.

Asmo

When you two start dating Asmo is literally the happiest demon in all of Devildom. Yeah he’s smug and cute like ‘how could they NOT fall for beautiful me?’ but boy is literally so stoked. All of that babble’s just a cover for how sickeningly happy he is

Thinks the world of you.

Wants to spend all his free time with you, be it napping and cuddling, shopping, getting pampered, or just doing your nails.

Now that he has that real, true love he doesn’t want to be without you.

You trend on Devilgram at least once

SO MANY PICTURES

Took you shopping for perfumes and has the tester strip you used to pick your perfume taped to his vanity. Then he can smell it whenever he likes!

Gives you a small thing of his cologne for when you get lonely or want to smell like him

Boy is super, super extra. Probably has matching shirts that say he’s yours and you’re his.

The type to get couple’s pillows, cups, and pajamas. You also get couple’s massages.

If you wear lipstick, he’s definitely made you a custom one at some exclusive-invite Devilgram event. He put your initials on the base of the tube and thinks it’s the cutest damn thing. His pride and joy--it’s basically a child.

There’s no shame in the bedroom with this one. I really doubt he’d have awkward moments because he has a lot of experience and has run into a lot of things that he’s handled one way or another. It’s gentle coaching and some sweet teasing.

The most embarrassing thing he’s ever done is probably moaned/whined at the wrong time. Or said something semi-naughty at a bad time. He’s not easily shamed so that doesn’t really matter, either.

He melts at the gentlest touches and will be SO dramatic about it, like half fainted into his bed.

Is easily hypnotized by jewelry. He’ll massage your ears if you have earrings in, cooing over them and wanting to look at them. If he’s laying on you and you’re wearing a necklace, he plays with it the whole time.

Beel

Smart but distractable. Beel’s love language revolves around protection and food so pack him a lunch for practice or bring him something from a town date with one of the bros and he’s super excited

He means well but forgets his own strength so there’s a lot that can go wrong in the bedroom

Has probably broken his bed several times

Had sex on the kitchen counter and the bros only found out because one of them was setting up dinner prep and one of the legs just gave out

Big, snuggly bear. Best hugs.

Hardest to wake up because he tends to sleep well and easily. It’s a side effect of being connected to Belphie. Will hug you to him and keep snoring. You have to get someone else to wake him up because he’ll just snuggle you the more you move around and talk

I headcanon that Beel does a tongue thing like Levi, mostly because his cardinal sin is gluttony and that helps get the food in his mouth faster. It’s not as slender or serpentine as Levi’s, but it definitely moves.

Has licked you in his sleep as an affectionate thing.

Loves to snuggle into your hair when he sleeps.

Bite mark king. He’s so affectionate and earnest when he makes love that he just ends up leaving all kinds of signs on you--mostly bite marks but when he’s conscious of leaving too many, they turn into hand prints.

Makes the purr sound when he’s inside of you. Purrs very easily.

Most of his awkward moments come from being oblivious. He’s the kind of guy you have to out-and-out tell you’re flirting with him, that you like him and want to date him.

Beel’s also very shy with flirting. He thinks you’ll just understand that he’s flirting when he shares food or wants to hug, or just anything. It can be missed because he’s generally chill and friendly.

Was royally embarrassed by Asmo (on accident) when he didn’t eat as much at dinner one night and you were ‘too tired’ to come down. Beel went to carry your food up and Asmo somehow found out he’d eaten you out right before. He was filled up on the human energy and you couldn’t walk to come down.

If you ride his face, grab his horns to hold on. It does something for him and his hands go crazy and he really eats.

Scratch his back and he’ll be your forever heater.

His PDA is carrying you because why not? It’s a workout AND you’re close. It makes him give that big, nice smile.

Belphie

The biggest issue is that he falls asleep on you all the time. He doesn’t mean to but he’s TIRED, okay?

Has a name for the cow pillow. Calls it ‘my moo.’ You are one of seven people that know that. Apparently it’s been a thing since he was little.

Has accidentally called you ‘my moo’ when he’s sleep delirious. It means you’re highly thought of. Beel used to be his moo, too, and now he’s been replaced.

This sloth will smother you. He’s like a koala that demands total contact to sleep

Gives you back rubs and massages. Sometimes he stays awake through them, sometimes you get sleepy and that makes him sleepy so he ends up falling asleep on your back.

Not big on PDA, but his version of caring for you is making sure you’re not bothered by annoying people. Wants you to sit with him at lunch though, and he’ll sulk if you don’t.

His favorite kind of dates are where you stockpile food and drink in the room and just feed each other while lounging in cozy blankets

If you make him any kind of pillow or blanket for a birthday, it’s at the top of his collection. Everyone will see it when they walk into his room.

You’ll plan dates in the star room where he just holds you and points out constellations until you fall asleep. Knows a lot of the mythology/stories behind them and shares that.

No matter the size, Belphie likes to cuddle between your boobs. He says it’s for your heartbeat and that they’re comfy like pillows. His tail wags like crazy when he does this.

Also big on physical contact due to his time in the attic. You just have to be alone.

Brush and play with his hair. That’s what he likes most.

Just hold this boy, okay? He needs it.

If you guys are trying to nap and the other brothers are being noisy, he’ll do the demon scream thing to tell them to shut the hell up. He’s an absolute angel to you though. You’re tired too, he knows.

If you get a little purple streak or something in your hair, he’s smitten.

Get him a kanigiri and the boy is super stoked. He’ll wear it all around the House of Lamentation. Bonus points if it has a hoodie or something he can throw up to annoy Lucifer.

Might get you a little stuffed cow toy so you have something to hug if you have to go away or can’t be with him.

The type to be restless if he can’t sleep with you. Will come to your room in the dead of night and ask to snuggle. It’s the only time he’s nice about it (and vulnerable), so say yes.

You get to be a human body pillow. He loves it very much.

#Obey me!#Obey me x reader #Lucifer x Reader #Mammon x Reader #Leviathan x Reader #Levi x Reader #Satan x Reader #Asmodeus x reader #asmo x reader #beelzebub x reader #Beel x Reader #Belphegor x Reader

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whatifyoulivelikethat · 3 years

Text

you+me+the Devil, m | myg, jjk | summon

pairing(s): yoongi x reader x jungkook

summary: The Devil and his right-hand demon are forcibly yanked from Hell to encounter a power they've never seen before, a power that everyone thought was only a rumor. In chains and unable to break free, they are asked to give up part of their souls. And they do. For science. But, mostly, to fuck.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language - if you're religious, maybe skip this one; world building; short graphic descriptions of sexual acts; supernatural and horror (and it gets way creepier during the smut, you have been warned); non-idol!AU - Hell!AU; Devil!Yoongi x chaos!reader x Devil's right-hand demon!Jungkook and switches between their POVs; they don't have your best interests at heart and neither do you.

you and me and the Devil makes 3 prologue | the summoning | the collection | 666

there’s not a word for what i wanna do to you

One second, the Devil, also known as Min Yoongi, was frowning as he gazed up at his right-hand demon Jeon Jungkook, pondering the whereabouts of the missing soul-shards. The next second, the volcanic ground below him exploded, multiple giant red-black rings adorned with symbols and images creating a circle, expanding a larger and larger surface area, crackles of red lighting and tendrils of black smoke shooting everywhere. It consumed everything, bleeding into every nook and cranny of the throne room, saturating the air with summoning intent. It was happening far too quickly for the Devil to stop, the ground splitting and black chains shooting out, surrounded by a deadly ice-silver signature of the kind of magic you don’t bring home to your mother.

“Fuck–!”

That was Jungkook.

“Ah.”

That was the Devil.

The black chains snapped around their bodies and bound them in an instant. Jungkook snarled and fought with all of his power, black wings flaring out that were instantly crushed and shredded by the enchantment, his curved black horns protruding from his head and being forced back by the power. In contrast, the Devil merely sat there. Yoongi knew he couldn’t stop it, not this kind of magic, if it could even be called that, so he didn’t try. He let the chains wrap around him and shackle him. Instead, he furrowed his brow and tried to trace the source, tried to find the purpose. In order to defeat an enemy, you must be informed. Yoongi lived by this philosophy, which was why he was the Devil.

He could not trace it.

That was very disheartening.

But he didn’t need to worry earlier, because the red-black summoning circle was closing in, and he would find out very, very soon who it was. He had nothing to worry about.

Yoongi was the Devil, after all.

You inspected your nails.

Matte black, pointed. You had just done them. You liked to look nice for your guests.

“Hm, the Devil works hard, but I work harder,” you chuckled.

This was not what the Devil expected.

Yoongi expected a dark cave, a crowd of hooded figures, lots of candles. Maybe a Bible or a Koran. Devil worshippers, Satanists, cultists, or whatever they liked to call themselves. He fully expected to fight, to kill, to maim, and to fucking enjoy it, because he was the Devil and he served no one.

That was the whole fucking point of leaving Heaven in the first place.

He did not expect this.

You.

“Oh? A new development.”

Yoongi had seen many things in his time. He thought he could no longer be surprised.

He was wrong.

You stood over the two figures chained to the ground, peering curiously at them. A plain black dress with a flared skirt and a lace high collar. Long-sleeved with small ruffled cuffs at the end. No socks or shoes, just long, beautifully sinful legs and pretty feet. Pointed, matte black fingernails at the ends of lovely hands. A single nail was on one of your full dark lips, small amused smile dancing on that pouty mouth.

Your nail pressed into your flesh.

Yoongi wanted to shove his dick into that mocking smirk.

Sharp, distinctive eyes. Unforgettable. Yoongi would not forget the eyes of the fool who summoned him anyway, but your eyes… They were different. They held no malice. No innocence either. No, your eyes were the greatest mystery of all.

They were an enigma, revealing nothing to the one who could tell everything.

Yoongi did not like this. He did not like how him, an all-powerful being, one who could poison the minds of all other beings, was being confronted with a human who seemed very not human.

You were holding something on the crook of your arm. He narrowed his eyes. A black plush goat-man with horns and an upside-down red pentagram stitched on his head. It had little leather hooves for feet and hands. Black leathery wings as well. Another common misconception of the Devil. As if he wanted to be an ugly goat for all eternity. Hmph. But there was something about the way you held it that made Yoongi think it wasn’t an homage to him.

No, you held it close to your breast, next to your heart, squeezing the plush goat-man’s little arm lovingly.

It made him ache with longing.

They were in a bedroom, on the floor next to the bed. Black sheets, fluffy blankets with white stars all over them. Black walls with posters all over them, cute animated characters, haunting imagery, various musical artists, sinful and innocent, a vast plethora that told him nothing of true intent. Modern, sleek furniture. A high-end desktop with multiple monitors. A nice flat-screen television. Many soft plushies of adorable and strange characters, stacked on shelves and in corners, both popular and niche.

Who was this person?

With every passing second, Yoongi was liking this situation less and less.

Jungkook was beside him, disheveled and disoriented, chained down with black. The demon sat up, growling in his chest, trying to exert his power.

“Who do you think–”

“Ah, little Satan, they shouldn’t talk until I allow them, isn’t that right?”

The Devil was not a fool. You were not talking to him. You were talking to the little goat-man in your arms. Yoongi heard a choking sound and he turned his head to see a very large black ball gag ramming itself in between Jungkook’s teeth, snapping closed with a black chain strap behind his pretty head. Jungkook looked livid, trying to bite through it, but Yoongi doubted he could break it.

You smiled at him.

Yes, indeed, Yoongi was liking this situation less and less.

