#said on radio instead of on the radio and i'm afraid i'm just not going back to fix it it's too late now

[forhappysake]

We're Okay

A/N - Guys idk where this came from. I guess I'm just feeling emotional and inspired.

Content - After JJ admits her decade-long love for Spencer, you and your boyfriend have to have a conversation to calm both of your doubts and fears.

Warnings: spencer reid x fem!reader, season 14 spoilers, anxiety, mentions of typical BAU-level crime stuff, fluff at the end

You walked in the door slowly, cautionary even; afraid the smallest noise would bring reality crashing down on you. The car ride home had been completely silent, as neither of you bothered to turn on the radio. Spencer shuffled in behind you, the click of the lock making you wince as you did your best to avoid his gaze. You stripped off your coat, throwing it over the couch before walking straight into the bathroom, shutting the door firmly behind you. 

As you started the shower and stripped off your clothes, the evening’s events rushed back into your mind. Being involved in a hostage situation with an unstable unsub was one thing. JJ being held at gunpoint was worse. However, as if all that wasn’t enough, JJ admitting her decade-long hidden love for Spencer was the final nail in the coffin. As you climbed into the shower, you did your best to let the water wash away the thoughts running through your head. 

Unfortunately, your attempt was unsuccessful. As you dried off and wrapped yourself in a towel, your mind raced. You’d been dating Spencer for nearly a year and a half. The two of you had just recently moved in together. Having known him and JJ for at least half a decade, you knew they were close, but you never would have guessed this was coming. You couldn’t help but wonder if he felt the same way she did. If so, what did this mean for your relationship?

After stalling in the bathroom for so long that goosebumps dotted your freshly dried body, you mustered up the courage to slip out of the bathroom and into the bedroom that you shared with Spencer. As you walked across the hallway, you could see his silhouette sitting on the living room couch, head bent forward. You couldn’t tell if he was reading or in deep thought, but you decided that either option was better than the alternative: trying to have a conversation. 

You snuck into the bedroom, gently turning on the bedroom light and letting your eyes adjust to the warm glow of your room. You meandered to the closet, pulling out a simple t-shirt and shorts to sleep in. Slipping into your pajamas and stealing a glance at yourself in the vanity mirror, you noticed one of the many images covering the tabletop. 

A framed photograph from less than a year ago of JJ, Will, Spencer, and yourself with the boys on a weekend hiking trip. You felt a pang of guilt in your chest and wondered if Will had any idea what was going on in JJ’s head. You shook the thought away, reminding yourself that you had bigger problems of your own to deal with. You turned back to the bed, sliding under the covers and turning off the light. Despite your distress, you were exhausted and you found yourself losing track of time and drifting off to sleep in mere minutes. 

*  *  *

You awoke to the sound of the bedroom door latching shut. You rolled over, blinking your eyes open in an attempt to sneak a peak at your bedside alarm clock. You’d already been asleep for three hours and Spencer was just now coming to bed. It was well after midnight, and you knew that meant he had been up thinking about something. You figured it would be best not to push the subject after everything that had happened. 

With your eyes shut, you waited to feel the familiar sensation of Spencer climbing into bed. Instead, you felt his weight at the foot of the bed, as if he had perched himself on the end. You tried not to think much of this and did your best to fake sleep. However, it soon became apparent that Spencer was on to you. 

“I know you’re awake,” he said gently. His voice was gruff from the hours he’d spent in silence. Spencer waited before speaking again, “I think we should talk about what happened.” 

There it is, you thought. Your stomach sank as your eyes fluttered open. You rolled over to face him, leaning up on your arms. It was then you noticed that he was still in his suit. His unkempt hair fell over his eyes and you couldn’t help but feel a bit sorry for the disheveled man in front of you. “Alright,” you relented, still refusing to meet his eyes, “what do you want to talk about?”

Spencer rolled his neck, tension evident in his movements. “I want to know how you feel about what was said earlier,” he said. For the first time in hours, you met his eyes, trying to gauge his sincerity. You found no signs of dishonesty, so you fell back on the bed, letting out a dramatic sigh. 

“I don’t know, Spencer,” you groaned. “I definitely was surprised. I definitely wasn’t thrilled.” Spencer nodded, moving some hair away from his eyes as you spoke. “But,” you started again, “it’s not like we can go back and change it now.” 

He reached an arm out, putting a hand over the covers on top of your knee. “I know,” he whispered, “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.” 

You scoffed a bit at his sincerity and his innocence, meeting his eyes once more. “And how do you feel about it?” you asked. 

Spencer bit his lip in thought. You could tell you had caught him off guard with the question, and he seemed to be calculating his response. “Can I be honest with you?” he said. 

You raised your eyebrows, the nervous feeling in your stomach intensifying. Is this where he tells you he feels the same way and leaves for good? You pushed your thoughts to the side. “Always,” you whispered.

He sighed, laying back on the bed so he was next to you. You could feel the heat radiating off him, and you wanted nothing more than to curl into his warmth. You knew this wasn’t the time, so you held yourself back and held your breath, awaiting his response. 

“First, I was confused,” Spencer explained, eyes locked on the ceiling. “I haven’t thought about JJ like that in over ten years. Frankly, I never knew she thought of me that way, so I was caught off-guard.” 

So he did have a crush on her at one time, you thought. You were ready to close your eyes in defeat, to slip off the bed and out of the apartment and never come back when he cleared his throat. 

“But then,” he started once more, “I had a quick epiphany of all the moments she’d gone out of her way for me, and I could understand where she was coming from.” You turned to look at him, watching his eyes scan the ceiling as he tried to come up with his next statements. 

“And?” you asked, prompting him to continue. 

“And then,” he continued your previous statement, “I was terribly appalled.” 

Your head, which had turned to the ceiling, snapped back in his direction. You felt your eyebrows raise and your jaw drop open a bit in surprise. “Appalled?” you asked, confusion evident in your expression. 

“Appalled,” Spencer echoed, sitting up on the edge of the bed once more and looking back at you. 

“Why?” you asked. 

Spencer shook his head, looking around the room. “I’ve been thinking about that for the last couple hours, and I’ve come up with a lot of reasons,” he mused. “I know she was in a tight place, but Will deserves better than that. The boys deserve better than that. But aside from them,” he leaned over on the bed, intertwining his fingers with yours, “I couldn’t stop thinking about what you must have thought. I was so afraid of your reaction and of losing you.”

Despite your evident emotional state as tears pooled in your eyes, you tried to play it off. “Spencer, this isn’t about me,” you reminded him. 

“Yes,” he said, lying next to you, “it is.” Spencer ran a hand through his hair, pulling some curls out of his eyes. “Everyone knows how much I love you. I know how scary something like this can be. But you have to know that I have no idea where this came from and that anything JJ and I had died, on my end, long before I ever met you.” 

You glanced over at him, the sincerity in his voice had moved you to believe him. For a moment, you forgot about JJ and Will, the boys, and the implications of her words. You offered his fingers a small squeeze. “So we’re okay?” you asked in a tiny voice. 

“More than,” Spencer whispered. 

He rolled on his side to face you and you mirrored his actions. He wrapped his arms tight around your body, the textured material of his suit jacket pressed against your cheek. A gentle kiss was pressed to your forehead and you found yourself falling back into sleep. After several minutes passed, you felt Spencer’s voice rumble through his chest for a final time before he succumbed to sleep: “Ever since I met you,” he mumbled, smoothing some stray hairs away from your face, “it’s always been you.”

#criminal minds #criminal minds fluff #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid #criminal minds x reader #dr spencer reid #spencer reid fluff #bau x reader #jennifer jj jareau #jennifer jareau #jennifer jareau fanfiction #jeid #doctor spencer reid #doctor reid #agent reid #matthew gray gubler #criminal minds fic #bau x female reader #bau fic #bau #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds fandom #spencer reid criminal minds #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fic #spencer reid angst #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine

[inkskinned]

yesterday while feverish i wrote about how boats can moor next to each other like pigeons, cooing with the gentle rap of water against their hull. you once said that that the way i see things - birds in the water, feathers in marina paint - was "childish and naive." you said i'd been misdiagnosed - "it can't all be adhd. you might be just kind of stupid and lazy."

i still do certain things like how you taught me - turn the pillow case inside out before putting it on. drive defensively. hate myself entirely.

the prompt for this poem is "mahler's fifth." i wish it wasn't, but mahler's fifth was our song. it ended up in my book. every person that knows your name has promised me they'll give you one swift rabbit punch, right to the face. dean read the book and showed up on my front porch, drenched in sweat from running the 8 miles at 4 in the morning. he was shaking. pacifist and gentle - he works with children - i'd never seen him furious. a punch isn't going to do it, he said, and then said i'm sorry. i had to come to see if you were okay.

mahler's fifth was mine first, like my girlhood. i like the way each movement piles onto the next movement, each instrument bleeding into the next. i like the horn version the best. before i met you, i danced to it on grass still-wet from sprinklers.

later you would tell me that the way you heard it was somehow better. you understood something in it that i couldn't quite wrap my fingers into. once, on our anniversary, you asked the classical music radio station to play it for us. we missed hearing it because we were fighting. one of the things people get wrong about abuse is that sometimes victims are, like, brutally aware of the stupidity of our situation. what do you mean that you thought i wasn't good enough for you? you? you're just... nothing.

sometimes people can pull the poetry out of your life. i watched my words become clothesline, and then thin out into kite twine. i watched you chew through every good syllable of me. so many good songs and places and moments were ruined. i am glad you didn't like most of my music - less to tie back to you.

but still mahler's fifth. the music swells, and i am 21 and throwing up in a bathroom on my birthday. a woman i will later refer to as lesbian jesus runs a cool hand down my back, her perfect pantsuit starch-pressed. she told me to leave you. she said - and this is true, and not an invention of rhyme or fantasy - i'm you from the future.

i am 22, and i got home from an award ceremony, and i remember you telling me - you act so proud of yourself when you're actually so fucking embarrassing. i took you to disney world. you took my virginity. i gave up visiting spain for a week with my family - i instead choose you, to spend the time just-cuddling. you called it "our fuck week." the music swells. it probably should have been a red flag that for about 3 years - i just gave up on crying. my grandfather died and you said nothing. my uncle died and you ghosted me for 3 weeks. you said i need to protect myself from your ongoing tragedy.

every so often i come back to the memory of one of our last afternoons in person. i had just told you that i wasn't going to law school, despite the free ride - i was going to join a creative writing program. master's in fine arts. i was going to finally do it - i was going to follow my dreams. this blog was already internet-famous. however reluctantly, i would occasionally refer to myself as a poet. i got into umass amherst's writing program for fiction authors. it is one of the the top 5 programs in the country.

wait are you seriously considering actually attending that? dumbfounded, you turned completely towards me in your seat. for the 3rd time in our relationship, you almost crashed the car. you actually want to be a writer?

the first time i went viral, it was for a poem i wrote about you:

he wants to say i love you but keeps it to goodnight because love will take some falling and she's afraid of heights.

every time i see that, i want to throw up. you weren't in love with me, you were in love with the control you had over me. a little truth though: i am afraid of heights. you caught a rabbitgirl and skinned her alive.

mahler's fifth still makes me sick.

give me that back. give me back music. give me back everything i had before you. give me back fearlessness. give me back bravery. give me back a scarless body.

give me back what you took from me.

#nosebleed club #sorry stephen not ur fault #just like. thinking #writeblr #spilled ink #warm up #every time nat is like - oh let me get that for u #im like .... this is a trick right like ur gonna be mean now bc u did something nice rn #so obviously if ur being nice now either u did something mean and im about to learn about it #or you're going to BE mean #or ur gonna hold this over my head forever and i'll never get a nice thing ever again? #and every time nat is like .... babe i just actually like u #lesbian jesus story is 100% real btw. she also told me not to be an event planner #literally changed the shape of my life

[safination]

Partners in Death…And Life

Part 4: The Radio Stars’ Co-host Just Wants To Do The Dishes

|Part 3: Not Everything You Hear From the Radio Should be Trusted| Part 5: Glimpse of Me and You| |Masterlist| Ao3| Taglist| Parings: Alastor x wife! Reader. Tags: fem!reader established relationships, hopefully not but just in case ooc!Alastor (I'm trying my best, guys) Reader is in hell for a reason, Warnings: Very brief dissection of the human body. Kidneys It’s me. Hi. I’m the problem. It’s me. I am sorry :D. These past *checks notes* three weeks (yikes) have been really busy for me. But I’m finally posting?

The light from the bus stop illuminates Alastor’s block handwriting. Smiles are drawn on the edges of note with different colored ballpoint pens. Dear God, it was like looking at kindergarten art, but you appreciate it nonetheless. Alastor’s instructions tell you that his house is a ten-minute walk from the bus stop.

You flip the note, studying the map Alastor drew.

A bird caws from the patches of trees across the road. There’s no living soul out here besides your own for miles.

You tighten your grip on the straps of your bag, and walk until you find yourself standing before a wooden gate. The hatch unlocks easily, and you hike up the path until you’re stepping on to the porch. Alastor’s house isn’t much—well, it’s much more than the tiny apartment in the city that you call home, but besides that, he has a very normal looking house. You don’t know why you expect anything different. The flowers on his windowsill brighten the place, and the rocking chairs by the edge makes it homier.

You smoothen your hair, fiddling with the note. A deep inhale, and then another deep inhale, and then another deep inhale, and then another deep inhale, and then another—

Fuck it. You knock on the door.

A beat passes, and then another beat passes, and then another. Oh God, did he not hear your knock? Should you knock again? Your father always said that it was rude to knock twice, but you’re sure the knock should have been heard. Alastor was probably at the back of the house. You’re just going to knock again.

Alastor swings the door open, smiling at you. “You are right on time!”

Soft music plays behind him. The lights inside make his living-room look warm. “You said to be here by eight … so … Here I am!” you say with a light laugh. It doesn’t come out as you hope. “I’m very fond of being punctual.” Okay…hmmm…why did you say that?

You smoothen your hair, and fiddle with the straps of your bag.

 “I admire punctuality.” Alastor smiles at you.

You smile back.

He opens the door wider. “Would you like to come in?”

‘Yes.’

‘Right.’

‘Of course I would!’

All proper responses to his question. It’s a shame you don’t say them. You reach into your bag instead, and shove a paper bag into his arms. “It’s raw.”

Alastor lifts the paper bag, studying it with careful eyes until they flicker to the wet patches at the bottom. “…I’m almost afraid to ask who it came from.”

You step through the door, and take off your coat. “My father, actually.”

Alastor tilts his head. “This is your father—am I supposed to cook him or something?”

“It’s venison!” you say, and run your hand through your hair. “Dad went hunting last week, and he gave me a bunch of meat and well…well, I thought you'd appreciate it more than I do. There’s too much for me to eat alone. And it’s always polite to give a gift when you’re visiting a home.”

Alastor secures your gift around his arms, and takes your coat. He’s smiling. You think he’s being genuine—you can’t really tell. “Thank you.”

He hangs your coat on the rack, and ushers you deeper inside his home. Alastor disappears into what you think is his kitchen, but you stay planted in his living-room floor. His house is nice for someone who lives alone. Things all have a place, they’re not necessarily organized, but it’s neat. It makes you smile.

It’s easy to see Alastor between the walls.

This is a home that’s been lived in. You count at least three portable radios in the living-room alone. There are books on the coffee table by the window, and the spines are creased as if it’s been read over and over and over again. There’s a chair next to the window as well. It has stains, and the cushions sink as if they’ve been loved for decades. You can practically see Alastor in that chair, a warm drink in his hand. He’ll reach across, and twist the knob of the radio that already has his favorite station tuned.

Alastor strides out of the kitchen, your gift probably inside his freezer. “Follow me,” he says with a wave of his arm. “I have something to show you.”

“Oh…okay.”

There are photo frames lining the wall of his stairs. You observe it as you follow deeper into this house. Some are photographs of what you’re going to assume is Alastor, and some are certificates. You don’t have time to poke around and read each and every one of them.

Alastor opens his arms, shaking them as he presents you with a door.

A single door…One door at the back of the house. A door you don’t know where it will lead.

You stare at him, and take one single step back. “You’re not going to kill me in your basement, right?”

Alastor laughs at you, wiping a tear for the sake of showing you. “Good heavens no! Why would you ever think that?”

“Because I’m inside a man’s house, and he’s currently leading me to the basement. A man, might I add, dumps bodies in the forest,” you tell him with a wonky smile. “I hope you don’t go around asking every lady to your murder basement.”

“I don’t, actually.”

“My goodness, you really know how to make a lady feel extra special.” You fiddle with the straps of your bag, tightening your grip to stifle the urge to smoothen your hair. “So, how do you want to do this?”

Alastor tilts his head. (It’s kind of cute.) “Do what?”

“You know…uh…. You’ll  tell me to run,” you say, then motion to the china vase behind. “Then I’ll grab this really nice and expensive looking vase and smash it over your head.”

“Please don’t.”

“And then I’ll make a run for the door.”

He raises his eyebrows. “You weren’t interested in running last time.”

“And I’m still not,” you say. “So there’s no point in killing me.”

He chuckles a bit and his glasses slide down his nose. He pushes it up. “Think of this as a gift! Or more like an offer of partnership.”

“A gift of death?”

“I've already told you I wasn’t planning on killing you anymore,” he says, sighing. “Just…just follow me, and you’ll see!”

You huff and cross your arms. “I detest being lied to.”

Alastor opens the basement door. The hinges creak. It appears as if darkness itself lives inside, swirling and eating up whatever light that passes through. “Yes, that’s good to know.”

You take another step back. “That’s a really creepy basement.”

“You haven’t even been inside yet,” Alastor says. He places a light hand on your back, practically pushing you down. “Now, now, don’t be so stubborn.”

You grab the door frames, and push against him to resist. “I’m not going without knowing what’s down there.”

Alastor presses on your back. “If you go down there and see what I’ve prepared, you will feel very silly for causing such a ruckus.”

You push back harder, using the door frames as support. “As first dates go, this is giving really mixed signals,” you say, trying to smile. “I hope you don’t treat all ladies like this.”

Alastor rolls his eyes. “Just the stubborn ones.”

You and Alastor are at a stalemate. He pushes. You push back. The classic dilemma of an unmovable force versus an immovable object. “If you kill me, I will haunt you,” you say, digging your feet into the wooden floors. “I will haunt you, and hide all your tacky bow ties.”

Alastor stops pushing, and you fumble backwards from the lack of his opposing force. He points his nose to the air, straightening his bow ties. “It is not.”

You frown at him. “Oh…I’m really sorry.”

“You should be.”

Taking this opportunity, you press against the wall like a hissing cat. “I’m sorry you actually believe that!”

Alastor pinches the bridge of his nose, and takes one deep breath. He strides to you, and the world goes upside-down when he flips you over his shoulder. Alastor carries you like a common sack of worthless potatoes.

