#i'm saving jimmy for the second update >:) | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

m0ther-of-p3arl · 1 year

Text

bury me six feet in snow

(robert aeor high au p1)

masterpost

-heyo! if you do not know, this is the first installment of an au i have decided to write. i speedran this today during school and it's finally finished, so here ya go *throws writing and runs away*

Half-gorgon, half-siren, the worst of both worlds. Instead of petrification, his eyes spew ice, freezing anything in his path. Instead of the bright green snakes and irises and scales he should have, in any of these spots that should be the toxic green exclusive to a gorgon, Scott is a light-hued cyan color. He’s an eyesore. His father’s told him this many times, how the only thing he’s good for is wasting his parents’ money and being a disappointment- how at least he could have had the decency to be born with the right colors, at least, maybe then Scott wouldn’t be such a terrible child.

or, Scott lives with abusive parents, and his best friend, owen, is a constant through it all. (yes jimmy'll be thrown in here soon dont worry i have it all planned out >:)

TW: verbal abuse, homophobia, internalized homophobia, depression, anxiety

(3444 words)

He hates peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. His breakfast sits there, unbitten and untouched, the jelly just a little bit too blue and the peanut butter just a little bit too gray. His navy blue uniform chafes against his skin, and he wishes now more than ever his parents hadn’t sent him to private school- but of course, they know best, so he won’t question it, even if the uniform hurts, especially when he pulls his shirt on over his head, his snakes hissing at the contact with the coarse fabric. His chair is just a little too stiff, and his feet don’t quite touch the ground- everything is just slightly wrong, just so slightly off that he knows he’s out of control-

Scott risks a glance up from his meager breakfast to see his father, seated far across the long table that takes up the middle of this windowless room, staring stonily down at him. His gaze is full of judgment and Scott would’ve flinched, if this wasn’t something he was used to by now. If he didn’t know how much a show of weakness could cause him, another lecture on how he needed to act, how he needed to be, so the world would know who he really is. Scott quickly looks back down, his heart rabbiting intensely in his chest from his father’s intense gaze.

Scott’s waiting, waiting for his father to say something, he knows it’s coming, and he steels himself for it, but his father just…stares. This is… a little strange. Is Scott’s father trying to petrify him? That wouldn’t make any sense, though. Father is smart enough to know that his petrification doesn’t work on fellow gorgons, and even if Scott isn’t really a gorgon, that’s like, the first thing you learn when you’re given your shades. Scott gingerly lifts his sandwich from his plate and takes a tentative bite, not daring to look up, hoping that it’ll taste at least a little different, hoping there’ll be something at least a little new-

Blech. Same as always. The grape jelly squishes between his teeth and the peanut butter sticks to the roof of his mouth as he chews and swallows, the familiar taste almost vomit-inducing at this point, the texture mealy and uncomfortable in his mouth. Scott’s been having the same breakfast since he was eight, and he’s always wondered why, given how much money his dad makes, he can’t just have something a little more…appetizing?

Maybe something new, Scott really likes Indian food, and he’s not particularly inclined towards PB&Js. At least for lunch, he can sneak some food from Owen, who’ll make a fuss about it but in the end will always oblige Scott’s requests, because Owen knows that Scott’s particular about his food, and he doesn’t get much else- Scott wishes Owen was here now, to knock on his door and save him from his father’s withering gaze.

Scott’s father clears his throat, pulling Scott out of his thoughts, and he immediately looks up, mouth still full as he swallows quickly, snapping to attention.

“Scott.”

Scott’s name on his father’s lips is dripping with disdain, the way it always is, loaded with disgust and disappointment, cold as the ice that carpets the ground wherever Scott looks. It burrows into Scott’s blood and even though he’s heard it oh so many times before, it still cuts a little each time, and Scott wants to do something about it, but instead he waits for his father to continue. Maybe if he doesn’t interrupt, Father won’t hate him, maybe he’ll be worth at least something, maybe Scott’s not a complete disappointment and “a wretched curse upon his family,” as he’s heard so many times before.

“It’s time for school.” It absolutely is not time for school, school doesn’t start for another hour, at least, and Scott opens his mouth to say so-

But he opens his eyes instead, to find he is still laying in his four-poster bed, the sun shining in through the window as his father looms over him. “W-what?” Scott’s still confused, his brain hasn’t quite wrapped itself around the fact that he’s just awoken, part of him wondering why he isn’t still sitting opposite of Father at the unfamiliar oaken table that takes up a whole empty, hostile room.

“I said, wake up. You can hear me, can’t you? Or are you deaf as well as defective?” Father’s voice is laced with venom and Scott wants nothing more than to burrow beneath his blankets again, because even the father in his dreams is less horrible than the one he has in real life. No, not horrible, he’s not horrible. He loves Scott. Father just wants what’s best for him, just wants to make sure he grows up to be a real man.

Scott can never tell his father that he’s- his insides reel with disgust even thinking about his secret, the slimy truth of his existence.

He doesn’t need to be thinking about that this early in the morning.

Scott sits up, eyes still blurry with sleep, his cyan snakes hissing in front of his face as he pulls them back behind his head, the icy feel of their scales causing a shiver to run through his veins. He sits up straight, trying to be presentable, because that’s important, he needs to be respectful to his father, but everything’s tinted ice-blue- Scott’s eyes widen in a sudden realization. He’s not wearing his shades and he needs to put them on now, quickly, or he’ll cause so much damage, if he hasn’t already- his hands scrabble over the bedstand until he finds them and he breathes a sigh of relief, pulling the dark glasses over his head.

Oh, no. He hadn’t been quick enough, he realizes, as he surveys his room, streaks of ice embedded from the wall, spiking out at odd angles, as dark and horrific as the way his father glares down at him, because Scott’s just done the worst thing possible, he’s reminded his father that he’s broken-

“I-I’m sorry,” Scott mutters, looking down at his feet, “I thought I was g-getting it under control.”

“Clearly not.” Father sneers, his own glasses blocking out his bright green eyes, eyes that petrify, the eyes that any real gorgon should have.

Eyes that Scott doesn’t possess.

“Now get dressed and prepare yourself for school. Your mother and I did not pay this much money for you to be late. And let yourself out. I can’t stand the sight of you again this morning. Worthless boy.” Scott’s father turns, green cloak sweeping behind him as he steps regally down their looping spiral staircase.

Scott sighs. He had hoped that for once he might have a normal morning, one where he didn’t disappoint his father and one where maybe, maybe, the curse of being a hybrid would go away, the curse that isn’t even the worst part of who Scott is. He wishes his mother was here.

Not that she’d be any kinder to Scott about his situation, of course. But she was, at least, less aggressive. Her form of punishment for Scott was more often than not a session of intense siren hypnotization, trying to fix him, to get him to be one or the other.

Scott’s mother has a gorgeous voice, so he doesn’t mind her luring him into that sleepy state where she can possibly figure out if there’s some way to eliminate one side or the other. Because Scott’s mother is not a gorgon. She’s a siren, and Scott doesn’t really understand how she and his father got together, as they’re both extremely conservative about inter-species breeding- and most things in general. And yet somehow, they’d gotten together and had… him.

Scott hates himself.

As he pulls on his navy uniform (that bit, unfortunately, was not a dream), his snakes hiss against the rough fabric and he growls under his breath, because why on earth would anyone make clothes of any kind in this burlap-like material, much less school uniforms? And the pants- Scott wishes he could wear something a bit more flowy on his legs, something that would let him breathe. He should start a rebellion, he thinks wryly, before his anxious brain speeds up and works out what the actual consequences would be if Scott did attempt something of the kind.

If news got back to his parents, he might have to go a week alone in this gigantic, cold house. He doesn’t want to do that again. Even horrible company is still company, Scott hates being alone- and the worst part is, his father knows it. Now (un)comfortably slid into his uniform, Scott steps quietly out of his room, closing the ice-covered door behind him, sighing and running a hand through his snakes, which hiss softly at his touch.

At the bottom of the twisting marble staircase, a familiar peanut butter and jelly sandwich is resting on the newel post. That had also not been exclusively a dream-world thing, and Scott hates the world for it. Why must he have this, day after day, for breakfast, lunch, and dinner? But he takes it anyway, because any food is better than no food, and begins to cross the expansive marble floor, making his way to the ornate double doors.

The entrance is emblazoned with two giant “M”s for Major, the family name. Scott doesn’t like to use that name. It reminds him of his father, and anywhere except home should be a reprieve from the constant scrutiny and judgment. So instead, he decided to use Smajor as his last name, combining his first initial with his legal last name. It feels silly and lighthearted, turning something he hates into something that makes him snicker whenever someone mentions it. He’s gotten to the point where he and his friends have gaslighted half the school into thinking that Smajor is his legal last name, and Scott loves it.

Scott Smajor. It just has a nice ring to it.

Scott shoves open the massive doors and begins to walk through the impeccably manicured front lawn, the small cobbled path he treads upon surrounded on all sides by professionally trimmed hedges, perfectly cone-shaped birch trees, lavender bushes and poppies that ring the numerous ponds. The expanses of water are completely artificial except for the precisely placed lotuses floating serenely on the dark water, and even despite that concerning detail, anyone would think this was paradise. But Scott knew better.

This garden is beautiful, sure, in the same way a postcard is beautiful. There’s always something… off about it. Maybe it’s the way the breeze doesn’t ruffle the leaves, the way that the ponds are always as still as ice. It just feels fake. Scott’s whole house feels fake, acres of space around it, a mansion in its own right. Made of stock-white marble, with sweeping buttresses and arching colonnades, it’s a work of architectural genius.

But just like the garden, it’s just about as genuine as the celebrities that pump themselves full of plastic and alter themselves so they resemble celestials, who are widely considered to be the most beautiful of the sentient species (though Scott personally thinks avians are the cutest, with their short stature and bird-like mannerisms).

Scott quickens his pace, pushing open the wrought iron gate and stepping out onto a normal neighborhood street, typical houses lining the streets. Scott notices rain beginning to drip down from the sky. He sighs in relief, the cool water offering a reprieve from his destructive thoughts. His family are the only wealthy people on his block, and their estate covers most of the left side of the street- but if he ignores it, he can almost pretend he’s a normal gorgon with normal gorgon abilities, who’s just walking down the street to fetch his best friend. And that is what Scott’s doing, so at least he can have half of his fantasy.

He’s reached the small brick house at the end of the road, a simple, overgrown lawn and a cluttered pathway that offer a striking contrast to the perfectly manicured front garden of Scott’s house. He carefully walks up the dirt path, jumping left and right to avoid tripping on the toys strewn all over the walkway, presumably left there by Owen’s little sisters. And Owen has a lot of little sisters. But that’s to be expected with tieflings- the biological females are always born in pods of four or more, while the males are born only ever one at a time.

