#if the green filter for photos had a song it would be this | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

synthetic-sadness · 22 days

Text

Brooklyn Baby

photo credits to owners on pinterest (mine is green filter edition)

Pairing: Peter Steele x Lana Del Rey

Word Count: 13k

Warnings: 18+, Slight Angst, Self-Esteem issues, Slight NSFW, Slight OOC (really tried not to), Alcohol Issues, Developing Relationship, 90s setting;

I saw that well-known photoshop of them both and couldn’t help myself. I’m a creep, writing about pairings that one person like (me 👈) is my fetish 👹 English is not my native language, this is my first work so it may contain some mistakes. Enjoy ✨🧚‍♀️

NSFW under the next cut 💚

They broke her heart every time when she decided that one of these men is the only one for her, special. She was so naive, even after all of these nasty heartbreaks she somehow stayed pure.

Sad hazel eyes, but there's the light still seen in.

He had a big heart, that had been stitched, almost torn by many of long red nails of gothic and ordinary long-haired «succubuses». He'd been tricked countless times that he didn't even remember correctly the lies they'd been saying to him. And he almost gave up, almost decided to not to fall in with anyone, but still wanted to love and be loved one day.

Big sad green eyes, but there's a hope still seen in.

They met each other at the festival. She had just dropped her new album and a good respected label noticed her and offered a contract. At first she didn't trust them because of her previous record which flopped almost immediately, but in the end decided to say yes. And, after all, Elizabeth got a real jackpot.

He, at the same time, had been promoting Type O's album "Bloody kisses" in tours for two years. Meanwhile, the new material for a next release had been accumulating gradually, but there was no time for a proper work. Moreover, guys felt rather tired not only to write new songs, but to give concerts. Sometimes they couldn't decide what to do: to kill each other, because of living on a bus for a few years together and having enough, or to kill themselves.

And Lizzy, on the other hand, was excited to perform in front of a large number of people. Finally, these years of being in "underground scene" had paid off and she could present her music to various listeners.

But beside a thrill there was a huge fear. Not paralysing, but still.

She used to give concerts in bars and small clubs and the last one also were new to her. Girl was just getting used to its surroundings, to crowd of more than twenty people, when a manager said that she'll attend a festival in Europe. It was huge and she was completely terrified by the thought of many people would be there but tried not think about it a lot.

And the day came.

Her hotel room was comfortable but felt blank because of its colour — white. Not this cold hospital white one which make you feel anxiety, but soothing empty white. There were only a few colourful pieces of furniture: round mirror framed with brown wood, grey carpet and her black suitcase. Nothing special.

There was an odd feeling inside Lizzy's chest when she was looking around her surroundings while preparing clothes and make up for the show. It was that moment, when nothing special is happening, but you know that this scene will imprint in your mind as something meaningful.

It was a feeling. Probably it would be a great concert for her.

The hotel was close to the festival's field so it didn't take too long to reach their destination. And when Elizabeth saw a crowd of people she was not only shocked by the number of them but also by their looks. They were all different, but there were so many metalheads that girl immediately wanted to scream at her manager "What am I going to do here?!"

"Take it easy, it's a mixed crowd," said her tech-guy. "There are enjoyers of indie too. They just decided to bring together alternative sub-genres."

"Oh," was all that she could say.

One hour left before the show and their team chose to have a look around. Elizabeth was examining people, listening to their conversations and small talks, looking at other's bands merch tents and just trying to get use to the festival in general. When she got tired of it, which happened pretty quickly, she went to a backstage for preparing.

And there, turning her head and searching for the right direction, Lizzy happened to bump into someone pretty damn harshly.

A strong and massive hand on her left shoulder stopped her from collapsing onto floor but she still stumbled little bit.

"I'm sorry, I'm just huge for this world and you're kinda petite for mine," said a very tall man in extremely deep voice which impressed Elizabeth and even scared a little bit.

"Oh, that's okay, I'm really clumsy today," she chuckled lightly and fixed her hair reflectively because she had spent a few hours by making the vintage hair-dress and didn't want to ruin it.

"Stay safe," the big man nodded shortly but politely and went into the depths of the backstage area which consisted of black boxes with equipment, many sound-tech and light-tech guys, bands with their groupies (there were few of that girls, but still they were), just people who worked at the festival and all of these folk were hidden from view of audience by many metal bars and tent roof.

"Wow..." Lizzy chuckled again being impressed with his height and voice. What a man, really. He looked like a living example of testosterone.

This short encounter cheered her but the girl still couldn't get rid of this creeping anxious feeling in her lower stomach.

Rest of the time of waiting Elizabeth was watching other bands play. Tried to watch their show attentively and understand their art but after every few minutes she was returning to the only one thought: "Fuck, there is gonna be my turn soon! What am i going to do?!". Even if she liked music the fear of failure was so strong that it almost made her choke and cry.

But the girl pulled herself together and when the time had come and violinists started playing the heartbreaking tune she gladly took a hand of one of her tech-guys, who helped her got on stage because of her high wedge shoes and shaking knees it was so easy to twist an ankle and emabarras oneself.

It was daytime. The sun was shining high in the sky but hidden behind some kind of milky haze, there was no a single cloud and no reminding that it could be blue. Just this milky silk with rare golden sun rays.

And because of it the crowd was clearly seen. Many musicians say that doing shows in an afternoon is hard task and Lizzie was not exception.

All of these tiny people dressed in different clothes and looking like scattered skittles on the floor were clearly visible. But it's no more funny when you start gaze in to their faces and see how they were impatiently waiting to see and hear something good.

Elizabeth let out a great breath, opened her mouth and it all happened by itself. So naturally and so right.

Peter was irritated and tired because they had to perform late in the evening and it was only 3 p.m. He had already done everything that the man usually did when he was bored to death and paralyzed by stage fright: firstly, drank a bottle of wine, then got into small argument with Josh but it wasn't a big deal because they both knew that they all were tired of touring, met some fans, signed their CD's and merch t-shirts and also had a good chat with them.

The only thing that Peter liked in touring was communication with their fans. These people literally were giving away their money that they had earned just to see these "four dead trees" standing on stage. Because of fans and due to the fact that they were buying Type O's albums the group members could live on this money and pay taxes. So, Mr. Steele was so grateful to them, loved them for supporting his art and treated with unlimited respect. Also, the musicians and their fan base had something in general; especially it were sense of humour and music taste.

After spending some time chatting with other bands that guys knew before and getting acquainted with new people, Kenny, Johnny and Peter decided to come closer to the stage and look at the next perfoming person while Josh was somewhere else trying to ease an awful headache.

"Oh, that's something different that we've heard here," said Kenny when violins sounded and then a guitar.

"Yeah, I think it's some kind of an experimental artist or I don't know," the drummer also was interested in the current song.

That's the girl that I had almost crashed today, thought Peter and watched how this particular girl untangled a microphone's wire.

And when she started to sing... Well, Kenny was right: that was something that they hadn't heard before.

The audience was hypnotized and so was the gigantic gothic frontman. People, who were close to him, knew that Peter liked not only hardcore music but something sensual, slow and calm; that's why he had admiration for bands such as Cocteau Twins, Portishead and Dead Can Dance. And this particalr perfomance caught his attention instantly... but not only by music.

She looked like she might glow against the beige sky: in that white lace dress with golden cross on her chest, old-fashioned makeup, red long nails and red hair made into the Priscilla Presley's hairstyle it seemed like the girl came straight from the past. And her tunes also were somewhere between present and the times when people used to worship no God but Hollywood and its platinum blondies in golden dresses. This was particularly noticable in the "National Anthem" song. It was a strange mix, audience didn't understand it fully but they liked the whole experience.

She just came and dragged everyone into her weird but magical portal while tearing apart space and time. And Peter was the first who willingly let her take him away.

"Well, I can say this oficially. She's cool," said Johnny and blew smoke while Kenny was listening carefully to the melody and Peter... well, Peter was smitten and even confounded because the man didn't remember the last time when he was so captivated by music which always had been something intimate to Steele.

He was stunned by her sadness and ethereal melancholia that was running through all of her songs and the set, but what amazed him the most it's "Without You". It was like a painful love letter put into a heartbreaking cry and all of these was sang to the accompaniment of a piano and a violin. The girl was so fragile and feminine at that moment, looking like that "China doll" she sang about that Peter and others wanted to know about whom it was. And he felt desire to be... that man?

Well, yes, she had gotten him charmed by her music, so it was no surpise that the big frontman was impressed by her genuine and shy stage persona, not to mention that she was really beautiful.

The girl looked languid but at the same time her behaviour on stage was adorable: she slowly strolled, smoked from time to time, couldn't keep a cool facade and smiled and giggled when people were cheering and giving other positive reactions. Such a cutie.

"Fuck, this weed doesn't make any sense to my migraine," tired and gloomy Silver finally decided to join them backstage but slowly stopped. "Tell me, am I got so stoned or is there Priscilla Presley on stage?"

"No, it's just some retro girl doing her set," snickered Peter.

"Yeah, and she's kicking asses," the drummer exclaimed. It was always so hilarious to hear him talk and do interviews while other members were around, because unlike them he sounded cheerfully and looked like a golden retriever all the time.

"But slowly," added Hickey.

"Deeply and harder," Steele joked referencing their first album and all of them shared small laugh. It wasn't a joke in general, he really thought that the singer put her heart into the art. And the man was not the only one who came to such conclusion; everyone noticed that as well.

When the set came to the end she blew a kiss and waved under the sound of cheering crowd, looking absolutely happy and terrified at the same time. And there, offstage, people also were clapping for her which immediately made her cheeks burn with heat. She did it, but her body was still shivering uncontrollably.

After a while this blood-sucking feeling was no longer gone and was replaced by a pleasent numbness. There, before the show, everything felt like an eternal nightmare, and now Lizzie was almost floating.

In recording studio she felt at home, but in front of audince it was quite opposite. A disgusting feeling, like someone is peeling your skin, however Lizzie thought that life is short. Once she said that It's important to show yourself in the light that you'd like to be shown and the light she'd like to be shown in is not necessarily in a spotlight in front of everyone else. She loved to introduce herself to people through her lyrics and the way that she thought because she liked it. The way that she looked on stage in front of thousands of people wasn't really her thing but she tried to do her best. But only her closest ones knew that.

And that night, after the stressful but successful perfomance, she decided that examining other musicians may help her learn from them some tiny tips. But the girl stayed not only because of "studying process" — she wanted to find a new music and have a great time because the main difference between gigs and festivals is that that they give you more energy and emotions.

Rock and metal wasn't really her thing but Elizabeth was shocked by an attitude of bands because some of them did a really crazy shit on stage.

And how high was level of her curiosity when she saw that tall guy in a green t-shirt with his band. Of course Lizzie understood that he was some kind of musician when she ran into him but she expected him to play a batshit crazy metal and scream his head off (well, actually he did it few times) but not a slow, dark and extremely sensual heavy tunes. What was more surprising that his persona and deep low voice were created for this type of music which the girl started to enjoy sincerely.

She had a great opportunity to see the man from head to toe: huge, pale and muscular, with long wavy black hair, tattoos on each biceps and beautiful manly vocal which amazed with its sensuality and low tones at once. His sharp, almost sculptured face features with sullen look on them were seen from a distance and after all it was no surprise that women who were backstage decided to watch the show. Other guys in the band were no less cool, they even complemented each other which was amazing, but all of the focus was on the gigantic frontman-vampire with bass guitar on chain strap and a bottle of wine on a box case next to a mic stand, who rolled letter "R" and was making sarcastic jokes with crowd. And what about the instrument Lizzie couldn't keep her giggles when she noticed how small it looked in his hands. What an insane view.

But what was more insane that in the end of the set he just tore the guitar strings with bare hands and silently walked away from the stage with band members. That was a sight that Elizabeth would remember for a long time.

The night was in a full swing, only few bands were about to perform but most of people and musicians were partying hard and enjoying themselves. Type O's were not exception. Some guys decided to throw a party in their bus and it was full of drunk folk dancing, drinking and rocking it from side to side with their actions. When Josh saw this shit he rolled his eyes and decided to have a walk at least untill there would be ten strangers and calm his aching head.

His dear childhood friend was also an introverted soul but sometimes touring routine had been killing him and Peter had no choice but to surrender. And when after few glasses of red wine he felt that he was gonna to throw up because of blaring loud music and flirtatious laugh of women who were trying to hook up with him or other members, the man stood up and walked out of the hellish tour bus.

Chilly night air was like a blessing after that stinky transport that he was sick and tired of being in for two years. Why did he quit his job at the Park Department? Why was he such an idiot? He constantly reaproached himself — especially after drinking his favourite drink.

Peter slowly strolled looking at cheerful and drunk people illuminated with colorful spotlights, feeling how the ground was shaking under his legs with every beat of drums on stage. He loved music with all of his heart but sometimes such atmosphere annoyed him and because of it he decided to go somewhere quieter and less crowded.

And there she was. Standing leg-crossed with a cigarette between delicate long fingers, looking thoughtfully somewhere to the left while many colorful rays of spotlights were flashing behind her back. In that white lace dress she looked like a vision, a ghost, an angel. Completely didn't fit into the surroundings.

Peter really was stunned by her (and her bad habit that he had a fetish for) and even though he wasn't a confident man he thought that he would be a total fool if he wouldn't say few words to her. And he approached her.

"Hi, I'm that guy who almost killed you today," said Peter with a little smirk on his face.

"And I'm the dwarf from your world," she smiled. She had such a cute voice in everyday life, he thought.

"Just wanted to say that your perfomance was great, same with your music," his words were really genuine.

"Oooh, thanks..." the girl instantly turned color and added, "You guys were cool as well."

"Nah, we suck but it's not blood," he brushed off and she started laughing and her giggling sounded light and gentle like a crystal bell.

"Well, I can't agree with you," the fragile singer playfully shaked her head.

"Then you definitely didn't see us,"

"I may be blind but definitely not deaf," she said and sucked in the smoke again.

"Well, I can't agree with you," Peter flashed her a toothy grin and even though she laughed he noticed that his fangs caught her out off guard for a second.

But the moment was interrupted unexpectedly by a man, who seemed to be disturbed by something. He ran up to them quickly and made both worry.

"Gosh, I had been looking for you everywhere!" Marc, who was Type O's bus driver in his late forties, exclaimed wearily to the gigantic frontman while being completely out of breath.

"What happened?"

"Kenny, this bloody asshole, got so hammered that decided to smash some guy's face!" the man with funny mustache and round belly had been visibly irritated. "Only you can help us to pull him away from this poor man."

Everyone knew that Kenny Hickey was a nice fellow but sometimes his demons were making people doubt this statement.

Peter suddenly felt embarrassed because their guitarist turned a complete prick mode on and because he had to leave this lovely stranger in order to save friend's ass.

"Can he deal with his mess himself?" he grumbled but tried not to show how really annoyed he was. "I'm tired of being his bodyguard."

"You know that i don't want to disturb you, Pete, but you're the only one here who can break them up," Marc was right; Steele had enough strength to hold some furious fighter like it was an angry small chihuahua. "This motherfucker is short but very prehensile!"

And that also was true.

"It's okay, you shall go and help your friend," the girl assured him that everything was fine. But in reality he didn't want to leave her, not like that.

"Yeah, you are right. I'm sorry. Thank you for a short but nice chat," Peter nodded to her politely and Marc did the same but more eagerly. "See you."

"Bye," she waved them goodbye knowing well that she and this guy Pete would hardly meet again. And when the big and the small silhouettes gradually had faded from sight over the deep blue sky and moist chilly night air Elizabeth dropped a finished cigarette to the ground, stomped it and felt how her body and mind were drained after a festival's debut.

The girl turned and walked away with one wish: to fall asleep under hotel's soft blankets.

Five months had passed and label's bosses decided that it was enough for Type O Negative to be on tour. After all they still needed to record a new album which of course shall become a commercial success in the end. That's funny how many people think that being well-known musician or other type of artist is so easy: you do what you like, you get paid for it. It certainly gives some privileges but in reality creation of a product of art contains of endless pressure from the record label, self-doubting in your abilities, creative crisis, deadlines, disagreement with your ideas of band members, hours and hours of recording sessions where one single mistake or a badly played note make you return to the begininng, and neverending stress makes you lose it. And you can't leave this game so easily because you had signed a contract for a few music albums.

Peter quickly disappointed when he found out about the music industry when he was 24. Now, being a 32-year-old man he got used to it but still didn't fully accept its rules and didn't wanted to be led. Their work in a studio usually wasn't going well; everytime Pete cursed the day when he left his job but repeatedly admitted that he was a masochist.

Because of their common love of misery guys from Type O's were making the new album but after a month of continuous work they started to take few a days off. And you can only imagine how "happy" was Peter when he found out that his whole weekend he had to spend under the hood of his car which the man affectionately called "The Beast": a huge black machine with no bumpers but large wooden planks, big bright lights on the top of it and a truck horn. This "monster" had been both repainted and repaired many times by Peter himself and many repairings were done for the purpose of upgrading. Unfortunately that time it needed a a real repairing.

But even though being an excellent handyman that he was, that time Mr. Steele was too exhausted to do fixing himself. And a solution was simple: to visit a good friend in a car service in Brooklyn.

The fellow of his was a good man, they chatted for a little bit, caught each other up their latest news, had a good laugh but Peter didn't want to disturb him and then went to a record store nearby the car service.

There in a small room full of stands with CD's and vinyls and a silent salesman behind the cash desk with a magazine in his hands the frontman was studying range of music products. He came there just to kill some time but had been looking at new music with interest before his gaze fell upon one special record in best-selling section.

He felt how his eyes glued themselves to the image of an red-haired girl dressed in a white shirt. The colors and the idea were pretty simple: a mid-shot of girl's face and upper body to show audience beautiful features with serious expression of the artist, blue sky, pale wooden barrier and probably an old-fashioned car. Blue font on white read "Born to Die" and white one on blue was typed in big letters "Lana Del Rey".

Luxurious and vintage as I had thought, Peter thought to himself.

That was what he had been looking for since their short encounter that night at the festival. It was so brief and blurred that the man had no time at least to ask for her name. The next day he'd spent looking for her merch tent to buy her music but it turned out to be that she had no one. Moreover the idea to look for someone when you don't even know their name itself was stupid and doomed to failure from the beginning.

And at that moment Peter felt that a missing puzzle piece went up in its place. It was an exact feeling when you finally learn about what you have been trying to find out for so long. Some kind of bliss may be said. Plus he really wanted to listen to the records of this melancholic songstress because he saw the same mood in her music that he had in his own.

But what Peter didn't expect is to see her at the same record store, slowly shuffling through vinyls.

His heart dropped for a second and the next was slight panic and the urge to grab her so she wouldn't disappear. It was so sudden that he didn't know what to say to her and not look like an idiot. Although Peter couldn't miss the chance.

He had decided that it would be better if he'd just leave the CD on the self to not look like some creep in her eyes and went straight to her while slightly waping his sweating palms on dark blue jeans.

"Hello," a familiar deep voice came above her head.

