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nofingjustaninchident · 6 months ago

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⛧° i hate you more. episode 1

⛧° Beginning. Sort of.

content: jason grace x fem!reader

warnings: cursing, 3rd person writing.

a/n: look who's spoiling you today? so, be welcomed to the first episode of my first ever series! i honestly hope you like it.

word count: +6.6k

She didn’t know why she hated Jason. She just had that feeling deep in her gut ever since they “met” in that stupid bus to the Wilderness School, when she couldn’t remember her own name nor where she came from.

The only thing her stupid mind remembered is that she really didn’t like the boy sitting beside her. He seemed so… perfect. Like, the annoying type of perfect. The type of perfect that makes anyone fawn over you.

With that stupid messy blond hair, that stupid tanned skin and stupid strong arms, she just knew she disliked him, a very lot.

When he opened his eyes, the first thing they saw was her sea green gaze analyzing him. He grimaced immediately, as if realizing that he hated you too.

And suddenly, something came to her. Jason. That’s his name?

“Finally the sleeping beauties are up, huh?” A boy that looked like a latino gremlin with pointy ears teased. The girl beside him slapped him playfully on the arm.

“Shut up, Leo. Let the couple.” The girl in the front seat said, giggling ever so slightly.

‘Couple’? She and blondie were a couple? When she heard those words, she finally realized the position they were in.

Her head was laid on his shoulder, and it seemed like they had fallen asleep like that. He had a small wet stain on the sleeve of his shirt, that looked a lot like drool, probably hers. But the weirdest part of it all was that they were holding hands. Like, intertwined level.

She immediately let go and pulled away from him, her mind still dizzy and groggy from the slumber she was in.

“What the-“ She mumbled, trying to pull herself from that sleepy state she was in, but the boy beside her reacted first

“Y/n?” He asked, staring right into her eyes. He also seemed to instantly dislike her.

“Listen here, cupcakes!” A squeaky voice yelled out from the front of the bus. She drifted her eyes towards where the sound came from.

It was clearly the baseball coach. He wore a cap pulled low in his hair. Had a weird stubble and sour face, as if he had eaten something rotten. A whistle hung from his neck and there was a megaphone clipped to his belt. He’d be fairly scary if he wasn’t five foot zero.

“Stand up, Coach Hedge!” A student jeered.

“I hear that!” His eyes scanned over the bus as if looking for the culprit, but his eyes locked at Jason and Y/n. His scowl deepened, and she realized that the tiny man knew that they shouldn’t be there. She got scared for a few seconds if he was going to call them and ask how the hell did they got there. She had no idea what she would answer in that case.

The man looked away, clearing his throat. "We'll arrive in five minutes! Stay with your partner. Don't lose your worksheet. And if any of you precious little cupcakes cause any trouble on this trip, I will personally send you back to campus the hard way." He mimed hitting a homerun with a wooden baseball bat.

“Can he talk to us like that?” The blond boy - Jason - asked, but this time directed to the other two people sitting in front of him.

The pretty girl just shrugged him off. “Always does. This is the Wilderness School. ‘Where kids are the animals’.” She said, grinning as if this was some sort of joke that the pair was supposed to be on.

“This is some kind of mistake.” Y/n said, finally sitting up straight. “I… I shouldn’t be here.”

“Yeah, right.” Latino Gremlin - Leo - spoke up again. “We’ve all been framed. I didn’t run away six times. You didn’t blow up a gas station. Piper didn’t steal a BMW.”

That last one earned him a harder slap, but this time with no hint of playfulness, from the pretty girl named Piper. “I didn’t steal that car, Leo!”

Piper and Leo, Y/n thought. Are we friends?

"Oh, I forgot, Piper. What was your story? You 'talked' the dealer into lending it to you?" He raised an eyebrow at Jason, as if to say can you believe her?

Piper looked at Y/n with hopeful eyes, as if she was supposed to believe her or back her up, but as far as she knew, she'd never met the girl before today. Still, Piper looked at her and talked to her and Jason as if they'd been friends long enough to share an inside joke and maybe a few secrets.

What the hell is going on?

"Anyway," Leo said, "I hope you've got your worksheet, Jason, cause I used mine for spit wads days ago." He looked up from fidgeting with the buttons of his army jacket, frowning at Jason's confused stare. "Why are you looking at me like that? Somebody draw on my face again? Piper, I swear -"

"I don't know you," Jason said.

“As much as I hate to agree with blondie here,” Y/n said, grimacing at the boy beside her as he rolled his eyes. “but I don’t know you either.”

Leo rolled his eyes with an amused grin. "Sure. I'm not your best friend, I'm his evil twin," he joked.

"Leo Valdez!" Coach Hedge yelled from the front. "Problem back there?"

Leo winked at Jason and Y/n. "Watch this." He turned back toward the front of the bus. "Sorry, Coach! I was having trouble hearing you. Could you use your megaphone, please?"

The coach unclipped his megaphone and continued calling out instructions, but his voice was distorted.

The students cracked up, growing louder as the coach tried again and the megaphone blared: "The cow says moo!"

"Valdez!" Coach Hedge yelled.

Piper stifled a laugh. "How did you do that?"

Leo flashed a tiny screwdriver at them before returning it to his sleeve. "I'm a special boy."

"Guys, seriously," Jason said, his tone pleading. "What are we doing here? Where are we going?"

Y/n looked expectantly at the two students in front of them, hoping whatever answer they gave would jog her memory, though those hopes weren't particularly high.

"Are you guys joking?" Piper asked, her eyebrows furrowed in vague concern.

“No! I have no idea who you- “Y/n began, but Leo cut her off almost immediately.

“Of course they’re joking, Pipes. They’re trying to get me back on interrupting they make out sesh last year, aren’t ya’? I already said sorry, guys. I’d never walk in on you two on my own accord, trust. Don’t wanna be traumatized.”

Y/n immediately felt her cheeks heat up, but she didn’t know if it was from anger or embarrassment. She grimaced again as if she tasted something sour out of nowhere.

“Uhm, I'm sorry to disappoint but, uh…” She hesitated a bit before glancing at the blond boy beside her. He didn’t seem too bad, but she still had that feeling deep in her gut that she hated him. “I’d never make out with him.”

The boy just scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Like I'm the worst option between me and you.”

Piper and Leo glanced at each other with confused expressions. They couldn’t understand what was happening between their friends.

“Uh… okay… what’s going on here? Why are you two bickering as if you aren’t completely in love with each other?” Leo asked.

“In what?” Y/n asked, her voice laced with disgust and disbelief.

“Not possible. At all.” He added, shaking his head eagerly.

“I don’t even know what you’re talking about.” Y/n said, exasperatedly.

“Leo. I think they’re serious.” Piper said, as if you two weren’t right in front of her and listening to every bit of conversation they had.

“We are!” Jason insisted. “Well, at least I am. Don’t know ‘bout her.” He said, pointing discretely at Y/n, who hissed and elbowed him on the ribs. “Ow!”

“Oh, please-”

“That’s it!” Coach Hedge yelled from the front. “The back row has just volunteered to clean up after lunch!”

The rest of the kids cheered as Leo muttered, "There's a shocker."

Piper's concerned gaze flickered between Jason and Y/n. "Did you guys hit your heads or something? You really don't know who we are?"

Y/n shook her head, Jason following suit.

Helplessly, he muttered, "I don't even know who I am."

Piper frowned. "Do you remember each other?" she asked with a raised eyebrow.

Y/n met Jason's eyes with disgust. She knew that she knew him, but she didn't have any memories of him besides the sound of his name and the feeling that they hated each other. Quietly, she said, "Maybe?"

Jason nodded, reluctantly.

"Huh," Piper said, her brows furrowed together in a picture of deep thought. “Let’s figure this out later, we’re already here.”

༺♱༻

The bus dropped them off in front of a large red museum, which sat in the middle of nowhere. All Yn could see was desert everywhere she looked. A cold wind blew over them, making her shiver. She wasn't dressed for the cold weather - she had on a pair of dark-wash blue jeans, worn black combat boots, a t-shirt, and a sweatshirt that was about two sizes too big for her. Despite how comfortable it was, though, it wasn't nearly warm enough for the biting cold nipping at her fingers.

"Alright, crash course for the amnesiacs," Leo said.

"We go to the Wilderness School, which means we're the ‘bad kids.' Your family, or the court, or whoever, decided you were too much trouble, so they shipped you off to this lovely prison - sorry, 'boarding school' - in Armpit, Nevada, where you learn valuable nature skills like running ten miles a day through the cacti and weaving daisies into hats! And for a special treat we go on 'educational' field trips with Coach Hedge, who keeps order with a baseball bat. Is it all coming back to you guys?"

Y/n shook her head and muttered a small “No.”

She looked at the kids around them, wondering what they'd all done to be sentenced to a school for delinquents - and what she had done to get sent there, too.

Leo rolled his eyes. "You're really gonna play this out, huh? Okay, so the four of us started here together this semester. We're totally tight. Jason does everything I say, gives me his dessert, does my chores -"

"Leo!" Piper scolded.

"Fine, ignore that last part. But we are friends - and we have fun, at least when you two aren't busy sucking face or having those intense-looking, deep talks where you talk about life and the future and whether those children's books with the bears are called Berenstein or Berenstain-"

"Leo, stop it!" Piper said. "I think they have amnesia or something. We've got to tell someone."

Leo scoffed. "Who, Coach Hedge? He'd try to fix them by whacking them with his baseball bat."

The coach was at the front of the group, barking orders and blowing his whistle to keep the kids in line. Every few minutes he'd glance back at Jason and Y/n and scowl.

"Leo, they need help," Piper insisted. "They could be concussed or-"

"Yo, Piper." One of the other guys in their group dropped back to join the four teenagers as they headed into the museum. He wedged himself between Piper and Y/n, throwing an arm around Piper's shoulders. "Don't talk to these bottom-feeders. You're my partner, remember?"

"Go away, Dylan," Piper grumbled. "Y/n/n's my partner, not you."

The new guy looked at Y/n, something strange flashing over his face before he replaced it with a blinding grin. "Coach said there'll have to be a group of three, what with the odd number, so it's both of your lucky days!" He threw his other arm around Y/n's shoulders, and she bristled immediately, something like dread settling heavily in her stomach. As he dragged Piper and Y/n away from Jason and Leo, she glanced back at them one last time, meeting Jason's eyes for a moment and rolling her own before Dylan was walking her and Piper deeper into the museum.

༺♱༻

Y/n didn't need her memories to know she hated guys like Dylan. She met him barely five minutes ago and she already wanted to punch him to unconsciousness for several different reasons, and she didn’t think she was a violent person. Then again, she didn’t remember even who she was, so her opinion of herself wasn’t truthful. The boy kept his attention focused on Piper, which shouldn’t bother Y/n. But she saw the look of discomfort in Piper’s face every time he spoke with her and touched her.

Everything, without exception, that came out of the guy's mouth was either a flirty remark or something cocky about himself that neither of the girls really wanted to hear. Less than five minutes around him and she already knew everything there was to know about him – he was cocky, egocentric, an asshole and rude.

Y/ noticed some of the other girls in their group kept looking in their direction and snickering. One of them called out, "Hey, Piper, does your tribe run this place? Do you get in free if you do a rain dance?"

The other girls giggled, and even Dylan suppressed a smile. Y/n’s fists clenched at her sides as she glared at him. She was beginning to think that maybe she got sent into that damned school because of fighting, since she was this close to knocking Dylan’s perfect teeth out of his face. Or punch those racists bitches right on the face. Both were tempting options.

"My dad's Cherokee," Piper said through her teeth. "Not Hualapai. 'Course, you'd need a few brain cells to know the difference, Isabel."

Isabel feigned a look of surprise. "Oh, sorry. Was it your mom in this tribe? Oh, that's right. You never knew your mom."

Y/n had to dig her nails deep in her hand, so she didn’t punch that Isabel girl right in the face. For some reason that, like everything in her life right now, she didn’t know why, she knew the perfect spot and strength to punch Isabel and knock her out.

Really useful knowledge you decided to keep, brain.

Piper charged at Isabel and y/n was right behind her, but before a fight could break out, Coach Hedge barked, "Enough back there! Set a good example or I'll break out my baseball bat!"

The teenage racists kept calling out little comments to Piper as they made their way through the museum. Y/n quickly flipped them off and muttered something in a language she recognized but didn’t know which one was it.

Sooner rather than later, Y/n snapped, "Are you going to shut your mouths voluntarily or am I going to have to break each of your fragile little jaws to get you to shut up?"

The gaggle of girls rolled their eyes at Y/n’s threat, as if they doubted she'd follow through with it. Piper grabbed Y/n’s arm before she could make good on her threat. "Where'd that come from?" Piper asked, raising an eyebrow.

"They're a bunch of little bitches." she muttered. "They deserve to get more than just their jaws broken."

Piper gave her a small smile, hooking her arm around Y/n's. "Thanks for defending my honor," she said. "But I’m sure I can take care of myself, babes."

Despite her lack of memories, Y/n didn't doubt that for a second.

After more walking, the group of students stopped in front of a set of large glass doors that led out to a terrace. "Alright, cupcakes," Coach Hedge said loudly.

"You are about to see the Grand Canyon. Try not to break it. The skywalk can hold the weight of seventy jumbo jets, so you featherweights should be safe out there. If possible, try to avoid pushing each other over the edge, as that would cause me extra paperwork."

They all stepped outside onto the skywalk. The Grand Canyon spread out before them, huge and unforgiving in its depth. Y/n glanced over the side of the skywalk railing, flinching and quickly stepping back when she felt the flip of her stomach.

Thunder rumbled overhead, and a cold wind washed over the skywalk, making Y/n shiver. Piper, turning away from Dylan, asked with a teasing smile,

"Jason's sweatshirt not warm enough for you?"