In some ways.

Seeing Jungkook in a ball gag was a pleasant image.

“I didn’t expect it to turn out this way. I was aiming for him first,” you said to Yoongi, lowering the little goat-man and holding him by a hoof. Yoongi wasn’t sure if he wanted to rip apart the plush or be it. He decided that wasn’t important right now.

“Ah, well, this might be better,” you mused nonchalantly. Jungkook was still fighting his restraints, but neither you nor Yoongi acknowledged it. You crouched down, a delicate flash of inner thigh and black velvet panty in his view. Yoongi narrowed his eyes. You cocked a brow, smirk widening. “Two birds with one stone, no?”

You set the little goat-man in front of him.

Sat down, spreading your legs to squeeze the little goat-man with your inner thighs.

There was no question now.

Yoongi wanted to both be the plush goat-man and rip him to shreds.

“I’ll let you speak to me, Devil. You seem polite.” Conversational, calm. Not condescending, which somehow made it worse. At least if you spoke to him with hostility, he would know how to turn it against you.

“You have magic that doesn’t belong to you, human,” he said softly, a raspy renounce in his voice. He festered it with sweetness and warning at the same time, accenting it with a discerning stare.

You grinned.

Even he, the Devil, was unsettled.

“Nothing belongs to anybody. You only borrow it for a short while and then the powers far beyond even you take it back.”

Yoongi felt his heart drop and race at the same time. As he suspected. This was not the work of his father or some a wayward demon. Magic, power, illusionism, these were all words to describe things that could not be described. Entropy holds no bounds and there is no meaning behind it. It exists only to cause anarchy. For some reason, perhaps simply chaos alone, you, a human, was in possession of something even he could not control or understand.

Shit.

He stared into your eyes and they reflected his expression back to him. He tried to search for it, the desires within the heart, the small tendrils of pain that asked to be soothed, the soul begging to be freed. An ordinary demon could be fended off by a strong-willed human for a while, but Min Yoongi was no ordinary demon.

He was the Devil, even if he was bound by your chains.

You tilted your head at him, hair curling around your cheeks and lashes.

Yoongi could take even the weakest flame of desire and stroke it into a blazing fire. Even the holiest of saints could not fight him. Everyone wanted something, even if it was, disgustingly, in the name of his father. And humans, well, they were the masters of wanting things they couldn't have. Easily manipulated, even by each other. The Devil hardly needed to do anything at all. It was only a matter of whether or not Yoongi cared to do it and, most of the time, he didn't give a single shit.

You tilted your head the other way, smiling.

Yoongi did not find a maze or a barrier preventing him from the soul. He found the soul within seconds. It was there, all right.

The Devil just didn't know what the fuck he was looking at.

Why was your soul just you sitting there in the abyss, looking up at him with the same smile you were giving him right now?

And why did he feel nothing emitting from it?

He pulled back, looking into your eyes again. He did not like this.

You leaned forward and touched his horns.

His eyes widened as your fingertips brushed against the large curved black-red horns against the sides of his head. He hasn't even realized they had protruded. How? His horns were a sign of his power, a symbol he used for fear, for appearance, and for the moments of when he was exercising a great deal of his influence. Your fingertips brushed against the second set, the ones that bloomed upwards into wicked black-red spikes. Both sets? His soul-search had him reflexively procure both?

Shit.

He started into your eyes, seeing himself reflected back. Min Yoongi was the Devil. Emotion was no stranger to him. He harnessed it all, consumed himself in the passions and wonders of emotion. There were ones he felt less, simply because of who he was. For instance, there was not much that made him afraid.

You smiled.

Fear. He could feel it rise within him.

Yoongi grinned back.

Was this what he thought it was? He had heard of such things, rumors and whispers, even amongst the angels themselves. The hidden truth that Heaven and Hell belonged in a specific dimension or realm, Order. That there was another realm, the mirror, the reflection trapped, the unknown.

Disorder.

His kind, the high-above, and those between angels and insects, the humans, none of these belonged in the realm of Disorder. There were rumors that Order was merely a concoction of Disorder and that their realm could collapse any moment, erasing all of existence without a trace. Entropy was waiting for them all.

Yoongi understood now.

This was chaos.

The Devil was a master of desire. And a master of deliberately doing exactly what he shouldn't. He should not be tempted by a glimpse of chaos. His father would warn him to stay away from it.

His father could fuck right off.

Yoongi leaned forward, still bound, his horns disappearing. The chains clanged around him, his power rattling underneath. He wasn't doing it to fight them. He wanted to feel it. To understand what could not be understood, to touch the untouchable, because it was there, there right in front of him and he wanted it, he wanted it, and the Devil feeds off desire, even his own.

He wanted those lips.

You backed up.

The denial only made his desire stronger.

You left the plush goat-man sitting there right in front of him.

Jungkook was pissed.

Absolutely furious, jaw and head aching from this ridiculously large ball gag, fuming that he had no idea what was going on and that a single human was doing this bullshit. There was no way you were working alone. There had to be other beings behind this. He couldn't figure it out right now, but he would and he would tear them apart, right after he fucked your pathetic human body and tore you apart.

You must be a fool, thinking you could shackle him, Jeon Jungkook, the right hand of the Devil himself, the epitome of pure sin and free will.

He continued fighting the magic, trying to exert his strength, rattling the black chains, ice-silver lashes beating him back down. He tried to release his wings, but they were ensnared, pain shooting up his back. Jungkook cared not for pain. He had felt pain for millions of years. A few seconds was nothing. He tried to release his horns, but he could not, as if the very air neutralized him.

He was enraged.

Maybe would simply kill you so he could spend an eternity torturing you for your insolence.

Then the Devil's horns appeared.

How did he–?

Then you touched the Devil.

Jungkook wanted to scream.

He did, deep in his chest, muffled rage, jealousy, hate, all at once, and both of you ignored him, your fingers grazing Yoongi's horns, fucking smiling, looking unflinchingly into the Devil's eyes, and Jungkook wanted to erase you from existence, destroy every single shred of your soul for not groveling at the feet of Min Yoongi.

The horns disappeared and your hands hovered around Yoongi's head, fingers splayed out around the black hair like a shining halo.

Ironic.

The Devil leaned forward.

Don't you fucking kiss her, hyung!

But you moved away, backing up, gaze lingering on Yoongi before closing your eyes and reopening them slowly, a gradual shift to Jungkook's face.

He snarled at you through the gag.

He had you now. Eye contact and Jungkook could exert at least part of his power, the soul-search to find your deepest desires, your hidden gems, the calamity within that would call to him. He would find it and manipulate it, bend you to his will, turn you into his puppet. Play with you until you begged to die, only to find yourself in his arms once more, his plaything for all eternity.

All he had to do was find it.

You slid to your hands and knees, crawling to him. He felt it inside his chest, his own desire, watching the curve of your back to ass, his cock twitching at the sight, his mind conjuring images of your pretty body on a leash. Jungkook didn't have preferences when it came to bodies. A body was a body. In his hands, all bodies became prettier. You already had the base and he already had the wrath to want it. You stopped in front of him, the black skirt of your dress flaring out. He could see parts of your bare body.

Legs, knuckles, knees.

A small, amused smile on your lips.

Eyes that Jungkook searched valiantly, looking for malice, for innocence, for desire, for the darkest shadows and the lightest light.

Why couldn't he see anything?

This must be part of your magic. No matter. Jungkook had other ways. He was creative and cunning. You would break under his hand. He wouldn't stop until it was done. He was a demon that saw things through, even to his detriment.

His jaw was suddenly released from its prison, ball gag disappearing, fading into ice-silver smoke. He coughed, snapping his teeth, glaring at you.

"You dumb bitch," he hissed, violent resonance in his voice, oppressive and intense. "Do you think you humans are above us with your tricks and schemes? Kneel before those who invented such things."

You tilted your head.

Yoongi chuckled beside him.

Jungkook's brows furrowed. What–?

Your body trickled down like liquid, laying against the dark wood floor, looking up at him. Jungkook froze, maddening desire rising, infuriated at your face looking up at him, plush dark lips parted, hands on your chest, fingers spread out and molded to your flesh under the plain black dress. Sinking in, making him clench his jaw.

Your smile like a Cheshire Cat, eyes reflecting his rage.

Jungkook wanted to straddle your face and shove his cock into that smirking mouth, bulge your throat and cheeks with his girth.

"Is he always like this?" you asked, still not looking away.

"He pretends to be nice when he wants something out of you," the Devil answered calmly.

"Isn't that you?"

You still didn't look away from Jungkook. Why couldn't he find what he needed from your eyes?

"I'm always nice."

"That means you always want something out of someone."

Yoongi laughed, raspy and deep, the sound echoing in the bedroom, filling it up with his sound. Why couldn't Jungkook find it? His rage began to become infested with something else. Your eyes reflected only him.

Like a mirror.

No matter. The demons had other ways.

"Come here," Jungkook purred.

"I wouldn't do that."

That wasn't you. That was the Devil.

Your body lifted as if it was on a string from the center of your chest, fingers and black fingernails trailing against the dark hardwood, head tipped back, the line of your neck hidden by the high collar of lace, shielded from his hungry gaze. Legs curling up, skirt pooling around your thighs, his rage molding with carnal need, festering with something else.

Fear.

You rose to your knees, in prayer position in front of him, almost as if you were about to reach out and touch faith. Jungkook furrowed his brow, watching your presence near, wanting it, ready to coax or rip your desires from your lips themselves. It didn't matter if he was bound, it didn't matter if his black suit was torn up and ugly, it didn't matter if he was bleeding from his efforts to escape this magic.

You were still a human.

He was a demon and he would taint you.

Closer, your lids lowering, entranced by his spell. Jungkook smirked. Too easy. Humans were so, so easy. He craned his neck, lips parting, the palpable lust of his breath exhaling. So close to those pretty, dark, fuckable lips.

"You're really falling for it, hm?"

Jungkook paused. His eyes shifted to Yoongi. The Devil had turned his body to watch, clad in a tailored black suit. In contrast, Yoongi's was unmaimed, as he hadn't fought his restraints. The Devil had black hair like him, parted slightly, with shadowy dark brown, cat-like eyes that glinted with something sinister. Pale skin, almost luminescent. Exposed neck, elegantly laid black silk tie, unlike Jungkook, who preferred not to wear one. Lips that demanded you to plead for your life.

A body that made Jungkook want to sin for him.

That was the power of the Devil.

His eyes shifted from Yoongi to you, who had stilled in front of him. Hands beneath you and knuckles pressed to the floor like an obedient pet. What was Yoongi talking about? He had you right where he wanted you. And yet, he hesitated.

Then you spoke.

Delicate and calm, with no resonance. Human.

"I thought demons had free will?" you whispered. "That not even the Devil could control a demon."

Or was it?

Jungkook watched your lips form the words.

"If he is powerful enough, that is."

Yoongi didn't bother warning Jungkook anymore.

The Chaos knew what it was doing.

Clever girl.

Jungkook growled, leaning back a little, letting the passion of emotion course through him, wrath, lust, pride. Fear. All of it. Drawing from it, his power pulsing, singing through his muscles.

"Come here, human."

You had to crawl into his lap, his thighs against your thighs, hardness against softness, bringing your lips to his, sudden and sweet with your legs, knuckles, knees. Jungkook smirked, white teeth and canines flashing, urging you to him.

"What a good little girl,” he breathed softly. “I can be anything you desire. All you need to do is tell me."

Your eyes locked with his.

