#Mud Mellow
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seravphs · 1 year ago
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ੈ♡˳·˖✶ — GOJO x FEM READER
Gojo Satoru likes his girls clingy. 
wc — 1k
tags — confident reader 
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He lets you loop your arms around his neck and whine for kisses, gifts, everything he has. With an unlimited budget and the deep pockets of a man in love, he spoils you rotten. 
Here’s the problem with being the strongest: you will always be the strongest. From the day he was born, there was no competition. Gojo didn’t even have to begin to outstrip his peers. He was simply born better than them. 
But eventually, even that level of talent grew exponentially until he went from being simply unbeatable to untouchable. His growth was incomparable, leaving him a lonely god on his own plane of existence. 
That’s why he needs you: sweet and soft and demanding. Everyone else had it all wrong. 
The Gojo clan spoiled their young head rotten. Knowing that he would bear the burden of the world from the moment he was born and those blue eyes opened, his mother demanded her child grow up in peace. Nothing was asked of him, no demands, no pleas for help. 
The outside world relied on Gojo as their saviour, but within the Gojo compound, he was just a spoiled little boy whose mother adored him. 
The way he acts within the walls of the Gojo stronghold is a carefully kept secret. He’s as soft as a newborn kitten, hair carefully washed by his childhood nurses and left out to sun in a patch of light. He’s sleepy and warm and mellow, hardly the strongest anymore. Without knowing any of this, you somehow bring that back out in him years later. 
An auxiliary manager in training, you first met him when you were tagging along with Ijichi on one of Gojo’s missions. Ijichi was flustered, even more so than usual, at the thought of having to care for a mentee when he could hardly take care of himself.
It only made matters worse that your first mission would be with Gojo. His heart sank into the pit of his stomach, despairing at how he would inevitably fail to shield you from his barbed comments and wicked teasing. 
In the end, he needn’t have worried. The two of you turn the tables on him. 
Poor Ijichi. 
It started off as a way to bully him more, because Gojo could be such a little tyrant. 
“Come on, Ijichi. Let her tag along, what’s the harm!” 
“You heard him,” you had announced self-importantly, and thrown yourself promptly into the passenger seat. 
That was usually Gojo’s seat, but he was willing to give it up for some amusement. 
You hadn’t been given permission to go on this mission, but you had insisted. First you wheedled, then you whined, finally you outright demanded. You wanted see the powerful Satoru Gojo in action. 
He leans forward, arms draped over the back of your seat. He pokes your cheek playfully as he says, “Oh, are you a fan?” 
“As if!” You scoff. “I don’t care about you, I care about your cursed technique.” 
Gojo takes your bluntness in stride. Maybe it’s the way your eyes sparkle when you talk about his technique (he caught you demanding details on Hollow Purple from Ijichi once) or maybe it’s the way your cheeks puff out when you pout. He knows you’re lying. Part of your assignment to Ijichi is because you begged Masamichi to be placed where you could watch Gojo work. 
It’s easy work for him. The curse is vaporized in seconds. He makes it look so weak you wonder why they even bothered with it at all until you remember that this curse had been failed to be exorcised by a first grade sorcerer who had come back licking his wounds. It’s not that it’s weak, it’s that he’s too strong. 
“Anyone up for lunch? My treat,” Gojo says, still immaculate as ever. 
Ijichi, who had been standing so close he got covered in some strange muck, not even from the curse but from Hollow Purple cutting through the mud, looks at him suspiciously. Gojo is never this nice. 
You have no such reservations. Ijichi yelps and protests when Gojo brings you to a luxurious restaurant in the heart of Tokyo without a reservation, relying on the strength of his name alone. He doesn’t even eat much, content to watch you order whatever you like on his dime. It amuses him, the way you’re so confident about it, as if you know he won’t refuse you. 
He won’t. 
By the time you order dessert - for you and Gojo, telling him he’ll like whatever you choose for him - he can’t bear the burning question that’s been lurking in the back of his mind anymore. 
“Smoke break!” He demands cheerfully. 
“You don’t even smoke!” Ijichi says, terrified, as if Gojo is some high school bully dragging him out under another pretense to shake him down for cash. He might, just for fun. 
You smile and wave them off. You wouldn’t let Gojo do that seriously, but Ijichi is just so fun to tease. You’ll come rescue him later if it looks like he’s really miserable. 
“Alright, spill the beans,” Gojo says, leaning against the doorframe and blockading Ijichi from going back inside. “What’s her deal?” 
Ijichi just stares at him slack jawed, open mouthed, terrified, clearly still waiting for some kind of attack. 
“Oh, come on! I’m not that mean to you, am I?” Even Gojo can’t resist a twitchy smile at what he’s saying. “Who is she? Where’s she from?” 
Ijichi blinks. “She’s just some girl. Masamichi hired her.” 
“She’s a right little princess,” Gojo murmured. “What, is she the daughter of a clan head or something? Maybe even the Three Clans?” 
Ijichi sighs. “You would think so with that attitude, but she just comes from a normal non-sorcerer family.” 
“Her?” Gojo asks disbelievingly. “A girl like that? Impossible.” 
“It’s true,” Ijichi says. “I don’t even know where Masamichi picked her up.” 
Gojo returns to his seat with a overly sweet parfait waiting for him. You’re right, he does like it. Or maybe he likes it because you’re finally giving him your full attention, waiting with rapt delight to see if he’ll give it full stars. 
He thinks he might take you out to dinner more, if it gets you to look at him like that. You might not be a clan princess yet, but he can’t wait to make you one.
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literaryvein-reblogs · 5 months ago
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Writing Notes: On Colour
Describing Colour in your Poetry and Stories
BLACK Shadow Black, Dusk, Midnight, Blackbird, Blackberry, Ebony, Black Honey, Darkness, Jet Black, Ink Black, Soot, Onyx, Licorice, Ivory Black, Pitch, Char, Gloom, Outer Space, Creosote Black, Melanite, Goth Black, Gunpowder
BLUE Blueberry, Sapphire Blue Metallic, Tiffany Blue (Pantone 1837), Cobalt Blue, Denim, Aquamarine, Turquoise, Sky Blue, Topaz, Ultramarine Blue, Azure, Cerulean, Oxford Blue, Periwinkle, Electric Blue, Baby Boy Blue, Pthalo Blue, Robin's Egg Blue, Persian Blue, Marino Blue, Prussian Blue
GREEN Leafy Green, Olive, Moss Green, Jade, Lime, Sour Apple Green, Emerald Green, Mint, Kiwi Green, Phthalo Green, Praying Mantis Green, Viridian, Greenback, Shamrock, Sap Green, Chartreuse, Sea Green, Pistachio, Teal, Bamboo, Sea Salt, Celadon Green, Celery, Asparagus Green, Fern Green, Neon Green, Jungle Green, Pear Green
ORANGE Pumpkin, Burnt Orange, Carrot, Sunset Orange, Tangerine, Persimmon, Salamander, Tennessee Orange (Pantone 151), Jack-o'-lantern Orange, Florida Orange, Summer Squash, Pale Daffodil, Smashed Pumpkin, Saffron, Autumn Orange, Macaroni and Cheese, Cadmium Orange
PINK Pink Flamingo, Neon Pink, Bubblegum Pink, Salmon, Peach, Fuscia, Cotton Candy Pink, Rose, Carnation, Thulian, Apricot, Atomic Pink, Barbie Pink, Hot Pink, Amaranth, Flushed, Glitter Pink
PURPLE Lavender, Purple Haze, Grape, Eggplant Purple, Plum, Violet, Orchid, Psychedelic Purple, Amethyst, Lilac, Boysenberry, Mulberry, Wisteria, Bruised Plum, Indigo, Mauve
RED Blood Red, Copper, Maroon, Strawberry, Watermelon Red, Crimson, Candy Apple Red, Tomato, Brick Red, Scarlet, Cardinal Red, Cherry, Ruby Red, Coral, Sunburn, Hot Lava, Cadmium Red, Auburn, Blush, Alizarin Crimson, Fire Engine Red, Raspberry, Vermillion, Lipstick, Burgundy, Magenta, English Vermilion, Mahogany
WHITE Dirty White, Albino, Chalk, Alabaster, Cotton, Titanium White, Vanilla, Bone White Egg Shell, Marshmallow, Ivory, Pearl White, Almond, Champagne, Blond, Cream, Milky White, Corn Silk, Bleach, Navajo White, Ghost White, Light, Cloud White
YELLOW Canary Yellow, Lemon, Banana, Egg Yolk Yellow, Mellow Yellow, Chanterelle, Mustard Yellow, Corn, Goldenrod, Amber, Pineapple, Metallic Gold, Cadmium Yellow, Wheat, Tuscan Sun, Butter, School Bus Yellow, Yellow Ochre, Citron, Dandelion
BROWN Mud Brown, Beaver, Caramel, Rust, Macaroon, Toasty Brown, Coffee, Sandy Tan, Cocoa, Honey, Chocolate, Burnt Sienna, Mocha, Seashell, Antique Brass, Bronze, Brown Sugar, Chestnut Brown, Taupe, Burnt Umber, Khaki, Dark Sienna, Light Chocolate, Sepia
GRAY Stone Gray, Ash, Metallic Silver, Platinum, Smoke, Concrete Gray, Mercury, Steel Gray, Mist, Titanium, Charcoal, Slate, Sterling Silver, Tungsten, Old Coin Gray, Iron Gray, Chrome, Magnesium, Overcast
MIXED Candy Cane (red and white), Zebra (black and white), Chameleon (many different colours), Ladybug (black and red), Wildfire (yellow, orange and red), Tiger (orange, black and white), Yellow Jacket (black and yellow), Christmas Lights (red, white and green), Rainbow (red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo and violet), Black Pepper (black and gray), Leopard (spotted gold and black), Creamsicle (orange and white), Candy Corn (orange and white), Iceberg (a bluish gray), Marbled
COLOURS: Symbolisms, Associations & Psychological Effects
Black. Especially in Gothic literature from the West, a black colour choice often represents death, evil, grief, and depression. Associated with fear, the unknown and often has a negative connotation. Black clothes can make you look thinner. A black background severely diminishes the readability of most type. Often the go to colour for funerals and grieving. It symbolizes stability and power, which gives a sense of authority. Thus, the black colour often represents professionalism and expertise.