“What?!” Y/n glanced down, her cheeks burning as she realized why the sweatshirt was too big for her. Annoyedly, she took it off and said, "Me and Jason, we're... dating?"

Piper raised her eyebrows at her once again. "You seriously don't remember? You guys have been together since before me and Leo even met you - you guys came here together at the start of the semester."

Y/n frowned, beyond frustrated by the fact that she was dating the only person that she remembered both the name and how annoying he was.

Piper's eyes were concerned as she looked Y/n over. "How about Leo and I take you to the nurse when we get back to campus?" she offered. "She might be able to... I don't know, figure it out?"

She felt, deep in her gut, that the school nurse wouldn’t be able to figure out what was going on with her lack of memories, but she nodded anyway. "Thanks," she said quietly. She couldn't remember Piper at all, but she wished she could - Piper seemed like a good friend.

Piper worked on the worksheet they'd apparently been assigned to complete during their field trip. Neither Dylan nor Y/n helped her, but Y/n felt like her excuse - namely not even remembering her own last name, much less what the definition of mechanical erosion was - was a lot better than Dylan's, which seemed to be that he was simply a fucking bastard.

Instead of helping with the worksheet, Dylan was hitting on Piper, touching her shoulder and flashing her that stupid smile. After the fifth time Piper pushed him away, Y/n shoved her way between them, her head barely reaching his shoulder.

"Quit," she snapped.

Dylan rolled his eyes, but that something from before flashed through his eyes again. It made her skin prickle with goosebumps and filled her with anxiety. And, again, that stupid feeling told her that lots of things filled her with anxiety.

Something told her Dylan's worst quality wasn't his inability to take no for an answer, and that made the dread in her stomach grow heavier.

She saw Jason talking to the coach, and she noted the look of relief on his face as the two spoke. She would have gone over to join them, but she didn't want to leave Piper alone with Dylan or to be near Jason voluntarily, so she stayed where she was, glancing over the worksheet in Piper's hands and wincing at the headache trying to read it triggered.

Lightning crackled loudly overhead, the cold wind picking up speed and strength. Worksheets flew into the Grand Canyon, theirs practically being torn out of Piper's hands by a gust of wind. The bridge underneath their feet shuddered and kids screamed, stumbling and grabbing the rails on either side of the skywalk.

Ophelia held the railing so tightly, her knuckles turned white, and she purposefully kept her eyes forward, not letting them stray toward the bottom of the canyon thousands of feet below them.

She almost immediately felt the tears forming in the corners of her eyelids when she looked down – not on purpose – and made a quick realization that if she fell, she’d die.

The coach yelled for them to go back inside. The storm clouds that had been lingering overhead churned like a miniature hurricane. The students around her screamed and ran for the building, which was only a few feet away from Y/n and her group. Piper and Dylan ran for the doors, holding them open and herding the crowd of teenagers inside. Y/n stood frozen on the skywalk, fingers tight around the railing.

She reached into her front pocket, not sure what she was reaching for. But what she did find was a small, cold hard metal. She pulled it from her jeans.

It was a key, made of what looked like solid gold.

Why did she have a gold key in her pocket?

What did it open?

Apparently, she was in a school for delinquents - had she stolen it?

Y/n looked up at the sound of the doors slamming shut, Piper and Dylan having lost their grips. Aside from her and the two of them, Jason, Leo, and Coach Hedge were the only other people on the skywalk. Great. A jackass, a jock, a little latino gremlin, a five-foot male, a beauty queen and a girl who wasn’t even sure her name was Y/n. Couldn’t be better.

Piper struggled with the doors, trying to open them back up, but they seemed to be stuck. "Dylan, help!" Piper shouted over the raging winds.

"Sorry, Piper," he said, standing there with a malicious grin like he was enjoying the sudden storm. "I'm done helping." He flicked his wrist and Piper went flying backward, slamming into the doors and sliding to the floor. Y/n tried to run toward her, but the wind was fighting against her. Dylan looked at her, smirking at her struggle, and flicked his wrist again, sending her backward toward Jason, Leo, and the coach.

Jason caught her around the waist before she could fall all the way to the ground, steadying her. She immediately got away from his touch, glaring daggers at him – who just rolled his eyes.

"Stay behind me," Coach Hedge ordered. "This is my fight. I should've known that was our monster."

"Monster?" Y/n questioned.

"What?" Leo demanded. A flying worksheet smacked him in the face and he swatted it away. "What monster?"

Coach Hedge's cap blew off, and Y/n was beyond shocked to see two horns sticking up above his curly hair. He lifted his baseball bat, but it was different. It had somehow changed into a tree-branch club, with a few twigs and leaves still attached. “What the fu-”

Dylan grinned like a psycho. "Oh, come on, Coach, let the boy attack me!" he mocked. "After all, you're getting too old for this. Isn't that why they retired you to this stupid school? I've been on your team the entire season, and you didn't even know. You're losing your nose, grandpa."

Coach Hedge let out a sound that was like a goat bleating angrily. "That's it, cupcake - you're going down."

"You think you can protect four half-bloods at once, old man?" Dylan laughed. "Good luck."

Uh- What?! Half-bloods?

Dylan pointed at Leo and Y/n watched in horror as a funnel cloud materialized around the curly-haired boy. He flew off the skywalk like he'd been tossed, somehow managing to twist in midair and slam sideways into the canyon wall. He skids, clawing furiously for a handhold, finally grabbing a thin ledge about fifty feet below the skywalk. "Help!" he yelled up at them. "Rope, please? Bungee cord? Something?"

Coach Hedge cursed and tossed Jason his club. "I don't know who you are, kid, but I hope you're good. Keep that thing busy" — he stabbed a thump in Dylan's direction-"while I get Leo."

"Get him how?" Jason demanded. "You going to fly?"

"Not fly. Climb." The coach kicked off his tennis shoes, revealing hooves instead of feet. That settled it – Y/n had officially lost her mind.

"You're a faun," she said, not sure where the knowledge came but sure it was the truth.

Coach Hedge looked at her with a suspicious glint in his eye. "Satyr!" he snapped. "Fauns are Roman. But we'll talk about that later." He leaped over the railing, sailing toward the canyon wall and hitting it hooves first.

"Isn't that cute!" Dylan turned toward Jason. "Now it's your turn, boy."

Jason threw the coach's club, which seemed kind of useless with the winds raging around them, but it flew right at Dylan, even curving when he tried to dodge it, and it smacked him in the head hard enough to bring him to his knees.

She didn't even feel sorry for the satisfaction that flooded her at the sight. Maybe a little, but that was because Jason is a prick.

Y/n noticed Piper feigning a dazed appearance, her fingers closing around the club when it reached her, but before she could use it, Dylan rose. Blood-gold blood-trickled from the wound on his forehead.

"Nice try, boy," he said, glaring at Jason. "But you'll have to do better."

His body dissolved into smoke, which was a decidedly freaky sight. He rose like an evil angel made entirely of smoke. The sight gave Y/n the strangest sense of déjà vu.

"You're a ventus," Jason said. "A storm spirit."

Dylan laughed. "I'm glad I waited, demigod. Leo and Piper I've known about for weeks. Could've killed them any time. But my mistress said two more were coming, said they were special. She'll reward me greatly for your deaths."

Four funnel clouds touched down, two on either side of Dylan, each of them turning into venti-ghostly young men with smoky wings and eyes that flickered with lightning.

“Oh great,” Y/n muttered to herself, clutching the key in her hand. “just fucking great. It wasn’t enough one wind-man, it had to come four more, because life is already great.”

Piper was still down, pretending to be incapacitated, but she looked determined to fight. Jason stood tall, like a warrior, staring at the five venti without a shred of fear in his eyes. But he was unarmed - there was no way he could take on the storm spirits without a weapon.

A weapon.

Y/n frowned, looking down at the key that was still in her hand. She took a closer look, and it had something that looked a lot like an insignia. She didn’t know what it meant, but she swiped her thumb over the inscriptions on the metal. She blinked, and the key was gone.

In its place was a sword made entirely of gold.

Dylan frowned, a look of angry confusion flashing through his stormy eyes. "Where did you get that?" he demanded.

Who knows, Y/n thought. But I'm definitely not complaining.

She moved into a familiar stance, her eyes settled on Dylan's smoky form. Just as she was about to charge toward him, Dylan raised his hand, arcs of electricity running between his fingers. Y/n barely had time to be scared before Jason was pushing her out of the way, the lightning bolt meant for her blasting through his chest.

Y/n watched in horror as the blond boy she'd woken up next to barely an hour ago flew backward, taking a hit that had been meant for her. A single spot on her chest blazed like she'd been branded, filling her with fury. She looked back at Dylan, releasing a furious shout as she charged toward him and his storm spirit companions, vengeance moving her limbs forward.

She met the closest storm spirit head-on, her body agile as she thrust her sword at the spirit, the thing in question just barely getting out of the way. Y/n feigned right, then moved left and stabbed her sword through the smoky mass in front of her. To her amazement, the storm spirit dissolved into some kind of golden powder.

Dylan shouted something, his tone furious. Y/n ignored him as another ventus charged her. She planted her feet and brought her arms close to her chest, gritting her teeth as she felt the cold wind wash over her. It only pushed her back a foot before the gust passed her, and she charged at the spirit again, moving like she was a dancer performing a piece she'd done so many times it was muscle memory. Her sword pierced through the spirit and it, too, turned into gold dust.

“Suck it!” She shouted excitedly.

A few feet away, Piper was trying to fend off the other two storm spirits, but they were dancing around her, toying with her. Y/n moved to go help her, but a voice stopped her in her tracks.

"Stop." Y/n looked back in shock to see Jason rising unsteadily to his feet. His shirt was covered in soot, and he was missing a shoe, but all in all, he looked pretty good for a guy who'd just been struck by lightning.

“What the fu-” Y/n began, for the second time. And, for the second time, Dylan interrupted her.

"How are you alive?" Dylan demanded, his form flickering. "That was enough lightning to kill twenty men!"

"My turn," Jason said, a lethal look in his eyes. Y/n watched him reach into his pocket, taking out a gold coin and flipping it in the air. It transformed into a gold sword, not too different from the one Y/n’s key had turned into.

Dylan snarled in agitation, backing up. He looked at the two remaining spirits and yelled, "Well? Kill him!"

The spirits left Piper alone, flying at Jason with their fingers crackling with electricity. He took the first one out within seconds, his gold sword turning it into dust.

The second let loose a bolt of lightning, but Jason's sword absorbed the charge. With one quick thrust, the second spirit was reduced to dust as well.

Dylan wailed in outrage. "Impossible!" he shouted over the wind. His glare flickered from Jason to Y/n, settling on Jason. "Who are you, half-bloods?"

“Who cares? I’m better than you.” Y/n said, smirking, proposedly cutting Jason off the sentence.

Piper looked stunned. "Y/n, Jason, how...?"

Coach Hedge leaped onto the skywalk, dumping Leo before bellowing, "Spirits, fear me!" Then he looked around and realized Dylan was the only one left.

"Curse it, boy," he snapped at Jason. "Didn't you leave some for me? I like a challenge!"

Y/n frowned, a little peeved the faun thought Jason killed all four of the storm spirits by himself.

"Hey, I took out just as many as he did," she muttered.

Leo got to his feet, breathing heavily. "Yo, Coach Supergoat, whatever you are - I just fell down the freaking Grand Canyon! Stop asking for challenges!"

Dylan hissed at him, but there was fear in his eyes. Or whatever those were.

"You have no idea how many enemies you've awakened, half-bloods. My mistress will destroy all demigods. This war you cannot win."

Above them, the storm exploded into a full-force gale.

Cracks expanded in the skywalk, sheets of rain pouring down on them. If Y/n hadn't been cold before, she was fucking freezing now. Especially because she was too proud to wear Jason’s purple sweatshirt.

A hole opened up in the clouds, and Dylan looked up at it. "The mistress calls me back!" he shouted with glee. "And you, demigod, will come with me!"

He lunged at Jason, but Y/n moved fast, pushing Jason to the side and raising her sword to attack. The spirit yelled with rage, letting loose a torrent that knocked them all backward. The worst of it hit Y/n. The wind knocked her sword out of her hand, and she watched it clatter noisily to the glass floor of the skywalk. Her back hit the railing and she lost her balance, tumbling over. She managed to grab the railing with her left hand as she hung over the abyss below her.

Don't look down, don't look down, don't look down, she chanted internally.

She closed her eyes tightly, the tears rapidly making their way into her eyelids.

She could hear her name being screamed, could hear the unmistakable grunts and shouting of a fight, but she was a little busy trying to keep her faltering grip on the railing to pay her surroundings much attention.

Her fingers slipped, and with a shout in a language that did not sound like English, she was plummeting to her death.

She couldn’t move. She just accepted her fate, the upcoming death. Her clothes and hair were flying in the opposite direction, and she could only hope that, maybe, dying wouldn’t hurt as much as she thought it did. She didn’t scream. She just... let it happen.

She wondered briefly if she was hallucinating when she saw Jason diving off the skywalk after her, rocketing down to her. She wasn’t. He tackled Y/n’s waist and pulled her close to his chest.

Great, he’s stupid enough and now we're both gonna die, she thought.

But to her astonishment, the wind suddenly died around them. She opened her eyes, the tears still flowing down her face, seeing Jason's face a few inches above hers, his eyes shut tightly. They were hovering in the air about fifty feet above the river at the bottom of the Grand Canyon.

"Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK!" Y/n breathed. His eyes opened, and he looked around them, taking in their position with wide blue eyes.