"A kiss, please."

He groaned at the small plea, finally getting it out of you, finally, and he would make you regret doing this, sow every seed of desire within you and reap it all, turn you into his pet on a leash. All he had to do was kiss you.

Jungkook kissed you.

He pressed his lips to yours, ravenous to consume what you had, eager to claim his offering.

You smiled against his lips, a small, amused smile.

It was instant, his hunger to your plushness, the rush euphoric and wild, immediate lust and power dominating him and now he could taste your tongue and fling open the doors, clawing for the soul within, the moment so close he could taste it, taste your moan sliding into his throat, his favorite treat, intoxicating in the way you sucked in his breath to fill your longs.

Jungkook arrived at the last gate, tearing through the door. Looked down into the abyss, triumphant.

You looked back up at him from below.

A small, amused smile.

A nothingness like he had never felt before.

Jungkook's eyes snapped open and widened, staring into the reflective glass of yours, his chest constricted. He had never felt this. Your lips still on his, tongue flicking, taking his breath, and then he felt a strange kind of compression, like everything was being pressurized, tighter, tighter, suffocating, and he gasped in your mouth, recoiling.

The kiss broke, your eyes still on his, lips shiny with his saliva. Your hand was outstretched, hovering in the air, fingers coated with black tendrils mixed with ice-silver, right above his chest.

Your eyes, void of anything but himself.

“What…” Jungkook breathed, hard cock straining against his slacks. “Are you?”

He didn’t understand. You were only a human. Only a human who had done a very stupid thing, summoning the Devil and his right-hand demon to your bedroom. Just a stupid, foolish human. You tilted your head. Lowered your hand and placed both hands on Jungkook’s thighs. He tensed. You pressed your fingers into his slacks, kneading the firm flesh underneath.

Where was your fear? Your malice? Your innocence?

Where was your desire?

He could only feel his own, rising, rearing its beautiful head, teeth bared and ready to strike as your fingers drummed against the fabric of his pants. You had tried to take something from him in midst of the kiss.

Part of his soul.

Jungkook narrowed his eyes. “What do you want?” he hissed, forceful and direct.

You stopped moving your fingers. He wanted to scream in dismay.

“Only a small thing.” Your lips curved into a gentle smile. “A token to remember our fateful meeting.”

Now, only now, did Jungkook not like this.

You removed one hand from his leg and Jungkook clenched his jaw, watching it rise, nearing his heaving chest, the black chains spreading apart, links snapping with ice-silver sparks, but he was still bound, still chained, and he did now know why and not knowing infuriated him. You stopped, right above his heart, the heart he forgot was there sometimes.

The true irony of this world was that angels gave up their hearts to serve the one above and demons kept them to serve themselves.

Jungkook felt it again, the compression of his insides, making his breath hitch and his teeth grind, the sensation unbearable. Your expression remained the same, the small, airless smile. Eyes reflecting his terror.

“I could take it just like this.”

Not a threat, only a statement. Only a testament to the power within you, a power that Jungkook was beginning to think wasn’t something he knew or understood. The Devil could take souls. He could reap them, he could tear them, he could wring them dry. But not like this.

“I will give you a choice,” you murmured, hand retreating, releasing him from the uncomfortable pressure. “Because everyone deserves a choice, don’t they?”

The chains were lessening, slowly slipping off Jungkook’s body.

“I’ll let you give it to me willingly.”

Your hand on his pants caressed the fabric.

“If you have the power to take it,” Jungkook snarled. “Why not take it?”

Your other hand found his other thigh, squeezing lightly, sparks of heat flying through his veins. The chains slid off him, clashing into the hardwood floor and turning to ice-silver liquid that faded to nothing.

“I do not want to take.”

You stopped your touches and Jungkook wanted to scream.

“It will feel better for you if you give.”

He raised on eyebrow. “Considerate of you.”

You smiled wider. He stared into your eyes and only saw himself.

“What do you think, Jeon Jungkook, the Devil’s right-hand man?”

He felt the tendons on his neck tense, expression twisting into anger. You shouldn’t know his name. You were a human. You would only know if he told you directly. Someone else was behind this. Someone who wanted to kill him and the Devil, thereby putting Hell itself in imbalance.

“How do you know my name?” he seethed.

“You told me.”

What?

“When you looked into her eyes, you told her your name,” confirmed a deep, cavernous voice.

Jungkook started, whipping his head to the Devil beside him. No longer chained, simply sitting lazily on the ground, one knee raised to rest an elbow on it. Yoongi raised an eyebrow.

“Getting soft, Jungkookie?” the Devil taunted.

How…? Was he so absorbed in his own lust and deceiving you that he did not realize? He looked back at you. Your eyes lowered to his slacks and then back up to his eyes.

“Pants can always come off.”

Jungkook raised a hand, running it through his black hair, jaw set. “You are too greedy, human. Do you even know what you’re doing?” he sneered.

Your hands jerked down a few centimeters closer to his crotch, making Jungkook hiss. Your tongue slid out, feathering against the plush dark mauve of your lips. His cock throbbed with need, demanding to abuse the mouth presented. You leaned forward, putting more of your weight on him, welcome weight that Jungkook wanted all over him. He was a demon, after all. He was no stranger to carnal desire.

“I do,” you murmured softly. “You and me and the Devil makes three.”

Jungkook sharpened his gaze. “You couldn’t handle that, human.”

You said nothing.

You simply removed your heat and turned to the Devil, where Yoongi held the little goat-man plush by a single hoof, dangling it next to his lap, making your crawl into it to reach the doll. It was almost an innocent gesture, the way you took it and tucked it into your lap before looking up at Yoongi’s face, lips parted slightly, nearly curious, childlike awe decorating your features.

Jungkook growled like a hurt animal.

Your eyes shifted to him, looking at him under lowered lashes. Dismissive, vacant gaze.

“Yes or no, Jeon Jungkook?”

“Yes.”

The thin black string between you and him darkened, searing with ice-silver, a contract made. He didn’t even know the terms. He didn’t care. No human could outsmart him. And you, you must have been human once.

The problem was, Jungkook didn’t know if you were human anymore.

Yoongi watched your eyes return to him. The little black goat-man plush was tucked between your legs, pressed against your core. Slowly but surely, he was understanding. The original vessel was human, now tainted by someone, something, or simply bad luck. It made you something else entirely. You were a creature from the realm of Order polluted by the realm of Disorder. How long could this last? Would you die eventually from it? When you died, what would be left? Was the soul still there? Would he be able to collect it? Contain it? Study it?

Yoongi didn’t know the answers to these questions.

He wanted to know.

“Your turn,” you whispered to his chin, warm breath against his skin. “What is your answer, my Devil?”

Yoongi chuckled. “A shard of soul is all you ask for?” he purred. “What for?”

You tilted your head. “I want to complete my collection.”

The Devil doubted that. He doubted you wanted anything. Something was driving the entropy in a direction, a purpose given to the original human you long ago, and now you did it because it was the only thing left in the shell, a memory of a purpose, the human determination so strong that it could not be killed or erased, even though this body was now only a container for the power within.

The Devil had spent a lot of his time lately doing nothing. Nothing fun, nothing exciting, nothing worthy of his attention. Yoongi already knew everything there was to know about humans. He cared not for those above. But this.

This was new.

This was different.

This was something he wasn’t supposed to know.

He raised his hand, fingers tracing your jaw, staring into the eyes of Chaos. The Entropy. The Vessel.

You.

“I’ll be part of your collection, little one,” Yoongi purred.

And you will be mine, he vowed as the black string between you and the Devil glowed, ice-silver magic contaminating it with the power of Disorder.

part ii the collection. if you get in bed, someone will fall in love

masterpost

#yoongi x reader #jungkook x reader #yoonkook x reader #yoonkook smut #bts smut #yoongi x you #min yoongi x you #min yoongi x reader #jungkook x you #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x you

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sideblog-666-thousand · 3 years

Text

A long bitch of an interview with Euronymous, from Orcustus zine in early ‘92.

What is Orcustus? Orcustus was an early 90’s black metal ‘zine run by none other than Bård “Faust*” Eithun— murderous pretty-boy, and o.g Euronymous simp. I think he might have also played drums in a band called Emperor... but I’m not sure! Its full name is actually “Orcustus— The Shadow of The Golden Fire”, and no, I’m not making this up.

This particular issue here opens up with a quote from a short story called ‘The Doom That Came To Thomas Parkes*’.

Assuming the reader hasn’t read the story, Faust explains that the quote is in reference to what happened to the titular ‘Thomas Parkes’ when he tried to raise spirits. Faust then admits that he’s unsure of his own ability to ‘raise spirits’, but says he hopes that he’ll raise some fists in agreement that there’s something wrong with the underground scene. Ironically (you’ll see why this is ironic very soon), he doesn’t like that certain bands, namely Entombed, are selling so many copies of their LPs.

After a brief diatribe on just that, he goes on to explain that he was in a rush to get this mag out because of problems with the printer. Then, he tells anyone who doesn’t like the fact that this ‘zine only features black metal that they can fuck off, with three exclamation points.

Finally, we get to the end of the opening page, where Faust pulls what can only be called an early form of the Twitter exposed thread. It reads as follows, with absolutely no changes to the text:

“I would suggest you to not do any business with that sucker Evil Ludo from France. He have riped me and several others off, by not return what we ordered. I suppose he’s a medical sensation, as I didn’t know it was physical or psychical possible to live without a brain”

Why am I telling you all of this, when this is only meant to be a transcript of an interview with Euronymous, you may be asking? Because I find it funny, that’s why.

Anyhow, the Euronymous here acts and feels very differently from the Euronymous of the last interview I posted. However, I hope you’ll still enjoy it, and I hope you’re able to appreciate the tiny glimpses of humanity talking to a close friend allowed him, even though they both behave like complete asses. Even though it’s hard to sympathize with him at points.

Like last time, any (sparse) commentary will be between (parenthesis) and in bold. Without further ado, let’s get into it.

F: Well, how in hell shall one be able to come up with an intro worthy enough for this band? The words I wanna describe Mayhem’s music with, is not yet created, and it won’t be created either, because no one has really experienced the real darkness and pure brutality with lays behind Mayhem’s hellish sound, but I suppose you all are familiar with this band anyway. Well, in the first place, I hadn’t really thought to enclose this band in this issue, because if we look away from rereleases of old demos (“Pure Fucking Armageddon”) and live tapes, it’s a pretty long time since their last release (in ‘87 that was). I thought I rather should interview them when they released their forthcoming album “Dee Mysteriis Dom Sathanas”, but due to the circumstances, I realised the time was right for an interview now. I won’t bother you with any history shit, but I could tell a bit about what has happened last year. You all know that their vocalist Dead comited suicude in April ‘91, that was a bigg loss for the underground, and I suppose I don’t need to say that this mag is dedicated to the memory of that infernal man. Anyway, Dead was replaced by Cultòcùlus (back then called Occultus), but due to different problems within the band, he left the band in January ‘92, but let’s not say more about that, as Euronymous didn’t want me to say anything about it at all (but Euronymous, you must admit that it has sounded pretty artificial if I hadn’t mentioned it at all). So now, the band consists of Hellhammer (drums) and Euronymous (guitar (and probably bass too)). I know the singer of Tormentor (rip) from Hungary (Esihar Attila) is interested in singing on the album, and also even moving to Norway, so it seems like Mayhem got some sort of predilection to foreign vocalists, but this Hungarian guy happend to be a good one as well, so never mind that. But I don’t think this is official, so don’t tell anyone you read it here, ok? Well then, it’s an honour for me to dedicate the next following pages to one of today’s most legendary and infamous bands......... THE TRUE MAYHEM!!!!!!!