Blue. Has positive and negative connotations in colour psychology. Some writers may use blue to represent serenity and tranquility, instilling a scene with a calming effect. Blue can also signify sadness, melancholy, or isolation. People who find someone very loyal and faithful are often called "true blue". Blue is often considered to be more masculine which is why it is often the colour of choice when choosing a suit. Lighter blues are associated with tranquility, softness and healing. Darker blues are associated with power, knowledge and seriousness. Blue is actually shown to suppress appetites a bit. The colour blue symbolizes wisdom and hope. It’s the colour of peace and confidence. Blue has been shown to reduce blood pressure and pulse rate. It fosters serenity and a sense of belonging.
Green. The colour green often symbolizes rebirth, growth, peace, jealousy, and greed. Green colours may also represent spring and renewal. It is a colour that is very easy on the eyes. Dark green is often associated with ambition. Green suggests stability, safety and hope. At the same time, it may denote a lack of experience in a particular field. Green symbolizes peace, growth, and nature. It is the colour of success, promoting healing and tranquility.
Orange. The colour orange often represents energy, excitement, joy, and creativity. Since orange is the colour of fire, it may also symbolize heat. Since orange is not as aggressive as red, it can actually stimulate brain activity. It is very useful to catch someone's attention, which is why it's used a lot to advertise food and toys.
Pink. The colour pink symbolizes love, kindness, femininity, innocence, and playfulness. Certain shades of pink can limit aggression. Pink may be associated with unconditional love and caring.
Purple. Often associated with royalty, the colour purple symbolizes bravery, spirituality, and luxury. Light purple usually brings up romantic or nostalgic feelings; while a darker shade can make you feel gloomy or sad.
Red. The colour red symbolizes some of the most powerful human emotions, like passionate love or lust. On the other side of the spectrum, this warm colour is also the colour of blood, often symbolizing anger, danger, and violence. It stimulates the appetite. Red is an emotionally intense colour associated with energy, danger, anger, passion and determination. The symbolic meaning associated with the colour red is passion, excitement, and love. It’s the colour of urgency, power, and desire. Red is said to boost hunger and is believed to inspire confidence and excitement. This colour has also been found to increase blood pressure and heart rate.
White. This primary colour traditionally symbolizes innocence, peace, and cleanliness. In Western cultures, the colour white also represents purity and virginity, while it symbolizes mourning in some East Asian cultures. Usually has positive connotations when used and thought of as safe. Associated a lot with healing, simplicity and sterility, which is why it's used in hospitals and healing centers as much as it is. The symbolic meaning of the colour white is truth and sometimes even indifference. It encourages feelings of safety and cleanliness. Clean, white clothes and linens show sterility since stains are easily visible. That’s why doctors and nurses frequently wear white lab coats and scrubs.
Yellow. Writers may use the colour yellow to symbolize creativity, happiness, optimism, and warmth—think of a yellow ray of sunlight poking out from a dark cloud. A common negative connotation of the color yellow is cowardice, popularized by the phrase “yellow-bellied.” Warming effect which stimulates body and mind. Gold is associated with the highest of luxury. When bright yellow is used with black it's one of the easiest colour combinations to see from long distances; when uses with lighter colours it's not so easy to see. Yellow ribbons are worn as a symbol of hope and used quite often to welcome home loved ones. Yellow is the colour of warmth, kindness, and happiness. It’s often associated with optimism and well-being and promotes energy.
Brown. This warm, earthy brown colour may symbolize dependability, comfort, and a sense of being grounded. Brown is also a neutral colour, and writers may use it to represent dullness and predictability. Brown is a colour that is related to very grounded traits such as simplicity, practicality, common sense and hard work. Can also be associated with those that are frugal and not too flashy.
Gray. Lighter grays are often thought of as more feminine while darker grays more masculine. Gray is considered by many to be a neutral colour; the perfect balance between light and dark / good and evil. Pop up the lighter grays and add a little shine to it, and thought immediately turns to silver, which correlates to wealth.
Sources & related articles: 1 2 3 4 5 ⚜ More: Writing Notes & References
If these writing notes helped with your poem/story, please tag me. Or leave a link in the replies. I'd love to read them!
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lunarw0rks · 1 year ago
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slasher!graves 🩸 in honor of spooky season !!! w/c; 2.7k
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warning(s): implied violence/gore, drugging, fem!reader
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endless crop fields surrounded the dirt path, crunching under the tires audibly, overbearing the hum of the pickup's old speakers. as soon as you crossed county lines, only the two local stations played: gospel or vintage country. any tuning of the knob, and it was buzzing static.
mellow country music it is. preferable to a pastor lecturing you about the ins and outs of hell. don't worry father, i'm already there. or i've made it halfway to purgatory — east Texas backroads.
though, you don't need the faceless pastor; the decaying signs along the way are enough. hell is real, God bless, repent — every single one rusted, scratched, peeled in some way.
limitless, barren farmland; half-murky swamp the further east you go.
who's feeding the lumps of livestock you see grazing? what about the herding dogs that lay by rickety fences and intently watch your car pass? if it weren't for the occasional passing truck, you'd assume no one inhabited this county at all.
your pupils retract, blinded by the sun glaring off the hood. vibrant hues of orange and yellow, that would otherwise be soothing if you hadn't been in the driver's seat so long. for once, the lack of traffic and straight and narrow is a blessing, otherwise, you surely would've caused a collision.
