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popculturebuffet · 3 years

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The Life and Times of Scrooge McDuck Part 6: Terror of the Transvaal! “But You... You Just Made Me Mean.”

Hello you happy people. And welcome back to my look at The Life and Times of Scrooge McDuck! And with this one i’ve reached the halfway point of this epic and couldn’t be prouder and have no plans to slow down. In fact while June and July will have one chapter each as is my usual for storylines I do on my own time, August and September will have DOUBLE the chapters to help me reach the finsih line. This dosen’t mean i’m done mind, i’ll probably get into the side chapters next year, possibly sooner. But my main goal when setting out to do this was to cover the main story, one of my favorite comics of all time and easily the best scrooge comic ever. But the point is it’s been a helluva ride so far and i’m not even to the second half yet.

This chapter is also one of my favorites along with “The Last of Clan McDuck”, “THe Raider of the Copper HIll” and “The Invader of Fort Duckburg”. It’s a compelling and tragic turning point in our heroes life and has THE most badass moment in Scrooge’s history, only rivaled by another moment in this very series, which if you’ve read it you know EXACTLY what i’m talking about for both. This is also a lucky one for me as I scheduled this a while back before me and Kev had settled on doing the season 2 arcs, so I ended up scheduling this one the same week as my coverage of Glomgold’s other origin story in “The Ballad of Duke Baloney!”, a story that take some small cues from this one. So if all of that has peaked your interest, please join me under the cut as Scrooge becomes “The Terror of the Transvaal!”

As for why Rosa set the chapter here there’s two simple reasons: it was one of two gold rushes mentioned in Barks work, meaning Scrooge could get in some more experience before making his fourtune in the Klondike, and Rosa understandably couldn’t resist having Scrooge and his greatest rival meet in their youth. He WAS careful to not have Scrooge learn Flinty’s name, as Scrooge dosen’t recognize him in Flintheart’s first apperance in “The Second Richest Duck”.. but Rosa noticed Flinty seemed familiar with SCROOGE, and simply ran with it, still having his first encounter with the bastard deeply effect Scrooge but leaving Scrooge unaware that the thief and betrayer he met in the Transavaal was the same heartless Scoundrel he’s fated to keep fighting till one or both of them keels over.

So starting the chapter proper Scrooge has come to the Transvaal to prospect for gold, following his hunch from last chapter, trying to make his way to the rand, a large natural area in south Africa. The Transvaal itself was a large expanse that was cut up in the 90′s after the fall of apartheid.

Scrooge passes a massive Diamond Mine, large with tons of miners on small claims, but wisely passes it up: there’s too many people, too much fuss and likely too much risk of getting stolen or finding nothing.

And to prove that point we meet Flinty who is trying to steal a guy’s diamonds for the second time today. Now the other miners reaction IS FAIR: they send him up in a bucket thing their using to transport the diamonds as a thief and announce him as such and the people on the surface’s reaction makes it very clear this isn’t new behavior. Him being punished is fine... their punishment though....

Seriously, theft is not worth doing a murder.. and yes he COULD escape and their trying to frame it like that’s not what htier doing.. but their sending someone with clearly low self preservation skills into the desert, with no suplies, tightlyt ied to an angry and clearly wild animal. While Flinty DOES deserve jail for his shit, he doesn’t deserve to DIE for attempted theft. He didn’t ruin anyone’s lives or actually succeed and he’s clearly harmless if eveyrone in the mine knows he’s a criminal. You can’t just murder all your problems away... I mean the blood alone is just not worth the clean up.

Naturally Scrooge crosses paths with Glomgold and assumes he’s simply gotten himself trapped somehow and being an openly kind soul at this point in his life, gladly helps the guy free. Scrooge mentions he’s headed to Johannesburg and GLomgold offers to come along and do all the work as his guide. Scrooge being Scrooge refuses the “do all the work part” but gladly accepts a guide and a new friend and introduces himself as from Scotland. And as a result we get... something resembling a joke...

Look I’m not against a good pun... but that was not a good pun. It wasn’t even a passable pun. It also feels like a bit of a stretch given Scrooge is well traveled by now. you’d THINK he’d get that he was probably talking about something local and not insulting himself.

So Scrooge talks about all he’s learned with Flintheart bored and kind of a dick.. and offering a lesson of his own despite being the same age as Scrooge.. specifically he takes first watch and gives a smug speech.

Scrooge wonders around the wilderness and finds a lion.. then an elephant and soon has the entire savannah after him as he bemoans the betrayal, having never felt like this. We’ll get more into the why in a bit. The point is he’s backed against a wall..but as we all know a cornered animal, human , duck , humanoid duck no matter the species is often at it’s most dangerous.

Especially if that animal is a McDuck. So here we get that badassery I mentioned: faced with an angry horde of some of the most dangerous and awe inspiring critters in Africa Scrooge uses EVERYTHING he’s learned roping cattle and what not to best them. He uses tricks from besting Long Horns to get the Elephants tangled up in a tree, then uses a log to beat a Rhino, before lassoing himself a motherfucking giraffe:

And if THAT weren’t already cool as all hell he tops himself: Since he dosen’t consider a Zebra a proper mount.. he decides to go for something bigger.

So to recap just so it all sinks in for you: Scrooge, abandoned with no suplies, defeats two elephants and a rhino, rides a Giraffe, then TAMES a fucking lion with nothing more than an improvised lasso and PURE RAGE. Then RIDES that majestic creature across the planes like a GODDAMN HORSE, before riding iti into town casual as all hell. I MEANT IT and he’s STILL not done. I mean it doesn’t’t top riding a motherfucking lion, what could, but what he does for an encore is still utterly badass and is a nice coda to riding a motherfucking lion.

So at the local abr Glomgold lies about everything and makes himself the hero of the story, Yes Flintheart Big Dick Glomgold. Purest soul there ever was. This lasts all of a minute as while Flinty brushes off the fact a cowboy is looking for him, he doesn’t even know what that is... he’s soon rightfully shitting himself when Scrooge comes for his vengeance.

The art here is as always impeccable. The shading alone. But seriously I’m terrified and I know he can’t harm me... in theory. In practice if ANYONE could reach out of the page and throttle me, it’d be the guy who rode a motherfucking lion. And no i’m never letting that go. Fucker rode a lion. That’s the kind of thing you never forget about a character for damn good reason. We also get one of my favorite lines in the story, and it has tons of greats.. but this is an easy contender for my favorite:

It’s a chilling line and panel, with it made clear Scrooge’s cynsim, his biggest weakness and often what makes him the most unlikable came from this.. the moment where a villain with no scruples, no care and no code or morals of any kind utterly betrayed him and tried to leave him for dead that took any scrap of hope in mankind he had and destroyed it. From now on he likes nobody and nobody likes him. Other mentors helped Scrooge grow as a person, taught him skills and taught him to survive, to enjoy the road getting to fortune as much as the fortune himself, and to make his way square. Flinty. just made him mean.

But Scrooge isn’t going to kill him.. for one thing he doesn’t’t like shooting people or animals. For another.. he has something far more satisfying in mind: Old West Justice, Tar and Feathearing style, covering the guy and humiliating him by making him do a bullet dance Marty McFly style.

Flinty TRIES to simply escape and steal Scrooge’s shotgun.. but it fails as he runs into the lion and Scrooge takes the beaten flinty over to the jail to press charges. Flinty is jailed.. and makes his own vow.

So with that Scrooge has made a foe for life, and this is another thing the 2017 Cartoon took.. it’s just where as this Flinty was merely angry at his rightful compuance and humilation, the cartoon one was a small child who swore vengance for an honest mistake. But either way you slice it he won’t make Scrooge’s life any easier.

So with that we get our epilogue: Scrooge never made his forutune her, naturally, as the ore was too low quality for him to process alone so only the already rich could afford to set up shop here. Scrooge packs it in determined to still make his fortune and we get an awesome closing panel.

Final Thoughts: As you could probably tell, I fucking love this one. It’s utterly amazing. Barks himself has said he felt the best chapters took place over a short time span and it shows: by having to cover less time, only having a time passing bit at the very end, it allows this vital story to take place over less than a day and allows it to move at a hell of a pace. It’s got action, great character work as we see Scrooge’s last bit of trust in his fellow man shatter, and THE best climax of the series. And the others have some whoppers. This one is just so damn awesome, taking most of the issue but using EVERY page of it to tell one epic finale, from Scrooge’s easy mastery of the beasts, to his taming a motherfucking lion, to Flinty’s UTTERLY satstifying humilation conga...this is just a masterpiece and a huge reminder why I love this comic

Next Time: Scrooge sadly dosen’t keep the lion but does head to Australia where he faces what he is in the dark, meets a new mentor, and gets pointed to his destiny. See you next month for that.

If you liked this review share it, and if you’d like to help me make more join my patreon at patreon.com/popculturebuffet. WIth only 10 days left till the new pay period nows the time to jump in so you can pick a short for my Donald Duck birthday specail next month or help me reach a stretch goal so I can get it on the board. Time’s a wastin. And if you can’t, tha’ts fine, thanks for reading.

#the life and times of scrooge mcduck #scrooge mcduck #don rosa #the terror of the transvaal #flintheart glomgold #south africa #comics #disney #vengance

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i-eat-bread-and-cry-on-the-floor · 4 years

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y i k e s

@it-fandom-exchange

Here’s my fic for the IT fandom exchange! This is for Julian, aka @sigmatauris. enjoy!!

Stenbrough :)

TW: Mention of suicide attempt

Stanley pushed a mixtape that Richie made for him into his car stereo. The House That Built Me by Miranda Lambert plays softly on the winding road to Ben Hanscom’s house for a Losers Club sleepover. The fiery sun rolls down the sky, painting a trail of pink on a pastel blue blanket. Barely-visible stars blink, sprinkles across the yellow sky. Stanley unrolled his window to hear the chirping crickets that no one else in all of Derry slowed down to listen to.

At a stoplight, Stanley took a package of mint gum from the car’s cup holder. He unwrapped the flimsy strip of candy and folded it onto his tongue. Stanley checked his rear view mirror, keeping an eye on the full moon as it approached him. He was a good driver. He picked up the skill the day he got behind the wheel. He kept a rigid posture, hyper-aware every time a green light would flick on, gripping the wheel with both hands.

On the other hand, Stan Uris’s best friend, Richie Tozier, was the exact opposite. Stan always made fun of him before they turned fifteen. (“I’m terrified to see you behind the wheel, Trashmouth, there’s gonna be a lot of lives lost!”) He’d joke. The two loved to joke. Richie and Stanley shot rebuttal after rebuttal, teasing each other whenever possible. In their teenage years of mood swings and raging testosterone, the reckless kids loved poking fun at one another. Their shield of an ego would protect them from such “love-filled” words. Stanley’s ego though, slowly crumbled, and his confidence too. He had to build a shield—a wall—out of something else.

The Miranda Lambert song ended as Vienna by Billy Joel began. A smirk appeared on the lone driver’s face as the opening piano blinked through the speaker.

“Slow down you crazy child. You’re so ambitious for a juvenile…” He hummed, moving his head to the rhythm. Not quite bopping or swaying, but a healthy middle ground, “Why are you still so afraid? Hmm…”

Stanley let the crinkling piano and gentle vocals set around him as he subconsciously drove slower, reaching the Hanscoms’ neighborhood. He twisted the steering wheel, to prolong his drive. Stanley hated to stop in the middle of a song. Especially such a masterpiece as Vienna. His tires grazed the road until the song finished. He found his way to Ben’s house, nearing the song’s end. The same crinkling piano that opened the melody also closed it, prompting Stan to turn off the engine.

He noticed Barn Boy Mike Hanlon’s truck, similar to Richie’s pick-up in the driveway. He thought about Mike. He never understood the boy. Stan couldn’t resist rolling his eyes or making some passive aggressive comments sometimes, but Mike kept silent for minutes and more at a time. He reclined in the comfort of seeing his friends smile or share banter. Mike would blush under his dark skin at the sound of their laughter. Sometimes, Stan thought Mike Hanlon knew more about any of the Losers than the rest of them did. Other times, he prayed he didn’t.