Lizzie quickly looked up and jumped a little, the height of the gothic bassist gave her a slight jumpscare. He couldn't help but chuckle at that.

"Oh, hi," she immeaditely became flustered. "What a surprise. I didn't expect to see you here."

"Me too actually," and then he frowned a little. "I'm sorry that I disappeared so quickly last time."

"That's okay," the girl simply waved her hand. "I hope your friend is doing fine."

"Yeah, he is much better now," Peter slightly snored at the memory of Kenny kicking and screaming threating nonsense and being completely pale with greenish shade the day after he had spent hugging a toilet.

The man took his large hand out for a handshake "I'm Peter."

Lizzie accepted the gesture, her elegant small hand was swallowed by his very gentle touch.

"I'm Elizabeth, nice to meet you officially."

Peter felt a slight pang in his chest.

His "favourite" name. Again.

But he didn't show her sadness hidden behind green eyes. She was not "that" Elizabeth, she was more humane and warm person without a single doubt.

"The pleasure is mine. I've been looking for your records at the festival but found it here" Peter pointed at the best-selling section "I can say that you're doing great".

"Yeah and I still can't believe it..." looking at her own image with grateful expression Elizabeth shooked her head and the gigantic rocker believed the sincerity of her words. And when a dreamy glint in eyes of hers was gone she turned to him with crossed arms. "What brought you here?"

"Firstly, I live here. And secondly, my car is getting fixed down the street," Peter explained in his velvet low voice.

The girl smiled when she understood which accent he got.

"I'm here to see my uncle. I used to live in Brooklyn too with him and my aunt."

"You did?" he slightly raised his eyebrows in surprise. When Peter first saw her onstage he had a strong feeling that she was somewhere from West Coast. Now she looked like a typical city girl: her wavy red hair was loose, same vintage makeup but not so catchy that was at performance, dressed in tight jeans and racing Ferrari red bomber jacket.

Brooklyn was not a glamorous place to live in and Peter knew it well and wondered how living there had affected her or even had inspired in work.

"Yes, but then I had moved to Bronx, after that to New Jersey, lived in a trailer, then returned back so... Well, actually a list of my relocations turned to be a little bit longer than that," she felt a bit awkward because of oversharing and the thought that she was boasting off which was not true.

"You have an interesting life as i see," a small smile was curving the frontman's lips. But the next moment he got slightly tensed, inquired. "Would you like to have a snack and tell me more about your journeys someday?"

"I would love to," her face was graced by a radiant smile which made Peter's stomach drop but he had no clue why.

"I'll give you my phone number..." he took a crumpled small piece of paper and short pencil from pocket of his leather jacket and

"You've prepared," Lizzie giggled citing the fact that he could use it while meeting women.

"Being an old man that I am I need this to write down a grocery list. I hate this feeling when I'm in a supermarket looking for milk but ending up buying tampons," this dramatic head shake and the fact that he had been joking so easily about himself made her think that he liked to be some kind of a clown.

"Poor Peter," she snickered.

"I can say the same about all of musicians," he grinned and caught her looking at his fangs with curiosity again while laughing.

The fact that the girl was exposed didn't go unnoticed and Elizabeth's pink cheeks showed her embarrassment at the situation.

"Thank you..." she lowered her head when he gave her the paper but quickly regained her composure. "Um.. can I ask you for something?"

"Of course," his eyes showed slight concern.

"I have been looking for your records but didn't find one. Can I find it here?"

Oh that, our shitty music albums, the man chuckled at himself.

"Let me see," the musician decided to act like he didn't know that their and Carnivore's discography was in that store. Peter Steele was kind of hero of Brooklyn music scene, many musicians and metalheads knew him and his music (even though he was harsh on himself) had a great impact on others' musical creations.

He went to a section of rock and different genres of metal and pretended to be searching hard for the album, in fact just moving his CDs back and forth, and after a minute of that shameless simulation under Lizzie's watchful eye he picked the latest one, "Bloody Kisses".

"Here," Peter returned and gave her the current CD.

She gladly accepted it while paying attention to how long his slender fingers were. But her attention was instantly captured by two moaning goth-like girls on the cover in a moment of heavy make-out-session... Well, Elizabeth heard their songs live and all of the erotic messages that were there, so it wasn't a big surprise.

"Oh, that's... provocative," she giggled awkwardly looking at the cover from both sides.

"We play dirty," stated Peter in pleased voice. But the cause of his high spirits was that he liked to see how she was getting shy in front of him at his actions or any nonsense that he'd said.

The man turned to get her record but instead was interrrupted.

"Oh, It's not a good version. Trust me!" Lizzie exclaimed. The puzzled and confused gaze he gave her made songstress disappear behind various stands.

And when she came back he saw her holding another music record of hers. The cover was shot with the same prospect but style was different: vintage luxury, swimming pool and palm trees in the back, dressed in swimming suit with straight loose hair looking magnificent as always. All of these was framed with golden textures. It had the same name but under the title there were small gold letters: The Paradise Edition.

"This is a special edition, went on sale only a week ago. The first one sells good but this has twelve more songs and costs the same, even cheaper."

"Thanks for taking care of my wallet," smirked Peter. "That's actually good that you've decided to add so many songs even though I'm sure that your label made you do it."

"Yeah, but I'm glad that I can finally show my material to the world..." he noticed that her cute voice always sounded very garetful when it came to the music and opportunities that were given to her. And then Lizzie stole a quick glance at a round wall clock that hung on the wall behind the salesman. "I think that I shall go and meet my uncle, don't wanna make him wait for me."

"Sure," the frontman felt a sudden wave of sadness and despair by looking at her buying his CD and knowing well that they wouldn't meet so soon, hastily added. "I'd like to call you but I don't know when you'll be in New York next time."

"I'm here everyday," the girl said and threw him a meaningful smile over her shoulder. Then she got the change and waved at him. "Bye."

When glass doors closed themselves with a quiet slam Elizabeth no longer saw the amused look on the big man's face.

"What was that?" Peter chuckled to himself under the annoyed gaze of the salesman, who had been waiting impatinately for them both to pay.

What was that, Lizzie thought to herself while walking down the street to a café when she and her uncle had decided to have a cup of coffee.

Looking down at the CD record in her hands she couldn't help but shake her head with wry chuckle. This is all so strange. At first that festival which almost made her shit herself, then this huge gothic guy with fangs and corny sense of humour...

He wasn't her type at all. Yes, she had said many times that she had no type but all of her boyfriends had something in common: appearance or some kind of fleur around them. But Peter was different. He was beautiful in a dark way; pale, long-haired with manly face and hypnotic green eyes looking like a black-maned demigod or a vampire. But Lizzie had no interest in vampires... until when?

Anyway, there was something about him that seemed to be magnetic for her romantically or not.

Five days later they met in a good place where they could have a proper meal and a real conversation and where nothing and no one could interupt them this time. At first Peter had wanted to invite her to a premium restaurant but then he thought that it would look like a date and he didn't want to scare her away that way... Well, to be honest the man didn't fully understand what he felt for her. But the one thing was clear: he was drawn to the melancholic songstress.

"...and then you moved to London?" Peter asked while pouring red wine into his glass after she had kindly refused the drink. He was trying to sort out Lizzie's life and her numerous moves and almost every one of them had been remembered by him.

Her life looked like that detailed puzzles that people buy and then forget about them because its complexity irritate them and make them feel oppressed due to they can't easily collect it. But when it's finaly ready it looks so fascinatingly and reassuring that they can't tear their gazes away.

And Peter even felt little bit embarrassed because being six years older than Elizabeth he still hadn't moved out of his parents' basement. His life was so boring compared to hers: no relocations, no life in a trailer, no metaphysics degree.

"Yes, right after my first studio album got flopped," she said and took a sip of her Pepsi. "I lived in a shitty flat with no heat, it was so awful."

"Looks like you took everything from life," he smiled and got chuckle out of the girl.

"Not at all," with slight frown Lizzie remembered all those ten years that she was desperately trying to break into a music scene.

"Anyway, I'm pleased to be in a company of such an intelligent and erudite woman."

And again there was heat rising on her cheeks.

"Am I wrong or you do really enjoy see me blushing?" her lips curved into an cute-awkward smile. "However, thanks."

"Making people feel uncomfortable is my another favourite hobby," significantly stated Peter and there was a mischievous small sparkle in his eyes when he sipped wine.

Oh, if only she knew about "Nazi" scandal, the original cover of "The Origin of the Feces", being "misogynist" and this "Prelude to Agony" song...

He wasn't proud of it at all, but that's what happens when you have a provocative vision of art and crude humour.

"I noticed that when you played this 'Christian Woman'. Kinda reminded me about the time when I was in a Catholic school. Singing in choir and loving going to a church..." the girl's face assumed a nostalgic expression as if she cherished those times which surprised the gothic musician — his own experience was quite the opposite.

"Oh, that means that I wrote this song about you?" he asked jokingly.

"Well, I don't remember that I could be touching myself while looking at crucifix at nights. So, probably no."

"Yeah, it was me who had been fantasying about Jesus, sorry..." Peter was fooling around again, like he used to act around with his close ones, but when he saw her restrained smile and shining eyes he decided to tell a little bit more. "Actually, I wrote this song out of my experience being a catholic boy during puberty. Nocturnal emissions and other embarassing things, you know. Just made up a sensual story out of a teenage nightmare."

"I do write songs based on my life too," Elizabeth nodded knowingly. Her favourite way to write music was when the stuff that made the girl emotional had happened so she could see things more clearly. But at that moment she thought about how many of his songs were filled with real experience and not wet and gloomy fantasies.

There was a short pause before Peter spoke again.

"You have this interesting song. Um, 'my pussy tastes like Pepsi cola' as long as I remember..." he uttered with a puzzled expression, looking away like couldn't remember it properly but in reality he was just messing around with her again.

Her hazel eyes immediately widened.

"Oh my god!" she choked on the exact drink and quickly caught the attention of other visitors. Some of them had stopped their conversations and turned around to see what the matter but they saw the songstress wiping her mouth with a napkin.

"Very interesting line," the man could hardly keep the smile off his face.

That bastard... that extremely good-looking bastrad, Elizabeth thought.

"Oh my god, ughh!" she hid her face behind palms and groaned embarassingly. If few moments ago her cheeks were briefly dusted with pink, now she was sure that the heat her face was radiating could be felt from the other end of the table.

"I'm sorry, I didn't want to embarrass you so much!" he laughed heartedly. It was a deep rumbling sound that Lizzie wanted to hear again and again. So smooth and calming.

"No, it's fine," the girl waved her hands. "Well... oh my," she couldn't help but snored again. "One of my friends, he's Scottish, ones said that American girls' pusseys taste like Pepsi cola. And I thought that's would sound cool."

"Your friend seems to be an expert in foreign cuisine," Peter noted ironically.

"I don't want to go into these details!" the girl exclaimed giggling.

He liked to make her laugh, how she lowered her long lashes, how her plump lips were curving into a gentle smile. That was a hypnotic sight to see.

Although, this part of conversation was hillarious but Lizzie couldn't help but felt slightly insecure.

"Do you have silly songs like this one?" she looked calm but the way she started to pick her long manicured nails didn't go unnoticed by the big gothic musician.

"Every song of ours is silly," his biting self-criticism was storng as always. Had this man ever admitted his achievements?

"Come on," the songstress rolled her eyes in a playful manner.

Peter coughed — that was the habit of his, he did it occasionally during conversations or interviews — and thought.

"Alright... um, from the last album it is Black No. 1," that time the answer was honest and serious.

"Really? But it's a hit. I saw the crowd going insane when they heard it," she wondered. The song was brilliant, catchy and had great pontential and not to mention the fact that it was the single. Audience was shouting, jumping and singin along with the band that evening.

"I would like to look at them when they find out that this song is about hair dye that I wrote in a traffic jam while driving a garbage truck," Peter smirked. "Although, I've said that too many times in interviews. People don't understand that's a sarcasm. I noticed that they don't understand what sarcasm is at all."

Then she started to understand that Peter Steele was not about gothic romantism and sex; this person was much deeper and complicated. But in a witty way, may say.

"Being a musician means that every song of yours shall mean something deep and contain higher thoughts. But how exactly this hair dye inspired you? I'm interested."

"My ex-girlfriend used it and she still does, I think. She was a gothic girl, a real hot stuff. She listened to goth bands and was making fun of my music taste, especially hardcore bands that I liked at that time. She said that I don't know the real music."

"That's kinda stupid of her," said Lizzie with furrowed eyebrows and took another sip of Pepsi. She'd always thought that It's so childish to make make fun of something that you don't like or don't understand yourself.

"Yeah, but at that time I was crazy about her, I didn't mind," the man just shrugged his shoulders.

This made her wonder about that girl: how she looked like, was she really that hot as Peter saw her, how she smelled like and what kind of a perfume she used, was her voice low and sultry or high and pitchy, how she prefered to spend her free time and was she more beautiful than Lana herself.

Lizzie found herself thinking about these silly things and but decided to brush them off. She had no need to know about his love life. But anyway, almost every song that Elizabeth had heard on that 'Bloody Kisses' record (oh, and how she got so fucking scared when in the beginning some girl started to moan heart-rendingly) was about both mental and physical relationships with women.

"So, according to my observations can I say that women are your main inspiration?" the girl asked curiously but couldn't hide that mischievous glint that was seen in her hazel eyes. She wondered if this giant would deny it with male shame or agree willingly in order to cozy up to her.

"Not main, but they are also important to me," Peter stated simply understanding that the talented companion wanted to mess with him little bit. And he smirked himself teasingly. "But you too have these love ballads from what I've heard."

And then that glimmer in her eyes faded. Lizzie had two options: to tell the truth or to laugh it off playfully and move on next topic. But somehow she felt urge to share a little bit. Maybe because he was an artist too or because she just wanted to.

"Ha, well..." Lizzie giggled but it was more nervous and sad chuckle. "I'm an ex-alcoholic."

The playful mood that was between them two quickly vanished after that leaving a ringing silence. Peter was looking at the girl and feeling guilty for making her feel uncomfortable by offering to drink wine earlier but Lana was okay.

That moment he saw her in a different light but not in a bad one: behind this careless lush red hair, vintage makeup, long nails and golden necklaces was something dark, tragic and fragile. People who saw her and heard her music thought tha she was just a foolish beautiful doll with whining songs and a pathetic product of a good label. But that's not true.

This beautiful porcelain doll had barely noticable cracks and Peter wanted to see what was behind them, inside.

The man felt ashamed for drinking wine so casually in front of her all the evening.

"Oh, sorry, shall I..." he started to apologize hastily and his already big green eyes became even bigger while fussing and attempting to get rid of alcohol on their table.

"No, I'm not so fucked up," Elizabeth rolled her eyes with ironic smile at his fuss, he was so cute. "I mean, almost in every music piece that I create there is a small hint about my past addiction."

He nodded silently in response and felt no desire to sip this wine; the laid-back atmosphere around them collapsed like a shattering glass but it wasn't girl's fault. Suddenly Peter found the dark red liquid in his glass so interesting to observe.

"You may be silent but I see the question in your eyes, you know," Lizzie joked and got chuckle out of the frontman.

"Right," he smirked in a guilty way and slightly lowered his head to hide a fact that his pale cheeks were flushed with shame.

"It's all started when I was fourteen," she began her story. "When I was very young I was sort of floored by the fact that my mother and my father and everyone I knew was going to die one day, and myself too. I had a sort of a philosophical crisis. I couldn't believe that we were mortal. For some reason that knowledge sort of overshadowed my experience. I was unhappy for some time. I got into a lot of trouble. I used to drink a lot. That was a hard time in my life."

"I know it all sounds silly, but... I was a big drinker at the time. I would drink every day. My parents were worried, I was worried. I knew it was a problem when I liked it more than I liked doing anything else. I was like, 'I'm fucked. I am totally fucked'. Like, at first it's fine and you think you have a dark side — it's exciting — and then you realise the dark side wins every time if you decide to indulge in it. It's also a completely different way of living when you know that...a different species of person. It was the worst thing that ever happened to me."

"In general, my album is about me being a crazy mess in my teens," the girl waved her hands so simply that made Peter blink distractedly. One minute she was telling a harsh story and then acting like nothing happened. There was no bad taste for her but maybe they are telling truth? Time heals?

"I just wondered why we're here and was sort of consumed by the fact that everyone's gonna, um, leave this planet. About love..." Lizzie smirked tauntingly returning to the previous question. "They think that I write songs about a specific guy who broke my heart or 'bout the man I will love forever, but the true is most of my "love songs" are about alcohol. Don't know, when I write about the thing that I've lost I feel like I write about alcohol because that was the first love of my life."

The gothic bassist remained silent but couldn't tear his gaze off. Not anymore.

"Anyway, this fact doesn't change that I still have bad taste in men," an awkward giggle escaped her lips.

"Can say the same about my taste in women," Peter joked to support. But in that one there was also some truth.

Elizabeth really wanted not to talk about her personal life, at least not right now, but the urge to babble about it was so strong so the girl was holding herleslf back as much as she could.

"It's just like, once I was blessed to find someone who made me so happy. But, in the end, it seemed like I wasn't good enough for him."

"I think you were more than enough," he said surely, his deep voice was filled with warm and kind notes.

"You can't know such things, you weren't there," she uttered with her hand shuffled through patterned napkins in a carved metal napkin holder on the table. Lizzie didn't want him to assure her in something that she still couldn't figure out.

"I know that's true because someone who says this usually that one who tried their best in a such shitty relationship."

That made her reflect on it.

"Well, I can't help but agree with you this time..."

The rest of the evening went well and calm. They felt some kind of an ease and were joking and talking like nothing had happened before, just having a good time in general. However, both sensed that someting intimate flashed between them, especially after Lizzie's honest tale. In response the gothic frontman told her that bottles of wine onstage were not for cool entourage: he had a bad stage fright like Lana did.

Later that night, when Peter came home being greeted by his few cats he played her CD again. Skipped to the 'Born To Die' and started listening to it from a new perspective knowing small details and a skeleton of the piece.

And that moment he knew — he was falling for her. Fast and irreversibly.

After that night Peter and Elizabeth started to spend more time together. At first they had been meeting twice a week but soon Peter started to notice more and more often that he's on phone with Lizzie asking her for a walk. And their walks weren't romantic or too amorous. That were two brilliant people, even though they didn't know that about themselves, walking around New York together, telling stories and discussing many topics but all they did was only in a friendly way. Even though Peter cut his long strides in half to walk alongside the girl, her legs were aching anyway after their 'city tours'.

Elizabeth was intrigued by the fact that passers-by always looked at him, examined his tall figure, long black hair with a police cap, dressed in the leather jacket. Of course it was difficult not to notice him but he had something special about him, and it's not just beauty, that made women stare at him.

Especially Lizzie Woolridge Grant.

Once they walked around Manhattan and she told him how the city had inspired her in so many of her songs. When she was younger the girl used to wander around New York and hum some tunes then she just cuptered them on paper. 'I was a waitress at that time,' she said. In return the Brooklyn's giant took her to his favourite Chinese food restaurant and bought meals for 60$.

