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esmealux · 3 years

Note

Could you do 31 and 23 for the prompts?

I absolutely loved this prompt, thank you! <3

This got a lot longer (1.8K) and a lot angstier than I intended. But fret not, it's hurt/comfort at its core and it's Deckerstar stargazing. And also,

ANTI-SPOILER ALERT: This piece takes place after 5a/during 5b. I have not watched the trailer, nor will I. I therefore have no idea what is going to happen in 5b, or if what this fic suggests is remotely close to what is hinted at in the trailer—and I would like remain oblivious. *Looks at you with puppy eyes* So please don't mention anything from the trailer in the comments? It would mean a lot to me ❤ (And yes, I do realise I could've waited two days before posting this, but I wanted to give you guys a little something while you wait.)

Rated M, just to be safe.

Enjoy, my loves!

31. Lost in the middle of nowhere + 23. ‘Hey, at least the stars are beautiful tonight, right?’

He gets in his car, and he drives.

He has no destination in mind, nowhere but ‘away’. Away from Him. From feelings he can’t contain. From eons of neglect. From pain.

Far away.

He drives till there’s no more gas and ends up stranded where the streets have no name, in the moonlit desert.

The car shudders and comes to a halt. With ridiculously shaky hands, Lucifer brings a cigarette and a lighter to his lips, desperately needing the distraction. He flicks the lighter repeatedly, chaotically, but the fire won’t bite, and suddenly he’s hyperventilating, and both cig and lighter are sent flying through the brisk night air.

He roars into the dark void of the night. The thunderous sound resonating off the distant mountain walls startles him like an unexpected ghost. It sounds like him, but not like him. Not like Lucifer, Devil, fallen angel. It sounds like Samael, falling angel—screaming into the abyss as he plummets towards fire and brimstone, his fate and punishment, dealt by Dad.

Lucifer suddenly can’t get out of the car fast enough. He leans against the trunk, his chest heaving rapidly, his lungs fighting for air. He’d thought he was healing, that he was actually starting to put millennia of trauma behind him. And maybe he was. But then He waltzed down and ripped the wound right open.

Such a pestilent, tyrannous prick.

Lucifer needs a drink.

He finds a bottle of something strong and amber in the glove box and brings it back to the trunk. It’s only half-full, and he’d need at least five more bottles to just get tipsy, but it’ll have to do. He wasn’t looking to get shitfaced, anyway. He just wants to take his mind off things, to breathe. And right now, (now that his chance of having a smoke is lying somewhere in the sand) a couple of sips from a mildly exquisite whiskey and the ensuant burn in his throat are the best way to do that.

She finds him like that—because of course she finds him—sitting on the trunk of his car with the near-empty bottle in his hand and looking absolutely wrecked.

She’s tentative as she approaches him, afraid she’s not welcome, that he really did want to be alone. But as she gets close and he looks up at her, dark eyes glistening in the moonlight, she knows being alone is the last thing he needs.

Without a word, neither from her nor from him, she gets up on back of the car and scoots close to him, still keeping some air between them.

‘I thought you could use a friend,’ she says with a slight smile, exactly like she did all those years ago. Now, however, the last word isn’t an overwhelming, meaningful declaration, but a cosmic understatement, and Lucifer can’t help but snort.

Reaching over, Chloe grabs his hand and interlocks their fingers. ‘Also, I wasn’t gonna let my partner get lost in the middle of nowhere alone.’

‘I’m not lost,’ he objects, but his voice, hollow and lined with despair, betrays him. He may know the way back to LA, but he is definitely lost.

Sensing he doesn't want to talk about it, Chloe gestures towards the bottle still dangling from his fingers and asks for a sip. His lips tug up into the smallest of smirks as he hands over the bottle with a half-hearted ‘Be my guest’.

She leans her head back, eyes turning to the night sky as she takes a swig (just a nip; one of them still has to drive home at some point). It tastes like evening kisses. Occassionally, morning kisses too.

A cool breeze whirls around them, and Chloe snuggles closer to Lucifer. She does have a plaid in the car, and she will get it in a minute, but right now, she settles for stealing some body heat, hoping her seatmate doesn’t mind too much. She hands him back the bottle and snakes a hand under his layers, up his bare back. He sighs shakily, the taut muscles beneath Chloe’s hand loosening up. It tugs at something in her chest—the way he’s calmed by her touch alone.

Chloe looks up again, at the tiny, abundant jewels glimmering against the dark sky. ‘At least the stars are beautiful tonight, right?’

In the middle of downing the last drops of whiskey, Lucifer absent-mindedly replies with a ‘Hm?’

‘Stars,’ Chloe repeats. ‘They’re beautiful.’

Hesitantly, almost reluctantly, Lucifer lets his eyes glide up. He’s quiet as he takes it in, the black canopy adorned with white, pearlescent specks. His gaze is somewhat distant, reminiscent. Wistful.

‘Lucifer,’ she breathes, not as a vocative, but as an eureka. She’s said his name so many times before, screamed it, whispered it, cried it—with passion and pain and everything in between—but now is the first time she says it actually knowing what it means. Or at least she’s pretty sure she does.

‘It was you, wasn’t it?’ she asks him with a whisper, more in awe than accusatory, and the soft, melancholic smile he gives her is answer enough. ‘You let there be light.’ It’s not a question this time, just an overwhelming realisation spoken out loud.

‘Well, technically,’ Lucifer corrects, glancing over at her, ‘it was Dad who created Light.’ His gaze turns upwards again, eyes suddenly twinkling with pride. ‘The almighty wanker was just too lazy to hang it up there himself.’

Stunned, Chloe stares at the sky with new reverence. It’s breath-taking, both the sight itself—diamonds and sparkling dust sprinkled across a sea of nothing—and the fact that Lucifer made that. He literally hung the stars in the sky.

The fact that he hasn’t mentioned this before, that he hasn’t boasted about it, hasn’t proudly told everyone he’s the artist behind the original Starry Night also says something.

Peering up at him from where her head is now resting against his shoulder, Chloe sees a look on his face she can only describe as ‘homesick’.

‘They remind you of your dad’s love for you,’ she realises, voice quiet.

Lucifer scoffs, but there’s no humour in it. Just pain. ‘What love?’

Chloe doesn’t blame him for doubting. With all the light God (apparently) gave Lucifer, He gave him a thousand times more darkness. (And she is going to talk to Him about that. Later. When she’s hugged the living shit out of His son). But Chloe can tell He, despite everything, does love Lucifer—and that Lucifer is using this resentment towards Him to avoid facing the fact that he, still, loathes himself just as much. If not more.

The thought makes Chloe sick, and she suddenly feels the need to tell him, ‘You’re worthy, you know?’

He looks down at her. A wet streak on his cheek catches the silvery light of the moon. ‘I do?’ The insecurity in his voice is a sharp jab in her chest. But again, she doesn’t blame him.

‘You are,’ she states again for emphasis, holding his gaze. ‘You’re worthy of love, and light.’ With her free hand, the one that isn’t stroking the small of his back beneath his shirt and jacket, she cups his face and swipes her thumb across his stubble. ‘You deserve it. You deserve happiness, more than any other person in this world.’

He doesn’t say anything in return, but he doesn’t have to. The smile he gives her in return, warming and breaking her heart at the same time, speaks for itself. Just to get her point across, she leans up and kisses him. It’s teary and tender, and it’s a promise. To always love him—both the light and the dark, and all the colours in between.

They lean their foreheads against each other’s when they break apart, eyes still closed.

After a long, needed moment, Chloe lets her hand drop from Lucifer’s cheek to his thigh.

‘So,’ she breathes, the pall from their prior conversation vanishing into the night with her light, playful tone, ‘constellations?’

He chuckles beside her, the sound low and warm in her ear. ‘Not what you humans make them out to be.’

She fights the urge to roll her eyes at his ‘you humans’, and asks, intrigued, ‘No Big Dipper?’

‘No.’ He clicks his tongue. 'But there is a Big Pecker somewhere.’

She glares at him. ‘You drew a dick in the sky?’

His lips spread into a proud grin. ‘And a pair of boobs, if you have a little imagination.’ He points to a distant spot above them. ‘Those seven points there, the brighter ones—they form a symbol in my mother tongue. A message for my dear twin.’

‘Oh?’ Lucifer rarely ever speaks of, much less in the celestial language. It’s another part of his past Chloe hasn’t learned much about. But hopefully, over time, she will.

‘Yes, it means… how would you say?’ He thinks for a second—or pretends to—and eventually concludes, ‘Cunt, I believe, would be the appropriate translation.’

This time, Chloe doesn’t resist rolling her eyes—because nothing about that is ‘appropriate’. Maybe except for the fact that it was directed at Michael.

‘I know,’ he says, like he’s reading her mind. But he really isn’t, because he follows up with, ‘An insult to the temple of pleasure I value more than any other organ.’

Having met the guy, Chloe doesn’t disagree; Michael definitely lives up to more vile name-calling than ‘cunt’. (Also, she's pretty sure Lucifer is wrong about it being his favourite body part. She’s pretty sure the organ he values more than any other is his own Big Pecker, because she’s seen the way he looks at himself in the shower, and all the other places she finds him naked; the vain idiot is practically obsessed with his own meat. Not that she blames him.) But before she has the chance to tell him that, he says-

‘You have to forgive me. I was only a couple of thousand years old.’ There’s a glint in his eye, and Chloe can’t help but laugh, because it’s true what Linda said; he really is the oldest, most immature person in the world.

Chloe tells him as much.

He simply smirks in return. ‘I may be old, Detective, but I’m more vigorous in bed than any mortal man, old or young, and you know it.’

It only proves her point, about him being immature, and obsessed with his penis. But frankly, Chloe does know it, and for once, she feels like stroking his ego (among other things). So she grabs him by the hand, leads him into the car, onto plush leather, onto her, and as the stars twinkle and gleam above them, they put that vigour of his to good use.

#deckerstar fanfiction #writing #two part drabble game #lucifer morningstar #chloe decker #lucifer x chloe #chloe x lucifer #lucifer fanfiction #lucifer on netflix #angst #hurt comfort #deckerstar #lucifer makes stars #post 5a #during 5b

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beauty-and-passion · 3 years

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Heya!

So I remember reading your post about Eurovision a while ago, and since I'm now hooked on a certain collection of songs, I was thinking...

Would you think 'Zitti E Buoni' by Måneskin could be a Remus song, and 'Voilà' by Barbara Pravi a Roman song? Or do you have some ideas on any other Eurovision songs that would fit the Sides?

Just wondering whether you'd like to share some thoughts on this, but no pressure of course! As always, I absolutely love your theories and posts, it always brightens up my day to read :D

This will be a very self indulgent post.

First of all: “no pressure”?! I am HYPED to share my thoughts on this! And this is why it took me so long to reply to this ask: I’ve spent the whole time thinking about which song could fit which Side, going through the last editions, reading the lyrics, searching among my favourites...

So yes, this post will be a bit long. But hey, there is also good music and maybe, by listening to it, you will find something you haven’t heard before! :D

(Of course, in order to make this post understandable, I will translate all lyrics, but the songs aren’t all in English. In any case, every song has a link, so you can hear it on Youtube.)

And yes, I know there are billions of other Eurovision songs, but for the sake of “not making this post endless” (as if it won’t be already), I will stop at Eurovision 2014. If you all have other songs to propose for a Side, please feel free to add them and explain why! :D

And now...

Which Eurovision songs would fit the Sides

_____________________________

EUROVISION 2021

Måneskin - Zitti e buoni

(Here the Eurovision performance because it’s just this good)

This song is PERFECT for Remus and I was a fool for not realizing it sooner. It's all about showing how different you are, embracing your uniqueness despite what others may think. Everything about this song screams “REMUS” so thank you, my dear, for opening my eyes and making me realize it.

They don't know what I'm talking about You are dirty, bruh, of mud Cig's yellow in between the fingers I'm walking with a cig Pardon me, but I really do believe That I can make this jump And even if the street is uphill I'm training for this now

The first line is already 200% Remus: they (aka the other Sides) don’t know what Remus is talking about. Remus is impossible to understand. Remus is weird, strange, dangerous - according to moral standards.

However, despite the other people’s thoughts, Remus still shows a high self-esteem - just like in his playlist. The others may not have faith in him, there could be obstacles on his way, but he still believes he will achieve his goals.

And good evening, ladies and gentlemen Bring out the actors You better hold on to your balls You better keep quiet and be good Here people are weird, like drug dealers Too many nights I've spent locked outside Now I'm kicking these doorways Staring up like climbers So sorry mum if I'm always out, but

“You better hold on to your balls” is a translation of the original italian line “Vi conviene toccarvi i coglioni”. This sentence is a more vulgar form of the English expression “knocking on wood”, something you preventively do to un-jinx stuff.

However, “knocking on wood” isn’t as strong as the italian expression, so I chose this translation that is more literal, but also more vulgar. It kept the original vibe more, it fits Remus more and it gives a stronger meaning to the whole thing. The singer isn’t just saying “beware of what you’re doing”, but he’s saying “get ready, shit if about to hit the fan”. It’s more powerful - and well, Remus would love this. It’s his time now, so the audience (the other Sides/Thomas) should "keep quiet and be good”.

I also really like the “Here people are weird, like drug dealers”, because it can refer to the dark sides in general. This is Remus’ show, so the Core Sides and Thomas should shut up. They are now in the Dark Sides’ territory, full of weird, sketchy people, morally gray villains. All things he loves, enjoys and that he definitely considers as compliments.

“Too many nights I've spent locked outside / Now I'm kicking these doorways” is another great line, because “being locked outside” is the perfect metaphor for Remus’ situation. He IS locked outside, he has been kept far away from Thomas, stifled by him, unable to fully express himself. And so he releases his frustration by kicking the doors that are shutting him down. That’s just so Remus I. LOVE. IT.

I am out of my mind, but I'm not like the others And you are out of your mind, but you're not like the others We are out of our minds, but we're not like the others We are out of our minds, but we're not like the others

This chorus is PERFECT! First of all: “I am out of my mind” is basically just like this line from DWIT:

[Patton]: Imaginative sure is a- a kind word for him. [Duke]: I agree! How about... DEMENTED?

But also: Remus doesn’t give a damn. He’s not like the others and he’s SO DAMN PROUD of it. Just like he is in canon and in his playlist.

He goes even further, by saying that “you” are also out of your mind. And who this “you” might be, if not the big man himself?

[Duke]: If I am awful... then so is Thomas.

Just like in DWIT, Remus welcomes Thomas’ weirdness with open arms. If he and Thomas are both insane and different, why hiding it and not embracing this difference? They are unique.

I've written pages and pages I've seen salt, then tears These men in cars Don't climb the rapids I've written on a tombstone "In my house there's no God" But if you find time's meaning You'll climb back up from your oblivion And there's no wind stopping The natural power From the right point of view You feel the intoxication of the wind With wax wings on your back I'll go look for that high If you wanna stop me try again Try cutting my head off Because

Woah, this part has a lot. There is:

Remus' creativity as a flow ("I've written pages and pages")

Remus seeing how different he is compared to others ("These men in cars / Don't climb the rapids" while he was ready to “make this jump” despite the obstacles on his way)

Religion because of course - and especially Remus rejecting it ("I've written on a tombstone / "In my house there's no God".")

And, most importantly, there is a nice reference to Icarus' myth. According to myth, Icarus escaped from the Labyrinth of the Minotaur, by flying on wax wings. But he flew too close to the sun, his wings melted and he fell to his death.

This has multiple meanings. First of all, it shows how stubborn Remus is: he could use simpler, more stable ways to reach his goals. But he's Remus, he's creative and he's different, he would rather use wax wings (aka more complex, unordinary means) to reach his goal. Also, it's a proof of his resolution: just like Icarus, his wax wings could melt and he could fail. And yet, he's so set in his decision, he's ready to do anything to succeed.

This last point is particularly evident in the following lines: "If you wanna stop me try again / Try cutting my head off". It's impossible to stop him, just like it was impossible to send him away or stop him from talking in canon.

Everything in this song is just HIM.

Unfortunately people talk They talk, they don't know what they talk about Bring me where I float Cause I lack air here

Once again, the people are the Core Sides: they talk about how he's evil and dangerous and useless. But they don't know what they're talking about. They're (metaphorically) suffocating him with their prejudices, that's why he asks "bring me where I float": he wants to express himself freely, to escape these biases.

Also: water. And with the whole octopus as his animal, it’s just even more fitting.

Moral of the story: this song is perfect for him, Remus should know Italian just to sing it - and he would love the glam rock style of Maneskin as well.

_____________________________

Barbara Pravi - Voilà

I don’t know how you did it, dear, but these two songs are PERFECT. Zitti e buoni is perfectly Remus, Voilà is perfectly Roman. I feel blessed.

Listen to me, me, the half singer Talk about me, to your loved ones, to your friends Tell them about this little girl with black eyes and crazy dreams What I want is to write stories that you will hear about That's all

Roman, is that you? Because this is you. This is ALL you.

Roman is a "half singer": he cannot sing like he want, he cannot express himself in full. He has rules, laws, morals that forces him to quiet down and bent his creativity.

And, just like a tragic hero, Roman asks that his story will not be forgotten, that others will know about him, his unfortunate life, his "crazy dreams" and especially his passion: writing stories "that you will hear about".

This line in particular reminds me of this part from Recipe for Me:

And still, I continue to write because I have more dreams to fulfill Tales I hoped to tell when I was younger Ideas that I haven't made yet, but I will I'll find my way with my will

The concept is the same in Voilà. Roman is a "controlled" Creativity, surrounded by rules and morals that shut him, but he wants to be heard, he wants to tell stories.

And that’s just it. This is what creativity is all about: talking, puring out its ideas, as loud and freely as possible.

Voilà, voilà, voilà, here is who I am Here I am, even if I'm scared as I'm naked, yes Here I am in the noise and in silence

I love how this song is a way for Roman to express himself, to show himself despite everything. He's like this, he's a "half Creativity", he's scared, he's not perfect. But here he is, "in the noise and in silence". Because your creativity is always here with you, no matter where you are or what you are doing: it will never leave you and it will never stop asking to be heard.

Look at me, or at least what's left of it Look at me, before I hate myself What can I say that another hasn't already said? I don't have much, but I place here what I do have Voilà

Aaaah, yes, I like to wake up with the strong smell of Roman's angst in the morning.

Roman seeing himself as something broken? Perfect. We want more of the angsty boi. Even the fans of King Creativity may read this line as Roman seeing himself as “half of a whole”!

And, again I love how despite feeling broken and hating it, he’s still ready to give everything he has. This is the true essence of the concept of creativity.

Also, why not adding a little more angst?

I want to be loved, because I don't know myself how to like the shape of me

This is perfect, because it reconnects to the first episode, when Roman said his goal would be to love himself first. He never reached this goal after almost 30 episodes - and this line might offer an answer on why: because Roman doesn’t know how. He hates himself so much, he doesn’t know how to love himself.

And that’s probably why he needs another person to love: because it’s easier to love someone else, rather than himself.

Voilà, voilà, voilà, here is who I am Here I am, even if it's the end as I'm naked Here I am in the noise and in rage too Finally, look at me and my eyes and my hands All I have is here, it's my face, it's my scream Here I am, here I am, here I am

This last chorus is awesome: the quintessential of Roman’s desperation, of showing himself, of screaming hoping to be heard by anyone. Unlike Remus who is unstoppable and doesn't care about others, Roman cares. He needs a public, he needs to be heard, otherwise he would lose himself.

And I seriously love how these two songs both have the same idea (embrace yourself and your uniqueness), but talk aboout this theme in such different ways - and yet so fitting for the twins... they are just GREAT.

(On a side note: this song is so dramatically French Roman would love it and sing it with the same passion Barbara used and I would love to see that.)

_____________________________

EUROVISION 2019

Bilal Hassani - Roi

Come on... Roi. Roi. Considering that "roi" means "king" in French, who could possibly be the Side I would associate this song with? Maybe the Side who already has a King in his playlist?

Nope, this song is for Remus.

Why Remus? The reason is very simple and you can just notice by reading the first verses:

I am me And I know I will always be I am free Sure I am inventing my life Don't ask me who I am

I am The same since I was very little And in spite of looks, opinions I cry, I go out and I laugh

You put me in a box Want me to be like you I don't follow the codes People are disturbed a lot At the end of the day You canno change me, boo! So, let me fly

This song overflows with confidence, the lines talk about someone who is free to be whoever he wants, who has always been the same since he was a child, who is rejected by others and doesn't give a damn, who doesn't "follow the codes" and refuses to be changed by them.

This isn't Roman, but this is the quintessential of Remus. This song is everything about him, from his confidence to his desire to be free.

And the chorus is even clearer:

I'm not rich but i'm shining bright I can't see my kingdom now When I dream, I am a king And I know o-o-ow Even now o-o-ow You try to take me down You cannot break me nah nah

That's him, that's Remus.

On a side note, if Remus also has his "King song", that would strengthen the connection with Roman, since they both would have a song about "being/feeling like a king".

And this song is Roi, king in French. Since I think Remus would definitely know French, this makes Roi an even more fitting choice, doesn’t it?

Who are we ? When we hide, when we fight for free Only god can judge you and me We did not choose what we are

Not only there is a nice religious reference, but these lines are a also a reference to the LGBT community: they hide, they fight, they didn't choose to be like that (no matter what idiots might think) and only God can judge them, not other, very flawled (and, honestly, very pathetic too) humans.

So, if we consider it, there is also a hidden "fuck society" and a "I am gay and proud to be" and those are both very Remus things.

_____________________________

EUROVISION 2018

Saara Aalto - Monster

I would associate this song with Thomas. And, specifically, to Thomas at the end of the series. Why?