Stanley saw Beverly Marsh’s beat-up wagon of a car too. He got out of his car and went to examine the rusty thing. Beverly drove well. Her reflexes never failed her; she knew the moves of every driver around her; and she had the second most driving experience of the group, (first being Bill.) The thing was that she inherited the car from her dad after he stopped driving. The alcoholic got his license confiscated and left his car to Daddy’s Little Girl. Stanley bent to see a broken windshield wiper and examine the chipped paint.

He assumed Eddie may already have arrived since the boy hated driving and lived within walking distance of Ben’s anyway. He finally decided to find out, hoping from Beverely’s car to the steps up to Ben’s front door. He knocked three times and stepped back, flexing up and down on his toes. Excitement ran through his veins whenever the Losers were about to meet up.

“Hey!” Ben’s bright grin lifted his cheekbones. Ben was a chubby kid, but way more handsome than most of the fit kids at school. His hair always fell into the perfect place unlike anyone in the Bowers Gang. His eyes shone with gratitude. He looked like someone who should be in a toothpaste commercial, where at the end a little sparkle effect was added to his smile.

“Ben, hey!” Stanley smiled back at his friend. Richie and Beverly both called Ben Hanscom “Ben Handsome” at some point behind his back. Beverly always loved plays on words. Ben once wrote Beverly a sloppy haiku entitled “January Embers.” Richie was the first person Beverly told about her crush on the golden-hearted boy, over a few cigarettes, a good month after the one-hit-wonder wrote:

Your hair is winter fire

January Embers

My Heart burns there too

Their stuttering friend, Bill Denbrough, loved words as well. He wrote a lot in journals no one dared to read. Pencils don’t stutter, so when he wasn’t around the Losers, he built pages upon pages of expression. Bill had it bad for Beverly, but Ben Handsome got the girl first. Stan hated himself for being glad about it.

Stan peaked inside, hearing a movie, some arguing, and bubbly laughter.

“Come on in!” Ben pulled him inside. We’re watching Back to The Future. Kind of…” he trailed off, leading him to the living room.

“All I’m saying is,” Eddie stubbornly argued, with sharp hand gestures to prove his point, “You can’t not have a backstory for a friendship! How the hell did Marty McFly and this stupid scientist guy meet? They clearly didn’t meet at school! Doc isn’t Marty’s dad or grandfather! You can’t just give us nothing!” Eddie stuck to his strict opinions on things.

“Eddie, it’s just a movie!” Beverly chuckled, crunching down on some popcorn. “Calm down.”

Mike rolled his eyes with the widest grin on his face. As the rest of the Losers Club barely tolerated Eddie’s hard opinions, Mike enjoyed the supervised chaos.

“That’s what I’m saying! It’s a shit movie!” Eddie leaned back on a dark blue pillow, against a white couch.

“Woah, woah, we don’t talk shit about Back to The Future!” Stanley spoke up as he entered the living room. Ben smiled.

“Maybe you don’t,” he shrugged, “I think the movie is trash!” he complained.

“I’ve got an idea,” Beverly snatched the remote from the table and turned the TV off, earning three groans and one silent ‘thank you’ from her friends, “Who wants to play truth or dare?” Those groans were replaced with cheers.

“Are we gonna wait for Richie and B-B-Bill?” Stan mocked Bill Denbrough’s stutter. He was only allowed to do so because they’ve been best friends since practically birth. He fumbled with the sleeve of his hoodie, sitting next to Eddie Kaspbrak. His lanky frame reclined against the leather piece of furniture.

“I guess,” Ben shrugged, “I’ll download a truth or dare app in the meantime.”

“We’re using an app?” Stanley laughed.

Eddie jumped at his opportunity to insult his friend, “Well, you couldn’t use your brain. We all know the saying ‘can’t use what you don’t have.’”

“That was a trash comeback,” Stan commented, fumbling with his Star of David necklace. He admired Eddie’s unwillingness to not chime in.

“You’re a trash comeback!” the boy crossed his arms with raised eyebrows.

Stanley furrowed his eyebrows, “What?”

“FBI, open up!” Richie boomed, kicking at the door.

“We brought s-s-snacks!” Bill’s soft normal-pitched, stuttering voice chimed in.

Ben marched to the door to welcome the conclusion of the group inside, “Hi!” Ben made way for the two, brushing his blond bangs from his eyes.

“What’s up, Losers?” Richie stepped inside, pacing to the usual meeting spot; Ben’s living room. He dropped a shopping bag of snacks near the couch as the Losers crowded around it like starved wolves in a pack. Really, that’s what they were; a pack.

“We were just about to play some truth or dare,” Mike informed, “For recap, Eddie’s been bashing on every little detail of Back to The Future and Stanley is a trash comeback.”

“That doesn’t even make sense.” Stanley scoffed.

“He’s also in love with Bill,” Mike added, making Stanley’s eyes go wide. “What are your sources? Aren’t you supposed to be the smart one?” This was one of those moments he severely hoped Mike didn’t know Stanley more than he knew himself. Truly, Stan didn’t know himself at all. He lost it somewhere in his mind and figured he may find it later. Perhaps, like an innovator digging through a dumpster, trying to find parts and pieces, he’d create something; bring it to life one day.

“You’re the Jewish one,” Richie poked Stanley’s shoulder. “Aren’t you supposed to be, like, mad intelligent?”

“Just mad.” Stan rolled his eyes.

The one thing he knew for sure about himself was that he had his secret which was the fact that Mr. Uris had no interest in women. He liked Bill as more than a friend since they were fourteen years old. The Losers were sixteen and seventeen now and he couldn’t kill the butterflies in his stomach when Stuttering Bill’s lips curled into a smile.

“The app’s downloaded if you guys are ready to play,” Ben held up his phone, showcasing the title screen of the application.

“I’m ready!” Beverly excitedly raised her hand.

“Me t-too,” Bill’s gentle voice followed Bev’s sharp one. The rest of the group ad-libbed ‘yes’s and ‘ready’s.

Ben has a very nice house. Marble floors matching the marble island in his kitchen, a nice white couch with navy pillows to go with the white walls, accented with dark blue trim. He had a wood-and-glass coffee table too, separating the couch and the TV. It was comfy.

Ben shooed everyone into the office, closed away from the living room with white french doors. There was a desk in the back of the room and shelves with books and comics and journals, displayed along the walls. The well-lit room had a shaggy carpet on top of the cold floor.

The Losers gradually made their way into a circle. Counter-clockwise, starting by the back of the room was Ben, then Beverly, then Eddie, then Richie, then Stan, then Bill, then Mike, then back to Ben.

“Alright,” Ben started, looking at Beverly, “Miss Marsh, Truth or Dare?”

“Dare!” her eyes glowed. The brave girl, far more chivalrous than any of the “men” in the room, loved adventures and thrills. Stanley insisted they call him a ‘man’ because of his bar mitzvah that barely happened. Bill and Mike were the real men of the house, but they both tied with Beverly even at that. The ‘dare’ part of truth or dare was a piece of cake.

Ben clicked the ‘dare’ button, “I dare you to put ice cubes down your shirt and leave them there until they melt,” he read with an amused expression.

“Son of a bitch,” Beverly heaved herself up, the key on her necklace jingling. She opened the door, “How many should I get?”

“Just grab a cup and we’ll see what happens,” Ben answered, offering a smile toward her, picking at the fabric of his hoodie. Beverly nodded and went off.

“A whole cup?” Eddie’s eyes went wide.

“Yes sir,” Ben nodded. Ben was not at all the evil type, even in truth or dare. The Losers dubbed him the ‘sweetheart.’ As long as everyone was safe and comfortable though, he enjoyed a bit of excitement, just like Mike did. Mike supervised all the shenanigans the group got into. Unlike him, Ben had no control over what happened. He liked to dip his toes into the pool of chaos nonetheless.

Beverly arrived back, a full cup, shaking with ice cubes. She smiled and held one of the frozen squares to showcase it for the group, “There’s at least fifteen in here.”

The Losers waited in anticipation and Beverly sighed. Her overalls would certainly keep the cubes in place. She slid the ice down the back of her shirt with a wince, “One.”

She counted out the rest, managing to keep her breathing steady as the sharp temperature nipped at her back.

“N-No one a-asked you to do a-a-all sixteen,” Bill reminded, an amused grin on his face.

“That was the dare!” She shivered.

“Actually,” Ben took a sharp inhale and showed the phone screen, “It never specified how many. It said ‘ice cubes’ in the plural, but could have just been referring to two.” This was a time that Beverly was not so much a fan of words.

The red-headed Beverly deadpanned Bill and flipped him off. She had gorgeous red hair that used to hug her neck, but after cutting it short, it curled into the air around her as a pixie style. The only similarity was the color which matched the freckles sprinkled about her face and arms.

“Why b-be mad at me? B-B-Ben’s the one who m-mmm-made you get a full cuh-cup!” Bill giggled, playing as if he were ‘oh, so offended.’

“I’m in so much discomfort,” she squirmed as she sat down, the ice numbing her lower back, “Okay, Eddie, truth or dare?” Ben passed on the phone after hitting ‘dare complete.’ Beverly earned one point for her troubles.

“Truth,” he answered.

“Pussy!” Richie taunted, “Just kidding, I love you, you fucking pussy-ass-coward.” Eddie huffed and looked to Beverly who now had Ben’s phone.

“Who, out of the people in this room, is your least favorite?” she read with a smirk and curious eyes.

“Richie,” he answered without a hesitation, making a grab for the phone.

“Bitch, please, we all know you guys are gay for each other,” Stan called, receiving an exasperated blush from Eddie and a cackle from Richie.

“That’s not true! I fucking hate him and his stupid face!” Eddie covered.

Beverly kept the phone hostage, “I’ve got a better truth: Who do you have a crush on Eddie?” her direct eye contact intimidated the asthmatic.

“I already answered a question!” he made another attempt for the phone, “That’s how the game works, you get one truth per turn!”

“Nah-ah!” She pointed, “Come on…”

“Richie’s, like, worse than Stan!” Eddie defended himself, “I wouldn’t date him if my life depended on it.”

Ouch. Stanley thought, but found comfort in being on a higher ranking than Tozier.

“Oh come on, I’m not so terrible!” Richie reasoned. “Are you saying you’d rather date Stan the Man Uris than this?” he posed, puckering his lips.

“Gross, Rich.” Eddie’s nose turned up in disgust. “I’m not dating either of you.” he crossed his arms.

“Beep, beep, b-b-both of y-yyy-you.” Bill brushed his shoulder against Stanley. Something about it seemed non-accidental.

“Richie, Truth or Dare?” Eddie turned to him.

“I’m not on speaking terms with you,” Richie crossed his arms.

“Oh, come on, I was kidding!” he admired Richie’s attempt to not burst into giggles. Eddie sighed and kissed Richie’s cheek, whispering a ‘no homo’ which received a wolf-whistle from Mike. “Truth or dare, you stupid bitch.” He took out a bottle of hand sanitizer from his fanny pack and applied it like a chapstick.

“Dare,” the flustered and confused boy stated.

Eddie took a second to click on the ‘dare’ button and read the task, “Ew, this one’s gross, I’m not reading it.”

“What?” Richie whined. “I bet it’s fine!” he strived to take the phone.

“You’re not licking the fucking floor, Richie.” Eddie snatched the phone away from Richie’s reach.

“Gross!” Beverly made vomiting noises. “Was that the dare?” she asked, earning a wrinkled nose and a nod from Eddie.

“Um?” Bill’s eyebrows furrowed, “Is n-no one paying at-t-tention to that k-kiss?”

“Just let ‘em do their thing,” Stan looked at Bill, wishing he could do the same to the blue-eyed boy. He’d imagined kissing Bill. He’d imagined holding his hand, cuddling, going on dates, pursuing a relationship, dancing, anything.

“I f-fucking knew it!” Bill celebrated. Stanley couldn’t help but blush at the gleam in his crush’s eyes.

“It’s okay, guys, he said ‘no homo,’” Richie put his hands up in innocence. He thought for a second about the dare. “I’ll lick the floor though.” he shrugged.

“I can’t believe I’d rather watch you--” Eddie read off a new dare, “--Twerking for 60 seconds to a song of the group’s choosing.”

“Please for the love of God do Please Don’t Go Girl!” Ben cackled, having the song stuck in his head all day.

“No!” Bev whined, “Babe, that’s our song! I don’t want to be dancing with you one night and end up thinking of Richie’s ass.”