“I really don’t like this!” you shriek, angling your head to glare at him. Alastor has a surprisingly really nice back. Like…a really, really nice back.

Alastor meets your eyes and smirks. “You’ll like it in a second.”

He tightens his grip around your hips, and his boney shoulders dig into your stomach. You keep your eyes ahead. “You have a really flat butt.”

He pauses for a second. “Stop looking at it.”

“I will do as I please,” you say with a huff, and go limp in his hold as you accept your fate. “It’s just all pointy. Maybe some squats will be helpful?”

“If it’s such a horror to you, stop ogling my buttocks like a pervert.”

“Now you’re just putting words into my mouth,” you say with a weird giggle. “These pants suit you well.”

He shakes you like a wet noodle. “I will drop you.”

“Please don’t.”

Alastor flips you, and your feet land safely on the ground. His basement is totally not creepy, totally not creepy at all. The fluorescent light bulb swaying around totally does not add to general horror. The blacked-out windows, and the spiderwebs on the wood make you not want to sprint to the top.

The cadaver bag on the table makes you stay.

It’s filled. You walk to the table, and observe the lump. Grasping the zipper, you pull it until the face of a dead man greets you. He’s fresh. Killed less than a day ago.

Alastor opens his arms, wide, as if to present to you. “Your studying can all be done right here!”

You stare at him, accepting the smile that creeps on your face. “Really?” you say, and trace this man’s nose with your fingers—his skin is cold. He is cold and dead, and full of organs you can poke around and observe. “You’re going to just allow me to dissect this body?”

Alastor smiles at you. “See?” he says. “You were making all the fuss, and now your smile could light up this very room.”

The laughter starts as a soft giggle that builds into excited glee. “I could kiss you right now.”

Alastor takes a step back. “Please don’t”

You roll your eyes then observe the person lying on this table. He wasn’t as big as the one before. This man still has the colors on his face, a bit pale, but he looks like he could just be in a sickly sleep. “Did you like this person?”

“Not at all,” he says. “He’d be alive if he was.”

“Then do you like me?” you say with a grin, placing a hand on your hips. “All this to get my attention, I see. I prefer being dined first, but not the worst first date I’ve ever been on.”

Alastor glares at you as he makes a face. “Ha. Ha. Very funny.”

“So quick to answer that it’s almost insulting,” you say. “Well, it was your decision to keep me alive.”

There’s a glint in his eyes that pierces your very core. The lightbulb makes a shadow pass over his eyes, and you swear his eyes glow. Every single cell in your body screams as Alastor looks down at you from his glasses with a smile and darkened brown eyes that match his well-kept brown hair. “And I’m currently debating my choice,” he says. “I do not like being mocked. I can still change my mind if I find you a weak link.”

“Oh…I…oh….,” you say dumbly, coughing a little bit.  The words aren’t doing their job.

“Do you understand me?”

Basements are supposed to be cold—you definitely don’t feel cold right now. “I’m sure you can—I don’t doubt that at all.” To break your gaze on him, you turn to the dead man between you and Alastor. “This man didn’t suffer.”

Alastor’s eyebrows raise. “And?”

“I’m not a total idiot when it comes to… uh… hunting,” you say, tilting the dead guy’s chin to see his neck. It was a bit stiff. “There’s a single deep slice on his neck. He was probably still high on adrenaline when you killed him, but with the other body, you took your time. That guy suffered—this one didn’t”

He crosses his arms. “I don’t see your point.”

“Nevermind…just…,” you start and smile a bit. “Thank you for preserving this body so well, but unfortunately, I think I’ll have to refuse.”

Alastor’s eye twitches as he takes a step closer to you. His shadow towers over you. “You’re refusing?”

You zip the man back into his bag. “You don’t need a partner,” you say. “If anything, bringing him back into your house is risky. If it’s my silence you want, you already have it. There’s no need for all this.”

“I never asked for your silence.”

“Yet it’s yours nonetheless,” you say. “Thank you for the gift or offer for partnership, but I’m not interested in going into business with you.”

“Is this not beneficial for you?”

“It is…it really is, and every fiber wants to give in but it’s not wise for me to get mixed up with you,” you tell him. “I think you’re mistaking my sin for gluttony. I know trouble when I see it, and I’m not afraid to flee from it.”

Alastor’s face twists as his smile turns into a snarl. “All you could ever want right here.”

“You obviously want something from me,” you say. “I know you’re not above using tricks to get what you want. Although, I don’t understand why you take such time out of your day to do such consuming things.”

He glares at you. “There’s always the chance that you’d say no,” he says. “And I can’t have that happen.”

“I decide if something is worth my time or not,” you say. “I will only ask once: what do you want from me?”

Alastor exhales, and pushes his glasses. “I’d like to watch you work. There’s something I want to confirm.”

You study him for a second. “That’s all?”

“Yes.”

“Then hand me a pack of gloves please,” you say. “I can show you all the things I’ve learned.”

Alastor tosses gloves to your face. It whacks you and lands on the table. You curse at him, and roll your eyes.

There’s a large container of formaldehyde under the table. You don’t know where he got it or how, but still, you take a stray brush forgotten on one of the tables, and brush the skin with chemicals. The sharp smell stings your eyes, but you’ve learned to tolerate it. Alastor scrunches his nose, taking a step back.  

Opening the window would probably be wise, but you could do that later. Your father always did hope that you’d grow out of your bad habit. But with such an exhilarating opportunity, caution is at the back of your mind.

The scapple fits into your palm as if it was made for you. Throughout this Earth, no… not just Earth, but Heaven and Hell as well, nothing will ever be as perfect.

Alastor laughs, not the breathy and light kind, but in a loud and triumphant way. His eyes bulge out, looking like they could pop out any second “It seems I was not wrong,” he says. “You have the most precious smile I have ever seen.”

“Okay?”

Alastor leans closer to you, jerking your chin to face him. “All this time I’ve seen you; I have never seen your smile as true and honest as now.”

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

The bristles of the brush tangle on your feathers. It’s a struggle to smoothen the feathers at the back of your head now that you live alone.

The clock strikes an hour past noon, and work will call for you soon. It would be nice to be one time if this motherfucking brush would do its fucking job! You tug on the handle, cursing when it jerks your scalp. The smack of your forehead on the vanity table echoes around the room. The feathers bundled on the floor make you screech. That’s it. It’s over. You are not taking another second of this.

Discarding the brush, you head to the kitchen.

You grab two mugs, and take two spoonful of coffee ground and feed it to the coffee machine. With only a press of a button, you make the most perfectly perfected perfect cup of coffee. You take both mugs and take a seat on that little side table inside the kitchen.

The second mug steams with coffee.

You plop your chin on the table, unable to draw your eyes aways as you stare at it. Making a second cup is a waste of your money. Deep down to your very core, you’re aware that it’s a waste. It strikes you with the gentleness of a plane crash every single morning you make it, and every single night you have to throw it away.

Silence is your companion in this empty house. Where are the days when soft music plays on the radio? Where are the days where light footsteps walk around the carpeted floors? Where are the days of stories over dinner?  These days watching television is the only way to fill that silence.

A knock breaks your pathetic moping.

The knocking starts out soft and hesitant, until it’s replaced with loud banging.

Swiping your mug from the table, you stride to the front door and swing it open. Charlie and Alastor stand in front of you, big smiles on their faces.

Your husband pushes a small ugly statue right up your face, presenting it to you with a self-satisfied smile. “I was told it was polite to bring a gift to a person’s home,” Alastor says. “Do you like it?”

“Oh no…,” Charlie says, frowning a bit. “I didn’t bring anything.”

Alastor places a hand on her shoulder. “No worries then! This gift shall be from the both of us.”

The mug slips from your hold. Charlie catches it, not a single drop spilling, and plops it back on your hand. You blink at Alastor and frown. “Why are you knocking?”

“We’re here on super serious business talk,” he says, wrapping an arm around Charlie’s shoulders to bring her closer. “Charlotte here has something to ask you.”

Charlie smiles. “Just Charlie, actually.”

You shake your head, tightening your grip on the mug. “No.”

Alastor tilts his head. “No?”

“No, this is your home,” you say, opening the door wider. “There’s no need to knock.”

Alastor and Charlie step inside, and you take a sip of your coffee—a long, drawn out sip. Alastor walks to the shelf nearest the door, placing your ugly little statue on the shelf that’s meant for all other ugly knickknacks. It blends in with all the other gifts Alastor’s given you.

Charlie’s eyes bounce around the walls, eyes wide as she looks around. “Wooooaaaaah,” she says. “This is a really nice house you guys have!”

Alastor glares at the television. “Why, thank you!” he says. “I put in a lot of care into how it looks. It seems you’ve redecorated—I don’t like it.”

“Oh, you never do,” you say. “Let’s move to the kitchen, shall we?”

Alastor’s ears straighten. “The kitchen?” he echoes. “Oh yes. Let’s go the kitchen.”

Alastor hooks his arms around yours, pulling you to the kitchen. There’s determination set in each step. You and Charlie take your seats by the kitchen table. Charlie continues to look around. You see it in her eyes as they flicker around to count each radio.

It seems you’ve made a mistake.

Alastor goes straight to the refrigerator, and swings it open.

With horror, you watch as his gaze observes each level meticulously, humming as he does. There’s not much to look at, considering the only thing inside are a couple of eggs, empty plastic containers that you’ve been too lazy to wash, last week’s takeout, and a couple of sauces and condiments.

When he finally closes it, your shoulders sink as you exhale…until, of course, Alastor wraps his fingers around the freezer’s handle.

“Would you like anything, Charlie?” Is the first thing that comes out of your mouth. “I think we have juice or lemonade—”

“We don’t have any of those,” Alastor says, and his gaze bears down on you. “It makes me wonder what will be inside our freezer, my love.”

Charlie smiles brightly. “I don’t need anything,” she says. “I had tea with Rosie this morning, and Alastor and I had lunch on the way here.”

“That’s wonderful to hear,” you say, chuckling nervously. “You know what? It’s such a hellish day today, and it would be a waste to spend it here. Why don’t we move to the garden?”

“No.” Alastor crosses his arm. “We are staying right here.”

You sulk in your seat, drooping a little. “…okay.”

Finally, Alastor opens the freezer door. His twitching eyes and pursed lips tell you everything you need to know about how the next fifteen minutes will go. Carefully, with the tips of his fingers, Alastor pulls out one of those microwave meals you buy at the grocery. He glares at the frozen chicken nuggets and pork cutlets, and all the processed frozen food you store there for easy meals.

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” you say, giving him your most innocent smile. “And I barely eat those anyway. Those microwaved meals are just there for the occasional meal, I swear!”

Without uttering a single word, Alastor opens the cabinet under the sink where the trash can stays, and pulls it out. Empty microwave meals fill the brim. He raises his eyebrows at you.

“Oh dear…” Charlie winces. “That’s a lot, even for me.

You sulk deeper into your chair.

Alastor inspects the cabinets above the sink. The only things that greet him are a bunch of pots and pans. Relief pours into you…until of course, Alastor grabs the largest pot at the back of the cabinet and opens it, smashing any sense of relief with a metal bat.

Alastor pulls out a large pack of instant noodles. “Do you have anything to say for yourself?” he asks. “I remember telling you that I don’t like you eating these.”

“But they’re delicious,” you say, pouting a bit.

“These aren’t healthy,” he says, pinching the bridge of his nose. “They’re full of chemicals!”

“Everything is full of chemicals!” you counter. “And I only had a few. The dosage makes the poison.”

Alastor opens the trash can and tosses what was supposed to be your dinner. “The plastic said it was a pack of twelve?”

You cross your arms. “And? I don’t see your point.”

“There’s only two left.”

You fiddle with the handle of your mug. “I…I was busy…?”

“We’re all busy,” he says and you could pick out the faintest sound of static. “Not a single fresh fruit or vegetable, or any proper meats. Have I taught you nothing?”

Your pout deepens. “Do we have to do this in front of Charlie, my deerest?”

Charlie raises her arms in surrender. “Don’t look at me,” she says. “Aren’t you a doctor?”

“Yes, one would think….,” Alastor trails off. His eyes land on the second mug of coffee on the table, and his neck tilts to angle until it snaps. Static scratches that air until it warps. His eyes darken to reveal radio dials. “Expecting a guest today?”

You blink at him a bit dumbly, and take a long and drawn-out sip of your coffee to try and compose yourself. It doesn’t work. “I don’t make coffee for guests.”

Charlie panics a bit. “There, there Alastor,” she says. “No need to get all crazy!”

Alastor’s antlers grow. “I’m aware you don’t. So, who is it for?”

“Oh….” Dumbly blinking at him continues, and the words don’t seem to be doing their job.

Alastor leans closer, his voice morphing a bit. “I’d appreciate an answer, my love.”

“It's yours,” you find yourself saying. “…If you want it, that is.”

He blinks at you. You blink at him. Charlie blinks at the both of you.

Gone are the growing antlers, and the static that buzzes your skin. Alastor stands before you with that never ending smile, perfectly normal—well, as normal as he can be. “You weren’t aware I’d be visiting.”

You frown at him. “It’s not a visit if it’s your own home.”

“I didn’t tell you I’d be coming home,” he says. “Why make one for me?”

The heat on your face makes you turn away. “Just take it, deerest.”

“Taste lovely as always!” he says, taking a swig. Your frown turns into a soft smile as your watch him drink. “But don’t think you’re getting away from this conversation.”

“It really isn’t my fault.”

“Oh, really now?” Alastor raises his eyebrows. “I’m positive I taught you how to cook nutritious dishes.”

You flick the mug, and a soft clink echoes a bit. “I still cook proper food for myself,” you tell him, showing him your saddest smile. “But…I find myself hating the dishes.”

Alastor twirls his microphone, and it strikes the ground with a soft thunk. “And you think saying this will get you off the hook?”

You stick your tongue out. “Is it working?”

Alastor sighs at you, and turns to the ticking clock. “We’re wasting time—go talk to Charlotte.”

Charlie smiles awkwardly. “Just Charlie, actually.”

With a triumphant smile, you turn to Charlie. “So,” you begin, “what business are we going to talk about today?”

It’s Charlies turn to sulk into the kitchen chair. “Extermination is a month away,” she says. “And Adam is heading straight to the hotel first! It’s just one bad event after another because Heaven refuses to listen, and I’m running out of options.”

Alastor steps behind you. Suddenly, a brush combs through the back of your feathers, smoothing those parts of your head that you’ve never been able to reach by yourself.  Sometimes, you think Hell gave you feathers so someone could brush it for you. A part of you warms at the fact that you didn’t even need to ask your husband to smoothen your feathers. It’s a job he’s been doing since you first spawned in hell, and it seems it’s work he’s keen on continuing.

“Extermination,” you echo. “I love the extermination. There are so many desperate and poor souls who want to keep their limbs. I get rather busy—prime deal making opportunities right there.”

Charlie winces a bit. “Oh dear…um…okay. That sounds fun? And a little violent.”

Alastor speaks up from behind you, still running a brush through your feathers. “We can from Cannibal Town! Charlie was able to convince Rosie’s people to take arms.”

“Then, what brings you to me?” you ask, stiffening your back as you try not to lean into the brush that combs through your feathers. Alastor always was better at preening you. “I’m not much of a fighter.”

“Alastor suggested that I ask for your help,” Charlie says. “He said you’re one of the few people who knows how to fix wounds that come from Angelic Weapons.”

You bat your eyes at Alastor. “Spilling all my secrets, I see.”

Alastor glides the brush over your hair, leaning close to your ear. “Oh, not everything.”

You laugh and glance at Charlie. “In front of a guest, my deer?”

Charlie cringes with the most hilarious frown.

“It’s just a matter of counteracting the holiness of their weapons,” you say, clearing your throat. “After that, it’s purely medical.”

“How is that even possible?”

Alastor trails through your feathers, and it tingles and flutters. You keep your expression emotionless. “I’m surprised you don’t know this,” you say. “Did Belphegor never tell you?”

“No, she didn’t.”

“Well, eons ago, Belphegor found out that angelic weapons are considered holy, and that’s very bad for a Sinner,” you explain. “So, she and a bunch of her team found out that if you cut off the holy site or embed a large amount of Sinner energy, one will be able to treat it.”

Alastor leans closer, butting into the conversation. “I prefer it when you cut it off.”

“Of course you do,” you say with a chuckle. “I wouldn’t expect anything else.”

“Embedding the wounds with your magic takes too much energy from you, and because of that you always come home to me with sunken eyes. That is, if you don’t pass out before you reach the front door,” Alastor tells you. “I don’t understand why you go out of your way when they’re not worthy.”

“Worthy?”

“Yes, worthy,” he says. “Had they been competent, they wouldn’t need to go to you in the first place. It only proves that they’re weak.”

You smile at his words. “I guess I never thought of it that way.

Charlie rolls her eyes at the both of you. “So, you could help us?”

You twist, turning to Alastor. “I think you’ve gotten all my feathers straightened out,” you say. “My love, can you do me a favor?”

Lightly, Alastor taps your head with the tip of his cane. “Of course, how can I help?”

“I think the plants need some watering.”

The brush on Alastor’s hand dissolves with a poof. He leans closer once again, trailing your cheek with his finger until they hook on your chin. He captures you with his stare, and you allow him to trap you. He presses his lips on your cheek, and disappears into his shadow.

You take an even longer sip of your coffee.

Charlie massages her forehead, eyes twitching. “Dear Satan, it’s like watching my parents all over again! I can leave, you know,” she says, snorting. “Give you two a little privacy?”

“Oh, don’t bother,” you tell her. “There wouldn’t be enough time.”

Her brows furrow. “Time?”

“After all, extermination is in a month,” you say, brightening your smile. “We’re going to need at least two.”

“What the fuuuuck,.” Charlie whispers underneath her breath, her voice a pitch higher.

“Every couple of years, there will be certain seasons where it takes six!” you say. “Sinner bodies are just so exhilarating.”

Charlie chokes on her spit, and her eyes bulge. “Are you serious?”

“Hmmm, I could be—who knows?” You raise your mug to toast, and take a drink.

“You’re joking,” Charlie says. “…Right? Please tell me you’re joking.”

“My dear, is that a question you would want an answer to?” you ask. “Would you be prepared if the answer happens to be no?”

Charlie sinks deeper into her chair. “Okay, then! Moving on, now.”

Leaning on your palm, you laugh. “My deerly beloved husband wouldn’t give all this information for free,” you say. “What did he ask for?”

“We made a deal.”

Your hands drop to the table. “Oh Charlotte,” you say. “That was a foolish mistake. You don’t know what Alastor does to the so—“

“I still have my soul!” Charlie exclaims, balling her fist. “From Vaggie! From you—his own wife! I did what I needed to do to keep my people safe…Sorry.”