Peter started to quickly dissapear after every music session and the guys liked to make fun of him every time they got a chance. Kenny and Johnny were joking, Josh did it too but more cautiously. He knew very well how vulnerable his friend was so he didn't want to rescue his big boney ass if something would go wrong. Even though they didn't know Lana personally three of them had a common joke that next time Peter would write a sarcastic song about vintage hair curlers and a glue for fake eyelashes.

Meanwhile Lizzie began to realize that she was attached to him not only because he a beautiful, intelligent, polite and restrained Individual... The reason surprised her — she liked him.

While listening to his album, which was a gimmick in her collection, the girl found herself not enjoying Type O's instrumental anymore. From then on it was all about his voice, no matter if he talked or sang. His deep velvet voice with rambling laugh made her knees weak. She could no longer look him in the eyes without admiration which immediately led to confusion and shyness.

At the same time Elizabeth started to caught his glances more often. Of course Peter had found her attractive before but now he couldn't help himself. Every time the man looked at her gorgeous face he wanted to trace his fingers down her cheekbones, full lips... those lips... The frontman wanted to devour them in the most hot and sweet kiss at once.

This continued for some time. Long walks along Coney Island, restaurants meals and conversations about music, art and love affairs.

They said that they didn't want anything serious or a proper relationship and the very next second they were passionately kissing in his car. Long slender fingers tangled in red hair, long manicured nails slightly scracthed the back of the neck. Both knew that there was no way back. Both were so fucking glad.

Peter didn't paid attention to friends'mockeries of him being excited and in love. Instead he began to invite Lizzie to their recording sessions which didn't disturb the process at all. She had known inner workings of the recording and tried not to distract them very much but she made friends with all of them somehow anyway (what a bunch of facts, both gross and nice, guys told her about Green Man...). And for Pete her presence in the studio had been good. Melancholic songstress didn't know that she was in fact his muse at that time and that most of his creative fantasies, and not only creative, were about her.

Out of respect she didn't buy this 'Playgirl' magazine with his spicy photo session. But in the very beginning of their relationship there was a huge temptation because her hormones gone wild.

It was so scary and thrilling. Lizzie was afraid because she'd heard about his tour lifestyle. God, she even didn't need to hear about this — the girl saw with her own eyes how women were looking at him wherever they were going together. Particularly after that infamous magazine which seemed to be not only for ladies...

But she decided to dive into it, knowing there would be no turning back. Only a broken heart and vain hope.

Though everything between these two were developing gradually and correctly.

Several months later Peter being a family guy that he was decided to introduce Elizabeth to his big family. His mother, Nettie, really liked her (the woman complimented her hair-style every time), five older sisters and their kids thought that she was nice and even Peter Sr who usually prefered to stay out of son's private life, that was his wife's job, who knew about love adventures of their youngest child, appreciated his new squeeze. He also promised Peter that if he would hurt her somehowhe he would get in the neck. In response the man just laughed and pledged that she will be cherished and taken care of. Just like Lizzie deserved and how his sisters taught him to treat a woman.

Life is so god damn weird, she thought looking at his sculptured masculine profile while having a ride with him one night. Peter could swear loudly at passing cars or speaking in puns just to hear Lizzie's laugh, her real laugh: loud and bright, not small giggles.

That European festival supposed to increase the music career of hers, a task with which it was succesessful, but in addition it gave Lizzie something bigger: a great man and worthy relationships.

Compared to this her past experiences were just a shit on a sole. No regrets.

Behind shutters there cars were passing in the night with a dissapearing flash and a distant roar. The light in the room was dim, a lamp with a red illuminating bulb was on. Such glow created a mysterious atmosphere with lit candles in the bedroom combined with living room in the flat in Queens.

Cocteau Twins' 'Pepper-Tree' was softly playing in the background. The only sound that was heard besides it were light sighs and quiet girly moans.

Lizzie's naked body was wriggling on light burgundy cotton sheets under Peter's skillful tongue and watchful eyes. She was lightly swaying her hips, arching her back with sexy breathy 'Oh's, grabbing her perky breasts herself and pinching hard nipples between the middle and index finger.

Looking at such erotic and mesmerizing view Peter was absolutely sure in one thing: he would spend his whole life between legs of his angelic girlfriend if he could just to hear these moans and see her beautiful face in pure ecstasy, with closed eyes and parted full lips.

"Mm, you taste divine..." he murmured lowly and adding thoughtfully. "Those soda bubbles and cherry... or vanilla, I haven't figured it out yet..."

She rolled her eyes but this time not from pleasure.

"Why do you have to do this right now?" Lizzie asked irritably and rose on her elbows feeling her climax fading and lustful mood ruined.

"Because you yourself say that your pussy tastes like Pepsi cola. It's not my fault!" said the man in his defence. He could hardly hid the cheeky grin behind her smooth silky skin.

Sometimes he was so unbearable.

"When I wrote that I thought that it would sounds cool, but now I hate this line more than anything!" she stated heatedly and lay on her back again.

He always found her so cute and funny complaining about her lyrics.

"I think it's one of the coolest things that I've ever heard about vagina."

Elizabeth turned a deaf ear on that.

"Ugh, why am I such an idiotic songwriter?!" Lizzie groaned hiding her face behind palms.

Peter was looking at her while calmly running his big palms up and down her thighs in soothing manner.

"I am always trying to create something but every time ending up doing some stupid shit!"

"And because of it I love you."

Bitter annoyance and frustration were gone. Her tongue was immediately caught in her throat. She even forgot how to breathe.

The girl looked at him over her naked breasts expecting to see a grimace of fear and painful waiting but she saw absolute assurance in his pretty manly face. These words weren't a fleeting gust even though they were in bed.

"What?" sounded like a choked gasp.

"I love you."

Lizzie had blinked few times before she began to feel hot clear tears running down her shocked face.

She grabbed him in attempt to pull closer and planted a hot and strong kiss on his lovely mouth. While their lips were moving Peter felt her whispering 'I love you' all over again and again. And they couldn't be happier than at that night.

'You make me feel electric' Lizzie said to Peter when they were lying on the bed in his basement, just cuddling with his cats at their feet. Grizzelda was purring when the songstress scratched her tiny head delicately.

Both lovers and cats were napping that rainy evening and Elizabeth felt absolute peace. It was always like that near him.

'That's because I always give you these electrical shocks every time you touch me?' he asked hoarsely and she giggled tiredly.

He was so humble, so sweet, gentle and down-to-earth that the girl could no longer imagine her life without Peter. More important, it was mutual.

For the first time Pete saw that his woman could show as much affection as he did himself with her. Every hour spent with Lizzie he could compare to delicate sunbathing in warm Spring days. The muscician almost felt how the light was seeping through him with their every interaction.

She made a discovery that he wasn't that gloomy and serious like she saw him on that European festival. He was a jokester, who liked to fool around with puns and scare his loved ones with weird noises that the deep voice of his could make. But the man treated people with respect and was friendly to everyone. Of course he could have bad days like any of us, when the bassist could sit there all grumpy with furrowed bushy eyebrows and with no desire to share his worries with her. Peter preferred to keep everything to himself, just not to bother anyone on or not to look like a weak person.

Otherwise, he was a tender and supportive soul.

But still, Lizzie anxiously waited for that moment and it happened. He just couldn't be only hers forever. Not him, not Peter Steele.

One day at the party of some friend of' the drab four' guys' Kenny went to her to talk about it. She was terrified to hear next 'You see...' or 'I don't want to be the person who'll tell you this but I know that he has no balls to do it himself, so...'. But instead the guitarist said that he was almost shocked to see Peter not paying attention to any other woman anymore but her. And he said that he was very proud of his mate and them both. Lizzie didn't know what to say and Kenny didn't know what to do when he saw her crying.

And how shaken was Peter when he saw his girlfriend shedding floods of tears in a corner with his best friend standing next to her.

"What a fuck is going on, man?!" shouted the frontman angrily without paying attention that his friends and acquaintances stared at him instantly while being anxious and confused.

"Pete, I..." Kenny started to make excuses but his mate didn't want to hear any.

Peter looked at Lizzie for an answer but without any words she unexpectedly threw herself at him, tugging his neck down and capturing his lips with a strong kiss full of adoration. Distractedly accepted the gesture and scooped the melancholic songstress closer but still had no idea; his friends just snickered and returned to their previous activities.

Later she told him the reason of this public 'rush of love' and the man couldn't help but laughed and pulled her closer to his huge frame.

But still there was a third wheel between them two.

It was a miracle that the city in their such differernt tour programs had coincided. Lizzie's first worldwide tour had been a success. Sales were great, people bought tickets for the shows and records, appearences on TV and interviews on radio. Life was sweet like cinnamon. But what eluded her the most that she had opportunity to see her man performing right after her perfomance would be finished.

When the time had come Lizzie was walking down the backstage hall hurriedly to see Peter after five-month-separation.

"Johnny!" the singer greeted happily walking past Kelly.

"Hi, dear," the drummer smiled in his cheerful manner.

"Where's Peter?" the eagerness in her voice made her sound like a little girl waiting for Santa at midnight.

"He is in the dressing room alone," he showed her the very last door in the end.

"Thank you," she lightly patted his back and went into the direction.

Full of enthusiasm and giddy impatience Lizzie had thought how tightly he would hug her. His warm mitts on her back, cheeks, gentle kisses on lips, the crown of the head.

But when the door was open Peter didn't show joy at all. The frontman had been trying to hide a bottle of red wine but failed. The red liquid accidentally spilled on the dirty carpeting from the sudden movement.

"Shit!" he hissed lowly either of being caught red-handed or because he'd almost ruined his pants.

Elizabeth's expression turned to stone one. The wish to squeeze him tight in her embrace died, instead she wanted to leave with a loud bang of the door but it was not her style.

"We were talking about it, Pete," Lizzie said quietly but as stern as she could.

"I remember," the man nodded not looking at her with a blank face.

"You told me that that was the last time," at that time words came with more passion.

"I remeber that too."

"And you told me that you'll make an effrot."

"I have a good memory," Peter quipped. In his opinion it wasn't really a big deal. Few sips could reduce endless anxiety level, a few bottles could make his legs went to jelly and give this excellent feeling like he was at home during perfomances.

"Looks like you're definetely not!" she threw in return angrily. Thanks to the empty backstage hall and loud banging music no one would hear them arguing.

The frontman could fight back, make excuses, explaining or shout at her but he was so tired of touring, performing, living on the road, giving interviews about his penis in 'Playgirl' magazine to stupid journalists, endless parties just all of that shit that he couldn't stand.

Peter stayed silent not wanting to say any word.

Of course the girl knew how he "liked" his job but there was something about it that the Brooklyn giant was sick of the most: live perfomances. Even there, at 'home' clubs she saw him panicking and stressing out, trying to dull feelings with alcohol before a show and then celebrating it with another portion of booze after.

One big vicious circle.

"Pete, I fucked up on TV!" Lizzie exclaimed wanting to comfort him even though that fact hurt her very much. "My performance on SNL was so bad that almost every fucking person in this country thinks that I can't sing! But it didn't start to drink again after that."

"Yes, I see that you're much stronger than me," he rolled his eyes turning a jackass mode one.

"I didn't mean that," Lizzie stared at her boyfriend coldly. "I just beg you to stop, because it will drag you to nowhere"

"Sounds not so bad," Peter smirked dramaticaly and she almost send him packing.

"You don't know any shit," the songstress chuckled bitterly. At that moment he reminded her a small boy who hadn't listened to anyone but in the end that boy admitted that he was wrong. And she knew that he would come to it himself but on his way he would receive many wounds and scars.

Lizzie was slowly passing around the stuffy small room with greyish-blue carpeting and stains of splashed wine on it, a worn out black couch, a smudged square mirror and a coat rack by the door. Peter was sitting on the couch, his hands were lazily clasped, elbows were on his knees. His gaze was focused on a plinth, the forgotten bottle stood next to the right leg.

When music subsided a little the girl began to speak again.

"I know that it's much easier and more understandable when you smash your face into a table. It immediately shows how things are going. But believe me, you don't want it."

Peter looked like he'd closed inside himself but he heard everything she'd been saying. The gothic bassist just didn't want to face it, not now. God, please, not now.

"I do this because I care about you. And the reason why I care about you is because I love you. I don't want to see you going through the same things that I went through," her lovely voice was tender that time, like she wanted to touch something deep inside him, to wake her loved one wake up. Unfortunately he didn't want to wake up.

When silence had become unbearable Lizzie sat down on the couch next to Peter whose look was distant. This was this type of silence when one of them understood that there was urge to tell something meaningful and that feeling was pressing on Elizabeth.

She had never actually told him about her past. Peter didn't want to push her and the girl considered that phase of her life was over. It was so long ago that seemed far, far away from her and current events.

But still, it was painful and nasty to tell about. And she had no way; the youngest child of Ratajczyk's was so stubborn.

"I stopped when I lost my parents' car somewhere and couldn't remember where, why and what happened then," admitted the melancholic songstress. The voice was steady but still there was a shameful tone. "And I'm afraid that you will stop when you lost your parents' house when you'll be officially of the rails,"

And then the frontman was all ears.

He was looking at her carefully, the right side of girl's face was hidden behind loose wavy red locks; they didn't look presentable like they had been a few hours ago. Even though Lizzie looked sad and tired after the performance, it was seen in features and slightly smudged mascara, Peter still saw her as the most attractive woman even with fake eyelashes peeling off.

"And the recovery wasn't all about rainbows and unicorns. And the first attempt wasn't successful and the last one. These things don't go smooth."

She stared at the deep scratch at the bottom of the door and continued half-heartedly.

"If you want to know more, I worked as a volunteer at drug and alcohol rehabilitation centres in Brooklyn. Before that I was in rehab myself, great times," Lizzie chuckled lowly and felt a strong desire to smoke right now but the room had already smelled like a mix of piss and smoke so the decision of hers was to not make it worse.

"I saw their desperate exhausted faces," memories of that poor lost people flashed n girl's mind but Peter couldn't understand that tragedy fully, he didn't see them. "They knew that we were ready to help them, but the only thing that was out of their reach was that everything starts with themselves."

Their lives were chaos but her own had been no good too.

"I know what is like to have an alcoholic boyfriend," Lizzie smirked and if Peter didn't know her he would have thought that she tried to make him jealous or feel guilty. "And I know what is like to be an alcoholic girlfriend to a sober guy, a complete mess both ways."

Although the man continued to stay silent at that moment his brain was absorbing the new information rapidly. Since the day one, when he first saw her on European stage in that white dress with Priscilla hair, the musician couldn't get rid of the impression deep inside in the corner of his mind that she was like a fog: weightless and illusory, without a story behind and big shocks. However she had everything. She had a family, parents and two siblings, childhood in Lake Placid, funny stories, adventures with her dad, arguments with mom, fears and failures.

She was like a real human being, just like him and any others he knew. But much sweeter and cheerful, and because of it Peter loved her with his whole heart.

And Lizzie thought that the man was like a Frankenstein. Not because there was something monstrous about him, which was absolutely not true, it was as if he was made and stitched of different pieces that at first sight couldn't fit.

"You're so weird..." the girl muttered with amused chuckle and a head shake.

"Oh, you stabbed me!" Peter sarcastically placed his hand on his heart. That were his first words in last fourteen minutes.

Lizzie still was feeling down but could help but chuckled quietly.

"You almost hate your musical career. But since sixteen years old you only do that create bands and play music..."

"You are the most fucking conflicted person that I know," she confessed honestly.

Peter decided not show that it struck him because everything that was coming out of her mouth was true. In her and others' eyes he looked like a masochist.

"You flatter me," the gothic singer brushed off with irony natural to him.

However, his so called "playful" mood was killed when the girl finally looked at him. And oh boy, Peter had never seen her so serious and overwhelmed at the same time and he almost regretted what he had said.

"Your self-conscious will caught you up one day, Pete," Lizzie stated not wanting to tip-toe with the whole topic. "It'll destroy from the core."

And then the man could no longer keep a deadpan expression. Certainly Elizabeth Woolridge Grant was a smart girl, she saw that painfully shy small boy in the big man's body, who ripped guitar strings barehanded onstage once. If a person could be brave (and tall) enough to look into his blue hazel eyes with green contacs, that Brooklyn giant had been buying on King's Highway, they would see vulnerability that contrasted his overall presence. Peter was so soft for her, he could do literally anything that she would ask for, but the only thing that he couldn't do was to not kill and poison himself with his own self doubts, venomous criticism and self-deprecating jokes.

"Small things inside of us can fucked up everything," her voice got quieter, raspier, and her pretty features expressed only tiredness.

Now Lizzie was observing Pete without any frustration. The frontman turned and looked away but his whole appearance showed noticable weaking of his positions.

"I don't know how to do this," he muttered quietly gazing at the bottle beside his leg. It seemed to him that he could smell the intoxicating smell of wine from that distance.

The small questinable ' hm?' came from the songstress and Peter tried to recollect his frantic thoughts.

"I hate parties, I've always hated parties and being in bunch of loud and annoying people," the man sounded almost exhausted and dark, with no jokes and sarcastic remarks. "I'm grateful to our fans but I feel the weight of responsibility on my shoulders every time I go onstage because I need to do my job good. They pay money just to see us messing around with instruments. But what's more important that I chose to die with a bass guitar in my hand than with rake because I wanted to use my brain, not to say that I have any."

"I don't know how I've ended up here," he confessed heartedly and felt completely lost.

Lizzie saw something shattered in big green orbs, so she moved close to the man and gently brushed shiny long black strands away from his face. Her delicate moves, cold hands and long nails always caused goosebumps on his skin.

"Just start, it will get easier, you'll see," the girl briefly touched his temple.

Peter closed his eyes wearily but suddenly opened them again when he felt how she took his big palm into hers.

"And I'll be there with you, I promise," Lizzie almost whispered but the words were loud like a scream.

That made him look at her, then at their clasped hands and then at her again. The man sensed a warm feeling inside, it was much warmer than two liters of a red wine.

Without any words Peter tugged his melancholic vintage girlfriend closer, holding her in tight and sweet embrace and sniffing the rich scent of her perfume.

And he started.

Not immediately, but started.

The spring breeze blew thin creamy curatins with pale floral patterns. The sun was shining high in the sky, that May was warm and bright. The electric black clock showed 3 p.m with its neon green numbers which actually was the wrong shade of green.

They moved in only three weeks ago but thus far felt like that Brooklyn apartment had been their home, like they used to live here before. There was a big number of boxes around but all of the furniture was already assembled by the leader of Type O Negative and him only.

That was a big step and both of them knew it. But Peter, for the first time in his life, was ready to move in together with his woman of his dreams and newly there was enough trust and love to try and create something special. And Lana felt enough assurance to buy a property with her man for once and not to be tricked or cheated.

"Well, my boyfriend's in a band," Lizzie sang softly to herself while shuffling through the box full of her notepads when they had been resting in the living room. "He plays guitar while I sing Lou Reed..."