Stanley could only be jealous. Not because he wanted to dance with Beverly or Ben, but because he wanted someone to dance with. He looked over at his crush, envisioning Bill’s hands on Stanley’s hips and Stanley’s on Bill’s shoulders.

“You’re right, you’re very right.” Ben nodded. “I vote You Got It then.”

“Ben, no one wants to twerk to your New Kids in The Block trash.” Richie urged, pushing his glasses higher onto his nose.

Ben pouted, whispering a correction, “It’s On The Block. Not In.”

“Whatever.” Richie said. “Can I please do Crazy Frog?”

“Why don’t we pick something nice like Frank Sinatra?” Mike suggested ignoring Richie’s proposal.

“Crazy Frog it is!” Eddie decided, cueing up music on his own phone.

Beverly bopped her head, trying to hype Eddie into doing the same next to her. He just laughed along with her refusing to dance. Mike made another wolf-whistle as Richie twerked--poorly. Bill pretended to slide dollar bills off his hands at Richie. “Yeah! That’s my be-be-best f-friend!” He cheered.

Stanley admired how Bill encouraged him, even while doing a terrible job. He wouldn’t dare to be brave like Richie, but he hoped that if he was, Bill would be just as proud. Maybe even wear the same goofy smile.

At the one minute mark, Eddie paused the music. “Who else is mentally scarred from that?” Five loser-hands all shot into the air.

“Fuck you, fuck all of you.” Richie sat as the crowd booed him offstage. He failed to refrain from laughing. “Stanley, your turn.” he nudged him once Eddie handed him the phone. “Truth or dare?”

He glanced in Bill’s direction, but decided not to fully look at Bill. “Dare.” he swallowed.

“Ooh, unexpected!” Beverly grinned, spinning around to lay on her stomach. She put her elbows on the floor and her chin in her hands to observe.

“Oh-ho-ho, you ain’t gonna believe this one, laddie!” Richie plastered an Australian, maybe slightly pirate-ish accent. “Feast yer eyes!” he shoved the screen in Stanley’s face causing the boy to squint and retract his head.

“Could you maybe like…” he brought the phone to a distance he could see. “What’s it s-ss-say?” Bill asked him.

“Let the group go through your phone, sixty seconds each.” Stanley recited the line. “Easy, I guess, yeah.” he nodded. Off the top of his head, he couldn’t think of any embarrassing text messages or photos. Stanley was a clean kid. “Did you wanna go first?” he handed it off to Richie, “We can just go clockwise?”

“You got it, chap!” Richie took the phone, “Which one of ye rascals’ll set up a time ticker for the gang?” he looked up.

Mike pulled out his phone and went to the timer app, “I've got it. One minute is on the clock… and…” He glanced up to each member of the group. Everyone leaned forward in anticipation, “Go!” he initiated.

“I’m going to the messages!” Richie declared and scrolled. The room erupted in instructions and suggestions, “Let’s see what Stanley is talking about with his dad…” Richie read a few messages out loud about handing in homework and test grades. He was doing relatively well in school, earning a congrats and a high five from Mike, across Bill’s torso. They studied sometimes together and both aced an English test no one else passed.

Richie got bored of reminders about school and his dad asking about Torahs that would always go missing from Rabbi Uris’s office. (“Dad, why in the name of Baruch Atah Adonai would I take six Torahs and keep it a secret?”) He went to messages between him and Mike. “Why were you and Mike sending memes back and forth at three a.m.?”

“As opposed to nudes? No, thanks man.” Stan tilted his head.

“I bet I’ll find some, somewhere here.” Richie laughed, reading three funny memes out loud before the timer rang.

“Pass it on!” Eddie held out his hand. Eddie looked at the rest of the memes, saying most of them outloud. Laughter roared from the group.

After Eddie spent his whole turn looking at Mike and Stan’s meme collection and Stanley calmed down a bit, he passed the phone to Beverly who passed it onto Ben. Ben passed on to Mike and Mike passed on to Bill. Stanley was almost completely calm by now. He was laughing along with the group. They made fun of Ben for sending Stanley drafts of poems that he wanted his friend to review before giving Beverly.

He had very little anxiety about them finding something personal since none of them yet came across something bad. He was just almost home free.

“I’m guh-guh-guh-going into your sss-search histor-r-ry,” Bill declared.

Richie cackled, “Why didn’t I think about that?” he huffed. Stanley’s eyes went wide, “What? No, that’s gotta be, like, illegal!” he reasoned. He was terrified of being outed. He knew he’d been doing research in the past week about if being gay was actually a bad thing. Gay quizzes, gay research, gay history, why gay?

His mind raced: What if they hate me? What if they don’t want me around anymore? He loved being a loser because “you had nothing to lose” but he did. If he lost the losers, he truly did have nothing left but himself. That’s the thing he hated most.

“So, you’re hi-hiding s-ss-s-something then?” he teased, looking to Bill to start the timer.

“What would I be hiding?” Stan asked, before quickly adding: “Bill, don’t you dare, I’m actually begging you,” he could hear his heart pounding in his throat. What if Bill came across something terribly worse than Stanley imagined? The feeling sank in his stomach as his heart rose into his throat.

“And I’m a-a-a-actually going into y-your ss-s-search history,” Bill rebutted, “Hey, if I f-f-find your wwweird p-porn, I won’t say it ah-ah-out loud.” The group laughed. Stan chuckled as his heart sank a little deeper, because he knew it would be far from pornography.

“Fuck you, man,” Stan flipped him off

“F-fuck you!” Bill’s face scrunched up.

“Sorry, I’m too busy fucking your mom!” Richie chimed in. He watched Eddie and Stan roll their eyes in unison. He saw Bill’s blue brown irises glowing almost white with the light of the phone.

“I w-w-won’t go into yyy-your search histor-r-y,” Bill bluffed. “Start the t-t-timer.”

“Thanks.”

“It just makes us all the more curious, Stanley,” Mike reminded him. He raised his eyebrow. Stanley did not like that gesture.

“Yeah, well,” Stan brushed it off, looking at Bill.

“Three, two, one!” Mike began the timer, officially.

Bill typed his way into Stan’s history to silently be met with a few things. Stan glanced down at the phone.

“Billiam, you bitch!” he reached for the phone. Bill deflected this turning his arm away. Stanley lunged at him but the boy dodged and stood up, reading out some searches, “From last night: Lots uh-uh-of reddit… Some songs… l-lll-lyrics… F-facebook… That’s a lot of s-s-swear words in Heb-b-brew.” his eyes widened.

“Stan, please!” Bill whisper-begged, an itching at his lungs brewed up.

The Losers snickered along, all oblivious. Richie chanted “Fight! Fight! Fight!” as Stanley got on top of him to wrestle the phone away.

“Bill,” Mike warned. He hated to see Stanley so panicked and used a stern voice, “Billy, hang on, I don’t think you should…”

“H-how to t-t-tie a tie?” (“Stan you can’t tie a tie?”) Richie taunted Stanley from inches away. Bill was barely focused on the words, just Stan’s priceless yet genuinely desperate reactions.

“What is-” Bill’s voice shut down for a good second. He looked at Stanley’s, coughing once, then a few more times, almost clearly stalling. Can you overdose on melatonin? How many milligrams of melatonin can the brain handle? What is the suicide hotline number? Followed by other related searches to pull the tears from one's eyes and drain the color from one's face. They met eye contact, exchanging a thousand words before Beverly said,

“Bill? What is it?” she leaned forward, now more concerned than gossipy.

“I-I sh-shh-shhh-shouldn’t,” Bill turned Stanley’s phone off and returned it to him. He sighed. This brought some brief attention to the distressed boy. Stan’s throat tensed as if he were on the brink of vomiting. Gravity seemed to pull his chest together, tightening and tightening and tighter, and he was almost sure he’d close into himself if it continued.

“What?” Eddie eyebrows furrowed, “What was on there?” he leaned his chin out at Stanley, the curiosity burning him up like one of the Bev’s cigarettes.

Stanley put his hands up like a robber who’d just been caught with a bad, bad crime. As if a pack of police officers surrounding him all had guns, pointing shiny red lights at his vulnerable, unprotected chest. A light-headedness pressured him and his blood ran cold--Cold enough to re-freeze the ice in Beverly’s shirt.

“Bill?” Beverly sat upright, no longer relaxed on the floor, prompting his name, more as a search for a solution than a question.

“I sh-shh-shouldn’t s-sa-say.” Bill stammered, much to Stanley’s delight. “P-p-per-per-p-personal.”

The guns were still up, but this time, Bill was his bulletproof vest. Granted, he never tried on such a shield before, so he wasn’t sure how good it’d work, but he had something.

“Is it something we should worry about?” Richie looked from Stan to Bill, indecisively. “Give us something, guys.”

Stanley shook his head with an instant, “No,” he answered, “Just personal.”

Mike nodded, “And we respect that. Right guys?” he asked the group, as a pleasant reminder to lower their firearms and let the guilty man free.

Stanley gave both Mike and Bill separate thankful expressions.

After a good minute of calming down, Bill still had the remains of thoughts flowing through his mind. Can you overdose on melatonin? What is the suicide hotline number? Can you overdose on melatonin? What is the suicide hotline number?

The group continued. Ben spilled the beans on how long it took for him to write January Embers and Bev gushed over him for the rest of the night. (“Babe, you spent a whole hour on seventeen syllables? That’s so cute!”)

Bill tapped his nails on the floor. Stanley watched his anxious hand. “I’ll be right back,” Stanley stood up, “I’m gonna go to the bathroom,” he was met with a few nods and ‘ok’s. He had been dared to chug a whole can of soda in one gulp so no one blamed him. After Stanley shut the office door, Bill propped up.

“I’m gonna be right back too,” he got up and followed. Stanley turned around at hearing the door open. He typically would feel butterflies in his stomach and blush in Bill’s presence, but after Stanley’s dare, he couldn’t think of a person he wanted to see less.

“Hi,” he waved, “What’s up?” he walked toward the bathroom, Bill following.

“C-can we t-t-t-talk?” Bill proposed, searching Stanley’s posture for any clues of expression. Stan turned around to face him, making the job easier.

“Sure…” he prayed it wouldn’t be about the searches, but he knew, somehow, that he’d run out of luck for the day, “About…?”

“I’m s-s-sss-sorry for still guh-guh-going into your hi-h-h-hi-history when you were c-c-clearly upset ab-b-b-bout it,” he started, looking between Stanley’s right and left eye, unsure of which one to make eye contact with. “I d-d-didn’t think i-i-i-i-it’d be that ssss-s-serious, I juh-juh-juh-just thought th-that…” he searched for words he didn’t prepare before hand, “Well, I d-d-don’t know wuh-wuh-what I thought b-but I just d-d-d-didn’t really c-consider how you f-fe-fe-felt and I’m sorry.”

“Stanley, it’s okay, it’s a game as far as everyone knows, right?” Stanley touched his shoulder. Bill was stressed to say the least. Thin balloons clustered in his mind, all filling up with helium and popping loudly at different times. All the colors of this loud, wild rainbow. He needed answers he was too scared to ask for.

“I’m- Is th-th-th-there- D-d-d-do you really fff-f-fe-feel like you wuh-want to d-d-d-d…?” it took a good ten seconds of ‘d-d-d’ before Stanley realized he wouldn’t be able to finish.

“I got help,” Stan cut him off, “It means the world that you care, but I promise I’ll be okay.” Bill shook his head. That just wouldn’t do.

“F-f-from whom?” the boy demanded.

“Uh- you know, just- people. You know?” he stammered. At least he wasn’t worse than Bill at this point.

“Th-that’s a l-lll-lie,” Bill pointed out, “St-Sta-Stanley, have you t-t-told your p-p-p-parents about this? You c-c-c-can’t- You have to g-guh-get help. A-actual help, like p-p-profff-fessional shit or m-mmm-m-medicine,” Bill told him. It was not a suggestion, but a fact.

“No, I don’t,” the words rolled off of Stanley’s tongue, with perfect diction, “I can just… promise real hard to be safe?” he suggested. “I wouldn’t break a promise to you.” he shook his head, tapping the scar on his hand from their blood oath.

“Stan, p-p-please,” Bill decided on Stanley’s left eye to stare at, “You’ve guh-guh-got to t-t-tell your p-parents, or- or I will,” he threatened.

