#the zoo. no need to go in it's just a normal zoo. the part that's AMAZING is the free sitting area where the flamingos are | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

alwaysshallow · 8 months

Text

single mom x price; PART 2

AO3 VERSION

part one || part three || part four

“Please. Be good, alright?”

You look down at your son. He holds his bear close to his chest; defensive, as you sense—you almost sigh at this view. He’s in a bad moment. The moment where he needs no one, but his mom and the cuddles that you normally would give him, if the nanny wouldn’t be on her way.

And it’s his favorite nanny.

You’re reluctant to let him stay in the house, considering not only his humor, but the earlier tantrum that he gave you. Something between “you’re the worst mother ever”—which only gives you an eye roll, but it’s a potential theme for a cry session later on—and “i don’t want anyone else but you”.

Normally, you’d call your mother that loves him to the core, but given that she’s in Hawaii, not really reachable for you and possibly not in the mood to listen to your problems. She only wants to do it when she’s bored, and if she can give you her “golden advice” without a chance of being cut off by you putting a phone away because she crossed a line.

Which happened too many times in the past, since she just absolutely adored engaging in your life. Reminding you every time that you are responsible for the position you found yourself in and the only thing that could possibly save you is listening to her. Marrying the man that she gets to pick.

Because the mother knows best, as she always says.

The irony of beefing with your son is irritating for you too; especially that you need a nanny for an hour, maybe a little more because you need to go to the town meeting. You could skip it, sure, but it’s like skipping an opportunity; and who knows what will happen. Maybe you’ll get around doing something that will bring money, if they will talk about the spring festival.

Last year you got yourself quite a deal, so the thought is exciting enough for you.

The possibility of meeting John is thrilling, too, even if you don’t want to admit it directly. Everything about this man is electric, enticing enough for you to barely be able to think around him. Something is tingling in your chest, when you think about it. He’s acclimatizing well enough in town too, as you learned—and the town meeting is a good chance to see with whom he’s close.

Animal in a zoo, it would be a good comparison, even if it seems cruel for some reason because John is anything but it.

You get to leave the house after five minutes of talking with your nanny. She’s like an angel, considering that she convinced you to leave, telling you that she’s gonna do alright with your son and his tantrums aren’t really the worst thing that happened in her career.

Which, oddly enough, you believe, without even knowing the details.

You sit in the second row at the meeting. Arms crossed, maybe a little defensive, but you’re not opposed to talking with people that sit near you. They show you photos, talk about their family, ask kindly about yours, until someone mentions a husband when you tell them about a situation from days ago.

Normally, you’d probably make a snarky remark about their comment, saying something how rude it is to point to someone that they need a man, when your point isn’t missing someone to help you around.

That’s normally, if your ears wouldn’t catch that voice. The voice that’s hard to forget even if you’d desperately try to do it. Deep, drawing attention to the owner immediately, like a moth to a flame because the desire to look is impossible to resist. Everyone knows that the appearance does the magic, but if the voice is attractive, most likely is the one who has it.

And that’s exactly John Price.

You observe him only with a corner of your eye, assured that if you’re gonna glance at him once then he’s gonna know where you are. It’s like the seventh sense of his, probably acquired after his job, at least you think that’s the case.

You don’t need that. What you actually want, need, is a small dose of mystery that you currently have without him knowing you’re here.

Maybe that’s not fair, but you don’t care.

He talks mostly with guys from the local workshop; they vigorously explain something to him and he nods. Listens, then responds in such a different mannerism that they represent. Calmer, more stoic, yet it can’t be mistaken with indifference. He’s just… thinking type, you assume. The one who calculates before taking any action.

Wise man, so to speak.

Besides the boring stuff at the community meeting, there’s just one thing that could potentially interest you in—competition for the best garden in town. It has everyone gossiping there and there in a deep hope, or strategies what to do to earn a win; mostly those successful, straight out of family movie moms, ideal moms who are doing everything for their families. Chit-chatter about flowers, techniques and stuff disrupts everything enough to make a meeting come to an end. There’s no point in continuing, when no one listens.

You aren’t even considering the competition, but it gets you enough to think of renovating your garden. Forgotten long ago, as it needed too much work when you had a small kid; right now, when your son is six, there’s way more opportunities for you to actually try to tend it. Who knows, maybe spring is the best time for that.

“So. Gonna snatch that first place reward?” You almost jump, when you feel a hand on your hip. Light touch, but waking you up from your thoughts enough to acknowledge how tender it is. Allowing you to back off easily, if you’d feel like it’s too much.

But you know who this is. And you somehow know that it’s not too much.

“I wish,” you laugh dryly, looking finally at John. He arches an eyebrow, then proceeds to walk back to back with you, no hesitation in his moves whatsoever. “Not really a gardener. Besides, knowing how my garden looks right now… Not really a chance, no.”

There’s a second of silence. “Could help you with that,” he says, fixing his shirt; you give him a quick glance. His outfit isn't really different from the other times. Simple flannel, worn out jeans, combat boots and this well-known, plastered smile into his lips. Charming and dangerous, you think. “I have time, if you really want it.”

You clear your throat, conflicted. Do you really care that much about possibly winning a contest? Maybe John’s help would really do wonders, considering that he already helped a lot of people in the neighborhood; with success that didn’t take much time, as you know.

Kind, nice, doesn’t want anything else in return; could work for you for free. You’re 99% sure that you would bake him a pie or something anyway, but the thought you wouldn’t have trouble with payment is nice enough.

“Maybe. I need to think about it.” He raises his eyebrow, but doesn’t say anything. Instead, he just nods his head in an understanding manner.

“We’ll exchange numbers, then. It’ll be easier,” John announces, giving you his phone. You look at him, dumbstruck—it wasn’t exactly your plan to do this.

“I don’t— Well, I don’t think it’s necessary—”

He barks a laugh, shaking his head. “Nonsense. Come on.” Price smiles; like an angel, truly. Angel in a disguise of a tempting devil because you enter your number into his contacts, even if you wanted to keep it as a secret a little bit more. “Wasn’t so hard, was it? Didn’t think I’m some kind of a creep, did you?”

Your face flushes with pure red, when he implies that. “No! No. I’m just… I don’t use a phone often,” you croak. White lie that don't really need much explanation from you.

“That right,” he muses, possibly amused with your hurried talk. “I’ll call you in a few, then.”

He sticks to his promise, as you learn over the next few days.

The thing is: you don’t pick up.

It’s not like you do it on purpose. At least, that’s what you tell yourself when you see a few missed calls on the phone, the moment you come back from the grocery store. Or, when you’re out in the garden with your kid, planning how it’s gonna change in the future because you’re just taken-aback by how bad it looks. Like it’s not your garden.

Maybe the problem is your lack of courage to call him, too. It would take one click and you’d be done with the task, but somehow, you can’t bring yourself to it. Mixed feelings and the “I can take care of anything” mindset doesn’t help you much.

It feels like a reminder to call back, when you see John outside. He’s in the middle of a discussion with some teenagers that were screaming earlier, disrupting the precious night silence. You thank him in mind that you don’t have to do it—as you got up from bed only for this—you just observe everything behind your window, wrapped in a fluffy robe. You can’t miss the drama, even if it means that you’ll lose a few minutes of your sleep.

Your humor gets better automatically, as you even laugh at how disappointed they seem, going straight up to their homes.

And then, you cross gazes with him.

There’s a faint smile from John. He raises his hand, greeting you, so you do the same. However, the difference in moves is clear. John does it slowly, you almost rush to do it and disappear into your bedroom, so he won’t get an idea that you’re up for a talk.

Because you’re not. You’re too tired to do that, to talk with a man that makes a pretty mess in your head every time you’re around him. And, you’re way too ashamed to do that when he called you multiple times and you haven’t answered even a single one of it.

Some part of you wants to give in and text him right after you see him, but you let this idea flow by. You’re gonna text him at the right moment, you think. The middle of the day, or when you’re gonna see that he works over something, so he won’t be able to read it right away.

You forget about your declaration soon enough. Way too caught up with balancing between home, work and school, you don’t quite realize that the longer you’ll extend the whole thing, the longer it will be over your head.

On Monday, you’re reminded. At first, you don’t really acknowledge it, too irritated that you can’t move your car because someone decided to park behind you, blocking your way. The only thing that keeps you from screaming is your son that does not really care what’s going on. He just sits in the back, playing with his toys, unbothered.

The realization of whose car it is, overwhelms you completely in one moment. You know whose car it is. It’s hard not to, really, when you think about it: there’s only one pick up truck around. The neighborhood is full with families that prefer—most definitely—a car more efficient, a car that has more seats because that’s the only way everyone will fit and ride for football games and all that shit.

The thought you have to ask him out of all people, gives you a migraine.

It’s an awkward thought; the way you have to say something. You haven’t returned any of his calls, treating him like some one night stand (even if it wasn’t the case because you never slept together), and now you want him to move his car. Theoretically speaking, he should do it without even thinking twice.

You can’t help but wonder though, if he’s even gonna acknowledge your plea, given you ignored the shit out of him.

Rude, you think. You’re rude and you did nothing about the calls. About the proposition. You totally ignored John Price, and now you’re embarrassed because you have to ask him something. Maybe if you’d think of calling him back, you wouldn’t even be stressed about this situation. Quick text to him, and there he is, moving his car.

In another lifetime, though. In this, you have to do something else.

After you tell your kid you’re gonna be back in a second, you decide to test your luck and jog into his house, just a few meters away, knocking with a whole monologue in your head. How you need him to move your car because your kid needs to go to school. How you need it to go to the grocery store, you even think of giving him an excuse that you need to go to your mom, even if it’s a straight up lie.

You don’t have to wait long. Door swings open a few seconds later and you can see John, a little bit sleepy and confused—possibly because no one normally wants to see someone at seven in the morning.

He speaks before you have a chance to do it. “So eager to apologize, eh?”

It takes you a few seconds before you stare into his eyes, instead of his chest. “Excuse me?” You blink several times. It’s not like you didn’t understand what he said, it’s just his body that you pay too much attention to. He has no shirt on himself, his sweats low on his hips. Tempting.

You do not look lower than that, for the sake of your sanity. No time for fantasies—and it seems like he knows what you’re thinking, as he smirks with that annoying smugness that he has.

“You haven’t returned my calls,” he says, voice low. Might be the consequence of just waking up, but you think of it as seductive. You’re not gonna rub it into his face though, when he literally has the upper hand in this situation. Wouldn’t be smart. “Thought you’re here ‘cause of it.”

You clear your throat. He’s not wrong, but he’s not right either. “Yeah. We’ll talk about this later, but could you—”

“Why?” John tilts his head. It doesn’t help your case in any way. “We have time, you came here early. Might as well—”

“There’s… a lot going on,” you blurt out, interrupting. You don’t really know if he believes you or not, but he certainly is interested in why. So, before he has the chance to say that, you speak up again, "And you have to move your car first.”

“A lot? You know that I offered to help if something’s too much, right?”

You forget how to breathe for a minute. His tone is hard, a sheer contrast to playful John that was here just a minute ago. Not quite scary, since it doesn’t even sound like a threat, but it is a reminder. Urgent one. “I know, but—"

“None of that. If you need something, you call me.”

“Right now, I need you to fix your car.” Comes out a little bit aggressive. It has Price raising an eyebrow.

“My car seems perfectly good, why would I do that?" John leans against the door frame, looking down at you. You're pretty sure you've never felt smaller than you do now.

Using his advantage to intimidate you is smart. Something that he’s gonna do, if you’re gonna show him that you’re weak for it.

You cough. Trying to be civil here is a necessity, you think. Especially if you actively ignored him before. "Thing is, you blocked my car," you try to explain—calmly, before you run away from him; you even point at your red Mazda, a late birthday gift from your grandfather. "I have to… drive my son to his school."

"I did?" he raises his eyebrow. For a minute, his eyes are off you, attention on the parking lot, trying to search for the problem. Then, he looks at you again. "Mm. Seems perfectly fine to me, love.”

Love. He does it to annoy you, that’s the only reason why he’s so unfazed. Or, he’s trying to achieve something different, but for now, you can’t think straight when this man—half naked man, to be exact—blocks your car’s way, looking good.

Too good.

“I can’t move in any way. You’re… too close.”

“Too close? Could say this sooner—”

“—too close with your car, I mean,” you add, weakly. Price has you stepping on your tiptoes, so careful with picking your words. Precise what you mean because if you’re not gonna do it, he could take advantage and change the meaning.

He chuckles, his smile widening. If he’d be anyone else, you’d think that is a predator move. “Makin’ you all nervous and stressed. Why? Am I this scary, love?”

Again. Again this pet name.

“Just— Can you, please, move your car?” you ask, massaging your temples. He makes you weak in the knees and irritated at the same time; you don’t even acknowledge the steps forward that he makes.

He gets your attention the moment he tips your chin up. This feeling itself is making your stomach jump; skin sizzles with that specific need, deep in your heart that you rather not admit, but it is there. It is there, and John makes it difficult not to melt into a puddle in his hands. Ridiculously warm hands on your skin, to add.

The comfort he brings wraps around you tight like a blanket in particularly cold mornings. Important, needed even, especially in fragile moments. You almost forgot how it feels.

“What car is it? Red mazda?” He breaks eye contact with you for a second to glance once again at the parking lot.

“Yeah.”

He locks his eyes with you again. “Oh, honey. Should say that sooner”

There’s a storm happening inside your head; a strange type of deja vu falls on you like a tsunami wave; unexpected and cruel in some way. Did you not tell him what car is it? That's why he acted funny, so cocky, not taking you seriously? You’re sure you pointed in the right direction, even if you didn’t tell him what car it was. He looked here.

Or maybe he didn't? Why would he lie, though? You might as well be tired, you think. It’s not easy to be a single mom, to balance everything out.

Right?

Storm inside your head makes you ignore the warm feeling in your stomach, when John guides you to the parking lot with his big hand on the small of your back.

“I'm sorry.”

"It's okay. Nothing, really," you gulp. "You're new here, so you might not know my car."

Even if you’re sure you pointed him the direction of it.

“Could know better,” he hums, caressing your clothed skin. Tenderly, afraid to break you in any means. “So, so sorry. Really. And look, now because of me you have to put up with being late. Came home later than usual… If I saw all of that, I’d find a different spot.”

You smile a little, pleased with his explanation. There’s nothing wrong in your mind about this situation, nothing that could indicate that he’s lying. Even if he’s a little too close for comfort, you think it’s because that’s who he is.

He moves his car quickly, while you talk to your kid; he almost didn’t notice your disappearance, too interested in his toys. Even if you want desperately to listen, your brain is too occupied with the previous situation, with Price looking so good without a shirt.

Your son tells you about the “drama” between the elephant and monkey when John comes back into the picture, right before you are about to reverse.

“Everythin’ good now? Nothing else to take care of?”

“Everything’s alright.” You give him another smile. “Thank you, John.”

“No problem.” He glances at your kid, then, back at you. “We’ll have to talk later. About the garden.”

“Yeah. Yeah, we’ll have to.”

#captain john price x reader #john price x reader #cod x reader #x reader #call of duty fanfic #john price x you #captain price x reader #captain price x you #john price x y/n #john price imagines #price x reader #price x you #single mom reader

456 notes · View notes

yandereunsolved · 2 months

Text

Yandere Peter Maximoff with a captive s/o—in the blink of an eye you're back.

↻ You don't mind his clinginess at first. It's normal for the both of you to fall asleep in his dorm bed. His head is stuffed in the crook of your neck. His legs straddling your legs and trapping you within his slightly sticky cotton sheets.

It isn't until further in your relationship that problems arise. He's part of the X-men, and you're simply the support. So naturally, his word has more sway than yours. Your damn Quickie just couldn't let you go. Now you're stuck playing nurse for him in some secluded hideout.

↻ You can't escape. You've tried. You just get so antsy! He would understand that. He quite literally can't stay still.

He's always so disappointed in you, which is the worst part. He'll go on some demeaning speech and mock you before tackling you and humping you like a dog in heat. He's so predictable. You'd almost say it's pathetic if you didn't find it so hot.

↻ He gives you everything you'd ever need. You have your favorite foods and video games galore. You have windows to look at the mountain view, even if they have titanium bars locking you in. Clothes? You have piles of them. Magazines? He even bought the raunchy ones. He even lets you have newspapers! He tells you about everything that goes on in the outside world!

↻You should be happy, but you aren't. You find yourself relaxed at first. It almost feels like heaven. Then you begin to feel like a caged animal in a zoo. Doubts begin to formulate in your mind. They fill up all the space that you had for thinking about Peter in your mind. Paranoia sets in.

What if he dies and you are just left to rot?

What if he cheats on you?

What if some enemy breaks in and kills you?

What if, what if, what if—

↻ Peter's gotcha! He makes sure no inch of your skin is left untouched. He keeps you marked up so you don't forget. He hangs off of you. His attention is always on you when he is at 'home' with you. He showers you in praise. He even takes you on small excursions to secluded places!

Even if it doesn't do much, he'll go the extra mile again and again and again.

↻ Clingy doesn't even describe it. Obsessed doesn't describe it. Not even infatuated encapsulates how he feels for you. It's a need. You're a need, like air. If you died? He'd die as well.

#x men #x men movies #peter maximoff #evan peters characters #peter maximoff x reader #peter maximoff x you #peter maximoff x y/n #yandere peter maximoff #yandere #yandere x men #yandere peter x reader #yandere peter maximoff x reader #headcanons #yandere headcanons #marvel #x men x reader

186 notes · View notes

onskepa · 2 months

Text

Left Behind: Moments

Here is another chapter of the left behind series! Hope you all enjoy!

Left behind series

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

Jake’s pov

“So ummm…..I was told to vlog my day to day stuff. Guess to keep record of things I do and not lose my shit on this planet” Jake tells himself on camera. It has been a few hours since he woke up from his cryo sleep. His body ached, felt like a statue from not moving for 5 years.