Here's why:

So tonight I'm making friends with all the creatures That are hiding there under my bed

I ain't gonna hold on to these monsters anymore Now I'm gonna let in all the light Tear down the walls At my worst, I found my army strong All the demons are gone You can try and scare me now But I ain't scared no more I ain't scared no more

At the end of the series, Thomas would have befriended all the Sides, especially the "monsters hiding under his bed", the dark bois.

The "final Thomas" will tear down every wall between him and his Sides and will stop hiding/rejecting them. This will make him stronger, because the Sides will be his helpers, parts of him, his friends. He won't be scared anymore by Remus, suspicious towards Janus, afraid of Virgil or terrified by Orange.

"All the demons are gone": the dark sides won't be villains anymore, but friends. And they would help him be stronger.

It's my life I'm ready to lead it I'm gonna roll the dice You better believe it

This part is great as well, because it proves another interesting detail: that Thomas is growing up. He's taking life into his own hands, he's leading it. No more "Oh no, I don't know what to choose between callback and wedding!". He's more confident, he's stronger, he's more mature.

_____________________________

Hovig - Gravity

Honestly, I think this song can be something all Sides might sing to Thomas. It's basically a testament of how much they care about him:

Let me be your heart and your company I'll let you be the one who can lean on me I'll catch you when you fall When you're falling free Let me be, be your gravity

But the imagery just screams "ROMAN" so much, I can't help but think that yes, this is a great Roman song and it's all from Roman to Thomas.

I mean...

I can be your hero I can be your fantasy Oh, I can be the cure Yeah, let me be Your remedy

He IS Thomas' hero, so how can I ignore this? And he's also the embodiment of Thomas' fantasies, he's the wings that make Thomas fly.

Let me be your wings When you're flying high I'm gonna raise you up 'til you touch the sky I'll catch you when you fall When you're falling free Let me be, be your gravity

It's just pure love for Thomas and it begs me to being a Roman song, so... here it is. A Roman song dedicated to Thomas.

_____________________________

Eleni Foureira - Fuego

Listen, not only Roman would rock this song, but also dance like a maniac while singing it just like Eleni and no, you can't change my mind.

Just look at how this woman sings and dnaces without never losing a beat until the end. And please consider that on the Eurovision stage there is no autotune: this was her voice and he delivered a great performance without cracks.

So yes, I want Roman singing this.

But the lines are great for him as well! I mean...

Take a dive Into my eyes Yeah the eyes of lioness Feel the power They ain’t lying.

and

Coz I’m way up and I ain’t comin’ down, keep taking me higher Ah yeah ah yeah ah yeah yeah ah yeah ah yeah Coz I’m burning up and I ain’t coolin’ down, yeah I got the the fire Ah yeah ah yeah ah yeah yeah ah yeah ah yeah

Fuego

Someone fiery and passionate, powerful eyes, pride... yep, this is definitely something Roman would sing. Especially because of the fire. Roman is a fiery guy, so fire is very him.

______________________

Yianna Terzi - Oniro Mou

I actually already talked about this song in an old post and I still haven't changed my mind: this song is all about Janus telling Thomas how much he cares about him.

If you look into the depth of me You revive my dream And if you look into my heart I will take you into my arms How would you like me to say this I would die for you I would give my life for you End and beginning, you are everything

Not only the "take you into my arms" reminds me of Change (" I’ll be able to be honest, capable / Of holding you in my arms without letting you fall"), but the last three lines are so incredibly loving and honest I can't think of anyone else but Janus while reading them. Thomas is his end and beginning, Janus would literally die for Thomas and give his life for him.

So, well, it's just very fitting. And I love how dramatic this song is. It doesn't have the jazzy vibe Janus loves, but the drama is all here.

______________

Francesco Gabbani - Occidentali’s Karma

Do you remember how hard it was to analyze Algorhythm from Logan's playlist? Every line has a meaning and explaining every single one of them took me an eternity.

Well, this song is basically like Algorhythm, but with more philosophy and billions to references. You see the performance on the stage and ahahah, there's a funny dancing gorilla, what a cute song. Then you read the lyrics and BOOM.

I will not analyze this song here, because every line would require at least two paragraphs to explain it. And this post is already long enough as it is, but please, search the meaning of this song: there are references to Shakespeare, Heraclitus, buddhism, Andy Warhol, Desmond Morris and his book "The Naked Ape", Marx, Nietzsche and so on. Basically every line is a reference, a play on words or both at the same time.

What about the main theme? The main theme is the human and especially the contemporary human. In fact, "Occidentali" (Westerners) does not refer to the geographical place, aka Europeans/Americans, but to the western cultural model.

So the title “Occidentali’s Karma” (Westerners Karma) is an insight on contemporary society, on our values and on how, despite how many things changed, we are not so different from our ancestors after all.

This song might seem a perfect choice for Janus. There's a critique of society, there are philosophers and plays on words.

But I’m not too convinced, because even if Janus likes all those things, the number of references is just SO HUGE only a real nerd can find, recognize and appreciate them all.

So yes, this is a Logan song. A song he would probably listen and analyze, enjoying the whole process of knowing more things, finding out all the hidden meanings, the plays on words (we all know you like puns, ya big nerd) and the critical insight. After all, Algorhythm WAS a critique of society, so Logan should appreciate it.

_______________

EUROVISION 2014

Twin Twin - Moustache

Not only the band is called Twin Twin but, as if this wasn't screaming "Creativitwins" enough, the title of the song is "Moustache".

Come on, you know who is the Side perfect for this song.

Psyche! It's both Roman and Remus.

Something is missing, but what? I want this, I want that When I'm dreaming, I'm dreaming in dollars, every day I'm wearing a different suit.

This is very Roman: Roman wants everything (let's not forget Primadonna from his playlist), Roman’s dreams are big. And Roman is Creativity, so he "wears a different suit" every day - aka he directs his creative flow in different stories/songs.

I want this, I want that there's never enough for me it's like this, it's like that there's always something I don't have

This part strongly reminds me of Primadonna. Roman wants everything, every day. He's never satisfied.

And then, Remus busts in and...

I wanted a moustache, a moustache

So my headcanon is that this starts as a Roman's song, all about wanting everything because "there's always something I don't have", until Remus pops out during the chorus and says all he wants is his gorgeous moustache.

*chef’s kiss* Perfection.

But I know what you want, dear audience. You want some angst, don't you?

Fine, so what if the "I want a moustache" line is Roman's subtle way to say that he wants the same freedom his brother has? After all, Roman has "everything one could ever dream of", "I have friends too / even some who like me". All he needs is more creative freedom and the moustache is a subtle way to say that.

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Aarzemnieki - Cake to Bake

This is the ultimate song for all Patton's fans, because it combines Patton's love for baking to Patton being an absolute disaster at it.

Also, it's an incredibly cute song.

I melted the ice of the polar caps Found the raiders of the lost ark Solved a case for the genius from Baker Street Helped to clean the Central Park I created the plan for the Chinese wall Went to desert, made it rain Swam through a shark tank bloodily Found Atlantis, by the way But today

The first verse is already awesome: Patton did a lot of great stuff, even impossible stuff ("solved a case for the genius from Baker Street" is a very nice reference to the Losing My Motivation episode).

But today, he has to face the most difficult task of them all:

I’ve got a cake to bake, and got no clue at all I’ve got a cake to bake, and haven’t done that before Don’t be proud, mate, please, don’t bother Go, come on and ask your mother How to bake, how to bake, bake that cake

Not only this makes me smile every time, but I can perfectly imagine Patton in a kitchen, with all the ingredients in front of him, everything ready and set... and he’s just absolutely lost. Should he use a spoon to stir the flour? And how can he open the vanilla beans? He doesn’t even know how to turn the stove on.

And so, he decides it’s time to ask someone else to help him. Bonus points if the mother is Janus. Also because he is a mom AND a witch, so

Also, this line:

Mix some dough, add some love, let it bake, wait for it

It's SO Patton, because the main ingredient of his recipes IS love! And cumin. And sometimes spit, depending on what he's making: pasta for Roman or some toasts for his angsty teen son.

_____________________________

Carl Espen - Silent Storm

At first, I thought this was a Logan song: someone who feels empty and alone, who has a storm inside but it's a silent storm, because Logan would never express his feelings in any way.

But there are these lines:

And there’s a silent storm inside me Looking for a home I hope that someone’s gonna find me And say that I belong I’ll wait forever and a lifetime To find I’m not alone There’s a silent storm inside me And someday I’ll be calm Someday I’ll be calm

And maybe it's just me, but this reminds me so much of Virgil. He has a storm inside, his own symbol is a storm. He's searching for a home, after leaving the dark sides. And he hopes someone will say he belongs - Thomas will say he belongs, that Virgil is part of him and of the famILY.

And he's willing to wait all the time, just to get that tiny bit of recognition and acceptance. And, who knows, maybe when he'll get it, the storm inside him will calm down and he will finally be at peace.

____________________

Tinkara Kovač - Round and Round

I don't know if I'm insane (or just extremely self indulgent), but this song is basically Janus during the wedding/callback saga.

Uncertain between worlds Circle after circle, we're trapped in time When you're already familiar with every storm You're playful, and yet you're alone

The first verse sets the time and situation. Thomas is living an uncertain life (just like every actor), trapped in the same cycle, with nothing new coming: same job, same opportunities, no big chances, nothing stable. He's "familiar with every storm", aka Virgil has been accepted. Thomas is happy, but he's alone. No one is actually on his side, not even the Sides themselves. He's not taking care of himself enough, he's too ready to drop everything for his friends, he's spreading himself too thin.

And now I'm gonna show you how to breathe I'm gonna show you how to live I'm gonna hold your heart in hand I'm gonna make you understand

This can be a declaration from Janus: he's tired of working in the shadows, he wants to step up and help Thomas in person. And these lines make me think of him, because of how "firm" (and kinda villain-y) they sound.

He wants to show Thomas how to live, aka what are the best decisions to make). He's going to "hold your heart in hand", aka to have Thomas wrapped around his fingers, to take control and steer him with a strong, confident grip, away from the decisions he considers bad, into making him a lot stronger than before.

And, finally, he wants to make him understand. So if the lines before sounded more like a villain’s plan, this last line adds something more. Janus wants to explain to Thomas why he's doing this, why his decisions are better, why Thomas should trust him.

If we think about it, this is everything Janus tried to do since CLBG: he wrapped Thomas (and the other Sides) around his fingers and made them play the courtroom scenario he built, he tried to steer Thomas away from the selfless decision of going to the wedding. And he tried to make him understand why, with the pinata metaphor.

You don't know you don't know Is it love is it hate What are we changing (What are we doing) You don't know you don't but Can you feel it inside Feel the roses Feel the pride (Can you believe it)

Thomas doesn't know a lot of things. Does he really know what love is? Or hate? Or what he's actually doing, by listening to his Morality? What is Janus doing?

[Deceit]: What am I doing here right now, Thomas? Am I the snake come to trick you into sinning, or have you had your mind made up since the moment you received the news about the callback? (SvS)

Thomas doesn't know a lot of things. But deep down, he knows what he wants to do. He should "feel the roses / feel the pride", both things associated with Roman. He is the one Thomas should listen to. And Janus is hinting it.

Is a moment just a circle Just a song you play on repeat? If we can't change how we're living Isn't life just a lie that we feed

Janus is expressing his frustration here: is Thomas' life doomed to always be the same, a cycle, a "song you play on repeat"? Can't he really change his life because of his selflessness? Will he really miss all the opportunities life offers him, in order to always be a good person?

What's the point of living, then? This wouldn't be life, but "a lie that we feed": instead of living his own life, Thomas would submit it to what others want/need, in order to always be present for them.

This is basically a huge warning from Janus: don't fall into this cycle, break free, I can make you free, listen to me and I will make you understand what is wrong about it.

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yourperfectflaws · 4 years

Text

The Nightmare

Pairing: Thomas Shelby x Reader

Summary: Tommy comforts you after a horrible nightmare.

Warnings: Violence (murder)

Words: 1k

Author’s Note: This is a drabble of sorts but it’s a long one. I’ve recently started on Season 2 of Peaky Blinders and I like it so far. I’ve already got a million fic ideas but this one was the easiest to write. (I’m new to the fandom so Tommy might not be completely in character yet, forgive me.)

You were standing on a cliff overlooking the ocean, watching the waves lap at the rocks beneath you as the wind passed through your clothes and nipped at your skin. You stayed like that, completely still, until the sun began to set on the horizon. Then, he called out to you.

“Y/n.”

You turned to face him with a smile as he approached you. He wore one of his 3-piece suits, black this one, with a dark tie. He let his hair become messy in the wind. “Good morning, Y/n.”

“Good morning?” Your face twisted in confusion. “The sun just set... Tommy are you feeling alright?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure?”

“You’re here, aren’t you?” He placed a warm hand on your freezing cheek. You gasped as you felt your heart flutter violently in your chest. It seems that even though he’s always been flirty towards you, you’ve never gotten used to it.

He pulled you down onto the grass and sat next to you, pulling you close to him. You rested your head on his shoulder and stared out at the sinking sun. You both sat there watching the colors streak through the sky until it was replaced by a familiar overwhelming darkness and bright, twinkling beads.

You turned to look at Tommy and gazed in awe at how the stars reflected in his icy blue eyes as he stared up at them. When he noticed you staring, he turned to you and held you gently by the back of the neck as he closed the gap between your lips. The kiss was sweet and quick but still left you breathless afterwards. Tommy had that effect on you.

All of a sudden, you heard two voices coming from the woods around you. Your heartbeat spiked seeing two large men emerge from the trees. Their lips were pulled back into similar smirks, eyes glinting under the bright moonlight, as they made their way towards the two of you. Tommy stared at them as well, seemingly frozen.

Then, the unthinkable happened.

You stared in horror as the men grabbed your lover by his hair and slashed a deep line under his chin. Your heart fell out of your chest at the sight. Blood splattered all over the grass and on your face as his lifeless body fell with a dull thump right in front of you. The two men continued stabbing him with sadistic glee as you watched, unable to move. To run. You were rooted there, kneeling in front of this vicious murder.

You felt an immense pressure in the back of your eyes and your throat constricted in rage. “Tommy...” you whimpered, your voice sounding foreign in your ears. You began to scream as tears flooded down your face. Sobs aggressively shook your entire body as you called for him.

“TOMMY!!!” You screamed, jolting up. You sat there breathing heavily while you tried to figure out where you were. You were in Tommy’s bedroom laying in his bed as sweat soaked through your nightgown like a second skin. You looked down at the spot on the bed next to you, expecting to see him, but your heart sank to the floor upon finding it frighteningly empty.

You again felt an overwhelming pressure behind your eyes and your throat choked violently. He wasn’t here. Was he truly gone? You knew you had to find him, dead or alive you had to.

You leapt from the bed and out the door, tearing down both the hallway and the stairs and into the dining area. You had to see him. With your breath still in your ears, your eyes came upon Polly reading a book at the table. She looked at you with pinched brows. “Where’s Tommy?”

“Is that you who screamed? Are you alright, dear?”

“Where is Tommy, Pol?” You asked again, this time harder. She could tell that you were in no mood to talk to her so she just pointed to the kitchen.

You dashed into the room, praying to God he was alright. And there he was, bent over a stove cooking breakfast and listening to the radio, a cigarette between his plump lips. You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding and staggered towards him. He turned to look at you with raised brows. “Y/n?”

He turned away from the stove and approached you, noticing the tears in your eyes. “C’mere.” He opened his arms to you and you immediately threw yourself into them. You let out a choked sob, clutching at the back of his linen shirt. He was alive. He was here. You felt relief flood into your chest as you held him tighter, afraid that if you let go, he’d vanish.

“You had a nightmare?” He asked, but it was more of a statement than a question. You responded by tucking your face further into his warm chest. You could hear his heartbeat in your ears, loud and fast. “Y/n, your bacon is about to burn.”

You let him pull away from you, reluctantly, and slid onto the floor, leaning against the cabinets next to the stove. He pulled the cig from his lips—it was more of a stump than anything—and put it out in a nearby ashtray. “What happened in your dream?”

“I watched you die... It—it was so gruesome, Tommy... and—and the blood and you were gone and—” You stumbled, cutting yourself off with your hand over your mouth. You knew that if you kept going you wouldn’t be able to control yourself and you’d break down. Your head was already pulsating enough.

“Look at me.” He kneeled down to your level and grabbed your hand, squeezing tightly. “I’m here, aren’t I?” He placed your hand on his chest and you could feel his steady pulse under your fingers. You let out another long breath, eyes fluttering. “See? I’m alright and it was just a dream.”

“It all felt so real. It felt like I was actually there. I—” You choked on another harsh sob. He pulled you into him, wrapping his arms around you protectively. You gripped the back of his shirt again, hands and breath shaky.

“I know. It’s alright, love,” he assured you, pressing your head into his warm chest. “We’re alright.”

You stayed like that, swaying back and forth on the floor even as the smell of burnt meat passed by your nose. You couldn’t find the energy to care. You felt that you could freeze time and stay tucked away inside Tommy’s strong arms, breathing in his smoky scent. But, sadly, all good things must come to an end.

And so, you woke up again.

.....

Gasp! The angst!!! I’m a fan of twist endings lmao.

If you would like to be tagged for all my works, please don’t hesitate to comment. If you have any criticism, please let me know. I’m open to suggestions and requests!

Anyways, have a good day and stay safe!

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vegetasleftsock · 3 years

Text

A Devil’s Smile (Vegeta x OC)

Part 1

Chapter 2

Saturday morning arrived. Golden sunbeams poured through open blinds in a window next to Milla’s bed. Waking up, she blinked a couple of times to try to adjust to the light.

“No use,” Milla thought to herself. “My eyelids feel like they weigh ten pounds each.”

She shifted onto her stomach and plopped her head straight into her pillow.

“So soft.”

Milla breathed in the scent of her pillow in a deep breath. It smelled like apples- the scent of her favorite fabric softener.

Suddenly a wave of realization and horror washed over Milla. She used her arms to push herself up from the pillow, eyes wide.

“Oh my god, what time is it?” Milla whispered aloud. She flipped over and began to rummage through the sheets to try to find her phone.

“Where is it?” Milla said, frantic. ��Fuck!”

She unravelled her comforter and shook it until her phone made a loud thud on the floor.

“9:52? No! Fucking shit!”

“3 missed calls?? All from Janice?? Great.”

Milla clicked on the missed call and the phone began to ring. As she was waiting for the phone to pick up, she rushed to the closet, pulling her oversized t-shirt over her shoulders as she walked.

“Hello?” the voice in the phone said.

“Hey, yea,” replied Milla while hopping into one leg of her black slacks. “Is Janice there?”

“No, she left to run errands. Joey’s here though, I’ll give you to him,” said the voice.

“Thank you, dear angels above, for watching over me,” Milla breathed a sigh of relief that it was Joey, her bandmate and coworker that she was going to have to talk to and not her boss, Janice.

“Ya, you’re welcome. Although, I don’t know if I’d fall under the category of angel,” Joey laughed.

“Joey, I overslept.” Milla said.

“No shit. I told Janice I sent you to try to get more of that special printer ink from the Office Depot off of 5th,” Joey said.

“You told me that printer ink was discontinued,” Milla said, with a ponytail holder in between her teeth. Her hands stayed busy pulling her hair back and brushing out bumps with her fingers.

“Uh-huh. But I didn’t tell her that,” Joey said. “That way when you get here and you show up empty handed, at least you have a reason, ya know?”

“Oh ok, nice! Damn, Joey- I owe you!” Milla said.

“Just get me a pack of cigs and some pretzels for lunch and we’ll call it even.”

“You got it. Thanks again, friend.” Milla smiled.

“No problem bud. See ya soon.” Joey replied, and then hung up the phone.

Milla took one last look in the mirror. Her hair was pulled back into a high ponytail and silver jewelry hung from her ears. The jewelry was vintage and an emerald sat in the middle of each earring. The earrings were a prized possession- her grandmother gave them to her the year she started college.

A black blouse with floaty long sleeves and a bow tied loosely around her neck hung slightly off her small frame. The all black outfit made her look put together- professional. Greatly contrasting from the persona she wears at home and on stage during her performances.

A black and white cat curled through Milla’s legs as she leaned against her dining room chair to strap her tall chunky heels onto each foot.

“Okay, Chomps. I promise I’ll feed you in just a moment.”

Chomps continued to rub his head against her ankles and calves aggressively. Just as Milla placed her foot to the floor to walk to the cabinet where she kept the cat food, Chomps placed his teeth on her ankle and bit down- hard.

“OW, fuck, Chomps! Seriously?” Milla yelled. “I said I was on my way to feed you!”

Blood trickled down her ankle onto her heel, but she was already late. No time to waste.

Milla opened the cabinet and pulled out a measuring cup to portion Chomps’s food. He obviously had an food obsession issue. She dumped the food into his bowl, grabbed her keys and ran out the door.

She sat down into her small silver Jetta and started the engine. As she started her car, it reminded her of the night before.

That guy- the one with the black, spiky hair and the death glare. Milla allowed herself to reflect and replay her interaction with him.

She never even got his name. Not that she really cared. What was his problem? He approached her after the show at her car for what reason?

If he wanted to hurt her or be a pervert, there was nothing stopping him. Milla was strong for her small stature, but she was nothing compared to him. He was clearly ripped. She could tell by every muscle in his toned arms, folded over his chest that also appeared to be rock solid. His shoulders were big and built and even though he wasn’t the tallest guy she had ever met, he still towered over her.

“Too bad he’s fucking odd. He’s hot.” Milla thought to herself.

Before she could think any further about the situation, Milla had arrived at work. She walked through the front doors of the doctor’s office and found her desk, acting like she wasn’t an hour and a half late.