Stanley shook his head, “Bill, for the love of God. Literal God. Please keep this a secret,” he begged him, his anxiety spiking once again.

“We ca-ca-can’t keep this a sss-s-secret.” he spoke, slowly and calmly, though Bill Denbrough was anything but that.

“Please, Bill!” he reasoned, “I’ll actually do anything at all. I swear. I don’t want my parents to worry. I don’t want them to know everything and then never leave me alone about it.” He breathed. “I don’t want them to treat me differently or treat me like I can’t be alone!”

“I’m nnn-n-not taking no for an answer on this wuh-wuh-one,” Bill decided. Every plea Stanley made only pushed Bill to give in, but he knew better. The two of them were tense. Anxiety sparked between the two of them when all Stanley wanted was a spark of love, not tragedy. Each word tasted like gasoline. Stanley had a lighter. He could easily mix the two.

“I’ll work on it on my own!” he put his pinky out, “I promise! I really promise. I swear, Bill. I swear on my life.” They shared a collective thought. “I swear on your life. I can do it on my own!”

“Stan,” his tone lowered as something clicked in his mind, “You don’t have to do it on your own,” he abandoned his coercive method instead, and approached gently, “I ha-ha-have no idea what I would do if- if maybe one day I woke up and you didn’t. Or what if… I missed my chance to say that I really appreciate you. Or if I never got to go to the quarry with you. Or give you another hug. Or tell you all the- a-a-a-all th-thh-” he huffed as his stutter made an ugly return.

“Bill, I promise, I’m okay, I promise,” Stanley repeated for him. He heard laughter from the group, but the joy from the closed off room did not seem to reach either of the teens.

“N-n-no, juh-just-” He took a deep breath. “I n-need-” Another breath. A breath so clear and refreshing that Eddie Kaspbrak would be jealous. “Stanley, I need you to know that I love you. That… not just friendship. I guess. Like the real, romantic, I want to be near you all the time. I want to make you smile and I want to dance with you and take away all your pain until I can just see you smile, type of love. I want to write you poems like Ben does for Beverly. And even if that never happens, I don’t know what I’d do if you didn’t know it.” Bill stared at Stanley, almost frozen. He couldn’t find it in him to move or speak to him. He listened.

Stanley had been hit with something he never experienced before. His stomach turned and his mind fuzzed; those butterflies were back. His eyebrows furrowed, lip jaw just barely dropped, which turned into a smile. Time passed too quickly and he knew he was wasting time, standing still.

“I- wow,” he raised his eyebrows. “Bill, can I give you a dare?” he swallowed, as Bill nodded.

“I dare you to kiss me and then hug me for a really long time.” Stanley grinned.

Without hesitation, Bill slinked his hand onto Stanley’s jaw and collided his lips chapped with Stanley’s soft ones. Stan imagined if Mike saw, he’d do another one of his famous wolf-whistles.

Stanley pulled away and smiled, “I feel the same way you do,” he whispered as Bill pulled him in again--not for a kiss, but for the promised hug, “I have for a while.”

“Wuh-wuh-will you b-be my b-b-buh-buh-buh-boyf-friend?” Bill asked as his face lit up, unable to contain his excitement. The butterflies in his stomach were replaced with fireworks and a grin permanently planted on his face.

Stanley hugged him tighter, burying his forehead in Bill’s neck. “Fuck yeah.”

Bill closed his eyes. He caressed Stanley’s back, exhaling a sigh of relief. He kissed Stanley’s head, not exactly aiming for a cheek or his temple, but just as his head was leaned on Bill’s shoulder. Bill rested his chin on Stanley’s shoulder.

“C-c-cool,” a smile crept onto Bill’s face.

The sun had completely rolled down the sky, leaving a black blanket with silver, glittering dots and a big round moon that he could see from the window. For the first time in a while, the butterflies visited when Stan thought about staying alive. He reached for Bill’s hand hesitantly and cracked a slow grin. Bill looked at him and smiled, squeezing his hand back. Stanley searches his brain for the right words. He ended up whispering, “I appreciate you to an incredible extent.”

Bill blushed and replied with, “I love you, too”

“I-” Stan’s face heated up at his inability to properly piece together the three fast words. He giggled and nodded.

Bill gazed at him, “D-d-don’t forget it,” he squeezed Stanley’s hand gently. “O-o-okay?”

“I won’t. Same to you.” Stanley squeezed Bill’s hand in return with a proud smile.

“Stan, y-y-you know we sss-s-still have to t-t-tell someone.” Bill raised his eyebrow, watching Stanley’s face fall to consideration.

Stan almost wanted to protest. ‘No, we don’t.’ or ‘I told you, didn’t I?’ or ‘Why?’ or ‘Just give it a week on my own and we’ll figure it out after that.’ he thought about saying. Instead he looked at Bill’s face, longing for closure.

“I know.” he sighed. “Come over tomorrow and we can talk about details and all that, I guess?” he scratched the back of his neck.

“I’ll b-b-be there.” Bill nodded, “I’m proud of y-you.”

Stanley beamed, kissing Bill’s cheek again. Bill copied him, kissing Stanley’s cheek. Stanley’s face heated up, blossoming like bright red roses. He went to kiss Bill’s cheek again, but Bill matched his lips to Stanley’s and they shared a kiss. Stanley was exhilarated; overwhelmed with what he’d wanted for years.

Richie stepped outside to check on the two, “Hey, what’s taking you so lo- oh.” The two pulled away from each other. “Reminds me of myself and Eddie’s mother last night.”

“I am going to end your fucking life, Richie.” Stanley threatened.

Richie put his hands up in innocence, “Just saying!” he went back into the office. Even through the closed doors, the couple heard: “Don’t bother them kids.” Richie’s Brooklyn accent “They’s suckin’ face and Eds here owes me five Washingtons.”

Stanley and Bill chuckled. Stan smoothly put one more kiss on Bill’s cheek before, leading him back to the office. Their hands never unclasped. Stanley looked over to him as Bill opened the doors. The attention turned to the two.

“Were you two actually kissing?” Eddie dropped his attention from his conversation with other Losers. “Cause I’m not paying Richie five dollars.”

“Are you kidding? Denbrough was practically getting laid out there!” Richie answered, receiving five voices of laughter and one Jewish glare. (“Beep, beep, Richie.” “You g-g-guys put buh-buh-bets on us?”)

“Not getting laid, however, was getting a boyfriend,” Stanley corrected.

“Doubt it,” Eddie challenged, shrugging. “Not paying.” he shook his stubborn head.

Bill glanced at Stanley, then kissed him on the lips for proof, catching the boy off guard. Stan almost fell over, before holding Bill’s waist and kissing back. “Whatttt!”s and “Woah!”s and Mike’s wolf whistle filled their office space. The two separated, grinning, sitting down in their original places.

Mike looked at the two with an expression that could only be described as ‘I knew it.’ Eddie looked over at a smirking Richie. He knew as well.

“I’m happy for you guys,” Ben smiled at the two.

“Me too,” Beverly’s eyes shone with pride.

“Th-th-thanks,” Bill answered for them with a smile, noticing Beverly and Ben holding hands. He whispered to Stanley, “C-c-come cuddle, let’s be a c-cuter cuh-cuh-couple then them.”

Stanley giggled, leaning his head on Bill’s shoulder. “Thank you so much by the way.” he said, not exactly paying attention to the other Losers’ words. “You’re the best, Bill.”

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imfreefallinall · 6 years

Text

Dear Friends (Fake Friends part 2)

2,2k of angst, sad but strong reader. (A lot of) swearing but also a lot of empowering words.

I know this isn’t really an imagine related to Shawn but I wanted to give Fake Friends a fair sequel- and end- because I feel like it is an important topic. Everyone feels lonely sometimes but we react in different ways. I hope that this writing can help you to see a lighten future where you leave back all the toxic people in your life.

Please know that feedback (as reblogs, likes, grammar suggestions and messages) are super appreciated. If you want to slide into my dms to talk about everything, I’m B and I’m here to help.

Also, I recommend you to listen to “Real Friends” by Camila Cabello. I really like it and it suits the imagine.

Love ya, enjoy.

part 1

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

(two days after Y/N’s birthday)

So today, the last day of my crazy long-weekend birthday celebration, we voted for staying here and visiting the little city I grew up in. We are strolling around, looking at the shop windows (not really interested in buying anything) when I see one of my old classmates with a baby in a stroller. I feel my lungs contract, gasping for air for a few seconds; probably even my heart misses a few beats. Then I feel all the anger, humiliation and sadness I repressed for years coming back to surface. My heart then starts so race quickly, palms getting a little sweaty while they close into tightened fists. I take a deep breath, trying to come back down to Earth. I’m not like that, like them. I am smart and I’m going to behave accordingly.

“Guys, give me a minute” I say smiling a little and starting to go toward her but a big hand gently wraps around my arm.

“That’s Sophia, right? You sure you want to go?” asks Shawn, looking into my eyes to let me know he really was concerned.

“Yeah, I wanna fix this. Sooner or later I’ll have to..go on with my life. I guess sooner is now and I really need to understand why they acted like that” I reply giving him a soft peck on the lips to thank him

“Why don’t you guys go sit in that little bar? I assure you it is super comfy and we’ll have a super tea break with a lot of cookies and stuff” I add, looking at them, waiting for a confirmation. They all nod in response and start to make they way to the tempting showcase full of Italian desserts.

“I’ll go with them but please call me if you need anything,” asks a worried Shawn and I laugh

“Babe she’s not a monster, she’s just a girl”

“A girl who made you suffer for years without any apparent reason. I’ll be your knight in shining armour and I’ll save my mistress” he smiles proudly, making me burst into laughter.

“Gosh, you’re so stupid. You can save your mistress from eating too much sugars later, now go”

“Yup. Just remember that I love you and you’re amazing and everything we talked about, okay?” he pecks me on the cheek and follows the other dudes.

As soon as he’s past the door I move closer to the girl, smiling a little.

“Ehi, Sophia!”

“Ehi Y/N, haven’t seen you in a while! How are you doing?” she asks, hugging me for a few seconds before distancing herself to look at me “You look amazing! look at that body of yours” she smiles again.

“I’m good thanks and you?” I reply kindly “is he yours?” I add, looking at the sleeping baby.

“My brother’s newborn, Luca. He’s cute, isn’t he? I’m fine anyway. Actually, I am engaged!” she exclaims excitedly.

“Really? Wow! It’s amazing, congratulations” I hope I sounded happier than I actually am.

“And I see you’re with Shawn! I still remember when we were talking about him back in 2018, loving his music and his naked torso also” she winks but I don’t actually share a bright smile with her since she’s talking about my amazing boyfriend and not about an object.

“How did you end up together?” what a nice way to ask how we met.

“We met in a library in London. I was there to buy a book and he needed to hide for a few minutes since too many fans were following him. And, yeah, we just started to talk. Guess he found something special in me” I smile at the memory of that cloudy and ordinary-not-so-ordinary afternoon.

“Yeah, my fiancée is so special. You would have met him, Giorgio, if you came at the dinner. Why didn’t you come again?” she questions as she already didn’t know the answer.

“I wasn’t invited but I’m sure you knew it since you were one of the organisers” I answer directly. Her eyes go a little wider and I could even trust her surprise if I didn’t know she was such an actress.

“Oh, I am so sorry! I thought you were in the Facebook group chat, we sent the invitation there. I’ve lost your number so I assumed Marti would text you or call you” she sounds so fake.

“So there’s even a group chat? Listen, honestly I don’t wanna argue with you but why do you have to be such a bitch?” I wonder, sounding strangely self-conscious.

“Sorry?” she looks at me surprised.

“You heard me. Why do you have to cut me off like that? Why did you even need to cut me off back then?” I continue, now waiting for her to answer.

“I don’t know what are you talking about, we were friends. Yes we didn’t invite you but it was a mistake” she tries to explain but I can see the cruelty patiently waiting behind her big, brown eyes.