“This is year is 2154….those fuckers lied. It's been 7 years since I left Earth for this jungle gym crap. 7 years felt like nothing. My baby girl, probably in her preteen years right now. I wonder how she is doing. I wouldn't blame her if she hates me, no scratch that. She is incapable of hate. Maybe mad, yeah. But not hate. I want this mission to be done and over with.”

Jake’s pov

“First day in my avatar…gotta say, it felt fucking amazing. I was able to breathe the native air! Best part, I can run! WOOHOOO! YES! Oh man, never in my life have I felt this amazing. Though I did get carried away. When I woke up in my new body, the excitement got to me. I ran almost all over the fields, the basketball court, the botanical gardens, it felt great. Almost got in trouble but grace was there to save my ass”

“Still have to adjust to this body, grace is giving me a week to get used to it. I am not the only one though, there is a weird guy named Normal Spellman. Nerdy but otherwise cool. He is the one who studies alongside with tommy. Good pals I can only imagine. He just got his avatar too”

“I bet if my baby girl was here, she would be surprised. With everything really. Maybe a bit scared. Would enjoy it no doubt. Learn how this planet works. I cant help it. I wonder what she is doing. Is she making friends? Doing good in school? So many things. But I know the sooner I get this mission done, the sooner I get home to her”

“Gotta rest now, got a big day tomorrow, this is Jake Sully, singing out”

Jake’s pov

“Colonel Quaritch, tough and kinda scary guy but he keeps people safe here. As safe as it can get on this planet. Met him in the brief meeting as a welcome home type of talk. But, weirdly enough, I admire him. He seems to know what he is doing and how to do it. Said he has a special mission for me, didn't say what yet but to expect a visit from him soon”

“I can worry about that later. Tomorrow starts a new mission. Get samples from more remote areas of the forest. Norm was given a special task. Try to make a peaceful contact with the aliens here. Na’vi is what they are called. Grace gave me a brief on them. Some important figures too. Guess they have a system of rulers here. Like the old native tribes back on Earth. My missions is to guard and make sure grace and norm get what they need”

“I will be honest, does not seem too bad. Was given the ok to shoot any possible threats. Practice with the guns, proud to say I have not lost my aim. It is getting late but I still have to do this. Does keep my mind busy, recalling the day’s events. I am starting to get into a routine”

“After shutting off the camera, I look at the picture of me and my daughter. I would stare at it for a while until my eyes drop. See this? It was the day I won a little toy for her at an arcade. She was so happy. Not often was I able to give her something new. Hopefully the paychecks are getting funded for her needs. I bet she is getting nice, brand new things”

“So many birthdays I missed. Im so sorry baby girl, but I promise, the second I go back, I will give you the biggest hug ever. Buy you all the gifts you could ever want, hell, if the pay is that good, get a better place. Maybe close to your favorite park that you like to play in. Better yet, go to the zoo like you always wanted. I know you will be much older but I dont care. You are my baby girl for life. Nothing is going to change that”

“Guess now I better log off. Big day tomorrow, this is Jake Sully, signing off”

Jake’s pov

“Things didn't go right during the mission and I was split up from grace and norm. A giant weird animal, thana-something called by grace, deadly, found us. Had his eyes on me, grace told me to run so I went the opposite direction of where those to were, to not get them in the crossfire. Seriously, that animal was huge, but I guess by some miracle, a bigger animal came into view. Like in those old nature documentaries, the two giants began to fight. Either way, I made a run for cause I know it was not going to end pretty”

“I got lost along the way, had no idea where I was or how far I was from the crew. Took me sweet time though. Admiring the pretty sights that Pandora had to offer. Felt like a kid again. Everything was bright, colorful, alive. I can see why the RDA wants to use the resources here. Crazy to think that Earth was one like this. Green, healthy, breathing”

“Of course somewhere along the way I lost myself even more, lost my gun. Had to make a spear then turn it into a torch because night came. Now night time felt like a whole different world. Everything glowed, pretty almost neon colors illuminated the plats. Some small creatures also glowed. Sad that I couldn't appreciate it enough. Got attacked”

“Freaking hyena looking animals, running in a pack. The fire helped create a distance as I ran but they were too many, though I was done for. My ass got saved by an unlikely person”

Jake’s pov

“Neytiri, princess of the Omatikaya clan. Scary lady but she saved me. Called me a baby, and told me that I have a strong heart. Stuff happened and next thing you know, I am in their home base. Word passed and neytiri was tasked to train me. Teach me their ways. I am where the RDA needs me to be. It is now only a matter of time. Give the Colonel what he wants, give grace what she wants. It is a win-win situation”

“Still holding out on that little meeting Quaritch wants to have with me. Maybe it won't be that far, since now I am within the premise of the indigenous, I guess I need to collect more info”

“A lot happened so to say. I gotta rest soon. If allowed, I can bring something from here, take it with me when I get back home. Pictures seem the best answer. Or something na’vi related. My little girl knows so little of what is being told about pandora. Or knew I should say. How old is she now….? Probably a preteen. Guess I dodged a bullet. I know pre-teen years are hell. No, I shouldn't say that”

“Soon baby girl. The wait will be worth it. Like I promised. Training day begins tomorrow, so, with that, this is jake sully, signing out”

Jake’s pov

“I am part of the people. I am the son of the people and child of Eywa. Passing my iknimaya, taming my ikran, everything. I am na’vi. It feels unreal, hard to accept. Tsu’tey and I are brothers, wasn't that long ago he wanted to kill me, calling me ugly, but now we are at the same level”

“They celebrated my rebirth. It was fantastic, neytiri made me dance even though I was terrible at it. The whole thing felt magical. Truly, I felt like I really belonged somewhere, being accepted. It felt nice. Just when I thought it couldn't get any better, it did get better”

“Surprise surprise, I am now mated to neytiri. She took me to the tree of voices, telling me of how sacred and precious it is, being able to connect to their ancestors. It was beautiful. Neytiri was beautiful, still is. Taking my breath away, and my availability”

“I wouldn't change it for anything, she is someone I have come to love with all my heart. As cheesy as it sounds, it's true. Neytiri changed me, made me better, and I have no regrets”

Jake’s pov

“They are starting to pressure us, more like me. The RDA really want the omatikaya gone, away from their home tree. Just because it houses the materials they want. It is not easy, none of it is easy. To tell them to leave, when it's been their home for thousands of years. According to Grace, I don't doubt her. This is their home, it is us who are the aliens”

“They are not going to leave, nothing is going to change their minds. Worst yet, I know quaritch will do drastic things to get what he wants. I was an idiot to follow him, to believe him. What he will do, knowing his tactics, he will shed blood and bullets. I need to warn neytiri, mo’at, tsu’tey. Can't believe this is coming out of my mouth, but I pray to Eywa, that she guides me. What can I do to make sure things don't go downhill”

“I came to make good money, to finish the mission given to me and be done with. Now, I am in a moral dilemma. I am stuck”

Jake’s pov

“I am sorry. No amount of sorry’s that I say will ever be enough for anyone. Not to neytiri, not to eytukan, not to mo’at, tsu’tey grace, norm, anyone. It will never be enough. I brought this to them, it is only right that I help. War is coming, and soon. So many na’vi died when they destroyed their home tree. Many wounded, kids, infants, innocent lives”

“Grace and I did our best to warn them, tell them to leave. Tsu’tey was adamant to fight, their weapons useless against the valkyries. In an instant, all was gone. I wanted to apologize to neytiri, she was furious, telling me I am not one of those people. She is right. Before anything more could be done, those damn bastards forced me to pull out. Pushed me in a tight closure”

“Quaritch, a beast he is, heartless. Keeping me locked up yet outside of my cage he dangles the picture of my little girl. Telling me it's not too late to take his side if I ever want to go back to earth and see her again. Going on about how she will react to all of this. Her father rebelling against humanity. As much as I hate to admit…”

“He is right….I dont know if I will see her again. I hate to say….sacrifices have got to be made. I'm sorry, but I have to atone my sins. Like I said, no amount of sorry’s will be enough. Not even for my little girl, I am sorry baby girl, but daddy is not coming home”

Jake’s pov

“We won. Quaritch is dead, and unfortunately, so is Grace and tsu’tey. Both sides lost many lives. Yet that is war, but we won. Humans are no more, many left, only few remained. Sworn their loyalty to the na’vi. Only they can stay. We made many sacrifices, I made many. Many I dont regret, or will look back to. This is the beginning of a new chapter for me. There is nothing left to hold me back, not my past, not my memories. I am at peace with what I did”

“Neytiri is with a child, I am excited, I am going to be a father. I cant wait when they arrive, I will be there, welcoming my son or daughter into a new world of peace. First born, neytiri likes to say it over and over. She is not wrong, our first child together in a new era of peace”

“However there is still one thing left to do. A grand celebration is going to be held”

“This I look forward to, many are coming together for it. It is my birthday after all, can't miss my own party. So, one last time. This is Jake Sully, the human, signing out. For good”

Third pov

A young girl looks at the last vlog of her father, Jake Sully, eyes wide as she takes in what she just saw. This was a side she never knew, nor did she think it would be hidden.

She clenches her hands into a fist tightly, gritting her teeth, her body shaking in fury. Hot tears streaming down her face, not knowing whether to cry in sadness or scream in anger. So many emotions mixed, creating a tornado in her mind.

Hearing a door open behind her, she turns to glare at the man.

“Why….” was all she could say before breaking down.

Aaaaaaaaaaand that is it for this chapter of the ongoing series! This one I chose to have only jake be the main point, his vlogs. See how his mind changes, perspective and what lead to the final choice. Trust me, this will come back for future chapters. So until next time! See ya!

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

Liking the series? Put your name in the taglist to be notified for the next chapter!

------

Taglist: @boobitchhehe @heart-an0n @justcaptiannoodles @mochacoffeeumai26 @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @skittlebum @teyamsbitch @ratchetprime211 @iwannabeapinkaesthetic @kkkmm @luchicm04 @sseleniaa @quirkyhero @ssc7514 @mimi-626 @queenwrath216 @henhouse-horrors @vogueweb @syndyj @lovecatsreal @kpoplover-2013 @mimisweetz @keysmashsstuff @ghouliazinterlude @avatarloverfrfr @venomsvl @tatahungry

170 notes · View notes

junkissed · 2 months

Text

enha surprise adopting a kitten

member — enhypen hyung line (heeseung, jay, jake, sunghoon) x gn reader genre — fluff, sfw word count — 1.6k warnings — kissing, pet names (baby, babe, beautiful, etc.) that's about it notes — requested by @onlymingyus — thank you sm for the request my lovely mars !! this is my first time posting for a group besides svt so i hope yall enjoy reading :) if you did please feel free to reblog or send an ask, it is super encouraging and helps me keep writing <3 enjoy!

heeseung . . . might be confused why it had to be a surprise, because he would’ve said yes anyway, but he would ultimately accept it pretty easily. it's not the weirdest thing you've ever brought home, and he's been thinking about getting a pet anyway, so this is honestly a win all around. he’s flexible and he’ll adapt to pretty much anything you throw at him, so fitting a cat into your daily lives won’t be difficult on his part.

"where did you find that?" he asks nonchalantly when you walk in the door, strolling out of the living room to greet you.

"no idea, he just followed me home. maybe we're being stalked." you giggle as you lean in to give him a kiss, the same way you do every single day when you get home, and he grins at how ordinary this is for you. only you could show up with a kitten unannounced and act like it's the most normal thing in the world. but he loves your normal.

you hand the tiny kitten off to him as you shut the door behind you and slip off your shoes, and you miss the tender look in his eyes while you're digging through your purse in search of something. "obviously i adopted him," you admit, looking up at him as you finally find what you were looking for.

"well, i can never tell with you, baby. the other explanation worked too," heeseung laughs, carefully stroking his index finger over the kitten’s head. you can already tell it’s going to be impossible to get the two of them apart, already forming an instant, inseparable bond.

you hold out the small stack of papers for him to glance at. "the shelter was having an adoption event, and i saw it on my way home from work. and besides, i felt like we needed a little guy running around here. you'll get lonely without me all day."

your reasoning makes the corners of his mouth turn up in a smirk, because it's such a you thing to do. your spontaneity is one of the things he loves most about you, the fact that you could adopt a kitten on a whim because you think he needs a reminder of you. what you don't realize is that everything already does remind him of you, but… he supposes a furry little friend couldn't hurt, too. "you know me so well, beautiful. can't live without you."

you beam at him, and he can't help but think that he'd let you surprise him with a zoo full of kittens if it means he gets to see you smile like that all the time. "so… you like him?"

"of course i do." he leans in to give you a kiss, and you laugh when the tiniest, softest mew springs up from between you.

"good," you say, kissing him back. "because i think he already likes you."

jay . . . obviously can't have a real cat, but i think he’d still enjoy your surprise. he always indulges in your surprise endeavors, and although he has his reservations you always manage to make him smile in ways he doesn’t expect.

"i got you a surprise," you grin as you walk into the kitchen, clutching something behind your back.

"what is it this time?" he turns and looks up from the pan on the stove where he’s started making dinner, cocking an eyebrow at you. try as he might, he never knows what you’re going to bring home with you next, but he’s gotten used to it.

"a kitten."

his eyes narrow in lighthearted suspicion, and he points his spatula at you warily. you’ve had this conversation before, and as much as he would love to own a house full of cats, he just can’t. even the hypoallergenic breeds don’t make much of a difference, so for now he’s content with cat videos on the internet and the occasional trip to volunteer at the animal shelter, as long as he stocks up on allergy medicine beforehand. "babe, you know—"

but before he can finish his sentence you pull your arms around to reveal what you've been hiding: a stuffed toy cat with a bow around its neck.

"cute," he concedes, his expression softening. he should’ve guessed it would be something like this. you know him too well and love him too much to ever purposely do something he wouldn’t be able to enjoy.

"you really thought i brought you a real cat?" you grin playfully at his reaction, because it was exactly the response you’d been hoping for. your boyfriend is too much fun to tease, and you can never resist the opportunity to string him along for the sake of a little fun.

jay pointedly ignores your question and turns back to his cooking, but he doesn’t try to hide the small smile on his face. "dinner’s on in 10. will our… new friend, be joining us?"

you wrap your arms around him from behind and kiss him on the cheek. "of course. i’ll be sure to set out an extra plate."

jake . . . is a dog person through and through, but that doesn’t mean he wouldn’t enjoy having a cat, too. he would be excited at the idea of it at first, but he’d get more nervous as time goes on. it’s a lot of responsibility owning a pet, and although he’s an experienced dog dad he doesn’t know much about taking care of a cat.

"are you sure? what if she, like, bites?"

you shrug with a smile, still cupping the kitten in the palms of your hands and holding her out for him to look at. "i don’t know, jake, it’s just a kitten. she’s not going to murder you in your sleep. she’s probably just as scared of you as you are of her."

he lets out a chuckle at that, because he knows you’re right. he knows it’s an irrational thing to be afraid of, and it’s really not even a fear in the first place, but he’s can’t help that he’s just awkward around cats. he’s more used to dogs; what do you even do with a cat?

but it isn’t long before he’s playing with the kitten just as enthusiastically as he plays with layla, and there’s been more than a couple times when you’ve come home and found the three of them playing fetch together. at first he’d been worried about whether a kitten would be able to fit into your routine, but although he had his doubts he quickly comes to love your new friend. he's a fast learner when it comes to taking care of things, and before long he'd be a natural at it.

sunghoon . . . might be hesitant, but not for long. his reaction would be like when dads say they don't want a pet but then a week later you find him explaining the rules of football to them. he’s more easily won over than he thinks: he swears up and down that he only likes dogs, but then you see him being so attentive to your new kitten and you can’t help but laugh because his soft spot is so obvious even though he always tries to deny it. that kitten is going to be his new best friend, whether he likes it or not (spoiler: he likes it.)

"did you get more cat treats when you went to the store the other day?" he asks casually, not looking up from his phone where he’s sitting on the couch. the newest member of your family sits curled up on his lap, sleeping soundly as he runs his fingers gently over the soft fur of her back.

you hum curiously in reply. "no? there was half a bag left last time i checked. are they gone already?"

sunghoon doesn't reply, which is an admission in itself, and you can't help but roll your eyes and smile.

"you know you're only supposed to give cats a couple of those a day, at most?"

"well, it's her fault, not mine." he makes a huffing noise in disagreement, and it's so endearing you can't actually be mad at him, as much as you'd like to scold him. "she was giving me that look. she deserved those treats. i couldn't deny her."

you find it endlessly adorable how in love he is with this kitten, despite his insistence otherwise. on the outside he seems quiet, but he's really just thinking of the things he still has to do. have the toys he ordered online shipped yet? did he remember to change the litter box? has he spent enough time cuddling today— with both you and the kitten? these are all vital questions that he has to make sure are addressed, and the current order of business on his list is the lack of cat treats. luckily for him, he's not the only one in the house who has a soft spot: you have one for him, too.

i hope you enjoyed this!! if you did, consider reblogging or leaving a comment or an ask :) it shows me this is something people want to see more of, and knowing people like this makes me want to write more of it! thanks for reading!! this is also my first time (officially) writing for enhypen so pls let me know how you liked it, feedback is super appreciated <3

if you want to be notified when i post a new fic, you can join my taglist here!

taglist — located in the replies (i will be tagging those who selected "yes, tag me for everything" on my taglist form, but if you'd like me to remove you please lmk! i probably will not be posting many non-svt fics like this so don't worry lol)

236 notes · View notes

eddiesghxst · 1 year

Text

PRICE OF FAME (PART 2/12)

hiii here's these two again, enjoy!!