"Whoa," he whispered, his gaze moving to meet Y/n’s. She wanted to hug him, even if the only thing she remembered was hating him. Y/didn't remember ever meeting Jason, but she knew him. She couldn't explain how, but she did. And she did not like him.

Jason looked up. The rain had stopped, and the storm clouds seemed to have calmed a little. He looked back at Y/n. "Hold onto me," he told her, repositioning himself so he was hugging her to his chest. She wrapped her arms around his neck, trying to ignore how inexplicably right the closeness with him felt.

Jason looked up again, and they suddenly surged toward the sky. He held her tight as they flew back up to the skywalk. As soon as their feet touched the skywalk, they ran to Piper and Leo.

Piper stared at Y/n and Jason as if they'd turned into horrifying mutants during their trip into the Grand Canyon. "How did you...?"

"Apparently, I can fly," Jason said quietly.

“And I'm afraid of heights.” Y/n muttered. "Is he okay?" She asked Piper, looking at Leo, whose curly hair was covered in gold dust.

Before Piper could answer, Leo muttered, "Stupid... ugly... goat."

"Where did he go?" Jason asked.

Leo pointed straight up. "Never came down. Please tell me he didn't actually save my life."

"Twice," Jason told him.

Leo groaned even louder. "What happened? The tornado guy, those gold swords... I hit my head. That's it, right? I'm hallucinating?"

The look on Piper's expression seemed like she wanted to agree.

Jason walked over to where his sword was, picking it up and flipping it. Mid-spin, it shrank back into a gold coin and landed in his palm.

Jason picked up Y/n’s sword. He handed it to her, and she took it, not gratefully, looking at it for a moment. She took a closer look at the hilt, and the same insignia that was in the key was in her sword. She slipped the pad of her thumb over it, and it turned back to a key.

"Yep," Leo said. "Definitely hallucinating."

Piper looked at Y/n as if she'd never seen her before - so not much different to how Ophelia had looked at her when she first woke up. "Those things-"

"Venti," Ophelia said. "Storm spirits."

"Okay. You acted like... like you'd seen them before."

She looked from Y/n to Jason. "Who are you guys?"

Jason shook his head. "That's what we've been trying to tell you. We don't know."

The storm dissipated above them. The other kids from the Wilderness School were staring out the glass doors in horror as security guards worked on the locks. It didn't look like they were having much luck.

"Coach Hedge said he had to protect four people," Jason said. "I think he meant us."

"And that thing Dylan turned into..." Piper shuddered. "God, I can't believe it was hitting on me. He called us... what, demigods?"

Leo laid down, staring up at the sky. "I don't know what demi means, but I'm not feeling too godly. You guys feeling godly?"

"Not particularly," Ophelia admitted.

There was a sound like twigs snapping, and the cracks in the skywalk began to widen.

"We need to get off this thing," Jason said. "Maybe if we—"

"Ooo-kay," Leo interrupted. "Look up and tell me if those are flying horses."

Y/n looked up to see a dark shape descending from the east. As it got closer, she saw a pair of winged horses, with massive wingspans. They pulled a brightly colored chariot behind them, and there were two figures inside of it.

“What the fuck?” Y/n said, finally concluding her thought.

"Reinforcements," Jason said, meeting Y/n’s eyes. For the first time, she didn’t pull away. "Hedge told me an extraction squad was coming for us."

"Extraction squad?" Leo struggled to his feet with Piper's help. "That sounds painful."

"And where are they extracting us to?" Piper asked.

The chariot landed on the far end of the skywalk. The flying horses seemed uneasy as they stepped on the glass, as if they knew it was about to break. Two teenagers stood in the chariot - a tall blonde girl and a bulky guy with a buzzcut. They both wore jeans and obnoxious orange T-shirts with some kind of logo on the front. The girl leaped off before the chariot had even finished moving, pulling a knife and running toward their group as the guy reined in the horses.

"Where is he?" the girl demanded, her gray eyes fierce and intimidating.

"Where's who?" Jason asked.

She frowned like his answer was unacceptable. She turned to Leo and Piper. "What about Gleeson? Where is your protector, Gleeson Hedge?"

Leo cleared his throat. "He got taken by some... tornado things."

"Venti," Y/n said. "Storm spirits."

The blonde girl arched an eyebrow at her. "You mean anemoi thuellai? That's the Greek term." Her gaze flickered from Y/n to Jason. "Who are you, and what happened?"

Y/n let Jason explain. When he was done, the blondie didn't look satisfied. "No, no, no! She told me he would be here. She told me if I came here, I'd find the answer."

"Annabeth," the guy with the buzzeut grumbled, having joined them halfway through Jason's explanation. He pointed at Jason's feet. "Check it out."

Jason's left shoe was still missing, having been blown off by the lightning bolt he took to the chest.

"The guy with one shoe," the guy said. "He's the answer."

"No, Butch," the girl – Annabeth - insisted. "He can't be. I was tricked." She glared at the sky as if it had personally offended her. "What do you want from me?" she screamed. "What have you done with him?"

The skywalk beneath them shuddered.

"Annabeth," Butch said, "we gotta leave. Let's get these guys to camp and figure it out there. Those storm spirits might come back."

"Fine," Annabeth muttered. She fixed Jason with a resentful glare, and Y/n bristled, moving to clutch her key in her pocket.

The girl turned on her heel and marched back to the chariot.

"What's her problem?" Piper asked. "What's going on?"

"Seriously," Leo agreed.

"We have to get you out of here," Butch said. "I'll explain on the way."

"That girl looks like she wants to kill Jason," Y/n muttered, eyeing the girl's distant figure with distrustful eyes. “Don’t really judge. I’d want to do that too.”

Butch hesitated. "Annabeth's okay," he assured them. "You gotta cut her some slack. She had a vision telling her to come here, to find a guy with one shoe. That was supposed to be the answer to her problem."

"What problem?" Piper asked.

"She's been looking for one of our campers, who's been missing three days," Butch said, his expression grim.

"She's going out of her mind with worry. She hoped he'd be here."

"Who?" Jason asked.

"Her boyfriend," Butch said. "A guy named Percy Jackson."

#⛧° i hate you more.#all my love 🍀#postcards from leah #jason grace #jason grace x y/n #heroes of olympus #pjo hoo toa #heroes of olympus x reader #pjo #jason grace x reader #jason grace x you #jason grace series

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steddieas-shegoes · 4 months ago

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maybe forever

for @corrodedcoffinfest prompt 'on the road again'

rated t | 689 words | no cw | tags: bisexual gareth, good friend eddie munson, future fic, super famous corroded coffin

🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸

Gareth stared out the window of the bus, watching as trees passed in a blur as the sun sunk low in the sky. They'd been on the road for four hours and had roughly 81 days to go.

They'd all agreed no girlfriends or boyfriends on the first leg of the tour. This was just for them, for their hard work, for their passion.

Gareth had agreed. He hadn't really thought much about it. He figured they'd be so busy writing music, playing shows, and sleeping it all off, they wouldn't even have time to miss them. But after the initial celebration with drinks on the bus, they all went to their bunks, or in Gareth's case, the table by the long window.

He was lonely.

He was surrounded by his closest friends, and doing his favorite thing in the world, and got to live a life he only dreamed of.

But he was lonely.

"Gare? Probably should get some rest. We've gotta do souncheck as soon as we get there in a few hours," Eddie said to him from next to the bunk beds.

"Yeah. In a minute," he sighed.

But Eddie wasn't the type to leave him alone if he sensed something was wrong. Gareth wasn't the type to be able to hide when something was wrong.

"What's goin' on?" Eddie asked as he sat down next to him, looking out the window too.

"Just miss him," Gareth admitted.

Eddie was the only one who really knew what was going on with him and Sam. Everyone had their suspicions and Frankie even made a joke about him being sad without his boyfriend, but he hadn't officially told any of them except Eddie that that's what he was.

It was still pretty new, but they'd gone head first into something more serious than Gareth had ever expected of what was supposed to be a hookup at a bar.

"Yeah. I miss Steve," Eddie agreed. He put his arm around Gareth and tugged him into his side. "We didn't have to worry about boyfriends on the last tour. Kinda think we made a mistake not having them here."

"Maybe. Might just be something we have to get used to," Gareth leaned his head against Eddie's shoulder. "Do you think i'll have time to call Sam when we get there?"

"I could distract the guys for a few minutes. As long as you promise to let me have the phone after the show to call Steve."

"Deal."

"You really like him, huh?" Eddie nudged Gareth's cheek with his thumb.

"Yeah, he's pretty great."

"Think you might love him?"

Gareth paused. He'd never had a serious relationship. A couple short-term girlfriends in high school, one guy who he thought was cool because he was five years older, but was actually just an asshole who liked fucking younger guys. One guy who was never an official boyfriend, but they met up any time he was in New York and always had fun.

Sam was different.

Sam was maybe forever for him.

It wasn't as scary a thought as it may have been back before Corroded Coffin got famous enough to headline their own world tour.

"Yeah, I think so."

Eddie squeezed him in his arms before letting go. "Then you should tell the guys. Might make it easier if they know. I know it did when I first realized how I felt about Steve."

"They know I'm into both, though."

"But they don't know that you've found someone who means a lot to you, not really. That's the part they need. It's easier when you can talk about him. I promise," Eddie stood up. "I'm taking a nap. You should too."

"In a minute."

Gareth watched as they passed a sign for some small town that they'd probably never see again.

He thought about being on the road, how much fun he always had with the guys, how having Sam here later on would feel.

He smiled to himself as he stood up.

He was ready for this tour, but he was even more ready to show Sam what tour was like someday.

#corrodedcoffinfest #corroded coffin #eddie munson #gareth stranger things #steddie #steve harrington

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creative-caramel-coffee · 8 months ago

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Actually Asthmatic

Summary: Reader comes to work despite being sick and pepper makes sure you’re ok.

TW: asthma, fever, overworking, sickness lol

Pairing: pepper x Platonic!Reader

Words: 2.5K

A/n Part two coming soon (part two will have natty and wands >:). Also, so much has happened since I posted last and I’m so sorry it’s taken this long. I’ve been super busy with uni. But… I got a girlfriend :) I also have a ton of uni work I have to keep up with and I have like no time for anything now. But I will do my best to keep writing. So expect my updates to be a bit more spaced but I’m NOT giving up on this account :)

Living in a dorm was an interesting thing. You had a room, kitchen and bathroom to yourself, but it was lonely.

You knew you were in for a rough time when your lab partner came to a lecture sick. Not only that, but they were coughing … a lot. You knew no matter how hard you tried you were bound to get sick and mentally you resigned yourself to your new fate.

Lo and behold the next day your throat hurt, but it was manageable. Another day passes and your head had begun to feel like it was stuffed with cotton. A truely lovely experience. To make matters even better, you had three classes and work today. Your shift at stark industries was something you couldn’t miss even if you wanted to.

Pepper was coming to check on your branch of the company and you needed to be able to show her the numbers at the meeting you were both attending. You needed to prove it hasn’t been a mistake to hire a collage student with crippling debt and insomnia to run a branch of what was probably the most successful company in New York if not the world.

You flipped the page on your textbook and bit back a sigh. There was still an hour left of class and the world seemed to be against you, time was moving slower, and it felt rather personal.

You rested your head on the table and tried to block out the droning of your collage professor, he was a great guy, but your head felt like it was being run over by a bus and your cheeks were warm and your fingers cold.

You must have drifted off at some point because before you knew it someone was nudging you. You groggily sat up and squinted into the light, a frown marring your face.

“Y/n/n, get up. Class is over.” It was one of your friends, you gave a half grunt and looked around.

The lecture hall was quickly emptying out and so you grabbed your bag and textbook and stood, swaying slightly.

“Whoa. You good?” Your friend asked and you nodded mumbling something about standing up too fast before beelining for the door.

You bid goodbye to your friend at the train station and boarded the tube that would take you to work.

It was about a five-minute walk from the train to stark industries, but the cold weather that threatened your lungs working in tandem with your asthma and what you were now beginning to think was the start of a nasty chest infection, made it seem like hours of hiking through the amazon after dark.

You adjusted the backpack on your shoulder and waited for the train to slow, the next stop was yours and despite it being the quiet carriage there was still the loud sound of train tracks passing under making your head feel like a drum being beaten by a tone-deaf monkey on steroids.

The train almost had pity on you as it slowed just as you thought the monkey had found an amp to make his music ‘better.’

You stumbled off the platform and hurried up the steps to the footpath. The crowd jostled you and you felt more than desire to just let the ocean of people sweep you out with the tide.

But you forged on. So did the monkey.

You must have looked like death incarnate by the time you arrived at the lobby. You were flushed at the very least and you could hear the wheezing in your breath as you took in air by the lungful.

You scanned your keycard once you had located it in the mess that was your backpack. Stepping into the clean white walls of stark industries made you feel like a racoon in an upper-class neighbourhood.

You made your way to the elevator that would take you to the board room and finally paused to catch your breath which was now just a string of wheezes. You knew that because the look the lady at the reception shot you was one that was a mix of concern, confusion and pity.

Your throat was raw, and your face was congested as well as your chest. You sounded like you swallowed a frog, and the frog was also now sick and subsequently congested.

When the lift arrived you thanked Stark, who was your own personal god that there was nobody else in it. You stepped in and lent against the railing after thumbing the button for your floor with what was probably more force than necessary.

You sat back against the cool metal bar and watched the numbers climb higher and higher as you approached the master board room which was also the same floor as peppers office. A place you rarely visited except when you had the quarterly board meeting like today.

As the lift pinged and the doors slide open smoothly you stepped off and gathered your bearings.

You caught sight of a door at the end of the hall with peppers name on it and smiled. She was also one of your own personal heroes. She worked like a horse and kicked ass like an avenger all while wearing heels and a smile that said, ‘don’t fuck with me before I’ve had my coffee’.