“You shouldn’t be so reliant on Alastor,” you tell her with a small smile. “You can’t trust him.”

“He’s given me no reason no to trust him, and…,” Charlie trails off. “And Alastor is my friend.”

Your smile brightens a bit. “Friend?”

“Yes?” Charlie says. “Everyone at the hotel is my friend, and he’s been a tremendous help.”

You place your hands over Charlies and give it a squeeze. “Convince me to help you.”

“W-what?”

“Alastor isn’t asking me to go play medic in the middle of a warzone.” Your brush your feathers out of your face. “If he was asking, I would say yes without a second thought because that’s who we are, but he isn’t asking me, Charlie, you are.”

Charlie hums, placing a finger on her lips as she thinks. “I heard from Angel that you and Alastor got married whe—“

CRASH!

She grips the table, eyes wide as she looks around. “What was that?”

You take a long and drawn-out sip of coffee, contemplating your choice for marriage. “Nothing to be worried about,” you say. “That was just my television.”

“Your Tv?” Charlie frowns a bit. “Did…did Alastor just throw away your Tv?”

You laugh, swatting your hand in the air. “Not at all!” you say. “It probably tripped out my window—those picture boxes are always so clumsy.”

Charlie raises her eyebrows. “You’re saying that your Tv…just tripped out the window.”

You smile at her. “You were saying something?”

She sighs, massaging her forehead. “You got married when you were alive, but continue to stay together. It’s very rare for Sinners to do such a thing,” she says. “And with all of that…uh…Alastorness.”

“It’s alright, you can just say bat-shit crazy.”

“I’d prefer not to,” she says with an awkward laugh. “So, how were you able to stay together for so long

“Are you…,” you trail off, blinking. “Are you asking me for relationship advice?”

“A bit? If that’s okay,” she says. “Rosie already helped but, well, she did eat her first husband.”

“I don’t think I can be of much help.” Your lips purse. “Alastor and I don’t exactly have the most conventional marriage.”

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

1927

“Do you like it?” Alastor offers you a spoonful of the simmering sauce.

You lean closer, shifting from your seat on his kitchen counter. Alastor dips the spoon in your opened mouth. “It’s spicy,” you say, lips twisting when you cough. “Is it supposed to be like that?”

Alastor tilts his head. A lock of his hair falls to the side. “No…it’s not.” He takes back the spoon and dips it into the pan. Alastor coughs as soon as it hits his tongue. “How many peppers did you add?”

Your legs sway, and the heels of your foot tap the cabinets below you. “I added what was written on the recipe! Exactly twelve peppers.”

Alastor twists the stove’s knob, killing the fire. “Take a look at the notebook again,” he says and reaches over your legs, grabbing his book full of recipes. “If you use these things called ‘eyes’ and ready, you’d be able to see that it says, ‘one to two’!”

“No, it does not!” you huff, grabbing the notebook from him. You read through the list of ingredients. There, near the bottom, pass the four cloves of chopped garlic, half a shallot, and a pinch of pepper, ‘one to two peppers’ is scribbled with blocky letters. “Oh…that’s my bad. Yeah, that’s on me.”

Alastor adjusts his sleeves, pulling it back up his forearm. (Hmm, not a bad look.) “There’s no point in teaching you how to cook this if you don’t know how to read!” he says, eyes twitching. “Go…Just go over there and let me fix this.”

“I already said I was sorry!”

“No, you did not!” Alastor says, throwing his hands into the air. “What you said was,‘Oh…that’s my bad. Yeah, that’s on me’, actually.”

“Yeah, that’s on me,” you repeat with a snort. “That’s my bad.”

“Get out of my kitchen before you ruin dinner.” He leans on the counter, crossing his arms. You hum to yourself. Alastor should pull his sleeves up more. “Go set the table or something. And wash your hair when you get home—it smells like chemicals.”

With a huff, you do as you're told.

You slide off his counter, opening the cabinet and grab two bowls with one arm and reach for the table placemats with the other.

Two sets of utensils, glass cups, and paper napkins. It’s one more set than what you prepare when you’re at your own home. Two…Two. It’s becoming quite the word in your vocabulary.

There’s a proper table waiting to be used in the other room, but this smaller one you’re setting, with its fraying edges and turmeric stains suit the both of you much better.

Three ice-cubes bobble at the top of Alastor’s water. It’s how he likes it. It’s funny. You don’t remember Alastor disclosing this particular information. It’s just something you noticed one day, and you’ve never stopped noticing. What else have you unconsciously learned about him, and what have you unconsciously taught him about you?

Alastor walks to the table, a large steaming bowl in his hands. He places it between the bowls, and you reach into the drawer for a ladle.

The taste tingles your tongue. It’s good. Better than anything you could possibly make for yourself.

You reach into your pocket and toss a handkerchief at Alastor’s face. It lands on between his hair. He tilts his head, shaking it, and the cloth slides on the table. “It’s yours,” you tell him, taking a spoonful of your food. “Thanks for dinner.”

Alastor studies how his name is embroidered in near letters, thumbing the music notes framing it. “Dinner was a way to thank you for this week’s meat.”

He tosses back the handkerchief. It smacks your face.

You peel it from your skin, and trace the letters you’ve threaded during your very scarce free time. “I can’t go around with a handkerchief that has your name on it.”

His smile widens. “Why not?”

“People would think I’m a fan.” You hand Alastor the handkerchief this time. “Just take it as a gift then.”

Alastor takes it from you, and places it into his pocket.

You hum into your spoon with a pleased smile. “Hey Al,” you say. “Tell me what you did today.”

Alastor takes his time chewing and swallowing his food. “As you can see,” he tells you, “I’m eating.”

“I’m bored,” you say. “Eat while you talk.”

He reaches across the table, and his fingers catch on the knob of the radio to turn it on.

Classical music plays out of the speaker. It was correct to assume that Alastor pre-sets radios to play his favorite stations. Although, you didn’t imagine that each of his many radios would have their own specific station. A different radio for different stations. You questioned Alastor about it, but he didn’t say much.

Once the bottom of the bowls has been scraped into your stomachs, you take the dishes and go to the sink.

Your nose scrunches at the sight of the piled dishes. Alastor watches you with a smile. You turn away when you notice.

Alastor takes a container from the cabinet above your head. He’s warm. Always warm.

He takes two containers, placing the leftovers inside. And there it is again, that word—Two. Not one, but two. One for him. One for you. You didn’t ask for leftovers. You’ve never asked at all. Alastor will just hand you the container like it’s the most automatic thing in this world for him to do.

You take the first of many bowls, and rinse the stubborn pieces with your hands. “There’s too many dishes,” you say. “It’s like you have one for every ingredient. Did you really need to use separate ones for each and every ingredient we used?”

He leans on the counter, slotting himself next to you.  “I don’t like mixing the flavors until it’s time to add them.”

Alastor adjusts his pulled sleeves and crosses his arms.

The bowl slips from your grip.

“Oh…I…uh…sorry,” you say, picking up the bowl. “I mean, you really didn’t need one for the salt and pepper. They already come in containers—why couldn’t you just, I don’t know, eyeball it?”

“Eyeball it?”

“Yeah, or feel it with your soul or something,” you say and pick up the measuring spoons to show him. “You had to measure three pinches of salt instead of actually just pinching it.”

Alastor laughs, and strands of his hair slide down to his eyes. “And how did it taste?”

Your shoulders slump when you sigh. “Good.”

He bumps his shoulders with yours. “That’s just the way I was taught.”

“Well,” you start, “your way creates more dishes for me to clean.”

Alastor pivots from the counter, and takes his place in front of the second sink. He grabs the dish you’ve already rinsed and sponges it with soap. It’s quite the system you’ve created. You grab a dirty dish, rinse it, and pass it on to Alastor who cleans it with a sponge.

The next minute goes something like this:

Alastor flicks water at your face. You ignore it.

Flick. Ignore.

Flick. Ignore.

Flick. Ignore.

The water damps your hair. You kick his leg. “Stop that.”

Alastor drenches his hand under the faucet, letting his fingers accumulate water. He flicks it at you.

The grip you have on the plate tightens. “I am going to smash this on your head.”

Alastor raises his eyebrows. He glares. You glare back. He cups his hand under the faucet like a bowl. The water pools between his hands. He throws the water at you. It hits your eyes, blinding you. That does little to stop you.

You grip the plate, swinging it in his direction.

The plate doesn’t connect with anything… Sadly. You rub the water out your eyes, and find Alastor kneeling on the floor with a triumphant smile.

Alastor stands up, brushing dirt from his pants. “You missed.”

“You ducked.”

“I can’t believe you actually did that,” he says. “What if you actually hit me?”

You pass the plate to Alastor before you scratch the urge to swing at that smug smile of his. “Hey Al,” you say. “Tell me what you did today.”

Alastor closes the faucet. “You always ask me that.”

“That’s because you say it in entertaining ways,” you say. “It’s boring to wash the dishes without something to distract me.”

Alastor soaps the dish. “Your lessening attention span worries me.”

You roll your eyes at him, and flick water at his face. “Please?”

“Since you asked so nicely,” he says. “I find myself having no reason to deny you.”

Alastor’s glasses slide down his nose. He leans close enough for you to smell his perfume. He’s warm—always warm. It takes a second for you to understand. You dry your hands on a stray towel, and fix it in place.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

1928.

The metal bench cools the back of your neck.

The sun blinds your eyes, but you keep a steady gaze on the afternoon beams. When was the last time you felt the heat of the sun kiss your skin? As the seconds tick by. As the birds fly above you. As the leaves fall from their stem, melting on this bench seems like a heavenly idea.

But as the clock will eventually strike. But as the birds will eventually find their nest. But as the leaves will eventually land. So, too, must you eventually go back to work.

A shadow blocks the sun.

It takes a second for your eyes to adjust. Alastor’s upside-down face smiles at you. “Good morning to you!”

With a yelp, you swing your forehead forward.

Alastor leans backwards, narrowly missing your head by centimeters. “Not the greeting I imagined, but hello to you as well,” he says. “The receptionist said I could find you here.”

You twist, turning to him with a frown. “Are you okay?”

Alastor slides over the bench, and takes the free seat next to you. His legs cross. “Why would I not be, okay?”

There’s some bag slung over his shoulder, but that’s not important right now. Your eyes trail his body. Hair? Fixed. Smile? Wide. Clothes? Perfect. “You’re at a clinic.”

Alastor swats his hand. “I was in the area.”

That classic city stench attacks your nose, but it’s just nice to feel the way your hair sways from the breeze. “You’re not going to kill me, right?”

Alastor nudges his leg with yours. “You say that every single time!”

Your smile turns smug. “I’ll stop saying it when it stops becoming funny.”

Alastor rolls his eyes, showing it off to you. “It never was.”

“It is to me,” you say and wave your hands in the air. “Just imagine this, the great Alastor had to stalk me!”

“I am great, but remind me again,” he begins, propping his arm on the bench to lean on it, “how long did you have to follow me?”

Sighing, you lean your head on the backrest to count the clouds. It’s nice to be able to see actual clouds for once instead of the drawing of children who wait. “…Three months.”

“Exactly,” he says, and you hear the smugness in his words. “And I didn’t need to do any stalking—you led me straight to your house.”

You blow a raspberry at him. “Why are you even here then?”

Alastor props his legs on your lap. You push him off. He brings it back. It’s not worth fighting him right now. “I actually was in the area,” he says, and hands you the bag slung over his shoulder. “The director thought it would be a grand idea to bring the staff out to lunch.”

You unzip the bag, and packed lunch greets you. And there it is again. Two. Two. Two. One for you. One for him. Maybe both for you? “Al, tell me why I’m currently looking at two packed lunches?”

Alastor beams at you, and slides his legs off your lap. “I accidentally cooked too much today,” he said. “I thought it would be a grand idea to share.”

Your frown. “But…you already ate.”

“Oh…I was already planning on dropping by,” he says. “It was quite the stroke of luck that you’re only taking your break now, and that we happened to have lunch nearby. I thought I’d bring you a treat.”

Questions bubble on your throat. “Thank you, Al,” you say instead. You open the container and take a bite, savoring the taste. “It’s delicious.”

Alastor leans closer, and picks a leaf off your head. “That’s because I actually followed the recipe.”

You point your spoon at him. “That was just that one time!”

He smiles at you, chuckling softly. “Three actually.”

Before the clock strikes, it will tick. Before the birds find their nest, they will fly. Before the leaves hit the ground, it will fall. And before you eventually go back to work, you will eat on this bench, Alastor to your side.

He stares ahead. As you eat, you watch his eyes flicker. It goes from the kid then to a plant then to an old lady. This, you don’t question. You’ve stopped wondering what he could possibly be thinking years ago.

Alastor leans closer to your ear. “Do you see that lady?” he asks, voice low. His breath tickles your skin. “That one over there with the feather on her hat?”

You scan the people around the area, spotting the lady old enough to be your grandmother. A scarf wraps around her neck, despite the sun beaming with the afternoon heat. She lazily walks around. “What about her?”

“Do you think her name could be Edith? She looks like an Edith,” Alastor says. “She probably had three children, and married young when her parents forced her to marry this ugly but rich man she could never love.”

Alastor brought you lunch. Alastor brought you lunch. Alastor brought you lunch. It’s like a mantra that plays in your head. There’s no reason not to play along whatever nonsense he’s spouting. “Sure, why not?”

“But no!” he exclaims into your ear. You jerk away and shove him with an elbow. “Oof….Edith just had to defy all expectations, and she chose to elope with her childhood sweetheart. He’s not the richest man, but they survived.”

“That’s sweet.”

“And to this day,” he says, “everyone still calls her, ‘Edith the Penguin’.”

“Edith the penguin?” you echo. “Now I’m just confused.”

Alastor’s eyes shine. “Because she walks like a penguin with their ass on fire,” he snorts. “Your turn, now.”

Alastor brought you lunch. Alastor brought you lunch. Alastor brought you lunch. Alastor brought you lunch. Alastor brought you lunch. Alastor brought you lunch. Alastor brought you lunch. Alastor brought you lunch. Alastor brought you lunch. And you would love to be brought lunch again.

“Fine.” You place your spoon down, and look around to the first person who grabs your attention. “That little kid over there—His name is Thomas, and he likes balloons.”

Alastor blinks at you. “And?”

You take your time chewing and swallowing your food. “That’s all.”

He gawks at you, and rolls your eyes. “It must be so boring to be you.”

“It is not!” You huff at him, and kick his leg. “I am a very interesting person, I’ll have you know.”

“Oh really, now? Thomas, and he likes balloons?” Alastor says,and points at the kid with twitching eyes. “He’s holding a balloon!”

You wave your arms, the spoon still in your grip. “So, he probably likes it!” you say. “Thomas wouldn’t get a balloon if he didn’t like it.”

“I pity your sense of imagination.”

Alastor brought you lunch. Alastor brought you lunch. Alastor brought you lunch. And you would love to be brought lunch again.

You swallow what remains inside the container, and pack it up. “Is this what you do when you zone out as I’m tal—and you’re doing it again, aren’t you?” you say. “You are an incredibly judgmental person.”

“It’s called using my imagination. Something you apparently don’t have,” he says with a snort. “So…tell me what you did today.”

You raise your eyebrows at him. “That’s my question.”

Alastor shrugs, taking the closed container and zipping it inside his bag. He hands you a tissue. “Well, I’m asking it now.”

You prop your arm on the bench, leaning on it. Alastor’s hair spikes out in odd places today. It must have quite the trek to the clinic. “I’m not as good a storyteller as you are.”

He props his arms on the bench, mimicking your pose. His eyes stare straight into yours. “ I don’t need a story,” he says. “I just want to know what you did today.”

You press your palm on his face, pushing him away from your face. The sun’s heat is really getting to you. Alastor’s nose crinkles as he rubs it. “Why would you even want to know what I do?”

Alastor props his elbows on his knees, observing the people around him. “You always ask me what I did,” he says. “I want to know if there’s something special about it.:

“There’s nothing special about it,” you tell him. Was there actually? You’re not sure. “I just like knowing, and it always entertains me.”

Alastor meets your eyes with a wide smile. “Then tell me what you did today,” he says. “Entertain me.”

The clock ticks closer. The birds are already close to their nests. The leaves are already floating to the ground. You are already close to going back to work, closer to this moment becoming nothing but a distant memory. “That was my first meal of the day.”

Alastor’s eyebrows furrow and his lips twist into a hard scowl. “That’s not healthy.”

You shut your eyes and sigh. “I never said it was.”

“How would you live without me?”

Remember, Alastor brought you lunch, and it would be nice if he could bring you lunch again. “I’m going to hit you.”

Alastor bumps your knees with his. “Lovely,” he says, and you can hear the smile he’s wearing. “I’m sure it will be very painful because you’re so full of energy right now.”

Eyes still shut, you bump his knees back. “I’ve been busy,” you say. “And don’t roll your eyes at me.”

Alastor hesitates for a second. “First of all, we’re all busy,” he says. “Second, I didn’t roll my eyes.”

“You did—it was audible,” you tell him with a soft chuckle. “Anyway, there’s nothing new with my day. It’s just the usual, people to see, files to file, blood to draw, pee to get on me.”

Alastor digs his finger into your cheek, twisting it as he presses down. “Wow, you really are a horrible storyteller.”

You know what, maybe you don’t need Alastor bringing you lunch. You peek open an eye to stare at him. “I’m going to smash a plate on your head once we start doing the dishes.”

Alastor mashes your cheek like some button. Over and over and over and over again. You swat his hand, and he rubs it with a grimace. “Were you planning on dropping by today?”

You place an arm over your eyes, blocking out the sun. “Will I have to do the dishes?”

“You don’t have to specifically do the dishes.”

You comb through your hair with your fingers. “That wouldn’t exactly be fair to you.”

“If you're so insistent, we can find something else for you to do,” he says. “I mean, if you hate it so much you don’t have to do it.”

“I don’t hate it,” you say with a sigh. A church bell sounds. It echoes through the buildings and through the trees. “Al…I’m tired.”

“I know,” he says, and you hear how softly he chuckles. “Your eyes are drooping so low I could fill the entire ocean in them.”

“I want to sleep, Al.”

“I know.”

“I hate this job.”

Alastor pauses for a second, and he bumps his shoulders with yours. “You don’t.”

The clock hasn’t struck yet. The birds haven’t flown to their nests. The leaves haven’t reached the ground. And so too will you stay in this moment of time.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

1929

Footsteps creak on the wooden stairs. The sound is ignored, just like every other thing that isn’t relevant to you.

The dead cadaver under you has weird kidneys. The one on your palm is too small for a kidney that belongs to someone of his size. You take your scalpel, slicing it to observe the cross section.

“It’s time to stop,” Alastor tells you. Ignore. Ignore. Ignore. Him and his smile is not important right now. “You’ve been here all night.”

