#its a wonderful life a live radio play

[elizaleclerc]

Hello, I love your writing, can I request Charles Leclerc x singer!reader where they already knew each other back when they were teenagers but the reader moves to LA to pursue her career so they kinda feel off cuz of the long distance, so years later Charles decides to surprise her at one of her concerts and tries to shoot his shoot after all those years they end up together and it's all fluffy and cute.

Sorry if this doesn't make sense english is not my first language, thank you <3

love this!!! tysm <3

birds of a feather ✿

charles leclerc x reader

summary: fem singer!reader reignites an old teenage love with famous driver charles leclerc

songs: birds of a feather by b.eilish, the 1 by t.swift

author’s note: mostly cute and fluffy but had to add a bit of angst oops! inspo from billie’s new album obv bc that’s all i’m listening to rn. also some google translate involved so oops again if it’s wrong :)

word count: 4k

In the luxurious city of Monaco, you and Charles were cruising along the winding roads late at night, a favored pastime for the two of you. The cool breeze tousled your hair as the windows were rolled down, filling the car with the scent of saltwater and adventure. You stole a glance at Charles in the driver's seat, his face adorned with that familiar boyish grin, his eyes sparkling just as they did on the day you met him.

The car zoomed down the winding road, its expensive engine purring like a contented cat. Despite its luxurious interior, Charles had no qualms about letting you put your feet up on the dash. The scarlet sky painted with streaks of orange and pink was the perfect backdrop for this drive at sunset.

One thing different about this drive at sunset was that one of your own songs was playing on the radio. At only 19 years old, your song “Birds of a Feather” was reaching the top of the charts worldwide. At any chance he got, Charles would blast it at full volume whenever the two of you were together. It only made sense considering the song was about him.

You and Charles had been inseparable since childhood, a bond that felt unbreakable and essential to your very existence. Over the years, you both had your fair share of romantic partners, but it seemed like none of them could compare to the connection you shared. Despite any ups and downs in your own love lives, you and Charles always found your way back to each other, like two ships anchored together in the stormy sea of life.

Of course, there were fleeting moments when you wondered if there could be something more between you and Charles. The thought would cross your mind as his hand brushed yours or when he made you laugh until your sides ached. But those thoughts remained just that - fleeting and unspoken. You both cherished your friendship too much to risk changing its dynamic.

But deep down, underneath layers of familiarity and comfort, there was a quiet longing that neither of you acknowledged. A shared understanding that there was something more between you than just being best friends. And although it was left unsaid, it was an unspoken truth that added a layer of depth to your friendship.

The bass of the song throbbed through the car, drowning out Charles' words as he spoke to you. You strained to hear him over the music, but all you could see were his lips moving in time with the beat. "What?!" you shouted comically with a grin, and he reached for the volume knob to turn it down.

"I said, it's only a matter of time before you're touring worldwide," he repeated with a small smile. You shook your head in amusement. Charles always had grand visions for your music career, dreaming of reaching the stars and achieving the highest goals even when you couldn't imagine them yourself.

“You’re only saying that to be nice,” you playfully bantered with him, knowing deep down he truly believed in your talent.

A wistful smile crossed his face as he replied, “I’m serious. Before you know it, you’ll be in L.A., living your dream and making music for the world.” His words had a bittersweet edge to them, causing your own smile to falter. There was truth in his statement - Charles had just signed with Ferrari and would soon be the busiest he's ever been in his career as a Formula One driver. You were endlessly proud of him and all that he had accomplished. It feels like just yesterday when you both were just kids with big dreams, but now here you are, actually making strides towards achieving those dreams. Even with a hit song on the radio and promising opportunities ahead, you still felt like you were ages behind in becoming someone big in the music industry. And the thought of possibly leaving your best friend behind as you pursued your dreams weighed heavily on your heart.

He noticed the solemn expression on your face, his eyes full of understanding and affection. "Ah, come on," he said gently, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. "You know I mean that in a good way." His voice was warm and sincere."L.A. is a hotbed for the music industry right now," he continued, his excitement palpable. "And haven't you always talked about wanting to go to the States?"

You nodded slowly, unable to contain a small smile at the thought. "Yeah, but...I can't even imagine us being apart for so long," you admitted with a hint of sadness. "We've never been separated for more than a week. And even then, you were blowing up my phone every day." You couldn't help but laugh at the memory.

His own laughter rang out, contagious and genuine. "So now you know that when you're in the U.S., you won't have to worry about us not talking," he reassured you. "Clearly, I can't get enough of you." His words made your heart swell with love and comfort. Despite any ridiculous or anxious thoughts that may cross your mind, you were always reminded that the bond between you two could stretch thousands of miles.

About a week later, you had hired a manager with the help of your parents and were looking at record labels to sign with. Your social media pages were blowing up with new fans anticipating and begging for new music. It was a rightful step for a singer who had just had a song blow up, to make more music.

After many phone calls and contracts, you decided on the best deal to sign with the record label you had always wanted. With a location in Los Angeles, Sony Music Entertainment was your new employer. 

As the days passed, the familiar childhood bedroom in Monaco slowly transformed into a maze of boxes and packing materials. The bittersweet scent of nostalgia clung to the air as you said goodbye to the people and places that had shaped you. It was early February, just before the newest Formula One season started, but Charles seemed to be swallowed up by his work, juggling the responsibilities of being their rookie driver. In those fleeting moments between racing events, he squeezed in time for you, knowing that soon you would both be consumed by your separate paths. On the last night together, you took a nostalgic drive around town, savoring every street corner and landmark. As the sun dipped below the horizon, you returned to your house - now empty and cold without all of your belongings. The silence hung heavy in the air as you sat side by side, cherishing these final moments together.

You both sat on your bed as you rested your head on his shoulder and asked, “How did this even happen?” 

“Your talent will always drive you towards success, how could it not happen?” He replied and it made your eyes water. You weren’t sure how you were going to adjust with your time apart. You’ll miss his advice and little jokes. You’ll miss your late night drives around Monaco with him, taking in the cool air.

As he turned to face you, his piercing eyes caught the glistening trails of tears streaming down your cheeks. His own expression shifted from concern to sadness as he took in the sight of your heartbroken state. With a heavy sigh, he reached out to gently wipe away a stray tear from your cheek and murmured, "Please don't cry." Your eyes met his with a solemn understanding, but your bottom lip began to quiver despite your efforts.

You couldn't help but notice the glimmer of tears in his own eyes, which only made your own tears flow even more freely. Together, you both sat on the edge of your bed, gripping each other's hands tightly as you cried until it became almost comical at just how much emotion was pouring out of both of you. In between sobs, he managed to let out a small laugh and said, "It's not even an actual goodbye, I'll see you again soon.”

You couldn't help but laugh along with him through your tears. "I know," you replied with a watery smile. "I'll see you before I know it.”

But as the night wore on and the hour grew late, the reality of tomorrow morning's early flight to L.A. began to sink in. Despite wanting to hold onto this moment for as long as possible, you both knew it was time to say goodbye. You stood up and shared one final embrace, his arms enveloping you in a tight hug while yours rested around his neck. The warmth of his body and the familiar scent of his cologne brought a sense of comfort amidst the pain of parting ways.

“Tu vas me manquer mon amour,” he whispered by your ear, which made you squeeze him tighter. 

“Tu vas me manquer davantage, Char.” You replied with a raspy voice, your cheeks still wet with tears. He blew you a kiss before walking out the door.

~ 5 years later ~

The electric energy of Los Angeles, California pulsed through the air as you walked towards the venue on the opening night of your highly anticipated second tour. Fresh off the massive success of your second album, fans from all over the world were eagerly awaiting your performance tonight. You could already hear their screams and see their signs, some bearing your name since the very beginning of your career. Your first tour had been small, just a few cities in the U.S., but now with your skyrocketing fame, this tour would take you to stages across the globe. The thought of performing for thousands of people in different countries sent a thrill through your veins. As you approached the entrance, excitement and nerves intertwined within you, ready to take on this new chapter in your music career.

As you nervously waited backstage, dressed in a stunning white gown for your highly anticipated opening night in Los Angeles, your mind couldn't help but wander to a familiar name: Charles. The two of you had been inseparable during your first year in L.A., constantly talking and supporting each other's dreams. But as time went on, his calls and texts became less frequent until they eventually stopped altogether. You found yourself relying on social media to keep up with him and were happy to see that he had found success with Ferrari, but also couldn't shake the feeling of hurt and confusion as to why he had suddenly disappeared from your life. You debated reaching out to congratulate him on his wins, but deep down, you knew it wouldn't make a difference.

The next years after that became hard, and you struggled to make genuine connections with anyone in the industry. You found that often other artists wanted to use you for their fame or publicity. But you had found one genuine person, your boyfriend. The two of you dated for two years, but two weeks before the opening night of your world tour, he broke things off. You were devastated, as he had become someone you loved dearly and could trust with your whole being. His reason was that he realized he couldn’t handle your level of fame and that it was becoming too much for him to handle. 

So here you were, backstage, reminiscing on your career up until this point. Your mind ran over the setlist a thousand times. “Birds of a Feather” hadn’t made the cut for this tour, and you stopped performing it all together once Charles had stopped communicating with you. You weren’t sure why he was on your mind so much for your opening night. 

As you stepped out onto the stage, a wave of excited nerves washed over you. But with each step and movement, your confidence grew until it radiated off of you like a second skin. The bright lights illuminated your white dress, making it glow against the dark backdrop. You knew this dress well, having spent hours upon hours rehearsing in it, mastering every twirl and flick of the sleeves. And now, as you sang and danced flawlessly, you felt like a true star. Every note was hit perfectly, every movement graceful and deliberate. It was as if you were born to be on that stage, commanding the attention of everyone in the audience. The familiar click of a metronome and the muffled directions from backstage played in your in-ears, guiding you through the performance like a well-oiled machine. You had become a masterful performer, honing your craft to perfection.

You wished you could remember every moment of this night as you went through the setlist. You performed “the 1”, a song from your most recent album. Fans speculated it was about the recent split with your boyfriend, but really in your mind you knew it was about Charles. Your fans mostly were unaware of Charles and the old friendship the two of you had. He rarely talked about you in the media, and you were never asked about him, even though the two of you were individually growing more famous by the day.

As the final song ended, you returned backstage, the sweat dripping down your face and your body heaving with exhaustion. This tour was more physically demanding than your last one, with intricate dance routines and high-energy performances. But it was all worth it as you heard the crowd's roar of approval after each song and saw their hands in the air, singing along to every lyric. The adrenaline rush and satisfaction of a flawless opening night kept you going despite the fatigue setting in.

You got a flood of compliments from your team and the crew backstage as you felt the dewy feeling of sweat on your forehead cool down. Your manager came up to and wrapped you in a big hug, congratulating you and updating you on the next steps for the tour.

“I know you don’t typically meet people after shows, but there’s actually a visitor here for you. He was pretty persistent.” She told you as you stood outside your dressing room. 

“Who is it?” You asked tiredly, not wishing for long interactions with people after the show. You were worn out, and typically napped or slept through the night after a long show. 

“He said his name is Charles Leclerc. Went on about how you guys were childhood friends. He showed his ID and credentials so we allowed it.” Your manager explained everything and as she was speaking your face became flushed. Charles was here, in L.A? And your management had allowed him to meet with you. You were partly in shock and partly frustrated with how easily he was able to persuade your team.

“Well…where is he?” You asked, and your manager pointed to your dressing room door. “He’s in my dressing room?” You questioned in a surprised voice, lowering your voice in case he could hear you.  

“We weren’t sure where else he could’ve waited. He made it seem like he needed to have a serious talk with you.” She explained further and you put your head in your hands. You couldn’t believe the words that had come out of her mouth, and thought that maybe she was joking. You thought that you’d open up your dressing room door and it would be empty, earning a loud laugh from her and a “Got you!”

As you slowly opened your door, still clad in your flowing white dress, your heart caught in your throat as you saw Charles sitting on the plush brown leather couch. The air was thick with surprise and a tinge of nervousness, evidenced by Charles' fidgeting hands rubbing against his pants. You could barely breathe as you managed to utter a breathless greeting, "Hi."

He stood up abruptly, his body language tense and unsure. “Hi,” he replied.

The silence hung between you like a heavy curtain as you asked, "What...um...what are you doing here?" Your fingers instinctively ran through your slightly tangled hair as you waited for his response, feeling both overwhelmed and curious about this unexpected visit.

As he stood before you, he seemed to struggle with his words, his voice catching and pausing as if trying to contain an overwhelming emotion. You gazed at him in awe, taking in every detail of his changed appearance. The dimple in his cheek still deepened when he spoke, the same crystal eyes sparkled with unreadable emotions. But now his shoulders were broader, defined muscles rippling beneath his shirt, and his neck had thickened with strength. It was clear that time had passed, but it had only enhanced his features instead of diminishing them. "I," he finally managed to say, his gaze never leaving yours, "I came here to apologize." You couldn't believe he was standing in front of you after so long. And in this moment, all you could think about was how much you missed him and how different things could have been if he had stayed.

“Apologize?” You repeated, awaiting further clarification. 

“I’ve missed you terribly.” He began to pour out, finally getting a grip on his words, “Every day we haven’t been together has haunted me. You’ve plagued my dreams, my every waking thought.” He took a swallow, “I see you online, doing amazing things, and I just feel this guilt that I’m not there with you.”

You could hardly believe the words he was saying. You felt the same, you missed him every morning you woke and every night you went to sleep. Yet you felt a tinge of resentment. He could have been there, he could have responded to your dozens of calls and texts. 

“I’m sorry, mon chérie.” He finished his speech.

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion and your eyes watered with emotion, your face contorted with hurt. Your voice came out breathless as you spoke, "Char, why didn't you call?" Your heart ached with longing and you couldn't understand why he hadn't taken action to bridge the distance between you. The unspoken desire between you was almost tangible, making the current situation even more painful for both of you.

“My ex-girlfriend, once we got together she saw how often we communicated and told me that I couldn’t talk to you anymore. And I thought I loved her so much that I was willing to do whatever it took. But…it turns out…” He paused, looking you in the eyes. 

“What?” You questioned, waiting for him to spit it out. 

“It turns out as the years went on, that I just loved you.” He said as he stepped closer. 

“You don’t mean that,” You denied shaking your head, a single tear running down your cheek. 

“But I do,” he grabbed your hand, “I think I’ve always loved you.”

You broke out into a grin while tears still fell, and wrapped your arms around him, burying your head into his chest. “What took you so long?” 

“I’m sorry mon amour, I guess I was just too stupid to actually do anything. But I love you, I love you so much.” His arms wrapped around your waist, kissing the top of your head. 

You pulled back and placed your hands on his face, admiring his mature features. He took his thumbs to wipe off the tears on your face. “I love you too,” You told him and he grinned. “Will you finally kiss me?” 

His lips met yours in a gentle, yet passionate, kiss. As your heart raced and butterflies fluttered in your stomach, you couldn't help but smile as his lips moved against yours. It was your first kiss with the love of your life, a moment that you would never forget.

You had always known deep down that he was the one for you, but you had spent so long convincing yourself that a friendship was all it could ever be. But now, as you felt the warmth of his embrace and the intensity of his kiss, you realized that the love of your life could also be your best friend - the person who knows and understands you better than anyone else in the world. And in that moment, you were grateful for every step that had led you to this perfect moment with him.

Charles had to return to his Formula One season, but the two of you called every day. He made it to shows on your tour when he could, and when you traveled to France to play your home show, he was there for every minute of it. 

The crowd knew that this show was special, and fans had picked up on the new romance between you and Charles. Everyone was loving it, and older fans finally put the pieces together on the connection the two of you had. So for your home show, you played “Birds of a Feather” for everyone as a surprise, with Charles in attendance. The song had only changed meaning slightly, as you sang it with more love towards him than you’ve ever had before. Headlines were soon filled with your name along with his.

As the next year rolled around and January came, the two of you were inseparable at award shows, him proudly by your side for every one of your achievements. His smile lit up the room and his hand always found yours in the sea of people. Even when you won your first Grammy, he was there in all of your acceptance speeches, his eyes sparkling with pride.

As the year went on and you took a break from touring, you joined him on the road during his racing season. The roar of engines and smell of burning rubber filled your senses as you watched him race with skill and determination. The paddock quickly became like a second home to you, with fans flocking to meet the both of you. The Ferrari team welcomed you with open arms, treating you like family. It was a dream come true to be able to share this passion with him, and you couldn't imagine a better way to spend your time off.

Charles never dulled your shine; in fact, he basked in its radiance. He was not intimidated by your fame, but rather, he reveled in it. As you both shared stories about past relationships, Charles' understanding became apparent. He may have been known for different reasons, but he knew the highs and lows that came with celebrity status. Together, you formed an unbreakable bond of understanding and support. Life had become akin to heaven with Charles by your side, a constant source of love and grounding amidst the chaos of fame.

Together, you moved into a luxurious apartment in the heart of Monaco. The spacious living room had been transformed into your personal music studio, with instruments and recording equipment scattered about in organized chaos. The walls were adorned with posters from your past tours and handwritten lyrics. Charles stood by the window, looking out at the stunning view of the city below, while you strummed your guitar on the plush couch. The sense of security and stability he brought to your life was palpable - his presence assuring you that he would always be there, no matter where your music took you. As you played him your latest compositions, his fingers effortlessly danced across the keys of the piano, adding depth and richness to the melodies. Together, you created magic in that space - harmonizing not just in music but also in life.

As you laid in bed one night, your head rested on the pillow turned towards him, you caught him staring at you. You grinned, “What?” 

“Nothing, I’ve just never seen someone more beautiful before in my life.” He told you in a low voice, smirking at you. You rolled your eyes playfully, knowing you should’ve expected him to shower you with compliments. 

You placed a gentle kiss on his cheek, “Je t’aime chéri.” 

You both settled into bed, cuddled up next to each other. He kissed your temple, “Je t’aimerai toujours plus.”     

[fandomnerd9602]

Shedding Season

Bambi!Wanda x Reader

Request by @idkwhatever580

It was just a calm weekend Autumn afternoon at your home. Your doe wife was feeding your four month old baby girl in the living room. The twins Billy and Tommy were upstairs playing in their room. You were in the kitchen, sipping some decaf coffee and listening to the music on your radio.

And then came the screaming cry of your infant daughter. You ran in to the living room to find your little Natalie crying, your mate Wanda was trying to soothe her baby. And then you looked at Wanda’s head, one of her antlers had splintered and broke off.

“Detka, it’s okay. I’m fine and so is Natalie” Wanda lets out a nervous laugh.

“What happened?”

“Natalie reached up to touch one of my antlers and… I guess it’s shedding season already.” She shrugs, “poor baby must’ve thought she broke my antler.”

You gave your mate a kiss to the stump of her antler and went out to the garage. You grabbed a little hack saw and a thing of sandpaper.

Wanda was able to calm little Natalie down and put her in her crib for a nap. Wanda sighs and lays down on the couch as you walk in.

“Cut em both” she intones, “otherwise I’ll be walking around like Pietro at our wedding.”

“Your brother can’t hold down his wine” you chuckle before taking the hack saw to Wanda’s remaining antler.

It was a labor of love. You gently cut her full antler off and sand down the stump. Then you turned your attention to the remaking splintered one and did the same.

You kissed the top of her head and then her lips. Wanda smiled at you and kiss the palm of your hands.

“Thank you, detka” she giggles.

And then came the screams of your boys. Both of them ran down the stairs, each had one antler hanging off its stump.

“Poppa,” Billy whines, “did we do something wrong?!”

“We were just playing,” Tommy explains

“Boys,” Wanda laughs before hugging her twins, “this is natural. It’s going to be alright. This happens every year at this time.”

Wanda looks to you and smiles, “do you have another saw? I’ll get one and you get the other.”

You give a wink and head out to grab another saw and some sandpaper.

The boys were quick to head off to bed that night as was Natalie. You and your doe shared a little laugh as you cuddles that evening.

“You know what I like about shedding my antlers?” She smirks.

“What?”

“Now you can run your fingers thru my hair.” She gets real close, whispering in your ear, “and we can be as wild as we want tonight”

She playfully nips your ear. You can’t help but smile.

Shedding season. It’s natural. It’s messy. But it’s all part of the wonderful life you and your goddess of a doe Wanda Maximoff are building together.

Tags @lifespectator @aloneodi @supercorpdanbeau @scarletquake-n7 @pinklawyerwinnerzonk @mathxa @julieromanoff @olsenmyolsen

2nd Gif belongs to @bonniebirddoesgifs

[zilabee]

Tony Bramwell, on Yoko

- gradually, inch by inch she intruded into our lives

- It was hardly surprising that John felt some kind of electricity; but it was probably the air crackling with Yoko’s desperation

- If I were standing about with him, Yoko would come up to me and say something in her high little girl’s voice, perhaps hoping to get John to notice her [...]. John would walk off to talk to someone else, while she stared after him. In those days, Yoko was always staring after John.