F: First of all Euronymous, I know you and Dead live/lived totally for the old black metal attitude. Is your hate now total to young and trendy bands after Dead’s suicide?

Euro: YES, we have declared WAR. Dead died because the trend people have destroyed everything from the old black metal/death metal scene, today “death” metal is something normal, accepted and FUNNY (argh) and we HATE it. It used to be spikes, nites, chains, leather and black clothes, and this was the only thing Dead lived for as he hated this world and everything which lives on it. If we had the economic possibility to do it, we should meet up at concerts and beat up ALL trend people ALL the time untill they would be too scared to go to concerts at all, now we need to suck their money instead. It’s impossible to stop the trend no matter how much we want, we have to do the best out of it and sell lots of trend shit to them. (I don’t need to tell you that that’s totally not why Dead killed himself, right?)

F: In the spring of ‘91 you started up a shop in Oslo which sells all sorts of music within metal. Is there anything you can tell us about the shop (ideas? plans?)?

Euro: Well, the original idea was to make a specialist shop for metal in general, but that’s a long time ago. Normal metal isn’t very popular anymore, all the children are listening to “death” metal now, I’d rather be selling Judas Priest than Napalm Death, but at least now we can be specialized within “death” metal and make a shop where all the trend people know that they will find all the trend music, this will help us earning money so that we can order more EVIL records to the evil people. But no matter how shitty music we have to sell, we’ll make a BLACK METAL look on the shop, we’ve had a couple of “actions” in churches lately, and the shop is going to look like a black church in the future. We’ve also thought about having total darkness inside, so that would would have to carry torches to be able to see the records.

F: Well, how is the situation all in all in the Mayhem camp right now?

Euro: Difficult as usual, but we’re closer than ever to record the Mayhem lp. Almost all the material is completed, then I and Hellhammer will record the whole thing with 3 guitars, 2 basses and so on. It will be very massive. Who’s to sing on the lp is not yet decided, we’ll wait and see what happens. We have several people who can do the job very well.

F: As Metalion of Slayer mag* said: “it seems like you at certain times lives on the edge of starvation”. Have you ever been on the thought to just give up the whole band and become a normal 9 to 5 person, or is this a completely stupid question to ask?

Euro: It has been very hard at times, but I am not a normal person anyway so it would just not be possible to do that. I’ve been thinking a lot lately about why things are as they are (this answer will be long) (that’s okay for me/Ed). The reason why we don’t have any money, is because of hardcore. We have for too long been following the “underground” rules, which say that you must hate money, you must not think you are anything, you must be open-minded, you might have a lot of attitudes and so on. Extremely stupid. But the situation has been that if you don’t follow these rules which are made by hardcore pigs, you are not accepted as a death metal or black metal band! Then you MUST be signed by some big label to be able to make some money, and we’ve never wanted to do that. Then you would anyway be labelled as “commercial” by the HC pigs. This has caused that after 8 years, we are still as broke as ever, while the HC pigs themselves are controlling all labels, and they sign only the bands which fit into their own idiotic world, that means “death” metal bands with society lyrics and jogging suits, and this is what the people see when they grow up. They don’t see any EVIL bands with spikes, as we did. Well, I’m tired about being broke, just to be “underground”. I’m tired of not having money to eat for just because tons of people will call you a “rip-off” if you don’t write 20 letters each day. It’s time to say fuck off to the whole system, which is built to strangle the evil bands in the birth. We must start taking inspirations from the ancient ones, from Venom and their likes. They did their thing BIG, and they never had to think about any idiotic underground rules. They did it big and so must we, but it must never become a trend, it must become a CULT. This is why we have started on a brand new policy with the band and the record label. It’s about time that someone makes a label for black metal and other grim music, and STRIKE BACK. There is NO reason why DSP shouldn’t be as big as Peaceville or Nuclear Blast, if we can just get the business on its feet again and get good distribution. That’s the only way to compete with the HC labels. It’s about time we start taking control over our own scene. We must spread the EVIL bands and pervert people’s souls.

F: What about the Norwegian scene then? Don’t you think that something is terribly wrong when it have gone so far that we have a christian “death metal” band here (Crush Evil)? Advices on how we should kill them?

Euro: First of all— the Norwegian scene is the BEST. There are a lot of GREAT bands (yet with no album out) and of course some shitty trend bands, but nothing as in Sweden. There you have 2-3 good bands out of 100, while here we have a few shit bands who hardly have made even a demo, while all the great bands will make records in the near future. Such as Darkthrone, Burzum, Immortal, Thorns (I’m flattered/ED*), Arcturus, Enslaved and newer bands like Malfeitor and others which I have not yet heard. BUT— when it comes to bands like Crush Evil, we must take serious action. It’s bad enough to have a couple of society bands, but a CHRISTIAN band is too much. But don’t worry, we have plans. They will not continue for a very long time.

F: And now over to something more humouristic....yes.... snuff movies. Who had been the perfect actor for a snuff movie, and why the hell aren’t they legalized? Don’t you think that every video-store should have its own section with snuff-movies?

Euro: Actually I think it’s great that movies like that are forbidden. If they were legal and easily accessible, all the small trend children would be watching them, and then it would not be something extreme anymore (I’m not sure if I agree with you here Euronymous. Snuff movies are usually too raw and brutal for the people with their “peace and life” infected minds. Remember the HC rules/ED) (shut the fuck up, Faust*) It’s just the same what happened to death metal— it became something everyone could buy in every store, something normal and accessible for everyone. All the mystic and evil atmosphere is GONE. I do not think snuff-movies are funny, I think they are DARK. I’ve seen people laugh at them, but that’s probably because they will not be mentally able to take the PAIN and EVIL on over themselves. That is the best way to watch such a movie, to try to FEEL the actual pain of the victims. It becomes much more gruesome then, and that’s great. One must be alone in the darkness and suffer with the victims, if you watch it with other people, they will often talk, laugh and so on, and then you get more distanced from it, it’s not supposed to be funny (death to fun), it’s much better when it’s depressive.

F: Through the years you have been talking about releasing bands like Samael, Rotting Christ, Master’s Hammer, Tormentor, Matricide, Imperator, Massacre etc. on Deathlike Silence Prod., but now some of these bands have released lp’s on labels which only have money in their eyes and know that black metal sells. Doesn’t that frustrate you, and don’t you feel it like the time is running out for you?

Euro: It’s a bit frustrating, but it is also a result of trying to be “underground” which is a suicide policy. Anyway, the main thing is that these evil records get released at all, and not who’s releasing them. We will probably release a record with Tormentor, they’re split up, but they still want to make their Anno Domini demo on vinyl, and we’ll try to fix it within the summer. The time is not running out, because there are a lot of really evil bands around. — most of the Norwegian bands which other labels haven’t heard about. Burzum is ten times better than all the bands on Earache together, and so are Thorns and Arcturus. So there is no problem, really. As for bands like Rotting Christ and Master’s Hammer, we might do something in the future instead. I’ve never been talking with Samael about any deal, but I wish I had as their album is FUCKING GREAT.

F: Almost all bands in the underground today says that they think they got their own style and originality, but the fact is that 95% of the bands sounds totally the same. What is an original death metal band today?

Euro: There exists no death metal bands today. There are only a handful of (mostly great) bands (in case someone hadn’t got it right— black metal has nothing to do with the music itself, both Blasphemy and Mercyful Fate are black metal. It’s the LYRICS, and they must be SATANIC. If not, it is NOT black metal) and what we choose to call LIFE METAL bands. Take a band like Therion. Their music is quite ok, it’s actually one of the best Swedish bands (even though that doesn’t say much) but their lyrics STINK. They are about society and pollution, what the fuck has that got to do with DEATH? If a band cultivates and worships death, then it’s death metal, no matter what KIND of metal it is. If a band cultivates and worships Satan, it’s black metal. And by saying “cultivates death”, I don’t think about thinking it’s funny, or being into gore, I’m thinking about being able to KILL just because they HATE LIFE. it’s people who enjoy to see wars because a lot of people get killed. How many bands think that way? Not many. I can’t think of one.

F: You’re maybe not the most active band when it comes to gigs, but at least you’ve managed to tour Germany and Turkey. What can you tell us from the tour, and is there any new gigs planed?

Euro: That tour was a big mess, we’ll NEVER take the train again! We lost quite some money, but still it was great to get to East-Germany and Turkey. The memories of the tour consist mostly of the starvation and idiotic custom officers, but still I wouldn’t like to have missed the opportunity. We don’t have any concrete plans, we’ll see happens in the future. We don’t like to play for a lot of trendies in jogging suits, so we prefer to leave it be.

F: What do you think of the fact that death metal has been on MTV?

Euro: It sucks. But it isn’t death metal anyway, so....

F: I know that you will soon release the debut album of Abruptum on DSP, so, what can you tell us about it?

Euro: It’s EVIL. It’s PURE EVIL, they were torturing each other in studio DURING the recording and you can HEAR on the music how they SUFFER. It will be the most demented record EVER, and it’s NOT for normal people. This is music which NEVER can become trendy, because normal people won’t be able to understand it. And that’s great. The price for the album it’ll be the same as for the BURZUM lp, which should be somewhere else in this ‘zine*. It’s called “Obscuriratem Advoco Amplèctere Me”, and stay away from it if you don’t like pure DARKNESS.

F: Don’t you think that people in the underground should respect others ideas and views more? I mean, it’s not accepted to spread unpopular thoughts. It seems like there is some sort of guardians of morality and most people keep in mind not to say or do anything which is not accepted by the public.

Euro: I don’t think people should respect each other. I don’t want to see trend people respecting me, I want them to HATE and FEAR. If people don’t accept our ideas as their own, they can fuck off because then they belong to a musical scene which has NOTHING to do with ours. They could just as well be Madonna fans. There is an ABYSS between us and the rest. Remember— one of the HC rules is that you must be open-minded (except for themselves), so we must be careful and avoid being open-minded ourselves. The HC pigs have correctly made themselves guardians of morality, but we must kick them in the face and become guardians of anti-morality.

F: You say you want your riffs to have a dark mood and really sound evil, but what if you came up with a riff which just sounded good, but not evil. Would you use it then?

Euro: Well, if a riff sounds good to me, it mostly means that it sounds evil too. At least when I make the music myself. Haven’t really thought about this about this before.

F: Do you think you’ve been playing this sort of music today if it weren’t for those old bands like Mercyful Fate, Venom and Hellhammer?

Euro: It’s impossible to say. Venom and the other ancient ones have been fundamental influences on Mayhem, and also the direct reason of the band’s existence. We like to think that if they hadn’t started up this, we would have, but who knows? Doesn’t really matter anyway, we hail ancient Venom as the CREATORS.

F: Ok, no more questions at the moment. End the interview in what way you want......

Euro: Perhaps it should be mentioned that well re-release the MAYHEM mini-lp “Deathcrush” VERY soon. We also have t-shirts available now. People should write for prices on things. Be EVIL, not open-minded.