“Listen, none of us here is an idiot. Friends do not act like you all acted back in high school. Friends are meant to support each other when one of them falls but even when they succeed. You had never supported me, on none of these occasions. Friends are supposed to be kind to each other, caring and present in every moment, not just when they need something from you. How many times I drove forty minutes on dangerous streets just to come and give you help? And how many times did you do the same for me? Let me tell you, not once. Friends should push you over your limits, make you better; but you always told me I was exaggerating when I was just growing and you continued to declare that I was being bossy while I was just trying to help you through projects and homework because you sucked, mostly because you chatted during class, however, I didn’t want you to fail. Friends talk to each other whenever they do something wrong because they care and they don’t wanna lose their friendship. They don’t smile at your face and then go talk shit behind your back, making you feel bad because of course I found out, every time, what you were saying about me, how you were telling everyone to stay away from me because I always wanted to rule. Friends don’t come around only when they need your help, only when they realize you’re good to them; friends stay by your fucking side, even if you’re being bitchy or bossy or whatever because they know you and they know that if you act like that its because you’re suffering. Friends do not go around, spilling someone else’s secret. I confided to you all of my deepest fears and brightest dreams and you mocked me. I revealed to you all the problems my family was going through and you had the strength to tell me I was just blowing everything out of proportion because I wanted to be pitied. I wanted a sister, a partner in crime, not someone looking at me like I was an oily stain on their favourite sweatshirt. For two years you all came to my birthday parties without a small, insignificant present! I would have loved even a stupid t-shirt. Did you remember how much money we spent every year to buy you expensive presents? And I have never received one! You were so...selfish. How come that this year you sent me a letter to London to wish me a happy birthday? Maybe because now that I’m with Shawn I could be useful?

I have been a friend to you, to all of you. I was always ready to wipe your tears with my fingers while I was still trying to get mine to dry. I let you copy my homework whenever you couldn’t make yours and you wouldn’t even share your snacks with me. To you, I was good only when you realized that no one could give advice like me or that no one would drive in the rain with hot Mc Donald to cheer you the fuck up. And, for sure, friends don’t want to catch up when you happen to have a famous boyfriend they want to impress. So yeah, I guess we weren’t friends and we surely aren’t now.”

“I didn’t know you felt like this, you never told us”

“You never asked! I always shared my happy moments with you. All of those summer nights, when I was on vacation and fell in love with different boys and made such cool experiences and memories you wished you made because you only saw them in movies. You told me I was a bitch because every summer I kissed a different guy while I was just experiencing life, I was being normal. And when I got stuck with one guy in particular you told me I pissed you off because I could only talk about him. You even had the courage to say that I was out of control when I described all those summer nights when I went to that small lounge bar by the seaside and danced the life out of me. You even indicate my parents as crazy because they would let me stay out with my friends to see the sunset and to have breakfast together! For two long years, I stopped having fun with my other friends because I had your voices on replay on my mind, telling me how to behave. You ruined me and it took me so long to get back on my feet, you know?”

“We never told you what to do, we were just being honest” she declares, almost looking offended.

“Yes, you did. You made me feel wrong for a very long time. My light shut down because of you. Fuck, I even gave up on singing because every time I was humming you told me to shut up because I was out of tone” I finish, suddenly feeling exhausted. I have just blurted out all of the scars and pain I had in my body. Now it is a weight she has to share too.

“Well, you don’t seem pretty sad now, do you? You have your beloved Shawn so I guess you’re still a bitch and you’re treating him right, if you know what I mean” she complained harshly. My right hand flies and lands hard on her cheek.

“Don’t you ever talk to me again like that. I wanted, needed you to be my friend. I trusted you. I was fragile and you took advantage of that. But now I’m not fragile anymore. I am strong and happy and most of all I am loved. I hope one day you’ll feel loved too so, maybe, you’ll realize how much of a desperate, lonely woman you are.” I declare emotionless, looking for the last time at her scandalized, silent face.

As I walk in the bar, I realize how broken and unhappy Sophia must be. How insignificant and unsuccessful she must feel. Because as soon as I sit on my boyfriend’s legs, with his arms lovingly wrapped around me and our friends laughing for something stupid Geoff said, I understand that people like Lucie and Sophia, people who act like bullies, just feel alone. They feel like they’re not great and, since they aren’t, you don’t deserve it too. This is what crosses their minds. They do not feel better or superior, trust me. They all feel like they are drowning and they want to drag you down with them. Do not let them.

You need to surround yourself with people who know how to appreciate you, how to treat you at your worst and how to laugh with you at your highest. People who are not afraid to love and to show love. People who spread kindness and who praise happiness at its purest form. I can assure you, the world is full of amazing people who know how to be friends because, yes, everyone is different and we surely are different types of persons and friends but, let me tell you: we, as humans who cherish love, know how to treat each other right and we know how to make each other feel loved. Allow yourself to break free from toxic people, even if its hard, even if you see them every day: distance yourself from them and be happy with new people who treasure you for who you are and not for what you have to offer.

Masterlist

21 notes · View notes

nosafetynetunderneath · 6 years

Text

Dear Friends (Fake Friends part 2)

2,2k of angst, sad but strong reader. (A lot of) swearing but also a lot of empowering words.

Please know that feedback (as reblogs, likes, grammar suggestions and messages) are super appreciated. If you want to slide into my dms to talk about everything, I’m B and I’m here to help.

Also, I recommend you to listen to “Real Friends” by Camila Cabello. I really like it and it suits the imagine.

Love ya, enjoy.

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

(two days after Y/N’s birthday)

They were right when they said we wouldn’t stop partying for a second. In fact, we didn’t. We went to Milan and Verona, where Shawn and I shared a sweet kiss under Juliet’s balcony while he was humming “Love Story” by Taylor. One night we went to a local club and came home at six, after eating hot croissants for breakfast. So today, the last day of my crazy long-weekend birthday celebration, we voted for staying here and visiting the little city I grew up in. We are strolling around, looking at the shop windows (not really interested in buying anything) when I see one of my old classmates with a baby in a stroller. I feel my lungs contract, gasping for air for a few seconds; probably even my heart misses a few beats. Then I feel all the anger, humiliation and sadness I repressed for years coming back to surface. My heart then starts so race quickly, palms getting a little sweaty while they close into tightened fists. I take a deep breath, trying to come back down to Earth. I’m not like that, like them. I am smart and I’m going to behave accordingly.

“Guys, give me a minute” I say smiling a little and starting to go toward her but a big hand gently wraps around my arm.

“That’s Sophia, right? You sure you want to go?” asks Shawn, looking into my eyes to let me know he really was concerned.

“I’ll go with them but please call me if you need anything,” asks a worried Shawn and I laugh

“Babe she’s not a monster, she’s just a girl”

“A girl who made you suffer for years without any apparent reason. I’ll be your knight in shining armour and I’ll save my mistress” he smiles proudly, making me burst into laughter.

“Gosh, you’re so stupid. You can save your mistress from eating too much sugars later, now go”

“Yup. Just remember that I love you and you’re amazing and everything we talked about, okay?” he pecks me on the cheek and follows the other dudes.

As soon as he’s past the door I move closer to the girl, smiling a little.

“Ehi, Sophia!”

“I’m good thanks and you?” I reply kindly “is he yours?” I add, looking at the sleeping baby.

“My brother’s newborn, Luca. He’s cute, isn’t he? I’m fine anyway. Actually, I am engaged!” she exclaims excitedly.

“Really? Wow! It’s amazing, congratulations” I hope I sounded happier than I actually am.

“How did you end up together?” what a nice way to ask how we met.

“Yeah, my fiancée is so special. You would have met him, Giorgio, if you came at the dinner. Why didn’t you come again?” she questions as she already didn’t know the answer.

“Oh, I am so sorry! I thought you were in the Facebook group chat, we sent the invitation there. I’ve lost your number so I assumed Marti would text you or call you” she sounds so fake.

“So there’s even a group chat? Listen, honestly I don’t wanna argue with you but why do you have to be such a bitch?” I wonder, sounding strangely self-conscious.

“Sorry?” she looks at me surprised.

“You heard me. Why do you have to cut me off like that? Why did you even need to cut me off back then?” I continue, now waiting for her to answer.

“I didn’t know you felt like this, you never told us”

“We never told you what to do, we were just being honest” she declares, almost looking offended.

masterlist

part 1

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travelonlinetipsofficial · 3 years

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10 Best Romantic Things to Do in Barcelona

New Post has been published on https://www.travelonlinetips.com/10-best-romantic-things-to-do-in-barcelona/

10 Best Romantic Things to Do in Barcelona

Known for its design, gastronomy, architecture and nightlife, Barcelona is a Mediterranean playground. It strikes a healthy mix of romance meets leisure and no matter what your ‘gusto’ (taste), somehow every activity seems to possess a romantic flare. Whether you’re visiting Gaudi’s Park Guell and overlooking the gorgeous city views, or taking a bike ride along the boardwalk, or even touring Picasso’s Museum, the city’s rich history and striking buildings can’t help but provide for an extremely romantic vibe.

In addition to what the city itself has to offer, just a short train ride or drive outside the city itself are some excellent day trips. Cadaques is a beautiful little town, home to renowned artist, Salvador Dali, it’s a quaint place to stroll, eat, drink and go for lunch at Cap De Creus, where you can see views of the Iberian Peninsula at the one restaurant at the top. Besalu is also a wonderful day trip if you’re looking for an authentic Medieval town and Sitges, just 40 minutes by train outside of Barcelona, is the ideal romantic beach town. Here you will get a great mix of fiesta as well as siesta, especially if you come during the summer months.

Without a doubt, this is Gaudi’s crowning glory. Set to be completed in 2046, the Sagrada Familia is a Barcelona must-see. Even if you don’t want to go inside, the outside facades, history and master design are equally breathtaking. This is definitely one of Barcelona’s top attractions. A mix between Star Wars meets Gothic architecture, the Sagrada Familia was the last project Gaudi worked on before he was sadly run over by a train. His greatest achievement, however, lives on and is fueled by donations from locals and tourists alike. The hope is that one day his greatest creation will be completed.

Recommended for Romantic Things to Do because: The views from the elevator are incredible, not to mention the Church itself is breathtaking.

Sam’s expert tip: Take elevator to the top and you get sturnning city views.

Read more about Palau Guell →

Exclusive and authentic wine tastings in Barcelona and Sitges. These wines are locally sourced, from small-batch productions and each has a story to tell. New-Yorker, Ambika Kumar, hosts ‘secret’ venue tastings, focusing on high-quality wines from little-known wineries across Spain. Tastings are paired with delicious food and led by a wine connoisseur and fragrance expert. Each tasting is held in a different location and only revealed to the participants a day before the event. Ambika is professional, knowledgable and engaging so if you’re a wine aficionado or just want to have a romantic evening doing something a bit different, this is an excellent choice.

Recommended for Romantic Things to Do because: A unique, exclusive and authentic evening with a small group of people, great wine and fabulous food.

Sam’s expert tip: Email them in order to get on their mailing list as tastings aren’t posted online.

Read more about Barcelona Wine Tastings →

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deanssweetheart23 · 7 years

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Somewhere Only We Know

Title: Somewhere Only We Know: Autumn Leaves (Part 1)

Summary: Dean Winchester doesn’t believe in love. He doesn’t believe that he deserves to be loved, doesn’t believe he deserves the happiness of it after everything he’s done. And then she waltzes into his life. The girl that brings with her colors and life and feelings he never thought he’d experience. The girl with the scars that match his. Is the one year he gets to spend with her enough to change his life forever? Or will it break him beyond repair?

Author: deanssweetheart23

Characters: Dean Winchester x reader, Sam Winchester, Marty Blye (OMC)

Word count: 3928

Warnings: Fluff. Angst. Mentions of blood and violence. References to death, grief and loss. Language. Sexist remarks (and Dean being his amazing self).

Author’s Notes: This is my submission for @@thing-you-do-with-that-thing‘s Seasons of Love Challenge (Colors of Fall) and for @dancing-the-hellfire-rumba ’s 250 Writing Challenge. Ladies, thank you both so much for letting me participate and allowing me to combine your prompts, I fell in love with this and I hope you like it as much.

Special thank you to twin @ravengirl94 for always finding time to help me.

My prompts were a secret gif that has been inserted into the fic below and Dive by Ed Sheeran (which is one of the most amazing songs ever and screams Dean’s name, tbh).

This will be a mini-series of four parts. (Every new part will be posted seasonally).

Without further ado. Enjoy <3

Dean doesn’t really like autumn.

He knows most people do, knows that they love the flutters of color and the crispy breeze kisses, the valleys and the leaves and the scarlet of the sky, but he’s never able to fully appreciate them, to feel the magic of it all in his bones and his heart in the way other people do.