Scott makes it to the end of the path and gingerly climbs the rickety stairs up to Owen’s sagging front porch, rapping three times against the door with the old iron door knocker. Almost immediately, the dark mint green door swings open under Scott’s touch, paint flaking off and drifting into the air. Scott instinctively brushes the dried varnish off his clothes, the unpleasant sensation of the fabric against his skin tingling in his fingertips, as he looks up, straight into the bright smirk of his best friend.

“Scott!” Owen flashes Scott his trademark grin in greeting, his curly brown hair flopping down in front of his orange-tinted face between his two similar-colored horns. Suddenly, a screech erupts from inside the modest house, and Scott just near jumps out of his skin. Owen glares back into the house. “Pipe down, will you?” He rolls his eyes and slams the door shut. Scott can’t imagine having one sibling, much less the nine rambunctious little sisters that Owen has to live with daily. In this one aspect, at least, Scott doesn’t envy his best friend.

Owen sighs. “Sorry about that, how’s life at the mansion?” Their feet fall into synchronization as they begin the walk to school, the rain dribbling down even more now, splattering the sidewalk with dark stains.

“It’s…fine,” Scott lies, turning his head to the side so he doesn’t have to meet his best friend’s eyes. Owen knows full well how much Scott hates it there, how much he wishes he could go somewhere else, anywhere else. He’s told Owen about his father and his mother and just…all that… multiple times, but Owen has never been the best at feelings, and though he’ll offer Scott a brisk hug on occasion, Scott’s learned it’s better just to not bring it up. He’s pretty sure Owen doesn’t want or need to hear about Scott’s trauma, if it can even be classified as trauma.

It can’t, really, nothing horrific has ever happened to him, just…his father. And though it hurts, Scott knows that it’s not half of what some people have to live through. But he’s still learned it’s better not to bring up his experiences with people, especially Owen. He doesn’t want to sour their friendship, doesn’t want to ruin anything he hasn’t already broken with his clumsy hands.

Owen surprises him this morning, though, grabbing Scott by his shoulders and turning him around to face him. “No, it’s not.” It’s not a question, and Owen’s face is serious, not his typical silly smirk.

Scott tries weakly to smile, but he’s pretty sure it looks more like a grimace. “No, it’s not,” he mutters, repeating Owen’s statement as he stares up at the rain-heavy clouds.

“Is your dad being a dick again? From what I’ve seen, he’s a real unsavory man.” Owen’s not looking at Scott, which he appreciates. Scott doesn’t like eye contact very much, it always reminds him of how his father will stare at him, judging and prying and looking for any little imperfection he can pick at until Scott cracks and admits that yes, he is a disappointment. Sooner or later, Scott always has to admit that he’s nothing more. He knows that Father’s always right about that kind of thing.

“I don’t know if I would use that language, Owen- I’m sure he only wants what’s best for me.” Owen scoffs at his words. “What?!” Scott snaps, “He’s not a bad person, we just have differences sometimes.” Scott knows it’s not true, knows the words he speaks are false, but he can’t admit anything else to himself and he can’t let anyone else know how hard he’s got it, because in reality, he hasn’t got it that hard at all.

Owen throws Scott a skeptical glance, but he stays quiet about it the rest of the walk to Robert Aeor, the high school they both attend, and the conversations shifts to lighter topics, giving Scott a much-needed reprieve from thinking about himself, about how despicable he is, how he doesn’t deserve a friend like Owen-

He shakes the thoughts from his head, the rain beating down hard now, Scott’s uniform almost completely soaked through. “You couldn’t have thought to bring an umbrella,” he asks Owen sarcastically, a smirk lighting up the corners of his mouth.

Owen sighs dramatically. “No, Scott, I did not bring an umbrella. But neither did you!” He raises an eyebrow, poking Scott lightly in the chest. “Maybe you should think on that, eh, Mr Rich Guy? You’re the one with all the money.”

“I’m also the one who still eats a soggy peanut butter and jelly sandwich for breakfast, lunch, and dinner every day, Owen, as you may recall,” Scott jests, elbowing his best friend in the ribs.

“Yeah, and what about that? You’ve been mooching lunch off me for the better part of five years, Scott Smajor, and when do I get paid back for all those pizza slices and bagel halves, huh?” Scott snickers slightly, and Owen’s face lights up. “Hah! I did it! I made you laugh!” Scott immediately quashes his grin. “What on earth are you talking about, young man?” Owen raises both eyebrows this time, a look that means he means business. “First,” he begins, counting off on his fingers, “I’m older than you-”

“By, like, a month,” Scott scoffs, rolling his eyes.

“A month and sixteen days,” Owen corrects, pointer finger raised authoritatively in the air. “And two, you’re always Mr Grumpapotamus- you almost never laugh!” He spreads his arms high in a wide, sweeping circle, as if to illustrate his point about just how much Scott never laughs.

“I do too laugh,” Scott grumbles, though he’s not really angry, he can’t remember the last time he was truly angry at Owen. “I laugh all the time.” “No, you absolutely do not!” Owen remarks incredulously.

“Do too,” Scott sulks, pushing his snakes out of his eyes. “You’re just not there to see it.”

“Scott, we’re literally together 24/7. That’s all the time, Scott. All the time!”

The conversation continues in this vein for quite some time, and before Scott knows it, they’ve reached Robert Aeor, the sizable brick building looming over his and Owen’s heads. Scott stares at the building, where he’s gone to school for the past three years. Soon he’ll be out of here, soon he’ll be eighteen, and then, as soon as he gets his college degree, he can get out of here.

Maybe he can even get a boyfriend- Scott’s eyes widen, realizing his mistake. No, that’s horrible, disgusting, what would Father think? He’s supposed to be fighting his imperfections, not leaning more into them, Owen’s the only one who knows Scott’s secret and that’s only because he guessed, he wheedled it out of Scott like only a best friend can do.

He can see Owen glancing over at him now, concerned, in his peripheral vision, but he doesn’t turn. He doesn’t deserve Owen’s worry and he doesn’t want it, he doesn’t need it.

“Well, I guess we’d better-” Scott stops short in his sentence, because Owen’s hugging him, warm orange-tinged arms wrapping around Scott’s shoulders, and he thinks he might cry, he hasn’t been hugged in so long-

And then it’s over, and Owen’s whispering in his ear, “Stay safe, okay?” The thing is, Scott doesn’t know if he can. And that’s the part that hurts.

58 notes · View notes

sunwarmed-ash · 11 days

Text

WIP wednesday

i've been rebinging House so the next chapter of Plenty to go around is essentially done. Unless the muse gets something else finished first that'll probs be sundays update

here's a teaser for ch 5 👀😈 vvvv

slut!chase, daddy kink, top!house, chase/everyone fic

Chase is showered and on his way back to the sleep lab when he's met with two highly unexpected, early morning visitors.

Foreman’s been able to save face, and ass, for about 15 minutes, but when Chase walks in with still-damp hair and a sizable limp House & Wilson put two and two together and get slut.

Wilson looks pleasantly amused between the two young men, whereas House’s eyes threaten homicide.

“Well, I’m glad to see we’re upholding the Princeton Plainsboro standard of care in my absence,” House spits.

“The patient's fine-” Chase starts to insist but House is quick to shut him down.

“Not talking to you.”

Chase flushes red and his jaw snaps close with a click of his teeth.

“Someone left Chase hanging,” Foreman laughs, folding his arms across his chest, “figured it was my turn to lend a helping hand.”

Chase thinks it's ballsy, talking back to House like that. Maybe a little too ballsy. Just because the team was independently fucking Chase didn't mean their pecking order changed.

“You’re interfering with his punishment. How can the slut learn if you undermine my authority?”

Foreman and House continue to glare at each other like they were a couple of cowboys about to draw their weapons at a high noon standoff. Foreman’s the first to fire.

“Your training must not be that good,” Foreman shrugs, “Got him to cum twice with the cage on anyway.”

Chase clears his throat to cover an unexpected moan. And then every bit of House’s fury is suddenly directed at Chase.

“He did what?”

“I-” Chase’s entire body flushes hot. There was nothing he could say to deny it. “I'm sorry.”

The edge of House’s mouth raises in a smirk but Chase knows from experience that doesn't mean anything good for him.

“Oooo naughty boy. Now Daddy’s going to have to spank you.”

---

They’ve relocated to House's office.

The blinds are drawn but the doors aren't locked and as soon as he can, House pushes Chase down across his desk, yanks down his pants, and slaps his exposed ass cheek hard.

“Fuck!” Chase howls, hips thrusting against the desk in an effort to get away from the stinging pain. That doesn't last long though, because when it takes too long for another swat to come, Chase is pushing his ass backward and wordlessly begging for another.

“Nope, not if you enjoy it. Defeats the point of punishment,” House says before pushing the tip of his forefinger past the puffy entrance of Chase’s asshole.

“AH!” Chase hisses.

“You're pretty swollen, you sore?”

“Yes Daddy…” Chase pants, resting his face back against the desk’s surface.

“How about now,” House asks before rotating his forefinger to find Chase’s prostate. He pushes hard against it and-

“Ah!” Chase hisses, “Yes, fuck, oh my god…”

“Good. It’s going to get worse,” House warns before he pushes a second finger inside.

“Fuck. Daddy please…” Chase cries. His hands fly across the desk, knocking everything to the ground in an effort to find something to hold onto. The sting in his ass hurts, but the ache in his cock and balls has him begging for this to continue.

“House…” Wilson warns, misreading Chase's noise. Chase had honestly forgotten the man was there.

House huffs his own irritation the doctors way.

“Chase? You good?”

“YES! Please, please,” Chase pants desperately, “I’m sore, but I want it. Don’t stop.”

“See Jimmy. Nothing to worry about.”

House twists his fingers and rubs again at his oversensitive prostate, Chase’s knees tremble so hard that if it wasn't for House’s desk, he’d fall on the floor.

“Fuck…Daddy…”

“What? You want to cum? You don't deserve to.”

“I know, I know, I'm sorry,” Chase sobs, but in some ways he's not. Everything hurts, but just the way he likes. He’s got House’s full attention on him, and when he gets jealous, his fucks get rougher. His desire to mark his claim gets stronger. And Chase loves when that side comes out.

“Foreman didn't cum in you?”

“No. But I wanted him to.”

Chase can practically hear House’s eyes roll.

“Of course you did, you want everyone to cum in you.”

“Please,” Chase blubbers.

“What are you willing to do for it?” House asks, and before Chase can answer, House’s cock is sliding inside him and Chase melts against the desk with a pitiful whimper.

“Hey,” House says, slapping Chase's ass, “I asked you a question.”

“Anything,” Chase groans, ass clenching hard around the man’s cock.