Ok, I suppose some of you already know that Euronymous started up a shop in Oslo in the spring of ‘91. The shop is called “HELVETE” (which is Norwegian and means “HELL”) and are specialized within underground stuff and death metal in general (though he also have some other styles of music there). As he said in the MAYHEM interview, the shop really have a black metal look, so if you ever visit Oslo, I really recommend you to visit “HELVETE” as well. I think it’s good that people take the initiative to start up with such things, because if everyone were just passive, we would all get ruined by poser-shops like Hot Records where they take 140 NKR for the Earache albums (which you in “HELVETE” can get a CD for the same price). Euronymous also sells though mail, so write and ask for a list or something: HELVETE, Schweigaardsgt. 56, 0656 Oslo. NORWAY.”

That’s all! :)

And now for the things I put in asterisks, in order of their appearances.

*If for some reason you actually don’t know who Faust is, he was the drummer on the Emperor LP and “In The Nightside Eclipse” but you might also know him from other great hits such as “threatening to kill Mortiis from prison whilst simultaneously attempting to plead murder of the secondth degree”, “I’m glad the people Euronymous ripped off won’t get their money back because he’s dead hA hA!”, “I got fourteen years for murder because I’m a socially inept virgin— oops” and “bad... bad lyrics who’s quality somehow don’t improve with the passing of time”. All jokes are done in good humour— if it seems like I dislike him, it’s not that at all. I just find him easy to make fun of.

Here is another short bio, this one less sarcastic: he was born in Trondheim, lived around Kvikne, and Lillehammer, worked at Helvete, was a close friend of Euro’s, and has his sun in Taurus.

He also beefed with Glen Benton for dissing the Party City cape (Note: of course I’m being extremely reductive) he and Euronymous seemed to share. Here are a few pictures of Faust:

Here is the infamous Party City cape:

*This was surprisingly hard to find. I think he read it in a mag or something. Here’s a link to where you can find it: https://issuu.com/davidgamble/docs/paranormal37/3 page 64-65.

*Slayer mag was another zine, this one by a bloke named Metalion, who was Euro’s best friend.

*Faust (who felt the strange need to make a distinction between himself, the editor, and himself, the interviewer) also played in Thorns (well, Stigma Diabolicum), under the hilarious moniker: Fetophagia✨

*He’s being a fucking idiot, what was I supposed to say? It should be noted that Faust actually went down for the snuff films too.....

*In case you’re interested, for whatever reason, the prices for the Burzum LP were as follows:

Norge— 130 NKR

Norden— 100 K

Finland— 60 FN

Island— 1000 IK

Europe— 15$

Outside Europe,

Overseas— 15 $

Air— 22$

East Europe— 10$

By ‘norden’ he presumably meant ‘northern Norway’, and “Island” is the Norwegian word for Iceland. Notice the way he doesn’t include Sweden! (Edit: Originally I thought he didn’t include Finland because there was a black metal war with them as well, but it seems as though that feud came a bit later or had already passed)

That’s all, for real this time!

Legal disclaimer: I am absolutely, in no way shape or form, claiming that the stupid cape you see them wearing is literally from Party City. From my limited research, I’ve gathered that the Party City chain hasn’t yet opened its doors in the beautiful and glorious country we know as Norway— Norge. However, I am saying that the cheap, dinky piece of cloth covering their backs and shoulders are of the same kind of shitty quality you’d expect from a Party City Count Dracula costume and that maybe Glen had a point about how stupid Euronymous (and Faust) must’ve looked.......

#black metal #euronymous #mayhem #emperor #euronymous interview #interview #Faust #Orcustus zine #true norwegian black metal #my transcript #Bard Faust #look at these fucking dorks

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girlwiththeblueblood · 2 years

Text

[Reader character playing with a FNAF tick-tock flutter on they’re launch break in the PizzaPlex’s Human Employee’s breakroom]

Reader: (holding up the phone) Ok, so my new medication has me bouncing off the walls. I need to put this energy somewhere before I start patrolling. So here is, a FNAF murder mystery. Buckle up.

Reader: It’s early morning in the Pazziplex, it hasn’t opened yet and I come across a body. Who’s the first victim?

Reader: (flitter stops) Sundrop no!

Reader: Someone killed my boy. Someone killed one of my two boys. The gloves are fucking off! Who also as a fire set under them? Whose- whose helping find the one who killed our boy Sundrop?

Reader: (flitter stops) Foxy!? Came out of retirement to help me catch the killer, yes! He would, he would let’s face it.

Reader: Ok, as we search for clues we find our three suspects who are… (flitter stops) Map bot!?.. always trying to give me maps, suspicious. (flitter stops) Monty, you never liked my boy of course I’d suspect you. (flitter stops) DJ Music Man!? …what did you have to gain from this!? I.. I trusted you!

Reader: As me and Foxy are questioning Music Man we hear a scream! Who do we find dead after we search? Who is the second victim? (Flitter stops) Chica!? No! I’m loosing all my friends!

Reader: Who is standing over Chica when we find her? (Flitter stops) …Crying child? What!? What does this mean? No, really what does this mean?

Reader: I’ve lose two- maybe three of my friends, confused and grieving I try to piece together the puzzle, with my newly found friend Foxy. Who do we question next? (Flitter doesn’t work and it’s blank) …All hope is lost.

Reader: (gets a coin) I’ve got an idea, heads Moondrop is ok, tails and.. I cry (Flips coin) …Heads!

Reader: Me and Foxy are at a lose, we’ve hit a dead end. But then, the lights go out. The moon has risen baby! And Moondrop has the one and final clue that blows the chase wide open! Who did he see attack while our poor boy Sundrop was in control?

(Flitter stops)

Reader: FreddyFazBear… of course. You got tired of sharing the spotlight with everyone, you’re the company mascot, you should have all the glory and attention. That’s why Foxy came back. That why Crying Child was morning Chica, she was killed by her own friend. They knew!

Reader: But you made one mistake. You killed my boy, you killed my friend. You made me question Music Man. And I confront you, one on one. Do I survive?

Reader: (Flips the coin) Tails.. I die this on this day. But I die fighting. And leave this fight for the next poor soul.

Reader: (long pause) I should get back to work.

#reader hugs Sundrop and Chica after playing this game #fnaf security breach #sundrop #captain foxy #Moondrop #glamrock chica #crying child #glamrock freddy

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dizzydancingdreamer · 3 years

Text

Persephone’s Symphony | Day One | Hades

Hey lovelies— here is the next part! I wanted to pause here and add a little note: the word tiny is thrown around here. I don’t want this to hinder anyone of you to not read this because you think the word doesn’t apply to you. I want to make a couple things clear. 1) All shapes and sizes are beautiful and I, myself, am a wonderfully plump lady. 2) I don’t use the word as a physical description in a way meant to limit a ‘reader insert’ type of fiction— I use it because Bucky Barnes is a super soldier and anyone would be small to him. Thus I hope you can enjoy it the same way I can— because sometimes we all just need to feel like a super soldier could rip us in half. Stay safe my lovelies and please do enjoy!

Synopsis: In which he is the bad one— the dangerous one, the clunky one, the one who only knows how to break things— and she is the good one— the fragile one, the soft one, the one who knows how to put things back together— and he has to keep her alive long enough for anyone else— anyone who can do more than kill— to save her like she deserves to be saved— to save her from him. There are no pomegranates, no three headed dogs, and no requirement to stay— that is, if they don’t count an assassin on the loose out for her neck. In that case, three days in a safe house doesn’t feel like a long time— just long enough for Persephone and Hades to remember why opposites attract.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader (third person)

Warnings: some angsty moments but overall no warnings

Word count: 4.1k

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She’s tiny. That’s the only thing he can think for the first couple hours. She is so damn tiny and fragile and soft and he doesn’t know how to be around a human that tiny and fragile and soft. Maybe it’s worse because he has to keep this tiny human alive. He hasn’t had to do that before— all the other tiny people in his life have been perfectly capable of keeping themselves alive. Even Steve all those years ago, when he only came up to his shoulder—barely— would have fought tooth and nail to stay alive. Even then it always felt like Bucky was just there in case. Maybe that was just Steve though.

He blinks— he doesn’t want to think about the man right now. He can’t afford to get lost in his head. Gods only know if he starts thinking about those days— the ‘good’ old days— he won’t stop. Maybe not for days. Maybe because they’ll remind him that he’s not supposed to be here— that he isn’t made to keep tiny, gentle, grilled cheese cooking, question asking things alive. Usually he’s the one hindering people from being alive— hindering life itself. Usually it doesn’t bug him this much but he can’t help but equate the girl in the Caltech hoodie with life—

“Is what they say about New York pizza true?”

— And himself with death.

“S’alright— Chicago is better.”

He watches as she flips through a book that she had picked up off the coffee table a few minutes ago. The Big Book of Dogs. Is he supposed to laugh at that? She is— giggling and flipping through pages upon pages of puppies. It isn’t aimed at him, her musical, soft sounds. She isn’t laughing at him. It only feels like she is. He’s learned to separate the difference these days— it’s just in his head. Still, he has to turn away from her, using the guise— his job— of being a bodyguard to keep his gaze moving.

From the corner of his eye he watches as she lowers the book, peaking over at him from behind a peppy looking Alaskan Malamute— yes, he knows his dogs. He is one, after all.

“You know, I think there are quite a few people who disagree with you on that one.”

Bucky pretends to ignore the way she quirks a brow at him, her eyes drifting back to the page. He also ignores the way his heart spikes at the little movement. Snap out of it, Barnes. He stands, stalking to the living room window and pulling back the heavy green curtain. Nobody is out there— he didn’t expect there would be someone, he just needed to move. How many more hours?

“Thought you were asking me.” He quips, staring out towards the bayou where the water has turned grey and choppy.

He watches as the rain pours down the window pane, tap tap tapping in front of his nose as the sunlight surrenders to the misty storm clouds. As much as he hates to admit it, Wilson was right— the rainy season’s rolling in on the dot. Even he is starting to feel the effects, his bones beginning to leaden.

As if on cue, she yawns, setting down The Big Book of Dogs and curling her legs into her chest, hiding them beneath the mountain of fabric she wears. “I was gauging. Consider it a test.”

Bucky huffs— not sure if he’s annoyed because of her questioning or because of how, despite the tension still laced through his shoulder blades like sailors knots, he isn’t that bothered by it. Annoyed because he isn’t annoyed— that’s a first. He lets the curtain drop again and turns to the TV where Netflix lays open but unused, blocking out one mind numbing haze for another. What would they even watch together?

“Oh yeah? Did I pass?”

Maybe some cheesy sit-com. That feels harmless enough and he’s been catching up on a few of them. Some of them even make him laugh. Maybe that’s in poor taste though. He’s never had to deal with someone else’s grief before— he rarely deals with his own as is.

“Maybe it would be better to just not ask that.”

He doesn’t think before he says it— he doesn’t have time to, it slips out before he can grab it and shove it back in his stupid, sentimental mouth. “You sound like Steve.”

Fuck. Her head pokes up, her doe eyes somehow managing to meet his gaze despite how hard he tries to force his neck to turn in the other direction. How does one person look so soft? He can see the question in her eyes, the way they spark with intrigue. He watches in slow motion as her lips— not glossy like they had been in the picture but still just as pink— peel apart.

“Who’s Steve?” Her voice is too sweet— too sincere. Like she actually doesn’t know. Then again, maybe she doesn’t— they never really used his name.

Bucky can’t answer. It’s too early and Steve is too long of a story. One hundred years worth of story, to be precise. How is he supposed to fit all of that into one answer? He can’t. He can’t answer but he can’t not answer either— not when she’s looking at him like she wants to know every little thing about him.

Bucky can’t answer so he doesn’t answer. “You ask a lot of questions, don’t you?”