“Good morning, Milla. Did you find anything at the Office Depot? I really need that ink.” Janice, the office manager and Milla’s boss said.

Milla took a deep breath and spun around in her chair to face Janice.

“Janice, I’ve got some bad news about that. They discontinued the ink.”

“I have a hard time believing that,” Janice said. “Did you ask to speak to the manager?”

“I did,” Milla said. “I even asked the manager to call the distributor and they said it’s production has been indefinitely suspended.

“Great,” Janice sighed. “Next time can you clock out if you’re going to take more than 30 minutes to drive across town? Thanks.” Without another word, she turned on her heel and left Milla at her desk alone.

“NeXt TiMe CaN YOu ClOck Out,” Milla mocked.

Even though Milla was annoyed by Janice’s never-ending passive aggressive remarks, she was relieved to be relatively unscathed throughout the day.

However, Milla didn’t get to take her lunch break, which means she didn’t have time to get Joey his thank you gifts for saving her behind.

Milla tied up any loose ends and threw her purse over her shoulder. She waved goodbye to her coworkers and she walked to the back of the office to find Joey.

“Hi, friend.” Milla said to Joey, who was slinging his Levi jean jacket over his broad shoulders.

Joey was about 6 foot, with blonde hair and blue eyes. He was average build, but his arms and legs were lanky.

Any girl would normally fawn over Joey, but Milla considered him to be like a brother.

“Heading out?” Joey said while grabbing his keys from his desk and sticking them into his jacket pocket.

“Yup. Let me take you out to dinner since I didn’t get to buy you pretzels and cigs.” Milla said, starting towards the back exit of the office.

“I’m down. As long as I get something to smoke and we go somewhere that has the big kind of pretzels.”

Milla laughed. “Sure thing, dude.”

They both climbed into Milla’s Jetta and started driving to one of their favorite breweries, not far from the bar they perform at every Friday night.

On the drive over, Milla lit Joey a joint and told her the story of the guy from the bar. How he met her at her car, got defensive, but never even tried to lay a hand on her.

Joey took a puff and laughed. He told Milla that he assumed the mystery man was probably too nervous to tell her that she was pretty.

Once they got to the brewhouse, they ordered a full flight of beer, pretzels, and a medium pepperoni and basil pizza to share.

They discussed work, talked shit about Janice, and Joey talked about his multiple sketchy encounters with recent hookups.

“Alright, you ready to call it a night?” Joey said.

“Ugh, no I really wanted to finish my beer. It’s only 9:30.” Milla said, pouting at Joey.

“Normally I would stay with you, but I have to meet my mom for breakfast at 8. She’ll have my neck if I’m not there.”

“Understood.” Milla said.

“I’ll just grab an Uber so you don’t have to drive. You should too. Call me if you need anything and please be careful.” Joey said, knowing he couldn’t convince her to leave.

“Ew, you’re not my dad.” Milla laughed. “But yes, I will be extra careful if you insist.”

“Thanks.” Joey patted Milla on the back before heading outside to catch his ride.

About 15 minutes later, Goku, Bulma and Krillin walked into the brewery. They sat at the bar, close enough to Milla to get a hint of who she was.

Goku squinted at Milla. “Hmmm..”

“What is it, Goku?” Krillin asked.

“I feel like I’ve seen that girl somewhere, but I can’t put my finger on where.”

“Ha! I know,” Bulma laughed. “That’s the girl that got Vegeta all flustered!”

“From yesterday? The singer?” Goku asked. “She looks so different!”

“She probably works, Goku. Singing isn’t usually super lucrative.” Bulma explained.

“But she’s so good at it!” Goku said. “Excuse me, miss?”

Goku had moved over so that he and Milla were a seat apart. He tapped on her shoulder to get her attention.

“Uh- Hi.” Milla smiled. “Do I know you?”

The guy appeared relatively harmless and the two friends who joined him gave off good vibes. Milla decided to lessen her guard a little.

“Not really. We saw you sing last night. I just wanted to let you know that we all really enjoyed it!” Goku smiled. “By the way my name is Goku and these are my friends, Krillin and Bulma.”

“Nice to meet you guys. I’m Milla. Thanks for the compliment and for coming out last night. I’d love to see y’all there next Friday as well.” Milla beamed, cheeks a little pink from the alcohol.

“I wouldn’t mind going again,” Bulma said. “Your singing is great but it was pretty great to watch Vegeta get all flustered too.” She laughed.

It suddenly clicked for Milla. The blue haired girl and the guy with the nice smile were the ones who were at the table with the grumpy mystery man.

“Vegeta?” Milla moved her head to the side a little. “That’s the guy who got embarrassed and left after I flirted with him, right?”

“Yup. That’s Vegeta!” Goku laughed. “He’s a little hard around the edges but he’s a good guy.”

“Hard around the edges. That’s one way to explain it.” Milla said eyebrows raised. She took another swig of her stout beer.

“Wait-,” Krilled said. “You sound like you know Vegeta.”

“Hardly.” Milla smiled. “He approached me at my car after the show.”

Bulma laughed. “So that’s where he went! It doesn’t sound like he made the best impression.”

Milla puffed up her chest and held her arms out to the side like she had big muscles. “If you knew who you were talking to, you wouldn’t be laughing. Foul woman!” Milla said, imitating Vegeta.

The four of them shared a laugh before Goku was pulled off his barstool.

“Kakarot! Did you forget about our night training? I’ve been waiting for over 30 minutes and I find you HERE of all places, doing god knows what with-“

Before Vegeta could continue, Milla placed her hand on Vegeta’s shoulder.

“Dude. Shut up, relax. Drink a beer or something before your head explodes.”

Vegeta’s face pulled in a snarl as he looked to see who would have the nerve to say such a thing. His eyes met with Milla’s and his expression turned from anger to shock.

Bulma, Goku, and Krillin sat and watched. They were surprised at Milla’s bluntness with volatile and moody Vegeta.

“You,” Vegeta said, brushing Milla’s hand off of his shoulder. “What are you doing here? Are you all just friends now or something?”

“And what does it matter to you?” Milla laughed.

“Ugh.” Vegeta scoffed. “You’re intoxicated.”

He crossed his arms and inhaled the air again. “And you’re bleeding.”

“What?” Milla furrowed her brow in confusion. She was definitely weirded out again.

He leaned down to follow the smell.

“Dude, what the fuck?” Milla cursed at Vegeta.

“Here.” Vegeta brushed his finger against the bite marks on her ankle. “Looks like some kind of small animal marked you.”

Milla then remembered that this morning she didn’t have time to attend to her wound from Chomps.

“Oh, you’re right. That was Chomps.” Milla and Vegeta’s eyes met once more.

“Wow, Vegeta! That’s crazy how you knew that just by smelling.” Goku said.

Vegeta scoffed and rolled his eyes in response.

“Who’s Chomps?” Krillin asked.

“My cat. He bites when he’s hungry, so I named him Chomps.” Milla said.

“Hmph. Your cat and I have something in common then.” Vegeta said while giving Milla a sly grin.

“Kakarot, I’ll let you play your little games for now. But I will not be as lenient if you fail to show for training tomorrow morning. ON TIME.”

Before Milla could even process Vegeta’s words, he had already left.

“Looks like someone has a little crush on Milla,” Bulma said and gave Milla an encouraging wink.

“What’s his deal?” Milla asked. “Why can’t he just buy me a beer or ask me out like any normal human being.”

“Probably because he’s a Saiyan!” said Goku. “And so am I!”

“A what?” Milla said, looking lost.

“I can explain it all later,” Bulma said. “If you’re free you should come over to my place tomorrow night and I can fill you in. I could make dinner for everyone!”

“Are you sure we can’t do it tonight,” Goku whined. “I’m hungry.”

“Goku, you just cleared the wing place we went to of their entire inventory for the week. You don’t think you can wait until tomorrow?” Krillin asked.

“I guess.” Goku pouted. He quickly perked up. “Can you come, Milla? It’d be so fun to have you there!”

“Sure, I can go.” Milla said. She was apprehensive, but the kind nature of the three in front of her and the craft beer bubbling through her system told her to not worry about it.

“Great! Do you have an iPhone?” Bulma asked.

Milla dug in her pockets and pulled out her iPhone.

“Awesome,” Bulma said. “I’ll just connect to your phone through mine and give you all of our numbers, and it’ll put your number into our phones.”

At this point, Milla was ready to go home and sleep. She nodded her head in agreement.

“You look tired Milla, do you need a ride home?” Krillin asked, aware of how quiet Milla had gotten.

“Please.” Milla replied, her eyes fighting to stay open.

“I can help. Where do you live?” Goku said.

“Apple Cove apartments. Not too far from the Sprint skyscraper.” Milla said.

“Got it! Put your hand on my shoulder.” Goku smiled at Milla, helping her onto her feet from the bar.

“It’s okay, Goku I can walk.” Milla said.

“Just trust me.” Goku looked down at Milla and held his hand out.

Milla reluctantly gave her hand to Goku and he placed it on his shoulder. Milla’s arm was almost completely extended, making the height difference between the two of them glaringly obvious.

Krillin chuckled. “Man, I thought I was short.”

“Bye Milla! See you tomorrow at the party!” Bulma said as she waved.

“Bye, nice meeting you. See you tomorrow.”

Goku placed his fingers to his forehead and before Milla could blink again, she was in front of her apartment complex.

“Holy shit, am I really that drunk?” Milla said, eyes wide.

“It’s instant transmission. Pretty cool, huh?”

“I’m not even going to crack open that can of worms tonight,” Milla said before hiccuping.

“Is it okay if I walk you to your apartment?” Goku asked.

“No really, you’ve done a lot. Thank you for all your kindness.” Milla said.

“Please. I wouldn’t feel too good if anything bad happened to you.” Goku said while scratching the back of his neck.

“Okay-“ Milla said reluctantly. “Promise you’re not creepy?”

“I don’t think I’m creepy?” Goku said innocently while looking at Milla.

“I don’t think you are either,” Milla chuckled between hiccups.

Goku walked Milla to her apartment, made sure she was settled, and even fed Chomps.

She was fast asleep by the time he was ready to go home. Goku pressed his fingers to his forehead and transmitted to the kitchen of Capsule Corp.

“Boy am I starving!” Goku said while rubbing his stomach.

“Kakarot.” Vegeta said, standing in the doorway of the kitchen.

“Oh, hi Vegeta,” Goku said with his head in the fridge. “Did you come to get snacks too?”

“What I was doing in this kitchen before you got here is none of your business.” Vegeta said, pushing the bags of fruit snacks further into the pocket of his black sweatpants.

“Oh. Okay.” Goku said. “That Milla girl is really nice, the singer one?”

“So that’s her name. She has an attitude,” Vegeta stated plainly.

“I’m guessing that’s something you like in women.” Goku shrugged, a plate with an entire turkey in his hands.

“Kakarot-“ Vegeta growled, stepping closer to Goku.

“Good news, she’s coming to Bulma’s get together tomorrow night. You’ll get to spend more time with her. If you play your cards right, you might be able to have a normal conversation with her too.” Goku laughed.

“Why do you smell of her?” Vegeta asked.

“I took her home. She was pretty drunk and I didn’t want her to try to make it home alone.” Goku said in between bites. “You could’ve taken her if you would’ve stayed longer.

Vegeta scoffed and walked out of the room. “Training. 8 AM. DON'T be late.”

#vegeta x original character #vegeta x oc #vegeta fanfic #vegeta #prince vegeta #dragon ball #dragon ball z #goku #bulma #krillin

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jctko · 4 years

Text

Jetko week, day 1: Confession

Hi folks, here’s my shitty late contribution. I had a world of difficulties with this piece, but I also enjoyed it and felt like I got to vent a little. It’s a bit more Gen than most of my fics, but it was made with Fleabag in mind so...

i. confession

Dear Jet

Please come to my wedding.

Thanks,

Katara.

The first time Jet sees the priest, he’s in the bar on the way to Katara’s house. It’s a little bar on the corner of a main street, with a green sign and blinking lights. It is very distinctly English, in the sense that the mist and fog clambers up the windows. But the warm light beckons him in, and before he knows it he’s sitting at the counter waiting for a beer.

Jet lights a cigarette just as the door opens once again with a jingle of wind chimes.

He’d be a young man if not for the red scar stretching his skin taut. It kind of makes Jet’s heart drop to his stomach, if he’s being honest. From the moment he appears, Jet identifies him as a man of contrast. Sharp white skin beneath a black turtleneck, interrupted by violent red.

The man glances at Jet and narrows the one eyebrow he has left. “Something interesting?” Jet shakes his head. “Not at all.” Then, before he can even feel it, a smile is splitting his face in half. “Hi.”

The man ignores him, instead going to the other end of the bar and ordering a scotch on ice. Red-gold liquid slides, languishing around white ridges of ice. Jet snorts and finishes his beer, leaving a tip. “See you,” he says to the man.

It’s Katara’s engagement dinner. Technically, Aang should be there too, but he’s doing something with the rest of the monks. It’s a nicer restaurant than Jet’s used too, a barn location with minimalist food. It’s not exactly what Jet would choose. Glasses swirl around him, and a lazy jealousy fills Jet’s chest. He knows that he needs to reassess his meds, but recently they fill him with an icy numbness that burns as much as it chills.

“Putting pine nuts on your salad doesn’t make you a grown up,” Katara is laughing.

“Fucking does,” Jet mutters under his breath.

There’s a bit of a rustle, and then someone is sliding into the one vacant seat. “So sorry, I was- traffic,” Jet is wondering how there could be traffic in a town as small as this when his eyes make contact with red. That’s all there is.

Katara moves in for a hug and then turns. “Jet, this is Zuko. He’s the priest! And Sokka’s best friend.” Jet nearly scoffs but simply waves his hand in a friendly gesture. Zuko just watches him, which makes things really awkward considering they’re sitting adjacent. The two of them sit around their meals, listening to the conversation as it sloshes around the table like water in a fishbowl.

Jet’s gaze slides around the table, and he allows himself a moment to think. There’s Katara, of course, and her father. Then there’s Sokka- who is clearly not going to address Jet in the time of this conversation. Her eyes are alight with that practiced happiness that has eventually become real.

There’s a crash and some yells, and Jet realises he’s dropped his glass. Red wine has splashed out across the tablecloth, leaving everything a kind of musty pink.

“Shit,” he mutters, and then repeats it so everyone can hear. “So sorry, I’ll just grab a- some tissues- ahah.” He gets up and is blocked by a speedy waiter. That’s the kind of restaurant this is. Jet turns back to the table, and is met with multiple pairs of second-hand-embarrassed eyes. “I need a piss.”

He turns and goes not to the bathroom, but past it to the alleyway.

The lighter sparks in his fingers to the point that he nearly drops it. Who in their right mind has a wedding in November! He curses, but halts at the sound of a soft voice. “Careful.” He looks up and sees a woman; red hair bobbed to her shoulders and eyes the type of blue he can’t catch in the moonlight.

“Thanks,” he says, but all there is is shadows passing over a dumpster. The air smells kind of like blood, so he covers it up with nicotine.

He’s halfway through his cigarette when the door opens and the priest steps out. There’s no eye contact, but Zuko awkwardly shuffles closer.

“Want a cig?” Jet holds it out and Zuko takes it in silence. “So you’re a cool priest, huh? Cigarettes and alcohol,” Jet laughs as Zuko glares. They don’t know each other well enough for this kind of banter.

Smoke drifts through the alley in its comforting disgust. “Who were you talking to, just then?”

“What? Oh, nothing.”

Zuko turns to go, clearly satisfied with their interaction.

“I wasn’t staring because of your scar,” Jet says suddenly, and Zuko stops at the end of the street. He makes a half-turn, and his gaze glances over Jet’s body. “I have a few grizzly scars too, so it made me-”

“Our scars have nothing in common.” Zuko raises his speed and is soon gone. Jet chuckles to himself, pitifully.

He leans his head back against the brick and feels static in his scalp. Cool wind soaks over his skin, bathing him in a type of quiet light.

“That was smooth.” It’s the same voice of the woman before. She’s amused. “Thanks, Suki.” He doesn’t open his eyes, instead hearing the soft ramble of her voice. The cigarette burns to the filter and he finally drops it into a pile of trash. His stomach burns something awful, like he’s going to throw up. He turns and heads to the car.

Over the next day, Jet finds himself thinking about the priest. There’s not any reason to, it’s not like they’ll bump into each other before the wedding. But there’s something about that frightened scowl that reminds Jet of the kids he helps in social work. He’s known several kids who go to religion as a source of healing, but most of them haven’t exited it.

He doesn’t know what it is that brings him to the churchyard. Not the building itself, of course, but he finds himself lingering among the gravestones. Part of him feels slightly dead, he thinks. He finds kinship with these people below the ground; no doubt by now rotting and hollow like old fruit.

“Are you stalking me or something?” His attention is tugged to- of course- Zuko. He’s even in his priest habit, a black thing with a white collar. It looks good on him, Jet thinks, in the time it takes to process Zuko’s presence.

“It’s illegal to go for a stroll through the graveyard now, is it?”

“It’s morbid,” Zuko tilts his face so that he’s giving Jet his good eye. “You don’t know anyone here, do you?”

“Sure I do,” Jet grins and puts a piece of grass between his lips. He found it on the border of the property, “Or- I don’t know them yet, but I will one day.”

If his eyes don’t deceive him, Zuko makes a snort. He twists away from Jet, catlike as he starts to walk along the path. He stops down by a grave and reaches to pull weeds from the flowerbed. Florence Doyle, 1874-1917. Beloved wife and mother.

“Poor woman,” Jet mutters, tracing his fingers along the stone rendered green by time. Some of the other headstones are now so old that they are illegible- this woman will join them one day, Jet thinks. And so will I. “I wonder if anyone at all visits her.”

“The dead don’t care. Those aren’t them, just skeletons under the ground. They are with God now.” Zuko pauses, because he is currently doing just what he thinks strange, “This is my job. For the presentation of the church.” He frowns a little and pulls out the final weed.

He starts to head back to the parish but Jet clears his throat. “Have dinner with me tonight, at the pub.”

Zuko doesn’t answer.

Jet goes anyway, waiting at the bar for someone that might not even come. He’s got a pint of beer inside him already, but all he does is watch the horse races on the pub TV’s. It makes him feel like more of a waster than usual. He sips foam from his glass and sighs. This is hard. Zuko sets down beside him, and sniffs.

“Why’d you come?” Jet asks, and then regrets it. His voice sounds slightly raw under the influence of alcohol, and he’s been finding it difficult to sleep. Someone behind him reminds him that alcohol is a depressant, but he ignores it. “You didn’t have to.”

“You are very uniquely irritating,” Zuko shrugs and the bartender immediately goes for the usual. Jet is quiet; watches the man unscrew an amber bottle and pour it over rectangles of ice. It burns like fire, like Zuko’s eyes, swirling around the shimmering ice. Jet realises he’s missed hearing that. It feels like years.

“I am very unique.” Zuko laughs at that. It’s a frightened sound, like a mouse. Jet doesn’t dare look in his direction as he says, “Would you like to walk back to the parish after this? I could do with some night air.”

They walk in silence through the streets. Jet knows him. This is a sensation that grows inside him over the moments that they spend together. They go for almost an hour without talking, and the sounds of Zuko’s breath makes something clench in Jet’s chest.

Without speaking, they drift into the church. Jet has never been religious. He tried to be for a time, but it didn’t really gel with him. He believes that something might be out there, but it certainly isn’t embodied by men of cloth- God would never exist inside a capitalistic system. He smiles at his own predictability.

A shadow moves at the corner of his eye and he turns without thinking. A curve of red hair glances out behind a pillar. He twitches, takes in a deep breath, and accepts the fact that Zuko is looking.

“Who are you looking at?”

“No one-”

He winces at the twist of his words. “I would like to make a confession.”

He sits awkwardly on the wooden seat, his hands fumbling. He doesn’t know how to do this. “Well, I have a lot of sins to begin with,” he laughs awkwardly, “Sodomy, self-pleasure, queerness. I’m a manic depressive wreck who is clearly possessed by something wicked, and I think my former self drowned a village or something because I just can not get a break.” He laughs around his fist, his fingers gripping his skin a little too tightly. “But mostly I think I’m just- everything is wrong. It’s never felt right. And I wish- I wish I could believe in God, because I just wish I could step in a direction without wondering where it’s taking me.”

He waits for something, anything, but Zuko remains quiet behind the wooden screen door. Not a breath escapes either of them, the tension lingering in the atmosphere that smells of pine and sweat of thousands before him.

“I want love but I don’t know if I can get it. Because I- I had love once and- and I lost it.”

“Katara?” “No. Some- someone else. And it was a different love.” He closed his eyes, “The kind of thing that makes me know what I’m going to do tomorrow. I’m going to call her, I’m going to arrange tea, I’m going to compare traumas. I’m going to look after her and I’m going to be looked after. I had it, once, and it was so much more beautiful than anything I can describe to you. Not a thousand encounters with heaven could ever compare to the beauty of that stability. But the stability was broken, and I can’t ever get it back.” His hands shake. “You can’t fix a relationship with a dead woman.”

He swears he can hear voices travelling past the confession box. He hears his name in a soft, cool voice.

“The only reason I was invited to this wedding was pity and concern.”

Zuko makes a sound and Jet feels like he’s crumbling inward. He’s not okay. He wishes he were okay. It feels so much less escapable the older he gets, as if he’s wandering the earth in a cage of his own mind. Something burns, like alcohol, and he wishes he were still at the pub. The opposite of taking his suffering away, he feels it washing through him like a tsunami of pain. He is silent, not even making a whimper. Not a tear leaves his eye, and yet he sits there feeling like a marked Cain. A struck Abel.