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the blinding sunset fades over time, indicating that you drove through golden hour instead of lying back and enjoying it. though, the thought of pulling over in this area sounded like a painful ordeal.
from straight, unpaved roads to skinny windy ones with taller grass on the border. as the sky darkens, the foliage is surely full of critters, snakes, and spiders that would crawl and tickle your flesh the second you stepped foot. the thought alone makes you shiver against the leather seats.
as the tires climb a particularly steep hill, the engine sputters, as if hacking and choking from the exertion. please don't let it happen here, is all you can think. the vintage pickup creaks and moans the further along you go — but thankfully doesn't let you down. it's any wonder you've made it this far in your trip.
your fingers reach across the seat, peeling back the page of your guide. the map you snagged at the first — and only — rest stop in the area. a few pages, tainted with coffee and grime, aside from hints of its original eggshell stain. the booklet is rough in texture but still partially legible, so you decided to take what you can get.
besides, once you finished up in the bathroom, bought water, and felt the judgment of the locals, you weren't in a position to ask for a clean map. and the geriatric clerk, brandishing a crucifix and eyes so blue they could pass for pearl, staring at you with grief.
for what, you couldn't wager. your unsaved soul?
your unwise decision to stop there? at least you can agree with the latter.
at last, your finger skimmed the section of road you were supposed to be cruising on. a straight one, like you had been on before. not the thin, windy dirt you're nearly stuck in — which doesn't exist on the map. either you're trespassing in some form, or you really have gotten lost in purgatory.
muttering a curse, you twist and turn your heads in hopes of finding an opening. somewhere, anywhere to turn the truck around and get back on your intended route.
once you spot the first opening, you turn into it. the truck travels down the short path, mud squishing underneath the overworked tires.
up ahead, the first residence you've seen that wasn't moldy or collapsed. three floors, milky paneling, original windows older than two of your lifetimes, and steps sure to give you splinters and creaks under the slightest movement.
from the outside, it's... average.
only slightly unsettling at best, which was a major improvement from the rest of town. frankly, it was shocking there wasn't a higher fence around the perimeter. you imagine this property being prime pickings for bandits and adventurous country teens.
after taking in its appearance for a few moments, you begin to reverse, now feeling the most resistance in the entire trip. the harder you push your foot down on the gas pedal, the deeper the back tires go into the thick mud.
the engine sputtered louder, beginning to spit out smoke from under the hood. considering your efforts, all you'd successfully done was splatter mud on the windows and kill the engine, hopefully not permanently.
you slumped forward and lightly smacked your head against the rim of the steering wheel, cursing yourself for literally ending up deeper in the mud.
through the cracked window of the truck, the windchimes sounded, reminding you of your only way out. raising your head, you laid eyes on the white farmhouse again, taking in its mystifying essence. the decor rustled in the gentle breeze, as did the fuzzy white clusters blowing off the cottonwood trees.
against the unforgiving summer elements, the outmoded residence stood still — as if the stoic constant stuck in the middle of a brewing summer storm.
motionless and deathlike; if a tornado dipped down through the dusky clouds, you were mildly convinced the residence would be the only structure left standing.
as it stands, your options are either to sit in the truck and sulk or take a gamble and knock on the old farmer's door. deciding on the latter, you step out, not bothering to shut the car door behind you, in case you're met with a cliché shotgun barrel for trespassing.
the rickety porch creaked under your weight when you stepped up, occupied with examining its every detail. there were the chimes you heard. some were standard, high-pitched jingles — others made from small animal bones were dull clicks — all suspended with twine.
aside from the roadkill and rocking chair, there were few signs of life in terms of decor. through the windowpanes, you were only met with pearly, lace curtains blocking any view inside.
caving, you raise your fist to the door. it's slathered in the same blanched paint as the rest of the exterior, only riddled with indents and scratches from age. three small knocks against the wood, and you're hoping whoever's behind it won't lead with hostility.
the house settles and croaks from inside, its joints as noisy as the deck you’re standing on. eventually, the door opens. behind it, the owner reveals himself; and it’s not the stereotypical image of an old man with overalls and a noisy coonhound at his side.
your prediction couldn’t have been more inaccurate.
“how can i help you, ma'am?” the voice speaks, oozing a subtle regional twang. casually, he leans against one side of the doorway, blue eyes sweeping you up and down.
younger than expected, and clean despite the gritty environment he lives in. his blond locks are carefully groomed and swept, and an aroma of musk and cedarwood permeates from him.
"i don't mean to be a bother," you stammer a bit, then motion behind you. the man's demeanor remains unbothered by the intrusion. "my truck is stuck in the mud, and i was wondering if you could get it... unstuck?"
he hollows his cheeks as if taking a few moments to consider your request.
but Graves already decided the moment he saw you. with a click of his tongue, a rumble rises through his chest, "no bother in askin' for help, is there? why didn't you just say so?" a faction of a smile spreads on his lips, easing the tension in your shoulders.
you return the break in tension with a small chuckle, biting back the urge to start twiddling your thumbs. he glances at the truck, "i'll pull her out for you. keys in the ignition for me?"
you nod, and he steps out of his relaxed pose. "i would really appreciate that. thank you, sir."
but instead of stepping out toward the vehicle, he moves to the side and flicks his head. "don't mind waiting inside, do you? 'sides, young lady like you shouldn't be shivering."
you really were helpless, or at least, that's how it felt.
the desire to reject is futile and forgotten. before you knew it, you stepped inside and followed him. the entryway was quaint with only a coat rack and mat, and open to the kitchen. the gray and white tiles were patterned like a checkerboard, blended with natural wood cabinets that matched the original wood everywhere else.
in the middle, a circular dining table with two chairs, brandishing hack marks — some fresh, some old. with a scrape, he pulled out a chair for you, and you settled on it.
rather than asking first, he went straight to the vintage refrigerator and pulled out a pitcher. he reached into the ice bucket and dropped a handful of cubes into two glasses, then tipped the pitcher and filled them with lemonade.
you stopped watching when he turned, instead setting your attention on the decor. it was as average as the exterior; a country kitchen that was slightly rough around the edges. Graves slid the glass in front of you, then set his own on the opposite side, sitting instead of heading straight outside to deal with the truck.
he sighed when he sat down again, holding onto the glass but not sipping from it. for a few moments, there was silence between you; a studying stare making you feel like you were in a fishbowl. swallowing dryly, you raised the glass and took a sip from it.
lemonade, a partial punch of citrus, coaxed by tons of added sugar. you let out a polite mhm and smiled, hoping to let your courtesy break the silence again.
"gets awful lonesome out here, don't it?" the man finally spoke, and you took another gulp to pass the time. "can't say i mind the company. not a lot of tourists in these parts, i guess."
you nodded in agreement, eyes darting toward the ticking clock behind his head, "i'm sure it does." you really should be back on the road by now.
he must've noticed your eagerness, because he gave his knee a slap and sat up, "here i am, talkin' your ear off again. should only take a few minutes if you don't mind waiting here."
his footsteps retreated back down the hall, leaving you in silence except for the ticking, which now sounded louder. you glanced down at the glass and swirled it around, deciding it best to finish your drink off before you left the man's seemingly good graces.
once the front door opened and closed, you took a better look around at the kitchen. the knickknacks along the wall, and the dusty china in one of the cabinets.
further along, you skimmed past the doors leading to the rest of the home. the l-shaped staircase came down to the kitchen, steep and rickety. adjacent, was a door similar to the one in the foyer.
when curiosity got the better of you, you stood up and crept over. pressing your ear against it, you heard no one behind it; not even the drone of a television.
you wrapped a hand around the knob and twisted it, pushing the door open. it led to a sitting room of sorts, or perhaps the only living room in the farmhouse. an old-fashioned wood fireplace in the corner, a brown couch against the wall facing the back windows, and the box TV posed on an end table.
the windows had the same sheer, white curtains as the kitchen, blowing gently from the breeze outside. custom shelves covered the other wall, filled to the brim with outlandish decor.
you first stepped closer to the window, seeing his figure outside. there was your truck, still in the same position you'd left it; the door still cracked, and its tires were embedded in mud. and the man, a distance away and moving toward the red barn in the distance — a more powerful, agile stride than he'd shown with you.
thinking nothing of it, you occupied your boredom with snooping. the shelves were what caught your attention, so that's where you ended up.
standing in front of them, you scanned through every item, growing more unsettled the longer you ogled. first, it was ancestral photos old enough to be in black and white, eerie but not abnormal. then, on the second shelf, the appeared uncanny.
quaint, mason jars and teeth.
fangs from coyotes and bobcats alike, mixed with bloodied molars that only could be pried from human mouths. the sight was akin to a gnarly car wreck, causing your morbid curiosity to overtake your sense of danger.
you glanced out the window again, seeing the barn door cracked open, indicating he was still occupied. crouching down, you examined the lowest shelf. the only clutter visible was VHS tapes, thick books, and small chests and boxes.
you took the first one that caught your eye, undoing the clasps and opening the velvety chest. newspaper clippings and passages alike, and a mini-Bible lay in the mess of words.
shaking your head, you set it aside and grabbed one of the tiny boxes, taking off the lid. your blood flow went icy, and your fingers trembled as you set the lid aside and continued processing.
possessions; watches, necklaces, wedding bands, and choppy strands of all hair types. when you noticed the hair, you gasped and ejected the box from your grip.
they weren't belongings; they were trophies.
the front door creaks from across the house, then slams shut again. you scramble to put the lids back on and pinch your finger in one of the latches, reflexively dropping it. all its contents clatter against the wood floor, compromising your cover.