She sinks back against the leather cushions, pulling her hands into her sweater. He almost curses when she curls her knees closer to her body. He can’t really see them from under her hoodie but he can see the movement— the way she wraps her arms around her legs so that she looks like a tiny blob of fabric and a head. His chest squeezes at the sight of her pulling away from him. Can he ever say anything right?

He told Wilson— he told him that he wouldn’t be a good fit for the job. What, a man like him? Man, dog, wolf, asshole. What’s the difference? He was right, that’s all that matters. It’s been all of five hours and he’s already making her uncomfortable all because he can’t—

“You’re the one who brought it up.” She grumbles, her soft— less sweet— voice pulling him from his unintentional staring contest with her forehead. His neck flushes with heat. Shit.

Bucky sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I know it’s just— it’s a long story, doll.”

Again, it just slips out. Instead of wanting to push the word back into his lips this time, though, he wants to punch himself in the mouth. Doll? Really? He watches as her eyes blow wide, his stomach sinking when her pink lips peel apart again, her jaw going slack but none of her honeyed words coming out this time. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Immediately he begins running through apologies in his head. Of course none of them are actually worth their weight— not in gold or anything else. Not even in the energy it would take to say them. What’s he supposed to say? Sorry the last time I spoke to a woman was eighty years ago. That would be even more explaining. Damnit, Bucky!

He tries not to groan out loud, clenching his jaw, still staring into her eyes. Look away, you idiot! He can’t. He’s about to say something— or maybe he’s about to literally throw himself out the window, he isn’t exactly sure which is going to play out just yet— but before he can do either the delicate girl in the Caltech sweater speaks first.

“I— erm—” she squirms in her seat but her eyes stay latched on him the entire time— maybe she’s a fighter after all— “we have time?”

For a moment he just stares at her, lost in the way her nose scrunches, her lips pressing together like she’s the one who said something out of line. Like she, too, is contemplating punching herself in the face. That’s when he caves. It’s to save her from a broken nose. He repeats it like a mantra. He isn’t giving in because he’s weak, he’s giving in because it’s his job to make sure she’s safe— even from herself.

He takes a step forward, only now realizing he’s been standing in the middle of the room the entire time. Has he always been this fucking awkward? Nodding his chin towards the floor, the space in front of where she’s perched, he shoots her a look he can only hope resonates as something along the lines of ‘can I sit?’. She nods and he lowers himself to the ground in front of her, leaning against the side of the couch as gently as the super soldier can muster. Despite his efforts he still lands with a thud, the couch shifting backwards a couple inches. It’s not terrible— she only slightly flinches this time and he only kind of wants to bury himself alive.

“Not that much time—” he watches as her face drops, the way her her cheek twitches like she's sinking her teeth into it, and he hurries the rest of his sentence— “but if you ask—” he tries for a smile that feels more like the right side of his face seizing than anything— “then I’ll answer.”

He waits for a beat, his gaze locked on her hands which she pulls from her sleeves only to twist together again. He has to stop himself from looking down at his own hands— from thinking again about how fragile and delicate she is. He doesn’t have to look to know that both of her hands could fit in one of his. Especially his special hand. She hasn’t asked about it. A few times he’s caught her peeking at it, no doubt a million questions swirling behind those wide eyes of hers, but those are questions she has kept to herself. He wouldn’t blame her if she did ask, though— or if she was terrified.

“Alright,” his eyes flick back to her face, meeting her determined stare and avoiding the way his chest lightens, “deal.”

He nods.

“But—”

Oh no.

“You have to ask me things too. It’s only fair— that way we both know things about each other.”

It’s only fair. He doesn’t know what to say. Again. It seems that every time he feels like he’s beginning to figure her out he gets shoved on his ass. Literally— he is quite literally on his ass right now. All because of what? A little girl? A little girl with small hands and a stare worse than his?

A little girl who thinks he of all people deserves fair. He knew life was cruel but this is worse— this is evil.

“Ask away.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

“Wait, wait, wait— you can’t be serious!”

Her giggles sound more like music than laughter to him. Usually he hates music— the newer stuff at least, maybe Wilson was right; maybe he is an old man— but this is bearable. This is mesmerizing.

He glances up at her from over his shoulder, fighting the same smile that’s been threatening his lips for the better part of two hours now. He isn’t sure why exactly he does it. Maybe because he knows it would be nothing compared to hers. Maybe it’s because it doesn’t deserve to be compared to hers. He isn’t a religious man but it feels blasphemous to even suggest he could exist with a margin of the sanctity she exudes. He’s committed many sins— that he can say with certainty— but to propose that he is the same as her would be the worst one of all.

Of course, that doesn’t stop him from soaking up every pious laugh into his wicked skull— he isn’t a perfect man, after all.

“Deadly serious. Steve was pissed at me for weeks. How was I supposed to know she had a husband?” He is rewarded with more giggles, ones that set his chest on fire.

Is that what happens when demons spend too much time around angels— they start to burn?

She pulls the blanket she acquired around an hour ago over her face, muffling her laughter much to his dismay. “You could have asked her!”

Bucky lifts a shoulder before letting it flop back down again. “You’re right.”

This is how it has gone since he proposed she ask him questions. She asks him her question— usually something light and easy— favourite color, favorite food, what was the last thing he bought. That one threw him for a loop but he answered anyway— Chinese food. She had giggled at that. You don’t seem like a Chinese food kind of guy. She’s not wrong. That is usually what she does after the questions, though— giggles. Giggles and teases him. Tortures him. Same thing. He doesn’t even think she knows what she’s doing.

Then, of course, he asks her questions of his own. They’re pretty much the same— favorite animal, middle name, what Passadena is like. Warm and busy. That was her answer— he’s never been to SoCal so who’s to say whether or not she was telling the truth. He really doesn’t care. He was more paying attention to the timbre of her voice— the way she makes normal words sound important. He didn’t know he could be so enthralled listening to someone talk about a cat named mittens.

For the first hour or so it was questions like that. The easy, no commitment kind. He wouldn’t have minded if they had stayed like that but, as he kept answering, she had grown more and more confident. Honestly, he didn’t mind that either. It was interesting to watch as she became comfortable around him. Well, more comfortable than before— more comfortable than he would have thought she could be around a guy like him. Her knees eventually pushed out of that hoodie and she relaxed into the couch. It was strange— completely and utterly strange.

By the second hour she had braved the first of many hard questions. It wasn’t what he thought it would be— still nothing about his arm— it was nothing close to that, actually.

It was about his mother.

Maybe it wasn’t supposed to be a hard question but it was, unexpectedly so. His mother. He hasn’t thought about his mother in years. Longer. Decades. He wasn’t expecting to feel so guilty about it but there he was, feeling like his throat was being crushed, while describing to the tiny, lovely girl— who has just lost her own mother— his mother’s lily of the valley perfume. He assumed that’s why she asked— because she misses her mother. He doesn’t blame her. He just never thought that he would miss his mother, too, today.

The rest weren’t as bad as that one. They still made his jaw ache, sure, but not like that. The ones about Steve were the only ones remotely comparable. How did you meet him? What was he like? What’s your favourite story with him in it? That was the last question— the one that made her giggle herself into a half hanging, half sprawling position over the arm of the couch— the position she is currently in right now.

He doctored the answers a little bit— he figured now isn’t the right time to tell her he’s pushing a hundred and ten— but he kept the good parts. Like how Steve and he had run through the streets of Brooklyn that night— Steve without a shirt and him in nothing but a pair of boxers that he is pretty sure to this day had belonged to her husband— being chased by the New York police. Good times.

“What, erm, what was her name?” Her voice is extra gentle— airy.

She’s nervous or maybe out of breath. He can’t quite tell, she’s too flopped over to get a proper look. She’s breathtaking either way.

All of a sudden it’s extra hard to fight back his smile. “I thought it was my turn to ask a question.”

Sitting up, she pools back into her seat. She scrunches her nose at him but doesn’t object. He can see that she wants to, though. Her eyes hide nothing. Then again he’s been trained to read people— to see the minute tick of her jaw and the invisible pulsing of her pupils. Invisible to anyone but him. Invisible to anyone who isn’t a monster— the big, bad wolf. His borderline smile dies quickly and he can’t bring himself to search for it again. This is how it should be.

Bucky clears his throat, mulling over what to ask her next. His eyes drift over the tan hoodie, the frays on the cuffs and the fact that there are no strings, and, like that, he has an idea.

“What’s the deal with that hoodie?” He tries to make it casual but he really does want to know— it’s like four sizes too big, there has to be a story.

He tries to make it casual but she still sobers. Like her hands receding once more into the cuffs of her sweater, the last remnants of the giggly girl fade from his line of sight. He chases it as far as he can, watching as her fingers disappear completely and lingering just in case it’s only a fluke. But no, they don’t come back, and he wishes he could disappear with them.

“It was—” her tongue pokes out, swiping against her pink lip and making it shine— “it was my dad’s. He, uh, he went to Caltech too. Was part of their alumni.”

The super soldier nods, pulling his legs up as well, hoping that by copying her she’ll see it as a signal to keep going. He doesn’t want to speak over her and accidentally derail her thoughts. He wants to know about her dad— her whole family actually. Whatever is important to her, like the hoodie.

“We used to go to these big alumni dinners and he would talk at them. Families like us were invited I guess— like a thank you of sorts.” Her eyes take on a faraway look, still latched on his but glassy and distant, no longer actually seeing him. It’s a look he understands too well. “One time he pulled me on stage with him. I think maybe I was thirteen? He said—” she stops, swallowing so hard her throat bobs, and he has to shove his hand under his leg to keep from reaching out— “ah, I’m sorry. He said ‘this girl right here— this is my daughter! If you think I’m good at what I do then you should see her. She’s something I tell you— Gonna be the best this school has ever seen!’”

His chest tightens— not necessarily from her story but from the way her voice cracks, her soft tone becoming scratchy. She swallows again and he hates it. He hates that he can see tears ready to fall and he hates that she’s even here with him under these circumstances.

He hates that he’s still grateful to be here anyway, being the person who she tells her story to.

“Was he right?” He knows it isn’t his question but he has to say something— anything— to make this better. He has no idea if this is it but it’s worth a shot.

Her brows push together, her head tilting slightly to the side, much too elegantly to be normal— are all women this pretty or is it just her? She blinks, clearing some of the mist, eyes drawing over his face. She traces across his brows, down his nose, stopping on his lips for a pulse— like tracing out the rhythm to a song only she can discern. Everything she does is like music. It must just be her.

“What?” She doesn’t say it rudely; she says it like she didn’t hear him— like she was too far lost in the wonderland of her memory to hear anything— and his chest tightens even further.

“You said your father told everyone you were going to be the best— were you?”

He doesn’t take his eyes off of her, slowing his words and waiting for the recognition to creep in. It takes a moment but it does, the last of the glass evaporating into something else.

“I, uhm, I don’t know—”

“You do.” He presses— he can hear the edge of that something in her tone. The downplay is scribed over her feature— lowered eyes, flat mouth, trembling fingers— she wants to say something.

“What do you even know?”

About anything going on in my head— yeah, that’s not familiar at all.

Bucky doesn’t flinch when she hisses the words at him— partly because, despite the clear ice in her words, he doubts they came out as hard as she was hoping they would. Her voice isn’t made to sound wretched. He knows she could tell him the filthiest things— tear him down to the last peg, spit his name out like a curse— and she would still sound like an angel. That makes her dangerous— or at least it would if she didn’t already have tears welling up in those big eyes of hers again.