Peter couldn't hide a smirk when he heard the line about musician-boyfriend. He tore his gaze away from a scientific book that he had bought last week and looked at her but Elizabeth was so focused on the task that she didn't notice a gentle stare.

"I've got feathers in my hair..." at the last word she did this raspy thing with her voice that he loved so much. "I get down to Beat poetry."

Peter caught himself thinking that it was a new song, because he probably didn't hear that before.

"And my jazz collection's rare," that time the songstress switched to a beautiful melodic falsetto. "I can play most anything."

At such moments she reminded him of that retro female singers or cartoons' princesses, it sounded so airy, so fantastically like in a fairytale or in the old musical TV perfomance.

"I'm a Brooklyn baby," Lizzie caught a wave and she could no longer be stopped. Her eyes were closed, small smile palyed on her full lips. The girl repeated. "I'm a Brooklyn baby..."

When the girl opened her eyes she saw a strong adoration on Peter's face, who was sitting across from her in the opposite armchair to hers.

"Come here," he said in his deep voice putting the book aside.

Lizzie fluttered from her seat easily and teasingly and with a playful smirk sat on his lap.

"So, you're Brooklyn baby now?" the musician asked with a pleased look. His mitts lovingly wandered over her bare legs in denim shorts that he liked so much. "Hm?"

"I think I've never stopped actually," Elizabeth shrugged her shoulders thinking back to the days when she used to serve in cafes in Long Island and giving first gigs. Although she added giddy and proudful. "And I will always be the coolest couch queen."

"You have to prove me that, darling," Peter flashed his fangs with a rolling "R" and quickly got up from the armchair with screaming Lizzie in his hands. Her loud laughter boomed around the room when her body hit a soft sofa and one of his cats ran away from there with annoyed 'meow!' not wanting to nap anymore with these two around.

He was biting her neck lightly and tickling girl's sides with long slender fingers while she was trying to kick that fucking big oaf off of her. After all, she gave up and took initiative upon herself, kissing him deep and slow just how he liked.

And Peter felt that familiar taste of a cherry lipbalm and Pepsi cola on his tongue. Just like he preferred.

Tried not to make it cheesy, hope turned kinda okay?

#peter steele #type o negative #lana del rey #peter steele x lana del rey #fanfiction #slight angst #i know that's weird but they have same vibe lol #fanfic #ao3 fanfic #the green man #Lana Del Rey fanfiction #originally posted on ao3 #Peter Steele smut #Lana Del Rey smut #goth music #Peter Steele fanfiction

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withoutyouimsaskia · 1 year

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The Placebo Effect

When it comes to music, for me, there is no other band that compares to Placebo.

Placebo came into my life when I was around 9 or 10 and they changed my life. I didn't understand the gravity of the lyrics in many of the songs but I loved the sound of them. It was unlike anything I had ever heard before (or since for that matter).

Brian Molko and Stefan Olsdal inspire me every day. They are two of my favourite people on the planet. The influence they have on me is profound. I find solace and joy in their art and their aesthetic informs a lot of the choices I make with clothing and makeup.

Their music is a safe space.

They are the reason I created a Tumblr profile; I wanted photos and GIFs of them on tap. My username and bio description are Placebo related and my profile picture was taken with a special filter they made when the Surrounded by Spies single was released in 2021.

I was fortunate enough to see them live for the first time last night (13/06/23) in my favourite venue. Second row. Right in front of Brian. So close that I could see the blue-green of their eyes.

Right from the opening chords of Forever Chemicals, I went to another plane and still haven't come back.

This was the one. The perfect concert.

They are masters of their craft. The mix of older and newer songs. The relevance of the lyrics. Every note was poignant and visceral. The power in Brian's voice was stunning.

Seeing the enjoyment on Brian and Stefan's faces as they smiled and gave knowing looks to each other, it warmed my heart. I made eye contact with both of them several times and being able to connect with them like that was unbelievably special.

I sang to every song, and danced and jumped. I threw my hands up and shook my hair around. I cried when they played Song to Say Goodbye and Happy Birthday in the Sky. I kept putting my hand on my chest, right over my heart, so I could feel the vibrations of the music. I let go of my inhibitions. I love that they encouraged a no phone/camera policy; it was a room full of people living in a unique moment. For 23 songs, they had us in the palm of their hands.

It was a gift to share that time with them. To watch them do what they love and to hear songs that I connect to on such a deep emotional level.

When they left, the cheers and clapping went on for ages and I started to process what had just happened.

Outside, I reunited with the friends I had made while queuing and inside the venue, and we had a very excitable de-brief together, took group photos and exchanged contact details.

It was a perfect evening. I was euphoric. Floating far above the metaphoric clouds.

And then I met Stefan. Actual Stefan Olsdal. One of my absolute favourite people. I had written a letter to him and Brian and decided to ask the security people outside the tour bus if they could get it to them. I got an even better and totally unexpected offer: "would you like to meet Stefan?"

The next thing I know, he's coming out the bus to specifically speak to me.

It was so easy to talk to him. He's very softly spoken and sweet. He asked me how long I had been following them and was surprised at how young I had been. He also seemed excited that it was my first time seeing them.

I did gush a bit incoherently but he was lovely and and comforting. His replies to my praise were humble and precious. I loved seeing his smile up close. He also gives very satisfying and long hugs. I adore the photo we took together and I will treasure it forever.

I mean, look at Stefan's beautiful face.

Thank you Placebo for your art, and for last night. It was like being in a dream. I will never be the same again ❤️

#placebo #placebo band #stefan olsdal #brian molko #favourite band #music #gush post #never let me go

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titoist · 9 days

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in my dream, i was voyeuristically exploring another person's youtube channel. it was titled a semi-random sequence of lower-&-uppercase letters, symbols, and numbers. it's icon was a cat standing upright edited to have little rain boots and a coat, standing in an incredibly oversaturated green field with an unnaturally bright sun behind it. how i would describe it is that it looked like someone had taken a png of the cat and placed it in a windows background with the contrast turned way up.

the conceit of the channel was that it was a dedicated archive for all of the things that made the person behind it sad. more specifically, it collected things of consistent & long-term, but melancholic, personal value to them. personal recordings and childhood songs with an increased propensity to make them cry, for instance. in the dream, it's purpose felt very sharp and clear. but now on recounting it, it feels muddled. in the dream, i scoured through this like an animal picking through garbage.

one of the uploads was of an ~early-2010s, slow and pensive… 'indie rock' kind of song, i guess, about growing up on the internet in encompassing social and physical isolation. in the description, the uploader described it as a song they listened to a lot in their early adolescence. the singer held a very distinct layer of contempt & sadness in his voice. it did not bring me to tears, but it came close. i don't remember any of the lyrics or what the song sounded like, though i know it had it's own distinct sound, that my mind did in fact invent a song that i really listened to. i have this feeling that i might have vaguely integrated a lot of the qualities of the real LCD Soundsystem release New York, I Love You but You're Bringing Me Down into this fake song.

the other upload i lingered on, i regard as far more important. it was this weird… chaotic collage. a few frames of a blurry video of someone recording their legs while laying down on their bed stretched out and edited in varying ways, with filters, transitions, sound effects, overlapping and cutting in at random. there was no real coherency to it, but it did not feel like a purposeful invocation of incoherency. it just happened not to be coherent, stretched out, toyed with. i think i do remember regarding that i felt a kind of malice underlying the edits. in the description, the uploader described with a lot of pain that these were the remains of the last video -- the last documentation at all -- they had of themselves prior to the age of 10 years old. later in their life they entered a period of deep experiential emptiness in which their soul became totally inactive, sucked out by online culture, and which they wouldn't begin to crawl out of for a very long time. in their late adolescence, acting with a strange masochism, they completely destroyed the video by editing it to be a completely incoherent and meaningless collection of editing program effects & deleting the original forever. this did make me cry, in the dream. i identified with the video as an expression of a childlike innocence, a seamless humanity, that had been destroyed & was not going to come back.

i felt drawn towards browsing through this youtube channel in the first place by the same compulsion that e.g as a younger child made it feel like a moral necessity to trudge through the deepest corners of my online friends' internet footprints and archive every little thing, save every video and drawing and comment, make a perfect photo copy of the past in my mind. definitely, i was guarding myself against the passage of time feeling like oblivion. but to the extent that i regard myself as something with no history at all, it fascinated me and made me envious. the ways that their lives felt lived-in, the quantity of objects they had to point to for explaining themselves. i feel like i don't have any of that. i feel like a thing that was randomly born one day and achieved self-awareness without much purpose or desire, simply through the friction of no longer having the energy to be absent of self-awareness.

i would say that at the core of this compulsion is something very foundational to the way that i process & interact with the world.

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amazing-spiderling · 8 months

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So for the two ask games: 3,12, 17, 21, 36, 49 for murderdock and 4, 9, 13, 23, 27, 31, 35, 44 for Gwen, then 🧭, ♻️, 🤔, ❤️!

I think I already answered all of those WIP asks (and honestly, I don't have that many going at a time) so I'll answer the character asks!

MURDERDOCK:

3. Obscure headcanon

The Hand tried to diversify their portfolio by breaking into the entertainment industry, starting in Japan with musical groups. Matt had a short-lived stint as a solo artist but the project was eventually scrapped. He still misses it sometimes. Nobody knows about this until Foggy finds a beat up CD case in used music store one day and spends a full minute gawking at the familiar brooding face on the cover.

12. Crack headcanon

I just think it would be funny if he was a vegetarian. I don't even know that I consider this a headcanon, it would just be funny if the guy going around murdering people with his sword cane ate a lot of tofu.

17. Quotes, songs, poems, etc. that I associate with them

I've made a few playlists over the years, but a song I haven't had a chance to put on one yet is "Promiseland" by Mika

21. Drink of choice (not just alcoholic)

Robbi Rodriguez has art of him with a martini glass on his IG and I decided it was an appletini not because he likes the flavor but because he's committed to the bit. In the privacy of his own home, I see him as an unsweetened hot green tea kind of guy

36. Their favorite season

Winter. There's less people around, the snow helps muffle the sound and things smell less when they're cold.

49. Favorite toy as a child

Gwen Stacy (65 I presume)

4. Favorite line

"But if the only way I can help is with my fists -- then I've already lost. I have to try a different way. I have to know I tried."

9. Scene that first made me love (or hate) the character

I read Spider-Verse before it was cool (JKJK I mean before the first movie because I was deep in my Spider-Man era) and there's a part in the story where a lot of the main Spider-People split up into pairs to go and visit other universes to recruit more heroes/ ward off the Inheritors etc. Gwen ends up in a world where Peter Parker has become the Goblin, going down a path not too dissimilar from her own Peter's. This Peter also ends up dying in her arms, but she shows a great deal of compassion and understanding towards him and I think that was the moment that really made me want to check out her series. (Which had been written at the time I read that comic, but didn't exist when it had been written, which I think speaks to how good of a job that one scene did at developing a character who had literally just been invented.)

13. Dumbest thing they’ve ever done

Not dumbest in that it was a conscious decision she made, but her complete misreading of the emotions of her friends (Peter's obvious crush on her, MJ's annoyance at Gwen's missing Peter's crush on her, MJ's jealousy and motivation for creating the band in general) sort of stretches the limit of general obliviousness, especially since she CAN read people when she's trying to.

23. If they were a scented candle, what would they smell like?

Backstage sweat and like... raspberry body spray from the drugstore

27. Their guilty pleasure

I'm low-key obsessed with Dollar Dog and I love that for Gwen. I wouldn't say she felt guilty about it before it became a hipster nightclub but she sure does now. I hope it fell out of fashion and Mr. Alby got to run it again.

31. If the had a tumblr what would it look like?

She stayed up late one night picking out some cool colors, hot pink, purple, something very chillwave, and like a very heavily filtered landscape photo of the city to go at the top- she posted semi-regularly for a month and a half and then forgot about it.

35. Their idea of a perfect day

She gets to sleep through most of it, but wakes up and finds out that her dad has invited her over for brunch and she's got time to make it and pick up juice on the way.

44. Their happiest memory

Probably something like a middle school holiday spent with her parents and the Parker family. Before things got complicated. She understands now that the roots of her larger problems were always there, but she can appreciate the comfort her innocence afforded her back then.

#thanks for the ask!

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everythingcanadian · 11 months

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Rusted From The Rain

Pairing: Private Recording 1 Mentioned: Kat/Jeremy Hinted: Matt/Jeremy (Past Fake AH Crew, other ships up to you)

Rating: T for JRH I will tag him for others to filter

Warnings: Fake violence/GTA Violence, Car Accidents Mentioned, Ryan Haywood

Summary:

Jeremy had put to rest his alter ego, Rimmy Tim. Had accepted what had happened and had tried to move on and succeeded. Now he was back where the beginning of the end happened.

Day 20 of promptober: Rust I thought this was fitting to help myself heal after so long. I tagged that asshole so people can filter this out. This is more for me than anything. Title from Billy Talent's song "Rusted from the Rain" give it a listen if you want.

AO3 Portal Series Portal On Tumblr: Part 2

The shell of it was rusted and burnt out. The seats inside had been long ago stripped out and probably sold or cannibalised for parts. The engine was gone. Tires missing and the front left had melted from the crash. The headlights had moss and mould and mushrooms growing from them with the moisture and the fact it was the only thing on the car that hadn’t rusted. The hood was bent open, the whole front of the car had been crushed and bent. An old racing accident on the abandoned track. When they had found out what he had done to them. What he really was.

If one looked hard enough they could see the skid marks. The holes from bullets or grenades or rockets. From his spot leaning against the side of the rusted and useless Zentorno, he could feel the betrayal all over again. It wasn’t as bad now, jagged edges had healed somewhat, but it still hurt and probably would for the rest of his life. The black paint of the car had nearly melted off entirely in the blaze or a molotov aimed just right. But the husk of the low rider sat right where it was that day.

A simple red alert text on their phones had set it all off. Instead of a fun racing day they had an answer as to why some things never added up. Their connections into the FIB and police force had shown them their rat. He was more of a devil when they found out all that he had done.

Sitting here now made the ache behind his own ribs nearly unbearable.

He took another calming puff of his cigarette and looked around again in the broad daylight. The sun was already low in the sky even though it wasn’t even dinner time. Oranges and reds and browns among the greens and blacks and greys. Autumn here had some sort of ethereal effect. It’s why they bought and built here. Now it was misty by the ditches and damp in his bones.

Three years and the little racing circuit was overgrown and sinking back into the earth bit by bit, year by year. It was fresh smelling now. Even with the October air burning his nose it was beautiful. The world he had left behind was slowly healing.

His cigarette was a piss poor way to heat himself up from the inside. But it was a nice treat he didn’t indulge often. Maybe once a month if that. He didn’t smoke much anymore. Didn’t drink much either. Not since he ran with the crew. And especially not since he was revealed to be a traitor. They had disbanded pretty quickly after that.

Jeremy didn’t do a lot of things he used to do. But that doesn’t mean he stopped all of it. Matt and him are still best friends. Still own a home together. Though now it’s a modest one in a quieter neighbourhood outside of the city of Los Santos. They had made many new friends. All from disbanded or low rung crews. Some new names came up that had help getting a foothold. Some old names that helped those new to the game up rather than beat them down.

The royalty of the city and extended had fallen. There were no more kings of Los Santos. Fake AH was no more and it would never rise again. Safe houses were torched out. Bank accounts emptied and closed or transferred. Alternate identities erased. Paint jobs and costumes and familiar territories scraped, scrubbed, and scarpered. Photos burned along with files and hard-drives.

Jack and Geoff, and even Ray, an old friend he had briefly worked with, had seen to it that a few of the more identifiable cars had found the bottom of the ocean. They had all been wiped off the map and chose to stay that way. All their pseudonyms- no longer used and put to rest.

His leather jacket creaked as he shifted. His cell phone was ringing. Pulling it out of his jeans pocket he caught the name and smiled. He answered it and pressed the cold metal to his ear.

“Anthony. I’m where it all started to end.” He took another drag and looked out to where the sun would set in another couple hours. “You close?” He felt the mild lick of the Los Santos sun.

“Yeah, had to do a pick up. And don’t use my first name, sounds weird even now.” A pause and the sound of a turn signal in a car. “How are you guys right now?” The voice on the other end sounded warm and inviting. Among that clear sound was the soft murmurs of a couple new crew mates Jeremy had the pleasure of meeting and befriending.

Jeremy grinned, looking to where Matt and Ray were flying a drone to see what had become of the now cracked tarmac raceway. This was a meeting to assess the damage and see if it could be fixed. “I’m chilled to the bone.”

A heavy sigh and a few laughs came from the line. “That joke was never funny. We’re turning onto the driveway now. See you shortly.” Chilled hung up with what sounded like a smile.

Jeremy finished his smoke and stamped it out on the ground. Pushing his way off from the shell of a car. He dared not look at the blackened dashboard. Didn’t want to see his own initials matched with a traitor’s.

Rimmy Tim might live again but not to the glory of what he was. No. Now he was in a new crew as well as an independent. He had a lovely wife who joined them from time to time. Who loved the carnage as much as he did, and still does. She was running her own job with a couple of the ladies. He had friends who he slept around with safely. Friends who loved him and checked on him regularly. He was slowly fitting back into his skin.

Jeremy smiled to himself and started walking toward his two nerds as they flew the drone. Ray held the tablet and gave little callouts as to what he saw. Matt flew the white personal drone and slowly surveyed the place.

He broke off the rust from around his heart. He can take care of it with his new friends.