“Leave me alone,” you mumble. The human body continues to be amazing. The medulla is clearly outlined. The colors of its cells were so different from the cortex. “…Kidneys, Alastor. He has weird kidneys. Hehehehe weird kidneys…”

Alastor says your name in a way that forces you to listen.

“…Oh…yes?” you say a bit dumbly.

“It’s nightfall,” he says, and the tone of his voice buzzes your skin. “Come on now, do as you're told. Be upstairs in fifteen minutes.”

It’s not an easy task to do as Alastor says, especially when this man’s left kidney is a whole different size from the right. However, with a frown, you slot the kidney from the opened chest cavity, and pack up the body.

You step out of the basement, and walk to the kitchen.

There’s a plate waiting for you on the table. It’s still hot. Muffled music plays from the porch, and you see Alastor’s outline through the windows. Taking your plate, you step out the front door and into the outdoors. (Something you really need to start seeing more.)

And oh…he’s not listening to the radio. Alastor plays the recording of his show. It was a present you got him a few months back.

You take your seat on the matching rocking chair.

Alastor watches you settle into your seat. He turns the volume down. “Tables were invented for a reason.”

The chair rocks when you swing your legs. “It’s nice out here,” you say, and take a bite of vegetables. “The sky is much clearer. It helps that there’s no stench of piss.”

He turns to you with a small smile. “That’s because you live in the city.”

The wind blows your hair into your face. You push it out of the way. “Hey, Al,” you say slowly. “Tell me what you did today.”

“Why should I?”

You lean back into the chair, letting the rocking sway you. “Well, you got home late,” you say. “I had to use my keys.”

Alastor leans back on the chair, using the tips of his shoe to rock himself. “Yes, that was the point of the keys,” he says, humming. “It would be a shame to come home to another broken window.”

The taste of the vegetables mixed with the meat makes you smile in delight. “Are you still holding on to that?”

“Always.”

“I paid you back, eventually,” you tell him, pointing your fork at him. “Why are you still holding a grudge for an honest accident?”

On his cheek , where it’s always been and where it’ll always be, his smile strains. “You expect me to believe that a rock smashing my window was an honest accident.”

You offer him your most innocent smile. “Yes.”

“Well, I hope your windows are much sturdier then,” he says, mimicking your smile. “One of these days, I might cause an accident.”

The stars twinkle in the sky. There’s a vast amount of knowledge those gassy balls hold. Maybe your life would be less horrific if you were interested in the stars instead. “In my defense, you were late.”

Alastor pinches the bridge of his nose. “You couldn’t wait fifteen minutes?”

You take another bite of your meal, and sway happily to do a little dance. “Just… okay? Just tell me what you did before I finish my meal.”

Alastor reaches into his pocket and tosses a keychain at you. It lands between your legs.

You set the plate on the coffee table between you, and hold the keychain to the light. It was a cute, little cartoon alligator. “What’s this?”

“It’s yours.”

“I can tell that much,” you say, twirling the gift between your fingers. “You never give me nice knickknacks. It’s always the ugly ones

Alastor huffs at you. “That doesn’t sound like my problem anymore,” he says. “I thought you would appreciate something that looks halfway decent one and for all.”

“I find the ugly ones really charming, actually. They’re very funny to look at,” you say. “So, where did you get this?”

Alastor clasps his hands, resting it on his stomach as he rocks himself. “Saw an advertisement. Went to the zoo.”

You scrunch your face. “That’s all you’re going to tell me?”

“Go finish your meal.”

You pocket his gift, and grab the plate on the table. “Master of storytelling right here, ladies and gentlemen,” you say, barking a laugh. “I figured you would love the excuse of hearing yourself talk.”

Alastor ignores you, reaching for his notepad instead.

You watch Alastor as he writes on his notepad. The breeze sways a strand of his hair. His lips twist when he thinks, just like he’s doing right now

Your eyes fall on your plate, to where vegetables and meat were carefully tossed together. Alastor cooked today— he always cooks. When you finish, you’ll grab the plates, and begin the mountain of dishes. Even when dish soap stings your fingers, even when the feeling of wet food grosses you, and even when thousands of dirty dishes wait for you…it’s something you don’t mind..

Once this meal is finished, you and him will step inside. He’ll properly tell you about his day, and you’ll take the pan and scrub it.

Ah…there it is again. That word—Two.

But it’s not two of anything. It’s simply just two. You and Alastor.

“You’re frowning,” Alastor says. He stares at you from the corner of  his eyes. “Why?”

It’s weird.

Very weird.

You don’t…You don’t understand. How do you say the words you do not know how to explain?

It’s almost as if… “We should get married.”

Alastor’s laughter rings across the open land. “No.”

The inside of your cheek stings from how you bite it. You turn away to hide your flushed cheeks. “I…It just came out, okay?” you mumble. “I’m really trying not to be offended that you turned me down without a second thought, and with a laugh as well.”

Alastor turns back to his notepad. “Don’t be,” he says. “I’m nothing you want.”

The moonlight reflects off his brown eyes. “Sometimes…,” you begin, and a small smile appears on your lips. “Sometimes I wish you see yourself the way I see you.”

Alastor laughs at you again. “You’ve been having such thoughts about me?” he says. “What an absolute honor! I’m deeply flattered.”

“And then you say words like that, and I immediately know it’s not worth it

Alastor lifts his eyes from his notepad to peek at you. He fixes his eyeglasses. “You don’t actually think we should get married.”

To be infuriating, you take a bite from your plate, savoring each flavor with drawn out chews.

“I have no idea,” you say. “But…I mean, why not? There are many good reasons for me to marry you—it’s advantages for me, and everyone already thinks we’re dating.”

Alastor turns back to his notepad, shaking his head. “That’s the most absurd idea I’ve ever heard.”

“What, being in a relationship with me?”

“Yes.”

“That’s twice you’ve managed to offend me.” You laugh to hide your frown. “But that friend of yours. The feathery one from the lounge you like taking me to.”

Alastor tilts his head. “Mimzy?”

“Ah yes, her,” you say with a hum. “She asked me if you um…uh… well, if you liked vanilla or hot and spicy.”

“If I had to answer, Id say hot and spicy?” Alastor says, and you laugh at the confusion on his face. “I got a bottle of this pepper flakes infused with old. It was quite the treat.”

“That’s exactly what I figured you would say,” you tell him.“Unfortunately for you, Mimzy was talking about sex.”

Alastor scrunches his face.

Oh don’t make such a face, there is absolutely no need to be afraid of the prospect of such activities.” The final bite of your meal bursts with so much flavor that you revel it for a second. “Al, let’s get married.”

Alastor glares at you. “No.”

You place the plate on the coffee table. It can be  washed after this conversation. “Why not?”

He points his pen between you and him..“We aren't even dating,” he says. “And…I can’t express such passionate displays of affection.”

You rock the chair with your shoe. An owl hoots from somewhere beyond the trees. Huh, you weren’t aware owls lived in this area. “Don’t be a child—just say sex.”

Again, his face scrunches. “I will not.”

“It’s a really good thing,” you say, sighing, “that no one’s asking.”

Alastor searches for your eyes. He holds it. It was only ever his to hold anyway. “I’m not even sure I’m interested in romance.”

You look around, whipping your head. “I think I’m missing the part where someone asked.”

“Be serious.”

“Okay fine. This is me being serious because I am when I say that all I don’t need your romance—Al, you accepted me for who I am, and to me? That is enough,” you say with a soft smile. “You are all I could ever ask for.”

Alastor stares at the stars, his eyes capturing each one. “I can’t love you like a husband should.”

The stares are really beautiful.

Each shines in their own way. Alastor sees the beauty in them, but you aren’t going to be beaten by a gas ball. Tomight, you will be the only star Alastor should keep his gaze on. “Alastor, look at me.”

He keeps his eyes on the stars.

Huffing, you stride to his chair, and block his view of the night sky.

You plant your arms on the armrest for support, and inch your face so close that you are the only thing he will see. “Alastor,” you say his name, voice oh so soft, “look at me.”

Oh…his eyes are browner than you thought. It’s a deep and dark brown that pulls you in.

“You can love me in ways that matter.” You press your forehead against his, and close your eyes.

There are more words to be said, but right now you and him stay in this moment of time. Just…for…a second.

“I will never force you to love me in ways you cannot,” you whisper. The ends of his hair brush against your skin. “Alastor, I could never reject the type of love you can offer me. I can never deny you.”

Alastor caresses your cheek with the back of his fingers. “Friends don’t get married.”

Impulsivity was such a bad habit of yours. It’s a fact that makes you bear the consequences, but consequences be damned. You take his hand, holding it in yours. The pads of his fingers have different textures. Some are smooth. Some are rough. But the whole thing warms you to the touch. It’s unfair. He’s unfair. How could something as simple as taking his hand intoxicate?

Your lips hover over his skin, brushing it a little. Alastor doesn’t pull away. With a smile that Alastor always seems to put on your lips, you plant a soft kiss on his ring finger.

“We aren’t normal people. There’s no reason to force ourselves into a conventional relationship.” You meet his eyes with a smirk. Every word you utter brushes your lips yo his skin. “This marriage will be defined however we want. You offer me a partnership in death…This is me offering you a partnership in life.”

You press your lip on the back of his hand, one final time, and return to your chair.

Alastor doesn’t speak.

You rock yourself with your foot, enjoying the sway of the chair.“There is that added benefit that the police won’t be suspicious of a doting husband.”

Alastor scrunches his face. “Doting husband?” he echoes. “I thought we wouldn’t be having a normal marriage.”

“That doesn’t mean a lady doesn’t want to feel special,” you say, snorting. “I’ve always dreamed of a doting husband.”

Alastor rips a page out of his notepad. He folds it with his hands.

His vets match his shoes today. The hair on the back of his head sticks out and curls. Did he take a nap today? “I could be like this every single night,” you say softly. “You and me. The two of us under the stars until our hairs turn gray.”

Alastor’s gaze stays locked on the piece of paper he’s folding. “Why me?”

You stare at him with a smile, and lean your face on your palm. “Does it need to be said?”

Alastor glances at you with those brown eyes of his. “I’m asking.”

“It’s because…It’s…I…,” your trail off. How do you summon the words to describe something you don’t understand?

There’s a smug smile on Alastor’s lips. “What, is it because you love me?”

“Would it be so bad if I did?” you say, chuckling into your arm. “But…well, I don’t exactly know how to properly say this.”

“Just open your mouth,” he says, rolling his eyes, “and let the words do it’s job.”

“I wouldn’t mind doing the dishes with you for the rest of my life,” you tell him, and your cheeks tingle. “Maybe even past life. Can you imagine that? You and me in hell, doing our dishes together.”

There’s an odd look on his face. “Sure.”

“We can listen to the radio,” you say. “And I’ll ask you about your day, and you will tell me the wildest and most grandiose story while we clean a pot.”

Alastor smiles at you. “You hate doing the dishes.”

“I do not.”

“You do. I see it—I always do,” he says with a soft chuckle. Alastor taps his nose. “Your nose scrunches every time, yet you never ask for help.”

What expression are you making right now?

You bring your legs to your chest. “I’m willing to give up everything for dirty dishes if it means I have you as a companion for the rest of my life.”

Alastor turns back to whatever he was folding.

You hide your face in your legs, face flushed and warm. “Say something…please,” you say, whispering. “I just poured out my heart for you

You hear Alastor rise from his seat. He places a hand on your head. “Today’s dinner…,” he says, and his voice is the softest it’s ever been. “Did you like it?”

You smile even if he couldn’t see it, and lean into his hand. “It was one of the most delicious thing I have ever tasted.”

“I wouldn’t mind making it for you for the rest of my life…if you’re willing to wash the dishes with me for the rest of yours,” Alastor says, and you think this is the most honest thing he’s ever told you. “It’s yours. Even if you don’t want it, this is yours now.”

You peek out of your knees. Alastor’s smile is soft. He opens his palms and your eyes flicker to them. He shows you what he’s been folding. It’s the paper of his notepad folded into a ring—a paper ring.

“Do it again,” you say with a beam that could rival the stars. “Ask me again.”

Alastor caresses your cheek, the back of his finger brushing down your skin. “Doting husband?”

“Exactly,” you say with a laugh and lean into his touch. “You catch on very quickly.”

Alastor takes your hand in his, and his thumb brushes over your ring finger. Does he feel your skin the way you feel his? He kneels on one knee and the paper ring is presented to you. “Would you do me the honor of accepting my hand in marriage?”

You insert your ring finger into the paper ring. “The honor would be mine, my dearest.”

Alastor stares at you.

You stare back.

 The moment your eyes settle on one another, laughter echoes across the land. It’s loud and breathy, and it echoes so far that the local wildlife gets disturbed. Alastor settles back on his chair, rocking himself.

Alastor calms down first. “Oh…uh…Should we share a passionate kiss?”

The stars shine above you. Not a single gas ball can beat the brightness of your smile. “Do you want to?” you ask. “Be honest, my dear.”

Alastor hesitates for a second. “Not particularly—Do you?”

“Maybe? Sometimes?” you say with a shrug. “I could live a happy life without such passionate kisses.”

“Really?” he says, and the surprise in his voice makes you laugh. “You would be fine without one?”

“Well, since you’re so insistent, I’ll allow a kiss.”

Alastor snorts into the air. “And where and when would you want such a kiss?”

You hold him in your gaze. There’s so much to learn, so much to figure out. It’s alright. There will be time. “Anywhere and anytime, you want, my love.”

“You’re going to give me control?” he asks. “Is this not something you would want as well?”

“I’ll make this easy enough for you to understand,” you tell him, tracing the paper ring around your finger. “I demand a kiss whenever you are completely and perfectly and incandescently happy.”

Alastor hums, looking away to study the woodcarving on his chair. He picks on them. “I supposed if you need anyone to fulfill your needs I only as—”

“Just say sex, my dearest,” you say, and Alastor sinks into his chair with a huff. “That will never happen. This isn’t a friendship, my love. I am entering a relationship with you. No matter how unconventional, it is still ours.”

Alastor locks your eyes with a pleased smile. “Good.”

The rocking chair rocks you into a small lull. “My dear.”

“Yes?”

“My love.”

Alastor sighs. “Yes?”

“My dearest,” you say. “Would you want to share a bed?”

Alastor stays silent. There’s hesitation on his face. You see it in the way his lips twist. You see it in the way his eyebrows furrow. You see it in the way he leans back on his chair to stare at the stars.

“Okay then, we can circle back to that later,” you say with a soft chuckle. “How about a room—Do you want to share one?”

Alastor raises his eyebrows, staring at you with silent judgment. He is a book that you are allowed to learn. There’s so much to read, and so much still left to be read. That’s okay. There’s time. No matter how long. You have time.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that, we can share a room without sharing a bed,” you exclaim, throwing your hands into the air. “We can even have bunk beds. That would be cool. I’ve always wanted a bunk bed.”

Alastor rests his face on his palm to look at you. There it is again, the breathy and light laughter. “We are not sleeping on a bunk bed.”

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Charlie’s smile slowly morphs into a frow that you cannot decipher. It makes sense that you can’t. Afterall, she is not the book you’ve spent your life learning to read. “You…You don’t actually love each other?”

There’s a frame hanging on your kitchen wall that says otherwise.

It holds an art piece you embroidered for the sole purpose of giving it to your husband. The color of the wooden frame compliments the colors of the thread, as if it was carefully chosen to match. The one here in the kitchen is but one of many frames around the house. Alastor keeps every single item safe beneath the glass to to be admired.

There’s a shelf standing on the living-room carpet that says otherwise.

It holds ugly knick knacks that Alastor bought for the sole purpose of giving it to his wife. It’s a pain to dust the shelves, but not a speck of dirt touches its surface, as if it was carefully taken care of. The one in there in the living-room is but one of many shelves around the house. You keep every item spotless to be admired.

“We’re not heartless,” you say. “Alastor and I don’t have the same relationship you and your girlfriend have.”

Charlie sways in her seat, a hand rests on her chin when she hums. “ I am so sorry,” he says. “I think it’s great and all that, I’m just having trouble understanding.”

“It’s not exactly for you to understand.” You take a sip from your mug.

“So it’s not a relationship,” Charlie says. “Sooooo, is it like a really really deep friendship?”

“The lines between us are so blurry that it’s become deeper than friendship,” you admit with a small smile. “I just know that my soul is connected to him in ways I do not know how to tell him.”

“Is that really possible?” Charlie asks. “To just…love each other so differently?”

“Can our relationship not just…exist?” You lean on your palms. “Do you really think it’s so impossible for two people to just…to just look forward to cooking and washing the dishes together?”

Charlie’s eyes brighten. “I think I’m starting to understand,” she says. “So like—”

“Charlie…if I sit here and answer all of your questions, we’re going to waste time.” You play with the fiddle of your mug. “You didn’t come here for relationship advice.”

“Oh…yes.” Charlie sits there. Her smile slowly falls into a frown. “I’ve been thinking of how to convince you to help me, but…I can’t think of a single thing to say, and I don’t want to force you either.”

You raise your eyebrows. “You haven’t exactly asked for my help either.”

Charlie blinks at you. “…Huh?”

You raise your mug to toast to her. “If you want my help, just ask for it.”

Charlie grabs your hand with a tight grip. “Please, help me,” she says, voice shaking. “I don’t want to drag Cannibal Town into an all-out war without knowing there was a way to keep them safe.”

“Sure, why not?” You pull your hand away.

A loud squeal bounces off the walls.

Charlie pulls you into the tightest hug you’ve ever experienced. She hauls you with all the strength of a hellborn princess.  Your feet drag against the floor as she pulls you out of the kitchen and into the living-room.

Charlie drops you with a wince on her face. She stares at the broken window, and the obviously missing television.

You trip out of her hold.

Alastor wraps his hand on your shoulders, steading you against him until you find your balance. His touch lingers on you.

The television shaped hole on your glass window makes your eyes twitch.

Alastor steps away from you, twirling his microphone. It strikes the floor with a harsh thunk. “Oh, yes that,” he says. “It seems there was an unfortunate accident.”

“Oh, really now?” you say, placing a hand on your hips. “I would love to know exactly how that happened.”

Alastor’s smile widens, and his arms wave the air. “The clumsy boxed tripped right out the window.”

Your smile strains. “…That is rather unfortunate,” you say. “What a shame, I rather liked that television. It’s been a constant companion, and never has it once disappeared on me for several years.”

Alastor glares at you.

You glare back.

“I would love to help you clean this mess,” Alastor says with that triumphant smile of his.

Would a second broken window be worth trouble if it means there would be an Alastor-shaped hole?

“Perfect!” you say. “I’m sure you still remember where we keep the broom.”

Alastor boops your nose. “Unfortunately, the cannibals will be meeting us at the hotel,” he says. “I think it’s time we take our leave. Say goodbye to my wife, Charlotte.”