“Anything?” House confirms, dragging his dick back out before thrusting sharply back inside. “Keep the cage on, for say, 3 days?”

“Hhhn,” Chase whines instead of answering because House has started up a steady pace, holding Chase’s hips firm. The angle puts immense pressure on his prostate and Chase’s whimpers only get louder. The desk squeaks under the strain, but there’s no way in hell anyone will stop.

“Chase.”

Chase's answer gets punched out of him with the force of House’s next thrusts.

“Yes!”

“A week?”

Chase’s legs are having a hard time keeping up with the thrusts.

“Y-yeah...”

“2 months?”

House’s next thrusts are intentionally deep. Chase feels his sanity sizzle and fry.

“Fuck… yeah, yeah I would. I would, please- just,” Chase groans, unable to finish the sentence the next jab to his prostate leaves him gasping.

“Wilson, put your dick in his mouth. If he keeps moaning, someone's gonna walk in here.”

#chouse #chase x house #house x chase #house md #greg house #robert chase #james wilson #chilson #choreman #chameron #find me on ao3 #sunwarmed ash #links in pinned #i post new stuff every sunday #sinful sunday #wip wednesday

10 notes · View notes

jellothere54 · 1 year

Text

Limited Life moments thus far I'd love to draw or seen drawn-

Episode one:

The horse creeper caravan and then Jimmy and Joel just spawning screaming "We're bad boiss!!

A two panel thing, one being Scar "saving" bdubds like he said, the other being him falling and dying

Jimmy slipping off the roof

Any mom or bad boys art

A three panel of skizz, one happy, two after Scott killed him, three after bdubs killed him looking completely pissed and disheveled

Skizz and Impulse getting blown up together by a creeper

Martyn just watching grian dig into a big fall

Skizz and Martyn having a heart to heart then gray scene "you have no idea how hard it was to not just slaughter him"

"No, I'm in my thirties and I wear crocs"

Episode 2

"Hey scar!..." "You suck!"

Scar hugging Etho saying "love you dad!"

Scat menacingly staring down the bread Bridge waiting to turn yellow, then the second panel just Skizz freaking out that he turned yellow

Bdubs showing up to TIES base screaming "YOU WANT A PiEcE oF mE?!?"

Episode 3

Literally anything, this episode was insane

Will be updating! Feel free to tag your own!

#limited life #trafficblr #traffic series #bad boys #mom #gtws #life soundtrack #art

29 notes · View notes

rhythmicmeow · 10 months

Text

TIMING: Current LOCATION: The Vinyl Countdown PARTIES: Beau @mayihaveyournameplease and Leticia @rhythmicmeow SUMMARY: Beau takes time out of his precious day to help Leticia rearrange the store. Grateful doesn't even begin to describe how she feels. CONTENT WARNINGS: None!

Beau hadn't updated his tunes in a while. His car had two CDs and that was Jimmy Buffett's Meet Me in Margaritaville, which had two discs, making his entire CD collection Buffet centric. He would flip between them depending on whether he felt like belting to Margaritaville on disc one or serenading himself to Cowboy in the Jungle on disc two. Honestly. Every song on that CD was a banger. You couldn't go wrong with any Jimmy Buffett tune. On Beau's top 10 list of names he wanted to own more than anything in this whole wild world, he'd have to place the Buffman at number one. If Beau got Jimmy's name? It was game over. He would waste himself away in Margaritaville all day every day. Beau was nowhere close to getting Jimmy's name so as a little distraction he would go to the local music shop, and he would find something new to listen to.

The music shop in town was called The Vinyl Countdown. Beau thought that was the dumbest name he'd ever heard. What was it counting down to? The day people stopped using Vinyl? Didn't that happen already? Kids these days all had music on their phones. The store owner was lucky their shop wasn't out of business. Beau made sure to slam the door open upon his arrival. He needed to make sure whichever employee was working knew he was there, because he was the important customer. His first gaze around the room was... well, unimpressed. Racks of vinyl with only a tiny collection of CDs. A booth in the back, for what? Making their own music? Would anyone talented at making music actually live in this dumb town? "I'm looking for new music," Beau announced to the store. Beau started to make his way down the racks of vinyl, pulling out ones he thought had interesting covers and moving them to different locations where he thought they looked better. More appealing. The owner was obviously lucky he'd come to save them.

It had been a relatively slow day at the shop. The hours were dragging by and Leticia had spent most of her hours on the floor, rearranging the way she had sorted the genres. And was currently rearranging the records that she had on her wall, the posters were pulled down and lined up by the stairs that led to the second floor. The door slammed and Leticia, from the other side of the room, audibly sighed. “Really?” She grumbled to herself, grabbing the vinyl she had been looking for to cue up in the radio room. It had to be some kid that had come in, no respect for the building or the business. She didn’t mind window shoppers, but teenagers tearing the place up wasn’t the same as someone casually browsing.

They spoke and Leticia arched a brow and turned around. Not a teenager. “Newly released or something different from what you usually listen to?” Her eyes flickered to the records in his hands that he was rearranging into different sections. She would have thought he was just browsing and setting it down some place convenient, but… it felt like there was purpose in his movements. Was he trying to be obnoxious? She swallowed her annoyance. If he was looking for a reaction, he was going to be sorely disappointed. “It’s sorted by genre and then alphabetized, if you’re looking for something specific.”

“It’s sorted wrong.” Beau informed the shopkeeper. “It doesn’t look good.” Beau pulled out an album he’d never heard of. Barenaked Ladies, Stunt. “Why would you put this out front?” To his unspoken disappointment, there were no barenaked ladies on the cover. Simply some bad cut out art. “Indecent.” Beau added, shoving it behind a stack of other things. “You should really do something about the designs. Maybe they would all look better if you put covers on them with their names printed in clear and easy to read font.” Beau thought that was a particularly smart solution to the problem that was too many ugly album designs. “Where are your CDs? My car doesn’t play vinyls.” He may have been speaking about CDs but he was still messing up a row of vinyl as he spoke.

Beau finally designed to look up from the area he was messing up to look at the shopkeeper. Oh! He thought to himself. She was pretty. Beau put on his most charming smile, swaggering up to her. “I’m looking for some good music. You know. The kind that the ladies love. The kind that will get them to want to ride in a car with me.” He ran a hand through his hair. To his credit, Beau was meticulous about maintaining his personal hygiene. His hair needed the extra volume to hide the little horns that stuck out the top. “Not that I need help with that. On account of being so handsome.” He struck a pose. “Anyway, please take me to your best music selection.” -

For a moment, Leticia thought she was looking at her manager. Criticizing her over something mundane and something that was more about personal preference when it came to order than having a right or wrong answer — she had always gotten the questions he had asked wrong too. The wrong move, the wrong tone, the wrong shade of lipstick. The familiarity pulled at the corner of her lips, threatening to turn into a smile despite her original annoyance. “There are tags on the back, actually. It’s covering the original barcodes. The covers are sort of the best part,” she explained, pulling a Queen album out, News of the World. “I mean, covering up the killer robot? Now that would be a crime.” Putting the vinyl back where she had sorted it to, Leticia pointed towards the small tray of CDs at the register. “I only have a handful at the register. Mostly trade-ins.”

He was preening and Leticia, well, she couldn’t knock the game he was playing. At least he knew the tone he was going for and wasn’t afraid to ask for it. “That highly depends on the woman you’re trying to attract.” But the demand and the swagger he was trying to put out? It was hard not to be infected by the energy. “Right, you just need some music to set the mood.” Arching a brow, Leticia considered what the best would be. Everyone had different tastes and this man was clearly opinionated. “How about we start with what you’re already using? That way I don’t suggest the same bangers you’re already using?”

“A crime would be to allow the youth of today to be exposed to such violent and vicious material. The youth are impressionable and we have to take it upon ourselves to provide for them the best future possible.” Beau was showboating. He was a bird puffing out his large colorful plumage to convince the woman in front of him that he was a very brave and very thoughtful man. Beau didn’t care what the youth of today got up to, just as long as they handed him their names before doing it. “Think of the children! I know I do.” He added a wink before moving up an album with a more violent picture and replacing it with one where a man’s naked torso was the main focal point. Deciding that was enough free labor for the day, Beau followed to where the shop keep was pointing.

“This is a dismal display.” Beau noted as he started going through the handful of used CDs. But that was okay, because the store keep was asking him what kind of woman he was trying to display, and Beau was all about laying it on as heavy as possible. Beau leaned his five foot five frame against the counter, summoned his scummiest smile and looked up at the beautiful woman before him. “You, if you’re interested.” His tongue swiped against his bottom lip as his eyebrows bounced up and down. In his mind, he was truly the epitome of an attractive male. The guy they should put on the cover of all GQ and Male Health magazines. “I’ll listen to anything you like.” The wink was added this time. “But mostly in my car, I’m rocking to Jimmy Buffet. How about you close up shop right now and we take a drive to enjoy all thirty-eight tracks.” Beau held up two fingers. “It's two CDs.”

Was he being serious? Leticia found herself tipping her head to the side and listening to him carefully, trying to measure the words out and figure if he thought the worst things that kids saw these days were on the cover of discs. “Not the worst argument that I’ve heard, but…” she shrugged and kept her attention on him, trying desperately to ignore the rearranging he was doing. Killing her slowly, more likely. “Censoring the world for children doesn’t do much other than keep them unprepared for reality. They might not need to know the worst parts of humanity,” she explained before pulling forward one of Queen’s album. “But this is hardly the worst thing they’ll see.”

Leaning on the counter, Leticia shrugged a shoulder and shook her head. “We’re called the Vinyl Countdown for a reason, besides, CDs are a dying format. Everyone’s going to online music. Vinyls are collectibles.” It was a shallow argument, but for a man who was rearranging ‘violent’ covers to the back and pulling forward shirtless me, she didn’t need a solid argument. He spoke again and Leticia looked away, immediately going into dodge mode. “It’s not polite to come onto someone like that when they’re at work.” Clearing her throat, Leticia reached over and started flipping through CDs, “Well, if you’re looking for a woman like me, Jimmy Buffet isn’t the worst idea, but Journey would be a decent addition. Swift if you want to cast a wide net, would give you more to talk about too, people love talking about her.”

“Bah. The children can be thrown into reality like the rest of us. Kicked out of their home at the age of eighteen and forced to undergo tragedy and trauma to build character and become a valued and funny part of society. While their brains are still soft and squishy we should do everything we can to make sure they never see a lick of trouble.” There was a specific sting to his words. Maybe if his parents hadn’t kicked him out at eighteen he wouldn’t have lost all his names down the road. Then again. His eighteenth birthday was pretty good… Yeah. He’d have played it the same even if his parents didn’t want to kick him out. If only he still had their names.