You navigated your way to the board room and cracked the door a bit. So far there were a few people in there and it was still early. You smiled at the unfamiliar faces and sat down.

You didn’t know any of them yet and so you kept to yourself as you and the others waited for pepper and the rest of the companies branch managers and board members to come in.

After a bit pepper entered looking as swauve and elegant as ever. She took her seat at the head of the table and took note of the empty chairs with a small frown.

“It seems some people are still absent, so we’ll wait for a bit until the numbers are more … concrete.” She said with a smile drawing a few laughs from around the room.

You kept your head down, but your eyes kept straying back to pepper.

After a few minutes of you being sat there doodling in your notepad, the meeting started.

You paid attention to most things but once you had presented your numbers you had more or less zoned out. At one point you caught pepper looking at you closely and decided to try and pay attention again.

But the meeting droned on and soon your chest felt tighter and tighter. Your face flushed with the effort of suppressing a cough. The wheeze that had left you in the elevator had seemingly returned and you were doing your best to keep it quiet.

Your eyes looked around the room for an escape and you caught pepper looking at you again. She looked worried.

‘Are you ok?’ She mouthed and you nodded but she looked unsure.

You decided to leave, just to step out for a moment to get some air and let your lungs do their thing.

You waited until all eyes were back on the man presenting before slipping out the door.

You beelined for the bathroom which were luckily empty with everyone currently on the floor in the meeting.

You braced yourself by placing your hands either side of the sink and let out a string of deep chesty coughs. The wheeze got worse, and you cursed yourself for leaving your asthma inhaler in your backpack in the board room.

The coughing still hadn’t ceased, and it seemed the attack was making it harder to catch your breath than normal.

You barely registered the door to the bathrooms being opened and the sound of high heels click across the floor in hurried steps.

You felt a hand press between your shoulder blades as someone drew slow circles on your back. Someone was telling you to breathe and you recognised the voice.

Pepper.

You felt something being pressed into your hands and looked down to find a glass of water.

You gratefully took a sip and found it soothed your throat pretty well.

After a second, the fit ended and you just had the wheeze to worry about.

“Are you alright?” Pepper asked looking worried and trying not to fuss over you.

You shot her a weak smile.

“I’m ok.” You grinned unconvincingly. She gave you a look you assumed tony often received and caved. “I’m sick.” You rasped.

“I’d have never guessed.” Pepper joked rolling her eyes and guided you by the shoulders out the door.

“Where are we going?” You asked still holding the water.

“Well, you need to rest, and the board can handle the rest of the meeting. I want you to get that cough looked at and i have some emails to check. So, we are going to my office, you are going to lie down and I’m going to get some work done.” Pepper said with a smile, and you looked at her like she had hung the stars in the sky.

“Thank you.” You mumbled.

“That’s quite alright honey.” She smiled and then her brow crinkled as if she just noticed your wheezing. Which spoiler alert… she had.

You avoided her eyes as she scrutinised you closely. After a second her pace slowed and yours matched it before she stepped in front of you and placed a hand on your chin. She tilted your head back to look at her and met your gaze with a motherly worried expression.

“You’re wheezing.” She noted.

“And you’re pepper potts.” You said back looking nervous.

“Yes.” She deadpanned in response. “Y/n, are you … asthmatic?” She asked and you looked away.

That was enough of a response for her as she sighed. “Wheres your puffer sweetie?”

“Back in my backpack in the meeting room.” You mumbled.

“Alright here’s what we are going to do. I’m going to get you set up in my office and then go and get your bag for you.” She said and resumed her pace to her office.

When she arrived, she scanned her keycard and opened the door. It was an amazing office. Floor to ceiling windows in a corner room made the whole space perfectly lit with natural light.

You stepped inside in awe, and she guided you over to an expensive looking blue couch with a fond smile.

“You stay here, I’ll be right back.” She said and you grinned and nodded still star struck.

You could see the New York skyline from up here, the city bustling below.

You had barely blinked by the time pepper had returned.

She handed you your bag which you took and thanked her again.

“Now take whatever you need to and try to get some rest, I’ll be at my desk just there if you need anything.” She said with a smile, lingering to make sure you took your inhaler.

After you had uncapped the small blue device and administered the medicine, she gave you a curt nod and headed to her desk.

Almost as soon as your head hit the soft fluffy throw pillows on the couch you were out.

The next few hours were spent toeing the line between sleep and wakefulness. At one point as you dozed you heard pepper talking to someone on the phone before you returned to sleep.

Pepper had sat down to get some work done but had barely typed out one email before her eyes were back on you. You seemed so small in this moment. Just a young adult, you reminded her of peter. She wanted to make sure you were ok and the small wheeze coming from your lips made her worried.

Your face was slightly flushed, and pepper was sure nobody had been messing with the room temperature controls. Feeling maternal, she picked up her phone and punched in the number for Bruce’s lab. Better safe than sorry.

After a short conversation with Bruce in which she relayed your symptoms, he decided he wanted to see you to run further tests and rule out pneumonia. Pepper had looked over at you and agreed, you had been sleeping for nearly four hours now and seemingly weren’t doing much better, and including your asthma she didn’t want to risk anything.

Bruce and pepper agreed to bring you to the avengers' tower to check your lungs and maybe put you on a nebuliser to be safe as the wheeze was still lingering.

When the phone call ended pepper stood from her desk and walked over to the couch, gently she sat down beside you and nudged your shoulder. You groaned and rolled over trying to escape.

Stifling a giggle pepper placed her hand on your arm, frowning when she felt heat radiating off you. She paused and then lifted her hand to your face, laying the backside of her palm to your forehead and feeling for a fever.

Finding what she was looking for, pepper gently rubbed your arm again.

“Y/n? Honey, you have to get up. We’re going to the doctor sweetie.” She said softly and you whined and buried your face in the couch.

“Tired and don’t wanna move.” You mumbled into the cushions.

“You can lean on me the whole way to the car, alright?” Pepper said carding her hands through your hair.

“Okay.” You mumbled and blinked your eyes open to look at her. The haze of fever was settled in and the pink hue of your cheeks made you look both dazed and cute.

With peppers help you stand up and lean into her side. She had already called happy to bring the car around and he was going to meet you both out front.

With your bag slung over one shoulder and you curled into her other side, pepper slowly began the trek back to the lift. The board meeting had ended hours ago so it was just the two of you left on the whole floor.

After a slow and sleepy trip down to the car pepper got settled into the backseat with you so she could keep an eye on how you were fairing.

Your cheeks had darkened slightly, and she felt your forehead again as happy peeled out of the car park. Your fever had definitely risen, and she frowned as the glossy look in your eyes was increased ten-fold.

Part two coming soon :)

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always-elias · 2 months ago

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The Magnus Protocol Episodes have a downright uncanny talent to match up with what is happening to me while I listen to them.

Once, I was out on an evening walk, and decided to go a bit off-track. I don't do evening walks often, but the weather was quite nice and I wanted to listen to the new episode. However, it got far too darker in the forest than I'd have expected, so I was feeling rather uneasy. I descended down to the creek, walking by it. Just hoping I don't stumble into any creepy murder-guy. Well. Guess what episode I was listening to? Certainly not the one with the needle-covered creepy murder-guy?

It was quite terrifying, but I was doing well enough and I was intrigued, so I kept listening. However, at the very moment when he started to doxx the call operator, something splashed in that fucking creek. Needles to say (ha! See what I did there?) I got spooked to all hells and back, and to this day I have mixed feelings about the episode.

The other time, I, having learnt from my mistakes, headed on another evening walk. This time, into the city, y'know, where there are lights on and everything is fine. I headed out to explore one part of the town that I don't know well, and only have been there a handful of times before. It was quiet, and completely deserted. But the lamps lit the way, so it was fine. It would be fine, right?

It felt weird. It just felt weird, and I headed into one of the streets. The lamps started to be sparse. One of the houses was shrouded in darkness, and it's fence looked so weird in the dark. There was a strange shape, maybe a shed, leaning on the house. There was a couple of weak, colourful lights on in the garden of that house, and it seemed like they swayed ever so slightly. My dear friends, I was listening to Running On Empty, y'know. The Lonely liminal place episode? With the darkened place, and strange lights surrounding the piece of architecture? I noped the fuck out of that street so fast.

And of course, the most recent case fo this. I live in a country with a lot of public transport, and when you take your local bus several times everyday, you reach a certain level of familiarity with the bus drivers. Some even let me board without showing my ticket, and I have memorised all of their faces and demeanors. We often smalltalk a bit, it's fun, and it's routine. I've been commuting for years, so I can for example recognize the type of the incoming train in the dark, based on shape of the approaching lights alone. I can, also, recognize all of the buses on my line home, even without seeing their actual numbers. I know them. Sometimes a new driver comes on the line, or an old one leaves, and even if they add a new bus, it tends to be of a certain model or general vibe.

One night I was waiting for my bus home, listening to the episode Driven, y'know, with the people-eating coach that looks just similar enough to blend in, if the passersby don't pay close attention?

It was dark, and cold, and there was only like three other people waiting for the bus, which is unusually little.

A new bus came. The ones on this line are white and red, with shiny paint, the corners are smooth and round and sometimes there's ads on the walls, depending on the bus. This one was yellow and blue, the paint matte, and it just looked a bit too blocky compared to the others. The bus driver was also unknown to me.

Boy did I fucking hesitate to get on that one. I did, in the end, and it's probably still me writing these lines.

I'm just so intrigued, this never happened to me with any of the TMA cases... Did anyone have something like this happen to them with any of the statements?

#the magnus protocol #the magnus archives #long post #tmagp #tmagp driven #tmagp introductions #tmagp running on empty #its such an uncanny feeling when this happens #not necessarily in a bad way its just. Strange #what a darn coincidence #i just couldnt have listened to the bloodthirsty violin that night one nooo I had to listen to mr creepy murder-guy ffs

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unetherian · 2 months ago

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Things to do when you're a newly awakened alter/nonhuman!

[PT: Things to do when you're a newly awakened alter/nonhuman! end of PT]

[Sorry for any spelling or wording mistakes, I don't speak English fluently]

1/Make an alterhuman journal

Do you have an old, almost empty notebook that you haven't used since the end of your middle school years? Or a little notepad that you received for your birthday and that lies at the bottom of the drawer that you never open? Now is the time to use it!

Write in it your alter/nonhuman journey, what made you wonder if you are alter/nonhuman, the research to find your type, if you are otherlink, what made you choose your type, if you are physically nonhuman, a portrait of how you see yourself in everyday life,...

I will probably do a post in the future on what to put in your journal :3

2/Don't lie to yourself...

Some newly awakened alters/nonhumans intentionally cause false flashbacks or force themselves to shift to feel legitimate... No Don't do this, it's okay if you don't have flashbacks or past life memories, it's okay if you don't shift, it's okay if your type isn't considered "cool" or if it is considered "too common" or "too rare" to be valid. Same for polyalter/nonhumans, it's okay if you really have a lot of types, don't worry. You're valid. You are yourself. Don't lie, just let yourself exist.

3/Ask questions to educated alters/nonhumans

Asking questions is literally a cheat code for educating yourself! Don't be afraid to share your questions on this subject, you will get very rich answers. But be careful which being you are talking because maybe it is not very educated himself...

4/Be interested in categories of alter/nonhumans who do not have the same experiences/beliefs as you

It's really interesting to understand these other communities better. It makes me despair when I see beings insulting other beings because their experiences are different... Getting to know and respect others is the key to avoiding these kinds of situations.

5/Search for your type!

For alters/nonhumans whose identity is often difficult to identify (otherkin, plantkin, therian, etc.), I recommend doing a lot of research and introspection. Make a list of all the species that could match you, draw a profile, ... There are many different methods to find out who you are. But don't use tests like "What is your theriotype", they are really not reliable (for information I am a feline and I did two tests in one they said I am a wolf and in another a fox so... yeah) Searches can last months and even years, it doesn't matter if you don't find it right away or if you make a mistake. You will find it, I promise you :3

For identities where the type is often easy to find (otherhearteds for example) you are very lucky 😅

For those whose choice of type is often voluntary (otherlink, copinglink, ect) take personality tests, do some research on what you most want/need to be,... Don't worry, you have the right to change your type!

Some alters/nonhumans don't have types, but that doesn't stop them from doing introspection exercises anyway!

For those who have already found their type, nothing prevents you from doing other research (to write in your alter/nonhuman journal, perhaps), for example fun facts about your type, types of gears not very well known that you would like to buy/make, learn how to draw it, lern their body language etc.

6/Make a den/nest!

Some being really like to make a cozy little corner just to become a little being in their cabin, and others like to make a majestic pillow fortress to protect themselves from human society. Get your covers on, let's go!

You can also create them outdoors, on your territory. (Don't forget to hydrate yourself, especially if it's hot)

Torn from Therian territory made tutorials (on YouTube) for indoor and outdoor dens, I recommend them!

7/Try to shift (if you want to/can)/species euphoria

I know that some alterhumans don't shift, can't voluntarily shift, or just don't like it, but sometimes shifting can be liberating and cause species euphoria (the opposite of species dysphoria).

If you don't want to/can't shift you can also do activities that bring you closer to your identity!

8/Make a scent marker!

If your type is territorial, I highly recommend this! It's a kind of little "potion" where you can find your scent + some plants that remind your scent and your territory, and you can spray it in your territory. Some beings add a little essential oil. Torn also made a video on the subject, "How to make a scent marker?".

⚠️Do not use environmentally harmful elements in this "potion"!⚠️

9/ Try activities related to your type/identity!