- She wanted to possess John and she was the one who was exceptionally jealous. She could not cope with the fact that John could love three other guys.

- her piece de resistance, the much-reprised performance of “Cut Piece.”  The scissors were wired for sound, so every cut had a horrific, almost animal sound, like a beast crunching into its human prey.

- did Yoko do her hypnotism thing, as some of John’s friends thought she had, or did she have a powerful new drug in her arsenal? Nobody really believed that John fell in love overnight, because why hadn’t he done so before? He’d been kicking Yoko in and out of his life for over a year. Mostly, he had given the impression that he resented and despised her. [...] Perhaps it was that he really was mentally ill and like many schizoid personalities, got religious mania.

- Overnight, he no longer had a will of his own.

- ...an attempt to use Primal Scream Therapy under Arthur Janov by telephone, to free him from his heroin addiction...

- Sir Joe said he didn’t think the pictures were obscene, he had seen much worse, an opinion which confused John and Yoko. They wanted to be seen as avant-garde and enfants terribles.

- Yoko had no sense of humour at all and she loathed Phil as much as Phil hated her. Each of them was implacable and paranoid.

- I used to dread taking John and Yoko’s arty stuff into radio stations and asking them to play it. For me, it was a bad experience because it was unplayable and unlistenable. [...] The reaction was a bored, “Why are you bringing this crap to us?” At first I argued with radio producers about it, though not on a very artistic level. I even heard myself saying, “Because he pays my wages. That’s why!” It was so embarrassing.

- As far as Yoko was concerned, if you spout all this magical, healing, antiwar, be kind to everybody, all-seeing, all-caring, all-macrobiotic stuff, being pregnant on heroin would seem to be the last thing she would need. And how does all that stuff equate with shooting up smack? How does all that spiritual pontificating gel with the teaspoon and the needle, unless you’re a fraud?

- According to John, Yoko snorted [heroin], but I had no doubt that if she had used a needle, she would probably have said it was acupuncture.

- John used to like life. He used to like to get on a roll. Laugh, eat and drink. [...] proper breakfasts, an old-fashioned fry-up, pie and chips, fish and chips, fried chicken, a roast dinner on a Sunday, Chinese food, curry, spaghetti Bolognese. Everything. Then he met Yoko, grew his beard, and [...] from Irish navvy’s food, he went to heroin and macrobiotics. I think if Yoko had said it was spiritual to snort bean curd instead of eat it John would have done it.

- She and John used to whisper away in their corner, with a completely different, us-against-the-world perspective to everyone. I know they did, because filming quietly on the sidelines, I heard.

- Having discussed life and its ins and outs and meanings, and worked out that it all means nothing, John and Yoko didn’t want to, couldn’t possibly, give the edifice of the Beatles any credit, or indeed any respect.

- doubt set in because some critics and reviewers gave her favourable reviews in the press and on TV. You’d find yourself wondering if you were an intellectual failure, unable to spot the hidden value in Yoko’s art and music. [...] somehow it became important to judge Yoko as impartially as possible, mostly out of regard for John. The problem was we couldn’t accept that he could be so blinded.

- [Dan Richter] was a close confidant of [Yoko and Tony Cox]. He said he heard all their hopes and schemes to hook John, at first as a financial “angel,” then, with dawning excitement, as a lover.

- According to Dan, Tony Cox actively encouraged the affair between John and Yoko as a means of survival. He said that Cox would tell Yoko to “go get Lennon.” When John proved elusive, as he was at first, Cox told Yoko she wasn’t trying hard enough. For her part, when she saw how close she was to capturing their prey, Yoko told Dan that they’d soon be rich beyond their wildest dreams.

- Cox began to feel fragile, thinking he might get cut out. In all seriousness, he drew up an agreement that he insisted Yoko sign. This single-page document—which was drawn up and signed at Dan’s kitchen table—stated that when Yoko hooked John, they would split any cash she got from the endeavour.

[doublekanble]

heart

Alastor/reader (gnc)

romantic-platonic

word count: 5.5k

or, alastor is a man of many things, and you believed he can never love without hurting his love. tw: a small paragraph of al eating your heart.

1. “–I was right.”  you coughed, the more you do, the more your voice choked on itself. Your body seized and shuddered with every beat of your heart as blood spew from the wound, already giving up on getting yourself away when you can barely breathe. He wishes he could’ve made it easier for you, but he got caught up. “you really are selfish…”

As the hand he’s holding onto quickly grew cold, Alastor hoped, for all its worth, that when he fall, however long it’ll takes, you’ll find the strength to finally accept his love for you. For now, he set his left ear over your heart, his hair stained red, Alastor listened closely for what he thought was the last time, as you and your life stops entirely.

(having done this time and time again, for the first time in a long time, he felt a longing for warmth, your warmth, the one seeping from you and dissipating with the cold air in the night.)

2. If there is ever a need to described himself, then Alastor would be the first to say that he is a man of many thing.

The charming popular radio host of New Orleans, the life of the party, a bachelor second to none. He’s your friendly neighbor who greets you with a smile and a caring friend. He’s the perfect son and an amiable stranger. Everything you want, he will be. Everything, except all you ever wanted from him is someone to talk to.

You’ve always a strong fascination for writing from years gone by. From the gloomy and miserable words of a poor but astute poet, riddled with nihilism and pain, to a long-gone romanticist who wrote fairy tales and chasing love he couldn’t held in his hand, or a myth, lost to time and rewritten over and over again. All the books you ever care to curated in your home is that of the classic and the dead.

Perhaps that’s why he’d grown so attached to you and the poetry you sewn into existence with clumsy words.

With his unfortunate lot in life despite his mother’s best effort –god bless that woman, Alastor would, in time, learn how to play charade better than anyone else, barely remembering the last time he bother to show care to anyone else with love and honesty rather than bemusement. He doesn’t need moth-bitten books to guide him through conversation when he can just as easily play the role of a salesman, granting you the option to pick between a piece of stale bread or the last supper. But only a salesman in the end, his words and gestures is with all the saccharine and none of the sugar.

Although he could never hope to weaves paintings with his word, ever only a mockery of one, Alastor welcome his shortcoming in strides, as long as people bought into his act. For the love he lacks in his heart, valuable you, his treasured companion, would make up for it all.

In stark contrast to his hidden callousness, you were a much more genuine person. The books and stories you gathered throughout your short-lived life give you a means to convey the feelings that made up your whole existence. In the occasion where he manage to pick the right topic, you would choose to hastily penned out your thoughts, writings border-on obsessive as you speak of vivid strokes of emotions no single word in any language can ever hope to capture. And yet, your heart, enraptured by the scenery, frantically beat so loudly in your chest as you speak of worlds end and death departed with shared poison; it would also spoke of a love so ordinary and mundane.

You’d never mourned the Danish storyteller that chased love endlessly, simple deeming it a life worth living. He wondered if you ever regretted telling him that.

(you sing praises to the odds and the out of sort while cursing at the commonplace of life, Alastor charmed the ordinary and laugh at the macabre death brings. as long as you’re there by his side, he have no need to love anything else.)

 3. Just like everything else about you, your close proximity to Alastor is not the standard, and should always be seen as an exception.

That evening, you both got shooed away after a particularly early dinner, his mother’s only excuses was that you, the esteemed and beloved guest, already help with cooking, so it’s only natural you’ll get to spend the rest of the stay resting up. Even if the most you ever did was being so horrendous at chopping veggies, Alastor ended up taking over your load instead.

He laugh about it, saying that you’re pretending so you don’t have to do the work. His mother slapped him on the back of his head, while he nearly chop off his own fingers, she comforts you about your culinary skill. You smile at him when she turns her back on you both, knowing full well Alastor’s fighting his instinct to throw the first thing in his hand at you.

You two stand awkwardly on the porch and stare at the only available seat before Alastor argues that he did the most work so he should take the rocking chair. You point out how he’s practically whispering in the hope of his mother not noticing, he doesn’t bother to deny it.

After some mindless chatter, Alastor would suddenly joke about how if he were to ever read the same works as you, maybe he’ll be able to conceived a love so vicious and gentle too. You, sitting just by his feet, only gives him a sheepish smile. It wasn’t until before you’re at the front of his door, already bid his mother goodbye and ready to go back, that you would throw a remark at him.

“I think you’re a pretty vicious guy on your own,” you walk the three step down and continued through the front walk nonchalantly, hands in your coat pocket instead of linking with his like usual. “If you were to love someone, you’ll hurt them in the end. Even if you were to read all of my books.”

You stand at his gate. Although you’re waiting to see whether he’s going to go with you, you might as well have been gauging his reaction. Unconsciously, as he catches your gaze, he relaxed his grip and stride towards you like a panther to a sitting duck.

“You’re welcomed to, by the way. Just don’t dog-tag them.” Faint stinging shot through the heart of his hands from where his nails was digging into. His laugh sounds more like choking as he ignores your offer for now.

“Now, I wasn’t aware you have such a dreadful view of me, let alone thinking I can’t – what?” incredulously, Alastor barks “Love?! HAH!I supposed one of us are going to have to break that pathetic news to my mother.”

The moment he reach you, he catches a soft sigh falling from your lips, “It’s not that I think you can’t, Al.” the nickname that he imprinted on your frontal lobe sounded like nails on chalkboard, “It’s that I think you shouldn’t.”

“How delightful…”

You turned and began to walk on your own. If Alastor was anyone else, he would’ve taken this at face value and get offended at your eccentricity.

“And where, pray tell, does these impressions of yours come from?” He snatched your left arm, pulling it from its resting place and do the job himself. You give him a look, he smiles.

“I’ve been watching you.” His expression must’ve been something, enough for you to instantly stop on the sidewalk as you stammered and tries to pull your arm from him. “Not like that you deviant! I was just trying to get a read on you, since everyone kept talking about you being unattached and all.”

“Yes, yes, I know. What now, you want in on the chase? It’s ok dear, I know I’m utterly irresistible!” Refusing to let go of you, he only laugh on as you scowl. It’s well known to everyone that Alastor have been available for the longest time since anyone ever known him. It was also a well-kept mystery, the fact he have never courted a single person throughout his entire life.

“Utterly hogwash, that’s what you are.” Huffing to yourself, you finally would relent your arm to him. Your shared steps echoing across the darkening street, it’s near curfew. “I do have to say, I see what they meant, about you being a good spouse and all that,” He smiles a bit brighter at that, “But I just can’t see you being vulnerable with anyone else. You despises things not going your way, and love just have too much uncertainty!”

“Yes, yes,” he repeats, as if soothing you from a tantrum, “Weak and frail Alastor, the poor soot of New Orleans, unable to tear his ribcages open and show everyone his organs the same way his beloved whimsical friend here does every day ~.” You hiss as he settled his own weight against you with his head on your shoulder, nearly knocking the both onto the ground, “I guess you’ll just have to be with me for the rest of your life then! If you don’t, I’ll simply drown in my own piled up misery! What a life it’ll be!”

“Sure you will. Now get off and take me back home you dramatic coot.”

4. At that time, there was no need for Alastor to inquire your meaning of “vicious”.

In direct contrast to your trusting nature, you’re also perceptive and doubtful to a fault. The first slight of your tongue was a comment on how he can stop smiling around you. Always with that same gaze as you have now, lying underneath him. For the life of him, he couldn’t remember what he said to you that day. But it was enough for you to stood up and walked from the table with a ten-dollar bill pin under your half-finished lemon tea. The issue was quickly resolved with a phone call to your home, but he quickly learned that you don’t take kindly to – and quite frankly, refused to participate in – saccharine sweet insult.

But at what point did he stop hiding himself and let you read him freely, he thought. If he bit down on his tongue until he bleeds and shut you out like how he did to so many others who couldn’t even take one step near him, then maybe something could’ve turn out differently.

Replaying that moment over and over in his head, for the first time in his life, Alastor think about the concept of love, really think about it. It simply was an aspect of life that he never pay mind to, equating it with romance book and kissing under starry skies, and thus, utterly useless. When he think of love, all he have to go off of is his dear old mother, who sacrifices and suffers so much for him, which, in time, he pay her back with everything he have. His life was only about her and himself and the bodies under the forest floor and it was everything he wanted and more. Until one rainy day, with his eyes on the script he’s writing out for tomorrow’s broadcast, bleary-eyed and hearing the bed calling his name, he thought about you.

When he came to, he already dropped his coffee cup. The brown liquid burns, even through his slipper.

After that, Alastor would start picking out books from your carefully curated shelves, sitting in your armchair and skims through the lines while you spread across the ground like an old cat, he tried to find the feelings that you described to him in the same page you’d read a million times and over. But as he does so, he would soon find that there’s not a single word in any of those old and yellowed pages of yours that is able to captured the quickly spreading rot in his heart. In a frenzied, Alastor would burn through your small library faster than you could ever hope for.

(Alastor knows that time and time, again and again, as long as you’re willing to reach for his hand, he will never let go of yours.

at some point, he’d stop caring about whether you’re willing to at all. why would he, when the meaning of being able to love you became all he care to know at all.)

5.

“You don’t need to love like I do, you know that, right?”

He turns to you, on your stomach, lying in your nest of blankets and pillows with a pencil in hand putting down incomprehensible charcoal shape.

“Bragging now, are we?” he gets up from the armchair and settled down by your side, eyes watching your hand while propping the book he was reading in his lap. You crank your neck and stare at him with a look, “And how are you so sure I want to love like you, dear?”

“You’ve been plowing through my books.”

He sends you a beaming smile, acting innocent while playing with your hair.

“You offered.”

“Aren’t they all the one I told you about?”

Your eyes on the book he’s holding, then the one he just placed back into the shelves. It feels like he’s back in his mother’s kitchen, with his dirty nails behind his back and a poor excuse for the missing bread on the dinner table. Except this time, there’s just you and him in your small living room, and you’re looking awfully smug about it.

Raising his hand in the air, he sigh pitifully, “Ah~, guilty as charged, darling.” and offers nothing else. The silence afterward is enough of a white flag anyway.

Pleased with what you got from him, you turn back to your work, seemingly unaware (or even worse, maybe you don’t care at all) about the gnawing in his chest and the storm raging in his head while his hand weaves through your hair.

The last time you talked to him about love, you more-or-less called him and his love hazardous. While Alastor have no trouble with accepting it from anyone else, with you, it feels as if you’re discarding a part of him to the dogs. Although his knowledge on many topics far exceeds yours, when it came to pure and genuine emotions from the heart, you’d know enough to examine him under all type of love there is, and time after time you’d deemed him impossible to ever love. And despite knowing loving and love is wholly separate, it tears him open to even considers that you’d thought of him as unable to love and be loved and something about it is just so incredibly agonizing to the point of wanting to rip you open so you can see just how unlovable you are too.

But in your living room, sitting right next to you the way no one else is allowed to. He sigh, making sure his words doesn’t come off as unpleasant as he feels.

“If I don’t have to love like you, then how do you supposed I should be doing it?”

“I’m not sure, but hopefully not at all.” You said offhandedly, but you might as well just drove a knife through his stomach, but it’s you, so he let it be, “If you can’t help yourself though, you’ll probably do something really horrible.”

“What do you supposed I’ll do?”

You turn to him, a hint of surprise in your eyes at how close he is now, but you let him be, “Undecided. But you seems like the type to let it eats you alive.”

“I’ll let my love eats me?” Laughing in disbelief, he could almost call you cute with how you nodded to yourself, resolute in your idea about him.

“You’ll let it eats you, yes.”

Alastor chuckled to himself as he tap your sketchbook twice, you hand it to him.

“Well, I’ll need to make sure that I won’t be alone, aren’t I?”

You laugh openly and said that’s true, he’s too selfish to be taken alone. Alastor couldn’t care about how much of that was just more of your usual jest and how much of it is your view of who he is. If you, who love so selflessly and readily, agrees without push back, that someone as selfish as him will doomed whoever it is that he loves so much, then who is he to deny.

At that time, the line of charcoal you put onto the paper come together to show a shadow of a small man dragging a coat by his unseen feet, a mock-up from one of the stories that you loved. Alastor stop wondering if he ever could love something like the poems and stories you’ve read a million times over, instead, he think it’s best if he loves the way you expected him to, the way he can see himself doing.

6. To be loved is to be changed.

You told him this while he stand in your kitchen, trying to shoo you back to the table so he can work without fuzzing over you. And now, while he’s holding you, so cold and so unlike you, Alastor wondered whether you would like it if your bones were to be buried in the same spot as the others.

As much as he’d love to keep it near with him, there’s not a single excuse in the whole round earth that can ever help him convinced his mother of letting him uprooted the garden out back and buried you down there, neither can he bring you with him everywhere. Alastor wants to try taking you to the morgue after he’s done, but how do you explain bringing in a set of skeleton with missing ribs? It’s simple, really.

You don’t.

He lifted you up in his arms and sat back on his sofa, your lulling head settled just below his chin, wanted to savor what’s left of you for just a bit more before rigor mortis sets in and makes you even less of what you are now. The gramophone in the corner of his room spewed utter nonsense as Alastor closes his eyes.

It’s Tuesday tomorrow, but he will have to roll up his sleeves and get to work on cleaning out one of the guest room in his hunting lodge if he doesn’t want the ants to take you first. He’ll have to call in sick, too. Alastor likes to think that when he sees you again, you’ll at least have the will to appreciate the troubles he went through for you and not complaint about being locked up inside. You and the love you have for him, akin to small river, a gentle stream, with orange and yellow leaves floating across, tucked in a forest somewhere. It widdled down the rocks and carved a path for itself. The same one that you oh so heartlessly withheld from Alastor.

You'd appreciate being bury in such a scenery, it’s a shame you won’t be, though your body would’ve made way for the prettiest flowers. But you’ll have to take what he can afford to give. To be loved is to be changed, after all.

(when, not if. having gone on for this long, he’s sure that you’re suspended in between life and death in the hell you refuses to ever believe in. half of him prayed that there’s not a river there so you can drown yourself in it just to forget all about him. the other half prayed you’ll remember nothing at all, even of the literature you love so much.

at some point, where will you stop being yourself? when you forget enough of yourself? Alastor doesn’t need to care about the semantics. he knows he’ll choose you time and again, even if you forget how you love.)

7. You take your time reading through farewell letters.

Unless the cats and dogs on the street can write, then there’s only a few, you kept a significantly smaller number of friends by your side. But it must’ve been hard to even focus with Alastor sitting right next to you.

“Darling, surely we can-“

“Please don’t make this any harder than it already was, Alastor.”

Desperately holding onto your wrist and halted your pace for just a second, he all but plead a hopeless case.

“You’re not thinking straight! Are you really just going to up and leave because someone told you so? After living your whole life here?!”

Your hand, moving like clockwork, already finished with the letters, refusing to stay in his. You pulled back from him and place the rest of the letters in a small wooden box with a deer carved on its lid. “You know it’s not just that.”

In times like these, he wonders if it was himself who have gone mad. As if the whole world is in on one big joke and you are just following along with it. Any moment now, you’ll burst into laughter and tell him that everything is a lie. You’re not moving to Washington to help a friend you know for some years with their business, and you’re not leaving him, not after everything he showed you. But you’re holding onto the letter with his mother’s name written on the front with misty eyes as if you have no other choice. So he held you by the shoulders to the point digging his nails into it and turned you to look at him.

“Then what else is there?! For Christ sakes-“ you look as if this is the hardest thing you’ll ever have to do in your life, he felt as if this is the hardest battle he have to fight, “Please, mon Chéri, talk to me...”

Alastor collapse onto you, his whole weight pins you down on your small couch. Head on your chest, he listens as your heart beats just a bit faster. You let him.

“…what do you think we are, Alastor?”

Without hesitation, he reply.

“We are whatever you want us to be. Whatever it takes for you to stay.”

For someone like you, a romantic at heart, just like who he is now, that should’ve been enough for you to at least considers the possibility of forgetting about what’s right and wrong. For sure, it would’ve been enough for you to stay, if you were anyone else.

But you’re you, and he’s only himself. The romantic in you see through his act for the longest time and still fall in love with him, but just like how your love is selfless and kind, it’s also viciously rational. If you were anyone else, you would’ve ignored the rational part of yours.

“I’m sorry, Alastor.” All this time, he was desperately proving himself to you. Doing everything in his power just so you’re willing to forget your rationale and love him just as much as he loves you. “We’ll die loving each other.”

He doesn’t care if he die, Alastor wants to scream out. He’s ready to die to love you, he have been screaming out all this time. But despite all of his effort, you deemed him a love not worth chasing after till death, while he already planned the path to hell with you.

Your fingers, shaky and gentle, brush through his hair. If it was anyone else, he wouldn’t have to place himself bare and vulnerable like this. But if you were anyone else, he wouldn’t have love you at all. And if it’s death holding you back from loving him, then so be it.