#rimmy tim #private recording 1 #fake ah crew #ryan haywood #he is the traitor #this is me healing alright let me live #promptober 2023 #promptober #fic #my fic

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hospitalterrorizer · 11 months

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diary46

10/23-24/2023

monday-tuesday

wwhateversss

i wrote a new song today, which is surprising i think, i didn't expect to, i just ended up getting a sound i liked and wanted to keep going with it. there's some re-rewriting to do on it but like, minor stuff i think. maybe i can add some more synths or something too, that would be cool, i think some of these new songs are maybe like, a bit too minimal, which makes sense cuz how else are you supposed to make a pv song that's 50 seconds long other than stripping away everything that's unnecessary, but it might be fun to have something really high and annoying at a couple points.

anyways i am super hungry and i brushed my teeth but like it hurts basically, so i am going to eat a bunch of goldfish crackers. sad that they aren't the whole grain variety. i will feel so dumb tomorrow i bettt lollllll. but whatever i am hungrryyy.

i think a good thing is that today i am pretty tired early on, or earlier than usual. up until 3 i am usually doing stuff and maybe i'll be up that late again but idk, it's 2 now and i feel like i could sleep.

thinking about sleep, i had a weird dream this morning, about my gf, her friends, and my friends, all in a big car on a roadtrip, we were in the south, and in this town that was falling apart, i think we went to a target and i started working there, i remember some kind of stress and hurry about some retail-zone. we passed a mall that was supposedly super fucked up, this gave me visions of something like yume nikki, pixel art alternate reality or something, my friend alex poked me, we laughed in the way we do (something in particular about how he and i interact makes me feel like an adult. it's weird. i think because he's so mature and relaxed, he's not relaxed in the stoner way like some friends, and he isn't neurotic like my artist friends, he's profound (really, actually) in how he's, not normal, but secure, fine, himself, you know) and that pulled me out of my vision, i don't think it was inside the mall, it was like a vision of history or like, the under-reality of that place. the mall was weird, it was huge, brutalist, it had a huge advertisement for a washed up popstar from the 70s on it. i don't think a real one. a man with that kind of puffy hair with bangs, brown suit, the photo giving him an off pallor, and another vision, a department store in the depths of the 70s, busy, all the women with those huge bouffants, brown carpet, dimmed eyes, a filter on everything, and the 70s is maybe located next to brown in my head, that retail hell, all the clothes though, on recollection, had the conservatism of the 60s. something about my family's dining sets, the forks, the knives, the table ornaments and the table itself, it's all seated there. the department store was flat, every display was waist high and it went on forever, i was among the women shopping, and the mall was lakeside. i was hungry, and there was a wendy's. the wendy's was on the water, it had a shiny pink roof, the reflective pink dome of circus circus absorbed into the iconography of wendy's, that's how it always was (it kind of is, i remember a wendy's almost like that, only in a parking lot like normal) and it had poles deep into what seemed a radioactive ruin (the lake, stilts, or something similar, i dunno, the supports) the water was still. we wanted there to be a drive thru, or maybe my gf's friends wanted that, hating adventure. someone said something about one of the oldest of her friends (30s) being young. that friend's in china now. how strange. i don't know what i ordered. i think that was around when i woke up.

when i woke up, i was sad, i wanted to live in that dream for a while longer, i liked the atmosphere, the vision of the south it gave me was strange. the landscape, outside of the mall, target, was very green, not rolling, just dense, unbothered grass as tall as it wanted, and the vague threat in that.

anyways i made this, out of boredom or something, i dunno, i felt like making some kind of image out of all the visual junk i've been collecting. i will probably use these materials somewhere else but i just wanted to fuck around.

not much else today. my gf ate out today, i didn't have to cook, which is good, tomorrow i will cook and basically use everything we have in the fridge, which is pretty exciting i guess. it means we'll leave the house the next day without anything to worry about, which is not what happened when we left for denver. that makes me feel super super dumb.

anyways i am sleepyyyyyyy, so

byebye!!!!!!!

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makingstillwithyou · 1 year

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slow descent into madness | and finally escaping the editing bat-cave

dated: 230331

technical difficulties but they got worse:

this past week… has really been something. the reason i call it an ‘editing bat-cave’ is because that’s exactly what i turn my room into when i edit a project- i’ll sit with my laptop and a bottle of water, open up my editing program (filmora 10), and just… disappear into the process until i check the little clock on my laptop and realise it is now six hours later.

from having my (brother’s) laptop shut down at almost regularly-occurring 15 or 20 minute intervals because it couldn’t deal with my editing program and the high-quality footage to scouring the internet for ways to fix the problem and make my editing process just a little bit smoother, it was quite a lot to deal with.

still, i didn’t let all of this affect me and just kept on working- making sure to save my project as often as i could so i wouldn’t lose any progress once the program crashes as per schedule.

starting in earnest:

i whittled my ‘usable footage’ down to 27 minutes of cut footage, and then got to using it to tell the story i wanted to. i actually realised with a start at this point that the footage i had might not be enough for the music video, but since planning another shoot day (even just a small one- an hour or two at most would’ve given me enough time to film the extra couple of shots i wanted for diversity) at this point was practically impossible due to my actors not being available, i just had to try my best to work with what i had.

it took me a couple of days, but i finally completed my first draft of the music video (which meant that i had synced up all the clips i wanted where i wanted on my timeline in accordance with the song lyrics and music) by the 30th of march.

color-grading:

from there, i then moved on to do the colour gradation for the music video, experimenting with a couple pre-set lut’s but ultimately deciding on colour grading all my footage myself so that it would fit and look best with the aesthetic i was going for.

initially, i had actually planned to have all my flashback scenes where the couple was together colour-graded in soft, warm hues (yellows and oranges) and to have the present scenes where the main character was alone colour-graded in stark, cold hues (blues and greens) in order to really drive home the contrast between the two states of emotion.

but ultimately, i realised that colour-grading my present scenes like that (in harsh blues) didn’t make them look good since a lot of my present scenes naturally had warm, sunny tones to them.

things work out for the best:

instead, to make sure that the flashback scenes and the present ones had a clear contrast between them, i opted to put a grain and film filter on the flashback scenes and construct a viewfinder overlay to put on top of the point-of-view flashback scenes so that it would seem like the main character was filming his significant other in those scenes.

this allowed for a much more natural-looking colour gradation for my music video footage overall and still let me clearly differentiate between the two types of scenes in my music video, so i thought it was a good call on my part.

making the title (an ode to canva):

after i was done with this, there was only one thing left: to make the music video title! in order to make the title, i turned to my photo editing ‘software’ of choice: canva. i know it’s not professional photo editing software by any means, but photoshop has always felt too complicated and clunky for me whenever i’ve tried it, and canva truly works wonders for most everyday projects with the bonus of having a wonderful, clean, easy-to-use user interface.

plus, i’ve used canva for all of my photo editing needs since something like 2018, so it’s a program i’m really comfortable with, and that’s always bound to make the going easy, so canva was a no-brainer choice for me here. in any case, i got to work playing around with the official album art for the song ‘still with you’ released by jungkook’s music label ‘bighit entertainment’, and that’s how i ended up with the following:

animating the title:

after i was done making the title art to my liking, i headed back over to filmora (my video editing program) to fiddle around with the effects etc. there and maybe figure out how to get some movement into the title.

while looking for some inspiration regarding this on the internet, i came across a tutorial on how to do a handwriting effect for titles, and though it was (quite frankly) an unnecessarily long process and i very well could have just settled for a simpler title sequence, i decided to give it a go since the handwritten title would go really well with my overall music video aesthetic (there’s something sentimental and analogue about both handwritten notes and old film, after all).

after a lot of fiddling around with different settings and trying out a variety of movement effects on my title, i finally ended up with the following, which i was fully satisfied with:

at this point, all that was really left was to add my newly-made title sequence to my music video timeline, but i felt like something was missing in the title card… and that ‘something’ was: a little ‘writing with pencil’ scratching sound so that it would really feel like someone was writing the title.

making the credits:

after i had added the sound effect, my title was complete, so i moved onto the next order of business: making the credits. i opted to keep my credit sequence fairly simple, with just a film overlay on top of some unused b-roll footage of my main actor walking along the beach and simple, white credits popping up on top of the footage.

first export of the video:

it was now that i was finally ready to export my music video! i exported the project in 4k with a happy heart, and when i played it after it was done, i realised that i had put the grain intensity a little too low (25%) for the flashback scenes and that the grain was barely visible in the final video despite having looked okay in the viewfinder of the editing program.

still, adjusting the grain settings to a higher intensity (50%) wasn’t really hard to do, and i just exported the project once again. this time, when i watched the music video all the way through, i was overjoyed not to find any faults in it.

tumblr_video

and finally, escape:

and that is how i finally escaped my editing bat-cave! it might’ve been one of the most stressful, awful weeks of my life where i felt my sanity slowly slipping away from me every time filmora crashed or my (brother’s) laptop shut down on me, but i finally did it, and ‘proud’ is an understatement for how i feel about the outcome of this project or myself for finishing it.

& that’s all for today!

signing off now,

rida zeeshan siddiqui 🤍

#coursework development

0 notes

mir-osik · 2 years

Text

Dessert First

Fandom: Triple Frontier

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Fem!Reader

Summary: You and Frankie enjoy an evening backyard picnic.

Wordcount: 2741

Rating: 18+ Minors DNI

Warnings: no ‘y/n,’ face-sitting, oral (m/f receiving), outdoor sex, semi-public sex, hand job, size kink, Frankie always deserves his own warning

Read this if you like: Frankie ;)

Author’s Note: Hello sweet friends, happy Friday! I’m still tinkering away at my Disney World fic, my apologies for the long wait between chapters, real life’s been quite busy and I underestimated how much time I would need and have to get this done. I so appreciate everyone who keeps reaching out to say lovely things about my little self-indulgent story and I can’t wait to finish up the next part for you! In the meantime, please enjoy this little Frankie offering! No beta, we die like men! Apologies for any spelling or grammar errors, they are all my own. Also, reminder that I am still fairly new to reader fic so please let me know if I miss a warning and I’m happy to update the post! :)

This was completely his idea, the blanket, the fluffy pillows, the indulgence of a sunset picnic in the backyard. You, sitting atop his face.

Alright, so you had decided to forego underwear for the evening. But you hadn’t meant to entice him, it was supposed to be a surprise for later. Frankie was always too discerning for his own good, though, his hands too needy for the feel of you beneath them — a graze here, a brush there — and it didn’t take long for him to figure it out.

And once he had, once he’d gotten that gleam in his eyes and turned that mischievous little smirk on you, you knew you were done for.

Dessert first, dinner later, he’d insisted, and as you rock yourself against his hungry mouth — your legs on either side of his head, the picnic blanket soft beneath your knees, chasing your release like the dusk chasing the night — you think that you’ll have to thank him for it later.

He has one arm curled around your thigh, his fingers digging into your skin and keeping you in place. His other hand is on your stomach, fisted around the bunched-up fabric of your sundress, holding the front of the skirt up and out of the way while he works.

And, oh, how he works.

Everything around you feels muted, like a photo with a blur filter cranked up to 100%, the backyard trees and vegetation serving as a fuzzy green-brown backdrop for your escapades. Meanwhile, the music emitting from the portable speakers is nothing except a distant buzz, the notes and lyrics of each song melding together and fading into white noise. There are twinkle lights strung up, acting as your own personal stars in the emerging twilight, but you can only sense the warm, hazy glow of them in the very edges of your periphery.

At the center of it all, and the sole thing in razor-sharp focus, is Frankie.

Frankie with his clever lips and nipping teeth and wicked, wicked tongue.

The pleasure is too good, coursing through your body in that hot-bright, dizzying way that makes your blood pound in your veins and your heart thumpthumpthump in your ears. You’re helpless to do anything but give yourself over to it, letting Frankie drag you under so that the only thing that exists, the only thing that matters, is you and him and this scorching heat between you.

Your hands creep up of their own accord, gliding along your torso until you can cup your breasts in your hands, needing just that little bit more. They feel heavy and sensitive from your arousal, but you welcome the slight burn as you squeeze at them. You can feel your nipples pebbled through the material of your dress and every pass of your thumbs over the stiff peaks makes you pant a little faster, press into him a little harder.

Frankie groans beneath you, rumbling and deep, and you recognize the pure delight in it. The sound draws your attention down, past your heaving chest and quivering stomach, until your eyes meet his from the intimate place between your thighs. The amorousness in his gaze steals your breath away, and it never stops thrilling you, you realize, how generously he gives to you, how completely he loves you.

He reaches up and knocks one of your hands away then, replacing it with his own. It tears a noise from your mouth, too loud and inappropriate for the openness of the backyard, but you can’t help yourself.

Just like you can’t help it when you whine — high-pitched and needy — when his fingers fit over the top of your dress and tug down roughly, baring one of your breasts for his eager touch. It sends a jolt through you, makes your eyes flutter shut, and you begin shivering uncontrollably at the thought of how exposed you are, how either of your neighbors could get an eyeful at any moment, and how you wouldn’t even care.

Let them see, you think. Let them watch how good Frankie is to you, how perfect he is for you.

He pinches at your nipple, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger, sending little sparks of electricity dancing all over your skin while he curls his tongue inside you. Hot, greedy, and so delicious.

“Fuck,” you whimper, grinding down harder. “Frankie.”

He shifts slightly and then his lips close around your clit, giving it a suck hard enough to make you throw your head back on another curse. A moment later he releases you with a wet pop and you swear you can feel the curve of his smug smile against you.

“Yeah, baby?”

He says it so innocently, so sweetly, like your heart isn’t hammering against your ribcage with enough force that it just might beat straight out of your chest. Like you aren’t panting and moaning loud enough for it to be blatantly obvious to anyone with ears what sort of mischief you two are getting up to. Like he isn’t eating you out to within an inch of your life.

“I want to come,” you tell him.

You don’t mean to whisper it, but it comes out that way, your voice sounding gravelly and wrecked.

“Already?” he wonders, and you feel him turn his head, feel his lips trailing teasing kisses along your inner thigh.

Your hips roll once, twice, seeking more than just his breath on your skin. A groan spills from your mouth as one of your hands reaches down to wind your fingers through his thick, wavy hair. You tug on the strands restlessly, impatiently.

“Yes,” you sigh.

Another kiss, this time to your other thigh, this time followed with the graze of his teeth and the soothing brush of his tongue when you jerk above him.

“What if I’m not finished yet?”

It’s a pout if there ever was one and you’re so wound-up, so near-unraveling, you think you might go crazy if he doesn’t let you come right now. And so you lower your hips, solve the matter yourself by fitting your cunt to his mouth.

“Later, more later,” you babble, the words rushed and nonsensical to your own ears. “Please, please — mmph!”

You cry out when the flat of his tongue licks through your folds in one long, slow stripe. The sensation makes your body pitch forward, forcing you to catch yourself on your hands to keep from falling all the way down. The grass and soil are cool to touch, soft when you flex your fingers into them, but the tips of your fingers digging into the earth does little to ground you.

You’re already heading for the stars.

He catches your clit between his teeth then, and the sharp sting only pushes you that much higher. The point of his tongue starts flicking mercilessly over the sensitive bud and the coil inside you feels ready to snap, spiraling tighter, making your skin hot and damp.

This is not unfamiliar to you, but sometimes, it still overwhelms you, how much he can pull from you, how high he asks you to go. You want to shy away from it, you want to tell him that you were wrong, that you’ve made a mistake, that you don’t want to come, that you can’t — the bigness of it all nearly too frightening.

But Frankie knows your mind as intimately as your body, and he removes his hand from your thigh to grasp yours in his. He threads your fingers together, and instinctively you know what he means to convey by the comforting gesture.

I’ve got you, mi amor, let go.

You shake your head at the words that hang unspoken in the air, though. Defiant. Not ready. You had asked for this, had all but begged for it moments before, but now that you’re right there, nearing that familiar, blissful abyss, it’s like you’ve forgotten how to fall for him.

Frankie’s fingers tighten around yours, and he doubles down, angling his chin so he can dip his tongue inside you once more. It’s filthy and wet, the sounds lewd and echoing in your head.

“Come on, baby,” he encourages, tongue lapping over your clit again and making you tremble some more. “This is what you wanted, right? Let me have it.”

Every lick and kiss and suck seems to be a silent plea from him, a new mantra he’s decided to live by — let me have it. And impossibly, Frankie manages to push you further, higher, to heights so dizzying your vision begins to white out.

When your release slams into you, it’s sudden and unexpected, narrowing your entire world to that exquisite pleasure that pulsates out from your center. Your arms promptly give out and you press the whole of your weight onto his face with a wordless cry. He doesn’t mind one bit, he never does, and even helps draw out your high for as long as he can while you continue to shake violently atop him.

It takes you a little bit to come down, following the gentle guidance of Frankie’s waning ministrations. But even that feels like too much, your pussy throbbing and wet and way too sensitive. You’re just about to plead for a little mercy when he finally stops, placing a tender kiss to your even more tender cunt. You remain there above him, boneless and satiated, waiting for your breathing to even out and your head to clear, your heartbeat to return to normal.

When Frankie wiggles his way out from under you, the quiet moan that slips past your lips is protesting — not at being moved, but at losing the contact with him. He soothes a hand down your spine, the touch full of affection, and slowly turns you over before gently tugging you down the blanket so that you’re cozy and comfortable in the center of it.

He reaches out, and it’s only when his fingers start working at opening your fist, do you realize that you’ve got tufts of grass trapped in your grip. His smile is smug while he grasps the back of his shirt to draw it over his head, and your gaze heats with renewed interest when he reveals all that gloriously tan skin.

The broadness of his chest is distracting, as are the lean muscles of his arms, or perhaps your mind simply hasn’t caught up with the rest of you, because it takes you a second to comprehend that he’s using the soft material of his shirt to wipe at your hands. When he’s satisfied with his handiwork and you’re deemed sufficiently clean by his standards, he takes both of your hands in his and leans down to brush his lips across the knuckles of each of them.

It makes your throat close up, makes your eyes burn when they get a little watery. Sweet, sweet man.

You welcome him into your embrace as he lowers his weight on top of you, cradling his hips between your thighs and grasping his face in your hands while he presses his mouth to yours to steal a kiss. Your lips part at his insistence, wide and hungry, and when you lick into his mouth, you hum like a pleased kitten. He tastes like you, that musky tang of girl bright and addictive on his tongue.

Your hands run a circuit over his back and the wide expanse of those shoulders you love so much, eager for the heat of his skin under your palms. He draws away to look at you, and the dimple in his cheek is deep and charming.

“You okay?” he asks quietly.

“We should have picnics more often,” you murmur, still a little dazed and terribly content as you wrap your arms around his neck and tighten your legs around his hips.

He snorts a laugh at that, bends his head to tug at the strap of your dress that’s slipped from your shoulder with his teeth. He kisses along the slope of your shoulder, forging a path up your neck, and across your jaw until his mouth finds yours again.

“Maybe inside. So we don’t traumatize the neighbors again.”

Your giggle is sharp and near-hysterical as you turn your head and press your face into his arm to hide your embarrassment. “Oh god. How much do you think they heard?”

“Enough. You were pretty loud.”

He sounds entirely too pleased with himself, though, and in retaliation, you dig your fingers into his ribs where he’s most ticklish. “God, Frankie!”

The gesture makes him laugh again. “What? You were!”

“You don’t have to be so smug about it!” You whisper-hiss at him.

“Of course I’m smug,” he grins, leaning down to nuzzle at your cheek with his nose before kissing gently at it. He repeats it on the other cheek and then the tip of your nose for good measure. “Do you know what it does to me to watch you come undone like that?”

The question might have embarrassed you a long time ago — made you shy and warmed your cheeks — when you were still learning each other’s bodies and desires, and this thing between you was still delicately new. You sigh happily now instead, rubbing your thumb over the scruff on his jaw, and giving the little bare patch of skin that never grows hair a little extra love and attention.

You rear up, capturing his lips in another kiss. “Yes.”

“You don’t have to be so smug about it,” he echoes, matching your smile when your mouth curves up in amusement.

“If you get to be smug, then I get to be smug, it’s only fair.”

“Touché, mi amor,” he chuckles. “So…dinner?”

You think on that for a moment, tilting your head and pursing your lips. Eventually, you give him a little shake of your head.

“No?” His brows pinch together, confused.

“If we’re leading with dessert,” you say, fingers trailing leisurely down the center of his chest so that he snaps immediately to attention. His eyes follow the drag of your hand as it moves lower, past the soft curve of his stomach. “Then I want mine too.”