Autumn is not a time of magic for Dean.

It’s not painted in colors of change and new beginnings. Everything he sees in the curved pumpkins and the rays of cold sunshine, everything he can see, reminds him of his mother’s smile and the way her arms wrapped around his little frame and of the embers, those warm, bright embers of fire that swallowed up his entire childhood.

So, when a possible shapeshifter case takes him and his brother to Denver, one of the best cities for fall travel, according to the local newspaper, he rolls his eyes and grumbles under his breath until his brother points out that he looks like a petulant child.

And when he realizes that he’s bound to spend an hour of his life in that horrible coffee shop with the extravagant lantern pumpkins and the autumn themed menu because his brother is meeting a friend from Stanford, he’s crestfallen.

Letting out a loud sigh, Dean clears his mind and goes over his newspaper for what feels like the hundredth time that day, trying to find something, anything that he’d be able to link to their case.

He has no such luck.

With a roll of his eyes, he takes a look at the miserable fall themed wreaths that hang from the walls, and, reaches for the menu. Everything in there, every single thing, is pumpkin flavored.

God.

He hates autumn.

Maybe he could just-

“I’m sorry.” Someone shouts, voice unexpectedly soft as a blast of cold wind dances through the open door and reaches him, scraping at his skin. “Crap, I’m so sorry.”

Dean looks up, bemused, only to find one of the most fascinating girls he’s ever seen standing right in front of him.

She’s beautiful, even in that tacky black and orange workwear that seems to be the coffee shop’s signature sign, and, despite her disheveled and flustered state, the warmth she radiates, the way she way just stands there and demands attention, makes it impossible for him to take his eyes off her.

“I tried calling but my battery’s dead and the traffic was-”

“This is the third time you’re late this week, Y/N.” A man –her boss, Dean assumes, says, lips screwed into a scowl.

“I know. I just-”

“The only reason I agreed to this was because Josh vouched for you. But if this keeps happening, I can’t-”

“It won’t.” Y/N states firmly, jutting her chin, though he can swear her voice wavers a little bit. “This will never happen again. I promise.”

The man takes a long look at her then, so cold and calculative that manages to make even Dean want to crawl out of his own skin, and sighs, scarfing down the chocolate biscuit he’s been holding.

“It better not. I’ve said this already and I’ll say it again. Your brains don’t matter here, Y/N.”

Y/N nods, sternly, hands clenched by her sides until they’re white-knuckled.

“And drop one of those buttons.” He smirks, waving at her shirt. “You’re a waitress, not a nun.”

“I-”

And maybe he shouldn’t have said anything, maybe he should have kept his mouth shut, but her flushed cheeks and her narrowed eyes are enough to make his blood boil.

So, he raises his hand and-

“Excuse me,” he says, pointing to the empty table in front of him, “can I get a cup of coffee here?”

Mr. Jackass nods in his direction and smiles, a pained, plastic smile Dean would absolutely love to punch off his face, then throws Y/N a crisp white apron.

“Drop the button.” He mutters again, jabbing a finger warningly at her.

Y/N waits for one, two, three seconds before her boss disappears into the kitchen, then turns on her heels to approach him, fidgeting with a chain that’s hanging from her neck.

She clears her throat, quietly.

“I, uh,” she smiles, a half smile that’s nervous and bashful, “thank you about that. I-”

“Don’t worry ‘bout it, kid.” He cuts her off softly, glancing towards the kitchen. “He’s a bit of a dick, ain’t he?”

She chuckles, hasty and fuzzy and just a tad nervous.

“Honestly? He’s,” she turns around to make sure no one is listening, then leans a bit closer, “yeah. But I got bills to pay and he pays me, so…”

“Hey, you don’t have to explain anything to me.” Eyes that lock onto hers. “I get it.”

She nods, but she’s still a little timid, still acts like what had just happened is somehow her fault and Dean wants to do something to change that, wants her to know that no ass has the right to talk to her like that, no matter who he thinks he is.

He can’t.

Her forehead puckers.

“Uh, coffee.” She says, the words rolling out of her tongue as if she’s never spoken them before. “You wanted me to get you coffee.”

He chuckles a bit under his breath, and huffs out an awkward yeah, scratching the back of his neck, something sheepish.

“Black sounds nice.”

She grins, a lazy grin that’s braver than ever before, and bites her bottom lip.

“What, you’re not a fan of pumpkin spice?”

“Do I look like I’m a fan of pumpkin spice?”

A snort.

Amusement dancing in her eyes.

“Black coffee it is.” She writes something down on her notepad. “Anything else I can get ya?”

“Actually,” he licks his lips, glancing at the menu in front of him, “I noticed you got pies?”

“Yeah, ‘bout that,” she says, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, “I’m not supposed to say this, but you don’t –you don’t really want to try those pies.” She scrunches her nose up. “They’re, uh, terrible.”

He lets out a laugh, breathy and loose.

“You don’t believe me?”

“No, I just,” he rubs at his scruff, “I really love pie.”

“Which is why you shouldn’t try this one. Don’t let us ruin it for you.”

A smirk tugs at the corner of his lips.

“I appreciate the concern. But. Nothing can ruin pie for me, sweetheart.”

“Well. Don’t say I didn’t warn you, Romeo.” She says, and her eyes smile at him, sparkling and honest and sunny.

Maybe autumn isn’t so bad after all.

The pie really is that bad.

It’s dry and tasteless and even though Dean has spent most of his life eating at out-of-street diners and shady looking restaurants, he’s pretty sure he’s never tried something so horrible before.

He still stops by that coffee shop the next day though, and when she notices and throws a surprised glance his way, he smiles his most charming smile and says that cherry pie might be better.

Again, he’s wrong.

The pie is just as awful –if not worse, and Sam’s grumbling about how they should have just skipped breakfast would have probably driven him up the damn wall, if it weren’t for the way Y/N beams at him every time she catches him staring.

“Yeah, no,” Sam pulls him out of his thoughts as he shuts his book closed, hazel eyes locking with his, “the Odyssey is not better than this.”

“Not bet –dude, that thing doesn’t even have a plot.”

A pointed look.

Fingers pushing off the hair from his face.

“It does. It’s just a bit elusive.”

“Well,” Y/N cuts in, prompting Dean to smirk when he sees her in front of his table, her apron hastily tied around her waist, “that’s one way to put it.”

Sam looks up, brows furrowed into quite an offended scowl, but she only grins, a grin that would have been devilish if it weren’t for that childish spark in her eyes.

“Coffee for my knight in the shining flannel,” she gloats, sliding the white mug towards him, “and a smoothie for his friend with the terrible taste in books.”

Dean snorts.

Sam shots him a pointed look, and juts his chin, just a tad offended.

“Right.” He rolls up his sleeves, ignoring his brother’s monstrously self-satisfied grin. “Can I ask why do you think this is terrible?”

“Uh,” she rocks back and forth on her heels, nose scrunched up in the cutest of ways, “because of the made-up words? Or the run-on sentences? Or. How about the mere length of that thing?”

“It’s experimental.”

“It’s bullshit.” She objects, eliciting a soft chuckle from Dean. “Slaughterhouse Five is experimental. Mrs. Dalloway is experimental. Finnegan’s Wake? That’s just a load of crap people pretend to love because it makes them sound more intellectual.”

Sam straightens then, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips and Dean knows, right in that moment, that there’s not a person in the world Y/N wouldn’t be able to win over.

“Sounds like you’ve got pretty strong views about it.”

“Oh, Sunflower has pretty strong views about pretty much everything.”

Dean blinks in surprise at the voice, but when he opens his eyes again he hears Y/N’s rosy laugh and watches as she throws her head back in amusement, and something heavy settles over his stomach.

Peering over his shoulder, he sees a guy in his early thirties smiling at Y/N lovingly, his hands shoved into the pockets of his leather jacket.

The man is tall, with blonde hair almost as long as Sam’s and blue eyes, face dusted with facial hair and laughing lines.

Y/N smiles at him, a smile that’s etched with love and intimacy, a profound intimacy he knows he’ll never have with her.

His hand drops to his side.

“Marty, what are you-”

“You left your jacket at my house this morning.” The man explains with a soft laugh and reaches over to envelop Y/N in his arms, lips landing on her forehead in a sweet kiss.

Of course.

“And when you told me your boss wouldn’t be coming in today, I figured I’d stop by to give it back.”

“And get free coffee in return.”

Marty chuckles, rich and delighted and adoring.

“And get free coffee in return.” He agrees, brushing some hair off her face.

And even though Dean knows that it’s insane, even though he knows nothing would have happened between them because he wouldn’t let it, wouldn’t allow himself to have her for a quick roll within the sheets and then let her go, it still hurts a little that she’s with someone else, still makes his jaw clench when he notices the way she touches him, fingers sliding over her skin like he’s the most precious thing in the world.

He swallows, hard.

She doesn’t notice.

“Well, then,” she mumbles, corner of her mouth turning up in a half-smile, “let’s go settle your payment.”

Marty nods, and wraps an arm around her waist, and she turns to Dean and smiles, a smile that mends and breaks him at the same time.

“Be right back.”

Three seconds pass and Dean can already feel his brother’s eyes burning holes on him, can already see that annoying, knowing smirk of his floating across his features.

“Shut up, Sam.”

“I didn’t say anything.” Sa, complains, heat still in his eyes.

Dean sighs and glances at the counter just in time to see Y/N laughing at something Marty has said, head buried into his chest while he kisses her hair.

She looks happy.

Somehow, it doesn’t seem enough.

It isn’t until that same night that Sam brings Y/N up again.

Dean has been trying not to think about her too much, has been trying to remind himself that she has a boyfriend that loves her and kisses her forehead and lets her stay the night, but she still finds ways to slip through the cracks of his mind.

And.

His brother won’t shut up about her.

“For fuck’s sake, Sam” Dean groans, slamming the refrigerator’s door shut, “I’m trying to work here.”

Sam smirks, delighted and just a bit brash.

“And?”

“And your stupid questions won’t let me.”

“Dude, I only asked if Y/N’s boyfriend was there yesterday, too.”

“Yeah,” Dean snorts and spreads his hands, forearms on the table, “three times.”

“Because you won’t tell me.”

“Because I don’t know.”

The youngest Winchester chuckles, brows arched slightly.

“Right. Because you didn’t spend the entire day ogling her.”

Dean opens his mouth then because he’s so done, so absolutely done that he’s ready to give Sam a piece of his mind, when a sound catches his attention.

His eyes drift to the police scanner they keep in the room.

He doesn’t know why, but his stomach churns.

2-7

Can you head to 1624 Market St Ste 226? Caller reports being trapped, possible dead body. Fire is on the way.

1624 Market St Ste 226

The coffee shop’s address flashes before Dean’s eyes as the dispatcher’s voice rings loudly into his mind.

Everything around him begins to move in slow motion.

His chest hurts.

“Dean-”

“Don’t even say it.” Dean growls, the muscles in his back going rigid. “They’re okay. They got to be okay.”

He reaches for his gun and grabs a silver knife on his way out, mind drifting to the shapeshifter, to how every single victim killed had been murdered so close to that coffee shop, to how her boss missed work the day after one of the attacks.

He swears under his breath.

He’s going to kill that son of a bitch.

Dean doesn’t remember the last time he’s seen so much blood.

He’s a hunter, he’s been a hunter ever since he was a kid, and yet, he doesn’t even remember the last time the blood was literally everywhere, spluttered across walls and tables, staining the floor in disturbing patterns that killed any expectations he might have had.

The room’s dark and he can feel it, can feel the death that’s lingering upon it, and is ready to abandon all hope when he sees Sam pointing towards the kitchen, gun raised.

She’s tied on a chair, clothes almost shredded and coated with blood, cuts and scratches littering her skin.

She’s alive.

Sam takes her rag off and Dean braces himself, gets ready to tell her that it’ll be okay, that that monster’s dead and will never hurt her again, gets ready to find a way to explain how her life will never be the same, but the sound she makes, the way she almost chocks on dry air, ruins him.

“He’s got him.” Y/N wails hysterically, fighting against her restrains. “John –I’ve never seen him like that before. He tried to… Marty… Please, you have to help Marty. I can’t-”

“Y/N, hey,” Sam coos, cupping her face with his hands, “hey, you got to breathe for me. Where is he?”