“The only thing I collect are numbers.” The lie caused a sour taste in his mouth. Beau turned away, coughing back the lie. It was hard to be the suave and cool man he knew he was when his own body wanted to hold him back. “Well if it's not polite to hit on you during work, what if we set up a date for afterwards and I can save my best lines for then.” Beau was rubbing his hands together, eyes squinting and his tongue once more licking the bottom lip. He’d seen a man make the exact pose while hitting on someone before. He looked pretty cool. Beau thought this was the perfect time to test out the pose. “I’ll take Journey and Swift.” Beau pulled out his wallet, throwing all the bills he had on the counter. “You know, now that I look at you more, you look familiar. Have we met before? Perhaps if you gave me your name it would ring a bell.”

It was… strange. Leticia didn’t know how else to describe it. His words and movements, even his beliefs were confusing. She had remembered hearing stories from other artists when she was on tour when they got kicked out of their parent’s home for pursuing their dreams or other friends from her past that had been told that their family had an expiration date. “Maybe,” she offered, but her voice was distant. A practiced smile took its place on her face, pretending not to have been so affected by the words. “But let’s leave that up to the parents. I’m not raising their kids, they are.” The thought lingered though, knowing that there were people out there who threw their kids out the second they weren’t ‘children’ in the eyes of the law. She knew she’d never be able to do that. Family was everything to her.

“Interesting,” she said with a slow nod of her head. “Well, I hope you find someone willing to add to your collection after you’re done shopping.” Leticia was quickly realizing her mistake, too polite for her own good, he was still pressing for a commitment outside of work. “I’m not available,” she replied more firmly this time. “It’s not a good time for me dating wise.” The truth, or at least a fraction of it. She moved to the other side of the register and organized the money, handing him back the amount he had overpaid. He was peacocking, and before she could finish ringing him up he asked her name and she immediately thought of her last interaction with a fae. “No,” she said easily, looking up from her work. “We’ve never met before, and it’s rude to ask for someone’s name without introducing yourself first.” But her heart was pounding now, a sense of danger crawling up her spine. Maybe he wasn’t fae, but she couldn’t be too careful.

“You are killing me here.” Beau slumped against the counter, rag dolling all his weight to mimic his fictional death. “No after no.” Beau placed a hand to his forehead. “Alas! What am I a poor traveler to do?” Beau jumped back up to his feet, leaning against the counter as far as he could get. “Is there anything in this store I could buy to get you to change your mind? I have the money?” Beau knew well and well that he only had the money because stealing people’s names was a lucrative business. All the money he made from his real job went into a savings account that was making a very good yearly interest, while his day-to-day spending came from cards, he took out under the names he had taken.

Beau was not one to face rejection with grace and serenity. In fact, Beau wasn’t one to do anything with any sort of decorum. He jumped up on the counter, hoping it would make him look taller and more handsome in her eyes. Maybe his height had been the reason she couldn’t see him as a good partner. “I am Beau Bueford!” He announced, a hand theatrically flying into the air. “And if you don’t want to name yourself, you could be the future Mrs. Bueford. He walked around the counter as he spoke, feet pushing things off the counter and pushing others off. It was a display that lacked any regard for the store’s belongings. Beau leaned down, offering a hand to the store clerk. He’d seen this in a movie before, he was sure it would work. “Do you trust me?”

“That’s a bit of an exaggeration, don’t you think?” Leticia smiled despite herself, the man, despite himself, would have been a fun energy to be around if it wasn’t focused in the way that it was. But that was the tragedy about people, there was always that sliver of light that offered some kind of hope that they were more than met the eye. But he kept going, and whatever pretend dream she had of him taking the rejection with grace was quickly gone. “No.” This time her tone was more flat, the expression on her face giving way to the disgust that he thought she could be simply bought.

Just when she thought the surprises were over, he was on the counter and Leticia took a wide step back, her mouth agape. Was he serious? He was asking for a date and proposing she could be the wife in whatever future he was planning in his mind. She had met a lot of strange people in her time on tour, and during fan meetings, but there was always some kind of sad obsession that had led them to this place. But Beau? He had no idea who she was - so where was this coming from? “You can call me Leticia. Torres. I’m quite happy with my own name.” He offered her his hand as if to invite her in causing more damage to her store - as if they could be partners in this. “Beau,” she said his name cautiously, not taking his hand but touching it and pushing it slowly back toward him. “Why don’t you get off the counter? Alright? Do you need help getting down?”

No. It was always no. Beau was tired of no’s. Beau was a good guy! He had a good job! He had a beautifully large collection of names! Yet the only thing people ever said to him was no. Beau hated people for that. Beau hated that they all dismissed him as an annoying little gnat. Grumbling to himself, Beau got himself down off the counter. He didn’t need help. He’d tried being nice. He’d tried being pleasant. Look what that had gotten him! Absolutely nothing. Beau could feel the familiar rage building inside of him. It pulsed through his viens. It pumped his heart into over drive. It begged for him to take action.

“Leticia Torres.” Beau repeated the name with his customary smile. The smile he was used to wearing at all time. The smile that pulled at the his face until his skin ached. “A beautiful name.” Beau leaned against the counter again, hands pressed firmly against the hard surface. He pressed down so much his fingers turnr red from the pressure as he tried to think of the calming words that wold bring happy Beau who everyone should love back. After a moment he remembered why he was here. Moving one hand from the counter he pulled out the wallet. He opened it. He took out all the money he thought whatever he was buying would cost, honestly he didn’t even know what he was buying at this point, and threw the cash at Leticia Torres.

Maybe it was because Leticia had practiced smiling in a mirror for the last twelve years, or maybe it was just Beau’s expressions over their current conversation — but the smile that had planted itself on his face as he said her name was not a real one. And she hated it. Hated the way he had acted and the way he paraded around her store like he was the owner — hated the fact that he glossed over all her objections and offered her money in place of respect. It was infuriating on many levels.

But he started throwing money again and his body language changed in a way that felt wrong. She moved from behind the counter and grabbed his hands, trying to stop him from throwing more money around. “Beau?” She said his name, trying to pull his attention. “I don’t know what’s happening here but is there someone I can call for you? I don’t think you should be alone right now.” Leticia positioned herself so she could see his face better. “Tell me what you need — water? Food? To sit down?” Against her better judgment, she wanted to help him. This behavior wasn’t normal, and though she didn’t know him, she didn’t want to watch him walk away in this state.

Beau’s parents had never gentle parented him. Perhaps that showed in the way he treated people. In the way he demanded they do what he wanted them to, instead of understanding that other people had different plans in life. Ones that didn’t always go along with what he wanted. Beau gave a long suffering look up at Leticia, the beautiful store keeper who was doing her best to reject him. He didn’t get it! He was a catch! He had a good job! He was a great customer! He was literally the dream package. Was it the height thing? It was probably the height thing. He was a short king, as the kids called it these days. She would be so lucky.

The fact that she was concerned about him didn’t go unnoticed. It was, however, a source of confusion. Why would he need food, water, or a place to sit? He was a fit man? He could jump around forever. Beau stood up straight. “I am grate.” That was a cheese pun. She didn’t need to know. Puns weren’t lies. They were jokes. That was the loophole. “I think you have ideas about me. Ideas that aren’t true. We can talk this out. We can fix this. Two adults, standing here normally, talking.” Beau swept a hand, knocking the one thing that hadn’t been disturbed off the counter. “Why don’t you give me all the reasons you don’t like me.”

Her lips parted, wanting to tell him that it was fine if they paused that conversation for another time. Leticia was sure that there was something else at play here and he needed a moment to gather his thoughts. Maybe it would give him enough to calm down from whatever had him so riled up - but he pushed over the last item on the counter next to the register. She closed her eyes and took in a slow breath, telling herself that she shouldn’t be mad. Some people needed more patience than others. But in all the years that she spent meeting fans from all areas and in all age groups, she had never encountered someone quite like Beau.

“Two adults. Right.” Leticia worked her jaw, reminding herself that anger had no place here. Stay calm. No extreme emotions. “It feels like you’re trying to trap me into saying something I’ll regret.” She leveled with him, letting her suspicions of his true nature slip out at the same time. “Like a fae. Trying to bind me.” Leticia didn’t feel this way about most of the fae she had met, but Beau was different… in many ways. But she pushed a quick smile to her face, slipping back into a performance before shrugging her shoulders. Just in case this was just a normal human, she didn’t want to accidentally reveal anything. So, she figured appearing weird would be better than anything else. People could excuse weird. Mostly. “Like Dungeons and Dragons, you know? They have a Feywild expansion. Interesting read.”

There was a tension in her beautiful jaw, he watched it wind up as what had to be stress tugged at her. His eyes transfixed on the motion, the working on her jaw, the way her mouth moved as she spoke careful words. Was she pretending to be calm? He didn’t know. He was pretending to be calm. If they were both pretending to calm, well wouldn’t that be just the match? His fake smile grew even wider, his cheeks straining from the effort of holding it. Beau was well practiced at holding his fake smile now, despite the pain that spasmed through his face he knew he could hold it for hours at a time.

“Trap you? Like a fae?” Beau blinked, he hadn’t expected her to know about the fae. She wasn’t fae, Beau would know if she was. There would be the familiar tug of power inside him, the thread that linked him to every single fae in the world. “Oh, haha! You’re a dungeons and dragons fanatic. Honestly, I wouldn’t have expected that from someone as pretty as you.” Beau let out a hearty, yet forced, laugh. Dungeons and Dragons? Beau had always wanted to play but he could never get people to accept him to his table. Even when he’d offered to be the DM no one had wanted to come over to play with him. “I never read the Feywild expansion, no no. I’m a gouda guy. Honestly. I feel like you might be upset with me.” A twitch in his eye, because he was upset with her. She wasn’t considering what he wanted in all of this. It was so selfish of her. And now here he was, once again, playing the good guy. The nice guy making the compromises. Wasn’t this how the story always went. “I don’t want you to be upset with me.” He put his best little puppy dog face on, once more leaning his full weight against the counter as he looked up at the woman. “I want us to be good friends. Don’t you think we’d be the cutest friends.” Beau batted his eyelashes. “Come on. Don’t hold back. Just give me the reasons you don’t like me and we can move on.”

“I am a woman of many interests,” Leticia offered, trying to keep her tone light despite her suspicions. He had seemed shocked at first, briefly, but had been happy to accept her poor reasoning. But Beau wasted no time in claiming that he was a good guy and that he didn’t want her to be cross with him. “Well, you have been acting a bit…” She glanced at the counter that now was empty outside of the register that was firmly attached to the counter. “Wild.” Even compared to the teenagers that frequented the shop, he was in a league all his own. But she had a feeling that telling him that might encourage him further.