8. For a long time now, Alastor knows you more than anyone else.

You were never a dancer, not by choice either. Its pathetic in the cutest way, how you froze up and refused to move, the way you stutters and try to pull from him only ever makes him want to bully you more. But from the way your brows draws together, to the way you’d tripped over yourself chasing after his footstep, all of it, Alastor earned from you.

From the way you stayed up overnight, to how the bottom of your shoes dragged against the pavement as you walk. From the tip of your pencil, to the bottom of your bookshelves. Every books on your shelves and every sketches. Alastor swear with all his life that no one else knows better than him when it came to you.

He knows intimately the curves you’d penned on your signatures; he knows how you’d change your mind at a moment notice about anything, he knows how you take with you small things on the side of the road that you deemed pretty enough and he knows you still have a lot you want to do here that you’ve told your lovely friend. So it’s only normal for Alastor, the person you grown to love so much, to know exactly why you refuses to even considers being by his side, and it’s just his luck that he also knows just how to write a letter with words just like yours.

So when was it that you got a friend you trusted so wholeheartedly, so faithfully, so much so, you’re your dearly cherished Alastor became a second thought in your mind? Weren’t you a romantic? Weren’t romantics idiots who can’t think straight when it come to love? So why was it that you alone refuses to let yourself love him and remained so loyal to someone you only considered a friend, someone who couldn’t even tell your lettering from his? Was it them? Who fed you lies after lies to captured you in their own hands? Was it them who taught you the telling and sign of a madman? Is that why your view of him was so horrible, you' refused to ever fathom life with him?

He knows you would’ve hated him for this, but Alastor adores you, and sometimes you just don’t know what’s best for you, even when it’s staring at you from across the front walk and following you to your home.

So if someone as rational as you can be swayed back to his lodge for just one more visit, then your friend surely can be swayed too, to come and visit you some other time, down here in your beloved New Orleans.

9. If anyone ever ask anyone else, then they will say that Alastor, beloved local radio host of New Orleans, is a man of many things. But if they were to ask you, then he’s one of the person you cherished the most, and your dearest friend.

He’s everything, the charming popular radio host of New Orleans, the life of the party, a bachelor that’s second to none. Alastor plays himself as your friendly neighbor who will always greets you with a smile and a clenched fist behind his back, hiding a stain just on the cuff of his sleeve in the early morning, a caring friend that offers you help just in the nick of time. Alastor is his mother’s perfect son, who spent more time comforting her about your whereabouts than to care for his own fracturing mind; an amiable stranger, gripping the newspaper detailing yet another disappearance with a bit too much force. Everything you have ever wanted him to be, he was. And yet, to his utter bewilderment and maddening grief, you refused to let him be anyone other than a friend you talked to about everything.

In the letters you saved from your beloved pen pal-turn-missing person, they would call you mature and wise. Sentimental words and kind, to his eyes, all are but hollowed gestures advising, agreeing, and offering you a place up in Washington until you can forget all about him and move on with your life, leaving Alastor to be nothing more than a nostalgic blot on the tablecloth, nothing more than yearning in early Junes. Until you forget the fact you ever love him at all, all because you decided that you couldn’t afford to let yourself be love by him.

Keeping all of it in mind, Alastor decides your dear friend should be bury far away from the comfort of your room. Three years, seven months and eleven days after your death, Alastor dragged a body into the woods. Not just any old one like usual, but not anything else too special.

It’s odd, even though you’ve been gone for the more than a year by now, it’s almost as if you’ve neve left his side. Maybe it’s the rest of you, lying peacefully in your nest of pillows and blankets, in your room that he diligently maintain. Maybe it’s your shared books he sometimes takes from his shelves and skims through in the dead of night after a hard day. Maybe it’s the locked box, sitting by his work desk welcoming him home after a night out, the same one he held in his hands, void of blood and anything else.

Or maybe it’s the reverberating sounds of heartbeat, so unlike his own. In both his waking days, in his reveries, over the sounds of the jazz band down in his favorite speakeasy and following him into the woods. Ever so silently, oh-so gently, utterly viciously in his left ear.

In any other case, Alastor finds he absolutely adores the idea of your ghost haunting him until his fell into his grave.

(you said that he should never love because he couldn’t be in control. he mourn the fact you never even let him prove you wrong. Alastor would’ve let you dance on his rotting corpse if that’s what it takes for you to let him call you his.)

10.

Somewhere in his heart, Alastor had hoped that you of all people can evade the hand of rots.

It’s a genuine shame that in the end, all of the words in the world will do nothing to stop you from sharing the lot with the others, he thought, staring down from where he straddled you with his hand peeling off layers of skins and fat. Warm fingers brushes against your hollowed cheek, before raising a small hammer and bringing down onto your bare chest. Alastor wants to preserve you for as long as possible, but to do that properly, he might as well take all of your innards out and sewn you up. It’s not that he’s not open to that idea, Alastor love every part of you. It’s just that he’s sure you’ll be extremely upset when you find out. So he’ll have to get comfortable with doing things the hard way, no matter how hard it is to do so.

With steady fingers in spite of the drumming in his ears, Alastor patiently picks out every pieces of bones he could, placing them into a small, wooden box. With a wistful smile, he closes the lid and set it aside. He miss you already.

Pushing your lungs out of the way, he dig his hands in. With blood runs up to his wrist, Alastor tries to be as gentle as he can while pulling your heart out. One hand holding onto it, another carefully cutting away everything that ties it to your body.

Distinctly, every part of you was always warm, and over time, Alastor, who’s hands are as cold as winter itself, find comfort in your touch. It was almost like you were made just for him, and him, you. And now, with your heart, cold and silent in his hand, Alastor realized what a miserable life it will be to go on living without your warmth with him from now on until he’s six feet under. But it’s ok, he’s sure of it, because above all else, what he’s been chasing after this whole time is in his hand.

For a brief moment, Alastor wondered if he were to meet you in another lifetime, one where you aren’t so complicated and so in love with the idea of living a fair life and a right love, would you have let yourself be wrong and love him. But he’s glad that your love, with all its beautiful intricacies that causes him this much pain, with a wound in it, still look as beautiful as he hoped.

Sinking his teeth into it, into you, the taste of iron and metallic flooded his mouth and drown his senses as he closed his eyes shut and nearly buckled under the taste of you. There’s not a single word in the book to describe the visceral sensations running through his blood and spreading through his every veins. Alastor shivers, the back of his head felt numb, his fever grows as he desperately takes his time and savor you. It’s a shame you can’t last forever, but he’ll take what he can get for now.

(as his teeth tears into your veins, he hears a sounds, so familiar, somewhere in the corner of his ears. it wasn’t until he caught his own heart beating that he realized that the rhythm he’s hearing isn’t his at all.

until the day you two can meet again, until then. he pray he will never forget the sounds of your heart, beating so gently.)

[bloody-peach]

Just a lil idea I thought up. Planning to use it for my upcoming longfic series. Demiromantic Alastor for life, baby. Red text is Alastor, obvs.

The song in question: Annette Hanshaw's "What Wouldn't I Do for That Man" (it's on YouTube, go listen and read along!)

Taglist: @omniuravity @fatgumsurpremacy-remastered @pinkhimecat @moths-and-mantids @neonvehk and other Alastor lovers!

So it's a Friday night, everyone was out partying, but you were staying in your room at the Hazbin Hotel, listening to the radio.

You heard the radio buzz on and you heard Alastor's voice on the radio.

You always loved whenever he came on, you'd listen to the classic tunes he'd play from the 1920s-1930s and you'd relax and let your mind wander.

You hear his voice on the radio, as calm and soothing as ever.

"Good evening, denizens of Hell. I hope you are all enjoying this lovely night. Now I have a special song for all of you lovers and dreamers out there. Annette Hanshaw's 'What Wouldn't I Do for That Man?'. And to that certain someone out there, (you know who you are), this one is for you, my dear."

You didn't hear that last sentence as you let the intro music take your mind to a different place, a place where you were with someone you adored and who adored you just as much, almost like a romance film. You couldn't help but sing along.

"Love was blind to me

Now it's kind to me

Love has opened my eyes

Since it came to me

Life's a game to me

With the sweetest surprise

I never knew how good it was to be

A slave to one who means the world to me"

You stand up, close your eyes and start to dance around the room, your feet moving with the beat and your body swaying to the tune as your voice matched up with the singer's.

"I loved that man from the start

And way down deep in his heart

I know he loves me, Heaven knows why

And when he tells me he can't live without me

What wouldn't I do for that man"

You imagined someone dancing with you, that anonymous stranger in your mind. You could almost feel their hands on you, their arm around your waist.

What you didn't know was....somebody was.

Alastor had let his shadow go through the radio into your room to have a dance with you. It effortlessly guided your steps, avoiding furniture so you can daydream without interruption.

You didn't even notice as you kept dancing and singing.

"He's not an angel or saint

And what's the odds if he ain't

With all his faults I know he'll get by

I'll be so true to him he'll never doubt me

What wouldn't I do for that man"

At the radio station, Alastor's mind was also wandering, wondering what you were up to. He wondered if you could hear the song he chose specifically for you. He hummed along to the tune as he found himself imagining what it would be like to dance with you, to have you in his arms. He could hear your voice singing this very song, a warm and soft voice like the coo of a dove. He smiled to himself, feeling that warm feeling in his chest whenever you came to mind. Usually, he'd be confused by it, but just for this one moment, he would stop fighting and let the feeling flow. For you.

"Oh when he lets me lean my weary head on his shoulder

I close my eyes right there and wish I never grow older"

Back to you, you could smell the faint hint of roses as you continued your dance. It let you sink deeper into your daydream, seeing yourself dancing with the stranger in a rose garden.

"I'll never leave him alone

I'll make his troubles my own

I love that man as nobody can

I'm just no good when his arms are about me

What wouldn't I do for that man

Oh what wouldn't I do for that man"

You felt a hand in your own, an arm around your waist as you swayed to the music. You didn't even notice Alastor's shadow letting you twirl and pulling you into its arms, wrapping them around your waist, your back to its chest. As the dance continued, you continued to sing,

"I'll never leave him alone

I'll make his troubles my own

I love that man better than I do myself

I'm just no good when his arms are about me

What wouldn't do for that man

Oh there's not a thing I wouldn't do for my man"

Just as the song was finished, you could almost feel that stranger's hand delicately hold the back of your head.

Then you felt the sensation of being kissed on the lips in reality, snapping you out of your fantasy, your eyes shooting wide open in surprise.

Then that sensation faded away and you fell onto the antique chaise, your face holding that same stunned expression as you touch your lips.

'What was that...?' You thought to yourself.

Alastor's shadow quickly retreated back to the radio before you could notice. Once it returned to its owner, it received a bonk on the head from Alastor's staff, along with the comment, "Cheeky little thing, aren't you?"

That's all!

[louisetaylor]

TUA SEASON 4 REWRITE

because if you want something done right... *rolls eyes*

In the original single timeline, we got a wonderful season 4 of The Umbrella Academy. I'm here to remind you of your latent memories of the original season 4. Together we can restore it to its former glory. Like a club. We need a name. Call ourselves the Keepers or something similar.

Here's what I know:

Luther is putting work into his (admittedly rundown and condemned) house. It's growing more welcoming with every antique sconce and threadbare thrifted rug. Klaus lives with him, advising him on the finer points of exotic dancing. We see the family visiting. Claire knows where the snacks are. Luther picks up and tosses Lila's kids in the air, trying and failing to learn words in Punjabi. He struggles to move in new furniture, longing for his old strength back, his familiar hairy body.

Viktor owns a bar in Canada. He's proud of it, but despite bantering with the regulars, he isn't close to anyone. He still wants to shout at Reginald (for everything) and at Allison (for everything else). Sometimes the patrons get too loud, and Viktor focuses on the sound of the radio playing in the background, wanting to shout at the loud talkers and knock them off their stools with the sound of his voice. He misses Harlan. He wonders about autism, and why he understood the boy so well.

Diego practices throwing knives in the back yard after the kids have gone to bed. Fed up with being a delivery driver, he briefly considers opening a party planning business, but Lila laughs her head off at the idea, saying he'd explode if she even bought a pinata from the wrong side of town or something. He runs alone at night, slows, stops, bangs his head against a telephone pole in frustration.

Lila spars with Diego in the basement, kendo one night, aikido the next...It vents their anger and relieves their boredom. She has an idea of opening a martial arts studio. When she pins Diego down, they're both visibly into it. She goes away to a book club that might not be a book club, wishing for a bigger world.

The kids aren't just pawns for the plot or for conflict. They're people who ask inconvenient questions. "Where did Mummy learn to fight?" They make up bedtime stories about their parents' pasts. Superhero stories which are eerily close to the truth.

Klaus lives with Luther, sober, germaphobic, plagued by nightmares, afraid of death and love and life because he's seen so very much of all of them. He cooks for Luther, which sometimes turns out well and sometimes not. "Well, it's not the same when you make it without hashish..." When the marigold crashes back into his life, he's angry, and yet he's elated to feel the power back in him, he knows he can't go back to being half dead and unfeeling, he needs to wear something silk and put on some eyeliner and be wild again, as he always really was.

Allison tries out for every commercial in town and spars with her daughter, who's turning out to be a stubborn opposing mirror of her mother. Claire spits uncomfortable truths at her mother like her too-strong influence on others, her lecturing them instead of listening to them, kicking at their weak points. She wonders who she is when she's not acting or rumoring people. Maybe one of these days she'll ask someone for help.

Number Five has been trying to remember his name. He's been working for the CIA because a man's gotta eat, but he clashes with his boss a little too much on account of his smart mouth. He can't help acting like a young man sometimes, because he never really got to be young, feel young, act young. He can't help trying to jump away sometimes. He feels trapped in one place, one time.

Ben just got out of prison. The season starts with him being taken back to Luther's place, being welcomed in by Klaus and offered some cookies that smell suspiciously of weed. He's annoyed by the running laughing visiting kids, but the house reminds him strangely of home. He'll curse Luther out, but Klaus gave him weed cookies, and the kids don't deserve to be scared or upset, do they? He's not a monster, after all.

[thesugarchanotaku]

The sinners and their demon forms in Hazbin Hotel

I found myself thinking a lot about the different demon forms of our favorite sinners in Hazbin Hotel and wanted to make a post as to why their forms are also their respective punishment.

its already late so pls don't blame me for typos or mistakes @.@

Anyways let's get into it and start of with Alastor :D

Alastor

Alastor's demon form is a little ironic. As we know he was a serial killer when alive and manifested in hell as the radio demon looking a lot like a deer.

And while yeah his demon form also connects to the deer hunting ground where he ditched the bodies (if I rember right) his form is also a punishment. Deers are animals prone to flight reactions. Alastor basically fell from hunter to pray (mostly in concern of form). Still you see him choosing flight reactions in the show as well (battle with Adam and alleged with vox). and while yeah it was ultimately the better decision to ditch the fight than to die like a fool it is still interesting to notice his actions playing into the flight reactions of a deer. Thinking back on the battle with Adam when he was serverly wounded you could also see his ears twitch in alarm.

I guess it is save to assume that his deer form is making it hard for him to get the respect he wants upon first meeting people that don't know him (perfectly illustrated in pilot angels reaction to him). And that ticks him off. Alastor wants to be mysterious, he wants people wondering about him, wants to be seen and feared... While looking like a animal that runs away at the slightest sound... Well... it's a twisted form of punishment since it is theorized that Alastor might have had some issues in his living life, that could already play a big role in his constant need to be taken seriously - of being the threat and the nightmare that hunts you down rather than being on the other end.

Vox

Why is Vox demon form a punishment? I mean he is powerful, a manipulator and he literally has the ability to directly hypnotise people.

Well, as we know Vox was a TV-host and a cult leader when alive and he kind off continues to do the same thing in hell.

For a cult leader as well as a TV-host there is a very critical thing that they need to be able to do - being deceptive. And while Vox can manipulate and mask himself and his intensions quite well the punishment in his form is depicted in his head.

A TV has a crucial weakness - its screen. Destroy the screen and the thing is broken and useless. For Vox the TV is his face, showing the fragility of his mask and his deceptions. The moment the screen cracks he can't lead people on anymore, the mask cracks and he loses face.

So yeah his head is his weakness as much as he needs it because his hypnoses seems to work with his eye(s). But what will his ability do good for him, if his screen is cracked or destroyed?

Valentino

We know very little of Valentino's living life so let's try puzzling stuff together. Valentino is very charismatic and his ability is quite scary and effective. From all we have seen from Val so far his only weakness are his eyes (apart from his mood swings that could get him in trouble if Vox wouldn't clean up after him or keep him in check).

It is said that Val is a talented artist and I think we can assume that he already was when alive. For an artist to lose their eyesight - even if just partly - can be horrible.

Yet circling back to his moth form. Moths are attracted by light but can die if getting to close to traps or hot lamps and what not. His bad eyes and his form show the symbolism of him wanting to be famous, wanting luxury, influence, everything nice and expensive because all those shiny things call out for him. Yet he wont be able to fully grasp the beauty of the things he owns because of his bad eyes.

Velvette

Velvette is a little mystery too. We know she hasn't been dead for that long now and she controls social media.

Velvette looks astonishing normal compared to other demons. She could very well be a human with edgy makeup. For me her punishment lays in that normality.

People on social media want to stand out, to be someone and there is probably no doubt that Velvette wants that as well. Yet she is left with a body in hell that can't stand out. Her body makes her vanish in the croud of misfits who all look funny and extra. It can result in her overcompensating which she kinda does with disrespecting the other overlords and being overly self confident.

There are some theories going around that she may have changeable body parts similar to a doll but we have no more canon informations yet so I would conclude her with saying her punishment is her lack of originality.

Husk

Husk is a very dear character to me and a deep one at that. From all we know Husk was a gambler when alive, continued with his ways in hell, gambled his way up to be an overlord and fell thanks to his addictions and his wrong assessment of his situation (presumably).

Husk is one of the few characters we have intel on what they did after arriving in hell and Husk's punishment is his form in general. He doesn't like it and there a a couple reasons why.

I always imagine Husk to be a very prideful man (in life and his position as overlord) and while yeah he fell quite hard due to his pride which has some parallels on Lucifer's origin story, the biggest jab to his pride would be looking cute.

Hear me out. People adore cat's. But Husk is not only a cat he is even a lot smaller than other demons around him AND he has all thosr hearts plastered over his body. Who is supposed to take him seriously?? I mean sure the hearts can also be interpreted as stemming from his casino background but the other card signs are missing to make that take convincing.

The hearts can also stand for him being a softy on the inside (as confirmed by Viv) which would be punishing for him in giving him away which is bad for a gambler.

And the hearts could simply be seen as mockery. Alone judged by his character Husk more or less comes of like a big bad wolf. Yet he is a small grumpy cat forced to run around with his heart(s) on display for everyone to see.

And his wings ...yeah his wings... The chance of freedom the chance of escaping that is never going to help him out thanks to the chain around his neck.

God really wasn't nice to him here.

Angel Dust

Omg I love him so much!!

Ahem yeah

So our best boy Angel was born into a mob family, is a sex worker and a drug addict.

Like the others he continued on with his ways even after arriving in hell. So let's look at his form.

Angel is a tall ass spider demon. He is very lanky and loves his legs while he hates his feet. In fact Angel is very self conscious about his feet. He is not filming without his boots and charging extra if he has to. Normally people would get fully naked for engaging into some spicy time but for Angel that is impossible thanks to his feet.

so you could see that as a form of punishment. Angel engages into s3x often (work wise and private) and will have to explain himself every time why he won't undress fully. While being self conscious. Also a lot of people are scared of spiders and look at them negatively. That isn't really important in hell however because everyone just looks weird.

Another note is that Angel is quite tall. It makes it harder for him to go unnoticed in a crowd. He probably wanted to be famous too in life and yet in death he is and is so easily spotted that having some time for himself surely is hard. So for doing anything to be seen in life he gets punished by never being able to go unnoticed in death.

This vere more or less all my ideas for this one. I have some ideas an thoughts on sir pentious, Cherri and niffty but all those ideas are very wonky thanks to the fact that they had little screentime and that there are very little information about them but yeah. Thank you for reading if you did until here :D

[skywalker1dream]

bound together by destiny

note: ehh don't know what to say...hope you have good day or night, drink water and eat healthy, loves :3

Jenson Button x reader, childhood friends to lovers

warning: fluff

In the small town, where the rolling hills kissed the sky and the rivers whispered secrets to the wind, Jenson Button and You were inseparable. From the moment you two met on the playground, your friendship ignited like a spark in the darkness, illuminating your lives with laughter and shared adventures.

As you two grew older, your bond only deepened, weaving through the fabric of your existence like an unbreakable thread. Jenson, with his passion for speed and adrenaline, found solace in your steady presence, a beacon of light in a world of uncertainty.

It was on a warm summer evening, with the scent of wildflowers lingering in the air and the distant chirping of crickets serenading the night, that everything changed. Jenson and you found yourselves sitting by the riverbank, the waters reflecting the myriad hues of the setting sun like a kaleidoscope of dreams.