————

18+ — MINORS DNI

pairing: rockstar!eddie x journalist!reader

summary: eddie still hates you, you're way too nice, and gareth fucked up big time

contains: enemies to lover trope, themes of sexism/misogyny, smoking, drug and alcohol use, reader gets injured (nothing crazy), eddie hooking up with someone that's not reader, mean eddie, sexual themes, a glimpse of needy n sad eddie, mild violence (eddie punches someone), and Eddie being nosey <3

word count: 5.6k

| previous part | next part |

| series masterlist | -main masterlist- |

Eddie can’t do it.

He can’t fucking stand you. He hates that you’re everywhere, always around, always lingering— like a fucking hawk— just silently watching and waiting for one of them to fuck up. And he hates that you carry that fucking journal everywhere, always jotting down notes about whatever bullshit you write about— and he’s sure it isn’t any good either way because most of the time, the band does the same shit every day. There’s nothing for you to write about. They do a show, hang out backstage, catch wind of some party, stay out until they can’t physically walk anymore, and crash as soon as they get to the hotel.

It’s the same shit. Yet, you’re always writing something down as if something new has happened— as if it’s something intriguing and eye-catching.

You barely talk for the first few days; you just watch and observe, and Eddie thinks this must be how animals at the zoo feel— on display and putting up some fascinating show. He hates it.

After the third show, you start to loosen around the edges and start actually talking, like a normal human being. You talk to Jeff the most, laugh at his shitty jokes and ask him questions about songs and lines he’s written in past songs, and Eddie hates that. He hates watching you sit next to Jeff and scribble in your journal as Jeff strums out a new hook.

He hates that whenever he brings you up to Jeff and makes some snide comment about you, Jeff never joins in— just shrugs and says, ‘She’s not too bad, actually.’

As if Eddie would ever believe that.

Gareth hardly pays any mind to you; he's too busy checking out chicks and just… being Gareth, but you’ve talked to him on multiple occasions. Eddie’s caught glimpses of you two chatting at rehearsals or in the green room. You even sat with him at breakfast the other day, and Eddie— Eddie almost blew a gasket because that was his fucking seat.

You’re ruining everything, and nobody seems to notice except for Eddie, and it’s driving him nuts.

“Dude, you’re gonna scare her away if you keep glaring at her like that,” Jeff mumbles, turning back to his guitar as he runs a dust cloth over the neck of the instrument.

They’re in the studio today because there’s no show tonight, and against all of Eddie’s wishes, Richie still invited you to come sit in for their session. Eddie watches through the glass of the sound booth as you settle in on the brown couch, pulling out that stupid journal and a pen, mindlessly clicking it a few times before writing a note. Ridiculous.

Eddie glares at Jeff and works the gum in his mouth as he pulls a face, “Good. She can blow off the face of the earth for all I care.” He grumbles, sitting down in the metal chair beside Jeff.

Jeff looks at him, raises an unimpressed eyebrow, and shakes his head, “She’s not going anywhere, man. You’re gonna fuck it up if you keep being so… hostile toward her.” He points out. Eddie leans back in his chair, pulling out a box of cigarettes and sparking up. “I’m not gonna be the one to fuck it up,” Eddie mumbles through smoke, “You guys are practically feeding her all the information she needs on a silver fucking platter. She’s a goddamn shark.”

Jeff scoffs and says nothing more as he continues cleaning his guitar. Eddie glances at you and watches you talk to the producer, smiling and laughing at something that Eddie can’t hear because the mic is off and the door is closed.

Aside from how annoying and creepishly lurk-y you are, Eddie can admit you’re pretty. You have a pretty face, pretty smile, pretty hair, a bright look in your eyes that Eddie can’t stand because you look at the rest of the band like they hung the fucking moon when they speak. You look at everyone as if they’re so important, and Eddie thinks that’s dumb.

He glances at Jeff, watches him silently for a moment, and glances back at you, takes a hit of his cigarette before speaking, “You like her?” he asks.

Jeff glimpses at Eddie and laughs with a shake of his head, “Isn’t that precisely what you’re pissed about?”

Eddie shakes his head, “No, like,” he kicks the heel of his shoe into the floor, “Do you wanna fuck her?”

Jeff pauses his task and watches as Eddie puffs on his cigarette. “I have a girlfriend, Eddie.” He reminds the boy. Eddie glances at him and scoffs, “That chick from Chicago? Thought that was just for fun.” He responds.

Eddie remembers the girl from a few weeks back, remembers Jeff sneaking her on the bus while they had dinner. He didn’t know they were serious.

Jeff shakes his head, eyebrows furrowing in disbelief, “No, man. She’s come to like every show— and her name is Naomi; she’s not a chick.”

Eddie grunts in response, burning to the end of his cigarette when Jeff stands up and nudges him with his foot, “Just talk to her, dude. She’s not as bad as you think she is, and she asks good questions— actual questions, about the music and shit. None of that,” he waves a hand in gesture, “stupid shit we get from reporters. She’s good. Just try.”

Jeff leaves Eddie to mill about it and finish off cigarette, snuffing it out in the ashtray sitting on the amp. Eddie doesn’t believe Jeff one bit; he thinks you’re a liar who’s mastered the art of manipulation and has weaseled your way into gaining his friends' trust. He doesn’t believe you are here for the music, as Jeff had said; he thinks— knows— that you’re here to find the cracks.

You’re here to find the cuts and bruises and press into them so you can tear them apart piece by piece. A starved monster, preying on his band for some sick and twisted story to feed the media so you can climb the ladder of your industry. Eddie has met and knows people like you, and he can call your bluff from a mile away.

He doesn’t believe Jeff. But he does, however, know how to play your game.

The next day is show day— the fifth show of the residency, and Eddie is in a good mood. He woke up with a girl in his bed, got high, went for a short walk to a nearby cafe, and even signed a few autographs for some lovely fans. On top of that, you haven’t shown up for rehearsals yet, and Eddie thinks the world is working in his favor today if you skip.

He’s playful today. He jumps on Gareth’s back and makes him run down the rows of the arena, screaming and hollering like wild animals. He and Jeff take Richie’s golf cart and go for a spin backstage, giggling when the security chases them and tells them speeding backstage is prohibited. They don’t listen, though; Eddie ignores everyone’s warnings and keeps hauling ass down the nearly empty hallways, swerving around boxes and equipment like a madman.

And Eddie may be mean sometimes; he may push people's buttons for the hell of it and do things he knows he shouldn’t just to get a reaction out of it, but Eddie isn’t cruel. He isn’t a psychopath who likes hurting people, so he doesn’t mean to speed past you and spook you badly enough to stumble into a stack of road cases.

Eddie saw you, and he tried to warn you, yelled out for you to move out of the way, and even honked, but you had a pair of headphones stuffed over your ears so that you couldn’t hear the squealing wheels of the golf cart or Eddie’s warning. He almost took you out. Almost. But he didn’t because he swerved at the last second, and you panicked and stepped back, stumbling on the heel of your shoe and falling onto the cold cement floor, slamming your back against the black boxes.

Eddie curses and comes to a screeching halt, parking the golf cart and following Jeff as he jogs over to you, quickly asking if you’re okay and helping you to sit up. As you speak, your face is twisted in confusion, wincing and sitting up, “I’m fine, I just— I just fell, it’s fine.”

Eddie watches from a few feet back as Jeff helps you stand up, face pinching in an expression of pain when you put your weight onto your ankle, and Eddie doesn’t believe it for a second. “I think you might need to get that checked—” Eddie cuts Jeff off and speaks the first thought that comes to his mind, “Why didn’t you move out of the way?”

You look at him, anger replacing your look of pain as you glare at Eddie. You grip the band of your headphones and wave it at him, “Because I didn’t fucking hear you, jackass.” You snap. “What, you couldn’t see the big ass machine hurling your way?”

“No,” you seethe, “You shouldn’t have been driving that fast anyways; this isn’t my fault. The least you could do is say fucking sorry.” You spat. And Eddie just thinks you’re a brat. Before Eddie can respond with an even bitchier response, Jeff is cutting in with a wave of his hands, “Okay, this is fucking stupid,” he scoffs, “just let me drive you to medic so you can get checked.”

Eddie doesn’t even bother helping Jeff get you to the golf cart; he simply watches as you fake your limp all the way to the vehicle and thank Jeff for helping you get in. Jeff looks back to Eddie and raises an eyebrow, “Are you coming, man?”

Eddie wouldn’t willingly spend a minute with you if someone paid him to do it.

He shakes his head with a scoff and tells them to go on, he’ll meet them at the stage later on, and Jeff takes off without another word.

“Did you try to hit the journalist with a fucking golf cart?”

Eddie’s good mood is long gone.

After the whole golf cart fiasco, Eddie took his time walking around backstage and burning through cigarettes before finding himself in the room filled with snacks and drinks. He’s standing at the table filled with chips and sodas when Richie storms in and starts causing a goddamn scene.

“What—” “You know what I’m talking about.” Richie snaps. Eddie’s face twists in annoyance, “I didn’t try to fucking hit her; she didn’t move out of the goddamn way because she’s an idiot,” Eddie grumbles, returning to his task of sifting through the different brands of chips. Eddie doesn’t believe you’re actually hurt. That pathetic fall was as minor as a fall can get, and he thinks Jeff and anyone else who believes your shitty acting skills is dumber than a rock.

Richie snatches the bag of chips out of Eddie’s hand and tosses them onto the table, ignoring Eddie’s protest as he speaks, “She sprained her fucking ankle, man.”

Eddie scoffs, “She’s faking it, Richie; anybody with brains can see that from a mile away.” He rolls his eyes. Richie looks at Eddie as if he’s lost his mind, as if Eddie is the worst villain to ever grace the goddamn planet, “You’re fucked up,” and Eddie’s stomach twists in some weird way he can’t explain.

“You have some serious fucking issues, man. That girl did nothing to you, and you treat her like shit.” Richie spits, and Eddie hates how his throat feels tight, like someone shoved a golf ball down his throat. “Get over yourself.”

Richie leaves Eddie in the empty room, silent and, against Eddie’s wishes, feeling like the shittiest man alive.

Eddie’s good mood feels like a dream now.

He’s silent throughout rehearsals. He sings his parts half-assed and plays his solos half-assed, too. You watch from the side of the stage, propped up on one of the road cases to take the weight off your ankle, and Eddie doesn’t even glance in your direction the entire time. He avoids you at all costs, leaving the room when you walk in, going the other direction you’re walking in, and even skipping lunch to avoid crossing paths.

You’ve been like a ghost all day; everywhere Eddie goes, you’re somehow there, walking with a shitty limp as if trying to rub it into Eddie’s face that, ‘You did this. This is your fault.’ and Eddie can’t stand it. By the time the doors open to the arena, Eddie is more than ready to finish the show and steer clear of all traces of you.

You watched the show on the TV in the dressing room, silently snacking on a bag of Ritz crackers with your foot propped up on the coffee table beside the couch. The medic advised you to avoid putting pressure on your ankle for the next few days so you couldn’t have your usual front-row view of the show.

The boys do good; they perform a new song they’re working on, and the crowd seems to have loved it. As usual, they get up to their ritual backstage antics, pregaming for whatever party they’ll attend, loud and obnoxious music, and cheering on whatever drinking game they’ve made up. You’re silently writing in your journal, updating the last entry on what you’ve witnessed today. Interpretations on the new music, drabbles on what you and Gareth briefly discussed about his childhood, and quick notes on whatever comes to mind while writing.

You hardly notice Eddie stumbling through the dressing room door until you hear him bumping into the side table with a curse. You look up, silently watching as he looks around the room, searching for something you’re unsure of. You try to keep your voice level to not scare him, but he is startled either way, “What are you looking for?”

His eyes are low, puffy around the edges from the alcohol he’d tossed back earlier, hair tousled with curly strands clinging to his lips. His lips are slick, swollen, and red, clothes askew on his lean frame. His jeans are unbuttoned, belt clinking as he sways a bit, licking his lips as he stammers, “Uh… my uh, my jacket—” he blinks, stumbling to lean against the door and blinking hard, “M’looking for my jacket.”

Your eyebrows raise as you watch him, the disheveled and captivating mess he is, bleary eyes gazing at you through a cloud of eyeshadow and whiskey. You breathe and point to the chair in front of the vanity, “It’s over there.”

His gaze follows your lead, landing on his strewn jacket, cursing as he walks across the room. You busy yourself with your journal, picking up where you’d left off. You can hear Eddie rustling behind you, and you try to avoid glancing back at him, but you fail, glancing in time to watch as he leans forward into the mirror to tug at misplaced strands of his hair.

He’s silent for a moment before clearing his throat, glancing back at you through the mirror, “I’m uh… I’m sorry about,” he gestures to your elevated foot, forgetting you’re not even facing him, and rubbing the back of his hand to rub his nose and sniffling, “About your foot… Was really shitty of me.”

You glance back at him, a ghost of a smile gracing your lips, “Thank you, Eddie. I appreciate your apology.”

Eddie scoffs, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and shoving a stick between his lips with quivering fingers, “Yeah, well, that’s the first and last apology you’ll ever get from me so…” you silently watch as he lights his cigarette, puffing out a cloud of smoke and glancing at you through the mirror, “cherish it.”

You quietly sigh and shift in your seat, ignoring his remark, “You going out tonight?” You ask.

You watch as he steps away from the vanity and walks over to the couch, plopping down on the farthest side from you with a deep sigh, “That’s the routine.” He mumbles around a cloud of smoke.

You nod, an uncomfortable silence settling over the two of you as you continue writing. Eddie is slumped down in his seat, quietly puffing on his cigarette as he gazes at you through low lids, “What are you writing?”

You look at him; pen paused over the sentence you’d been writing as you tilt your head, “I’m working on my piece… you know, the piece you’re starring in.” Eddie grumbles in response with a single nod of his head, and his eyes are so low you’d almost think he’s falling asleep if it weren’t for his determination to finish his cigarette.

“Why— why haven’t you asked me anything?” Eddie asks.

You look at him, doing your best to keep a neutral expression as you fold your hands over the paper of your notebook, “I wasn’t under the impression you wanted to be… bothered.”

Eddie glances at you, scoffing, and you remind yourself that you’ve already somehow made the man despise you, so it’d be better to hold your tongue, opting not to remind him of the shitty attitude he’s had since you met. “I’m part of the band, aren’t I?” He shrugs, picking at the loose threads of his ripped jeans. “Shouldn’t I have as much coverage as… Jeff?” He mumbles, and you think he might be under the impression that you can’t hear him, but you do either way.

Your eyebrows raise, and you shift in your seat once again, “Well… would you like me to ask you some questions?”

Eddie is more gentle when he is drunk, you think. More pliable, softer. The stone-hard deflective shield he has thrown up for you has withered beneath the alcohol. Where his eyes are usually cold and sharp, they are now softer and telling— of what, you’re not sure yet. He shifts further into the couch and shrugs, and you take a deep breath and flip to a clean page, scribbling Eddie’s name in the corner.

“Okay, Eddie,” you begin, turning ever so slightly to face him. “Tell me about yourself. Tell me about who you are aside from the frontman of Corroded Coffin.” You glance between your notebook and Eddie, patiently waiting as he takes a drag of the burning paper. He looks at you, the majority of his face shielded behind unruly dark curls, and the room is so silent it’s nearly deafening.

Eddie shakes his head so gently you almost don’t notice the movement, “I don’t…” he bounces his leg once, “I thought this was about the music.”

You nod, “It is.”

Eddie gently blinks, like if he blinks too hard, the earth might shatter, and you think it’s beautiful, and you think you might hate that.

“It’s about the music, but I can’t write about the music without knowing the creator, can I?”

Eddie looks at you, eyes almost clear with lips parted around smoke. He blinks again, and you smile in encouragement, situating the pen in your grip. He looks at you, studies you, his gaze dropping to your awaiting hand, and his face twists in some expression you can’t put a finger on.

Before Eddie can speak, the door opens, both of your heads snapping toward the door as a tipsy Gareth pops his head inside, “Eddie, come on man, the car’s here.”

If Gareth had noticed the odd combination of you and Eddie sitting on the same couch, willingly enduring each other's presence, he wouldn’t mention it.

You look back to Eddie, and you almost want to stop him as he gets up because, god, you were so fucking close. So close to finally touching Eddie. But he’s gone quicker than he came, the scent of his cologne and smoke lingering like a ghost, and despite Eddie giving you absolutely nothing to write about, you find yourself writing about him either way with nothing but his scent to aid you.

Eddie is drunk, and he can not, for the life of him, stop thinking about you.

A girl is climbing over him in the back of a taxi, and Eddie can only think about you. The look of pain you had when you stood up after falling, the way you looked at him as if he was the bane of your existence— it makes Eddie’s stomach churn, and he wishes the culprit for his nausea was the alcohol, but it’s not. Eddie knows it’s not because the second he thinks about the way you smiled at him in the dressing room, the way you said his name, the way you spoke so gently despite how much of an asshole he’s been to you, Eddie’s sick stomach settles and erupts in this annoying warm flutter.

Eddie can’t think of anything but the fact that he wants you to smile at him more, wants to hear you say his name again, and talk to him in your gentle way.

His face pinches in frustration, fingers gripping the girl's waist as she mouths at his neck. She moans against his skin, grinding down against his bulge and grinning when she feels him rut up against her. Eddie mumbles something, he’s not sure what he mumbles because his brain is split between worlds of scary feelings and arousal, but the girl laughs, scraping her teeth against his thumping pulse, “That journalist?” She asks.

Eddie blinks away the foggy cloud, “Huh?”

Lany pulls away from his neck and looks at him, biting her lip and tilting her head as she rubs up against him again, Eddie grunting in the back of his throat as his face twists in pleasure. “The journalist. You said her name.” Lany hums, drifting her hands up Eddie’s chest and grappling at the collar of his unbuttoned sheer top. Eddie blinks again and shakes his head, “I didn’t,” he denies.

Lany giggles, “You did, Eddie.”