Move on? Like adults? Leticia worried at her lip, wondering if hearing the truth of the matter would help him see things clearly and get him to stop acting this way. But she had a sneaking suspicion that it would only make thing worse, but really, what did she have to lose? She had tried being nice about his behavior, maybe the direct approach would be better. “Fine,” she agreed. “You don’t respect me for one. You trashed my store,” she said, waving her hand toward the items that were now on the floor. “I tried to let you down nicely but you kept insisting on my number or a date or something.” Leticia almost added that she was sure that he wouldn’t have given a shit if he hadn’t seen her either, which was the unfortunate thing about most men in her life. It was all superficial bullshit. She had hoped that getting away from New York would have gotten her away from all the other shit she dealt with too… but it seemed some things followed. It was just a shame that this was one of them.

Acting a bit wild? Beau could have scoffed. Was being charming, delightful, basically a fairy tale prince from any Disney movie "acting wild"? Some people just didn't appreciate the art of being a fine male specimen. She was probably intimidated by him. How suave and charming he was. "I accept." Fae magic bound the world in threads and strings, tying people together and linking everyone to the world around them. As the woman 'gave' Beau all the reasons she didn't like him, he could feel the tension of the string snapping as the success that was fae magic snipped it from the spool of her existence and it weaved itself into Beau. Gone were all those pesky little thoughts. A slate wiped clean between them. "That was a good talk." Beau now knew what kind of man she wanted him to be. Those stoic kinds. Probably just like the cardboard cutout of Rick Astley behind her. Silent and strong. He could be silent and strong for her.

Beau gave her a smile, still forced, still seething with the anger of a man who was rejected by a beautiful woman. "Isn't that better? I feel like we made a breakthrough with that one. We're no longer a swissed opportunity at friendship. We talked it out! How gouda of us." God he was doing the most to keep this conversation from falling into the dredges of tedium. Did she even deserve it? She was kind of stuck up. But Beau was a gracious man. A generous man. He could forgive and... well actually he wouldn't forget. Beau kept track of every wrong done against him with a fine point pen and a detailed report.

There was a moment after she was done speaking that Leticia felt lighter. And then in the same instant, she couldn’t remember what had been bothering her in the first place. It was similar to how she felt after meditating with Metzli, like she had been elevated somehow. It was similar to the end of a show, when that first wave of reality hit her that she had finished another set and it had been killer. A small dose of adrenaline that came with all the excitement and joy when thing went right. She closed her eyes when Beau spoke again and inhaled deeply before nodding her head, because it had been good. The words that were spoken might have been lost to her, but it was clearly for the best. She wouldn’t have felt so good otherwise, now would she?

“It was very good, Beau,” Leticia said, this time with more fondness to his name. Putting a hand on his shoulder, she gripped him gently. “Don’t know what you did but you’ve got a magic touch there, you should try being a therapist or something, I think you’d be really good at it.” She looked at the counter, about to offer him a discount when she saw the state of the merchandise. It must have happened on the last shift or when she had her back turned. “I should get that cleaned up,” she mumbled, rubbing her temple before returning her attention to Beau. “But thank you. Sorry you had to see this place in such a state.”

She touched his shoulder with her light delicate fingers. The one he so desperately wanted to hold. But that’s not the kind of man Leticia Torress was looking for. Leticia Torres was looking for someone strong and stoic. Someone who was a bastion of a man, who didn’t have the silly goofies that Beau was known for. He played it cool, he played it so cool, nodding his head. “Yeah. My passion is helping people.” He pitched his voice deeper, his vocal chords shifting uncomfortably in the deeper octave. “If I wasn’t happy with my current profession, BMV professional, I would switch to therapist.” He ran a hand through his hair, head held high, like he was the main protagonist in a romcom. Trying to like shy and chagrin about it. “But my touch

Is magic. In always.” He let the words settle with a wink.

“I accept your thank and the state of your establishment. Everyone has bad days. Part of the reason I’m just such a good guy is because I can accept that about everyone.” There was so much Beau could do with this thanks. Ask her on a date. Ask her to marry him. Ask her to love him forever. The question was what did he want? He was still young guy looking to mingle and wasn’t ready to marry someone with a trick. Maybe he should hold the thanks for a day he was bored. That could be fun. Or maybe he could just take her name and be done with it. He tilted his head side to side as he considered all these thanks options. “I’m going to hold on to this thanks.” He finally informed her, “And cash it in when the time is right.” He reached out a hand and booped her on the nose. “See you around town my dear.” And with that he turned heel and strode out of the store. There was a lot to think about here, and he needed time to consider it.

#wickedswriting #char: beau #beau: attention countdown

8 notes · View notes

nervousron · 1 year

Note

Hey have you ever spoke about the Trinity's cars and way they have the cars thta they do? And if not can you? <3

This was a lot of fun to do. thanks for the ask, @plain-pasta13 !

Michael - Obey Tailgater

$55,000 sports sedan. 5MDS003 (5 Michael De Santa 003)

"Luxury German Sedan. Better than a BF, but not quite a Benefactor. Fast and practical with a classy look, this is just the car to over-leverage on." - Southern San Andreas Super Auto description

Much like Michael, this car is sleek and smooth on the outside, can take a good beating, but has trouble steering at high speeds without the use of good brakes (The metaphor got away from me, but i stand by it). Im almost surprised it's not a more expensive car. He was pretty practical. (compare to Amanda's $95,000 Sentinel and Tracey's $18,000 Issi. He's on the pricier side of normal. Modestly pricey). He picked out a car that looks nice and can give him a small ego boost without breaking the bank. This is just a personal opinion, but I'd have thought he'd have an old Declasse, considering the stars in his eyes over Vinewood and its aesthetics. (Im sure if he did, he bought one the second they moved to Los Santos, then returned it after a year when he realized how much upkeep there would be.)

Then theres the Jimmy adjustments to the Tailgaiter after he mods the hell out of it. Im pretty sure this is all of em: Race brakes, Rear painted bumper & diffuser, EMS upgrade level 3, Dual exit exhaust, Chrome grille, Double vented hood, Musical horn 5, Xenon lights, Sport skirts, Lip spoiler, Sports transmission, Black dollar lowrider wheels (lol), and a Dark smoke window tint.

Franklin- Bravado Buffalo S

$96,000 sports sedan. FC1988 (Franklin Clinton 1998)

"Spotted speeding away from many Los Santos crime scenes, this is a special edition version of the updated 60s muscle car. The sports engine pack, aerodynamic body styling package and yearly upgrades make the price worthwhile." - Southern San Andreas Super Autos description

It's the most expensive of the trinity's cars, which makes sense because Franklin is the type of guy to save up for something worthwhile and really take care of it. If he's gonna go for something, he's going all out. It's a beautiful ride. I'm sure Lamar was jealous over it for months, and Aunt Denise gave him shit for buying an expensive car and not using the money to move out.

So, Franklins car is kinda cool because it has a slower response time and cornering radius than a good chunk of the other cars in the game. Since his special ability essentially slows down time and gives him the room for quick maneuvers, the slower response time makes it harder to overcorrect and ding into shit. The cornering radius being small makes it easier to take sharp turns in the bullet-time, too. (The Buffalo is a b o a t and hardly ever spins out, Franklin knew exactly what he wanted for his street races) At first i thought these specs were counterproductive to his ability, but they definitely were picked with that in mind.

Trevor - Canis Bodhi

$25,000, off-road pick-up truck BETTY32 (the assumption is that Betty is Trevor's mother's name and she was born in 1932. This liscense also appears on the Faggio scooter Trevor drives in the "Scooter Brothers" switch-to scene.)

"The Canis Bodhi has traveled the well-trodden path from military to redneck to hipster. This 'gently used' model is the definition of retro chic; every stain on the seat tells a story." - Southern San Andreas Super Autos description

The Bodhi is a Point Break reference to Bodhi's Kaiser M715. If youve seen Point Break, you know its that gay Patrick Swayze/Keanu Reeves movie.

This car is kinda perfect for trevor. Little to no protection from gunfire, permanently dirty, igniton problems, fantastic turning, and nearly indestructible. The car description is a fun nod to Trevor, too. journey from pilot to redneck to hipster. (Still cant believe he's canonically a lifestyle guru in Los Santos as of the online dlcs. What a world)

Trevor's Bodhi seems to have a CB radio that works in Blaine County, specifically. (This doesn't work for online Bodhis as far as i can tell. just Trevor's), and I can only assume it's for hook-ups, murders, avoiding cops, and pissing people off.

Trevors' vehicle is the only one with a personalized interior. Theres gum on the dash, cum stained pinups, and sticky notes.

#talkaton #thanks again! sorry it took so long to respond

13 notes · View notes

richardsondavis · 9 months

Text

So I went to the Skullgirls official YouTube channel and went to check some of the videos there, especially the shorts.

So before the grand censorship of Skullgirls, sometime before July, the views were about in the tens of thousands. Then there's a day there where the views just dipped.

So I went and checked some of the comments over some of the shorts and I say, it's more civil than I thought it'd be. I took the liberty of screenshotting some of them and a particular title from a short on the Skullgirls YouTube channel.

So the first one.

There's a particular phrase within this exchange that really exemplifies how I feel about myself during this entire debacle and me still wanting to play and support Skullgirls Mobile.

"I personally won't insult them but if they still support the game after that, it changes my view of that person."

This just makes me so sad. This stranger, whom I most likely won't ever meet, would think bad of people like me. Would think bad of me. Would see me as an enemy. As a lesser being. This rustles my jimmies.

Yes, I find the censorship abhorrent but I'm not that petty to abstain from playing the game because, contrary to popular belief, the game still runs fine. Yes, a certain aspects of Skullgirls soul has been taken by the censorship and a few key details that made some narratives within the game be more layered but I'm not one of those people who makes analyses. I'm just your average Juan that wants to play a game because I find it fun.

During these kinds of controversies, there's always a question I have. Am I the villain here?

I prefer the official translations of manga save for the ones from Seven Seas. I find scanlations to be terribly inconsistent. Am I the villain here?

Kurzgesagt made a video that said they were wrong and a huge chunk of folks online claim that Kurzgesagt pushes an agenda. I still enjoy watching their videos, am I the villain here?

Skullgirls, a franchise that I was made aware of through their mobile game, who during the pandemic has helped me cope with the time and the mental anguish away, the elements game which drew me in was the sexiness, the panty shots and the art style plus the gameplay and gacha elements. There has been an update that censors various elements in the game. I still play and have made purchases in their mobile game because I enjoy the game. Am I the villain here?

Although I do love how the conversation ends. So mature.

I consider myself to be part of the new audience and making Skullgirls Mobile be a hit everywhere should be something I should strive for. Maybe I'll try to do just that.

Edit: Just noticed the last comment said they're a SGM player as well. Coolio.