"find somethin' you like?"
his voice appears behind you, effectively sending you into a startle. graves glances at the mess below you, still maintaining an eerie stillness about him.
frantically shaking your head, you begin to feel sweat cake your hairline. you ball your fists and go clammy, taking steps back, "this is my fault— i shouldn't have let my curiosity get the better of me." he remains untouched by your apprehensive shift, only worsening your instinct to run.
but he doesn't lunge or creep closer; all he does is linger by the shelves.
despite how dry your throat is, you gather saliva and gulp tensely, "i should get going. long trip ahead." that's hopeless; you know he didn't move the truck. you would've heard an engine. how far could you make it on foot?
your words come out sluggishly as if your brain is working at half speed. you peer down, stepping around every morbid souvenir — though all you do is stumble, rather than make any distance.
"won't be necessary, sweetheart." his voice echoes, stance unchanging while he observes your struggle.
you grasp at one of the walls, lids drooping as your feet drag. the lemonade he never once put his mouth on, laced with some sort of sedative. it all hit you too late; too late to retch it up or bolt down the hall ahead of him.
eventually, he steps closer, watching as you make an 'attempt' to swat him away. all you do is whack your hand at the air, thoroughly wasting more of your dwindling energy. instead of words, all that comes out are slurs or whimpers of intense turmoil.
your view of the doorway tilts and twists, turning blurred and doubled the further you stagger. a swirl of nausea erupts in your stomach, causing your knees to buckle. your head collides with the edge of the coffee table, leaving you stunned.
as the tranquilizer pumps through you, the drowsiness is indomitable. you roll onto your back and cough, lying at his feet. with the last of your remaining lucidity, you tug on his jean leg, as if in one last ditch effort to get to your feet again.
despite his opportunity to kick away your pleas, Graves stands idle, his neck craned down to watch every moment of it, a sick rendition of his favorite hobby. the most noticeable sensation — the tender skin of your temple throbs from the impact, until any and all discomfort fades away.
eyelids weighed with bricks flutter shut, squirming limbs cease, and the heave of your chest slows into gentle waves of slumber.
"atta' girl."
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‧˚₊ divider cred. - cafekitsune ‧₊��⊹
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frizzle-mcshizzle · 6 months ago
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@valentinerose529 this is easier to explain in its own post 
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the triplets are like 9-10 here and yet they act like unhinged toddlers with the way they are constantly speaking all in caps and running around breaking things
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then Lex is acting like a horny teenage boy when boys his age are fully in their “ewww cooties” phase most of the time.
not the mention that the way they also tie each other up and “prank each other” is borderline psychopathic, i mean tying Lex to a chandelier why he’s sleeping? tying up Lovise and trying to force feed her exliers.
it’s very obvious Shannon messager is a only child because thats not how younger siblings act, even the unhinged ones.
they would realistically try to break into the sleepover by trying to act mature, and try to talk to Dex’s friends because thats just how younger siblings are. Bex would probably start telling embarrassing stories about Dex, Lex would probably have a fart gun of some sort instead of grabbing Biana. the only thing they do thats age appropriate is Bex threatening to dunk Harry in mud.
what i would change about their characters specifically.
Bex would have less volume issues and would keep the lack of filter, but it would be used for telling embarrassing stories about her brother and saying things tnat way out of left field to the point that her parents are embarrassed.
Lex would stay the most “annoying one” but would probably just throw things and make gross noises, shoot nerf guns at the body gards, he would be the one to steal harry not Bex, and would be the biggest prankster.
Rex would be the most mellow one, getting blamed for what Lex does, just konda follows his brother and sisters lead, he would try to be friends with Dex’s friends but would end up being the little sibling they don’t want there.
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ayyyez · 2 years ago
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For whichever Naruto characters you'll get inspiration for: how do they think they would do babysitting vs how they actually do. Who'd be overconfident and fail miserably? Who would avoid it at all cost but turn out amazing? Who is bad with kids and knows it? Who'd be a supernanny?
A/N: oh yeah, sure thing my friend! These were fun to do. Thanks for sending in a request!
TAGS: babysitting headcanons, fluff, soft headcanons, hehes, gremlin Madara
CHARACTERS: Neji Hyuga, Shisui Uchiha, Shikamaru Nara, Madara Uchiha, Tobirama Senju
NEJI HYUGA: Okay so genin Neji would not be thrilled at the prospect of babysitting. He'd also be a little cocky thinking he'd have no problem wrangling a bunch of kids. He underestimates these trouble makers however and has a woeful time dealing with their "backtalking" and "incessant questioning of authority." That's him— he's the authority. Neji sweetie they're kids. Won't lose them though with his Byakugan and kind of scares them into behaving with his demeanour.
Teen/Adult (Jonin) Neji now is a lot more mellow and less harsh. He's going to be a lot softer and understanding. Is actually less confident with the task but does a lot better. Bends down to the kids level to talk to them. Treats them the same way he does adults in the way he talks to them but his tone his gentler. Is patient with their questions. Reads to them. Teaches them life lessons.
Don't tell anyone but he gives them piggybacks.
SHISUI UCHIHA: The best damn babysitter you could ask for and he knows it too. If you tell him though he'll get all bashful about it. He's so good with kids! Talks and plays with them like he is one. Being around kids helps him reset and forget his troubles. He can't help but want to protect them and their childhoods. Because of this just wants to show them the best time.
Kind of sneaky about the games he teaches. The games teach them strategy and how to think on their feet. Real world shinobi skills to help them learn how to hide and escape if they ever need it. Shisui also picks the littler kids up and zooms them around. Piggyback rides and races. Rolling down hills. Lots of laughter and fun.
Always letting the kids win and encouraging them when he can.
SHIKAMARU NARA: Doesn't matter when this is Shikamaru's always going to think it's going to be a drag babysitting. He's going to look for the easiest way to mind these kids. Think smarter not harder is his motto. Doesn't think he'll do a terrible job nor exceed expectations. He's there to tick a box. What he doesn't expect is to be kept amused by the kids. Having back and forth banter. The kids telling him "jokes" and stories.
Ha. So maybe babysitting isn't so bad. The kind of babysitter who is like 'Alright, I'll give you some treats if you don't tell your parents.' Totally has a secret pact with the kids. Teaches them all sorts of cool things. As long as they don't have to go anywhere or do anything too annoying.
The kind of babysitter the kids think are cool.
MADARA UCHIHA: Do not let this man babysit your kids. He's a terrible influence (affectionate). I don't mean big bad Madara either I just mean regular gremlin Madara. He's going to have your kids running wild and promoting their chaos. He has a complex where he both thinks he's the best babysitter in the world and thinks he's also going to fail big time.
Okay in all seriousness though he's good for kids who have a lot of energy and need to run around. He'll match their energy and do what they need to do to get all of that out. Won't bring any negativity to the table either. Just encourages them to go go go. And is behind them the entire time. Doesn't care about the mess either. Those kids want to roll around in mud? Alright mud fight it is. It's war baby. Takes those wargames very seriously. The kids call him sir and everything lol.
He encourages chaos in order to keep that watchful eye on them. He actually does an alright job.
TOBIRAMA SENJU: Great teacher. Terrible babysitter. Terrible with teensy children. Good with school level children in a teaching environment. But he just can't babysit. He's so bad with children that aren't his own or his students. He's just so awkward. You know how people hold toddlers like they're wild creatures with their arms completely stretched out in front of them? That's him holding them.
Everything becomes lectures when he talks to them and he's so theoretical and awkward at connecting and knows it. He honestly chooses to just not babysit.