Eddie glances over her shoulder, making awkward eye contact with the driver through the rearview mirror, and he slightly grimaces and looks back to Lany as she leans in, ghosting her lips over his and tauntingly whispering your name. Eddie grunts in protest, squeezing her hips in a warning. Before he can say something, Lany kisses him with a hum before pulling away to where her lips brush against hers as she speaks, “Did you fuck her?”

Eddie pulls away from Lany, a look of distaste on his face as he glares at her, “Did I— what? No,” Eddie cringes as if it’s the worst thing he’s ever heard— and it’s not, and Eddie… Eddie hates that, he thinks. “No, I didn’t fuck her. Are you serious?” “You want to fuck her then?”

“I want you to stop talking about her,” Eddie counters, dragging his thumb across her bottom lip and watching as he drags the plump flesh down, grinning when Lany nips at his fingertip. “Maybe put these pretty lips to good use, hm?” He taunts, grin widening when she nods and sucks his thumb down to the last knuckle, his jeans tightening at the feeling and sight.

And if Eddie did say your name, he doesn’t think about it. He doesn’t dwell on the fact that he’d been thinking of you for whatever odd, fucked up reason, and he doesn’t try to figure out what that weird flutter feeling is when he thinks about your softness, the softness he’s been depriving himself of.

He doesn’t dwell on any of it because Eddie is drunk, and when Eddie drinks, he thinks of and does stupid things, things that sound good at the moment but will screw him over in the long run.

And Eddie wants nothing to do with you anyway, and it’s not like one half-assed drunken conversation changed that, right?

Eddie’s got a blistering headache and a churning stomach as he stands outside the studio the following day. It’s drizzling, gloomy clouds drooping over the looming buildings of New York, and Eddie always hated this kind of weather; he preferred a full storm over the tease of a shower.

New York has never been Eddie’s favorite place, it’s dirty, and reeks of trash, and the people are shitty, but he likes how easy it is to blend in with the crowd; not many people notice him here, and that’s rare these days.

He’s leaning on the stoop of the building, tiny drops of rain dripping from the portico onto his leather-covered shoulders. A burning cigarette hangs between his fingers as he watches the traffic go by, taking slow puffs to ease his body.

He hardly notices you when you bounce up the stairs until you stand just two steps below him. He glances at you and sees the coffee cups in each of your hands. You extend one out to him, “Would you like one? They accidentally gave me two.” You offer.

And you’re fucking nice. Despite how shitty Eddie has been towards you, you’re still nice to him, and Eddie, for the life of him, can’t stand it. He thinks you’re weird, insane, stupid. Thinks you were probably dropped as a baby more times than anyone can count because there’s no way somebody in their right mind would willingly give him the time of day when he’s treated them as shitty as Eddie has treated you. He nearly ran you over, for Christ's sake.

Still, Eddie doesn’t falter, “No. Probably spit in it on your way here.”

You laugh, and it irks Eddie in a way that makes him want to shiver as if the sound were nails scraping against a chalkboard. He distracts himself with a drag of his cigarette as you say, “I didn’t, but thanks for the idea.”

Eddie grunts in response, focusing on the last of his smoke as you tell him you’ll see him inside before walking up the rest of the stairs. Eddie barely acknowledges you as you pass him, but he acknowledges the sound of something dropping beside his feet. He looks down with pinched eyebrows, eyeing the notebook lying on the wet ground.

It’s your notebook— obviously— he’d know that stupid journal from anywhere. It’s a pale yellow with two leather straps you like to tie in a lousy bow, and Eddie believes it’s an annoying color, but he thinks that has more to do with the fact that you chose it. Mindlessly, Eddie picks it up, shaking off the rainwater before it seeps into the pages, and he turns to give it to you because he’d assumed you realized you dropped it, but you’re gone.

Eddie blinks, eyeing the door and the book in his hands, and Eddie knows he should just follow you and give it back because that’s the right thing to do. Knows he shouldn’t peek inside to see what your mind is like, knows you’d probably kill him because Eddie would do the same if anyone looked into his thousands of journals back home, but his fingers itch, and before he can stop himself, he’s flicking his cigarette bud away, leaning against the building and cracking the front page open.

Eddie’s not sure what he’d expected. Maybe something interesting, like a list of dudes you’ve fucked or some rant about a friend, but Jesus, how much more boring could you get? Grocery lists, reminders to book appointments, dates for work meetings, boring shit that Eddie could care less about. He flicks through nearly half of the book before anything piques his interest, snickering when he comes across a page of you talking about a guy named Danny, “What a sap,” Eddie mumbles to himself, softly chuckling and turning the page.

He flips through a few more pages before halting because Eddie's name is right at the top of the page.

The door opens, and he jumps, fearing you might be searching for your lost journal, but it’s only a staff member. Eddie watches them trot down the steps before returning to the treasure in his hands, eagerly reading as if the book will turn to dust before he gets a chance.

And Eddie thinks he’s fucked up, screwed up in ways he never really wants to address. Despite Eddie’s outwardly attitude of thinking he’s the best at everything and knows all, there are still ugly parts of him that he so badly wants to reach inside and pull like weeds from a garden, crack his chest open, and take it from the root; pieces of him that can make him crumble quicker than a house of cards on a rickety table.

However, the way you write about Eddie— the words you use and the so careful placement of each thought— it makes Eddie feel something he forgot he ever could about himself, and he doesn’t like how it makes his insides twist. He hates it. Eddie hates that you can read him as if he’s a fucking children’s book. Hates that you can see and point out parts of him that have been lost for so long he’d thought it was a dream. He can’t stand it.

But as much as Eddie swears he hates what you’ve written and as much as he hates that it makes him feel something other than disdain, he can’t stop reading. He wants to read all you can say about him and only exist in the imagery you create of him because Eddie, for once in a long time, is someone in your eyes.

You write about Eddie like he is a person, a human being with real feelings and depth and a history of memories you’ve never seen or heard of before, but you still somehow manage to paint him so clearly. Inside your words, Eddie exists as more than the entity that fame has created him to be, and Eddie can’t remember the last time he read something about himself and didn’t feel like a pawn.

It’s… refreshing.

Eddie flips the page, thinking there will be more you’ve written about him, but he’s selfishly disappointed when he realizes it’s just a personal entry. He scans the page, nearly deciding to close it for the day, when he catches a glimpse of a familiar name— Gareth.

It takes Eddie a moment to fully grasp the words you’ve written, the meaning of what exactly you’re explaining that you’d apparently discussed with Gareth. As soon as he lets the words settle into his chest, he’s storming into the building quicker than he can comprehend.

Bursting through the room of Richie's rented studio, Eddie makes a beeline for the sound booth where Gareth is busy tapping out a steady beat.

Eddie barely acknowledges you and the rest of the band in discussion off to the side, but his abrupt appearance has halted all conversation in the room. He storms up to Gareth behind his drum set and wastes no time gripping the man’s collar, gaze lit with fire and words seething as he leans in and glares down at the man. The room goes silent as soon as the question leaves Eddie’s lips, “Did you fuck Chrissy?”

Chrissy Cunningham was Eddie Munson’s high school sweetheart.

As the story goes, Eddie spent the better part of high school crushing on the cute captain of the cheerleading squad. For as long as he can remember, Eddie had been labeled as the school freak— something to do with his love of fantasy games and ‘odd music taste’— so he’d never imagined he would get a chance with Chrissy, but that all changed after a weird spiral of events they experienced together.

Eddie and Chrissy dated for a few years until Corroded Coffin went big. The long-distance trial of their relationship didn’t last long; Eddie rarely called Chrissy, and when he did call, they could only ever find time to argue about whatever Eddie had been photographed doing. Chrissy never came to watch the band once they moved out to LA, and she broke Eddie's heart the one time she did.

So, it’s no surprise that reading the words in your journal has twisted the knife that’d been lodged in Eddie’s chest for so long that he was sure he couldn’t feel it anymore— he was wrong.

Gareth is looking at Eddie as if Eddie has asked him if the sky is blue and Eddie’s mind is a whirling wind of fire. “What are you talking about, man?” Gareth’s eyebrows pinch in confusion.

Eddie sneers and pulls him closer, Gareth leaning so far off his stool that Eddie's grip on his shirt is the only thing keeping him from the ground. Gareth drops his drumsticks to grab Eddie’s wrists as Eddie speaks, “Don’t bullshit me, Gareth. Did you fuck Chrissy, yes or no?”

Eddie looks at his best friend, and he sees lies, something he’s never had to associate with their friendship, and it almost hurts him more than what Chrissy did. Gareth stutters, shaking his head as if he wants to say no, tries to say no and deny that he slept with his best friend's girlfriend, but he can’t.

Gareth whispers Eddie’s name so quietly Eddie nearly misses it, but the quiver in his voice is all Eddie needs to hear to know the truth. Eddie doesn’t take a second to think before he cracks a closed fist down on his best friend's cheek, sending him back, crashing into the symbols in a clatter of noise.

He doesn’t wait to hear Gareth’s spew of apologies, and he doesn’t wait to listen to the pathetic excuses he makes up because he’s marching over to you next, a scowl on his face as he tosses your journal into your lap, and you look up at him in shock, “You dropped this on your way in.”

And if this is the end of Corroded Coffin, then Eddie’s sure you’ll have one hell of a story to write. That’s what you wanted all along, isn’t it?

A good story.

————

part three

————

a/n: AHH U MADE IT TO THE END, PLS LET ME KNOW HOW U LIKED THIS PART I LOVE TO HEAR UR FEEDBACK, ILY BYE

————

cutie lil taglist: @mastermindmiko @whataboutbibi @ryanmxrie @ihatepeanutss @tlclick73 @motherfckerrr @emxxblog @jesssssmaybankk @eddiesguitarskills @bibieddiesgf @chloe-6123 @micheledawn1975

736 notes · View notes

pop-punklouis · 1 month

Note

wanted to ask your opinion on the chappel roan tiktoks she made the other day about fame and boundaries. i know a lot of people are siding with her, but i just feel like she could've been nicer about what she said...? i get that she had this crazy rise in fame the past few months. and i dont know how i would respond to that change, but to be upset bc fans want to take photos with you and to be so rude about it bc you're on "your time" just???. idk i feel like im in the minority here

i think you're missing the entire point of her message, babe. you're choosing to focus on the "taking pictures with fans" part of her rant instead of what she was really talking about, which is the harassments and objectifications she's been the victim of due to this meteoric rise to fame. she was not saying you couldn't come up and ask her for a photo. she was saying, if she told a fan "no" that some fans have immediately called her rude and tried to start an agenda about her being ungrateful and harsh in person. she was never talking about nice fan interactions. she was most definitely talking about every other interaction she's gotten that has been. inhumane

regardless, why should she be nicer about... anything... she was talking about? i'm tired of the parasocial and chronically online dictating how celebrities must react to fame and to their fans. harassment, stalking, manipulation, condescension.... these do not have to be synonymous with fame because hey! people don't have to treat other human beings like they're caged animals in a zoo! because they! signed up for this lifestyle! those aren't normal things and no one should expect someone to just. adapt to those things like it is. she can be as mean as she wants, dude. i don't blame her

why are people stalking her family? why are people pushing her boundaries? why are people pretending like her very valid and raw critique of how she's been treated since she went uber-viral are actually her "showing her true colors" and being "unappreciative" for what she chose to do for a living? like she stated in her videos, you don't know her. she doesn't know you. it is not normal to pretend like you do and to interact with her like you do. tiktok has made this parasocial relationship with celebrities worse than i ever could've imagined and we are seeing the darker side of it with chappel roan right now because she is being vocal about it. it's overwhelming. it's very abnormal. and it should be discussed more.

these people don't owe you anything. it's one thing to be ungrateful for what fans have given you. its another thing to feel like you are living in a fish bowl because people are treating you like a commodity instead of a living, breathing human being. i'm all for more celebrities drawing a harsh line in the sand when it comes to their personal life and their public persona. you are not obligated to their time no matter how much you feel you are. i cannot imagine becoming a practical overnight-sensation like she has the past summer. i would go absolutely insane on day three. so, why don't people turn on their dome piece and think for two seconds about how irrational and brainless it is to be upset that she "could've said :( things nicer :(" and she needs to be "more :( grateful :( otherwise :( she's not cut out :( for fame :(" liiiiike. no perhaps its you that needs to reevaluate how you treat other human beings depending on if they have the label "celebrity" over their head and go from there!

because what she said is something that's needed to be said for a long, long time regarding celebrity culture i just hate it's happening to her on such a scale that she needed to say it at all.

#grey #chappel roan

121 notes · View notes

bluegiragi · 2 years

Text

hello! i'm gira, i go by she/her, and i've been making fanart for the cod fandom for about four months now :) the majority of that time's been spent on the soapbox saga, which is sort of just what i call the very plot-ridden porn comic featuring ghost, soap and konig. and recently i've been working on the monster 141 au!

i'm here to address the reasoning behind how i assigned certain monsters to certain characters, particularly the POC characters as well as accusations of racism regarding me neglecting gaz in all my art :) whoever you are, if you're reading this in good faith, i thank you! i earnestly never intended to make anyone feel uncomfortable from my work.

The Monster AU

i won't post the blog who brought this issue up mainly because, (realistically speaking) i think people might go after them and spam them with hate so I'm paraphrasing here. but basically..."how come all the POC in the Monster AU are assigned animal-associated monsters? Comparisons to animals can be incredibly demeaning when it comes to minorities".

I completely agree! But earnestly, I think my desire to assign every character a 'monster' that was relevant to their culture overshadowed the part of my brain that would've raised red flags about this sort of thing. There's the argument here that I could've assigned these characters cooler monsters such as Price who is a dragon, and Ghost who is a wraith, but I wanted to be respectful of all the minorities in the COD cast by giving them creatures that reflected their culture and personality.

ALEJANDRO - NAGUAL

In the Monster AU, Alejandro is a nagual, which is considered a guardian spirit in Mesoamerican culture. Typically, it's said that the nagual is the shapeshifted form that powerful men can transform into in order to do evil (although that doesn't apply in this case, Ale's a heroic lad), and can come in the forms of a jaguar, deer, dog or bird. I chose a jaguar, since it seemed to be the most common form of nagual depiction in the resources I was looking at. The 'panther mode' isn't pre-established as part of nagual mythology, but since most panthers are just black jaguars, i thought the association wouldn't be unreasonable.

I chose Alejandro to be a nagual because it's so in character for him to be protective of his home. The idea of him being a literal guardian spirit for all he considers his just made sense to me :)

RODOLFO (RUDY) - CADEJOS

In this AU, Rudy is the vessel for two cadejos, which are legendary dog spirits popular in the mythology of Central America, parts of South America and Mexico. Historically, they've been known as psychopomps (guides to help humans into the afterlife following their death) but modern interpretation has shifted to depict them as the good guardian dog and the evil attacking dog respectively.

A lot of the minute information about the cadejos tends to differ depending on the source. Like whether they're actually two separate dogs, or they're the same dog just in different 'modes', or how big they are. My personal depiction of them has them sized as normal dogs (although their spirit nature means they can move into small spaces pretty easily by just becoming immaterial temporarily) and as separate spirits that have been passed down through Rudy's family generationally.

I chose the cadejo for Rudy because although I wanted to include him in the Monster AU, i still liked keeping him as a character who was a bit more 'human' than Alejandro. I think Ale needs Rudy to hold him back sometimes, and having the two cadejo definitely helps with that. Sort of like how cheetahs in zoos have therapy dogs growing up because they're so anxious all the time! I think it also does a good job of showing Rudy's two sides as well, like he's a softie who just wants to protect those he loves, but he's capable of a lot of violence too.

VALERIA - GORGON

Valeria is a gorgon which, admittedly, is not part of Mexican mythology. However, I was put in a bit of a bind here, since my research didn't really reveal to me a monster in Mexican culture that I thought would suit Valeria's vibe (manipulative, elulsive) and I just felt like a gorgon would be perfect for her. Medusa's myth has her being continuously demeaned by the men in her life and is a symbol of female empowerment, which I thought was a great reflection of the implied reason that Valeria left the army was due to internal sexism. There's also the perfect parallel of how anyone who sees El Sin Nombre's face dies, and Medusa's whole 'turn you to stone' thing.

I thought i could compromise by making Valeria a gorgon but her hair would be Mexican black kingsnakes but...turns out they're actually not that dangerous. Some people even keep them as pets! So I decided to keep the visual, but make her a pit viper, a subfamily of vipers found in the Americas as well as Eurasia.

HORANGI - HAETAE

Horangi is a haetae (해태) which is a beast in Korean mythology that typically comes in the form of a horned lion or dog. It's prevalent in a lot of cultures in East Asia actually, although it goes under different names depending on the region - kaichi for Japan, xiezhi for China. I made Horangi a tiger variant on the creature because...well...'horangi' means 'tiger' in korean. It just made sense to me to put that little twist on it.

Typically, haetae are seen as spirits of judgement, that decide on innocent and guilty parties in disputes and punish the latter. It's also considered a guardian against fire (hence the fire immunity and cloud manipulation powers I gave him).

GAZ - HARPY

Gaz is a harpy which, I won't lie, was purely inspired by the fact that he seems to keep falling out of helicopters. But it's also because...yeah, I did neglect Gaz in the soapbox saga. But I think I neglected...everyone in the soapbox saga who weren't directly involved in the main ship. I sort of just tunnel visioned on the main three, so my exclusion of characters isn't just limited to Gaz, it was included Price, Laswell, Alejandro, Rudy, Graves etc.

I just want to make clear that my treatment of Gaz in particular isn't reflective of any inner preference against him. And to make good on that, me assigning Gaz wings of all things was to help me spend more time on him in the Monster AU! I think the contrast between Gaz being an upstart harpy, and Price being a one-winged dragon has a lot of potential as a mentor/protege relationship (and perhaps even something more) and it's why I assigned this monster to him. I really wanted to establish a connection upfront, but just making Gaz another dragon felt cheap - the harpy thing felt a little more in turn with his character :)

I really hope this cleared up any remaining frustrations with my designs for the Monster AU. I hope you can see that I never meant anything demeaning by assigning these monsters to their respective characters - in fact, I earnestly tried to go out of my way and be respectful to their backgrounds.