In our communities, when we talk about connecting with our identity, we often think of gears, quads, vocals,... But there are many other ways to get closer to your alter/nonhumanity! For example, a therian Ibex can practice rock climbing, a spacekin can learn astrophotography, an ockin can write a whole universe around his oc, a naturesoul can keep a journal where it tells all his past incarnations,... All forms of art can bring you closer to who you really are! (drawing, animation, story/poetry/song writing, music, etc.) No need to be an artist with incredible talent, try and have fun, it will already be a thousand times better than nothing! Even if you haven't found your type yet, let yourself be guided by your instincts and what makes you tick!

10/Read positive things about alter/nonhumanity

Sometimes, with the dramas, the insults from the anti, the non-accepting people, the doubt of really being an alter/nonhuman, the imposter syndrome,... There are times when you feel horribly wrong and misunderstood.

I really understand how it feels, when I first came into the community I was constantly asking myself "am I really therian?" "Is this just a teenage fantasy in search of identity?" "No one will support me..."And sometimes I would go on YouTube to take my mind off things and I would come across a stupid video that invited alter/nonhumans to commit the irreparable.

During this time I was only focusing on the negative part of being an alter/nonhuman. But, we must not forget these positive sides. We tend to talk more about our problems on Tumblr because for many, it's the only place they can confide freely. It's a way of "getting your emotional juices out", it's like therapy for some. But in reality, there are many positive and fun sides to being alter/nonhuman. It's true that by forgetting all that, it's more complicated to accept yourself as you are. Written alterhuman/nonhuman/objectkin/otherlink/therian/otherkin/ect positivity on Tumblr. You'll find so much comfort there!

I hope this helped you, remember, as long as you don't hurt anything or anyone intentionally, you are completely valid! You have the right to be yourself.

Take care of yourself, drink water and have an amazing day/evening/night!

Bye!

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bloatedandalone04 · 9 months ago

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Wrapped Around Your Finger - Part 1.1

Series Masterlist | Original Fic

➪in which you pack your bags for paris, still unsure of whether or not you’ll return to london for anything other than the rest of your belongings, and anakin is forced to reach out to liz after she crosses another line.

PSA: strongly suggested to read the warnings before proceeding.

WC; 3.2k | Do not repost this anywhere, reblogs are fine ♡

Guilt had followed Anakin all week.

He talked to you for a good hour over the phone on Wednesday, and not once did he mention the fact that Liz had kissed him. He knew the longer he kept it from you, the worse it’ll be for him, but he was terrified of your reaction.

Anakin had been faithful for nearly five years straight, and the one time he’s away from you for more than a few days he lets another girl get close to him. Close enough for him to break that streak in a single night.

He knew that as soon as he told you, it could very well be over, and he never wanted to lose you, let alone because of something so out of character for him.

Still, it wasn’t fair for you to be kept out of the loop, and though he hated to do it, he’d rather tell you in person. He could only hope that you saw it from his perspective, and how hard he’s been trying to get rid of her.

Anakin was sitting on the couch, the passing scenery doing wonders at keeping his mind busy. He wanted to call you, but you told him that you needed to sort some things out today, and he’d just have to wait until you were able to talk.

He had headphones on with the track Vinny and Theo had recorded during all the time Anakin spent with Liz, and he felt like the worst excuse of a friend and band member ever.

They were actually trying to get music out while he just went out and partied. But he wouldn’t be doing that anymore.

If one good thing came out of that whole club situation and the wake up call, it was that Anakin was finally inspired to write. Theo had come up with the idea to create a slower song rather than the loud and intense songs they’ve been playing for the last year and a half. He was sure it was because the bass player was feeling down a lot lately and needed a way to vent, and Anakin and Vinny were more than willing to agree to it.

He listened to the track on repeat as he thought about possible lyrics, and Anakin was happy that Vinny had decided to try his luck with a piano. He played it for about four years before he switched to drums, but he clearly still knew how to play the string instrument as it sounded amazing through his headphones.

Before long, he had a whole page done and was starting his second when Vinny emerged from the back of the bus. His hair was a mess, signaling to Anakin that he had just woken up from a nap.

Anakin could probably use a few more hours of sleep, too, but he knew it would never come. He’d just end up tossing and turning and wasting time, so he didn’t even bother.

Vinny sat down next to him with a huff, taking the notebook out of Anakin’s hands as he did so. Anakin scoffed at him, taking off his headphones and setting them aside as he turned to face his friend. “Is this for a new song?” Vinny asked with a yawn as he read over the page.

“Yeah,” Anakin answered, grabbing his phone and sending you a quick text.

Vinny set the notebook aside after reading it over. “Sounds good,” he mumbled. “Glad to see you got your inspiration back.”

“Yeah, but at what cost,” Anakin muttered.

“Anakin, Y/n will understand,” he tried to reassure him, but probably knew that it was pointless as Anakin would continue to feel like shit until he knew for sure that he wouldn’t lose you because of the mistake he made with Liz.

So when he didn’t respond, Vinny just shook his head and stood back up. He rummaged around in the mini fridge before grabbing two water bottles and heading back to Clara, leaving Anakin to finish up the song he had titled ‘Falling’.

“I feel like I’m wasting everyone’s time,” you confessed as you sat on the grass in the Quad. “I completely messed up that last assignment. I didn’t even try.”

Evan gave you a pointed look as he sipped from the straw of his smoothie. “You’re not wasting everyone’s time, Y/n,” he stated, making you roll your eyes. “I’m serious. Kenneth would’ve sent you running on the first day if he thought you were wasting his time.”

You shrug and look at different flights on your phone. “Maybe, but I still accused him of favoring me when he was literally just trying to be nice,”

“Y/n,” Evan called out to you, making you look up. “You’re a good writer. You’re one of the best in the class, don’t think that you’re not. One bad piece doesn’t make you a bad writer, you know that.”

You shrug again, sipping on your own smoothie. “Yeah, I guess,”

Evan set down his drink and moved closer to you. “I mean it. You’re going places…if you decide to stay, that is. While it’ll certainly give me a better chance at getting published, it’ll still suck to lose you. But if you’re no longer happy here, then you deserve to do something that does make you happy.”

You give him a smile and lean over to hug him quickly. “Thanks, Ev,”

He returned the hug before standing up. “Are you coming to class today?”

You think about it for a few seconds then shake your head. “No, I have some thinking to do,”

He nods and gives you a reassuring smile. “Okay, I’ll just see you later then,”

You nod back and watch as he makes his way to the building the class is in before pulling out your phone.

Ani: I hope you’re having a better day today, baby. I can’t wait to see you tomorrow. I love you.

The text brings a smile to your lips as you stand up and throw away your garbage as you reply to him.

So far so good. I can’t wait to see you, too, Ani. I love YOU.

You head in the opposite direction of your class, planning on going back to your room and packing your bag for Paris. Maybe you’d even start packing up to go back home. While Evan’s attempts at reassuring you were nice, you still didn’t feel confident in yourself anymore.

Anakin had even tried to reassure you, but he also said that you didn’t have to force yourself to stay if it wasn’t what you wanted anymore, and to have that support from him had your head feeling clearer than it had in weeks.

If all else failed, you still always had him, and that was enough for you to know that you’d be okay.

You pack the essentials and set your bag down next to your desk before sitting down on your bed. Grabbing your phone, you begin to look through more flight options. There was one for three in the afternoon, meaning you’d be able to be in Paris by five thirty at the latest. You’d have to swing by class tomorrow to talk to Kenneth, and to possibly say goodbye to him.

You really weren’t sure if you were going to come back for anything other than the rest of your belongings once Anakin and the guys leave France and you’d have to say goodbye again. Maybe you could just pack the rest of your things and meet him at the next location. You wouldn’t mind sharing that small bunk with him for the next two months, and you knew he wouldn’t mind either.

Without another thought, you buy the ticket and set your phone down, pulling out your laptop and continuing to write the rough draft of your short story, despite your plans potentially dropping the class.

The rest of the day passed by in a blur, and before you knew it, it was the next morning and you were packing last minute things and making sure you had your ticket ready. You set everything on your bed, excitement pulsing through you at the fact that you’d be seeing Anakin in less than nine hours.

His text had you feeling the happiest you’ve been all week, and you had shamelessly read it more than once.

Ani: I can’t wait to see you tonight. I’ve missed you so much, princess.

He was the sweetest, and you were shaking with nerves at the thought of feeling his arms around you again after four weeks of zero physical contact.

You leave your dorm and make your way to class, well aware that it had ended at nine and it was now nearing ten. With a quick inhale, you enter the classroom and meet Kenneth’s eyes from across the room. He was sitting at his desk, his brow furrowed as he looked back down at the papers he was reading. “Miss Y/l/n,” he greeted in a monotone voice. “Glad to see you could make it to class today, though you are an hour late and the class is already over.”

Giving him a forced and embarrassed smile, you step into the room. “Yeah,” you trail off, playing with your fingers as you stand by the door. “I’m sorry I missed the last two classes, it’s just….I don’t know if I’m cut out for this.”

Kenneth didn’t look up from the papers as he said, “Well, you’ve certainly done a great job at trying to prove that,”

Your face heats up and you look at the floor. “Yeah…I’m really sorry, Kenneth,” you murmur, glancing down at the A on your wrist. You feel the smallest bit of comfort from just looking at it, and you lift your head with a newfound confidence. “I didn’t mean to waste your time. That was the last thing I wanted to do.”

That had your instructor looking up at you. He studied your face for a few seconds before sitting up in his chair. “You didn’t waste my time, Miss Y/l/n,” he stated. “In fact, I quite enjoyed reading your previous pieces, so I don’t know why you think you wasted anyone’s time.”

You shrug at him and avoid eye contact. You just needed to get through this, then you could go to the airport and be with Anakin again after a month of not seeing him.

“I assume you came here to tell me that you’re dropping out?” Kenneth asks and you look over at him.

“Do you think I should?” You ask.

“That’s not up to me,” he says. “It’s your choice.”

You huff, “Do you think I’m…..good enough?”

Kenneth raises his brows. “Do I think you’re good enough?” He repeated your question and leaned back. “I think you’re a great writer, Miss Y/l/n, and it would be unfortunate to lose you before I got to really see what you can do. But, it’s your decision, and I can’t make it for you.”

You give him a small smile and nod. “Right. I guess that’s a good answer,”

He returns the smile before asking, “Are you going somewhere?”

“Yeah, I’m….my boyfriend is performing at a few venues in Paris, so I’m going to meet him there,” you tell him. “I’m sorry, but I’ll be missing a few classes next week.”

Kenneth nods. “It might be best for you to take some time to figure out what you want to do,” he says. “If you decide to stay, there’s always a spot for you in my class, but if you want to go then I can’t stop you. But just know that one bad piece doesn’t make you a bad writer, and you shouldn’t let it have that much control over you.”

Your smile fades a bit at how similar his and Evan’s words are. Maybe they were right. “I’m trying,”

He shrugged, “That’s all you can do,”

A few seconds pass before you nod. “Well, I should get going. I don’t want to be rushing to the airport,”

“Before you go,” he called out to you just as you began to turn around. “I want you to know that, whatever you decide to do, I support you.”

That had a genuine smile forming on your lips. “Thank you, Kenneth, and I’m sorry for…everything,”

Then you were off. You headed back to your room to grab your bag, finding Evan leaning against the wall next to your door. Your look of surprise had him raising his brows, “What, you thought I was gonna let you leave without saying goodbye to me first? Especially since I might never see you again after this?”

You laugh and walk into his open arms. “I haven’t decided if I’m dropping the class or not, Ev,” you say and rest your head against his chest. “And I’d say goodbye to you before I left, anyway.”

“How generous,” he teased and pulled away. His eyes flickered all over your face before he met your gaze. “Have fun, okay? Go spend time with your famous boyfriend, and don’t worry about anything else, alright? You deserve it.”

You smile and nod, “Okay,” you agree. “I’ll see you next week, Evan. Promise.”

He squinted his eyes at you. “You better,” he said back, giving you another smile before leaving. You grab your bag and look around your room one last time before setting down the note you had written to Bailey. She was still at her parents house since there was some family emergency, and you didn’t get the chance to say goodbye to her.

You leave it on her bed before locking the door and ordering a ride to the airport, the stress of everything finally beginning to lift once you’re seated on the plane.

Anakin could not stop pacing the length of the small hallway on the bus.

He was shaking, he was so excited to see you.

He couldn’t think about much else other than your sweet scent, your kind smile, your achingly pretty face, and the way your body fit perfectly against his own. He was craving your touch and the sound of your voice. He couldn’t believe he had gone a month without you.

Vinny was watching him with a tired expression, his arm draped over Clara’s shoulders as she slept next to him on the couch. “Dude,” he grunted after watching him pace a few more times. “What are you doing? Why are you pacing?”

Anakin flexed his fingers as he shrugged, passing by the brunet once again. “I can’t help it,” he answered. “I have to leave in less than half an hour to pick her up and bring her back here. Half an hour, Vin, then she’s here.”

Vinny let out a laugh of disbelief, glancing down at his sleeping girlfriend. “I hope she’s this excited to see me at some point in the future,” he muttered to himself as Anakin tried to calm himself down.

“I missed her so much, Vin,”

“I know,”

“I can’t wait to see her,”

“I know, Anakin,”

“Please tell me that you and Clara are doing something tonight,” Anakin was powerless to stop the desperation from coming through in his voice.

Vinny smirked up at him, “Is that your way of asking if the bus will be empty tonight?”

“I need to be alone with her,” Anakin groaned. “I need it to be just the two of us, so we can talk. I need to clear a few things up with her.”

Vinny laughed. “I understand, man,” he said. “I’ll take Clara out for dinner or something and we’ll tour the Paris nightlife.”