As Chris Isaak's "Wicked Game" played softly on the radio, Jenson turned to you, his eyes shimmering with a vulnerability he had never dared to reveal before. "Do you ever wonder what might have been?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

you felt their heart skip a beat, the weight of Jenson's words hanging heavy in the air. "Sometimes," you admitted, your voice tinged with a mixture of longing and regret.

In that moment, as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm glow over the landscape, Jenson reached out, his hand seeking yours in the dwindling light. "I've spent my whole life chasing after dreams," he confessed, his voice raw with emotion. "But the one thing I've always wanted has been right here beside me all along."

your breath caught in your throat, the realisation dawning upon you like the first light of dawn. Could it be that the feelings you harboured for Jenson ran deeper than friendship?

With trembling hands and hearts laid bare, you two leaned in, your lips meeting in a tender kiss that spoke volumes of years of unspoken longing. In that moment, as the world faded away and you two were left with nothing but the beating of your hearts and the rush of the river beside you, Jenson and you knew that your bond was stronger than any force on earth.

For in each other's arms, they found not only love but also the courage to chase after the most precious dream of all: the dream of a future together. And as they watched the stars twinkle overhead, they knew that no matter where life took them, their love would always burn bright, like a guiding light in the darkness.

As the moon ascended in the indigo sky, casting its gentle glow upon the world below, Jenson and you sat in quiet reverence, your fingers intertwined, your hearts entwined in the delicate dance of love.

"I never want to let this moment go," Jenson murmured, his voice a soft caress against your ear.

"Nor I," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. "For in this moment, I have found everything I've ever longed for."

Their words hung in the air like a vow, sealing their hearts together in an unbreakable bond. In that sacred space by the riverbank, they shared dreams and aspirations, fears and insecurities, laying bare their souls to one another with a vulnerability that transcended words.

As the night wore on and the stars danced in the heavens above, Jenson and you found yourselves lost in a world of your own making, where time stood still and the worries of tomorrow faded into insignificance. It was a moment of pure magic, a symphony of love played out beneath the vast expanse of the night sky.

And as the first light of dawn painted the horizon in shades of pink and gold, Jenson and you knew that journey together had only just begun.

For in each other's arms, they had found not only solace but also the courage to embrace the unknown, hand in hand, hearts beating as one.

With the promise of a new day dawning on the horizon, they rose from their secluded spot by the riverbank, ready to face whatever the future held, knowing that as long as they had each other, they could overcome any obstacle that dared stand in their way.

And as they walked hand in hand into the sunrise, their hearts brimming with love and hope, they knew that theirs was a story written in the stars, a tale of two souls bound together by destiny, destined to journey through life as partners, lovers, and friends, forevermore.

[terrence-silver]

Imagine beloved had left 80s Terry around the same time as John and he couldn’t find her despite all of his resources. Then at his little garden party where he’s introduced in CK, he/she turns up with Kreese. How would he react?….

The One Who Got Away

Terry Silver x Reader (With spectacular amounts of meddling from John Kreese)

—

John believed himself a good friend, even when nobody understood his methods.

His technique.

But, sometimes genuinely favorable intentions tended to be misunderstood in life precisely because truth had the habit of being a hard pill to swallow for some, the same way Terry misunderstood him when he hung up the phone on him after decades of radio silence even though John didn’t take it to heart; not in the way someone else might’ve taken it to heart, anyway. He understood bitterness. Festering, unresolved issues. Baggage. Old resentments. Hell, he lived with a great many old things like the lack of closure as the only companionship he could openly boast for quite a while — in fact, old memories proved to be better company than most people would've. After all, Terry reached out countless times over the years, offering him opportunities, employment, money, second, third and fourth chances, never once getting the fact that to John, living off of quite so much charity was like castration, even if a good friend was the one holding the amputation blade. He might as well not be a man if someone else puts his bread and butter on the table instead of himself. Of course they both knew where the other was these past thirty something years, the short distance between them like an aching gap that couldn’t close or stop bleeding. John was legally homeless because, to him, there was a certain honor in refusing handouts and across town, Terry was cooped up in possibly his millionth new mansion since the 80’s, switching his usual old haunt up in The Hills for a beachfront porch out in Malibu were he took to hosting garden parties and charity events nowadays; a pastime for the semi-retired.

It was all over the newspapers and luckily, John enjoyed swapping through articles — has done so ever since he was a young man. Terry Silver had no marriage, no children, no official affiliation with any martial arts by the looks of it, some woman beside him.

John knows her type.

What GI's back in the days used to call a Boom Boom Girl.

A Boom Boom Girl putting on airs that she wasn't a Boom Boom Girl.

John places his finger over her face on the glossy paper of the periodical, covering her features as he eyes the phone in his hand, wondering if Terry never quite got down to having either progeny or matrimony because it wasn’t with you; somehow, things fell apart after the ‘85 tournament and old friendships and creeds broke into a thousand pieces, you becoming the one who got away amidst the wreckage and all the fallout. John felt responsible for you. Responsible, perhaps, in a way an older brother would be. A father, even though you were close in age, only several years of difference between you. Thinking that someone Terry cared about was in equal measure someone he should keep an eye out for. Watch, from afar. A solidarity of a Cobra for another Cobra and the Cobra’s mate. You never married either. Never had kids. John kept a careful tab on everything. Seems like the three of you were much the same, he thinks, as he hits up your number, one hand entering the digits who went to some pretty big lengths to track down, his other hand and his finger still pressed against the paper of the periodical; something or other about a Mindfulness App and its upcoming promotion. John saw nothing wrong in sabotaging an existing relationship to make another one happen. Picking apart people to bring together someone with somebody else. He’s done worse in life. Done better too. Never regretted any of it. This was probably the first time he was willingly playing a game of Good Cupid, Bad Cupid.

To quote Terry himself, extreme situations required extreme measures.

A nearby thin, black ballpoint marker stands on the table of his dojo office and listening to the clicking of the phone line pressed against his ear, John unplugs the top, drawing an X over the face of the person Hello! Magazine’s interviewer described as one Cheyenne Hamidi, standing next to Terry during what seemed like an official photoshoot of sorts. Promotional glossy bullshit with a plastic sprinkling of sparkles doused all over it.

Battle plans.

So many battle plans for the Thirty Year War.

Terry shouldn’t have terminated their phone call like that. Shouldn’t have left him out in the cold when all he wanted to do was talk. Cut him off, will he? The man who saved his life as many times as he did? His oldest ever friend? Whenever John Kreese was faced with an unmovable wall that barricaded him out, he returned to the place with a tank. You happened to be a crucial part of his heavy artillery.

A familiar voice answers on the other side; you sound aged. But still you.

-"Hello? Who’s this?"-

You inquire carefully, the questioning in your voice peppered with confusion once you get no immediate answer back. John sets down the marker on the desk. After a brief moment of silence, he has to smile. My, was it good to hear you loud and clear after all these years. He wondered if you’d recognize him if he spoke. Regardless, taking no chances, he chooses to introduce himself, hoping you wouldn’t hang up on him like Terry did. He shuts the periodical he’s drawn on, tossing it aside.

-"Toots? It’s John Kreese."-

—

-"Look at you. You’re a smokeshow!"-

-"Oh, please, John, I’ve aged. I’m all wrinkles."-

Those are the first words you exchange once he arranges a meeting, wondering to a degree, how was it that for all his connections, money, resources and usual habit of getting what he wants when he wants it, Terry never sought you out when John managed, not possessing a quarter of his means, concluding that Terry simply choose to capitulate, which was entirely out of character for him, to be as defeatist as to give up on something he felt belonged to him. Things changed. Things needed to be back to order, by the looks of it. John squeezes your hand in a handshake, for old times sake. -"I resent that."- He says, smiling into his own chin, looking you up and down. The years did it's toll, but you were still a grand lady. Shocking how nobody came to scoop you up over the years. Less shocking once he'd consider the fact that he'd make them disappear even if they tried ---- for Terry's own sake. Even if Terry never asked him to do that, John knew --- oh, he knew he needed someone to do that regardless; someone needed to pick up the good fight for him and in his stead occasionally now that he was seemingly playing the role of a Pacifist in newspapers people kept in their salons and never actually read. So, naturally, John plays clueless and asks the very question he already the knew the answer to. -"Tell me, how come you never got married? How’s that even possible?"- He goes by way of flattery, watching something gloomy wash over your face as you sit down on a nearby park bench, sighing deeply. That serious, huh?

-"Oh, John. You know why."-

He knew why. He knew everything.

Collecting intel was one of his talents.

But, still. A looker like you? Men in this city either became dumber over the years or they've lost their taste entirely. Probably both.

-"He’s never married either."-

And he just about should've been by now, he yearns to add.

Keeping his thoughts to himself for the time being and instead, John immediately chooses to cut to the chase; cut the bullshit, get to the point, meeting your glance knowingly and you nod, visibly gulping hard. It was clear it was difficult for you to talk about this --- that this was a taxing topic, even after all these decades, even though you knew exactly who he was talking about even without a name ever being mentioned. Terry was always on your mind, wasn't he? At least, frequently enough that he didn't even have to be brought up directly for you to catch the context immediately. -"Look, I was the one who ran when things got out of hand. You know that. He’s got every right be hurt."- You manage, appearing almost apologetic about it. -"And by the looks of it, he’s been doing very well for himself now. Then again, has there ever been a time when he wasn’t?"- You looking down towards your own lap and the hands on them, chuckling to yourself with a note of bitterness, and yeah, there have been times when Terry Silver hasn't been doing good, and if John could attest to that with certainty it is because he's seen him at his lowest and ironically, for all the razzle, dazzle, glitz and glamour, he'd be damned if anyone could convince him he was doing good right now, no matter what the shills in the media were claiming; Newspapers you no doubt saw too. John wondered if you were jealous? Heartbroken? You had to be. If his Betsy went and married some random schmuck who wasn't him he'd about ram his teeth down his throat over it, and that would only be the introduction. -"What I mean to say, John, I am happy, if he’s happy. We’re from two different worlds, we always have been, but Terry’s contentment is all I want."- 

No lies detected in your voice.

Only honesty. Clear as a stream. Just as vulnerable. Fragile.

See, this is exactly why he wanted you for Terry.

Kind.

Selfless.

Almost noble.

The willingness to stay in the shadows and self-sacrifice your happiness.

Not a single advantageous, opportunistic bone in your body in regards to Terry.

True love.

That was it. What it looked like.

In strange ways beyond explanation, your manner reminded John of Betsy all his life --- Betsy if she was allowed to age and grow old, no more than it did there and then, something similarly timeless and eerily haunting about you two; something sweet and genuine once you said that you wanted nothing but Terry's contentment and he figured, Terry, Twig --- he needed all the help he could get even when he didn't realize it. Even when he wouldn't admit to it. Ever since the war, he needed a push in the right direction. Someone to guide him in a seamless sense. Save him. John would guide him. Save him, yes. For the umpteenth time. John would guide him right where he witnessed Terry happiest back in the day, right to you. The natural payment for that would be Cobra Kai reestablished and reinstated to it's former glory where it belonged. John watches Terry's back, Terry watches his. Who said there wasn't a thread of selfishness to the transaction? In 'Nam, when rations were low, John tended to let Twig drink out of his canteen, eat from his share of meals purely so he'd have a fighting chance at growing a pair of muscles and surviving the long marches out in the jungle even if it meant there would be less food left for John. Was it quite so different today, over forty years later? John gets Cobra Kai and Terry gets the love of his life because John would ensure the meeting possible. Precisely because he was ready to selfishly meddle. Divide and conquer.

So, really, in the end, who gets more out of the deal?

-"Look, toots, I’ll be going to see him to talk business."-

John offers.

-"If you want to come with me, you should."-

-"No, John, c’mon. I can't."-

You immediately snort and fidget, overtaken by a nervous edge of unwillingness.

Profusely embarrassed, gripping the edge of the bench with both hands.

Looking like you wanted to stand up and make an excuse to leave.

-"I can’t randomly show up in his life like that."-

Can't or were too afraid to?

Because John wasn't afraid; he'd scale the walls of his mansion if he had to.

Fight whatever security detour there was in place.

With you on his back.

-"Give me one good reason why you shouldn’t."-

John inquires, taking no prisoners, being as serious as he could be as he scrutinizes your anxiety, because no, genuinely, your place was by Terry's side ever since the good, old days. Everything between there and now was a load of bullshit and if John loathed anything it was loads of bullshit. You shake your head, prodding on, still not convinced. Did you think someone was going to come along and award you a Medal of Honor if you were continued to deprive yourself of joy? -"No fair! Tell me what’s this business you two are suddenly talking about? I thought you weren’t close like that anymore."- You furrow your brows with incredulity and John simply shrugs, choosing to be blunt. After all, he didn't track you down and bring you out here to pull your nose or waste too much of his own time doing so when there was work to be done. He came here to tie up loose ends. -"It’s Cobra Kai."- He confesses, holding your gaze firmly. Your mouth remains open, like you intended to say something, but the words remained stuck halfway in your throat. Sounded like you haven't heard that name uttered in thirty years and like you weren't certain if you should even say it anymore, after everything that's transpired. -"Cobra Kai?"- You stutter, practically shooting up from where you were seated, your body language rigid. Stiff as a board. -"So, this is what it’s all about? I should've known you had an agenda the minute you contacted me! You want me to butter Terry up for you, John? Isn't that right? Get whatever financing and bankrolling you need to get your revenue expanding! None of this is honest, good or dignified!"- You point a finger at him, ranting, visibly impassioned and John has to smile into his chin. Feisty, huh? Feisty and ever so selfless once again, with all the consideration in the world for Terry's honor and well-being, like the saint you were. If anything, another proof you belonged together; that is, if Terry as he was now was man enough to even deserve you back.

And after all, so what if it wasn't honest, good or dignified?

When was war ever honest, good or dignified?

What Cobra Kai was about to do is enter an all out war.

Terry could be out here blowing his cash on buying some broad with an over inflated ego and a smug face the credentials for an unearned start-up and splitting grey hairs on a silky mansion cushion like the sad, neutered old pensioner he's made himself out to be, or he could be bringing their life's work to the fullest potential and fruition, get married to you, have an actual legacy to boast and be the man and the warrior he was always supposed to be; John didn't save him as many times as he did in Vietnam to have him withering away doing nothing with himself, and if that was the wrong attitude to have, then fuck it. John stands up too, placing himself in front of you. This wasn't just about the money and you knew it. This was greater than money. Cobra Kai, him, you and Terry were always greater than money. Terry and you were a major chunk of John Kreese's entire life. -"No. I want old times back. I want things made right. Set straight. And I want you to be on good terms again."- John explains himself, nearly saying 'I want the clock to go back', deciding not to, choosing not to risk sounding too damn sentimental for his own good, regardless how true it was. -"Why?"- You shrug your shoulders, appearing angry, unsatisfied with what you've just heard. Would you be more satisfied if he told you he was concerned with who his friend wasted his time on? That he wanted Terry with someone who was good for him? Who knew him inside out? Someone who understood him? Loved him?

Because John could do that. So, he does.

-"Because he cares about you, doll."-

John allows his head to cock to the side, endeared by the way your eyes welled up with suppressed, prideful tears once you were rendered temporarily speechless by that bit of unfiltered truth. You cared about his Twig too, didn't you? You cared about him more than you've ever cared about anyone else. Always have. Otherwise, you would've settled down. You would've done so ages ago. You could still do so now, in spite of your wrinkles and the occasional silver hair; a beauty even now. The same way John would've settled down if it wasn't for Betsy's memory. Just the way Terry would've too, if it wasn't for the memory of you. But, here you were, still choosing to be your stubborn, combative self. Well, Terry liked them with some spunk and fire, after all. So did John.

-"Oh, please, how can you claim to even know that!? Leave him be! He's in an relationship! He's moved on! It was all over the ---"-

You start arguing, getting emotional and heated, deflecting, clearly out of fear at the prospect of a reunion taking place, pleading Terry's case for him and if it wasn't for the fact the vista he choose the meeting to take place in wasn't remote, overlooking the gridded skyline of LA, giving you two some much needed privacy from prying eyes he was certain people would be turning around to stare you down, looking for the cause of all the noise and commotion, but regardless of the semantics; How could John claim Terry still cared about you? When two people were as intrinsically tied with each other for as long as he and Terry were, and they've been through all the crap he and Terry have been through, when a man is sure, he's sure. Doesn't require a science.

-"I know that man's soul better than he knows his own, is how."-

Is all John says, finally stunning you into silence.

—

The mansion was everything the newspaper spreads portrayed it as.

And in person, the walls surrounding the outer garden wall were just as tall as they seemed in the periodicals, their overall width and height causing John's throat to erupt in a chuckle once he landed on the immaculately trimmed green lawn cut to staggering perfection almost resembling a carpet trampled under his footwear pressing down it's surfaces in the aftermath of his jump down, letting you climb off of his back and unto the rug-like grass spread that encircled the whole estate dotted with decorative shrubberies, looming palm trees, white rocks and sprawling and exotic plants; a man simply never forgot his military basic training and the things he picked up there --- not even after half a century --- and in spite of the near bastion like fence embracing the premises of the manor from all sides, John found it easy to come in, undetected, grabbing hold of your hand and guiding you behind himself, following the pathway going along the sleek, white facade of the mansion's backyard. If Terry Silver's new home was a country, it would've been long since invaded by now. All pastels, light colors and jagged shapes; either his tastes drastically changed over time or he was simply following the new fashion of things purely because they were the new fashion of things and because he wanted to fly low, slipping beneath the radar, being like everyone else, pretending to be both the grass and the snake inside of it. Now, all was left was finding the man of the hour himself if he was present on the estate and judging by all the cars parked out front, like so many models on a show, he must've been. A maid carrying a tray of crushed ice in a heavy crystal decanter appears in sight and John feels you gasp in concealed surprise behind him, squeezing his arm wordlessly, fearing getting caught and seen by someone prematurely, no doubt, only for a taller, smartly dressed figure in blue to immediately come into sight once the server nearly drops the contents she was carrying away from whatever party she was catering, struggling underneath the weight of her platter's contents. At this point, John feels your hand let go of his.

Terry Silver. There he was. Meeting his gaze, head on.

He was dressed for vacation, looking like he was on a very long one.

John nods his way, smiling; the gesture unreturned. Figures.

The man, the legend, the myth.

It was time to leave the eternal vacation, though --- come back down to planet Earth.

-"What do you want?"-

Terry immediately snipes dryly, tight-jawed, seemingly cracking his neck, instantly recognizing him, appearing cold and detached, John certain that you were still in his shadow, just behind him, too embarrassed and scared to stand side by side beside him, trying to make yourself look small once he steps out of the looming corner of the manor's outer wall opening into a grand garden affair, riddled with people seated on outdoors commodes and loveseats not far off, further into the estate grounds, waited on by a staff of mingling butlers, finding Terry's eyes travelling from him, to his shoulders, of his arms, to the body adjoined to him and finding you standing there, discerning you, perhaps instantly, the shift in demeanor being almost immediate once the apologetic maid scurries off to tend to her duties and Terry's gaze remains frozen on you, through John. If he was on the verge of arguing with him on sight, the desire visibly disperses and Terry merely stands there, motionless, lost and vacant, you reacting much the same as the party goes on, only a couple of feet away, the silence looming heavy, like a bullet fired in the dead of night. John could swear, if someone dropped a tiny silver cocktail spoon at this party, it would be heard over on the other side, in Mexico; tension only interrupted by a chipper voice cutting through the discomfort looming like a dark cloud. The woman from the newspaper. The one with the 'X' over her face. Charlene, Charlotte, Cherry whatever. John remembered her full name alright, but he didn't bother giving her respect of pretending he did. -"Terrence! Aren’t you going to introduce us?"- Pep in her step followed with an English accent, she stands beside him, showing off a cool smile, Martini glass adorned with a garnish in hand; John interlocks his arm with yours, practically forcing you forward, stiff as you were, refusing to allow you stand behind his back, like some sort of nobody vagrant or a mouse attempting to crawl back into its hole. Nobody puts Baby in a corner, not on his watch, he thinks to himself. The very fact Terry didn't introduce you as This was the woman I loved, wanted to marry, wanted to have children with, wanted to have everything in the world with thirty years ago side by side with the man I've been through literal hell and back with was offensive enough John's taste buds.

So, he introduces himself.

-"Old friend."-

He speaks up, gruffly, with some humor. Introducing you next.

Seeing as how clearly you were too tongue tied to do it by yourself.