Then there's this exchange. Judge for yourself, ladies and germs.

Edit: So this one is something. "Real fans" they say. What makes a fan? Is it money spent or time spent? Is it saying how much you love the thing? I can say that I am a fan of the SCP Wiki. That I spent countless hours reading the articles, learning the lore. I was not big on communities but I know what I know and I loved every second I spent reading those articles. Then the drama happened and the dip in the quality of writing.

I was disappointed with how things really turned out but I still hold the wiki dear to my heart. I remember just going around and collecting various artworks online of SCP. I also found joyreactor through my searches of other SCP media.

Was it a phase? Am I not a fan? Similar to Skullgirls or the mobile version of it? I was late to the party but I liked the game and I took the time to learn all that I could about it. I am disappointed with the censorship. What can I say? I'm not a true fan. I'm just a guy who finds it appealing but ain't willing nor do I have the drive and moral to oppose this vehemently. I was ignorant of the LGBSCP thing but I noticed the dip in the writing quality. The difference between Skullgirls and the SCP thing to me is that SCP truly abandoned its roots for something else and it's not really something I'm rooting for. A few gems but nothing like Series 1.

Skullgirls, I can tell, are still horny. Black Dahlia has panty shot. Cerebella, Parasoul, Valentine. They have the pantsu shot. I always intend to know the nuance. I have screenshot Filia and Cerebella to see if one can see their underwear in the frames. I have found out that you still can but they become a "blink and you'll miss it" thing which is quite a disappointment, I must admit. They were quite a pretty sight.

P.S. I understand how they would go with making this title but...

WHAT THE FUCK?!?!?

Quite low of the devs. I mean if this is how they treat their old fans, I wonder how they'd treat their still fans and newer fans. I pray they don't go full EA or Ubisoft with their game cause fucking hell.

And this is also where I got my other scrollshot. Tread with care.

#blog #thoughts #rant #youtube #skullgirls #skullgirls censorship #save skullgirls #real low devs

6 notes · View notes

blacklodgemusictx · 1 year

Text

2.5 hrs? I thought "down here" south from home, Abilene, all cities were right next to each other and required no time or effort to get between.

I have the magical, if annoying ability to sleep the second I'm in a moving vehicle so the trip from Houston to Austin takes no time to me.

I've picked all our hotels for this trip with proximity to venue in mind, but Austin is two shows so apparently I picked it for distance to the second show... we're accidentally 20 miles away from the first show.

We hang out at the hotel. Doug sleeps. I write, mess with my pictures from Houston, get Doordash (Michi Ramen, y'all, accept no substitute! Though I apologize to anyone who met me after as I am now a walking garlic glove.)

I don't know if needs will change in the next few days, but right now I'm so delighted NOT being at work, I'm happy as a clam in bed surfing for the ubiquitous episode of Forensic Files. Updating Facebook, Tumblr, Instagram, TikTok, my own website that I don't even know how to access right now because of hosting issues and my own virtua-ignorance - I'm emailing entries to an extremely tolerant gentleman I met on Fiverr: just update everything now and I"ll learn to internet later, please? Ok.

I've taught myself basic graphic design, marketing and literally created an internet presence purely to try and amplify the presence of these musicians I've come to love so much.

In the back of my mind, a tiny voice keeps whispering: these are skills. Skills people might want. You could parlay this in to a job that doesn't kill your soul, makes you look forward to waking up every day... but I've also never been the type of person who just believes; takes for granted that good things will happen. I'm trying to change and I would love to believe that if I gaze in to the future, I'll see myself happy, doing something I love that fulfills me spiritually instead of just paying the bills... but some lessons hammered in to my head as a child (life, work is to be endured not enjoyed) stick like cement and feel impossible to break.

But I will keep trying. Things change. One of my Zox affirmational bracelets I've taken to adorning my wrist with recently says: 'Just Breathe.' As long as there is breath, there is hope. If you are still here, if you are ALIVE, you can change.

The first Austin show is cold.

The audacity of having an outdoor show in January! But this is Texas. My Rocky Horror troupe at home performed in the cold, I was Janet is the pouring rain once (actual splashing during the swimming pool scene, can you imagine?)

There are heaters, but occasionally the musicians still stop to flex and wiggle life back in to cold digits.

Olivia has borrowed a black throw from the lady of the house and knotted it about her shoulders. A simple knot, a careless/careful draping and suddenly that throw is any stylish piece off a Paris or Milan runway.

Joe and Salim are in layers. I'm layered too, but Salim still lends me his coat while he performs. I wear it like a lap blanket. Wool. Cozy.

I pull up my hoodie. Run inside. Steal some cheese from a charcuterie. "Leave the moon alone" one gentleman, also enjoying the cheese, comments. That's what my hood says. It's an inside joke from the Jimmy Newquist Zoom COVID shows. "Remember Caroline's Spine?" Head shake. "Sullivan? The song about the brothers in the navy who died together? It's the story 'Saving Private Ryan' was based on" He doesn't remember. Normally, I pull out my phone and play the song when I have a captive audience like this, but I shrug and head back outside.

Marty banters. Marty poses like Robert Plant.

Some day, bless them, my musicians will learn that I'm here to document... and that includes the silly stuff too. I have pictures of all of this. I love it though. I love Marty being silly with us. I love that I can talk to him and he will smile and joke. I've met so many who can't be bothered - one of Marty's previous group of contemporaries comes immediately to mind. So many whose self importance takes up too much room. Leaving no room for a fan to squeak by and pass a word of admiration or two.

It was a cold, beautiful night.

I'm already so aware though that the trip is speeding by. Tonight is the Cactus Cafe. Tomorrow is San Antonio and hopefully a friend or two or three to see. Then leg one is over.

Salim brought up a term at the show last night that I am now trying to keep in my head, "Hyper presence." Just be here. Be here now.

Eyes open. See everything. Experience. Be here. Eat the food. Hear the music. Love the companions.

Be alive for this.

Live.

1 note · View note

forkanna · 5 years

Link

[AO3 LINK] [EF LINK]

Thanks for coming along on this historic journey! Don't worry, a Part II will be forthcoming after a short break to do more editing, but we thought it best for Part I to wind up with Anna returning to her own time (despite that not being how the movies are divided). Don't forget to follow this account for updates! We hope you'll keep reading along with us!

-Frui and Jess

The next thing Anna knew, she was being tossed into an open trunk, the lid slammed down on her and closing her off into darkness. At least Hans and his 'crew' didn't seem to be murderers, just jerks. That thought didn't really comfort her, knowing exactly what was going through Hans' head.

'I'm gonna kill him,' ran through her own. She couldn't even be sure she was exaggerating; not if he went through with what she thought he was doing. All their lives, he had been this kind of dirtbag? How could everyone look the other way? How had no one run him out of town?!

"HEY!" she screamed, pounding at the inside and flailing, rocking the vehicle. She heard some laughter and shouts from outside. "Let me out! You can't do this!"

She yelled and screamed, beating the ceiling of the trunk until her hands felt swollen and bruised. Time had no meaning, and she felt frustrated tears drip down her face. It wasn't fair.

She didn't know how long she had been trying to fight her way out of the car before suddenly the lid was being prised open. Never before had she been so glad to see a group of complete strangers.

"What the…?"

"Hey!" she panted, and when one of them reached in, she flinched. But she took it when she realised this was a friendly hand, not an aggressive one. "Oh… th-thank you, I'm… I didn't mean-"

"It's alright, girl," the man said, eyes narrowed in concern. The rest of them were preoccupied, having turned back to check on one of their friends once they were certain the girl was alive and seemed to be okay. She briefly saw that he seemed to be cradling his arm or something, but she couldn't stay.

"Thank you. God, thank you SO much, but my friend is…" Oh God. Elsa. As she took off, she heard them shouting in concern, but she couldn't waste any more time. Elsa was in trouble!

When she finally turned the corner, she was just in time to see the grand finale. Hans was standing outside the Gremlin's door… and then sliding down its surface, plopping onto the ground in an unconscious heap. What the hell had happened while she was gone?

Kristoff happened.

Both of Anna's fists had to come up to rub at her eyes, just to make sure they weren't deceiving her. Kristoff, of all the people in the universe, was standing over Hans, his fist flecked with blood. His barrel chest was heaving, and his eyes slightly unfocused in vague shock. Then he began to laugh breathlessly, dazed.

"Son of a bitch," she managed to whisper, noticing that a crowd was beginning to form around her, slightly cutting off her view of the mayhem. Perhaps that was for the best. Finally, finally her parents were together. They made their way towards the hall, though Anna could see Elsa looking around for her. She didn't want to interrupt, but she was cognisant of the time – and the fact that, the last Elsa had seen of her, she was being dragged off by Hans' cronies.

The thing that pained Anna was simply the desperation with which she wanted to go to Elsa, make sure she was okay. Comfort her if necessary. But that was not what Elsa – or she – needed. They both needed that privilege to belong to Kristoff; Elsa because he had been the one to save her, and Anna because, really, he'd saved her too. Smiling to herself, she turned to follow them at a distance. Perhaps she should go and find Principal Weselton, make sure he knew what the "star athlete" was doing to his fellow classmates.

Pulling out the photograph – more a way to calm her mind than anything – Anna was prepared to let Elsa have a dance and then announce her sudden departure from their lives.

Her heart stopped when she realised her brother hadn't returned. Not only that, but half of her sister was missing.

The plan failed.

Turning around, she began to stumble back the way she had come, gaping at the item in her hand. So much so that she bumped into one of the tall, dark, handsome men that had rescued her from the trunk-prison.

"Oh, sorry," she breathed. "I didn't mean to-"

"Don't even worry about it." His voice was weary as he turned around. "We're getting out of here, anyway. Glad you're alright, girl. Wish I had some shoes to loan you."

But she couldn't worry about shoes at the moment. She had just noticed they were all dressed in tuxedos. Much worse – they were all in the same tuxedos. A sneaking suspicion came over her when she saw one of the men nursing a cut across his palm.

"Are you… why are you guys leaving?" she asked, still not fully sure why she needed to know. Call it a gut feeling; this was important. She just didn't consciously realise why yet.

"Look at Marvin's hand," he said, tapping the bandage. There was blood leaking through the gauze. "I might be the golden throat of our act, but without him on the axe, we don't really have a show. And if we don't have a show, then we sure as hell don't need to be hangin' around a bunch of nerdy white teenagers for no goddamn reason."

"Sorry, Seb," the guy hissed. "Thought I could jimmy the lock with the crowbar, but…"

"Don't sweat it. You know it wasn't on purpose, we all do. There was a girl in trouble; what kind of men would we be if we didn't try?"