In any case, if you have any more questions I'd be happy to answer them - I'd just ask you to please ask politely :)

#gira speaks #monster 141 au

2K notes · View notes

safination · 5 months

Text

Partners in Death...And Life

Part 5: Glimpse of Me and You: Part i

|Part 4: The Radio Stars' Co-Host Just Wants To Do The Dishes| |Part 5: Gimpse of me and you: Part ii| |Masterlist| Ao3| Taglist| Pairings: Alastor x wife! Reader Tags: fem!reader, established relationships, Asexual! Alastor, Reader is in hell for a reason Warning: Blood and dead bodies <3| A little bit suggestive Series summary: After a seven-year absence, you find the man you were married to in life, not only back in town, but also helping...*checks notes*... the Princess of Hell run a hotel aimed at rehabilitating sinners who were sent to the bad place for a reason. Now, I know what you must be thinking. Part 1? Yeah…this chapter is supposed to actually be much longer, but the second part of the fic isn’t complete yet and I have like two more exams. And biochemistry isn’t something to laugh about. I am slowly losing my mind. I close my eyes and I see aldehydes and hemiketals. Anyway, part two of this will be posted in like two or three days. It’s already drafted, just need to edit it. So here’s a bite size chapter. It contains marriage years 1930 and 1931. 1932 isn't complete yet, sadly. It was quite long, so part 2 will just be 1932.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

1930

That blasted car is too far.

With each step, the tip of your heels scrape the pavement. Shoe maintenance tells you that dragging the rubber tip shortens its lifespan, but your toes pinch when you lift your shoe. Alastor takes long strides, walking with the pace of a man with his ass on fire. Pick a struggle. One either walks fast but takes short strides, or walks slow but takes long strides. It’s unethical to have both.

Streetlamps illuminate the sidewalk. The dried leaves scattered around catch on your shoe, and the city’s smog particles stick on your skin.

The city sucks ass.

Alastor will have to drag you by the hair to force you to take another step on this cockroach infested streets. One taste of that fresh air surrounding your shared home, and suddenly, you’ve gone soft. Gone are the days where second-hand smoke reminded you of home. Now, home is the radio’s volume turned up in ungodly hours.

Alastor tightens his arm around yours, pulling you closer to him.

He’s wearing his favorite bowtie tonight. Everything from the shine of his shoes to the way he combed his hair screams fancy…except for that bowtie. It’s not something meant for exquisite dinners with your wife. You didn’t understand his instance. It was something you picked up on your way home one day, a measly scrap of fabric you purchased back when you didn’t know what good quality bow ties were. Alastor should know of its poor quality, yet he calls it his favorite.

Alastor lowers closer to your ear. “Is this your way of telling me you wish to visit the city’s zoo?”

“Zoo…?” you echo. These shoes are going straight in the garbage bin once you get home. “Why would I want to go there?”

Alastor presses a kiss on your cheek. “I thought you were doing a penguin impression. It's a rather fabulous one, might I add.”

“Ha…Ha…Ha. It’s because I’m walking like a penguin. Not your best one, dearest,” you say, patting his biceps. They’re firmer than they look. “That’s a little bit on the nose. Is it an off night for you?”

“Your feet are hurting,” Alastor tells you like you don’t feel the way your toes slowly lose blood circulation. “I wonder…. Will you deny it? Or are you willing to humble yourself before me, and ask for a seat? There’s still a few more blocks until we reach the car.”

Now, there’s absolutely no way you are going to tell Alastor how your feet pinch and your ankle wobble. With a bright smile, and sheer acting, you continue walking. “Did you do this on purpose?”

Alastor raises his eyebrows. “You were the one who insisted on accompanying me.”

“Well, my feet feel perfectly normal,” you say as your toes buzz. “This is nothing. You should see how long I’m on my feet during work.”

“Yes, because that is a perfectly acceptable thing to happen in workplaces, dearest.” Alastor tightens his arm once more. His thumb brushes up and down your arm. “I would say it pains me to say this, but we both know that would be a lie. I told you so.”

“You did not, actually,” you say, shaking your foot to dislodge the leaves sticking to the bottom of your shoe. “You barely took one glance and said, ‘Those look lovely, dear!’.”

Alastor pauses his steps, and turns to you with a smile. The night does little to dull how bright his brown eyes shine like stardust to you.

He reaches out towards you, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. He tugs on your ear, and you slap his hand away. Alastor massages his hand. “That hurt, you know,” he says. “But I meant about waiting. You should still be enjoying your drink.”

“And leaves my dearest, darling husband out here? Alone?” you snort, pulling him to continue walking. “I think I remember someone telling me that thieves don’t dissolve in the sun. Imagine them in the dark!”

“And what would be your plan if we both get robbed?”

You show Alastor your biggest smile. “It’s a good thing I have such a big and scary husband to protect me …. .You…You would protect me, right?”

Alastor’s laughter rings across the air. It’s breathy and light and absolutely everything to you.

Alastor grabs your hand and intertwine his fingers around yours. He leads you further into the streets. Soon, smooth pavements replace the pot holes. Leaves replace the scattered beer cans. Grass replace the asphalt roads. Treen replace the buildings. Alastor pulls you deeper into some tiny park where the streetlamps are brighter, and the air smells closer to home.

You follow him, squeezing his hand.

Alastor squeezes back.

At the corner of this park, a children’s playground stands.

The dark does little to dull the bright colors of the seesaw and monkey bars. In the middle, a pirate-shim themed deck connects to a slide. The swing sways lazily with the nudge of the night’s breeze. There’s not a single living soul except for you and him. It’s eerie to see such a place empty when it should be filled to the brim with the life of children’s laughter.

Alastor’s strides become longer, and his pace even faster as he pulls you closer to the playground’s swing.

He releases his grip, and suddenly, your hand belongs to you once more. Alastor brushes the sand off the swing, and offers you a seat with a bow and outstretched arms.

You take the seat. The pressure lifts from your buzzing toes. It’s almost heavenly.

Alastor slides his coat off his shoulders. With soft giggles and a stupid smile, you watch him pull his arm out. Sleeve garters are worn for practical uses, but as a fashion piece….Hmmm, it’s a great look on him. It’s a shame Alastor often hides how those garters compliment his biceps with a coat. How long would it take to hide every single coat he owns?

Alastor slides his eyes to you. It lingers. “Stop that.”

You offer him your most innocent smile as a reply.

Alastor inches close enough for you to inhale his scent. He drapes his coat over your shoulders, pulling on the lapels to secure it around your shoulders.

You press your lips on the corner of his mouth. “Thank you.”

Alastor kneels on the ground. He pulls your ankle towards him, sliding off your heel. “That’s all you’re going to say?”

You kiss his cheek. “Was there something else I needed to say?” you ask. “That seemed like a proper response.”

He glides his thumb over the reddened parts of your skin, massaging your foot. “Exactly….It was a proper response,” he tells you. “Aren’t you going to question me? Demand to know if I’m going to kill you?”

“I think what you’re doing is rather obvious.”

Alastor stores your shoes to the side, and leaves your feet hanging out in the air. He circles behind you, hovering close enough to feel his presence, even with the coat. He wraps his hands around the metal chain connected to the swing, and sways you back and forth. “Did you enjoy the restaurant? A co-worker recommended it to me.”

“And in the off chance I don’t, will I be seeing that co-worker lying in the middle of our basement?”

Alastor smiles at you. “That depends,” he says. “Did you enjoy yourself?”

You tilt your head backwards to catch his eyes. “Is this a trick question? Am I supposed to say that nothing can compare to your cooking, or something along those lines?”

Alastor shakes the chains, jerking the swing. “You’re supposed to give me an actual answer,” he says, rolling his eyes. “We can come back if you liked it.”

You lean on Alastor’s leg, using it as a backrest. “Every meal is enjoyable when I am in your company, my love” you say. “But that crab was something else. It looked expensive.…We’re, uh, not suddenly going to become poor, right?”

Alastor stares at you. “I’m going to push you off.”

You wrap your hands around Alastor’s, keeping his hold around the chains firm. “What did I do this time?”

Alastor sighs, and swings you gently. “I can afford nice dinners with you.”

“Just me?”

“Only you.”

Alastor pulls you to your feet. Sand pools around your toes. You pull his coat closer around your shoulders as he drags you closer to the pirate-ship themed deck. He releases his hold on your hand, and your fingers brush against each other.

He walks to the platform. The entrance was made for children, so Alastor has to crawl and duck underneath to access the slide.

You fiddle with the lapels of his coat. “What are you doing?”

Alastor glances back at you, smiling as he crawls underneath the entrance. His ass sticks out when he does. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

“If your ass gets stuck,” you begin, crossing your arms, “I’m going to leave you here.”

Alastor rolls his eyes, shimmying further into the entrance. “How lucky then that it’s, apparently, horrendously flat,” he says. “There’s nothing there to get stuck.”

“There’s nothing horrendous about it,” you say with a smile. “I see you’re wearing the pants I like.”

Alastor snorts. “Oh, shut up.”

“Not a chance.” Your smile twists brighter.

Alastor grabs the railing, and pulls himself up. His biceps contract when he does. Sleeve garters and railing are for practical uses, but the only thing echoing through your mind were impractical uses right now. Un-practical but exciting....You need to get it together.

“…Flirting,” Alastor says, pulling your mind from wherever it wandered off to. “Really?”

“That was hardly flirting, dearest.”

Alastor ducks into the slide. His ass lands on the sand, and he curses into the air. You cough to stifle a laugh.

He hops to his feet, brushing the sand off his pants. His lips twist and his eyebrows furrow as he cringes in pain. “This is a hazard,” he says, glaring at the slide. He turns to you and smiles. “You should try it.”

“How brave of you to risk a shattered tailbone for me,” you say. “But I’m not sliding down that thing when you just called it a hazard.”

“You are an incredibly boring person,” he tells you. “Is it not a fad nowadays to be loose and goofy against these depressing times of economic downfall?”

Your raise your eyebrow.” You want me to crawl up there and slide down in this outfit?”

Alastor leans on the side of the slide. “I don’t see any good reason not to.”

“If you wish to ogle my undergarments, there’s no need to concoct such a scheme,” you say, smiling at him. “You merely need to ask.”

Alastor’s lips twist. “I’m not—”

“Oh, calm down, I’m just pulling your leg,” you say, snorting. “You would need to think of someone besides yourself to do such a thing. So, there’s no need to get your perfect little head into such a fuss.”

“Stop it.”

You smile innocently. “No.”

Alastor walks closer to you. “And you wonder why no one wanted to play with you as a child.”

You take steps to walk closer to him as well, meeting him halfway. “Everyone wanted to play with me,” you say. “I’ll have you know that I was quite the delight.”

You stand before each other, inches apart.

Alastor stares at you. What do those eyes tell him as he watches you stand before him, buried into his coat? He leans closer to you. “I doubt that.”

You take a step closer and slide your arms around him to bury yourself into his hold.

“How rude,” you say with a smile. You look up at him to hold his gaze, propping your chin on his chest. His arms tighten around your back. “I was such a delightful child that I would have played with you, even when no other kid wanted to do so.”

Alastor leans down, pecking your lips. You inch upwards to chase his lips, but self-control takes over. “You are and always will be a nerd,” he says. “You were probably the type to read during the afternoon.”

You tighten your hug on him. “What an incredible assumption to make.”

Alastor places a hand on your head. “Am I wrong?”

“I’m not telling you that,” you say, leaning your head into his chest.

Alastor pulls away from the hug, grabbing your hand to drag you to the monkey bars.

He climbs to the very top, and swings his legs to sit between the bars. He offers his hand, and you take it. His thumb brushes over your fingers and you climb up the steps and onto the bars. It’s difficult to maneuver with such a fancy outfit. Alastor keeps a steady hand on you, and the other goes on your waist as you slide to sit next to him.

The whole playground can be seen from the top of the monkey bars.

“If you weren’t a nerd,” Alastor begins, bumping your shoulder with his, “then you were probably a bully.”

You grip the bar, leaning back to stare. His hair brushes over his eyes. Alastor runs a hand over the strands to push it back. You reach out and push his glasses up his nose. “What makes you say that?”

Alastor boops your nose. “You’re a pretty little thing who works in healthcare. Isn’t there a stereotype for that?”

You blink at him a bit dumbly, cheeks flushed and tingling. Heat trails up your skin, and you have to turn away to hide from his gaze. “You think I’m pretty?” you ask rather idiotically. Deep breaths are needed to calm yourself. “Look…look who’s flirting now.”

Alastor hooks his legs on the bar, and swings backwards. He hangs in the air, the force of his legs the only thing keeping him from falling.

“Don’t do that,” you say, hissing. “You could break your neck.”

Alastor catches your eye with a wild smile. “I won’t.”

“And I’ll be sure to tell that to my next husband as we’re spending all your money,” you tell him. “Now get down from there before you make me a widow!”

Alastor releases his legs from the bar, and his body smacks on the ground. He lies motionless on the sand.

With a sigh, you carefully climb down the monkey bars. You nudge Alastor’s bicep with your foot when you reach him. “You’re not fooling anyone.”

Silence.

You fold the skirt of your dress, and sit across him. You slam your head onto him, using his chest as a pillow.

“Oof!” Alastor curls into you a bit, eyes twitching. He drapes an arm over your stomach, and draws spirals with his finger.

“I think we could have been friends when we were children,” you say, smiling as you feel the way his chest rises up and down with each breath he takes.

Alastor studies the sky. There are no stars to look at here in the city. It’s covered by the lights and the smog. “We wouldn’t. I probably would have hated you.”

“You—Hate me? Impossible!” you say with a laugh. “You think I’m pretty.”

“Ha. Ha,” he says. “You think you’re so clever.”

You intertwine your fingers with his, tracing the ring on his finger. “Sadly, I think I’ll have to agree,” you say. “I probably would have hated you as well.”

“I’m impossible to hate.”

“I'm sure I, of all people, could find a way,” you say with a smile. “Kids can be mean. And you were probably a really weird one.”

Alastor raises his hand to the air, studying his ring against the dark sky. You do the same. Both rings shimmer in the night. “Yet…,” he starts, “here we are, married.”

“I can’t believe we actually got married.”

“I can.”

“Is this where you’ll tell me all about how you fell in love with me at first sight?” your snort. “That my smile and incredible stitching told you I was the woman you were going to wash dishes with for the rest of your life.”

Alastor laughs and his chest rises and falls. “Well, it wasn't flirting.”

“I did not flirt with you.”

“You did.”

“I didn’t.”

“On our third meeting, you told me we walked to the wrong house, just to spend four hours with me in the rain,” Alastor says, and you see the smile creeping on his lips. “You were so entrapped by my very being that you couldn’t bear to spend another second without me. You looked like you wanted to kis—”

You slam your head down into his chest. “Oh, shut up.”

Alastor glances at you. “Not a chance.”

“Okay then, well I remember two people underneath that umbrella,” you say with a huff. “You accepted my invitation.”

“I did,” he says. “Although, I had the excuse of needing to gather information on such a suspicious person. That was purely professional.”

“And you decided that an additional four hours of walking was necessary,” you say. “You could have stopped entertaining me in the first hour or even the second, but you spent all four hours getting your shoulders wet.”

“I did, indeed.”

Laughter rings into the air. With each and every of Alastor’s laugh, your head bounces up and down. You bury your face deeper into his chest, laughing against it.

“We’ve been married for more than a year,” you say. “How has it been for you?”

“Nothing much has changed, surprisingly,” Alastor says, shrugging his shoulders. “The only thing that’s different is I get to say the most ridiculous thing like how completing it is to be able to just exist with you.”

You take his hand, bringing it closer to your mouth to brush a soft kiss. “There’s nothing ridiculous about it, my love. I enjoy how completing it is to be able to just exist when you are with me,” you say, and Alastor caresses your cheek, trailing the back of his fingers down your skin. “Shall we head home?”

There’s a brightness in Alastor’s eyes when he smiles. “Not yet,” he says. “Let’s stay like this for a moment.”

Maybe the city isn’t so awful. Alastor could ask you to stay in this park forever, and you would happily breathe in the smog. Later, you will have to stand and grab your shoes, and finally head home to prepare for the next day. But that’s later. This is now.

You giggle against his chest. “You think I’m pretty.”

Alastor groans, placing a hand over his eyes.

There will be a lifetime of moments like this waiting for you in a world where you both just exist.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

1931

The needle pierces through the fabric. You tug on it, pulling the blue thread up and then around to create a simple back stitch. The cat’s outline pieces together. Later, you’ll fill the cloth with grass and flowers, and a little butterfly to give the cat a friend. Should you gift this to Alastor? Well, either way, he’ll find a way to display it around the house sooner or later.

The radio crackles, and music fades into the background.

Soft taps sound on the speaker. “Before I leave for the night,” Alastor’s voice rings from the radio, “I would like to call any attention to any wives out there, especially the one married to me.”

It doesn’t matter that Alastor is all the way at work, miles away, you still roll your eyes at him…but you turn the volume up, listening closely to what he has to say.

“I know my voice can get, oh, so, entrapping,” he says, and you swear you can hear him smile. “Thus, this is a gentle encouragement to complete any tasks you are putting off. For example, you could take out the trash like what was agreed upon.”

You glare at the radio, flicking its wood. “Oh, I hate you,” you mutter. “I hate you so much.”

“Now, now, dearest, we both know that is a lie,” Alastor says. “Don’t wait up!”

The music fades back in, and the broadcast ends for the night.

He likes to think he’s so clever. Let’s see how clever he’ll be when you kill him in his sleep. It will be easy, barely an inconvenience. You’ll drop a pillow right over that handsome face of his, and laugh as he chokes on his own ego.