-"Old friend of an old friend."-

John glances at you averting your gaze awkwardly, forcing a tiny smile and trying not to look at anyone for too long, Cheyenne's giggle giving off the airs that she didn't particularly care what he introduced you or himself as in the vast coterie of all the other people here present with Terry still being as speechless as can be, trying not to show it, giving a million dollar act. Was he truly going to say nothing to you? Not even a common greeting? Nothing at all? Nothing came to mind? -"Oh, how cheeky!"- The woman next to him exclaims, and for fuck's sake, was he going to take that icicle of seemingly haughty, stoic indifference Terry was toting around and ram it in deep until it bleeds; twist it too, for good measure, until he snaps to his senses. John goes in for the jab. -"So, you tied the knot, did you?"- He asks, even though he knew the answer was negative. He did enough research by now. Terry knew him well enough to be well aware he wouldn't come here unprepared and the way he fidgets in his skin, jaw nearly bending forward in discomfort only proves as much. The woman next to him nearly erupts in laughter at the query. That funny, huh? Like it was the funniest prospect she's ever heard in her life. Your arm interlocked with John's only tightens, like a vice. -"Oh, no, me and Terrence aren’t married!"- Cheyenne throws her head back and for a brief second, John catches Terry's eyes grazing you, lingering there from the edge of his peripheral vision, there's the brilliant vestige of tears in the corner of your stare, firmly tucked away beneath your lashes. -"But, any friends of his are my friends."- She declares jubilantly. -"Margaritas?"- Before a yes or no answer could even properly be given, a uniformed server with a silver tray approaches you, offering you both wordlessly a drink, and going for fair play, John grabs himself a tall beverage, being a gentleman and handing you one too even though he was more of a Scotch or beer type of guy, not whatever green cooled off slop concoction this was, cooler perhaps being only Terry's gaze, watching you and watching him unblinking from across the array of decorative glasses while Cheyenne already disappeared from by his side, making herself busy schmoozing a guest not even two steps away.

None of them dare say a word to you.

Certainly not one of scorn, haughtiness, mockery or criticism.

John was certain that if they did, that he'd set the mansion on fire.

---

-"Why’d you bring her along? Why’d you dredge up the past?"-

The whole thing was tactically hurried; Terry practically ushering him up the second floor of the manor and towards a balcony fenced off transparent glass overlooking the lawn for some privacy. He knew he touched a nerve through the very fact they were in a secluded place, away from the crowd, having this conversation in the first place and that Terry was cutting right to the chance, his body language concealing nervousness, hands in his pockets, shoulders protruding forward defensively. The stance a prisoner of war has when he's being interrogating and trying to convince everyone he doesn't know anything when he clearly does. John speaks dryly. With all the seriousness in the world, keeping his eyes firmly planted on you down below, looking a bit lost but trying to make the best of it, chatting with a maid from across a table spread of elaborate salads. Probably the most preferable company at the whole party, for all intents and purposes. -"Because I believe in a little something called love. You should try it sometimes, Terrence."- John takes the figurative proverbial knife of mockery and digs it in deep and Terry's right there, receiving the blow and returning it in kind just like John knew he would. Terry wouldn't be Terry if he didn't. -"Rich, coming from you! Pushing me away as many times as you did. Disappearing! Wanting to stay gone. Insisting on it no matter how hard I tried. Now, you show up, jumping over the fence of my home, ammunition in hand."- His jaw tightens, hand gripping the edge of the balcony with whitened knuckles, his other free hand pointing vigorously. He was angry. Why, though? If he was quite so happy as he claimed to be? Nothing real could ever be damaged, no matter how much ammunition John brought to the fold. Terry's sudden onslaught of semi-suppressed anger is suddenly replaced by a deep exasperation once his gaze falls down on you; a figure against the green of his perfect lawn. Terry's hand anxiously runs through his loose hair. When did that happen by the way? Did he forget why he tied his hair back so many years ago in the first place? For who? -"Don’t even want to know how she jumped fence. Did you put her on your back or something!?"- 

Avoidance.

Avoiding the topic at hand by focusing on random semantics.

Yeah, John put you on his back and climbed over the mansion walls.

What of it?

Would he prefer if he did things the way his new, so-called friends apparently tended to? Discussing on feeding the destitute with Kale over an App? Playing at acceptance and bleeding heart Liberal tolerance and then calling strangers inbred? Pretending that an old army friend was nobody of consequence and that what they've been through out there together, the type of thing someone would write a memoir about, was nothing special either? Would that be preferable?

-"It’s how I do things. You know me. Tough old spine."- 

John shrugs and grins into his own chin, self-content.

Terry's weirdly harrowed reaction brought on a warm wave of relish.

He deserved to have the smug, distant aura of coldness wiped off from his face.

If only for a moment.

John steps closer as he spoke.

-"But, you should also know, there was only ever one woman for me, and I loved her all my life. There’s never been another one since."-

He shakes his head steadily, feeling his voice slide forth from the precipice of his mouth with so much firm, unyielding, silent conviction that he could've been easily giving the pledge of allegiance. There's been women in the physical sense. Just not in any that matters. Terry knew that. Terry tried to set him up with the occasional dime piece a million times throughout the years and while John used the opportunity, the epilogue of such acquittances ended the same way; by ending. John thought Terry needed a reminder of that too right before he'd get the bright idea of accusing him of being loveless. Of not knowing what love is. Wouldn't put it past him nowadays. -"I know everything there is to know about it."- John assesses. -"Think you do too, sweetheart."-  He adds, semi-snarky, semi-sincere, watching something about Terry's eyes change. A distant shadow falling over them. The distant sunset overcast across the Pacific vista encasing the outline of his features in a hazy red overtone. The view looked like a million dollars from up here. Probably cost as much too. But, Terry wasn't even looking out towards the ocean. He looked down towards you instead --- all alone, walking out towards the row of palm trees separating his garden from his private beach, away from the company of guests engrossed in their mutual conversations. -"Otherwise, you wouldn’t be here having this conversation."- John states matter-of-factly, scrutinizing Terry's averted gaze, staring out into the distance. No, you'd be down there, with the broad you're flaunting and you'd never let her out of your sights, John thinks to himself. Not up here, discussing who's right or wrong with me. Suddenly, Terry's face erupts into anger. Figures. People tended to get mad when someone made them face the truth of things. It was usually their last refuge. -"You don’t have the right to meddle in my private life. The war’s over! This isn’t military hierarchy anymore! We're not out on the battlefield! You don’t know the first thing about me, John."- He seethes through gritted teeth, speaking in a partially hushed, venom-riddled tone as to not disrupt the party going on below. A party lacking its host up here doing cartwheels around sheer facts instead of going down there --- rushing down there, in fact --- grabbing you by the hand and never letting you go again before you get bored of being alone. Embarrassed at being forgotten and overlooked. And you'd decide to leave.

Not know the first thing about him?

Heck, he knew everything about him!

From when he got his last mandatory Malaria shot in the army stationed doctor's office back in the military and how his arm where the needle jab when through swell up for days because his skin was that sensitive to how they used to eat insects, worms and bugs to survive back in that cage in 'Nam. There was nobody who knew Terry like John --- except for you.

-"Sure do."-

John has to laugh.

Not know him? He knew Terry like his own fingers.

Like his own two hands.

Was time for some tough love on the matter.

-"I know Tofu Screw down there laughed at the prospect of being married to you to your face while you couldn’t get your eyes off another woman who looked like she was going to cry because of it."-

John decides to speak clearly, without murmuring it and for once, Terry seems to be rendered speechless, like he knew what he was hearing was legitimate and accurate, mouth agape right before he took to chewing his own lip in agitation, suddenly uneasy in his own skin. If he wanted to go to you, he should just go to you. Now. Right now. Drop this whole charade. Quite pretending he was something he wasn't. Stop neutering himself. Aim for what he really want it and hold unto it. Cease living a lie. Because of all this? It was all a lie. John knew as much and he knew Terry knew as much too. Was never about therapy. About that crap he inhaled into his nose. It was about passion. Terry being built from it. Every drop of blood in his veins singing out for it. He wasn't built for a half-assed existence. Neither of them were. You weren't either, that was for sure. The old wound was rendered open, bleeding inwardly and one last time, John decides to press his finger into it for good measure. -"Not quite the life you dreamed of, huh?"- He prods and Terry's face and eyes shoot up towards him, appearing haunted, like someone who's seen a ghost. At this point, you stood on the edge of his estate next to a wall of pale rocks on a sandy white dune, windswept against the swaying palm trees, quiet and dignified with your beverage in hand. You could've had your children's children with Terry by your side at this point, going for a coastline stroll at dusk. Funny how when you lose one battle, you tend to lose all of them and one domino collapsing leads to all of them following suit; he supposed that's why he took the tournament loss in 1985 as hard as he did even though Terry never quite understood his reasoning, but he came here today to fix that. Fix forty years of mistake making and put back everything in order. Starting with you. Starting with Terry. Because it was better late than never. Things were only ever truly lost when one gave up fighting and if John had to, he'd prefer going down while still wearing his boots. Remembering to blink, Terry practically spits his words. It was all a ploy, of course. A mask. A carefully curated facade. To conceal just how raw he was right now. John would let him have his coping mechanisms, for now, if that's what he needed. To bullshit and delude himself some more.

-"What'd you tell her to get her to agree to come out here?"-

Only the truth, John thought of himself, so help me God.

Terry's hand grabs the edge of his jacket, pulling him closer, squeezing the zipper.

Careful now, or his guests would find their host isn't quite as mindful as he touts himself.

That there was, perhaps, a bit of Cobra Kai still present inside of him.

That it never left. It was merely brumating.

Now rearing its head; waking up.

-"I told you that you never stopped loving her. Did I lie?"-

John drawls steadily and just like that, Terry's fingers let him go and before John can blink, he's already gone, long legs strutting and rushing down the foyer past a baffled member of staff, away from the balcony, practically rushing down the stairs, leaving John behind. Showtime, he thinks to himself, once Terry's voice, loud and abrupt, echoes across the foyer, reaching his ears like a brewing tempest. -"I’ll need the premises cleared out. Now! Show’s over!"- He shouts. John doesn't see it in action, but his senses sure enjoy the sound of complete and utter wrath shaking up the ground floor of the manor. He hears the grand main entrance down below practically swing open with a loud thud and he witnesses Terry, on the lawn, sauntering towards his own guest, hands open, ordering them out. No two ways around it. Baby, now we're talking. Oh, we're back in business, alright --- some pleased, content part of John's whispers in response. As if on cue, the so far unseen security detour scours the premises in black suits, ushering people out, one by one and all it took was one line on Terry's part. That's precisely the man John remembered. The man he called his friend. -"Everyone."- Terry assesses himself and the giggling woman from the newspaper jumps up from the wicker garden recliner, her mouth practically plopping open, Martini glass adorned with a garnish forgotten on a nearby table. -"What do you mean!?"- She practically squeaks, demanding answers in a shrill voice. John didn't blame her, but it was too damn pleasing to see, like scratching a long overdue itch. -"What about my promotion, Terrence!?"- Cheyenne's shock is palpable once one of the dozen bodyguards Terry had on stand placed his hand on her shoulder, ready to show her and her posse out. -"Promotion’s canceled."- Terry clarifies bluntly, offering no further explanations, cutting the cord without remorse. Back turned towards the balcony in his blue blazer, John doesn't see his expression, but he doesn't have to; it was the words he caught from upstairs that mattered. The fact your attention was caught by the ruckus was what mattered. Standing on the beach front, you turn your head to the commotion, slightly perplexed and frightened by all the noise, no doubt --- the sun was sinking into the ocean and the dimmed skyline behind you was nightfall purple, solar torches flickering alive all around the grounds like so many stars.

John was a good friend. Always. One way or another.

Even when his intent was immediately clearly understood.

He'd clear the terrain for you and Terry to be alone.

By any means necessary.

This was war.

The first among many battles.

And he's just won the chief one.

-"Sir, everyone's been told to evacuate the premises."-

One of the waiters fearfully approaches him; some boy in his late twenties by the looks of it, carrying a tray of something he entirely wouldn't mind having, for a change, considering the circumstances and the scene unfolding in front of him. A good Macallan in a massive crystal decanter. Not bad. Not bad at all. Finally --- a man's drink. Was time for a celebration. -"Nope. Don't think I will, kiddo."- John helps himself, grabbing a glass and the bottle at ease, pouring himself some much-deserve refreshments refreshments, turning towards the emptied out garden lawn, watching the dispossessed, struggling girlfriend get carted out and left at the car park, roaring engines hurriedly abandoning the lot, her ginger haired friend with the Habsburg jawline comment in tow. Emile, was it? Good riddance. Sometimes, someone's sole purpose in life was to serve as an example; the example here being, offensive words and shittalking don't come cheap and John Kreese always find a way to dish out payback. Often, much sooner than anyone would've hoped. Life comes at you fast. John brings the edge of the glass to his mouth, relishing the taste of things working out just the way he knew it would, observing Terry cleaning house, guiding the last of his guests out, towards the front gate. Was it tremendously ethical to have one woman moved out only for another one to immediately take her place? Absolutely not. John knew you'd have your reservations. That you'd pity those undeserving of pity because you were a fundamentally good person, just like his Betsy used to be. That you'd pity those who'd never pity you. Who'd barely show you a molecule of respect. That you'd fight against this, in your own way, citing ethics. Kindness. Honor. But, there was no ethics in warfare. Only winners and losers. And this victory belonged to you. To him. To Terry himself. To Cobra Kai. Whether you liked it or not. You'd learn to like it. He sighs, content, the heavy, hearty liquor taste burning his tongue as he addressed the baffled waiter eyeing him he had a pair of horns growing from his forehead. Hilarious. -"But I do think I'll have that drink now. Today deserves a toast."- Terry's form disappears somewhere in the shadow of his palm tree lot on the precipice of the beach where you stood just a moment ago and John knew then that he's done a good job. The rest of the battle was up to his Lieutenant.

John smiles against his hard liquor, enjoying the lays rays of the sunset's golden hour.

He nearly busted out laughing once a question came unbidden into his mind.

Who's gonna eat all that Tofu and vegetable screws now?

---

Desperation.

His heart is pounding like a drum when he finds you by the incoming tide, concealed by the shadow of an Acacia tree from the fallout of the evening, arms wrapped around your torso and he reaches out, on instinct, thirty years of yearning contained in a single touch. You seem like you were worried. Scared. A verge away from crying. Windswept by the salty gusts of air blown in from the coastline. He needs you. Needs you. Needs you so badly, he could imagine myself dying, combusting, if he didn't embrace you here and now, protecting you from everything and anything that surrounded you. Pulling you close to him. You nearly stutter when you see him walking into sight, leaving John in the manor and relying on his security to close the gates and show everyone out into the streets; he was certain half of The Valley would be talking about this by tomorrow but he could always use the excuse that he was an old man who needed his rest and that his guests --- well, they simply stayed longer than propriety allowed. Did it matter? Fuck them all. Fuck everything and everyone. He was happy. Feral. Crestfallen. So many years. So many. He wants to shout at the sky like a lost, howling dog. -"Terry, what's happening back there!? What are you doing here!?"- You ask in a hurry, confused, unsure if you should stay or leave, panic highlighting your voice and your eyes resembling a deer caught in the headlights of a moving car speeding your way. Leave? Not a chance. Not ever again. He'd burn the World down if you ever deprived him of your company for even but a moment. The palms of his hands encircle your face and before he knows it, his body is conjoined with yours with every atom of ache, nostalgia and heartache bleeding together and it feels like time is standing and rushing all at once, caught amidst his fingertips grazing your skin. You're cold.

He'll be your warmth.

Your friend, your confidante, your family, your lover.

He wants to know everything. Absolutely everything.

Every minute, every second of your life between now and 1985.

-"What I should've done thirty two years ago."-

Terry murmurs, kissing you with such a ferocity his yellow shades slide off the top of his head and into the sand under his feet.

Fuck's sake, he could weep.

[delirium1217]

There's no need to hide

Word count: 1009 words James/Regulus. First wizarding war AU (they're both stuck together in the same safe house)

⋆｡°✩˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗⋆｡°✩

“No, this won’t do.” James stands up, “We are not spending today of all days moping.”

“We’re not moping, we’re just talking.” Regulus replies, slightly indignant.

“All we ever talk about are big, sad, mushy feelings.” James dramatically flails his hands around, almost as if shooing the sentiment away.

“Big, mushy, feelings.” Regulus repeats, he tries to sound offended but the tug on his lips says otherwise.

“Well yeah, everyone you know thinks you’re dead, terribly sorry we can’t do anything about that by the way. And me, well, where the fuck do we start, you know?”

Regulus looks back at him, slowly blinking. the sickly yellow lightbulb casting down its shadows.

He doesn’t need to think about that right now.

He just needs something to fill the noise.

The air was filled with the sense of slight delirium. Nothing felt real. Nothing had consequence. James felt like he could run away, sprint off into the fields and pretend the last twenty two years of his life were a lapse of chemicals his mind made up in a haze.

The depression that hung over him all week threatened to spill into hysterical exuberance. But James didn’t care, it’s been so long since he had someone near him, someone that wasn’t decades older than him. Someone that talked to him, not just through him. Someone that didn’t expect him to be something he wasn’t.

He’ll let himself get drunk on whatever endorphins his body, for whatever reason, was dishing out.

He just needs something to fill the noise.

“Look James, maybe we should call it a night-“

“Nonsense! It’s your birthday, we’re staying up. We’re transforming some stale bread into equally stale cake. We’re playing music your obnoxious little self wouldn’t be caught dead listening to, and we’re dancing.”

He taps his wand. The tinny radio spluttered to life. The glittery synths were scratchy and soft. It filled the room instantly.

Regulus looks back horrified, his eyes widened.

He stretches his hand out for Regulus to take.

Regulus stares down at it, then back at James’ face “Oh no, absolutely not.”

“Oh c’mon, I used to do this all the time with Peter.”

“Is that all what you four did all day? dance around with each other?”

“Mostly, amongst other things. The worst of us was Remus, man had two left feet and fingernails like talons.” he fondly remembers the way Remus’ grip dug into his shoulders and ‘Moony, can you for the love of everything try and be less rigid’ while everyone else in the common room cheered them on, well, mostly Sirius.

Regulus snorts, “I should’ve known. And to think of all the time I wondered what on earth you people did.”

“Well, we had to, the marauders couldn’t embarrass themselves in front of the ladies.”

James’ hand was still outstretched. He wiggled his fingers again, “Come on. Can’t you just humor me?”

“You know it’s my birthday, you should be humoring me.” Still, something in his expression softens - he sighs, unfolds his arms, and carefully places his hand into James’ own.

The soft music and layered vocals had filtered throughout the room. The noise of it seemingly amplified in the tiny living room.

James slowly put his hand on Regulus’ shoulder - the unexpected warmth that rushed through him made him pause. He realizes, this was the first time he’s touched another person in months.

(Eight months to be exact, the last time he saw Marlene, drenched in black hoods at an Order meeting. She gave him a full body hug and squeezed all the oxygen out of him.)

Still, he slides his other hand across Regulus’ palm. The song playing was by a muggle band he didn’t recognize - a ditzy little number, all dreamy sounds and far away vocals. The shimmering effect the night held seemed to surge as they swayed.

It was awkward at first, as it always is. Clutching to each other’s shoulders in a frigid way that even Remus would realize was painful. That was until James, in his delirious state of glee started adding twists and turns left and right, loosening both of them up.

Regulus followed his every move, surprisingly fluid and confident in a way his posture never was. They both slowly started to laugh with every unnecessary kick or turn they flourished as they moved across the kitchen floor. This wasn’t a formal dance in any sense of the word, bouncing around like fools across the linoleum tiles.

It’s been a long time since he felt like this. Young, stupid, and full of bravado. Of course, now it was tinged with the haziness of all what’s broken his heart over and over, night after night. But it was still there, a flickering light in the dark. On and off. He silently pleaded with whoever was handling it to not click it off just yet.

“Okay, you have to stop before I start to vomit,” Regulus raises his voice over the bellowing music, a woman singing about hot stuff.

“We’ve both had nothing all day, nice try though!”

“Have you ever seen a cat dry heave?”

James laughs. He slows his tempo down back to a sway.

“Alright, we’re slowing down, only because it’s your birthday. Otherwise we would’ve been spinning off the patio,”

Regulus promptly ignores him. “Wasn’t there a promise of cake during your little speech?”

“Stale cake.” James corrects. “and i can only manage sweetened white bread, with bits of frosting.”

“I’ve had worse meals,” Regulus replies

“I bet you did,” James smiles back.

They come to a stop as the last seconds of the song play, another already fading in.

They both found themselves a few moments later hunched over a piece of incredibly stale, possibly moldy bread. Both throwing every bit of transfiguration spell they had in their arsenal. The result was a dried-out, but surprisingly pretty piece of yellow sponge cake. James had taken bits of milk and transfigured it into real looking icing, which coated the sides in swirls and peaks.