Charlie opens her mouth to correct him. She changes her mind at the last minute, choosing to sulk with a wave instead.

Alastor opens the door, allowing Charlie to step out first. She strides to the flowerbeds, kneeling to observe the plants.

Alastor stills by the door frame.

He inches close enough for you to reach him. The fabric of his lapels smoothen as you adjust its fit on him.

A breeze tussles Alastor’s hair. You swipe the stray locks, brushing his hair away from his forehead, until…until the x that marks the gunshot catches your eyes. Frowning, you thumb the mark, caressing it with oh so soft touches. There was a time where you believed that you and him had all the time in the world. Death laughed at you that night.

Alastor watches you, taking your wrist to pull it away.

He leans closer, and picks a feather on your head. “Will you indulge me?” he asks. “There’s just something I want to ask of you before I leave.”

“Say it, and it will be yours.”

Alastor pokes his cheeks, mimicking a smile. “Just one of these from you will do—Something to power me through the day.”

With a soft chuckle, you widen your lips to show him the brightest smile you can muster. “Is that much better, my love?”

Alastor presses a kiss on your cheek. “Indeed,” he says. “You’ve been frowning for a while now.”

Your eyebrows furrow. “Have I?”

Alastor boops your nose. “You have,” says. “What’s troubling you, my dear?”

“It’s nothing serious to you,” you tell him with a shake of your head. “It’s nothing worth listening to.”

Alastor taps his fingers across his microphone. “It’s not nothing. Especially when you frown like that,” he says. “If it’s serious to you, it is worth listening to.”

“Sometimes…I still find myself wondering how you feel,” you say, smoothening the feathers on your head “Even after being married for so long, there are times where I still do not know

“You’re not a mind reader,” he says. “If you want to know, you should just ask.”

“Alright then,” you say with a smile. “How are you feeling today, my love?”

Alastor caresses your cheek. The back of his fingers brush down your skin until it hooks around your chin. You tilt it to the side, offering your cheek, ready for him.

Alastor tugs your chin, adjusting your face until your eyes are drawn into his own. And oh…Has he always looked at you like this?

Alastor inches closer, his nose nudging against your own. Your heart thumps in your ear.

A minute has never felt so long as you stay frozen. It’s a whole minute  if his lips brushing inches above yours. It’s a whole minute of his finger stroking the skin of your chin. It’s a whole minute of feeling his breath on your skin. It’s a whole minute where inches of space separate your

Alastor tortures you with the simplest of sensation that intoxicated you to your very core. You don’t move away, not from him—never from him.

Your eyes close when Alastor presses his lips across yours.

The taste of this morning’s coffee is dizzying. The soft tickles of his breath make your fingers curl around the fabric of his coat. You were never a poet. It’s Alastor who was better with his words. You cannot describe the way he kisses you with sweet metaphors or soft analogies.

Alastor pulls away.

You inch closer to chase him, until self-control takes over. It splashes you with the warmth of a bucket filled with ice.

Oh…oh.

There are words to be said, questions to be asked. The heat tingling of your cheeks and the electricity buzzing your lips make it hard to find the words.

You bury your face into the fabric of Alastor’s chest, curling into him to hide how red your face flushes. The back of his coat crumples when you grip it.

Alastor wraps his arms around you, tightening the hug. His finger stroke your shoulder blade. “Does that answer your question?”

You inhale into his clothes. It’s warm. He’s warm. So warm that int transfers to you. “No, not at all,” you mumble. “Where did you learn to do that?”

Alastor leans back, pushing you away to search your face.He stares at you.

You stare at everything but him.

Alastor squishes your cheek, giving it a light shake. “Stop demanding things from me when you’re not going to remember.”

“I did no such thing.” You swat his hand away. “Will I be seeing you soon?”

Charlie catches your eyes. She quickly glances away before eventually looking back. You bring out your hand, folding your fingers to indicate the number two. Charlie cringes so deep she creates a double chin.

Alastor brushes feathers out of your face. “You wouldn’t need to ask if you accepted Charlie’s offer to stay at the hotel,” he says. “ I was given a room there. I think you would like it…but, there’s still thousands of unused rooms if you wish to stay somewhere else.”

“My deerest, are you asking me to stay at the hotel?”

Alastor’s silence makes you chuckle.

With the tips of your toes, you reach to press a kiss on his cheek. “I will see you soon.”

“You always will.”

Charlie and Alastor leave with a wave. You close the door before they reach the gate, leaning on the door. The wood does little to settle the way your skin buzzes. Demand a kiss? You would never do such a thing.

The clock strikes. It’s time to leave for work. You take your coffee mug, scrubbing it with soap. (If you drop it twice, then that’s your business.) You open the cupboard, placing your matching mug next to Alastor’s clean one.

Today…Today will be a good day.

For today, there’s no need to throw away cold coffee mugs.

First of all, you will never catch my Alastor cooking jambalaya. It’s a great dish, I know. But I refuse to fall into the curse. Part of the reason why this chapter took so long to publish, besides work getting in the way, was because I didn’t know how I would want Alastor and Reader to love each other. Like do I make it purely romantic?  But I like keeping this as canon as possible. And I know that Alastor is only canonically ace. This problem struck me until I realized that to be accepted is to be loved. So I decided to write a story that will make me happy to show you. There are so many other fics with pure romance, and I wanted to respect Alastor’s asexuality and everyone who relates to him. This is my love letter to him and to you. Also, I’m just going to put it out there, just in case someone might ask why there’s a kiss on the lips? This is a reminder that you can define a relationship any way you could want. I debated whether that kiss should be on the cheek or on the lips. A cheek kiss isn’t inherently romantic, so I could have just done this. The lip kiss just felt…correct. I wanted to showcase that the relationship between Alastor and Reader isn’t a conventional one, and that it’s fine to have one that differs from what is considered normal. So the best way would be to take something that everything thinks is very romantic and twist it in a way that it could mean something different. And thus, any kiss before and after this chapter really just means that Alastor is completely and perfectly and incandescently happy.

Taglist: @mybrainautocorrect @ray-rook @teavibesaf @valentique @qardasngan @tobyisher3 @amoraneuro @okay-babe @holymusicialmothman @lyralibra @alastorssimp @aestheticglas-blog @slaggylemon

#alastor x reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #alastor #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor the radio demon #alastor x wife!reader #alastor x you #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel x you #alastor x wife reader #Alastor #radio demon

[your-favourite-space-girl]

!Gammer and spelling mistakes!

Imagine Bumblebee being afraid of car washes(gn reader) (platonic or romantic, your choice)

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

I was driving my protector, Bumblebee around the empty high way, enjoying the landscapes, i saw a car wash near here and decided that Bumblebee needs a wash

I start driving towards the car wash only to hear a voice from the radio saying "Hey, uh I'm not sure if you noticed, Y/N but you just turned left instead of going straight" the yellow Autobot said with a hint of concern as we drove closer to the car wash

"Yeah, yeah I know.. We're headed in here" I reply with a soft smile

"wait what! No, no, no, no, NO. We're not going... In there" Bee protests

"And why not?"

"B-Because it's dirty!"

"It's a car wash?"

"W-Well! I don't want to go in there... Please don't make me.." He says with a voice crack, I was about to say something else until I realised he's scared, he's scared of car washes

"Bee... Are you scared?" I ask in a curious tone but concerned

Bumblebee sighs before muttering "A little.. The last time I went too one, it was bad.. They scraped my paint, the water was cold, and they didn't Soap right! It was a nightmare! Please don't make me go.." the yellow Autobot whined

"Bee, i promise it won't be like that... And if it is i will take good care of you, and I'll hand wash you... It's going to be okay.." I say in a comforting manner, waiting for him to say something that gives me permission to drive inside the car wash

I hear him sigh before saying "Fine.. But the moment something doesn't feel good, we're leaving!"

Bumblebee says stubbornly as I giggle before driving inside hoping he'll like it..

He liked it, but was too stubborn to admit it

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

Sorry its short, also I'm sorry it took so long i was busy with a college report😭

#transformers #x reader #gn reader #bumblebee x reader #Bumblebee x gn reader #transformers x reader #blurb #Bumblebee blurb

[hitomisuzuya]

Scaramouche x fem!reader. Smut. Degradation. Praise. A sprinkle of sensory deprivation. Possessive behavior. College AU

Tagging @xxventiswindblumexx cause they linked me to this playlist that had random voice lines of Scara speaking in the middle of song and it distracted me so many times. They watched my struggle on chat lol. Song choice is ET by Katy Perry.

Scaramouche had no idea if you could feel his glare piercing into you. He sat on the edge of his bed, watching you work.

Your hair was in those long loose pony tails you divided your hair into sometimes. He especially loved to pull on them, especially if he wanted a kiss or something more.

He could smell that you'd changed your perfume to the scent you wore in the winter months. He thought the light pink color of the perfume in the bottle didn't suit you the first time he had sprayed it on his wrist so he could smell you. He doubted you knew he'd first done that while you were taking some new first years out on a trail ride. But the scent, the scent suites you well, he thought. Scaramouche was positive winter had a scent, it would smell like your perfume.

Then let the world be sentenced a lifetime of frost and snow.

Scaramouche heard you hum softly to yourself, some song you'd heard on the radio earlier.

He'd had enough. How dare you make noises that weren't being caused by his touch. How dare you smell so good.

But most of all, how dare you act so composed with your precious concentration unfazed, not focused on him, especially now that you were alone with him. Scaramouche knew he could snap your concentration like a twig underneath his feet. Even better that you were focused on something horse related. It was the extra cherry on top for him.

I mean, it must be so exhausting, concentrating so hard when you were around horses. One wrong move and things could go badly in an instant. All it would take was a single loud noise.

Scaramouche smacked a hand down on his desk next to your hand. He got a sigh but nothing more than that. He'd made corner of the paper flutter a little. He reached up and tugged on one of your ponytails, curling the end around his fingers. His eyes widened when he saw goosebumps prickle onto your skin.

Time to push a bit more.

He tucked a some stray strands of hair that had fallen loose from your ponytails behind your ear. "This isn't important to you anymore," he murmured, husky in your ear.

You shivered when you felt his breath lick at your ear. You stiffened. "I need to get this done, Scara. I told her that I would help her with this new horse," you said, doing your best to ignore him.

Scaramouche took the pencil out of your hand, snapping it in two, his black nails contrasting with the wood. "No, you don't. You said yourself that they aren't a good match. She is too *green and the horse is too young. She can barely saddle him without crying to you for help. Don't coddle her. She probably thinks she is your equal."

He laughed, sounding like honey in your ears. "Look at me, the nerdy horse girl is making me use terms I don't understand. I'm just as pathetic as you are."

You flicked the pieces of the pencil across his desk, brushing off the paper filled with notes and tips. "Takes someone green to know someone green, Scara," you replied.

His eyebrow twitched.

"I don't think you heard me, slut. I believe I made myself clear that you are finished helping her. It is not your job to look after them. Especially not when I want your attention instead," he snapped, yanking on one of your ponytails. "These are my rabbits feet to tug on as I please. You were wearing your hair like this when we first met."

"As their Captain, it is my job," you said firmly. You needed to have a firm hand to handle Scaramouche. He loved that about you. Usually everyone was afraid to talk back to him. But not you. "Five minutes, okay?"

Scaramouche's fingers brushed against your throat, hovering a hand over your eyes. "Those five minutes have already passed," his hand dipped down into your shirt, groping one of your breasts.

You would focus on him like he wanted.

"I can hear your heart starting to pound. You are frantically trying to figure out where my hand is going to go next. I wish I could see the look on your face," he pinch your nipple outside of your bra, his mouth watering when he pulled your first sigh of pleasure.

Time to stop on your concentration and composure and grind it into dust.

Scaramouche's hand left your bra to trace his fingers along the length of your neck, dipping into your shoulders and down your arm. "Your body is begging for my touch. And your mouth certainly doesn't lie either. You are starting to moan whether you can hear yourself or not." Unbuttoning your pants, he probed his fingers against your clit, making a damp patch form. "It doesn't take much to wind you up. You are already wet for me."

You moved one of your legs so that your knee rested against the side of his desk. "You are making it hard to concentrate.." you trailed off, grinding up into his fingers.

Now he had you right where he wanted. Time to make you squirm a little. Dent your pride and make you submit completely. "Admit it, say you would rather ride me instead and I may grant you the privilege even though you back talked me."

"You are impossible..ahhh.." his fingers dipped into your panties and between your folds. The sensation was heightened from lack of sight.

"You want my fingers, don't you. Just say it, your time belongs to me first and foremost. I don't give just any whore my time and attention. Only you have that honor," he rubbed the pads of his fingers against your clit, teasing his fingers at your entrance.

You choke back a whine, pressing your thighs together for my friction. You hated that he made you feel so weak so fast. Maybe some part of you wanted to act undignified, that you were tired of always conducting yourself with a straight posture and a polite tone.

"What, no comeback for me. If that's how it's gonna be then," Scaramouche paused in thought for a moment. Taking his fingers off of your pussy earned the sweetest sound of desperation. He pushed two fingers into your mouth, pressing down in your tongue so he pump his fingers in your mouth. He laughed again, making you moan as you sucked on his fingers.

"You always suck on my fingers like you suck on my cock. Your mouth looks the prettiest wrapped around it. Now say it, kitten. Say you want me and I'll gladly let your slutty mouth go to work." Scaramouche removed his fingers, tugging the your hair ties out your hair. "I'll need all of your hair to fuck your throat. Now use your words."

You couldn't offer him a response as he pulled you the your hair to your feet. Instead, you showed him by sinking to your knees.

*green means a beginner.

#genshin impact #genshin smut #fem!reader #genshin imagines #scaramouche #scaramouche smut #scaramouche x you #scaramouche x reader #suzu after dark

[forestshadow-wolf]

Character death implied but it didn't actually happen

Part 1 || Part 2

Ghost and soap assigned to different missions

Soap returns from his solo mission and is greeted by a sorry looking soldier. He and Ghost were supposed to get back at the same time, where is he? In their hand hangs a pair of tags. His stomach drops. "He said to tell you "he's sorry, he didn't mean for this to happen." He also said to "you should take some leave. Go back to the cabin." Sorry for your loss, Sergent Mactavish."

Soap numbly takes the tags with a weak nod. He heads to his room, normally price wanted both a post-op debrief and a mission report but he'd have to just do with the report this time.

Soap doesn't take leave like ghost suggested. Instead he throws himself into his work. Anything and everything to not think about the extra weight he wore around his neck. Price lets him... for a couple months at least. then he forces soap on 6 week leave after he had to get dragged off of some trainee for running his mouth.

And finally after 11 weeks, 3 days, and 6 hours, soap walks into the cabin. Alone.

Except...

The radio is playing music softly, the tv is muted on some local show that simon used to enjoy, and the windows are all open. And that definitely not how they left the cabin. But the most telling sign is the sizzling of something greasy in a hot pan and a gruff humming from a voice he'd know anywhere. A voice he's been mourning for 11 weeks, 3 days, and 6 hours.

Soap freezes, his bags fall from his hands, the weight landing at his feet snap him into motion. And suddenly he's looking through the door of the kitchen.

And there he is. His partner, the love of his life, a dead man, simon.

Simon stands there in the kitchen, back turned to soap, tending to whatever he's got in the pan. He's wearing low set joggers, and evidently had foregone a shirt in lieu of the extensive, extensive bandaging that covers almost his entire torso and over his left shoulder. Alive

His breath leaves him shakily, his legs turn to jelly, his wank knee threatens to give out. He forces it to stay strong while he takes a single step into the kitchen, "simon?" It's tiny and meek like he's afraid that saying his name too loud would shatter the image back into reality. It doesn't, instead simon stiffens slightly before turning around.

Their eyes lock and simon is switching off the stove in half a second, and then he's directlyinfront of him. Soap hovers his hands around simons waist like he's afraid that touching him might make him disappear. Simon reaches to cup Johnny's face in his hands, and soap crashes to the floor. Simon follows, "it's ok, johnny, I'm here." He repeats softly, cupping the back of his head. Soap clutches onto him like a lifeline, it's pressing onto his wounds but he can't bring himself to care. Not as his thigh screams. Nor when his ribs ache and his side protests. He could never when soap is sobbing in his arms.

Soap who's always been rock solid, steady even when simon wasn't, with tears in his eyes. In all the years simon has known johnny he could count on one hand the number of times soap as been in a state such as this, and still have fingers to spare.

Part two will be posted tomorrow

#uhhh #I made a sad... again #oopsie #el rambles #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #ghostsoap #soapghost #call of duty #cod #cod mw2 #love ghost angst #angst

[luvtonique]

I got a neighbor named David.

A year ago he got diagnosed with terminal cancer, and his doctor asked if he wanted to know how long he's got left. He said no.

I wanna tell you a bit about David.

This guy's never owned a TV, a radio, a computer or a smart phone. He's never used the internet, never listened to media, every single thing he knows about current events or politics he knows from just looking around him at the place he lives.

David's the most chill motherfucker I've ever met in my entire life, and he's unbelievably friendly. Every time I see him, without fail, he asks how my art's doing, what I've been up to, how I'm doing trying to raise money to get out of Cali.

He's 65, he's lived here his whole life, same house, and he tells me all about how California was when he was younger, and how much it's changed in his lifetime. He talks about how when he was in his 30s, this place was a bit of a shanty town but people were nice, people cared about each other, everyone was friends, everyone would hang out and shoot bottles in front of their house and have bbqs and drink beer.

And now, people are afraid to go outside. There's drug addicts everywhere, rabid dogs roaming around, tweakers having freakouts in the streets, everything has just completely gone to hell and it's very clear our state government is more concerned with blaming us for our own misfortune instead of taking responsibility for the deterioration of this entire state on a political level.

When I told David I was saving up to leave California, he was super happy for me, and said that there's nothing here worth staying for, and that resonated with me really well.

This is a man who's terminal, he's going to die and has no idea when it's going to happen, and he is completely content with that. When he said to me "There's nothing here worth staying for" it struck me as philosophical. He doesn't wanna leave, this is where he's lived his entire life, there's no point for him to go anywhere. But he also doesn't want to stay here. He's at a point where he just plain does not want to be here, and understands and empathizes with me 100% that I don't want to be here either.

I don't know if I can properly convey this, but I can't stress enough how awful the state of California truly is.

If I don't get this debt paid off and get my ass the fuck out of here, I'll die here, and unlike David I will not die with fond memories of this place because my entire life here has been hell.

I'm glad that he's at peace with the life he's lived and the memories he has, and I strive to one day be that peaceful in my own mind and the comfort of the place I live in.

But right now, it's just impossible for me to live like this.