The curtain slides open and he tilts his face upwards, to where Zuko stands above him with a face of calm understanding; pressed into that testimonial frown like paint over cement. He doesn’t say anything and he doesn’t move. His golden eyes look like honeycomb moons; and before he knows it, Jet’s starting to cry. At least a year’s worth of tears build up and crash; and he rocks his body forward so his face is buried in Zuko’s habit. He shudders and sputters, nearly gagging from the pain of it all. A hand rests on the back of his head, holding him stable.

He cries so hard that hours must have passed; though it is still dark. All the energy is gone from his body by the time he wipes his eyes. Zuko doesn’t look at him, but it’s not from embarrassment. It’s from respect.

It’s pretty obvious that Jet can’t walk home tonight. Silently, Zuko leads him back to the parsonage and gives him a bed to sleep in. Jet’s words are all gone, his throat completely wracked. Still, Zuko senses the note of panic at the motion of leaving. Still clothed, Zuko slides into bed beside Jet.

He’s still there when Jet wakes up.

#this is the first time i've written in a while #jetko #jetko renaissance week #confession

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denrbough · 4 years

Text

‘a dear friend’

LIke family, but not like family

Summary: It’s 7:30 in the morning on a Wednesday when Bill’s eyes scan around the room, looking for something comfortable to train his eyes on. After the death of their father at the age of seventeen, most eyes would be swimming in tears sitting in the funeral home, trying to decide which blurry picture to use as the memorial card. Regardless, Bill Denbrough’s eyes are dry. It’s not that he hated Zack Denbrough, but he feels as if for the past six years, he hasn’t known him, and his view up until age eleven would have been very biased. Most little boys want to grow up just like their fathers, and Bill used to, even when he wasn’t someone to look up to.

in other words, au where the losers meet in high school in a youth therapy group.

Taglist: @purplelittlepup

It’s 7:30 in the morning on a Wednesday when Bill’s eyes scan around the room, looking for something comfortable to train his eyes on. After the death of their father at the age of seventeen, most eyes would be swimming in tears sitting in the funeral home, trying to decide which blurry picture to use as the memorial card. Regardless, Bill Denbrough’s eyes are dry. It’s not that he hated Zack Denbrough, but he feels as if for the past six years, he hasn’t known him, and his view up until age eleven would have been very biased. Most little boys want to grow up just like their fathers, and Bill used to, even when he wasn’t someone to look up to.

Mr. Denbrough died at the age of 45 from liver failure, after a damn near lifetime of being an alcoholic. Bill made the decision when he was 14 never to touch a bottle of liquor, and not to get very drunk. Now, he’d realized, is the time to know I don’t want to be him.

Meanwhile, Sharon is sitting near him with a chair in between, so drunk that Bill’s quite sure she’s sweating booze.

He turns his attention back to the funeral director, who’s going on about the pros and cons of cremation. Despite the serious mood, Bill chuckles in remembrance of what Richie had said to him the other day. “He should totally get cremated, all the vodka will have him up in flames in no time!” man, Richie could be a dick, and he doesn’t think before he speaks, and always smells like ax bodyspray, but honestly, Bill doesn’t know what he’d do without the kid.

“Mr. Denbrough, you alright?” Mr. Conch asks him in his even voice. Bill looks him in the eyes and nods.

“I’m just really in my head,” he says slowly, floating back into the real world. Between his lag and his red eyes, he’s sure now that it’s obvious he’s high. And with his mother with tear-stained cheeks looking disassociated, it’s obvious that Mr. Conch is about to say what comes out of his mouth next.

“How about I call tomorrow? You’ve both had a long week and probably need some time alone,” he says amiably, closing the book he’d been reading from. “We have until Monday and as long as you send me the information I can take care of things here. We want to make this transition as easy as possible on you two. Go home, rest” he insists, standing up from his chair to make it clear he’s serious.

Sharon collects her coat and puts it on, putting her purse over her shoulder and making her way out, not watching to see if Bill is following. He hurries himself to get up and follow but Mr. Conch stops him with a hand on his shoulder, silently handing him a pamphlet. “Teen Substance Abuse and the Risks.” he embarrassedly puts it away in his pocket before he’s handed a business card that he doesn’t read until he’s on his way out back to his truck to drive he and his mom home. “Grief Management Youth Group.” before he opens the car door he pulls his phone out of his pocket.

“Hey, Siri, can you s-save a date and time r-r-reminder for me?” he puts in the date for the next meeting based on the schedule on the card. He opens the driver’s side door and gets in.

Two days later, the sun is up and Bill gets out of bed, the funeral isn’t for three more days and nothing feels quite real yet. He feels as if he’s living in a diorama, he’s walking through a fake version of his world. With this coincidence, his phone goes off as he gets fresh clothes on after a shower. “Youth Group Thing” the screen reads as it rings. And even more surprisingly, he puts on his shoes and decides to go.

He listens to the radio on the way to the library where the meetings take place, parking close to the front as it’s early enough in the morning not to be busy yet. He shoves his hands in his sweatshirt pockets and walks down to the conference room, a few teens already sitting on chairs and talking. Before he walks in he peers through the window at each of them, none of them sitting properly on their chairs.

He opens the door and walks in, looking down at first and looking up once he’s in. “Hi, I g-got r-referred here, am I e-e-early?” he asks, not seeing anything formally going on. His face is flushed from the embarrassment of seemingly being the only new kid.

“No, this is it,” a girl in a beanie says with a pop of her gum. “You know this town, the guy supposed to talk to us never shows,” she says with a scoff. Bill starts to walk closer to sit in a chair and she stops him. “Name and state of orphanhood,” she says as she points a firm finger at him.

“William Denbrough. Lost my dad a few days ago,” he says, standing up a little straighter but averting his eyes and licking his chapped lips awkwardly. He shifts his weight to his left foot instead of his right and looks at the floor after a moment.

“Bev, chill out,” A taller teen boy says, he’s rather handsome and Bill recognizes him as being known as the only black kid in town. He’s never met him, but he’s also never judged, most of the teens don’t, they’re not as closed-minded as the adults of the small town of Derry, Maine. “Go easy on ‘im, fishes are friends, not food,” he starts to chuckle as he speaks and by the end of the sentence they’re all cracking up. All but Bill. It only makes sense, they know each other well enough to have inside jokes.

Bill finally takes a seat in a chair, one not next to anyone else. “Hey, might not want to get too comfortable, we’re heading out soon, Friday adventures,” one boy with dark roots and blond hair grins. He’s shorter than the others, almost looks younger, but the look in his eyes portrays something like wisdom.

“Fr-Friday adventures?” Bill asks, tumbling over the words even in such a short statement. Damn this stutter, damn his mom honestly, and damn the car accident she blames it on. He’d try and say it’s a nervous tick, but it happens even when he’s not consciously nervous, deep-rooted anxiety that he doesn’t know how to quiet. “Don’t w-we sit here and like, talk ab-bout how we feel about the p-p-people we’ve lost?” he asks, knowing that’s what was advertised to him, and it was something he wasn’t necessarily looking forward to. Maybe this is better, that is if they let him come with. The idea of “adventures” always strikes an intrigue in him.

“Not without a moderator,” shrugs another boy with a soft and plump face and an almost forlorn voice, shoving his phone into his sweatshirt pocket and standing up, “Mike, can I come with to go warm up the car?” he asks suddenly. He doesn’t seem to want to sit around here and talk anymore, Bill gets the idea that the boy doesn’t want to answer any more of his questions, and almost the cold breeze of being unwelcomed.

“I can uh- l-l-leave? I don’t th-think five people c-can fit in a car,” Bill gets up suddenly in contrast to his soft words. His body is tall and lanky and he’s not quite in his mind enough to control it less clumsily. He’s about to put his hands in his pockets and walk out when the supposed Mike blocks the door.

“Nah, you can have shotgun, you look like you need it. And five seat just fine, especially with tiny Eddie who’s so kind as to sit in the middle so we’re not all squished,” Mike offers, grinning in the direction of the boy with the dark roots, that must be Eddie.

“Fuck you,” Eddie says as dimly as he can and nonchalantly raises his left middle finger before he finally breaks the act and cracks a smile. “Beverly isn’t allowed to smoke next to me though, she’ll have to go a ride without a cig,” he says in a fake sympathetic voice geared at her with a matching overexaggerated expression. Then the boy gets up and Bill almost chuckles out loud, he can’t be any taller than 5’3, which Bill can’t judge much at 5’8, but he still is a good head above him.

Bev suddenly gets up from her seat (rather extravagantly as she’d been truly sitting as if she was a contortionist). “Careful red, we already have a ginger here,” she says with a playful smile and rustling the hair on the top of his head confidently. “It’s time to go. Mike said you can have shotgun but I get it on the way back,” she runs herself with such power that Bill can only nod in response to her sureness. He’ll have to be a bit careful of her, seemingly the fireball of the group, and fireball burns going down. Mike good cop, Beverly bad cop.

It takes them over a half an hour but they all get comfortable in the car, none of them but Mike and Eddie are buckled, and the pudgy boy with the sort of bowl cut is still quiet until they’re about to pair Eddie’s phone to the Bluetooth because he has Spotify premium. “So, your name is Bill, but what are you into? We usually dick around at the arcade, it’s bum empty during school hours. But it’s sunny enough to introduce you to the quarry if you don’t mind getting your jeans wet. I’m Ben by the way,” he introduces, with the new statement from Ben, Bill begins to realize that nobody in this group is really genuinely in charge, he likes that.

“God I don’t care if he wants to stay dry, I need a swim,” Mike laughs, kicking the car in the gas pedal and wheezing it to a start, backing out of the library parking lot and down the road to a turn Bill’s never noticed before.

It’s an unpaved road, more of an extra-wide trail, but there are tire marks from the obvious times they’ve come through before. The trees are starting to turn yellows and reds and oranges, a drive through the forest like this is like walking through a painting of warmth, the sunlight peeking through and showing drier patches of dirt. It’s beautiful, and he has no idea how he hasn’t seen it before. The drive seems longer than it really is, soaking up all the beauty Bill can take enough brainpower to slow down time.

Then comes a clearing of trees, showing a cliff that drops off into a sinkhole, rocks, and branches coming out the sides on the way down from the greenery that had been there when the sinkhole developed. Before Bill has even taken in the scenic view, the others are climbing out of the car and pulling off their shirts and pants, “Don’t worry, Bill, we’ve got towels in the trunk for days like this,” Mike calls back as he makes a run for the cliff’s edge, his sound draining away as his body falls from the cliff to the water with a hearty splash.

Bill nods to himself, now taking off his sneakers and his clothes behind a tree. He shouldn’t be embarrassed, and they’ll see his body in the water anyway, but he’s insecure, new, and scrawny as all get out. He runs his hands up and down his ribs, sometimes imagining them as a hidden xylophone in his chest, he wonders if he hit them hard enough with one of the paddles if they would be in tune. Richie says those thoughts are too dark, and they can lead to self-destructive behavior, but Bill simply sees it as a creative mind coming up with something others aren’t ready for yet.

He slips off his socks and walks out into the clearing. Then, he bolts forward to soar over the edge of the cliff, falling, falling, diving into something he’s never known before, trust and friendship. They’re a quirky bunch and he’s not sure where he’ll fit in, but they were kind enough to include him, and now he’s giving in. it’s been a bad week and he hasn’t felt this free in months despite it being summer. His bike broke two years ago, and he hasn’t found the right fit. So now, this feeling. The feeling of the wind in his face, the weightlessness.

Despite the molasses-like state of time, Monday still comes. Bill buttons up his black shirt and pulls on a pair of black jeans, he can’t remember the last time that he had a pair of dress pants that didn’t rest far above his ankles, he really needs to go clothing shopping. To top it all off, a pair of worn out Vans. he looks at himself in the mirror in the bathroom, combing back his hair into a bit of a messy man bun at the back of his head. His dad never liked his hair long, he feels like he ought to pull it back out of respect. He learned a lot about funerals and respect when Georgie died. He may not care as much about the person his dad was, but he respects the process. Really, he’s unsure if he could call his parents parents. He’d read in a poetry book once that said there is no such thing as alcoholic parents, just people who can’t put their drinks down long enough to raise their child. He partially agrees with it, he knows his mom doesn’t actually know him, and he’s sure his dad didn’t either.

When he’s ready and it’s time to go, he puts his phone in his pants pocket and goes to fetch his mother, who is ready as opposed to still in bed as he’d expected. Maybe his parents did care about stuff, that stuff just isn’t him.

The drive is nearly silent until he’s parking in the parking lot, even when he misses a few exits on the way. His mom doesn’t criticize his driving, but as he starts to unbuckle his seatbelt and unlock the car, she hisses to him in a low voice. “Don’t embarrass us.” before he can even respond, she’s getting out of the car and hurrying into the building.

Bill follows slowly behind her, first pulling the door and then realizing it’s a pull door. He really doesn’t know where his mind is today. Somehow the funeral home feels dimmer than it has any other times he’s been here when the lighting realistically hasn’t changed at all. The room where the funeral will take place is off a door to the left, he’d seen his dad’s cold, pale body in the door a straight path from the front door. Something about final viewing before cremation. Georgie was buried, but Bill assumes because his dad wanted the reminder that he’d lost his son as far as he could keep it, it would have been Sharon who hoped for cremation. Why? Because she couldn’t even bear to touch a hair on one of the boy’s stuffed animals, it must all be how he’d have it, how the memories would be triggered more easily.

He has to stand in the room for several hours, giving and receiving hugs from family and friends. Being the close family at a funeral is probably the worst role to be, except for maybe the dead one. But is that so bad? They always talk about heaven, isn’t death supposed to be the most peaceful? But here in a room full of people he has to stop thinking about that before he gets more red in the face and flustered.

Then is the actual ceremony with only who was close to him, and to be honest, Bill zoned out. And he pretended to be too sad to speak when he was offered the microphone, when you have a stutter you can make excuses like that really easily. Afterward he lingers outside the room where his relatives are eating.

It’s almost like fate that the gang of hooligans he hung out with the other day all walk in then. Or was it? They’d met Bill, looked up his dad’s funeral, and decided to show up after to pick him up. It’s not like they could have texted him first, not a single one of them had managed to get his phone number on the day they’d met.

They don’t need to say anything until he breaks down in tears, enough has built up and he doesn’t even know why at this point. First Beverly hugs him, and that really shocks him because she was so standoff-ish at first. He accepts the hug gratefully though, almost melting against her as Mike comes up and joins. And before long, they’re all hugging around his shaking form in the lobby of the funeral home. It’s unconventional, but it’s just what he needed.

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sunshinexlollipops · 5 years

Note

FOR THE LOVE OF MANGOS PLZ. A/O ARTHUR HEADCANONS (both with the reader and Arthur being A/O plz! Thx!!!)

anon. I have heard your prayers. your answers are coming. (like Arthur. and much of this community over abo Arthur, apparently lol.)

BONUS: alongside doing alpha and omega for Arthur, I did high and low honor as well. It would definitely affect how Arthur acts in the ABO verse. Also made gender neutral, alongside you being alpha or omega yourself. ;)

——————

A L P H A A R T H U R

Low Honor

when you first arrive in the gang, Arthur allows his eyes to wander to you. he leered alongside the others when you were new, and he didn’t make any attempt at hiding his interest.

soon, the others become competition, and you best believe Arthur is going to finesse himself an alpha/omega like you. you are his prize.

he boasts about himself, takes the lead on missions, steals the prettiest and best stuff for you, hunts your favorite game, puffs his chest, tries to act badass and suave. he pretty much postures himself at you, acting like a stereotypical alpha trying to impress their intended mate.

and normally, you hate pompous alphas like this, but damn if it doesn’t work.

he’s possessive asf. constantly baring his teeth at anyone who so much as looks your way with any interest in their gaze.

you’re HIS alpha/omega, and he makes sure to let everyone know.

there’s also a huge thing about scent: you have to ALWAYS smell like you’re his. whether he marks you, your clothes— or even puts you in his own— strangers don’t even have a problem with knowing that there is an alpha to answer to if they try anything.

if someone even so much as makes a comment or joke, or if a stranger says something in passing, best believe you have an enraged Arthur Morgan at the ready. he will take people down, guns or not.

marking is also done with hickeys. he loves how flustered they make you, and he takes damn pleasure in seeing the jealousy in the others’ eyes for getting to put them all over your neck. it’ll make it that much sweeter for his mating bite.

he hints about your upcoming heat/rut, or even about his own, and there’s no doubt that he wants to be there for the main event.

and when it does happen, Arthur is there before you’re even really into it. you can even be in the middle of camp, he won’t care— he’ll grab ahold of you, throw you over his shoulder, and take you where he deems fit to weather it out.

(maybe his tent in camp, or an abandoned shack he scoped out nearby, it all depends. because even if someone tries to bother you both, they’re getting shot.)

the alpha is rough and quick, he gives it to you like you need. there’s never a dull or slow moment when you’re in bed with Arthur.

overstimulation KING. you think your climax is the end of it? WRONG. he will work you through every second. even when he’s got a knot deep in you. the man will stop when either you or him drop. and good luck, he’s got stamina core for daysssss

also. huge fan of eating you raw. he loves getting your slick in his beard, till he looks wet with it. he will literally make you drip from his tongue alone. you’re better than a shot of whiskey any day.

when you do pass out eventually, Arthur takes those moments to stand outside for a quick smoke break. shirtless. with nail marks from you all over his chest and back. he likes the way Micah gets pissed, because he was never alpha enough for anything like this. (a cig never tasted so good, either.)

he’ll sketch you as you are, naked, and marked up by him. he also does close ups of his bites, those are his faves.

it’s when you’re deepest in heat that he gives you his mating bite. you knew it was coming, he made it obvious, but it doesn’t stop the gasp that escapes you when he does it.

he places it where it’ll be obvious no matter what you do, and he likes it like that

he’ll mark your neck up like nothing else, and he’s very proud of the way you looked wrecked afterward

you don’t walk right for at least a week and a half afterward, something that Arthur puffs his chest about. he always smirks at the comments the others make at your stiff gate. it makes watching you that much more pleasurable.

likes you loud. he wants no one to doubt when he takes you. he wants you screaming so they can all hear just how good he’s making you feel. you’re embarrassed most of the time, but shame is nothing he could ever feel when it comes to something like that.

pretty much every time a job goes well or there’s a celebration, it ends with him knotting you. ;)

when stuff goes bad, there’s still knotting, but expect him to get you to the point where your body aches as much as it sings under him.

if you get pregnant, expect Arthur to be extremely pleased with himself. he bred you well, and he can’t wait to see how you’ll look.

he’s more possessive and wanting of you when you’re expecting— you always have him stiff and hungered when he sees you as you are, knowing he did that to you

when the kids (or pups) are born, he’ll try and get you knocked right back up

High Honor

it starts with a crush, and dear lord was Arthur pining when you first arrived.

he hears the others gushing about you, and when the others also speak of their own interest, Arthur stays quiet and feels hopeless— how could you end up with an alpha like him with so many better people lining up?

he vents in his journal, writing poems and fantasies he has where he gets to be your alpha. he is very longing, and sometimes you catch him staring at the fire or when you happen to feels his eyes on you. (he can’t be subtle, even though he thinks he is.)

he draws you, ofc. with flowers in your hair, when you laugh. his favorite moments are when you’re smiling, because he likes to imagine that he’s the sole reason it’s stretching your lips.

this man practically breaks his own heart over you, and he M O P E S

but, much to his surprise, the girls and other encourage him, and he FINALLY gathers the courage to tell you about the god damn cavity you’ve made with how sweet he is on you and you A C C E P T?

he courts you, right and proper like an alpha should. he gets you flowers, sweets, nice clothes or other trinkets he thinks you’d like— all acquired fairly. he also takes you on dates, from the theater in Saint Denis to quiet rides through the Heartlands with you by his side.

he endures so much teasing, especially from Micah and John, but he will take it. he doesn’t care if he’s gone “soft,” you’re too good for him to be anything but. Micah can still stfu though.

he doesn’t ask you to help with him during his rut, and he’s shy to offer his... uh.... assistance.... with your heat/rut. not because he doesn’t want to, but because he doesn’t want to pressure you! he doesn’t want you to think he’s only here for that, or that he would be disappointed if you declined! this dumbass would gladly go gray if you waited that long.