I want to point out though he is really good at teaching children when they're his students. When they're old enough to somewhat take care of themselves and he just has to teach them the rest and theres time to make a connection—he can't explain it—it's just different. Like tweens he's good with tweens. Genuinely enjoys seeing the next generations flourish he just doesn't have those babysitting skills.
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sparklingcid3r · 1 month ago
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more cherrycola hcs bc i saw them get mentioned like once and got activated like a sleeper agent
- they’re literally penny and johnny castle from dirty dancing during the first dance scene at the hotel. they can absolutely tear UP the floor. doesn’t matter if they’re going solo or partners, everyone might as well go home if they pull up to the function, they’ll dance like nobody’s watching
- when soda wants a kiss he’ll ask cherry what kind of lip gloss she has on, and because he’s a man of follow through he’ll actually guess what flavor
- cherry lovessss going over to the curtis house. compared to hers and her friends’, it’s the warmest place she’s ever been. she notices the way every floorboard, every wooden picture frame, every blanket draped over the couch is worn down with love, and she gets along really well with pony obviously
- meeting darry as soda’s gf was kind of awkward. the last time cherry saw him, he was high-strung, pressed down by anxiety, and the most emotional he’s ever been in his life. so meeting him on a regular day, she was a little startled to find that he really was as intimidating as pony described
- (she has no idea about the actual history between him and paul, so she doesn’t understand that darry’s wariness stems from fear of seeing soda hurt like he was and not hatred of cherry’s soc status)
- as good as cherry looks in pink, soda is head over heels seeing her in a forest green dress for the first time. he’s stumbling over his words, blushing hard, just so in love with her
- RODEO DATES‼️ cherry brings marcia so they can barrel race together and soda brings two-bit and they are the biggest hype men. they’re dripped out in cowboy hats and ringing cowbells and cheering for their gfs. soda sees cherry covered in dirt and mud with her hair up and he’s down bad
- bc coffee makes his adhd brain sleepy, he drinks it to mellow out while watching movies at the drive-in with cherry. she thinks it’s the cutest thing in the world when he falls asleep on her halfway thru a film. she’s just glad he came with bc she knows movies aren’t really his thing
- when her stingray needs a repair cherry is BEGGING her parents to let her take it to the dx on the east side and they look at her like she’s crazy, my girl ain’t subtle. but like who wouldn’t want to see their bf with mussed hair and oil spatters on his face leaning over the popped hood of a car, working those muscles to fix it. cherry’s got priorities alr
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quillpokebiology · 7 months ago
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Curious since my Mudsdale, Queeniebell, laid eggs, and the only male on my farm is a rhyhorn i'm taking care of for my uncle... What are the babies going to look like?
1st off: Queeniebell is such a cute name for a Mudsdale
2nd off: Have fun explaining this to your uncle, lol
Pokemon Crossbreeds: Highlander
(Name and Crossbreed by @pokemon-variants-pokedex )
Highlander is the name for Mudbray/Mudsdale with fathers who are members of the Rhyhorn line. They were first discovered in the wild, and while counted as a battle breed for their loyalty and strength, they can go a while without battles. The breed is loved by farmers for their strength and indurance.
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Mudbray
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Highlander Mudbray gain a more grayish fur tone and rugged body. While they're usually as mellow as standard mudbray, they can be more dangerous because they charge anytime they sense danger. Like stated before, they're a lot stronger than standard mudbray, so people love them for battling and physical labor. They eat mud, but they can also eat rocks.
Mudsdale
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Not all Highlander Mudsdale have plates, but most do.Highlander Mudsadale gain the traits of both Rhydon and Ryhperior, most notably being their horn and plates. Their carapace helps with their already high defense, making them great for battles. Like Highlander Mudbray, they eat mud and rocks, but they are able to shoot the rocks out like Rhyperior can.
//My designs cam be used by anyone if you credit me for the original design!
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manyminded · 9 months ago
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agere hermit!tommy (+ some reg hermit!tommy) headcanons!
I wanted to do just agere but I couldn’t help but set up Tommy’s character a little more…oops! headcanons under the cut
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Season: 10 (timelines? I’ve never heard of her) When did Tommy leave dsmp?: After his revival Is Tommy a hybrid?: yes, moth :] Who’s a little & who’s a CG?: little!tommy, cg!hermits
like most h!tommy fics, tommy ended up in hc by accident. the hermits themselves weren’t really worried - it’s 27 to one, after all. but tommy was. He put up an impeccable fight despite having no gear + numbers disadvantage anyways.
eventually it smoothens out and he becomes a “temporary guest” on the server “until they can figure out what to do with him” (sure. sure)
he builds his base out of cobblestone right on the world border. it’s a castle. cobble, because it’s his favorite block, and on the world border for two reasons - he’s a little insecure, on this server of grand building feats - and to stay hidden. he’s still wary. it’s instinctive.
the builders LOVE his base!! btw!! sure it’s crude and not that refined but no matter how hard tommy tries to conceal his pride/passion, they can tell. they try to subtly come over, give him resources/pointers/encouragement, etc etc. tommy doesn’t trust it (he does appreciate it, secretly. he won’t admit that to anyone [let alone himself] however)
Henry and Shroud have revived themselves. They have the same thing as Jellie goin’ on. They’re Tommy’s support animals <3 he doesn’t know know that it’s them, at least not consciously, but he named them after the old buddies.
now for agere time! mwehehe
Tommy’s been going “small” for a while now. Probably since pogtopia? he doesn’t have the words for it, never really did, but it’s been happening. he knows he’s not supposed to, but he can’t stop himself. (involuntary agere baybe!!!) He has a lot of unhealthy ideas around it - thinking it’s bad, mainly. a weakness.
he tries to hide it from the hermits. only doing it in the privacy of his own base, clutching a worn blanket in stubby and calloused fingers. he wanders aimlessly, babbling nonsense to himself. he hides whenever people find him during these moments. (Henry & Shroud try and protect him during these times.)
the first to find him is Bdubs. He came over to give some materials, and found a Tommy that is remarkably not-Tommy-ish. He catches on quickly.
Do the hermits have the words for it, either? Probably not, no. But that doesn’t matter. They’ve been across many servers, thousands of worlds, seen all the whims of the universe. They’re no stranger to this, even if they don’t know the terminology.
Tommy is mistrustful about this. He’s hesitant about showing this side of himself. He’s weak in this state - easy to take advantage of.
But this is Hermitcraft. They wouldn’t do that! Even if Tommy hasn’t internalized that, it’s true.
Tommy’s little self kind of has the inverse character development that his big one does. When he first finds himself in HC, he’s loud and reckless as a coping mechanism. Does he ever entirely mellow out? Not really. But the calmness does whisper in the waves around him. On the other hand - when he’s little, at first, he’s shy and quiet. Downcast. But as he gets more comfortable around the hermits he gets louder, braver, outgoing, and very silly.
Some of his favorite activities with the hermits: hiking (he gets to go in the MUD!! and play with BUGS!! and WORMS!!), building, making food, putting on puppet shows/plays, and in general just having fun! (most of these he’s just watching them do stuff. but, like, you get it.)