From having my debt constantly getting bigger, to having disabilities that the state keeps telling me I'm lying about, to being surrounded by drug dealers and drug addicts and homeless people shitting in the streets, to having every penny I earn with art instantly vanish because of the unfathomable cost of food, to having people on the internet so fucking blinded by the lies of these politicians that they argue with me, a person living in the cesspool that is California, that I'm "Reading into conspiracy theories" and that "California isn't that bad."

I could go on but I'm getting tired of making textwalls.

David, I strive to one day be as big a badass as you.

And I hope that in time I can chill and live comfortably and work on my passions and my dreams.

Love you all, thanks for reading.

[thewritersaddictions]

Day Twenty-Two: Negan Smith + The Nightmare Before Christmas

It's his favorite movie, so there's no shaking yourself out of this tonight. The door to his room had been shut and locked the minute you had made your way into his room. You were his favorite, fuck you're the only one that he gets down to on a fundamental level.

The only one that he trusted to see a more sensitive, everyday side of him. You had gotten an invite to watch a few movies with me just a few days ago, and it was not really an invite; it was more like, 'You're to come to my room at nine.' A demand by all means, but how he looked at you and his breath fanned over your neck and cheek sent an excellent round of shivers down your spine.

On the other hand, you weren't a massive fan of the idea of holidays any more; there weren't any good commercials anymore. No ideas of getting your friends and family gifts because, one, all the stores were destroyed and, second, because most of your family was gone, dead, and turned into zombies.

Regardless of your feelings towards Christmas, you would get into enough of the spirit to enjoy some time with Negan. What you had expected to happen when locked in Negan's room was not what happened. You were instead greeted by a half-dressed Negan wearing a cooing apron that said "Kiss the chef," the kitchen a mess behind him. The sound of carols playingfrom the radio in his room.

The only thing he was missing was a few decorations. If you stayed in this room forever, you would probably think it was any average person's apartment during the holidays, but it wasn't and never would be. "Hey there, darlin'. Are you excited?" Negan asked you, and a part of you wanted to say, 'It's not like I have much of a choice as to whether I want to be here or not,' but you couldn't bare to say those words to him, not when he turned around to look at you with flour across his forehead, and nose. You chuckled at the childish display in front of you.

"Yeah, I'm excited, but you need help with whatever you're making over there." You say, slipping off your boots and into the comfort of the Christmas feeling surrounding you now. He scoffs but looks down at the messy counter and lets you scoot over next to him. The dough isn't working out. "There's too much flour on the counter; it's making your dough dry." You mutter to him as you bump his hip to make room for yourself. You push some of the flour off the countertop and into the sink, then add a little water to the dough to give it a more sticky texture.

"Well, aren't you just miss baker," Negan says, teasing you relentlessly was how the two of you managed to get along. You're both headstrong, but that's what Negan liked so much about you. He hadn't bothered for another wife who was pretty and dim-witted. He wanted more, someone who challenged him to be and do better.

"Did you go to culinary school before the world went to shit?" He asks, not afraid to make conversation about the past. You hum and nod as you knead the dough back to life. "So you wanted to be a chef or somethin'?" He asks you; you shrug your shoulder, "Just because I went didn't mean what I wanted to do, Negan, you should know that. Hell, you were a gym teacher. I know that you had other dreams for your life." You say maybe a bit harsher than you, but it's the truth and the reality. You hadn't really wanted to go to culinary school, but it was what it was then. Your dreams are crushed by being constantly denied into your choice of university.

"Well, do you have a point, doll?" He says, washing his hands off the excess flour; he watches your hands as you kneed and then roll out the dough. "There you go, Negan." You huff as you wipe your hands together. "You know how to do the rest, right?" You tease him, and he rolls his eyes and smacks your ass to get you out of the titled kitchen and out onto the couch.

The oven keeps the small room heated to just the right temperature. The wafting smell of cookies has you eyeing the oven door for the rest of the night until Negan shuffles out of the kitchen with a small platter of warm cookies. "What are you planning on watching?" You ask him, eyeing the platter as he sits it on the small coffee table. "I was thinking about a few movies, actually."

He says as he shoves a few cookies into his mouth. You shake your head as he fans his mouth and nearly spits the cookies. "A little hot?" You tease, "Fuckin' right there, hot." Negan answers his voice, which is thicker than before, but he doesn't say much as he shuffles towards a shelf. "How about the nightmare before Christmas?" He asks with joy written all over his older face.

Crow feet are showing around his eye, but it's something you can't help but adore. "Staring isn't very nice, dearie." You roll your eyes and flip him off, "And that's not very nice either, pretty girl." Your cheeks burn as you watch him take the DVD out of the case and slip into the machine. It takes a few minutes, but then the title screen shows up on the screen.

Negan is right back to you, his arm around your shoulder, scooting you closer until your thighs are touching and his body heat radiates off him. He smells good, an aftershave that you always get a scent of when you're out in the shared space. It makes your heart race faster, and you rest your head on his shoulder. He presses play and lets the intro song play before he's talking over the dialogue of the movie.

"Did you know that Jack might be the kid from Frankieween?" Negan tells you excitedly as his eyes never move from the TV screen. "What are you talking about?" You ask, genuinely confused at the words falling from his very kissable lips. "I'm talking about the fact that all of the time buttons are just one storyline about Jack at different times in his life." Negan sounds crazy. "Did you watch kids' movies on your off time?" Teasing him further. "Shut up! I had a lot of free time on my hands." He defends himself. "How about you shut up and watch the damn movie you put on." You counter, the look you get out of the corner of his eye, is all you need to know that you're working on thin ice.

So you lean forward and place a small kiss on his cheek and then the side of his lips, and before you know it, you're trapped between the couch and him with a forgotten kids movie playing on the tv.

Completed on: 11/28/23

Posted on: 12/22/23

The Wanderers Tags- @neganswoman

The Walking Dead Master List // The Wanderers Master List // Christmas Stories Master List

#fluff #fem reader #female reader #requests are open #open requests #requests open #the walking dead imagine #the walking dead #twd #walking dead #the walking dead negan #the walking dead fic #the walking dead x reader #the walking dead fanfiction #negan smith #negan smith x reader #negan smith x you #negan smith fanfiction #negan smith imagine #negan #twd negan #negan x reader #day 22 #christmas celebration

[jojoturnip]

Maybe what I needed you to understand was the love I had for him.

The love I still have.

I've been making a timeline of my life in therapy. It's split between good memories on top and bad ones on bottom. There's so much bad, that much you were willing to accept, but there is a lot of good, too.

Sometimes it's the good that keeps me up at night more than anything.

A younger me runs around our old apartment carrying the wand he hand-carved me from cherry wood ("all purpose, good for a young girl to learn all sorts of magic on"). I asked him to keep a crystal point off the top unlike the other wands he made because I liked to wave around, and I was afraid I'd hurt something I had a sharp tip. Besides, I loved that wand so much I kept it under my shirt, at the ready for playing pretend any chance I got. I'd have scratched myself to hell and back if he had added a point. He put a piece of polished, smooth citrine on the other end of it so I could at least channel some energy.

Citrine was my favorite stone. Because it was yellow. Because I loved the color yellow. Because it meant happiness and joy and sunshine. Because that's who I was.

He wrote me a song once, before he even got with my mom officially. He named it, "Sunshine Girl." My mom recorded me singing to myself in the mirror as I blow-dried my hair once and sent it to him as he wrote it. I was so embarrassed.

He would pick me up from school a lot, and I loved that part of my day. My elementary school got out earlier than my sister's middle school, so it meant riding around with him and getting fast food while we waited. He would teach me about music on the radio, tell me my voice was much prettier than Melissa's, and listen to all the drama I would bring home from my day.

When he went to auctioneering school, we practiced the tongue twisters together in the living room, laughing about Betty and her butter batter. He graduated as the valedictorian of his class. I cheered him on from the audience.

He taught me to shoot a bow, adjusted my draw weights and sights, cut me grips from his leather scraps, and fixed up the old long bow when I snapped it from pulling it too far. His hands over my shoulders as he taught me how to stand, over my three fingers as he taught me to aim. He made a quiver with me by hand with buffalo rawhide and sheep leather and sinew. He brought home horse hair for fringe but I was too freaked out to add it. He made the fringe from leather and pony beads instead.

The wand and the quiver and a locker we painted together and so many more things he gave me, made for me are sitting in that storage unit I'm supposed to empty. I don't know how to face them all.

I love him. I miss him. I think that's what you'll never be able to understand.

You didn't want to understand.

I have to juggle what he did, how he hurt me, with how he loved me.

We can call it grooming or gaining my trust or a false childhood built in manipulation, but that doesn't change the fact that it was my childhood. My reality. What I know love to be.

You said you couldn't handle cognitive dissonance. Can't you see I was born from it, bred from it, grown and germinated from its hard and rocky substrate?

A friend told me she thinks I drove you insane. The way I hold and stitch these contradictive truths together. I think that's the most reasonable explanation I've heard so far.

A part of me wants to apologize here. I am sorry that my life was too much for you to bear. That it scared you to see me go back to my family, to love people who hurt me time and time again. I know that must've been hard. I do understand where you are coming from.

Another part of me knows that I never asked for you to take that problem as your own. I never asked you to deal with my parents. I never asked you to save me. I didn't want that. I just wanted someones shoulder to lean and crash on while I carried the burden myself.

Instead, you told me that it was too much for you.

Instead, I supported you through every goddamn second of you refusing to take care of yourself. How was that not too much? You had the option to change. I cannot change my memories, my childhood.

You ask me to lose my family but you cannot get new parents like you can a boyfriend.

You like to compare my situation with you and your ex, a fool's comparison. Your abuser did not raise you. You keep your life when you walk away. You were not made of a boyfriend you met in college. Our situations are different. Our lives are different.

We are different. You never seemed to get that.

My life is tainted. I can't look through rose colored glasses, the stain remains. But I can't get rid of the memories either, or cast them out in distaste. They are a part of me. They are what made me.

I think I needed you to see that.

Remember a week before you broke up with me, you called asking for the explicit details of quite possibly the worst events of my life. Things I can't write about, much less talk about. You said you wouldn't be able to understand me without knowing.

You left me crying on the phone. It was never about understanding.

It took me one and a half years to tell you the bad stuff. It was harder to tell you the good, you know. It's all racing around, conflicting inside of me, too. But if you wanted to understand me, know me like a partner should, it required knowing the good. Seeing me, and how I am built of cognitive dissonance. Seeing the power that it gives me in empathizing with you and others, and the pain that it gives me, too. My existence is a fragile thing.

They were not excuses. They were glimpses into my mind. Into what I go through every single day.

When I let you in, you only wanted to see the bad. But you have to see the good, too. The gut wrenching good that bleeds out of me in yellow. The citrine stones and bamboo arrows and rainbow cheesecakes and Annie lockets.

I'm a storyteller, and I wanted you to know my story. You only wanted to hear a parroted version of your own sung back at you.

I am not you. I never will be.

#my writing #randomly crying as i tried to sleep tonight led the this #okay not super random #reading a fanfic about marcy and andrias got to me #but i didnt even get two lines in #i dont know theres something about her love for her abuser that just #hits home #cant wait for what the amphibia art book eill do to me

[wrestlezaynia]

ok bestieeee

this was not what i had planned but OK so I

wrote u a little thing a little suprise for your birthday hope u enjoy it

a quietly loud confession

Kevin and sami Loved each other oh yess that is love with a capital L  everyone knew it everyone saw it.. that is everyone except the most important people Kevin and sami themselves were oblivious to it .

Honestly it was getting to a point that there group of friends just wanted to lock em up in a room until they figure it out . but as one of them put it the prizefighter would find a way to break down the door leaving a sad yet smiling Sami ... sooo noo they had to let the idiots figure it out for themselves.

Idiots both of them.

So as they were driving to the next town riding together as they've done for as long as both could remember ,,, both were uncharacteristically quiet only having the low sound of the radio playing in the background . Kevin had let Sami take the first part of the journey it gave him time to look at the scenery outside and steal some glances at Sami .. His sami .   Sami of course felt Kevins gaze but he was trying not to let his thoughts cause an accident .  Sami deep down was afraid to speak his feeling  afraid to be wrong  afraid of being right and having Kevin  love him back .  As soon as He lost the battle with his brain over this  he yawned to indicate to Kevin he was ready to switch over .

Oh theres a rest area at the next exit Sami  Kevin said

Yep on it Kev replied Sami

Now as soon as they reached the rest stop its like for a moment time stood still . Like when u watch a movie and pause it but surely this was no movie this was real life for a moment  sami and kevin just stared at each other as quickly as this moment happened it was over and they both got out to stretch.

As it had been Kevin's new custom  He walked in the opposite direction to look out to the distance ... Sami had asked him once and he came up with a  i just need a moment to clear my mind then called himself stupid for the half fast excuse and well hoped Sami would just buy the excuse .

So as Kevin was looking out to well at the moment a giant field of nothing breathing trying to calm down before  continuing onto the hotel for the night  he could feel  Samis eyes on him  Sami who as much he did not like having kevin far from him was enjoying these moment where Kevin had his back turned to just stare at his beautiful Kevin ( see i told u Idiots).

As Kevin was enjoying the fresh air and well failing to keep his thoughs pure (because yess he knew Sami was checking him out ... secretly he enjoyed it but  Kevin Owens would NEVER  admit thaaaat .

He was pulled out of his thoughts by a familiar touch

Kev we need to  get moving we have an early call tomorrow and some one gets angry if he doesn't have his  8 hours of sleep

Me  Kevin  said in his most shocked mad voice

Well ok Sami said perhaps we are both captain grumpy pants sami said laughing tossing the keys to Kevin and walked back to the car but going to the passengers side instead .

Once they both got in the car the weird silence returned but Kevin could not take it anymore

SAmi I  hmmm  I need  to say something ok

Sami turned in his seat yess Kevin

At that moment Kevin lost his nerve getting lost in sami eyes

His words may of failed him in that moment  but his body now had a mind of its own

Kevin Cupped Sami face with his hand  his heart nearly leaping out of his chest when  sami leaned into his touch ... in the end it was Sami who took the final step and brought there lips together in a kiss that said soo manyy things

I love you, i care for u , i want u  , im scared but willing to fight for you. 

hope u enjoyed thisss bestieee and HAPPPYYYY birthday hope u have an amaaaazing dayyy

The last line resonated with me: "I'm scared, but willing to fight for you." We often interpret "fight forever" as them wrestling, but what if it holds a much deeper meaning? I love this, thank you so much! 😍

#Zowens #Sami Zayn #Kevin Owens #Fic rec

[sansxfuckyou]

Lesion

Summary: Kyle is getting tired of Kenny dying every other day, and the only thing that can stop Kenny from going on his patrols is the wound he wakes up with instead of a scar, and even at that, it's not very effective

Warnings: injury, body dumping, Cartman calls them fags but thats expected, character death, panic, relationship problems intertwined with Kennys vigilantism/death curse, check Ao3 port for full tags

Authors Note: I woke up at four AM yesterday and chose violence, have some k2, Cartman is also here cause his dynamic with Kenny is fun to write. Anyways, if ya'll enjoyed consider dropping a reblog or checking out the Ao3 port, it really means a lot

"When do you plan on not getting fatally wounded?" Kyle asked from the passenger seat.

Kenny, who was still wrapped in his Mysterion outfit, simply shrugged from the backseat. His head was propped against the door and his blood spilling onto leather upholstery, "When the world stops being terrible."

"You two are so lucky I have truck," Cartman scoffed from the drivers seat, eyes locked firmly on the road, "Really, lugging around a dead body in a hyundai would not work."

"It's a subaru," Kyle corrects with an exasperated sigh.

"I'm not dead yet," Kenny snapped to the best of his ability, the gash in his abdomen made it harder to do that, "But really, thanks for helping Kyle with disposing of me."

"That's what friends are for," Cartman answered with, briefly raising his gaze to the mirror to catch Kenny with a smirk. The blonde tries his hardest to return it despite the agony coursing through him. He reaches for the stereo, "Any song requests? Otherwise we're just hoping the radio is playing something good."

"The Offspring," Kenny answered with, "Or Green Day, whatever you have a disc of."

Cartman hands the CD book to Kyle whose flipping through the pages already. The hum of asphalt and tires is comfortable enough to lull Kenny into a false sense of sleep. He's tugged from said semblance of sleep when the start of a track starts to play right beside his head. Kyle glances past the headrest and Kenny's breathing is starting to slow down, the constant rise and fall accentuating blood that shimmers in the low light.

He undoes his seat belt before awkwardly climbing into the back and trying his very hardest to not nudge Cartman. The last time he did he was forced sit in a pool of Kenny's blood on the ride home. He isn't quite sure how he manages to fit in the back, some of him is pressed against the back of the driver's seat, some of him is on the ground- it's uncomfortable, but he endures.

"I think this is illegal," Kenny said, he would gesture to how Kyle is 'sitting' but he can't.

"I think dumping your body off a bridge almost daily is also illegal Ken, whose keeping track?" Kyle asked as grabbed Kenny's hand, sliding his fingers under the hem of the wrist to rest on his palm. His hand is cold, Kyle's fingertips are warm, it's a contrast that would be worrying to anyone that doesn't know how often Kenny dies.

"Good point," Kenny said, he brought his other hand to rest on Kyle's, "Love you."

"Love you too," Kyle answered with quietly.

"Can you fags please shut up while I'm driving?" Cartman asked on a groan.

Kenny just grinned and look he met Cartman with was nothing but mischievous, "I dunno darling, can we?"

Kyle gives a hum, "I'm afraid not my love, we simply cannot shut up," He briefly pressed a kiss to Kenny's cheek and the blonde laughs a bit.

He winces after the laugh dies down, "Hurts to laugh," He keeps laughing though, because the fact it hurts to laugh is humorous in itself. Kyle's hands come to press on his wound and the mix of sweat against raw nerves stings like a bitch, he bites his tongue instead of screaming.

Cartman just rolls his eyes and turns up the stereo.

Kyle wraps his arms around Kenny's torso to the best of his ability and squeezes. Not super tight, he doesn't want to speed up the process of blood loss. Kenny weakly returns the gesture, knocking the side of his head against Kyle's.

"You are not patrolling tomorrow," Kyle said quietly.

Kenny gives a hum, "Maybe."

-/-/-/-

Kenny gives a wave as he goes falling off the cliff into the icy river below.

Cartman waves back, Kyle does not.

"See you guys later!" Kenny shouted up mere moments before his head goes under and he closes his eyes.

He swears he hears Cartman call back, "Don't be late for work!" before everything goes dark.

Kyle just watches as the air bubbles up and the near still water clouds with a deep red. It's washed away along with Kenny's corpse, it floats to the top, but most know to leave his body if they find it. Kyle leans against Cartman and he hates the fact he does but it's cold outside, and he's convinced Cartman is constantly running a fever with how high his body heat is. The brunette slings an arm around Kyle's shoulders but doesn't dare drop his hand anywhere lower than an upper arm or pull the redhead closer.