However,…with a sigh…you take out the trash…like what was agreed upon.

The air is cold at this time of night. The moon looks beautiful tonight, it’s light illuminating the garden. It would be a shame to waste such a breathtaking sight. A part of you wishes to share this with Alastor, that he could be here, right now, and stare at the moon next to you. And the two of you will exist in each other’s company.

You grab the unfinished art piece, and continue on the rocking chair, stitching and listening to the crickets.

It takes hours of stitching and sore fingers, but Alastor’s car finally pulls up the driveway. The engine dies, and he hops out of the car, circling to the trunk and popping it open.

You drop your things, and take a seat on the porch steps to watch him, the moon no longer being the most breathtaking sight.

Alastor’s still wearing his favorite bowtie. It’s too dark to see clearly, but you think he’s pulling out a body from the car’s trunk. He grabs the straps of the obviously filled cadaver bag, letting it drag across the floor.

A good wife would help their husbands carry a very heavy and very dead body. But…if it means being able to sit and stare at your husband hauling a very, very dead person, then maybe, being a good wife is overrated.

Alastor pauses when he sees you, dropping the straps of the cadaver bag. “What are—Is something wrong?”

You smile at the urgency in his voice. “No, not one bit,” you say, leaning on your head on your hand. “Don’t stop on my account.”

“You should be in bed,” he says, crossing his arms. “I told you not to wait for me.”

Your huff, blowing strands of your hair off your face. “Did you? This is the first I’m hearing of this.”

“I did,” Alastor tells you. “Did you not catch tonight’s broadcast?”

“It was a rather busy day. I had things to do, people to see, and all that.”

Even in the dark, you see the way Alastor’s grin widens. He steps towards the garbage bin, opening the lid to check its content. “You are such a horrible liar,” he says, snorting. “I see you got my message.”

Alastor steps into the light.

Part of his hair slicks back. It’s different from its usually neat look. His sleeves are pulled up, folded until his elbow. There are several red stains on him. It’s on his hair, stains his clothes, and paints his face. His eyes have never looked so brown before. How does Alastor manage to make murder…into…into…. You clear your throat a bit, already counting the day until the next time he goes on his hunts.

“Why, hello there, stranger,” you say, not bothering to fight the smile on your lips. “It’s rather cold tonight. Would you mind keeping a lady company?”

Alastor rolls his eyes, brushing back his hair. “I’m a mess.”

“Red’s a great look,” you say. “The seat next to me is empty.”

“Flirting, really?” he says, but he sits next to you. “You’re getting shameless these days.”

You press your lips on his cheek. “For you?” Another kiss. “Always.”

Alastor takes off his coat. The fabric pools around his broad shoulders and down his back before he pulls out his arms. He throws it at your face, smacking you with it. “I hope you don’t go around saying stuff like that to every man you see,” he says, smiling at you. “I might get jealous.”

You peel off his coat from your face, wrapping it around your shoulders. “Only the one married to me,” you tell him. “You should see how I flirt with my husband.”

Alastor props an arm on the steps, leaning back to meet your eyes. “How disappointing to hear you’re married.”

“Don’t be! This current one won’t be alive for very long, so there’s going to be an open spot,” you say, waving your hands. “Are you interested in taking his place? I hope you are—you’re much more handsome than he is.”

Alastor flicks your nose. “Funny.”

You rub your nose a bit. “So…,” you begin, propping your legs across Alastor’s lap, “what is a charming thing like you doing in these woods?”

A strong breeze sways his hair into his eyes. Alastor pushes the strands away, smiling at you like he always does. “What an honor it is to be called charming by you.”

“Oh, not just charming!” you say, clutching your heart as you swoon. “Has anyone ever told you how handsome you are?”

Alastor laughs, and his glasses slide down his nose. You push it up for him. “Not nearly enough,” he says. “Maybe I should take your husband’s open spot, afterall. My wife never compliments me as much as you do.”

He traces circles on the skin of your legs. You give him a little kick for what he said. “Maybe she would say it more if your ego didn’t inflate every time,” you say. “I would go as far as to say she’s doing God’s work by keeping you humble.”

Alastor pushes your legs off his lap.

He reaches into his pocket and takes out his handkerchief. Your eyes catch on the little design embroidered on the fabric. “Since you insist on keeping me here, you should at least help clean me up,” he says, offering the cloth to you. “I would do it myself, but there’s no mirror here.”

“Why clean such a masterpiece?” you say, but accept the handkerchief anyway. “May I?”

Alastor nods, inching close enough for the smell of rusted copper and iron to hit your nose. Intoxicating. It was just plainly and simply…divine. Like a rose that fell straight from heaven’s garden.

You wipe blood off his face. Some of the streaks had already dried. There’s a stubborn spot right on his jaw. You brush the back of your fingers down his cheek, trailing it down until you hook it right under his chin.

How does your face look right now for Alastor to stare at you with wide eyes?

The smudge line of blood that paints his jaw isn’t clearing. It’s too dry. You inch your face closer, brushing your nose on his skin as you inhale the dangerous combination of Alastor mixing with the strong undertones of iron. Soft exhales land on his skin. Your lips part, giving way to moisten that dried spot with your tongue, trailing it up his jaw.

The hints of metal tingle against your tongue. It was sweet and salty, and it combined with Alastor to create something akin to aged fine wine. But not even the most expensive wine could be as intoxicating as this.

Alastor grabs your face, pulling you to meet his eyes. He squishes your cheeks. “That’s unsanitary!” he says, hissing. “You don’t know what type of bacteria mixed in it.”

You pull your face away from his hold, giving him your most innocent smile.

Hopping to your feet, you circle around the dead body that lies in a very dead position on the ground. You kneel, heart thumping, and pull the zipper down.

“Oh…,” you say, taking in the violence this man experienced, “…wow.”

Alastor was not kind to this man, for this one died screaming.

Alastor leans his arms on his knees, smiling at you. “ I got a little carried away,” he says. “Will you still be able to use him?”

“I think he’ll agree that got more than a little carried away,” you say, snorting as you zip the body back into its bag. “Shall I fetch the bone saw?”

“It’s that bad?”

You walk over to where Alastor sits on the steps, climbing to hover on top of him. The only thing keeping you from crashing down on his chest are the way your hands grip the wood behind him. Inches of space separate your bodies. How far will Alastor entertain you?

You smile down at him, trapping him on the steps between your arms. “I can have this one in pieces by sunrise,” you say, voice barely a whisper. “You can grab the spare, and we can call it a date.”

Alastor tilts his chin up to meet your eyes as he smiles at you. “And tell me,” he begins, voice just as soft as yours. He settles his hands on your waist to steady you above him, “how do you plan on achieving his?”

You trace his shoulder, trailing your fingers up his clavicle bone. “It’s like cutting a chicken,” you say. “All I need to do is take my knife and pound the edge across the joints to disconnect his limbs in one swift motion. Smaller pieces would require the saw.”

Alastor pushes himself upwards, and presses a kiss on your cheek. “And you would spend all night cutting this man for me?”

You hum with delight. “Only for you.”

Alastor tugs your waist, and you come crashing on top of him. You curse as your hands slip, and your face lands on his chest. Alastor hugs you, his laughter ringing in the air, breathy and light and so full of delight. “You are the most ridiculous person to be able to exist with.”

You laugh, accepting how Alastor is the one doing the trapping now. “I’m honored you think so.”

“I think that was the most romantic thing I have ever heard in my life,” he says. “I think I could kiss you right now.”

“Don’t let your wife catch you saying that.” You snake your arms around Alastor’s back, tightening the hug he shares with you. “I hear she gets extremely jealous, and it’s never a smart idea to cross a woman who owns a bone saw.”

Alastor’s back digs into the edges of the porch steps. If your added weight lodges the wood deeper into his back, then he makes no complaints. “That’s truly an idiotic thing to do.”

You press yourself deeper into his hold. It’s quite ridiculous. Hugging you on top of the steps must be uncomfortable, but Alastor does so anyway.

In the end, it’s you who pulls away first, but only to save him from an aching back.

Grasping the steps, you climb higher and press your lips on his forehead. You take the seat next to him. Alastor reaches for you, adjusting his coat around your shoulders to secure you from the night’s cold breeze.

“Bad day at work?” you say, leaning your head on his shoulder.

Alastor leans his head on top of yours. “I’m better now.”

You press deeper into him, laughing against his dress shirt. It’s stained with blood, but you don’t mind. “So, tell me, who is this unfortunate fellow that was on the receiving end of your stress,” you say. “And should I be jealous?”

“I don’t know if I should answer that—Do you happen to own a bone saw?”

You swat his arm, rolling your eyes as you do.

Alastor presses his body closer against yours. “I would love to hear you guess.”

“Hmmm….Well, this is Larry, and he comes from humble beginnings,” you tell him. “He’s a self-made man who met this pretty little thing.”

Alastor takes your hand, thumbing the ring on your finger. “You’re getting better at this.”

There are too many stains on Alastor’s shirt. It’s beyond saving. You’ll have to burn his whole outfit. “Larry met this most darling belle. They were happy until tragedy struck.”

Alastor pulls off his gloves, intertwining his bare fingers with yours. “I do love a tragedy.”

“They fell in love.”

“That’s not tragic,” he says, snorting.

“Then you are a fool, dearest. Love can kill in a way no one has ever been able to describe. Not even the greatest poets can describe the true depths of loss,” you tell him, squeezing his hand. “Homes have been burned in its name.”

Alastor kisses your cheek. “And how did Larry suffer?”

“His darling got taken away from him, in more ways than one,” you say. “Even on her deathbed, she could not recognize him.”

Alastor clutches his heart. “How truly heartbreak!”

You glance up at Alastor. He’s looking at the moon. “Yet, here you are smiling.”

“That’s because you are the most fantastic story teller.”

You pull away to stand, and your fingers brush as it slips out of his.

The porch stairs creak with every step. You reach for the radio on the windowsill, turning the knob until a faint click. Alastor’s lips twist when you change his pre-set station for softer melodies. That man and his radios—Always so particular.

You offer a hand to Alastor, giving him a small bow. “Dance with me?”

“I’m not exactly dressed for the occasion,” Alastor tells you, yet he takes your hand in his.

“There’s no need to worry about such trifling things,” you say. “I think you look divine, like a rose straight from heaven made just for me.”

Alastor wraps his hand around your own, and settles the other on your waist. Dancing can barely describe what you’re doing, not when the both of you only had the energy to sway to the music. But nevertheless, Alastor takes the lead on this dance.

He raises his arm, twirling you underneath. Your eyes lock together when you face him. “Hi.”

You smile at him. “Hi.”

“I’ve been wondering…How did you know work was stressing me?” he says, as you dance to the radio’s music. “Why say work specifically?”

You tilt your head, motioning to the window behind you. “That radio over there,” you say. “The one you keep by your chair. You were listening to it this morning when I gave you coffee.”

You hum the lyrics of the song that plays on the radio. It’s quite nice. Maybe you’ll ask Alastor to play it during his broadcast as a dedication to you. But knowing him, he’ll take this opportunity to become a nuisance made for you, and find something to poke fun about.

His eyebrows furrow. “I don’t understand.”

“You listen to that specific radio when you’re happy,” you say. Those brown eyes of his shift to you. In your most humble opinion, they shine brighter than the stars. “You were fine when you left but somewhere between leaving and coming home to me, your mood turned sour.”

Alastor presses a kiss on your fingers, brushing his lips over your skin with each word. “I would love to hear more about this.”

“The one in the kitchen, that’s for when you’re tired,” you say, chuckling. “The one in the office is for when you’re bored. You listen to the one on our nightstand when you’re thinking or upset.”

“Then what about the radio in the basement?” he asks with a smile that could rival the moon. “Tell me when I listen to that one.”

“That one is for me. You leave it there so I have something to keep me company,” you say. “The saxophone, on the other hand, is for when you’re frustrated.”

“And now, you’re just a master of what I’m feeling.”

“Not at all,” you say with a shrug. “I don’t know how you feel right now.”

Alastor inches closer, leaning down to meet your eyes. “Would you like to know?”

“Sure.”

Alastor places a hand on your cheek, caressing you with his thumb. You lean into how gently he traces your face. He leans closer, nudging his nose against your own. Alastor brushes his lips over you, and the cracks on his lip prick you. Why he decided to torture you with soft touches and hovering inches away exceeds your understanding.

The strong scent of copper and iron on his skin intoxicate every molecule that makes up your body. He’s unfair. Too unfair of him to hold such power over you. Alastor would love to know how he makes your skin buzz with each and every glance of those too brown eyes that shine brighter than starlight. This is a fact you will take to your grave.

Your eyes flutter to a close. Alastor decides to show you mercy, finally kissing your lips.

Open!

The demand drums across your mind.

Your eyelids stay shut as you kiss him back. The need to look at Alastor’s too brown eyes shout at you. What face is Alastor making right now? How does he look? What do those eyes see?

But he kisses you gently. Oh…so…gently. Alastor kisses you like he had something to say. There are words being whispered across your skin as your lips move together. His thumb brushes your skin, and you can’t open your eyes.

Kissing him makes you wish you spent your youth studying poems and soft metaphors instead of the role of hexokinase in turning Glucose into Glucose-6-phosphate. This wish comes suddenly and out of nowhere. Not once have you ever wished for a different pursuit. But you would forfeit all your knowledge to be able to describe the way Alastor’s lips strike you to your very soul.

That thought disappears quickly, mind too preoccupied with the overwhelming sensation of soft lips placing kiss after kiss. The arm around your waist pulls you close, your body pressing against his own as if it was the most natural thing to place you there, as if the Seraphim creating your bodies carved you to belong.

Alastor pulls away with a soft smile.

It takes every ounce of your self-control not to chase after his lips and pull him back to you. Heat flushes your face. You can’t find the strength to open your eyes, not with how much he makes your cheeks tingle.

“You’ve been observing me.” Alastor brushes your eyelids with his thumb. “Open your eyes.”

Your eyes flutter, heeding to his demand. There it is, your favorite sight looking straight at you, holding a beauty that the moon cannot compete against—his eyes. “Hi.”

Alastor’s smile widens. “Hi.”

There are words that bubble on your lips. Words that are begging to be said. Three words that could very well make this man run when he understands just how deep those words mean for him.

And there it is again, that wish to become a poet because those three words can never truly describe what is imprinted on your soul’s very essence. Those three words are not enough for a man who deserves poems full of soft metaphors and sweet analogies.

“That’s because I…I…,” you trail off, hiding your face in his chest. “I think that’s just called marriage, and I always was weak to such radiant beauty.”

Coward…You are a coward.

That’s okay.

You don’t mind the word being shouted to you by your heart, not when it means you can guard it with walls.

It’s okay to be a coward, because it means there will always be a tomorrow. There will always be another chance, another moment, another day to be brave. Another tomorrow. Another next week. Another next month. Another next year.

There’s no need to tell Alastor the word your soul desperately wants him to understand. Not right now, at least.

Not when the evidence is already there: You and him.

There will be a lifetime of moments like this waiting for you in a world where you are his.

Next Part: |Glimpse of Me and You: Part 2| Don't be shy to talk to me. I don't bite at all! I would love to hear your thoughts on the chapter. And all comments really motivate me to work <3. 1932 will be posted in a few days. 1933 on the other hand….Well, let’s just say that such a grand year needs its own chapter. As I was writing this, I kept going back to the idea that Reader can flirt, but can't handle being flirted back. It was too funny not to add. And like I swear heart appears in my eyes, as well as Reaader's eyes everytime Alastor does anything just slightly unhinged. That too was too funny not to add. Taglist: @mybrainautocorrect @ray-rook @teavibesaf @valentique @qardasngan @alastorssimp @aestheticgals-blog @slaggylemon @reikamasama @obessivlyonline @okay-babe @lyralibra @holymusicalmothman @amoraneuro @tobyisher3

#alastor #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #alastor the radio demon #alastor x wife!reader #alastor x you #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel x you #hazbin imagines #alastor x wife reader #human alastor #hazbin alastor x reader #alastor hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel headcanons #hazbin hotel headcanon #hazbin hotel fanfiction #Hazbin Hotel #hazbin hotel imagines

170 notes · View notes

m1ssunderstanding · 7 months

Text

Understanding Lennon McCartney Rewatch Part 1.2

George: We don't have to keep [an image] up, we just remain ourselves. Don't we, Ringo? Ringo: well, we do, I mean, it's the other two we're worried about. It's a joke about John and Paul being bigheads, but a crazy person – definitely not me – could also see it other ways if they wanted to.

Paul talking about their mutual friend when asked how they met and John telling him not to complicate it. They're so married it's ridiculous.

Always looking at each other with every single joke.

He looks like he's in a lovely enclosure at the petting zoo. I've always been so confused by this footage. Can anyone tell me what the hell is going on?

I LOVE that we now know Paul was cast as Thisbe and John as Pyramus and then they switched. I'm actually dying to know how and why that happened though. My first instinct was “of course. Paul was scared he'd look too convincing as a woman, so John did it for him.” But no. Paul dressed as a woman at the cavern, wore ladies lingerie in Hamburg, and wanted to do a full drag show on TV in the early seventies. So why not Thisbe?

Why do you as a man randomly bring up the color of your friend's dick while staring lovingly into his eyes?

It must be noted. They had a wonderful time playing star-crossed lovers.

The bickering pianos are so cute! And then John (prompting Paul): and John and I . . . Paul: oh I hate this. John: will probably carry on . . . Paul: we'll carry on songwriting . . . You just know Paul didn't hear the end of that one interview answer for a long long time. And it's because John just had to hear it over and over again.

Love the editing so that Paul smacks John's ass right as the symbols crash. 10/10 A+

This iconic moment. Poor George tally number 4.

Interviewer brings up marriage and John takes a shot like he wants to forget that the whole concept even exists. Literally poor Cynthia. And not even in an “lol her husband's gay” type of way. Just in a genuine “the way their relationship fell apart actually breaks my heart because she really did love him and in his way he loved her too but they were just so thoroughly incompatible” type of way.