(which you never would, obviously. but damn if that isn’t sweet asf.)

when it does come around, he is so sweet. he found this really nice place— this precious cabin— and he’s been preparing it for months while he waited for this moment.

he’s so gentle with you, and not impatient at all. he preps you, makes sure you’re always comfortable. he only intends for you to feel pleasure, not pain, and trust me— you’re gonna enjoy yourself.

he peppers you with kisses, constantly asking if you’re okay or if there’s something else he can do. he’ll follow your requests, and give you what you need as you want it.

when you climax, Arthur is sweet to you, he praises you, holds you close as it happens. he doesn’t push you, and let’s you float right back to him whenever you’re ready.

during the moments in between the heights of your heat, he cleans you up, and feeds you peaches by his fingers as you lean against his chest.

he’ll hum songs for you, because of course he doesn’t know the words. but the tunes are pretty, just like you.

if you ask kindly enough, he’ll even read from his journal. but don’t worry, he’s always been a sucker for big doe eyes, and yours do him the worst.

he shows you the sketches he’s made too, especially when he was thinking you’d never give him the honor of being your alpha. they’re too precious.

the heat/rut will pass without a mating bite, because it needs to be done RIGHT.

he plans it out, it’s pretty much Hallmark. he buys your favorite food, takes you to your favorite place. he makes it special by giving you the same flowers that made his first bouquet that he gave you, and made sure to ask you under the stars like you wanted.

he is careful about it, and he feels awful that it has to hurt, but he makes sure to kiss it afterward, and he gives you a tonic to make it stop aching.

he places it lower on your neck, where it can be easily covered if you wanted

(but you’d never— because the way Arthur looks so flustered when you walk around with unbuttoned collars is WORTH IT)

he is such a proud alpha, and he walks around camp with his head held high and not even Micah can bring him down

he constantly gets you things, or does stuff with you. he never lets a moment pass where you don’t feel loved or appreciated by him

if you get pregnant, Arthur will be emotional. tears, but happy ones, will be shed. he can’t believe he got so lucky to mate an alpha/omega like you, and that you’re giving him a family again.

after you break the news, Arthur will practically worship you. that, and he will be protective like nobody’s business over anything and everything— someone threatens you? someone says your fat? expect low honor Arthur levels of mayhem.

when your kid finally get into the world, he can’t help but be the proudest papa Arthur. he is a bear to these kids, and he dotes on them endlessly. but he also makes time for you, and always tells you how grateful he is.

he doesn’t push for more kids, but you can tell he’s a big family man, and you can’t help but try and put a smile on his face for as much as he finally puts one on yours like he wanted to from the start

O M E G A A R T H U R

Low Honor

when you arrive— holy shit. he might as well be in heat with how wet you get him. the others thirst over you too, and oh, it makes Arthur j e a l o u s.

NEEDY. when he notices you, you spark an itch he can’t scratch. he is constantly biding for your attention, and he’ll do whatever he can to get it.

he touches himself to the thought of you, and he gets off many a time by the fantasy of you getting him and claiming him. never gets old. especially when you catch him moaning. totally not on purpose.

Arthur does all he can to seem like the omega you desire, and he may or may not have done things like play around with your clothes to get you smelling like him.

when his heat comes up, he plays up how bad they are and that he needs someone. he definitely makes sure to do this around you. for no reason at all, of course.

you offer, and ohmygod what a surprise Arthur accepts that shit like VISA

Arthur preps like nobody’s business. he tries to make himself look nice, tries to figure out things you like. he aims to have you claiming him by the end of this.

when he feels his heat ramp up, he’s slick for you, and let’s you know.

he takes control, and rides you hard. has has you begging for him, he takes you so deep. he’s practically hoarse himself, and the whole camp knows just how you feel inside of him now.

(thanks Arthur)

he plays on your instincts, and he manages to get you to bite him on the neck. your claim is the first thing he’s wanted since a good fuck when his first heat hit, and damn if he didn’t get both from you.

if you knot Arthur, it practically makes him D R O O L

Arthur has no shame about the bite. he shows it off, let’s everyone know that he got claimed. he hasn’t been this much of a show since he presented.

he always tells you how slick you get him, and he will always try and pull a quickie whenever he can manage.

he tries to spur jealousy from you whenever he can, but don’t worry, he’s just as possessive over you

High Honor

holy shit. you. you are something else, and damn if Arthur doesn’t feel like a sad pathetic omega for lusting after you as he is.

he’s never craved someone like you before, and he doesn’t know how to feel about it. he hasn’t even exactly felt the desire to be claimed, but oh, you make him feel a lotta things.

he doesn’t try to mention his heats— he doesn’t want you to think you owe him help or that he’s dreamt about you making him feel good, but when you finally ask about it it just kinda... happens?

when you offer helping him, he about loses his mind. you? during his heat? what did he do to deserve that?

he gets so nervous, thinking he’ll embarrass himself, or that you’ll reject him for whatever reason. he thinks he’s hideous and doesn’t understand what you see back in him, but he just tries to focus on making it good for you.

you notice his nerves, and you assure him it’s fine. pretty much all of his heat, you’re praising him, and you get to see just how it gets to the omega. apparently, he really likes it when you tell him how good he is.

Arthur feels great, and he responds so well. you light him on fire, and damn, a heat never felt this good. you make it bearable. enjoyable. that isn’t an easy feat.

when Arthur climaxes, he clenches around you, both with his arms and his body— and he cries out.

you end up biting him out of reflex, and oh god— it makes Arthur caterwaul because he didn’t know how much he needed this

you apologize, saying you should’ve known and done better, but Arthur doesn’t care. he loves it. and he loves you.

Arthur is proud of your bite, and he can’t believe he’s your mate. he accepts the role with grace, and enjoys the way it gets you flustered.

he oftens tells you how much he loves you, and how he wouldn’t be mated to anyone else.

there you go anon! hope you enjoyed. ;)

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sarcasm-loathing-blog · 5 years

Text

⋅⊱♊∂σทτ τrυsτ нєr ƒαcα∂є♊⊰⋅

⋅⊱♊qυєsτiσทiทg i∂єทτiτiєs♊⊰⋅

She stumbled in as another strong gust of wind pushed her into the building, the left double door caving in and flinging open, banging against the wall. The sudden slam echoed into the living room and empty space, causing her to grimace and scramble to close the door. So much for stealthy.

The chilling sounds of an oh so familiar cartoon reached her ears. She averted her gaze to a nearby wall as she shut and locked the door behind her, feeling the harsh breeze rattling the doorknob as she did so. She could hear the show, but at the same time she could somehow still see the up and down jerky mouth movements of the ship on the screen, that horrible horrible laugh. She had a bad rep with the show, having watched one episode as a kid, that kind of cut cable from her family forever. It was just a fucking show, but dear god it was sickening, especially the character, the skin taker. His mouth movements weren't particularly pleasing, he grinded his teeth left to right instead of the normal way a puppet should, up and down.

After her silent and short lived panic cooled down, she brushed herself off like something had stuck to her whilst she had made her way to the mansion, that wasn't the case, every hair was in place, not a single thing had ruined her appearance, because she was perfect. She strived to be the embodiment of perfection.

Ever so casually, she heaved the heavy backpack off of her shoulders before slinging it onto one of the rings of the sturdy coat rack, testing the stability before letting go and turning her head towards the three or so figures hanging on the couch, watching-that show. It should be static to her by now, right? Right?

She narrowed her eyes at the characters, trying to identify them with what little light shed onto their figures from the soft luminescent glow of the screen, then-it clicked. Sideburns, Ashy, and Goggles McGhee. Three of whom she didn't exactly interact with-well, what do you expect, with the higharchy of this damned mansion, you would be a fool to even glance at the musketeers with what authority they had. She began to back away, her clammy hands folding together as a possible comfort technique.

They all seemed fixated on the small retro TV, she often wondered how the hell they got cable and electricity all the way out here, she's made a theory that there was some sort of electrical system only for pastas or something, but its an extremely weak theory. She rolled her eyes and silently scoffed, uninterested in the activity. Its safe to say she hasn't watched TV in a while, 5 years at best, considering her RV just barely has electricity, she doesn't need a TV-well, she wish she had one, sort of.

Sideburns, or Masky, to others, sat with him. It would be foolish to address a proxy as an equal, she had a silent respect for them both, strong powerful beings whom don't have to slave away with a broom every day. They're living the life-well, not exactly. She was one who was allowed to remember her past life, give or take she had succumbed to the fact she had no hope of returning to it in the future.

Suddenly, as quick as a crack of lightening, Ashy turned his head away from the screen, the black endless orbs of the mask peering into the darkness, she heard a deep inhale. What was it doing? She deemed him it for just a moment, his movements so animalistic you could actually feel the wild like aura he held. Oh god, his gaze had directed om her. He made a movement with his hand, seeming to slap Sideburns on the shoulder with the back of his hand, causing Sideburns to startle a bit before glancing back over his shoulder. Well, this is-she didn't know what to call it. Disturbing? Unnerving? She didn't like the position she was in, then-Ashy began to rise from the couch, he began to speak-there was a raspy undertone in his voice, like he doesn't use it a lot, something seemed to creep from his words, something slimy and black with a bunch of tiny legs.

"Who are you."

It seemed more like a demand then a question, she flinched on instinct as she felt eyes almost immediately peer towards her in the darkness.

"Your dad, im back with cigs"

Ashy seemed to be narrowing his eyes-or lack of, definitely lack of, on her. She swollowed the hard forming lump in her throat as she tried to turtle into her clothes, seemingly phased by the cold glare that the being was somehow directing at her.

She froze in place, only then realizing that she was backing away, the heels of her boots scuffing the peeling yellowed hideously wallpapered wall behind her as she drew her arms to her chest, her head lowering to cover her neck in case the figure went for a punch to her throat. How does someone answer that?

"Hey, my name is Trinity, im the fucking maid who washes the skid marks from your undies, good luck holding a proper conversation with me because the only thing I want to talk about is how fucking horrible my job is, I hadn't had proper social interaction in, like 5 years!"

Yea, that would totally work, her hand slid into her coat, fingering the Browning high power 9 mm pistol that bounced at her hip. It gave her a raw sense of empowerment, like she was a ring leader, and Eyeless jack was a lion.

"My name is Trinity. I clean up around here, I usually do it at night, but I had something to do last night and never had to opportunity."

She was mildly impressed by the steady dull flat tone she used and how she was able to speak over a mumble. She didn't get to cocky yet, how would they believe her? Did she have to whip out her bottle of Windex and cleaning rags?

"That's a nice name."

Masky was a little unamused by the female. Sure, he may not of seen her before, but no, she doesn't faze him. He blinked slowly, then looked over at Jack. Look, it'll be pretty sad seeing this gremlin of a woman try and fail to fight this hulking figure, so he decided to give her a hand and take her word for it. Most creatures couldn't pass through the mushroom circle anyways.

His voice sounded deep, as though he hasn't slept for a couple of centuries, with a bit of a smokers cough. He didn't introduce himself, who cares for casualties? His gaze darted towards Goggles McGhee , instead of soaking the drama in, the male was leaning forward, fixated on the static covered screen as if it was the most engrossing morning cartoon he's ever watched. Sideburns rolled his eyes underneath the black opaque fabric covering the eyeholes of his mask before glancing back at the gorl.

She pursed her lips together, her eyebrows knitting in confusion as the words had rolled around in her mind, slowly peacing together into a sentence, a little lightbulb finally flicked on inside her mind as she nodded slowly. "Thank you-?" It seemed more like a question, its been a while since she actually-got a compliment, you know? Because she was the embodiment of loneliness.

Ashy, on the other hand, would need a bit more convincing. If he could, he would have already tackled her to the ground and ripped out her spine from her still squirming soon to be corpse, but something was nagging him in the back of his mind, something was telling him that maybe she was telling the truth. He ignored that tiny thought, his hand sliding into the grey worn and bleach stained hoodie he adorned before fingering the warm smooth metal of the blade. It felt alive, due to how his body tempature was keeping it warm.

"I smell bullcrap."

"It's probably your upper lip."

Her gaze adverted back to Ashy, a frown tugging on her lips as she cocked her head. "Well, im sorry to hear that, would you like me to elaborate?" She held a snarky comment on the back of her tongue, it pressed against her teeth, struggling to push out before she heard the soft thump of a stuffed toy hitting a step and the pats of tiny feet hitting the smooth floorboards of the second story hall. There was a flash of a dirty salmon color in the corner of her eye before it dissapeared, She couldn't keep one eye on jack and the other on the toy, so she kept her eyes on jack, but did address the toys presence for future reference.

Jack turned his head, listening in-a giggle erupted from the hallway, high pitched and playful. Sally. Ashy couldn't see Sally, also known as button eyes-but he could smell her. She always smelt of letting meat and sugar cookies. His defensive attitude kicked in as he gripped his scalpel in a vice-like grip, bristling like an angry cat at this point “I don’t know who you are, but you don’t belong here, if you worked here over night then I'd at least would have picked up your scent.” he growled, his heart rate picking up.

His chest hurt, the goop kept streaming from his sockets, he felt his headache lightly at the back of his skull as he rolled his shoulders.

"Well, if you were able to smell me, then you'd possibly be able to smell yourself and take a bath for once, news flash-you reek of death."

The words left her mouth before she could comprehend what was happening, she mentally struggled to shovel them back down her gaping maw before it was too late, a flash of regret misted her eyes, but it was true, even from here, she could smell the rotting flesh interlaced between with teeth and underneath his nails. This seemed to silently enrage him. "Look-you, do I need to prove it? This place would be a fucking dump without me." She jabbed her thumb into her chest, her eyes narrowed into an ice spiked glare, she was going all out with this.

She felt angry, frustrated, scared, etc.... Why the hell was she even having this argument in the first place? It was clear that this person was insignificant and unimportant-no, that's not true, that's definitely not true, they were important, they were strong, they could kill her.

Sideburns looked back and forth to who was talking. The conversation was going nowhere, the two only threw threats at one another whilst also trying to gain the upper ground, it was aggravating. He blinked hard, almost shed a tear, but he's extremely dehydrated. His tiredness was getting the best of him, which is a bad thing in this situation.

"Look, how about we let her go, besides, she cleans. I mean, it's like arguing with a janitor, you're not going anywhere if they speak Spanish."

She was tempted to gasp melodramatically, how dare he compare her to a janitor-but she didn't, she kept silent, ever so slowly closing her eyes and pinching the bridge of her nose to suppress the oncoming headache. Dear lord, save her soul, she didn't ask for this, she didn't ask for this job, it just came to her. In all honesty, she wanted to crawl into a ball and dissapear into a black endless void, she was edgy like that-no, she actually wanted to be home. She wanted to be back at home before she had moved away from college, back with her mom and three brothers, as they danced in the bare widely spaced living room to music. Those were the good times, before she changed her hair and begun to wear eyeliner and smoke pot. Before she met all her horrible wreckless teenage friends, back when she was as free as a bird.

Ashy then, at the last moment, reconsidered before forcing himself to put his weaponry away back into the hoodie pocket it had previously resided in, such a shame he couldn’t use it today.

“If you make one wrong move or even lay a finger on Sally you won’t be so lucky...” he said with a snarl.

Jack turned his back to the woman with one final glance before turning back and giving his sleeve a sniff, even through his mask he could smell how horrid the stench emitting from his body was, his nose wrinkling in disgust. She was somewhat right, he hasn't bathed in a while.

"I'm sorry, who?"

She didn't know who this "Sally" was, perhaps it was the figure that had raced away, leaving the stuffed toy behind. She felt a bit more relaxed, give or take she no longer was an antelope dangled by the bind legs above a pit full of tigers, the corner of her mouth twitched upward, almost forming a small smile before dropping.

Thank the Lord, someone changed the channel, that droning static of candle cove was enough to make her want to rip her eyes and ears out as she envied the death. She felt a bit more clumsy now, with both her actions and her words, she needed to stay sharp, at any moment, Ashy could lunge at her and plunge that tiny little weapon of his into her gut, she wasn't a fan of dying.

"Hey, I was watching that!"

Goggles McGhee flung his hands upwards a bit before shaking his head and cussing underneath his breath. Sideburns had begun to flip through channels to see what else was on besides that creepy cartoon, he eventually landed on some sort of modeling show, the clothes they wore were hideous and it seemed that 20 gallons of hair spray held each models hair in place.

After getting little to no response, she rolled her eyes and grimaced, disgusted in her own behavior, but she couldn't help but let a sense of satisfaction and entitlement seep into her as she crossed her arms. Now then, what shall she do first? She supposed cleaning the fridge out should be what she should start off with, if she survives that, the rest of her chores would seem to be mildly easy. She turned on her heel, heading towards the kitchen with the black snakey like tail dragging behind her, whipping or flicking slightly.

Once she entered the kitchen, she noticed how dark in the room it was, considering the grime on the outside windows and the blackout curtains on the inside, her hand reached up, patting along the wall for a switch as she tried to peer through the darkness. "We're back in harmony." She muttered to herself. It was a small quote from one of her favorite books she had as a young teen, a thick novel of sorts. Finally, she found the switch before flicking it upwards with one hand, almost immedietely the bright shockingly white glare of the light above caused her to hiss and squint in distain, her hands flying to her eyes to cover them as the shock of the sudden light gradually released.

Ever so slowly, she removed her hands from her eyes, dropping them to her sides and taking a moment to review the previous events and peace together what happened. Should she apologise, should she say sorry for even being there? No, she had every right to be there, you shouldn't accuse someone of being an enemy just because you don't see them on a day to day basis. She felt slightly hurt, like she was uninvited in the only work space she had.

She shook her head quickly frim side to side, her glossy dark locks bobbing around before she shuddered. "No, im not going to do that. Risky, risky-" she didn't finish her sentences per usual, how could she? Besides, it wouldn't matter if she apologised or not, in about 4 hours or so she could head back to her RV. In 4 hours, this would be nothing, she would go back to working at night, she would go back to the silence and solitude and peace. This was a mere ripple in her pond of routine.

It was time to get to work.

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seanhtaylor · 3 years

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No Man Is

Dinner at eight. Sex at nine-thirty -- ten at the latest. Depends on the service at Roberto's tonight. If we get that lousy mid-western kid again, it could be as late as eleven before we're out of there. Really, Roberto ought to fire that kid.

Should it be the skimpy red velvet one tonight? Maybe the navy blue leather one -- Warren says I look really sexy in the blue one. What would he know? He'd say I look sexy in any of them. Just play along, that's what he thinks, just play along and feed her a few compliments and he'll get what he wants, all stars are like that. . . Small minds, I get so sick of them.

Another interruption. Just great. I really ought to talk to someone at that answering service. Too many of these things slip through.

"Hey darling. I've got some bad news."

"Really. What? Having trouble matching your bow tie to your socks again?"

"Worse."

"Your polo pony caught something from an undesirable filly and won't stop scratching?"

"Hilarious. You're a regular riot. Now would you please shut up and listen?"

"Yeah, sure."

"Look. Dad's entertaining some Arabs tonight, and one of them has a daughter ready to hit the big three-oh. It's a favor for Dad. Really. She's a tramp, true dog meat. Got nothing on you, sweetheart."

What, no screaming fans at every corner? No number one re-mixes? Dry up and die, Warren.

"Yeah, whatever. Maybe tomorrow night."

"OK. . .Hey, thanks for understanding. Blood's thicker than water, you know."

I hang up, listening to the bath water lap against the sides of the tub while Boots swats at the bubbles. I imagine the same bubbles swimming in my nose, throat, lungs. Boots licking my hand, giving up, and slinking off to the bowl by the refrigerator. Rest. . .

"Here Boots. Let Mommy in. Cats aren't supposed to like water."

Nice night for a walk. Maybe afterwards.

* * * * *

Tramps, all of them. Whatever happened to real heroes? When I was kid, we had the Shadow, Lone Ranger, even Batman and Robin. Now it's these sex-crazed musicians. Self- proclaimed Messiahs for a new generation.

At seven-thirty, I'll call it a night. Been on the corner all day anyway. I'll be back tomorrow morning, shouting and screaming. "Repent! Repent!" It used to be so clear, easy to tell them. Now they can't hear me for all the noise those headphones are pumping into their ears.

Just like Ellis, everyone of them. Not one of them goes by that I don't see a little bit of Ellis in their eyes, hear a little bit of Ellis out of their mouths. Ellis cursed his father, too. Even cursed me on the note he left.

One more show tonight. Gangster rap crowd. They think it's cool. I can tell by the walk.

About four of them. The biggest one's got a knife. He doesn't know I know, but he's got it anyway. Right up against his wallet. Probably a butterfly. That's where Ellis kept his.

"Yo! What's up, old man? Why ain't ya preaching no more? You all out of things to say? Or did you change your mind all of a sudden?"

"Yeah. I got some something real smooth jammin' right now. Real smooth. . .'Ooh baby. . .give me what you got. . .' Wanna hear it?" The short one offers me his headphones.

"Repent!" I say. "Repent! Quit following the gods of that trash you're listening to. 'Thou shalt have no other gods before me.' That's what the Bible says."

"Ain't got no time for the Bible. It don't rhyme."

"Can't dance to it either."

"Listen," I say, "You'll dance soon enough. Dance right on into Hell. Dance forever. No stopping, then. All these zealots of immorality will be dancing with you then. But you can outsmart them. Repent! Repent!"

They don't like what I say. The one with the knife pushes me down. I think each one of them gets a chance to kick me as they go by. That'll hurt in the morning. But bruises heal.

They yell something at me as they run off. I can't hear it clear enough to make it out. The sounds don't separate themselves in my head when the darkness comes in. . .they just mix together. Maybe I'll go in at eight or nine -- whenever I wake up.

Some listen. Some don't. All I can do is all I can do.

* * * * *

I'd turn on the radio, but I get so tired of hearing my songs over and over again. I used to think it was so cool to hear the radio playing something I wrote, something I sang, because I knew then that they thought I was good enough. Now it doesn't matter, and I know it. They'll play any old crap I give them. All it needs is my name on the CD.

Let's see: jeans, raggy t-shirt, Papa's fishing hat, a ski-mask if I had one, and these old Nikes (the old-fashioned ones I bought before the air pumps). Maybe this windy city will be blowing so hard nobody'll notice me. Sometimes a girl needs to be alone. Without the whole crazy world chasing her down like she was wearing a sign that said "A MILLION BUCKS - - JUST CATCH ME TO WIN!"

Wonder if I'll see Warren and that Arabian princess tramp. His Dad does enjoy showing off the city whenever company is in town. Driving down the strip in his stretch limo. Guess he doesn't quite realize that those things are a dime a dozen nowadays. Oh well, Warren wouldn't recognize me if I weren't wearing something kinky anyway. It's a perverted kind of tunnel vision he's got.

Better call George downstairs. See if he can't let me leave by the loading area again. The winos make great company. Don't ask a lot of questions.

"George."

"That you, Miss Diva?"

"Can you sneak me out back again tonight? Last time, I promise."

"For a kiss."