"Wait… you're the band." All five of them turned to glare at her. "So I'm a little slow. Are you saying that… you can't go in there and perform? Oh… this is… not great." She swayed on the spot, and shaking her head, she turned to them, desperate. "You don't understand. If you don't play, they don't dance. If they don't dance, they don't kiss, they never fall in love and I'm history."

"What? Look, Little Orphan Annie, unless you know someone who can play, we don't got a choice, do we?"

Ignoring the comment about her red hair, Anna thought fast. This was why she was still disappearing! Because her mother and father shared their first kiss at this dance! There seemed to be only one way to prevent this disaster now.

"Wait! Hey, you need a guitarist, right? I can play. Let me help, please?"

The men looked between themselves, seemingly communicating nonverbally. "You think you can keep up with us?" one asked. Grinning, Anna nodded.

"Think you can keep up with me?"

~ o ~

Being on stage was a dream come true. And scary. Anna was grateful that she wasn't expected to sing this time, because she was afraid the tremble in her throat would be too obvious – plus something something space-time continuum. She should be keeping a lower profile than this, but she didn't have much choice anymore.

As soon as Elsa caught sight of her, her eyes lit up, a soft smile playing on her lips. Raising her fingertips to her lips, Anna pressed them there for a moment before flicking out towards Elsa, encouraging her to turn back to dance with Kristoff. It was as close as she could get.

The next song chosen was a classic – perfect, too, as painful as it was. Yet another reason Anna was glad she wasn't singing; she'd probably start crying halfway through. The previous upbeat pop tune faded out, and then Sebastian took a step closer to he microphone, clearing his throat as their pianist began to play.

"This one's a little slower for all you lovers to get super close." It seemed cheesy banter was part and parcel of being a band at a high school dance.

When her cue came up, Anna lent her electric guitar skills, sending note after soaring note to wash over the crowd. The few guys who had looked at her dubiously when they saw some chick in a prom dress holding a guitar began to shrug and turn back toward their dates. Indifference was better than being booed off the stage.

"I wanted to be with you alone," Seb started crooning. "And talk about the weather…"

Anna was really glad they were playing 'contemporary' hits. Dances seemed to have a tendency to want to push 'older music' because it was safer and more family-appropriate, even though families didn't attend homecoming-slash-autumn dances. But 80s pop was right in her wheelhouse. She didn't know a lot of Flamingos or Penguins, but she knew the hell out of Tears For Fears.

"Something happens, and I'm head over heels – I never find out till I'm head over heels…"

As she looked on, Kristoff and Elsa began to sway gently on the dance floor. She looked right at home in his arms, even if she didn't look as excited as she had been in Anna's. This was the safer option… but 'safe' had a different meaning now that she had been rescued by the sandy-haired boy. He loved her enough to stand up to a bully who struck actual terror into his heart all throughout high school – perhaps all throughout his life. That was enough to turn any girl's head.

So Anna played her heart out, watched as they danced together. Her head was getting lighter, and her stomach felt a little odd… but she ignored it as best she could. Just had to get through this song.

When she saw Elsa looking at her over his shoulder, eyebrows raised, a thousand emotions swimming through her vision, Anna only flashed a smile she didn't truly feel and nodded. When she had a half-second, she raised her other hand and waved her on. That seemed to be all Elsa needed; permission from the girl she had just gone further with than ever before. Encouragement to let what was happening unfold.

Unfortunately, the action had the effect of knocking Anna off-balance. She stumbled to the side, strumming horribly off-key. Somewhere in her periphery, she noticed Sebastian watching her, eyebrow quirked. Yeah, she really wasn't doing as well as she thought she would; where had all her skill gone?

Eyes trained on where Elsa and Kristoff were currently making eyes at each other, she couldn't help but smile…

…before she tipped right over, landing rather heavily on her side. Fucking oww. Putting her hand out to try and push herself up, it instead slipped on something that had fallen from her bra. Her head felt light, and she couldn't seem to get enough air into her lungs. Fingers finally managing to grasp whatever it was on the ground, she brought it up to her face.

Oh. The picture. Except now her sister had vanished, too. Right in front of her eyes, before they slowly began to fill with tears, Anna could see herself slowly fading.

It felt really crummy, too. Especially when she saw the hand actually holding the picture was fading – in real life. She was going to disappear.

"Well… that sucks," she whispered. But if this was going to be her last moment, then she didn't want to spend it thinking of dark things. Not when there were better things to look at. Swallowing her tears, she let the picture drop, gaze alighting on Elsa instead.

Apparently, some girl with black hair and a perm had cut in and was now dancing with Kristoff. Elsa looked a little annoyed, but she was sighing and turning toward the stage, resigned to letting him go. Eventually, she dodged around some other guy who tried to ask her to dance and headed toward the stage.

"No," Anna breathed in dismay. If she was going to go, she wanted to know Elsa would be taken care of…

And somehow, she heard her. Even over the song, which was muddling through without her guitar, and the chattering crowd, her mother's eyes perked up to see her – and they immediately filled with concern. But Anna mustered the last of her strength and pointed – with the less-invisible hand – at Kristoff. Just as Sebastian was singing, "Don't throw it away," Anna's mouth very clearly formed the words:

"Get him back!"

Elsa glanced between the two of them, and seemed as if she was going to protest… until she saw Kristoff sighing and rolling his eyes. Probably at something the unknown girl had said.

It was almost like magic. Even as Elsa began to stride toward them with a purpose, Anna felt energy slowly trickling back into her limbs. And when she watched her non-violent mother reach between them and physically shove the other girl's face backward until she left room for Jesus, her heart began to beat wildly.

"Don't worry," Elsa told him as she took one of his hands and rested the other on his shoulder. "I'm not going anywhere."

And as she leaned up to give him a kiss – a kiss that barely even qualified, really, as her lips pressed against his cheek, yet was so full of thanks and friendship, if not the blossoming beginnings of love – Anna surged to her feet and began to play again.

"And this is my four-leaf clover…" Sebastian sang, smiling as he saw Anna recover. Along with him and the rest of the band, Anna began to sing the backup "La la la la la" as she strummed, and they kept that up far longer than the original song required. She decided she was alright with that.

As the song reached its end, the words "Funny how time flies" echoing unnaturally, the students all began to cheer and clap. Anna took that opportunity to glance at her hand, then hastily look at the picture. It was back. Well, her siblings were wearing slightly different clothes, but all three of them were in the picture again, flashing similar plastic smiles and waving. She did it. Unbelievably, she didn't screw something up for once!

God she felt good. An energy, unfamiliar, seemed to fill her. Moving towards Sebastian, she said, "Mind a request for the next song?"

"Heh, sure thing kid," he said, stepping back from the microphone. Opening the floor to her. Beaming, she took the spot even as she turned to glance at the band.

"Now okay, this is a classic. We're gonna switch up the tempo and have a bit of fun with it, though."

Shooting a wink out into the crowd – aimed more specifically at one particular couple – she began the first few bars. It took the band a few seconds to get into it, but they must have really known their stuff because they played along perfectly.

And then Anna started sing, and she was really in her zone.

"Goddess on a mountain top," she cried. Looking over the crowd, it made her pretty damn happy that the kids were getting into it. A few looked confused, and a couple were mumbling amongst themselves. Ahh, who cared? "Burning like a silver flame!"

Elsa looked up, briefly, to smile at her again. This time, the wink was most certainly for one particular person. Ducking her head, Elsa turned back to Kristoff. He was uncoordinated and looked a bit awkward, but he was smiling, and Elsa was smiling. As she approached the chorus, Anna watched Kristoff lean down a little to ask Elsa something.

When Elsa glanced at Anna, eyes wide, she had an idea of what he asked. So, grinning, she gave a nod. The kiss Kristoff gave her was short and sweet. Barely a peck. But it was on her lips, and Elsa kissed back, and Anna's veins may have been on fire for all she knew. Maybe she did have mixed feelings about it, since she and Elsa had just pushed the bonds of friendship really far in her car less than an hour ago, but…

Everything was going to be okay. The world was not going to end, there would be no paradox, and her parents were together.

Therefore, the scream was very naturally welling up from the depths of her soul just before she got to the chorus. Putting one bare foot up on the monitor speaker, she leaned in as she sang out.

"She's got it! Yeah, baby, she's got it! Well I'm your Venus, I'm your fire and your desire!"

~ o ~

The rest of the dance went off without a hitch. Elsa and Kristoff smiled at her between their gyrations. Maybe they weren't the most sensual couple out there, the very "nerdy white teenagers" the band had bemoaned, but at least they looked like they were having fun. Anna could take that all the way to the bank. Save for one final incident in which she started mashing up random Katy Perry lyrics in with 'Venus', which made the rest of the band a little confused, they sounded great together.

"Another song?" Sebastian asked as she took off the guitar strap. "Don't gotta run off like this; you're a pretty bad mama jama!"

"Actually, I do," she laughed. "Wish I could stay, but… yeah, gotta bounce!"

As she sprinted backstage, he called after her, "Bounce what?!"

However, just as she was trying to slip out the side door, she saw Kristoff and Elsa heading in her direction. They had clearly already spotted her, so there was no use in trying to flee. She had been hoping to avoid this talk, but she stopped moving, hanging out as close to the door as she could get. It had to be getting late now so she couldn't stay for long, but they deserved better.

"TORI!" Elsa cried. Perhaps she had forgotten that she was surrounded by her schoolmates, and that Kristoff was standing right next to her. Maybe even the couple of swigs of alcohol from earlier was to blame. Either way, Anna was surprised when Elsa threw her arms around her, pressing a subtle kiss to her cheek.

"Wha-"

"That was amazing! I don't know where you got the idea for a dance-mix of Venus, but man, it worked!"

"Heh, thanks!" Wait, wasn't it already released? Damn; yet another time-travel screwup. "Well, I just got uh, inspired," she said. Then, looking between the two of them, continued, "So, uh… you guys, huh? Didn't I tell you?!"

Elsa looked away, light embarrassment coating her features. "After- after you were dragged away, Hans started to uh… But then Kristoff must have heard, or seen something, because then Hans was getting pulled off me and Kristoff punched him and- and I'm…" Here, her voice lowered. Kristoff could probably still hear it but he was doing a very good job of pretending like he couldn't, instead being completely taken with the band – which didn't sound nearly as good without a guitarist. "Is it possible to be like… part-lesbian?" she asked softly. Anna snorted, then smiled.

"You can be whatever you want, Elsa. You don't even have to label yourself at all if you don't want to. But I think 'bisexual' is the term you're looking for – if it applies. Totally up to you."

Elsa nodded thoughtfully. "Bisexual… I'll remember that word. Sounds kind of weird, but… but I think it's the perfect word for me. You think about things really differently from anyone I've ever met. You know, I'd love to come see where you live sometime; it sounds completely radical."