Anakin gave him a grateful smile. “Thank you,” then he checked his phone and nearly dropped it when he saw Liz’s newest Instagram post. “Fuck.”

It was a close up picture of Anakin on stage a couple nights ago, his hair damp and his skin sweaty as he finished the last song of the set. He remembered feeling the high of that night, and he would’ve been happy to see that Liz had captured a photo of it, but right now all he felt was rage as he read the caption.

elizaphotography: Thought you’d all enjoy a hot, up close and personal shot of the sexy lead singer of Screaming Whispers ;)

She added a bunch of stupid hashtags and even tagged him, and Anakin wanted to throw his phone at the nearest wall. Vinny must’ve sensed the sudden change as he sat up a bit and asked, “What’s wrong?”

“She- I can’t fucking believe her,”

Vinny reached forward and grabbed his phone, his gaze hardening once he saw the post. “Wow, this bitch won’t quit,” he muttered, reading the caption over and over again. “She must think she’s invincible or some shit, because- what are you doing?”

Anakin had swiped his phone out of Vinny’s hand and clicked on Liz’s contact as he left the bus, hoping that the air would cool him off at least a little. It rang for a few seconds before the call connected, “Ah, I knew that would get your attention,”

“Back off, Liz,” Anakin rasped, leaning against the side of the bus as he felt his heartbeat quicken. “I mean it.”

“You’ve been avoiding me like the plague, Anakin,” she stated. “You’re acting like a prick. I thought we were friends.”

“You thought wrong,” he said and tried to take back control of his breathing. “Change that caption, or better yet, delete the entire fucking post.”

Liz hummed, “Thought I was allowed to post you? In fact, it’s on the contract that I get your image out there for the world to see,” she laughed. “Well, it says something like that, anyway.”

“I’m not joking, Liz,” he muttered under his breath, and her annoying voice had his body heating up in rage.

“I’m not joking either, Anakin,” she said back. “You led me on. I can claim that. Don’t piss me off, Anakin, or I’ll tell Y/n myself that you cheated on her.”

“I didn’t-”

“But you did,” she cut him off. “I’m living proof.”

“What do you want, Liz? Huh?” Anakin asked in frustration as he tugged on his hair. “Why do you insist on being such a-”

“A what, Anakin? What?” She pressed. “Call me anything other than my name, and I’ll message her right now.”

Anakin bit his tongue, holding back on calling her every bad name he could think of, because it really wouldn’t help much at all. “Keep her out of this,” he said as calmly as he could. He didn’t like her holding you over him like this when she had no fucking clue about anything involving yours and his relationship. She was just the fucking tour photographer, why did she think she had such an important role in his life?

“Yeah,” she hummed. “Maybe I’ll do that.”

Then she hung up and Anakin cursed under his breath as he opened the Instagram app. He deleted all the photos she took of him from his account, wanting nothing to do with her at all anymore. Sure, the photos were great and he actually liked them quite a lot, but he refused to be associated with her in any way.

Before he got off the app, he clicked on Liz’s account and saw that she did actually change the caption, but it still didn’t settle the anger brewing within him. Without a second thought, he blocked her and pocketed his phone after calling a ride that would take him to the airport and to you.

They reunite soon :') (but is that a good thing?)

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drea-ms · 10 months ago

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UNSPOKEN WORDS AND THEIR LETTERS (i love you.)

げとうすぐる. Communication wasn't the best thing for you, but for the ones you love and cared for? You'd write and talk about for hours, maybe years

warnings. ANGST!!! erm suicide mentions. plot twist 😨. haibara isnt dead. shitty communication skills between sugu n yn. long. not proofread. inspired by somethin stupid by frank sinatra. grammar mistakes. a lot of stuff goes down. it will probably will next chapter too..... dunno what to add here.... also if you want listen to somethin stupid by frank sinatra!!!

back. masterlist. next.

You left him a voicemail that day, Words slurred, sore throat, the worst he's ever heard from you. Geto Suguru hates how too late it was for him and you.

Maybe this was the gods way of giving him karma.

He turns in his phone, goes to his voice mailbox.

"You have one message. To listen to this message press one. To delete this message press tw—"

"Um—Hey. I-I know now's not the best time to call you, you're probably busy and still mad at me. I don't understand why though. Why are you mad at me? Why is it that you have to find a way to blame me to make yourself feel better?" you paused, swallowing the pain that lies within your throat, he hates how he knows what you're feeling right now.

You sniffed and coughed before continuing, "Um—I'm sorry, for everything really. Now that I look back at everything, it was stupid of us to argue, I guess some people realize stuff really late, I really hope you listen to this message Sugu." Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Why is he feeling tears coming from his eyes, why does that nickname harm him a lot? Why do you have this effect on him?

You laugh with tears falling from your eyes, and Suguru wishes he was there to wipe them away. "Even if you don't, even if you don't ever see this message, I'm just glad I recorded it" you smiled, has the sunset ever looked as beautiful as it did right now? Do you think Suguru is watching the same sunset as you? You continue, "Hey, You remember when Satoru, dragged us out in the rain? we got all wet and later got sick. I think we were in our second year. Shoko got mad at us after and had to take care of us, Do you—" you choke up on your words before steadily repeat yourself, "Do you think, that whenever I look tired one day, will you drag me out to jump in the rain again?" The voicemail finished. The automatic voice came up,

"To hear this message again, press three, to save it press four, to delet—" he presses four, now crying his eyes out in the middle of his room. Geto Suguru truly was an idiot. It was finally night time.

When the news of the beloved [lastname] [firstname] was pronounced dead was a shock to everyone. What truly was more shocking was the fact that she left letters to everyone, one each, two to Geto Suguru. Each letter contained the same thing, to have fun, to not blame themselves and to live their best life. Why was his so different than the others? Why did he get two instead of one?

He knows the reason why, he just want to hear it from you.

The first letter read;

My dearest, Suguru,

I'm not good with writing my own feelings down, so writing this is already hard as it is. But, when you do get this letter, it means that something happened to me, or maybe I just never gave it to you and hid it or threw it away. Only time will tell.

Anyways, back to the reason I'm writing this letter. I don't think I've had enough time to tell you about my feelings. In the short time I have met you, I think I've fallen in love with you. Not in a just a crush type of way, in a way were if one were to ask me to write something about you they would get paragraph after paragraph of how I feel about you. Did you know that I would sketch you whenever I'm bored? I would draw you and somehow put you in any of my paintings, you remind me of so many things, yet i couldn't find the perfect time to finish painting you.

I think I've always loved you, I'm not sure when those feelings started, but, I knew from the way i tried to make myself more likeable to you. I would always practice every to find some clever lines to make the meaning come true, though i would always mess it up. I wanted to know whether you liked me too. And I think on that night, the one where we snuck out and headed to the bridge was the right time, your cologne (the one that smelt like mint & citrus and your cigarette smell) filled my head, I thought the stars went red and the night turned bluer than usable. I was confident to tell you my feelings, but I thought I would spoil the moment by saying something stupid like "I love you."

maybe we our communication skills aren't the best,

maybe we'll find each other in another life.

I love you.

[nickname]

I love you.

she loves me.

she loved me.

Geto suguru remembers that night, the almost confession and how you looked. He thought you looked wonderful, a painting yet to be painted due to the amount time and work it would've taken. He also remembered that there was music playing, you've always like oldies, something about them maybe you like them. Maybe you're right, maybe the lack in communication skills was bad for the both of you.

So Suguru, ever so the stoic one, breaks in your room, with the extra key you gave him and sleeps in your bed for the first time in days.

"How long do you intend on hiding her, Yu?"A blonde, tall guy asked, "I, I don't know what you're taking about Kento-kun. Hiding who?"the shorter male asked, nervously looking anywhere but the blonde, Haibara Yu knew if word were to come out about you, he would be in trouble. "[Name]'s not dead is she? What—" he gets pulled into a empty classroom with the brunette, "Keep quiet, Kento. If word comes out and finds out to the higher ups that the child they been so afraid of is isn't dead, then everybody's gone." he said, whisper yelling at Kento. The blonde, surprised that his senior (the only one he respected really) was still alive, and the only person who was keeping her safe in hiding was the ever so sweet Haibara Yu. Now that Kento thinks about it, Yu is right, If word does come out and your alive and Yu has been hiding you, the higher up will have no chance but to execute the two of you.

"Who else knows of this?" is the only thing that comes out the blondes mouth, worried about who might know,

"Right now? Me and You. Just don't say anything and keeping pretending she's dead, it's better that way." the brunette says, the serious tone in his voice never fading.

The shorter haired boy walked away from the blonde, leaving him alone with his thoughts. Nanami Kento wasn't an idiot, he found the situation a bit werid, he kinda knew about you (you told him minor details.) and he knew who reckless you were, so you doing this was off. He exits the room, heading to his own.

"Do you know how many times I almost slipped the secret??? wayyy to many to count!" Yu says, pouting on his side of the phone call, it was midnight and everyone else was sleeping so he was trying to keep quiet.

"You know Yu, you really didn't have to do all of this." a female voice say, her voice deep and soft, smiling on her side of the call, sure she was in Seoul currently, but the time difference was the same, she knew how much the students needed sleep, she, herself was one too. "I feel greatful that you're helping me, Thank you."she said, looking out at the balcony, the night sky was shining brighter than before,

"It's no problem, [nickname]." he said, looking out by the window, a smile on his face, "You know, He's been acting werid since—" "I know, I think he read the letter, I don't know about the number, haven't gotten a call from him, maybe he didn't read it.""Maybe." he mumbled, a nervous smile on his face,

"Anyways, I have to go Yu. I'll talk to you when I can," you said, hanging up after saying your goodbyes.

Maybe, this was what you needed, Maybe not. Who cares. At least your dead.

VAL SPEAKS ?!!?? dawg this was supposed to be ready by last week and my tumblr was kicking me in the ASSSSS bro i couldn't move shit n all, but!!!! i finished it, and i'm almost done with the series!!!! can't wait to finish this and do midterms.... sorry it looks shit,,, was on a rush to finish this....

TAGS — @sad-darksoul

tags are open!!!

#🌙 — val writes #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #geto suguru #jjk geto #jjk suguru #geto x reader #getou suguru x reader #suguru x reader #geto angst #jjk angst

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prettycottonmouthlamia · 6 months ago

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I am now at least far enough away from the incident that I can give some more articulately expressed opinions about Kriemhild and that part of Traum, and also my general bugbears when it comes to Higashide. To really elaborate on them, I want to make a point of comparison to show this isn't just like, bias getting in the way, and that's Caster.

Well Medea. Obviously.

Caster has a really big advantage going for her over characters such as Semiramis and Kriemhild. She has two gigantic and well-written visual novels backing her up. While the first thing you probably think of when it comes to Caster is her relationship to Kuzuki, you can probably think of a bunch of different things that you know Caster for. Caster's relationship to Kuzuki is a big part of her character, but it is not the only part of her character, and most importantly, it adds to her character. It is in and of itself a jumping off point for discussing her relationship with Jason, how that has affected her, and what Caster is looking at her future for.

Bu it's not her entire character. She still has a very complex relationship with Saber, and Hollow Ataraxia's character interactions with her and the rest of the cast are all interesting, not to mention her own interactions with Kojirou either. She exists as a character beyond that, and that is also very likely why Kuzuki is just not a factor in F/GO at all. She is a strongly written character that is recognizable without him.

When it comes to Semiramis and Amakusa, Apocrypha itself is written fine although I don't really believe in the two of them having real chemistry with each other, especially as time has gone on and more of Semiramis backstory has come out, Amakusa feels very written in but without the proper framing to me to make it work. But as time has gone up, unlike with Caster, Semiramis has had her entire character swallowed up by this relationship, even though canonically she shouldn't really remember it. This is obviously to some extent fanservice, but this is a problem, because it means that Semiramis stops existing as her own character. There are entire interludes about her history that are boiled down at the end to just being about Amakusa. If you want to know Semiramis like you would Caster, you can't.

A good relationship adds to the character, it does not BECOME the character. This is especially weird because Amakusa has had a lot of interesting screen time and character writing without Semiramis being present. It starts to feel like there's only really one important character in the mix. There's Amakusa, and Amakusa's girlfriend. That's weird.

Kriemhild is that on turbo, but the issues with her writing go even further. At least with Semiramis, while her relationship with Amakusa is strange, it's not necessarily contradictory. It's definitely odd, but not out of question. Kriemhild, especially for those who have summoned her and didn't go through Traum quickly, is in a contradictory boat. She clearly in her dialogues does not like Siegfried, even if she still loves him, and it's also clear he is directly responsible for a ton of hurt that she felt. This is consistent of what we know of Siegfried, it makes sense that he would do these things, we've already seen him do it in Apocrypha. Here, we are being asked to confront the human cost of that. In Apocrypha, he's not screwing over anyone we care about. But here, he's directly hurting people, and by extension, leading to their death.

Siegfried's actions are not portrayed particularly nobly, they're considered mistakes, at least in part chiefly by Siegfried who wants to live a life doing the right thing now. So it makes sense that Kriemhild would be extremely bitter and angry at him. He...abandoned her, and didn't even explain himself. That's extremely fucked up.

For almost the entire chapter in Traum, we're not given any indication that there is going be a flip-flop in character motivations. Kriemhild is portrayed, consistently, as being antagonistic to Siegfried. She wants her revenge on him, she calls him leftovers, she talks about destroying the world he keeps trying to save. Zhang Jue hides away Siegfried not because he believes that Kriemhild will turn on the realm for him, but because, as a Berserker, Kriemhild is likely to become extremely unstable upon seeing him.

Even later on, when Siegfried approaches Ritsuka and asks for a favor, the most likely conclusion to come to, knowing Siegfried, is that he wants to fulfill his wife's revenge. That makes sense from a character perspective. Siegfried's actions have consistently trended towards those that self-sacrifice to protect others.