"Don't tempt me, George. Your heart rate alone would kill you. And I wouldn't want that on my conscience. Besides, I might not find anybody else who'd let me use the back door."

"It was worth a try, anyhow. Sure, come on down. You gonna use the service elevator?"

Dear sweet George. I bet he hasn't seen a single one of my videos. He probably wouldn't be so sweet then. Come after me like I was the anti-Christ, jump on that "She's ruining our kids" bandwagon. Thank God Salem was a hundred years ago.

"Yeah. Bought my new album yet?" I hope he's blushing.

"Naw. Not on a security guard's salary. It'd be a little too new for me, anyhow. No Benny Goodman on it. I'll meet you downstairs in a few minutes."

"Thanks, George."

Well, Boots. You up for a little walk down the strip? No? Well, keep an eye on the apartment for Mommy. Wouldn't want to lose anything. On second thought, let someone take it all. It would be a welcome change.

* * * * *

The lights spin like showgirls, rapt in their performance. I try to focus, but the showgirls keep dancing, teasing, taunting, twirling around all glamor and frills.

Something dark that reeks of a night's sweat comes between me and the lights.

"Hey, mon. You ok?"

He's a big black man, close to six-and-a-half feet, no joke. And he's got those long dreadlocks growing like ropes from his scalp. Real unnatural.

"I say, hey mon, are you ok?"

I groggle something out to him, noise mostly, that he at least pretends to understand. He reaches out to help me up, out of the alley.

"Thank you," I say.

"Don't mention it. You need a ride somewhere?"

"No thanks. I live here." As I say it I realize he probably assumes I'm talking about the alley. . .that I'm a boozing, vagrant wino.

"Ok, mon. Take care!"

He's gone before I can correct him.

My watch beeps faintly, one of those cheap twelve dollar made-in-Taiwan kind of beeps, alerting me that it's ten till eight. I always set it ten minutes fast.

The loading bay doors of The Regal open. Probably some college kid carrying out the trash. . . No, it's a rent-a- cop checking the alley. No drugs here, I start to yell to him, just a beat-up old preacher, trying to save a few souls.

After he comes out, he holds the door for this kid who was behind him. Rough looking kid. Faded blue jeans, full of holes, baggy flannel button-up covering an old undershirt, and an ancient fishing hat. Fashion is something I'll never grasp.

The kid kisses the rent-a-cop on the cheek, makes him cross his heart on a whispered promise, and then jumps from the loading dock to the alley. I'm going to assume the best, that the kid is just leaving work from one of the shops downstairs at The Regal, and takes a shortcut home through the alley. Only walks a few feet after the door closes behind the rent-a-cop. Leans against a wall, pulls a pack of cigarettes from the pocket on the front of the flannel shirt, lights a match on the bricks of the wall, and sucks a cigarette like it was a straw. Blows smoke rings, too. Darn good ones.

Ellis used to blow rings, too. He used to try to catch them on his finger, score a point for each one he caught. Scored thirty-eight points once. His room smelled like smoke when his mother and I cut him down. Unfiltered smoke. It made his mother sick. Me, I just ignored it, washed the odor out of my clothes, and threw up later. But first we had to turn that music off.

The kid looks over to me, offers me one.

"No thanks. I like my lungs."

"Suit yourself. Gonna die anyway. Fire's as good as ice, or something like that. I never can remember."

I want to tell this kid to repent. Throw away those smokesticks, and breath the fresh air of Jesus. But I can't -- my lungs and ribs hurt too much. One of the hoodlums must've been wearing pointed shoes.

The kid finishes the smoke, then puffs down two more without missing a beat.

* * * * *

The fresh air smacks against me like a kiss, shooting me up like morphine. No pain. No memories. No anything.

I finish the third stogey, and crunch the butt under the heel of my Nikes. The wino looks at me, still shaking his head after declining my offer of a cig. Well, at least I'm not sleeping in some alley with a bottle of Jack, or whatever guys over sixty-five who live in dirty alleys drink now. I wish he'd stop looking at me that way, accusing. If I wanted that, I could just grab the Lear and fly back to Iowa to Mom and Dad. Even they would hug me first before condemning me.

Maybe that's why I hang on to Warren.

Three to get ready, and four to go, so I light up one more, and start walking out of the alley. The wind has other ideas, lifting Papa's hat, whisking it back over to the wino. He's nice enough, picking it up and knocking the dirt from it. I pop my neck, stretching the muscles, and slide my fingers through my freshly cropped hair. Kind of a long flapper cut. . .it's starting to grow on me. The wind tickles my scalp, triggering the night's rush again.

"Thanks."

He doesn't answer, seems shocked that I'm a girl underneath the street urchin clothes. Oh well, thought I'd made a friend. You win some, you lose some. Nothing new under the sun. I take the hat, tuck my hair back up under it, and head incognito into the street.

Then all Hell breaks loose. The wino starts screaming at me.

"You! You're that high-fashion harlot of music that's running this country's morals into the ground! Diva! My God, what if everybody's little girl grew up to be like you?"

Great. So much for incognito. In just a few seconds, people start gathering like maggots on dead meat. Thanks a lot, old man.

"Taxi! Hey, taxi!"

People, paper, pens. No matter where I look they're all around me. Stupid old preacher. Go ruin somebody else's night. I've got enough problems.

"Hey, everybody! Look! It's Diva!"

"I think you're great."

"Can I have your autograph? It's for my cousin."

I wonder if this is what a lab rat feels like, having to push all the right buttons while the guys in glasses and white coats stand around and watch. Only, now the glass between me and the crowd has been removed, and they're squeezing in, huddling in tighter to touch me, pull me apart, get a piece of me, carry me home as a souvenir -- "The Night I Touched Diva!"

"Taxi!"

"Please, just a few autographs."

Can't think. Can't feel the night air. Won't you please leave me alone. You don't want me. . . you want Diva. I'm not Diva. I'm not Diva. I'm. . . My God, who am I?

"Sure, just a few. Anything for my fans."

A blur of yellow rescues me. I fall inside less than gracefully. In the back seat, I cup my hands to hide my face.

* * * * *

My God, Ellis. Is this what you saw when the floor danced beneath you?

The attention she commands. The worship she craves. A pimp in black leather selling sex to children. And once they're hooked, they beg for more. Not one kid in the crowd is older than eighteen. Most look at least thirty, padded and curved, showing off the adultness of their bodies. But they're children. And begging at her feet like pets, ready to play.

"Repent! Repent!" I say, but I know they can't hear. All I can do is all I can do.

My sermon gets lost in the thunder they give her. Try as I might, I can do nothing here. God forgive them for they know not what they do. If anyone causes one Your little ones to stumble, oh Lord, have mercy. . .

A cab sweeps in, screeching recklessly next to the curb. She crawls in, bowing first to soak in their praise. The yellow door slams behind her, and the cab screams off.

It takes a good fifteen minutes for the crowd to fully disperse. Most of them linger, trading stories of how close they got, what her clothes felt like. Two girls in the front lie on the sidewalk, passed out. I guess they actually touched her.

Might as well get a cup of coffee before going home. Henry's place is only two blocks away. Let the commotion die down a little.

When I enter, the smell of hot coffee is solid like a wall. Just being here cheers me up, even makes my side feel better. Sid and Gladys wave, ask me for a soul count. Marty looks up, nods, then looks away, finishing his grilled cheese and Maxwell House. Two drunks are passed out in the corner booth. I stuff a Gideon New Testament in each one's shirt pocket, and order them each an omelet plate and some fresh coffee for when they wake up. Henry will see that they get it.

"Here's twenty bucks. It'll get them each a night at the shelter," I say to Henry as I sit down, "Don't let them have it till after I leave."

He takes the money. "The last two blew it on more liquor. What makes you think these two won't?"

"Just got a feeling this time, Henry."

"You had a feeling last time."

He's right. Most of them drink it all away. Probably end up right back in the corner booth, drunk and passed out. Some don't.

"Didja hear the news, Wilson? About Diva's new album being banned in two stores in Mississippi?" Henry asks me. And as he does, I remember the color of her eyes when I handed her the cap, deep brown like Ellis', before they dulled from drugs.

"Well, preacher, didja hear me? Diva's new album was banned from two stores in Mississippi."

I ignore him as much as I can. "Ham and cheese omelet. Grits and toast, too."

"Bet those libs'll be making a stink about their first amendment rights again. Yes sir, this time it's got the smell of a lawsuit all over it."

Henry keeps talking to me, but the words get lost somewhere between us. Eventually, he gives me the omelet plate, and I join the two drunks at the corner booth. One stirs as I sit, shows me a picture of his wife, then passes out again. My watch lets me know it's ten till nine.

#Sean Taylor #short story #Gomer and other Early Works #No Man Is

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frostywindmademoan · 6 years

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Go on Michael, Pray

If you haven’t seen S4E1 there are some mini spoilers I guess but by now I think everyone knows what happens in the first few minutes so this won’t ruin anything.

Michael and (Y/N) - pre-christmas 1925

For months now Michael had found it hard to sleep without a warm body next to him. It was inevitable that he’d eventually wake up sweating, sometimes screaming, as the noose tightened around his unconscious mind. Having another soul next to him couldn’t stop the noose, but it could delay it long enough for him to get an hour or two of sleep. He didn’t care which girl slept with him, they were all just an ends to a means. Most girls were put off by the violent manner in which his psyche woke him. The girls who weren’t being paid wouldn’t know what to say and would simply dress in awkward silence as Michael caught his breath. The girls who were being paid knew exactly what to say, “You got cash, love?” The answer was always yes. Tommy Shelby might have led Michael to the noose, but he also lined his pockets with plenty of green. One night, however, was different. One night, Michael met (Y/N).

He was drunk, high, and generally just buzzed out of his mind at the dimly lit bar of a hotel. Hotels are a good place to meet strangers. People are always more willing to commit indiscretions when away from home. “You alright mate?” A light voice drew Michael from his thoughts. “What?” He blinked a few times to come back to reality and focus on the attractive face beside him. “It’s just that you’ve been staring off into nothing for quite sometime now. Actually, now that I see your eyes it makes sense. What’s your poison?” She asked with a smirk. “Excuse me?” Michael didn’t like the idea of someone being able to tell at a glance that he was shit faced. “Your eyes are dilated as hell, assuming hell is a big black hole, that is. Let me guess, snow? You look like a man capable of rationalizing cocaine.” She hit the nail on the head. “And just who the fuck are you to be making judgments about me?” He became defensive. “(Y/N).” She held out a hand. “Michael.” He noticed how soft her skin was as he shook her hand. “Well, Michael, I’m in the mood to make mistakes. You seem to already be a few mistakes in. Care if I join you this evening?” She shot him a dazzling smile. “What do you drink?” Michael found that he couldn’t help but smile back. “Gin with a splash of tonic for propriety’s sake.” She wittily answered. Michael grinned as he motioned the bartender over so that he could order her a drink. “So, what kind of mistakes are you looking to make?” Michael asked. “The kind that will make me blush to think about later and that will piss off arsehole ex-boyfriends.” She replied. “I think I can arrange that.” He smirked. “Really? Well then that bartender better hurry the fuck up so we can get out of here.” (Y/N) smiled. After their drinks were finished, Michael and (Y/N) went back to his. “You’ve got a phonograph!” She walked over to the music player. She seemed to float across the room as the hem of her blue sequined dress swished around her knees with every step she took. “You like music?” Michael asked. “Don’t most people?” She placed a record under the delicate needle and jazz began to play. “You’ve got a smart mouth, don’t you?” He smirked at her. “It’s a mouth of many talents. Dance with me Michael.” She reached her arms out to him. “I’ve got a cigarette in hand.” He gave as an excuse. “And you look real slick smoking it.” She strut over to him and took the cigarette from his lips and brought it to her own. “Alright princess, you wanna dance, let’s dance.” He grabbed her waist and pulled her close to him. “That’s it Michael, take charge.” She pulled the cigarette from her lips to say this as smoke curled up the small space between them. “My cigarette looks good on your lips.” He whispered. “Oh dear, so many euphemisms, so little time.” She giggled. (Y/N) dropped the spent cig into an ashtray on a table they were swaying next to. Her company was easy and enjoyable. Michael never interacted with the other girls like this. He leaned down to kiss her in a way that wasn’t a transaction or mere formality. It was gentle, but grew in intensity. Surprising pressure was placed on his bottom lip as (Y/N) bit down and tugged. A small moan came up from his throat. “Take charge Michael.” She whispered against him. Electricity shot through him as he bent down to lift her up, bridal style, and carry her into the bedroom as she continued to kiss his cheek, jaw, neck, jaw, and cheek again. In his excitement, Michael all but threw her onto the bed. She giggled at his discomposure. “You having a laugh at me?” Michael jokingly asked. “I am indeed, what are you gonna do about it?” She raised an eyebrow at him. Michael grabbed her, pulling her to her feet off of the bed. With dexterous hands he undid the buttons on the back of her dress. She did the same with his crisp button down and made quick work of his belt. The blue fabric slipped off of (Y/N)’s shoulders and the sequins fell to a puddle on the floor, revealing black lingerie underneath. “My god…” Michael whispered at the sight of her. “Actually, I prefer goddess, but either way if you get on your knees I just might answer your prayers.” She was clever in a way that drove Michael mad. He had forgotten how enjoyable a good bit of teasing could be. Without a second thought he slipped down and knelt before her. “Go on Michael, pray.” She hummed. Pray he did. Every frustration, every hope, every pent up emotion was released as he touched her and she touched him. Moans like hymns escaped through parted lips as they pulled each other closer and closer to become one. Michael’s hands ran through her hair like fingers over the beads of a rosary. (Y/N) caressed his cheek as gently as if she were leafing through the pages of a bible. They writhed with pleasure and trembled for more. They fulfilled each other’s every need that night. Michael bolt upright in bed with a small shout. Sweat dripped off of his temple, down his cheek, and onto his chest. “Are you alright?” (Y/N) placed a cool hand on Michael’s shoulder, prompting his breath to steady. “Yes. I’m fine.” He was a bit embarrassed. He really enjoyed being with her that night and now he had surely startled her off. (Y/N) slipped out from under the covers and went into the bathroom. Michael assumed she was getting dressed to make a quick exit. To his extreme surprise she returned with a damp cloth. She climbed back in bed and placed the cool cloth on the back of his neck. “Thank you.” He sighed in relief. “No problem.” She moved the cloth to his chest, moving it in small gentle circles to clean the beads of sweat off of him. “I’m sorry if I scared you.” Michael apologized. “Not at all. Despite being young, I was able to be a nurse during the war. The screams some of the boys in the hospital would make in their sleep could’ve scared a ghost straight to hell, so it was beyond startling for a young girl. Now it takes quite a lot to startle me.” She explained. “I’m not shell shocked. I was too young for the war.” Michael suddenly felt weak that he showed signs of shell shock without ever having been to war. “Not all battles are fought during wartime and on foreign fronts. Battles can happen at home too.” She soothingly ran her fingers through his hair. It had been a long time since anyone had soothed Michael. He was unsure of how to react to her kindness. “I should get dressed for work.” Michael shrugged her off and got up from bed. (Y/N) reached out and grabbed his hand to stop him. “Seriously? The sun isn’t even up yet. Come back to bed.” She nodded towards the dark window. “Yeah well, early bird gets the worm and all that.” It wasn’t unusual for Michael to show up to work at 4 in the morning. He withdrew his hand from hers and picked up some pants off of the floor to put on. He reached into the drawer of his nightstand and tried to discreetly withdraw a small blue vile, but (Y/N) was too observant. “Ah, I see. The worm is snow.” She scoffed. “Don’t fucking judge me.” He became defensive. “I’m not judging you for the drugs.” She shook her head. “Oh no? What then?” He snapped. “I’m judging you for thinking about work when you have a woman in your bed, naked, telling you to stay.” This was new behavior. Most women were in a hurry to leave Michael after he had paid them or after he had said he was going in to work. None had ever beckoned him back into their arms. He hesitated for a moment, but eventually gave in. He crawled back under the covers and (Y/N) wrapped her arms around him, forming a big spoon. “What were you dreaming about before?” She quietly asked. The memories rushed back to him. The bruising grip of the guards, John and Arthur’s shouts, the course fiber of the rope tight around his neck. “It’s personal.” He curtly responded. “Right, I understand. You should talk about it with someone at some point though. It’ll be uncomfortable, but helpful in the end. For now, though, you’re alright. I’ve got you.” She lightly kissed his head. This was such a small gesture and such a small phrase, ‘I’ve got you,’ but it sent waves of relief through Michael. He fell back asleep in her warm arms, and when he awoke a couple hours later he felt truly rested for the first time in months. He rolled over to face the still sleeping (Y/N) and kissed her forehead until she woke. “Ugh, you’ve got morning breath.” She grumbled. “I hate to break it to you princess, but you do as well.” He chuckled. “Well fuck, there goes my image of dainty feminine perfection I’ve worked so hard to maintain.” She sarcastically said with a giggle. “Hey, thank you for making me get back in bed. Thank you for understanding.” Michael became genuine. “Of course darling. After the lay you gave me last night, you deserved a good rest.” She winked, causing him to laugh. Michael hated to shatter this little bit of perfection he had found with her, but the sun was up now. “I really do have to get to work now. Can I see you again?” He asked her. “I think I can arrange that.” She smiled.

#Michael gray #Michael Gray Shelby #peaky blinders #peaky blinders series 4 #michael gray imagine #michael gray fic #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders fic

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lance-mcpain-is-my-mcgain · 7 years

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One Smoking Hot Mess

Please be careful while reading this, there’s lots of sensitive topics in it, please check the tags, stay safe <3

Lance sighed as he lowered the cigarette from his lips. He watched the smoke rise up into the overhang. The college student tossed his head back and pulled his phone out of his back pocket.

Mulletman: dude, i said i was sorry, get over yourself and come back, youre worrying everyone

Hunklicious: Lance I’m worried about you where are you

Pidgey: man ur stressing hunk out come back soon you can chill at my place if u want

Coran Coran le Gorgeous Man: My boy, I’m very worried about you. I know that Keith said stuff he shouldn’t have said to you, that wasn’t right of him. But you shouldn’t have ran out on Shiro and Keith like that. You’re giving everyone quite a scare here, message or call me soon.

Lura: Lance, Shiro just told me what happened, I’m sorry, wanna meet up and get coffee and talk

Shirno: Lance I’m sorry about what Keith said he’s not used to this kind of stuff please just come back so we can all talk this out I miss you

With a choppy laugh, Lance slid his phone back into his pocket. He started going down the street towards the shadier businesses in the back. The Cuban slipped into an establishment, the bartender glared at him as he made himself towards the bar.

“You’re new here, what’s a fresh face like you doing here at Galra?” Lance sighed and brought the cigarette back up to his lips. The bartender growled and started fixing up a drink, “Rough night?”

Lance scoffed and ashed his cig on a nearby tray, “That’s an understatement.” Then, as if remembering why he came in here in the first place, Lance asked for the hardest drink possible. With a harsh cackle, the bartender went on it.

A couple of minutes later, Lance was handed a dark, swirling drink that he finished with two gulps. The guy sitting next to him whistled and shifted closer, “Not joking around tonight, are we?” The Cuban put his glass down with a clack and looked over at the fairly attractive male sitting next to him.

“Not in the slightest.”

The man next to him smiled and held his hand out, “Lotor, you?”

“The name’s Lance, hot stuff,” They shook hands and went back to milking their drinks in silence. Eventually, Lance spoke up again, asking the bartender for another drink. Beside him, Lotor also requested another, but by name.

“Actually, Sendak, get Lance the same thing I’m getting, make it special,” Lotor cooed, sending shivers down Lance’s spine. Somewhere, his mind screamed to reject the offer, to go back to his loving boyfriends. However, it currently told him to be a little shit.

The barkeep, Sendak, placed the drinks down and sneered at Lance before going back to work. Lotor watched Lance as he chugged his drink, slamming it down once it was finished. “You certainly aren’t chugging like that just for show, what happened, love?”

The Cuban flinched at the nickname and dramatically fell against his new drinking buddy. “My boyfriend yelled at me for worrying about my family since they live in Cuba, where the hurricane hit.” Lance hummed and Lotor slid his drink over to him, the college student took it gratefully.

“That sounds pretty shitty, Cuba got hit pretty hard, didn’t it? I heard you couldn’t even get in touch with anyone there,” Lotor placed a hand on Lance’s shoulder. Instead of being comforting, the hand made Lance feel anxious, the need to get out of there growing with every second.

Suddenly, the room started spinning and next thing Lance knew, he was heaving up his lunch in the alleyway. Lotor was there, rubbing circles into his back and whispering sweet nothings into his ear. “It’s okay, Lance, you’ll feel much better soon enough, you’ll be just fine with me.”

Lotor’s hands started to sneak to places where they shouldn’t be and stuff started to fizz out. Lance braced himself on the wall and heard a rough, “Drugged him up nice and well, didn’t I?” He recognized it as the barkeep’s voice before black flicked his sight on and off.

Everything skipped and jumped around Lance’s vision, but he could remember the blinding pain in his whole back. When he finally started to come back to life, he was still in the alleyway in someone’s arms. “He’s awake, Prince Lotor, do you want me to hold him here still?”

Lance didn’t see what happened, but he felt the grip around his shoulders tighten. “I saw you smoking earlier, dear, now let me help you experience it a different way.” Lotor’s voice was smooth and deadly and a scream nearly ripped out of Lance’s mouth when something sizzled on his back.

Lotor had set a cigarette out on his back.

He repeated the same action until Lance was reduced to a sobbing mess in Sendak’s arms. He realized the sky had lightened so Lance guessed it was early morning. “Do you want to bring this new toy back or leave it here?”