He flicks a brow, letting one corner of his mouth tick up, telling himself that it’s only for her peace of mind— to let her know that he isn’t angry at her. That he gets it. That sometimes he feels so fucking confused and hurt and scared that he, too, wants to hiss at people because at least then they leave him alone. Yeah, it’s only for her peace of mind.

“Try slamming the ‘you’ harder next time—” he draws the word out, exaggerating the motion while keeping his features a mixture of schooled and relaxed— “usually works out better.”

Her hands— which have been tangling over the collar of her hoodie— drop into her lap with a thunk, her eyes rolling. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome— but you never answered.”

She shoots him a deadpan stare— well, sort of. She never actually stopped looking at him so her face just morphes from vexed to blank. So far it’s his least favourite expression— he would rather she just got angry. He’d rather see fire— or ice— than nothing.

“I thought it was my turn?” Doesn’t she know that the more she avoids the question, the more he wants to know the answer?

Bucky doesn’t let up— he will if she actually tells him to drop it but she hasn’t and he doubts she will— she’s too determined to win. “Consider it payment for your extra questions.”

He holds her gaze still, waiting for the moment she folds. It takes longer than he expects it would, sitting in silence with her eyes on him for almost three minutes. He almost breaks around two and a half minutes. The girl has a way of looking at him like she can see right into his head. Still, he holds, waiting, waiting, waiting until finally— there it is!

Light a light shining in the darkness, her mouth pulls into a merciful smile— well, if mercy means the coy glint in her eye, that is. “I was the best.”

The super soldier nods, finally letting his gaze drop. He doesn’t say anything— he doesn’t have to. His point has already been made. He never wanted to be right. He just wanted her to say it. Not for him but for herself. He doesn’t let himself mull over what that says about him. Nothing good. That’s the only answer. It says nothing good about him, the lengths he’s already willing to go to keep this soft, icy girl safe. Him, a monster. It only tells him that he’s selfish— but he already knew that. Those are thoughts for another time.

“Your turn.” He reminds her, leaning back against the arm of the couch, all but aware of the foot of space between his head and her hand which is scratching over the leather behind him.

There is no pause this time— no beat, moment, or minute. Just like that she’s back, moving on to the next topic, almost as though she has had the question queued for ages now, dying to know the answer. He supposes it’s only fair— she let him ask his questions.

“What was her name?”

Her voice lacks the airy note it had held the last time she asked, clearly over waiting, and he has to turn to the window to hide the way he finally cracks, his lips sloping up in a grin that’s both too alien and too familiar. It tastes too much like the old days— like peach schnapps and movie theatre popcorn. She’s not ready for that. He knows because he isn’t.

“Delores.”

_______________

Tag List: @xhollycowx @remembered-license @dumble-daddy @hellotvshowtrash @thesummerbucky (if i missed anyone I am so sorry please shoot me a message and I’ll fix it)

#Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes imagine #bucky #bucky fic #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky imagine #mcu #mcu fic #marvel cinematic universe #marvel cinematic universe fic #Persephone's Symphony

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chitto · 3 years

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I ANALYZED ALL OF THE NEW SONGS ON RANBOO'S LORE PLAYLIST - HERE'S WHAT I FOUND

Back in March, I listened to every single song on Ranboo's DMCA Lore Playlist. I came up with a solid theory, published my evidence and that was that. My work was done.

But nope! Ranboo's back and he's deleted a ton of songs and added more. And so I listened. Again. And I'm back with a theory, and it does not look good.

This new batch of songs shows us that this is a new era of c!Ranboo. Redesign Your Logo is meant to tell us that things are changing, and so is c!Ranboo. This could be do to the fact that something bad is most likely going to happen to c!Ranboo in the near future, probably the taking of his first canon life. Songs like Eyewishes and Goodbye heavily point to the ending of a chapter (or life) of c!Ranboo. The song Blue Monday isn’t anything revolutionary, as we were already well aware of the toxic relationship between c!Ranboo and c!Dream. Another thing to point out is that Everybody Wants To Rule The World sets up an interesting take on nuclear weapons, a thing that c!Tubbo has and c!Ranboo doesn’t know exists. If c!Ranboo were to find out about the nukes, it could lead to the two fighting over whether or not they were a good thing. Going into Time Moves Slow, the narrator there discusses a relationship that just ended between them and their lover, meaning there could be a c!Beeduo divorce arc in the near future.

Below are the analyses on each individual song and the added and deleted songs

Deleted: Prologue (StarKid), Introduction to the Snow (Miracle Musical), Dream Sweet in Sea Major (Miracle Musical), Turn the Lights Off (Tally Hall), The Mind Electric (Miracle Musical), The Ruler of Everything (Tally Hall), Ain't No Rest for The Wicked (Cage the Elephant), The Bidding (Tally Hall), Stranded Lullaby (Miracle Musical), Hidden in the San (Tally Hall), & (Tally Hall), I'm Gonna Win (Rob Cantor).

Added: Redesign Your Logo (Lemon Demon), Everybody Wants to Rule the World (Tears for Fears), Blue Monday (New Order), Eyewishes (Lemon Demon), Bystanding (Lemon Demon), Goodbye (Bo Burnham), Time Moves Slow (BADBADNOTGOOD and Samuel T. Herring).

Redesign Your Logo (Lemon Demon) - This song is about a pdf that went around during 2009 about the Pepsi company logo. In it, the Arnell group is trying to sell Pepsi a new logo, so that they can make tons of money. I feel that this song symbolizes evolution and growth, we’re entering a new era of c!Ranboo. He’s redesigned and rebranded. This song could also be on this playlist because of a fan animation on youtube set to the same song by Shyshui.

Everybody Wants To Rule The World (Tears for Fears) - This song was written about the Cold War between The Soviet Union and The United States that happened during the 20th Century. The main line of the song ‘Everybody Wants to Rule the World’ is about how everyone wants power, and the misery that it brings with it. This is a theme we can see clearly on the DreamSMP, with many leaders such as c!Eret, c!George, c!Bad, c!Wilbur, and c!Dream all leading lives of misery in one way or another. This is also important for c!Ranboo, as he is the most powerful man on the server. It tells us that his power will soon be his misery. Also a small little thing I’d like to point out is the line ‘Say that you’ll never, never, never, never need it’ which is meant to be about the use of nuclear devices during that time period. Many governments had them but claimed they would only use them if another country was launching a nuclear attack. This could translate to c!Tubbo owning nukes and c!Ranboo possibly finding out, which could cause discourse between the two.

Blue Monday (New Order) - Blue Monday is about the singer pondering the mistreatment of their person by someone they trusted. The person seems to be manipulative and toxic for the singer but the singer is too far under their control to leave them. Immediately we can tell that this song is most likely about the relationship between c!Ranboo and c!Dream. c!Dream uses c!Ranboo as his errand boy, making him do all sorts of tasks, although this hasn’t really happened since the Disc War Confrontation. However, we know the c!Dream still has some sort of hold over c!Ranboo because we saw c!Sapnap trigger an Enderwalk episode by giving c!Ranboo a message from c!Dream.

Eyewishes (Lemon Demon) - Eyewishes is a song about a distraught man who has no eyelashes, as he used them all on wishes, and now he can make no more wishes. The man pours out his frustrations and then resolves to committing suicide. While I don’t believe c!Ranboo would take his own life, I believe that he soon will die. The last line of this song is ‘So take care of my plants and pets and now I’ll say good-’. c!Ranboo has many pets in his care and he would want them taken care of after he dies. I could see him saying this line to a character like c!Tubbo. However, c!Ranboo is still on three canon lives and would not perma died if killed.

Bystanding (Lemon Demon) - Bystanding is the direct sequel to Eyewishes, starting off with bi, completing the phrase ‘goodbye’ started at the end of Eyewishes. Other than this, the song has no real points of interest as it’s just the singer repeating different words, working his way up from 2 to 5.

Goodbye (Bo Burnham) - I’m going to split this song up into two sections, just because I think there’s a lot to cover here. Let’s start pre-bridge. For context, Goodbye is the final track from the comedy-musical special Inside, done by Bo Burnham. Bo says the special was a long project for him as he filmed the entire thing in his house during COVID-19 Quarantine. The beginning part of this song talks a lot about how Bo doesn’t want the special to be over because now he has nothing else to do, and he’ll just have to live his life. This could translate into c!Ranboo losing a lot of things that he worked for, such as his valuables (totems and riches) and just being a normal person again. It could also signify an ending of a chapter for him, maybe his marriage ending, his partnership with the Syndicate ending. However, I believe that its most likely to be c!Ranboo’s neutrality ending. During the recent lore stream he did with c!Wilbur, we finally saw c!Ranboo pick a side. He chose Wilburger over Las Nevadas, losing his trademark neutral stance. c!Ranboo thought his neutrality made him more than others, that he was the one able to see over the conflict, but now he’s just like everyone else. He has a side and an enemy. Let’s move into the bridge and ending of the song now. The first line I’d like to call specifically is ‘Wanna guess the ending, if it ever does.’ This line could maybe signify the fact that throughout the history of the SMP there have been many times that the conflict and story feel like they’ve finally come to a close, only for everything to start up once again. The next lyric is ‘If I wake up in a house that’s full of smoke, I’ll panic, so call me up and tell me a joke.’ This is a callback to another song on Inside, Comedy, in which Bo talks about using his comedy as a way to help people, but really it was he who needed help. c!Ranboo acts as a protector for a lot of characters, most notable c!Tubbo and tried hard to please most people and aid as many as he can, but most of the time he’s the one needed the most help. Similar to Bo, c!Ranboo doesn’t realize he needs help until it’s too late.

Time Moves Slow (BADBADNOTGOOD and Samuel T. Herring) - This song is about a person who’s lover has left them, and although it’s painful they know its for the better. This could, unfortunately, suggest a c!beeduo split but there is another part of this song that I’d like to touch on. ‘Running away is easy, its the living that’s hard.’ This is the chorus for the song and it talks about how running from your problems is easier than facing them but having to live without them is hard. Throughout the story, we often see c!Ranboo ignore his problems, most recently with the vandalism of c!Tubbo’s cookie shop. c!Ranboo found it and decided to fix it and tell no one it happened, which lead to a hostile confrontation between c!Quackity and c!Tubbo.

#PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF CHRIST REBLOG THIS #THESE TAKE ME AN INSANE AMOUNT OF TIME #dsmp #dreamsmp #dream smp #ranboo #ranboo dsmp #c!ranboo theory #c!ranboo analysis #dsmp analysis #dsmp theory

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findingjoynweirdstuff · 3 years

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Dream SMP Recap (March 12/2021) - Exiting the Vault

After Sam finally checks the cell and discovers that Tommy is alive, Tommy exits Pandora’s Vault at last. Everyone on the server starts coming to terms with Tommy’s return, while both Tommy and Ranboo are set on a new goal:

To kill Dream for good.

---

VOD LINKS:

Foolish

Tubbo

Fundy

Tommy

Jack Manifold

Ranboo

Eret

---

- Tommy is in prison. Still there.

Dream: “I’m starving! Can you give me that? Can I have that?”

- Tommy throws him a potato.

Tommy: “I only have one.”

Dream: “Oh, well you can have it then.”

- Tommy eats some potatoes.

Tommy: “I’ve been meaning to ask you. Why do you look like that?”

Dream: “It’s a mask.”

- They talk about Dream face-revealing and Tommy concludes that it must be sewn onto his face.

Dream: “Sam has not visited us in like a week! He hates me!”