But Dean already knows, so he heads for the small room in the back and doesn’t stop until he finds him on the floor, a man lying in a pool of his own blood.

The blue of his eyes is fading now, nothing like the vibrant color he’s seen that same morning, and his skin’s pale, lifeless.

“Marty,” he says, sliding to his knees next to him. “Marty, can you hear me?”

The man blinks.

“Y/N,” he rasps out, words low and slurred and laced with blood, “Y/N-”

“I’m here. I’m right here.” Y/N croaks as she limps towards them, Sam shouldering some of her weight.

She crouches down on the ground next to him and cradles him in her arms.

“Y/N.” Ragged breath. “I saved you.”

A whimper escapes her.

“Yeah. Yeah, baby, you did.”

“I-”

“Sssh, don’t speak,” she runs her fingers through his hair, soft and tender like she’s trying to help him fall asleep. “I got you now. I got you.”

“Well,” he breathes, reaching out for her hand, “I always knew I was gonna die next to you.”

“Don’t say that.” She puts pressure on the open wound on his neck. “You’re gonna be okay, you hear me?”

“Don’t cry, Sunflower.” He dabs away some tears. “I don’t like it when you cry.”

“I know. I’m sorry, Mars.”

“Can you…” His words come out slower now, pained, breathless whispers that scratch the air between them before cutting into her skin. “Can you sing our song?”

Dean doesn’t think he’s ever heard anyone make a more broken sound than the one Y/N makes in that moment, but she nods and smooths a hand over his face.

Wild horses couldn’t drag me away

Wild, wild horses we’ll ride them someday

Wild horses couldn’t drag me away

Wild, wild horses we’ll ride them someday

Marty’s breaths come out shorter as she sings, and when he tries to sing along, she hushes him and cradles his face into her chest, whispering soothing words and empty promises, her saltiness blending with his blood. A bitter mix.

She doesn’t let go.

Instead, she sobs as his tears wet her skin, sobs as the blood starts to drip from his mouth and he can’t speak anymore.

And when he takes his last breath and is left empty and breathless and cold, a dead weight in her arms, she cries harder, sobs until she can’t breathe anymore, there on the floor, just a red mess of limbs and heartache.

And Dean knows.

The sound will haunt him forever.

He sees her again two days later.

She’s standing in the middle of a small park just a few blocks away from her house, braced against one of the tree trunks while golden leaves dance under the autumn sun.

The air’s chilly, the light breeze dusted with the blooming scent of orange trees, the red cape she’s wearing swaying along with it and, for a second, Dean’s back at that coffee shop, back at that night that he’d failed everyone, that he’d failed her, and she’s laying, on the floor, just a crumbled-up piece of paper with Marty’s lifeless body in her arms.

And he guesses he should be used to this by now, used to seeing innocent people die and lose loved ones, used to that hollowness that loss brings along with it, but he’s not.

He clears his throat, quietly.

“Hey,”

A broken, half-smile.

“Hi,” she turns around to face him, eyes red and lashes wet, “I, uh,” she wraps the cape tighter around herself, “thank you for coming. I know I should have called earlier but-”

“Don’t worry about it,” he shakes it off, head dipped as he shoves his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket. “M’ just glad you took me up on that offer.”

She nods, the furrow between her brows hitching.

“I had to. I never,” deep breath, “I never got to say thank you.”

He laughs, despite himself, but it’s bitter and broken and sad.

“Good. Don’t.”

“Dean-”

“I couldn’t save him, Y/N.” He says, harsher than he intended to. “Marty’s dead and that’s on me.”

“No, it’s not. You,” she pauses, reaches out and lets her fingers wrap around his clothed arm gently. It’s a strangely intimate move, one that catches him off guard, but the pressure around his skin is pleasant and needed and reassuring, and he doesn’t dare pull away.

“You saved my life. And Marty’s death, it hurts, but I don’t blame you. I could never blame you.”

“Kid-”

“You’re a good man, Dean.”

“You barely know me.”

“I know enough.” She retorts, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “You hunt monsters for a living and expect nothing in return. That sounds pretty noble to me.”

A small smile tugs at the corners of his lips.

“You never lose an arguments, do you?”

She huffs out air through her nose, not quite a laugh.

“Yeah,” she smiles, a smile as fragile as spur sugar. “Marty used to say that it was because of my eyes. They can make people do just about anything.”

It comes out in a soft whisper, quiet and low, like she can’t actually believe it’s true, but Dean knows it is, because he can feel it every time she looks at him, can feel it in the way she could rob him blind with those big Y/E/C orbs of hers and he still wouldn’t complain.

He chuckles, a low, gruff chuckle, and runs a hand over the back of his neck.

“How long had you two been together?”

She knits her brows a bit at the question and squints at him, as if she doesn’t quite understand what he’s saying, then shakes her head and lets out a soft chuckle.

“Oh, no. It wasn’t –it wasn’t like that.” She wraps her arms around her small frame and gnaws on her bottom lip, seemingly thinking about something.

“Marty was my best friend. I, uh,” she rubs at her forehead, “I lost my mum when I was five so, my dad had to work crazy hours to raise me and Marty’s mum… She helped a lot. We grew really close and he just ended up being family, you know?”

“Yeah,” Dean whispers, running a hand over his face, “yeah, I do.” He hesitates for a second. Then. “How is his mum holding up?”

“No, she doesn’t… She died six years ago.” Y/N says, voice wavering just a little bit. “Four weeks after my father, actually. And his dad was never really a dad, so… All Marty and I had was each other.”

And she says it with her eyes cast downwards, says it with a shrug, but Dean’s stomach churns and plummets and his heart aches, because he knows what it’s like to lose the only person you have in the world, knows what it’s like to be left alone, how it breaks you and leaves you hollow and numb.

She doesn’t deserve this.

God, she doesn’t deserve this at all.

He doesn’t say anything.

Words wouldn’t have been enough anyway.

Instead, he reaches out for her, slow and a bit reluctant, and lets her meet him half way, then takes her soft, small hand in his and squeezes, a silent, wordless reassurance that someone is there, that someone will always be there for her.

“Well,” he clears his throat, “now you got us, too. So, if you ever need anything, I’m one phone call away.”

She chuckles.

“Like I said,” she intertwines their fingers together, “you’re a good man, Dean Winchester.”

He smiles, a soft, sad smile that melts his rough edges and breaks down his walls and when she leans in to kiss him goodbye on the cheek, he realizes that no one, absolutely no one, had ever made his heart beat faster with a single brush of her lips against his skin.

And he prays to God he’ll see her again…

A/N: This was a bit of a slow burn, but the ride is so worth it, you guys, you’ll see...

Forever Tags: @ravengirl94 @jpadjackles @supernatural-jackles @thing-you-do-with-that-thing @trexrambling @percywinchester27 @winchestersnco @hannahindie @emilywritesaboutdean @escabell @kathaswings @thevioletthourr @dancing-the-hellfire-rumba @ultrafandomcat @impala-dreamer @imagining-supernatural @tiny-friggin-human @pickupthatamulet @keepcalmandcarryondean @atwistoffate @atari-writes @becs-bunker @becominglionhearted @wordstothewisereaders @sgarrett49 @myrabbitholetoneverland @iwriteaboutdean @spngeronimo @ruprecht0420 @polina-93 @mandilion76 @juanitadiann @atc74 @captainemwinchester @mogaruke @imissyoualittlemoreeveryday @wellthatsrandomkek @jayankles @winchesters-flannels @akshi8278 @spn-dean-and-sam-winchester @a-glass-of-orange-juice @ravenangel33 @holahellohialoha @tardis-full-of-fallen-angels @dancingalone21 @torn-and-frayed @blushingdean @castianityislife02 @sinistersaltqueen @easelweasel @carryonmyswansong @emoryhemsworth @superapplepie @princess-of-erebor1992 @bebravekeeponfighting @carryonmywaywardcaptain @sebastianshoe @stellaa33 @pillow223 @kleinkariertebetrachter @there-must-be-a-lock @samisimportant @jessilliam-caronday

Somewhere Only We Know Tags: @girliciousdreams @zeldalyfe @cherryblossom292 @winchestergirl607 @flormolero @chicagolove88

Cross out tags don’t work for me, I’m sorry!

427 notes · View notes

chasholidays · 6 years

Note

Bellarke go to the Renaissance festival and Bellamy is struggling with the historical inaccuracies. Friends to lovers please. :)

“We really have to got to this?” Bellamy grumbles, sticking his hands into his pockets and scowling like he’s on his way to execution.

Clarke rolls her eyes. “We’ve been in the car for an hour. If you didn’t want to come, you should have fought harder against it before we left. There’s nothing else out here, what are we going to do if we don’t go to the ren faire?”

“We could find something.”

“We’re in the middle of nowhere and we already have tickets.” She bumps her shoulder against his. “Come on, how bad could it be?”

“Jesus, don’t say that. Now one of us is going to fucking die. Of something historically inaccurate.”

“Because it would be so much better if we got bubonic plague.”

“At least it would be educational.”

“Seriously, you’re going to have fun. Just pretend it’s not actually supposed to be historical. Because it’s not. It’s like we’re watching–” she starts, and they both realize at the same time that the sentence can’t end well, because Bellamy has never seen a movie he can’t nitpick. He’s pointed out historical inaccuracies in Disney’s Robin Hood, which is about an anthropomorphic fox.

“Not like we’re watching what?” he asks, smirking.

“Never mind, you’re an asshole about everything.”

“Yeah, that’s kind of my deal.” He sighs. “I know it’s not trying to be accurate, I just don’t get the point. Why are you trying to recreate the past if you’re not trying to do it somewhat right?”

“Somewhat?”

“I’m not going to say we should be throwing back to medieval beliefs about gender or whatever, but, like–costuming.”

“Hail and well met!” says the attendant at the gate, and Clarke shows him their tickets before Bellamy can even try to respond to that.

The ren faire wasn’t her idea, any more than it was his. One of his coworkers wanted to thank him for his help on a project, and knowing how much he liked “that historical stuff,” she bought him two tickets to the faire. He was obviously too polite to tell her he wasn’t really into the idea, and once Clarke found out about it, there was no way she was just going to let the tickets go to waste. She’s never been to a ren faire before, and she’s always wanted to eat one of those giant turkey legs she’s seen in pictures.

Plus, seeing Bellamy getting worked up about stuff is always pretty fun. No one does righteous, semi-legitimate indignation like he does.

“So,” she prompts, once they’re inside, “costuming.”

Bellamy’s distracted, looking around the grounds with wary interest. It’s about what Clarke was expecting, a bunch of buildings made to look olden style, selling weapons and armor and dubiously mystical things.

“This is pretty much what I meant,” he says, with a vague wave of his hand to encompass the entire place. “Why bother doing this if it’s just–half-assed. You put on a costume that looks like your idea of renaissance clothing, but it’s just a costume.”

“God forbid anyone just wear a costume.”

“I just don’t get it. If you’re going to do it, why not do it right?”

“Because doing it right is hard, time consuming, and not cost effective. If people want to get an idea of history, they go to a museum. If people want to put on their favorite corset and talk like they’re on Game of Thrones, they come to a ren faire.”

“Which is why we shouldn’t be here.”

“I don’t know, I could use a new corset.”

Bellamy’s face goes still in exactly the way she was hoping it would, and she has to bite back on her own smile.

As far as Clarke’s concerned, she and Bellamy have been moving toward something, the last few months, although all of their friends would probably say that they’ve been moving toward it for years before this too. But Clarke’s been in other relationships, and so has he, and, well, these things take time.

But now, it finally feels like she’s ready. Maybe all these years really have been leading to her and Bellamy, and she needed every one.

“Did you have an old corset?” he finally asks.

“Back in college, yeah. I think most girls didn’t get through college without wearing a corset at least once.”

“Not sure that’s a universal.”

“It was at my college.”

He shakes his head. “Okay, so things we want to do include getting a corset and–what else? Like you said, we drove for an hour, we might as well the full experience.”

“I want a turkey leg.”

“You know turkeys are native to the Americas, right? But the whole renaissance faire aesthetic is based on our idea of medieval Europe, so it doesn’t make any fucking sense that that’s the stereotypical meal.”

“I still want to eat a giant turkey leg.”

“As long as you know it’s wrong.”