Lotor hummed and lightly trailed his fingers along Lance’s back, stopping at the waistband of the Cuban’s boxers. “Leave it, let’s go.” With that, Lance was tossed to the side to watch both Sendak and Lotor leave the alleyway.

Tears welled up in Lance’s eyes and he felt the regret begin to crush him like nothing else. “You fucking idiot,” The Cuban pulled his pants up and buttoned them up, not bothering to fasten his belt. He zipped his jacket up to cover his ripped shirt.

Lance managed to take a few steps before collapsing back onto his hands and knees. Suddenly, a ringing and vibrating came from Lance’s back pocket. With trembling fingers, the college student pulled his phone out to see spiderweb cracks covering the screen.

Keith’s face was covering the screen.

Without thinking, Lance answered the call and brought the phone up to his ear. “Lance, oh thank god, you finally picked up! Where are you? Are you okay?”

Overwhelmed, Lance began to openly sob into the mic and Keith’s worried voice rang out. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Keith, god, please forgive me.” He repeated those words like a mantra, over and over again until Keith cut him off.

“Shut up, Lance, I already forgive you, it doesn’t matter what you did. I’m the one in the wrong, I shouldn’t have said that, baby, please tell me where you are.” Lance would’ve laughed if he wasn’t in indescribable pain, it was rare for Keith to admit he was in the wrong.

Lance could hear worried voices in the background, mainly Shiro and Hunk. With a shaky exhale, “I’m outside of Galra, in the alleyway.” Keith inhaled sharply and groaned, Lance couldn’t bite down a bitter chuckle that time.

“Why the fuck would you go there? Even after everything we’ve heard. Whatever, I’ll be there as soon as possible.” With that, the call cut off and Lance tipped his head back.

The Cuban checked out the area he was in to see a used condom nearby, shudders shook his body. On trembling legs, Lance wobbled out to the entrance of the alleyway to wait for Keith. He leaned heavily on the brick wall and held back tears that threatened to fall.

In what seemed like seconds, a car pulled up by the curb. Out of reflex, Lance tensed up, expecting those two to walk out of it. To his relief, Keith jumped out of the car and raced towards his boyfriend. Shiro soon followed to help Lance get to the car and inside it.

“What the fuck happened?” Shiro’s voice was full of anger, Lance knew it wasn’t directed at him, but he still whimpered. The Japanese apologized and rested his hand on Lance’s back.

However, the Cuban hissed in pain when Shiro rubbed too harshly on one of the burns. Shiro jerked his hand away, “Sorry, just a little tender, that’s all.”

“You still didn’t answer his question, Lance.”

The college student bit his bottom lip and shook his head. Tears slipped out of the corner of his eyes without his permission. Shiro slowly and gently wrapped his arms around Lance in a comforting embrace.

The rest of the ride came in fragments as Lance began to doze off. He was woken up when they got back to the apartment. Shiro took him up in his arms and Lance didn’t bother protesting, knowing nothing would come out of it.

“I’m sorry, baby, I shouldn’t have forced you out, I feel so bad.”

Lance waved his hand, dismissing it and hid his face in Shiro’s chest. The door opened and immediately, “Lance, are you okay? What happened?”

Hunk and Shiro began talking and everyone ended up leaving except for the one’s who lived there. Shiro carefully placed his boyfriend onto their bed and Keith sat down next to him with furrowed brows. Without warning, Keith unzipped Lance’s jacket and after seeing the ripped shirt, hastily went to get the rest of his clothes.

Slipping back into the alleyway, Lance cried out, “Stop it!” Keith did. Both Keith and Shiro had pained expressions painted onto their faces.

“Lance, please, tell us what happened.” Shiro hated bringing out his “dad” voice, but he counted the situation dire enough to use it.

Tears began to flow down Lance’s cheeks as he choked out, “He, Lotor, he, fuck,” Lance doubled over and whispered the rest. He whispered it loud enough for Shiro to tense up and stand up though. Keith looked between the two and Shiro told him, flinching as Keith’s face twisted in disgust.

Keith jerked to his feet and leaned forward, getting into Lance’s personal space, “What was his name, what did he look like?” Keith practically screeched, Shiro stood by with a hand firm over his mouth.

Lance shook his head and sobbed some more, unable to produce any words. Shiro sighed and sat down next to Lance, “Keith, could you get the first aid kit?” Keith nodded and went off to find it and Shiro turned back to his boyfriend with a concerned expression. “Can we help clean you up, baby?”

The Cuban nodded and Shiro helped him undress while Keith came back in with the first-aid kit. They helped Lance take a bath, clean up, and wrapped bandages around every sore area Lance had. They had never been more careful before as they worried over their boyfriend.

Afterwards, they laid in bed with Lance in between them. All three had tears in their eyes. It would be difficult to get through what happened. However, Lance knew it would be easier with his two amazing boyfriends by his side.

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losvers-clubb · 7 years

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Flower Petals

This is a fan fiction of Belch Huggins that one asked for inspired by some outfits I wore this week lmaoooooo

Legit I love Belch and the Bowers Gang™ so I’m going to write a short kinda fanfic story because I feel like it so enjoy this shit also it’s POV of the character (Let’s name her Nicolette because I feel like it)

The cool air blew through the trees as the end of summer hit the town of Derry. The nights slowly became longer and the thoughts of bathing in the quarry faded in every childs mind.

Nicolette has just moved halfway through the summer, from the west coast to the east coast for her dads work. She was stuck school-jumping and adapting to the new scenarios of nearly every year.

“I feel this one will be different”

She remembered her dad saying before the move, back in the sunny state of California. She had begged to stay, she was two years away from 18 and she swore she would go back.

Here in Maine, at 17, she glared at the small town from her new bedroom window. A few teens laughed and shoved at eachother teasingly, so loudly you could hear through the window. An rough bunch of kids, but nonetheless a group of friends. Something she never had the privilege to have due to the dogmatic lifestyle her family had aquired.

————

Nicolette’s closet was a mess, she had outfits that ranged from the lightest of pastels to the grungeist dark materials, and she loved it all, but specifically didn’t know how to approach the school of Derry. Surely, she had seen different things on the streets glared at every single person that walked by due to bitterness of leaving the warm beaches of cali

Surely she had an idea of what to do, but still she sat in defeat. Nicolette gently twirled a few strands of hair before settling on pastels. A yellow pastel shirt matched with a pair of dark blue jeans. In her hair she clipped a yellow flower to match with the shirt and on her eyelids she added pale yellow shadow and a slight bit of eyeliner to pull things together.

You look like you’re still in California dear, you’ll stick out like a sore thumb

Mom, maybe these kids need some California in their life. They look like their fashion forgot a few decades

Pulling her bag onto her shoulder, she hoped out of her mother’s short car and avoided making an eye contact with kids around her. She would ocassionally poke her tongue out slightly to taste the tinted lip gloss out of nervousness, but hoped not to take away the shine.

“You must be Nicolette!! I have a few things for you” the lady behind the counter seemed overly cheery, as if she had never met anyone outside of town before. She continued to hand things to Nicolette, planners, locker numbers/codes, schedules, and other misalaneous things she barely bothered to read over. Her eyes drifted around the office slightly until a hand landed on her shoulder.

“Do you need any help with finding the lockers or classes??” The lady, now standing, was beaming down at her.

Damn the 5’3 life

She thought

Everyone is fucking massive

A quick shake to the head and a small smile reassured her and she wandered out into the empty halls. The bell had rang while the office lady blabbered about the school and she was left to somehow find her way to her first period which be basically missed half of

“You lost?” A red headed girl approached, short haired and pale freckled with a soft smile.

“Yeah” Nicolette laughed slightly, “I guess I surely look like it don’t I?” She flashed a smile back.

“My names Beverly, I’ll help you to your class” She had walked her there, complimented her look, and bid goodbye before she entered her class. Literature.

“-and you are?” The teacher turned the moment the door creeped open and all 30 something pairs of eyes turned their full attention to her.

Shit.

“I’m late and confused” she said, hoping to get a bit of the attention on the joke instead of the increase of reddening on her cheeks. She quickly showed him the schedule and he nodded.

“Miss, you have missed quite a bit. Mr Huggins, would you be so kind in updating Nicolette on the subject?” She watched as a tall kids head snap up, a scowl on his face almost hissed at the teacher to fuck off but all he did was give him a light nod and a roll to the eyes.

Nothing but fun for me, she thought while making her way down the aisle towards the moody teen.

——

The only reason why the teacher picked me was because he knows my ass doesn’t want to do this shit

Belch thought, trying to avoid eye contact with the soft but different looking girl coming his direction. Her eye color was really dark, giving her a sort of innocence to her already all over light looking appearance. Not in the lame sort of nerd way, but she looked cool. Her movements had a rhythm, and despite his rudeness and the embarrassment, she kept the corners of her mouth tugged up in a small grin, a small dimple appearing in her left cheek.

Wow

He thought, suddenly finding it hard to look away.

“Hi” She timidly started. Half facing her body towards him as she sat in her stool. He tried his best to look disinterested. “I’m like, really fucking obsessed with your tee right now” she said half nervously, but it caught his attention almost instantly.

“You’re into the Grateful Dead?” He suddenly mimicked her position, turning more towards her.

How? She looks like she could be into madonna or some shit.

“God, I obsess over them. Back when I lived in Cali, I would travel up the coast to try and follow them, got as far as two shows before I ran out of money” she grinned wider, deepening the indent in her cheek, thinking of the fond memory.

He knew he had to keep his very serious angry reputation, but he couldn’t help but smile back at her, this very soft non intimidating person that had sat herself comfortably next to him. Not once did they bring up English, and he felt off glances from his around him, but Belch felt the urge to keep his attention to her. She was off, no one ever looked like Nicolette, the giddyness of her voice was contagious. He learned her name was Nicolette Willow, and she had lived in several locations of California, but also some in Arizona, Washington, New York (not the city itself, but some “shitty off brand version of New York City outside of the real thing” type of city which she described).

She tugged at her hair often, twirling it between her fingers. It was soft brown, but he quickly noticed a faded streak of pink hidden under the top layer. That’s cool.

The bell rang what felt like few minutes after they began to conversate and everyone quickly ran out, but he watched carefully as she reached towards her bag, and slung it over her shoulder.

“Well, Belch, would you mind walking me to my next class?” She said hopefully, you could hear it in her voice, and he was motivated to say yes, but seriously, if people saw him walk around with someone like that, if Henry, he thought, or Patrick, saw him walking around with someone like her, they would think he’s gone too soft?

“I would honestly love to” He began, rising from his stool, “but I had this uh, my coach wanted me to run over early to practice some athletics” he quickly covered up, finding the cracks between the floor tiles incredibly interesting.

———

“That’s fine, I’ll probably find it myself. See you around Belch, yeah?” Her cheeks felt like they were burning, could anyone notice under her powdered foundation?? Could he? She quickly skipped over to the door, trying to avoid awkward silences.

“Wait, uh, Nicolette?” He called over her shoulder, trudging behind. The now empty classroom echos as his large boots hit the floors. She felt overly excited yet nervous now under his towering gaze, he seemed confident and she tried her best to do the same. Straightening her back, flashing her grin. “Me and a few friends are hanging out after school, would you, like to join?” He offered her a smile, and she couldn’t help but laugh, delighted.

“Seriously? That would be so rad yeah I’d love to” Her heart skipped a beat when he winked, his hand lightly grazer her waist as he walked around her.

Jesus that was really attractive

At lunch she didn’t know where to sit, but she knew damn well never to get food on the first day at a school. It sucks standing in the cafeteria with a full tray and no where to sit. She ended up settling outside by a tree, observing kids and their group of friends.

I would fucking kill to be back in my own small group of friends.

“Nicolette was it?” The red head from before, Beverly, approached, snapping her out of her daze.

“Uh, yeah, Beverly?” She plopped herself next to her and brought her knees up to her face.

“Yeah, that’s me. So you new here?” Nicolette only nodded, glancing over at the pale freckled girl next to her.

“Fresh from LA, I’ve never imagined myself to go from such a place to a small town in the middle of no where” she said with a slight frown, quickly realizing she had said after. “Not saying Derry is such a terrible place, I’m sure it’s a wond-“

“No don’t worry about it, it does fucking suck here. There’s the asshole kids and then the really asshole kids, and everyone knows everyone’s secrets.” Bev said, pulling out a lighter from her pocket and a pack of cigs, offering one to the girl beside her. She quietly thanked her and pulled one out.

“What about that guy?” She pointed towards Belch, the mean scowl back on his face as he walked around with another tall dark haired guy.

“Part of the shittiest assholes in this town” laughed Beverly, catching Nicolette in surprise.

“Really? But he’s so sweet” she said quietly, momentarily pulling away her cig to blow out smoke. Bev turned to her giving a grossed out facing, laughing a little. “He is! And I don’t know kinda cute”

“What kind of drugs are you taking? He’s part of Bowers gang, they’re basically the biggest bullies of the school” The conversation didn’t last, but she dropped the subject and finished her smoke before a few of her own friends called her over, and Nicolette was left to ponder as she studied the now 4 boys sitting on the opposite side of the courtyard. Dark edgy clothing, they had a very “fuck off” vibe with everyone that came remotely close.

The day had gone by remotely quick, maybe it was the dazed off mood she was feeling, but before she knew it she was in her last period, Belch and a friend friend of his sat a few seats behind. Their not so quiet bickering traveled to her ear, making it incredibly hard to concentrate. A particular joke towards the end of class made a giggle escape, catching Belch and Henry’s attention.

“Hey, sunshine” she heard from behind, assuming from the friend. Her head turned to fully look at their faces, both with amused smirks. “Do you like what you’re hearing? Can I assist you in any other pleasurable ways?” he proudly said, earning an eye roll from Belch.

“Hey honey” she said, now fully turning her body, “I doubt you’ll know how to actually please me, or any other woman in that matter” Shrugged, earning a laugh from Belch. It was her turn to wink at both of them, the she turned back to face the front of the class again. When the bell finally rang she went to run out but her elbow was caught in Belch Huggins grasp, catching her after class for the second time that day.

“Would you like a ride home?” He asked, catching her completely off guard.

“Actually my mom was picking me up, but maybe later you could possibly pick me up?” She said a bit suggestedly.

Does this seem like I’m flirting? I’m so fucking bad at flirting. Does he notice? HAS HE NOTICED? Why is his friend being such a dumb fuck?

She glanced over to Henry, drawing a penis on the chalk board, then being swatted away from the teacher.

“Yeah, i could do that” He smiled, and she swore it was the cutest smile she had seen as he handed her a pen and paper allowing her to write her name and address. With a last goodbye she ran out the doors and into her mothers car, beaming.

“How was school today?” Her mother asked, but she sat with a huge grin silently staring at her hands.

This is the best first fucking day I’ve ever had.

/////////////////

uuhhhhhhhh this was really long and I kinda decided to split it up into maybe two parts???? If you want??? A second part???? Let me know idk.

#belch huggins #henry bowers #the bowers gang

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sceawere · 7 years

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welcome home, soldier | tommy shelby

request: [reader] and Tommy met during the war through letters(she was his rock during the hardest times and he confided on her everything ,even the family job ). after the war is over ,Tommy is set on meeting her face to face, her brother died on the field and she's struggling ,so they finally set a date and it's all kinds of romantic.

“Here, Tommy”

He looked up, cig hanging from his mouth, half frozen hands stilling where they lay on his gun. He was bored to death and cleaning it for the third time today, sat in an alcove buried into the side of the trench.

“What is it, Frank?”

“Letter for you”

He scowled, holding his hand out for the paper.

“Already had mine today”

“It off my sister”

“What?”

Frank laughed, dropping into his own burrow opposite and scanning his own letter.

“She wanted to say thank you ‘to that Tommy guy’ for, and I quote ‘saving my absolute idiot of a brother from his own stupidity’. So…I think she misses me”

They huffed a laugh to each other, pulling their feet in as men trundled past.

Tommy unfolded the sheet and pulled his cig from his mouth, spilling the smoke out into the frigid air.

Dear Tommy,

I begin by apologising for not addressing you properly but I couldn’t find your last name in any of Frank’s letter. You know my brother as I do, and so we both understand this is typical of him.

I felt the need to send a few lines to show my gratitude to the man who I have come to find saved my brother’s life recently. I am truly thankful for your actions and ask that you do your best to protect him again in future if needed, at no extra harm to yourself. We both know my brother, and so the chances are high.

“She talking about me?”

“Yes, she is Frank”

“She saying I’m an idiot?”

“She’s being very polite about it but yes, I believe that’s her intention”

Frank says the weather if frightful there and I don’t know if I offer much comfort by telling you it’s as shocking at home. I’m busy knitting some bits to send your way and so if there is anything I can add to the package as a thank you, please let me know. You can pass the note to Frank, he’ll see I get it.

I don’t know if you are a religious man, but I’ll pray for you all the same. You and all the men. I hope this letter finds you well, and that you are at least getting some sleep.

He twirled the cig around in his fingers once he finished the letter, eyes scanning over the swoops and swirls.

“Got a pen?”

Frank looked up, over his letter. Tommy pinched the letter between the fingers holding his cig and reached his other out.

“Have I got a pen?”

“Yeah”

He stared back at him, unblinking.

“Frank, have you got one or not?”

“Why d’ya need a pen?”

Tommy sighed, took a drag while trying to avoid sticking himself in the eye with the corner of the paper, and then spoke in as serious a tone as he could muster.

“What I’m going to do is…I’m going to throw it over the top. And I think it might be enough to scare the Germans off for good. What do you think, Frank? Do you think I might have just turned the tide or no?”

He rolled his eyes, dipped in hand in his jacket pocket, and threw a pen over at him.

“You’ll only encourage her”

He tilted his head in a ‘yeah, well’ nod and flicked the page over and then back again.

“You got any paper?”

Frank developed a special expression, and a matching tone of voice, that he only used when he was thrusting a paper in Tommy’s face and uttering the now common words.

“Letter from my sister for you”

Tommy had developed a special smile, and a matching tone of voice, that he only used when he was pinching the letter between his fingers and uttering the now common words.

“Thank you for passing it on”

“She could just send it direct to you now, it’s been months”

“She likes winding you up”

“She’s 500 miles away and she still won’t bloody stop”

“Well, that’s little sisters for you”

“Your sister doesn’t write to me”

“No she does not, Frank”

He looked over to him with furrowed brows.

“What does she write to you about?”

“Often…” he took a pause to light a cigarette and inspect how many he had left. Too few.

“It’s about the weather”

“Like I bloody believe that”

“Believe what you want. I-“he flicked the letter out and snapped it straight like a newspaper between his hands “will be busy reading my letter”

Thank you for the hat, although I am sorry to say that the rats got at it while I was busy shaving and it’s no longer fit for purpose. Your brother decided to put what was left of it on his periscope and some guy opposite, assuming it was a head poking over the line, shot at it. Thankfully, it was a bad shot and so I think he may survive to be eaten further.

From your letters it sounds as though all our worrying is for nothing and so I shall tell the girls to think of you all as off on a boys holiday, causing schoolboy terror on the continent. I put a pack of envelopes in with Frank’s letter, like a mother sending off to her child at boarding, in an effort to convince him to write to me more. You can borrow one. Or two. No more.

Also, Please give him a clap behind the ear for me and tell him our actual mother is beside herself at the length between letters. If I must march my way over there to knock some sense into him myself, I will. You have been warned, Mr Shelby.

Frank has redeemed himself by making us a sort of fireplace in the tent. He took a shot through bucket we were using to bail the water out the trenches and filled it with scraps to burn. I sit by it now, as cosy as I’ve ever been, to write this letter to you.

We’ve had a hard few days and nights and the return to the camp couldn’t have come sooner. I can’t tell you much (they’ll only take it out) but know that both me and Frank are well. I hope to hear from you again soon, as it has been a while since your last letter and I treasure your words.

I took your advice and went to see your Aunt. She put the fear of God into the man and he hasn’t bothered me since. I’m not entirely sure of her methods but from the time I spent at her table, I can only assume. My goodness, is she a certain woman. I think she likes me? It was very hard to tell. I hope this snow hasn’t found its way over to you and that your bucket is burning brightly.

The snow has in fact found us, and we’re glad for it. At least you can sit on it, rather than sloshing about the rivers in the trench. The officers tell me we’re to limit our talk of the weather, as it can give away the state of our trenches were this to fall into the wrong hands. So you’ll have to settle for knowing it is bloody cold. My new hat is a blessing and I thank you.

Polly likes you. I’d send her letter back to you as proof but it’s half blown to hell by now. Better it than my head, Frank says.

I’ve packed some chocolate up for you, so make sure to ask Frank for it. No doubt he’ll have pocketed it. This is your written evidence and receipt, as it were. Please collect.

We women decided to go out to the Christmas fair together (we were under strict instructions from Polly to enjoy ourselves! And so I obeyed as good as any soldier!). My grandfather has just bought a camera (!!) and he came along to document. I’ve put a picture of us all in front of the big tree in town for you. I hope it makes you smile, rather than homesick.

Merry Christmas, Thomas. I hope next year I may be able to give you a gift in person.

I hoped that our New Year’s letter would be on a sweeter topic than this. It pains me to write this letter. I do not know if by now you will have received the note from Frank about his being shot, but I did not want you to have to find out from a cross out postcard or a stranger if not.

We thought at first he may only be laid up for a while, and be back to cause havoc in a few weeks but I am afraid his fever worsens and we worry for him. We know he is strong, but I thought you should have time to prepare yourself.

I haven’t received a letter from you in some time and so I do not know whether you wish me to keep writing. I won’t tell you much in that case, not that I have much time for it anyway, they are moving us off to Somewhere In France.