"It is," she chuckled, looking down in slight chagrin. "And I think you might like it there, but… that probably can't happen. Not for a long while, anyway. Wish I could say otherwise."

They were all quiet for a moment. It was Kristoff who first murmured, "You're taking off, aren't you? After tonight."

"Yeah." She had to work very, very hard to ignore Elsa's stricken gaze. That was too painful. "Um… but you two looked great together out there. I called it, right? Didn't I call it?"

As she was fingergunning, they both laughed. Then Kristoff chuckled, "You 'called it', I guess. I mean, I knew I liked her; just didn't think I stood a snowball's chance in Hell."

"Well now you know. And, um…" This was her last chance to set their future on the right path. Maybe she should leave well enough alone, but… "Don't forget to communicate. Always important; as long as you talk to each other, you can figure your way around any obstacle. Three children, three years apart, is the perfect number. Don't forget what I said about alcohol," she added to Elsa a little more specifically, even as she was still blushing from the last comment. "And um… if you ever catch a little girl accidentally setting fire to the living room rug when she's about eight… go easy on her?"

"Um… okay, we will," Kristoff laughed, pulling Anna into a hug. "Your advice might be mondo bizarro, but it seems to turn out to be just what we need to know, so… yeah, I'll never forget any of it."

"Follow your dreams, writer," she whispered to him before letting him go. "And it's been great getting to know both of you. Really, um… educational."

Then she turned to pad out of the gym. Her feet were beginning to protest being shoeless for so long, but she couldn't even care; the cool outside air refreshed her, and she felt contentment all throughout her body. The digital watch Doc had given her still had yet to go off; they weren't late. As long as she kept to this timetable-

"Wait," came a soft plea from behind her.

As she had already come to accept, Anna was completely helpless when it came to Elsa. The bleach-blonde gave a furtive glance around, then took Anna's hand to lead her closer to the door. Kristoff was facing away from them and watching the band again, but now that Anna thought about it, he was acting as a pretty good buffer from the rest of the hall. Maybe that was on purpose.

Even when they'd stopped moving, Elsa didn't say anything. Her eyes roamed Anna's face, the feeling of want, etched deep, that had become so familiar over the past week cascading from her in waves. She hadn't released Anna's hand – and when she realised that, she only held on tighter.

"Do you have to go? I- will I ever see you again?" she asked. Her voice was soft, but Anna had the feeling that, had it been louder, the tremble would have been more obvious. God. Now Anna wanted to cry. She was about to go home and never see this Elsa again. No, she could only look forward to a mother who was barely present, her only saving grace being that she was never abusive. But neither was she much of a mother.

And the saddest part was that… it was Elsa's future. This bright spark of a girl would be reduced to nothing but the vodka bottles strewn haphazardly on the floor next to her bed. Anna couldn't answer. Her chest felt heavy and her head throbbed; though at least this time it wasn't from her rapidly-fading existence. In that moment, she realised why Doc had been so adamant about not knowing the future. It cursed and it cursed; not only oneself, but the people they cared about too.

Swallowing, she tried a smile. "Maybe…" she said finally. "When you least expect it, and the time is right. No- no promises, though." Oh god, and now Elsa was tearing up. She released one of Anna's hands to wipe at her face.

"I think I love you," she choked. Valiantly giving a pathetic smile. Anna sniffled.

"I know I love you, Elsa," Anna responded. She wasn't sure what kind of love that was anymore, but clear as day, it was there. She could lie to herself, but right now, in this moment, she refused to lie to Elsa. Still, there was a mission to maintain. "But you belong with Kristoff. Okay? I just wish-"

But whatever she wished was cut off as Elsa surged forward, pressing their lips together one last time. Anna, who had been holding the future of her whole family on her shoulders, crumpled under the crushing weight. Desperation fueled her lips as they savored Elsa's. A thousand decisions which may have doomed them all drew a fierce tremble from her hands, and she clung to the only support she had.

A guttural sob rolled up Anna's throat, which she quashed into a desperate whimper. Her knees buckled. She didn't even feel when she sank to the steps, nor when strong, familiar arms encircled her. All she felt was the absence of lips on her own — and in that moment, her tears stopped.

"You've… you've got somewhere to be, huh?" Elsa's eyes were bright and wide as she brushed her thumbs along Anna's wet cheeks. A meek nod followed, and Elsa pressed a kiss to each rosy cheek. "I'll see you again. Like, in the future?"

Despite everything, Anna barked out a hoarse laugh before refocusing on Elsa's perfect features. 'I really want to remember this Elsa… so I might as well do this right.' So Anna claimed Elsa's now trembling lips. The smell, the taste, and the weight of the body on hers, committing each to memory. The kiss was harder than before but also more brief; she couldn't draw it out or she'd never make it.

When they finally parted, Elsa let out a wet laugh and whispered, "If it ever is the right time, for you and me… you'll know where to find me."

"Yeah. But I think Kristoff is going to take great care of you. I can't believe how chill he's being about this."

"Oh, we talked about it already," Elsa admitted, cheeks burning. "Um, I had to tell him the whole story of how Hans got to me in the first place. He knows what you and I had is… special. Different, and a separate thing."

"A separate thing…" Anna could live with that. Maybe it would be painful, but she could live with thinking of this as 'separate'; not part of her own time, her own life. Whether or not it was accurate, it could help her let go.

Then her watch did beep. She glanced down at it, and then up at her parents. "I, um… have a ride to catch. Doc – I mean, my uncle – is so overprotective sometimes, y'know?"

"Thank you so much," Kristoff told her again, waving. He looked distinctly ruffled by having watched them kiss, but to his credit, he wasn't quite perving on them the way she would expect a 'birdwatcher' to be. Maybe everything he had been through had changed that within him.

"For everything," Elsa added, squeezing both of Anna's hands. "I'll never forget you, Tori. Never."

There weren't any other words. At least, none that Anna could think of. So she merely gave the hands one last squeeze back, then took off running across the lawn toward the front entrance to the school. The cold blades of grass tickled her soles, the wind ruined her ornate bun… and she felt alive and free. Whole. Happy.

~ o ~

All the way to the street where they had the 'weather experiment' set up, Anna struggled and rolled around in Doc's back seat to get out of her dress and into the clothes she had arrived in. Thanking the stars that her regular shoes were back there, she finished off by pulling them on, and felt relieved to be back in her jeans and tee. Even if the make-up and sophisticated hairstyle looked a little odd with the casual outfit, there just wasn't time.

But she did pack the dress, wrapping it carefully around Elsa's mixtape. Neither of those things would exist in 1985 if she didn't time travel; taking them out of the timeline was helping to preserve it, not causing further disaster.

"Alright," Doc sighed as they hopped out and approached the DeLorean where it lay beneath a tarp. "Now you remember the plan, don't you? Need a refresher?"

"Uhh…" Anna blanked briefly, her mind still stuck on everything that had happened that night. A sudden rumble in the sky had her moving a little faster than perhaps she would have otherwise. "Maybe you should go over it again. Just to be sure."

Doc squinted at her, but seemed to take her words at face-value when he replied, "I've marked a spot way over there." He pointed a few blocks east of the clock tower, along the main road. "And I've added a small alarm clock to the dash. As soon as it rings, you floor it, getting up to 88 miles per hour and holding it steady. As soon as the antenna makes contact with the cable – which will happen immediately succeeding the lighting strike – you'll be whisked off, safe and sound, back into 2015."

Anna nodded. "Well, I guess I better get going…" she said softly. A larger crackle, and the sky lit up briefly. Doc smiled, and Anna had a sudden urge to hug the old man. She didn't think she had hugged this past version of him before, but now it seemed appropriate. "Thanks, Doc. For everything."

He patted her back, a little awkward – she hadn't expected anything less. "It's been a pleasure, my dear. I'm sure the knowledge of my success will keep me motivated for years, too. Why, who knows what I'll invent after this!"

"Wait, Doc, about that-"

This time, the thunder was much closer, and lasted much longer. Anna could no longer talk – now she had to yell to be heard. The wind whipped up around their heads, making her hair crazier than usual.

"In 2015, something happens! You really gotta-"

"NO TIME!" he was shouting, cupping his ear with one hand and waving toward the DeLorean with the other. "Go! We have a timetable to keep!"

Gritting her teeth, she saluted him briefly and said, "See you in thirty years!" Then took off to run and hop into the car, peeling out and heading down the road toward the large stripe of white paint the Doc had laid down to mark where she should begin.

"Damn it, Doc," she hissed under her breath, manoeuvring into position. "Why are you so hard-headed? I guess my plan B will have to be enough." Though she also found herself wishing that she didn't have to make multiple plans about everything.

Just about the time the clock rang, she was having second thoughts. Why couldn't she stay in 1985? Sure, her band and Punz were waiting for her in the future, but a real, meaningful relationship with her parents was thriving today, in this era. She might never have that again if she abandoned it. But she knew Doc was right; much as she hated to admit it, staying in the past and leaving everything up in the air was almost guaranteed to destroy the universe.

Not to mention that it would probably destroy the people in the future. She'd be one of those disappearing kids, except this time, there would never be a body. Maybe Elsa's alcoholism would get even worse.

Painfully, Anna forced those thoughts away. It was pointless. She was going back to 2015. To be with her actual family, as broken and fragmented as they were. This version of Elsa and Kristoff didn't need her anymore. The other version did. And so did that Doc…

Eyes falling to the console with all the dates displayed upon it, Anna noticed that he'd planned to send her back at the same time she'd vanished. Like she'd never been gone at all. But what if… she went back a little early? Maybe ten minutes? That would surely be enough time to get to Doc before the nationalists without seriously damaging the timeline.

"Heh," she chuckled to herself. "This is some serious Prisoner of Azkaban shit."

Just then, the buzzer went off. No sooner had she punched in the new time coordinates than she floored it, racing for the end of the street. She had no more time to waste.

But when she got closer to the courthouse, she saw something distressing: Doc flying down from the clock at speed, attached to the wire as though it were a flying fox. What the hell was he doing?! But as she looked on in utter confusion, watching him struggling with the wires as they hooked up to the lamppost-

The sky flashed. The lightning struck.

Time seemed to freeze for a moment. All ten fingers clamped down around the steering wheel as Anna accelerated toward the thick cable strung between the lampposts, sparks erupting all around the DeLorean. The flux capacitor was ready and only needed the nuclear reaction to power the time-jump. And it was getting it; no sooner had Doc connected two wires at the last possible moment was he blown back from the force of the electricity racing through the connection into a shrub.

Anna McFly squeezed her eyes shut, praying she made it home.

NOT The End!

To Be Continued In FRACTAL THE FUTURE, Part II!

#Fractal The Future #fruipit #elsanna fanfiction #forkanna writes #elsanna #jess the writer

7 notes · View notes