[emotionallyattachednerd]

Confessions | Knightverse Bumblebee x GN!human reader | SFW

Word count: 1800+

Warnings: None. Just a first kiss. ( for once there is no smut 😅 )

Notes: This is a art trade for @bi-polar-geminii. Loved trying out something different with Bumblebee and my writing style. Hope you enjoy. ❤️

☕ Coffee

Bumblebee enjoyed spending time with you whenever possible. You always made him feel special, and he returned the same by making you feel just the same. He understood you were very different, species wise, but that doesn’t stop his feelings from growing more fondly about you every passing day. The urge to confess keeps creeping, about to burst out at any moment, but he holds it all in fearing you’ll reject him, and so he continues to be your friend.

What he doesn’t know is that you feel the very same about him, but keep it all sealed up, despite just how much it’s bothering you. It feels like an itch you can’t reach and it’s growing more intense the more you spend time with him. You do ask yourself the worst that could happen and the worst scenarios always run through your head, over and over again it happens, and this is what holds you back. Its torture, and you’re unsure just how much longer you can hold it in.

On one of Bumblebee’s days off he drives you to one of your favourite spots to hang out together, someplace quiet, where it’s only just you two and mother nature surrounding. The drive is always nice and he places your favourite music, listening to you sing along with your hand out the rolled down window against the wind. The sound of your voice is a beautiful melody to Bumblebee’s audios, and he would love to sing along with you, but since he lost his voice all he can do is play whatever music you wanted. You’re happy, and that’s all that mattered to him.

Once you arrive, Bumblebee carries you across the thicket towards the river bank, settling you down once in the clear and you both take in your surroundings and nature's music. It’s beautifully relaxing. You breathe in deeply and let out a satisfied exhale while setting the sun observe into your skin. Bumblebee mimics this, just to be a part of your relaxation.

“Feel that sun, breathe in that fresh air, hear nature's music, this is the kind of life to live.” You say wearing a fond smile. “If only this was right in my backyard, it would be parricide.”

"Is that something you would like? Why not change your life to have this?" He asked through his radio over a few channels.

“Oh, as much as I would like to, I have work and friends I don’t want to leave. Sometimes that’s the way of life, but I have no regrets. What I already have is something that is irreplaceable, I wouldn’t trade it for the world.” That’s the truth you speak as you offer him a sweet smile.

Bumblebee listens closely, enticed by your speech. You were such a wonderful human being that saw so much beauty in everything, so caring, beautiful. Finding the right channel through his radio, he goes to speak, to confess something that's been nagging in his helm.

"You're perfect, kind, and you-"

“Oh Bee, look over there.” You didn’t mean to cut him off but you notice something in the water struggling to swim. It’s a tiny Bumblebee, who had made an unfortunate mistake and got themselves submerged in the water. Without hesitation you take your shoes off and enter the shallow bank, gently using your hands you scoop it up, saving its life. There is little care about your clothes getting wet or dirty, all that mattered to you was the poor little guy.

Bumblebee watches this happen and tilts his head curiously at the small creature sitting in your hands, tired from the struggle, but resting calmly as they try to get themselves dry and regain their energy. He’s seen cruelness in the universe, even earth. Such a creature wasn’t always looked out for and so are forced to take care of themselves without help, and in this creature's final moments near death, they are saved by the most kind hearted human this universe didn’t deserve. Bugs die all the time, every day, but this bug won’t be one of them today.                 

“Poor thing.” You coo calmly at it, bringing your hand closer to your face. “Don’t worry little guy, you’re safe now. You can rest there for as long as you need.” Looking back at Bumblebee you give an innocent smile. “I know it might seem strange talking to a bug, but I believe all living things can understand us somehow, even though we can’t understand them, but there’s a connection and it's up to us to find it, to make that connection work. They need help sometimes and it's up to us to offer that help, it’s a choice. There’s beauty in this world and these little guys have a big part in it, pollinating the world and bringing life everywhere.” You explain to him, all the while you watch the fuzzy bumblebee in your hand with a smile. “Thank you, little one.”

Bumblebee tilts his helm curiously. “Why…appreciation?”

“Well, like I said, they help keep our world thriving, and without them our world wouldn’t be anything beautiful like it is. Like you and the autoboots, you’re here to protect earth and humans from decepticons. Without you, our world would be destroyed.”

Then, Bumblebee feels a heavy emotion, a dread. "We failed our world. Protecting yours is our priority. I don't want to fail you."

Tilting your head up, you listen to what he says to you, curious by the tone you picked up on. "I believe in you, Bee. You could never disappoint me. Sorry, I think I cut you off before. What were you going to say?"

Now it's Bumblebee's turn to hesitate, a shy little child worried about the outcome of what he truly wanted to say to you. Humming buzzing sound from him, before he finally confesses through his radio. "You complete me."

His words make your heart skip a beat. "I...I complete you? What do you mean by that?" You need to make sure, to dig deeper, find the source of what he just said to you.

Bumblebee stares at the crawling bee on her hand, desperately trying to clean and dry itself. He knows there's no backing out of it, and answers without looking at her.

"When you realise you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible." A famous quote he found, and the only one he seemed to find and fit in the situation he brought himself in.

The confession truly takes your breath away, a warmth floods through your entire body, causing goosebumps to rush through your skin and tickling your tiny hairs. Still, as beautiful as his quote was, you needed more clarification, just to be sure.

"Bee, do you love me?" As forward as it sounded, it's all you could think of in the moment, to put it out there. Your eyes are fixed on him as you await his answer.

Through his sudden shyness, he tilts his helm at you and manages to give a simple nod, right before tearing his gaze away back onto the bug you continue to hold. It's something you've only dreamed about, a love confession from your favourite yellow bug, from Bumblebee.

Stepping closer you touch his surprisingly warm plating at his servo, gaining his attention, watching as his baby blue optics shift directly onto you, looking like a frightened child that tugs at your heart. There was no need to question further as to why he didn't say anything before, because you had also done it, keeping your feelings all bottled up. Both of you were worried about the outcome, but now it's all happening, and there is only one thing to do that struck your mind.

"Kiss me."

For a split second Bumblebee is confused before his optics glow brightly, happiness blooming through him hearing these words. Slowly he leans forward, his helm tilts, and you meet with him before sealing your soft lips over the grill of his mouth guard. It might not seem like it but you feel him kissing you back, gently pressing as you let the kiss linger for as long as possible. There's a concoction of emotions, your racing heart beats quickly, a bundle of nerves tightens at your chest, and a flood of happiness bursts through your whole body. The moment leaves you giggling silently on the inside, a love and affection latching onto the moment with what feels like butterflies fluttering around your stomach.

When the kiss is finally broken all you both can do is stare at one another closely, fond eyes and optics holding together before your beaming smile grows more. "Oh Bee, you've got a bee on you."

That he does. In the moment the tiny bee had crawled from her hand and onto his face, still crawling around but looking better than before. He doesn't mind, in fact he enjoys having the tiny bug on him, thinking it as a trust bond just like the bug had for you.

Your hand rests against his cheek plating, fingers gently soothing while he leans into your touch, humming in delight as the weight is lifted so quickly from the both of you, all worries and nerves no longer lingering.

"We're both a little silly." You hear yourself say. "But maybe that's what makes us perfect together. I want so much for us. You're not only my friend, but the one I've grown to love so much. Is this what you want, for something more between us?"

Bumblebee nods eagerly before looking up around, noticing the sun setting and the moon lightly appearing under the pink bubble gum sky and speaks through a channel of his radio. "What do you want? You want the moon? Just say the word and I'll throw a lasso around it and pull it down. Hey, that's a pretty good idea. I'll give you the moon."

Letting out a pleasant giggle you hold your hand over across his servo. "As lovely as that sounds I don't think mother nature would appreciate that. I want you. I want our fairy tale, that's all I need."

Bumblebee lets out another low hum before moving his servo up to his face to allow the tiny bee to crawl onto his digit and bring it back down between you both. Finally, the bee had enough strength, twitching its fuzzy body and taking flight, flying around them both as if it was trying to thank them, before flying away and back to its colony through the vibrant trees.

It was a beautiful moment, one neither of you will ever forget. Turning to Bumblebee again, you kiss his cheek plating and beam brightly. "Can we stay a little longer? Maybe we could cuddle?"

He's more than happy to do that. "Happily ever after."

[louloulemons-posts]

Oil At The Coffee Shop I

Eddie Munson X Fem!Reader

Summary : Moving to the small town of Hawkins you hoped your journey would be a smooth one, what we hope for doesn’t always happen.

Word Count : 1.7k

Warnings : introduction, not much eddie x reader interaction, very rambley, bestie steve, sweetheart uncle wayne, grumpy eddie.

Fic Masterlist

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

Moving away was scary, but you couldn’t stay put any longer. You knew if you didn’t move now then you would never leave, and you needed to go.

“That’s the last of it,” you brother smiled, putting a final box in your car. “You sure you’ll be okay without me?” you asked.

“Oh Im planning on calling you every day,” he smiled, “Seriously though, this is something for you. Aunt Callie wouldn’t have left it to you if she didn’t think so.”

“Only if you’re sure-“

“I am, now,” he turned from you, “Kids come say goodbye to your auntie.” Two children came running out of the house, their mother following behind.

“I’m gonna miss you so much,” you said squeezing them tight. “We miss you too,” your 2 year old niece spoke. “Will you come and see us?” your nephew asked.

“Of course Bud, and you can come and see me, and we can call!” Giving them one last squeeze you hugged your sister in law. “It’s gonna be strange not having you around, you take care of yourself okay?” she said.

“I will, and you too. Don’t let him start slacking off or I’ll come back and get him,” you laughed. “I’ll never slack off, now come here and hug me,” you brother smiled, opening his arms.

“I’m gonna miss you Scottie,” wrapping your arms around him. “I’ll miss you too Kid.” Rubbing your wet eyes and pulling away you climbed into your car. “Call us when you get there okay?” you sister in law spoke.

“Will do May, I’ll see you all soon!”

Soon enough you were off, driving away from your hometown to a small place called Hawkins.

You’d spent a lot of Summers there, your Aunt Callie had lived there. You’d spent your time playing in the lake and exploring the forest. It had been so much fun.

She had passed away a few months back, and soon you were sent a letter about her old shop. She’d left it for you.

If you weren’t swimming or running around you were in there with her. Helping her run the place for 3 weeks of the year. It was your escape, something you and Scott always looked forward too.

Hawkins had undergone some hard times, a serious of earthquakes and a whole bunch of nasty rumours. Now it was being built back up, physically and its reputation.

Your aunts shop, well your shop would be the next thing on that list. It would take a while to get there, but you hoped it would be an uneventful journey.

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

It was not an uneventful journey, “I swear to god next time I see that mechanic I’m gonna beat his ass,” you ranted, your car had broke down, only half an hour away from where you had to be.

You knew there was something us with it, but the smarmy man had said no it’s all in your head. He was just too lazy to take a look. Groaning you dropped your head onto the wheel of your car.

A knock on your window caught you off guard, “You alright miss?” Looking up it was thankfully someone you recognised. “Chief Hopper!”

“My god, is that really you! I haven’t seen you in so long, how are you?”

“Great, I’m good. How are you?”

“Wonderful, what are you doing here?”

“I’m actually going to be running Callies old store. My car broke down though.”

“I see. Well I can ring a mechanic for you, stay with you until they get here.”

“Would you?”

“Course, Munsons are the best.”

“Old Wayne Munson?” You asked.

“That’s him.” He left to make a radio call from his car, giving them an idea of your location. “They’ll be here soon.”

“Thanks Hop, so how’s life treating you?”

“Life’s good right now, got a wife. Kids.”

“Finally had the guts to tell Joyce how you feel?” He nodded, chuckling. “And the kids?”

“Well her two boys, mine now. Jonathan and Will. Then we’ve got a daughter, El.”

“Callie mentioned, gosh I bet little Wills all grown up now.”

“He’s 19 in a few months.” You let out a sigh, “Man you’ve made me feel old.” Hop laughed at that.

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

The catch up continued for a while, laughter and shared memories. Hopper was baffled by the fact Scott had a wife and kids of his own.

Soon enough a tow truck came driving up towards you, loud music playing. “Here we go,” Hopper said, motioning to the vehicle.

A man climbed out of the truck, clad in overalls and a grease stained white tee. Curly hair pulled into a bun on his head, hands cover in rings and tattoos here and there.

“Eddie, thanks for coming,” Hopper spoke.

“No worries, this the car?” he asked.

“Yeah it’s mine,” you motioned to yourself, and he met your eyes.

Dark eyes that looked like melted chocolate held your gaze. A face with light stubble, maybe from 2 days of not shaving. Wrinkles by his mouth, smile lines clearly, but darkness under his eyes.

He was beautiful. “Eddie this is Miss Callies niece,” he introduced you.

“Right, Eddie Munson. What happened?” he asked. “Well it was fine, it’s been making weird noises and then it just stopped. I had it checked over a few weeks ago but the guy wasn’t the best.”

“Well I’ll tow you into town, and then we can sort everything out at the shop.” He walked to grab his gear from the back of the truck.

“Great. Thanks for staying with me Hop,” you smiled at the older man. “Sure thing, Eddie you alright to take her into town.”

“Sure, you can get in. I’ll be with you in a minute,” he spoke, he voice was dull. Almost like he was bored, or tired or both.

Saying goodbye to Hopper you climbed in the van, waiting for Eddie to connect your car to the van.

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

“Here we are,” Eddie spoke as you pulled into a mechanics shop. This was the first time he’d said a word since you left Hopper. You’d tried to make conversations, only met with grunts and hums.

Climbing out you saw a few other guys around the shop. A older man walked over to you, “Hey Son, this the one Hop called in?”

“Yeah Wayne, says there’s been a strange sound. Had it checked a few weeks back but not thorough.”

“We’ll get it sorted for you,” the man, Wayne, smiled softly at you.

He had a kind face, old and worn, but you could tell he was a gentle soul. “Thank you so much, you don’t happen to have a phone I could use do you. It’s just I’m moving here today and all my stuff is in the car.”

“You got someone who can help?” Wayne asked. You nodded, “Right, okay come with me.” Wayne led you into an office space, a phone on the desk. “Take as long as you need, I’ll help Eddie check it over.”

Dialling a number in, you waited for it to ring. “Harrington.”

“Stevie,” you smiled, he spoke your name, “How are you?” he asked.

“I’m okay, I’m really sorry to ask though, can you help me out?”

“Sure, what do you need from me love?”

“Think you could come and get me and my stuff from Munsons Mechanics?”

“I’m on my way, I’ll be there soon.”

“Thanks Steve, you’re the best.”

“Oh tell me something I don’t know.”

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

A maroon BMW pulled up. You’d met Steve good few summers ago, he’d been playing basketball with your brother. You’d become fast friends, he was a sweetheart, a flirt, but a sweetheart.

He spoke your name, smiling widely. “Steve!” you grinned, he wrapped his arms around you tightly. “Hello you, god I’ve missed you,” he said.

“Thank you for coming.”

“Course.”

“Hey Mister Munson, would I be okay to start moving my stuff?” you asked the older man. “Sure, I’ve got some paperwork for you to fill out too.”

“You go do that and I’ll start moving your stuff,” Steve said, squeezing your shoulder.

“Harrington.”

“Munson, how you doing?”

“I’m alright. What are you doing here?”

“Picking up my friend,” he nodded over to you, who was currently filling in paperwork. Chatting away to Wayne as she did.

“You know her?”

“Mhm, childhood friends, Callies niece.”

“I’ve heard, never seen her.”

“She used to come every summer with her brother, makes sense you didn’t see her, was when you just moved here.”

He hummed, as Steve went and moved boxes between cars. “Right that’s the paperwork sorted, we’ll give you a call when it’s all ready.”

“Great, do I need to pay a deposit, I’ve got my purse.”

“We don’t really do that ‘round here, small town and all.”

“Oh I insist,” you pulled out a 50 and passed it to the man, smiling at him softly. “At least for fuel money for you coming to get me.”

“That’s very kind. Did you want help with the boxes?”

“Oh no it’s okay, I haven’t got much.” Smiling again at the man, you walked over to help Steve move the last few boxes.

“Thank you for the help, it was nice meeting you,” you spoke to Wayne.

“Course, we’ll give you a call. Nodding you climbed in besides Steve, “Thank you too Eddie.” He gave a grunt of your welcome and you were on your way.

“God I can’t believe you’re staying! It’s so exciting,” Steve said happily.

“It is, I’ve got a lock of work to do though. I know those earthquakes did a lot of damage to the shop.”

“I’ll help you fix it up, sure the others can too. Does anyone else know you’re coming into town?”

“A couple people, I mean Hopper was the one who helped me out when my car broke down.”

“Ah right, well Wayne and Eddie will get it fixed up in no time.”

“Don’t think Eddie likes me all that much,” you huffed a laugh. “Don’t worry about him, he’s grumpy all the time.” Nodding you head, you couldn’t help smiling when the shop came into view.

Climbing out of the car Steve spoke, “You go open up and I’ll start grabbing stuff.” Walking towards the door, you used the code to unlock where the key was kept.

Pushing it open a wave of memories took over, some new ones were about to be made.

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

A/N: AHHHH! It is here, the first part of Oil At The Coffee Shop. I can’t wait for you guys to find out what’s to come I hope you like it 🤍

Thank you so much for reading 🤍

[itsyagurlchip]

٠ ˚ ※ ๋࣭  ᯓ⚝ ⋆ .˚✰Down in N'awleans ٠ ˚ ※ ๋࣭  ᯓ⚝ ⋆ .˚✰

✰⋆⁺warnings: alastor(!) ace alastor and reader(!) cussing(!) its hell man idk what to tell u(!) very cultural (!) reader has a strong accent(!) reader is more modern than alastor(!) black reader NOT CAJUN SHE IS NEW ORLEANIAN (!) mentions of gore and blood(!) fem reader(!) angst(!) grieving (!) fluff(!) comfort(!)

✰⋆⁺Im so sad that the only new orleans part of alastor we got to see was a few of his music preferences, and the overused dish jambalaya (as good as it is, its referenced too much when mentioning Louisiana and i sorta hate it-) soooo, as an artist i took matters into my own hands 😈 btw, this is long, so enjoy a piece of my culture!!!

fun fact: did you know that Louisiana has about 400 festivals and events annually? (my favs are strawberry fest, mardi gras, and crawfish fest) btw if anyone is struggling to read it: mardi gras is pronounced madi-grahs. (like ice spice grah 🤪🤪/jj)

✰⋆⁺ Oh what a joy!! Your love Alastor is in hell with you!!! After a whopping 58 years after Alastor's death at 33, with you dying barely at 88 before your birthday, you've finally have found your soulmate!! You're a bit different though, you have a stronger accent, and your tone is..."slangy". Times have changed, but has your love? Of course it does! Alastor couldn't love you more, lovers being apart for too long is straining to one's mental afterall.

"His sister's black, but she is sho'nuff pretty. Her skirt is short, but Lord her legs are sturdy. To walk to school, she's got to get up early. Her clothes are old, but never are they dirty. Living just enough, just enough for the city." You sang, walking along the streets of hell. That song by Stevie Wonder had always brought you comfort...

It gives you a sense of memory, deja vu if you will. Not that you could remember. But you being a young black girl, in the struggles of 1916 brings a comfort to your heart.

...

You closed all eight of your eyes, your afro bouncing as you walked. Walking walking walking. Your dark dress would lift up slightly from the ground, wisping away curiously.

It was pitch black, like your gloves that ran from the tips of your fingers, to the upper part of your arm. If you squint, one could see hints of clear web being shown by light.

People would question why you still wore black even years after your husband's death. Now in hell, you had black skin, and spider appendages on your stomach and hips. How ironic.

You still never answered the question.

Alastor had died at the young age of 33, leaving a 30 year old widow to mourn his passing. That man chiseled his way into your heart and croaked years later. All you could do to keep your emotions in check, was continue your dear husbands work.

The radio station he worked at had begged you to host his morning shows. The town was distraught of his absence. And there's a depression? People were sad, now even more broke, and at the hands of phoney mayors and presidents.

Alastor left a big hole in the role he had as the "Darling of New Orleans". And so did the Bayou Butcher...

What else could you do? Each life you blew off was in honor of your amazing husband. Soon radio was bigger than ever! You'd broadcast the annual 8 killings of casualty due to the new 'Wynoriffic Widow.' This had led on for about 20 years before old age came into play.

You killed 162 people in the name of your love. Never caught, yet never forgotten. You became a big shot, killer and announcer.

While you never had the intrusive thought to do so, you finally understood why Alastor felt a rush of righteousness when he came home after his activities with Mimzy.

Damn Mimzy, the hooch she is. (💀💀)

Let's be honest, the name "Widow" hit too close to home due to recent events, but thats why you only killed eight people per year! And to make things even better, you set 8 things that would happen. 8 games. 8 lines all connecting into a web. And to make things worse for the police, your extermination cravings were sporadic, and not so scheduled.

But it all played out the same.

Something subtle. like a box of rotting spiders at the victim's doorstep.

Next would be a missing, or perhaps "disappearing" passport and driver's license...if they could even afford one.