I hope the last of Frank’s things found their way back to you and I am sorry I could not be there to speak over his grave. I will visit, when all this is done. If I am not there with him. If that is the case, I would ask you to visit me and speak a few kind words, as I so cherish the ones I read from these pages.

I will also admit that I kept a photograph of you that Frank had in his bunk before it could be inventoried. If you are truly done with our letters, I will leave it in the mud if that is what you wish.

Thomas. I find it hard to write these words. I have tried many times since-

I have tried many times since my brother passed and found myself near inconsolable each time. I did not mean to deprive you of our communication and it is the thought of you waiting in the trench to hear from me that allows me to break through my sorrow now. Polly has been my rock, keeping me busy through it all, and she tells me to assure you we are keeping things as they should be here.

I find it hard to write much, so I will end this here.

Keep the photograph.

“Are you not ready?”

Polly stood at the doorway, fiddling with the buttons on her coat.

“I-I’m going to finish these books off. One less thing for you all to worry about, give you some time to settle back in and be together for a while”

“Nonsense, come on, get your coat”

“Polly”

“You told him you’d be there”

“I said we would speak when he got home, that’s not the same. I never promised to be waiting on the platform”

“Well, you should have. He didn’t give you the date for no reason”

“Polly-“

“What are you so afraid of? He’s coming home. He and his brothers are going to be on the 11 o’clock train and we are going to be there when they arrive”

“My brother isn’t”

The room was silent. Ada had been fussing in the background behind Polly but she stopped the second she heard your voice.

“Sweetheart…”

“I thought I could…but now I don’t. I was so excited last night, I was…but then I dreamt of Frank.

I was running up the steps and I could see the platform it was so close, and he was on the train, I could see him in the doorway. But he wouldn’t step off. And I was screaming at him, Frank, come on! Step off, you’re home.

But the train pulled away. And I chased after it, and I was running and running for miles but….I don’t think I can, Polly. Not like this”

She stepped over to where you were sitting and pulled you in against her, bent over your head to envelop you in an embrace.

You sat in the empty office after they left. It was too quiet, you’d never actually seen it empty. Polly had given everyone the day off, either to visit the people demobbing or to grieve for those who weren’t. Dust danced lazily through a streak of light coming through the slats over the windows and the clock marked each second with a click.

You weren’t sure how much time had passed but at some point you were moving, up and out of the chair, grabbing your coat off the rail as you went. The street was busy outside, people gathering in the middle of the road, all the house doors open, people weaving in and out. Your heart clenched as you saw a little girl being carried by her father, still in uniform, smiling so wide you envied her.

“You heading home?”

You swung your head around, startled at the sound of the voice next to you.

“Oh, Fred, uh…no, actually”

“Oh, I was going to offer you a lift, I’m taking the van back that way”

“Are you going near the train station by any chance?”

“I could make a detour”

“Only I need to get there by 11, and-“

“I’ll get you there, don’t you worry”

You ran full pelt up the steps to the platform. If you slowed down you’d stop still and probably have to crumple to the muddy surface with your pain. The paving was packed up top and you had to struggle through the waiting crowds to find a familiar face. It ended up being a familiar voice.

“Finn, I won’t tell you again!”

Finn was hanging half off the platform edge, holding on to Ada’s arm and trying to look down the track for the train.

“But I can see it, Pol! I can see the train!”

“Ada, get him in, for goodness sake”

“I didn’t miss it?!”

She turned to you, looking shocked at first but then smiling wide and drawing you in with a hand on each side of your face.

“You’re here!”

“I promised him I would be”

You smiled a little, as much as you could muster. Polly pulled you to her side, locking arms with you, holding you close.

“You stay right next to me, alright? I’m staying right here next to you”

You nodded, breathing deeply.

“When those doors open you won’t be the only one crying, alright? Don’t be ashamed”

“Polly…”

Your voice was breaking as everyone shuffled back from the edge. The train was pulling up to the concrete and a rush of warm air danced round your ankles.

“It’s alright” She wrapped her hand over yours and squeezed tight.

It took a few more screeching moments for it to stop completely and there was a buzz around as faces pressed to windows up and down the train. People started shouting and darting off when they noticed someone, hands pressing against glass, snaking out of windows for their first contact in at least months, if not longer.

The doors opened and men began to spill out and for a moment you realised what it must look like when they came over the top. You thought of Frank, and whether the last thing he saw was a spill of uniforms towards him through a crowd.

Ada shouted out as she grabbed out at a man and you recognised him from the photos on Polly’s walls as John. Arthur was next, and Polly kept a tight hold to your hand, bringing him in with the other. You shuffled back a little, your arms forming a bridge behind her, giving them what little space you could. Suddenly you felt very alone, here in the swarm. You barely heard your name over the din but it was there and your stomach danced.

“Tommy”

He looked exhausted, and like he was trying not to look exhausted, but you saw it in his eyes. His lips pulled up at the edge at the sound of his name but it was half hearted. His eyes lit up a little though and you dropped Polly’s hand to step towards him.

“I-“

You opened and closed your mouth, struggling with what to say, Tommy waiting patiently for something substantial to come out. But it never did. This was easier in letters. You could tarry over words as long as you needed to.

You both ended up laughing at the same time, and he brought his hand up to cup your face. His lips were on yours in a moment, tender and shallow, tentative. He pulled back just enough to check your expression.

“How about we start with ‘Hello’”

His whisper fanned warm breath over your blushing skin and you rolled your lips between your teeth, biting at the edge.

“Hello”

There was the breathy laugh again and you flicked your eyes around, embarrassed.

“Welcome home, soldier”

“Hmm”

You stayed stood in your little bubble, people scurrying around you as blurs of colour and scraps of conversation as they passed.

“There’s lots of people here”

He nodded, raising his eyebrow a little.

“Yes, there is”

“You’re…stood very close”

“I am”

“You kissed me”

“Yes”

“In front of all the people”

“Yes”

You fidgeted around, and his eyes dropped every time you licked your lips nervously.

“That’s…”

“Did you not want me to?”

“I...just…with the people”

“I waited a long time, screw the people”

“Oh!”

“Yeah”

“Ok…”

He smiled for real this time, enjoying the fluttering of your eyelids, the gentle patter of your fingers on his arm where it still held your cheek.

He scrunched his nose when he talked, half a smirk on his face.

“They all assume you’re my long-suffering wife anyway, don’t worry about the gossip”

“Well…in that case”

You pushed up on your toes and met his lips again, someone hooting in the background. You heard Polly snap at them and assumed it must have been his brothers getting at him. Tommy smiled against your lips, hands trailing to grip at your waist.

“I tell you what, he’s home two minutes and he’s already at it. Barely set foot-“

“Right, Arthur, shut up. Finn, get back here. Ada, please, fetch him before he gets on that train and we have to follow him halfway across the bloody country. God, you know, I had peace and bloody quiet for a while there”

“We missed you too, Pol”

Tommy moved one of his hands to meld with yours and you flicked your eyes between him and where Polly was shepherding grown men off the platform.

“We better get home”

“Home, is it?”

“Yeah, well. It’s growing on me”

“Oh?”

“We’ll have to see how it goes, you know. What with a load of brutish men swarming the place, I might be off”

“Well…we’ll do our best to keep our manners about us”

Neither of you moved off the platform, looking back at each other. His eyes were tired again and little tears were breaching yours finally. You sniffed a little, eyes scanning the train as it pulled off again.

“He would have punched you spark out if you’d pulled this with him stood there”

“Yeah…if he didn’t throw me onto the tracks first”

You both smiled sadly, you nodding off into the distance, following the smoke as it dissipated.

“Not even gone on a bloody date and you’re already taking liberties” You mimicked Franks voice.

“Better take you on a date then”

“He would’ve kicked off about that as well, he was never happy”

“He was when he read your letters”

Your tears poured out more at that and you had to bite your lip to keep from crying out.

“I don’t know why, all I did was take the piss of him”

Tommy smiled again, eyes scanning behind you around the now half-empty platform. You sniffled, wiping your cheeks off on the cuff of your coat and composing yourself.

“Right, come on soldier. Time to go home”

@collecting-stories

@james-k-delaney

@thebakerstreetdragon

@ateliefloresdaprimavera

@weirdnewbie

@bloode-money

@photograiphy-00

#peaky blinders #peaky blinders imagine #|writing #tommy shelby

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miss-butter · 3 years

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Things I Thought That Were Not COVID (January - June) Ending

~having journaling sessions so intense I get a headache

~ the RHONY cast casually drinking martinis plural at bars like it's a chill thing to do and they're not immediately going to black out?? Damn.

~ e v e r m o r e

~ the intensely stressful harmonica opening of All I Really Want while Alanis wails "do I stress you out" over the top of it

~ today I feel like an eye that opened very very wide. What I saw was a door, opening

~ through the fog I thought the city was the sky

~ I carry all of this inside of me. It makes me very still

~ "I am slow as the world.

I am very patient,

Turning through my time, the suns and stars

Regarding me with attention.

The moon's concern is more personal:

She passes and repasses, luminous as a nurse.

Is she sorry for what will happen? I do not think so.

She is simply astonished at fertility."

~ people with no self awareness/people with no sense of humor about themselves truly need to go live on a farm away from me

~ the piano player that lives below me, the guitar player that lives above me

~ "the sun whose rays are all ablaze"

~ Room Memory I: the PERFECT sensation. Wearing my coat with a bagful of plastic spoons in my hands, leaping into krts car that smelled like dogs and cigs and is a smell that makes me feel so warm. Going over the bridge into Minneapolis chatting with them while the radio played (krts parents would play the radio, old and new, it was a thing I have never ever stopped appreciating). The times we'd get snacks at the theatre, dreaming of the day we'd be old enough to look upstairs (we haven't yet). The dark room, the laughter in the shadows and the feeling of fulfillment and validation. How their parents were there to collect us after and I got to see them on the Monday after that night.

~ Room Memory II: me and emma and bast going to see it in the winter of a year I can't remember. Driving across the Minneapolis bridge in a snow storm, slow but with intention. We arrived early, and saw a cat on it's way home before taking shelter in a late night kowalskis. They had never seen it before, and I think my friend Eric was there but that might have been another time. Laughter, darkness. Emma drove home in the blizzard, tracking over deep, deep, inches of snow in the dark over the bridge and home. When we got back my parents were asleep, and I remember us piling our feet over the vent to catch the heat in my living room. Oh, babes.

~ why do people ask where the love you had for a person goes when that person is no longer with you?? As though feelings are so easily generated that you can just release a life that you led and say "that goes there now, away". I think I'm STILL feeling everything I've ever felt in my life, nothing can truly ever go away. Also, the idea that because a person is no longer beside you that that somehow influences how you feel and what you feel and when you feel it! Can't relate.

~ That Scene in Frances Ha where they fight in the bathroom and:

Sophie: You're bullshit, and you're making me feel really bad right now.

Frances: I want to love him if you love him, but you don't love him.

Sophie: I DO.

Frances: Sophie, I fucking held your head while you cried, I bought special milk for you, I know where you hide your pills, don't treat me like a three hour brunch friend.

Sophie: I'm not talking to you while you're like this.

~ I never would have known, but there are pieces of me only Paul and Fred can reach. I want to go back to my Little Self, the first time I saw Fred, probably hungover, wiping sleep out of his eyes in that chair in Brownville, and whisper: "that's your brother. That's your real brother." She might burst into tears and never stop weeping with joy. That she had a brother who was a good man. A man of character.

~ I got fired, and two days later I allowed myself to get packed into a truck and taken to a lake. On the way there I stopped at the first restaurant I'd been to since march, and I was so scared I slurped down three vodka sodas with a burger. When I arrived it felt like a miracle, like paradise. I remember everyone went to the beach in the twilight but I stayed, and sat on the patio and smoked a stolen cig, and listened to The Beautiful Ones 5 times thinking of how badly I'd like to be a nun because I couldn't stand the thought of other people. Somehow the moment still makes me feel so. Just So. Hearing it now is like seeing a ghost.

~ do all people feel this way? Oscillating between airy fulfillment and vanilla scented oblivion? When I think about death I think of little sideways smiles, heavy lids, radiator squeaks, That Tree I still see in my memories. Somedays I feel like I'm full of Cool Whip, otherwise gelatinous, heavy, falling apart like an aspic.

~I still refuse to be sorry that I find some of the things lena dunham does and says to be funny, suck my hood

~ I constantly see tweets and stories that go something like "I told my 4 year old ____ and then they *insert action or phrase no 4 year old would ever do or say*. Yes, brilliant child. Yes." Like....the compulsive need to make shit up about your child in order to appeal to strangers on the internet is a form of Munchausen by proxy we as a society would do well to reckon with. It wasn't ok when those lesbians with the adopted kids made their son hug that cop, it's not cool for your "cute" tweet, babe.

~ people who refer to their pets as "fur babies" have either tried to or successfully gotten their pets to eat them out. You can't change my mind.

~ the stars in Death Valley

~ next year in Nebraska

~ it's beshert. No matter what you choose, no matter where it goes, the act of looking and of learning was beshert. This moment was meant to be.

~ it's going to be such a bummer when my tits start to go off to the side when I lay down. How can we endure it?

~ family: watching musicals with The Boys, swearing that we'll go to NYC together. Fred's face, Paul's smile, the sound of MEMORY let your Memory lead you I remember a time I knew what happiness was let the Memory live again

~ I'm too upset to write / I'm too upset not to write

~ the bruise, the deep round bruise, the lump beneath it

~ $80,000 each; $240,000 total after amendments

~ I lean to my wound, I lean to my wound

~ disgusting girl, nasty pie-faced thing filled with fruit the color of plastic gems. Veins plugged up with sugar, eyes full of stars.

~ its lucky to not be bothered at all by blood, I must have been born under something (or over something)

~ this is the worst lead up so far I've ever had. Utterly alone, unsupported by....who? The r u b i c o n, the gentry, even the rabble. Sitting in a lukewarm tub, soaking the wound, empty head in the room between shitting and living. Thank god for grapefruit chapstick, and for Them.

~I'm.......babing out

~ how nice for her, how nice for him, how nice for everyone (breaks glass in my fist)

~ I am the drug that you need, shoot me up shoot me up

~ Jennifer Jason Leigh in Single White Female was a definite top

~ muttering to myself in a Mark Wahlberg voice just to get a good giggle

~ making things for my brothers daughter; playing peeks with Jeremy; reading a book with John; playing sticks with natalie; talking about books with Noah. Being a woman with five nieces and nephews to watch grow up.

~ “She wanted to die, but she also wanted to live in Paris.”

~ Nora Ephron, and Melissa Broder. The now maligned art of self-confessional writing that I find infuriating when men do it (woody allen) but not unlike sinking into a hot bath when a n y o n e else does it.

~ My dad telling me about his golf tournament, my dad telling me stories of seeing bands in the 70s, my dad finding out who Blac Chyna is and saying "she's amazing", my dad knowing every character ever on Law and Order, my dad and Noah bent over a chessboard, my dad taking a splinter out of my sisters finger.

~ if I was a Housewife my tagline would be: "my attitude isn't MY problem, it's yours!"

~ I have a recurring nightmare where I went to my first day of Spanish class and then just never returned? And I knew I was going to fail but for some reason really wanted to make it to the final bc that might make a difference? True claustrophobic panic.

~ I have an incurable disease? I have an incurable disease!

~ a m e r i c a n w o m a n

~ DR Q: should I be on antibiotics until surg? Ointment yes. What in detail will happen after surg/how will it heal/will it heal? If the wound is not going to heal after surgery is it necessary to do it at all? Down the line, when can I have sex? Can I take full body baths? Is there a specialist I can take these to? Should I shave before surg? Infections?

~Potential Bday Marathon w bois: Big Lebowski, Wild, Stand By Me, Almost Famous, Frances Ha

~ I am going to be well, I am going to heal, and I am going to be better one mesh shirt and gauze pad at a time

~ Tommy Wiseau saying "I've sumfin fer youuuuu"

~ hating the Grateful Dead SO much but knowing all the words to Box of Rain. Singing it in the bath first thing in the morning while my coffee brews.

~ I've been making this list for a year

~ "Butt out, Baby"

~ What I have done I was compelled to do

~ sitting here in this humid April heat, remembering the blizzard last Easter, with Band of Brothers episode 5 on the tv, a lavender candle flaming, a message from Fred flitting across my screen like a dear little bird, my disease pulsing in my cells, my hair long in a ponytail, thinking of my brothers wedding in a few days. I've cried three times. 'You should be so lucky,' I think, over and over again. 'You should be so lucky to have this love, to have room for this pain. Le douleur exquise.' Thank you and thank you and thank you (and, if you have time, let me heal)

~on the phone with Natalie, laughing hysterically as she takes shots and calls me Marat

~ Last night in my dream the doctor called my wound "the bog"

~ I might....actually want to watch Desperate Housewives again

~ the dinner the RHONY gals have in the Berkshires season 8 is my IDEAL meal, just a roast chicken with herbs de provence, mashed potatoes, fresh green beans, and cranberries.

~ Again, tonight in the bath:

"Just a box of rain

Wind and water

Believe it if you need it

If you don't, just pass it on

Sun and shower, wind and rain

In and out the window like a moth before a flame

And it's just a box of rain

I don't know who put it there

Believe it if you need it

Or leave it if you dare

And it's just a box of rain

Or a ribbon for your hair

Such a long long time to be gone

And a short time to be there"

~ a really cathartic thing to do is throw ice cubes at the wall

~ crying on the kitchen floor and thinking of amy winehouse singing: "I cried for you on the kitchen floor."

~ note for later: what are you doing? What are you d o i n g ? Get out, get out, get out. It ain't shit, babe. Ain't shit.

~ you're a woman of genuine wit, write what you feel and how you're feeling it. Someone, someone, someone anywhere will see it and will cheer

~ that season of vanderpump where schaena fucked adam and denied it the whole time but was so obviously in Love with him while he could care less about her, culminating in her adopting a penguin from the zoo and giving him the gift of it. She named it after him. Imagine loving someone that much that you would do this.

~ the loveliness of a braid. A braid in hair, in rope, in bread. How a figment becomes a pattern, becomes history slapping against my shoulders.

~ spring cleaning for mothers day. Egg salad and a nip of whiskey after dark. Feeling very old and yet very at sea

~ A Thought: I should think about my neighbors on my death bed. I hear them speak through my walls, the boy that gets in screaming philosophical arguments and the upstairs girls who shriek. My neighbors who stomp, and my neighbors who dance all around me, the ones who were groaning in pain in the stairwell before going quiet. I can hear their laughter, and I've thrown things towards it and felt bad about it later. Their pianos on cold fall afternoons, and the late night guitar they probably think nobody hears. The couple with the large, spindly dog who isn't allowed to be here, and the cat that I pet on the stairs, the barefoot boy cradling his cat in his arms after the fire alarm went off, the chic looking lady with her carrier. The girl I went to college with, hidden somewhere in here. The ones who've come, and who've gone. They've likely heard me, too; crying, coming, laughing until I have to scream into it. Maybe they hear my music, too. I've left them cough drops, left them notes, brought packages upstairs, held the door, gifted cups of detergent. I'll remember the bike, abandoned in the laundry room even when management kept sending emails about it.

~ I'm afraid one day I'm going to turn around in bed and my wound will be my lover, my wound will be companion, who will press up against me as I make coffee, who will throb under my sheets, who will sit beside me as I eat dinner, drink a glass of wine. She weeps, and last night I thought: "do I make you wet, baby?" and I laughed. Hedwig says laugh because otherwise you'll cry, I'll remember it forever. When I laughed everything tightened up and I Hurt and Hurt. Tonight I'm very, very, very alone, and my bath radiated through me like I was a boiled lobster. When I watched RHONY naked I felt the wound put its hand on my thigh, and it felt like I was living with someone I didn't trust. Gone Girl hours.

~ I look like a cloud

~ I have a true disease of the soul and mind in which I'm not capable of forgetting anything. This must be due in part to me being a Leo and therefore being a righteous holder of grudges, but I can't even manage to forget a purchase I made at CVS that I didn't feel great about three years ago much less an interaction with a friend that isn't reflective of Either of us now but that fills me with rot. In this sense, retrospect hits me very hard because nothing ever leaves me. I'm like a desk and papers get piled on top of each other and sometimes it gets messy but each memory is just under the surface of another. Needless to say, if I tell somebody that I can't remember something I'm usually lying to them just to avoid being bored. Which is something to think about, to be sure. Anyway, tell me the story again.

~ I feel naughty and covetous, big-titted and sharp-toothed and green-eyed and hungry hungry hungry hungry hungry. I always get this way when the whether turns hot. Everything is getting deeper, thicker. For the better and the worse. Keep your candy away from me or I'm going to take it from you.

~ "My daughter. My last one. She's my sin. She's what I smeared on the world."

~ the beginning of the summer I sweat, and I bleed, and crack, and i hate and hate, until. Until. The window must be left open, to let the lion in. While I sleep it crawls out of my closet and lays down upon me and I wake up with my hair in a snarl and an insatiable throbbing in my veins. The air is hot, and I'm ready to swallow the moon again. Be r e b o r n.

~ it's nice to meet you. I'm 26 years old, I'm a woman of cracks and fissures, a woman of unprentention who relishes pretending, baddest, chatterbox slut, writing gay porn every night if i can manage it, irremediable sky watcher, secret smoker, mainliner of unhip music, dizzy lady, silly goose. I think the moon is in my neighbors window, and I look up at the impression and thank her.

~ I'm vaccinated, I'm going to a party at my sisters house, I have a person in my phone who I think likes me and I Know wants to fuck me. I've written 1,000 words every day this week. This year I’m spending my birthday in Nebraska. Let the season begin, let me move west into a long, brilliant wind.

#My words

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