Paul: makes a stupid dad joke. John: giggles gleefully and kicks his feet

I have never seen someone so disappointed that they didn't need to lend their friend a pen. Paul had his hand in his pocket before John even asked the interviewer for a pen and when the interviewer gives him one, Paul literally hangs his head like he's just been cut from the school play. I just. The obsession is frankly cartoonish. But also, he just needs to be needed, you know? How many songs does he have which conflate being needed and being loved?

The juxtaposition of Paul and John elaborately messing with the interviewer (“yes John Lenard, that's me” and “actually it's done by mirrors.”) vs George's “I don't know” and “yeah.” it's actually kind of mean editing but whatever. It is ULM not UH. Someone should make that though.

Again, John. Calm down. He's not that funny. Just look at Jimmy. That's the normal person's reaction to that joke. John is half the reason Paul has such a big head honestly.

Paul's answer to a question about the Beatles gaining a lot of adult fans is nice. Sometimes he shocks with a bit of wisdom. Sometimes his words don't get messed up at the point they hit his throat as he says.

What the fuck? Okay so the interviewer asks Paul what he likes in a girl, right? I've always been too distracted by Paul saying he likes a sense of humor and John doing an obnoxious fake laugh in the background because John. It's embarrassing how obvious you are. Stop.

But I never noticed Paul actually says “people”. The interviewer asks about girls and he says he likes “people - er - girls” to have a sense of humor. Huh. Okay.

So ULM was actually what made me a serious Beatles fan and this was the first moment where I had to pause it and verify to see if what I'd just read was actually true. It really is a doozy.

How to flirt. A guide by Paul McCartney. Step one: get your crush’s attention. This should be extremely easy. Just gesture vaguely at something you're holding. He'll be interested. Step two: do something suggestive to a phallic object. Step three: that's it. You've got him. He'll do whatever you want.

The editing in this thing truly is brutal. Just the jump cuts from a question about Cynthia to John and Paul making each other laugh to girls screaming to John and Paul unnecessarily touching to girls passed out on the ground to John and Paul desperate for each other's attention to girls waving signs to John and Paul sharing weird eye contact to girls physically mobbing them to John and Paul beaming at each other to a question about Jane. It really does drive home the immense pressure of compulsory heterosexuality back then.

Then a question that's obviously meant to poke a nerve and start some bad feelings. “Paul. Is John the leader of the Beatles?” Easily rebuffed with “no I'm not” and “there's no real leader”. I know I'm dramatic but really it's like every aspect of that society was against them you know? And they just kind of said "fuck you, we're crazy about each other."

Question: what do they think about when they're imprisoned in their hotel rooms? John: we don't think about one thing. *Whips head to look at Paul* well, some of us do. Oh and you know that how exactly? What, do you just have a printout of his every thought? Do you keep constant tabs on his dick?

Someone give me the heterosexual explanation of that moment when John very clearly and obviously checks out and appreciates Paul's ass as he and Ringo are pretending to be cowboys. Seriously. I'm at a loss here.

Poor George tally number six? Seven? They're asked what they'll do if England reinstates the draft. John brings up Southern Ireland. George brings up Germany. Paul and John plan their joint escape to Southern Ireland as if George hadn't even spoken.

The choice to play “Another Girl” over that quote of John's being like ‘Paul's actually much meaner than i am’ is great. Because that's seriously such a jerk song. I don't much like Jane, honestly, but fuck, she deserved so much better than Paul. He was such a douche.

Literally all the song choices in this are phenomenal. “Hide Your Love Away” over the montage of 60s homophobia moments? It's so genius. Saying everything without saying anything. Letting the Beatles do the talking.

The laugh track over the cartoon is honestly so sad. Nobody asked them if they were okay with being mocked like that and they never even made a dime off it. What would that have felt like to know that your being “too close” with your best friend was a running joke on TV?

“It's only love and that is all. Why should I feel the way I do?”

#paul mccartney #the beatles #john lennon #mclennon #ringo starr #george harrison

215 notes · View notes

noroi1000 · 1 year

Text

That Snow Leopard 2

Paring: Snow Leopard Gojo x reader

More tags: Pregnancy, beastman Gojo, little kittens!

Words: 2,5k

A/n: I just read a lot of beastman manhwa and now after that I knew exactly what to do with this one shot.

Part one

As you sat on the chair, you looked at Satoru's head resting on your lap as you stroked the fur on his head.

His tail wagged happily as you talking with your friend.

"He became tame pretty quickly." The brunette said as she sorted the necessary documents on the desk.

"Yes." you replied.

In fact, on the second day he acted like this.

He was so kind and loving.

At least for you.

He was happy when you came home.

You convinced him to at least wear pants when he wanted to be in human form.

You managed to get him to stay with you.

He is with you for research. At least that's how it was recognized. Snow leopards are an endangered species. So he was going to be the research subject, and also, when needed, he'd be the breeding partner.

However, at the zoo, he wouldn't even approach the female and ran to you all the time.

That's why you let him go. Because apparently he didn't want to.

When you asked him why, he said you were his mate.

A snow leopard with a human mind who got a partner for life? This is him...

He was impatient and kept asking you about "kittens".

However, few people get pregnant the first time.

But a month later, your big cat was still next to your belly.

And that's why you're sitting with your friend right now, with your round belly under your shirt and your cat close to you.

Shoko wanted to know who the father of your child is. But you didn't tell her.

You stared into Satoru's blue eyes as he suddenly snuggled against your belly.

You stroked his head more.

"Still won't tell who the father is?" she asked you.

"It's complicated..." you murmured.

"But you're going to give birth soon, right?"

"In a month..."

"You've kept this secret from me for so long. Say finally! If he left you, I'll kill him."

"He didn't leave me."

You were afraid of giving birth. Because you can't go to an ordinary doctor. You can't deliver your own childbirth. Satoru can't either. Because you want to do it in conditions that will keep you comfortable. Besides, Satoru probably doesn't know that.

Would you like Shoko to help you?

Since you are human and Satoru is a snow leopard shapeshifter, your children will not be normal people.

Satoru told you that they will probably have ears and a tail like him in human form.

Therefore, if a doctor saw such a child, it would be bad.

You have two of his kittens in you.

You are afraid of what might happen when people find out about your relationship with him. You keep it a secret from everyone for almost eight months. You control your pregnancy yourself and you are sure that everything is fine.

Because you knew you'd love a big cat more than a human. Especially when it comes to Satoru. If you were thinking logically at that moment, would you take the morning after pill to get rid of the pregnancy. However, you couldn't even think about such a thing. He wanted a mate. He wanted kittens. Why would you take it away from him?

He will never leave you. Because you became his partner forever. You have no turning back. Especially now. Especially after you fell in love with him...

Your Satoru is your cat. Your lover. The father of your children. And your beloved. He is everything to you.

Much more human than humans. He can write, he can read. He can do so much. He loves sweets. That's why he ate your cupcakes.

You couldn't deny him a happy life. Not especially after you woke up with him that night. And he slept with his arms wrapped around you protectively. His eyes stared at yours. And it wasn't the gaze of a predator looking at its prey. It was the gaze of a slightly wild but caring lover.

You fell more in love with him as the months passed. To know now that he is your true love.

His nose happily nuzzled your belly as he continued to cuddle.

"I didn't know males had such an instinct..." the brunette purred as she watched a large cat cuddle up to your bulging belly.

"He's like this..."

"So are you going to tell me who the father is?" she asked.

"Will you give me an ultrasound?"

"Here? Shouldn't you be seeing a gynecologist?"

"I haven't been there since the beginning of my pregnancy."

"Do you..."

"I controlled my pregnancy on my own." You replied quietly.

"Why?"

Her face looked very surprised.

"When you give me an ultrasound, you'll see..."

She sighed and suddenly reached for her gloves and sterilized examination device.

You walked over to the couch and sat there. Satoru followed you, carefully watching your movements.

He was so careful. He always made sure that nothing happened to you and was always by your side. Just to know that you and the kittens are fine.

And suddenly your friend lifted your shirt to get to your belly. She put her hands there. And you heard a growl.

You looked at the bright cat next to you, who was threateningly approaching Shoko, showing her to get away from you.

"Satoru. Satoru its okay. You don't have to worry." You got off the couch and knelt beside him, catching his soft fur around his neck.

His tail wrapped around your leg as he continued to be menacing. Shoko stepped back slowly.

"Satoru, calm down..." You groaned to calm him down.

He was overprotective.... Very overprotective. Because he couldn't help thinking that something might happen to you. You were his mate. And he couldn't let you get hurt. No one can touch his mate.

"Why is he acting like this?" the woman asked, looking at the menacing eyes.

And suddenly she saw the cat turn into a human who crouched down in front of you protectively. His ears on his head are slightly bent backwards. The tail has wrapped around you. You had your arms around his chest.

"Leave my mate, human! Don't touch her or my cubs!"

He was very smart. Like a human. But if it was about you and defending the mate and the kittens, he became aggressive and unpredictable. He wasn't thinking the way he always did. Because then all he thinks about is protecting you.

"Mate? Cubs? (y/n)... You..."

"Listen to me before you say anything!" you said with tears in your eyes.

Your Satoru cuddled you against his chest, letting you find solace. He let you relax as he continued to protect you.

This distinguishes him from others. He protects you and loves you unconditionally!

"This is snow leopard which I took with me. He is no ordinary big cat. He is a beastman. He is a man who can turn into a snow leopard. He's... He is the father of my children..."

She was looking at you seriously.

"S-Shoko! It's not what you think, please understand... I love him..." you said with tears in your eyes looking at her unreadable face.

You cuddled up to Satoru to get more solace for you.

"Fine. I understand that. If someone had told me I was going to have a baby with a cat like him, I'd probably have to drink a whole case of spirits for that to come true."

"You... Really?"

"yup. Stop crying, tell your cat to stop growling at me and come for a checkup."

Hearing that, you placed your fingers on your cheek to feel the tears flowing there.

It's all because of pregnancy!

You hugged Satoru a little tighter and whispered in his ear to calm down.

Then you got up to go to Shoko and lie down. She gave the white-haired man an apron to cover his private parts that she doesn't want to see.

And then you saw little kids on the screen. Two little ones.

Their little tails were visible wrapped around their bodies.

"I don't want to know what gender it is. We'll know when she gives birth." Said the man with the tail as he sat next to you.

You gave him a questioning look and he turned his eyes on you.

"How do you know that you can tell the sex of the baby by doing this?" You asked, grabbing his hand.

"You think I never knew about such a thing? Are people really that stupid to believe that there is no non-human who is as smart as they are? I have technology and everything else is the same as here!"

"You have? You're the fucking cat that lives in the snow!" The brunette laughed as she wiped your big belly off the cold gel.

"I'm Snow Leopard! Beastman Snow Leopard! Which means I'm human, damn!"

Did you wonder if he learned those words from TV?

Also, now you're wondering how he was able to talk from the beginning... Is it the same magic that turned him into a human?

"You're just a cat." She replied to him.

"I'm not a cat! And you make me hate this world!"

"Kitten is depressed? You hate the world?"

He growled and his claws lengthened.

There's no way Shoko can beat him! She will die if she doesn't calm down!

You grabbed your boyfriend's hand with both hands, holding tight. Taking his attention away from the woman in front of him.

"Tch... I really hate the human world...."

(A month later)

"How they are? How they are?!"

You watched as the man with his tail sticking out from behind his shirt ran around the bed and looked at your tired body.

He was practically kicking out the woman who'd been helping you for an hour. Just to see his kittens lay on your chest looking for milk.

Your body was tired.

"They're good." you replied, showing him them.

Two boys who look like him.

Satoru recently explained to you that the birth of cubs just like their father is very likely. As for the sex of the children, he's not sure. Snow Leopards had litters of up to three cubs at a time. Most people give birth to one. That's why you gave birth to two healthy snow leopards.

Their little ears and tails were so cute!

If you were a snow leopard, your cubs would be born snow leopard and later learn to transform.

Satoru told you that next time maybe you can have two girls.

You're not skeptical about it, but you also need to rethink it.

He, as a snow leopard, will think about breeding. It is certain.

But from the days you looked at your children, you knew they wouldn't have a good life among humans.

Their mother is a human and their father is a snow leopard. What can happen? They may try to catch them for research. After all, people do not know such a thing.

In almost a year of being with that gorgeous snow leopard you love, you haven't learned a thing.

He is not of this world.

"Sometimes during the mating season we go to the human world. There we are looking for luck to find a partner. When we take her to our world, she will become like us. There are few snow leopards with us and with you. I am a young male, therefore there was a chance I wouldn't find a female of my species easily. But compared to your wild snow leopards, we bond as mates forever. Just like the rest of Beastman. All animals. Cats, dogs, fish, birds, reptiles. All. But by the time I found a mate here, I realized I couldn't find one, because there's none around." He said holding your son in his arms.

"You were just being dramatic." You laughed as you fed your son who was wrapping a little tail around your hand.

"I was not. I wouldn't die. I wanted to go back and wait until the next mating season. But then I felt a fertile female." he pointed at you. "Beastman can breed with human and the babies will be beastman. My babies are snow leopards. If you were a snow leopard too, they would have been born into a full snow leopard. But you're human, so they'll have to learn to change into a cat instead of a human. Well, it's better to master two legs first than four." He laughed.

"I'm worried about them... And you... You're not human... How are we supposed to live among humans?" Tears welled up in your eyes..

"Maybe I'll never be human and you'll never be a snow leopard or any other animal. Our children too. But in my world, what we have is normal."

He sat next to you, rubbing your cheek with the tip of his tail and then his thumb.

"We have few humans, but some agree to be mate for someone. Just like you. Have you ever wondered why there aren't any humans with animal attributes around here?"

You nodded and sideways.

"This is because each mate will look after his partner. Looking for a partner, we also go here. And when we find it, we come back to us knowing that it will be best there."

"Couldn't you have told me earlier?" You asked with a slightly furrowed brow.

He tilted his head back with a strange expression as if he was thinking.

"I always forgot that... And I also thought not to stress you when you're pregnant..." He scratched his chin as he thought.

Nice of him. Because that would be stressful.

"Our world is like this. Only instead of people there are beastmen. People like me walk the streets. Everything is the same. I have my own big house and lots of money. It's the perfect start for our family!"

You saw his big smile on his face.

"You want to..."

"Come with me to my world! And let's live as we should live! Together with the children! Nothing will ever happen there! Our children will be wonderful there! My clan will be happy!"

Gojo Clan, Snow Leopards Clan. A whole family like him?

Well, apparently he has a distant cousin who is an ordinary cat... There aren't that many snow leopards.

In your world, they would never accept that.

In his world, a man as a mate is something normal. You gave life to two more snow leopards. Or will there be more in the future?

You love Satoru and your children. You want the best for them.

You never want to leave them and you don't want anything to happen to them.

You will be the perfect mate and the perfect mother.

You want their happiness so much.

That snow leopard is your snow leopard. your mate. your love.

The only place where you can live the way you want is his world. A world where you don't have to go back to people and you will see their smiles. The smiles of your whole family. Children and your Satoru.

You agreed.

You will live in his world.

Because you love that snow leopard. And that snow leopard loves you.

Taglist: @tohsri; @hren17; @weebotaku21; @yihona-san06; @mikkies; @raysheil; @dreeamiea; @safaia-47; @porridgesblog; @weebnk-popper; @mc-reborn

#jjk x you #gojo satoru #jjk #gojo x y/n #gojo x reader #gojo #jjk x reader #jujustu kaisen #Snow Leopard Gojo Satoru #satoru gojo x reader #gojo x you

958 notes · View notes

solargeist · 3 months

Note

What the relationships between different Hermits and Kid Xelqua are like:

POSITIVE!

Mumbo - Pretty positive all things considered. He manages to entertain him, and generally is a good uncle figure.

Scar - The favourite. Scar gives him unlimited access to snacks and all sorts of unhealthy food (much to Grian’s chagrin). Once gave him so much sugar, Xelqua entered a 5 hour long sugar rush. Grian still hasn’t forgiven him yet because it was an absolute nightmare.

Doc - Surprisingly positive. Despite Doc’s turbulent relationship with Grian, Doc has a soft spot for kids. He’ll drop any kind of tension when Xelqua’s around to not worry him. He’ll still absolutely body Grian, but usually when Xelqua isn’t looking.

Pearl - Due to her leniency, Xelqua likes her. He can get away with anything when she’s around and generally doesn’t impose any harsh rule of punishment on him

Etho - He just thinks Etho is cool (usually because he keeps maple candies in his pockets). An Ethogirl in the making.

NEUTRAL!

Joe Hills - He’s a living Sesame Street styled puppet and Xelqua keeps mistaking him for a normal puppet toy. He once nearly suffocated poor Joe by hugging him a little too tight around his neck.

Xisuma - Barely sees him and for good reason. Xisuma has enough on his plate as admin, he doesn’t need to have to add “babysitting a god” on his plate as well.

Impulse & Skizz - They help Grian out occasionally to watch over Xelqua. Typical fun uncles you can find, but Xelqua doesn’t know much about them or why Skizz gives him the heebie jeebies when he unfurls his Angel wings or when Impulse reveals his full demon form.

Gem - Like Impulse and Skizz, generally friendly with Xelqua, but he’s unsettled by her, but he doesn’t know why. Maybe he senses that Gem isn’t truly a deer satyr and something to do with the rustling in the forests and night and the lingering smell of blood on her.

NEGATIVE…

Cleo - She’s scary to him. Like how you would be scared of the principal when you were a kid in elementary school.

Cub - All the fireworks he uses this season are too loud for him. He has to cover his ears everytime he has to go near the shop.