- Tommy throws him the last of his potatoes. There’s no way of knowing how long time’s passed in the cell.

Tommy: “I’m still...I can’t believe you did that.”

Dream: “You were the one pushing me to do it! You were basically begging me to!”

- Tommy throws an item frame, a book and two potatoes into the lava.

- He boasts that he hasn’t cried

- Tommy sees Sam’s nametag by the lava and rushes over. Sam tells Tommy to run to the corner and Tommy gets out via damage pot. Tommy confronts Sam about letting him die. Sam is just shocked to see him alive.

- Tommy flicks the switches to let the lava down, wanting to look at Dream. He says a last “fuck you” and walks after Sam to get out.

Tommy: “Suck it, green boy.”

- Tommy tells Sam off for failing at his job again, as they go through the security measures.

Tommy: “Sam, you kept me in this prison for thirty-two days!”

Sam: “Tommy, I didn’t even know you were here -- I haven’t even gone to feed him!”

- He tells Sam that Dream is going to escape.

Tommy: “You are now the most powerful man on this server -- not Dream, you are, ‘cause you withhold him! And you can’t even stop him from killing me! You’re not qualified to run this prison, Sam.But that’s beyond the point, alright? Look at me -- Dream is going to escape, he told me that he’s planning on escaping, alright? Technoblade owes him a favor, Technoblade owes him a favor -- I’ve seen everything!”

- Tommy tells Sam that he can’t have any visitors ever. He tells Sam about the revive book, that that’s how he’s back.

- Tommy exits through the Nether portal. The first thing he sees when he gets out is the giant penis statue.

- He starts walking down the path and sees Tubbo working on Bee ‘n’ Boo. Tubbo sees him and runs away initially. He doesn’t believe Tommy is real.

- Tommy points out the bench where they listened to music after defeating Dream -- but they didn’t defeat Dream, and now they need to kill him and also probably Technoblade.

- Tubbo tells Tommy about the inn and also getting married.

- Next, Tommy speaks with Sam Nook and sees Jack Manifold at the desk. Jack is outraged.

Jack: “No, you’re dead, you’re dead! You died, I grieved for you! You’re not back! No one comes back, I mean -- oh -- MOST people don’t come back!”

Tommy: “No I’m alright. Anyway, um --”

- Jack is furious. He tells Tommy he’s been trying to kill him for two months.

Jack: “That’s the problem. All the time, you belittle me, you dismiss me, you drop me in a pool of lava, I’m the only person who tried to visit you when you were in exile, and you forget me! Like I’m nothing! And when I try and finally get my own back, I launch NUKES at you and you didn’t even care!”

- Tommy talks about Moana. Then they argue some more.

Tommy: “Jack, what you’re doing here is creating a villain for yourself, alright? And when I was gone, you didn’t have that. You’re so glad I’m back, you need to stop -- you’re just creating a villain out of nowhere, alright?”

- Tommy tells Jack he’s changed, he’s seen things in death, he’s trying to hold himself together like it’s still the old him, but he’s struggling.

- Jack draws his axe. Tommy tells him to put it away.

Jack: “You died and you think you’re all that, you think you learned everything. I died! We died! I died because of you!”

- Tommy leaves the hotel, telling Jack he can keep the hotel for now while he deals with bigger issues.

Jack: “This isn’t the end.”

Tommy: “It probably is.”

- Tommy sees Tubbo watching him from on top of the McPuffy’s.

Tommy: “He’s staring at me like I’m not even real. And he’s got a new best friend -- a new husband!”

- He sees all the statues by his house. Connor is inside, freaked out to see him.

- Tommy tells Connor to move out again, and Connor gives him his diary -- Connor misses Schlatt, wants to solve mortality, knows Karl’s secret (thinks he should see a doctor) and missed Tommy when he died.

- Tommy tells Connor what he went through. Connor says they need prison reform. Tommy tells Connor that Sam isn’t fit to run the prison, and Connor moves back into Ninja’s house.

- He takes a quick look at L’manhole.

Tommy: “I fuckin’ miss when times were simpler, and all I had to worry about was defeating one big green guy. And all I had to do was follow someone else’s lead. And now it looks like I’m gonna have to follow my own lead. So the server seems to have changed a lot.”

- As he walks down the stairs, Antfrost stares at him and backs away. Tommy wonders why no one’s treating him normally.

- He finds Ranboo by the ice cream shop, Tubbo coming along as well. Ranboo asks about what happened -- did Sam lie? Tommy doesn’t want to talk about dying.

- Tommy asks if Tubbo is Ranboo’s best friends. Ranboo says he’s one of them and hands Tommy an allium. Tommy burns it.

- Tommy continues along the path and notices the Therapuffy office. He drops a book in the chest. He also notices the Red Banquet posters.

- Tommy feels like even though he’s back, he’s not. People celebrated his death.

Tommy: “This server was -- this server wasn’t about this, it was about me and Tubbo fighting Dream! I’m still dead to most of these people...They’re looking at me like I’m not even alive.”

- He finds Quackity by the Community House. Quackity thinks it must be some sort of sick joke. Tommy reminds him of the heists they used to do to convince him that it’s actually him.

- Tommy tells Quackity that Dream used the revive book. Quackity is overjoyed at his return.

- Tommy leaves and goes up towards the Nether portal. He decides that he needs to kill Dream, and soon.

- Jack is upset that Tommy came back. It took him dying for Jack to remember Tommy as a friend again, but when he came back, it all came flooding back.

“But when he came back today, he said a couple things that have stuck with me. The main one being...a simple word. He turned to me, looked me dead in the eyes, and he went ‘anyways.’ Anyways.”

- Jack decides he’s done with starting again.

“But the day he died, the day he was killed by Dream was not the day I should’ve grieved. I lost my friend a long, long time ago...I lost my friend a long time ago, the day he decided those discs were more important than any of us. The day he got rid of L’manburg, the day he sacrificed absolutely everything to take back those discs! That’s the day I lost my friend.”

“Him coming back today doesn’t bring back my friend. It doesn’t fill the empty void I felt when he died. All it has done is given me a new purpose.”

- Jack decides he needs to kill Tommy. His friend died a long time ago. He talks about how even when Dream is locked away, Tommy isn’t satisfied and is still going after him.

- Jack came back because he had a purpose. And that purpose was to take Tommy out.

“I’m glad I grieved my friend, and I’m still sad and hurt that he’s gone. But my friend didn’t come back. Dream didn’t bring back my friend with that book, he brought back a monster.”

- Dream brought Tommy back out of cowardice, fearing the server without him. Jack is better than Dream.

- Jack heads into the underground city and speaks with Niki. Jack tells her Tommy’s alive again. Niki isn’t sure she wants Tommy dead anymore.

- They start talking about government and anarchy. Niki says her underground city isn’t a government, while Jack disagrees with anarchy.

- Niki says she’s started baking again. She says she’ll give it time to think about it, whether to help Jack. In the meantime, he’s free to stay in the city.

- Jack returns to his hotel, still upset.

- He makes his way to the prison, thinking. Tommy coming back took away the satisfaction of him being Jack’s villain. Jack came back because he had one goal, one purpose, and that was to kill Tommy. Why not take the same from him?

- He tries to enter the prison portal but it doesn’t work. Jack is infuriated and walks to Tommy’s summer home, where he encounters Quackity.

- Quackity wants him to leave the property. He hid some things there a while back that he doesn’t want people finding.

- They talk about Tommy being alive again. Quackity is happy, but wants to know what Jack’s plan is regarding their business.

Quackity: “Tommy is a complex business partner, and I have to come to terms with that fact.”

- Quackity points out it seems that Jack lack’s power over this hotel business venture. Jack tells him Tommy said he could have it for now. Quackity says he’s made great progress on his business, and they’ll continue to talk later. He leaves.

- Foolish says he looks poor and hands him two diamond blocks.

- Jack says he needs funds anyway and has an idea...what if he became a prison guard?

- He wonders how to go about it. Who would suggest him?

- Jack looks at the ruins of Ze Haus. He’ll stick to the motto:

Be Worse.

- Ranboo starts off in his house, his Memory Book open

“He’s alive!”

“He’s alive?”

- Ranboo thinks to himself. It’s incredible, but…was he even dead to begin with? Did Sam lie? It doesn’t make sense. Once something is dead, it’s dead, right?

- Tubbo’s not handling it well, but he’ll come around eventually. But Tommy’s alive now, that’s awesome! That’s a good thing…right?

- Ranboo isn’t upset at him for burning the flower. If someone died and came back and everyone still thought they were dead, of course they’d be hesitant to things.

- He goes back to the confusion about death. People can be revived.

“And if death isn’t permanent, then people are gonna be living a lot differently.”

“If death isn’t permanent…if death isn’t permanent, then nothing is. Then that means that…anyone can just die, decide ‘no,’ and just come back. And…if…people live with no fear, then they’ll be put through so much pain.”

- Tubbo was so ready to fight the Egg despite being on one life. Imagine if he found out that he could die and come back if he got hurt.

- Ranboo heads through the Nether to the portal to…Dream’s mountain vault

“What is this place?”

“I’ve been here before?”

“Why am I here?”

“…Step away from him, Dream.”

“Everything everyone’s ever loved is right here. If I can control that, I can control the server.”

“Dream was…he was trapped in here when we all came through. Wait, I’m — you can’t kill him because he’s the only one who can bring Wilbur back…what? Dream could…Dream could bring people back?”

“Was I here?”

He moves towards the elevator. “I walked over there.”

“The Enderwalk. That entire time. And they all came to save him…that entire time.”

“You should’ve paid him more.”

“The only reason they kept Dream alive was because he could revive…people. Dream has the power…to…bring people back. No matter…when…who…where…”

“He needs to go, or else…death won’t be permanent, and then, if we get rid of someone because they’ve been causing problems this entire time…then we can never get rid of the villains in this story. We can bring back the villains in the story, when they were supposed to be written out.”

“He needs to go.”

- Ranboo leaves.

“We should be able to get rid of the villains, even if it means not being able to keep the good guys.”

- There’s a reason he was able to pick up blocks slowly throughout time. Things start to manifest. There’s something going on with the Enderwalk. The Enderwalk isn’t a different version of Ranboo, it’s still Ranboo, it’s just more…wild

- Ranboo heads to Snowchester and sees Michael.

“Cause I don’t wanna hurt him…so I gotta make sure I get rid of any possibility.”

- Ranboo is scared of doing something that makes things worse.

“I don’t hurt people. That’s not what I do, I have to keep it that way. However…”

He looks towards the prison.

“There is one exception.”

“Do I even have to be careful? I mean, I still have my three lives. I mean…I’m one of the most safe people on this server. But…I don’t even have to be. I can afford to be reckless.”

- Ranboo writes in his book.

“He’s alive. But hopefully soon Dream won’t be.”

- Ranboo goes into his house. He surveys his riches in the vault. He has a lot of supplies, but he’s not ready to do this yet.

“It’s time to train.”

- Puffy finds Tommy’s book in her Therapuffy office and reads it. Does this mean he’s alive?

- Puffy watches the VOD and decides she would lose all her canon lives just to escape the possibility of solitaire.

- Puffy is happy that Tommy is alive. But how, and why? Why would Dream resurrect Tommy?

She wonders if there was a tiny part of Dream that cared, or if that’s just the duckling perspective talking.

- She goes back to her office and writes a response letter, going to leave it in a chest at Tommy’s house.

What Tommy needs right now, she says, is support.

#dream smp #dream smp recaps #long posts

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