The problem when it comes to Kriemhild is that it is both contradictory to what we've been communicated with in the story, and that the end result is that it destroys her character. It is both bad, and quite frankly, very cheap. It's a cheap use of the love conquers all trope. In the span of one to two sentences, Kriemhild implicitly forgives him for everyone that he's done, reverts to a lovey-dovey wife, and even reneges on everything that to this build are the foundation of her existence as a Servant.

It turns Kriemhild into nothing, into what is insanely flat, because all of her depth has been removed. What is left is a character that is entirely one-dimensional. Nothing exists for Kriemhild past her love of Siegfried anymore. There's no discussions about hurt or pain or the twenty years of vengeance beyond Kriemhild immediately turning a double face on it.

There's not a nicer way to put this, so let's just get it out of the way now. Siegfried will continue to be a character independent of Kriemhild. Unlike say, Sigurd, whose character is primarily defined on his relationship with Brynhildr, Siegfried's character is not defined really at all by his relationship to Kriemhild. Kriemhild has no path from here, and as we can glimpse in further events, her character is entirely defined by her relationship with Siegfried. What are her character motivations past this point? Well obviously its not ANY of the ones we took pain to previously establish.

This is classic, textbook, misogynistic writing. Kriemhild has been turned into a lamp.

Siegfried is a very popular character, and I imagine for a lot of people, there is incentive to ignore all of this. Siegfried is getting his happy ending, he's getting his wife back. But if you cared about what Kriemhild's character was, this sucks tremendously. Reconciliation is not off the table, but what happened is not reconciliation. It's not anything resembling that. Kriemhild essentially loses all of her agency, so dramatically she dies after this happens.

Like at least Urobuchi would have just killed her.

#fate grand order #im not giving this character tags #and also im not super interested in defenses of this

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jujumin-translates · 6 months ago

Text

★ Main Story | Act 13 - Budding Spring | Chapter 24 - Family Wish

Chikage: Well then, take care.

Company Employee A: Huh? You’re not on the same flight, Utsuki-san?

Chikage: I still have a few errands left to take care of, so I switched my flight to tomorrow.

Company Employee A: I see. Well, you were a lifesaver this time. Thank you so much.

Company Employee B: It was thanks to you that we were able to successfully conclude our business negotiations, Utsuki-san. Their attitude towards the whole thing softened considerably compared to when we first asked.

Company Employee B: The power of language really is incredible.

Chikage: I’m glad I could help.

Company Employee A: Well then, we’ll take our leave.

Chikage: Good work.

*Footsteps*

Chikage: (Alright… Just in time to catch the next bus.)

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Chikage: (It’s going to be a while from here, so I guess I’ll get some work done.)

Chikage: …

*Typing*

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Driver: 《Have a nice trip!》

Chikage: 《Thank you.》

Chikage: (I guess he can tell by my outfit that I’m not a local.)

Chikage: (Has it really been almost twenty years…?)

Chikage: (The city really has changed a lot since then. Well, that thing can’t be the same after all this time, right…?)

Chikage: (Anyway, the place where people are likely to gather is…)

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Shopkeeper: 《Welcome.》

Customer A: 《That was so crazy back then!》

Customer B: 《I know, right?》

Customer C: 《Dad, they said it’s still gonna be a while.》

Customer D: 《Let’s just have dinner first.》

Customer E: 《What are we gonna eat?》

Customer F: 《I’m not really that hungry, though.》

Chikage: (How nostalgic. Just sitting here, there’s all kinds of languages being thrown around.)

Chikage: (This is a great place to get some multilingual input.)

Chikage: (If we as a theater company are going to expand our overseas outreach in the future, there’s no better way to do it than to have correspondence in as many languages as possible…)

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Chikage: (If I relax for any longer, I’ll miss the bus.)

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

*Footsteps*

Chikage: (The wall of this vacant lot… there’s even more graffiti than I remember. Was there really that much written on it before?)

Chikage: (It doesn’t seem like it’s gotten any less safe, at least.)

Resident: 《That area’s already all filled up. You’d have to write really small if ya wanted to put something there.》

Chikage: 《Does the graffiti here have some sort of meaning?》

Resident: 《Ahh, so you don’t know? Somewhere along the line, a rumor started goin’ around that if you wrote your name here, your dreams would come true.》

Resident: 《Even tourists started writin’ things here.》

Resident: 《Well, the owner doesn’t mind it, so it all just stays here.》

Resident: 《At first, there were just one or two things written up there.》

Chikage: --.

Chikage: (This is… my name…)

Chikage: (There’s only one person who would’ve done this. There’s no mistaking it, that handwriting is his--.)

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

“Hey.”

“Do you have a family?”

“Do you have a dream?”

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Chikage: …

Chikage: (Dreams coming true, huh? What came first, the rumor, or the name…)

Chikage: (Hah, even now I still can’t figure out what he was thinking.)

Chikage: (Dreams, huh… Maybe the reason I was able to come here was because mine came true.)

Resident: 《Hm? I feel like I’ve seen your face somewhere before… Nah, you just look like an acquaintance of mine.》

Chikage: ?

Resident: 《You kinda look like an old colleague of mine. Your smile, especially.》

Resident: 《He passed away decades ago, though.》

Resident: 《His wife also passed away a few years back due to an illness… I’m pretty sure they had a son, but I think he was sent somewhere far away, or something like that.》

Chikage: 《...I’ve heard that I have distant relatives from around this area, so maybe there’s a connection there.》

Resident: 《Maybe so. If only his wife were still alive… I’m sure she’d be happy.》

Resident: 《A while back, I asked her about her son, and she said she’d probably never see him again, but all she hoped was that he wasn’t alone.》

Resident: 《Lookin’ at you, I feel like I’m seein’ their son.》

Chikage: …

Chikage: (Selfish to the very end.)

Chikage: (I didn’t feel loved by them. Hell, I don’t even know if I love them.)

Chikage: (As a kid, they were like a huge, detestable existence that loomed over me. Even after they left me, no matter how much time passed, they stayed imprinted on me, like a scar that can’t be removed…)

Chikage: (But, I get it now… I never have to look at this name again.)

Chikage: (It doesn’t exist anywhere in this world.)

Chikage: (...I wonder what this feeling is. It’s not really nostalgia, sadness, or relief.)

Chikage: (It’s like one small sense of closure… It feels like it’s fitting into my heart somewhere. Like a book fitting into a shelf where it belongs.)

Resident: 《If you have distant relatives around here, why not visit their graves?》

Chikage: 《--I’ll have to pass since I have a bus to catch. I need to get back to my family soon.》

Resident: 《Gotcha, have a good trip.》

Chikage: 《Thank you very much.》

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Chikage: (...I sort of doubt there will be anyone on at this time.)

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

UC has entered the chat.

UC: I’m on my way to the hotel near the airport now.

taruchi: gg

UC: Ah, I see. We must be fairly close.

taruchi: well, think i’m somewhere between japan and u

taruchi: how’d ur new challenge go?

UC: How indeed. I do know that I’m glad I came here, at least.

[ ⇠ Previous Part ] • [ Next Part ⇢ ]

#a3!#a3! translation #chikage utsuki #itaru chigasaki #// ended up crying my eyes out while tl’ing this

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drabblingman · 1 year ago

Text

Mephistopheles shut their diary in one hand with a "snap", and rushed off as fast as he could. His steps mixed with the rapid clacking of his cane, and his old injury screamed at him, but that didn't matter right now.

He had to find them. To set the record straight.

But what exactly was the truth? Wasn't his whole reason for snooping because he disliked them? Hadn't he been trying to unearth dirt on them? To write a scathing piece in the R.A.D. Times on? To sully their reputation, and prove they weren't as honest as they appeared to be?

Stupid.

They always told him the truth. He had tried time and again to catch them in a lie, but he never could. They never lied. Even when they knew what they said could be misconstrued, or twisted against them, they always spoke the truth. Their truth.

Why would their diary be any different?

He was so stupid.

It was one of the things he liked about them. But if he disliked them, why would he like something, anything about them?

Why would it hurt that they thought he hated them?

He liked a lot of things about them. Their honesty. Their quick, yet cutting, wit. Their ability to get in and out of the most frustrating and precarious of situations, always with a new story to tell. Their humor. Their laugh.

He liked them, damnit, so why did they think he hated them? Why did he think he hated them?

He gritted his teeth, and clutched their diary tighter in his free hand.

God above and Demon Lord below, he was so stupid.

He turned a corner, and found them exactly where he knew they would be. He had, after all, had to plan for the optimal time to go looking through their most personal of belongings, and it'd be a rookie mistake to not know where your target was at the time of infiltration.

The human exchange student was alone, after class, at a table outside of the school. They were packing up after working on their homework for exactly 58 minutes, so they could make the late bus that left exactly an hour after school. Something he had planned meticulously for.

Too bad all of that planning had gone out the window. (Which was, ironically, how he had planned to make his daring escape.)

He approached them as they were placing their books in their bag, not yet noticing him.

"How dare you write such accusations!" is probably not the best thing to shout at someone while holding their diary.

Which is why Mephistopheles preferred the written word. Preferably, articles. Then, he could go back and forth and rewrite anything that came out too harshly or just plain wrong. Here? Oh no. He couldn't backspace a single letter from what he said here.

They looked up, bewildered.

And then he saw it. The dawning realization that in his left hand he held their diary, replaced quickly by the shock and betrayal that he had alluded to having read it.

It was like they had frozen in front of him, yet he was the one who felt cold from his own thoughtless actions.

Had he mentioned how stupid he was? Because he really was quite stupid.

"Why do you have that?" They asked him, their voice low and serious.

"I-! Well-!" He spluttered, unable to think of a perfectly valid excuse for breaking in to their house, their room, and their locked and magically-enchanted diary.

"You know me! I'm an investigator! And I must investigate you!"

They stared at him, then at their diary, still clutched firmly in his hand.

"Give it back."

Mephistopheles blinked at their outstretched hand, processing, for a moment too long, what they had requested of him.

They made a grabbing motion.

"Oh-" he finally realized, quickly dropping their diary back into their palm.

They packed it in their bag with the rest of their books, silently, as Mephistopheles watched.

"We- we really must talk!" He managed at last, stumbling on his words.

Their head snapped up, and the glare they threw his way he would've sworn gave him physical damage. Even Lucifer, king of the death glare, would have quaked in his stupid fancy shoes.

"What's. There. To. Talk. About?" They asked him, enunciating each word carefully.

"About what you wrote-"

"-You mean my private thoughts?" They cut him off. "You mean my private thoughts that you violated? That you read without my permission? That I wrote so I wouldn't have them running around my head? So that I wouldn't speak them out loud? Those?"

He winced.

This was not going well.

And he was probably digging his own grave.

Which he assumed they would then dance on.

And then they'd probably raise him from the dead, just to kill him and dance on it again.

But still...

He had to know.

No matter what, he had to know.

"...Do you really think I hate you...?"

They stared at him, as if he was completely stupid. (A sentiment he was really truly beginning to agree with.)

"Why would I lie to my diary? Of course I do. What other proof do I need after this stunt you just pulled?"

Ouch. That one stung a little.

Ok, a lot.

"Then, what about the other things you wrote about me?"

They held his gaze for a moment, before looking down at the table, quiet.

"...What does it matter?" They asked bitterly, sadness tinging the edges of their words as they avoided eye contact with him.

He approached the table from the other side, placing his white-gloved hands on it's filthy surface, leaning forward to try to catch their gaze.

"It matters a lot." He said gently, reaching out cautiously to their face to comfort then, or at the very least get them to look up at him once again.

"At least, to me it does." He withdrew, suddenly anxious his touch was unwelcome. "Because I don't hate you. In fact, I've come to enjoy your company."

The human's face shot up once more, their eyes wide, searching his own meticulously for any trace of sarcasm or untruthfulness.

"What?"

He felt his heart thud in his chest when their eyes locked with his. He hadn't even meant to say that last part, it had just come out of his mouth without thought, but now, he was forced to address it. He was forced to confront his feelings about them. Or, rather, his feelings for them.

Why hadn't he noticed it before? Had it happened too slowly for him to perceive the changes? Had all of their late night "investigations" into Lucifer and even later night editing sessions together caused them to rub off on him? All of the teasing they did of each other? The back-and-forth quips they exchanged as if they were playing tennis? The compliments veiled as insults? The insults veiled as compliments? Had they completely flipped his opinion of them without him even knowing?

Or had it happened all at once, when he had read confession note after confession note in their diary, crossed out and marked up and edited, not unlike how he wrote his articles, and felt his chest swell with each word? Each little thing they claimed to admire in him? Each piece of evidence that showed how much effort they had put into trying to make everything perfect? Had he been swayed in that instant, convinced, finally, that they weren't always nearby just to be a thorn in his side?

They stared at him expectantly.

"I- I..."

He suddenly couldn't find the words.

Well, that was a first. He almost laughed out loud at the ludicrousness of it. Him. At a loss for words. The very idea had never crossed his mind before. Sure, he had sometimes had to look up different ways to get his point across more eloquently, his thesaurus was sometimes his best friend, but he had never been so completely devoid of words before.

He pursed his lips, dumbfounded.

"Mephistopheles...?"

They managed to shake him out of his reverie, their voice gentle, and quieter than he had ever heard it before.

Their voice. He really liked their voice. When had that happened? They had just said his name. His full name, with their clumsy, human voice. He was supposed to hate human voices. They tended to trip over his name. But this one didn't. Why didn't they? Had they practiced? They must have. But why would they? Why had it mattered to them? After everything he had put them through, why did they even bother giving him the time of day, much less recite his name over and over to themself until they got it right?