"Do you think he'll ever stop?" Kyle asked quietly.

Cartman shrugged, "He's been doing this since grade four, being a hero, dying, coming back, and repeating the cycle."

Kyle tensed, "He's been dying since grade four and you didn't tell us?"

"You didn't believe me," Cartman said, "I tried to tell you guys, I even had pictures. Still, you thought I was lying, and look at us now! Dumping your boyfriends body like a couple of chums."

"We are not chums," Kyle snarled out as he glared at Cartman, he shrugged.

"How dare I assume that doing illegal activities together would help us bond? How bold of me," Cartman scoffed, he lifted his arm and stepped away. Kyle simply pulled his jacket a little tighter, "Trucks still running, it'll be nice and toasty when you're ready to leave."

Kyle stayed to stare at the water until Cartman got impatient and started blasting the horn of the truck. Only then did Kyle begrudgingly sit up in shotgun, leaned against the window. Normally this is where Cartman changes the CD and sprays disinfectant on the backseat, he doesn't tonight, he just lets the tracks play and the scent of blood stagnate.

-/-/-/-

Kyle wakes up and the bed is empty, he can hear Kenny meandering about though. He rolls over to where he knows Kenny sleeps and the sheets are still warm, and wet. The sheets are wet. That snaps him awake, he sits up and sniffs the air, it has a tang to it.

He glances down to the sun bathed sheets to find a splatter of pooling red, it's splashed across the blankets and sinking into the mattress. It's saturated enough to cling to his clothing where contact was made, the splotchy hues trail across the carpet and the door handle has blood smeared across it. Failed suicide attempt? He knows that Kenny does that sometimes if he's having a really bad day, or if he knows Cartman is gonna be pissed off.

He drags himself out of bed and makes his way down the hall, he follows the bloody finger prints trailed across the walls. It's straight out of a horror movie but it does nothing to deter Kyle. The bathroom door is left open and he finds Kenny sitting in the bath tub with a once white towel wrapped around his abdomen while he hyper ventilates.

"Ken?" Kyle croaked out.

Kenny snapped up to meet his gaze and he eases right away, "Something is really wrong."

"I can tell," Kyle said as he rubbed his eyes, staring at the fluid along the base of the tub. He walked over and dropped down in front of Kenny, "You've never woken up and bled out in the bath tub."

"Can you call over Cartman, he's sort of the expert on this shit," Kenny asked desperately.

"Do I have too?" Kyle asked.

"He keeps records on this shit, he's being doing it since day one," Kenny said, "I don't remember all of my deaths man, if anyone would know if this has happened before it would be Cartman."

Kyle gave a heavy groan of annoyance, "Fine. Take off the towel and your jacket so I can look for shrapnel."

"I don't think there's any bullets left," Kenny said as he tossed aside the towel. The glistening gash was much smaller than it was last night but it still glimmered like uncut rubies. It went no deeper than the muscles, but the pulse of organs underneath was still visible. The heady scent of blood intensified.

"I still should clean it up a bit, wrap you up in some bandages," Kyle droned on.

"Call Cartman first," Kenny said.

Kyle rolled his eyes, "I'll go do that, if it's within arms reach get a towel ready."

-/-/-/-

"I've seen this before," Cartman said as he looked at the wound.

Kenny heaves a relieved sigh before pulling his shirt back on.

"Then what does it mean?" Kyle asked impatiently.

"Kennys gonna die and stay dead for a while," Cartman said, "This happened a couple times leading up the muscle deterioration when we were younger. I'd say he has five, maybe six, more deaths before he doesn't wake up."

"So I'm just gonna be dead for a bit?" Kenny asked.

Cartman nodded, "Shouldn't be longer than a month when it happens."

"Thank fuck," Kenny said.

"He's gonna be gone for a month?" Kyle asked, he sounded distraught at the notions.

"It's one month, you'll be fine," Kenny said, resting his hand on top of Kyle's.

"Stan's still gonna be here, I'll be here, but you hate me so scrap that, Craig and Tweek are gonna be here," Cartman listed, raising a finger for each name, "It's not like you'll be alone, just don't go chasing him into the afterlife."

Kyle nodded, "Okay."

"I'll be more careful, promise," Kenny said softly.

"Are we all good here now? Confusion cleared up?" Cartman asked as he started on his way to the door, stepping backwards as he went.

"Everythings good," Kenny answered with, "Thanks for dropping by."

"It's what friends are for," Cartman said.

The second the door shut Kyle leaned heavily onto Kenny, arms wrapped around his shoulders and holding him tightly. He yanked the blonde onto his lap just a bit.

"Hey, Ky, it'll be alright," Kenny said gently.

"Please don't die," Kyle answered with quietly, voice impossibly soft, just below a whisper.

Kenny took a stiff inhale and exhale, "You know how the curse works, it likes to strike me down."

"Don't go on patrol tonight," Kyle demanded, voice coming out frail despite the intention of sounding stern.

"I won't," Kenny lied, he needed to go on patrol, he needed to. He's not sure if he'd be able to sleep if he didn't.

"I need you man," Kyle said, knocking the side of his head against Kenny's, a mirror of the blondes usual motion of endearment. He heaves a shaky sigh, "It was rough last time you were gone for a month, don't do that to me."

"I'm gonna have too eventually," Kenny said as Kyle traced along scars from previous deaths, he had so many. Some were pale, some weren't, some bumped up others were flat, tracing them was something Kyle did frequently.

"I know," He answered with quietly, "Really wish you didn't have too."

"I'll stop going on patrols for a couple days," Kenny said, after tonight of course. He had to do one tonight, he needed too. Call it a compulsion, call it an obsession, he needed to do it.

"Thanks," Kyle said.

"Want me to make some waffles?" Kenny asked as he shrugged off Kyle's grip just a bit.

"Sure, I wanna help you out with that though," Kyle said as he lifted up Kenny and hoisted him over to the kitchen.

-/-/-/-

"Oh fuck you," Mysterion said as he glanced down to the knife jutting from his thigh, "Do you have any idea how hard it's gonna be to explain this one to my boyfriend?"

The assailant stood in shock, that usually worked.

"See, I promised him I wouldn't die tonight, or go on patrol for a little bit," Mysterion said as he paced around, "I have friends, Super Craig, Call Girl- they'll pick up the slack while I'm off duty, but explaining this to my boyfriend when I'm supposed to be sleeping beside him at home? Do you have any idea how much trouble you've landed me in?"

"You, you aren't worried about the knife?" The thug asked shakily.

Mysterion laughed, "No, god no, something like this? It's nothing pal," To prove a point he tugged the weapon from his limb and didn't even wince as it came out, "I'd suggest some barbs if you'd like it to hurt, maybe even get stuck," He trailed a finger along the sharpened and bloodied blade, it nearly cut open his glove, "It is rather nice as is."

The assailant just stayed silent, scared, intimidated- this was rather unexpected. They knew Mysterion was not to be messed with, but they didn't know it went this far.

"Two options bud," Mysterion said before pointing the tip to the bad guy, "You run, or you die; three seconds to choose."

They couldn't move, despite really wanting to live.

Mysterion gives a hum, "Tell Damien Kenny says hi."

Before they can even choke out a 'What?' there's a knife jammed between their eyes, digging so deep into cartilage it near instantly killed them. Airways blocked off, blood spilling into their lungs, skull ruptured, they die, just like that. And Mysterion is highly aware of how it feels, they should be thankful he didn't choose a worse death.

He watches them drop before kicking aside the corpse and leaving one of his many calling cards, this time it's a sticky note with his insignia on it. He heaves a full body sigh before starting on his way home, if he's lucky he'll make it back and Kyle won't be awake. If he's unlucky, Kyle will be livid and Kenny will be sleeping on the couch for the following who knows how long.

He walks down the streets and alleys with minimal limping as he goes. It's deep enough into the night that random civilians are somewhat minimal, and those that are out about are drunk, maybe even blackout drunk. He keeps his gaze lowered and he only lifts up his head when he hears the sound of a horn blaring right beside him.

He looks up to find a very disappointed Cartman glancing down at him from his truck window. He gives a nervous smile.

"Get in," Cartman barked as he popped open the door.

"Just crawl over you?" Mysterion asked, "Might get blood on your pants."

"I do not care, just get in," Cartman said, "It's the middle of the night in December, you're gonna freeze to death before you bleed to death."

Mysterion shrugged before hauling himself up, one hand on the door and the other at the side of the drivers seat. He flops his upper half onto Cartmans lap, awkwardly pressed between the steering wheel and his friend. The brunette yanks him the rest of the way with little to no care about the wound on his thigh.

He pulls the door shut and turns the heat on a little higher, "You weren't supposed to patrol tonight, Kenny. Kyle told me."

Kenny shrugged before pulling off the hood, slumped in the passenger seat comfortably. The hot air is blowing on his face and he didn't realize how cold he was, "He asked you to look for me, didn't he?"

Cartman nodded, "He did."

"Dude, how could you side with him?" Kenny asked venomously, "I'm gonna be in so much shit over this."

"You've seen Kyle mad, you know exactly why I did what he said," Cartman said defensively as he shifted into drive, "Unlike you, I do not come back from the dead."

Kenny gives an amused hum, "Fair point, fair point," He tugs off his gloves to rub them in front of the heating vent, "Thanks for picking me up man."

"Hey, it's what friends are for," Cartman answered with, reaching over to playfully punch Kenny in the shoulder. He held back a little bit of force, there could be a bruise there, and he would also be in shit if he worsened any of Kenny's wounds.

There's a sigh, "Fuck man, I swear, you're the most dependable person in our quartet."

Cartman just laughs, "The only reason I make sure you're getting dumped somewhere nice is because you lent me your playboys in grade nine," He's lying, he repaid that debt in cold hard cash on the same day it happened. He glances from the road to Kenny, "You are the only one that I've picked up from the strip club in a thong, covered in body glitter, I'd say that makes us a bit closer than the rest of the gang. Consider yourself lucky I still haven't told Kyle about that fiasco."

Kenny's face burns red at the memories of that downright outrageous event, "Fuck, that was a crazy night."

"Yeah, you told me all about it," Cartman said as he rolled his eyes.

"Thanks for everything," Kenny said quietly.

"It's my job," Cartman said, "Not really, but someone has to actually take care of you, unlike your boyfriend."

"Take that back," Kenny snapped venomously.

"You know what I mean, he makes sure you're feeling all happy and mentally stable, I pick you up from every event you don't want him to know about," Cartman explained halfheartedly, "I'm making sure that you're body rots somewhere with dignity, and that you don't freeze to death."

"I know," Kenny said, he rolled his eyes a bit as he spoke. There's a brief pauses, "Man it's fucking cold outside."

"That's why I was blasting the heat," Cartman said, giving a light chuckle, "I'll stick around in case he kicks you out."

Kenny refuses to look out the window, he knows what he'll see, "Well, wish me luck."

Cartman reaches over to place a hand on Kenny's shoulder, a familiar and silent affirmation, "You'll be fine."

"Thanks," The word comes out quietly before Kenny pops open the door and hops out.

He walks around the truck and he hates the fact his prediction was near entirely correct. The front door is open, golden glow of inside lighting shadowing out Kyle's form as he leans against the door frame. He's holding a mug of coffee and Kenny just knows that the redhead is holding a very disappointed look to go with it.

Kenny comes to a halt at the front step, a few feet of distance between him and Kyle. He can't bring himself to choke out a 'this isn't what it looks like' in a feeble attempt to sustain his dignity. It wouldn't even be worth it, there's still crimson oozing down his leg and he can't just say it's paint or some other bullshit excuse.

"Am I sleeping on the couch tonight," Kenny asked.

"You're sleeping in the bathtub so you don't get blood on the couch if anything," Kyle answered with, humor rested on his voice despite all odds.

"No blankets?" Kenny asked.

"I'm joking, but you better not have any more wounds than that one," He gestured vaguely to the gash in Kenny's thigh, "I'm cleaning you up and buying a padlock for the front door tomorrow morning."

"Ky, you know how important these patrols are," Kenny said, his defense was desperate and he hoped it showed on his voice.

"I do, thanks for not dying," Kyle said.

"You're mad, aren't you?" Kenny asked.

"Oh I'm absolutely fucking livid, you're lucky Cartman hasn't pulled out yet cause I would have your head mounted on a wall by now if he left," Kyle answered with, voice perfectly even and without a single waver in it.

Kenny gives a nervous laugh, "I just, there was a lead, and Wendy was on a date, and Craig is on vacation."

"Bullshit, and bullshit," Kyle answered with, "But, I'll let it slide tonight."

Kenny pursed his lips, "How much trouble am I in?"

"I'm not your mom, you tell me," Kyle scoffed.

Kenny stayed silent.

"You are in so much fucking trouble," Kyle answered with, "If you want me to leave reservations uncanceled then get your shit together and don't go on patrols for six fucking days- it's not that hard!"

"But I need too! It's, it's," Words dissolved in Kenny's throat, "I need too."

Kyle sighed, "Yeah, I thought so," He steps out of the way, "Put your bloody gear in the sink and wash off the wound."

Kenny hesitantly enters and makes his way upstairs. He tosses his gear in the sink and runs cold water and scrubs until the blood seeps into clear fluid. It stings when soap hits the wound and it feels wrong to be sitting in a fluorescent lit bathroom all by himself cleaning up the wound. Kyle's usually there with him, he feels like he's a teenager all over again, cleaning his wounds in the dead of night and hoping that he didn't wake anyone up.

Kyle knocks on the door frame and Kenny glances up, he looks like a deer stuck in headlights. Kyle tosses him a dry towel, the blood stained one. Kenny dabs away the excess soap on his leg, waiting for someone to speak.

"I still love you," Kyle said quietly.

"I know," Kenny answered with, "But, I gotta die for a bit, can't be avoided."

Kyle slid down the door frame till he was sitting on the floor, opposite so he could face Kenny who was leaned against the sink. He heaved a sigh, "Can you please try and last one week?"

"I will," Kenny said, "I promise that I won't miss our anniversary dinner."

"Thanks," Kyle said quietly, he slid over next to Kenny, "You're terrible at cleaning wounds."

"Well since we got together you usually help out," Kenny answered with as he held out the towel to Kyle.

"I've let you grow soft and weak, how cruel of me," Kyle said with a laugh. He dabbed at the edges of the wound carefully.

Kenny leans himself against Kyle, "Love you."

Kyle gives a hum, "I love you too Ken, I just wish you'd be more careful."

"I'll try," Kenny said quietly.

#south park #south park fanfiction #k2 south park #sp k2 #kyle broflovski #kenny mccormick #eric cartman #writing #fanfiction #fanfic #tw character death #tw injury

[thebodhiwitch]

How to Ask Good Tarot Questions!

Believe it or not, how you ask a reader or the deck, matters. This is a situation where there are dumb questions. So bring the best out of the reading by being your best. Take advantage it's for you! If you are confused and don't know what to ask, that's normal. Just tell the reader they'll help you formulate one.

Be accountable - Start questions with - ex: What can I do to improve my approach to love? NOT why is my love life bad?

Stay Open Minded! Remember, Tarot Readers, healers, coaches, we are not magic 8 balls! Bombarding us with yes or no questions is not the way to get a reading. Keep your questions open ended! ex: Instead of "When is he going to call?" ask "Do you see me and (POI) reconnecting again?"

Attitude is Everything - if you are focused on a specific outcome - be ready for a disappointment. The cards and I certainly to not play. The outcomes are what they are. Sometimes they change depending on the context of the situation and querent.

Know your motives! What's your goal out of the reading? Be clear. If you want to spy/lurk - admit it. Because we'll feel you lying and then it's just awkward. We've all been there, don't be afraid to just say where you're at and what you need.

Rigorous honesty, please. Spirit keeps it real, so should you. ex: I had a client say the man she was inquiring about was her boyfriend. I sensed they had been exes for a while. Let's not waste time! Those are minutes you are paying for. You don't need to worry about judgment from me. I'm here to support you, not guilt you.

Listen to the reader! Listening is a skill. If you're asking, let us have the space to respond. Or if you're reading yourself, quiet the mind. Focus on the card, tap into what you feel around you. Notice how the meanings change with context.

SO - with all that said I hope you leave with a bit of insight and confidence about working with tarot readers.

Remember to give yourself some space after a reading. Allow time to reveal more to you. Respect that readers have limits. We aren't going to get everything perfect. Our bodies are like a radio, we're just tuning into what comes through.

#tarot #healer #reader #bodhiwitch #awaken #good questions #mindfulness #self love #compassion

[sheep-and-lykos]

Mutare: Vampire!Ignis Scientia x Reader

Mutare is Latin for change cause I'm smart and can think of titles

Set before the events of the game

Song Recommendation: Eventually, Darling - Declan McKenna

A call had woken you in the night.

From dreamless, floating sleep you awoke to the ringing of your phone on the nightstand, the vibrating rattling the wood and buzzing in your head uncomfortably. You squinted in the darkness, eyes blinded slightly by the bright light of your illuminated phone next to you.

You grabbed it, annoyed at whoever it was on the other end for ruining your sleep. You relaxed, your shoulders dropping in contentment seeing it was Ignis who was calling.

He needed to stay late to greet diplomats and other high-ranking officials to prepare for some royal ball coming up. Something about some party for a different prince or something, you couldn't really put together what Ignis was saying as he rushed out the door, stopping to give you a quick kiss goodbye like he always did.

You raised the phone to your ear, humming instead of saying hello.

But it wasn't Ignis' voice on the other end.

"(Y/n), you need to get here." It was Gladiolus. In the background, you could hear Noctis and Prompto freaking out. "There's been an accident."

You nearly dropped your phone.

It felt like a spike had shot through you. Your chest ached, you suddenly felt cold despite being wrapped in the luxurious blankets your fiance had just bought. You were surely awake now.

"What happened? Where's Ignis?"

Your voice wavered, if the royal shield noticed it, he didn't mention it.

"It's too much to give over the phone. You need to get here, he's in a bad shape."

The phone cut off in your ear, leaving you in the still silence of the apartment. For a moment you just sat there utterly stunned. You sat and stared into the empty void of darkness sitting in the apartment, and for a moment, you felt all alone.

You sprung out of bed, fear now controlling you like a puppet, you threw on shoes and a jacket and rushed out with keys in hand, still in your pajamas. The elevator ride down was suffocating, time seemed to drip like honey but it also felt like you were wasting it standing in the descending box.

The doors opened with the usual chime and you dashed out, nearly plowing over some people in front of you.

In the car, you struggled to breathe correctly. Each breath was shakier than the last, your eyes were prickly with tears. You sat in silence in the car, your foot slowly growing heavily on the gas pedal. You were sure you ran a stop sign or two, but at this point, you didn't give two shits. The radio was off, you listened to the vehicle hum beneath you, afraid that any music or even breaking news over the radio would make you break down.