“Don’t worry, I got that. I also want to find something you’ll like.”

“Tell me more about the corset, that sounds promising,” he teases, and she grins.

“We can start there, yeah.”

It’s not actually where they start, though, because there’s a path to follow and they figure they might as well follow it, wandering through the shops, looking at whatever catches their eyes. Bellamy does like weaponry, which isn’t really a surprise, and he doesn’t nitpick that as much because it’s more about design than history.

“And you don’t care that the design isn’t historically accurate?” she teases.

He gives a flail a light, experimental shake, holding it with minimal strain of muscle. Clarke doesn’t often remember how built Bellamy is, because his clothes do a decent job of hiding it, but it’s hard to forget when he’s effortlessly lifting heavy shit like this. She could barely even hold the thing up.

“They’re not inaccurate,” he says. “They’re modern versions of weapons that were used. This might not be the exact grip they would have used, but it’s not trying to be.”

“Your distinctions don’t make sense to me, but what else is new. Are you going to get one?”

That seems to remind him what he’s actually doing, and he snorts and puts the flail down. “What am I going to do with one of these?”

“Enjoy owning it? It’s not like everything you buy has to be practical.”

“Everything I spend this much money on should be, though. Let’s check out the food.”

They’re selling pizza, which Bellamy finds even weirder than the turkey legs, but he ends up with a decent bowl of stew in a bread bowl, and Clarke gets her turkey leg, which tastes oddly and somewhat disappointingly like bacon, and they look around and judge people’s costumes in low voices.

“Except that guy,” Bellamy says, jerking his head to someone who’s dressed up as Marty McFly. “He’s got the right idea.”

Clarke smiles. “Screw historical accuracy, just have fun? I think everyone but you figured that one out.”

“Shut up.”

After, she gets some mead, and Bellamy gives her trivia about the history of alcohol, which is always appreciated, and they try out axe-throwing (because Bellamy likes axes) and archery (because Clarke used to do it in summer camp), and then she decides she’d better really work on the corset thing. Not that she actually has to buy one, but Bellamy at least should see how good she looks in them.

She doesn’t like to brag, but if she did, her breasts would be one of the first things she bragged about.

“So, do you have any advice for historically accurate corsets?” she asks, sorting through a rack. There’s really a lot of variety, it’s awesome. “What should I be looking for?”

“Uh, honestly, I’m not sure I can be academic and objective about corsets.”

“No?”

He shrugs. “Not to be shallow, but–yeah. Corsets really do it for me.”

“So I should just buy the hottest one.”

There’s a pause as he thinks about this. “I guess it depends on what you’re going for. Do you want to use this for a costume someday? Do you just want to have it around? What’s the goal of this corset?”

She has plenty of potential responses to give, but only one of them is particularly accurate. “Trying to do it for you. Front or side lacing?”

Another pause, and he asks,“Am I going to get to take it off you?”

“If you want to.”

“Then front, definitely.”

She pulls one out and holds it up, looking at him for the first time. His eyes are dark and a little unsure as he watches her. “This one good?”

“They’re all good, Clarke.”

“I was hoping you’d say that.” She leans up and pecks him on the mouth. “I’m going to go try it on.”

He grabs her wrist and pulls her in for a much longer kiss, and she grins into it.

“Sorry, can I not try it on?” she teases.

“You can now,” he says. “Just–needed to do that first.”

“Before I get in the corset.”

“I didn’t want you thinking it was just that.” He brushes her hair back, still smiling. “I’m not totally shallow.”

“I know. Back in a sec.”

In terms of historical accuracy, she is aware that peasant top, corset, and blue jeans are about as bad as you can get. On the other hand, it’s not like she’s trying to be historically accurate. Even if that would probably be a great way to seduce Bellamy.

It’s not like she needs to put that much effort in. All she actually had to do was ask.

When she comes out of the dressing room, he’s examining some of the doublets they have on display in the deliberate way that suggests he’s trying to look like he isn’t waiting for her, but given his head jerks up at the first sound of the curtain moving, it’s not very convincing. His eyes sweep over her, all open admiration, and she can’t help a small smirk.

“What do you think?”

“Honestly? I really fucking love the ren faire.”

She laughs. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

It still doesn’t feel like it’s enough to count as something just for him, though. Not that he’s not enjoying it–his eyes keep straying down as they walk–but it’s for her too. They’re both really fucking excited about the whole dating thing.

“I’m not actually having a bad time,” he teases, once he’s failed to be impressed by a bunch of leather-bound journals because the paper inside was too modern. “You know me. Nitpicking is a feature, not a bug.”

“Yeah, but–there must be something here for you.”

“Aside from the girl I’m in love with putting on a corset and kissing me?” he asks. “It’s going to be hard to top that.”

“Technically I kissed you before I put on the corset,” she points out, but she’s only halfway paying attention. “Come on,” she says, tugging him.

“Come on where?”

This weapons vendor not only has a great selection, but a great selection of axes specifically, a whole wall of them, lined up as if they’re just waiting for Bellamy to come try them out.

“See? Just for you.”

“You want me to buy an axe?” he asks. He’s clearly going for dubious, but his eyes are tracking over the racks, greedy.

“I want you to spend money on something that will make you happy. Like an axe.”

“I can’t believe your first idea for something to make me happy is an axe and not just another corset for you.”

“You can buy me another corset if you want. I’ll take as many corsets as you want to get me. But the axes are really cool.”

“What are we going to do, mount it in the apartment?”

“Why not? We have room.”

“I can’t believe your ren faire to-do list is turkey leg, weaponry, corset, and seduction.”

“Really? It was kind of a no brainer for me.” She kneels down, looking at the bottom row, eye caught on a shorter axe, dark wood hilt with blue binding. She’s not sure what makes an axe say Bellamy to her, but this one certainly does. “How about this one?”

He takes it from her, tests the heft in his hand, and Clarke can see the immediate desire to own it warring with his own common sense. “Seriously, what am I going to do with this?”

“Think of it as the first piece of your historically accurate ren faire costume for next year.”

“We’re coming back next year?”

“Well, we had fun, right? And I need somewhere to wear my corset.”

He snorts, but he gives the axe one more twirl, and then a smile breaks out on his face. “Fine. But I’m getting drunk next year.”

“Deal,” she says. “Can’t wait.”

As anniversary traditions go, going to the ren faire, getting drunk, and spending too much money on historically inaccurate costumes and weaponry might not be the most romantic. But it’s theirs, and Clarke wouldn’t give it up for anything.

Not when it keeps on being absolutely perfect.

#skepticalbeliever1

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cliftonsteen · 4 years

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Guest Coffee: A Breakdown

Most specialty coffee shops offer a house blend that delivers a reliable flavour day after day. Typically, this will be a balanced, versatile coffee that can be served black or white. And while house blends do evolve, they generally stay the same for a period of months or years. This provides customers with something easy and consistent when they come in for their daily cup.

Some cafés, however, have established themselves as “multi-roaster coffee shops”. This means that they source their coffees from a variety of different roasters. In these cafés, certain beans from a range of different roasters will come and go after a limited period of time. These are referred to as guest coffees.

Read on to learn more about what a guest coffee is, and why you might bring one in for your coffee shop.

You may also like Five Practical Ways To Introduce Customers To Specialty Coffee

What Is A Guest Coffee?

A guest coffee is a certain bean brought in by cafe owners or head baristas which will only be served for a relatively short period of time.

There are a lot of challenges that go into choosing a new coffee to bring into a coffee shop. With so many roasters across the world, many of which offer a huge variety of origins as well as international delivery, it really is a buyer’s market. As a result, we are seeing more and more cafes offer coffees from a number of different roasters.

For some baristas, a guest coffee may be an opportunity to educate regulars about a certain origin they haven’t tried before. For others, it might be a way to intrigue new customers and get them to come into the café for the first time.

James Hennebry is the co-owner of Rosslyn Coffee in London, UK. He says that bringing in guest coffees is a great way to share your passion for coffee with your customers. “At Rosslyn, we’re very passionate about all the incredible roasters and producers who we have come across.

“This industry is brimming with talent which isn’t represented adequately in the majority of high street coffee shops. Our guest programme allows us to present some of our favourite roasters to an audience who may not ordinarily have access to these coffees.”

Why Should You Offer Customers A Guest Coffee?

Regularly changing your guest coffee is a great way to make sure customers keep coming back to try something new. Alternatively, it can be a good way to get new customers through the door.

Guest coffees are also a perfect option for you to educate your customers. A lot of café regulars might not be aware of the world of specialty coffee. Having a guest coffee in stock is a good way to start a conversation about the wider industry and pass on some of your knowledge.

Guest coffees can also help keep employees interested in the products they are showcasing to customers. The service industry in general sees a very high turnover of staff – offering them a way to stay connected to the world of specialty coffee can keep staff interested and invested in their role.

Marian Plajdicko, co-owner of Happy Baristas in Berlin, says she sees the benefits in her team when stocking guest coffees from well-known roasters. “I think the staff are very happy about the concept. They get to taste so many different coffees and approaches and train their palates and brewing skills.”

Roasting Guest Coffee

Jaroslav Tuček is the owner of Double Shot Coffee Roasters in the Czech Republic. He tells me that more than 50% of his wholesale business comes through multi-roaster cafes. He says he’s had a mixed experience with the growing trend of guest coffee.

“Some customers start as a multi-roaster coffee shop and slowly get tired of it. Others start offering guest coffees, and then they grow and want more. It goes both ways.”

As there are so many roasters out there offering a whole range of beans from a variety of origins, the marketplace is highly competitive. Some years ago, you might have seen cafes supporting local roasters; today, international delivery and the rise of ecommerce platforms mean that they can pick whoever they like.

Jaroslav adds: “Some cafés start as key customers and then they get kind of tired by our offering for some reason and try something else. Some decide to experiment with other roasters from abroad.”

Jaroslav also points out that cafés sourcing guest coffees need to be careful not to overreach and offer too many different guest options. By spreading themselves too thin, he says, cafés might see the quality of their guest coffees drop.

“When I go to a multi-roaster coffee shop and see twenty open bags of different beans on a shelf, that’s disappointing, and this happens a lot.

“Some cáfes also source coffees from various roasters, but don’t recognise the different roasting styles. This means that, a lot of the time, the coffees aren’t prepared correctly.”

Getting On The Guest List

Multi-roaster café owners spend a lot of time looking into which coffees they want to feature in their guest lineup. Sometimes, this means choosing between samples sent by roasters – sometimes, a lot of samples – who are hoping to get a spot on the guest list.

Marian says: “It is hard for me to tell people that we will most likely not be ordering from them, because we already work with a number of roasters. It’s a challenge to make sure that we give every roaster an equal opportunity to be featured, let’s say, once every two months.

“We are happy to give feedback on the samples we receive, but growing the group of roasters we work with is difficult at times.”

James says: “It is incredibly flattering. At any given time, our samples tin has an insanely high standard of coffee in it! It’s something that we don’t take for granted and are very grateful for.”

Guest Coffee And Your Regular Customers

Getting a regular customer to experiment might not be easy. You may find that when a customer tries something on your guest list, they don’t enjoy it as much as you might have hoped.

When asked if customers ever dislike one of the coffees they have on offer, Marian says: “Yes, it’s happened many times, and we don’t make a big deal out of it. Usually, it happens with people who are classic espresso drinkers; people who like their coffee strong and bitter but really want to try something new.

“We understand when they don’t like the taste, and swap the drink for something that they will prefer. However, it’s all about talking about it beforehand; we try to minimise these cases by explaining what people can expect.”

Batch brew also allows customers to taste a small amount of coffee before committing to a whole cup. This can be a great way to introduce customers to new flavours without wasting time, effort, and coffee.

Stocking a guest coffee in your café can help you stand out from other coffee shops in your area. It’s a way to show your commitment to specialty coffee, and your passion for serving it. If it goes down well, it could help you attract new customers and keep regulars coming back.

For consumers, guest coffee can be a gateway to a region or origin they never knew about. So, next time you set foot in your local coffee shop, ask the barista about what’s on the guest list. You never know – you might just get the opportunity to try something unique.

Enjoyed this? Then read How To Meet The Needs of Today’s Coffee Shop Customer

Photo credits: Red Band Academy, Neil Soque, Van Marty, Happy Baristas

Perfect Daily Grind

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