He swallows thickly, lifting his heated gaze to yours and letting you push him onto his back when you sit up to shift over him. He props himself onto his elbows to watch with avid interest as you move between his legs and gently slip the button of his jeans open. Anticipation and desire pours from him, present in equal measure.

You make eye contact then raise your brow at him. You’ve been together long enough that you know he understands the question without you having to say it.

How loud are you going to get?

He smirks at that, the adorable dimple in his cheek winking to life once more as the corners of his lips tug up. He shrugs his shoulders at you, casual, nonchalant.

“You can try your best, baby,” he challenges.

You smile back at him as you draw his zipper down and reach inside his boxer briefs to take him in hand. His hips jerk at that first touch, but he remains resolutely silent.

He’s hot and pulsing in your hand when you draw him out, so thick you can barely close your fingers around him. It makes your thighs clench together and your pussy throb, eager for the heavy weight and stretch of him there. But your mouth waters at the sight of him, and you remind yourself that he did ask you for your best effort.

So you stroke him once, just down and back up with a little twist at the top, and again until the breath in his lungs spills out in a rush from his smart mouth. His chest rises and falls a little quicker now, and you lean down, self-satisfied and confident as you swirl your tongue around the head of his cock to lick away the little bead of precum that leaks from the tip.

You watch those pretty brown eyes of his all the while, pupils blown so wide they’re practically black, and note that he manages to keep the choked noise in the back of his throat to a minimum. But just barely. It makes you smirk, makes the devil in you rise, and when his eyes start to flutter close, you open your mouth and sink down on him, accepting the challenge.

Fin

#frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x female reader #frankie morales #frankie catfish morales #frankie morales x you #triple frontier #triple frontier fic #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #my writing

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includeangieinthesequel · 3 years

Text

Madrigal Headcannons if they were in 2022

I couldn’t shake the idea of them with Tiktok and social media

Isabela and Camilo do Tiktok dances together. They spend hours doing it and laugh whenever Camilo shape shifts into another family member to do a dance. Cause like… how else would they ever see Tia Juieta twerk??

Mirabel taught Julieta how to do TikToks and she blew up sharing recipes and giving advice. She has similar content to Tabitha Brown. Everyone loves her.

Bruno is always walking around mumbling Tiktok sounds. He spent weeks going “That’s a big word for Elmo”

Isabela listens to Doja Cat. She probably listens to Ariana Grande too.

Luisa’s workout playlist is the best.

Antonio only quotes Tiktoks he hears from his siblings and cousins. Mirabel sometimes posts him on her page giving animal facts.

Luisa likes to vlog. She doesn’t do it every day but she tries to put a video out every week.

Bruno has an old boom box from the 90s to perform his rat rap battles. Camilo keeps trying to tell him to just use his phone but Bruno likes the authenticity of the boom box.

Isabela wanted to shave her head for a while but they were afraid she’d kill Abuela if she did.

Mirabel has the led lights in her room. She changes the color to reflect her mood.

Mirabel sends Abuela Tiktoks just to make her laugh. Abuela only knows how to watch them if Mirabel sends them to her. She thinks it’s sweet that Mirabel only sends her stuff she’ll like.

Isabela and Camilo are both on gay Tiktok.

Everyone knows when Pepa is stuck in a Tiktok rabbit hole because she laughs so hard it rains and sometimes hard enough to stir up some wind.

Isabela and Camilo can’t drive. It’s the rules. They’re gay.

Felix never drives. He’ll ask Pepa to go somewhere with him and then toss her the keys. She complains every time but she’s always happy to be spending time with him.

Everyone loves when Abuela uses her record player. There’s one song she loves just because the record skips every time. (If you know you know)

Antonio likes to watch nature docs all the time.

Camilo and Bruno watch Cocomelon with Luisa to unwind.

Isabela is convinced she invented iced coffee when she was seven. Pepa is the only one to support this theory. It only happened because Pepa was hailing and some of the ice landed in Isabela’s mug.

Luisa and Agustin like to watch animal videos. They cry all the time.

Abuela plays coloring games on her phone. So does Bruno. They bond over sharing pictures they’ve done.

Felix has a secret SoundCloud. Pepa knows but she’s sworn to secrecy…Julieta and Bruno are also sworn to secrecy. Dolores is also sworn to secrecy.

The triplets discovered Snapchat filters and spend hours taking selfies. It’s really cute. Sometimes they get them printed to hang up in their rooms or to go in photo albums.

Isabela’s lockscreen is herself. Queen shit.

Luisa likes to watch cartoons with Antonio and the animals.

Bruno plays Minecraft.

All of the cousins love animal crossing. They trade turnips and stuff all the time.

Sometimes family game nights are on the switch or the bust out the Wii.

Antonio plays Roblox.

The whole family did a murder mystery once. Agustin and Dolores planned the whole thing. Everyone got really into it.

They like to race go karts and are extremely competitive.

Pepa likes Megan Thee Stallion.

Dolores hates that her Mami knows all the words to Wap.

When Bruno was away Julieta used to watch home videos on their birthday. It made her cry every single time. She was afraid to watch them with Pepa because she knew Pepa would get angry just from the hurt she felt.

Mirabel loves YouTube tutorials. So does Agustin.

Luisa is scared of roller coasters but she’ll go on if Mirabel holds her hand.

Isabela definitely dyed her hair with the money pieces in the front. They were pink first then eventually green.

Pepa likes to embarrass Julieta by telling her kids she had an undercut once. Julieta will always deny it.

The triplets have a group chat. It’s called

“PB&J 🥜🧈🍇”

Pepa got called a milf once and asked Isabela what it meant. Dolores was screaming the entire time. Julieta knew what it meant but she wanted to watch it all go down.

Pepa isn’t allowed to watch Titanic.

Antonio ordered a bunch of toys and treats for his animals on Amazon and got his iPad taken away.

Camilo is more of an iPad kid than Antonio.

Luisa writes fanfiction. She’s really popular online.

#encanto #encanto triplets #la familia madrigal #madrigal triplets #isabela madrigal #camilo madrigal #luisa madrigal #dolores madrigal #mirabel madrigal #antonio madrigal #alma madrigal #felix madrigal #agustin madrigal #julieta madrigal #pepa madrigal #bruno madrigal #we dont talk about bruno #mirabel encanto

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theepisceswriter · 3 years

Text

AOT characters with a black S/O (Zeke, Jean, Connie, Eren, Reiner)

Synopsis: I think the title is pretty self explanatory 🙈

TW: none really besides mentions of food, African-American culture only for right now sorry my foreign babes 😕, not proofread

ZEKE

Someone throw this man a black girlfriend with a dark or regular academia aesthetic P L S because he would love you to the point where he’s obsessed and treat you so good.

Loves finding neutral shades of beige, white, or brown that compliment your skin color nicely while the two of you are out shopping. Will literally come running from across the other side of the store with a brown jacket in his hand like “Look babe, this would compliment the brown of your skin so nicely 🥺 we gotta get Instagram pictures of you in this.”

He also enjoys finding academia type hairstyles and trying to make them work with your natural hair or braids. At least once a week he sends you a hairstyle he found on Tumblr and helps you later that night to try and achieve a black version of it.

The two of you most definitely have viral pictures floating around on Twitter, Pinterest, and Instagram.

He’s so soft and patient when it comes yo your hair because he has a beard, so he knows what it feels like having to keep up with something that requires a lot of work. He’ll often come into the bathroom to do his beard and offer you an extra pair of hands when it’s your wash day. His favorite part is to help you twist your hair because he likes seeing the finished product when you take them out.

He also uses your hair conditioners and oils in his beard because they make him smell otherworldly and he likes smelling like you. And yes, he has requested for you to braid his beard once but never again because you both thought he looked too weird like that.

Grisha is the awkward white dad who tries too hard to accept you and says stuff like “Hey, like the new hairdo 😃👍🏾.” Whenever you come around. Bless his poor heart, at least he’s trying and you know he means well.

JEAN

Worships you and the ground you walk on like 24/7. He’s so in love with you and makes sure to let you know that on the daily multiple times. And he’s such an amazing lover and avoids doing cringey shit like calling you chocolate or Nubian queen goddess.

Hangs with your uncles and all the other black men in your family because he thinks he’s cool like that, but they don’t mind at all cause they love him.

His mom is the sweetest mother in law ever. She gets along so well with all the women in your family and they’re always swapping recipes with one another. One day time you and Jean pulled up for Christmas and she had a dish filled with collard greens on the table and they were good too.

He has two chains around his neck dedicated to you: one is your name and the other one is the date you two became official. You also wear his name around your neck and you have a ring with his initials on it.

Getting jewelry is something the two of you do together very often. Matter of fact, swap meets are his favorite place to go to in general and his mind was blown when you first took him to one.

Asks you to put his hair in French braids at least once a month because the process is so therapeutic for him. He loves laying his head on his lap and watching as you make his braids so neat and cute. But be careful though because he does like to “Can you braid my hair? 🥺” his way into some coochie.

Don’t brother teaching him how to braid because even if he does get the hang of it after a couple of sessions with you he’ll always request that you do his hair.

You two have random rap battles with each other alllll the time. It’s pretty split between who wins, but often you’ll call him out for trying to use lyrics from other artists.

CONNIE

Did y’all know me and Connie are blood cousins? Both his momma and daddy black and his full name on his birth certificate is Cornelius Demetrius Jones Springer, so take that as you will…

BUT REALLY, Connie fits right in with you and your culture that it’s nearly identical to dating someone the same race as you.

He has a fitted cap with your name sowed into it on the side with a cute heart right by it. It’s his go to hat and he points is out to everyone who doesn’t know about it.

Has most definitely dragged you along with him to go take one of those 2000’s-esque photoshoots with the airbrushed backgrounds. He even made the two of you dress alike and color coordinate because he’s extra like that and the photos are hanging all over your guy’s house. He carries around a mini version of his favorite picture in his wallet at all times.

You better not ever come around this man with messed up edges, visibly old braids, a too visible lace, etc because he will get on you bad and crack jokes about it the whole day because he’s a menace to society like that. No one besides him is allowed to do it though or he’ll get mad at them.

Do not ask this man to help you take down your braids unless you’re cutting them first because he will cut them crazy as hell and might even accidentally cut some of your real hair off too. He’s a master at dipping braids though, it’s something he takes pride in.

EREN

Literally a POWER COUPLE !

Eren will never have you out here looking wrong. The part on your lace is a little off? He’s telling your hairdresser to fix it! Thinks the hair you got looks too synthetic and shiny? He’s dropping big bucks to make sure you have some silky soft hair extensions.

Made you do him some baby hairs one day when he was wearing his signature ponytail as a joke, but now you’re obligated to slick up his edges for him at least once a week. He even has a silk scarf that he uses to tie them down with at night.

Is a master at finding filters on Instagram and Snapchat that don’t make your skin look Orange or pale so the two of you can have the cutest Instagram pictures together.

Walks around the house 24/7 singing 2000’s R&B songs at the top of his lungs because he’s a menace to society like that.

Supports all your financial needs when it comes to hair clothing or anything in general really. Need a new lace front? He’s wiring $700 to your account. Want a Teflar bag? He’s getting you one in every color. Some new shoes came out and you think they’re cute? He’s getting them for you !

REINER

Your aunties would L O V E a hardworking and burly man like Reiner.

He’s get so spoiled by them all the time whenever he comes around. Sometimes they pay attention to him more than they do you and best believe they slide him all the extra plates and desserts at barbecues. I just know he smacks down on a plate of soul food in like 5 minutes.

Speaking of soul food, you really lit up something in his Caucasian taste buds when you gave him a plate of soul food for the first time because now he’s OBSESSED. Every night he’s begging you to cook for him or asking you for the recipe so he can make it himself. His favorites are macaroni and cheese, fried chicken, and yams ☺️

Will bust a move on the dance floor if your family pressures him to get on it at events. He did a two-step with your aunt once at somebody’s wedding and nobody in your family has shut up about it since because they were surprised at how good he can dance. You were equally as surprised as them.

The best person to ask to help you with your hair because he’s so patient and will make sure that your parts are straight and perfect or use his hands to slick your ponytails up to the gods. He’ll do it exactly how you want it to look too and he makes sure it’s to your standard by checking in with you every now and then.

Encourages you to buy clips or little jewels whenever you take him to the beauty supply with you because he thinks you look so adorable when you wear them in your hair.

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helloalycia · 3 years

Text

lose you [one] // leigh shaw

summary: after Leigh ignores your existence for a few days, you decide to force her out of her room and spend the afternoon with you, but it ends up leading to something more

warning/s: mentions of grief and implied death

author's note: this was requested and I finally got around to watching Sorry For Your Loss (which is so good by the way! i'm so mad it got cancelled), so here is a little Leigh Shaw imagine! It's a three-parter so stay tuned :)

part two | part three | masterlist | wattpad

"Where is she?"

Jules, her sister, pointed up at the ceiling, referring to upstairs, as she finished chewing on a grape. "What did she do now?"

I refrained from rolling my eyes at the reminder that Leigh had been ignoring my calls and texts for the past few days.

"Nothing," I mumbled before leaving her in the kitchen to eat her fruit.

I'd been friends with Leigh long enough to invite myself into her house and let myself head upstairs. When I reached her room, I knocked on the door and tried to hide my impatience with a sigh.

"Jules, I'm not in the mood," her voice grumbled from the other side.

Ever since losing her husband a year ago, Leigh's personality had become more... erratic, if you will. Understanding her mood changes and temper tantrums was a skill in itself, but I was determined to stick by her if it meant she'd be okay. Like now, for example.

"It's not Jules," I called back. She didn't reply, so I said, "You better have clothes on, I'm coming in."

Without wasting a second, I opened the door and found Leigh laying on her bed, thankfully dressed, and looking up at the ceiling. Her room was slightly messy and the curtains were half open, like she'd been in the same position for the past few days. I wouldn't have put it past her.

When I entered, her eyes glanced my way before she continued to stare a hole into the ceiling. I breathed out, unsure what to say.

"Don't look at me like that," she said quietly.

"I wouldn't have to if you'd replied to any of my texts," I retorted, though my tone was anything but harsh.

"I've been busy," she mumbled.

My eyes raked the room once again. "Yeah, I can see that... it's two in the afternoon."

Suddenly, she sat up and narrowed her eyes at me. "Look, if I wanted a lecture, I'd have let Jules in here. If you've not got anything nice to say, you know where the door is."

Rolling my eyes, I ignored her flippant attitude and went to the set of chest drawers pushed against her wall. I rifled through them, earning complaints from behind me, before pulling out some clothes and throwing them at her.

"We're going out," I told her sternly, crossing my arms.

She removed the clothes from her face and gave me a disapproving look. "No, we're not."

"I'm not leaving unless you come with me, so..."

She could be a bitch when she wanted to be, but she knew I could be, too. Our stubbornness was our weakness, since neither of us could back down in a fight. Nowadays, it usually ended with me giving in because I pitied her, but not today. Today I was adamant on cheering her up.

"Fine," she said through a sigh of defeat. "Just get out already."

I smiled victoriously. "See you downstairs."

After waiting for Leigh to get ready and out of the pyjamas I was sure she'd lived in for three days straight, we got in my car and I began to drive.

"Where are we going?" she asked, glancing over at me with mild annoyance, like she'd rather be anywhere but here.

"Not sure yet," I admitted, ignoring the disbelief on her face.

"Then why did you make me come?!" she asked, her attention fully on me now.

I shrugged. "Thought you could use the break." Shoulders relaxing, I added, "I also thought we could spend some time together since we haven't in a while."

I didn't want to say it was because of the fact that she'd been avoiding me, or at least been making no effort to talk to me. I also didn't want to make her feel bad because of those facts, but she seemed to take it personally anyway, resorting to a good old-fashioned Leigh-specialty eye roll.

"I'm not sorry for grieving," she said knowingly, getting comfortable in her seat and looking out the window.

I gripped the steering wheel harder and tried not to let her words make a difference. She had a bad habit of twisting my words or making things seem worse than they were and I knew it was a coping mechanism of hers. She only tried to cope when things got too much, which only confirmed my reason for taking her out today.

"You don't have to be," was all I said, before focusing back on my driving.

—

Halfway through our drive to nowhere, I pulled the roof of the car down so we could feel the wind in our hair and the sun on our backs, since it was a nice day. I also put the radio on, hoping it would ease the tension on Leigh's end of the car.

Pop songs blared through the speakers, some that I knew and some that I didn't. Of course, the ones that I knew I immediately sang along to. Leigh definitely didn't like that, opting to roll her eyes and pretend I wasn't there. But eventually, I knew she wouldn't be able to resist and she began to hum along, making me smile.

On the road that led to nowhere, I noticed a public footpath leading into the forest and decided to take a pit stop, utilising the car park nearby. When Leigh noticed what I was doing, she straightened up and looked around with confusion.

"What are you doing?" she asked, eyes falling to mine.

I tried not to laugh. "We, my friend, are going on a walk."

"You're kidding."

"I'm really not."

I felt her eyes on me as I parked up and turned the engine off. Unbuckling my seatbelt, I opened my car door and met her judgemental gaze, noticing she wasn’t making a move to leave.

"You coming?" I asked with a raised brow.

"Do I have a choice?"

"Of course," I said, not quite stepping out the car but hanging my feet out. "You can either come with me on a nice walk through the forest, or you can stay here and roast to death in the car because of the heat whilst you wait for me."

"Or I can steal your keys and drive home without you," she offered as a third option, smiling bitterly.

Grin on my lips, I hummed in agreement. "That's also an option, yes."

Letting out a sigh through gritted teeth, she wordlessly got out the car and I smiled with satisfaction, knowing she'd give in. Getting out the car, I stretched my arms before locking the doors and joining Leigh's side. She sulked like a child, but allowed me to lead her to the trail ahead.

It was a lovely day out, warm but with a slight breeze that cooled our skin as we walked. Sunlight peeked through the tall trees, reflecting off the greenery and filling me with a sense of awe as I appreciated mother nature up close and personal.

Glancing over at Leigh, I noticed how she fell into step with me but remained closed off. Hugging herself, she focused on the path ahead and stayed quiet, jaw clenched and lips pursed. Streams of light that shone through the trees shone onto her, spotlighting her and making her hair look golden, blinding but in the best way.

I'd never admit it aloud, but I always loved the way her green eyes sparkled in the light, and even when she turned to glare at me, I felt my heart rate speeding up at how beautiful she looked.

"Take a picture, it'll last longer," she said dryly.

Not letting her mood get me down, I pulled out my phone and snapped a photo, making her smack my hand away. I laughed and, for her sake, pretended I didn't see the ghost of a smile on her lips.

"That's one for the books," I teased, putting my phone away.

"It's fine, I have plenty of you," she mumbled.

I smiled to myself but said nothing. We continued to walk through the woods, following the trail and myself remembering every turn we made so we could make it back the right way. There were a few other people out, but we passed them with a quick hello (from myself since Leigh was still sulking) and moved on.

Twenty minutes into our peaceful walk, I noticed a wooden footbridge up ahead, possibly built over a stream. Excited, I stopped and looked to Leigh who noticed I wasn't beside her and turned around to see what was up.