Stuffed Animal OBSESSION. he didn’t really have any in dsmp, but now that he has the space to express himself, he’s having SO MUCH FUN. multiple rooms in his castle are dedicated to his collection. The hermits love indulging him.
thinks redstone looks so so cool, REFUSES to learn how it works. like woaw prebby. you’re explaining 2 me what it does? hell to you! hell for one thousand years!!
has a pallet for warm foods, especially when small. angel milk, oatmeal, baked goods, you know. the one exception is ice cream (yummy!) and maybe candy
wasn’t very touchy at first, but now that he’s more comfortable, EVERY TIME he’s around a hermit he’s glommed onto them. It can be subtle, like hand holding, but more than not he’s koala-ed onto them. He’s defined them as “safe” in his head, so now that he’s around them more, the closer he is to them the safer he is.
very talkative. not usually words? Just random babbling. It’s how the hermits find him small most of the time - he’ll send random sounds into the server chat. Like “bla ba ba?” or “meep mrrp. grgrbr. pffff bla bla!!! keee!!!” and people are like. oh he’s baby let me fawn over him. he’s constantly blabbering. and like yeah the chat is just text but you can babble over text.
bedtime is HARD. he HATES IT and gets VERY FUSSY. it has to be SPECIFIC and WARM and NICE and PRETTY or he will NOT close his eyes!!! every hermit has a different way of handling this. and if the specific hermit does it different than the normal way they specifically do it it’s an AFFRONT TO GOD!!!
love love LOVES soft things. stuffed animals? yes. but also blankets, pillows, clothing, and secretly… fur. any hybrid hermits who have some are amazing because of this. He’ll fawn over them for hours, just petting them over & over.
loves the stars/nighttime. will stargaze for hours. it puts him into a trance, basically. probably because of the moth thing but like you know the stars are pretty !!!
that’s all I have for now. I hope you enjoyed :] I wanted a better concluding hc but I couldn’t think of one </3
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P.S. if anyone wants to add their own ideas please do so. Might do a pt 2 w specific hermits or w the rest of the bench trio if enough people like this
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hetalia-club · 9 months ago
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What do you guys think about this for the next chapter of Hetalia?:
Alfred found wandering nude in the woods covered in cheez whizz disoriented and confused. He’s been missing for over two weeks. A hunter in some back woods town in the Appalachia has to call the US government and let them know they found him in the woods again with fear in his voice speaking in a low whisper. He’s reverted to being feral and will need to be rehabilitated again. He keeps muttering about the cheese caves and how his supply is dwindling and that he needs more. The response by the US secret service is swift and the entire town is locked down within a 40mile radius where the marines comb through the woods playing Toxic by Britain Spears on a boom box to try and lure him out of whichever crevice he’s crawled into. He’s found at night, his eyes glowing in the light of the flashlight. He hisses and moves to conceal a wheel of cheese half buried in the mud. They came unarmed he would take the sight of firearms as a challenge and bullets don’t hurt him and they just piss him off. In order to calm him down he needs to be tranquilized they put it in a little Debbie cake and toss it over to him shaking with fear hoping and praying he accepts the gesture as a gift and not take it as a threat. He eats it growling darting his eyes around wildly in the darkness. They need night vision to see him but he can see them. He can see everything. Every twitch, every ever involuntary movement. He’s searching for signs of fear. It takes three Debbie cakes spiked with enough tranquilizers to kill an elephant three times over. He’s not dead, he’s not asleep. It doesn’t knock him out but it makes calm enough to be baited and led with a Hershey’s and Almonds chocolate bar without attacking. The sight of the helicopter frightens him and he ends up spitting acid at someone in secret service. Their screams send him into a furry he kills three soldiers before he is subdued by someone wrapping him in a blanket and humming the star spangled banner putting him in a trance like state where he can the and muzzled and carried to the chopper. They get him back to civilizations he he just a sort of mellows out in his own and starts doing paper work again.
Idk what do you guys think? I think it would be a cute little chapter 🥰
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adobe-outdesign · 11 months ago
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Can you do some ursaluna headcannons?
Not completely extinct, but extremely rare in the modern day due to many peat bogs being drained for more land. Recent conversation efforts have resulted in a small uptake in Ursaring evolving.
Ursaluna coat themselves in mud to protect themselves against attacks as well as thermoregulation. An Ursaluna without any mud on it is usually a sign that it's ill.
The moon-like pattern on their foreheads can vary from individual to individual, with some displaying waxing or waning moon-like markings instead. It's unknown what causes this variation.
Bloodmoon Ursaluna is thought to have evolved during an eclipse, which is what gives it its unique red coloration. Other changes are adaptions to Kitakami's climate.
Ursaluna can live for up to 80 years, sometimes longer in the right conditions.
Ursaluna tend to be a bit more mellow in personality compared to Ursaring.
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steveinscarlet · 1 month ago
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I tried to scan the main ol' crazy eyes Joe picture but he was too big to properly fit in the scanner so this is the best I could do
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BRINGING UP BABY
Joe Elliott doesn't want children - he's got enough on his hands nursing a billion dollar baby called Def Leppard. Mat Snow hears why arguably the world's most successful rock 'n' roll band can still stroll down the street without being recognised. Pictures by Peter Anderson
BY THE time you read this, you'll know something that was on the cards a couple of weeks ago but by no means a dead cert.
That is whether the British Phonographic Institute, in all its majesty and wisdom, opened an envelope at the black tie, gala dinner and announced that the award for Rockin' Pneumonia, Boogie-Woogie Flu And All-Round Fabness goes not to Brother Beyond, Yazz, nor even Bros, but to a bunch of blokes who won't see 25 again and who play guitars, drums and stuff often quite loud.
Yes, you will know now what Def Leppard's Joe Elliott and I didn't know then whether there will be a BPI BRITS Award for Best British Band decorating his parents' mantelpiece.
"Def Leppard winning anything is hilarious," he chuckles. "It's nice to be nominated, but we're never going to win anything. We're a stick-in-the- mud heavy metal band - Long 'air and jeans: we can't vote for them, can we?"
JOE ELLIOTT is in mellow mood. After nearly three months off, following the highly lucrative but tiring 14-month Hysteria tour, he at last has time to chew the fat back home in a beautiful bay just outside Dublin, where he is spending his 'year out' of the UK for tax reasons.
Unlike the other four Leps, who get itchy after only three weeks off the road, Joe needs the time to lounge around, catch up with his listening and watch a few videos.
"I've been revelling in the fact that I've been able to get a sore throat and it doesn't matter!"
A week in the sun apart, Joe has not been neglecting his career as the mouthpiece of arguably the most commercially successful rock 'n' roll band in the world today.
There will be rehearsals for the new album. (Robert 'Mutt' Lange, the so-called 'sixth Lep', will not be producing). Hopes are high that it might be in the shops sooner than 1991, given that their two previous albums, 'Pyromania' and 'Hysteria', have been beaten only by Michael Jackson in terms of how long we've had to wait between releases - and how many copies we've gone out and bought. But, right now, Joe has the luxury of reflecting on his place in the scheme of things.
It seems that what he ultimately craves is to be recognised as one of the true rock greats, on a par with the people who turned him on in the first place, back when he was a soccer- crazy, only child growing up in Sheffield, when he was a bored youth maintaining stocks of grinding wheels and oil rags for Osborne Mushet Tools.
Back then, people like Alice Cooper, Jethro Tull, T Rex and, especially, Mott The Hoople kept him sane. Def Leppard's record company, Phonogram, have signed Ian Hunter and it's the best news Joe's had all year.
His list of heroes includes just about everybody who made a raucous noise in the '70s his years of yearning to escape the humdrum world of work and home. That need is still Joe's guiding force so he won't be taking a cue from his friend Jon Bon Jovi's 'New Jersey' and calling his next album 'South Yorkshire'. "Can you imagine it?" he guffaws.
"Ian Hunter summed it up brilliantly in his book Diary Of A Rock 'N' Roll Star - 'I left my heart in Watford?' How can you sing about Scunthorpe or Huddersfield?
"Let's face it, everybody would say, Fair play for doing it - but they'd laugh at it whether they were fans, journalists or friends. I remember when Saxon had this song called 'Northern Lady', and it just stank. Leave it out! Jesus Christ! Flat caps and Yorkshire pudding is the impression people get, even though we all know it's not like that. "They don't all keep pigeons, which is what a lot of people south of Nottingham seem to think. There's no romance, no beaches in Sheffield. A car chase in San Francisco is always going to look better than one through Hackney. But then they could never have Sherlock Holmes in America. It's a different world.
"I'd sooner go for the British approach, which is totally ambiguous: it doesn't say anything, it doesn't mean anything," Joe goes on. "I can't even describe what half the bloody songs are about; they just sound alright. You are what you listen to. You explain what T Rex's lyrics are about. If you can figure his out, then you can figure mine out. 'Hub-cap diamond star halo' means more to me than 'I went down to the river', I'm afraid. People can relate to that Springsteeny thing but, to me, T Rex made your imagination work harder.
"If I wrote from experience, I don't think it would sound very good me singing about the last five-a-side soccer game I had.
"Whenever I sing about women, it's always invented," says Joe, rebutting the charge of sexism which, in fact, I hadn't levelled at him.
"Who's to say that the honkytonk woman ever existed? It could have been a complete figment of Jagger's imagination. I used to write from personal experience don't think I never have.