Joel - Xelqua keeps walking in in Joel in the most embarrassing moments. Like seeing him cry in front of the statue of his wife because she isn’t in the server, falling down an entire flight of stairs, reading Iskall’s creepy Yandere letters, etc. There were several moments where Joel had to cover Xelqua’s mouth because he was about to air all his dirty laundry.

AKDNDJSKAK

of course Scar is the favourite, Xelqua would love his builds, he’d like the animals and Scars silly voices and rambles. He’d also love Scar’s off road wheelchair/ATV, it’s so fast ! He’d absolutely eat all of Scar’s snacks, he’d be talking a mile a minute when Grian shows to pick him up, he just silently glares at Scar.

I love when people draw Doc with Doccy on the server, just a big scary goat and his little goat kid, it’s why he has a soft spot around Xelqua, he’s so tiny. Tho I can only see them interacting if Xelqua accidentally ends up in his base area, got lost maybe. I think Xelqua wouldn’t be scared of Doc despite his looks bc 1) he looks like Scar’s zoo animals (big Goat) and 2) Doc has a kid too, so he’s gotta be safe. Grian is very confused when he sees Doc calling him.

The Joe Hills part almost made me choke AKDNDKSK Joe being a puppet is my favourite design it’s so silly. Xelqua watches a lot of TV, he’d be in awe… so happy to see a real life puppet… Grian has to grab his hands to stop him from choking Joe out.

I think Xelqua would just be intimidated by Cleo at first, he’d warm up to her ! Him being scared of Cub bc of the fireworks is so true tho, Xelqua very much hates the noise and is actively afraid of thunder, he’ll wake Grian up if a storm rolls in at night, and probably hide behind him if a firework went off and no one told him it’d be so loud !

poor Joel 😭😭⁉️⁉️ tho if Joel grabbed Xelqua and covered his mouth like that, Grian is immediately there, he crosses the room so quickly man Watchers don’t play around abt their kids 😭💥 Grian doesn’t even realize he moved or separated them, for a split second his brain didn’t see this as a joke or playing around. Joel gets to see those purple eyes up closeeee and shouts

this was very cute and silly to read ehehehe, also for some reason I think Xelqua would think that Xisuma is Grian’s uncle, no idea how he came to this conclusion.

#Ask #kidxelqua #someone get Lizzie on the server AUGH

130 notes · View notes

why-animals-do-the-thing · 3 months

Note

I have been wondering, since you have recently visited a zoo, what do you do there as a visitor?

I don't really have a zoo anywhere near me, so I have been to one maybe 2-3 times in my life. During those visits I mostly acted like one does in a museum: slowly walking through the "exhibit" reading the information that can be found, etc. Do you act any different? And if so, how do you recommend somebody enjoy their visit?

Thank you very much for all the time you take to inform us about zoo: I learned a lot, even if I can't go to one!

It really depends on what I’m there for, honestly. With a new zoo I’ve never been to, I’ll try to see everything, read the signs, and go to as many talks or shows as I can. If I’m going for a photography day, I camp out for sometimes hours where I want to shoot (normally after trying to find out the normal schedule for that habitat so I know when to show up). Sometimes I go to zoos just to test accessibility, so those days I focus on navigation and not stopping to look at animals much. I think sometimes I go through zoos too quickly, because the animals aren’t “novel” to me, and I can assess what I want to learn pretty fast and then move on. Part of that, though, is mobility limitations. I can walk long distances and do okay, but standing still on concrete for any period is a problem - so I’ve found I spend much longer on a visit if I’m using an electric scooter or other mobility aid.

The biggest thing I recommend for people is to figure out what you want to prioritize seeing and doing, and then plan around that. Many of the big zoos are almost impossible to see thoroughly in a single day and you can wreck yourself if you try. So plan what’s important and then decide what you’re okay missing, and then build a route around it. And definitely think ahead about your individual needs and bring water and sunscreen and cooling stuff and a mobility aid if you need it. Zoo stores or guest services areas are spread out, and expensive as heck, so I bring more than I’ll need so I don’t have to go through that hassle.

115 notes · View notes

hannahssimblr · 21 days

Text

For a brief period last year, I had this thing about wasps. Miss O’Reilly spurred the whole thing on after poring over my sketchbooks with me. She made some offhand comment about how nice it would be to see some animals too, amongst the endless scrawl of human arms and legs and feet and heads on every inch of every page, because it would expand my anatomical knowledge. This had never occurred to me.

So across town to the zoo I went. Where, through the spring and the earliest days of summer I would draw gorillas in their glass enclosures, giraffes, sloths, red pandas, while parents and children looked over my shoulder at my work, ogling as though I too was part of an exhibition.

I returned that August, late, in that last week before school starts when the sun still warms you, but the wind carries autumn with it. By then, the leaves had lost that vibrant green and hung tired from branches, curled and russet at the edges. It was wasp season, when they emerge, as though from nowhere, angry, confused, in a ferocious pursuit of sugar.

One landed on my sketchbook, near the thumb that held the page, and I resisted the tingle of fear in my body, the urge to swat him away. Instead I watched him, and then I drew him, his alien eyes and hairy body, papery wings and the abstract black and yellow stripes like caution tape wound around his horntail. I feared wasps - I think. One had never stung me and had no reference for the pain, but coincidentally, I had read about them in an insect encyclopaedia from the school library. I’d learned about their sad Augusts, when their purpose had been fulfilled, and their queens cast them out of the nest to die.

That wasp, eating the ice cream fingerprint from my page, was no different. Here he was, addicted to sugar, drunk, perhaps, from the fermenting fruits he had managed to find. If I swatted him away, could I really blame him if, in his desperation and pain, he attacked me? He really was just another creature fulfilling his purpose, adapting to the new environment in which he had been thrown.

“Oh, God!” Michelle cried, and whacked him with her zoo map. His insides left a stain on the paper, and I turned to her, outraged. “Why did you do that?”

“It might have stung you!”

And things escalated, as they normally did, to an argument by the elephant enclosure. She erupted in front of a family of four and asked me when I became such a fucking vegetarian about wasps. We didn’t speak a word to one another on the bus home, and then, come September, we forgot about wasps for another year.

A wasp lands on my arm. I feel it first, the weird little legs tickling my skin. Someone splashed cider on me in the Foo Fighters’ mosh pit. That’s what he’s looking for. For the first time in a year, I think about wasps again, while the rest of my friends plan their next move. He shouldn’t be out at night. He must be confused. Maybe he’s about to die.

“Oh! Gosh! You’ve a wasp on your arm!” Claire waves her hand about me and the wasp makes a drowsy departure and swoops toward the overflowing bins by the barriers.

Several seconds pass before it occurs to me to react. “Yeah.”

As the others head towards the bar, she and Shane hang back, peering at me with that wary concern, as though there’ve sensed something deeply unhinged about me. “Are you okay?” She says gently. “You look like you got a bit of a knock there in the mosh pit.”

“No, it was fine. It felt good to kind of shove everyone around.” It’s true. I wasn’t thinking in there where I was thrashing to The Pretender, but I know how I must look. She eyes the collar of my t-shirt, stretched completely out of shape from where some beast of a man grabbed me to fling me out of his path like a rag doll. it was violent, but it felt good, like something that I needed.

“Look,” Shane scratches his head, “The lads there, they were talking about going to that rave at midnight. They wanted to grab some shots first, but like, if you don’t want to go, and you’d rather go back to the tent or something, that’d be okay.”

Claire nods. “We could even go with you, right? I wouldn’t mind just hanging out and taking it easy if you wanted company.”

Do I really seem that bad? I shake my head. “No, it’s fine. I’ll just do what everyone else is doing.”

They pause, and I press the issue. “Do I seem like I won’t be able for it?”

“Not that.” Shane says. “You just seem a bit wrecked.”

“I’ll survive another concert.”

“Yeah, I’m not saying you won’t, like.”

“Right then.”

They exchange a look, and I sigh. “I don’t know what you think is wrong with me, but I’m not drinking, I’m not on drugs,” I lean down to show them my pupils, which I realise too late is quite a manic, on-drugs thing to do, but I don’t know how else to prove my sobriety. “It’s just been a day, okay? I’m just… it’s been odd.”

“We can talk about it if you like,” Claire says, in that very kind, Claire way, but I shake my head.

“Let’s not bother. Come on, we’ll just go to that rave thing and dance, yeah? Then I’ll go back to the tent and we can take it easy.”

“Okay, if you say so,” she says, and with her arms around herself against the midnight chill, she and Shane march past me, towards the big top of the marquee across the bottle-littered fields.

Beginning // Prev // Next

#lucky boy 2010 #go back to the tent Jude please #sleep it off

46 notes · View notes

bookishcarmela · 10 months

Text

Shadows of Affection

warnings: alcohol abuse

slow burn Coriolanus Snow x reader, slight Felix Ravinstill x reader

Chapter 2: The Zoo

As you made your way to the lunch hall, you spotted Felix and the others enjoying their meal. A few tables down, Sejanus sat alone at a table set for three, likely waiting for Corio and you. It was a routine, his ritual, always saving a spot for you even when Felix whisked you away before you could join them. His persistent attention toward you was evident to everyone, but despite your fondness for Felix, you hadn't quite seen him in that light.

you settled beside Sejanus, exchanging greetings and a small smile. "Congratulations on the reaping today. You got the pick of the litter," you said, trying to uplift his mood. But instead of a cheerful response, Sejanus sighed heavily. "What's wrong? Aren't you happy?" you inquired, to which Sejanus replied hoarsely, "You forget. I'm part of that litter."

His words lingered, echoing the struggles he harbored from his past, despite the decade he'd spent in the Capitol. you considered Sejanus a friend, but his refusal to let go of his past hindered his potential to embrace what the Capitol offered. "Sejanus," you began, your words trailing off as Corio's chair scraped against the floor, announcing his arrival. "Are you okay, Corio?" you asked, concern etching your voice. He looked pale well paler than usual, almost on the verge of sickness. Corio slumped into the seat, his normally composed demeanor crumbling. "I'm fine," he muttered, but the sweat on his brow and the discomfort etched on his face spoke otherwise. "Corio, you don't look fine," you pressed gently, leaning closer to him. Corio shook his head, his stubbornness evident even in his discomfort. "I said leave it, Y/n!" he snapped, his tone cutting through the air. you sat in silence for a few seconds as you absorbed the sting of his words. Anger and frustration surged within you, and Coriolanus let out a sigh. "Y/n, I'm-" he began, only to be abruptly cut off by the end-of-lunch bell.

Without uttering a word, you stood up and left, the weight of his scolding lingering. It wasn't that you werent accustomed to Coriolanus's temper; you had grown up together, and you had learned to navigate it. But you despised being scolded, treated as if you were a child. How dare he speak to you like that?

The rest of your classes passed in a haze of frustration, and you dreaded the prospect of heading home. Luckily, school let out a little earlier due to the reaping, providing you the chance to head straight to my room without encountering Quincey.

Quincey Bradford, the man your mother married just two years after your father's death, wasn't the result of true love but rather convenience. After your father's passing, your mother spiraled into a destructive cycle of gambling and drowning her sorrows in alcohol. your mother's gambling and drinking habits consumed everything you had. your dwindling funds vanished into the bottom of a bottle or at the turn of a card until there wasn't a single dollar left.You had nothing left. Even the rich were struggling in the war, but you were left with nothing. Survival became a daily fight in a world where having enough to eat felt like a luxury.

Desperation led her to marry Quincey, a move motivated by the need to ensure your basic sustenance. In the aftermath, she adopted the role of the dutiful housewife, maintaining a facade of normalcy. But as time wore on, Quincey's true nature started to show. His temper flared, and soon, your mother bore the brunt of his anger, suffering bruises and wounds hidden beneath forced smiles. She fell back into the abyss of self-pity and despair, and as you grew older, Quincey's temper extended its reach to you. He'd make spiteful remarks about your father's righteousness, only to fall when rebel's bullet finally found its mark, as if his demise were some poetic justice.

Inspite of everything your mother stayed with Quincey and bore him two children: Benjamin and Charlotte Bradford. Benjamin, a spitting image of his father, possessed pale skin, black hair, and hazel eyes. On the other hand, Charlotte inherited the features of your mother, with tan skin, light brown hair, and dark brown eyes. Thankfully, at eight years old, they hadn't adopted the traits of either of their parents, and in the midst of our troubled home, Benjamin and Charlotte stood apart, untouched by the darkness around us. Their innocence was a comfort, a hope that they'd be shielded from your harsh reality.

As the car rolled to a stop, you reached home, grateful for the quiet. The silence signaled that Quincey and the children weren't around. Passing through the foyer toward your room, you spotted your mother passed out on the couch, a pricey bottle of wine in her hand. Calling for the maid, Christa, you instructed her to help your mother get cleaned up and into bed before your siblings returned. With that sorted, you retreated to your room, determined to finish some last-minute assignments before bedtime.

The perks of working with Dr. Gual included skipping class to assist in her lab. Currently, you were sorting paperwork while she tinkered with a new “experiment”. As you organized, you absentmindedly turned on the small TV nearby. The broadcast announced the arrival of the new tributes. Instead of the usual horse stables, they were being placed in the Capitol zoo—an intriguing twist for this year's Hunger Games.

Focused on your work, you disregarded the TV until gasps and awe erupted from the screen. You glanced over momentarily, catching a glimpse of the tributes being dropped into their enclosure. One of them bore an uncanny resemblance to Coriolanus. But That couldn't be right.

Your attention snapped back to the screen as you realized it was indeed Coriolanus Snow inside the tribute enclosure, hand in hand with his assigned tribute. Shock coursed through me as I noticed her wearing one of his grandmother's roses in her hair. "What the Fuck" I exclaimed, my voice filled with disbelief. Why was he holding her hand? Why was she adorned with his family's emblem? What the hell was going on?

The thought that the day couldn't get any worse shattered when the camera panned out, revealing Benjamin and Charlotte, escorted by your inebriated mother, approaching the cage where

Coriolanus and his tribute stood. you felt a chill wash over your body, your face draining of color at the sight. While other children hid behind their parents, Benjamin and Charlotte showed no fear. They boldly approached the cage, even extending their hands to shake with Coriolanus's tribute, the "little songbird" whose name you hadn’t bothered to remeber. Your mother, as usual, appeared intoxicated, hiding her eyes behind dark glasses. She seemed utterly unconcerned, heedless of the potential danger her children faced by being so close to the enclosure.

The commotion and your surprised outburst drew Dr. Gual's attention, prompting her to join you to observe the screen. Her reaction was more amused than alarmed, and she let out a giggle, taking note of your clenched fist. you tried to calm yourself, but your tension only intensified as Coriolanus was pulled out of the cage by Peacekeepers.

As if on cue, a Peacekeeper entered the lab, saluting Dr. Gual and informing her of an urgent meeting requested by Dean Highbottom. you released a deep breath, preparing to resume your work as Dr. Gual left for her meeting. However, before you could settle back into your routine, she glanced back at you with a mischievous grin."Hippity hoppity, little dove, we have a meeting to attend," she said playfully, striding toward the door. you couldn't help but give her a curious look, following her.

As you entered the high biology lab instead of heading to Dean Highbottom's office, you couldn't shake your confusion. Why were you here? Dean Highbottom's presence only added to your perplexity, his gaze scrutinizing you before addressing Dr. Gual.

"Shouldn't you be in class, Ms. Royce?" he inquired, directing his question at you. you opened your mouth to respond, but Dr. Gual interjected smoothly, "I needed her assistance for an experiment of mine."

Her words held an element of truth—you had been aiding her with paperwork—but her insistence on having your help, specifically, was alittle puzzling but you didnt think to hard about it. Before the dean could press further, a knock interrupted, prompting an annoyed sigh from the dean as he allowed entry. To your surprise, Coriolanus stepped through the door, causing a jolt of shock and uncertainty to course through me. What was happening? You asked yourself

Coriolanus and I exchanged surprised looks, both seemingly shocked by the presence of the other.

You stood in silence until Dr. Gual broke it “ Hippity, hoppity.” Dr. Gaul grinned. “How was the zoo?” Then she was laughing. “It’s like a children’s rhyme. Hippity, hoppity, how was the zoo? You fell in a cage and your tribute did, too!” Coriolanus’s lips stretched into a weak smile as his eyes darted over to you for some clue as to how to react. You attempted to signal him subtly, urging him to follow along with her banter. "We did. We fell in a cage," Coriolanus finally replied, uncertain of where this conversation was headed. Dr. Gaul seemed to expect more, raising her eyebrows in anticipation. Your attempts to help Coriolanus seemed futile as he hesitated, prompting Dr. Gaul to coax him further."And?" she prodded, encouraging him to continue. "We... landed onstage?" he added tentatively Dr. Gaul chuckled approvingly.

"You're good at games. Maybe one day you'll be a Gamemaker just like my little dove here," she remarked, playfully switching her attention between Coriolanus and you.

Then, unexpectedly, she directed a question to Coriolanus, "Do you know her, my little dove?"

Confusion washed over you. Dr. Gaul's antics seemed calculated, but her probing question made little sense. She was aware that you knew eachother, so why this charade?

Coriolanus composed himself and responded, "Yes, I am familiar with Ms. Royce," but Dr. Gaul's displeasure was evident. She frowned slightly before redirecting her attention to the dean.

"Me and my little dove have work to do, so we’ll get out of your hair. When you're done, come see me in my lab, Dean Casca," she declared, heading toward the door. You followed her out, shooting Coriolanus a lingering look.

The word "familiar" echoed in your mind during the return to the lab. Coriolanus's choice of words stung. Familiar, as if your friendship was trivial, as if you were just a foolish girl trailing after him like an idiot. Unbeknownst to you Dr. Gual’s little test for you had gone just as expected.

#coriolanus snow #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow fanfiction #a ballad of songbirds and snakes #sejanus plinth #coriolanus x lucy gray #lucy gray x coriolanus #the hunger games #my fic #fanfic #lucy grey baird #young coriolanus snow

253 notes · View notes