His hands, seemingly of their own accord, drifted to their face once more.

The human, a flustered expression plastered to thdid own face, could only splutter as he brought his forehead to theirs.

"What I mean..." Mephistopheles stated, so close now to them he felt he his heart might burst, "...is this."

The last thing he saw before closing his eyes and locking his lips with theirs, was a look of pure wonder.

He burned it into his memory forever.

It was like he was desperate; the second he had given in and kissed them, he couldn't get enough. But the way they was responding to him, it seemed as if they felt the same. Their hands had hooked around his neck, pulling him as close to themself as they could with a table in between the two of them.

They tasted so sweet. Like the berries they ate throughout the day that he would poke fun at them for, seemingly the only healthy things they'd eat with regularity amidst the snacks and junk foods they enjoyed.

Their hands were exploring now, fingers combing through his undershave. But his were no different. Running up and down their neck before slowly making his way back to their face.

He wanted to stay in this moment forever, but alas, he knew they couldn't. After all, they both sadly needed to breathe.

As they parted, he realized he was the last out of the two of them to open his eyes.

They were staring at him, panting, stars in their eyes. It was enough to make his own breath hitch.

"What... Was that...?" They asked, breathlessly.

"That..." He stopped, panic creeping in. What was that, indeed? It was unlike him to suddenly lose himself like that.

He scrambled internally for a reply, some kind of excuse, a way to claim temporary insanity, anything except the truth...!

The truth.

It suddenly smacked him.

The truth, the one thing he knew he could always count on from them. His MC. His wonderfully human MC.

He loved them.

No matter how hard he tried to bury it away from himself, there was no hiding from the truth. He should have known that.

He loved them.

"...That was my own confession." He finally managed, looking down in embarrassment.

"I read page after page of yours... Which I know was wrong...!" He added hastily, "but after reading all of those kind words, and then... Reading how much you thought I hated you, I..."

He locked eyes with them again, scared of how they would react, but determined to vocalize his feelings.

"I don't hate you. MC, I adore you. I've come to realize I am absolutely smitten with you. I was just too stupid to figure it out until now."

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hcfiles · 1 month ago

Text

He always invested in dubious PR stunts, in the paps' presence in his "private" public appearances so as to have pictures taken that were, later, used in self promo to generate gossip and rumors and to induce you to see him as a person of the media's interest and to pump algorithms.

His team always fed fan pages maintained by them and cheap tabloids with information so they would write articles and more articles about him to make him the subject on social media. A photographer is always part of his team. His management pays illustrators to, once in a while, create an art with his image.

He always spent a lot on self promotion and induced publicity. Each and every two years (or so), he goes on a PR stunt faking a date that, later, leads to nothing, only gossip on social media. Now, he has it. It's probably not the publicity he wanted, but a reaction to boost his image, to increase his bots and algorithms, and to make him the constant subject on the internet.

He always made sure to expose his body as a sex symbol, his staged private life, his fake girlfriends, all for the spotlight. He always wanted to be the subject. Well, now he is. But, all of a sudden, when he has what he always wanted, he's silent, hiding from social media. And, now, stans think all this publicity should go away just by snapping fingers.

Henry Cavill should be loving all that attention, but he obviously isn't, for things didn't go the way he expected. And, of course, now, the image spotted of him changed drastically due to so much unnecessary and excessive exposure, as well as to his PR rep and a new look drastically and quickly arranged by his team, which contrasts to the image he had up to recently. His management is lost and totally messed up with his PR stunt and image.

First, when choosing PR stunts for him to escort with no criteria. Later, by mocking fans' perceptions to make them doubt the obvious, to disguise their huge mistake. It didn't matter what they did. All they managed was to destroy his image and integrity.

From all this shenanigan, one of the things that called my attention was that DG never addressed a single speech about this. The only time she showed to manifest something was when she was accused of being racist and this got her nerve. So, it led me to suppose she passed the ball of this management to some other player and/or was caught by surprise with the strategies adopted in this PR stunt.

They all preferred silence as guilt, instead of just clarifying the misunderstandings. They seemed to, somehow, want the misunderstandings. Natalie, since the beginning of this circus, seemed to mock Hollywood and PR stunts, always "imitating" or copying others' fate or ideas as details of her own PR stunt with Henry, as if this was supposed to be a joke from the start.

And, now, it seems, whatever this was, it's over. His fan pages fed and kept by his team are posting prior, but recent photos and videos of the recent movies, such as Argylle, as saying it wasn't possible for those to have a proper promo, because this shenanigan with Natalie Viscuso prevented it from happening.

Natalie Viscuso, all you managed to gain was to be the representation of evil and bad luck, while thrown under the bus to be exposed to public execration. Nothing good can be attached to your name. But, I suppose the money they paid you to save Henry's ass was worth it. How are you going to spend it?

#henry cavill

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mixelation · 1 year ago

Note

#5, #12 and #39 for the first askgame

get to know your fic writer

5. Do you like constructive criticism?

Talking about "constructive criticism" is often a trap, especially in fic circles, because everyone likes using this term but no one knows what it means. The word "constructive" implies utility to the writer and the writer's goals for their story; it does not mean the reader just says whatever they want "improved"/changed, no matter how nice or "helpful" you are about it. You cannot give constructive feedback to a writer unless you understand the context in which they wrote their fic and what their goals for it are. In other words, it is impossible to give "constructive criticism" unless the writer has actively communicated to you what they specifically want out of feedback. You must also then respect what the writer wants; giving feedback based on what you as a reader want out of a fic is unlikely to be useful to the writer unless their goal is to be as appealing as possible to your tastes (which.... don't assume that, jfc).

Many people in fandom cry "constructive criticism!" when they want to make demands from a writer to cater to their personal preferences, often with a little side of harassment. So, I might ask a question to readers with the hope of someone giving me actual constructive feedback, but no, I don't like "constructive criticism" in the way fandom at large uses it.

Also, sometimes the stuff I post was written on my phone on a bus, for my own entertainment. Why would I want constructive criticism on that?

12. How does receiving or not receiving feedback/support impact you?

I mostly write for my own entertainment. Sometimes the idea that someone will say something nice to me motivates me to push through on projects. Like, if I were 100% writing for myself, I would probably just not write a lot of otherwise "boring" scenes that are necessary for flow or info. But a lack of support probably wouldn't stop me from writing.

39. Share a snippet from a WIP.

from chapter 19 of Plasticity:

The filling of the first onigiri she bit into was incredibly spicy. She did her best to pretend it was totally normal, even as her sinuses started to run. The second onigiri was also spicy. “I seem to have made a mistake,” Obito said, and then made an exaggerated noise of sucking snot back up into his nose. “Why do you keep doing this?” Tori asked. “You know I like spicy food. It’s not going to work.” She was, actually, in tears. She shoved another bite into her face. She wanted to go buy more tea, but that would be admitting defeat. “That’s why I keep doing it. Eventually it will work,” Obito replied, and he was close enough to her that she could see the rims of his eyes were red. “Russian roulette isn’t a fun game.” “Well, you’re playing it wrong.”

#fic: plasticity #annoyingly this ask meme won't let me copy and paste???#ask meme answer

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blackberrysummerblog · 7 months ago

Text

An ask game for writers to procrastinate working on your WIP(s)

Hey all! Thanks so much for tagging me @wellbelesbian, @aristocratic-otter, @valeffelees, @you-remind-me-of-the-babe, @ivelovedhimthroughworse and @iamamythologicalcreature! You’ve all correctly determined that I am procrastinating writing.

1. 🐬Tell us the name of your/ one of your WIP(s)

I actually don’t have any that are named at this point. Titles and tags are really difficult for me and I put both off to the last minute and second-guess myself into hell

2. 🍄Decriscribe your wip/one of your wips in the format of “___ + ___=___”

Popular movie retelling + flying goats = Baz and Dev have A Spot of Bother

3. 🌍What tags or warnings will your / one of your wip(s) need if you intend to share it?

Wraaaugugh, see #1 :P. I don’t know, in seriousness, I think the WIP mentioned above will end up getting a tag for sexual harassment or something like that given the nature of one necessary scene in the movie it’s based on. It’s not going to be worse than the source material, which is PG-13

4. 🧭An alternative title to your/ one of your WIP(s)?

Oh, to have so many ideas for titles that there’s ever an alternative lying around to spare :(

5. ⚠️Which wip your most likely to finish or update next?

I’m pretty likely to finish a sequel to Field Trip of Dreams (SEE WHAT I MEAN about titles?) this week. The eighth years are off on another field trip—this time it’s a weekend training excursion with the Mage. Baz and Simon have been dating for the short time that’s passed since FToD, but they manage to get in a fight on the bus trip to Scafell Pike, and when it turns into a sort-of-tussle the Mage mistakes it for actual animosity and sends them off to a secluded cabin to bang (I mean work🙄) it out. Absolutely everybody but Davy—including the other teachers—knows exactly how much of a “punishment” this is

6. 💾 What is your document of your wip/ a wip called? (not the stories actual title but what you've saved it as)

Practical magic au

7. 🖍️Post Any sentence from your wip

“Shut up, Gareth!” we shout as one, Snow adding a few brutish threats as Gareth pales and turns back around in his seat.

8. ♻️A scrapped idea for your current WIP

I actually can’t remember. I don’t plot my writing out very extensively so in a sense there’s hundreds of little scrapped thoughts rather than anything huge. I’m eliminating a lot of things with my crucible marriage fic, but it’s hard to say right now what’s actually gone or just being moved around. I know a major one I’ve been battling with is that prior to getting dragged off to Pitch Manor by his new husband Baz, I want Simon to have been living with Penny in a flat of their own, but for another aspect of the story I want him to have been living with the Mage in Watford (which is an au mage’s settlement in the fic) as well. There’s ways to work around it for the results I want, I just haven’t written it out yet.

9. 🤔What's a story you'd love to write but haven't even started yet?

I’m pretty sure I have at least a few lines written down for everything I want to write

10. 🤡How many Wips are you actively working on?

Oh, man…actively, probably the field trip one and my COBB. Somewhat less actively: a reverse COBB fic, a sequel to Monsters Under the Bed, a sequel to After Hours where Simon makes good on his promise to despoil Baz on his office desk, and my unending crucible marriage fic. Less active than that: a fic response to a prompt for Simon being the one kidnapped and Baz has to rescue him. There’s probably (cough*definitely*cough) some pretty messed-up OOC smut stuff lying around in my docs as well, that I add to when I’m in the mood and have zero plans to ever post

11. 🛠️Is there a scene or anything in the WIP you are struggling with right now?

I keep telling myself to just write and stop worrying about this for the moment, but I’m kind of bumming myself out worrying about whether I want to use first or third person, as well as past or present tense, for my COBB. I think the issue is that some scenes are bound to play out better one way while others would be better served differently. This is not usually a thing I struggle with.

12. ❤️Not a question, just a second kudos to send.

🥰

This was fun! (Once I stopped putting it off, lol). No pressure tagging (and sorry if I get anyone who’s already done it): @cutestkilla, @mooncello, @artsyunderstudy, @prettygoododds, @drowninginships, @hushed-chorus, @bookish-bogwitch, @thewholelemon, @brilla-brilla-estrellita, @youarenevertooold, @ileadacharmedlife, @facewithoutheart, @imagineacoolusername, @ic3-que3n

#ask game #ask game for writers #procrastination #tag game #SnowBaz #SnowBaz fanfic #works in progress #wip

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fordtato · 3 months ago

Note

i watched the atots video over the weekend in short bursts between writing my fics and finished it this morning and i have to say that i loved every second of it. there was so much care and detail put into that thing and i'm not surprised it was 4 hours long (more of your great voice and bits and knowledge on the show and the fandom is always better!)

it meant a lot to me that you took the time to go through both twins' perspectives, going through how each of them made mistakes in their relationship and hurt each other, instead of 'picking a side and throwing the other under the bus' like the fandom at large did. it is refreshing that stan isn't the only one being 'heard out' so to speak.

anyway, i will probably have your voice in my head for the next few days and that is a compliment! thank you for all the work you do on these videos, i enjoy them a lot!

I think both of the Pines Bros are more complex and interesting when you consider their motivations, their faults, and their perspectives in that fight, instead of choosing sides, for sure. I wanted to do my best there.

Thank you so much for the kind message! I'm glad my work on this monster of a video paid off!

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synthetic-sadness · 2 months ago

Text

Brooklyn Baby

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

Pairing: Peter Steele x Lana Del Rey

Word Count: 13k

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

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

NSFW under the next cut 💚

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And the day came.

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

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

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

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

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

"Oh," was all that she could say.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"But slowly," added Hickey.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Then you definitely didn't see us,"

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

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

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

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

"What happened?"

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

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

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

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

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

And that also was true.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Peter felt a slight pang in his chest.

His "favourite" name. Again.

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

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

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

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

The girl smiled when she understood which accent he got.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Poor Peter," she snickered.

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

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

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

"Of course," his eyes showed slight concern.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And again there was heat rising on her cheeks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There was a short pause before Peter spoke again.

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

Her hazel eyes immediately widened.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That made her reflect on it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Especially Lizzie Woolridge Grant.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Though everything between these two were developing gradually and correctly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She rolled her eyes but this time not from pleasure.

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

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

Sometimes he was so unbearable.

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

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

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

Elizabeth turned a deaf ear on that.

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

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

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

"And because of it I love you."

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

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

"What?" sounded like a choked gasp.

"I love you."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Otherwise, he was a tender and supportive soul.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But still there was a third wheel between them two.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I remeber that too."

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

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

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

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

Peter stayed silent not wanting to say any word.

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

One big vicious circle.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then the frontman was all ears.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And he started.

Not immediately, but started.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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