Now there would be 3 warning letters, the classic "i know what you did". Simple as that.

The second one would be more detailed. Writings of the person's actions would be made for a week before the last and final warning was made.

"Im coming" you wrote in squirrel blood, giggling everytime the person panicked, not knowing it was you all along.

Then nothing....for 2 weeks or so. To lower suspicion per say.

Then its the time to strike. Waiting until exactly midnight to knock out and drag your victim to the very same swamps your beloved died in. You'd take the damned soul, and torture them for as long as you pleased. No matter how many screams, how much blood, their life was in your hands and yours only.

Finally, you'd pray. Pray that this offering of love would suffice for being ripped apart for so long. and as for cleaning up your mess, you'd thank the gators and the wolves for "aiding" with your hobby.

But you began getting old, despite exercising regularly and eating the things your body needed. You couldn't go out and fufill your duties. The one thing that made you happy, second to Alastor. And soon enough you died, welcoming your new fate.

The only thing you questioned was your young appearance. You died of old age, so you didn't understand why you looked like you were 30 again.

You hummed, mimicking a trumpet as you continued your short strides. And here you are now! On the way to reunite with your love once more... it's been far too long.

Welp, it won't be long before you see your life again (despite being dead). Adjusting the big puffs and coils on your head, as well as smoothing down your dress, you knocked onto the hotel door.

Your smile was so big! (You cheeks were starting to hurt from subconsciously doing so much, trying to keep memory of something you once lost).

You looked around yourself as you waited. There was a golden fountain of a majestic dragon creature, with building itself huge yet comfortable. Despite the lights in the front being a bit bright, this place pleased something in your mind.

The door opened for you to see...a short blond man?

"Hello? Is this the Hazbin Hotel?"You asked, restraining and chaining the accent you had, not wanting to be perceived as "ghetto" for the first time.

"Why yes~ Welcome my dear, and what brings you to this place?" The half-pint of a man reached for your arm, kissing it three times before hooking your arm. Your face involuntarily scrunched a bit before coming back to that neutral smile you has once before.

"I would like to see the hotel manager. Alastor, correct?" You asked as the man who tried to pull you forward, even though his head barely surpassed your chest. And surprisingly, for his height i mean, he pulled you along easily.

The lobby was a plethora of shades in red accented with bits of gold, black, and white.

"ugh His office is near the top of the hotel or something Can't miss it. The place sorta looks like a swamp."

"Of course" you mumbled. Thinking about the greenery and fireflies Alastor would take you to see.

"What was that?"

"Oh nothin'!" You smiled, already make your way to the prolonged destination.

Thank god there was an elevator, or you would've screamed. If this place was lavish and beautifully decorated, yet no easy place of transportation for inclusivity, or simply to better convenience of the people living here...

Thought pisses you off.

Hearing the elevator dig, you adjusted yourself again before walking out and looking towards the hallways. Ah, you could see what he meant. While every other door looked like a basic hotel door, the one at the end of the hallway was covered in green glowing floorboards.

It made you tear up, knowing he still had some kind of connection to his home. The fireflies danced around the entrance, enticing you to walk quicker in those heels of yours.

Reaching the door made your body paralyze and vision blur for a second or two. You took a deep breath, and knocked 2 times with a pause, knocking 3 times slower.

It was something you and Alastor did to ensure that the police wasn't at the door, back when you weren't interested in killing.

You hear shuffling, then came a fall and a thump. You hear a woman exclaim in worry. With rushed footsteps came an open door, revealing the one you lost so long ago.

He looked much different, much more red ('to hide the blood' you giggled to yourself'). His skin was more gray than that toned brown, you look up to his head to see...

'is this mf wearing a bob?'

"Alastor! Are you alright?" A doll-like woman came out, in a red suit but the brightest aura.

"Love...?" He ignored her, his knees trembling slightly with his eyes watering.

Next thing you knew you were tackled to the wall, embraced with such longing, infatuation, and a whole new level of care.

"Hello sweetheart..." You combed through his hair, brushing over some antlers, making Alastor shiver in your hold. You smiled, embracing him back with a somber sigh.

"Soooo- The Dappa Demon gotta milf for his troubles?" A white and fluffy man in pink stroller over.

"Um Angel- I dont think now's the time for that-" The Doll woman tried.

"And who is you?" You asked, genuinely curious. Alastor was still hugging you, silent, which is disturbing for a man with a voice like his.

"Da name's Angel Dust sweetpie!" He smirked, looking you up and down. "Why you cuddlin' up to Raspberry Daddy(™) like that?"

"Well, Angel, this raspberry daddy is my husband!" You explained, watching the lanky spider (which you now noticed looked like a spider), blanch before guffawing.

The woman, who you keep on forgetting about, gasped with, which you really hoped wasn't, all of her chest and possibly lungs.

"ALASTOR HAS A WIFE!!! WOW! ITS SUPER NICE TO MEET YOU!!!" She bounced up and down, her blond hair flew up along with it. Speaking of, the short man has blond hair too... welp, aint non of yo business so- "MY NAME IS CHARLIE!! THIS IS THE HAZBIN HOTEL!! AND- AND-"

"Charlie, suga mallow, pause pause! Its nice to meet you too baby!!" You started, "Can we just talk about this, as well as the hotel, in a better setting?- I think doeball needs a moment"

You looked down at Alastor, seeing his ears pinned downwards as well as feeling a small damp puddle on your shoulder.

"Oh! um- okay!! That's completely fine!! Yea! Go do your husband, and uh, wife things!!" Charlie said, pushing you towards Alastor's office once more, prompting you to hold your husband bridal style. You would hate for him to have fallen.

"So we aren't gonna talk about how Alastor isn't an edgy inhuman prince of darkness, gifted to the immunity of normal mortal affection?" Angel asked, still in shock.

The door promptly shut. You looked around his office, which was more of a radio station with shelves and a desk. Everything was in tones of brown, red, and burgundy.

The only thing that set it apart was the glowing green floor, with pale green tree moss around the corners. You smiled as a group of fireflies flew past you two.

You walk towards the chair, sitting down with Alastor's body in your lap, head in your shoulders, like long ago.

You move your hands to his ear, running your fingers through his fur, as well as using your bottom row of arms to turn on the radio, sitting so silently on the desk.

Luckily, for the both of you, calming slow jazz was playing.

"You ready to talk now?" You whispered quietly. His ear twitched before he sat up.

"Yes dear..." He said, his voice barely carrying through the air.

"Well... I wanna start with- where'd you go-?...that night i mean."

The room went silent. You continued to rub his back, feeling his boney spine despite the layers of clothing he dubbed.

Soon words flowed out of him. Like a radio host.

The story he told was one of improv, one he hadn't expected to share for a long time. About his killings, the dogs, his last sight. How his last wish was to kiss you one the lips once more.

And once he finished you told yours.

How much grief you were in. The sudden bloodlust you took after you figured everything out. The way you played with the town's mind. How every body you took was in sacrifice for him. The hope that your love would one day be connected once more, never severed again by dimensions.

The night was filled with silent sobs of two deceased lovers.

In the brief morning, you two caught up with each other. Alastor still liked a lot of the same things he did in the past, but you have changed a lot.

You have an accent. Sometimes you'll replace the word 'are' with 'is' and other times you say 'ain't', or nickname drop people. And when you get angry the accent gets even stronger, humoring him to your irritated dismay.

You can cook now! Before Alastor died, he would cook for the both of you. You managed to burn an expensive pan he got from his mother, he never let you lay a hand on the stove ever again.

You also were more...modern. Luckily not to the point where you were addicted, but it still pissed off Alastor that you had some form of flat screen. You listened to rap occasionally, as well as musicals.

But yet, he couldn't judge you for these new qualities you have. You still have that lovey fro, your beautiful and plump lips, and the way your eyes flow across the room almost brings his rotting heart back to life.

Right now in the kitchen, you two were making beignets in coconut oil. As you rolled the dough out, Alastor questioned your uniqueness of cooking.

"Darling, must you stuff the pastries with dark chocolate? Wouldn't the powdered sugar be enough?"

"Don't worry Baby! m'Made these several times!" You replied. You grabbed the strainer, tossing the raw dough into the hot oil.

"And why coconut oil specifically?" He asked, raising an eyebrow. You rolled your eyes with a loving smile.

"Cuz! It makes it taste better! Not sure how to 'xplain it, but it just does." You flipped the beignets, ensuring they were golden brown before placing them on the brown paper.

"If you say so, my Dear."

You began to hum softly, to a jazz song you heard on the streets, swaying slowly as you worked. Your husband then held you from behind, swinging with you.

His head was buried in you neck, ears flicking with each tickle of your hair. His arms came underneath yours, holding and pressing your hips.

Plating the food, you set it down in favor of dancing with your love. Dancing to the silent song of adoration, fondness, and care.

Behind the kitchen door, which was slightly propped open, you could hear the excited ramblings of the hotel's owner, making Alastor groan quietly.

"WOW!! They're so cute!!! Omg, they are so sweet together!! EEEEK!!" Charlie exclaimed, struggling to keep her voice down. this made you chuckle sweetly, making the woman utter an apology before leaving.

This is all that you wished for. Your husband, loving and dancing with your soul again. Even if it took a couple of bluenoses to accept it. (cough cough Angel and Husk)

All you could think about were those bands, the trumpets, the parades, Alastor, the food and feel of your homeplace. All of it brang you back, and now you have even more to appreciate.

Dreams do come true, down in N'awleans. Even if it takes years to achieve it.

btw i gave her lore

thx to @sharkdukes on Ao3, i now headcannon that you can offer a soul to a demon, which is what reader was unknowingly doing. Which is half of the reason why Alastor is so powerful at the start in hell-

heavily inspired by @drowninnoodles 's Sugar and Sinnamon on ao3.

as well as @pheavampire for this hilarious art

(๑˃̵ᴗ˂̵)و tags: @kittykittyanon @radicallxser @oleander-nin @towomatos @thealphagirl @ziipzeepzop-eez @spongejuice @amorisbackandbetterthanever @cyb3r-st4r if you would like to be added, check my blog. if you would like to be added, check my blog. SEE? I SAID IT TWICE!!

as for the playlist, if you couldn't read bc of the font, its titled: Wynorrifcly Widowing. (ik i didn't spell it right stfu) Please lemme know if there are any places where i forgot to finish thoughts.

©KAL pls don't steal, repost, trace, or whatever an art theif does. you can inspire yourself! just tag me to let me know<3

[red-velvet-0w0]

Erins list of media recomendations

Are you bored and looking for a new show to get into?

Did you follow me for one specific fandom and now have no idea what 90% of my posts are about?

Well look no further!

here is a list of a bunch of really cool media (of various genres/mediums) that I love and you might love too! (these are mostly going to be smaller fandoms/media that i dont think gets the attention they deserve):

Hello From the Hallowoods (podcast): My beloved! if you are a fan of Malevolent or TMA, and want other queer eye themed horror podcasts, this is my #1 recomendation. It is by far my favorite podcast of all time, and needs way more love then it gets. its currently still releasing episodes and is on its 4th season (slightly spoilery pitch (if you dont like spoilers look away): a scattered group of survivors of an apocalypse known as "the black rains" fight to survive in a strange and magical forest, as an all seeing god watches from afar)

Witherburn After School News (podcast): Another great underappreciated queer podcast. its still releasing episodes and is currently still in its first season. Though there are supernatural elements, the story remains far more grounded and interested in the ordinary lives of the people. Gives a lot of the same vibes of season 1 TMA, but if instead of the statements being the focus, the characters were given the spotlight while the supernatural stories loomed in the background (slightly spoilery pitch (if you dont like spoilers look away): a young reporter in a small town decides starts an afterschool radio show, where she discusses the goings on around town, and takes it upon herself to investigate the dissapearences of children that the police refuse to acknowledge)

Aurora Webcomic (webcomic): A webcomic made by OSP Red herself! the art and storytelling is phenomanal, and all of the characters are impecibaly written. it is currently in its second arc, and regularly releasing 3 pages a week. (also fun fact its where i got the name erin from) (slightly spoilery pitch (if you dont like spoilers look away): a demigod must rescue his master from a god-stealing witch before she is able to use his soul to end all life on earth. along the way he meets up with a cast of colorful characters, each with their own quests, who decide to band together to save the world)

Nova Drift (video game): did you ever play that old Asteroids video game back in the day? did you ever wonder what it would be like if it was instead a fast paced bright neon roguelike where you massacred everybody who stood in your path with high tech machinery? well nova drift has you covered! its a ton of fun and increadibly addicting, with tons of complexity and endless replayability

Epithet Erased (indie cartoon): If wordplay was a series. it was created by the youtuber JelloApocalypse based off of a rpg campaign he played with friends. Though its artstyle is relatively simple due to its low budget, the limits put upon the animation allow it to find new and creative ways to tell its story. (slightly spoilery pitch (if you dont like spoilers look away): In a universe where people have words tied to their souls that grant them powers, 6 people must battle it out in a museum for control over an ancient artifact)

The Wandering Inn (web fiction): another one of the reasons I go by Erin! though I honestly really need to catch up with it, I highly recomend the wandering inn if youre interested in more long-form stories. It is currently on volume 10 (i think im not sure) and each volume is longer then the last. If youre a fan of storys with hundreds of characters and shifting viewpoints youll love it. otherwise you should run in fear because you will not be able to remember half of the characters by volume 2. (slightly spoilery pitch (if you dont like spoilers look away): A chess prodigy from earth named Erin Solstice suddenly finds herself transported into an RPG style fantasy world with magic, classes, and levels. to survive, she decides to become a bartender)

Bigtop Burger (indie cartoon): If youre a fan of absurdist comedies, this is the show for you. Its made by the youtuber Worthikids and just finished its second season. its incredibly short and can be binged in its entirety in just over half an hour. (slightly spoilery pitch (if you dont like spoilers look away): a clown themed food truck attempt to sell burgers, while fighting with their rival food truck, and slowly realizing that their boss is not who they thought he was)

Kid Vampire (indie cartoon): much like Bigtop, KV is a simple and charming show with not much more going on. if your looking for some fun fluffy stories about some kids having fun, id recomend it, but if your looking for something more serious you might want to look elsewhere. Its made by the youtuber Mummy Joe, and is actively releasing episodes. (slightly spoilery pitch (if you dont like spoilers look away): a vampire child named Kid Vampire is sent to go to school with humans to kill them and steal their blood, but ends up making some new friends instead.)

Those are nowhere near all of my favorites, but id highly recomend you check at least 1 out! I adore all of these and if I can get even 1 more person to become a fan, ill consider that a win!

[pepaldi]

This interview originally appeared in Radio Times magazine.

As Peter Capaldi talks about his new Apple TV+ drama Criminal Record – "a stylish crime drama with a contemporary edge and a noir-ish element", to quote his own description – he makes no effort to disguise his fondness for Elaine Collins, his fellow executive producer on the eight-part series, sitting beside him.

Friendly, funny and stylish in equal measure, she is just as affectionate towards him… which is rather lovely, as they have been married since 1991 and have a 30-year-old daughter.

In 2021, he sweetly pinpointed "September 12th 1985, under a street lamp in Glasgow with Elaine" as the greatest kiss of his life. It was their very first, soon after they met as actors in a touring theatre production.

They co-starred in the 1992 romantic comedy Soft Top Hard Shoulder, and teamed up again in Franz Kafka’s It’s a Wonderful Life, the 1995 Oscar-winning short film he wrote and directed. As Capaldi clutched his Academy Award he told Hollywood’s assembled royalty: “Elaine Collins was the real creative dynamo behind all this."

Since then, she has become a powerhouse in British television, bringing Vera to ITV and Shetland to the BBC, long-running successes both.

Meanwhile, Capaldi’s own profile has risen ever higher, with his award-laden portrayal of The Thick of It’s fabulously foul-mouthed political enforcer Malcolm Tucker, and of course his three-year stint as the 12th incarnation of Doctor Who. In 2022, when BAFTA Scotland gave him its Outstanding Contribution gong, he concluded his acceptance speech with a direct address to Collins.

"My darling wife Elaine," he said, "it’s your strength, kindness, wisdom and love that’s enabled me to have this career. You’ve always been there through all the ups and downs, and that you chose to share your life with me is the greatest luck of all."

And now here they are, working as executive producers together for the first time and talking to RT. "It was great," beams Capaldi. "Elaine’s the boss, obviously. She’s the person who really drove this show, pulled it all together and had the vision for it, while having to do the day-to-day business mechanics of keeping it rolling. I was just a sounding board."

Collins tuts at once, exclaiming, "You’re too modest. He was fantastic. We genuinely had a great time and it was amazing to have that support system at work and at home. Of course you bring it home – you’re living and breathing a show while you’re making it – but that was genuinely great. He’s always a support system for me. Hand on heart, we’re best friends."

Sitting listening close by, one of Criminal Record’s supporting actors, Tom Moutchi, smiles at the two of them indulgently. "Awww," he teases, "soooo cute." Capaldi and Collins crease up, as Capaldi agrees that "cute" isn’t a word usually linked with him.

"A journalist asked me the other day, 'Why do you scowl all the time?'" he recounts. "I said to him 'I’m not!' and he said 'Your face is a scowl.'"

"He’s cute to me," declares Collins firmly, although it must be said the role he plays in Criminal Record scores low on the cute-o-meter.

The whole thing at Radio Times.

[starsologyy]

𝐎𝐍𝐋𝐘 𝐈𝐍 𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑, 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐔𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐅𝐋𝐈𝐄𝐒 𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐌𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐘𝐎𝐔 ─ 𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐔 [𝟎𝟎𝟏].

001. ─── ✦ A BITTER 17 [SERIES MASTERLIST} ✧˖*°࿐

synopsis ─ [31 DAYS LEFT TILL THE EXAM]. after being rejected by your childhood best friend, you walk by yourself to your other best friend's birthday party. but even after you use the celebration to forget him, it seems he leaves you a parting wish to forget what he said.

content warnings ─ alcohol usage, curse words, and etc.

𝐍𝐎𝐕 𝟗 ─── 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐀𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐍𝐎𝐎𝐍.

“change is good.”

it’s a quote with words that soothes the ache of the guilt of never ending metamorphosis with its dearing touch, yet sears with regard to whatever you may have yearned to keep. your body still lingers though in an oblivious trance of the past, stuck even when you tell yourself this quote, noticeably the presence of the sound of dreadful repetition of the god awful radio in the car when your phone has died and your dad doesn’t like the silence. 

you’re supposed to move on, and yet, change doesn’t feel all that great like it should. 

suguru telling you it was an impulse to kiss your lips that morning had forced the wrenching of your weak guts, mutating what little love you had found in mind and self to be left to shreds. you used to consider his voice the melody entertained with the love belonging to naive youth,  but his rhythm now leaves you bitter when you know yours is no longer a proper one itself. 

his words have left you to appear restless despite the hours of rest you have laid with him yesterday  as you walk to the library, and you wonder just how much one boy could just seemingly ruin everything in a mere second or two. 

the soles of your aged sneakers brush harshly against the fissures of similarly old concrete when you try to figure this matter. of the uncomfortably familiar streets that you tread, you’re forced to witness the disaster hurling inside the crevices between your rigid bones that call out to lay your eyes and in heart to seek a selfish longing such as a motionless life. 

ingrained in privileged purity and righteousness in the midst of infancy, your body used to run gravely cold at even thought of something like an easy life.  

when suguru left initially, you too, originally planned to leave when you got a bit older. because in a town so miniscule, there was nothing close to the freedom of living out the wildest dreams one may have. stuck by the identical proximity and communal till lungs inhale and exhale finally, you used to find that life daunting. to remain in bind  forever by the opinions of those who resided was a possibility of hell, and now remains so admittedly.

the city allowed you to breathe. do whatever you want, and nobody will dare to care. the thought that you don’t matter much, you found that to be freeing. 

you had always planned to escape from the nostalgia and the redundancy of the town; to lace your worn sneakers in a haste manner before taking off to wherever your heart had desired at the moment. you’ll escape in the cheapest vehicle at the junkyard you had bought beforehand, then drive recklessly while you release your thoughts to the cds that play as soon as you land on the first highway out of this town. you didn't know (or care) if you would struggle all alone somewhere else. its dread lacked importance as long as you were free. perhaps a skinning sort of agony, but it meant you had the determination to do it, and you would be better than the boring folk who resided in oblivious comfort. you wanted to be better. 

however, just as the hastful suguru was to abandon what built between you two when he moved, as quick as he was to enter your life once more after his return. jovial though you were to see him once more, but it was at a steep price of daring the depths of the disaster in your very soul that you found the horror (yet truth), that suguru had led you complacent into discovering the very pleasure of domesticity. for his words to lead you astray from the philosophical freedom you once sought, to instead let the eventual ache of your feet be mediated by the possibility of the gentle rocking of the wooden chair you’ll purchase for the house in the countryside with him.

after this morning though, you doubt he would even visit that house if you had bought it. he’s gone to wind, and you were stuck with your feet embedded in soil, yearning to keep time still as a caterpillar’s walking pace of early metamorphosis to preserve the fading moments with him.  it seems he didn’t feel the same for you, since suguru grew mosaic wings from this, and you were still on the ground. 

the roughness of the pads belonging to the surface of your fingertips attempt to sooth the chaos stirring in the puffiness surrounding your eyes when you realize this truth. they glide to smooth an approaching swelling, and with every wrinkle they flush back into your supple skin, you even feel yourself whispering curses directed to the very silence around you like someone would come console you of this actuality. 

it’s laughable.

laughable because you’re now standing in front of another very proof that time can’t stand still after it has crossed your path during this pitiful walk of yours.

it’s only an old truck the local elderly couple on the block owns, and yet you wonder if the universe just yearns to entertain your anguish in the midst of this freezing autumn. 

sure it may be invaluable and complicated to deal with to most, yet if they didn’t have love for this car, they would have simply abandoned it in some junkyard nearby. you know how complicated and annoying it is to maintain that car because you and suguru had also worked with your dad at the auto shop to repair it every summer. despite suguru’s departure, you and your father still begrudgingly repaired it yourselves. it took days, and certainly wasn’t cheap for them because everybody involved had realized it was a miracle your dad even had the talent to fix something that old. but you can tell it meant a lot to them, because they paid the hefty price every time with a pretty penny too as tip. 

through change someone loved it. when it got old, it still was taken care of. you think you now yearn for that determination from somebody. 

it lingered in your mind, causing you to wonder if suguru had loved you through the metamorphosis your vulnerability had undergone during his leave. you had become rough around the edges, like a dog who bites at its owner rather than bark. had he eventually gotten too tired to throw his bone to you? so now he rejects you? 

you decide to forget about it, afraid it would cause you to become too obviously depressed before you had met up with the others, so you quickly rushed your feet to avoid further thought. 