"On the second album, we wrote about all sorts of stories; Steve (Clark) once hijacked a taxi in Paris and tried to write a song about it. But it just sounded like a piece of shit, so we scrapped it, rewrote the lyrics, made them up, and it was a lot better."
SO, IF not 'South Yorkshire', S perhaps 'Catatonia'? 'Schizophrenia' (a double- album)? Or (Bob Geldof's suggestion) 'Paranoia'? Another psychological disorder, surely?
"Probably," reckons Joe. "It was a complete coincidence, the last two. 'Hysteria' was an idea Rick (Allen) came up with. It was after all the stuff with his accident. The first time we ever seriously experienced it was on the '83 tour, and it got pretty close to it two days after his accident - the reception area of the hospital was teeming with newspaper reporters and kids. And, because we weren't all that popular in England at the time, it made it appear more massive. Rick was on the front page of the Daily Star - and there were all these journalists, like Rick was The Queen or lan Botham. We had to be snuck in through the f***in' laundry chute to go and see him! "I always imagine that Fish - and I'm not knocking the guy - has everything worked out in advance: This is the album title, here's the sleeve - now let's go write the music. The last thing we have is the album title; we panic so much. "Hysteria' was going to be called 'Animal Instincts' at one stage: then we thought that sounded really stupid. We had the sleeve ready, so that was four grand down the drain. It just wasn't right - so we used it for the book instead."
Having repeated, even exceeded, the success of the hard-to-match 'Pyromania' album with 'Hysteria', Joe has found that the way to cope with sky-high expectations is to ignore them.
"I have no doubts about the next album," he declares. "I'm not 100 per cent sure that it'll be as big as the last one, though it may be a better record. Much of it is down to timing. I don't believe success should be based on sales. But everywhere you look it's figures, figures, figures.
"Success should be judged on the sound of the bloody thing. I'm not worried about it. We'll make a record and put it out, and it'll do whatever it does."
What about the live act? "We've had a few approaches from the States to go back and do some shows this summer. Believe it or not, 'Hysteria"s gone back up in America the album's doing better now than when we were out there. It's been 'Top Five in three different years - '87, 88 and now '89.
"Anyway, I was talking to Adam Clayton about it the other day, and he said, You've got to be careful because where do you go from stadiums? What do you do go back to clubs? "That's why we have managers. We have opinions, but we don't have our finger on the pulse like they do. We're too busy trying to sing in tune, play the songs and look cool like a pop band is supposed to do and still keep an eye open so you don't get ripped off. But you can't be a master of all trades.
"When does a spectacle become untoppable? It doesn't. You do a gig on the moon and put the PA on Pluto... Satellite gigs? Hologram gigs? Put the audience in the middle and us outside!"
ON TOUR, the Aerosmith, Guns N' Roses and Love And Rockets albums never left cassette deck. Back home, the Irish magazine Fresh has asked Joe for a fan's-eye view of the new releases.
"I played the Lou Reed album ten times and, in my opinion, it ain't 'Transformer', it ain't 'Sally Can't Dance', it's not 'Coney Island Baby' and it's definitely not 'Berlin'. Every song's about f***ing New York! All about some guy with needles in his arms! "But I grew up with 'Transformer', which came out when I was 12. And 'Berlin' was really depressing but great to listen to in the bath. The new one sounds like demos, which has a sort of charm, but some of it's a bit weird. That song, 'Last Great American Whale' I can't make my mind up whether it's a piece of shit or it's genius. He just talks it he makes Mark Knopfler sound like the guy out of Foreigner. Very strange."
Fine Young Cannibals' "The Raw And The Cooked' gets short shrift from Joe: "I'll never forgive them for slaughtering the Buzzcocks". As for Blondie's remix album, 'Once More Into The Bleach', it's "awful".
The new Supremes compilation is another matter: "F***ing brilliant," Joe raves. "To hear 'Nathan Jones' the way I remember it, not the way f***ing Bananarama slaughtered it. I got my first snog to that song, under the stairs at the Top Rank in Sheffield in 1971, Saturday morning youth club."
Joe advises me to check out The Hooters and The Quireboys; I recommend The Replacements - right up his street. But Joe (29) is of an age to get his real kicks from the stars of yesteryear.
"I've met Jagger at the studio. He was great he kept stealing our f***ing newspapers! Have you got the Daily Mirror? I want to do the crossword.
"Robert Plant came to see us in Chicago. He was great. When we played in the round we used to go on in laundry baskets. His tour manager bet him ten dollars he wouldn't push one out. So he put a hat on, pair of shades, stuffed his tour jacket full of jumpers to make him look fat, and pushed it out to the middle of the stage, right through the audience! "It's funny because he's a Leo as well, and Jagger. All frontmen are Leos," Joe muses. "Those detailed analyses of your star sign tell you things you often don't like to hear. 'Capable of being childish' - I suppose I am. 'Always has to be the centre of attention' well, when it suits me. "Sometimes I just like to bury myself, but that's what my gig is, that's what everybody wants: a big, loud, bloody... you know. "But Jagger's the best; he's got the lips of an elephant on the body of a dwarf. Brilliant. The ultimate frontmen are those you can caricature in cartoons - Jagger, Steve Tyler, Rod Stewart, Bowie, Townshend, Meat Loaf, Alice Cooper... You couldn't really draw me but it doesn't seem to have hindered our success.
"To be honest, once you're as big as we are and you don't have those sort of features, it's nice. I don't have to send the maid out to buy the News Of The World. I can walk down Oxford Street."
So what is the secret of Def Leppard's success?
"Most people in bands have got families, and maybe that's the reason we have the success we have: nobody's married or got kids," reasons Joe.
"I can't see Phil (Collen) starting a family when he hasn't even got a home. And I definitely have no desire to be a father.
"The only times I've ever thought about it have been provoked by TV documentaries like World In Action. I seriously think I would rather adopt an eight-year-old Brazilian kid and give it a real good start in life.
"There's enough kids without me bringing another one into the world. And to be quite honest, after my mumps I don't know if I can!
"I can miss out the nappy stage, which I'd detest. And I don't like the idea of a nanny bringing the kid up because you might as well not bother; you might as well buy one. "I don't want a kid; the band's too much of a bloody baby!"
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underworldwords · 6 months ago
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Soap and Ghost angst 🧼
(in the pov of soap)
I hear my heart beat like a loud base drum in my ears. My blood is burning and I just can't think. My brain can't catch up to my searching eyes. It's impossible, there's no way this could be real.
I watch him fall like the leaves of Autumn. The shots rang yet I didn't notice. His body hit the ground with a thud, I know it did but, I couldn't hear it. The only thing there was the pounding sound.
Ba bum ba bum ba bum ba bum
It felt slower than normal even though I knew it was racing. My legs didn't want to move. My mouth didn't want to scream. My brain didn't want to believe it.
I rush over and fall to my knees next to him, sliding slightly while mud soaks my jeans. His crystal eyes staring up into the sky where no clouds lay. He is still with one hand on his chest and the other to the side. His breathing was shallow, a slight rise in his chest as he gasped in air. He finally seemed to notice me.
"Simon" I am barely able to mutter his name. It came out so weak and broken. I took his hand in mine trying to push back my tears. He looks into my eyes and all I can see is love. This look I have seen before but right now it's almost as if he's giving me his pity.
I lift his mask up while he smiles at me. I don't think he understands what's going on. I tell him it'll be ok and that I will save him.
He just stares at me and then signals me closer. His voice, always so strong, now mellowed to a whisper, spoke words that once lit my heart ablaze.
"I love you, Johnny"
I look up and not a second later his chest becomes still. Where there once was life in his eyes now lay empty, staring into the cloudless sky. I lean in for one last kiss. Our lips touch, soft as ever, my tears began to kiss his face as well. I laid my head on his chest and looked up to my one and only. This chest once filled with life now still. I swallow what feels like a giant lump in my throat, as people approach. I can recognize the voice of my caption but I can't hear him. Nor do I care to. I just want one last rest with the one I called my own.