"Why d'you stop?" she asked, pulling her hair up into a ponytail impatiently.

I smiled eagerly. "I'll race you to the bridge."

"Y/N," she breathed out, raising her eyebrows. "We're not kids."

I walked forward slowly, smile fading into a frown. "Fine. Sorry for trying to liven things up."

She rolled her eyes and continued to walk beside me in silence. But my pace picked up, as did hers, and I exchanged glances with her, realising she was walking faster than usual. Before I knew it, we were breaking into a run, trying to reach the bridge before each other.

"Thought you didn't wanna race!" I said between heavy breaths.

"I don't!" she called back, her pace picking up as she managed to get ahead.

I sucked up a breath and pushed on, tailing her as she reached the bridge. When she got there, she began to cheer and point at me obnoxiously.

"Ha! I win!" she said with a grin, as I slowed down and bent over to catch my breath. "Sucks to be you."

Her laughter filled my ears as I straightened up, hands on my hips. She looked so happy, even if it was momentarily, and I watched her with adoration, not even caring that I'd lost. She was stunning when she was smiling and I could only hope she'd do it more as time went on.

"I let you win," I joked, waving my hand dismissively.

"Sure you did," she played along, leaning on the bridge's railing as she watched me with amusement.

"You literally exercise for a living," I told her with a shrug. "S'not fair."

"Whatever," she said with an eye roll, smile still dancing on her lips as she turned around to look over the bridge. A gasp escaped her lips as she said, "Wow."

I joined her side, holding the railing to see what had taken her breath away. Then I saw it. A stream ran beneath us and was framed by some beautiful flowers and tall, transcending trees whose branches curled outwards and were covered in green leaves. The sun's rays filtered down through the leaves and made the water look like it was sparkling, rippling with every rock it pushed past.

"Looks like something out of a children's book," I said with disbelief, smile of amazement on my lips.

Leigh hummed in agreement and I glanced at her, seeing a similar expression on her face. Glad she was in a better mood, I looked back to the picturesque view before us and leaned on the railing, merely appreciating the sight.

"This is nice," Leigh said quietly, after a moment.

I tilted my head to get a look at her. She was already looking my way, leaning on her arms and meeting my gaze.

"Thanks, I put it all together myself," I said playfully, making her nudge me with her elbow as I chuckled.

"I'm serious," she said, before looking ahead again. "It is."

Knowing that was her way of saying thank you without actually saying it, I nodded in agreement. "It is."

We admired the sight for a few more minutes before deciding to head back, taking our time as we followed the route I remembered. Leigh was a little less tense this time, seeming to relax into her surroundings a little more. She even had a smile on her face at times which was all I wanted.

"You hungry?" I asked when we reached the car park.

"I guess I could eat," she said with a shrug.

"Well, according to this sign," I said, pointing to a board beside the start of the footpath, "there's a café a little way down the road. Wanna go?"

She motioned for me to go first. "After you."

Green eyes shone bright with amusement as she looked to me with a suppressed smile. Losing my words, surprisingly startled by her gaze, I cleared my throat and took the lead, making her laugh.

I sometimes wondered if she knew the effect she had on me or if she just liked catching me off guard. Maybe it was both.

—

After having a late lunch, or early dinner depending on how you saw it, Leigh and I got back in my car and I began to drive us back to hers. It was quiet, just like our meal was and just like she'd been for most of the afternoon. I was fine with that, I guess, but I felt like she was holding something in.

Turning off the radio, I earned her attention.

"You should try screaming," I suggested casually.

"Excuse me?"

I felt her eyes boring into me with confusion as I got comfortable in my seat. Looking in the rear view mirror, I noticed there were no cars behind us or in front of us. The road was empty as I drove on the edge of one of the many beautiful cliff-sides in Los Angeles.

"Scream," I repeated to Leigh. "It'll feel good. Watch."

Wasting no time, I began to scream at the top of my lungs, being sure to stay focused on driving at the same time. My voice flew into the air as my car sped down the road, leaving me feeling liberated.

"Geez, a warning would be nice!" Leigh snapped, uncovering her ears when I was done.

I laughed. "I did say to scream." Giving her a sideways glance, I added, "Come on. Try it with me. On the count of three."

"This is stupid," she decided, leaning back into her seat and pushing her hair from her eyes as the wind blew it about.

"No, it's not," I said with certainty. "Three."

"Y/N."

"Two."

"Stop it."

"One."

"Y/N!"

I looked to her with a grin before screaming at the top of my lungs. When I didn't hear her join in, I stopped and pouted.

"You gonna leave me hanging?" I asked, looking between her and the road. "C'mon. Last chance."

"Y/N–"

"Three. Two. One."

This time, to my surprise, she joined in and we screamed together, our voices echoing into the hills around us. It was exciting, thrilling and freeing all at once. Once we were out of breath, we stopped and caught it back.

"Felt good, right?" I asked with a grin.

She began to laugh, quietly, slowly, then loudly and hysterically, making me join in. Though, when my laughter faded, I realised she was still laughing, and then I looked over to her and saw tears streaming down her cheeks. With concern, I reached over to comfort her, but stopped when I realised it was weird to do, even for a friend.

"Leigh, I'm sorry, I–"

"No, no, it's fine, I'm fine," she cut me off, wide smile still on her lips as she wiped away her tears with the sleeve of her jumper. "They're happy tears. Y/N. They're happy tears."

I furrowed my brows with confusion, eyes flickering between the road and Leigh. "Are you– are you sure? Because it's okay if–"

"I'm okay," she promised, resting a hand on my arm. "I am. And the screaming helped. You were right."

I almost made a joke about how I'm always right, but my concern for her, despite the smile she wore, was still present. Teary eyes watched me with reassurance and she squeezed my arm gently before getting comfortable in her seat.

"Okay, if you're sure," I said, still uncertain.

We continued driving when I noticed the sun setting and decided to stop the car off to the side of the road. The hills were the perfect place to watch the sunset since it had a perfect view of the city whilst leaving enough space to see the sky in all its glory.

"Now why are we stopping?" she asked, though her voice didn't carry the same venom it did earlier.

"Isn't it obvious?" I asked rhetorically, getting out the car and motioning to the view before us. "We're gonna watch the sun set!"

I thought she'd put up a fight or complain like she had with everything I'd been recommending today, but to my ease, she simply got out the car and joined me. The two of us leaned against the car door as we watched the sun dipping into the horizon, casting an orange-pink hue across the skyline and the few clouds in the sky. It always reminded me of a watercolour painting, like someone had dipped their paintbrush in water and dragged it across the sky.

"Thank you for today," Leigh said, pulling me from my admiration. "I actually had a really nice time. As in, the part I spent with you and not the part where I moped around in bed."

I gave her a half smile. "Anytime, Leigh."

She winced, shaking her head in disagreement. "No, I mean it, Y/N. For everything, not just this." She paused, and I tried to ignore the way the last of the sun's rays made her skin glow and eyes shine brighter than anything I'd ever seen. "You've been here for me, even a year later when other people would have left."

"That's what friends are for," I reminded her, and her eyes flickered to mine, holding a million questions that I couldn't decipher.

"I'm not the best company," she admitted.

"You're not that bad," I said dismissively.

"I wouldn't want to be around me," she continued.

"Who likes to be left alone with themselves anyway?" I said jokingly, making her sigh discontentedly. Smile fading, I lost my humour for the moment. "You're not as bad as you think. And even if you were, I'd still stick around."

She locked her jaw, looking down to her shoes silently. I crossed my arms and looked back to the sun, it lowering into the horizon further and further as each second passed.

"I didn't mean to force today onto you," I said hesitantly. "I just– you didn't reply to any of my messages and I was worried."

She scratched the back of her head awkwardly. "I haven't really checked my phone."

"I figured." Finger playing with my shirt mindlessly, I said, "I got a promotion at work. That's–" I cleared my throat. "That was why I called you the first time."

She looked up, eyes wide with apology. "Oh my God. Y/N, I'm so sorry! That's amazing! I should have–"

"It's okay," I reassured her with a small smile, dropping my arms to my side. "I just wanted to tell you because, well... I just wanted to tell you."

I wanted to tell her because that's what we did. We told each other everything. She was the first person that came to mind when anything good happened in my life. Of course, with everything going on, it was hard to tell her the good stuff when she was going through so much.

"I'm so proud of you," she said softly, and I looked her way when she grabbed my hand. "You worked really hard for this promotion and I knew you'd get it."

A smile crept onto my lips at her words. "Thank you, Leigh. You know that means a lot."

She nodded, mirroring my expression, before squeezing my hand gently. I wanted to look away after a few seconds, but she was still holding my gaze, eyes piercing mine as if conflicted. I suddenly became hyper-aware of her hand in mine, fingers gently tugging mine subconsciously, and the way her shoulder brushed against mine, the contact so natural I almost didn't realise it was there.

When I finally decided to break our staring contest, deciding I'd never know what was going on in her head, she took me by surprise and pulled me forward before kissing me. Her lips pressed to mine quickly, hand letting go and resting on the back of my neck dominantly.

It happened so quickly, my mind working overtime as it tried to decipher Leigh's soft lips against mine, the shiver that ran down my spine from her hand on my neck, the tenderness of her cheek as it came into contact with my nose. I didn't even get chance to react, to kiss her back like I wanted, as she pulled away in an instant.

Seemingly startled by her own actions, she let go of my neck and took a step back. I already missed the contact, my lips feeling cold as she pulled away. I, myself, was taken aback, still frozen with shock at the fact that she'd just kissed me.

"Th– that was a friendly kiss, obviously," she stuttered out, eyes avoiding mine.

I licked my lips awkwardly. "Yeah, obviously..."

"To say thanks," she added unconvincingly. "Y'know?"

"Mhm."

Neither of us looked up as we stood apart trying to understand what happened. Why did she do that? Did she actually want to? Was she caught up in the moment or was she just seeking comfort? I wasn't sure. But I knew I wished I had reacted quicker than I had.

"We should go home," she mumbled.

I nodded in agreement. "Right. Yeah. Home."

The two of us got back into my car, neither of us saying anything as I drove her back to her place. The radio played quietly in the background, filling the uncomfortable silence that formed between us, and I hated that a good day had ended on a bad note.

Pulling up outside her house, I chewed on the inside of my mouth with discomfort. She cleared her throat and still didn't look my way as she spoke.

"Thanks again for today," she said, before opening the door. "I'll, er, see you whenever."

I nodded, eyes focused on the steering wheel. "See you. I, erm–" I wanted to say something about the kiss, but she clearly didn't and I didn't want to piss her off. So, I said, "Tell Jules and your mum I said hi."

"Will do..."

With that, she got out the car and headed to her front door, leaving me sat there for a moment as I tried to comprehend the situation I was now in.

Why did Leigh have to be so confusing?

#leigh shaw x reader #leigh shaw imagine #leigh shaw x you #leigh shaw #sorry for your loss imagine #sorry for your loss #elizabeth olsen #elizabeth olsen imagine #elizabeth olsen x reader

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starlessea · 3 years

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Here Comes the Sun: XVIII. Seven Nation Army (Daryl Dixon/Reader)

Series Masterlist: Here Comes the Sun

Summary: Daryl Dixon scares the hell out of you climbing out of that damn creek. It takes hauling his ass halfway across Georgia and taking a bullet for him to realise that you're not half bad. He slowly starts to come around, despite grumbling about how much he doesn't like your singing, or that you can't use a gun for shit - and don't get him started on that ugly yellow tent of yours. It takes him a while before he starts to see for himself that he's found a best friend for life, and that he doesn't actually mind the colour yellow that much, after all.

Words: 6040

Chapter Warnings: Language, Not full-on nsfw but QUITE SPICY, Some canon divergence.

"You're good with 'er." Daryl said, like the words had just slipped from his mouth without him realising.

You held Judy in your arms, cradling her against your chest as she looked up at you with wide, innocent eyes. Daryl seemed equally as mesmerised by the baby, as he stroked his thumb over her supple cheek and watched her give him a gummy smile in return.

You glanced over at the man, leaning against him where he stood. "So are you." You told him, but he shook his head in response.

"Nah I ain't." He muttered, his gaze still resting over Judith like she was the most precious thing in the world.

You hummed back, not wanting to break the moment you were having by arguing with him. You wished that things would stay like this forever - that Judith wouldn't cry, and the governor would never come, or that Daryl would not have to leave.

"Where are you going?" You asked the man, as he took a few steps away.

He held up a hand, gesturing for you to wait, and offered a warm smile to reassure you of his return.

"Jus' gimme a minute." He mumbled, walking towards your shared cell.

You raised your eyebrow, watching him disappear behind the bars, before turning your attention back to Judy. You thought that she had Lori's eyes, as they stared up at you in childlike wonder. You continued humming your song to her, now that the man was out of earshot and wouldn't tease you as you sang it. Daryl had suggested sticking the walkman headphones on her every time she cried, but Carol had scolded him for even thinking of the idea. You giggled, remembering the exchange, and how you just watched the two of them get along like old friends whilst you sat in the corner bouncing Judith over your lap.

Daryl came back not even a few minutes later, dragging his rucksack over the floor. He didn't have many possessions to begin with, so you cocked your head in his direction - confused about what could possibly be in there. He returned to your side, resting his arm around your shoulder as he hovered over it to make a face at Judith. You giggled, wondering what the others would say if they had the pleasure of seeing Daryl like this. Though, at the same time, you almost wanted to be completely selfish and not share that side of him with anyone.

You watched as the man fumbled around in the backpack for a bit, before pulling out a familiar, child-size sheriff's hat that couldn't possibly fit on his head. He grinned at you, taking in the way your eyes lit up in response.

"Said we'd give it to lil' asskicker, didn't we?" He teased, before placing the hat gently over the baby's head.

The sight made you want to melt. Daryl began to call Rick over to see, but you slapped his chest and hushed him before he did, wanting to enjoy the moment for yourselves just a little while longer. Daryl narrowed his eyes at you, but his expression soon softened as he noticed the way you stared down at Judith, who was staring right back. You felt like you were holding the future in your arms - and that future wore a sheriff's hat and went by the name of Judith Grimes. What you wouldn't give for a camera; you wanted so desperately to take a photo of her with her brother, and gift a copy to Rick as a surprise.

Daryl had his hand resting over the small of your back. It had hovered there at first, uneasy as usual, but it seemed like he'd forgotten his shyness for a brief moment as he watched the pair of you. You felt like a makeshift, adoptive family, and you wouldn't want it any other way. The hat started to slip down Judith's head, still too big for her yet, and Daryl tipped it back up gently with his knuckle. It was like an impromptu version of peek-a-boo. Everytime the hat fell and covered her face, Daryl would prop it back into position and the baby would smile. You weren't sure you could take it anymore; the entire exchange felt too adorable to keep from the rest of the group any longer.

Just as you were about to call for them, Judy grabbed onto Daryl's finger with her entire fist - which still wasn't able to close all the way around it. You laughed softly at the man's expression, as he stayed perfectly motionless in fear of making her let go.

"I think she likes her uncle Daryl." You whispered, and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek in your attempt to unstick the frozen statue.

To that, you could see a faint blush spread over his skin, but this time you decided not to tease him about it.

The two of you made your way to the communal area after a few more minutes, and the others quickly gathered around to get a look at Judith before they left. It was a nice break from the tension in the atmosphere, and it helped you forget, too. Rick gave his daughter a kiss and headed outside to test the vehicle they'd be driving.

Soon, the meeting with the governor would be taking place. Andrea had set it up, like she'd promised, and so Rick, Daryl and Hershel would be heading out under the guise of diplomacy. However, you couldn't say for sure that you believed in the plan very much. As you'd all established before, the governor just didn't seem like the type of man who'd let both sides co-exist peacefully.

Carl had taken his sister from you at some point, and you watched as he compared their hats and made Carol laugh with his antics. Behind you, the Greenes were bidding goodbye to their father and reminding him to be careful, and Daryl approached you under the amused eye of Merle.

"Rick says it's time to go." He told you, affirming the words you'd been dreading to hear.

You put on your best, bravest face and shot him a smile that only faltered a little. He caught it, though - he always did. He pulled you into a hug, and you leant your forehead against his chest, feeling his heartbeat there.

"Be safe." You murmured against him. "Come home this time or I'll kill you myself."

The man chuckled, which you felt rumble through his torso. You looked up at him with a playful smile and he caught your lips, giving you a quick kiss there when he thought no one was looking. In moments like these, it was refreshing to get a glimpse of the old, shy Daryl - never wanting to be in the spotlight. You nudged him gently with your elbow, sending him on his way with a teasing ruffle of his hair. Perhaps you were being too nonchalant about the situation, but you didn't want to dwell on it - or you'd become a crumbling mess like the last time.

You stood next to Beth as the rest of the group filtered out, and the others returned back to whatever they'd been doing before. The girl smiled at you, watching the way your eyes followed Daryl's back as he left the cell block.

"I'll never get used to that." She said quietly, looking between the two of you.

You thought that she'd perhaps seen the exchange take place, but you couldn't really say that you minded.

"Me neither." You confessed, and Beth giggled in response.

You remembered the jokes you'd shared with her, back at the farmhouse. You'd made a promise to talk to her about boys whenever she was sad, and let her laugh at your misfortune in return. Yet, things hadn't exactly played out like that. Daryl was a world away from those bad experiences you'd once recounted to her, but you somehow seemed even more nervous to talk about him in their place. Perhaps it was because you wanted to keep the man all to yourself, just like earlier - as though the very act of speaking about him would disclose some kind of secret you weren't willing to share. Daryl Dixon was yours, but you felt almost too shy to admit it.

"I used to think that Daryl would be the last man standing." Beth confessed, startling you. "Out of all of us."

You nodded back, letting her words sink in.

"I can see why. He's like a one-man army." You replied with a smirk, thinking back on all the times he had proved himself so.

Though Beth shook her head, seeming to almost disagree with herself. You stayed silent, awaiting her response.

"But I don't think that anymore." She told you, like she was completely certain of herself. "It'll probably be you."

Immediately, you raised an eyebrow, wondering if you'd misheard her. Beth's expression didn't change, so you let out a snort in disbelief - amused by the seriousness of it all.

"Me?" You repeated, looking over at her like she'd gone mad. "Why's that?"

The youngest Greene bit her lip, as if deliberating whether to tell you her next words. Eventually, she gave you a light-hearted smile, as though having finally decided to reveal a secret.

"Because there's no way Daryl would let you go down before he did."

You spent the majority of your time waiting in your cell, trying to keep yourself busy by cleaning it up. Daryl had hauled his mattress into the room, and the two of you had abandoned the bunk frame in favour of pushing the two beds together on the floor - creating a makeshift double. You'd also stolen an extra sheet from the laundry room and hung it over your doorway for some privacy. It was still a far cry from the decor of Hershel's farmhouse, but it was starting to feel more comfortable nonetheless. Daryl had given you some thin rope from his rucksack, too, so you'd been able to replace the fraying string from which your polaroids had been strung up. It still wasn't a home yet, but it could be.