──────────────────────────────

once you finally arrived at the quint library, you pushed open the glass doors, just for your jaw to collapse.

the widened pupils in your eyes saw your best friend kana, also suguru’s little sister, kissing suguru’s best friend, satoru.

“okay don’t worry I can explain this just calm down!—” she shouted nervously.

“oh jesus so you’re dating your brother’s best friend and I’m supposed to be calm? you couldn’t have even told me?—” 

“sure bring that up but aren’t you dating my brother? So who’s acting supposed to be calm? cause it’s definitely not you—” kana nagged.

 “who said i’m dating your suguru when i got rejected this morning by him when i tried!?—” you retorted. 

“you’re dating suguru?” satoru interrupts, appearing rather dumbfounded as his lips curve to whisp a “huh” a moment afterwards. “sorry, i mean, did you try to date him? lameee! was your confession that bad?” he teases, but you and kana are still standing there, again with both jaws dropped on the wooden floors at the fact you even confessed to suguru and she’s dating his best friend.

where do you begin now? that you thought after all these years he was showing signs of feelings but it turns you’re actually just delusional? kana jabs at satoru’s side before raising an eyebrow at you, awaiting a response as well clearly. it’s the season where your exhales release as mist and yet you can feel an approaching drop of sweat down your forehead. 

“can we start on one thing before making fun of me? and yeah he fucking rejected me after he stole my first kiss—” you stutter finally after a couple of moments, “but how the hell did he steal your first kiss though?—” kana interrupts right after, satoru even letting out a boisterous laugh at way you just keep fucking up your words.

“you fumbled badly. we’re going to championships too. you could’ve been one of those basketball star girlfriends,” he pokes, throwing you a can of beer from his bag before settling further into the seat he was at. “but really, i thought he liked you…so what did he actually do?” 

you didn’t really notice it before you were too ashamed really to look at him, yet it’s the first time you’ve seen his cheshire like grin suddenly drop, a glimmer of concern laying in the blinding blues that swirled in his very eyes. has he always been upset once you first told him of this incident? for your sake? 

the concealment of the anger through the vein that pops on his forehead was almost hidden if you hadn’t peered closer through the heavy bangs he adorns. you do great when you start to pace between the shelves surrounding you three,  attempting to rest the worry that he may, in the simpleness of the vocabulary you have accumulated, knock the shit out of suguru when he arrives later. 

oh how the tightening and crease around his knuckles grow pale through his grip on the table edge easily silence the very potential of any words to be said die in the closing of the space between your lips to possibly reveal what lies inside you. the fact he can do so, is impressive, admittedly.

you almost laugh at the way he now releases a huff of air or two when kana traces her manicured blinged nails along the veins on his soft hands though, relaxing him like how satoru himself does with his own dog, callie. she doesn’t appear to contain her raging annoyance at brother like how her supposed boyfriend (and his best friend) does from first glance, but you can still tell she does since she’s almost violently trembling (likely in words she’s about to yell suguru with) despite the truth she has two sweaters on and acting as if she’s in antarctica. 

 it’s also when you stand only a couple of inches away you can tell this relationship hadn’t been one that developed only recently. you don’t comment on it though.

“he rejected me.”

“…so what made you think he liked me then?” you ask, kicking the wooden seat to let yourself settle onto it before cracking open the metal can beneath your rigid nails. 

“[y/n] wake up, what kinda “best friend” looks at somebody dumbstruck during class if he doesn’t like her?” the white haired boy sighs, rummaging with a sigh or two as he plucks out another beer from the cooler beside the leg of the wooden table. 

kana nods in agreement, and when she doesn’t say much, that’s how you know someone has found the words of absolute perfection to voice what she must have thought (which is rare you admit). 

“im pissed off because he does all of that lovey dovey shit and still gets to do you like that,” he chugs the gold corona past the openings of his lips, wincing immediately after, “aren’t you mad? i teased you about it but…if someone ever did that to me, i wouldn’t know what to believe,” he mumbles.

“is this really right to talk about during kana’s birthday?” you chuckle (rather awkwardly), glancing over at your best friend seemingly staring off into space. the splashing of your can doesn’t seem to rip through the silence between all of you anymore unfortunately.

you didn’t want to shit on suguru just yet for some unknown reason. perhaps, he’ll come back and say he was simply joking of course, so you wait to align with your anger.

“it’s not a very fun birthday if i find out that my best friend is sad because the love of her life is a pussy, sooo…” kana says finally,  scurrying off to the magazine stand near the cashier, running right back to hand you a magazine a moment later. platinum highlights in her onyx hair look especially taken care of today you realize. 

“what’s this about?”

“my apology for not telling you about satoruu obviously!” she wraps her arms around your shoulders, “and my thank you for the amazing gift you got me.” 

you raise a brow at kana before shrugging, starting to flip through the overly decorated paper with scented perfume samples and plasters of the hottest idols at the moment. it bores you slightly after you have smelled the fifth sample of some random strawberry perfume, until you come across a little interview.

you have to admit. the idol being interviewed is stunning.

the questions seem a little two faced at first, like all the media could care is how many times she curls her hair to achieve the wavy beach effect, but you come across a section where she seems to try to help her oh so “unfortunate” audience.

it’s hilarious, yes, but you’re reading it like religious literature.  

she doesn’t seem to divert from the typical “how to look better” guides, change your hair color, wear different makeup (both that are supposed to suit you better somehow), and foolery like that. but you can’t seem to ignore how your eyes linger on pink bold letterings soaked in messy glitter that also mention changing your style, diet, and everything. 

you don’t want to admit it, but it seems tempting.  

“earth to [y/n]?”  kana grins, flickering your forehead as your head automocally shifts to her eyes staring into yours. you can tell she was late to arrive home yesterday since her concealer can’t even cover the depth of exhaustion meshed with the rosy, blushed flesh belonging to her face. “now you’re interested?”

“it’s lame.” you chuckle.

“was it really lame if you were enjoying it?” satoru pokes, and you roll your eyes before kana shrugs in agreement. 

“he’s not going to suddenly leave whatever girl he likes just because i got a glow up, he’s not like that.” you sigh, resting your head in your hands as you daze off. 

“you guys are next level delusional if you think me having a pokemon sort of evolution is the key to all this.” you slightly laugh, twirling your locks around a finger of yours. 

when the flowery scent of your dollar store shampoo approaches your nose, it makes you wince for some reason. perhaps it’s because suguru told you he liked the way your hair smelled once. he never said it ever again though, and you wonder why at this moment you remember it in your pit of misery. a living grave of what could have been said in response to his compliment, to now to follow you to be stuck to your head from there on since you had (regrettably) only showed a smile at the time. 

“whatever you say…” kana yawns, looking at her phone for a moment, “but if i say for my birthday wish I want you to do it, will that help?” she grinned.

“she got you there.” satoru whistles.

“shut up.” you mutter, taking a sip of your beverage before continuing, loosening up.

“…it’s not that i don’t want to, but i don’t know if it’s the best idea,” you mutter, setting the laminated sheets of thin paper on the table as your eyes linger once more. “it’s just, changing my entire look, for a guy, isn’t very productive either right before our exams, idiots. ever thought of that?” you groan, running your fingertips through the base of your hair. 

“not me though, i have one year left. i’ll worry about exams…next year? still, even if you guys have them, doesn’t mean you can’t have romance in your life. it's a piece of paper, and if you die alone because of it, it’s kinda your fault.” kana chirps, and satoru simply gives you an agreeing look to accompany his girlfriend’s disagreement to your qualms. 

a look that can only mean, in the entire two years since he first moved to this small town to follow suguru mindlessly from the other school he had attended, that satoru knows he’s right for once. it worries you a bit because of his usual playful and rather talkative manner. 

“but—”

“ah, happy birthday kana!” a long onyx haired girl cheers, unintentionally interrupting you as her figure walks through the glass doors, a familiar taller, coffee colored short hair girl following behind her, the cigarette between her maroon lips escaping their crevice to be thrown out in the bin immediately by her calloused hands. 

“good timing for the both of you, now help convince [y/n] she doesn’t need suguru. and that I’m right, as I always am—” kana says, an immediate, “what even happened—” escaping from shoko’s lips soon afterwards as she applies lip gloss to hide the scent of the smoke on them. 

“suguru rejected me, that’s what happened!” you blurt out, your brows furrowed as the apples of your cheek burnt up while the two that had entered let out a sigh. they soon sit down beside you, and an awkward moment of silence continues again. 

“he told me he didn’t like me, and now kana is trying to convince me to go through some mega glow up to make him regret it.” you groan, shuffling through the cooler once more for another beer to cool off. 

“and so because of that, [y/n] is releasing her anger on everybody,” satoru murmurs, taking another sip of his own drink before he whistles obliviously to avoid your piercing glare. “am not!—”

“so are you completely lucky go happy and not threatening to murder us?” he raises a brow, and your lips are sewn immediately. “see? she’s going to lose her damn marbles over this crap.” satoru chuckles, and they nod in a certain understanding.

“i just, i feel bad for ruining for kana’s birthday like this. I admitted to being in love with her brother, and now i’m having some group therapy session.” you huff, looking over at the birthday girl as she sits on a shelf all casually before she grins at you after adjusting her bangs. 

“well, how about we celebrate kana’s birthday first, and then we can do whatever the birthday girl wants for you.” utahime chuckled sheepishly, grabbing a lighter effortlessly from one of the twenty seven pockets on shoko’s cargos, before directly looking at satoru. you’re suspicious why she knows where it is so easily, but you’re too grateful for her excellent topic shifts to to say anything.

the rest of the group nods, and you take a big sigh of relief. 

“where’s suguru with the cake?” utahime adds, her eyes rushing to meet the ink hues of the taller boy who entered the room as he grins at her. 

“here, fifteen dollars for a birthday cake  is pretty insane.” suguru says, placing the cake down on the table beside you before he waves at you, yet you can see his eyebrows scrunch when you look away instead of reciprocating it. nobody comments on it though. 

“is it because you’re broke suguru?” satoru interrupts out of the blue, getting up to ruffle suguru’s silky locks beneath the pads of his fingertips before a smirk emerges on his face from his joy of annoying his best friend.  “personally, me, i have never complained about two digit prices.” the white haired boy whistles, walking away as he took out the number one and seven candles in his bag, pushing them down into the soft cream of the cake.

suguru roll his eyes before he laughs, and everybody surrounds the cake.

it’s cheap, proven by the buttercream frosting reaching peaks that seem to grow appetizingly weak the further your eyes follow them, but you still have to admire the thick script of the simple ‘happy birthday kana’ likely made by the middle aged cat lady at the local bakery. it’s not too perfect (she seems to have forgotten cursive for some letters) but she improvised its mess into something somewhat bearable to stare at. 

“ready?” utahime says, lighting the rainbow candles.

“happy birthday to youuu, happy birthday to you,”

and there everybody sang a simple tune of happy birthday for kana. it felt a little weird to sing it in a library so early in the morning, yet oddly jovial to be able to witness that over the moon glimmer of light in kana’s eyes as she made silly poses for shoko to record her during all your singing. as long as she was happy, nobody cared how idiotic they looked. 

“happy birthday dear kana,”

satoru was no exception either clearly, because you spot his hand around her waist despite suguru being right beside her, but you pretend to have not. it wasn’t your business in the end, and as long as he continued to make her happy as this obnoxious singing did, love shall prevail as corny as it may sound, you thought. 

“happy birthday to you!”

and the song has ended. you stifle a laugh as satoru removed his hand at the speed of light as suguru began to cut the cake.  

“thank you, thank you!” kana chirped, hugging everybody rather tight before she dug in into her slide of cake, the ombré layers all smushed as her fork pierced it’s layers, simply to entertain her taste buds as quickly as she got the utensil to do so. “it’s really good,” she says with a mouth full of it, everybody laughing as they soon got themselves a slice.

 but it’s not really a birthday party without obscene amounts of pizza and junk food, so she didn’t spend long on that cake before digging into the steaming pizza that was delivered just as she took her last bite.

“happy birthday again idiot,” you grin when you poke at her, hugging her side once more as she hugs you back. she radiated the sun, and you simply wanted to be in the radius of her shine today.

everybody started to open drinks after a while of eating, leaving on a playlist in the background as they chatted.

──────────────────────────────

 time seemed to fly by fast, because it was eight o clock pm now and you could feel the dim stars ever so slightly seep into the moles and freckles of your flesh through the opening of the slightly cracked window. it’s from when shoko wanted another smoke and utahime whined about its oh so ‘deadly’ effects since shoko herself thought it was smart to open a window in the middle of freezing autumn. no one complained in the end though since the slight breeze helped to not end up wasted immediately, which was nice. 

you look over your shoulder as you remain pressed against the shelf of science fiction, noticing your best friend almost knocked out on the floor as satoru sits right beside her on the carpet, stroking her back. you thought satoru would be more drunk by now, but he seems to rely more on a lollipop at the moment to fix his oral craving for some reason. you wonder if they’re so drunk that they can’t tell suguru is only ten feet away sitting down at a table.  but you can’t blame the couple too much. he’s too drunk himself to notice anything since it seems since he can barely keep his head up. 

speaking of him though, you feel a bit sick when you see his eyes glance on shoko a little too often for your liking. utahime was oddly focused on a kids manga so she wasn’t talking much in that group conversation, but you wonder what could be so entertaining in their world that suguru isn’t talking to you at the moment (even after this morning’s fiasco.)

sure you confessed, but why is he treating you like some stranger? he didn’t even talk to you that much during the party. and yeah maybe you're mad because your drinks have made you more sensitive than ever, but you felt oddly sober enough to realize you should get out before he could tell the look of jealousy in your eyes from staring at the two of them.  

shoko has been your friend ever since suguru came back from his stay with his dad. she hasn’t been anything but a shoulder for you, always getting you to stop being a ‘stick in the ass’ as she crudely refers to it, and never giving you shit despite sometimes acting manic. so it makes you feel worse you’re jealous of her right now. 

you stand up slowly, waving bye to satoru and kana, only a murmur from the both of them to be heard as you slowly push open the glass door. you walk the night in a shiver, yet the chill sobers you more as your eyes are glued on the concrete.

shoko’s pretty. short brown choppy hair. it wouldn’t look the best on you as it did on her. her cool tight eyeliner and the way she pulls off any bold color of lipstick must be tempting for suguru, and you can’t blame him for liking someone like her. the way she was with the flow, and you were exactly the opposite. she liked those bands you don’t tell your parents about and instead just steal their car to go see them at a underground bar. shoko was the type to just so cooly light a shared cigarette with her effortlessly. if you tried you would probably burn the other person’s lips somehow.

you feel horrible. 

you can’t be mad at him for finding someone else prettier. and you can’t be mad at her if she found herself to like him. what kinda friend would you be? 

so you wonder why your feet have led you to the park you and suguru frequented. 

and you even wonder more why your feet lead to let you reside on the swing you always chose ever since you first came. your hands grip the bit of a rust on the chain, and you let the weight of your body slowly push you as you think. 

what were you doing here but reminiscing over a man that wasn’t yours? you feel stupid, and the drinks don’t help but to cause your tear ducts to spill a little more than they should as you sob out into the silence of the night for the decaying nature around to take your anguish with them before their greenery finally disappears with the upcoming winter. 

it doesn’t help when you accidentally look over to the swing that suguru always took when you guys played together, and you just remember how cool he always looked after he ran from his basketball game to accompany you whenever you looked lonely swinging by yourself. He would talk your ear off, and as much as some may have loathed his pity and slight savior complex disguised as a philosophy of kindness , you embraced it with all you had.

and now you kinda wish even after everything he would do the same. you continued to weep, wiping your eyes even if you had some half assed glitter on your lids from this morning.

“you okay?” suguru whispered.

shit.

“why are you here? thought you were avoiding me, suguru.” 

you don’t notice the way his heart pangs at the lack of your nickname of his. 

“i was passing by to go home.” his voice cracks. suguru’s voice always does that when he lies. you wonder what is there to hide now. but you don’t ask. 

“then go home.”

“you don’t own the park.” he chuckles heartily, and it somehow even makes you roll your eyes during your misery. “and why are you here?” suguru whistles.

“because i can.” 

“then i can too.” he says as he rests himself on the swing beside yours like he always has, an uncomfortable silence between the two of you for a minute or two. “you drunk?”

“are you?” you raise an eyebrow. 

“yeah.” he nods, holding up his crushed can.

suguru never remembers anything when he’s drunk. and you don’t think he’s lying since his typical bun is disheveled. it’s too many strands out of the hair ties grasp to be considered to be a sober suguru. you’re kinda glad he’s not sober to remember this state of yours by sunrise tomorrow. 

“well I’m drunk then too.” you laugh, and he grins at the sound of your odd joy.

“cool.”

more silence between the both of you.

“suguru, why did you kiss me this morning  if you don’t like me?” you blurt, and you keep your head low in case your eyes suddenly spill tears you don’t mean to.

he’s silent. 

you feel your body burning in embarrassment once more, and you stand from your seat, so you can possible run out of there, but when you try, you feel a familiar hand grabbing on to yours.

“don’t leave.” he whispers, and you glance to see his eyes looking weak as they stare into yours. 

“then tell me why you did it.” you mutter.

“i felt like it. it was just because, i was still tired, and i wasn’t thinking straight. i didn’t mean to do that to you.”

you wish he could have just been honest and told you the real reason. suguru doesn’t do things for no simple reason such as human impulses, and he must think you’re dumb to believe him.

“be honest suguru.”

“i’m telling you the truth.” 

“don’t lie.”

“im not ready for a relationship.” he starts, “and i guess i really liked how your makeup looked, since you forgot to take it off when we hung out last night. the smudged eyeliner, and you know…” suguru shrugs. 

shoko did your makeup like how she does hers typically earlier that yesterday afternoon. didn’t that mean he just saw a piece of her in you at that moment? and that’s why he was 

tempted? to get a sample of what it must be like to kiss her? sure you both don’t look alike, but men are primal creatures, and they simply focus on the idiotic things rather than the big picture. he liked you, because you resembled her for a split second with smudged  burgundy lips. 

you don’t think he knew that, but you couldn’t say that to him without breaking down at the seam at the moment, so you keep silent for another moment to compose whatever you have right now.

“oh. okay.” you decide to say  in the end, about to start walking again, but he again tugs you back. 

“you’re leaving?”

you thought he was joking when he said don’t leave. but if rationale says to leave him, you just shake your head no, and you go back to sitting ‘a bit too close to comfort’ kinda close to him on the swings.

he doesn’t speak, using his hand to rest on your thigh. you let your own hand rest on that hand. you’re happy he’s kind enough to let you do that. 

you would regret this night, but you’re going to blame the alcohol you had to say that this was your last hurrah before highschool was over. 

you two don’t look at each other, just looking at whatever. you soon see the broken down car from the morning, but it wasn’t enough for you to want to start a conversation. it’s still sitting there. like you guys are. 

ironic as it was, for the rest of the night, under the full moon, you both didn’t speak as you remained there, and simply enjoyed the presence of each other in these moments.