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o-craven-canto · 8 months ago
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  Evolution Langdon Smith (1858-1908)
When you were a tadpole and I was a fish   In the Paleozoic time, And side by side on the ebbing tide   We sprawled through the ooze and slime, Or skittered with many a caudal flip   Through the depths of the Cambrian fen, My heart was rife with the joy of life,   For I loved you even then. Mindless we lived and mindless we loved   And mindless at last we died; And deep in the rift of the Caradoc drift   We slumbered side by side. The world turned on in the lathe of time,   The hot lands heaved amain, Till we caught our breath from the womb of death   And crept into life again. We were amphibians, scaled and tailed,   And drab as a dead man's hand; We coiled at ease 'neath the dripping trees   Or trailed through the mud and sand. Croaking and blind, with our three-clawed feet   Writing a language dumb, With never a spark in the empty dark   To hint at a life to come. Yet happy we lived and happy we loved,   And happy we died once more; Our forms were rolled in the clinging mold   Of a Neocomian shore. The eons came and the eons fled   And the sleep that wrapped us fast Was riven away in a newer day   And the night of death was passed. Then light and swift through the jungle trees   We swung in our airy flights, Or breathed in the balms of the fronded palms   In the hush of the moonless nights; And oh! what beautiful years were there   When our hearts clung each to each; When life was filled and our senses thrilled   In the first faint dawn of speech. Thus life by life and love by love   We passed through the cycles strange, And breath by breath and death by death   We followed the chain of change. Till there came a time in the law of life   When over the nursing sod The shadows broke and the soul awoke   In a strange, dim dream of God. I was thewed like an Auroch bull   And tusked like the great cave bear; And you, my sweet, from head to feet   Were gowned in your glorious hair. Deep in the gloom of a fireless cave,   When the night fell o'er the plain And the moon hung red o'er the river bed   We mumbled the bones of the slain. I flaked a flint to a cutting edge   And shaped it with brutish craft; I broke a shank from the woodland lank   And fitted it, head and haft; Than I hid me close to the reedy tarn,   Where the mammoth came to drink; Through the brawn and bone I drove the stone   And slew him upon the brink. Loud I howled through the moonlit wastes,   Loud answered our kith and kin; From west to east to the crimson feast   The clan came tramping in. O'er joint and gristle and padded hoof   We fought and clawed and tore, And cheek by jowl with many a growl   We talked the marvel o'er. I carved that fight on a reindeer bone   With rude and hairy hand; I pictured his fall on the cavern wall   That men might understand. For we lived by blood and the right of might   Ere human laws were drawn, And the age of sin did not begin   Til our brutal tusks were gone. And that was a million years ago   In a time that no man knows; Yet here tonight in the mellow light   We sit at Delmonico's. Your eyes are deep as the Devon springs,   Your hair is dark as jet, Your years are few, your life is new,   Your soul untried, and yet -- Our trail is on the Kimmeridge clay   And the scarp of the Purbeck flags; We have left our bones in the Bagshot stones   And deep in the Coralline crags; Our love is old, our lives are old,   And death shall come amain; Should it come today, what man may say   We shall not live again? God wrought our souls from the Tremadoc beds   And furnish’d them wings to fly; He sowed our spawn in the world's dim dawn,   And I know that it shall not die, Though cities have sprung above the graves   Where the crook-bone men made war And the ox-wain creaks o'er the buried caves   Where the mummied mammoths are. Then as we linger at luncheon here   O'er many a dainty dish, Let us drink anew to the time when you   Were a tadpole and I was a fish.
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1ns3ct-dr4ws · 7 months ago
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💤 💧 🍊 ❌
💤 - he was kinda mellow as a baby, mostly because his mom was scared of him getting hurt if he was out n about around the house or outside, so he didnt really react much to things - as for when he was a kid? He was pretty energetic, always playing different games with his little sister, whether it be inside having a tea party or outside getting dirty in the mud (he love love loves mud :3), and was always happy to be there. And as he got older (into like being a teenager n stuff) is when he started to transition socially and a little physically after coming out to his family, the stress from his home life was getting to be a lot for him, making him break down often and made him kind of mopey most of the time. But after his parents sent him 2 summer camp he started to feel a lot better, even if it didn't make his anxiety and negative emotions go away forever (and even if it d i d turn him into a psychotic(ish) cannibal), it gave him a much needed break :3
💧- char's earliest memory that he knows of is the time when he almost got trampled by his moms horse while playing alone out in the barn, he hasn't told anyone though, he thinks itll make him look stupid
🍊 - besides human flesh idk if he has a favorite meal or snack, but he really likes tomatoes. Like a lot. If you give him a fresh tomato he would actually be so happy lmao
❌ - To be honest? Nothing can really make Charlie want to leave a relationship other than the other person not clicking with him (whether that be a week or month later, or at the very start of the relationship) but I'd imagine he'd probably be unable to handle constant arguments n whatnot due to getting physically aggressive (his physical aggression came from his dad)
EXTRA THING I THINK IS SILLY THAT I WANNA ADD : Charlie doesn't exactly get cold, he could be out in a rain/snowstorm in sandals n a tank top and would be unphased hdhdjdhdj
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artzychic27 · 7 months ago
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@artzychic27 Hey Artzy, I got a big brained idea.
What if Riot was Marc’s split personality due to all the bullying? Like Dr Jekyll and Hyde (even though I never read book)?
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Riot was sort of Marc’s… Protector
He first showed up when Marc was around the age of seven and he was being bullied for having two moms and leaning a bit towards the feminine side. After one cruel name too many, Marc sort of just snapped
During recess, he shoved a boy’s face in a mud puddle and held him under there until the teacher intervened
Then during gym, he threw a ball at a girl’s arm with enough force to break a few bones in her hand when she tried to catch it
And during lunch, he took a cup of ice from one of the drink dispensers and poured it down some other student’s pants
Penny and Alyssa took him to several doctors to figure out what was wrong so the school wouldn’t expel him and soon found a therapist who confirmed Marc has split-personality disorder
She sat with Marc for a while, and did a little hypnotherapy to coax his other personality out… He threw a lamp out the window
It took years of therapy and anger management, but they finally managed to get Riot (As Marc dubbed him) to mellow out a bit, and he stopped snarling at people
To Penny and Alyssa’s relief, Riot is extremely protective of Kiran, who understands to an extent of Marc’s disorder- Just that when he’s mad, his name is Riot
He mostly appears whenever Marc is extremely angry, which isn’t often… Cue Hawkass
Marc’s classmates are all aware of Riot. During their first year at DuPont, Riot made his appearance by ripping out one of the benches bolted to the floor in the courtyard and threatening to throw it at Chloé
Chloé demanded that Marc be arrested, but Damocles is honestly more afraid of Marc’s moms (And Riot) than the mayor and just tells her not to aggravate him
Chloé’s attempts to alienate Marc are met with no response because no one would ever listen to her, the students with disorders of their own just turn their noses up and walk off, and after seeing her almost crushed by a bench, they all decide just to never press Marc’s buttons
Now cue Reverser
Nathaniel doesn’t storm off because he realized he made a grave error and didn’t have any time to react when Riot lifted him up by the front of his shirt
Cue Hawkass and since Riot’s behind the wheel, Reverser is fucking shredded and has Riot’s flail
Let’s skip ⏭️
Marc and Nathaniel are dating, yay!
Riot still hates Nathaniel, though
When Nathaniel finds himself alone with Riot in Marc’s room one day, he apologizes to Riot for what he did to Marc months back, acknowledges that he cares for Marc, and say that he can bury him alive if he ever hurts Marc again
Riot’s response is a headbutt since he sucks at emotions, but they’re cool now
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mxmorbidmidnight · 2 months ago
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hi this is my attempt at a poem for you :3 I call it 'the bee' :D
bee on the ground bee in the air bee in the field bee at the fair bee eats cotton candy oh my, that bee's a dandy bee flys away, happy as can be oh, how I adore that dandy little bee
thank you :3
Oh why thank you my dear, here is a poem I wrote about thee:
Feline creature, prowls the midday as if it were a port
Watch the birds on the still, make sure they are not caught
Waves its tail, darts under a bridge
Comes out covered in a mud
Smiles at the passing people, gets tossed a bite to eat
Sits on the park bench, in a mellow peace
Howls at the moon,
Sleeps in the sun
It will be home soon
Sleeps till dawn
Then does it over again.
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