You saw distant flashing lights, red and white and blue lights racing towards the grand Citadel standing tall maybe just a mile away.

Your heart ached, your hands shook and clutched tighter to the steering wheel. You wondered what would break first under the pressure; Your knuckles now light or the steering wheel creaking.

You were forced to stop just a little ways away from the Citadel, police had blocked off the roads, ambulances were filed neatly in front. You saw medics running stretchers up and down the towering stairs.

You booked it, weaving through the crowds that had formed and ducked under the barricades. You managed to get to the base of the stairs when you were stopped by two officers.

"Get off of me! My fiance is in there!" you cried, attempting to somehow wiggle your way out of their grasps.

"Let them in!" you heard a voice boom. The three of you looked to the top of the stairs to see Cor hurrying down the stairs, Prompto was right behind him. "Let go, officers."

"But Marshall-"

"But nothing! I said: Let go."

The Marshall towered over the two officers, he had the coldest gaze that would put Shiva to shame. The two officers let go of your arms and Cor put a surprisingly comforting hand on your shoulder.

Prompto came to your other side, gentle hands stroking your shaking back.

"What happened?"

"I'll explain, but we need to move."

"Where's Ignis?"

"He's inside," Prompto murmured.

The normally bright and cheerful man seemed to want to tuck into himself and disappear. He looked so nauseous and scared like he would vomit the moment you mentioned something gross to him.

As you three ascended, your eyes never left Cor's face.

"It was an attack. A Nifilheim diplomat. I knew something was wrong with him the moment I laid eyes on him. I only wish I had stopped him before he entered the Citadel."

"An assassin?"

Cor paused for a moment.

"Something else. We're not sure of his motives. He's in captivity under the Citadel, however." You three reached the top of the stairs were officers, Crownsguard, and Kingsglaive all stood. Two Kingsglaive immediately pulled open the doors and stepped out of the way. "Gladiolus can explain to the rest. I need to finish here."

As if he was called, the towering shield rounded the corner. Prompto ushered you forward, leaving Cor behind. The halls had diplomats all either scared out of their minds with makeup runny and expensive clothing ruined or dirtied, or being taken care of by medics and Citadel nurses. There was a bit of blood splattered across Gladio's hands which were balled at his sides.

It was a little tough to keep up with Gladio's long and powerful strides, but you somehow managed.

"Where's Ignis?" you questioned as soon as you got into a quiet hallway. "What happened?"

"Niflheim sent a vampire," another voice stated.

Looking down the hallway, you saw Noctis approaching. His expensive suit was torn at the arms, his hair you knew he took care of so meticulously was now a mess.

"You're supposed to be with the King, safe and away from this," Gladio stated plainly. "How did you get past my father?"

"He's with Drautos in the cells."

"A vampire?" your eyebrows raised. "Niflheim has vampires now too?" The pit in your stomach suddenly grew deeper. You looked back at Gladio with nervous eyes. "Don't tell me-"

"Ignis was attacked."

"Is he alright? Where is he?"

Gladio guided you down another hallway, avoiding rushing nurses and maids. Down the hall stood a large elevator, metal shining brightly.

"You need to see him," Gladio nervously rubbed the back of his neck. Looking to Noctis and Prompto gave the shield nothing, suddenly the shield was no longer confident in himself to tell you exactly what happened. "He's still here, we can't let him leave on an ambulance," was all he said as he pressed the button to summon the elevator.

The four of you piled into the regal elevator as Noctis pressed multiple buttons on the panel. The descent was quiet and cold, none of you made a noise until the doors finally opened. It was all blank and dull, the hallways painted a few shades of gray and the floor cold stone was dark.

"What is this place?" you looked up to the shield.

"They go with the cells, medical rooms," he didn't look back at you.

His unruly eyebrows were knit together in mixed emotions;

Somewhere between discomfort and regret.

Gladio lead the way for the three of you, twisting down a corner and following the corridor down until you finally came upon a door that had a ring of light around it.

The hallway was empty. No nurses, not even any carts in the hallway. Only a small pool of blood at the closed door before you four. Gladio pushed the door open, eyes wide with shock.

"He's not here."

Peeking into the room, you could confirm that it was empty. There was a mess, however. The bedding was rumpled and thrown to the foot, the IV was toppled over and fluid was all over the floor, there were blood droplets all over the bed from where the cords were yanked out.

The three entered the room to see if there were any signs of a struggle when you heard the faint sound of glass shattering echo down the hallway followed by a soft moan. Almost as if you were drawn by the noises alone, your feet carried you down the hallway until you could peek around the corner. All the way down the hallway stood a glass door now opened, shattered pane in the center with blood around the hole.

You stepped into the hallway and carefully stepped forward, trying to stay as quiet as possible as you crept up to the door. The closer you got, the more you could make out a tall and shadowy figure through the glass. You could hear glass moving, drawers opening, metal bending.

It was like you were in a trance. The closer you stepped towards the door, the harder it was to reason to yourself to stop, to shout out for them. Next to the door was a damaged card reader, no longer sparking. There was a sign for biohazards in black and yellow.

You placed your hand on the door, careful to not touch the shards of glass that remained. You could feel the presence of the person, the air around you was thick with dread, you were suffocating. You slowly pushed the door open just a bit, just enough to let a little more light into the room.

Suddenly, your back struck the wall behind you, the air was knocked out of you, your head suddenly grew fuzzy. You whimpered and gasped as slender fingers harshly wrapped around your throat to keep you pinned under fierce strength. It was only when you unscrewed your eyes from the pain did you feel your world come to a hard stop.

He stood before you.

Glasses obstructed, skin paled and clammy, hair a mess now falling before his eyes. But what were once emerald green eyes were now dark and reddened. His lips were pulled back to reveal sharp canines, capable of puncturing holes in your neck without resistance.

"Ignis?"

#ignis x reader #ignis scientia x reader #ignis scientia #vampire!ignis #ffxv #ffxv imagines

[seasurfacefullofclouds1]

Hi Sea. Sorry to continue the topic of Niall if its boring for you and please dont feel you must answer to be polite, but the way Niall fans are behaving to us on twitter isnt nice, so I need to vent to someone with a bigger brain. They seem to think being like Harries is the way to goI'm afraid to ask one of his fans, but from the way theyre gloating Im assuming Nialls world tour is going to be a lot bigger than Louis? Its going to be all big arenas and maybe stadiums? I just dont get why theyre surprised and acting like its all some shocking validation.

This is his third album and they've all had normal to great promo pushes that Louies could only dream about. Whatever his music sounds like, Niall always gets lots of high level Tv and festival performances and shed loads of radio play and all favorable press, obviously with Sony blessing. Handed to him like Harry, just controlled and much less. He's also now been allowed regular US TV prime time promo via the Voice, and unlike Louis XF prison sentence he's actually allowed to use it to promote himself and his music. My feeling is that he's the only 1D boy who's being allowed to succeed to the GPs view as a pale echo of the big superstar, and 'proof' that Sony and HSHQ didnt sabotage the other three, its just they werent talented, except Niall in a minor way. I think its to build the 'Harry was the superstar part of superstar 1D' story that'll become 'truth' in time. And Niall's colluding by playing Harry's stooge friend to help sanitise it, and he's getting his reward.

I think Nialls music safe and boring, but a lot of people like generic, and no one can argue he's a talented musician and he has a charming persona. But I agree with the anon that under the fun surface he comes across as ruthlessly ambitious. Tbh I used to adore him and maybe thats why I'm so disappointed, but I began to be turned off a long time ago by the cynical, shameless way he uses celebrity social media and 'friendships', and the way he let his old friends swing. I guess its everyone for themselves in that industry but Niall's a survivor who does what it takes to clamber over the bodies, even if they thought they were his friends once. Niall wouldnt defy anyone powerful and decide to try to get by as a musician on guts and talent. He plays the clever game of selling out for the big rewards.

Lets face it, he only supports a true friend like Louis when there's no risk in it, only benefit for him, and it does Louis zero good. Same with Liam and Zayn. But Niall manages to appease everyone somehow and come out on top, which is a skill I guess, though not an admirable one. Maybe I'm being unfair, but that's how I see him.

So on his new tour, with all that sucking up to power and all that support and promo plus OT5 fans he SHOULD be charting high and he SHOULD be selling out a big arena tour. The miracle isn't that a Sony and Azoff approved 1D member other than Harry can sell out MSG, it's that anyone can do what Louis is doing as a blacklisted musician against Sony's interference and every industry norm, and still be unselfish enough to reach down to try to help other musicians. Like you said though, there's always the fear they'll interfere in the things Louis is still able to do. Every time he does too well and his potential is too obvious, I worry for him that there's more 'self-sabotage' on the way.

Yup. I'm glad that some fans keep their heads instead of changing their mind with PR and spin.

At any rate, the world, it turns no matter what, and as Louis always says, if you dwell on the unfairness of the world, it isn't motivating to your own actions and dedication. The fact is that he knows how it works; they all know how it works. They know who has been true and who turned, and maybe that's why they don't really keep in touch.

[writer-loogi2]

♡︎𝚁𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚘𝚖 𝙿𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝙼𝚒𝚌 𝙷𝙲𝚜 ( 𝚙𝚝. 4 )♡︎

A/N: Hey- so uhh, remember when I said I probably wasn't going to write more Mic HCs? Well I was wrong, apparently I did more- somehow I thought of more and just wrote them!

So yeah- enjoy?

♡︎𝙽𝚘𝚝𝚎: Read part one [ here! ] Read part two [ here! ] Read part three [ here! ]

♡︎♡︎♡︎

♡︎𝙲𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝: Random Present Mic headcanons ( part four!! )

♡︎𝚆𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐!! None, just random stuff I thought of-

♡︎♡︎♡︎

( ♡︎𝙲𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚞𝚝!♡︎ )

• He most likely had that one phase in his teen years where he thought that dubstep was like the coolest thing ever- ( he still thinks it's good music to this day, but kinda cringes at the thought of having that phase,, )

• I assume that Mic must be right handed, but I like to think that he isn't, maybe he's actually ambidextrous!

• He's an absolute sucker for New York style cheesecake, or any dessert that is strawberry or lemon flavored.

• Has a weird habit of cracking his knuckles at random times. Like it could be really quiet or something and you suddenly hear a loud 'crack!' in the background.

• Enjoys late night rides on his car ( or his motorcycle ). Especially those moments where the sun is setting and you're driving near a beach and it looks really pretty? Yeah, those are his fave. He also thinks driving through the city at night is neat too!

• Often wears a lot of gold or silver jewelry when he goes out in normal clothes. ( And by normal I mean not his hero outfit- for all I know his clothes aren't normal, they're just funky lmao,, )

• Okay so I know that canonically Mic is afraid of bugs, but like, I can imagine that he's able to tolerate certain bugs, like butterflies for instance. He still thinks bugs are creepy and gross but he isn't too bothered by butterflies.

• Random but, I dunno why but I can totally imagine Mic owning two houses. ( Which is funny because I've seen people say that Mic isn't rich but like, this man has 3 FUCKING JOBS, plus he's technically FAMOUS in a way, and yet people still have the nerve to say he has no cash?? Have you seen his wallet??? That shit stacked! ). Anyway, I feel like one of his houses is for him to relax and/or take a vacation ( y'know like an Airbnb or whatever ), and the other one is where he actually lives and stuff.

• Oh, he's definitely the type to take cold showers. ( I mean, it kinda makes sense since his hero outfit is mostly leather, so I do believe he often gets all hot and sweaty under it. So that's why he takes a cold shower, because it's very refreshing for him! )

• Here's a funny one, Mic treats his crappy blue race car like a person. As in like, if his car gets a scratch or a dent he goes ape shit sjsjjs- He also hates when people eat in his car, so just don't bother asking if you can eat there-,, ( I mean, I don't know how much his car costs, but I assume it's pretty expensive. But technically speaking all cars are expensive lmao so it's no surprise- )

• I dunno know why, but I just can't see Mic as a coffee person. Like sure, I do believe he drinks coffee occasionally but I don't think he actually drinks it because he likes it, but more because he needs it to stay awake ( maybe for his radio show ). I think he prefers to drink tea instead of coffee.

• ^He definitely drinks lemon tea or green tea.

• I'm sure you probably expected this headcanon, but yeah uhh Mic knows sign language! He knows both American and Japanese sigh language,,

• Has probably thought of changing his hair color maybe once or twice but he has never done it because people have told him his hair looks nice the way it is. So he sticks with using colored hairspray!

• ( Kinda throwing this out here, but there's this guy on insta that I've seen that makes videos where he kinda records something and then he randomly starts beatboxing, and it always makes me laugh- ) Anyway, do you guys think Mic starts randomly beatboxing out of pure boredom? 'Cause I sure believe that's something he would do-

• And for my final HC, Mic absolutely hates rainy days ( at least if he gets caught in the rain- ), mostly because he doesn't like getting his hero outfit and his hair wet. He also doesn't like rainstorms either, not because he's afraid of thunder or anything but he thinks the sound of thunder is annoying.

A/N: Phew! I'm finished. Anyway I did get kinda lazy with the last few HCs ( it's almost like I'm repeating what I did with the last HC post- ) but I did try my best to write more content. Remember I'm doing this for you 🫵🏼

As for me not being as active? Well I'm really dealing with a lot of college stuff so I haven't had to time to write much. I'm so sorry :(

But I promise I'll do as much as I can! I won't let you down!

°.♡┈┈∘*┈୨୧┈*∘┈┈♡.°

♡︎𝙼𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝♡︎

#by neko loogi #do not repost #headcanons #mha headcanons #present mic #present mic headcanons #🎁🎤

[justaredheadf1fan]

Silverstone with some delay 😅

I'm finally back, bitches!

First of all, I'M DEAD. Second of all, Marina was broadcasting everything that was going on in the race while I was waiting to die (of boredom, cold, impatience... you name it, you can choose), and that's how my phone died luckily at the end of the concert, but... WHY THE FUCK DID I HAVE TO MISS THIS ONE!?

So I've started watching the race today at the airport because I obviously needed to see for myself. If it had been a boring one maybe I would've passed on it until Thursday or even Friday that I'm actually free, but not this time. I needed to see this ASAP after all I've read and all I've seen since yesterday.

First things first, I knew about Zhou's crash the moment it happened, both from Twitter accounts I follow and from Marina. I was horrified and when I saw the video.... Chills run down my spine, and the cold wasn't helping. I wasn't calm until I knew he was okay. Now I've seen it again and... still horrible to see, honestly. Good thing they have the halo. Like seriously, he wouldn't have made it if it hadn't been for the halo... And George. Oh my Giorgio, that fast thinking just stopping the car and running towards Zhou to check if he was okay, he must have seen he was conscious before moving away I guess. That right there is human quality.

The worried faces while the race was red flagged.... And at the same time Zhou, Pierre and Giorgio crashed, Ocon, Albon and Yuki I believe crashed too, and Albon had to be taken to the medical centre too. Good thing they're all okay, because it looked nasty all over.

After the restart (I'm running on low energy atm so as to remember much from what I've watched before arriving "home"), I've noticed Verstappen having some troubles with the car 😬 Scuderia Clowneria doing a terrible job at taking care of Sharl, who is still the one driver of the team at the top in comparison to the other AHEM, Yuki and Pierre having a little dust up, Ocon losing the car (which the Alpine mechanics managed to save - more or less, that is - after his own crash at the very start of the race), our Birthday Boy passing Verstappen with a very, very elegant move (which I enjoyed immensely), Lewis vibin' setting fastest lap over and over and over and over again, with that tractor, Kevin and Mick inside the points!!!!!!!!!! I mean, whoa. I know how this ends, but I'm so over the moon watching it happen.

I mean, Pérez getting Driver of the Day? Really? He did NOTHING of substance until the restart after the Safety Car, where he was close to Lewis, otherwise he's done absolutely nothing in the whole race. Yes, the battle between him and Lewis has been nice to watch, but that's about the only thing Checo did.

Now I have to say THE BALLS LECLERC HAS. He's afraid of nothing, he's faced Checo without moving an inch. AND NOW LEWIS PASSES BOTH LECLERC AND CHECO. Whoa whoa whoa, THAT WAS COLD AS FUCK. Spanish commentators shouting that Alonso is right there going after Lewis (big surprise) and he can't even get close 😂 I mean guys, don't be sad please, he can't, he never could.

Now I'm watching my dear Sharl and Lewis fighting. Isn't this beautiful? Focus on them instead of Carlos, that's perfect. I'm enjoying this so fucking much, this is just spectacular. My brilliant boys 🥲 This shows how Lewis isn't the problem, same as Charles. They both fought tooth and nail against each other turn after turn without even touching, they came really close to each other, but they kept it clean and elegant like the gentlemen they are. And that, ladies and gentlemen, THAT'S HOW IT'S DONE.

AND MICK, OH MY DARLING MICK!!!!! That Schumacher killer instinct is there, I knew it was!!!!!!!! He was so damn close and he was doing such an amazing job making Verstappen nervous with a Haas! So well deserved, Mick, this is just the beginning ♥️ HE'S SAYING EXCUSE MY SWEARING ON THE RADIO, I'M DEAD! HEARING HIM TALKING IN GERMAN WITH GÜNTHER AND GINA 🥲

It's a real shame that after Lobato said that Carlos had already won before even crossing the line nothing happened to make that impossible. Another time maybe. I'm watching the interviews before the podium ceremony and I still can't see the impressiveness of Checo today. I could maybe see it in previous races, but not in this one tbh.

Lewis hugging Tom Cruise like it's another day at the office. This man 😂 And people still try to talk about him like he's nothing to this sport and he's friends with half of Hollywood and 3/4 of the rest of important people anywhere. They can still try, yet he's still better than the rest combined 🤣 And I've also seen Damian Lewis there!! I love that man, how can he be so gorgeous, how's that even possible?

I'm honestly impressed guys. Even knowing what happened yesterday, this was fantastic. This weekend I'll probably watch Saturday and Sunday after work, but maybe not, so we'll see. At least I'll watch on the actual day 😂

I'm off to bed finally, since I'm back to work tomorrow afternoon (I don't want to, I hate this) and back to being a responsible adult.

See you on the weekend, babies. Peace out!

#f1 #formula 1 #mercedes amg f1 #scuderia ferrari #aston martin racing #haas f1 team #mclaren f1 racing #alfa romeo racing #alpine f1 team #scuderia alpha tauri #williams racing #sir lewis hamilton #George Russell #Charles Leclerc #Carlos saint jr #sebastian vettel #lance stroll #mick schumacher #kevin Magnussen #daniel ricciardo #lando norris #zhou guanyu #valtteri bottas #esteban ocon #fernando Alonso #pierre gasly #yuki tsunoda #alex albon #nicholas latifi #british gp 2022