The last few days had been tense, so you couldn't blame yourself for slumping down onto the mattress and staring up into a starless, stone sky for a while. You followed the cracks on the ceiling like you were trying to create patterns there, and eventually you felt your eyelids grow heavy as sleep overcame you easier than it had done for as long as you could remember.

When you woke up, the room was dimmer than it had been before, and you thought that it had to be late evening. You'd roused to the sound of footsteps approaching, echoing over the catwalk as though the person wore thick, heavy boots. You smiled to yourself, instantly recognising who they belonged to. The metal doorway squeaked open, and some light filtered in as Daryl lifted the sheet hanging there, letting it fall back down behind him as he entered. You greeted him, but he was wordless in response. He shrugged his leather vest off and let it fall to the floor, not even bothering to place it anywhere.

You raised an eyebrow at the man, debating whether to scold him for making the cell messy when you'd spent your whole day trying to make it nice for him when he got back. Yet, you took one glance at Daryl's face and decided against it. The man looked exhausted. Probably not physically, you realised, but definitely mentally. He seemed to have a permanent scowl tacked onto him, and you could make out the frown lines over his forehead even in the poor lighting. So, you said nothing when the man tugged off his boots and flung them at the wall - where they fell with a thud into a pile.

Sitting up on the mattress, you plumped your pillow against your back and rubbed your eyes. You could almost feel the stress radiating off Daryl as he paced back and forth, so you patted the spot beside you and pulled back the covers to invite him in. He eyed you for a second, as if considering the offer, before taking a seat there. Though, he didn't allow himself to lay down or make himself comfortable, and instead stayed sat over the edge of the mattress with his back to you. Slowly, you crawled over to him, before perching on your knees and resting your head on his shoulder.

"How'd it go?" You whispered, but knew you could probably guess the answer.

Daryl's back was tense; you could feel it. Tentatively, you began to knead your fingers over it, trying to work out the knots in his muscles. Instead of flinching like he usually did, you felt the man relax into you as you pressed your knuckles along his spine.

He growled, but the sound became lost in his throat as you rubbed along his shoulder blades. "It ain't gonna work out." He muttered, eyes closed as he said it.

You hummed in response, more preoccupied with the sounds the man was letting out than his words. It reminded you of being back at the farm, and those days where he'd try to relieve the tension built up in your stiff arms and neck from learning how to shoot.

"Why?" You asked, feeling the deep breath he took underneath your palms.

"Jus' ain't." He replied, but his voice came out strained.

You ran your thumbs down his spine in tandem, all the way from the top of his neck to his lower back, and you felt him shiver slightly under your touch.

"Okay then." You said, like it was the simplest thing in the world.

Daryl opened his eyes and glanced back at you.

"Tha's it?" He questioned, like he'd expected something more from your response.

You hummed back, returning to pressing over his shoulder blades. Though, the man turned around this time, bringing his legs onto the mattress as he looked over at you.

"I trust you. And I trust Rick." You explained, meeting his questioning eyes. "Whatever we have to do, we'll do."

Daryl frowned, and looked at you like you didn't understand in the slightest. You did, but you didn't want to burden him any more than you had to.

"We gotta gear up for war." He told you, narrowing his eyes like he was trying to convince you of his words - or wait for them to sink in.

You nodded at him, reaffirming that you understood.

"Then we better start loading our guns."

Daryl seemed to break at your words, shaking his head like you'd answered him in the way he'd least wanted. This time you didn't understand, and ran your thumb over the back of his hand to try and coax out an explanation. The man sighed, and took your fingers in his palm as he pressed a kiss over the tips of them.

"Don' wan' ya to have to fight." He admitted quietly, but knew he didn't have a choice.

You shuffled forward a little, so that you were almost sitting in between the man's thighs. His head was low, and he couldn't quite meet your eyes until you spoke.

"That's not up to you to decide." You said, but did so as gently as you could. "It's not like lil' asskicker can hold a rifle yet."

His eyes flickered slightly at the mention of Judith, and you understood that completely. He realised that as much as he wanted to keep you safe, there were now other people who needed his protection more.

"I'm not worried." You reassured him, and pressed both of his cheeks under your palms until he pulled a face that made you laugh.

"I'll be fine because you're here." You told the man, and watched as his expression seemed a little lighter than it had done. "And you're all that I need."

He pulled you into his chest and fell back against the mattress with you in his arms, and you giggled as your noses pressed together. You moved your knees so that they rested either side of his hips, not wanting to crush the man as he squeezed you tight against him.

"What I do to deserve ya?" He mumbled into your hair, and it tickled your ear.

You sat upright, so that you were looking down at him and watching as your hair trailed over his cheeks.

"Hmm, I don't know." You said with a grin. "Bribe me with pretty flowers and music players?"

He smiled back softly, and took the ends of your hair between his fingers, playing with them where he lay. You felt a bit exposed, practically sitting on the man's torso and straddling him as he just stayed perfectly still, content beneath you. For once, you felt like the shy one, as he rubbed over your thigh with his hand - tracing shapes over your jeans. You thought about his question once more, and decided that he deserved a serious answer, too.

"When I first saw you trying to haul yourself up that cliff, you gave me a purpose." You admitted smally, catching his attention like you hadn't even realised you'd lost it. "I think that's reason enough."

Daryl let the small wisps of your hair fall from his fingers as he looked up, focusing on you completely.

"A purpose?" He asked, like the word was foreign on his tongue.

You nodded, trailing your fingers over his chest absentmindedly.

"Even if it was just to get you back to your camp at first." You mumbled, almost like you were talking to yourself as you voiced your innermost thoughts. "Before that, I was just living day to day."

You smiled at the memory, thinking that it was perhaps your favourite one. You'd felt so young back then, but at the same time so old. The world had really had its way with you before you'd stumbled upon Daryl and his group. You might have only been in your mid-twenties, but those few months after the collapse had aged you more than you cared to admit. It wasn't until you met Daryl that you remembered how it felt to be young again.

"One of the first things you asked me back then was why I helped you." You recalled, letting your nails lightly run across his chest, sliding upwards to the exposed skin of his neck.

He stayed silent, like putty in your hands as you spoke.

"I remember finding it a really hard question to answer." You whispered softly, like you were revealing a secret to him. "I ended up saying that I only wanted the chance to be a good person."

Daryl's skin was warm as you ran your thumb along his jawline, surprised at how docile he'd become under your touch.

"But I think that was a lie." You smiled, and the words felt almost devious to admit. "I'd forgotten what it was to even be a person before I met you."

You leant down to press a kiss to his lips, and pulled away before he could kiss you back.

"Thank you for reminding me, Daryl."

You looked down at the man sweetly, like you'd just poured out your entire heart to him. And, he decided to give you his in return.

Suddenly your world spun like clothes in a washing machine as the man flipped your positions, and you snorted rather unflatteringly as your back hit the mattress. Your legs were still wrapped around his waist, but now he kneeled between them - with your thighs either side. Your laughs soon trailed off as you noticed Daryl's expression, and you suddenly became quiet without having even realised it.

He leant down to capture your lips, but pulled away before you could deepen the kiss - just as you had done.

"Ya can't just go sayin' shit like that an' expect me not to do nothin'." He growled near your ear, and you quickly realised how dangerous your situation had gotten.

You looped your hands around his neck and pulled him back down, threading your fingers through his hair and letting your nails drag along his scalp. He rested one of his palms over the mattress as he hovered above you, but the other one came to your cheek as your lips met again. You could distinguish Daryl's kisses so easily by now; you knew the soft morning ones from the emotional ones with trembling lips, or the teasing pecks that made you laugh - and that's why you could easily tell that this one was needy.

He bit your bottom lip between his teeth and you immediately whimpered against him, feeling your head spin at how fast everything happened. You'd gone from the washing machine to the dryer without even realising it, and you felt yourself get equally as hot and disorientated.

"Daryl-" you mumbled against his lips, hooking your ankles together around the back of his torso.

He moaned in response but said nothing, letting his thumb trail from your cheek to your neck, where he rested it over your quickly beating pulse. You had your palms pressed flat against his chest, rubbing over the area and feeling the warmth radiate from him. You wanted to take the shirt off, and feel his skin over yours, but you were too preoccupied by his lips on you to do so. He kissed you with more pressure, and you whimpered again as you felt yourself becoming more lost to his touches. You'd thought that Daryl Dixon was a shy man, but recently he seemed adamant to prove you wrong

You unintentionally squeezed your thighs tighter around him, as you felt your head being pushed back further into the mattress. Your jeans rubbed against his uncomfortably, and you felt the buttons dig into your hips and chafe your skin every time you moved. You pulled away for a brief second to catch your breath, and took in the dangerous sight of Daryl Dixon.

You realised that perhaps you'd made a mistake - when you looked at him, that is. His lips were swollen a blush red, and his pupils were blown as he watched you, watching him. You looked away first, feeling shy under his gaze. You wondered how this had happened - when it had happened. You hadn't thought of yourself as the nervous one, but you were made nervous for him.

Without meeting his eyes, you tugged at the hemline of his shirt - making it clear what you wanted. He kissed your forehead gently, and you almost got whiplash from how quickly the man could switch from giving you deep, intense kisses to leaving sweet pecks over your skin like he was afraid you might break. He moved back from you, sitting up so that he was kneeling in between your legs, and pulled off his shirt without you having to ask.

You bit your lip, taking in the sight of his barreled chest and toned muscles as he threw the shirt over his shoulder for it to get lost somewhere in the sheets. You didn't get too stare long, because he was back on top of you in an instant - almost like he'd never left. Though, you didn't mind much, because now you could feel the warmth of his skin pressed against your own chest. Softly, you gasped just from the intensity of it, but Daryl quickly caught your lips and silenced it. You ran your hands up his back, feeling the ridges of scars and the contours of his muscles as he held himself up. You allowed your nails to dig into him slightly, enjoying the way he moaned against you as you did.

Even inside the walls of a prison, Daryl's voice sounded so good up against your ear, as he left your abused lips to focus his attention on your neck, instead. You immediately turned your head to the side in response, feeling your cheek press into the pillow and muffle any noises you made there. You tried to stay quiet, but it seemed like Daryl was intentionally out to make you fail. His tongue ran along your neck and you scratched him particularly hard on his back, stuttering out an apology as you removed your hands and clenched the sheets instead.

It didn't seem to bother the man, however, as he continued to work his way down until his teeth grazed over your collarbone and made you cry out. You quickly shot him a warning look, and he glanced up at you for a brief second before he did it again. It felt utterly euphoric, so you moaned under him unintentionally before you felt him chuckle against your skin.

You would have scolded him, or pulled a face, but your words felt so far away that you doubted you'd be able to form a complete sentence even if you tried. One of Daryl's hands had wandered to your waist, and then dipped lower to your hip. His thumb ran over the bone there, and it sent shivers through you as he gripped your skin tighter. You ran your palms over his bare chest in response, still not entirely used to the feeling. He stopped what he was doing, probably leaving some marks over you without you noticing, and ran his finger along the oval collar of your vest.

"Take it off." He mumbled, his lips still pressed against the skin just above it.

A whine left your mouth before you'd even realised it, and you didn't think Daryl Dixon even knew how he sounded right now. He pulled back to look at you, cheeks all flushed and eyes glossy where you lay beneath him, and you nodded.

He helped you shrug the vest over your head, and left it lying next to you on the pillow. You turned away from his eyes almost instantly, feeling more exposed than you had in a while. He had trusted you, and you wanted to be able to give him your trust in return. Yet, you couldn't help but feel shy under a gaze that intense. You reached your arms over your chest, like you were trying to shelter yourself from the cold - despite being incredibly hot.

The man narrowed his eyes at you, not happy with your decision in the slightest. He leant down so that his lips hovered just above your stomach, and you expected him to place a kiss there in hopes of coaxing your arms away. Except, he didn't. He blew a raspberry against your skin and you all but screamed as you wriggled beneath him, and flung your hands out to push him away.

"Stop!" You yelled, but it had come out strained between a mixture of giggles.

You felt the man smile against your stomach as you panted deeply, in utter disbelief about what he'd just done. Your arms rested either side of you, hands tangled in the sheets just like he'd planned, but you weren't happy at the cost you'd had to pay. You glanced down, ready to chide him, but stopped when you noticed how quiet he'd gotten.

Daryl's eyes were fixated on your waist, and he ran his thumb gently over the small scar there - as though afraid to press too hard and hurt you. Your eyes softened when you saw his expression, and the way he chewed his lip between his teeth. You knew that guilty look from a mile away, and you wouldn't let him wear it any longer.

"Don't." You said into the silence, lifting his hand away from the little indentation there.

You brought his knuckles to your lips and left kisses over them, offering him one of your best smiles in hopes of coaxing one out of him in return.

"It was worth it." You told him. "I'd take another bullet for you if I had to."

Daryl let his forehead drop against your hip, like he was completely exasperated by the response, and muttered something below his breath.

"Why's everythin' that comes outta yer mouth so damn sweet?"

He crawled back up the bed and kissed your lips as if to prove his point, and you moaned against him - having missed the feeling. You were chest to chest, skin pressed fully against each other as you arched your back to try and get even closer. Your fingers trailed lightly over his arms, and you could almost make out the rhythm of his heartbeat as your chests heaved together in time. He reached a hand down to the button of your jeans, and pulled away from the kiss to wait for your response.

Nervously, you glanced over towards the entranceway of your cell, only covered by a thin sheet draped there.

"What if someone hears?" You whispered, suddenly aware of how loud you'd perhaps been beforehand.

Daryl dotted some light kisses over your neck, trailing them down as he spoke between each one he gave.

"Don' care." He mumbled, reaching your sternum.

"Don' care if Rick comes to tell us Randall's gone walk about." He said, and tickled your stomach with his lips.

"Don' care if Carol knocks to say the governor's here with an army an' wants his fuckin' walkman back."

He got to your hip, and this time noticed the tattoo that just about peeked out over the top of your jeans. He raised an eyebrow, and you smiled sheepishly in response.

"Don' wanna wait anymore." He said softly, and neither did you.

He sat up and rested his palms either side of you, looking down at your face with the most affection you'd seen from him yet.

"Okay, then." You whispered back, and interlocked your fingers with his. "I'm yours."

You woke up to warm, morning light streaming in through the pale curtain of your cell, and landing on your cheek. Your eyelids fluttered, and it took you a few seconds to adjust to the brightness - feeling the tears well up as you did. You hummed into Daryl's chest, lying over it with your palm resting there. You'd slept so well, but you'd woken up even better.

His bare skin was warm against yours, so much so that you didn't feel the need to pull the sheets up higher to cover you. You rubbed at your eyes, finally opening them to notice that the man was already awake. You'd been tucked in the crook of his neck, your head just over his shoulder, but he'd been looking down at you as you roused from sleep. Shyly, you smiled at him, and hid your face back into his skin. You felt his laugh rumble there, low and groggy.

"You been up long?" You asked, the words coming out thick as you said them.

You felt him shake his head, but weren't too sure if he was telling the truth. His arm rested over your waist, and you had only just become aware of the weight of it as he rubbed his thumb over your hip beneath the covers.

"What is it?" He murmured. "Didn't ask ya 'bout it las' night."

It took you a few seconds to realise what he meant. You shrugged back the sheet, looking at the part of your body he was referring to.

"I think you were a little preoccupied." You teased, and he pinched your skin there in response.

The ink stood out strongly against your paleness, dotted over your lower hip so that it was concealed even when you wore low-rise jeans. You recalled that night back at the Greene farm, where you all shared secrets over the campfire and the group had seemed surprised to discover that you had a tattoo. Nobody else had ever seen it; Daryl was the first.

"It's a rune." You told him, feeling his calloused fingers trace over the lines so carefully. "They were one of the things I studied before all this."

A small blush worked its way onto your cheeks, as you suddenly felt embarrassed under the man's intense gaze.

"Looks like an arrow." He noted, inspecting it closer.

You hummed in response, not having thought of it that way before.

"I guess it does, doesn't it?" You chuckled, thinking how appropriate it was for the archer to have been the one to notice.

"It's the symbol of the Norse god Týr." You explained, and he watched you talk passionately without interrupting. "Have you ever heard of the story of Sigurd?"

Daryl shook his head with a small smile, already knowing that you were going to tell him no matter how he answered.

"In the sagas, he slays the dragon Fáfnir and carves the runes of Týr into his sword." You said, excitedly. "They're meant to be the sign of a warrior. To ensure certain victory."

Daryl seemed perfectly content, gazing down at you as you spoke with so much life in your voice. It reminded you of that first night where you shared a bed together in the Greene's spare room. Even then, having barely known you more than a day, the man allowed you to ramble whilst he listened in silence. He'd made out like he was ignoring you, but every small detail you'd given during those early morning hours he'd seemed to recall - even a few weeks later. But now, you thought it was slightly different. He made no attempt to pretend like he wasn't interested in your stories, or that you talked too much for him to stand. He looked at you like your words were law, but he'd somehow ended up in a prison anyway.

"Tha' why ya weren't scared 'bout facing the governor?" He teased, once you'd finished your brief lesson. "Certain victory?"

You snorted, having only just realised the irony of it all.

"No." You admitted, slapping his chest lightly as you laughed.

Maybe it was the rune, but it was more likely the one-man army at your side who assured you of that victory.

"I think this tattoo would be much more suited to you than it is me." You confessed, tracing its shape over the back of his hand.

He watched you make your invisible markings, and remained wordless as you did so.

"I got it just after I started teaching. To remind myself to be brave." You told him, and this time he was the one to laugh.

"So teachin' students was as hard as slayin' a dragon?" He questioned, and you could practically hear the smirk through his voice.

You raised your head from his chest to look at him in mock offense.

"If I had a student like you, then maybe." You teased, and the man grabbed the sheets and bundled you up in them tightly as you struggled against him.

The two of you lay there for a while, not quite yet ready to face the day. You knew the inevitable would be coming soon, and you wished you could just pause this moment as easily as you paused the songs on your walkman - immortalising it in an old, labelled cassette.

"A lot of the time I don't feel very brave, but I've decided to trust it more recently." You mumbled, feeling the edges of sleep start to return.

Daryl questioned you, before realising that you had carried on with the earlier conversation - seemingly by yourself. You felt him trace over your hip again, but your eyelids were too heavy to look at him.

"There anythin' ya don't know?" He grumbled, but it was too playful to be considered so. "Yer too smart for yer own good, Sunshine."

You hummed against his chest, wanting nothing more than for the morning hours to drag along slower, and for the night that followed to stand still.

"I could tell you stories of dragons and knights, and speak to you in languages that have long since faded away." You told the man, but it came out half-hearted and muffled against his skin.

"But there are still many things I don't know, Dixon." You admitted. "Like what I did to deserve you, too."

A/N *mic drop* Ok but for real, who let me have alcohol whilst writing this??? Tipsy me gets WAY TOO SPICY WAY TOO QUICK- The chapter plan had way more in it, but I accidentally threw the plot out the window because I got preoccupied *cough*...

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